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wosowrites · 8 months

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Good Girl (Ona Batlle x Reader)

warnings: smut, pr@ise k!nk

a/n: based off this request here and it is not proof read sorry.

prompt: in which it’s Ona and the readers first time sleeping together so the reader gets really nervous, resulting in Ona taking over and showing her dominant side.

You were extremely outgoing. You were the loudest in the changing rooms, the one who played the music, the first on the dance floor and the last to back down from a challenge. When you scored the opening goal or any goal during a tournament you made sure the whole stadium could hear your screams of joy. Your celebrations were famous throughout the women’s football community. So that’s why no one could have ever expected how absolutely nervous and almost submissive you were in bed.

When Ona found this out… she could not have been more pleased.

There had been some flirting between you and Ona for a year now. But it was very hard to tell what was just good old spanish friendliness and what was genuine romantic interest. The line was thin.

Ona would hold you close to her for long periods of time, guide you by your waist through crowds, kiss your cheek dangerously close to your lips, let her hand rest low on your hips and make a point of hugging you often when you were out on swim trips together. Nothing drove her more insane than the feeling of your skin on hers.

But neither of you had ever given in to your desires, both assuming the other wasn’t interested. You proved the other wrong in a hotel pool.

Manchester was playing Aston Villa in London and Mark had decided to let the team have the day off in London so the team would be arriving 24 hours before the game, spending the night at a hotel and then having a quick morning training session before the 3:00 pm game.

You all walked London, checking out landmarks and eating strongly mediocre food. Although your english was flawless and you barely had an accent, you were french Canadian and had played in France so you often missed the food in France.

By 9:00 most girls were lying in bed as instructed, but because you were rooming by yourself this time around due to an un even number of people there was no one to tell you to stay in bed. So, you slipped your bathing suit on and headed to the roof where there was a pool.

You loved swimming, especially in London spring. It was chilly and the water, cold as well, made your body feel good and helped you forget about every worry and unwelcome thought in your head.

You climbed to the roof, happy to see it deserted. You threw your towel to the side and then dived into the deep end. You loved the water so much because when you were around water during your childhood, it was one of the rare times you were happy. You let the water consume you and wash away your thoughts. You thoughts of tomorrows game, thoughts of the fight against Canada Soccer, thoughts of Ona…

But the second your brain wandered to Ona you couldn’t help it. When Ona was in your brain, so was her body. The way her hand we’re carved out to perfection, the shape of her chest under her training top and the way her arms flexed when she took shots.

All these thoughts ran through your head in only a couple seconds and then you emerged out of the water.

"Night swim?" a voice asked while your eyes were still closed due to you recently emerging from the water.

"Holy crap. Do not sneak up on me like that!" you squealed, opening your eyes and pushing your hair back and away from your face. "Sorry chica," Ona said with a wink.

You swam towards her to the edge of the pool, crossing your arms on the deck and looking up at her. The spaniard slipped off her shorts and hoodie, revealing her abs, arm muscles and tattoos. You stared to say the least until Ona snapped her fingers in front of your face, making you blush. "Sorry," you mumbled. "Don’t apologize, I’m looking at you too," she said, dipping her feet into the pool.

It was hard to tell with the young defender, hard to know what was flirting and what was just classic Ona.

"The waters really nice," you said to her, pushing your feet against the wall and gliding on your back, away from Ona and into the shallow end.

You held eye contact with the brunette, until a glow came across her face. "How much trouble do you think we would get in if we skinny dipped?" Ona said, walking around the pool towards you.

"Skinny dipping?!" you shrieked, taken aback and sounding a little more childish and stuck up than you wanted. You wanted the spaniard to think of you as being fun and loose. "Yeah y/l/n," she answered with a playful smirk. "Well. Jeez I think we’d get in a lot of trouble," you answered with a concerned frown on your face. "So you’re saying you wouldn’t like it?" Ona said, pushing a little further.

She had never seen this side of you before. You were always loud, energetic, and borderline agressive. This? This was different.

"No! I mean. No. I-yes. Yes I would like it," you blushed, starting to head into Ona’s direction.

She watched you with unblinking eyes as you swam up to her and stood up in the shallow end. Ona sat down with her toes in the water and spread her legs slightly for you to stand between, focusing on the small piece of cloth keeping you decent. "There aren’t any cameras, I asked," Ona said to you, looking up from your chest and into your eyes. "Something about not violating the privacy of the clients. Hotel policy," she added. "Mhm," you said softly, looking up into Ona’s eyes.

Your angle gave her a perfect view of you. Your wet hair, your sparkling body decorated with droplets of water. "You look beautiful," Ona said softly, just barely audible over the sound of the street below and your racing heart. "Where is all of this coming from?" you said softly, suddenly avoiding eye contact with her. "It’s coming from the fact that you are beautiful. Not just right now but always. And I may have had a drink and one drink Ona is extremely confident," she said, using her index to lift your chin.

The spaniard was now sitting on the edge of the pool with only a red bathing suit on to cover her up. Her stomach was toned and her arms were strong. Not in a threatening way, just in a hot way.

"No cameras, you said?" you whispered, your voice a hushed sound. "No cameras," she said, leaning back and subtly flexing her abdominals.

You were still standing between her legs and you gently placed your hands on her thighs, digging your nails into them softly and surely leaving little crescents on her skin. She didn’t even flinch.

Ona sat up straight and then stood up, giving you a look to follow her. You pushed yourself out of the pool and stood facing the slightly taller girl.

Her eyes were dark and hungry, but also warm and welcoming. She had always had that contrast. The one of always being alert and the one of being laid back. It was a strange mix.

The spaniard turned around and moved her loose hair out of the way, brining it to lie on her front. You saw that the back of her suit was tied by a string and slowly, with shaking hands, you lifted them up and grabbed both ends of the tie.

The way the strings fell apart freely and then slipped off Ona’s shoulder sent your body into over drive. You stood with your hands hovering over her bare back until she slowly turned around to face you. Your eyes brushed over her bare chest before landing on her eyes. "You’re beautiful. Tu est tellement parfaite." You told her adoringly. She smiled at you, a big toothy grin before slipping her thumbs under her bikini bottom and pulling it off.

You mimicked her, letting her unclasp the back of your bathing suit and then letting it fall to the ground. She put her hands on your waist and turned you around.

You felt like a ballerina.

A super gay, super secretly in love ballerina.

Ona slipped off your bottoms and then cupped your face gently. "Ready?" she asked you, her voice steady while you knew yours would be hectic. "Yeah," you let out.

Ona went in first, lowering herself to the pool and then turning to face you. You threw a worried glance behind your shoulder, half expecting someone to come in screaming at you both, but no one did. So, you walked down the stairs leading to the pool and pushed your way towards Ona. "I can’t believe we’re doing this," you laughed, avoiding eye contact with her. "I can’t believe your so shy. You’re usually loud and excited. Confident," she added.

"I’m not not confident… this is just new," you said, raising your head.

You gently placed your hands on Ona’s hips and rubbed your thumbs around her hip bone. The taller girl gently pulled you in by pushing your lower back closer to her. You moved your hands up from her hips to her ribs and then down to her ass. "Kiss me," you said to her, looking between her eyes and lips.

She did not have to be begged, within milliseconds her lips were trapped into yours, her hands had found shelter on your ass before slipping down to your thighs to pull your legs around her waist. You roughly kissed back, letting her hands roam your hair and using your abs to hold yourself up onto her. Ona’s hands traced every curve, every perfection, every part of yourself that you deemed an imperfection but she thought beautiful. You wrapped your arms loosely around her neck, playing with her baby hairs and scratching the back of her head with your nails. Ona took strides through the water to drop you onto the side of the pool, only separating your lips when necessary.

"Ona," you said to her tentatively as you sat on the poolside, avoiding her eyes. "Yes, mi amor," she said, holding you down gently by placing her hands on your thighs. "I’ve never… done this before," you said, thankful for the dark sky as your cheeks got flushed. "What do you mean? Sex? You’ve never had sex?" she asked, slightly shocked. "Ona! Of course I have," you groaned, pushing her slightly and making her send you a classic dazzling smile. "I mean something like this. In this setting. This is… daring," you told her. "Well then, you’re in luck pretty girl. Spaniards love the extra risk," she said.

Ona put her hand on your chest and pushed you down into a laying position. The taller girl bends your knees and places kisses on your thighs before spreading them to her liking. She took no time and gave you no warning before slipping a finger into you. You were already wet from her kissing you and un clothing you, your walls closing around her and making her laugh at you.

Ona pumped her middle finger into you, curling it from time to time and making you arch your back and try to grab on to the concrete desperately.

"Good god, look at you you’re doing such a good job, cariña," Ona praised.

Her words caught you off guard, your eyes flying open and a small smile forming on your face. Your hips bucked and your legs shook, partly from the oncoming orgasm and partly from the effect of her words. Ona chuckled at you as a wave of courage came over you.

"Ona. I need to come, touch me please," you begged her. "One thing at a time mi vida."

The defender made it seem as though she wouldn’t relieve you immediately, but how wrong you were. A couple seconds later, Ona had pulled out her fingers, leaving you with an uncomfortable empty feeling before pushing her face in between your legs. The brunette swiped her tongue through your lips before harshly pressing it against your clit.

Your hips went flying off the surface, grinding into her head and pushing your wetness more and more into her face. She could have gotten high off your smell and the way you slapped your hand over your mouth to muffle the cries of her name.

Ona was clearly experienced, the girl finding the perfect balance of sweet spots praise, and pleasure. You never wanted her to stop.

But eventually, when the spaniard dragged her nails over your bare abs and then latched onto your nipple, there was nothing more you could do to elongate the feeling of her face between your legs. You came onto her shaking and crying out, feeling slightly embarrassed at how easily she had made you cum.

Your hands fell to your sides as your chest heaved heavily, the heat in your stomach slightly fading but the ache in between your legs still present.

You heard movement in the water and soon enough the naked brunette was towering over you. "You did such a good job pretty girl," she said, looking down at you with a teasing smirk.

You knew your face turned bright red when the heat in your stomach transferred to your face.

Ona held out her hand and you grabbed it happily, letting her pull you up. You weren’t on your feet long though as your legs gave out, making Ona grab you underneath the arms and hold you steady. "You okay?" she asked you lovingly, her eyes wide and concerned, hoping not to have hurt you. "Yes. More than, It’s just been a while and you’re…" you gave her a little 'you know' look and she smiled.

Despite being not so tall, she was strong. Before you knew it, you were being carried bridal style towards picnic tables on the pool deck. You rested your head on Ona’s chest and closed your eyes for a couple seconds before opening them. "Wait. I want too- to you. I’m not a pillow princesse," you said to her, looking up. "Another day amor you’re clearly tired," she answered.

The spaniard sat you onto the table and grabbed your towel, gently using it to wipe you down. You surely hadn’t realized how much love was in your eyes as she helped you get dressed into your bathing suit again, but she did. She noticed how dilated your pupils were and how your hands grazed her and held on to her every time she was near.

"Thank you," you told her, leading her to stand between your legs once she was clothed as well. Ona dipped her head and rested it on yours, rubbing her thumb on your cheekbones. You raised yours pull her in by the waist before tilting your head and kissing her sweetly.

#woso fic #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso #canwnt #espwnt #ona batlle #woso smut #man united #man united women’s

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taasgirl · 3 months

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physical

summary: as barcelona's newest physio, y/n's job becomes increasingly difficult through language barriers and awkward encounters; until the guide of a few players assist her in navigating Spanish life.

author's note: i am not a spainish speaker so please don't attack me because this is all translated.

NOT PROOF READ. Sorry if there are any mistakes lol

Why did I ever move here? Although Spain is gorgeous, I miss Sydney far too much. And to even consider applying for a job as physio for Barcelona, delusional. But here I am.

Notes in hand, I make my way through the main building, approaching a desk occupied by two women.

"Hola, en qué puedo ayudarte?" The blonde one says, skimming my casual attire. "Hola, hablo no espanol." The woman straightens her posture and repeats her question, but this time in English. "Hello ma'am, what can I help you with?"

A deep breath, and I begin speaking, "Hi, I'm here for the role as general physio - I'm Y/N L/N." Quickly, the woman begins typing into her computer, skimming blurbs of information until she finds what she needs. "Welcome to the club Y/N, please take a seat while I contact the head physio." I nod in response and take a seat facing towards the television.

After around five minutes, a man appears from the corridor. "Y/N, Que tal! Please follow me." I leave my seat and follow my new coworker, Beau Martine. "How are you finding Spain?" I pick up on a French accent, pleased to not be the only non-Spanish person. "Ah. it's definitely an adjustment for me." I pause before continuing. "I thought I'd pick up on the language a little easier but I guess that's something that'll improve while I'm here." Beau opens a door, allowing me in first.

"Take it from me, it does get easier." A smile quirked the man's face, instantly calming some of my worries.

We're in a small, but manageable room. "This is your office Y/N." I take a look around, it's nothing flashy, simply a desk with two chairs and a cabinet. "It definitely needs some decorating, but here you will be completing paperwork and doing general admin." He continues "Your programmes and duties will not be run in here, but further down the hall in the recovery room." Beau points to the door, signalling a further examination of the building.

Walking a few meters, we enter a large room. Already, there are two physios, a man and woman, massaging and rehabbing players. I smile at them before Beau introduces me. "Saludos, this is Y/N, our new physio." Before the two could introduce themselves, Beau speaks, "Maylin and Christos are our recovery coaches, both specialising in post surgery recovery." They smile at me, while still attentively helping their patients.

"Training begins soon, so we'll head out to the fields to supervise the boys."

Once we arrived at the ground, I could feel the eyes of a few players, obviously aware of my lack of Barcelona gear, confused by my presence. Now, more than anything, I am grateful that I don't need an introduction. I am so totally okay with just standing and observing.

While another coach directs the warm up, I evaluate the players, concluding how absolutely beautiful some of them are.

I would be lying if I said that I hadn't watched edits of the players before-hand. But to me, that was simply all research. Throughout the session, my gaze found it's way back to a certain player. A certain player whose aura mesmerised me. Pedri.

Sharp but smart moves were a constant by him, and I was in awe by his calmness on and off the ball.

With about twenty minutes left, a player fell to the ground with a high pitched yelp. Immediately engaging Beau and myself to his aide. Looking down, it was Ferran Torres. He clutched his knee in agony.

I put my hand on his knee, evaluating any type of inflammation. "Vamos Ferran, vamos a llevarte adentro" (Come on Ferran, let's bring you inside). Beau and I helped him up, ensuring no pressure was put onto his affected leg.

Making our way into the recovery room Beau says to me "He's all yours, work your magic Y/N." I smile appreciatively at him while we lay Ferran down. Soon enough it's just Ferran and I, and I can feel my heart beating erratically.

I've never been this nervous to evaluate an injury before, so why do I feel as if I'm about to vomit everywhere?

Ferran, now completely quiet looks up at me. "You new here?" I nod in response, praying that he won't speak to me in Spanish. "I'm Ferran." He holds his hand out for me to shake. "I'm Y/N." His smile fades when he remembers his pain.

While I assess his knee, he continues with conversation. "Are you American?" I look at him, slightly unamused. "Not at all. Australian born and raised." I touch his knee causing a groan. "I know this hurts, but you've hyper-extended your knee."

"Joder." His only response. As I search for ice, he breaks the silence again. "You know, a few of the guys out there were calling you pretty." I look at him, slightly blushing. "I think it was Balde who said he'd get injured just so he could talk to you." My eyebrows raise. For such serious athletes, they sure do have interesting perspectives.

"Well I guess I should be lucky to be in here with someone who is actually injured." Ferran looks towards me. "So if you're a graduate physio, how old are you?" Almost instinctively I reply, "Twenty. I did accreditations for university while I was still in high school, so I was able to graduate before my peers." Impressed, Ferran tilts his head. "Hm, you're similar to Pepi's age." The next sentenced he mumbled, although I could perfectly understand what he said. "Probably his type too." I look up, pretending not to hear his additional comment.

"Who's Pepi?" At that exact moment, two players had walked into the room. "Joder Ferran, what happened?" Alejandro had walked over to his friend and immediately diverted his walk when he saw me.

"Ella es igual de hermosa de cerca." (She's just as beautiful up close.) I smiled nervously, not understanding a single word. Ferran responded, making Pedri blush "Es el tipo de Pepi." (She's Pepi's type.)

I've never once envied people for speaking Spanish, more than I feel right now.

"Sorry for their interruption, they're just a little curious." Ferran had said, playfully pushing Pedri. "Ale, Pepi, this is Y/N she's the new physio." Suddenly Alejandro gripped his hammy.

"Fuck I think I tore it." Instinctively I rushed to him. I went to feel his leg before he and the rest of the boys began laughing. "Just kidding querida." I awkwardly laughed before placing ice on Ferran's leg.

Ferran, Pedri, and Alejandro continued to talked while I scribbled an outline of Ferran's recovery. It would involve consultation regularly, with physical therapy to assist his knee. Luckily he wouldn't need surgery, which meant he was my patient for the next few weeks.

Walking to Ferran, I explained his recovery process. He would be out for a few weeks and wouldn't be kicking a ball for at least another two. He attentively listened, and by the time I had outlined what we would do in our meetings, Pedri and Alejandro were lifting him up. I helped the boys out, while making my way to my office to write an article of review.

After writing a page or so, a loud knock came to my door. "Come in."

In walked the head coach, Xavi. "Please, have a seat." I signalled to the seat opposing my desk, allowing him to sit down.

"Lovely to meet you Y/N." He smiled at me. "I know this is your first day, but here we follow tight procedures in terms of injury reduction and recovery." I nodded, allowing him to continue. "To my understanding, Ferran has hyper-extended his knee. And according to him, you've already began a recovery plan." Wait, was I not meant to do that? Fuck I should've talked to Beau first.

"If you have a plan, I'd like to see it." I turned my computer to face him. He skimmed what I had written. "This is great. You should be proud." Unknown to him, I had written plenty of recovery plans for hyper-extended knees. This was second nature to me. "Do you mind forwarding it to me? Here I'll write my Email and number down so you can contact me."

Camp Nou. It was stunning. The crowd, the lights, the atmosphere. All of it. I sat on the bench, next to Beau and Maylin, watching the game closely, ready for any disturbances in play.

Ferran, still sidelined smiled at me occasionally, it was good to know that I had a friend. His recovery had been going well, however I hadn't allowed him to begin running yet, it would put too much of a strain on his body.

It was an incredible game, close between the two teams, however, Barca was victorious after the ninetieth minute. Xavi huddled staff and players into a circle, giving a quick talk before the players went to the showers.

"¡Qué juego! Jugaste de manera excepcional, estoy orgulloso de este equipo." (What a game, you played exceptionally, I'm proud of this team!) God I needed to brush up on my Spanish if I had any hopes of understanding anything here. I looked forward, locking eyes with Pedri.

His hair was wet with sweat, his cheeks an adorable shade of pink. We held eye contact through Xavi's short speech, and I couldn't help but blush at the attention. He was just so gorgeous. By the time Xavi had finished his speech everyone dispersed. Walking away, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning around, I realised it was Pedri.

"Hi." I shyly said. He smiled. God that smile was infectious. "Hey." We stood there for a few seconds until he began speaking. "A few of us are going out tonight to celebrate the win. I was wondering if you'd like to join us."

"Oh." I replied "I'm sorry but I'm going out tonight." It was true. I had agreed to go out for drinks with my barista. To me it was less of a date, and more of an attempt to make friends. "No problem. I'll see you around." He awkwardly walked away. I definitely just fucked up.

Once I had gotten home, I began getting ready for tonight. The barista, Elijah, was a fellow Australian, although he had been living in Spain for the past few years. I'd been going to the same cafe every morning since I landed in Barcelona, and once Elijah had picked up on my accent it was nothing but polite and short conversation about our hometowns.

Arriving at the bar, I found a seat right by the bartender. Now, I don't normally drink but today I wanted to let loose, I wanted to celebrate the success of my new job.

"I'll grab an old fashioned." The bartender nodded and began pouring my drink. Soon twenty minutes had passed and there had been no sign of Elijah. I pulled out my phone and began texting him, to no surprise there was no response.

As time passed, it became increasingly obvious that I had been stood up. After calling Elijah to no avail, I left the bar.

How shitty was that? To not even text and say that he couldn't make it... And especially considering that I am in a foreign country late at night. Classy.

Making my way through town, I noticed the flashing lights of a near by club. Similar to alcohol, I don't usually go clubbing, but with the amount that I've drunken tonight already, I deserve to at least check it out.

I get in easily and scope the crowd out. Lucky for me it's people mostly my age.

Walking up to the bar, I order a Margarita, swig the glass and walk onto the floor. The music was blasting a mix of Latin Pop and Old School Classics. Firstly my hips swayed, then my entire body. Soon enough I was dancing amongst plenty of people. All of which good looking.

After a solid ten minutes, I make my way out and successfully find an empty seat to relax for a few minutes. Fuck Elijah, this is already fifty times better then having a sophisticated chat over wine.

When I got back onto the floor, my shoulder was lightly tapped. I spun around. "Having fun?" My eyes focused on the figure in front of me. Then I realised who it was. Pedri.

Already tipsy, a shot of confidence sparked through me. "Oh my God! Pedri!" I hung my arms around his neck. "I'd much prefer to be out with you tonight." He looked down at me confused.

I began dancing while he stood their in shock "You're lucky you're a footballer because oh my you're a terrible dancer." I earned a chuckle as he placed his hands on my hips and began dancing with me.

"For a girl whose generally shy, I can't say that I'm surprised that alcohol loosens you up." I smack his shoulder. "Be polite! I'm pretty much your boss." He raised his eyebrows laughing to himself. "I don't think that's how it works Carino."

We continued to dance until we were interrupted by a loud voice and quickly removed our hands from each other's bodies.

"Y/N! My saviour!" For a split moment I sobered up and scolded Ferran. "You shouldn't be partying and dancing! You need to rest your knee otherwise you could end up more hurt."

"You crack me up, come on let's take a seat." I followed Ferran while Pedri followed me to the bar. We sat together, me between the two boys, and ordered our drinks.

"So, how was your little date tonight?" He nudged me. God I had forgotten that I told him about Eli.

"Uhh." I fiddled with my straw. "He was kinda a no show." Shocked, Ferran placed a sympathetic hand on my arm. "Trust me, baristas will never be someone's soulmate."

"Speaking from experience Fer?" Pedri chirped up. "Hmm something like that." Ferran responded.

"Hey Y/N, I want you to meet my girlfriend Sira, I think you two would make great friends." Ferran stood up to find his girlfriend, leaving Pedri and I alone.

Pedri looked at me and spoke. "Eres tan hermosa." I responded, rather annoyed with his choice to speak his native tongue. "Enough with everyone speaking Spanish here! Like okay I get it, you all have sexy accents and think it's romantic to converse with me in a language I don't understand. I'm getting lessons okay! It's just so hard to be here by myself." Soon enough tears began to stream down my face. I need to remember to stop drinking after my second glass.

Naturally, Pedri pulled me into a hug, allowing me to let all my frustrations out.

I didn't realise how upset I had become about my time here in Spain. Through the facade of cheap eats and my dream job, I forgot who I really was.

"I'm sorry for annoying you Carino. All I said was that you looked beautiful." I blushed, still not looking at him. "You see, I get nervous around pretty girls, and you happen to be the prettiest that I have ever seen." He knew exactly what to say to get my heart racing.

"I miss my home too. Especially my mother." At this I look up at him. He wipes the tears off my face with his thumb. "But I understand. You've come here all by yourself to work a new job without anyone supporting you. You're so strong." He smiled at me.

"I think we need to bring you home, I don't want you be late to work tomorrow." I sighed as he helped me out of my seat.

"Do you live nearby? I'm happy to walk you home." I accepted his offer.

Walking through the streets of Barcelona, Pedri made sure to explain his teammates and their personalities.

"Ale might just be the biggest flirt so don't mind him."

"Oh trust me, I can tell." I replied, still wandering through quiet lanes.

"And your best friend Ferran, he's a nutjob but such a good kid."

"Isn't he older than you?"

"Eh, to me he's a brother."

We began to approach my apartment. "This'll be me." I indicated towards the building. "Would you like me to walk you in?" I shook my head, not wanting to keep him out here any longer.

He grabbed my hand as we held eye contact. "Maybe we could do this again. I really enjoyed hanging out with you tonight. Even if it was a short amount of time." I smiled agreeingly.

Then it got quiet, we were both obvious to what should happen, so I leaned in. Immediately he took a step back.

Holy fuck he had just rejected me? Sweet talk all night and now he wouldn't even kiss me??

He looked down at me. "I'll see you tomorrow." I smiled awkwardly and took a step back.

God Spanish men weren't for the fainthearted.

"Are you okay Y/N." Looking up from my clipboard, Ferran was in my eyesight. "Yup, just slightly hungover."

"I heard a certain someone followed you home." He smirked while lying down on my physio bed. "Ha ha very funny." I sarcastically responded.

I began to unwrap the tape on his knee, making sure to not pull too aggressively. "I never got to introduce you to my girlfriend. Here let me find a photo to show you."

"Not now Ferran. Just let me do this." I snapped at him.

It had been two and a bit weeks since he originally injured his knee, and in my eyes, he was ready to begin training with the squad again, however with restrictions to ensure his safety.

"What's wrong doc?" He asked me, genuinely concerned.

"I'm just a little on edge." Continuing, "I don't know, I think I pissed Pedri off." Ferran laughed. "Yeah trust me you didn't." Sighing, I began to feel around Fer's knee. "You're all good to train." His face lit up. "Seriously!?" He was ecstatic. "You'll be doing a strict 15 minutes training to 5 minutes rest tempo. And no tackles yet. I'll talk to Xavi."

Ferran rose and gave me a huge kiss on my cheek. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I smiled at him, happy for him to be returning.

Once he left, I headed into my office, writing an integration plan for Ferran, to give to Xavi. My door was wide open, and in walked Gavi.

I hadn't really spoken to him much before so I was slightly confused as to why he was in my office. "Hey sorry to interrupt, but we're going out to the fields so..." I stood from my chair. "Right, yeah thank you."

As soon as I had gotten to the ground my eyes found Pedri, luckily, he hadn't noticed me yet.

"Hey Y/N, is Ferran ready yet?" Xavi approached me. I gave him the plan and explained to him what I explained to Ferran. Pleased, Xavi took my paper and walked back to his squad.

Throughout the session I made my way to players, taping a few shoulders and ankles, massaging a few calves. Watching Ferran get back on the grass was a happy moment. Although he'd only been out for a few weeks, his comeback proved my competence as a physio. people now trusted me.

I noticed Pedri limping after an awkward tackle with Raphina, however he insisted to his coach that he was fine to play on. I however, noticed that he was in discomfort so I watched his movement.

By the end of training, Pedri was visibly in pain. Truthfully, I didn't want to face him so I avoided him and Beau in an attempt to not be assigned to him. But Ferran had other plans.

"Yo, Y/N. Can you check Pepi's ankle?" Awesome. I made my way to the boys. Pedri leaned slightly on Ferran's frame. "Come on let's get you inside."

Pedri seemed okay to walk in with minimal assistance, and soon it was only him and I in the recovery room. "Take a seat I'll get you sorted." He sat up on the bed as I helped him remove his boots.

"Please don't let this be awkward." I looked up at him after his words. "Strictly professional." I felt his ankle and evaluated the bruising. "It's not good is it?" He asked looking at me defeated. "I'm not sure as of right now but I think I need to bring in the doctor."

"What do you think it is?" He asked my naively.

"I can't indicatively say but I think its a tendon tear." I could see him cringe at my answer. "But I haven't done any tests so I can't say for sure."

"I'm gonna go find the doctor." Suddenly he grabbed my wrist. "Wait, I need to speak to you." The emotion on his face indicating that he really needed me to stay with him. I didn't respond, instead sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"I wasn't lying when I said that I'd wanted to go out with you again." He looked at me sympathetically. "And I didn't kiss you not because I didn't want to. I wanted it to be at the right moment." I look around the room. The silence is killing me. "Now I know that I'll be injured for a little while but would you like to come around to my house tonight? There'll be a few of the guys over and I'm cooking." He smiled. That smile.

I couldn't say no to him but I wanted to keep him on his toes. "I'll let you know by the end of the day." Smiling cheekily he held onto my hands. "But first I do need to bring the doctor in, so hang tight."

By the time I had come back in, Ferran and Gavi were next to Pedri. Dr Nicholson evaluated Pedri's ankle as a torn ligament and sent him off for a few X-Rays. "Soooo anything happen?" Ferran asked me playfully. "No Ferran, now I need to get back to work and so do you. Get to the gym."

By the time I was packing up my files a shadow appeared in my doorframe. "Decided yet?" His smirk tugging at his lips, instantly causing me to do the same. "Good afternoon to you too." He walked forward to me, closing the door behind although not without some difficulties as a result of his crutches.

"You look pretty pathetic with those things. I don't know how you're going to be cooking." He took a seat in my spare chair as I continued filling. "Eh, I might get some help from one of my friends." God he was so flirty I genuinely couldn't keep up with this man.

"Now I would offer to pick you up, but unfortunately I'm in a bit of a predicament right now. Should I send someone to pick you up or would you like my address?" I could not stop smiling. "Send me someone."

I pulled out my phone. "What's your number? I'll send you my address." After we exchanged numbers Pedri stood by the door. "I'll see you later then Carino."

Okay so Pedri didn't exactly discuss with me what the dress code was. I knew that it would be his teammates and their girlfriends I seriously didn't know what to pick. Something casual? Something Classy? Barca merch??? I decided to play it safe and be comfortable.

I slipped on sweatpants and a white top and called it a day. Pedri had told me that I'd be getting picked up at 6:00 so I headed down to the street by outside my complex. I wasn't quite too sure on how the driver would know to collect me, but as soon as a reached for my phone a car pulled in front of me. I didn't recognise who it was, "Y/N?". I nodded and proceeded into the back of the car.

The drive was supposed to be thirty minutes, but a large pause of traffic delayed time. By the time I had gotten to his house it was 6:50. There were already three cars parked in the driveway and suddenly I felt an indescribable wave of nervousness.

So do I walk up to his door and knock on it? Or do I message him or do I try and get in. I stress too much.

Once at the door I knocked. It was loud enough to be heard from the story above, and soon enough the door was answered. An enthusiastic Ferran picked me off my feet, I made eye contact with Pedri.

"Sira ven rápido, ella está aquí!." (Sira come quick, she's here) While he ran to find Sira I met Pedri's gaze. "You look beautiful tonight, Carino." In an attempt to divert my blush, I focused on his ankle. "How are you holding up, does it feel okay?" Smiling, he replied, "You worry too much Y/N come in."

I walked into his home and oh my was it gorgeous. The ceilings were raised and huge windows adorned the frame. I can't believe he lives here.

"Everyone's just in the living room." As we walked in, I recognised Ferran, Gavi, Fermin, and the girl cuddled up with Ferran.

"Ayyyy she finally came!" Gavi said, raising his glass in the air. I took a seat on the couch facing the fireplace, and as soon as I had sat down, it felt as if I had found my place.

Pedri was in and out of the kitchen, cooking on an injured ankle while attempting to keep conversation. Bless his heart.

I had spoken to Sira a lot, and we had much in common. By 7:30 Pedri had called us to the dining room.

We sat down, a seat empty next to me (assuming it was Pedri's). He brought out the dishes and to say I was impressed was an understatement. Truthfully, I didn't recognise most of the dishes but by the looks of astonishment on Fermin and Gavi's face I knew it was impressive.

"Es una locura ver lo que te hace una chica bonita!" (It's crazy to see what a pretty girl does to you.) Gavi said aloud, cracking everyone up.

Pedri took his seat next to mine and whispered in my ear, "He said that beautiful girls make me do crazy things." My cheeks reddened, he remembered.

The meal was delicious, conversation was flowing effortlessly, you could tell that they all loved each other. Suddenly the chatter was drowned out as I felt Pedri's hand land on my thigh. I looked at him but he was still engaged in conversation with Ferran.

As we finished up, Pedri was banned from cleaning anything (specifically by me, doctors orders.) "Okay fine I'll take a seat, but I need the physio to check out my ankle so you're on your own guys." They all groaned in unison that I was allowed to rest.

He laid upright on the couch, signalling for me to place myself between his legs. Without a second thought, we were cuddling together, talking about our lives.

I found myself telling him about my home, and how much he'd enjoy it if he went.

He was playing with my hair and giving me scalp massages when someone walked in.

"Hey Pedri, we're gonna head home now. Would you like us to drop you off Y/N?" Ferran called out, the only one able to see what we were doing. Immediately I called out, "I'm all good, I'll grab a cab." Ferran smiled at us and the rest all called out their goodbyes.

"You're a great cook Pedro." His body jolted, shocked at what I had said. "I like how you say my name." He was so cheesy.

"Is that the only thing you like about me?" I reply in a sassy but playful tone. He knows that I'm trying to gage how much he likes me. "No, I also like how good you are at your job." I pretend to be mad, "Well with enough years of uni, anyone could be as good as I am." Standing up, I leaned slightly over his face.

"You're so beautiful that it hurts." Curious at what he said, I pry him for more. "I can't look at you, let alone in the eyes without my heart racing. You do something to me and can't tell what it is." He is going to be the death of men.

Before I had time to react, he kissed me, passionately. He held my chin in one hand, while both of mine reached for the spot behind his ear.

It was ecstatic, electric, nothing I had ever felt before. But then it ended.

"Wow." The only word that fell from his lips before we started laughing. By this point I was already on top of him, so I flattened myself on him as we held each other, shocked by our actions.

"I've been wanting to do that for a while." I say to him. He looked at me with a shy smile. "What do you man Carino?" Embarrassed, I told him about my 'research' that I had done prior to accepting the job at Barcelona.

He laughed at me but found it 'cute'.

After some conversation, I found myself getting sleepier. I could barely keep my eyes open. I rationalised with myself, just a quick power nap then I'll head home.

By the time I had woken up I was tucked under white linen, puzzled by where I was. Soon enough I realised what had happened. I searched for my phone to find it charging by my bedside. 7:42. Shit I was gonna be late.

I jumped out of bed and ran downstairs. I needed to get home. As I made my way down I found Pedri by the kitchen counter cooking up some eggs. "Morning Carino." He smiled sweetly at me.

"Can you call an Uber? I'm going to be late for work." Still smiling, he pointed towards the counter. "Sira brought over some clothes. I've also got a few Barca tracksuits if you wanted to wear that instead."

I looked at him puzzled, he still hadn't answered my question. "Gavi is gonna pick us up, I think he'll be here by 8 so you better start getting ready." Jokingly, I replied "You trust him to drive?" while picking up the clothes left by Sira and Pedri.

I was ready by 8, declining the eggs Pedri had cooked. I tried my best to look presentable with the minimal amount of beauty products left for me. I decided to wear the jumper from Pedri as it was an exact replica of my own one from the club, but opted for leggings that Sira had left for me.

By the time we had arrived to the training grounds it was 8:30. I was running late. Bursting in, I made my way to my office, writing up the plan I was supposed to make for Pedri.

It had been three months since Pedri had played minutes in La Liga. When Xavi waved for him to come on with twenty minutes left in the game, my stomach turned. I was so incredibly proud of him, but I was so fucking nervous. Since he was post-surgery he had no longer been my 'patient'. We rarely spent time together at work due to a clash of schedules, and barely went out. Only a few people knew of our situation and to not put either of our jobs in jeopardy we hadn't really defined our relationship, agreeing however, to be exclusive.

Although not officially dating, I knew how I felt about him.

Smiling back at me, Pedri changed from his warm-up gear into his match shirt, walking to Xavi who whispered instructions to him.

His entry to the field was applauded by a wave of celebration from the crowd. We were all so happy for him, although maybe not the away fans.

Tonight was decisive in the title race, Barca sat at 48 with Madrid on 50, a win would put Barcelona first. The game was tied 2-2, both goals from Lewa.

As we were approaching the final minutes of added time, Barca was building up from the back. Intelligent bounce passes gave them enough space to exploit, especially for Pedri. Frenkie raced down the flank of the field, cutting inside as he reached the box, carefully delivering a rolling ball. To Pedri.

The goal came so fast that everyone leapt out of their seats. We had got the points, and it was all thanks to Pedri. My Pedri.

Routine to his celebration, Pedri lifted his hands to make glasses, and while he ran back to the half for kick off, he blew me a kiss.

Undoubtedly the squad currently on the bench and the coaches spun around to see who his actions were for - my blushing cheeks probably didn't help.

When the whistle blew to signal full time, we all ran onto the field in celebration. Although it was a team that we were predicted to defeat, the number of injuries and tightness of the game really pushed the boys.

Making my way to the ground I went to find anyone to hug, I truly didn't matter who it was. But then I was suddenly lifted from behind.

"Carino!" Knowing who it was, I felt much more comfortable. As he put me down, he immediately picked me back up, wrapping my legs around his waist.

He pulled me in for a kiss which was cheered by Ferran.

"Is it the right time to ask you to be my girlfriend?" I looked down at him and nodded. He again attacked my face with kisses, and when he finally put me down, Ferran, Gavi, Fermin, and Sira pulled us all in for a group hug.

I had found my family.

"So Pedri, firstly, congratulations on the return to football. It is understood that your process of recovery was tiring and long."

"Ah yes, although I am so grateful to have the club and my beautiful girlfriend supporting me through it all."

"Now, I know you may be focused on the goal and the win, but currently everyone is freaking out over your girlfriend."

He laughed, "Yes Y/N."

"The people want to know, how did you meet?"

"You all didn't see me blowing a kiss to the bench?" The journalist laughed. "Well it definitely wasn't to Gavi." Again causing a laugh.

"But in all seriousness Y/N is a physio here at Barca. She was the sole reason as to why I was able to perform today. Without her, I'd have no motivation, and would definitely not be ready to play a match."

"She has made my days so much better. Every session I spend in recovery and training with the team, is for her. I want to make her as proud as she makes me."

I think I'm starting to like Spain.

Thank you for reading!!! Please give me suggestions on any footballer and trope so feel free to request!!

#football #football fanfic #football imagine #pedri #pedri gonzalez #pedri fic #pedri fan fic #fc barcelona #ferran torres #pablo gavi #fermin lopez #pedri x reader #pedri imagine #pedri x y/n #pedri x you

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piscesmoonpress · 1 month

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Art Heist, Baby! by otrtbs (@otrtbs)

When James Potter answers a mysterious ad in his local coffee shop, the last thing he expects is to be thrown into a world of white collar crime, but how can he resist when the mastermind behind the operation has dark hair and brooding eyes and promises wealth beyond James' wildest imagination? He would do anything for that boy named after a star, including stealing millions of dollars of fine art.

Pairing: Regulus Black/James Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Marlene McKinnon/Dorcas Meadowes, Alice Longbottom/Frank Longbottom Fandom: Harry Potter

Disclaimer: otrtbs no longer allows binds of Art Heist, Baby!. This edition was first typeset and bound in May of 2023. Please do not use this post as a permission to bind Art Heist, Baby!.

Art Heist, Baby! was one of the very first jegulus fics I read, and eventually became my second-ever bind. The original binding for this fic was done over the course of a single weekend, which makes me cringe a little now—but I am still so proud of this typeset and the bind itself, despite its flaws.

Half-Letter | 219,117 words | 609 pages

Title and Drop Cap Font: Bodoni 72 Body: Adobe Garamond Pro Accent(s): Gill Sans, Futura Condensed

Typset by me in Word.

Materials

Cover Bookcloth: Duo in Blue Jean HTV: Siser Brand in Gold Metal and Powder Blue Endbands: Mettler Silk Finish Thread Endpapers: Chiyogami Paper

Eventually, I found that the structure of my previous binding was less-than-ideal, and I decided to rebind my copy. Given that I couldn't change the typeset, I spent a lot of time deciding on a cover design, and eventually settled on using Ivan Aivazovsky's Ship on Stormy Seas (a painting synonymous with this fic) as inspiration.

The process of turning the boat from this painting into something that could be used with a single shade of HTV was difficult, but I eventually settled upon a design I was happy with after messing around in Illustrator for a couple weeks.

When I removed the cover from this bind, I also trimmed and painted the edges, sewed double-core french endbands (two-tone, to match the bookcloth), and reinforced the spine (though I couldn't do much for the pre-existing swell). Overall, I am thrilled with how it looks, and with how my original typeset fits with my more developed design style.

Thank you to Nat, for writing such a beautiful (and heart-wrenching) story. Art Heist, Baby! is free to read on ao3, here.

#jegulus #wolfstar #bookbinding #fanbinding #my books #marauders #ficbinding #james potter #regulus black #marauders era #sirius black #renegade bindery #art heist baby

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fayes-fics · 3 months

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When The World Is Free: Chapter 1 - Sous le ciel de Paris

MASTERPOST | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Welcome to the start of my new multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl! Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. Please note that while I do have a plotted outline, I will be posting chapters as I write them, and I expect that process to take quite a few months. Please bear with me! This first chapter sets up the story - reader moving to Paris in the summer of 1939 and bonding with her new flatmate, Eloise Bridgerton. Please note that Benedict won't be turning up for a couple of chapters yet. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy! <3

August 1939

Emerging from the underground Trocadero metro stop, you round the corner of the recently completed, gleaming Palais de Chaillot and stop dead in your tracks. There before you is the most iconic landmark of Paris. Perhaps all of France.

La Tour Eiffel.

Breathtaking in its metallic magnificence, glowing in the setting sun. A sight that buoys your travel-weary soul seven days after you left New York: boats and trains finally bringing you to this wondrous spot. A light breeze even dances over your neck in greeting, a balm from the cloying subterranean heat of the metro.

It's a light elbow check to your arm that pulls you back from a state of reverie.

“A beautiful sight, but one you’ll get used to,” your uncle Robert chuckles, shaking your heavy leather case to indicate it's time to move along. “In fact, I've been told you will be able to see it from your appartement…”

He has accompanied you to Paris and will see you settled into your new adventures before continuing on to visit friends in England. He spent the roaring 20s living right here in the 16th arrondissement himself and, indeed, has arranged for you to share living quarters with a young British lady, a relative of his English friends. It's a comfort to know you’ll have at least one English speaker to chat with as you dive headfirst into learning proper French as you go.

Robert leads you away from the amazing sight and into the bustling streets, alive with cars, trams, bicycles and pedestrians buzzing in all directions. It's all at once like New York City, but yet so different as well, cafe terraces filling the wide pavements with all manner of people gathered to sip robust cafe au lait and refreshing limonade.

Within minutes, you are on a quieter side street and stopping outside a handsome honey-coloured stone facade with wrought iron window balconies and window guards, teaming with colourful, fragrant flowering pots. The number 14 gleaming white on a traditional navy blue tile. Your uncle pushes the enormous wooden door open, beckoning you into a cool whitewash wall corridor with mosaic floor tiles.

“Ahhh, Robert!!” a sophisticated middle-aged lady bustles from a nearby doorway and greets your uncle warmly, kissing both cheeks. It would appear they are friends of old.

“Y/n, this is Madam DuLac, your landlady,” he explains as you offer a handshake, admiring her boucle jacket and chic bun.

“Qu’est-ce?” she signals with a good-natured frown, obviously finding your polite greeting lacking, pulling you into a hug and two-cheeked kiss. She smells like Chanel perfume, cigarettes and baked goods. “You are in Paris now, ma chérie; this is how we greet one another,” she counsels in heavily accented but perfect English.

“You speak English?” you sigh, relieved, your French decidedly lacking.

“Bien sûr,” she smiles. “And please call me Solène,” she adds with a friendly smile.

“Eloise should be home from the library maintenant; the perfect time for you to meet,” she gestures towards an elevator cage surrounded by a sweeping grey marble staircase.

“I think I would prefer to take the stairs,” you admit, nerves flaring at the idea of such a contraption.

Your uncle laughs. “Well, I am taking it; I am not hefting this case of yours up five flights of stairs,” he adds dryly as you gaze up the swirling stairwell.

“Five storeys?” you squeak.

“The view is the best from the top,” Solène advises as she rattles back the cage entry and steps in, looking at you expectantly.

Reluctantly, you follow, all three of you and your luggage crammed into the metal cage as it jerks to life and begins its ascent.

“You will get used to it,” Solène smiles as she reads the apprehension on your face, your vice-like grip on your small vanity case and handbag.

Luckily, the lift reaches your destination safely. One shudder before it stops, and the door concertinas back in Solène’s hand to reveal a sweeping hallway with doors left and right.

“Ici,” she signals, the last door on the right-hand side.

But before you can knock, the door peels open, and a pretty, petite brunette jumps in surprise, dropping the book she is holding.

“Pardon,” she offers in perfect accented French, and you wonder for a split second if it is the correct apartment.

“Eloise, this is y/n,” Solène gestures.

“Ohhh, hello,” she grins, and the whiplash back to a plummy British accent is momentarily confusing. “I was about to go read in the courtyard, thought you might not be turning up today. Anyway… come in, come in!”

You shake her proffered hand as she ushers you into the apartment. Instantly, you feel a warmth spreading in your belly, like you have come home. It's light and airy, with large windows looking out across the Parisian rooftops, and yes, to the left is indeed the Eiffel Tower, still gleaming in the fading evening light. But the place also feels homely, that sort of messy that is lived in, comfortable. A large velvet sofa with tumbling stacks of books around it, a little kitchenette awash with colourful enamel cookware, and a jumble of art deco posters and random paintings adorning the walls.

“Solène, I don't suppose you've baked any more of those rather delicious madeleines, have you? To welcome my new housemate?” Eloise pipes up with a chipper, conspiratorial wink your way.

You already like her.

“Effronte!” Solène exclaims with fond exasperation before pausing. “There may be some…”

“I remember those!” your uncle adds with a tinge of nostalgia as he drops your suitcase. “You are in for such a treat, y/n.”

“Well, while our landlady decides if she’s willing to share the treats she has obviously baked but is being coy about…”Eloise raises a pointed eyebrow at the woman before returning to you. “...let me show you your room, then maybe a drink? I'm sure it's been a long journey.”

You nod and, with an exchange of grins, follow her down a corridor. She sweeps open the door to a lovely room, a large double bed with matching bedside tables and a dresser. But best of all, french doors onto a Juliet balcony overlooking a quiet courtyard filled with a riot of birch trees, their leaves gently rustling in the evening breeze.

“Mostly, it’s pesky pigeons down there, but you do get the occasional blackbird singing in the morning,” Eloise smiles as if intuiting your thoughts.

You spend some moments wandering the room and checking out the various fixtures, running idle hands over the furniture, already feeling remarkably at home with your new housemate and, indeed, your new home for the next twelve months.

“I'm just next door,” Eloise reveals, pointing a thumb over her shoulder.

Your uncle appears in the doorway to announce that he and Solène are off to catch up as you unpack and suggests you all reunite for dinner later at a local bistro. It all sounds so very Parisian chic; you cannot wait.

“So tell me about yourself,” Eloise flops onto your bed, already wonderfully casual in your presence, as you open your case and the wardrobe to unpack.

“I’m y/n. I'm from a little town on Long Island called Patchogue, about fifty miles outside New York City. I'm 22…”

“Me too!” she interjects, then signals for you to proceed.

“I wanted to see the world before I settled down. And I’ve dreamed of living in Paris since I was a little girl...” You feel your eyes misting at the fact it's now finally coming true as you continue. “So my parents agreed to pay for me to come to Paris for a year. Under the strict agreement, I get married when I return…”

“You have a fiancé?”

“Yes. Well, sort of. Stanley. We practically grew up together, and we’ve been going steady since we were eighteen.”

“Going steady? That's so American,” Eloise chuckles.

You nod with a giggle, then continue. “He hasn't proposed formally yet, says he is saving up for a ‘real nice’ ring, but it will happen. He is the son of my dad’s business partner. They run a construction company. So, while I'm here, they are building a home for us to live in when I return. We will get married next summer and move right in.”

“You don't mind?” Eloise frowns.

“Don’t mind what?” you query as you hang up your favourite dress.

“That your future is so… plotted out. I couldn't bear the idea. It's why I think my mother let me move to Paris. She was so fed up with me refusing to settle down.” Eloise laughs, idly flicking through the magazine you were reading on your journey.

“I suppose I've never really expected anything else,” you shrug, pausing as you put away your hosiery, but her words make you contemplative. “You don't have a boyfriend back home?”

“God, no. Too many pretty Frenchmen to entertain me here,” she winks. “I’ll introduce you to some, just in case you change your mind,” she breezes, climbing off your bed and drifting to the door. “Wine?”

“Oh… well, why not? When in France, etc,” you agree and close the drawer on the pile of cardigans you have just safely stacked.

“That's the spirit!” she effuses over her shoulder as you follow her back into the living room, the Eiffel Tower still glittering in the dusk.

“This place is so lovely,” you sigh, transfixed by the view as she wanders over and hands you a glass.

“It is a pretty magical view,” she agrees, staring at the skyline with you, watching as each window seems to illuminate in soft yellow with the dying light.

“And the decor, too; I see you love books as much as me,” you smile, tilting your head to the piles before taking a sip of red wine. It's the perfect balance of refreshing, mellow fruitiness and tart tannin coating your tongue, so much better than any wine back home.

“Oh god, yes! I work in the library. I can bring home as many as I want,” she enthuses.

“So, are there actually any left on the shelves?” you jest, lightly, savouring your drink and wandering to take a closer look at a smaller painting that catches your eye. It's very different to all of the others.

“My god, this is beautiful,” you breathe, hugging your wineglass to your chest as you stare transfixed at the art. It appears to be a large country house, probably British, bathed in the warm pinkish light of dawn.

“That's home. Aubrey Hall in Kent. I think the family made me bring it in the hopes it would make me homesick,” Eloise deadpans.

“It’s a wonderful piece,” you breathe, fingers reaching out to lightly trace over the heavily oiled brushstrokes. Something about it is so captivating and intimate.

“I'll be sure to let the artist know,” she smirks. “Although I'm reticent to give him any more praise, seeing as, unfortunately, he is my brother.”

“Your brother painted this?” taken aback by the revelation, assuming it an heirloom.

She nods and comes to stand next to you. “Yup. Benedict. Second eldest. I'm fifth of eight, by the way. Hence ‘E’ for Eloise. It's a thing,” she rolls her eyes.

“Wow. Big family. I just have one brother...”

“Lucky you. Although, as much as he is irritating, if I could only keep one sibling, it probably would be him,” she admits, taking a swig of wine.

“I love art,” you sigh, finally tearing your gaze from the canvas but already knowing it is something you will return to again and again. A pull you can’t quite understand.

“Oh, then I know the perfect job for you! There’s a gallery around the corner from the library, and I saw a sign saying they wanted an English speaker to assist international visitors! You would be perfect!”

“I would love that!” you extol, even as a tiny part of your brain lingers on the idea that it would be too good to be true if it all worked out, that fleeting sense of foreboding in paradise.

“Excellent!” Eloise’s enthusiasm pulls you back to the immediate. “So let’s get your glad rags on! It's time to hit the town for your first night in Paris!”

And thus, you find yourself being bundled back into your room to refresh and change for your first night in the city of your dreams. Indeed, as you find yourself being led by Eloise, arm looped in yours, through the bustling evening streets to a little bistro, your uncle and Solène already waiting at a table with smiling faces and drinks in hand, you can't help but feel this really is the only place in the world you could ever want to be…

Your adventure is just beginning.

Benedict taglist: @foreverlonginguniverse @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

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golden-cherry · 10 months

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deal - cl16 (8/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: It's always nice meeting new people. Especially British ones.

Warnings: fluff, flirting, one swear word, social media aspect

Word Count: 3.3k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: this chapter is for everyone who send me kind words when I was feeling down. even tho I don't answer every single message, I read everything you send me. I love you.

You look desperately at the piece of paper in your hand.

You have the chicken breast, the avocado and the kale and garlic. According to the signs in the shop, two aisles down are the jars of sun-dried tomatoes that you also need. But where the heck are the sesame seeds and chilli flakes?

You rub your forehead with the back of your hand.

For twenty minutes you have been walking through the supermarket, which is so much bigger than the one around the corner from you. Ten minutes ago you put the chicken in the shopping basket, which is hanging down on your elbow. And since then you have been wandering the aisles with little success, trying to find the rest that Charles scribbled on the piece of paper.

When you left the bedroom this morning, your roommate had already disappeared. He had stowed his sleeping things in the wardrobe and tidied up the living room. Even the dishes had disappeared from the sink. Apparently he got up very early.

After drinking a glass of orange juice, you found the note on the kitchen table that Charles had left there.

"Bonjour,

Je suis à la salle de sport ce matin. I'm at the gym this morning.

Pourriez-vous acheter ces choses pour le déjeuner ? Could you please buy these things for lunch?

Merci, mon ami.

Charles

PS.: Mes amis et moi sortons ce soir et j'aimerais que tu viennes avec moi. My friends and I are going out tonight and I would like you to come along".

Next to it was another piece of paper with the shopping list for the bowl his nutritionist had picked out for him. Judging by the ingredients, Charles has good taste and for a moment you had considered buying a double portion - one for him and one for you - but the toast lying in your kitchen is about to go bad and you are reluctant to throw it away. Besides, no food in the world can beat a good sandwich.

But reading the list, you also realise that the small supermarket around the corner would not be enough to get everything.

The employee you asked a few minutes ago gave you a rough direction where you could find the sesame seeds, but he disappeared so quickly that you couldn't follow up. And since then you've been standing in a corridor that looks like you might find them here. But you've read through every label on every shelf, and although your French has improved - and you have a translator app on your phone - none of them sounded remotely like sesame or seeds.

"A pretty lady wasn't on my shopping list today, but I can be spontaneous," you hear someone with a British accent say behind you.

As you turn around, a young man is standing in front of you. He is a little taller than you and wears a black hoodie with his hands in his pockets and a black cap on his head. Although it is winter, his skin is tanned, and as he grins broadly, you see a small gap between his white front teeth.

You hesitate for a moment, trying to gauge whether he is really serious, and glance briefly at your shopping list before turning to face him fully. "An overeager man is not on mine either. And unfortunately, since I have to stick to my budget, I can't be quite as spontaneous."

His grin widens even more. "So the pick-up line was that lousy?"

His smile is so honest and friendly it's infectious. "Terrible."

The young man presses his tongue into his cheek before pulling his hand out of his jumper pocket to hold it out to you. "Lando. Nice to meet you."

As you place your hand in his, you feel the warmth of his skin. "Y/N."

Before you can respond, Lando snatches the piece of paper in your hand. His eyes flicker over the ingredients on it and then over the contents of your shopping basket. "You've been standing here for ten minutes. Do you need any help?"

You narrow your eyes and try to reach for the list in his big hands, but he is quicker. He pulls his hand away. "Have you been watching me? See if the note says stalker."

He pretends to go through the ingredients again, but his gaze lingers on you again after a few moments. "Stalker it doesn't say, but helpful stranger it does." He holds the note up to your nose. "Right under chicken breast. See. Right there. In invisible ink."

You push your lower lip forward and consider whether you should accept his help. The only thing against it is the fact that you can usually help yourself. But since he has already noticed how helplessly you search for the missing groceries, the argument is not exactly convincing.

"Alright." You extend your arm and wave it in a semicircle in front of you. "Show me the way."

Lando leads the way as you follow him through the shop. Despite his jumper, you can see that his cross is relatively wide. Not as wide as Charles, but still enough to be noticeable.

"You don't seem to be from around here, do you?" asks Lando as you walk past the cheese shelf. He looks down at you.

"I've actually lived here for months, but I've never been to this supermarket," you admit, shrugging. "The stuff on the list isn't for me, it's for my roommate. I'm not much of a bowl fan."

The helpful stranger stops abruptly in front of a shelf, causing you to bump lightly into him. You can still feel the hard muscles through the many layers of clothing. "What are you more into?" When you look at him with a raised eyebrow, he rolls his eyes. "Food-wise, I mean."

"Culinarily, I'm afraid I've stayed at McDonalds level. Or frozen pizza." As Lando grins, you lightly punch his arm. "I know, I know. Like a kid."

He reaches out and takes a packet from the shelf, and as he puts it in the basket, you see that it's sesame seeds. He then takes the basket from your hand. "So I don't need to take you to a super fancy, expensive restaurant? You'd be happy with take-out as well?" He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow.

Apparently he can't help it. But you find his boyish charm not annoying, rather amusing.

You raise your hand and poke your index finger against his chest. "You could buy me a can of soup, too, and I'd be blown away."

Lando is too surprised to retort, so he lowers his eyes to the list in his hand. You can still see the blush that comes to his face. He clears his throat. "Chilli flakes should be here somewhere too. Ah, there. Right behind you." He leans forward a little and reaches past you. As you inhale, you can smell his perfume.

"Thanks for your help, Lando," you say as you stand together at the checkout a little later, putting your purchase into a bag. "I don't know what I would have done without you." Your smile is genuine and you're glad he returns it. If it hadn't been for him, you'd almost certainly still be standing here tomorrow looking for the ingredients.

"I'm glad I could help." As you take your groceries from him, he shoulders the bag and shakes his head. "Would it be weird if I asked you if I could walk you home?"

"It would." You've both known each other for a few minutes and for sure it's unwise for a young stranger to find out where you live. Yet something about him makes you trust him. As Lando's mouth curls into a thin line, you smile kindly at him. "But weird is okay."

His expression brightens instantly. "Great. Show me the way. I'll follow you."

The walk home takes thirty minutes, but it feels much shorter with Lando by your side. He's two years older than you and incredibly funny, which is why your stomach starts to hurt from laughing at some point. He talks about what it was like growing up in England and that although he has his permanent home here in Monaco, he still works there.

"So you're always flying back and forth? Isn't that very tiring?" you ask him. The house where your home is located comes into your field of vision. In a moment you are about to say goodbye and somehow you have a feeling that he would make an attempt to ask for your number.

"It's very exhausting," he confesses, but shrugs. "But you know yourself what it's like to live here. Monaco is beautiful and I love it. Besides, many of my friends live here. It's definitely worth the stress for me."

You stop at the front door and Lando's smile disappears from his face as he realises that your time - for now - is up. He hands you your groceries, which he's been carrying for you like a gentleman for the last half hour.

"Thank you. For your help and the nice company," you thank him and fish the front door key out of your pocket.

Lando puts his hands back in the pockets of his jumper, undecided whether to hug you goodbye or not. "I have to thank you." He pulls his lower lip between his teeth for a moment. "Can I see you again? Maybe for dinner? I'll get your favourite can of soup too," he grins and you have to laugh out loud.

"I'd love to," you reply. Why green eyes and dimples suddenly flash in the back of your mind, you don't know.

"Great. Do you have Instagram?" he asks and you look at him, confused. He raises a hand and scratches the back of his neck nervously with it. "I'd ask for your number, but I don't think you're someone who gives out their number to helpful strangers just because they're friendly."

You turn your head and point to the front door. "Well, you already know where I live, after all. And yet you ask for my Instagram?"

He licks his lips once with his tongue. "I didn't mean to be too forward."

You look down at your shopping bag, then back up at him. "You? Forward? No way."

You tell him your Instagram name and he saves it before you say goodbye with a hug that, in retrospect, you might find a little too brief. But Lando doesn't seem to want to cross any lines, which is why he only puts one arm around you to pull you close for a moment, not pressing you tightly against him but leaving some space between you.

"I'll get back to you," he says as you put the key in the door lock and turn it. "Promise."

When you enter the apartment minutes later, Charles is sitting on the couch, staring at his laptop, which is on the coffee table in front of him. You feel his gaze on you as you close the door behind you and slip off your shoes.

"Bonjour, Y/N." He gets up and follows you into the kitchen, where you take the groceries out of the bag and place them on the countertop. "Thank you for shopping. Did you sleep well?"

You did indeed. Whether it was the wine or the fact that you really enjoyed your evening with him, you don't know. When you woke up this morning and found that Charles had already left, you had been a little too relieved. The thoughts you harboured towards him last night make you feel guilty, so you decide to repress them and forget about them.

Everything that happened last night was purely amicable, which his "mon ami" on the note also confirms. Secretly, you are glad that he sees it that way too. If he were to give you signs of being interested, you would have to think seriously about the whole situation. And you don't want that.

You're happy living with Charles. And even though you've only known each other for two days, you're sure he's a better friend than anyone else has ever been. No one in your old group of friends had ever been so friendly, so helpful, so caring.

If that's how friends behave, then you never really had any.

"Well," you answer him. "I'm still alive, although I didn't lock the door yesterday. That certainly lets me sleep well."

Charles smiles and reaches for the chicken breast, which he rinses and seasons as you put a pan of oil on the hob. "Or maybe I just want you to feel safe. And someday, when you're not expecting it, I'll catch you," he jokes.

"And that's exactly why I was serious about my offer last night," you return, watching as he puts the chicken into the hot oil. You hear it hiss and bubble. "That you can sleep in bed tonight. I don't mind. After all, it's your bed. And it's only fair that you use it."

Charles turns the chicken in the pan and looks at you. "And you're not just doing this so I won't murder you while you sleep?" His grin widens.

"That, my friend, is a nice side effect."

While the chicken sizzles away, you prepare the avocado and Charles the kale. "It's all right, Y/N. It's only been the second night on the couch. And I promise you nothing will happen that would make you lock the door."

"But last night you -"

"Last night the wine was talking out of me when I sent you the picture," he interrupts. "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine." His smile is gentle. "That's what we agreed and that's what we'll stick to."

"That we agreed, I know," you confirm, digging a bowl out of the cupboard. Charles fills it with the ingredients and finally puts the roasted chicken on top. You turn off the hob. "But I don't think we have to stick rigidly to that rule for this," you point to the space between you, "to work. We're friends, not strangers. And as your friend, I can't have you breaking your back."

You see Charles swallow before turning away and picking up the bowl. Apparently he doesn't know what to say in response, because he changes the subject as you sit down on the couch together. "So, are you coming tonight? We were going out for dinner and then to a club. You don't have to come if you don't want to, of course, but I'd love to introduce you to my friends. We're a cool group and I think you'd fit in quite well." He spears a piece of avocado with his fork. "Besides, maybe I can take your mind off your asshole of an ex-boyfriend that way."

That's right. There was something.

You haven't had to think about him since last night. About him calling you all the time and spoiling your mood. That he cheated on you a while back and broke your heart.

Charles managed, with just a film and his company, to make you forget the pain and anger. In his presence you felt comfortable, warm, which was perhaps also a little due to the wine. And as you thought back over the evening, a feeling spread through you that you could not describe.

The only word you can think of to describe this feeling is Charles.

"I didn't mean to remind you," your roommate says softly when you don't answer him. His eyes are fixed on his food. "Sorry."

You shake your head, more to let him know that your thoughts are not about your ex-boyfriend, but about Charles's kindness and care, but apparently he takes it as accepting the apology. He exhales in relief.

"So? Are you coming with me later? With my friends and me?", Charles asks again.

Isn't it too early to meet his friends? You two haven't known each other for very long either. But after all, you would be there as his roommate slash friend, not as his girlfriend. So for him, there's no reason why you shouldn't be there. So there is none for you either.

"Do I need to wear anything nice? My wardrobe isn't exactly the most elegant," you confess, pointing to the oversized jumper hanging from your shoulders and the black leggings down your legs.

Charles' gaze moves from your face, across your torso, down further to the tops of your feet, which are inches away from his. "It doesn't matter what you wear. You look beautiful in anything."

You hope he doesn't notice how hard you have to swallow the lump in your throat. "Then I'll come with you."

Satisfied, Charles puts a piece of chicken in his mouth and chews on it. As his cell phone vibrates on the table in front of you, he stiffens a little.

From your position you can see that an unknown number is calling him. And you can well understand his reaction to it. You definitely wouldn't answer a call either if you didn't know who it was from. A short time later the phone is silent again and the screen goes black again. Charles visibly relaxes.

"I think calls from unknown numbers are totally nerve-wracking," you try to lighten the situation a little. "There was a time when I let the phone keep ringing, but now I just press unknown callers away."

Charles looks to you. "Would you press my call away?"

You draw your eyebrows together. "Well, since I don't have your number, I probably would."

Your roommate presses his tongue into his cheek. "Then it would be better if I gave it to you, no?"

Without a word, you hand him your unlocked phone - which looks really puny in his big hands - so he can punch in his number before calling himself. As he hands it back to you, he picks up his own phone to put your number in, deleting the unknown call.

"Give me your Instagram, please."

You look at him uncertainly, but give him your name. "Do you need anything else? My credit card number? Birth certificate? National insurance number?"

"No, you dickhead." He taps away on his phone and a moment later a notification pops up on your screen.

bawsixteen started following you

You open the app and click on his account and on the "Follow" button and a few moments later his entire profile is visible to you. He hasn't posted many pictures, some you recognise from Jori's place, but one in particular catches your eye.

"So, tonight we're going out for dinner. Around eight, so we have to leave around around quarter to." Charles puts the empty bowl on the table and turns to you. "I have to leave in a few minutes. Will you be okay on your own until then? I don't think I'll be gone too long."

You wonder if he's going to the woman he spoke to on the phone yesterday. "I'm an adult, Charles. I'll be fine," you smile. "Maybe by then I'll find a nice potato sack to wear later."

Charles laughs, gets up and goes into the kitchen to wash the bowl. "If you can find a second one that might fit me, bring it along. Then we could go in matching clothes. That would be something." You hear him turn on the tap at the sink. "Well, if you find one, you can call me."

"As long as you promise to answer." You turn and lean your arm over the back of the couch to watch him. His back muscles stand out under his shirt and you can see them moving.

Charles looks over his shoulder at you and smiles. "Deal."

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bawsixteen: 📍📸 the most beautiful place in Monaco

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secretaccountlol · 1 year

Note

Smut with Peter x Reader where it’s their anniversary ( wedding or dating you choose) and they go raw for the first time and Peter is a absolute mess plus his dick is sensitive

Hiii~! Hm so. Hopefully this is to your expectations-!

So I interpreted, this as a bit of a subby/switch Peter I hope that’s alright.

this also can be read any spidey too :3

Also you didn’t use any she pronouns so I went ahead and made the reader AFAB! :3

18+ no minors <3

Cw:overstimulation, unprotected sex, teasing,switch!reader, switch! Peter.

“Peter…”

“Yeeesss?”

“Why am I blindfolded?”

“Can I not surprise my fiancé?”

Peter says ‘fiancé’ with a French accent, putting extra flavor in the ‘e’.

“You can but why do I have to be blindfolded!”

“Mm cus it makes it more exciting?”

You groan, “get on with it, Pete!”

“Ugh! Ewww ungrateful!” Peter put on a false voice, you held your laugh trying to keep the appearance of annoyance.

“I can see trying not to smile, baby. Can’t fool me” even though you can’t see him grinning, you could feel it.

“Okay, you caught me but please no more waiting I’m excited!”

“Alright.”

You felt a woosh as your eyes adjusted to the light, a gasp emits from your mouth as you feel Peter hug you from behind.

“Like it?”

“Awh, Pete you shouldn’t have.”

The living room was decked out with fairy lights, your couch was made into a fort moved from its original place to make way for big comfy blankets and pillows replaced it, with your favorite snacks and drinks in the middle and your head turned to the tv.

“Peter…” you feel a press of a kiss on your cheek as your eyes glitter with tears, an album of your best moments together plastered on the screen, some of the pictures were just of you when you weren’t looking at Peter. He liked that, taking pictures of you off guard, it was “artistic” he said.

“Do you like it?” You nod squeaking out a “yes”, it was clear you liked it but Peter always needed that extra reassurance.

You run over to the fort, you can’t contain your joy.

“Wait wait, before we sit down.” Peter puts his hands out before shooting his webs to grab a bag on the counter.

“Matching PJs.” Peter shrugs and you squeal with delight.

“Peter.”

“Yes, love?”

Your eyes train on Peter, biting your lip.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing nothing- just..I-I uhm have a ‘surprise’ b-but I feel like it’s lame compared to” you pause motioning all around the room, “This!”

“You know I don’t care about how grand it is.” Peter nuzzles his nose with yours making you giggle.

“W-well uhm. I-hh..”

Peter leans into you, eyebrows raised awaiting your answers.

“I-..started taking birth control. S-so we could ..”

“Do it without a condom?” Peter finished your sentence, his eyes glossed over, you nod you couldn’t get the words out so you’re glad he said it for you.

“I-i wanted it to be a surprise for our anniversary” you fiddle with your PJs you lift to see his eyes, his jaw was clenched as you scanned his face your eyes naturally travel down to his bulge.

The fabric strained against it you wet your lips instinctively stealing a glance at Peter’s lust-blown eyes, “I’m not gonna lie..I-i really I want to fuck you right now.”

“I mean” you pause, biting your lip, “I-I told you for a reason.”

You watch that as a glint in Peter started to form, the same glint you always see when you know he’s about to tease you.

“Tell me what you need, pretty one?” Peter’s hand's inch up your thighs, his head dipped down low to try to meet your eyes.

“Pete..”

“Come on, you can do it.” Pete’s lips graze your cheeks, his mouth near your ear now.

“We won’t get anywhere with silence, y’know? Communication is key right?”

“R-right.”

Peter holds your chin hostage forcing you to stare into his eyes, “What do you wanna do, hm?”

Your eyes wander a bit before you snap back to him via his hands gripping your chin hard, it makes you whimper.

“I guess you don’t wanna-“

“No!”

You close your eyes, breathing through your nose because opening them again, “n-no I.. I want t..to have sex with you…!” Your lips wobble after you spoke, he knew you were shy and he loved to exploit it.

“Now was that so bad?” Peter smirked as you broke out of your shy trance, you push him away

“Oh fuck you! You know I get flustered when you do that stuff!”

Peter’s hands play with the buttons on your shirt, undoing them one by one, “can’t help myself, you look so cute when your all embarrassed like that” Peter discards your pajamas top leaving your bare chest on display, you feel the urge to be modest but you know how Parker would react. His hands hooked onto your PJS bottoms, you lifted to help him slide them off you.

“God I’ll never get tired of looking at you, y’know that?” Pete traces your nipples with his tongue before undoing his shirt and pants.

You hum in agreement, “What’s with the rush, Petey?” you tease, well try to at least you leaned into his face, planting kisses gently which were returned in good favor. “Mm, when’d you learn how to tease?” Pete’s hands were soft as they cupped your face.

“You”

“Me?” he giggled as you nodded, “Nice to know I rub off on you.” His fingers creep up the sides of your body, eventually reaching your boobs giving them a squeeze then rubbing them in soft soothing circles.

“Pun intended”

“You’re so corny! we’re about to raw dog for the first time and you're making puns?” You climb into his lap, pouting to keep yourself from laughing at his antics.

“Mm, cus I know it makes you happy and cus I know you're nervous..” Petey smiles as your eyebrows arch.

“Mm? I’m not nervous bout that..” your head tilts in confusion until it hits you, he’s nervous. “Aw babe..” you shift your weight, pressing your core into his bulge.

Peter’s breath hitched, “I’m not nervous at all, I can’t wait to feel you cum in me.” Your eyelid lowered, your hands picking at his boxers, before diving into them, fishing out his cock.

Your hands glided up and down his cock, Peter's sharp breath made you grin your pace sped up in the effort for more. “Fuck-! W-who are you? W-what have you done to my fiancé?” Peter smirks in false control, only to be interrupted by a kiss from you.

“S-so soft.. I-i love your hands-“ Peter’s hands grasp your wrist, “but I don’t wanna c-cum there.” You pull your hand away, leaning back to study his face as his hands went to return to favor. Slithering into your waistband, “god, you’re so wet..I can’t wait to fuck you” Peter groans, his fingers slipping up and down your slit, probing your hole.

Your hips buck up with soft sighs, “No point in w-waiting, I’m wet e-enough..” you lift letting Peter slip off your underwear, “I wanna see your f-face when you enter me” you felt hot, you’ve never been this straightforward with him before but you could tell he relished it.

Peter nodded, breathless as you lined yourself with him. You grasp his dick, you push the tip against your clit, letting your slick cover it.

“Fuck- god! That.. that feels so good..” Peter’s words were through gritted teeth. “P-please baby put it in..” you feel a fire ignite in you, you want more.

You leaned against his chest, allowing your body to grind against his cock, letting your pussy slip up and down, “bab-baby fuck that feels so good. Please please- l-let me fuck y-you.” His voice was higher than usual, hands on the floor gripping the sheets, his hips trying but failing not to thrust into you.

“I’m sorry I was just getting payback for all the times you’ve edged me” you leave kisses on his lips, as you guide his dick to your hole, letting yourself slide onto it, agonizingly slow moaning as you adjust. Your eyes gazed at Peter, his mouth open but no words or sounds just pure bliss, his eyebrows knitted together, head thrown back.

You raise yourself, slamming back down, skin colliding on skin making a delicious smacking sound.

Peter whimpers, “fuckfuckfuck- you feel like heaven oh my god! So..sososo warm ohh.”, his hands instantly are off the floor and onto your hips. “Please d-don’t stop..! D-don’t stop pleasepleaseplease…!” Peter’s whines filled the air, his voice made your insides clench.

“Aah- fuckfuck- please do that again. Fuck! it feels so good.” His hands use your hips as handlebars, using them to push and pull you up and down his cock. “M-more more more I need more..! Nngh-“

“Oh god- Pete! Mmhn- “ your legs hug him tight, driving him deeper into hitting directly into your g spot, your head is thrown back as it hits over and over again.

Peter whines, “ooh-“ his thrust are sloppy as he fucks himself into you. “N-never been so dee-ahh…!“ Peter's hands are quickly planted on your back, laying you down, returning to hips in seconds.

A crushing grip, that will leave bruising marks to be remembered and kissed upon tomorrow. Peter’s whimpers swell in your mind as your own choked moans spill out your mouth.

Your hands travel down to your clit rubbing furious circles as you sob in pleasure. “P-peter! Mmmh- so fast..!” Your free hand pulls his head down for a kiss, his shaky breaths against your soft lips, you muffle both of your moans with a searing kiss.

Tongues and teeth clashing in a mess of lust and love, little whispers of “I love you” bounce back and forward as eyes gaze at each other through hazy vision and tears.

“Ooh..Pete-“ your eyes close as you buck up, “S-say my name again, please..” soft touches of the cheek compel you to say again and again, Parker’s fingers dig into your skin as his thrust becoming harder and harder making your body shake as your eyes pinched.

You arch as you feel yourself clenching, pressure building up more and more at your core. Peter keeps his tempo as you squirm, “g-gon-“ your hands go haywire as you let out a scream.

Your ears ring as you pant, fingers splayed out on his chest. “Oooh” Peter whines out more obscenities as he fucks you through your orgasm, “Y-y..fuck even more wet..I’m- fuck soosososo cl-“ peter sobs, hiccuping as his moans get louder.

“Fuck! Ilov- Mm! Iloveyousomuch!!” Peter's rough fingers make their way to clit, harsh and fast strokes make you whine, your body moves against your will trying to match his thrusts.

“I-I’m - shitshitshit- imcummin’!” Peter’s eyes roll back as he pumps into you, a warm pressure courses through your body as Peter's cock pulses in you, “Hhn-oh I-I can feel you in me..” you push your body against his cock, Peter throws his head back as obscenities flow out of his mouth.

“Ah-..! Y-you mm- you're practically milking me. Fuck-“ Peter presses down on your stomach you groan in delight. “I-I’m g-gunna cum again, Ah-mmhnn!” You throw back again, convulsing with pleasure.

“M-me too, fuck your- “ Peter grunts as crams more

cum into your hole, “Y-ya take it..take it”

The room was stuffy, both your heads were spinning as you breathed as you stared at each other.

“T-that was..”

“Amazing, spectacular, sensational?”

You half-hazard hit him, “You’re such a goofball!”

“Mmm, you love it though. Dontcha?” Peter winks with his head tilted, his hair stuck up and all different ways.

“Hate to admit it, but you’re right.” You ruffle his hair.

#tasm!peter parker #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #mcu!peter x reader #tasm #sub!peter parker #switch!peter Parker #switch!reader

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hermionewrites · 7 months

Text

femme fatale

summary: a morally dubious personal investigator takes a holiday to virginia as she had heard that aaron hotchner was in witsec. he was not.

warnings: MDNI!!!!! blowjobs, slight d/s dynamic, slight rough play, open ending.

a/n: This is my first smut like work! so please give me the benefit of doubt as i know i need to improve lol. Hope you enjoyed!! Happy reading <3 SEND ME REQUESTS PLEASE. I know aaron doesn’t come back after witsec but for the sake of plot, he does.

word count: 3062

In the past twelve years you had been everywhere in the world. Paris, London, Milan, Sydney, Nigeria, Moscow, and in forty nine of the fifty states. Every one held a different passport and a different name and accent. There was one state, however, you avoided like the plague. Virginia. Named after the virgin queen, birth place of the first president and home to Quantico, the FBI office and unit chief of the BAU, Aaron Hotchner.

Through the grapevine of criminal connections, you had heard that he had been pushed into WITSEC by Mr Scratch. Him and his son were in Michigan, living a normal life. So you decided to make your way to Virginia.

Your week was spent going around to all the tourist attractions, you had hazy memories of. The Smithsonian, the national gallery of art, and the Lincoln memorial but steering clear of the Capitol. Too risky. Finally, the nightlife.

Holidays in your line of work were rare and short. A night out in a bar, for fun and not information on a suspect was even rarer. You were going out for fun, to get drunk and find someone to pull back into your cheap motel before you were back on the road again. Lightly curled hair twisted around your face, framing it and highlighting the dark, sultry makeup that was precisely painted onto your skin. Dark liner pulling attention to your eyes and a deep red lipstick, surely to leave a mark.

The dress was black, tight, showing everything you had off. It fell around mid thighs that were covered in a silky black stocking that ran down to your feet that were held in expensive black heels. The red bottoms were unmistakable and were a subtle hint at your wealth, steering all of the right people your way.

You’d looked up the bars in the immediate vicinity by your motel. One was a club, that was too young for you, it would be full of college kids looking to score with an older woman. The other was one an older bar with a snooker table and a dart board. This one was too old, filled with older men. The one you’d decided on was called O’keefes. It had a dart board and a moderately sized dance floor. It was the perfect medley between young and old.

The sign outside was glowing red, lighting up the immediate area. Brown wooden doors had little glass windows and you could see the inside was dark with red accent lights, matching the sign in the front. Pushing open the doors, you immediately make your way to the bar and do a scan of the place. The bar was in the middle of the room in a square shape, you sit with your back to the door.

“Can I get a gin and tonic please.” You ask, in a strong french accent, the bartender and she nods, whisking away to go and mix your drink.

“I’ll pay.” A voice says from behind you and you turn around. He’s a blonde, tall, muscular man. “You’re French?” He asks and sits on the red bar stool next to you while nodding to the bartender for a beer.

“Yes, I’m on a vacation?” You say, feigning pauses between your words, giving the impression of changing your dialect to American. “It’s fun here.” You smile at him and rest your chin in your hand.

“Ah I was born here, lived here my whole life.” He tells you and grabs your drinks off of the bartender and you sit and begin to chat. “What do you do for work?”

“I’m an accountant. What about you?” You ask him, not breaking your eyes from his, they were bright blue even in the red light. Not your usual type but he would do.

“I’m a gym instructor.” He comments and subtly flexes. Your toes curl in cringe as he does this but you grit your teeth and make a face of recognition.

“That makes sense, you’re very” You look down and sigh, pretending to think of the word. Looking up you make a grunting noise. You look down again, coyly this time.

“Muscular?” He offers and you make an ‘o’ with your mouth and nod at him. “Yes, I go to the gym every day. I do all sorts of things.” Immediately you had regretted talking to this man. He started to go on and on about all the types of workouts and weights and how long and what muscles it works.

He talked your ear off. He didn’t stop. Your eyes roam around the room, watching all of the other people and they’re conversations that seemed miles more interesting. There was a blonde woman and a bald man having the time of their lives on the dance floor, clearly drunk out of their minds, they looked familiar. The red light bounced around the room and your eyes follow it, taking you on a journey of people watching.

There was another couple, this time in a booth, snogging each others face off. They looked absolutely enamoured with each other. Her hands were in his hair and his hands were on her hips.

Your eyes followed the bouncing light to a round table in the corner of the room. There was a group of five people all laughing and drinking, pointing at the people on the dance floor from a second ago. They were close friends. In the background of your thoughts was the blonde man, still rambling on about the gym and being buff.

The light took your eyes to the door of the men’s bathroom as someone stood out of the doorway. His shoes were black leather oxfords, polished and shining. Black slacks that were perfectly tailored and were tight around his thighs. The same could be said for his white long sleeved shirt, tight across his chest with two buttons undone. A small amount of chest hair peeking out in the gap. Now he was more your type. You looked up to his face to study it.

Your heart drops to your stomach as you take him in. The stool squeaks as you stand up from it quickly and the two of you just stare at each other. You’d also realise you’d walked into a bar full of FBI agents and the one who disliked you the most was looking directly after you. Glancing over to the table of the large group of people you had just observed.

“I am not feeling to well, I have to go.” You say, leaning down to the man, who you didn’t know the name of and watched him look confused. “The gin didn’t sit with me. Goodbye.” You put your hand on his shoulder and grab his beer which he hadn’t touched yet.

You had never been so glad to sit near the door. The split second decision to bolt out of the door was risky. Running out of the bar, you rip the door open and made your way onto the Virginian streets. First mistake, wearing heels. Being a PI provided you with a generous amount of funds. However, expensive heels this high we’re for being walked down the the street in the arm of someone. Not pelting it down paved streets, you already regretted your choice to go out tonight.

Second mistake, coming to Virginia in the first place. You heard the bar door open again and he ran through it, bolting after you. He had the upper hand here, knowing the streets. Quickly, you run into the back alley’s. You didn’t stop running, checking the street signs as you ran. Desperate to get back to your motel, you don’t look back once.

Guessing wasn’t your strong point, you think as you randomly pick another alley to run through, hoping to find some familiarity. All of them started to look the same, maybe you’d already been here, or maybe it was the panic. There was a T shaped turn, you could either go straight foreword or turn right in a couple yards. You run straight foreword.

Suddenly, as you pass the right turn you are slammed against the brick wall. You feel the backs of your tights get stuck to the brick and rip and you wince.

“You prick.” You groan and pull your hands up to shove him off of you. “What you do that for?” Bending down you bring your hands to your knees and puff for breath.

“What job are you on?” He says, with his interrogator voice. Eyebrows creased and shoulders squared to make himself look more threatening.

“I’m not on a job, Hotch.” You tell him and stand up straight, looking at this face close up for the first time in a while. Your mind short circuits for a second as you contain yourself. “You have a beard.”

“You’re always on a job.” He states, clearly not believing you.

“I’m on holiday!” You exclaim, throwing your hands up into the air. “You.” Dragging out the word you point at him. “Are supposed to be in witness protection.”

“How’d you know that?” He asks, confused. He takes a step forward, his chest rising and falling.

“Everyone knew?” You roll your eyes at him. “You had to disappear because of Scratch, you were in Maine.” You shrug. “Now can I please, go back to my motel.”

“No.” He says and takes another step foreword. “You’re a murderer.” He states. “I’ll walk you.”

“Alleged, you have no evidence.” You answer quickly, “You have a bias against me. I’m innocent.” You sigh and start to walk away from him. “We can’t be seen together.”

“I know.” You look at him confused. “To all of those things. But it’s dark, I’ll walk you.” He jogs to catch up to you and the two of you walk at a leisurely pace in the direction of your motel. It’s silent for a while and you take in the streets. “You’re British?” He questions, turning toward you.

“I assumed you knew, all these years.” You laugh slightly. “You have reading glasses yet?” You joke. He doesn’t find it funny. “One day, you’ll laugh.” The silence comes up once again, you swing your arms back and forth. “What did you tell your friends?”

“That I had to go.” He states and you turn into the street of dodgy motels. “Why did you mention my beard?” He asks as he walks you to the door. You turn the key you had in your bra, and lean against the open door way.

“It suits you, you look fit.” You shrug and smile. His face doesn’t move. “It’s a compliment, accept it.” You roll your eyes again and scoff. “You want to come in?” He shakes his head and goes to open his mouth but you interrupt.

“I don’t want to fuck. Calm down.” You walk into your room and wait for him to follow. “Close the door.” You hear it click closed. “It wouldn’t be a good idea for us to have sex again anyway.”

“Why?” He says with a strong breath out of his nose.

“You might get attached.” You smirk at him and he finally laughs. It’s a deep baritone, but silky like honey, you wanted to drown in it. “Also because I think someone knows we’re friends.” You sit down on your bed and pull your red bottoms and frown at the scuffed paint. You look up to him as you peel the ripped tights away from your legs, leaving you in your dress.

“What do you mean?” He asks and you rummage through your bag, pulling out a white envelope. You toss it towards him and watch him pull out pictures of you from vulnerable times throughout the years. “Are these not yours?”

“No, my blackmail is in a safe.” You give him a smile and lean back. “I was served them, like I was being sued.” You explain. “I’m trying to find who’s they are, don’t worry.”

“I will lose my job, if these get out.” He says flicking through them again.

“I know. They won’t.” You assure him and take the photos back, taking them back and sliding them into the envelope. The air in the room feels thick and you bury them back into the bottom of the bag. The dynamic was strange. He didn’t like you because he thought you were a murderer. You didn’t like him because he thought you were a murderer. However, you couldn’t deny the tension the two of you had. You had kept your meetings short for this exact reason, the room heating up. You look up and meet his brown eyes.

“Is that all your things?” He asks and you nod. “It’s not a lot.” He states and stands up rigidly straight.

“I don’t live anywhere for more than a month.” Zipping your bag shut. “I close my cases quickly. You can sit down.”

He waves his hand dismissively. “I should go.” You nod and watch him turn to the door and take two long steps towards it. You never said goodbye. This time though, he hesitated to twist the door knob.

“One more time, couldn’t hurt.” You stand up and the two of you meet half way, wrapping around each other. Your lips hit his neck and you start to suck gently while simultaneously unbuttoning the buttons on his shirt. Your hands dive into the hair on his chest and generally feel him up through the open shirt. “You been working out?”

“Occasionally.” He says nonchalantly as your hands wander south. Down to his toned stomach and your fingers fiddle with the button on his slacks. You look up at him for permission and he nods. Slowly, you use both hands to unbutton them and teasingly pull down the zip. “Hurry up.” He grits and your hand slides inside the trousers but stay over his boxers. You felt him get hard in your hand.

He leans down to your neck and licks up to your ear and whispers. “Get on your knees for me.” You do exactly as your told and lower yourself down to the carpet.

“You’re so lucky you’re hot, this carpet is gross.” You say up to him and pull his black slacks down to his ankles. His mouth perks up at the compliment. You learn on the backs of your feet and wait. Your fingers trail up and down his thigh. He pulls down his boxers and that was a sight you missed.

Just looking at Aaron Hotchner, every one could tell he wasn’t small, in any shape of form. His build was big, his chest was big, his hands were big, you could go on. His dick was certainly big, you observe as he holds it close to your face. “Look up at me.” He instructs and you instantly do what he says.

You didn’t know what view you preferred. On one hand, his dick was pretty. On the other, he had grown a beard out while in WITSEC. They were both equal.

“Can I?” You ask, swiping your tongue over your lip but he cuts you off.

“Patience.” He states sternly. He liked to make you wait. You roll your eyes again but do sit there patiently. He pulls you gently from the back of your head closer to him. You furrow your eyebrows at him, wondering what he was doing. An uncontrollable red flush crawls up your skin as it dawned on you, he was measuring up to your face. Dirty man. He smirks and leans back, “Go ahead.” He finally says and you sigh in relief.

“Patience is not one of my strongest virtues.” You snark and lean in, taking a long, slow lick up his length. In the past few years, you had forgotten what he had tasted like, you didn’t want to forget again. Something you’d never forget was the noise he would make when you finally took him into your mouth.

That groan was music to your ears, a symphony that makes you blush. He’s heavy and warm on your tongue. You look up at him through your eyelashes and his eyes are screwed shut as he pants. Hallowing your cheeks, you slowly bob your head along him.

“Nor is it mine.” He moans out and runs his fingers into your hair. “Can I?” He strokes your hair and you nod, mouth still full of his cock. “Use your words.” He commands and smiles down at you as you pull off of him.

“Yes, you can.” You confirm and he grabs the back of your hair in a fist. He then guides you down on him again, but deeper than before almost breaching your throats and you couldn’t stop yourself from groaning, vibrating on him and the grip on your hair tightens slightly. “Christ.” You feel the leg muscles you have gripped in your hands twitch as he moves his hips forward to meet your movements.

The frequent small spurts of salty taste into your mouth signalled that he was getting closer to the edge. You try not to smirk and you take him deeper and he throws his head back with a throaty groan.

“I’m not going to last long.” He grits his teeth together and his legs twitch again, gripping onto the back of your head as you control your breathing through your nose.

He calls out your name, a word he rarely even whispers. It falls out of his lips as he finishes into yours.

He pulls out of your throat and you swallow, standing up and then perching on the edge of your bed. “Let me pay you back.” He says and takes steps towards your, lips landing on your neck. A soft moan leaves your mouth. But suddenly, the two of you are ripped apart by the phone ringing. He pulls away and answers, it’s not work, you can tell by his softer than usual tone.

“I’ve got to go.” He awkwardly says, pulling his trousers back up and buttoning his shirt. “It’s my son, Jack, he’s ill.” He grabs his wallet that had fallen on the floor in the chaos. “I’ll see you soon.” You follow him to the creaky door to see him out.

“No, you won’t.” He begins to walk away into the dark of the night. “Goodbye Aaron!” You call out into the darkness as he disappears.

#criminal minds #fanfic #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #ficlet #fluff #oneshot #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner smut #smut #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader smut #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotch smut #first smut #hope you enjoy!!!

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curtsycream · 3 months

Text

Farmer’s Market Crush

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

warning: self indulgent fluff, can he please be my farmers market crush???, the reader has curly hair and is southern, the hair detail can be skipped over its not that important, his smile so pretty <33

She stood at her booth when she spotted him, in front of her was a variety of jams. From blackberry to peach all fresh and homemade. They were in adorable little glass jars that looked professional almost. “Can I help you with anything?”

Hotch hadn’t noticed her until she spoke his eyes focusing on her. He was a bit startled as he seemed to be gathering his thoughts.

She stood with a smile on her face as she looked at Hotch. “I’m sorry did I startle you? I apologize if I did…you just looked as if your mind was somewhere else!” She said sweetly.

Hotch had to stop himself from smiling at the question she just asked, he was most definitely zoned out at that point. That was until he heard that voice, so adorable and sweet sounding, with just the right amount of twang in it, it took all of his concentration to stay focused.

When she had asked if she startled him, Hotch simply shook his head, “No…no you’re fine… I apologize. It was….”

What should he say? He didn’t wanna tell her he had zoned out when he noticed her behind her booth.

She laughed softly as she shook her head, “don’t worry we all zone out sometimes..” she said in a understanding manner.

She was still smiling at him as if it was permanently etched onto her face. She found him handsome and truth be told she was staring at him for a bit before she finally spoke up.

Hotch cleared his throat not sure what else to say, he then saw her looking at him. Her sweet smile making her look sweeter than she did at first. Yet something about her…something about her was familiar. He knew what she looked like but it was also a certain way she carried herself…and that accent…that southern belle twang that made him almost melt in her presence.

Hotch finally remembered where he had seen her before. But she beat him to the punch when she spoke again.

“You look familiar,” she said tilting her head causing her curls to drape over her shoulder. She leans forward a little over her booth, “you’re with the BAU right? I think I spoke with you before at that little coffee house on Main Street..” she finally said.

That was it, he remembered her from that coffee shop. And in the back of his mind he had thought it was because she was involved in a recent case. He couldn’t explain just how happy that fact made him. And her accent only made his smile grow.

He looked over at her and nodded, “Yes…yes I am.”

Her accent making even the simplest sentences feel like love songs in his ears. “Your name is Y/N right?” His voice was soft and calm like a cool breeze on a summer’s night.

“Yeah Y/N!” She said with enthusiasm as she nodded her head at him. She knew he looked familiar as she had remembered hearing that voice before. Along with that face that seemed to hold just the right amount of endearment and warmth.

He nodded his head before he looked over at her booth, now noticing the sign that read “fresh jams, homemade. By: Y/N” and adorable little jars of jam. “You make these?”

“Yeah it’s a hobby, I make other things too! I make my own breads and even pecan pralines I like to think I make ‘em the best.” She boosted slightly. “I have all kinds of jams today…I hadn’t had the time to make breads in about a week.”

He listened intently as he examined her booth, seeing her homemade jams and baked goods was truly astonishing to him.

“You make bread?” Hotch’s voice was soft still as he thought back to one moment in his past.

“What type of bread?”

“I make French loafs, sweet breads, multigrain, whole wheat bread, honey wheat bread, sourdough, rye! I started making brioche that’s my favorite one!” She tells him with a smile.

His heart raced when he heard this. French loaf, sweet breads, honey wheat bread and homemade brioche…was this some sort of gift from above?

As he watched the gentle breeze blow her curls around her face he spoke up again. “You know, you make the same bread as my mother did when I was growing up.”

“Really? Does she still make bread?” She asked with interest. She found the idea of someone older making bread amazing. In her small neighborhood not many did or showed interest to continue.

He looked over at her. His eyes looked as if they had a glimmer of sadness to them. “Unfortunately she…has passed away.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said with a compassionate smile on her face. She had genuine sympathy in her E/C eyes as she spoke.

Hotch looked away for a moment, he didn’t want this woman to feel bad for him, he had come here to see the market. “What do you recommend?” He asked softly, looking over at her.

She took the hint as she looked back at him, “from any booth?” She asked. She knew each booth pretty well so recommendations came easy to her.

He truly appreciated how kind she was, just like his mother used to be. He then nodded his head once more “yeah, any booth. Since you work here you’d probably know the best recommendation, right?” he smiled again.

She points around, “if you’re into fresh produce Mr. Cook’s booth is perfect he spends his time with the vegetables he grows. He also sells them for dirt cheap because he just enjoys doing it! Oh and Mable the little old lady over there makes the best macarons! She has this hazelnut praline one that’s so good! But if you lack a sweet tooth and like savory…Henry the tall fella over there he has the best homemade chips. He mixes them with different things, I’ve never had honey chips before until I tried his.” She rambled with a smile.

Hotch was amazed at how sweet and adorable she sounded. Her voice was comforting in a way. When she was finished talking Hotch nodded in response, “okay. I think I’ll have to try out a sample of your home made jams. I also think I’ll go try out the honey chips too.”

His voice was calm, and his smile was warm. It was as if he was looking at the girl of his dreams. But maybe he was just being a bit overly dramatic.

She grins, “tell me what’s your favorite jam?” She said as she looked at him. There was subtle kindness in her eyes as she spoke to him.

He looked back at her, “blackberry is my favorite.” He wasn’t so sure why he was so flustered, “what’s your favorite jam, Y/N?”

His name sounded lovely whenever said with the southern accent and his heart raced even more with the look in her eyes. It was a genuine look, not of judgment or pretend, there was only sweetness and playfulness. Something about her made him nervous yet excited.

Y/N looks through her jams before picking up the blackberry one. She thinks for a moment, “mine would be apple jam…on a piece of toast it tastes like apple pie. It’s so good especially if you use honey crisp or cosmic apples..” she says.

She holds out the blackberry jam, “this one is on the house…call it a getting to know you gift.” She tells him.

He watches as she picks up the blackberry jam, his eyes gazing at her for what feels like forever for him “you sure? I can pay for it of course, you work very hard for this I can’t imagine you’d be giving this up for free.”

Hotch was almost too mesmerized by her beauty to speak at this point he was still flustered and nervous. The feeling of her kindness and charm was making him feel as if he was floating and in a dream.

Y/N waved her hand dismissively, “don’t worry about it…usually Mable comes through here and pretty much buys me out for the holiday seasons.” She reassured him.

Hotch was still worried but at least he knew she wouldn’t be losing money if he took that blackberry jam. “If you say so…thank you Y/N.”

Hotch then looked around the market. He hadn’t yet noticed Derek and Penelope standing watching the scene unfold.

“You’re always welcome Aaron..” she said in a soft tone. She noticed the onlookers before letting out a small laugh. “Hey…I think we should get to know each other better..” she started. “If you want to that is..”

Hotch felt the world go still and quiet. Her words felt like honey dripping from her sweet lips. Her accent made his stomach grow with butterflies and warmth and her sweet tone was like the lullaby he had been needing to hear.

“I…I would like that.” He spoke firmly. But his voice had more confidence now as he couldn’t stop gazing at her.

Derek then taps Hotch on the shoulder, “come on Hotch, let’s not hog this lovely ladies time.”

She watched as Hotch was lead away by his friend as she waved goodbye. As Hotch was walking away while being pestered by Penelope and Derek for answers he turned the jar in his hand. His eyes widening for a second as he noticed the number on the back of the jam label.

***-***-****, we should get to know each other more <3

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch fluff #criminal minds #x reader #fluff #aaron fic #farmers market crush

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