#I mean it’s a repost so doesn’t really count

[monzabee]

woah, baby! - s. reid

criminal minds masterlist ||

Summary: spencer regrets his words about not wanting kids. how can he not when he sees you with a baby? 

Pairing: spencer reid x bau!reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: spencer doesn’t want a baby (or does he?), talks about schizophrenia, kissing, babies, talks about pregnancy 

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

In retrospect, he should’ve known his words would eventually come back to bite him in the ass. Especially because they hadn’t been spoken in anger or frustration. No, Spencer had said it casually over takeout and an old documentary playing in the background. 

“I just don’t think I want kids,” he’d said, chopsticks paused mid-air. “I mean, I just don’t think it would be fair to them, with our line of work and all. You know?” 

You’d gone quiet then, your smile faltering for just a second before you recovered. You didn’t argue. You didn’t press. You just nodded, picked at your noodles, and changed the subject. “People around us will have kids,” you had said to him later, “you’re more important to me.” 

And he’d believed you. Or at least, he’d convinced himself you meant it. Because you were always understanding, always willing to compromise. Spencer had taken that quiet acceptance and tucked it away, like an old piece of paper, pretending it didn’t ache to think about having kids with you.  

It’s not that he doesn't want kids per se, because he does. He really, really does—and with you. But he’d spent so long convincing himself that it isn't a good idea, that it wouldn’t be safe, that he wouldn't be good enough, and there was a risk he would pass on the gene for schizophrenia. But all of that—the logic, the statistics, the what-ifs—starts to crumble the moment he saw you with a baby in your arms.  

It had been an impromptu visit to JJ’s. A rare weekend with no case, no jet, just brunch on her back patio while Henry played in the yard. You’d offered to help with Michael, who was fussing, and within seconds you had him nestled against your shoulder, bouncing gently and humming something soft under your breath. Spencer had looked up from his plate, and everything in him stops. 

But now, you weren't just holding JJ’s baby—you were glowing. Calm and natural and heartbreakingly beautiful as you whisper silly things to make him giggle. He sees your eyes soften when the baby grabs your finger, the way your lips curls into a secret little smile meant just for him. And that’s when something shifts. Like a dam inside his chest, like every carefully constructed wall of rationality and fear finally gave in to something far more powerful—want.  

Not abstract or theoretical, not someday or maybe.  

But real and immediate. Now. 

It’s completely irrational, and irresponsible, and Spencer knows this. But the only thing he wants to do right now is to take you home and—well, to put it crudely, put a baby inside you—in the most gentlemanly way possible, of course. He doesn’t do it right away though, of course not! And he doesn’t say anything when Will asks him whether he’s fine, no. Not while you’re cradling Michael and smiling like that, like you were meant for it. He just watches you, heart thudding with the weight of a thousand unsaid things. He thinks about the future—the possible future where the two of you have a baby of your own.  

He thinks about the scattered toys around the apartment, and lazy mornings where you all pile into bed together, your child nestled between the two of you, giggling as Spencer pretends to be asleep just so he can feel the weight of their tiny body crawling over him, demanding attention. He imagines late nights, bleary-eyed and half-asleep, warming up bottles while you rock the baby against your chest in one of his old FBI hoodies. He pictures your shared smiles when they take their first steps, say their first words, when their sleepy eyes blink up at him like he’s their whole world. 

He thinks about it, and he thinks about it a lot. But he stays silent, knowing that once the words are out, there’s no taking them back. And for something this big—this life-altering—he needs to be sure. Not just that he wants it, but that you still do, too. That somewhere deep down, after all this time, after his half-hearted deflections and logic-laced excuses, you’re still holding onto that quiet hope. 

So, he waits. 

Waits until you are in the safe confine of your home. You're humming as you put away the leftovers from earlier, and Spencer leans against the doorframe, watching you with the kind of reverence that aches. It hits him again, the thought that this is what he wants every day, forever, with you. 

He walks toward you slowly, almost hesitantly, as though afraid that moving too fast might make the fragile thing blooming inside him shatter. You glance up at him and smile. It’s so easy, so effortless, and he wonders if you even know what you do to him. 

“Hey,” he says, voice soft, a little unsure. 

You raise an eyebrow, catching the slight change in his tone. “Hey. You okay?” Spencer nods, but then shakes his head, but you don’t give him a chance to speak. “Is it your stomach? I told you to stay away from the dairy, Spence, you never listen to me—” 

“I want kids,” he blurts, voice higher-pitched than intended, sharp enough to cut right through your sentence. 

You freeze, a Tupperware lid still in your hand, eyes wide as you turn to face him. “Huh?” 

“I—” He exhales shakily. “I know it sounds sudden. And maybe it is. But it’s the only thing I’ve been able to think about today after seeing you with Micheal and I just thought about kids. Our kids.” 

You blink, still not moving. “Kids. Like—plural?” 

“I mean, I’d start with one,” he says, a little breathless, a touch desperate. “Just one. Though I guess twins do run in your family, so that means at least a fifteen percent chance of multiples, but that’s not the point—” He stops himself, clearly spiraling into statistics out of nerves, and drags a shaky hand through his hair. “What I mean is, yes. Plural. If you want. I just… I want this with you.” 

The Tupperware clatters onto the counter as you slowly set it down, turning to face him fully. “Spence, you told me you didn’t want kids, remember?” 

“I know,” he says, voice thick now, eyes wide with something raw. “And I meant it—at the time. Or I thought I did. I was scared. Scared of passing things on, of not being good enough, of loving them so much it would undo me. But you…” He takes a step closer. “You make it make sense. You make it feel possible and safe... right.” You swallow hard. It’s a lot. All of it. The past, the memory of that night he so casually shut the door on this dream. The quiet ache of acceptance that came afterward. And now—this. “I don’t want to pressure you,” he continues quickly, seeing the conflict flicker in your eyes. “This isn’t me asking you to decide right now, or even soon. I just needed to be honest. I needed you to know.” He stops a foot away from you, eyes searching yours. “Do you still want that? With me?” 

The silence stretches for a moment. And then you reach for him, wordless, threading your fingers through his and placing his hand gently over your heart. “I always wanted that with you,” you whisper, and he releases the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. 

Spencer leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “Okay,” he breathes, soft and reverent. “Okay.” 

“Yeah,” you laugh, a little breathless and a little teary. “Let’s do it. Let’s have a baby.” 

Spencer exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years. He wraps his arms around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. After a beat, he mumbles into your skin, “I still think it was the dairy, though.” 

You snort. “Spencer.” 

“What? I’m just saying, correlation isn’t causation.” His voice pitches higher as he tries to defend himself, making you smile into his shoulder. 

You sigh in faux-exasperation. “God help our future child.” 

“I’m a very fun fact at parties.” You laugh, as he grins, holding you tighter. Then, suddenly he pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you, his eyes soft but filled with something raw and hopeful. His hand cups your cheek, brushing his thumb over your skin like he’s trying to memorize every detail of you. 

“What?” You ask, laughing softly. 

“I love you,” he says, voice barely a whisper, “I just—really, really love you.” 

“I love you too,” you whisper, a smile tugging at your lips, but it’s a smile full of so much more than just happiness.  

It’s full of everything you’ve both been through, everything that’s led you to this moment, and everything that’s to come. And somehow, you think it’s perfect. 

[ahqkas]

“MILLION DOLLAR MAN — bruce wayne.

PAIRING! bruce wayne 𝒙 fem!reader SYNOPSIS! bruce met you through a dating app (his sons’ doing, really) and the temptation to invite you over for christmas is getting harder to resist WORD COUNT! 3.6k WARNINGS / TAGS! fluff, bruce is literally down bad for reader in this one, unedited + lmk if found! NOTES! for nat & based on this req. , header bellow belongs to @/v6que © ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

BRUCE WAYNE AVOIDED RELATIONSHIPS LIKE A SOLDIER DODGING BULLETS, each attempt adding yet another layer to the armor he wore daily. He didn’t need them, the women, or so he told himself. They entered his life easily — at his own charity galas, where one pretty bird thought she could get a kiss from him by the end of the night. Female admirers who ate up his charming smiles and sharp eyes seemed to flock around him at all times. And those countless girls who were lured in by the Wayne name, the status, the wealth.

And Bruce gave them the attention they craved from him.

The women served their purpose as brief districtions, companions who helped him maintain his public image, but none of them really mattered to him.

They kept the colder side of his bed warm, but never his heart.

It wasn’t that Bruce didn’t want love — some part of him did, but that part was buried under the weight of Batman. Allowing himself to lose the walls around him and find an attachment in a woman wasn't something his alter ego was okay with, not with the way he’d been living. And another part convinced him that his duties as Gotham’s protector, with all his scars and wounds, didn’t make him a possible object for such things. Love and vigilantism didn’t mingle together well.

Maybe that’s why his own sons and personal butler teamed up on him. Batman was a hero to many, but with how much it damaged Bruce’s internal beliefs, it would ruin him soon enough.

It started as something innocent (but it seemed the wolf was clothed in sheep’s wool): Dick, his oldest, had teased him about his non-existent love life during a training session in the Batcave.

The large space was full with flickering lights coming from the monitors and grunts from the fighting men. Sweat filled the air, masculine and strong, but that only indicated to the hard work they were doing. Training wasn’t easy, they liked to train with the maximum intensity ( it was kinda needed, too ) and it showed. From their damp hair and glistening skin to the rippling muscles underneath their clothes.

“You know, Bruce,” his son started when he blocked yet another strike coming from the man in question. A puff of air left his mouth upon the attack. Not fair. “for someone who spends his nights saving people, you sure are terrible at saving yourself from eternal loneliness.”

Bruce delivered another jab, this one directed straight at Dick’s weak point. “Not now, Dick.”

But his son was nothing if not persistent and he always got what he wanted, whether it was with or without serious consequences. “I’m serious. When was the last time you went on a date? And don’t try to tell me you had one on your arm during the last charity event. That doesn’t count.”

Both of them fully knew Bruce’s arm candies were way more interested in his name and money than in his heart and soul. The truth made his jaw muscles tighten at the realization.

“My personal life is irrelevant to my work.”

Dick took the opportunity and circled the older man like a predator catching the prey’s scent of blood. A sweet weakness, that one. He’d be stupid if he didn’t take the chance. “Is it though? I mean, sure, you’re great at taking down supervillains and brooding on top of high rooftops, but even Batman needs a little action sometimes. The different kind of action, of course. Or are you planning to spend the rest of your life married to the job?”

Bruce swiped his right leg toward Dick’s shins, trying to take him down like he was the said supervillain but the acrobat jumped right on time, avoiding Bruce’s attempt with a grin on his face.

He landed on his feet and crossed his arms at his chest, leaning the weight of his body against one leg. The playfulness disappeared from both his voice and expression and instead, seriousness graced him whole. “Seriously, Bruce, even Alfred’s worried. He brought it up the other day while we were decorating the tree. Something about how the manor feels colder than usual this year.”

“The heating system is fine.”

With Jason gone, it was the truth. His second son had this strange relationship with all the members of the family. Off and on. Off and on. No one truly knew where they stood in Jason’s eyes but he made the effort and showed up on Christmas Eve the other year upon receiving Alfred’s invitation.

Bruce doubted he would show up two years in a row.

“That’s not what he meant, and you know it,” Dick pressed, and effectively added more salt into Bruce’s wounds. It stung and it fucking hurt. As much as Batman was ruthless, it didn’t mean the man under the mask was resistant against the pain his life brought. “You’re not getting any younger, B. It wouldn’t kill you to let someone in. And I don’t mean us. Try to meet someone who isn’t friendly with a criminal record.”

The older man could only stare helplessly at the other. Those words his son, partner, spoke were loud, crawling their way into his mind and much to his dismay, his heart as well.

Before he could voice his dismissal, a younger voice called out. It was familiar in a way family tended to be.

“You are wasting your breath, Grayson. Father has neither the time nor the inclination to entertain your nonsense,” his youngest son declared into the space of Batcave, his voice ringing out and echoing every single word. The blood son, Damian Wayne.

The father didn’t even flinch, just let out a deep sigh through his nose. It was as usual between those two, always bickering from Damian’s side and teasing remarks from Dick’s. You could mistake the blood running through their system as one, if not for the physical differences. They were brothers in all but red.

“Damian,” Dick started in that lecturing tone he’d always seemed to use with the younger boy, “when was the last time you saw Bruce here even try to have a social life?”

Damian rolled his eyes, the green disappearing behind his eyelids before they reappeared, rougher than they were. “The so called ‘social life’ you’re referring to consists of women who barely last through dinner. Why would he waste his energy on distractions when Gotham requires his full attention?”

“Because even Batman needs a break. You know, normal human things? Like dating, smiling, not dying alone in this cave surrounded by bats?”

“If Father is content with his choices, who are you to meddle? Unlike you, he does not require constant companionship to validate his existence.”

“Ouch,” Dick put his palm against his heart in a mocking manner, feigning hurt as his lips formed a pout. “You’ve got a real gift for the Christmas spirit, don’t you?”

The younger son narrowed his eyes at his supposed brother. The constant bickering was almost normal in their lives so far, and nothing seemed to be changing any time soon. He had to learn how to live with the excuse of a brother, although he started to form a light liking towards him. He wasn’t so bad. “I only speak the truth,” his green irises flicked to Bruce. “Though it is peculiar he tolerates your interference. Perhaps even Father has realized how pathetic his current romantic life—or lack thereof—appears.”

The object of the conversation let out another sigh, this one loud enough for the boys to hear. Their gazes snapped toward Bruce with accusingly great speed.

“If you two are done debating my personal life, there’s actual work to be done.”

He missed the glance his oldest threw at the youngest. He missed the look filled with amusement and a plan that was already brewing. He missed the nod they gave each other, although Dick’s was more pronounced and determined.

The next few hours were spent creating Bruce’s dating app profile.

The final result was the definition of real sugar daddy vibes. Every detail had been debated (mostly argued over though) and thought through, so to say the boys were satisfied with it was an understatement. The oldest prided in the work, saying how it would get so many women to reply which would eventually lead to the right one. The middle one Dick and Damian (only Dick) dragged into the activity beamed up once the profile was set while the youngest scoffed and scowled during the entire process.

During the next evening, the boys showed the main man his new account.

Bruce was left speechless upon seeing the bright screen flash before his eyes. Not a single word was muttered as he watched his boys showing him the app and explaining how exactly it worked (he’d never used a dating app before all this so bear with him). The main photo on the profile was a candid one of him, the one Cass had taken on a sunny day in the Wayne Manor gardern. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt, the long sleeves rolled up past his elbows as the muscles of his forearms bulged up. The faintest smile tugged at the corner of his lips, the sunlight casting shadows across his sharp features and Bruce had to admit they chose a good photo.

It wasn’t intimidating, but it wasn’t exactly friendly as well. The good old middle.

The boys knew he was convinced to give it a try when he waved them off with a deep sigh slipping past his lips.

The game was on.

It was past the midnight when he lied in his bed, propped against one too many pillows and wondered why he was still scrolling through the damned dating app. It was late—far past the time he should have been out on patrol, but Red Hood and Red Robin got it covered for him.

Bruce wasn’t looking for anything specific, really. If he were honest, this whole situation felt out of place for him. Swiping through the profiles was more like an exercise for his thumb.

First was Madison K. Her profile opened with flashy colors that immediately put Bruce into a doubtful situation. Were all these women going to be like this? Madison was beautiful and her looks screamed professionalism: her makeup was done flawlessly, adorning her bright eyes and full lips. She looked like she belonged on a cover for a fashion magazine, not a dating app. Her bio made his thumb swipe left.

‘Manifesting my best life. CEO of my own happiness. Looking for someone who’s successful, ambitious, and knows how to treat me like a queen.’

The next account’s bio made him grimace and swipe left once again.

‘Looking for someone who can keep me living the dream. If you’re successful, generous, and ready to spoil me, let’s talk.”

At this point, Bruce was ready to delete the dating app his boys set up and enjoy the rest of his night. Most of the profiles he swiped through were simply bland to him. Nothing felt genuine. Right. It was safe to say he was losing the hope Dick had set in him earlier in the evening. Until he stumbled upon your profile.

The account stood out among the others—simple, elegant, but with a certain amount of warmth that seemed genuine. Bruce’s heart skipped a beat once he scrolled further and came across your photo. The picture showed you in a cozy cafe, the one Steph adored so much for their cinnamon roll buns. A soft smile danced on your pretty face, highlighting the curve of your cheeks as you looked off to the side. You captured Bruce in a way the others didn’t.

You looked like a fawn surrounded by hungry wolves. You were admirable while they were craving wealth and status. Two different sides of a coin, but Bruce had already known his pick.

Your bio was sincere, a sight the man liked to see.

‘I enjoy the little moments — finding beauty in the simple things. I believe in kindness, and I’m looking for someone who values honesty and a deep conversation.’

His mind flicked briefly toward the countless hours he spends in the cave, surrounded by work and worries. You seemed like the one who could understand the balance between the quiet and the loud, someone who could exist in both of his worlds without losing that spark you held in your gaze.

Before he could overthink it, Bruce clicked on the “message” button.

Once the screen of your non-existent chat appeared, his mind went blank and all he was capable of was to stare mindlessly at the phone. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but no words came to him. What did one say to someone like you? He wasn’t used to thinking ahead when it came to women. This was a new field. And he couldn’t screw up.

Finally, his fingers moved before his mind could think of whatever embarrassing thing it was capable of.

> Hey, I noticed your profile and wanted to reach out. There’s something about your words that struck a chord with me. I’d like to know more about you.

And that’s how the two of you started your relationship, or whatever you could call it. Neither of you voiced it as official, but that was okay. He hadn’t expected to feel this way, not so soon. And yet it came at him, crashing like a large wave of emotions every time you were around. You changed everything for him.

Your conversations became the highlight of his days.

His ears perked up every single time without a fail when he heard the soft ‘ping!’ of the notification, already convinced it was from you (and it 98 percent was). Whether it was early in the morning before he started working in the chaotic Wayne Enterprises or late at night when the Batcave was quiet and felt at peace. You were always there with him.

You were thoughtful, generous, and refreshingly kind. You asked him questions that no one else dared to: what he wanted from life, what made him happy, what kept him awake at night. You didn’t flinch at his silence. You didn’t push him to give answers he wasn’t ready to share. You understood him in a way only a few people did.

Piece by piece, he let you into his world — not that part filled with constant danger and threats, but that part that longed for something real.

By the time Christmas approached, Bruce was sure of one thing: he wanted you in his life.

The holiday was just around the corner, filling the air with joy and gratitude as it always did. The snow was blanketing the streets with white powder, and although many people were complaining about the cold, it had its charm.

Christmas had always been about family for Bruce, about gathering around the tree and full table with the people who mattered most. It was lonely at first, after the death of his parents, but over the years, Alfred had made it work. The table was always full of tasty food the kids adored and presents Bruce knew would make them more than happy were neatly waiting for them every morning after Christmas Eve.

This year though, Bruce wanted it to be a little different. He wanted you to be part of it.

You might actually fit into the chaos of the Wayne family — the teasing and playful banters between you, Dick, and Tim would be absolute gold to hear. You probably even could handle Damian’s wit which was something his father would like to see. He could picture you smiling, holding back your own remarks. The idea of you sitting beside him at the long dining table, sharing their traditions, made his chest feel warm in a way he wasn’t used to.

That night, he sent you a message.

> Are you free on Christmas Eve?

Your response came in quickly, as it always did. Bruce’s heart thumped against the bones of his ribs.

> I am. Why?

He hesitated for a bit, overthinking his decision.

> I’d like you to join me for dinner. It’s a family thing but I’d really like for you to be there.

> Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.

> You wouldn’t be intruding.

Bruce could picture the light frown between your brows and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. You often did it unconsciously, never knowing how pretty you looked this way. But even as he pictured your face, a part of him was growing more nervous about the situation. Would you agree to an event this serious? Spend Christmas with him. And his family. Or were you coming up with excuses right now? He wouldn’t blame you.

> Then I’d love to come.

His heart skipped a beat and that night, Bruce went to bed feeling a little lighter than he usually did.

Snow blanketed the long driveway leading up to Wayne Manor and for once, Bruce wasn’t thinking about the pressure of Batman or the chaos the boys would definitely stir up tonight. His attention was entirely focused on the one making your way towards him. He stood just outside the grand entrance, dressed in a dark, perfectly tailored suit that fit him like a glove. The soft crunch of tires on the white powder alerted him to your arrival, and as your car pulled up, Bruce started to feel the nervousness. He adjusted his tie with a single hand.

When you stepped out, his breath caught.

You were breathtakingly beautiful. Dressed in an inky black that hugged your figure in all the right places, the fabric shimmered under the outdoor lights of the mansion. The smile you gave him when your eyes met melted all the nerves that had been harboring in his system. He was finally calm and composed, for what seemed like the first time in the evening.

“You’re early,” Bruce pointed out softly when you walked up the stairs to meet him in front of the door, and his eyes sparkled with little stars at the sight of you. How did he get so lucky? “You look stunning, by the way.”

“I didn’t want to keep you waiting. And thank you. You clean up well, too, Bruce.”

Your gaze held a playful edge in it as you accepted his hand, locking your palm around his bulging biceps and squeezing warmly. The touch added the missing piece of the puzzle Bruce was trying to solve while his cheeks warmed a rosy pink under your influence without any hesitation. The gesture felt natural, like it always belonged there.

The two of you approached the doors of the manor in a shared silence, although it didn’t feel a bit awkward. You took a moment to take in the place. It was like something out of your childhood dreams — tall, arched windows glowing with the soft light of a dozen garlands lining the entryway. The faint hum of holiday music and the occasional sound of laughter echoed through the manor.

It was Bruce’s home.

“Do you always go this big for Christmas?” you voiced a question that's been sitting on your mind since the moment you saw the large Christmas tree from the entryway to Bruce’s living room. Decorated with lots of ornaments, it looked lovely, accompanied by a heap of presents.

“Alfred insists,” admitting with a soft chuckle, Bruce rubbed the nape of his neck as he led you deeper into his home. “And the boys like the holidays. I want them to have the best.”

The scent of pine and cinnamon enveloped your senses the further you moved. The sounds grew louder, too. You awe made him feel lighter somehow. The dining room at Wayne Manor was nothing short of spectacular this night, with the long mahogany table adorned with a dozen of flickering candles and plates of food that looked like it belonged in a holiday spread for a cookbook.

You were sitting beside Bruce (he kind of insisted anyway), your hand occasionally brushing against his. He helped you settle into the chair which earned a teasing glance from Dick. Speaking of his oldest son, he was sitting across from you with an easy grin that told you some questions would come your way sooner or later. Tim was at Dick’s right, while Damian occupied the chair from the other side of his father.

The evening was more than successful in your opinion. Steph asked you about your favorite literature, while Tim quizzed you on trivia about Gotham (which you surprisingly got all right). Damian, after much persistence from Dick, shared a story about his latest art project, though he kept glancing at you as if trying to gauge your reaction.

Through it all, Bruce remained by your side.

When the night finally came to an end, and everyone drifted to their own space of the manor, Bruce walked you to the entrance with a gentle hand against the small of your back.

“Thank you,” his gaze met yours as he handed you your coat, effortlessly helping you slip your arms into the sleeves. “For coming tonight. For putting up with them.”

You gifted him with the most precious kind of a present; your smile, smaller hands reaching up to adjust the collar of his dark suit. “Of course. They’re wonderful, Bruce. I enjoyed myself tonight.”

For a man who othen found himself at loss for words when it came to talking in emotions, Bruce found himself smiling softly with his heart feeling lighter than it had in years. Because for the first time, Christmas didn’t feel like an obligation. It felt like a new beginning.

[fromdove]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⁞ 𝓓ICK 𝓖RAYSON ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝓦HEN 𝓗E'S 𝓘N 𝓛OVE 𝓗EADCANONS !

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨୧

— dick grayson when he's in love hcs ᵎᵎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

— dick grayson x fem!reader ᵎᵎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

— count how many times I said "like"..... ⊹ ࣪ ˖

© fromdove— All rights reserved. Reposting, translation, or modification of these works is strictly prohibited, regardless of whether credit is given.

∿　 　 . `💭` ㆍ

⤷ he teases you a lot. like. annoying. if you mispronounce a word one (1) time you will never hear the end of it. he’ll bring it up three weeks later like “remember when you said ‘sherbert’ instead of ‘sherbet’ lol dumbass” and you’re like i know where you sleep

⤷ he likes watching you do mundane things. like tying your shoes. or flipping pages. or brushing your teeth. “you always do that little pause before you spit. it’s cute.” <- what are you even supposed to do with that.

⤷ will Not. let you walk on the curb side of the street. ever. like you’ll try and he’ll do that quiet sidestep-switch like no. no. i’m the buffer between you and the world. get behind me baby i’m trained in 47 types of combat

⤷ you sneeze once. ONCE. uno. one. 1 !!!! time. and suddenly he’s Googling “early signs of pneumonia” and wrapping you in three blankets like you’re in an igloo.

⤷ he’s not subtle. not even a little. he’s grinning all the time. like you’re his little secret. except you’re not. because everyone knows. because he talks about you constantly and doesn’t realise it. like someone asks “what do you think of this sandwich place?” and he’s like “oh my partner hates pickles” and you’re like. ok???? who asked???????

⤷ texts like. really badly. "on my way" / "u good?" / "?" / “home safe?” / “did you eat?” / “also here’s a stray cat i found near the precinct it made me think of you bc it was mean but cute”. no punctuation. and then sends you a 3-paragraph message about a book from the 70s that reminded him of you.

⤷ one time you got a papercut and he ACTUALLY KISSED YOUR FINGER. like what is this. a 2003 romcom. who does that. you let him anyway.

⤷ dates are like. chaotic. they range. they VARY. he’ll plan them so carefully and then forget the address. it goes from him taking you rooftop dancing at 2am (he knows the security guard don’t ask). to the fanciest more expensive restaurants. or sometimes its the most random places...like why are we eating cold dumplings on a fire escape at midnight. why am i in your lap. why is this perfect. why r u dancing on the rooftop. pls. i just wanted to eat. it could also be you two literally brushing teeth side by side in pajamas while he talks about some city ordinance that made him mad.

⤷ also he’s like. a hand holder. all the time. especially in crowds. “just so i don’t lose you” ok liar you just like touching me.

⤷ he’s sooooooooooo good with kids it’s disgusting. like you’ll be walking past a playground and suddenly he’s in a full game of tag with a bunch of eight-year-olds like??? ok??? and you’re sitting there like is this what being in love feels like???????? have my babies then??????????

⤷ he gets nervous when you meet bruce. he acts like he doesn’t care but he’s standing straighter. fixing your collar. whispering “you got this”. like. dude. broski. seems like you need that advice a little more than me..

⤷ he brings you little things all the time. dumb things. a keychain. a sticker. he's gotten u a mug that says “i like my boyfriends like i like my coffee: hot and ready to fight crime”. he's like "that describes me perfectly babe!" ok..... just say ur inlove w/urself..

⤷ he loves when you wear his shirts. he pretends to be chill but he deflates when he sees it. “is that mine?” yes dick. it says “haley’s circus” on it. and it smells like crime fighting and your conditioner now. congrats. he’s 70% more handsy. 30% more cuddly. 100% ferocious internally. his caveman brain is like “MINE.”

⤷ he has like. six nicknames for you. three of them are variations of “birdie” and one of them is “hey trouble” and he says it with that little lopsided grin and you melt and throw a pillow at him and he catches it with one hand

⤷ he’s like. stupidly in love. and he’ll kiss your hand when he’s driving. and you’re like. eyes on the road. and he’s like. “i have great reflexes” and you’re like. great. that’s not the point.

⤷ he talks in his sleep. sometimes it’s mission stuff. sometimes it’s your name. once he said “alfred please no more soup” and you almost peed yourself laughing. he was so embarrassed. you bring it up constantly.

⤷ when he’s gone for patrol or a mission longer than expected he always texts. even if it’s just “still alive. miss u. criminals suck.”

⤷ he’s not flashy. but he’s intense. he listens. remembers everything. “didn’t you say you liked this song in april?” yes he has a playlist. yes it’s called “her smile > gotham skyline”

⤷ he acts like you’re a little miracle. like he can’t believe you’re real. he’ll just stare at you sometimes and blink slow like a cat and say “i love you” like it’s a confession every time.

⤷ he’ll tease you but only about dumb things. like how you sometimes stutter when you ramble or how you always leave the cap off the toothpaste. and then he’ll fix it. quietly. every time.

⤷ when he introduces you to his friends. he’s like. so soft. “this is my person. be nice. or i’ll beat you up. lovingly.”

⤷ you catch him looking at you all dreamy sometimes and he just goes “what?” and shrugs and kisses your forehead like it’s no big deal that he’s in constant awe of you

⤷ he’s in love like it’s easy. like it’s gravity. like he’s spent his whole life falling and you’re the first place that ever felt like landing.

⤷ you ask him to hang out and he’s like yeah yeah ofc and then five minutes later you’re on his bike and he's like “is gotham cold or am i crazy” and you're just clinging to him like a lil barnacle while the skyline blurs. he's only thinking about how soft your hands are on his stomach

⤷ he sends you memes. like. actually. they’re dumb. sometimes Nightwing fan edits. he pretends he doesn’t know you know. “someone sent me this” like ok babe sure. "someone" aka your own saved folder. keep lying

⤷ in love dick is like. chaotic neutral trying to be lawful good. he’ll pick you up from school or work and you’re like “you didn’t have to” and he goes “i know” but he’s there every time

⤷ he does this thing where he’ll lean on the counter while you talk. like hand-under-chin. dumb lil smile. he’s not even listening fully sometimes. he’s just watching you like you’re a painting in a gallery he’s been to before but still finds new details in. annoying. beautiful. criminal

⤷ if you’re sleeping over he’s sleeping on the edge of the bed because he moves like a windmill and he’s afraid he’ll knock you out mid-dream. but by morning you’re tangled. always. no exceptions

⤷ ok so. gifts. random. weird. he once gave you a grappling hook keychain and was so smug about it. “just in case you need a quick escape.” sir. from where. my bedroom??

⤷ he talks about you to everyone. not in a gross bragging way. in a like. “yeah (y/n) helped me pick this” or “(y/n) said i’d like this song” or “you’d like them. they’re really funny. and smart. and good. and like. they’re just. yeah.” and then changes the subject aggressively

⤷ he will NEVER say no to you playing with his hair. he’ll act like it’s not a big deal but if you stop he’ll be like “wait. you were doing the— you were playing with my hair—”

⤷ he's the type to check the exits wherever you go but also brings you gum and hand sanitizer like the world's most traumatised dad

⤷ sometimes he zones out while you're talking and you're like hello?? and he's just like “you looked really happy. i wanted to remember it.” AND THEN HE HAS THE NERVE TO SHRUG. ok poetic boy

⤷ he gets weirdly possessive but like. silently. if someone flirts with you at a party he’ll just kind of materialise next to you like “hey babe” and put his arm around you like hello yes i am six feet of jealousy wrapped in kevlar

⤷ he will not admit he cried over you once (more than once, lets be real). even though it’s obvious. even though jason literally heard him sniffling in the batcave. it’s fine. let him pretend

⤷ when you’re upset he gets quiet. not cold. just. steady. he listens. he doesn’t try to fix it unless you ask. he sits next to you and holds your hand and says “i’m here.” and he is. fully. always.

⤷ he’s got scars on scars but he lets you trace them. tells you the stories if you want. lies about the ones he’s not ready to talk about. it’s ok. you know. you wait

⤷ love makes him dumb. he does pushups with you sitting on his back. buys your favorite snacks in bulk. lets you paint his nails and then goes on patrol with them like it’s normal (it is)

⤷ he teaches you how to do flips. or tries. and then laughs when you fall. but then also kisses your scraped elbow like “my bad babe” with zero actual remorse. “you’ll get it next time” he says while still laughing. he’s sososososo annoying. you love him.

⤷ wears your hair tie on his wrist like it’s part of his uniform. you say nothing. he says nothing. but it’s always there.

⤷ teaches you escrima if you ask. but only if you promise not to make fun of the sticks. you make fun of the sticks anyway. he fake pouts. you kiss him mid-fight. he drops one stick. it’s fine.

⤷ carries a picture of you in his wallet and pretends he doesn’t. you find it once and he tries to act like it’s no big deal. “whatever. you look cute. move on.”

⤷ he thinks he's subtle. he's not. the whole batfamily knows. jason makes fun of him. damian gags. tim just leaves the room. bruce is like “don’t get distracted” and dick is like “yes sir 🫡” while actively distracted.

⤷ picks at your food. then acts shocked when you do the same. “you said you weren’t hungry??” yeah ok YOU said you weren’t emotionally available dick now look at us. hypocrites in love.

⤷ gives you nicknames like “hotshot” or “trouble” and then blushes when you call him anything. “dork” makes him literally malfunction. he pretends to be offended but smiles when you’re not looking.

⤷ gets quiet when you’re sad. like real quiet. sits next to you and just waits. doesn’t force you to talk. but if you do talk—he listens. like really listens. remembers every word. brings it up months later. “you said this place makes you feel calm” oh so you remember that ok

⤷ he’s so annoying. in the best way. like. the type of annoying that makes you blush and kick your feet and want to punch a wall. his wall specifically.

⤷ he’s all casual flirty with everyone right?? but when he’s in love with you??? he turns tender. like terrifyingly tender. it’s like he’s trying not to break you by looking too hard. like eye contact might detonate you. but i mean. either way. he still stares at you hard. even when trying not to.

⤷ he does the “can you sit with me while i do paperwork” thing. like you’re a cat. like he just wants you in proximity while he suffers.

⤷ he picks up food for you without asking. every time. "thought you might be hungry." no baby you knew. we have a soul connection. you felt my hunger. don’t play with me

⤷ he touches your back when you cross streets. lets you walk on the inside of the sidewalk. opens the door even when you argue. says "just let me take care of you a little." & now you’re sobbing in the CVS skincare aisle. congrats.

⤷ he lets you braid his hair when it gets too long. he pretends to hate it. you both know he’s lying.

⤷ if you're tired? he's pulling you into his lap before you can blink. he’s like “you rest. i got it.” you don’t even know what “it” is. but he’s got it. apparently.

⤷ "you don't have to do everything alone anymore." <- said in a whisper. at 1:47am. when you tried to sneak out so he wouldn't see you cry. yeah. he saw. and now you're in his arms and he's not letting go until morning.

⤷ when he's in love he’s... warm. like that kind of warm that feels like sunshine on a cold day. or like a bath that runs the perfect temperature.

⤷ he remembers everything. like that one time you said you liked strawberry twizzlers?? there's a pack in your glovebox now. he swears he didn’t put it there. liar.

⤷ you call him in the middle of the night because you had a bad dream and he’s like “i’m coming over” and then he’s actually there. barefoot. in sweatpants. holding two mugs and looking worried

⤷ he loves all of you. not just the good stuff. he loves the mess. the overthinking. the crying. the way you squeak when you laugh. he calls it “his favorite sound.”

⤷ every time you fight. he comes back. every time. he won’t let you sleep mad. he’ll wait on your fire escape all night if he has to. says “i’m not leaving until we’re okay. even if you throw something at me.”

⤷ once tried to not fall in love with you. failed.

[obsessedwithceleste]

The Cat Chronicles

Theodore Nott x f! Ravenclaw! reader

Summary: Five times Theodore Nott *accidentally* stole your cat

word count: 5.9k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

1

The first time your cat went missing, you didn’t think entirely too much of it. You knew many of the Hogwarts cats liked to gather behind the herbology greenhouse where a particularly plentiful patch of catnip grew. However, Gladys was never one to miss meal time, and when the time came to 30 minutes after her usual feeding time, you knew something was amiss. With a sigh, you made your way out to your common room where you saw Cho sitting by the fireplace with several other of your class mates.

“Has anyone seen Gladys wandering about? She missed feeding time and I haven’t seen her much today,” you say as you approach the group.

“I haven’t, sorry y/n. We’ll keep a look out for her though,” Cho tells you.

You let out a small sigh of disappointment.

“Thanks Cho,” you say before heading out to wander the halls of the castle, hoping to find your elusive, black cat.

You start out by the greenhouse where you see a whole gaggle of cats, but none with the sleek black coat that identified your furry friend. You then walked around the grounds a bit more with no luck, before moving on to the kitchens where several of the house elves promised to keep an eye out for the small black cat. You even checked several empty class rooms before coming to a stop outside the library. It wouldn’t hurt to check. Twenty minutes later, you were still completely out of luck. Tired and frustrated, you were about to call it a night when a loud chorus of voices turn down the hall. You look to see who it was and find a hoard of Slytherin boys making their way towards you. You recognized them of course, but didn’t exactly know them. What you did know however, was the mop of black fur one of the taller boys in the back of the group was holding.

“Gladys!” You exclaim, rushing towards the group of boys.

Their eyes all turn towards you and at the sound of her name, the fiesty black cat springs from the arms of the boy and runs towards you.

With a large grin of relief, you scoop the cat up into your arms, feeling her light purr as you scratch behind her ears. Feeling several pairs of eyes on you, you look up to see the group of boys still staring at you and your cat.

“Um, thanks, for finding my cat,” you say awkwardly, squeezing the cat to your chest lightly. The tall, brunette boy who had just been holding your cat only nods silently before turning and walking off, the rest of the group following, except one.

“Hey, sorry about Theo. He means well, really. Man really likes cats, but doesn’t have one of his own, so he sometimes makes friends with cats wandering the halls. We’ve all told him that he should probably stop, ah, borrowing, people’s cats, but he can’t seem to resist. Names Enzo by the way,” the boy says with a friendly smile, extending his hand out.

You take his hand, shaking it cautiously before a smile creeps it’s way onto your face.

“Thank you, Enzo.” You say, hesitating a moment before adding, “You know, Gladys is a picky bitch. Theo must be a pretty okay person if she let him carry her around.” You tell him before disappearing with your cat.

2

The second time your cat went missing, you honestly didn't realize she was missing at all. Theo had found his way down to the kitchens about a week after the original cat incident. That's how he thought of it anyway. The kitchens were one of his favorite places to lurk as not many students knew of the secret entrance behind one particular painting of a fruit bowl. The real attraction that often drew the brunette boy to the hidden sanctuary however, was the constant stream of cats that often visited the house elves who happily offered up dishes of cream and other treats. Plopping himself down on the floor next to a particularly populated bowl of milk, Theo's eyes were immediately drawn to a familiar set of glowing yellow orbs.

"Hello there, Gladys," he said hesitantly, decently sure that was the name called out by the pretty Ravenclaw girl who had stolen the cat from him a few nights ago.

Well, stolen in this case was rather relative, as the cat was technically hers, he supposed. Hearing her name however, the little black cat pranced over, nuzzling her head affectionately against his leg with a soft purr. Picking the sweet creature up into his arms, Theo stroked her soft fur, thinking back to his encounter with her owner, a grimace reaching his face.

He had been a downright bloody idiot. That was for certain. Theo was not usually one to be rendered incompetent by the mere presence of a pretty girl. No. That was meant more for Enzo. Or even Draco sometimes. But never Theodore. In fact, Theo had quite the reputation for his tendency to sleep around which made the idea of his mind completely blanking at the sight of this cat's owner all the more embarrassing. Matteo had made fun of him ruthlessly later that night. What had he said again? Right. Absolutely nothing. Just nodded like a right dunce.

The only solace Theo had gotten from that night was when Enzo pulled him aside quietly and told him what the pretty girl from earlier had said about him. "He must be pretty okay." It was hardly a compliment, but after the fool he'd made of himself, it really was the best Theo could hope for. Shaking the thoughts from his mind, Theo once again focused on the little beast snuggling contentedly in his arms, carefully scratching behind the ears, a spot he'd found the cat quite liked.

The sound of the entrance painting swinging open startled Theo; and he honestly wasn't sure if he was elated, or absolutely mortified that the very girl who had been previously plaguing his thoughts was stepping through into the kitchens.

You honestly weren't entirely surprised to see the boy from a few nights ago sitting on the floor, cradling your cat, when you entered the kitchens. After Enzo had admitted to you that the handsome brunette had a soft spot for the castle's feline population, you figured it was only a matter of time until you bumped into him here considering it was a hot spot for the four legged beasts.

"Hello. See you've managed to find my cat again," you say, offering a small smile to the boy in front of you. After your encounter with that particular group of Slytherins, you did a bit of asking around, finding that Theodore Nott, while a bit known for his escapades with the female population, was actually one of the more talented wizards of your year. And one of the more level headed. (But in comparison to Draco and Matteo, you weren't exactly sure how much credit to give him there.)

The boy blinks up at you once before seeming to find his voice.

"She's a sweet little thing," he says finally, clearing his throat and looking anywhere but you.

You cautiously move forward, more worried about spooking the boy in front of you than the cats. Sitting down, you allow a pretty little Siamese kitten to wander into your lap. Gladys hisses with jealousy, but remains snuggled in the arms of the boy.

"She really seems to like you. Bit surprising. She's really not much of a people person," you tell him.

Theo nods at you, an action you found yourself growing familiar with.

"Enzo told me." He replies curtly.

You open your mouth to respond, but don't quite know how, so you let an awkward silence roll over the two of you.

"Well, I find that Gladys is a very good judge of character," you say finally.

Theo lets out a small smile at this, continuing to stroke your cat's soft fur. After that, the two of you fall into a comfortable silence with Theodore continuing to shower your cat with affection while you distract the many other felines, crowding the kitchen floor.

"Theo?" you wonder finally, the question burning away at you. The boy looks up, and you find yourself getting lost in the surprisingly soft brown eyes staring back at you. Breaking from the trance with a small shiver, you ask, "If you like cats so much, why don't you have one of your own?"

Theo's eyes immediately fall, and his hand freezes mid pet, much to Gladys' dismay. A pang of guilt washes through you.

"My father isn't much of an animal person," He replies stiffly.

You give him a small nod in response before rising from the floor.

"It's getting pretty late, I should get going," you say softly. "Gladys can find her way back to the tower on her own just fine," you add when you see Theo make no move to release the cat.

Without another word, you move to open the portrait door. You enter the hall with a small smile gracing your lips as you hear his voice quietly as the door closes.

"Thank you, y/n."

He knew your name.

3

The next time Theo met Gladys was much sooner than he expected. He had left the kitchens several hours ago and was now laying in bed. The clock sitting on his bed side now read 1am. The deafening silence was about to finally lull him to sleep when an insistent scratching at the door caused his eyes to fly open. Sitting up, Theo glanced at the door warily before finally deciding to cross the room to find out what was causing the noise.

As soon as the door opened, a black shadow darted through, making a beeline for his bed. How it seemed to know exactly where it was going, Theo had no clue. Making his way silently back to his bed, careful not to wake either of his roommates, Theo was finally able to make out the dark shape of an ever familiar black cat.

"Hi there, principessa," he whispered, gently stroking the cat's ears before crawling into the bed next to it. Gladys seemed to take this as an invitation to curl up in the nook of his arm, and Theo wasn't about to object. The last thought he remembered before drifting off was how nice it would be if Gladys' pretty owner was there too.

"Theo, what the fuck."

Theo woke with a start, to the loud voice of Lorenzo Berkshire ringing out above him. His eyes opened to see the other boy hovering over his bed, a look of shocked confusion apparent on his face.

"Is that y/n's cat?" he asks, leaning down as if to get a closer look at the fluff ball still snuggled in Theo's arms.

"No way," Matteo laughs from the other side of the room. "You stole her cat again? What, is this some sick and twisted new way for you to lure girls into your bed?"

Theo launches a pillow at Matteo's head. He doesn't miss.

"You better go return that thing before y/n starts to worry," Enzo advises, going back to his own side of the room. "And maybe just ask her out while you're at it hmm?" He adds, quickly ducking behind his fourposter before Theo has the chance to send another pillow flying his way.

With a heavy sigh, Theo comes to a stop outside of what he's pretty sure is the Ravenclaw common room. He's about to raise his hand to knock, when the golden eagle head mounted to the door springs to life.

"What gets broken, without being held?" The eagle asks, blinking at him slowly.

Right. Theo knew about this. The most annoying of the common room doors because instead of a password, the bloody door required you to answer a riddle. Theo was about to turn on his heel to leave when he felt a light presence behind him.

"Hello Theo. Hello Gladys." The platinum blonde haired girl said, giving the two of them an airy nod, before turning her attention to the door. "Would it perhaps be, a promise?" she asks.

The door swings open and Theo quickly hurries after the girl, making his way up the staircase. He'd never actually been inside the Ravenclaw common room, and his breath hitched when they reached the top of the stairs. The main room really was magnificent, nothing like the dark, eerie dungeons of the Slytherin common room. Theo eyed the shelves of books lining the wall longingly.

"Her room is just there, up and to the left," the blonde girl he'd followed in says, breaking him from his thoughts.

"Huh?"

"Y/n? Her room is just there," the girl repeats, gesturing to a door at the top of another small flight of stairs.

"Oh. thanks," Theo makes out, giving the girl a nod of gratitude.

"Name's Luna by the way. Luna Lovegood." She says whimsically before floating off.

With a deep inhale to calm his nerves, Theo makes his way up the stairs and knocks gently on the door. Gladys lets out a meow of protest. Absolutely nothing could have prepared Theo for what was on the other side of the door. He felt his throat go completely dry as the door swung open and you stood in front of him in what was probably the shortest, skimpiest set of clothing that could possibly be considered pajamas. Theo tried not to stare, he really did, but he was only a man. A very weak and smitten man.

"Oh! There you are Gladys. I wondered where you wandered off to last night!" you say looking at your cat and then back up at Theo, and then again at your cat before looking back up at Theo expectantly. "Um. May I have my cat back?"

Theo jolts back to life, realizing he'd been staring and looks at you sheepishly.

"Sorry, don't know how this little one found me. Snuck her way into the Slytherin common room and then into my dorm. Didn't want to leave her in the halls alone, so I let her stay the night," he tells you.

You stare at the boy in shock, realizing that was the longest string of words you'd ever heard out of him.

"Wow Theodore, I'm impressed. I think that's the most I've ever heard you talk. And here I was thinking you were secretly illiterate," you say with a playful grin.

"Please," the boy scoffs. "I'm the picture of eloquence."

Interested in where this sudden burst of confidence that you didn't normally see from him had come from, you take a step back, inviting him into your room. He hesitantly accepts your invitation, bringing Gladys along with him.

"No roommates?" he asks, perching on the edge of your bed as Gladys purrs softly on his lap. At the moment, you found nothing more attractive than this man absolutely pampering your beloved pet.

"Not many Ravenclaw girls in our year, we had the option to share, but most of us opted for solo rooms. Wanted the extra privacy, I suppose," you tell him, leaning on one of the posts at the end of your bed.

Theo nods his head at this.

"I have two roommates," he shares.

"One of them happen to be Enzo Berkshire?"

Theo nods again. "And Matteo. Riddle" he adds.

You cock your head at that with a grin.

"Interesting pairing," you comment, imagining the chaos those two must bring with them.

"It never gets boring," Theo responds.

A moment of silence passes.

"I was wondering if you wanted to study together sometime. I hear you're exceptionally talented at potions. And Charms. And everything really." Theo lets out finally.

You raise an eyebrow at the boy, internally screaming.

Trying to keep your cool, you tilt your head, "I hear you are too."

It's like a switch flips inside Theo.

"Well, we're obviously perfect for each other than," He replies easily, a cocky grin beginning to spread across his face. "Meet you in the library tomorrow at 7? And bring the cat."

You let out a laugh as Theo rises from the bed, gently placing Gladys down on the pillow, before going to make his way out of your dorm.

"You only like me for my cat," you joke, shifting to watch as he crosses the room to the door.

"Not just for your cat," he assures you, "I love the outfit, wear it for me more often, hmm?" he says slyly before the door thuds shut behind him.

You look down at your outfit, jaw dropping open and heat rushing to your cheeks.

4

Theo's head was pounding. Music pumped through the Slytherin common room and Theo could barely see through the crowds of people around him as he pushed his way to the circle of sofas occupied by his friends. Collapsing into a spot next to Matteo, the boy offered him another shot of who-knew-what which he quickly knocked back.

"When's that pretty little thing that's been occupying all your time gonna join us at one of our little gathering?" Matteo slurs out, gesturing to the large crowd around them.

Over the past several weeks, you and Theo had grown significantly closer; your first study date quickly becoming a daily occurrence as you found that you each were able to easily keep up with one another. Something about having a partner who was actually able to challenge you was exhilarating. From there, you found yourselves often seeking each other out simply for the sake of good company, Gladys largely increasing the number of these meetings.

"Don't know that Gladys would like it. Cat's aren't supposed to ingest alcohol," Theo responded, not quite drunk enough to fall for his friend's taunting.

Enzo places another shot in his hand, and Theo raises a brow at him, before knocking that one back as well.

"Did you ever ask y/n why in Salazar's name, she choose to name her cat Gladys?" Matteo asks. "If my name were Gladys, I'd being running off constantly too."

Theo thumps Matteo on the back of the head.

"You leave our cat out of this, she ain't do nothin wrong," he says, glaring at his friend.

"So now she's our cat is she?" Enzo asks, a smirk growing on his face. "Didn't know you and y/n were so serious."

"It's our cat damnit! If marrying y/n is what it takes to finally have a cat of my own, so be it," Theo says decidedly.

Enzo snorts at his clearly, very drunk friend. "Careful, or one might think you're only into her for her cat. And not the cunty kind."

Theo scowls at this. "Y/n says that all the time, but have you seen that ass? And the way she mopped the floor with Draco in potions the other day? She's perfect."

"Yeah? Why don't you go tell her that then?" Matteo says, wanting nothing more than to see a drunk Theo try to make his way to Ravenclaw Tower.

"You know what? I will. And I'll pet Gladys too." Theo states. A look of pure, intoxicated determination set on his face.

Lorenzo eyes his friend warily. While not exactly sober himself, he didn’t particularly like the look his friend was giving them.

“Aw c’mon Enz, don’t you try and be the voice of reason now,” Matteo drawls, sensing the hesitation coming from his friend. “Don’t you want to meet the lil thing our beloved Theodore has been obsessing over for weeks now?”

“I’m not obsessing,” Theo snaps, taking a sip straight out of a random bottle he’d picked up from the table.

“Let’s go. I’m gonna steal her cat. For real this time.”

With a wide grin, Matteo jumps up, ready to follow his friend wherever the night took him. With a low groan, Enzo followed suit, knowing that his pair of roommates would need some sort of guidance to prevent them from walking themselves straight of the edge of the astronomy tower.

You didn’t have a lot of expectations for the quiet Friday night that you were spending curled up with a book and your cat. It was late, and after a long and stressful week, the time alone with Gladys was just what you needed to really recharge. You had spent most of your day lounging out on the lawn next to the Black Lake with Theodore, studying with and harassing the boy. A small smile crept onto your face, remembering the way his brown curls had floated about in the soft breeze.

You really hadn’t expected for the two of you to become so close, so quickly, but you weren’t complaining. You’d grown quite fond of the boy, especially once he started opening up a bit more. You’d initially thought that he was a man of very few words, but quickly learned he was in fact very sharp witted and even a bit snarky at times. Time spent with him had easily become your favorite part of the day and was something you were constantly looking forward to.

A sharp knock jolted you from your thoughts, causing you to jump a bit where you were sitting, Gladys letting out a yowl of protest.

You quickly cross the room and open the door to find a very miffed looking Cho, a frown imbedded on her face.

“Sorry to bother, but could you please come get your boy under control? He’s upsetting the portraits.” She says.

You blink once. Then again.

“Sorry?”

“Your Slytherin fellow? He’s out in the corridor with two of his friends harassing the door,” she explains, turning to lead you down the spiral staircase.

You’re not even halfway down when you begin to hear the voices.

“Who in the bloody hell would want to be in Ravenclaw with this blast-ended skewt ass looking-“

“Matteo you can’t curse out the door.”

“I’ll curse at the bloody door if I want to bloody curse at it.”

You grimace, looking at Cho who looks back with a similarly displeased facial expression.

“Sorry bout them. I’ll take it from here,” you tell her when you reach the bottom.

With a slight nod, she turns to retreat back up the stairs. With a sigh, you push the door open, almost taking out Matteo who had been leaning on it for support.

“Hi amore, fancy seeing you here,” Theo slurs, a grin taking over his face at the sight of you.

Enzo leans against a pillar, face in hands, looking like he wanted to disappear. You could smell the alcohol on all of them.

“Hi Theodore. Are you sober?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

“I’m moderately functional,” he replies with a lopsided smile.

“I’m taking that as a no,” you say, glancing worriedly at Matteo who was currently laying spread eagle on the floor. “Let’s get you boys back to your common room.”

“I wouldn’t. Party’s not gonna end any time soon. They’ll just get more hammered and start wandering off again,” Enzo advises, head still in hands. “Like herding hippogriffs with those two.”

“And Theo hasn’t proclaimed his undying love for y/n yet!” Matteo adds.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks and Theo glowers at his friend.

“It’s okay Theo, I know he’s drunk,” you say, not certain if you were saying it more to comfort him or yourself.

Theo ignores you however, turning his attention back to the door.

“Let us in, I just want to pet the cat,” he tells the door, swaying ever so slightly.

For Salazar’s sake. Man gets absolutely wasted and just wants to pet your cat. You go to grab onto Theo to steady him, but he has other plans. Immediately, he wraps his arms around you, nuzzling his face into your hair.

“Hi,” he mumbles, picking you up just enough that your toes barely touch the ground. “I missed you. Can we see the cat now?”

Not knowing what else to do, you glance helplessly at Enzo.

“Would you be able to get Matteo up the stairs?” You ask.

“I can try. He’s a stubborn bastard though.”

You turn back to the door, knocking once. The eagle once again moves to life, glaring at the scene in front of it.

“If the day before yesterday was the 23rd, what is the day after tomorrow?” It asks crankily.

“We’re too fucking wasted for this bloody bullshit,” Matteo moans from the floor.

You try to ignore Theo’s tight grasp on your waist and Enzo prodding at Matteo with his foot before answering. “The 27th.”

The door swings open and you try your best to haul Theo through, Enzo following closely behind with a very disgruntled Matteo. Dragging the boys up the staircase feels like the most difficult task of your life as you constantly tell Matteo to lower his voice and mind his mouth while also trying to ignore the very minimal distance between yourself and Theodore. When you finally make it to the top, you rush to herd the boys into your room before slamming the door shut behind you with relief. Theo immediately stumbles over to your bed, collapsing face first in the middle and snatching Gladys into his arms.

“No roommates?” Enzo asks, looking around the room and seeing the single empty bed that you had pushed into the corner at the beginning of the year.

“No, thank Rowena. I would not want to have to explain whatever this is.” You reply, motioning to Theo and Matteo who was now wandering about the room.

“Room’s a mess. Coulda at least cleaned up a bit,” he says, poking at the various books and blank scrolls lying about.

“Had I known I would be having guests at,” you glance at the clock, “almost 2 in the morning, I’m sure I would have.” You say dryly.

Retrieving your wand from your desk, you point it at the spare bed. “Engorgio.” The wooden frame creaks as it expands until it can comfortably fit 2 people. You look at Enzo.

“Good luck with that one,” you say, almost feeling sorry for the boy as Matteo flops onto the bed with a groan.

“Looks like you’re gonna need it more than me,” he replies, gesturing to Theo who was out cold, Gladys trapped and bug eyed in his grasp. With a sigh you and Enzo each resign yourselves to your respective charge.

“Theodore,” you whisper, giving the boy a light shove. No sign of life. You give him a slightly harder shove, allowing Gladys is wriggle out of her prison. Frowning, you sit down on the edge of the bed, using most of your body weight to shove Theo to one side of the bed before sliding under the covers. Now deeming it safe, Gladys hops back into the bed, nestling into your arms happily. You’re about to close your eyes when you feel arms snaking around your waste, pulling you into the very warm chest of Theodore Nott. You freeze, holding your breath, not sure if the boy is asleep or not.

“Goodnight mi amore,” he whispers into your neck, causing the hairs to prickle.

Definitely not asleep.

“Goodnight Theodore.”

You hadn’t had any expectations for the night really, but you definitely had not expected to have multiple overnight guests who were trying to steal your cat. And you most certainly did not expect to drift off in the arms of Theodore Nott.

5

The next morning you wake up missing the usual lump of fur weighing down on your chest. Immediately you bolt upright, eyes shooting around for any sign of your furry companion before the events of last night wash over you. Enzo and Matteo are both still out cold and when you look down, your jaw drops open. Theo is fast asleep, back facing you, Gladys snoozing contentedly while cradled in his arms. Even in his sleep this absolute tosser had managed to steal your damn cat.

Careful not to wake the boys, or Gladys, you silently sneak across the room and disappear out the door. Once you’re safely out of hearing distance, you make your way quickly down the kitchens. A little known fact about the Hogwarts house elves was that many had once served in the homes of different wizarding families at one time or another. This meant that many of the elves were all too familiar with the valuable hangover potion that you sought.

Ducking in through the portrait hole, it wasn’t difficult to persuade the elves into handing over 3 glistening blue vials. You had always been kind to them, often chatting with them during your visits with the cats.

Your task complete, you made your way back to Ravenclaw tower, taking your time as you didn’t expect the boys to be up any time soon. They really had been plastered. Not even Enzo had been completely sober you recalled.

You’re just passing the entrance to the dungeons when a voice calls out.

“Hey! You!”

You’re ready to continue on your way before noticing that there was no one else in the corridor they could be referring to. You turn to see two girls you recognized as the Greengrass sisters hurrying towards you.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” the shorter blonde girl says when they get closer. You’re pretty sure that one is Astoria. “You’re the girl Theo has been seeing right?”

You nod your head cautiously. You knew Theo had a reputation for getting around, so if that’s what this was about, things were about to become quite awkward.

“You haven’t happened to see him or Matteo or Lorenzo, have you?” The other girl, Daphne, asks.

“Draco said he saw the three of them leave the party together last night, but no one saw them come back,” Astoria explains.

You feel yourself immediately relax. Good. At least this was something you could help with.

“You two are lucky you found me then I suppose,” you tell them, gesturing for them to follow. “The three of them tried breaking into Ravenclaw tower last night, so I let them crash in my dorm.”

“Oh Salazar. Were they trying to steal your cat? I’m so sorry. When Matteo gets drunk he has a tendency to try and egg Theo on,” Astoria frets.

You give the girls a strange look. “You know about my cat?” You ask, surprised.

“Oh sure,” Daphne replies. “Whole group does really. Boys came back one night going on about how Theo was just smitten with some Ravenclaw with a cute cat. And I can see why. You’re gorgeous by the way.”

You blush at her statement, diverting the subject away.

“The boys should probably still be asleep. I just ran down to the kitchens to get these,” you tell them, brandishing the potions you had gathered. “Once they’ve downed these, they’re all yours.”

Astoria eyes the potions with jealousy and you realize the two girls were probably decently hung over as well.

“Oh you can keep Theo, we were really just looking to collect Enzo and Matt,” Daphne laughs, giving you a sly look. You open your mouth to reply, but stop realizing you had reached your common room door.

After a few attempts, you’re finally able to solve the blasted riddle and the door swings open.

“I don’t think we’ve ever had this many Slytherins in our common room before,” you joke, leading the girls up to your room.

Pushing the door open, you’re unsurprised to see the boys still passed out.

“This must be the infamous Gladys,” Daphne whispers, quietly approaching Theo who was still clutching onto Gladys as if his life depended on it. Again you’re surprised that these girls apparently even knew the name of your cat.

The two coo at the sight of your cat, coming to the conclusion that she was indeed worthy of warranting cat theft before Astoria finally decided it was time for them to get the boys out of your hair. They migrated over to the other side of the room where Enzo and Matteo were sound asleep, leaving you to deal with Theo.

You decide the easiest route, may just be to lure Gladys away, so you fetch her food dish before accio-ing her kibble container. At the sound of her food, Gladys was up and running, darting over for her morning feast. At the sudden loss of fluffy heat, Theo groaned, rolling over, face down into the pillows. After giving Gladys her food, you move back to Theo, giving him a rough shake.

“Come back to bed principessa,” he grumbles, reaching out and flailing his arm in your general direction.

“It’s time to get up Theodore. Come on, I got you three hangover potions,” you say, waving one over his head.

“Did someone say hangover potion? Give,” Matteo demands from the other side of the room. You look over to see Daphne and Astoria sitting on the side of the bed while Matteo and Enzo were groggily waking up.

Pulling out her wand, Daphne gestured for you to toss her the potions which her magic catches easily, levitating the vials over to the other two boys. Matteo snatches one out of the air, quickly downing half before offering the other half to Astoria. Enzo does the same, giving the second half to Daphne who graciously accepts. After a moment, the four of them are looking much more awake.

“Thanks for making sure these three didn’t drown themselves in the lake,” Astoria says, once the potion had really kicked. “And sorry you’re not having more luck with that one. He’s always been a late riser.”

“You’ll be lucky to get him up in the next hour,” Enzo agrees, rising from the bed. “Thanks again y/n.”

The four of them shuffle out of your dorm, a chorus is thanks and apologies strung along until they reached the door. Even Matteo gave you a nod of gratitude. Once they were all gone, you collapse once more onto your bed.

“They finally gone?” You hear Theo ask, as he rolls over to look at you. You nod, faces so close that your noses are practically touching and you can feel small puffs of air as he exhales. “Thanks for last night. I’m sorry for trying to steal your cat.”

You let out a snort at that. “Did you know when I woke up this morning, you had turned away from me completely, and stolen my cat away from me in your sleep?” You ask with a laugh.

Theo at least has the decency to look embarrassed as Gladys joins the two of you once more.

“I should do this more often,” Theo says finally, reaching out to stroke Gladys’s fur.

“What? Get downright plastered and break into my room, or steal my cat?” You scoff.

“Sleep in your bed with you.”

You freeze, looking up to see if the boy was being serious. His eyes blink back at you unwavering.

“You can come back any time,” you tell him, snuggling your way into his chest, ready to fall back asleep in the boy’s arms.

“Will Gladys be here?”

“Oh my god, yes she will be here,” you say dramatically throwing your head back.

Theo grins down at you, leaning in and pressing his lips softly against yours.

“I’m only joking amore,” he says, pressing another kiss to the top of your nose.

“Of course Gladys would be here, she adores me.”

“Get out of my bed.”

My biggest regret in life, is being highly allergic to cats </3

[always-just-red]

Oh I forgot to add 😭😭😭 be it fluff like jelly sylus but fluff maybe he trying to make the mc jelly too ? I’m going wild with ideas, I will be quiet

(Part 1 of ask) FINALLY finished this fic oh my goshhh I've loved it so much but writer's block was my constant companion for this one 🫠 Thanks for your patience!! Sy is jealous but I'm still pushing my 'Sylus is the softest man alive and would die before hurting MC' agenda, so I had to get a lil creative! Hope I've pulled it off idk 😭😭

Be Mine

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus is getting a little tired of sharing you with the other men in your life (and he doesn't mean Luke and Kieran 🙃)

Genre: lil bit of angst, comfort and fluff

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, jealousy, other LIs mentioned, brief allusion to Raf's self-harm tendencies, cheating mentioned, some intimacy & kisses-- more soft than spicy!

| Word count: 4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Sylus has spent centuries waiting for you, so he’s going to give you another minute.

Patience is not a virtue; it’s an old acquaintance he greets with a false smile whenever he’s forced to pass it on the street. Sometimes outside your building, whilst you’re chatting with a neighbour from the apartment above yours. Sometimes when you’re running late from a doctor’s appointment.

Patience has been cropping up a lot these days and gods, he’s sick of its face. Even now, it sits with him at this table for two as he sips at a glass that’s almost empty. There’s poetry in stalling, in savouring what’s left, especially as a waiter hovers anxiously nearby, anticipating the need for yet another refill (it would be the third).

Dregs of blood-red wine swirl with solemnity. Sylus is a patient man, a man who waits, but he doesn’t want to be. He wants the reward of it: the pot of gold at the end of that insipid rainbow. Hasn’t he waited enough?

He lifts his drink to his lips again.

“Sylus!”

They curve as he swallows the final drop.

“I’m so sorry,” you stammer, flinging yourself into the seat across from him so quickly that he’s cheated of the chance to rise and help you with your chair. “Sit back down,” you usher, because he had made a start on it, “really, Sy, I’m so, so sorry. Things at work just got crazy, and I—”

“You don’t have to explain, sweetie,” he smiles as he signals the waiter. He’ll have that refill, now, and he orders your favourite drink as you shrug off your coat and fumble with your bag, looking for something. “I’m more than familiar with the Association’s… dedication to a cause.”

You glance up with an amused smile. “We’re keeping you on your toes, huh?”

“Mmm. There is one hunter who’s proving to be a real thorn in my side.”

“You on top of that?”

“Most evenings, yes. Some mornings, too.”

You poke your tongue out at him. You’ve retrieved a compact mirror and you use it to study your dishevelled reflection. “Is everything all right at work?” he asks as you fuss over your hair.

“Yeah,” you puff. “Long story.”

“We have time.”

With a warmer smile, you stash your mirror away and sequester your bag by your feet. “You sure?” He gives you a look. “Fine,” you chuckle. “Basically, Xavier forgot to write up some reports. He’s been away on an ultra-secret, special mission or whatever—” you tap your nose conspiratorially— “which I didn’t just tell you, okay? But yeah, the reports weren’t done, and they were due tonight, so…”

Sylus raises an apathetic eyebrow. “He asked you to help?”

“Begged me, more like.”

Of course he did. The waiter arrives with your drinks and Sylus has never been gladder for a distraction. His mouth is full of pettiness, bitterness, so he drowns it with wine. You could have called. Texted. “So kitten’s been playing secretary, hmm?” he goads instead.

“That would imply kitten could keep track of time,” you pout, “so no. And speaking of playing a part—” you poke his nose— “you’re allowed to be mad at me. I should have called you. Texted. So let me have it, yeah? I feel bad enough already without you being all… perfect.”

You’re only teasing, but Sylus doesn’t feel perfect. He’s thinking about you working late with your partner, laughing at his jokes, poking him with your pen to keep him from falling asleep on his paperwork. He smirks, regardless. “What if I want you to feel bad?”

“Oh, gods,” you slump forwards, face-down on the table. “How long were you waiting?”

“Years.”

You fake cry into the tablecloth. “Don’t, Sy. Just tell me the truth. How bad was it?”

“Really, years,” he insists again, folding his arms on the table and sliding forwards, too. His chin is resting on his hands, and he blows at the top of your head. “Look.” Your face lifts so you can peer at him. He pinches his hair. “I’ve even gone grey, see?”

You sit up the tiniest bit more and your noses are almost brushing. “It looks nice,” you whisper.

“You think so?”

“Mmm. Suits you.”

Your eyes are every gem— every jewel in an illicit auction Sylus has to steal away from the rest of the world, because something that pretty just has to be his; it will find no worthier home than his hands. His devotion fills vaults. Aren’t they spilling with emeralds, rubies, sapphires, diamonds— those reckless imitations of your gaze? No-one else could deserve them, adore them like he does.

And they’ve nothing on the real thing.

Someone clears their throat and Sylus tracks the noise begrudgingly. The anxious waiter is back, clutching menus this time. You sit up fully, laughing to break the tension, and sure enough, Sylus feels less like hurling the man through the nearest window.

He’s still thinking about it though. He tells the waiter as much with a smile, and the menus are passed over with shaking hands. When Sylus says, “thank you,” it sounds like a bomb, ticking.

“Play nice,” you tut, once the waiter’s cleared the blast radius.

“Sweetie, when do I ever not play nice?”

You blink back at him disbelievingly. This should be good. “How about the time that you—?”

A familiar ringtone interrupts you, and your eyes widen in apology as you grab at your bag, rifling around for your phone. You find it— check the call and decline it— but relief is hiding, refusing to set foot on stage. Not yet, it confers to Sylus darkly, because it knows what comes next.

“Do you need to…?” he asks anyway.

“Nah, it was just Rafayel. Thanks, though.” You set the phone down. “Where was I?”

“You were about to tell me what a terribly bad man I am, sweetie.”

“Right!” you giggle. No, not yet. “So how about the time that you…” The phone rings again. You check it. Decline it. “How about the time that you—ugh!” It’s ringing again.

Sylus taps a finger on the table, impatiently patient. You can’t mute the wretched thing: the next call you miss would be a Wanderer, tearing through an orphanage or the like. It’s the reason you check, even when there’re no orphans at stake— just a pest of an artist with too much time on his hands.

Except… “Oh,” you say, glancing downwards, “it’s Zayne. I should probably—” Sylus gives a half-smile of blessing, but you weren’t waiting around for it— “hey, Zayne! I can’t talk right now, unless— Raf? What the hell? How did you get Zayne’s phone?”

You pull yours away from your ear as a string of whines come through:

“— ignore my calls, don’t even text me to ask what’s up, and then pick up his call right away? You hate me, right? Just say that you hate me, cutie.”

“I don’t hate you, Raf.” The phone is back to your ear. “I’m busy. Now seriously, how did you get— oh, hi, Zayne. Why is Raf…?” Sylus can hear a deeper voice answering your questions. “He’s at the—? Shit, is he okay? Ugh, tell him I can hear him. Tell him I know he’s not dying.”

You meet Sylus’s eyes as conflict erupts on the other end of the call. Sorry, you mouth as static filters through, interspersed with broken words and curses. The doctor’s voice prevails. “Yeah, Zayne,” you speak back to it. “I’ll call Thomas, get him to pick him up. Mmhmm? Oh!” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I forgot, he’s at that stupid art thing. Look, maybe later, I can…”

The artist’s shrill tone is protesting.

“I know it’s my job, Raf!” you counter. “But gimme a break, please. If it was any other night, you know I’d be there. Of course I wanna be there! But I can’t—”

It’s just a slip of the tongue— words you don’t even realise you’re saying— but Sylus still feels his heart sink. He hates it. A heart is so difficult to argue with: it’s long gone before you can talk any sense into it. He stands from the table, those priceless eyes of yours pursuing him. When you tilt your head, he musters a smile, then a weak excuse: “I’m just stepping outside for a moment.”

You nod, a follow-up question on the tip of your tongue, but then there’s a voice in your ear again— two voices— and you’re you, so of course you listen.

…

Sylus waits on a bench outside the restaurant, closing his eyes as he waits for his heart to come back.

It’s only been a few minutes. He’s thinking about your eyes, your nose and lips— an inch from his— and how he should have closed that gap before it grew treacherous. Shouldn’t he be done with this? This… longing? You’re his. You’ve told him you’re his, over and over again, but he finds himself needing to hear it once more; the ghost of your voice is starting to lack persuasion.

He is yours without exception, but you? There’s always a caveat. I’m yours, Sylus. But only so long as the city is quiet. I’m yours, Sylus. Until someone else calls. The door to the restaurant opens— he can hear it— but he doesn’t open his eyes. He wants to pretend.

I’m yours, Sylus. No caveats. No exceptions.

“Sylus.”

He swallows the dread in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” you entreat softly. His eyes open, and you’re wearing your coat, holding your bag. “I have to run to the hospital— it’s this whole thing. Raf, like, passed out or something. He��s not been eating again. Zayne said when something like this keeps happening, it’s a sign that… yeah. He just… needs someone. And he hasn’t got anyone else, you know?”

“I understand.” You’re worried about your friend. That’s all it is.

Why can’t he believe that’s all it is?  

You come over and sink down on the bench beside him, looping your arm through his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Don’t you know that he’s afraid? That a selfish, spiteful part of him wants to hide you— with the rest of his treasures— away from the light, so he can love you in the dark?

There’s a sigh as you lean against him, savouring his touch like the wine one swirls in a glass when their thoughts are elsewhere. It’s gone in a mouthful; you check your watch, and he hopes it’s bitter.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

No, he would rather be sweet for you, but look at you— making him lie. “I’m okay,” he says, and it doesn’t have a drop of conviction. He’s tired of philanthropy.

…

“What are you gonna do? Come on, tell us. Tell us! What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know, Luke. Give me a second, okay? Jeez.”

You literally just got here. Your pace is brisk and the night air still clings to you— you shed a layer of it by peeling your arms out of your coat. Luke and Kieran are close behind, keeping to your heels like terriers hoping you’ll trip with a plateful of food. They’ll take even a crumb at this point.

“You gonna fight him?” Kieran nudges, but your lips stay tight.

“Oh, you’re so gonna fight him,” Luke takes away from the silence.

You don’t know what you’re going to do. You’ve reached a decadent lounge, lavished with black and gold, and you throw your coat over the arm of a chair before starting to wrestle off your combat boots. You’ve been off work for hours, but it doesn’t feel like it. One call-to-duty after another; first the hospital, now this.

Mephisto caws in greeting from a nearby perch. “I’m not gonna fight him,” you say as your second boot drops with a clunk. “I just need to—”

“Say no more,” Luke cuts you off. “We want in.”

With a tired sigh, you gaze up at the twins at last. Kieran is readying a fist: punching his hand softly, the beak of his mask low and threatening. Beside him, Luke swings a baseball bat over his shoulder. He didn’t have it a second ago. Where did he even—?

You put your hands on your hips. “You guys got a death wish or something?”

“Yes!” they enthuse together, nodding excitedly.

You haven’t got time to ask. Your focus drifts to Sylus’s bedroom door, where music is leaking with honeylike light. You can’t count the number of times you’ve fallen over that threshold, exhausted— always slightly broken. You want to crawl into cool silk sheets and a warmer embrace, but there’s one small problem.

The text that had brought you here, anxious and out of breath:

Boss is with someone.

“What’re you thinking?”

You’re closer to the door, now, and Luke’s whisper makes you jump. You spin, twisting the bat from his fingers and pushing him back until the tip is pressed to his throat. “Get back,” you hiss, before levelling the weapon at an encroaching Kieran, “both of you.”

Luke leaps behind his brother— swinging him between you for protection. The baseball bat stays hovering, and Luke peeks over Kieran’s shoulder, swatting at it like an indignant kitten.

“Stop it,” you scold, poking back at his hand and his masked face. “Begone!”

“Yes, boss!” Kieran goes to move, but Luke is holding him in place. He’s dragged backwards: a human shield until they can both scurry around the turn of a corridor.

You smile fondly. You forget, for just a moment, that you’re alone and full of uncertainty. The song in the next room lulls, at its inevitable end, and then you can’t forget. You’re stood in silence, staring at a door you’ve never had to knock before. Another song starts up.

Whatever this is, you can handle it.

You use the baseball bat to tap against the dark wood. “Sylus?” you call.

He makes you wait. You can hear him, moving around— unmistakably taking his time— but you don’t mind. You’re running scenarios through your head. Is he in on this, too? Or…?

He opens the door and oh, he definitely is. His silk robe hangs haphazardly over his figure, one side threatening to slip from his shoulder and the belt dangerously loose at the middle. A flush is tinting his face, spreading down through his neck, past his collarbone and lower, you think, but you’re trying not to look.

“Sweetie,” he purrs in the way that tells you he’s up to no good, “what a pleasant surprise.” His eyes flit downwards. “And you’re armed, too.”

There’s a breathlessness to the observation, and your ability to breathe briefly eludes you as well. His hair is damp and unkempt, his skin warm, his gaze hot. Is this a test? It feels like a test.

“Are you alone?” you snap, because he’s clearly put some thought into whatever it is, and you’re a good sport, so you’ll play along.

“No,” he says, but then: “You know you’re always with me in spirit, kitten. Even if not in—” another downwards glance— “body.”

“Sylus.”

“Mmm?”

“I’m going to ask you one more time.” You catch his chin with your free hand, forcing his gaze back to your face. “And I want a real answer.” He swallows thickly. “Are you alone?”

His submission is fragile. He lifts his hand, wraps his fingers around your wrist like a reminder of the fact. “Careful, sweetie.” His grip tightens as his voice drops. “Think about what you’re asking.”

“I know what I’m asking.” You snatch your hand free and step closer. “Get out of my way.”

Sylus narrows his eyes, but soon relaxes. He sweeps a hand through his hair, chuckling as he obeys— moving aside to let you past. You storm through, looking over every visible inch of his room. There’s nothing to see, of course. No clothes that aren’t yours pooled over the floor. No lover wrapped up in his bedsheets.

“Just what exactly are you looking for?” he asks smugly behind you.

“Save it, Sylus.” Your pretend patience is gone. “The twins told me everything.”

So you start searching more strenuously. You make your way over to his bed, baseball bat slung over your shoulder as you check behind the far side— even stooping to peek under it. You open the wardrobe. Nothing. Use the baseball bat to push back the curtains, letting in more blood-red moonlight. Nothing. You huff in frustration.

“You know, don’t you?” Sylus says quietly.

He’s leant against the doorway, arms crossed, and you spare him a glance. “Know what?”  

“That there’s no-one here.”

It sounds like defeat. “I’m taking this very seriously, actually,” you dismiss as you roll open the drawer of his bedside table, where no-one is hiding. You move on to even more absurd places: lifting flowers out of their vase to glance about inside it, peering into the horn of his vintage gramophone.

You’d hoped your antics would elicit at least a short laugh, or a scoff of amusement. There’s nothing, though, so you plonk onto the bed— defeated, yourself— and look to the man as you set your weapon down.

He looks back with an insincere smile. “How did you know?”

“That you weren’t really with someone? Because you’re you, Sylus. The key to a good prank?” Your fingers twinkle in the air beside your head. “Believability. Besides—” now a forefinger taps at your temple— “nothing gets past this.”

“Your ego?” he guesses with a smirk that is sincere, if nothing else.

“My brain, Sy.”

“Ah.”

Your ego— tsk. Your feet are dangling from the bed, playing with a slipper they’ve fished out from underneath it, and you have half a mind to launch it at him. This doesn’t feel like one of your usual games, though, and you’ve had a whole ride through the N109 Zone to figure out why.

“I really hurt you, didn’t I?” you speak like a confession, staring down at the floor so you don’t have to meet his eyes. “That’s what all this is about, right? You wanted to get back at me for dinner?”

“No, I—”

“I get it.” Your feet find the second slipper. “I do. I mean, it was a really shitty thing to do— walking out on you like that. Especially after you waited for me. You went to all that effort, and I— ah.” You’ve toed one of the slippers out of reach.

“Allow me,” comes a voice that’s suddenly close. Sylus’s figure looms over you before he’s crouching, kneeling by your feet. He still looks like a mess of sin, but he’s gentle as he retrieves the slipper for you. Removes your socks for you. Slides a slipper onto each of your cold feet. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he mutters.

You let out a sigh. “Sylus.” You’re scolding him, and he gazes up at you, his eyes garnets of adoration only you could afford. “You can tell me anything, you know.”

“I know, sweetie.”

“So why won’t you tell me how you feel?”

He sits back on his knees, his thumb drawing circles on the inside of your ankle. The ministrations are mindless, and so are his words: “How I feel is not important.”

“Of course it is!” You pull away from him. “Don’t say things like that.”

“But I thought I could tell you anything, kitten.”

It’s a nick from a blade that could do much worse; he wants you to feel how sharp it is. His smile is a warning and he’s waiting for the hunter in you to strike back, because violence is what you’re good at. What you’re both good at. It hurts, but it’s easy.

You shift forward on the bed. “Sylus… you don’t need to protect me. Not from you. Not from anything you feel. I want you to be happy, to tell me if you’re unhappy. I don’t need you to—” your fingers skirt over his chest and you falter inexplicably— “to sacrifice yourself for me.”

Sylus looks down to where you’re tracing the shape of his heart on his skin. He lets out a long, beleaguered breath, then leans closer to you, his head turning away as he settles it on your lap. Your hands find his hair instinctually, threading through it in slow, meandering motions.

“I want you to be mine,” he admits on another sigh.

He can’t see you smile, but he’ll hear it in your voice: “I am yours, Sy—”

“No— just mine.”

He won’t make it a demand. Even asking you nicely has him breathless and still, like the drawn-out pause of a finished symphony. Your hands stop moving, out of respect for the quiet. You’re remembering the times you’ve been late out of your building because you’d stumbled into Xavier in the lobby. The doctor’s appointments that always overrun, and Rafayel’s ‘emergency’ phone calls.

“Come and sit with me,” you mumble, patting the bed beside you.

When Sylus does, it’s with the same reluctance a cat surrenders a sliver of sun. Lazy and listless— still warm from the light. The bed sinks under his weight and you turn to face him. His robe’s collar has fallen further, so you hook a finger under it to draw it back up to his neck. Then you straighten the lapels, smoothing them over distractedly.

He’s watching your face, not the movements of your hands. Your cheeks feel warm. “I was speaking to Rafayel earlier, and we—”

A groan, and Sylus is no longer at your fingertips; he’s flopped down backwards on the bed, his hand over his face. You can’t help giggling— you’ve broken the big, bad boss of Onychinus, it seems. Is that all it takes? You grin as you lie down with him, settling on your side, propped up on an elbow. He doesn’t stir when you fix a few stray strands of his hair.

“We talked about boundaries,” you continue. “How I can’t be on call twenty-four seven, and how he’s going to take better care of himself, so I don’t have to be.”

Sylus has moved his hand, ever so slightly.

There’s more: “I’m gonna call in sick to work tomorrow. I made a deal with Xavier, that’s why I stayed late today. He’ll cover for me.” You shift closer. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I know I can’t always be with you, but I am always thinking of you, I promise. You’re always with me in spirit, Sy, even if not in—” you press a quick kiss to his chest— “body.”

He chuckles at the words, or maybe the touch tickled.

You grin down at him. “I’m yours. Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

“No! Ugh, just—” Smart-ass! You flick his forehead as he laughs quietly. “Not the words ‘I’m yours’, say that I’m—”

His hand is at your face, pulling you in so he can kiss you. It’s slow and it’s patient; he’s taking his time, and you won’t slip away. You can feel his smile. “You’re mine,” he murmurs when he finally withdraws. One more kiss, lighter, on the tip of your nose. “Just mine.”

Always. You let him pull you into an embrace, snuggling into his warmth like you’ve been wanting to from the moment you last left it. You can hear his heartbeat beneath the lullaby of his breath. “Sy?” you whisper.

“Hmm?”

“You look really hot when you’re pretending to cheat on me.”

He scoffs, but a yawn comes before his response. “Don’t get any ideas, kitten.”

Your quiet is pensive. “I have this lunch with Zayne later this week. I really should text him to find out—”

The grip around you constricts, and a voice is in your ear, soft and possessive:

“What did I just say?”

[cinnamxns]

the catch

summary: kenji sato really just wants you at his game. you propose a bet instead: you’re going to come to his game but if he loses, he treats you to dinner; if he wins, he can ask you for anything in return—and ken knows exactly what he wants.

⇢ pairing: ken sato x fem!reader ⇢ contains: fluff, friends to lovers au, pining ⇢ word count: 2.0k ⇢ note: idk if people still read for ken sato but i rewatched ultraman: rising & fell in love with him all over again. reposted from my old blog with the title changed.

“It would mean a lot to me if you came.”

Kenji Sato is known for being a lot of things—handsome, talented, the best thing that’s ever happened to the world of Japanese baseball—but being sincere is not one of them. He’s an insufferable, over-confident prat most of the time, as Coach Shimura would willingly attest, and he knows all of this, too. He can’t really help it; the media eats out of the palm of his hand when he showcases his suave, debonair side.

You, on the other hand, snort inelegantly at him, swat at his shoulder, and say, “I’m busy that evening, Kenji.”

The baseball player frowns, lips jutting out petulantly. “With what? You’re usually free on Friday evenings.”

“Yeah, I’m busy,” you inform him, clutching a stack of documents to your chest. A loose sheet of paper flies out of your hold, and Ken bends down and picks it up, holding it out for you. “I need to binge-watch the newest season of Bridgerton.”

“Hey!” Kenji draws his hand back, still holding the paper. “I thought we were gonna watch that together.”

He can’t believe you would betray him like this. Binge-watching stuff together is your thing, and it always has been ever since he moved back to Tokyo. Kenji Sato doesn’t have many friends, but you walked straight into his life just like Emi did—easily and simply, like the universe decreed it. It’s a perk, he thinks, to being the secretary of the manager of the Yomiuri Giants. On one hand, you frequent his practices so often that Kenji was used to seeing you scribble down notes, sitting by the bleachers. 

On the other hand, however, you aren’t forced to attend all the Giants’ matches. You tend to use the time you get off to rest and relax and rejuvenate, coming back to Ken’s next practice session with bright eyes and a happy grin.

You roll your eyes at his antics, reaching out and trying to grab the document. The baseball player merely holds his arm above his head and sticks his tongue out at you when you can’t reach it. 

“Kenji,” you warn. “Give that back right now.”

“Or what?”

“Or you’ll lose the exclusive invitations our team has for the fundraising gala being held by the KDF next week, and Mr. Nishimura will have your head.”

At the mention of his manager’s name, Kenji blanches. Mr. Nishimura is known for his work ethic—he’s composed, efficient, and level-headed. But he’s also strict and scary when something impairs his meticulously thought out plans. Ken can’t possibly fathom being on his bad side; it puts dealing with Emi’s acid reflux to shame.

But perhaps… he can take advantage of this.

“I’ll give it back,” he says, “but only on one condition.”

You raise an eyebrow but don’t say anything. Ken takes that as a sign to continue.

“You come to the game tomorrow.”

A brief flash of irritation crosses over your features. Kenji feels slightly guilty, but he doesn’t take back his words.

He likes you, so God help him, and keeping this confession contained within him is driving him over the edge.

“I’ll do you one better,” you challenge. Kenji is startled; he gulps at the conviction in your tone.

“I’ll come to your game tomorrow, but I have a condition too,” you say. “If you lose the game, you have to take me out to dinner.”

A slow grin spreads on Ken’s face. “Ah, but you see—I never lose.”

“Hasn’t Coach Shimura told you to cut down on that ego of yours?”

“Fine, fine. I accept.” Kenji shrugs. “But what do I get if I win?”

You consider it, brows furrowing and lips pressed together in that way you always do when you’re thinking hard about something. He waits patiently, bringing his hand back down and flicking a strand of hair out of his eyes. 

Finally, you say, “You can ask me for any favour.”

“Any favour?”

“Yes, Ken.” You sigh with mock regret. “Anything.”

Kenji squints at the printed words on the paper he’s holding. “Say, does this event allow us to bring dates?”

You snatch the sheet from him, scowling. “That’s for me to know.”

“And for me to find out?”

“And for you to never find out.”

“Rude.”

The cheer of the spectators in the stadium is deafening, their excited shouts and loud claps making Kenji’s ears ring. It’s a full house tonight—Coach Shimura had informed them that all the tickets were sold out, and then grudgingly pointed at Ken and muttered, “All thanks to this fellow.” Perspiration drips off his forehead and down the sides of his face. His gloves fit his hands snugly, slightly worn out from constant use. It’s a bit humid; the dome protecting the stadium doesn’t allow natural air circulation.

Yet, despite all the noise and clamour surrounding him, all Kenji Sato can do is stare at you.

You’re leaning over the barricade, completely ignoring the relatively more comfortable seats you get in the VIP stand. Your gaze is trained on the ball, hollering obscenities when one of the Giants makes a mistake, and hooting gleefully when his team does well. Even from a distance, your enthusiasm is infectious.

That’s not the only reason Kenji Sato can’t stop looking at you. There’s another—something more devious on your part. He has to lick his lips and force himself to tear his eyes off you.

Out of all things dastardly and cunning in this world, you chose the worst kind of torture imaginable: The shirt you’re wearing, hanging loosely off your shoulders and tucked into your jeans is his jersey.

It’s an old jersey, one he wore back when he still lived in LA. With fraying edges and faded colours, it’s little more than a washed-out t-shirt. Still, it looks fucking gorgeous on you—but as exhilirating as it is, seeing you in his clothes, it’s making it so fucking hard for him to focus.

The ball whizzes just past his shoulder. He swings his bat a second too late and misses it. 

Strike one.

Barely biting back a groan of frustration, Kenji ignores the taunting snicker of the opposing team’s catcher. He chances a glance at you.

You’re glaring at him, eyebrows knit together in a vicious frown and lips pressed together. He can imagine the kind of thoughts you’re having about him right now. He can practically hear your voice in his head, teasing him mercilessly for missing the ball. Ken gulps. You’re a formidable force of nature, and he does not want to get on your bad side.

Taking a deep breath, Kenji Sato reminds himself of the bet. His life depends on it.

Well, not really. Underneath the veneer of calm, composed, gentlemanly cockiness, Kenji Sato has always had a flair for the dramatics. He remembers what he’s going to ask you if he wins.

He absolutely must win. It’s a matter of life and death.

Strengthening his resolve, Kenji turns back to the pitcher and fixes him with a scowl so intent, it would make any bystander quake in their boots. He can’t wait for this match to end, can’t wait to see your brilliant smile at his victory. He also can’t wait to get back home to Emi and her mother, and his father, and tell them that he’s finally accomplished the one thing he’s been aching for ever since he met you.

When he hits the winning shot, it’s as though Kenji gets tunnel vision. He jogs across the field, giving high-fives to his teammates and shaking hands with the losing team. But he’s not concentrating much; all he can think of is you in his periphery.

He makes his way over to the VIP stand—and nearly keels over, right there, on the soft grass of the pitch.

Your smile is so blinding, it feels like something’s been lit up inside Kenji’s body. 

He slows down, returning your smile. He takes off his helmet and drops it somewhere by his feet. Running a hand through his sweaty hair, he winks at you.

“So,” he says. “What do you think?”

Your grin doesn’t waver even as you insult him affectionately. “I think you’re gross and sweaty and need to take a shower, like, right now.”

“I bust my ass out there to win the stupid trophy and this is what I get as a reward?”

“Congratulations, Ken,” you say softly, sincerity evident in your voice. “You were amazing out there.”

Normally, Kenji would reply with some snarky, arrogant comment. But it’s you, so, instead, he says, “Thank you.”

“I guess I owe you something now, huh?”

He smirks, not unkindly. Elation fills his entire being.

This is it. This is what he played for today.

“I want you,” Kenji says slowly, “to go out on a date with me.”

He waits for your reaction. You gape at him as soon as the words leave his mouth. Your eyes are wide open and your mouth parts slightly. The thought that he’s made an irredeemable, irreversible mistake briefly flashes across his mind.

“Yes, oh my God!”

You fling your arms around his neck, pulling him close to you. The barricade digs into his sternum, but Kenji finds he doesn’t really care, lost in your tight embrace as he is. He wraps his arms around you as comfortably as he can and inhales your scent. Both of you stay that way for a moment, simply indulging in each other. The cheers from the crowds over his win turns into static background noise. All that exists is this: You, him, and the undeniable joy that comes from having your confession being accepted.

Kenji is loath to pull away from you, but the posture soon becomes uncomfortable, and he’s more concerned about you straining some muscle because of him. 

He looks at your face, all sunshine and golden. You’re happy because of him, he thinks. He’s made you happy. What more could he possibly want?

“Can I kiss you now?” he asks, bringing his hands up to cup the sides of your face. “Even though I’m all gross and sweaty?”

You roll your eyes at him. “Like that’s gonna stop you.”

“You’re right,” Ken agrees, and then he kisses you.

It’s a burst of colours against his closed eyelids. He feels like a bunch of fireworks have gone off inside his chest, painting every part of him in warmth. Your lips are soft; you taste like breath mints and coffee, and Kenji wants more. He swallows all your gasps with his mouth, tilting his head and deepening the kiss. You clutch the front of his shirt with your hands, like you’re pulling him closer and closer, even though there is no distance to traverse.

It’s heaven.

For all the grudges that Kenji Sato holds against the KDF, he has to admit they can throw a pretty mean party.

He wonders, though, if he’s just in a good mood because your hand is wrapped around his arm.

“Have I ever told you,” you lean forward and whisper into his ear conspiratorially, “that you look incredibly delicious in a suit?”

Kenji chokes on air. You pat his back condescendingly while he splutters. 

Once he recovers, he gives you a onceover (you pretend like he hasn’t been checking you out ever since you entered the venue) and tugs you towards him. “I bet you look even more delicious with that dress of yours off.”

You shiver. Kenji smirks. He’s won the battle for now. Looking around, he spots a familiar face in the crowd. “Ami!” he exclaims, waving at her.

“Hello, Kenji,” the journalist greets him, walking over to you both. 

“Ami,” Kenji says, an infectious sort of excitement in his voice. He looks at you and then back at his friend, a soft smile on his lips. “I wanted you to be the first to know.”

She raises a shrewd eyebrow. “Is it something I can publish?”

“I don’t know, babe,” the baseball player says, turning to you. He doesn’t miss the knowing chuckle Ami directs at him. “Is it?”

“Yes,” you confirm, stepping forward with a hand outstretched. “It’s nice to meet you, Ami. I’m Kenji Sato’s girlfriend. Whatever this oaf tells you, don’t believe it. He thinks he won the bet, but it’s really me who won the catch of a lifetime.”

[slowpitstop]

I Dare You – IH6 (part one)

summary: A girl, a boy, a slow burn, a bunch of F1 drivers, too many parties and just enough tension to ruin your week

word count: 5.6k

isack hadjar x reader

note: hello my lovelies! this is the first fic I'm posting on tumblr and I hope you'll like it!!! This is part 1 so please comment and repost to give me any motivation to write part 2 otherwise this will end up in the bins of my projects along with my draft masters thesis lmao

Paris, April 2025

Your breath feels so loud it almost drowns out the music pulsing in the background. You recognise Niagara Falls by The Weeknd. The bass notes are shaking your bones but not as much as his eyes do.

Isack is looking at you, not moving an inch. His lips are slightly parted and all you want is to crash into them, hard, not sweet.

You stand two meters apart, fists clenched, while he is leaning against a cluttered table like you’re not melting in front of him.

“I dare you,” he smiles.

Something twists inside you and your veins ache. You take a step. Then another.

4 months ago -  London, January 2025

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!” Everyone around you screams while you snort out a huge laugh watching your friend miserably fall out of a handstand.

“Victor freaking Martins. You have to stop doing things like this or else you cannot complain about all the compromising videos I have on my phone,” you say as you lend him a helping hand.

You two keep dancing for a while, the music pounding in the crowded London apartment you somehow ended up in with a mix of friends and a bunch of strangers too. The lights are low and the air is buzzing with perfume, sweat and cheap champagne. It’s loud and chaotic and a little too hot but the energy feels good.

A little later, breathless, you slip away to get a drink, weaving through the crowd. You find a quieter corner with a table full of bottles and pour yourself an iced tea. Near the table, two guys are talking in French. You don’t mean to listen but you catch the words anyway.

The tall one, standing next to you, points to a girl in the crowd and smirks.

“C’est déjà Halloween?.” (Is it already Halloween?)

You follow his gaze and freeze. That’s your friend Marla, the same one you hyped up a few hours ago when she was choosing her outfit: orange overalls and a sheer green mesh long sleeve shirt. Sure, she looks a bit like a fashionable vegetable, but who cares? She loves it.

That is when you notice the other guy, shorter, half-hidden behind his friend. He has a boyish grin on his face and bursts of laughter when the tall one adds “En tout cas, c’est exactement comme ça que j’imaginais une citrouille danser” just as Marla throws herself into some heartfelt moves. (Anyway, that’s exactly how I imagined a pumpkin would dance)

He leaves but the other one lingers. He turns, catches you watching him.

“Hi,” he says, completely oblivious to your death stare. “Having a good night?”

His accent is thick and unmistakably French. You blow out a breath, like a bull in a kid’s cartoon.

“You Frenchies really like talking about people in front of them thinking no one can understand, huh?”

He blinks, confused. His smile fades. Now that you see him clearly, you clock the details of his vaguely familiar face: dark curls, Roman nose with a beauty mark, eyes the color of hot chocolate. But none of that matters.

“You think nobody here understands French?” you’re almost yelling now over the music.

“You can understand French?” he asks.

“Je suis à moitié française, bien sur que je comprends. Et surtout ce que tu dis sur mes amis,” you snap while pointing at Marla. (I am half French, of course I understand. And especially what you say about my friends)

He has recovered his composure now, and frowns. 

“Eh, j’ai rien dit, perso.” (Hey, I didn’t say anything myself)

“Ouais enfin t’as bien rigolé.” (Yeah, well you sure had a good laugh)

He shrugs. 

“Bah ouais. C’était drôle.” (Well yeah. It was funny)

Your eyes narrow and you give him a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.

“I think it is funnier that two guys standing stiff as planks in a corner are commenting on a girl who’s just dancing and having fun.”

“Woaw, relax,” he says, holding his hands up. “You’re scary.”

“And you’re an idiot,” you say before you can think.

He raises an eyebrow and the space between you snaps tight. You’re about to say something else but your words catch behind your teeth. Maybe you overreacted. It was just a dumb comment. Marla had said she was going for chaotic sexy vegetable vibe, so why were you so angry?

Because he had that smug, boyish grin that made your stomach slightly twist and you didn’t like how that felt. Feeling a bit stupid and not ready to admit it got to you, you put your drink on the table a little too hard, and head back to the dancefloor as he watches you go.

When you come back to your friends, Victor wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“Why were you talking to Isack?”

“Who?”

He tilts your head toward the guy you just argued with.

“Him. He raced with me in F2, you don’t recognise him? Isack Hadjar. Really good, just made it to F1 with Racing Bulls.”

The rest of his words feel like they echo from underwater.

“You’re going to see him a lot this year actually, since you’re interning with McLaren.”

Your eyes lock with Isack’s across the room and for a second, you wonder if he is just as thrown off as you are.

March 2025, Melbourne GP - Wednesday evening

The restaurant is fancy in a subtle way but the wine still costs more than your rent. The McLaren team fills the space with warmth and noise: engineers and mechanics are trading jokes while Zak Brown at the head of the table is sitting like the godfather of the whole operation.

You are seated between Oscar Piastri and one of the data analysts who is obsessed with tire degradation. Someone raises a toast to the start of the season and you clink glasses even though you are still convinced someone will soon realise you are an imposter and revoke your badge.

You were not supposed to be here, not really. Not at a literal F1 team dinner. You were a final-year engineering student at MIT and your school had this partners program where the lucky nerd who topped the year in each discipline gets to do their final semester with a real-world placement. Most get stuck designing powertrains for scooters but somehow, you got McLaren. The email even said that Zak Brown himself, a fellow American, helped launch the programme years ago. You remember rereading the name like: wait, that Zak Brown?

When you called Victor after getting the internship, he hallucinated for ten whole seconds and then said something that sounded like:

“You made it to F1 before me. I hate you. I’m so proud. I still hate you.”

Despite growing up in the U.S., summers at your grandparents’ in France meant everything to you: the tiny village in Essonne just an hour from Paris, your grandma’s terrifying Peugeot and Victor Martins. You met him when you were kids, racing bikes down gravel alleys. He got into karting first, obviously. Then one day you tried it too, just for fun and… you were awful. But something still clicked in your brain, not on how to drive the damn thing but how it worked. This spark steered you early on, toward engineering and eventually one of the best schools in the world.

You smile at the memory while someone refills your glass.

Thursday evening

You are in the hotel gym which is small but well equipped. You usually prefer running outside, especially early in the morning when the city is quiet but today the heat is too brutal. The air conditioning of the gym is a relief. Cool and steady, it matches the rhythm of your breath as you run on the treadmill.

You like the treadmill for your interval sessions, the fact you can precisely control the speed. Your feet hit the belt in a steady pattern, sweat building on your skin. You are focused and in the zone when the door swings open.

Isack walks in with his trainer, chatting. Your heart skips a beat, not for him obviously, but out of surprise, and you pretend you didn’t notice him.

But of course, you notice. He is wearing a fitted black t-shirt and training shorts and as he moves through warmups, his sleeves ride up his biceps. Then he starts on the weights. You see him in the mirror, the way his arms flex naturally with each movement, controlled and easy. He is focused, jaw clenched and hair damp at the edges. Shit.

You catch yourself staring a little too long and suddenly your foot slips. A loud noise echoes as your shoe hits too hard and you try to regain your balance.

Isack’s eyes snap to you.

Your cheeks are heating and you feel mortified. He smirks, part amusement, part something you can’t quite place.

You return your eyes to the screen in front of you, pushing the speed up in some desperate attempt to outrun your embarrassment. The weight of his gaze lingers, itching the back of your neck. You focus on your breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

Later

You are down at the hotel lobby vending machine at 1am because jet lag is eating you alive and there is nothing in your room but cool air and silence. You punch the button for crisps and the machine does nothing. Of course.

You are about to kick it when you hear a voice behind you.

“Maybe try saying please.”

You turn. Isack Hadjar, in sweatpants and a hoodie, with messy hair.

“Maybe try minding your business,” you mutter, not even looking at him.

He leans on the machine. You can feel him there like static electricity, right under your skin. He finally breaks the silence.

“You’re still mad about New Year’s?”

You roll your eyes and sigh.

“No, I don’t care. Why would I be mad? I don’t even know you.”

“Fair enough” he smiles, then adds: “I wasn’t trying to be a dick to your friend, you know that, right?”

“Fine,” you say, half to him, half to yourself. “Noted.”

You nod. He nods too. Not defensive, not smug, just… honest. There’s a beat. One too long. He looks exactly like the pictures you found online when you googled his name like a total idiot after that New Year’s argument. Same eyes. Same muscular silhouette. Same effortless charm that pisses you off just a little.

Except now he’s right in front of you. Real and warm and too close.

The crisps fall with a mechanical noise and break the spell. You snatch the bag and step back without another word, heart doing something stupid in your throat. You feel him looking at you the whole way to the elevator.

Race Day

You are in the McLaren garage, yawning. The first Grand Prix of the season is about to start but you are still half asleep, from jet lag and a few nights of tossing and turning in your bed. Friday practice and Saturday qualifying had gone well for the McLaren boys, which made you genuinely excited. Everyone knows it, this season, McLaren is onto something.

The crew slowly clears from the grid and the cars start their formation lap. You are looking at a detail on a spare piece of the car with one of the mechanics when a wave of noise breaks behind you. You turn toward the TV screen just in time to see the replay: Isack’s car is in the wall. Your stomach drops. How is that even possible? 

“Shit, that’s embarrassing,” says an engineer in the background.

You follow his exit on the screens, and even though he does not take off his helmet, you can see he is devastated. On his way back to the garage, Anthony Hamilton stops him to give him some comfort. You lean back, fingers brushing your face. He must feel awful. You should feel something else, some sort of vengeful smugness, but you don’t. There is no satisfaction at all, just some uncomfortable feeling in your chest.

A few hours after the Grand Prix and celebrations at McLaren’s, you are walking in the paddock hallway. You don’t mean to run into him. Not really. You’re just cutting through the back hallway to bring data logs to your trackside lead when he is suddenly there, half leaning on a wall and phone in his hands.

Isack’s suit is rolled down to his waist. He looks pissed. He sees you before you can turn around. Too late. You force yourself toward him.

“How are you?” you ask.

He shrugs. You open your mouth but he cuts you before you can speak, looking exhausted.

“Look, I’m not in the mood for banter, honestly.”

“I don’t want to banter” you protest. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. About the crash.”

He pushes himself off the wall like your words physically annoy him. He looks at you, trying to decide if you’re lying. You hold his gaze but he looks away first.

“C’est vraiment la honte putain. Je me suis affiché comme un con sur mon premier Grand Prix en F1,” he mutters as he kicks a rock with his shoe. (This is so fucking embarrassing. I made a fool of myself at my first F1 Grand Prix)

You look at him, surprised by the sudden confession.

“It was just a stupid mistake, you have plenty of time to prove everyone wrong. Actually, it’s a pretty cool redemption arc story, you know.”

Then you add, because you are apparently incapable of stopping and need to fill this unbearable silence:

“I’ve watched footage of your F2 races. You have talent.”

His head tilts and he shows his usual smirk.

“You’ve stalked me?”

You feel your entire face becoming red, realising your mistake.

“No, I mean, I watched Victor's. You just happened to be in them.”

“You said you looked at my races, though.”

“God, fuck off.”

He laughs and it settles somewhere low in your stomach. Someone calls his name from down the paddock so he gathers his gear and starts walking back.

You call out, trying to save face:

“I still think you’re an idiot! By the way.”

He glances over his shoulder, a wide smug grin on his face. You try to ignore the warm and irritatingly happy feeling that blooms through you.

China GP, March 2025

Sunday mornings in the paddock seem to always be a little chaotic but today it’s the good kind. You’re sitting on an overturned crate near the Red Bull hospitality area, sipping something over-caffeinated. Around you, a loose group of rookies and Lily, Alex Albon’s girlfriend, who somehow manages being surrounded by chaos and still look elegant.

Someone, probably Ollie, just sparked a heated debate about who would survive longest on a desert island.

“You’d be dead in two days,” Kimi says, pointing at him. “You got lost inside a shopping mall.”

“I was eleven!” Ollie squeaks.

Laughter breaks out. Liam is mid rant about survival tactics and the object he would bring with him “I’d hunt some fishes, with like, sticks. Or a sharp spoon”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Isack smirk. You don’t look at him, you’re careful not to.

“Since you guys are asking, I would bring Liam and eat him for protein,” says Ollie out of the blue.

Liam smiles. “Kinky.”

You choke on your drink and Lily mutters “Oh my God”.

“What about you?” she turns to you. “How long are you lasting out there?”

You shrug. “I know how to boil water, I can tie knots and I don’t complain. Also I have watched all seasons of Survivor religiously.”

Lily whistles. “Damn. Attagirl.”

You try not to glance at Isack but you fail. He feels you staring and tilts his head toward you but you turn back to Lily a little too quickly, gulping your drink.

Then, salvation: Alex Albon appears from around the corner. He heads straight for Lily. 

“There you are,” he says, smiling. “Come on, I’m saving you from this testosterone soup.”

Lily stands and kisses him on the cheek. “Please get me out.”

You hop off the crate too to follow them. Lily loops her arm through yours and you glance back, just briefly. Isack’s eyes are still on you, unreadable.

Sunday evening

Someone has the bright idea of heading up to the hotel rooftop. It’s one of those in-between evenings where the post-race buzz still lingers but there’s no party, just too much dopamine and nowhere to put it. Someone brings snacks, someone else pulls out their JBL and the music mixes with the honks of Shanghai in the distance.

The sky is dark but it’s a nice night. String lights are throwing a golden halo over everyone’s head. You pull a hoodie over your sundress and sit cross-legged on the ground, sipping a Coke zero.

Ollie points a finger at Kimi.

“Truth or dare.”

A wave of protests erupts until Ollie threatens to switch the music to his Bangers only playlist.

Kimi is challenged to serenade a picture of Toto Wolff with a Backstreet Boys song. He does, terribly, and Ollie discreetly films the moment for future blackmail. Liam makes Lily answer whether Alex has ever cried during sex. He hasn’t, but he has cried watching The Notebook, apparently. You don’t know who dared Arthur Leclerc to try pushups on the roof ledge, but you stopped watching after the second one.

Eventually, it lands on you.

“Truth or dare?” Isack asks through the laughter.

You hesitate. He is leaning back on his hands, casual, but he looks at you like he knows you won’t pick truth. And maybe it’s pride or the rush of your second Grand Prix, but you say:

“Dare.”

Isack sits up straighter. “Walk the ledge.”

You blink. 

“Excuse me?”

He points to the low concrete ledge that lines the edge of the building, maybe half a meter wide.

“That’s so dumb,” you say. “What if I die?”

“I said walk, not fall. Are you scared?” he says and you catch the smile he is trying to hide. “Come on, I dare you.”

“Fine,” you concede, already standing. “Just to prove a point.”

Alex says your name like a warning but you wave him off. You climb onto the ledge, carefully, the night breeze making your sundress float up. Your feet balance quickly, muscle memory from years of martial arts and being stubborn. Halfway across, the wind picks up. You flinch. Your arms extend for balance but you wobble a bit.

And then he’s there. Quiet and sudden, next to the edge, reaching his hand out instinctively.

You don’t think. You grab it.

The second your palm touches his, a jolt goes through your fingers, sharp and electric. Like the spark of static from an old sweater. You let go immediately. He flinches too.

“What the hell was that?” you mutter.

“Static,” he says, staring at his hand like it betrayed him. But his voice is a little off.

You climb down fast, cheeks flushed. Lily grins at you like she knows exactly what just happened.

Somewhere in the English countryside, April 2025

You don’t really know whose house this is, only that Ollie found the party and wherever Ollie goes, Isack follows. Victor is here too, sipping a beer next to you. You are sitting in a pair of lounging chairs in the back garden with a small group. You’ve had maybe three beers. Four? You’ve stopped counting. Enough to feel loose and light, stretched out with your legs over Victor’s.

It’s been a strange few weeks. Japan feels like a blur and Bahrain is coming soon, but right now you’re in this bubble back in Europe with everyone. You miss Liam. He hasn’t been around much since the news, the fact that he got demoted to Racing Bulls hit him hard. You hope the memes you send relentlessly and the appreciation messages you text him are cheering him up a little.

But everything else is going surprisingly well. You are three Grands Prix in, and you’re not just surviving, you’re actually doing something. You have caught a few people off guard with how quickly you’ve picked things up. Your work is helping engineers tweak things, even small things. You’re useful. You’re wanted. Sometimes you catch yourself smiling for no reason at all, like you have finally found your place.

You suddenly tune back into the conversation the boys are having. Someone brought up MMA and some dramatic fight from last week, and now all the hormonal late teenagers around you are losing their minds.

“Wasn’t Adesanya the first one to come in with that insane striking record?” Ollie asks around.

You take a sip of your beer before responding.

“Nope. Germaine de Randamie was undefeated in 46 kickboxing fights before she got into MMA. Try again, sunshine.”

The group turns to stare at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“Wait, you follow MMA?” Ollie says, clearly stunned.

Victor bursts out laughing.

“Of course she does. She did taekwondo for twelve years and boxing for five.”

Everyone laughs, quite impressed, before the conversation shifts. Amid the chatter and clinking bottles, Isack, who has barely looked at you all evening, tilts his beer slightly in your direction.

“You’ve been hiding this side of you.”

You reach for your beer, barely holding back a smug grin.

“You never asked.”

“Maybe we’ve been training in the same gym, do you know La frappe in Paris?”

“Sorry, I only train in tough cookie places,” you smile. Isack lets out a laugh.

“Putain,” he mutters, shaking his head. “You can be so cocky.”

You shrug, innocent.

“Just telling the truth.”

“What? You think you could take me?”

“I know I could take you,” you say before you can stop yourself.

He lifts a brow, his mouth twitching.

“You sure? You’re all talk.”

You lean back in your seat. You did not notice, but the garden has gone quieter as most people have drifted back inside because of the cold. It’s just you, Isack and Victor now. The air feels different somehow. You're both a little too competitive, a little too tipsy and neither of you knows when to back down.

Victor gets up and glances between you and Isack.

“I’m going for a wee, I do not want to see what this turns into,” he says, pointing between you two. “And I swear to God, if I come back and find you rolling in the bushes, I’m calling your mums.” You flip him off as he leaves.

Silence. Then, Isack stands and offers you a hand.

“Come on, let’s settle this.”

You give him a look.

“You’re not serious.”

“I dare you.”

Before either of you can think any better, you are both on your feet, half-fighting, half-laughing. He’s quick, but you’re quicker, dodging a grab and slipping around him. You aim for his ribs, gentle but cocky and he screams with exaggerated offense.

At some point, you throw a lazy leg kick that he somehow catches. You both lose your balance and roll into the grass, breathless. You manage to pin him for half a second before he flips you with way too much ease. He ends up above you, hands wrapped around your wrists, pressed into the grass. You stop giggling. His curls are a mess and he's panting a little.

His eyes flick down to your mouth and you suddenly realise how close your faces are. Now all you can think about is how your lips are almost brushing his. How they looked like when he laughed two seconds ago. How they might feel.

You can hear your own heart in your ears. Your skin is burning, in the places where he touches you, where he doesn’t. What the hell am I thinking? You’re drunk. That’s all it is. Just the beers and the grass and the way he’s looking at you like you’re some kind of mystery he wants to solve with his mouth.

He breathes out, slowly and his lips almost touch yours when…

“OLLIE BROKE A TABLE!!” someone screams from inside.

You both get up within a second like you have been electrocuted, barely looking at each other.

“I.. I’m going to see what that was,” you mumble, already moving. 

You don’t wait for him to respond and just run.

Essonne, France, April 2025

The sun is bright over your heads. You squint as you wipe sweat off your forehead with the bottom of your shirt. Victor misses his shot and groans.

“Sucker” you tease, snatching the ball.

“I’m not a sucker, I’m distracted,” he says, looking at you. “You’ve been in a mood all day. Spill the tea.”

You roll your eyes and dribble past him, taking a shot that bounces off the basketball rim. He takes the ball, still looking at you like he is not going to let this go.

“What’s going on with you and Isack?”

You freeze for a second too long.

“Nothing.”

“Oh come on. You were flirting with your eyes at that party like it was a full-time job.”

You try to dodge him, literally and figuratively but he runs into you lightly, grinning.

“I’m serious! You’ve been weird ever since. What happened?”

You press your lips together. Bounce the ball twice.

“Nothing happened, okay?”

Victor raises an eyebrow, smirking. You cave.

“Fine. We almost kissed.”

He blinks and his jaw drops.

“WHAT?”

“We were messing around on the grass. It got stupid. We were drunk. And then someone yelled about Ollie breaking something and I panicked and left. And I haven’t talked to him since.”

Victor makes a noise between disbelief and amusement.

“You ghosted him?”

“I didn’t ghost him.”

He just stares.

“I just… avoided him. For the rest of the party and at the Bahrain GP.”

He drops the ball and throws his hands up dramatically.

“You’re unbelievable!”

You throw your hands up as well. 

“Hey, it’s not like it’s just my fault. He also hasn’t reached out.”

“But why don’t you reach out? You like him.”

“I don’t like him.”

He squints at you again.

“You look at him like you want to fuck him and kill him at the same time.”

“Shut up!” you throw the basketball at his chest. He dodges, laughing.

“You do! You’ve got the murder eyes and the horny eyes!”

You chase him across the court, swearing in French under the spring sun.

Paris, April 2025 (back to the beginning)

You don’t really want to be here but Marla begged and honestly, there wasn’t much to do tonight anyway. You are only in Paris for the night, crashing at her place since your early train to visit your family and Victor leaves from the Austerlitz station.

The party you found yourselves in is hosted by a Red Bull crew member, a celebration after the triple header. The apartment is full of people. A mix of F1 people, friends of friends and party crashers. There is French rap humming in the background and wine glasses everywhere.

You are sitting on the kitchen counter in a short skirt and large sun-faded Carhartt t-shirt, both stolen from Marla’s wardrobe an hour ago. Your hair is loose and your legs swing lazily as you sip a very bad rosé.

Marla stands beside you, arms crossed, the neck of a beer bottle tucked between two fingers like a cigarette.

“I get she is lonely after the divorce, but she could literally find anyone else. I always have to be the one going, ‘Mom, that man brought a coupon to your birthday…’”

Your attention slips and your eyes drift toward the living room. Paris + Red Bull party equals Isack Hadjar, prince of the evening. He has been laughing for half an hour now with two guys you vaguely recognise from the Racing Bulls garage and a girl with a backless dress and perfectly blown out hair. You haven’t seen him since England apart from a glance at the media pen at the Saudi GP, but now he’s here, on home turf, like the party belongs to him. Of course he’s magnetic. Did a magnificent season debut. Everyone knows his name here. You wish you didn’t.

“You’re not even listening to me,” Marla complains.

“I am!”

Marla tilts her head.

“You’ve looked at him like six times in two minutes.”

“No I didn’t,” you say too quickly.

The girl next to Isack says something and touches his arm. He doesn’t pull away. You grit your teeth and gulp your glass of wine in one go before reaching to pour another one. Marla watches, unimpressed. 

“Anyway,” you say, desperate to steer the conversation elsewhere, “please tell me more about your new step dad.”

“Fine,” she sighs. “He wears leather bracelets. Plural. And he plays the didgeridoo.”

Later in the evening, you are standing by a dying potted plant, pretending to check something on the wall. Your glass is still half full but your head is light from the wine.

You turn to head back to the kitchen and slam right into someone. Your wine nearly spills down your front. A hand reaches, steadying your arm.

“Careful,” he mutters.

You look up. Isack.

“Maybe look where you’re going,” he says, pulling his hand back like he regrets touching you.

“Are you mad at me?” you say abruptly, the wine talking through you.

His brow lifts, caught off-guard.

“What?”

“You’ve stayed a mile away from me all night, hovering around…” you glance at the girl with the backless dress across the room “... whoever,” you mumble.

He exhales.

“I’m being weird? You’re the one who’s been ignoring me for weeks. You barely hang out with the guys anymore. And you look right through me like I don’t exist.”

“I haven’t been…”

“Yes, you have,” he cuts in. “Just admit it.”

“It’s not that simple.”

He lets out a dry laugh. 

“It is to me. You got scared,” he says like he’s daring you to deny it.

You cannot hold his gaze as you look away without replying. 

“Then say it,” Isack says, calmer now. “Say there’s nothing between us. Say it and I’ll walk out that door. You’ll never have to deal with me again.”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out, because you don’t know how to lie right now. The silence stretches and his expression doesn’t change.

“Yeah,” he says, voice flat. “That’s what I thought.”

Then he turns and walks away.

You stay frozen for a second. Maybe two or three. And then the air rushes back into your lungs. Heart pounding, you push through the crowd. You shove your wine glass into Marla’s startled hands on the way.

He is already halfway down the corridor when you catch him just as he slips into the pantry to get his hoodie, all the guest’s jackets being oddly packed next to the food shelves.

You follow him inside and the door clicks shut behind you.

He turns around, clearly irritated.

“What now?”

You take a shaky breath, words tumbling out before you can stop them.

“I don’t know what I feel, okay? And it’s so unfair of you to ask that because I cannot think when you’re around, and… and I feel like an idiot. Like I’m drowning in something I don’t understand, and you’re just standing there like it’s nothing.”

His expression softens.

“You didn’t say anything either, after England,” you say through your breath.

“Because you acted like it was a mistake,” he replies while running a frustrated hand through his hair.

“I got scared,” you whisper.

He meets your gaze.

“So did I.”

You are way too aware of every detail right now, the cramped room, his eyes, the way his presence makes your chest tighten while he is in front of you, waiting for you to say something, anything.

Your breath feels so loud it almost drowns out the music pulsing in the background. You recognise Niagara Falls by The Weeknd. The bass notes are shaking your bones but not as much as his eyes do.

Isack is looking at you, not moving an inch. His lips are slightly parted and all you want is to crash into them, hard, not sweet.

You stand two meters apart, fists clenched, while he is leaning against a cluttered table like you’re not melting in front of him.

“I dare you,” he smiles.

Something twists inside you and your veins ache. You take a step.
Then another.

You’re in front of him now. So close you can smell his cologne and feel his breath on your lips. His hand slides to your jaw, gentle but sure and then his mouth is on yours.

The kiss is nothing like you imagined. It’s worse. Rougher, hotter, messier. Your teeth bump. Your hands are in his hair. His fingers dig into your back like he doesn’t believe you’re real.

You grip the front of his shirt as Isack exhales into your mouth. There’s too much noise in your head and not enough space between you. He flips you around, lifts you onto the table and you pull him closer between your legs.

One of his hands slides up under your skirt and his fingers leave burning marks on your thigh. He kisses you like he wants you to feel every inch of it, like he’s daring you to pull away. His lips trace the shape of your jawline before returning to your mouth. You let out a moan.

It’s not soft, it’s not perfect. But it’s just right.

[augustjoy]

I’m Sorry…What?

Based on the following ask: Established relationship but it’s secret from the team. The team think they don’t like each other but in truth they are deeply in love with each other but the team don’t let them always be alone together out of worry so there have been a few close calls where they almost get caught until reader and Aaron room together and finally talk about maybe telling the team only the way they tell them is threw wedding invites and that’s shocks the team and they all have questions to which reader and Aaron only smile thinking how funny it is that a team of profilers never found them out. Love this idea! In this, Derek kind of looks out for the reader �� very “big brother” behavior from him in this.

Aaron Hotchner x Fiance BAU! Fem Reader

Fluff

Word count: 1617

Not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, some explicit language, meddling profilers, canon typical violence, mention of stabbing and hospitals, mention of wedding related activities, let me know if I missed anything!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

You stood from your desk, just about to head up to Hotch’s office with a file when Emily stopped you. Her hand resting on your forearm gently, her eyes meeting your own.

“I have to go drop this file off, let me take yours.”

“Oh, Emily it’s okay. I can take them.” You moved to grab her file.

“Girl, it’s okay…I know how hard he is on you.” Emily stood, patted your shoulder and took the files to Hotch’s office.

--

Things had been like this pretty much since the moment you’d joined the BAU. For whatever reason, everyone on the team had just assumed that you and Hotch hated each other…that you two couldn’t even be in the same room as one another without fighting. But that couldn’t be further from the truth.

See, what the team didn’t know was that Aaron and you were engaged. The two of you were dating even before you had joined the BAU. You had been working with a different team within the FBI, having a background in behavior analysis…moving to the BAU when a spot opened up, that just made sense.

Aaron and you had agreed to keep things strictly professional at work to avoid any discomfort within the workplace. Apparently that choice was now biting you in the ass.

Working with profilers, you’d think the secret of your relationship would have come out a long time ago, that being said, doesn’t mean there haven’t been some close calls.

--

This had started early on in you career with the BAU. Aaron had avoided pairing the two of you together, simply to avoid any suspicion of your relationship. The team, however, took this as him not warming up to your presence on the team.

Then it was him “benching” you. Aaron for a period of time had kept you in the local precincts on cases, you knew this was because he was worried about you getting hurt, but the team saw this as him questioning your abilities. They all reassured you that you were an asset to the team, more than capable in the field. Morgan had gone as far as confronting Aaron about the way he was mistreating you.

What really sealed this theory in your teammate’s heads was the way Aaron and you sparred. During debriefings the two of you would go back and forth through numerous theories, jabbing at one another for how “ridiculous” the other one was being. While to the team this looked argumentative…it really was how the two of you were, always pushing one another, wanting them to be the best they can be. Unafraid to challenge one another.

Everything was different after that. The team worked overtime to keep things light when the two of you were around one another. They would step into conversations, inserting themselves when it wasn’t necessary. They would jump in and offer to pair with one of you, so you’d never be stuck one-on-one.

At first you found it kind of funny, laughing internally at their crazy antics, but now that you were engaged, it was getting increasingly annoying. You’d just wanted some alone time with your fiancé and they were making it impossible.

--

You had gone to get a fresh cup of coffee to help you get through the remainder of your paperwork. Upon entering the kitchenette, you came face to face with your fiancé.

“Hey sweetheart.” He quietly greeted.

“Hi hon.” You smiled.

Aaron passed you a cup of coffee before moving to fill a second one for himself. He’d been this way since the beginning, always putting you first no matter what. You offered him thanks and stood with him for a moment, enjoying the proximity.

“I got a call earlier from the florist, she sent over the invoice. I also sent the deposit to the caterer this morning.” You informed.

“For the flowers, peonies right? Did you decide on pink or whi-”

“Everything okay in here?” Morgan bounded into the kitchenette. “You guys look tense…please tell me you weren’t fighting again.”

“Nope, everything is good! I was just heading back to my desk.” You said before making your exit.

--

The next slip up was while away on a case. You had been with Derek interviewing someone that happened to be the unsub, only you hadn’t been aware of that going in.

He had pulled a knife and moved quickly, leaving you with a nasty stab to the gut. You were lucky that it hadn’t hit anything major. You’d waved Derek off, telling him to go after the unsub.

After apprehending the guy, Derek made his way back to you to check in and make sure you were okay. He had called the team and for a medic, not leaving your side.

When Aaron showed up he was livid. The team took that as anger for your “mistake”, not realizing that his anger was directed toward himself – he was beating himself up for having sent you in there, putting you in this situation.

He rode with you in the ambulance to the hospital…giving the rest of the team time to talk about how he was probably reprimanding you. But once again, it couldn’t have been further from the truth. He had held you hand and reassured you the whole way to the hospital.

The team met him there and waited by his side as you were tended to. And when the doctor came out and called your name, asking for family, Aaron didn’t hesitate to rise to his feet, barely catching himself and mentally correcting fiancé to boss.

--

After that, the team did everything they could to keep the two of you separated or at least had someone with you to act as a buffer. It was becoming exhausting – you’d been trying to give Aaron an update about some stuff for the wedding and you just couldn’t get the chance.

The two of you would end up rapidly firing through topics once you arrived home for the evening, trying to catch one another up on wedding tasks, work tasks, and just everyday things.

 “Aaron…have you thought about how much easier things would be if we just told the team about us?”

“Yes I have. Why do you ask?” He admitted.

“Just, well…they’ve been annoying lately.” You huffed. “I don’t mean to sound rude, you know I love them. But they just won’t quit, I can’t get even a second alone with you at work and it is getting ridiculous.”

“You’re right. When you were in the hospital last month, I almost let it slip in front of them. If it’s what you want, let’s tell them.” Aaron agreed.

And thus began your planning of how you’d tell the most oblivious group of profilers that the two of you didn’t hate each other but were actually engaged to be married.

--

It took about a week and a half before you could officially tell the team your little secret. You had been waiting for your invitations to come in so you could hand deliver a few to your team…it would be the perfect announcement.

“Round table in five.” Aaron called out into the bullpen.

“Shit…he seems pissed.” Emily hissed.

You couldn’t help but giggle, knowing full well he was anything but pissed. Emily and you went and collected everyone, bringing them to the round table. There were hushed whispers about what this could be about, and when Penelope mentioned there wasn’t a new case, you could feel the anxiety filling the room.

--

Aaron made his way in, his hands holding a neat stack of pale pink envelopes. You couldn’t help but notice the way he commanded a room, his mere presence demanding the attention of those around him. This is what had initially drawn you to him all those years ago.

“I have something for each of you. I’d like you to wait to open them until everyone has one.” Aaron announced.

He passed them out one by one, the room remaining silent the entire time. It didn’t take long for everyone to notice that you were the only one who didn’t receive an envelope.

“Hotch man, if this is some kind of sick power move then I swear I will-” Derek began.

“Please, open them.” You spoke before standing up and making your way to Aaron’s side.

Confusion painted its way across everyone’s faces. Hands working quickly to open the envelopes they’d been handed. You were shaking with anticipation, and you couldn’t help the little smirk that made its way to your lips when the confusion was quickly replaced with shock.

“I’m sorry…what?” Penelope asked.

“What the hell is this?” Derek questioned.

Everyone began talking at once, talking about whether or not this was a joke. Asking if one another knew, and how long this had been going on.

“Guys!” You called. “Aaron and I have been together for a few years, well before I started with the BAU. We got engaged about seven months ago…and well, we’d love it if you all would be there for us.” You smiled.

“I KNEW IT!” Rossi laughed. “I told you all from the beginning that they didn’t hate one another, they love each other, and you all swore that they hated each other.”

--

Four months later, the BAU team stood by your sides as you said your vows and committed yourselves to one another.

And while the team dynamic shifted slightly with them knowing the two of you are together, and with there being two Agent Hotchners now, the one thing that didn’t change was that this team was family and you all were there for one another no matter what.

Taglist: @bernelflo@pastelpinkflowerlife@just-moondust

[marvelouslizzie]

Pretty Little Thing - co-written with @notafunkiller

Summary: Your long-time crush, Bucky Barnes, is a regular at the bar where you work, and tonight, it's impossible to avoid serving him for the first time.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: +18, alcohol, oral sex (f receiving), rough sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, pet names, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 3.8K

A/N: @notafunkiller and I merged our separate ideas into one and this is the outcome. It was so much fun to write. We hope it'll me the same while reading too.

All work is ours, please do not repost or translate without our permission.

Every like, comment, and reblog is highly appreciated. Don’t hesitate to message us. Unless it’s hate. That’s never welcome.

You thought this night would be calm and easy, that nothing significant would happen. All that changed when Bucky Barnes set foot in the bar. It’s not his first time here by any means, but until now you successfully managed to avoid him by asking the other bartender to serve his side. This time, unfortunately, you are working alone. It’s a slow night, so there’s no way you can really avoid him.

You watch him find an empty place and sit down, and you really don’t know what to do. You can feel yourself sweating already. You are so nervous. Not because you are afraid of him or anything. He doesn’t look scary. Not to you. You are afraid to embarrass yourself in front of him, but you should be able to ask for his order and serve it without messing it up. That’s not so hard. 

Just keep it simple, you tell yourself.

“Hey, what can I get you?”

Bucky looks up from his phone straight into your eyes, and you freeze a little.

“Hello, do you... a draft beer, please.”

His answer confuses you. That’s not his usual order. 

“You sure you don’t want something stronger? We have that bourbon.” You curse yourself internally for paying attention and not being able to hold your tongue.

He raises his eyebrow surprised. “How do you know that? There is no way you served me any drinks cause I would remember you.”

He frowns as soon as he finishes speaking. Maybe you helped your colleague or maybe you were informed about what he drinks just in case he showed up. He’s still the Winter Soldier after all.

“I never served you before.” You say with a shy smile. You hope this is enough of an answer for him.

“Do I look like a bourbon man?” He asks playfully before giving you a smile that transforms his face a little, softening his features. 

“You look like you enjoy quality stuff, and between you and me, our draft beer is shitty.”

That comment makes him chuckle. You’re so distracted by his face that you don’t notice how his eyes fall straight to your breasts.

“Thanks for the tip. Normal beer then?”

“If you insist.” You smile and open the small fridge under the bar where you keep some of the beers. You quickly open it and put it right in front of him, not realizing that gesture shows off your bartender skills a little bit.

He doesn’t look away from you as he takes a big sip before placing the bottle on the table quickly.

“For how long have you been working here?”

“For the past year.” You avoid making eye contact while drying some of the freshly washed glasses.

“Oh.” He sounds kind of taken aback. “I’m surprised you never served me. I’ve been coming here for what? Seven months?”

“Eight.” You bite your bottom lip as soon as the word slips out, trying to shut yourself up so you won’t mess up even more. What were you thinking? Well, you weren't…

His eyes immediately glow, and you wonder if you fucked up for good.

“So you’ve been keeping an eye on me?” He brings the bottle to his mouth and before you can say anything, you watch him finishing it in one go.

“I just noticed you.” Of course, you kept an eye on him, but you played it down a little.

“Well, I didn’t notice you,” he says regretfully. “And I wonder how. I am pretty aware of my surroundings... especially if they are full of beautiful people like you.”

You can’t help but blush, yet you try to sound unaffected. You don’t know if you succeed or not, though.

“This place is usually so crowded and full of… people. So it’s normal.”

“Neah,” he denies immediately. “Have you been hiding or something?”

“I was just on the other side of the bar.” And you were trying to hide from him, saving yourself from this embarrassment because you knew if you talked to him you would fuck up. You were right.

“So I was on the wrong side this whole time.” He shakes his head. “Another beer, please, doll.”

“The same?” You ask while trying not to dwell on the pet name he uses.

“Yes, please. And one drink for you. Whatever you want, if you are allowed to drink, of course.”

The way he offers to buy you a drink surprises you. You feel quite nervous, but you try to maintain your calm. He’s probably just being nice, right? 

“I am allowed to drink, but that’s not necessary.”

He pouts. “I didn’t mean you need to talk to me for it, doll. There are no conditions for this drink.”

“Oh.” You didn’t even think he would take it this way. “That’s not why I said it’s not necessary. I wasn’t worried about that.”

“Okay. Whatever you want... I won’t insist.”

“It’s just… I am allowed to drink whatever I want. You don’t need to pay for it.” You try to explain so he won’t take it the wrong way.

“Alright,” he says, a little distant, as you open up another bottle of beer and put it in front of him. 

“I just didn’t want you to pay extra when I can get it for free.” You don’t know why you are explaining yourself like this. It’s normal not to accept drinks from customers.

“It’s fine, I totally understand. Thank you!” He reaches for the bottle immediately.

You take a fancy glass out of the rack and pour yourself one of the ready-to-serve cocktails that your colleague prepared, right in front of him. He doesn’t say anything as he keeps staring at your hands.

“Thanks for the drink.” You say while putting the bottle away.

“Me?” He asks surprised. “Thought this is on the bar.”

“Well, you gave me the idea, and if you really insist on spending your money so unnecessarily, who am I to stop you?”

“That’s a good attitude.” He smiles again before bringing his bottle close to your glass. “Cheers to a good Thursday in a lovely company.”

You clink your glass with a smile on your face. It seems like he finally understood your intention, so you feel relieved. 

“How does that taste?”

“Don’t let the color fool you, it tastes really strong but delicious.” You look at him for a second and notice that got his interest. “Wanna taste it?” You offer your own drink to him, and he contemplates for a few seconds before leaning in.

“Yes, I am curious.”

You hand the glass to him. Your fingers touch for a second, and you get so excited that you worry about dropping the glass. It’s like your heart is in your throat.

“Your hands are cold,” he comments casually before taking a sip right from the spot covered by your lipstick. You gasp. You have no idea if he did it on purpose, but the way he’s drinking it… your body is responding to that so much. You clear your throat, trying to calm yourself down. 

“Delicious.” He smiles, handing back your glass, and you notice a bit of lipstick in the corner of his mouth.

It creates this internal dilemma. Should you just let him know about it or act like nothing happened and let him walk around like this? The second one could cause him a lot of embarrassment, and you don’t wanna be the reason for that. That’s why you suddenly find yourself leaning closer to him, just to wipe the lipstick off. He doesn’t move an inch, not jumping like you would expect, letting you touch him. When you realize what you are doing, you suddenly feel super self-conscious. 

“You…” You gulp down. “You have… lipstick on… just here.” 

You keep rubbing your finger against the corner of his mouth. You feel his stubble and how soft his lips are, but you try not to think about it. He chuckles, covering your hand with his. It surprises you so much that you freeze for a second. Then you look into his eyes, struggling to see if you made him feel uncomfortable or not.

“So considerate of you. Thank you.”

You move your hand away from his mouth but not away from his touch. Somehow you can’t find the strength to do that. 

What he does next, though, makes you completely breathless. He brings your hand to his mouth again, but this time he presses his lips gently against your skin, smiling right after. Your eyes open with surprise, feeling completely speechless, yet you don’t move away. You don’t even realize you are smiling slightly.

“Your hands are still so cold.”

“Yeah…” You try to speak, but it feels like your words are stuck in your throat. “They are always cold.”

“We need to change that.” He places another kiss on your hand.

*

He’s surprisingly nervous as he leads you to the living room. Based on his confidence back in the bar, you didn’t expect him to become so shy all of a sudden.

“Do you want some coffee?”

“No.” You answer quickly. The only thing you want is to feel his lips again but you keep that thought to yourself.

“What do you want then?” 

It’s obvious in his tone and the way he looks at you he doesn’t ask you about drinks.

“You.” You can’t believe you said this out loud, but it’s the truth.

He doesn’t need another push as he comes closer, grabbing you by the chin. Your lips crash together with an almost desperate hunger. He takes the opportunity immediately, getting his tongue inside your mouth in a fervent exploration. The sensation is electrifying.

You let him explore your mouth while you focus on his taste. It’s so unique and tasty, you just can’t get enough of it. Your hands slowly move toward the back of his head, pulling him closer.

“Fuck,” he groans when he feels your touch, breaking the kiss just to move his lips to your neck. 

“Mhmm… James.” His lips feel so good against your neck. It just sends a jolt of arousal through your body.

But then he freezes, with his mouth glued to your neck. You open your eyes confused wanting to ask him what happened, and that’s when you realize what you’ve just said.

“You know who I am?” His voice is a warm whisper against your skin.

“Of course, I know who you are.” You make it sound so natural as if there’s no way you wouldn’t know who he is. “You think I go to the houses of men I don’t know?” You say playfully.

“I didn’t mean that...” He raises his head from the crook of your neck just to look you in the eye. “I didn’t mean it offensively, I just wasn’t sure. I’m just stupid, I didn’t expect it.”

“I know who you are, James Bucky Barnes.”

“Fuck,” he groans, bringing his thumb to your bottom lip. “Say it again.”

“James Bucky Barnes or just James?”

He kisses you more desperately than before, his hands finding your hips as he gently grabs them, pulling you so close that you can feel his erection. You gasp so softly, but he hears it anyway, and you settle on his hard cock so it’s right against where you want it to be.

He moans. “Let’s go to the bedroom, doll.”

“Why?” You ask innocently as if you don’t know what he means. “Isn’t your couch comfortable enough?”

For him? Sure. But for you?

“The bed is better.”

“Okay.” You sound so obedient suddenly as you wrap your legs around his torso.

He immediately lifts you up without effort, and you smile, letting him carry you toward his room. He’s a super soldier after all. He closes the door with his foot as soon as you’re inside, then he gently puts you on the bed, like he’s afraid you might break. The way he’s acting is so endearing, but you want him to let go really badly. Even the manner he starts to take off your pants is too gentle.

You let him undress you the way he wants, though. Then you move closer to him, taking his clothes off, your movements not as gentle as his. You are impatient and needy. You see him holding his breath when you reach to touch his chest, close to where his metal arm begins, so you lean in to leave a kiss right there. You don’t know if you are crossing a line, but you have to. He should know that this is not something that would bother you, on the contrary, it turns you on even more. When he doesn’t move away from you, you keep kissing around his scars and his chest. Your hand is on his shoulder, gently caressing.

 “That feels so good, doll,” he says with a sigh before he grabs your waist. “but it's time for me to eat.”

You find yourself on your back so suddenly that you don’t even have time to react. He quickly settles between your legs and you understand exactly what he meant. He lifts them enough so you can rest them on his shoulders as he gets more comfortable on his tummy. You feel a hole in your stomach immediately. You can’t believe Bucky is between your thighs, about to eat you out.

He’s taking his sweet time at first, kissing down your thighs and even smelling you before he finally brings his tongue to your entrance.

“Come on, James. Don’t tease me.” You look down just to see him smiling.

“Why not? You seem to enjoy it.”

“I would enjoy it more if you stopped teasing and started eating.”

Surprisingly, Bucky doesn’t waste more time and properly starts to fuck you with his tongue. He’s not too quick, nor too slow with his moves, and you’re shocked when he brings his fingers to your mouth. 

“Need you to make them wet for me, please.” Even while saying that, he sounded a little too polite.

“On one condition,” you say, looking directly into his eyes. “Stop acting like I am made of glass.”

“But you kinda are.”

“I am not. Believe me.”

He says nothing, making sure to lick your slit before getting his tongue inside you again, his fingers, glued to your lips. You take it as a silent agreement and you open your mouth, suck his fingers, and let him wet them. When he thinks it’s enough, he gently takes them out and brings them right to your clit. He doesn’t touch it directly at first, teasing around it until you move your hips a little, needing to feel your clit stimulated.

“Please.” The way he’s taking his sweet time is so frustrating.

He lets his hand drop and instead of feeling his fingers on your clit, you feel his tongue at the same time he gets a finger inside you. You moan loudly, finally getting what you wanted from the start.

His other hand reaches for yours when he hears you grabbing the sheet, and you immediately hold it, enjoying how his cold metal feels. When you feel the second finger and he scissors both of them inside you, you’re shocked by how close you suddenly are. You can’t help but arch your back and move your hips, needing it faster.

He reads the signals pretty quickly and lets you use his mouth while he keeps pumping his fingers. It doesn’t take long for you to gasp, moan, and start to shake because of the pleasure he’s giving you. 

“James! Shit. I’m- gonna… ahh… come.”

You moan louder than you expected, dropping your head against his sheets, possessed by a great wave of pleasure. You want to tell him not to stop anything, but you can’t. And you don’t need to as he keeps licking and fingering you while you ride your orgasm out, prolonging it as much as possible.

When it’s done, you are feeling so good yet you are hungry for more. You raise your head a little and see Bucky still between your legs, but this time his beard is covered with your slick. He looks so handsome. His blue eyes are shining and his hair is all messy. It makes you wanna kiss him and that’s exactly what you do. You reach down to him, and he meets you in the middle, kissing you the way he was just eating you out: with passion and hunger.

He’s less gentle than before as you feel his hands grabbing your breasts, but it’s still not enough. You cover his hands with yours and push him to grab them harder than before. You let out a muffled moan while kissing him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

You find yourself blushing like you two aren’t having sex. To mask your reaction, you reach out to his hard cock, gently grabbing it.

“Oh god,” he groans as he instinctively squeeze your breasts harder.

“Mhmm, yes.” You lean into his touch. “Just like that.”

Bucky looks at you as if you said something shocking. Is he not used to communicating during sex?

“What? Did I do something wrong?”

“You’re surprising me for someone so delicate.”

“I told you, I am not.”

He smiles. “Do you wanna help me put on a condom then?”

“I would love to, but…” You smile. “What if I told you I am clean and on the pill?”

“Fuck, I need you.” He kisses you suddenly. “Now.”

“I am right here.” It sounds so calming. “You can take me however you want.”

You’re not only on your back in the next second, but you also have his cock lined up at your entrance.

“Jesus, doll! For a pretty little thing, you’re quite nasty.”

“I just know what I want.” And this is it.

He nods, wrapping your legs around his ass at the same time he pushes inside you. In a second, your head is thrown back while you moan loudly. The way he fills you is so delicious. It makes you feel so full but not uncomfortable.

“You’re taking me so well already.”

“Please…” You raise your hips to create more friction. “Please, move.”

He brings his mouth to your breast a little before he starts thrusting, making sure to leave a small hickey right on top of it. It hurts so good, and you moan without holding back. It is music to Bucky’s ears. He just wants to hear it again, so he does it again.

“You want it rough, don’t you?” He thrusts harder than before. “You’re so needy.”

“Yeah.” Your voice is so shaky already. “I told you already.”

“Told me what?” He teases. “I don’t remember.”

“That I am not made of glass.”

“No, you are made for me.” He brings his hand to your face to move the hair strands that cover your eyes. “For my cock.”

“In that case…” You don’t know where the sudden rush of confidence comes from. “You are made for me. To fill me up.” You move your hips again, trying to fuck yourself on him.

“Oh, god. You’re so fucking wet,” he moans. “I am, I’m gonna fill you up so much.” He kisses you suddenly, your teeth almost crashing together because of the thrusts, but you don’t care.

“Can’t wait.” You tease him. “Don’t hold back, okay?”

He says nothing, letting his head drop a little so he can suck on your neck properly. He’s definitely fucking you harder. He pulls until he’s almost completely out of you before thrusting inside you again. And again. And again. It takes your breath away. The way it makes you feel is indescribable. You lose the little remaining control you had and just turn into a moaning mess. 

“Say my name, baby. C-come on.”

“James?” You sound hesitant even if you don’t mean to because you don’t know which name he wants to hear.

“Again,” he begs, his metal arm on your leg pushing it right against his ass.

“James!” This one comes out so naturally. No questions, no hesitation. You just breathe out his name with a moan.

“God, you look so beautiful. So pretty with my cock inside you.” His thrusts get faster, and you have no idea how he can speak so well while you’re a mess.

“I’m so close,” you can barely say without taking a breath in the middle of the sentence.

“What do you want?”

“Just… harder.”

“Like this?” He asks, suddenly thrusting a little harder than before. “Or like this?”

“This! Yes! Just like this!”

“You just want it hard.” He whispers against your ear. “What a dirty girl.”

You hear him, but you can’t respond. You are too busy coming all over his cock, and it feels like you are in heaven. He continues to fuck you as the pleasure fades away, murmuring how pretty you are and how good you make him feel before he comes, too, grabbing the bedpost behind you with his metal arm. It makes a clicking sound, but you don’t care, opening your still foggy eyes just to watch him.

There’s so much come. You can already feel it dripping out of you as he keeps fucking you. You expect it to end soon, but it doesn’t. It goes on and on. The way he loses control as he comes just triggers another orgasm out of you. You would be surprised how quickly you could come again if it didn’t feel overwhelmingly good. You can’t think about anything other than him and the way he makes you feel.

His come is getting all over your thighs and ass, and the bed, as he moans. “Kakaya khoroshaya devochka.” What a good girl.

You can’t help but laugh despite not understanding a word of what he says. “Is that Russian?”

He opens his eyes, and the blue you love is almost completely grey. “Yes.” He sounds confused, too. 

“What does it mean?” Your afterglow can’t overshadow your curiosity. “If you don’t tell me, this isn’t happening again.” You try to make it obvious you aren’t serious with your playful tone. Especially not after those orgasms.

“Look at you, little and feisty, blackmailing me.” He chuckles before leaving a kiss on your lips. “I told you what a good girl you are. I didn’t realize I spoke in Russian.”

You laugh a little. “Say it again.” You give him the cutest look. “Please?”

“Ty moya khoroshaya devochka.” He repeats softly. You’re my good girl.

You don’t even realize how content you look as you keep smiling.

“Now, I can get used to that.”

“Say my name again, please.”

You love the neediness in his voice. “James?” You tilt your head a little. “Or would you prefer Bucky?”

“Fuck, it doesn’t matter.” His thumb is suddenly on your lips. “I can get used to that, too.”

[writingsbytee]

Rivalry & Romance

Enemies to Lovers workplace romance

*Remember you are in charge of your own consumption. 18+ up audiences only; minors please don’t interact!* THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION 

*Please do not plagiarize, repost, or steal my work. This doesn’t count for re-blogs!*

*the book excerpt above is from ‘The Cruel Prince’  by Holly Black

SUMMARY: I think I’m obsessed with the early 2000s. But this is set in the era of MapQuest and Motorola Razrs. You and Terry have been at each other’s throats for months. Putting the term “Workplace rivalry” to shame. 

PAIRINGS: Terry x Tatum (black, fem, reader)

WARNINGS: Terry being an asshole

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is going to be a slow burn, So there won’t be any smut in this fic. Just simple character building.

TAGLIST

@nayaesworld @keehendrixx @theereinawrites @theereina @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @megamindsecretlair @episodes-ff @blackgurlnhermoods @dxddykenn @pinkkycherrish @pinkkycherrishh @uzumaki-rebellion @urfavblackbimbo @kianaleani @shallipii @mymindisneverhere @onherereading @skyesthebomb @gg-trini @blyffe @melalsworld @mogul93 @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @sweettea-and-honeybutter @notapradagurl7 @miyuhpapayuh @simplyzeeka @playgurlxoxo @yassbishimvintage @dbaileyblog @jimmybutlrr @versaceslutz @ruewritesoccasionally @kaylalb @noir-lullaby @jadatingz @madamedantes @charmedthoughts @daughterofapollo-7 @cardi-bre91 @thabiddie23 @mama200195-blog @venusincleo @slvt4her @skvrpion @constanthavok @dutifulliythoughtfulenthusiast @massivenightdreamer @astasteofmir @callingallbaddies @nubiawrites @nubiagurllll @theglamclosetsl @alicewonderringland @kumkaniudaku @zunibugsiren @secrettawolfpanda @fakxmbj @zunibugsiren

If I missed anybody, please comment and let me know!

“I told you to make a left three miles back!” you exclaimed, crossing your arms in frustration. 

“I swear to god if you say that one more time, I’ll pull this car over. I’m literally an ex-marine, I know my way around a map,” Terry said, his voice taking on a rumbling growl. You roll your eyes, huffing as you turn away from him to look out the window. Your cybersecurity company planned a business retreat for you and your coworkers as a way to celebrate the huge account they just obtained and boost morale. Pairing you with your ‘least compatible match’, your boss thought it’d be a great way for you and Terry to try and get along.

FLASHBACK

“Nora please! Pair me with anyone but him,” you begged your boss. You knew it was a strong possibility that she’d pair you with Terry, that doesn’t mean that you weren’t going to fight it.

“Tatum, try and look at it from my perspective. I’ve got two team leads who don’t get along, which is making it really hard for me to conduct meetings. You two can’t be in the same room for more than 5 minutes without world war three happening.”Nora says, closing her laptop. 

“Look at it like this, if my top two performers of my team are constantly butting heads, what kind of example do you think that’s going to set for your subordinates? You and Terry either find a way to deal with each other or both of you will have to think of a change in departments.” She finishes, her tone signifying that there’s no room for discussion. 

With a sigh you say, “Fine, I’ll do my best. Just make sure you tell that meathead the same thing.”

END FLASHBACK

With a huff you say, “I can’t believe Nora actually though pairing us together would work. We still have 3 hours left on the road.”

“It’ll go by quicker if you shut up,”Terry grumbles, reaching forward to turn his playlist up. 

“Ugh! And do we have to listen to classic rock the whole way? Nobody wants their eardrums to bleed  24/7 like you do” You add, positioning your body to stare Terry down. Despite hating his guts, Terry was fucking hot, and boy did he know it too. 

“Well, it’s better than listening to your voice all day, or at all for that matter,” Terry glances over at you, a teasing half smirk on his face. He reaches  for the volume switch on his steering wheel, turning the volume up yet again. 

He wasn't exactly sure how your rivalry started but Terry knew that he couldn’t stand you. How you were always so warm and glowy. Flashing your grossly attractive smile around the office like those knuckleheads deserved to be graced by the sun each morning. Walking around in your stupid clothes that seemed to cling to every curve, his eyes would always be drawn to your annoyingly plump ass. Terry hated your guts, but he could appreciate a fine woman. 

You roll your eyes at Terry’s comments, not wanting to further this verbal sparring session. Sliding your eye mask over your eyes, “Just wake me up when we get there,” you said, reclining your chair back.  

Terry lets out a defensive snort, clearly unimpressed with your dismissive attitude. “Fine, princess. Don’t let me disturb your beauty sleep.”

You roll your eyes, sitting in silence at Terry’s harsh words. “You’re insufferable,”you mumble under your breath. 

Terry just smirks, he laughs,a deep mocking sound that echoes throughout the car. “Insufferable? That’s rich coming from you Tatum. At least I’m honest about who I am and what I want.”

You snatched the eye mask off your face, a gentle rage brewing under the surface. “Don’t pretend that you know anything about me, Terry.”

Another chuckle leaves his mouth, a cold and mirthless sound. “Oh, I know plenty about you, Tatum. More than you like probably. After all, it's not hard to figure out what makes you tick when you’re so transparent.” He reaches forward, turning down the volume slightly, “You’re a puzzle, sure, but not a particularly complex one. Jealous, insecure, and secretly craving validation from those you despise.”

You scoff, meeting his eyes, “Please remind me when I asked for your lackluster input. You know nothing about me Terry.”

He raises both hands in mock surrender, a teasing smirk adorning his infuriatingly handsome face,”You didn’t have to ask, it’s written all over you. I figured since we’re stuck on this drive together, I might as well entertain myself by analyzing your pathetic attempts at independence.”

“Why are you like this?” you ask with a shake of your head. 

Terry pins you with his piercing green eyes, “We don’t have enough time to go through all of that, princess.”

“Well whether we like it or not we’re stuck together for the weekend. Obviously it seems like we’re not going to make any progress so how about we don’t speak to one another unless it’s absolutely necessary,”you say your hands wringing together. All of this hostility was triggering you, and you didn’t want to have a full fledged episode in front of Terry. 

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, “If that’s what you want, then so be it.” He adjusts his hands on the steering wheel focusing on the road. Terry looked seemingly lost in thought, but the set of his jaw and the rigid line of his shoulders betrayed his true state. You got under his skin, and he couldn't put his finger on why. Terry just knew he had to get you out of his system one way or another. 

You however, were fuming inside. How dare Terry pretend to even know a thing about you. It pissed you off even more to know that he was right. 

“You’ve been avoiding me around the office,” you start. “Whenever we need to come up with a proposal together, you send someone else in your place. You always leave the room when I enter it. What did I do to you to make you dislike me so much?”, you ask, your eyes burning holes in the side of his head. 

Terry sighs, “Avoiding you implies that I care more than I should. That is not the case.” His words are dismissive, but the way he keeps glancing at you could indicate otherwise. 

You huff in frustration, you’re not getting through to him, “So if you’re not avoiding me, what would you call it?”you press, tilting your head to the side slightly. “Because it feels like you’ve been going out of your way to avoid me these past few weeks.”

Terry flicks on the blinker before exiting the highway, within the next six minutes you’re parked at a ‘Buc-ee’s’. You watch as Terry takes a deep breath, seemingly composing himself before saying, “I’m focused on my work, performing well and efficiently. I don’t understand why you can’t get that through your thick fucking skull.”

The deflection pisses you off, “So why me then? You’re perfectly pleasant with everyone else in the office, but when I’m involved it’s different.” 

Terry’s eyes drift over you, a mask of indifference painting his face. “Is this conversation going anywhere? Or are you going to keep whining about not being liked?” 

You sigh with defeat, turning to face forward you decide to keep your mouth shut, this conversation doing more harm than good. 

“I’m just going to fill up and grab something to eat, do you want anything from inside?” Terry asks, grabbing his keys and wallet. You shake your head, ready for a few minutes alone to screw your head on straight. 

“Suit yourself, just don’t bother me if you’re hungry in an hour,” and with that, Terry gets out of the car. Halfway into the store, Terry turns back and spots you wiping your eyes. Something in his chest tightens at the fact that he made you cry. Your verbal sparring sessions would always be the highlight of his day, you always had a witty comeback, giving him a run for his money. He’s so lost in his thoughts about you, he doesn’t even realize that he’s next up in line. Terry places his order, getting something additional for you, then heads out. 

Back in the car, you call your mom, needing a pep talk from her. “Baby, sometimes two people just don’t get along. Just keep being you, that’s all you can do. I’m sure he’ll come around, what’s not to like?”

You sigh, “But mama, you don’t get it! He’s so frustrating, nobody’s ever gotten under my skin like this. It’s like he knows where and how to press my buttons. It’s getting tiring, Nora said we need to get along or she’ll transfer both of us.”

Your mother stays silent on her side of the phone. She knows her daughter, and her daughter just might have a crush on her work rival. “Are you sure there’s no other reason why you two don’t get along?”

Her statement stuns you, your train of thought coming to a complete halt. “Mama be serious, he’s told me time and time  again that I’m not his cup of tea,”you say, wrapping your cardigan tighter around midsection. Looking up you see Terry come out of the Buc-ee’s, bags in hand, making his way to the car.

“Look mama, I have to go but I’ll call you once we get settled in. I love you , bye” you say ending your call. Terry watches as you hang up the phone and pull down the sun visor to wipe away any moisture gathered under your eyes. Guilt heavy like a rock sat uncomfortably in his gut. He never wanted to make you cry, or feel bad about yourself. The truth is, he admires you, how you never seem to let the pressures of the day get to you. How you had a smile for everyone in the office, including Greg, who obviously wanted to fuck you. Always smiling your perfect smile at these people who didn’t deserve it, him included. 

Walking to the passenger side window, Terry taps twice to grab your attention. With a start, you meet Terry’s gaze through the tempered glass. Rolling your window down, you look at Terry over your librarian-esque glasses, something he finds oddly cute. 

Passing the bags of food through the open window. “I wasn’t sure what you liked so I got chicken, beef and tofu in case that’s your thing,” Terry said, his eyes refusing to meet yours. This was uncharted territory for him, he wasn’t the ‘thinking about others feelings’ type.  He liked to avoid attachments, they slow him down. Terry didn’t need another person he cared about being ripped from his life, he couldn’t take that pain again. 

“Terry? Are you good?” you ask when you notice Terry’s eyes went unfocused and he was lost inside his head.

Terry nods his head, handing you the food, “Yeah sweet girl, hold these for me. I’m going to fill up so we can hit the road.” You barely have time to respond before Terry’s on the other side of the car filling up. 

Where the fuck did that come from? You thought. Reaching into the back you pull out a chicken sandwich. Reaching for your drink, you notice Terry bought your favorite. His thoughtfulness sends a shiver down your spine. Terry might not think you’re a puzzle, but he definitely is, infuriating and alluring in equal measure. 

Once the tank is full, Terry slides back into the driver’s seat. You can feel the energy shift as he settled in. You glance over at him and you’re startled to find he’s already looking at you. 

“Look, I don’t want to spend the rest of this retreat biting each other’s heads off. Believe it or not Tatum, I don’t want to fight with you. It’s clear we both are passionate and have strong viewpoints.  For the sake of our jobs, and a cohesive work environment, I think we should just pretend to get along for the duration of the trip.” Terry looks over at you apprehensively, hoping what he just said didn’t piss you off. 

You sighed before turning your body to face Terry, “I don’t want to argue with you either, but pretending isn’t going to help anything when we have to go back to the office next week. I’ll do my best to not piss you off, all I ask is that you do the same.” You state, finally meeting Terry’s eyes. He’s looking at you with apprehension, sizing you up. 

“You’ve got a deal,” he says, outstretching his hand. You place your hand in his, the familiar spark shooting up your arm. Terry quickly slides his hand out of yours, starting the vehicle, you both head back out on the road. 

3 HOURS LATER 

“Well, look who finally decided to show up!” Nora exclaims, as Terry rolls both your suitcases into the hotel lobby. Despite being a complete asshole at least Terry was raised as a gentleman.

“Ha Ha, very funny Nora. Those directions you sent sucked,” Terry grumbled, taking his room key from Nora’s outstretched hand, not noticing the devious smirk her face held. You follow behind Terry outstretching your hand as well.  

Nora’s face pinches with nervousness, “So, umm, little mix-up with the rooms.” Terry stops abruptly. You watch his head hang, shoulders sag, and you hear a deep sigh come from him. 

“Does this mean what I think it does?” Terry asks, turning to face Nora. 

“Well somewhere during the registration process, the amount of rooms needed got mixed up. And since you two were the last to make it in, you guys have to room together. And before you ask, the hotel is fully booked for some medical conference.” Nora finished. This was obviously an uncomfortable conversation for her to have. Her face was red as hell. 

The last thing you wanted right now is to be rooming with Terry. But, being the people pleaser you are, you give Nora a small smile. “It’s only a few days Nora, I’m sure we won’t burn the hotel down.”

You hear Terry scoff behind you, “Speak for yourself.” You roll your eyes at his comment before patting Nora on the shoulder. With the deepest sigh you can muster, you head toward the elevator. 

“Tatum, wait,” Terry says. You turn and Terry takes in your exhausted expression. “I don’t think anyone should be subjected to my snoring. That’s all I meant,” Terry said, with a shrug of his shoulders. A sheepish smile forms on his lips.

Another heavy sigh leaves  your lips, “This isn’t ideal for me either, Terry. Do you think I want to be trapped in a room with someone who would rather be anywhere else?” Your enthusiasm meter had finally reached E. All you wanted was a hot shower, a face mask, and a glass or three of wine. Now you’d be spending your evening undoubtably bickering with Terry over what to watch. 

Terry’s smile fades, replaced by a grimace of discomfort. “Look, Tatum, I didn’t ask for this anymore than you did.” He rakes his hand down his face, the action oddly attractive to you. 

“But let’s get something straight: this isn’t personal. It’s complicated.” Your gaze flickers away from him, unable to hold his stare for long. “We can figure out a way to coexist, can’t we?” he asked, the smirk returning. 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s about fifty other things I’d rather be doing.” Terry turns, clearly dismissing you. 

An unamused chuckle leaves your lips as you stride past Terry toward the elevators. You may or may not have called him an asshole along the way. Terry scoffed, following behind you. A dark smirk rose on his face as he watched your ass move in the leggings you wore. Not that you needed it, but Terry could really see the difference the pilates classes were making. 

You two ride up the elevator in tense, annoyed silence. Terry insists on carrying both your luggage all the way to the room. “You can have the shower first, I’ll run out and grab us something to eat. So you can have privacy. Just text me when you’re decent.” Terry says, placing our luggage in a corner then heading to the bathroom. 

“Terry?” you ask, nervousness creeping its way up your spine. To your left there was one king bed. The indication is clear that you’d either be sharing a bed with Terry, or sleeping on a very unappealing loveseat.

A small sigh leaves Terry’s lips. He needed to put some distance between you two if he was going to keep his head in straight for the rest of this trip. “Yeah, Tatum?” he asks, you can hear the tiredness seep through the edges of his voice. 

With a deep breath you say, “I know this arrangement isn’t ideal for either of us. But, I appreciate you being a gentleman about everything. I think we’re both adult enough to manage sleeping next to each other for a few days. And don’t try to be coy about it, you can’t sleep on the floor for 3 nights. I won’t let you.” 

Terry opens his mouth to argue with you, but he sees the determination settled into your features and concedes. Usually, with anyone else he’d put up a fight,” Fine, fine, I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”

A triumphant smile blooms on your face, and Terry looks away. Your brows crease in confusion, until you see the tips of his ears begin to turn red. 

“Well, I’ll just go take a shower now. You don’t have to wait, I should be done in like an hour and a half.” You say, bending over to open your suitcase. You smirk deviously when you hear Terry’s sharp intake of breath behind you. 

“Right. I’ll see you in an hour and a half.” Terry says, and then he’s out the door. Before you have time to dwell on Terry’s abrupt exit, your phone rings. A small smile erupts when you see your sister’s contact appear on the tiny screen. Flipping open your phone, you press the green button, and put the phone up to your ear.

“Taryn, you always call when I’m about to do something,” you teased. You can practically hear your sister’s eyes roll through the phone.

“My timing is perfect then. I’m with mama we’re calling to check in on you,” your sister replies. 

You smile and shake your head, “We just got in. Apparently there was a mix-up with the reservation so Terry and I are going to be sharing a room for the next three days.” You say, pulling out everything you need for your shower routine. On the other side of the line your mom and sister are staring at each other, mouths hanging open. 

“Wait, you're going to share a room with someone you once called ‘green goblin’. And I don’t think you meant it in a nice way,” your sister said.

You sighed and rolled your eyes, “When is calling someone a goblin ever a term of endearment? Terry and I came to an agreement while we’re here, we’ll do our best to try and get along. Or we’ll fake it.” You finish with a shrug. 

“Riiight, an agreement. That hotel is going to burn down,” your sister finished with a cackle. 

You rolled your eyes, a dry chuckle leaving your lips. You’re sitting on the bathroom sink yapping with your sister and mom. Before you knew it you glanced at the clock and 30 minutes had passed. “Taryn I appreciate you and mama calling to check on me, but I need to shower before Terry gets back with the food. I’ll talk to y’all later. I love you.” Your sister, mother, and you all exchange goodbye’s and you hang up. 

Turning on the radio nestled on your nightstand, you start to gather everything for your extensive night routine. Landing on a random station, the sensual voice of Dru Hill floods your suite. Humming the melody, you begin to undress. Your body taking on an autopilot, the regular routine of cleansing yourself putting your stimulated mind at ease. It was nice to shut your brain off after spending all day at war with your emotions about your current predicament. 

You always admired Terry, his calm but loud presence, how self assured he was, and how he always seemed to know the answer before the question was asked. Searching through memories, you tried to find one that could pinpoint when the animosity started to take root, but you came up empty. Shaking your head, you try to ignore thoughts of Terry and focus on your shower. 

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

TERRY

“So, how was the drive up?” Maurice (co-worker) snickered, passing Terry a beer. 

Terry’s eyes were going to get stuck as much as he rolled them today. “Don’t even start that shit man, I came down here for a minute of peace.” Terry says, grabbing the beer and taking a large gulp. 

“So I take it you two didn’t solve your issues,” Maurice teases as he watches his usually calm, cool, and collected co-worker break a sweat. 

Terry scoffed, setting his beer down with a little more force than necessary, “No, Mo, we didn’t. In fact, she suggested that we just fake getting along for appearances.” Maurice studies his friend, the former marine usually never let anything get to him. Yet, here he was about to blow a gasket over their fine ass co-worker. His knee bouncing in irritation, the subtle but constant tick of his jaw.

“Aye, T, are you sure you’re good man? You just don’t usually get this rattled. Did Nora say something?” Maurice asked.

Terry shook his head, a grimace turning his face down. “Basically she told us if we can’t find a way to get along, then we’re both out.” Terry sighs, running his hand over his face in exasperation.

”I don’t know what it is, man. It’s like she found her way under my skin and is stuck there. Everything she does annoys me, c’mon man, you’ve seen how she is around the office.”Terry said, motioning the bartender to bring him another beer. 

“C’mon what? She’s a nice girl, cool to work with, really pretty, and has a great ass. What’s not to like?” Mo teases, hoping to get Terry riled up. 

Terry could feel his chest tighten at his friend’s obvious approval of your appearance. It was the same chest tightness he got when Greg would hold open doors for you and bring you your favorite Starbucks order.

“Aye, T, I’m going to say something. When I say this, just think, don't give me an answer. But have you ever thought that maybe you’re attracted to her?”

The question hits Terry like a ton of bricks, his beer frozen mid-air as Maurice looks at him with a knowing smile on his face. Was Terry attracted to you? ‘He couldn’t be’, he thought. But, deep down he knew the answer to Maurice’s question. Of course he was attracted to you. 

A knowing smile appears on Maurice’s face at Terry’s lack of answer,”You have three days to change her mind and think you aren’t the asshole you pretend to be. Look man, I get it, some people really just don’t like each other. But, I don’t think that’s the case here. Give Tatum a chance, she isn’t all bad. Figure it the fuck out, for everyone’s sake,” Maurice finishes. With two slaps to the back, Maurice leaves Terry in the hotel bar with his thoughts.

Was he attracted to you? Terry scoffed to himself, you were beautiful obviously. Intelligent, charming, funny as hell, and as much as he hated to admit it he loved working with you. The bickering arguments were the highlight of his day. Terry always made his coffee at 7:42am, because he knew 3-5 minutes later you would come strolling in, and he’d have the perfect view of your early morning strut, beaming smile, and a figure to kill for. 

The waiter comes out with a huge to-go bag full of foods that Terry thought you would like. With a deep sigh, Terry grabs his beer and the food, heading back up to your room.

The seductive sounds of Dru Hill filters through the bathroom door as Terry enters the suite. He tenses, muscles in his jaw ticking as he can hear you singing softly. 

He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose, an attempt to calm his suddenly racing heart. The image of you, naked and wet under the cascading water, flashes through his mind like abrupt bursts of light. He shakes his head, trying to banish his sinful thoughts of you. 

Walking over to the small kitchenette , Terry placed down the bag of food. Plating it, and setting out a glass of wine for you and beer for him. In the bathroom, you’re completely unaware of Terry’s presence. The cherry blossom scent of your shampoo fills your nose, its familiarity bringing you a sense of calm. 

Not to mention the radio station you picked was playing all your favorites. Detangling through your curls, you sang Mariah Carey’s ‘Obsessed’ damn near at the top of your lungs. Terry sat on the other side of the door with a small smile on his face at your carefree singing. Unable to sit any longer, Terry rises from the bed and begins to pace the room. His thoughts waging a war in his head. He stops in front of the window in your room, staring out at the city lights below without truly seeing them.

Whether he liked it or not, somehow you’d managed to worm your way under Terry’s skin. He had yet to decide if this was a good or bad thing for him. 

The bathroom door creaks open and Terry hears the startled gasp you let out behind him. “Oh, did I take too long? You set all the food up, thank you Terry!” You cooed, patting your hair dry with an oversized t-shirt.

You watch Terry’s tense shoulder as he turns to face you. You had forgone your contacts, black cat eye frames sat on your nose giving you an innocence that made Terry clench his fist. You looked so soft, not the office siren that strutted around and ruled her team with an iron fist. Just Tatum. 

You watch as Terry scratches the back of his neck, “Yeah, no problem. Think of it as phase one of my apology.”

Your eyes widen as you take in Terry's words, “Wait, did I transport to a parallel universe in the shower? You’ve never apologized to me before,” you say, skeptically. Your mind was reeling, there’s no way this is the same guy you arrived with. 

A bashful grin spreads across Terry’s face at your acceptance, “I’m turning over a new leaf here, now come please sit down,” he gestures to the sofa. “C’mon, sit with me,” Terry says, as he pats the spot next to him. 

You eye the food, then back up to Terry before saying, “Sure, just give me a minute, I don’t want my hair dripping all over you.” 

Terry nods, shooting you a small smile, “If your food gets cold, it’s on you,” he finishes, with a teasing tilt in his voice. You playfully roll your eyes as you try your best to soak up your damp hair with a t-shirt. 

“So what are we watching?” You ask, sitting next to Terry. The gentle brush of your bare thigh against his, causing goosebumps to bloom across your skin. 

Terry clears his throat before mumbling, “sports highlights.” He turns up the TV signaling that he wants silence.

A dry chuckle leaves your lips, “I see the asshole is back.” Reaching for your kindle and your food you settle into the couch completely prepare to tune Terry out for the rest of dinner, this was going to be a long 3 days. 

Okay y’all! Please Tell me what you guys think! I think this could be a 4 -5 part series. I hope you guys like it! I just wanted to get this out before I start flooding y’all with sinners/ MBJ fics. 

UNTIL NEXT TIME <3

TEE

[monzabee]

she's the lady in red (when everybody else is wearing tan) - a. hotchner

criminal minds masterlist || part of the nanny series

Summary: there is an fbi gala and hotch finds himself in dire need of a date for the evening. who's a better candidate than his nanny?   

Pairing: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: rossi as a matchmaker, sexual tension, hotch has feeeeeelings (that he doesn’t know how to process) 

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

He should’ve said no when Dave suggested the idea that you accompany him to the bureau gala.  

In fact, Aaron is certain he did say no—at least twice. But Rossi had just given him that smug, knowing look, the one that meant he wasn’t really asking, just informing Aaron of how things were going to unfold. And somehow, that’s how Aaron Hotchner finds himself standing in the middle of his foyer, waiting for you to come out of your room.  

“Miss Y/LN, we are going to be late,” he calls out, glancing at his watch with a sigh. 

The last thing Aaron wants is to make a grand entrance at the gala, but Rossi had been insistent that he bring a date—more insistent still that you were the perfect candidate. And despite every logical argument against it, here he is, standing in the foyer of his own home, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket while he waits for you. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Your voice floats down the hall, light and amused, but he catches the edge of nervousness in it. “How do I look?” 

He glances up as you step into view, and his brain immediately short-circuits. You look stunning. The black fabric your dress is s draping in a way that is both elegant and utterly breathtaking. Your hair is styled perfectly, your makeup subtle but just enough to make him notice details about you that he really shouldn’t be noticing. But Aaron is not a man easily rattled. He tamps down the reaction threatening to show on his face, clears his throat, and says, “You look fine, now let’s go.”  

Your lips part with shock, and he can even see Jack and Jessica giving him matching looks of disbelief from across the room. “Fine?” you echo, folding your arms over your chest. “I need gorgeous, I’m changing.” 

Aaron exhales sharply. “We don’t have time for this.” 

You ignore him completely, spinning on your heel and disappearing back into your room with a dramatic click of the door. 

Jessica lets out a low whistle. “Oh, you messed up.” 

Jack, sitting on the couch with his legs swinging, nods in though. “She never just looks fine.” 

Aaron drags a hand down his face. He should’ve just told you the truth—because the truth is that you looked incredible, enough to make his pulse trip in a way that was entirely inappropriate for someone in his position. But saying it out loud would mean acknowledging it—and acknowledging it would lead to thoughts that he’s been trying very hard to suppress. 

So, instead, here he is, standing in his foyer, waiting again. “Miss Y/L/N,” he calls out, his voice strained with impatience. “We’re going to be late.” 

“If you’re so worried about being late, just go without me, I’ll come later!” You voice calls out through the door, laced with faux nonchalance. 

Aaron exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s not an option.” 

“Well, then, I’m going to need a few more minutes,” you reply, sounding entirely too pleased with yourself.  

He can practically feel the smile on your face, and it’s enough to drive him a little mad. Aaron’s patience is beginning to wear thin, but there’s something about your playful tone that keeps him from making the rash decision of storming out of the house without you. He just wonders how he is going to survive tonight with you by his side. 

Aaron shouldn’t have let you leave the house—and he doesn’t mean this in a possessive caveman sort of a way. He means it in a, I can’t think straight when you are sitting right next to me and I might accidentally crash this car in a tree, sort of a way. He knows he’s good at schooling his expressions, he’s been told this a lot of times throughout his life, but tonight, it feels like an impossible task. Because the moment you stepped into the car—your dress brushing against the seat, the scent of your perfume curling around him—Aaron felt his carefully maintained control slip, just a fraction. And now, he’s across the room sipping his drink, whilst watching you. You look at ease, laughing at something Garcia says, nodding along as Morgan gestures wildly in some grand retelling of a story. You fit in so effortlessly, as if you were always meant to be here, part of this world. 

He should look away. 

Yet he finds himself unable to do so. But then, as if sensing his thoughts, you glance up, locking eyes with him across the room. Your smile doesn’t falter, but there’s something in your gaze—something teasing, something knowing. 

You catch him staring. 

Aaron freezes, his grip tightening around the glass in his hand. He shouldn’t be looking at you like this. He shouldn’t be thinking about how beautiful you look under the dim lighting, how effortlessly you command the attention of everyone around you. He shouldn’t be wondering how the night might unfold if he let himself indulge just a little, if he let himself forget, just for a moment, that this is supposed to be nothing more than an obligatory evening with someone who is only doing him a favor. 

Rossi appears at his side not a second later, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You’re in trouble, my friend.” 

Aaron exhales slowly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Rossi chuckles, following his line of sight. “Sure, you don’t.” He takes a sip of his own drink before adding, “You know, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.” 

Aaron tenses. “Dave—” 

“I’m just saying,” Rossi interrupts, holding up a hand. “You spend so much time convincing yourself that you can’t have nice things. Maybe it’s time to reconsider.” 

“It would be... inappropriate.” Aaron mutters, swirling the remainder of his drink around the glass.  

Rossi hums, clearly unimpressed. “The only inappropriate thing here is the fact that you’ve left her alone.”  

“She’s not alone,” Aaron points out, “she is with Garcia and Morgan, and she seems to be enjoying herself.” 

Rossi raises an eyebrow, taking another sip of his drink. “You’re missing the point, Aaron. She’s with them, but she’s not with them. You’re standing over here, sulking by yourself, while she’s over there, looking like she’s the center of the party. The thing is, you can’t ignore the fact that she’s not just doing you a favor anymore.” 

“I’m not doing this,” he says flatly, but it sounds like a lie, even to his own ears. 

Rossi gives him a knowing smile. “Sure, you’re not. But that’s what you keep telling yourself, right?” He pats Aaron’s shoulder and turns to walk away. “Just think about it. You might surprise yourself.” 

As much as he hates to admit it, Rossi’s words resonate with him on some level. And with every passing moment, the need to get closer, to figure this out, grows stronger. He can feel the tension building inside him. Every time you laugh, every time your eyes find his, it’s like an unspoken promise—one that he’s not sure he’s ready for, but that he’s terrified to ignore. He drowns the rest of his drink as he pushes himself off the bar he’s been leaning against, and makes his way across the room toward you. His steps are deliberate, though his heart is pounding louder with each one. He knows he’s walking into uncharted territory now. 

You’re talking to Garcia, your eyes lit up with amusement as Morgan tries to tell another one of his over-the-top stories. The sound of your laughter reaches him, and for a second, he’s caught off guard by how good it feels to hear. He stops just a few steps away, unsure of how to approach this, unsure of how to even begin. 

You glance over your shoulder and catch his gaze. There’s no playful teasing in your eyes now—just an invitation, like you can see the conflict written all over his face. “Oh hi, is everything okay?” you ask, your voice soft, almost too gentle for the room's lively sounds. 

Aaron takes a breath, pushes aside the rush of thoughts. “I think you owe me a dance.” He’s surprised by the firmness in his own voice. It comes out more like a challenge than a suggestion, but somehow, it feels right. 

You blink, momentarily surprised. “A dance?” you repeat, sounding amused. “I didn’t know you danced, Mister Hotchner.” 

Aaron exhales sharply, tilting his head slightly. “I make exceptions,” he says, his tone edged with dry amusement. “Are you going to make me ask twice?” 

Your lips curve into a slow, knowing smile. “I think I like hearing you ask,” you tease, but there’s warmth in your voice, something softer beneath the playful edge. 

Aaron huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Come on,” he says, offering his hand, “before I change my mind.” 

You study him for a moment—his unreadable expression, the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers flex slightly, like he’s not used to reaching for something just because he wants it. And then, without another word, you slip your hand into his. He guides you toward the dance floor with quiet confidence, weaving through the crowd with ease.  

Aaron places a careful hand on your waist, his touch light but firm at the same time. The other still holds yours, firm yet hesitant, as if he’s acutely aware of every point of contact. “You know,” you muse, tilting your head, “I never pegged you for the dancing type.” 

“I’m full of surprises,” Aaron replies, his voice low. 

You hum, clearly unconvinced. “Is that so?” 

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he shifts slightly, guiding you into an easy rhythm. You move together effortlessly, the closeness between you a delicate balance of restraint and something neither of you are ready to name. “I suppose you’ll have to find out,” he finally says, his lips quirking in the faintest hint of a smirk. 

“Mister Hotchner,” you gasp, a smile widening your smile, “is that a smile I see?” 

Aaron exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly. “Don’t get used to it.” 

“Oh, but I think I will,” you tease, tilting your head to get a better look at him. “It’s a good look on you.” 

His grip on your waist tightens—just for a fraction of a second, barely noticeable, but enough to make your breath hitch. There’s something different about him tonight, something lingering in the way he holds you, in the way his eyes flicker with something unspoken. 

“You’re enjoying this,” he accuses lightly, though there’s no real bite to his words. 

“You could say that,” you admit easily, eyes twinkling. “Are you?” 

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he glances down, watching the way your hands fit together, the way your bodies move in sync with the soft melody filling the air. Then, as if coming to some sort of quiet resolution, he meets your gaze again. “Yes,” he says, his voice softer this time. “I think I am.” 

“Good.” You hum, smiling up at him, “It’s a much better look on you than the one you had earlier.” 

Aaron raises an eyebrow. “The one I had earlier?” 

You nod, biting back a grin. “You know, the one where you looked like you’d rather be anywhere else in the world.” 

He exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “I didn’t—” He stops himself, sighing. “Alright, maybe I did.” 

You laugh, the sound light and warm, and something about it makes his chest tighten. “And yet, here you are, willingly dancing with me.” 

Aaron tilts his head slightly, considering you. “Maybe you’re more persuasive than I thought.” 

“Or maybe,” you counter, voice dropping just slightly, “it was my dress, hm?” 

His grip on you tightens just the slightest bit, and his jaw tenses like he’s fighting back a reaction. You can see the flicker of hesitation in his gaze, the momentary war between logic and something far more dangerous. But then, instead of pulling away, he exhales slowly and meets your eyes with a quiet intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. His voice is steady, but there’s something beneath it—something resolved. “You already know the answer to that.” 

Your breath catches. The playful teasing between you is replaced with something more pulling.  Aaron’s fingers flex against your waist, like he’s testing the boundaries of this moment, deciding just how far he’s willing to let himself go. His gaze dips briefly to your lips, then back up to your eyes, and you swear you feel the earth tilt beneath you. 

“Do I?” You ask, but he can tell the usual teasing is absent when your words come out more breathy than usual. “You haven’t commented on my current choice of clothing, at all. If anything, I’m rather disappointed.” 

He searches your eyes for any sign of teasing, but all he finds is quiet challenge, a barely concealed curiosity that mirrors his own. Aaron swallows, his grip on you firm but careful, as if he’s weighing the risks of giving in to whatever this is. His voice is lower when he finally speaks, edged with something you can’t quite name. “You already know what I think,” he murmurs, his thumb ghosting over the fabric at your waist. “I think you are the most gorgeous woman in this room.”  

“Oh,” The single syllable barely escapes your lips, softer than a breath, but he hears it. You see the way his jaw tenses, how his fingers twitch slightly where they rest against you, like he’s resisting the urge to pull you closer. He waits for you to turn this whole thing into a joke, or an attempt at teasing him, but it never comes.  Your fingers tighten slightly around his, and your voice is quieter now, more uncertain than you expected. “I didn’t think you noticed things like that.” 

His lips press together, and for a moment, you think he won’t answer. But then his grip shifts, just slightly, his thumb brushing against your skin in a way that feels almost on purpose. “I notice everything about you.” 

Your heart stumbles. 

The music is still playing, the crowd still swirling around you, but none of it matters. Not when he’s looking at you like that, not when his voice is laced with something so unspoken, so dangerous. “Aaron…” You don’t know what you’re about to say, but his name leaves your lips before you can stop it. 

Something flickers in his gaze, something torn between restraint and the pull of whatever this is. But before either of you can figure it out, the music shifts, the tempo picking up just slightly, and reality slips back in like a breath of cold air. 

He blinks, inhales slowly, and when he speaks again, his voice is steadier, like he’s found his footing. “Come on,” he says, tilting his head slightly. “I believe you owe me another dance.” 

[justaaveragereader]

Slashtober🔪||Split!Seonghwa

Pairing:Seonghwa x Reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: THIS DOES NOT ACCURATELY REPRESENT DIDs, IT IS JUST A FIC, DARK THEME, Pussy Slapping, Squirting, Unprotected Sex, Rough Sex, Mommy!Hwa, Sub!Reader, Breeding Kink, Dirty Talk, Breast Play, Lactation Kink, Hwa Got Multiple Personalities (other personas are the members), Mentions Of Killing, Spit, Choking, Humiliation, Jongho Watches, It’s A LOT going on in this fic🫣…So If I Missed Anything…Lemme Know👀👀

A/N: It’s the last Slashtober fic of this year😱!!! I can’t believe it’s over already!! I swear I always have so much fun with this series, I feel like this year was so different from last year, more spooky, scary lol. Thank you all for the supportive, rather it was a like, a comment, a repost and etc…I love and appreciate yall🥹🖤! Til next year, we may or may not see Slashtober in 2025🫡!

Slashtober 24’ Masterlist

NSFW UNDER CUT MDNI!!!!

All Ageless, Blank, and Bot Looking Blogs Will Be Blocked.

“He will only listen to you.” Jongho said, letting out a loud sigh on the phone. Placing his pen down, he flickers through Seonghwas medical chart. The vein in his forehead protruding was throbbing uncontrollably. The amount of tests that had been done on Seonghwa were some of the best. Letting out a frustrated sigh you let your head thump against your work desk.

“What do you want me to do about that?” You grit into the phone clutching it tightly.

“Talk with your lawyer, come talk to him, I don’t know what to do I’m running out of options Y/N.”

“You are the doctor Jongho, what do you mean you are running options?!” You whisper yell into the phone.

“Talk to your lawyer.” He says before cutting the line, clearly annoyed you lock your phone, squeezing it in your hand. Clearly annoyed you quietly slam your phone down onto your desk. Trying your best not to alert anyone. You give your phone one last harsh squeeze before standing up and making your way towards the bathroom to make a call to the defense lawyer.

~

“Thank you for coming.” Jongho says while letting out a sigh. Tightening his lips up, he lets security wand your body, after stepping out from the metal detectors.

“Really?” You say, clearly annoyed. You spread your legs and arms into a starfish so that security can do their job thoroughly. Your eyes cut to Jongho, staring at him harshly you are practically seething with anger. Feeling the intense atmosphere, Mingi decides to break the tension.

“I heard he doesn’t have any new personality developments.” He says with a smile on his face, as he’s done wanding your body. Standing up straight he has a big smile on his face, before he looks over to Jongho who is staring at you with irritation. Nodding your head you shoot Mingi a smile..

“Thank you Mingi, at least someone has given me good news.” With a genuine smile you pat his shoulder before stepping back and waving your hand forward signaling Jongho to lead the way. Rolling his eyes you both walk down the hallway, without saying a word. Irritation liters the bright, white halls.

“I love him.” You state outloud in the eerily quiet hallway, eyes shooting daggers into the back of Jonghos head.

“He is a murderer.” He states, your lips automatically zipping shut. Your hands ball into your pants. You couldn’t help what Seonghwa was, he was like that long before you came along, not all of his personalities were horrible. Majority of them were quite interesting, as a collective you had learned to love them all.

“Murdered 18 people in one single night, and you say you love him.”

Biting your lip you try to refrain from any smart remarks but your mouth moves before your brain can comprehend anything.

“Deep down, he’s still my Seonghwa and no personality is going to change that.” You say, standing firm on what you said. Were you heartbroken to say the least? Of course. You were disappointed, disgusted, down right devastated. Yet that sliver of hope you held onto was enough to still make you have faith.

“Thank you Mingi, at least someone, my ass.” Jongho mockingly whispers to himself, opening the door, as you walk in he holds his hand out stopping you.

“Remain right here.” He says, starting up a big light, you hear it power on, lights dimming with how much energy it’s pulling, pivoting around the light trying to get a good eye at Seonghwa.

He’s sitting there with one leg crossed over the other, tea cup in hand while his sharp eyes stare at you.

“My, my, my, we have company.” He says while bringing his tea cup up to his lips slowly. Feline eyes flickering to your stagnant figure. Your body immediately begins to heat up. You knew you’d walk into one of his personalities but not one of your most favorite ones.

“Dr. Jongho, it’s always a pleasure to see you.” Setting down his tea cup on the small sauce plate next to his bed. He shifts his body, facing towards you.

“Doll, it’s been too long as well. I’ve missed you.” With a smile on his face, he looks up at you through his eyelashes before batting them.

“H-Hi.” You say with a small wave, your body immediately heats up. Your fingers pick at the skin around your thumbs, body already riddled with nerves.

“I’m going to observe you both.” Jongho states, loudly enough for you both to hear. Seonghwas eyes never lift off of you, his back is straight, shoulders are curved, lips in a small smile, his teeth just poking through. The energy that radiated off of him was alluring.

“What is it you are hoping to see Dr. Jongho?” Seonghwa asks, picking up his teacup again, legs coming undone from being crossed. He’s speaking to Jongho yet his eyes never let up on you. They remain on you, flickering all over your figure, studying you as if this observation is a test that he is willing to pass. Jongho flushed a light shade of pink, clearing his throat. He flicks through the papers before he can speak to Seonghwa; he's cut off by the man himself. Letting out a small gasp Seonghwa places his tea cup down, hand brushing through his hair before he flicks his eyes to Jongho for a split second.

“What do you wanna observe Jongho? You say quietly, feeling minuscule under Seonghwas intense stare. It was not threatening, not fear worthy. If anything it made you squirm, riddled your body with nerves. When he had this personality on the rise you tried your best to be as pristine, and elegant as possible. Nothing but the best for your mommy. Clicking his pen, he scribbles down on the stack of papers once more. Trying his best to avoid the question.

“He wants to see us fuck.” A harsh voice comes out of Seonghwa, slamming the rest of the tea back he lets out a loud groan afterwards. Frame going from cute and petite, to manly and gruff. His frame looks larger, shoulders more broad, yet a puppy-like smile on his face while he fills the room with nothing but dirty words.

“Want me to bend her pretty ass over? Or you wanna see her from the front?” He asks in a husky tone, eyes flashing over to you, watching your timid frame gawk at him. No matter how long you had been with Seonghwa you never got used to how quick another personality could appear. As you hear a small click you, look up at the ceiling watching the lights dim as the large flashing white light fills the room practically blinding all of you.

As the blinding light clears you look at Seonghwa through blurred vision. Small tiny dots fill your eye sight, blinking them away. There is Seonghwa with one leg crossed over the other with feline eyes once more.

“Fuck!” You groan out, rubbing your eyes, your body reacts fast, thumping Jongho in the back of the head. Eyes watering from the flash, you grit your teeth ready to tear him a new one when Seonghwa speaks up.

“Excuse me. When did we learn to have such filthy mouths?” He asks, eyebrow raising as he watches all the anger leave your body, eyes growing wide like a deer caught in the headlights. You wring your hands through the bottom of your shirt, that nervous feeling making a grand appearance once more.

“So-sorry.” You whisper out, body flushed with embarrassment that you had been caught in such an act. Wincing slightly Jongho places a strong hand on your shoulder before shoving you forward, you practically tumble into Seonghwas lap. His quick reflexes catch you, delicate hands placed on your hips to stabilize you. As his warm hands come in contact with you, you let out a small whimper. It had been so long since you had felt Seonghwa let alone his mommy personality, a soft hand brushes against your cheek, lifting your head slightly as you look at his sleek eyes. That familiar love and adoration twinkles just below his dark brown eyes, you swear you can see the light behind them.

“Hi mommy..” you whisper out hand coming to clutch the side of your pants. Noticing immediately he grips your balled fist, unraveling it, as he brushes over your palm. You practically fell like putty into his hands.

“What did I tell you about doing that?” He says, voice as smooth as silk. As your brain loses all of the common sense it typically holds you grow sheepish. Body flushing with an indescribable heat. As you pull at the collar of your shirt to get an air flow, it dawns on you that Seonghwa is seated in just a pair of white boxers.

“Come here.” He purrs, turning you around, planting your ass directly on his lap. His warm hands come up under your shirt, pulling the fabric off slowly, as your bra comes into sight, you get a bit self conscious as it had been over 5 months since you had last seen Seonghwa. As your arms hug you tightly, he grabs them lightly, pushing them down.

“Don’t hide yourself from me, doll. Let mommy see you.” He whispers into your ear, as your arms drop he keeps one hand rubbing your arm as his other hand goes to fiddle with the button of your pants. As he strips you out of every piece of clothing you own, you’ve never felt more self conscious yet confident at the same time. His back is firmly against the headboard, with you in between his legs, legs propped onto the bed, feet planted firmly into the soft mattress below you. Your cunt glistens under the bright white led lights that fill the small space. As your eyes flicker down to your cunt, you grow a bit flustered, you try to shut your legs as quickly as possible, growing a bit flustered under Seonghwas gaze. It’s almost as if you’ve forgotten that Jongho was right in the room with you both.

“Let me see..” he purrs out, hand coming to open your wedged legs..

“Be a good doll, and listen to mommy.” He groans into your ear. As your body warms across the front of Seonghwas chest you look at the mirror that’s boring holes into every action you and Seonghwa do.

“Is the mirror necessary?” You whine out, flustered at seeing your own dirty actions. Clearing his throat, it dawns on you that Jongho is still here and that he will remain here the whole time. Cunt fluttering, Seonghwa sees through the mirror that your pussy clenches around nothing. A small smirk on his face continues to grow as he watches your shiny slick cover your lower half.

“Be a good doll for me, and for Dr. Jongho.” He whispers into your ear. Nodding your head slightly you open your legs once more. You watch as Seonghwas eyes glimmer with need.

Laying you down slowly, Seonghwas large thin frame towers over your own. His dark hair frames his face, plump lips bitten between his perfect teeth. You are in love with every inch of this man, he could make you feel so loved one second, and the next? Nothing but a dirty whore. The balance between all the personalities was nothing short of a rollercoaster ride. The adrenaline that pumped through your veins while loving him was addicting. You had grown accustomed to this lifestyle, you were nothing but devoted to the Park Seonghwa.

“Mommy is going to fill you all the way up to here.” He says seductively as he brushes his hands over your lower belly. Poking it slightly before he caresses your lower stomach. The fleshy area his eyes are dead set on always made you a bit insecure. As he kneads your stomach you let out a quiet moan, hands coming to brush him away. When his other hand stops your motions.

“Did mommy tell you to touch her?” He questions, eyebrow raising as he drifts his eyes to look up at you. His sharp gaze makes you squirm, shaking your head no you, moving your eyes to look at his forehead. When Seonghwa got like this, it always made your head spin, you could barely hold eye contact with him as it was so intense you felt your skin prickle with nerves. Stomach doing flips while he grabs your chin lightly before telling you to look at him. Eyes low, and sultry, he glances over your body, thumb rubbing your cheek before he shifts his weight. Brushing two fingers through your wet folds, making a squelching noise before he brings his fingers up to his mouth, sucking your arousal off of them.

“So wet, so good.” He groans at the taste of you on his tongue. Bringing his face close to yours, he brushes his fingers through your folds again, placing one finger in your mouth, and the other in his.

“Go on, taste yourself.” He whispers before sucking your arousal off his shiny finger. Placing your tongue out you take his whole finger in your mouth. Sitting up, he pulls you up before sitting behind you, shuffling his body against the headboard, grabbing your shoulder and pulling you back down. Your back is firmly against his own, his warm embrace was worth a million words. Pussy on display for the room he stares ahead at the cracked mirror at the end of the bed. His dark gaze falling upon your cunt. Swiping two fingers through your folds, before he spreads your lips.

“Look at her…just glistening. Isn’t she pretty?” He purrs into your ear, feeling your body heat up.

“Mommy is going to put a baby right in there.” He says touching your stomach once more, eyes enamored and twinkling with the thought of you being heavy bellied.

With your legs spread you look into the mirror, body heating with embarrassment you try to close your legs. With a firm hand on your thigh he holds your legs open. Wet fingers digging into your leg, you whimper at his touch. His other hand comes down to grip your breast, pinching your nipple. Back arching off of him you moan his name quietly.

“Did I tell you to shut your legs?” He asks in a sultry tone, hands firm on the meat of your thighs. Slapping your soft flesh you open your legs again, his hand comes down, slapping your cunt. As his palm rises back, your sticky arousal sticks to it. Strings of clear stickiness stretch with each pull back of his hand. Continuously slapping your cunt, your legs jerk with each strike, letting out a loud mewl your body hunches over.

“Ple–please Mommy, please, please..” you beg out. Not even sure what you are asking for. As your juices drench his palm, he pulls his hand back once more, slapping your pussy a bit harder this time. With a final cry your body arches off of his warm chest, juices spraying out of your cunt. Legs shaking as your feet are trying their best to remain planted on the soft mattress. His sticky palm comes down to your pussy, rubbing small circles onto your clit, hushing you as you continue to unravel before his eyes. As you come down from your high, he eases off of your clit. Licking his palm he rolls his tongue behind his teeth, savoring the flavor. With heavy pants you lean further back into his chest. Body wet with your own slick, and cum.

“Fuck, you think you can do that again?” A deep voice rings out behind you, looking in the mirror you watch as his gaze changes, eyes flushing dark, losing that loving streak that his mother personality had, eyes lazily looking at him you barely can put together a coherent sentence.

“Fuck that, you will do it again.” Plunging two fingers deep into your cunt, he wiggles them around looking for your spongy spot. Thumb pressed hard against your clit, you let out a loud moan, legs turning into jelly and falling on the bed. As his thumb strums quickly over your swollen clit, your legs turn every way, body going through the first stages of over stimulation. A twisted grin cracks onto his face, one of his arms wraps around your waist, holding you in place.

“God, she’s so fucking sloppy.” he groans, before pulling two fingers out, slapping your cunt before diving his fingers back in. As they slam in and out of you at a quick pace you moan out Seonghwas name, nails digging into the blanket on top of the mattress. His eyes shoot over to Jongho who is standing there, teetering between the lines of being unfazed, and desperately turned on.

“Wish this was you huh doc?! I’m going to fill this pretty cunt up, having you carrying my seed around.” He says loudly, laughing booming off of the concrete walls. Your body moves whichever way he pulls you, effortlessly moving like you are a doll.

“Look at her pretty pussy, just gushing.” Pulling out he slaps your cunt once more. You let out a loud moan, head turning, trying to catch a glimpse of Seonghwa.

“Your pussy is talking to me, and does she have a lot to say.” His hand wraps tighter around your waist, his crazed eyes bore into you.

You whimper out his name, in a twisted way, this is exactly what you wanted. You missed this, you missed Seonghwa. But you missed all the personalities he had charging through him. Everyday was like cranking up a Jack in the box, you know something was going to pop out, the thrill of not knowing what exactly always made your body on edge, it made your adrenaline run rampant. This is exactly what you wanted.

“Have some decorum, trying to talk over her.” Bringing a hand down he slaps your pussy. Body quivering with a loud moan. You call out to Seonghwa once more.

“Fuck!” He groans out, bringing two fingers to collect the slick that’s dripping down your ass.

“Yunho?” Jongho questions while flipping through the papers on his clipboard making a note, the pen screeches with each drag. You catch a small glimpse of Jongho, clutching the pen tightly in his grasp, while a head of sweat drops down his forehead. A harsh slap to your dripping pussy pulls you from your thoughts.

“I really would prefer if she called me Yunho.” He purrs out, hands running down your inner thighs before slapping your cunt again. Quickly riding himself of his boxers, he positions himself in between your legs, roughly grabbing his cock he lets out a small hiss.

“Fuck have I missed you.” He groans out before catching your lips in a kiss

“She’s so fucking sloppy.” He groans out, pausing his wild thrust to spit at your pussy. The cool saliva hitting your clit. He watches as it drips down to his cock that is stilled inside of you.

His hips draw back before slamming into you with a loud smacking noise. His hips are flush against your inner thighs. His hand comes down to hold you in place by your throat. He’s fucking you like a mad man. Your mouth falls open into a non existent moan, as he’s fucking all the common sense out of your brain.

“Shiiit, that’s it. Shut your pretty mouth and take this dick.” He grits out, hand gripping tighter around your throat. With a choked out sob you nod your head pathetically, letting him have full control over you. Gripping the back of one of your thighs with his other still tight around your throat he bends one of your legs to your chest. Hitting you deeper, the new position has your hands coming up and clutching the one around your throat. Grip tight, as his eyes flood with dark lust, both of his pupils are blown wide. You’ve never seen this sight of Seonghwa, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t addicting.

“Going to give you all my babies, Fuck!” He roars out once more. Gathering all his saliva he spits on your cunt, hips never letting up on pounding you into the mattress. Pressing his body onto your front pushing you further into the mattress. His hand reaches down and wraps around your throat, picking your head up off of the bed. With drool running down your mouth, sweat covering your forehead. You look like you just ran a marathon. Voice cracking with each powerful thrust he gives you, your hands help hold your body up, elbows shaking at the intense speed he’s striking you with. Giving you a sloppy kiss, teeth clashing against yours you let out a squeak. Dropping his full weight on you, you groan out his name. Parting your lips with his own, sticking his tongue down your mouth he opens his eyes, making direct contact with Jongho who is gripping the clipboard tightly still.

“You like watching me fuck her?” He asks, voice laced with venom. Hips snapping against the meat of your ass, each thrust hikes your body up the bed. Mattress creaking with each movement he does. Pausing his thrust, he pulls your body off of the bed, locking his arms behind you, so that you sit up right. His sweaty, wet chest against your back. Your naked body once again on display for Jongho. Kissing the side of your neck, he nips at the skin, marking it with his bites. Dark hickies dance along your neck, not stopping til he’s satisfied with his work. Giving you one powerful thrust almost doubling over from the strength of it. His hips begin to piston in and out of you once more, arms locked tightly behind you back. Looking over your shoulder he watches as your breast bounces with each thrust.

“Look at that doc..” he grits out, head cocking back slightly at the feeling of your warm, sopping wet walls wrapped around his throbbing cock.

“See how well she takes me.” He says through a laugh, your body grows hotter knowing Jonghos eyes are directly on you both. As Seonghwa feels your cunt clench around his member. Hitting you with one deep thrust, he pulls you back more, making sure to arch your back even further.

“I think we have a exhibitionist on our hands Doc.” Seonghwa sings out, before slamming you down on his cock. Making sure to match the strokes to the way he makes you bounce on top of him.

“She’s so fucking wet.” He groans out, watching as your cum, mixed with own , runs down your leg. Thighs are still sticky with your arousal, the cum mixing makes loud squelching noises each time he thrusts inside of you.

“You wanna taste her?” He asks eyes flickering an even darker shade as he rag dolls you up and firm his cock, you can’t help but let out a small whimper at the thought of Jongho kneeling before you both. Letting your body go you flop down onto the mattress. As you land softly, he slaps your ass hard.

“She’s a fucking slut.” He says slapping your ass once more, grabbing the meat of it and slamming you down. Wrapping a hand around the back of your neck..

“But she’s my slut.” His eyes lock with Jonghos as he’s got you hiking up and down his cock. A wicked smile breaks out onto his face, Jonghos had enough of this personality, flicking through the paperwork checks off the name Yunho..

“We’ll say goodbye Yunho.” Jongho says hitting the button on the light, a huge white flash fills the room. Seonghwa doubles over letting out a loud cry, pulling out of your spent pussy, a quiet pop is made as he pulls away, cunt instantly oozing with cum. The warm feeling runs between your legs. Letting out a satisfied sigh you cause your eyes, trying your best to mellow out your breathing.

“Look how messy you are.” Seonghwa says with a squeak to his voice, letting out a small groan you already know what personality has appeared.

“Yunho slutted you out.” he says, dragging two fingers between your folds, clit swollen and sore. Letting out a small hiss as he glides through your cunt.

“Woo please..” you say silently, trying to bat his hand away. Your eyes poke open, trying to take a peak at him. Sitting on his knees behind you he puts a hand under you, helping you roll over. As your breast comes into sight. He dives face first into your chest, mouth wrapping around your pebbled nipples. Moaning at the taste of you on his tongue, he grabs onto your other nipple, brushing a finger over it, you let out a whine. Bringing a hand up to brush the dark locks out of his face, as he continues to suckle on one of your nipples, you watch a devious smile grace his face.

“You taste so good.” He groans out, mouth full of your breast. Those mischievous eyes always have an underlying motive. As he continues to suckle on your breast, he pinches the other one a pathetic whimper leaves your throat.

“One day milk will come out of these.” He says giving your nipple a harsh pinch before attaching his mouth onto your sore one.

“It’ll be a fight between me and Yunho about who gets to try your milk first.” The thoughts of the warm liquid pouring into his mouth have his cock jumping.

“We are going to fill you to the brim, then you are going to take another load, and another.” He says with a smile, resting his forehead against your boob.

“You will be swollen with our child.” He says with glee, mouth detaching from your nipple, giving it a kiss before switching to the other. His dark eyes shift over to Jongho, a small squeaky laugh leaves Seonghwas throat.

“Wanna watch me put a baby in her doc?” He asks, voice laced with mockery. Jongho has had enough of each personality that has made its way through, they were not who he was looking for. You look up lazily as you watch him clutch the small remote, seeing his thumb flex you quickly try to shield Seonghwa, yelling at him to close his eyes.

“No, no, n-Fuck!” The flash of white light goes off again, your body falling lax once more. Letting out a quiet sigh you look down at Seonghwa, the way he fidgets with hands you immediately know who has taken over. A bright blush brushes over his face and neck. Trying his best to cover his chest up, he leans forward nose bumping yours, giving you a small kiss before snapping back against the bed.

“Yeosang it’s okay.” You breathe out, tone laced with tiredness.

“No, no, no!” Jongho groans out in frustration before clicking the button multiple times, a loud roar leaves his throat. You watch as his muscles contract, you’ve never seen this side of him before. Your eyes grow big with worry, cocking your head back as you watch as an evil grin paints Jonghos face.

“There it is! The thing of the hour!” He says satisfied.

Watching as his eyes cut, you see Seonghwas body grow bigger by the second, muscles rippling his thin frame. His eyes grow a shade of black you’ve never seen before. His pupils are blown wide, mouth open in a snarl. Your body freezes below him, a shaky hand goes out to touch his firm chest that’s rippling with a new muscle every second. As your warm fingertips go to touch the man nestled between your shivering thighs you call out his name softly.

“Seonghwa..” you whisper, eyes having a sliver of hope that he’s still in there somewhere.

“This is the beast.” Jongho states, noting down how many clicks and what it all took for him to get Seonghwa to this current persona. You can feel the deep growl resonating in Seonghwas firm chest.

“Hey…hey…I’m right here.” You whisper out, both hands coming in contact with his face. Worry fills your voice, you needed Seonghwa here and now with you. As you mutter Park Seonghwa over and over again, the Beast continues to stare at Jongho with anger flicking with each blink. His nails grow long, pinching your delicate skin, as he comes to grab your hands off of his face gently.

“Please don’t do this.” You whisper out, tears fill your eyes. Seonghwas eyebrow flickers, eye twitching with another personality trying to break through.

“Show her..” Jongho whispers out, Seonghwas ears twitch as if he was an animal at Jonghos quiet sentence. Eyed growing dark once more he lets out a growl, bed creaking as his body grows heavier with each passing second.

“Shut up!” Seonghwa booms out, this voice you have never heard before. As his large body tries to break from the grasp you have on his face.

“Seonghwa please, please, please.” You mutter out, tears streaming down your face. His ears twitch again, letting out a blood curdling roar he doubles over, panting heavily.

“Doll, please..” Seonghwa breathes out, his mommy persona rising through the darkness.

“Mingi take her out of here.” Jongho says into his walkie talkie, trying to claw your way off of the bed, to rush Jongho, he shoves you down to the ground. Ass hitting the floor with a thud, Seonghwas body snaps up, charging Jongho.

“No! Don’t hurt her.” He says through an animalistic tone, clicking the button, Jongho watches Seonghwas large figure hit the floor in pain. A loud cry comes from him, as you begin to get your breath again you make your way towards Seonghwa.

“Please don’t hurt her.” His mother persona breathes out, clutching his chest in pain.

“Stop it!” his Wooyoung persona cries out as Jongho hits the button once more. As Mingi slams the door open he’s frightened by what he sees. Your crying naked form trying to shield Seonghwa as Jongho stands large above the both of you. He was playing God. As Mingi scoops you up off of the floor, your hands try to grip anything it can to stay in the room. Tears fill Mingis eyes at the desperate attempt you make to stay in the room with your lovers. As he’s got you hoisted in the air you scream, and kick your legs.

“Put her in a room of her own.” Jongho says proudly before clicking the button again, the white flash flooding the room once more. Mingi opens his tight shut eyes, he nods carrying you out into the dead empty hallway. You thrash, attempting to scratch Mingis hands so he would let you go. Yet nothing works. You can barely look at his own sad face, Mingi knew how much you loved Seonghwa, everyone knew. It wasn’t a secret, you wanted the odd man in every way. You wanted any and everything that came with him. Being apart from him felt like half of you was missing.

“Let me go! Seon-Seonghwa!” You scream as Mingi grabs your naked body, hands slipping due to all the sweat and cum that’s cakes on your skin. Tears fill your lash line. You thrash in Mingis hold you continue to scream out for Seonghwa. Trying your best to rip out his hold, you begin to punch Mingis hands that are holding you tightly.

“Let me go!” You scream, thrashing even harder. The shame of being naked in his hold is the second to last thing on your mind. You watch from the small window that’s on Seonghwas heavy steel door. The flash of white continuously goes off. The loud cries from each personality fill your ears. Body tiring from the constant thrashing as you can hear your lovers in distress.

“I’m so sorry Y/N..” Mingi says through a whisper. Tears begin to streak down your face. Lip trembling as you let out a loud whail. Your hands come to your mouth to conceal the noise. Mingis grips never eases up as he has your feet dangling from the ground, a large arm firm around your waist.

“I hate you, I hate every single one of you in this place.” You whisper as the cries from Seonghwa go quiet.

“I hope he kills all of you.” You whisper void of any emotion. The white light stops flashing in the room and the hallway lights go out, leaving the bright red glow from the emergency exit signs to keep the dark hallway with some form of light. The sudden slam of the door to Seonghwas room startles you and Mingi. With a noticeable jump he lets go of you, your body hitting the floor, not even caring at the pain of the sting. Your body lays flat against the tiles, crunching into the fetal position. As Mingi looks down at you he fiddles with his utility belt, pulling the small flashlight from it, cutting it on he flashes it down the hallway not seeing anyone there with a loud whisper he calls out to Jongho. With no response, he looks between your crying figure on the floor, and the hall once more. Your small sniffles fill the area, adding to an eery environment.

“I hate you, I hate you..” you mutter quietly, as you hand holds your lower stomach. Seonghwa being ripped from you in more ways than one had you nauseated.

“I’m going to check on Dr. Jongho, stay right here.” Mingi whispers out, terror filling his voice. As he takes one step forward he hears a loud creak. Planting his feet still, he can feel a heavy breath on his neck. Biting his lip, tears fill his own eyes, the flashlight dropping as he’s suddenly pulled into the darkness. A loud cry roars from him before it falls silent again, not even bothering to look back, to heartbroken at Seonghwa being torn from you. Your body rocks back and forth on the floor. Still hunched in the fetal position, ass naked, with zero care in the world.

“There, there..” Seonghwa says, that soft feminine voice falls on your ears. Eyes immediately shooting at him. A large blanket covers your naked frame, his warm hand brushes your cheek. Your eyes fill with more tears, breaking out into a loud sob. Seonghwa lays down right next to you, caressing your body. As your body racks through continuous sobs you feel the muscles from the beast slowly go back into his body, his large muscular frame goes back into its original state.

“Mommas here..” he says, giving the back of your head a kiss, bringing you closer to his chest you cuddle him further.

“Mommas gotchu..”

“We got you..”

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[fromdove]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⁞ fuzzy socks && kisses

word count: ~2308 words

pairing: jason todd x fem!reader

warnings: no warnings!! just fluff fluff fluff

dove's notes: hope you lovelies feel fed! i've been in kind of a writing slump lately but this got my ass out of it, thanks jason! you sexable man

© fromdove— All rights reserved. Reposting, translation, or modification of these works is strictly prohibited, regardless of whether credit is given.

∿　 　 . `💭` ㆍ

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

It’s late. Like... late-late. The kind of late that seeps into your bones.

Even Gotham—loud, wild, unapologetically feral Gotham—has finally surrendered, just for a moment, to something like stillness. The city glows in that soft amber-orange light, the kind that feels more at home in an old Polaroid than in real life. The sun is almost fully up now, low and golden, peeling the night away.

The usual chaos seems to fold in on itself, hushed by the light drizzle slicking the pavement, taming the streets into quiet. The rain isn’t a storm—just a gentle mist that turns the city’s sharp edges soft and blurry. Streetlamps still flicker with that worn-out, golden buzz—old, tired things that have been burning too long and just want to be left in peace.

Jason’s key slides into the lock with practiced ease, he turns the key just right, pushes the door so it doesn’t squeak, nudges it closed with the heel of his boot instead of the knob. and the door clicks shut behind him just as silently.

He doesn’t need to be sneaky here—not really. but old habits die hard, and years of slipping through shadows don’t shake off just because he’s home. His movements are practiced, second nature: helmet off first, carefully set on the shelf by the door. One boot, then the other—nudged off with the toe of the opposite foot, slow and quiet like the night depends on it.

The hardwood greets him with a low, familiar groan—right on cue. That same loose floorboard just past the entryway. The one he told himself he’d fix months ago. He meant to. Still does. He just... hasn’t gotten around to it yet. Too many nights chasing down people who make louder noises than floorboards ever could.

You don’t stir from the creak.

Turns out he was right. You waited up for him.

He’d asked you not to wait up. Not in a demanding way—never like that—but soft and worn-out. He’d pulled you in earlier, arms snug around your waist, face tucked into your hair. Kissed the crown of your head and mumbled it into your scalp. “Get some sleep, yeah? please don't wait.” Low, rough, he didn’t want to spend the rest of the night worried about you too.

And you had nodded against his chest, mumbled something into his shirt that sounded like “okay.” And then you’d looked up, eyes squinting, and stuck out your pinky.

“Promise,” you said, voice soft but still holding that stubborn spark. “Double pinky swear. Triple. Triple pinky swear with a twist. and the secret seal, you know the seal.”

You wiggled your pinky at him like it was the most sacred of all vows. you made it seem like it would physically hurt you for him not to make it official. And when he tried to pretend he didn’t remember the "secret seal", you just poked him in the chest, right over his heart, with a dramatic little hmph.

“Seal it,” you said. So he did. He kissed your pinky, then your forehead, and said something grumbly about how ridiculous this was. But he was smiling when he said it, all soft around the edges. so you didn't take him too seriously.

He should’ve known you’d break the swear the second his back was turned.

he should know by now what your promises mean.

When you say, “I’ll sleep, I pinky swear,” what you really mean is: “I’ll lie on the couch with something playing, just to fill the space. I’ll tell myself I’m not waiting, that I’m just resting, but I’ll keep glancing at the clock anyway. Keep listening for your key in the door without even realizing I’m doing it. I’ll stay like that until my eyes finally give up on me.”

And, well. here you are now, proving exactly that.

You're curled up in the corner of the couch, soft and still. One arm hangs off the edge, fingers loose and completely at ease. Your head's tilted in a way that would probably horrify a chiropractor, smushed against an old throw pillow that’s definitely past its prime. The blanket you meant to wrap around yourself is bunched awkwardly at your waist, halfway sliding off. Your feet are bare, sticking out at the end.

He shakes his head.

“You and the goddamn socks,” he mumbles, almost fondly.

You never remember them. He reminds you every time. Sometimes through gritted teeth, sometimes through a text sent from five rooftops away. Somehow, he always knows when you’re not wearing socks—even when he’s nowhere near you.

He swears you forget on purpose. Just to get under his skin.

He doesn’t care about Gotham winters—not for himself, anyway. But when it comes to you, suddenly it’s a national emergency. He’ll play the overbearing mom if he has to, lecturing you about cold floors and catching colds and how you’re definitely going to get sick if you keep this up. He just wants to make sure you’re warm and okay. And if that means telling you to “put on your goddamn socks” like it’s life or death—then yeah. He’ll do it. Every single time.

But it’s hard to be annoyed. Looking at you like this, he can’t feel anything but softness.

The TV’s still playing. Some old movie you’ve seen a dozen times, maybe more. you’ve worn this DVD out. You’ve cried during it, laughed at it, talked over it. The dialogue is quiet, the music gentle, and he recognizes the scene even without looking—it’s the one you always quote, the one that always makes you cry, even when you say it won’t this time.

He doesn’t move right away.

Just stands there in the entryway, taking you in.

There’s a soft crease pressed into your cheek from the pillow. Your lips are parted slightly, breath slow and even. One leg’s folded beneath you, the other hanging off the couch like you gave up halfway through trying to find a comfortable position.

For a moment, his chest aches with the gentleness of it. from how soft it all feels. The quiet trust of being missed. Of being waited for. Of being loved in a way that's steady and patient and real.

Eventually, he moves toward you, his steps light. Careful not to jostle the couch.

He crouches down beside the couch, one knee down first. Then the other. resting one forearm on the cushion as he watches your sleeping face up close for a beat longer than necessary. There’s a smear of mascara under one eye from where you must’ve rubbed it in your sleep. He notices the way your eyelashes flutter. The soft puff of your breath when you exhale. The faint remnants of whatever lip balm you’d put on earlier, faded into a subtle shine.

His hand hovers for a second before brushing a loose strand of hair off your forehead.

“You forgot socks again, sweetheart,” he murmurs under his breath.

He nudges one of your toes, just to check if you’ll move. You don’t. You’re completely knocked out.

God, you look so cold. He can’t seem to shake that thought.

He moves carefully. He takes one arm beneath your knees, the other under your back. He lifts slow. Doesn’t rush it. Your body sags against his shoulder with a sigh, head finding its usual home in the crook of his neck.

He holds you for a second longer than he needs to. Just standing there in the middle of the dim living room, the flicker of the TV painting sleepy shadows across the ceiling, your heartbeat slow against his chest.

Then he walks.

He walks you to the bedroom in silence, letting the movie play on in the background like white noise.

He leans down slowly, careful not to rush as he lowers you onto the bed. Your body melts into the mattress with a quiet sigh, your arms falling loosely by your sides, completely surrendered to the idea of rest.

Once you’re lying there, he pulls the covers up gently, making sure the blanket doesn’t drag over your face. Without really thinking, he shifts your pillow just a little, tucking it closer so you’re comfortable.

Then he slips out of the room for what feels like no time at all—just long enough to dig out a clean pair of his thickest socks. The kind so ridiculously bulky they look like something your grandma would have knitted with all the love in the world but zero concern for fashion.

The fuzzy, wool-lined ones, way too big for anyone but somehow perfect, the ones he bought you during some crazy snowstorm. the same ones you refuse to wear because you think they look ridiculous.

He kneels at the foot of the bed like he’s about to propose to your frozen feet and carefully peels back the blanket, just enough to free your toes. They twitch a little when the cool air hits them. He smiles to himself, like yeah, cold. thought so.

He warms your feet first with his hands. Rubs his thumbs gently over the arch of one foot, then the other. His palms are calloused, sure, but warm—so warm. He murmurs something barely audible while he works, something like, “You're going to be sick if you keep this up.” but there’s laughter buried in the rasp of it.

Then he pulls the socks on—slow and careful, making sure they don’t tug or stretch out of shape. He slips them onto your feet one at a time, smoothing the edges gently, his thumbs brushing softly over your ankles.

And then, like he can’t stop himself, before he pulls the covers back over your feet, he leans down and presses a slow, gentle kiss just above your ankle bone. Right in that little space between where the sock ends and your skin begins.

Then he stands back up and carefully tucks the two thick blankets around you—one side, then the other—making sure you’re snug. He even folds the top edge down near your collarbone, just enough so you won’t get too hot, but still stay cozy.

He brushes some hair out of your face. Lets his fingers rest there for a moment, just above your temple.

He probably should’ve showered by now—still smelling like sweat, gunpowder, and whatever else Gotham threw at him tonight.

Not wanting to dirty your bed, he quietly slips off to the bathroom.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The shower lasts about twenty minutes. He keeps it quick. Not rushed, just efficient. Muscle memory, mostly. Hot water, steam thick in the air, the scent of soap clinging to his skin. He scrubs away the grime of the city, the kind that seeps into your bones even when nothing technically went wrong.

He’s not injured tonight. No bruised ribs, no split lip, no blood staining his knuckles. Somehow, it was a quiet patrol—so quiet it made the back of his neck itch with suspicion. But nothing happened. For once, Gotham gave him her version of a night off.

And he took it. Reluctantly.

Now, clean but still a little damp, his towel-dried hair curling at the ends, he’s wandering down the hallway barefoot and shirtless. Jason’s a total hypocrite—always fussing about you wearing socks and staying warm so you don’t get sick, then here he is doing the exact opposite. If you were awake and saw him like this, he’d never live it down. But honestly, you’re no different—you’re always on his case about being careful and responsible. Guess that makes you two just two sides of the same stubborn coin.

Every step slightly quicker than the last, the hum of the apartment settling into sleep around him.

The bedroom door creaks faintly as he pushes it open. You’re still in the same position he left you in—curled up beneath the blankets, your breathing deep and slow. He smiles to himself.

He pulls back one side of the blanket slowly, careful not to let the cool air wake you. Then he climbs into bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. The sheets are warm. You are warmer.

As soon as he settles, you stir—just a little. Your body shifts with the change, but you don’t wake. Not really.

Still, your hand finds his.

It’s slow and searching, like your body is half-asleep but still knows exactly where it wants to be. You don’t even open your eyes. Just reach out blindly, fingers brushing along his until they slot perfectly between his own.

He Just stares at your face in the low light filtering in through the curtains. His chest tightens—not in the bad way, not like panic or dread. In the way that makes him feel too full. Like there’s something blooming under his ribs and it doesn’t know where to go.

You tug his hand toward you slightly, not even aware you’re doing it. He shifts closer without thinking, until his chest is pressed to your back and his forehead is resting in that familiar dip just behind your shoulder. He exhales slow. Letting himself sink.

Your skin is warm beneath his touch, and your hair still carries the soft scent of your shampoo.

He presses the lightest kiss to the curve of your shoulder blade, actually not even really a kiss—more like a pause. A place to rest his mouth.

Night, sweetheart,” he whispers. His voice is rough, a little low and lazy from sleep he hasn’t let himself have yet. But there’s something softer underneath it.

You don’t speak. You just make a quiet sound in the back of your throat—something between a sigh and a hum. The kind of noise someone makes when they feel something good and safe and familiar settle beside them.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[obsessedwithceleste]

Flowers

soft! Mattheo Riddle x reader

Summary: You just wanted your boyfriend to buy you flowers. He got a bit confused along the way.

word count: 1.2k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

You’d never been the type of person who particularly enjoyed flashy, grand gestures. In fact, the mere thought of all eyes on you as a boy professed his undying love for you made you want to toss yourself off of the astronomy tower. And yet, here you were, watching as Lorenzo Berkshire presented your best friend, Daphne Greengrass, with yet another huge bouquet of gorgeous flowers and wishing your own boyfriend would do the same.

You let out a soft sigh, glancing at your boyfriend whose arm was wrapped securely around your shoulders as the two of you lounged on the sofa in the library. Matteo wasn’t a bad boyfriend by any means. Really, you loved the way he showered you in attention, always eager to please. However, he wasn’t exactly up to speed when it came to romantic gestures. Normally you didn’t mind, but every one wanted to be treated like royalty sometimes you supposed.

“Oh Enz, these are beautiful!” Daphne gushed, giving her boyfriend a peck on the lips as he smiled adoringly down at her.

“Anything for you love,” the boy replies easily, taking the seat next to her, and pulling her in so that she was leaning into him.

“Geez, get a bloody room would you?” Theodore complains as the two cozy up together.

You roll your eyes at your friend. “Shut it Theo, I think it’s sweet.” You then turn to your own boyfriend. “You know Matteo, Enz gets Daphne flowers every week. I wish you did that.”

Matteo’s eyebrows shoot up and he gives you a confused look.

“Really?” He asks.

You nod earnestly. “I think it’d be nice.”

Matteo gives you another concerned glance before shrugging his shoulders.

“Alright, love.” He says, giving your shoulder a soft squeeze.

You smile warmly at the boy, resting your head on his shoulder before continuing your reading for ancient runes.

“I’m proud of you for finally sticking up for yourself, y/n.” Daphne says, placing her bag down as she takes a seat next to you in the Great Hall.

“Oh? What chapter did we miss?” Pansy asks from across the table where she and Astoria sat.

You furrow your eyebrows, also confused as to where Daph was going with this.

“In the library this afternoon, y/n finally got on Matt’s case about how he never does anything romantic for them. I mean, you’ve been together for what? Almost a year? And I don’t think I’ve ever seen him bring you flowers. Not once!” Daphne says, filling her plate.

“Oh. I mean, I really don’t mind all that much to be honest. You and Enzo just always look so sweet, I thought it’d be nice for a change. I don’t really expect him to do it every week like Enzo does,” you reply.

“See, but it’s the principle of it all isn’t it? Of course I like the fact that Draco is constantly buying me random gifts, but I would be fine without them. It’s that he’s thinking of me, and taking a bit of time to go out of his way to show me that, yeah?” Astoria says.

You tilt your head, considering your friend’s words.

“I suppose I never thought of it like that,” you tell her.

“Well you should. The bloody bullshit we put up with dating those boys, buying us nice things is really the least they can do,” she replies.

You let out a snort, laughing at your friend’s candidness.

As if to illustrate her point, the rowdy laughter of the boys could be heard from the entrance as they made their way over to your table. You frown as Matteo takes his usual place beside you, seeing a fresh cut on his cheekbone.

“Matteo Bartholomew Riddle.” You sigh, reaching up to touch his face.

“Bartholomew? Bloody hell mate, I’d have to avada myself with a middle name like that,” Draco laughs, plopping down next to Astoria.

He doesn’t even flinch as your finger tips make contact with the cut, only sighing as he glares at Draco before looking down at you with his large puppy dog eyes.

“Fuck off Lucius. And you know that isn’t even my middle name, love,” he says, reaching across the table to steal a roll from Theo’s plate.

“Well you won’t tell me your real one, so I’ll continue making up ridiculous ones until then. Now what on earth did you get up to now, and how many days of detention did you get?”

Matteo frowns, jutting out his bottom lip at you.

“What makes you so sure I got a detention?”

You raise an unimpressed eyebrow at the boy.

“Three days. With McGonagall.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head and turn back to face Astoria whose face practically read ‘you see what I mean?’

“Man got into a scuffle with some Hufflepuff. Swear those yellow bastards look unassuming but they’re demons,” Theo says filling you and the other girls in.

Matteo glares at his friend.

“Snitch,” he mumbles, stuffing the roll into his mouth.

“Like they weren't going to find out anyway,” Theo replies, brushing him off.

Once again rolling your eyes at your boyfriend, you focus on finishing your meal, listening to the idle chatter of your friends as Matteo’s hand finds yours under the table.

By the following week, you had all but forgotten your request for your boyfriend to bring you flowers. When you saw Matteo enter the Great Hall with a large bouquet of assorted flowers however, a smile grew across your face. Then, your smile wavered slightly, growing into confusion as Matteo made his way to the other side of the table, tapping Daphne on the shoulder.

Daphne and Enzo look back at Matteo with utter confusion as your boyfriend thrusts the flowers towards your friend.

“Uh. Here.” He says awkwardly as the two stare up at him with bewilderment.

You blink once. Then twice before Daphne breaks the silence.

“Matteo, respectfully, what the fuck?” She asks.

“Look, I don’t know either. I’m just as confused as you are,” Matteo says, shrugging his shoulders helplessly.

You look incredulously between your boyfriend, the flowers, and finally Daphne before realization hits you and your head drops into your hand. This bloody idiot.

“Matteo. Love. When I said, Enzo brings Daphne flowers every week, you should too, I meant for me. As in, you should bring me flowers too,” you say with exasperation. Lord help you.

Matteo’s mouth forms an ‘o’ before he smiles sheepishly at you, rounding the table and now thrusting the flowers towards you.

“For you, my love,” he says proudly.

You let out a laugh, accepting the flowers as your boyfriend takes his seat next to you.

“Matt you are so lucky y/n puts up with your shit,” Daphne sighs, shaking her head fondly at the two of you.

“But also, ever try giving my girl flowers again and I’ll curse your bed. I know where you sleep.” Enzo adds.

“Yeah, yeah, I ain’t scared of you Berkshire you big softie.”

“I’ll Avada you.”

“I’d write you letters in Azkaban.” Daphne says sweetly as the boys continue to throw threats each other’s way.

You shake your head at your friend’s antics, smiling softly as your fingers grazed the soft petals of the flowers your boyfriend had finally presented you with.

“Thank you Matteo,” you say, briefly interrupting the boy’s loud chattering to place a kiss on your boyfriend’s cheek.

I know this is so short, but I’ve been wanting to write this scene for the longest time, and couldn’t find a way to fit it into a longer fic 🫠

[gimmethatagustd]

gang shit; knj

Your daughter's classmate has a really hot dad. Apparently, you're his arch-nemesis.

Pairing: Single dad Namjoon x Single parent Reader

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Genre/Trope: Kid fic, strangers to lovers, attempt at humor

Content Warning: None except Namjoon's biceps

Word Count: 1,205

A/N: Inspired by this tweet, reposted in honor of @rpwprpwprpwprw and @rkiveslibrary. Edit - not me finding the original banner by googling my fics jhfjksds

‣ Main Masterlist

“I don’t make the rules to this gang shit. I just play my role.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, and you cock your head to the side in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Namjoon adjusts his black baseball cap. His bicep bulges out of his short sleeve when he lifts his arm. 

You’re too old to be thirsting for a man like this. In all honesty, you’ve been acting childish all day – literally. It’s the last day of school before summer break, and your daughter’s preschool teacher invited parents to an end-of-the-year celebration. Having the privilege of working a hybrid schedule means it’s relatively easy for you to swing by the school with primary-colored cupcakes in hand. They’re the disgusting ones kids love that’ll stain their fingers and mouths bright blue. Oh, to be a four-year-old. So easy to please. 

Unlike little Yuna’s father, who has a stick shoved up his ass, and for what?

“What are you even talking about?” you ask with your arms crossed against your chest. 

You’d said literally five words to the guy, intending to start a pleasant conversation while the kids ran around the playground and the other parents mingled at the picnic tables outside. 

“Hi, I’m Y/N, Brooklyn’s parent.”

Apparently, that was offensive.

Namjoon’s sharp eyes drag up and down your body, and you try not to let his heavy gaze affect you – and fail when you feel your stomach dip. 

“Brooklyn said Yuna dresses weird,” Namjoon finally says with a pout that shouldn’t look so cute on a grown-ass man. 

“Did she?” 

“Are you calling Yuna a liar?”

“No!” This man is so volatile. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. We’ve been practicing using kind words, but, well, you know how kids are…” 

Namjoon doesn’t look convinced. 

You feel antsy under his gaze, unsure what to say or do. Are you supposed to apologize? Maybe that’s the mature thing to do. You’re still new to this whole “I’m suddenly responsible for an entire human being even though I barely even know how to take care of myself” thing. It’s a little bit unbelievable, actually! 

“I’m sorry for Brooklyn’s judgmental behavior. What kind of weird-, what kind of clothes-” you stumble through what you already know is a shit apology, “Which one is Yuna?” 

“That’s her.” Namjoon nods in Yuna’s direction.

You look across the playground to the swing set, where a little girl is lying on the swing on her stomach and spinning around with her arms and legs hanging limp. She’s wearing her hair in asymmetrical pigtails, one higher on her head than the other. Her sneakers are mismatched, as are her colorful knee-high socks. Her pants are polka-dotted, her shirt striped, and she’s got a bright purple cape tied around her neck. 

“She’s adorable,” you say softly. 

“She’s weird as shit.” 

Your mouth hangs open when Namjoon shrugs. 

“What? She’s my kid; I’m allowed to say that.” 

“Fair enough,” you concede with a smile, “So, we got beef now?”

“Yup.” 

Namjoon crosses his arms against his chest to match your stance. You tell yourself it’s very inappropriate to be eyeing your new enemy’s boobs when you’re in the middle of a showdown. 

“I’m not gonna lie, I don’t think I’m down for going to war for Brooklyn. Usually, I just like to blame her bad behavior on her dad,” you say with a barking laugh. You cover your mouth with your hand when you snort. “Sorry, that was inappropriate.” 

“You’re good,” Namjoon finally cracks a smile, and, wow, it’s breathtaking. His eyes crinkle at the corners, his teeth are big and bright, and he has dimples… “Yuna’s mother doesn’t let her dress how she likes, so when I have her, I let her do what she wants. Self-expression is important, y’know?” 

You nod because he’s right. Kids should be kids. 

“Plus, I like being the fun parent.” 

“Right! Who wants the parent with all the stupid rules?” You perk up, taking a step closer because now you’re partners in crime rather than enemies. Maybe. You’ll work on it. He’s too cute not to get up to some parental crime with—gang members, not rivals. 

“Not cool parents like us,” Namjoon lightly elbows you. 

“Yeah, they can’t ride with our gang.” 

Namjoon makes a face the moment the words come out of your mouth. He bites both lips, rolling them in and hollowing his cheeks, eyebrows raised. 

“What? What!” you gasp, knowing when you’re being made fun of, even if it’s in silence. 

“Don’t ever say anything like that ever again.” 

With a huff, you give him a tiny punch to the arm and tell yourself that it isn’t because you want to feel how tight his muscles are. 

“You’re the one who–” 

“HEY! NO HITTING!” 

Groaning, you throw your head back as a tiny blur of pink collides with your body. Brooklyn tugs on the hem of your shirt, repeatedly chanting, “Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,” until you crouch to meet her at her level. Taking her little hands in yours, you hold them to your lips to give her knuckles a quick peck. 

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have done that to Mr. Kim,” you admit, “I should apologize, shouldn’t I?”

Brooklyn nods, and the bulbous beaded hair ties at the end of her pigtail braids swing like a deadly game of tetherball. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kim,” you say as you look up at Namjoon. He taps his finger against his chin in mock thought, and you can’t help but think that you’ll actually punch him if he fucks up this teaching moment by pretending not to accept your apology. 

“I forgive you,” he says with another grin that makes you feel like a silly teenager. 

“Y’know, Brooklyn, Mr. Kim told me something about you and Yuna…” Brooklyn immediately ducks her chin to her chest. No one has ever looked guiltier. “It’s not very nice to talk about how people look, love. I think you should apologize to Yuna, don’t you agree?”

It takes very little convincing for Brooklyn to run off toward the swings. She flops on her stomach in the swing beside Yuna, and then, after a bit of talking, both girls spin around. 

“If Brooklyn throws up from doing that, it’s your fault,” you mutter to Namjoon. 

“Real aggressive coming from someone who just physically attacked me.” 

“Okay, Mr. Gang Shit,” you quip back, catching Namjoon’s widening grin out of the corner of your eye. 

“Listen,” Namjoon touches your elbow, his fingers lingering just long enough for you to give him your attention. Heat spreads along your forearm and makes your fingers tingle. “I don’t really accept either of your apologies. You might need to try a little harder to get me to forgive you.”

“Oh.” You feel your stomach twist. 

“Might want to start with getting dinner with me, and then we can see where it goes?” 

Oh.

“I mean, if you think it wouldn’t hurt my street cred being seen with the likes of you, then, yeah.” 

Namjoon grabs his baseball cap bill and pulls it down until his hat covers his face. “Don’t make me rescind this offer because I’ll do it.” 

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see how it goes.”

[saiyanprincessswanie]

Tap Out

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Word Count: 600

Summary: After saying some mean things about Steve he takes his aggression out during sex. Will he make you tap out?

Warnings: Fingering, Rough Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Edging, Brat Reader

A/N: For @avengers-assemble-bingo AA-Kinky Bingo with squares “That’s a good girl” + fingering + doggy style. Card (KB010)

A/N 2: thanks to my beta readers @lfnr-blog-blog-blog & @late-to-the-party-81 Also thank you @late-to-the-party-81 for the header.

Please Read, Reblog, & Comment. It lets me know you like my work. 😊💜

I do NOT consent to translating or reposting my work on any social media platform, app, or third-party site or run through AI. If you see my work anywhere besides my personal Tumblr & AO3 accounts, it has been stolen.

Steve’s sitting sternly on the bed next to you, fingering your wet pussy. Every time he curls them you sing for him. He’s keeping you just on the edge of an orgasm and your naked body is sweating, begging to cum, but he won’t allow it.

“That’s a good girl. I can feel you want to cum but you know what you have to do first. Say it and I’ll put you out of your misery.”

Your mind is swirling with emotions. What you want to say was ‘fuck off’ but you know he’ll just keep you on edge all night with no chance of release. You moan when he lightly flicks your clit with the fingers of his other hand.

He slows down and then stops all together when you don’t respond. “Don’t make me be the bad guy here. You know I can do this all day.” He says in a serious tone.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call you Captain Small Dick in front of the group. I was just mad that you left me alone in bed without you eating my pussy or even a morning kiss. It put me in a bad mood.”

“And…” He thrusts his fingers hard into you then pulls them out, licking his fingers clean. His eyes flutter at the taste of your arousal.

“And… I’m sorry I said you have a limp cock for a man of your age.”

“I’ll show you who has a small, limp cock, brat I’m going to split you open and fuck you senseless. You won’t be walking straight tomorrow.”

He flips you over onto your stomach and pulls you up onto your hands and knees. With a snap of hips, his cock is sheathed inside you, stretching your pussy so good that you cum all over his cock. However, Steve doesn’t stop there; he continues to fuck you hard and rough. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, joining with your moans. “That’s right, doll. Scream my name. Let them know who’s fucking you this good.”

Your arms finally give out, your face and shoulders crashing to the mattress, leaving your ass in the air, with Steve holding your hips tightly as he takes you harder and faster. He makes you cum another three times and you’re a wreck. You start hitting the bed near your face with your hand, tapping out. There’s no way you can keep going.

“Please, Steve! I’m sorry. I can’t cum again. My body’s too weak.” You plead with him but it doesn’t work. In fact, it seems to turn him on more.

“Just cum one more time for me, sweetheart. Show me you're really sorry.”

Steve keeps his hard pace up until you finally cum again. Your walls flutter around his cock, milking him, and Steve cums with a shout. He pulls out of you and lets your body collapse completely on the bed. He curls up next to you and pulls you to his chest, as you gasp for air. You feel wrecked by him but in the best way possible.

“Next time you have a hissy fit I will strap you to our bed, Mrs. Rogers, and edge you even worse with one of your vibrators. Do you understand me?” Steve nuzzled your ear as he spoke firmly to you.

You nod your head like crazy. “Yes, Steve. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” You both know that it’s a lie. You’ll be running your mouth by next week and being punished all over again. Oh well, that’s the way you both like it.

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