#‘assistant to the count’ or something idk

[i-count-words-in-posts]

hi 👋 I’m looking for an assistant to the Count. send me a doming migeon (dm. get it. g. get i) if interested godspeed

[froglover7789]

ok ok so we all know luke skywalker ends up making his gay little jedi academy daycare school temple thing and i imagine he ends up with quite the list of ppl attending bc its Luke Skywalker and also force sensitives would flock to bro but then this begs the question of who tf is taking care of all them kids???? its not luke! hes very smart and very strong but i think him and his strange/ dangerous tatooine upbringing would accidently send those children to death. how was he meant to know that the bears in the forest werent friendly? hes never seen a bear before! and so on and so forth. so then whos making sure every one is alive and feeding the kids three square meals? it cant JUST be ahsoka. she'd go crazy from trying to wrangle 20 force sensitive kids and luke. hm..... maybe chewie helps? idk. give me your thoughts plz. and dont say mr din djarin madalorian bc he would be just as bad.

[elumarin]

This is going to be a very long essay post about my trip to Alton Towers on the 27th and 28th of May, you have been warned. <3

(Roller coasters are my autistic passion™)

(This post contains my reviews of the rides at Alton Towers, getting stuck on Oblivion, and the story of the most amazing Smile Assistant ever.)

So!

Me and my girlfriend flew to England on the 26th of May, and stayed there until the last day of May which coincidentally is The Smiler's birthday! Sadly I didn't get to celebrate his birthday at Towers, but I still wish him a very happy (late) 12th birthday. I love him.

We stayed at a lovely Airbnb complete with a resident cat and dog (Chris and Angus my beloveds) which was around 40mins from Alton Towers by car. We got there via an Uber, and it was actually surprisingly affordable.

Anyway, on the 27th, we arrived at Alton Towers at around 9:00 before the gates opened. I had planned an actual route for me and my girlfriend to experience all rides in the most optimal order, but since it was a rainy day, we had to improvise A LOT.

First we ran (I ran, my poor gf tried her best to keep up while I dragged her along with me) to The Wickerman, which is my gf's favourite ride at the park. We waited for an hour for the ride to open, and although the opening got delayed a little, it was such a strong start to the day.

My review of The Wickerman:

About the ride: A wooden coaster manufactured by Great Coasters International (GCI) and opened on March 20th, 2018. With a drop of 22m and speed of 70km/h, it's the most intense woodie I've been on. (I've only been on two, though...)

Theming: AMAZING. The opening movie before the station is cinematic, and the concept of getting sacrificed to the Wickerman is such a blast. I love rides that have more sinister and cult-like themes, and The Wickerman delivers in that regard. The giant Wickerman structure is the most striking part of the theming, and I love him so much. Would definitely get sacrificed again.

Ride experience: Way more intense than I anticipated. The first few drops feel so good in the pit of your stomach, and the ride lasts way longer than you'd think. I was really happy that I could see some labels on the planks above in the tunnel before the station, I love the technical side of coasters so much. Anyway, cool ride, super smooth, comfy, and a lot of airtime during drops!

Overall rating: 9/10, between A and S if I'd put it on a tierlist. Such a fun ride!

Gf's stance: Her favourite ride in the park, and the last ride she did before we had to leave at the end of the second day. She calls it "puuvuoristorata (wooden coaster back in Linnanmäki, Finland) but amped up to the max" which is pretty fitting! She took the photo below and sent it to her friends with the caption, "is this a roller coaster or a cult?" lmaooo

After riding The Wickerman, it started to rain. I really, really wanted my first ride on The Smiler to be in good weather, so we deviated from my plan and headed straight for the X-Sector so I could ride The Smiler before it started to pour.

And boy.

The Smiler.

While roller coasters are one of my special interests, The Smiler is truly something special; it's (without a doubt) the most INTENSE hyperfixation I've ever had in my life, and it has lasted for almost an entire year at this point. I was literally on the verge of tears every single time I even saw a glimpse of its track, I'm not even kidding. It's just a roller coaster, I know, but... I love him so much. I have no idea why or how, but that roller coaster means the absolute world to me.

The queue times for that day were relatively short due to bad weather, and as a single rider, I got on pretty quickly. If I remember correctly, my first ride was in row 3, most left-hand side. It was pretty rough, I admit, and I didn't know when to brace myself during the ride yet. But nonetheless, I wouldn't change anything about that experience. It was so otherworldly, and it still doesn't feel real.

Did I actually ride The Smiler? Did I actually take pictures and videos in front of it?

Yes. Yes, I did.

My girlfriend waited in the shop and when I got off the ride, I was glowing. My gf's face was hilarious because once she saw all the merch in the store, she knew I'd be in grave danger. And yes, she was correct. I did spend 180€ on The Smiler merch on the second day... To name a few, I got a wallet, blanket, duvet set, shirt, and a teddy whom I guard with my life.

Before the actual review, I want to tell the story of the most based Smile Assistant.

The first day I rode The Smiler three times, and one of the Assistants recognized me every time I got on (I had a Smiler hoodie, bag, and a yellow skirt so a full-on Smiler outfit on) and I was so baffled every time. The second or third time I went on, he was working at the cloakroom and said, "Hello again" as he took my bag and I was just. So surprised that he recognized me.

On the second day, I went on The Smiler five more times, so eight times in total. The same Smile Assistant was working at either the cloakroom or entrance, and he recognized me again. Every. Single. Time. Without exception.

My girlfriend took pictures of me in front of my beloved (The Smiler) near the entrance. The Smile Assistant who kept recognizing me was working at the entrance at the time, and when he saw us taking pictures, he photobombed my picture and I got to take some with him! I could tell he was passionate about The Smiler and the park's visitors, and he also took pictures of me and my gf together in front of The Smiler.

After that my gf left (she doesn't like rides that go upside-down) and I went on The Smiler. The same Smile Assistant at the entrance stopped me and looked at me dead in the eyes, "Again???" which got a laugh out of me. I just nodded happily and told him that the ride was my favourite, and he was so shocked when I said that I had been on The Smiler six or seven times at that point.

He also asked what language my gf and I were speaking earlier. When I told him we're from Finland and it was our first time at Alton Towers, he was able to name Helsinki (the capital of Finland)! We love an educated king. It was a shame I couldn't talk with him for longer as a queue was forming behind me, and I did want to get on The Smiler as many times as possible.

Then, after an hour or two of riding other rides we couldn't ride the day before, I wanted to go back, ride The Smiler more, and finally buy some merch.

When I took my Alton bag FULL of Smiler merch to The Smiler's cloakroom again, of course the Smile Assistant from earlier was working there, and just shook his head when he saw me. I told him that I bought a lot of merch (the bag was filled to the brim) and he glanced inside, looked at me, deadpan, and started laughing as he put the bag on one of the racks. He looked genuinely impressed and I'll remember his face forever. Lmao.

He kept recognizing me over and over again, and when I went on for the last time just before 18:00, the ride broke down. I was full-on panicking and worried that I wasn't getting to ride one last time, but luckily the ride reopened eventually ten minutes before six o'clock! The same Assistant took my bag, looked at me with a lopsided grin, and that was probably the moment he decided I was THE Smiler fangirl.

My last ride on The Smiler dispatched at 17:58, and I could feel just how lucky I was. I even got front row for my final ride!

After my final ride, I lingered near the entrance just watching the last trains on The Smiler and burned every single detail of him into my mind. It didn't take long for the Assistant to come out to collect trash near the entrance, and he soon gestured me to come over to him when he saw me there.

He gave me one of The Smiler's cloakroom bracelets.

Number 7 for Secret Weapon 7, which was The Smiler's codename before the name was officially revealed to the public. I was so ready to burst into tears right then and there, but there was more! He mentioned that he had seen me and my girlfriend on The Wickerman earlier that day, and he gave me The Wickerman's cloakroom bracelet with the number 8 on it (for Secret Weapon 8) to give to my gf.

I still tear up when I think about that moment and that Smile Assistant. He recognized that I was a tourist, it was my first time in England, and a HUGE Smiler nerd, and went on his way to give me something OF THE SMILER. Technically not of it, but still, a cloakroom is part of the ride.

I was so in awe and he looked so happy to see my reaction – I probably looked like I had just been handed the entire world. And truly, I was handed the world. The Smiler means SO MUCH to me you have no idea, I felt so, SO validated.

I named my Smiler teddy bear after that Assistant. Luckily I was able to see his name tag on one of the pictures, and now my teddy is named after one of my favourite people in the world. I know he was just doing his job, but as an autistic girl with an INTENSE hyperfixation on The Smiler, I have never felt so seen in my entire life. Thank you, Smile Assistant. 💛

And now for the actual review!

My review of The Smiler:

About the ride: The first Gerstlauer Infinity Coaster, and the only Infinity Coaster to feature OTSR. Opened on May 31st, 2013, The Smiler broke the world record for the first coaster to feature a whopping 14 inversions. It still holds the record to this day. 85km/h, height of 30m, track length of 1170m, everything about him is perfect. I miss him so bad.

Theming: RAAHHHDJKSNDKS my favourite part of The Smiler. The fact he's a science experiment meant to brainwash subjects into Smiling Advocates is just *chef's kiss* ahhh. The colour scheme, THE MUSIC, The Marmaliser, the manic toothy grin of the logo's little guy... He's so perfect.

Ride experience: Just like I expected, The Smiler is now my favourite roller coaster EVER. It's perfect. A little rough to the point of a headache, but the overall experience is SO GOOD. My favourite part of any coaster is inversions, and The Smiler having FOURTEEN makes it a triple S in my tierlist.

When I rode it enough times and learned when to brace myself and how to position myself, it was so perfect. So, so perfect. The vertical lift hill is the comfiest lift hill ever. I did get a lot of bruises from the ride, but I wear them like badges of honour. <3

Overall rating: 100/10 and beyond. First few rides were a little uncomfortable, but after that, pure perfection. He has a tier of his own on my tierlist.

Gf's stance: Would NEVER come on The Smiler. Admires and enjoys the ride from the sidelines, and supports me and my passion for him. She even bought a Smiler shirt so we can match!

TL;DR: The Smiler has been my biggest hyperfixation EVER, and now that I've actually ridden it, my life feels complete. No kidding.

The picture I took below makes it look like he has some mad eyebrows. I love him.

And now for the rest of the rides! None of the others blew my mind or anything, so they'll be shorter than The Wickerman or The Smiler's.

My review of Oblivion:

About the ride: B&M dive coaster, the first in the world, opened on March 14th, 1998. Height 19.8m, drop 55m, angle 87.5°, speed of 109km/h.

Everything else: B&M babyy! Such a fun coaster. The drop is the ride, and it's so fun. The brakes at the end give so much air time it's unbelievable. We also got stuck on it the first time we were on! After the ride, we couldn't get off at the station because the automatic system wasn't working correctly. The operators had to manually open the restraints to let us out, and it was actually pretty fun!

We were stuck there for about 15 minutes, and I remember infodumbing to my gf about the ways they could open the restraints and what was wrong with the automatic system. And when I saw the wench they use to manually open the restraints, I'm pretty sure I screamed because I was so excited. All the ride operators had evacuation gear on; getting evacuated would've been so much fun, too. There also were engineers there at the station, and I really was in my element watching them work. I'm a nerd. 7/10.

My review of Thirteen:

About the ride: A dark ride manufactured by Intamin, it features a vertical track drop of 5 metres. Height of 20m, speed of 67km/h, and pretty rare booster wheel lift hills. Opened on March 20th, 2010.

Everything else: Seeing a booster wheel lift hill was pretty exciting! The first few drops were amazing, and the track drop felt new and fresh, but overall, it was pretty meh. The forest around the queue pen and theming was pretty cool, but I don't have much to say about this ride. 6/10.

My review of Rita:

About the ride: Another Intamin and a hydraulic launch! Height 21m, speed 98km/h. Opened on April 1st, 2005, and was originally known as Rita: Queen of Speed.

Everything else: HYDRAULIC LAUNCH. I LOVE THEM. The punch!! The forces!! The feeling!!! Ahhh. The rest of the ride is pretty boring, but the hydraulic launch alone puts Rita in A tier. 8/10.

My review of Nemesis Reborn:

About the ride: B&M inverted opened back in 1994 and retracked on March 16th, 2024, it's 31 years old! It's designed to fit partially into the ground to keep it below the treeline, and the surroundings make the famous B&M roar so loud!

Everything else: The first B&M I've ever ridden! I rode this after The Smiler, and I kinda wish I hadn't, because Nemesis was so boring compared to my man. I still had a fun time, I love inverted coasters, and the roar was music to my ears. Solid A nonetheless! And, Nemesis is adorable. I want a plushie of her. 8.5/10.

My review of Galactica:

About the ride: Another B&M! A flying coaster opened on March 16th, 2002. Height 20m, speed 75km/h.

Everything else: My first flying coaster!! ...I didn't like it too much. The sensation was new and pretty thrilling, but overall, it was really underwhelming and I didn't like looking at other people's shoes. The forces weren't there, and I was generally kind of bored. Still, it was a flying B&M, and I'm glad I rode it! 5/10.

My review of Toxicator:

About the ride: HUSS suspended top spin, a flat ride opened on March 15th, 2025.

Everything else: Meh. Just meh. The fast spins were fun, but I was just so bored. The theming was amazing though, and I wish there was more about the procedure. I saw a few posters about the symptoms and results, and it was such an interesting read. Still, a pretty boring ride. 4.8/10.

My review of Spinball Whizzer:

About the ride: Spinning coaster by Maurer Rides, opened on March 27th, 2004. Height 17m, speed 60km/h.

Everything else: I do not like spinning coasters or wild mice. It was pretty uncomfortable, and the restraints hurt my pelvis a little. A few drops felt amazing but the spinning is just not my thing. I don't get dizzy or sick, I just don't like it. It was pretty funny when I spotted the old Eggman sticker on one of the pillars and screamed "It's Eggman!!" to my gf who I also got into Sonic a few months before our trip. 4.3/10.

That was all the rides I experienced during my two days at Alton Towers!

I would've wanted to ride The Curse at Alton Manor and Runaway Mine Train, but we didn't have time and my priority was getting everything out of The Smiler.

The first day's rain nearly overwhelmed me because of my sensory issues, but I still enjoyed the day! The Smiler has my whole heart, and going up the vertical lift hill in heavy rain was an experience. It felt like I was getting lovingly smacked in the face lol.

Alton Towers is such a huge place that we got lost a few times, and I feel bad for my girlfriend's legs. And, to be honest, I feel bad for my girlfriend in general because she had to watch me be absolutely feral for The Smiler and bawl like a baby when we had to leave after the second day.

I have cried every single day at least once since we left. I miss The Smiler so much. I may have a problem... And I may be a little dramatic, but roller coasters and The Smiler are my autistic passions, after all.

Anyway!

I wanna go back. Take me back to Alton Towers. I want to see my man again. And chat more with the Smile Assistant. Those two days were the BEST days of my entire life, no doubt. I'm so thankful for my girlfriend for taking me there. <3

(The Smiler my most beloved rahhhhhh)

[pellucid-constellations]

Checks and Balances

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Your boss was an ass—you knew it, the office knew it, the entire country knew it. Working for Senator Brown was never easy, but you had managed it for the better part of three years and didn’t want to see your career go up in flames. Unfortunately for you, Bucky was slowly falling in love with you, and Congressman Barnes didn’t think managing it was enough. 

Word count: 9k

Warnings: Injury (kinda), hospitals, angst, an abusive boss, protective Bucky!!

a/n: Ahh a Bucky fic that's not an AU (that's also one million words)! Idk how the government works tbh so sorry if things are a little inaccurate there lol. This takes place right before Thunderbolts! Thank you for reading, I love you!! ❤️❤️

Masterlist

~~

“Congressman Barnes,” you greeted, a slight nod of your head the only acknowledgement you could afford. Senator Brown was only a moment away from screaming at you again, and you could only take so much screaming in one day.  

Bucky, unfortunately, did not care about being screamed at by Senator Brown. He took your upper arm in a light grip and shot you a confused smile. “What, you avoiding me? Can’t be seen in the halls talking to me?” 

A fairer assessment of Bucky’s interruption was that he didn’t know of the wrath Senator Brown could incite upon you. Sure, Bucky knew that Brown was a hardass, and by association, his executive assistant would have to put up with it, but he had no way of knowing just how terrible the man was. 

When you met Bucky a few weeks ago, you had been alone in a hotel lobby. The heels accompanying your freshly pressed pantsuit had been killing you, and you needed a moment for your feet to breathe. Bucky, apparently, also needed a moment away from the conference, and you had gotten to talking when he plopped into the overstuffed armchair beside you. 

He knew you worked for Senator Brown. You knew he was a Congressman, obviously. You also knew his background and the complexities that came with it. Many people in the political space turned up their noses at him, something you had a similar experience with as you were “only an assistant.” The two of you had joked about it, eventually making your way to the hotel bar and laughing over the amount of hidden toupees currently residing in the ballroom.

In the weeks that followed, you had texted with him, met for coffee twice because he was “in the area”, and had maybe even considered the fact that you were friends with Congressman Barnes. Friends were invaluable to have in D.C., but they were also something to be wary of. Bucky didn’t feel the type to be wary of. 

As you stood halfway frozen in the hallway, his comment began to make sense. He was calling back to your initial hotel conversation, making a joke about biases and stuck-up politicians, but this was not the time. Not that he could have known. 

Senator Brown barked out your name when he noticed you were no longer beside him, surely trying to get you to jot down some thought banging around in his head. You whipped your head to the side, almost missing the affronted expression on Bucky’s face as he registered the tone that your name was spoken in, and shook your arm from his hold. 

“Sorry, Congressman,” you murmured, turning on your heel and making quick strides in Brown’s direction. “I apologize. What can I do for you, Senator?” 

Your boss barely hid a scoff. “You can start by being where I need you to be. And write this down—I do not believe that the House takes the proper—” 

You scrambled to take out your phone and open the notes app. A rookie mistake; you usually had it open the second his meetings ended, but you had been distracted. By Bucky. 

Your heels hurriedly clicking against polished marble, you took a fleeting glance over your shoulder. Bucky remained there, his brow furrowed and his arms crossed over his chest, metal from his hand glinting against the gentle fluorescence of the hall. 

Three days later, he brought it up. 

You thought you’d found a private spot to scarf down your lunch in your allotted fifteen-minute break, but with a sandwich only half finished and your mouth full, the call of your name reminded you that there is never any privacy for you at this job. The sound of Bucky’s voice softened the blow a bit. 

“He always treat you like that?” Bucky asked, swinging his leg over the bench on the other side of the table. He watched as you tried to chew quickly, some of the hardness he’d sat down with melting from his expression. 

You covered your mouth with your hand and swallowed hard. “What?” you finally got out, reaching for your water bottle. 

Bucky raised a brow. “Brown. Does he always yell at you?” 

After a few sips and swallows, you gave up on being able to finish your lunch. You had to plan out your meals very meticulously to finish, and Bucky had already taken up 30 precious seconds. 

“Oh,” you began. You swiped a hand through the air. “It’s fine. He just gets a little intense sometimes. It’s just his personality.” 

“You’ve been working for him for three years.” 

“Right.” 

“The guy should treat you better. He could only keep assistants for a few weeks at a time before you.” 

“How do you know that?” 

Bucky slid your food towards you. “Eat. You looked like you were in a hurry when I got here.” 

You eyed him for a moment. With his hair tucked behind his ears, you could see the tenseness of his jaw and the shadow of his beard dusting above his collar. It was no secret that Bucky was alarmingly handsome in a sea of 60-year-old politicians, but you had never gotten the opportunity to see it at work. You were always too busy, and Bucky’s office was three floors down. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t text you back,” you said, reaching for the fruit in your bag. “I meant to. I’ve just been working late since the meeting on Monday.” 

“It’s alright.” A pause as you continued to eat your food. You had maybe four minutes left. “How late?” 

“Oh, um, I’ve been going home around 10. It’s such a pain in the ass to get a taxi at that time, you wouldn’t believe. Uber isn’t much better, and I definitely can’t walk home in these things,” you joked, motioning to the bandaids strapped behind your heels. “It’s not so bad, though. After about a month of late nights, Brown will go on a “vacation,” and I’ll have a few weeks to reign in the chaos during normal business hours.” 

You were giggling as you spoke, adding air quotes and sarcasm to try to alleviate the irritated look Bucky was sporting. After a few weeks of being around him, you understood that Bucky was quieter than you, but his silence right now was pressing. Your jokes weren’t getting him to talk, so you switched gears. 

Popping a grape in your mouth, you asked, “What are you doing up here, anyway?” 

Bucky let out a breath and tapped his hand on the table. “Honestly? I came to check on you.” 

“To check on me?” 

“After Monday, I wanted to make sure—” 

Your phone started going off, the “Senator Brown” contact making your blood run cold. You brought your watch up and let out a gasp that made Bucky jump. 

“What?” he rushed, standing from the table as you started to pack your things in a panic. He went to help you, but after two brushes of his hands, he realized he was only in the way. 

“My break was over two minutes ago. I have to go right now.” 

“Two minutes? What—y/n, that isn’t—” 

He was here to check on you. Right. That was really sweet. 

Your brain tried to catch up with your panic as you reached over and squeezed his arm gratefully. “I’m really fine, Bucky. It was nice to see you. We should get coffee again.” You were sliding through the double doors and back into the building as you called, “I’ll text you. I promise this time.” 

And you did. In the seven minutes of free time you got around 9 pm, you sent him a quick follow-up text. The bubble went right below his text from two days ago, and you felt a small pinch of guilt for not answering him until now.

You: Free Saturday morning?

He answered you almost instantly.

Bucky: Depends. Are you still at work right now?

You frowned at your phone. 

You: If I am does that mean you won’t get coffee with me?

Bucky: So you are 

You: …maybe 

And then, your seven minutes of silence were up. When Brown’s footsteps could be heard by the door, you tucked your phone into your desk and went to work on the stack of papers he assigned you. He so graciously let you know that he was going home now, and you could leave once you were finished. 

That was perfect. 

It took you an hour and a half, but when you sorted the final paper and checked his schedule for tomorrow for the last time, a sense of relief flooded you. You didn’t even care that it would take another 30 minutes for an Uber to arrive. All you could think about was your shower and your bed and taking these shoes off your feet. 

You gathered your belongings and swiped your phone from the desk, clicking to the rideshare app and somewhat dreading the small talk to come. It would be extremely convenient to have a car, but that wasn’t something in the cards for you. Your tiny apartment had barely any parking, and everything else was within walking distance. 

As you continued to ponder the pros and cons of taking the bus home, a honk from the curb made you jump. You lowered your phone and squinted into the distance of the now barren road. 

“Someone order an Uber?” 

Disbelief was your first emotion, and then shock and then confusion. “Buck—Congressman Barnes?” you asked, correcting yourself when the memory of the building at your back resurfaced. 

“You’re not getting in my car if you’re calling me that,” Bucky replied, leaning down to peer out the passenger-side window. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked him for the second time today.

“I told you, I’m driving for Uber. You called for one?” 

A disbelieving laugh fell from your lips. You shook your phone by your face and leaned down towards the window. “Haven’t even ordered it yet. I’m not supposed to get in the car unless they can put in the code verifying my identity.” 

“Give me a code, then. Here,” he passed you his phone, the background illuminating a small white cat. “Wait, sorry, I have to unlock it.” 

Your next laugh was more of a scoff as he reached through the window to take it back. “Seriously, what are you doing here?” 

Bucky paused, looking you up and down for a moment before his jaw ticked to the side in a smile. “I’m taking you home. You live close, it won’t take very long.” 

“I can’t ask you to do that.” 

“You’re not asking. Now, hurry up and get in. I’ve been in the fire lane for 20 minutes and parking enforcement hates me here.” 

You went to argue again, but Bucky only raised a brow and unlocked the doors. 

Sliding in the car was somewhat of a mess with your bag and your jacket and the file you had meant to finish at home almost suffocating you. Bucky tried to help, grabbing items and waiting for you to buckle in before placing them by your feet. You were flustered from the transition, trying to adjust your skirt and seatbelt as Bucky reached forward to tuck a strand of hair stuck in your lip gloss behind your ear. 

You turned to look at him instantly, but the man only gave you a closed-lip smile and shifted the gear of his car, pulling away from the building of your nightmares. You blinked back towards the dashboard, needing a few more seconds to settle yourself. 

“I really didn’t mean to make you feel guilty,” you stressed to Bucky after he flipped the radio on, low music trickling in. “When I told you about staying late, I mean.” 

Bucky tsked, knocking his head to the side to shoot you a lingering glance. “You didn’t, alright? This is my own problem. I just didn’t feel comfortable with you trying to find a way home so late.” 

“I’ve been doing it for a while and I haven’t died yet,” you attempted to joke. 

Not the best joke, it seemed, with Bucky’s fist clutching the steering wheel a hair tighter, the sound of leather meeting your ears. He shook his head. “Where’s Brown? He doesn’t let you take work home?” 

“Oh, he does sometimes,” you chipperly replied, trying to sound awake and get Bucky un-pissed off. “He just checks my timesheets when we work overtime, so I have to make sure I stay late enough so that he won’t say anything. I still have this to take care of once I get home.”

You tapped the manila file in your lap and looked over to Bucky as he drove. He was wearing jeans and a pullover crewneck, his hair tied back and casual, and even though you’d seen him outside of work before, he looked different this way. Something about the night and him driving you home made him look different. 

Bucky didn’t make a comment about your work or the system you had to avoid criticism from the Senator. Silence lapsed in the car, you lightly drumming your fingers on your thigh as the D.C. night swept past along the car windows. 

“I would like to get coffee Saturday,” Bucky finally said. “If the offer still stands.” 

“Of course it stands.” 

You only briefly caught the half-smile that lit up his face before the light of the streets was lost to a tunnel. 

~~

Coffee was relaxed and enjoyable, as it always was with Bucky. He asked a few more questions about your work, a topic he had previously not touched on. He wanted to know about your coworkers, if the interns ever helped you, how much time you got off, and in turn, you asked him about being a Congressman and if he actually enjoyed it. 

Both answers left the other person less than satisfied. 

“What about you?” Bucky asked, tilting his cup up. “Why have you been an executive assistant for so long?” 

You hummed. “I don’t know, really. My dad was in politics, and he would only really accept my work if I was, too. He’s… not around now, but I feel like I have to stay. I’m good at it.” 

“I believe it. Could be good at a lot of things, though.” 

You shot him a mock glare. “Trying to get rid of me, Congressman?” 

Bucky leaned forward, placing a hand on the small table that only separated you a few inches. He answered you earnestly, but a small amount of humor lightened his eyes, made him look less serious. “Now, why would I want to do that?” 

Your lips parted to quip something back, but then he was raising his hand again, the heat of his skin lingering at the corner of your mouth. He swiped his thumb there, and you were frozen, a replica of when he brushed your hair back a few nights ago, but the car had been a distraction then. You had been flustered and trying to sort out your belongings, so you didn’t think about it for longer than a few seconds. 

“Whipped cream,” he explained, holding you in his gaze for a moment longer than you should have been. Even as the barista from behind the counter was now standing at your table and speaking. 

“Hi! Would the two of you like to try our new coffee cake? Free samples since it’s new.” 

Bucky was the first to look away, tearing his eyes from yours to smile politely at the barista. You shook from your stupor and quickly reached for a napkin, brushing it against your lips even though nothing remained. 

You felt fuzzy, confused. But also nothing was confusing and you were reminded, again, how attractive the Congressman was. How attractive and how definitely off-limits he was. 

It would be so taboo for Bucky to be dating an assistant. 

“What about you, ma’am?” You blinked several times and looked up to read the small ‘coffee cake’ sign lying next to the treats, the barista’s blinding smile expecting and very retail. 

“I’m allergic to cinnamon, but thank you.” 

“Allergic to cinnamon?” Bucky asked as the barista left.

“Yeah, anaphylaxis and everything. I carry an epipen with me, but I’ve only had to use it once when I was 10. Did you know that some bakeries add cinnamon to buttercream birthday cakes?” you chuckled, reorienting yourself to the present. “Are you allergic to anything? Or, I guess you probably aren’t. Isn’t that a serum thing?” 

“Not allergic to anything, but if I had been, it would’ve been wiped out by the serum. We didn’t really have a lot of food variety in the 30s. Could have been allergic to shellfish—didn’t try that until after.” 

You had to pause the cup at your lips. “Oh my god, I forgot you’re like 100 years old.” 

Bucky’s expression morphed into an offended wince. “Alright, I wouldn’t say that. I haven’t exactly lived 100 years.” 

“I was just thinking the other day how you don’t exactly fit in with the rest of Congress, but you so do! Maybe even on the young side,” you teased. 

“Oh yeah?” Bucky egged on, nodding with his brows raised. “You were thinking about me?” 

You knocked your head back in a laugh, holding your stomach with your forearm. “How did I forget this?” 

“You know what? I’m not driving you home anymore.” 

With lingering giggles, you righted yourself in your chair, a smile still clear in your voice. Contrasting his words, Bucky’s smile was just as wide as yours, a slight redness to his cheeks making him look softer. You brought a hand to cover his arm on the table. 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, Bucky. You aren’t old. I take it back.” 

“Yeah, you better,” he taunted, though his arm flipped over and he gave your wrist a soft squeeze as he said it. 

~~

Bucky wouldn’t stop touching you. 

You didn’t know if he was doing it consciously or if this was something he commonly did with his friends, but he was going to get you in trouble. 

Outside of work, it was fine—distracting and disorienting, but fine. A brush of his hand helping you into the car, fixing your bag on your shoulder, a hand on your back when you left the coffee shop; over the past few weeks, it had all begun to feel commonplace. 

It could have been frequency that made you more aware of this habit of his, because Bucky had begun picking you up every time you worked late and planned coffee or lunch or even a walk at least once a weekend. So, maybe this was his norm and you were just around him more often—something you enjoyed, but also something that made feelings more difficult. 

Because, again, Congressman Barnes could not be dating an assistant. His credibility among the rest of Congress was already being questioned almost daily, and he did not need the court of public opinion breathing down his neck on top of that. It was a fortunate truth that while the internal part of his job was tricky, most of the public favored him. 

So, as much as your chest hurt and your stomach flipped whenever you were around him, you settled for friendship. A touchy friendship. 

At work, things felt heightened in the worst way possible. 

You couldn’t even understand why he was coming to the top floor so often, seemingly lingering there so he could scare the crap out of you when you’d turn a corner. And then it would be a smile and another hand at your back when he was passing you—a hand that was not necessary. Or he would find you at the tail-end of your lunch break and move your hair away from your eyes, distracting you to the point of no return. 

It was the worst because you were getting distracted, and when you were distracted, you got yelled at. 

Bucky had seen you get yelled at a few times now, each seemingly worse than the last. He kept quiet about it, but you could tell it bothered him. He almost stepped in once—when Brown was irate at the coffee you’d gotten him and chucked it at the wall, you saw Bucky step forward from down the hall. He stopped at the slight shake of your head. 

You were used to the Senator throwing things, and as long as it wasn’t in your direction, it was no harm done. At least, that’s what you thought. 

“You should go to human resources,” Bucky commented one Sunday, the two of you sitting along a lake by the Capitol building. 

You almost snorted. “Right. And what do you think old Mrs. Martha is going to be able to do for me? Brown has been in office for over a decade. If anything, that would just get me fired.” 

Bucky shook his head, expression taut. “There’s gotta be something else then. You don’t deserve all of that.” 

“If we’re talking about not deserving torment, I think I’m the least of our worries here, Sergeant,” you noted, knocking your shoulder against his in an attempted lightness. 

But when you turned to look at him, Bucky was already facing you. “I’m serious, y/n. He’s throwing things at you. I’ve stayed out of it because you told me to, but after today—” 

“Bucky, hey,” you calmed. “I know it seems crazy, but I know how to deal with it. I know he won’t actually do anything.”

“Right now, maybe.” 

You sighed, searching his eyes and trying to discern when this became such an intense conversation. Trying to figure out when the two of you had discussions like this and not just lax coffee hangouts. Against your better judgment, you placed a hand over his thigh and relented. 

“Okay, fine. I’ll work on it, but I’ll be the one working on it, okay? It definitely can’t be you—he would freak out if a representative started ordering him around. Even if you could totally knock him out.” 

Bucky shook his head in disbelief, a smile begrudgingly sneaking onto his face. “I can’t believe you’re joking about this.” 

“You can definitely believe that.” 

“Yeah, I can.” And then you were tugged against his starched, ironed suit, his metal arm holding you close to his chest.

You gasped a little at the initial contact, your heart hammering against your ribs as Bucky simply kept you there. This is dangerous, your brain reminded you, but it was also harmless, if you looked at it the right way. 

“You know, I’m not going to die, Bucky. I’ve dealt with this for years.” 

“Yeah, you keep joking about that,” he gruffly replied, the words a ghost against the top of your head. You hadn’t realized his lips were that close. “If we could keep the death jokes to a minimum, that would be great.” 

You pulled back from him enough to look at his face. “Why? Afraid your only friend will bite it?” 

“Hey, I have other friends.” 

“I haven’t seen ‘em.” 

“Shut up,” he groaned, tugging you back in. “You can meet them as proof. Next weekend.” 

“Okay, sure, Bucky,” you sang out, tapping his chest. “But if we need to reschedule this meeting with your 'friends,’ I would understand.” 

As Bucky went on to refute your insinuations in a grumpy tone, you tried to pretend that this felt like that—just a friendship. 

~~

Approximately four days later, everything went to shit. 

Senator Brown was on a tirade, screaming at everyone and everything in his path. When he got like this, the admin staff usually locked the doors to his office and the entire floor if they could, but today, they weren’t ready for how angry he was. 

It was a bill, or a speech, or maybe even the press catching wind that he was cheating on his wife—it didn’t matter. He was pissed and you were going to have to answer for it. 

You stood in his office with a clear view of the glass wall connecting to the hallway, hands behind your back and fighting off a wince with every curse and insult the Senator threw at you. 

“I hired you to take care of this bullshit! Why the hell am I dealing with this when I’m supposed to have an entire staff? This is fucked!” 

“You’re too worried about going home early, you can’t even assemble a reply to an email correctly! A fucking email!”

“I should’ve fired you weeks ago. When you started fucking off to wherever you take too long for your lunch break and stopped doing your job. I swear to god, this country has—” 

You were only retaining about half of what he said, which was good, considering everything was an attack on you, and your work ethic, and then he even started going in on your clothes and your apartment. It must have been something really bad this time. After he was done yelling, you would check his texts and probably find a couple of mentions of divorce sprinkled in between messages with his lawyers. 

Affairs and divorce were always messy for politicians. 

“Of course, Senator. I will do better. I apologize,” you offered, unsure what you were apologizing for at the present. It wouldn’t matter; he would just start up again about another topic. 

“Damn right you will or I’ll send you out on the streets. Do you know how hard it is to get a job in D.C when a Senator blacklists you?” 

Did you ever. 

When Bucky had asked you why you stayed, you left out that key bit of information. He was still newer to the field and didn’t need to know that Senator Brown held that over your head each time you even hinted at moving on. 

You figured the screaming was almost over. Brown was in his 60s, so he would be getting tired. And it probably would have been over if he hadn’t checked his Apple Watch and read a text that got him fired up once more.

You greatly regretted setting that up for him. 

You braced yourself for further yelling as his face began to turn red, but were alarmed as the Senator reached for the wooden pencil case on his desk and threw it. Pens flew, and you knew he wasn’t aiming for you, but the cup hit a vase on a high bookshelf to your right, which then toppled over and shook loose the framed art hanging above your head. 

You should have moved, but you spotted Bucky in the hall, and he always distracted you. 

The frame shot straight down, smacking you in the head and causing your knees to buckle in surprise. You fell to the ground, feeling dramatic and disoriented as the room silenced and your ears rang. You knew he wouldn’t apologize, but the continued quiet as you pushed yourself up and sat back on your haunches was almost deafening. 

The glass door to the office swung open. 

“What the hell?” A hand was on your elbow. A colder one felt around the top of your head. It was Bucky, obviously it was Bucky, but you were too afraid to look, keeping your gaze locked on Senator Brown. “Hey, you okay?” 

The hand on your head moved down to your jaw, forcing your gaze to Bucky. He searched every inch of your face as you blinked at him, mind blank. “Um, I’m fine.” 

Your brows furrowed, trying to connect the chain of events that led to this. You brought your hand up to replace where Bucky had placed his, the action seemingly spurring him into action. 

“The hell is wrong with you, huh?” Bucky shouted, rising from the floor. “You think it makes you tough to throw things at her?” 

Senator Brown had gone from furious to unsure, probably aware of the physical strength Bucky harbored. But, as was typical with politicians, he would not put anything before his pride. Brown righted his expression and pursed his lips. 

“I wasn’t trying to hit her, Congressman. It was a simple accident. You weren’t even in the room to see it happen.” 

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t need to be. You’re screaming at her when you’re not throwing. What kinda grown man does that?” 

“Bucky—” you cautioned, glued to the floor still. 

The senator directed his attention towards you, brows raised accusingly. “Oh, so you’ve been gossiping about me, then?” 

You shrank back, hand lingering where your head ached, but Bucky stepped in front of you, blocking you from Brown’s line of sight. 

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” Bucky seethed, jutting a finger into Brown’s chest. 

Brown’s head sharply turned. “That you are, Congressman. But it seems like my assistant here no longer wants her role, so this conversation is moot.” 

“Wait, I—” 

“Maybe if you spent time picking on someone your own size instead of acting like a coward—” 

“Bucky, don’t—” 

“A coward? A coward? Who’s the one who cannot speak for himself on the board? Tell me, Barnes, is that part of some unresolved trauma from some nondescript decade?” 

“You shut your mouth before I—” 

“Congressman Barnes,” you called, authority that didn’t belong to you heavy in your tone. You were two seconds away from losing your job and being blacklisted, neither of which you could handle. Bucky froze, his anger still held in his shoulders. “Thank you for your concern, as I’m sure you were just passing by when you saw what happened, but I can assure you that it was an accident and I am fine.” 

Bucky looked over his shoulder with furrowed brows, but took a step back and dropped his hands by his sides when he caught your expression—still disheveled, but resolute in your decision. He needed to leave. You needed to save your career. You could… figure everything else out later. Probably. 

You bit into your bottom lip until it hurt. 

Bucky looked at the wall behind your head and then tracked his gaze to the forming lump on your crown. “But—” 

“I am fine,” you repeated slowly. Having risen from the floor before calling his name, you walked to the door and held it open. “We’re very busy. Please excuse us.” 

Bucky licked his lips as he looked to the floor, shaking his head in abject disbelief and following your direction. When he met the entryway, he tilted his head slightly, opening his mouth to say something, but thinking against it. His hand twitched at his side, and then he left, taking long, purposeful strides away from the office. 

You took a deep breath, allowed yourself a moment as the door closed, and then you did something purposeful yourself. Even if it killed you to do so. 

~~

Bucky’s POV

Bucky was losing his mind. 

After leaving Brown’s office, he’d stormed into his own and promptly shut and locked the door. Tugging his tie away from his neck and prying the uncomfortable suit jacket from his shoulders, Bucky then began to pace. He was pissed. He was so beyond pissed. 

It would have been so easy for him to knock that Senator out, and he would have deserved it. Bucky had had to watch for weeks as you were berated and screamed at, and then the line was crossed when he saw him throwing things. You hadn’t let him do anything, and then you hadn’t let him do anything again after you’d been hurt. 

He watched you flinch and cover your face, and even that hadn’t been enough. 

Bucky swiped a hand over his mouth. 

When had you started to matter to him so much? That was a stupid question, and apparently, he was full of stupidity today.

He promised that he’d let you take care of it, and then he went in there and almost killed Senator Brown. A replay of you falling to the ground looped in his mind, and actually Bucky didn’t feel stupid at all. All he felt was rage. 

“Shit,” he breathed out, knocking his head back and falling back into his office chair.

He’d messed up. He wasn’t sure exactly how, but he knew you were not happy with him. What did “taking care of it” even mean? And why were you so dead set on keeping that awful job? Bucky could think of at least a dozen other jobs in D.C. that would not involve you being verbally and physically abused. 

Fuck, he wished he had more pull, but as a Congressman of only a few months, there was little he could do against a Senator. And he had a meeting in five minutes. 

Bucky pulled his phone out and sent you a quick text about talking after work, let out the longest sigh of his life, and then readjusted his tie. 

That had been three days ago. 

You never texted him back. And you left the building far before he could give you a ride home. When he asked your coworkers, they said you were no longer working overtime and left during normal hours. 

Fine. That was good, actually. Only, Bucky never saw you. 

He frequented all of your normal spots, wandered up to the top floor, and even stopped by the coffeeshop two days in a row, and you were nowhere. Avoiding him, obviously, and while he understood (he didn’t), he mostly wanted to put eyes on you. To make sure you were okay. 

Sure, you didn’t have a severe head injury, but it was more than that. 

Bucky brought his turmoil to the barbecue Sam was holding that weekend. The one you were supposed to be at. 

Nursing his fifth beer that wouldn’t do anything, Bucky leaned back against the fence of Sam’s yard and sulked. He’d talked to a few people when he got there, but sulking was on his agenda for the afternoon. 

“What’s up with the stank face?” Sam asked, entering Bucky’s orbit of solitude and despair. “It’s gonna get stuck like that if you keep it up.” 

“I don’t have a stank face,” Bucky argued. 

“Right, right. Well, right now you have more of a pissed off face, but I guess I bring that out in you.” Sam paused and then smacked Bucky in the shoulder. “Come on, man. What’s going on, seriously? Does it have to do with that girl you were supposed to bring?” 

“I don’t want to talk about that.” 

“Oh, you don’t? Then it’s that.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes, knocking back more of his beer as the sizzle of burgers juxtaposed with his somberness. “Alright, fine. It’s that. But it’s stupid. We weren’t even…”

“Dating?” 

“Yeah. That.” 

“You told me you went out for coffee and all that. That you would go on long walks at the lake and canoodle at work.”

“Are you going to take this seriously?” Bucky accused. “‘Cause if you’re not, I’m leaving right now. I’ll leave.” 

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry,” Sam surrendered, raising his hands. “But really, Buck, that all sounds like dating. Tell me why she didn’t come.” 

Bucky clenched his jaw and stared out at the merriment of the barbecue, remembering the scene more vividly than he would have liked. He tried to find an exact moment that would have led to you avoiding him, but he couldn’t pin it down. Maybe it was the entire thing? 

“I think she’s mad at me. I kinda went off on her boss and she told me she wanted to take care of it.” 

“What do you mean ‘went off’? And isn’t she working under a Senator?”

Bucky puffed out a breath. “Yeah, Senator Brown.” Sam let out a low whistle as Bucky continued. “He yells at her. Throws things. I felt like it crossed a line this week, so I guess I kinda stormed in. She threw me out and’s been avoiding me since. We had talked about it before and she said to stay out of it, but, Sam, the guy’s a dick.” 

“And you really like her,” Sam added casually. “And I really like her,” Bucky confirmed. 

Sam paused to contemplate, though Bucky didn’t know what he could possibly offer that Bucky hadn’t already considered. He really, really liked you—more than he figured possible, especially with all of his attempts at dating since his pardon. But then you’d surprised him that night at the hotel, and he’d been hooked. 

He hadn’t even had the chance to tell you.

“Well, two things,” Sam began, leaning on the fence next to Bucky. “Sounds like she knows what she’s doing, so you should have trusted her. But—” Sam cut out as Bucky opened his mouth “—it also sounds like Brown’s a major ass with a lot of power. You don’t know what he might have over her, slimy dude like that.” 

“What, you mean like blackmail?” 

“Maybe, who knows? You just gotta talk to her, man. Work it out.” 

Sam clapped Bucky on the shoulder before wading back into the party in the yard. Bucky, feeling somewhat lighter but also still at peril, kicked off the fence and made his own attempts at being sociable. 

“As soon as I can actually find her,” he grumbled to himself. 

~~

The charity gala had been on your calendar for the past six months, and still, nothing could have prepared you for how much you didn’t want to attend. 

You usually enjoyed events like this. You got to dress up and eat nice food, and Brown always got too drunk to remember that his assistant was even in the building. The first hour felt like work, and then the rest of the night was cosplaying as a rich politician. 

That was not the case for this gala. 

Ever since the ordeal with Bucky, Senator Brown had kept you on a tight leash. Whether that was due to how much he enjoyed intimidating you or his fear that you actually were telling people he was a mean, abusive boss, didn’t matter. All that mattered was that this gala was going to suck and there was nothing you could do about it. 

You had apologized profusely, swore up and down that you didn’t know Congressman Barnes, and practically pledged your life to Brown in every way you knew how. You never left the office, never took a lunch break—you were pretty sure your eyes were permanently dry from how long you stared at a screen all day. 

Making you attend this gala and not leave his side was another ploy to make you atone for your wrongdoings. Maybe the man knew how much you enjoyed these events and was taking advantage of that. 

“Check this,” Senator Brown lazily ordered, draping his coat over your arms. “And meet me back in the dining room. You get to sit right next to me.” 

You offered him a tight smile and felt the ache in your shoulders begin to fester. You were more uptight this week than ever, but that had nothing to do with Bucky Barnes. Nothing. 

It was just this job and your future in D.C. hanging in the balance. 

Obviously. 

You meandered over to the coat check, taking longer than you needed to and dragging your feet along the way. Your phone was buzzing incessantly in your bag—most likely some PR fire you’d need to put out before more people realized Brown was cheating on his wife—and you had absolutely no inclination to drag it out. 

“Just these two,” you offered, pressing the coats into the attendant's hands and taking the ticket in return. 

“Actually, can you add this one to that ticket?” 

As if this night couldn’t get any more uncomfortable. 

You could feel his chest against your back even before you heard him. He shifted his arms out of his sleeves and placed a hand on your shoulder as he leaned towards the counter. Of course he smelled good. Why wouldn’t he?

You fought the urge to roll your eyes in repressed… something and spun on your heel. 

He was just as close as you were expecting and also far too close for comfort. You knocked your head back to catch his gaze, trying to appear unamused and angry. 

“Why would you do that?” you asked. 

Bucky paused for a moment, searching the planes of your face for a beat too long before replying, “No reason to open another ticket. I’ll just leave when you leave.” 

“You mean you’ll leave when Brown leaves, then?” 

The muscle in his jaw jumped. “So, nothing's changed.”

This time, you did roll your eyes. You clutched the coat check number in your hand and began to storm off, not in the headspace to have this conversation at this gala. Bucky, however, did not seem to mind. 

The hand on your arm was soft but firm as you were tugged into a closet and subsequently shoved into a rack of hanging coats. It was too dim to see beyond your hands out in front of you, but Bucky solved that predicament as he entered your space. 

“Did you seriously just throw me into a closet?” you whisper-yelled, all too aware of the staff only feet away. 

“I had no choice,” he replied with the same urgency. “You were stomping off. And I didn’t throw you in here.” 

“I was not stomping off,” you scoffed. 

“You were.” 

“Was not!” 

“I could hear your heels. You were stomping.” 

You groaned, pushing into his chest to try and create distance that wasn’t available. Your back only hit the wall. 

“Fine. What do you want?” 

Bucky froze for a moment. “I… I didn’t actually think you’d stay in here. Or let me talk, if I’m being honest. 

Your jaw fell open, an incredulous laugh slipping out. You’d almost forgotten how endearing he was in just about everything he did. Even as he stood in front of you in a full, three-piece suit, smushing you against a closet wall because he had dragged you in there with no plan, a part of your chest warmed. 

Your phone vibrated in your bag, and that warmth turned to ice. 

“I don’t have time for this,” you determined, wiggling your way towards the door. 

“Wait, hold on. I do have something to say, wait,” Bucky pleaded, metal hand—more gentle than you were sure it was ever used for—encircling your wrist. He tugged you back even closer this time, your face inches from his. “I wanted to say sorry. And… and I want to get it.” 

“Get it?” you parroted, trying extremely hard to ignore the dropping feeling in your gut as he stared into your eyes. 

“I want to get why you stay. Why you let him treat you like that. I want to know so I can… feel okay backing off.” 

All you could get out was, “Why?” 

Bucky’s next words were spoken as he stared down at your lips. “I think you know why.” 

Breaths began to fail you, each exhale more ragged than the last. You had been expecting this, in a way, and that was why you always made excuses. He couldn’t be with you because he was a Congressman. You were only an assistant. You couldn’t date him because you were too busy. He wouldn’t want to date you, anyway. Senator Brown would never be okay with it. 

All of those excuses evaporated within the shared space of the closet, and then you got scared. So, you blurted out what he wanted. 

“He won’t let me quit. He won’t let me work anywhere else.” 

Bucky blinked, a fog clearing from his heated gaze. His head jutted back an inch, and the hand that had somehow found a home on your jaw paused its ascent into your hair. “Won’t let you?” 

“I’d be blacklisted.” 

“He can’t do that.” 

“He can.” 

Bucky opened his mouth to speak again as the air in the closet became breathable and light peeked in from the cracking door. You sprang back from the Congressman, pushing his hand away from your cheek and slamming your back into the wall. It didn’t help much; the fifteen-year-old with the shawl in her hand was already making her own assumptions as you rushed past her and left Bucky to his own devices in the closet. 

Amazing. 

Just amazing. 

You debated moving states, or countries, or entire career paths as you hurried into the dining room of the gala. Not only had you taken too long at the coat check, but you knew you looked completely flushed and out of it. You prayed that Brown was already drinking and wouldn’t catch on. 

Thankfully, your prayers were answered. 

While he was not happy to see you, his raised brow and side-eye deadly as you sat down, he didn’t say anything. And that was how dinner went—quiet and uncomfortable for you, but otherwise par for the course for Senator Brown. 

Bucky was staring at you from across the table. The room was backlit by dull candles and expensive chandeliers, and you could feel his gaze on the side of your face like an unprecedented heat. He often flickered that gaze to Brown, but it would harden, become angry.

There was nothing he could do. There was nothing anyone could do. 

You either stuck it out with Brown or tossed your political science degree in the trash can on your way out.

When dinner passed and dessert was served, you eyed the lemon tart mocking you from your plate. Dessert, when your life felt so out of control and confusing, couldn’t hurt, you figured, so you picked up your fork and ignored the knots taking up space in your stomach. 

“Yours looks better.” Senator Brown picked up the lip of your plate and slid his in its place. “Here.” 

“But—” 

“Oh, don’t complain about it. Who complains about chocolate cake?” he peeved, snickering to the men on the other side of the table. He then went on a drunken rant about “good help” and the “youth of today” as you looked down at the cake in front of you. 

Was D.C. even worth it? 

Bucky was staring at you again. He wasn’t directly across from you, a few centerpieces blocking your view, but you could feel it. To avoid him—and your feelings—you ate the cake. Brown and the men sarcastically cheered as you did, alcohol clear in the air at this point, and you took another bite to get them to find some other novelty. 

You took three bites before it started to sink in. 

You vaguely registered that Bucky had pushed out from the table, a clink of silverware preceding the motion. It was too late for him, however, because as your own fork clattered down, you could no longer breathe. 

Your tongue felt ten times too big in your mouth and your throat was glued shut, air tunneling through any openings it could find. You pushed out from the table and stood. The extra space didn’t do anything. You clawed at your throat until your legs became unsteady and failed from the lack of oxygen. 

The table was extremely long, so at some point, you thought you heard Bucky dive over the dinner party rather than continue his trek around to your side. Other sounds filtered past the panic clogging your ears. 

“What’s wrong with her?” 

“I don’t know!” 

“Is she allergic to something? It’s an allergic reaction!” 

“Brown, what is she allergic to?” 

“How should I know?” 

“Well, do something!” 

As you were grappling for your purse, a choked whine fell from your lips. It had been kicked somewhere, pushed out of your grasp, and no one at this damn gala was helping you. Several older women had gone to their knees with worried expressions at your eye line, but they weren’t doing anything. 

“Move.” 

Your head was beginning to spin, and your thoughts were blurring, but you heard Bucky. He came to your side much faster than it felt, moving things around that your blurred vision couldn’t catch. And then, pain. And then relief. 

Your gasping breaths were supported by gentle hands on your face, thumbs brushing along your cheekbones. You grappled at Bucky’s wrists and tried to parse out panic from physical symptoms, but there was so much commotion in the room and your head was still so fuzzy. 

“You’re okay,” Bucky assured you, voice almost too low to catch. Someone was on the phone with 911 in the back. “You can breathe with me. Come on. Don’t—hey—don’t look at them. Look at me.” 

Your chin was pushed forward, and then your forehead connected with his. Ringing persisted in your ears. Your hands were beginning to shake from the epi, your jaw following close behind. 

“I got you, okay?” 

“F-f-feels—” 

“I know,” he hushed. When your breath was somewhat steadier, he tucked your head beneath his chin and began barking out orders. He asked for an ETA on the ambulance, for your jacket, for ten other things you couldn’t register. And then, “You’re a piece of shit, you know that?” 

The chaos of the room went silent. Within your shaking hands clutched in Bucky’s suit jacket, your fingers spasmed out of fear. 

“Excuse me?” Brown scoffed. You were honestly surprised he was still in the room.

“What, throwing things at her wasn’t enough? Had to try and kill her?” 

“B-bucky—” 

“Throwing things at her?” you heard from across the room. “Brown, what is Barnes talking about?” 

“I have no idea,” Brown spat out. He jutted his hand out towards you on the floor. “He never knows what he’s talking about. We’ve established that.” 

“Right,” Bucky deadpanned, pulling you closer to his chest as you gasped for breath. “So what do you call this?” 

“An accident, obviously.” 

Bucky let out a puff of air through his nose, shaking his head in disbelief. Silence blanketed the room once more, and it was clear that he had given up. His hands were glued to the back of your head and your back, and he didn’t have the time or the drive in him to care about Brown right now. 

“I saw you switch the plates.” The quiet voice came from across the table, the young blonde’s face registering in your memory as you peeked out from beyond Bucky’s chest. “She had a card with it, too. It said there was an allergy accommodation.” 

Low murmurs fell over the room. Brown, much to your surprise, looked at a loss for words, his expression betrayed as he stared at the woman across the room. It clicked then, where you knew her from. She was on the front cover of every article you were pressured to get taken down, and the contact photo for the main caller in Brown’s phone. 

“What? No,” Brown refuted, a nervous chuckle escaping him. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about, either. She’s barely even a secretary. She’s—” 

The eyes around the room made his words trail off. “Barely even a secretary” was certainly a degrading title for his mistress, and everyone in the room knew it. If you were to look at your phone, you’d have seen that the newest story of their relationship had been blowing up all night. You guessed she was fed up with him denying it. 

Sirens sounded beyond the doors of the ballroom, breaking up the tension at the wide table. Brown used it as his getaway, throwing his napkin down and muttering something about insolence or idiots or something of the sort. You couldn’t really hear anything over Bucky’s low whisper in your ear, followed by his lips against the side of your head. 

~~

After being monitored in the emergency room for approximately six hours, the night shift staff sent you off with a horde of medication to take for the next month and, of course, a new epipen. You trudged out past the waiting room, prepared to wait in the parking lot for an Uber, when a certain man sitting in a chair far too small for him caught your eye. 

He was half asleep, his face held in his metal hand as he nodded off and woke up just as quickly. His suit looked stiff and uncomfortable as he twisted his wrists, dragging the sleeves up to his elbows. He’d discarded the jacket somewhere, probably lost to the world now. And then he spotted you, your dress awkwardly draped over your body in your haphazard attempt to re-dress, your hair completely out of place, and your hands filled with paper bags of medication.

He shot out of the chair, holding everything in your hands in one of his, and assessed you himself. His gaze roved the mess you’d become. He should have made a joke about it, maybe teased you for almost dying, but instead, he ran a hand over your head and dragged you against his chest. 

“Scared the shit out of me,” he murmured into your hair. He pressed another kiss there, reminding you that the first one hadn’t been your imagination. 

“You didn’t have to stay,” you said, clutching his button-up in your hands. 

“‘Course I did.” He leaned you back, hand still woven at the base of your hair, not caring that he was in the middle of the ER waiting room. “You okay?” 

It only took you a moment to make a decision. 

You pressed up, kissing him even though you were in the ER waiting room. Even though you both looked like a mess and you’d almost died and you had no idea if you still had a job. You kissed him and it startled him, the paper bag of medications crunching in his hand, but he kissed you back without hesitation. 

It wasn’t a passionate kiss—not like the breathless, wanting kisses you would share late, share tomorrow—but it was confirming something. Bucky held you and had his lips firmly against yours, his brows furrowed in a way you couldn’t see, and he confirmed everything you’d suspected. 

You figured you wouldn’t need to work if your boyfriend were a Congressman. 

But, as you would soon find out, Senator Brown didn’t have very much time left as a Senator, anyway. 

[mariasont]

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

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

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

Third Date Rule - A.H

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

This was so overdue.

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

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

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

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

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

Like, literally. Heart failure. Sudden death.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sex?"

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

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I remember."

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

You don't even get to finish your sentence. 

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

You didn’t, but you wish you had. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you do what you do best. You deflect.

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

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

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

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

"Please don't phrase it like that."

"Yes, Mr. Hotchner." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had the upper hand. Past tense.

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

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

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

Your mouth opens. Closes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He does not move faster. 

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

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

Folds it.

Sets it aside. Doesn't toss it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're so beautiful."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"May."

"May?"

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

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

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

"Really?"

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

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

"What's that supposed to mean?"

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

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

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

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

It's his fault, you decide.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You were hired in May three years ago."

Your hands freeze. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, wow, sweetheart."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His hands spread over your thighs, parting them gently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another kiss. Then another. So close.

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

"So perfect."

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

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

He gives in. 

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

"Knew you'd be sweet."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your hips stutter, thighs tightening around his face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, yes, oh my gods, Aaron, I—"

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

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

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

"Aaron, I think—,"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah?"

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

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

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

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

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

An involuntary shiver rolls through you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You talk so much, baby."

And then he shuts you up. Hard.

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

He doesn't rush. 

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

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

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

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

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

You swallow, but it doesn't help.

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

His lips graze yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Honey, shit—,"

Your lashes flutter. "What?"

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

Your mouth clicks shut promptly.

"That's what I thought."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hotch's throat bobs, his pupils blown.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Too much?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You did so good.”

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

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

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

“Oh, wait —,”

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

“But it tickles—,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was you.

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

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

You don’t finish the thought.

Instead, you just smile, huge and uncontrollable.

He doesn’t say anything.

And you don’t need him to.

Because you already know.

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

[heartsriki]

FOR YOUR EYES ONLY ⌇편지

pairing ᝰ ni-ki x fem!reader — featuring.. jungwon | word count: 2200+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ highschool au!, fluff, misunderstandings, sunshine x grumpy.

synopsis — After seeing your tiny crush nishimura riki sneak something into the confession box you just had to investigate.

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊guys I swear ill make a non highschool au with riki soon... I couldn't help myself.. anyways its FEB!! can't wait to write valentines themed fics!

Finally.

It was your favorite month of the whole year.

You worked as a library assistant at your school—not because you particularly loved the job, but because it was better than joining a club.

Well… that’s what you told people.

In reality, you had a secret gig.

Tucked away in the most secluded part of the library was your confession box—a simple, unassuming container where students could slip in anonymous notes pouring out their feelings.

It started as something just for you. A place to vent when things got overwhelming. But then, he found out.

Jungwon.

You had no choice but to let him in on your little secret, and somehow, he became your best friend. Over time, word spread, and people started using the box themselves. What once held only your thoughts turned into a place where students whispered their love stories into folded pieces of paper.

Only Jungwon knew you were the one behind it.

And now, February had arrived—the holy grail of confessions. Sure, people submitted notes year-round, but around Valentine’s Day? The numbers spiked.

You weren’t going to lie. You loved it. Not just the thrill of reading them (and occasionally sharing the best ones with Jungwon, who never breathed a word), but the idea that you were helping people express what they were too afraid to say out loud.

So here you were, stationed at the front desk, pretending to browse book requests on the computer when a group of girls giggled their way to the back of the library.

Your eyes flickered toward them, amused. Definitely not because you were excited to read their confessions later. Nope. Definitely not.

Then, moments later—he walked in.

Riki.

The second you saw him, your instincts flared up. Suspicious.

Riki never stepped foot in the library. He barely did his assignments, let alone read for fun. So why was he here?

You watched, careful not to make it obvious. He glanced around, acting almost… nervous? And then, without a word, he disappeared into the back.

Seconds later, he reappeared from the other side—hands in his pockets, expression unreadable, walking out as if nothing had happened.

Your breath hitched.

No way.

Did Nishimura Riki just put a confession in your box?

Your hand scrambled for your phone. You had to tell someone.

You:

JUNGWONJUNGWONOMG

PLSPLSANSWERLOOKATURPHONE

Wonnie:

Ok what the hell

What is it?

You:

You are NEVER going to believe who just slid into the back of the library.

Wonnie:

Is it Jake again? Poor guy

Maybe Jay? Idk tell me

You:

Nishimura… Riki…

Wonnie:

… Fr?

Maybe he confessed to you?

You:

Right, totally.

Wonnie:

Think about it.

And you did think about it.

You and Riki had a… relationship. Not exactly a friendship, but not total strangers either.

You first met in detention.

It was your first time there, and you had no idea what you were supposed to do. So, naturally, you turned to the guy next to you—the one with his headphones on, slouched in his seat like he owned the place.

Curious, you tapped his shoulder.

He flinched, looking caught before turning to glare at you. “What?”

You blinked. “How did you sneak those in? Can I listen too?”

Before he could answer, you asked another question. “Wait, also—what are we supposed to do in here?”

His face twisted in disbelief. “What do we do in detention? You sit here. Now be quiet before—”

“Mr. Nishimura, sneaking electronics in again?” The teacher’s voice cut in, hand outstretched.

Riki groaned, slumping back in his seat before begrudgingly handing over his phone and headphones.

When the teacher walked away, he snapped his head back to you, eyes burning with betrayal.

You swore he glared at you for the rest of the day.

Ever since then, you tried to make it up to him—with snacks, lunch, even passing him worksheets to copy. Eventually, after weeks of bugging him, he forgave you.

Kind of.

Even now, he still acted so indifferent.

Whenever you waved at him in the hallway, he looked away. When you invited him to sit with you and your friends, he ignored you. Even when you walked beside him, talking about anything and everything—he barely responded.

At first, you assumed he was just bad with people. But then you saw him with his friends—laughing, joking, talking.

So why was he only like this with you?

Eventually, you gave up.

You distanced yourself, refusing to waste energy on someone who clearly wanted nothing to do with you.

But then, every now and then, you’d catch him staring—or see him approach you, only to hesitate and walk away.

It was confusing. Frustrating. You told yourself you didn’t care anymore.

Until the school trip.

It had been late at night when you were sent to fetch supplies from the shed—a small, isolated building at the edge of the woods.

You weren’t scared, but walking alone with only a flashlight wasn’t exactly comforting.

By the time you found everything, thunder rumbled outside. Moments later, the skies opened up.

Heavy rain. Lightning. The kind of downpour that turned dirt trails into slippery nightmares.

Running back wasn’t an option.

So, hugging your knees to your chest, you sat in the shed—silent, alone, trying not to cry.

Minutes passed. Then—

The door burst open.

You jumped, heart nearly stopping—until your eyes locked with his.

Riki.

He stood there, soaked from head to toe, breathless, his curls sticking to his forehead.

Did he… run here?

He didn’t speak. Just stared for a moment, like he was checking if you were okay, before stepping inside and sitting next to you.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “You’re helpless, you know that?”

You blinked, then let out a soft, teary laugh. He was trying to act tough. But he was clearly worried.

Neither of you spoke after that. You just sat there, listening to the storm. Well, you spoke—rambling like you used to, and for once, he didn’t seem to mind.

By the time the rain cleared, something between you had shifted.

And now, months later, here you were—staring at an empty confession box, knowing Riki put something inside, yet not finding his name anywhere.

Jungwon’s voice pulled you back.

“I knew I’d find you here.” He smirked. “Anything good?”

You forced a laugh, trying to mask your disappointment. “Yeah, some interesting ones. Oh—Minji completely dropped her last crush and moved on to a new one. Isn’t that crazy?”

Jungwon squinted at you. “You’re looking for Riki’s, aren’t you?”

You groaned, immediately dropping your head onto the table. “I’m pitiful. Don’t look at me.”

Jungwon laughed, dragging a chair out and sitting across from you. “You’re not pitiful. Just mildly down bad.”

You groaned, keeping your forehead against the table. “But I know he put something in there. I saw him! I was so ready to read it, but it’s like—poof!—nothing!”

Jungwon tapped his fingers on the table, thinking. “You sure he actually put something in the box?”

You lifted your head slightly. “Of course, I literally watched him sneak in.”

“Then…” Jungwon grinned knowingly. “What if he took something out?”

That made you pause. You sat up straight, eyes wide. “Wait… What?”

“Think about it,” Jungwon continued. “If he put in a confession and realized he wasn’t ready, maybe he took it back.”

Your mind raced. That… actually made sense. But why would Riki take it back? And more importantly—who was he confessing to?

The thought made your stomach twist, and you weren’t sure why.

Jungwon smirked, clearly enjoying the sight of you struggling. “You could just ask him, you know.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, right. ‘Hey, Riki! Weird question, but did you happen to steal a confession from my box?’”

“Why not?” Jungwon shrugged. “Or are you scared of the answer?”

You opened your mouth, ready to deny it, but the words never came. Were you scared? The idea of Riki confessing to someone else made your chest feel tight in a way you weren’t ready to unpack.

Before you could respond, the student council room door creaked open again.

And there he was.

Riki stood in the doorway, hands shoved into his pockets, his hair a little bit above his eyes which flickered between you and Jungwon before settling on you.

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of you. “Welp. That’s my cue to leave.” He patted your shoulder before slipping past Riki, whispering a quick, “Good luck,” on his way out.

The door clicked shut. Silence.

You swallowed. “Um… Did you need a book or—”

“I didn’t take it back.”

Your breath hitched.

Riki sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “The letter. I didn’t take it back.”

Your heart was pounding now. You tried to keep your voice steady. “What do you mean?”

His gaze dropped to the floor. “I put it in there without a doubt, I think… someone else removed it. Maybe it was a sign not to confess to you.”

You.

Your throat went dry. “It was… for me?”

Riki let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Obviously.”

You blinked. “Obviously? What do you mean obviously? You ignore me ninety percent of the time!”

He huffed, looking almost embarrassed. “I don’t ignore you.”

“You literally pretend not to hear me half the time!”

“Because I don’t know what to say!” Riki finally looked at you, frustration and something else—something softer—lingering in his expression. “You drive me crazy, you know that? You talk too much, you’re way too nosy, and you never leave things alone. And somehow, I—” He stopped, exhaling sharply. “I like you, okay?”

Your brain short-circuited.

Riki rolled his eyes at your stunned silence. “This is embarrassing.”

You snapped out of your trance. “Wait, wait. Back up. You like me?”

He groaned, turning toward the door. “Forget I said anything—”

You grabbed his sleeve before he could leave.

He froze.

Slowly, you grinned. “You like me.”

Riki’s ears were turning red. “Shut up.”

You laughed, warmth bubbling in your chest. You never thought you’d get anywhere with him, and yet—here he was, out of breath looking at you so fondly, confessing in the most Riki-like way possible.

February was definitely your favorite month of them all.

BONUS 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The moment Riki stepped into the library, he knew he was making a mistake.

This wasn’t his scene. He didn’t do books, didn’t do anything that required more effort than necessary. But here he was, standing in the one place he actively avoided, shoving his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets as his eyes flickered toward the back.

He could feel your gaze on him.

You were always watching him.

Not in a weird way—more like you were constantly trying to figure him out. Always with that curious glint in your eyes, like he was a puzzle you were determined to solve.

He hated it.

No, that wasn’t true. He hated that he liked it.

And now, as he made his way toward the confession box—the stupidest thing he’d ever been a part of—he was hoping you weren’t paying too much attention.

With one last glance around, he slipped to the back, pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket, and dropped it inside.

Then, without missing a beat, he walked out through the other side, playing it cool.

It took everything in him not to look back.

He could already picture the way your brain was short-circuiting, the way you were probably grabbing your phone to text Jungwon. You always told him everything, after all.

Riki swore under his breath as he left the library.

He wasn’t even sure why he did it.

Well.

That was a lie.

He knew why.

It was because of you.

Because you confused the hell out of him.

You were supposed to be annoying—loud, persistent, way too nosy for your own good. You were supposed to be someone he could easily brush off, like he did with everyone else.

But you weren’t.

Because no matter how many times he ignored your waves in the hallway, you still smiled at him. No matter how often he shut you out, you never stopped trying.

And then you stopped.

You finally gave up on him.

And for some reason, that made his chest feel too tight.

Ever since that night on the school trip, when he found you curled up alone in the shed, it had been harder and harder to act like he didn’t care.

That night, when he heard you were missing—it was like he could imagine you with red eyes, shoulders shaking—he couldn’t stop himself.

Didn’t even think.

He just ran.

Ran straight into the storm, through the rain, barely able to see a damn thing—but knowing exactly where he was going.

When he finally got there, when he saw you small and fragile under the dim light, something in him cracked.

He never wanted to see you like that again.

But he didn’t know how to tell you that.

He wasn’t good with words. He wasn’t good with feelings.

So he wrote it down instead.

It wasn’t a confession, not in the way you expected.

But it was something.

Something for your eyes only.

Something he thought you would have found by now.

So when he walked passed the student council room later that evening, seeing you and Jungwon hunched over the pile of notes, he knew immediately.

You hadn’t seen it.

Because if you had, you wouldn’t be looking for his name like he overheard.

And now, as both your heads snapped toward him, your eyes wide and startled—

Riki sighed, stepping forward.

…You took it, didn’t you? He thought looking straight at Jungwon.

Because if you didn’t find his letter in the box…

Then someone must have.

What was Jungwon playing at?

What happens next? Click (optional)

[lovetreats]

what's wrong with my boss!?

pro-hero!boss!bakugou x fem!assistant!reader

LOVETREATS .ᐟ navi. bnha m.list.

content .ᐟ think "what's wrong with secretary kim?" (sorta) but with this blond menace, ur his personal secretary, he's annoying, he's a yearner, you don't notice shit, kirishima knocks some sense into him, pretty fluffy, did i mention he's a yearner? you two argue, reader is 27 ? bakugou is 29 ? #idk oh also swearing, ur both awks but its part of the plan trust

word count .ᐟ 5.7k+

you’ve been working as bakugou’s personal assistant for as loooong as you could remember.

when you first applied, you were ecstatic! you managed to snag an extremely high paying job with little problems. it honestly felt like it was too good to be true.

… well, it sort of was.

you knew that bakugou was hard to deal with—it was always apparent in the few interviews he had with tv hosts, reporters, and especially with paparazzi. but you thought that it was probably because he disliked the fact that most of them always tried to get their hands on some information in his private life. he rarely attends events, and if he did, it was only an extremely short appearance—so naturally a lot of people, including you, thought that he was just an extremely reserved person.

and sure, he has a temper, and he is a reserved person, but he’s also just. quite hard to deal with. more than you thought he would be.

he wanted everything to be organized, he wanted you to be extremely organized. he expects you to know all the specifics of his work life: all of the events and interviews and meetings and photoshoots and whatnot. when and where, why do it in the first place, who will be in the same room as him, how long do you estimate it’ll take, take care of the ones that he deems “unnecessary”, etc.

at first you thought you were doing everything right, but apparently it wasn’t good enough in his eyes. he told you off for getting certain information wrong (it was right, it just wasn’t as detailed as he wanted), he told you off when he had to attend a “stupid, unnecessary event” (it was a pro-hero ball), and he told you off when you couldn’t catch up with the amount of emails and calls (it was literally your first week on the job).

still, you stayed and put up with it all.

at first, you talked back because of your pride. after those moments, you would always go home crying and scared, thinking that you might’ve lost your job for good this time. but he never fired you, even when you called him an “ungrateful asshole” one time.

bit by bit, you just got used to it. you start to smile, nod, and apologize when you did something he didn’t like. it surprised him at first, and sort of bugged him, but he never told you about it. bit by bit, day by day, you would perfect his wants and needs with work, leaving him with nothing to complain about.

“oi, did you cancel that stupid ph—“

“did it yesterday, sir.”

“… the pro-hero meeting tod—“

“8:30am, the meeting will be about catching a group of villains that have started to cause more and more damage everywhere they go. i’ve asked deku’s secretary, and they’ve told me that the villains had some sort of power-up that’s made them stronger and more dangerous.”

“..? who am i meeting wi—“

“pro-heroes deku, shouto, red riot, pinky, uravity, mirko, ingenium, best jeanist, lemillion, phantom thief, cellophane, and grand.”

he just stares at you after that. his eyes bore into you, but you paid him no mind. you continued fixing his schedule for the week and answering some emails. he blinks once, he blinks twice, and he blinks another couple of times before grumbling to himself.

“anything else, sir?” you ask without looking at him, busy with typing away on your laptop for the report he wanted done by 2:00pm. the only reply you got was him opening and closing the door.

and this was how your days would usually go. your short replies were either met with grunts or closed doors instead of the fighting the two of you were once used to.

but you started noticing something.

he’d make coffee for two instead of one, making sure that the other cup was just right, just to your liking. he would tell you to ‘take a damn break’ more often than not. he would walk you to your car and would watch you leave the parking area from the side before going in his own vehicle. he would ask for your advice on more things than before, and most of the time, it’s the one he’d always go with. when there’s events, he would always make sure you’re there as his plus one (and in these cases, he stays longer than he usually would).

but you never really put more thought in it. you just assumed he was more lax now because you knew how to do the job right in his standards, and this is him being grateful that he didn’t need to waste more time arguing with you and correcting your mistakes.

you never really thought about finding another job or even just taking a long vacation, until one of your friends mentioned how you rarely went out and would always be busy with work. well, they always do, it’s just this time it… made you think.

“c’mooooon! just this once! and you don’t even have work tomorroooow!” one of your friends cried as she shook your right arm. you sighed and tilted your head, thinking.

they were right. every day your only focus was to ensure that the work you did was to bakugou’s standards. every day you ensured to be the very best out of spite and for that sweet, sweet paycheck. but… you didn’t live. you didn’t party, didn’t go to clubs, and you barely go out for dinner with your friends.

“we should go out and meet some people! you’re 27, girl! we should be out and enjoying liiiife!”

you chuckle and playfully shove them away from your arm. “fine, fine. let’s go out tonight.”

you went on to buy a dress just for tonight, did your make-up and hair all pretty, and had a fucking blast with your friends at the club. you danced and danced and drank and drank, going back home when the sun was already up. sure, the morning after was unbearable and annoying, but you still had a ton of fun.

you wanted to live for fun rather than for work. you wanted to hang out more with your friends. hell, you wanted to travel the world! but you couldn’t do any of that if you were still going to be stuck as bakugou katsuki’s personal assistant. because every day, every waking moment, you would be focused solely on your work and nothing else, like a programmed machine that does not know anything but what was coded in it to do.

you didn’t want that anymore.

you have enough money, more than enough if we’re being real honest. if you want another job, you could probably go on and open a nice little book café. but working again was far from your concerns at the moment.

right now? it’s telling bakugou that you want to quit.

“what’s the event later tonight?” bakugou asks with crossed arms. he glances at you, quickly typing something on your laptop before pushing pushing your specs up on your nose.

“it’s a charity event, sir.”

“you’ll be with me f’ tonight,” bakugou states, like it’s a matter of fact.

you fidget with the buttons on the sleeve cuffs of your blazer, taking in a deep breath to mentally prepare yourself to break the news to bakugou.

“of course, sir. but tonight will be the last time i accompany you to such events.”

“huh? and why is that?” he asks with a raised brow.

here it goes. you stand up from your desk and walk over to him. you bow low and long, which made bakugou clench his hands into fists. he already had a feeling.

you stand up straight and look him dead in the eyes.

“i would like to quit as your personal assistant. i believe i’ve given more than enough of my time here. i will ensure that your next assistant will be able to manage everything according to your standards before i put in my notice.”

a moment of silence passed. you didn’t move or speak another word. another moment passed, and he still didn’t say anything. it was like time froze, and you started fidgeting with your fingers, feeling a drop of sweat drip from your forehead even in the cold room.

another stupid moment of silence passed and you felt antsy. he wasn’t saying anything, he wasn’t reacting. you didn’t know if he was mad or what, you couldn’t read him this time. he just stares at you blankly, not a single shift in his expression.

“… sir?”

“do you need a pay raise?”

now that just ticked you off.

“… no, sir, i don’t.” you say with a forced smile.

“ya know you can take a vacation, right?”

“yes, sir. but i’d like to try new things, too.”

“like?”

you try your hardest to maintain your professionalism, it honestly looked like you had that little angry emoticon on your forehead right now. you didn’t expect him to be so hardheaded about this, you assumed that he would shrug it off and tell you to ‘do whatever the fuck you want’. you didn’t understand why he was being so stubborn with this.

“i don’t understand why you need to know, sir.”

you swore you just saw his eye twitch.

“well, since yer still stayin’ to get another assistant—“

“a new assistant,” you interject.

he grumbles, his expression forming into a scowl. “—another assistant, why can’t you accompany me for future events?”

“that will be the new assistant’s role, sir.”

you could sense his growing frustration. it was obvious with his scowling expression, one of his legs jumping up and down over and over, and his arms crossed together tightly against his chest as he leaned back on his chair.

“i don’t want or need a new damn assistant!” he yells as he stands up and smacks his hands palms down on his wooden desk.

“well i! want! to live! my life!” you shout back, your tone was sharp, jabbing each word at him. you had one hand on your hip and the other on your chest, breaking away from the professionalism you tried to maintain so as to not turn this into a heated fight. well, too late! good god he was being more stubborn than usual and it felt irritating.

“i want to travel the world!—“

“take a damn vacation!”

“that’s not the point, oh my god!”

you pant slightly before covering your face behind your glasses with your hands. you took a moment to gather yourself, to bring back the ‘you’ that you worked so hard to create for this stupid job. you lost all of that in this moment, and it felt like the two of you reverted back to when it was all still new and fresh. the bickering and arguing and complaining—

“i want to live, sir. i want to enjoy life. i went out with my friends a couple days ago and it was fun—i hadn’t done that in years,” you chuckle dryly.

“in all these five years, i focused on my work; i focused on you.”

his eyes slightly widen, as if slowly realizing that you were right. you’ve always tended to everything that was related to him. he would sometimes notice that you would even sleep on your breaks. he didn’t bother with changing anything because you changed yourself for it, and because of that, you probably grew tired of it. tired of him.

you’ve spent five long years dedicated to him, and was too content with your presence to even realize that if you left, it would never be the same again. you knew everything about him, how he liked his coffee, how he liked to organize, how he liked to dress, how he liked to relax, his favorite food to calm him down, and even his favorite fucking shoe brand. but he barely knew anything about you. sure, he knew how to do your coffee, but that’s only because he watched you make it one time. you didn’t talk about your personal life, your feelings, when you were at work (it was work, after all).

but still, he felt like he took you for granted.

again, it was silent. neither of you broke it, your eyes were locked on each other as the both of you waited for the other to speak with bated breath. after a while, bakugou clicks his tongue and closes his eyes.

“do whatever the fuck ya want. ya don’t have to join me later tonight, go rest.”

you didn’t reply—not like he wanted to when he turned his attention back on the papers on his desk. you bowed your head before walking back to your own desk, already planning on putting up the role on a site to find good candidates to be bakugou’s assistant.

“what’s up with you, bro?” kirishima asks as he puts on arm around and on top of bakugou’s shoulder. the blond grumbles, his annoyance extremely apparent on his face, which made kirishima even more curious and concerned.

after yesterday, bakugou took a quick glance at his schedule and cancelled meetings for the day. he practically forced you to take the day off. he was due for patrol later tonight, so he, surprisingly, told kirishima to come over. he’s slowly regretting it.

“fuck off ‘f me,” he mutters with little venom in his tone, but still shrugging off the arm on his shoulder.

“is it your secretary?”

bakugou’s head whips around to face kirishima. he squints his eyes and, once again, scowls. kirishima sighs and pats his back. “c’mon, you can tell me.”

“… she wants t’ quit.”

kirishima accidentally pats his back a little too hard after hearing that. “OI!”

“sorry! sorry! i just—i didn’t expect that…,” kirishima says, smiling sheepishly and rubbing the nape of his neck.

“what did ya expect?” bakugou grumbles.

“y’know, you’re finally admitting to yourself that you like her.”

“what the fuck are ya talkin’ about!?” bakugou throws a cushion right to his face. kirishima lets out a slight yelp and pouts as he hugs the pillow

“bro, it’s obvious!”

“i don’t have any feelings for her, shitty hair,” he spat, glaring daggers at his red-haired best friend.

kirishima sighs deeply as he scratches the back of his head. “don’t you realize the only reason why she’s the only secretary you’ve had for so long is because she practically pushes through all of your bullshit? and because of that, you basically don’t have anything to complain about and have it as a reason to push her away.”

this is another one of those moments where kirishima would keep him grounded, where he’d talk some sense into him. for how proud bakugou can be, it blinds him too much sometimes and kirishima’s the only one who practically smacks him back into reality. kirishima knows that deep down, bakugou needs someone to ground him. he wasn’t as bad as he was when they were still students at UA, but he was still quite headstrong.

“you told me before again and again how personal assistants were too annoying to deal with because you already had your own way of handling things, but she was able to do it all and more.”

“the only reason i kept her around was because she knew how i worked. i don’t want to have to teach another new fuckin’ person my standards.”

“then tell her she should do it.”

“she already said she will.”

kirishima raised an eyebrow. “… then why are you so worked up over it?”

bakugou only grumbles, turning his head away from kirishima, as if feigning ignorance. kirishima had to hold back in a snort so as to not annoy the short-tempered man beside him.

“and you keep telling me you don’t like her, huh?”

bakugou doesn’t reply. kirishima sighs before standing up and walking over to the mini-fridge bakugou has in the living room. he grabs two beers and tosses the other one to bakugou. he catches it swiftly, opening it up with no hesitation. this practically proved to kirishima that he’s stressing out over losing you. he knows his friend more than enough to know that when he doesn’t complain of drinking ‘too early’, something is amiss.

“why don’t you go on and take her out to dinner?”

“are you fuckin’ insane—“

“just do it, man. go to a nice restaurant! you can do other stuff too, just tell her it’s your way of thanking her for those five years. you can’t exactly force her to stay, that’d be messed up. so just, y’know…,” kirshima shrugs. “show her how grateful you are.”

kirishima plops down beside bakugou and takes a big gulp of his beer. “no matter how much you wanna try to deny it, you like her. this is practically a wake up call for you to make a move on her before you lose her to someone else.”

“you fuckin’—“

“don’t try to deny it, man. i know that you know that i know you better than anyone else. it’s why you invited me over in the first place.”

bakugou doesn’t try to retort this time. he can’t, anyway, not when kirishima’s right.

“i’m—i’m sorry?”

“dinner. tonight.”

you blinked. you blinked again, and again. it’s been a few days after you announced that you’d be quitting. he was distant for a while too, so him telling you that he wanted to have dinner with you tonight obviously shocked you.

he just stares at you and waits. tick tock tick tock goes the clock. he clicks his tongue and turns his head away as he feels his embarrassment creeping up on him. “if you’re too busy or you just don’t wanna, that’s fine too.”

“no, it’s fine. i just, um, didn’t expect it from you… is it—is it work related?”

he fully turns away, making you look at his back. he was in full hero gear because he was going out for patrol for the afternoon. you quirk an eyebrow, confused enough with his sudden behavior, but your eyes widen when you realize his ears had a pinkish hue to them. ‘was he blushing?’ now this just made you even more confused.

“i wanted to thank ya for the five years… for puttin’ up with an asshole like me.”

the way he said it sounded different from how he usually is. it was like he was trying hard to find the right words with how he spoke slowly, deliberate. you’ve never heard, or even seen him, like this before. it was… endearing?

“ya don’t hafta find another assistant, i’d much rather work on this shit by myself.”

“i doubt you can. after all, you have been relying on me for the past five years.” it can be interpreted as you teasing him, but you also kinda did say it like it’s a fact. and, well, it is.

bakugou huffs, he was ready to retort, but stopped himself from doing so. he walked towards the door instead; he didn’t really want to ruin the mood today and for tonight, he’d rather just let you be.

“i’ll pick ya up at eight, go on ahead an’ clock out at two, there’s not much to do today anyway. that ‘nuff time for ya t’ get ready?”

you just hummed in response as you scroll through the list of candidates carefully. “it is.”

you were nervous. so nervous that you were ready two hours before the actual time of him picking you up. how could you not be nervous? he already told you that the dinner wasn’t work related. he wanted to thank you for your service, and yet it felt like something more was there. why else would he turn around as if he was embarrassed? as if he knew he wouldn’t be able to hide his feelings?

wait. his feelings? there shouldn’t be anything, right? it would be sudden anyway, you’re sure of it. that’s what you keep telling yourself as you scroll through your instagram account. one picture caught your attention: it was the one where he invited you to one of the events he attends for the first time. you smiled politely at the cameras with your hand on his bicep, it made you chuckle how awkward looking you looked back then. you didn’t think anything was odd when you first posted this, but when you inspected it once more… bakugou was looking at you.

your heart skipped a bea—

NO. no way. no fucking way. no shot.

you saw this picture before, but why did it feel different now?

you closed instagram and stood up from your couch, gently tossing your phone on it. you paced around the coffee table, arms crossed against your chest. you were probably just overthinking things, probably just overcomplicating shit for yourself. it didn’t mean anything, he probably just didn’t want to look at the cameras and they just got the perfect shot where he’s looking at you—

you grabbed your phone and plopped down on your couch with a heavy sigh. you opened instagram again, this time you were on his account. you scrolled through his pictures as you hug one of your cushions. this was insane. why were you scrolling through his instagram? it wasn’t like you were gonna find something else to feed your assumptions—

oh. one of his posts had a couple of pictures that were just you. you and no one else. all those pictures were of you laughing and smiling. this post was when there was a fun little event for agencies and their heroes and staff to have fun. the pictures weren’t all you, but there was enough that made your mind get all messed up with unrelenting thoughts.

but there was one post that nailed it in the coffin for you. it was one picture of the sunset, but on the bottom right of the photo, there was a silhouette of a woman. it was dark enough that it wasn’t obvious it was you, but you know it was.

the caption?

beautiful.

you closed out of the app.

why were you having assumptions anyway? it’s not like you like him in that way. you never really thought about it, too busy meeting with his demands. you never thought of him in any other way other than him being your boss, and why would you? he was a stubborn ass who always tried to find something to tell you off about. this shouldn’t change anything, it’s just dinner with him. it’s not like you haven’t eaten with him before. it’s just dinner.

nothing more, nothing less.

bakugou has never been this nervous his entire life. he didn’t know why he was nervous, it was just dinner with you. it’s not like this was any different from eating lunch with you at work. so why the hell did he feel so antsy? like he couldn’t shake this shit off of him.

(he knows why, but like you, he doesn’t want to admit it.)

he was parked right in front of your place. he taps on the steering wheel while he stares at your front door. he shakes his head after a few moments, grumbling incoherent words to himself. his mind suddenly goes back to all the things kirishima told him a few days ago, it was all repeating in his mind over and over again. he grits his teeth before clicking his tongue in annoyance, checking his wrist watch for the time.

7:58PM

he leans back on the headrest and closes his eyes as if to mentally prepare himself. what for? he doesn’t know (he’s scared he might look like a fool in front of you).

he gets out of his car and walks towards your front door, taking a moment before pushing the button on the intercom.

“who is it?”

“it’s me.”

not even a second later, you opened the door. and god you looked fucking gorgeous. you wore a pretty little black off-shoulder dress that went down below your knees, your hair was styled perfectly, and your make-up made you look like an angel. he liked how you still wore your glasses even when you dresses up all fancy and pretty.

“sir?”

he shakes his head slightly to snap back to reality. “bakugou. bakugou’s just fine. we aren’t at work anyway,” he states absentmindedly.

“you… you look nice. beautiful.” he murmurs before quickly turning away and walking towards his car. “c’mon.”

you follow him quietly, your fingers gently pushing up your glasses. the walk to his car felt way too long for some reason, long enough for you to shoot a glance at his ears, wanting to see if they changed to a certain hue. a corner of your lips quirked upwards when his ears were in fact, pink.

bakugou opens the passenger front car door for you, all the while avoiding eye contact. you thank him softly as you bend down to get in the car. you try to make yourself comfortable, fidgeting around the car seat as bakugou goes on to get in the driver’s seat.

“before we go on ahead, i wanted to… give you something…” this was the second time he talked slowly, hell you’d even say softly, to you. you were too busy staring at him that you didn’t notice him reaching out to open the glove compartment and taking out a dark red velvet box.

bakugou shows the box to you and opens it slowly. it was a bracelet—a ruby and diamond bracelet to be precise. it was intricately designed and it looked so delicate, so elegant. the rubies were cut like teardrops while the diamonds were cut rounder, six rubies circled around one diamond, forming a tiny flower. it repeats all around, and it danced around the warm light of the car, shimmering like the stars above. you couldn’t help but let out a gasp with one hand hovering over your mouth.

“sir—bakugou, you didn’t have to—“

“none of that shit.” he tutted as he gently grabs the bracelet out of the box. he motions for you to lift up your hand while he unclasps the bracelet. you can’t help but catch how bakugou katsuki looked small, which is probably an insane thing to say, but you couldn’t find any other word to describe how he looked right now.

he was waiting for you to lift up your hand, but his eyes still haven’t made contact with your own. you swear to yourself that he looked like he was pouting, in a sense. his shoulders slumped, his head slightly lowered, he looked as if he wanted to make himself look small. bakugou katsuki is a proud man who is sure of himself most of the time, so seeing him like this—so vulnerable and even shy, it was enough to surprise you.

you finally lift up your hand, palm facing upwards. he wordlessly snakes the bracelet around your wrist, fastening it with ease. he watches you admiring it; took note of your eyes getting bigger, even seemed like they were shining prettily.

after a moment, you finally looked at him, and thankfully this time, he doesn’t look away from you. he notices the shy smile forming on your face as you bow your head slightly. you opened your mouth and said:

“thank you…”

in the softest way imaginable.

he mumbles a ‘yer welcome’ as he turns the keys to his car, letting it start to life.

he drove for about thirty minutes, and the whole ride was slightly awkward, but bearable. bakugou put all his focus on the road, and you were just looking out without really thinking of a way to start a new conversation with him—not that he minded all that much. when you finally arrived, he told you to stay put when he saw you gathering yourself to get out the car. he quickly gets out and speed walked his way to your car door, stretching out a hand for you to take.

now you’re the one who keeps avoiding his eyes.

you take his hand and get out, clutching your purse tightly as a way to ground yourself to what’s happening. though you’re out of the car, he hasn’t let go of your hand, he actually holds it tighter as he led you to the restaurant.

it was so quiet between the two of you now. silence wasn’t all that uncommon, you would be too busy focusing on your work to talk to him, and he’d be busy with his own. when you managed to practically surprise him with how well you work as his personal assistant, everything was peaceful. the only time it went back to the way it was was when you told him of your plans of quitting.

but it was back to quiet after that. the one the two of you were more than familiar with. but this quiet? this silence? it’s different, it has tension.

bakugou talks with the host for the reservation he made for the both of you, your hand still in his grasp. after a few moments, the host tells the both of you to follow them so they can lead the way.

the host leads you to your table which was located pretty deep into the area. it was much more secluded, something bakugou would definitely pick out. the host tells you to take your seats while they go and get two menus for your table.

“where d’ya wanna sit?”

“anywhere’s fine,” you murmur, too busy with gawking at how your table looks so pretty and different from the others. the cloth had a different type of fabric that had all sorts of intricate patterns sewn on it. the table mats were rectangular in shape, with flowers sewn in on the corners. to the plates, the glasses, even the flowers that sat prettily on the center of the table seemed to you as if this was all meticulously planned.

or maybe you’re just thinking too much into it again—

“if you’re wonderin’ why our table is different… i made a request,” bakugou ushers you to walk towards the seat in front of you. he pulls the chair back, lifting it slightly so as to not make a sound, motioning for you to sit down with a tilt of his head. you walk in front of him, bending down as he pushes the chair gently towards you.

“looks like you put a lot of thought into it.” you watch him walk around the table to sit down in front of you.

“i did. wanted ya to like it,” he says as he sits down.

“so… do you?” he looks at you with eyes that tell you ‘i hope you do’. he looked like he was a little nervous to hear what you think. you smile and nod your head and watch him exhale, as if he’d forgotten how to properly breathe. how come he's become easier to read now?

“here are the menus,” the host pops up from behind you and hands the both of you menus. they guide you with the dishes within the menu and mention their specials to help you out with what you want to order. after a few more moments, they leave you in the hands of a server.

“order anythin’ ya like, alright?”

dinner was… surprisingly nice.

bakugou made it clear before, and way more clear now that this dinner wasn’t about him trying to get on your good side to get you to stay as his personal assistant. all of this was simply because he wanted to.

while eating, he asked you about your plans, and he listened carefully. you went on to tell him about the book café you’d been planning, but with no plans of rushing in to it. your first goal was to explore, live life to the max; travel to different countries and party to your heart’s content. he didn’t reply much, but he made sure that you knew he was listening with how he kept looking at you.

time passed by like it was nothing. the appetizer was good, the main meal was delicious, the desert made you feel like you were in heaven with how light it felt in your mouth. the two of you kept chatting on (mainly you) until you needed to leave.

there was one thing you noticed before leaving the restaurant.

when the two of you stood up from you chairs, bakugou walked around the table and right towards your side. he tried to subtly eye your hand, and you watched him as he stretched out his own before telling you to follow him out. you almost wished he took your hand in his.

now back in his car, he wasted no time in starting up the car and drove away from the restaurant. you closed your eyes and leaned your head against the headrest of your seat, trying to process everything that happened tonight. you couldn’t help but admit that you did enjoy it, every single thing. from the bracelet, to the arranged table, to the food, to how attentive he was to you…

“hey, you okay?”

his voice snaps you back to reality, making you immediately open your eyes. you turn to look at him and chuckle softly.

“i am, don’t worry.”

bakugou let out a long exhale, like he was relieved.

“did ya… enjoy it?”

you turned your head away to face the window, smiling to yourself as you watch buildings and city lights pass by.

“i did, a lot.”

the rest of the ride was silent, only broken through once bakugou suggested that you play some music. even with the melodies, the both of you were still quiet. but it wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward, it was… nice. good.

arriving at your place, bakugou still didn’t miss the chance to go and open the car door for you. he walks you to your front door, hands in his pockets and his head hanging low. you glanced at him, and he looked as if he was deep in thought. his brows were slightly furrowed together, and his lips formed a small pout. how cute…

“bakugou?”

“yeah?”

he turns his head to look at you, there wasn’t anything special about it, he was only looking at you like how he was earlier, but—

you think it made your heart flutter.

“thank you, for tonight. i… i really appreciate it.”

he merely shrugs in response, but you can see how shy he is. the pink hue on the tips of his ears, his back was slightly slouched, and that pout still wasn’t wiped off of his face. he really was just wearing his heart out on his sleeve.

you walk towards him, inching closer bit by bit. your hands were behind your back, clutching your purse. you murmur for him to lean down slightly, and he does so with no hesitation. you whisper for him to take care, and before he knew it, you kissed his cheek and ran away, unlocking your door quickly and closing it with a SLAM!

what the fuck just happened?

all rights reserved © LOVETREATS. all fanfics belong to me. do not repost or claim my content as yours. do not recommend on any other platforms any of the works seen here.

[xoxomilesteller]

soldier boy finds your tumblr page | MDNI

cw: slapping (thigh, ass, face, vaginal), spitting, degradation, use of pet names (angel), bondage, dom sb, sb invading privacy, slight breeding kink, orgasm denial, i think that’s it? Oh drug usage as well (bad grammar too idk if thats a warning but yw if thats a big no for you)

word count: 6.3k

you’ve always been a quiet girl. you like to say that you’re just quiet, not shy. (or maybe you’re in denial). you really don’t have much to say about things and it gives people the wrong impression. they think that you find them annoying or that you’re just awkward, but you’re not. you’re just peaceful and quiet in a world full of the opposite

so when ben met you, he was grateful. you don’t bother him at all, you were his angel. he couldn’t think of anyone better as a babysitter. you were easy on the eyes too. he loved your short skirts, your flimsy shirts that would be so easy to rip off, how soft your skin looked. he would speak out loud and you would hum, acknowledging him. there were times where he would want to talk

“angel,” you don’t know when the nickname happened but it never bothered you, “why don’t you talk to me, always have that cute nose in your phone” his voice radiates through your body. ben’s flirty, you knew that, but it also doesn’t bother you. you just don’t entertain it, in fact, you like it way too much

growing up, your family loved watching vought movies. your particular favorites were the ones that soldier boy starred in, physically, not the animated ones. not that you didn’t like them, his voice was extremely attractive, but something about watching him get all dirty and bloody just did something to you. of course ben doesn’t know this, you never mentioned it because last thing you need is for him to know about your crush on him

“i just don’t have much to say” your voice is soft and you keep your attention on your phone, “i find the stories you tell me very interesting” you add on and turn off your phone, facing it screen down “i just don’t think too much of it, i literally can’t cause I’ve never been in your position. i can’t add on to what you say” you shrug 

ben hums. he actually feels very pleased that you enjoy his stories. you honestly like his voice more, but he fell for the trap. he started talking about how some of his assistants at vought back then would pay and beg him to sleep with them. 

you have immense self control. you don’t react to words to the human eye. ben has eyes like a hawk, again, you know this. so when he starts going into detail about how exactly he quite literally put them through the mattress, you stayed still. no reaction. except your core was throbbing, aching. 

it had been a while since you touched yourself. you knew better. ben’s damn superpowers, he’d be able to hear everything. you’d usually try to when ben was on a mission with butcher, but it’s been a while (a week) since he’s been on one. you like to think that he can’t smell your arousal, he’s never mentioned it and ben is everything but quiet in that department. 

before becoming ben’s babysitter in the safe house, there wouldn’t be a day that you didn’t touch yourself. under all that quiet, you were a whore. you’ve slept with people before, but they never gave you what you needed. sure they got you your orgasm, at least every now and then, but you needed something.. meaner. you were also shy there. you didn’t exactly know how to tell them to slap you on the face, spit on you, tie you up. 

God your tumblr page would be the death of you. you’ve created the perfect page. tons of gifs and clips of how exactly you wanted to be treated. matter a fact, whenever you did watch porn, you look for a ben look alike or a man in soldier boy cosplay. 

it’s gotten bad. midway through ben’s story, you found an excuse to go outside, saying that ben’s plug was here. he was, but you were counting down the minutes until he arrived.

when he texted that he was here, you replied and set your phone down on your side of the couch. you had your settings so that your screen wouldn’t turn off at all, since it had gotten annoying when you were reading fics about ben.

you walked off to greet the man and gather ben’s drugs and alcohol.

ben however, reached over to your phone. butcher had requested that you teach ben how to use one, to your knowledge it went through one ear and out the other. ben actually listened and pretended to not care. he struggled to get out of messages, but he managed to find your notifications, many were from tumblr. 

“who the fuck is tumblr?” he whispers to himself, a bit jealous and clicks on the notification.

he was taken aback. you yourself are a fanfic writer for ben, obviously. he skimmed over some texts, words like choking, spitting, and slapping sticking out to him. he couldn’t tell what was going on, who wrote what, why it was on your phone, but he saw his name multiple times and now his sweatpants were becoming tight.

before you were able to come back in, he went into the bathroom with your phone. he didn’t know what he clicked, but now all he’s seeing as he continues scrolling is women getting degraded in ways feminism doesn’t exist. ballgags, rope, leather, whips, everything. he softly groans at the sight, but he’s confused why its on yourphone. he continues scrolling until he stops in his tracks.

a clip of a man in soldier boy cosplay pounding into a tied up girl who is crying.

he stays hypnotized by the small clip. questions like “why is this on my angel’s phone?”, “is she watching this?”, “is she into this? Me?”

ben doesn’t know what to think but his left hand is wrapped around your phone case and his right hand is palming himself through his sweats. he could always smell you, he thought it was your natural daily scent, since that’s always what he smelled around him. he just thought you were always that.. wet.

he smirks to himself, his confidence skyrocketing to a level he didn’t think was possible. he opens the bathroom door and pauses, his eyes widening when he sees you searching for your phone in the crevices of the sofa. your skirt was riding up, revealing the damp spot on your lacy panties. he puts your phone into his pocket and resumes palming himself at the sight of you bent over. he clears his throat and bites back a groan when he sees your pussy clench.

you straighten up but keep your back to him, “have you seen my phone? swear i left it there” you point to where your phone was and scratch your head

ben takes a step closer, “i’ll help you find it,” his voice is much raspier, “but i actually have a question about” he slips both hands into the pockets of his sweats and pauses, searching on how to word it

you turn to face him and sit down, pinching your brows, trying to help him, “is it about something with your phone? can you not turn it on?” 

ben chuckles darkly, “you underestimate me angel” he pokes his cheek with his tongue

he looks so hot. 

you’re throbbing even more now.

and ben? ben figured you out. he can smell you getting more aroused and it is taking everything in him to not stuff his cock into your mouth. he wants to milk this, watch you squirm, watch that wall you put up to come down. 

ben sits on the couch next to you, spreading his legs wide. his new york giants jersey covering the massive bulge in his sweats and the outline of your phone.

“you said you signed me up for an app”

you nod, “yeah, instagram. It’s a social media app but it’s just so that when you actually do decide to pay attention to my lessons, you can use it, why’re you asking?”

he wants to wrap his hand around your throat, wants to tell you to shake off that innocent look and tone you have. 

instead, he says “what’s the point of instagram?”

you sit back on the couch, crossing your legs, ben’s eyes follow and you notice it. but at the same time, he loves his grandmas, rightfully so, so you don’t think too much of it. you can’t really blame him when you yourself like a grandpa. 

“so you can keep up with the people you follow. You can also explore on there, the more things you like, more things similar to that will show up until you’ve curated the perfect page for your interests” you answer, not knowing you’ve practically snitched on yourself

“are all social media apps like that?” he asks, his smirk twitching on his face

“um yeah basically. so are you gonna help me look for my phone now?”

“nah, not yet” he scrunches up his nose and takes the bag of white pills on the coffee table and opens it. before you can get up he reaches out for your wrist. the feel of his rough hand and grip sends electricity throughout your entire body. “didn’t say you leave,” his voice is commanding, “sit back down”

you listen without a second thought and your obedience makes his cock twitch. he leans over to grab a tray and spills all the pills onto the tray. he grabs his knife from the table and places it in your hands. you look at him confused and he scoots closer to you. 

“crush ‘em up f’me” he whispers into your ear

you maintain your cool. how? you don’t know, but you oblige

you wrap your right hand around the handle of his knife and use the butt of it to crush up the pills. ben just wanted to see your hand wrapped around something and moving it while testing your ability to do as you’re told. he’s satisfied, but you’re not crushing them up the way he wants.

so obviously he wraps his hand over yours and uses his hand to lead. he applies more pressure and moves the knife much quicker. 

you’re barely hanging on by a thread.

and what does Ben do?

“there ya go” he coos

Your breath hitches and he finally has you where he wants you

“line ‘em up for me angel” he nudges his head

you nod and use the blade of the knife to line the powder up. your hands aren’t shaking, but your jaw is clenched. Hard

ben chuckles at it and tilts his head, watching you in admiration of your ability to obey. he looks down at the tray and sees that you’re almost done

“put it on the knife and bring it to my nose”

ben’s voice sends shivers down your spine and heat that your panties can hardly contain.

he’s enjoying this. your little reactions make his painful bulge worth it

you carefully scoop a line onto the spine of the knife. you slowly bring it to his face and he holds your arm steady. you look into his eyes, they’re dark. he looks like a predator calculating his prey’s’ next move. 

he snorts the line and throws his head back onto the headrest of the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose. he opens his eyes and looks at you.

“you should try some” he lifts his head up and takes the knife from your hands. 

you stay quiet.

he nods and scoops some powder onto his thumb and smears it on your lower lip. you stay still and your heartbeat quickens. ben smirks when he hears it pick up. he scoops some more onto his thumb and brings it to your mouth again, your eyes following his thumb since it’s easier than meeting his predatory gaze. 

“look at me” he commands and you listen. his once green eyes are black and your eyes? still have the innocence you’re playing coy with

“open” his thumb is in between your top and bottom lip. you open your mouth and he sticks his thumb into it. “don’t you dare look away angel” he threatens and you swirl your tongue around the pad of his thumb, collecting the fine powder.

he removes his thumb and quickly you sit back, trying to recollect yourself.

“i need my phone” you mutter and turn to look behind the couch. maybe you placed it on the headrest and it fell behind there. 

ben’s eyes travel up and down your body while you’re on your knees, head against the wall trying to search for the phone that is in his pocket. he runs a hand over his bearded face. 

“i’m sure you do” he says gruffly. you hear him shift and all of a sudden he’s right behind you, hands on either side of your head and pushing against the wall. he moves the couch back, so you can see better, but he stays there even after he’s done. 

“being shy is one thing angel,” he leans his upper half in closer, lips grazing your ear, “but what you’re hiding in this damn phone is something else”

“w-what?” you don’t bother to turn your head to face him, afraid of what just might happen

he removes one hand from the wall and reaches down to his pocket. he grabs your phone and places his hand back on the wall, trapping you in with your phone in between the wall and his palm. 

“see, just by the look at you, you’re a sweet girl. you’re quiet. shy. but back in my day, whores would not be afraid to ask me what they want,” his smirk grows when he hears your breathing pick up, “if it was just me and them, they would ask and beg. why is that now the world is so sex positive, that you’re so shy about it, hm?”

“i don’t know what-“

“shut the fuck up” the harshness of his voice makes you ache for him more, “i saw it. Saw it all. the ballgags, the crying, me. fuck even the spitting which is new for me. gotta lil’ crush on me baby? that hard for you to ask for what you want?” he removes his empty hand from the wall to turn your head to face him, “look at me” he demands “anyone else knows about this? How much of a slut you really are under all that innocence, hm?”

you take a deep breath “how are you supposed to tell someone to treat you like that?” you ask softly

ben throws your phone onto the couch and turns you around so you can face him, his gaze has softened. he puts a hand under your jaw, squeezing your cheeks slightly, “just like that angel. that’s how you ask. get on your knees in front of the couch”

You do as you’re told. ben sits back down onto the couch, grabbing a joint and a lighter. you’re in between his legs, looking up and him as he exhales the smoke. he looks down at you and chuckles, “you know what to do” he nudges your body with his leg

you sit up and reach your hands to the waistband of his sweatpants. he lifts up his hips to help you pull them down. 

you always knew Ben had a huge dick. but thinking and actually seeing are two different things.

his cock springs up and hit his stomach. ben being the slut he is, he wears no underwear. your eyes are wide looking at the veiny and thick organ. you have no clue how you’re gonna fit that into your mouth. 

“what’s fuckin’ takin you so damn long?” he groans and looks down again and laughs “not used to an actual man angel?” he puts out the joint and sets it on the tray. he wraps one of his big hands around the base and the other slithers its way to the back of your head, bringing you closer. he slaps it on your cheek twice and runs the angry red tip over your lips, “you better open this fuckin mouth”

you open your mouth and take his tip, not going much further than 1/4 of his entire length. you suck and swirl your tongue over it, earning a groan from him.

“i know you can do better than that angel”

you look up at him and he places his thumbs where your cheekbones and jaw connect. he starts rubbing circles, massaging the muscles which makes you both moan and open your mouth further to take more of him.

“there we fuckin’ go” he moans and throws his head back “that mouth, Jesus fuckin’ Christ you are a whore”

his words make you hum and he starts thrusting his hips into your struggling mouth

“you like that, huh?” he scoffs “too bad I’m gettin bored of this”

he is so mean, it makes your thighs clench. you remove your mouth from it, strings of saliva connecting you to his veiny dick

“i didn’t tell you to stop”

“i know” your voice is hoarse and you place your hands around his cock, the tips of your fingers don’t even touch. you start stroking him up and down, twisting your wrist. he hums and rolls his eyes

“you better put that mouth back on-“ he gets cut off by his own groan

you placed both of his balls into your mouth, sucking on them while stroking him and watching his reaction. he throws his head back, veins bulging from his neck. you run your thumb over the red tip, his hips jolt up

“that’s it angel. fuck” he smiles

you moan at his words. he snakes his hand to the back of your neck, keeping your mouth sealed around his balls. he then slides his hand up, pulling your hair to pull you back, earning a moan from you. 

“tap my thigh 3 times and i’ll stop”

you nod and open your mouth, relaxing it as much as you can. he shoves his long and thick cock into your mouth and pushes your head down as far as it can go, which isn’t too much

“guess I gotta teach you how to suck a real cock now too. work this pretty mouth open. Look at me bitch.” he hisses and your tear filled eyes flicker up to him “fuckkkkk you really look like a whore now. watching that sweet face gettin stretched out by my cock. shit. can’t wait to see, feel, that pretty pussy flutter open”

you pathetically start grinding yourself onto the heel of your foot, ben obviously notices this and he gently slaps your face “if you fuckin cum before me, we’re really boutta have an issue” he warns and immediately you stop but your thighs keep rubbing together

“fuck me” he grits out “if I knew you were such a desperate whore I woulda done this a long time ago” he laughs darkly “gonna paint that face with my cum” his hips start moving frantically in your mouth before he suddenly removes himself and starts stroking at an insane pace while keeping your head steady with his other hand

with a loud grunt, warm fluid shoots out of him, landing all over your face. the amount he shot out was more than an average man. there is so much. most of it landed on your face, some on his jersey, some in your hair. he scoops some of it up and smears it on your lips 

“there ya go angel, see? got lip gloss on again” he winks 

but what caught him by surprise was when you licked the cum that landed on his jersey, lapping him up. his dick practically got hard again at the sight of you covered in his cum and cleaning him up, tasting the warmth and saltiness of him

“atta girl, clean me up. take off your panties while you’re at it too” he stuffs himself back into his sweats, ignoring how tight they’re about to feel again

you giggle and do so. they were stuck onto you because of how wet you are. he holds out his hand where you placed your white lacy panties in his palm

“well fuck i was gonna clean you up with them,” he runs his thumb over the soaked and only piece of cotton there was on them “but looks like they can’t soak up anymore huh. fuck it” he shrugs and picks you up effortlessly so you straddle his thigh. to your surprise, he starts licking your face, to clean you up. your eyes widen 

he slaps your face, a bit harder this time, “i’m not a fuckin pussy who’s afraid to taste himself” he wipes his hand clean on your tank top and you whine which makes him laugh “what? you worried bout your little shirt”

“well yeah kinda i spent money on” he rips the tank top off “this..” you don’t finish your sentence in shock and ben smirks. “what the actual hell? that was brandy it was expensive” he uses one of the pieces of your torn up tank top to wipe his beard clean 

“what I’m about to do to you is gonna make that shirt feel worthless” he whispers into your ear

he stands up, taking you with him. he brings you into his room and throws you on his bed. ben looks down at his sweatpants and groans when he sees a patch of wetness on it. he looks in his nightstand and takes out some black rope. he grumbles and mutters something to himself and continues searching until he pulls out some pink rope and sets it beside your head

he hovers over you, spreading your thighs, the cold air hitting your dripping core. he places kisses over your jawline to your ear, where he nibbles on it, “choose a safe word you have 5 seconds before I choose one for you”

“banana” you say quickly

“banana it is” he mumbles, “don’t give me that sir shit either, only name I wanna hear come outta that slutty mouth is ben, ya hear me?” you nod “good girl”

he places his mouth on yours, he’s kissing you roughly and demandingly, sucking the breath out of you. the air feels hot and heavy. one of his hands go under your squirming body to your back to unclasp your bra expertly. he removes his mouth to admire your chest “Goddamn these tits” he licks his lips and his hands squeeze them, a soft moan leaving your mouth. he shakes your tits and groans. he reaches for the rope beside your head and starts unraveling it. he takes both of your wrists in one hand and starts tying them to the headboard. he fastens the knot and runs his hands down your body, to the waistband of your skirt. he slides them under and removes it as well, feeling the goosebumps rise on your legs, leaving you bare before him. he takes your legs into his hands, and folds you in half. he ties your ankles to the headboard as well while leaving you all spread and exposed. the position is humiliating, but his eyes are eating you up.

ben sits back on his knees, rubbing his hands up and down the backs of your thighs, looking directly at your dripping, needy core. “well thats a damn sight if i’ve seen one” he chuckles to himself and lightly slaps your hamstrings “all these grandmas i’ve been fuckin not knowing i had a naturally wet pussy waiting for me 24/7. shit. bet it’s tight ass fuck too isn’t it, hm? well most women feel like virgins to me because.. well you know”

“please” you softly say, his voice is taunting and making you pathetic

“need me to touch you angel? need me to make you feel good?”

you nod eagerly, you’re so pathetic.

ben stands up and you strain against the rope. he returns back with his crushed up pills and your phone. he pours some of the white powder down the valley of your breasts down to your belly button “tell me angel,” he sets the tray down on the nightstand and hovers over you, “who got you into all this?” he begins snorting the powder off of you

you gulp, “so actually” you giggle nervously and ben flickers his eyes up at you, “it was you”

he finishes snorting the line and moves his head up to your ear “how?”

you stay quiet

he slaps your pussy, making you throw your head back at the burning and stinging sensation. it only adds to your arousal “you’re gonna have to talk if you want to cum today”

“well you just look so” your breath hitches when he starts kissing down your throat, leaving red and purple bruises “so dominating a-and” you moan when he sinks his teeth down on the mound of your breast “i grew up having a crush on you. found things that would add onto my imagination and fant-asies” he latches his mouth around your nipple, sucking and flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud while rolling the other one in his thumb and index finger. you moan and arch your back, he slaps one of your tits, urging you to keep talking, “you put the idea in my mind. whenever i look at you there’s nothing more that i want then to be used by you”

he removes his mouth from your nipple, his lips swollen and covered in saliva “where the hell have you been my entire life?” he wastes no time in leaving bruising and wet kisses down the soft skin of your stomach. each kiss and touch, has you more and more under his spell. his face is in front of your sopping wet pussy. he bites down on your inner thigh, making you gasp. he sticks out his tongue and licks up each lip, ignoring where you’re throbbing and aching the most. 

you lift your hips up as much as the rope allows you to at the warm sensation of his tongue, “please ben” you whimper his name 

he did not hesitate at your words. usually he’d wait, but with what you just told him? how could he keep his angel waiting for more?

his warm, experienced tongue licks a stripe up the center, flicking your clit a few times. you moan loudly and your nails dig into your palms.

“sensitive like a virgin” he mutters against you, the vibrations of his voice adding to the building pleasure. he returns back to your weeping cunt, his eyes never leaving your face, watching you scrunch up in pleasure while his name rolls off your tongue. “you taste so fuckin good” he starts rolling his hip into his mattress, getting off to your pleasure, same way you did earlier. he’s lapping at your entrance, drinking you up. his grip is firm on the backside of your thighs, keeping you from grinding yourself onto his face. 

and his damn beard. it’s tickling and scratching you perfectly. you just want to pull on his hair, the pleasure being too much.

he shakes his head, trying to delve in deeper, the moan that left your mouth was a sound you never made before and you feel his lips curve into a cocky smile

ben returns back to your clit, your body straining against the rope again, not caring about the burning sensation it’s giving you. his right hand slides down to your entrance, probing it with his middle finger

“ben” you cry out his name when he sticks his ring and middle finger into your hole. he groans at the tightness. he thrusts them into you before scissoring his fingers 

“gotta work this little pussy open like that mouth” he latches his lips again to suck on your clit. his fingers hit that gummy spot that makes you see stars

the rooms fills with your moans and squelching sounds of your walls sucking his fingers in as you clench around them

“b-ben” you moan out his name, the ropes digging into your soft skin

“nuh not yet, i ain’t done here”

he adds a third finger while flicking his tongue at an unbelievable speed 

“fuck” you practically scream out at the stretch and he chuckles

you cannot hold it back anymore. your walls clench his fingers so tight and your legs shake as he gives you one of your most intense orgasms. he works you through it, not stopping until it’s over. you pant, chest rising up and down rapidly and he laps up every drop of you. he slides his hands up your body, striking you on your face, making you moan

“what the fuck did i tell you, hm?”

“t-that you”re not done”

“that I’m not fuckin done”

“i’m sorry-“

he slaps your sensitive pussy, making you squeeze your eyes shut, “no fuck that” his voice is stern. he rips off the rope, ignoring the bruising marks on your wrists and ankles and flips you over onto your stomach. he pushes your hips up so your ass is arched and in perfect view

“keep those hands near your head, if I even see you try to move them i’m tying you up again and leaving you there”

each of his hands massage and grip onto the globes of your ass, spreading to see his perfect wet pussy. he presses his bulge onto it, making you grind your hips on it before his hand slaps your left cheek “don’t fuckin move” he threatens and grips onto your hip, keeping you steady. he leans over you, pressing his torso onto your back and he thrusts his clothed bulge into you, making you moan softly at the feeling of something that can end this aching inside of you. his right hand wraps around your throat, tilting your head to meet his hungry eyes “you feel that?” he doesnt give you a second to respond before slapping your ass cheek again, “answer me whore” his voice rasps 

“i feel it” you reply, though it was more breath than voice

“all i wanted to do was bury myself deep inside of you, but you had to be a fuckin slut and cum without my permission” he lands another slap on your ass, tears prickle in your eyes at the pain that quickly fades into pleasure.

you lost count at how many times he spanked you. tears ran down your cheeks, mascara and makeup definitely ruined now, but you were sure that tomorrow you would not be able to sit down and there would be bruises of his handprint, not that you’d mind. you just knew that when this night was over, you will sit in front of the mirror, naked, admiring the mark he left on you. physically and mentally. 

you felt the weight of him disappearing and you hear rustling beside you. ben flips you over, so you’re on your back again. you feel the mattress dip at his weight. he takes one leg and places it on his shoulder, the other one he leaves it resting on his hip. his eyes travel from your core up to your fucked out face.

God you looked so pretty he thought

not that he needed to, but he spit onto your pussy, watching the saliva travel down. the warmth of it dripping down on you makes you squirm. he rubs his cock on your soaked folds, watching it glisten in your arousal

“please, I need it” you whine out

“be patient” he demands and slaps it on your slit, watching your body jolt at every slap. he takes his tip and lines himself up at your entrance, but he moves it up so it rubs your clit instead

“b-en” you moan out the last half of his name when he finally places the tip inside of you, stretching you wide

his teeth are clenched, hard, fighting to not just slam into you. he wanted to make you feel him stretch you wide, little by little. he wanted to ruin other men to you. he knows his size is already massive, but he wanted more than to just physically loosen you up for any other ordinary man, he wanted to leave a mark in that pretty head of yours, reminding you there is no one else like him. so that’s exactly what he did.

he retracted his tip and thrusted into you, feeding you another inch. a yelp leaves your lips and you grip onto the bedsheets. he takes his hands and wraps them around your wrists, placing them onto his chest. he didn’t want to say it but he wanted to feel your hands on his skin. he repeats his motion, taking himself out just barely and giving you more of him. you claw at his chest but of course, no marks were left. your walls are squeezing him so damn tight. almost like they’re fighting his intrusion

“not even halfway in and you already can’t take it” he tsks and shakes his head “too fuckin bad i ain’t askin no more angel”

he continues his demeaning motions until he’s buried all the way to the hilt. he stills himself. he can usually control himself but the way you’re looking at him with that expression, the sounds you’re making, the way you’re gripping him so tight he feels like he might pass out.. it only spurs him on. his left hand stays secured on your hip and his right hand travels up to your throat, applying pressure at your pulse points

“let’s see another man stretch you out this fuckin good”

you moan at his words, because it’s the truth. you feel like you’re being split open, like you’re losing your virginity again. you can feel every vein, every ridge. you’ve never felt fuller

“Goddamn i knew this pussy would feel good to work open, got me feeling like i might suffocate. Fuck angel” he throws his head back and slowly moves his hips “gonna make this tight lil thing useless to another man, loosen you up real good” he chuckles and uses his left hand to slap your hip. his hips start moving a bit faster, louder, pornographic sounds leave your mouth and wet sounds from your core fill the room. you drag your hands up to the bottom of his head, tugging on the short hair there, earning moans from him

“fuck yeah keep doing that” he leans over closer and places more pressure around your throat “open” he commands

you open your mouth and he spits into it, watching you swallow it. you were going to be the death of him.

his hips move at a more brutal pace, now that your walls have somewhat welcomed him in more. all you can think was ben, ben, ben. that’s all that really left your mouth if he got lucky he was able to make out what you were saying

“turned you into a cock drunk whore didn’t i? can’t even say my fuckin name right you dumb slut”

you hate being called dumb. you rake your nails from his hair to his neck. you don’t know where you got the confidence from, but you slap ben across the face

both of you are caught by surprised. ben stills his hips, glaring at you. he is pissed. you are shocked you even did that. he slaps your tits, earning a moan from your lips

“do.” thrust “that.” thrust “again.” thrust 

you moaned every time, his tip slamming into that sweet spot. you slap him again and he slaps your tits. he’s never been slapped, at least not during sex. he liked it. it didn’t hurt him, it was more teasing to him, adding onto his pleasure.

he starts rutting his hips into you, the sounds of his balls slapping onto you creating another pornographic noise “you’re gonna milk this old man dry angel” he chuckles and flickers his eyes down to your tits, watching them bounce with every harsh thrust. he feels your velvet walls clench down on him, “gonna cum f’me angel? yeah?” his voice is so taunting, it only makes you want him more and you nod “you better say my name and say it right whore” he spits and you try to say yes but the pleasure is just too much. it’s like your senses are heightened. every touch, every word, the feel of his breath fanning over your hot skin, watching his face trying to stay hardened but his brows scrunch up, his sounds. 

“if I don’t hear my name roll off those pretty little lips this is the first and last time i ever make you feel this good” he warns

“ben” you moan his name 

“atta girl” he moves his left hand to rub your clit in tight circle “who’s stretching you out so fuckin good, hm?”

“ben” you shout his name

“don’t you fuckin forget that shit either” he slaps your thigh “cum for me angel, go”

at his command, you gush around him, shouting his name and digging your nails so deep into his skin, it actually left a mark. for a few seconds.

ben is now moving for his pleasure, slamming his hips brutally into your overstimulated pussy

“pussy’s gonna need an ice pack when I’m done” he grits through his teeth, his hips are moving frantically, searching for his release “gonna put a baby in you, you feel so damn good” he whispers in your ear 

“do it” you encourage him 

“wasn’t fuckin asking dumb bitch”

“you slap him again and that’s when he buries himself as far as he can go, grunting as you feel him shoot his massive load into you. he even goes a step further and give you 3 hard thrusts when his orgasm washes over, ensuring some of it stays deep inside of you. he slips out, watching everything spill out of you

“never-fucking-mind. that’s a damn sight for sore eyes”

AN: MY FIRST SMUT PIECE GUYS idk lmk how i did any constructive criticism is good and i hope you guys have a wonderful day banner by: @cafekitsune

[ferrarifudds]

Oscar Piastri where he just can’t (and won’t) stop looking at reader and she’s just like hey so ??? what the hell r u doing

Ever Seen. ✷ Oscar Piastri

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Assistant!Friend!reader

Summary: When he just can’t seem to keep his eyes off you, since you are the prettiest girl he’s ever seen!

Word Count: 2k

Disclaimer/s: just mega fluff tbh. lando cameo too idk.

Vera’s Voice! ohhhh boy i loved this one. first ever request :333 SMIRK. smile. thank u. hope i did it justice baef. mwah. enjoy!!! ^_^

Oscar was staring at you again.

You didn’t notice at first—you were too busy flipping through your clipboard, listing out his schedule for the day in your usual no-nonsense tone.

The paddock was alive with the kind of buzz that only a race weekend could bring, and you thrived in it. But while the engineers rushed past and the fans cheered in the distance, you felt the familiar weight of his gaze, and that now-familiar flutter in your chest stirred again.

“…and after the debrief, you’ve got a window for lunch before the media pen,” You said, keeping your eyes fixed on the notes in front of you. “If you want, I can go and grab you a salmon bowl, and then don’t forget that your Sky Sports interview is at 2:30, and—”

“—qualifying starts at 4,” Oscar cut in, finishing your sentence like he’d memorized it.

“Exactly.” You glanced over your shoulder to find him trailing a step behind you, his race suit half-zipped, his balaclava in his hands.

He was walking slowly, though, like he was in no hurry to actually catch up. His expression? That soft, quiet look that he’d been giving you for weeks now.

You stopped walking.

“Are you actually listening, or are you just pretending again?” You teased, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m listening,” he said, his lips twitching into a faint smile. But he didn’t make any effort to elaborate, and you caught the way his eyes darted away as if he’d been caught. “Ish…” He said with a subtle smile, finally stepping up beside you.

His voice was playful, but the way he glanced at you from under his lashes made your stomach flip.

This wasn’t new. The glances, the lingering smiles, the way he seemed to focus just a little too much on you—it had been building for weeks now. Months, even. And while you didn’t dare acknowledge it aloud, you weren’t blind to what it meant.

You just weren’t ready to deal with it.

Oscar had hired you as his assistant nearly two years ago. He’d claimed, in his usual deadpan way, that no one else could deal with him the way you could.

And while it was true—you knew his quirks better than anyone—you also knew what being his assistant really meant. It meant being with him everywhere.

From grueling race weekends to early-morning gym sessions to late-night strategy calls, you were the constant presence in his life.

It was only natural that you’d grown close. Closer than you’d ever been, even after years of friendship. And now, with every glance, every lingering touch, every moment of unspoken tension, it felt like you were teetering on the edge of something more.

But that wasn’t part of the plan.

Later that day, you found yourself in the driver’s room with him, running through his schedule again while he lounged on the couch.

He was reclined, one leg stretched out lazily while he idly spun a water bottle in his hands. You, meanwhile, sat cross-legged on the floor with your clipboard in front of you, your usual position whenever you needed to focus.

“…And then after the media pen, you’ll have about an hour before dinner with Zak and the team,” you explained, scribbling a quick note.

Oscar hummed in acknowledgment, but you could tell he wasn’t really listening.

You glanced up. “You’re not paying attention again.”

He didn’t respond.

Instead, he was watching you, his gaze soft and steady in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

“Oscar,” you said, your voice quieter this time. “What?”

He blinked, startled, and the faintest blush crept up his neck. “Nothing,” he said quickly, looking away.

“Liar,” you murmured, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.

Before he could respond, the door swung open, and in waltzed Lando, grinning like he owned the place.

“Am I interrupting?” Lando asked, His tone playful as his eyes darted between you and Oscar.

“No,” You said quickly, sitting up straighter.

“Yes,” Oscar said at the same time, earning a sharp glare from you.

Lando’s grin widened. “Knew it,” he said, his tone full of exaggerated delight.

Oscar groaned. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m not starting anything,” Lando defended with a wide smile, his hands raised in mock surrender. “I’m just observing.”

“Lando—”

“You two should really try to be more subtle though,” Lando continued, cutting Oscar off. “The entire paddock’s talking about it.”

You felt your cheeks heat up with a quirked brow, but before you could protest, Oscar stood up, casually shoving Lando toward the door.

“Out.”

“So aggressive,” Lando said, laughing as he stumbled backward. “Alright, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.”

“Out,” Oscar repeated, shutting the door firmly behind him.

When he turned back to you, you were staring at him, wide-eyed.

“What?” He asked, his expression unreadable.

“Are people actually talking?”

Oscar hesitated, his jaw tightening slightly before his features softened. “Does it matter if they are?”

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.

And for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond.

Later that evening, after the chaos of qualifying and the non-stop media pen post interviews, you and Oscar found yourselves alone in his driver’s room once again.

You were stood in front of him, going over and planning out his schedule for the next day, while he sat in front of you, unusually quiet.

“…And then after the debrief, I think you should have a free evening before the sponsor event,” You said, your voice trailing off as you glanced at him.

He was staring at you again.

“What?” You asked, a soft laugh escaping your lips.

He didn’t answer right away but he stood up.

Oscar reached out, his hand brushing lightly against yours. The touch was brief, almost hesitant, but it sent a jolt of electricity through you.

“Uhm,” You said quietly, your heart racing. “Something wrong?”

His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to fade away as he took the clipboard out of your other hand and set it aside, looking down at you.

“You know,” He paused, his voice barely above a whisper. “There’s a little wrinkle between your eyes when you talk. It’s the cutest thing.” The words lingered in the air, and you blinked, caught off guard.

“What?”

“This wrinkle,” He said, his lips curling into the softest of smiles. “It shows up when you’re focused. You always get it when you’re explaining something or organizing my life. Like just now.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the way he was looking at you made it impossible to find the words. His gaze was steady and unflinching, a mixture of warmth and vulnerability that you hadn’t seen before—not like this.

“Oscar…” Your voice was soft, your chest tightening.

“Yeah?” His voice was barely audible now, his face inching closer to yours, as if he couldn’t stop himself even if he tried.

You hesitated, trying to ignore the way your pulse was racing. “Are you okay? You’ve been… different lately.”

“Different?” His brow quirked slightly, but his eyes never left yours.

“You’ve been looking at me like…” You trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence.

“Like what?” He prompted, his voice gentle, but the intensity in his gaze was unrelenting.

“Like this,” You whispered, gesturing faintly to the space between the two of you.

Oscar exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing. “That’s because I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you something.”

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. “Tell me what?”

“That I’ve been in love with you for longer than I can even remember,” He said simply, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Your heart stopped.

The words hung between you, raw and unfiltered, and for the first time, Oscar looked uncertain. “I didn’t mean to spring it on you like this,” He admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “But I just, can’t keep pretending anymore.”

You stared at him, your mind reeling. “You… love me?”

His lips twitched into a nervous smile. “Yeah,” He said quietly, his hands fidgeting at his sides. “I do.”

And just like that, the tension that had been building for months snapped.

Without overthinking, without letting yourself second-guess, you stepped forward and kissed him.

It was soft at first, tentative, like testing the waters. But then his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, and the kiss deepened.

The world fell away, leaving nothing but the warmth of his lips and the feeling of being completely and utterly seen.

When you finally broke apart, his forehead rested against yours, and his hands lingered on your waist.

His eyes searched yours, soft and full of wonder.

“Well,” You breathed, a nervous laugh escaping you. “That explains all your staring.”

“Can’t blame me.“ He grinned. “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. You even manage to make the McLaren kit look breathtaking.” He joked, his grip on your waist tightening as his fingertips traced mindless shapes.

You laughed, not saying anything. Instead, you just pulled him back in, your lips meeting his once more.

likes, comments, & reblogs are all appreciated!!! ^_^ and let me know if you would like to be apart of my permanent tag list!!! <3

extra vera’s voice! this is also an apology for the lando angst I posted last night. Ok? Ok.

tags! @planetpedri @halfwayhearted @wdcbox @freyathehuntress

[bueckets]

thank you for taking the time to read my works. below you'll find a collection of my series and standalone stories organized for easy browsing. i hope you find something that gets you onto santas naughty list.

Series

The Prophecy | Finished

Description: They call her The Prophecy—basketball’s impossible phenomenon, rewriting what it means to be perfect on the court. With a near-flawless shooting record and a mind just as sharp in aerospace engineering as it is in breaking down defenses, her name sparks awe, envy, and relentless scrutiny. But perfection has its cost.

But even legends have weak spots. When a high-stakes matchup against LSU draws the attention of Paige Bueckers—the golden face of college basketball—The Prophecy’s flawless world starts to crack. On the court, they’re rivals, locked in a battle for supremacy. Off the court, late-night texts and shared moments blur the lines between competition and something much harder to define.

Word Count: 30K

Part: Start Here

The Hit List | In Progress

Description: When an overworked engineering student's late-night CAD project gets interrupted by a very drunk, very lost basketball star stumbling into the wrong dorm room, she learns that some defensive plays work better in love than on the court.

What starts as a case of mistaken identity turns into an unexpected game of cat and mouse when UConn's golden girl, Paige Bueckers, can't seem to take a hint– or maybe just doesn't want to. Armed with nothing but sarcasm, an overprotective stuffed bear named Mr. Gummy, and a borrowed team jacket that definitely isn't helping the situation, our engineering hero finds herself drawing up plays to defend her heart against college basketball's most persistent point guard.

They say offense wins games, but defense wins championships. When you're trying not to fall for a girl who treats the court like her kingdom and your personal space like a suggestion, maybe it's time to admit some battles aren't meant to be won.

Word Count: 34k

Part: Start Here

One Shots

Thin Walls

Description: When a sleep-deprived biomed student moves in with UConn’s most notorious heartbreaker, you expect late-night film study, protein shake graveyards, and an apartment perpetually scented like sweat and victory. What you don’t expect? Thin walls. And Paige Bueckers making absolutely no effort to keep her extracurricular activities quiet.

What starts as a battle for basic human decency turns into something far messier—petty revenge plots, mind games laced with innuendo, and an unspoken tension that neither of you is willing to name. Paige plays like she owns the court, like she owns the world, and maybe—just maybe—like she wants to own you, too.

They say pressure makes diamonds, but when it comes to Paige Bueckers, it just might make a disaster.

WC: 8.4k

Read Me

Competitive Stamina

Tags: fuck buddies with unresolved issues, unbearable sexual tension, dom!Paige, strap, degradation, slapping, edging, post-game aggression sex, possessive paige, rough sex that solves nothing, idk just porn w minimal plot (I KNOOOOOW)

WC: 6.3k-ish

Read Me

Going UP?

Description: From missed alarms to broken elevators, your Tuesday couldn’t get worse, well, until it gets better. When a late-running grad student’s desperate dash to save her thesis turns into an unexpected elevator encounter with UConn basketball sensation Paige Bueckers, she learns that sometimes the best assists come from broken machinery.

Armed with nothing but coffee-fueled anxiety and an encyclopedic knowledge of basketball analytics, you find yourself trading quips with college basketball’s golden girl in a stalled elevator. What starts as a disaster turns into something else entirely when basketball theory meets practice, terrible jokes meet dangerous grins, and hot chocolate meets, well, everywhere except the mug.

They say love is a game of chances. But when you’re trapped between floors with a girl who can bend physics on the court and make your heart run suicides off it, maybe it’s worth taking the shot.

Sometimes cupid doesn’t use arrows. Sometimes he just breaks the elevator.

Word Count: 8.1K

Part: Start Here

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: i caved and did an actual Ewan fic! Given that the lad is more of a public persona nowadays, I reckon it's fine (?) This is pure self-indulgence for all my Ewan loves. May have a continuation but idk for now, enjoy!!

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

The reader and Ewan are paired for press interviews. Despite barely having any scenes together and only knowing each other in passing on set, the chemistry they share cannot be denied...

Your first round of press takes place in a primped up hotel suite in Paris, thanks to the team at HBO.

You are an up and coming actress, much like some of your costars in the show, but the pressure is heavier on you because you were entering in season two, whereas everyone was already well-acquainted with one another.

Your few scenes were mostly with Jace and Baela, so you grew close to Harry and Bethany.

However, the media team decided to pair you up with Ewan for the day. A little fun initiative was set by the team that a character from the Blacks would be do press with a counterpart from the Greens - hence, yourself and Ewan.

You're nervous as you walk down the hallway, unable to fully pay attention to the instructions your lovely assistant gives you.

She tells you about the different interviewers for the day, bloggers and magazine writers from all over the world. She reminds you that each one will only be for a maximum of 5 minutes, so it shouldn't be too complicated. She smiles and eagerly says, "Take a deep breath, you got this!", as you reach the suite doors.

But in your mind, all you can recall is your first interaction with Ewan, almost a year ago right after the table read. You had nervously blurted out to him that Aemond is your favourite character, after he just asked, "How are you?". He laughed, said thank you, before he was pulled away in conversation by Tom.

You pray to the fictional Westerosi gods that things will fare better today. That you won't get all tongue-tied when those steel blue eyes land on you.

Upon entering the room, the team is quick to fuss over you. Sometimes you forget that you're actually an actress now. A celebrity, some might say. It all feels surreal and you have a inkling it won't ever stop being this way.

Ewan is already seated in front of the camera, and he stands to give you a hug as you finally walk over.

"Hey there, how are you?" he smiles widely, smelling like cigarettes and something muskier as he wraps his arms around you.

Unroll your tongue. Rework your brain. Calm down.

"Hey, Ewan!" you respond. "I'm doing great, happy to see you again."

"Well, I only wish we could have had more time together on set." Ever the gentleman, he gestures for you to take your seat before he does the same. "But next season perhaps? Who knows?"

"Oh, sure." You settle in, pleased by the fact that your chairs are only about a foot apart. "We can both look forward to my character giving Aemond the arse kicking he deserves."

He laughs, eyes glinting with mischief. "Come on now, I was thinking our characters are actually quite compatible, no?"

"Well, I sure wouldn't want to step on Alys' shoes. She'd probably curse my character all the way to Yi Ti."

"Hmm," he hums, biting his lip. You can't help but hear Aemond when he does that. "I say you can always count on Aemond and Vhagar to come to the rescue of a beautiful maiden such as yourself."

Well, you'll be damned. Ewan, while still an introvert of his own sort, is as charming as can be. If he's turning it on to get himself hyped for the press, it's working.

It's definitely working on you, to say the least.

The media manager gives the signal for the first interview to begin, and a reporter walks in, all ready with prepared script in hand.

"Here we go," you mutter, facing forward.

"Good luck," Ewan replies.

You both shake the reporter's hand, and he introduces himself as Jared.

"So guys," Jared begins. "Why don't we start with you telling me a little bit about what we can expect from your characters this season?"

The question is easy, and it doesn't take long for you and Ewan to think it through. Jared asks a few more basic questions, before drawing the attention more to you.

"When you watched season one, did you have a favourite character?" he asks you.

You smile, "Oh, I mean, I have to say - and Ewan already knows this, by the way - that Aemond was my favourite character."

"Was?" Ewan says, feigning shock. "Unacceptable."

"Was... Is... " you shrug, rolling your eyes playfully, earning a laugh from Jared. "I think I might be more a Daemon girl now."

"Oh!" Jared exclaims happily. "Does Matt know about this?"

"I'll be sure to tell him - "

Ewan interjects, shaking his head at you, "There's no need to tell him, because I'll convert her back to Team Aemond in no time, trust me."

"Daemon is awesome, though," you say to him, smiling.

"Sure." Ewan makes a face like that fact doesn't matter. Wasn't he the one who said that Daemon would be the character he would most like to play if not Aemond?

"And Caraxes is my favourite dragon." You share a look with Jared, hoping he would agree.

"Yes!" Jared says. "Caraxes is the best dragon in the show, in my opinion."

"Ah, you're both wrong," Ewan says. "My Vhagar is the oldest and baddest dragon in all of the land."

"My Vhagar, he says," you joke. "Seems like someone still hasn't shed Aemond for this press tour."

"And I never will, darling." His gaze is intense when he turns to you, and you clear your throat to fight the warmth rushing to your cheeks.

"Alright, they're giving me the wrap-up," Jared thankfully breaks the tension. "It was a pleasure talking to you guys, congratulations on the new season!"

One interview down, and your nerves have already considerably subsided. Ewan tapping your arm to start up a conversation once more surely helps in distracting you.

In the best damn way possible.

"How do you think we did? That wasn't too bad, was it?"

"I think we did quite well," you casually offer a high five, but your heart skips a beat when Ewan interlaces your suspended hands for just a moment.

"I'm glad they paired me with you," Ewan says, after releasing your hand. You hold on to the armrests to keep your fingers from twitching.

"I am, too," you admit. "I am a fan of you, after all, but I think you already know that."

He blushes, "Well, that's not a bad thing. I think you're a fantastic actress. I must have seen your first film a good ten times."

"You mean my first and only film," you add humbly. "But thank you."

"Only film for now," he affirms. "No doubt this is only the beginning for you, darling. With your talent and your charisma, I'm sure you have potential scripts piled up already."

"I could say the same for you! Have you seen what your fans say about you online? You're the internet's new boyfriend, Ewan Mitchell."

The media manager announces the next interview, but Ewan follows up with a response for you under his breath, "I have seen some things. But when I have a girlfriend, I'll make sure she won't have to share me at all."

Oh, so apparently he is single. But wait - why is he telling you this?

You don't get to mull over that thought. For the time being, the next interview starts and you make sure you do a good job at what you're paid to do - promoting the series.

Not daydreaming about getting with a costar, for heaven's sake. Stay professional.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

You feel lightheaded after finishing the seventh - or had it been the eighth? - interview.

Your assistant delivers a coffee to you during the twenty-minute break. Ewan had stepped out to the balcony to have a smoke, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

He certainly is everything you expected him to be, and so much more. Insightful, cheeky, dedicated. An artist, through and through. He was in the business for all the right reasons, passion and respect for the craft.

If he had any flaws, you weren't privy to them yet. If there are any reasons for you not to be attracted to him, you didn't know what those were yet.

And with every flirtatious remark and pointed smile, you can't deny the hope blooming in you.

"Hey," he reappears, pulling you out of your musings. "I hope you don't mind that I smell of smoke."

No, you didn't, not when it's him.

"Don't worry about it," you reassure him. You tilt your head forward to take a sip of your coffee, but a lock of your hair falls in front of your face. Annoyed, you think to reach for it, but Ewan beats you to it, tucking it back in place.

"There you go, darling," he croons, gesturing for you to proceed in drinking.

"Th-thanks." His eyes don't leave yours as you take a slow sip.

"So," you say, desperate to break the silence, "which interview did you enjoy the most so far?"

"How can I possibly choose? I mean, I really liked the one with ComicSociety, the guy that said our characters have a lot of chemistry and should get together next season. He's right, I already told you!"

"Ohhh, sure, that will go down really well with the Blacks and Greens."

He smirks, "I don't see why not?"

"For one, Aemond is ensnared by Alys, and my character will never give up fighting for Rhaenyra. I just don't see it happening, Ewan."

"Right," he mutters thoughtfully, "there is still Alys in the picture."

"Still in the picture? With the amount of steamy scenes you two have lined up for season three, I'd say she will be Aemond's entire picture in and of herself."

"Hmm," he glances at you once, then looks down. Dare you think it, does he look disappointed?

"But hey," you add lightly, "maybe we can talk to Ryan and he can flip the entire script just for our characters."

"Yeah," his cheeky smile resurfaces, "maybe you can take Alys' place."

Take the place of Alys? Of Alys. Is he insinuating...

"Next round of interviews, guys!" The media manager announces to the room.

"Here we go again, darling," Ewan squeezes your hand once, before putting on his professional face once more.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

By the end of it all, not even caffeine can perk you up. You were exhausted, you and Ewan having finished four full hours of press.

Your assistant comes to your aid, ready to direct you back to your own hotel room.

"This has been such a pleasure, Ewan, really." You stand, this time initiating the hug.

He squeezes you gently, humming in your ear. When you pull apart, he says, "I honestly wouldn't mind trudging through hours and hours of press with you."

That's sweet of him. You're too tired to mask the warmth that rises to your cheeks. "And I feel the same. Today couldn't have gone any better."

"Truly, and listen, maybe we could - "

"Ewan!" The manager approaches. "I'm so sorry to rush with this, but we need to film just a quick soundbite with you for Aemond. Just two to three questions for the Max Tiktok account?"

"Oh, okay - " Ewan is reluctant to turn away from you.

"Perfect! If you could just stand there by the windows please..." The manager already has him by the arm, directing where he has to go.

"We have to go," your assistant says. "Still have to prep for tomorrow."

"I'll see you soon, Ewan!" you call out to him. "Thanks again."

He gives a half-hearted wave, dejected as he watches you walk out of the room.

"That wasn't too bad," you share with your assistant as you enter the elevators. "Not bad at all, actually."

"Oh, you did so well," she compliments. "It definitely helps with the press that you and Mr. Mitchell have such insane natural chemistry."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

In the calm of your hotel room, you get ready for bed.

Just when you're about to finish with your nightly routine, your phone rings from your bedside table. You're quick to rush over, thinking it could be your assistant or your manager, with an urgent update about work.

But no - it's an unknown number. A UK number, as it appears.

Confused, you click answer anyway, putting it to your ear with a tentative, "Hello, who is this?"

"Hi, darling."

"Ewan?"

"Yeah, uhm, I hope I didn't disturb you - "

"Not at all," your answer comes out in a rushed breath.

"I also hope you don't mind that I got my assistant to ask your assistant to give me your number? It's what I wanted to ask you before you left today."

"Oh." You feel fully awake now, by some miracle, butterflies finding home in your stomach. "I don't mind. I... I should have given you my number, anyway. I have most of the cast's, in case I need to get a hold of you guys."

"Hmm, right," he says from the other end. You hear him calmly breathing, the sound strangely comforting, and wonder if he can hear the same from you.

He says, "I just wanted to keep hearing your voice. Didn't get enough of it today," and your heart just about stops.

"Oh. Okay," is all you are able to respond with.

"What are you doing?"

"Just... just getting ready for bed." Phone pressed to your ear, you shuffle around the room, putting some things back in place.

He says nothing for a few seconds, but you still hear his breathing, and some shuffling in the background. It occurs to you that he might just be as nervous as you are now.

Maybe.

"Listen," he finally says, "do you want to hear my pitch to Ryan about why our characters should get together next season?"

A genuine laugh escapes you. He sure is persistent. Playful, sure, but you're definitely willing to play along.

"Let's hear it."

"First," he says, "you have to renounce Daemon as your favourite character - "

"Not a chance."

" - and swear your love for Aemond."

"Keep dreaming."

He laughs, and you can only picture the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"Aww darling," he teases, "don't you love me?"

💌 part two - part three

The OGs will know that the final line is a nod to my first ever Aemond fic! 🖤

Did this slightly delay my series works? Yes, yes it did. Do I regret it? For Ewan frickin Mitchell, I would never ~

[sayyestoheav3nn]

Bad Idea:one-shot

roman x black!oc

warnings: smut

word count: 2.9k

a/n: lowkey realizing roman might be slightly very toxic in this. idk, i was ovulating. i’m just a girl…..

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A nightclub was the last fucking place Roman wanted to be at. However, considering the fact that it was the twins birthday, he knew he had no choice but to bite the damn bullet. 

An hour had passed, most of which he spent keeping to himself in the V.I.P lounge he had sectioned off. 

Truth be told, it was his preference. The less people he had to interact with, the better.

The loud thuds of the bass and music, added with the constant blinking lights were overstimulating as hell. Yet, it was nothing compared to the annoying bitch that was currently wrapped around his arm.

Why he let Daya invite herself in the first damn place was beyond him. Sure, she was a pretty girl and her head game was out of this fucking world, he’ll give her that. At the end of the day, nothing changed the fact that chemistry between them was non-existent. Any moment he spent with her that didn’t include bending her over, felt like a fucking waste of time.

The way she was constantly in his ear blabbering was starting to give him a damn headache. Roman stayed silent as he quickly chugged some of his whiskey hoping it would eventually drown out her whiny ass voice. And to his relief, a few of the women Naomi had invited managed to grab her attention and pull her away. 

As more time passed, his irritation and boredom had him ready to call it a night. That was until his assistant, Sierra walked in.

Roman’s gaze instantly focused on the outfit she was wearing, noticing the way it perfectly hugged every curve of her body, accentuating her big breasts and ass. His mind instantly began to flood with filthy thoughts as he watched her. 

She was stunning, there was no denying it.

But, sleeping with his assistant is a line he told himself he wouldn’t cross, which was something he was fucking forcing himself to remember in this moment.

Sierra’s presence alone captivated Roman, which was something Daya must have caught on to, because before he knew it, she was back by his side with her arm around his again.

“The hell are you doing?” Roman pulled his arm away from her, ignoring whatever the fuck she was spewing. One thing he made very clear from the beginning was that she was his fuck buddy, nothing more. This territorial shit she was trying to pull was something he made sure to nip in the bud then and there.

As Sierra greeted Naomi and the twins she could see from the corner of her eye Roman arguing with what seemed to be his current flavor of the month. And while, it wasn’t exactly her business who her boss did or didn’t fuck, Daya being one of the rudest bitches she’d ever met, made this situation dreadful. But, she knew this interaction was inevitable, so she figured she might as well get this shit over with. 

She sighed and began to make her way towards their section. The closer she got, the more her stomach began to tighten. Even though she had been working for Roman for a few months already, being around him still seemed to make her nervous. And the fact that he was easily the most attractive man she’d ever been around, didn’t fucking help. 

Romans eyes instantly met with Sierra’s as she approached them, causing her to hesitantly look down. He watched as Daya eyed her from head to toe with a dirty look plastered on her face, “We’re busy right now, why don’t you be a doll and bring us another drink?”

At that Sierra looked up, visible discomfort etched on her pretty face,“Excuse me?” 

The last thing Roman needed was for this entitled bitch to disrespect her for absolutely no reason, “What the fuck is your problem?”

Daya glanced back at her with a smug smile, “I mean…that’s literally her job, isn’t it?” 

Sierra’s patience with this egotistical bitch was running very thin, she had to remind herself to keep her composure, especially knowing how easily this situation could escalate if she really spoke her mind. While, this was far from the first time Daya had been disrespectful to her, she’d never actually been bold enough to do it in front of him. Roman intervened before she could even respond, “She’s my assistant, not my fucking servant. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I was basically doing her fat ass a favor, she could use the walk if you ask me,” she sneered.

“Fuck you, Daya.” Sierra pushed past a few people that were in the way, and made her way out of the V.I.P area. It took absolutely everything in her power to not go off, but she refused to give Daya the satisfaction by stooping down to her level. The last thing she needed was to cause a scene involving the man she just started working for.

Roman’s jaw clenched as he stood up turning to face Daya,“Get the fuck out.”

“Roman, are you serious right now?” She scoffed, with a look of disbelief carved on her face.

His frustration was beginning to reach a new level. At this point, he was wondering if he needed to fucking spell it out for her. He took a deep breath, his tone low and agitated, “Daya, I’m not going to fucking repeat myself. Leave.”

Before Roman could even process what the hell was happening, Daya slapped him as hard as she could and stormed out. The twins, who were now clearly tipsy, seemingly popped up out of nowhere with dumb ass smiles on their faces. “Damn, she slapped the shit out of you,” Jimmy chuckled. 

Roman rolled his eyes and sat back down. 

“You wanna talk about it, uce?” Jey asked, while sliding in the booth next to him.

“Nah, I’m good.” Roman poured himself a second drink, in attempt to calm himself down. After a few minutes he eventually broke the silence, “Have y’all seen Sierra?”

Jimmy shrugged his shoulders, “Last I saw, she was talking to Naomi and Jordan.”

At that, Roman instantly tensed again, his hand gripped his drink tightly as he slowly took a sip. 

He stood up, setting his drink down harshly on the table, “Fuck that.” 

Roman had no right or reason to be pissed, he knew that. 

But, it didn’t change the fact that he fucking was. 

Seeing the way Sierra was dancing with Naomi’s brother, Jordan, had his blood boiling. His jaw tightened as he watched the way he pressed her body against his as she slowly began to grind on him.

Seconds of watching this bullshit, to him felt like an eternity. The more time that passed, the more he felt his temper rise.

Roman wasn’t fucking stupid. He’d seen on more than one occasion the way Jordan looked and interacted with Sierra, it didn’t take a genius to know exactly what the fuck he wanted from her. 

He’d be dammed if he let it happen.

Jordan began to lead Sierra away, when she just so happened to look back and see him. It didn’t take much to notice he was furious. Roman walked towards her grabbing her arm, while completely disregarding Jordan’s presence, “C’mon, we’re leaving.”

What the fuck? Sierra pulled back slightly hesitant, “Roman, what the hell are you doing?” 

Jordan walked past Sierra, “Last I checked, Sierra isn’t on the clock, Roman. You can talk to her any other time, not tonight.”

Roman smiled to himself  before stepping right in front of him, “Does it look like I was fucking talking to you?”

Sierra had been around Roman long enough to know that if she didn’t deescalate the situation, things would only take a turn for the worse. She pulled Roman by the arm, creating distance between the two, “Roman, that’s enough.”

Jordan focused his attention back on her, “Sierra, don’t tell me you’re actually going with this bitch.”

She studied Roman, who now looked like he was practically milliseconds away from swinging on Jordan. 

She had never seen him this mad before, and to be completely honest…. she hated the fact that it was slightly turning her on. Not to mention, the way he made a simple black shirt and dark jeans, look so fucking good, it was almost distracting. 

That was besides the point. 

Roman didn’t even give her a chance to respond to Jordan, because before she knew it, he had her by the arm again, guiding her away from the crowd.

How in the hell he actually managed to find a quiet, empty dressing room, was beyond her.

Sierra leaned against the vanity mirror as she waited for him to speak. One thing she knew for damn sure, was that he’d better have a good fucking explanation for the shit he just pulled.

His deep voice cut through the quiet room, “Want to tell me what the hell you were thinking?”

Although Sierra wasn’t initially sure why exactly Roman was so pissed off in the first place, she most definitely wasn’t expecting this. “Excuse me?”

“You may not see it, but I do. Jordan doesn’t care about you, Sierra. He just wants to fuck you.”

The professionalism she was trying so hard to keep, was starting to go out the window, “He’s my friend, Roman. And why should I even have to explain anything to you, of all fucking people?”

Roman’s eyebrows furrowed, “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

She scoffed while crossing her arms, “Did I ever complain to you, when I had to deal with the rude ass bitch you sleep with?”

“Sierra, how was I supposed to know, if you never told me? I know now, so I handled it, you don’t have to worry about her anymore.”

“Roman, I appreciate that. But, it doesn’t mean you have the right to tell me what to do.”

“Sierra, I don’t want you talking to him anymore.”

“Roman, you’re my boss, that’s it, nothing more. You don’t get to control who I can or can’t speak to.”

Roman stepped closer towards her. She felt her breath hitch in her throat as his huge frame towered over her. The scent of his cologne lingered in the air surrounding her.

“If i’m just your boss, why do you think of me when you touch yourself?”

“W—What?” Sierras eyes widened, she could feel her heart begin to pound out of her fucking chest.

A small smirk formed on his face, “Hotel walls are pretty thin, sweetheart.” Roman slightly dipped his head down, his lips now hovering over her ear, “I could hear the way moaned my name as you came.”

The embarrassment Sierra was feeling was indescribable. Memories of that drunken night, were almost a blur. What started out as something as simple as getting drinks with Naomi, ended in her going back to the hotel tipsy, pleasuring herself to the thought of him. 

She was speechless.

Never in million years, did she even consider the possibility he could actually hear her. 

And as humiliating as this was, she couldn’t help but to be distracted as she felt his bulge slightly pressing against her. Roman ran his thumb across her cheek, “Just give me the word, beautiful.”

The effect he had on her was powerful, such a simple touch, sent chills down her spine. Sierra nervously bit her bottom lip as she nodded yes. 

He smiled as he slid his fingers behind her hair, wasting no time in pulling her in for a kiss. His thick lips felt so soft and warm, she melted into him. Roman kissed her with such tenderness and passion, she felt her knees weaken.

“Shit,” Sierra’s breath became unsteady when he began to slide his hands down her body, gripping her ass as he pressed her against him, his hard erection practically poking her. She threw her head back as he began to kiss and suck on her neck, “Been wanting to kiss you, since the day I met you.”

Roman’s hand began to travel down to the delicate spot between her legs, a light moan escaped her as his fingers grazed over her soaked fabric.

“Shit, you’re so wet,” his lips found hers again as he unzipped her outfit. Roman stared at her body in awe. He could tell she was shy. If only she knew, she practically had his mouth watering.

He picked her up, hoisting her on his hips, “You’re beautiful, Sierra.” She looked at him with that pretty smile of hers, “Says you.” 

He carefully set her down on the vanity, proceeding to slide her panties down, her moist folds instantly made his dick twitch. 

“I want you to keep your eyes on me,” Roman got on his knees and put Sierra’s legs over his shoulders, he watched her reaction as his tongue made contact with her clit. Using his fingers to spread her folds, he began to eat her out like there was no tomorrow.

“Oh fuck,” Sierra’s moans instantly filled the room as Roman devoured her. His tongue licked and flicked her cunt, as if he was starving.

His grip on her thighs was tight, making sure she didn’t squirm away as his overly talented tongue worshipped her. 

“Fuck, you taste so good,” Roman began to unbuckle his belt, pulling down his jeans and briefs. Sierra’s eyes widened in shock, hell, disbelief, as his monstrous dick sprung free. 

Seconds later, Roman was back on his knees with his mouth on her drenched pussy. Her fingernails held on to his messy bun, as she slowly began to grind her pussy on his face. 

“Shit, just like that. You’re doing so good for me,” he praised. And as if things couldn’t get any fucking better, she watched as he began to stroke himself. Roman’s light grunts and moans as he teased and played with her clit, had her seeing stars.

“Fuck, Roman i’m—”

“I know, baby. Come for daddy.”

Sierra squirmed against his mouth as her orgasm took over. Her back arched as Roman continued to lap her swollen cunt, not letting a single drop of her cum go to waste.

He stood back up, his lips quickly found hers again. Their kiss was sloppy and sensual, she moaned as she tasted herself on his tongue. 

Roman gently picked her up and set her down, “Turn around.” Sierra quickly obliged, facing the vanity mirror, she watched him as he went to grab a condom from his jeans.

“Tell me if it’s too much, okay?” He waited for her nod of approval before he slowly began to sink his thick tip inside of her.

“Fuck,” Roman’s eyes shut as her tight, wet opening, welcomed him. His hands gripped her waist as he began to thrust inside of her.

“You good?” 

“Shit, yes…” The stretch of him was unfamiliar, yet, felt so good. Sierra took a deep breath as his big dick went deeper, her back arched as he slowly slammed into her.

“Fuck, Sierra, you’re so tight,” Roman watched her mouth fall open the moment he began to quicken the pace. He started pounding into her relentlessly, her loud moans only fueled his motivation.

“You look so pretty taking this dick,” Sierra proceeded to throw her ass back on him, attempting to meet his thrust. 

“Promise me, you won’t let him fucking touch you again…”

Sierra nodded, clearly too fucked out to speak.

Roman craned her neck back, by gently tugging her hair, “Nah baby, I want you to use your words.”

“I-I promise.”

He smirked, “Good girl.”

Sierra’s pussy felt like ecstasy to him. The way her ass bounced against him, had him on the verge of nutting. She was close too, he could feel it. Roman kept one hand on her waist as the other reached in front of her to play with her clit. 

“Oh, fuck!” Sierra threw her head back as her pleasure took over. The way her pussy clenched around his dick as she came, made him follow immediately after her. His seed emptied into the condom as his body jerked against hers. 

Roman turned Sierra to face him, he gently moved a few hair strands that were blocking her sight and kissed her. Their kiss grew so needy, to the point they weren't even giving each other a chance to breathe.

As more time passed, they eventually had to pull away from each other and get dressed. Roman chuckled to himself as he saw she was slightly struggling with her outfit. He walked behind her and assisted her by pulling up her zipper.

She smiled, “Thanks.”

As they went to exit the room Roman reached his hand out to grab hers, leaving her slightly stunned.

It’s almost as if he sensed her initial hesitation, “Come with me.” 

She placed her hand in his as he guided her out the club. 

Deep down, Sierra knew fucking her boss would more than likely end badly. The only way a situation like this could end, would be in heartbreak. 

But the way he made her feel tonight was more than she’d ever experienced in a lifetime.

In her mind, or maybe just in this moment, she decided it was a risk she was willing to take.

[multifandomfanatic02]

"You Don't Own Me."

pairing : Alastor x overlord!reader

summary : A new overlord has came to play in Hell, you. Alastor took notice in how many souls you've accrued in such a short time. He has to let you know where you stood in the overlord hierarchy, however things don't go the way he originally planned.

warnings : slight blood play ig? Idk. Author trying to edge the reader :)) not proofread

word count : 900

You hadn't been in Hell for long but it felt as if you belonged. It didn't take long before you started catching the hearts of the sinners. A lot happily giving up their souls to simply breathe the same sulfuric air as you. The way you used these souls was unique. You weren't mean or evil in anyway shape or form. In fact, you were often seen as an inspiration.

The overlords in Pentagram City were a different story. None of them liked the way you shot up the hierarchy without even trying. Instilling fear was what got them where they were at and they weren't going to give up their seat to a goody-two-shoes like you. Your methods interested one overlord in particular, Alastor. Despite literally being stuck in the past, he was quite the open-minded demon.

He didn't know whether or not to applaud you or challenge you. Your talent would be useful. He wanted you for himself. And for years he fought to claim your soul and make a deal. And not once out of the hundreds of proposals did he convince you it was a good idea. The two of you slowly started to develop a strange relationship. Nothing romantic but there was definitely tension. While he didn't own your soul, you were often in each other's company.

It was like mutualistic relationship. He staved off the overly pushy overlords constantly offering you a job; jobs that would obviously make you uncomfortable. In turn, you offered your assistance in a lot of his business. It came with pros and cons like any other agreement. He was extremely possessive of you. You were treated like precious property. You had enough. There was no reason for this behavior. Typically it didn't bother you, but something snapped.

"Alastor. You do not own my soul. I'm not property that you can toy with. I should be allowed to go wherever I please." You crossed your arms in frustration hearing him explain why he didn't want you in the Vees territory.

"Darling, you know I hold you with upmost respect. It's got nothing to do with you being property. I understand you are immune to Vox's hypnosis spell. It's not him I'm worried about. My worry is of Vox's plaything, Valentino." He gripped your wrist, leaning ever so slightly to place a kiss on your knuckles. "Understand that you are a sight to behold in the entirety of Hell. Valentino, is not honorable in his job as I, my dear. Without the proper protection, you might as well be an easy target." His breath ghosted your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

It's like he forgot who you were, what you were capable of. It was time to show him how that talent of yours has affected him over time. And trust when you say, it did.

"Oh Alastor, I think you forget as to how I became an overlord in the first place. The feminine charm that you oh so fear backfiring on me is why you have been by my side after all these years." You wrapped your fingers around his bow tie, pulling him down to your level. An enchanting smile creeping up on your face as Alastor's expression glitched out from the bold action. The other hand running through his hair making him let out a soft purr. His eyes focused on yours trying to determine your next move before you could decide.

To his surprise, you gently pressed your lips against his. His head was dizzy with confusion and guilty enjoyment. Your lips trailed down his neck, biting down a bit. Enough for his blood to trickle down. Your hands were now trading between playing with his hair and drawing small circles on the back of his neck. Your lips returned to his, smearing the blood from your tongue as if it were a beautiful crimson lipstick. The poor guy was so touch starved, he gave in to the sudden intrusion of affection. He couldn't do anything but allow you to press his buttons.

Your tongue ran over your lips, swallowing whatever blood was left on them. You took a step back to view the obvious mess you've made. Alastor's eyes were dazed as if he was in another world. His face beet red nearly matching the color of his suit. It was such an unusual sight to see on him. And you managed to do it.

"My my, Alastor, you look like you would be willing to sell me your soul just readingthe look on your face." You held your hand to your lips to cover the laugh attempting to escape. "How the tables have turned, dear." A joke of course, he would never actua-

"Yes." His ears dropped to the back of his head, still standing at your level. No sign of humor on his face.

"I'm sorry, what?" You blinked dumbfounded, mouth agape.

"I will give you my soul, but only if I'm the only one to experience that from you." Your face flushed from his proposal. Alastor had actually submitted to you because of a single kiss? But it wasn't JUST a kiss to him. It forced out desires he had been holding in for a long time. Now more than ever was he determined to have you be his. It didn't matter as to how anymore.

"You've got yourself deal, Al."

a/n: I know this one is short, it was more of an experiment because of a dream that I had. However if you like this concept, I'd be more than happy to build upon it in the future.

[thehandsresisthim]

“headcanon and small drabble: Simon + Johnny as your subs”

contains: smut, dom!fem!reader x sub!Johnny x sub!Simon, femdom, toys (vibrator in soap lol), cbt mentioned ig, not exactly realistic depictions of how a relationship would start but eh it’s more abt the porn isn’t it

word count: ~700

⋆｡♡ ˚ thinkin’ abt Simon and Johnny, who slowly fall for each other, but both of ‘em are subs

⋆｡♡ ˚ at first, Simon thinks that someone as cocksure and impulsive as Johnny would be a good dom, a natural dom, effortlessly dishing out commands

⋆｡♡ ˚ at first, Johnny thinks that Simon must be a dom, with his brooding personality and mask, surely, a guy like Simon would be a stern dom, just what his bratty ass needs

⋆｡♡ ˚ but then they get closer, and slowly start to notice the others subbiness, and come to an understanding, essentially barking commands at each other, but secretly wanting to be ordered around, cocks rutting against each other as the both of them drool, no one in charge of the other, just horny, pathetic messes

⋆｡♡ ˚ enter you: laswell’s new assistant or somethin’, a pretty, confident woman - effortlessly strutting about in your heels, tight blouse showing your figure, ordering the both of them around whenever they interact with lasswell for whatever purpose idk

⋆｡♡ ˚ Simon immediately notices the air of dominance around you, the way you command respect, and he couldn’t be more grateful for the mask to hide his blush as he imagines you pushing him around with your high-heeled feet.

⋆｡♡ ˚ Johnny takes a moment longer to warm up to you, ashamed of his feelings, - he’s together with Simon, for god's sake - but when Simon makes an offhand comment about what a good domme you’d be, he whines and agrees

⋆｡♡ ˚ cue one evening, you’re exhausted from a long day, nothing going as planned, as you walk back to your place, and the both of them stand in front of your door

⋆｡♡ ˚ at first, you almost have a heart attack - being a confident woman working your job, some men take it as a challenge, so you’re immediately worried about them hurting you or something - but not Johnny and Simon. they roughly whine out what they want from you, mumbling about their fantasies, no shame present.

“mmh… bonnie, bet ya’ wouldn’t hesitate to push me ‘round, yeah, but m’ in ma’ place n’ everythin’”

“i’d be good, luv, promise, always doin’ what you want.”

⋆｡♡ ˚ you sigh, absolutely not prepared for these two fools, but reluctantly let them inside, and they immediately get to convincing you to dom ‘em, blabbering out pleas

⋆｡♡ ˚ until you snap your fingers, ordering them to kneel - and they do.

⋆｡♡ ˚ perhaps those two might be worthy servants after all.

Simon glares at the other man. Boyfriend or not, right now, he’s pissed at him.

Johnny isn’t even kneeling properly. When Simon kneels, like right now, he keeps his hands on his thighs, and his head down. Because you’re his Queen, his everything, and Simon would rather die than show you disrespect.

The dumb mutt, however? He’s drooling all over himself, not even sitting properly. Sure, he has a vibrator nestled against his prostate, and you’re controlling the vibrations via an app on your phone, but Simon knows that he could hold still and sit pretty even during such torture.

Johnny’s slurring out begs and whines, twitching and twisting back and forth. “‘s- too much-“ he whimpers, and Simon narrows his eyes further.

He could do way better. But, it’s up to you, in the end - this is another case where he is simply the better choice. Simon always respects your decisions! If he’s not cumming, or cumming again and again, or wearing a humbler and crawling beneath your feet - he listens. Because begging for something else would be to go against his Queen's divine plan.

You reach forward and gently pet Simon’s head. He smiles as he relishes the affection, but his smile broadens as he hears Johnny’s complaints as you increase the vibrations.

“Hah- fuck y-you- ‘s no’ fair!” the Scot whines out as he trembles, obviously struggling with the intense vibrations.

“Do I have to gag you, mutt?” you ask, and he frantically shakes his head. Simon allows himself a full-blown grin.

thank you for reading!! my master list is here ❤️

my bdsm headcanons for soap can be found here 💕

my bdsm headcanons for ghost can be found here 💕

[ldydeath]

Crayon | Kwon Ji-yong (G-Dragon)

BIGBANG APRIL CHALLENGE - APRIL 26TH

Summary: You and Jiyong agree to match your hair the same color but when yours turns out horribly wrong, Jiyong takes matters into his own hands to make sure you aren't the only one with a crazy hair color. Word Count: 1.4k Warnings: established relationship, fluff. idk, kissing? Author's Note: Here's April 26th's fic. This is just a cute little fluffy fic.

It was one of those Saturdays where you had nothing to do and nowhere to go so you and Jiyong had camped out in the living room all day.  A blanket fort had been constructed and an abnormal amount of movies had been watched while bunk food had been consumed. It was a perfect day. 

You were currently curled up in the blanket fort, legs tangled together as The Truman Show played. You’d lost count of how many times you’d seen the movie, it being Jiyong’s favorite it was constantly on rotation. You sat up suddenly, a grin on your face as your turned to face Jiyong.

“We should do something fun!” 

“Okay?” He sat up, brows raised. “Like what?”

“We should dye our hair.” Jiyong laughed at your suggestion and shook his head.

“You know I can’t because of work.”

“Oh ok.” You shrugged laying back down. “I just thought it would be cute to match is all. What if we just did mine?”

Jiyong looked over at you, a smirk on his face as he stood up. His hand reached out to assist you up and you took it, the grin still on your face.

“Let’s see what boxed dyes I have.”

He led you through the house towards the bathroom. His hair stylist was going to kick him tomorrow for using a boxed dye on his hair but that was a risk he was willing to take. He’d do anything for you, including frying his hair. He pulled all the dyes out and placed them on the counter, standing back to look them all over. His chin resting in his hands as he thought over the choices. 

“I have two whites, if you still want to match.” He walked over to them, holding them up and you nodded. 

“Really?" You grinned and he nodded. "White hair it is!” 

You took turns putting the dye in each other's hair and moved back to the living room to get cozy as you waited for the timer to go off. It was silly to want to match him in this way, but it was something you hadn’t done before. Matching clothes, matching tattoos, matching piercing, yes. Matching hair would just make your relationship all the more cute and you couldn’t wait to take a million pictures when it was done. 

“I’m so excited!” You squealed as you checked the timer. 

Jiyong smiled at you, his eyes flicking to your hair. The color setting was definitely not white, but he didn’t have the heart to ruin this for you, not yet.  The timer went off and Jiyong led you wordlessly to the bathroom, he helped you out of your clothes, before stripping himself and turning on the shower. 

A shower may be the most unnecessary way to rinse the dye out but it was definitely the more fun option. He gulped as you stepped into the water, your eyes flicking to the pool of pink and you turned to face him. Before you could even question it, his lips were on yours in a gentle kiss. You sighed into the kiss, your arms wrapping around him, the hair dye dripping down your bodies. If he was attempting to make you forget that you weren’t going to match him he was doing a pretty good job. He broke the kiss to leave a trail of kisses down your neck, to your collarbone.

“You’re perfect.” He whispered against your skin. 

“So are you.” You shivered under the water and Jiyong took that as his sign to get you out of the shower.

He turned the water off and grabbed your towel, wrapping one around your body tightly before taking a smaller one to dry your hair.

“You sure it looks ok?” He nodded at you.

“You’re so gorgeous. I’m sorry we don’t match.” 

“It’s fine, at least you have the white again. I’ve always liked that look on you.” You shrugged.

Jiyong handed you your robe and waited for you to slide it on before putting his on as well. He led you back out to the living room, sat you down on the couch and pulled you into his arms as he hit play on the movie. 

You knew it was silly to be upset over having pink hair. You could always change it tomorrow or just let it fade away. You didn’t have to match him with the hair color. It was probably too much anyway. You’d end up hating it in a week. With the pink you were practically guaranteed three colors in one as it faded.

His fingers playing with the ends of your hair, a smile on his face. It may not have been what you wanted, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done something like this without permission. It was freeing, even if it was just some hair dye. He always had to get things approved, make sure it fit whatever theme the whole group had going on. But right now, with you at his side, he didn’t care if what he did matched the guys. He just wanted to match you. 

“I’ll be right back.” He moved to get out from under you, disappearing through the back of the apartment. 

Once he was sure you hadn’t followed him, he pulled out two more boxes, reading them over carefully. Maybe you didn’t rock the white the way you’d wanted to but he could fix this. He covered his hair in blue dye and sat on the kitchen sink, waiting for the timer to go off. He rinsed his hair carefully and dried it, praying you wouldn’t come check on him. 

“Ji?” You called from down the hall.

“Yeah?” He poked his head out of the bathroom to hear you better, his hearing ruined by years of not wearing popper ear protection on stage. 

“What are you doing?”

“Oh. Nothing. Iye fell in the sink.” He closed his eyes as the lie slipped out. He had no idea where the cat was. “I’ll be right there.”  You raised a brow, looking down at the cat in your lap.

“Okay?” You weren’t going to question whatever he was doing. 

He shut the door, picking up the pink dye and carefully applied it to the ends of his hair. Once the dye had sat, he rinsed it out, looking over his hair carefully, pleased with the outcome. It was a little crazy, but he didn’t mind it. At least he’d match you. His hair might fall out tomorrow from all the dye, but if it made you smile for tonight it was worth it. He could always go out and buy a wig. 

“What do you think?” He spun around as he entered the living room and you let out a snort. He blinked when he saw Iye resting in your lap. Of course that’s where the cat had been the entire time. Smooth. 

“You look ridiculous.” God. You loved that man so much. Jiyong knelt down, a smile on his face as he leaned in to peck your lips. 

“Just What I was going for.” He paused, “Hi Iye.” 

Iye looked up unamused and hopped down off your lap, Jiyong moved to pull you back to the blanket fort - you happily obliged as you cuddled up next to him. It wasn’t full pink but it would work. You knew he had to be careful about his hair colors for work anyway, and him even agreeing to it had been a miracle. You leaned up, pecking his check and he smiled, his arms wrapping around you tighter. 

“Thank you for doing this.” He looked down at you and shrugged. 

“You know I’d do anything for you.” 

His hand moved to rest under your chin, tilting her face up slightly and his lips brushed over yours gently. You smiled as your mouth moved with his and your hand moved to rest on his cheek as you turned on your side to get more comfortable. You could spend the rest of the night doing just this with no complaints. But you both had to come up for air sometime plus Jiyong had an early call time in the morning. 

With a reluctant sigh, Jiyong led you to your shared room and cuddled into you in bed, watching as you fell asleep. To him, you were the most perfect person in the world. It didn't matter to him what color your hair was. He was just glad he could bring you some joy with his own color choice. He’d worry about work when he got there and if they didn’t like his hair, that was on them. He was going to keep this for as long as you wanted. It was the least he could do.

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[strawbairicake]

boyfriend supremacy- various hsr men x reader (separate!)

warnings: none!

word count: 773

author’s note: special thank you to @sqgeism for letting me use one of her ideas she previously wrote about (putting it here!)! this is slightly different from her idea but you get the idea! unlike Sage, i in fact, do not have the mental fortitude to write for like 20 male characters in one part (Sage my goat!)! so enjoy these 6 in particular and let me know if you’d like part 2 with someone in particular! hope you enjoy! <3

tagging: @threnodians, @m1ckeyb3rry, @unriding, @cmiru, + @vyyper! 

Dr. Ratio: 

Veritas is the type of boyfriend who stays on the side closest to the road. if anything comes towards either one of you, it’s hitting him before you. no questions asked. 

Veritas is the type of boyfriend who reads books out loud to you if you struggle to fall asleep. he knows better than you do if you’re having a restless night and he pulls out his books without complaint. 

Veritas is the type of boyfriend who assists you with packing your lunches and puts in motivational notes when you’re not looking. you don’t tell him but it’s your motivation to get through the day.

Aventurine:

Aventurine is the type of boyfriend who stays up late with you gossiping about the latest work drama. he insists you HAVE to stay in the loop. you tell him everything while doing skincare together. 

Aventurine is the type of boyfriend who gives you small trinkets for no apparent reason. you never find out how expensive said trinkets are, though. 

Aventurine is the type of boyfriend who tells you “my money is your money” but in a way you don’t feel pressured to spend his money. want to save and invest it? he’s teaching you how. want to spend it all and show him what you got? he’s all for it, anything to make you happy. 

Moze:

Moze is the type of boyfriend who gifts you little trinkets. specifically small keychains or things of that size. he’s like a crow with his gifts. but he’s determined to impress you. 

Moze is the type of boyfriend who walks you back at night when it’s dark and scary out. he makes sure no harm comes to you. he’s a force to be reckoned with— he’s also your big scary dog privileges, he makes you feel safe and secure. 

Moze is the type of boyfriend who sleeps closest to the door. if anyone comes in the house, they’re getting to Moze first. he’s a light sleeper and will know before anyone else who’s here and who’s not. he’s going to keep you safe no matter what. 

Jiaoqiu:

Jiaoqiu is the type of boyfriend who always prepares foods for you. he adjusts the spice level to your preference and is always mindful of sensitivities to seasonings or allergies you may have. 

Jiaoqiu is the type of boyfriend who lets you play with his ears and tail. the areas are very sensitive, but he trusts you with his life. this is the least he could let you do since you take such good care of him. 

Jiaoqiu is the type of boyfriend who lets you fidget with his hands when you’re nervous. even though he can’t see, he can tell when you’re beside him and nervous. he is always calm and lends you his hands to fidget with until you feel better.

Mydei:

Mydei is the type of boyfriend who uses your lack of the Kremnoan language to his benefit. you’ll catch him saying something under his breath, but when you ask him about it, he lies and said it meant something bad. the twitch in his slight smile as he tells you this gives him away. 

Mydei is the type of boyfriend who bakes and cooks for you. it’s his love language, really. you’re always blown away at how good his treats and food are. 

Mydei is the type of boyfriend who buys you matching jewelry. he sees you eye his neck piece (idk guys is that a necklace?) and buys you a sapphire necklace because “it would look best on you”. he’s really thoughtful, he just won’t admit it.

Phainon:

Phainon is the type of boyfriend who can always tell when you’re not happy. it’s like a sixth sense you have. whether it’s anxiety, depression or just sadness, he knows better than you do. he also makes sure to get out of a setting or place if he senses you want to leave.

Phainon is the type of boyfriend who never pressures you outside of your comfort zone. don’t want to order food at a restaurant because of anxiety? no worries, he has your order memorized. he saves you the hassle of doing something you don’t want to. but he will be your biggest supporter if you do want to venture out of that safe zone.

Phainon is the type of boyfriend who knows everything and anything about you. he memorizes all of your favorite things, favorite activities, animals, and more. he’ll always bring up something you said previously. he’ll say something along the lines of “i learned it for you” while staring at you while you were talking about something you’re passionate about.

©2025 strawbairicake. do not repost, copy, translate, modify, or use for AI.