#last home match but sure start him on the bench why not !

[messfc]

would have been nice if keylor started but whatever 🙄

#last home match but sure start him on the bench why not ! #free my man from the shackles of our bench #here’s hoping he gets subbed in at halftime or something #football #psg #keylor navas

[whorekneecentral]

As Red As My Stockings

Trent Alexander Arnold x Physio!Fem!Reader

Warnings: takes place in the '23 season (after the newcastle match but imagine it to be in November or something so it fits the timeline lmao), andy and ibou are so annoying towards trent, virg is over them, probably incorrect physio treatments, one teeny tiny hint to medical role play for like 0.2 seconds, penetrative sex (p in v), creampie, trent is sooooo !!

Word Count: 2,519

Author's Note: our vice captain >>> anyways, this one was a bit random. hope y'all enjoy it :))

merry smutmas series

--

Trent’s crush on the pretty physio is well known amongst the players. They make sure to help him fulfill one last Christmas wish before you all head home for the holidays.

Liverpool FC had been your home for the last few years and in your time there, quite a few players had come and gone through your room. All of them were wonderful and talented and charming in their own ways but no one beat the boys you had now.

If you could give them a middle name, it'd be troublesome.

It's Tuesday morning and the boys were returning for training. Liverpool had played Newcastle on Sunday, leaving the boys with another 2 points added onto the board but were left without their captain after a red card.

Currently, their captain was laid on the bench in your physio room, the rest of the boys scattered through the training room - you can see and hear their noise through the glass panels that separated the two rooms.

"I don't even know how I did it," Virgil tells you, watching as you massaged the spot before he could join the rest of the boys.

"I'm sure you must have over worked it during your shouting match with the ref," you glanced up at the man, there's a smile on his face even though he's rolling his eyes.

Before you finish with the captain, the door to the physio room swings open. The younger players had a habit of hiding in there to avoid training, especially when they knew Virgil wasn't in.

In comes Andy with his arm over Trent, squeezing the vice captain in a headlock. Ibou comes running in after them.

They weren't aware that their captain was currently in there with you.

"Oh hey skip," Andy shouts to his friend, struggling to hold Trent in place. The man struggles, pushing Andy away from him when he realizes Virgil was in there. Ibou blocks the doorway, stopping Trent from passing.

You were taping Virgil's knee, smoothing the tape as he looked over at the three of them. "Why are you in here? Don't bother y/n, she's working unlike some people," he shoots them a glare, making you laugh.

"All done, big man." You step back, picking up the roll of tape. You look over in the direction of the other players in the room. "What can I help y'all with?"

Andy says, "Trent strained something in his thigh." Trent was glaring at Andy; if looks could kill.

You nod towards the empty chair, putting away the stuff you used on Virgil before turning back to him. "Need anything else?"

"No," Virgil shook his head, still laying on the bench as he scrolled through his phone. "I'll head out in a few."

"Okay," you smiled, walking over to where Trent now begrudgingly sat. Ibou was snickering in the corner of the room, leaning on the wall by the door.

"Ibrahima," you called, the man freezes at the use of his full name. "Do you need something ?"

"Just water," he says, rushing off to the fridge to grab a bottle.

Andy's got a hand over his mouth, covering his giggles. "Don't start before I kick you out too, Andrew." You look over at him and he presses his lips together, sliding his fingers across it and turning it; locking it up so he doesn't make noise.

Trent sat quietly, so still that you almost missed his chest raising and falling with each breath.

"Which one?" you asked, crouching in front of him. His brows furrow, looking at you confused. "Which leg?" You clarified and he raised his left leg slightly.

You nod, "can you pull your shorts up a bit?"

Ibou and Andy were giggling behind you and you can't help but look over at him, the two of them shutting up, or at least attempting to.

Turning your attention back to Trent, you touch his thigh carefully, working your fingers over the muscle and the man groans. You glance up at him, "there?"

"Your hand's cold," he says and you move your hand away. "Sorry," you say, rubbing your hands together to try and warm them up.

You put your hand back carefully, not wanting to freeze him again but when he doesn't complain, you find yourself moving your hand along his thigh to find the strain. Your fingers were soft against his skin, Trent was thinking of what other injuries he could fake to come in and see you, to have you feel him up.

"Trent?" You called, pulling him from his thoughts, "where exactly is the strain? I can't feel anything."

His cheeks are red, he's been caught. "Uh-"

"Look!" Andy's hunched over laughing and Ibou's leant back laughing right beside him. "His face is red!"

"Shut up!" Trent grumbles, looking away from you and you bite back a smile before Virgil speaks, standing up. "Yeah, both of you shut up and go back to training," he tells him, shooing them from the room.

He smiles at you, nodding as he ushers a laughing Andy and Ibou out of the room. You turn your attention back to the vice captain. "So the strain?"

"I mean.." he starts and you hum, waiting for him to go on as you stand back up. "It was more of a tweak than a strain. "

"Of course," you nod, knowing he was bullshitting you.

This wasn't the first time he had landed himself in your physio room with some non-existent injury. Trent thought you didn't know about his crush on you but you did; if the players did one thing when they came in, it was gossip - especially amongst themselves when they think you aren't paying any attention to them.

You reach for his shorts, pulling them back into place. "Well if this tweak comes back, come see me. I'll treat it." You tell him, a smile on your face.

Trent stands, nodding. "Thanks, y/n."

"Anytime, Trent."

He was off to training once again but you called for him, stopping him in his tracks. "Next time you wanna see me, just come by. No need to bring the whole squad with you." You give him a look, the man's face red as he nods, walking out of the room.

--

The afternoon rolled into the evening, the boys finished up their training and whoever needed to be checked out stopped by but for the most part, the place was empty.

You had stayed back after the rest of the staff had left, putting up some decorations for the holidays. You're up on the chair, taping the garland to the wall when someone knocks on the door.

"Hey," Trent calls, stepping into the room before shutting the door behind him. You smiled at him, getting off of the chair. "Hey Trent, you okay?"

"Yeah," he nods, walking over to the bench furthest from the door. You did a few things, putting away the tape and the scissors. "What are you doing here so late?" He asks, leaning on the bench.

"Putting up decorations," you tell him, back turned to him as you shoved the leftover decorations into the bottom cupboard. "What are you doing here? Is everything okay?"

He shrugs, his fingers fiddling with the hem of his shorts. "I uh.. well there's a pain in my thigh and it won't go away."

"What happened?" You walk over to the man, "I can take a look if you want."

"Yeah, could you?" He says, watching as you crouch down in front of him. Trent can't stop himself, all the filthy thoughts flooding his mind. "Where's the pain?" You asked, glancing up at him through your lashes and he inhales, trying to control himself - the thought was there, he just had to make it happen, that's if you wanted to.

"Upper thigh," he whispers and you nod, rubbing your hands together which makes him smile, reminding him of earlier that day. "You're gonna have to pull your shorts up, Trent."

He nods, pulling the left side up and bunching it by the top of his thigh as you slowly start feeling over the area. Your fingers were soft but firm, his head tipped back and lips pressed together as you moved your hand a bit closer to the top of his thigh.

"Where exactly is this pain?" You look up at him, brows furrowed. Trent looks down at you, tongue passing over his bottom lip. "A little higher," he whispers and you finally get what he meant.

"Oh," you nod, moving your hand up further until it was near his cock. Trent glances down at you, watching as your hand rubs over the bulge in his pants. "There?" you asked quietly and he bites back a smile, nodding.

"Now why didn't you just say that from the beginning, Trent?"

"You're the physio, y/n. I knew you'd figure it out," he smiles when you stand. You hum, nodding. "So tell me," your hand still rubbing over him, Trent glances between the two of you. "What do you think is the appropriate treatment for this?"

"Whatever you think would fix it, hm? You're the professional."

You move, about to lower yourself onto your knees again but Trent stops you. "As much as I'd love to see you on your knees for me.. fuck, I can't wait."

"Wait for ?" You teased, letting him move you around. He rolls his eyes, bending you over the bench. "Okay then, don't answer me." You mumbled, fully well knowing what he meant.

Trent pulls on your pants, pulling them down, You can feel him shuffling behind you, his own pants tugged down just enough. The tip of his cock presses against you when he leans over, his hand on your hip.

"Can I?" He asks, his hips jutting forward just a bit. You hum, nodding but Trent doesn't move, "I need words, y/n. C'mon love."

"Fuck- please, Trent."

Your arms are propped on the bench, holding you up. Trent's hand slips between your thighs, fingers brushing over your panties and your head drops forward.

Panties pushed to the side and he didn't have to hear anything else, lining himself up with you before his hips dig into you. He gives you a second to adjust him before moving.

He smiles at the way your face twists in pleasure. “God, you're so pretty," he sighs, pushing your shirt up a bit as his hips dug into your ass. 

Trent's hips dig into your ass, your hips are surely going to have a bruise tomorrow morning.

When you feel the tip of his cock press against a certain spot, your head falls forwards, his name falling from your lips. "Just like that," you mumbled, your nails digging into the leather of the bench. You could see the little half circles indents it left but you didn't care.

He can feel you clench around him when he does that, his hips ramming into you from behind again. "Like that, love?"

"Fuc- yeah." You nod, barely able to keep yourself standing let alone speak.

His hand on your hip slips down between your legs, reaching for your clit. He barely moves his fingers before your own hand reaches down to rest on his. Looking down, the outline of his hand pulls your attention, no matter how much you wanted to look away, you couldn’t bring yourself too. 

He pushes you down forward the bench, you prop yourself up on your forearms once again. You can see the reflection of the two of you in the glass door across from you; Trent's behind you, a hand on your hip and the other shoved down your panties, you're a mess, begging him to keep going.

Now Trent's not the biggest guy but he was bigger than you, both height wise and he was broader than you - you'd never admit it to him but god, you thought about him often. How good it would feel to have him on top of you or for you to be on top of him, how you fantasized about how good his fingers would feel or better yet, his cock.

You didn't have to fantasize about that part anymore.

The knot in your stomach tightens, and obviously, you know the size difference exists but you’d never seen it like this. Trent towers over you and his large hand covers your hip. Your body doesn’t even block his hips from view when he fucks you.

Your eyes find his in the reflection and you don’t even have to say anything, he knows exactly what you’re saying. 

Trent smiles. "It’s okay sweetheart, I know.” He whispers to you, thrusts getting sloppier by the second. The way you squeezed around him would send him over the edge just as soon as you did. "Me too," he tells you and you hum, "inside."

"Inside?" He asks, unsure if he heard you right.

"Please, Trent."

You had the man wrapped around your finger. Anything you wanted, he'd give you. All you had to do was ask.

The two of you in sync, his chest pressed to your back as you both came down from your orgasm. He rubbed your side softly before leaning down to press a kiss to your neck and pulling out slowly. He smiles to himself when he hears the whimper that slips past your lips when he pulls out.

It takes a second, the two of you slowly getting redressed. You leant on the bench behind you when you looked at Trent, his face red. "Want some water?" You asked, already walking to the fridge.

"Yeah sure. Thanks." He ties the string on his shorts, you pass him the bottle when he walks over. Trent takes a sip before he speaks. "I uh, I'd love to take you out for dinner before we head out for the holidays, y/n."

"Usually, you'd take a girl out to dinner before you fuck her like a whore, right?"

He chokes on his water, rubbing his chest. "I- yes of course."

You laugh at his reaction, wiping away the water from his bottom lip with your thumb. Trent's hand rests on your lower back, "can I take you on a date, you know a proper date?"

"Promise to do that same thing after?" You joked, nodding towards the bench. Trent laughs, nodding. "If that's what you want."

"Oh shut up, mr. I can't wait."

Trent's cheeks are red again, making you smile. Your hand rests on his cheek, reaching up to give him a kiss. "Yeah, I'll go out with you."

"Good," he smiles. There's a knock on the door before he gets a chance to speak again. "Are you guys done?!" Andy shouts from the other side of the door. "I forgot my charger in there!"

You and Trent exchange a glance, laughing as he lets you go, letting you open the door to let Andy in. The Scotsman looks between the two of you, the state of the two of you was a give away; skin all sticky, clothes wrinkled and out of place, Trent's face is red and you've got a bit of a wobble to your walk.

Andy laughs, wiggling his eyebrows. "Oh! You two soooo-"

"Don't even finish that sentence, Andrew."

--

taglist: @nosugarallspice  @evieepepi08 @mimithepooh @koufaxx @dannyramirezwife-simpaccount @topguncultleader @molliemoo3 @aisharmi @mamako23 @ac3may @lewislcver @miahgonzalez16  @books-and-netflix-pls  @wibi96 @bwddermilch @pedrisgatorade  @clarasenchant @sainzluvrr // @trentsfav @trentsmyfave @noturbabe22

#trent alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold smut #trent alexander arnold x reader #football x reader #football x you #football x y/n #football smut #merry smutmas xoxo

[christinarowie332]

“id be a fucking idiot if i said no to that”

matt sturniolo x reader

a smoke session with a pretty boy

warnings: suggestive asf ? droogs ofc . language

____________

i cough for the fourth time tonight .

“bro i thought you were like this stoner chick what’s going on ?” the boy sat opposite me asks , his voice deep with smoke after inhaling .

i regain my composure with teary eyes and sniff my nose while laughing .”your girlfriend grows some serious shit man” i say before coughing again and grabbing my white red bull from the table .

i take a sip and notice the blue eyed boy scrunch his eyebrows in confusion, smirking slightly. “my girlfriend? who said i had a girlfriend?”

“your weed was rolled in pink paper and i’m pretty sure they’re cherry flavored? u either have a girlfriend or you play for the other team” i reply matching his smirk and holding my arm out , gesturing him to pass over the blunt .

he inhaled one more time and passes it over with pinched fingers . he squints his eyes to hold in a cough before exhaling the thick vapor . “my brothers girlfriend gave us all a little hamper each for our birthdays . these were in them . but you are right that’s some serious weed” he laughs over the last sentence, leaning forward and grabbing his root beer .

“ahhh, of course . your matt right , chris’s brother?” i say while snuffing out the now fully smoked blunt and flicking in in a plant pot .

we were sat on a porch in some random kids garden on two opposite benches. i met chris last party me and my friend went to and to be honest i fully forgot about him until now , the whole night was a blur after being cross faded and getting home was a mystery .

“so that’s why you look so familiar!” i continue, slumping back in my chair and crossing my legs .

he mirrors my actions , leaning back and adjusting himself slightly thrusting his groin and man spreading . i watch him do this before realizing where i’m looking and quickly meet his gaze . his eyebrow twitched at this and smirked , noticing my gaze and huffs a laugh from his nose .

i take a deep breath to compose myself as i feel a rush of blood travel to my face and other places . “anyway , your brother seemed nice enough, his girlfriend too .” i say to try and diminish the growing tension.

“he didn’t mention you , somehow” he says eyeing me up and down , looking at my baggy low waisted cargos , then to my low cut long sleeve cropped sweater . his eyes not meeting for my own as his glare lingers like the smoke around us .

i shift slightly under his gaze , he notices and meets my eyes , pupils blown out and heavy from the high we both start to feel . the light blue i was becoming accustomed to ,shifting next to the pinkish tones . making them swim with lust.

“so you uh..” i clear my throat in anxiety , “you didn’t specify ?”

his face shifts from a calm and cold expression to a now confused one .

i take his silence as a hint and continue.

“u got a girlfriend?”

he smirks at this , tongue pressed to the inside of his mouth “i don’t no” he says quietly. his voice low and hourse

“play for the other team?” i tease raising eyebrows and leaning forward in challenge

“i’ll leave that to my brother nick” also leaning forward , not being intimidated and honestly intrigued as to where this is going .

i hum in response. leaning back because unlike him, i am extremely intimidated.

he shifts his body to the edge of his chair and leans over the table separating us . staring at it for a while seemingly fighting with his own thoughts. he hesitates for a moment before pushing himself off the chair and walking around the table towards me .

i watch as he does this , my heart racing slightly as he plops down next to me .

we both put an elbow on the back of the bench we now share . angling our bodies towards each other .

“i didn’t get your name?” he asks leaning back slightly and smiling .

“it’s y/n” i reply , tilting my head and smiling .

i could smell his cologne, mixed with the mint and weed on his breath as he whispers while leaning forward towards me. “your uh …” he hesitates trying to pick a respectful word to use , even though the thoughts he was having was far from it “your very pretty y/n.” he says while moving a piece of my hair behind my ear .

my breath hitches at his touch and i side eye his hand as it moves to the side of my head . the warm lighting highlighting the shadows from his veins .

i couldn’t think of a response , my body tensing up at his words and ceaseless touch . he enjoys the sight of me nervous and drops his hand to my thigh, running it upwards to my pocket .

in a trance i miss as he grabs the lighter that’s hanging out of said pocket and holds it up to my face . before grabbing another joint from his own pocket with a crooked teasing smile.

i roll my eyes and shake my head slightly before speaking. “wanna shot gun?” i ask with a raised eyebrow

his head snaps towards me . “i’d be a fucking idiot if i said no to that”

i snatched the joint and lighter from his hands , before lighting the rolled plant and chucking the lighter to the side .

i get up from my seat . feeling a surge of confidence and deciding to match his energy. “it’s better if i do this” i said before straddling his lap and adjusting myself on him .at the sudden movement he flinches and his eyes shoot to mine . widely in warning.

i’m the one smirking now knowing exactly what i’m doing before inhaling the blunt , taking a long drag not breaking the eye contact. i put my arm holding the joint out to side and putting my free hand on his jaw . i tilt his head up before closing the distance and blowing the smoke into his mouth .

he keeps the eye contact still , never looking away , but tilting his head upwards , exhaling the smoke and biting down on his bottom lip agains a smile threatening to form .

we stay looking at each other for a few seconds before he grabs the joint out my fingers , licking his own and snuffing out the half lit end . his teeth flash as he hissed at the pain. he throws the joint to the floor and looks back at me grabbing the side of my face .

“fuck that” is all i hear from his lips before they’re smashed onto mine . all most immediately it turned into a heavy makeout , him moving from kissing my face down to my neck. i throw my head back and move my hips on him slightly . his teeth graze my neck at the movement. his hand moves from my face , against my neck, his thumb pressing down on my throat slightly and a his other hand running from the back of my neck , down my back, to my ass . lifting me with the movement .

after a good few minutes we both pull away to get our breath , and to slow down the pace as neither of us felt like getting caught doing anything more then kissing on some random guys patio .

his nose was red and lips swollen . hair messily plastered to his forehead and raised at the back from my needy tugging .

“your number”he whispers breathlessly , nodding his head messily .

“what?” i say as out of breath as him , tilting it .

“i need your fucking number , and i need to do this again”

—————

HEHEHEHHEHEGGEHEGGEGE

god he’s so hot

🤍🤍🤍

taglst/bbgs

@mangosrar @jcwrites-blog @sssturniolofart @soursturniolo @sturnphilia @daddyslilchickenfingers @def-livv @urmyslxt @littlebookworm803

———

i am literally in shock from how many people are likeing my shit right now you are all the sweetest people ever . love every single one of your with all my heart .

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #milkietalks #nicolas sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #milkie is down bad #matt sturniolo edit #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo imagines #matthew sturniolo #send anons

[cherrycola27]

Burnin' Up

Pairing: Jake x Fiancée!Reader

Warnings: Some Language, mostly fluff!

...........................................

You tapped your fingers to the beats of your 2000s Pop playlist. It was finally Friday, and you were itching to get home and get ready for your anniversary date with Jake.

Your engagement ring gleamed in the late afternoon sun as you tapped along to the Jonas Brothers. You hoped Jake would appreciate the high heels and red dress you had picked out for tonight as much as Nick, Joe, or Kevin would've. Though you hoped he'd appreciate the matching red lace set you'd planned to wear under it even more.

You glanced at the clock on your dash. It was 3:45. You'd left school the moment all of your students had gone, knowing you would need every available minute between dismissal and the time he arrived home from base to get ready. Jake had told you that your reservation was at 6 pm sharp and that he had planes to get ready on base right after training.

You were thankful that he had decided to do that because that meant you had full reign over the bathroom for at least an hour and a half.

You turned onto your street just as the song was finishing. You made a mental list in your head of what you needed to do when you got home.

However, all of those plans went out the window when you rolled into the driveway, and Jake's Silverado was parked in his spot.

Worry set it. Being a teacher meant that on most days, you left before Jake. However, he almost never made it home before you did. You checked your phone to make sure that you hadn't missed a text from him saying training ended early. Nothing. Now you really were getting worried. If Jake was home, that meant something was wrong.

You quickly gathered your things and made your way into the house.

"Jake?" You called out. You slipped your shoes off next to his boots. You hung up your keys and set your bag down next to the bench in the mudroom.

"Jake, honey, I'm home!" You called out again, waiting for him to answer.

You padded your way through the kitchen and into the living room. You were just about to head upstairs to see if he was in the shower when you heard a faint groan come from the couch.

You tiptoed over to the sofa and peaked over the edge. You let out a sigh of relief when you saw Jake asleep, one arm thrown over his head, the other dangling off the edge. You were half tempted to take a photo, but then he let out another groan in his sleep.

Your brows crinkled when you noticed that his body was flush, and he was paler than usual.

You gently shook his shoulder trying to wake him, without startling him.

"Jake," you cooed to him before stroking his face.

You quickly pulled your hand back because his forehead was searing hot to the touch.

"Jake, baby, wake up." You said, jostling him.

His eyes flew open, and he quickly sat up. "What time is it?" He asked in a haze. "It's a little after four. Honey, are you feeling okay?" You respond to him.

"What—yes I'm fine. I had a headache, and Maverick let me come home a little early. I just dozed off when I got home. I was hoping a nap would make me feel better before tonight," Jake told you.

"Sweetheart, if you aren't feeling well, we can celebrate our anniversary another night. Why don't I call the restaurant and cancel our table, and we can stay in and relax?" You say stroking his head. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, he definitely had a fever.

"Absolutely not! I've had this planned for over a month. This is our last first date anniversary before we get married, and I wanted to make it special for you!" He proclaims.

"Jakey, I understand that, but if you're sick, I don't want you pushing through it and being miserable all night." You tell him, trying to reason with him.

"Listen here, woman, I do not get sick!" He states matter of factly. To further try and prove his point, Jake quickly stands up, ready to change for the evening. But when he rises to his feet, the room starts to spin.

"Easy there, cowboy." You say, jumping up to steady him.

You press the back of your hand to his forehead and sigh.

"Jake, you're burning up." You tell him

"Yeah, for you, baby." He quips back.

"Jacob Thomas Seresin Jr., would you just admit that you don't feel well so I can take care of you?" You huff out, placing your hands on your hips.

"You used my full name. Does that mean I'm in trouble?" He chuckles.

"You will be if you don't get your ass upstairs and let me take care of you." You threaten him.

"But honey, I don't want you to have to do that. I'll be fine." He tries to convince you, but it's too late. You're already dragging him by the arm towards the stairs.

"In sickness and in health, Jacob. In sickness and in health." You call over your shoulder.

"We aren't even married yet!" He half argues back.

"And if you don't get changed into some comfy clothes and get your ass in that bed, we won't be." You tell him sternly.

"I don't know why you're worrying about me. I'm telling you, I don't get sick!" Jake huffs, tossing his clothes into the hamper and grabbing a pair of sweatpants.

His back is turned to you, but he can feel the daggers you are staring. He decides it's best not to argue with you. He would also never admit it, but he is feeling kind of crummy. His head hurts, he feels exhausted, and his skin was kind of clammy.

He trudges over to his side of the bed and climbs in. You come over and make sure he is comfortable, tucking the covers around him and kissing his forehead.

"Here." You say holding out a glass of water and a bottle of cold medicine. He accepts them without a fight, downing the medicine taking a sip of the water.

"Thank you, honey," He says before setting the glass on the night stand.

"You're welcome. Now, I'm going to call the restaurant and let them know we can't make it, and then I'm going to make you some soup. Get some rest baby." You say before heading back downstairs.

By the time you return upstairs with some soup and a Gatorade, Jake is fast asleep.

You smile softly at him. Jake always tried to put up a macho man front. It warmed your heart for him to let his guard down around you.

It hadn't always been this way. When you had first met Jake, you thought he was a certified asshat. He had strolled up to you at the Hard Deck, toothpick in his mouth and beer in his hand.

He tried everything to win you over, but you wouldn't budge. It continued like that for weeks. The truth is Jake was dying to get to know you. He couldn't figure you out, but he desperately wanted to.

One night, you finally snapped at him. "Bagman, you are such an annoying human being. You go around like you know who I am, but you don't!" You had yelled at him, pushing his chest.

"Sweets, I don't have you figured out at all. You've got me on my toes. Every time I come in here, all I want to do is get to know you. Why won't you let me?" Jake said back smoothly.

His honesty had sealed the deal for you. After that, you were his girl. Soon, you would be his wife.

Jake shifted in his sleep, arms reaching out for you. He let out a groan, and his brows furrowed together.

You quickly set the soup to the side and changed into some sleep shorts, and one of his old Navy shirts. You slipped under the covers and snuggled up next to you.

He sighed contently, tucking you under his chin.

You sank back again him, enjoying this tender moment.

You don't remember falling asleep, but the next morning, you wake up, and your body is cold and achy. The sheets that are supposed to be occupied by Jake are empty.

You sit up and see that the soup from last night has been taken from the room, and his sleep clothes are neatly folded on his side of the bed.

"Jake?" You call for him as you walk downstairs.

"Baby! What are you doing up?" He asks, turning the stove off.

"I could ask you the same thing." You say putting your hands on your hips.

"I feel so much better this morning, so I wanted to surprise my best girl with breakfast in bed." He tells you.

"Aw, Jakey, you're too good to me." You smile, coming into the kitchen to hug him.

"Just trying to be half as good to you are you are to me." He says, embracing you back.

You pull back as he leans down to kiss you, but just has he does, you start to cough.

"Uh oh." He says. Looking down at you.

"Don't give me that look, Jake." You tell him.

"What look?" He feigns innocence.

Suddenly, everything hurts, and you're freezing cold. Jake gives you a knowing smile.

He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, you cut him off.

"Don't say it, I know, I know. And I'm going back upstairs to bed. I'll take some medicine and hopefully feel better in the morning." You half laugh turning away from him.

"It's my turn to nurse you back to health now, baby!" He yells up the stairs.

"Don't you dare, you're the reason I'm sick, Jake!" You yell back from the top.

You can hear him laughing through the house.

This may not have been the anniversary weekend the two of you had originally planned, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

And that's it, folks! My final entry for @roosterforme 's love is in the challenge! I hope you enjoyed it. This fic was inspired by "Burnin' Up" by the Jonas Brothers. My teenage self is screaming!

Tag List: @dreamingathighaltitude @shanimallina87 @luckyladycreator2 @mak-32 @katieshook02 @samhapner6 @rosiahills22 @thedroneranger @roosterforme @youlightmeupfinn @withahappyrefrain @arson-tm @sebsxphia

#top gun maverick #top gun #lt. jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #hangman seresin #hangman top gun #jake hangman seresin #love is in the air tgm #roosterforme #cherrycola27

[julianalvarez9]

acting on it / martin ødegaard

author's note: been avoiding writing smut for this man for ages. i started this back when arsenal played liverpool so it's been A WHILE. not proofread bc i just needed to get it out quick. needless to say this isn't real, don't know the real reason why they took him out so yeah, fiction :)

warnings: smut with plot. badly translated norwegian pet names (?, kinda hair pulling, kinda choking, kinda public sex (they could get walked in anytime) ¿?

wc: 2k words

summary: suggesting to take martin out of the game to avoid any serious injury backfires when he blames you for being subbed off.

"why did you tell him to take me out?".

you knew this talk would be coming, but still, the loud thud when the norwegian shut the door a bit too hard startled you. the draw was rough for everyone at arsenal, and at some point, felt almost like a loss. the players got into the dressing room with their heads hung low after clapping for the fans, and apart from some encouraging pats on the back, you didn’t really get to talk to anyone in particular.

you saw how angry martin had left the pitch when arteta decided to take him off, but he hadn’t said anything: of course he hadn’t. he was a good captain, and he wouldn’t ever question the gaffer’s decisions. at least, not publicly.

but under the anger, he knew it was a good decision: he wasn’t asking for the ball and leading his team like he used to do at every game. like he was supposed to. he knew his performance was below average, but he refused to attribute it to the minor discomfort he had during the week. he was fine during warm ups and the entire first half. he couldn’t afford to get injured now, at this point.

being seated during the last ten minutes of the match was the worst thing for him. seeing how the win slipped through their fingers felt like a knife being turned on his stomach. and even if martin knew they still had the top position secured, the lead they had against city was cut short, and they hoped it wouldn’t be something they turned to regret at the end of the line.

martin was observant, not only off the pitch, but during games, too. he frequently saw the bench, awaiting for instructions offered by the manager or movement in the sidelines, signaling some players being subbed in. when he saw you, the team’s physio, talking to arteta, he knew he would be the player to be taken off.

“you were only meant to play 60 minutes, martin. you played 80,” you reasoned. before the game, you had been consulted how many minutes was the norwegian able to play, without risking an injury. knowing martin, you were sure that he wouldn't appreciate being subbed off if there was still a match being played, but you were aware that mikel was considering the bigger picture -there were still games that needed to be won, and it would be immensely more difficult if they were without the norwegian on the pitch. you understood arteta's worries about his key player being sidelined for way too long if he were to make the matters worse.

he wasn't happy with your response, but he didn't say anything else: he stayed in the way of the door, impeding the way out, whether intentionally or not, trapping you in the room with him. the frown is still visible on his features, glooming his usual prince charming looks for something darker, almost malicious. you think that he's maybe transported back to the game, reliving again and again what went wrong, and you try to ease his worries. "not everything is your fault, you know? you have to take care of yourself first”.

he scoffed. "i'm the captain. everything is my fault".

at this point, you've grown tired. all you want to do is finish packing your things, and get home as fast as possible. but the presence of the norwegian is stopping you from completing the checklist you have in hand. "what do you want me to do, ødegaard? i’m doing my job, which is to keep you all healthy," you say, while finishing to check the last thing you had on the list, assuring that you aren't forgetting anything. you throw the little notepad to the desk, while sitting on the empty space, as martin watches your every movement like a hunter keeping track of his prey. "you can't play 90 minutes every three days: you need to rest, or you'll get a serious injury. if you have any problems with it, talk to arteta”.

you're mirroring the frown he had for the last five minutes, and martin can't stop thinking about how cute you look while trying to act mad at him. "quit the attitude. i'm supposed to be mad, not you".

now it's your turn to scoff. "you are making me mad by trying to take your frustrations on me, like i'm in the wrong for doing my fucking job".

"if you think this is me taking my frustrations on you-” his blue eyes turn almost dark gray, and martin takes big, rushed steps towards your figure, making his wider frame tower over yours. he lifts his hand, brushing a string of hair that had fallen from your makeshift ponytail behind your ear, and his hand rest softly on the side of your neck, with his palm surely covering half of your skin.

he looks for hesitation in your eyes, something that would tell him to back off, but he can't find any. instead, your breath is ragged, and you're trying really hard to keep eye contact with him while trying not to visibly shut your legs in a way that lets you ease some of the tension. "this would be me taking my frustrations on you," he corrects, now his thumb resting across your neck, restricting your airflow but just slightly.

you're not sure if you feel dizzy because this is what you wanted all along, ever since you've crossed paths with the norwegian, or due to how intoxicating you find his touch: either way, you gasp for air, and it has martin smiling wickedly, in a form you haven't really seen before. "oh, does my pretty girl like being choked?".

the whine you emit is, surely, pathetic, but it fires something inside of him. his grab on your neck is a bit rougher after hearing the sweetest sound he had only dreamed of hearing, but it’s not enough to worry you about the possible marks he could be leaving. still, you can feel it, just as you can feel the desk behind you that would not really leave you any space to escape, if you wanted to. but you don't want to, although you probably should remember where you're at, that you're working and he's a player.

the smallest glimpse of reality comes back to your senses when you hear a sort of commotion outside, and you're cut back from his spell, just barely. "martin, we-".

he hears the hesitation in your voice, and is quick to lure you back in, his kisses leaving a wet trail under his way. "i know we can't. and i know we don't have enough time. but i need this, i need you. will you let me?. the way he's whispering in your ear makes your skin flourish in goosebumps, joined by how he's nudging at your neck, while smelling your perfume, driving you mad. he realizes when the smallest whimper leaves your lips and is proud of his doing, showing by the way it oozes out of his mouth when he whispers "that's my good girl".

your hands are quick to find their way under his shirt, having the chance to feel the toned abs you've never dared to look at before while trying to keep up with the feverish kisses shared between you two. the second his mouth trails down to your collarbone, you slip a playful "eager, aren't we?" when you realize his hard on pressed against your leg. "could say the same about you," he bites back, after his leg graces your center and you're eager to rub yourself against it.

you two don’t even get to take your clothes fully before he slides into you. his right hand is covering your mouth, helping you in silencing the moans that seem impossible to contain, while he isn’t much better at keeping quiet. especially, when your hands are pulling on his blonde hair, driving him crazy. you’re coming undone under him, and martin can’t help but groan at the sight of you, a wreck for him, while taking him so well.

through his grunts, he can barely manage to warm "not gonna last long if you keep on squeezing me like that, kjaere," but it’s to no use, given that you’re still clenching on him tightly, your warm walls swallowing his length fully as he snaps his hips in and out of you in a relentless pace. the desk underneath you shakes with force, given that you’re perched against it while trying to stay on your feet.

it’s not long before your whole body is shaking under his frame, as his left hand lifts your leg up, now hugging him by his waist in an attempt to bring him impossibly closer. you let out another moan that gets muffled by the hand he still has over your mouth, and you’re grateful for it, because in your hazy mind filled with pleasure, you can’t mute your sounds as your orgasm approaches.

“where?” he asks, looking deep into your eyes to ensure you won’t be too loud, before freeing your lips to speak. your voice comes out hoarse when you reply where you want him to cum. “i-inside, please-”.

the norwegian has to crush his mouth to yours in a bruising, hard kiss, before his sounds are the ones that alert the outside world of what's happening in your little workspace. his bruising pace fails when he's on the edge, and a soft moan that slips out of you and directly onto his ear makes him lose it. he's deep into you, coating your insides which provoques your own frenzy to disinvolve.

everything gets too much for you, and you’re not sure you can wrap your mind around your surroundings, but martin keeps you afloat, holding your figure flush against him. "hey, you're okay, i'm here," he reassures, his soft touch grazing your cheek in a loving way when he sees your eyes glaze over. it's purely because of the mind shattering orgasm you just experienced, but he cares, wants to know you're okay. the gesture is intimate, certainly feels almost more intimate than the moment you've just shared, and once you reassure him that you're okay, he kisses the crown of your hair before proceeding to dress himself properly.

"you like the armband, right? i'm bringing it next time," martin shows his million dollar smile before picking his shirt from the floor, and puts it again in a quick motion, smothering the creases in hopes that no one that sees him leaving your office could figure out what went down between you two.

"already thinking about the next time, ødegaard?".

the door knock startles you both, and breaks the atmosphere previously held in the four walls. his hair is a bit messy after you pulled endlessly from the locks not even five minutes ago, but he makes a quick move to tame it, passing his long fingers through his gold strands and setting it in place, exactly how he likes it, before you open the door to find just the one person that you didn’t want to see.

"oh, i knew you'd still be here," arteta calls upon seeing you, still in the secluded area you work in. he doesn't find it weird that you remain here, knowing that you’re the first one to arrive and the last one to leave, just like he is. instead, his eyes furrow when he sees better into your eyes, still a bit glassy.

"martin, did you make her cry?".

his hands are in his pockets, trying to hide off the tent still present in his joggings. it doesn’t take him more than a few seconds to gather a believable enough excuse, and you’re kinda impressed about it, figuring that he might have thought about this more than you thought. "she was upset about the game" he explained, lips pursed without giving out much emotion, quite like how you saw him answer the interviews he did post-match. "told her to not worry too much. we'll win next time,” martin smiled, turning his stare to you now. “for you, right?".

#martin ødegaard x reader #martin ødegaard x you #martin ødegaard imagine #martin odegaard x you #martin odegaard x reader #martin odegaard imagine #football imagine #football x you #football smut #football x reader

[bigification]

Coach's New Uniforms

"What's Tubbo doing in the dugout?" Adam mumbled to his teammate as he arrived to his baseball match. "Hey buddy, I think you got a bit lost. You wandered into our dugout." Adam said in a degrading voice. The man turned around to face him, heaving his massive gut as he turned. "Oh, you must be the captain, Adam. The names Weller, Coach Weller." He reached out for a hand shake with a wide smile. Stunned, Adam eyed Weller up and down while reciprocating the shake, taking note of how plump the man's fingers felt. "Ughh, what happened to Coach Stinger. And... Are you sure your his replacement." Adam said while staring blankly into Wellers stomach. "No idea, they just asked me to show up." Weller responded, feigning ignorance to the not so subtle jab at his appearance. "Regardless, the game starts soon, we should get ready. It looks like most of the team has arrived."

The team began their typical stretching routine, most of the team unbothered by the coach change as they changed coach's a lot. Although Adam felt something off about their new coach, besides his reservations about his weight. He kept an eye on Weller throughout the stretching routine, catching him staring intently at the team as they stretched before looking away when Adam noticed.

The rest of the match went by smoothly. Coach Weller actually had good advice and much to Adams dismay, Weller made for a pretty good coach. The team they were facing was significantly worse than them, so the game wasn't too stressful, just one to boost their stats.

The team huddled around Coach Weller after the match. Hoping to get a bit more information on their new coach. "Good game boys! It was an easy win, but you guys still played great. By the way, I ordered new uniforms for you guys, they should be delivered soon. I expect you to wear them to the next practice." Coach Weller said before promptly leaving. The rest of the team made their way home, slightly confused by Weller acting strange.

Later that night, Adam took to his computer to look into Weller. Searching 'coach weller' into Google popped up a ton of news articles about him. 'Baseball prospect snuffed last minute' 'Baseball pro let's himself go after thought rejection' 'From fit to fat, former baseball pro hospitalized for conditions related to obesity'. Article after article telling a tragic story, almost making him feel bad. "I was wondering how anyone could even get that fat, but I guess that explains it." It also explained why he actually knew his shit, and why he kept staring at his teammates. "He's just jealous of what could have been his life, that explains the staring." Adam thought to himself.

The next morning rolled around, Adam jumped out of bed, late for practice. He ran to his closet and grabbed the new uniform he got in the mail the night before. He ran out of his room, only in his black boxers. He threw on the baseball shirt, noting that it did not fit him at all. Probably some one size fits all kinda thing, but he didn't have time to worry about it. He grabbed his pants and tried to pull them up his legs, but they got snagged on something. He pulled them up again, but they just wouldn't go past his ass. "What the hell! Did they shrink in the wash?" He said, annoyed. He looked down to see what was wrong. "What the fuck!" He yelled out. He couldn't even see his pants because his gut blocked his view of them. He grabbed at the fat that was piling onto his stomach, it was real. Adam freaked out as his belly grew and grew. He started to look pregnant, then it started to look like a beach ball was stuck in his stomach. It all happened so fast. He stumbled back, knocking into the gym equipment he had in his living room. The new weight distribution of his massive gut almost made him fall over, but he managed to stay in his feet. He grabbed onto his bench press, hoping to regain some balance. "My hands, they're massive!?" He yelled as he saw his giant fat filled hands. His eyes drifted up to his biceps. He was visibly shocked as he looked at his hulking biceps. Even the fat in his arms just made them look stronger. It made him feel like maybe this wasn't the end of the world.

Once Adam had gotten over the shock of the situation, he got up and turned towards his mirror. At first it shocked him, his gut was so imposing. It was probably the first thing you would notice about him, and it made him feel so strong. He didn't care for the man boobs he now had, but it was a good trade off for his massive arms. He analysed his round face and his scruffy beard, he felt so intimidating. He lifted up his gut and looked at his thick thighs and plump ass. He was surprised by how little his body sagged under its own weight all things considered, but he sure as hell did not mind. He could even see the large outline of his dick under his boxers. "Heh, nice!" He chuckled

"Right, practice." He remembered that he was almost late for practice. He tried putting on his pants which... Suddenly fit. At first he was confused as they didn't fit just a moment earlier, but then he remembered that he had always been a size 40 waist and his baseball pants had always fit him. He buttoned up his shirt as it now perfectly wrapped around his gut. He looked at himself in the mirror one last time and smiled.

Adam hopped in his tiny car and rolled his seat back before rushing to practice. "What's a good captain if he can't even show up on time." He scolds himself.

He serves into the parking lot and runs out to the dugout, shocked by how out of breath he is from the short jog. "Lookin good captain!" His boys yelled out to him. He passed his coach, just as big as ever, and then met up with his team. For a moment he was shocked. They all must have been at least 300 pounds. Each of them with guts spilling out of their uniforms and sporting big bushy beards. But then the memories of playing with them for the season flooded into his mind. They had always been the fattest in the league. They huddled up, all with their guts squished between them. "Let's show coach Weller that a big team like us can play with the skinny guys." Adam patted his teammates on the back.

Coach Weller crossed his arms and smiled while he watched the team of obese men struggle to make it to first base without needing to take a rest.

[bullet-prooflove]

City Boy: Che 'Taza' Romero

Tagging: @drabbles-mc @ficnation @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @withakindheartx

The first thing Taza notices about Ben is his ability to connect with other people.  The other man has an easy smile, and a laugh that resonates through his entire body, the kids flock to him and he makes the time for each and every one of them. It’s important in a community like theirs, parents are fighting tooth and nail to put food on the table, they send their kids to the community centre, to a place they know they’ll be supported and listened to.

He doesn’t realise he’s an LGBTQ counsellor at first, not until Riz explains it to him.

“Latinx LGBT youth are 45% more likely to attempt suicide compared to non- Latinx youth, it’s an epidemic.” The younger man tells him.

A lot of these kids don’t have a safe space to explore who they are, the community centre is trying to change that by becoming an affirming space, picking up the mantle where home and school can not.

Carmen’s brought Ben in to address that issue. He’s run successful programmes up in Boston, Detroit and Cincinnati and now he’s here in their little border town. Taza sees the disparity and it makes him wonder why Ben’s really here. Santo Padre shouldn’t even be a blip on his radar, not when he’s running programmes with big city money.

When he asks Carmen, she gives him a look, one that he’s become well acquainted with throughout their friendship.

“Ask him yourself.”

Taza decides to bite the bullet and do just that.

Ben’s in the midst of his lunch break Taza sits down across from him. He’s eating empanadas from the food truck outside and writing something down into a A5 notepad. His handwriting is neat and concise.

“You have questions.” He says in that gruff voice of his, closing the note pad and setting his pen down on top of it.

“Yea, a ton of them.” Taza responds, his arms crossed over this chest.

“You can ask me over a beer tonight.” Ben says as he finishes up his lunch. “I’ve got back-to-back sessions, starting in the next five minutes.”

This is how it starts, the thing between the two of them.

After the community centre has closed Taza finds himself standing in the garden that Lila helped create. There’s fairy lights entwined in the wooden struts that jut out of the ground, casting a warm glow across the space. In his hand, he holds a beer from the local brewery. It’s the one with the citrus tang, his favourite.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Ben says as he stands next to him. “You don’t get to see stars like this in the city.”

“I heard you were a city boy.” Taza returns, tilting his head so he can study the profile of Ben’s face.

He’s a handsome man. A full head of salt and pepper hair that Taza wants to run his fingers through, it matches the beard that lines his jaw. His shoulders are board, muscular like a boxer’s. Taza wonders if that’s what Ben does in his spare time.

It’s been twenty-five years since he’s felt this way about another man. He’s had fleeting attractions in the past, but this is different. It transcends physicality, he wants to know this man intimately. His thoughts, his feelings, his hopes, his dreams. He wants everything.

“I was.” Ben responds to Taza’s question before he gestures to the memorial bench underneath the fairy lights. One of the kids had taken his own life last year, Carmen had wanted to make sure he was remembered, and the bench was how she honoured him. Taza sits down alongside Ben, their knees bumping against each other lightly. “Small town living sits me better these days.”

“Why here?” Taza asks, gesturing at the landscape. “Santo Padres a big step down from the kinda cash you must have been pulling in the big city.”

“Not everything is about money.” Ben says quietly, his thumb scratching away the label of his beer bottle.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Taza points out as he watches the paper peel.

“No I didn’t.” Ben says as he reviews the skyline.

Silence falls between the two men. It’s a mild night, it’s light and balmy. The scent of Ben’s aftershave floats along the breeze, something earthy with a mandarin overtone. It’s intoxicating, rich and deep, Taza wants to spend the rest of the night breathing it in. He’s tired of being alone, of hiding the truth about who he really is.

“My partner died.” Ben says finally into the space between them. “I couldn’t stand living there without him, so I left.”

“I’m sorry.” Taza says softly.

He means it. He knows what it’s like to lose a piece of yourself. He thought he would spend the rest of his life with David and then El Palo murdered him.

“You didn’t kill him.” Ben says taking a sip of his beer.

“Someone else did?” Taza questions.

Ben runs a hand through his hair, a loose wave falls across his forehead and it takes everything in Taza not to reach out and brush it away.

“Yea.” Ben says as he stares straight ahead. “Someone did.”

“I lost a friend the same way back in 95.” Taza finds himself telling Ben. “It destroyed me.”

There must be something in the tone of his voice, he doesn’t realise he’s betrayed himself until Ben asks.

“Just a friend?”

It’s the first time he’s talked about David, he hasn’t breathed the other man’s name in over twenty years. It still hurts to think about him even after all this time, but there’s a catharsis in it because sitting here with Ben…

He knows the other man gets it. He might be the only other person in the world who does.

“I loved him.” Taza confesses into the darkness. “And he loved me.”

“Your club doesn’t know do they?” Ben says, taking a swig of his beer.

 Taza shakes his head.

“I’d appreciate it if it stays that way.”

“I’m not in the business of outing people.” Ben tells him as he leans back against the wood, his arm coming to rest along frame. “That’s not what I’m about.”

“This is probably the most honest I’ve been with anyone in twenty-five years.” Taza says quietly, rolling the beer bottle between his palms.

“That’s a long time to hold a secret.” Ben says as he tips his head towards Taza. “Let me ask you something, does it still need to be a secret?”

“I don’t know anymore.” Taza says as he studies the label of his beer bottle. “Five years ago, I would have said yes but now… Things are changing, we’re more involved in the community, in programmes like yours, I don’t know if it matters anymore.”

“Give it some thought.” Ben says as he raises to his feet, his hand lightly clasping Taza’s shoulder. “You might find it’s time to step into the light.”

Love Taza? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#taza romero #che taza romero #che 'taza' romero #mayans mc #mayans fx

[insidetanhead]

the night we met [tsukishima kei}

It was the night after the volley match between Karasuno and Aoba Johsai. kiyoko invited me to watch the match with her since she stopped being the manager for that team. when the match was over I went straight home, even though kiyoko told me that he wanted to introduce me to the team. but I didn’t really want to be drained from meeting a lot of new people, even though I wouldn't really talk to them it's enough to made me feel tired. I believe that kiyoko realized by now what kind of person I am. since I've been always hanging around her these last couple weeks since I moved to this high school for the eleventh grade.

The route I have been walking to my house is tiring and I know I could’ve just used my bike, but I would rather spend my time outside rather than inside my house. It was then when I heard someone ring his bicycle bell at me, I could recognize by their blonde hair that it was him, karasuno’s middle blocker, Tsukishima. he then stopped the bike to my left.

He said “you know something unpleasant might happen to school girl like walking home by herself in the middle night."

“You know that it’s rude to think that all girls are weak?” I retorted.

"I’m just trying to give you a ride, that’s all.” he said sheepishly

i chuckled “I think it’s very easy to piss you off.”

I sat on the back of his bike, He has yet to say anything since he started cycling. It’s been 10 mins of silence, but it was then I realized that he's been taking me down a wrong turn. Yet I couldn't even tell where i was.

“Eh.. Kei?” I whispered

“Why has it taken you so long to realize that I have been taking you the wrong way?…”, he laughed. “…I know what i’m doing”

Finally he stopped at the river next to my neighborhood. He leaned the bike onto a nearby bench, and laid down on the river bank.

“I've recently found that I love to spend my time here, it’s quiet you know?” he stated.

“I think you forgot that you’re gonna take me home.” I jokingly jeered at him.

“Just stay in here for a bit, plus I need someone to vent at....” he replied. I rolled my eyes and sat next to him. His brown eyes were looking up at the brilliant night sky. and I agreed, it’s very peaceful here.

“....You know my neighbor has been pretty loud for a couple weeks.”

I honestly don’t really pay attention to him, I am drowned by the night sky.

He continued “yeah, my neighbour’s uncle is kinda awful though, always screaming all the time. I can even hear him from three houses away.”

Then I realized what he was trying to say. but there is no way he’s my neighbor.

“Do you even know that I live right next to you?” he whispered.

“I'm not sure…” I replied.

“Gosh I don't think you ever pay attention, you're always deep in your own mind I bet.” he stated.

It’s just embarrassing, I never realized that he lived next to me. I always leave my house early and return very late so I don’t need to go through the chaos that happens in my house. I stood up and left, but yet he stopped me.

“You don’t need to explain anything to me. I understand if you never want to be around or talk to anyone.”, I was trying so hard to hold my tears back because it’s gonna be embarrassing if I cry.

“I’ve been watching you lately (y/n). I understand why you’re trying to avoid people.” He seemed very worried about me but I still can’t look at him in the eyes.

“Even my mom is worried about you, we can hear your brother beat you every night. I know that’s the reason why you're always wear those long sleeves.”,

I can’t hold back my tears any more, I bursted out tears. My chest started to hurt. I covered up my face, I did’t want him to see me cry. I don’t want anyone to think that i’m just a pathetic girl. The second after my outburst he started to hug me very tight. I still can remember what he smells like. He rubbed my head and just kept saying

“you’ll be alright (y/n).”

#haikyuu!! #tsukishima kei #tsukishima kei imagine #tsukishima imagine #tsukishima x y/n #tsukishima x you #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima fluff #karasuno #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fanfiction #tsukishima fic #tsukishima smut #tsukishima comfort #fanfiction #anime fanfiction #hinata shoyo #kageyama tobio #Spotify

[kleptocurency]

can you please write a lukamos story where real madrid lost against barcelona and sergio is really mad at the team but only luka can calm him down.

Thank youu🫶🏼

sorry this took so long I ran out of storage in my Google docs :(( but here it is!!

pairing: Sergio Ramos/luka modric

wordcount: 857

the referee blew his whistle, signifying the match was over.

the team dragged themselves off the pitch, and Luka looked at the scoreboard one last time. 5-0 in favour of Barcelona.

luka sighed and rubbed his face, he mentally prepared himself for one of Sergio's outbursts once he got to the locker room.

it was a horrible game, with little to no possession of the ball hardly any of their shots were on target. luka felt so disappointed in himself. he could've performed better, he knew it. he felt his eyes start to get heavy, and tears started crushing up toward his eyes.

he couldn't cry, not now anyway. he has to help his team first, he can only wonder what the sorrow of his teammates is like. he was the calm one, the logical one, and he should act like it.

he walked through the tunnel, dread cutting his insides as he made his way to the locker room.

as soon as he entered he found himself suffocating in the tense air. he walked over to his bench and it felt like he has 100-pound weights resting on his shoulders.

glancing around he saw tense shoulders and lowered heads. but oddly, no Sergio. That couldn't mean anything good, perhaps Sergio took Luka's advice to cool down when he felt angry. luka could only hope that was it.

luka sighed and rubbed his face, he'll find Sergio to make sure he's okay later. he can't trust Sergio to be alone who knows where.

he grabbed his bag and rummaged for his towel, he guessed most of the team will go straight home. especially to hide after that horrifying game. though he took his jersey off leaving just a long-sleeved white t-shirt he heard a door fly open quite harshly.

luka turned around, he noticed most of his teammates had already left without saying goodbye. he spotted Sergio, still in his kit and breathing heavily. oh boy, this could only go well.

“That was a fucking horrible game, ” Sergio started up, his voice only raised slightly.

Sergio never looked like himself when he was frustrated, he never did. almost like he was taken over. it didn't feel natural.

a brave soul spoke up.

“We know, Sergio, what's your point? ”

it was Gareth, of course, it was. Gareth was mostly calm but he did stir the pot. it always resulted in arguments and fights between the two.

“my point? there is no point.” Sergio spat, making his way over to Gareth who tensed up immediately.

“you all played shitty, and instead of trying to understand why everyone played like they lost a leg. I find half the fucking team gone-” Sergio pushed Gareth but he stood his ground. “and the rest of you fucking sulking like injured dogs. ” Sergio was real close to Gareth. thankfully Gareth didn't do anything psychical but he provoked Sergio.

“Maybe if you did your job, as captain, and didn't fuck off out of nowhere, you could've gone over strategies. but I forgot you're a shitty captain. ”

Sergio punched Gareth.

gareth only scoffed.

“and control your anger issu-”

luka intervened.

“Gareth! Please, be quiet.” he walked over to the two, Gareth followed his orders but they didn't take their eyes off each other.

“Sergio, look at me” Luka grabbed his arm, trying to slowly guide him away from Gareth. but he was not for moving.

“Sergio,” Luka said as a warning.

“Luka did you hear what the bastard said? ”he finally peeled his eyes away from Gareth and looked at the small Croat next to him.

“yes I did Sergi, he's just being an arsehole and winding you up. ” Luka glared at Gareth who only looked away.

luka felt like a nursery teacher.

he managed to break the two apart and the Welshmen had left. Luka looked around the changing room, the whole team had left. probably to get away from another fight.

luka grabbed both of Sergio's biceps and sat him down on the bench. he crouched down in front of him and gave him a stern look.

“I'm not a child, Luka,” he stated, Sergio didn't like getting babied, he was a grown-ass man.

luka sighed and maintained eye contact with him.

“yes, but you act like one. Sergio, I told you about these outbursts. it damages the team.” Luka caressed the Spaniard's face, trying to speak as softly and gently as his voice would allow him.

“I tried this time. ” Sergio huffed, he leaned into Luka's touch. no one could make him feel as at peace as Luka could.

“I know baby, and I appreciate that, it'll take a while before we can tackle this, okay? ”Luka waited for a response

Sergio looked into the little man's eyes. so warm and full of love. it made him feel like a teenager. luka had that stupid puppy look on his face, how could Sergio ever resist him?

“Okay.”

luka smiled, a smile that travelled to his eyes. he kissed Sergio, this tattooed Spaniard was a lot of work. but fortunately for him, Luka was a hard worker.

#luka modric #sergio ramos #modramos #lukamos #fan fiction #anger issues #short #football rpf

[hphmmatthewluther]

The Phantom Woes of Matthew Luther: Part 1

It’s time, at last! This story features:

Verna Malinda ( @gaygryffindorgal​ ) Camille Jeanes ( @camillejeaneshphm​ ) Rosie Mayfield ( @magicapandora​ )

As well as characters from:

@stupendousbookworm​ @catohphm​ @nelabelievesindragons​ @endlessly-cursed​

The Phantom Woes of Matthew Luther

 “Matthew Luther hasn’t come out of Ravenclaw Common Room at all recently, and his friends and quidditch teammates are starting to worry. With the help of the Most Powerful Witch at Hogwarts, can you find out what’s happened to both Matthew and Helena Ravenclaw without being spirited away yourself?”

 Part 1/4 : Bring the Boy Back Home

 To think the weekend had started out so normally. Just like always, a smallish crowd of students had gathered at the Quidditch Stadium to watch whichever team had managed to book a spot first practice for their upcoming matches. Today, it was the blue-clad Ravenclaw team who had taken to the air, under the ever-watchful eye of captain Orion Amari. But Eagle-Eyed watchers might have noticed that there was one less player out on (or rather, above) the pitch. The first to notice was, naturally enough, a quidditch player herself. Verna Malinda, fifth-year Gryffindor and chaser for her house’s team, frowned at the players overhead. She saw the seeker, the beaters and the keeper, who she recognised as Ara Black. However, only two chasers were in play, the captain, and Skye Parkin…so that begged the question:

 “Where’s Mathieu?” came a hushed voice from behind Verna. Turning around, she saw the worried face of Camille Jeanes, one of her dormmates. She too was looking up and frowning, but more nervous than perplexed.

“You noticed too, then?” Verna asked, causing Camille to jump in her seat.

“Eep! V-Verna, sorry, didn’t see you there…” she began, taking a second to calm down. “What were you saying?”

“You noticed that Luther isn’t up there practising.” Verna explained, leaning back on the bench. “You’re pretty close with him, know what’s wrong?”

Camille shook her head. “He wasn’t at breakfast either…I’m worried…”

Verna nodded, frowning. “I’m sure it’s nothing too bad. Maybe he’s got the flu. Or overslept.”

 Just then, Andre Egwu, Ravenclaw’s seeker, slowed down overhead, talking to Orion before descending. Verna listened intently, and picked up part of the conversation

“-might be able to help with Curse-Breaker-”

Curse-Breaker, the two thought. One look between them and they both knew. Andre’s nickname for none other than Matthew Luther.

“Come on, let’s see what he’s up to.” Verna said, a sudden determination in her eyes.

“Really?” Camille asked, following her out of the quidditch stands, “I wouldn’t want to be worrying over nothing…though I do that a lot…”

Verna chuckled. “You sound a fair bit like Matthew, no wonder you two get along so well.”

 They headed down through the stands, watching as Andre appeared, placing his broom to the side. He watched as someone else came up to the stadium. They were wearing a fully pink/white ensemble: pink heels, patterned pink-and-white skirt, a fluffy pink jacket that stopped at their waist, and a thin white scarf. Unfortunately for Verna and Camille, while Andre hadn’t noticed them, the person in pink most certainly had.

 “Hey guys!” Rosie Mayfield said, waving and smiling brightly. Andre twisted around and blinked in surprise at the two, who had gone as red as their house colours at being found out. “You here about Matty too?” they asked.

Camille opened her mouth and closed it a few times, but it was Verna who finally spoke up. “Y-Yeah…” she said, moving ever-so-slightly closer, “we…saw he’s not at practice.”

Andre sighed, nodding in confirmation. “Yeah. I was only asking Rosie to see if they knew anything I didn’t…you two haven’t seen him recently then?”

The question seemed more directed at Camille, which Verna supposed was fair. Everyone knew those two were like brother and sister. Millie and Matt, an inseparable duo.

 Camille shook her head. “No, that’s why I was here, I was hoping I’d see him, but…” she trailed off, looking like she was about to cry. Rosie placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, it’s ok, Millie.” They said, “It’s not like we don’t know where he is, since Andre’s in the same dorm with him, so…” they turned to look at him, gesturing at Camille.

“Right! Sorry, yes, darling, it’s ok, Matt’s up in Ravenclaw Tower, in his dormitory…” his smile faded slightly, “...which is the problem.”

Millie sniffed, wiping her eyes. “Wh…what do you mean?”

 Before Andre could say anymore, one of the reserve Chasers and Orion Amari appeared.

“Hey! We need you on the pitch!” the other Chaser said. Andre groaned.

“Sorry, I was-”

“It is quite alright, Andre.” Orion said, sighing, “You have done what you can for Matthew. It’s out of your hands for now, and so we must now prepare for our next role in these events.”

 Andre nodded, slightly confused by his captain’s words, but said his goodbyes to the others and followed the reserve chaser out from the stands. Orion turned to follow them, but briefly turned back.

“All of Ravenclaw House is worried about what’s happened. You will need to talk to them to continue on the path you’ve chosen.” he said matter-of-factly.

“That…doesn’t make any sense.” Camille said, very much confused.

Orion just smiled. “Has the path chosen by Matthew Luther ever made sense?”

Verna clicked her tongue. Orion was being even more opaque and cryptic than usual. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Captain!” the reserve chaser yelled. Orion remained unfazed, waved to the three, and left.

 ***

It wasn’t until lunchtime that day that Camille, Rosie and Verna were finally able to talk to the Ravenclaws.

“Did either of you know what Andre was going on about?” Verna said, stepping into the Great Hall, “stuff about “paths” and that.”

Camille shrugged. “I don’t know…sorry.”

Rosie pondered this. “Maybe…maybe he’s asking us to do something about this? He doesn’t seem to think anyone else can.”

They came up to the Ravenclaw tower, where most people were reading while eating, taking care not to leave any crumbs on the pages of their books. Camille scanned the table. She saw Cato Reese eating a sandwich and reading a book on Charms, Coraline Wytte passing the water jug to Isabelle Dubois, but no sign of Matthew Luther.

 At that moment, Rosie decided to take the initiative and actually ask someone. They walked over to where Tulip was and smiled.

“Oh, hey guys!” she began, “Mind if I ask you guys some things? It’d be a real big help!” Camille and Verna watched in awe as Rosie worked their magic, Camille noticing one of the other students next to Tulip going bright pink at how near he was to them. Before long, Rosie beckoned the others over. “Ok…so, what’s up with Matty?”

 Tulip looked up at them, looking unsure where to begin. “Matthew Luther’s been up in Ravenclaw Tower for a while. None of us thought much of it at first, sometimes he needs a bit of alone time, but this is…definitely the longest he’s been like this. Normally Helena Ravenclaw’s able to convince him to talk to someone about it by now…”

The three non-Ravenclaws looked slightly confused. “Helena?”

Tulip rolled her eyes. “You know…the Grey Lady. The Ravenclaw ghost?” At last, they nodded in understanding. “Well, yeah. Matthew Luther and her are pretty close. The amount of times he’s accidentally called her mum, honestly…”

 Camille suddenly looked rather annoyed. “What’s so wrong with that, exactly?” she said a little louder than she expected.

“...Nothing, Camille Jeanes.” Tulip replied, looking rather guilty. “But…yeah, that’s what’s happened. The problem is of course that it’s not like it was back in year 2. He’s got prefect duties and that quidditch match is coming up. Matthew Luther can’t afford to be up in his room like that.”

The boy who had gone bright pink, and seemed unable to meet Rosie’s eyes, finally spoke up. “Y-you could um…try going to see him yourselves…”

 Verna considered all of this. She knew that if she flaked on her duties as both chaser and prefect, it would really mess things up. Something had to be happening with Matt. Something more than a sulk.  “That’d be nice, but we’re not exactly allowed in other house dorms, are we?”

The boy continued. “Actually, um…there’s no rule like that for Ravenclaw. If you can get past the riddle you’re allowed in.”

 Rosie grinned. “That’s it! That’s what we’ll do!” they declared, smiling at the boy. “Thanks so much for letting us know, um…”

“...V-Victor.” he said, scratching under his jumper’s turtleneck.

“Victor! You’re the best! I owe ya one!” They said, winking, before turning to the others. “Right! Shall we?”

Camille nodded, looking slightly more determined than before. “We’ve got a path ahead of us, um…it would seem.”

 Verna chuckled. “Yeah, there’s something about all this…best to figure out what the hell’s going on.”

Rosie brought their hands together excitedly. “That’s the spirit! Let’s wolf down our lunch and head on up there!”. The three did just that, and as they left passed by the quidditch team as they left the Great Hall, Andre giving them a silent thank-you, Orion nodding at them knowingly, and that reserve chaser not even acknowledging them. Camille looked behind her and saw him staring back at them, scowling.

 ***

Their journey up to Ravenclaw Tower was quiet for the most part, with most people eating lunch in the Great Hall, but they stopped in their tracks when they got close to the entrance of the Tower.

“Hear that?” Verna asked, glancing to and fro. It sounded like stomping and yelling coming from up ahead. The three drew their wands in preparation.

“What could it be…?” Camille wondered aloud. She was sure she recognised that voice, but it was muffled by the castle walls so she couldn’t fully make it out. When they opened the next door, they saw the entrance to Ravenclaw Tower, made of dark oak wood with a bronze eagle statue as a door knocker. A few feet away, looking rather like a caged tiger with a toothache, was none other than Merula Snyde.

 “Stupid door!” she hissed, “that’s barely even a riddle!”

The bronze eagle looked at her, expressionless. “Is that your final answer?”

“Of course not you damn fool! Just let me-” she would have most likely kept ranting if it weren’t for her noticing Verna (who rolled her eyes in exasperation), Camille (who looked almost angry that she was here) and Rosie (who was holding in a laugh).

“...Malinda? Jeanes? Mayfield?” Merula said, her confusion causing her to calm down. “What in the name of Merlin are you doing here?”

 Verna crossed her arms. “We could ask you the same thing.” Camille repeated the gesture. Rosie, however, seemed to know her reason for being here already.

“Aw, were you worried about Matt?” Rosie asked, trying not to smirk. “That’s so sweet…” Verna looked at them, confused, as Millie began to understand. Merula went pink in the face.

“Shut up! It’s not like that!” she snapped. “I was just…well…I have prefect duty with him, see…”

Rosie was bouncing on their toes at this point. “Eee! You have prefect duty together! That’s the cutest thing ever!”

 Camille, too, was beginning to smile. “Aw, ‘rula, you should have said-”

“Do not test me, Jeanes…”

Verna, meanwhile, was still slightly confused. “Wait…are they-” Come to think of it, they had gone to the Celestial Ball together, and had dinner at Madam Puddifoot once, and were often seen talking to each other a lot more than rivals usually did-

“Oh wow.” Verna said finally, “You sure know how to pick ‘em, don’t you Snyde-”

“What is that supposed to mean?!-”

At that moment, the Eagle cleared its bronze throat. “Do you have an answer to my riddle?”

 The four looked at each other. “Can we hear it first, pretty please?” Rosie asked, still smiling at Merula, who was fiddling with the strap of her satchel, staring at the floor.

The eagle nodded, and began to recite:

“What can go around the wood but never go inside the wood?”

There was a brief silence as they thought it over. Verna was the first to think aloud. “Around the wood…but not inside…what sort of…”

Rosie frowned. “Ugh, riddles are the worst sometimes.”

Merula nodded. “Luther told me that half the time the answer on the door is just “a river”, but I have a feeling that’s not it this time…”

“Could it be?” “No, you’re barking up the wrong tree there.”

 Camille looked up. “Of course! Um, I think I might have it…maybe…”

Rosie squealed in joy. “You do?!” Merula, too, had a smile on her face. “Say it! Go on!”

“O-Ok, um…” Camille turned to face the bronze eagle. “What goes around the wood but never inside the wood…the bark of a tree!...right?”

There was a brief nothing, which was full of all the fear in the world for Camille, but it passed, and the door creaked open.

 “YES!” Verna yelled, punching the air. “Nice one, Millie!” Rosie cheered, and Camille felt a little shell-shocked. “I…I did it!”

Even Merula was grinning in relief. “You sure did! You’re not just a pretty face, huh?”

 Before Camille could respond to that, Merula rushed into the Common Room. “Let’s go!” Rosie exclaimed, the three following after the Slytherin Prefect, past several shelves of books and up several staircases until they came to the boy’s dormitory.

 Most of the doors had been opened by the students leaving that morning, and only one remained shut. Merula was staring at it, playing with her satchel’s straps again.

“Well? Gonna knock?” Rosie asked, gesturing to the door.

“Of course! I just…” she said, trailing off. Seemingly understanding, Verna stepped forward and knocked thrice. “H-Hey! Matthew?! I-It’s us!”

“Mathieu? You ok?”

“Luther, what’s happening in there?”

“It’s alright Matty, we’re here to help!”

 There was the sound of shuffling from inside the dormitory.

Merula was quickly losing patience, but it was more out of worry than anything else. “Alright, that does it! Hope you’re decent, Luther! Alohomora!”

There was a clack, and the door started opening. The shuffling inside intensified, before there was a thump noise. The group entered the room and, half-on half-off of the furthest bed, was a tall boy with green eyes, pyjama trousers, a dressing gown, and an incredibly serious case of bed hair. Verna would later say of it that it looked more like a hedgehog than Merula’s hair normally did.

 Matthew Luther seemed frozen in fear, his mouth opening and closing a couple of times. The fear seemed to morph into what could only be described as shame as he nervously spun his silver bracelet around his wrist. “...H-Hey guys…I-...I’m sorry, I…”

Camille sighed, looking him up and down “Oh, Mathieu…”

“There’s no need to apologise.” Rosie reassured him, “We just wanted to check up on you.”

Verna nodded in agreement. “Yeah, no need to worry, really.” Merula, meanwhile, walked across the dormitory so she was standing right in front of him.

 “...You look terrible.” Merula said, smiling in spite of herself. “That…wasn’t a good way to start, um-”

“N-No, it’s ok…not like you’re wrong, is it…” Matthew said, shrugging “I um…don’t you guys have lessons?”

“Luther, it’s Saturday.”

“It is?! Oh, thank god, I thought I’d been in bed for the whole weekend…”

“Wait, you thought it was Monday?”

“Well, yeah, and I thought I’d overslept for Charms, and that really made me feel bad, and…yeah.”

The three others watched, slightly gobsmacked. “It’s like they’ve forgotten we’re here, isn’t it?” Verna whispered.

Camille nodded. “He definitely seems to have brightened up quickly…but that’s a good thing, right?”

Rosie finally cleared their throat when it looked like Merula was about to try flattening his hair down with her hand. “Sorry, it’s just…well, we were wondering how we could help.”

Camille nodded. “Mm, we’d like to see you around again, Mathieu.”

 Matthew sighed, sitting down on his bed. “Y-Yeah, I just…” he sniffed, trying to steady himself. “It’s…about Helena. She’s…gone.”

The four looked at each other. “When you say…gone…” Verna began, scratching her temple.

“I don’t know what’s happened. She’s nowhere to be found. I looked everywhere for her…she’s…I don’t know if she’s left…or…she’s…something’s happened to her…or she…a…ab-...”

Merula placed her hand on his shoulder. “You thought she’d abandoned you.”

Matthew nodded. “I know she’d never, but…that fear that she had…that I didn’t have her anymore because of something I did…”

 Verna sighed. “A missing ghost…” she wondered what it’d be like if Nearly Headless Nick went missing. Slightly more quiet feasts, but definitely an outcry to find out just what had happened.

Rosie sat down on the other side of Matt (Merula was on the other side, her hand still firmly on his shoulder) “Ok…tell you what. You want to find out what’s happened with Helena, right?” When Matthew nodded, they continued, “So: we can help you find out what’s happened with Helena, but you gotta help us, and help yourself, by getting out of this dorm again. Does that sound doable?” they asked, no form of belittling or patronising present in their voice. Matthew looked at Merula, smiled, before turning back to Rosie.

“A-Alright. I’ll try. Promise.”

 “That’s all we ask.” They replied, getting up. “Ok! First off, let’s get you some actual clothes…”

Merula rolled her eyes, “We’ll be here a while, then…” she whispered.

Camille smiled at Matt, happy to see her baby brother again, while Verna peered out the window. Though it was daytime, the moon hovered in the sky above the quidditch grounds, tinted blue as the sun shone overhead. She wondered silently just what she’d gotten herself into as Rosie came in with multiple sets of clothes for Matthew to choose from, insisting that he could do with more designer clothes in his wardrobe.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #100 followers!!! #matthew luther #verna malinda #camille jeanes #rosie mayfield #cato reese #coraline wytte #isabelle dubois #ara black #merula snyde #hphm fic #the phantom woes of matthew luther

[quincyhorst]

RG: Émile and Ladji post-FFI

Some more ÉmiLadji, now this time from the reserve keeper's POV too, because he also went through his own issues post FFI.

...I found this while browsing my drafts. I have no idea why I hadn't posted it here before, oops-

Here's a post I recommend reading for better context. And this one, too.

Back when the "Ogre" match happened, Émile stood in the bench the whole time, although not by choice. Originally his expectations about the match were positive, like usual, but when in just 15 minutes the rivals were winning by 6 goals... He started to feel very nervous, and it got even worse as the match kept progressing with the score getting worse and worse.

I'm not sure if this match was treated normally with a half-time and such, but I like the idea that around the 18th enemy goal, Émile started to beg the coach to play, completely distressed. He couldn't just stay there and sit! Maybe Ladji had an issue catching those goals, but maybe he could do it instead! The french coach was quick to listen and act, but to both their surprise, Ladji refused to leave the goal himself and begged Émile to stay on his place.

Eventually, the frenchies straight up left the field at the 36th goal, and thus the whole mess that fell over RG happened. Given he was not the one who failed to catch so many goals Émile was -partially- free from being the center of drama, although he couldn't help but feel guilty upon what had happened. For a while, Ladji's stubborn choice to stay in goal puzzled him, and it became the first major obstacle on their relationship. But as Émile searched for an answer, he finally got it by the keepers main words.

"Regardless who played, the match would've ended the same. They were too strong for both of us. Besides, if somebody is going to be ridiculed from now on... I'd prefer it to be me than you."

(Remember, Émile is part of the team Celebrities, at the literal same level as Pierre, Julien, Ronnie... Maybe it was his movie collection or not, but he seems to be carrying a HUGE fame.)

The answer left the reserve conflicted. He was still pissed off for not being able to do anything, but he could at least start to see where Ladji came from. As the FFI came to an end the two managed to at least be on good terms again, which was appreciated. Émile felt so bad on the idea of losing a friendship with such a cool artist like him...

When returning home, Émile saw from the sidelines the huge shitshow the media had turned into due to juvenile soccer. And things didn't got any better when reuniting with his family. They were happy Émile didn't went by much trouble (And hell, his father was willing to help cover anything that could hurt his reputation)... But the sudden dissing of his teammates and the main keeper started to make him uneasy. He tried to do all he could do defend them, but it was futile. Rose Griffon was now a bad-luck name among everyone. Time only made Émile realize even more the reasons behind Ladji's choice back then. Don't get him wrong, his family is WAY nicer than what's pictured here, but such a huge stain would have hitted them in many ways otherwise.

Gradually, things returned to their normal pace for Émile. Though with a little twist, and that he was in constant contact with the former Rose Griffon members; given he had gotten almost all their numbers and some addresses, even. However, even if it had been almost a month away from the FFI, Émile couldn't help but still think about Ladji, wonder what could be of him. So, getting his address thanks to Pierre, he decided to contact him via a letter. Originally it was to check out on him... But right at the last minute, he decided to ask if they could hang out some time. Don't mind him, he just wanted to see the artist in action one last time.

Time kept passing, perhaps even more than Émile would've wanted, yet with no response. Pierre told him he also had been ignored in person, which made things even more upsetting. However, right when he had almost given up, his older sister surprised with the main keeper's letter in the mall. His reply was quite short, but he did accept to hang out together! Hell yeah!!!

And this is where everything I've written before happens, after their first visit the two become close with one and another, even to the point they attend Uni together thanks to Émile's aspiration to become a cinema director. Studies might be quite hard at times, but student life isn't bad, making tons of friends! And yeah, he's still in contact with the other RG members to this day too :')

Every weekend, he and Ladji like to go to Carrousel Cafe as a place to rest, given is nearby the university. Plus, Laurent's work hours occur there, so the three like to spend time and talk for a while. Curiously, it was also here where Émile gained the idea for his final uni project... But here's where I end the post.

#HC:ina11 #rose griffon #Émile Razzano #Ladji Paara #I'd tag Laurent but not sure #There's something with him coming soon btw #....If you saw one of the tags with an error..... YOU SAW NOTHING

[lovekavehh]

Tennis Court

(Ayato X reader, Modern AU, High school students,SFW)

Everyday Ayato would go to the tennis court near school to practice. Sometimes even hang out with fellow students. He found it quite relaxing to release his stress by tennis.

“ Go Ayato!” Thoma yells from the bench as he watches Ayato verse his fellow classmate. The ball bounced in the air as Ayato swung his racket. The ball bounced back and forth above the net. “You got this Y/N!!” Ayaka yells as Yoimiya jumps up and down. The score was 9-8, Ayato was winning. Y/N let go of the ball as it bounced on the ground. They flew their arm back and swung. The ball flew past Ayato’s head as he stood there shocked. He smirked at the sight of seeing you all mad.

“Someone’s getting mad” He chuckles as he comes closer to Y/N. The net slightly separating them, “Just remember this is a practice match Y/N. Try not to get too mad.” After the last match, Ayato ended up winning anyway.

Y/N and Ayato had the same classes together. Considering that the both of them are in AP classes. Though the two of them would never talk in school. Only on court. Yes, Some harsh words are passed around when on court but it just makes Ayato more riled up. Y/N would never ever talk to him outside of the court. Until the two of them are now seat mates in most classes.

“Hey, Are you going to the tennis court today?” Ayato has his body turned to Y/N.

“Yeah..Why?”

“Just wondering..Maybe we can do another practice match” Ayato winks as Y/N rolled their eyes and nodded.

It became a daily routine for Ayato and Y/N to do practice matches after school. Sometimes even grab something to eat afterwards. It was now nighttime as Y/N and Ayato put the equipment away. While packing up, Ayato puts his hand on Y/N’s shoulder as he says “May I walk you home for tonight?”. Y/N turns around and looks up, “You may” . They both smiled and started walking.

Ever since then, Y/N and Ayato became tennis buddies. It became a daily routine to practice,pack up, and walk home together. “Hey man, Are you sure you don’t like them?” Thoma says as he closes his locker. “I think..I do” Ayato looked down on the ground as Thoma smiles.

“Hehe Y/N you definitely like him stop denying it” Y/N was having a sleep over with Ayaka and Yoimiya. “I do not like him! Stop saying such nonsense” Ayaka and Yoimiya sit there and giggling.

6 months later

It was now the last day of high school. The graduation ceremony was soon to start. Though, Ayato and Y/N seem to be at the tennis court. They began the match as the ball bounced back and forth above the net. Laughter was heard from the two of them. Ayato ended up winning once again.

“I would like to see you win some day Y/N.” He smiles as he comes up to them.

“You deserve a reward Mr.Kamisato” Y/N cups his face as they pulled him in for a kiss. He puts his hand around their waist as they both smile into the kiss.

The end.

Tennis is pretty fun⭐️ I hope to find my lover while playing tennis.☹️ This is my first story on here btw!

#kamisato ayato #kamisato ayaka #yoimiya #ayato fanfic #genshin impact #thoma genshin #ayato x reader

[tryan-a-bex]

Secrets

Read on AO3 

“Hello, Anya,” Dream gazed softly down at the little girl who’d just entered The New Inn with her parents. “What are we working on today?”

“Anya has to write a story!” she exclaimed, settling into the booth where Dream usually tutored her in language arts.

“Ah. And do you know what the story will be about?” he asked, sliding in across from her.

“Penguins!”

“Of course. How will your story start?”

“One day, Anya and Papa went to the aquarium,” she dictated slowly, clumsily printing the words in her notebook. “A…”

“Q… U… A…” Dream continued prompting, as she laboriously spelled the long word.

Hob slid into the next booth over, bringing the drinks Loid and Yor had ordered. 

“You wanted to talk to me?” he smiled.

“Yes,” Loid began. “We want to apologize for taking advantage of your babysitting services. We’re usually not such irresponsible parents. That first time, when she ran away from Franky…”

“Not to worry,” Hob winked, “you were obviously otherwise occupied.” He enjoyed the lovely blush that spread across Yor’s face, and was that a matching one on Loid’s?

“Then the next time, we were in the park together, and there was a car accident. I’m a doctor, so I went to assist, but I asked Anya to wait for me on a nearby bench. When I came to look for her, she had already headed over here to find you.”

“It was no problem!” Hob insisted. “Better here than watching a car accident being cleaned up! That could have been traumatizing!” It was a better excuse than Anya’s “Papa had to work” or Loid’s vague “Something came up,” at the time, Hob thought, but it still didn’t explain why Bond left Anya’s side, nor did it really cover the cut on Loid’s arm.

“Yes,” Yor picked up the conversation, “and last time, when I brought Anya so early on a Saturday, my coworker had an emergency and they called me at the last minute. I’m sorry, I was so tired I didn’t really notice how tired you were as well.”

“Anya had a lovely visit with Dream and his sister, who was visiting that day!” Hob brushed off all their apologies. Even though he’d been 85% asleep at the time, he still remembered Yor’s sharp alertness, the way she was watching behind herself as if for danger even as she thrust Anya at him. He was pretty sure the only true part about that excuse was that work had called her in at the last minute, and he wasn’t interested in speculating about her work—not since that first day they met, when she vaulted over a table and he saw his life flash before his eyes. He abruptly decided he was going to call them out, just a little.

“After all, all families have secrets.”

“Oh, no, no, we’re just a normal family!” Yor protested, thereby confirming Hob’s suspicions. There was nothing like a protestation of innocence to confirm guilt. Loid, meanwhile, wondered why Hob had just as much as admitted to them that he and Dream had secrets as well.

“Yes, of course,” Hob agreed. Their secrets were none of his concern, and he wasn’t even sure why he’d brought it up.

At that moment, Dream and Anya joined them from the other booth, Anya tucking herself under Loid’s arm and Dream taking Hob’s hand under the table.

“We were just talking about secrets,” Dream disclosed, “and we heard Hob mention them as well. Anya has decided that there’s something she would like to tell her parents.” Hob smiled warmly at Anya, glad that she’d finally decided to share the secret he and Dream had discovered by accident. 

Anya leaned forward to look at both parents and said solemnly, “Anya can hear your thoughts.” Loid and Yor reared back, identical looks of horror on their faces. Then Hob watched as comprehension began to sink in and they started nodding as pieces fell into place.

“So that’s why you watch Bondman all the time!” Loid exclaimed.

“And why you are never upset when I come home with blood on my clothes!” Yor added. 

“And why you kept trying to get us to kiss!” Loid continued.

“And why you always seem to know what Bond wants!” Yor declared.

“Anya also knows about Operation Strix,” Anya said, and Hob watched Loid and Yor exchange a worried glance. Oops, they probably didn’t want him and Dream hearing about that one.

“Now, Anya,” he reminded her, “your parents have secrets that aren’t yours to share.”

“Dream can help!” Anya protested. Hob looked curiously at Dream. It wasn’t like him to get involved in another family’s affairs. Dream nodded.

“This is one that aligns with my realm, Hob.” Now it was Loid’s turn to look questioningly at Dream. 

“Well, if we’re going to share secrets, maybe we should go somewhere more private,” Hob suggested.

The two families adjourned upstairs to the kitchen in Hob’s flat, where he nervously made them all tea, coffee, or hot chocolate. He put a tin of biscuits on the table and took the chair beside Dream. Loid began.

“I’m not sure why I should trust you, but Anya does, and well, I guess if she’s a telepath that does explain why she’s such a good judge of character. Will you exchange secrets with us, as a pledge of trust?” Hob glanced at Dream, who nodded solemnly. Apparently this was very important to him. Hob nodded back and took a deep breath.

“I’m immortal,” he said, “I don’t age, and I can’t die.” Loid and Yor looked shocked again. Then Loid looked at Anya.

“I begin to understand why she started this sharing of secrets.”

Dream let his eyes grow dark and starry, a hint of his robe fluttering around his chair.

“I am Dream of the Endless, Lord of Dreams and King of Nightmares. I am the Prince of Stories and Master of the Dreaming.” Loid and Yor looked truly stunned this time, Hob thought. That would stroke Dream’s vanity. Not that he didn’t deserve a little awe, he was rather impressive even with just a touch of his less human form peeking through. Loid cleared his throat and smoothed back his hair. 

“Yes, well. I can see why Anya thought you might be able to help! I’m afraid I can’t compete with that! Dreams… if you know our dreams, you probably know our secrets already too.”

“Yes,” Dream confirmed, “but Hob does not. I would ask you to speak them aloud, for his sake.” Loid nodded.

“I am a French spy. The French government does not desire war with the English at this time, so I was sent here to ingratiate myself with a powerful politician who is using his influence to promote war between our countries. Operation Strix is our plan to enter his inner circle though our children—his son Damian is in Anya’s class.” He shook his head wonderingly at Anya. 

“You knew all that, didn’t you? So much weight for such a small child to bear.” Anya nodded at him, took a bite of her biscuit, and leaned comfortably against his arm. Yor leaned forward and picked the story up.

“I am an assassin for England, and our goal is also to prevent a war. When Loid asked me to marry him and become Anya’s mother, neither of us knew the truth about each other. 

“It actually came out fairly recently, shortly before we met you, in fact. I received a dossier from my boss directing me to find and kill the spy, Twilight.” Yor and Loid exchanged a very warm glance, and Hob suddenly realized that Loid must be Twilight.

“It took some time for me to find Twilight. He is the best spy of our age. Imagine my surprise when I finally tracked him down, and he was my very own husband!” Loid chuckled and took over the narrative.

“Imagine my surprise, after we finished tucking Anya in bed, when my wife came into the living room and put a knife to my throat!” He took Yor’s hand as she blushed furiously again.

“Well, then Loid and I had a long talk, and we decided that we are both on the same side—no war. I explained to my boss about Twilight, not revealing who he is, of course.”

“Anya doesn’t like war,” Anya added. “War is scary.” Hob thought sadly about all the second hand memories she’d probably seen of war, never mind whatever it was that had brought her to Loid and Yor’s family. Surely, “no war” was a good goal.  But how did all this relate to Dream’s realm? He turned to Dream, who was already preparing to speak.

“One of the scientists under this warmonger you speak of is dreaming of experimenting with changing people’s sleep. He wants to prevent his enemies from sleeping, or torture them with nightmares, or brainwash his own lackeys in their sleep. This line of research cannot be allowed to continue. If he loses the support of your politician, his work will be discontinued.”

Anya jumped down from her chair and walked around to take Hob’s hand as Loid, Yor and Dream leaned in to start making plans. Hob led her into the living room and settled on the couch with her to read The Little Endless Storybook together again (after meeting Del and Joe, it was her current favourite).

“Will they stop the war and keep the children safe, Hob?” Anya asked, when the story was done.

“I hope so, Anya. They are all very good at what they do, so I think they have a good chance. I really hope they do.” She settled against his arm with a sigh.

“Good. Anya is happy.”

Next chapter

Notes: Part one of A world where children won’t have to cry

I’m not 100% sure I stuck to Spy x Family canon, or Sandman either for that matter. But that’s okay. 

“There are secrets in all families” is attributed to Jane Austen in Emma. I’m familiar with it from the Liaden Universe series by Sharon Lee and Steve Miller. 

The Sandman x Spy x Family: First: Space Buns; Previous: Halloween

#the sandman #hob gadling #dream of the endless #dreamling #yor forger #loid forger #twiyor #anya forger #there are secrets in all families #tryana find it back #the sandman x spy x family

[ch4nb4ng]

Evil Roommate

pairing: leeknow x afab!reader, roommates enemies to lovers

warnings: softdom!lino, cheating (mentioned), making out, grinding, oral (f receiving), fingering penetration, cum play (?), praise

requested : yes!

word count 6.2k

summary: the new roommate was a handful. lazy, disrespectful, arrogant, and a whole bunch of other negative things. but wow, you were sexually frustrated and he, well, attractive, was an understatement.

“Can you actually like, wash your kitchen utensils when you're done using them?”

The amount of huffing and puffing you have heard from your new roommate in the past two weeks was ridiculous. If you had a dollar for every time he had gone against anything you had politely asked for, you would be rich by now, and definitely stable enough to move out and away from him.

“I will,” he mumbled, mouth stuffed with half of the carrot he was chewing on, very loudly, “can I not enjoy my food first?”

“No,” you replied without hesitation, giving the fakest of smiles in return, “you should do it before you eat.”

Another eye roll from Minho was like water off a duck’s back.

“I'd also appreciate it if you didn’t talk to me with your mouth full of food either.”

“What the fuck is your problem?”

You coughed, turning on your hills to face a very unimpressed roommate. His stare was eye shattering. Yes, he was very, no, extremely good looking. However, every single thing that made up his personality could not be more different to you. Sloppy, messy, lazy. Took no responsibility for any of his actions, especially the high pitch noises (that obviously were not his) you would hear from his room in the early hours of the morning. You would pinch your pillow together, praying extremely hard that the noise would stop, and by the time it did, you would get maybe 2, 3 hours of sleep. College was becoming tiring, not only from staying up to complete assessments, but the lewd noises you could hear from at least 2 people in his room. Your blunt attitude towards Minho’s unhygienic and disrespectful habits were definitely justified.

“What are you talking about?”

“Why do you nitpick everything I do?”

Your jaw dropped, completely dumbfounded.

“Me? Nitpicking you? Please,” you scoffed, “you don't clean up after yourself ever, you leave your dirty clothes everywhere, and don't even get me started on the fact that I barely get any sleep because of your wild sex adventures with other people that occur almost every weeknight, when you know I have to wake up early to go to class next day.”

A combination of frustration and exhaustion could be heard through the harshness of each breath. The smirk that appeared on his face was absolutely punch worthy. What on earth was there to be so cocky of?

“My wild sex adventures,” he paused taking a bite of the dreaded carrot, “please, tell me more about my wild sex adventures.”

His tongue was now obviously pressed against his cheek, a devil coated smile still very apparent on his face. The longer he was looking at you like that, the hotter your cheeks became. Pure anger began to course through you; all he had to do was sit there and look pretty. It was definitely enough for you to get the green light to slap him across the face.

“Shut the fuck up,” you hissed, “I don’t need to explain how I can hear them moaning your name every night, or the banging I hear from wall to-”

“Hmm,” he hummed, “you seem to be listening very well.”

Distracted by your anger for a brief moment, you gasped suddenly, feeling Minho’s fingertips at your sides. You turned around, swatting his hands away, giving him that slap that you felt you had earned across the face.

“Who the fuck said you could touch me?

“Did you just fucking slap me?”

“Yes I fucking did,” you spat, “what do you take me for?”

“You know what you’re right, but you walk around here with a stick up your ass. I hear you on the phone to your friends, complaining about how you don't get any action from anyone.”

You stood there in disbelief. “So you’ve been eavesdropping on my convos as well?”

“Well it’s kind of hard not to hear, you know, the walls in this house are kind of thin.”

Your jaw clenched, his eyebrows furrowed, the conversation was at a stand still.

“Can you get to the point please?”

“I sure can sweetheart,” the name sending a shiver down your spine, “if you're that sexually frustrated, go and do something about it instead of taking it out on me?”

A laugh that you didn't even know you were capable of bellowed from your chest. You stumbled back, grabbing onto stool behind the bench for support.

“Me? Sexually frustrated? Please,” you huffed, “I’m not sexually frustrated, and it definitely has nothing to do with you.”

Another scoff escaped your lips as you shuffled back to your room. Closing the door behind you, a heavy sigh came from your chest as you sat on the edge of your bed. How on earth was he able to read you like that? So well and so accurate? It was all you could think about, not to mention the fact that it was also night time simultaneously.

You let your body fall onto your bed sheets. The feeling of restlessness was consuming your body. As you crawled into bed, you looked straight into the ceiling. Why were you thinking about his words so much? Were you really taking it out on him? You shook your head, mentally slapping yourself for even considering the thought.

Minho was a lazy slob who was extremely inconsiderate of others, especially you. But why was the thought of his fingers on your sides becoming the main source of agitation.? The silence of your thoughts was deafening, but they were easily interrupted as soon as you heard the door open, a high pitched voice followed what felt like the most ludicrous creek you had ever heard. ‘I should really put some oil on the door huh?’ You paused for a couple of seconds, this time physically face palming yourself for the dumb excuse you had made to see who he had decided to bring over to accompany him tonight. Legs completely ignoring your brain, you were out of bed, hand twisting the knob and peeking a look at the poor girl that would be subjected to Minho’s torture tonight. Tip toeing out of the doorway, you kept the weight of a feather on your toes, making yourself as invisible as possible.

“Y/n?”

Your pink panther stance of attempted deception looked utterly ridiculous and not sly at all was extremely confusing to the two. You quickly relaxed into a normal stance, the fakest of smiles coming across your face as you see who it is he brought home to have his way with.

“Chaeyeon… heyyy,” you lingered, “I didn’t know you were coming over.”

You would have been happy with literally anyone else. But Chaeyeon? Chaeyeon? It’s like she was your number one arch rival. Minho knew how much you hated her, yet he still let her come over. Everything about her you could not stand, not to mention the fact that she home wrecked your last serious relationship. Even though it was a while ago, you can forgive but not forget, her face being a constant reminder of your hurtful past.

“Oh hey Y/N,” she almost signed, her amount of excitement to see you matching yours, “I didn’t know you lived here.”

The arm he had around her waist made you sick.

“There’s a lot of things you don't know about me,” you mumbled, foot swaying back and forth, eyes focused on said foot.

“Okay, so you guys have had a little reunion,” Minho interrupted. Anything would have been better to break the awkward silence than his sarcastic comments, “we’re gonna go to my room now.”

“NO!” you interjected, covering the hallway with every bit of your being, “I mean, what’s the rush huh? Changbin is coming over as well.”

You paused, Minho’s face clearly cussing you out if yelling was inappropriate at this current moment.

“Uh no thanks Y/N-”

“We should all hang out!”

The excitement coming from your voice was so inauthentic, it was hard to miss.

“Yeah! Let’s all hang out,” you walked behind them, placing a hand on each of their backs and you hurried them to the couch, “I’ll get some beers in the fridge.”

“I actually only drink vodka,” Chaeyeon yawns, obnoxiously twirling her hair, her other hand aggravatingly high on his thigh.

“Oh that’s totally fine,” you gritted through tightly clenched teeth, “we have a bottle in the fridge, I’ll grab that for you as well.”

You scuffled back over to the fridge, mentally cursing yourself as you grabbed the necessary beverages. The confusion you were giving yourself about why you were putting in so much effort to spend time with the two people you literally hated more than anything was mind baffling

“So,” you began again, passing a Corona to Minho, a glass to Chaeyeon, “how have you been finding your course so far?”

You sat the Smirnoff and Orange juice on the table. Yes, you were being nice, but not nice enough to pour the drink for this bitch.

“Oh it was so great,” she smiled, “Jisung and I were living together, it was, well, a dream really.”

The feeling of your nails became prominent in your fists as your fingers caved in. The mention of his name was enough to make you see red, let alone the idea of them being happily together. The itch of your eye begging to roll was becoming too prominent, so much that you had to get up and walk away for a second. You stood up abruptly, confusion etched into Minho’s features. You didn’t want to make this a big deal, but the fact that she continued to gloat about it, long after you stopped listening was enough to reach your breaking point.

“I think I heard my phone ringing from my room, it must be Changbin.”

“I don't think I hear anything,” Minho smirked, plastering his lips on the edge of the bottle. The way his lips wrapped around the tip of the warm glass was something you ‘accidentally’ became fixated on. You puffed your cheeks, storming to your room and somewhat aggressively shutting the door behind you. Scrambling for your phone on the bedside table, you panicked, unclear mind as you scrolled through your phone contacts. You paused, an inducing amount of oxygen filling up your lungs. It did little to calm the irritated tingling sensation in your fingers.

Changbin’s name had finally popped up on your phone after what had felt like a lifetime.

“Hello?”

His voice was husky, guilt panging your chest as you realsied you had probably woken him up from his not very often deep slumber.

“Changbin,” you gasped, “you know how much I love you right?”

“What do you need me to do?”

You snickered at his words. He had been your friend for too long to know that those words would never be said unless you needed something.

“Can you come over,” you pleaded, “Chaeyeon is here with Minho because he invited her over late at night, and I told them you were coming over?”

“Jesus Y/n,” Changbin sighed, a playful chuckle tickling your cheek, “so you want me to come over and make Minho jealous?”

“Wait no wtf,” you jumbled, “make Minho jealous? I just want you to flirt with me and Chaeyeon so she leaves.”

“Mhm yeah,” he chuckled once more, voice laced with sarcasm as he spoke, “I’ll come over, but if you don't sleep with him by the end of the night, I’m gonna be extremely disappointed.”

“Yeah okay whatever just get your ass over here now.”

And with that you abruptly ended the phone call, Changbin giving you no peace of mind. Were you this easy to read by everybody? A frustrated sigh exploded from your chest. The games your head and your heart were playing with were helping you come to no resolution. You sat on your bed, thoughts were running crazy. Now would be a really great time to just put on Netflix and curl into bed, have some snacks and fall asleep, chip trail on ur chest to be found in the morning.

You were interrupted by the very loud knock on the door. Sprinting like your life depended on it, you were relieved. Seeing Changbin’s face had never before given you so much joy.

“Changbin,” you shouted, wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace.

“Y/n what are you doing-”

“Shut up and go along with it,” you mumbled into his chest, letting up, but still keeping your body tightly wounded against his. Minho’s jaw became clenched, or were you just imagining things?

Regardless of what it was, your brain quickly shifted to the way Chaeyeon was eyeing Changbin up and down, almost like it was the first time she had ever seen an attractive male. ‘She definitely wasn’t looking at Minho like that when he walked in’ you thought, an unconscious smirk coming to mouth. You bit down on your bottom lip, an extremely poor attempt at masking the satisfaction of your goal being achieved so easily. One step closer to kicking her out, for good, because there was no way you weren’t talking to Minho after this about making an explicit declaration of her abandonment from this house.

“Minho,” he smiled, earning a nod, “Chaeyeon,” he smirked, an almost gag spilling out of your mouth.

“Changbin,” she followed, repeating his smirk, “long time no see.”

She gulped, engulfing a large sip of alcohol into her wicked mouth.

“Let’s play a game!”

“A game,” you questioned, raising an eyebrow, “why would we play-”

“I think that’s a great idea!”

You turned to look at him, a puzzled expression still very apparent on your facial features.

“Get the vodka out from the fridge, and let’s get started.”

***

Two bottles of vodka down, and what looked like 8 bottles of Corona sitting empty on the table, the games that were being played were becoming more difficult to comprehend. Sound of giggle and laughter constantly filled the room as everyone slowly began to lose their minds to the intoxication.

“O-okay, never have I e-ever, done a sexual act in public.”

Filters of chuckles and laughter filled the room as everyone, but you took a sip.

“What?” she asked, offering you her fake sympathy, “you’ve never done anything like that before?”

“I-I mean,” you stuttered, the look of confusion was evident, “I don’t think I have-”

“Yes you have.”

All eyes were snapped open and pressing into Minho’s skull as he began to converse.

“Pfft, no I have not,” you scoffed, taking another swig. An eye roll left came from Minho, followed by a sound of what seemed to be disgust as he shot gunned his current bottle.

“Yes you have,” he nagged, playfully hitting your shoulder, “I saw you.”

Complete silence fell over the room as he words lingered in the air. You genuinely had no idea what he was talking about.The feeling of the room had suddenly changed. His eyes became soft, fixated on nothing but the way your body slumped against the rough material of the couch.

Your mind began to drift. Thoughts floating into earlier scenes of the night. The closeness of his breath fanning your neck ever so softly, palms spread across your hips. The idea of marks on you swimming into your head. God that would feel so good. Letting him grab you and throw you onto his bed. Climbing up your frame, starting from the bottom of your legs, keeping a tight grip on your inner thighs. The feeling of faint lips stealing every inch of your being, tantalisingly hitting every, single, spot, finally reaching your-

“Y/N? Y/N!”

The feeling of Changbin's shaking your shoulders definitely brought you back to reality. His hands did feel nice, but they weren’t the ones you were longing for. Your head was thrown back, disbelief filling you as your mind continued to fill the gutter.

“When?”

As you moved closer, you giggled, placing your finger tip across his knee. You let them dance, index fingers tapping away at the skin you so desperately wanted to see in this moment.

“Mr. Lee Minho, when did you see me?”

“I’m not saying it here in front of-”

“Who? Chaeyeon?”

Your prowling continued, bodies even closer as you slowly began to climb him like an inanimate object. This would have been completely awkward sober. Nothing about this was romantic in the slightest. To an outsider, or Changbin and Chaeyeon, you were right there, situated across Minho’s lap. It wasn’t quite a straddle, it was just something. They both stayed quiet, paying little attention to your animalistic act, already focused on feeling each other up. Or so you assumed, seeing as they didn’t say anything. All that was heard was the sound of the front door. You snapped your head for a quick moment, eyes scanning the emptiness the room suddenly felt.

“It was in the car.”

Minho’s words felt heavy, like he had more to say.

“The car?”

You were taken aback, face moving away from the closeness of his. Part of your brain clicked, remembering exactly what he was talking about. With Jisung. The memory of hurt was quickly forgotten as the feeling of Minho’s palms spread across your body was bringing you to life. The adrenaline came all at once. Your mind was telling you to move away, but your body was saying something else, affirming it’s position.

Minho was leaning in, barely any spaces between the two as his fingertips began to spread lower and lower, firmly gripping either side of your ass as he moved you closer. A helpless whimper escaped your lips as you felt your legs tighten, heat running down to your core, quickly. What the fuck was happening right now?

“You were on top of him,” he whispered, pulling your hips against him once more, “just like this.”

“F-fuck,” was all that managed to slip out of your lips. This was becoming difficult. So difficult to say no and move away. You knew it was the right thing to do. Things would just be awkward and you could go back to hating him. No matter how much you tried, how much you wanted to, you were powerless. Every fiber of your being was being given up to him. You leaned in closer, foreheads now touching as you looked at him. His gaze was anything but lacklustre as his jaw became tense. His body began to ache simultaneously with yours. The pressure was becoming too much.

“Do you want this?”

“What?”

A small whine escaped you at the loss of his tips gripping your body. They quickly made their way to either side of your face. Your body began to rock back and forth on it’s own. You had become desperate for any sort of friction that you could create.

“I said, do you want this?”

“Do you?”

His expression made you nervous. It was hard to read. All you could see was the black substance of his pupils enlarge, increasing in diameter by the second. Almost like a supernatural being was possessing him.

“Fuck,” you grunted, wrapping your hands around his neck to steady yourself on top of him, “you’re making it hard to say no.”

Things were already becoming hazy the longer you stayed. A huff of frustration came from him as he was giving all his effort not to give into the way you were rubbing your dampening heat against him. It was like a drug he could not refuse.

“Kiss me if you want me.”

He huffed, the edge of his lips just barely brushing against the tip of your nose.

“Kiss me, and give me the green light.”

You waited a moment, any part of your brain that wasn't concentrated solely on his palms digging into your sides trying to reason. You looked at him once more. His eyes, nose, lips. His lips.

“Fuck it.”

He was quick to work, pushing you down to lie flat against the couch. A small kiss to your lips was felt as he pulled away, lifting his arms up and throwing his shirt to the floor at Usain Bolt pace. The smirk on your face was too easy for him not to see.

“You like what you fucking see don’t you?”

“Just shut the fuck up and kiss me.”

Of course. Of course he was still that arrogant cocky motherfucker that you could not stand. The one who never cleaned up after himself. Or took too long in the shower for the hot water to run out. All of these evil perceptions you had of your roommate were disappearing as his lips were gently placed onto yours. It was a little too slow for your liking, but it was deep. Boy, was it deep. Each movement of his tongue was made with so much precision as he lowered himself onto you. His thighs were clenched, a soft groan could be heard against his lips as his groin pressed into you. Holy fuck, were you really doing this? It was so wrong. Everything in the world was saying to stop, stop this.

“Mm- wait,” you paused your hands on his chest to push him away, “wait.”

A flash of panic waved over his eyes as he quickly jumped off of you, face palming the floor.

“What’s wrong? Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you? Are you-”

“I’m fine,” you interjected, giggling at the never been seen care and caution he had for you, “I just don’t think we should do this.”

“Oh,” was all he could say. You kept your gaze lowered; looking at him would have made you feel so guilty. The feeling of regret started to seep into your bones, but you couldn't tell: was it regret of this ever happening, or was it regret from stopping? Your head was too muddled to even attempt to comprehend what had just appended. The only sound that could be heard was your scuffed footsteps, quickly pacing back to your room and shutting the door, hard. The loudest sigh known to earth could be heard on the opposite side of the room as you let your body collapse. The ache between your legs was growing by the second; and as much as you tried to suppress the feeling of Minho’s lips on yours, fingertips dragging along your sides. No. It was much easier this way. Setting boundaries as roommates seemed to be a better idea for the long run.

But the long run was boring. You would both have to pretend that this never happened. Having other people over for sexual purposes would just be awkward now; the more you thought about it, the realisation, and the jealousy hit that you had already crossed said boundary. And maybe that’s why your feet had dragged you to the front of his bedroom door. How the fuck did you get here? You brought your knuckles to the wooden frame, door becoming slightly ajar as you gently knocked. Minho’s snapped his head around, covering himself quickly as you walked in. You cocked your eyebrow, a face of confusion apparent on your face.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he huffed, turning back to his previous position, “what do you want?”

You wanted to just walk out. Mind your business and just leave. But it was hard, quite literally. The imprint of what you assumed to be Minho’s naked lower half painfully pressing into the sheer sheets that was covering him. He paid you no more attention, giving you all the power to initiate whatever it is you wanted to initiate. You slowly crept in beside him, nuzzling your head into the back of his neck as he groaned in annoyance.

“Y/n, what the fuck are you doing in my bed?”

“Hmm, I think I changed my mind,” you whispered, reaching around to grab him. A blunt hiss escaped Minho’s lips as your action made him turn around. He was so close to you now. So close that you could feel his breath spreading across your left cheek.

“Are you being serious right now?”

The look on his face was unimpressed to say the least.

“Yeah, I mean,” your voice was calm as your hand began to take flight, sliding down to the base of his shaft, “we’ve already crossed the line, let’s go a little further.”

“Oh yeah?” His voice was dripping with sarcasm. He grabbed you by the wrist that was currently on him, pulling it away and climbing on top of you. Both hands now leaving his side, securely attached onto both wrists as he pinned them down above your head. Nose clumsily tickling yours as he reattached his lips to yours. The feeling of his lips was much softer and calmer than before, almost like he was protecting you. Wanting to keep the moment so delicate, though the way his bare hips involuntarily grinding against your clothed core was far from it. A soft whimper came from your lips, vibrating against his. A soft chuckle was heard from Minho as he pulled away; it made you nervous. To be more specific, the way that arrogant, mischievous smirk that you knew all too well was spread across his face.

“You’re so responsive to me,” he growled, quickly planting another one on your lips before sliding down to your jaw, then your neck, stopping at your chest. Nothing needed to be said as you quickly discarded your shirt, silently thanking your past self for not wearing any underneath. Minho situated himself in front of your now bare chest, waist sitting against your heart as he took one nipple into his mouth, fingers enclosing around the other. A loud whine left your lips, back arching in reaction to him. He looked up, satisfied filling his body as you weren’t able to return his gaze, head already rolled all the way back as he continued his playful assault.

“It’s so cute,” he mumbled between kisses, “so responsive and I’ve barely done anything.”

His lips travelled down the center of your stomach, dipping dangerously closer to where you wanted him most. His continuous rhythm between kisses was immaculate. Any of the incoherent sounds you made, or the crude remarks he made were left unsaid.

“Fuck,” you hissed, painfully throbbing at the way Minho played with the waistband of your panties.

“Not fun to be teased y/n,’ he paused, making sure you were looking at him, “is it.”

A pang of guilt hit your chest for a moment. I mean, it’s not like you did it on purpose, right?

“Minho I’m-”

“Save it,” he scoffs, “whether you did it on purpose, or not, I’m not gonna let you have it so easily.”

His fingers stopped their performance across your hips, continuing a little lower than before. The smirk came to his lips once more, index finger running down your slit. The friction was fierce, but not fierce enough. You wanted, no, you needed more. All he could do was smile at your mercy.

“So fun to tease darling, but you’re gonna have to be more vocal if you want these panties off.”

“Minho please,” you whined, “for fucks sake.”

You bucked your hips forward, desperate for any more contact from the bare minimum he was giving you.

“That doesn’t sound very nice to me.”

“Minho please, please, please,” you whispered, voice becoming super weak, “fuck me, or finger me, anything please, I need to feel you.”

“Now that’s more like it,” he smiled, finally pulling your panties down. You have never lifted your hips faster in your life. The vulnerability of your naked body was somewhat confronting, but your brain was so fogged out from the immense teasing, you cared little.

“Fuck,” he gasped, spreading you effortlessly with two fingers, “you’re so wet for me, aren't you?”

The heat in your cheeks rose as you became embarrassed at his words. Minho didn’t know this, but feeling humiliated was something that could make you cum on the spot. Words intended for insult went through your ears and straight down to the core, the heat becoming like an intense fire igniting in your body as one of his hands moved along your inner thigh, the other gently beginning to circle around where you needed him most.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, “oh my god Minho please, more.” Your voice was becoming needier by the second, but the longer it went on, the less you seemed to care. His tongue was now a factor coming into play, small kitty licks lapping your clit at a suddenly fast pace. Your legs are already trembling, but Minho does more to appease, hooking his arms under and around your thighs to stop the flustered look on your face. It was confronting how quickly he was getting you to your high.

“Please,” you sighed, eyes hazed as you attempted to look down at the way his tongue was on you. The combination of him sucking on your clit, then pushing it through your entrance almost made you scream. However, the noises that came from your mouth were small, heavy pants, progressively getting louder and louder the tighter the knot in your stomach became.

“Do you wanna cum princess?” His voice was whiny, mocking the tone you had used earlier. You nodded ferociously, knowing any attempt to speak would come out horse or just broken.

“Such a good girl,” he purred, replacing his tongue with two fingers, “but if you want to cum, you’re gonna have to beg for it once more.”

“You’re such a fucking dick,” you groaned, an attempt of grinding your center onto Minho’s fingers failing miserably, “you’re being so unfair.”

“I’m unfair?” he scoffed, beginning his digits back to a bare minimum pace, “you’re the one

who was teasing me all night. I know Changbin is like, your best friend so there was no chance you were bringing him back to fuck him. Then you start to kiss me, hard and fast may I add, AND THEN ! you aren’t sure and you leave me to pretend like nothing happened.”

There was no witty comeback you could say in response because he was right. You were the one who has done the teasing for most of the night.

“You looked so fucked out right now baby,” his tone coming back to a calming medium, “begging for me to make you cum, which I can do right now,” he paused, climbing back to your side, lifting your left leg to continue his easy access to ur clit, “or you can beg even more to have my cock inside of you. The choice is yours.” You swallowed, hard. How could he say something so filthy? Out of all the times you had heard him bring other girls over, he would never talk like this. It was always so nice and calm, full of praise and compassion. Maybe they didn’t act like cock teases and let him just have what he wanted.

“C-cock,” you mumbled, pushing your backside against his now pulsating cock, “please give your cock sir.”

“Ooo sir, I like that one, but you’re gonna have to do more if you want me to fill you up princess.”

Words were becoming extremely hard to not only facilitate in your mind, but put them on your tongue and get out to him. He knew this. He knew your were on the brink of collapsing in cum, but the torture was too entertaining for him nonetheless. Although you're frustrated with him was increasing, you couldn’t lie to yourself that the way he was using you like a sex toy was turning you on. After being up his ass so long with rules around the house and how you wanted things done, it was nice to finally let go. Submit to his rules instead of yours.

“P-please Minho, sir’ you panted, head turning to look at the sadistic face of enjoyment he was having from this, “I’ll do anything, a-anything to have your cock inside of me right now.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Okay then tomorrow morning, you have to make me breakfast, AND wash my dishes.”

“Seriously,” you panted, “that’s what you're thinking about right now?”

“You said anything.” He shrugged, suddenly taking his fingers away from your dripping core. A gasp of disappointment came to your lips at the loss of delicious contact. Minho sat up, ducking under your leg, and positioning himself right back to where he was previously. However, this time, he was on his knees. Although you were touching it before, you really hadn't had a chance to look at how big it was: way more than what you expected. He stroked himself a couple of times, making sure not to get carried away with himself before he pushed it between your folds, letting his pre-cum mix with your juices. He slowly descended into you. Jaws dropping simultaneously, you gasped. The way he was stretching you out did burn a little bit, but once he was fully inside, your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Minho waited until the look of slight discomfort faded from your features.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded, biting down on your bottom lip and he slowly pulled himself back out. He kept a consistent, yet slow pace as leaned in closer to you. He was now hovering over, letting his face become buried into the middle of your breasts. The feeling was so immaculate, you were desperate to cling onto something for support.

“Dig them into me,” he groaned, strangling his vocal cords, “dig your nails into my back and scratch me like your life fucking depends on it.”

Perfect. You did as he pleased, a loud moan of his name wrestling from your lips as you felt the red marks appear on his backside. The pressure from before was already building in your stomach again, and he could tell. The way you were super tight for him was one, but the way you were now clenching around him was another. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer if you kept doing that.

“Fuck,” was all you could manage to say, a deep grin plastered on his face.

“You’re close aren't you,” he cooed, attaching his lips to your neck, “talk to me baby, tell me what you're feeling.

“Mhm, yeah, fuck I’m so close baby. H-Harder.”

The pitch of your tone was becoming whinier by the second. To add to that, the way you became confused, as if Minho was a vampire, because the way he was sucking on your neck was kind of painful. Nevertheless, you relished in it, knowing too well that a very, very dark mark would replace his mouth. The idea of him showing his possession of you, knowing that he finally won you over did not make you happy, nonetheless, you were too fucked out to care.

Your legs were now pushed all the way back, pace fastening by the minute, allowing Minho to push even deeper into you. And that was it. Right there, the spot you had never even known was even there.

“Ah fuck!” Your moan was loud this time, completely unable to control anything. The smirk, in combination with the satisfied growl that left his lips was a face of pure ecstasy as he realised that he had finally hit your G-spot.

“Fuck that feels so fucking good,” Minho grumbled, “are you close? Because I think I’m gonna cum.”

It was like your stomach was an orchestra. Minho’s words were the conductor, completely controlling how close you were to your release.

“Y-yes,” you cried, “I’m gonna cum so hard right now.”

“You wanna cum baby?”

“Yeah.”

“You wanna cum right now?”

“Yes baby,” you pouted, a perplexity of sounds escaping your lips, completely out of your control.

“Cum on my cock princess,” Minho whispered through what sounded to be like pained groans, “be a good girl and cum with me inside of you.”

And there it was, like it was on queue as your body completely flopped, legs shaking and a string of lewd curse words fell from your lips. The way your pussy clenched around him was enough to make him pull out, spilling into the dip of your stomach. A loud breath of what seemed to be exhaustion fell from his lips. Your eyes were previously screwed so shut, it hurt when you opened them again, sensitive to the light.

“Fuck,” you both cursed simultaneously, making one another giggle. Minho fell to your left side, flat on his back as he invited you to scooch over next to him. Face pressed against his chest, fingers playfully dragging up and down his torso. For some reason, he felt so safe and secure at this moment. Almost forgetting how he literally just fucked you into oblivion, your eyelids become heavy. It wasn’t until Minho spoke that you were revived from your alternate state of consciousness once more.

“I didn’t know you had it in you.” His voice sounded genuinely surprised, unsure if you should be offended or not. You looked up at him, quickly pressing a kiss to his cheek. He wasn’t sure how to react, but the dark shade tinting his face right now said enough.

“Please,” you scoffed, “You did me good, but was that the best you can do?”

He ran his tongue across his bottom lip, but down on it after, “Is that a challenge?”

You said nothing, instead sitting up and pushing your legs on either side of his hips. A soft moan escaped his lips as he felt your still dripping heat sitting on the base of him.

“Why don’t you find out and see?”

#lee minho #minho #leeknow #stray kids #lino #lee minho smut #skz smut #leeknow scenario #stray kids smut #stray kids scenario #dom leeknow #dom lee minho #dom lino #lino smut #ch4nb4ng

[scuttling]

Paper Rings

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 10,191 Tags: SFW, Fluff, Literature, Friends to lovers, Everyone thinks they're dating, There was only one bed, Some angst with a happy ending, Confessing love in the rain, TW fire and blood/wound Summary: Some of my favorite tropes rolled into one cute fic inspired by Taylor Swift's Paper Rings. (lyrics and music) Link to A03 or read below! “Good morning, my friendly neighborhood crime fighters,” Penelope says as she enters the briefing room, wearing a dress that is bright bubblegum pink, with fingerless gloves and glasses to match. You, Derek, and Spencer groan your replies, because you just got home from a case last night, with less than seven hours between arriving at your apartment and returning to the office, and that is everyone’s least favorite thing.

You can’t deny that her typical sunny disposition makes you smile a little bit brighter, but you’re still exhausted, and even your usual extra large travel mug of breakfast blend is barely taking the edge off.

That’s probably why, when Aaron enters with trays of steaming espresso drinks from the cafe down the street, and a striped box of donuts, you act like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Oh my god, I love you. Thank you, I love you.” He got an array of basic drinks based on everyone’s usual orders, and you scan for one that has something with latte, but he takes one out and hands it to you, smiling when you take a sip and sigh—okay, he’s smiling with his eyes, but you are well versed in his body language and facial expressions, and he’s practically grinning at getting your order (triple one pump hazelnut extra hot latte) correct.

You are not the only one to notice.

“Get a room, you two; it’s just coffee,” Derek says, taking the white mocha from the tray and drinking half of it in one sip. “Now if you tell me there’s a bear claw in there, I’ll confess my undying love too.”

“I don’t know; I asked for an assortment,” he says, and it’s clear he did, but your cup has your name on it; you cover the ink with your hand and take another grateful sip. “I do know there’s a plain glazed in there, though,” he says a bit lower, just for you, and you smile, give his wrist a squeeze, and dive for it before Jennifer Jareau can get her hands on it.

That’s all the morning meeting consists of—bickering and bantering and caffeine and carb consumption—and when the group disperses, you follow Aaron to his office and sit down in the chair across from his.

“Thanks again for breakfast. You definitely raised the morale of the troops,” you say with a sip of your perfect latte, and he shares the hint of a smile.

“You’re welcome. It helps that you’re all so easy to appease.” He flips open his bag, pulls out a small, worn, paperback book, tosses it toward you. You pick it up, run your hand over the well-loved cover, and hum.

“The Call of the Wild—this made it into the Aaron Hotchner Nightstand Collection?” He arches a brow.

“It’s so overrated that it’s underrated; no one ever actually reads it, they just assume they know what it’s about. It’s a great book, if you’ll give it a chance.”

“Hey, you’ve read all of mine without complaint; of course I’ll give it a chance.” You take the last, sad sip of your latte and stand up, point out the door with your thumb. “Speaking of, mine’s still downstairs on my desk. I’ll be right back.”

Exchanging books started as an offhand comment one night, on a flight home from Georgia, when he’d mentioned that he never buys new books, only cycles through the same ten or twelve he’s been reading since college. He knows what he likes, finds something different in the text each time he reads, and you’d found something so profoundly beautiful about that that you’d asked for the list. You wanted to know more about the books that tug at his emotions enough that he’s read them day in and day out for over twenty years with no boredom in sight.

He’d done you one better, said he’d be happy to lend them to you, if you’d like, and that was an offer you couldn’t refuse. Seeing college-aged Aaron’s notes in the margins of battered paperback novels was a prospect too good to be true.

Of course, you couldn’t accept the gesture without returning one of your own, so you’d offered to share your favorite books with him too, only... you don’t exactly give him your favorite books. You purposefully buy the cheesiest romance novels you can get your hands on, pass them off to him while he hands you poignant, classic novels that have won literary awards and Nobel prizes.

Today’s is called Lord of Scoundrels, complete with a shirtless man on the cover, kissing a woman with dark, flowing hair and a light blue dress; you snicker the whole way to your desk and back up to his office—earning curious glances from the rest of the team—and when you drop it on the desk in front of Aaron, you watch closely for a reaction.

As usual, he doesn’t really give you one, just flips the book over, skims the summary on the back, and nods.

“Sounds interesting,” he says, and your heart does a little flip.

He could easily hand the book back, laugh in your face, refuse to read something so clearly out of his wheelhouse, but he thinks these novels are important to you, and he never fails to read them, offering his favorite parts the same way you do for his.

The world probably doesn’t deserve Aaron Hotchner; you definitely don’t.

“I think you’ll really like it. Sebastian and Jessica start out kind of indifferent toward each other, but the more they interact, the more they find they have in common. It’s very acquaintances to friends to lovers, if you’re into that.” He looks up with an expression you place as uncertainty, even if you’re not quite sure the reason for it. You smile softly. “I should get to work, but thanks for the book. I’ll see you at lunch?”

It’s been so nice lately that you started taking your lunch outside, sitting on a bench beneath a huge, shady oak tree, and Aaron had taken to doing the same; you both quickly realized it was stupid to sit outside together, apart, so you meet up in the bullpen now and walk out side by side, spend the hour talking about your books or the team or Jack or life in general. He shakes the uncertain expression, nods his head.

“Of course. Thank you,” he says with a wave of the book, and you head back downstairs to start your day.

You’ve become mostly accustomed to the feeling, but it still surprises you a little when all that gets you through the day is thinking about your next conversation with Aaron. A week later, you’re on a case in Pittsburgh, and you and Aaron are paired up to room together. That’s nothing unusual—it seems like you’ve been rooming together more often than not lately, which is fine by you; he’s tidy, quiet, always interested in a late night snack, pretty much the perfect roommate—but when he opens the door and you step inside, the single king size bed in the middle of the room takes you by surprise.

“Uh… do you think it’s a mistake? Or maybe they just ran out of doubles?” you suggest; he's kind of frozen in place, and while it’s not ideal, you know it’s not actually going to be a problem. You’ve shared a bed with JJ before, and Spencer, and even though you don’t feel the same way about them as you do about Aaron, you think you can manage a couple nights in close quarters.

“Probably just ran out of doubles,” he agrees after a moment; he doesn’t bring up calling the front desk to ask for another room, so you don’t either, just hang your clothes and head into the bathroom to change into your pajamas and do your nightly routine.

It’s a little awkward at first, and you don’t know why; over the last six months or so, he’s actually become your closest friend on the team, and conversation usually comes easily, but silence settles over the room uncomfortably as you slip between the sheets on your side of the bed.

He goes into the bathroom, does his own nightly routine, then comes out in his pajamas and turns on CNN.

You take out your book, pay no attention to Aaron, but the longer he sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the news ticker on the television screen but not actually watching it, the more you wish he’d just get over himself and come to bed. If he’s trying to wait for you to fall asleep, he’s going to be waiting a while.

“So you were right; I love Buck,” you say as a way to start some conversation, to bring some normalcy to this unusual situation. You hold up the book you’re reading, the one he let you borrow. “His struggle between remaining loyal to his owner and answering the call of the wild—I love dogs, but I never imagined a book about a dog could be so moving.”

He turns back with a soft smile, then switches off the tv and heads over to his side of the bed; he pulls back the comforter, slides between the sheets, meets you toward the middle of the bed.

“I told you you’d like it; what chapter are you on?” He leans over to look, so close it wouldn’t take much to lift a hand and brush it over his hair; it looks unfairly soft, and part of you wants to card your fingers through it, to tug on it and mess it up a little. He probably wouldn’t even mind if you did.

“Chapter 7—I only have a few pages left.” You snuggle more comfortably against your pillow, lean into his shoulder, and move the book so it’s more evenly between you. “Want to finish it with me?”

He does, and you read silently at a similar pace; he reaches up to turn the pages, and you think about how these hands have flipped through this book so many times before, what he might have been thinking, feeling, while reading. It’s a more intimate act than you’ve shared with anyone in a really long time.

When you finish the book, you sigh, let the feeling of reading a really great story envelope you; you turn to face Aaron, and he’s looking at you… and then there’s a knock at the door that startles you both.

He gets up, walks over and checks the peep hole, then opens the door.

“Are you sure?” you hear JJ ask, and he steps back so she can enter the room; when she sees you tucked snugly into the middle of the bed, she shoots you a soft smile and mouths you’re welcome, which makes absolutely no sense without context. You’ll have to bring it up to her later and ask what exactly you’re supposed to be thanking her for.

“So you said the detective called?” Aaron prompts her, and she looks away from you, nods.

“Yes, he wanted me to ask if we could have a few agents meet him at the second crime scene tomorrow instead of the precinct, figured it could save a little time.” Aaron looks confused, like he doesn’t see why this couldn’t have waited until tomorrow, but he ultimately agrees.

“Sure. You, Reid, and Prentiss can head straight there, if that’s what he wants. I’ll let them know in the morning.” JJ nods, and looks over at you, and then back at Aaron, who makes a kind but curious face. “Was there something else?”

“Huh? Oh, no, that’s it. I just didn’t want to forget. I’ll let you guys go—enjoy the rest of your night,” she says with a smile and a wave, and when he closes the door behind her, you both exchange a look.

She’s definitely acting a little weird, but it’s late, so you give her the benefit of the doubt.

You scoot over to your side, put the book on the nightstand and switch off your lamp; Aaron climbs back into bed and switches his off, too, and he turns to face the wall while you lay on your back and stare at the ceiling.

It takes about half an hour, but he falls asleep first; you turn to face him, watching his back, following the rise and fall as he softly breathes in sleep, and the peaceful rhythm lulls you into submission, and you drift off as well.

When you wake up a couple hours later, he is on his stomach with his face pressed into his pillow, and you are draped over his back with your cheek against his t-shirt. It’s soft, and warm, and smells like him, and you glance at the clock and realize it’s too early to do anything but get comfortable and fall back asleep, so that’s exactly what you do.

The next time you wake up, to light creeping in between the curtains, Aaron is no longer in bed, but you’re holding his pillow, still warm beneath your cheek. He doesn’t act weird when you get up and start moving around, just pops out of the bathroom with his toothbrush dangling from his mouth.

“Got you a latte,” he says around it, gesturing to the desk and the pair of paper cups that sit on it, and you grin.

“Seriously, you’re my favorite human,” you answer, and you grab your coffee and lean against the doorframe, sipping and sighing until you’re a little more clear-headed. “Sorry if I crushed you; guess I was restless last night. I usually don’t move around that much.”

He just shrugs, spits out a mouthful of foam into the sink.

“You didn’t crush me. I’m pretty solid, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I’ve noticed,” you tease, looking at him over the lid as you take another sip. “Now hurry up and quit hogging the bathroom if you want to leave here at a decent hour.” He rinses, zips up his toiletry bag noisily for dramatic effect, and slips past you, rubbing a hand over your unruly bed head as he goes. The day passes quickly, with lots of interviewing witnesses, following dead-end leads, and bad police station coffee. When Aaron calls it and tells everyone to get some dinner, you all split off into smaller groups—Spencer and Derek go for Chinese, JJ and Emily opt for pizza, and you and Aaron end up at a retro diner with burgers and milkshakes and a plate of fries between you to share.

“I think we should be focusing more on the docks,” you say, dipping a fry in ketchup and taking a bite. “Even if that’s not where the bodies end up, it seems to be where the unsub is meeting with the victims. We could stake it out tonight, maybe. If you want.” You never want to step on his toes, because he is the boss, the leader, even if you’re friends too; you try to be careful how you phrase things, especially in front of other people, because you don’t want your comfort to look like disrespect, however unintentional.

“That’s a good idea. You and I can head down there after this; I’ll let the others know to patrol nearby, in case we need backup.”

He dusts off his fingers and pulls out his phone, types out a text, and you look around the restaurant—the place looks like it was ripped right out of the 50s, with a checkered floor and lots of red vinyl, a shiny jukebox in the corner. Out of place is a flatscreen tv behind the counter; during the day, when it’s busier, it might play news or sports, but you two are the only ones here at the moment, so the staff is hanging out beneath it watching a movie. It’s Titanic, you realize, when the iconic ‘Rose floating on a piece of debris’ scene plays, and you snort, take a long drag of your chocolate shake.

“I always hated this part. They could have found a way for him to survive, too. Unnecessary death for the heartache factor,” you say, and Aaron looks up from his phone to the screen, makes a sound of contemplation.

“I always thought it was kind of romantic. When you love someone, you’d do anything for them to be okay, even at your own expense. Even if it’s stupid.” You look over his face, study the features you know like the back of your hand, and you guess you can kind of see that, but you can’t say that, so you just sigh.

“I suppose you think Romeo and Juliet is romantic, too,” you tease, and he looks back at you, rolls his eyes.

“It’s very much of its time; it's a lot harder to suffer a miscommunication like that these days. And there is something to be said for star-crossed lovers—people who shouldn’t be together, for one reason or another, but can’t help but drift close anyway.” You swirl your straw in the metal cup, thinking briefly of how that happens to describe the two of you, and when you look up at him, you think you see a hint of that same thought on his face.

More likely, that’s just wishful thinking.

“I like the sword-fights,” you say to lighten the mood, and he laughs, and you both polish off the rest of your food and then head for the docks.

Two hours in and absolutely nothing has happened, but just when you’re ready to complain, or suggest playing I Spy or something, there’s movement from one of the shipping containers to your right. You nudge Aaron, point to the container, and you both creep closer, trying to make out the situation.

When you’re just around the corner, it’s clearly two men fighting, but you obviously don’t know if this is your unsub, two random guys having it out on the docks, or what, so you mutually agree to wait until you have some kind of sign that this is your guy. When one of them pulls out a hunting knife that looks vaguely similar to your murder weapon—as close as you can tell in the dark, anyway—you raise your guns and identify yourselves as FBI.

The unsub drops the knife, but fists his hands in the other guy’s jacket, manhandles him to the edge of the dock, and shoves him into the water, then jumps as well. You swear, and Aaron takes off his jacket, throws it on the ground, then his phone on top of it, and looks back at you.

“Stay here and call for backup,” he instructs, and then he jumps in too; you call the team from your comms, get a response from Emily, and then toss your phone onto Aaron’s jacket and follow him.

He, of course, went for the victim first, so you look for the unsub, who is not visible above the water. You completely submerge yourself, feeling for more than looking for him, because the water is cloudy on a good day and pitch black at ten o’clock at night; when you pop your head up for air, you see Aaron getting the victim up onto the dock, and the unsub bobbing a bit further out. You swim to him, limbs aching, and he seems to know it’s time to give up.

He’s winded, gasping for breath, so you keep him above the water to your own detriment, dragging him by his wet jacket instead of cuffing him, because you’re not trying to kill the guy or lug his unconscious body back to shore. You just barely keep your own head above water most of the time, coming up for big gulps of air when absolutely necessary.

You finally make it to the dock, and your team has arrived, so Derek pulls him out of the water, makes sure he’s alright, and puts some cuffs on him. Aaron’s hands are on you right after, getting you up on the dock, wrapping a towel around your shoulders.

Despite the warm spring breeze, the water was freezing, and you can feel your teeth chattering. He rubs your arms for warmth, crouches down to look you seriously in the eyes.

“Thought I told you to stay here,” he says with an arched brow, a scowl you can tell is more concerned than angry. You wet your frozen lips and try your best to smile.

“You jump, I jump, Jack.”

He looks at you like you’re an idiot, but fondly, if that’s possible, then hugs you so tightly, guides your face to press against his warm neck. How he’s not teetering on the edge of hypothermia is anyone’s guess.

“Your lips are practically blue. Stupid,” he murmurs, but his mouth dusts over your temple in what is unmistakably a kiss, and when you’re able to feel your lips again, you reciprocate, press them a little harder against his throat while you shiver in his arms.

It doesn’t mean anything except I’m happy we’re both alive. Probably.

That night in bed, he faces the wall, and you stare at the ceiling, but you wake up with your nose against the back of his neck. The way he’s breathing tells you he’s not asleep, and when you wrap your arms around him, he holds them tight. Things don’t change after Pittsburgh, and that’s okay. You are comfortable with the way things are, and you love what you have—lunches under the oak tree, the exchange of books, late night texts when you both can’t sleep, hands brushing when you walk to the parking garage, glances shared across the jet. All those things make it easy not to focus on what you don’t have, what you’re not even sure Aaron would want anyway.

You exchange books again on Friday at lunch: he hands you Beloved by Toni Morrison, a book you already know and adore, and you hand him Ravished by Amanda Quick.

“Dubbed the Beast of Blackthorne Hall for his scarred face and lecherous past, Gideon,” Aaron shoots you a glance—“that’s purely coincidental”—“was strong and fierce and notoriously menacing. Yet Harriet could not find it in her heart to fear him. For in his tawny gaze she sensed a savage pain she longed to soothe... and a searing passion she yearned to answer.”

You hold back a smile.

“It’s a modern retelling of a classic story—Beauty and the Beast,” you add, taking a bite of your sandwich. He looks you over like there’s something he wants to say, but he just tucks it under his arm and steals a piece of melon from your lunch.

“I have Jack this weekend, so I probably won’t get to read much, but it sounds intriguing.”

“Well I hope you like it when you read it. Tell him I said hi; it’s been too long since I saw him. I bet he’s looking more like you every day,” you say, popping a piece of melon into your mouth. He smiles softly.

“A little, but Haley says she sees her father in him, and I have to agree. We may have to wait a few years until he looks like me; he’s too cute for that now.” He doesn’t sound self-deprecating, just fond, but you can’t let a comment like that stand, regardless.

“You’re cute; the difference is that kids are cute all the time. You’re an adult, so sometimes you’re handsome, sometimes you’re cute, sometimes you’re hot… it can be hard to reconcile.” This time, he looks you over with something light and playful in his eyes, and it’s something you want to explore, but the timer on your phone goes off, indicating that lunch is over, so you just exhale softly and pack up your things.

You don’t talk much after that—his Fridays are usually busy with meetings, and he leaves in a hurry to pick up Jack, which is understandable.

Emily, JJ, and Penelope invite you out for drinks and dinner—“because we know Hotch is busy,” Penelope says, which has literally nothing to do with your weekend plans, but you don’t correct them—so you don’t linger either.

You go out for Italian, so you are sleepy and full of wine and pasta by the end of the evening, and you smile at your friends.

“Thanks for inviting me out tonight, guys. I had a really good time.”

“Of course,” Emily says, taking her last sip of Pinot Noir. “We barely see you anymore; it was long overdue.”

“Definitely,” you agree. “I should really try to drag my ass out of bed more often.” You can’t help it, though, that after a long day, your bed and a good book just call your name. You’ve always been introverted in that way. JJ laughs softly, chin in her palm, elbow on the table.

“Honeymoon phase. Give it another couple months and you’ll be past that.” You do have a new memory foam mattress that has made sinking into the pillows and blankets all that more indulgent, but you didn’t think JJ knew about that. And you’ve never heard of a honeymoon phase for a mattress before.

“Eh, I don’t think so. There’s literally nothing more satisfying on this earth.” The three of them exchange an amused look, but your phone vibrates, and that catches your attention; you smile when it’s Aaron, sending you a photo of Jack with a toothy grin and his hands covered in fingerpaint. You look up to the sound of chairs scraping against the floor.

“Alright, we’ve lost her. See you all Monday,” Emily says, pulling you in for a hug; when she steps back, she smiles. “And tell Hotch we said hi.”

“I will,” you promise as you hug the other two. You hang back a moment, type out a reply—Looks like you’re having lots of fun without me!—and get into your car to head home.

You change into comfy clothes, drink a glass of water, and climb into bed with Beloved, and at around 9:30 you receive a reply.

Having the most fun we can without you. Maybe next time Jack is over, we can tempt you with dinosaur chicken nuggets and fingerpaint?

You smile, the happiest you’ve been all night—and that’s saying something, because you really did have a great time—and send back, It’s a date. Come Monday, you’re feeling pretty good, well-rested and relaxed from probably too much time in bed, but Aaron looks upset when he walks into the morning meeting. He keeps it short and sweet, and everyone disperses quickly, giving you sympathetic looks as you hang back to try to have a word with him. He clears off the white board, tidies up the table that doesn’t need tidying, and you place a hand on his back, gentle and comforting. He sighs, and you can feel the tension leave him almost instantly.

“Hey. What’s bothering you?” you ask softly, leaning around to try to catch his expression; he looks tired, sad, and maybe a little conflicted, leans into your touch.

“Taking Jack back to Haley’s was rough last night; it always is, but yesterday was really bad.” You know a little about this from weekends past, how Jack always cries when Aaron has to leave, how he feels terrible about it for the rest of the evening, but it must have been extreme for him to still be so upset. “And Haley…” He sighs again, runs his hand through his hair. “It’s like it’s one step forward, two steps back with her sometimes.”

“Why don’t we go sit in your office and you can tell me more?” You want to continue discussing this—that’s what friends are for, and he’s clearly in a bad state emotionally, you think it could help—but he just shakes his head.

“No, I… it’s okay. I don’t want to weigh you down with my problems.” You take your hand off his back, lean a hip against the table and look up at him.

“I’m not just your friend when it’s all easy breezy, lunch in the sunshine, talking about our favorite books,” you say with a sad smile; he reciprocates a little, which is more than you expected. “I’m here when things are complicated, when you have bad days, too. The Monday blues especially.” One of his hands rests on the table, and you cover it with yours, lean in to press your forehead to his shoulder. “Let me be here, okay? Even if all you need me to do is listen.”

It takes a moment, and his eyes are wet when he finally responds; he inhales deeply, nods, and brushes his free hand over your head in something of a hug, murmurs a rough, “okay.”

You sit in his office for an hour—which, again, is more than you expected—listening to him talk about his weekend with Jack, how heartbreaking it was to take him back to Haley’s, how he tried talking to her about taking him more often and she just wasn’t sure she could trust him to do what he says he’ll do. He understands where she’s coming from, knows he’s been unable to keep his word in the past, thinks he doesn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt; he hasn’t asked for advice, seems to just want to vent, so you just listen.

“Then I mentioned you, that you might come for dinner next time he’s over, and she was worried about that,” he says, exasperated, and you frown.

“Why would she worry about that? I’ve been around him lots of times.” It doesn't make sense, because Haley has always been nothing but sweet to you; Aaron looks up at your question, and it seems a little like maybe he hadn’t meant to say that part, though you can’t imagine why.

“It’s just different now… because he’s older,” he says after a brief moment of hesitation. “She doesn’t want him getting attached to someone who might not always be around, you know.” You sigh softly, because if that’s all it is…

You lean forward, take his hand, squeeze it tight.

“I’m always going to be around, Aaron. I can talk to her, if you want, tell her that.”

“No, it’s—you don’t have to do that.” He squeezes your hand back, closes his eyes for a beat. “Just hearing you say it, it makes things easier. I’ll talk to her again next time.”

You talk a little more, and he seems a lot better afterward, even if he is a bit less expressive during lunch; you figure any progress is good, but it makes you sad to see him so down, so naturally, you formulate a plan to help get him back to the Aaron you know and love.

At the end of the day, when he makes his way to the bullpen, you spin around in your chair, take him by the sleeve.

“You’re coming home with me tonight,” you say in no uncertain tone of voice. “For a few hours. I’ll bring you back for your car.” He agrees with a fond look, and you lose yourself in the expression for a moment, then stand up, grab your things, and walk with him out to the garage.

Rush hour traffic is what it is, and you leave Aaron in charge of the music, which means you get The Beatles and The Who, Rolling Stones and Neil Diamond, and you’re both singing along and so much happier by the time you pull into the parking lot of the bodega nearest your apartment.

“Just running in for provisions—be right back,” you say with a grin, and when you return with two paper bags of loot, he looks at you like you might be his favorite person in the world with an age in the double digits. It’s a look you love putting on his face.

“Do I get to see what provisions you’ve acquired?” he asks, teasing, but you shake your head and tell him he’ll see it when you get there.

With a pit stop in your apartment to grab a blanket and a few throw pillows, you take him up to the roof and get things ready for your makeshift picnic. There is white wine, still mostly chilled; cubed cheese, far from gourmet but no less delicious; crusty french bread that was fresh this morning but at this hour is a little extra crusty; blueberries, because they didn’t have grapes; dark chocolate, because you share a fondness for it; and paper cups for the wine.

Aaron takes a look at your bounty, spread over the blanket, and smiles the first real smile you’ve seen all day.

“Fancy,” he teases, and he takes off his jacket, gets on the ground with you. You pour each of you some wine, pop a blueberry in your mouth.

“No, but I thought a meal—and I do call it that loosely—under the stars might do you some good.” You lift your paper cup and tap it against his, brush your fingers over his hand. “To the best boss, best dad, best friend I could ask for.” You take a sip, but he doesn’t at first, watches you with something simmering behind his eyes.

“Do I get to make a toast?” he asks after a few beats, and you smile, nod, and hold up your cup. “To the only person stupid enough to jump into a freezing cold river after me. To the only person I would consider eating a bodega dinner with. To the only person who sees me the way you do.” You both take a sip, which is hard to swallow around the lump in your throat. He looks into your eyes, then breaks the dark chocolate into slivers and hands you a piece like he didn’t just say the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to you before.

You eat, and talk, and drink, and when you’re done with dinner you put everything back in the bags and lay back on the blanket, side by side, and stare up at the stars. The moon is high and full, shining while the stars twinkle around it, and you can’t think of a single time you’ve ever felt more at peace.

“This was really perfect,” Aaron says, almost a whisper, after about twenty minutes of companionable silence. “I can’t thank you enough for being there for me today.” You turn to face him, hands curled up under your chin, and he turns toward you as well. He’s so handsome in the moonlight your heart almost aches.

“You don’t have to thank me. I just wanted to see you happy.” You feel your eyes well up with tears, because he deserves to be happy; you sigh, blink them away, and he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead, rests them there for a long time. When he eventually pulls back, you bring a hand to his hair, brush it back at his temple, and then the creaking of the door makes you pull back, sit up.

It’s your neighbor from 422, who you’ve seen on the roof a handful of times, sneaking away from his wife to smoke a cigarette. He squints in the dark, recognizes you, and waves.

“Hey, 418! You’re not alone tonight.” Aaron sits up too, and you laugh softly.

“Nope, but we were just leaving. The roof is all yours.” Aaron stands, pulls you up, and you grab the blanket and pillows while he grabs the bags, and the two of you head back down to your place.

It’s after ten when you get the groceries put away, and you stand next to Aaron in your small kitchen, contemplating what you want to say next. Your mouth betrays your brain, says what you’ve been thinking but weren’t quite sure how to approach.

“It’s late; I know I said I’d take you back to your car, but you could stay here if you want. I have a spare toothbrush, and I know you have a spare suit at the office, and it’s not like it’s the first time we’ve shared a bed before.”

You’d completely understand if he’d rather go home—you hate when your plans are changed at the last minute, and you prefer to do your full nightly routine for your sanity’s sake—but he only nods, and you lead your way to the bedroom, show him the master bath.

You are in your pajamas, tucked into bed, when he comes out in his boxers and undershirt; he hangs up his suit in your closet where you’d left him some space, then climbs in beside you. He looks over at you, then past you, at your nightstand, which has a stack of books on it—none of them romance novels. You grin, busted after months of book exchanges, and he leans over you to look at the titles.

“Persuasion, To Kill A Mockingbird, One Hundred Years of Solitude—Beloved.” He looks from your copy of the novel to his, which you hold in your hands, and you shrug sheepishly.

“I like reading the notes you put in the margins,” you say meekly, hoping he’s not angry, but all he does is laugh.

“Let me guess: you don’t actually like romance novels.” He leans back against your pillow, and so do you, resting the book on your lap.

“I mean, I don’t not like them… but I’ve been buying those just for you.” The smile on his face is brilliant, and only makes you yearn for him more; things you have been purposefully not feeling are flooding your heart and mind and body now, with him so close, laughing over this stupid secret you’ve been hiding for so long. “And you, sweet man that you are, have been reading them, and discussing them.” You put your hand on his shoulder, and he ducks his head to laugh again.

“Since we’re being honest… I didn’t read all of them. I tried,” he says when you act offended, shoving the shoulder you’re resting against, “but some of them were so bad. I just flipped through, found something I thought could pass as my favorite part, and hoped to hell you didn't ask too many questions.”

You both laugh until you’re breathless—he is so different from how he was this morning it makes you want to cry—and when your laughter dies down you look at each other, sharing breath, two heads on one pillow; is it any wonder you bridge the distance, pull him close for a warm, gentle kiss?

When you break the kiss, you are instantly worried about what Aaron will do—you aren’t drunk, aren’t even tipsy, so you know he can’t be, so much bigger and more solid than you, but will he think it’s a mistake? He kissed back, you’re pretty sure, but maybe that was an accident, something done on autopilot—

He leans in for a second kiss, mouth deceptively soft, and you curl your arm around his back, press into it with lips desperate not to let this end now that it’s started. When you separate, you are both looking into each other’s eyes again, breathing a bit heavily, and you meet in the middle for a third kiss, the best kiss you’ve ever had in your life.

That kiss ends when you yawn in his face, and he chuckles softly, leans over and switches off your bedside lamp; you smile at the ceiling, and he wraps his arms around you, presses his lips to your shoulder, and tells you good night. The next day, the two of you arrive at work early so he can shower and change into his fresh clothes without anyone on the team noticing—not that you think they would really care, but they’re nosy, and a little annoying, so you both agree that’s probably for the best.

You don’t talk about the kisses, even though they’ve been the only thing running through your mind since they happened; you promise to discuss it at lunch, though, and that’s such a sweet, romantic prospect that you think you prefer it better that way anyway.

Only, you don’t ever get to lunch, because there’s an urgent case in Minneapolis, an all hands on deck situation, meaning even Penelope joins you on the jet. You debrief on the flight, hunker down in the conference room, and split up to cover more ground; you barely get to speak to Aaron the whole time you’re there except to be given instructions and to fill him on what, if anything, you’ve learned.

You don’t even make it to your hotel that night, working around the clock to catch the people responsible for terrorizing the city. It takes not one, but almost two full days, and when you board the jet on Wednesday evening, everyone is dead on their feet. You barely remember the flight or the trip home, and you fall onto your bed fully clothed and crash just like that.

Thursday is your birthday, which you almost forgot, and so you assumed everyone else would too. You should have known better, because even if your team can be annoying, they are still your friends, and they love you, so you are well and truly spoiled.

You are treated to a latte and bagels from Emily, purple cupcakes with silver sprinkles from Penelope, a piggy back ride from Derek, a book of poetry you’ve had your eye on from Spencer, and a card from JJ—really, it turns out, from all of them.

“Enjoy a romantic getaway on us?” There’s some kind of certificate in the card, and when you flip it over, you discover that it’s for a hotel and spa that offers couples massages, mud baths, intimate aromatherapy? You arch a brow. “Uh, thanks, guys. Are you trying to tell me something here?” JJ’s face falls a little and she points to the card.

“It’s a romantic getaway. For you and Hotch? Since things have been so hectic lately,” she says, but your ears are kind of ringing and your brain is stuck on the for you and Hotch part.

“Oh. Um. Sorry—it’s just kind of soon, I think? How do you guys even know about that?” you murmur. The two of you haven’t had time to discuss Monday yet, and you haven’t spoken a word to anyone; you wouldn’t have guessed Aaron would have either, but there is a gift certificate for a romantic getaway in your hands, and you’re kind of spiraling.

“Well come on, we haven’t exactly been pretending we don’t know,” Emily says, and you can feel the confusion in your features when you look up at her. “And you guys haven’t been exactly secretive. We’re happy for you, though.”

“I mean, we haven’t been secretive, but we haven’t really had a chance to talk about it yet. It’s only been three days.” You are met with looks similar to the one on your own face.

“What do you mean, three days?” Spencer asks with a frown. “You and Hotch have been dating for almost two months. Right?” he says, looking at the others, and they nod, but it’s tentative. Your first reaction is to flush, and you close the card, fan your face with it.

“You guys think… You guys thought…” You look at them, then up at Aaron’s office; there’s no way he can know that you’re having a moment, but he chooses then to come downstairs, coincidentally. He’s smiling at first, but it falls when he looks at your face.

“Hey. Is everything okay?” He presses a cool hand to your hot cheek, flicks his eyes over yours, and JJ makes a noise; when you glance over at her, she’s gesturing between the two of you.

“I’m sorry, we were wrong? What were we supposed to think?” Aaron frowns, not following, and you take a deep breath.

“They got me a gift certificate for my birthday. To a spa. For you and I to have a romantic getaway, because they were under the assumption we’ve been dating… for two months.” The way he pulls back quickly makes your stomach ache a little, but you say nothing. You should have known.

“You say I love you,” Derek begins like he’s listing evidence. “You have lunch together every day. You’re always smiling at each other.”

“Seriously, some of the softest, gooiest smiles I’ve ever seen,” Penelope adds.

“You eat together on cases, you’re texting all the time when you’re not together.”

“I’ve been pairing the two of you up in hotels since I first figured out you were dating,” JJ says, and the whole ‘you’re welcome’ thing suddenly makes some sense. “I booked you that room with just the one bed so you’d maybe feel more comfortable about us knowing, so you’d see that we don’t mind.”

“You’re always looking at each other, always touching,” Spencer says. “In Pittsburgh—that was the first time you really hugged or kissed each other in front of us. We were trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal, but it was kind of a big deal.”

You look over at Aaron, try to gauge his reaction, but for the first time in a long time you can’t tell what he’s feeling. You can’t really tell what you’re feeling, either. Sadness. Worry. Loss? But what have you lost?

“We’re friends,” you say, even if it sounds weak to your own ears. “We’re… close.”

“We wouldn’t exactly make sense as a couple, would we?” Aaron asks rhetorically, and your heart clenches when he says that. He told you this morning that he’d made dinner plans for you, both for your birthday and to discuss the kisses, what they mean, where you go from here, but that doesn’t sound very promising anymore. “We’re just—”

“Star-crossed,” you say, but you feel like your eyes are vacant. You can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You’re stupid for kissing him, for letting yourself think he could feel the same way you feel, have felt for a while. Isn’t friendship enough? Don’t you already have this special bond so unlike what you have with anyone else in your life? Why press your luck? You know better than that. “We should get back to work.”

You don’t look at Aaron, so you don’t know whether or not he looks at you. JJ does, and you can tell she knows you’re upset, but she just nudges everyone on their way, and you take a seat at your desk—it’s covered in balloons and streamers, the Penelope special.

You’ve never felt less like celebrating.

At lunchtime, Aaron stops at your desk, and the two of you walk out to the bench, open your bags in silence. You’re almost halfway through the hour before he tries to speak.

“Uh. I. About earlier,” he finally gets out, looking down at his sandwich, and you shake your head even though he’s not watching you.

“It’s fine. We don’t have to.” You take a bite of your salad even though you don’t taste it. “You’re right, it doesn’t make sense. You are who you are,” smart, sweet, handsome, tender, caring, “and I am who I am.” Too quiet, too young, too impulsive, too silly, too emotional. He nods, looks at your face for the first time in a while, swallows.

“Right.” You’re due to exchange books back—his is on your lap, yours is on his—and he picks them both up. “I’m like this,” he says, holding up Beloved. “Faded cover, dog-eared pages, scribbles in the margins: middle-aged, divorced, a little broken, barely holding it together for the kid I don’t get to spend enough time with. You’re like this,” he says, holding up Ravished. “Fresh and glossy and shiny and new, with your whole life ahead of you, the whole world ahead of you. You could do anything, with anyone.”

You frown, because this is not what you meant, at all. How could he think that about himself, when the well-loved cover and the dog-eared pages and the scribbles in the margins are all the best parts of him?

“Aaron,” you say, but it sounds like pleading; you reach out to put your hands on his arms, but he pulls them back. His eyes are rimmed red, lips pressed together to hold back everything he’s not saying.

“I think lunch is almost over.” He packs up his things, leaves you with tears in your eyes and a wilted salad and a brand new romance novel you’re never going to read.

Later, he cancels dinner, says something came up, and you go home to your empty bed and watch Titanic and bawl your eyes out when Rose tells Jack she’ll never let go. Friday, you get another case. Weekend cases are no one’s favorite, but especially not yours, when you desperately needed that buffer of time away from Aaron to sort out your feelings and get back to some sense of normalcy. Instead, you’re flying to a small town outside of Nashville to catch a serial arsonist, and when you get to your hotel, you and Aaron are sharing a room.

At least there are two beds, this time.

You go with Emily and Spencer to a crime scene, walking around a house that was once picture perfect and is now all charred wood and ash, and you quickly tell yourself to get a grip and not look for metaphors for your own life while trying to solve a case. What kind of investigator are you? Pathetic, apparently.

You work until evening, and when it’s time to break for dinner, you buy a sad looking assortment of items from the police station vending machine and eat in the conference room by yourself.

It’s a good thing you do, because they get a call about the fire while everyone is still away, and you and a few locals are the first on the scene.

It doesn’t start out bad, mostly located in the back of the house, but you know how quickly these things can spread, and the fire department is working hard to put it out. One of the officers is talking to the family, and the mother is crying, so you come closer to figure out why.

“She said the daughter was supposed to be staying at a friend’s, but sometimes she changes her mind at the last minute and comes home. She can’t get ahold of her,” the officer says, and you nod, thinking.

“Where would she be? The front or the back?”

“Her room is in the front, second floor; if she’s here, that’s where she’d be,” the mother says, wiping her eyes with a tissue, and you tell the officer to stay with them, that you’ll take care of it. You talk to the firefighters—this town is so small there are only two that were able to respond, and they’re both busy trying to put out the fire, but they clear you to go in if you stick to the front of the building and get out of there as fast as you can.

Your team isn’t here yet either, too far out for comms to be effective, and you can’t get ahold of Aaron, so you make a judgement call and head inside.

The front of the house is so eerily normal it’s almost easy to calm your nerves and pretend the back isn’t in the process of being destroyed. You open the front door, run up the staircase, and call out for the girl; she answers, not from the front of the house, but the back—a bathroom maybe? Flames lick up the wall beside it, but you can get to the knob, and she comes rushing out, into your arms, terrified. You weren't expecting that, and you both fall back: your head hits off the floor, but she seems okay, so you tell her to run out the front door and find her mom.

You press a hand to the back of your head, and it comes back tacky with blood. There’s ringing in your ears for a couple of minutes, and then your favorite voice in the world comes through.

“Where are you? We’re here, where are you?” You’re getting hotter, and when you crane your neck up, you can see why: the fire is getting closer, creeping toward the staircase, creeping toward you. You inhale, cough, and press your walkie button.

“I’m upstairs in the hall; hit my head. It’s not safe.”

“I’m coming for you.” You groan. Stubborn man.

“It’s not safe, Aaron.” You hear the crackle of static, hope maybe he heard your warning and will wait until more firefighters arrive—but knowing him the way you do, that’s just wishful thinking. His voice rings out again, and despite the pain, you can’t help but smile.

“You jump, I jump, Jack. Just stay put; I’ll be right there.” You close your eyes, drift in and out of consciousness; when you see him, all you can think is how ridiculously in love with him you are, and that you really hope you’ll be around to tell him. You are, of course, fine. Your head is the worst of it, even the smoke inhalation was mild, and the fire didn’t touch you, so there are no burns. Aaron doesn’t leave your side the entire time you’re being checked over, looks serious and concerned, though he smiles when the mother comes over and squeezes you so tightly you wince a little. It starts to rain, making the firefighters' jobs a little easier, and it feels oddly cleansing, after the day you’ve had. Someone offers you an umbrella, but you decline.

The fire is successfully put out, and the half of your team that didn’t respond to the scene responded to a call for suspicious activity, which ends up being your unsub. You are all happy no one was killed this time, and since you’re staying the night again, the group decides to grab a drink to celebrate. You don’t have a concussion, but your head still aches, so you pass, and Aaron passes with you.

You head to the hotel, park in the lot, but you don’t even make it halfway across before you stop, a hand on his arm.

“I need to say something,” you tell him, and he looks up at the dark sky like, right here? Right now?, even though you’re both already drenched. You nod, because if you don’t do this now you might never—almost dying always gives you an unhealthy amount of confidence, which you attribute to equal amounts of adrenaline and stupidity. “When we first met, I didn’t think we’d have a lot in common. We’re both quiet, but in wildly different ways, and I’m quick to trust and let people in while your guard is almost never down.”

He looks a little sad at that, and you realize you’re kind of doing what he did, putting the two of you into completely different categories, emphasizing the ways you don’t belong together. But that’s dumb, so you don’t give him time to focus on that for long.

“But being your friend, Aaron—the more time I spent with you, the more I came to feel like no one has ever understood me the way you do. No one has ever seen me the way you do.” Rain is pouring down all around you, beating against the pavement, flattening your hair against your head, but you don’t care. Regardless of his reaction, this is actually kind of perfect. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with you—that was an accident, I admit. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You step closer to him, put your hands on his waist; he doesn’t pull away. “I don’t need shiny, glossy things; you're the one I want—faded cover, dog-eared pages, notes in the margins. I love you exactly as you are.”

He is gorgeous in the rain, water in his hair, dripping off his nose. His expression looks hopeful, and you pray to god that’s not wishful thinking.

“Say something, anything,” you beg, anticipation killing you, and he presses his hands to your cheeks and pulls you close for a deep, passionate, soulful kiss that says it all.

The words are nice to hear, though.

“I didn’t mean to fall in love with you either,” he breathes against your lips when the kiss breaks. “I told myself it was just a crush, because someone so young and beautiful was paying so much attention to me, treating me like more than just the guy giving orders. But the more time I spent with you, the more undeniable it became. You are everything good about the world—bright, optimistic, caring, funny, sweet. How could anyone not fall in love with you?”

You swallow hard, lean up to press your lips against his again.

“When you said we wouldn’t make sense as a couple…” He shakes his head.

“That was just me chickening out. After we kissed, I was all but ready to ask you to go steady,” he says, and you both smile, because he’s such an old fashioned dork, but god, do you love him. “And then we found out that the team thought we’d been together for months, and you looked freaked out, so I freaked out. I’m sorry. I should have made us talk about it sooner.”

“Classic pointless miscommunication,” you say with a laugh, and he chuckles too, kisses you again.

“Let’s go inside and get dried off; there’s a birthday gift in my bag I’ve been meaning to give you.” He takes your hand, and you head up, duck into the bathroom to change into dry clothes, squeeze the water out of your hair. There is a small, flat, wrapped present on your bed when you emerge, and you smile, sink down to open it.

It’s Romeo and Juliet, a brand new copy, but when you flip through it, there are blue inked notes in the margins. Aaron comes to sit beside you, touches your face like you’re something precious.

“The course of true love never did run smooth,” he murmurs, and you smack him on the arm with the book.

“That’s from A Midsummer Night's Dream, and I know you know that,” you say with a grin. He nods in admission, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, lean in for a warm, loving kiss. When you pull back, it’s with a soft smile. “Give me my sin again?”

“My pleasure,” he whispers, and you sink into his embrace and promise never to let go. The following week, you both leave work at noon on Friday so you can enjoy your romantic getaway. You drive to the spa, and Aaron reads over the brochure on his phone with a tone you find hilarious.

“Mud bath—I’m not bathing in mud. That’s counterintuitive.”

“It’s special mud; more like clay,” you say, but he snorts, scrolls.

“Seaweed wrap—nobody is wrapping me in seaweed. That sounds like a nightmare.” You laugh softly and take your exit.

“It’s supposed to be rejuvenating. JJ recommended it.”

“JJ weighs fifty pounds. It would take all the seaweed in the Atlantic to wrap me,” he says, and you roll your eyes, jab your finger into his ribs.

“But what if I get to unwrap you?” you ask, eyebrows raised; you briefly glance over and he makes a face of contemplation.

“Okay, that’s a maybe. Intimate aromatherapy—what does that even mean?”

“I think it means we do something that makes us smell good and then we go back to our room and kiss and stuff.”

“Now that doesn’t sound half bad,” he murmurs. “Foot massage? I’m not letting a stranger touch my feet, that’s weird.” You look over at him, squinting.

“You literally plugged someone’s bullet wound with your finger yesterday, but someone touching your feet is where you draw the line? Will you do anything on the list?” He scrolls down it, and his extended silence makes you laugh.

“Meditation. Couples massage,” he says, reaching over to rest a hand on your thigh. “There’s a sauna.” You think of him, sweat-drenched in a fluffy white towel, and take a deep, calming breath. “I bet the room is nice; did you bring a book?” You smile indulgently, reach out a hand to brush through his hair.

“Yep. It’s called A Duke’s Wild Kiss…” He gives you a mildly withering look, and you lightly tap the bridge of his nose. “Just kidding. I brought To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf.” His answering smile is brilliant.

“Are you serious?” You nod, and he gestures to the backseat, where your bags are. “That’s what I brought, too.”

You spend too much of your romantic getaway in your room, but it is really nice; you do the couples massage, though, and aromatherapy, and the sauna, and then you take turns giving each other a foot massage while the other reads To the Lighthouse out loud.

The world probably doesn’t deserve Aaron Hotchner; you definitely don’t, but somehow you get to keep him anyway. A/N: Though I snuck in a few parts of a few different lyrics, two lines in particular inspired this fic: 'Now I've read all of the books beside your bed' and 'I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this.' A lot of my fics lately have incorporated books... guess I better get reading!

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #paper rings #inspired by #taylor swift

[iwadori]

Haikyu Boys when they neglect you for another girl PT 2(Oikawa)

Part 1  Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Word count: 2.1K

Genre: angst,fluff

Oikawa:

You Oikawa and Iwaizumi have been best friends for as long as you can remember  

You thought that Iwaizumi liked you, but all thoughts of that left your head once Oikawa confessed to you when you were in your last year of middle school.

You and Oikawa started dating you in highschool in your first year and have been inseperable ever since.

You and Oikawa were as opposite as you were the same making you a perfect match.

It was the first day of your final term of your third year. You and Oikawa were planning to go the same university but to do that you obviously need to pass your entrance exams so you fully immersed in your studies.  

You have been the manager of Seijoh since your first year, but because of how time consuming it is and you now fully want to focus on your studies you decided to step down from your title. However, you still were fully supportive of the team making sure to go to every one of their games and even coming to majority of their practices with your textbooks and notes with you.

It seems someone took your place as the manager, yet you don’t know who as have been so busy all you could do in finding your replacement was stick up some posters telling whoever wanted the job to talk to the coaches. But you hope the new manager is at least half as good as you.

You decide after school, you were going to take a break from studying so you went to go to the gym to see your boyfriend and the guys at practice. When you enter, you see all the boys fussing and fanning over someone who you couldn’t tell who it was.  

You spot Iwaizumi away from the crowd tying his laces, when you approach him he looks up and smiles fondly at you, “Hey Y/N” he says schooching over so you can sit next to him.

“Hey Haji” you say ruffling his hair playfully “Who’s the celebrity?”  

“Oh Ririka-san” he responds “The new manager” when he says this he slightly scowls, but you don’t quite catch it as your focus is on your boyfriend who is being his usual boastful self infront of who you presume is ‘Ririka-san.’

As the group disperses, they all approach you with Oikawa lifting you up and spinning you obnoxiously making you laugh at his action. “Well hello to you to Tooru” you say kissing him on the cheek.

You look in front of you and there was Ririka with her hand extended out for you to shake “Hi I'm Yagami Ririka” she says “But you can call me Ririka, you’re Y/N right?”  

You shake her hand quickly dropping it responding with a dry “hi.” Oikawa notices the awkward atmosphere that you created with your response and decides to drag you away to show you his serves. You weren’t fully focused on your boyfriend, with your eyes occasionally drifting to the new girl who seemed to give you a bad vibe from your first introduction.

Practice ends, and Oikawa walks you home (per usual.) Once you are at home, you decide to social stalk Ririka to see if you can find something to confirm your suspicions on her. You’re claims weren’t based on anything besides a vibe but since she is apparently in your year and always has been you find it weird that you haven’t heard a word about her all until now. You don’t find anything on her, besides her being as ‘perfect’ as she seems.

As you and Oikawa walk home together again from the next day’s practice, you were hoping that he shared your same concerns about Seijohs manager but when you ask “Kawa.. Don't you think Ririka-san is a bit odd?”

He looks at you curiously, smiles and says “No of course not, Rii-chan is fine”

‘Rii-chan’ you think, a slight pang of jealousy surges through you at the use of this newfound nickname  

“In some ways she reminds me of you, you know?” he says chuckling, but you weren’t listening focused on the name he just called her.

“Rii-chan, huh?” you say

“It’s just a nickname Y/N, I give them to everone, you know that Y/N” he says

“Yeah yeah I know Kawa, I was just overthinking that’s all” you lie, you knew Oikawa gave everyone a nickname but this one definitely stuck on your mind then all of others and although you can admit your jealousy but there was something else bothering you.

“Well don’t overthink too much” Oikawa says giving you a kiss on the forehead “Don’t want to heart your pretty head about it.” Oikawa then lets you enter your house before taking off to his own.

Over the next few weeks, you are mainly focused on your studies, barely having any time to be with your boyfriend at all. However, if you did even have the time to spend with Oikawa, he was definitely not available since all his time was now with ‘Rii-chan,’ whenever you asked him to hang out with you or to go on dates he always used the excuse of ‘Rii-chan needs help with the schedule and since IM THE CAPTAIN I have to help’ or ‘Rii-chan has no friends in our year, and since it seems that YOU don’t want to befriend her im doing the nice thing by becoming her friend’ and with that you always wanted to reply with ‘maybe no one wants to be her friend because she’s such a bitch’ but you held your tounge.

Today you were fed up with your boyfriends lack of being around and decided to go to his house in the hopes that you can watch a movie or do something together. When you get there, you knock on his door and you hear him shout “Come up it’s open,” was he expecting you or something?

You go upstairs to his bedroom, where you know he’ll be and to your surprise when you open the door in his room it is basically set up like a movie date with food and snacks and a bunch of dvd’s and blankets set up on the floor. ‘Was he planning on you to be here?’ you think.

“Rii-chan you made I-” says Oikawa, stopping hisself when he sees that it’s not his beloved Rii-chan but only you his girlfriend Y/N.

“What the fuck Oikawa?” you ask  

“It is NOT what it looks like Y/N” he says standing up abruptly to approach you but you step back.

“Umm.. So it’s not my boyfriend of 3 years about to have a movie date with his manager after barely speaking to me, his GIRLFRIEND, for the past month?” you say folding you arms “ Did I get that right or am I missing something here?”

“Yes.. I mean No” he stammers “ It’s not a date at all, it’s just that Rii-chan say’s she never watched *insert your favourite movie here* and I thought it would be nice if I show it too her”

“Whatever you say ‘kawa” you say rolling your eyes, this seem to annoy Oikawa as he then sits back down harshly and says,

“God Y/N, ever since you met Rii-chan you’ve been so hostile for once can you not be a bitch! Me and her are just friends.” His aggressive tone shocks both you and him but he doesn’t seem to stop “All I'm saying is, you always wonder why me and Iwa-chan were your friends, haven’t you thought it was because you’re such a judgemental bitch”  

By now you were fed up, so you turn your back to Oikawa ready to leave the room but first you say “ Oikawa, I love you I always have, but I can’t be with you anymore especially since you can’t even see what’s going on. Remember when we used to have movie dates when we were ‘just friends” Your response leaves Oikawa with his eyes wide open since he didn’t expect you to basically break up with him, he thought this was a minor argument. Before he can speak, the door burst open and in comes Ririka who exclaims “Tooru! Im ready to watch M-….oh”  

“I guess I’d be taking my leave now” you say with tears in your eyes “Goodbye Oikawa this was fun”  

It’s been a while since the confrontation at Oikawa’s house and the school was a buzz since after hearing the news of yours and Oikawas break up the school immediately focused their attention on both Ririka and Oikawa the rumours of them being together spread like wildfire. However, to your surprise Oikawa apparently always combated the rumours claiming that him and Ririka were just ‘good friends and will stay that way.’

But you could care less, you still supported the team going to all the games they had making sure to stay clear away Oikawa and Ririka. You don’t go to the practices anymore since you didn’t want to submerge yourself in sweat and bad vibes anymore.

Graduation came and you were very happy, you could finally get out of this place. Once you get through the ceremony and all the boring stuff you go to the gym for one final ‘goodbye’ but before you have a chance to leave you are stopped by Iwaizumi  

“Hey Y/N” he says “how have you been?”  

“I’ve been good, pretty ‘busy’” you respond

“Busy as in, avoiding Oikawa at every cost” he says making you laugh “Come sit down with me for a second” to which you do sitting next to him on the gym bench.

You and Iwaizumi then spend the next hour reminiscing about all your past antics and stories making you laugh and smile fondly at all the nostalgia. After all your talk you pull out your phone to take a picture and you hear Iwaizumi whisper “He never deserved you” so quietly that you almost don’t catch what he says.  

Before you could respond in comes Oikawa of course panting “Y/N! Thank god you’re still hear I need to talk to you!”  

You look at Iwaizumi expecting him to say something but all his does is pull you into a tight hug and says “Goodbye Y/N I’ll miss you” he gets up and exits the room shouting “Make sure to answer my calls” making you chuckle.

Oikawa approaches you and sits in the spot that Iwaizumi does, he takes a deep breath and begins to stay “Y/N, you were right I was wrong. I am an idiot... Rii- I mean Ririka she tried to kiss me. Im sorry”

“Oikawa, you are right.. You're an idiot, but it shouldn’t of had to take me breaking up with you and Ririka trying to get with you to realise that I was right. Why did you even come here to tell me this, so I knew I was right? You didn’t need to confirm my suspicions I knew all along Oikawa”

You stand up to leave, hoping to find Iwaizumi before he goes home but Oikawa stops you. “Y/N I-I want to be with you, to go back to being how we were … don’t you want that”

“Oikawa...” you grab his hands “I love you, I always have and I always will... but I think we both know we aren’t meant to be.. Things haven’t been the best with us even before Ririka came along, it just took her to make us really notice it.”

“It’s him isnt it?” he says with tears in his eyes

“I think so... maybe it’s always been him I don’t know but we know how he is especially when we were 15 I guess you just got me to me first,” you say with tears in your eyes also

Oikawa pulls you into a hug and whispers in your ear “Go get him Y/N” you look at him and smile and nod you head “We will still be friends Tooru.”

You race out of the gym to look for Iwaizumi and you suddenly bump into him since he didn’t actually move he was there the whole time and it seems your indirect confession made him tear up too. “I love you Y/N” he pulls you into a hug which you return then pulls you into a deep kiss.

In the end, you and Iwaizumi do become boyfriend and gifriend still keeping Tooru as your good friend. You all also end up going to the same University and you and Iwaizumi live the rests of your lifes together as the ‘perfect’ couple with yours and Toorus relationship as a laughable memory.

AUTHORS NOTE: Please don’t hate me for this ending!! I had a bad day sooo I decided to switch things up please give me feedback on what you think !!

#haikyu x reader #haikyuu x reader comfort #haikyu angst #haikyuu fluff #oikawa headcanons #oikawa x reader #oikawa toru x reader #oikawa fluff #oikawa angst #oikawa scenarios #iwaizumi headcanons #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi fluff #iwaizumi scenarios #iwazumi imagines #iwaizumi angst #signedwithane😌