#he looks hot as HELL in a tux

[jackhues]

...but it's something stronger | oscar piastri

note: here's part 3 <3 this is the FINAL part so i hope you all enjoy it! reminder to read part one and two linked below BEFORE this so you understand

one || two

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader, logan x best friend!reader, one sided!enemies to lovers

faceclaim: various, from pinterest

youruser & oscarpiastri

liked by landonorris, pierregasly, mclaren & others

youruser: your favs are back in vegas !!

user: stop the second pic

landonorris: again. photo creds? -> youruser: again. no.

landonorris: party in logan's room- be there by 9 -> youruser: what if i'm asleep at 9? -> landonorris: oscar get off of y/n's account -> logansargeant: well... i guess i'm hosting -> user: stop lando's friends with logan?? ahh i love this

user: awww i love them

user: girlie's trying too hard

user: nice to see she's finally coming to a race smh -> user: what is with y'all? a wag doesn't have a job- she's leeching off the man's money. a wag has a job and responsibilities and can't make it to a lot of races- she's unsupportive. like make up your mind gd

logansargeant: i have to see y'all being cute in person AND on my feed 😒😒 -> youruser: your fault -> oscarpiastri: you chose this life

y/bffsuser: imy bby <3 -> youruser: imym <33

--

Y/N WALKED HAND IN HAND WITH OSCAR, following the hotel signs to Logan's room. She was happier than she'd been in quite a while. She'd joined Oscar in Australia, where she met his family, getting along surprisingly well with them. They were great people, which made it really easy for her.

She turned the corner, seeing Lando and Logan standing outside of their room.

"Finally," Lando grinned, seeing them.

"It's 8:45," Oscar told him. "We're early, if anything."

"Why are you guys outside?" Y/N asked.

"We're going to this bar that Lando found last year during the Grand Prix," Logan explained. "He said they've got hot bartenders."

"I see why you two would be down for that," Oscar rolled his eyes.

"Good answer," Y/N grinned. She turned back to the other two, "Alright then, let's get drunk."

"Not too drunk," Oscar corrected. "I want to be in bed by midnight."

"What are you, Cinderella?" Y/N asked. "Oscar, you're in Vegas once a year. Enjoy it."

"I'd like to enjoy it in bed," he muttered. "Also, you're wearing insanely high heels. You're going to be begging me to take your shoes in like an hour."

"Okay fine," Y/N agreed. "Not too many drinks, and in bed by twelve. We can manage it, no problemo."

--

--

Y/N SMILED AT THE SIGHT OF OSCAR IN BED next to her, sleeping soundly. A slip of sunlight streamed through the curtains, covering him in a golden light. His hair was splayed over his forehead in an unruly manner, beckoning Y/N's hand closer.

She twirled one of the strands around her finger, taking a moment to admire him. He looked beautiful, even more every time she looked at him. She was almost blinded by how pretty she was.

It took a minute for her brain to catch up and realize his beauty wasn't blinding her, it was the sunlight glinting off the rock on her finger.

"WHAT THE FUCK?" she sat up, eye on the ring and trying to figure how the hell it got there.

Next to her, Oscar groaned.

"Shhhhhhh," he muttered. "My head hurts."

So did Y/N's. In fact, it was beginning to spin a little. Or maybe that was the room?

She turned back to Oscar, hoping to clear up why the fuck there was a hugeass engagement ring on her finger, but he didn't seem to be in the mood to wake up.

So she stole his blanket.

"Y/N!" Oscar groaned. "Give me my blanket! And turn the light off."

"Oscar, that's the sun," she told him. "Also, why are you in a cheap looking tux?"

"In a...?" He opened his eyes, surprised at the fact that he was actually wearing a tux — or at least parts of one. What he had on wasn't really nice, probably rented. Or secondhand bought? He looked back up at Y/N, tilting his head, "Uh... why are you in a wedding dress?"

"Huh?" Y/N looked down at her clothes, repressing the urge to scream at what she was wearing. It was a white minidress, not near anything she had planned to wear at her own wedding one day. "This isn't... it's not a wedding dress. It's a white mini dress."

"The veil falling out of your hair says otherwise," Oscar noted.

"The veil—" she reached up, pulling out what was indeed a veil. "Oh my God, I'm in a wedding dress. And I have an engagement ring on my finger. And you're in a tux. What the fuck happened?"

"Wait, you— you have an engagement ring... what?" Oscar sat up, his gaze finally falling on the ring she wore.

"Oh crap, I don't even know who it belongs to," she muttered in horror. "Where the hell am I supposed to return this? It must've cost a fortune..." she trailed off, eyes meeting Oscar's. Memories of the night before were coming back to her, or at least some of them were. "Oh my God, the Bahamas. You said you were going to propose then... but I— I was freaking out because there was no ring at the ceremony and you pulled this out."

"I was possibly going to propose at the Bahamas," he corrected. "I had it planned out, but just in case, I also had something for after the season."

"Can't say that wouldn't be a fucking dream," she shrugged.

"So you'd have said yes?" Oscar's eyes widened. "If I asked, I mean?"

"Oscar, I'm like 99% sure I married you while I was drunk out of my mind because of how much I love you," Y/N responded honestly. "I'd have said yes without a second thought."

"Well it's nice to know your response while sober," Oscar responded. "But... did we actually get married?"

"I... oh, I remember Logan began crying because—"

"Because you asked him to be your maid of honour," Oscar remembered. "And Lando appointed himself as my best man."

"And Elvis was standing funny while he was marrying us, and I kept trying to copy his stance, but it made my feet hurt," Y/N continued. "And... and you took my shoes off during the vows and said in your vow that you'd always carry my shoes after I did dumb things like try to copy Elvis."

"And in your vow you said you'll never let my life get boring, no matter how early I wanted to sleep," Oscar added. "You said... you said that you're so in love with me that you'd trust me with your heart."

"And that's when Lando started sobbing," Y/N remembered.

"No, he started crying after I took your shoe off," Oscar furrowed his brows.

"Oh my God, was Elvis crying at our wedding?"

"I gave him the tux jacket to wipe his eyes," Oscar remembered. "And he never gave it back."

"Oh yeah, he stalled the 'you may kiss the bride' part so much, I said it myself," Y/N muttered.

"Wait, so if we're married... where's the marriage certificate?"

AN HOUR LATER, the (probably) newlyweds had turned the room upside down, but still had no sign of the marriage certificate.

"Maybe we didn't actually get married?" Oscar wondered. "Like it was a faux?"

"Does that mean you're still proposing in the Bahamas?"

Before Oscar could answer, a knock sounded on the door, causing the two of them to freeze in their spots. The two of them looked at each other in their wedding clothes, then to the room, with clothes and belongings littered all around.

"Don't say a word," Oscar whispered. "They'll go away."

The two of them stayed silent and frozen for a while longer, but the knocking didn't stop.

"Guys, it's me and Lando," Logan said on the other side of the door. "Open up. We have your marriage certificate."

At that, Oscar ran to the door, dragging the two boys inside, before immediately shutting the door.

"What tornado came through here?" Lando asked, looking around.

"Tornado 'we were looking for our marriage certificate'," Y/N muttered, taking the certificate out of his hands. She read it three times, before silently passing it along to Oscar.

"Wow," he muttered, silently realizing the two of them were officially married.

"Congratulations," Lando grinned, pulling Y/N, Oscar, and Logan in for a group hug. "Oh, I'm so happy. When can I expect to be named the godfather?"

Oscar whipped his head to Y/N, eyes wide, "Was that why we got married? Was it a shotgun Vegas wedding?"

"Oscar, honey, if I was pregnant, I wouldn't have been drinking," she reminded him. "I'm not pregnant, okay? And Lando, quit scaring him like that. I think the wedding is more than enough for us to digest."

"Wait, you guys don't remember the wedding?" Logan looked between Y/N and Oscar.

"We do, but like random parts of it," Y/N explained. "Like I remember most of the ceremony, but why the fuck did we decide to get married?"

"How did the topic even come up?" Oscar added.

"Well, it all started after Y/N downed a shot without flinching," Lando reminded them. "And Oscar fell in love for the millionth time right then and there. Said he could marry her. A couple drinks later, you lightweights were out of it, and Oscar started telling everyone he was going to marry Y/N. Some guy at the bar recommended an Elvis guy, and Y/N was so excited to be married by Elvis that she agreed right then. And then you guys started going looking for 'something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue'."

"That's why I kept the heels on even though my feet were killing," Y/N muttered. "They were my something old."

"The ring was something new," Oscar added.

"What was something borrowed and something blue?" Y/N asked.

"Elvis' jacket," Logan supplied.

"What?"

"Elvis gave you his jacket because you said it'd be nice with the blue and borrowed. You're wearing his jacket in a lot of your wedding pictures," he explained.

"I'm sorry, wedding pictures?" Oscar asked. "Where the fuck did we find a photographer?"

"We're the photographers," Lando explained. "You sent us to buy some cameras while you guys did the something old and new. Logan got the polaroid, and I found a cute digital camera."

"At least you guys have the photos if not the memories," Logan grinned.

--

--

--

--

youruser & oscarpiastri

liked by logansargeant, landonorris, mclaren & others

youruser: followed the queen of genovia's advice and ended up married to man who made my foot pop

oscarpiastri: i love you forever -> youruser: and ever and ever and ever and ever

oscarpiastri: looking beautiful as always mrs. piastri -> youruser: why thank you mr. piastri. you look lovely as well

user: THEY'RE MARRIED!!!!!!!!!!!

user: MOM AND DAD MOM AND DAD

user: yeah they're a pr relationship 🙄

logansargeant: i love you guys 🤍 -> oscarpiastri: are you still drunk? -> logansargeant: a little. i might cry again -> youruser: check in on hungover lando, he'll make you laugh -> user: LANDO AND LOGAN AT THE Y/NOSCAR WEDDING THIS IS NOT A DRILLLL

landonorris: FINALLY!!! -> user: wdym finally?? they met like 7 months ago this comment thread has been deleted

landonorris: guys it's too early to be this cute, but i love you so i'll let it pass

mclaren: congratulations y/n and oscar!!!

user: logan and lando moh/best man ?? -> youruser: yeah they were -> user: I'M DEAD NO FUCKING WAYYY

user: they're married already?? this ain't lasting -> oscarpiastri: thanks for ur unwanted opinion

user: i love how down bad they are for each other -> user: nah fr tho

f1: congratulations guys!!

charles_leclerc: congratulations! welcome to the family y/n!

user: princess diaries reference i love that movie -> oscarpiastri: she made me watch it with her

user: guys... hear me out... what if they got married in vegas? -> user: homie those pics ain't vegas

yourmomsig: i love you guys i'm gonna cry again -> oscarpiastri: no don't cry mum -> user: MUM

--

--

--

YOUTUBE: WATCH - OSCAR PIASTRI POST QUALIFICATION INTERVIEW

INTERVIEWER: so first off oscar, congrats on the wedding

OSCAR: *smiles* thank you

I: we heard that the mrs. is actually here for the last race of the season, is that right? she had issues with her schedule, so you went for it all in her break, huh? vegas, a wedding, and now abu dhabi? in what, three weeks?

OP: yeah, she's here for this weekend. she was- well, she just partnered with another lawyer to actually open their law firm together, so she's actually going to have the rest of the year off, which we're both obviously excited about. but *laughs* i mean, once she said yes to marrying me, i didn't want to wait, you know? i'm just... you know, i'm really proud of her because everyone talks about the drivers and the media's always trying to diminish her, and the other partners' accomplishments, but it's absolutely insane all that she's done and all that she will do. it's great that i can stand next to her as her husband while she does all of it. i'm actually a little surprised that she even married me. marrying her's probably my biggest accomplishment.

--

A YEAR LATER

f1, mclaren & oscarpiastri

liked by y/npiastri, logansargeant, landonorris & others

f1: AND HE'S DONE IT! IN THE ENTERTAINMENT CAPITAL OF THE WORLD, OSCAR PIASTRI, HAS BECOME THE WORLD CHAMPION 🏆🎆🎊

user: stop he's so cute

user: i'm crying oscar's a championnnnn

user: did anyone else hear y/n scream while he was on the podium -> user: "that's my husband!" girlie put her whole chest in that

mclaren: OSCAR OUR GUYYY

y/npiastri: THAT'S MY HUSBANDDD -> oscarpiastri: THAT'S MY WIFEEE -> user: iconic

charles_leclerc: congratulations oscar!

maxverstappen1: congrats mate!

logansargeant: congratulations oscar! well deserved win! -> oscarpiastri: thanks mate -> user: GUYS LOOK LOSCAR CRUMBS -> user: nom nom nom

--

y/npiastri

liked by logansargeant, landonorris, mclaren & others

y/npiastri: THAT'S MY HUSBANDDD HE'S THE WORLD CHAMPION RAHHHHHH 🦅🦅🇺🇸🇺🇸

user: ain't he australian? -> y/npiastri: now he's american by association

oscarpiastri: THAT'S MY WIFEEEE SHE'S THE BEST HYPE WOMAN AND AN ABSOLUTE BOSS IN EVERYTHING -> y/npiastri: I LOVE YOU SO MUCH -> oscarpiastri: I LOVE YOU MORE -> y/npiastri: I LOVE YOU MORE THAN THAT -> oscarpiastri: I LOVE YOU EVEN MORE THAN THAT -> logansargeant: WHY ARE WE YELLING AT EACH OTHER?? -> landonorris: you're all sitting next to each other you realize that -> user: NOT A DRILL THE GREATEST GRID QUARTET IS TOGETHER IN VEGASSSS

y/bffsuser: RAHH 🇺🇸 REPRESENTTTT -> user: HE'S AUSTRALIAN 😭😭 -> y/npiastri: NOT ON MY INSTAGRAM PAGE TONIGHT 🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸

yourmomsig: congrats oscar 🤍 i'm so so proud of you! call me soon -> oscarpiastri: calling rn mum 🤍

user: stop the way he looks at her- i can't -> user: are you surprised? this the same man who said his biggest accomplishment is marrying her -> oscarpiastri: and it's still true!

--

oscarpiastri & y/npiastri

liked by logansargeant, landonorris, f1 & others

oscarpiastri: maybe vegas is just lucky for us

tagged: y/npiastri

y/npiastri: i love you so much i'd marry you in vegas a million times -> oscarpiastri: i love you so much but please don't expect me to ever drink that much or stay up that late again

y/npiastri: GET READY LOSERSSS BABY PIASTRI ON THE WAYYYY -> y/npiastri: baby piastri's genes boutta clear all your try hard babies' genes -> user: honey you know you shouldn't drink while pregnant right? -> oscarpiastri: she's not drunk, she's just been like this the entire pregnancy -> y/npiastri: AND THERE'S STILL SIX MORE MONTHS TO GOOOOO

user: STFU THAT TWITTER USER WAS TELLING THE TRUTH??? -> user: OSCAR AND Y/N WERE THE ONES IN VEGAS?? I'M GOING TO LOSE MY MIND -> user: can't believe they kept the secret for that long loll -> user: lando almost slipped sm times 😭😭

user: okay but the bahamas wedding thingy afterwards was a smart decoy ngl -> logansargeant: thank you 😊 -> user: YOU KNEW??? -> y/npiastri: ofc he and lando knew, who else would be our moh/best man in vegas?

logansargeant: guys really? i just stopped crying -> landonorris: I HAVEN'T STOPPED YET -> user: stop i love them -> user: need them to be godparents frr -> y/npiastri: one for each twin ye -> user: TWIN????? -> y/npiastri: oops

f1: congrats y/n and oscar!

user: oscar a DILF now -> y/npiastri: homie i been knew. why y'all think i bagged him? -> user: i though he just had such a big crush on you, he didn't really realize you were the weird girl -> y/npiastri: why would you say that to a pregnant woman? -> user: ohmygosh, i'm so sorry! i really hope you're not crying- -> y/npiastri: nah idgaf it's just funny seeing ppl freak out -> user: GIRL YOU HAD ME STRESSED -> oscarpiastri: welcome to my life -> oscarpiastri: i love you wife 🩷 -> y/npiastri: nice save

--

--

THE END!!

i hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it! this is honestly one of my fav series, and don't forget to show some love and reblog if you enjoyed <3

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife , @urfavsgf , @mxdi0 , @lemon-lav , @lilipiggytails , @stinkyjax , @blckgrl-sunflower , @dreamsarebig , @k-pevensie28 , @themislovesf1 , @hellowgoodbye , @chezmardybum , @5sospenguinqueen , @stylestastic , @sie17136 , @2lsargeant , @softpiastri , @p1astrisgirl , @mavies-stuff , @littlemisssummer , @charlotte1697 , @styl1shl1v <33

[beomsjoongie]

Hongjoong Head Cannons

genre: smut ofc 😭

warnings: tbh idk- I forgot

a/n: ts has been sitting in the drafts for 2 fucking weeks. I have not posted in so long and I’m sorry but I’ve been so unmotivated 😭😭😭 but I’m back now! (hopefully) this one isn’t that good though! Def not proofread!! Also if there’s typos then I fully blame it on my nails- they have been giving me HELL- 0.6k words!! Hope you enjoy once again 😭🫶

Hongjoong who rubs his hands onto your thigh as he’s driving you two to the studio. His hand dips into yours shorts, rubbing you through your underwear. Eventually, he slipped his fingers into your underwear, ramming them into your hole. He couldn’t wait until he got to the studio to fuck you.

Hongjoong who couldn’t stop fucking into you. He grunted as his hips snapped into yours at a fast pace. “I don’t think I can pull out in time,” he whimpered, his thrusts getting sloppier as time passed. “Cum inside me, Joong. Coat my pussy.” He did as he was told, snapping his hips harshly into yours and stilling. His hot cum spilled inside of you as you simultaneously came, too.

Hongjoong who fucks you on the sofa in the recording studio. He knew what he was doing. While thrusting into you he grabbed your face, “look behind me, baby.” He moved his head, letting you see the camera that was recording you two in the corner. Before you could say anything, he moved his hips faster, making it hard for you to speak.

Hongjoong who fingers you after you just got your nails done. You just went out and had a girls day with your friends. You got your nails done, went shopping, etc. You came home, hornier than ever. And not seeing Hongjoong for a while wasn’t helping. You flopped on your bed and texted him how horny you were. He didn’t respond and showed up 10 minutes later. “Aww, poor baby couldn’t finger herself since her nails are done. Didn’t wanna mess them up?” He says as he holds your hips down with one hand and fingers you with the other.

Hongjoong who sits you in his lap and teaches you how to play guitar. You were sat in his lap and his hands on yours, teaching you how to strum and learn the basic notes. He let go after you had a sequence going on. He nodded his head as you repeated it. His lips suddenly attached themself to your neck and his hands groped your breasts. You threw your head back and slowly stopped strumming the cords.

Hongjoong who can, and will, fuck you anywhere and everywhere you want. Car? Yes! Floor? Of course! Home Depot bathroom? Easy work!! Anywhere is ok with both of you. He makes you cum so hard every time. The more public the better. The thrill of getting caught will always excite him and push him harder. Have you been caught? Well, mostly by family but by strangers? Oh, yeah. But you guys really don’t give a fuck. You only live once!

Hongjoong who keeps you after class for a “tutoring lesson.” Hongjoong’s your professor and right now, you weren’t really doing well in his class so he kept you after class. This has happened multiple times. Your skirt rolled up, your back arched and your tense body lying on his desk. His hips snapping into yours at an almost inhumane pace, his blonde hair disheveled, and his tux opened to see his chest. Half the papers ending up on the floor. And every time this happens, you leave like nothing ever happened.

Hongjoong who presses your body against the shower wall and bringing your ass out more. The water hitting your bodies so perfectly. He stuck his fingers deep into your cunt, fingering you harshly to hear your pussy juices and the water slosh together. Ignore your pleas and getting onto his knees, eating your pussy. He shook his head back and forth roughly, making a mess that the water will clean up.

Hongjoong who invited you to his Halloween party. You dressed up as a cowboy girl, not meaning to match with Hongjoong. You two really hit it off, getting tipsy. Later than night, you found your self fully nude, on top of Hongjoong. He was also fully nude.. except for the cowboy hates you both had on. “Saddle up, baby girl.” He groaned before you started to ride him harshly.

[firewasabeast]

Bucktommy all dressed up and dancing together

oh you gave me the perfect excuse to write buck and tommy dancing to the song I put on repeat and imagine them having played at their wedding. If you'd like to listen before, after, or while reading, here you go.

“You look fancy!” Buck noted with a smile as he walked into their new place. “Got a hot date I don't know about?”

Tommy was dressed to the nines. A black and white tux with a bowtie, hair perfectly coiffed. It was a bit confusing, seeing as they had planned to order tacos and spend the evening putting furniture together once Buck got off work.

“Something like that,” Tommy replied slyly. “Go get changed. I've got your tux on the bed.”

Buck tilted his head, confused. “Where are we going?”

“Who said we were going anywhere?”

“Tommy, I- I don't get it.”

“Humor me, Buckley.”

“Oh, we're whipping out the last name, are we?” Buck asked, wiggling his eyebrows as he headed for the bedroom. “Okay, Kinard, I'll play along with your silly little games.”

Buck went into their room and got changed, put on his dress shoes and fixed his hair as well. He had no idea what was going on, but he couldn't help the butterflies in his stomach. Tommy had a way of making Buck feel like he was the only person in the world. And even though he didn't know what was about to happen, he had a feeling this was one of those times.

He came back into the living room to dimmed lights, candles lit, and Tommy holding a bouquet of red roses.

Now Buck felt a little worried. His eyes widened. “Did I forget an anniversary? Oh my God, Tommy, I-”

Tommy moved in closer, cutting off his worries with a kiss, two fingers under the chin as per usual.

“You did not forget an anniversary,” he whispered against Buck's lips before pulling back from him and handing over the flowers. “I just wanted to surprise you.”

“Well,” Buck smelled the flowers, “you succeeded.”

Tommy shrugged. “You're always surprising me, keeping me on my toes, figured I should return the favor sometime.”

“Oh please, you surprise me every day. I'm always learning something new about you.”

Tommy held out his hand for Buck to take, and Buck glanced between him and the flowers. “Shouldn't I put these in a vase?”

“We will in a minute,” he nodded toward the table near them, hand still outstretched. “Lay them there for now.”

Buck gently set them down, then placed his hand in Tommy's. He let Tommy lead them to the center of the living room, where he then stopped.

“What're we doing?” Buck asked, utterly confused.

Tommy pulled their stereo remote out of his pants pocket, pressed a button, then stuffed it back into his pocket. He kept his hold on Buck's hand, but took a couple steps back, asking, “May I have this dance?”

The music began and, although he felt like he had just arrived on a new planet and skipped the tour, Buck said, “Of course.”

From this moment, life has begun

From this moment, you are the one

Right beside you is where I belong,

From this moment on

“You look beautiful tonight.” Tommy spoke softly, bringing Buck close to him. They each had an arm wrapped around the other's waist, their other hands still intertwined as they began to dance.

“Thank you. My boyfriend picked my outfit for me.”

“Oh he did, did he?”

“Mhm.”

“He's got good taste.”

Buck swore Tommy's eyes twinkled as they stared at one another. The whole world could have imploded in that moment and Buck would have been none the wiser.

“Hell yeah he does. You should, uh, should see how good he looks though. Smokin' hot.”

From this moment, I have been blessed

I live only for your happiness

And for your love, I'd give my last breath

From this moment on

“Not that I'm complaining but, um, what's all this for?” Buck asked.

Tommy let out a sigh. “I was thinking about how we never got to dance at Maddie's wedding, and that's a damn shame. I was looking forward to it.”

Buck couldn't help but laugh. “That was six months ago, Tommy!”

“Six months too long.”

I give my hand to you with all my heart

I can't wait to live my life with you, I can't wait to start

You and I will never be apart

My dreams came true because of you

Sometimes, Buck felt like he was dreaming. That Tommy was a figment of his imagination. Someone he created to make himself feel complete.

And maybe another person couldn't actually complete you, but Tommy came pretty damn close.

Buck moved his arms to drape over Tommy's shoulders, hands cradling at the nape of his neck. Tommy used the change as an opportunity to bring them even closer, his arms around Buck's waist, hands settled at the bottom of his back.

“I love this song,” Buck said, resting his head on Tommy's shoulder. “Reminds me of when I was little, hearing it on the radio.”

From this moment, as long as I live

I will love you, I promise you this

There is nothing, I wouldn't give

From this moment on

“Anything Shania is a favorite of mine, but you know that already.”

Buck smiled, humming as he turned his head to nuzzle into Tommy's neck. “Walking in on you dancing to Any Man of Mine in your underwear? I'll never forget that one.”

Tommy snorted. “It's a wonder you didn't leave me right then and there.”

“It's a wonder I didn't propose right then and there.” When Buck realized what he said, his body stiffened. He went to pull back, to ask if that was too much, but Tommy kept him close.

“I would've said yes.”

The words were spoken barely above a whisper. Buck almost missed it completely. But he didn't. He heard Tommy and it made his heart skip a beat. He melted into him further.

Oh, you're the reason I believe in love

And you're the answer to my prayers from up above

All we need is just the two of us

My dreams came true because of you

Technically, they weren't dancing anymore. Instead swaying gently as they held each other up.

Buck lifted his head slightly, just enough to look into Tommy's eyes. “Did we just sort of propose to each other?”

Tommy smiled, his nose scrunching up in the way Buck loved so much. “I don't know. A little bit, I think. A promise, maybe?”

Buck nodded, laid his head back down. “I like that.”

From this moment, as long as I live

I will love you, I promise you this

There is nothing I wouldn't give

From this moment, I will love you

As long as I live, from this moment on

Buck made no effort to release himself from Tommy's grasp as the song ended. He closed his eyes, now wet with tears as he became overwhelmed by the amount of love he felt. “Can we play it again?” he muttered out, willing his voice not to break.

Tommy moved just enough to hit replay on the remote and press a lingering kiss to Buck's forehead. “As many times as you want.”

From this moment, life has begun

From this moment, you are the one

Right beside you is where I belong

From this moment on...

[ladykailitha]

Not All That Glitters is Gold Part 13

Second one for today! Again, I will be being out two chapters a week until it is fully posted.

The Grammy's!!! Steve has a rough time of it with his recent coming out as Eddie's boyfriend. Some people are just that vile.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10 Pt 11 Pt 12

TAG LIST IS CLOSED

****

Steve was pressed up against Eddie’s side, Eddie’s arm was wrapped around him, his fingers nervously playing with Steve’s earring as they politely laughed through the comedian’s opening monologue. They were forced to smile when a joke was made about them. All the while the entire table was seething.

Finally the jackass got off the stage and the real show began.

They sat through all the technical awards and clapped at the appropriate places.

They sat through the country, rap, R&B, and pop awards. Finally it was time for Best Metal Album.

Steve grimaced through the painful “banter” between the pop princess and the nearly dead former rocker who was hitting on her.

Finally they got through the nominees.

“And the award goes to....” the pop princess said, drawing it out for dramatic effect.

“Corroded Coffin!” the aging rocker shouted into the microphone.

Suddenly their whole table was on their feet screaming and cheering and crying.

Eddie gave Steve a quick kiss before the band got up and thanked the appropriate people.

Eddie was last. “Thanks to my Uncle Wayne without whom I would be alive. And to my new good luck charm and love of my life, Steve Harrington. Love you, baby!”

Steve smiled and mouthed “I love you too!”

And then the seat fillers came. A couple of them were knothead alphas who tussled briefly for who was going to sit down next to Steve. Steve shared a glance with Elinor, Gareth’s escort date. They both rolled their eyes.

The alpha who lost went to go sit next to Elinor while Steve was forced to endure this thug in a tux.

“Escorts like you are so frigid,” he sneered. “I was surprised to see that you were actually dating Eddie Munson.” He leaned in close and Steve could smell his breath. “But I guess whores like you tend to go for rockers and A-list actors.”

“There’s always a caveat to everything,” Steve hissed. “Nothing is as black and white as you’re making it out to be.”

The alpha laughed. It was loud and abrasive. “A whore is a whore no matter how tarted up they look.”

Steve leaned back out of his space. “Well, I get the last laugh asshole.”

The alpha frowned but then Troy, Xander, and two very beefy looking security were hauling him to his feet.

He yelped but didn’t struggle when he saw how outnumbered he was. He spat Steve’s direction, but the spittle didn’t even make it past the guy’s lips, making him look deranged.

The seat next to Steve was suddenly filled by a lovely beta woman who gushed about his dress.

Apparently she was a fan omega designers because they had a unique take on what it meant to be feminine.

Steve ended up giving her the name and number of the designer and she went away chirping happily.

Then Eddie was back and it was fucking relief.

“You okay, baby?” he murmured gently when he got settled in.

Steve smiled up at him. “Nothing my hot shot team couldn’t handle. But I’m all better now that you’re here.”

Eddie hummed, barely keeping his annoyance in check. But he had to force down his impulse to hunt down that alpha and rip his stomach out through his throat. Steve had been on the receiving end of worse bullshit than this, he had no doubt.

He must have been scenting his rage pretty strongly because Steve was rubbing his nose along his gland and murmuring what a good alpha he was.

But the band wasn’t in their seats for long as they were up next to perform their hit single “Hell’s Lookin’ Better Than Heaven”. Steve sighed at his loss but thankfully the next seat filler was stately looking gentleman who had been to fifty of these events as a seat filler. He loved the free food and even though they weren’t allowed to drink, they got sent home with a nice bottle of wine at the end of the night to make up for it.

If Steve hadn’t been excited to see Corroded Coffin play, he would have spent the whole time talking to the dear fellow.

Between him and the beta woman, Steve was able to relax again.

The song was okay, but the way they put their heart and soul into their playing, Steve could see why they were so popular.

Sadly the song was over and so was Steve’s time with the gentleman. Whom Steve was happy to tell Eddie all about.

Eddie smiled that sweet dimpled smile and kissed Steve cheek. “He sounds wonderful, Stevie.”

If Corroded Coffin won the next two awards, they would be backstage until the end of the show.

So Steve decided to soak up as much attention from Eddie as he could. He giggled a little when Eddie when right back to rubbing Steve’s earring.

“It’s my good luck charm now, baby,” Eddie cooed. “Not gonna be able to stop.”

Steve kissed Eddie deeply. “And I wouldn’t ask you to.”

Musicians, actors, and athletes were all superstitious by nature and he had been taught to lean into that regardless of what his beliefs on the matter actually were.

Besides Steve got it. Win a game three times in a row wearing the same pair of socks? Those are lucky now.

So if Eddie thought rubbing Steve’s earring was lucky, then he would let him continue.

Then it was time for the Song of the Year.

And at least this time the presenters didn’t try to make horrible small talk before they announced the winner.

“And the award goes to...”

“‘Hell’s Lookin’ Better Than Heaven’ by Corroded Coffin!” they shouted into the microphone.

The band was losing their collective shit.

Eddie picked Steve up and spun him around. “We won!”

“Sure did, love,” Steve murmured. “Now go up and get it, you beast!”

Eddie spun him around again and then ran up after his bandmates.

“This is the one we never expected to win,” Eddie said into the mic, tearing up. “There were too many great songs nominated. But this is an absolute honor. This one is for you, mama!” He kissed his lips and blew it to the sky.

He stepped away from the mic to let Jeff and the producer to give their thanks.

Then they all walked off stage.

Steve was on pins and needles now. Either they lost and would be back down in their seats for Solo Artist of the Year or they would win and they would be be doing the whole press junket again.

The big jumbotron showed the band backstage as the nominations were read, they had their arms around each other and their heads down.

Last year’s winners fumbled with the envelope as they struggled to get it open.

The bassist gripped, “Who the hell seals these things?”

Finally the drummer just ripped the top off like a letter and flipped it open.

“Corroded Coffin!”

The jumbotron showed Eddie and his bandmates just jumping up and down screaming. Then they were being shoved back on stage by their manager, Benny.

Eddie kissed all the other band’s members on the cheek as he went past them to get their final award for the night.

Steve let out a wolf whistle. Eddie looked out into the crowd and spotted him waving and whistling.

Eddie waved back.

“God,” he breathed into the microphone. “I am so grateful, I am just overflowing with gratitude to the academy and all those who voted for us. This album came from a place of love and how to find it in the darkness. It means so much to me that it found a place in people’s hearts. Thank you!”

Each of the members of the band gave their speeches and they were ushered off stage again.

Steve didn’t even bother looking at the person who filled Eddie’s seat. The show was almost over and he was so ready to be out of there and out of this dress.

He knew it made him and whoever he was with look good. That was the point of it after all. But he couldn’t wait to get into the suit and mesh top that he was wearing to the after party.

He stood up and Robin was at his side in an instant.

“Eddie told me to tell you to go ahead and get changed,” Robin said into Steve’s ear to be heard over the din of the exiting crowd, “he’s going to be awhile.

Steve nodded. He knew the drill. She had his garment bag slung over one arm as she led the way out of the main area and into the halls. Troy was right behind them.

Robin led him to a room he could change into and Troy stood guard outside the door.

Steve stripped completely, changing everything including his underwear. Thongs were great for mini dresses but a literal pain in the ass for suit pants.

He refreshed his makeup and double checked his hair. Once he was satisfied, he nodded to Robin.

She knocked on the door to let Troy know they were coming out.

“Eddie’s security just checked in,” Troy said, falling in step with both Robin and Steve. “He’s on his way out to the front and will meet us at the car.”

“Sounds good,” Steve said and let them usher him to the car.

Just before the stepped out, Troy whispered. “There are press out there and they’ll want you to comment on Corroded Coffin’s wins tonight. But their management wants you to ‘no comment’.”

Steve took a deep breath. He knew why they didn’t want him to say anything, but he was proud of them all for their well earned wins. Steve looked to Robin.

She shrugged. “I mean, you aren’t under contract with the label anymore not after you two officially became a couple, but don’t rock the boat too hard, yeah?”

Steve nodded again and stepped out back onto the red carpet.

“Steve! Steve!” came the shouts of the paparazzi.

“Are you and Eddie going back to your hotel to celebrate?”

Steve snorted, that one was easy. “No comment!”

“Eddie is expected to be at the Vanity Fair after party, are you going to be there?”

Steve glanced down at his changed outfit and raised a questioning eyebrow at the guy before rolling his eyes and ignoring him.

“Steve!” another paparazzo called. “What are your thoughts on Corroded Coffin’s wins tonight?”

And then it hit him. Why the label didn’t want him to say anything. The first time he had heard the song they were nominated for was that night. He wasn’t a fan of Corroded Coffin. He had friends that were, but he wasn’t.

“I’m happy they won,” was all of he said.

It wasn’t the ‘no comment’ the label wanted, but it was vague enough that he could get away with it.

Troy and Robin nodded. He had said the right thing.

There were more questions thrown at him but he sailed through the ordeal with aplomb.

He slipped into the car, hoping that Eddie was already there, but no such luck.

“You okay?” Xander asked, looking at him through the rearview mirror.

Steve let out a sigh. “Yeah. Nothing I haven’t heard before.”

Xander raised his eyebrow and Steve huffed out a laugh.

“Yeah, okay,” Steve admitted. “I wasn’t expecting it from a seat filler. I thought they vetted those more thoroughly than that.”

Xander nodded. “Starcourt management is already looking into it. That place was filled with escorts, how did that guy manage to not offend one before you.”

Steve hummed his agreement. He had wondered that, too. “I think he was after me specifically. I got asked if clients had canceled on me after it was announced I was dating Eddie. I know none of them canceled...”

“But maybe it angered people who were going to request you enough to not even try?”

Steve nodded back. “Yeah.”

Just then the door was yanked open and Eddie practically threw himself onto the backseat of the car.

He was pissed.

Steve immediately went into soothe alpha mode. “Hey, love, you okay?”

“I’m suing someone for slander,” he huffed, “and before you think I’m over reacting, Benny, my manager is the one that suggested it.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “If it was about me, sweetie, you’re going to have to get in line behind Starcourt. They take those things very seriously.”

Eddie blinked at him a moment, but that seemed to settle something in him and relaxed. “Good.”

Steve giggled as he was pulled onto his lap. “I’m so proud of you, Eds. You were three for three tonight.”

Eddie kissed him soundly. “I was indeed, I was right. You were my good luck charm.”

“Pleasure to have been of service,” Steve cooed.

Xander pulled out into traffic and Steve slid off Eddie’s lap and sat down next to him.

“It was a little rough today,” he murmured.

Eddie sighed. “Yeah, it was. I’m not sure why. Gareth has taken escorts to events before as have several people I know. But they were out to get you tonight.”

Steve sighed and took Eddie’s hand. He played with the rings as he gathered his thoughts.

“I think it’s because I’m so young in being courted,” Steve murmured.

Eddie frowned and turned in the seat a little to get a better look at him. “What do you mean?”

Steve let out a shuddering breath. “Most escorts that bond are in their late thirties/early forties. Meaning they’ve had a couple of decades under their belt, but I’m not even thirty yet and all they can see is someone who is trying to honey trap one of the greatest rockstars of the era.”

Eddie rubbed his face with his free hand. “Shit, baby. I didn’t realize. But it’s ridiculous because you made more last year then the whole band did. If anything, I’m trying to honey trap you.”

Steve lowered his eyelids. “Does that mean we’re going to get sticky later?”

Eddie nearly choked on his own tongue. “Yeah, baby. We’re gonna get sticky tonight.”

Steve leaned in close, but Eddie put up a finger. “After the after party, you fiend!”

Steve pouted, but he wasn’t serious. He knew that Eddie needed to see and be seen after winning big tonight.

He just was going to tease his boyfriend about it first.

****

Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17

Tag List: @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369

​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @messrs-weasley @goodolefashionedloverboi

@maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv

@wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @bookworm0690 @bookbinderbitch @yikes-a-bee

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@genderless-spoon @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @irregular-child @nburkhardt

@apomaro-mellow @yellowdevilkitten @eyehartart @mangoinacan13 @demolvr

@ellietheasexylibrarian @rememberthatiloveyou @slowandsteddie @r0binscript @alyelf

@melodymeddler @mogami13 @annabanannabeth @disrespectedgoatman @manda-panda-monium CLOSED

[fatecantstopme]

Undercover

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Summary: You've gotta go undercover for a case...with the last person on earth you'd ever wanna go with.

Warnings: Angst. Cursing. Use of pet names. SMUT, dom/sub vibes, praise kink, sir kink, light choking kink. Mentions of murder. Little bit of fluffy fluff at the end.

A/N: Haley doesn't exist in this story, just FYI.

"So we need two people to go undercover," Rossi said.

"Count me out," Emily said, throwing her hands in the air. "This unsub creeps me out too much. I have no interest in playing his game."

Rossi looked at you and you groaned. "Oh come on."

"You're the only other option, (Y/N)," he insisted.

You looked over at JJ and she shrugged uncomfortably. "Don't look at me, I'm just the media liaison."

"Fine, I'll do it, but only if I can take Morgan with me."

Morgan grinned. "Hell, yeah. I'm in."

Garcia cut in, "Sorry, hot stuff--as much as I'd love to see you go undercover in a tux, you don't exactly fit the required profile."

You looked at Spence hopefully, but he shook his head. "Sorry, (Y/N/N), I'm too young for this one."

You groaned. "Well what's wrong with Morgan?"

"The group the unsub belongs to is very exclusive--if you're not white, you're not getting in," Hotch answered.

You bristled slightly at your boss's interjection. He wasn't wrong and you knew it, but every time he spoke you couldn't help but feel annoyed.

"Fine," you conceded. "Looks like I'm taking Rossi."

Rossi laughed. "Come on, (Y/N). You know I'm too old for this one."

The room fell silent as the realization dawned on every single person in the room, yourself included. Shit, shit, shit.

"It has to be Hotch," Rossi stated.

Even Hotch looked slightly surprised. "I haven't gone undercover in quite a while."

"Better figure it out because you're the only option," you grumbled.

Hotch sent you a glare, but didn't bother to reply to your statement. "When's this party happening?"

"Saturday night," Garcia answered.

"That's two days to prepare," Emily stated. "Should be plenty."

You sighed loudly, but nodded your agreement.

"Good. Let's get started," Hotch said.

The room immediately began to clear out, the rest of the team going back to their desks to work. You stayed behind, which didn't go unnoticed by Rossi.

"I know it's not ideal, but it's the best way to draw out the unsub," Rossi said gently as he sat down beside you.

You sighed, running your fingers through your hair. "He hates me, Rossi, and to be honest, I'm not his biggest fan either. But you want us to pretend to love each other in front of a bunch of strangers? For hours on end?"

Rossi patted your arm. "I know, kiddo, but he's not that bad. It'll be okay."

You stared at him in silence for a moment. "The man never looks at me unless it's a glare. He looks annoyed every time I dare to speak in his presence, especially if it's directed at him. There's no way we're going to be able to pretend to even like each other, Rossi."

"I'll talk to him, okay? But you both need to be the professionals I know you are. It's not about either of you...it's about all the girls this man has murdered."

You sighed lightly. "You're right, you're right--as always. I'll behave, I promise."

Rossi smiled. "That'a girl. I'll talk to Hotch."

You nodded. "Be mean if you have to."

"(Y/N)," Rossi warned with a chuckle as he left the conference room.

It's not that you hated Hotch or anything like that. Hell, you actually found him incredibly attractive--it was his attitude you couldn't stand. He wasn't always rude to you, he was almost friendly when you'd joined the team a couple years prior. A couple months in and he started to act differently. You had no idea what you'd done to him to make him hate you, but it pissed you off to no end.

Hotch wasn't exactly warm and fuzzy with anyone, but he was downright hostile with you. He went out of his way to avoid you when he could, and acted like a sullen child when he couldn't. He always paired you up with someone else on cases, to the point where you'd actually never worked with him alone one-on-one.

You grabbed your notebook and headed back to your desk.

"Hey, you okay?" Emily asked you softly when you sat down in front of her.

"Yeah, it's fine. Just gotta figure out how to make sure we don't kill each other in public."

She chuckled. "You're not going to kill each other."

You raised your eyebrow. "Sure--it'll be great."

"You'll be fine," she insisted. "So you wanna go shopping later?"

You nodded. "I've gotta find something to wear to this damn thing. Invite JJ and Garcia too. I need opinions. If I've gotta dress up, I wanna at least look hot."

Emily laughed. "Girl please--you always look hot."

"Thank you, thank you," you said with a mock bow.

"(Y/L/N)," Hotch yelled from his office. "My office. Now."

You closed your eyes and sighed before getting up and heading to the office. You made eye contact with Rossi as he walked back to his own office. He gave you a soft smile and a subtle thumbs up...but you couldn't help but feel nervous as hell.

"Sir?" you asked as you entered his office.

"Close the door," he said without looking at you.

You closed the door and waited silently for him to speak.

"Are you going to sit or just stand there awkwardly?"

"Standing closer to the door gives me a better escape route," you said stubbornly.

Hotch huffed in annoyance. "You're being childish. Sit down."

"Is that an order, sir?"

His body tensed and he clenched his jaw as he gestured to the seat in front of him.

You sat down and crossed your arms, silence stretching out between you.

After an entire minute of silence, you couldn't take it anymore. "I'm assuming you called me in here for a reason?"

"I did." Hotch's gaze finally landed on you. "We need to discuss this op."

"What about it?"

Hotch raised his eyebrows. "How about your reaction when Rossi said we'd be going undercover together?"

"Can you blame me, Hotch? We have to pretend to be romantically involved--but we can barely be in each other's presence without animosity."

"We're professionals, (Y/L/N)."

"May I speak freely, sir?"

"As if you don't already."

"I'm going to take that as a yes," you began. "You don't act like a professional, Hotch. You act like I'm an actual burden to you--like you despise me so much that merely being in my presence makes you angry. You can't even look at me without glaring and you almost never speak to me unless you have to. Can you see why I wouldn't exactly be thrilled about going undercover with you?"

To your surprise, Hotch looked almost hurt by your words. But that quickly turned back to annoyance--maybe even anger. "Can you really blame me? You're not exactly pleasant to be around," he said harshly.

It was your turn to be hurt--and unlike him, you couldn't hide it. You stood up and walked to the door.

"I didn't dismiss you."

You didn't even bother to look back at him. "This conversation is definitely over." You walked out the office door and straight out to the bank of elevators in the hall. You ignored the voices of your teammates calling your name. You just needed to get out of there--you needed air.

Instead of going down, you went up, making your way out to the roof. It was your go-to place to think, and lord knew you needed to think in peace.

You were angry and you needed a moment away from everyone else to calm down--otherwise, you might say something you'll regret. This was one of those moments where you questioned your life choices...and how much you really wanted to keep working at the BAU.

It was your dream job and you loved your team more than anything, but working with Hotch was slowly killing you. You hated the way he made you feel, but more importantly you hated the side of you he brought out. You just didn't like yourself when you were around him.

It hadn't always been that way. When you'd first started, Hotch had actually been nice to you--you might even say he was sweet. You felt accepted by the entire team, your boss included. You just didn't know what had changed. Somehow he was getting even worse and that attitude was pushing you to your limits.

You knew you had to get through this case and deal with the undercover part--the lives of an untold number of girls relied on it. But after that, you really needed to think about what your future was going to look like.

**********

Somehow, you made it through the rest of the day without losing your mind. You and the girls were now out shopping for the perfect dress for this op.

"Okay so I grabbed 15 different dresses in your size," Garcia said with a massive grin when you, Emily, and JJ walked into the store.

"You only got here 10 minutes before us!" you exclaimed.

Garcia just kept smiling. "I excel at speed shopping."

You laughed as she dragged you to the back of the store, the other two following behind you. You went into the dressing room to try on the dresses. Garcia had pulled various styles and colors, some of which were absolutely not your style at all, so you avoided trying those on.

The first dress you put on was just a basic little black dress. You stepped out of the dressing room to let the girls see it.

"Ohh an LBD. Okay," Emily said. "Spin please."

You spun with a chuckle. "What do we think?"

"Hmm. We can do better," Garcia said. "Next!"

You switched into a different black dress, longer this time, but perhaps a little more revealing in the bodice than you'd prefer.

"Ow-ow!" JJ cat called you as you stepped out.

Emily clapped and Garcia let out a little gasp.

"I think it might be a little...much," you said lightly.

Emily laughed. "The girls are coming out to say hi."

"Yeah, I'm gonna try another one."

The next couple dresses you tried on just didn't really speak to you, despite the reactions of your friends. You finally reached a dress that you thought looked nice on the hanger, but you weren't quite sure how it would look on you.

It was a deep emerald green dress in a silky fabric. It was very simply designed, v-necked with thin straps, floor length, with a thigh-high split up one side.

When you put it on, you let out a little gasp as you looked in the mirror. Even with minimal makeup, messy hair, and no shoes, you thought you looked incredible.

"Was that a gasp I just heard?" Garcia asked.

"Maybe," you said with a chuckle as you stepped out of the dressing room.

"Holy shit," Emily mumbled.

"That's the one," JJ said, eyes wide.

"I second that," Garcia agreed.

"You think so?" you asked, timidly.

"Girl, please. You look hot as hell," Emily insisted. "Hotch is probably going to pass out when he sees you."

You laughed. "He won't even notice, Em. You know he doesn't look at me."

"He's a man, (Y/N). He'd have to be blind not to."

"She's right, ya know," JJ said.

"Well I can't say that I wouldn't love to see Hotch fall flat on his face," you said lightly.

"I don't know why you're always so mean to each other," Garcia said with a frown.

"Oh please--he started it," you insisted.

"Hmm," she hummed. "I suppose."

"Enough talk about Hotch. Go change so we can buy that sexy dress and get dinner," Emily cut in.

"Tacos?" you asked.

"Obviously," she agreed.

**********

The next day was spent in the office, preparing for the op the next night. As always, Hotch was moody and distant, but he did try not to snap at you very much.

He wouldn't admit it, but Rossi's words from the day before, as well as your rightful anger, had been weighing on him all night. He didn't mean to be an asshole--well, yes he did. But he didn't want to be. It was self-preservation. He knew what would happen if he was nice to you...the first few weeks of your time in the BAU had given insight into that.

"Hotch," your voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"What?" he asked.

You sighed. "You weren't listening, were you?"

He winced. "Sorry."

A look of surprise ghosted across your face. You were certain that was the first and only time he'd ever apologized to you. You shook your head to clear it and repeated your earlier statement. "Somehow these guys are rich enough to actually rent out an entire hotel for a weekend. The event itself is in the hotel ballroom and each of the 'couples' in attendance will have their own rooms, us included. Garcia managed to secure us a room."

"What do we need a hotel room for?" Hotch asked.

You sighed. "I'm not going to explain that one, Hotchner."

Before Hotch could snap at you, Rossi cut in. "The hotel rooms are used for the various interactions between the couples. Each couple is required to have a room in order to participate in the event."

"Besides," Reid continued, "we need the two of you to convince the unsub to come up to your room for (Y/N)."

You winced, a look of disgust covering your face.

"Sorry, (Y/N/N)," Reid said sheepishly.

"It's not your fault the unsub is so sick," you reassured him.

This particular unsub was part of an exclusive group of people who 'traded' women amongst each other for various fees dependent upon what the purchaser wanted the woman for. The unsub would purchase a girl to keep, and eventually murder in a horrifically sadistic and brutal manner.

Essentially, Hotch would be operating as your current 'owner', but once you'd identified the unsub, he'd offer you to him for a sordid fee. You didn't like the concept of any of this, but you wanted to catch this guy so badly.

After a few more hours of planning, it was time to wrap things up and get ready for tomorrow. You were meeting the team at a nearby hotel to get ready and it's where they would be setting up. You and Hotch would depart from there and go directly to the hotel with the event.

**********

At 4:30 the next day, you arrived at the hotel the team was setting up at. Most of the team was already there, the only one missing was Hotch.

"How you feeling, (Y/N)?" Emily asked softly. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be, Em."

"Thanks for showing up," Morgan teased as Hotch walked into the hotel room.

"Shut it, Morgan. I couldn't find my tux."

'Tux?' you mouthed at Emily.

She shrugged. "Guess he wanted to match your level of class," she whispered.

"Actually, tuxes are required," Reid interjected.

"Ahh," you said with a nod.

Emily chuckled lightly and grabbed your arm, pulling you towards the bathroom. She gestured to JJ and Garcia to come along. She shut the door behind you all and you jumped up on the bathroom counter.

"Make me pretty," you joked.

"Girl please. You're already gorgeous. We're just accentuating it," Garcia stated with a smile.

"I love you," you said warmly as you pulled her into a hug. "But seriously, who's gonna fix my hair? I look crazy."

JJ laughed. "I'll take the hair. Garcia's gonna handle your makeup and Emily is here for comic relief/emotional support."

The girls got to work on styling your hair and doing your makeup, chatting and laughing together as if you weren't about to go undercover in a freaking lion's den.

While you and the girls were getting ready in the bathroom, the guys were talking over things in the bedroom.

Hotch needed maybe 10 minutes to get changed, so he had some time to kill before he needed to get ready. That time wasn't really a beneficial thing. It allowed him time to think about all kinds of things he really shouldn't be thinking about.

The event was starting at 7, so you needed to be at the other hotel by 6:30 to check into your room. At 6, the girls popped out of the bathroom, leaving you on the other side of the door.

Garcia cleared her throat to get the rest of the team's attention. Everyone turned to face her and she dramatically gestured to the bathroom door. "Presenting the beautiful, (Y/N) (Y/L/N)."

Emily swung the door open and you stepped out into the main room. Everyone was silent as they took in your look. You felt slightly uncomfortable under their gazes, despite being a very confident woman.

"Damn, girl," Morgan breathed out, the first one to recover.

"She looks great, doesn't she?" Garcia said excitedly.

"She really does," Hotch said softly without realizing it.

Everyone turned to look at him in surprise, but none were as surprised as you. Your eyes met his and you inhaled sharply, breath catching in your chest.

Hotch realized he'd spoken out loud, only because of the look on your face. A dark blush crept into his cheeks and he averted his gaze.

"Thanks, guys," you said softly, taking the attention away from Hotch.

He lifted his gaze back up to you, completely unable to keep his eyes off of you. You looked even more beautiful than usual and you absolutely took his breath away.

You looked back over at Hotch while ignoring the chatter of the rest of the team as they gushed over your look. Your heart was racing so quickly, you were slightly worried someone would be able to hear the pounding.

You'd never seen Hotch look at you the way he was looking at you in this moment. You felt almost small under his gaze and if you didn't think it sounded insane, you would say he almost looked hungry as he gazed at you.

"I guess I should change too," Hotch said lightly, eyes not quite meeting yours.

"Oh, right." You stepped out of the way so he could go into the bathroom to change into his tux. You walked over to the bed and sat on the edge of it, suddenly feeling a bit faint.

JJ noticed immediately and came over to sit beside you. "You okay?" she murmured.

"Yeah, I'm good. Just a little nervous," you lied smoothly.

It was obvious she didn't believe you, but she didn't say anything. She simply wrapped her arm around you and pulled you into a side hug. It was just what you needed to feel grounded.

After several minutes, Hotch came out of the bathroom wearing a very well-fitted black tux. Much in the same way he looked at you in shock when you came out, your eyes widened as you took him in.

"You clean up nice," Rossi teased.

"Yeah, yeah," Hotch muttered. He looked up at you, eyes not quite meeting yours. "Should we head out?"

You nodded and stood up, taking a deep breath to prepare yourself for the night ahead.

"We'll be close by if you need us," Rossi assured you both as you started out the door. "Garcia will be monitoring the cameras in the ballroom."

You nodded again as Hotch opened the door and gestured for you to go first. "We've got this," he said firmly.

The ride to the other hotel was silent...and not the comfortable kind. You hated it, but you couldn't think of a single thing to say, and apparently neither could he.

When you arrived at the hotel, Hotch handed the keys to the valet, took your arm as you got out of the car, and guided you into the hotel lobby.

"Good evening, sir," the front desk lady said. "May I have your last name please?"

"Carter," Hotch said smoothly.

The woman checked the computer and offered the two of you a smile. "Your room is on the 7th floor," she handed Hotch the room keys before continuing, "elevators are to your left. Please let us know if there's anything we can do to make your stay more pleasant."

"Thank you very much," Hotch responded.

Once the two of you made it to the room, you separated from each other as if your skin burned. You made quick work of searching the room for cameras and/or listening devices. Finding none, you finally relaxed a little and spoke to each other.

"Call Rossi," you said. "We're a go."

Hotch glared at you, clearly annoyed at your commands, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he simply called Rossi, told him the room number, and said he'd be in touch.

"We have 20 minutes until we need to be downstairs for the party," he said as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

You sat down in an arm chair on the opposite side of the room. "Shall we sit in silence until then?"

Hotch shot you another glare. "Perhaps we should discuss our plan?"

"What's to discuss? You know the plan as well as I do. Just pretend to actually like each other for long enough to find the unsub. Sound manageable?"

He winced as if you'd hit him, but quickly recovered. It did not, however, go unnoticed by you. "If you're silent, I think I can handle it," he snapped back.

You narrowed your eyes. "Don't worry, I'm excellent at faking sweetness."

10 minutes passed in complete silence. You felt bad for being so nasty to him, but it was all you ever did. You didn't banter...you fought, and neither of you knew how to pull a punch.

Much to your surprise, Hotch broke the silence first. "Have you always hated me so much?"

You turned to look at him. He actually looked wounded and it made your expression soften. "I don't hate you, Hotch."

"Coulda fooled me."

"Do you hate me?" you asked softly.

He looked surprised. "Of course not."

"Coulda fooled me," you said, echoing his response.

He looked down at the floor. "I know I'm an asshole, (Y/N), but I don't hate you."

You were silent for a moment. "That's the first time you've called me by my first name since I first joined the BAU."

His gaze met yours. "It is?"

You simply nodded.

He returned the nod thoughtfully. "I don't mean to be like this, you know."

"Well you're not like this with anyone else on the team, so I can only assume you have something against me specifically."

He shook his head. "I don't, but it's just--it's hard to explain." He fell silent, refusing to allow himself to elaborate further.

You sighed and stood up. "Come on. We might as well head downstairs."

He nodded again and joined you at the door.

"Remember," you said softly. "Pretend to like each other."

You opened the door and the op began.

**********

Hotch's hand rested firmly on your lower back as you walked into the hotel ballroom. You closed your eyes briefly, silently willing your body to not react to the feeling of his hand on you or the proximity of his body to yours.

Unfortunately, he felt the tension in your back against his palm. "Relax," he murmured in your ear, causing you to shiver.

You hated your body for reacting so intensely to him, and you cursed quietly under your breath, earning a deep chuckle from Hotch.

You wanted to glare at him for laughing at you, but you knew there were eyes on you both. You decided to lean into the role you were supposed to be playing, while also getting back at him.

You placed your hand on his chest and leaned your body into him, giving him a whiff of your perfume. You felt him tense against you and you grinned. "You okay there, handsome?" you teased.

He gave you a tight-lipped smile, but you noticed the slight flush in his cheeks. He knew what you were doing, but he was quite sure you weren't aware of what you were really doing to him.

He guided you farther into the large ballroom, eyes scanning the room for men that fit the profile. Unfortunately, almost every man in the room fit the profile almost perfectly.

"Are you paying attention?" he asked softly.

"Yes, Sir," you hissed in annoyance.

He bit back a groan, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. "Don't," he mumbled.

"Don't what?" you asked teasingly, knowing exactly what got to him.

He shot you a look that sent a wave of heat straight to your core. Your eyes must have betrayed you, because his expression changed to an almost wolfish look that had your pulse racing.

"Behave," he snapped. The harshness in his voice surprised you, until you saw the couple watching you from the corner of your eye. Hotch had slid seamlessly into his role, so you slipped back into yours.

Your eyes looked down and your body language screamed 'submissive', which was what you knew the unsub would want to see. The man nodded at Hotch, clearly appreciating his dominant control over you. Hotch inclined his head at the man, signaling his respect.

Once the couple was out of earshot, you whispered, "One down."

Hotch nodded. "500 to go." It was an exaggeration, but it felt like he was right.

For the next hour, the two of you made it through the room several times, eliminating almost every man there. You were starting to lose hope that you were going to find the unsub, but Hotch was refusing to give up.

Your eyes were dancing around the room when they landed on a man several feet away from you. You hadn't noticed him before, but he was watching you, eyes taking in your appearance with a dangerous hunger.

You turned your head into Hotch's shoulder, so the man could no longer see your face. "Your 2 o'clock," you whispered.

Hotch glanced in that direction and his grip on your waist tightened almost possessively. You instantly knew he agreed with your instincts and his protective nature kicked into high gear.

You felt Hotch move his head, gesturing for the man to come over to you. He leaned down to murmur against your hair, "He's coming this way."

"Hello there," the man said as he reached you. "Who do we have here?"

He was clearly talking about you, so Hotch turned your body towards him, allowing the man to have a clearer view of you. "This is Anna," he lied smoothly. "My favorite girl."

You kept your head inclined to express a very submissive nature, but you allowed yourself to gaze up at the man through your lashes. He was looking at you with an intensity that made your skin crawl, but you didn't show it.

"Anna," he said softly. "Beautiful name for a beautiful woman."

"Thank you, sir," you murmured.

"And so well-behaved." The man looked up at Hotch. "You've trained her well."

Hotch smiled. "She's a very quick learner." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "A little violence goes a long way with this one."

The man hummed lightly, clearly pleased with that information. "Is she available?"

"What did you have in mind?" Hotch asked.

"I was thinking something permanent."

Hotch pretended to think about it, looking slightly disinterested.

"I can pay very well," the man insisted. "I pay extra for complete discretion."

"Discretion is obviously included," Hotch said simply.

The man shook his head slightly. "Complete discretion. After I make the purchase, I expect utter silence on your part, regardless of what may happen."

"Should I be concerned about 'what may happen'?" he asked lightly.

"I'll make it worth your while to not be concerned."

Hotch looked down at you. "How much?"

"$500,000."

Hotch laughed. "She's worth more than that."

"My apologies. I'll give you the 500,000 for discretion and 1 million for the girl."

Every single fiber of your being was telling you this man was the unsub you were looking for and you had a feeling Hotch felt the same way.

Hotch nodded. "You've got yourself a deal."

The man smiled. "I'll transfer the money to whatever account you wish."

Hotch gave him a government-controlled bank account to wire the money to.

Back at the other hotel, Garcia received a notification that the account had received 1.5 million dollars. "Alright, guys. It's go-time. I just got 1.5 million dollars for something...I'm assuming it's for (Y/N). Hotch is talking with a man now."

Rossi and Morgan leaned over her shoulder to look at the camera feed. "Let's roll," Morgan said.

Morgan, Rossi, Reid, and Emily headed out to the other hotel. The plan was to pick up the unsub once you were transferred to his possession.

Hotch's phone dinged with a notification from Garcia informing him the money had been transferred. He looked up at the other man with a smile. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you. She's all yours."

"Excellent. Come along, Anna. We have much to do," the man said firmly as he grabbed your arm to guide you away from Hotch.

You felt Hotch's tension as you were pulled away from him, but you didn't look back. You knew if you did, it would give you away.

The moment the man was out of earshot, Hotch called Garcia. "Don't lose her," he said firmly.

"On it, sir."

Garcia watched the man guide you through the ballroom towards the bank of elevators. The cameras in the elevator showed how clearly uncomfortable you were and it made Garcia upset to watch. The unsub's hands were all over you, but you didn't pull away--you couldn't.

The elevator doors opened and the cameras in the hallway showed the unsub leading you into room 456.

"They're in room 456," Garcia said over the phone.

The moment the words were out of her mouth, Hotch was running across the ballroom towards the elevators. As he waited for the elevator, the rest of the team came into the building.

Hotch held the elevator doors opened and the other four jumped inside and headed up to the 4th floor. When they reached room 456, Emily knocked on the door. "Housekeeping," she called.

A few moments later, the unsub opened the door, looking annoyed. His expression quickly turned to surprise as 5 FBI agents busted into his room.

Hotch looked around the room for you, ignoring what was happening with the unsub behind him. His gaze landed on you and he relaxed immediately. You shot him a small smile and waved your fingers at him from the bed.

He rushed over to you. "Are you okay?" he asked gently as he pulled out a knife and quickly cut the rope that bound your arms to the headboard.

"I am now," you said softly, rubbing your wrists slightly.

"You did good," he commented.

"So did you."

He helped you off the bed and you straightened your dress before making your way over to the unsub. "Gotcha," you said with a smile as you patted his cheek.

Hotch nodded to Rossi and Morgan and they escorted him out of the room. Emily and Reid followed, but Hotch grabbed your arm to keep you from following them. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked softly.

You smiled. "He didn't do anything other than tie me to the bed and awkwardly fondle me, Hotch. I promise I'm okay."

He looked angry for a moment. "I hate that he touched you."

You shrugged. "It wasn't great, but I'll live." You grabbed his arm. "Come on, let's go."

He followed you out of the room and downstairs. The team loaded up in their vehicles and headed back to the other hotel for Garcia and JJ, while Rossi and Morgan took the unsub back to the BAU for questioning.

Garcia and JJ were packing everything up when you walked into the room.

"You're okay!" Garcia squealed as she ran across the room to hug you.

You laughed. "I'm perfectly fine, Pen. I promise."

JJ gave you a hug too before helping Garcia carry stuff out to the car. Everyone else cleared out, but you and Hotch stayed behind to change.

"We'll meet you guys back at the office. Tell Rossi to get started without us," Hotch said firmly as he ushered Emily and Reid out of the room, shutting the door behind them.

"I was kind of looking forward to interrogating him," you complained.

"I'm not letting him anywhere near you again," Hotch growled.

"Little possessive aren't we?"

His eyes met yours and your breath caught in your chest. His pupils were blown wide and his gaze was incredibly intense. Your heart began to beat rapidly and your breathing became more shallow.

You'd never wanted him more badly than you wanted him in this moment, but you found you couldn't move. It was as if your feet had grown roots.

Hotch, on the other hand, began to slowly walk towards you, like a predator hunting his prey. He stopped mere inches from you, so close you could feel his breath against your lips.

He leaned forward, pinning you against the wall, his arms caging you in. "Tell me to stop," he whispered.

"No," you breathed out.

He groaned softly and you watched as the last remnants of his self-control faded away. Without warning, he slammed his lips against yours, taking your breath away.

You kissed him back, snaking your arms around his neck and pulling him closer to you. His body collapsed against yours, pressing into you deliciously.

His lips began to move to your jaw and down to your neck, sucking your skin and leaving little bite marks as he went.

"Aaron," you whimpered softly.

He moaned against your skin, nipping at your pulse point. "Say my name again."

You gave the hair at the nape of his neck a tug and whispered his name again.

He looked up at you, eyes black with lust. "I wanna take my time with you," he murmured.

"We don't have time," you said softly. "The team's gonna wonder what's taking so long."

"I don't care," he growled. "I've been wanting to do this for years."

You groaned, the mere idea that he'd wanted you for so long was a massive turn on. You ran your fingers through his hair, tugging at the roots gently. "Then you can wait a little longer, baby."

"Fuck," he mumbled, hands tightening on your hips. "I'll take my time with you later. Lift that dress up, baby. Wanna touch you."

You didn't need to be told twice. You lifted up the skirt of the dress so it was around your waist, revealing your black lace thong.

He raised his eyebrows when he saw your underwear and you grinned. "Didn't want panty lines."

He grabbed the edge of the lace and ripped it with ease.

"Aaron!"

"What? You won't need them." He slipped a finger between your folds, effectively silencing your response. "So wet for me," he groaned.

Your head leaned back against the wall and you let out a soft moan. Your fingers reached for his belt, quickly removing it before fiddling with the button and zipper on his pants.

He grabbed your hand and pushed it away. You were about to protest, but he made much faster work of removing his pants than you would have. He pulled his boxers down just enough to release his hard cock, stroking it as he leaned his forehead against yours.

"Please," you whimpered.

"Please what, baby?"

"Fuck me, please," you begged.

"I can't say no when you beg so sweetly," he said softly.

You clutched at his shoulders and lifted your hips up to meet his hands. He chuckled lightly at your neediness, but he couldn't deny his own need any longer. In one swift movement, he sheathed himself inside of you completely.

You gasped as you dug your nails into him, trying to adjust to his size. His length and girth stretched you out almost painfully. You wrapped your right leg around his waist and begged him to move.

He started to thrust up into you, your moans mixing with the salacious sounds of your bodies meeting.

"You feel so good, (Y/N)," he moaned into your ear. "Could stay between these pretty legs forever."

"Faster," you begged.

He chuckled darkly and sped up his thrusts. You gasped loudly, pleasure overwhelming you.

"Squeezing me so tight, baby."

"So close," you gasped.

"Yeah? You wanna cum, pretty girl?"

"Please," you whimpered.

"Not yet," he growled.

You let out a soft whimper as he continued to thrust into you. He was struggling to keep his own orgasm at bay, but he wanted to make sure yours was as intense as he could make it before he came.

"Fuck, baby, you're so beautiful."

"Wanna cum," you cried softly.

He thrust into you as hard and fast as he could. "Cum for me, baby."

You cried out as your release hit you with overwhelming force. You clenched tightly around him as you came, drawing deep moans from his chest.

"Squeezing me so good...gonna cum, baby," he groaned out.

You felt him slow slightly and you worried he was going to pull out. "Inside me, please--Aaron, wanna feel you fill me up," you begged quickly.

"Baby, you sure?"

You nodded rapidly. "Please--need it."

He leaned into you, lips against your throat as he thrust into you a couple more times before he came inside of you, filling you with his seed. He groaned your name against your skin as he came down from his high.

You were both breathless as he slowly slid out of you. His hands didn't leave your hips, which you were thankful for. You were pretty sure you wouldn't be able to stand up without his support.

"You alright, (Y/N)?" he asked softly as he kissed your temple.

"More than alright."

He smiled. "Me too."

You chuckled as you looked up at him. "We--uh...we should probably clean up and get back to the office."

He nodded and pulled away from you a little. "Yeah, you're right. Sorry--"

"Nothing to be sorry for, Aaron. I wanted that as badly as you did."

He looked back up at you, eyes scanning your face for any hint of deception. The fact that you'd used his first name and the look of affection on your face solidified his belief that you were serious.

"For the record, I'd like to do this again later," you said softly as you took in his gentle expression.

He smiled and raised his eyebrows. "Oh really?"

You bit your lip and nodded.

He groaned softly. "Don't play coy now, (Y/N)."

You grinned and pulled him in for a deep kiss, one he returned happily. When you separated, you pulled yourself off the wall and went to adjust your dress. As soon as you stood up straight, his cum began to seep out onto your thighs.

"Shit," you mumbled.

"What?"

"Well, you ruined my underwear and now I'm going to get cum all over my dress."

He grinned. "Good thing you brought clothes to change into."

"I didn't bring another pair of underwear!"

"Sorry, gorgeous. Guess you'll have to just sit with your thighs clenched together."

You smacked him affectionately as he started to take off the rest of his tux so he could change.

"You're terrible," you grumbled lightly. You grabbed your clothes and went into the bathroom to change. When you came back out, he was dressed and ready to go.

He looked slightly uncomfortable, as if the realization of everything that had happened just dawned on him. "We, uh--we should probably talk about this..."

Your expression hardened slightly, unsure of what he was trying to say. Did he regret it? "We can talk about it later. Let's just get back to Quantico."

Hotch nodded, noticing the way you'd closed up when he'd mentioned talking. He couldn't deny that he was worried--and perhaps slightly ashamed that he'd given in to his primal desires. He just had to hope you didn't hate him.

You stayed quiet for the whole ride back to Quantico, leaving Hotch to wonder silently if he'd really and truly messed things up for good.

**********

After the interviews were completed and the unsub had confessed to all of the murders, it was almost 2am. You were beyond ready to go home, as was the rest of the team.

Everyone was leaving except for Hotch. He watched as you started to make your way towards the elevators. He knew he needed to make a decision...

The elevator doors closed with you inside and his decision was made for him. He figured he could talk to you on Monday...or maybe just never bring it up ever again. Maybe that's what you'd prefer.

You'd never admit it to anyone, but you went home that night and cried yourself to sleep. You should have known better--hell you did know better. Giving yourself over that easily was embarrassing...especially when you did it with your boss.

Hotch didn't call that night, nor the next day, and when you came to work on Monday, he tried to catch your eye, but you ignored him more harshly than you ever had before.

Two weeks went by in much the same way. You wouldn't even look in his direction and he desperately tried to think of something to say. The longer this went on, the harder it was for him to say something.

Friday night came and the team wanted to go out for drinks. You declined, opting instead to go home and curl up on your couch.

Hotch overheard your explanation to JJ, telling her you were too tired. He decided tonight would be the night when he would man up and actually talk to you.

A little before 6pm, there was a knock at your door. You were already in your pjs and you'd ordered Chinese food for dinner, so you assumed it was your delivery.

When you opened the door, you were shocked to see a soaking wet Aaron Hotchner standing at your door.

"Well you're not the Chinese delivery guy," you grumbled.

He held up the bag of Chinese food in his hand. "Caught him on the way in. He was more than happy to hand it to me so he could get out of the rain."

You sighed. "Come in then, before you get pneumonia."

He followed you into your townhouse, shutting the door behind him. He stopped in the entryway, clothes dripping all over the floor.

"I'll get you a couple towels."

"Thanks," he said sheepishly.

Even after toweling himself off, he was still soaking wet. He removed his coat and his suit jacket, leaving him in his white button down, which in its current state, did nothing to hide the body beneath it.

You swallowed thickly and averted your gaze. "So what brings you to my house in the pouring rain on a Friday night?"

"I...I thought we could talk," he mumbled.

You gestured to your dining table. "Pull up a seat. I got enough Chinese food for 4 people."

He sat down at the table across from you and you silently pulled out the different containers.

"Just don't touch the potstickers," you said lightly, the ghost of a smile playing across your lips.

He chuckled. "I learned my lesson on that one."

A couple years ago, the team had gotten Chinese food to sustain them on a late night of work. Hotch made the mistake of taking the last potsticker mere seconds before you came back for it. Every other person on the team knew better than to take the last one without asking you first and Hotch learned first-hand that night how aggressive you got about potstickers.

The two of you ate in silence for a little while. Since he'd come here without warning, you decided to simply wait him out. If he had something he wanted to say, he'd need to just come out and say it.

You were half-tempted to start humming the Jeopardy tune when Hotch finally spoke up.

"Sorry for stopping by unannounced."

"It's alright. I didn't have any exciting plans anyway," you said, gesturing to the containers on the table.

He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. You could tell he was uncomfortable, but you weren't about to ease his pain. You were still annoyed with him.

"So I--I think I owe you an apology," he began.

You raised your eyebrows.

"I do owe you an apology," he corrected.

"Go on."

He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. "I shouldn't have done what I did that night at the hotel."

"In what sense?"

"I shouldn't have slept with you," he said softly.

You winced, but he wasn't looking at your face, so he missed your expression. "Right," you snapped, standing up. "Well if that's all--"

He finally looked up at you and you saw the pain in his eyes. It softened your heart and your expression. "Please," he whispered. "Just let me finish."

You sighed and sat back down.

"Can I start over?" he asked.

You nodded. "Please do."

"Do you remember when you first joined the team?"

"Of course."

"So do I. Better than I should, actually," he mumbled. "When you first started, I thought you were amazing. You were so incredibly smart, but so humble. You made me laugh, you brightened my day every single day...you made me feel something I wasn't sure I'd ever feel."

You inhaled softly, his words stirring something inside of you that you weren't sure you wanted to feel.

"Those first few weeks were incredible and I was so glad that you'd joined the team--not just because I enjoyed your company, but because of how good of a profiler you are. I realized there was a problem pretty early on and it changed everything for me." He sighed. "I started to treat you differently from the rest of the team and I'll admit I took it a little too far. I thought if I pushed you as far away as I could, then I wouldn't want you anymore."

He ran his fingers through his hair and stood up. He started pacing the length of the dinning room, eyes trained on the floor. "The thing is, you'd already managed to wedge yourself in my heart and nothing I did changed that. I kept telling myself that I'm your boss and I can't feel what I feel for you--that I can't have you. I was so angry at the whole situation that I started taking it out on you--and you didn't deserve that." He finally looked up at you. "You don't deserve that."

There were tears in your eyes, but you didn't say a word--you couldn't.

"The night of the op...I struggled to keep my composure from the moment you walked out in that dress. You looked so incredibly beautiful--you took my breath away. But when we walked into that ballroom and those men looked at you so hungrily...it disgusted me. The mere thought of any one of them touching you made me sick to my stomach, especially knowing what kind of people they were."

He looked angry even in that moment, as if talking about it was unbearable.

"My natural protective instincts kicked in and I almost forgot what we were there to do. I know I teased you a little and I'm sorry about that--it was unprofessional."

"You weren't the only one doing the teasing," you reminded him gently.

He smiled slowly. "True. But still. I shouldn't have done that." He clenched his jaw. "But when Andrew Connors looked at you, I saw red. I knew he was the unsub before he even came over to us. The way he looked at you...it terrified me. Then I had to watch him walk away with you and I couldn't breathe, (Y/N). The thought of something happening to you was overwhelming."

"I didn't know," you whispered.

"I've gotten very good at hiding what I'm feeling," he conceded. "When we busted into his hotel room and I didn't see you right away...my brain jumped to the worst conclusions. But then I saw you and you looked uncomfortable, but alive. I've never felt relief like that in my life."

You offered him a small smile and he continued.

"When you told me that he'd touched you, I almost lost it, but you were so calm. It didn't bother you the way it bothered me, and I realized that part of the reason I was so upset was because of how I thought of you--the possessiveness I felt--like you were mine. I couldn't stand the thought of him touching what belonged to me."

He paused. "I'm not saying you belong to me--that's just how it felt to me in that moment," he clarified. "By the time we got back to the hotel, I was so worked up I could hardly control myself. That sassy little attitude of yours was the last straw and I broke."

"You didn't actually break--I invited you in," you said softly.

"I literally caged you against a wall."

"And you asked me to tell you to stop. I didn't want you to."

His expression shifted slightly. "You didn't? Like even now looking back?"

You laughed mirthlessly. "Hotch, did you really think you forced yourself on me?"

He nodded slowly.

"You know me better than that. If I didn't want to do it, it wouldn't have happened."

"I just thought that maybe you were feeling confused and pent-up like I was and you just gave in because I was there."

"Do you know how terrible that sounds?"

"You're so out of my league it's not even funny--and I'm your boss! Are you really so surprised that's what I was thinking?!"

You inhaled sharply. "I'm not out of your league, Aaron Hotchner."

"Of course you are!" he insisted.

You groaned in annoyance. "How many men have I dated since I joined the BAU?"

"What?" he asked in confusion.

"How many?" you asked again.

"I...I don't know. You've never mentioned anyone."

You nodded. "That's because there hasn't been a single man. Not one."

"Not one? How is that possible?"

"Not a single one. Do you know why?"

He shook his head.

"You," you said simply.

"Me?"

"I wanted you from the moment we met and for some damn reason that's never changed, even with the way we treated each other."

His face was filled with complete and utter shock, which surprised you.

"You're a profiler, Aaron," you teased. "Did you really not know?"

He shook his head. "Maybe I just didn't want to believe it."

"Why not?"

"Because then I wouldn't have an excuse to keep us apart."

"And now?" you whispered.

He crossed the space between you and grabbed your hand, pulling you up out of your chair. "I can't take any of this back, (Y/N), and to be honest, I don't want to."

You gently caressed his face. "Something real?" you asked softly.

He turned his face into your hand and kissed your palm. "Something real," he confirmed.

You stood on your tiptoes and pulled him down to kiss you, his lips softly caressing yours. You moaned softly as you leaned into him, deepening the kiss. His arms snaked around your lower body, pulling you flush against him.

When you finally separated to breathe, Hotch leaned his forehead against yours. "I don't want to be presumptuous--" he began.

"Bedroom is the first room on the left," you murmured.

He chuckled. "You read my mind."

He slid his hands under your thighs and pulled you up with ease. You wrapped your legs around his waist with a giggle as he carried you to your bedroom.

"So strong, Agent Hotchner," you teased warmly.

"Hmm," he hummed. "I like these titles you use."

"Oh really? I hadn't noticed."

He tossed you down onto the bed and you laughed lightly.

"What are you gonna do to me, sir?"

He groaned softly. "You're going to be the death of me, beautiful."

You smiled and leaned back on your elbows. "I certainly hope not. I have plans for you."

"Sounds ominous," he teased.

You grinned. "You're going to love it, I promise. Now, why don't you lose those wet clothes?"

He smiled. "Only because you asked so sweetly." He started to unbutton his shirt tantalizingly slowly, eyes never leaving yours.

You bit your lip as you watched him, silently begging him to speed it up.

After what felt like an eternity he slid the shirt off his shoulders and onto the floor, but of course he was still wearing his undershirt. He started to very slowly lift it up, eliciting a groan from you.

"Aaron."

He chuckled. "Alright, alright." He pulled the shirt off over his head and tossed it onto the floor.

You let out a little hum of approval, which made him blush. He was a confident man, but he felt very exposed under your gaze.

He shed his pants quickly, leaving nothing on but his boxers. You eyed the bulge appreciatively, the memories of his size on the forefront of your mind.

"I think you're a little overdressed, baby," he teased lightly.

You looked down at your t-shirt and pj pants. "Hmm...you might be right." You yanked your shirt off in one smooth motion, tossing it to the side before looking back at him.

He practically pounced onto the bed, eyes glued to your torso. "No bra?" he whispered.

"I wasn't expecting company."

"I'm not complaining," he said almost reverently as he hovered over you, hands touching your sides.

He licked his lips before kissing you softly, moving down the column of your throat down towards your breasts. He swirled his tongue around your nipple before giving it a light nip as he took it into his mouth.

Your back arched towards him and a soft moan left your lips. Your hands immediately went to his broad shoulders, holding onto him as he toyed with you.

His hands slid down your sides, fingers digging into your skin as he went. He didn't want to let go of you, but he needed to remove your pants. He was dying to bury himself between your legs.

You wiggled your hips to help him as he tugged off your pjs. "Baby," he groaned, as you laid before him completely bare. "Never wear underwear ever again."

You laughed lightly. "If you promise to keep looking at me like that, I'll burn every pair I own."

He grinned wolfishly. "I'll make it worth your while."

He gripped your thighs and tugged your legs apart with gentle force. You gasped softly and his eyes flicked up to you to make sure you were okay. What he saw had him moaning with need of his own.

Your eyes were hooded and filled with lust, lips parted, a warm blush heating your face. You bit your lip when you caught him staring and shifted your hips slightly to get his attention back where you wanted it.

He gave you a little smirk before lowering himself comfortably between your legs. He nipped at the soft flesh of your inner thighs, hands massaging your hips gently.

"Aaron," you whined.

"Patience, sweetheart," he mumbled.

You whimpered softly, but you had a feeling he would make it worth the wait.

His lips slowly made their way towards your core, warming your body from the outside in. After what felt like an eternity, his tongue finally darted out sliding between your folds with ease.

You gasped in pleasure as he settled in, mouth moving against your core with expert precision. Every swipe of his tongue, movement of his lips, and vibration from his moans had you shivering with pleasure.

It didn't take him very long to work you into a heated frenzy. Within minutes, you were coming apart on his tongue, cries of his name reverberating through the bedroom. Your fingers clutched his dark hair, giving it a light tug when the pleasure became too much.

He lifted himself up, licking his lips as he eyed you with a dark look. His ministrations had only served to fuel his hunger and you could tell he was struggling to maintain his control.

"Can I taste you?" you asked sweetly.

Surprise lit up his features. "You--you don't have to."

You furrowed your brows. "I want to--badly."

He nodded hesitantly, rolling over to allow you access. He helped you remove his boxers and you inhaled sharply when his cock sprang free. You hadn't gotten a very good look at it the last time, but you'd known it was large. Now seeing it, all you wanted to do was feel the weight against your tongue.

You gripped the shaft firmly, pulling a soft moan from his throat. You licked your lips before pressing kisses to the head, the shaft, and his balls. You traced the large vein on the shaft with your tongue before slipping his large member into your mouth.

"Fuck," he groaned, hands immediately wrapping themselves in your hair.

Your mouth was so warm and wet, and the way you moved had him breathing heavily and making the sexiest sounds you'd ever heard. Each one spurred you on and your motions quickened.

"Just like that baby," he moaned. "Feels amazing."

You hummed appreciatively around his cock, the vibrations sending a wave of pleasure through his body. His hips jerked up to meet your mouth and you gagged slightly.

A look of panic crossed his face at the sound, but when he looked down at you, it was clear you didn't mind. You pushed yourself a little lower onto his cock, gagging again as you took him into your throat. You wanted to make sure he knew you were into it.

He was surprised by how much it turned him on, his moans becoming almost embarrassingly loud. "Gonna cum if you keep doing that," he said lowly.

You sped up slightly, the only signal you gave him that you wanted exactly that--his cum pouring down your throat.

Moments later, he gasped your name as he came, and you swallowed every drop he gave you. You paid special attention to the head of his cock as he came down from his high, making sure to prolong his pleasure as much as possible.

He tugged your hair gently, pulling you off of him and up to his face so he could kiss you. When you separated, he was completely breathless.

"Where--" he breathed deeply, trying to steady his heart rate. "Where did you learn...to do...that?"

You grinned. "A magician never reveals her secrets," you teased with a wink.

He chuckled. "Best I've ever had, hands down."

You blushed. "Thank you."

"Thank you," he countered. He flipped you onto your back and climbed on top of you again.

"Oh!" you gasped in surprise as your back hit the mattress. "We're not done?"

He looked surprised. "Do you wanna be?"

You shook your head rapidly, causing him to laugh. "It's just--in my experience, most men are one and done."

"Oh baby, you've been hanging out with all the wrong men," he teased. "Besides, you only came once."

Your brows knit together in confusion. "So...?"

"I need at least two more from you."

"Two more? I've never cum more than once during sex."

"Oh now that sounds like a challenge," he said devilishly. "And I love a good challenge."

You blushed a little and wiggled slightly under him.

"Hey," he said softly. "We don't have to do anything you don't wanna do. Tell me to stop and I will, no matter what."

You smiled warmly and touched his cheek. "I appreciate that. I want you...I'm just not used to the whole 'multiple orgasms' thing."

He kissed your palm. "May I try?"

You nodded slowly. "Please..."

"I'll go slow, baby."

In a split second, you decided you didn't want him to go slow. You wanted him to ruin you and you had a pretty good idea how to rile him up.

"I want you to fuck me until I can't walk, sir." You put a lot of emphasis on the title, hoping it would have the desired effect.

You weren't disappointed. His eyes darkened instantly and his grip on your hips tightened. "Is that what you want, huh? You want me to use this sweet little pussy for my own pleasure?"

You inhaled sharply, desire evident in your expression. "Make me scream," you begged.

Hotch shifted his body and thrust into you without any warning, earning a cry of pained pleasure from your lips. "I can't deny such a pretty little request," he growled before he began to pound into you, setting a brutal pace.

You cried out again as the pain faded away, leaving only white hot pleasure in its wake. Your nails clawed at his back, finding purchase anywhere they could.

"Shit, baby--this pussy was made for me," he mumbled against the shell of your ear.

"Oh god," you moaned loudly.

"Keep making those pretty little sounds for me, baby."

His thrusts were measured and precise, each one hitting your sweet spot and sending waves of pleasure through you. Every inch of your body was on fire, from the tips of your toes up to the roots of your hair. You had never in your life felt this incredible and you never wanted it to end.

"Aaron," you gasped. "I'm so--so close."

"Fuck--" he growled. "Say my name again."

"Aaron."

Somehow his pace increased and it sent you tumbling right over the edge. You came with surprising force, pussy pulsating around his cock. As badly as he would have liked to keep his pace, he had to slow down to avoid cumming too.

"That's it, baby," he murmured against your neck. "Doing so well for me. Gonna give me one more?"

You hadn't been sure it was possible for you to have two orgasms, let alone three, but you were 100% willing to try. You nodded, but it wasn't enough for him.

"Can you use those words for me, pretty girl?"

"Yes, sir," you murmured.

He groaned and began to pick up his pace again. "That's my good girl."

Your eyes widened and your nails dug into his flesh slightly. The burning sensation caught his attention and he smiled. "You like that don't you? You wanna be my good girl?"

You nodded hastily. "Yes, sir. Please. I'll be so good for you."

He grinned. "Of course you will, baby."

He shifted his weight and pulled your legs up to his chest, allowing him to thrust even more deeply inside of you. His thrusts never faltered, his pace remained steady.

You whimpered below him, the pleasure almost too much. Your body was so sensitive, but you didn't want him to stop. "Please," you whispered.

"Please what, sweetheart? Tell me what you need."

"More," you begged.

He kissed your leg softly before sliding a hand down between your thighs. He began to gently circle your clit as he continued pounding into you. Your moans grew in volume and your legs began to shake as the pleasure built.

"I know you're close, baby," he groaned. "I need you to cum for me."

You moaned as he increased the pressure on your clit. The feeling of his hands on you, his cock filling you up so thoroughly, and the gentle skill of his fingers combined to send you to the very edge.

You knew you needed something more--but you weren't sure if he would be comfortable with it. Neither of you had exactly had time to discuss what you were into in the bedroom.

You reached up and grabbed his hand from your leg, pulling it towards your face. He watched you, a look of confusion marring his handsome features. You placed his hand on the base of your neck, giving it a light squeeze to ensure he knew what you wanted.

His eyes widened, but he didn't move his hand. "Are you sure?" he whispered.

You nodded quickly. "Please, Aaron--I need it."

He groaned lowly and added a small amount of pressure to your throat, not enough to choke you, but enough for you to know he was there and he was in control.

You gasped in pleasure, the mixture of the various sensations threatening to overwhelm you. Within moments, you were crying out as you came, body shaking beneath his as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you.

"Shit--" he moaned loudly. "I'm gonna--gonna cum."

"Fill me up," you begged.

It was all he needed to hear to cum, a cry of your name falling from his lips. His cock filled with you with what felt like an endless amount of his seed, his orgasm lasting for several seconds.

Finally, he collapsed on top of you, breathing heavily. He kissed whatever skin he could reach as he tried to catch his breath.

"That was pretty decent," you said breathily, a teasing tone lacing your voice.

"Just decent?" he asked, head lifting to glare at you affectionately.

"Sooooo decent."

He laughed and you shot him a grin.

"Seriously, Aaron. It was fucking amazing."

"I couldn't agree more. I can stay here forever." He kissed your jaw. "Unless I'm hurting you?"

You shook your head. "I kinda like your body weight on top of me. Feels nice."

"Good because I don't think I can move yet."

You laughed warmly and wrapped your arms around him to hold him tightly against you. "You're pretty cute like this."

"Did you just call me cute?" he mumbled against your skin.

"Mhmm."

"Thanks, baby," he said with a little chuckle. "You're pretty damn cute too."

"Just cute?" you teased.

He lifted his head to look at you and smiled warmly. "You are absolutely the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life. And right now? God...literal perfection."

You blushed, your entire face turning red. "Aaron..."

"I'm serious, (Y/N)."

"Thank you," you said softly.

He lifted himself up so he could look down at you better. "I'm going to tell you every second of every day so you don't forget."

You laughed lightly. "You're a dork."

"And you're sexy."

You laughed harder. "I kinda like this game."

He kissed you gently before sitting up entirely. "How 'bout I run a bath for you, hmm?"

"That sounds nice."

You watched him as he walked to your adjoining bathroom and began to fill up the tub. You smiled as you watched him, feeling incredibly happy. He was so handsome and sweet...just like you'd thought he was when you first met him.

You had never been thankful for an unsub or a case before...but you were thankful for this one. This case changed everything for you and you had a strong feeling the change was going to be permanent.

Hotch turned around to look at you with a warm smile and you felt it in your bones, this deep adoration for the man in front of you. You felt happy for the first time in years, really and truly happy--and you knew it was going to last forever.

[reigningqueenofwords]

Prom Woes

Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: 1,246 Request: Anonymous. Hey, I saw one of your dean x reader imagines and I loved it a lot! So I was wondering if you could do a fanfic where dean and the reader are about 17 and the reader’s prom date breaks up with her during the dance and Dean comforts her and confesses his feelings? Fluff follows? 😂😂love your fics bunches!!!

Read on AO3

Standing in the middle of the dance floor, your eyes watered. People moved around you, bodies close to their dates. Sniffing, you shook your head and turned, making your way off the dance floor. It was your senior prom, and the memories that should have been magical were shattered.

“Oh, Y/N/N, you look beautiful.” Your mother gushed, holding her hands together by her chin. She’d just put the finishing touches on your hair once you’d finished your makeup. Your dress was a lovely shade of purple, and shimmered slightly. You’d had your eye on it for months before your parents agreed to go prom shopping. Your father refused to buy a dress months ahead of time in case you changed your mind. So, you’d scrambled two weeks prior to make sure you got your dress.

As you passed a trash can, you ripped the flower from your wrist and tossed it in. “Stupid jerk.” You muttered, wanting to punch him in the face. Finding your table, you dropped into your seat.

“Well, that doesn’t look like how you should look at your prom.” Came your best friend’s voice.

You sighed and shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.” You told him sadly, wiping under your eye and smudging your makeup. “Oh, great.” You groaned, seeing the black line on your hand. “Perfect.” You sighed.

Dean furrowed his brows and sat next to you. “What the hell happened? You’ve been looking forward to this night for months.”

You grinned as you Dean sat on the couch watching movies. “We’re seniors!” You squealed.

“Technically, we’re not students until Monday.” He teased. “And you are way too excited.”

“This is the final year of high school. And prom!” You saw him roll his eyes and shoved him lightly. “I can’t wait.” You added. “Jessie will look so hot in a tux.” You sighed.

Dean chuckled lightly. “I still can’t believe you’re dating that idiot.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

You played with the table cloth. “Jessie broke up with me.” You sniffed, your eyes watering all over.

“What?!” He asked, sitting straight up. “When? Why?”

Despite how bad you felt, you let out a soft chuckle at how he sounded. “Just a few minutes ago- on the dance floor.” Your eyes shot to where it was still packed for a moment, then back to the table. “He didn’t really give a good reason, actually.” That fact was just hitting you, and made your more angry than anything. You’d been together since the July before- that was 11 months of your life with him. All to have it ended. At your prom. Your senior prom!

Dean was clearly angry. “What a dick. Where’s that asshole now?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. He left me on the dance floor. I think I spaced out for a few minutes before I made my way over here. I kinda just wanna go home…” What was the point of staying when you looked like hell from crying, and you were miserable?

“Come on.” Dean got up and held out his hand. “Let’s have our own prom.” He grinned.

Taking his hand, you narrowed your eyes. “Should I be worried?” You asked, half joking.

“Nah.” He pretended to think for a moment. “I don’t think…” He laughed.

Sitting across from him at Burger King, you covered your mouth as you laughed. You had been chewing your burger, and he had made a stupid face. “Stop!” You waved. “I’m trying to eat.”

“Hey, I’m just happy to see you smiling again.” Dean grinned, taking a sip of his soda. “I hate when you’re all upset.” He shrugged.

You licked your lips before taking a sip of your soda, giving him a small smile. “Well, you’re good at making me smile.” You blushed. “You’ve been my best friend for forever.” You chuckled lightly.

Dean pouted, crossing his arms over his chest as he sat on your couch. The four year old was not at all pleased that he was staying at his mother’s friend’s house while she was off having his baby brother.

“Hi!” Came a small voice as you climbed up next to him on the couch. “I’m Y/N/N. ‘Member me?” You looked hopeful, as you’d had playdates with him a couple times before.

He glared. “Stupid girls.” He huffed, instantly regretting it when you looked like you’d cry. “Hey, you know how to play hide and seek?”

You face lit of. “Course I do!” You giggled.

“W-what if I’d like to be more than best friends?” He asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

You froze with your burger almost to your mouth. “What?” You asked, not sure that you’d heard him right. Setting down your food, you swallowed. “You want to be more?”

He shrugged. “I’d like the chance.” Dean admitted nervously. “I’ve loved you for awhile now, honestly.” Your felt your chest tighten as your stomach fluttered at his words. “I just always wanted you happy, and didn’t want to screw us up. Then I saw how bad that dick hurt you.” He sighed, running his hand through his short blond hair. “All I wanted to do was hold you close and make it stop hurting you.”

Chewing on your lip, you chose your words wisely. “Dean…” You said gently. “I just got out of almost a year long relationship.” Which was something you needed to say before saying more. “While I do love you, a lot, I’m not going to pretend I can be more right now.” That would be fair to Dean at all. “I won’t shut the idea down, though.”

Dean nodded, smiling. “I get that, I do!” He told you. “I just couldn’t hold my tongue anymore.”

You chuckled lightly. “I vote that we finish our food, and go to my house, get comfortable, and watch cheesy movies.” 

“I like that idea.” He agreed.

–6 months later–

Dean pouted at you over Skype. “You can’t make it home?”

“I’m sorry!” You sighed. “I have to work.” You explained to your boyfriend of three months. “I’ll be home for Christmas, I promise.”

“Fiiiiine.” He said dramatically, making you chuckle. “How about we have a Skype date on Thanksgiving? You with your food, me with mine.”

You smiled. “I love that idea, actually.” At least you knew that you’d be seeing him in a month, so this would work for now. “How is everyone?”

Dean chuckled. “Mom keeps asking about you. Dad calls you his daughter already, and Sam just started high school.” He shook his head. “I hope he hits a growth spurt soon.” You laughed, knowing what he meant. Sam was a bit on the skinnier side. “How’s school?”

“It’s school.” You shrugged. “I miss you, though. I went to a party the other night with a friend and wound up leaving because I got tired of telling guys off.”

“Well…”

You furrowed your brows. “What?”

Dean smirked, a twinkle in his eye. “What if I told you that you won’t have to worry about that for long?” You raised an eyebrow, urging him to go on. “I’m getting an apartment near you. This January.”

“Really?!” You grinned. “How?”

He laughed. “Dad is opening up a second garage. He needs someone to oversee it. I said I’d do it. I’ll be just half an hour away from you. Not three or so hours.”

“You did that for me?” You asked, feeling loved.

“Us, babe.” He corrected you. 

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

Five-Finger Discount (Dean/Reader)

Title: Five-Finger Discount

Characters/Pairing: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Dean x Female Reader

Summary: It's supposed to be a simple case. A little undercover. A little burglary. A little spell. Dash of salt and burn. No muss, no fuss. So, why the hell are you getting these uncontrollable thoughts about Dean's... hands?

Word Count: 10,300

Tags: Hand & Finger Kink, Dean Winchester is a Scoundrel, Dean gets a Manicure, Fluff and Humor, Shameless Smut of the Finger Variety, Dean Winchester Talks Dirty

Notes: Because Jensen just can’t keep his hands to himself. See notes on AO3 for the offender/crime in question.

A persistent tapping on your bedroom door awakens you. It could be late evening or early morning in the windowless bunker.

Before you can check your phone for the actual time, Dean’s voice calls your name from the other side of the door.

You groan. Whatever time it is, it’s not ‘wakey wakey eggs and bakey’ time. “What?”

“Got word from Sam. He’s figured out what’s been killing the inmates in NSP.”

You sit up and feel for the lamp switch. After a turn and snick , you mumble, “Let there be light.” Your voice raises in answer to Dean. “That’s great.”

“Well, not that great.” The conversation is still happening through the closed door. “Sam figures it’s a ghost of a prisoner that died behind bars in 1870.”

“Why not great? Did you want more of a challenge? Ghosts are a milk run.”

You can hear the dramatic sigh, picture the tilt back and forth of his head, and the way his mouth mimics either you or Sam when the sarcasm leans on the excessive. Which is kind of ironic coming from the King of Snark. “Can I come in? You decent?”

“Yes.”

It’s definitely the middle of the night when you get a look at him. Dean’s hair is mussed. There are cheek and chin creases from scuba pillow diving when he sleeps on his stomach. “You got something formal to wear?”

“Huh?”

“A gown, dress, something promish or wedding worthy?”

“Promish?” That question reply to his question earns you a broad stance with hands on hips like a superhero as Dean stares you down. You twirl both hands around to remind him of the non-existent storage space in the bunker. Which should not be a thing in such a huge fortress where men dressed in three piece suits on the daily. “Sure. I have a whole rack of them hanging in my walk-in closet.”

He rolls his eyes. “Okay, smart ass. Well, we’re gonna have to go do this thing in less than twenty-four hours that needs you in a dress and me in a tux.”

You suck in your lips and try not to laugh at how pissed Dean appears at the thought.

“It’s a charity fundraiser in Lincoln,” he continues. “We have to act like a couple of out-of-state spenders with deep pockets to get our hands on the Hand of Glory that belonged to this ghost.”

“What about Sam? I bet he’d look much better in a dress than I would.”

Dean shrugs. “He’s got the hair for it. But we can’t risk somebody making him.”

Of course. The one time Sam goes investigating on his own. He posed as an FBI agent and poked around too many people. 

You and Dean are going to have to go shopping. The all-out kind. Max out a stolen credit card at the mall kind.

Dean is gonna be miserable. You can’t wait. Grumpy Dean, for some reason, is very entertaining.

“How about you in the dress and me in the tux?” you offer.

“I don’t have the legs for it.” Dean shakes his head. “Get a few more hours of sleep. Gonna be a busy day.”

You’ve been around Sam and Dean for a long time. Long enough to have gotten a little numb and even blase regarding certain things.

The dangers of a hunt. The stench of death. The amount of blood a beheaded vamp body can ooze.

As you tick the tasks off for the heist with a trip to a dress shop earlier and currently helping Dean pick out a tux, another thing you’ve become indifferent to smacks you right in the goddamn face.

The hotness of the Winchester brothers.

You were talking with the owner of the suit store when Dean parted the curtains of the fitting booth he’d been in for five minutes.

And there it was, dressed to the nines, cutting a fine figure in a black tuxedo. 

The plain as day fact of how unfucking-believably gorgeous Dean Winchester is.

Stephen, well-dressed and highly animated, claps hands in front of his face. “Oh. Wow, that is, it’s like you stepped right off the cover of GQ magazine,” he gushes at Dean. “Turn around, turn around.”

Dean blushes, spins on his heels, and averts your and Stephen’s gaze. You’re glad because you can feel the warmth racing over your own cheeks.

“Sir, that is screaming perfection. I don’t even think it needs to be taken in. It’s like a second skin.” You’d think Stephen was buttering him up for a sale if he was overexaggerating. But, he wasn’t.

“Well, good, cause it’s not like we’ve got time for a tailor,” Dean huffs. Then, you hear, “You’re awfully quiet. What do you think?”

“I-yeah-it’ll do.”

After Dean swipes the key card, he steps aside and lets you pass the threshold first.

“Holy shit,” you whisper.

The suite is swanky. No motels for you on this trip. You’ve got to keep up appearances, after all.

Windows that meet the ceiling give you a sweet view of downtown Lincoln. It’s not the New York skyline, but everything looks impressive from a higher vantage.

Dean pushes the squeaky luggage cart. The door clicks closed solidly behind him. “Alright. We got a few hours to get ourselves presentable. Then we head on over to the Sheldon Museum of Art.” He hangs the garment bags containing his tux and your dress in the closet. The duffle bags each get a chuck onto the king-size bed.

You nod at the reminder. Sam will be at the fundraiser as well. Between the ruse of you and Dean as the wealthy Mitchums from Kansas and Sam’s Agent Dion, you’re confident the case will be resolved before another not-so-innocent victim dies. “Too bad we can’t really enjoy a stay at a place like this.”

“Eh, overpriced. I can’t wait to get home to the bunker. It’s a lot nicer.” He rolls the cart back toward the door. “I’ll be back in a few.”

He’s gone before you can quibble with Dean over your and his idea of luxury. But yours does have windows, excessive amounts of pillows, and room service.

Dean returns to find you’ve commandeered the entire vanity counter with makeup. He chuckles. “Never seen you put any of this crap on before. Do you even know how?”

“Asshole.” You thwack his tummy, but clenched stomach muscles anticipated the retaliation. “I’ll wear makeup for this case out of necessity. I don’t believe in going into debt to keep up with the latest beauty trend. This stuff costs a fortune.”

Dean picks up a packet of press-on nails and looks at the price tag. “Well, hopefully, it’s all worth it.”

As Dean inspects your haul, you notice the dirt under his own nails. “Your hands,” you state.

“Huh?” Dean’s brow furrows. He puts down the box and stares at his fingers.

“Those aren’t the hands of a millionaire.”

He smiles. “I’ve got a great rags to riches story I can use. You see, one day I was shootin’ at some food, and up for the ground came a bubblin’...”

“Ooor, you can look the part.” You cut off his recounting of how the Beverly Hillbillies came to be and sweep a hand in his direction. “Hurry up and shower. I’ll do your nails.”

His eyes bug out. “Do my nails?”

“Relax. Just gonna tidy them up. No polish. Although there’s nothing wrong with a little color on a guy’s nails. But maybe not for this event. We don’t need you to stand out too much.” You think about how he looked in that tux and realize how much he will stand out already at least in your mind. He’s still blinking at you, processing what’s about to happen. “Well, hurry up, Jeb. That oil ain’t gonna find itself.”

You gulp at the sight of a freshly scrubbed, washed, towel-dried Dean. It shouldn’t be affecting you like this. You’ve seen him just out of a shower with his white t-shirt and sweatpants when you’ve been hunting on the road.

Maybe it’s the change of scenery. No motel. No mildew smells. No obnoxiously loud wallpaper to mask the soot and stains. No revving engines or wheels peeling right outside the door. None of the things that usually overwhelm and distract your senses.

His entire face is scrunched up in confused awe. Tools are neatly lined atop a towel on the small island by the kitchenette. Not the usual gun-cleaning ones, though. You clear your throat and pat the breakfast stool beside your seated frame.

“Is this gonna hurt?” he asks.

“Just a little detailing is all.”

He sits and eyes you warily.

A gimme gesture requests his left hand. He provides it, resting his fingers over the bridge of support yours creates. You try not to flinch in surprise at the warmth and weight. It’s not like you’ve never touched him before. But, you’ve never had the opportunity for contact to linger.

You lean down and in, lifting his fingers in inspection and deciding your plan of attack. Damn. They’re, well, you wonder how you haven’t noticed how big they are. His entire hand dwarfs yours in comparison. Dean’s a big dude. He is not as tall as Sam, but considering they’re both over six feet, you shouldn’t be surprised that his digits are substantial. You picture Sam’s hands in your mind’s eye in the usual situations. Tapping away on a keyboard. Flipping through their dad’s journal pages or some gigantic volume of lore in the bunker. Those fingers are long, but their slender and taut, proportionate to Sam’s body type and size. Jolly Green Giant size.

Dean’s? Well, it’s not that they don’t match Dean. They’re beefy, thick, and solid. All the things Dean is. But they’re more like a jumbo sausage sandwich than a hot dog that’s a little too big for the bun. Even the width of his palm seems way above average.

“What’s wrong?” Dean’s question calls out and you wonder how long you’ve been staring at his freaking hands.

“Nothing,” you mumble.

You get to work, using a nail brush that’s been soaking in a bowl of warm, sudsy water. A sturdy grip wraps around two of Dean’s fingers - it’s all you can comfortably manage - and the bristles scrub back and forth in quick passes.

Dean chortles. His fingers pull back slightly. The look on his face is one of surprise. You grin and ask, “Did that tickle?”

He snorts. “What? No. I’m not ticklish.”

“Mm-hmm.” You tug his fingers toward the brush. “Hold still then.” You continue the process. Dip the brush in the water bowl. Play Dean’s fingers like a washboard. And you delight in how his jaw clenches and body squirms. He does an adorable shimmy shake that starts at the shoulders and ends with an ass cha-cha. But you only let the torture go on for a minute or two. “Okay. Give them another wash. Then we’ll clip ‘em, file and buff, and these nails will scream private prep school and ivy league polo.”

He rises. “As long as there’s no more brushing.” He punctuates how serious he is about that with one of those fingers right at your mouth.

You swallow the urge to bite that finger.

For someone who was uncertain about the thought of a manicure earlier, Dean is back in a hurry to continue the process. You exaggeratedly shake the nail brush out of the soapy water bowl and softball it into the stainless steel sink a yard away. It clangs about like a noon bell. You raise both hands, “I’m unarmed.”

He snickers, “Not so sure.” He skirts his gaze over the remaining items. “Sharp and stabby things.”

“You have used clippers before. You’re not an actual Cro-Magnon that drags knuckles on the ground and runs nails along some flint.” You grab one stool and carry it to the other side of the island, settling into position for the next step. “Sit and stop acting like a baby.”

“Damn,” he murmurs, following orders and taking his seat from before.

“Hands,” you request.

He harrumphs and splays his fingers atop the terry towel, like a cat stretching and digging in with their claws. His hands are creamy colored and speckled pink from the washing and scrubbing. Ten digits tap along the cloth in wait. And you stare, longer than you should.

What in the holy hell is going on? They’re fingers for chrissakes. The same fingers you’ve seen on Dean all the time, day after day in the bunker or in the car or on a hunt. It’s not like he got a hand transplant or something.

“Come on, Madge.” Dean snaps two of those fingers together. “This is where you’re supposed to tell me I was soaking in it.”

“Huh?”

He rolls his eyes. “Softens hands while you do the dishes?” He adds to the dramatics and unhinges his jaw. “Come on, we’re the same age. You gotta remember that commercial? Palmolive?”

“Oh, right.” You feign recollection, inhale to steady yourself and grab his left hand. It’s down to business time. “I’ve only lost five of my last six clients. Nothing to worry about.”

“Quite the comedian,” he razzes back.

“I am. Apparently you could learn a thing or two from me. The first? A punchline isn’t funny if you have to explain it.”

“Yeah, well…” He begins.

“Maybe come at me with ‘your face is a punchline’?” you suggest.

His lids blink in confusion. “It’s not, though.”

For some reason that shuts you both up.

You spend the next minutes manipulating each of Dean’s fingers, one by one in your palm as you clip. Tick, tick, tick. You give the nails a nice straight edge and round out the sides. His nails are stumpy, boxy and twice the width of yours. His skin is calloused, toughened in the spots you expect. From the thousands of hours he’s gripped Baby’s steering wheel, handled a shotgun, cranked a wrench, slid into the trigger of his Colt. But they are soft in other spots. The patterns of lines criss crossing and connecting like a terrain map enthrall you.

He’s quiet. Watching you work. You’ve forgotten to be mouthy for this bit. It’s hard to focus on anything but this and his breathing. You’ve forgotten the basic steps of inhaling and exhaling.

It’s when you’ve moved on to filing that Dean remembers how to word. “You’re good at this.”

“I should be,” you croak out then clear your throat. “I did my older sister’s nails all the time growing up.”

“Hm, I guess Sammy didn’t get the little brother memo about doing my nails.”

I grin up at him. “Maybe you should have had him watch that Palmolive commercial.”

His laugh is soft. His eyes gleam with that hint of mischief he dons when there is no imminent threat. When life is as close to normal as possible. You wonder what it would be like to take those hands and place them around your waist. Guide him to hold you steady, secure.

He opens his mouth, stops to lick his top lip.

It’s taking everything in your power to not catapult over the island and slam your lips against his.

He finally speaks. “We should get ready.”

And your daydreaming dissipates just like that.   

Two hours later, you and Sam wait outside the St. Charbel Chapel in Calvary Catholic Cemetery. It’s the closest church and holy ground from the museum Sam had found in his research.

A fire truck zooms down a nearby street, siren wailing.

You wait for Dean. 

Things had not gone according to plan.

At the fundraiser, Sam got cornered near the crudités by a Lancaster County Sheriff’s Office deputy. From what you overheard, Sam’s cover had been blown. He was in imminent danger of being arrested by Deputy Dickens for impersonating a federal agent. Dean was off in one of the acquisition storage rooms searching for the Hand of Glory.

You all were SOL.

You did what any hunter interested in self-preservation would do. Walked over to the nearest fire alarm and inconspicuously pulled the lever. Alarms went off. In the chaos of disgruntled partygoers filing out of the building, Sam dropped the deputy to the ground with a combo shoulder check and leg sweep. You were down on the floor in a flash, asking the lawman if he was alright. Before he could reply, you held a handkerchief doused with your travel-size bottle of chloroform to his mouth and nose. A clutch could only hold so much—such an inconvenience.

Sam pushed the passed-out deputy under the appetizer station’s floor-length tablecloth. You both did a hurried power walk past the crowd gathered in front of the museum. Sam tried his best to slow down his stride enough for you to keep up wearing heels. At least you only had four blocks to cover to end up at the cemetery, the agreed-upon meetup location.

You pace in wait. “He’ll be here,” Sam states with conviction.

You never want to leave a man behind. Especially not Dean.

Sure enough, Dean’s shadowed figure jogs up the cemetery walk in the dark minutes later. You recognize his panting first.

Sam shines a light in Dean’s direction. He’s a bit disheveled from whatever he had to do to skip out of the museum undetected. The hair, styled in a neat part earlier, is now askew.

“Guessing I have you two to thank for having to hop out a bathroom window and into thorny rose bushes.”

You shrug. “Sam was about to get handcuffed.”

Dean ponders for a moment. “Context is important to determine whether that’s good or bad for Sam.”

“Dean, come on, did you get it?” Sam asks with an impatient wave of his hand.

Dean pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and flaps it open with a wrist snap. He pulls out a gnarled, desiccated object under his jacket's lapel. “I did get it, using my five-finger discount.”

The burning ritual had at least gone smoother than the rest of the evening. Sam dropped the two of you around the back of the hotel in his rental car. You both had left Baby in the connected garage and taken a cab to the museum. 

“See you all at the bunker.” He smiles, energized, and pumped from a successful hunt. He’s glowing and adorable. You realize you have gotta dial back the internal ogling of your hunting partners and quick or it’s gonna get all kinds of uncomfortable in your head.

“See ya, Sammy.” Dean grins and salutes.

“Don’t take too long to get out of town.” Sam advises, flicks his bangs out of his eye line with a shampoo commercial head whip, then peels off with a wave.

The key card lets you sneak in through the poolside.

The ride up the elevator starts quiet. You spend the time zoning out and staring at the tapered triangle of shoulder and back that makes up Dean’s tuxedo jacket.

So, dialing back the ogling is going great.

“You looked really good tonight,” Dean murmurs. You catch his gaze in the door’s reflective surface. “I mean,” he clears his throat, “you still look really good. I never got the chance to tell ya earlier.”

The attention straightens your posture. You adjust the spaghetti strap of your little black dress. “Thanks.” It’s all you can think of to respond. You tear your focus away from the eye crinkles, now the newest sexy thing you’ve failed to notice. It’s safer to inspect the corners of the floor for dust. The small enclosed space heats due to Dean Winchester occupying it.

The elevator dings and you hold in a sigh of relief. You exit first, then halt so he leads. You trail behind him in silence to the room. He opens the door. Your steps scoot past his body.

“Got time to change?” Hopeful, you’re already rifling through your duffel for your jeans and flannel.

“Sam’s right. We should probably bolt.”

You groan.

“Let’s put some miles between us and Lincoln.” It’s not really a suggestion.

“Fine.” You give in, knowing he’s right.

You aren’t tired on the drive back. The sense of accomplishment after a successful case turns most hunters into live wires, you included. 

You and Dean have been chatting about the hunt. The lackluster food at the fundraiser. Sam’s impressive Latin skills. An apparent millionaire whose breath stunk like a month old convenience store burrito. And you knew what one of those smelled like from unfortunate firsthand experience. The conversation switches to some repairs that need to be done around the bunker. A casserole recipe on Pinterest you want to try. Who’s going to get the treat of washing all the MOL classic cars in the garage. The topics pogo all over the place. You love these moments with the brothers. 

You’re an hour and some change out from Lincoln, halfway to Lebanon, when Dean has an idea.

His finger wags at a mile marker. “There’s a decent bar in Bruning. Wanna grab a drink to celebrate?”

You stare at his unbuttoned tux jacket, then your dress. “Like this?”

“Sure. Why not?” It’s not really a question as he takes the exit.

You drew the line at wearing heels in the bar. Dean grabbed your worn cowboy boots from Baby’s trunk. He leaned against the car beside your open passenger door. You tugged on boots, leaned forward, giving any passersby a free show down the front of your dress. Arms folded, Dean scowled and puffed out his chest to any male who dared to glance in your direction.

A minute later you both entered the bar and did the usual routine without speaking. Head to respective bathrooms. Clean up and make yourselves respectable looking. But as you blotted your foundation and appreciated the staying power of your makeup in the mirror - okay, maybe that setting spray was worth the price - you considered who you were making yourself respectable for?

It’s not like either one of you were expecting to get lucky tonight. The bunker was less than two hours away. No one was gonna pick up a local and take them back to their motel room.

You applied a fresh coat of red berry lipstick.

So, that left only you and Dean freshening up for… each other?

You scoffed at the ridiculous idea, ran fingers through your hair.

A drink. One drink. To celebrate a job well done.

“That’s all it is,” you mumble.

You’ve played darts for an hour. Dean’s on his third whiskey. You’ve downed four fruity rum concoctions, mainly because you loved hearing Dean order the drink. 

Entertainment was the least he could do after beating you for the sixth time.

The waitress stops at your high top and grabs the empty plates and glasses. “What else can I get you two?”

Dean clutches a dart, deep in focus, squinting at the target board. “You wanna nother Bahama Mama?”

You suppress a giggle and smile at the waitress. “Just more water. Thanks.”

“We should probably load up on the grease before we head home.” Dean peers at the waitress over a shoulder. “Maybe some fries, darlin’, to go along with one last shot of whiskey?”

“Sure thing, sugar.” She smiles, then waits for Dean to turn around before eyeing his backside in approval. With a grin, she taps your bare forearm. “Lucky you,” she whispers.

You are lucky. But not for the reason the waitress thinks. Being around Sam and Dean means safety and security. The eye candy is merely a bonus. One you are debating if you should indulge in more often or continue to restrict your caloric intake.

After all, there’s nothing wrong with appreciating a work of art.

Dean had flung his necktie in Baby’s backseat and unbuttoned his collar during the drive. The casual way he now wore the tux was even more attractive. “Probably a good idea if you lay off the alcohol. It’s definitely affecting your game tonight.” He grins.

You lean your heavy weighted head against a palm for support. “Yeah, must b’it,” you slur, more than you like. Your gaze zones in on his fingers gripping the dart. Those damn fingers have been a distraction all night. He has to be unaware he’s sabotaging any ability to focus. Dean is an outright flirt with his targets. You’ve seen him lay on the charm thick and sticky the same way he slaps peanut butter and jelly on white bread. Subtlety has never been his thing.

Speaking of targets. The dart launches out of his hand and lands dead center. “That’s what I’m talkin’ bout.” Dean performs the ka-ching motion for what feels like the hundredth time that night. Normally, it’s annoying, but you battle your lids open to stare at his clenched fist in awe. Again. He slides onto the bar stool and inspects you with a concerned smile. “You usually drink me under the table. Sure you’re okay?”

“Fine.” You hum. 

The waitress whizzes by and deposits Dean’s shot and a basket of fries. Dean’s voice floats in the air expressing his thanks to, you think he says, Linda. Then a pointed order hits you right in the face. “Hey, eat something. I ain’t carrying you to the car like some swoony duchess on those shows you binge.”

“They’ve got carriages, not cars.” You blink over and over and straighten up. A handful of fries fill your mouth. Your brain hasn’t caught up in time to tell you to shut up and chew. “Yud make a ghood ake.”

“What?” Dean smiles at you like he’s happened across his favorite Scooby-Doo episode while channel surfing.

You gulp down the gluey mashed goodness. “You’d make a good rake.”

“What’s that? Some kind of man servant? I was a handmaiden once.” He indulges in some of the fries before you eat them all. Those fingers push them past his lips.

“No. A rake’s-” You huff at the gall when he attentively licks the grease off his thumb. His tongue is quite, um, “Nimble.”

He frowns, obviously confused. “A rake’s nimble?”

You shake out the cobwebs in your brain, tripping you up with a collision of thoughts. “A rake’s a ladies’ man,” you mutter.

His spine stiffens, shoulders pop back in pride. “I do try to please the ladies every chance I get.”

“We are all well aware.” More fries thankfully save you from saying anything that may humiliate.

“Guess those aren’t your favorite characters. You probably like the stuffy types that are all serious, with their noses up in the air or stuck in a book.”

You shrug. “Nah, I go for the rogues.”

One of Dean’s brows quirk up. “The dangerous type?” One side of his mouth lifts as well.

“Yeah, a scoundrel. You know, the one you can’t quite figure out. They’ve got this bad reputation or some sordid past. But, they go after what they want. Take what they want.” You hum again and close your eyes. You can still see Dean’s grin in your mind’s eye.

“Too bad I don’t fit the bill.”

You freeze. Eyes still closed. He didn’t just… did he?

“I mean. It’d be all kinds of wrong. Me going for something I wanted, damn the consequences.”

You inhale and grip the curve of the table top. You open your eyes to find him sipping at his whiskey. “Don’t fuck with me,” you whisper.

He gives you a toe curling smile now. The glass clinks onto the table. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I’m not your type.”

“I-wh-” It’s too late. You’ve never been on the receiving end of what is most definitely Dean Winchester flirting. “What makes you think that?”

He leans in. His breath meets your inhale and you take in all the spice and warmth. “I wouldn’t do a thing to mess this up. Not unless, you know, I knew.”

You nod, dumbstruck. “Yeah, that makes sense. I mean, yeah.” A whoosh of fatigue makes your head spin.

Dean smiles. “We live together, hunt together. Packed like sardines together twenty-four seven sometimes. Wouldn’t want to mess any of that up. Unless I knew, you know?”

“Knew what?” Your chin drops to your chest despite your best efforts. The weight of your body gets ready to do a face plant on the table top. You squish your lids shut tight and groan in horror at the inevitable.

But, Dean is there to save you. Again. His fingers swoop in to cradle your jaw and lift up your head. The embarrassment and alcohol finally overtake you. As you fade, you hear, “Maybe I’ll tell you when you’ll remember the answer.”

You woke up in your bed, back at the bunker. Again, with no idea if it was morning or night. No idea how much time had passed since…

You spring upright to sit. And, yeah, that was a mistake. Your head pounds. Your mouth is dry and tacky. Your stomach feels like it got turned upside down. Not that much time has passed since…

You groan and lay back down, slow and gentle. You piece the last snippets of memory together.

You stare up at the ceiling, grateful for the darkness. You want it to suck you up whole.

Did you pass out in the middle of Dean hitting on you? Did Dean end up swooping you up and putting you in the Impala? Driving you home passed out in the back seat - or God forbid the front passenger seat with you lolling about, mouth probably open and drooling - then carrying you throughout the bunker to your bedroom? Did he…?

You pat your chest and feel the spaghetti straps and silky fabric of your little black dress. You sigh. He had taken pity on you and only stripped you of your cowboy boots.

There’s a soft tap on your bedroom door.

“Oh no.” You pull the blanket over your head, mortified. You don’t think you can face him.

But it’s not Dean that says your name. It’s Sam.

“You alright? I heard you… uh… moaning.”

“Yeah,” you squeak. “Hungover.”

You think you hear Sam snicker. “Dean said you outpaced him by a mile. In darts and drinks.”

That makes you pause to recall. No, you definitely don’t think any of that’s accurate.

“He made some breakfast before he went out, if you’re hungry.”

Great, he can’t bear to face you, either. “Thanks, Sam.”

“If you’re up for it later, I could use some assistance researching.”

You take a measured breath to quell the nausea. “I’ll let you know.”

You’d chewed some aspirin and drank glass after glass of water from the sink in your room and somehow passed out for a few more hours.

You drag yourself out of bed around noon and shower in an effort to resemble something close to human. The stomach growls lead you to the bunker kitchen. At first, you smile at the plate of pancakes Dean covered with a clean kitchen towel for you. A frown follows at the odd shape of them. They aren’t his usual silver dollar pancakes stacked six high.

You tilt your head, attempting to figure out what Buttermilk Banksy was trying to create. The two pancakes, side by side on a large plate, obviously started out as circles. But then, four long tendrils were added along the top of each and a little offshoot one on the side. A turkey? Why the hell would Dean make turkeys? It wasn’t anywhere near Thanksgiving time.

“‘Bout time, sleepy head.” Dean’s voice wafts in from the doorway. He strolls in without a care in the world. There’s no hesitancy to lock eyes with you. Which is good. That has to mean you didn’t make more of a fool of yourself than you remember. He tugs on the fridge door. “Do you want something else or those pancakes enough?” He’s asking the interior of the refrigerator more than you, his head circling the shelves. “Was gonna pile on the grease but thought you might need to take it easy after last night.”

“No, this is great. Thank you.” You keep your voice low, hoping he’ll get the hint and not make too much noise.

He seems to, clicking the door shut softly after grabbing a cold slice of pizza. “Oh, I thought we’d do a movie night in the Dean cave. I bought angus ground beef for burgers. I’ll make some potato wedges. Grabbed your favorite microwave popcorn, movie theater butter.”

The menu, miraculously, doesn’t make your stomach lurch into panicked somersaults. “None of that sounds Sam approved.”

“He’s got that author signing book store thing in Stockton tonight.”

Oh, right. You’d forgotten for a moment how excited Sam was to listen to some guy read a chapter from his book on the evils of the Federalist Society.

“Think you’ll be up for it?” Dean asks, brows raised hopeful.

You smile. “I think I will.”

“Good.” He captures a third of the pizza slice in one bite. After four chews and a swallow he finishes with, “I’ll go easy on you.” The grin he flashes catches you off guard. It’s that one that if Sam saw it, he’d suspect you and Dean had a secret.

Problem was, you didn’t know what the secret was.

“We got weapons to clean in an hour. No matter what Sam says about research.” Dean taps the door sill on the way out of the kitchen. “Meet you in the library. Don’t be late.” He disappears.

You stare down at your breakfast, which is now technically lunch, and a queasy feeling erupts. But not from the hangover or the thought of eating.

The pancakes Dean made. You think you know what the shapes are now.

A pair of hands.

Time in the library with Sam and Dean is pure torture. 

You’re sat equidistant between the two of them, in the middle of one of the long massive wooden tables. Sam is on one end, flipping through page after page of a volume on corporal punishment. He’s trying to work out an easy cheat sheet - a work flow chart - that you all can use in the future. If you can identify what crime someone was charged with committing way back when, you’d have a better idea of the dismembered mummified appendage to track.

Dean occupies the other head of the table. A worn cloth laid out in front of him, all manner of weapons lined in a neat row atop it, awaiting his hands.

His hands. God, you hope the pancakes were merely a cheeky, inside joke on Dean’s part. Maybe it was a reminder about your insistence on the manicure. Or the friggin’ Palmolive commercial that, thanks Dean, you can’t get out of your head either. Because now all you can think about is Dean’s massive fingers dipped in a teeny tiny glass bowl filled with sudsy dish detergent. 

Between Sam’s page turns and Dean’s clink of weapons your brain can’t settle or calm down. You’re also trying to appease both hunters. You’re reading through a book on your right and sharpening a machete on your left. 

“That jugglin’ act might leave you with more than a paper cut if you aren’t careful,” Dean chides.

You swallow down the urge to quip something back. It’s only when the whetstone clears the curve of the machete and halts at the tip that you tear your gaze from the task and stare at Dean. “I can handle it.”

He smirks. “Oh, I’m sure you can HANDle it.” He shrugs. “Just wouldn’t want you to lose a FINGER.”

“How about you quit distracting her? She’s doing you a favor.” Sam’s brows lift pointedly at Dean. “And besides, why do you insist on cleaning weapons here when you could literally be doing it anywhere else in the bunker?”

Dean curls up the fakest smile at Sam. “Cause I love your company.” 

The boys settle after a few more grunts and scoffs at each other. You plunge nose deep into lore and wish the pages were waves pulling you out to sea. 

There’s no way Dean’s emphasis on “hand” and “finger” were accidental. Dean’s pretty intuitive. But you are a pretty good actor in your own right when you need to be. However, there’s still a chance that you said or did something when you were too intoxicated to remember.

It’s not helping that Dean’s performing his weapon cleaning like a goddamn seduction. Mr. Hand Model takes apart the sawed off, cleans the inside of and around the barrel, reassembles, and clicks all the pieces back into place. His nails look perfect, shiny and slick with the gun oil. His beefy fingers curl around the wood and steel in a way that makes you want to trade places with the firearm.

You somehow endure for 45 minutes. Last night’s indulgences are blamed in an excuse to head back to your bedroom. As you preemptively wish Sam an enjoyable outing later, Dean reminds you to rest up for dinner and a movie.

Ugh. You know how Dean gets when he won’t let something go that he finds hilarious. This could go on for a while.

It’s a trap. It’s gotta be.

Dean’s lowering your defenses with good food and good company.

It all started in the kitchen where dinner was served. He wasn’t kidding about the burgers. He made quarter pound medium rare works of art with cheese and all the toppings. The bun was Texas Toasted out. The guy even used the air fryer to produce ridiculously addicting potato wedges with a spicy paprika and chili powder coating.

Then, it was Dean cave time. No beer in sight, you were given pop to drink, with an offhanded “no repeat performance of last night” remark. You slid down the couch, groaning, pulling the hoodie over your face for dramatic effect. He grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl sitting between you on the couch and added, “You know, so you don’t pass out midway through the movie.”

You inhale the buttery goodness beside you and relax, popping back up in your seat. A swig of sugar wakes up your lethargic post-meal brain and settles the nerves that Dean is up to something. “So, what masterpiece do you have for us tonight?” you query.

He presses a button on one remote and the lights dim. Another remote in hand, another button press, and the television screen blares with an all too familiar soundtrack.

“The Empire Strikes Back.” You nod. “Good choice.”

“It’s your favorite one,” Dean reminds you.

“Yeah. Yoda. Duh.”

Dean chuckles.

Things fall into that easy going movie commentary that you and Dean are so fond of doing. It drives Sam crazy when he's watching stuff with the two of you. You’re spouting behind the scenes facts you know you’ve told Dean a half a dozen times already (like how the puppeteer who’s voicing Yoda also voices your favorite muppet, Fozzie Bear). Dean adds his own sound effects when the AT-ATs are firing, points out every Wilhelm scream, and helps Harrison Ford out by quoting all of Solo’s lines.

Leia is fixing some equipment on the Falcon and you comment, “I like the braid updo more than the cinnamon rolls.”

“Eh, I don’t know. The combo of beauty and baked goods is pretty hard to beat.”

Solo walks in and tries to help. Leia pushes him away. You sigh. “Here they go.”

Dean turns to you and raises an eyebrow. In perfect sync with Solo’s dialogue he utters, “Hey Your Worship, I’m only trying to help.”

You eye roll. “Would you please stop calling me that?” If it's a quote battle Dean wants, it’s on. If Sam were here, he’d be so done with the both of you right now.

“Sure, Leia.”

A huff for good measure. “You make it so difficult sometimes.”

Dean leans in. “I do, I really do. You could be a little nicer, though. Come on, admit it. Sometimes you think I’m all right.”

Wait. Wait. Oh no. You don’t have to be looking at the screen to know what happens next. Leia hurts her HAND trying to turn a lever. You clam up at all the fucking context this scene now holds for you and Dean. You can’t say the next lines. Because you know that Solo grabs Leia’s HAND as she says, “Occasionally, maybe… when you aren’t acting like a scoundrel.”

That’s when last night’s rum-infested confessions cut to the front of the memory queue. You adore scoundrels, rogues.

Dean doesn’t miss a beat, though. He even gazes down at one of your HANDS. He continues the performance. “Scoundrel?” Face half cast in shadow, his lids widen, irises still manage to catch the light and entrance you. “Scoundrel?” A huge grin emerges. “I like the sound of that.”

Solo is massaging Leia’s HAND the whole time.

Leia whispers, “Stop that.”

Dean replies, “Stop what?” Though he’s not questioning the screen. He’s locked eyes with you. Daring you to break away first.

Leia answers, even softer. “Stop that. My hands are dirty.”

Dean tilts his head, uncaring. “My hands are dirty, too. What are you afraid of?”

“Afraid?” Oh, Leia, Don’t egg him on.

“You’re trembling,” Dean’s voice is softer. He’s edging closer, but there’s only so much distance he can cover with the popcorn bowl in the way.

You decide now’s as good a time as any to try and act your way out of a paper bag. “I’m not trembling.” You coat your response with steel.

Dean is only encouraged by your participation. “You like me because I’m a scoundrel. There aren’t enough scoundrels in your life.”

You ponder for a moment. “I happen to like nice men.”

“I’m nice men.” Dean offers with complete sincerity.

You scoff. “No, you’re not. You’re…”

The music swells. Solo and Leia kiss.

But, you and Dean just stare at each other, for what feels like an eternity. You know C3PO is gonna interrupt the lovebirds at any moment. It’s the only lifeline you have, so you wait for the robot with the worst timing in history to save you from embarrassment.

“Guys?” Sam’s voice calls from the hallway.

You snap, stick straight, your back pressed against the seat. Sam must have come in through the garage.

Dean sighs. “Yeah, Sammy. Come on in. Back so soon?”

The door flings open. Warm ceiling lights from the hall halo Sam’s figure. “You know how they say, never meet your heroes? Totally valid advice tonight.” Sam stumbles into the room, all lanky limbs, and sinks into the cushy side chair. He runs fingers through his hair, his profile scrutinizing the screen. “Jedi?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Seriously, dude, how are we related?”

The three of you watch the rest of the movie without much commentary.

And you and Dean do not quote any other lines.

You cleaned up the dinner mess, alone, in the kitchen. You insisted it was the least you could do and Dean didn’t put up much resistance.

You find Dean’s bedroom door open on your way to your own for the night. You stop in the doorway to thank him again.

He’s putting away some shirts in his dresser, back turned. He looks comfy, cozy, showered, and perfect. You compose yourself in a split second when he senses you and cocks his head to the door. “Hey, everything okay?”

It’s his usual question, always assuming something needs fixing or solving. But, you sense extra concern in the tone this time.

You nod, wanting to ease the tide of Dean Winchester’s worry. “Thank you. Tonight was fun.”

“Yeah, even with Chewbacca?”

You chuckle. “Be nice.”

He waves you in as he wraps up his laundry. You oblige and sit by the tiny corner table. “Yeah, you’re right. Solo actually wouldn’t mind Chewy hanging out with him and Leia.”

You smile. Apparently, it’s Star Wars character dissection time. “So, if Sam’s not Chewbacca…”

The drawer squeaks closed. “Luke.”

“Han doesn’t mind Luke. Annoyed, sometimes. But, everyone annoys Han at one point or another.”

Dean sits at the edge of the bed, facing you. He stretches, hands entwined and arms raised overhead. A white t-shirt hugs his form here and there. You get a glimpse of perky nipples pressing against fabric. “Luke was competition. Before the brother-sister bombshell,” Dean states.

“Yeah, guess so.”

“But, the three of them, they made a good team,” Dean continues.

You nod, deliberate and slow.

“It only takes one person to start getting feelings for another one in the trio and then the whole galaxy is in jeopardy.” Dean taps the pads of his fingers together.

You sigh. You didn’t want to have to rat yourself out. But, Dean’s got a point. So, how do you go about telling him you’re finding him unbelievably attractive all of a sudden? And how do you ease his apparent worry? What, you’ll do your best to keep it in check? It won’t interfere with the work you do?

“We’re a good team, right? You, me, Sammy?” Dean cuts through the silence with the questions. He scrubs at the nape of his neck.

“I-I’d like to think so. But, you’re right, Dean. It can throw the whole balance off in a good working relationship if someone starts to catch feelings that aren’t reciprocated.”

His eyebrows form a distraught mountain peak. “So, it’s true?”

He looks so unhappy at the possibility, but you’ve gotta be an adult about it. “It just started happening during the last case.” You shrug. “But, I don’t have any intention of acting on them.” A hand raises. “Don’t worry.”

His lips purse tight. Nostrils flare. He’s deep in thought. Finally, he says, “But, you won’t know if you don’t act on it.” He nods more to convince himself now. “You should talk to Sam about how you feel.”

You blink, dumbfounded. “Huh?”

“Hey, I gave it a ‘good ole high school dropout that earned his GED’ try. We have established that I am not your type.”

“Wha-?”

“I’ll be fine with the two of you being a thing. I want to see you and Sam happy. If that means you both, together, that’s great.”

Your hands circle in front of you. “Whoa, whoa. Back up a minute.” Suddenly, your heart is racing.

“What?” He’s got that vacant puppy dog expression, every muscle in his face relaxed, wide open eyes.

You steady your breathing. “What made you think you were my type?” You can’t help the question. You only hope it doesn’t sound belittling or sarcastic. Right now, it’s your last defense of self-protection and attempt at fact finding. You gotta know if you are misinterpreting the revelation that Dean may in fact be upset if you and Sam were an item. Because… he wants you two to be an item?!

“You were acting… weird… ever since Lincoln and the manicure.” He twiddles his fingers. “I was picking up signals that weren’t there, I guess.” He shakes his head and mumbles. “Or, I probably was looking too hard to find something that wasn’t there. Like those times you tell me I’m sniffing around the wrong dog’s butt.”

You squish your lids at how crass you can be. It’s giving you less reasons to think he could find you attractive in any capacity. “Okay, but why was that so important to know?”

His arms extend from side to side. He’s getting riled up and more than a little miffed. But, you know that might work in your favor. His mouth tends to run on autopilot and the truth comes flying out. “Our, I don’t know, petri dish of co-existing in this jack-in-the-box wouldn’t get fucked up. I wouldn’t go off half-cocked and do something I’ve been wanting to do for a while unless I knew, for sure, that you felt the same way I did.” His hands retract and fall in his lap. He’s not looking at you, instead staring at his socked feet. “But, you don’t.”

You’ve got actual fucking butterflies beating their wings like bongo drums in your stomach. “What have you wanted to do for a while?”

His eyes track up to you. He’s inspecting you, hard. That’s doing nothing to quell the excitement inside. “What’s the point in telling you that now?”

“Because, maybe… you’re wrong and… you are my type.”

Dean’s lids lift a quarter of an inch. It’s a minute, micro reaction. But you catch it.

“Maybe I’ve been ignoring it for a while, because, like you. I didn’t want to mess things up. I love Sam.” You swallow, ready to bare all. “But, I haven’t been thinking about what his hands could do to me,” you whisper.

Dean inhales, sharp and quick through his nose at that confession. He exhales, adding, “Don’t fuck with me.”

You can’t do anything but grin in a way that you’re sure makes you look like a goddamn idiot. “I should have said that to you numerous times today. The pancakes. The gun cleaning. Freakin’ Han massaging Leia’s HAND!”

His lids widen. “Hey, it was me testing my theory. Like when we gotta douse someone with holy water to make sure they aren’t possessed. All but the movie, though. Swear I did not remember that scene until a few seconds before it started happening.” He sits up, rubs palms on his sweatpant clad thighs. “Well, okay, I didn’t remember the hand thing, but I wanted to see how you reacted to like THE best scoundrel ever.” Now, he’s grinning. “Been thinkin’ about my hands, huh?”

You roll your eyes merely to play along. “Alright, don’t get a big head.”

He cocks his head like a devilish rogue. “No need for a big head when I’ve got big hands.”

The giggle escapes before you can lasso it.

Dean slides his gaze up your seated frame. It’s a filthy, seedy expression. And hot as fuck. He stops to stare at your mouth, then licks his own. When his eyes meet yours, he commands, “Come on over and show me what you’ve been thinking of.” He pats his thighs. “I’ve got a nice warm seat for ya.”

He’s kidding, right? He wants you to sit on his lap. As if you’d even consider it.

And, yeah, you aren’t considering it. There’s no time for consideration when your legs have already propelled you out of the seat. You give his bedroom door a swing in a passing thought about closing it for privacy.

You can see the look of surprise on Dean’s face as you march over to the bed. But it’s mixed with want and eagerness. He opens his arms in welcome.

Warmth prickles your cheeks at the forwardness you display in accepting the invitation. One knee props up on the bed beside him. You anchor hands onto his shoulders, feel those fingers fan and lock onto your waist, and you bring the rest of your body up to straddle his lap.

You sigh, staring down at that kid in a candy store grin of his, and marvel at how very right it all feels. You settle, your ass firmly atop his thighs. The heat of him is immediate.

“Been wanting you like this,” he whispers, his nose brushing the skin exposed around your collar. A hand molds to the side of your neck, holding you in place. You shiver at the lips skirting upwards along the channel of your throat. “Now who’s ticklish?” It’s meant to tease, but his voice has lost that hint of mirth. It’s deeper, daring you to deny his observation as anything other than fact. “Maybe you aren’t ready for my hands. All.” A kiss at the juncture where your lobe meets your jaw. “Over.” A peck at the tip of your chin. He threads his fingers into the base of your hairline. He eases your head with a smooth tilt down. You lock eyes with his green ones once again. “You.”

The only response you can give is to connect your lips to his. Feeling the pliant, soft give of his mouth against yours. Then his insistent lean up and forward, forcing you to stand your ground while seated on his lap. You have to demonstrate your want is equal to his.

And you want. You so want.

Whatever you’re doing, his approving moan eggs you to continue. With each swipe and dip and dive of your lips, your mouth opens a bit more. The access encourages Dean’s tongue to taste. He laps at you gently, swirls around just enough that your core begins to ache. He pulls away and you groan. You’re drunk with desire, heavy and heady. 

Your lids blink open slow and sleepy. Thankfully you find Dean’s looking as blissed out as you feel. He’s inspecting your reaction through a hazy gaze. His hand captures the side of your face. Five pressure points sink into your skin. His eyes flicker to your mouth to watch his thumb outline the curve of your lip. The pad tugs and drags at your skin.

It’s only a second of wordless communication between the two of you. He asks with a lifting of his lids. You agree with an affirmative blink.

His thumb delves into your mouth, up to the first knuckle. You wrap your lips around. Suck with the gentlest of pressure.

His mouth lifts into a slight smile. “Good girl,” he whispers.

And, fuck if that doesn’t open your floodgates. You’re slick and ready.

Dean’s other hand runs along the waistband of your yoga pants. “You been thinking about my hands all over you…” His thumb glides under the fabric of your panties. “Taking you apart, piece by piece.” He delves farther down, until he taps the top of your mound. His jaw clenches at your gasp of anticipation. His thumb hooks under your tongue against the floor of your mouth to express just how in command he is right now. “You gonna do what I say, Your Worship?”

You nod. You’ll don a pair of cinnamon buns if he tells you to right now.

He smirks, cocky and full of confidence. “The better I make you feel down here...” He works his thumb between your folds and presses against your clit. You squirm in his lap. “The better you suck with that beautiful mouth, yeah?”

You nod again. He releases the pressure in your mouth, circles your bundle of nerves. He slips and slides while his fingers splay over your stomach to anchor in place. You latch onto his thumb again and suck on it like a straw

“Pretty sure this isn’t as wet as you’re gonna get,” he comments like a fucking weatherman. After only a few seconds, he sighs and shakes his head. “Too many fucking clothes.”

You’ve only sparred with Dean a handful of times. Every time, he’s bested you with graceful movements and quick action. He disengages from you for what must have only been seconds, spinning you around in his grasp and pinning your back to the mattress. He’s whipping off your t-shirt, pants, and underwear. Leaving you in only your bra.

He leers over you, hands running up the underside of your thighs. He kneels onto the bed, all of his clothes still on, to wedge against your ass. All of you is on proper display for him. And he takes it all in.

“Right, Gorgeous. Where were we?” One hand rides its way up your chest back to your mouth. You accept his index finger between your lips this time. His other hand resumes playing with your clit. “Hm. Much better.” 

A gasp escapes from your mouth. Your tongue ejects his finger so you can point out, “Who’s the one with too many fucking clothes on now?”

“All good things come to those who wait, darlin’.” He settles further, criss crossing over top of your flesh. His legs sandwich your right thigh while he strums your pussy. The hope of what else is to come pokes into your side through his sweatpants. He doesn’t give you a chance to reply, slipping his finger into your mouth again. The pull of his left hand guides you to lean your head toward the right. He settles his beefy forearm onto the mattress above your shoulder.

His chest pins you down in a kinky wrestling move. Teeth snag your ear lobe. He applies pressure to the swollen flesh over a ridge of bone, then uses a flicking motion that makes your thigh twitch in delight.

You're sloppy with your technique of licks and sucks as he feeds you another digit. But, really, how is any gal supposed to mind their manners with Dean Winchester fingering her? You groan, helpless, as he explores your folds, finds your entrance with two tips. “I know you got a thing for my hands,” his hot breath tunnels into your ear canal, “but, if you want, I can fill you up real good with something else.”

You can’t reply with any actual words, only moans of agreement. The erection pressing into your hip bone sure does feel substantial. If it’s anything like his fingers - two fingers are currently surfing around your tongue and rubbing against your palate - he’ll have no problem filling you up.

To ground yourself in the reality of the situation, you snatch at the hem of his shirt and tug. Your pelvis tilts up at the slow insertion of one of his other fingers down below. “Damn,” he pants into your ear. “How long’s it been since someone took care of you, all nice and proper? So- so tight and wet.” He hums. “And warm.” A languid slide out with one finger, only to be accompanied with another when he pushes back inside. “Feel so good. Gonna feel even better around my cock after I make you come… Princess.”

You will not ever admit to the fact that you squealed with Dean’s fingers in your mouth. That you convulsed after only seconds of him playing with your clit and stretching open your hole.

Fireworks continue to skyrocket in your head. Your body tipped into the oversensitive zone. You’re aware of every bit of him plastered against you. He’s made you slick with arousal and sweat. Layers of fabric cling to skin. You should be suffocating with him laying atop you, but he feels like a weighted blanket. Warm, secure. Dean’s fingers don’t retract from your mouth or pussy. They are frozen in place. Your teeth nibble one set. Your muscles spasm around the other. 

He hasn’t moved. Hot breath huffs hard into the crook of your neck with an occasional sharp inhale and hold. You close your eyes. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that you could fall asleep like this.

“Was that… too much?” He deep-throat whispers in your ear now. “I may have gotten a little carried away.”

“N-mph-,” you chortle around his fingers.

“Shit, sorry.” He pulls his hand away from your mouth, the other slowly out of your hot core. Matching sighs release from you both.

“No,” you heave, and his chest rises up and off. “It was… awesome.”

He’s in your face now, all green eyes and pink lips, a veil of freckles along the bridge of his nose and forehead. “Yeah?”

You squint, trying to focus on all the glorious aspects. He’s studying you. You get the feeling he’s really not sure. “Why is the ladies man doubting himself all of sudden?” you tease, rocking to shuffle him out of the daze.

A shrug. “It’s you. I don’t always read you right.”

You lean your head back into his memory foam in an attempt to make full eye contact. “I don’t know how many ways you can misread giving me a mindblowing orgasm.”

He blinks, cautious. “Is what I did going to… you know… change things between us?”

“Oh.” You stop, dart your gaze to the ceiling past his shoulder for dramatic effect. “Oh, absolutely. I mean,” you pause, “how could it not?” You shake your head and feel his entire body go rigid. “It’s gonna be so awkward and uncomfortable around here.” 

When you dare to look at him, there’s a hint of something you don’t see often on Dean’s face. You think it might be fear.

You can’t bear it any longer. “I mean, I can already imagine the disgusted look on Sam’s face when we start making out right in front of him.”

Within seconds, the expression turns to one of relief and amusement, accompanied by the charming cockiness that’s gonna turn you to goo at the most inopportune moments from here on out. “Well, we don’t have to tell him right away. It might be fun to, you know, sneak around right under his nose.” He relaxes, sinks into you again. “I could have you all sorts of ways, in all sorts of places, doing our best not to get caught.”

You smile. “Don’t want to tell your brother you’ve stolen my heart with that five-finger discount of yours?”

He chuckles, rolls his eyes, then cups the heat of your folds again. “I mean, I sucked at Biology, but pretty sure this ain’t your heart, darlin’.”

“You’re wrong, you know?”

He blinks, all sass and spectacle, “This IS your heart?” He squeezes.

You peck his lips, roll your eyes, and curl arms around his waist. “No. Solo’s got nothing on you. YOU are the best scoundrel.”

A breathtaking kiss makes you all lightheaded. When he finally pulls away and allows you to exhale, he lifts one side of his mouth into a confident grin. “I know.”

THE END

[kyletogaz]

what do you think kyle would wear when he's on leave? 🥺 i feel like our pretty boy would be the best dressed out of everyone

so i did this by season bc i’m extra

- winter, you’ll see him in sweaters with some nice trousers (maybe jeans, khakis, etc), cardigans over his long sleeved tops, puffer jacket, timbs, the sweatpant/sweatshirt combo.

- spring, he’ll wear windbreakers, joggers, track suits (or just the pants), henleys, short sleeved shirts if the weather is good for it. i think he’d look cute in one of those thin hoodie shirts.

- summer, he’s in hoochie daddy shorts and tank tops, with the occasional crop top. it’s crazy how many pairs of those shorts he has in closet tbh. he’ll also wear basketball shorts with a pair of slides if he doesn’t feel like dressing up (it’s hot ass hell, who are we looking cute for)

- fall, he wears turtlenecks (always has a chain on when he wears them), combat boots (he has a fav pair of docs), hoodies, sweatpants, jeans, a peacoat, yes he owns a pair of chelsea boots

- for special outings, kyle loves to wear silk shirts, fitted trousers, a nice tux with cufflinks, blazers. and you know he loves a good button down when he’s going out. he also likes to dress like he’s going golfing sometimes (he’s not even doing that, he hates golf)

- jewelry wise, i see him wearing flashy things, things that sparkle & glint when it catches in the light.

[clovermarigold]

Could you do a one shot of MK1 Johnny with a street racer reader?

Johhny Cage x Street Racer Reader

Johnny was in peak of his career, every movie he was in earning award after award. He was practically expected in every action movie of the decade, along with the occasional rom com. So here he is, looking over the long list of films his agent had procured for him to star in. Most had been by the request of their directors, but a few were movies his agent went out of his way to look into.

Being that films took years of work to film and edit, reshoots and last second voice overs, Johnny could only really commit to one, and the occasional small series or backup role. Looking through the list his attention was caught by a high pace action movie where he would star as the lead; an undercover cop trying to crack down on Los Angeles' street racing epidemic, only to be drawn into numerous hijinks.

It seemed like an interesting concept, the script was good, and he did have experience with this studio and director. But the real draw was the warning that was attached with the script.

Due to the risk factor involved in numerous stunts, scenes, as well as for realisms purposes. All cast members will be required to take safety courses as well as in constant supervision of professional consultant at all times.

He was going to be doing his own stunts and working with a real street racer. If that didn't have 'Cage Flick' written all over it in bold he didn't know what did.

He of course got the part, he still questioned why the audition was even necessary.

His first day on set was simple enough, meeting the cast and crew, as well as a few brief investors for the movie. That was until he met you.

You had grown up in LA and gotten into street racing fairly young, so naturally you were the best pick for this job. And the producers were willing to pay a fuck ton to be able to advertise that extra layer of 'authenticity'.

You were an instant hit with the cast, getting along with nearly all of them instantly. Johnny in particular was rather captivated. It was your first time meeting such a high-profile celebrity, even as a born and raised LA resident.

The attraction on Johnny's part was immediate. Confident, hot, and looked damn good in the driver seat.

Throughout shooting, you had coached Johnny on safety guidelines and how to do complex drifts and turns.

That wasn't to say the attraction was one-sided. Hell, you had thirsted over this man with your friends when you binged his movies. So, when you heard the director making fun over him about his less than hidden attraction towards you, you took your chances.

A hand guiding his when instructing him how to use the gear shift, giving him pats on the back when he figured out how to pull off the reversed driving sequence, and being extra sure he was behind you when you decided to bend over to inspect the hood of the car. (there was nothing wrong with it)

Despite what media would have you think, being an actor is a very busy and grueling job. Johnny had wanted to ask you out a number of times, but by the point he had enough courage and confidence that you were also interested, filming had wrapped up.

So here he was, sitting in an Italian tux, surrounded by some of the most talented minds in the filming industry, with an Oscar nomination, wondering where the hell it all went wrong.

"Johnny" he looked to his co-star sitting to his left. Looking down to see the small bound together papers with the word 'draft' on it.

"It's soon, but, by the looks of it.... It's been greenlit" A sequel?

Well, seeing as he was the main lead, it was no doubt they'd need him to come back. And if they did?

He knew the condition he was going to demand if they wanted him.

Maybe he could finally ask you out for that drink.

[obetrolncocktails]

Ignition | Danny Wagner X f!Reader X Jake Kiszka | Part 3

Have you read Part 2?

Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, sexual tension, HOT DANNY KISS HOT DANNY KISS HOT DANNY KISS!

Word Count: 2091

A/N: This chapter is going to melt even the coldest hearts. I loved writing this--Danny comes easy to me, and it's just so fulfilling to write this relationship. It's a short chapter, so it should be easy to get through it in one sitting. Enjoy!

“Axe-throwing?” You asked, looking at the Google search Danny had typed in. 

“Hell yeah,” He grinned, tapping on the screen to book an online session. “I figured you’d be game for throwing sharp objects and doling out damage to poor, unsuspecting targets.” 

“Are they emotionless, about yay-high, and play guitar?” You asked him, and he pretended to consider. 

“The targets are emotionless, but no, they’re not jake-shaped and they don’t come with a guitar.”

You sucked your teeth. “Damn.” 

“He chuckled quietly, scrolling through the times. “How does six-thirty tonight sound?” He asked. 

“Sounds good,” you agreed. 

As six o’clock rolled back around, he’d reappeared in front of your house. You’d opened the door with a bright smile. 

“No, no! Get back in the house!” He shouted from the car, and you weren’t sure what he meant. 

“What?” You asked.

“Just go back inside like you didn’t see me!” He insisted. You grinned and turned on your heel, stepping back into your house and closing the door. You waited awkwardly in the doorway, unsure what you were supposed to be waiting for. When you heard it, your grin spread so wide that your face hurt. He had rung the doorbell. Stepping toward the door, you opened it, and there he was, standing there in front of you, absolutely gorgeous, and holding the most beautiful bouquet of flowers you had ever seen. 

“Hey there,” he said softly.

“Hi,” you answered with a bright smile. He leaned in, and when you thought he was going to kiss you, he reached to place a gentle kiss on your cheek instead. 

“These are for you,” he said, handing you the bouquet. 

“They’re gorgeous,” you complimented him for choosing a beautiful arrangement. 

“They reminded me of you,” he shrugged, chuckling softly as if he were nervous. God, you wanted to kiss him so badly. 

You hugged the flowers to your chest. “Thank you, I love them!” You leaned in to sniff them. “Do you wanna come inside for a second? I gotta put these in water. I don’t want them to die.” 

“Sure,” he agreed, walking inside behind you. 

“I’m excited for our date,” you told him with a wide smile. 

“Yeah?” He grinned, coming to lean against your kitchen island as you began to rifle through drawers for a pair of scissors. 

“Yeah,” you repeated, looking up at him. You spared no time for thoughts of shame for checking him out from head to toe. He wore black fitted jeans with rips in the knees, paired with a fitted black t-shirt with a large Marshall Music Company logo across it. You noted the dainty, black onyx obelisk necklace he always wore. He looked casual, but you could tell that he had put effort into the look. His hair was freshly washed, and still damp, his curls still tightly coiled and shiny. 

“You look so handsome,” you complimented him, setting the flowers into a vase. 

“Why, thank you,” he said. “And you look absolutely beautiful,” he echoed. You wore a pair of black, platform Doc Martens in hopes to give you a bit of height next to Danny. Your outfit was actually similar to his, as you wore a pair of dark denim jeans and one of your many band tees, slipping on a few rings and putting your hair up in a loose pony tail, pulling out pieces of your bangs so they’d lay in soft wisps, framing your face. 

“Thank you,” you smiled. “I’m glad we got the same memo,” you joked. 

“Well, I don’t think being buttoned up while throwing weapons at a wall would be very comfortable, don’t you think?” 

“Next time I dare you to wear a tux,” you flirted, coming to stand in front of him, reaching for his hands. 

“Are you already asking me out on a second date?” He asked you softly, his eyes sliding down your face to your lips and staying there for a long time.

“What if I was?” You asked. 

“Then I’d say you’re stealing the opportunity from me to ask you the same question.” 

He made you blush, and he loved watching your cheeks redden. “Come on, cutie,” he said, keeping hold of your hand as he walked toward the front door, opening it for you. 

***

“So turns out, no matter how angry I am, I still suck at this,” you admitted to Danny mid-throw. He watched your axe spin in mid air before hitting the outer edge of the target. 

“Well, you’ve never done it before,” he shrugged. “You’re releasing it too early,” he explained. 

“Okay,” you answered him, stepping forward inside of the cage to pry the axe out of the wood. 

“Center yourself,” He critiqued once you stepped back to the mat, preparing for another throw. You reset your feet, evening your stance. Looking back over at him, you noticed just how sexy he looked holding his own axe, his fingers sliding back and forth against the dulled edge of the blade. “Like this,” he said, stepping forward toward you, and your body instantly began to heat up. He set his axe on the floor out of the way, and stepped behind you. “Can I touch you?” He asked politely. 

“Mmhmm,” You answered, your inner dialogue dissolving into the vocabulary of a three year old as he moved closer and closer. 

“Okay, so,” He said, placing his hands on your hips. “You need to be free down here. You should be grounded in the legs, but able to swivel your hips as you throw. He pulled his hands backward and forward, urging you to try out the movement. “Make sense?” 

You nodded, so turned on, you wouldn’t bother speaking. “Keep a slight bend in your elbows,” he continued. “Hand me your axe,” he said, lifting his hand and curling his fingers in a ‘come hither’ motion, and you imagined him doing the same thing, but to you, and in a very different context. You gave him the weapon, and he set it on the floor beside  you. “Put your arms above your head and pretend you’re gonna throw,” he instructed, and you moved your hands over your head. He moved his hands with yours, adjusting the angles of your form before lastly touching your fingers and moving them on top of each other in a way that he explained would allow for better grip. You couldn’t help but move your head to the side as he instructed you, practically staring at him, admiring the angular features of his face, his nose, his dark lashes, and his beautiful hair. He smelled fucking incredible, and it sent your belly fluttering with nervousness. Really, you didn’t care about axe throwing anymore. Him touching you even as innocent as this was, filled you with desire and want that you couldn’t quite articulate. Suddenly, you couldn’t remember the anger that you had felt for Jake–and even more surprising, you let it go completely.  

“Let me see you do it now,” he said, snapping you out of your thoughts. He stepped away and bent down, retrieving the axe and handed it to you, flipping it nimbly so you could take it by the wooden handle. “You’ve got this. You’re a pro,” he said. 

“I’m not, but I appreciate that you don’t mind lying to make me feel better.” He chuckled once through his nose. “You know the exercise where you tell yourself something until it becomes true?” 

You looked at him with a skeptical nod. “I’m speaking it into existence. Manifestation,” he smirked again. 

“What do I get if I get a bullseye?” You asked him, raising an eyebrow.

“If you get a bullseye,” he began after a moment. “You get a kiss,” he finished, crossing his arms across his chest, leaning against the adjacent cage. He made your heart flip with excitement. 

“And if I don’t?” You asked. 

“I haven’t gotten there yet,” he shrugged with a soft grin. “Go on. Show me how badly you want that kiss, Y/n.”

You shook your head, unable to wipe the giddy smile from your lips, careful to move step by step, remembering how Danny had guided you to ground yourself, but loosen your grip and stance just enough to feel comfortable and confident in the throw. Pulling back, you focused on the circular target, stepping forward and letting go, closing your eyes as you heard the loud thwack of metal slicing into hard wood. You didn’t want to open your eyes, but you did, embarrassed when the axe had hit too high, but at least landed on the target itself. “Damn,” you said, sighing heavily. “I was distracted,” you said defensively. 

“That’s too bad,” he said playfully. 

You had spent the rest of your hour-long session laughing and trying over and over to get better and better with your technique and aim, until, at the final throw, you finally got a bullseye, which Danny chalked up to being out of complete beginner’s luck. You loved spending time with Danny, and he made you feel beautiful. He made you want to try for him, to look lovely every time you saw him, made you want to be better for yourself, and so, you had decided you’d stop feeling bad for yourself and pursue him fully. 

The drive home was wonderful; Danny had played so much of his favorite music, a mixture of songs you’d loved, and others you had never heard, but instantly loved. You both had spent far too long parked in your front driveway, just listening to music, and taking each other’s phones and adding each other’s favorite songs to each other’s liked playlists. “It’s like eleven PM,” you said after losing track of time. 

“Looks like we got a bit carried away,” he said with a chuckle. 

“A little bit,” you added, hesitant to end the night. You wanted him to stay and never go, but you knew that he’d have to. For now. 

“Let me walk you to your door,” he said, turning to look at you. 

“Okay,” you said with a weary smile. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked you, adjusting in his seat. 

“I don’t want you to go,” you pouted exaggeratedly. “Really, I had so much fun tonight.” 

“Me too,” he agreed. “But no need to be sad,” he said, reaching to place his thumbs at the corners of your lips, pulling them upward, which made you break your composure, giggling as he forced you to smile. 

“Come on,” he said, opening his door and standing up. You joined him outside of the car, his hand shooting out to take yours once you’d made your way back around. He swung your clasped hands as you both ascended the steps to your front door, arriving at the landing. 

“So,” you said after a long moment. “You never paid up,” you told him, summoning bravery as you looked at him with an expectant expression. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” he responded, his lips cocked in a sideways smirk. 

“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about, Wagner.” 

“Oh,” he answered quietly, taking a small step forward. “You mean,” he said, raising his glance up to your eyes, then back down to your lips. You felt his feather light touch as he tilted your head upward by the tip of his finger, his thumb rested along the crest of your bottom lip as he took the last step forward, closing the gap between your bodies, his lips finding yours effortlessly. His embrace was intoxicating, and you let your body move innately fitting into the mirror image of Danny’s as his large hand moved to cup the small of your back, pulling you gently, but firmly against him. You hummed into the kiss, your hands moving from his arms and then around his neck, keeping him tilted downward. You absently knit your fingers through his curls, pulling at them as the kiss deepened, his fingers gripping you tighter until finally relenting and letting go. As the kiss broke naturally, he stayed exactly where you had him, breathless and hovering. 

“Wow,” he murmured. 

“Mmhmm,” you answered in agreement before pulling him down once more, taking more of the prize he’d leveraged earlier during the date. 

“I think I definitely won,” You spoke against his lips. 

“Hm?” He asked. 

“Bullseye or not, I got exactly what I wanted.” With that, he moved his hands down and pulled you upward, pulling your legs around his waist. 

“Then I guess there was a tie, because I won, too.”

End of part 3.

-----

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[beelmons]

Spencer x Mexican!Girlfriend (this is very nieche and self-indulgent, pay no mind to it!)

Many things had you accomplished since you started dating Spencer Reid, culturally speaking. Number one, he had become addicted to pozole. Number two, every once in a while he'd take you salsa dancing (yes, he absolutely sucked at it). Number three, he now knew Cancun was not the only interesting tourist place.

The one thing you hadn't been able to convince him of doing, though, was learning spanish. You hadn't brought him to your parents, his job hadn't expected it from him either, since you knew his friend spoke it pretty fluently, and overall he had limited time. Of course, he picked up on some words here and there. He dropped occasional 'te amo's, and knew every curse word you had let out that time you hit your toe against the foot of the couch.

Every once in a while he would call you 'amor', his sole nickname for you in your native language. You on the other hand, and honoring a long tradition from your culture, would change your term for him just about every week. He dressed up in a tux? That week he was 'guapo'. His hair had been specially messy? 'mi greñudo'. Put on some weight? 'Gordito' it was.

Even if he didn't understand, he knew they always came from a place of love, the utter adoration in your eyes giving you away every time you called him something new.

"Hey! What are you doing here?!" he exclaimed excitedly once he saw you enter the bullpen with a rectangular glass container on your hands, still covered with a colorful cloth. He made sure to take it from you carefully, you muttering 'it's hot' under your breath to tell him to be cautious. Once it was out of the way, he hugged you close and landed a kiss on your cheek, a gesture you gladly returned.

"Thought I would drop some lunch for you guys." the rest of the team had gathered around to say hello as well. Having dated him for two years everyone was already familiar with you, and you had had the honor to attend Rossi's parties more than once.

"Oh, hell yeah!" Morgan exclaimed, taking a look under the fabric that was protecting the heat from leaving. Prentiss leaned as well, curious as what was smelling so good.

"Enchiladas suizas?" she asked with excitement.

"Fresh from the oven." you bragged a little bit. "Had the day off and I was bored out of my mind, figured I could feed a couple hardworking FBI agents."

Morgan had grabbed a random fork from JJ's desk to dig in, and he was already munching down on the chicken-based dish. "Dear god." he exclaimed with a pleased face. After he swallowed, he turned to you and pointed with the fork "sweetheart, if in one year this man has not given you a ring, you hit me up, okay? I would marry you solely to have these every night."

Spencer chuckled a little, yet his arm wrapped around your shoulders with a slight hint of possessiveness. "It's in the works, Morgan, so get your own mexican." he smiled at you with certain shyness in his eyes. "Thank you so much. You should have called, I would have escorted you up."

"Oh no, I know you guys are swamped in work, I actually have an appointment I have to get to, just came to drop this off." you clarified, pulling away from his body. "JJ, you make sure Morgan and Prentiss don't eat this whole, and that Hotch and Rossi get at least some, got it?"

She nodded in agreement and reached to snatch Derek's fork away, to which he complained with a grumble. The people around you broke into a small laugh. Spencer turned to you once again to speak "No new case yet, so I'll probably be home around 5." he told you.

"Okay, I'll make us some dinner." you answered, then you kissed the tips of two of your fingers and pressed them against spencer's exposed forehead as a goodbye kiss. "I'll get going, love you, frentón" you smiled yet again before disappearing back through the doors you had come in.

The second you were gone, Emily wasn't able to contain her laughter any longer, and the sound echoed throughout the entire office. The odd expression startled Spencer, and he looked back at her perplexed. "What's so funny?" the young doctor inquired

"I just think her calling you frentón is adorable." she told him.

"Why? What does it mean?" his brows furrowed as he asked.

"I-" Emily stumbled with her words "person with a really big forehead" she said with a bit of embarrassment, since she had genuinely thought he knew.

"What? My forehead isn't even that big!" he yelled, mostly towards himself. He then started to recall some other nicknames you had given him, and the curiousity that was always present let itself free "Hold on, so then what does 'gordito' mean?"

"Fatty." she clarified "But it's a term of endearment in Mexico!" she tried to reassure him.

"And what about 'pitudo'?" he asked yet again and watched as Emily made a disgusted grimace.

"That one you'll have to find out yourself, Reid." she used the oppotunity to drif away from the scene.

Everyone else just giggled and stared at the exchange, and how his mouth was dropped open in utter surprise, brows furrowed as the gears of his mind turned over every term you had used for him. After a couple of seconds he took out his phone and dialed a number.

"Come on, Spence, don't call her to fight, I'm sure it's all in good faith." JJ mentioned as she observed her friend's movements.

"Not what I'm doing." he said as he waited for someone on the other side to pick up. Once the call connected, his attention drifted back to the phone. "Yes, MLK Memorial Library? Hi, my name is Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI. I would like to check out every book you have on learning spanish. Yes, it's urgent."

[impala-dreamer]

You Might Fall In Love

A Short Story

~I didn't even want to go to the party, but my agent insisted. What I didn't know was that I was walking into fate and walking away with way more than industry connections...~

Sebastian Stan x Me (You? It's first person but still Y/N)

2708 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Purely self indulgent smut. It's hot and amazing and you're welcome.

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

The party’s in full swing but we’ve somehow managed to escape the prying eyes and loud, fake conversations. Name dropping can be so fucking boring after a while and it feels like it sucks the air out of the room.

Maybe it was the champagne that was making me so impulsive.

Maybe it was just him.

Maybe it was the way he’d stared at me from across the room, unblinking, immovable no matter where I turned. Every step brought me back to him, every forced conversation led back to his stare. He was everywhere, yet he never moved. He was driving me insane but he’d never said a word.

Finally, I’d had enough of him leering and I headed towards the bar to confront him. Pushing through the crowd of tuxes and evening gowns wasn’t easy and I nearly tripped over myself to get to him.

He was gone.

I turned, searching for those captivating blue eyes, the heavily stubbled, chisseled jaw, but he was gone. Disappeared like some drunken apparition.

With a sigh, I gave up, turned to leave and throw myself back to the wolves, but a hand caught my upper arm, tugging me back.

I gasped and spun, turning right into him.

“Hey.” His smile was lazy and gorgeous, his touch intoxicating. “Come here often?”

I swallowed hard. “I try not to.” Fuck, he smells so good, what is that? Oranges? No… “These kinda parties aren’t my thing.”

He presses the tip of his tongue between his front teeth and looks back at the crowd, nodding. “Not really my scene either.”

There’s just a hint of New York City in his voice and it reminds me of home. LA hasn’t been kind and I’ve been dreaming of colder weather.

“Shame,” I say, trying not to flirt too hard. “You look like you fit right in.”

He turns back and grins.

I shiver. “That’s a hell of a suit.”

It’s open at the collar, tie long ago discard or not even thought of to begin with. The dip at the base of his throat draws my gaze and my mouth waters. Fuck.

He sees me staring and leans to his left, crooking an elbow on the bar. Too casual, too sexy. God, he’s perfect.

“What can I say?” he teases, with a shrug. “I like a good suit.” Blue eyes travel my body slowly and he tongues his cheek. “That’s one hell of a dress.”

My cheeks burn. I bite my lip and taste the color I have slathered on. “Eh, it’s too tight.” Instinctively, I cover my belly, crossing my hands over it, hating the plumpness.

He cocks his head and licks his lips, staring again. “It’s perfect.”

He grins and I see teeth. He hums, almost growling like a wolf and my mind reels. Goddamn it…

I don’t know if I’m shaking outwardly, but my insides are twisting and turning and fuck, I feel faint.

He stands back up, straightening to full height and even in my heels I have to look up just a tiny bit. Fuck, he’s so beautiful I could die right now and wouldn’t even care.

Suddenly, and almost amusingly, he extends his right hand between us and smiles.

“I’m Sebastian by the way.”

A laugh bubbles up and out as I take his hand. “Yeah, I know who you are.”

His fingers wrap around my hand and the squeeze is almost too much. His skin is hot and my eyes go blurry for a second.

He dips his chin, looking into my eyes. “And?”

Fuck, can he tell my pussy is damned near drowning?

I stammer, still locked in his handshake. “And… I’m a- big fan. Um… Bucky’s v-very um… You make good movies. Very talented. You.” I look up and he’s near to laughing. Shit.

He leans in and my heart nearly stops. He tips his lips to my ear and whispers, dark and gravely. “I meant… what’s your name?”

I’m pretty sure death just tapped on my shoulder but I manage to answer. “Y/N.”

“Y/N…” He inhales deeply and then pulls back, finally releasing my hand. His eyes are still on me, still dissecting every bit of my face, every twitch, every flare of heat.

I can hardly stand. I know I’m blinking too much, I can feel my jaw drop but I can’t close it. He’s got me caught in some kind of net that I can’t break through.

“Beautiful.”

I don’t know if he means me or my name and I can’t give a flying fuck. My chest hurts suddenly and he scans my form again, eyes settling on the hint of clevage my navy dress allows.

“You wanna get out of here?” he asks.

I can’t breathe. This is death, I’m sure of it. “Um… what?”

He leans in. “It’s really loud in here and I’m getting kinda over everyone staring at us.”

I gasp and look back at the room. “People are staring at us?”

He grins. “Absolutely. Can’t you feel their eyes? Hear their whispers? They’re all talking about us, wondering what we’re talking about, why I’m over here with you when I should be kissing up to the line of producers in the corner.”

I take a breath. “And… why are you over here with me?”

He runs the back of his hand slowly up my bare arm and my skin blisters in his wake.

“I’m drawn to beautiful things…”

For a moment, it’s like I’ve blacked out. I don’t know where we’re going, what’s happening, but suddenly fresh air slaps me in the face and I can focus for a moment.

Outside. Up high. A balcony.

Sebastian tugs me into the shadows, far from the wide open windows that offer the party a glimpse of the skyline.

“This is better,” he says, turning to look at me.

My hand is still clutched in his and I can’t remember exactly when he grabbed me, but I don’t want him to let go.

“It’s- nice out here,” I whisper, still catching my breath.

Los Angeles glows around us, lighting a night sky that will never actually be dark. I miss home. At least New York doesn’t glow light a nuclear blast. More of a neon sign. Classier. Less deadly.

“It’s stunning,” he says, eyes glue to me. He hasn’t even peeked at the city.

My mind is screaming. “You’re very…”

He squints, waiting. “Yes?”

“I don’t even know what you are,” I laugh.

He takes a step and I back up. I’m not scared but I can’t let him get closer. I won’t survive.

“Pick something,” he says. “Anything. Just one word. What am I?”

My back hits the wall and he’s there to make sure I feel every brick.

I suck in a breath. “You’re… dangerous.”

“You think?” He licks his lips, stares me down, waiting for me to ask.

“Yeah.” My breath feels stuck, my body tense and aching for him.

He drags a single finger down my cheek, teasing at my jaw. “How so?”

He’s coy, slick. He knows. He knows what he’s doing to me. He can probably feel my temperature rise beneath his fingertips, feel my pulse quicken as he brushes his thumb over my throat.

“You’re doing things to me and I don’t know if I should let you but it’s… so fucking hard to say no.”

“Do you want to say no?” Blue eyes dig deeper, as if he’s trying to mesmerize me. And fuck, it’s working.

“I…”

“I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t… absolutely want to do…”

My stomach flips. “I know.”

“And I won’t do anything to you that you don’t ask me to do.”

His voice swirls around in my brain and I’m a thousand percent sure he’s made up of some kind of magic because it’s getting so fucking hard to think.

“I…” Fuck, my legs are actually shaking. “I want you to kiss me.”

He grins, swipes his tongue across his lips and then leans in.

“Here?” His lips land on my cheek and it’s almost like heaven has scooped down to lift me up, dead.

“Yes…”

He travels over an inch, lips landing at the corner of my mouth. “Here?”

“Yes.”

Again he moves. The tip of his nose brushes against mine, his hand moves up to cup my cheek, holding me gently. His hand burns like fire sent by the devil to melt my brain and sent me down the most wicked of paths.

“Here?”

He kisses me dead on and my eyes roll back, my chest rising to press into his.

“Yes.” I can feel myself moving, grabbing at his lapels, pulling him closer, but he’s already there. There’s no where else to go but deep inside and he does, prodding his tongue between my lips and fuck it’s like he’s fucking me everywhere. I can feel every bit of him against me and I hate humanity for inventing clothing, for forcing us to cover up when I could be feeling his skin against mine right now. “Please…”

He sets his left hand against the wall, holding himself back an inch as he gazes into my half lidded eyes. It’s so hard to open them, so hard to focus on anything but the thrumming of my clit and the racing arousal that’s pushing into every fucking bit of me.

He draws his bottom lip in and holds it there, pressing down, denting the flesh and pulling the last taste of me into himself. “You’re begging already… but for what?”

God, I hate him so much.

“All you have to do is ask and I’ll do it.”

God, I love him so much.

I can barely think. His right hand slides slowly down from my cheek, fingers dancing across my bare neckline. He sinks a fingertip below the line of my dress and slides it from one shoulder to the other, feeling me shiver. He smiles.

“You don’t have to be shy, Y/N…”

My name on his lips is like a drug that I’ll need for the rest of my life.

“Fuck me,” I say, shocking myself, but then it’s out there, hanging between us with no way back. “Want- I- I need you to fuck me.”

His upper lip twitches and his eyes darken. He hesitates for a split second, letting me retreat if I need to, offering me a slim slice of escape.

“Please.”

I’m damn near panting, my tits crushed against his firm chest. “Please…” Tears are in my eyes and I grit my teeth, desperate and wasted and so fucking aroused that it hurts. “Fuck. Me.”

He licks into my mouth, distracting me with a rough kiss while he claws at my dress. I can feel him gathering the skirt up, bunching it between us so he can draw a hand across my thigh. Everything tightens inside of me.

He slides his hand between my thighs and moans into my mouth. Fuck, can he feel how wet he’s made me already? How hot I am? It’s burning me, it must be obvious.

I spread my legs and wrap a hand around the back of his head, holding him to me. I bite at his lip as he presses his palm flat against my sex.

Fuck.

“Please…”

He peels back the lace covering my cunt and grins against my lips. “I do love hearing you beg…”

I want to say something clever, to snap back with something alluring but my jaw clamps shut as he strokes at my slit. I can’t open my lips or I’ll scream, I know it.

Slowly, almost painfully, he dips a finger into me and my eyes roll shut. I claw at the nape of his neck, pant against his lips as he plunges it knuckle deep. Once, twice, and then pulls it free. He stands back a bit and brings the finger to his lips, licking it clean with a deadly hum.

“Soaked.” His eyes flash darker and I want to drop to my knees. “And delicious.”

I’m yours, forever and ever and ever and-

He attacks, slamming me into the bricks, moving his firm body against me in a rolling wave that makes no sense in my quickly emptying head.

Somehow he gets my leg up around his left hip and he’s jerking his hand into me, spreading me open, making the skyline blur.

“Fuck! Please!” I know it’s too loud but he grins, loving it. I can feel the spread of his lips against mine and he twists his fingers deep. “Oh god!”

“Shhh…” He licks at my open mouth, tongue lapping at mine. “Don’t want everyone to hear you…”

I moan, dying a little bit as he swipes over that blessed spot inside me again and again.

“Or maybe you do.” He lifts his head and stares down, lashes thick and covering his gaze. “You want them to hear us? Want everyone in there to know I’ve got you out here, dripping and begging me to fuck you?”

I’m so dizzy and everything feels so fucking good I just nod. My head rolls back and I know my hair will be fucked by the time we’re done but I don’t give a shit. I want… I need him. I need more.

“Please. Please. Please…”

He hushes me again as he feels my body tighten around his wrist. “You’re gonna cum.”

It’s not a question, it’s almost a command and my blood is racing in my ears and everything snaps inside.

“Fuck!”

He clamps his free hand down over my mouth, pressing down hard to keep me quiet. My eyes go wide, my breath halts as I cum. Fuck, it’s not enough. I need more…

I’m trembling, faint and pulsing. His hand leaves my mouth and he shifts against me. His slacks fall, his fingers dip into me and spread me apart. He bites his lip as he sinks inside and it feels like I have been missing this my entire life.

“Jesus Christ- Fuck.”

He kisses me silent as he bottoms out and my muscles close in around him. He lets out a moan that vibrates through me and my nails scrape at his scalp.

“Do it,” I beg. “Do it.”

His jaw trembles, teeth grit. He eyes me, dark and dangerous. “Fuck, you’re so tight. I can’t-”

I claw a line down the nape of his neck. “Fuck. Me.” I bite at his lips, wanting blood. “Hard.”

He snaps his hips and I lose any control I had left. It takes all I have to hold on, to bite my tongue and keep from screaming his name into the hot night.

Every thrust pushes me up the bricks. I can feel the each scrape and the pain just adds to the pleasure. I fist his collar, tighten the stiff white between my fingers, lick at his lips.

He breaths heavy, grunting as he fits his hands under my ass and sifts. He bucks his hips and his eyes go pure white as he cums. I feel it like a gush of fire and my cunt throbs, pulling in every single drop until he’s weak and smiling like a fool.

He lets me down and I feel a hot drip slither down my thigh.

“That was- fucking- wow…” So eloquent. So drunk on him. I can’t stand it.

He licks into me again, slowly this time. His hands cover my face and he holds me there even after he’s pulled away. He smiles and my knees buckle.

Thank God for the wall.

“I don’t know about you,” he says, a hint of a drunken laugh on his tongue. “But we’re gonna do that again. And again. And again.”

Finally, he backs up to fix himself and I can take a full breath.

“Careful,” I warn.

He looks back, brow furrowed in question.

I grin and bite my lip. “You might fall in love with me.”

He laughs and runs a hand through his hair, setting everything back into place. He spins back to me and closes the distance between with two steps. “Ya know something?” He lifts my chin with his thumb. “I wouldn’t mind that one fucking bit.”

2023 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

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[johnslittlespoon]

I love your bucky is dog fic so much!!! I reread it all the time it's so heart-warming and funny and just ahhh so good!! refreshing ao3 patiently and excitingly waiting for more<33

(a BIG mix of non–brainrot asks so i don't spam the timeline <33 some of these are from so long ago i'm so sorry. also lil disclaimer at the end about some specific asks i've been getting recently and why i won't be answering them! x)

1) !!?? you REREAD IT?? my heart wtf that's so sweet??? 😭💗 THANK U SM i will do my best to not let u down with future chapters even if shit gets a little bit angstier SDJKG <33

2) LMAO backseat gala–ing from the comfort of a couch 😭 judging the outfits as if they don't show up in plain tuxes half the time <3

3) <3333 thank u omg sjgkdk i'm so happy if my lack of stfu ability brings any bit of joy to anyone LOL

4) ILY THX LEGEND @air-exec u enable me too much <33

5) ALWAYS HAPPY TO INDULGE!! thank u for indulging my constantly rotting brain ur so kind 😭 <333

6) yaurrr i think it's just bc i do Not enjoy being around children LMAO i can't ever get into pregnancy/family dynamic type fics in general, i wish i could tho bc they're so wholesome :') but YEAH exactly ugh. it's like. the action of talking about it, especially when it's unattainable, is so intimate bc it's like an "i love you this much" thing. but it's also so hot bc the possession of it (and possible feminization depending on the pairing) sighhh

also i feel that sooo hard, sometimes you just gotta go where ur writing heart takes u yk? it's hard to write something if ur not fully invested :') and omg stop i WILL cry. 😭💗 wtf. thank YOU!! ofc i would read!! some ideas just /hit/ and urs is one of them <33 but also yes omg it's UP there (if not at the top) on my list of pwps i wanna write once i finish yad(iym) <33 thank you for sharing urs too and sending u good writing vibes regardless of what u write!!

7) GAHH this ones been on my ao3 read later since u sent this ask in!!! i literally have started a doc with links to moots fics i need to read/general fics i've stumbled across that look good and this one is for sure going in it. i do love reading sooo much, i just have the hell combo of adhd and dyslexia but i did start concerta a couple weeks ago which has def made it a bit easier to read lmfao thank fuck.

i think i just get in this headspace where i'm either a reader or a writer when i'm working on smth, idk if anyone else does this? i have a hard time slipping btwn both mindsets, i'm usually locked in on one at a time LOL but i need to get my shit together bc fuck everyone in this fandom writes so damn good and i want to leave long essays on all the fics and hype people up <33 i think once i finish the dog fic i'll take a few days to just consume my reading list to celebrate SJDGK

also omg i can't believe this ask is from before i even posted it that's crazyyy MY BAD. thank u and also that made me giggle JSKDG if that's my legacy in this fandom i'm honestly so happy ab that okay dog coded bucky is everything to me and i will do whatever i can to do him justice <333 and thank u again for the rec!

8) [ X ] UGHHH stop mammal RUINED me. he's soososoo pretty i want to die i think about that barry era as curt in the motaverse so often it makes me sick. i love pretty twinks!! xx (i have a whole motaverse au curtbucky where curt looks like 2012–ish barry and he's ken's age and they're cute lil mechanics together and it's so stupidly elaborate and niche and maybe i'll do smth w it one day who knows)

9) this is very sweet and i do appreciate you respecting my boundaries! thank you <3 i think a lot of people get annoyed at adults asking minors not to interact with nsfw posts on here bc the argument is always "they're gonna look even if you ask them not to" which, yeah, true! i was a teenager growing up online, i sure as hell did not let 18+ warnings stop me ever lmfaoo. i'm not telling minors to stay off my account because ik if people wanna find specific content, they're gonna find it. if teens are learning ab gay sex thru my blog, then at least they're learning ab it from a gay man who tries to keep things realistic in fic and who isn't a creep LOL.

that being said, i more so bar off minors interacting with my nsfw posts/writing bc i personally just feel uncomfortable discussing stuff like that with anyone who isn't an adult, and sometimes i don't have the time to check bios for ages (or sometimes bios don't have ages) before i reply to comments or whatever, so it's just easier to ask that y'all stick to the sfw so i don't accidentally brainrot some cooked shit with a child JSDJKG bc i would feel icky. i hope you understand <3

10) IT MAKES ME SICKKK. not only that, but when i was rewatching it with my irl last week, i realized that in e5 when bucky's smoking in the plane after gale goes down, he's sitting in the right (gale's) seat, which i'm pretty sure he doesn't do at any other time :((( like he was trying to be close to him in anyway he could </3

11) omg i've been meaning to watch that just to get a better inside look at stuff for world building purposes lmaooo but that sounds so wholesome :( i read that a lot of the guys would get real sad/touchy around holidays (obviously), so i could see a oneshot where one of them takes it upon themselves to try and cheer everyone up the best they can under their circumstances. a little found family holiday </33

12) thank u for the rec!! i'm suuuch a slow reader, i'm still working my way thru the actual mota book LOL but i've added this to my reading list <3 i think i might've actually read a couple excerpts from that one in doing research for my fic and it looks really interesting (and heartbreaking) so i'm sure i'll pick up a copy eventually :^)

13) oh 100% agree!! as someone who already isn't super interested in fashion/pop–culture, i find it very hard to look at the men's outfits and be blown away by any of them LOL but the women?? insane. was losing it over lana and zendaya's fits tonight ngl. hunter had me in a chokehold with last year's <3 tangent alright i always say this to my friends but i'm just jealous in general that women have so many more options in terms of clothes like.

okay listen i know i can leave my house in a skirt or crop top or whatever and a lot more guys are def starting to feel comfortable doing so. but i also enjoy not worrying about getting jumped or looked at funny! it's a lot safer than it used to be to do so, even in my small ass conservative town i'll sometimes put on some dangly earrings or a bit of rodrick–liner SJKDG but that doesn't mean it's normalized yet or whatever. point being that i wish it was because men's outfits would be sm more exciting at these fashion events if they had a wider range of options too!

but that aside, absolutely. until that changes, really it's not that hard for the men who are going with women (who don't want to go crazy with their outfits/who are more lowkey like you said) to just. wear something nice and on theme that compliments their partner's outfit and they'll be FINE. anything is better than something boring with no effort; effort doesn't have to equal crazy and fancy and elaborate. like austin's 2022 look has always been a standout to me because it was still a really nice look (even if it was simple) and it also worked so well because of who he had at his side. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ but i also literally don't know shit ab fashion so i rly shouldn't be speaking on it LOL. i just know some things make me go oh no and some make me go YUM

and that's probs the last i'll post about the met bc i rly don't care thaaaat much, i was just happy to see barry since he wasn't at the panel this weekend <3

OKAY THAT WAS SO MUCH I'M SORRY. i just felt really bad bc some of those have been sitting in my inbox for months bc i was waiting to compile them all into a post like this :-) but also one last thing, idk if it's bc of me stepping out of mota to talk ab the emmy stuff/the met this week, but i've had a couple gossip/drama(?) asks and i just wanna say rn that i won't be posting stuff like that, even though they've been worded kindly! one, because i rly only post about fic/brainrot/mota–fandom related stuff here (aside from rare exceptions like today lol). and two, because as much as i adore our boys and try to keep up with the things they're up to, i personally don't vibe with speculating about them (esp if it's in a way that kinda. forgets they are grown men who probably don't think twice ab some of the stuff that people think they do lolol). i have no issue with people who do like to talk ab that stuff, i follow update blogs and think it's totally fine as long as it's done respectfully! i just don't feel like talking about gossip fits the vibe here and frankly i don't care enough about what goes on behind the scenes half the time; i'm just here to create and support and be insane. <33 that's all, just wanted to say that so ppl aren't waiting to have those asks answered/aren't sending more in! x

[zoeykallus]

Oh! Have you done headcanon reactions to Reader reacting to the Bad Batch in elegant attire? Either tuxedos? Or maybe even the zygerrian armor for one of Cid’s missions (Cause we all know Rex rocked that outfit 😍)

No that I know about...

I don't really know too much about Star Wars attire so I choose a different path :D

The Bad Batch x Reader HC's - Formally Dressed

Hunter

Dressing formally is not really his thing so he tries to get a compromise. He's rocking the so called business casual look. Jeans, dress shirt, casual boots and jacket without tie.

Look

He's hot, seeing him like this makes your knees weak. He loves that look on your face and how your heartbeat get's faster when you eye him up. Hunter is hot like hell and thanks to your longing looks at him, he actually feels sexy. He's got the finest smirk on his pretty face.

Echo

He actually like to dress neatly and formally. And he takes it pretty serious. His suit is on point, so is his tie. He looks stunning and he loves that adoring looks you give him.

Look

Echo looks so fine and you can't get enough of that sight. He loves how you swoon around him. Makes him feel so special.

Wrecker

Your big boy mixes casual with formal. He combines a formal suit with a casual shirt and rolls up the sleeves of his jacket. The gentle giant rocks this look. No on would ever complain about it. Especially not you.

Look

He doesn't wear it often but when he does he's a sight to behold. Hot damn!

Tech

Cute Tech loves tweed. And he rocks it. He may look a bit like a professor, but he's so freaking adorable. It just suits him and he loves the compliments, especially when they come from you.

Look

Your clever boy looks awesome in his suit and it's so sweet when he blushes after you give him a compliment.

Crosshair

He hates the formal stuff. But when he has to do it, he takes it seriously. A tux is his way to go. But not the old-fashioned stuff, modern and peppy.

Look

Your admiring glances do not escape him, of course. He enjoys this to the fullest.

"Hey Mesh'la, should I keep the suit on when we make love tonight after the event?"

He knows you won't say no.

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

[futureplayboibunnie]

‘’WICKED GAMES PT.4’’

Dr Strange x fem! reader

-it felt like i was writing a script for a movie with the dialogue in this. i need to write angst more often fr. i’m so excited to work on more chapters but this one is already a fave hehe xx

Casino nights weren't a mystery to you- playing the game was a skill that came with an undescribable ease and that only seemed to beam when you were a vipress at poker and blackjack. You weren't worried about Stephen either, the fact he actually brought a tux along with him was delightfully surprising. It was a completely normal thing to envision him in a suit- or better yet loosening up his bow tie...or making him wrap that bow tie around your wrists and make you struggle against-

You mentally kicked yourself as you smoothed the santin of your dress, locking eyes with the reflection of yourself in the mirror to ignore the direction of the way your thoughts were heading. Hm. The dress was too tight, it felt like you were suffocating your waist and tits but at least the oozing sex appeal would be somewhat useful. You kept a semi-automatic handgun on you if things went sour- you especially hated how cliché thigh holsters were but it was a tragic necessity. Having Stephen as your plus one would give you a moodicum of protection at least, you were expecting him to use his magic if everything fucked up but knowing him he'd rather die in a ditch than raise his finger to hurt a fly. You looked…fine? Your ass looked absolutely fantastic, you couldn't lie- you appeared rich and that was a much needed plus.

Enough scrutiny, you had to leave for a spectacular night with criminals playing Texas Hold'em.

When you creaked your bedroom door open, you stole a glance at Stephen who was already cleaned up and at his wits ends waiting for you to finish getting all dressed up. He was drinking the whiskey that you tried to stash for yourself, it was as if alcohol was the only constant you had with him. As your eyes raked up, you absolutely hated how tall he was. His presence obliterated everything else in the vacinity until he was the only thing you could focus on. As attractive as he may be, he was such a royal pain in the ass. When you said 'right’ he went 'left’ and when you said 'leave', he stayed. But your pride won out.

Stephen was just twiddling his thumbs like a bored housewife on a hot summers day, fucking hell you were taking your time and he would rather watch paint dry than wait around for you to finish whatever makeup and hairstyle your mind was set on. Stephen's ears pricked up when he heard the creak of the door, swivelling his head around he saw you in the doorway, nimble fingers putting liquid gold in your earlobes. His iced eyes were intent scanning your figure: swanlike neck and collarbone, smooth skin akin to liquid gold under the shitty ambient light, hair tumbling down like a waterfall and a banging body underneath that dress.

His eyes were tearing your clothes apart, he was foaming at the mouth like a savage dog with rabies. Instead of walking you into a lions den, he could just take that whiskey you both drank like water and take it as a body shot before watching the look of violent pleasure etched on your face when-

‘’I told you about the gawking, stop doing that.’’ You walked around him, heels clacking in a steady rhythm that echoed in the space of his head.

‘’I'm not, you just took a lifetime. Plus, you stole my whiskey. I'm not gawking, I'm glaring.’’

His mind was still racing with the thought of what he did the night previous. When he came home with blood tainting his marred fingers….

The guilded and blaring lights of the casino machines were slicing your eyes, the rich expensive tang of perfume and cologne hit your senses like a blinding brick wall and you had to tamper down the urge to roll your eyes at such a glaring need for attention. You were feeling a little out of your league and Stephen caught onto it. His eyes flickered to his side to see you and he bit the bullet and offered you his arm and to his consternation, you took it. You started walking into the function and the bulk of Stephen's bicep bewildered you- no it didn't, of course he was built like this, built in a way that would make even the Greek God's jealous. You had never experience the unexpected pleasure of being this close to Stephen which was weird considering you were practically living together. He didn't smell like the obnoxious scents the men around you harboured- his scent was of pine, spice and a dark wood- intensely real, authentic and incredibly heady.

‘’Wow, I can practically smell the entitlement.’’ You raised a brow when you murmured.

‘’Say that too loud and they'll have your ass for breakfast.’’ He taunted. To your dismay, he was right.

‘’I prefer my ass uneaten.’’ You were deadly serious and it made Stephen splutter.

Your eyes scanned the room and it immediately set to the glazed planes of the dancefloor where a small jazz trio were playing for a smattering of couples swaying to the sightless invisible music. Before you could think, you dragged Stephen along with you like a dog on a leash.

‘’What are you-?’’

‘’Shut up and follow me.’’ You gritted.

It was like you were showing a toddler how to ride a trike. Your grip on his hand was ferocious when you trailed him along with you to the dancefloor. You took his hands and placed them on your waist, he almost wanted to gasp with the sheer gall and certainty of your actions. What was it with him and unreliable, spontanious women? You immediately leaned in and positioned your head on his shoulder, enough to find the source of that intoxicating heady scent that was so irrevocably Stephen. Your lips were so fucking close to his ear and he felt an unnerving shiver course through his body, and with that you moved yourself in flow with the tender smooth jazz. What is it about jazz that made every single atmosphere so fucking sexy?

‘’What's your play?’’ Stephen questioned lowly and your heart started hammering against your chest already. God, he really made you that pathetic. The question could be applied to anything going on here: what was your play with the mafia? And what was your play with Stephen?

‘’I'm buying us some time. I don't want to charge in guns ablazing infront of these pricks, we need to lay low and scope before we swim with the sharks.’’

‘’I definitely see the Natasha Romanoff influence.’’ He grumbled in your ear with a boyish grin and you bit your lip to conceal your laugh.

Stephen's grip on you was loosening and it sent alarm bells ringing through your body.

‘’Hold me tighter.’’ You whispered in his ear like a siren.

He was hypnotised, his cock concurred.

Stephen knew you would be the death of him. The death of his self control, his professionalism and any sense of preservation he thought he had. He was a very sure man and he had never been sure of anything else when he said he wanted you. Being this close to you confirmed such a fact but when your hands flew to his hair when he was dancing with you, he was fucking done for and for that reason he held onto you tighter. You fit his body perfectly, tailor made. Like you were deliberately antagonising him. A purposeful act disguised as carefree flirtation.

‘’You're play is decent at best but what are you doing?’’ He said softly but it was the kind of nonchalant question that required an answer

‘’What do you mean Stephen?’’ You asked impassively. He retracted his face from near your ear to stare at you right in the eyes.

The way his eyes immediately locked with yours was slightly unsettling, it was as if you were going under intense inspection and analysing. Stephen was so closed off, his face had this remarkable ability to never reveal a single passing thought that was crowding his buzzing brain. You were both challenging each other with mere gazes, if this was what he got out of you already you were embarrassed to find out how you'd feel after he- Your eyes immediately dropped to his lips.

‘’What is it?’’ You repeated softer this time, breath warm and flowery with that little hit of the whiskey back home. That whiskey

‘’Are you going to get yourself hurt this time around?’’ Stephen finally responded with a huff. You rolled your eyes but you knew deep down in your heart that you were being incredibly reckless with yourself, it was only natural that people would get somewhat defensive.

‘'I can take care of myself.'’ You were a broken record at this point, but it was the only excuse you had that you truely believed in.

‘’Say that again and I swear to God.’’ Stephen scolded at you.

You took a breath before responding to his patronising threat, thinking carefully about what to say next.

‘’You're being very noble, Stephen.’’ You complimented him instead of berating his undermining comments about your work. Only an asshole wouldn't take it with shit eating pride. "Whatever for?’’

Stephen didn't know what to say, a good half of him was aching to be honest with you but you were making it so damn difficult.

He cocked his head and squinted his eyes before saying, ‘’The whiskey?’’

You stifled a knowing grin and instead gave him an agreeable smirk. The whiskey. You normally didn't like whiskey but the one Stephen picked out was simply incredible, it only proved he had impeccable taste. What was jarring was that it was dirt cheap, it made you wonder if he was actually the kind of man he was hellbent on getting across to others. On some days you have fleeting visions of you and Stephen sipping and drinking the dusk away on the balcony of the Sanctum, all expensive and shit- just how Stephen seems to live his life. And then on others, it seemed that the sheer crapiness of the motel, the whiskey was the perfect constant- homely. The only place where you had any kind of connection. It took you a while to realise in all this idle thinking you were staring blankly at his face.

‘’I'm resilient.’’ You stated, unknowing of what else to ease such a heavy mind.

‘’Then don't make me be.’’ Stephen was sincere and what made your heart dampen was that it was etched all over his face.

‘’Then tell me you trust me.’’

‘’I do. I do trust you.’’

It felt like the world was spinning the wrong way when he said those words, those fated words.

‘’I haven't given you any reason to be and I'm sorry about that.’’ You threaded your hands through his hair again and he had to stifle his urge to still his body at such a touch he longed for. It made him feel pathetic that you could get him in such a state so easily.

It felt...romantic in a way. It felt sad in a way too. Dancing with you to a distant sound of jazz and strings, pretending to be like the smattering of couples on the marble floor when in reality none of it was real. Maybe he did want to dance with you. Like any other type of boring banal vanilla couple but Stephen felt his troubled waters surge already. He could break you. And he doesn't want to be responsible for that when the day does inevitably come. Was he okay with hypocrisy? He had no idea.

You cut him off from his unnerving thoughts. ‘’Sometimes I worry about you Stephen. You drink all day, you're up all night. I-.’’ You breathed, your face twinged with anxiety if you looked close enough- and Stephen was very close. He didn't know how to talk anymore. Your face went from compassionate to hard and cold within a matter of mere seconds and that's when you leaned into his collar to inhale that frustrating intoxicating scent. Stephen's nose was nestled in your hair- you smelled fresh, sweet with heavy spiced layers. A confusing combination for an equally confusing woman.

‘’Feds found the guy that cut me up yesterday.’’ You said coolly.

‘’They did?’’ Stephen's tone was bitter. And he knew exactly why.

‘’His hands were cut off.’’ You leaned back to assess his face, eyes flicking from one feature to another. ‘’And he was beaten to death.’’

If he lied to you, there was no trust between you. You knew exactly what he did. But you didn't know why for.

‘’Were they.’’

‘’They found markings that they didn't understand. From what I recall, Eldreitch markings.’’

Shit. You didn't sound pissed. Or angry. Or any sort of primitive emotion. You looked lost, like a deer in the headlights. Stephen was desperate to tell you what he did for your honour, he wanted to recall the hours he spent cleaning the blood on his hands. He couldn't remember the last time he threw a punch let alone kill someone with his fists. It was worth it though. He'd do it over and over and over for you.

Humans as a species want a lot of things: money, sex, fame. In every heart though, there beats one true ineffable desire. One that shapes every thought and action. And in that moment, Stephen's was vengeance. Sharp, cruel, blood-thristy.

‘’Is this why you snuck out last night?’’ Your eyes were searching his, desperate for an answer that you knew he wouldn't give you the privilege of offering. ‘’ You think I'm that stupid that I didn't notice the bruises on your knuckles?’’ You were sad. That was all.

‘’He hurt you.’’ Stephen said thickly. He was furious just being reminded of it. He was alive with it, he was pulsating with it. Your gaze was weary as you took him in.

The hammering of your heart stopped in its tracks and your mind drew to a crisp white blank.

‘’So you're playing white knight? Protecting my honour?’’Your tone turned biting, the conversation took a U-turn and headed straight to harsh and brutal.

It took so much strength to not take him by the collar and kiss the mouth off of him. You hated being a damsel in distress, a princess in the highest tower but through all of these revelations you couldn't deny that it made you feel safe. Stephen made you feel safe when all of your life was different paths and shitroads of danger and pain. Everyone suspected that he didn't have the ability to harm any sort of life, let alone take away a grown man's... His grasp on you was even tighter than before.

‘’I did this for myself.’’ Stephen tried to reign you in but he was sure he was making it worse. ‘’I've been…angry. I'm furious, all the time. And I'm comfortable with it. I want to be angry, I wanted a reason to be angry. A reason to get my hands bloody, a reason to use these fucking hands that left me a broken man for months. I didn't really care what I was angry for but when that asshole touched you, hurt you.. and made you bleed- that wasn't the reason I was looking for, anything but that actually. I did this for myself because the idea of someone else touching you makes me feel hollow. So yeah, I cut his fucking hands off. I haven't had the pleasure and formality of finding a healthy outlet when all I can think about is you.’’

Stephen was spilling himself like blood pouring from a wound, quickly and uncontrollably. His heart was willing out. You left him as exposed and bare from the first time he saw you; your eyes were wide with certain deep set ferocity when his words finally soaked up.

Yet, you didn't know what to say. The air hummed with the silence you weren't filling.

[sweet-honey-tears]

Hold me

katsuki bakugou x self-conscious!fem reader

Just a quickish blurb I couldn’t get out of my head. First time writing like this so any tips are welcomed lol.

Might delete this later NGL

Spelling is bleh

Story takes place at a hero banquet but the reader is feeling really self conscious and like spiraling- but then getting snapped out of it by someone (Kat) coming up behind them- and yes, ya were zoning out to a point you didn’t even notice. And yes, in my mind they wear medals on their tuxes/formal uniforms because it’s a night of recognition.

It felt like someone had pushed all the air out of your lungs, the shallow breath fanning outwards at the feeling of strong hands slipping their way onto your hips. The offender's strong fingers pushed into the fat and pulled you back till you were flushed against them. The feeling of multiple cold medals pressing into your bare back sending shivers down your spine. Not many men here had so many medals; only a few and they knew to never get this intimate with you.

“Kat”

“Teddy Bear” He rasped out into your ear, his hot breath fanning across your face. Fingers worked across your body till his arms were protecting you and yet caging you in. You feel your body relax at the touch, leaning into the warmth your husband gave. A hum admitted itself as you gazed up, catching sight of his clean-shaven face and ruby eyes.

“You seem tense Teddy Bear” He mumbled into your hair. Now swaying his hip, making you drift side to side with him. You knew the question that lay on his tongue, ‘why?’. But also knew he wouldn’t ask it. Not wanting to force an answer out of you in such a public place.

“Just…” you paused, not wanting him to worry about you- or ruin the party for him. “I’m not sure why.” You let out a small, fake, laugh while unconsciously pulling his arms tighter around you. Protecting from the stares and giggles of the heroes and their employees. Why were you here? You didn't fit it.

“Hmmm,” The sound vibrates in your neck, sending tingles down your spine and toes. He could sense your discomfort, the anxiety your body held. He knew how you felt about yourself, your body. The body he fucking loved. “I'm pissed that others get to see you.” He gruffed. “I should be the only one able to see you look this fucken’ good.” He growled into your ear, no longer allowing either of you to sway to the music. “Those damn extras keep looking at you, like some shitty wolves. It's pissing me off.” He whispered into your shoulder, but you could feel the pout on his lips. The tone of his voice switched ever so slightly. You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled its way out, resting your head back against him as you started to sway again. His arms loosened ever so slightly.

He grinned, feeling the lightweight feeling in his chest he got from hearing you laugh. You're a beautiful laugh. He kept going:

“Why the fuck did you wear this damn dress? Huh?! Where are you trying to tease me all night” he spoke into your ear. Feather-light kisses are placed in the area where your neck meets your shoulders. “Ya too fucking beautiful for this damn planet…” He mumbled before stopping completely, spinning around till you faced him. One of his large hands wrapped around your waist, the other lightly taking yours, making you sway with him. He’s feared by so many, known for his brash and animating attitude. And yet only you get to see the soft look in those blood-ruby eyes. The fondness and love they hold.

He leaned down, pressing a loving and gentle kiss to your glossy lips, bringing you back to the present.

“I don’t ever want you to feel bad TeddyBear, you’re too good for it, too good for me.” The words caused your heart to pump faster and your eyes to become glossy.

You both have always had this unspoken understanding of each other. You lift him from the hell of hero work. Save him from the deafening guilt of a failure or loss. Hold him and praise him on the days he comes home broken.

He would always lift you from the darkness that floods your mind. Pull you away from the mirror, force you to eat on the days you refused to.

He wished he knew you felt this before you both left for the banquet- he would have called the whole thing off. He would have stayed home with you, snuggling and whispering how much he loved you and how beautiful you are until you saw what he did- if only for a second. He wouldn’t have let you come in a dress that made you feel self-conscious putting on a fake fucking smile to appease a bunch of extras! Sure, some of them were good, but not all. He’s met and worked with some vile people in his career, sharks, going after anyone that looked vulnerable. He fucking murder them if it didn’t mean having to leave you.

He snapped out of his thoughts from your soft voice.

“Thank you Suki” you whisper lovingly, tears threatening to spill over.

“Anytime TeddyBear” he smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead before continuing to sway with you.