#but I do not know if I am still good at it.

[rosiecosy]

operation: wake-up attack˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

(seventeen x reader) — fluff

a/n —just a littleee bit of canon divergence bcs im writing this from memory

"y/n, wake up."

na pd's voice barely registered in your sleep-fogged mind. you curled deeper into the blankets, pulling them over your head. "no."

"y/n."

"no."

"y/n."

"you can’t make me."

na pd sighed, rubbing his temples. this was taking way too long. inside the room, a small audience had formed—mingyu, hoshi, dino, seungkwan, joshua, and seungcheol, who was leaning on his crutches with an unimpressed look. they all stood around your bed like some kind of intervention.

"this is painful," seungkwan whispered.

"i told you she wouldn’t wake up easily," joshua muttered back.

"just carry her," seungcheol said, so done with everything. "someone get her out of bed already."

mingyu grinned. "my time to shine."

before you could even react, the blanket was ripped away, and strong arms wrapped around you.

"nooooo—" you groaned as mingyu effortlessly lifted you into his arms. "traitors. all of you."

"yeah, yeah," mingyu said, adjusting his grip so you were secured against his chest. "guess what, y/n? we’re going to italy."

you buried your face into his shoulder. "i don’t care."

"hello?" seungkwan gawked. "italy? one of the most beautiful countries in the world?"

"don’t care."

"pasta? gelato? shopping?" joshua tried.

"sleep."

"she’s hopeless," dino muttered.

"not my problem," mingyu said. "now let’s go wake up jeonghan."

—

jeonghan’s room was dark, the curtains drawn shut. he was curled up under the blankets, his breathing slow and even. completely unaware of what was about to happen.

mingyu, still holding you, turned to the others. "how do we do this?"

"same way as last time," dino suggested.

"but jeonghan’s scary when he wakes up," seungkwan whispered.

"that’s why y/n is the sacrifice," hoshi said, nodding wisely.

"wait, wait," you mumbled, suddenly more awake. "why am i always the sacrifice?"

"because mingyu’s already holding you," joshua pointed out.

mingyu grinned. "alright, launch time."

"mingyu, no—"

too late.

with way too much enthusiasm, mingyu threw you onto jeonghan’s bed.

you landed with a soft thump, bouncing slightly before rolling straight into jeonghan’s side.

for a moment, there was silence.

then—

"mmfh," jeonghan groaned, shifting slightly. "what the hell—"

"good morning," you mumbled, resting your head on his pillow. "we have to get up."

jeonghan barely cracked an eye open. "why are you in my bed?"

"i was thrown here against my will."

the members lost it.

"her delivery was so calm."

"jeonghan looks so confused."

jeonghan, still half-asleep, sighed deeply before turning onto his side, wrapping an arm around you, and pulling you right back into the blankets. "wake me up in ten more minutes."

"traitor!" seungkwan shouted. "you can’t steal her back to sleep with you!"

"watch me," jeonghan muttered, already dozing off again.

mingyu huffed, walking over and grabbing your arm. "nope, come on, we’re leaving."

you groaned as mingyu physically pulled you away from jeonghan’s grasp. jeonghan tried to keep you in bed for all of two seconds before giving up with a sigh.

"fine," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. "but you’re all dead to me."

seungkwan grinned. "worth it."

mingyu readjusted you in his arms as you yawned sleepily. "next target?"

you sighed dramatically, already knowing you were about to be thrown onto another unsuspecting member. "let’s get this over with."

[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

[theemporium]

i know lukey went back to mich for the break but could you do a smutty blurb on him and his girlfriend having the place to themselves and she’s still trying to stay quiet as he goes down on her but he’s just telling her she can be as loud as she wants?

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

It was pure instinct. 

You were sprawled out on his bed, gripping the sheets between your fingers and fighting the urge to arch yourself further into his touch. He was nestled between your legs, arms locked around your thighs and hips grinding down into the mattress as he ate you out. It was truly a sight to see, with his cheeks flushed and curls falling in front of his eyes and the noises he made against your cunt.

It was really fucking hot, you couldn’t not react to it. 

It was a pure driven instinct from the many times you had found yourself in this position before to smack a hand over your mouth, to muffle the noises that were threatening to escape. You twisted your head, prepared to nuzzle your face against your pillow like you usually did before Luke made you came. 

However, instead you found yourself blinking your eyes open in confusion as Luke stopped everything he was doing and lightly pinched your thigh to get your attention. 

“Luke,” and you weren’t even embarrassed to admit it was basically a whimper. 

But Luke didn’t seem to acknowledge it as he frowned at you. “Why did you do that?” 

It felt like a herculean task to fight through the fog in your brain to process his question. “What?” 

“Why did you do that?” Luke repeated, still between your legs with his lips and chin glistening under the soft light of his bedroom.

Your confusion grew. “What are you—” 

“I am making you feel good, right?” Luke asked with an expression on his face you had never seen before. 

“Yes,” you answered instantly before sitting up a little until you were on your elbows. “And I was kinda hoping you would make me come too but—” 

“Then why aren’t you letting me hear how good I’m making you feel?” Luke retorted, watching the way your lips parted a little at his blunt words. “No need to hide, baby. There’s no one but me and you.” 

“I—” You cleared your throat a little. “I forgot.” 

Luke’s smile turned wolfish as he squeezed your thighs until they were pressed against the sides of his head. “S’okay, baby, you can make it up to me. Tell me how good I’m doing.” 

You huffed out a laugh. “You athletes and your insatiable praise kinks.”

Luke didn’t respond, not with words at least. Instead, there was a glint in his eyes (something quite like determination) as he leaned his head back down and kept his eyes locked on you as he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking noisily and obscenely just to watch the way your body arched off the bed.

“Oh, fuck,” you cried out, a choked out whimper escaping between the words as he tugged you closer to him. “Shit, fine! Deserved praise kink! Fuck, Luke, just like that.” 

You swore you could feel the fucker smiling against your cunt, but considering he was making you come minutes later, you decided against calling him out on it and instead utilised the empty apartment.

.

[vikasmama]

thinkin’ about vi riding your strap…

my god she’s sooo loud and she barely cares. you tell her how your neighbors can probably hear, even stopping her hips to get her to focus and she’s whining while she cockwarms you.

“fuck, ‘msorry, really i am but i- mmf!” you can feel her clench around you. you don’t have to swear on it, you do. you’re so deep inside her, your big, strong girl, reduced to such a desperate puppy. she’s so good she doesn’t even try to roll her hips, she just shivers and waits for you to give her permission. vi’s chest heaves, sweat trickling down her abs into her pink bush swallowing your cock. you can still see her clit though, pearled and at attention. just gorgeous. “please keep going…”

and you know you’ll get a noise complaint, the fourth one in probably a month? but your hand travels on its own, fingers rubbing furiously at her clit while you buck up into her and she gets right back to it. neighbors be damned, you’ve gotta make your girl happy.

(men + minors dni!)

[the-cats-noodles]

Everytime I see this, everytime, someone brings up marriage as an exception and I can't help but think, really?

I get it, promises are important (to death do us part, which is in and of itself an unrealistic standard but whatever i dont have time to talk abt that) but I feel like people forget that marriage for love is relatively recent? The point of marriage being to join households and pass on property is much older (and the origin of the whole "only death can make us separate" bc property and inheritance) like, the reason people stayed together was bc of duty not love and that was a very different environment than the one now (which is good) but it still means we're talking about a standard that is unrealistic in our current environment (not to mention the insane amount of murder over not being able to get divorced in the past, like it's a very good thing we can end marriages now)

There's nothing wrong with marrying someone and wanting to stay with them forever (we chose to do this for love and that was good actually), but can we stop pretending this idea is universal?

Making a promise is all well and good, but people change and their promises do too.

Like, yes you keep growing as you get older and yes you might grow closer with your partner (and that's perfectly normal and okay) BUT you might also grow apart and that is ALSO PERFECTLY OKAY

Saying that marriage is something to exclude from the idea of decentering permanence is kinda ignoring all the people who really shouldn't be staying together but "have" to (for the kids, reputation, etc) and anybody involved definitely feels that dynamic shift...

Just, yeah "keep your promises" but also know that breaking them is a part of life and its much better for both parties if you break a promise instead of wither away trying to uphold it for some perceived sense of duty or obligation to people whose opinions literally DO NOT matter

(If you wanna be with one person forever? great! If they don't agree bc they don't love you anymore? Oh well, tough luck, I guarantee you'll be better off letting them go then forcing them to stay in a legal contract, which is what marriage becomes when you don't feel love for the other party anymore)

Also I get most people don't want to force someone to stay in a situation that makes them miserable, at least I really hope they don't, but when (as a society) we place more importance on the whole 'till death do us part' bit and less on the 'I love you and want to show it' (or even say the only way to show it is to hold onto that person forever) then it kinda forces people into this idea of "having" to stay

And look, counseling is great, it can work wonders, but it is NOT a miracle worker. It can't fix everything and it doesn't have to bc A LOT of marriages aren't broken they're just fizzling out

Am I making any sense? Who knows, but I was raised in a community where ending a marriage or relationship was worse than cheating bc "marriages are work"

They are, but you also retire from work when it becomes a strain and you can't do it anymore. You can quit a job if it doesn't fit. I'm not saying marriage is a job, but I am saying that if we expect marriage to involve work we can expect it to reach the point where people just DONT WANT TO DO THAT ANYMORE and that's okay

I'm begging: please stop insisting marriage is different from other relationships in this regard bc it isn't. It's sweet and a wonderful experience but it's still just a love between two people and we can't expect that to be magically enough to stop the natural progression all relationships go through.

You lose friends over time but some stay around. You lose family over time (like, no contact in this case not necessarily through death) but some stay around. You lose lovers and partners over time but some stay around. And that's okay, u just don't see how the last one is somehow expected to have more weight.

(Which I believe was op's point? That they're all temporary and that's a good thing actually)

Like everything is temporary, it's just sometimes that temporary lines up with our lives bc we ourselves are temporary beings, and it's okay if it does and it's okay if it doesn't.

I think a lot about how we as a culture have turned “forever” into the only acceptable definition of success.

Like… if you open a coffee shop and run it for a while and it makes you happy but then stuff gets too expensive and stressful and you want to do something else so you close it, it’s a “failed” business. If you write a book or two, then decide that you don’t actually want to keep doing that, you’re a “failed” writer. If you marry someone, and that marriage is good for a while, and then stops working and you get divorced, it’s a “failed” marriage.

The only acceptable “win condition” is “you keep doing that thing forever”. A friendship that lasts for a few years but then its time is done and you move on is considered less valuable or not a “real” friendship. A hobby that you do for a while and then are done with is a “phase” - or, alternatively, a “pity” that you don’t do that thing any more. A fandom is “dying” because people have had a lot of fun with it but are now moving on to other things.

I just think that something can be good, and also end, and that thing was still good. And it’s okay to be sad that it ended, too. But the idea that anything that ends is automatically less than this hypothetical eternal state of success… I don’t think that’s doing us any good at all.

[writeriguess]

Can you do Katsuki x female reader where reader's daughter (who she had with another man years ago, her ex turned out to be abusive) finally warms up to Katsuki enough to start calling him her dad? The girl has traumas about her dad so it's a big step.

author's note: never mind about the GIF library—it only seems to work with certain tags. Katsuki's tag takes 5 minutes to load before throwing me with an error. I'll try adding GIFs to posts that actually load for me.

Piece by Piece

Katsuki had always been patient, in his own rough-edged way. He knew better than to force anything, especially when it came to your daughter, Aimi. She had every reason to be wary of men, of father figures, and he never blamed her for keeping her distance. He had seen the haunted look in her eyes when she flinched at loud voices, how she hesitated before speaking, always gauging if she was safe.

At first, she barely acknowledged him, only ever referring to him as "Mom’s boyfriend" or simply "Katsuki." It stung a little, but he never let it show. Instead, he showed up—again and again. Helping her with homework, cooking meals when you were busy, staying up with her when she had nightmares, and never pushing when she needed space. He wasn’t trying to replace anyone. He just wanted her to know that he wasn’t going anywhere.

There were tough days. Days where she barely spoke a word to him, locking herself in her room, the old memories dragging her down. On those nights, he’d stay up, making sure she knew he was around if she needed anything. Some nights she had nightmares. He heard her muffled cries through the door but never forced his way in. Instead, he left a cup of tea outside her door, a small note scrawled on it: "You’re safe. We’ve got you."

Slowly, she started warming up. Small things—like watching TV in the same room as him instead of avoiding him altogether. Asking him to pass the salt at dinner instead of pretending he didn’t exist. He took every small win, knowing trust took time.

Tonight was no different. You had fallen asleep on the couch after a long day, leaving Aimi and Katsuki alone in the kitchen. She sat at the table, lazily pushing around the remains of her dinner while Katsuki stood at the sink, washing dishes.

“You don’t have to do that,” Aimi mumbled, staring at the soapy water. “Mom’ll do it in the morning.”

Katsuki huffed, rinsing off a plate. “Tch. Ain’t lettin’ her wake up to a mess. She does enough as it is.”

Aimi was quiet for a moment, watching him. He knew that look—like she was debating something, turning it over in her mind. “You always help,” she said finally, almost accusingly.

Katsuki dried his hands and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Yeah. So?”

She fidgeted, picking at the edge of her sleeve. “My real dad never did.”

His chest tightened, but he didn’t say anything. Just let her talk.

“He used to yell at Mom a lot. At me, too.” Her voice was small, but steady. “I used to wish he’d just leave us alone. But when he finally did, I still felt…wrong. Like maybe I wasn’t good enough.”

Katsuki’s hands clenched into fists, his nails biting into his palms. The urge to track down that bastard and make him regret every word, every bruise, every scar he’d left on them—it burned hot inside him. But this moment wasn’t about his anger. It was about Aimi.

He forced himself to take a slow breath. “That asshole had nothin’ to do with your worth, kid. He was just a piece of shit who didn’t deserve you or your mom.”

Aimi looked up at him then, really looked at him. “You’re different.”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool even though his heart was hammering. “Damn right, I am.”

She gave a small, almost shy smile. Then, barely above a whisper, she said, “Thanks, Dad.”

Katsuki froze. The plate in his hand nearly slipped. He turned to her slowly, his throat tight. “What’d you just say?”

She shifted, suddenly nervous. “I mean—only if you want me to call you that—”

He was across the room before she could finish, pulling her into a hug. He felt her stiffen at first, but then she melted into him, clutching his shirt with small hands.

“You’re damn right I do,” he murmured, his voice rough, thick with emotion. “You’re my kid now, got it?”

Aimi sniffled against his chest. “Okay…Dad.”

Katsuki held her tighter, pressing his chin against her head. He stayed like that, letting her feel the steady strength of his arms. After a few moments, she let out a small laugh, muffled against his chest.

“You’re squishing me.”

He grunted but loosened his grip slightly. “Tch. You’ll live.”

She pulled back just enough to look up at him, her expression softer than he’d ever seen. “I think I’m really lucky.”

Katsuki’s throat tightened again, and he ruffled her hair roughly to hide the way his eyes burned. “Damn right you are. Best damn dad you coulda picked.”

She giggled, a sound so rare it made his heart ache. “Yeah. I think so too.”

Yeah, he’d never let her or you go. Not for anything.

[grunklebongrip]

Every time someone uwu-ifies Fiddleford, I find a new way for him to cheat on his wife

[threadbearsweater]

i think a crucial part of any online friendship or connection is understanding that we all have lives outside of this space, and it isn't possible to always be present, to always be at the disposal of your online connections. that doesn't mean these people are any less important in your life. they're simply a piece of a much larger picture. a snapshot from your daily experiences. sometimes all we have time for is a hello, how are you, I love you.

sometimes, we can chat at length and type paragraph upon paragraph. sometimes, we talk on the phone, or we send letters or gifts through the mail.

sometimes, we don't talk at all for a few days. or a few weeks. and I think this ought to be the norm, you know? you still mean something to me. I still enjoy your friendship, as little as we speak. we are busy people. we are human. we have hardship. we are busy. we need to eat and rest and go for walks and laugh with our mothers and mow the lawn and see good shows. we cannot possibly do that when there's an unspoken expectation of always being available. it's not healthy for anyone involved, and it will almost always certainly lead to feelings of resentment when one or both parties doesn't feel as if they're being heard or understood.

(i say all of this for no reason in particular, aside from the fact that I was thinking this morning about a couple of previous online friendships where I felt as if I had a responsibility to be there for another person even more than I was present for my family or myself. I think i was as much to blame as the other person when it came to lack of boundaries and unspoken expectations, but I'm so thankful that I've been able to see those situations for what they were and move ahead and finally learn something from some life experiences. I always learn lessons the hard way- multiple times in multiple iterations- but I always feel as if I come away with a profound, renewed sense of self and an understanding of the human condition, deeper than i ever have before.)

tl;dr I am grateful for whatever capacity you can maintain our friendship in. thank you. I love you.

[n0tamused]

hello, can I get prompt action no. 14 Fem reader x Anaxa, phainon and sunday (separate)

˖ ࣪⊹First kiss

Prompt: 14. First kiss

Words: 404 (Anaxa), 486(Phainon), 560(Sunday)

Ko-Fi |  1.5K followers event

˖ ࣪⊹Anaxa

The tender caresses of his hand brushing back the stray hairs that covered your face, silently asking you to look at him, something so genuine held in his gaze made words stop in your throat. Conversation had been going well by that point, consisting of more mundane things in life, until Anaxa thought it a good time to compare you to the blooming gardens beyond the window you were both staring out of. It was sudden, yet not unwelcome. 

“You sure do know how to surprise a person” Your comment was met with a small roll of his eye and a slack shrug of his shoulders. “Surel you do not take it as an offense? The other day you did say how you misliked my lack of..direct displays of affection” he rebutted as he took his hand slowly away, making you wish he had lingered instead.

“Offense? No. Not at all, in fact you should do it more often - as I also said the other day” you smiled at him, a cheeky smile as you felt your cheeks glow with warmth. His gaze went from the gardens and back to you, watching how the sun bathed you in a warm glow of a kiss. 

The wind sighed and stirred your hair again, and instinctively he was already reaching out to brush the stubborn hair aside, and he would have done so if you had not caught his wrist and tugged him closer. Surprised, his hand flexed in your hold, but feeling your warmth right there.. it soothed him and cast his gaze to other parts of your face. Your lips were a breath way from his, and your lashes fluttered as your eyes looked suddenly unsure of your own actions, looking at him for some sign of approval or denial. 

Suddenly he let out a huff of a chuckle. “You should work a bit more on your element of surprise” he said before capturing your lips with his own. Your breath lodged itself in your throat and suddenly the thought of the sun and the gardens was so far away. His hand slipped your grasp and cupped your cheek. The pull apart was inevitable, but no less unwanted. Anaxa’s eye held the same sentiment, the want - but before he could lean in for more or before the moment got lost you chimed in: “Should I take notes from you?”

Anaxa scoffed. 

˖ ࣪⊹Phainon

Okhema was seldom cold, Kephale’s love for their creations had made it so that winters were scarcely a thing anyone knew, even the night was a stranger. All of that made the sudden chill on the breeze a thing to  flee inside from, and you so expertly sought out the warm, walking heater of your lover - Phainon.

You had found him seated on the edge of the bed, busying himself with a needle and thread as another tear just ‘appeared’ in his white coat. Seeing you coming towards him, he was quick to discord the needlework and open his arms to you, chuckling as you all but launched yourself into his lap. Needle and thread still remained as something he did not relish in partaking, swiftly forgetting about it. 

“Have you finally decided to show me some affection or has the cold wind chased you back to me?” he chuckled, his arms wrapping around you in a secure embrace as you settled down.

You sigh dramatically, your body going slack for him to hold and keep upright in his lap. “I am only here to steal your warmth, I hate these cold days. Okhema is not a place where winter should be known”. Phainon shook his head as he cupped the back of your head and brought your face down so he could look at you.

“Your honesty has bought you favour. I wouldn’t otherwise be willing to share my precious warmth so easily” Although he attempted to look serious, he failed in the face of your smug look. Who is he kidding - if you hadn’t come to him yourself, he would have sought you out in worry sooner or later. 

But his feelings felt ignited like a flame in that moment, even more so as you cuddled up to him. And not even half an hour later he found himself back on the bed, lying intertwined with you. You were dozing in and out, too warm to give a single care for the troubles of the world. His warm palm rested on your cheek, his thumb rubbing small circles while he simply lay there - admiring you. 

Your eyes opened slowly to look at him, finding him in such a deep state of admiration that it immediately sent butterflies to your belly. “Take a picture.. it will last longer…” you managed to whisper through the thick veil of sleep that made your eyelids heavy. Your hand wrapped around his wrist, giving him a comforting rub every now and then.

His breath suddenly seemed to close, and his lips found your nose and then your cheek. And when he drew closer to your lips all you had to do was to tilt your head upward for him to press a kiss there, this one lingering. Your heart fluttered, but comfort surged through you, and after he pulled apart you found yourself thinking - the room was too hot. 

˖ ࣪⊹Sunday

Sunday has always been gentle and careful with you, as if you were porcelain and he the threatening hammer. Soft spoken and kind, that’s how you came to know him. Not as the person he was. He closed that chapter a long time ago. 

How you found yourself in your current predicament remained a meaningless mystery, seated so close to him and helping him preen his feathers. Loose feathers and stubborn ones took time to find, and care to pluck. Even he, who has done it a dozen times over, was finding it tiresome and time-consuming. He appreciated your help all the more for it.

“Here..” he said as he handed you a feather. Upon your request, he agreed to hand you all the feathers he had no use of. It was the biggest sign of his love as well - to give you a part of him. And you planned to use those feathers, for crafts or memory, he did not care for what, but he did care for the fact they were useful to you. 

“Thank you” you muttered as you plucked the feather from between his fingers and set it inside a box. You were now working on the left wing on his head, ones he found even more troublesome to tend to as even a mirror made it hard to finish the task. He was not idly sitting there, answering whatever question you had.

“Ah-!” Sunday winced as you accidentally pulled on the wrong feather, sending a jolt of pain right through him. 

“Oh- I’m so sorry, sorry, sorry!” you rushed to rub the spot where the feather held its root, hoping to soothe the ache the yank undoubtedly left behind. “I grabbed the wrong one..” you laughed nervously, going pale with horror that you caused him pain.  Sunday was more collected, although his face was still slightly twisted. He held no ire or displeasure with you for doing so. 

“It is alright. Such mistakes happen even to me, do not worry” he told you in hopes to ease your evident worry. He was rather surprised when you decided to plant a kiss to his wing, further testament of your regret.

“It won’t happen again.. I’m really sorry. These feathers here are so fine and so many” you told him with a sigh. But once more Sunday shook his head. This time he chuckled too with how you fretted over him. 

“It is quite alright. You don’t believe the pain will kill me, do you? You can continue if there are any more loose feather around” 

You returned to his wings after a moment of consideration, his smile giving you some more wind to your sails. You plucked the last feather and put it away in the box before turning to him. Your hand cupped his cheek and you brought him closer, bringing on shock to his features as you kissed his cheek 

Truth be told, he had expected another form of a kiss, but he uttered no word of complaint. His cheeks dusted with the faintest form of blush. As you pulled back slightly, he covered his mouth with his hand and cleared his throat, but as he looked at you he got lost for words again, seeing the emotion held within your gaze. His hand fell from his mouth, and your lips fell upon his. 

Ⓒ n0tamused/jarttavia_. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[ladytanithia]

Normally, having worked in inbound telemarketing and customer service for much of my adult life, I am respectful to those trying to help me. I've only lost it with one person, and that was when I called to cancel my home security service because it was costly and the equipment didn't work right, and the guy kept trying to convince me to keep the service. I told him no several times, politely, but when he asked again, I was like, "What part of 'I can't afford your crappy service' don't you understand? Just cancel it!" I know he was probably required to do that, but still, irritating the piss out of your customers is not a good way to keep them.

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗗𝗥𝗨𝗡𝗞𝗟𝗬, 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗟𝗬 lando norris x friend! fem! reader (fluff) fic summary . . . After going out with lando to a club for funsies and drinks, the Brit's jealousy kicks in after someone tries to hit on you, which somehow finally leads to your first kiss.

( my master list | more of lando norris ) ( requests )

He was drunk. Horribly drunk.

A dreamy smile stretched across his face as you wiped the blood trickling from his nose, his head constantly tilting in your grip as you tried—without much success—to restore some semblance of dignity after the fight he just started and promptly lost.

See, your friend Lando got jealous. Ridiculously, stupidly jealous. And his jealousy didn’t mix well with the copious amount of alcohol he’d consumed. So when the guy you were chatting with dared to wrap a hand around your waist, Lando happily shoved his way through the crowd of dancing bodies to wedge himself between you and the other guy, pushing him off and throwing the first punch.

It did not end well for him.

Lando wasn’t built for fistfights—Fortnite and COD, maybe. Driving? Absolutely. But street fighting? Not a chance. One uppercut later, and he was out cold on the floor. And you, being the ever-loyal, ever-angelic friend, had no choice but to take his side. A well-placed kick to the groin and a solid punch later, you ended the fight.

Now, because you were such a good friend, you found yourself hauling his sorry, bleeding self to the club’s bathroom, plopping him on the counter so you could patch him up. At the very least, he needed to be in a presentable enough state to leave without anyone capturing the moment on video. F1 Twitter was already chaotic enough without footage of a bloodied Lando Norris surfacing. The cars needed to go racing—what would the fans do if they weren’t busy debating whether or not Lando was secretly vaping while pregnant? (Which, if men could get pregnant, Lando would surely be the first.)

“I bet you wouldn’t kiss me,” Lando blurted out suddenly, smiling up at you like the lost puppy he was.

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes.

He let out a loud laugh, arms lazily wrapping around your waist as he pulled you in, resting his chin on your chest and gazing up at you with that classic no-thoughts-head-empty expression.

“This is drunk Lando speaking,” he announced, promptly letting out a burp. You glanced up at the ceiling, hoping for divine intervention—or at the very least, an angel laughing at him and not at you.

“And as drunk Lando, I’m very angry at you,” he continued.

“You don’t look angry,” you countered, taking in his dopy, grinning face.

“I am very angry,” he insisted, shaking his head before nuzzling against you, eyes fluttering shut.

“Oh no, I wonder why?” you deadpanned, threading your fingers through his curls. That only made him squeeze you tighter, his grip firm but entirely affectionate.

“Because you let other guys touch you,” he muttered, voice muffled against you. “And you were talking to that guy. And you know I like you, but you still talked to the guy and let him touch you.”

You opened your mouth, but before you could say anything, he added, “I wanna touch you too. In a respectful, demure way.”

“Lando, don’t say demure.”

“Demure.” He huffed, just to spite you, swinging his legs where he sat on the counter like a child. “I’m just saying, I’ve been waiting in line longer, and I didn’t even get to do my elevator pitch yet—”

You cut him off, cupping his face and tilting it up before kissing him. Just to shut him up.

Lando melted instantly, hands fisting the fabric of your dress as he tried to pull you even closer, as if you weren’t already pressed against him.

When you finally pulled back, you smirked. “You owe me… I don’t know what yet. But you lost the bet. I kissed you.”

Lando just stared up at you, dazed—his smile completely wiped away, lips parted, eyes flickering to your lips again.

It was like you had just fried his last brain cell.

[redbowedblogger]

The thought of mer!prowl having to teach Jaz to hunt in @keferon 's post apocalypse ponyo au. Just like he probably had to teach his little brothers. Jazz not knowing what or how to eat. So I did a thing

"Prowl.”

“What-?” Prowl was frustrated. This whole damn mess was going on for far longer than he had ever feared. He needed to get back to his pod. His family. Those fragging humans and their twisted sense of “mercy” had almost trapped him in a life of servitude and solitude. All over a little damage to his melon, nothing a proper mer healer couldn't fix, but clearly beyond their limited medical knowledge. And then everything changed when the wave had hit.

Calling it a wave felt a bit misleading. A miles high flood of oceanic rage that all but wiped the human city off the coastline and allowed for his escape. Their escape. This poor strange mer he had met in that box of stone and steel and glass. The one who had weak fins and an iron grip and no memory of the ocean. Jazz, who had been so excited to meet him.

He had been useful enough at the start. Practically hauling prowl along the dry rough pathways before they could reach the floodways proper and swim away. And it was handy to have one person with functional echolocation as they swam through the worst of the wrecked buildings, But after that he had unfortunately become quite the nuisance. Flighty and distracted by every flashy bit of detritus in the water, startled by fish a quarter of his size, and the talking. Relentless jabbering about everything and anything, occasionally bursting into one of those strange human songs, their tones and rhythm poorly suited for an aquatic environment. Prowl didn't really know why he had continued to let this stranger swim with him. Perhaps it was a debt of gratitude for helping him survive and escape. Perhaps it was his sense of duty, this jazz was ill equipped to survive on his own and had almost perished the first time they had hit a rip.

Perhaps it was because he was the only company in these waters that wasn't a bloodthirsty mutation, a shambling wretched gasping thing that was not mer not human not fish but some horrific combination of the three with their gangly limbs, razor claws and rows and rows of serrated ripping teeth.

And his singing was really good, when he chose the right song.

“Prowler I'm hungry. Is there anything to eat?” jazz asked, his posture meek as he floated neutral in the water.

“Of course there is. Just grab something and let's go. We are losing daylight and i'd like to find somewhere safe to camp before it gets dark.”

Dangerous things swam in the dark waters.

“What do you mean?” Jazz asked, thoroughly confused.

“Jazz we are surrounded by fish right now. Pick one and let's go.” prowl gestured to the schools of shimmering fish surrounding them. They were swimming through what had once been a park, the vegetation on the trees now replaced with algae and budding coral growths, the streetlights crusted with barnacles, and what was left of grassy fields struggling to survive as crabs and rays scuttled among the waving green vegetation grazing.

“Yeah that. How do I know which ones are good to eat? And how exactly am I supposed to just ‘grab one' they are all wicked fast.” Jazz pouted.

Prowl closed his eyes and counted to ten, digging deep for the well of patience typically reserved for only the youngest pod members before facing the mer behind him.

“You're a mer. We are the top predators of our natural environment. Everything is good to eat. Well, most of it. Watch me.” Prowl instructed as he swam off a few clicks. His echolocation was still trashed and would be until he could get back to his pods healer, so he would have to hunt by sight. Spotting a fish he liked he swiftly maneuvered around the school, herding them towards an algae covered statue to separate them. With a powerful flick of his tail he changed direction to head the stragglers off and turn them towards the branches of a tree. With another casual turn he isolated the one he wanted and with an effortless burst of speed; caught it in his claws and ripped its head off with his sharp teeth.

Jazz was in awe. Prowl moved so fast! The speed and grace in his turns as he effortlessly put the fish exactly where he needed it.

“Woah! That was slick, man I mean slick. How’d you do that?” Jazz asked with an excited shout and a backwards roll. Prowl finished the fish with a roll of his eyes.

“Everyone can do that. You can too, I know you have the agility for it. It's no harder than those silly dances the two legs made you do.”

“I don't know…”

Prowl sighed. This mer, This clever, happy, sociable mer, had been deprived of nearly every aspect of life prowl took for granted.

No open waves to surf.

No territory to call his own.

No pod to care for him.

He couldn't even hunt his own food.

They had enough time before they needed to bed down for the night.

“Here let's practice.” Prowl offered as he flicked another fish from the herd. Except this time, instead of decapitation he clipped one pectoral and half of its tail fin. As he let it go the fish wobbled back into the school, its progress hampered. When the others zigged it tended to zag.

“Catch the fish. Use any trick you can think of. Flips, rolls, dives. Whatever. Just remember that sight hunting is all about focus. Don't take your eyes off your prey for a second. Catch the fish and you will eat.” Prowl instructed.

Jazz hesitated for a moment. Then the hollow call of his stomach galvanized him to action.

Jazz bolted after the lamed fish and something began to sing in his veins. That feeling started deep in his bones and radiated up to tingle just under his skin. It electrified every muscle in his body from the tip of his tail to the end of his nose. He had never felt so at ease in water. He could feel the movement of the currents and somehow he knew exactly how to play off it. He dove and twirled and the fish scattered in a fluttering cloud of silver. A flick of his tail and he separated the other half of the herd.

He smiled as zeroed in on his target.

This felt good.

This felt right.

This felt fun.

The taste of silver fish in his mouth had never been so sweet.

[noosayog]

Sitting at the bar, alone, is far from Atsumu’s ideal Friday night. 

But Bokuto’s busy, Shoyo has a date, and Omi, well… he didn’t even bother to make an excuse. Some friends they are, especially when he’s going through a breakup. 

It does get better, minorly, when you, a pretty stranger, decide to sit in the stool directly to his left. Never mind that the bar is full and the seat next to his is the only free spot.

You’re pretty, dressed in something casual, yet memorable. He’s content to simply sit beside you, fantasizing scenarios in which he charmingly and successfully gets you to join him for a drink and dinner soon, when he hears you. 

“So how’s your night going?” 

“Uh.”

You giggle lightly. He feels his face flush a shade deeper. 

“Articulate, aren’t you?” 

Atsumu chokes out an awkward chuckle. “I’m usually better than this.” 

“Yeah?” You lean further in, propping your chin on your hand. 

“Yeah.” 

A moment of silence. Your smile drops. Oh, you’re definitely about to turn to your left and try your luck with the other guy sitting on that side. 

“Um-” 

“Ok, whatever,” you say. “I’m just gonna come out and ask. Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Uh, no. I’m actually going through a-”

You hold a hand up. “I don’t really wanna hear details. So you’re single? Not seeing someone? Not trying to see someone?” 

“No.” 

“Cool. Wanna make out with me? No strings attached, of course.” 

“Uh?”

“You’re not really doing too hot convincing me that your normal is better than this. Make out.” You gesture, lips puckered. “With me. Just looking for a little fun tonight, you know?” 

Yes, he does want to make out with the pretty girl sitting next to him, so charming, he thinks he might’ve fallen in love. But instead, what he says is- 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I mean it’s not really my things to hook up with someone right when I meet them and I’m going through a fresh breakup…” 

You sit back up, swiveling your stool so you’re facing the bar now. “No worries. I don’t wanna pressure someone who’s not down. Have a good night then.” 

You turn back to your book, which he didn’t even notice was there. A sip of your drink, knife to the conversation. 

Atsumu probably spends a good while racking his head for a way to restart the connection when he hears you order another drink. He keeps his head down, discreetly eavesdropping as you flirt with the bartender. 

The bartender rests both arms on the bar to lean closer to you, clearly bewitched. Not that Atsumu doesn’t understand but doesn’t this guy have a job to do? He makes a mental note to write a bad google review later. 

“So…” the bartender croons, “I heard your proposition for Blondie over there.” 

Excuse him? He’s sitting right here still! 

“If he’s not interested-”

“Who said I’m not!” 

Both sets of eyes whip toward him. 

“Bro, we both heard you say-” 

“Okay, so can’t a guy make a mistake?” He turns to you, voice accusatory. “Guys say things when we’re nervous. I’m nervous, okay? I’ve never been asked to make out with some like you,” he gestures up and down. “I am so interested in making out with you.” 

You blink once, twice, before turning to the bartender. “I think I’m done drinking for the night.” 

You turn toward him. 

“Put my drinks on blondie’s tab. He’s closing out now.” 

Atsumu hardly remembers throwing a couple of bills on the table before you grab his hand, trailing after your tinkling laughter. 

–

“- and that’s how I met your mother.” 

“Bullshit!” 

“No way she asked you, of all people, at that bar to make out with you.” 

”Seems kinda farfetched, Atsumu…” 

The MSBY team is gathered in your living room, your one year old son babbling on Atsumu’s lap. 

“Hey! No swear words around my son.” 

His teammates roll their eyes. 

“You’re so full of it. No way that story-”

“What are you guys talking about?” You enter the room with a handful of beers. 

“How you and Atsumu met.” 

“Oh, you mean how I asked him to make out with me?” 

“No fucking shot!” 

“Language!”

[reminiscingtonight]

Guilty

Lia Wälti x Russo!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Tis the season for sequels. Featuring a lot of Kyra and Alessia and not so much of Lia

[The Thing About Families Masterlist]

You should have known better than to trust her. 

There’s a reason Steph’s always more than happy to drop Kyra off on your doorstep whenever camp’s over.

There’s a reason Mini looks like she’s gained five years every time the younger girl has been granted privileges to “babysit” her two kids. 

You have a million reasons to not trust her yet you did. 

Why did you trust Kyra with the ring?

Your knuckles are nearly white as you drag the young girl into a nearby unoccupied conference room. Kyra’s looking apologetically guilty, but a delirious haze is starting to take over you. It’s a mixture of horror and disbelief, but at the bottom of it all, you feel beyond stupid.

“What do you mean you lost it?!”

Kyra looks like she’s moments away from crying, but you can’t find it in yourself to be compassionate. You can console her later. Right now you need to get to the bottom of this and try to salvage your relationship with your girlfriend first. 

“I swear it was stashed at the bottom of my drawer but it just wasn’t there when I looked this morning.”

“Well where did you put it?”

“I never moved it! Someone must have taken it.”

You pinch your eyes shut, praying to whatever soccer gods that are above that this was just a cruel joke. This wasn’t really happening and you weren’t about to postpone all the plans you’ve spent months working on. “Kyra, I am begging you not to do this. What am I supposed to do? The dinner’s been booked! The restaurant knows I’m proposing!”

“We can get you a new one! I’ll front it, I swear.”

Forget Kyra crying, you’re going to cry. 

“Unless you’re willing to shell out five grand in the next few hours, I don’t think ‘buying me a new’ one will work.”

The young Australian’s eyes bulge out at the sound of how much you spent on Lia’s ring. 

It’s not a well kept secret that you were going to propose. You and Lia have been together for years now, married in every way except for the official one. Wedding plans have already been discussed, from venues to food to the invitation list. The last thing you actually had to do was the actual proposing and getting married parts.

Though with the ways things are going, you’re not sure you’re going to get married anytime soon. 

There’s a knock on the door but you ignore it, pacing back and forth as your mind races. There’s not really much you can do at this point. The place you got Lia’s ring custom made at is already closed at this time of day, and your girlfriend deserves something better than a last minute generic engagement ring. 

A flash of blonde enters your peripheral just as you make your decision.

“Okay. I think I’ve got a plan.”

“Oh I’ve been looking for you guys--”

“Now’s not a good time, Less,” you wave your sister off, not even bothering to pay her any attention. “Okay Kyra, listen closely because I won’t repeat myself.”

The younger girl nods, determination painted all over her features. 

“I’ll cancel the reservations. That’ll buy me a couple days.”

“Guys--”

“Less. Not a good time,” You repeat, shuffling to turn your back to her to ensure Alessia can’t interrupt again. “The jeweler still has the plans I sent him. I can probably get Gio and Luca to lend me some money, but you have to find where you stashed that ring, Kyra. It wasn’t cheap.”

“About the ring--”

“Not now Alessia!” This time your and Kyra’s voices blend together, neither of you willing to give Alessia a minute of your days. 

She lets out an offended huff and you have half a mind to just strangle her right here and now, your mother’s feelings be damned. 

Gritting your teeth you turn around, not really happy to have to find out what your sister wants. She has free reign to bother you at any minute of any day but why was she so insistent on doing so right now? “What could possibly be so important, you impatient piece of--”

You cut off suddenly, eyes doubling in size when you look down at her hands. 

There’s a velvet box clutched between her perfectly manicured nails, the tiny thing sitting there like it’s mocking you for losing your temper earlier. 

“That’s my--”

“The ring! But-- but--”

“Where’d you find it?”

“Oh god, Lessi I could kiss you, you just saved my ass--” Kyra breaks off, something clicking in her brain. “Wait, where did you find it?”

There’s a slight pause as you wait for Alessia’s answer. 

“Err… so funny story.” She blows out a breath of air, trying her best to look nonchalant. “I might have been-- actually Kyra hid…” Alessia fidgets, not liking the crease that was growing deeper and deeper between your brows. “IwantedtoprankKyraaftersheprankedmesoItooktheringthelasttimeIvisited.”

She slams her mouth shut the second the words are uttered, but no one says a word. 

An uncomfortable tension settles into the room and Alessia does her best not to wilt to the ground. 

You stare at her.

Kyra stares at her.

Alessia stares at a spot past your faces, nervously shuffling under the weight of your gazes.

There’s no mistaking icy stare or the clenched jaw that proved you caught every word of her fastball confession. 

“You… What?” There’s an edge to your voice, a tone Alessia rarely was at the end of growing up, but one that she recognizes all the same. The order there is clear, but Alessia’s not so sure she wants to repeat herself out of self preservation.

She shrinks, suddenly wishing she wasn’t so tall. “Um. Well. So Kyra hid my earrings the other day, and I, uh, I thought hiding this would be a funny way to prank her back?” Alessia cringes, not liking the way this all sounds now that she’s saying it out loud. “But judging by the looks on your faces, I’m going to say otherwise.”

Your nose flares but that’s the only response she’s given. 

Kyra looks grumpy, probably the result of taking your misplaced anger from earlier. 

You hold out your hand.

No words are exchanged but Alessia is quick to drop the box into your hand. 

Just as quick as she darts forward to do so, she jumps back, shoving her now empty hands into her pockets. 

“See, no hurt no foul, right?”

Crickets. 

That’s all Alessia hears as she nervously chuckles. 

Neither you nor Kyra have moved, faces giving nothing away. 

At least not until you call the Australian’s name calmly, eyes never leaving your sister’s.

Alessia watches as the two of you slowly peel away from each other. Her eyes keep darting between the two of you, feeling more and more like prey that’s being stalked as the seconds tick by. “Guys, c’mon–”

“Remember how I told you to play nice with my only sister?”

Kyra’s frowning. It’s probably supposed to come off frightening but she looks too much like a kicked dog for it to really do too much.

But the look on your face… yeah, that was intimidating enough for the two of you.

“Forget everything I’ve ever said. I don’t have a sister.”

Alessia gulps.

“Get her.”

She bolts.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Hey now, Let her cook!

[threefandomsinatrenchcoat]

I think we should worry less about labels, in general. I get that they can be very helpful and comforting to some people and for very quickly communicating the gist of things, they're quite good.

When I want someone to just understand that I like multiple genders with a tendency to prefer one over another, "I'm bisexual" gets the job done a lot quicker than describing the whole situation, everyone I've ever found attractive and who out of these people I'd actually sleep with.

But I feel like we've gotten really caught up in this way of thinking that dictates that every unique human experience needs a name and it's really confusing and limiting.

If a straight person finds someone of the same gender/sex attractive just once, they're suddenly confused and rattled, because they don't know what this means for their identity. Are they still straight?

A lot of terms are from a time when sexuality was better understood than gender and thus, the definitions of terms were still based on a gender binary. Now that this isn't the case anymore, we're struggling to say who can and can't be [label].

Can trans men be lesbians? Where do intersex people fall in this? Are nonbinary people trans, because being trans is just being not cis, or can they not be trans, because being trans has to do with transitioning? But not all mtf and ftm trans people transition either, and they're still valid, so-

Do you see what I mean? The definitions are so imprecise and we keep arguing about them, which is fucking pointless. It's not getting us anywhere. We shouldn't be infighting at all, but especially not at a time like this, when many of us are in peril and we're all in this together.

Who cares about these fucking definitions, man? Does it matter if I'm aro or just have commitment issues so big I can't imagine having a relationship? The result is the same. I'm not interested in a romantic relationship. Why am I worrying about whether a label fits me rather than thinking about how this part of my identity affects my life? Does it matter if chopping my tits off makes me trans? The result is the same, I look and feel different.

I get wanting to find out more about yourself and wanting to put everything in neat little boxes and having tools and words to find people just like you to share your experiences, support and advice with, I truly do, but I feel like we're really pulling the noose tighter around our own necks by focusing more on labels than on the fact that we're all human, we all have things in common as well as differences, and we're all too complex to describe with a single word per aspect of our identity.

You shouldn’t have to be trans to get any sex characteristic-related surgery. It’s not a limited resource. Plenty of cis men get implants and cis women get breast reductions. From Colby Gordon today and Leslie Feinberg in Transgender Warriors (1996).