#i won’t because it doesn’t really suit me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

silveryclear · 5 months

Text

MOJABI GHOST

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara X Ex Female Reader

CW: NSFW, Cunnilingus, Thigh and Knee Riding, Bilingual Dirty Talk, Penetration, Rough Sex, Needy, Desperate Sex, Mating Press, Cockwarming

Description: Miguel drops by your apartment after he can’t stand the silence of his penthouse. He misses you, and tonight, you’ll see just how much~

Translation done by yours truly~

Song: “MOJABI GHOST” by Tainy, ft. Bad Bunny

Smoking,

Drinking,

Fucking,

Pretending that I don’t think about you.

I don’t who I’m trying to kid,

For this feeling,

Won’t let me sleep.

And I wish,

I wish, that I could dream peacefully,

That I could dream about you.

Another night alone. Another night without you.

Miguel O'Hara looks over view of Nueva York while drinking from his third glass of whiskey on the rocks; rocks that have melted and diluted the drink that has been abandoned for thoughts about you.

The truth is that Miguel has abandoned many things because of his mind— the treacherous bitch does not stop thinking about you.

Who could ever stop thinking about you, is the question that he should be asking. But he doesn't. And he’s well aware why.

Because that would require him to accept the reality that he fucked up the only thing that had given him happiness and warmth after what had happened with his daughter. And once again, it’s something that he doesn’t allow himself to forgive.

At first, you were only a hindrance, an annoyance which he could not get rid of. You were always looking at him with that sweet expression, ready to face the next anomaly with a smile and good attitude. He couldn’t stand you. The fact that you could face every problem and tragedy, a particular characteristic of spiderpeople, without your spirit being corrupted ... he hated it. He hated it to death.

Yet, observe how easy it is for him to lie. Because in reality, he never hated you. How could he hate the one person who received him with such a unique and special warmth and affection— the woman who, one by one, took down each one of his walls, making them crumble to the ground and fall as he did when he fell in love with you. Although, too late.

He lets out a dry laugh. There is no doubt that he is Spider-Man: the people he loves never stay for long.

Isn't that how he ended up here in the first place?

He sighs, exhausted. I don't want to think anymore.

He takes a swig from the whiskey and frowns, letting out a sound of disgust from the watered down drink and decides to get back into the penthouse. He looks around.

And now what?

Fuck this pity party. Miguel may not be in his five senses at the moment, but he doesn’t think twice before activating his nanotech suit and traveling to your dimension. He doesn't know what is the right to do; If you prefer your space, that he never contacts you again. All he knows is that he cannot stand this purgatory; and that your screams and curses are better than the overwhelming silence of his apartment.

As soon as he steps out of the portal into your apartment, you can already sense each other. It is almost impossible to sneak up on a Spider person, that's why he isn’t surprised when he finds you sitting in your living room, staring at him without blinking.

"What are you doing here?" You ask without emotion after several seconds of silence.

"You know what I came for." he says as he removes his mask and approaches your figure. However, your cold look stops him in his tracks.

“I don't care. I want you to say it.” you say while you stare into his eyes sharply. He deserves it. "Be direct for once in your life."

"Hey," he warns, baring his fangs. “Don’t push it.”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms, ignoring his warning. "Then leave. I was clear: don't come back until you tell me how you really feel.”

"Don't you think I want to?!" Miguel shouts, frustrated; Not with you. Never with you. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, controlling his anger. When he opens his eyes, you’re surprised to see actual remorse. "I'm dying to have you in my arms again..."

You can’t help to soften your expression when you caught the frustration in his voice and how difficult it is to express his true emotions at the moment. "Then why the hesitation?" You ask softly, your voice a sweet melody to his ears. Then, a sudden thought makes your blood run cold. “...unless I wasn’t good enough for you.” Your voice trembles and you can't suppress the tears that arise.

Miguel’s face falls and without thinking twice, he runs to you and hugs you tightly, snaking an arm around your waist and his hand behind your neck. He listens as you sob into chest and he brings you even closer, his hand gently stroking your back. "Shh... no, my love, that can’t be further away from the truth." He whispers softly into your ear. "I am the one who’s not good enough for you."

Miguel lets out a dry, incredulous laugh. “I'm the worst… to cause the most wonderful woman in all of the multiverse to think the opposite…” He presses a kiss against your forehead and brings you closer to him. "You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. Please, forgive me for being such a coward.” He murmurs apologetically as he buries his face into your neck and breathes in your scent.

God, how I missed this smell~

He leans back and stares into your eyes, stroking your cheeks and wiping your tears.

"I love you," he declares, more confident than ever. "I don't want to keep loving you from afar. I don’t want to run away, fearing that one day I will lose you if it also keeps you far from my arms.” He presses his forehead against yours, closing his eyes and whispering the last few words full of emotion, "If I still lose you...”

"God, Miguel..." You crumble once again and hug him tightly. "I love you so much," you confess in the midst of tears. "I’m afraid too, we are both spider people, we both risk our lives to prevent Multiverse from collapsing… our job is dangerous and it is painful to think about the great possibility that I could lose you,” You look into his eyes, holding his face in your hands. "But it hurts more to have you so close, and not by my side."

"I know..." He whispers as he leans towards your sweet touch. “I'm such an idiot. I thought I was protecting you from the pain, but in reality, I hurt you even more.” He stares into your eyes, his gaze full of remorse. "You could forgive this fool in love?"

You laugh softly and Miguel swears that his heart skipped a beat. Suddenly, you look at him with a mischievous smile. "Hmm, I don't know..."

Miguel groans and looks at you with desperation, as if he needed to hear that he has been forgiven to be calm. "Love, please..." He whimpers softly against your neck, kissing it sensually.

Your grin becomes wider and playful. You take his chin and make him look into your eyes. "But you sound so nice, Miguelito~” You purr. “Do it again~”

Shit...

Miguel feels how his cheeks redden and he short circuits when he hears your playful and dominant voice. It was a side of you that he had never seen. Or rather, one he never tried to get to know. He was so obsessed with controlling everything that he never realized that he kept you from expressing yourself around him.

Damn ... he definitely deserves to beg to you.

"My love..." He kneels in front of you and takes your hands in his. He looks at you with pleading eyes. "Please, I beg you... Forgive me. Let me show you how sorry I am.”

You feel your cheeks heat up at the sight of the most stoic and stubborn man in the multiverse kneeling in front of you, begging like a dog. Is this a dream? More like a miracle.

"Wow... You really missed me, didn't you, Miguelito~?"

Miguel takes your hand and kisses your palm, staring into your eyes. "You have no idea." He whispers. Your heart skips a beat, blood rushing through your veins at an extreme speed. You feel the love that this man has for you and you cannot avoid the genuine smile that grows in your face.

You place your arms around his neck and you kiss his cheek. "I forgive you. Show me exactly how sorry you are~"

It takes Miguel less than two seconds before he is on top of you, your back on the sofa while his knee separates your legs. It seems as if all your confidence disappears as soon as Miguel touches you, his large hands gripping your waist. You feel tempted to deviate your gaze, but his crimson eyes keep you paralyzed under their intensity, full of lust.

"Oh baby..." he lets out a soft growl as his lips brush against your neck, making you shiver once more. “Eres mía~” (You’re mine~)

His fingers quickly disrobe you, his lips kissing every inch of your soft skin. His breathing quickens, breathing hot and heavy as his mouth latches onto one of your nipples, hand groping the other. He lets out soft grunts and moans of pleasure as he worships your chest, sucking and biting, leaving wet hot marks on your skin.

You grab onto his hair, your back arching off from the couch as he continues his assault. He lets out a particularly long groan when he feels you grind your wet pussy on his knee. He chuckles darkly and presses onto you even harder, making you shiver and moan in delight.

“That’s it mami…” he growls, his breath hot and heavy against your neck. “Grind that needy pussy on me… make yourself feel good.”

A sound of pleasure escapes from your lips. You close your eyes and decide to immerse yourself in the pleasure that both have refused for too long— no longer wanting to deprive your body of what it craves; and your heart from the one you love.

Your arms wrap around his neck, hips bucking against his clothed knee, soaking the nanotech fabric. He can only watch in awe how easy it was to reduce you to a sensitive mess— rubbing and pressing his thigh against your throbbing pussy, gripping your hips tighter as he guides you.

“Oh fuckkkk… Miguel…” The way you so readily give your body to him— it awakens a primal side to him that even he didn’t realize he had. The need to explore how many times he can make you cum without fucking you with his cock had his mind reeling from the possibilities.

Should he finger you now? Should he make you cum on his tongue? Ride his face?

“Miguel… oh Miguel~” you mewl, the squelching sound of your juices on his leg echoing in the room. Small puffs of hot air leave past your lips, your hips bucking so needy and desperate for friction.

However the night ends, what he does know is that he so desperately craves to hear you whine his name like that again.

“Come on, cariño…” he keeps rutting your hips against his thigh, now unclothed as his dick strains against the nanotech clothing that covers his groin. “What do you need~?”

“Need you…” You pant out, chest heaving rapidly. “Need you inside… please Miguel~”

He chuckles darkly. “Already? But baby, we just started~” He teases, slowing down the rubbing against your clit, making you whine in frustration.

“Fuck that! I missed you, maldito!” You growl, making Miguel’s eyes widen when you voice out your frustrations.

This makes Miguel chuckle heartedly, gazing down at you with affection and primal lust. “You missed my cock that much, baby~?”

“Not your cock. You.” This startles Miguel, actually making him blush. His chest fills with so much love and affection for you. God, he needs you so badly.

“Te amo, mi arañita…” (I love you, my little spider…) Miguel murmurs softly before leaning down and claiming your lips softly. A low moans escape from your lips as you feel just how serious he is. “Missed you… missed your touch…” he breathes out against your neck once he pulls away, his lips brushing against your skin. Miguel shivers and groans, loving the way your warm, soft skin feels against his. You can only watch as he worships you, too paralyzed by this feeling to speak. “Missed your smell…” he inhales your scent softly before pressing a kiss on your neck. “Missed your voice… let me hear it please…”

“Ahhhh… Miguel…” you find your voice, breathing out your response as your chest rises and falls rapidly, trembling underneath him.

“Fuck…” he groans from your needy voice. Miguel trails wet kisses down your hot skin, licking away your sweat. His fangs lightly graze your thighs, teasing you with his tongue. He chuckles when you arch your back, whimpering his name, begging to take you— to do something already!

He grins as he kisses the inside of your thigh. “You’ve never been very patient.”

You whine, your hand making it’s way to his hair and tugging him closer to your throbbing pussy. He chuckles and licks a long, agonizing swipe along your glistening folds, making you groan in response. “Good thing I’ve never been very patient either~”

Miguel takes his time, swirling his tongue, lapping up your juices— yet, the way that he grips your thighs, so close to digging his claws into your skin while he groans from your taste— it only makes him look more desperate and feral than when he first begged for you.

You jolt and shiver in delight, the drag of his fat, warm tongue bringing you to heights of pleasure you only had the joy of experiencing with Miguel. The feelings of pleasure were so delicious and excruciating, it makes you buck your hips against his face. You grind your pussy on his face unashamedly, his nose brushing against your clit deliciously.

Watching from below, how your hips arch and you tug harder on his hair is all that Miguel needed to die happily. His groans and harsh breathing muffled by your desperate grinding.

“Mmm… shlppp… mmnh…” His eyes remain trained on your cute expressions, a particularly harsh suck of your clit eliciting a whiny moan from you that had him reeling.

“Fuck… Miguel…! I’m so close!” You whine so pretty and needy. His claws digging dig into your thighs, pressing his face harder against your cunt as he eats you out like an animal.

Miguel moans against your cunt, murmuring for you to cum on his tongue, to do it now. It comes out a wet, muffled mess, but you didn’t care. You were already a moaning mess as you came, spreading your juices all over Miguel’s face. His tongue works on your core like a man dying of thirst, lapping up every drop of your juices and overstimulating the fuck out of you. He never came up for air, submerged between your thighs, delving his tongue deeper, sucking harder. This is where he belongs.

“Mi— Miguel! It’s too much..!” You whine, trying to push his head away but he’s glued to your pussy— and he’s not moving until he’s licked you clean.

After a few more seconds, he gives your pussy one last lick before he comes back up, his tongue hanging out as he smiles smugly. You twitch and writhe underneath him from the overstimulation, gazing at him with a satisfied and dazed expression. He tantalizingly drags his long tongue around his mouth, lips, chin… cleaning up your cum from his face, making sure you watch. “Dios mío, que rico sabes mami~” (My god, you taste delicious mami~)

You whimper, your hole twitching at the erotic display. Miguel watches as your pussy flutters with primal lust, smiling at you like a predator. “You liked that, baby? Do you still want more?”

Before you could respond, Miguel is on top of you, claiming your lips in a hot, sensual kiss. You groan at the taste of yourself on his lips, this only turning you on even further. He grips your ass, bringing your wet core towards his now fully unclothed and erect cock.

“Mmmngh… mmnh… ahhhhh…” You whimper into the kiss as he grinds his cock against your sensitive folds, spreading your juices all over.

“You want this cock, baby? Huh? I can’t hear you. Tell me how badly you want me. Tell me. Tell me how badly you want me to fuck you.” Miguel whispered into your ear as he kept grinding himself against you, teasing you once again. You can only cry out, frustration building up inside of you as you feel your hole squeezing against nothing, craving his thick cock.

“Please… Miguel…”

“Dime lo que quieres preciosa… ¿quieres que te lo meta? ¿Sí? ¿Quieres que te coja?” (Tell me what you want, precious… you want me to put it in? Yeah? You want me to fuck you?)

“Yes, Miguel! Just… please!”

As much as he loves teasing you, he needed to nestle his cock inside of you. Right. Now.

“M’gonna bury this cock deep inside you… make sure your pussy remembers the shape of my cock…” He chuckles as he lines himself up with your hole and slowly pushes his cock past that first, tight ring inside your cunt. “Fuck… such a tight fit… bet you didn’t fuck anyone with a dick as big as mine…” he groans and pushes further. “no other cock can stretch you out like mine can…”

“No one… only you…” you breathe out in satisfaction as you finally feel your pussy getting full. “M’so full…”

Miguel lets out a string of curses and groans at the feeling of your tight pussy pulsating around him. “Yeah, that’s right baby… only my cock can fill you up this good.” He smirks as he looks down at you, caged between his arms and large body. “Gonna let me fuck this pussy, huh? Want me to pound you until you can’t think?”

“Yes, Miguel! Yes!”

That’s all the confirmation he needed before he started rutting his hips against yours at a fast pace. No time to start slow, no. This is the type of desperate and primal sex that lovers have after they’ve gone a long time without seeing each other. The type that builds up overtime only to be released in the heated thrust of each other’s hips. The type that has you moaning out gibberish and wrapping your arms and legs around him as Miguel thrusts his hard cock inside, going feral on your pussy.

“Fuck… I missed this… I missed you…” Miguel grunts with every thrust, small puffs of air leaving his lips as he ruts even faster, deeper. His muscles flex with every movement. He presses his hot body against yours, feeling your tits brush against his chest with every thrust.

“M-Miguel… please… harder!” You moan, digging your nails into his broad back.

“Yes…” his voice is so rough, so hungry that it’s almost jarring. Every word he says, every look on his face seems to radiate his intense feelings for you.

He needs you, oh, does he need you.

His arms are like steel on your body, keeping you still within his grasp, and he makes you feel every inch of him, pounding himself into you in a frenzy. This is what he had been looking for, needing. He fills your entire existence for just a moment, completely and utterly enraptured by you.

“Te amo… te amo tanto…” (I love you… I love you so much…) he whispers into your ear, biting and sucking on it. One of his hands makes its way between your legs as he rubs your clit. “Ven conmigo, bebé… I need you to cum with me…” (Come with me, baby…)

“Miguel! Ohh… I’m g- Mmm… Ahhhh~!” Your moans are muffled by his lips against yours. The pounding of his cock, his thumb rubbing your pussy, and this hot, searing kiss was all you needed to finally let go. Squelching hot cum bathes Miguel’s cock and balls as you tremble and writhe in ecstasy.

“That’s it, baby… god, you did so good…” he groans, placing your forehead against his as he ruts his hips faster. Grunting as he chases his own release. Not long after, Miguel is cumming inside your pussy, spurting hot loads of his cum so deep you can feel it in your womb. The moans he lets out sound so raw and desperate, you feel like you’re watching a whole other person.

He sighs in satisfaction, pressing a kiss on your forehead before laying down besides you. He pulls you into his body, his cock twitching as he keeps it nestled deep inside your cunt.

“Fuck… I don’t think I’ve ever come this much…” Miguel lets out a breathy laugh and you look at him in awe. The afterglow of your session makes him look so… ethereal. You blush and involuntarily clench your pussy around his cock.

Miguel chuckles. “I felt that, preciosa~”

You roll your eyes and look away from him, flustered. “Then take it out!”

“Mmm… why should I~? I very much prefer having you close like this.” Miguel inhales in your scent and presses a tender kiss on your neck. The action flusters you further, making you blush at his sweetness and his opposing teasing.

“Te amo, mi vida…” (I love you, my life..) He whispers softly as he closes his eyes, bringing you closer into his embrace.

You smile softly and close your eyes as well, slowly dozing off. Not before you utter the same words back, “Te amo, Miguelito~”

A/N: A little fun fact: this fic was originally written in Spanish first because I wanted to practice writing (specifically smut) in my native language. I might end up posting both languages on AO3.

#fanfic #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel x you #miguel x reader #miguel smut #atsv miguel #miguel 2099 #smut #smut writing

2K notes · View notes

kaciidubs · 3 months

Text

Confiscated

❣ Summary: He was going a little too crazy on the new Fans app, and you would swiftly reign that energy back in. ❣ ❣ Word Count: 791 ❣ Warnings: Slice of life, fluff, humor, sexual innuendos, implied smut, mention of Bubble and Fans messages, Chris is a flirt and menace to stays, Reader teaches him the 'fuck around and find out' clause ❣ ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣ ❣ Additional Tags: Chan is referred to as Chris, Christopher Bahng, Bahng, and Baby, Reader is referred to as Baby, this was a wild time for stayville, lightly edited ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist

Tap tap tap. Send. Switch. Tap tap tap tap. Send.

He was having too much fun with making stays go wild - something about making them have the same reaction as he did, simply pushing him to continue on with his extravagant behavior.

From Bubble to the new - and arguably buggy - Fans app, he was giggling up a storm in his bed as he watched various reactions begin to pour in from his not-so-subtle flirtatious comments and innuendos.

However, what he failed to remember was one stay was considerably close by, and her reaction wasn’t contained behind the screen of his phone.

“Christopher Bahng!”

His heart nearly jumped out of his chest as he narrowly avoided dropping his phone on his face, eyes shooting to the slightly cracked door of the bedroom.

The sound of footsteps swiftly followed suit before the door swung open to reveal your flustered, astonishingly enraged face as you held your phone up.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Um…” He squinted, unsure what he was supposed to garner from the black screen, “Talking to stay?”

“Oh, I know you’re talking to stay, mister ‘you know what’s sweeter than Dango Pudding’!”

The same heart that almost jumped out of his chest now fell to his ass - he could feel the heat of blush beginning to take over his face and ears.

“You still have my bubble?!”

You scoffed incredulously, “I- That- This isn’t about me! This is about you! You and your three addresses!”

His hands flew to his face, covering his eyes with an embarrassed groan, “No, no, no, please!”

“Nuh uh, it’s too late for begging, Bahng. Now, what’s this about some,” you paused, and he could hear the barely held back giggle threatening to break through your angered facade, “‘think you can handle it?’, huh? Or, ‘replying won’t be the only thing’, eh?”

Chris let out a shocked gasp as he scrambled to sit up, “You got Fans?! Baby, really?!”

“Baby? So I’m just ‘baby’? Not your-” A small snort escaped you, trying your best to keep a straight face, “-precious little Dango Pudding cup? Is that why you decided to stay on Bubble after wreaking havoc?”

“This can’t be happening - this cannot be happening right now.” Falling back onto the mattress, he stared up at the ceiling as he contemplated the pros and cons of simply disappearing off the face of the earth.

The bed dipped at the presence of new weight, hooking your leg over his hips to delightfully settle on his lap with ease.

“I’m confiscating your phone.” You hummed gleefully, leaning over him to grab the device currently abandoned beside his head.

“You’re what?” Angling his head, he caught your eyes with a pout, “You can’t do that!”

“Baby, you’re being extremely horny on main - trust me, I’m doing everyone a favor. Besides, aren’t you allegedly ‘cleaning your room’?” Looking around the bedroom pointedly, there was barely a hint of anything out of place, “Doesn’t look too dirty in here, but I’m sure we can make a mess to clean up.”

Your words had him choking on air, gasping and spluttering for words while a warm blush settled over him like a blanket.

“I- What- That’s- And you’re saying I’m the horny one?!”

Gasping in mock shock, you pressed your finger into his bare chest, “I’m like this because of you! Do you know how hard it is to try and watch a movie while your significant other is boldly sharing double entendres? How he’d do more than reply to his ‘favorite snack’?” Slowly trailing your index down the valley of his pecs, your tone softened as you tilted your head to the side, “Saying he’s not a flirt, then lamenting on how he needs them…” Honey dripped from your words as your eyes took on a sultry gaze, “Goading about whether or not they could handle it.”

The path of your finger stopped just above his navel, rising and falling with each bated breath he took - the air thick with lust and allure.

“Do you think I can handle it, baby?”

A chill ran down his spine, goosebumps rising along his skin as he blinked slowly, completely and utterly swept up in you.

He swallowed thickly, somehow managing to find his voice, “Can you?”

A smirk curled your lips, fire dancing behind your irises, “Guess there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?”

Phones discarded on the nightstand, it wasn’t long until the bedroom truly had to be cleaned - and with a fresh pair of sheets and a clean pair of clothes, he made a quick excuse for accidentally ghosting on Bubble; the true reason remaining in the form of hickeys on his skin and scratches on his back.

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @j-onedrabbles, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @sometimesleeknows, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @broken-glowsticks, @s00buwu, @junglyric, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n, @bbgnyx, @ivyisnotokay, @bahng-chrizz, @milknhoneyracha, @hann1bee, @palindrome969, @newhope8, @softkissfelix, @luvyev, @luminouskalopsia, @kpopsstuffs, @luvyev

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means tumblr won't let me tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

#skz smut #stray kids smut #bang chan smut #bangchan smut #bang chan x reader #bangchan x reader #skz x reader #stray kids x reader

1K notes · View notes

headkiss · 1 year

Text

steady hand

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader

summary: hotch catches you at the worst times, but you’re not mad about it. or: 4 times you need hotch’s help +1 time he needs yours.

word count: 6.1k

warnings: probably very inaccurate descriptions of r’s job (it’s for the plot, okay??), shy!reader, a very small injury description, yearning (?), first kiss, fluff !!!

a/n: hiiiii this is my very first hotch fic (gasp) so i hope i did okay!!! i’m excited to be writing for him and i have enjoyed it so far and i hope you will too!!! please please let me know what you think and if you’d want to see more of him from me <33

༄

People are usually impressed when you tell them you work at the BAU.

Which, you won’t lie, is something to be proud of, but their first thought is always that you’re doing something big and solving cases. They ask you if you were there when this case was solved or when that killer was caught.

Then there’s the nodding and dissipation of their excitement when you explain that you work a desk job there. Organize files, write reports, that sort of thing. That is a lot less impressive to most.

You’re no Agent Morgan, or Dr. Reid. Certainly no Agent Hotchner or Prentiss. Instead of being on the field, you spend your time fighting with a printer.

Getting the papers you needed should have been simple, a quick in and out that would have you back hiding behind your desk in minutes. Of course, the universe or something must be against you, because instead, you’ve spent at least twenty minutes trying to figure out what’s wrong.

It isn’t jammed (you’ve checked about five times to be sure) and you’re not educated in printers enough to know how to fix whatever’s going on. You’re just lucky nobody else has needed it yet.

“Come on,” you mutter, trying to pull it away from the wall to get a better look.

You’re sure there’s stress sweat building on your forehead. The last thing you want to do is ask someone for help, to make yourself too visible in this place full of important, intimidating people. You’d rather struggle on your own for now.

You make sure that the thing is plugged in (it is) and then check if it’s jammed. Again.

“Piece of shit,” you’re mumbling at the thing, leaning over it looking for anything out of place.

That’s when you hear someone clear their throat behind you. The sound has you jumping, your knuckles smacking against the wall where your hand had been wedged between it and the printer. You turn around to find Agent Hotchner.

He’d been walking by the printer room when he heard the grumbled curse words. Peeking inside, he’d been pleasantly surprised to find you fussing over the printer. He bit back a chuckle before making his presence known.

You tug your skirt down where it’d ridden up, fiddling with the hem as you try to push down your embarrassment. Of course he’d be the one to see you, in his crisp suit and all. He’s leaning a shoulder against the doorframe, his arms crossed loosely. You swallow and try not to look at his biceps.

“Sorry, sir. The printer doesn’t seem to be, um, printing.”

“I’m assuming that’s why you were fighting with it.”

You fight a wince, “you heard that?”

“Heard what?” He asks, though by the twitch of his lips, you know that he’s well aware of what you’re talking about. He then gestures at the cause of your issues behind you, “it’s not jammed, is it?”

“I don’t think so. It wasn’t when I checked, at least.”

You’re trying not to act as nervous as you are. You don’t think you’ve ever really spoken to Agent Hotchner, save for small ‘hello’s and that one time you apologized for bumping into him. He’s handsome—you’ve always thought so—and, more importantly, he’s basically your boss.

“Let me take a look,” he says, walking over. You step aside, staying out of the way.

“It’s alright,” you start as he looks over it, “I’m sure you have much more important things to do than fix a printer, sir.”

Hotch’s eyes flick over to where you stand, a hand still fiddling with the hem of your skirt, your hair a little messy, your eyes a little wide and worried. You look pretty, he thinks. And sure, he does have things he should be doing instead of trying to fix this printer, but he doesn’t really care.

“Don’t worry about that,” he tells you.

He looks back to the printer, and he seems pretty convinced about trying to help, so you drop it.

While he’s distracted, you take the opportunity to look at his profile. The slope of his nose, the cut of his jaw, the way his brows are pinched a little in focus. It’s unfair, you think, for him to be smart and brave, and be so good-looking on top of it all.

Like he’d heard your thoughts, felt your gaze, he looks over at you again. You turn your eyes toward the floor quickly.

It’s a couple of minutes before anyone speaks. You, staring at the carpet until your vision goes a little fuzzy. Hotch, pushing buttons and flicking switches trying to figure out whatever was going on with the damn printer.

Then, the sound of the ink swiping over the pages, the papers spitting from the printer. You look over at it, mouth slightly parted. What can’t he do?

The sound of your name has your eyes snapping up to his. It’s yet another surprise, him knowing your name. You’re not that important, in the grand scheme of things at the BAU, in the world, really. Someone meant to stay hidden in the background. And still, he knows your name.

“It should be fine now,” he says, grabbing your papers from the cartridge and handing them to you as he stands up straight. “Let me know if it gives you trouble again.”

You grab the pages from him slowly, still shocked at the whole exchange. Your fingers brush against his as you do. “I- Thank you, sir.”

He nods, moving towards the hall. He pauses in the doorway, turning back towards you. “Hotch is fine.”

“Sorry?”

“You keep calling me ‘sir.’ You don’t have to. Just Hotch is fine.”

“Right. Sorry, sir- I mean, Hotch,” you test it out. “Thank you again.”

Yes, Hotch thinks, he likes you saying his name a whole lot more. He sends you a kind smile, “no problem.”

Hotch walks away, probably towards his office where he has very important things to do. Stuff that was surely delayed because he paused to help you. You stare at the doorway for a minute, until you give yourself a papercut and look down at it.

Aaron Hotchner knows who you are.

You’re two shitty coffees deep so far, your report open on your desk, the typing bar blinking on the screen of your computer.

There’s pages to go, though you’re not sure how many. You’ve been doing the sort of mindless, robot typing you do when you’re tired. When you’re preoccupied with trying not to glance in the direction of Hotch’s office.

The team got back sometime last night, long after you’d already gone home. From somewhere in Indiana, you think. You’re not sure how they do it, flying about and still coming into the office. You’re tired and you can’t even remember the last time you’ve been on a plane. Add the crime fighting and you’d be a goner.

Blinking yourself from your thoughts, you look back at the blank pages spread out in front of you. It’s not unusual for you to be missing pieces that you need to complete things, it’s just inconvenient. You always end up having to ask someone for the files you need, and then you feel like a burden.

It’s stupid, but in a place full of important people, it’s easy to feel like you’re just in the way.

Anyway, it’s your job, so you push away from your desk and stand, tugging the sleeves of your sweater over your hands.

Your first thought is to go to Reid. As far as friendship goes, you’d consider yourself closest to that definition with him. He’s also the least intimidating of the bunch, probably because you see the most of yourself in him.

You find him in the kitchen with Agent Jareau, both holding their own mugs, probably filled with the same coffee as the one that sits on your desk. You knock gently on the door even though it’s open.

“Hi, sorry to bother you. I was just wondering if either of you have the files from that case you worked a couple weeks back. The one in Ohio,” you shuffle on your feet under their gaze. “I need them for this report.”

“Hey,” Reid speaks first, smiling kindly, “I don’t remember keeping them, but I can double check in my desk if you would like.”

“Oh, that’s okay. You don’t have to do that, I’m sure I’ll find them somewhere.”

You’re about to head out the door when Agent Jareau stops you, “wait, I’m pretty sure Hotch has them. I can go ask him for you.”

It’s silly to feel nervous talking to them, especially when nobody’s ever been anything but nice to you. A little bit of the twist in your gut comes undone.

“No, no. I’ll go ask him if he isn’t busy, thank you though.”

“You should be fine, the door’s open,” she tells you.

You nod, sending the both of them a smile you hope doesn’t look awkward. “Thanks again.”

Their voices picking up their conversation follow you out the door. You cross the space, saying small ‘hello’s to Agent Morgan and Agent Prentiss when they greet you. You try to ignore the prickle of eyes on you as you climb the steps and head to Hotch’s office.

His jacket is draped across the back of his chair, his sleeves rolled up on his forearms. It’s probably the most disheveled you’ve ever seen him, and he’s only missing a single layer. You look away from his arms when he says your name.

Hotch had his head bent, looking over a case when he’d heard footsteps, and he’d been glad to find you standing in his doorway. You work in the same place, yet he barely sees you. That’s probably why something lightens in his chest every time he does. The rarity, that’s all.

“Is this a bad time?” You ask.

“Not at all,” he leans back in his chair, “what can I do for you?”

“I’m really sorry to bother you, sir-”

“Hotch,” he reminds gently. His voice is easy, a hum that you think would sound good no matter what he was saying.

“Right, sorry. Hotch. I was just looking for some files that I need from a case you guys had for this report.”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

Then, he smiles in that way that Aaron Hotchner so often does. A small twitch of his lips, a lift in the corners. One that you probably wouldn’t have caught if you weren’t paying so much attention. One that feels sort of like a gift.

You shake your head at yourself and elaborate, “the Ohio case. Three weeks ago, I think. I asked Agent Jareau, but she said you had them, so…”

Hotch wants to reassure you, but he’s not sure how to do it without standing up and letting himself grab your hand and squeeze it the way he’d like. And he can’t do that, not when you’re already nervous. Not when he’s not sure he could hold back after one touch.

“It’s no problem,” he opens one of his drawers, flips through folders until he finds what you’re looking for.

He stands up and walks around his desk until he’s in front of you, and he lets his gaze flick over your face while he has the chance. Your eyes find his easily, and you hope he can’t hear the catch in your breath.

Aaron isn’t usually so quiet with his affections, but that’s because he’s never found himself feeling this way at work. He wishes your desk was on his way to his office, just so he’d have an excuse to stop and talk to you. He makes sure never to use your favorite mug from the cupboard, just so you’ll be more likely to have it.

Hotch clears his throat, “here they are.”

He holds up the folder between you, his hand holding it loosely, the other hanging by his side. His fingers twitch.

You’re embarrassingly distracted by his exposed forearms, eyes trailing from his hand to the skin of his arm, to the way his shirt is tight where the sleeves are rolled. Then, it’s the color of his tie today, the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows.

His hand reaching for yours is enough to erase everything else. He lifts it and places the folder in your hold for you. Your skin burns even when he pulls away.

“You alright?” He asks. Probably because you’d been staring at him like a weirdo.

Get it together.

“Yeah. Yes, sorry. Just sort of spacey today, I guess.”

When you look back to his face, there’s nothing but a sort of softness in his eyes you can’t identify. He smiles at you, and for the second time, you feel like you’ve won something.

“Is that what you needed?” He asks.

You open the folder and peek inside. You find exactly what you’d been looking for, not that you’re surprised. Hotch knew what you’d meant and you didn’t doubt that.

“It is. Thank you, Hotch,” you grin lightly when you get that part right. “I’ll get out of your way.”

“You’re not in my way.”

Hotch says the words like he’d known you needed to hear them, like he’d known what runs through your mind so often, like he can read you. He probably can, you think. He is a profiler after all.

Still, the words make your heart do a stupid little jump.

“I’ll bring them back when I’m done,” you say.

“No rush. They’ll just be going back in the drawer anyway.”

“Well, thank you again.”

“It’s no problem, really.”

Hotch watches you walk back to your desk with your head down. Looking at the folder in your hand, he thinks, at least it’s an excuse for you to come see him again.

Hotch isn’t in his office when you return the files.

Since you can’t thank him in person—assuming he’s off with the team somewhere saving lives—you leave a sticky note on top of the folder. You drop it on his desk and leave before you second-guess yourself and rip the note off.

You can’t help but think that the office feels sort of empty without the team there. Without Hotch there. It’s how it is most days, so you’re not sure why the absence feels so present now. You shake it off.

The day passes by, then your drive home, and the rest of your night, too. Through it all, you can’t stop wondering what Hotch is doing, wherever he is. Hoping he’s safe.

You’re certainly not expecting to see him the next day, back so soon, but you can’t say you’re upset about it. It’s a brief glance, him walking into his office, the rest of the team and their chatter following, but it’s enough to make your work seem less tiring for some reason.

It was a quick case, and Aaron was glad to at least get a couple of hours of sleep in before coming into the office. When he sits at his desk, the first thing he notices is the folder you’ve left there. The small note in your handwriting.

‘Thank you :)’

He peels the note away and folds it up. Without thinking, it ends up tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket. It’s a simple piece of paper, but it’s heavy where it sits. He rubs a hand over the pocket where the note is and gets to work.

It’s not until a couple of hours later that Hotch ends up leaving his office. Conveniently, in the direction of your desk.

You’ve been burying yourself in your work, your leg bouncing nonstop, your nose inches away from the pages on your desk, your chair pushed in as close as it’ll go. You have to, because if you take a break, if you look away, your eyes will search for Hotch, and you don’t really want to think about what that means right now.

About the ache in your chest when he’s gone, the urge to go ask him a stupid question just to talk to him. It’s awful.

The pen you’re using suddenly runs out of ink, and it makes you pause long enough to feel a cramp in your hand. You sit up and huff, pulling your drawer open and digging around for another pen. Your name in Hotch’s voice has you shutting the drawer and spinning quickly.

It’s just your luck that your shirt gets caught, that the sound of the rip is too loud to play off or ignore.

“Oh gosh,” you whisper, looking down at the damage.

It’s a cheap shirt, you shouldn’t be surprised, but it’s worse than you’d expected. This is what you get for sitting so damn close. The side seam is split, and if you move too much, your bra would probably be visible.

“This is so embarrassing,” you say, holding the rip shut with one hand and holding the other on your forehead. Of course this would happen to you in front of him.

Aaron’s eyes hover where your skin had been exposed, even now that you hold your shirt shut, wondering if it’d feel as soft as it looks. He can’t even remember what he came over to do or say.

He swallows and looks at your face, “do you have another?”

You shake your head, still hiding behind your hand, “no. I really, really wish I did, though.”

“I have an extra one in my go bag. If you’d like?” He hears himself say the words, and he doesn’t regret them, necessarily, but it’s clear to him that you mess with his brain. He doesn’t think straight where you’re involved.

You peek up at him, dropping your hand to your side. “Are you sure? I could probably just use some paper clips, or something.”

“Nonsense. I’ll go get it, okay? I’ll bring it to the bathroom so you can change.”

“You don’t have to-”

Your name leaves his mouth again, gentle but firm. “I’ll grab it.”

“Okay.”

You speed-walk over to the washroom and walk in, closing the door only to block out the rest of the office, who surely noticed what just happened. You’re probably never gonna live this down.

Your overthinking doesn’t get very far, because after only a minute, Hotch is knocking on the door.

“It’s just me,” he says. ‘Just,’ like that word could ever be used to describe him. “You can just open the door a crack and I’ll pass the shirt through.”

You do as he says, tugging the door open until you can see a white dress shirt (of course) in his hand. You reach out and he hands it to you easily.

“Thank you, Hotch. I’ll wash it and give it back, I promise. Sorry for this.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You can’t see his face, but you can hear the sincerity in his voice. “I mean it.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly, closing the door.

His shirt is wrinkled from being packed in his bag, and the sleeves are long when you put it on, but it smells like him and isn’t ripped so you really can’t complain. You roll the sleeves and tuck the bottom into your pants, looking in the mirror to make sure you look at least a little bit put together.

Holy shit, you think. I’m wearing Aaron Hotchner’s shirt. What world have you been living in recently? To be interacting with him more often, to be feeling this sick skip in your heartbeat whenever you do.

You toss your ripped shirt in the garbage, look up, and huff out a breath before leaving the bathroom. You’re surprised to see Hotch still standing there.

“Oh,” you nearly bump into his chest when you walk out the door, but the warmth of his hand on your shoulder steadies you. “I didn’t know you were still there, sorry.”

“You don’t need to say sorry so much, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. You’re dreaming, surely. You pinch yourself on the inside of your arm, just in case. You don’t wake up.

“I- um,” you’re fumbling for words because he’s standing there, looking at you softly, calling you ‘sweetheart’ in that voice of his.

Aaron doesn’t know where that came from, but he’s said it and it’s happened. With the way he thinks about you, how often he does, he can’t really be surprised. Besides, seeing you get flustered because of him is absolutely worth it.

“I wanted to thank you for getting those files back to me so quickly.”

Your eyes flick over to his arm, and it’s then he realizes that his hand is still on your shoulder. He pulls it away and stuffs it in his pocket. He’s probably imagining it, but he swears his palm is tingling.

You wipe your hands over your thighs, “right. It was no problem, really. I was mostly done with my report, so… Thanks for giving them to me.”

“I’m glad to be able to help,” he says. Then he walks back to his office.

You’re standing in front of the bathroom for what’s surely an odd amount of time. Even back at your desk, you can’t shake the haze you feel, a pink tint to your vision, a flutter in your gut.

You spend the rest of your day with your nose buried in the collar of Hotch’s shirt, avoiding the gazes of your coworkers around you.

Aaron spends the rest of the day thinking about how you looked in his shirt. About how you’d look in it and nothing else. He drags a hand over his face when that pops into his head.

“You good, boss?” Morgan asks from the doorway.

“I’m fine.” He doesn’t miss the knowing smirk on Morgan’s face.

It’s very rare that Aaron leaves work at a reasonable time. So rare that he can’t remember the last time he wasn’t the last person there.

He’s used to the late nights, the empty spaces, deserted desks. Even so, it’s nice to finish up earlier than he’d expected. He looks forward to the extra sleep he’ll get, the longer time frame to decompress.

Leaving work early already felt like a small victory for the day, and he feels like he’s won something bigger when he sees you in your car, still in the parking lot.

You’d left maybe twenty minutes before Hotch, though you’d assumed he’d be leaving hours after you like he usually does. Everything was fine, normal as you bid your goodbyes to your desk neighbors, as you rode the elevator down.

The sun has started setting, and the air gets cooler as it sinks. You fish your car keys from your bag and unlock it, getting in quickly and tossing your bag onto the passenger seat.

You like your job, sometimes you love it, even, but you look forward to going home either way. You think about the warm shower you’ll take, the shitty dinner you’ll end up eating. Your lonely plans are ruined as you twist your car key in the ignition, it sputters and doesn’t start.

“No, no. Come on,” your head falls back, you huff and take the key out.

You try again, and still, no luck. And again, and once more until you’re fed up with it and drop the keys in your lap. Your head is dropped against the steering wheel, allowing yourself a moment of dramatics from your defeat.

A knock on your window startles you upright. Your heart races for reasons other than fear when you look at who it is.

Hotch stands outside, leaning towards your window with a scrunch in his brows. When he catches your eye, he steps back from your door and gives you room to open it and step out.

You shut your car door behind you and lean your back against it, “hi.”

“Hi. Sorry to scare you, but I wanted to check that you were alright?”

“It’s okay,” your arms are folded behind your back, your hands twisting. “Um, it’s nothing, just some car troubles.”

“That doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“I guess not. It won’t start for some reason. I don’t know.” If he wasn’t standing right there, you’d probably smack yourself for how unsure you sound. “You keep catching me at the worst times, Hotch.”

He disagrees. Aaron can’t think of a time where seeing you could ever be a bad thing.

“You’re fine,” he says, his voice suddenly softer, “trust me.”

Despite the bite of the wind outside, the way he speaks warms you. He’s so honest in the way he speaks, in the sense that he sounds sure, even if it isn’t necessarily vulnerable. You don’t know how he does it.

A small smile spreads on your face before you can stop it, “okay, good. And thank you for checking on me. I’ll just call a cab and figure this out tomorrow.”

There’s no way he can let you take a cab. It’s obvious that with what he does, the things he sees, he’d rather know for sure you’d be safe getting home. But then, there’s the sort of floating feeling he has when he’s around you, one he’d like to feel for a little longer if he could.

“Let me drive you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, really. I’ll be fine.”

He ducks his head a little, catches your eye and holds you with that soft gaze of his. “Please, it’s not a problem. For my peace of mind.”

It doesn’t take much convincing, really. You’d much rather sit in a car that probably smells like him than in the back of a cab that smells like sweat.

“For your peace of mind, then. That’d be great.”

You grab your bag from your car before following Aaron to his, where he opens the passenger door for you and makes sure your legs are tucked inside before shutting it. He jogs around the front of his car and gets in.

“Where am I taking you?” He asks, starting his car. The radio hums softly through the speakers, and Hotch reaches over to turn on the heating when he catches you shivering a little.

You tell him your address, “you don’t have to drive me if it’s out of your way, Hotch. I mean it.”

“It isn’t out of my way,” he assures you, and he could easily be lying, but you accept it anyway.

It’s quiet for a little bit, besides the odd question from Aaron for which way to turn. You take the chance to look at him as he drives, his hands on the wheel, the street lights hitting his face. Your head lulls against the seat.

“You’re finished earlier than usual today,” you say. “Not that I know your schedule, or anything, I just-”

“Sweetheart,” he stops you, a smile spreading. It’s wider than what you’ve seen at work, unguarded enough to show his teeth. It’s really pretty. “It’s alright. It’s work I can be doing at home.”

“That’s good. A change of scenery, at least.”

“Exactly.”

You’re not sure what it is that feels different now, in the car. Maybe it’s because it’s only you and him, no prying eyes in the office, no concerns about what this is, what’s allowed. It might only be you, that feels this sort of spark with him, fizzing i’m the air between you. Either way, you’ll soak it up for the duration of the ride to yours.

Maybe that’s why you’re saying, “you know, I always thought you didn’t even know who I was. Until the printer thing.”

Aaron peeks over at you, leaned in his passenger seat. You look like you belong there, like there’s always been a spot for you in his life. Even when you’d started at the BAU, when he first saw you, he felt like it was right that you were there.

Hell, he’d asked Garcia who you were and has had your name in the back of his head since.

“I’ve always liked you,” he admits. He doesn’t say he’s always known you. Liked.

“Really?” You can’t help but ask. Someone like him even noticing you seemed unfathomable. But liking you? He’s gotta be lying.

“Really. Even when you were bumping into me.”

“You remember that?”

“Yeah, I do. You were looking down at the ground, walking like you were being timed. And you had on this light pink sweater.”

Your eyes go wide, focused on his face. You had been wearing a light pink sweater that day. And he remembers all of that? You think, if you looked at yourself in the mirror right now, your eyes would be in the shape of hearts, pulsing in your pupils.

“I can’t believe you noticed all of that.”

“I notice a lot of things,” he says.

Aaron has always had his guard up around new people, has always made himself more serious at work than anywhere else. Then you came along and he had to fight to keep things that way. It makes sense that the minute he sees you outside of work his walls would crumble to dust.

It was inevitable, really.

“I’ve always liked you, too.” Then, before he can say anything, you point at your building, “it’s this one here.”

The car rolls to a stop slowly, his turn signal flashing as he pulls over by the entrance of your apartment building. He puts the car in park and turns to you fully.

“Thank you for driving me.”

“No problem, sweetheart.”

His hand reaches out before he can really think about it, fingertips featherlight over your cheekbone, sliding over to tuck your hair behind your ear. Then, like it was never there, he pulls back. There’s a glow in his fingers where they’d brushed your skin, golden.

It matches the one you feel on your cheek, sparkling.

“Get in safe, okay?”

“It’s a few feet from here to the front door, Hotch. I’ll be alright.”

He huffs softly, twin smiles on your faces. Lovesick and shy, nervous and pink-hazed all at once.

“For my peace of mind,” he says.

“Fine, then. Your peace of mind,” you reach for the door handle, tugging it and pushing the door open. You look at Hotch again, like you can’t get yourself to stop. “Thanks again.”

“See you, sweetheart.”

“Bye.”

You step out and head to your door, turning around before walking inside to give him a wave. Aaron grins and waves back, watching you walk inside.

He stays parked by the curb until he sees a light flick on a couple of floors up.

There’s a reason that Hotch is Unit Chief. He thinks quickly, keeps his head straight even with what he deals with every day. There’s also a reason his leadership has been questioned before, but never revoked.

He can be reckless, throwing himself into situations when he knows he probably should’ve waited for backup. This time, it only got him a split eyebrow and a few stitches. It’s been worse; this is nothing.

It is, however, proving to be an inconvenience. He’d gotten stitched up in the ER of whatever hospital was closest to where the team had caught their unsub. It had to be quick, from the hospital straight to the jet.

They’d told him to clean it up again and put a new bandage on it when he got back, which is what he’s trying to do now, in his office, with his laptop’s grainy camera as a mirror. He has the supplies the hospital gave him on his desk, but he can’t really see what he’s doing, and the task is taking much longer than he’d like.

His hands are a little shaky from the adrenaline of his day, and every time his arm comes up to reach his stitches, it blocks his view.

Then, he sees you walking up to his office.

Usually, you’d already be home by now, but you’d been yourself and messed up some of your paperwork, so you had to stay late to re-do it. When you catch sight of Hotch in his office, you’re not so annoyed with yourself.

You notice the things on his desk, the blood on the front of his shirt. Your feet carry you to his doorway easily. Last time you’d really spoken to him was that night in his car, and ever since, there’s been something boiling, a noticeable shift.

You tap your knuckles on his open door twice, “you okay?”

He gives up on dealing with his cut and looks at you instead, the slightly rumpled state of your clothes from a long day, the smile you wear that doesn’t exactly hide the concern in your eyes, the light from the hallway a halo around you. You’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

“I’m alright. Just can't seem to do this right,” he says, gesturing to his eyebrow.

“Do you need help?”

Aaron has never been one to accept help easily, always one to do things on his own. But, when you’re offering so sweetly, when your help means your hands on his skin, how could he ever say no?

“That would be great.”

He pushes his chair back to give you room to stand in front of him. Your legs between his, leaning against the edge of his desk. His knees bump into the sides of your legs, little bursts of the kind of warmth sunlight emits on skin.

You reach for the wipes first, holding them in one hand and reaching up to his eyebrow, the other grasping his chin gently to keep his head steady.

His hand reaches up to hold your elbow. It could so easily be innocent, be almost nothing, but it feels like more. His thumb running back and forth, your face close enough to his to have your breaths mingling. It really feels like more.

“You’re here late,” he says, low and quiet.

“Spilled coffee all over my work. Had to start over. Can you believe it?” You speak just as quietly, eyes flicking from his cut down to his, just for a second.

“I can, actually. You’re sort of clumsy.”

“Hey!” He’s right, of course, but the warm chuckle he lets out is worth your dramatic gasp.

“It’s not a bad thing,” he assures you, squeezing your elbow. “I think it’s cute.”

“Well, thank you, then.”

You set the wipe aside and reach for the bandage next, placing it over his eyebrow and smoothing down the edges with a light touch. When you’re done, you pull back but don’t go far. Your hands fall from his face to grasp the edge of his desk instead.

“All done,” you say.

Aaron’s hands have shifted to your waist. His touch is so delicate, but you’d never ignore it. It might as well be bruising, the way his hands affect you.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Hotch.”

Now would be the time to walk out the door, to say ‘goodnight’ and head home, but you’re in no hurry. Not when his eyes are shining in the dimmed light of his office, soft and practically melting.

They seem to beckon you closer, and though you don’t have a reason this time, your face ends up near his, noses almost touching. It’s as far as you go, afraid you’re misreading things, afraid you’ll be wrong about this.

Hotch closes the space for you.

His chin tilts up, his mouth catching yours softly at first. His hands tighten on your waist, his lips slightly chapped and completely perfect against yours.

You think your knees might buckle, so you put your hands on his shoulders, thumbs digging into his skin, like you’re trying to make sure he’s real. You’re not sure how you manage to kiss him back but you do, and you hear the sharp intake of breath he takes when you push back.

The kiss doesn’t deepen, but it doesn’t have to. You can feel plenty in it already.

It’s not long before Hotch pulls away, leaning back in his chair and tilting his head to look up at you. He removes one of your hands from his shoulder and holds it in his.

“We shouldn’t do this here,” he says, his thumb running over your knuckles.

You look down at your feet, at his legs next to yours. The hand still on his shoulder falls to your side, suddenly feeling nervous.

“You’re right, I’m so-”

“But,” he stops your apology before you can say it. As if you’d ever need to apologize for kissing him. “I’d like to take you to dinner sometime. If you’d want that.”

You look back at his face, eyes searching. He smiles so softly at you, it’s the kind of smile you could only ever give someone you like in this way. Someone you like enough to kiss.

“I’d really like that, Hotch.”

“Good,” he stands, but his hands don’t leave you. “And sweetheart?”

“Hm?”

“Call me Aaron.”

When you test it out, he’s sure of it; his name on your lips is his absolute favorite sound.

༄

thank you so much for reading!!! please please consider reblogging if you enjoyed, it helps a whole bunch more than you’d think and would mean a lot!! <3

5K notes · View notes

edenavari · 3 months

Text

On the Matter of Mirrors

Eddie is still trying to convince Steve he and Nancy are made for each other. It comes up, like, everytime they hang out, which is all the time, because Steve couldn’t stay away if he wanted to. He doesn’t, but he also wishes Eddie would quit trying to set him up with someone else.

‘Cause, like, here’s the thing. Steve likes girls. He also, he realized sometime after Robin came out to him, quite likes boys. He likes Eddie. Like… Really likes him. Practices pick-up lines in front of the mirror kind of like. Wears a little more black and tousles his hair just right to give himself a subversive edge he never used to have, just the right amount to trigger a subconscious response without appearing to be tweaking his fashion sense at all. Has mastered the art of wearing eyeliner without looking like he’s wearing it, and it took him a fucking while to work up the nerve to go out like that, not that anyone but Robin noticed.

But Eddie just will not drop the Nancy case, no matter how many times Steve tries to stir the conversation away from her, and between his budding crush and the crushing fear that it’s never gonna be anything but one-sided, between the slightest of sore spots Steve still sports about the way things with Nancy ended in the first place and the bitter edge of never managing for something to start with Eddie after weeks of efforts, it’s beginning to grate, right?

“So what’s the problem?” Eddie insists, bounding circles around Steve like an eager puppy, and something in Steve’s ribcage snaps.

They’re in Steve’s room studying when it comes up once a-fucking-gain. Eddie is taking accelerated summer classes so he can finally graduate by September, and by some inexplicable fuckery of fate, despite Steve’s own dirt poor records, he’s turning out to be a decent tutor. Something about Eddie managing to focus in a way a classroom environment never allowed him to. Maybe because most teachers and over half the student body were openly hostile at worst and aggressively ignoring Eddie at best, all because of his last name or his tattoos or his loud brassy cheek.

All the same, Eddie does get distracted fairly easily, and an hour in, he’s bounced off the bed and started rattling reasons Nancy Wheeler is definitely Steve Harrington’s soulmate. Steve groans noncommittally, gets up to grab his water from the desk and takes a long swallow as Eddie keeps needling him.

“You’re the problem, Eddie,” he all but snarls, when he really meant it to come out exasperated at worst.

He snarls, though, and Eddie stiffens, his eyes going cold and hurt and the corner of his mouth turned down in anger.

“Right,” he says, and it sounds so casual Steve thinks he won’t make a big deal of his tone after all. Fool’s hope. “I’ll get out of your perfect hair, then,” Eddie spits out as he makes for the door, only Steve stands in his way, hands up in surrender.

“Wait, I didn’t mean it like that,” he starts.

“No, you’re right, it’s none of my business,” Eddie interrupts, but he steps back, gesturing wildly as he speaks. “It’s not like we’re even friends, you just got saddled with me because of Dustin. We saved the world together? Big deal! My involvement was incidental, really, more of an inconvenience than any kind of help. Why would you want my opinion, of all people’s, right? Even by this point. Get out of my way, I’ll quit stepping on your toes. Go on!”

“I don’t want you to go, Eddie,” Steve tries again.

“Just want me to shut up, is that it? Not really my strong suit, you might have noticed.”

Steve can’t help smiling. “I have noticed.”

It only seems to rile Eddie up even more, throwing his hands out and making to step around Steve again. “Man, what do you want from me?”

“Is this allowed?” he breathes out, extending the last word beyond its scope.

Which puts him within reaching distance of Steve, who grabs him by the lapels of his jacket and presses him, careful not to jostle him too bad but firm enough to counter his manic strength, against the wall. He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything, just presses a touch too close, lets himself imagine that he’s going to close the distance entirely, cocks his head and licks his lips and hangs there in a way he hopes spells it out for Eddie without inducing any kind of panic.

Eddie, hands still up at shoulder height, lets out a little huff close to a whimper when his back hits the wall, bracing himself for a hit that would never come, and maybe some part of him knows this, because he doesn’t look scared or angry anymore, just kind of confused with a side of grief, and it doesn’t take two seconds for him to start to look intrigued, maybe even, if Steve allows himself a little optimism, interested.

His lips part on a sharp inhale, and they’re close enough to smell each other’s skin, and Eddie’s eyes drop to Steve’s mouth, a little watery and out of focus, edging forward in a way that could just be a twitch, just a consequence of holding his breath the way he is, plausibly deniable, subconscious no doubt, only when Steve mirrors the movement, he does it again, gaze moving up and down from Steve’s eyes to his lips and back and back again without blinking, until twitch by twitch their noses graze and their mouths connect and Steve closes his eyes and concentrates on maintaining that seal over Eddie’s plush, pliable pout, because if he didn’t focus, he’d be way, way overeager for a first kiss.

He moves back after several seconds with a shaky exhale, swallows as he finds Eddie’s eyes again. His blood is thrumming in his fingertips, somehow he feels both cold between his shoulder blades and warm down to his toes, and if Eddie looks at all put out he thinks he might never manage another mirror in his life.

The look on Eddie’s face is pure disbelief.

Steve shrugs, not quite settled on the matter of mirrors. “I thought you made a point of breaking the rules?”

A glint starts to wake in Eddie’s eye that’s looking more delighted by the minute.

“Just as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone.”

“We’re in the clear, then,” Steve whispers, leaning in, just a smidge.

Both of Eddie’s hands sink into his hair as he pulls him into another, much steamier, kiss. Steve lets his fists fall from Eddie’s lapels and knot over his back instead, lets his mouth drop slightly open, an invitation Eddie wastes not a second to follow through on, teeth scraping and back arching like he wants to sink all the way into Steve, and by the time they’re parting, breathless, cheeks flushed, mouths stinging, Steve’s one hand is braced against the wall, holding himself up, knees too weak to do the job on their own.

“I thought you could barely stand me,” Eddie heaves.

“I can’t,” Steve admits. “You drive me nuts. Just not how you thought.”

Eddie frowns, suddenly serious.

“You should forget all about Nancy.”

Steve frowns too. “That so?”

“Hm-mm. She’s taken, man. And not all that. You need to move on.”

“Damn,” Steve sighs. “Am I being desperate?”

“Pathetic,” Eddie nods, barely a whisper against Steve’s lips, and they break into smiles in tandem. “Forget all about her,” Eddie repeats.

“Who?” Is the last word Steve gets out. Then he’s busy enough he really does forget.

When he fixes his hair in the bathroom mirror in the morning, he walks away with a wink.

Give us a kudos, if ye dare x

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie #steddie oneshot #first kiss

1K notes · View notes

lqveharrington · 20 days

Text

Perfect Creation | L.M.

summary: You were created to be Lucifer’s perfect soulmate, so what happens when he founds out about a newer creation that you both happened to make.

pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Wife!reader

includes: fluff, angst if you squint, mentions of pregnancy, that’s basically it

a/n: i mean, who doesn’t love Lucifer Morningstar???

You and Lucifer fell together. The Heavens banished the both of you to Hell, sent to rule over the sinners and hellborne. You never expected to be sent to the pits of fire, but you had to become the backbone for Lucifer, doing your best to not break down while he did. It hit him harder than you did as he was God’s favorite son and creation. But, you were there to care for him. You were there to listen to his bleeding heart. You were always there because you were solely created to be Lucifer’s perfect partner.

“Love?” Lucifer called out as he appeared in the manor’s foyer, golden wisps fading.

There was a string of curses from your shared bedroom before he heard your voice call out for him in the enlarged hallway. “I’m in here!”

He chuckled before taking quick strides to the bedroom, slowly pushing the door open. He froze when he found you innocently sitting on the bed, legs crossed and smiling wide. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” You blink up at him as he approaches you, letting your hands tangle with his. You gently sway his hands before tugging him close to you. “How was your day?”

“Horrible.” He mumbled in between the crook of your neck, letting you pull him onto the bed big enough to fit the entirety of Pentagram City. “I had to deal with all the paperwork from the other rings, and then I had an overlord meeting to attend when everything handled there had nothing to do with me…”

You run your fingers through his hair, “I’m sorry, Luce.”

“Don’t be, it’s not your fault.” Lucifer sighed as he rested his head on your chest. “How was your day?”

“It was better than yours…” You murmur, a soft smile playing on your lips when you remember what you were doing earlier. “I spent the day making a surprise for you when you came home.”

“Really?” He propped his head on your chest, eyes filled with a lovesick look.

“Mhm, I need to grab it though. I kind of shoved everything in the bathroom when I heard you come home.” You trace your finger on the curvatures of his face. “Do you want it?”

“Of course.” He reluctantly pulled away, whining when your warmth left him. “Can I get a hint at what it is?”

“Nope.” You pop your last syllable, entering the bathroom suite.

From the crack in the door, Lucifer watched golden wisps emit from the bathroom, making him raise a brow at the action. “What are you doing in there?”

“Nothing, just cover your eyes.” You shut the lid on the gift box, biting your lip nervously from the contents of the gift. “Promise me you won’t like… Freak out or anything.”

“I promise, honey.” He whispers loud enough for you to hear. Did he have a right to be terrified of what you were going to bring out? If you said not to freak out, of course, he had the right. “You better come out or I’m going in.”

“I’m coming out…” You step out, taking slow strides until you're on the bed, kneeling in front of him.

Lucifer felt the bed dip, making him raise a brow. “Can I open my eyes?”

“Yes.” You brace yourself for the first part of the surprise, laughing when Lucifer tackles you down onto the bed. “Luce!”

“You are so adorable.” He smiled brightly, eyes scanning your onesie. “My love, if this was the surprise, I’m happily surprised.” He tugged the duck hoodie over your head, causing you to laugh again. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You press a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m not done! I still have one more thing.”

“What is it?” He sat back up on his knees, letting you shove the box in his lap. “What is this?”

“Open it, Luce.” You bite the tip of your nail, watching his reaction closely. You look away when he gasps, opting to look over at the photo of you and him from your wedding day.

Lucifer looked down at the smaller onesie and the pregnancy test before looking back up at you with tears in his eyes, frowning when he caught your sad smile. “My love, look at me.”

You reluctantly look back over, feeling his hand intertwined with yours. “Are you… Are you mad?”

“Mad?” He let out a wet laugh, wiping his eyes. “How could I ever be mad at you? You’re pregnant… Hell, you’re pregnant with our baby!” He pulled you close to him, wiping your own face. “Why would I be mad at something so wonderful?”

“I don’t know.” You smile as tears cascade down your face. “I thought you wouldn’t want—“

“Who said that?” He let out his wings and pulled you into his arms as he spun you around. “Oh my god, you’re pregnant!”

You laugh at his enthusiasm, letting your forehead rest on his. “We’re going to be parents.”

“The best damn parents there are in the whole universe.” He nudged your nose with his, shutting his eyes. “Fuck, I love you more than anything else.”

You press a soft kiss to his lips, feeling him rub circles on your stomach. “I love you too, Lucifer Morningstar.”

Even if you were created to be Lucifer Morningstar’s perfect partner, you and Lucifer were definitely destined to create the universe’s best being since creation, defying those who had cast both of you away.

855 notes · View notes

clxja16 · 9 months

Text

Enough

Charles Leclerc X Wolff!Reader

Genre: betrayal (?)

Warnings: I think there's some swearing, angst

Word Count: 5K+

Author's Note: Okay you guys voted for this one, and honestly I thought that the fake dating trope was going to win but I guess not. also I kind of need help with the genre, because its not really forbidden lovers. Like is there a genre of your parents betraying your trust in the name of protecting you??? but anyway lmk what you guys think. Actually please tell me what you think, because I'm scared I made this too dramatic. enjoy though <3

-----------------------

You lingered in one of the back halls before the start of qualifying. It was the Austrian Grand Prix. You looked around making sure that no one was in sight. Charles started to giggle at your antics of keeping this under wraps. You pulled at him, trying to push him right out the door.

“Go back to your garage,” you say gently pushing Charles further out the back entry of the Mercedes garage.

“After I get a good luck kiss?” Charles asks, as he holds his hands up in surrender.

You shake your head at him, before saying, “quickly, before someone sees us,” pulling Charles into a kiss, by his race suit. Charles grabs your face with both hands, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss further. You pull away first, worried about who might catch you sneaking about the garage halls, “okay now go, I’ll see you tonight.”

Charles doesn’t let go of your face, pulling you back in for a quick peck on the lips, “okay I’m going.” Charles finally lets you go, and shoots you a quick wink before walking off.

You turn back around to take your place in the garage next to your father, when you hear him calling out for you. You look back to see Charles has walked just far enough away to be out of sight, as your father turns the corner to come face to face with you. You let out a breath of relief that they missed each other. “y/n,” your father calls to your attention, “let’s get settled, qualifying is about to start.”

“Yes, daddy,” you answer, following after your father, to watch qualifying.

You have just finished your degree, a Masters in Business Administration from HBS and a Masters of Science from Harvard John A. Paulson SEAS. It took you nearly 5 and a half years to complete, but you did it regardless. Now, you attend the races to better learn how to apply the knowledge learnt in school to running a formula one team. This is all so that one day you will take over the formula one team from your father.

As you watched George and Lewis set out to do their first few qualifying laps of the session, you longed for it to be you in those cars. You really didn't dream of being behind the scenes, you dream of being up front and center, in the limelight, in the car. You wanted to set the fastest lap, you wanted to be getting grand prix victories, you wanted to win championships. However, you didn’t get a seat in formula 2, so your parents did the ‘reasonable’ thing and sent you off to school, instead of waiting around for the chance of a seat opening up.

“Look here,” your father spoke to you, as he pointed at some data on one of the many monitors in front of him.

“George is a tenth too early,” you say, trying your best to understand the data in front of you.

“Yes, exactly, good,” your father praises, before speaking with a couple of the race engineers. “Now we don’t want George to overly focus on what is going wrong, so we praise, advice and praise again.” You listen to the radio as the engineer, compliments George on his turn 3 and 4, critiques his turn 7, and compliments his turn 10 and 11. “When you take over, you have to remember that you are going to have to manage the drivers' psyche as well as their driving.”

“Father, I won’t be taking over for a long time, you’re gonna need to find someone in between you and me, to manage the team.”

“No,” your father declares, like his decision is final, “I will retire late, and you will start early.”

“Yes Father,” you say, no reason to start an argument now.

“Congratulations on another podium,” you spoke sweetly to Charles at the end of the Austrian grand prix weekend. You and him were hiding out in his hotel room, trying your best to stay away from the cameras, from fans and most importantly from your father.

“It’s only the second podium of the season,” Charles said as he dried his hair with the towel while walking out of the bathroom. “We’re so far behind this season, it’s laughable.”

“You could always make the move to Mercedes, Daddy would love to have you racing for him,” you say, as you wrap your arms around Charles, after he takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

You can hear Charles chuckle a little, before turning around to face you. “Never,” he says with a smile, pushing you back down on the bed, kissing you deeply. You can’t contain the laughter that spills from your lips.

“We would make sure you win championships,” you argue, teasing Charles once again.

“And who’s giving up a seat for me?” Charles asks, as he moves from your lips down your neck, spreading his kisses all around.

“Lewis isn’t going to stay much longer,” you reveal.

“What?” Charles asked, as he pulled away to look at you. The seriousness setting in.

“Don’t say anything to anyone,” you start off, as you sit up in the bed, looking at Charles deeply, “Daddy offered Lewis another four years, Lewis said he only wanted to sign on for two more right now.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” you say honestly, “believe it or not, Lewis does not reveal his intentions to me like you do.”

Charles cracks a smile hearing you tease, “well, maybe I could do Mercedes silver,” he says as he goes back to kissing you.

You and Charles spend the night together, as the two of you have done many times before. The next morning, you try to sneak out early enough where no one notices your empty hotel room. Charles makes your heart feel full, being around him makes you feel at peace, he wears your worries like his own. He’s everything you ever wanted and needed, and more. You know that there was no plausible way you could keep this a secret any longer. You love him too much to pretend nothing is going on. Although, you also know that your father would not be the happiest, he always said drivers weren’t the type of people you bring home. However Charles is different, you know he’s what you need, you know that you can bring him home.

When you did make it back to your own hotel room, you don’t think anyone checked in on the empty room. You made quick work of packing up your belongings, your father was flying out of Vienna this afternoon, to get a jumpstart on Silverstone. It being a home grand prix for both of your drivers, the entire week was packed with events. All events in which you had to attend.

After arriving in Silverstone, did you finally take a breather. George and Lewis both went to visit their families for the first day. This allowed you and your father to spend some time away from the race track. Father instead just went to the factory, and spent some time in the office. You on the other hand went out with Mamma, before she had to head down to Monza for the F1 Academy race.

“Mamma,” you called out to Susie, “do you think Daddy is serious about me taking over the team one day?”

Your question was enough to stop Susie in her tracks, “yes, I do think he’s serious about it.” She gave you a perplexed look. Your father has been talking about you taking over the team since you went off to college. He is determined that with his recommendation the board will approve for the team principal position.

“I don’t know if that’s what I want to do though,” you say truthfully. “I don’t know if I can handle being so close, but not being able to race.” As much as your mind was focused on being a team principal, your heart wanted to drive.

Susie came up to you, pushing your hair behind your ear, holding your face. She had a gentle smile on her face, but there was a sadness behind her eyes that you couldn’t place. “You are racing, if you take over the team, you are still a part of the race, but if you walk away, you will only be a spectator.”

You sigh, you know she’s right, “you’re right, like you always are.”

Susie laughs at your joke, “tell your Father because he never seems convinced that I’m always right.”

You laugh, as you and Susie enter the restaurant for lunch. “Mamma, can I ask you another question?”

“Of course sweetheart,” Susie answers worryingly, you are not normally this ominous.

“Would you be upset if I started seeing a driver?”

Susie doesn’t hide the shock on her face, after your question, “who is it?” She smirks at you, you weren’t the best at hiding your feelings from Susie. She was the first to know about your first boyfriend in High school. She was the first to know about the guy who cheated on you. She was the first to know about the college boy you wanted to bring home. And she was the first to know that none of them were enough to match you.

“It’s no one, it's just a hypothetical, Mamma.”

“Who, sweetheart?”

You debate for a second about how to answer, but you know you can’t lie. You gave away too much, and Susie knows you only use ‘hypothetical’ when it's real. “Charles.”

“Leclerc?” Susie doesn’t mask her shock for a single second.

“Mamma,” you whine at her reaction.

“Sweetheart, your father is gonna have an aneurysm when he hears this.”

“Mamma,” you whine again, this time more seriously, as you feel the water works coming on.

“Sweetheart?” Susie questions, her face going from shock to stone cold serious as she sees how upset you are. “This is serious.”

You sigh, “I really like him, Mamma. He makes me very happy.” You look at Susie, and you don’t like the look she has even more.

She looks very seriously at you, while also having the ‘its not good’ look. “Your father is not going to like this,” she says honestly, “but,” you watch Susie as she begins to smile, “if you’re happy, that is what's important.”

You begin to smile as well, “Daddy will get over it right?”

“I hope so,” Susie says truthfully. You were Toto’s oldest, nothing would ever be good enough for you. You were his pride and joy, you were the first, and as the first, you are everything to your father. Susie knows this, and she knows that no matter how much Charles tries, Toto still won’t think he’s good enough for you.

Susie reminds you that the best way to handle this, is to inform your father sooner rather than later. You agree, but you want to make sure that you and Charles are on the same page as well. Thursday night, once again you are hiding out in Charles' hotel room, instead of staying in your own room. The two of you cuddle together on the bed as a movie plays on the TV.

“Charles,” you start off softly, afraid to disturb the delicate peace that’s settled across the room, “where do you see this going?”

“What do you mean by that?” Charles asked, as he glanced at you.

“Us, our relationship, where do you see it going?” You stared at Charles, while listening to his steady heartbeat.

“I don’t know,” Charles answers, his answer holds a brutal truth that you don’t like, you sit up to look at Charles, “but, I hope it goes far and long.” Charles continues to lay in bed while you stare at him, “ I hope that it gets out of hotel rooms, and garage halls, and private phone calls. I hope it gets you into some red Ferrari gear,” you smile at Charles’ preposterous hope, “I hope that it gets further than this. I love you y/n.”

“I love you too,” you reassure.

“Why do you ask me that ma chère?”

“I’m going to tell my father about us,” you say, “and your plans to move to Mercedes.” You just have to tease him a little bit.

Charles laughs at you, “you mean your plans to be a Ferrari fan from now on.” And he always knew how to handle your teasing.

You laugh going to kiss Charles, “that’s so much work,” you say with another kiss, “you should just switch teams.”

Charles laughs sarcastically, he loves the banter. “y/n,” he calls. It stops you, he never uses your name, “I really do love you.” He’s probably told you this same sentiment over a thousand times, but each time, it still feels like the first time.

Your cheeks hurt from how hard you’re smiling, “I love you too.” Somehow these ‘I love you's' are different, they’re more significant, more meaningful, more genuine, more heartfelt, more profound. They’re more serious, because they’re not just ‘I love you,’ they’re a promise, a commitment, a lifetime, together.

“Daddy, please can you be rational about this?” You ask as you follow your father about the Monaco home. Trying to get him to stop complaining about your choices in men.

“Why couldn’t you date George, at least you would still be supporting Mercedes,” your Father says as the two of you make your way into the kitchen to see Mamma and Jack.

“Mamma do you hear him?” You ask, indicating your father as ‘him.’ “George is very much in a relationship, Father”

“And what’s wrong with Lewis?” Your father clearly is not thinking about the age difference between you and Lewis.

You looked to Mamma to see if your father was serious, and even she was shocked with the suggestion, “you would be okay with me dating someone that is 14 years my senior?” you ask with a brow raised to your father, “you’ve convinced me Daddy, I will stop seeing Charles and start seeing Lewis.”

Your father sighs, “that is not what I…”

“Daddy, I invited Charles over for dinner, tomorrow night, that way you can properly meet him as my partner, instead of as a driver.” You tell your father, hoping that you're just imagining the steaming coming out of his ears, “one dinner, Daddy, that’s all. He makes me really happy.”

“Okay,” your Father says. You don’t miss the slight eye roll he gives though.

“Thank you Daddy,” you say, giving him a hug, before running off to your room like a teenage girl to call Charles and let him know about dinner tomorrow night.

After your father hears your bedroom door shut, does he turn to his wife. “Susie,” he calls out, still listening for you, to see if you were coming back out. “A word, privately.”

“Okay,” Susie answers a bit confused about the request, she turns to Jack, “why don’t you go play for right now.” Jack nods along excitedly, before running out the room. “Toto, what is it?”

“She can’t date Charles.” Toto says, turning his full attention to his wife.

“What?”

“Susie, I have seen the drivers in relationships. They have their girlfriend one weekend, then they have a club girl the next weekend, and then some lucky fan the following weekend. Charles is no different.” Toto doesn’t hold back in his recounting of the drivers stepping out on their partners, “y/n is gonna get hurt, and her entire image will be tainted by being cheated on by Charles.”

“Toto don’t you think you’re being a little unfair.” Susie tries her best to defend Charles, but she knows Toto is telling the truth. She’s seen it too, from a number of drivers amongst the ranks throughout the years.

“Charles is a hell of a driver, but I'm not gonna allow him to ruin my daughter.” Toto declares as final, “we need to find a way to stop them from seeing each other before the public catches wind of their relationship.”

“Toto,” Susie takes a breath, if they do this, they would have to tread very carefully, or they could end more than just your relationship with Charles. “If she ever finds out that we are interfering in her life like this, she won’t forgive us, she's not a kid anymore.”

“She wasn’t a kid when we pulled her from racing,” Toto drags up a long forgotten and regretted moment, “we do what we have to, to protect our children, regardless of how it may look.”

“We’ll need to play this close to the vest.”

To say the evening was filled with tension and awkwardness would be an understatement. Your father continuously gave Charles dirty looks throughout the night, and you wanted to slap him for being so childish. Susie was pleasant throughout the evening. Jack was just being Jack. He probably talked the most, asking Charles about what it was like to be a real race car driver.

“This is a very lovely meal,” Charles says to Susie. You appreciate him trying his best to not ruffle your father’s feathers.

“Thank you Charles,” Susie appreciates the compliments. She doesn’t know what is best, because Toto is determined to stop you and Charles from seeing each other.

“Charles, did you ever pee in the car?” Jack asks, as he shovels another pile of food in his mother.

“Jack,” you say in a scolding manner, while Charles just laughs at the question.

Charles has to take a sip of water before answering, “I try my best to make sure I use the bathroom before I get into the car.”

“Enough questions Jack,” you say to your little brother, getting irritated with how much he was talking.

“I just wanted to ask the racecar driver,” Jack pouts. He makes that face with an exaggerated frown, that almost makes you feel guilty.

“Jack, we’re all race car drivers. Me, Mamma and Daddy have all raced cars before and you never ask us.” you argue back, you almost feel stupid that you have to argue with a five year old.

“But you didn’t make it to formula 1,” Jack points out, and now you don’t feel guilty, you just feel sad that Jack had to point out one of your biggest regrets in life.

“Jack,” Susie says, scolding your brother.

“I didn’t know you raced,” Charles says, turning to look at you.

You smile, thinking back to the time, “Yeah, I did karting for years, then I did formula renault, F4 and F3.”

“Why did you stop?” Charles asks, wondering how you could give it up.

“I didn’t get a seat in Formula two, and the agreement was if I could get a seat I could race, but I wouldn’t pass up opportunities to race. I got into college, so I gave up racing and went back to school.” You reveal to Charles, he can hear the regret in your voice, but he chooses not to point it out. You don’t see that look Susie and Toto exchange when they hear your retelling of events.

“I see,” Charles says, “It’s a shame, I think you would’ve been a hell of a driver.”

You chuckle at Charles, “I would definitely have more wins than you by now,” you tease.

“Oh?” Charles smirks at you, “you would?”

“Of course I would, because I would be driving for Mercedes, for sure.” You chuckle at your own joke.

Charles shakes his head at you, his smile spreading far and wide. Susie watches you and Charles, she's been watching you throughout the night and she knows Charles is enough for you. She knows that this is your person, that they will never be another that will be able to compete with Charles. It's him or nothing.

You skip the Hungarian grand prix, especially as the media releases pictures of you and Charles, going back to the Monaco Grand Prix. Your father thought it best that you stay home, he wasn’t sure how people would react to the relationship news. You spent a few days before your father left for Hungary, arguing with him that it was unfair to bench you, because of the possibility that fans won’t like the news.

Clearly, your father won that argument as you sat at home in Monaco, watching the sessions through the TV, instead of being there in person. What Toto doesn’t tell you, is that he wants you home, so that he can meet with Fred without you getting suspicious.

After the qualifying session, Toto asked Fred, the team principal of Ferrari, to join him for dinner. As the two men met away from the paddock, away from the cameras, from the drivers, from the team. They sat in a private dining room, in an elite restaurant. Only here did Toto feel comfortable asking what he was about to ask.

“What are we doing here Toto?” Fred asks, as he sips the beer he ordered. Fred wouldn’t say it, betraying his French roots, but he always preferred a bottle of beer over a glass of wine.

“Fred, I have a favor to ask,” Toto requests, he ignores his gut feeling telling him that this is wrong, and continues on, “I want you to delay Charles' contract signing.”

“Why would I do that?” Fred asks, delaying a contract signing seems like it’s not a big deal, but there's many implications to what that could mean.

“You would do it, because then I will be in debt to you,” Toto says, he's thought about this, he knows his way through a negotiation.

“Okay,” Fred says, he has a reason to do so, but what is Toto’s reason for asking? “Now why do you need me to do this?”

Toto sighs, “y/n.”

“Your daughter, I saw the news about her Charles,” Fred pauses, taking another sip of the beer, “well actually Charles told me about the relationship back in Miami.”

“Miami?” Toto questions, “she didn’t tell me until after silverstone.”

“Charles said he wanted me to know before the public knew, would like to know what else he said?”

“What?” Toto sighs, once more.

“Charles said he wants to do this right, that he is serious about her,” Fred offers.

“We’ve both heard drivers say one thing and do another,” Toto fixes his posture, sitting up in the chair, “I won’t allow my daughter’s image to be run through by Charles.”

“So you want me to delay a contract signing, to do what? So you can scare Charles into picking a seat over your daughter? And what happens when he picks your daughter over his seat?” Fred sits up in his chair as well, looking Toto square in the eyes.

“If he picks my daughter over his seat, then I know he’s serious about her,” Toto stands upm buttoning his jacket, “but we both know he won’t do that.” Toto sticks out his hand for Fred to shake.

Fred stands to shake Toto’s hand, “this doesn’t mean I agreed to anything.”

“You will agree,” Toto smiles, a little amused at the situation, “we both know me in debt to you is too valuable to pass up.”

Since the news of your relationship has been made public, you and Charles are seen together around the paddock during the Belgian Grand Prix a lot more. Although you guys did try to keep it as professional as possible, there weren't any public displays of affection between the two of you. However, that went straight out the window after the race podium celebration.

Instead of watching the podium you stayed in the garage with your father, since there wasn’t a Mercedes on the podium. As soon as Charles was done with the podium celebration, he ran straight into the Mercedes garage to collect a celebratory kiss from you. His, sweaty, champagne-covered, sticky self, pulling you into a tight hug with a deep kiss. He had one arm wrapped around your waist, while his other hand held onto his trophy. You were taken aback by the initial kiss, but soon you cupped his cheek and held him close.

Charles would’ve kissed you longer, but he could feel the cameras on the two of you. When he finally did pull away, you were a giggling mess that you didn’t even notice the cameras at first. “Let’s go,” Charles whispers to you, “let’s get out of here.”

You wanted desperately to leave right then and there with Charles, “I can’t,” you say. You watch his smile drop just a little, “I have work to finish,” you say while giving the side eye to where your father sat in the Mercedes garage, watching you and Charles. “And you have a press conference.”

“Okay, after that then.” Charles says, kissing you on the cheek this time.

“After that.”

That night, while you and Charles celebrated his podium finish, the picture of you and him making out in the Mercedes garage after his podium celebrations, hit social media. That photo is more talked about than Max’s 8th grand prix win in a row. That photo is in all the group chats around the paddock. That photo makes it to the official formula 1 social media pages. And the biggest take away is your father’s face in the background of the photo. Everytime you look at it, you laugh knowing that your father most likely made that face subconsciously.

Since summer break has begun, you spend more time with Charles than at home with your family. Today, you just so happen to need a few things from your closet, that you stopped in the Monaco home. That is when you could overhear your parents talking in your father’s office.

“We need to be more discreet about this now,” your father says to Mamma.

“Toto, I don’t think this is right. It’s not fair to y/n or Charles,” Susie says. Normally you wouldn’t eavesdrop on your parents, but the mention of you and Charles caught your attention.

“I am trying to protect our daughter,” Toto says, and you can’t help but think. What is your father trying to protect you from?

“This isn’t protecting her, this is your fear about what could happen,” Susie says. You can hear in your mamma voice, she’s getting defensive.

“Like how your fear pulled her from racing,” Toto says in a raised voice. You’re completely confused as to what your father could mean with that statement.

There’s a pause. It goes silent for a second, and you listen closer. “I was saving her life, we weren’t sure what the FIA would do after Jules.” There’s a pain in Susie’s voice.

“Safety measures were put in place,” Toto argues.

“After you pushed back on them.”

“I have changed my position on the halo, you know that,” Toto says. Even though the wood doors separate you from seeing your parents, you can clearly imagine what this fight is looking like.

“After Lewis almost dies!” Mamma never shouts, is your singular thought after hearing that statement. “What if you had gotten your way and the halo was never placed? What if it was our daughter in that car? I pulled her from racing to save her life, because you sure as hell wasn’t going to do it.” Susie pulls open the office door to see you standing on the other side. You watch her face drop from anger to sadness quickly. “Sweetheart…”

“Mamma… you pulled me from racing?” You question as the tears begin to well in your eyes.

“Sweetheart…” Susie repeats, shes at a complete loss for words.

“You told me that I wasn’t picked up for a seat.” you take a breath before you start crying, “was that the truth?”

“Darling,” Toto calls out to you.

“Was it the truth?” You ask again, this time you make the hurt evident in your voice, “you told me a team didn’t want to pick me for F2, was that the truth?”

“You weren’t anybody’s first choice,” Susie pauses, “but you were on the list.” You feel your break, as you start to cry. “We worked a few negotiations to ensure that you didn’t get picked. We worked to pull you from racing.”

You were a hyperventilating mess, you couldn’t stop the tears, the sobs, the heartbreak from happening. “You told me…You told me, if I earned my seat without you or daddy interfering I could keep racing. You promised that you would let me race.”

“We wanted to protect you, we didn’t want what happened to Jules.”

“Don’t you dare,” you snap at Susie, “don’t use what happened to Jules as an excuse.” You walked away, racing up the stairs. Towards your bedroom, you could hear your parents rushed footsteps as they followed after you. You began to shove clothes into a bag, as you tried to violently wipe away the tears.

“Where are you going?” Your father asks in a calm voice.

“I’m gonna stay with Charles for a while.” When you mention Charles, you remembered the beginning of the conversation. You stopped packing your clothes. Slowly you turned to face your parents. “What did you do?”

“Excuse me?” your father questions.

“What did you do to Charles? Mamma said it wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair, whatever you were doing. What did you do to Charles daddy?” You’re out of breath, you fear whatever your father has to say.

You watch as your father sighs, he hangs his head. “I asked Fred to delay his contract signing. Ferrari wants to keep Charles, they’re going to give him whatever he wants. I asked for Fred to just hold off on signing the contract.”

You scoff at the revelation. “Just long enough to scare Charles into picking a seat over me. This is rich from the both of you.”

“Sweetheart…” Susie calls out to you as she reaches to hold you.

“Don’t touch me,” you snap once again. You couldn’t tell if you were really angry or sad or shocked, but you did know you were just hurt. Your parents had taken away your dreams, and they were trying to take away your love. “You took away racing,” you take a breath, you strip away all the excess, you let them hear the hurt in your voice, “I won’t let you take Charles away too.”

When you do make it Charles’ place. When he opens the door for you, he sees you silently crying and shaking. Your voice is hoarse already, that it’s only a whisper when you ask, “can I stay with you for a few days?”

“Of course,” Charles says as he welcomes you inside. When he finally closes the door, you drop your bag to the floor, and just hold onto Charles tightly. He wraps his arms around you, providing you with the comfort you longed for.

-----------------------------

Part II

#formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #charles leclerc #formula 1 au #formula 1 angst #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #scuderia ferrari #f1 ferrari #f1 charles leclerc #charles leclerc au #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc angst #toto wolff #toto wolff daughter #toto wolff au

2K notes · View notes

hanglimi · 16 days

Text

are we just friends? - chaewon

5 times y/n and chaewon were "just friends" and the one time they weren't.

TAGS - non-idol! chaewon x non-idol! reader, friends to lovers, fluff, f!reader

WORDCOUNT - 2000~

WARNINGS - like two swears or something

A/N - not proofread, ending kinda rushed

(1)

“isn’t that chaewon’s sweater?” yunjin mentioned in passing as she sat down your bed, looking around and observing the walls.

you threw a quick glance to where she was, noting the baby blue sweater draped on the back of your chair. you hummed absentmindedly in response and ushered your roommate off your bed, swiping at the sheets.

“can you please get out of my room and go clean up yours instead,” you muttered while continuing to fix every nook and cranny. you turned to look behind you, and groaned at yunjin’s slow pace, pushing her through the doorway of your room.

“chaewon’s coming over in like,” you checked the watch on your wrist and your eyes widened at the sight. “she’s coming over in 10 minutes!” you exclaimed shocked, rushing around your apartment trying to organise everything.

yunjin simply let out a chuckle as she inched towards her room, “you act like she doesn’t come over every day. i’m sure she won’t mind the sight of people actually living here.”

“fuck off!” you said in response and continued to wipe down the counters of your small kitchen.

“y/nnie!” chaewon exclaimed in joy as you opened the door for her, widening your arms for a hug. she slipped into your hold, fitting into place exactly like how she always did. your body untensed during the hug and you held her tight, smelling her hair.

you pulled away after a short time, noting the slight look of disappointment on your friend's face.

“i forgot to give it to you yesterday before you left, but I’ll wash the sweater you gave me and give it back to you as soon as possible.” you said, leading chaewon into the living room.

“don’t worry about it. you can keep it.”

“really? I thought it was your favourite one,” you raised your eyebrow in pleasant shock and sat down on the couch, chaewon following suite, grabbing the remote to the tv.

“it’s fine, really. i like how it looks on you anyways.” her smile grew as she leaned her head on your shoulder. your face felt warm at the comment and you quickly switched the topic, snatching the remote, and scrolling through movies to watch.

you swore you could hear yunjin cackling through the thin walls of your apartment.

(2)

“would you be interested in coming with me to sakura’s party?” chaewon said, preheating the oven as you whisked together the ingredients in the bowl in front of you. “she mentioned that I needed to bring a plus one, and you're obviously my go to,” she finished. you could feel her eyes on the back of your head as you continued moving your wrist.

“i’d love to, but isn’t a plus one supposed to be someone you're interested in?” you stopped whisking to turn to look chaewon in her eyes. “i think I’d feel weird if I came along.” at the sound of your subtle rejection, the glimmer in chaewon’s eyes dimmed and she faced the other way again, putting the ingredients away.

“it’s just,” chaewon started, gripping the edge of the counter, “we’ve been going to events together for such a long time– even things that were usually for couples. it’d be so weird if I were to suddenly stop bringing my closest friend because this time it's a little more serious.” she vaguely bent her fingers at the word serious, deepening her voice for the effect.

you nodded along to her words in silence, testing your response in your head before replying.

“i’ll go.” she cheered in response before you could finish, and jumped up and down, fully turning around again to grab onto your arms.

“but,” you drawled, rolling your eyes at her actions. “next time one of these things happens you’re bringing someone else. you gotta talk to other people these days, chaewon. i won’t be here forever.” you smiled slightly at your words, but quickly frowned at the sight of chaewon’s shoulders slumping down, even as she tried to fake her own laugh.

you quickly grabbed a handful of flour and threw it at her face, causing her to slap you on the arm.

“yah! what was that for!” she growled, ready to retaliate.

“you just looked like an angry puppy. whenever you have that face i can’t help but swoon.”

the pink of her neck rose to her cheeks and her ears, so she continued to hit your body, muttering random things.

you had always hated making chaewon sad.

(3)

you checked the time on your phone before glancing back up at your friends. the three of you had been eating for two hours, and the time felt right to leave and go home.

“i gotta go guys, but it’s been really fun catching up again!” you wrapped the conversation up, gathering your things.

“aww. is grown up y/n gonna go to her girlfriend now?” aeri imitated a child’s voice as minjeong giggled alongside her, hitting her shoulder urging her to stop.

you raised your brow in annoyance at her voice and confusion of the statement, “who’s my girlfriend?”

“chaewon, duh.” aeri stuck her tongue out at you, saying it as if it was common knowledge as she continued packing up her things.

“when have you guys ever even met her?” you were totally confused now, trying to recall a past date where the two friend groups had collided.

“never. but you talk about her enough that we could practically write a whole biography on her.” minjeong grinned at her words.

you pinched your nose at your two friends' antics. there was no way that you talked about chaewon enough for them to fabricate her being your girlfriend. it was obviously an over exaggeration on their part.

“you guys are literally liars. there’s no way you even know who she is.” you leaned back in your chair and crossed your arms. “you probably know her name because I’ve mentioned her before.”

“call us all the names you can construct in that little brain of yours, but we know her like the back of our hands.” aeri said, continuing to rile you up.

you soon left the restaurant with a throbbing headache because of aeri’s annoying self.

you’d need to ask your other friends if you really did talk about chaewon that often.

(4)

“why’d you bring me here again?” chaewon asked, grabbing onto your outstretched hand as you led her up the hill.

“can’t a girl just bring her best friend somewhere special?” you said lightly, continuing up and dragging chaewon along.

the both of you reached the peak of the hill, and you brought out a soft blanket from your backpack, laying it down on the grass.

“so this is what you prepare instead of studying for final exams.” chaewon stated, hands on her hips as she analysed the get up.

you chuckled and gestured down towards the blanket, “i took the time out of my studying to set this up. you can at least appreciate me and my efforts a little bit.”

“oh I definitely appreciate it. i think it’s cute.”

you laid down on the blanket, interlocking your fingers onto your stomach, gazing at the dark sky above as chaewon lowered herself down to the ground. her shoulders brushed against yours as she got comfortable, fidgeting with her feet.

the two of you stared up at the night, watching and searching for the stars. minutes passed, and chaewon’s breathing evened out, her body relaxing. the bright lights from the city drowned out the twinkling of the stars anyways, so you turned your whole body towards your friends, roving your eyes up and down her face. You propped up an elbow and laid upright onto your side, taking in chaewon’s features.

“why’re you looking at me like that,” a mumble fell from the girl’s lips, and she slowly opened her eyes, her words piercing the silence.

“no reason.” you fell back down onto your back, going back to staring upwards.

“y/n.”

“mmm.” you let out, trying to fuse into the blanket underneath you for warmth. chaewon noticed this and shifted closer, letting her arms wrap familiarly around your body.

“thanks for this.”

“of course chaewon. anything for you.”

you really would do anything to make chaewon happy.

(5)

“i wonder how it’d sound if it went like this.” your friend’s voice drifted from one side of the room to the other. you looked up from your schoolwork and directed your attention to the girl on the other side of the room. her brows were furrowed deep in concentration, and she tapped a pen to her lips, a pouty look to them

she continued to sing unknowingly, stopping to make tweaks, and continuing from where she left off. it was a ritual – you would bring the work you needed to catch up on to chaewon’s little studio room while she would practise her singing. something easy to fall into, somewhat of a tradition really. all your friends knew when it was “y/n and chaewon” time – or whatever they liked to call it, so they’d leave the both of you to your devices.

chaewon’s smooth voice brought you back to where you were, and you glanced back at the schoolwork you were doing not too long ago, to see scribbles and words relating to chaewon on your paper. a groan escaped your lips as you erased the illegible comments.

“you alright?” chaewon asked, pausing her melodies to push her glasses up her nose and glance in your direction.

“just fine.” you whispered back, throwing a thumbs up in her direction.

“we can leave early if you’d like-”

“no!” you shouted, covering your mouth in shock at your outburst. “no thank you, i like the quiet of this room.” in reality, you just wanted to stay with her alone a little longer.

she laughed a little and went back to her own work, fully in the zone again.

you dropped your pencil, and quietly turned in your chair to look at her. her hair seemed to be shining in the light of the room, and her whole body posture was loose, showcasing her love for what she was doing. it felt as though her aura was pulling you in. the thought of looking away from her– looking away from her when she was doing what she loved, looking so entranced, was not a thought that stayed in your mind. you’d rarely seen her this focused on what she was doing, and you selfishly wished for just a second, that all that attention was on you.

“are you sure you’re okay?” she looked back up to you, your eyes burning a hole into the side of her face.

“yep. just enjoying the view.”

she giggled and told you to shut up.

you are definitely going to watch her do this again.

(+1)

“y/n?” chaewon called to you as you held the door open for her, her music and notes in her hands. “i hope that wasn’t too boring for you. i wasn’t really talking to you that much this time.”

“oh no it’s alright! i quite enjoyed the peace and quiet.”

“are you trying to say i talk too much,” chaewon glared sarcastically, a slight smirk playing on her lips.

“who knows what i’m trying to say.” you shrug, falling into step with chaewon as you walked her to her apartment.

the evening sun was setting, but you were still able to feel its warm rays hit your face and body as you stepped forward. the comfortable silence enveloped you two, and you didn’t think much of it.

halfway through the walk, chaewon stopped walking and turned to face you, “look over here.”

so you turned, and the girl in front of you seemed to be looking more ethereal than ever. the sun was framing her face perfectly, her eyes were glimmering, and her mouth was wide with a smile. she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and just stood there, looking at you.

the thought that this was your best friend – someone who you had known for years – didn’t cross your mind as you closed the gap between you two, your lips connecting. you shut your eyes and leaned into the kiss, letting her take the lead. her papers were pressed between you guys, the sound of the rustling entered your ears, but it didn’t stay long as chaewon slowly moved back, opening her eyes slowly.

and as you reached an arm out to pull her back in, you thought that maybe, just maybe, you were a little bit in love with her.

A/N - this is so jank im so so rusty, please forgive me. I hope you enjoyed it though!

#chaewon x reader #le sserafim #chaewon imagines #kpop x reader #kim chaewon #le sserafim imagines #kpop gg #le sserafim x reader

476 notes · View notes

beabidobi · 26 days

Text

Miguel sleeping with s/o headcanons

no pronouns used for reader

have this while I’m working on some drafts 😇

• He is a SNORER. Like makes those dad sounds.

• Also mumbles/talks in his sleeps.

“I don’t know it.” He murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. “What?” You say, confused when you see his eyes closed. “I don’t know grapes.” He mumbles again before falling back into his snores, leaving you to hold back your laughter as much as you can and wishing you had recorded it. “Grapes?”

• Usually sleeps on his back with your head on his chest or on his front with one arm slung over your waist.

• Very occasionally he’ll nuzzle into your chest or neck when he’s sick or just really tired.

• He has nightmares often, usually about Gabriella and will panic when he wakes up, resulting in accidentally waking you up which he profusely apologises for while you comfort him.

• He can’t sleep if he’s not touching you in some way. Even if it’s just his hand in your hair. If you have an argument, he’ll (what he thinks is very sneakily) move his leg or hand to just slightly lay against your thigh or stomach.

• He rarely gets enough sleep, busy saving the multiverse and all and he’s an insomniac. Normally gets around 2-5 hours a night or sometimes none at all.

• On nights when he can’t sleep, he won’t wake you he’ll just lie next to you, mesmerised by the way you breathe and the slight furrow of your eyebrows when there’s a noise outside.

• HOWEVER he will sleep like a baby if you play with his hair. Like there’s no chance of him staying awake when you run your hands through his hair.

“I know what you’re doing.” He says when he feels your fingers glide gently through his locks. “I’m not doing anything.” You reply, a smile creeping up on your face. “Yes you are. You’re trying to make me sleep and it’s not going to work.” He grumbles, although he already feels his eyes growing heavy. Despite his many protests, he eventually (meaning within 10 minutes) falls asleep on your shoulder while your hands continue to caress his hair.

• When you can’t sleep, he always urges you to wake him. He’ll make you chamomile tea and then cuddle you up to his chest, whisper sweet nothings while running his hand up and down your back until you drift off to sleep.

“Shh. just try sleep, mi estrella.” He whispers, stroking your hair and pressing kisses to your head. “Don’t worry about tomorrow, just relax.”

• He has to leave early in the mornings so he purposely sets an alarm twenty minutes before he actually needs to get up so he can just cuddle and admire you for a while.

• You would not think this man is a traumatised 6’9 superhero by the way he sleeps. His features are always so peaceful and his eyelashes fluttering softly against his cheeks.

• He’s a light sleeper and wakes up at any sounds. Even when you get up to use the bathroom he’ll wake up, but he denies it when you ask in the morning because he doesn’t want you to feel bad.

• His sleep attire just consists of a pair of boxers because he overheats in his sleep and he tends to just turn off his suit and crawls into bed with you the minute he gets home.

thank you for the notes on my last post!!

reqs open ♡︎

785 notes · View notes

bruisedboys · 5 months

Text

bradley bradshaw x fem!reader — you’re worried about what bradley will think of your new haircut.

mutual pining, pre-relationship, fluff (very self indulgent since I got my hair cut this week xoxo)

You were feeling good about your new haircut yesterday, when it was freshly cut and styled and so super soft. Today is different. You know you look different and you can help but think different is bad.

You rake a hand through your short hair. “Does my hair look bad?”

Natasha and Bob both give you twin looks of incredulity. It’s not the first time you’ve asked it tonight. They’ve brought you along to the Hard Deck for a night of drinks with their friends and you can’t stop fussing over your hair. You won’t admit to them it’s because you’re harbouring a massive crush on one of their squad members and you’re worried he’ll think you look awful.

“It looks fine,” Natasha tells you, again, not for the first time. “You look pretty. Right, Bob?”

Bob hums, tapping his fingers on the wooden tabletop. “You look great, Y/N.” He gives you a look from behind his glasses. Confusion, a bit of suspicion. “Why are you worrying so much, anyway?”

Your heart stutters. “I’m not—“

“Phoenix, Bob!” Jake Seresin appears seemingly out of nowhere, sidling up to your table with all the charm of a prince. His eyes land on you and your new hair and he grins. “And Y/N. Looking good, sugar.”

He winks at you. He’s a huge flirt and you’d definitely be into him if it weren’t for another certain aviator.

You smile at him. “Thanks, Jake.”

The others, Payback and Fanboy, file in behind him. They both notice and compliment your hair, which is a good sign. Still, you know who’s coming next and you can’t help but curl in on yourself, taking a sip of your drink so you don’t have to see him as he approaches.

“Hey, guys!” Bradley Bradshaw appears, stupid Hawaiian shirt, sunglasses, moustache, golden skin and all. He’s tucking his glasses into his shirt so he doesn’t see you at first. “Hey— woah, Y/N.”

He stops short when he sees you. You lower your drink slowly, heart in your throat. Your knee bounces underneath the table.

“Hi, Bradley,” you say.

Bradley blinks. Blinks again. “Hi. Hey. I— you cut your hair.”

He says it like he’s never heard of a haircut before. You smile unsurely.

“I did,” you say, pushing a lock behind your ear as if that will help your case. “Is it bad?”

“Bad? No, it’s— it really suits you,” he says. If you’re not mistaken, he’s stuttering. Not only that, but unless you’re imagining it, he’s blushing. He stares at you, completely unaware of anything or anyone else, golden cheeks tinged pink. “You look really pretty.”

Your turn to blush. Heat flares behind your cheeks, burning into your smile. Pretty, he called you. “Thanks, Brad.”

Bradley seems to come back into himself, a lopsided grin creeping onto his face. He shoves his hands into his jeans pockets and smiles at you. “Hey, you’re welcome. Just tell me next time so I don’t have a heart attack, okay?”

What’s that supposed to mean? You open your mouth to say something, you don’t know what, but Jake’s southern drawl interrupts you.

“Bradshaw!” Both you and Bradley turn to see Jake at the pool table with the rest of the boys. “Stop flirting with Y/N and get over here so I can beat you. Again.”

Bradley rolls his eyes. “He’s lying, I won last week. I’ll be back, okay? Don’t go anywhere.”

You weren’t planning to. He flashes you a dazzling smile and then you watch him go, your heart thrumming with the sort of electricity you can’t ignore. You think you might burst. He’d called you pretty, said you’d given him a heart attack. You feel like your own heart’s about to give out, too.

Across the table, Bradley now well out of earshot, Natasha wiggles her eyebrows at you.

“Oh,” she says slyly. “Now I get why you were so worried about your hair.”

You groan and bury your burning face in your drink again. “Please shut up, Nat.”

You have a feeling she won’t.

804 notes · View notes

nanaminis · 1 month

Text

jjk men & you: nail appointment!

tldr: gojo, geto, nanami, ino, choso, toji, sukuna + mahito going with you to your nail appointment.

cw: fem!reader. sukuna refers to reader as ‘woman’ once. and mahito.

a/n: this was fun lowk. might do it for jjk boys, depends on my motivation. idk if mahito particularly counts as a man, but he’s here for my mootie. time to sleep now, enjoy!!!

✿ — gojo:

first things first, he’s paying for your nails. which sounds like a good thing, until you realize he’s insisting on going along with you. he’ll pester you the entire time, suggesting colors and styles (how does he know so much?!) and then doing anything to get you to laugh or look at him. sometimes it results in your nail tech getting a little lot frustrated because he keeps making you squirm. eventually, tho, he’ll stop and let the tech finish up your nails.

“they’re cute. would’ve been cuter if you let me pick, buuuut... still cute.”

✿ — ino:

he’ll flex his knowledge about nails like it’s something revolutionary or suggest a style that he swears is completely unique, only for you to correct him and realize that it’s really just basic information. he’ll spend the rest of the appointment scrolling through pinterest and instagram, trying to find inspo for your next set.

“ooh, baby, look. these are nice, right?”

✿ — nanami:

only pays if you want him to, and only goes if you want him to. is content to let you pick whatever style you want, but likes to pick out bold colors and suggest designs based on your interests or adding charms. always tips the tech, and once your nails are done, he gently grabs your hand and kisses the back of it.

“these suit you perfectly, my lady.”

✿ — geto:

at first, he is nawt going in there. unless you find a sorcerer nail tech, he’s going to be slick the entire time. he’ll side-eye everyone else getting their nails done, judge their taste (“why would she choose that shit-brown?”), and stand up the entire time. he doesn’t want the germs. once you’re done, he’s pulling you out of there as quickly as possible.

“here, take this. ... yes, it’s hand sanitizer. you don’t want those monkey germs, right?”

✿ — toji:

only goes because you told him if he tagged along, you’d pay. in reality, he was going to go all along, just to make sure nobody tries anything. he will slap the shit outta somebody, including your nail tech. sits in a tiny chair by your side, massive head resting on your shoulder and arms crossed, absolutely knocked out. he’ll only wake up if you shrug your shoulder or if the appointment ends (he has some kind of sixth sense for that shit).

“huh? ... nah, i ain’t sleep. you cute, now c’mon.”

✿ — choso:

kind of like gojo, clingy asf. he won’t make suggestions (bro has no idea, pls bear w/ him), but he’ll praise any and every decision you make. his arms will be wrapped around your waist the entire time, earning him lots of ‘awhss’ and ‘look at them! so cute.’ tips the nail tech for “making you extra gorgeous.” his words, not mine.

“you look good, i swear. i like the colors, and the shape, and the design, and your hands...”

✿ — sukuna:

has a personal nail tech. you think he maintains them black nails by himself? no. threatens his nail tech to do good on your nails, otherwise it’ll be the last set they ever do. makes minor suggestions, but is content to sit back and let you decide for yourself. he does have a preference color, though, either black, red, or dark purple. gets a weird urge to nibble your fingers once your nails are done. please don’t ask why.

“hm? you look fine, woman. nothing rivals your natural beauty, so quit ya whining.”

✿ — higuruma:

he’s awake for the entire prep process. watching you pick your colors, decide on a design, get settled in the chair. the second the nail tech actually gets to work, though, he’s tapped out. just like toji, he’s sitting in a chair beside you, head either resting in your lap or on your shoulder. if he could sit across from you, his head would be on your chest. only wakes up when it’s time to pay (he tips!) or if something goes wrong.

“... mm? oh, those are nice, sunshine. i like the little designs, very cute.”

✿ — mahito ..?:

a lil shit the entire time istg. doesn’t care what you pick, will poke and squish and pinch and nuzzle you the whole process, annoying both you and the tech. considers getting his done to match yours, but realizes he could probably just morph the shape of his soul instead of sitting there.

“those are, like, so cute! ... no? you don’t like my valley girl accent?”

437 notes · View notes

thevirtualvalentine · 9 months

Text

002. ONE PIECE, TRAFALGAR LAW.

content warnings: nsfw, med student!law, riding, perv!law, dick sucking, roles switch part way through, college au, maybe more.

plot: oh no! you’ve come down with the common cold and luffy suggest you visit his friend.. traffy? at the on-campus med clinic. seems simple enough till you’re fucking his brains out.

word count: 3.3k

It was just a simple cold, a quick trip in and out of the health clinic is all it would take. Get your decongestant, maybe a cough drop or two and lickity split you’d be better in no time. It’s not that you’re scared of the doctors office, just a bit wary of them whilst the process is long, arduous, and usually results in a headache. That’s why you thought the smaller on campus clinic would be quicker than scheduling an appointment, your friend Luffy said he knew the guy that worked there and added that he was, ‘grumpy but pretty practical.’ Went on a long tangent saying they’d known each other forever, yada yada, “go see him, he’d like you.”

It wasn’t a far walk from your dorm, plus it was a nice day out, the weather didn’t seem to make you feel any worse. When you walked into the small health center, you were shocked to see that no one else was there. The lights were dim in the main office and you would have sworn it was closed if a deep voice didn’t call out to you from another room, “Back here, what can I do for ya?”

You pull your jacket over yourself from the below sub temperatures when you make your way down the hallway. “Um… Traffy? Luffy said you’re studying pre-med. I just feel pretty congested is all..” You eye over the note Luffy had given you to double check the pronunciation, he knows you get pretty nervous at new places with people you don’t know. Annoyance shrouds his voice when he speaks again.

“Traffy? Of course that idiot told you to say that,” you can hear him sigh as you come up to the door. You shove the crumpled up piece of paper into your pocket simultaneously as you enter his office, shuffling awkwardly because he doesn’t look up from the paper work in his hand.

“Sorry bout that, what should I call you?” You can't see his face but he has short black hair that’s a bit messy, his hands show that he has vitiligo and tattoos? A bit built for a doctor, but the white lab coat makes him pop out amongst the pristine and dim space.

“La-” he finally looks up from his stack of miscellaneous books and papers but stutters over his words, “Traffy is fine.” He’s quick to clear his throat while giving a light awkward smile, all annoyance in his tone suddenly gone in thin air. You give a small wave as you pass your weight back and forth on the balls of your feet. The handsome man shakes his head in the act of doing a double take before he asks for your name. “Where are my manners, you are?”

“No no, it’s ok! y/n is fine,” your nerves cause you to mimic his verbiage as you stand planted in the middle of the room. He has these deep yellow eyes that stare you down while he asks you about your symptoms, asking when they first appeared and how long you’ve been feeling unwell.

He tsks which makes you gulp, worried that you’ve come down with a life threatening disease that seemingly has no cure. The snap of latex gloves against his tattooed hands snaps you out of your panic, “Well now, that just won’t do. No worries, doctor Law is here to help.” His low voice eases your nerves. As he stands up you realize how tall he is, and as his face comes into light you’re taken aback at just how handsome he really is. You’re almost annoyed at Luffy for hiding his hot friend from you, scruff that seems to suit him so well across his speckled features. Gold earrings with splotches of white hair scattered across his hairline. You’re praying your fever can explain why you feel so hot all of a sudden in such a cold room.

“Say ‘ahh’ for me.” His large hand rests underneath your chin, subtly tilting your head up to face him. Now you’re certain it’s not the fever that’s making you feel hot, it’s definitely him.

“Ahhh,” you stick your tongue out timidly, trying to avoid his almost predatory gaze while averting your eyes. All of a sudden his free hand enters your field of vision as two thick gloved fingers slide against your tongue, pushing the pads along the slimy surface. “Good,” he remarks monotonously, bright eyes never leaving your face.

Your mouth instinctively closes around his digits and you swear a light smile tugs at his lips before he retracts his fingers slowly. “Shit, sorry about that,” you say nervously, god you could jump off a bridge right now. How embarrassing, or so you think.

“Mhm, no gag reflex?” With his back turned to you he discards the gloves in a waste bin, ushering you to sit down on the examination table with a point of his finger.

You’re confused by his question, does he mean this in a medical sense or a practical one? The man is a doctor you suppose, it’s always best to be honest with your doctor, right? “Only when I’m brushing my teeth, why?” Those butterflies are back, causing you to swing your feet absentmindedly as you tell him the truth.

He returns to you with a stethoscope in hand as he places the ends in his ears. “Nothing, can you remove your jacket for me?” His demeanor makes your heart thump wildly in your chest, words that come out so smooth like he’s a practiced professional. You’re sure there’s something wrong with you because you’re getting turned on from a simple check up in the schools minute clinic.

You try to calm your heart as you take off your jacket, leaving you in a simple flimsy tank top. Hopefully he won’t be able to hear it’s [your heart’s] erratic beat. You curse yourself for not wearing a bra, you didn’t expect your ‘check up’ to go this way when you dressed yourself for the day, it was supposed to be a quick trip.

The cold air chills your nipples, making them visible through the thin fabric as they pebble up. Another pang of embarrassment stabs at your pride when he leans down to press the diaphragm over your chest.“Am I making you nervous?” It’s in the way he doesn’t even look at you as he presses the cold material over your blazing skin. “Your heart is beating so fast.”

“No…” you do your best to lie, hopefully that can save you or else you’ll have to hide in your dorm for the rest of your days while Luffy harasses you over embarrassing yourself in front of his friend.

“Your body doesn’t lie sweetness,” you can feel his stare drilling holes into your forehead now. “Ah, there it goes again.” You think you’re going to melt on top of his exam table if he doesn’t stop revealing things you don’t want to tell him. Your grip on the doctor roll makes it crackle beneath your hands as you try to calm down before you speak.

“What kind of examination is this anyway, I told you I’m just congested.” Defensiveness consumes you as you lean away from his touch, brain too rattled by his other worldly looks and words. You cross your arms and snub your head to the side, unbeknownst to you but most definitely to his own enjoyment it pushes your breasts together. You sigh, feeling bad for raising your voice at him. Maybe a bit of honesty will lessen the tension between you both.

“Look, I’m sorry for yelling, it’s just you’re really attractive and it’s making me nervous.” You drop your guard as you look up at him earnestly, apologizing isn’t always your strong suit.

He could be wrong, but he feels you want him in the way he wants you too. Luffy was right, his friend was hot. He’d heard about you in fleeting conversations, but was always curious to know what you looked like. There was just no way any normal person would want to be around that guy for more than a few minutes at a time. He could kill that guy for hiding such a beauty from him.

“I can help with that.” He turns his back to you once again, setting down his stethoscope. You’re gagged from the fact he blatantly ignored your confession. Your eyes that had drifted to the side now meet his as you stare at him wide eyed in disbelief. He leans over you, slotting his knee between your legs while his hands rest on either side of your head. You blink at him a few times dumbfounded because a few seconds ago you were sitting up but now lay flat on your back as he cages you in. Desire swirls deep in your stomach as you clench your fists.

He doesn’t make any sort of move on you till he has your consent. Sure he’s definitely already used some of his medical practice to his advantage, but he’s not here to hurt you. He won’t do anything to you unless he's sure you feel the same way.

You’re so turned on by it all that your legs squeeze together, interrupted by the knee slotted between them. “Please?” It comes out as more of a whine than anything while you place your hands on his shoulders, dragging him down to kiss you. It's sloppy and rushed at best, filled with mutual hunger as your tongues collide. His knee slides further and further upwards till it makes contact with your cunt that’s slowly becoming needier for more of his touch.

The swap of saliva is anything but sanitary and you almost feel bad for the fact you’ll get him sick after this. When he pulls away a string of spit connects you both, glimmering under the dimmed fluorescent lights, “here, lemme get that.” Traffy, or rather Law, swipes the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip trying to clean up the mess he’s made, a shame, you like it dirty. You catch the digit with your tongue before sucking it into your mouth, working your warm muscle all over whatever’s available to you. His eyes darken a shade as they gloss over when you release his finger with a loud pop sound.

“Is this still part of the ‘check up’” you tease, a coy smile tugs at your lips as you try to rock your hips against his knee. “Cause if so, I think I’m a little sick Doc.” He likes this flirtier side of you, what happened to the girl who walked into his office 30 minutes ago that couldn’t look him in the eye? Who knew such a shitty job with inadequate pay could be so fun.

Law lets his speckled hands run along your sides, groping whatever free skin he can. “Yeah? Think the only cure’s suckin me off. It’s terminal. Better work fast, doctor's orders.” His words send shivers of excitement coasting through you like waves. You’re entranced by that smirk of his, what other kinds of faces can a stoic man like him make?

You sit up to undo his belt hastily while he pulls your tank top off from over your head. It’s a flurry of items being removed till you’re sinking to your knees in front of him. Every part of him is beautiful, dark hair that stands out against lighter skin on his abdomen, additional tattoos that trail down his body that aren’t just on his hands. You could eat him alive and not spare a single bite, he’s tantalizing.

Those same bright eyes watch you now as you admire him, drinking you in. After you’ve finished checking him out you place your hands on his thighs, kissing the tip of his cock which makes him tense beneath your hands. “What, are you nervous, doctor?” He hisses in response, twitching tentatively right before your eyes. You lick from the underside of his base to the tip, running your tongue along his veins.

Law’s more of a pervert in theory rather than in practice, watching you eagerly suck him off like candy brings down all his resolve. His cock slipping in and out of your lips makes his toes curl. He’s trying to suppress whimpers by biting down on the back of his hand. Heat rises to his face as he melts like putty with each jerk of your wrist. “You’re so cute like this Traffy, feel so big in my hands.” He groans at your praise, eyebrows knitting together while sweat builds at his hairline. Those med school types are always such sluts for praise, you should have known.

You slide your tongue along his sensitive slit while your hand twists around his base. “Such a pretty boy, you’d let anyone who walks in suck your dick like this huh?” The role reversal makes him delirious, he’s whining for you like his life depends on it.

“N-no. Just you, swear.” His voice is trembling as he struggles to look you in the eye. He doesn’t want to cum yet but if you keep talking to him like he’s some kind of slut he just might. He can’t remember the last time someone’s sucked him off like this, treating his dick like a prized commodity, it’s too much for him.

You take all of him in your throat while breathing through your nose, grasping at his bare thighs with your well manicured nails. He’s so thick it surprisingly makes you gag around him, tears well up in your vision but you push through, bobbing your head along his length. Spit dribbles down your chin and he’s convinced you’re trying to suck him dry. “Fuck please, do-don’t stop,” he’s never felt this out of control in his life and for once it feels nice to let go. He cums down your throat with no verbal warnings but his body said everything, orgasm ripping through him with a guttural moan.

But you don’t stop, continuing to suck him through his climax till he’s doubled over whining. “You even taste good,” you say while licking the corners of your mouth and then your fingers, letting your tongue slide between the webs of your hands. It makes his jaw drop and he can’t even say anything, his dick gets hard all over again from feeling so desired. Seems he’s found a new favorite patient.

Law can’t just leave you like this, not after you swallowed his load like you’d done it a million times before. He drags your kneeling form up to sit in his lap, letting you settle on him. He finds the placement of your hands on his chest endearing, your fingertips trail his inked skin and it feels intimate for someone who just caused him to break plenty of OSHA laws upon their first meeting. “I want you to use me, show me how to make you feel good,” the tip of his nose grazes your cheek as he speaks low in your ear.

Oh god, he doesn’t even know. It’s like he’s just opened Pandora’s box without a care in the world, and worst of all he personally asked for it. You can only smile sweetly, “this time let me hear you.” He nods like a dog just given orders, resting back against his palms as he waits for instructions. Your hands continue to feel him up, raking your nails across his pecks or squeezing at his biceps while you praise his figure. Law continuously gets harder beneath you, not even he was aware of this newfound kink for praise. Precum leaks from his tip in globs, please for the love of god just fuck him already.

You take him with no prep, usually you’d make sure to stretch yourself but with how wet he’s made you it’s honestly unnecessary. “Aah— fuck wait wait. You’re so tight.” He tries bracing himself when you sheath him, hands come flying to your hips as he grips you in place. “Can’t.. you feel s’good,” he’s breathing heavily trying to ground himself. Maybe he’s bitten off more than he can chew.

“But you’re taking me so well baby, your cock’s perfect.” And again he moans, it’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard, he tries biting his bottom lip to silence himself but you roll your hips forwards. “I said, let me hear you.” You wrap your arms around his neck as you push yourself up by your thighs to drop back down again. Continuing the motion while he struggles to keep up beneath you. Law attempts to keep his eyes open but with his previous orgasm it’s borderline impossible, the rhythmic slam of your hips on his dick sends his mind somewhere hazy.

He’s too cute, falling apart like this. Zero composure left to his name as you bounce up and down. The veins on his cock rub so deliciously within your heat, every time they throb you’re sent into ecstasy. The table creaks and gives as you ride him, if anyone walked in right now they could hear it or him whimpering helplessly.

You lean forward trying to position yourself so your clit grazes his pelvis with each grind of your hips. “Touch me Traffy, anywhere please just touch me.” Your close, so close that you can feel the pressure building in your cunt. His mouth latches onto your nipple, kneading the soft flesh with practiced hands. The added sensation sends your head rolling back, tapered pants of how good he is at this and how you don’t want him to stop escape you.

The view is impeccable, delicate tits in his face while your slick pussy engulfs him. He watches the way your mouth moves when you say his name and saves the memory for later use when he’s all alone. It almost feels like a movie to him, but he knows a film couldn’t be as good as this. Even that stupid nickname he’s gotten over the years sounds so sultry coming from you right now.

Your hand comes down from his shoulder to push him off you and he’s startled, figuring he must have done something wrong, but then you’re touching yourself as you fuck him and he’s trying to keep the floodgates from pouring over. You twist and tug at your own breast before trailing it down your body, trying to relieve that desperate ache that’s built up throughout your trip to his clinic. His eyes are blown wide, pupils dilated as he watches your fingers drag through your folds and then your puffy clit. “Said you wanted to watch me, so watch pervert.”

Oh fuckkkk. His hips jerk, biting his own lip hard enough to draw blood as he coats your insides white. He can’t do anything but whimper and shake noisily, gravelly voice failing him because of how hard this second orgasm rips through him. “Yes yes yes! Fuck, you’re so hot.” You must be trying to kill him, he can’t take anymore of your praise or he’s going to have to come back for more.

“Such a slutty face, gonna make me cum all over this dick.” Your fingers work faster and faster over your nub bringing you closer to that euphoria. It’s licking your insides like wildfire and it truly feels like it might be the cure to any disease. Finally it crashes over you, the back of your thighs slap against his for the final time as you cream all around him. Hands shooting for his hair as you grind out the remainder of your high.

It felt so dirty to be used as a cock to fuck but dear god did it look so good. Your heavy breath hitting him in warm fans as your body calms down. “So..” you huff while laying down on top of him, “think I’m cured?”

“No, I think you’ll have to visit for regular check ups.” Those same hands that you first noticed when you walked in rub circles on the dimples of your lower back, another cheeky smirk from the med student following suit.

#law #I enjoyed writing this a bit too much #law smut #trafalgar law smut #law x y/n #trafalgar law x reader #law x you #law x reader #one piece smut #one piece x reader

2K notes · View notes

joelsgreys · 5 months

Text

when i’m feeling alone, you remind me of home

Javier Peña x DEA Agent Female Reader

summary: Spending Christmas in Bogotá, Colombia isn’t ideal. Javier knows you’re missing home a little harder than usual, so he comes up with a plan to cheer you up.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. minor deviation from canon timeline (had to make it work), reader is an agent for the DEA, NO AGE SPECIED, NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION, reader understands and speaks spanish but no mention of her race or ethnicity, friends to lovers trope, reader celebrates christmas, reader has a good relationship with her family, minor smoking and alcohol consumption (both reader and javi), reader’s a bit rough around the edges sometimes. fluff, soft javi, he’s a bit of a grinch in the beginning though. switches in pov’s and tenses.

*ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS AT THE END.

word count: 2.9k

a/n: thank you to @hellishjoel for inviting me to join in on this fun project!

12 Days of Pedro Masterlist

Javier Peña doesn’t do Christmas.

He especially doesn’t do Christmas in Bogotá.

He doesn’t see the point even acknowledging it.

There are more important things on his mind.

Capturing Pablo Escobar.

Dismantling the dangerous Medellín Cartel.

Living long enough to tell the fucking tale.

Those were his priorities while in Colombia.

Not decking the halls with boughs of holly.

And yet, there he is, fighting with a string of bright and colorful lights, wishing these things would put themselves on the tree. “Puta madre,” Javi curses underneath his breath as he tries untangling them from around his waist. Somehow, he only makes it worse. He grumbles, “This is fucking ridiculous—it shouldn’t be this fucking hard throwing lights on a goddamn fucking tree—” He pauses, spins around to find where he’d gone wrong and then continues grouching to himself. “Can’t believe people do this fucking shit for fun. Stupidest thing I’ve ever—”

Javi manages to free himself and glances down at his watch to see he’s running out of time—it’s past five now, and unless Messina’s in one of those bad fucking moods of hers and decides to dump some last minute paperwork onto your desk, then you’re going to be walking through the front door soon.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling a deep and frustrated sigh.

He’d been an idiot to decline Connie’s offer to help him when she had dropped off the decorations for him earlier that afternoon.

“You sure you don’t need my help?” she had asked as she handed him the cardboard box overflowing with festive ornaments and tinsel. “I have a couple of more hours before I have to be at the clinic, you know. I can help you set it all up for her, make it all nice and pretty.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got it handled,” he’d replied. “I’m sure it won’t take me too long to put some—is this fucking fruit?” Confused, Javi shifted the box over to his hip, pulling out a string of dried oranges and red cranberries. “Um, what the hell is this for? This supposed to be a snack for me while I decorate?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s a homemade garland.”

“It’s a homemade what now?”

“Garland, Javier. It goes on the tree.”

Amused, he’d raised an eyebrow at her.

“Fruit going back onto the tree? That’s ironic.”

Sighing, Connie rolled her eyes at him once more.

“Last chance. Do you want my help or not, Javi?”

“I appreciate it, but like I said, I’ve got it handled.”

She’d shrugged. “Alright, suit yourself, then.”

Little did he know how he’d regret his decision. It’s a bigger headache than he thought it would be, an incredible waste of valuable time he could’ve been using to hunt down new leads, do the job he came here to do and find Pablo Escobar. Then again, the more he thinks about it, the more Javi realizes this isn’t a waste of his time at all—not really.

Because he’s doing this for you.

Because he knows you love Christmas.

Because he knows you’ve been feeling homesick.

The season you normally adored was bringing you nothing but emptiness this year. There is a void—a hole in your heart that only your family could fill.

“Messina denied my request for time off,” you had told him, taking a drag of his cigarette—you’re not much of a smoker, but he’d learned that tended to change on occasion when you were upset. “Said it isn’t fair to let me go home for Christmas. That I’m not the only one who wants to be with their family. And I get it. I do.” Sighing, you took a second drag and then handed the cigarette back to Javier; he’d put it between his lips, the taste of cherry flavored lip gloss that lingered on the filtered tip prompting a craving stronger than his craving for nicotine. “It was selfish of me to even think of taking time off. I just—I miss spending Christmas in my hometown, you know? Waking up to snow outside my window in the mornings. Building snowmen with my sister, hurling snowballs at my brother. I miss my mother and her cooking. I miss my father and how even at our age, he still insists on pretending to be Santa.”

Laughing, Javier leaned forward on his stool.

You’d asked him to meet you at your usual spot—a quiet lounge bar right around the corner from your apartment. When he walked in and saw the scotch in front of you on the table, he’d known something was wrong. You’re not much of a drinker, either.

“Does he eat the cookies and drink the milk too?”

You nodded, crossing your arms over your chest, a little grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. He tried not to let his gaze longer there too long—he’s just one man. There was only so much strength he could muster to keep fighting the temptation.

“Of course. He takes his role very, very seriously.”

Despite your smile, he’d noticed it right away.

The unmistakable sadness in your eyes.

You were tough as fucking nails.

In this line of work, you had no choice but to be.

But Javier knew your family was your weakness.

His weakness?

His weakness was sitting there in front of him with a crestfallen expression on her pretty face, tracing around the rim of her glass with her finger.

“It’s stupid, isn’t it?” Your voice had thickened, the emotions you’re used to bottling up threatening to boil over.

“Of course not,” he assured you. “There is nothing stupid about wanting to go back home to see your family. There’s nothing stupid about wanting to be with them for the holidays. I promise you that.”

You snorted. “Peña, we’re trying to bring down the most dangerous man in all of South America. Last thing I need to be doing right now is dreaming of a white Christmas. It’s fucking stupid, alright?”

Hesitantly, Javier lifted his hand and placed it over yours—it wasn’t the first time he’d ever held it, not the first time he had shown physical affection, but this was the most vulnerable he had ever seen you and he didn’t want to make things worse. Once he realized it was okay, he brushed the back of it with his thumb softly, soothingly.

“Yo hablaré con Messina, cariño.”

“No hay caso para eso, Javier.”

“Maybe I can convince her to let you go. She’s got me and she’s got Murphy. We’ll handle things here while you head home for a few days, spend a week with your family for Christmas. Doesn’t hurt to try, you know.” Javi squeezed your hand. Knowing just how fucking stubborn you could be, he insisted on it. “Por favor, cielo. Dejame ayudarte con esto. Yo solo quiero verte feliz. Dejame ayudarte.”

You drained the rest of your scotch and swallowed it along with the lump that had climbed it’s way up your throat. Setting the glass back down, you then pulled your hand out from under his and stood up.

“Forget it. I’m here because I have a job to do—we both have a job to do. I’ll get over it, Javier. Always do.”

Before he could say another word, you’d picked up your jacket and purse, making a quick dash for the exit before he could see the stubborn tear slipping out from the corner of your eye and down the side of your face. But he had seen it, and that’s exactly why he knew he had to do something for you.

About an hour later, Javi places a glittering star on top of the white spruce and then takes a couple of steps back, hands on his hips. Cocking his head to the side, he observes the tree and makes sure that he hasn’t left a single spot bare. He decides to add more gold tinsel until he feels oddly satisfied—and once he is, he pulls out his pocket knife, using it to open the small sized box he had brought with him; two different addresses were scribbled on the side of it in your mother’s handwriting, his apartment’s address the destination, her address the return.

“I wrapped it well,” she’d said over the phone. “It’s her most prized possession, so I really hope it gets to you in one piece or she’s going to kill us both.”

Javier slowly unwraps the object inside and feels a wave of complete and utter relief wash over him to see it made it through customs without breaking.

He squints, taking a better look at the ornament.

The little blonde ballerina is made of porcelain and holds a nutcracker soldier in her arms—the skirt of her dress is white lace embroidered with teeny red rosettes that perfectly match the blush painted on her cheeks and the color of the bow in her hair.

“It’s Clara,” your mother had explained to him.

“Who?” he’d asked, stupidly.

“Clara. You know, from The Nutcracker?”

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” he’d fibbed. “Clara. Got it.”

He had no clue what she had been talking about—but if it’s special to you, then it’s special to him.

Carefully, Javi hangs it on tree just as he hears the front door open and then slam shut so hard that it causes the paper thin walls of your unit to rattle.

“Peña!” you shout loudly. “You fucking asshole!”

Lip rolling between his teeth, he stifles a laugh.

You must have seen his Wrangler parked outside.

Grinning, Javier steps out into the hallway to greet you. “Hola, hermosa. Bienvenida a casa.”

“So, let me get this straight,” you say, tossing your purse and unit keys onto a nearby table. “You offer to give me ride to and from work but then proceed to ditch me and leave work three hours early—you leave me with no other fucking choice but to call a cab to bring me home and when he drops me off, I see your fucking car outside of my apartment?”

Rubbing his chin, he hums, “Sounds about right.”

You approach him, your hands curled into fists.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Javier?”

Javi’s quick to hold up his own hands in defense.

He won’t put it past you to knock him out—he and Murphy have seen you bring down men twice your size before without a weapon. Neither of them can decide if it’s hot as hell or downright terrifying.

“Okay, put those away and let me explain,” he tells you, shaking his head. “I’m really sorry I did that to you, but I did it for a reason.”

You scoff, “Well, if that reason was to piss me off, I have some news for you—it fucking worked.”

“That wasn’t the reason. Not this time, anyway.”

Chuckling, Javier extends a hand, holding it out to you.

You peer at it. “What are you doing, Peña?”

“Ven conmigo, cielo. Tengo una sorpresa para ti.”

Suspiciously, you ask him, “What did you do?”

He laughs again. He knew it wouldn’t make it easy for him. “You do know how surprises work, right?”

You lift your chin. “I do and I don’t like surprises.”

“I know you don’t, but I think you’ll like this one.”

Javi continues to hold out his hand and waits.

He’s just as stubborn as you are, if not more.

“We can stand here all fucking night, corazón.”

Sighing in defeat, you place your hand in his, heart skipping a beat when he smiles and laces together your fingers with his own.

“Cierra tus ojos.”

“Javier, I don’t want—”

He quickly cuts you off. “Do you trust me?”

Of course. Hell, you trusted him with your life.

And not just because it’s a job requirement.

Huffing, you do as he says and close your eyes.

“Good.” Javier places his other hand on your waist and his fingers brush against the patch of smooth, soft skin peeking out from between the waistband of your jeans and the hem of your blouse. Ignoring his burning desire to feel more of you, he leads the way into the living room and positions you in front of the tree. Without dropping your hand, he moves to stand directly behind you, chest pressed lightly against your back.“Puedes abrir tus ojos, bonita.”

“Look Peña, I don’t know what you’re up to but—”

Your own startled gasp cuts you off mid sentence.

Squeezing your hand, he leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear and you can feel his grin as he whispers, “Sorpresa, preciosa. Tienes un arbol de Navidad. Qué tal te parece?”

You open your mouth to speak, then clamp it shut.

His surprise had left you speechless.

Pleased with himself, Javi nudges you towards the tree and then drops his hands down at his sides as he watches you gingerly touch the needles.

Closing your eyes, you inhale deeply, the delicious, woodsy smell of pine reminding you of your family and how you’d all pile into your father’s old pickup truck and head to the Christmas Tree Farm to find the perfect white spruce to take home. Your father took great care in the picking process—he wanted the tallest, fluffiest, most fragrant tree. “Need this place to smell like the farm!” he’d boom. You smile and can’t help but to think he’d approve of Javi—if not because of what he had done for you, then the choice in tree would be enough to win him over.

“Do you like it?” he asks, softly.

You open your eyes and whirl around. “Javi, I can’t believe you did this,” you say, breathlessly. Smiling brighter than the lights on the Christmas tree, you throw your arms around him. “I love it so much!”

He savors the embrace—and wonders if you know just how perfectly you fit right in his arms.

“There’s one more surprise,” Javier informs you as he spins you around to look at the tree once again. “Do you see it?”

“See what?” Peering at the tree, you frown. “What am I supposed to be looking for—wait a second, is that—is that Clara?” Your hand flies to your mouth and you look up at him in complete shock. “That’s the ornament my grandmother made for me when I was a baby! I’ve had her since my first Christmas. How did you—?”

“Santa no cuenta sus secretos.” Javi grins, pulling you closer against his side. “But if you must know, your mom sent it to me,” he confesses. “Actually, I have to be honest—this whole thing was her idea.”

Perplexed, you ask, “This was my mom’s idea?”

“I know you’ve been having a hard time being here during the holidays instead of with your family,” he says. “I called her up a couple of weeks ago, asked her what I could do for you. We started talking and came up with this.” He shrugs and touches a hand to the back of his neck, sheepishly. “I know it’s not the same as going home. But I thought it might be nice to bring a little piece of home here to you.”

Warmth blossoms inside of your chest as you turn to face him. You place a hand on his chest. “Javi?”

Nervously, his throat bobs. “Yeah?”

“Why did you do this for me?”

Javier lifts his hand and tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. “I told you. I just want to see you happy.”

“But why?”

You know why.

But you need to hear him say it.

You need to hear it from his own mouth.

Javi’s hand moves to cup the side of your face. “Is it not obvious?” he murmurs as he grazes the silky soft skin over your cheekbone. “Tú bien sabes qué yo siento algo por ti, hermosa. Aunque no sientas igual.”

“How do you know I don’t feel the same for you?”

“Do you?” His thumb sweeps your bottom lip. “Do you feel the same for me?”

Your hand curls around his red plaid flannel.

“I shouldn’t,” you admit. “We’re work partners.”

He feigns offense. “Ouch. And here I was, thinking we were friends.” He now takes your chin between his index finger and his thumb. Licking his lips, his eyes meet yours. “Breaking my heart, baby.”

Your breath audibly catches. “We are friends—and it scares me to put our friendship on the line.”

“But?” he prompts as he tilts your head up toward his. His opposite hand finds your hip and pulls you closer to him.

“But when you do things like this—it’s hard for me not to fucking fall in love with you, Peña.” You drag your hand down his chest, your fingers relishing in the softness of his flannel. “It’s so fucking hard for me not to fall in love with somebody who feels like home.”

Javier’s chuckles softly.

“For the record, this wasn’t a ploy to get you to fall in love with me, corazón. But if it worked—” Javier pauses, dropping his hand from your face. “Then I guess it’s worth pulling this thing out.”

He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Javi, what the hell are you—?”

He grins, holding the mistletoe above your heads.

“Connie said this might come in handy.”

Your eyes flicker to his lips, then meet his gaze.

“Ven aqui, Peña.”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull Javi in and crash your mouth against his. You brush his bottom lip with your tongue and he grants you the access you’re looking for. He tastes like spearmint and scotch, and something else too.

He tastes like yours.

And he feels like home.

diver credit to @saradika-graphics ❤️

Translations

Yo hablaré con Messina, cariño. - I’ll talk to Messina, darling.

No hay caso para eso, Javier. - There’s no point, Javier.

Dejame ayudarte con esto. Yo solo quiero verte feliz. - Let me help you with this. I just want to see you happy.

Ven conmigo, cielo. Tengo una sorpresa para ti. - Come with me, I have a surprise for you.

Cierra tus ojos. - Close your eyes.

Puedes abrir tus ojos, bonita. - You can open your eyes, pretty girl.

Sorpresa, preciosa. Tienes un arbol de Navidad. Qué tal te parch? - Surprise, precious girl. You have a Christmas tree. What do you think?

Santa no cuenta sus secretos. - Santa doesn’t tell his secrets.

Tú bien sabes qué yo siento algo por ti, hermosa. Aunque no sientes igual. - You know all too well I have feelings for you. Even if you don’t feel the same.

Ven aqui, Peña. - Come here, Peña.

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x you #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña fluff #narcos fanfiction #javier peña one shot #javier peña drabble #12 days of pedro

667 notes · View notes