#and yes this time i did get the date right

[mariasont]

That anon was living under a rock because your smut fics (all of your fics tbh!) I reread wayyy to many times, lol. But if you’re taking smut requests, I’d love to see more bimbo!reader and Hotch! I can’t get enough.

I’ll take anything!! But more specifically, their first time, all of that built up tension (that you write so perfectly!) finally breaks!

Anyways, I never send in requests but I saw a window of opportunity and had to take it, haha.

Third Date Rule - A.H

summary: the third date proves to be worth the wait when you and hotch experience your first time together. pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, sexy time, fingering, oral fem receiving, p in v, they did not in fact wrap it before tapping it and it's not really discussed so yeah idk about that one, aftercare wc: 7.7k

This was so overdue.

Technically, it's only been three dates. Technically.

But if you count all the years you'd known him, the months spent daydreaming about this moment, the weeks of waiting while he played the world's longest game of restraint, then really, you should have had him naked ages ago.

And if Aaron (which still feels like a thrill to say — Aaron — because you're dating now and you can freely call him that) wasn't so stubborn and noble and insufferably gentlemanly, you would have.

But tonight was finally the night. The third date. The sacred, hallowed, much-debated, universally accepted gateway to getting into the sheets. And yes, okay, maybe you barely survived the wait without jumping his bones, but that's hardly relevant now. The point is, you did it.

And now you're in his lap, his tie wound tight around your fingers, his tongue deep in your mouth, and gods, if this night didn't end with him inside you, you might actually die. 

Like, literally. Heart failure. Sudden death.

This was premeditated. At least, for you. You moisturized like your life depended on it, doused yourself in perfume that could be classified as a controlled substance, and selected a bra that made your tits look so insane, it might actually be illegal in some states.

And then you spent an embarrassing amount of time picking the perfect dress that says oh, I'm classy, but also please take me home and rip this off with your teeth.

You pull away, just enough to see him. To take in the slow bloom of pink trailing from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, the way his pupils are so wide they’ve all but erased the brown of his eyes. And his lips — swollen and red from kissing you — part like he was debating how bad it would be to drag you right back in. You wouldn’t mind.

“Aaron,” you sigh, fingers burying into his hair, marveling at how absurdly soft it is, how freely he lets you have this piece of him. “We should go to bed.”

For a second, he locks up. Not hesitation but calibration, a body processing desire so sharp it might break him. You feel it in the way his chest expands, in the quiet exhale through his nose.

"This wasn't my plan for the night," he murmurs, voice softer now, not strained, but steeped in something much gentler. Something careful. "I wasn't —," He shakes his head, like the whole concept doesn’t sit right in his mouth. "I don't want you to think this is just —,"

"Sex?"

You can see the way he wants to argue, like he wants to carve the word out of the air and replace it with something that means more.

"Yes."

You can’t stop the stupid, lovestruck smile pulling at your lips. Maybe it’s the wine from dinner finally working its magic. (It’s not.) Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, all serious and earnest, like you’re the only thing in existence, and if he blinks, you might vanish. (It definitely is.)

A laugh bubbles up, light and giddy, body not knowing what to do with all this adoration. You lean in, pressing a kiss to his jaw, just to see if he’ll let you. (He does.)

“Are you serious? If you just wanted sex, you wouldn’t have spent actual years pretending my very dedicated, very expertly executed attempts to seduce you weren’t happening.”

His brow arches, but you see it for what it is — a stall. “Expertly, huh?”

"Remember that heatwave last summer? When I just had to eat a popsicle at my desk every afternoon?"

His eyes darken like the memory is playing in high definition behind his eyes.

"I remember."

"Do you?" Your fingers slip beneath his color. “Because —” You tilt your head. “I always seemed to finish them standing in front of your office —"

You don't even get to finish your sentence. 

One second, you’re speaking, the next, you’re airborne. Lifted clean off the couch, legs locking around his waist automatically, arms thrown around his shoulders like you planned this all along.

You didn’t, but you wish you had. 

Not that it matters, because he’s already moving, already walking straight to the bedroom.

You bury your smile against his jaw, letting your breath tickle against the shell of his ear as another giggle slips out. It couldn’t be helped.

"I really hope you know," you whisper, “that I am, like, stupidly excited for this. Like, counting down the days excited.”

Aaron sets you down on the mattress gently, but his body doesn’t follow right away, hovering over you.

"You're not making this easy for me."

You ignore him because you’re much more distracted by how insanely soft his sheets are. That was your first thought when your back hits the mattress, hair fanning across the pillows.

For a fleeting second, you wonder if he’ll catch the scent of your perfume tomorrow. If he’ll notice the ghost of you when he lays down alone.

Your second was that this is so not the time nor place to get emotional. 

But this is his space. His bed. His room.

It’s tidy, but somehow not sterile, everything having its place, but not afraid to be used. A book sits on the nightstand, a book mark sticking out mid-thought. A photo frame faces the bed, though from this angle you struggle to see what’s inside.

There’s his suit jacket from yesterday, draped over the back of a chair, a little rumpled. 

And maybe it's silly, but you feel weirdly honored to be here.

You should probably be processing this moment, what it means to be here, with him, like this. Instead, you take a second to admire the view.

The lamp softens the sharp lines of his face, making him look almost gentle — which is funny, considering how you hoped to be thoroughly destroyed by him.

Something expands inside you, stretching against the walls of your chest, something too big, something that terrifies you.

So you do what you do best. You deflect.

“I can’t believe I’m about to sleep with my boss.”

He doesn’t even try to hide his exasperation, his forehead dropping into the crook of your neck. “Sweetheart—,”

"What?" You giggle, letting your fingers slide through his hair, letting your nails rake lightly over his scalp. "It's true."

His sigh is nothing short of pained, but then he kisses your cheek anyway, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. You were starting to feel like each was a thinly veiled attempt to tame you.

"Please don't phrase it like that."

"Yes, Mr. Hotchner." 

Every self-satisfied thought evaporates the moment he kisses you – really kisses you.

It’s not just a meeting of lips but a focused intensity, tongue sweeping inside your mouth and suddenly nothing before this mattered, because clearly, clearly, every kiss you’ve ever had was just practice for this one. 

Your body responds before your mind can catch up, spine arching and he doesn’t stop you, just kisses you with a hunger that makes teasing obsolete, that makes breathing secondary to the way he’s taking from you, giving to you, all at once.

His lips wander, dragging across your jaw like he’s leaving invisible ink behind, pressing something permanent into your skin.

You hope you’ll wake up tomorrow and still feel him there.

Your hands move to the nape of his neck, drawn by craving, by the need circling inside you like a ribbon of fire.

It stretches outward, licking at your skin, threading through your veins. His hands hold you still, spanning over your rib. His breath fans over your pulse, and you swear he can feel how fast it’s racing.

You should be gloating right now. This is, after all, exactly what you wanted, what you worked for. A biting remark sits on the top of your tongue, but then his mouth moves, and he finds it.

That wicked, traitorous little dip beneath your jaw that turns your entire brain into pink, glittering static. He pauses, listening, feeling, before sealing his mouth over it again, tongue dragging over the sensitive skin like he’s testing a theory that he already knows the answer to.

Your fingers clench in his hair, a startled sound choking in your throat before you can stop it. And then, the bastard laughs. Not sweet, not kind, but low and sharp and smug because he knows exactly what he’s done. 

You had the upper hand. Past tense.

"There it is," he murmurs, pressing another kiss there, his tongue flattening over it just to make you squirm. "You want to know how I figured this out?"

You hum, or try to. But it’s pathetic because you’re barely conscious, every cell fried to uselessness by his mouth.

He mimics you, just to be an ass about it, mocking the dazed little sound like he hasn’t just reduced you to it. "You always reached for it when I looked at you too long."

Your mouth opens. Closes.

"Or," he continues, "when I stood too close to you at the coffee machine. You'd fidget, tuck your hair behind your ear like you weren't thinking about it." His exhale burns against your pulse. "Cute."

You gasp, a little offended, mostly turned on. "Oh, wow. Profiling me? At work? That's, like, wildly unethical."

"Didn't need to," he murmurs. "You were practically begging me to figure you out."

His mouth is perfect in the way lightning is perfect – striking, searing, and completely out of your control. It’s perfect enough that you can pretend not to hear him.

He sucks, slow and hard enough to tear a sound from your lips before you even know it’s there, something that feels like vulnerability in its purest form. Something you would never willingly give him.

His laugh is quiet, wrecking, as he pulls back, lips slick with your skin. "That good?"

His mouth makes quick work, over your collarbone, down, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, down, branding every inch of skin he can reach. 

He stops at the neckline of your dress, and suddenly, you can't think about anything except how it's still on.

You want to strip it off, want to offer yourself up as a willing sacrifice, but you’re well aware that if you try, if you even reach, he’ll stop you. Or worse, he'll make you wait. He'll slow you down, draw it out just to watch you squirm because patience is his weapon of choice, because he lives for making you suffer.

His teeth graze the swell of your breast, just enough to sting, and whatever fragile grip you had on yourself disintegrates on impact. Your hands fumble blindly for his face, fingers shaking, needing to see his eyes.

"Please, Aaron.” It’s an exhale, a prayer. “Need you."

You see the ripple of tension along his throat. And for one tiny, blinding second you think this is when he finally snaps, abandons his tolerance and just takes you.

"You don't know how long I've wanted you like this," he rumbles. "I'm going to take my time."

You whine, frustration bleeding from your fingertips where they clutch his shoulders, fingers digging in like you can physically push him into moving faster.

He does not move faster. 

His hands slide up to the straps of your dress, as he drags it down with all the urgency of a leisurely Sunday stroll. 

Your mind is halfway through an exceptionally justified complaint about how slow he is moving when he folds the dress.

Folds it.

Sets it aside. Doesn't toss it.

And that may be the hottest thing he's ever done.

Because you know he knows. He’s always known. Known that your things aren’t just things — that your dresses, your heels, your overpriced lip glosses aren’t frivolous, aren’t some shallow indulgence, but tiny, curated pieces of you.

He has listened to you decide between two pairs of shoes that are, for all intent and purposes, identical. He knows jasmine is mysterious and vanilla is flirty, knows that you’ll debate your right to own the same three shades of pink. 

And instead of dismissing it, instead of rolling his eyes (though he does that too), he folds your dress. As if it matters.

You stare at him, somewhere between melting and spontaneous combustion, and he simply raises a brow. “Something wrong?”

"No." You shake your head for emphasis, voice a little too weak to get the point across. "Just thinking I might have to marry you."

His hands settle at your waist, fingers tracing over the pink lace like he’s trying to process it, like if he touches it enough times, it’ll confirm that this is actually happening and not some cruel illusion. His thumb brushes the scalloped edge, breathing shallow. You were pretty sure he’s currently having a full-scale existential meltdown over lingerie.

"Agreed," he murmurs, distracted, hooded eyes still glued to your chest. "I think the courthouse opens at eight."

Your giggle stutters, hiccups right out of you, because his hands are suddenly everywhere, roaming with no clear plan, just a man in crisis over how much of you he wants to touch first. His palms skate over your stomach, down your thighs, up over your breasts.

"So, this is all I had to do to convince you to do what I want?"

His mouth follows, retracting the path of his hands, rewriting, reworking, perfecting – because apparently, the first time wasn’t good enough, wasn’t thorough enough. 

"You think this is what did it for me?" His voice is hushed. "You could've walked into my office six months ago and told me to get on one knee.” A kiss, open-mouthed, starving, just below your navel. “I would've done it."

Six months ago. You don't know if you believed that.

Except now you're spiraling, backtracking, rewinding, piecing together little details like some lovesick conspiracy theorist with red string and a bulletin board. Every interaction, every loaded glance, every time he let you get away with high-level flirtation without so much as a blink. You thought you were testing him, but what if he was never fighting at all?

And before you can even recover from that, before you can file an official grievance about why no one told you sooner, his hands squeeze at your thighs, his mouth so close to exactly where you need him, and his voice —

"You're so beautiful."

His nose presses into the damp center of your panties, and your hands fly to his hair so fast it’s practically reflex, breath stalling in your chest like your body forgot how to function for a second. 

This is everything. What you've wanted, dreamed of, written in the margins of notebooks (hypothetically, of course).

It should be perfect, but suddenly, it isn't.

Uncertainty slips between the cracks, heat turning into something less solid. You don’t have time to find it, to name it, because he’s already there, already sensing it, already fixing it before you even know what’s wrong.

"Hey." His voice hooks into you, gently reeling you back from wherever your brain was about to go. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

"No, I—," The words come out far too fast and desperate, and you can't decipher why it's so hard to say. "I do want to. Obviously." The nervous laugh that follows is definitely not your usual flirty confidence. "Have you met yourself? Because if you haven't, I would love to introduce you. Tall, devastatingly handsome — you'd love him."

His move curves, but his eyes stay patient and focused, giving you a second to breathe.

"It's just..." Another pause, another frustrated sigh. "I haven't been with anyone in a while."

"That's okay, we can take it slow." He moves so that he's hovering above you again, brushing a strand of hair out of your face, his smile just amused enough to leave you flustered. "How long?"

"May."

"May?"

"Yeah, like, May. Three years ago."

Aaron just stares at you, processing. You can see the gears turning, the little mental loading wheel spinning, his expression caught between stunned and deeply interested.

His fingers creep up, sliding under your ribs, just close enough to the heavy swell of your tits to remind you exactly where you are. What he was doing to you before you so rudely derailed this into actual conversation.

"Really?"

You pinch his arm. "Hey! That is not an absurd amount of time."

"No. I know. I didn’t say that," he says quickly. "I'm just... surprised."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

His lips part and he immediately shakes his head, exhaling like he's physically trying to dispel what just ran through your mind, knowing exactly where your thoughts were.

"I just mean — I don't know how every man you meet doesn't immediately worship the ground you walk on."

"Oh, well, they do." You smile. "But I was only ever planning on letting one of them take me to bed."

You reach for his dress shirt buttons, tugging insistently, but your hands refuse to cooperate, not properly communicating with your brain.

It's his fault, you decide.

He looks too good, and it was extremely hard to focus on anything but that.

You have no idea how you survived dinner. Or the car ride home. Or even the eternity it took to get past the door, because that was definitely a struggle considering your mouth was all over his, tasting the whiskey he’d barely touched, before he could even get the key in the lock.

You spent all night picturing this, the way his hands would feel in you, the way his mouth would taste, the way his suit would look crumpled on the floor.

Which, in hindsight, probably meant you were a pretty terrible dinner guest. Nodding, smiling, pretending to listen, all while barely holding back the need to ride him in public.

Aaron laughs, clearly entertained by your struggle, and then, because he’s nothing if not arrogant, he starts undoing the buttons one-handed, to be a show-off.

It’s rude, really. Because now all you can do is watch, helpless as he peels himself open to reveal golden skin, dark hair dusting over firm pecs, trailing lower, disappearing beneath his belt. 

Your manicured fingers glide over the broad expanse of his shoulders, pushing his shirt away like uncovering some lost Renaissance painting that scholars would kill to get their hands on — something that should be in a temperature-controlled glass case, not just here, sprawled above you like he belongs to you. Which, he does, because he’s just letting you do this, letting you look. And you look. He is art. No, better than art. Art is stationary, lifeless, some brushstroke interpretation of what beauty should be. But this, him, he is warmth and breath and muscle.

Museums wish they had something this valuable. They’d burn down in despair if they knew he existed just for you.

"May," he muses, letting the word roll off his tongue, turning it over in his mind. "That's an oddly specific answer."

You make a vague sound of agreement, mostly just to acknowledge that yes, technically, he did say words, but you’re too busy to actually care. Too busy with spreading your hands over the planes of his chest, with grabbing at his belt.

"You were hired in May three years ago."

Your hands freeze. 

"That's... um weird." A slow blink. "Weird that you know that. Weirder that you noticed."

You work his belt loose, tugging it free. It’s meant to be a distraction, a well-placed touch to shift his focus from his revelation.

But then your plan backfires spectacularly because he’s hard, thick, unreasonably big and suddenly your fingers feel useless.

Aaron makes a sound — half a hiss, half a laugh — and his hands snap to your wrist, catching you before you can explore further, like he knew you were going to do that. "It’s okay, honey."

"I—I don't—," You blink up at him, floundering, desperately trying to sound casual. "That's, uh, I don't know what that's supposed to mean."

Aaron’s smirk deepens, his grip on you slackening just enough to trick you into thinking he’s going to be nice.

But then his other hand moves, slipping between your bodies, sliding beneath the heat trapped between your thighs, finding the neediest part of you, and pressing.

Your whole body jerks, a startled gasp catching in your throat as sensation flares — hot, sharp, mercilessly good.

His fingers start to move, rubbing tight circles against you. Your hands cling, one locked onto his bare shoulders, the other pressing against his dick, desperate to make him feel even a fraction of what he's doing to you.

It earns you a groan, low and gritty, hips twitching against your palm, his breath is hot against your lips, his mouth hovering just barely out of reach.

"I won't tease," he promises, but the way he bites at your bottom lip feels like a lie. His tongue is quick to follow, flicking over the welt he’s just left, soothing the burn before sealing it with a kiss, just this side of messy. “Three years… that’s a long time.” His lips skim yours again. “For both of us.”

A pleased sound bubbles up from your throat, slipping between his lips, that makes it obnoxiously clear just how much you love those words. That is a sentence you’d like embroidered on a pillow. Maybe cross-stitched into a nice, elegant frame for your future shared bedroom. 

"Oh," you sigh, a smile stretching against his lips. "I really, really, like knowing that. That's, like, incredible news."

Your brows scrunch, and you pull back just an inch. 

"Just to be clear, though, you do mean in a wow, you've ruined me for other women way, and not in a I've been to busy for a sex life way, right? Because those are two different things, and I need to know which one we're working with here—"

Aaron huffs a laugh and instead of answering with words, his hands slip into your panties, fingers finding your clit without prelude. Skin to skin now, no fabric, no flimsy barrier. Just touch.

His fingers dip lower, dragging through the slick, indecent in how easily he moves through the mess of you. He makes a noise — nearly a groan, mostly a hum of appreciation, of possession — before he spreads it, smearing your own arousal over your clit, rolling circles.

"Oh, wow, sweetheart."

Your thighs fall open like you have no say in it — because you don’t, because every instinct in you is reaching for him, needing it like a fix.

And maybe, maybe that should be embarrassing — the obvious, shameless way you seek him out — but it’s a gorgeous kind of humiliation, a flush that spreads lower.

"Well," you gasp, chest rising in stuttering little pants. "Y—you kept me waiting forever."

Aaron hushes you with a soft tsk, his fingers pressing, stroking, coaxing you into sweet, mindless submission. Every movement feels preordained, like he already knows your body, like he’s a man who’s spent years thinking about this.

"I know, sweetheart," he soothes, murmuring it against the fragile skin beneath your ear, punctuating it with a kiss. "But I think I'm making up for lost time pretty well."

"I guess," you manage. "Th—that's acceptable."

Aaron chuckles, the vibration traveling straight into your skin. His lips descend, an idolization thing, but it’s the kind of devotion that sets you on fire.

His hands spread over your thighs, parting them gently.

Your underwear drags down, slipping over your thighs, grazing the curve of your knees, and then off. And suddenly, there's nothing separating you from his eyes, from the way the air licks over you, cool against the sticky heat between your thighs.

His lips part like he wasn't expecting to fall apart so easily. Like he thought he'd have more time, more control. And the power in it, the sheer, intoxicating power of knowing he's just as affected as you are, that this is breaking him open, makes your skin fizz, burn, ache for him even more.

If someone had told you a year ago that Aaron Hotchner, mister all-business-all-the-time, would be between your legs, staring at you like he's never seen anything more perfect, you would have said something nonsensical. Something about fate. Or destiny.

And you would have been right. Because you always knew this was a definite.

"Oh, honey.... You're gorgeous," It's almost a whisper, like the words were dragged out of him against his will, stolen straight from his lungs the second his eyes landed on you. His gaze drinks you in, head tilting, lips parting, tongue skating over the swell of his bottom lip. “I knew you would be, but…”

A sharp, sizzling spark races up your spine, white-hot and unbearable, but when it should tip over into relief, it withers into frustration. The kind that makes your body revolt against the absence of touch. Your hips buck, thighs squeezing as if you can somehow force the friction you’re being deprived of.

"Give me a second, baby," he teases, caressing his nose along the inside of your thigh. "Just wanna look at you."

His mouth moves in decadent passes, open-mouthed kisses pressed into your inner thigh.

Another kiss. Then another. So close.

Then he detours. Veers off, pressing his lips into the dip of your hip instead, dragging his tongue along something that is not your clit.

"So perfect."

His fingers prod through your folds, parting you, fingertips wading through the slickness pooling at your entrance. The sound that spills from him is sinful.

All of your muscles coiling tight, every inch of you scorching with unmet need and just when you think you're going to have to beg him, just when the words start to form —

He gives in. 

His tongue is there first, dragging a flat, broad stripe through your center, licking over every hypersensitive inch of you before looking up at you through hooded eyes. You swear you nearly come from the sight alone.

"Knew you'd be sweet."

Aaron doesn't waste another second, burying himself in you, mouth moving like he's been ravenous for this. 

His grip is firm as he spreads you wider, keeping you at his mercy. His lips wrap around your clit for a split second before he moves again, tasing, licking, humming, lapping up everything you're giving him.

It's messy. Wet. Dripping. His mouth moves as he tries to wreck himself on you. Each second convincing you that he wouldn’t mind suffocating here if it meant another taste.

His nose nudges against you, the angle so cruelly perfect it sends another violent tremor through your body, legs jumping against his shoulders. Your fingers grasp blindly for purchase, gripping the sheets, tangling in his hair, at anything you can reach. 

"That's it, sweetheart," he murmurs into you, words muffled by your pussy. "Let me hear you."

"Oh — " The sound falls from your lips, your eyes squeezing shut like you can block out the overwhelming pleasure if you just try hard enough.  "Oh, that's — "

Your hips stutter, thighs tightening around his face.

Aaron chuckles darkly, and you feel it more than you hear it, the sound pulsing through your core.

You’re not sure you have a body anymore, not sure you exist outside of this moment. You’re just sensation, just trembling atoms held together only by his hands, his breath, his voice. There’s no past or future – just now, just him.

If this is what it means to transcend, to be unraveled and rewritten in the same breath, then let it consume you whole. You could die like this, and it would be the kindest death you could ever ask for.

A single finger ghosts over your entrance, teasing but never quite committing. He dips in, just the barest of intrusion, and you shudder, clenching around nothing because it’s gone just as fast. 

He waits, just long enough to hear the next breathy fussing before finally spearing back in. Your eyes flutter shut, breath breaking apart in little puffs.

The sounds coming from your cunt should embarrass you, sticky, so shockingly loud that if your brain was working, you’d be mortified. But it’s not working. Not even a little. 

His hand flattens over your stomach and suddenly the pressure doubles, triples.

"Tell me, baby," he murmurs, "feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yes, yes, oh my gods, Aaron, I—"

Your normal senses have left the building. Packed its bags, hit the road, abandoned you to whatever dark magic this is. Because this —this isn’t how your body works. This isn’t how guys work. You don’t come from this. 

But here you are, hurtling toward it at full speed and all because he decided you would.

It’s happening too fast, the pressure stacking. Your thighs shake open, stomach clenching so hard it aches. Your mind is lagging behind, still reeling, still trying to rationalize but it doesn’t matter because your body has already made its choice, has already given in, has already decided this is happening, whether you’re ready for it or not.

"Aaron, I think—,"

Aaron just groans, finishing your sentence for you, lapping up your confession with his tongue,

"I know, baby." Hot air blows against your swollen clit. "Let me feel it."

It crashes over you, back bowing off the bed. Your body splinters apart, thighs trembling so hard you couldn’t stop them if you tried. The edges of your vision smear into nothing as the pleasure consumes everything in its path. 

His mouth stays on you, tongue and fingers pushing you through the aftershocks until you’re clawing at the sheets, until that pleasure tilts so far into oversensitivity that makes you unaware if you’re pulling him closer or pushing him away.

Your limbs feel like liquid, consolidating into every inch of your body, melting into the mattress as Aaron moves to be face to face with you.

He's looking at you like he's the only thing keeping you tethered to this planet, and maybe he is, because when his lips get close enough, you tug him the rest of the way down, crashing your mouth into his in a way that's all sloppy desperation.

You can taste yourself on him, can feel the way he groans into it when you sigh against his mouth, all soft and dreamy and drunk on gratification. 

When you pull back, your fingers card through his hair, fixing nothing but feeling everything.

"Oh my gosh," you gasp, dissolving into giggles, toes curling as you flop back against the pillows. "I knew you'd be good at that, obviously, but I wasn't expecting all that. Like wow, you should get a certificate of excellence or something."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you sigh dramatically, "Or like, a trophy, a raise, a sash that says best head giver in gold letters—," You pause for a breath, sucking in air like you just realized how winded you are.

"— and I mean, I've never come like that before. So. You should probably put that on your résumé."

When Aaron presses against you, you feel every inch of him. Thick and unfortunately still restrained. His slacks are a cruel barrier, the rough drag of the fabric catching your clit in a way that rips a whimper straight from your throat.

His teeth scrape along your jaw, then he's mouthing at your neck, sucking, teasing, marking you.

"Firstly," he murmurs. "I hate the idea of anyone else touching you."

An involuntary shiver rolls through you.

"And secondly," he continues, "the fact that they didn't even know how."

Your hands are frantic as they fly to his waistband, fumbling a bit, the last hindrance between you offensive in its existence. 

"Well, yeah," you sigh, looking up at him through fluttering lashes, glossy lips parted just for him. "I mean, you're literally the only one who's ever known what to do with me. That has to mean something, right? Like, cosmic destiny or whatever."

Aaron shoves his pants and briefs off, barely sparing them a second thought, and then he's back, fitted between your thighs.

"You already know the answer to that." His lips brush your temple. "I'm the only one who knows how to handle you. And I plan on proving it."

"Yeah, okay," you say, squirming beneath him. "Not gonna argue when that sounds like the best idea ever."

You've seen a lot of versions of Aaron. You've seen work Aaron, serious and bossy, looking at crime scenes like he can hear the evidence whispering just to him. You've seen grumpy Aaron, glaring over his coffee when you talk too much at morning briefings (but you know he likes it, he just won't say). You've seen soft Aaron, the one who lets you steal his jacket even though you definitely don't need it.

But you've never seen this Aaron. This post-kissing-you Aaron. Lips slick, still damp with you, evidence of where he’s been, what he’s done.

His eyes flick to yours, and there’s no shame, no rush to wipe it away. If anything, he tilts his head, letting you see it from a better angle.

"You're so handsome, Aaron." Your voice trembles. You don't even know if you said it out loud or just thought it so hard he must have heard it anyway.

"And you,” he murmurs, tracing his thumb over your cheek, “are so damn sweet, honey."

You beam at that, overwhelmed, so unbelievably happy that your thoughts are practically spilling out faster than you can catch them.

"Okay so I just need to say — this is so exciting, like, you do realize I've had a crush on you for years, right? And now this is actually happening, and that's just — wow."

You suck in a sharp breath, nails dragging over the thick muscles of his arms, across his shoulders.

"I mean, it's us, Aaron. Can you believe that? Like, I feel like this has been building for so long and now I'm just — gods, you're so hot, this is actually distracting me. I can't even finish my own thought —,"

You laugh, because you already feel so full of him and he isn't even inside you yet.

"And I know you're being all careful and slow because you're sweet and romantic and, like, the most perfect man alive, but also —,"

You grind up, chasing friction, his cock sliding just right over your clit. Your breath stutters, hands fisting at the nape of his neck as you try to remember what you were saying.

" — I'm literally at your mercy right now, so you should probably take advantage of that before I —,"

"You talk so much, baby."

And then he shuts you up. Hard.

His mouth rams into yours, ingesting the comment, the breath, everything.

He doesn't rush. 

The head of his cock nudges at your entrance before he finally, slowly, pushes inside.

It knocks the breath from your lungs. Your mouth parts against his, lips catching on his as a little sigh slips out. Your nails dig into his shoulders, helpless against the way he's opening you up. 

He stills, a sharp, fractured inhale slicing through the air, fingers digging into your hips — hard. He is struggling. You can feel it. The way his cock twitches inside you, like his body is screaming at him to move.

"I-I'm good." Your laugh wobbles, catches at the edges, barely disguising how badly you want him to believe you. "You can keep going."

"You're tensing because it's been a while." You don't mean to, but your body reacts before your brain can tell it not to, stiffening. Stupid, stupid. His exhale is shaky, and his lips press against your cheek. "I know that. I expected that."

You swallow, but it doesn't help.

"I also know that you think if I notice, I'll stop." His forehead rests against yours. "But I need you to hear me, baby. I'm not stopping."

His lips graze yours.

"I'm going to work you through this. Just let me in, princess."

And the second you do, the second you finally give in —

He groans, pushing deeper, stretching you completely, filling you to the hilt. 

"There we go," he breathes, wrecked with praise. His hand presses to your lower belly, feeling how deep he is, how well you take him. "That's my good girl."

Your head tilts back, lips parting, body doing the melty thing that feels really, really nice but also really, really dangerous because you swear you're seconds away from levitating straight out of your own skin.

"Okay, so I did think this would feel good —," Your fingers twitch against his chest, nails raking lightly over sweat-damp skin as another sharp moan tumbles free. "— but, um, wow, this is like — this is so —,"

Your words taper off, get lost somewhere between your psyche and your mouth, because oh. Oh, wow. He's so deep, so heavy inside you, pressing into places you didn't even know existed.

"Go on, baby," he murmurs, a smirk plastered across handsome features as he dips his head. "You were saying?"

"You know," you gasp, words all flimsy and loose, like they've been shaken up inside you, "I kinda always wondered how big you were —"

Your breath hooks halfway through, hiccups on a moan, brain scrambling to keep up with your mouth, your mouth scrambling to keep up with — him.

"Not that I, um — I stared at your pants or anything —" Another sharp inhale, another desperate moan, your walls fluctuating and squeezing around something too thick. "I mean, I try not to because I'm a professional —"

An involuntary clench makes him curse, makes his fingers dip into your hips, makes his head plunge forward hard against your shoulder.

"Honey, shit—,"

Your lashes flutter. "What?"

"Sweetheart, if you keep squeezing me like that while you ramble about my cock, I'm not going to last."

Your mouth clicks shut promptly.

"That's what I thought."

Hotch rocks his hips, just once, a sharp gasp fissuring from your lips like you weren't expecting it. 

"Jesus, sweetheart. You're trembling." He cups your cheek, his thumb skimming over your bottom lip, eyes dark and aflame. "Does it feel that good?"

You nod, and he hums, dragging his cock almost all the way out before pushing back in. 

His hand drags down your waist, spans over your belly, fingers pressing like he's charting the way he fits inside you.

"I used to tell myself I wouldn't do this," he admits. "That I wouldn't touch you. Wouldn't ruin you like this."

Your head lolls back, eyes fluttering, lips parted prettily, gasping as he rocks into you again, and again, and again. You shake your head, or at least, you think you do.

"You don't —" You try to shape words, but they liquefy on your tongue. "Don't ruin me, Aaron, you — oh, you make me —"

Hotch's throat bobs, his pupils blown.

"You make me so, so good, so soft, so perfect."

His hand cups your jaw. "You're already all of those things, sweetheart."

"Not before you," you sigh. "I've been waiting so long, Aaron, so, so long —"

"I know, baby," he groans. "I know."

His hand veers between your bodies, his fingers finding the swollen, neglected bundle of nerves.

“Aaron — oh, wait, wait, wait —,” Your hands shoot up to his shoulders. “I don’t know if I can, I mean, I can, but it’s just —,”

His cock throbs inside you, his rhythm stuttering for half a second before he finds it again, harder this time, his fingers matching the pace.

“Too much?”

“Yes, no, kind of? I don’t know, I can’t—,” You choke on your own breath as another thrust knocks every last rumination from your head. “I can’t think.”

“Good.” His forehead presses against yours, his lips parting against your mouth, panting, his control slipping. “I don’t want you thinking. Just feel me, sweetheart. Feel what I’m doing to you.”

Your body is shaking, shaking so hard that you don’t even know if you’re moving or if he’s just pushing you through it. 

“I know, baby. But you can take it, can’t you?”

“Y-Yeah,” you stutter, body twitching. 

“That’s my girl,” he praises, groaning as he grinds into you, stretching it. “One more, honey. You can give me one more.”

It hits you slowly, unwinding through your organs like smelted honey.

“Oh, oh —,” Your breath falters, mind going blank, the pleasure overwhelming every nerve in your body until you can’t do anything but let it consume you.

“Christ,” he groans, feeling you clench around him so tight it nearly undoes him.

You barely register the way you’re gasping, twitching, babbling out breathless little moans, vision blurring, and for a second you think you might black out.

“That’s it, princess,” he rasps, fucking you through it the reverberations. “So, so good for me.”

His pace turns shallow, sharp, chasing the tight, perfect squeezing of you still thrashing around him.

“You’re so tight, honey,” he grits, hands bruising your hips, your breath still catching from your own orgasm.

You’re too gone to respond, too wrung out to do anything but whimper as he takes you, using your body to pull himself over the edge.

He groans, low and deep, his fingers tangling in your hair, his mouth ghosting over your cheek as he finally breaks.

A shudder, a muttered curse, his body jerking, hips slamming into yours as he spills inside you.

He doesn’t mean to collapse, you know that, because even as his body gives out, his arms brace, still trying to be careful, even now. You want to cling to him, lock your legs around his waist, but you barely remember how to move, so you just let out a sleepy sound, nuzzling blindly at his throat. 

He murmurs something low, something that sounds like praise, maybe worship.

His lips press to the side of your face, half-gone and still recovering, and then his muscles tense, trying to lift himself off you.

Your arms wind around his neck before he can get too far. 

“Sweetheart,” he rasps, “I’m crushing you.”

“Don’t care,” you mumble, voice a little hoarse. “Feels nice.”

“You did so good.”

When he finally pulls out, you feel the loss and everything that comes with it, his release sticky and warm beneath your thighs. 

Aaron disappears into the bathroom, and you barely have time to miss him before he’s back with a warm cloth in hand.

You giggle, squirming before he even touches you, already restless, and the second he presses the cloth to your inner thighs, you jerk, laughing helplessly.

“Oh, wait —,”

Aaron sighs, one hand pressing against your hip to keep you still. “Sweetheart. You have to let me clean you up”

“But it tickles—,”

He smirks and continues his work. “How do you feel?”

“Like I saw god actually,” you ramble, kicking your feet against the sheets. “Or, like, like, if I had to describe it, I’d say I transcended reality for a little bit —,”

Aaron just chuckles, pressing a kiss to your knee as he finishes cleaning you up. Each swipe reminds you that your legs might not be on speaking terms with you tomorrow.

When he’s done his mouth finds yours again. It’s easy to kiss him. If it were physically possible to stay attached to him, twenty-four hours a day, you’d gladly test the theory.

“Worth the wait,” he breathes into your mouth.

“Well, yeah,” you murmur, smirking up at him. “I figured it would be for you.”

He laughs.

“Yeah, baby, you were good,” he mutters, kissing right over your stuttering pulse. “You were so good.” Another kiss. “So good I’m already thinking about the next time.”

Your heart hasn’t even slowed down, and you’re already thinking about the next time. Already plotting, already ready to drag him back down and see just how quickly that next time could turn into right now. But before you can so much as tug at him — Aaron is rolling out of bed, pulling on his pants, disappearing into the kitchen.

You mean to protest, to demand why he left you alone in a post-bliss haze, but then he’s back, pressing a glass of water into your hand, watching you drink it like it’s his personal responsibility.

Then comes food, something light and something he feeds you between kisses, between lazy murmurs about nothing. 

At some point, the blankets are back over you, his lips pressing against your forehead, his voice saying something about getting some sleep before you got any ideas, before pulling you against him.

You hum, content and drowsy, shifting a little, rolling over to get more comfortable —

And then your eyes land on that photo frame from earlier. You had a clear view of it now.

It was you.

It takes you a second to place it, but once you do, you almost laugh. You know this photo — because Garcia took it. She printed it out months ago, probably as some ridiculous gag, and stuck it to Aaron’s office wall with a bright sticky note that read your favorite obviously. You’d rolled your eyes at the time, called it workplace favoritism, but he’d never taken it down. 

And now, somehow, it’s framed. On his nightstand, like he’s been looking at you every night for —

You don’t finish the thought.

Instead, you just smile, huge and uncontrollable.

He doesn’t say anything.

And you don’t need him to.

Because you already know.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[ssa-dado]

Cat Equals Sign Of Integration

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader Genre: fluff, smut (implied) Summary: Aaron, ever the strategist, decides that a little wine might help soften the blow of figuring out with you how to tell the team you’re dating. A solid plan - except for one tiny flaw: wine makes him a whore. Warnings: +18, MINORS DNI Hotch is a touch starved whore, a few cuss words here and there, wine gets a bit into both of your heads. Word Count: 5k Dado's Corner: Did I hallucinate this while working on one of the many requests still on my to-do list, only to realize halfway through that it was completely derailing from the main plot - but too cute to abandon? Yes. Is this fun? You tell me (pretty please).

masterlist(s)

One of the many rules you and Aaron had in your relationship was that if you cooked for date night, he was the one doing the dishes.

His idea.

You had been opposed to it at first - not because you minded, of course. You were actually a huge fan of grown men handling household chores without whining like toddlers about how it might somehow demasculate their poor, fragile egos.

No, you were opposed because you didn’t want him doing it out of some sense of obligation.

It took you a while to accept that Aaron wasn’t doing this because he owed you - he was doing it because he wanted to.

Because that was just… Aaron.

Ever the caregiver, always looking for ways to make life easier for the people he loved. He could give you the world and still come to you like a wounded dog, begging for forgiveness because he thought he wasn’t enough.

It was infuriating - for all the deep psychological reasons you could analyze for hours, but also for a much pettier one: when it was his turn to cook, instead of letting you do the dishes like the so-called rule dictated, he just… did them anyway.

And thus, the noble Mr. Clean - brave warrior of dish duty, his arms submerged in treacherous, frothy depths - found himself utterly helpless against the sudden, most dreadful buzzing of his phone.

A cruel twist of fate, indeed!

Stranded, defenseless, bound by duty to his porcelain captors, he could do nothing but stand there, a tragic figure of great importance, cruelly denied his right to immediately bestow his undivided attention upon whatever poor soul dared summon him.

Oh, the agony! The injustice! How swiftly the mighty are humbled… by a sink full of bubbles.

That was because, logically, if even a single drop of water touched his phone, he would instantly lose all of the very important, highly classified FBI secrets stored inside. Of course, phones couldn't possibly be waterproof.

Ha, imagine?! What a concept.

“Who is it?” Aaron asked, still scrubbing at your wine glass like he was trying to erase its entire existence.

Which – by the way - was completely pointless, considering that in less than five minutes, he planned on refilling it with some more. A different wine, yes. But for God’s sake, you weren’t going to die if the last few drops of white mixed with the red.

…What a fussy man.

“Penelope,” you replied, admiring the view.

What a view, really. That man was all legs and no ass, and you were finally learning to appreciate it. 

“Ignore it,” he said, not even turning around.

Unfortunately for him - and for the HR department still blissfully unaware that their most serious, by-the-book boss was fraternizing with a subordinate - you were a profiler.

The U.S. government literally paid your bills every single month because you were exceptionally good at reading people.

And the way he answered? Yeah, that wasn’t the tone of a man casually dismissing an unimportant text. No, that was the tone of a man caught red-handed, scrambling for plausible deniability.

Embarrassed. Secretive. Suspicious. Frankly, if you didn’t already know what he was hiding, you’d be halfway to slapping cuffs on him. Wouldn’t even be the first time.

And so you read it – out loud.

Penelope Garcia, 7:56 PM:

hotch sir hotch bossman sir, i am DYING please tell me if you found out who her mystery boyfriend is i am suffering!!!!!!!! i know you know. i know it in my heart. if you can’t say it just give me a hint. a tiny one. a cryptic riddle. a blink. i will take anything.

^.ᆽ.^= ∫

By her, of course, she meant you - because despite a few months of keeping your relationship under wraps, you still hadn’t gotten around to telling the team. Your colleagues. Your friends. Your unwanted, overly nosy adopted children.

That their elusive "mystery boyfriend" was, in fact, your mutual boss.

You were going to tell them. Eventually.

Didn’t know when. But you would.

Then again, it wasn’t like you were surrounded by some of the best profilers in the country, trained to pick up on the slightest behavioral shift.

It’s not like the second two incredibly touch-starved people like you and Aaron started walking around with even a fraction of happiness, that wouldn’t immediately raise suspicions.

…Except, apparently, it hadn’t.

Because somehow, the team had only managed to land on half the conclusion: you were seeing someone.

But Aaron? Not even a blip on their radar.

It was almost impressive, really. The answer was so obvious that they had discarded it entirely, still wandering around in the dark, trying to piece together a puzzle that was sitting right in front of their faces.

Just like Penelope was doing now, so desperate for some reason that she was straight-up asking him outright - when not that long ago, she still thought twice before even making a dirty joke in his presence.

And so, you got up, walked over to Aaron, and held the phone directly under his nose. “What does this mean?”

He squinted at the screen, then at you. “Oh, honey, I don’t know. She always sends me that - I don’t understand what exactly equals the sign of integration”.

…What?

You were suddenly just as confused as he was.

He blinked at you, eyes wide, eyebrows raised in that utterly sincere, slightly bewildered way of his. “That sign before it,” he said, completely lost. “It looks Chinese. Thought you knew Chinese, sweetheart.”

…What?

Oh, for the love of God.

If this man hadn’t already seen the absolute worst horrors the world had to offer, you would fight for his innocence with your nails, your teeth, and - if absolutely necessary - one of the worst shooting records ever logged in the Bureau.

You looked at the screen again.

^.ᆽ.^= ∫

Oh.

Oh, that’s what had confused him.

“Aaron,” you said gently, doing your absolute best not to kiss him right then and there, “that is a cat.”

You sighed, then pointed at the message again. “By the way, the ���sign’ in the middle is in Korean, not Chinese.”

He looked at the screen again - then back at you. “…Cat equals sign of integration?”

“No, honey,” you said, barely suppressing your smile, tapping the little text emoji. “It’s just a cat.”

He studied it for another second. “Oh.”

There. That did it. You gave in. Leaned in and pressed a loud smooch to his cheek.

At least your dignity was still intact - he had no idea why you’d done it, just assumed it was one of those spontaneous bursts of affection that came with being hopelessly in love.

Honeymoon phase truly did work wonders.

“Do you think I can have the cat too?” he asked, grabbing the bottle of red and a corkscrew.

That was a trap.

Because Aaron Hotchner still signed every single text he sent.

And while it wasn’t an issue when he was sending something standard -

Lawyer, 6:17 PM:

They found a new body, we’re gathering at the precinct in 30.

A.H.

- it became a lot more unsettling when he sent the filthiest, most depraved things you’d ever read, only to end them with that stiff little A.H. like he was dictating official Bureau correspondence.

Lawyer, 11:51 PM:

Sweetheart, if only these stupid walls weren’t so thin, I’d have you right here with me, bent over, face pressed against this mattress, making you come so many times you’d forget your own name. At least three. Maybe four, if I’m feeling generous.

A.H.

So now, standing in his kitchen, watching him pour wine like he hadn’t just permanently scarred you with his painfully bureaucratic approach to sexting, you knew that if you admitted he could simply copy-paste that ‘cat equals integration sign,’ it would only be a matter of time before you were subjected to something truly traumatizing, like -

Lawyer, very-late-office-hour PM:

It’s your fault I’m getting distracted with the paperwork, because I’m still thinking about how good you tasted last night while sitting on my face. God, I can still feel your thighs shaking, you were so sweet for me, honey, so fucking perfect.

P.S. How many reports do you still have left? Because I’ve been thinking about having you on my tongue again before the night is over. I think I’ve got about an hour or so left but then I’m all yours.

^.ᆽ.^= ∫

A.H.

Yeah. No. Absolutely not.

That man could not be trusted with the cat.

“Oh, honey,” you cooed, pressing a soft kiss between his shoulder blades as your fingers brushed over his back. “I don’t think you can get it. She must have programmed it herself into her phone.”

You truly hoped you were as convincing as he was clueless about text etiquette.

“It’s a pity,” he sighed, both of your wine glasses in hand as he made his way to the couch. “I would have loved to send you the cat.”

…Of course he would. Smug ass.

But as the words left his mouth, something shifted in him - just barely. A pause that didn’t usually belong there... weird.

Still, you followed, watching as he settled in, patting the cushion beside him with a half-smile. “Come here, sweetheart.”

A misleading gesture, considering his legs were very much spread - a much clearer invitation. At least, that’s how you chose to interpret it.

Because you could swear - those legs spoke to you. Called to you. So you slid right into your rightful seat - his lap.

…Would have been rude not to answer.

“Back to Garcia,” he said, resting a hand on your thigh as he handed you your painstakingly polished wine glass - so clean, so immaculately spotless, that the red wine inside looked redder than red. A real masterpiece, Mr. Clean. “She doesn’t seem to be letting up about finding out who you’re dating… This is the fourth message this week.”

You raised a brow, taking a sip of your wine. “Well, she’s second only to you when it comes to being nosy about gossip.”

Aaron exhaled, shaking his head, that same small half-smile back on his lips.

That particular smile.

The one he used when he was trying to convince someone he was fine when, in reality, he was not - when he was trying to reassure everyone else while simultaneously refusing to admit, even to himself, that something was eating him alive.

Oh, now you knew what this was about.

He had definitely practiced this conversation in his head - refined it down to the perfect phrasing. Measured. Logical. Reassuring.

A version so well-rehearsed, so carefully constructed, that he’d convinced himself first before trying to convince you - that this didn’t scare him.

That this was just another rational step forward.

That it was fine.

Because if he could make it sound easy, maybe it would be.

Maybe it would give you something solid to lean on, because the last thing he wanted was for you to feel like you were standing on shaky ground with someone just as fractured as he was.

But in the end, even the best-laid words couldn’t withstand the weight of his emotions - whether he liked it or not, even rocks are meant to erode.

“I think it’s time we come clean to the team,” he admitted, completely veering off-script - though, of course, he still made sure to soften the blow with a kiss to your temple.

Not that it made much difference. You both knew this moment was inevitable, but somehow, you’d managed to delude yourselves into thinking that if you just kept putting it off, the perfect time would miraculously appear.

At first, you’d delayed it until things were official.

Then, because you needed to be sure this could work in the long run.

Then, because you wanted time to just enjoy each other.

Truthfully? If it were entirely up to the two of you, you’d probably keep postponing it indefinitely - at least until the day you were both retired, far away from any fraternization rules or painfully awkward team dynamics.

Unless, of course, your eyes had been deceiving you all along, or life decided to be cruel and rip this happiness away from you before you ever even got the chance. All you could do was hope not.

Aaron sighed, watching you carefully. “So, how do you want to do this?”

At least he could take comfort in the fact that his very specific plan of having wine while discussing this was still intact - especially since the very large sip you took the second he asked hadn’t gone unnoticed.

He huffed a laugh.

Yeah.

This was going to be fun.

“Are we sure we have to?” You groaned, tilting your head back against his shoulder.

“I’m afraid so, sweetheart. It’s the only way to keep them from getting the satisfaction of figuring it out first and do this our way…”

It was his turn to take a long sip now… he surely wasn’t thrilled about the lack of an actual game plan.

“…Still need to figure out what exactly we mean by ‘our way,’” he admitted. “But, you know… that’s what these are for.”

He tapped a finger against his temple, then against yours, clearly implying that your very skilled, highly trained profiler brains would surely work this out.

You, however, were placing your bets on your problem-solving skills drastically improving after a few more glasses of wine, because right now?

“We are so fucked,” you commented.

Aaron clinked his glass against yours, deadpan. “Completely.”

You both took long, slow sips of wine like it might somehow provide divine intervention.

It didn’t. You were indeed left pretty much alone in this.

You sighed, setting your glass down on the coffee table. “Well, you definitely have the face of someone who already has a plan...” You reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw. “...a very handsome face.”

Cheesy. But deserved.

Aaron chuckled. “I believe…” He kissed you on the cheek – twice - before setting his own glass down too. “…We should tell them directly. Get ahead of it. Lay it out as matter-of-factly as possible.”

“Matter-of-factly?”

He nodded, all serious, like he hadn’t just suggested the worst possible approach.

“Sweetheart…” You pinched his cheek, making him scrunch his nose, hoping – more like praying - that it would snap him out of whatever fantasy land of logic, reason, and good intentions he was apparently living in.

“If we tell them directly, Penelope will throw an actual partypersonally design matching t-shirts, and have the entire team wear them.” You paused, leveling him with a look. “And you know it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I know.”

“Emily and Derek will immediately start making jokes like two middle schoolers who just learned what sex is and will not let us breathe.”

“I know.”

“JJ will be quiet but then ask all of a sudden, ‘So when’s the wedding?’ which will restart the chaos all over again.”

“I know.”

You turned to face him, deadly serious. “Spencer-”

“-Will hit us with a full statistical analysis of workplace relationships,” Aaron finished, exhaling sharply, already bracing himself.

Because there was only one team member left to account for - the worst of them all.

“And… oh God… Dave…”

And with that horrifying realization, he did the only logical thing a man in his position could do - he face-planted directly into your chest with a dramatic, muffled groan of pure defeat.

You blinked down at him, amused. “Honey…”

Why was he even so touch starved like that?

“All I ask,” came his muffled voice, still very much nestled between your breasts, “is five minutes of peace.”

You snorted. “You do realize this isn’t exactly discouraging me from making fun of you, right?”

He sighed again. “You do realize that if you keep laughing, you’re just shoving them further into my face?”

…Damn him and his irritating ability to state the obvious.

You sighed, fingers absentmindedly combing through his short spikes of hair. “…So we’re back to square one.”

Aaron exhaled, still very much face-first in his chosen safe haven. “Unfortunately.”

You hummed, “Okay, hypothetically, if we just… never tell them, how long do you think we could get away with it?”

That was so absurd that it actually made him lift his head. He blinked at you, utterly offended by the suggestion.

“I am not spending the next decade pretending I don’t stare at your ass every time you walk away.”

…Alright. That was definitely the wine talking.

In vino veritas, as the Romans said. Wine makes people say dumb shit: the truth.

“Wow. Didn’t know you were a poet, Hotchner.”

His lips twitched. “Don’t pretend you’re above it, because I catch you every time you drift off during briefings just to stare right at-”

“Alright, alright,” you cut him off, slapping a hand over his mouth before he could fully call you out... he was not happy about it. “We’re both shameless…"

You needed an exit strategy. Fast.

You reached for his wine glass over the coffee table. “Well, at least the bright side of telling them is that we won’t have to schedule our coffee breaks in advance anymore and pretend to look surprised when we see each other.”

And all of that was just for one single moment.

The fleeting brush of fingertips as you handed him the cup you always poured for him.

The way his hand was always warmer than yours, despite the fact that you were the one holding the scalding mug, as if basic thermodynamics simply did not apply to Aaron Hotchner.

And if it was one of those days, sometimes, there’d be a little extra something.

A longer touch.

Eye contact that lingered just a second too long.

A slow sip from his cup while still holding your gaze, and suddenly, it felt indecent - like something you definitely shouldn’t be doing in broad daylight, let alone in a federal building.

And now - here, in the comfort of his apartment, with nothing and no one to stop you - he reached for the wine glass you were offering, except… he wasn’t actually reaching for the glass.

He was just holding your hand.

Aaron chuckled, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your knuckles. “I think we’re holding onto this touch just a little too long,” he murmured, nuzzling into you, his breath warm against your ear. “Might start looking suspicious.”

Didn’t he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Oh, also some-” you started, or at least tried to, because as if everything else wasn’t enough, now he was kissing just behind your ear, his lips just brushing the sensitive skin there, warm, and slow, and wet and… God…

Okay. Okay.

Maybe it was the wine.

Maybe it was the fact that you were always kind of a little bit obsessed with him.

Either way, the result was the same: you really, really wanted him right now.

You sighed, tilting your head to grant him a little more access - but not too much, or you might actually end up using the full length of his three-seater couch instead of stubbornly remaining curled up in the same cramped two-foot space you’d unofficially claimed as your own. Ergo - going horizontal with him instead of just being seated on his lap.

“I thought we were having a serious discussion,” you murmured, though the breathy edge to your voice wasn’t exactly helping your case.

Aaron hummed in response, slowly dragging his lips from behind your ear down along the curve of your jaw, pressing a kiss at the hinge. “We are.” Another kiss. “What were you starting to say, sweetheart?”

And another one.

You tried to think. Really, you did.

But it was getting increasingly difficult with his mouth still very much on your skin, moving towards places that were making it exponentially harder to form coherent thoughts.

You would’ve made a mental note to never wear anything that resembled a tank top around him again, if only you had the actual brain capacity to form any notes right now.

“Aaron-”

Aaron smirked against your skin. “You were saying?”

…Blank. Absolutely blank.

Your brain stalled for a solid three seconds before mercifully rebooting.

“I-” You licked your lips, cleared your throat. “Penelope.”

That, thankfully, was enough of a keyword to get him to back off - though, the second he did, you already desperately missed the warmth of his mouth on your skin.

He tilted his head, “Penelope?”

You swallowed. “She’s… gonna be beaming.”

Aaron blinked at you. “Beaming.”

“Yeah.” You smiled, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, because God, he was too cute when he was confused like this. “Her and Kevin have been desperate for another couple to go out with. Ever since JJ and Will stopped leaving the house because they’re too busy baby-proofing every square inch of their lives.”

Aaron’s brows furrowed slightly. “And by ‘go out with,’ you mean double dates.”

You hummed, fingers grazing his cheek. “Mmm. Yeah. Double dates.”

Aaron didn’t even hesitate. “Oh, absolutely not.”

You blinked, pulling back slightly. “Wait, what?”

His face was resolute. “I’m not doing double dates.”

You squinted at him. “Okay, but why?”

And that’s how you learned that if there was one thing your boyfriend hated - more than messy paperwork, more than delayed flights, more than the Bureau’s budgeting meetings - it was double dates.

Not specifically with Penelope and Kevin. God, no. He was practically the puppet master of their relationship in the first place. Just… double dates in general.

“They’re impractical,” he said.

You snorted. “What do you mean?”

Aaron sighed. “They are a waste of time. You sit there, and for the first fifteen minutes, it’s fine. The usual small talk, polite conversation…”

You nodded, barely biting back a grin. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

Honestly, this just sounded like some classic Aaron Hotchner being the most adorable introvert to ever exist.

He shot you a look, deadly serious. “It’s a trap.” You nearly cooed. Adorable. “Because at some point, you end up talking one-on-one with someone from the other couple. And right when the conversation is actually getting interesting-”

He suddenly paused.

His hand started at your shoulder, innocent enough - until it wasn’t, until it drifted lower, fingertips skimming down until they found your thigh, before sliding inward, squeezing your soft flesh there.

“See?” Aaron murmured, voice deceptively casual. “It starts off innocently. A hand on the shoulder…”He angled his fingers just a notch further up your upper thigh. “…Then the thigh. Then-”

He leaned in, kissing you just at the corner of your mouth.

"A little kiss here," he murmured, lips barely brushing your skin.

Then another - softer, lingering just at the very edge of your lips.

"A little peck there."

Okay.

Ahem.

For a man who hated double dates, he was making a very strong case for them.

This was clearly foreplay.

Had to be foreplay.

You chose to interpret it as foreplay.

So, naturally, just as you were about to pull him in properly - to finally taste the wine on his lips – he pulled back.

Mixed signals whore.

“And then,” he continued, and you swore his voice had gotten even lower - sluttier, if you were being honest - "it escalates.”

...Wine-induced yapper. "Because one couple decides a little peck isn’t enough, so they turn and start devouring each other’s faces… in public.”

The wine that was in your system, instead, suggested you should have him biblically, right here, right now, on his couch.

“Care to demonstrate this part too?” You licked your lips, tilting your head.

Aaron sighed “Honey.” You knew you were in trouble the moment he smirked. “You’re demonstrating my point…”

Your stomach dropped.

“…You want more.” Aaron tutted, shaking his head, feigning disappointment. “Of course you want more. A chaste kiss isn’t enough. How could it be, sweetheart?”

Hell yes you wanted more.

Badly.

You might have even nodded without meaning to.

“But imagine if this was happening in public. In front of two other people. What about them?” he murmured, tilting his head, voice dropping into something dark, silky, dangerous. “In front of two other people.”

You swallowed, very much not thinking about them right now.

“Because at that point, they only have two choices: they either sit there - third-wheeling, watching - or…” His hand slid beneath your shirt, fingers splaying wide over your bare waist, gripping, pulling you that much closer. "… they start doing it too."

Your breath hitched. “Aaron-”

"With just a kiss, it creates an environment," he murmured, lips grazing the shell of your ear, "where both couples get competitive. Where they start copying each other - but making it more…"

He dragged his nose along the curve of your jaw, the ghost of his lips tracing just behind it. "Passionate."

A teeth-grazing kiss against your pulse.

A slow drag of his lips down the column of your throat, before he made his way back up, tilting your chin up with his fingers just so, forcing you to look at him.

And God, that look.

"More tongue," he continued, letting you see it first - his own darting out, wetting his lips just before he brushed them over yours.

Not kissing.

Not yet.

“More biting.” Aaron caught your lower lip between his teeth, pulling just enough to confirm what you already knew -

He tasted like red wine.

Rich. Dark. Addictive.

And so did you.

“More touching.” His hand drifted, fingertips just skimming over your ribs, teasing along the underside of your breast - so close, so close, before he let it trail lower again, just as his lips ghosted over your ear.

"More sounds."

You barely bit back the breathy, desperate little moan clawing its way up your throat because -

Aaron shoved you off his lap.

In one fluid motion, he shifted, pressing you back into the couch, caging you in beneath him, his arms bracketing either side of your head.

His knee slotted between your thighs, pressing up just slightly - just enough to make you gasp, make your hips twitch without thinking.

You were pretty sure now that this was, in fact, foreplay.

“At that point,” he murmured, lowering himself, pressing his body against yours, pinning you down with nothing but his weight, “if you’re already getting ideas…”

Aaron rolled his hips against you, his knee shifting just enough to have you sucking in a sharp breath. “…it’s better off just staying home. Because at least then,” he whispered, “we can do this.”

And then he kissed you. Properly.

Deep and hungry, pressing you down into the cushions until you moaned into his mouth, pulling him closer as one of his hands slipped under your shirt.

“You-” you swallowed, trying to find words, but he stole them from you, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw. “You expect me to believe this is why you hate double dates?”

“I expect you to understand,” he murmured against the sensitive skin of your neck, “that if I ever go on one…” he nipped at your pulse, making you gasp. “…I’ll be thinking about this the entire time.”

Then - click.

The sound of the button of your pants being undone, followed shortly by the hiss of your zipper. You felt the warmth of his fingertips slipping beneath the waistband of your pants, resting over your hip bone.

Well, fuck.

“You’ll be sitting across from me,” he continued, voice so unfairly composed, so infuriatingly smooth, “pretending to listen to whatever they’re taking about.”

He tilted his head, kissing along your collarbone, then much lower. You made a mental note to always wear anything resembling a tank top in his presence from now on.

“And the entire time…” his fingers dipped just slightly beneath the elastic of your underwear.

You shuddered. “Aaron.”

He hummed, pleased - so deeply pleased - before finally sliding lower, his fingers finally brushing right where you needed him most.

You whimpered.

“I’ll be remembering,” he murmured, “exactly how you sound right now.”

Your back arched into his touch, fingers digging into his shoulders, nails biting into muscle as his fingers moved.

“And how you look,” he added, his lips brushing the curve of your breast, “when you fall apart for me.”

Your breath hitched-

And then.

Then-

He stopped.

Just - stopped.

His hands left you completely as he leaned back, settling onto his knees above you, looking far too pleased with himself.

You gaped at him, betrayed. “Are you kidding me?”

Aaron just smirked, gaze flicking over you, taking in your flushed cheeks, your uneven breathing, the way your body was still desperately aching for him.

“See?” he shrugged, voice so damn smug. “This is why I hate double dates.”

How funny would it be if these ended up being his last words?

You huffed, adjusting yourself on the couch, crossing your arms like you weren’t still ridiculously turned on and very annoyed about it. “Alright, you know what? Fine. No need to suffer through a double date if we just… conveniently wait to tell the team about us until after JJ and Will start going back out with Penelope and Kevin.”

Aaron smirked.

At least you’d both come to an agreement - the exact same procrastination tactic you’d been using, just with a new and improved excuse attached.

“…Smart girl.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I wouldn’t dare, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, still breathing heavily, still so deeply unsatisfied, as Aaron pressed a kiss to your temple, then stood, stretching his arms.

“I’ll clean the wine glasses,” he mused, already heading toward the kitchen. “And then I’ll be back to you.”

You stared at him.

He paused, glancing at you over his shoulder, smirking.

You huffed, sarcastic, “glad we could work this out.”

You were not glad. Not at all. Especially because not even a full minute later, your phone buzzed with a text.

From him.

From Mr. Clean himself, who was currently just a couple rooms away from you.

Lawyer, 8:43 PM:

Sweetheart, I hope you're ready, because I’m going to spread you out on that couch and fuck you so deep, you’ll still feel me when you sit at your desk tomorrow.

^.ᆽ.^= ∫

A.H.

"Garcia just told me how to get the cat," came his voice from the kitchen - so damn smug you could hear the smirk in it, followed the sound of his footsteps getting closer.

Before you could turn, before you could say anything, he was there - leaning in from behind the couch, arms sliding around you, caging you in, whispering into your ear -

"It was just a simple copy-paste."

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe2

[wannabescemo]

i'm answering these without people asking bc i'm bored

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents?

kind of

02: Who did you last say “I love you” to?

my father

03: Do you regret anything?

yes

04: Are you insecure?

yes

05: What is your relationship status?

i'm dating my beautiful girlfriend :]

06: How do you want to die?

i don't want to but since i have to i'd like to die peacefully in my sleep i don't wanna feel pain in my last moments

07: What did you last eat?

a minute ago i had a granola bar

08: Played any sports?

i did play volleyball for a bit in elementary

09: Do you bite your nails?

yes i hate it but i'm horrible at stopping bad habits

10: When was your last physical fight?

idk

11: Do you like someone?

yes my girlfriend!!

12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours?

no

13: Do you hate anyone at the moment?

no

14: Do you miss someone?

yeah

15: Have any pets?

yeah 4

16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment?

bored

17: Ever made out in the bathroom?

uh no

18: Are you scared of spiders?

yes very much

19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance?

yeah i need a tardis

20: Where was the last place you snogged someone?

wtf does snogged mean?

21: What are your plans for this weekend?

go to my aunts house again hopefully

22: Do you want to have kids? How many?

yes maybe 1 or 2

23: Do you have piercings? How many?

no :(

24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)?

english

25: Do you miss anyone from your past?

yes

26: What are you craving right now?

pasta

27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart?

no

28: Have you ever been cheated on?

no

29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry?

no

30: What’s irritating you right now?

my family

31: Does somebody love you?

yeah :D

32: What is your favourite color?

lavender

33: Do you have trust issues?

idk

34: Who/what was your last dream about?

some rando being decapitated with a sword

35: Who was the last person you cried in front of?

my parents

36: Do you give out second chances too easily?

no

37: Is it easier to forgive or forget?

forget

38: Is this year the best year of your life?

no

39: How old were you when you had your first kiss?

i haven't had one

40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked?

no? isn't there like a law for that

51: Favourite food?

spaghetti with meat sauce

52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason?

yes

53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night?

said goodnight to my girlfriend

54: Is cheating ever okay?

no wtf

55: Are you mean?

i don't think so but i worry sometimes i come off as mean

56: How many people have you fist fought?

none

57: Do you believe in true love?

i'm not sure

58: Favourite weather?

rainy and stormy with dark skies

59: Do you like the snow?

yes!

60: Do you wanna get married?

mhm :]

61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby?

i like when my girlfriend does she makes me so happy!!

62: What makes you happy?

maddi!!!! <3

63: Would you change your name?

yes

64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed?

i've never kissed anyone

65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do?

politely tell them no bc i'm dating someone already

66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around?

idk?

67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to?

my father

68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with?

my aunt

69: Do you believe in soulmates?

yes

70: Is there anyone you would die for?

my girlfriend

70 horrible questions ... Fuck it

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents? 02: Who did you last say “I love you” to? 03: Do you regret anything? 04: Are you insecure? 05: What is your relationship status? 06: How do you want to die? 07: What did you last eat? 08: Played any sports? 09: Do you bite your nails? 10: When was your last physical fight? 11: Do you like someone? 12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours? 13: Do you hate anyone at the moment? 14: Do you miss someone? 15: Have any pets? 16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment? 17: Ever made out in the bathroom? 18: Are you scared of spiders? 19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance? 20: Where was the last place you snogged someone? 21: What are your plans for this weekend? 22: Do you want to have kids? How many? 23: Do you have piercings? How many? 24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)? 25: Do you miss anyone from your past? 26: What are you craving right now? 27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart? 28: Have you ever been cheated on? 29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? 30: What’s irritating you right now? 31: Does somebody love you? 32: What is your favourite color? 33: Do you have trust issues? 34: Who/what was your last dream about? 35: Who was the last person you cried in front of? 36: Do you give out second chances too easily? 37: Is it easier to forgive or forget? 38: Is this year the best year of your life? 39: How old were you when you had your first kiss? 40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked? 51: Favourite food? 52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason? 53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night? 54: Is cheating ever okay? 55: Are you mean? 56: How many people have you fist fought? 57: Do you believe in true love? 58: Favourite weather? 59: Do you like the snow? 60: Do you wanna get married? 61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby? 62: What makes you happy? 63: Would you change your name? 64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed? 65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? 66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around? 67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to? 68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? 69: Do you believe in soulmates? 70: Is there anyone you would die for?

[lexiputellas]

Pillow Talk

It’s your first day back at work.

You stretched your maternity leave as far as humanly possible, used every single vacation day, and worked from home until you ran out of excuses—but today, there was no escaping it. You had to go back. At least your office has a daycare. If it didn’t, you’re pretty sure you would’ve quit on the spot.

Now, finally home, you don’t think you’ve ever been happier to see Alexia. Not only did she get back before you, but she also brought dinner. You could’ve kissed her right then and there—actually, you did. You love her, truly, but if she had waited for you to cook—or, God forbid, asked you to help—you might have had a breakdown.

Dinner was great, dishes were ignored, Alice fell asleep peacefully, and now you’re both getting ready for bed. It’s your favorite part of the night—when everything slows down, and you can just be. Alexia already talked about her day, and now it’s your turn. Normally, this would be when you two discuss important things, but Nicole unloaded so much gossip at work today that you have to let it out before your brain explodes.

You’re fluffing the pillows as you talk, and Alexia, already lying on her side under the covers, is nodding along like a very patient woman.

“Nicole told me Amanda from Compliance is literally faking a relationship online.”

Alexia blinks, lifting her head slightly. “How?”

“I don’t know yet! I’m getting more details tomorrow,” you say, putting in your bruxism mouth guard. “I don’t even get why she’d lie, she doesn’t need to.”

Alexia hums, settling back in.

That’s encouragement. You keep going.

"And you won’t believe this—the sitter at daycare said Alice was the easiest baby to deal with. She barely even cried! Which, like, I knew our baby was perfect, but now it’s confirmed by an expert."

Alexia hums again. This time, it sounds more like sleepy agreement than actual interest, but you’re on a roll now.

“And remember that guy from the party last year? The one who told you he was a Real Madrid fan?”

Alexia makes a vague noise of acknowledgment.

“Not that he was special or anything,” you continue, “but he invited Nicole out.”

That gets a reaction. Alexia forces one eye open. “That guy?”

“That guy.”

“She said yes?”

“She said yes. And if she’d asked me first, I would’ve told her absolutely not.”

Alexia exhales, long and slow, adjusting the blanket. “Baby, I love you so much, and I want to hear all of this… tomorrow. We have to wake up early.”

Which you think is fair. She was the one running around after a ball, going to the gym, lifting weights—you mostly just fought with spreadsheets, tried not to cry when Alice waved goodbye way too enthusiastically at daycare, and dodged an email from HR that felt suspiciously passive-aggressive.

“I know,” you say, climbing under the covers. “I love you too. But can I just finish really quick? I swear, I’m almost done.”

She hums again. That’s permission.

“So, turns out the guy? He was dating someone else the whole time. Poor Nicole, bless her heart, but maybe a little stalking would’ve helped her.”

Silence.

You glance over. Alexia’s eyes are closed, her face relaxed, her breathing slow and even.

“Oh,” you whisper. “You’re already asleep.”

You sigh, amused, and watch her for a moment. The way her eyelashes rest against her cheeks, the way her hair falls across the pillow, the faintest hint of a smile still lingering on her lips—it makes your chest ache in the best way.

She looks warm, soft, safe. Like home.

Carefully, you scoot closer, pressing a gentle kiss to her shoulder.

“Good night, baby,” you murmur, even though she’s already lost in dreams.

Then, finally, you close your eyes.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Something More

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> Since you met Bucky, he's always looked at you with...something more. And you never knew why. One day, you finally find out what he means by it.

Disclaimer: mentions of cheating and swearing, revenge on cheating ex. Bucky deals with said cheating ex. Descriptions of naked/slightly naked Bucky though nothing too explicit. Fluff, found family vibes, Sam and Bucky bickering. Use of nicknames (specifically 'doll'). Not Proof Read.

“What are you still doing here?”

Bucky had just passed your lab. As far as he was aware, you should have left work hours ago. You should have been getting ready, listening to whatever playlist you’d compiled with Wanda, picking your outfit with that perfect smile on your face as you looked in your mirror to fix your lipstick. 

So why were you still here?

You looked up, looking for him and where his voice had travelled from. Your gaze found him standing back in the doorway. The lights behind him were dimer than they usually would be. After the clocks turned six in the evening, they did that to save on energy – even then, they’d only come on if they sensed someone. Before he’d walked down the corridor, the only lights on had been inside your lab with you. 

“Oh, hey.” You turned back to your work. “Just wanted to get some things finished before tomorrow. Hoping Tony might give me half a day.”

Bucky felt himself chuckle as he walked inside. “You do the work of three people. If you asked him, he’d tell you to take a week off.”

You chuckled because you knew it to be true. But you also didn’t like taking too much time away from work. You actually liked your job and the people you worked with. Some more than most. 

“But that still doesn’t answer my question. Shouldn’t you be on your date right about now?”

Bucky looked at his watch. 9:20pm. 

“Oh, uh,” You tried your best to avoid his gaze as you looked away from him. “Yeah…yeah, probably.”

Bucky studied you. And you could feel him doing so. The way he stood there, clipboard loose in his hand and by his side, his eyes fixed on your body, noticing how your shoulders tensed, how you tried your best to hide away from him despite you both being the only two in the room. 

“What happened?”

“Nothing. Everything’s fine.”

Bucky shook his head and pulled up one of your rolling stools until he was sitting down and facing you. “What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter-”

“Yes, it does.”

You forced a smile, still not looking at him but rather at whatever contraption you’d pulled apart only to rebuild again. 

“No, it-”

“It does because you never hide anything from me.”

“Mostly because I can’t,” you muttered to yourself but by the soft chuckle from Bucky, he’d heard you. 

“What is it? What’s going on? Why are you still here?”

It took you a moment but eventually you put down the motherboard and finally looked at him. “If I tell you, it doesn’t leave this room. I don’t need the questions and I don’t need a plethora of super-humans marching or flying down to defend my honour.”

He didn’t like where the conversation was heading but Bucky reluctantly agreed. 

“I’m not on the date, but Matthew is.” 

Matthew was your boyfriend of three years. Bucky had met him a handful of times and he seemed nice enough, but there was always something Bucky didn’t like about him. How he talked, how he walked, how he seemingly didn’t realise how lucky he was to have you. 

“What are you-”

With your hands folded in your lap, you continued to explain. “The date that I told Wanda about, the one that was meant to be for tonight?” 

Bucky nodded. 

“Well, what I thought was meant to be a surprise for me was actually…a surprise for my best friend. Ex-best friend,” you corrected yourself. “Matthew didn’t think I would find out, but when I asked him if I should take any days off work soon, he said no. I thought it was just a fluke, but it wasn’t.”

“Y/n-”

“Matthew broke up with me a week later.”

“What?”

You saw the subtle changes in Bucky’s demeanour as you told him. How his gaze and eyes grew darker, how his shoulders became stiff and alert, how his fists clenched on the table. 

You took a breath. “Matthew broke up with me three weeks ago, but I’m okay.”

“Okay? Okay? I’ll kill him.”

You shot out of your seat and rushed ahead of him, stopping him in his tracks. 

“Bucky Bucky, Bucky, stop. Stop, okay. Look, I’m fine. And I promise, I am okay. Guess finding out that your boyfriend has been sleeping with your supposed best friend for six months kinda softens the aftermath of the break-up.”

“Six months?!”

“Just…sit down? Please?”

It took a little longer than a minute, but eventually he sat back down and you picked up the clipboard that had been dropped to the floor and handed it back to him. 

“How can you be okay?”

You smiled, even if it was still a little sad. “Because I’ve dealt with it.”

“How?”

“Poured glitter into their new washing machine, as well as onto all of their clothes,” you admitted. “Stole the plate out of the microwave, took the hand pumps out of the soap, threw out the car wax from his cleaning kit. You know, just small things that will cause them a nuisance for a lifetime.”

Bucky felt himself laugh. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

“Don’t have to,” you smiled. “You know better.”

“Yeah, I do. I’m sorry, Y/n.”

You just shrugged, trying to ignore the sting in your heart. “It’s okay.” 

Bucky’s eyes followed you around the table until you sat back down in your seat. “No, it’s not. I’m sorry he didn’t know how good he had it.”

You looked up at him. “Thanks, Buck.”

“I mean it, Y/n. I know you loved him. He didn’t deserve you.”

You felt his words wash over you and settle into your bones. You’d been dealing with the break up on your own. You knew you didn’t have to, but it was easier. Simpler. But hearing him tell you that…it was worth its weight in gold. 

You tried your best to place that familiar look in his eyes as he looked at you. It wasn’t pity, or sadness. Well, maybe a little. But there was something else there. Something…more. You’d noticed it before but even then you couldn’t have given it a name. It was just…

Something More. 

Like he knew something you didn’t. Like he was trying to tell you something he didn’t have the courage to say out loud. 

“Want me to take you home?”

You shook your head, “No, it’s okay. I can-”

But then he gave you that smile that always made your stomach do a little flip. The way his lips curved in the corner on his mouth, a slightly sassy but genuine look in his eyes. 

“Come on, I’ll take you home.”

With a grateful smile, you smiled and stood up. On the way out, Bucky helped you remove your lab coat before helping put on your actual one. From there, he waited for you to lock up before you finally reached his car and hopped into the passenger seat. 

You’d placed your new address into the car’s GPS and explained to Bucky why you had a new one. 

“Even if she hadn’t moved in, I wouldn’t have wanted to stay there on my own. Knowing everything they’d done together?” You shook your head. “I would have moved, anyway.”

Bucky seemed to adjust himself in his seat, one hand on the wheel as the other rested in between himself and you. 

“Maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t tell the rest of us.”

You chuckled, already knowing what he was thinking. You knew you’d have to tell them eventually. And you would. Preferably in a place where they couldn’t all suddenly disappear on you or wouldn’t see the masked pain behind your expression which would only lead to more questions. 

You’d become friends with the team not long after you’d joined Shield. Tony had studied your work, produced in Shield labs and instantly had given you an offer to work with him on a permanent basis. Before you could finish spending the day thinking about it, you had orders from Hill telling you, you were to become the new resident Lab Tech at the Compound. 

You’d worked along-side Tony and the rest of his science team, fixed equipment for the team and eventually found a friendship with them all individually. 

Wanda had been the first one; she’d been looking for someone to talk to since Clint was out for the day for Training new recruits. The next had been Tony and Natasha and very soon after had been Clint, Bruce and finally Steve.

Steve had been away on back-to-back missions which resulted in him being one of the last. Within a week of him returning, you’d met everyone else since Tony had decided to throw a party. 

You had asked why, but Pepper had just told you that to Tony it was “just because” but she’d worked on a mission plan. Charity Gala. She’s planned the whole thing with Peter’s Aunt. 

It was at that gala that Bucky had first met your boyfriend. At the time, you’d both only been dating eight months. 

“Did you buy a renovation?”

You dug into your bag for your keys but nodded. “Yeah. It’s kinda been a nice distraction.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

You looked at him, a little offended. “I’m an engineer.”

“I know.” Bucky was still taking in the property. “I’ve met you. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Bucky had seen you build some of the most complicated tech in the world. A handful of times, even Shuri had been shocked and impressed. But he’d also seen you try and build a bookshelf from Ikea on your own. 

“I’ll be fine.”

“I’ve got some weekends free.” Bucky told you. “I’ll help you.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I want to.” 

You were taken slightly aback as you saw the smile on his face. But you smiled back anyway. He’d always had that effect on you. 

“Okay.”

The following six weekends were filled with stripping old paint, pulling out and replacing rotten floors and beams, plastering walls and securing the foundations. The building had been with the bank for almost thirty years. Nobody had ever wanted to buy it. 

You’d guessed it had been built in the forties, or thereabouts. A covered porch had been added on to equal the starting point of the front steps, the shutters on the front windows had either been missing or hanging on by a rotten nail so they were soon replaced. There were three matching windows set at equal distance from each other upstairs. One in the middle and one on either side of it – all facing the front of the home. The garden was overgrown to the point where wildflowers had over run themselves and probably created a new breed. 

The back was much in the same way; a covered porch, windows, shutters, and a larger back garden perfect for an allotment and space for kids or dogs to run around. 

Eventually, those six weeks turned into six months. 

You did what you could within the week and Bucky helped with the rest at the weekends. When Sam found out Bucky was helping, he pitched in, too. Though, he was more helpful when placed away from Bucky and at the other side of the house. That had been something you’d learned quickly. They worked well together but the amount of hours they spent arguing about how to paint…

It was safe to say you’d taped out their own spaces in the house and they were not allowed to cross the tape unless they needed a bathroom break or a snack. 

Wanda had been more than helpful on the days where they’d both decided to sneak past the tape and judge each other's work. 

“Hey, hey, hey, would you- Wanda, put me down.”

“Stay in your tape.”

After the first three months, you were finally able to go out and buy new furniture and return the rented ones. 

“Left a bit, left a bit.”

“We need to go right.”

“No, we need to go left.”

Wanda leaned over to you. “How long have they been like this?”

“Two hours. I have tried.”

You sighed and crossed your arms, watching as Sam and Bucky tried to take your new sofa inside. 

“Right, right. Now go up.”

“Up?”

“Yes, up?”

“What are you gonna do? Make it fly?”

Sam just started at Bucky. 

“Oh, for the love of-”

As you threw your arms into the air, Wanda laughed and started walking towards them. Eventually they dropped the furniture and she moved it herself. It fit through your door simply – just as you had expected before the double comedy act decided to take charge. 

Finally, after six long months of stripping, plastering, painting, repainting, rearranging, building, and everything in between, you were finally done. 

You and Bucky lay on the floor together, staring at the ceiling, your beers sweating with condensation onto the placemats. 

“Thank you for helping me.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“As much as I love my new kitchen, I think I’m just gonna order in. What do you want?”

“Where are you getting it from?”

After twenty minutes, you and Bucky had decided on a place and ordered two pizzas with a side of fries. “Half an hour. Right.” You stood from the floor. “I’m going for a shower. You can hop in after me.”

Bucky was glad your back was turned from him since he could feel the heat spread across him. 

“Why?”

“Because you stink.”

You heard him laugh. Since day one, you’d never held back from telling him what you thought. It was one of the things he loved about you. 

Upstairs, you turned the shower and stepped inside only to watch the dust and paint flakes fall down with the water and into the drain. Twenty minutes later, your hair was washed for the third time that week – white paint from your skirting boards following the suds of the shampoo. 

And then Bucky walked up the stairs. 

As he reached the top of the staircase and turned his head down the hall, he called out your name. 

“Shower’s free! Just getting dressed!”

“Hey, uh, I-I left you something downstairs. Feel free to open it!”

“Really? Okay.”

Bucky smiled before walking into your bathroom and closing the door but leaving it cracked open slightly. The steam was still leaving the room and he couldn’t open the window just yet. 

However, what he didn’t notice as he carefully got undressed was you walking down the hall. Fresh in your pajamas which consisted of an old t-shirt and shorts, you towel dried your hair except in the defogging mirror in your bathroom, you caught a glimpse of Bucky. 

Naked Bucky. 

His back was turned to the mirror, his muscles lightly flexing as he moved to draw back the shower curtain and step into the shower. You tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered in your chest or how your legs unconsciously clamped together as you looked at him. 

But as the curtain was drawn back, hiding him from sight, you took in a small breath before hurrying down the hallway, down the stairs and into the living room. 

You were thankful Bucky was in the shower at that moment in fear of him seeing and knowing what the embarrassed and heated look on your face meant. 

The image you’d just witnessed, it was safe to say, was burning into your mind. 

It was the knock on your front door which startled you out from your daydream about Bucky and the way he-

“Hey, two pep- Matthew.” 

What should have been the pizza guy with your pizzas was your ex. 

“What the fuck?”

“Please, please just hear me out,” he begged. “I am so sorry for what I did. I shouldn’t have slept with your best friend but I thought that was what I wanted. But-”

“Goodbye.”

“Wait! Please!”

His hand landed on the door. “Please. I-I thought that was what I wanted but these months apart have made me realise something.”

“Look, I don’t know how you found me but please leave.”

“I’m still in love with you, Y/n. I always was. And I’m ready for more, if that’s what you want.”

Down the hall, you heard your name being called. But Matthew didn’t. 

“I should never have cheated on you, but I promise I never will again. It was good, right? You loved me? I loved you.”

“Please leave.”

“I will spend everyday making it up to you because I realised, I am worthy of you. Please, just give us a chance. I promise-”

In the space of about three seconds, you saw Matthew’s face change from begging to terrified and shocked at the same time before the door you were holding onto tightly opened wider from behind you. 

Then you found yourself met with a freshly showered, completely naked save for the towel wrapped around his waist, Bucky. You felt the heat spread across your entire body as you tried your best to not make it obvious how you were trying to remember the moment for a lifetime. 

The definition of his muscles, the way his arm flexed as it remained on his hip, the metal arm behind you, holding the door securely. The way the beads of water dripped down his neck and tracked down his body and into the top of the towel. The way his eyes burned with a kind of darkness you’d only ever seen in him when he was ready to attack, but somehow still remained soft when they fell on you. 

“Holy-”

“What are you doing here?” 

“I-I-I came to get Y/n back.”

“Oh, really?”

You felt yourself smile up at Bucky, for more than just the reason he was making your ex crap his pants. 

“Y-Yes. I’m worthy of her.”

“You’re not worthy of shit.”

Matthew tried his best to ignore Bucky as he turned back to you. “Please. Y/n. I’m ready. Just come home with me.”

“I have a home. A new home. Very, very far away from you.”

“How did you even find this place?” Bucky asked. 

Matthew had to look at him and eventually spat out that your ex-best friend had seen your car turn down the avenue a few weeks back when she was heading to work. So, he looked out for it and hoped for the best. 

It was in a sudden motion Bucky’s right arm reached out and held Matthew up by the scruff of his collar. “You’re gonna forget you ever learned this address and leave Y/n alone. Do I have to repeat myself, or are we clear?”

A clearing cough came from somewhere behind Matthew. 

The pizza guy. 

“H-hi? S-Sorry about the wait. They’re working on the road at the top of the street so-so I-I had to double back.Two pepperoni?”

You nodded and the guy told you the price that had been exchanged over the phone. 

“Thanks.”

“I hope you resolve…whatever this is. Bye.”

Hopping back on his pizza scooter, he headed towards his next address. 

Matthew finally looked back at Bucky who’s stare hadn’t left him since he picked him up. 

“I don’t like repeating myself, Matthew.”

“But she still loves me.”

“No, she doesn’t.” 

That much had been made clear to Bucky over the last six months. He watched you put whatever anger and sadness you’d bottled up and put away into how you’d pulled out rotting beams and how you stabbed and yanked dead weeds from the ground with all your might. 

He also saw it in your quiet moments after that. How you built yourself a home without any reminiscence of Matthew or your ex-best friend, how you found freedom and love in what was around you and how you let yourself date again. The dates didn’t last too long but they always ended mutually – not one sided. 

“She does.”

You practically rolled your head with your eyes. “I really don’t.”

Bucky just smirked. 

“B-but what about our life together?”

“The one you torched when you fucked my friend? Yeah,” you heard yourself laugh. “That will never exist.”

As you went to walk away, leaving Bucky to deal with Matthew, he called out. 

“You can’t seriously be fucking him?”

Turning on your heel, you looked at both of them. Bucky seemingly didn’t react. Until a sliver of unrecognisable courage came pouring forward. 

“And what if I am?”

Bucky reacted to that. Not that Matthew noticed. 

“Not that it’s any business of yours,” you added. 

“But-”

“Goodbye, Matthew.”

As you walked into the kitchen and laid out the pizzas, it was a few minutes before you heard a cry from Matthew, followed by a crash of plywood from the skip that was ready to be collected the next day. 

Finally, the door closed and Bucky walked back into the kitchen, towel still around his waist. 

Walking out from your laundry room, you took the last mental image of a practically naked Bucky, standing in your home, looking sun-kissed and all kinds of handsome. 

“You left some clothes here the last time you stayed over.” Standing in front of him, you handed him his clothes. 

“Thanks.”

Taking them from you, Bucky smirked as he caught your gaze scanning his entire body. 

“How are you feeling?”

Your gaze flicked back to his, acting as if you hadn’t just been checking him out, but the heat on your face gave you away. 

“Good.” You smiled. “Actually, really good. Kinda shocked me when it was him and not the pizza guy- thank you, by the way. For dealing with him. I’m sure there’s some speech I should give you about threats of violence but it was nice to see him scared after everything he did.”

“Clearly he didn’t get a new washing machine.” Bucky held up his hand, small flecks of glitter on the palm. You laughed. 

“You can’t escape it.”

Bucky chuckled, too. “Guess you can’t.”

It was in the silence that followed, your hand holding onto his from when you moved it to see the glitter, that you saw that look in his eyes again. That something more look. He’d looked at you like that since the beginning. 

For a while you thought that was just how he looked at people. But you saw the way he looked at Steve and Sam and Natasha and Wanda. You saw the way he looked at strangers on the street as they walked past him, you saw the way he looked at kids when they walked up to him and asked for his autograph, you saw the way he looked at reporters when they asked about the 40s or asked a question he didn’t like. 

You saw the way he looked at everyone else. 

And then there was the way he looked at you. 

Something more.

You felt yourself step forward a little as he dropped his hand and held onto yours. It was a subtle difference. The way he looked at you, the way he held you, the way he spoke to you. 

It was his turn to step closer. 

Carefully placing his clothes down on the kitchen island beside you both, his other hand reached out for you, brushing the hair from your eyes. 

And for a rare moment, you shocked him. Usually, he knew everything with you. It was rare you had to actually tell him something. He spent that long looking at you, it was almost as if his gaze could stare directly into your soul and know what you needed. 

But this. 

This he didn’t see coming. 

No matter how long he’d hoped for it. 

You kissed him. 

And for a moment he was still, feeling your lips against his. Then it was like he was brought back to life. Feeling your hand in his, he squeezed your hand and you squeezed back. Finally, he kissed you back. His hands came to hold your face as he stepped into you, his kiss matching yours. 

In a few turns, your back was against the counter of your kitchen island, your hands sending goosebumps throughout him as they trailed down his chest, sides and held him closer by his neck and back. 

It wasn’t long before he lifted you onto the counter and your legs spread open for him to step closer. Slowly, the kisses peppered away until you were both left gasping for breath, feeling his forehead against yours. 

“Shit.” Bucky eventually breathed, a small laugh escaping him. And you giggled, holding him closer. 

“You better get dressed before you give my new neighbours an exclusive.”

Bucky looked behind him, realising you were both in a semi-clear view of the blind-less windows. They were getting delivered and installed on Monday. For now, you just had curtains and the panels on the windows. 

Then he looked down. The towel was slowly coming loose from his hips. Then he swore for a different reason. 

“You might have to give me a minute.”

It took you a second to realise what he was talking and blushing about. Then you tried to hide your laugh. “Either you put on some shorts or you give my neighbours an original welcome to the neighbourhood.”

Bucky gave you a look before looking around. Finally, grabbing his clothes, he surprised you with a quick kiss to your lips which made you smile and distracted you enough to let him go. Behind your kitchen island, he slipped on his shorts before removing the towel. 

“Thought I might get a show.”

Bucky gave you another look. “I’d rather save that for when it’s just you and me, doll.”

You hummed, your arms coming back to his shoulders. “Fair enough.”

A shorter silence came over you both as Bucky looked at you again. 

“What? What is it?”

You just kept looking. 

“You’re looking at me like I’ve got two heads.”

“You always look at me like that.”

“Like you’ve got two heads?”

You shook your head. “No. Like I’m…something more. I’ve noticed it for a while but I don’t know…why do you look at me like that?”

Bucky just smiled, already knowing what you were talking about. “Because you are something more, doll. You’re more than something more to me.”

You searched his face for what felt like hours, trying to decipher his cryptic message until it finally clicked with you. His message hadn’t been cryptic at all. It had been staring at you, quite literally, for years. 

Bucky watched as the expressions changed on your face; trying to find his meaning, wondering if you’d found the right one, convincing yourself it wasn’t possible, coming back to your original conclusion, accepting it though not fully, hoping it was true, not wanting to embarrass yourself if you were wrong, being certain you were right, and then not, until finally you’d found the courage to ask him if you were. 

And he just smiled. Freely, and without hesitation, he answered. 

“I’m in love with you, Y/n. That’s why you’re more than something more to me.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You already had someone.” Bucky said, a little defeat in his voice. 

“Had being the key word.” 

He smiled and looked back at you. “I didn’t want to rush things. We…we both needed time.”

Unconsciously, your body moved closer to his touch as his hand traced down your arm before he held onto your hand. Fingers danced around each other before he finally pulled your hand close to his lips and kissed your knuckles, then your palm, and finally your inner wrist. 

Finally, your head touched his. Eyes closed, breaths taking in and let out in sync. 

“I am in love with you, Y/n. I have been for a long time and I don’t wanna rush this.”

You leaned up and looked at him. “Then we won’t. Like you said, we both needed time. And, Bucky?”

He looked at you, again. 

“You’re more than something more to me, too.”

Then he smiled, that genuine if slightly sassy grin. “I know, doll.”

[adrienneleclerc]

Hello! You could make a Fanfic where Toto Wolff's daughter begs her father to make a contract for her boyfriend (Carlos Sainz) in the Mercedes team so that he doesn't go to Williams 💗

Yes! And I’ll be using one of my favorite Hannah Montana quotes because Y/N will DEFINITELY be a Daddy’s Girl.

Pretty Please

Summary: Y/N Wolff is dating Carlos Sainz and is unhappy to hear that Carlos is thinking about signing with Williams.

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors, Williams hate

A/N: any hate towards Williams are things I have heard other people say. I’m also trying to get through ALL my requests so bear with me, please.

You were chilling with Carlos when he received a call. He kissed yourcheek and excused himself to take the call in another room. A few minutes have passed and Carlos walked back in with a smile.

“What’s got you all smiley?” You asked him.

“I got an offer from Williams to be their driver for the 2025 season.” Carlos said. You were in shock, however, remembering how James Vowels had a history of getting rid of their second drivers before the season finishes, thinking about Nicholas and Logan. You don’t want the same thing to happen to Carlos. But Carlos is a good driver, he knows what he’s doing.

“That’s great, babe, I���m so happy for you.” You hugged him after you said it.

In front of Carlos, you act very supportive of his decision, but in reality, you’re thinking about how you could convince your dad to sign Carlos. Carlos dropped you off at home, and when you opened the door, your mom was cooking food while your dad and brother were watching TV.

“Sweetheart, you’re just in time for dinner, have a seat. Toto, Jack, you guys too.” Your mom said. You put your things in your room, washed your hands, and sat down for dinner. “How was lunch with Carlos?”

“It was good, he’s recently got an offer to join Williams.” You said.

“That’s good, he’s a talented driver, he deserves to be in the new season.” Your dad commented.

“I like Carlos! He lets me play with his dogs.” Your brother jack said.

“Yeah, he’s talented all right, definitely too talented to drive for Williams.” You said, your dad doesn’t even have to look up from his plate to know you’re giving him puppy dog eyes, he can hear the begging tone in your voice.

“Ah no, nope, I already have a driver in mind for 2025, i can’t sign Carlos.” he said, getting up to get a beer, you followed him.

“How many ‘pretty’s do I have to put in front of the word ‘please’ for you to make Carlos a contract? Pretty, pretty…” You said training behind him. "Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty please, daddy, please!" You begged, stepping in front of the fridge before he had the chance to open it.

"Woah!" Your father exclaimed, putting his hands up as if he was surprised.

"Does that mean you'll sign him?" You asked hopefully

"No, it means you can stop. I already have Kimi Antonelli lined up to join Mercedes, you know this.” Your father said, moving you to open the fridge and get himself a beer.

"Dad, come on! It’s better for Kimi to have one more year in Formula 2, you know how everyone treated Logan, they all said he wasn’t ready to join F1. Kimi is just a kid, one more year until he can join and Carlos will join Audi in 2026.” You said.

“Charles Leclerc also did one year of F2.” Toto argued.

“But he didn’t join Ferrari right away, dad. He was in Sauber first before joining Ferrari. Wouldn’t it be better for kimi to go to Williams to get more F1 experience before joining Mercedes?” You asked your dad.

“I’ll think about it.” He said and you frowned.

“I’m not Jack’s age anymore, dad. I know ‘I’ll think about it’ means ‘ain’t gonna happen but nice try.’” You said, crossing your arms.

“I’ll think about it. But can we finish dinner first, please.” Toto said and you nodded.

It’s been a week since your conversation with your dad and you were losing hope until you saw Carlos and your dad talking. They shook hands, you decided to approach them,

“What’s going on here?” You asked, standing beside Carlos.

“You are looking at Mercedes’s new driver.” Carlos said, hugging you. You were in shock but hugged him back.

“Really? Omg, Im so happy for you!” You exclaimed, your father winked at you and you mouthed him a thank you.

“Took a lot of convincing though.” Toto joked.

“The contract is really good, I read it over three times, and signed today.” Carlos said.

“That’s great, how about we go out to celebrate? My treat.” You offered and Carlos nodded. You guys walked away and just when your father was out of earshot, Carlos whispered thank you in your ear. “For what?”

“I know you talked to your dad about me.” Carlos said,

“Are you mad?” You asked.

“Max that my girlfriend loves me so much she’ll convince her dad to write me up a contract? I know you were just looking out for me.” Carlos said.

“Well yeah, i Don’t really like how James treats his second drivers, I did not want you getting that treatment at all.” You pouted. Carlos kissed your pout away.

“I Love you so much.” Carlos said.

“I love you too.” You said.

The End

Hope y’all liked it!

[halliejaade]

please please 🙏🏻 can we get a jealous joaquin torres fic

One jealous Joaquín coming right up! This is gonna take place in the Edelweiss universe because I'm already in love with the dynamic there lol. Hope that's okay!! This takes place right before you leave for college (:

"Are you sure this color looks okay on me?"

Your mother laughs softly, and smooths your hair down. "Yes, honey. Logan will love it. Won't he, Joaquín?"

His silence frightens you.

You turn to him expectantly, only to find a sour look on his face.

Well, that was different.

"If Joaquín doesn't like it, Logan won't either," You say exasperatedly. "I'm gonna have to change. Again!"

Maria groans from the corner of your room, "Please, for the love of God, don't do that."

"He's going to think I look frumpy or something!"

"No he won't, Y/n, you look great."

"No, I-"

Joaquín stands a loud sigh escaping his lips as he scrubs his hands up and down his face. "I like your outfit, alright? Don't change again."

His tone catches you off guard. He has never so much as raised his voice at you in the years that you've been friends, so this knocks you off kilter, to say the least. "What's with the attitude?"

He plays with a loose thread at the bottom of his T-shirt, and shakes his head. "I'm totally fine, I dunno what you're talking about."

You squint at him.

He scrunches his nose back at you.

"Whatever, grumpy," You sigh. "Logan's going to be here any minute. Are you sure my outfit looks alright?"

Maria jokingly knocks her head against the wall a couple of times. "If you say that one more time, I'm going to scream. You look great, hot even. He's gonna be blown away."

Joaquín huffs, crossing his arms.

Before you can get a chance to say something, Maria turns, "And you! Quit being an ass."

"I'm not being an ass, I'm just worried he's not going to be gentlemanly-"

Honking comes from outside. You half-yelp, half-screech, as you look outside and find that Logan's car is sitting in front of your house. "He's here!"

Joaquín rolls his eyes, another huff leaving his lips. "He can't even come to the front door to get you? He just comes here and honks at you? Where did you find this guy?"

You glare at your best friend, before grabbing your bag and shoes. "Relax, Joaquín."

You check your hair and makeup once more before leaving, a rush of adrenaline racing through you as you approach Logan's car. The last date you'd been on was back in high school, and that hadn't been much of a date. It was ice cream, and you had both been too shy to say much to one another. A friend you had through dance knew Logan, and had set the two of you up.

You always held onto the hope that Joaquín might like you, but you couldn't just sit around and wait until you were old and frail and hadn't had any fun. So you told her to give him your number, and he has asked after a week of talking if you wanted to go on a date.

Logan is sweet. He's thoughtful, and kind, and he pays for your dinner. He pulls your chair out, and holds the door open for you as you leave the restaurant.

One date turns into two, then three, then four, and somewhere, along the way, you become official with Logan. You're unsure of if you're in love with him, but you can say pretty certainly that you care pretty deeply for him. He's the type of guy that is easy to get along with, easy to picture marrying and creating a life with.

After six months of dating, you become quite comfortable with the idea of a long term relationship with him.

On a Friday night in late December, you find yourself squeezed on the couch between Joaquín and Maria. It's a big couch, but somehow the three of you have managed to sardine yourselves into the corner, with Joaquín's shoulder pressed against yours. You were hoping to see Logan on your winter break from school, but lately he has been elusive.

"This movie is so cheesy," Joaquín snickers, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

"It's sweet," You retort. "They're in love and won't admit it. When they finally do it's going to be so cute."

He side eyes you, and sends you a playful smirk. "You're such a romantic."

You laugh softly, "Yeah, yeah. Sue me for loving love."

Your phone chimes loudly then, indicating a phone call. "Hand me my phone, please?" You say to Maria, who grabs your phone from the coffee table.

It's Logan.

You don't bother to move from the couch, thinking that whatever he's calling you for won't last long and that it'll be just a quick goodnight call.

"Hey!" You chirp.

Joaquín shifts beside you, fiddling with his fingers.

"Hi, baby," Logan says. "I had a bad day, mind if I tell you a little about it?"

"Yeah, sure. I'm just watching a movie right now."

Logan launches into a story about how he got into trouble at his internship for taking too long of lunch breaks. "It was kind of embarrassing, you know? We kind of got yelled at in front of the whole office."

You shake your head, although he can't see you. "I'm sorry."

There's a beat of silence, "Yeah, I got into quite a bit of trouble."

You take a deep breath, and maybe you're overanalyzing things but...

"You said 'we'."

"Huh?"

"Oh, I don't know. You said 'we got in trouble', but then you backpedaled and said that only you did?"

You're not sure why, but dread crawls through the hollow parts of your bones.

Logan laughs, "Oh..yeah. Angie's been going to lunch with me."

You swallow, and flick a piece of popcorn from your lap. "Oh."

"Don't make this into a thing. She's just a friend."

You don't like how defensive he's being. "I didn't even say anything."

Maria shifts, and mouths, 'Everything okay?'

You wave her off.

"Babe."

"Yeah?"

There's a long pause that makes your stomach queasy.

Logan sighs, and the sound makes tears jump to your eyes. You don't know why you're reacting like this. "I...it's been difficult with you in New York."

"It's been difficult for me, too."

"No, you don't understand. Men have needs, honey, and Angie-"

You cut him off, your heart pumping wildly in your chest. "You slept with her?!"

There's another pause that tells you everything you need to know.

You shudder, trying to remain calm as a tear streaks down your cheek. Joaquín places a hand on your shoulder, turning you to him.

"Give me your phone," He commands quietly. Your chin wobbles as you breathe deeply. "I just want to have a word with him. Please."

You hand Joaquín your phone, feeling the weight of the phone call as you pass it to him. He smiles reassuringly at you, before dipping down and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Be right back."

Joaquín steps outside, and although you can't exactly hear what he's saying, you can hear the volume in which he's saying it, and he sounds angry.

Maria does her best to calm you down as everything settles in, as you finally realize that, yes, this is real life, and your world has just been flipped upside down. When Joaquín finally slips back inside, your head is resting against Maria's shoulder, sobs wracking through your chest.

"Hey," Joaquín says softly, he sits down beside you, and takes you from Maria. He gathers you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. "I don't think he's gonna bother you anymore."

You sniffle into his green shirt, "What did you say?"

Joaquín's chin presses against the top of your head, "It wasn't polite, and I am in the company of ladies so I can't repeat it."

"Thank you," You breathe. He squeezes you tighter against him, and leans back against the couch.

"Go get her a glass of water, Maria," He says, shooing her into the kitchen. He gently traces a finger up and down your spine, his breathing lulling you back into a sense of calm.

"I'd do anything for you, boots."

You shift, curling up against him. "You're my bestest friend. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Another kiss is pressed to your head. "You're never going to have to find out. I promise."

[nosyrobin]

The Gray Side

—————————————————

Yandere!Batboys Highschool AU

Prologue | Riding pays || iii. Nerdy Tactics | iv. Lucky artistic charm

Previous… on the Yandere!batboys.

You reached your locker, opening it and putting your phone and other things in it. As you go to close it, you feel strong arms wrapped around you. You let out yelp, a low chuckle reaches your ear before you sighed and turned to face the culprit.

Dick Grayson.

Present time. Date: Wednesday, 7th, 20XX. Time: 7:30 am.

Dick chuckles, tightening his arms around you. Feeling his breath on your neck made you shiver, you gave him an unimpressed look as Grayson could only smile at you with those different shade of blue eyes than his brother.

“Hey [nickname]! I’m so glad you came to school this time.” He says with a sickly cheery tone. You swore you could his arms crush your stomach more which made you let out a sound of discomfort.

“Y..yeah…I feel better this time.” Dick nods as he lets you go. “Yknow, you gave me and the others a scare.” A frown is slapped onto his face with crossed arms, leaning against the lockers by yours. You looked down with narrowed eyes, biting your lips as Dick continues to talk.

“Damian felt sad, he kept whining about you. But the most whiner of them all was Tim. You hurt their feelings.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“But you did.”

You slammed your locker, harshly which gained attention by a few students walking by. Dick could only stare at you, leaning his head down to make eye contact with your fallen head.

His neat hair falling into his face as he stares you down.

“Why do you hate us? What did we do to you cutie…?” Dick puts a hand on your shoulder, the touch may seem gentle to people from afar. But his grip said other wise. His fingers dug into your shoulder, making you wince as you try to pull from him.

“I-I don’t hate you guys! Okay?? I forgive Tim and Damian, okay?!” You said quickly as the time had passed to 7:45. You needed 5 more minutes for class to start and the halls to be crowded. Fast.

Dick’s soft eyes seemed to darken hearing your frantic speech.

“You’re not just saying that cause you don’t wanna be in trouble…. are you cutie?” You shake your head no. “No! No! I love you guys! Honestly, you guys are the best thing to happen to me.” And like a switch, Dick smiles like a lovesick child and lets go of your shoulder. You held back a sigh of relief and took a deep exhale.

You’re definitely gonna have a bruise later.

Dick gives you a bear hug, swaying you both left and right. “That’s so sweet of you! But what’s more sweet is just you in general.” His eyes lower onto you. You could only stare bewildered before a girl came over and tapped Dick’s shoulder.

“Hey, are you Dick Wayne-Grayson?” Dick raises a brow and lets you go to face the girl. “Yes?” The girl squeals and pulls out her notebook and a pen. “I think you’re so hot! I just wanted to get your—” “Sorry, can’t. I’m kinda busy with someone.”

The girl raises a brow and lean to look behind him and point. “Who?”

Dick turns around to see you running as you skidded across the hall and down a corner. He curses under his breath with a slight clenched jaw before immediately putting a mask on and smiling at the girl. Putting his charm on as he grabs the pen.

“Nevermind. Must’ve been… the wind.”

Panting, the bell rang entered computer science class. There kids walked passed you as if you just started doing the chicken dance on the cafe table. You did some awkward waves before clearing your throat. You wish you could kill yourself as of now, mostly because….

One of the Wayne brothers are here, except that he’s kinda cool?

Because, you hate this class and had to take it graduate for your senior year. So you’re doing it now so you can graduate and check it off your list. PLUS YOU DONT KNOW SHIT!

You groaned mentally and sat down on a chair. Laying your head down on your arms and closing your eyes, you can just hope to fall asleep during this whole class.

Finally feeling relax, you actually started to feel yourself slip into dreamland. Your body slumping more, your mind at peace. Feel the waves crash against your body, feel the sound started to disperse.

And feel the hand that hit your shoulder.

You jolted up to see a boy with neat fringe hair cut, and nerdish glasses. He looked at you with softness, his hand lifting up to wave at you. You swore you could see a small bit of blush on his pale cheeks. There stood the Wayne brother of this class.

Tim Drake.

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[sibsteria]

pls for the love of god write more spencer. ur writing is everything

The difference between love and pretending…

Spencer Agnew x fem!Reader

a/n ask and ye shall receive

Masterlist

Warnings/Content: This be a short one, little bit of angst, pining, kissing, cheating, alcohol

Summary: He dated your friend, granted she treated him like dirt and you, doesn’t that break some kind of girl code? But he stood there, oh so beautiful and you just…

New! Spencer Agnew Prompt Series!

Prompt: “I can’t stop thinking about the last time we kissed.” “You say you don’t love me but you kissed me back like you did.”

Flashback

The living room was heavy with the heartbreak of your best friend and colleague, for that matter. A stupid romcom blaring colour from the tv that he swore he didn’t like in the dim light room, wine drunk to high heaven, scattered takeaway containers around the table and a big big box of chocolate.

Having just broken up with your friend, catching her kissing one of her guy friends when she thought she was alone, you were here to help him feel better. You didn’t know if it was working, but you hope it was, you hated seeing him like this- not because you had a crush or anything. You set them up together so really it’s your own fault, your own fault that you had to watch the two people you love in this world kiss over and over, your own fault he sat here upset.

The tension grew awkward after he spoke, “I should have dated you instead.” He laughed, but in a sort of self deprecation way. And the alcohol that cling to your brain made the case even worse as you blurted out- “Maybe…” Your eyes met his, you know it was wrong- he was going through heartbreak and he had belonged to your friend not six hours ago and…

He leaned down, unsure of what he was actually doing right now, and sure enough your lips met. It turned sloppy and messy, your lipstick smearing over his face as you gripped each others clothing.

What were you doing?

You felt embarrassed at yourself, he was hurting and you just let him kiss you like that, how selfish can you be?

Soon after you had pulled away, you made an excuse and left, you can’t do this to him or to yourself. You didn’t want to stay and become a rebound girl for the man you were pretty sure you loved.

You didn’t talk about it after that night, the rooms went silent and stuffy when it was just the two of you, neither of you knowing what to say.

Both of you tried to build your friendship back up, eventually getting to a point where you could exchange niceties when working, but in the back of your head you were sort of regretting what happened.

Until….

“Can I talk to you for a second…alone?” You paused as you packed up to leave, it was getting late and you didn’t want to bother the clean up crew.

“Um, yeah, sure- is everything okay?” You ask, your eyes darted anywhere but his face.

“No.” He put it plain and simple, it had been at least four months since that night, was he still angry at you?

“Oh…” Was all you could say, waving goodbye to your desk buddies before it left just the two of you.

“I can’t stop thinking about the last time we kissed.” He huffed out, swiping some hair out of his eyes.

“Ah…what do you mean?” You knew this was coming eventually, it was stupid to think it wouldn’t.

“I can’t stop thinking about it, about you…” You blink at his words, about you?

“About me?” Your breathing became a little heavier as the office was silent and still.

“About how much I want to kiss you again…” You gasped quietly, was he on drugs?

“Spencer…”

“I get it, if you don’t feel the same way but…I kind of know you do…” He trails off, looking a little awkward.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” You panicked a little, how did he know about your feelings? Was this a trick? You betted on Ian spilling the beans, of course he did!

“I feel like I used you that night, the night we kissed because…I knew you had feelings for me and I just…wanted to feel like someone loved me.” He’s upset at his own words, at himself for taking advantage of you and your feelings for him. You had gotten it all wrong, he wasn’t angry at you. You stayed calm even thought you felt utterly embarrassed that he had known about your feelings for so long.

“I…thought I was using you…because of how I felt and I thought I was being selfish letting you kiss me when I knew you loved her.” Her being your friend, of course.

“Let me kiss you again…” He stepped towards you, a fire in his eyes.

“What? Why?” You don’t want your feelings played around like that.

“Because…I, I like you back.” He softens at you, “Since that night, since the kiss, it’s like you messed with me…and I can’t stop thinking about you.” This can’t be true, it was just convenience.

“Spencer, no, you don’t. It’s just-“

“Yes…I do, I know the difference between love and pretending.” He was a smart man, of course he knew, not that you fully believed it.

“Okay, well…” You couldn’t do this to your friend, could you? You had only just patched things up after being angry at her for so long for breaking his heart, how would it look now if you just swooped him up? “I can’t…because she-“

“Forget about her, I stopped thinking about her the moment our lips touched and it’s not like she doesn’t deserve this…you shouldn’t care about her feelings more than your own.” Why was he so right?

“How are you so sure I love you, still? I don’t.” You had it coming as soon as you said that, your voice wavering because of the dishonesty in it. You couldn’t do this to her-

He scoffed, putting his hands up and cupping your jaw before pulling you into the most phenomenal kiss of your life, it happened quickly and you followed suit- kissing him back with the same passion.

His hands tangled in your hair as you came up to steady yourself on his chest, it went on for a while before he pulled away- a sick grin on his features.

“You say you don’t love me but you kissed me back like you did.” His eyes are shining as you can’t find anything to deny.

“I…” You swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat, you didn’t know what to say.

“One date? If we aren’t a match then that’s the end…but I don’t see that happening, I really, really want this to work with you. Don’t think about what she might think or say. We were friends for much longer and…you don’t need someone like her in your life” She did treat you terribly, you were always so kind to people and they took it for granted more often than not.

“You know, you are really stubborn.” You suppressed a smile, looking at him with a glint of joy in your eyes.

“Tomorrow? I’ll pick you up at 6? They do discounts on the bowling place down the street after 8, we could get some dinner…or something like that?” That sounded amazing, a chill first date.

“Perfect.” You bite your bottom lip, smiling.

“You won’t regret it.” He leans in to kiss your cheek.

What have you gotten yourself into?

[wholemeallbread]

Btw the toxic bf hc(?) drabble(?) idk Rin made me sick to the stomach and made me feel anxiety ( which is a good thing) I never stopped thinking about it you have some insane talent.......I would love to see you build on it more...

OH YK WHAT i was thinking literally yesterday how the song heather would fit rin sm... though i was thinking it would be the opposite and kinda like a love triangle with sae sorta thing... or maybe just like thinking of him as a younger brother?? like youd be wearing sae's sweater/jersey hehe ANYWAYS i don't remember what i wrote so lets just wing it!!! ill do a liiiiittle bit more

honestly? rin's childhood friend is perfect. pretty, talented, outgoing... not only that, but she hailed personality traits that rin had previously expressed that he disliked. whenever you tried to be playful with him, he would harshly brush you off, but when she did it, all of sudden he didn't mind. he hated it when you borrowed his clothes without asking, but when his friend admits that she stole at least half of his hoodies before she left, and all of a sudden he didn't mind.

you genuinely thought that you were all of rin's firsts. when you first got together, he admitted that was true. until you found out he was lying. and how did you find out? through her instagram post. her with an arm around his shoulder, winking at the camera while simultaneously having her lips smooshed against his cheek. "remember our first kiss? 💋" was the bio. you knew she only meant well, in a more than comfortable sort of banter, that she probably didn't know about the relationship in the first place because she could be a little ditzy and forgetful... god, you wanted to believe that so bad, and you knew it would always be rin at fault.

you doubt rin even introduced you as his partner in the first place. the amount of times she's invited herself to your dates together to restaurants is abysmal, and the only reason you continuously ask to keep going on dates with him was in an attempt to finally get some alone time. it's not that she's bad company – absolutely not. it's just the way her and rin subtly interact when you're right there next to him is what sets you off.

you always notice those longing glances in her direction when it's her time to leave. you always notice how he cares about her just that little bit more, picking off the food she doesn't like on her plate or making an effort to wipe the messes that she spills on herself. you always notice how he's that little bit more punctual, even threatening to leave you behind when you're running only a minute late. yes, he's done that for you in the past; but now? it's like he's not even the same man you used to know. he doesn't even flinch when those same things happen to you.

and now? you're starting to think that she takes priority over you.

[sunflowersonatas]

marry you: drabble

bsf!james potter x f!reader / fluff

summary: heat of the moment proposal— somehow, it doesn’t feel that strange to accept.

a/n: my heart hurts. i think about this a lot.

wc: 425

i usually imagine james, and i think the typical fanon agrees, as a very cheesy, extra-romantic, over-the-top kinda partner. always wants to give you the most and spoil you, because you truly deserve it, for putting up with him.

i’d love to imagine some fancy elegant proposal, you two on the beach at sunset, just the soothing waves and his gentle voice proclaiming his love. huge rock.

but let’s be real. seventh year, war was looming, the world was a scary place. and this man was not playing around. you guys weren’t even dating yet, just best friends, but he always knew.

“i think we should get married,” he’d said to you one night on the couch. it was a joke, or it started as one.

“right, that would solve all my problems,” you countered effortlessly. you were just friends at this point, complaining to each other over your respective love lives, or lack thereof. 

you laughed, so did he. 

but then when you turn to him, he’s not laughing anymore.

“marry me,” he says again, a whisper this time, with bated breath. the air shifts. 

“james—”

“say yes.”

you should really think about it. you should consider this carefully— it’s a goddamn proposal, major life event, hello. weigh the pros and cons, unbiased, considering the war, the uncertainty, the sheer insanity of what he’s just asked you to do.

and you do consider it, for one singular second.

and in that second you realize you can’t think of one good reason to say no.

the past seven years you’ve been saying yes to him. yes, i’ll copy my notes down for you. yes, i’ll sneak out with you. yes, i’ll always be here.

and this just feels like another yes, simple as that. you shrug, feeling too composed for the moment. maybe it’s shock.

“alright,” you answer. like he just asked you to pass the fudge flies.

“alright?” he echoes, jaw suddenly gone slack. like he misheard, or like he was expecting some hesitation, some pushback. normally you’d sit there and list all the reasons why his idea was incredibly foolish and irresponsible, but you weren’t doing any of that.

you shrug again. “yes, james, i’ll marry you.” can’t make it any clearer than that.

he nearly tackles you in a crushing hug, sharing the weight and lightness of the moment at once with you. his fingers clutch at you tightly, like he’s afraid you’ll slip from them.

“you’re serious?” he queries, breathless. 

“no, you’re thinking of the other one.” you answer smugly.

he groans. “i’m gonna kiss you now.”

♡

☀️🌻

[ssentimentals]

hi love ur works! can i request 43 and 45 for idol!cheol and idol!reader?

hi babe! aw, thank you :') thank you for requesting, hopefully you'll like it! 💜

prompt: realization of the feelings at the Worst Possible Moment & fake dating

'pr relationships' are very common in the idol world. seungcheol never particularly cared for semantics but he wished he did, because when he got into pr relationship with you, he was totally clueless. the whole 'fake dating' thing spiraled from few videos of you two on the awards ceremony laughing and then your fans made their own conclusions and... well. seungcheol supposes there are weirder things out there than seeing an article about himself being in happy relationship with you, when in reality he never even met you outside of big events.

'it worked very well,' his manager says, smiling at him reassuringly. 'it's a normal practice, seungcheol. we will just put out a statement that you two didn't manage to hold on to your love due to very busy schedules and that's it, you will officially be a free man. those five months were probably very tiring for you.'

seungcheol doesn't think he should say that those five months were actually the best months of his life, so he wisely keeps his mouth shut. he tried to ask around about this - are there any pr relationships that turned out to be real? did any couple in the history go from 'fake dating' to very much real dating? answer is no and it weighs heavily on his chest. he never thought how fake dating would work, but you made it so easy. going out with you was awkward at first but then? days when you two were supposed to meet quickly became his favorites. he anticipated them, got ready for them, enjoyed them fully. somehow from 'just another idol' you turned into 'a good friend' and then-

'okay, let's get this done. today is the day we put an end to that pr stunt,' his manager pats him on the back. 'she and her manager are already inside.'

seungcheol thinks that universe is probably laughing at him right now. he's about to walk into the meeting where you two are supposed to sign the document specifying the end of 'pr stunt' and 'fake dating' and seungcheol? seungcheol wants none of that. seungcheol wants to take your hand and kiss you for the first time in those five months. he wants to wrap his arms around you and look into your eyes and tell you that he's fallen in love for real. he wants to go on those dates but not because it's an obligation due to contract, but because he genuinely wants to spend time with you. he wants you to be his real girlfriend with no pretense. and he thinks that you might want it too. after five months seungcheol likes to think that he knows you well and if there's even a tiny chance that you might feel the same - he's going to go for it.

'any questions before we start?' the lawyer asks once everyone sits down.

seungcheol chews on his bottom lip. you're sitting in front of him, looking as nervous as he feels. he wants to reach out and take your hand in his, wants to tell you that there's nothing to worry about, that he will handle it all. he truly is an idiot for figuring his feelings out the day this contract is supposed to end. 'i have a question,' he says loudly, startling everyone. you look up at him with raised eyebrows and cheol leans on the table, stretching his hand out to you. 'you're with me, yes?'

you blink. there's moment of hesitation but then you clasp his hand. 'not sure what's happening, but yeah, i'm with you.'

seungcheol gives your hand a squeeze. that's all he needs. 'what if i didn't want to break up?' he asks, causing both managers to freeze in shock. 'what if i wanted to keep going?' you start to pull your hand out of his grip and he quickly adds: 'as a real thing this time.'

'seungcheol, what?' you breathe out with widened eyes. 'what-'

'for real this time,' he repeats, turning to you. you look shocked but you also look hopeful and yeah, seungcheol is going all in. 'you and me. as a couple. no contract anymore, no stupid pr things that we have to do. just us.'

'just us,' you repeat in awe. blush colors your cheeks when the meaning behind his words resonates. 'cheol, i-'

'with me?' he asks, interlacing your fingers. 'still with me, yeah?'

his manager is going to kill him. shocked looking lawyer will probably have his ass too. but none of it matters when your eyes sparkle prettily at him. when you lean closer, smiling. when you squeeze his hand in reassurance. 'yeah. still with you.'

seungcheol smiles. there's some stuff happening at the background: managers bickering, lawyer shouting. none of it matters though, not when he moves his chair until he's right next to you. when you let him kiss your cheek and your shoulder. 'can't wait to take you out on a real date,' he whispers, grinning.

you chuckle, leaning on his right side. 'me too.'

people on the background fade. seungcheol kisses your hand and smiles - nothing else matters.

a/n: oh this was so fun to write hehe :D hope you enjoyed, let me know! - nini

request your own here

my other seventeen work is here

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part ten: three's a crowd

word count: 2.6k (yikes!)

warnings: none - lmk if i missed any!

nine | ten | eleven

The coffee was bitter today.

Maybe they were trying a new roast, or it was a bad batch of beans, but whatever it was left  bitter aftertaste in his mouth. He was at his same corner spot, observing the scene around him.

Y/N stood at the till in the front, where she flitted back and forth between her stations, a whir of seamless movement as she worked to complete orders. The customers of the day were scattered about – engaged in lively conversation, skimming potential reads, or working on laptops in various nooks and crannies.

But all of that was only background noise. Even with his phone in his hand, Lando’s focus wasn’t on his screen.

Up at the counter, Y/N was talking to someone—a customer, a guy who looked vaguely familiar but not someone he’d paid much attention to before. He had dark hair and smooth features. Tall, but not intimidatingly so. 

Lando's jaw tightened slightly as he observed the way Y/N's shoulders weren’t held as stiff as they were around most people. She wasn’t awkward. Not in the usual way. Her hands still fidgeted—tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, adjusting her glasses—but not as nervously as she usually did.

She appeared… comfortable. Familiar, even.

Lando leaned back in his seat, expression unreadable as he watched the exchange.

“…You’ve been slacking,” Alex teased, nodding toward a book on the counter with ruffled pages and a bookmark sticking out at an odd angle towards the end. “This is the same one you were reading last week.”

Y/N scoffed. “Excuse you, I’ve been busy.”

Alex smirked, leaning on the counter. “Busy making my coffee?”

She rolled her eyes, swatting him playfully. “Busy running a café that you practically live in!”

“Hey, I’m keeping your business afloat!”

Y/N snorted, shaking her head as she finally slid his drink toward him. “More like testing my patience.”

Alex grinned, picking up the mug and taking a sip. “Oh please – I’m the best part of your day.”

Y/N pointedly ignored that, instead changing the subject. “How’s that project of yours going? Still think your professor is out to get you?”

Alex groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “One hundred percent. I swear, she has it out for me!”

Y/N laughed—soft, genuine. For some reason, the sound of it settled uneasily in his chest.

It couldn’t possibly have been that funny. “Anyway,” Alex continued, “I was actually gonna ask—”

Before Lando could hear the rest, his phone buzzed, snapping him out of his thoughts.

He exhaled sharply, turning his attention away and back to his screen.

It didn’t matter. He didn’t care. Y/N could talk to whoever she wanted. 

Lando grabbed his cup and got up, expression unreadable. He walked right past the main counter and dropped his trash into the bin, and left.

Because what the fuck was he supposed to do with the fact that he suddenly, deeply hated the sight of someone else making her laugh?

“Are you free this weekend?”

Y/N looked up from the book she had been shelving, blinking owlishly at the unexpected question.

Alex Albon stood a few feet away, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, a hesitant yet hopeful look on his face.

One of her most faithful regulars, he was easygoing, intelligent, and had a sense of humor that often made long shifts a little more bearable. And now, he was asking her out.

Y/N opened her mouth, then shut it, caught entirely off guard.

“Oh.” A pause. “Uh. Like… in what way?”

Alex chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “In a way where I take you out to dinner. And I believe, ideally, you’d say yes.”

Oh.

Y/N felt warmth creep up the back of her neck.

This was normal. People went on dates. She was people, right?

“Um…” She hesitated, then bit her lip nervously. 

The Thai man in front of her raised his eyebrows, realizing he’d apparently caught her off guard. “Or- Or you could take your time to think about it! We could do that too.”

“That second one.”

Alex grinned. “Cool, cool. I’ll take what I can get.” Then, as if only just realizing that he needed to close out this conversation somehow, his smile grew a bit more nervous.

“I’ll, uh, see you around then, yeah?”

She nodded again, smiling softly now that the initial shock was beginning to wear off and trying to ignore the way her heart picked up slightly.

A possible date. With Alex.

“So… this guy. What’s he like?”

Y/N glanced up from the receipts she’d been sorting, blinking at her coworker’s mischievous smile. Susie was too observant and it was a trait she found very annoying.

She huffed, shoving her laptop shut. “I never said yes.”

“But,” Alex leaned in with an exaggerated grin, “you’re thinking about it.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I don’t know. It’s just dinner.”

“Sounds to me like you’re considering it.”

She exhaled, reluctant. She was considering it. Maybe it was because she had been spending so much time at the café, maybe it was because it had been a while since she’d gone out, but when Alex—charming, well-spoken, easy-going—had asked, she hadn’t outright said no.

He was nice. Funny. Attentive, certainly.

So why did she hesitate?

Susie nudged her shoulder. “You should go.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why do you care?”

The blonde girl grinned. “Namely because I like chaos, and watching you awkwardly navigate a date sounds really entertaining.”

She groaned, shoving her lightly before grabbing her things. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, here you are, still talking to me.”

“I was just wrapping up my shift! But apparently peace and quiet is too much to ask for nowadays,” she sighed, shaking her head in a dramatic display of disappointment, but a small smile tugged at her lips as she finally grabbed her things and went to clock out.

Maybe Susie was right.

It was just one dinner.

The next time Lando stopped by, he caught the tail end of a conversation—Y/N chatting with some guy standing further down the bar counter, leaning against the granite. It was the guy from the other day.

The funny one, Lando's mind provided unhelpfully.

“…so yeah, that’s why I was thinking maybe Friday? But if you’re busy, we can always—”

“No, no, not at all! I’m not busy,” the guy said, smiling easily. “Friday sounds perfect.”

Lando slid up to the counter, his expression impassive, even as something in his chest tightened. Y/N noticed him immediately, a smiling blooming as she recognized him. “Oh! Hey, Liam.”

The guy turned, flashing Lando a friendly smile. “You know each other?”

“She’s my coffee dealer,” Lando said dryly, nodding toward her. Y/N rolled her eyes. “This is Alex.”

Lando barely acknowledged him. His gaze flicked between them, sharp and assessing.

“So,” he started, his tone deceptively light, “what’s Friday?”

Alex answered first. “We’re going out.”

Lando hummed, his fingers tapping idly against the counter. “S’that so?”

Y/N tilted her head, chuckling sheepishly. Suddenly, her cheeks felt very warm. “You sound surprised.”

Lando shrugged. “Didn’t know you were into the dating scene.”

She gave him a look. “You’ve never asked. You barely stick around to drink your coffee when you come anyways.”

Fair point.

But Lando wasn’t thinking about that. He was thinking about how Alex looked at her, about the easy way he leaned in, and he was thinking about how much he hated it.

It was irrational. Fucking stupid. Entirely irrational.

But it was there all the same.

Still, he smirked, playing it off. “Well then, have fun.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, like she was trying to read him. Something sounded off, but maybe she was only imagining it. “Thanks, Li.”

Alex chuckled, tipping his head in greeting to Lando before reaching out to shake his hand. “Look, I’ve unfortunately got to head out for a thing, but it was nice meeting you.”

Lando finally looked at him properly.

The guy had no idea.

No idea who Lando really was. No idea what it meant that he was standing here, having this conversation.

No idea how easy it would be for Lando to make sure that this little date never happened. But he wouldn’t, of course, because that would be downright pathetic. So instead, Lando only shook his hand with the most believable smile he could muster, lifted his coffee in a lazy salute in her direction, before walking out as well.

Let her go on her stupid date.

See if he cared.

He didn’t think much about the conversation after that. At least, he tried not to.

But a couple of days later, when he stopped by again, he overheard something that made his jaw go tight.

“Wait—you actually said yes?”

Another distantly familiar voice, someone who probably worked at the café. A brunette girl wearing a black apron with an embroidered logo identical to Y/N’s stood leaning against the frame of the doorway leading to the back.

“Why not?” Y/N’s voice responded, amused.

Lando turned his head slightly, attention drawn to the conversation near the bookshelf.

“It’s just… I didn’t think you’d go for him,” Kika replied. One of her coworkers, it seemed.

Y/N huffed a laugh. Y/N was half-certain that Kika’s current boyfriend had something to do with the town’s street racing ring, so perhaps the chances of someone like Kika seeing the appeal in someone like Alex would be quite low. 

“He’s… y’know, nice. And it’s just a date.”

Lando exhaled slowly through his nose, forcing himself to release the tension in his jaw before it became obvious. It wasn’t like he cared.

Y/N wasn’t part of his world. She wasn’t supposed to be part of his anything.

Yet he found himself thinking about how she’d called them friends. Lando suddenly wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

Y/N didn’t date often. She was too busy with work, with school, with single-handedly trying to manage everything in the chaos that is life after moving to Monaco. 

But Alex had been… easy to say yes to. He was smart, charming, funny, the kind of guy who made conversation effortless. And she had to admit, the date was actually nice.

They met at a small Italian place near her campus, one with dim lighting and warm bread served fresh from the oven.  Alex was easy to talk to, easy to laugh with.

But still, something felt… off. Not bad, exactly. Just—like her mind was somewhere else, distracted.

But she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

A few nights later, Lando stepped into Books & Brews, expecting to find Y/N behind the counter as usual.

But she wasn’t there.

Margot, a ginger, elderly woman who owned the place, smiled at him as she worked the register. “Oh, she’s off tonight, dear.”

Lando frowned. “Off?”

Margot laughed good naturedly. “She has a life, you know. Can’t spend all her time making coffee for the likes of you, now can she?”

He rolled his eyes, ignoring the tightness in his chest.

He didn't need any stupid coffee anyway.

Later that night, back at his penthouse, Max Fewtrell strolled into the room with his usual easy confidence, dropping into the chair opposite Lando.

“You look like someone kicked your dog.”

Lando ignored him, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “What do you want?”

“Nothin’, man. Was just sayin’.”

He wisely decided not to make any further comments about it for the rest of the night.

Y/N didn’t know why she was nervous.

It was just a date.

A totally normal date with a totally normal guy.

Well, okay, not totally normal. Alex was charming. That much had been obvious from the start. He had this way of making people feel seen, of listening attentively, of slipping in easy compliments without making it weird. He was the kind of guy who made everyone feel like they were the most interesting person in the room. It was hard not to like him.

So when he asked if she wanted to grab dinner sometime, she figured—why not? It wasn’t like she was seeing anyone.

It wasn’t until she was actually sitting across from him at a dimly lit restaurant that she realized how out of practice she was at dating. Now, she sat across from Alex at a cozy little restaurant, her fingers wrapped around her glass.

“I have to be honest,” he said, grinning over the rim of his drink. “I didn’t actually think you’d say yes.”

Y/N blinked, surprised. “Why?”

Alex shrugged, setting his glass down. “You always seem a little… I don’t know, in your own world. Thought maybe you wouldn’t be interested in dating.”

She felt herself flush slightly, adjusting her glasses. “I mean, I like books. But I also like people.”

Alex smiled, warm and teasing. “Well that’s good to know.”

“So,” Alex leaned forward with an easy smile, resting his wrists on the table. “Tell me something about you that nobody else knows.”

Y/N hesitated, stirring her drink absentmindedly. Maybe there was some blushing, too. She wasn’t used to having this much attention on her, after all – all the other times they’d interacted had been in the controlled cacophony of her cafe. “That’s a lot of pressure for a first date question.”

“C’mon! Humor me just for a second.”

She thought for a second, then shrugged. “I read the endings of books before I finish them.”

Alex’s expression twisted in exaggerated betrayal. “No. You don’t.”

She smiled. “I do!”

“That’s got to be a crime against literature or something.”

Y/N laughed. “I like knowing how things end. It makes the journey less stressful.”

Alex just shook his head, mock-offended. “I don’t know if I can be seen in public with you now.”

“Your loss.”

They fell into an easy conversation after that, and for a while, Y/N felt herself relaxing. Alex was good company—fun, charming in a way that wasn’t too overbearing. It was nice.

But there was a moment when his phone vibrated on the table. He glanced at the screen and tensed, his entire demeanor shifting just slightly.

Y/N noticed.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

Alex forced a weak smile, before taking a deep breath. “Yeah, yeah. It’s nothing important.”

The words sounded believable enough, but there was something in the way he looked after he slipped the phone back into his pocket that made her pause. He looked sad.

But Alex was intent on making this a good first date, and so the conversation started up again. They talked about his project, her books, their tastes in music. She learned that she and Alex shared a weakness for corny jokes after laughing until her stomach hurt. He was funny, effortlessly so, and she found herself laughing more than she expected.

Maybe this could be something.

Maybe she had been overthinking things.

It wasn’t until the end of the night, when they stepped out onto the quiet street, that she realized someone was watching.

A figure leaned into the shadow that draped over the side of the building, half-obscured by the dim streetlight.

Her breath hitched. She swallowed hard, trying not to react, but something must have shifted in her expression because Alex frowned, looking worried. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” she said quickly, forcing a smile. “Yeah! Just- just tired, is all.”

He didn’t seem entirely convinced, but he let it go. “I’ll walk you home?”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m closeby anyway.”

Alex searched her face for a second before finally nodding. “Alright, but let me know when you get home safe, yeah?”

She nodded, giving him a small smile before turning and beginning the walk back home.

a/n: pls send me asks so we can yap abt this series! i have such exciting plans for it that i wish i could write it all in one night truly

[jingyichickenwings]

This is less of a Deep Cut and more of a case of schadenfreude, but I love when various members of a creative team are messy in public about their high budget group project. Reality TV for nerds. It speaks to a profound lack of media training or fucks given. You guys realize that future employers can Google you, right? Unintentionally hilarious.

Linke and Yee were told in no uncertain terms that their season 1 storyboard was shit, so they hired Overton, who hired half a dozen actual writers, and they did basically a full overhaul. The script was objectively much better. But this was Linke's baby, and several years later you still see signs that he is Big Mad that he didn't get his way, and that he doesn't know or care about what actually became season 1 canon. I'm sorry that your Jewish stereotype villain didn't get to be a pedophile, I guess? Idk. Yes, yes, I am sure your version of Svengali is really innovative. Maybe someday, buddy.

Meanwhile they start writing season 2 in early 2020, while the season 1 air date isn't until November of 2021. So, they don't have public feedback on the script yet, just, yanno, actual writing professionals. Anyway, according to Overton, they needed to fire the non-management part of the writing team because of the pandemic?! Lmao babygirl you do your best and I respect commitment to the official PR excuse but nobody sensible believes this. Netflix writers average 110k/year, and you needed six or so from season 1. That is not a big part of the overall budget. Also, y'all could have saved money with Zoom meetings.

So the very thing that saved the season 1 script got line-itemed "because of the pandemic". That sounds like an extremely convenient excuse for Linke to be like, no, fuck you all, we are going back to Plan A, the rough draft of season 2 based on his shitty version of season 1. Honey. That ship has sailed. You already lost this argument.

So presumably some combination of Linke/Yee/Riot/Netflix was like, it's important that we have at least one actual grown adult writer on staff. So Overton gets to keep her job.

Now, I want to preface this by saying that season 2 would have been even worse without Overton. That being said, there is a reason they needed a deeper bench of writing staff. Overton and Linke over-connect with the characters Caitlyn and Jayce respectively, to a degree that they frequently forgot to evaluate how other characters would likely behave in certain situations. It led to contrivances, plot holes, etc. There is a lot I could add here but tbh go read any of the meta already out there.

In addition to the Mary Sue type behavior, Overton thought it would be Neat to make the writing more like Avengers, like multiverse time travel fuckery is a shiny beach pebble and not narrative napalm. What in the ADHD was she thinking? Even if they had the run time to world build enough for this, there was nothing in season 1 to even suggest this as an option. And let's be fucking honest, multiverse a lot of why Marvel is on a downward spiral. If Viktor can go to Build-A-Bear Workshop and 3-D print a million Jayces, why should I give a shit about his kill count? He can just be kind, rewind, and try again. Actions are decoupled from consequences.

Anyway, moving back to the topic at hand of the Arcane team. Apparently, Overton, Linke and Yee only half-wrote season 2?! Linke said something about how they "extensively collaborated with Fortiche on the story"? Which, it's not inherently a bad idea to get creative feedback from your art team, but ummm, maybe the writers and Fortiche should have worked to a point of agreement on basic story beats. Based on a lot of what Fortiche has said, the art for season 2 passive aggressively advances what they wanted the writing to be against Linke's wishes. They literally have just been straight up disagreeing with Linke and getting paid for it. Which, to be fair, I respect the sheer pettiness! Linke can't write his own damn show but wants to slow down the very expensive art team? When the actual writers that got fired "because of the pandemic" would have caught a lot of the season 2 issues?

So post airing of season 2, Overton is all about that girlboss copaganda, Linke is having multiple public meltdowns and getting fired by Riot(?), and multiple voice actors and artists at Fortiche are being like "yeah, we actually wanted something else so there are now multiple competing narratives for season 2". Which is hilarious. The way in which the show is messy is the same way in which the creators are messy. These bitches are a cautionary tale about hubris and the need to engage in team-building.

[losers-clvb]

tastes like candy // billy butcher

pairing: billy butcher x female!reader

summary: billy wants a taste of you and you're happy to serve him his new favorite meal.

content: age gap (reader is around 23), use of song lyrics twice, use of "whore", smut, oral sex (female receiving), improper use of the dining table, mention of reader's past sexual experiences, protective butcher if you squint, butcher is reader's father's colleague of sorts

word count: 3.7k

note: direct use of lyrics are from "often" by the weeknd, indirect use of lyrics and the title are from "candy" by doja cat. i love me some karl urban. i'm rewatching "the boys" so prepared to be sick of me and my obsession with butcher and soldier boy.

masterlist

----

You were supposed to be home alone. Your father had left early that morning for the airport, a last minute work trip, and you were planning on spending the day in complete isolation. Between your dorm mate at college, your father wanting dad-daughter time, and the few failed dates, it had been months since you had a chance to just be with yourself.

So, here you were, dancing around the kitchen with your self-proclaimed “ovulation” playlist blaring through the speakers of your phone. You weren’t worried about keeping quiet, after all, who would you disturb? The houseplants?

“Baby, I can make that pussy rain, often,” you sung along with the song. You wouldn’t be caught dead saying things like this in public, but it was fun to do when you were in the mood for it. You slammed the top of the coffee maker down, knowing it would stay closed if you did it any gentler.

“Love, you’ve got a filthy little mouth.”

“Jesus Christ!” You gasped, jumping when you heard the thick British accent cut through your music. You spun around, fingers gripping onto the counter to stabilize yourself. There, standing in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, was Billy Butcher. You knew this man, one of your father’s old friends. In all honesty, it had been years since you saw the man, and there had been more than one occasion when you heard your father grumbling about the Brit, but somehow he was here.

“Oi, don’t stop on my account.” Billy smirked, then gestured for you to keep moving.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You asked after a centering breath. You turned back to the coffee maker and frowned when you noticed it was filling far slower than you remembered. You could feel eyes on your ass.

“Stayed the night. A favor from your daddy.” Billy answered, tilting his head to really get a good look at your body. If he hadn’t been standing in your house, he wouldn’t have recognized you. The last time he had the pleasure of your company, you were a shy pre-teen with braces and a serious lack of control over your blushing. You had grown in the years, puberty gifting you a good set of breasts and pulling the baby fat off your body in all the right ways.

“He didn’t mention it.” You mumbled, clicking the lower volume button on your phone to a manageable level. You turned your head just enough to watch his eyes trail your body. You couldn’t tell if you were grateful or embarrassed in your clothing choice for the day; a tight pair of leggings and a crop top you otherwise only wore for sleep. Yes, you had harboured a crush on the man since you had met him, even if he had only ever treated you like a little girl. His absence from your life hadn’t done much to squash the feelings and there had been many a-nights when you had gotten off to the mental image of him. Not that you were going to do anything about it. You were a good little daughter, and Billy was your father’s colleague of sorts.

“Nah, I don’t imagine he would. I was supposed to be gone hours ago, love.” You heard the swish of Billy’s coat as he walked into the kitchen. He shuffled through the cupboards like he owned the place, pulling out two mugs for your slow-brewing coffee. You watched him, attention drifting to the top three buttons of his shirt that he had neglected to fasten together.

“Guess you better get going then.” You sighed, snapping your eyes away when he caught you looking. You cleared your throat and reached for one of the mugs. Billy held it just out of reach, causing one of your breasts to brush up against his arm.

“Wonder if dear ol’ dad knows what kinda things you got in that head of yours,” Billy teased. You huffed out a breath and took a step back, crossing your arms. Bad idea. It just pushed your breasts together, making your cleavage peek through the v-neckline of your shirt more. Billy’s tongue shot out to lick his lips, something you didn’t catch.

“You don’t know half the things I think about, Billy.” You defended. He almost thought he had offended you, but then a playful smile crossed your face. You scrunched your nose at him and swiped the mug from his grasp. Billy smirked at the clumsy pour of coffee, watching the dark liquid almost spill. You filled his mug as well, knowing he wasn’t leaving until he got at least a cup in.

“Is that right?” Billy asked, his voice lilting. You nodded, pouring a healthy portion of sugar into your drink. “What keeps the congressman’s daughter up at night?”

You rolled your eyes. Like you needed another reminder of your father’s job, the thing that had caused so many headaches in your life. It even bled into your dating life. Turns out most of the guys you had gone out with just so happened to be political majors, and they were just wondering if you could put in a good word for them. Of course, this all came after you had already faked an orgasm from them.

“It might offend you.” You brushed off. You couldn’t tell him that most nights, you were thinking of him. Thinking of his thick fingers pushing into you, his whiskey-scented breath ghosting over your skin, what dirty things he might growl into your ear. You shuffled into the dining room, taking a seat in a navy-blue upholstered chair at the oak table.

“Darling, not much can offend a bloke like me.” Billy bit out cheekily, sending you a wink when he followed you to the table.

“Mhm,” you hummed. You made a face at him, taking a sip of your coffee. He smiled back at you. You flicked your eyes down to his hands, watching the way his mug was dwarfed in them. You couldn’t manage to pull your attention away when he lifted it to his mouth, drinking down the black liquid. You watched his Adam’s apple bob when he swallowed and hadn’t realized that your lips had slightly parted at the sight until he cleared his throat. You looked up at his eyes, which twinkled in amusement. He knew the effect he had on you, though it wasn’t as if you were trying to hide it.

“Tell me,” Billy started and you knew his next words would be nothing innocent, “does it really taste like candy?” He asked, raising his eyebrows in question. You knew he was referencing one of the songs you had played earlier, but instead of questioning how long he had been watching you, you smirked and held his gaze.

“Only one way to find out.” You shot back at him. Billy seemed shocked by your bold answer, but he didn’t look away. You don’t know what came over you. Maybe it was the weeks of sexual frustration, or the stress of mid-terms. You weren’t usually one to be so direct, but for some reason, with this man who was your father’s age, you couldn’t hold back.

“Now would you look at that,” Billy leaned his back against his chair, “the princess is a dirty little whore.” He set his coffee on the table in front of him. Had anyone else called you a whore, you would have slapped the shit out of them. When Billy did it, the word sent a shock straight to your core. You squeezed your thighs together and stood from your chair.

Billy watched as you sauntered around the corner of the table before standing in front of him. You were looking down at him and when Billy tried to meet your eyes, he caught a glimpse of your hardened nipples under your shirt. He scooted his chair out, fully intending to stand up and sweep you into his arms, but you plopped down onto his lap. Your legs fell on either side of him and your chest was practically flush with his own. The cherry on top was the heat from between your legs seeping through his jeans straight to his cock.

“You want a sample?” You asked, wrapping your arms around his neck. Billy’s hands flew to your ass and he gripped at it, causing you to bite down on your lip.

“I’m having the whole bloody buffet.” Billy answered before crashing his lips into yours. You ground your hips down, moaning into his mouth when you rubbed on the seam of his jeans. He growled and pulled himself to his feet, hoisting you up with him. You didn’t have a chance to wrap your legs around his waist before he had you laid out on the table.

Billy’s hand smoothed over your thigh before finding its destination on your core, cupping itself over the fabric. You rutted your hips up, hoping to create some friction.

“Holy shit, love, you’re practically soakin’ through your trousers.” Billy pulled away to comment. You hummed out an answer, just a noise that told him you needed more. He made quick work of pulling your pants off, dragging your underwear with them. You decided it wasn’t fast enough. You swiped a few fingers through your slick, gathering it up before leaning up to stick them in his mouth. He instinctively wrapped his lips around them, tongue swirling to clean them.

You smiled proudly at him when he groaned at the taste. He released the digits with a pop noise, licking the spit from his lips. His eyes darkened with a wild glaze when he looked down on you.

“Sweeter than sugar.” Billy smirked at you, his own fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. He dragged your ass to the edge of the table, making you fall onto your back. Your head landed on the table runner, softening the blow. Your breathing quickened when he descended to his knees, his face disappearing behind the swell of your chest.

You could only see the top of his head now, his hair peeking at you. You whined when he kissed the insides of your thighs, his lips leaving sloppy, wet spots in their wake. A small bite on the dip where your leg met your pelvis earned him a throaty squeak.

Billy let his mouth linger there, the breath from his nose pushing on your skin softly. You furrowed your eyebrows, staring at his inky black locks. You expected him to go right into it to get it over with, just as every other man had done to you. This was different. He was taking his time with you.

“Bi-,” you started to say, but that’s when he decided to make his move. You felt his tongue swipe up your center, a groan vibrating through him. You threw your head back when he swirled his tongue around your clit. You bent your legs up, desperate to move some part of your body, and he used a hand to guide them over his shoulders.

You swallowed down a moan. Billy noticed this, noticed you holding back. He flexed his jaw, determined to pull every little noise out of you. He landed a light slap on your clit, smiling at the cry of pleasure.

“I don’t like quiet breakfasts, love.” He told you before lowering his mouth down onto you again. You moaned at the feeling. His lips, his tongue, his teeth. It all created a sensation that you hadn’t felt before. Somehow, it was too much and not enough at the same time. You snaked your hands down your body. Ultimately, they ended up on Billy’s, your fingertips brushing over his calloused skin.

You whimpered with his movements. You had been eaten out a few times in your life. The men you had been with always claimed to be gods at the act, hyping themselves up in between small licks. There had been one particularly cocky guy who spent more time talking than actually doing anything. From what you remember, he gave y0u about three and a half pitiful licks before jumping up to stick his dick in you, leading to a very unfulfilling night.

This was completely different.

Billy was calculated, taking his time to pull you apart. For the first time since you’d known him, he was giving his mouth a job separate from the cocky remarks and half-baked lies. You wondered if he had much experience in this. You knew he had a wife, but you had only met her once before she disappeared. Did he eat her like this, with a hunger you had only seen in stray dogs?

You choked on a breath when he twisted his head to the side, tongue dipping into your hole. He was exploring you. You wished you could see his face, wish you could watch him work away at you. The stress from college classes and any guilt you may have felt from letting a man fifteen-plus years older devour you on the dining room table flew out the window with every passing minute. You moaned, your previous gentle hold on his hands tightening. Billy twitched his index and middle fingers up subconsciously, wrapping them around a few of your fingers.

You couldn’t believe this was happening. You had dreamed about this since you were in high school, but you never imagined it would actually come to life. It was better than the scene you had conjured in your head, better than anything you could have even come up with. You rolled your hips into his face, his nose bumping against your clit.

You felt like a meal with the way he had you spread out. A flash of you the night before, eating dinner with your father while he talked about a senator’s son you might be interested in befriending -- a hint that he expected you to befriend him. You had nodded along, knowing there was no chance in hell that you would have anything in common with the boy. You were pursuing similar degrees, but then again, so were half of the politicians’ children you had met. You made a mental note to thoroughly disinfect the table after all of this, even if the housekeepers would take care of it after the weekend. You weren’t exactly keen on making Stephanie wipe up your cum.

You felt a rush of lightning shoot to your lower stomach, making you clench around his tongue. He hummed an encouraging noise, the vibration running straight to your clit.

“Ohmygod,” you rushed out, bucking your hips up. Your feet tucked under Billy’s arms in the process. The knowledge that he had the strength to pick you up and walk around with you perched on his shoulders pulled a gasp out. You arched your back with your release, grateful that Billy continued to work you through it with his lips.

Once you had relaxed onto the table, chest heaving, he stood. You were able to see his face now. His lips were swollen, cheeks flushed, and beard soaked with a mixture of his spit and you. You fluttered your lashes at him, hands slipping from his when you reached to brush a few strands from your face.

“Look at this sight!” Billy exclaimed, spreading his arms out to gesture to you. You rolled your eyes, lips parting to sigh out softly. Leave it to Billy Butcher to run his mouth after eating a girl out. “A lovely lady spread out like a proper meal, practically screamin’ my name when I’ve had my fill.”

“I did not scream your name.” You defended, propping yourself up on your elbows. You raked your eyes over his body. Not much of his skin showed, but you still felt yourself heat back up down there. You wanted this, wanted him. If you were going to have your teenage dreams brought to life, you would make sure all of them would be given a chance. You sat up completely and your fingers flew to the sides of his coat. You wiggled the fabric down his arms.

“Are you really that fuckin’ horny?” Billy asked, astonished at your quick movements. You faltered in pulling his coat off, stopping at the bend of his elbows. You looked up into his eyes, a playful smirk shooting across your face.

“If you can’t get it up, just say that.” You teased. He sucked on his teeth before pushing his lips into yours. You kissed him like he was oxygen in smoke-filled lungs. His hands brushed under your shirt, gruff fingers finding a home just under your breasts. You, without breaking the kiss to look, unbuttoned his shirt, pushing it open to reveal his chest.

You whimpered into his mouth when he wrapped a hand around one of your breasts, squeezing with a measured pressure. You pulled away to lift your shirt over your head. You threw it in a random direction and it landed haphazardly hanging off a rather expensive sculpture your father had purchased. Billy immediately bent down to tease your nipples, the chill of his drying spit bringing goosebumps to your skin.

“Enough of this foreplay, Butcher.” You breathed out, hands resting gently on his head while you cradled his face to your chest.

“Aye, aye, captain.” He mumbled into your breast cheekily. His hand trailed to the front of his jeans, quickly unbuttoning and pushing them down. He slid his coat and shirt off, letting them drop to the floor. He was standing there in only his boxers and you immediately ogled the tent in the fabric.

You were just about to hook a finger around the waistband when the doorbell rang out, announcing a visitor. You stiffened. No one was supposed to come here today. You were supposed to have a quiet morning to yourself, maybe watch a few movies. Of course, those plans had flown out the window when Billy made his presence known. Still, who was at the door?

They pushed the doorbell again, then knocked impatiently. You jumped off the table, bare feet hitting the floor. Your eyes searched for something easy to throw on and landed on Billy’s coat. It would have to do. He sent you a wolf whistle while you tied it shut. You glared at him but there was no heat in it. How could there be when your cum was still shining on his chin?

You hurried over to the door after yet another ring of the doorbell. Jesus, you thought. Whoever the hell was at the door knew you were home and they weren't leaving without acknowledgement. You twisted the bronze door handle and yanked the door open, letting the bright sun shine into the house.

There standing on your doorstep with a battered textbook on his hand, was Jimmy Lovitz, your lab partner in chemistry. He sent you a crooked smile, one that you were far too familiar with. You narrowed your eyes at him in question. He was in no way a selfless individual, so you doubted he had driven the hour from campus to deliver your textbook.

“Hey baby.” Jimmy said, eyes scanning your body. You rolled your eyes. Yep, he definitely had ulterior motives.

“I told you not to call me that, James.” You reminded him, using his legal first name to further prove your point. You had gone on one date with the boy and suddenly he thought he held some sort of possession on you.

“Oh, you seemed to like it when I had you down on your knees.” Jimmy defended. You scoffed out a breath, crossing your arms. You were about to answer when a hand snaked around your waist, landing on your stomach protectively. You looked up and behind you to see Billy leaning up against the doorframe. He had chosen to not dress himself before joining you, his boxers being the only thing between him and the rest of the world. Jimmy balked at him for a moment, obviously not expecting you to have any company. “This your dad?” He asked, pointing behind you.

“You know it’s not.” You bit back at him. Fortunately for him it wasn’t. If he had used that rude tone on your father, he would have shown Jimmy exactly what training they used to give the Marines back in the day. You leaned back into Billy’s chest.

“Mmm, right.” Jimmy answered, nodding while sizing Billy up. The older man had about eight inches and forty pounds on Jimmy, all of it wrapped up in a mouth-watering body. He met your eyes again, but his attention was caught on Billy curling a strand of your hair around his finger. He was showing off, moving your hair just enough to show more of your collarbone, silently bragging to the world of the woman he had in his arms. 

“I thought we could study together. Work on our chemistry, you know?” Jimmy said suggestively, smirking at you. You couldn’t believe him. Couldn’t he see you were already busy?

“Sorry mate, we’re focused on anatomy right about now.” Billy said slyly before you could speak. You bit back a chuckle when you saw Jimmy’s face morph into annoyance. “I was just about to teach the princess here about the male genitalia.”

“She’s already familiar with it, mate.” Jimmy shot back. It was meant to demean you, maybe, but you were more focused on the erection poking into your back.

“Thought I’d give her a larger specimen to observe.” Billy tilted his head at the younger man. “Now, why don’t you fuck off and give a good wank into your favorite sock.”

“You fuckin’ asshole.” Jimmy seethed out, taking a step forward. He didn’t enjoy being insulted, especially when they were true. You snatched your textbook from his hands.

“Goodbye Jimmy.” You told him. You could see he was about to try -- and fail -- at picking a fight with Billy, but before he could, Billy swept you into his arms. He threw you over his shoulder, giving Jimmy a good look up the coat that was wrapped around you. You giggled while he backed into your house, slamming the door in Jimmy’s face.

“Where were we?” Billy asked cheekily, giving the side of your thigh a quick peck.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

Wow this was such a surprise! I had no idea you were reading this today LMAO 🔮😉

God YES. This is the same idea I've explored in my sequel fics to ESC. It's the idea of wanting more time with a man who by necessity of his job, has to pop in and out of your life. As endearing as Russell is, that would be such a difficult obstacle to overcome in a new relationship.

Exactly! I think that it would be frustrating and a little bit sad to be in a long distance relationship especially with Russell, because he has a dangerous job and there are parts of it that he'd probably want to keep from you. I don't want to think that you couldn't rely on Russell, but I think there would be a little bit of disappointment when he couldn't make it back to you because there were complications or him having to leave suddenly for an emergency. It's funny because it kinda reminds me of how it would be to date Dean if you weren't a hunter and he was. I still need to read Every Second Counts! I'm going to add that to my tbr, which is getting longer every day 😅

Ugh I'm so glad she's got a man in her life that actually loves her and considers her the way she deserves. And if you ever write more of these two I would love to see this exploration of how Russell helps her feel beautiful and appreciated again. 💕

I know! This reader really deserves it, especially from what we all saw with her ex-husband 😒 But I really do want to make a series with these two because it would be really wonderful to show how Russell treats her so differently than any other man she's had in her life and does make her feel "beautiful and appreciated again." I feel like it would also kinda be like what you did with the reader in Midnight Espresso 💗

*snorts* yeah, like a mule, I'd imagine. 😆 But there's something so endearing about Russ wanting and insisting on fixing things around the house for her. Though of course I sympathize with her side of things. She just wants a nice healthy piece of her man. The showerhead can wait! 😏

I am obsessed with fix-it Russell! Imagining him getting his large hands dirty for me, working around the house WHEW🥵! And I can imagine him thinking of all the things this reader does at work and for her kids and him just wanting to make her life easier for when he's not there 🥹 But oh yeah, no, she likes when he fixes things but she really missed him (I would too tbh).

Oh how I cackled! 😝 She's playing dirty and I love it lmao! Girl get him!

She knows just how to work her man 😉 She will go to any level to get what she wants 👀 I don't judge her for that because it's what we all want lol.

💀💀 Get himmmmm!

Man does not know what hit him 😂

LMFAO. Okay, Russ took me out with that one. The audacity. 🤣🤣 Side note: but I love the word "salacious," especially because it fits so well with most Jackles characters. lol

It's a little bit of payback for her making him all hot and bothered 🤣 And oh yeah, I was really proud of that descriptor because we all know Ben or Dean would be throwing around some "salacious" winks 😉

Omg yay he's moving in!! That's a big step and I love that for them.

Yes! It's another step in the right direction to give Russell a more permanent place in her life and her in his! 🤗 Plus I like to think that she's the kind of person that would hate that Russell is more nomadic, doesn't have a place to call home, and that he doesn't eat a home cooked meal.

Girl Yessss - I love the body positivity in this storyverse so damn much. Thank you for continuing this giving me more Russell goodness, I really enjoy how you write him! 💜

Aww thank you so much my lovely friend 🤗 I'm so happy you enjoyed it! I really love this reader and Russell and I'm hoping that I'll get to write out more of their story and build their relationship more between this fic and Long As I Can See the Light soon! ❤️

It's Not A Wet T-Shirt Contest

Pairing: Russell Shaw x f!reader, Reader POV

Prompt: “Is that supposed to be leaking?”

Requested by: @luci-in-trenchcoats

Summary:  When your boyfriend comes into town to surprise you one weekend, you thought that you’d spend it together, turns out he has other plans. Reader is a single mom and is the niece of Teddi and Velma. Reader is described as curvy. (Technically takes place in my Long As I Can See The Light Universe, but can be read as a stand-alone.)

Tropes: Established Relationship

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because I made it more spicy than I meant it to, References to Sex, Sexual innuendo, Little bit of self-deprecating thought (reader), Cursing, Kissing, Idiots who love each other lots. I think that's everything?

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n if any. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

Tracker Masterlist

A/N: Alright, y'all this is my first fic written for my prompt celebration requested by the wonderful @luci-in-trenchcoats 😊 ENJOY!

You took another long sip of coffee from your favorite hand-painted "World's Best Mom Mug" and tried to block out the symphony of the colorful curse words and banging coming from your upstairs master bathroom.

When your boyfriend showed up this morning out of the blue to surprise you, this was not what you expected to be doing. Well, his appearance was a surprise to you, but you had a sneaking suspicion that your Aunt Teddi and her wife Velma had gotten a heads up that Russell was coming. They'd shown up about an hour before Russell had to take your son and daughter for a movie and a sleepover at their house.

But the bigger surprise was your current dilemma.

You'd expected to be tangled up with Russell in bed for hours trying to convince him to never leave you again, not be waiting downstairs while he tried to install a new shower head in your master bathroom.

You only blamed yourself.

You'd let it slip that the water pressure wasn't quite right and something that you'd thought would take a plumber twenty minutes had turned into an all day affair for Russell. 

Instead of taking you to bed, Russell had dragged you out to his car and to the nearest hardware store where he let you pick out a new shower head and where he got supplies, all the while you told him that he didn't need to, and Russell only kissed away the frown on your lips leaving you wanting more.

You always wanted more.

Russell and you had been together for five and a half months, and each time he left you found yourself wanting more. 

More of him and more time.

It was frustrating to be with a man who had a job that would pull him out of your arms as quickly as he’d appeared and leave your bed cold once more. 

It had been cold before and you didn’t want to go back to that. Didn’t want to be reminded of the cold bed over the final years of your marriage when your husband’s favorite phrases echoed through your bedroom after you put your children to bed:

“I’m tired” and “Not tonight baby, I have to work.”

Those last few years of your marriage were frustrating and did little to boost your self-esteem. Especially when your husband made you think you were annoying him and made you feel stupid for wanting more. 

With Russell there was no such thing.

When the two of you started dating and Russell realized exactly what your husband had done to you, he'd spent every waking moment making you feel more beautiful than you ever had. He listened to you, understood you, and did more for you than your husband had done in all the years that you'd been married.

But each time he left, Russell always took a little bit of yourself with him. You didn't sleep well when he was gone doing God knows what, God knows where, only that when he finally called or showed up to tell you he was okay, you didn't let go of him for hours.

There's another loud bang followed by a string of curses that make you sigh into your mug.

For fucks sake, that stupid showerhead is getting more action than I am.

You loved your boyfriend to bits, but you hated how stubborn he was sometimes.

You straighten up from where you lounged against the countertop in your kitchen, taking one more sip of coffee, before you make the trek through your living room and up the stairs towards your bedroom. 

This wasn't the first time that Russell fixed something in your home. He liked it when you made him a list of things to do when he visited, things like cleaning the gutters, nailing down the front step that always caught underfoot, mowing the lawn, etc. Things that Russell wanted to do for you because he knew how busy you got at work and with your children.

It made you love him more, because you’d never met someone so selfless before. 

When you enter the bathroom, Russell is standing in your shower, just inside the large glass double doors, soaking wet, and holding a wrench.

His usual easy smile has slipped into a frustrated frown while he stares at the bright silver shower head hanging on the wall. 

“I see things are going well.” You snort out a laugh, admiring the scene before you. 

Russell’s dark hair drips forward in lazy strands against his cheeks, his t-shirt clings to his chest like a second skin, catching in the dips and curves of your boyfriend’s muscular torso, and his usual blue jeans are stained a dark navy. The edge of his t-shirt pulls up from the top of his jeans with the stretch of his arms, giving you a view of the delicious stripe of skin just below his belly button.

For the love of french toast, the guy could win a wet t-shirt contest without batting one of those ridiculously perfect eyelashes of his.

At this point you were still trying to figure out how the hell you landed this man and why the hell he kept coming back for more of you.

“Smooth as silk.” Russell gives you a lazy smile that makes you feel like butter on a pile of buttermilk biscuits. “I just finished.”

 “Really?” 

“Mhmm.”

“Huh.” You take a step closer to admire his handiwork, so close that you can feel the warmth of his breath ghost along the side of your face, making goosebumps trail over your skin. All it does is remind you of what the two of you could be doing instead of standing inside of your walk-in shower fully clothed and the things the two of you had done in this very shower the last time he was in town.  

"Is that supposed to be leaking?" You ask, pointing to the place where the plate of the shower head fastens to the wall and where there is a trickle of water dancing down the white subway tile backsplash.

"Oh shit." Russell sighs, his shoulders drooping when he notices the stream. “I can fix that."

You note his sheepish smile. “Rus, please let me call a plumber. You’ve been up here for two hours!” 

“No way! They overcharge you and it’s what I’m here for!” He argues.

Maybe I should try a different approach.

“Rus.” You say sweetly, putting both of your hands on his stomach. Russell’s familiar green eyes flick to your hands as you begin to move them up the wet t-shirt. “When you showed up today I thought we’d be doing something a little different with our time.” 

Russell swallows. “Baby-”

“And the longer you stay in here-” You breathe taking a step forward as you continue to move your hands up, tracing the hardened muscles beneath your palms. “The less time we have together.” You gently press a kiss to the space where his shirt meets the base of his neck and you can feel the bob of his throat as he swallows again. 

“I-” He tries again, but you feel his hands come down to the curve of your hips to ground himself there. 

“Don’t you want to spend time with me?” You murmur into his skin, pressing your chest against his as your hands work up to the back of his neck. The water from his clothes soaks into yours, but you’re not cold. 

“You’re fighting dirty.” He half groans, but you don’t feel bad. Judging by the way his hands have begun to squeeze your hips and pull you tighter against him, Russell was enjoying this as much as you were. 

“But it always works.” You purr against his throat with a smirk. 

“Fuck, baby I-“ 

“Yeah?” 

Your smirk grows the more you tease him. By now you could feel your own heartbeat thudding in your chest calling out to his and despite how cold Russell’s wet clothes are, heat was dancing along your skin. 

“I really want-“ There’s a grit along Russell’s voice, as if he’s trying to hold on to some shred of self-control.

You loved that you were able to do this to him, it made you feel powerful and sexy. Two things that you hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“Hmm?” You moan softly, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck while your lips continue their path along his skin.

He groans. “I really want to do this for you, but you’re making it kinda hard-“ 

“Really?” You mutter nipping along his jaw. “That’s what I’m making hard?”

Russell pulls back from you, holding your wrists in his large hands. But he looks far from angry. His green eyes flash a darkened pine, and dance with mischief. “Baby, trust me. There is nothing more that I want to do than show you how much I missed you.” 

“Then why-" You begin to say.

“Because I know that the second I do that, we’re not going to do anything else the rest of the time I’m here. And I want to do this for you.” Russell’s eyes shift a little lighter. He releases your wrists and cups your cheek with his large hand. You can see the love you have for Russell reflected back at you in his gaze

You sigh again a little disappointed. Today really wasn’t going the way you wanted it to.  “But I missed you.” 

“I could tell.” He smirks. “Maybe your shower head would last a little longer if you didn't wear it out." Russell sends you a salacious wink that makes you blush bright red.

“Shut up!” You slap him on the shoulder, cheeks flaming. 

Russell only smirks wider at you. “You know… I’ve got a solution for that.”

“Oh do you?” You ask innocently. 

Finally, we’re getting somewhere.

Russell hesitates, his hand still stroking your cheek softly. "I could move in."

It was the last thing that you were expecting him to say.

“See I've been thinking about this for a bit." Russell  clears his throat. “I know you can’t move because of the kids but... I want to be here in your life. I hate leaving you and each time I get done with a job I always find myself driving back to you. I don't want to be anywhere else.”

Your mouth is still open in shock, eyes wide. You couldn’t find the ability to speak.

In the months that followed your divorce you’d been on a couple of dates before you met Russell, where the mere mention of your kids sent your dates scuttling into the shadows or back to whatever swamp they crawled out of, but here, standing in front of you was a man who didn’t just want you, he wanted you, and he wanted your children. 

It was a combination that you thought you’d never find, and then you’d met Russell. A man who not only loved you, he made you feel beautiful, alive, happy, and seen in a way that you hadn’t been in years. 

Not to mention that both of your children absolutely loved Russell, and he did a good job of scaring off your skeevy ex who refused to come around whenever Russell was in town because the last time Russell had broken his nose and threatened other bodily harm.

Russell’s soft smile drops a little the longer you remain silent. “But if you think that’s a bad idea or if you think it’s too fast-”

You pull him down to you for the searing kiss that you’d wanted all day long, feeling the drag of his beard against your soft skin, and the warm pillow of his lips moving in tandem with yours. 

His hands run along the curves of your body, trailing fire in their wake, the same curves that you’d hidden under long cardigans and oversized clothes, the ones that you cursed each time you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. But not since you’d met Russell. 

Not when he’d taught you that each blemish or curve you once cursed was something that could make him lose his last shred of self control and in turn, make Russell lose himself in everything you were. 

“It’s not too fast! I hate when you leave. I hate waking up in my bed each morning and not having you there holding me. ” You breathe before you kiss him again, soaking in everything that is Russell as you do. The roughness of his hands pushing up the shirt hung low on your hips, the smell of mint and gunmetal, the taste of the coffee he had this morning, and gentle drag of his wet hair against your cheeks that dip between the two of your faces when you kiss. “I want you here with me all the time.”

“Then I’ll stay.” Russell smiles so wide you can feel the click of his teeth against yours when he pulls you back in for a kiss. 

“Wait.” You smirk, leaning your forehead against his, your hands gently cupping his bearded cheeks. "If I say yes, I have one condition."

"Anything."

"Please let me call a plumber."

Russell rolls his eyes at you, but squeezes you tighter against him, green eyes flashing with mischief. “Not a chance baby.”

A/N: It was so fun to write this prompt and also to come back to these two! Thank you so much @luci-in-trenchcoats for requesting this one 🥰 If anyone else would like to ask me a prompt for my prompt celebration, here is the post:

Prompt Celebration

As always, thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, comments, and likes are not required, but are always appreciated 😊

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @livya99 @mrsjenniferwinchester @zepskies @louisanalady

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