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Something In The Way You Move | The Redemption

Author’s note: I struggled writing this next instalment, and there was a lot of chopping and changing, so apologies for the late update. There’s one final part after this, and the plan is to have it out by mid-May. In terms of their apartment, this is how I pictured it but feel free to switch it up. This is only for fictional purposes only, but please don’t copy my work without my permission. Enjoy 🤎

Warnings: angst, fluff, suggestive/implied smut, bad language, couple reconciling, side chick confrontation, some relationship issues, minors DNI (let me know if I missed anything)

famous!Reader x Jude Bellingham Word count: 8k words

///

‘So, Bestie,’ Winnie starts, ‘what’s the plan? And how are we going to pull this off?’

That’s a good question: how will you break the big news to Jude? It’s been five torturous days since the positive pregnancy test and you’re yet to tell him about it. The timing just hasn’t been right, and the next bit’ll sound silly, but you’ve kept this from him because you don’t want to take the attention from him.

His first season at Real Madrid has exceeded all your wildest expectations, and you just wanted him to celebrate it all without detracting from it with the baby news.

Girlfriend of the Year, right?

‘To be honest, Wins, I haven’t thought about it.’

You’re standing in the kitchen waiting for the water in the kettle to boil and Winnie’s in the living room, her limbs stretched out on the sectional as she mindlessly browses through one of the coffee table books.

Your best friend’s in town for work, and earlier today, she actually filmed a couple of scenes with you for the show, and that’s when you told her about the pregnancy.

Off camera, of course. However, looking back at the moment, you regret not filming it.

Between filming your scenes, you quietly pulled Winnie to the side and showed her the sonogram you now carry around in your bag, and her reaction was exactly what you expected it to be and more. There was squealing, excited jumping, and there were lots and lots of tears shed between the two of you.

‘Okay, well, when do you plan to tell him?’

Tonight. You think enough time has passed and yesterday, you went to your first doctor’s appointment and confirmed that you were indeed pregnant, but despite your excitement, you kept the news from Jude because you wanted the announcement to be well thought out—special.

Also, there has been so much distance between you, you’re hoping that the baby news could be the catalyst to bring you two together because you kinda miss being close to him.

‘I’ll be honest with you, Y/N/N, that doesn’t give us much time to plan it.’

Winnie makes a good point, but you’re not looking for perfection, all that matters is that he knows.

‘Well,’ the kettle boils and you walk over to where it sits on the counter to grab it, ‘it depends on what we decide on.’

You start pouring the boiling liquid into the cups.

‘My only request is that we incorporate the sonogram.’

‘Wouldn’t it be cute if we could find a pair of infant football boots?’

It’s kinda cheesy—very cheesy, actually—but you like the idea. A lot.

‘Yeah, that’s a good idea. We’re getting somewhere with this.’

It’s almost hard to believe that you’re standing here, plotting out a way to tell Jude that you’re expecting.

If someone had come up to you the night you first met him and told you that in two years, you’d be standing in the kitchen of your shared apartment in Madrid, planning a pregnancy reveal, you would’ve called them a liar.

Excuse your French, but. . . ‘Holy fuck, Wins, I’m pregnant.’

It’s like it’s hitting you for the first time.

Winnie laughs, amused by your sudden realisation. ‘I can’t explain it, right? But it feels like a teen pregnancy.’

There’s no need for her to explain it further ‘cause you know exactly what she means. When you first saw the positive pregnancy test—you know, after your initial shock—you first panicked about how your family would react to the news.

You had to take a moment to stop and remind yourself that even though you’re still so young, you’re more than capable of raising this child.

With Jude’s assistance, of course.

‘Do you want to record it?’

‘Record what?’

You take the steaming mugs from the island and make your way over to the living room, where you place them onto the coffee table.

‘The moment you tell him. Not for Netflix,’ she clarifies, ‘but you know, home videos or whatever.’

Yeah, you’re definitely keeping this one in the family. Maybe if the show gets renewed for a second season. . . but you’re jumping the gun.

‘I want to, but’ you look around the ostentatiously decorated main living space ‘where can we put the camera? I don’t want him to see it.’

‘We’ll figure it out.’

Winnie’s composure is just what you need right now. You can always count on her to be calm in stressful situations.

‘Is your camera charged?’

You’ll have to check. It’s been some time since you last used it. Part of your job is that you’re a part time YouTuber, it’s something you dabble in because you like filming and editing. . . all that jazz, but lately, your channel has taken the backseat.

Why vlog this period of your life when they can catch it on Netflix when the show comes out?

‘Come,’ Winnie shifts to make space for you on the couch.

You take your seat next to her and by the time you settle, she’s already got her phone out, with her Pinterest open.

‘What’s that for?’

‘Well, something’s got to inspire us.’

Duh. It must be the pregnancy fog.

‘Don’t worry,’ she assures. ‘We’ve got this.’

And got this you do. A half hour and two cold teas later, there’s a plan, but this plan requires you to leave the house.

Booooo!

You’re not too keen on the impromptu outing, but there are baby football boots to be bought, and at least you’ll have Winnie there with you.

‘Well, that was easy.’

You beg to differ, but whatever.

Winnie locks her phone and sets it on the couch, ‘When’s The Boy coming home?’

You’re not sure when it started, but Winnie now refers to Jude as “The Boy” which you find to be endearing.

Probably late. He’s out with Toby and Noah, and he mentioned something about his other teammates joining them, but you weren’t really paying attention.

‘I’m not sure.’

And it’s not something you wish to discuss further because the thought fills you with dread. It’s been days since your discovery but given the circumstances, there has been no time to sit down and talk about Coralie.

The result of that is that whenever he goes out—and he’s been going out plenty to celebrate his victorious season—you can’t help but feel anxious that he might cheat on you again.

Surely this is no way to live.

‘But it doesn’t matter, does it?’ you rise off of the couch and start for the bedroom.

Naturally, Winnie’s trailing after you and you just know that this conversation is far from over. She’s persistent.

‘It doesn’t, but I think you should ask him.’

She makes it sound so simple. And you guess it is simple, he is your boyfriend after all, it’s your privilege to call or text him whenever and wherever.

‘We don’t want any surprises.’

You don’t, but if he does walk into something he’s not supposed to walk into, that’s all on him.

‘I don’t think it’s necessary, really.’

Inside the walk-in closet, you start stripping out of your house sweats to change into something appropriate. Once upon a time, you could leave your house in your house clothes without the fear of being pasted on the MailOnline and labelled “dowdy” and “unkempt”.

But that was a long time ago.

‘Oooh, what’s this?’

Winnie finds herself distracted by the Chloé box that’s sitting on the closet island.

‘Oh, yeah, that’s a PR box they sent me on Monday,’ you state matter-of-factly.

She opens it and gasps when she sees what’s inside the large box.

‘What the. . .’

‘It’s crazy, right?’

She turns to you in utter disbelief. ‘They gifted these to you?’

You hum.

She grunts and confesses, ‘I’m so jealous of you right now.’

Twelve full sized perfumes, all gifted to you by the brand.

You tell her to take a bottle, and of course, she’s over the moon. And it earns you the title of World’s Best Best Friend.

‘Well, I still think you should text him,’ she states as she tests the different scents.

And here you thought she had forgotten about that.

‘Just so we have an idea.’

You don’t really want to send the text, but you don’t want to raise any alarms with your friend. Lately, things between you and Jude have been far from perfect, but you’d prefer to keep your relationship problems from the world—even if it’s Winnie and she’s your best friend.

‘Yeah, alright.’

Your phone’s in the living room, so you have to leave the closet to grab it, and when you come back, Winnie’s discovered your new Chanel handbag—a gift from Jude.

‘He bought this for you?’

‘Yeah,’ but you’re not trying to make a big deal of it.

Jude bought the bag for you about a month ago. At the time, it seemed so random—his urge to buy such an expensive gift on a whim—, but after seeing those text messages, you know it was the guilt that made him do it.

‘Lucky bitch.’

‘I’ve been telling you to bag yourself a baller,’ you tease as you take your seat on one of the ottomans.

You: Hey, when are you coming back tonight?

You read over the text to make sure you’re not coming off as desperate. . . a nag. But whatever, the text needs to be sent, and the way he interprets it is up to him.

He doesn’t immediately respond, but you don’t expect him to. He never does when he’s out.

You take a final look in the mirror. You look so good, it’s almost hard to believe that the look was put together in ten minutes. And you’d take a picture to post on your story, but there’s no time for that now.

‘You ready, Wins?’

She smiles, ‘Ready.’

‘Alright then, let’s go.’

///

When he did finally respond to your text, Jude said that he’d try to be home by midnight, which gave you more than enough time to prepare for the reveal.

For her visit, Winnie will be staying at the apartment with you, but she’s gone out because she’s not pregnant and she’s actually got a life. However, she did help you set everything up for the reveal, which you appreciated because she came with all the good ideas.

Like she suggested that you do it in your closet as opposed to the kitchen, where you had initially planned to do it, because the lighting and acoustics were better.

And now it’s a little past eleven o’clock and you’re rewatching an old episode of your favourite series. Earlier in the night—after Winnie left—you filmed a night time routine vlog for your TikTok, which you should be working on editing, but can’t be bothered about.

Waiting for Jude to come home has reduced you to a ball of anxiety, and despite your eyelids getting heavier and heavier with each passing minute, you simply can’t make yourself fall asleep. However, one thing’s certain, no pregnancy reveal will be done tonight.

Damn him, and damn your feelings for him.

You can’t believe he’s once again ditched you for his friends this week. It’s disrespectful at this point, but the worst part?

You keep allowing him to get away with it.

But what can you do, leave him? As if that’s an option for you. The love you feel for him runs so deep, you can’t bring yourself to imagine a life without him in it, especially with the baby coming. So apologies to all the feminists of the world, but your love for this man surpasses all reasoning.

Your phone dings with a notification and you quickly grab it, hoping to find a text from him—you’ll take an incoherent drunken text at this point, anything—but instead it’s Winnie asking if he’s home yet.

Fuck.

You: Not yet, but soon :)

You hope.

She’ll never confront you about it, but you think that Winnie suspects that things aren’t good between you and Jude. The lack of calls and texts throughout the day was a dead giveaway. The two of you can’t get enough of each other, and even when you’re apart, you’re constantly updating each other one way or another so the silence was deafening.

But whatever, right?

People across the world experience relationship problems every day. You’re not the first couple to experience this, and you’re certainly not the last. You just wish that your relationship problems weren’t because he stepped out on you.

‘Babe?’

And now your mind’s playing tricks on you, because you swear you can hear him–

‘Y/N?’

Oh shit, he’s home!

You quickly reach for your phone to check the time: 11:26.

Fuck!

In the last text you sent him almost an hour ago now, you gave him strict instructions to text you before he left the club.

Guess he didn’t catch that text.

‘Baby?’ he calls for you again, but his voice sounds distant, so you figure you have enough time to do what it is that you have to do.

But you’ve got to move fast, so you clamber off of the bed, and scurry to your closet. You head straight to the camera, which you’ve carefully propped on your Louis Vuitton jewellery box, and switch it on to start recording.

This probably isn’t the best of angles, but so long as it captures his reaction, hopefully with his face in the frame.

‘Baaaaybeeee?’

His voice sounds closer now.

‘In the closet, babe,’ you finally call back, then internally brace yourself for what’s to follow.

With Jude, the plan was always to get married and have children, but the when was never discussed in detail.

‘Why are you hiding in here?’

Some of that anxiety leaves your body at the sight of him. He’s beaming at you, so visibly happy to see you.

‘Hiya.’

This man has seen you in all kinds of vulnerable situations, why are you so shy all of a sudden?

As he closes the distance between you, you notice that his eyes are kinda red and glossy, the only sign of his intoxication. When he reaches you, his smile widens—if that’s even possible—and he leans forward to connect your foreheads.

‘Hi, gorgeous.’

He smells of mint with the faint scent of alcohol, and a smell you can only describe as Jude on a night out.

With your eyes shut, you deeply inhale the comforting scent, happy to have him back home.

‘Hey, why are you hiding in here?’ he asks again, his words running into each other, the second sign.

‘Uh, ‘cause.’

You weren’t anticipating that question, and you don’t know how to answer it.

‘“‘Cause?”’ he chuckles.

You hum.

‘Come here,’ he envelops you in his large and strong arms, practically suffocating you but you can’t bring yourself to tell him to release you because you’ve missed his affection and the intimacy.

You fear you’re starting to sound like a broken record.

‘How was it?’

‘How was what?’

‘The club?’

‘Fine.’

And that’s all he’s willing to offer.

‘I thought you said Winnie was staying over?’

She is, she’s just gone to a party with the new guy she’s seeing.

‘And you didn’t join her?’

‘No.’

You give him a half-baked explanation for why you didn’t, but all you’re thinking is how this isn’t going the way you hoped for it to go. This isn’t what the other significant others did in the videos you watched earlier.

But how do you save it?

‘Why are you asking about her?’

‘Just curious, I guess.’

‘Alright then,’ you fist his jacket in your hand. ‘It’s good to have you back home.’

He likes that, you know that because his heart rate picks up. Things are still a bit awkward between you, but that’s to be expected since you haven’t been talking much.

With your arms around his neck, you press onto your toes and crane your neck to peck him on the lips. ‘And actually, babe, there’s something I want to show you.’

Jude tenses up at that, but it’s so subtle, if you weren’t in his arms, you would’ve missed it.

‘You do?’

And like magic, he’s sobered up. Only a bit though.

‘Don’t worry,’ you assure him, amused. ‘It’s nothing bad.’

Your assurance does nothing to ease his wound up body.

‘Jude, relax. . . please.’

Still tense. Whatever, you won’t dwell on his anxiety.

With a final peck to his lips, you step away from him and direct his attention to the island, where the football booties you went out to buy earlier are placed next to a toddler Real Madrid jersey, a positive pregnancy test—you took another one a couple of hours ago—and the sonogram.

‘Surprise,’ you say softly.

You want to sound excited, but it just comes out dejected.

You watch as he takes it in, your heart hammering against your chest. Unfortunately for you, you only have a view of his side profile but even from this angle, you can see that his usually expressive face is perfectly still. You can’t read him, and it feels like an eternity before he turns to face you.

‘Is this for real?’

You nod, the lump that has found a home in your throat making it hard to speak. Your vision’s also blurred, courtesy of the tears that have pooled in your eyes.

‘It is?’

The first tear falls.

‘Oh, baby.’

Jude lifts you into his arms and squeezes all the air from your lungs.

Man, he’s so strong.

Then he sort of holds you like that for a long time, and the next thing you know, your neck is damp.

‘Babe, are you. . are you crying?’

He denies it, but you can feel the damp spot grow with each passing second you’re in his arms. Oh goodness, he is.

‘I think you are.’

‘Shut up,’ he mutters, his voice muffled.

You giggle when he tickles you.

His reaction’s quite the relief and it feels like a ginormous load has been lifted off your shoulders. In terms of his reaction, you weren’t sure what to expect, but this is the best reaction possible, and as he holds you, all the lingering resentment about his past transgressions are forgotten.

Eventually, he sets you down to reveal his red rimmed eyes and similarly hued nose.

‘How far along are you?’

Seven weeks and three days today, according to your doctor. When Dr Hernandez told you, you couldn’t believe you were so far along and didn’t notice.

‘That’s what, almost two months?’

In defence of you though, between your work and Jude’s chaotic football schedule, you’ve been out of touch with your body.

‘Did you know?’

‘I suspected it.’ You tell him about the morning after that night when you noticed that your period was late. ‘I wanted to tell you, but I wanted to take the test first.’

‘And why didn’t you tell me after?’

‘I wanted the doctor to confirm it.’

You’ve grown so tired of standing, so you sit on the carpeted floor of the closet, and Jude joins you, pushing the ottoman to one side so that he can lean against the island.

‘I called Dr Morena who referred me to Dr Hernandez.’

He scowls, ‘Who’s that?’

‘My obstetrician.’

The scowl deepens.

You sigh, ‘The doctor who’ll care for me during the pregnancy.’

‘Oh.’ With his legs spread and stretched out before him, he pulls you into him and sets you between them. ‘And you said that Dr Morena referred you to this. . .’

‘Obstetrician.’

‘Yeah, that.’

You hum in agreement as you rest your back against his torso.

Dr Morena is your family GP.

There’s a silent beat then he asks, ‘So he knew before me?’

‘Winnie too,’ you turn your head so that you’re partially facing him. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Winnie knew before me?’

The offence is evident in his voice.

‘I had to tell her,’ you defend, but this isn’t where you want to steer the conversation. ‘She helped me set this all up.’

He grunts.

‘Are you mad at me?’

‘Kinda.’

Well, now you feel bad.

‘I’m sorry,’ you sit up and turn to face him, maintaining eye contact as you explain, ‘Had I known it would’ve offended you, I wouldn’t have done it.’

But she was so integral in all of this, a part of you’s glad you did. . .

‘Oh, come on, Jude.’

He’s pouting, your big baby.

‘Cheer up, will you?’ you straddle him, cupping his face to gently stroke his cheek with your thumb. ‘I’m really sorry.’

It’s about another minute of silence and avoided eye contact, and you’re about to give up and on the verge of tears when:

‘Babe, I’m only messing with you.’

A quiet beat, then there’s relief, followed by loud laughter.

‘That wasn’t funny,’ you grouse, slapping him lightly on his chest. ‘I almost cried, you know.’

‘Come here,’ he pulls you into him.

The traces of alcohol still linger in his speech, but he’s significantly sobered up since he got home ten minutes ago.

‘I can’t believe you’re pregnant.’

And you can’t remember the last time Jude was this excited about something outside of football. His reaction almost makes you wish you had waited to share the news with him on his birthday, but that wouldn’t have worked because he’ll be in Germany then with the national team for the Euros.

‘What are you thinking?’

‘How the pill doesn’t work a hundred percent,’ you pull away.

But then again, with all the jet setting you’ve been doing, you probably weren’t taking it at the same time every day.

With a flash of his signature smile, he concurs.

‘My knees are starting to hurt,’ you announce as you move off of his lap and back to your previous spot between his legs.

Jude places a hand over your stomach, and with your hands over his larger ones, you move them lower to the pelvic area.

‘There.’

He chuckles. ‘You know, I always dreamed of being a young dad.’

You didn’t know this about him.

‘Not at twenty-one,’ he continues, ‘but you know, in my twenties.’

It’s comforting to know that this baby fits into his life plan.

‘How about you?’

‘I don’t know,’ you admit after a moment of consideration.

You’re still wrapping your head around the turn your life’s taken. The WAG thing kinda blindsided you, the fame too. The craziest part of this all is that you’ve made a career of it, built an entire brand.

‘But I’m not mad at this plot twist.’

‘Our kid’s a plot twist?’ he chuckles.

You nod. ‘Clearly we weren’t paying attention in sex education.’

He kisses the top of your head.

‘Dr Hernandez said that the baby’s about the size of a blueberry,’ you tell him.

It’s such a random fact, but you feel compelled to share it with him.

‘That’s really tiny.’

‘Right?’

Jude keeps rubbing over the area, and you have an inkling he’ll make a habit of this.

Some minutes pass, and then you remember that the camera’s still going, so you excuse yourself from Jude.

‘Where’re you going?’

His grip is firm around your waist.

‘I’m going to get the camera.’

He looks confused, but he releases you. On bended knees, you shuffle over to the other end of the island to quickly grab it, but you don’t stop the recording. When you get back to Jude, you find him in a daze, silently staring at the sonogram in his hand.

‘She’s so tiny,’ he comments when you sit at your previous spot, facing him.

‘She?’

Talk about wanting to be a girl dad.

‘You think the baby’s a girl?’

He looks up to find a camera in his face. ‘What, you think it’s a boy?’

You shrug, you haven’t actually given it much thought. ‘Well, do you think you can handle a mini me?’

He makes a face.

‘Ah, take it back,’ you giggle.

He takes the camera and turns the lens to you. ‘Well, now I’m asking you. Y/N, do you think Baby Bellingham’s a girl or a boy?’

You pause to think about it. A mini you or a mini Jude, how difficult. ‘Well, I’m going the opposite, I think Baby Bellinghamʼs a boy.’

You snuggle into him, ear pressed against his chest, camera still in your face, but you’re both in the frame. One fact people don’t know about your boyfriend is that he’s a master vlogger, and he’s actually recorded many segments for your vlogs that will never see the light of day because when it comes to Jude, you’re a shameless gatekeeper.

‘I want to shower before bed,’ he proclaims once the recording has stopped. ‘Join me?’

You’ve already taken your shower, but you figure a second one wouldn’t hurt. Jude takes your hand and leads you out of the closet and into the bathroom, where you strip out of your clothes.

‘Is it my imagination, or are your boobs getting bigger?’

Huh?

You look down at your exposed breasts, ‘Are you joking?’

‘No, I’m not,’ with a hand on each shoulder, he turns you towards the mirror. ‘Look.’

You’re looking at them, but they still look the same to you, but he’s adamant. Then, in a move you deem perverted—in a good way, of course—, he cups them in his hands.

‘What are you doing?’ At this point, you can’t contain your laughter.

‘How are you not seeing this?’

He must’ve drank more than you realise, because what the fuck is this?

‘Are you high?’

His face twists with disapproval, ‘No, why?’

‘The boobs,’ you turn to him, ‘what’s with the sudden fascination with them?’

‘I like your boobs, you know this.’

You do. And you like his butt.

‘Come,’ you wrap your hand around his wrist and pull him into the shower. ‘I think you’re tired.’

And horny.

You turn the faucet to run the water.

As you’d imagine, not much showering is done.

‘Careful not to wet your hair,’ you warn him, but it’s too late.

‘I don’t care,’ he says flippantly as he takes your face between his hands and leans over to kiss you.

This is not what you came here to do.

You’re both covered in suds.

‘Jude, I need to rinse my body.’

‘Later,’ he mutters against your lips.

‘Jude!’ you squeal.

He’s such a Silly Billy when he wants to be.

You gasp into his passionate kiss when you suddenly feel the cold shower wall against your back. In a swift and slick movement, Jude trails kisses across your left shoulder and you tilt your head to one side to give him better access to your neck.

A soft moan escapes your parted lips as he sucks on the sensitive skin.

‘Jude. . .’

You want to tell him to stop, but the hand on his naked lower back pulls him into to you.

He hums into the kiss as his hand moves up your body to cup your boob, ‘Tonight, you’ve made me the happiest man alive.’

His vulnerability catches you off guard, how can you not give into him. . .

///

For breakfast this morning, you’re making honey butter toast using a recipe you found on the internet. It’s your first time making it and you’re not entirely sure what you’re doing here, but Jude saw it on Pinterest the other week and begged you to make it, so that’s what he’ll have for breakfast.

It’s a simple enough recipe, but knowing you and your iffy cooking skills, this could either be a major success or an epic fail—nothing in the middle. If it does fail though, you’ve got the regular bacon and egg fry-up on standby.

But only positive thoughts in this kitchen.

You’ve got your favourite morning playlist going softly in the background, and today’s what you consider the perfect Saturday morning. The sun is fully out, and the expansive windows of the apartment allow for the natural light to pour into the space and warms it.

You put the toast into the oven and set the timer.

At the end of the summer, your lease for this apartment will be up, but the likelihood of you extending it has significantly shrunk with the latest development in your life. The song goes, “First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Y/N with a baby carriage,” but you’ve skipped parts, so some things need to be shifted around.

That means that the house hunting that you’ve been putting off needs to start. . . now, really.

This is where Coralie comes in handy, but you’re not talking to her. She actually reached out to you Sunday morning to apologise for your awkward encounter at the restaurant that night. Her text read:

Coralie: Last night, I overstepped and I’m really sorry and embarrassed by my actions. Please forgive me.

You’re yet to respond to the text, but you don’t plan to anytime soon because you don’t accept her stupid apology. As far as you’re concerned, she’s an insignificant homewrecker. She is two-faced and vindictive and incredibly cruel for subjecting you to such humiliation.

She laughed with you, acted like a friend when she was fucking your man behind your back for six months.

‘Bitch,’ you mumble as you load the dishes into the wash.

But she’s not worth the time, emotions, nor the energy. So with a deep breath, you bop thoughts of her out of your mind, and move on with your day.

Easy.

A half hour later, breakfast is ready to be served. You’ve gone all out with this meal, and it would be an absolute shame to not take a picture to post onto your IG story. Very quickly, you snap a picture to post later, and take the food to your sleeping boyfriend before the ice-cream starts to melt.

He’s still fast asleep, but he’s since shifted sleeping positions, and he’s hugging your pillow.

How cute?

When he wakes up, you expect him to be hungover and grouchy from all his boozing, and you just know he’ll play it up for attention. If there’s one thing you know about your boyfriend it’s that he dies for attention, and he simply cannot resist being babied.

‘Wakey wakey sleepyhead.’

You place the heavy tray onto the bedside table, on the other side of it to avoid it getting bumped by mistake, and attempt to wake him again.

Still, nothing.

‘Jude,’ you mount him, peppering a million tiny kisses against the side of his pretty face. Even in his slumber, he looks perfect. ‘Come on, you got your eight hours, it’s time to wake up.’

He grunts, then sends you away.

‘But I got food,’ you object with feigned sadness.

But he doesnʼt budge.

Alright, sweet coaxing out the window. ‘Babe, I made honey butter toast and the ice-cream’s rapidly melting. Wake up.’

There’s another silent beat and then, ‘What the hell is that?’

Of course he doesn’t remember what it is.

‘Honey butter toast,’ you repeat, as if it’ll somehow miraculously make him know what it is. ‘That bread you saw on Pinterest and begged me to make.’

He’s still clueless, but at least you’ve got his attention. Finally, with a long groan, he sits up, moving cautiously to not send you tumbling to the floor.

‘What time is it?’

‘Ten.’

He cusses softly as he rubs his face. ‘I’m supposed to meet with my parents at eleven.’

You didn’t know that.

But it’s clearly nothing pressing because he doesn’t seem fazed by the fact that he’s running late. He yawns, rubs his eyes and face some more, then turns to you—sitting comfortably on his lap—and smiles. ‘Good morning.’

You mirror his expression. ‘Morning. You hungry?’

‘Starving. What’s for breakfast?’

‘Here,’ you slide off his lap to take the tray and hand it to him. ‘It’s my first time making it, so be nice.’

He assesses the tray of food you’ve placed before him, then looks back up at you. ‘Nine out of ten for the presentation.’

Your brows furrow, ‘Why not ten?’

‘Some of the ice-cream has melted and it looks a bit sloppy.’

‘Yeah, and who’s fault is that?’

He lets out a hearty laugh, but you’re not amused by this judge.

You climb back onto the bed, your eyes fixed on Jude as he puts the first forkful of the honey butter toast, with a little bit of the vanilla ice-cream and salted caramel sauce, into his mouth.

He chews, then he moans, his eyes widen, more chewing, and then finally, he swallows.

This is a good reaction.

‘You like it?’

‘I love it,’ he cuts another piece of the toast. ‘Ten out of ten for the taste. Did you make the ice-cream and caramel sauce yourself?’

‘Alright, Paul Hollywood.’ You grab the extra fork you had on the tray and dig in—curious about the taste—and are met with protests from Jude. ‘I just want a little taste.’

‘Get your own.’

Your bottom lip juts out, it’s your turn to pout. ‘Yeah, but I’m pregnant.’

With a heavy sigh, he proclaims, ‘And so it starts.’

You can’t help but laugh at his solemn tone.

The two of you remain in bed, even after he’s finished having his breakfast, because his outing with his parents has now been postponed to two o’clock. If it were any other day, you’d join them, but you promised to accompany Winnie to the art gallery and you don’t think you can get out of it.

Turning into your side, Jude questions, ‘Why does she have to go to the art gallery?’

Because she’s in her art girl era, inspired by her latest fling, an up-and-coming visual artist from Portugal. His name’s Baltasar, and they met at Coachella a couple months back, and lately, he’s all she ever talks about. You think she’s in love.

‘A visual artist?’

‘Yep.’

‘So he’s broke?’

‘Hey, don’t be mean,’ you chide.

He doesn’t care though, he thinks it’s funny.

‘You’re such an asshole, d’you know that?’

‘Babe, I’m just kidding.’

Yeah, right.

‘Well, she really likes him so if she mentions it to you, keep the bad jokes to yourself.’

‘Noted,’ his mouth connects with your cheek.

The conversation smoothly transitions from Winnie’s new boyfriend to Jobe, who’s relentlessly trying to convince his older brother to take a short trip to Ibiza before he has to report for international duty. You think it’s a great idea, a final hoorah before it gets serious again.

‘Will you come with?’

‘Ibiza sober? Count me out.’

‘I’ll drink for the both of us.’

‘Uh, definitely not,’ your fingers glide up and down his naked back. ‘And I think Jobe wants this to be a boy’s trip. No girlfriends.’

‘But you’re not my girlfriend.’

Huh? ‘I’m not?’

‘You recently got upgraded to baby mum.’

He’s an idiot. Who even laughs at their own jokes this much? Either way, you’re not going to Ibiza with them. It’s another half hour of mindless chatter before you ask,

‘What time is it?’

‘Early.’

‘Jude, I’m being serious,’ you reach blindly for your phone and find it on the other end of the bed. ‘I need to start getting ready.’

‘Can’t you postpone it for another day?’

‘Winnie leaves tomorrow night.’

But he’s not budging, and so you have to use all of your might to shove him off of you.

Your strength leaves him shook. ‘Where’d that come from?’

‘It’s all those training sessions you’re paying for.’

He swells with pride—men.

‘Will you join me?’

Jude perks up.

‘But we’re only showering, nothing else.’

And he’s dejected.

‘I’ll just sit on the side and watch.’

That’s fine by you.

He follows you into the bathroom, and you think you hear him mumble something about you making it worth his while.

///

What your gallery date conveniently forgot to mention was that Baltasar would be joining your gallery excursion. Had you known he’d be here, you would’ve asked Jude to tag along so it could be a double date or something.

Jude: How’s it going? 🖼️

You’re miserable here, and you’re pretty sure you’re third wheeling. And look, you want to be supportive of your best friend, right? But it’s so hard to be when the guy she’s seeing’s the textbook definition of an asshole.

You’re one pretentious comment away from faking morning sickness to get out of this.

You: I’m having the worst time

You: The art is great, but he’s so smug 🙄

And he’s rude, so rude, and he’s determined to talk over you.

Jude: The artist? 🎨🧑‍🎨

You: Yeah, I don’t think he likes me :/

And you’d actually be doing him a favour by leaving, you’d be doing you both the favour because at this point, you feel like you’re intruding and you’re starting to feel awkward.

Jude: Well fuck him

His text makes you chortle.

At least Winnie’s making an effort to include you. Every now and again, she’ll ask for your opinion on certain pieces, but in the end, you just can’t do it.

You can’t be here anymore.

‘Hey,’ you lightly tap Winnie’s shoulder.

She turns to regard you, ‘Hey, what’s up?’

‘Can I talk to you for a second?’

‘Sure.’

She excuses herself from Baltasar, who’s really displeased with your intrusion, and you find a quiet corner.

‘Is everything okay?’

‘Yeah, everything’s fine, the art’s great, but I’m not feeling too hot.’

‘Oh no,’ her brows knit in concern, ‘is it morning sickness?’

She’s buying it, good.

‘I think I’m going to head home, you know, to lie down for a couple hours.’

‘Yeah, alright,’ she takes your hand in hers and lightly squeezes it.

‘But how will you get back to the apartment?’

You are her ride home after all.

‘I was planning on spending the rest of the afternoon with Baltasar,’ she looks over her shoulder at him and when she looks back at you, she’s blushing, ‘but what about you? Are you fine to drive in your condition?’

‘It’s just a little nausea, I promise I’ll be fine.’

It takes a minute to convince her, but you don’t relent, and in the end, you manage to convince her.

‘Now go,’ you nudge her towards her waiting love interest. ‘Have fun with your boyfriend–’

‘Uh, he’s not my boyfriend,’ she quickly interjects, her voice dropping to a scolding whisper.

You smile knowingly, sure he isn’t.

‘What makes you say he’s my boyfriend? Did he say something to you?’

‘No, but I saw the way you were looking at him,’ you shrug, ‘the way he was looking at you.’

Winnie’s uncharacteristically shy all of a sudden.

‘I’ve clearly misread the situation,’ you start backing away from her. ‘But we’ll talk more about it later, okay?’

‘Promise to text me when you get home.’

‘I pinky promise to call you when I get home,’ you blow her a kiss.

You wave goodbye to Baltsar, who seems pleased to see you go, and then you’re out of there.

It’s a short drive home from the gallery, and you’re glad to be back home, but you wish Jude was here with you.

You: I miss you.

As soon as the message’s sent, you regret sending it. But you can always blame pregnancy for making you so clingy.

You fall back onto the bed with a long exhale. What to do with your time? You could watch a movie or you could go the self-care route.

The other day, a skincare brand sent you a few collagen face masks you’ve been dying to try. It’s one of those that melts into your skin. And since you’re on that path, you can also soak in the tub ‘cause you haven’t done that in a while. And if you’re really up to it, maybe you can do your nails.

But first:

You: Got home safe. Have fun with your friend ;) can’t wait to hear about it later x

Jude misses you too. He’s also still with his parents but should be home before dinner.

You: Did you tell them about… 🫄

Jude: No. I thought we’d do it together.

That’s a good plan.

You: Great idea. I’ll see you later, I love you x

Jude: I love you more 😘

Dinner time’s a while away, so you’ve got plenty of time to have your self-care afternoon.

The tub is halfway full, the bubbles foaming, the steam and aroma engulfing the space when your phone notifies you that someone’s at the door.

Your body’s sheathed by a robe, but you still feel indecent as you make your way to the door.

The doorbell goes off a second time just before you reach the door, and when you open it, the last person you expect to find standing on the other side of it is Coralie.

Yes, Coralie’s at your door and she looks like. . . Well, she looks like shit.

‘Y/N,’ she forces her lips into a tight smile. ‘Hi.’

The shock has you frozen for a moment, but you’re quick to recover. ‘Jude’s not home.’

You’re curt because you want her out of your sight and you’ve left the water running in the bathroom.

‘I know he isn’t.’

She does?

‘I’m not here to see Jude, I’m actually here to see you.’

Of course she’s here to see you.

‘Why?’

‘‘Cause there’s so much we need to talk about, woman to woman.’

“Woman to woman”, what a joke? And it takes everything in you to stop your eyes from rolling. What the fuck does that even mean?

‘Can’t we schedule this for another time? I’m kinda in a rush.’

‘It won’t take long, I promise.’

Hell, she can’t take a hint, can she?

‘Can I come in?’

‘We can’t talk about whatever it is here?’ you tighten your grip around the door handle to stop your hand from shaking. ‘I mean, you said it yourself, it won’t take long.’

‘Yeah, but it’s weird doing it at the door, so can I come in?’

‘You’re in no position to call the shots.’

‘Please,’ she sounds desperate. ‘I just need ten minutes of your time, then I promise I’ll go.’

The more you look at her, the worse she looks. Honestly, she looks like she’s been to hell and back, and if you didn’t hate her so much, you’d feel sympathy.

‘Ten minutes, then you have to leave.’

‘That’s all I ask, thank you.’

And so despite your better judgement, you step to one side to allow her into the apartment. As you shut the door, you offer her a drink.

‘I’ll have a water, thank you.’

‘We’ve got water in the fridge.’ You walk towards your bedroom to shut off the running water, ‘I’ll be with you in a moment.’

On the short trek, you dig your phone from your robe pocket.

You: Coralie’s here she says she wants to talk but i’m uneasy

You shut the faucet. You quickly change out of your robe into the first clothing items you stumble upon, which are the sweats Jude was wearing earlier. They’re loosely fitting, but they’re comforting because they smell like him.

Coralie’s in the living room, bottle of water in hand, and she’s focused on something out the window.

‘Sorry I took so long.’

Your sudden intrusion snaps her out of her reverie, ‘It’s fine.’

Her eyes are fixed on you as you move around the space to take your seat on the sectional, feet tucked beneath your bum.

This is so awkward.

‘So,’ you start, breaking the ice, ‘you said you wanted to talk?’

You heard Jude out, so it’s only fair that you hear Coralie’s side of the story.

‘Right,’ she clears her throat. ‘I assume you know about our. . .’

‘Affair?’

She winces at your choice of words.

‘Yeah, I do.’

‘And he told you everything?’

‘That you got drunk last December and hooked up? That you’ve been hooking up behind my back for the last six months?’

She sits perfectly still, but her trembling lower lip betrays her.

‘That you were sending inappropriate texts, pictures, and videos. . .’ you continue, pleased to see her squirm in her seat. ‘Am I missing anything else?’

It’s only been, what? Five days since you last saw her, but in the short time span, she’s aged a decade. Coralie’s never disclosed her age, but you’ve always placed her in her late-twenties, maybe early-thirties, but today she looks well into her forties.

‘How did you find out?’

‘I saw the drunk text you sent him, what did it say again?’ you pause for dramatic effect. ‘Right, “I’m drunk and I miss you. Call me.”’

She’s fidgeting with the bottle in her hand, her head bowing in shame. ‘Y/N, I’m really sorry.’

‘What are you apologising for?’

‘All of it.’ She looks up at you, ‘I’m sorry that you found out the way you did.’

You hear her, but you’re not ready to accept her apology. Especially because she’s cutting into your self-care time with this crap.

‘Who made the first move?’

‘Jude did.’

Your heart aches at the revelation, it’s like someone has driven a sharp knife into it.

‘He was upset at you, he didn’t say why but he was really cut up about a fight you had,’ she proceeds. ‘And if it wasn’t me, it would’ve been someone else.’

You think you might throw up.

‘But he was drunk, we both were, and. . .’ her voice trails.

An uncomfortable silence descends upon the room because really, what else is there to say?

‘Do you love him?’

‘Does it matter?’

It doesn’t matter, but you want to know. Let’s say it’s curiosity.

‘He’s hard not to love.’

That’s true.

‘But am I in love with him? No.’

Some of the tension in your shoulders eases.

‘And he doesn’t love me either,’ and she almost sounds sad when she says that. ‘It was only ever sex between us, nothing more.’

But the texts. . . what did they mean?

‘Nothing,’ she insists. ‘Call it harmless flirtation.’

‘Harmless?’

She flushes, ‘You know what I mean.’

So you now know that he was mad at you, they were both drunk, they fucked and you think Coralie regrets it, but you’re not sure.

‘Who pursued it?’

‘What?’

‘Your. . . thing, the affair,’ it irks you to say it.

‘Oh, Y/N, I don’t think you–’

‘Was it Jude?’

‘He loves you.’

‘I know he loves me.’

Coralie’s quiet which furthers your frustration at her.

‘Did he pursue the affair?’

‘Why does it matter? It doesn’t change anything because in the end, he chose you.’ It’s like it pains her to say it. ‘He’ll always choose you.’

You nod.

After another long and awkward silence, she professes, ‘You know, I felt awful deceiving you because you really are such a good person.’

‘Don’t start with that crap.’

‘No, I mean it. You’re a good person, and we were friends–’

‘We were never friends,’ you interrupt. ‘You were never my friend.’

You tolerated her, there’s a difference.

‘I know you’re upset with me, and trust me, I get it, but come on,’ she persists. ‘We were friendly with each other.’

‘You sleep with all your friends’ boyfriends?’

That shuts her up.

‘Look, Coralie, I appreciate the apology,’ you pull your phone from the sweatpants pocket to check the time and discover eight missed calls from Jude. ‘But you said you’d be here for ten minutes, and you’ve exceeded that time.’

‘I know, and I’m really sorry about that, but there’s one last thing I want to tell you.’

Your stomach twists with dread—she better not tell you that she’s pregnant. The cheating you can move past, but a child you can’t recover from.

‘You’re pregnant?’

‘What?’ She looks offended that you’d even ask her that question. ‘No, I’m not pregnant.’

You sigh in relief.

She’s not pregnant, but she did lose her job. She received the call this morning to let her know that her services were no longer required by the club. She’s certain Jude had something to do with it, so she’s here to plead with you to talk sense into him.

‘And I meant what I said, I really am sorry for the inconvenience that I’ve caused in your life, but Y/N, I really need this job,’ she concludes.

‘How are you so sure he had something to do with it?’

She shoots you an incredulous look as if to say, ‘Really?’

‘And if he did have something to do with it, what makes you think he’d listen to anything I have to say?’

‘Because you told him to end our arrangement and he did.’

‘But you said it yourself, you mean nothing to him.’

She flinches again.

‘I mean, I can try to talk to him, but I can’t promise you anything.’

‘Thank you,’ she smiles. ‘That’s all I ask.’

‘Well, like I said, I have somewhere to be so–’

You don’t get to finish the sentence, ‘cause you’re cut off by a panicked Jude who storms into the apartment, followed by an equally panicked Mark.

‘Babe?’

Thank the heavens he’s here.

///

You wake up in the middle of the night to find Jude’s side of the bed empty. At first you think he’s in the bathroom, but when five minutes pass and he’s not back, the panic sets in. You grab your phone off of the bedside table to check the time: 2:38.

Where the hell is he?

You sit up and search the dark room for traces of him, but there’s nothing—only his phone on the bedside table.

It’s been hours since your confrontation with Coralie, but you’re yet to process it all. You’re still in shock at the fact that she rocked up at your door the way she did, but you’d be lying if you said the conversation wasn’t cathartic.

‘Jude?’

You push the covers away and climb off of the bed. After you locate your house shoes, you set out to find him.

His phone is here, so he shouldn’t be far.

‘Jude?’

As you make your trek down the short passage, you hear soft chatter coming from the TV room. When you turn the corner, you find Jude sitting on the couch, his long legs stretched out in front of him, feet resting on the coffee table.

A smile takes over your face at the sight of him.

‘Hey, you,’ he greets you as you crawl into his lap.

‘Hi,’ you tuck your face in the crook of his neck and inhale his scent. ‘What are you watching?’

‘Pulp Fiction.’

Of course he is.

‘Why’re you up?’

You trace patterns on his t-shirt clad chest. ‘I woke up and you weren’t in bed. I panicked.’

He tightens his arms around you, ‘Why?’

‘I don’t know,’ you sit up. ‘This pregnancy has me acting weird.’

‘Yeah, blame it on the pregnancy,’ he teases.

‘Shut up,’ you shift to straddle him. ‘Why are you sitting here alone?’

His hands settle on your waist, ‘I didn’t want to wake you.’

There’s still so much to discuss in terms of Coralie and her claims, but tonight just isn’t the time for that.

‘Do you think we’ll ever be okay again?’

‘Yeah,’ he takes your mouth into a deep kiss.

‘Come to bed with me,’ you whisper against his lips, moaning when he slips a hand between you, teasing his fingers through your slick folds.

‘I don’t think we’ll make it to bed.’

///

Tagged:

@luv4bellingham

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham scenario #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x you #Jude Bellingham one shot #Jude Bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham fanfiction #Jude Bellingham scenarios

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spencerreidswifey-13 · 1 day

Text

The Locket

You and Spencer had been working together forever, had known each-other so long you felt closer to him than your own relatives. You knew you loved him, he knew he loved you; so what was the problem?

The problem was neither of you guys were brave enough to say it out loud, afraid the other might not reciprocate.

Whenever Hotch gave orders you always made sure to pair up with him, whenever the team was laughing he was the first person you would look at. You always had your mind on him. So when Hotch needed you to pick a person to find an old file with you, you jumped at the opportunity to spend time with Spencer alone.

“Hey y/n, so we’re looking for the Booker case?” Spencer said as you were walking down the hall into the filing room.

“Yup, the ‘67 one. That’s if we can find it though.” You laugh wryly and Spencer gives you a tight lipped smile in response.

You walk into the room and he shuts the door behind you, Spencer immediately goes to find the shelves that hold the cases from the 60’s (not sure if that’s how the FBI actually organizes it but just go with it). You just watched as his beautiful hands gloss over the labels, his shiny brown hair falling over his eyes.

“Well I think this is going to be harder than I thought. I can’t find it I…I don’t know where else it would be.” He said.

“We’ll find it, its gotta be somewhere here. Maybe it was labelled wrong?” You got a light “hmph” from Spencer. You continued looking.

It had been almost an hour and a half of looking through old boxes. Files were scattered all over the floor and you were starting to get tired and overwhelmed, you could tell Spencer was getting frustrated.

“This is dumb and I’m getting coffee, want something?” You asked.

“No that’s okay, no one gets my copious amounts of sugar right.” He laughes then rubs his eyes and continues pouring over files.

You kept looking, taking occasional breaks and having deep conversations ranging anywhere from star trek to is-there-a-god?

He loved talking to you

You came back ten minutes later with two cups in your hand, one for you and one for Spencer.

“Here.” You hand it to him. “I made sure to fill the cup with sugar before the coffee, should be enough. I really hope it is because if it isn’t you are insane and need help.” You joke as he takes a sip and laughs.

“Perfect.”

“Good.”

A heavy silence filled the room, not awkward or unwelcome but peaceful; just enjoying each others company.

You continued search for another thirty minutes, and still nothing. You were about to give up and leave when Spencer started to speak.

“I like your locket.”

“Huh-oh! Thanks, sorry. Just a bit zoned out.”

“who’s inside it?”

“sorry?”

“who’s photo is in your locket”

“Oh no one’s yet, I just wear it because I think it looks pretty” You say

Theres a pause as you stand up and scour the last shelf to check.

“Wait I found it! Someone put it in the 90’s shelf with double homicides, idiot.”

You go to open the door and give to Hotch but a voice stopped you dead in your tracks.

“Can you put me in your locket?”

huh?

“Uhm, sure…Can I ask why?”

Another pause. You think you’re not getting an answer so you turn again but Spencer finally continues.

“Because I love you.”

Oh?

“Wait you..sorry? I-I don’t understand I..”

“I love you y/n, I’m just sorry I didn’t say it earlier”

The next thing you know your lips are crashing onto his, his hands trail up to your h/l, h/c hair. Your hands start to explore as you trace the hemline of his shirt, one of his hands lowers to hold your hip. The kiss gets more passionate and you can’t help but feel like you’re dazed, in a REM like phase.

You pull away but he goes right back for another kiss. This one was different, more sincere. No trace of desperation or lust, just love. Pure love and admiration.

You both stop and look at each other.

“Do you know how long i’ve wanted to do that?” Spencer says, a little out of breath.

“Maybe. I’d assume probably the same amount of time I’ve been waiting too.”

You smile and he laughs.

“We should really get these to Hotch.” You say with a deep blush on your face and swollen lips.

“Sure”

You gave the file to Hotch, he gives you his thanks for finally finding the missing papers. Spencer is waiting for you outside his office.

“I know what happened what cut short but, do you maybe want to go for a walk or something after work? I know a really good ice cream place…” He suggests.

“I’d love that. Thank you Spence.”

“Don’t thank me, I’ve always wanted to.”

Always wanted to.

The next day you printed out a photo of you and Spencer and the aforementioned “really good ice cream place”, and put it in your locket.

The End.

Authors Note:

Ok guys first story how do we feel..? i def didn’t proof read this so if it’s ass just know i dont even know what happened either lmao

idrk if i like it or nah but lmk if you have any ideas or requests :)

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid #fluff #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #y/n #romance #cute shit #pookie #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst

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everybodyshusband · 1 day

Text

teaching a skill

mushy may ; day twenty two !! (approx. 860 words)

read under the cut or on ao3 :)

Aeon flops down dramatically onto the couch, only narrowly avoiding clocking his head on Mountain’s blanket-covered hip bone. “I’m so bored.”

Mountain hums. “Want to sit with me and read, bug? You can come under the blanket with me,” he sing-songs.

“Nooo,” Aeon moans. “I’m so hungry I can’t focus on anything which makes me bored but I can’t do anything because I’m hungry.” He glances up at Mountain and whacks his shoulder when he sees the earth ghoul smirking. “Don’t laugh at me, Mounty, I’m dying.”

Mountain sighs and puts his book down. “You wanna help me cook something then? I was going to make brownies later but I can make them now to give you something to snack on.”

“Please!” Aeon practically yells. “I’m gonna starve to death…”

“Come on. Up you get, buggy.” Mountain stands up and holds his hands out, pulling Aeon to his feet and leading him over to the kitchen. Aeon stands and watches as Mountain opens up drawers and cupboards, pulling out bowls, measuring cups, assorted ingredients and his old beat-up recipe book. “Alright, all we have to do is follow this recipe and then in about an hour, we’ll have some delicious brownies for you to eat. Are you ready?”

Aeon nods but… “I’ve never baked anything before, I– I don’t really know how to do it.”

“Hey, that’s alright,” Mountain assures him. “I’ll help you. I’ll set up the scales for you while you have a flick through the book and find the brownie recipe. I’ll be under the sweets category.”

Aeon shoots him a thumbs up and picks up the book. It’s one that Mountain has compiled himself from magazine cutouts and handwritten recipes, some passed down from the ghouls that came before him and some new creations from the earth ghoul’s own mind. By the time he’s located the brownie recipe, Mountain has set up the scales and is already beginning to measure out the flour; it’s no surprise to Aeon that Mountain remembers the measurements by heart, brownies are a once a week occurrence at least in their pack.

“Ah, perfect, thanks, Ae. Do you want to take over from here? I’ll be here helping the whole time.”

Aeon nods. “Yeah, sure. Thank you, Mounty.”

He gets a pat on the back and a kiss on the top of his head in response. “You’re welcome, bug. Now c’mon, Dew messaged and asked if I could make him something to eat. Lazy bastard doesn’t want to lift a finger and bake them himself even after I told him he could do it himself if he wanted them that badly.” Aeon turns to Mountain, eyebrow raised. “Fine,” the earth ghoul relents. “I said I’d be happy to and that I love him very much and did he want sprinkles and melted chocolate on his brownies?”

Aeon snorts. “That’s more like it,” he laughs. “I was getting worried for a second there, Mount.”

From there, the time passes quickly. Mountain jumps in to help or give advice whenever the quintessence ghoul asks for it, but for the most part, Aeon is doing well without too much guidance. The only real trouble comes when it’s time to decorate them; Aeon has no idea how to do that without messing up all his hard work by making them look atrocious.

“That’s half the fun,” Mountain argues. “Plus it’s endearing if they look a bit shit, and personally I think they taste better if they don’t look all fancy,” he confesses. “We’re only dripping on melted chocolate, you’ll be fine, I promise. Here, watch me do the first tray and you can copy that for the second, yeah?”

“Yeah, sounds good. Thanks, Mount.” Aeon watches intently as Mountain dips his spoon in the melted chocolate and picks up a decent amount of tempered chocolate on the end of it. The earth ghoul spins it around to stop the chocolate from dripping and Aeon is surprised that when Mountain reaches the tray of brownies he just… goes for it. The chocolate drips every which way and covers the brownies in a messy drizzle that Aeon can’t deny looks absolutely delicious. When it’s his turn, he does the same, opting for a slightly more uniform pattern than Mountain’s but the earth ghoul assures him the slab still looks more than edible. The two of them take it in turns with the container of sprinkles, covering their squares in the colourful blobs.

They cut the trays into brownie-sized pieces and compile both batches into one big container, making sure to set some aside for the two of them—and Dew. At a nod from Mountain, Aeon grabs one out of the container and takes a big bite, eyes widening in delight at the flavour. “I made that,” he says with his mouth still full. “I made that and it tastes so good!”

Mountain grins taking a bite of his own brownie “Yeah you did! It’s really good, well done!”

Aeon smiles widely, stuffing the rest of the brownie into his mouth gleefully. “We gotta go find Dew,” he urges. “I wanna go brag that I can cook and he can’t!”

#mushy may #day twenty two !!#aeon ghoul #mountain ghoul #nameless ghouls #the band ghost #husband ficlets

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sseomtada · 1 day

Text

being [ruben dias]

a stunning revelation only drives you and ruben closer.

warnings: 18+ | wc: 6212 | 7/8

You shook off your surprise after a beat to give her a hug.

“I had to come and see you at some point.” She squeezed your shoulders. “You haven’t been back in months.”

It was difficult to not feel a bit guilty. Prior to moving to Manchester and because your office wasn’t even half an hour away from your home, you’d frequently go back to visit her. Even though things had been going pretty much nonstop in your new city, you could’ve at least made a weekend trip to drop by.

“I’m sorry, I know Jason must be driving you crazy with his antics.” You tried to joke to lighten the mood.

“Maluco…he misses you too.” Her head shook.

You wheeled the bag she’d brought along with her inside and told her to make herself comfortable. The way your blood was rushing and your heartbeat was pounding felt like you were in danger of passing out.

Your only option was to let her in. What else could you do? Be vague about the situation and tell her to come back later because you had some male company over? Judging by the looks of her, she was fresh from the airport. Also important to note was that your mom definitely expected to stay with you during however long her visit was, so she didn’t have a hotel reservation lined up either.

What would you do about Ruben? Your eyes darted to your phone on the coffee table. If you could distract her for a while, maybe you could successfully sneak him out of here without her noticing. It wouldn’t be the first time you and him had to complete such a mission.

“I’ll put on some of that tea you like.” You swiped the device and took it with you to the kitchen.

Luckily, due to your inability to have dishes lingering around, the two plates and glasses you’d used for dinner had already been thrown into the dishwasher. His shoes were also tucked into the cabinet by your doorway. What other evidence of him…

You bit down on a gasp, eyes widening to turn back to your living room. Where the fuck was his shirt? It wasn’t on the sofa where your mom was sitting as far as you could see. Though it could be tangled in the blanket at the other end. You said a silent prayer that she didn’t get too chilly and worked on brewing her tea even faster to prevent that.

In the meantime, you cracked open your phone to see that Ruben had already sent you a message.

Is that your mom…?

Yes 😭

You jumped at the sound of a faint notification pin. With a deep breath, you steeled your nerves as much as possible. If anything, she’d probably assume it was your device going off and not think anything was awry.

We’re gonna have to whip out Project Switcharoo. You remember it?

Of course, I invented it.

Despite the absolute absurdity of the situation, you managed to crack a smile. Ruben was always a respectful and upstanding person. When two teenagers were in love, though, it was hard to accept things like not having boys in your room after dark.

He came up with a plan that was like the classic method of pickpocketing - a bait and switch scenario. For tonight’s occasion, it would look something like this. While she was occupied, he would sneak his way up to your guest bathroom to clear out the bedroom. You’d then take her to your room to show her around, pulling her to the window where the doorway wasn’t visible and allowing him to swiftly make a break for it.

Don’t forget to fix the bed.

Got it. What about my shirt?

You might have to steal one of my hoodies.

The kettle whistled, starting the timer on your mission. Once the tea was fixed and he saw you cross over from the kitchen to the living room, he’d start making his way to phase one. You did up her cup just the way she liked it, took another steadying breath and made your way over.

“You usually hate taking night flights, why didn’t you come earlier?” Your hands shook slightly as you handed her the beverage.

She took a slow sip of her tea, gaze not meeting yours. The fine hairs on the back of your neck stood up. Having lived with your mom for most of your life, you could automatically tell when something was off.

From you saw her at the door and she didn’t greet you half as excitedly as she did on phone calls, you felt it. You tried to battle that notion by rationalizing that you were being extra paranoid because she’d shown up during literally the last moment you’d want her to. It was impossible to ignore now, especially given how long she was taking to answer your question.

“Is everything okay?” You could feel your throat swelling.

“That’s what I came to ask you.” She finally spoke.

Your mom sighed and rested the cup of tea onto the side table. She reached into her purse to pull out her phone. This wasn’t an impromptu drop by driven by your extended absence after all. You knew what it was - an intervention.

Her screen lit up your view as she slid the device onto your lap. There was a screenshot of an Instagram post and in it was a photo of you and Ruben. It was taken on the night of the Nike launch party. You flipped to the next image in her folder. Someone with crazy zoom had caught you two walking towards his car at City’s training grounds.

There were no words. Your mind first went to the conversation Ruben and you had earlier about how much media attention he got, the fact that there was already news out there concerning you two. It was unnerving to actually be staring at the proof of that.

Then came the guilt. The last thing you wanted was for her to find out through the grapevine that you were back together with him. Whether she’d come across it by chance, was sent the post or actively went looking for it didn’t matter. You should’ve been the one to break the news.

And lastly, fear. Her flying out here as soon as she found out meant that she was absolutely not pleased and potentially worried about the state of your mental health. She couldn’t be blamed for that. Any mother that saw their daughter go through what you did after the breakup would have the same reaction to seeing you with the man that put you there.

“Ruben and I are dating again.” You admitted. “We talked it over and decided to give things a chance.”

Your mom scoffed. “See, this is why I had to come. Do you hear yourself? You’re, what, dating him? After everything he put you through?”

Although you anticipated her being upset, you didn’t expect the backlash to be this severe. It honestly took you by surprise. You gave her back her phone and stood, needing some distance from the anger she was radiating.

“I don’t expect you to be happy about it. All I ask is that you trust me and my decision, and not belittle either.” Your voice was even despite everything you felt.

She spoke to you as if you were some thoughtless, naive child. God knows you didn’t just take him back without considering every outcome, especially the worse case scenario. If shit went badly between you two again, you were ready to take accountability.

“I do trust you.” Her tone was less combative. “But do I trust your decision? I can’t…you’ve never been able to think straight when it came to that boy.”

It felt like you’d been punched in the gut. You didn’t think it was unreasonable of you to ask for her not to act as if you were being trivial. The fact that she was speaking to you like you were still the same person that you were seven years ago was hurtful, and quite frankly, insulting.

“My mind is as clear as it’s ever been.” You sighed, growing resigned with this conversation.

She wasn’t though, “No, it isn’t. If you had any common sense left, you wouldn’t be caught dead with him!”

“Mom-“ Your gasp was cut short.

With the unexpected, heated exchange, you’d forgotten all about Ruben still being in the apartment. That was until he made his was out of hiding, clearly having overheard it all. Thankfully he had found your pile of oversized hoodies to cover up. You didn’t know how many more insults you could take tonight.

“I’m sorry.” Ruben made his presence known. “We - I should’ve reached out to you first.”

Your mom spun slowly to look at him. It was a searing, scrutinizing leer that even had you shivering. You’d never seen her take in anyone that way. To his credit, he didn’t cower beneath her glare. He looked like he was ready to accept whatever vitriol she had for him.

“This is exactly what I mean.” She laughed ruefully, pointing between you two.

You were about to tell her to stop when he shook his head.

“Was this your plan all along?” Her question was directed at him. “Were you lying when you promised me you’d-“

Ruben’s eyes were wide with shock and…something you couldn’t quite place. It appeared to be worry, but not for himself. The way she stopped short of her barrage didn’t sit well with you either.

You watched as they seemed to have some nonverbal exchange. At that point, it became obvious that something had happened between them. Something you didn’t know about. Did she confront him after the break up? What promise was she talking about?

“What’s going on?” You asked Ruben directly.

He became a man that was visibly torn, eyes darting between yours and your mom’s. The decision of whether or not he should say anything weighed heavy on his conscience.

You turned to her instead, “Mom, what are you talking about?”

Instead of being met with all the fire you faced before, she bore a similar downcast demeanor as him. Her head hung as she placed her hands to her waist. It was a telltale sign that whatever you were about to find out wasn’t going to look good on her part.

“I’ll leave you two to talk.” Ruben made his way to leave. “When you’re ready, call me.”

Your head was spinning with how much had happened in such a short period of time. How did your night go from tickle fights, to cooking up an escape plan and now to being on the verge of hearing about a conversation kept hidden from you for nearly a decade?

She sat back down on the sofa, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do the same. Instead, you found yourself pacing back and forth while your mom quietly worked through whatever was eating away at her.

“Please just…tell me.” You couldn’t stomach the silence anymore.

Her voice was barely audible as she finally confessed, “The reason Ruben broke up with you is because I asked him to.”

september 15th 2017

Ruben

He was brimming with excitement. All of the sacrifices he’d made, every second of commitment, it was all coming into fruition. His coach told him after practice that he was going to debut for the first team during the match tomorrow.

The first person he wanted to tell was you. You’d been by his side since the literal beginning, when his dream of becoming a footballer was just that - a fantasy. Having you in his life made a journey that broke so many others more than tolerable. He trained and played with your support always at the forefront of his mind.

Ruben bounded his way up the steps to your place and stopped short. Your mom stood with her back facing him, a trail of smoke floating into the air. That was new. Or maybe it was an old habit she indulged in from time to time. When she became aware of being there, the cigarette landed under her shoe.

“I’ve been caught,” Her teeth flashed. “Don’t tell Y/N.”

“Your secret is safe with me.” His fingers zipped across his lips.

She nodded in appreciation. There was clearly something on her mind. He knew that life hadn’t been the easiest for her or you and couldn’t imagine how lonely it must’ve been sometimes. That was why he made himself available to help out as much as he could’ve, if only to lessen the burdens a bit.

“Does she ever talk about her father?” The question she asked confirmed his suspicion.

You never brought him up, in fact. Given that, he didn’t feel as if it was his place to pry. Ruben had heard through the grapevine of neighborhood gossips about his absence and how you didn’t even know who he was.

“She doesn’t.” He replied.

Your mom looked up at the sky, “That’s understandable. You see…”

Ruben found himself listening to the missing pieces that not even you knew. She told him about how they’d met when she was sixteen and that she immediately fell for him - a young, budding football star.

It wasn’t because she was getting attention from someone so coveted, but because he actually saw her the way she’d always craved to be seen. So when he moved to a new team in another country to further pursue his career, she followed along.

She left everything behind. Her family, friends and education. Her dream became seeing his come true. When it did, they were both in the happiest stage of their relationship. And then at nineteen, she found out that she was pregnant with you.

The life she wanted was all coming into place. She thought the next step would be welcoming their baby, getting married and maybe having a few more to fill up their home. What she got instead was abandonment. He didn’t want any of that, or you.

Her parents had warned her that it would happen, but she casted their concerns aside as unfair judgment on his part. They didn’t see her like he did. Moving back in with them after what had happened wasn’t possible given the way they’d left things.

“I see so much of myself in her.” Your mom smiled. “She looks at you the same way I used to look at her dad.” Ruben understood why she was telling him all of this. It was obvious that she was scared you were following the same path and would end up in the same predicament. He didn’t take any offense to her perhaps believing that he was capable of doing the same thing.

“I love her, a lot.” His cheeks rose quickly. “More than I ever knew was possible.”

When he used to think about love, he always tried to rationalize it - to make it make sense. It was only after he realized that he felt that towards you that he came to know the emotion was something that couldn’t be explained. Even saying those words didn’t feel like enough to encompass the spectrum of moments that all combined to make him experience what could only be verbally express in such a limited capacity.

“That’s good because it means you’ll do anything for her.” She nodded.

“Yeah, I would.” He breathed. See, where was the rationale behind something like that?

“I need you to break up with her. She’s too dependent on you and it’ll ruin her in the long run.”

If words could render him speechless and knock him off his feet, those were the ones that would be able to do so. He couldn’t quite believe that was what she said at first. His mind instantly went into denial mode, because surely she was joking. When he stared back at unflinching eyes, he knew that she was being dead serious.

“I…can’t do that, respectfully.” Ruben shook his head.

You might see him in a light that sometimes is admittedly pressuring, making him wonder if he could live up to be that man you painted him out to be in your mind. That didn’t worry him though. If anything, he wanted to keep trying to prove to himself, and you, that he could be.

Beside that, you were strong in your own right. He’d never met anyone who took advantage of every little opportunity they received and made the most out of them. Even in your darkest moments, he saw the determination in you to not want to quit. You inspired him.

“I’m not going to stand by and watch her destroy herself like I did. You’re the only one who can prevent that.” He saw that same persistence in the gaze he got. “The choice is yours. Will it be you or me?”

Ruben thought he understood what this conversation was about in the beginning, but he’d read it all wrong. He only now grasped that she was giving him an ultimatum of sorts. One where there was no real decision for him to make, it was a catch 22.

If he didn’t break up with you, then your mom would abandon you just like your father did to you both. He would have to live with knowing that he was the reason why you had no blood ties left in your life, a notion that was breaking him even in hypotheticals.

Since he quickly realized that he had no choice, he began to reframe it in a way that didn’t hurt as much. The only loser in this situation would be him. You’d be hurt at first, maybe devastated, but you’d have people around you to help you through it. He would just have to figure out a way to deal with his own pain, perhaps starting with taking solace in knowing that he didn’t rob you of your only family.

“Promise me you’ll do the right thing.” Your mom looked back at him as she approached the door.

She lingered there until the words begrudgingly left his lips, “I promise.”

o presente

Everything burned.

Your eyes and nose, your heart itself. Sure, you’d experienced heartbreak before but it was child’s play compared to what was wreaking havoc in your soul - betrayal. Never in a million years did you ever expect the reason behind your breakup to be your own mother.

The person sitting in front of you crying tears of her own was a foreign entity. You failed to recognize the woman that baked you cakes, taught you dance routines and held you at your lowest.

How could she do that to you? Did she think that forcing Ruben to do something so cruel was the way to express the deep love she supposedly had for you? Or was it some fucked up trauma response to the past she never dealt with?

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Your mom sniffed. “I regret all the pain I caused because of that night.”

What you were going through now felt a thousand, a million times worse than then. There was no denial to turn to for even a second of hope. This ugly, soul crushing truth bared its jagged teeth and was ripping away your flesh.

“It shouldn’t have happened, but I can’t take it back.” She continued. “All I could’ve done was to be there for you to help you through it, praying that you came out stronger and you did.”

“Are you serious? How could you even think that was right?” You sobbed.

It was all loud and clear to you. She regretted putting you through hell, but she didn’t regret actually doing it. Despite watching you break down for weeks, she still believed that what she made him do somehow helped you. She wasn’t sorry that she did it, she was sorry that she got caught - that you finally found out the truth.

“I-“ You bit your lip to suppress another snivel. “I need some space. You can stay here tonight, but I want you gone tomorrow.”

The most messed up part was that saying those words hurt you even more. Even though she was the one who put you both in this situation, you felt like the bad guy for asserting a rightful boundary. Those blissful memories you had of her hadn’t suddenly evaporated into nothing.

You took your phone and keys, and left her in your apartment. An aching uncertainty hung over your head. You were unsure how long you’d need before you could even look at her again without feeling such overwhelming disappointment.

Aki’s blanket slipped from her head as soon as she took in the state of you stood in her doorway. It had to be deja vu all over for her again, how many times have you done this? Why was life continuously throwing blow after blow at your gut?

“Do you have any whiskey?” Your inquiry sprang her into action.

She shuffled over to the kitchen and brought out one of her biggest bottles along with two glasses. You didn’t have the stomach anymore for straight liquor, but you’d needed it to calm the raging sea of emotions.

Her eyes were wiped clean of any traces of slumber once she joined you on the sofa. You immediately poured two fingers and threw it back. And then doubled that.

“Woah, let’s…get to the part where you tell me what brought this on before you black out.” Aki pulled the bottle towards her.

“Seven years ago, my mother made Ruben promise he’d break up with me.” You laughed humorlessly.

It was weird watching her expression go through several shifts within the span of a few seconds. That must’ve been what you looked like from the other perspective too once you found out.

She topped up and threw back her own glass before asking you to shed light on that very stupefying statement. You filled her in starting from the pretext. All about your mom’s past and what your dad did to her.

How she told Ruben all of this on the night prior to issuing him a task so abhorrent that you still were coming to grips with fathoming it. Aki appeared to be just as woeful as you were upon the discovery.

Similar to this wound being repeatedly ripped open for you, it was for her. Your mother was like a her second one. So many days and nights were filled with the three of you laughing, dancing and crying together. She spent so much time lamenting Ruben, more than you by far, for what he’d done. And just as you were now, she felt guilty for it.

“I feel like I’ve brought so much chaos into your life and I’m sorry for it all.” You sipped the alcohol slower this time.

“Don’t do that.” Aki objected. “None of this is your fault. I’m sorry that she did this to you, Y/N. God, I can’t imagine how you feel right now.”

She pulled you in. You were so sick of crying, but you couldn’t stop yourself. Tears flowed hot and fresh, especially when you felt her own sobs racking through her body. You patted her back, lips trembling as you fought the urge to apologize again.

There was nothing to say. You were all victims of one person’s action born of insecurity. It fucking sucked, but there wasn’t much either of you could do about it now. All that was left was for you to be there for one another, to work through the pile of shit you’d been handed until you could see the ground again.

When you woke up the following day, you found that your request had been met. Your apartment was free and clear as you learned via text. Boarding my flight back. Again, I’m sorry Y/N.

You weren’t in the mood to unpack all of that again right now. The first thing you did was change into some workout clothes to head to the gym for a run. While the activity didn’t entirely clear your mind, your focus did find itself pulled more in the direction of your burning muscles than your stormy mind.

After you showered, you threw a bagel in the toaster and hopped into the shower. You forced yourself to munch on that in between massive gulps of water. The whiskey was fighting back and paired with the emotional exhaustion you felt, it was best to take the day off.

Aki and Cindy told you not to worry about work, they’d hold down the fort. You were more grateful towards them now than you’d ever been. Just don’t drink the last of my favorite coffee pods, you warned in the group chat.

You reclined onto your sofa and put on a random mix of recommended YouTube videos. No media would provide the distraction you truly needed, but it was nice to have some background noise. The cushion under your head wasn’t laying the way you wanted to, so you adjusted and felt the obstruction.

It was Ruben’s shirt. The one you had on was replaced with his before you curled up. Your mind couldn’t help but wonder what this meant now for you and him. Of course, you still wanted to be with Ruben. How did it impact him though?

He must’ve been back in that same headspace he was in when they had that exchange. Was he wondering whether or not she had issued the same choice to you after he left? Even though she didn’t and you were holding off on communicating with her for a while, you didn’t want him to think that you were giving up on a relationship with your mom because of him.

You weren’t completely shutting her out of your life, but at the current moment, you just couldn’t see how you would ever trust her again. The relationship you had with her would never be the same, and fault solely rested on her part.

You couldn’t imagine how awful this whole thing must’ve been for him. He sacrificed being with you and the way others looked at him. Even when he gave you the supposed reason he’d broken up with you, he still protected her. You wanted to be so angry at him for doing that, but it was no fairer than the order he’d received from your mom.

Ruben had never changed. He remained the person you knew that put the wellbeing of those he loved often above his own, the person who shielded them from pain - even if it meant inflicting some and becoming the one they hated. It was all so unfair to him and you refused to spend a second longer without letting him know that.

“Can I come over?” You asked after he picked up on the first ring.

“Yeah.” His voice was rough.

As soon as you crossed his threshold, you launched yourself at him and hugged him tight. He was stunned at first, but your embrace was returned with the same magnitude. You buried your face deep into his chest.

“I’m sorry.” Your tone was muted.

“Don’t apologize.” Ruben stroked your hair. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I-“

You shushed him. His response was expected, you knew that he was going to tell you not to apologize and that it wasn’t your fault but his. There was nothing he could’ve done about the situation, you didn’t blame him.

“I’m saying that because you deserve to hear it.” You looked into his eyes. “No one should have to be put through that and carry the burden of it for so long.”

Ruben didn’t fight you on that because you both know that you were right. He placed his chin on top of your head again and held you for a moment longer before he pulled you to sit down with him.

“So, you know everything?” His index finger drew circles on your knee.

You nodded, “I do.”

“Is there anything else you want to ask me?” Ruben left the door open.

A lot had actually crossed your mind while you were left reeling from the whole ordeal. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the answers to the things you needed to hear most. There was one thing though.

“What changed?” You bit your lip. “Why did you try to get me back now and not before then?”

The message he’d sent you asking if your number was still the same could’ve came a year, or two, maybe even three ago. You were curious as to what made him want to throw caution to the wind after all this time.

“I tried holding on to the promise I’d made…even when it felt like I was suffocating. It was easy, sometimes, because I justified going along with it through telling myself that I’d chosen the lesser of two evils.” Ruben expressed. “When I moved here, the distance made things somewhat bearable - knowing that there was no chance I’d run into you.”

“Until you nearly did.” A grin flashed across your face as you recalled that rainy evening.

“It all came flooding back to me then.” He smiled too. “Everything that you were to me, everything that you were supposed to be. I felt like I would go mad if I kept ignoring what you meant and still mean to me. I had to at least try.”

If this was a movie, you’d think fate was behind your reunion. Even in reality that was kind of hard to deny. What were the chances that he would see you randomly on the street, or be a part of your first project in some way? Whatever was in charge pulling the strings behind the scenes was more determined than either of you to bring you both here today.

“I’ve got to say, that was a massive gamble on your part.” You cupped his cheek.

Timing was everything. When you thought about it, had he reached out to you via message prior to you seeing him in person, you didn’t think you’d receive it well. The cards had to be played very specifically for you to end up at this moment.

“Not to me. I told you, I loved you then and I never stopped.” Ruben stroked your ear. “I love you, Y/N.”

After everything that you’d been through together, hearing him say those words impacted you on a completely different level. They’d always meant so much, but now they contained it all - the entirety of your shared history. Him choosing you from the very first day you’d met, doing the same even when it meant breaking your heart and again as he fought to get you back.

Your brows met, eyes welling as you told him, “I love you too.”

The way he kissed you struck in a whole new way as well. It was adoration unobstructed and unrestrained. His lips moving over and between yours exhibited just how free he felt with the burden of a long kept secret no longer weighing him down.

Every touch was completed with the utmost undertaking. Ruben’s hand splayed over your thighs and stomach, flattening, digging into your skin. Desperate not to miss a single inch. He removed his shirt from your frame and lied you down.

You willed your heavy eyes to stay focused on him, your fingers disappearing into his thick hair. So beautiful, he kissed your navel. So perfect, his teeth grazed your hip bone. All mine, hips lips closed around the skin of your inner thigh.

What came next left the task of keeping him in your sights impossible. Your hand pressed into the cushion, back arching as you writhed beneath his skillful mouth that claimed your cunt. He held you sturdily, one hand caressing your lower back and the other pressing down on your abdomen.

It didn’t take much for you to come undone for him. He knew every direction and angle to take with his tongue to leave you drifting away. Like the anchor he was, Ruben didn’t let you float off too far.

His body molded to yours, heat becoming your own. You always found yourself wanting him endlessly, but that compulsion was stronger than ever. Still, you forced that hunger to subside for as long as possible to indulge in all that he was.

You traced his brow with your thumb and let your finger trail down until it met his lips. The curve of them were reverently memorized to the point where you were certain that you could recreate their image in clay with uncanny accuracy.

Ruben slid a hand between your legs to make your mouth fall open with a moan. It was what he wanted, to have your tongue accessible to his. They moved in tandem that built with intensity the more you shook and whined under his digits circling your clit.

His forehead pressed to yours as he looked down the narrow gap between your bodies. You followed suit and swallowed deeply at the sight. He had you glistening, swollen with readiness while his cock twitched achingly.

When he moved to touch it, your wrist caught him. Let me, you breathed. Your fingers wrapped around his thick, firm shaft and tugged upwards. His drawn out groan floated into your mouth, a slight hiss sucking it back as you swiped your thumb over the opening in his sensitive tip.

You were losing against yourself again. Just as you could no longer force your eyes to remain open, you could no longer hold back the need to have him inside you. Your hips angled, legs spreading even wider for his body to rest flush against yours.

As soon as you’d lined him up with your entrance, his hips pressed forward. You curled one arm around his shoulder and cupped the back of his head with the next. No adjustment was necessary, you ground into him eagerly . A call that was instantly answered.

Ruben thrusted into you deep, testing his limits. When he found that there was none - your legs locking around his waist, eyes rolling back and neck baring itself to him - he withdrew until almost completely out of you and did it again. And again. And again.

Don’t stop.

You like that?

Yes, please, more…

He gave it to you just as you wished. Long, hard, unrelenting strokes that breached your cervix. Tides were moving in quickly, threatening to whisk you away for a blinding moment. You were determined to take as much as you could before they could do so.

Your legs dropped, feet digging into the sofa. You used them for momentum to bring your hips to meet his drives, cunt consuming his cock in its entirety. The point you craved to reached had finally been met - where the pleasure was so overbearing that your mind began playing tricks on you to make you believe it was a fantasy.

But you knew it was real. Even as you succumbed to the waves that dragged you under, you knew you hadn’t imagined it. The cries that ripped their way from your throat and his praises told you so. Ruben’s face buried deep into your neck and his cock twitching as it filled you let you know that you’d climbed that impossible mountain.

In the stillness that followed, you begged him to stay. Your foot ran down the back of his muscled calf and your hands massaged his back while he caged you in his strong arms. For once, there were no afterthoughts.

You didn’t catch your mind wandering off to unknowns and what ifs. A sense of peace shrouded you just like his body was. Whatever tomorrow or the distant future brought no longer filled you with worry or fear. No matter what came along, you were at ease.

All you focused on was what was going on right now. Ruben’s chest rising and falling at a steady pace that matched your own, his hips still joined to yours, the feeling of his lips forming a smile against your cheek.

That was everything you needed.

#ruben dias #ruben dias fic #ruben dias imagine #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias x you

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lovebittenbyevans · 11 hours

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See No Shame | Part 2

Summary: You and Nanami were only seeing each other for three months. You eventually wanted more but of course they always say “don’t be someone second choice” in a man life.

Pairing: Billionaire! Nanami Kento x Female Reader

Warnings: cursed words

Author note: second part of this mini-series is here! I like writing for this. If you like you can reblog, comment but enjoy reading!

Part 2

Three months went by fast when you used to be around Nanami a lot. You didn’t care what he did and how rich he was at all. You just wanted to be around him all the time but now everything changes between you and him.

Sometimes you can't bring yourself to cry about him anymore even though your heart still beats for him. You tried to avoid him after he didn’t want to deal with you like that anymore but he only calls or texts you when she is not around.

For the past few weeks you only took shifts at the library when you thought it was necessary. You didn’t want to face Nanami again and cry about him some more.

You were trying so hard to get over he doesn’t feel the same about you but Tiffany kept sending you articles about him with Ariel nonstop. Of course Tiffany would send you a whole text message about how Ariel isn’t shit at all. You would laugh at anything she sends you with a comment.

Ignoring Nanami calls and text messages is all you have been doing for the last few days. You couldn’t bring yourself to cry about him anymore. You are regretting going to Yu Haibara party since he is Nanami's best friend.

You placed the gift you got for him on the table with a bunch of other gifts. “Don’t look now but Nanami is here with Ariel.” Tiffany whispers next to you.

You sigh and roll your eyes. “It seems like they came matching tonight.” She whispers to you again.

Fucking great

It shouldn’t be a surprise for you that Nanami was here at all. Yu and Nanami have always been close since their high school days. They always say fake it until you make it.

You made your way to the other side of the room as Tiffany followed right behind you. You greeted some people you knew but didn’t chat with them for long. You pour yourself some champagne into a tall clear glass cup as you hear a voice behind you. “Y/N and Tiffany.”

That whiny and flat voice, you only heard three times. “Ariel.” You gave Tiffany her tall clear glass cup as you turned around with a fake smile on your face.

“Wow, small world.” Tiffany clears her throat and takes a sip of her drink.

Ariel looks stunning wearing a purple body-con dress that shows her curves. You thought she was dressed up going to a club.

Ariel grabs tall clear glass from one of the butler’s who was handing them out on a tray. “How are you, Y/N?” She takes a swig of her drink.

“I’m good.” The only thing you said to her.

Tiffany jumps right in the conversation. “I’m good too. Work is killing me.”

Everyday you thank god for Tiffany because you have no idea where you would be without her.

You excuse yourself and walk around the place. You had to admit Yu always knew how to throw a party. You stop to admire one of the paintings on the wall when a raspy voice can be heard behind you. “Hello, Y/N.”

Suddenly your heart was racing fast as fuck.

Shit, Shit

“Yu, got that painting of his beautiful mom for Mother’s Day three years ago.” He says standing next to you.

You take another sip of your drink before speaking. “Hi and it’s beautiful.”

Nanami nods, placing both of his hands behind his back. “Hmm, I also want to say I–” You interrupted him as you locked eyes with him. “Don’t apologize. I am happy for you and Ariel.”

Fuck! It hurts for you to say that

A piece of your heart felt like it was being ripped apart again. You told yourself you had to say it in order to move on from him. You let out a breath while feeling a lump in your throat.

“Um. Thanks.” He muttered.

You squeezed his shoulder. “Happy looks good on you Nan.” You look at him again before making your way back to Tiffany.

You truly need to stop lying to yourself for once. For now you feel like a complete idiot when you know you didn’t mean those words to him.

You cough getting her attention, setting your empty tall glass down on the table. “I want to leave.” You hate the way you are feeling right now.

“Y/N, don’t take her away from me.” Gojo pouts while squeezing her cheeks with his palm.

You scoff and shake your head. “Nice to see you too, Gojo.” Sometimes you can't stand Gojo at all. He acts like a child half the time.

Tiffany gave him a kiss on the cheeks and followed right behind you out the front door. “What’s wrong? What did Nanami do? Is it Ariel?”

You let out a loud whine and start rambling. “I told him I was happy for his relationship.”

Tiffany smacks your arm playfully. “Now, why would you tell him that lie? We both know you are not over that man.”

You sigh. “I know. I know.”

She embraced you with a hug and rubs your back gently. “Look, I love you but you need to stop running away from him. Fuck Ariel.” She continues. “He doesn’t deserve you and he still can’t see it.”

You stood there listening to her as she pulled away from you. “Y/N, learn to feel your feelings then eventually brush it off.” Her eyes focused on you.

You understand what she was saying but it is hard for you to do that. You never saw yourself brushing off the feelings you have for this man. Your heart still beats for him and that’s scary.

“Oh my god.” You felt completely sick.

Tiffany hates seeing you like this over someone who just ended things with you three months ago. She never saw you act like this over guy before.

She opened her mouth to comment when you felt your phone vibrate against the pocket of your black jeans. You pull your phone out and a text message from Nanami on the screen.

Nanami: I don’t want you out of my life, Y/N

Nanami: I love you

Your eyes widened, those three words shocked you completely.

Is he serious?

“What happened?” Tiffany asked.

You turn your phone off and put it back in your black jeans pocket. “You can stay. I’ll just go home by myself.” You take the car keys out of her purse.

Tiffany gave you a side eye glance. “You sure?” She can see right through you that there was something you aren’t telling her.

“Yeah, tell gojo to take you home. I want to take a walk first.” You gave her a hug and then began walking down the block.

Taking your phone out of your pocket, you continue walking while rereading Nanami messages a couple of times. You notice three dots appear for a second and then he sends another message.

Nanami: let’s talk soon, I want to take you somewhere ❤️

30 notes · View notes

em-prentiss · 2 days

Text

I'II make a cup of coffee (with the right amount of sugar)

----

5 ways Emily takes her coffee, and the way she likes it best

He’s gotten used to the silence with her, deep and thick and in no hurry to be broken, but lately he’s been noticing things. Things like the shape of her lips and the deep brown of her eyes and the dimples that appear in her cheeks when she laughs with Morgan, lightly teases Reid.

Things that are inconvenient, to say the least.

(Or, 5 cups of coffee bringing Aaron and Emily closer)

Word count: 10.4k

----

1) Black and bitter

Emily had always been an avid drinker of coffee. It saved her in her college days, the bitterness of a dark roast digging into her teeth and chasing away her lasting hangovers enough for her to cram for her exams. She doesn’t drink it black anymore since her discovery of Splenda, but there are some times when she needs the bitterness; hangovers, and the dead of night when she knows sleeping is useless after a case.

Right now the latter calls her to the kitchenette in the BAU.

It’s mechanical, the way she waits for the coffee to brew and how she pours it into her mug with stiff, tired movements. She’s frowning down at it as she takes it back to her desk, not needing to look up to know her way because these days she’s here more than in her own home.

The case still swirls around in the crevices of her brain, creeping up on her like smoke. It slowly fills every corner of her head until all she can think about is the devastation on Mary’s face when they gave her the news, the way her husband had turned ashy white and gripped her to keep her from falling down, tears streaming down his frozen face before he could blink.

Emily shuts her eyes as she sits down, another rush of something climbing up her throat; guilt at her failure to stop another child being put in the ground, anger at the unsub, at herself, at her whole team and the uselessness of their profiling when it comes too late.

It all settles there like a lump. She blinks rapidly as she tries to swallow it down, but it’s enormous, clogging up her airways and choking her. Emily brings her coffee up to her lips. The bitterness somehow untangles the knot, shrinks the lump just a little so she can breathe, so she tips more of it back until she can feel it sloshing around in her empty stomach. She tries to focus on the way her tongue burns, her throat raw from the heat of the coffee, and blinks away the blurriness she tells herself is from the sting.

It’s not the first case to hit her this hard. It probably won’t be the last. But no matter how many times she does this, it never feels like routine. She’s thrown back every time by how hard it hits her, how long it takes to carefully pack it all into boxes and store them away. It’s painstaking, exhausting, and she can’t find energy for the boxes tonight, can’t tell herself it doesn’t hurt like hell, so she’s sticking to the next option—working herself to death.

This is familiar.

She turns on her computer, starts diligently filling out her reports. But the sound of Mary’s sobs still echoes as she holds her pen, the pictures of the children they hung on the whiteboard clear as day in her mind, as if they were laying right in front of her instead of the report she’s trying to fill out.

Coffee was a bad idea, she thinks as her hand starts to tremble, her body buzzing with something restless. The hard wood of her desk is unforgiving beneath her elbows, the edge of it digging into the flesh of her stomach until she feels the pressure on her ribs. The rigid back of her chair doesn’t give when she leans back against it and her throat suddenly closes up. Emily swallows and feels gravel in her throat, her heart jumping when she realizes she can’t breathe.

She abruptly stands up, her heart palpitating, and shoves away from her desk, computer still on, coffee mug growing cold.

She finds her feet carrying her to the shooting range. The building is silent as she makes her way to the range, no one there but her and the fluorescent lights lighting the hallways. Emily passes the gym and falters, a figure in the corner of her eye making her halt and walk back.

Hotch.

His white shirt is damp with sweat as he attacks a punching bag, hair shaken loose and falling into his forehead. The sound of the violent thuds of his fists against the bag sends her feet moving into the gym, almost without feeling it.

“Think you could give that a break?”

He startles and turns around.

Her voice is flat, almost bored, but when his eyes travel to her face he sees her demeanor is anything but. Shoulders tense, risen up to her ears, mouth tight and drawn. He briefly feels ice in his veins when her eyes meet his—wild, shining with something more than the fluorescent lights overhead.

Hotch feels a sudden need to avert his eyes from her. He knows he’s not supposed to see this; this is always carefully swept away, tucked beneath wry smiles and deliberately blank gazes. It’s been a year and yet she never cracks, never breaks, is always steady when the rest of them are shaky, but this case seems to have dug its claws deep into her.

Her form is already defensive—feet shoulder width apart, left in front of the right, her shoulders hunched and her hands in fists by her side. She tilts her chin in question; he knows what she’s asking for. He nods.

She’s gone to the changing rooms by the time he stills the bag and takes off his gloves, his harsh breaths echoing loudly in the deserted gym, his heart racing a mile a minute. He hears it rush in his ears, so loud he almost doesn’t hear her come back, her footsteps thudding quietly against the floor.

He follows her to the mats on the far side of the gym, feeling a swirl of concern when she turns to face him, her eyes avoiding his. Her skin is almost sickly against the stark black of her gym clothes and the harsh lighting above them. He barely nods before she lunges at him.

Hotch side steps quickly, just barely avoiding a fist to the ribs. He retaliates and tries to match her pace, but she’s too fast, darting in front of him in a blur of white and black. She ducks to avoid his punch, bounces back on the balls of her feet and tries to ram her elbow into his stomach. Her breaths echo loudly as she starts backing him against the wall, her eyes eerily glassy. She doesn’t even see Hotch anymore; he has the same hard, shadowed line of the unsub’s jaw and she’s back in the interrogation room, mouth tight as he tapped his fingers on the table, his hands cuffed together as he leered at her.

Hotch’s knee finds its mark in her stomach.

Emily grunts and he falters. “Are you okay?” He pants as she bends over, the sharp edges of her shoulder blades poking through the stretchy material of her shirt. “We can stop—”

“I’m fine,” she straightens and raises her fists up to her cheeks again. He doesn’t get the chance to ask again before she lunges at him again. But her movements are too frantic, thoughtless. She throws punches recklessly, not caring where they land or what they hit. They don’t hit anything but air, and when Hotch catches her fist in his palm, halting her exhausted arm, she wants to choke out a sob.

She lets out a huff of air instead, tries to pull her hand free. Hotch holds it tighter and waits until her aggravated gaze meet his. “Emily.” He says quietly. She stills. Rough exhales escape through her parted lips, loud and echoing, making her shoulders heave. “There was nothing we could’ve done.”

Emily tugs her hand out of his grip. Why are you here then? She wants to bite out, the too calm look in his eyes making her feel frazzled, out of control. The blood runs hot in her veins, rushes loudly in her ears and makes her skin itch. She almost forgets herself, almost says something scathing and definitely involving his son, but then she sees it.

His own mask slips, just a little. Emily’s eyes suddenly see the rapid beating of his pulse and the tense corner of his mouth, the blankness of his gaze hiding a deep roiling pain just underneath.

“Why aren’t you home?” She asks instead.

Oh, a multitude of reasons; a house that’s no longer his, a stiff hotel bed, his son miles away.

“Couldn’t sleep.” He says shortly. “You should try, though.”

His eyes are too piercing. Her skin prickles and she drops her gaze, fixing it instead on the quick rise and fall of his chest. His skin is damp, his collar a little transparent, and she finds herself dropping her gaze from that, too.

She’s also seeing something she’s not supposed to see.

Emily nods, even as she knows she’ll toss and turn the remainder of the night. “Yeah. Night,” she finally meets his eyes again. Hotch gives her a small nod and she walks back to the changing rooms, holding her shoulders stiffly as her vision begins to blur.

She goes back to her dark apartment and he goes to his bare hotel room, both of them lying awake after cold showers, blank eyes fixed on somehow identical ceilings. There is no acknowledgment in their gazes the next morning, no nod to their late night or concerned eyes lingering over purplish dark circles.

But after that, almost imperceptibly, things begin to shift.

2) With a dash of cinnamon

She’s always loved fall. To her it was freedom; going away to college, to boarding school, far away from the watchful eyes of her mother, where she could finally let go without looking over her shoulder.

It’s her favorite time of year—when the weather starts to turn, when golden leaves drop to the ground and dry up so she can crunch them beneath her heeled boots. She’d crack the window open and stick her head out from early September, impatiently waiting for the crisp breeze to gently run its fingers through her hair, her eyes peeled for any hint of yellowing leaves.

Fall is sweaters, books, and cinnamon coffee. Chai lattes and windswept leaves that she crushes beneath the wheels of her car on the way to work, the windows down and her cheeks flushed from the slap of the wind. The arrival of September always sends a rush through her veins, the thought of golden light and golden leaves pulling her out of bed more effectively than any cup of coffee.

And that is proven when her alarm starts to blare obnoxiously.

Emily groans and reaches blindly with her hand to shut it off, only cracking one eye open to glare at the offending machinery.

Her gaze is drawn from the clock when she spots yellow and orange leaves hanging from a branch through her window, fluttering precariously in the breeze. She gasps lightly as the familiar excitement rushes through her veins, the blurriness in her eyes blinked away as the leaves wave at her cheerily.

Finally.

She grins and throws the covers back, disturbing a sleeping Sergio, and heads to the kitchen. She cracks the window open and reaches for her jar of cinnamon, scooping half a teaspoon into her coffee mug as she hums, her body moving lazily to the rustle of leaves outside.

Cinnamon coffee has been a favorite of hers for years. It’s something she’d been inspired to try after living a long while in the Middle East, Arab countries’ generous use of spices getting to her slowly but surely.

There wasn’t much of a winter in the hot deserts of Saudi Arabia, but there was spiced coffee and roadside tea with mint and warm, soothing karak on the beach. They put cloves and cardamom in their lightly roasted coffee, serve them in small cups that she would take in curious palms, staring at the golden color in wonder. She’d tried it with saffron and cinnamon, cloves and cardamom, had potfuls of tea and cups of coffee sitting in front of a fireplace that burned smoke almost as hot as the weather.

One day, feeling homesick for a place she’d never belonged to, she hesitantly sprinkled cinnamon into her Americano as crisp leaves floated down the sidewalk. She’d put it to her lips and taken a cautious sip, surprise lighting up her eyes when it tasted a hint like the coffee she drank back then, not exact but something parallel to it; the warmth. She had reached for the cinnamon again and accidentally dumped too much of it in her excitement. (It had been quite a spicy drink, but after a little more trial and error she finally got the measurement right—half a teaspoon sweetens the coffee, brings out a warmth from within the beans without making it too spicy).

Cinnamon coffee became a staple ever since, one she indulged in especially during fall, for when she’d need a little extra warmth while cradling a book in her hands, the window open and rustling her worn pages.

(Occasionally, when she’d have the spices for it, she’d make herself some karak tea. It was easier to replicate than the coffee—she didn’t know where to get the beans—and once in a blue moon she’d actually have saffron and cardamom on hand. When she doesn’t, she indulges in a chai tea latte—yes, she knows it’s tea tea. It’s a little different, but it does the trick).

Today, though, she knows without searching that her cabinets are mostly empty, her tea bags and cardamom long gone. It’s been ages since she’s had proper spices at home but the cinnamon still remains, so she starts preparing her coffee and makes a note to stock up on the other spices.

She takes small sips from her coffee on the way to work, trying to make it last as she drives through a slowly goldening Virginia, her windows lowered and the wind ruffling her hair. She’s first in the roundtable room apart from Hotch—proof that snoozing her alarm every day does indeed make a notable difference—and she slips into the seat next to him.

She brings with her a warm whoosh of air as she settles into the chair, one smelling of coffee beans and sweet, floral perfume. He breathes it in as he looks up from the file spread open in front of him, a coffee mug already steaming at his elbow.

“Morning,” Emily chirps. She gives him a bright smile, all soft dimples and rosy cheeks and warm brown eyes. He feels a strange pinch in his chest.

Hotch nods back, forces the words through his throat, “Morning.”

She sets her coffee down next to his and reaches over to take a file from the stack in the center of the table. “Just consults for today?” She asks as she flips through one. Her short hair falls against her cheek and she tucks it away absently, pale fingers hooking through brown waves and fitting them behind her ear. It looks…soft, fluffed up and a little messy, as if something other than her fingers was playing with it.

Belatedly, he realizes he’s staring.

“Should be.” Hotch murmurs and looks back down at his own case file. He’s not registering any of the words, all of them floating around as Emily breathes quietly next to him. He’s gotten used to the silence with her, deep and thick and in no hurry to be broken, but lately he’s been noticing things. Things like the shape of her lips and the deep brown of her eyes and the dimples that appear in her cheeks when she laughs with Morgan, lightly teases Reid.

Things that are inconvenient, to say the least.

Her perfume is thick in his lungs as he reaches blindly for his coffee and takes a sip to ease the unusual dryness in his throat, not paying any mind to the strange heaviness of the mug but pausing at the unusual sweetness that hits his tongue.

And…cinnamon?

Hotch looks up to find Emily’s mug in his hand, his own still next to his file on the table. He freezes slightly as his grip tightens on it. His eyes slide to her and he sees her head bent over the file in her lap, silently hoping she wouldn't notice his slip up.

He’s not so lucky.

The movement catches her eye and she turns to him. Her eyes widen the slightest bit and her lips immediately twist in wry amusement as she closes her file.

“That’s mine.” Her tone is lightly teasing, the corner of her lip pinched in a way that tells him she’s biting the inside of her cheek to keep a laugh at bay. He feels his body start to heat, his skin growing warm at the lighthearted side of her he’s usually not privy to.

Emily watches curiously as the tips of his ears start to grow red. Her smile widens when he blinks at her, still holding on to her mug, the taste of her coffee rampant on his lips. So he does get flustered, she muses silently, freezing the rare image in her head and raising her brows at him when he continues holding her coffee hostage.

“Right.” Hotch clears his throat and sets it down on the table. She loops her fingers through the handle before he fully lets go, her hand lightly ghosting over his as she grips the mug and carries it over to her side. His skin thrums.

“I’m sorry,” he says, as seriously as he’s ever said anything. Emily can see just the slightest hint of pink on his cheeks, the tips of his ears growing red at his slip up, but his eyes are steady on hers. The same color of a leaf she crushed beneath her heel this morning, she thinks distantly. “I can get you a fresh cup if you’d like.”

Emily waves him away; it’s nothing for her—she frequently splits sandwiches and cookies with Reid, takes sips of JJ and Garcia’s coffees and allows them to drink from hers. She casually picks trail mix from Reid’s cupped hands and bites off the edges of Morgan’s protein bars, her hands reaching for their treats as easy as breathing. This kind of intimacy is foreign for him, something he doesn’t allow himself with the others, something they don’t dare try with him even though he’s never expressed dislike for it, and suddenly he feels how boldly the line is drawn between them and him.

For a small, delirious moment he’s glad he’s broken the barrier, even accidentally.

“It’s alright, Hotch. I don’t have the special ingredient to remake this here anyway,” she grins at him. Another show of dimples, the right one deeper than the left. Her eyes crinkle at the corners, unusually bright for so early in the morning, and he wonders why that is.

It’s strange that one of their few conversations not involving work is about coffee. But he can’t help but ask. “Special ingredient?” Hotch echoes, as if he can’t still taste the cinnamon digging into his teeth. He runs his tongue over his molars and the flavor blooms in his mouth, as if he’d just taken a bite of Jack’s favorite cinnamon rolls.

“Cinnamon,” Emily confirms cheerfully.

Why? He finds himself wanting to ask as JJ walks in with Reid. Emily smiles at them and she’s quickly swept away in a sea of good morning’s and how are you’s, Hotch and his coffee thievery long forgotten as they chat. He drops his gaze back to the file in front of him, trying not to pay attention to the low clink of Emily’s mug when she periodically lifts it off the table and sets it down.

The taste of it lingers on his tongue throughout the day. Cinnamon fits its way between his teeth and stupidly, deliriously, he starts to wonder if Emily’s heart shaped lips taste the same as his.

He immediately downs the bitterest coffee after that thought, trying desperately to mask the unusual taste of cinnamon coffee. But the warmth still peeks through.

Two weeks later, when Emily drops off a file on his desk and sees a coffee cup, Aaron scrawled on it with “a dash of cinnamon” and a hastily drawn smiley face next to his name, she pretends not to feel the thrill slowly spreading through her chest.

3) Vanilla syrup and honey (yes, both—she’s got a sweet tooth)

She knows it’s going to be a good day when she opens her eyes to bright sunlight, her alarm still off and the deep silence of her apartment unbroken.

Emily sighs and stretches, blinking sleep from her eyes as her fingertips sink into soft fur on the side of her bed. She smiles sleepily. “Hi Serg.”

Sergio’s ears perk sideways at the sound of her voice. He stretches lazily and makes his way toward her, a stark ball of black against her white sheets, green eyes slowly blinking at her before he bumps his cheek against hers in a forceful show of affection. Emily laughs lightly and brings him into her chest, feeling his loud purrs reverberate through her body.

She kisses his furry forehead. “I think today’s gonna be a good day,” she whispers to him, her fingers absently combing through his fur. Tonight her dreams had been void of icy blue eyes and lilting Irish accents. She had them occasionally but these few days they��d increased in frequency, as they often do this time of every year, the looming reminder that it’ll soon be 5 years since she got out making them surface more than usual.

But today Ian was nowhere to be found.

Emily breathes in the scent of Sergio’s fur, reminding herself that he’s long gone, tossed in a prison somewhere with no chance of escape. Her body is relaxed after uninterrupted sleep, warm beneath her safe covers, and she opens her eyes to meet Sergio’s. “Good day today,” she says quietly and boops his nose, smiling at the soft velvet feel of it. “And you know what we do on good days.”

****

Emily takes a sip of her latte as she sets her purse down, the vanilla and honey swirling through the coffee making her shoulders lift. It’s become a trained response; her body relaxing at the mix of flavors on her tongue, endorphins running through her blood the moment she tips the coffee back. Briefly she tastes the morning she got a call from Erin Strauss, the afternoon she picked Sergio up from the shelter, her arms laden with a cat carrier and more treats than he could eat in a lifetime.

Vanilla lattes were special. The tradition started when she walked into a cafe just after she’d gotten a letter from Interpol, eager to start a new life and escape the cage that was home. She’d smiled at the pretty barista, dimples flashing as she asked her what her favorite drink was before ordering just that. It was unexpectedly good, the type of ‘fancy’ she’d always strayed from ordering, sticking instead to her Americano’s and frozen coffees. She still thinks of the barista sometimes, gives her a silent thanks when her body flushes delightfully warm from the heat of the coffee.

Emily swirls another sip in her mouth as she sits down at her desk, looking over the divider at Reid and mumbling, “Morning.”

She smiles as he looks up from the book in his hands, “Good morning.”

She’s just turning on her computer when Hotch’s voice reaches them. “Don’t get comfortable,” he calls out as he walks through the bullpen to the stairs. “We’ve got a local case, metro needs us.”

Emily sighs.

Her coffee sits in the cup holder as she reads through her case file. Emily tries not to think too much about the fact that it’s growing cold, the honey and vanilla scented steam permeating the air in the car, covering her and Hotch with the scent of blonde roast.

By the time they leave the ME her coffee has long since cooled. Emily bites back a sigh when she picks it up, no more heat traveling through the cup to her hand. Hotch drives off and she turns to him, “The unsub had three different MO’s, but nothing about the murders suggests he’s disorganized,” she begins and tips her lukewarm coffee back.

Hotch nods. “The kills weren’t hesitant, he knows what he’s doing and has probably—”

A figure darting across the street catches her eye. Emily gasps, “Hotch, careful.”

He steps on the breaks just in time to avoid hitting the jaywalker crossing the street, the wheels screeching loudly against the asphalt. The car jerks and Emily grunts as she’s thrown forward, the air forced from her lungs as the seat belt holds her body back.

“Asshole,” Hotch mutters under his breath and glares after the man as he lays on the horn, the obnoxious noise masking the sound of sloshing liquid next to him.

He hears a gasp. Then—

“Motherfucker.” Emily inhales sharply at the shock of liquid on her clothes, the coffee immediately soaking through her shirt and making it stick to her skin. Hotch’s eyes flick to her and widen at the sight of her drenched clothes, her fingertips dripping coffee and the cup in her hand soaked through. Emily closes her eyes.

No no no. This can’t be happening.

But she can feel the coffee dripping down her wrist and onto her soaked shirt, the empty paper cup in her hand collapsing under her tight grip. The car jerks again and she opens her eyes, finding themselves parked on the side of the road.

Through the shock of it all, she finally finds her voice. “What the hell, Hotch?” She grits her teeth. Her voice comes out snappier than she intended, harsh and clipped.

He’s your boss, he’s your boss, he’s your boss, she mentally chants, willing herself to unlock her tight jaw. Emily tries to swallow her irritation as she looks down at her clothes and avoids his gaze. Her powder blue shirt has gone half transparent, clinging to her skin and doing nothing to hide the dark lace of her bra, which is also soaked through. The tops of her thighs are sticky with coffee, the belt across her chest stained brown. Emily bites back a curse and moves to lift the sticky shirt off her skin.

Belatedly, she realizes she’s still holding the empty cup. She slams it in the cup holder with a grimace, the marker of her order half melted into black streaks, the smiley face the barista drew for her warped and inky.

The sound seems to snap Hotch out of his own shock.

“I’m so sorry. Fuck,” he mutters as the stain on her shirt grows larger. “Here,” he hurriedly takes his jacket off and holds it out for her, his eyes firmly on her face.

Emily shakes her head, “It’s alright.” Her lips twist in displeasure as she awkwardly pinches her shirt between her fingers and lifts it off her chest, the stark black of her bra no longer pressing against the fabric. She can feel her fingertips soaking through with sugary coffee, the liquid gathering on her skin as she grips her shirt. It squelches between her fingers and she barely holds back a gag.

Just take the damn jacket, Emily—

“I insist, Emily.”

She turns her gaze to him and finds his brows knotted together, frowning as if he was the one who personally took her coffee and dumped it all over her. It’s kind of…endearing, his eyes slightly frazzled and the corner of his lips turned down in a grimace. Her anger gets trapped in her throat and she swallows it down, forcing it away as she gathers more of her shirt in her hands, lifting it off her skin.

“Please,” he says, extending his hand and half hanging the jacket over her lap.

“It’ll get stained too,” Emily protests as she finally takes it from him, holding it above her shirt to keep the coffee from soaking through it.

“That’s fine,” Hotch insists. He stares at her until she caves and puts it on, holding the sides of it closed over her shirt. The way her wet button down clings to her skin, cold and sticky, distracts her from the warm scent of his jacket.

But only a little.

It’s woodsy and clean—the cologne she’s gotten a whiff of when he stands too close or brushes past her in a hurry, his body accidentally touching hers. There’s also something…powdery underneath, familiar and soft, like laundry detergent. She grips the sleeves, feeling the softness of it beneath the pads of her fingertips.

Emily is suddenly aware of how large the jacket is, how it almost reaches her knees, the sleeves swarming her coffee stained fingers. She turns her gaze to her hands on her lap, cheeks growing warm, unsure of how to look at her boss while wearing his jacket.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, briefly feeling guilt as coffee soaks through the soft, probably expensive fibers of the jacket.

“Sure,” he mumbles, turning his gaze to look out of the windshield, his brain going hazy at the way it drowns her, the shoulders loose with extra fabric and the seams extending halfway down her arm. He barely hears her over his pounding heart.

“Can you stop by my apartment? I’d like to change.” Her nose scrunches up in disgust before she can stop herself, the sticky sweetness of her latte clinging uncomfortably to her skin.

Hotch nods, “Yeah, yeah, sure. We’ve got time before the others need us.” He says quickly and pulls out onto the road. “I really am so sorry, Emily,” he apologizes again, his eyes firmly on the road. He can’t explain it, but something about her anger being directed at him makes his skin itch uncomfortably.

She can feel herself start to smile. Emily turns her head to the window and purses her lips, forcing them not to curl upward. “It’s alright, Hotch. It wasn’t your fault.”

It kind of was, but…

“You weren’t the one jaywalking,” she says out loud, mostly for his benefit.

He doesn’t answer, but his grip on the steering wheel loosens.

He parks outside her building a sticky eternity later and she jumps out of the car, mumbling a quick, “Won’t take long,” as she goes.

She takes extra care to pick out a dark shirt after she quickly washes the coffee off her skin, ignoring Sergio as he curls around her ankles. “Not a good day, Serg,” Emily mutters as she wipes Hotch’s jacket with a wet towel. She sniffs it hesitantly, grimacing at the scent of coffee that lingers. “Just great.”

There’s not much she can do about it, and she climbs back into the car with it gingerly tucked over her arm. “I can get it dry cleaned for you,” she says awkwardly as she hands it back.

“Don’t worry about it.” He waves her away and throws it in the backseat. The movement draws her attention to the exposed skin of his forearms. His sleeves are rolled up neatly, the outline of bulging veins visible under his skin and a dusting of dark, soft looking hair catching the sunlight streaming in through the windshield. Emily swallows.

She blames him for the fog in her brain that leaves her unfocused for most of the silent ride back. She only snaps out of it when the car stops and she looks out the window, expecting to see Quantico. Not the coffee shop she’d gotten her latte from this morning.

“What are we doing here?” Emily asks as he takes the key from the ignition.

“We’re getting you another coffee.” Hotch gets out of the car, leaving her in shock as he walks over to her door.

“Are you coming?” His voice is muffled through the glass of her window. Her eyes are wide, her mouth ever so slightly hanging open in surprise, and he has to fight hard to keep a smile from spreading across his face.

Emily scrambles to open the door, “Hotch this is ridiculous, get in.”

“I will get in,” he says evenly, “after we get you another coffee.”

“I don’t need another coffee,” she protests, feeling her face start to flush for some reason. Stupid vanilla latte. “The team’s waiting for us, can we just go?”

Hotch eyes her for a second. He completely ignores her last statement, “Well, I want a cup, Jack wouldn’t sleep last night. Are you still going to stay here?” His body is halfway tilted to the doors behind him but his eyes are firmly on hers, something…light in them that makes her stomach swoop.

He’s baiting her, she knows he is. But it’s coming from him. She’s bought treats for JJ before and had her return the favor a few times, poured Reid’s coffee alongside hers more than once. But she’s never done anything like that for Hotch, and she’s never seen him do that for anyone either.

An olive branch, and she wants to see what it leads to.

“No,” Emily mutters and steps next to him on the sidewalk. Hotch turns away before she can see the upward tilt of his lips, half in triumph and half in amusement as she grumbles something under her breath. He stifles his smile and opens the door for her, gesturing for her to walk through.

Stupid gentleman, Emily muses darkly when her stomach drops again, this time from the quick brush of her hand against his exposed forearm. She doesn’t see him take a quick breath, the scent of her freshly applied perfume stealing the air from his lungs.

He somehow gets his legs to move after her as she walks up to the counter and gives the barista a smile. “Hey Emily,” the girl chirps, and Emily gives her a smile back in greeting. “What can I get you?”

“Hi Angela. I’m not getting anything,” she turns and tilts her head towards Hotch, “but he is. What do you want, Hotch?”

He doesn’t skip a beat. “Can I have a vanilla latte with honey, please?” He says, ignoring the way Emily’s mouth drops open.

“Sure,” Angela replies as she taps on her screen. “What size?”

“What size?” Hotch turns to Emily. She gapes at him, her mind aching at the 180 between this person in front of her and her boss. His face is completely neutral, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to buy his subordinate a coffee—granted after he caused her to spill hers, but still.

“Uh,” her brain short circuits for a moment before she snaps back into it. “None.” She glares at him and turns to the barista, “Sorry, we’ll can-”

“Large, please,” Hotch cuts her off and looks over her shoulder at the display in front of them. Cookies, sandwiches, and muffins blink up at him. He spots a double chocolate chip. “And can I have a cookie as well?”

“Sure. And the order is for…” Angela looks at him expectantly.

“Emily.” He deadpans.

She laughs without meaning to. His own lips turn up at the sound of it, but it quickly dissipates when he takes out his wallet.

“Absolutely not,” Emily shoves her way in front of him, infinitely glad that no one is queueing behind them. “You’re not paying,” she says firmly as she digs into her pockets for change.

Angela watches the exchange with bewilderment, taking Hotch’s card over Emily’s shoulder with a confused smile. Emily finally takes out the money and turns to her, her shoulders slumping when she finds the receipt already printed, Hotch slipping his card back into his wallet.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she frowns at him as he takes the receipt and cookie, automatically following him into the pickup area. She doesn’t know why she’s resisting so hard; it’s coffee, hardly a three course meal, but even the slightest gesture from him feels huge.

Hotch shrugs and hands her the cookie. “I wanted to.”

Emily takes it reluctantly, wondering if he ordered the double chocolate chip simply out of coincidence or if he somehow knows it’s her favorite. He sighs at the furrow between her brows.

“You know, it’s not poisonous,” he says softly. She looks up and her frown fades as she shrugs. He did get her a coffee and a cookie, which now means she can return the favor.

“I guess not.” Emily concedes. Angela slides her coffee on the counter and leaves with a silent smile. Hotch picks it up and holds it out for her.

Another olive branch.

She takes it less hesitantly than she took the cookie, a small smile spreading on her lips as the warmth of it passes to her hand. Emily cups her hands over it, the cookie balancing precariously between her fingers. “Thank you, Hotch,” her voice is soft, her eyes as bright as they were the day he drank from her cinnamon coffee.

“You’re welcome,” he says sincerely. He’s not smiling, exactly, but there’s something softened about him; lighter. “And sorry for making you spill it in the first place.”

She waves him away as she takes a sip of the delightfully hot coffee. “Not your fault,” she repeats, stepping through the door when he opens it for her again. They get in the car and she tears open the cookie, sliding it out of its plastic packaging and breaking it in half.

Emily hands him a jagged crescent moon, “Sharing food is a sign of my forgiveness,” she says seriously, stopping him as he shakes his head. “Take this while you can.”

She gets the softest curve of dimples this time.

4) Making it into a mocha

This one was borne out of curiosity—and a lack of sweetener coupled with her utter unwillingness to drink it black.

The chocolate bar Penelope handed her is held between her teeth, the sweetness of it melting on her tongue as she rummages through the drawers for sugar.

Her secret stash is gone, and when she goes to search for Reid’s not-so-secret pile in the drawer next to the sink, she finds that depleted too.

“Dammit,” Emily garbles through the chocolate, slamming the drawer shut and frustratedly biting off a piece of the sweet treat in her hand.

She feels eyes on her and turns to find Hotch looking at her, brows raised in bewilderment.

Emily jumps slightly. When did he get here?

“Something wrong?” He ventures cautiously as he pours his own coffee. He hands her the pot when he’s done and Emily huffs as she takes it, “There’s no sugar. Of any kind. No Splenda, no creamer, no sweetener,” she lists off in a grumble as she pours her coffee, twisting her nose up at the bitter scent of it.

Hotch’s lips tilt upward in amusement. Emily doesn’t see it as she slides the pot back into the machine and looks down at her mug, contemplating the dark liquid with a frown. She turns to him and he wipes the smile off his face. “I don’t suppose you have a secret stash of your own?”

He shakes his head, not without regret. “No, sorry.”

She nods, as if expecting it, and something in him warms. He bites back another smile when she goes back to looking forlornly at her mug.

“You could always just…not,” he suggests, continuing when she looks back at him and tilts her head in confusion, “drink any coffee.” He clarifies.

Emily snorts. “No can do, unless you want those Lockport reports by the end of the week.”

Hotch sighs, “Emily we came back from that case like four days ago.” He finds his tone is not as sharp as it should be, his words nowhere near as reprimanding as he planned. Ever since he bought her the coffee she’d been subtly throwing treats at him, meeting his raised brows with a shrug of her shoulders, merely saying she’d bought extra on accident. She shares them with him in his office and on car rides, splitting chocolate bars and pastries and sandwiches.

Each time he feels a thrill, each time he waits for it to be the last time, a one and done, but she keeps coming back and he can’t stop her.

Emily grins and shrugs, frustration at her sugar-less coffee dissipating at the sight of his exasperated look. “Sorry, boss. You’ll have them by tonight. Hence,” she points to her mug, “my very necessary dose of caffeine.”

He hums and picks up his mug, about to turn and leave when he hears he mutter, “Wait a minute.”

He’s somewhat disappointed she wasn’t talking to him. Hotch watches as she appraises the chocolate bar in her hand, her eyes flitting between it and her mug before she shrugs, breaks off a piece of the chocolate, and promptly drops it into the coffee.

“Really?” The words slip from his mouth before he could stop them.

Emily doesn’t spare him a second glance as she grabs a spoon and stirs her now chocolate tainted coffee. “Can’t make it worse than it already is,” she reasons, taking a cautious sip of her concoction before humming, “that’s not too bad, actually. You ever heard of mocha, Hotch?” She turns to him this time, smiling significantly brighter as she meets his slightly appalled gaze.

He can’t help but think her eyes are just the same shade of the coffee in both their mugs. Dark lashes, dark irises, dark pupils; endless pools of brown that swallow him whole, shining bright with the thrill of discovery. His throat goes dry.

She turns away and snaps another piece of the chocolate before dropping it into her mug. Hotch realizes he still hadn’t answered.

“I have, but I must say I’ve never seen it prepared like that.” He takes a sip of his own cocoa-less coffee, grateful for the bitterness when he sees Emily stir another piece of chocolate into hers.

He shudders slightly. “Well, you’ve got your solution. You have until 5, Prentiss,” he calls out as he finally turns away, realizing he wasted a lot more than his allotted five minute break.

“Sure thing, boss.” He hears the smile in her voice, and suddenly he wishes he could’ve stayed a bit more.

****

Some weeks later

Hotch fights a yawn and steps through the curtain into the kitchenette. He almost bumps into Emily, their bodies taking up the entirety of the small space.

“Sorry,” he mutters as she shifts to the side, making room for him. She takes in the tired set of his shoulders and flashes him a small smile, “Want a cup?”

I can do it, he wants to say, but something about her in the warm lights of the jet makes him acquiesce. Hotch nods. “Sure. Thanks.”

Emily hums in reply. “You don’t take any sugar, do you?” She asks, her elbow knocking into his as she slides open the drawer. In the minuscule space between them, he can smell her perfume, something sweet and clinging to her skin. He breathes in, feels it settle in his lungs, and holds his breath for a beat before breathing out quietly, closing his eyes against the sudden fog in his brain.

The clink of the mug against the counter snaps him back to reality. Hotch moves back, leans against the far wall to give her some space. “No,” he says and she nods before pouring his coffee.

Her back is to him and he shouldn’t stare, he knows he shouldn’t—staring at Emily is dangerous. But he so rarely gets an opportunity where she’s unaware, her guard down and her sharp eyes focused on something that takes away her attention.

Hotch can’t stop his eyes from skipping over her, hungrily taking in the curve of her waist, the delicate slope of her neck meeting her shoulder, and the darkness of her hair against her shirt. Her shoulder blades pop out beneath the fabric as she moves lightly in the limited space, her elbows tucked in as she pours the coffee.

The rich scent of it blankets them, overpowers the scent of her perfume—something he’s not sure if he’s grateful for or not—and he moves back next to her to take his mug.

Coffee and Emily. That seems to be a regular combination these days.

“Thank you.” His voice is low as he picks it up, deep as the coffee she poured him. Hotch doesn’t notice the way she shivers as he takes a sip. He’s wide awake now, not a trace of exhaustion left in his body, only he doesn’t think it’s because of the mug in his hands.

“No problem,” Emily replies, her voice quieter too. She doesn’t look at him as she reaches into her pocket and takes out a red sachet, something that catches his eye before he tries to leave. He doesn’t read the name before she rips it open, but the brown powder and the sudden scent of chocolate makes it easy to guess what it is.

She pours her coffee over the hot chocolate powder and stirs, feeling the heat of his gaze on her and gripping her spoon tight to stop her fingers from shaking. He’s so close her elbow knocks against his again, the rough material of his jacket scratching against her soft shirt.

“Back at it with the mocha?” His voice is light, and when she looks up her body heats further at the smile on his face. The low lights above them cast shadows on his cheeks, making the slight indent of his dimples look much deeper.

“Mhm,” Emily smiles back. “But I’ve perfected my technique this time. I’ve tried cocoa powder, chocolate syrup, chocolate bars,” she arches her brow knowingly, her heart tripping when he chuckles lightly, a soft sound that echoes between their bodies.

Emily tears her eyes away from him with some difficulty. She turns back to her coffee, “Hot chocolate mix is the way to go,” she blows on it lightly before taking a sip, humming in satisfaction at the mix of flavors on her tongue.

“You’re missing out if you keep sticking to black, Hotch.” She says idly, not thinking too much of her words.

He nods, though. “Maybe I should try it someday.”

“Yeah,” she agrees as she takes another sip. Her eyes flit to his and she almost chokes when she sees his dark gaze. Emily swallows down the coffee hastily, burning her throat. “Wanna try?” She holds out the mug for him. The liquid shakes ever so slightly as her hand trembles, a mixture of caffeine and adrenaline making her heart jump in her chest.

“From your mug?” He asks, his voice as low and rich as the scent of coffee all around them. She can hear the blood rush in her ears, feeling distinctly that something between them is hanging by a precarious thread.

Emily shrugs jerkily, her eyes still set on his. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” Her lips tilt upward at the memory and his eyes drop to them. She stops breathing as Hotch sets down his mug, her eyes tracking his careful movements.

He turns to her. “I would like to try,” he takes a deep breath. “But not from your mug.”

Her pupils dilate.

“Is that okay?” He murmurs, breath caught in his throat, heart pounding wildly against his ribcage.

She would’ve laughed if his eyes weren’t so serious. “Yes.” Emily breathes.

She doesn’t get a chance to set her mug down. He’s there suddenly, closing the distance with his rough palms on her cheeks. She shivers as his fingertips slip into her hair. “Are you sure it’s okay?”

Emily huffs, “Goddamn it, Aaron—”

That’s what does it.

He’s sure this is what heaven tastes like; coffee, chocolate, and something distinctly Emily. Her perfume, coffee beans, the silkiness of her hair when he slides his hands into it. His senses go into overdrive as he drowns in her, feels her take a hand off her mug and slip it into his jacket. Her lips are plush between his own, soft, and when he feels them curving up into a smile he thinks his heart could give out.

He’s about to finally feel the curve of her waist when she shoves him back suddenly. His back hits the wall as she hastily tucks her hair behind her ear and steps through the curtains just as Morgan walks in, her lips a little swollen, her cheeks flushed a little too pink. She doesn’t spare him a glance as the curtains flutter shut.

Morgan sweeps his eyes over him. “You alright, Hotch?”

Hotch clears his throat, trying to lodge the taste of Emily off his tongue. He clenches his hand into a fist to stop himself from running his finger over his numb lips like a teenager.

“Fine.” He says, less stern than he wants, and shoves off the wall to reach the counter. “Just need some—” He slides open a drawer and takes out a yellow packet, wetting his lips as he rips it open and dumps it into his bitter coffee. “Splenda.”

He walks past the curtains and sits down on the couch, opposite Emily at the four seater table. She looks up at him from her case file, her lips drawing into a smile.

His heart may or may not skip a few beats.

“How’s your coffee, Hotch?” She rests her elbow on the armrest and takes her chin in her palm, her tongue darting out to wet the corner of her lip. His eyes are drawn to the movement and she stifles a smile.

“Too sweet,” he mutters, tearing his gaze from her lips. His eyes meet hers and they sparkle; she looks positively proud of herself, her pinky idly running over her mouth, a poor attempt at masking a smirk.

“Shame.” She says softly, looking back down at her case file. Emily pretends not to feel his eyes on her, but she can’t pretend it doesn’t send heat racing through her veins.

It’s torture, tearing his gaze from her, but he’ll have more time to do it properly later.

They have unfinished business.

5) frozen (Frappe—not a frappuccino)

The warm air cools the back of her sweaty neck and ruffles the few strands escaping her ponytail as she walks with Aaron’s arm looped through hers, Jack running carelessly in front of them. She lays her head on his shoulder, wraps both hands around his arm, and sighs as the sun shines down on them.

Aaron stops walking and she does too, looking up to find him nodding encouragingly at Jack. The little boy bounds off to the swings and Emily fits her head under Aaron’s chin again, both of their gazes locked on the blonde head bobbing on the swing.

With the sun warming her skin, the intense blue of the sky above, and all the rushing noise of families in the park, Emily is suddenly reminded of Greece. She can hear the distant crash of waves on rocks, taste the potent bitterness of a frappe on her tongue.

She drank them constantly on the shores of Athens, popping out from the beach to grab a fresh one whenever her cup emptied. She loved the iciness of it, how she would run her cold tongue over her warm lips when she was done, her insides cold but her skin close to burning.

She looks up at Aaron now, still hugging his arm to her chest. His attention is on Jack, the line of his jaw sharp as he looks at him, so she stands on her tiptoes and presses her lips to it.

“Aaron,” she whispers into his warm skin. She feels his responding hum beneath her lips, his fingers squeezing around hers.

He leans back a little to look at her, bending his head down so his eyes meet hers. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

Emily smiles as butterflies flap their wings in her stomach. The nickname still gets her. “I want coffee,” she points to the cafe at the edge of the park.

Aaron’s brows raise into his hairline. “In this weather?” He asks in disbelief, looking at her like she’s crazy.

She rolls her eyes. As if he doesn’t wear fully tailored suits out in the sun in this weather. “Frozen coffee,” she clarifies. “A frappe.” She pops the p.

As they walk into the cafe, cold air skipping over her warm skin, she’s hit once again with the nostalgia, thinking of hot cobblestones beneath her sandals, the street markets bustling with jewelry and produce.

I’ll have to take them someday, she muses as she finally takes the freezing cup and brings the straw to her lips, tasting summer and salty beaches on her tongue. She hums happily as they walk out of the cafe and back into the sun, the slush of bitter coffee and ice freezing her throat.

Jack shuffles between her and Aaron, looking curiously at the frozen coffee in her hand. “Can I try, Emily?”

Emily smiles. “Sure, honey. You might not like it, though,” she warns as she passes her cup over to him. Jack takes a cautious sip and scrunches his nose immediately, his brows drawing together in a way that makes him look remarkably like Aaron.

Emily chuckles as he passes the cup back with a grimace. “It’s so…not sweet,” he shudders, looking up at them disgustedly.

Aaron smiles. “It’s called bitter, buddy,” he corrects as Jack shudders. “The opposite of sweet.”

Jack shrugs, “Whatever. Ice cream is better,” he says before bouncing off to the swings again, Aaron and Emily laughing after him.

Emily takes another sip of her drink, enjoying the crunch of wayward, unblended ice between her teeth. Her skin prickles with heat and she looks up to find Aaron staring at her.

Her heart trips. “Would you like to try?” She asks teasingly.

“I would, actually,” he muses as he steps closer to her, ignoring the cup in her hands and taking her face in his palms. Her eyes gleam as she bites her lip to hold back a smile.

This is familiar.

“But not from my cup?” Emily whispers, her cold cup pressing against Aaron’s shirt as he pulls her closer.

He grins, “Oh, definitely not.”

Her laugh is trapped between their lips. He tastes it on his tongue, tastes the bitterness of the beans and the coolness of the ice, her cocoa chapstick blending into the coffee. She slides her hand into his hair, her fingertips freezing against his scalp, and tugs lightly just before she pulls away.

Emily laughs as he chases her lips. She lets him give her a quick peck before turning her head, his lips catching her cheek instead as she wraps her arms around his waist. The condensation on her cup seeps through his shirt as he pulls her impossibly closer, and Emily is suddenly acutely aware of all the other people in the park. Her cheeks heat as her eyes skip over the families and children, a strange shyness rushing through her even when she sees other couples similarly entangled, no one giving her or Aaron the time of day.

“Stop,” she chides as he drops kisses on her jaw, shivering despite the heat. “We look like those gross people who suck each other’s faces off in public,” she wrinkles her nose in distaste.

Aaron smiles and leans back to look at her properly. He laughs at her disgusted expression, at odds with the way she’s holding on to him. “I guess we do,” he shrugs, strangely unbothered by it himself. “Do you really mind, though?”

No.

“Yes.” Her heart swells when his hand starts slipping off her waist. Emily places her own over his, firmly keeping it in place. “But I’ll make an exception for you,” she whispers and leans forward to kiss him softly, her lips tasting like coffee and sunshine.

He grins into the kiss, feeling love for her rush through his veins as she gently cups his jaw, keeps him close. He’s the one who pulls back this time, pressing his lips to her forehead as she wraps an arm around his waist. The condensation drips off her nails as she brings her frappe to her mouth again, heated for a different reason this time.

Aaron wraps his arm around her shoulders as they watch Jack, and she starts telling him about Greece.

+1 (The way she likes it best)

She’ll never admit it.

But he knows.

It was slow, but eventually he realized she almost never made her own coffee if he’d already poured himself a mug. She’d pick his coffee off the table, sprinkle sugar or cinnamon in it, and they’d pass the cup back and forth until it’s done. She claims it helps reduce both their caffeine intake, but really there’s something about the simple act of sharing that just gets her. It fills her with inexplicable warmth, knowing that his lips could have touched the same area of the rim as hers, that she’ll always have him to finish off her coffee if she’s too full.

It’s strange that she loves it so much; drinking from Aaron’s cup and placing her lips directly over where he placed his, leaving her lipstick mark on the cup and making him blush. She winked at him the first time it happened, making an offhanded comment about how the coffee suddenly tasted sweeter that made his cheeks flush even more.

He doesn’t really drink his coffee black any more. She’d scrunch her nose when she’d pick up his cup and find it black, drinking from it reluctantly despite his insistence that he could get her a mug of her own. So he started adding sugar for her—among other things, occasionally. He’s lost his immunity to the bitterness of black coffee, his taste buds now accustomed to sugar, creamer, cinnamon.

His cup becomes their cup—her cup is usually her cup, but he’d also gotten used to it, stealing a few sips from her more often than not—and he bought a bowl-like mug for them to drink from on their lazy days in. Emily loves it, loves the way they share it as he makes them pancakes or when they sit down for a movie with Jack.

She still packs her own travel mug to work, pours them separate cups when they’re scattered in precincts all over the country, but in their home, in Dave’s living room, it’s always one mug for the both of them, passing from his hand to hers.

Truth be told, Aaron loves it just as much as she does. He once envied her easiness to casually share anything and everything with the others from food to drinks, envied the closeness they had with her and resented the harsh line drawn between them and him. But she’s thoroughly wiped it away, smeared it with gentle fingers until it disappeared, and now she shares everything with him out of everyone. Her coffee, her cinnamon rolls, her love.

“Morning,” he smiles at her as she appears in the kitchen, hair a mess and his shirt rumpled from sleep. She rubs her eyes and walks slowly over to him on the island chair, holding on to his forearms as she steps on the rungs and slides onto his lap. Aaron wraps his arms around her and secures her as she fits her legs between his, turns to place her face in the hollow of his neck.

“Come back to bed,” she mumbles, a demand if her words hadn’t been warped around a yawn.

Aaron smiles. “I’m not sleepy,” he kisses her forehead and takes a hand off her waist to grab his coffee.

Emily huffs and takes it from him when he’s done drinking. “It’s not for you, it’s for me. I need to cuddle with something warm,” she slurs and takes a sip. Immediately she scrunches her nose. “Needs sugar,” she mutters and moves out of his hold to grab a packet of Splenda

Aaron laughs, “No it doesn’t.” He watches amusedly as she stumbles around the kitchen, sleepy feet tripping over nothing. She finally grabs a Splenda packet and turns to him with half closed eyes.

“Yes, it does.” She insists and tears open the packet, pouring it into the coffee and taking another sip without even stirring.

Aaron shakes his head as he slides off the chair. He grabs a spoon and gently bumps her out of the way to stir the coffee. “You know, I could always make you a cup,” he suggests gently, kissing her forehead to tell her he’s not really upset about it.

Emily shrugs. “Tastes better when you drink with me.” She murmurs, grabbing the mug and turning on her heel, only slightly swaying as she takes it back to their room. Aaron grins after her and immediately follows, finding her already in bed and drowsily blinking up at him as she drinks, even though he was only seconds behind.

“Tastes better, you say?” He smiles as he slides in next to her.

Emily groans lightly, “You weren’t supposed to hear that. Here,” she hands the coffee back and flops down on her pillow, blinking at him sleepily as he sets the mug on his nightstand and brings her properly into his arms. Emily hums into his chest as he runs his fingers through her hair, the soothing motion forcing her eyes closed. She fits her legs between his, burrows her face in his neck until she’s drowning in him, every possible inch of his warm skin touching hers.

It only takes minutes before she’s asleep. Aaron kisses her forehead and breathes her in, her unique, familiar scent mixing with the steam rising from the coffee. The two are properly intertwined now; coffee and Emily, Emily and coffee.

He watches her lashes flutter as she dreams, silently marveling at the way something so simple, common, could’ve pushed him toward someone like her; bright and bold and the best thing in his life.

#hotchniss #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron x emily #criminal minds

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me-in-my-autumnsweater · 4 months

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dog nicknames are always like “goodest boi” or “sweetie pie” or “lil floofy” but here is a list of things i call my fish on a regular basis:

- My Son

- old sport

- sport

- little guy

- sir

- child of divorce

#betta fish #fish #pet fish #pets #nicknames #shitpost #the great gatsby #old sport #child of divorce #might add linty to the list #because of the time he jumped out of the cup #he was linty for a little while there

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starwarjotta · 7 months

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Day 5 - caf since my scribbles can be totally illegible, here’s a transcript Obi-Wan: Here you go, Cody Cody: Oh, thanks, sir Cody: this... it’s caf? Obi-Wan: Ah, yes! I’ve noticed my teas are not really to your tastes, so I stocked up some caf for you instead! I hope it’s okay Cody: ... oh Cody: ...thank you.

#codywan #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #star wars #tcw #starwarstober23 #little comic #I absolutely love the trope of them doing flimsiwork together and drinkin tea and caf #and Cody doesn't really like the teas Obi-Wan gives him but drinks them anyway because no one has EVER offered him something like that #and he'd rather jump out of an airlock than hurt Obi-Wan's feelings #so he sucks it up and drinks it and maybe even almost likes one blend or two #but ofc Obi-Wan notices at some point that Cody obviously isn't a big fan of teas so he'll get him caf instead #and if Cody already marveled at someone offering him something like tea this is a whole another level #a cup of caf is practically a love letter to Cody #I love them so much #codywan every day all the time #THEM #idiots in love #I also always struggle with coloring comics like do I color them or not????? so they end up colored kinda in this half-assed way usually #also if it hasn't become clear yet I can't draw backgrounds and struggle with that too so everything always takes place in some weird LIMBO

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exopelagic · 6 months

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yeah I have more to say

#I think priest was right when he said I wanted a lot and it’s more than I can have bc I’ve taken more than I can handle #I’ve been trying to say yes to things which is all well and good but I’ve been out every night this week between hockey and friends #this week has lasted six months #and at the same time Tuesday was a few hours ago #and at all times there is so much I’m not doing.#as always it’s partially an issue of wasted time bc ive been getting up late and struggling to work in my room #but I also still haven’t recovered from the cold mentally or physically and it put me so behind #which was now two weeks ago god #somehow only two weeks #.but also two fucking weeks that’s so long #and I’m still trying to be gentle w myself but that doesn’t work but i also know I’m being too harsh on myself all the time #I don’t know what to do with any of this #I think temporarily I might stop Doing Things and just have time for me to get myself back together and slow down a bit bc it’s way too much #I think I’m just really horribly overwhelmed by everything and it’s built up to a breaking point #so this weekend I’m not gonna go out and see anyone I’m gonna stay in or go to the library and finish my work #have a goddamn cup of tea before I go to bed #I need to go to the shop and cook at some point but that can be basics for now because as much as I’d like to do the pie thing #maybe leave it until I’m more together so I’m not worried abt Extra things. I think temporary goal is to minimise the number of things #I really want to cry and just have it out but I’m teetering on the like. wanting to cry feeling instead of pushing over #this is a jump but I’m so tired of prioritising everyone else’s feelings #I realised tonight when I’m playing I’m always holding myself back a little to let other people do shit #and it’s not even like I’m holding back bc I’m good. I’m just letting other people do stuff bc I think they deserve it more #and when we had Shit happen I took on talking everyone down and making sure they were all okay #and then that whole weekend after I was completely fucked I couldn’t Do Anything #even with ms main character I’ve been stroking her ego do she doesn’t blow up completely and fuck stuff up for Everyone #maybe. just maybe my feelings are also important and I’m allowed to have shit not be my problem like everyone else #I think I’m going to bed it’s 2:40 #I’m gonna try prioritise myself just a little tiny bit more #luke.txt

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getting-messi · 1 year

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https://mobile.twitter.com/sansaology/status/1617868559060996102 basically what its like over there 💀

“Took your player his entire career”…….oh there’s really nothing but air and dust in between their ears huh🥴

Says a highly specific comment, backtracks and tries to say that it wasn’t aimed at anyone, and then deletes the tweets😵‍💫

The girls LOVEEEEE trying to throw shade and then it’s this tweet has been deleted🤔

#like come outside we ain’t finna jump you!!#the way people are hyping that child up……I fear he’s gonna peak and become a has been like Neymar……….#RESPECTFULLY no shade at Neymar but he never really was the same after he left Barca and all his potential went out the window #winning a World Cup doesn’t mean shit to me #Mustafi and Mendy have won wc and look at where they are #so they need to calm down and let this kid actually do something new to back up all the SHIT that they’re talking #or else - chat shit get banged #smh😒 I couldn’t be active on footy Twitter because I’d be fighting all the time

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arolesbianism · 1 month

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hello gamers minor life update I have been doing Real bad lately so I will likely continue to be very inactive, but hey on the bright side I have been fleshing out some eternal gales lore I reworked a while back and I can happily say that Dodie no longer completely contradicts the very nature of reality in eternal gales and the fog tower™ officially has a real reason to exist again so hell yeah to that

#rat rambles #eternal gales #oc posting #this is a piece of lore I technically updated a while ago but I mostly just relocated dodie home to a different piece of worldbuilding #but now Im fleshing things out a bit more and Im so glad that I set myself up such an easy way to jump ship on the old stuff #it also makes my life easier because it means that I have an actual reason for mase to be the first person dodie encounters in person #also an actual reason to trap him at first sorry dude it adds to the suspense #longggggg story short dodie lives in the universe's core of sorts #its where all the other characters are transported to at the beginning of the story due to other stuff #I already had it as a thing that the core attempts to replicate the casts home and food and such to help maintain them #but the fog tower™ had its core echo in place since forever basically #mostly because the narrator wanted to get dodie a home set up in the core instead of having to find a way to house her in notmal society #now the tower wasnt exactly meant to be found but it still had to be real enough to actually get echoed so it was real enough to be found #hense why mase's family lives in the lower half of it #the top half is fully reserved for setting up stuff to be echoed to dodie's tower #this is mostly handled my cup aka dodie's long distance mom figure #but most of that stuff was done before dodie was properly created and as such cup had to fight for their life to figure out how to best get #this child growing up in fucked up situations as happy and stable as they could with limited budget and time #they were also dealing with doing a lot of this behind the backs of mase's parents as the two wanted them to provide just the bare basics #despite this cup managed to sneak in a shit ton more video tapes than they were supposed to and attempted to cover as much as possible #ofc dodie still ended up incredibly unstable and fucked up anways but she still loves her long distance video mom dearly #up til she was like 12 or so those tapes were the only way she could see and hear another person #but yeah in the echoed version the lower half of the tower is mostly consumed by plantlife and the such #hense why dodie avoids the area like the plague she has hashtag issues regarding plants #oh yeah Ive also been thinking abt fydd a lot lately #I have been slowly developing a bit of a side plot for him in my head that Im not 100% sure Im going to commit to but Im mivrowaving it #basically I was thinking abt each of the human casts sort of quote unquote domains are #by that I mean the whole reason they get drawn to the universe core is because theyre all sorta connected to universe functions #fydd is one of the weird ones because his place in the system is the basic software ig would be the best way to put it?#hes connected to the very base of the system that the rest of the functions are built into

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altruisticalastor · 3 months

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↳˗ˏˋAlastor x Readerˊˎ˗ ↴

☒ Summary: Alastor rarely lost control of his shadows. It only happened when he was deep in thought planning his next broadcast. Or when he was sleeping. But those moments were few and far between. Though when he did, one shadow, in particular, always came to your side.

☒ Warnings: fem!reader, she/her pronouns, smut, fingering, dubious consent from alastor's shadow, but consent from alastor himself, established relationship, slight misunderstandings, groping, making out, first time together, oral (reader receiving), breeding kink, praise, slight teasing, begging, squirting, alastor has a knot, soft aftercare, alastor's ears are his weak spot, reader holds onto alastor's antlers while they...ykyk

☒ Word Count: 3,756

Alastor rarely lost control of his shadows. It only happened when he was deep in thought planning his next broadcast. Or when he was sleeping. But those moments were few and far between. Though when he did, one shadow, in particular, always came to your side.

The dark silhouette was playful. You couldn’t help but giggle when the shadow would dance along the wall, morphing into silly shapes. Or when the silhouette would play with the bubbles while you took a relaxing bath. You were pleasantly shocked when the shadow slipped into the tub with you, cupping some bubbles in its palm and forming a soapy beard around your jaw.

It was harmless fun. You never mentioned it to Alastor because you figured he sent the shadows of his own volition. Your partner had trouble with physical intimacy, so you assumed Alastor was testing the waters with his shadowy counterpart. Little did you know, that was far from the truth.

In some ways, Alastor’s shadows had a mind of their own. They reflected his deepest desires and emotions. So, when he didn’t keep them in check, it only made sense that one of his shadows would find its way to you. Alastor simply adored you but he only showed you tenderness behind closed doors. Not wanting his reputation to be tarnished- or for you to get caught in the crossfire of any turf wars. So, the attention you were getting from his dark silhouette was more than welcome.

Over time, things became more… perverse. You had just gotten out of your bath, dressing yourself in your comfiest nightgown, when the shadow made its presence known. You jumped slightly when the void arms wrapped around your waist from where it towered behind you. The shadow nuzzled its face into the crook of your neck, breathing heavily against your nape. A shudder ran through you as your partner's silhouette pulled your back flush against its chest.

“This is… different,” You chuckled playfully, placing your hands over the shadow's hands that rested atop your abdomen. Slowly, they began moving down. Your breath hitched when the shadow of sharp nails raked up the tops of your thighs tauntingly, inching higher under your nightgown. Your hands came up to clasp around your mouth, failing miserably at muffling your sinful sounds. The shadow’s hand cupped your panty-clad core, caressing you in a teasing fashion. A moan of your lover's name slipped past your lips as the silhouette became more brazen. It dipped a hand underneath the waistband of your panties before slowly running a deft finger through your slick folds.

Alastor and you have never done anything sexual. Sure, you shared kisses and warm embraces, but never anything further. You had desires for Alastor in that way, but you never wanted to put him in a position where he would feel uncomfortable. You knew touch was quite challenging for your lover, so respecting his wishes was your top priority. Whenever you got needy, you took care of yourself, plain and simple. But having Alastor’s shadow feel you up so sensually, going so far as to gather the embarrassing amount of slick that pooled in your core with its wicked digit was more than a surprise for you. It felt amazing, better than you pictured. You only wished it was Alastor in the flesh instead of his shadow. But if this was what he was comfortable with until then, you weren’t complaining.

Sultry whines of yours were muffled by your palm as the shadow dipped a finger into your welcoming heat. You clenched tightly from the sudden intrusion, the pleasure rushing straight to your head. Your eyes rolled back into your skull as the shadow added a second finger, pumping into you slowly. The tantalizing drag of its fingers from deep within your pussy made your legs shake wildly. You still couldn’t believe this was happening, but you were too scared to pinch yourself if this was a dream; because it was certainly one you didn’t want to wake from.

From atop the radio tower, Alastor was fretting over the fine details for his next broadcast. His eyebrows were threaded in concentration as he typed away at his typewriter, tearing page after page and starting anew. None of what he was coming up with was up to par. It needed to be perfect. Amid all the stress and frustration, his devilish shadow slipped away from him. It sensed that Alastor needed comfort, and you were always his solace. The shadow also picked up on another urge that Alastor had as a cause of all his frustrations; a need for release.

That’s when the shadow snuck into your and Alastor’s shared room, hence the predicament you’re currently in. But little did you know, Alastor wasn’t immune to his own shadow’s ministrations. Abruptly, Alastor doubled over. Warmth spread through his lower abdomen as he felt all the blood in his body rush south. Alastor’s eyebrows shot up in shock, eyes blown wide as he looked down into his lap. “What just happened..?” Alastor asked himself. His voice fell flat from his usually staticky tone, utterly dumbfounded as to why his body began to betray him. The heat in his belly grew, as did the ache in his groin. Alastor’s face flushed a deep crimson, complimenting his hair nicely as his breaths became labored. “F-Fuck…” He scored his bottom lip with his teeth, drawing blood as his cock twitched with need beneath his pants. Alastor’s nails dug deep into his desk, leaving deep scratch marks as his hips jolted up involuntarily. The need for release was almost painful, and he craved any sort of friction he could get at that moment.

Alastor took in a shaky breath, attempting to regain his composure. His mind was reeling, but he tried to focus. That’s when he noticed, his shadows went astray. “I rather hate when this happens,” Alastor spat through gritted teeth. He swallowed thickly before standing on shaky legs. He took one last breath before storming out of his radio tower. The need for release was suppressed momentarily as the desire to punish those pesky shadows outweighed.

As for you, the shadow continued its teasing pace. Each time you got close to the edge the shadow would stop entirely. Dragging out your much-needed orgasm and causing you to feel more desperate than ever. You craved release more than anything. Your mind was fuzzy, all you could focus on was the pleasure Alastor's shadow granted you. The only thing holding you up was one of the shadow's slender arms wrapped around your midsection. If not for that, your shaky legs surely would have given out by now.

Before your mind could catch up, the bedroom door slammed open. In an instant, the shadow that had been toying with you was gone. You dropped to the floor, eyes flickering open to comprehend what had happened. That's when your gaze fell upon Alastor. Embarrassment coursed through your veins at the sight of your lover. "A-Alastor..." Your voice was hoarse from all the whines that slipped past your lips only moments ago.

Alastor ushered to your side immediately. His gaze was full of worry as you watched a bead of sweat cascade down his forehead. "Oh dear, this certainly wasn't what I expected my shadow to be up to," He trailed off, the static in his voice laced with shame. Alastor grasped your hands in his before tugging you up off the floor. Your legs were still uneasy as you placed your hands atop your lover's shoulders to stabilize yourself.

"Wait... don't tell me you... didn't know?" Your bottom lip quivered as you avoided Alastor's intense gaze. You felt the tears well up in your eyes before he grasped your chin, forcing you to look at him. His other hand sat firmly on your hip, not wanting you to lose your footing. "My darling, I am so... please, forgive me for this vulgar display presented by my shadow. I had no clue that it was tormenting you until... my body became receptive. But not to worry, that wretched shadow will be punished."

The tears fell freely down your cheeks at his words. In a way, you felt rejected by your lover, and you felt stupid for even thinking he desired you in that way. How pathetic, you thought. Alastor wiped away your tears with the pad of his thumb. His heart ached in his chest upon seeing you in such a fragile state. "How laughable, I really thought this was intentional. Ah, I feel so embarssed... I think I should be the one apologizing, Al," You sniffled, dropping your hands down to your sides, putting a bit of distance between Alastor and yourself.

His expression turned into one of perplexity until it all clicked in his mind. Alastor felt a knot in his stomach. His darling felt rejected by him because she assumed her desires weren't reciprocated. Little did you know, his shadows mirrored his deepest needs. So, your assumption couldn't have been further from the truth. Ah, just what was he to do to mend this?

"Nonsense, dearest. You don't need to be sorry for a single thing. Please, don't feel ashamed. The reason I apologized was because I assumed my shadow forced itself onto you. But to my better understanding, you enjoyed the pleasure it gave you," Alastor's voice deepened. Voice crackling with that signature radio static. His crimson gaze raked over your frame. He felt heat swirl within his lower abdomen once more at the sight of your disheveled state.

Your panties were pooling at your ankles, and the flimsy straps of your nightgown draped down your shoulders. Alastor didn't fail to notice the slick trailing down your inner thighs, nor the way your legs shook with need. "I really enjoyed it, Al..." You sniffled, a small frown painting your features. Alastor's grip around your waist tightened as the hand caressing your cheek began to trail lower. "Oh my little doe, the feeling is mutual," Alstor whispered, grasping your wrist before guiding your palm to the front of his trousers. A gasp slipped past your lips at the feeling of your lover's hard cock straining against his pants. "You see, my shadows share the same desires as I. They are a part of me, after all," He continued, large palm dwarfing the back of your hand as he pressed you further into his crotch.

Alastor let out a strangled groan at the much-needed friction, and the sound alone had you dripping with need. "What made you think I wouldn't want to absolutely ravish you? You truly believe fucking you hasn't crossed my mind countless times, hm?" You bit your lip at his words, squeezing your thighs together. Alastor let out a low chuckle, and before you could process it, he ushered you both to the bed. A breath escaped you as your back hit the mattress. In no time, Alastor was crawling on top of you, his slender thighs caging you underneath him. He dipped his face low, nose nearly brushing against yours. "Well, use your words, darling."

Your heart was pounding against your ribcage as you gazed into his frenzied gaze. His eyes were half-lidded, the corners of his lips twitching slightly. "N-No! I... I just thought that-" Alastor brought a finger to your lips, shushing you softly. "You thought wrong, my dearest. This isn't quite what I had in mind for our first time, but alas," Alastor's large palms trailed down your body. He pushed your thighs apart with ease, slotting himself between them. A gasp escaped your lips at the feeling of his clothed erection pressing deeply into your exposed pussy. You were sure you had left a wet patch at the front of his pants from his gesture, but you couldn't care less.

Alastor's gaze never once left yours. He drank up your expressions. The way your lips parted as another whimper escaped your throat was simply adorable to him. Alastor pushed your nightgown higher up your thighs and over your torso before skillfully ridding you of the garment entirely. "My, my... you are quite a sight for sore eyes. I could just eat you up," He inched his way down the bed, still gazing into your eyes as he laid flat on his stomach from beneath your legs. Alastor hooked your thighs over his shoulders, nipping and licking at the sensitive flesh. Pulling moans from your lips and causing you to drip even more with need. His sinful tongue wasted no time delving into your folds. A deep groan escaped Alastor's throat as he tasted you for the very first time. You were absolutely divine, his new favorite flavor.

Alastor dipped his wicked tongue into your needy hole, lapping up all of your slick before trailing higher. The moment his tongue teased at your clit, you were thrashing with pleasure. Without thinking, your hands flickered to the top of Alastor's head. Your fingers wrapped around his growing antlers, holding onto them for dear life as your lover devoured you. He moaned against your clit, the vibrations making your eyes roll back into your head. The pleasure he was granting you was heavenly; ironically so. You were close, and you craved release more than anything. The moment Alastor wrapped his lips around your clit, giving your nub a strong suck, you were done for. Your orgasm crashed over you, the pleasure reaching its peak as your thighs tightened around your lover's head. "A-Alastor!" Your vision went fuzzy as he worked you through your high, only pulling back when he felt your thighs relax.

As you caught your breath, Alastor knelt between your legs. He swiftly undid his belt before tugging his trousers low enough down his thighs for his cock to spring free. "You see what you do to me, my dearest? You make me lose my composure, so you're going to have to take responsibility." He quipped, gazing down at you like you were his prey. The sight of his throbbing cock made you clench around nothing. You needed him inside you more than you needed air. Your mind was so fuzzy as you nodded your head in agreement, sitting up slightly to grasp your lover's cock at the base. Alastor let out a low moan as you leisurely stroked him. "I take full responsibility, I promise I'll make it up to you," You babbled, wrapping your free hand around the back of Alastor's neck, successfully pulling him on top of you. Your hand that grasped his length lined the ruddy tip of his cock up to your entrance. Alastor's breath hitched before he whispered, "Oh I know you will, my good girl."

With that, Alastor pushed his hips forward. Slowly, he sunk into you inch by inch. "F-Fuck... you are squeezing me so tightly..." The stretch was delightful, your lover filled you perfectly. It's like you were made for one another. The moment his balls came flush against the underside of your pussy, you let out a breath you weren't even aware you were holding onto. Alastor's gaze held so much fondness for you, that it made your heart flutter. "Such a sweet little thing, taking me to the hilt with ease. You're mine, all mine." Alastor proclaimed before capturing your lips with his for the first time tonight. He poured all his emotions into the embrace, and your eyes fluttered shut as your hands came up to card through his two-toned locks. Alastor's tongue swiped along your bottom lip, asking permission to deepen the kiss. Without a second thought, you allowed him to invade your mouth. You whined against his lips as your fingers found his ears. You felt Alastor's cock twitch wildly from where he was nestled deep inside your warm wet heat. His head shot back in pleasure, breaking away from the kiss as your fingernails grazed the base of his ears.

The moan he let out was obscene, making your walls flutter around his length. Alastor's gaze darkened tremendously when his eyes met yours again. "I hope you know I won't be holding back after that, my darling. It seems as though my self-control went amiss," He paused, delivering a quick but shallow thrust. A moan was ripped from you as Alastor ground his pelvis into yours, keeping himself deep inside you. "But you're such a sweet little thing, you can take it. Right, my darling?" Alastor quipped, still grinding his hips into yours. Your breath was labored as you tried to regain some semblance of composure. Just enough to answer your lover. "Y-Yes! I can take it- I promise!" You blurted out desperately as you pushed your hips into his, solidifying your words. Alastor let out a half chuckle half moan. It crackled deep within his chest before he brought his face to yours, lips ghosting over one another. "Good girl." With that, Alastor began fucking into you with reckless abandon. His hips pistoned into you hard and quick as deep grunts and groans slipped out of him. You held onto his antlers once more as your lover fucked you senseless.

With each drag of his hips, the tip of his cock prodded at your sweet spot. You were seeing stars. Alastor's hands began to wander as his pace quickened, and your back arched as he tweaked your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Your pussy tightened around him like a vise as he toyed with your other nipple. His crimson gaze memorized every reaction you had, making his head spin. Alastor's hands quickly came down to your thighs, pushing them up toward your chest. He shuddered as his cock reached deeper inside you than ever before. You were an absolute mess underneath him, but you took Alastor's rough treatment nicely. Just as you promised. "My, my! You're making quite a mess of our sheets darling. My pants are practically soaked with your arousal too! How naughty, I didn't know my darling was this desperate for my cock." His teasing only pushed you closer to your next release, and he knew it. Alastor could fucking feel it. Experimentally, he brought the pad of his thumb down to your clit. Your breath hitched as he began circling your puffy nub. His pace inside you was brutal, but his movements against your clit were painfully slow, making your legs shake wildly from the conflicting sensations.

"Please, please, please!" You begged, tightening your grasp around his antlers as you pushed your hips into his, meeting his ruthless thrusts halfway. Alastor let out a dark chuckle. The static crackle rang through your ears as he began circling your clit faster. "Please? Please, what, darling?" He teased, slowing his hips slightly so you could get your words out. You let out a small whimper before blurting out, "Please, my love- can I cum? I wanna cum on your cock!" A flush spread to Alastor's cheeks, all the way down his neck from your words. How vulgar, he thought. His cock twitched wildly from within your inviting walls as he fucked into you with vigor, balls slapping against the underside of your pussy, causing lewd sounds to fill the room. "So filthy, my doe. Cum then. Let me feel you try to milk me for all I'm worth." His words were all you needed to cause the coil from deep within your tummy to snap. A throaty whine escaped you as you thrashed wildly against the sheets. Your legs twitched as you came all over your lover's cock. But this orgasm felt different than any other you had before. Your eyes shot down to where Alastor and yourself were connected, and that's when you noticed it. You were squirting. Alastor's eyes widened in shock, the sight of you cumming harshly underneath him pushed him impossibly close to his own release. You hardly had a moment to recover from your orgasm when you felt Alastor swelling from deep inside you.

"You're going to take my seed like the good little doe you are. I'm going to breed you, mark you so no one ever dares to take what's mine." Alastor manically babbled. The possessive side of him always got you all hot and bothered. With each passing thrust, his knot swelled more and more until he could barely move from deep inside you. Alastor let out a strangled moan as he stilled, finally releasing his load deep within your cunt. You whimpered at the feeling of being filled up by your lover. There was so much. Each twitch of his cock pumped another thick load of cum inside your greedy heat. Alastor must have really been pent up, you thought. He gritted his teeth as the last of his load spilled into you. Alastor collapsed on top of you as his knot began to deflate, and his cock softened inside you. "Alastor... that was amazing." You chuckled breathlessly as your lover slipped out of your warmth. He rolled off of you before standing beside the bed. You watched as he rid himself of the rest of his clothing before he scooped you up into his arms bridal style. "You are perfection, my dear! I'm delighted to know I was able to satisfy your deepest desires."

Your arms tightened around the back of his neck as Alastor made quick strides toward your private bathroom. He placed you atop the sink countertop before turning to fill the tub. "I didn't know that you, uh-" Heat rushed to your face as you tried to find the words, suddenly feeling rather bashful. Alastor finished adding the bubbles before turning to face you once more. He slotted himself between your parted thighs from where you sat atop the sink countertop, giving you a teasing look as his hands rubbed your sides. "That I...? What, darling?" He knew what you were trying to say, but he wanted to hear you say it for himself. You puffed out your cheeks as you wrapped your arms around his slender neck, pulling him in for a chaste kiss. Alastor chuckled against your lips before you blurted out, "I didn't know that you- had a... that you could knot... me." You let out a gasp as Alastor picked you up once more. Slowly lowering you into the tub before joining you. "Oh, my darling, there are many things you don't know about me! Maybe next time you'll get to experience more of my... surprises."

#hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel smut #alastor smut #alastor x you #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor imagine #hazbin x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon

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