#tie me up and let me simp

[giggle-shade]

I wanna write a fic of this foine cowboy but I'm so damn nervous 😭 I won't be whole until I do it though🥴Please send me THOTs and prayers friends

[kiwriteswords]

Because You're Just a Man [Aaron Hotchner x Reader]

Masterlist (updated!!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 10k|| AN: Who's going to explain to my boss that seeing this prompt caused me to get ZERO work done today. I'm getting more comfortable with writing smut again and this was honestly my favorite piece I have ever written so far! Also! Thank you for the encouragement on my original post @honeypiehotchner @ssamorganhotchner and @hoe4hotchner <3 Tags/Warnings: female reader, mdni, canon typical themes, sexual themes, flirting, hotch and reader pushing each others limits, jealous!Hotch, simp!Hotch, unprotected sex, horny hotch, horny reader, provoking hotch hours. Summary: Based on the prompt from @urfriendlywriter: "You're making it really hard to be a gentleman right now."

The hum of the BAU office felt different at night--quieter, but still charged with the weight of unfinished cases and the scent of stale coffee.

It was late, most of the team had already left, and the bullpen was washed in the dim glow of desk lamps and the occasional flicker of the overhead fluorescents. You sat at your desk, typing halfheartedly on your laptop, stealing occasional glances at the one person still in the office.

Hotch.

He sat in his glass-walled office, posture perfect as ever, his tie loosened just enough to suggest he’d been at this for hours. His jaw was tight, his fingers moving steadily across reports, and even from here, you could see the muscle in his cheek flex every time he clenched it.

God, he was impossible.

You’d been seeing him--or at least talking about the possibility of seeing him--for weeks now. There had been stolen moments, almost-confessions, a tension so thick between you that even the team had started noticing. But Hotch, ever the professional, ever the stoic leader, hadn’t given you much to go on. A lingering glance? A stray touch? A sharp inhale when you got too close? Sure. But he never acted. Never said anything.

Nothing concrete, anyways. 

And it was starting to drive you insane.

At first, you thought maybe he was just slow to act. That he wanted to be sure. But the more time passed, the more you started to wonder: Was he even attracted to you?

You knew he cared. You’d seen it in the way his eyes lingered when he thought you weren’t looking. In the way he checked in after cases, always ensuring you were okay. But physically? He was impossible to read. He was so composed, so disciplined, that you couldn’t tell if he was holding himself back or if he simply didn’t feel the way you did.

So you decided to test him.

Nothing outrageous, nothing too obvious--just enough to see if you could shake his composure.

You leaned back in your chair, stretching your arms overhead, the hem of your blouse riding up just a fraction. If he was looking, he didn’t show it.

Fine.

You stood slowly, making a deliberate show of gathering your things. You could feel the soft stretch of your pencil skirt as you shifted, the way your blouse clung just right in the low light. You weren’t normally one to be overly conscious of what you wore to work, but tonight? Tonight, you wanted him to notice.

File in hand, you took your time walking toward his office, letting the faint click of your heels punctuate the silence.

He didn’t look up right away, but you knew he knew you were there.

"Still working?" you asked, voice just a little softer than usual.

Hotch finally glanced up, dark eyes flicking to yours before settling back on the paperwork in front of him. "Looks that way." His voice was smooth, measured. Controlled.

You stepped inside, setting the file down on his desk--closer than necessary. Close enough that you could smell the subtle, clean scent of his cologne, something rich and warm beneath the sharpness of his aftershave.

"You should take a break," you mused, tilting your head slightly.

He exhaled slowly through his nose. "I don’t have time for a break."

"Not even for me?" You rested your hand against the edge of his desk, fingers just barely brushing the wood as you leaned in--just enough to make it impossible for him to ignore the proximity.

That did it.

It was quick, almost imperceptible, but you saw it.

The slight shift of his jaw. The way his fingers tightened around his pen just briefly before setting it down.

A rush of satisfaction curled in your stomach.

So, he does notice.

But the moment passes as quickly as it came. Hotch barely spares you another glance, flipping the page of his report with that same unreadable, impassive expression. If he was affected, he sure as hell wasn’t showing it now.

You narrowed your eyes slightly, watching him.

That’s how you want to play it, Hotchner?

Fine.

You could almost see it--the way his mind worked, the methodical discipline he relied on to keep himself locked up tight. He was compartmentalizing. Shoving down whatever impulse had flickered through him the second he caught your scent, or felt the heat of your body just inches from his desk.

He wasn’t indifferent. He was deliberately refusing to acknowledge it.

That realization sent a slow hum of intrigue through you.

This wasn’t going to be as simple as you thought. If you wanted to get a real reaction out of him, you’d have to be smarter about it. Subtler.

You straightened up, deliberately not lingering the way you had been. Let him think you were backing off.

“Don’t work too hard,” you said lightly, turning toward the door.

You swore you felt his eyes on you as you walked away--but when you glanced back, he was already staring at his paperwork again, jaw tight.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

Back at your desk, you settled into your chair and let your fingers drift over your keyboard, not really typing, not really thinking about work anymore. Instead, your mind was spinning, plotting.

What else would get to him?

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of your lips.

You had all the time in the world to figure that out.

oxoxoxoxoxoxox

The conference room was buzzing with low chatter, the sound of files rustling, and the distant whir of the coffee machine in the bullpen. The team was gathering for a briefing, and you were one of the last to arrive, slipping in just as Hotch stood at the head of the table, setting down the case file.

You slid into the chair across from him, casually smoothing the hem of your skirt as you crossed your legs, slow and deliberate.

His gaze flicked up--so brief, so controlled, that anyone else would have missed it. But you didn’t.

Your stomach hummed with satisfaction.

His eyes dropped immediately to the folder in front of him, fingers adjusting his watch before flipping open the case file. His movements were precise, methodical. A man rebuilding his walls, brick by brick.

Good. You weren’t done testing their strength yet.

Morgan and JJ were still chatting, waiting for Garcia to finish setting up, so you leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand, watching Hotch as if you were actually interested in the file he was reading.

“You didn’t go home last night, did you?” you mused.

Hotch’s jaw tightened just slightly. “I was finishing reports.”

You hummed, tilting your head. “Right. That explains why you’re so grumpy today.”

“I’m not grumpy,” he replied, voice smooth, but the way his grip subtly flexed around his pen told you otherwise.

“You kind of are.” You let the amusement curl in your voice. “At least a little.”

His exhale was barely audible, a long, slow breath through his nose. He still wasn’t looking at you, keeping his attention on the paperwork in front of him, but his fingers tightened around his pen just slightly.

You smiled.

And then, because you wanted to see just how much he was holding back, you stretched--a lazy, innocent stretch, your back arching just enough to accentuate your figure, your blouse shifting ever so slightly.

Hotch froze.

Just for half a second.

But it was there.

The slight pause in the movement of his pen. The subtle way his jaw went even tighter. The fraction of a second where his eyes flicked toward you before snapping back to his papers.

You bit back a smirk.

This was working.

You tapped your fingers against the table, feigning nonchalance. “You know, Hotch, if you ever actually relaxed once in a while, I think the world would keep turning.”

His lips parted slightly, as if he was about to respond--but at that moment, Garcia’s voice burst through the moment, her usual chipper tone filling the room.

You didn’t miss the slight tension in Hotch’s shoulders as he very purposefully turned his full attention to the case.

He was trying so hard.

And it was only making you more determined.

xoxoxoxoooxox

The night air in Quantico was thick with humidity, the kind that settled into your skin and made the inside of the BAU feel heavier than usual. It made you wonder if this is where they decided to save bureaucratic dollars, by turning the air conditioner off when people worked after office hours.

Most of the team had already left, the bullpen dimly lit except for the faint glow of desk lamps and the occasional flicker of the coffee machine cycling through its last brew of the night.

Hotch was still in his office, as always.

And you were still here.

At first, your little experiments had been entertaining--a game to see if you could shake his impossible composure, test the limits of his discipline. And while you had noticed the cracks--those fleeting glances, the small shifts in body language--he never let them grow into something more.

And it was starting to piss you off.

It wasn’t as if you expected him to shove the desk between you aside and kiss you breathless (though the thought was an incredibly tempting one). But you needed something. A sign. A confirmation that this thing--this slow, unbearable push-and-pull--wasn’t just in your head.

Because if he wasn’t interested, if all of this was just a cruel trick of your own imagination, then what the hell were you doing?

You pushed away from your desk, snatching up the case file you’d been pretending to work on, and made your way up the stairs to his office.

His door was open, but he was in his usual state of intense focus--pen in hand, elbow resting on the desk, brows drawn together. His sleeves were rolled up now, exposing the lean muscle of his forearms, and his tie was loosened just enough to be tempting.

You leaned against the doorway, tilting your head. “You do realize the case is over, right?”

Hotch didn’t even look up. “Paperwork isn’t.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping inside. “You work too much.”

“I’ve been told.”

There was something infuriating about his ability to stay perfectly neutral. You stepped closer, rounding his desk slightly, just enough to lean against the edge.

Close enough to be impossible to ignore.

“You ever think about taking a break? Doing something fun?”

His eyes flicked up at that--just for a second--but his expression didn’t change. “I have fun.”

You huffed a laugh, crossing your arms. “No, you don’t.”

His lips pressed into a thin line.

You took it further. “When was the last time you let yourself actually relax?”

“I don’t have the luxury of--”

“Oh, come on, Hotch,” you interrupted, frustration leaking into your tone now. “You’re always like this. So composed, so in control.” You leaned in slightly, voice dipping into something just a little more pointed. “So unaffected.”

Something flickered behind his eyes. A warning. A silent caution that you were pushing too hard.

You ignored it.

You tilted your head, considering him, your frustration bubbling into something sharper.

And then, because you couldn’t stop yourself, because you were tired of second-guessing and waiting for something that might not even be there, you let the words slip:

"You must be the most disciplined man on the planet, Hotchner." You let it sit for a beat before adding, deliberately flippant, "Or maybe I’m just not your type."

That did it.

It was instant.

His pen stilled, fingers tightening around it before setting it down with deliberate care. His jaw tensed, the muscle there flickering under the low light. And then--finally--he looked at you.

Not a glance. Not a fleeting acknowledgment.

A look.

Slow. Measured. And dark in a way that made your breath hitch.

For the first time, you felt something shift in the air between you--something crackling, something dangerous.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he leaned back in his chair, rolling his shoulders, his gaze locked onto yours like he was considering his next move. Like he was deciding.

When he finally spoke, his voice was lower than before. “You really think that?”

Your stomach tightened.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance even as your pulse picked up. “Well, I don’t see you proving me wrong.”

His exhale was slow, controlled--like he was reining himself in.

And suddenly, you weren’t sure if you were the one poking him--or if you had just walked straight into something you weren’t ready for.

The room felt smaller.

Hotch hadn’t moved--not an inch. He was still leaning back in his chair, arms resting on the desk, posture as composed as ever. And yet, something had shifted.

Maybe it was in the air between you, thick with unsaid things.

Maybe it was in his eyes--still dark, still unreadable, but no longer distant.

Or maybe it was in the silence, the heavy pause after your words had landed, stretching just long enough for doubt to creep in.

Maybe you were right? Maybe you were wrong? 

"You really think that?"

He repeated. His voice was low, controlled, but there was something new in it. Something deliberate.

You lifted a shoulder in a shrug, determined to keep your ground, even as your heartbeat knocked against your ribs. “Well, again, I don’t see you proving me wrong.”

Hotch inhaled slowly, tilting his head ever so slightly as he studied you.

And then--he smirked.

It wasn’t full, wasn’t obvious, but it was there. The barest hint of amusement curling at the edges of his lips, just enough to make your stomach tighten.

“You’re impatient,” he murmured.

Your brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

He tapped his fingers against the desk once--just once--before leaning forward. Not much, but enough that the shift in proximity sent a shiver down your spine.

"You expect me to react on your timeline," he said, voice smooth, steady. "You think if I don’t, it means I don’t feel it." His eyes flickered over your face, slow and deliberate. "That I don’t want to."

Heat licked up your spine.

His words were careful, calculated--but there was something beneath them. A warning.

Your pulse quickened, but you refused to let him see it. You lifted your chin slightly. "Am I wrong?"

Hotch exhaled sharply, the ghost of a laugh under his breath, before shaking his head.

“No,” he admitted. “But you are underestimating me.”

Your stomach flipped.

You felt the weight of those words, how easily they unraveled the confidence you’d built up.

Underestimating him?

Your lips parted slightly, but before you could speak, he continued, voice dropping just slightly:

“If I wanted to give in, I would have already.”

The sheer certainty in his tone sent a thrill down your spine.

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry. "So why haven’t you?"

He held your gaze steady and unwavering.

"Because I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of winning this little game you're playing."

Your breath caught.

So he knew.

He’d known this whole time.

Bastard. 

Every shift in your tone. Every touch that lingered just a little too long. Every glance, every tease, every attempt to get a reaction out of him.

He had seen all of it.

And he had been letting you play.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, frustration and thrill curling into one. You had been trying to push him, to get under his skin, but now it was you who felt unsteady, heat pooling low in your stomach.

"You think this is a game?" you challenged.

Hotch’s gaze flickered lower--just briefly, just enough to make your breath hitch--before snapping back to yours.

“I think you’re trying to get a reaction out of me,” he murmured, voice like velvet. “And I think you’re getting frustrated because I won’t give you one.”

You sucked in a breath, hands curling at your sides.

“And that’s why you’re underestimating me.”

Your throat tightened.

He’s turning this on you.

You had walked into this office thinking you were the one in control, that you were the one poking at his restraint.

But now, sitting there, completely composed, unshaken, he was making it clear:

He had never been the one losing control, but you did have an effect on him.

He was letting you think you were winning--letting you push, letting you test, letting you play.

But the second he wanted to break the tension, he would.

And not a moment sooner.

Silence stretched between you, and you realized that if you said anything now, you’d only be proving him right.

So you did the only thing you could.

You stepped back.

Not much. Just enough to put a few inches of space between you. Just enough to breathe.

Hotch’s lips twitched slightly, almost like he knew he had won this round.

"Goodnight," he said, voice as smooth as ever.

Your nails pressed into your palm, heat still simmering low in your stomach, but you forced yourself to stay composed as you turned.

And as you walked out of his office, one thought burned in your mind.

You had severely underestimated Aaron Hotchner.

And now, you were more determined than ever to make him break.

xxoxoxoxoxo

The local precinct smelled like stale coffee and cheap disinfectant, the kind of place that saw too many long nights and not enough successful arrests. The team had been working with the local PD all morning, briefing the officers, pouring over evidence, and establishing a strategy for catching the unsub. The air was thick with tension--case tension, but also something else.

Hotch tension.

You had been careful, playing it safe the last couple of days after your last conversation with him. He had successfully flipped your game back on you, made you second-guess your own approach, and that had annoyed you. But more than that--it had intrigued you.

You had underestimated him.

But that only made you want to try harder.

So now, standing in the middle of the precinct, surrounded by officers, detectives, and your team, you found your next move.

It happened when one of the younger officers--a rookie, maybe mid-twenties--sidled up beside you while you were scanning over a map of the unsub’s hunting ground. He was cocky, too casual for a case like this, but harmless enough.

“You guys always get put on the bad ones, huh?” he asked, shaking his head.

You hummed, glancing at him briefly. “Something like that.”

He smelled like cheap cologne and bad news. 

His eyes flicked over you--not in a way that was offensive, but in a way that was obvious. “So, what’s it like working for him?” His gaze drifted past you, and you knew exactly who he was referring to.

You glanced toward the other side of the room, where Hotch was standing with Rossi and Morgan, discussing logistics with the local captain. He was doing what he always did--keeping his tone measured, his posture unwavering, his presence demanding attention even when he wasn’t speaking.

“What do you mean?” you asked, playing dumb.

The rookie smirked. “I mean, he’s kind of intense, right? Seems like the type of guy who doesn’t let his team breathe.”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, he lets us breathe. Just not when we’re wasting time.”

The officer chuckled, leaning slightly closer. “And what about after hours? He loosen up at all then?”

It was an innocent enough comment. It wasn’t inappropriate, wasn’t particularly suggestive, but it was loaded--an implication lingering beneath the surface.

And that’s when you felt it.

The shift.

It wasn’t obvious. No one else in the room would have noticed. But you did.

His energy--you could feel it surrounding you without him even making as much as a subtle eye movement. He was all around you. All at once. Just not physically. 

The way Hotch’s posture stiffened, ever so slightly.

The way his conversation faltered for just a fraction of a second before continuing.

The way his fingers twitched, like he had the urge to look over but refused to.

You had just done something dangerous.

And you liked it.

A slow, wicked idea unfurled in your mind.

You didn’t even have to flirt with the rookie. You just had to let him think he had a shot. Let Hotch think that someone else might be in your orbit.

So you smiled--just a small, amused smile--as you said, “Why? You looking for some FBI mentorship?”

The officer grinned. “I wouldn’t say no.”

And then, because you could, because you were feeling reckless, you let your fingers lightly trail over his forearm. A barely there touch. A casual, fleeting thing.

But it wasn’t casual at all.

You felt the shift further before you even looked up.

And when you finally glanced toward Hotch--when you saw the way his gaze was locked onto you now, the sharp, barely restrained tension in his features--you almost lost your own composure.

His expression was unreadable, but his eyes?

His eyes were burning.

A rush of heat surged through your body.

Oh.

You had found something.

But before you could process it, Hotch’s voice cut through the air--calm, too calm.

“Agent,” he said sharply. “A word.”

Your stomach dropped.

And not in the way that made you nervous.

In the way that made your pulse spike.

You turned slowly, heart hammering, as Hotch gestured for you to follow him.

He didn’t wait for you--just walked toward one of the quieter hallways of the precinct, expecting you to keep up.

You did.

His legs were so long--such long strides. 

Your mind was racing, trying to figure out if he was mad or if this was something else--if you had finally managed to push too far.

When he finally stopped, he turned abruptly, standing so close that you almost collided into him.

His jaw was tight. His breathing controlled.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, voice low.

You blinked up at him, playing the part of the innocent. “Excuse me?”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable. “The officer.”

Your heart thumped. You knew what this was now.

It wasn’t anger.

It was something else entirely.

A slow, knowing smirk curved your lips. “Oh,” you said, tilting your head. “You were paying attention.”

His nostrils flared slightly.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he murmured, voice even lower now.

Your pulse thrummed in your throat. “Am I?”

Hotch’s gaze locked onto yours, something sharp, something restrained--but this time, barely.

For the first time, you knew you had him.

And now?

Now you were dying to see what happened when Aaron Hotchner stopped holding back.

The hallway was too quiet.

Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was just you, hyperaware of every single breath, every shift in the air between you and Hotch. The precinct buzzed faintly in the distance, but here, in this small, dimly lit corridor, it felt like another world entirely.

Hotch hadn’t moved.

Neither had you.

The space between you was barely a few inches, and yet, the tension crackled like a live wire, sparking in the narrow gap separating you.

His jaw was tight. His shoulders squared. His hands twitched--just slightly, like he was debating what to do with them.

Hotch exhaled through his nose, slow, measured, but there was something off about it--something that told you it wasn’t just an exhale. It was restraint.

Tightly coiled, barely-leashed restraint.

You had never seen him like this.

He was always so careful. So composed. So in control.

But right now? Right now, there was something just beneath the surface, something barely held together by the thread of his discipline.

And it was because of you.

You could feel your pulse hammering against your ribs, heat rising up your spine, but you didn’t step back.

Neither did he.

“I didn’t realize talking to an officer was against BAU protocol,” you mused, letting the words hang in the air between you, testing, pushing.

Hotch’s eyes darkened. “That’s not what this is about.”

Your lips curled slightly, your confidence returning in full force. “No?”

His breath hitched--just a fraction, just enough.

Then, before you could blink, he took a step closer.

It was subtle. Barely there.

But it was deliberate.

You were trained to decipher human behavior, after all. This man--he was one of the hardest shells to crack, but something told you how to put the pieces together now. 

Your spine straightened instinctively, the sudden nearness setting off a slow burn low in your stomach.

For the first time, it felt like he was the one testing you.

“You think I don’t see what you’re doing?” he murmured, voice dangerously low.

A shiver trailed down your spine.

You forced yourself to hold his gaze, even as the heat between you thickened. “And what am I doing, Hotch?”

His jaw ticked. “You want a reaction.”

You tilted your head slightly, barely suppressing a smirk. “Do I?”

His exhale was sharp this time, less measured, less composed. His fingers flexed at his sides, like he was physically keeping himself from moving.

Then, before you could process what was happening, he leaned in--just enough that his breath ghosted over your skin, warm, sharp.

“You really want to test me?” he murmured.

Your stomach flipped.

Your lips parted slightly, a retort forming, but nothing came out.

Hotch let the moment hang, suspended, the air thick with something neither of you wanted to name.

Then--just as quickly as he had closed the space--he pulled back, his expression unreadable once more.

His discipline snapped back into place like a steel trap, as if he had never let it slip at all.

But you had seen it.

You had felt it.

And as he straightened, adjusting his tie, clearing his throat, you knew.

He wasn’t unaffected.

Not even close.

“Get back to work,” he said finally, voice smooth, controlled.

But he didn’t look at you when he said it.

And that?

That told you everything you needed to know.

You thought you had won.

You felt the tension, saw the moment Hotch nearly cracked, heard the shift in his breath. You knew now--knew for certain--that you affected him. That you weren’t imagining things.

That Aaron Hotchner wanted you.

And yet, as you walked back into the main room of the precinct, trying to steady your own breathing, trying to refocus on the case, something gnawed at you.

Because when he had pulled back, when he had gathered himself, when he had smoothed his tie and sent you back to work like nothing had happened--there had been something in his expression.

Not regret. Not hesitation.

Something else.

And you realized it too late.

You had just handed him the upper hand.

oxoxoxoxoxxoox

It started small.

You were seated at the long table in the precinct’s war room, reviewing files, mapping out patterns on a whiteboard with Morgan and Prentiss, when you felt it.

A gaze.

Hotch was across the room, engaged in a discussion with Rossi and the lead detective, his voice even, steady. Composed.

But he was watching you.

Not directly. Not obviously.

But you could feel it.

The way his eyes flicked toward you between sentences, the way his attention lingered just a second too long before returning to the conversation at hand.

It shouldn’t have rattled you.

But it did.

Because you had spent so long trying to get a reaction out of him. And now, suddenly, he wasn’t ignoring you. He wasn’t brushing it off.

He was watching you back.

And worse?

He wasn’t hiding it anymore.

Your stomach twisted in a way you weren’t used to.

You forced yourself to refocus, flipping through the files in front of you, but it was impossible to concentrate, not when you could still feel his eyes on you, his presence like a gravitational pull you couldn’t ignore.

And then--he upped the ante.

It was in the small things.

Like the next time you spoke to him--when you handed him a report, expecting him to simply take it like he always did, business as usual.

But instead, his fingers brushed yours as he took the file, slow, deliberate.

The touch was barely there, but it sent an electric jolt up your arm.

You glanced up at him, startled, only to find his gaze already on yours. Steady. Controlled.

Like he knew exactly what he had done.

Your lips parted, but he simply nodded, expression unreadable. “Thank you.”

And then he walked away.

Your breath stuck in your throat.

Oh, he’s good.

It only got worse from there.

During the next strategy meeting, you found yourself seated beside him--not an unusual occurrence, but this time, you felt it.

The space between you was almost nonexistent.

His arm rested along the table, his fingers occasionally brushing the edge of your notepad, each accidental touch sending a slow hum through your body.

But the worst part?

The absolute worst part?

Was when you went to reach for your coffee mug at the same time he reached for his.

Your fingers brushed again, but this time, he didn’t move away.

Not right away.

Instead, his thumb lingered against your skin for a half-second too long.

And when you looked up at him, startled, he just--

Smirked.

It was small. Subtle. So quick that if you hadn’t been looking, you might’ve missed it.

But it was there.

You swallowed hard, gripping your coffee mug like it was your lifeline, because suddenly, the temperature in the room felt ten degrees hotter.

And he just continued on like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn’t just turned the game back on you.

You barely heard a word Morgan was saying, barely processed anything but the way Hotch’s arm remained just close enough that if you moved, even slightly, you would touch again.

He was toying with you now.

Testing you.

And suddenly, you understood.

He had been waiting for this.

Letting you push him. Letting you get bold.

Because he had known the whole time that the moment he pushed back, you wouldn’t be ready for it.

You inhaled sharply, forcing yourself to refocus, forcing yourself to push through the way your stomach twisted, the way your pulse hammered against your ribs.

Fine.

If he wanted to play, you could play.

But you were starting to realize something you hadn’t expected.

Aaron Hotchner was a much more dangerous opponent than you had ever given him credit for.

And now, you weren’t sure if you were winning--or if you were about to completely lose yourself in him.

xoxoxoxoxoxo

The bar was dimly lit, the kind of place the team liked to celebrate in after a case closed--a quiet enough spot to talk, but loud enough that no one paid much attention to a group of FBI agents drinking in the corner.

The case had been a difficult one, drawn out and exhausting, but the unsub was in custody, the victims’ families had answers, and--for tonight at least--you could all breathe a little easier.

You nursed your drink, watching as Morgan and Prentiss laughed at something Garcia said, Rossi swirling his whiskey in his glass as he smirked at whatever banter they were trading.

And then there was Hotch.

Sitting beside you, as always.

Close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence, but still distant in that way only he could manage--always composed, always aware of himself, of his surroundings.

Always in control.

You had spent the entire night testing that control.

At first, it was subtle. A lingering touch when you handed him his drink, a fleeting brush of your fingers against his wrist when you leaned in to speak over the noise of the bar.

Then, bolder.

A teasing remark, the way you laughed just a little softer when he said something dry and sarcastic, the way your hand rested lightly against his thigh just as you shifted in your seat.

You had expected a reaction.

You wanted one.

But instead of pulling away, instead of scolding you, instead of doing what he always did--remaining unaffected, unshaken--Hotch did something worse.

He played along.

He didn’t move your hand. He didn’t shift away.

He let it happen.

And the worst part?

He let you sit with it.

Let you feel the weight of your own actions, the way the tension between you thickened, the way your pulse picked up when his dark eyes flicked toward yours, unreadable but aware.

He was so much better at this game than you were.

And you were losing.

You needed to tip the scales back in your favor.

So you made a choice.

You reached for your drink, fingers brushing the rim, and took a slow sip--letting your lips close around the edge of the glass, letting your tongue flicker just slightly against the rim as you pulled back.

It was innocent enough.

But the moment you placed your glass back down, you shifted in your seat--legs crossing deliberately, brushing against his knee as you tilted your head, looking up at him from beneath your lashes.

And then you said it.

Low. Soft. Just for him.

"You know, Hotch…I don’t think I’ve ever seen you flustered before."

It was a direct challenge.

A blatant, deliberate provocation.

And this time?

He reacted.

The shift was instantaneous.

His fingers tightened hard around his glass, his jaw clenching as his breath hitched--so subtly that no one else would have noticed, but you did.

His lips parted slightly, his tongue flicking against the inside of his cheek like he was considering his next move.

Then, finally--finally--he turned to look at you fully.

And the intensity in his gaze?

It nearly knocked the breath out of you.

His voice was low, rough around the edges, laced with something you had never heard from him before.

"You’re making it very hard to be a gentleman right now."

Your stomach dropped.

Your fingers curled slightly against the table, and you swallowed, suddenly feeling so much smaller beneath the weight of his attention.

You had wanted this.

You had asked for this.

And now?

Now you weren’t sure if you were ready for what happened next.

Because the way Hotch was looking at you?

Like he had been holding back for so long--so painfully long--and was finally, finally reaching the edge of his control?

It sent a shiver down your spine.

And suddenly, for the first time since this little game started…

You realized you might have just gotten in over your head.

Your stomach clenched, heat flooding through your body in waves, but you didn’t move.

You couldn’t.

Not when he was looking at you like that.

Not when his fingers flexed against his glass, his jaw clenched so tightly that you could almost hear the strain in it.

Not when you realized--really realized--that you had finally done it.

You had finally pushed him to his limit.

And now, for the first time, you were the one feeling unsteady.

A slow smirk threatened at the corner of his lips, barely there, his fingers tapping against his whiskey glass before he finally--finally--pulled his gaze away from yours.

But not before he leaned in, just a fraction closer.

Just enough for you to feel his warmth.

Just enough for his breath to ghost against your skin when he murmured, “Finish your drink.”

Your breath hitched.

You forced yourself to swallow, gripping the glass as your pulse pounded in your ears, suddenly hyperaware of the fact that he hadn’t given you an order before.

Not like that.

Not in a way that made your thighs press together beneath the table.

You took a slow sip, the whiskey burning down your throat, but it wasn’t the alcohol that was making your head spin.

It was him.

You were utterly and completely drunk on him. 

Hotch leaned back in his chair, as if regaining some of his composure, but you could see it now.

The way his fingers still flexed against the glass.

The way his chest rose and fell just a little deeper than usual.

The way his entire body was coiled tight, like he was waiting.

And the worst part?

The absolute worst part?

You had no idea what he was waiting for.

A few minutes passed, conversation continuing around you, but it felt like background noise now--like nothing else in the room mattered except the heavy weight of whatever this was sitting between you.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, Hotch glanced at his watch and pushed back his chair.

The shift sent a jolt of anticipation through your body.

He leaned down slightly, voice low in your ear.

"Let’s go."

Your stomach flipped.

You set your glass down, fingers slightly shaky as you grabbed your coat, barely managing a quick glance at the team.

Morgan smirked. Rossi raised an eyebrow. Prentiss definitely noticed something.

But you didn’t have time to care.

Because the moment you stepped outside into the cool night air, the second the door shut behind you, you barely had time to turn before Hotch’s voice--low, measured, dangerous--cut through the silence.

"Tell me something."

You looked up, breath catching. “What?”

His gaze burned into yours, dark and unwavering.

"Was this just a game to you?"

Your throat tightened.

You blinked. “What?”

His jaw clenched. “All of it,” he murmured. “The teasing. The touches. The way you looked at me back there.” His eyes flickered to your lips before snapping back to your gaze. “Was it just a game?”

The air between you was electric.

Your stomach churned, your pulse hammering in your chest, because this was it.

This was him--finally, finally dropping the act.

And the rawness in his voice?

The realness in it?

It made you realize exactly what you wanted.

Your lips parted slightly, a shaky breath escaping before you whispered, “No.”

Hotch’s entire body reacted to that word.

A sharp inhale. His fingers twitching like he was holding himself back.

And then--finally--he stopped holding back.

His hand lifted--slow, deliberate--fingers grazing your jaw as he tilted your chin up.

Not demanding. Not rushed.

Just assessing.

Just waiting.

Like he needed you to give him permission.

Like he needed to know you wanted this as much as he did.

And God, did you want this.

Your breath stuttered, but you didn’t look away.

Instead, you leaned into his touch, exhaling softly as your fingers curled against the lapels of his jacket.

That was all it took.

Hotch moved.

His lips were on yours, firm but controlled--measured, like he was still trying to hold back, still trying not to lose himself completely.

But you wanted him to lose it.

So you made a sound--soft, desperate--pressing yourself closer, and that was it.

His restraint snapped.

A sharp inhale against your lips, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him.

His body was warm, solid, hot, and suddenly you were gripping him, fingers twisting into his shirt as his lips parted, deepening the kiss, letting out a low, gravelly noise that sent a shockwave down your spine.

The street was too open.

The world was too present.

But Hotch--Aaron--was kissing you like it was the only thing that had ever mattered.

And the second his hands tightened around you, the second his teeth grazed your lower lip, you knew.

You had both lost this game.

And you couldn’t wait to see what happened next.

The kiss was heated, sharp, and all consuming, a slow unraveling of every ounce of tension you had been building for weeks.

Hotch’s hands were firm against your waist, fingers flexing like he was still battling the instinct to pull you closer, like he was still trying to cling to the last fragments of control that were slipping through his fingers.

You weren’t making it easy for him.

Your hands fisted into the front of his shirt, tugging him forward, pressing yourself into the solid warmth of his chest, needing more--needing all of him.

And God, the way he reacted--

The sharp inhale against your lips, the way his fingers dug into your waist, the soft, barely-contained groan that rumbled deep in his chest--

It was like nothing you had imagined.

He wasn’t careful.

He wasn’t measured.

He was starved.

Hotch tore his lips from yours, breathing hard, forehead resting against yours, his grip still tight on your hips as if he was physically keeping himself from devouring you completely.

Your own breath was uneven, your hands sliding up his chest, nails scraping lightly against his shirt.

“Aaron--”

His groan was immediate, like hearing his name like that sent a direct current through his body.

Then his hands moved.

He skimmed them up your sides, tracing the curves he had so painstakingly ignored for weeks, months, forever--his fingers ghosting over the fabric of your blouse before one of them slid into your hair, tilting your chin just so before he kissed you again.

Harder.

Rougher.

No restraint now.

It sent a shockwave through your body, heat pooling low in your stomach as his teeth scraped your lower lip, his other hand gripping your waist like he needed you, like he couldn’t stop himself anymore.

And God, you didn’t want him to stop.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you were aware that you were still outside the bar, still in public, still far too exposed for what was rapidly spiraling into something uncontainable.

Hotch must have realized it at the same time because he broke away, breathless, dark eyes burning into yours.

“Come with me.”

You didn’t even hesitate.

The ride to his place was a blur.

You barely remembered getting into the car.

Barely remembered the way his hands tightened on the wheel, the way his jaw ticked as you sat beside him, thighs pressing together, anticipating.

The air in the car was thick, electric with everything unsaid, everything about to happen.

And the second the door to his apartment closed behind you--

It snapped.

Hotch was on you before you could take another breath.

His lips crashed into yours, his hands gripping your hips, backing you against the wall like he needed to feel you, like he was making up for every second he had spent denying this.

Your breath hitched, your arms looping around his neck, nails dragging along the short hairs at the nape of his neck as you kissed him back, tilting your head to let him deepen it, let him take what he wanted.

And God, did he want.

His hands wandered, gripping your waist, sliding up your back, fingers teasing the hem of your blouse before slipping beneath it, palms searing against your skin.

He let out a low groan, his mouth moving to your jaw, down to your neck, hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing lower, sending a pulse straight to your core.

“Aaron--”

Another groan.

His fingers tightened on your hips, his breath warm against your skin.

“You--” He exhaled sharply, voice wrecked. “You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me.”

You shivered, gripping his shoulders. “Then show me.”

Something snapped in him at that.

His hands slid to the back of your thighs, and before you could react, he was lifting you, guiding your legs around his waist, pressing you firmly against the wall, his body pressing flush against yours.

Heat flared through you at the sheer strength of him, the way he held you so effortlessly, the way his lips found yours again, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, owning the kiss in a way that made you dizzy.

He walked you to the bedroom like that, lips never leaving yours, never giving you a moment to breathe.

And when he laid you down, settling between your legs, hands braced beside your head, his breath coming out ragged--

You realized you had been so, so wrong.

You had thought you were in control.

Had thought you were winning this game.

But the way Aaron Hotchner was looking at you now?

Like he owned you?

Like he was done holding back?

You knew.

You had never stood a chance.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The room was dim, bathed in the soft glow from the city lights spilling through the window. The air was thick--heavy--with heat and want and weeks of barely restrained tension finally snapping apart at the seams.

Hotch hovered above you, one hand braced against the mattress, the other tracing along your jaw, his thumb dragging over your lower lip, teasing.

You exhaled sharply, your chest rising beneath him, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. You had never seen him like this--eyes dark, his breath uneven, his entire body wound so tight, like he was fighting every urge to just take you right then and there.

He was still holding back.

You weren’t having that.

Your fingers tugged at his collar, pulling him down until his lips crashed against yours again, hot and desperate, teeth scraping, tongues meeting, consuming.

A low sound rumbled in his chest--a groan, gravelly and wrecked--as his weight settled between your legs, pressing firm against you, and God, you could feel everything.

Your thighs tightened around his waist, your nails dragging down his back, and that was it.

He broke.

Hotch's mouth moved--leaving your lips, tracing a path down your jaw, to the curve of your throat. He sucked, bit--just enough to make you gasp, his tongue sweeping over the sting.

"Aaron," you breathed, your hands threading into his hair, tugging hard.

His reaction was immediate--a deep groan against your skin, his fingers gripping your waist, his hips pressing flush against yours in a slow, torturous roll.

You gasped, arching up against him, heat flooding through your body as his hands wandered, sliding beneath your blouse, fingers tracing over your stomach, exploring.

“You drive me insane,” he muttered, lips dragging down your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. “You and your games.”

You smirked, gasping as his teeth grazed a particularly sensitive spot. “I think you liked them.”

Hotch exhaled a sharp breath, pressing his forehead to your shoulder for a moment, laughing, but it was low, dark--not amusement, but something else.

Something dangerous.

Then he lifted his head, his fingers tilting your chin just so until your eyes met his.

“I let you play, sweetheart.” His voice was silk and steel, deep and gravelly, thick with desire. “But now?”

He smirked--smirked--and leaned in, lips brushing against yours in a whisper of a kiss.

“Now it’s my turn.”

A shiver ran through you, your pulse pounding, your entire body on fire.

Then, in one swift motion, he sat up, pulling you with him, his fingers tugging at the hem of your blouse. His eyes met yours, giving you one last out.

But there was no hesitation.

Not from you.

Not from him.

Your hands covered his, pushing the fabric up, and then it was gone--tossed aside, forgotten.

His eyes--God, the way he looked at you.

Dark. Devouring. Like he was memorizing every inch.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, voice thick, rough.

Then his hands were on you again--roaming, claiming--his lips pressing, trailing, worshiping.

Your head tipped back, another breathless gasp escaping as his hands found the clasp of your bra, his fingers making quick work of it before sliding the straps down your shoulders, his lips following their path, tongue flicking, teasing.

You arched into him, needing more, your own hands tugging at his shirt, desperate to even the playing field.

Hotch chuckled--deep, dark--before obliging, sitting back just enough to yank the offending fabric over his head.

Your breath hitched.

You had seen him in varying states of undress before--worn-down hotel rooms, bulletproof vests over tight shirts, dress shirts rolled up to his forearms.

But this?

Seeing him like this--the broad lines of his shoulders, the toned muscle of his chest, the faint scar near his ribs--

Your fingers traced over it instinctively, your touch featherlight.

Hotch inhaled sharply.

“That’s not fair,” he muttered, his voice wrecked, a teasing edge beneath the gravel.

You barely had time to process before he was kissing you again--deep and desperate, his hands sliding down, over the curve of your hips, fingers gripping, pulling you closer.

You gasped, hands curling around his biceps, feeling the tension in them, the way he was still holding himself back, still reining himself in.

So you tested him again.

Rolling your hips just so against his.

Hotch groaned, a sharp, wrecked sound against your lips. His fingers dug into your thighs, his control finally fraying--

“Fuck,” he exhaled, forehead pressing to yours.

You smirked, barely able to breathe.

“That’s all it took?” you teased. “I thought you had more self-control than that, Hotchner.”

His breath hitched.

Then--

You barely had a second to react before he had you pinned, his body flush against yours, his lips ghosting over your ear.

His voice was low, dangerous, devastatingly wrecked.

"You're going to regret saying that."

Your breath caught.

Then his hands moved--and you shattered.

Your pulse pounded, every inch of your body burning under Hotch’s touch, under the way he was looking at you now--like he had waited for this, ached for this, and was finally letting himself have it.

You swallowed, fingers tightening against his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles, the way he was still holding himself back--even now.

"Then make me," you whispered.

Hotch moved.

His lips crashed against yours, harder this time, rougher, his hands gripping your waist like he needed to touch you, like letting go wasn’t an option anymore.

You moaned into the kiss, arching against him as his hands slid down, fingers tracing the curve of your hips, exploring, learning you.

You were already dizzy, already losing yourself in him, but you didn’t care.

You didn’t want careful.

You wanted him.

You tugged at his belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle, but Hotch caught your wrist, breath ragged, his forehead pressing to yours.

His eyes--dark and burning--searched yours, his fingers tightening around your wrist like he was waiting for something.

"Are you sure?" His voice was rough, strained, but still careful.

Your heart ached at the question, at the way he was still thinking about you, still making sure this was something you wanted.

You lifted your other hand, tracing along his jaw, feeling the tension there, the restraint.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," you whispered.

Something in him snapped.

His lips were on yours again, his hands sliding lower, gripping your thighs as he lifted you, guiding your legs around his waist before pressing you firmly against the mattress.

His body was solid, strong, his weight pressing into you in a way that had your breath catching, heat spreading low in your stomach as his mouth wandered--down your jaw, your throat, lips and tongue claiming you inch by inch.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, gasping as his hands explored, learning the shape of you, teasing, tormenting--

"Aaron--"

The groan that ripped from his throat was wrecked, his fingers digging into your skin as his hips pressed flush against yours.

"You love saying my name like that, don’t you?" His voice was low, teasing, but you could hear the strain in it.

You smirked, tilting your head back, offering him more as his lips traced a path down your collarbone. "I like what it does to you."

His breath hitched.

Then his teeth scraped, just enough to make you gasp, his hands finally making quick work of the last barriers between you.

Fabric was pulled away, discarded, forgotten.

And when his gaze lowered--when his hands finally moved where you needed them most--

You shattered.

Hotch devoured every reaction, every gasp, every moan, learning you, memorizing you, until you were a writhing, trembling mess beneath him.

And when he finally, finally pressed into you--

It was slow. Deliberate.

Like he wanted you to feel every inch of him.

Like he wanted to ruin you.

Your fingers clawed at his back, legs wrapping tighter around him as he groaned, head dipping into the crook of your neck.

"You feel so--" His voice broke, his breath ragged, his lips pressing against your shoulder as he rolled his hips--

You gasped, arching into him, pleasure crashing through your veins.

Hotch cursed, a low, deep sound against your skin, his movements slow, controlled, but hard, perfect.

He was relentless.

He set the pace, dragging it out, making you feel every second of it, torturing you with the way he pulled back just enough before thrusting deep, the friction sending sparks down your spine.

Your moans were breathless, your nails scraping down his back, but it only spurred him on.

"You wanted this," he groaned, his breath hot against your skin. "All those games--"

You gasped as his hips snapped harder, his fingers digging into your thighs.

"You wanted to see if you could break me."

He rolled his hips again, making your eyes squeeze shut, pleasure coiling tight in your stomach.

"Do you feel broken now?"

You let out a sound that wasn’t even words, your fingers fisting into the sheets, your entire body on fire.

Hotch smirked against your skin, but his composure was fraying now--his thrusts turning more erratic, his breath coming faster, his muscles tensing beneath your hands.

He was losing it too.

And God, it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

His head dipped, lips crashing into yours in a deep, desperate kiss as the tension finally snapped.

Pleasure ripped through you, white-hot and overwhelming, your entire body trembling as his name tore from your lips.

Hotch groaned, his movements turning sloppy, frantic, chasing the edge--

And then he fell, his body shuddering against yours, his lips parting in a low, wrecked moan as he collapsed, breathless, his forehead resting against yours.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Your bodies were still tangled, limbs entwined, your hearts pounding in sync.

Then, finally, Hotch exhaled--a slow, deep breath--before lifting his head to look at you.

His gaze was soft now, but sated, his thumb brushing lazily over your cheek, tender.

"You really are trouble," he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion, but teasing.

You smirked, tracing your fingers down his chest, lingering. "And yet, here we are."

Hotch huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "You’re insufferable."

You grinned, pressing a lazy kiss to his lips. "You love it."

His smirk widened slightly.

"Maybe."

Then he kissed you again--slower this time, softer.

Like he was memorizing the taste of you.

Like he already knew this wasn’t the last time.

And God, neither of you wanted it to be.

You blinked, the haze of exhaustion settling in as reality began to sink in.

You had slept with Aaron Hotchner.

And it hadn’t been careful. It hadn’t been measured.

It had been raw. Consuming.

Desperate.

You swallowed, turning slightly in the bed, suddenly hyperaware that he was rolling off of you.

For a moment, your stomach twisted--should you leave? Would this change things between you? Was he already regretting it?

But before you could spiral, before you could even begin to untangle your thoughts, you heard it--

The quiet sound of running water.

You furrowed your brows, shifting up slightly onto your elbows, and then you saw him.

Hotch was standing near the bathroom sink, his back to you, shirtless, his lean muscles flexing as he ran a washcloth under warm water.

Your breath caught.

And more than that--he wasn’t panicked. He wasn’t rushing.

He was taking care of you.

Your throat tightened.

He turned a moment later, towel in hand, his dark eyes immediately finding yours.

“You should lie back,” he murmured, voice softer now, the roughness of the night before smoothed into something gentle.

You blinked at him, lips parting, but you didn’t argue. You simply did as he asked, sinking back against the pillows, watching as he approached the bed.

The mattress dipped as he sat beside you, his warm hand skimming lightly over your thigh before he pressed the warm cloth against your skin.

The sensation made you exhale, your body still aching in the best way, but his touch was tender, careful.

"You don't have to--"

Hotch gave you a look.

You stopped.

Because you realized--he wanted to.

He continued in silence, wiping away the remnants of the night before, his touch slow, thoughtful. His fingers brushed against you so gently that your chest tightened.

The air between you was different now.

The tension of the past weeks, the game you had been playing--it was gone.

All that was left was this.

Him.

You.

The weight of what you had just done, settling between you like something neither of you could take back.

When he was finished, he set the towel aside, fingers tracing over your hip absentmindedly before finally speaking.

"Are you okay?"

You blinked.

The question caught you off guard.

Not because you weren’t--God, you were--but because you hadn’t expected him to ask.

You swallowed, nodding. "Yeah. I am."

His lips pressed together slightly, his fingers brushing against your skin again, almost like he needed to feel you still there.

Your stomach twisted--not in doubt, but in something else entirely.

Something dangerous.

Something real.

So you asked.

"What about you?"

Hotch exhaled slowly, like he was steadying himself, and then--finally--he met your gaze.

And you knew.

Whatever restraint he had left--whatever pieces of the mask he had been holding onto--it was gone.

"I'm not sure I know how to stop wanting you now," he admitted, voice low, raw.

Your breath hitched.

Because that?

That was the first real truth he had given you.

Your fingers curled against the sheets, your heart hammering in your chest. "Then don't," you whispered.

Hotch exhaled sharply, shaking his head slightly, his fingers tightening just slightly against your hip.

"You don’t understand," he murmured. "I’ve wanted you for so long."

Your stomach flipped.

You opened your mouth, but he continued before you could speak.

"I tried--" He exhaled again, rough, like he was frustrated with himself. "I tried to ignore it. To pretend it was nothing. That it was just...passing attraction."

You swallowed. "Was it?"

Hotch let out a short, almost humorless laugh, shaking his head.

"No," he admitted. "It never was."

Your breath caught, your fingers gripping the sheets tighter, because this--this--was more than you had ever expected him to admit.

"You drove me insane," he murmured, voice dropping lower. "The way you looked at me. The way you challenged me. The way you--" He exhaled, shaking his head. "The way you said my name."

Your heart stuttered.

"You noticed that?"

Hotch huffed a soft laugh, his fingers trailing up your arm, his touch leaving a burning path in its wake.

"I noticed everything," he murmured. "The way you crossed your legs during briefings. The way you stretched when you were tired, your shirt lifting just enough to make me lose my train of thought. The way you knew exactly what you were doing--"

You let out a breathless laugh. "I didn’t always know."

Hotch tilted his head slightly, studying you.

Then, slowly, his lips curled into something dangerous.

"No?"

Your stomach flipped. "No."

His fingers brushed your jaw, thumb tracing over your lower lip.

"You really think you weren’t getting to me?" His voice was low, rough, something dark beneath it.

Your breath hitched.

"You were always getting to me," he admitted. "And you loved it."

You swallowed, suddenly feeling very small beneath the weight of his gaze.

Because God--he was right.

You had.

You had loved it.

But what you hadn’t realized was that he had loved it, too.

"I--"

Hotch moved before you could speak, pressing you back into the mattress, his lips ghosting over your jaw.

His weight was warm, solid, comforting.

And for the first time, there was no hesitation.

No restraint.

Only truth.

"I’m done holding back," he murmured against your skin.

You shivered.

"Good," you whispered.

And when his lips met yours again, soft and slow, hands sliding under the sheets this time--

You knew.

This wasn’t just a game anymore.

This was real.

And neither of you were walking away from it.

Not now.

Not ever.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry

[demie90s]

Hi👋🏻 don't know if ur taking requests, If not just ignore it pls. I think so much about Kate Martin being a huge simp for reader, Princess treatment, so soft and everyone knows. Like holds readers bags, buys her nice things, cute pda. But i imagine kate being an absolutly freak while having sex, super kinky and rough, like nastyyyy. And her teammates finding out when reader goes to the beach with the team and she's full of hickeys and scratches.

Nobody Knows

Kate Martin x Fem!Reader

MORE | NAVI

Summary: Everyone knows Kate Martin’s obsessed with her girl. But behind closed doors? She’s Rough, possessive, nasty. And when the team invites reader on a beach day, her secret isn’t so secret anymore.

Genre: Fluff, Smut, Humor

Word Count: ~ 3.3k

Warnings: SMUT. Public teasing, hickeys, scratching, dom!Kate, sub!reader, rough sex, aftercare, exhibitionism (implied), suggestive jokes, PDA, slight humiliation kink, choking,, marking, teasing

I don’t need her to do any of it. I could hold my own bag. I could open my own doors, order my own food, tie my own shoes. I’m fully capable. Two hands, fully functional brain, edges intact. I got this.

But will I ever stop her from doing it for me? Hell no.

Because the way Kate spoils me? That’s content. That’s bragging rights. That’s soft-launch-me-on-your-story-and-let-everybody-know-I’m-loved type treatment.

I brag when she does stuff for me, and I don’t even try to be humble about it. I post it. I caption it. I narrate it like I’m hosting a luxury lifestyle vlog.

She likes it. Being bragged about. Likes that I’ll turn a coffee run into a red carpet moment. Likes that I kiss her like a thank you and tease her like she’s a personal assistant.

“Princess behavior,” I say all the time, sliding my shades down dramatically while she adjusts the straps on my bag. “You see this? Mhmmm clock it.”

One time she bought me flowers just ‘cause I sighed too hard during a Target run. Said it was a “your aura dimmed for a second” emergency.

Another time I jokingly said I wanted a pink standing fan I saw on TikTok. I said it once. In passing. While scrolling.

A week later that exact fan showed up at my door. Still in the box. With a note that said, “Don’t let the heat dull your shine.” She’s ridiculous. And I kissed her for it. Every time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We’ll be walking through the parking lot, her hand full with my purse, her other hand holding mine, and I’ll see people seeing it. Like, “Damn, she really carrying all them bags?”

I just smile real slow. Pull her closer. Kiss her cheek obnoxiously loud and go, “Thank you, baby.” She always grins, every time, like I just gave her an award.

“You’re gonna make me blush,” she mutters, squeezing my hand.

“You like when I brag about you,” I say, smirking. She shrugs, pretending to play it cool. “Maybe.”

And then I’m like, “Yeah? Then hold my drink too.” She takes it. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Listen, she doesn’t just do the little things. She does the most. For fun. Just because she can.

Like we were going to a team dinner once and I wore this silk mini dress. Nothing too wild, just a lil cleavage and a lotta legs.

I step out the car, and boom, she’s already behind me adjusting my straps, pulling my jacket over my shoulders, whispering, “You tryna get me in trouble tonight?”

I just laugh, swinging my purse into her hands. She catches it, naturally. Doesn’t even react. “You want me to hold this?”

“I want you to wear it, actually,” I tease, grinning.

She loops it over her shoulder and deadpans, “Do I look cute?”

I step back, nod slow, and go, “Gorgeous.” The waiter held the door open while we were still in our bit. I’m not even sure he blinked.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At brunch, I don’t even touch my menu. I just glance over it, close it, and sip my mimosa like I’m above decision-making. Kate already knows the three things I might want. She orders for me.

When the server leaves, I lean into her ear, kiss her jaw slow, and say, “You’re so good to me.”

She melts. Every. Single. Time.

“You keep kissing me like that, I’m gonna start packing snacks in your purse too.”

“Please do. I’m a delicate flower.”

“You’re a gremlin.” She tries to act annoyed, but she’s grinning like a goof, sliding her hand over my thigh under the table like she can’t help it. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

People ask us all the time if we’re, like, “serious.”

As if the softest, sappiest PDA ever doesn’t scream “this is endgame.” I posted a photo once, Kate zipping up my boot while I stood on one leg like a spoiled housewife. The caption was, “Wouldn’t catch me doing this for anybody but her.”

Kate reposted it with “And I’d do it again.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first time she got me jewelry, I cried. Literally Balling.

It was just a simple bracelet, gold, dainty, my initials in tiny cursive. But she saw me eye one just like it in a shop window, and the next week, there it was. On my pillow.

Not in a box. Not wrapped. Just sitting there. Like a love note you leave on the counter.

“I saw how you looked at it,” she’d said, like it was nothing.

I wore it every day for three weeks and kissed her like I was trying to say thank you in every language at once. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now we’re in the store, and I don’t even pretend to carry anything. I try on jackets and hold them out. She takes them, folds them over her arm like she’s a personal stylist, kisses my temple while I look in the mirror.

“You look good in that one,” she says. “Like…dangerously good.”

I pout. “But do I need it?”

“You never need anything,” she shrugs, pulling her card out. “But I like when you smile like that.” I kiss her. Right there in the aisle. Long and soft, hands cupping her face. She hums into it like I gave her oxygen.

“You did so good, baby,” I whisper. “You deserve a treat.”

She licks her lips. “Is this the treat?”

I grin. “You want more?”

She’s already leaning in. “Yes.”~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We go back to the car and she opens the door for me, tucks me in like I’m glass. Seatbelt check, air conditioning perfect, playlist loaded. She runs around to the driver’s side and I wait, patient, arms crossed.

She gets in and looks at me, confused. “What?”

“You forgot something.”

She pauses. Then, slowly, she leans over, kisses me sweet, and says, “Better?”

I nod. “Much.”

Oh how I love my life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She spoils me for no reason. Not because I ask. Not because I expect it. But because I kiss her when she does. Because I talk about her like she invented love. Because I post her. Brag about her. Praise her. Loud.

And because, deep down, under all her chill, Kate Martin is a hopeless simp with a soft spot for the brat who rewards her with glitter gloss kisses and “thank you, baby” moans in her ear.

Maybe I don’t need the princess treatment. But I love it.

And she loves me. Which means I’ll never carry another bag again in my life.

Kate doesn’t fuck on weekdays. She fucks on weekends. Like her body’s been in a cage all week and I’m the only way she knows how to get out.

She doesn’t say it. She doesn’t have to. I know it by how she’s looking at me the second I walk into the room on Friday, eyes low, arms crossed, tongue pressing against her cheek like I’m already naked and she’s trying not to drag me upstairs by the throat.

I mouth off a little. On purpose. Something smart. Something bratty. I call her soft. She just turns, slow, and locks the bedroom door behind me like she’s closing a vault.

“You’re cute,” she says, cracking her neck, walking toward me. I already know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first slap is her hand on my throat. Not hard. Not choking. Just… there. Claimed. My breath catches. My thighs betray me.

“You got somethin’ else to say?” she asks, pressing me against the wall. Her voice is calm, polite. But I feel it in my chest.

I don’t say shit. Not a word. My lungs can’t keep up and her knee’s already between my legs, pressing up, tilting my hips forward.

She smiles. “Great.”~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Kate fucks, it’s not just physical, it’s execution. She’s trained for this. Stamina. Power. Control. It’s in her form. Her grip. The way she pins my wrists above my head while she bites down my chest like it’s her last meal.

Her voice doesn’t even raise. That’s the worst part.

“You wanted attention,” she murmurs, sliding the harness into place. “Now take it.”

The first stroke is deep. Too deep. I choke on my own breath, arching up, mouth falling open without a sound.

Eyes back. Lungs frozen. That blank, gone face, she lives for it.

“There she is,” she whispers, pace slow and mean. “Go ahead, let it happen.” I can’t moan. Can’t even gasp. Just twitch. My toes curl hard. My legs shake too early.

“Already?” she teases. “I haven’t even started.”

She stretches me out with her strap, slow but deep, gripping my thighs so tight it borders on bruising. But it’s not about pain. Not really. It’s about pressure. About knowing I can take it, and giving me everything because I deserve it.

“You earned this,” she grits, hips rolling, slow and brutal. “All week. You were so good, baby. Look at you. You’re so pretty.” I moan something unintelligible, nails dragging down her back, and that’s when she loses it.

“Oh my God..you feel that?” she pants, hips snapping faster. “Fuck.”

I do because I can’t not. I have to hold onto something. Right now, her back’s the only thing I trust. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She holds my hips down with one hand and fucks into me.

Full stroke. No mercy. She watches my body roll up with each thrust, watches my fingers claw the sheets, eyes glazed and mouth open like I’m halfway to death.

“Look at you,” she growls, sweat dripping down her chest. “So pretty when you take it.” I cry out, half sob, half moan, but she doesn’t let up. My legs start shaking again and she smiles.

“There’s my good girl.”

She doesn’t break rhythm. Doesn’t check in. Doesn’t slow down. This isn’t “make love.” This is take it.

The way she’s fucking me I don’t even feel like a person anymore. Just heat. Just muscle. Just twitching limbs and breathless gasps and my voice catching in my throat like it’s scared to come out. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She fucks me like she’s trying to etch her name into every nerve I’ve got. Like her strap is her signature. And My body is the only thing she’s ever wanted to write on.

I arch up, crying out, and she grabs my throat, not hard, just there, like an anchor, and moans.

“You’re mine,” she says it so sweet, like she’s complimenting my outfit. Like she’s not buried inside me, making me sob into her neck. “No one else gets you like this. No one ever will.”

I nod, tears sliding into my hair. “Yours. Yours, I swear—”

“Yeah?” Her voice cracks, but she doesn’t stop. “Say it again, baby. Say it like you mean it.”

“Yours,” I cry, digging my nails deeper, thighs trembling.

“Fuck,” she chokes out. “Thank you.”

Like I did something for her. Like she’s not the one rearranging my entire soul.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Give it to me,” she says, soft. Way too soft for the way her hips are slamming into mine.

“You wanted this, right?”

I nod. Barely. She slaps my face.

“Use your fucking words.”

“Yes,” I breathe, voice shredded. “Yes, please, please—”

“That’s better.”

Because this isn’t just sex with her. It’s a performance. A ceremony. A damn love letter in thrusts and pressure and sweat. She’s focused. Controlled. Polite in the nastiest ways.

“You’re taking me so good, baby,” she coos, voice shaking. “So fucking good. I’m never gonna get over you.”

When I cum, it’s violent. No build up. No warning.

My whole body locks, arms tight, legs kicked up, back arched so high it hurts.

She fucks through it. One hand gripping my throat, the other pressing the base in deeper with every roll of her hips.

I’m whining now. Not talking. Not begging. Just shaking, fingers spasming against the sheets.

“Take it,” she whispers. “You can take it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She leans over, grabs my jaw, and spits in my mouth. I swallow on instinct. She hums in approval. (I like the freaky)

“See?” she murmurs, dragging her teeth along my jaw. “Knew you’d behave.”

I try to breathe. Try to say something. But then her hand finds my clit. Two fingers, slow circles. Just enough to make my stomach flip and my vision fade. I jolt, almost sobbing.

“Please—” She kisses my cheek.

“Good girls don’t tell me when to stop.”~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My second orgasm is messy. Ugly. Legs wide, throat dry, my moans breaking apart in my mouth like static. Her eyes don’t leave mine. Not once. She watches me fall apart like it’s art.

Like I’m a performance she paid to see front row. Like the messier I get, the harder she strokes.

“That’s mine. That’s for me.” She pants, voice tight.

At some point I’m crying. Not sad. Not in pain. Just, overwhelmed. Body broken open. Muscles gone. Hands shaking like I’ve been electrocuted.

She grips my thighs, pulls me back onto her like I owe her something.

“You look better like this,” she murmurs.

When I moan her name, cracked and high and fucked out, she grabs my throat again and says, “That’s right. Say it again.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We lose track of time. I cum again. And again. Maybe four times. Maybe more. At one point, my legs go numb. I feel her grabbing them, folding me up, splitting me open.

My back’s scratched up. Her abs are streaked with sweat. My lips are bitten raw. And all she says is

“You earned this.” Like it’s praise.

Like this is her gift.

When she finally pulls out, my body drops back to the bed like I’ve been held up by nothing but her. My thighs are soaked. My chest is heaving. My hand’s still twitching. She kisses my forehead. Just once.

“Breathe,” she says, like I forgot how. I whimper. Try to move. I can’t. She just smiles.

“Good,” she whispers, brushing her fingers over my thigh. “Stay like that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is why Kate waits ‘til the weekend. Because this is her way of loving me. Not with roses. Not with poems. But with dominance. With discipline. With fucking devotion.

She doesn’t say “I love you” during sex. She says it with every stroke that knocks my soul out my chest.

She says it when I’m limp and ruined and too far gone to say anything but her name.

And she never comes first. She doesn’t need to. Because watching me like this, used, shaking, silent.

That’s what gets her off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She pulls my leg over her hip like I’m not boneless and dead. Then she kisses lower. Chest. Sternum. Ribs. The underside of my tit, soft at first, then bite.

I yelp. She laughs.

“Mm,” she hums, eyes flicking up to mine. “There she go. Got a little sound left after all.”

Her fingers find my thigh next, nails dragging across the curve slow, then her mouth follows.

Right where it’s soft and sensitive. Right where I can’t hide it if I wear shorts tomorrow. She kisses it. Bites down again.

I jerk. “Kate—”

“Shh.” She presses her hand to my mouth, not rough, just there. Like a soft command. “Take it.”

Another hickey. This one deeper. Longer. Then she pulls her hand back and kisses me. Deep. Tongue lazy. Like she’s putting the rest of her love on my tongue.

“You deserve to be worn out and marked up,” she murmurs, dragging her thumb across my bottom lip.

If I had the strength to talk back, I’d still let her win.

I told Kate she was doing too much. Not in that fake-ass, playful “you’re so dramatic” tone either. I mean real, government voice level serious.

When I looked in the mirror this morning and saw the ocean of hickeys across her chest? The scratches on her back? My teeth marks on her fucking hipbone?

Yeah. Somebody should’ve stopped her. Maybe the Lord. But she didn’t look guilty. She looked satisfied.

T-shirt slung over one shoulder. Shorts. Tan lines and pride. Her eyes gleaming like she knew exactly what she did. Meanwhile, I’m the one walking like my bones forgot how to stack.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We were supposed to be meeting her teammates at the beach. Just a casual day. Sand, sun, vibes. You know, normal couple shit.

Now it’s giving post-war veteran and her surviving victim.

Kate steps out of the car with a smoothie in one hand and the most smug, satisfied walk I’ve ever seen.

Me, the dumbass who said “yes” to round four and then climbed her like a tree, can barely make it across the damn parking lot.

“You good?” she smirks, sliding her shades down.

“You know I’m not,” I hiss, trying to adjust my bikini bottom discreetly. “I got humbled on a cellular level.”

She licks her lips, eyes dark. “You said thank you three times.” I throw my towel at her head.

The second we step onto the sand, I feel the shift. The girls notice. Of course they do. Athletes are observant. Nosey. Petty. We’re not even five feet from the chairs before Sydney lets out a loud-ass, “Daaaamn, Kate!”

I keep walking. Head high. Pussy sore. Unapologetic. Kate, on the other hand, freezes. She turns, sunglasses still low, trying to play it cool, but her neck is done.

A red constellation of kisses, bite marks, faint bruises crawling down her collarbone like I was writing a map to heaven on her skin.

Don’t even get me started on the back. I saw it in the mirror. I did that. Ten full finger-length scratches. One diagonal across her spine.

“Rough night?” Kelsey snorts, sipping a Gatorade like she’s not waiting for details.

Kate clears her throat. “Mind your business.”

“Oh, it is my business,” she cackles. “You came out here lookin’ like a chew toy.”

I’m already at the umbrella, setting our shit down, pretending not to hear. But I feel Kate’s eyes on me.

Burning. Dragging down my legs like she’s got x-ray vision and PTSD from last night.

“You’re walking fast,” she murmurs when she catches up.

“I’m trying to keep the breeze off my situation.”

She leans in, whispering against my ear: “You’re welcome.”

I swat her away before my knees give out on impact.

The towel hits the sand and I lay down real slow, biting back the wince when my thighs shift. Kate tosses the sunscreen next to me and drops to her knees like a damn altar boy.

When her hands hit my back, the whole team notices.

It’s not casual. Not friendly. It’s her rubbing lotion into my shoulders like she owns me. Like she’s calming me down from something feral.

“You okay?” she whispers against my ear.

I hum, stretching out. “I’ll survive. I just might need to ice my soul.”

Sydney passes behind us and laughs out loud. “Yo, you’re not even gonna deny it?”

“Deny what?” Kate calls out, smug still stuck to her face.

“That you got your back clawed up like a horror movie.”

Kate shrugs, smooth as ever. “She gets enthusiastic…You were begging for it.” Silence. Only lasted for a second..

Aja screams. A water bottle flies across the sand. Somebody drops their sandwich. Kate smirks, rubbing sunscreen into the top of my thigh now.

Her voice low. “You liked making that a competition?”

I suck my teeth, biting my smile. “You liked losing?” Her nails press a little deeper.

“So bold’,” she murmurs. “See what happens after this.”

The jokes last all day. My girl can’t catch a break. Every time she leans back or reaches for something, the marks show. I made sure of it.

If I have to walk around sore and starving, the least she can do is look claimed in public.

“They look fresh,” someone mumbles behind their shades.

“She proud as hell,” another says.

She is. Kate doesn’t shrink. She laughs. Kisses me. Pulls me into her lap while we eat fruits like she didn’t have me crying into the sheets twelve hours ago.

It’s not embarrassing. Not to me. That’s my work. She’s just walking proof.

@letsnowtalk @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog @kaliblazin @liloandstitchstan @footy-lover264 @yorubagirlsworld @daffodil-darlings @h4untedghOul @followthesvn @hibiscusblu @sevikasleftbicep @swiftie4evr @babyphatbrat @sivensblog @beeop223 @huntedghOul @tpwkrosalinda @lightsgore @em-nems @salemsuccss @villain-ryuk @ihrtsarahstrOng @liyahh037 @sillystarv @somedetailsinthefabric @essence-134340 @mochelisgf @soph1asticated @heheievidbri @unvswrld @breezybellab @planet-ghoulborne @art-ofmusic @toorealrai @mrsarnold @prettyyyinblack

[mercurial-chuckles]

Giddy Affairs

Pairing: Congressman!Husband!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader WC: ~300 Warnings: Fluff | Established relationship | Bucky getting nasty with you in his office | Bucky being insatiable | Bucky being a simp for his wife | Bucky being hot and incorrigible | Allusions to spicy times | Some wrist-tying | Some language | Very much unbeta’d | Lemme know if I missed anything! A/N: Sorry, I haven't been in a great headspace and I've been running my blog on queue. I promise I'll get back to all your wonderful messages/asks/reblogs ASAP. Put this together super quickly for Hot Bucky Summer 2025 | Week 03 Prompt: "Not now" | @buckybarnesevents Thank you for hosting. 😊✨🥹💞 Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! I do not consent to AI scraping my work. Banner & Divider made by me. Picture credits to Pinterest. Check out my other works: Masterlist Hot Bucky Summer Masterlist

Indulge Away!

"Where d'you think you're going?" Bucky drawled, fisting your dress at the small of your back and yanking you against him.

"OW! BUCKY."

You chuckled, trying to squirm away from his grip, but he didn't let you up, instead, he wrapped an arm around your waist, pressing you firmly to him as he dragged you toward his office.

"Congressman Barnes, Mr. Elliot wants to meet you," Grayson, Bucky's assistant, stopped you just before you both entered Bucky's office. He was clearly flustered to have walked in on yet another intimate moment.

"Not now. Reschedule it for tomorrow," Bucky murmured tersely.

You blushed, offering Grayson an awkward smile before Bucky shut the door.

"Bucky," you admonished, giggling as he lifted you with one arm and carried you to the couch.

He tossed aside his suit jacket, muttering about, "Stupid entrapments."

"What did you think, Mrs. Barnes? You'd show up looking like that and torture me?"

"I love that tie. Don't ruin it, Mr. Barnes," you warned, biting back your grin when you saw him loosen his tie in a hurry to unbutton the top two buttons of his white shirt.

You toed off your heels as he backed you toward the plush couch.

"That tie," he said, already yanking it loose, "is now your problem."

Before you could quip back, he pounced, pinning your wrists to the cushions and expertly looping the silk around. "You're too smug for a woman about to be ruined by her husband."

You laughed, breathless and bound, "Congressman Barnes, you're abusing your power."

He leaned in, nipping at your jaw, "I'm exercising my rights."

"How very patriotic."

"Mmm. Civic duty, doll," His smug reply went muffled as he licked a trail down your chest and took one of your tits into his mouth.

A sudden thought occurred to you, "Buck. The cameras."

He paused, chuckling, eyes glinting at you, "I disabled 'em the time we broke the desk."

"Good times," you said, your laugh turning into a lewd moan as he dragged your panties down.

"Let's see if we can top those times, sweetheart," he said, unzipping his pants.

Well?!

Leave your thoughts if you enjoyed reading it. 💞✨

If you'd like to be tagged/removed from my works, please do so here.

[httpsserene]

who told him to get jacked — 𝐨𝐩. 𝟖𝟏 oscar piastri x fem!black!reader smau. this is a shitpost, you have been warned. reader is weak for oscar's muscle growth. inspo 1 & 2.

synopsis: oscar’s girlfriend is feral on main.

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. i opened tumblr and saw the photos of oscar when he went karting and um…now have another mess of a smau! inspired by the nefarious actions i would do to oscar’s biceps. inspired by @dwarvenchords and @hookhausenschips. it’s short but, enjoy, loves xxx.

⌕ join taglist | requests & feedback | upcoming chapters | table of contents ↻

yninstagram • february 28th

view replies

oscarpiastri: love…you couldn’t even save this for the close friends stories? you had to post it on main yninstagram: did you like my joke? oscar “jack”ed piastri LOL im so clever oscarpiastri: ijbol 😐 yninstagram: i’d be pressed but ur muscles are distracting me oscarpiastri: u should cmere and give them a kiss :)

lilymhe: he let u tie a bow around his bicep?!!! omfg i have to do this with alex yninstagram: i don’t think alex has enough muscles to meet the requirement for the bow :/

landonorris: he’s such a simp landonorris: i would never let my girlfriend tie a bow on me 🥱 yninstagram: step 1: have a girlfriend

logansargeant: your freak out on twitter had a slight mentally-ill aura yninstagram: shut the fuck up and get on a podium before you talk to me yninstagram: gangly bitch + not funny didn’t laugh + L

yninstagram • february 28th • in between my boyfriends tiddies ⚑

liked by, oscarpiastri, mclaren, logansargeant, markwebber, and 1,223,458 others

yninstagram: things to do with your boyfriends muscles; listed in the comments below (a huge thanks to the toto user on twt for FINALLY sending me the photo)

tagged oscarpiastri

view comments

yninstagram 1. tie a bow around them (completed)

➥ user thx for sharing the photo

➥ user FUCK! I CAN’T FIND A PIECE OF PAPER TO WRITE THIS ON

yninstagram 2. kiss them (completed)

➥ user awh how cute! going to nap on the interstate rq

➥ user wait for me!

➥ user omg slumberpartyyyyy

yninstagram 3. touch them (completed)

➥ markwebber there’s a time i thought you were a normal girl

➥ yninstagram who told you to think that??

user i know those arms are rock solid 🥴🤤

user i’m the toto user on twitter !!! she did not kill me y’all !!!

➥ user u were flirting with death babes

➥ user i would not have admitted to this under her post

➥ user you should seek witness protection 🙏🏾

yninstagram 4. have him suffocate you with them (he said no)

➥ oscarpiastri WHY DID YOU INCLUDE THIS ONE

➥ logansargeant i think you’re proving the mentally-ill part y/n

➥ yninstagram u sound jealous logan

➥ user personally, i think if you didn’t want her to say that, you shouldn’t have muscles @/oscarpiastri

➥ oscarpiastri oh! yeah! why didn’t i think of that—lemme just take them off rq 😐 WTH

yninstagram 5. wall sex (?)

➥ oscarpiastri i specifically said not to say #4 and #5 in public

➥ user the question mark is SENDING MEEEEE

➥ yninstagram i mean, i can tell you that he didn’t say no to this one 😈 @/user

➥ landonorris i did not want to see this when i opened ig

➥ yninstagram do us all a favor then and delete ur account x

➥ oscarpiastri what she said^

➥ landonorris :o -> :(

yninstagram 6. draw on them (in progress)

➥ user wait this one is actually cute 🤭

➥ oscarpiastri watching the pure concentration on her face is adorable

➥ user omg she’s so 👉🏼👈🏼 coded

➥ oscarpiastri it tickles lol

➥ yninstagram ur moving around too much

➥ yninstagram might have to tie you to the headboard 😏

➥ user and she’s back on her bs

yninstagram 7. watch him flex for you (ongoing indefinitely)

➥ mclaren do we have your permission to post oscar thirst traps now?

➥ yninstagram i’m sure we could work out something mutually beneficial

oscarpiastri • february 28th • my girl’s basement ⚑

liked by yninstagram, danielricciardo, logansargeant, landonorris, and 1,478,539 others

oscarpiastri she knocked out on my chest halfway through drawing on me. didn’t know this was part of the boyfriend job description, felt like there was some false adverting. overall: 12/10 experience, will be doing this again.

view comments

danielricciardo didn’t know where this was going for a sec but fuck you guys are so cute 🥹

➥ oscarpiastri thank you? i guess

➥ user oh to have my relationship praised by danny ric

➥ user girl ur man responds to your texts two days late

➥ user DAMN u didn’t have to air out my business like thatttt

user WHAT DID SHE USE TO DRAW ON YOU OSCAR??? HELP A GIRL OUT

➥ oscarpiastri its liquid eyeliner 🫡

➥ oscarpiastri she used an eyeshadow palette when she wanted to add colors

➥ user why did i never think of that, she’s so smarttttt

user oscar piastri the MAN that u AREEEE

logansargeant so,,,,are we still getting dinner later orrrrr

➥ user LOL

➥ user omg y/n was right logan IS jealous

➥ logansargeant im not jealous !!!!

➥ user 💀

➥ user okayyyy….we believe you LMAOOOOO

➥ oscarpiastri ijbol 😂

➥ logansargeant stop using ijbol it’s not funny

➥ user this will be the only time that i say i agree with logan on something

➥ logansargeant ur literally a fan account FOR ME?? @/user

➥ user yeah man u didn’t have to bring that up 😒

© httpsserene - do not reupload. photos in header image are from pinterest. divider by @cafekitsune.

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

not sure if you’re taking requests !! but if you are, on my knees 🧎🏻‍♀️and here to kindly request a drunk no doubt! Jake who is a PEAK LOVEY DOVEY DRUNK when he gets home (or refuses to leave unless yn is picking his ass up lol) 🫶🏼

HIII ugh one of my og jakeyn lovers i appreciate u so so so much & all ur comments & love ALWAYS <3333 and YES OH MY GOD i can totally imagine it rn DRUNK JAKE WOULD BE SO CLINGY AND SO CHEESY AND LOVEY DOVEY IM GONNA BE SICK. also this one ended up being longer than my usual requested drabbles WHOOPS SORRY I JUST LOVE SIMP JAKE UGH 😫

──── MY ANGEL, MY UBER, MY EVERYTHING.🍸🍋🌿 ↳ requested // part of the no doubt series !

You hear it first before your eyes even open.

A loud buzz, obnoxiously close to your head. You groan, your arm flailing out from under the comforter to mute your phone off and go back to sleep.

And not even three seconds later—

Buzz. Buzz.

You groan into your pillow.

One eye cracks open just enough to glance at the screen:

jungwon👯

Yeah.

This can't be good.

You answer with a sleepy grumble, "What."

"Heyyyy Y/N," Jungwon says, way too chipper and lively for your liking at this hour. "Sooo...you might wanna come pick up your boyfriend."

You blink slowly, brain still foggy with sleep.

"Huh."

"Jake's, um. Very drunk. And refusing to leave unless it's with you."

You stare at the ceiling above, deadpan, "You're joking."

"I wish," Jungwon sighs, sounding both amused and exasperated at the same time. "We tried everythin—"

A crash. A muffled ow. Some rustling. Then—

"WAIT—ARE YOU TALKING TO Y/N?"

Jungwon groans. "Jake—no, don't—hey, Jake, that's my—dude, give me my ph—JAKE—"

"BABY."

Jake's voice explodes through the speaker.

"BABY I NEED YOU. PLEASE."

You blink at your phone, now fully awake. And fully amused.

"Jake—"

"They're trying to make me go home to the dorm," he slurs dramatically. "Like—to my own room. Alone. WITHOUT YOU."

"Jake, you live with me," you giggle, already climbing out of bed and reaching for your hoodie. "You'll be fine."

"NO. I won't. I wanna be in our bed. With my girl. Smelling like your vanilla shampoo and on your comfy silk sheets. Please. It's a basic human right."

You're full-on giggling now, navigating through your dark room for your keys, because—

Unfortunately, you're in love with him and will do anything for this poor guy.

"I'm coming, I'm coming. Just hang tight and give Jungwon his phone back okay?"

Twenty minutes later, you're outside the bar Jungwon texted you the address to.

And then you see him.

Slumped against the wall, tie crooked, shirt loosened, hair falling over his forehead. His eyes are glassy and pink-tinted, cheeks flushed, ears red.

Sunghoon stands next to him, one arm outstretched to keep Jake upright, while Jay's trying to press a water bottle into his lips.

Then—

Jake looks up.

"BABY!!!"

He launches off the wall. Slightly pushes Sunghoon and Jay off. Trips over his own feet. Nearly collapses straight into you.

"Oh my god, Jake," you're giggling, catching him as he immediately melts into you, burying his face into your shoulder.

He smells like beer and cologne and Jake—his entire body warm and heavy as he wraps himself around you.

"You're here," he mumbles into your hoodie, relieved. "I told them. I told them you'd be here. Said my girl's gonna come for me. She always comes for me."

You glance over his shoulder. Sunghoon looks three seconds away from joining Heeseung, slumped on the sidewalk. Jay's already walking away.

"What happened to this being a wholesome group dinner outing?" you ask dryly, lifting a brow as you still try to stay balanced under Jake's full body weight wrapped around you.

"Don't blame me," Jungwon shrugs, wide-eyed. "Not my fault your boyfriend's a lightweight."

And you can't even argue with that.

Given your current position.

You're convinced Jake fell asleep like this. Standing up. Hugging you.

"Okay, okay. Let's get you home," you say, amused as you wave bye to the rest of the guys and steer your mess of a boyfriend towards your car.

The drive back isn't any better.

Jake refuses to let go to you.

One hand wrapped around your arm. The other holding your hand that isn't on the wheel. Body stretched over the console. Head on your shoulder, a sleepy smile playing at his lips as the smell of alcohol still lingers on him.

"You're so pretty," he murmurs, nose brushing your neck. "Like, so pretty. That's why I call you my pretty. You're the prettiest thing I've ever seen. I'm gonna marry you."

You keep your eyes on the road, but you laugh softly, trying to keep up with his mumbled words, "You say that every time you're drunk, Jakey."

"And I mean it ever time I'm drunk," he pulls back just enough to look at you with a serious look, but it's more like a pout. "And sober. Drunk me. Sober me. Future me. Past me. I love you. Love you so much. You're my angel. My Uber. My everything. My—my forever girl."

You burst out in giggles, "Your Uber?"

"Yeah," he nods, grinning at your reaction. "You picked me up. Best Uber ever. And your car always smells good. Like peaches. Five stars. Infinite stars."

By the time you drag him into the apartment and finally in bed, he's still clinging onto you, professing his love endlessly between hiccups and yawns.

"Pretty," he whispers, his nose nuzzling into your hair, breath warm against your skin. "M'gonna marry you. You know that right? You know I love you? So perfect. My girl."

And you're a goner. Completely wrecked.

"I know, Jakey," you smile, stroking his hair as his breathing slows. "I know."

And you do.

Because drunk or not—Sim Jaeyun is the realest thing you've ever known.

And he means every word.

no doubt m. list

tag list! pt. 1 (open)

@bluxjun @ki2rins @why-did-i-just-do-this @favoritten @lovialymisc @xylatox @vivimura @leehsngs @puma-riki @lezzleeferguson-120 @enhaprettystars @laurradoesloveu @sievenderz @somuchdard @kristynaah @hinryh @ltfirecracker @lov4hoon @taeheexx @niyzu @chunkzdeluluwife @jakeflvrz @fangirl125reader @0429jw @dreamy-carat @yuons @thestarinstarbucks @miszes @llearlert @ppeachyttae @hoomin10 @teddybeartaetae @tanisha2060 @therealmrsbahng @beomgyu-bears @ikeulove @jiyeons-closet @youngheejay @wxnderingthoughts @fuevrois @soobundle1009 @isoobie @enhypenova @zoemeltigloos @lizdevorak @deluluscenarios @bloomiize @hasuyv @ijustwannareadstuff20 @veilstqr @dreamiestay @jakeyyyjakexoxo

[revasserium]

to win and to lose

kenma, tsukki, hinata, kageyama; 3,200 words; fluff, lapslock, no "y/n", kissing, slightly!suggestive content, but mostly just tooth-rotting fluff, domestic bliss, post!timeskip characters, pro-streamer!kenma, olympics athlete!hinata, pouty!tsukki, and needy!kageyama

summary: you win some, you lose some, right?

a/n: truly just a few drabbles that came to my mind when i was sitting in a bath the other day; so pls enjoy some hq-flavored domesticity

kenma

“— alright chat, that’s it for today — i’ve got uh —” kenma glances over at the top of his collection of monitors at where you’re standing, holding two beers, a sly grin twisting the corner of your mouth. even in the strange blue light of his monitors, you can see his cheeks darken.

“— some stuff to do. see ya!” he ends the stream just as you round the massive table to set a beer down in front of him. he chuckles and reaches out to pull you into his lap, hooking his chin over your shoulder with a sigh.

“hey there, mr. ceo.” you smirk, twisting round to run your fingers through his hair, tugging out the loosening hair tie and cocking your head. kenma huffs, crinkling his nose, shaking his head as you continue to comb through his hair with your fingers.

“i hate it when you call me that.”

“mm, then… what would you prefer? mr… streamer boy? mr. stock trader? oh — i’ve got it! mr. simp-man.”

kenma scoffs, jerking forward so that you’re trapped against the hard edge of his gaming desk, his arms locking you to him. he’s grown since high school, but even so, his lithe build betrays the strength still hidden within his limbs from the endless hours of training, of playing.

“there’s no winning against you, is there?” he asks, his voice muffled by your skin, and you bite back a groan at the way he’s trailing his lips along the hard ridge of your collarbones. he peers up at you, a sharp, feline glint to his eyes, a hand reaching out to set your half-drunk beer on his table before hoisting you up with one arm. you squeak, the gesture taking you by surprise even as he carries you to the futon set up in strategically in the corner of the game room, put there for the nights when you’d lie there and watch him stream, when you’d close your eyes and let the rgb lights flicker across the backs of your eyelids like the northern lights, like so many midnight rainbows.

“well… seeing as you’re winning in so many other aspects in life,” you say, your voice nothing more than a sigh as he lays you down, fingers already tugging at the thin straps of your dress, “a little losing here and there might do you good, hm?”

“mm…” kenma hums, contemplative, even as he leans back and runs an appraising eye down the length of your body, “i mean… i did let kuroo talk me into joining the volleyball club back in highschool so… i guess you can say… in my own way… i’m sort of a sucker for punishment.”

tsukki.

“ah… that looked like a brutal practice,” you say, peering around the bathroom door. the sound of water splattering down skin echoes wetly through the enclosed space.

“aren’t they all?” tsukishima drawls, setting down the large wooden bath ladle to squint at you through the hazy mist. his glasses lie fogged and forgotten, set to the side.

you smile, slipping into the room with a fresh towel.

“i’ve got miso soup being warmed on the stove and an icepack in the freezer. take your time though — o-oh!”

a pair of arms reaches out to pull you down, and you barely catch yourself on the edge of the large wooden bath.

“t-tsukki! what —”

“it was a brutal practice.”

you barely hear the smirk in his voice as he sighs and props his chin on your thigh, the water from the bath staining you thin dress in seconds. you fight the urge the roll your eyes, reaching down to run your fingers through his damp hair, absently massaging at his scalp.

its rare to see him like this — rarer, even, to see him so openly vulnerable, even if there’s still the barest hint of a tease lurking beneath the tired rhythm of his voice, his breathing. like this, his long lashes are daggered into points by the steam, his normally pale skin made even more so by the bright bathroom lights.

through the water, you can see the new bruises blossoming along his thin legs, the old ones barely fading. thoughtlessly, you lean in and dip your hand in the water to trace a finger along one particularly large one at his right knee.

“what happened?” you ask, though you basically already know the answer — practice for a v2 league team happened. still, tsukishima glances down at the bruise with an oddly disembodied gaze and shrugs.

“dunno. dove to save a ball a few times.”

you laugh, tilting your head to one side as he leans back to press his cheek to your now damp thigh.

“wow, in practice? other team must’ve really pissed you off.”

at this, tsukishima crinkles his nose and scoffs. you hike an expectant eyebrow and wait.

“the jackals were over for a practice match.” his voice is clipped, but you feel your own laughter bubbling up in seconds. of course.

you bite back a giggle, “and… did you guys win?”

he glares up at you, eyes narrowed, “they’re a division one team. what do you think?”

“hm… but i thought hinata’s been off with a rolled ankle so…”

again, he scoffs, “that team’s plenty of other players who are just as annoying.”

you clamp down on your bottom lip, “wow. high praise.”

he whacks at the surface of the bath, splattering your dress even as you break into a bright peal of laughter. you reach down to flick him with a bit of water as well but he catches you wrist in his, fingers wrapping around your arm, the warm bath water slicking down your skin in thin rivulets, dripping off your elbow. you gasp, heart suddenly thrumming behind your eardrums.

the lopsided, slightly sadistic smile that slits his lips is stomach-twistingly familiar.

“tsukki… there’s miso soup —”

“mm. think i want something else for dinner instead.”

the low murmur of words is the only warning you get before you’re pulled bodily into the warm bath, the water soaking your dress, making the material cling to your skin in seconds. you squeak against his lips, rough and insistent and just a little pleading. you know it’s futile to struggle, so you let him kiss you, his teeth digging into your bottom lip as you groan, your fingers finally finding purchase along the slick skin of his shoulder.

“you — you’ve ruined my — my favorite dress…”

“hn.”

tsukishima doesn’t look at all bothered by your admonishment, shrugging, “it’ll dry.”

water sloshes over the side of the bathtub, now dangerously full with the both of you soaking in it’s steaming depths.

“was it really that bad?” you ask, affecting your voice into a soft coo, trailing wet fingers over the soft of his cheeks.

“if i say yes,” he asks, peering down at you as a lepidopterist might study a new specimen of rare, and newly captured butterfly, “would you try to make me feel better?”

you lick your lips, feeling your mouth go dry, despite being literally submerged in water.

“depends,” you say, “on if you’ll let me go turn off the stove first — wouldn’t want the miso soup to burn.”

tsukishima rolls his eyes, fingers tightening around your wrists, pulling you closer. there’s a dangerous light flickering behind his eyes; a dull ache pulses at the base of your stomach, singeing up your spine as you tip forward for another long kiss.

“thought i said already… i don’t think i really want miso soup for dinner anymore.”

hinata.

there’s a certain magic in watching him play — the way he treats every win like his first, or his last. the way the world seems brighter right around his edges, as if his own shimmer and shine might infect the universe if it would only let him.

he is incandescent with joy after the olympic qualifier games — scoring a ticket is no mean feat, and it’s not every day that you see bokuto cry.

“congrats, shouyou!” you’re one of the first to greet him after the press stint (and a shower), but you can still see the brilliant, glazed look to his eyes that tells you he’s still riding his high. his smile is wide enough to split the sky as he spots you, jogging over to hoist you up into his arms, spinning you round with almost comical ease.

“haha — thanks!”

he leans up for a kiss, one that’s sweet as it is heady. when you pull apart, you are still weightless, and his smile shines like a smile on pause — it makes you want to unpause it, and watch it unfurl.

you trace the pads of your thumbs along the tiny freckles dotting his cheekbones — souvenirs from his time in brazil.

“so! are you gonna come watch us?” he asks, making to walk down the decidedly not deserted hallway with you still in his arms. you blush at the thought, giving his shoulders a slight squeeze.

“shouyou… you can put me down now — and of course i’ll come! it’s not everyday that your boyfriend makes it to the olympics.”

several people chuckle as they watch him parade passed, you still firmly held aloft, your elbows propped on his shoulders to give you some semblance of balance. your cheeks burn as hinata hums, waving at a fellow teammate, reaching out for a fist bump.

“shou…” you fight the urge to bury your face in his shoulder as he finally rounds a corner into a much more private hallway. he grins, completely unabashed, as he pushes through an unmarked door to a what seems to be an empty locker room. it’s sparse, but well-lit and quiet.

“hm?”

he sets you down on one of the benches and drops a quick kiss onto your shoulder.

“i could’ve walked…”

“didn’t feel like putting you down,” he says, his voice dropping in register and taking on that darker, baser veneer — you hear the frayed edges, the sandstone texture, a tell-tale sign of a deep-seated hunger. a very specific brand of shouyou-flavored want.

“n-ngh —” you make a soft noise as he dips down to nuzzle into the dip of your collarbone, a tiny groan festering up the back of his throat as he sighs.

“been thinking about this…” his fingers dance up your sides, light enough to tease, but solid enough to remind you of just how close you both are to a ruthless press and the oogling public.

“sh-shou let’s wait —”

hinata whines, shaking his head, his hair tickling at the skin of your neck, “don’t wanna.”

and you sigh, weighing the option of pushing back or giving in. each has dangers and merits, but you know better than most that when hinata gets like this, indulgence is usually the only answer that will satisfy.

“plus… i just won a ticket to the olympics! don’t you think that deserves some kind of —” he casts around for a good enough word, pulling back with a smile that, in the right kind of slanted, locker room light, might just look like a smirk, “reward?”

you cock your head and blink up at him, letting your fingers tangle in the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck, “what? the olympics ticket wasn’t enough of a reward for you?”

at this, hinata pouts, pushing his bottom lip out far enough for you to lean forward and bite it. the movement makes him groan, his whole body tipping forward to cage you back against the row of cool, metal lockers.

“you shouldn’t do that if you don’t think you can finish the job,” he says, pulling back just far enough for the heat of his breath to fan across your spit-slick lips. you lave your tongue across them, shifting beneath him as he cocks his head to stare down at you, his eyes wide and dark and misty.

“and… what job might that be?” you ask, breathless even as he dips down again to catch your lips in his, reaching down to tug you bodily up the length of the lockers before pinning you in place. once upon a time, it was easy to forget how strong he is — but now, it’s even easier to spot the stretch and flex of muscle beneath his sun-kissed skin, feel the strength of them as he holds you still with a single hand, the other tugging down the neckline of your top.

“mm… the job —” he skims his teeth across your skin; you gasp, eliciting a small, satisfied chuckle from him, “of being an olympic athlete’s girlfriend, of course!”

kageyama.

it is never the losing, and always the aftermath, and by now, you know the shades and slivers of all his specific kinds of silences so intimately that you know without him having to say how the practice match had gone.

“hey.”

you greet him by the door with a soft, placatory kiss. he grunts, toeing off his shoes before dipping down to wrap both his arms around you and pull you close. you let out a breathy laugh as you feel his nose digging into the curve of your shoulder.

“want some dinner?” you ask, reaching up to stroke his sweat-soaked hair even though you already know the answer.

“later,” he says, making no sign of wanting to let you go. instead, when you try to pull away, he leans down and scoops you up to place you on top of the kitchen island, slotting himself between your knees, and re-burying his face in your shoulder.

“then…” you let your voice trail off, feeling the exhaustion pour off him in waves. you dig your fingers into the tense line of his shoulders and feel them tighten up before they fall slack again. for a few minutes, he contents himself with letting you massage the worst of the knots from his shoulders.

“hn.” he lifts his head only to lean forward and find your lips with his. the kiss is slow and just a bit tired — as sweet as it is thorough. in the beginning, you’d worried that dating someone like kageyama would end up being the kind of short-lived thing that all the tabloids and magazines had warned you about — that he might grow bored after a week, a month, maybe half a year. after all, someone like him, with that insatiable need for more wouldn’t be suited for the kind of so-called ‘domestic bliss’ as it’s prescribed of most long-term relationships. but he’d surprised you, in more ways than one. he’d not only not grown bored, but had seemingly become ever more… entranced.

the pair of you had grown into each other, each day steadily getting closer. until the space the two of you shared became so inextricably linked there’s no telling who’s breath was caught in each of your lungs, of who’s scent it was that lingered in the fine linen lining of all your pillows and sheets. it’s become your’s. in the most cliche way possible.

kageyama contents himself with kissing you, breaking for small breath, and then kissing you some more. one kiss falling into another, and another, and another. till you’re breathless in just way he likes, till he’s breathless, in the way that he gets sometimes during a particularly intense rally. he knows he’s sweat-sticky and probably stinks of the gym, but the way you smile up at him when he pulls away makes his whole body go soft.

“let’s take a shower before dinner,” you say, tracing a finger along the shell of his ear. he bites back a frown.

“not a bath?”

you laugh, shrugging, “we could — but the food’ll go cold.”

“we’ve got a microwave.”

you smile, a smile that inspires — no, demands — another kiss. and so he does. you make a tiny, exasperated noise but don’t make to pull away. kageyama reaches down to pick you up, settling your thighs on either side of his hips as he maneuvers the pair of you towards the bathroom.

“food’ll be there when we’re done,” he mutters, gently placing you down on the side of the bathtub and reaching over to turn on the hot water. the steam rises in thick sheets from the surface of the water, and already, kageyama can feel his limbs loosening at the thought of a nice, long soak. he catches you watching as he strips off his practice clothes.

“see something interesting?” his voice is so measured you’d never know he’s teasing, save for the tiniest hint of mischief in his eyes. you blush and look away, tugging off your own clothes in an attempt to distract yourself. the water sloshes around his ankles as he steps into the bath, and you join him a second later, curling up against his chest as he winds his arms around you, the pair of you settling against each other like nesting spoons, cut perfectly for each other’s every bend and curve. or perhaps like russian dolls, one encasing the other — wholly and completely.

“when’s practice tomorrow?” you ask, turning to watch him lean back, his eyes falling shut to the soft trickle of water over skin. you know the answer, and so does he. but he shifts and answers you anyway.

“not till noon.”

“good,” you say, turning back to rest your head on his shoulder, “we can have a proper breakfast.”

“we always have a proper breakfast.”

you laugh, absently walking your fingers up the length of his bent leg, drawing tiny circles on his exposed knee, poking out of the water like a pale island amidst the green-tinted water.

“i can grill mackerel tomorrow — i’ll have the time.”

outside, the moon is white and full with love, the sky bloated with countless shimmering stars. inside the gentle quiet of your home, kageyama leans forward to trail a kiss to the bend of your bare shoulder; you reach back to cup his cheek. when he turns your face for yet another kiss, it is sleepy and happy, long and lazy. full, weighted, soaked through with the kind of surrender only known to those who love and are in love.

“the food’ll really be cold —” you gasp, twisting away from kageyama’s growingly insistent lips, “if we keep going like this.”

he makes a slightly irked noise before caging you back against him with a deep frown, “you said so yourself — we’ve got time tomorrow. so —” he leans in to bump his nose against yours, waiting for permission. you chew on your lips for a second longer before conceding. and he’s right — isn’t that what microwaves are for?

[okaerina]

𓍢 (bnd ver!) like its 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒏𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄 .ᐟ ໒ 𓂅 ໋⋅

SIMP! bnd x CRUSH! reader GENRE ! pining, fluff, angst if u squint TW ! none (lmk if there is any) NOW PLAYING ! . . . . magnetic by ill-it WC ! 7O2

𖠗 𝐣aehyun — shy cute flirt !

insert butter-myung. once he lays eyes on you he's a goner like he's so dramatic about it, panting and clutching his chest hard "guys i think im going to die if i don't wife her up". is pretty delusional too yk. will outwardly flirt with and then get so shy smh. very cheesy pick-up lines that most of the time fail to flutter your heart but does give you a good laugh tho lol (his biggest accomplishment). expect lots of attention and acts of service ^^

𖠗 𝐫iwoo — calm (going insane inside) sweet guy !

tries to be very calm with you, his hand will always be balled in a tight fist and tries to hide the teeth gritting with a nonchalant smile (but the red ear says all lmao). very rational yet funny, constantly pulling jokes that actually make you laugh yet still being respectful. shares his food with you specially donuts!! takes you to caffé dates "hey, there's this new pretzel shop wanna check it out together??" if you say something about dieting he would immediately encourage and lecture you about how important it is eat alot. will try to feed you too >_< !

𖠗 𝐬ungho — nervous yet reliable big guy !

the first time he saw you he was literally going through a massive panic attack, he literally thought he saw an angel lord! tries hard not to stutter or get nervous around you cue the clammy heads lol. but he still tries to collect his composure together and tries to be more reliable. will tie your undone shoelaces, make sure you ate or drank, always making sure you’re not upset. bro will take you’re side and clap back on behalf of you (sass king). will let you rest your head on his broad shoulder if you fell asleep and he so happens to be sitting beside you chill.

𖠗 𝐭aesan — shy introverted observer !

he's very introverted and often struggles to express his feelings. so he will always just admire you from afar, eyes never leaving you. you're his only muse. he notices all the little details about you and your reaction and expressions to certain things. like the way your hair sways, looking soft, they way you get excited with your friends or the way his heart literally explodes when you laugh or smile. if you end up catching him looking at you he would become shy mess, hiding his face and all. you’ll have to strike the convo first tho cuz he's too shy. loves making playlists dedicated to you oh! he has 100+ songs written for you on his soundcloud (shh).

𖠗 𝐥eehan — confident and shameless flirt !

you thought he was a quite and introverted pretty boy but boy were you so wrong. he's way more extreme in cases of flirting than jaehyun. the fact that he knows that he's drop dead gorgeous makes it even more intense. he will say the most cringiest, cheesiest pick up lines with the signature poker face and an eventual smirk (cue the girls screaming) and expect you to swoon (but you don't) and bro's downbad. veryyy delusional like he will announce to the entire school you two are married (you’re not??). you become the only one he yaps about his fishes and weird obsessions too. will hysterically start crying if you tell him to eat more "OMG YOU CARE SO MUCH ABOUT ME LET'S GET MARRIED!!!" "leehan js eat!"

𖠗 𝐰oonhak — cool guy to loser lover !

he would try to put on a cool guy frat boy image infront of you but it was a big silly FAIL! that one time when you smiled back at his corny "hey, beautiful" he passed away infront of the whole class BYE. he thought he had no game but when you aided for him he realised maybe being a loser for you wouldn’t be so bad actually! "hey cuties this one's for you" and then completely misses the ball smh. takes you out to arcade dates and parks to play (you win most of the time). but nevertheless he's a fun guy to be with (pls let him win time to time :D)

[ 🦢] : last post before semi hiatus (again exams sigh)

[dameronspector]

Challengers: Avengers Edition (Part 4)

Pairings: Joaquin Torres x Fem!Stark!Reader (Established Relationship); Bob Reynolds x Fem!Stark!Reader

Summary: You and Sam are going to the Gala and Joaquin is less than happy about it. You judge Valentina's interior choices and she embarrasses you. SamBucky are complicated dads and Bob/Sentry is totally normal about you. Totally.

Warnings: CAUTION: Mentions of Bob’s Addiction, Drugs and Mental Illnesses, Fluff, Banter, Angst, TENSION. SOO MUCH TENSION, Joaquin loves Reader a LOT, Joaquin being a cutie, Valentina is a piece of shit, SO much Yearning and Longing from Bob, SamBucky are dads and cough best friends, Jealous!Joaquin, Simp!Bob, Reader is mentioned to have hair long enough to be let down loose/tie up, thats all i think! Let me know if i should add something else! Also looked up the most preferred drinks for sober people and the most common answer was sparkling water!

AN: imagine this gif is basically what Bob looks like for the gala <3 and i did watch challengers. so its going to get BETTER 😝

"Do you really have to go? Can't we send Carol or somethin'", Joaquin whined for the third time in the past 15 minutes of you getting ready for the gala. He was leaned against the bathroom's doorframe, arms crossed and a big pout on his face like a kid whose candy was stolen.

You were wearing a gorgeous ruby red dress, it had an off the shoulder sleeve on one side, and the skirt flowed down to an asymmetrical pleat, making it look formal yet classy at the same time. You paired the dress with some matching heels, your hair pulled up into a neat updo, a single front part was curled to frame your face elegantly, your makeup was a soft glam, paired with some dainty diamond drop earrings and your birthstone ring with a gold band on your left middle finger, both of them a gift by Joaquin on one of your anniversaries, and a diamond tennis bracelet on your right hand, one that was gifted by your dad on your 18th birthday.

Each piece of your look was intentional. You wanted to wear red to honour your father and to stand out as the Stark heir, as well as an original Avenger, but also wanting to stay grounded by wearing a piece of two of the most important people in your life.

The fact that you looked like a powerful, beautiful goddess, wearing a ring given by him, his favourite colour on you, and that you were going to a gala without Joaquin, was the reason why he was pouting.

"Quino...I have to. She invited me personally and this is important for our case", you sighed, swiping another coat of the lipgloss for the last time, rubbing your lips together to spread it equally over both of them. Joaquin's hands wrapped around your waist, his head tucked over your shoulder, nose pressed into your neck, sniffing your calming perfume like he was learning how to breathe again. His curls tickled you gently, like a passing breeze on a nice day.

"But you look so, so beautiful", he purred into your soft skin, his voice sending pleasant tremors down your spine, your skin heating up like fireworks. "And I don't want him to see you like this", he growled slightly, his hands squeezing your waist in possession and jealousy.

You closed the tube of lip gloss, placing it back on the counter before your hands rose to hold Joaquin's on your stomach. He was looking at you through the mirror, a grumpy look set on his face and your fingers played with each other. Letting out a sigh, your leaned your head over his, giving him a sympathetic smile.

"I know. But, hey, Sam did say we will have you listen through our ear pieces, right? You'll find out if something happened that way", you caressed his hands gently.

He grumbled in response, eyes quietly observing your soft hands touch his in a soothing way. Suddenly, your ringtone pierced through the otherwise quiet bathroom. It was Sam. You informed him that you were ready and he let you know that he'd reach your apartment in 5.

"Okay, baby. I need to get going", you sighed, ending the call while Joaquin placed absent minded kisses on your bare shoulder. Slowly turning around in his embrace, your arms went around his neck, eyes looking up at his upset but infuriatingly handsome face, his fluffy curls and the pretty moles on his face. It was really tempting to stay back and love on him for longer. But, duty calls.

He stared at you intently, big brown eyes fluttering over your face like an artist mapping out his canvas, before he pulled you in for a soft and slow kiss, not wanting to ruin your make up but also wanting to savour the feeling of your skin on his. Your hand buried in the curls behind his head, the free hand resting over his heart while his hands splayed over your back and shoulder blades, pulling you impossibly close.

Joaquin always kissed you like he wanted to devour you. His whole mouth would embrace yours like a man who wanted to quench his thirst. But he was also exceptionally gentle and loving, his hands always cradled you like you were something special, warm palms smoothing over your skin like he was learning how you felt.

You parted after sometime, breathlessly pressing your forehead against his, noses nudging each other gently before you opened your eyes and let out a giggle.

"What's so funny?", he quirked an eyebrow, his hands squeezing your waist.

"You just-", you broke out in giggles, eyes looking at his lips before crinkling shut in laughter. "You've got some lip gloss on", a hand coming up to wipe his lips, which were glistening with some of that shiny lip gloss you had on.

His reaction was instant, he grabbed your wrist and held it by his chest. "Nope. Let it be there", he stubbornly replied, lips tugged into a smirk.

You snorted, slapping his chest gently, "You're a sap, Torres."

He gave you that crooked grin of his that you love, his cheeks dusted with a flush of pink, and voice coated in that sugary sweet tone that was always directed towards you, "Only for you, angel."

-

"Excited?", Sam teased you, the two of you perched in the back of the car that Valentina had sent for pick up, something that you found extremely odd but you let it be, your mind too preoccupied about how to control your emotions when you set foot in the Tower after years.

You hadn't seen the tower ever since Tony shifted everything to the compound. And now that you had a chance to visit, it was under that corrupt hag's invitation and ownership, the thought leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

"More like angry and nervous", you scoffed humorlessly.

Sam was dressed in a well fitted dark blue suit, a black shirt under the jacket and a tiny pin shaped like the shield adorned his lapels. It was a gift from AJ and Cass to him, and he tried to wear it everywhere he could. He looked sharp, powerful and every bit of the leader that he was.

"You're nervous?", he replied incredulously, a kind but open look in his eyes.

You see, you've always been good at these events. Attending them from a young age does that to you and being a Stark comes with free PR training, because you guys knew how to run your mouth. You'd always accompany your dad or the Avengers for the events, especially after you officially became an Avenger and handled all the press statements and interactions, incase your dad wasn't present. This was natural to you. So the fact that you were nervous, was a surprise to Sam.

You let out a long sigh. "Nervous because I don't wanna fuck this up and because...", you pursed your lips. "I don't know how I'll react once I'm inside the building. Angry because she doesn't deserve this. This should've been your moment, Sam."

Sam smiled solemnly, "I'm not alone. I got you guys. We'll get through this together, hm?"

You looked at him and raised a pinky finger. He raised his eyebrows.

"Don't forget the promise, Sam", you reminded him about what he'd said about talking to Bucky. He let out a chuckle and linked his pinky with you, flashing you a sincere smile.

"Yes ma'am. You be careful with your boyfriend. Shut off the comms if necessary, yeah? We both know he will fly over to the damn Tower if he senses something was up", he teased, drawing a half hearted groan from you.

"I knowwww. He's not going to be normal today."

"When is he ever normal about you?", Sam snorted. You laughed out loud, a hand pressed to your mouth.

"Let me know if this Bob situation escalates, though. We'll do somethin' about it", he added seriously.

Your laughter faded away, a thoughtful look crossing your face as your teeth stressed the inside of your cheek. "That's the thing, Sam. I don't think he's gonna do anything. The way Bucky described him...He's just very self deprecating. And I don't know if that's a relief, or worse, because he's already been through a lot. And I don’t want him and Joaquin to be hostile towards each other, either."

You paused, letting out a sniffle, "I'm not letting anybody get hurt because of me." Sam looked at you in that gentle way of his, his heart breaking at the way you talked about yourself. It was a very Stark trait, he'd realised. How easily you put it all on yourself and walked with that burden as if it was your second skin.

You were strong and resilient, he knew that very well. He saw it in the way you stood strong for your family when Tony died. He saw it in the way you rooted for him and the team. He saw it in the way you loved Joaquin. He saw it in the way you took your job seriously and helped those in need, always putting your intelligence and resources to use, your sincerity making your eyes shine like the stars.

If there was anything Sam would unashamedly applaud Tony Stark for, it would be for giving the world a gem like you. And for giving him a friend and family member like you.

Your eyebrows creased, as if you were in pain, "I-I don't think I can handle that guilt. It'll suffocate me", your voice dying down to a whisper, fingers twisting around the ring on your left hand. You'd said these exact words to Joaquin, back when he almost got impaled with a rebar while trying to stop your fall, way before you even started dating.

He'd simply given you a heart breaking and beautiful smile, his eyes wide with earnestness and in the most gentle voice ever, he'd said, "You're worth dying for, angel", in that easy going way of his. As if he hadn't just grabbed your heart and squeezed it. You'd vowed to do anything to protect him from that moment.

"You're thinkin' too much, kid. Don't do that. We don't even know what's gonna happen. Just go with the flow", he gently reminded you, his tone similar to the way your dad would chide you when you'd overwork yourself.

It made your eyes sting with tears, throat closed up with a lump stuck to its base. You wordlessly grabbed Sam's hand, his big hand squeezing yours back in comfort, and before you knew it, you were already at the Tower.

-

Sam got out of the car first, walking around the other side to help you out of the car, your hand gently grasping his to get out of the seat, shouts and clicks of the cameras echoed around you, a small ball of nerves already unraveling in your stomach as you looked around the closed off section.

"Miss Stark! Over here!"

"Mr. Wilson, over your left, please!"

The car left, leaving you and Sam on the red carpet spread across the asphalt, camera flashes blinding you as the paps yelled out instructions for you to pose. Sam put a hand on your shoulder, your arm going around his back as the two of you smiled, eyes fluttering across the scene in a daze. The photographers kept yelling questions like:

"Miss Stark what do you think of the new Tower?"

"Mr. Wilson, are you a part of the New Avengers?!"

"We heard you have filed a case!"

"Miss Stark did you have a fight with Sergeant Barnes?!"

You and Sam snorted at those questions. This was nothing new for you. The two of you have been in the business long enough to know that these people never got creative with their questions. The two of you chose to ignore them as you posed for more photos and then a question was thrown at Sam.

"Cap, we heard you're not on good conditions with Sergeant Barnes! Is it because he's the new leader of the Avengers and you're not? Has it been hard to prove yourself as the new Captain America?”

You froze. Sam did too. His jaw clenched in humiliation and annoyance, you clenched your fists in anger, your clutch creaking from the sheer force you were applying on it.

“Did she pay you extra for this?”, you replied wirh a sickly sweet smile, making Sam squeeze your shoulder in warning and the other paps stared at you in shock, not expecting that sharp jab.

The man who asked the question had to decency to look away, quickly understanding what you were talking about. You see, Valentina had been paying media houses to print the worst bullshit about Sam. You and Joaquin found out that the smear campaign began from the moment Sam took up the shield, tabloids going to extreme lengths to defame him. Since then, you and Joaquin had exposed 3 of those businesses, and they’d formally apologised, publicly. Sam, ever the sweetheart and gracious man, had forgiven them right away.

“Don’t engage. Let’s go”, Sam murmured and guided you back inside, your jaw working up still as you grinded your teeth.

“We can’t let her keep getting away with this”, you mumbled, breathing harshly. He sighed in disbelief.

“We’re in the middle of a very public trial. We cannot risk this, (Name). She’ll use this against you. Do not engage. Do you understand?”, he sternly told you, his voice taken over by that authoritative yet gentle cadence when he wants someone to follow his orders.

You pursed your lips, eyebrows furrowed in frustration. “Okay. I’m sorry”, you replied lowly, head ducked to stare at your heels in embarrassment at how quickly you’d lost your composure.

Sam just let out a breath and patted your shoulder in a fatherly manner. “Don’t apologise. C’mon, we have a gala to attend. Turn on the comms, I’ll inform Joaquin that we’re in.”

-

The receptionist saw who you were and let you two in the lift right away, leaving behind a huge line of guests waiting for their turn. Once you were in the lift, you let out a loud sigh, the lift reminding you of your days spent in the tower.

“Which flo-”

“80th”, came your automatic reply.

Sam looked at you in surprise before pressing the button for the 80th floor: The Deck. Or the Party Deck, informally. It was designated for parties and all the important events. You've been to that place since you could talk. You even remember meeting Sam at that same deck, during a party that was thrown just before Ultron decided to ruin it.

Funny how life comes full circle. You're back at the same deck, for another party, except the three of the most important people, that should've been here today, were dead and you were forced to enter like a stranger, to rub elbows with snobs and a new team that you didn't even know.

"Right. You remember that party?", Sam asked carefully, his eyes looking at you in concern, your face devoid of any emotion, before a small, nostalgic smile broke through the facade. Like you could see every memory play in front of you like a movie.

"I remember everything, Sam."

-

Bob was having a great day. A little too great.

And it was too late when he, and everyone, realised that it was one of those happy happy days. A manic episode. One that made him feel invincible. One that made him feel like he owned the world. One that made him feel like a god. Sentry, to be exact.

He was way too confident and sure of himself, humming under his breath, his eyes were dilated and glowed a golden, footsteps firm and shoulders straight, unlike normal Bob, who slouched and tried to make himself look smaller. Sentry, though? He wore that monochromatic suit set that Valentina had picked out with a grace that resembled to that of a model or a celebrity. His long arms buttoned up the matching shirt and slid on the jacket like he did it everyday. He didn't even flinch when the tie went on. Didn't complain about the fabric, didn't complain about the discomfort of wearing fancy clothes.

He owned that outfit. It fit him like a second skin, the bright, periwinkle colour of the suit making his ocean eyes pop out and light brown curls look majestic, the mop of hair styled into place beautifully, like he woke up looking like this and a stray curl fell onto his forehead, making him look even more handsome. Bob was a good looking man—sharp features, gorgeous eyes, a shy and boyish smile with his sassy and dry humour made him attractive enough. But Sentry moved like a main character. Like he wasn't worried about a thing in the world. Like he was having a good day everyday, his words sharp and clear, a chipper and brighter smile plastered to his face, his footsteps graceful and quiet, unlike Bob's chaotic and restless ones.

He was lightly humming under his breath, hand occupied with spritzing himself with cologne before he walked out of his room confidently, a hand tucked in pocket and the other pushing the wayward curl back.

To his luck, the first one to see him was Bucky, taking a double look as Bob sauntered in-Tall, confident and powerful, an amused yet proud grin taking over Bucky's lips before Bob walked closer and Bucky noticed his eyes.

They were shining gold. Like the sun's rays.

Bucky held back a long sigh. This was not what he wanted to deal with today. Because a confident Bob meant more interactions with you. And more interactions with you meant facing the wrath of Joaquin and Sam. He'd have to assign Yelena to stick by Bob's side today.

"Hey, Bob...you ready?", he asked dryly, straightening his suit, and looking at Bob closely.

"It's Sentry", he corrected in a deep voice, his lips slightly quirked in a manner that said I'm trying to be polite, but I'm offended at the same time.

Right. That was another thing. When it was Sentry making an appearance, Bob's lazy drawl and gravelly voice would turn into a deep baritone. One that permeated your bones and poured over like hot honey. One that conveyed his power and assertiveness.

Bucky looked at him solemnly before nodding, "Right, sorry. You-you look good, Sentry."

Bucky had to admit, he did look really good in that suit, it fit him like a glove and the hairstyle made him look like a model, his height being a welcome addition. I mean, to be honest, all of them have always thought that Bob was a good looking guy. But this? This was going to cause a rave on the internet, Bucky thought. He looked handsome, simply put. It reminded him of how Steve's first gala appearance had gone viral, the magazine clippings of it were pasted into Bucky's old diary from his laying low Winter Soldier days, and how shocked Bucky was to see that punk in a fitted suit.

Sentry gave him a pleased smile, a chuckle leaving his mouth before he stuffed both of his hands into his pockets. "Thanks, Bucky. You clean up nice, too."

Bucky looked down at his outfit: a black long coat, a black shirt with white collar underneath it, with a white trim on the lapels of the coat, his hair carefully quaffed into place, a strand gently resting on his forehead. He gave a shrug, a tiny, bashful grin tugging at his lips before he patted Sentry on the shoulder. "We should probably get going, everyone's waiting for us."

Sentry nodded, moving to leave the corridor for the left before he abruptly paused, making Bucky look back in confusion.

"(Name)'s coming today, right?"

Bucky froze, his expression dimming slowly before he pursed his lips, nodding in agreement. Sentry gave him another pleased smile.

“But- just, be careful, okay? Don’t do something that might hurt Bob in the future”, Bucky replied in a careful manner, trying to keep his expression as calm as possible.

Sentry just gave him another one shouldered shrug, a composed and almost nonchalant energy radiating off of him. “Of course, don’t worry, Barnes.”

Bucky could only stare at the man and swallow in slight nervousness.

-

“Gaudy interior. Doesn't even know the appropriate colour scheme, random furniture that has no place being here...what a mess", you murmured under your breath, judgementally looking around the packed space that was filled with rich people and photographers, random flashes lighting up the room in intervals.

Valentina definitely loved to show off. Not that your dad didn't, but at least, he had some taste. He loved decorating his space in a classy and sleek manner, mixed with comfort and warmth. Valentina's version of the Tower felt cold, lifeless and out of place, just like her.

Sam snorted beside you, shaking his head in disbelief. "You sound like a 40 year old woman who owns an interior design business and thinks her work is the best."

You scoffed and crossed your arms, "I grew up with a sophisticated woman as my caretaker and a diva as my father. I know a thing or two."

"Yeah, have you seen her apartment, Sam? Looks like someone ripped a page out of the architectural digest", Joaquin chimed in, and you could almost picture the smile on his face as he said that.

You smiled bashfully, "Thanks, baby."

"Yeah, alright, lovebirds. Focus", Sam broke up the moment before anyone could notice you speaking into thin air, a hand on your back leading you into the room, throwing a smile here and there for the occasional camera before a voice piped up from behind you.

"Look who is finally here! Captain America and Iron Lady, everyone!"

Of course, it was Valentina. Speak of the devil. She yelled out your names, causing every head in the room to look at you two, cameras shutters going off like alarms and blinding you. A sea of murmurs spread across the rooms, all of them either awing at you two like you were a damn museum exhibit or throwing greetings and trying to chat up, feigning a genuine conversation.

You and Sam simply gave them awkward smiles, your eyes laser focused on what Valentina does next.

In the corner of the room, by the couches that were placed near the floor to ceiling windows, sat the Thunderbolts, their heads snapping towards the commotion, each one of them standing up in a single file. Valentina had told them to stay put before the 'main guests' arrived, and they immediately knew, that she was waiting for you and Sam.

Bucky had already warned them about Bob, or rather, Sentry. They chose to keep him with them, rarely letting him roam around alone but at the same time, they avoided hovering. Bob hated it, and they chose to respect that. Surprisingly, he was more than okay with sticking around with them. His calm and composed attitude was helping him stay put, a glass of sparkling water, with a lemon slice floating on top, in his hand, his golden-blue eyes eagerly scanning the crowd for someone-you.

Ava, John and Alexei kept giving him looks, his constant 'recon' of the space was suspicious, but they just chalked it off to him being vigilant and curious. It is his first party, after all. Bucky and Yelena, on the other hand, exchanged tense glances, agreeing to use sign language incase they notice something out of the ordinary.

And now Sentry was on alert again. His head snapped up towards the commotion, his glass long forgotten on the table, long legs slowly pushing his body off the leather couch, hands stuffed into his pockets again. John, Ava and Alexei were too busy figuring out what was happening. Yelena kept her attention on Sentry, cursing inwardly when she noticed Bucky had gone off somewhere.

"They're our special guests of the evening, everyone give them a round of applause, our heroes!", Valentina announced, a fake wide smile stretching her lips, walking over to where you and Sam stood before nudging you two apart, standing in the middle to usher a photographer to click pictures.

You clenched your jaw and gave your best practiced smile, exchanging an irritated look with Sam, who was smiling painfully.

"Smile if you don't want a juicy headline tomorrow, (Name)", she murmured to you in between gritted teeth, her short hair moving as she leaned a bit closer to you. You bit your tongue, stopping yourself from answering her back, when a familiar voice called out, "(Name)!"

Bucky. You let out a sigh of relief. Sam shuffled awkwardly.

"Oh, Buck!", you greeted back, his arms coming around you for a hug, your face pressed into his shoulder. "Please save us", you mumbled into his coat, his hand smoothing over your back as a reply.

You broke the hug, Bucky turning around, completely ignoring Valentina to land his eyes on Sam, who was trying his hardest to maintain composure, a painfully fake smile playing on his lips, hand holding the wrist of his other hand like a vice. Bucky looked at him with, what you could only describe as, sad puppy eyes. You looked at the two of them and rolled your eyes.

The room though, they observed the scene with curiosity and excitement. Three of the original Avengers reunited in the same place as the old team. A sight to behold, surely. Some of them even whipped their phones out to click a picture of you three looking at each other. You just know you're going to wake up to countless hit tweets and memes.

"Hey, Sam", Bucky's gravelly voice greeted him softly, shuffling forward to wrap the man in a warm hug, Sam's arms reluctantly going around Bucky's back, his eyes closed. The cameras went off like crazy, and you stood there with tears in your eyes.

"We’re not children of divorce, anymore!", Joaquin cheered in the comms. You giggled lowly.

They broke the hug, Bucky taking a moment to look at Sam in that kicked puppy manner, Sam's face a mixture of emotions before Valentina had to burst the bubble. "Actually, we were just-"

"No", Bucky cut her off.

She blinked in surprise. "Sorry?", a disbelieving laugh escaped her lips.

Bucky gave her a sarcastic grin, "We have some introductions in order. So, if you'll excuse us", he put an arm around your shoulder and motioned Sam to follow him, turning the two of you away from the crowd and into the corner, where the rest of the team was.

Valentina clenched her jaw, flashing an over the top smile before ordering herself a drink and working to distract the crowd.

-

"They're here."

The four of them whipped their heads to look at Sentry, his eyes still scanning the crowd to locate you.

"Who?", John pressed, his eyebrow quirked up in question, who looked decent in his brown coloured suit. Yelena swallowed thickly. Ava's eyes followed her every movement like a hawk.

"(Name) and Sam Wilson", Sentry replied, a strange excitement laced in his tone, his eyes shining a brighter gold now.

John's eyes widened at that and he shuffled, a hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck in nervousness. Alexei let out a scoff, "They're here to-to talk about stupid copyright. To fight. I don't understand, It's just a name."

Yelena rolled her eyes, Ava glaring at the big burly man, who had cut his hair and beard now, adorned in a simple black suit and trousers. her hands rested on her hips in exasperation, her halter neck, sparkly black maxi dress shimmered as she moved.

"Yeah, the name that we stole and was thrust upon us by a psychotic woman, dumbass", Ava shut him down, making Alexei grumble.

Yelena groaned loudly, smoothing the skirt of her orange shimmery dress, "Please don't embarrass us in front of them-"

"Hey guys."

The Thunderbolts snapped their heads to the front, their leader's voice bringing their attention to him and the two people on his side.

Sam Wilson and (Name) Stark.

John awkwardly coughed after coming face to face with Sam after 2 whole years since the whole flagsmashers mess. Alexei narrowed his eyes, Ava pinching his arm to make him be normal, Yelena offered the two of you a smile, her brown coloured lips stretched across her face in a genuine grin, the only one to have a normal reaction so far.

And Sentry?

He was frozen. Speechless. A dopey look was set on his face, which was a first for him. And his heart? His heart felt like it was beating a hundred miles per minute. His hands were weirdly clammy, face heating up more than usual. Because how can you look like that, and he's supposed to be normal about it?

His golden eyes travelled through your form like he was appreciating an art piece. That red dress fit you like a glove, making you look elegant and every bit of the royalty that you were. Your gorgeous hair framing you perfectly, the make up emphasising your beautiful features, your eyes shining even in the low light, and that smile. That delicate smile on your face making you glow brighter.

You looked like a goddess, like one of those ancient greek statues, like a painter's muse. And oh, how he wished he could be the one to wax poems about you. Sentry's eyes were a brighter golden now, his chest and shoulders straightened up as he hungrily took you in, committing you to memory.

"-And that's Bob", Bucky nodded towards Sentry, choosing to omit the whole situation part from Sam, not wanting to overwhelm him already. Sentry snapped out of his daze, his eyes lazily moving away from you to Bucky.

Sam smiled politely, a strong hand extended in Bob's direction. "Hey, I'm Sam."

Sentry took his hand carefully, his lips quirked up into a formal grin. "Hey, Cap. We've heard a lot about you. It's nice to finally meet you instead of hearing Bucky say he m-"

"Okay! Okay. That's-", Bucky coughed, pulling back Sam's hand, who stared at him wearily and you pursed your lips. "That's enough. Uh- you already know (Na-",

"(Name). Of course, I know her", Sentry croaked out, his eyes floating back to where you stood, a few feet away from him, eyes observing him closely. His eyes were once again glowing brightly, heat coming off of him in waves and the rest of the team looked at Sentry in confusion, except Yelena and Bucky who exchanged worried glances and Sam who stared down Sentry with a levelled stare.

"What the hell?", Joaquin murmured in annoyance through your in ears. You sighed quietly.

"Hey, Bob", you greeted, a nervous smile on your face, hand waving at him in a friendly manner. Sentry's, or Bob's, heart soared. You were smiling at him? That was enough to give him a boost.

"You look absolutely gorgeous", he complimented you smoothly, an appreciative smile on his face. Your eyes widened, the entire team looking up at him in shock, while Sam's mouth fell open.

Joaquin laughed humorlessly, his words clipped with irritation, “I'm gonna fly my ass over there, I swear to god."

The tension was so thick, it could've been cut with a knife. John and Alexei were quiet for a change, too shocked to even pass a comment. Ava narrowed her eyes at Yelena, Bucky and Bob, as if she had figured something out, and you were too baffled to even respond to anything, useless sputters leaving your mouth before Sam decided to take matters in his own hands, patting Bucky's shoulder more aggressively than necessary.

Bucky simply winced and shook his head, Yelena pulling at Sentry's arm to shut him up.

"Alright, we got important things to discuss", Sam informed loudly, snapping everyone out of their shocked daze. You kept staring at Sentry's golden eyes, still fixated on you with a dreamy expression.

You had to admit, he did look good today.

"(Name)", you snapped your attention towards Sam. "Yeah?"

"You take Ava, Yelena and Alexei. I'll talk to Walker and Bob", he cleared his throat, side eyeing Walker while talking to you and Bucky, at the same time. You nodded in agreement.

"Thank you, Samuel. Love you", Joaquin piped in, letting out a sigh of relief at you being separated from Bob.

"Barnes, you're comin' with me", Sam added, causing Bucky to frown and you to wince. Guess the divorce was still up. And to be honest, Bucky kind of deserved it.

"Oh god. Were we just demoted to being children of divorce again?", Joaquin groaned and you sighed in tiredly in response, a hand coming up to pinch the bridge of your nose.

"Are you okay?", Bob asked, a gentle cadence taking over his deep voice, his golden eyes making you feel warm all over and you could almost smell his clean yet sharp scent from here.

His cologne smelled a little stronger than Joaquin's clean and citrus one. But it wasn't unbearable.

"Fuck, he's so infuriating, bro?!", there goes your short fused boyfriend again.

"Qu-", you stopped yourself mid comforting, forgetting that you had people around you and cleared your throat, hands holding your clutch in a death grip. "I-It's okay. I'm fine, thank you", you looked up at the taller man, giving him a barely there smile, hoping that Joaquin got your message too.

"I don't know if I'm okay, angel", he groaned. You frowned even though he couldn't see you.

Sentry gave you a bashful smile in return, his cheeks dusted with a shade of pink as he leaned in slightly and noticed the glitter on your lips, making them look plumped and glistening under the lights. He was transfixed. Your soothing, floral scent almost made him sniff the space between your bodies, before Yelena broke the moment swiftly.

"(Name), let's go. We will go out on the deck", she pushed Sentry behind, her hand grabbing yours and slowly dragging you away from him, his stomach twisting with longing as he watched you walk away. He almost felt bad as you didn't look back even once, the click of your heels a hypnotic sound that echoed in his ears. But his eyes closed in contentment as he breathed in the remnants of your perfume in the air.

And if Sam and Bucky noticed that, they didn't speak of it. But they knew that if Joaquin was here to witness this, someone was going to end up in the ER and unfortunately for Joaquin's luck, it wouldn't be Bob.

Part 5

-

AN: freaky deaky bobert being a simp like mr anthony bridgerton, while joaqo is being a jealous short fuse like mr anthony bridgerton, well yes! can u guys tell im a kanthony shooter <3

pls like and reblog HEHE 😁

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[kiwriteswords]

Where the Wildflowers Grow [Aaron Hotchner x Florist!Reader]

Florist!Reader Masterlist|| Main Masterlist [I need to update this, sorry!]|| Ao3||Word Count: 2.6k|| AN:  My crazy week is over--I have missed my Hotch x Florist Universe!! We're so back, baby! Tags/Warnings:  confessions of love, first 'i love you', reader is a little pessimistic, angst (if you squint), canon-typical themes, Female!Reader, Florist!Reader, Non-BAU!Reader, pre-relationship, pre-established relationship, Sassy!Reader, Flirty!Reader, Aaron Hotchner loves to love, 'Just because'!Aaron Hotchner, Simp!Hotch Summary: As a florist, you've seen a lot of negative occasions for flowers. You've become quite cynical about love, quite honestly. Aaron Hotchner is seemingly changing that.

You were elbow-deep in hydrangeas when the bride canceled.

“Sorry,” she’d said on the phone, voice hollow and embarrassed. “The wedding’s off. He…well. It doesn’t matter.”

You could only read between the lines. A tale as old as time. Something you’d heard a thousand times once over. Maybe he had a wandering eye for her best friend. Or maybe there was a secret family, like the bride who cancelled years ago who’s deposit was on twelve dozen cala lillies.

It did matter.

It always mattered.

You offered the polite condolences you were supposed to. Told her you understood. You always did.

You hung up, leaned against the counter, and let your head fall into your hands. It was barely noon, and already you’d:

Arranged three casket sprays.

Witnessed your regular Tuesday customer order a third round of “I’m sorry I cheated” carnations--soooo tacky.

Had a grown man throw a tantrum over “too many filler greens.”

And now, lost an $800 order you’d already started prepping.

This was the part people didn’t see.

The underbelly of beauty.

You loved your work--

Truly.

But there were days when the petals felt heavy.

When it was hard not to see flowers as bandages.

Temporary distractions over bruised apologies and broken promises.

And as much as you wanted to believe in happy endings…

You did. You were also surrounded by happy endings, but somehow the weight of death and heartbreak seeped into each day. It was hard to wrap a bow around a congratulatory bouquet when the next order slip is one for, “I’m sorry you lost your job.” 

Some days made it harder than others.

The bell over the door jingled.

You didn’t even lift your head.

“We’re closed for emotional collapse,” you muttered, crumpling up the order slip and tossing it into the waste bin. 

There was a pause.

Then: 

“That bad, huh?”

Your eyes flicked up.

And there he was.

Hotch.

Still in his suit. Tie loosened, coat folded over one arm. A brown paper bag in one hand. And in the other?

A crumpled fistful of wildflowers.

Wrapped haphazardly in newspaper.

Dandelions. Queen Anne’s lace. A few purple blooms you didn’t even have a name for. 

All wrapped in the front page news. Black and white and read all over. 

He held them out, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Picked these on my lunch break.”

You stared.

Then blinked.

Brain sort of…malfunctioning. Trying to picture him, suit and tie and all business on the side of the road picking weeds. Beautiful weeds. Wildflowers of sorts. 

Then let out a laugh--a real, startled, exhausted laugh--as you wiped your hands on your apron and stepped forward.

“You brought me weeds?”

“They reminded me of you.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Resilient,” he clarified. “A little wild. Hard to overlook.” He gave you a smile one that made your belly warm and your pulse quicken, “Saw them on my drive after grabbing your favorite for lunch and had to stop.” 

Your chest ached.

God. This man.

This. Man. 

You took the bouquet from him gently, handling it like something sacred. There was dirt still clinging to some of the stems. One bloom was missing half its petals. They smelled like grass and heat and summer air.

The newspaper wrapped around it with good news for once. A headline that wrote, “Miracles do Happen,” written in bold font. 

Huh, the irony. You looked at the bouquet, a tiny red lady bug crawled from one of the leaves. 

It was the most beautiful thing anyone had brought you all week.

Maybe ever.

Day in and day out, you’d receive deliveries of traditional roses, carnations, and baby’s breath. Every now and then you’d buy Protea and watch as it sat on the shelf in your cooler, begging to be picked by a patron, but always ending up wilting and eventually in the garbage. 

It was the different--rare--flowers that went unappreciated. 

As if people didn’t know how to hold them--

To arrange them. 

“You trying to get out of the doghouse?” you teased, placing them in a glass jar by the register.

“Didn’t know I was in it.”

You looked at him, really looked--he was tired too. You saw it in the corners of his eyes. The tight set of his jaw. But he was here.

With you.

“Then what’s this?” you asked softly, gesturing to the flowers.

He shrugged, setting the lunch bag on the counter. “You popped into my head.”

“And?”

“And I didn’t want to wait until I had a reason.”

You said nothing.

Just stood there, your fingers loosely gripping the counter, as something cracked open in your chest.

No one had ever brought you flowers just because.

No apology. No ask. No occasion.

Just you.

Existing.

Being loved, even if he hadn’t said the words yet.

He pulled out the sandwiches--your favorite--and passed you one without asking

You sat together at the back table, half the shop still a mess, your hands still stained with chlorophyll. He didn’t comment on the smudge on your cheek. You didn’t ask about the cut on his knuckle.

You just...sat.

Shared food.

Soft glances.

Easy silences.

At one point, you glanced at the jar of wildflowers catching the afternoon light, and something warm and terrifying moved through your chest.

What if he was different?

What if this didn’t burn out after the shine wore off?

What if this was what it looked like--

Love.

Before either of you were brave enough to say it out loud?

But it was the little things with dating Hotch that was different. The things that didn’t need to be said out loud. 

The date cancellation didn’t bother you.

Truly.

Hotch had called that morning, voice heavy with apology, telling you that a case had just come in--out of state, high priority. Jet was already being fueled. You barely had time to say, “Stay safe,” before the line went dead.

You got it. You really did.

You had weddings where the bride changed the color scheme three hours before setup. You had grieving families who wanted the casket spray to be perfect with no time left on the clock. You’d dropped everything more times than you could count.

So no, you weren’t upset.

You understood.

More than understood. This is what you signed up for and were completely okay with it. This is why…this is why you were falling for this man. His dedication. His drive. 

Still, it had been one of those days where everything felt just a little off. Customers were short. A shipment came in late. The flower fridge started humming too loud. Even your favorite floral shears kept disappearing on you.

You were wiping your hands on your apron when the tablet by the register dinged.

New online order.

You moved to check it without thinking, eyes skimming the screen.

Sunflowers.

Simple arrangement.

Delivery to: Your Shop (ATTN: You).

Paid in full.

Customer Note: I know you’ll probably have to arrange these yourself (unless you want someone else to), but I saw a vase of them in the hotel lobby and thought of you. Couldn’t bring myself to order them from another shop. Sorry again for tonight. Wish I was there. – Aaron

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then you let out the tiniest, stunned laugh.

Because of course he did.

Of course Aaron Hotchner submitted a paid order to your own flower shop, just to make you feel seen.

You stood there, rereading the note three times, feeling your throat tighten.

This man.

He wasn’t just a good partner. He wasn’t just thoughtful.

He was…real.

He meant things.

You’d seen men do far worse with far less remorse. You’d made arrangements for the same man three times in a month, once for his wife, once for his girlfriend, once for “a friend from work.” You knew exactly how little some men were willing to give.

But Hotch?

He paid you to send yourself flowers.

Just so you’d feel thought of.

You picked up your phone without even thinking.

He answered on the second ring. Ever the professional, Hotchner,” he said, his voice lower, quieter than usual. You could hear background chatter. Hotel hallway. Maybe the jet.

“You,” you said, not bothering to greet him. “You placed a paid order at my shop?”

“…Is that a problem?” He sounded slightly unsure of himself. It was quite amusing to picture a man as big and worldly as Hotch seem hesitant or questioning of himself. 

You let out a short laugh, one hand braced on your hip, warmth blooming in your chest despite yourself. You looked over to the bucket of fresh trimmed sunflowers beaming up at you. 

“No, it’s--no, it’s not a problem, it’s just--” You sighed. “Aaron, you could’ve just called. Or texted. You didn’t have to pay for anything.”

“I wanted to.” Simple. Like it was obvious. 

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I didn’t want you to think I forgot.” Again, here was the man who seemed and sounded nervous. As if he was grasping onto you. Afraid you might leave. 

“I never thought that.”

“I know,” he said, softer now. “But I thought…maybe if you saw them, it would feel like I was still showing up.”

You didn’t speak for a second.

You were afraid your voice might give you away.

So you cleared your throat and leaned back against the counter, eyes drifting to the still-unmade sunflower arrangement sitting in the back of the shop. Waiting.

You said, quietly, “They’re beautiful. Just the idea of them. Thank you.”

He exhaled, a sound that bordered on relief. “I hate missing time with you.”

“I know. But you don’t have to prove anything. I’m not keeping score.”

“You should be,” he said. Almost like a warning for what was to come. Something you knew already. “I’d lose.”

That made you laugh again, and God, you needed that. That warmth. That certainty. That ease.

There was a pause--

One of those quiet, meaningful ones that stretched like a bridge between people who were afraid to step too far.

You could hear the words sitting there.

Waiting.

But instead of saying them, you said, “I’ve got a brand new pair of jeans I can’t wait to wear out with you when you get back.”

Deflect. What you know best! 

Hotch chuckled, low and warm. “That might actually kill me.”

“Good,” you said. “I like having that power.”

“You always have.”

Another beat of silence.

You could hear it in his breath. You were sure he could hear it in yours.

That almost-love humming between you.

You smiled softly. “Come back to me soon.”

“I will.”

You didn’t say I love you.

He didn’t either.

But God, you could feel it.

And it was more than enough.

For now.

This almost-love was blooming so wildly in your chest now every waking moment you saw him. From the sun staining his cheek in the morning hours of your apartment to the sweet texts you would get back from him (despite his poor texting skills). 

You’d almost said it dozens of times.

When he brought you coffee just the way you liked it, scribbled with your name in his messy FBI handwriting.

When you caught him watching you in your shop like you were made of sunlight and not soil and flower petals.

When he fixed a broken hinge on your cooler door without being asked.

When he’d kissed you under a thunderstorm, one hand in your hair, the other on your cheek, like he was trying to memorize the shape of you.

You’d almost said it--

But didn’t.

And he almost had too.

You felt it when he lingered in your doorway a second too long.

 When his thumb traced your jaw like it was fragile.

When his voice caught on a soft “Be safe,” as you headed into another busy day.

When he looked at you like you were more permanent than his job, than the jet, than the danger that lived in his orbit.

You didn’t need the words to know.

But you wanted them.

You wanted him to have them.

To hear them.

To feel them, unfiltered and undiluted, before anything could take the chance away.

So when your phone rang that day--late afternoon, with the shop smelling of eucalyptus and lemon balm, a soft storm tapping against the windows--you didn’t expect it.

You didn’t expect his voice.

Didn’t expect how wrecked it sounded.

“Hey,” you said softly, automatically smiling as you wiped your hands on your apron. “Shouldn’t you be haalfway through an interrogation right now?”

There was a pause.

A too-long one.

Then his voice came through--

Tight, raw. 

Shaken.

“Something went wrong.”

You froze.

“What do you mean?”

“The case. It got…bad.”

Your stomach dropped.

You weren’t used to this.

Your job didn’t come with guns and unsubs and tactical gear. You dealt in blooms and beauty and people on the brink of celebration or grief.

Not danger.

But this? This was his world. And now, you could hear it in his voice.

Shaking.

“I’m okay,” he rushed out, as if he was saying it to himself as well. “I’m okay. I swear. But I--God, I needed to call you.”

You leaned hard into the counter, heart racing. “Aaron, what happened?”

“There was a house. A hostage situation. We thought we had the perimeter clear but--we didn’t. It was close. Too close.”

Your fingers curled around the edge of the table. You could feel your breath catch.

“They’re fine. We’re fine,” he continued, like he needed to say it aloud to believe it. “But I was pinned for a second and I couldn’t reach my comms and I thought--just for a second--”

He went quiet.

You closed your eyes, trying to breathe through the panic threading into your ribs. All of the mess around you--

The flowers, the orders, the stack of to-do’s seemingly melted away. 

“I thought about Jack,” he said quietly. “And I thought about the team.”

Another pause.

Then his voice dropped--

Lower, hoarser. 

Vulnerable in a way you’d never heard.

“And then I thought about you.”

Your throat tightened.

“About how I hadn’t told you yet.”

You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him right.

“Told me what?”

He exhaled, a shaky sound on the other end of the line.

“That I love you.”

You didn’t breathe.

He kept going, like he had to get the words out now or lose them forever.

“I should’ve said it sooner. I should’ve said it a hundred times already. But today, when I thought--”

He cut off, jaw clenched audibly even through the phone.

“I love you,” he repeated, like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. Like he’d been preparing his whole life how to say it.  “I don’t want to wait for perfect moments or good timing or whatever stupid rule I thought I was following.”

You stood still in the middle of your shop, surrounded by flowers and petals and a hundred unsaid things--

And whispered, “I love you too.”

It came out broken. Bare. But so full of truth you could feel it in your bones.

The other end of the line went silent for a beat.

Then he exhaled--

Like he’d been holding his breath for weeks.

“You do?”

You let out a shaky laugh, brushing tears from your cheek.

“I think I’ve been loving you since the day you showed up with wildflowers wrapped in newspaper.”

Another pause.

Then, softly, “I think I started the first time I walked into your shop and forgot how to breathe.”

You smiled, teary, heart pounding like it finally had permission to.

“I wish I could see you right now.”

“I’ll be home tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll come to the shop.”

“You better,” you whispered.

Because suddenly, everything you wanted was on the other side of that door.

And this time, you weren’t going to let love stay unsaid.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @Sweethotchlogy @softtdaisy @stilestotherescue @midnghtprentiss @thebestqueenoftheworld @Bookaddictlatina  @superlegend216

[hp-hcs]

i didn’t realize the riddle brothers were a "buy one get one free" type of deal, but alright — simp! overprotective! yandere! riddle brothers x gn! oblivious! bullied! slytherin! reader

requested by 🎀!

2.5k words, not to brag 😌

i love writing the bros’ interactions with each other as like, actual sibling-core yk? they r just so cutie patootie

the reader's patronus makes an appearance in this, but i tried to make it as accessible to everyone as possible, so it's never explicitly stated what animal it is. it is implied that it’s able-to-fit-under-a-table sized though

also this is totally just pre-slash nothing that interesting happens

warnings: couple mentions of blood, mild descriptions of wounds, implied violence, implied bullying, murder

not edited!! this is my first like, really long fic so constructive criticism is welcome!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

A well-timed shove to the small of your back sent you tumbling down an entire flight of moving stairs. 

You groaned as you hit the bottom, sprawled out on your back on the cold stone floor. You laid there for a moment, winded. You could hear the occupants of a nearby painting titter at your gracefulness (or lack thereof), so you rolled your head to the other side to give them an award winning smile and an unabashed middle finger. 

You could hear them all grumble about kids these days and how I never would’ve treated my elders this way. You just rolled your eyes at their pettiness. 

“Uh…what are you doing?” A decidedly alive voice interrupted your momentary satisfaction.

“Ah- evening, Riddle!” You said cheerily as soon as you recognized the speaker, scrambling to your feet and dusting off your uniform. “Nothing! Just…tripped. Couldn’t see very well in the dark, that’s all.”

Tom blinked, his lips twisted into a frown. “.....Fine. But don’t let me catch you out of bed past curfew again. You’re a Slytherin, for Salazar’s sake. Act like it.”

And that was it. Tom turned on his heel and continued down the hall without another word. Tom Riddle: prefect, teacher’s pet, and obnoxious hardass extraordinaire—he just...let you go, with no threats of detention or loss of house points. 

Huh. 

~~~

Tom, having just returned from a full night’s shift of prefect hall duty, flopped face-down onto his bed, his cheeks aflame as he let out a muffled shriek into his pillow. 

His brother, in the process of getting dressed for the day, paused at the scene in front of him. 

“Dude, what’s your deal?” 

“L/n,” Tom said by way of explanation, kicking his feet as he shrieked into his pillow again. “They acknowledged me. And they know my last name.”

“Most people know our last name, Tom,” Mattheo rolled his eyes.

“No- you don’t understand,” Tom said emphatically. “L/n is like…the cutest person to ever exist. And they’re so sweet, and smart, and funny, and-”

“And terrified of us?”

“Well…”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, putting his hands on his hips. “You talk about them too much. It’s getting insufferable.”

Tom just scowled and flicked his fingers to cast a wandless spell that straightened Mattheo’s tie and neatened his uniform. “The way you dress is insufferable. Slob.”

Mattheo stuck out his tongue at his brother before ruffling Tom’s hair to purposely mess it up. “Dick.”

“Idiot.”

~~~

Mattheo glanced up at you as you hovered uncertainly by the corner of his desk. 

“Can I sit here…?” You mumbled shyly, your cheeks flushing as the pretty dark-haired boy in your year smiled up at you.

“Course!” He grinned brightly before realizing that might have been too enthusiastic of a reply for eight in the morning and quickly tried to cover up his slip. “Uh…Y/n, right? I’m Mattheo.”

“Yeah, I know who you are.”

Mattheo’s stomach dropped.

Fuck, that’s not good.

“You let me copy your homework in third year for that essay on the properties of wormwood, or whatever.” You said offhandedly, like it wasn’t batshit insane to remember that pointlessly tiny detail. “Thank you for that, by the way. Potions sucks ass.”

Before Mattheo could even think, the words left his mouth. “I could tutor you if you want.”

You looked at him oddly, but grinned after a second. “Yeah, sure. That’d actually be really helpful. Snape hates me, man.”

“Really? Even though you’re in Slytherin?”

“Mhm, his baseless nepotism only extends so far.”

Mattheo barked out a startled laugh as your deadpan humor caught him off guard. You just grinned at him in response, causing the tips of his ears to immediately burn bright red.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, ducking his head in embarrassment. “Um…do you wanna meet in the library after school today? For our tutoring session,” Mattheo hurriedly added. 

“Sure, alright.” You shrugged. “See you there.”

He beamed, giving you that stupidly adorable grin once more. “Awesome! Yeah- yeah, cool. Awesome. See you there then.”

~~~

You were still shit at potions.

It had been six weeks of tutoring, and you’d learned pretty much nothing. Although, that wasn’t an issue on Mattheo’s part, but rather on his annoyingly hot older brother’s. 

Tom Riddle was surprisingly funny. For someone who gave off almost exclusively stoically austere bastard vibes, he enjoyed cracking jokes and enlisting your help in pulling pranks on his brother a bit too much.

It became your routine. Every Tuesday and Thursday after school, you would meet the two brothers in the library, waste like three hours joking around and getting absolutely no work done, and then going back to your dorm and ranting to your roommate about how fucking cute they are and how you would gladly pay for the opportunity to make out with one- no, both of them. 

(Your roommate is so fucking tired of hearing about the Riddles. You’d better buy them a latte and a cake-pop as an apology.)

~~~

You struggled to get up, your legs giving out. You cursed under your breath, putting a hand to your forehead as it throbbed in pain. 

It came away sticky with blood. 

This wasn’t going to work, you realized belatedly. With what remained of your strength, you were able to reach out and grab your wand, murmuring a quiet, “Expecto Patronum.”

A spectral creature formed in front of your eyes, remaining motionless as it stared at you. 

“Go find Riddle,” you mumbled to the Patronus, your eyelids growing heavy. 

You barely registered the wispy glowing animal immediately bounding off at your instructions, your vision doubling before your body went completely slack, the wand slipping from your fingers and hitting the tile floor with a clatter. 

~~~

Mattheo doodled mindlessly in the margins of his parchment as his brother droned on and on about the properties of willow bark in potions and really, this is important, Mattheo. Pay attention.

“Why isn’t Y/n here yet?” Mattheo asked his brother for the third time. 

Tom rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, Matt. Just like how I didn't know when you asked me five minutes ago. Maybe they just don’t want to see your stupid face any more, huh?”

“What if they’re in trouble? Or hurt?” Mattheo worried, chewing on his thumbnail and ignoring his brother’s insult. “They’re never late, Tommy.”

Tom wrinkled his nose at the use of the dumb (albeit endearing) nickname Mattheo gave him when they were children, but the sinking feeling in his gut at hearing his brother’s distressed tone didn’t help to ease the niggling worries at the back of his mind of maybe they are in trouble.

As if on cue, Mattheo shivered as something icy cold brushed against his ankles. He glanced down. A glowing spectral creature nudged his leg, looking up at him expectantly with unnervingly empty eyes. 

A Patronus. 

Y/n’s Patronus.

~~~

They followed the Patronus down the deserted hall, the animal occasionally pausing to make sure the boys were both still following it before bounding forward again.

The Patronus stopped in front of a bathroom door, giving them both that same unnervingly hollow-eyed stare of expectancy.

Tom gulped and pushed open the door, fearing that he might find the worst.

He did.

~~~

Your eyes cracked open slowly, and you winced at the multitude of stinging and stabbing pains that wracked your body.

You had to blink a couple times for everything to come into focus. You were in a small room with white walls and white flooring, and the gentle dawn illuminated the quiet space with soft rays of light. The steady beep of a vitals monitor faded into the background as you stared down at yourself.

You weren’t wearing a shirt, for one, or even a hospital gown. Pretty much your entire upper torso was wrapped in bloodstained gauze. The jagged edges of a brutal slash across your chest peeked out of the top of the dressings, and you had to close your eyes and hold your breath for a moment to keep from throwing up. Once you’d calmed back down, you opened your eyes, startled to see that you weren’t alone.

Mattheo had pulled up a chair to the side of your hospital bed and crossed his arms on the mattress, using them as a makeshift pillow. His dark lashes fanned across his cheeks, his breaths slow and even. He looked so peaceful and...unguarded in his sleep. You reached down to brush a loose curl away from his forehead.

“Having fun?”

You startled, jerking your hand back. 

Tom leaned against the doorframe of your room with an amused expression, quirking an eyebrow and wiggling his fingers in a wave.

“Shut up,” you hissed back in a whisper, your cheeks flaring red. 

Tom’s amused grin only grew at your dark blush as he invited himself into your room fully, closing the door behind him.

 “Your secret’s safe with me.” He jokingly winked, tapping the side of his nose.

“You’re insufferable.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“What am I doing here?” You quickly changed topics, refusing to even look down in Mattheo’s direction. 

Tom sighed, any amusement on his face rapidly vanishing. “You sent us a Patronus, thank Merlin. Pomfrey said you would’ve bled out if you hadn’t.”

You had no memory of casting the Patronus charm at all, but you trusted Tom’s recollection of events better than your own jumbled and spotty one. “Bled out?” You questioned, your heart hammering in your throat as your voice climbed an octave in anxiety.

Tom nodded, his face carefully schooled into a blank and neutral expression. “You were hit with the Sectumsempra spell. You've been out for three days now.”

Your brow furrowed. “Malfoy got hit with that last year though—and was in and out of the infirmary in less than a day.”

“Snape knew the counterspell and found ‘im just in time last year,” Mattheo mumbled sleepily, his eyes still closed as he tuned into the conversation at hand. “But whoever hit you with it just left you there to die.”

“Charming.” You mutter under your breath.

“Regardless of what happened in Malfoy’s instance,” Tom interrupted briskly. “You were on the brink of literal death. So I’ll ask you this one time and one time only. Who did it, Y/n?”

~~~

“I brought you a cookie from the Great Hall,” Mattheo grinned widely, climbing into your hospital bed next to you and unwrapping the napkin in his hand. “And the notes from today’s Charms lesson, but those’re boring and we both know you won’t actually read ‘em.”

“Aww, you know me so well.” You teased, breaking the cookie in half and handing him one of the pieces.

Mattheo cupped the cookie fragment in his hands like it was a priceless treasure, staring down at it in unrestrained awe. 

You just shook your head at his antics and brushed the odd reaction off.

~~~

You woke up this morning and just felt like shit. You were nauseous, and dizzy, and felt borderline faint. Tom’s voice, usually soothing and comforting to hear, sounded like nails on a chalkboard right now. He rambled on and on about the delicate process of making the temperamental Felix Felicis potion. 

“Tom,” you interrupted, your voice scratchy and quiet. “Can we take a break? Please?”

He blinked, surprised at being interrupted, but nodded slowly. “I suppose…? Why?”

“Don’t feel good,” you mumbled, setting your textbook down and rubbing your eyes. 

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Madame Pomfrey said brusquely as she bustled around your hospital room, shooing Tom out of the way to stand by your bedside. 

(Poppy Pomfrey remains the only person who can and has shooed Tom Riddle III and lived to tell the tale—and all without a single ounce of fear.)

“I’ve raised your dosage so that you can be out of here in time for your N.E.W.T.s.” Pomfrey elaborated upon seeing your confused look.

“Fantastic.” You mumbled dryly, grinning sleepily up at Tom as he grabbed onto your hand and interlaced your fingers together. He ignored the way his heart skipped a beat in favor of letting you hold his sweaty palm.

“Go to sleep, L/n,” Tom muttered under his breath. “Potions can wait.”

~~~

Tom lay in your hospital bed beside you, running his thumb over your knuckles. “Please? We promise we won’t do anything.”

“Yeah,” Mattheo chimed in from the other side of your crowded bed, one arm tossed over your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “Or at least, nothing we’ll get caught for.”

You sigh, tired of their ceaseless pleading. “Alright, alright, fine. I’ll tell you who it was.”

Both boys leaned in close.

You sigh again and roll your eyes at their overprotectiveness. “Alright, it was-”

~~~

Tucker Thompson and Devin Dobbs: Gryffindor Sixth Years Found MURDERED at Hogwarts! Dumbledore: “No comment at this time.”

You tilted the newspaper so Madame Pomfrey could read the article over your shoulder as she replaced your IV bag. 

Pomfrey just sighed and rolled her eyes. “I don’t understand how Skeeter is still employed at the Prophet.”

“Cause shock value will always hold weight in the media?” You answered dryly around a mouthful of depressingly plain infirmary wing toast. “And Skeeter’s good at nothing if not coming up with bullshit shock value titles.”

“That may be true,” she began, snatching the paper from your hands. “But patients shouldn’t be reading about such dark subjects, and certainly not while under my care. And don’t talk while eating. I rather like your company, and would hate to see you choke.”

You rolled your eyes at her suffocatingly motherly behavior. “So are they? Thompson and Dobbs; they’re really dead?”

Madame Pomfrey hesitated.

You let out a relieved breath of air that you tried (and failed) to hide behind a cough. “That’s…terrible.”

She narrowed her eyes and studied you for a long moment, her fingers mindlessly worrying the deckle edge of the newspaper in her hands. “It was them, wasn’t it? Your boys.”

“My boys?”

“Yes, yes, Riddles one and two. Your boys.”

“Oh- we’re not…”

She raised an eyebrow, pursing her lips as she tried to hold back a laugh at the utter obliviousness of teenagers. “Do they know that, dear?”

You spluttered out a half-assed rebuke to her statement, but Pomfrey quickly interrupted you.

“They’ve been staying here for hours every day for the last month. They want more than just your friendship, hon.”

“No way. We’re just friends.” You insisted firmly. “That’s all.”

Madame Pomfrey rolled her eyes. “Uh huh. Friends. Keep telling yourself that.”

You stared after her, open-mouthed in bafflement, as she rolled up the Prophet, tucked it under her arm, and turned around without another word—leaving you with zero reading material and a million questions.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

you have to love how pomfrey could not give less of a fuck that the riddles murdered two students as long as she gets her ot3 absolutely iconic behavior

pt 2

[miupow]

Ok so I saw you answer the Soobin’s housewife ask and now I need headcannons about being all members of TXT’s housewife.

ʚ・ ceo!txt + their housewives ! ꒰ sfw +nsfw headcanons꒱

cw // nsfw content , mdni ! housewife!fem!reader , dom!txt , kind of sub!soobin, (kind of) sugar daddy/sugar baby dynamics, oral (f. rec) mention, spanking, oral (m.rec), semi-public sex, traditional gender roles, creampies, sex toys mention

♡ ⸝⸝ SOOBIN .ᐟ

-> first off, this man is beyond whipped for his wife. a complete simp. he lets her walk all over him and he likes it. he’s always liked a woman that’s a little more in charge <3

-> he gets her whatever she wants whenever she wants it, can never say no to her puppy eyes, so he always has to think hard on what to do for holidays… lavish overseas trips for her birthday, custom designer for their anniversary. only the best for his queen !!

-> he can’t even fathom how he got so lucky !! coming home from work to dinner and a kiss, getting to hold you close and wind down from all of the stress <3 dessert is your wet pussy sat on his face, you played with yourself all day so you’d be ready and eager for him by the time he came home !!

-> will talk anyones ear off about his wife if he gets the opportunity to lol, has your wedding photos on his desk and your boobs in his wallet <3

-> his wifey is a little bratty but he loves you like that !! thinks it’s so cute when you squirm in his lap and beg for whatever it is you saw online that day, loves when you get pouty and bitchy because he told you no! he wants you to convince him to say yes!!

-> riding his cock so good he starts crying out his credit card information lol

-> follows you around holding your bags while you shop, puppy love look on his face hehe >< always so enamored by you and your beauty, he just can’t believe you’re his !!

-> which makes him extremely possessive over you… he’ll get nasty over the smallest things, like a waiter being a little too friendly, one of his colleagues making glances at you he doesn’t like… will ruin you over it in a heartbeat, let them listen to you cry in pleasure as he fingerfucks you in the bathroom hehe

-> is definitely the most submissive to his wife but that’s just how he likes it!! maybe even submissive to the point he likes calling her mommy but you didn’t hear that from me being led by the tie wherever you want to take him, let’s you manhandle him however you want even tho he’s so much bigger than you.. he’s just so soft

♡ ⸝⸝ YEONJUN .ᐟ

-> second biggest simp for his wife. he can hide it a little bit better tho lol .. but still not well , he’s bullied for being a total lapdog

-> like you keep his credit card in your purse you’re so spoiled. you don’t even have to ask!!

-> unlike soobin tho he does not like his wifey bratty. you better behave yourself, especially around his colleagues!!! don’t make him punish you, now.

-> always has you sitting on his lap any chance he gets!! he just loves the intimacy of it so much esp when he’s working in his office!!

-> loves coming with you clothes shopping!! getting to watch you try on all these pretty expensive clothes and put on a show for him!! he hypes u up so much!!! and maybe fucks you nasty in the dressing room

-> always taking pictures of you on all of the vacations and dates he takes you on!! your personal paparazzi <3 a picture of the two of you on your honeymoon is his phone lockscreen <3

-> you didn’t hear this from me okay but ceo yeonjun who’s a big exhibitionist… make u get on ur knees and deepthroat him in front of all of his business partners!!

♡ ⸝⸝ BEOMGYU .ᐟ

-> his wife is a little shit and so is he lmao !! both of them always scheming .. you both love to tease eachother so much until neither of you can take it anymore!!

-> plays with ur pussy under the table during a company dinner… he does not gaf !! and equally you palming his cock thru his slacks when he’s trying to focus on work!! takes u on a date with a vibrator in ur panties !! ride his dick when he’s on the phone with someone important!! constant back and forth hehe

-> total switch vibes from him tbh him and his wifey always fighting for dominance over eachother!!! aughhshsh!!!

-> if you forget to give him a kiss before he leaves for work in the morning his day will be completely ruined actually. standing in the doorway like “you forgot something >:(“ and refusing to leave until you kiss him ><

-> letting you do his hair for a meeting,,, sitting on the edge of the bed adjusting his suit while you brush and style his shaggy mullet <3

-> the most thoughtful presents ever!! always coming home with something in a little box, taking you on day trips that are picture perfect and he’s planned to a tee (and maybe stressed out over a little bit) !! making you happy makes him happy :(

-> he’s always keeping your marriage fun and exciting, nothing will ever get boring with him <3 even after years and years together you still get butterflies <33

-> rich husband gyu who was a chaebol baby and grew up rich lol.. he doesn’t really grasp the depth of his privilege but you grew up poor and he’s dedicated his life to giving you anything you could ever want and spoiling you completely rotten <3

♡ ⸝⸝ TAEHYUN .ᐟ

-> tyun loves a good, traditional household.. and as the man of the house, his wife needs to listen to his rules. and unless you want to be put over his lap and spanked, you better follow them <3

-> always be respectful to your husband and his colleagues. keep everything nice and clean. no begging or whining, only good wives get rewards. no touching yourself without his permission. always ask if you can cum. it may be a little too traditional for some women… but you love it <3 tyunnie treats you so good <3

-> calls you a brat all of the time but he’ll turn around and buy you whatever you want lol, he just enables ur behavior . tries to be strong but he can’t help but give in to everything you ask! giving him pretty puppy eyes and asking him to stay home sometimes works a little too well ><

-> he’s the best at hiding how absolutely down horrendous he is lmao. but his hand always on your waist or thigh gives him away!!! he always ALWAYS needs to be touching you or he’ll die actually

-> loves going to the gym with his wifey so he can flex his strength to her hehe, also loves it when all of the other guys at the gym stare at you in your cute tiny workout wear!! he knows u look so sexy and he loves how the other men can look but can’t touch <3 and if he grabs on ur ass a little bit in the weight room he’ll swear he didn’t mean to.

-> hubby tyun putting you in a headlock in doggy!!!! your knees on the carpet between tyuns legs sucking his dick with him sitting back in his home office chair !! making him his favorite for dinner cos you know he’s been stressed at work and him rewarding you by bending you over the kitchen counter!!!

-> he goes away on work trips often and it makes u so lonely :( but he always leaves you sweet gifts and stays in touch over the phone… texting you when he knows ur needy to remember to be a good girl and not touch yourself until your husband gets home <3

♡ ⸝⸝ HUENING KAI .ᐟ

-> golden retriever boyfriend upgrades to golden retriever husband !! he literally worships the ground you walk on

-> you’re insane if you think kai is ever “punishing” or “putting you in your place.” you can do absolutely whatever you want and kai will just watch with big puppy dog eyes !!! you can be as needy and whiny and bratty as you want, kai loves it!! go ahead and whine about how much you want that new pair of shoes, he’ll get them for you asap!!

-> only the softest, sweetest, gentlest sex !! lots of manhandling but that’s cos he’s just so strong he can’t help it !! loves taking care of his tiny little wifey fucking her and filling her pussy up <3 covered entirely by his broad frame

-> often asks his older business partners (the other boys) for help picking out gifts and planning dates for his love <3 he just needs to make sure he’s giving you the absolute best!! he wants you to feel like a princess, a queen <3

-> kai who wifed up his secretary or assistant lmaoo !! he was told getting work and pleasure mixed up would be a bad idea but he just couldn’t help himself!!! and he def made u quit after you got married so you can just stay home and he can spoil you <3

-> he takes out all of his stress from work on ur cunt !! the angrier he is the more rounds he goes until your dripping his cum and too exhausted to stop him from going again and again and again—

-> kisses you awake every morning <3 rubbing ur noses together in a sickingly cute display of affection in front of all of his colleagues.. y’all make them sick lmao !! he’s always giving you hugs and cuddles and kisses, calling you honey, sweetie, baby, dear <3 hes just so in love :(

[fairestwriting]

I always imagined epel to be the hidden but massive simp and idia to be the subtle yet still massive simp towards their gf so can i please request epel and idia with their gf doing a glow up makeover and comes out of the room in the most gorgeous hair and make up + dress ever for a lil date

epel IS a wifeguy in the making to me and thats something i’ll always stand for

𐙚 Epel Felmier

He’s already kind of imagined having a moment like that. It’s a thing that happened on way too many of the romance shows and movies he’s secretly watched when he got bored back home. And you are his first girlfriend, so his expectations are pretty much just the stories he’s heard from his family with a dash of what little media he’s seen before.

For the same reason, Epel already had in mind that a dinner date would be essential. That’s how you treat a girl right, isn’t it? You haven’t even been together for that long when he says, declares really, that he wants to take you out for dinner. ”At an actual restaurant in the city,” He quickly specifies with a determined look in his eyes. ”Not like, Mostro Lounge. The reviews online said it was real nice too.”

He’ll have everything planned out for the evening, and it’s actually all done surprisingly well too. Epel finds himself a nice-ish dress shirt and pants when he goes back home over the weekend, and he’s already done a few odd jobs around campus to make sure he has the money to treat you both. And of course he’ll wait in front of your dorm to pick you up too — only slightly resenting that you’re both still students right now, so he can’t do that while driving a cool car on top of everything else.

And when you meet him at the door, oh, how does he wish he had that car already— Though deep down, he knows he’d end up crashing it because he couldn’t stop looking at you. He’s already never silent about how he thinks you’re the prettiest girl in the world, and that remains true even now that he feels so blown away that it’s hard to come up with the right words.

He does tell you though. All red faced, with maybe a noticeable dose of awkwardness, he feels so much shyer than usual, kind of like he’s starstruck. When he’s walking you back to your dorm — which he insists in doing, like the proper gentleman he is — he might gather the courage to ask if you wanted to take a picture together. Epel feels silly doing it, and he’ll get flustered if you ask why… But at the same time, he can’t resist the feeling that he should make this memory permanent in some way.

𐙚 Idia Shroud

You might think it’s surprising that you got Idia to agree to properly go out at all, let alone to do something that’d warrant dressing up. You’ve definitely heard him talk about how he doesn’t like the idea of *stuffy, overly fancy* dates, how he doesn’t see the point in the whole thing, how he thinks people just go to certain places to show off because “the food isn’t even that good”… Idia definitely has a lot of opinions on the matter, none of them sounding very positive.

He is also a rich boy, though. One that’s more grounded than most, but still a rich boy nonetheless — You’ll find that his idea of “stuffy” is some place that he went to as a kid that has some genuinely insane, flashy gimmick, a possible black tie dress code, and artsy looking desserts that he shows you on his phone and scoffs at while he recalls how “mid” they tasted.

Basically, as long as whatever place you’re interested in going to isn’t too popular or crowded he’s pretty open to just going there whenever you want. He might whine a little about going outside, but you both know it’s not serious. He does get a little anxious at the idea of being somewhere that requires him to present differently than what he’s used to but… well, he’s just used to that, to a certain extent.

When he leaves his hideout to go pick you up, he’s pretty nervous, fidgeting with the sleeves of his favorite slightly nicer jacket he picked from the depths of his closet. You two agreed on planning most of the date together, as you always do, but regardless of how long you two have been together, Idia always gets a little nervous when you go out on proper dates… which is something he quickly forgets about when he sees you.

You might have to snap him out of the trance he gets into. Wow, how did he get this lucky, he’s thinking, and you know it because he says it out loud without even meaning to. He turns red up to his hair when he’s back in the land of the living, rapidly apologizing in case he said something weird, and you can’t help but laugh a little. ”S-Sorry, um. You do look really pretty… I meant that.” He mutters, voice high pitched and a little hurried. You get back to your usual rhythm soon enough, your presence helping him feel comfortable. He steals glances when he thinks you won’t notice, though, still wondering just how the hell he managed to get this lucky…

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[onlymingyus]

i want to write you a song (teaser)

pairing; lee jihoon (woozi) x f!reader

genre; smut (minor dni), angst, fluff

summary; You have the best job in the world as Lee Jihoon's personal assistant but his secrets are starting to turn your world upside down.

content warnings; personal assistant!reader, ceo/boss!jihoon, single dad!jihoon, children, grandparents/parents, jihoon has a sibling, coworkers!soonyoung, mingyu, & wonwoo, soonyoung in a menace, eating/drinking, alcohol, jealousy, crying, self confidence/esteem issues, death of a family member (in the past).

smut warnings; unprotected sex, pulling out, cream pie, simp!jihoon, mild dom!jihoon, sub!reader, the dom/sub dynamics are very subtle, dumbification (very mild), innocence kink, lingerie kink, pet names, praise (like a lot -- he is a simp), body worship, oral (f receiving), fingering, handjob, crying (from pleasure and happiness), manhandling, masturbation, pillow princess!reader, i am sure there are more (let me know if its glaring) -- bonus section has its own warnings on patreon.

w/c; 27k and some change (3.2k extra words for patreon bonus) [1.6k this teaser]

a/n; thank you to @junkissed and @seokgyuu for helping me come up with a title for this! it's a 1D song, and I do not go here, but it's a very cute song and title! also thank you to my june for proofreading for me and always being the best in the fucking world. literally going through 30k words of my bullshit... the mvp! anyway, i hope you guys enjoy me simping over simp dlif jihoon! next month is spooky seasons so keep your eyes peeled for that one 💀!  

this fic will be released 9/15 to read it now subscribe to my patreon and click here

“Miss Y/N, will you make me s’getti?” 

You had gotten to Jihoon’s house in a sour mood, but quickly found that when you were around Haein, you couldn’t be upset. She was so different from the previous day. It was obvious that she was starting to feel better, and her personality was really starting to shine. She was like a little bright light in your dark evening. 

“‘Course, as long as you guys have the stuff for it.” Pursing your lips, you open the pantry doors and sigh at the amount of groceries available to you. Of course, Lee Jihoon would have a stocked kitchen. You don’t know why you even considered anything different. 

Pulling a few things from the pantry and then more from the fridge, you glance into the living room as Haein pulls a brush through her doll's hair and hums under her breath. You had found yourself smiling fondly at everything the girl had done, even when it was the smallest thing. She could show you that she could tie her shoe and you were praising her like a proud family member. “What’s your doll's name, Haein?” 

Smiling at you from the couch, Haein lifts the doll to show it off as she moves to her knees. “I used to call her Kimmie, but I like your name better. That okay?” Biting your lip as you push the hamburger meat around in the pan in front of you, you feel your heart tighten in your chest at the little girl's words. “Mmhm, that’s okay with me.” 

Your phone had gone off a few times in the night. From the time that you had left the office to the time that you had put a bowl of spaghetti in from Haein, you had been ignoring it. You didn’t need to check it to know it was probably Jihoon. It wasn’t like he didn’t know you were here. His mother had been here when you had gotten here; she had said goodbye to Haein and you knew there were security cameras in Jihoon’s house. You just didn’t find yourself wanting to talk to him while he was on a date with some girl. It wasn’t until the tenth buzz from your phone on the kitchen counter as you put leftovers into a container, you let out an annoyed breath and turned the phone over to read your texts. 

Lee Jihoon: Thank you again for helping me out. I owe you big time

Lee Jihoon: Soonyoung said you were upset when you left. Is everything okay?

Lee Jihoon: Y/N? 

Lee Jihoon: Are you mad at me?

Lee Jihoon: Could we talk when I get home?

Lee Jihoon: How is Haein? Are you guys doing okay?

Lee Jihoon: I checked the camera. I hate doing that. Seems like you guys are having a good time

Lee Jihoon: Feels like you are ignoring my texts on purpose

Lee Jihoon: What did I do???

Lee Jihoon: We are going to talk. 

Shaking your head, you send a single text message back to Jihoon before slipping your phone into your pocket and making your way over to the couch and Haein. “What are we watching?” Giggling, Haein tells you about her Barbie movie and you listen even as you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. Your stomach in knots, you sigh softly and offer the girl beside you a smile as she adjusts to sit against you, her head against your shoulder, before pulling your arm around her tightly. 

Y/N: Haein is doing great. No need to rush back. Enjoy your date, Mr. Lee. 

Lee Jihoon: Be home soon, Miss Y/L/N. 

You didn’t give your phone much more thought; instead, you focused on Haein as she shifted against you to lay in your lap. Your eyes are moving between her and the movie as your fingers brush her hair back from her face. You watch as her eyes slowly close and her breaths become steady and softer, sleep taking her attention from the movie. 

Sighing softly, you feel your chest tighten at the sight of the little girl asleep in your lap, but more so at the feeling it gives you. You enjoy being close to her. You like that she is happy and feels comfortable enough to sleep. Despite only knowing her for a short time, you find yourself getting attached to Haein. 

Shrugging his coat off, Jihoon furrows his brows tightly as he moves through the house towards the living room and the sound of the television. He was frustrated that you hadn’t been answering his messages, but that last message from you had told him more than enough about why you were acting the way you were. 

He knew how he felt about you, even if it was a little terrifying for him, but if you were going to sulk and avoid him thinking that he was on a date, clearly you felt something for him too. With a plan in mind—to address the problem head-on right away—Jihoon moves into the room, only to stop in his tracks at the sight in front of him. His plan goes right out the window when he sees your fingers lazily brushing through Haein’s hair as she sleeps in your lap. Now there was no way he could avoid how he felt about you, not when you were the picture of everything he wanted in his life right in front of his eyes. 

“Y/N…” Jihoon’s soft voice causes your brows to furrow as you sit up slightly, only to feel his fingers slide along your shoulders to keep you from moving to quickly and startling Haein. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Don’t wake her. She looks so peaceful.” Leaning over your shoulder, Jihoon smiles brightly as he carefully guides his fingers along the side of yours over Haein’s head with a sigh. “She looks happy.” 

Jihoon had never been this close to you before and with where he had just come from, you find yourself leaning your head away from his cheek to give him space before moving your hand from his daughter’s head. “Mm, I hope she is. I can let you take her so I can get out of the way.” 

Rolling his eyes, Jihoon sighs as he turns his head towards you to meet your eyes. “You aren’t in the way, Y/N. Would you stop this? You’ve avoided my messages all evening. I want to talk about what’s going on, but I do want to get Haein in her room first.” Lifting his brows, Jihoon waits for you to nod before he stands back to his full height and moves around the couch to slide his arms under her, pulling her against his chest. 

Glancing over his shoulder as he takes a step towards the hall, Jihoon swallows hard, hearing you shift behind him. “Please don’t leave, okay? For me? Give me like five minutes to put my daughter in her bed and then I’ll be back.” You wanted to tell him no and leave, but the look on his face and the way he phrased his words made you settle back into the couch with another nod. 

Jihoon kept his promise and less than five minutes later, you watched a less put-together Lee Jihoon make his way back into the living room. Running his fingers through his hair, he then unbuttons his sleeves and pushes them up to his elbows before finally meeting your eyes allowing you to see how nervous he really is. 

“I’m pretty tired, Mr. Lee. I should be getting home soo—” 

“I wasn’t on a date, Y/N.”

It isn’t just Jihoon cutting you off that makes you stop, but also what he has to say. Tilting your head, you shift nervously on the couch as he sits down next to you, closer than you anticipate. “That’s what you wrote me. Your last text... To enjoy my date? I was out for a business dinner with Seokmin and his manager. I haven’t been on a date in over two years.” 

It was none of your business. He didn’t need to tell you this and you shouldn’t have even said anything. You feel guilt sitting on your shoulders as you look down at your hands and push your fingers into your palm. “Oh… Well, you don’t owe me any explanations.”

You were so devastatingly beautiful and frustrating at the same time. Scoffing, Jihoon shakes his head as his eyes stay fixed on your fingers as you nervously dig them into your palm. “Clearly I do, and I should have just explained it before when I asked you to stay with Haein tonight. There are a lot of things I need to explain to you, I think, based on how you are reacting and how Soonyoung said you left at work.” 

Now you feel like a fool. Embarrassment washes over you and you lift your head, meeting Jihoon’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m—that’s so… God. I am so embarrassed, Jihoon. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I acted like a child when I left work; I said stupid shit.” 

You watch a smirk pull at Jihoon’s lips before he glances down and nods. Obviously, Soonyoung had told him what had happened, perhaps in detail. “Made me realize that I’m maybe not alone in feeling something between us. If you can get that jealous over the idea of a date.” 

Heat rises along your neck and into your face as you look away from Jihoon at what his words imply. Pressing your lips together, you furrow your brows as your brain goes from misfiring to giving you approximately a hundred reasons to bolt for the door, including the fact that Jihoon is your boss. 

“Am I wrong? ‘Cause I like you, Y/N. I mean, fuck—I really like you.” Trying to hide your smile, you lift your hand, pushing at your lips, before Jihoon’s fingers wrap gently around your wrist, pulling your hand down to your lap as he whispers your name to get you to look at him. “Come on, talk to me.” 

READ THE FULL FIC NOW ON PATREON

© onlymingyus - all rights reserved. Reposting/modifying of any fic, or pieces of original writings posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations not allowed.

[csainzoperator]

hey stranger!

summary: when you accidentally get stuck in an elevator with carlos sainz.

(fem!reader×carlossainzjr)

an: i hope you guys like this for a change. i was supposed to post this on sunday but i got busy! let me know how you like it, or if you want more of such things. also, i haven't checked the word count yet, but i'll update that soon.

trigger warnings: mentions of alcohol, exes, cheating.

read under the cut!

the elevator jolts, making her stumble a little. it's 2:04 am. the building is silent, not a single person around. she's barefoot, holding her heels in one hand, she groans. her velvety dress slightly sways as she tries to steady herself, the lights flickering inside the elevator.

he's in a crumpled white shirt, his sleeves rolled up, his forearms on show as he fixes his hair. his other hand holding onto his suit jacket. he has his tie loosened around his neck, like he couldn’t care less about how he looks.

they exchange a glance that says, well, this sucks, without needing any words. she leans back into the cold mirrored wall, sighing softly. he presses the emergency button, hoping it does something, anything.

"ofcourse." she mutters, "ofcourse this would happen tonight of all nights."

"bad night?" he questions, gazing at her from the mirror.

"you could say that." she laughs, a laugh that lacks any humour, bitter and quiet. "i just broke up with my fiancé. at our goddamn engagement party"

he whistles low, nodding slowly as he processes the information he's been given. "okay. you win."

she tilts her head, looking up at him as she raises an eyebrow "and what about you?"

"my ex is getting married. and she sent me an invite 2 hours ago." he says as he looks down at his leather shoes.

a few moments pass by in silence. but it wasn't awkward, just shared sympathy. she sits crossed leg on the ground, looking up at him. "we've got time." she says, "and honestly i couldn’t give a damn anymore."

he slides down beside her, stretching his long legs out. "fair."

she offers her hand for a handshake, giving him a sad smile that's almost invisible if you don't look closely. "i'm y/n, professional disaster."

he takes her hand, giving it a firm shake, offering her a slight smirk. "carlos, recovering simp."

she snorts, getting comfortable on the floor. "that's the most honest introduction i've ever heard"

the lights in the elevator are warm enough to make a 60 year old woman fall asleep in a second. light breeze from the elevator fan spreads across the elevator. she tries pressing the emergency button again, only for it to not respond, just like how her ex didn't respond to her texts.

"alright, carlos. are you going to your ex's wedding?"

he sighs dramatically, looking up at her like he's about to reveal victoria's secret. "i burnt the invitation" he mutters, like he's telling her a secret.

she chuckles, "well aren't you quite out of a shakespeare play?"

he turns his head, looking at her with a small smile on his face, thinking about how he made her laugh, felt like quite the achievement after her sour mood earlier. "so, did you actually breakup with your fiancé at the party or did you something shakespeare worthy, like throwing wine on him"

she rolls her eyes, looking up at him, disgust evident in her face. "to be fair, he was the one kissing my cousin in the balcony."

his gasps, his eyes widening, "no."

she nods, patting his shoulder dramatically to soothe the shock. "yes. a whole bottle of expensive champagne. worth every second."

he whistles again, clapping slowly. "you're my hero. what do they say these days? eating? yeah, you ate."

she gives him a mock bow, "thank you, i accept cash as fan mail."

they both laugh, and for a moment, none of them remember why the night was bad. she stretches her legs out beside him, nudging his shoes with hers. "since we're trapped in a vertical metal coffin that plays jazz, how about we play 21 questions?"

he quirks a brow, containing a smile. "what are you? in senior high prom?"

she stares at him, her eyes narrowing. "do you have a better option?" he sighs, shaking his head.

she nods at him, "you go first"

he hums, thinking of a question, a second later he speaks up "what's your most irrational fear?"

she groans. "you're gonna laugh at me."

he shrugs, watching her. "i will either way, so just say it"

she sighs. "peacock feathers. they're just, i can't stand them. or peacocks in general, i think they're plotting something against us."

he doesn't speak for a while, he just stares, barely containing his laughter. "mhm, you're so right. we should tell the government to hide all the secrets just in case."

she rolls her eyes as he covers his mouth, trying not to lose it. "oh no, hide your kids, there's a peacock in the forest that doesn't have access to us but its still a threat!" she gently shoves him away, now laughing with him.

"okay. my turn. have you ever ghosted someone?" she questions.

"once. only by accident. i took a nap and forgot to text back...for three months" he winces.

her jaw drops, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "that's not a nap. that's a coma."

"i texted her saying i died briefly."

"how romantic" she teases.

he grins, rolling his eyes. "question. how many people have you kissed?"

she squints, thinking hard. "depends, does my bestfriend's cat count?"

he blinks, "...i don't know how to answer that"

"i'll say four, but five if you count mochi. he was surprisingly an affectionate cat."

he nods, smiling slightly. "uh huh, i'll keep that in mind."

they go on like that for hours, laughing, teasing, opening little doors into each other's lives.

"question twenty one" she says softly, "if we don't get out of here till morning...would you still want to keep talking to me?"

he doesn't hesitate. "god, i hope we don't get out till morning."

the end.

[jinuaei]

Straight up Transformers x reader rambles and they're probably OOC AF but this is fiction let me live. Also I haven't properly read MTMTE/LL comics, if this is wrong and you want to talk shit, ehhhh you'll live.

I think I wrote this in a way that can be read as Cybertronian reader or Human reader.

I want to whore out Sentinel Prime, tie him up, rail him, just treat him like the slut he is. He wants power? He will find it under you, under your gaze as he lays there to serve you. He will see that you are the one with power within the room that you both occupy, even his size or status is nothing compared to the control that your mere presence has over him.

UGH COCKY LITTLE SHIT SENTINEL PRIME BECOMING A SUBMISSIVE MESS WHEN YOU ARE THERE. I know he'd rather die than to be publicly seen as a SIMP but goddamnit it would be funny to think that one minute Sentinel is passive aggressively insulting someone and the next thing you know he's kneeling in front of you cooing at you, asking how you are and if you want him to grab you refreshments. Him and Starscream. IDGAF if it's ooc I want them literally on their KNEES begging to serve you because just you being happy is enough for them. Or is that more of a Tarn thing?

MMMmm Tarn, the obsessed, the devoted. Perhaps his obsession with the Decepticon cause has shifted towards you and he finds himself listening to more and more of your commands(Its really just you talking about anything) compared to Megatrons original objective and making it as something that Decepticons and DJD should follow. Your word becomes law and you find yourself being followed and revered by this huge purple bot who's body count is in the hundreds, probably even more. Yet you seem to find yourself relaxed under his watchful optic as you know he wouldn't do anything to harm you. The whole DJD becomes your entourage every time you visit some new planet or even just somewhere in Cybertron or something.

When you find yourself unable to sleep, you'll hear a haunting voice echoing through the vents. You might think of it as a ghost, but don't worry! It's just Tarn who knows about your bad sleep schedule and is trying to sing you a lullaby to help you sleep. Maybe just invite him into your habsuite next time, it's probably better than being scared shitless at the deep ass voice singing a ballad.

Though he has the voice that can kill bots with his words, he still finds himself at the mercy of yours. His spark quivers when you speak and every word shoots through him like a laser. He has engraved Megatron's manifesto within his spark and processor, yet slowly but surely, it's getting replaced by yours. Each sentences he has memorized so dearly is now gone, word by word, letter by letter, the whole manifesto becomes redundant, now replaced with your smiles, your interests, your affection... Within such a short time, his objective of hunting down Decepticon traitors has now changed into keeping you happy, even at the expense of other bots.

Additionally, I don't remember if it was .1 percenters or Outliers that are known to be born obsessive, but any bot under that can technically be canonical yanderes. Side eyeing Overlord that plumpy lips little shit.