#i warm it up in the mornings slap it on toast and that's breakfast

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

so what you're gonna do is you're gonna trim the top off a bulb of garlic, using the knife's edge to take off the tip of every individual clove, that's important. you're gonna place the garlic face-up in a square of tinfoil, drizzle with olive oil, wrap completely in foil, place in baking tray, repeat with a copious amount of garlic bulbs. you're gonna put that baking tray in an oven set to 375-400°F, for 30-50 minutes, until soft and browned. you're gonna toast some good bread, slather generously with butter and honey, maybe a tiny lil bit o' salt. and then. you're gonna SQUEEZE. OUT. THAT. ROASTED GARLIC. onto the butter honey toast. and you're gonna eat it. food stolen directly from the plate of the gods. that's what you're gonna do.

#recipes #food #leftover roasted garlic will last over a month in the fridge so make a big batch #i warm it up in the mornings slap it on toast and that's breakfast #delicious and the garlic breath gives me Poison Point ability

[weight-loss-tips-for-beginners]

Cook with confidence with our recipes Click Here

#tumblr artist alley #lekrow #featured merch #bird art #warbler #recipes #food #leftover roasted garlic will last over a month in the fridge so make a big batch #i warm it up in the mornings slap it on toast and that's breakfast #delicious and the garlic breath gives me Poison Point ability

[ominoose]

𝐅𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐚𝐫𝐞

Pairing: Jake Lockley x GN!Reader Summary: Boyfriend Jake drives you to work in the cab, insists you find a way to pay. Warnings: Smut WC: 1.3K

S/o to @reallyrallyauthor for the old lil chat we had about this and @silver-night-m for reminding me of it and reading over this <3

The day was already dragging on, and it was only 9am. 

Sleeping through the alarm before work was one thing you could potentially manage to bounce back from. Spilling coffee down your shirt after burning your meager breakfast of toast, not so much. 

Enter Jake, cab keys spinning around his index finger and barely suppressing a grin. He was the most attentive boyfriend one could dream of, seeming to possess some inner alarm that rang the moment you were even slightly miffed.

“Need a ride querido?”

Drops of rain obscured your view of the world beyond the taxi window, but you didn't need to see to know how dreary it was. Jake truly was a godsend, keeping you dry and snug within the warm taxi that seemed to permanently retain the new car smell alongside the faint fragrance of his cologne. 

The taxi crunched over stones and shuddered to a stop outside your workplace, the engine humming faintly.

“Thanks so much babe, I owe you one.” Some of the earlier tension had left you, the man seeming to have some innate ability to soothe you.

Although the morning had been a disaster, Jake had managed to salvage some of it for you. Instead of wanting to call the entire day quits, you now had the will to make it through until at least lunch without committing workplace assault.

“No hay problema, that’ll be £10.50.” His voice always took a more warmer, gravelly tone when he spoke his native tongue.

“Sure thing,” you giggled, hand on the door handle, seat-belt already unbuckled, “See you when I’m home babe.”

A sudden sharp click came from every side of the car. The doors had locked.

“Ma’am, I’m afraid you cannot leave if you don’t pay.” 

Normally his dry banter would force a smile onto your lips, no matter how much you wanted to grump, a power he used and abused. Today didn’t feel like a day you’d be in the mood to joke.

“Jake, I left my wallet at home! I’m already late, let me out.” “Well…” The rumbling drawl lacing his voice cut through your attempts to miraculously shake the door open and shot straight between your legs, “Maybe you can pay another way.”

 Hair slapped against your face as you whipped around to face him, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. A relaxed smirk adorned his olive skin, naturally, and dark brown eyes raked over the entirety of you.

Before another breath could be drawn his lips were crashing onto yours, molding softly yet passionately. Goosebumps erupted across cold skin as leather gloves smoothed up the curve of your thigh, fingers digging into the soft inner flesh and stopping just short of where you very suddenly needed him.

And then he was gone.

“Jake-”

“Chica. You are the one paying me, eh? Tut, tut, trying to wiggle out of paying a poor working man.” The words were punctuated with a few pointed pats on his inner thigh, those same dark eyes now crinkling with mischief. 

You knew what he wanted. It was hard to pick apart the desire and annoyance. Maybe they were one and the same, but in the end there was only one way this was going to play out.

A final dubious glance was cast at the fogged up windows, the pedestrians barely visible beyond, before your hands were unbuckling his belt.

You were already late as is, and blowing Jake was better than blowing up at the annoying guy at the desk next to you.

Jake's hands were already threaded through your hair, gently rubbing your scalp with his thumb in endearing familiarity. A low, gravelly hum was drawn from deep within his chest the moment his hard cock was bobbing free from his trousers, the heady musk enticing you as a silver thread of precum leaked from the brown tip.

The taste of salt bloomed across your tongue and your thighs automatically clenched. Slowly your head took the entirety of him, sliding him against the flat pad of your tongue, almost pressing an open kiss against his pubic base.

Satisfaction was evident by the way he sighed. You could practically picture his head leaning against the headrest, eyes closed, not a trace of his usual tense demeanor. There was power in knowing you were the only person in the world that could bring him to total bliss and freedom.

When you pulled back and began bobbing your head at a leisurely pace, his breaths became huffs and his fingers tightened against the crown of your head. Jake wouldn’t dare gag you down without approval, ever the gentleman, and it was a small, intentional inaction that endeared him to your heart.

Wet squelching noises filled the cab as you sped up, passion and absolute adoration for the man before you pumping through your veins and filling you with the need to take care of the man that was always the caregiver. The need to show him the intensity in which your heart beat for him had your throat clenching around his length as you took him to the hilt again and again.

He must’ve felt it if the sudden sound of leather being strained and him keening into your mouth was anything to go by. Jake was nearing his limit already, a man who was usually so composed even during a blow job was now a panting mess. It was clear he was in a losing battle with himself, his hips bucked slightly off the seat before he forced himself down, fingers clenching then unclenching in your hair. 

Usually he’d mutter encouragement, telling you how good your mouth was, you were doing so good, his bebé. Now he could barely get a full word out, his mind too far gone to even translate to English.

“Si- Si mi amor… Eso es todo- Bien, muy bien... Por favor, nena, por favor..... Sí.”

Jake always came with a strained groan, choking out a breath then straining to take it back in. The salty yet pert cum hit against the back of your throat, triggering your gag reflex and for the first time Jake tugs at your hair to pull you back. 

Tears blur your vision entirely but the feeling of tissue dabbing at your mouth assures you that you don’t need sight or any other sense. Jake will take care of you, even after the most mind blowing blowjob of his life. A fresh tissue dabs gently at your eyes, revealing the rare, charming sight of Jake with tired, drooping eyes saturated with love. 

“Maldito mi vida, it was only a £10 fare.” The words were playful, but his voice was soft, quiet. Raw.

“Thought I’d tip the best cabbie in London.” That got a smile from him, his thumb stroking over your jaw. If you squinted you could’ve swore his eyes glossed over, but before the thought lodged itself he had already sat back, sliding his gloves on.

“Gracias, cariño, but you’re now an hour late. Better hurry if you want to afford any more rides.”

Panic flooded over the moment as you scrambled to gather your things, smooth yourself down and stumble out of the car, shouting love yous and thanks to him over your shoulder as you book it to puppy-eye your boss.

In your haste you don’t notice the way the taxi lingers, the driver smiling to himself and shaking his head before he pulls off of the pavement and loses himself in the traffic.

#jake lockley x reader #oscar isaac #omimuse #jake lockley

[bugsmunched]

"Love you too, Sugar " - Steve Rogers X GN! Reader

WC: 825

Warnings: sickeningly sweet fluff

Summary : Steve refuses to let you go in the morning.

--------

You blinked slowly, the bright light of the sun hitting your eyes as the startling sound of your alarm filled your ears. Your boyfriend never understood why your alarm HAD to be so ‘alarming’, even though you had explained to him a multitude of times that you could easily sleep through a hurricane. As you shifted to sit up, a warm, muscled arm wrapped around your torso, keeping you effectively pinned to the mattress. 

“Stevie…” You murmured softly, turning your head to face your boyfriend-  a very sleepy Captain America. You wiggled your arm out from under his grasp and gently pushed away a few blonde strands from his face so you could see his eyes, that was a mistake.  You could now see his piercing blue eyes, looking up at you with all the sadness - albeit mostly fake sadness- in the world. 

“Steve, honey bunches, I’ve got work today.” You murmured affectionately, placing your hand on the side of his face, which he promptly nuzzled into. You couldn’t help but smile at your boyfriend’s actions. He was quite like a clingy golden retriever puppy, especially on days where he had nothing to do and you had work. 

“You don’t need to go to work, I make enough to provide for us both…” The stubborn blonde murmured softly in return, nuzzling into your hand. 

“What do you expect me to do when you’re at work, sweet thing? This job may drive me insane, but it also keeps me sane when you’re away on missions,” You explained softly, pulling your hand away from his face which left the strong man whining. 

He wrapped both arms around you in protest, pulling you close to his chest and refusing to let go. Your face was situated between his pecs, a place you wouldn’t normally mind being, except that you had to be at work in about an hour or so, so you needed to start getting ready. “Steven Grant Rogers.” You said sternly against his chest. 

“Y/n M/n L/n” He said back in a sing-songy tone. 

“Sweetheart, I need to take a shower and get ready for work, as much as I would love to stay nestled here all day, I really can’t.” You said in a stern, yet gentle voice. Reluctantly, Steve let you free from his arms, a pout clear on his face. 

“Awe, don’t make that face…” You said softly, playfully hitting his shoulder. “You know I’ll be back! It’s not like I’m leaving forever, sweetheart. “ You said as you sat up, leaning over and kissing his cheek. “But thank you for being good and letting me go. I love you.”

Steve smiled a bit at the praise, that was always his soft spot. “ Love you too, sugar.” He said softly, pulling you in for a quick kiss before letting you go. 

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

As you made your way out of the bathroom, hair freshly dried and new, clean clothes on, you smiled a bit as the scent of fresh breakfast hit your nose. Steve always loved to spoil you with the promise of fresh breakfast. Today it seemed like it was french toast, sausage, and eggs. 

You walked into the kitchen and the sight before you made you smile: Steve was standing there in an apron overtop his gray sweats and bare chest, plating up two plates of food as soft music played over a bluetooth speaker you had gotten him a while back. “Smells delicious my love.”

“Delicious enough for you to stay?” He asked with a cute little smile as he cocked his head to the side. 

“Unfortunately not, baby.” 

“Dagnabbit,” he said in a playful little voice, slapping his knee in fake frustration. 

“Dagnabbit? Sometimes I forget that you are simply very old.” 

“Very old? Why you little-” He started as he placed the food down on the counter and made his way over to you, grabbing you by the waist. “brat.” he finished in a teasing voice, grabbing your chin and pulling you in for a very gentle and loving kiss that simply made you melt. 

Your knees got a little weak and you felt like your teeth were going to rot out of your head from how sweet that kiss was. Soon enough, your beloved old man pulled away, just holding you in his tight grasp for a moment longer, before finally letting you go and walking over to the table. 

He pulled out your chair, allowing you to sit down before he brought over the food, sitting down across from you as he always did- with about 3 times the amount of food that you had for himself. That’s one thing about the super human serum, it always made him incredibly hungry. 

You sat in silence for a few moments, just eating your food before you hummed in delight, looking over at your super soldier boyfriend. “ I love you so much Steve. “

“I love you too, sugar.” 

#steve Rogers #fluff #captain america #captain america x reader #steve rogers x reader

[takeomisbitch]

I’ve never requested anything before so I hope I’m doing it right. Could you please do #18 for zoro and sanji? Sfw or nsfw, either is fine. Please and thank you I’m so excited 🙏❤️

Their Love Language

A/N: Thank you guys for 300 followers love y’all ♥️

Sanji x Gn!reader and Zoro x Gn!reader

Word Count:1136

Prompt 18

Warnings: SFW & NSFW, PDA, Fem body mentioned and mentions of him being pussydrunk, food mention, pet name: Sweetheart, My Love, cunnilingus, overstimulation(Sanji), mention of being drunk, reader is kinda a book worm, pet name: Pretty, Baby, slight orgasm control, hair pulling, ass slaps, slight breeding kink, tiny little praise kink(Zoro)

Headcanon Prompt List | One Piece Masterlist

SFW

I think its pretty noticeable that Sanji's love language is both Physical touch and Acts of service 

Sanji is very touchy loves PDA loves the idea that he can touch you and that you will except his touches 

When you first started dating Sanji was very hesitant about his touches always asking if you were comfortable then over the months he would just brush his hand against your arm, sly touches on your back, leaving chastes kisses on you cheek 

Sanji also likes having you in the kitchen with him when he is cooking meals for the crew

He has you sitting on the counter, spoon feeding you anytime he wants you to try something 

It's mid afternoon, you and Sanji are in the Kitchen as he prepares lunch, every now and then Sanji would bring the spoon up to your lips asking you how it tastes. “Taste good, sweetheart?” taking the spoon into your mouth moaning as the warm food hits your tongue, “Tastes amazing Sanji.” 

Now we all know that Sanji loves cooking but what he loves even more is just cooking for you

You're not feeling well? Don’t worry Sanji is running to the kitchen to make you soup. You wanna have a day out with him? He is packing a picnic basket if you’re docked on an island. If not he would have a picnic date with you in the aquarium on the Sunny

There are times when you forget that you need to do your laundry, and when you go to grab it you find already done and folded in the basket with a note on top “Seen you needed your laundry done so I did it for you- Love Sanji ♡”

You had made the decision to be lazy today, it's probably around 9 in the morning, you have been woken up by a knock on your door. “Y/N my love, I have you breakfast for you.” telling him to come in, Sanji walks in with a plate of french toast and fruit with a side of coffee. “I’ll be back later with your lunch, sleepyhead” he tells you as he places the breakfast table on your bedside, and leaving a kiss on your forehead he walks back out of the room

NSFW. 

Sanji also puts your pleasure over his 

He could and does spend hours eating you out 

Sanji likes having you in the missionary position or in the lotus flower position he just really likes being close to you

There are times that you want to give Sanji head but he would only allow you to if you're in the 69 position only because he wants to please you as well 

Sanji has been in between your legs for an hour now making you cum more than 3 times. Your juices are dripping down his face, “Sanji.. Please I’m too sensitive” you try to plead to him but he doesn’t listen he’s too pussydrunk to even hear you. The only noise Sanji hears is the sound of him slurping your juices and  his fingers going in and out of your wet cunt. “You taste so good Y/N, I can stay here all day”   

Zoro  

SFW

Zoro’s love language believe it or not is also physical touch and quality time 

Zoro likes having you in crows nest with him as he works out 

He also likes laying his head on your lap as he takes a nap but not in front of anyone it as to be in the comfort of your room or in the crows nest 

Zoro also likes when you both are just sitting in silence together 

You're sitting in the corner of the crows nest up against the wall reading a book as Zoro works out, the silence between you two is so comforting that you don’t realize you are nodding off. Before you know it you are slumped against the wall book laying on your side. Zoro sees you asleep, stopping his workout he decides to lay with you, he gently moves your head to lay on his shoulder, giving your forehead a kiss. Zoro lays his head on top of yours and lets sleep over take his body. 

Now Zoro is not big on PDA he think that his affection towards you should only be shown in private 

Zoro loves (but would never admit it) to be the small spoon like on days where his muscles are sore and he's getting ready for bed all he wants is to be held by you, He won't tell you directly but you know when he wants it cause he would be extra clingy and kiss your neck till you get the point  

He also likes when you're both at an island and you want to explore, you’ll grab his hand dragging him from shop to shop hands still entwined together

Zoro likes when you give him massages

He also gets very touchy in public only if he is drunk off his ass

You just finished up the book you've been reading when Zoro walks into your room, slugging towards the bed before he collapses in the spot next to you,  face in the pillow arms under it.  “Zoro, do you want a massage?” you ask slowly, getting up to sit on his lower half. “Please Y/N.”

NSFW

Now Zoro likes giving backshots he fucking loves doggystyle 

Zoro not someone that his soft when yall are having sex he also likes when you finish first then at the same time 

He would pull your hair, slap your ass 

Zoro also likes the cowgirl position he likes being able to watch you struggle to take him all and he likes that he can pull you down by you neck for a kiss

Zoro really loves when yall fuck because it feeds his quality time love language 

You are currently on all fours as Zoro pounds his thick cock into your wet hole. Feeling the tip of his cock brush against that sweet spot, “Zoro, I’m gonna cum” you moan out as his hand comes down to meet your ass in a hard slap “Not yet, hold it in for me, pretty.” Zoro’s thrust starts to pick up, you squeeze his cock from the sudden change of pace, Zoro grabs a fist full of your hair bringing you up to his chest. “You wanna cum baby? Hm? Then cum for me.” Once you hear him give you permission to cum you finish with your body shaking as Zoro cums deep inside your hole. He gives your ass one more slap before pulling out and watching cum leak out your abused hole, “You did so good for me baby” he gives your forehead kiss as he sets your body back down on the bed.  

© Bella 2023

#Bella writes ʕ•̫͡•ʔ #one piece x reader #one piece imagine #one piece x you #zoro x reader #zoro x y/n #zoro x you #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro roronoa x reader #sanji x reader #sanji vinsmoke #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #fluff #anime imagines

[bloodynereid]

PLEASE do something with rooster and gn neutral reader where it’s set after the big mission and everyone has stayed together at top gun and rooster and reader got together and now they’re like the most insufferable duo ever?? like not only do they hardcore flirt EVERYWHERE but also they play pranks on everyone they can possibly find?? like they will find a way to do the MOST elaborate pranks on everyone INCLUDING their superiors?? i just think it would be HILARIOUS!! - 🧚🏻

House of Cards

pairing: bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x gn! reader

tw: kissing, swearing, anxiety, jokes, mentions of buzzing the tower, drinking alcohol, mentions of marriage

description: you and bradley were a match made in heaven but a nightmare to everyone else.

a/n: hiii🧚🏻anon <3 i hope this is what you envisioned! it was super fun to write and im definitely in my bradley era. there's also a few little easter eggs thrown in there. i hope you enjoy and excuse some of the shitty writing in a few parts, i only read through this twice.

ahfhsufgeg he's so fine

The aftermath of the suicide mission was spent in multiple bars (mainly the Hard Deck) and getting drunk beyond belief. That led to a variety of messy pool games, slurred singing and some potentially regretful decisions.

One of those decisions was you kissing Rooster right after you beat his ass at pool. The rush of adrenaline and tequila gave you the confidence you had been lacking since you met him during his first round at Top Gun.

Surprisingly that decision was not one you regretted the morning after. Or the week after… or the month after. Rooster had kissed you back with a fire that had you stumbling around near drunk on his lips alone for the days afterward.

The Navy had decided to make a special detachment after the success of the mission so you were all stationed at Top Gun for the foreseeable future. They also managed to promote Maverick (not without a whole lot of persuading) so he was now overseeing the detachment.

“This is nice.” You muttered as your eyes blearily opened. The sun was shining through the curtains and a heavy arm was settled over your arm.

“Hmm too early.” Rooster mumbled from his spot next to you.

“Rooster, we have the barbeque today… you said we were telling Mav today.”

“Oh shit, right.” He groaned out before cuddling back into you. You hated having to leave this little cocoon of warmth but you really had to get going.

“Baby…”

“Yes, yup, getting up now.”

It took another twenty minutes before you finally got out of bed and started to make coffee and toast. The sound of running water greeted your ears as you got ready for the day and drank your coffee while scrolling through your phone.

“Thanks for breakfast.” Bradley said as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and gave you a quick peck.

“No problem, love. Ready to go?”

“Yup.”

The blue bronco sped through the streets of San Diego. The sun warmed up your skin and a smile was painted on your face as you chatted with Rooster. Today was going to be good.

“We’re here.” Bradley announced as he parked in front of Penny’s house. A few familiar cars were also parked outside, it seemed like you were the last to arrive.

“I told you we were going to be late.” You chidded as you lightly slapped his shoulder.

“Yeah yeah.” Bradley said with a smile on his face before pulling you into him and kissing you in an effort to distract you.

“Oh god, why did you two ever get together?” The familiar voice of Hangman cut the moment short, making the both of you roll your eyes.

“Hello there Bagman, I was hoping you fell off a cliff on the way here.”

“Well hello there Royal aren’t you as cheery as ever.”

“Fuck off, Bagman.” Rooster said from next to you.

“Gladly, I do not need to watch your excessive PDA.”

“I’m surprised you even know what the word excessive means.” You called as he walked towards the house, Jake only sent you the bird without looking back.

“Where was I?” Bradley muttered as he cradled your face and was about to kiss you again when you laughed.

“Bradley, darling, even if I would love to keep doing this, we really have to go in.”

“Alright, but we’re finishing this later.”

You carried the six pack of beer that Bradley insisted on bringing and made your way over to where the smoke from the barbeque was emanating from. Bradley finished locking up the car and threw his arm over your shoulders.

“You ready?” You nodded in answer to his question and suddenly the smell of hamburgers permeated your senses.

“Royal, Rooster! I’m so glad you could make it. Make yourselves at home.” Penny said with a bright smile as she welcomed the two of you.

“Thanks for inviting us, Penny. We brought beer!” You said as you passed her the six pack.

“With the rate they’re drinking it, it would be a miracle if I have any alcohol left in this house.” You laughed and Penny gave you both a smile before disappearing into the house to drop off the beer.

“You want to go find Mav?”

“Yeah, do you want to come?”

“No, you go. I’ll go talk to Bob, I started that show he recommended.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, go talk to Mav, Bradley. Call me over when you’re ready.” Bradley smiled and gave you a grateful look before walking over to the grill. You let out a deep breath and felt a surge of nervousness course through your body. Meeting the parents was never something you particularly enjoyed, even if you had already met Mav a billion times, you never met him in the capacity of being a partner.

“Hey Bob.”

“Royal. How are you?” Bob asked as he passed you a beer from one of the tables.

“Good, nervous.”

“Finally telling Mav?”

“Yeah, is it that noticeable?”

“Not really.”

“You really are a stealth pilot, Bob.” Bob rolled his eyes as he took a swig of beer and knocked his shoulder against yours. That was when you noticed Bradley waving at you from next to Mav. You nodded and said bye to Bob before weaving your way through your squad to greet him.

“Hey Mav, Rooster.” You said, greeting them.

“So what are your intentions with Bradley, Royal?” Mav said with raised eyebrows and an intense look in his eyes that had your brain screeching to a halt.

“Uhh.” A few seconds later, Mav’s face contorted and he started laughing hysterically.

“God your face! Don’t worry about it, kid. I’m pretty sure I should be interrogating Bradley here about his intentions with you.”

“Hey!” Bradley yelled, making you and Mav chuckle.

You were sitting in the sweltering briefing room next to Bradley. Cyclone was standing at the front of the room talking about the new assignment and giving the training parameters but your mind was elsewhere.

Bradley kept rubbing circles on your exposed forearm and it was driving you insane. You kept nudging his knee with yours but that only seemed to urge him to keep going.

“Royal, is there a problem?” Your eyes flew up to meet Cyclone’s and a feeling of dread seemed to seep out of your pores.

“No, sir.”

“Well then if you wouldn’t mind keeping your flirting to a minimum, it would be greatly appreciated.”

Snickers filled the room and you turned to look at Bradley with a menacing look in your eyes. You lightly punched his arm and settled back into your chair.

“Sorry.” Bradley whispered, not sounding sorry at all.

“Oh shut up.”

It was a routine practice flight, Mav had randomly pulled names and paired people up so they could make their way through the planned course.

You and Rooster had made it through in record time and were now loudly celebrating over the coms.

“Fuck yeah!”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Rooster asked as you circled back around.

“Oh definitely.” You shared a laugh before you flew over to the control tower. You caught a glimpse of Mav and Cyclone in the window before flying behind Rooster as the two of you buzzed the tower.

“Royal! Rooster!” The admonishing voice of Cyclone bled through the coms.

“God I really was a little shit when I was younger.” Maverick said through the coms as he let out an exasperated sigh.

You and Rooster just laughed and circled around a few times before landing, ready to be thoroughly lectured by Cyclone.

The squad had planned a trip after the newest mission… to Vegas. The entire trip there was incredibly chaotic because (*cough* Hangman *cough*) was scared of flying, even if he was literally a pilot. 

When you all finally landed in Vegas it took another hour before everyone had found their bags and got into respective ubers. The hotel that Phoenix had booked was perfect, it had a huge bar as well as an extensive casino.

Sometime after drinking at least five martinis and a few shots you and Rooster disappeared from the group. Something no one noticed until the next morning. You spent the night cuddled up in your hotel room watching tv and coming up with the perfect plan.

The next morning the squad disgruntledly made their way to the breakfast bar, very hungover and missing several of its members.

“Uh guys, where are Royal and Rooster?” Bob murmured once everyone (minus the couple) had sat at one of the tables.

“I haven’t seen them since last night.”

“You don’t think…” Phoenix looked up from her plate that was stacked with pancakes and looked at Bob with a panicked look on her face.

“Someone call them.”

Before anyone could do that a simultaneous ping came from everyone’s phones. 2 new messages were displayed on the group chat.

Royal: When in Vegas…

*image attached*

The couple had ventured out into town around dawn and got a picture of one of the many Elvis churches that littered the streets. You weren’t actually getting married but the reactions of each of the Daggers and Mav was fucking priceless.

And who knows getting married was definitely in the cards for both of you.

<333

#bradley bradshaw #maria's random stuff #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster top gun #rooster x reader #rooster bradshaw #rooster x you #top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw #tgm #top gun #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun imagine #top gun x reader #bradley x reader #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick x reader

[fayes-fics]

Innocence Pt V

Innocence series masterpost

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Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict teaches his new wife how to ride (not horses).

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, sex education, dirty talk, slight exhibitionism, vaginal sex, woman on top, a smidge of food play.

Word Count: 3.2 k

Author’s Note: Sorry it's taken a while to get this next installment up. Thanks to @makaylan for the read through. I hope you enjoy <3

You wake up to a strange sensation. Something warm and soft on the swell of your bottom as you lay face down. It feels like… lips? …Kissing?

You blink open your eyes and crane your head over your shoulder. There is your new husband of fewer than twelve hours. And yes, indeed, he is kissing your bare bottom, the sheet pulled back around your calves, warmed by a fire already roaring in your martial bedroom.

“Benedict?” you call softly, your voice laden with sleep.

He stops his actions and tilts his head to look up at you, his hazy hooded eyes so beguiling. 

“Good morning, wife,” his tone is husky and pitched low; it makes a tiny shiver run down your spine.

“What are you doing back there?” you question lightheartedly.

“I am enjoying my wife’s bottom. Does she have a problem with that?” he teases, his teeth snagging on your left buttock as he lightly slaps your other cheek.

You squeal and squirm on the mattress. “No,” you admit. 

He chuckles, then pushes up onto all fours clambering over you until his lips capture yours, turning your body slightly to meet him.

“How do you feel today?” he asks, nuzzling your cheek.

“Mmm, wonderful,” you confess, twisting under him so you face up.

Today you do feel different. Like you are finally a woman. You are married now, and while you doubtlessly have many things to learn, you feel nothing but excitement and wonder about what else may come. It makes you feel emboldened, flirtatious, and ready to enjoy new adventures with this wondrous man who is now your husband.

He settles over you, and you moan slightly at the press of his hot rigid cock between your bare thighs.

“Are you ready to learn more things, or does the lady need breakfast first?” he inquires airily, planting kisses on your jaw.

The mere mention of the word breakfast has your stomach growling loudly, and he giggles at the sound. You barely had a chance to eat at the whirlwind that was your wedding reception; you were also a little too excited for your wedding night to bother.

“Well, I think we have our answer,” he sniggers. “Luckily, I asked my staff to return early this morning.” 

“Can we have breakfast in bed, husband?” you ask; that newfound boldness reveals itself in asking for what you want, “together, naked?” 

His eyes flash appreciatively, and his lopsided grin turns deadly. “I definitely married so very, very well,” he growls, echoing his sentiment from the previous night, reaching over to ring a bell on his bedside table.

He is back on you, kissing a hot line down your neck, when there is a brief knock on the door a few moments later.

“Come in,” Benedict calls out, barely lifting his lips from your collarbone.

You squeak as an older man appears in the doorway; he blanches at first, taken aback but quickly schools his face to one of passive indifference. You attempt to grab the sheet and cover yourself to preserve some modesty. Still, Benedict seems utterly unphased by the gentleman seeing him or, indeed, you, completely naked, entwined in bed together.

“Ahh, Mr Smith. Good morning. Please, can you bring breakfast here for myself and my delectable new wife? Something light but filling, toast perhaps?” he asks casually, twisting to look at the man.

“Certainly, sir, will that be all?” the polite voice rings out.

“Could you throw another log on the fire? I fear I did not set it up well earlier.” 

The man bustles to the fireplace as Benedict’s lips close around your nipple.

“Benedict!” you admonish, your body flexing against him on instinct despite your consternation. “Your valet is right there!” you hiss through clenched teeth, nodding at the back of the man re-stoking the fire.

“Oh my love, we are newlyweds; I fully expect our staff to walk in on us fucking all over the house,” he drawls, running his nose over your pebbled nub, “as I suspect, do they. You should not feel ashamed.”

“But…” your protest dies as he surges up and catches your lips in a deep kiss, his fingers teasing that same damp nipple as he does so. You can't help the moan into his mouth as he does it.

“Yes darling, that's it,” he gloats, “in fact, I hope they will still be finding us doing this in forty years,” he smiles against your lips. “I plan to fuck you every day that I can,” he hums as you hear the door to the room click quietly closed with his valet’s departure.

“You are a menace,” you assert, lightly slapping his shoulder in rebuke.

“I’m your menace now, Mrs Bridgerton,” he teases, grabbing your hands and pushing them onto the pillow, glancing pointedly at your wedding rings, “and there is absolutely nothing you can do about that. You, I'm afraid, are stuck with me,” he chuckles, lips once again attacking your neck. You sigh in faux annoyance, settling into his sensual assault, your eyes closing from sheer pleasure.

A few moments later, as you are still exchanging endless sensuous kisses, there is a knock at the door, and Mr Smith re-enters with a tray of food under silver cloches. 

“Excellent,” Benedict exclaims gleefully. “Please leave it on the ottoman at the end of the bed there, Smith.”

His valet does as bidden, and with a brief nod of “Sir, my Lady,” which makes your cheeks redden, he departs.

“Oh god, I’ll never get used to being the lady of the house,” you exclaim.

“You had better, my darling; all the staff will be looking to you for how you wish the house to be run,” Benedict laughs as he crawls down the bed and picks up a cloche.

“It's your house, Benedict,” you frown.

“Not anymore, my love,” he reminds, a warm hand encircling your ankle and tugging gently. “Now get down here and eat some of this food—I need you energised for what comes next.”

As elegantly as you can, you spin around and join Benedict at the foot of the bed. He pulls you flush to his body and feeds you a corner of deliciously buttered, still-warm toast.

“What comes next?” you ask brightly after you chew and swallow the bite.

“You, my darling, are going to learn to ride,” he smirks. “Me, that is.”

“Oh.. is it like riding a horse?” you ask, genuinely curious.

He snorts. “I hope you find it rather more pleasurable. And there is something to keep you mounted nice and squarely,” he leers, pressing his cock to your hip as you shake your head at his innuendo, even as a bemused smile tugs at your lips.

“Do I get a whip to keep you in line, just like a real jockey?” you quip in jest, again that new sense of being a wife and a woman making you say things you never thought you might.

His mouth falls open slightly, and his eyes have an appreciative gleam. “Oh darling, do you want there to be?” his voice dropping to a smokey rumble.

“Depends on if you are going to behave, my good stallion,” you murmur, loving the banter, raising an eyebrow as you take a triangle of toast for yourself.

“What happened to my innocent little thing?” he counters, a warm hand caressing your bottom, “and who is this delightful minx who replaced her?”

“You corrupted her with your wiles Mr Bridgerton,” you volley back, tossing your hair in a way you hope is coquettish. “A good teacher cannot complain when an eager pupil advances under tutelage.”

“I am a good teacher, am I?” he purrs, the hand stroking lazily over your lower spine.

“The very best,” your flattery sincere, “one day, this student wants to learn to talk as her teacher does. Such wonderful filthy things.”

“Well then, that can be your next lesson,” he suggests, nuzzling your hair.

“Excellent,” you enthuse. “Now, am I going to eat that jam there on toast… or from somewhere on your body, dear husband?” you tease, pointing to a pot of preserves.

He groans and grabs you. “You cannot say things like that,” rolling you on top of him, “and expect me to do anything but want to be inside you.”

“You are the one who said we needed to eat,” you giggle, reaching for another bit of toast and jamming it into his mouth rather inelegantly as you lay atop him, his warm skin delightful under your own, his cock persistent, branding against your belly.

He guffaws around the slice and rips it with his teeth, pushing some between your lips. “I can eat and be inside you at the same time, my love,” he utters in a sinful tone.

“Well, then do it,” you challenge, swallowing your bite of food.

He raises an eyebrow and shuffles under you, surging his hips upwards, his rigid cock sliding between your thighs. “I will,” he threatens playfully.

“Please do,” your whisper enchanted, licking an errant toast crumb from your lip.

“Oh, I was going to get that,” he pouts.

With a raised eyebrow, you reach for a spoonful of jam, and he watches as you smear some over your lips.

“Then come and get it, Mr Bridgerton,” you murmur, looking down into his rapidly dilating eyes.

“Oh, Mrs Bridgerton,” he rumbles, his lips chasing yours, his tongue lathing over your lips, sucking and gathering all the jam there, swirling its sweetness into your joined mouth as you kiss. Then you cry into his mouth as he effortlessly thrusts his hips, surging into your body. He feels just as he did last night, so huge and invasive. You stutter a breath as he just holds you there, allowing you to adjust to the feeling of him inside you again.

“Benedict…” you sigh, some of your bravado slipping away with the pure tide of sensation you feel being so viscerally invaded.

“Are you ready, my darling,” he questions, his voice velvet and decadent. “Try sitting up on me,” he adds, his hands grabbing yours to offer leverage.

With him still feeling heavy and so large inside, you slowly slide your knees on either side of his thighs, then draw them up so they are close to his waist, moaning as the sensation of being hunched over him changes the angle of his cock, a pull that is utterly delicious.

“Yes, that's it,” he encourages, “now pull up off me.”

You unfurl your body and sit upright; again, the tug of his cock inside feels almost painfully good, and your clit brushes over his public hair, the tickle so rousing.

“Oh wow,” you gasp, gyrating slightly to feel how good it feels to be speared onto his cock, but you have complete control over the motions.

“You like it, my love?” He knows the answer.

“You feel huge,” you answer honestly, and he groans at the compliment.

“Now try moving, my darling,” he urges. “Push up with your thighs and then sink back down,” he tutors, his hands guiding yours onto his torso as he moves to grasp your hips.

You push up and feel the drag of his cock along your walls, and it feels exhilarating. Then you sink back down, and your eyes go wide, and your lips fall open with a loud moan. It feels exquisite. Something about the angle and the way your swollen clit snags against his body as you rock down is so compelling and powerful.

“Oh my god,” you curl your fingers and scratch along his abs as you rotate your hips just a touch, “this is wondrous.”

He smiles a devastating grin, “I knew you would like it,” he preens. “Now giddyup my love, ride me,” he dares you, and something wild and fiery cracks open in your chest, a smouldering heat that burns. You want to ride his cock until you are both screaming.

Pushing up and sinking, you establish a steady rhythm that works for you, encouraged by his little noises and grip on your hips. He feels divine sliding in and out of you, just the ache you want to feel. Like last night, but somehow better, somehow familiar now. You experiment with pace, enjoying a lingering slow downstroke and a quicker snap-up.

“You are enjoying this, aren't you?” he murmurs, impressed.

“Yessss,” you chant, head thrown back and eyes closed now. His body feels searing between your thighs, under your fingertips and deep inside you.

You lean back a little and move your hands to his thighs, grasping the strong muscle there and open your eyes to look down at him, his mouth slack, his eyes laser focussed on you, on your face and darting down to your breasts as they jiggle with every drop. You lean further back and emit a huge groan as somehow you have found a spot that feels so good; little sparks go off in your head like fireworks. You start to move harder, faster, greedy, so greedy, for more.

“So… fucking… good,” you rasp a word with each downstroke as his fingers band tighter over your hipbones, your knees chafing the bedding, dropping without thought for anything but the feeling coiling tighter and tighter in your gut.

You grab one of his hands and press it to your breast, leaning forward into his hold and changing the angle of your hips, making circular motions, shuddering as he seems to nudge every spot inside as you grind down, selfishly stalking your pleasure. 

“My wanton little wife, look at you,” his voice velvety, clever fingers tweaking your nipples as you groan loudly. 

His body flexes delightfully under you as he reaches behind for the pot of jam, dipping his fingers in and reaching to paint a swirl over your breasts. Without breaking your rhythm, you place a firm hand on his chest and halt his hand. He frowns until you seize his jam-covered fingers and instead bring them to your mouth, lasciviously licking them clean as you rise and fall, lathing the warm, sweet, sticky pads of his fingers over your tongue in time with your movements. The noise he makes is inhuman, and you feel a surge of power through your body as he pushes up into you, desperate for more. You just smirk at him and press him harder into the mattress, allowing his hand to drop away from your mouth.

The power of this position, to have him so vulnerable under you, is a potent toxin, your thighs burning from the exertion, your blood simmering as you spider a hand up the now-damp centre line of his breastbone and grasp his chin between your thumb and fingers.

“Are you enjoying this, husband?” you tease breathily.

His response is a nod and low growl; you love how riled up he is. Shuffling your knees wider, you lean over him, the warmth of his belly rubbing yours as you keep fucking onto his cock, slower now, your lips ghosting over his, still holding his chin tight.

“Tell me in detail, darling,” with a triumphant arched eyebrow; you echo the words he used the first night he stole into your room. 

Awe and surprise are written across his features, pupils blown wide, mouth opening a fraction. 

“I am a good teacher,” he gusts out, and you just twist your mouth into a smirk, awaiting his answer. He licks his lips, and you feel the hot breath from it, his hands sliding over your bottom. “I want you to fuck me hard, wife,” he begins. “Ride me until your body is shaking and screaming. Make yourself come on my cock, milk me, darling,” that silken tone makes a shiver race down your spine and your cunt clench around him.

He grunts at your vice-like pulse, and the need to follow his advice vibrates your very being. You kiss him hungrily, moaning into his mouth as your tongues dance, your hand curling his jaw as you kiss over and over, still rocking gently on him, unable to stop. Sitting up again, grasping his hands in yours, lacing your fingers, you rise and fall in a new quick pattern, starting to pant and fuck yourself roughly. He moans through gritted teeth at your new onslaught.

One of his hands guides yours down your body to the apex of your thighs, where you are roughly fucking onto him. Without words, you know what he is suggesting, and when your joined fingers slide against your clit, you feel hurtling straight towards oblivion, wound so tight. 

A strong pulse runs up your spine, causing you to buck hard over him. He surges up strongly into you, meeting you on your downward thrust, fucking himself so deep it feels like a new ache tugging a line inside, something making you mindless, crushing your fingers between your bodies as they furiously circle your throbbing clit. 

“Don't stop,” he chants as you close your eyes and ride so fiercely the bed squeaks slightly. He groans loudly and stares up at you desperately, a bead of sweat forming on his brow that you ache to lick off. 

Then with a scream that feels like it rips your lungs, you convulse around him, slumping deep, your thighs trembling, blood rushing in your ears, vibrations coursing through your body from a tingle in your scalp to spasms in your toes.

He calls your name and curses long and low as his fingers sink into the meat of your thighs, and as you flutter around him, you feel that same bloom inside, his warm release coating your walls.

You collapse on top of him, exertion and satisfaction making your muscles feel languid and weak. Your head rests on his collarbone as his hands release their grip and sweep gently over your back, mapping the notches of your spine as you recover with deep, ragged breaths.

“Well done, darling,” his voice sounds wrecked and scratchy, his thighs twitching under yours as little aftershocks spasm through your frame. You feel him soften inside your body but don't want to move, and he seems reluctant, too, his arms holding you down onto him in a tight embrace. “I don't want to leave your body,” he admits in a whisper, “that was too good.”

You chuckle, feeling a lightness spread through your body, a mellow fizz under your skin. “Mmmm, then don't, husband,” you buzz quietly. “Just stay inside me until we are ready to go again.”

He laughs softly into your hair, kissing your scalp. “That may be a while, my love,” he confides.

“I have all the time in the world, husband,” you smile, twisting to look at him, landing a kiss on his stubbly jaw.

“Hmm, that is very true,” he concurs, his eyes sparkling with tender mischief as he holds your gaze. “After all, this is only the morning of day one of our honeymoon. There are another nine to go; just imagine all the things we shall get up to,” he murmurs, his tone laced with sensual promise as his fingers trace up your back.

You can hardly wait.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-clad @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet

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

[64yrsold]

it’s not living (if it’s not with you)

“Can we have breakfast on the balcony?” I asked, pulling the white dress shirt he wore yesterday over my head, “I want to pretend I’m in a romantic comedy.”

He gave me a sleepy laugh, getting out of bed with his pajama pants low on his waist. I reached out for his exposed skin, warm from sleep and sunshine. He kissed the top of my head, arms hung loosely over my back.

“We’re not in a romantic comedy?” his voice was rough, rasping against my ear. I sighed as we stood in the bedroom, waking up with the sun as we held each other. Eventually, he dropped a kiss on my shoulder, trudging to the kitchen.

“Do they have eggs in romantic comedies?” He asked, opening the fridge.

“No, they don’t eat,” I peered into the fridge from behind him, “Too full up on love.”

He chuckled, stepping backwards so I’d bump into him. I lay my hands flat on his back, pushing him away gently.

“You just give me an appetite,” He took the eggs from the fridge, giving me a cheesy wink as he walked past.

I made the coffee while he cracked eggs on the stove, brushing elbows and bumping shoulders.

“What are you doing today?” I said, interrupting his gentle humming as he cooked. I washed yesterday’s wine glasses with apple dish soap, the tap trickling over my cold hands.

“Nothing at all,” he smiled, spreading jam over crackling toast. He held two yellow plates, stacked with toast and eggs, “You coming?”

I followed him onto the balcony, two steaming cups of coffee warm in my hands. We sat on the cushioned swinging bench, nibbling slowly and kissing our mugs. I set the plates on the ground when we had finished eating in silence, and tucked my legs into his lap. He ran his hands up and down my skin as I scratched the back of his head, the morning sun illuminating each of his eyelashes.

“You always look different in the morning,” he rolled his palms against my shins, eyes towards the sunrise.

“Is that meant to be a compliment?” I nudged his stomach with my foot.

“Your lips are always swollen,” he laid his head back, “All red and puffy, from love, maybe.”

“Allergies, maybe,” I laughed.

“You’d better not be allergic to me,” he raised an eyebrow, reaching for his pack of cigarettes. He pulled one out with his mouth, glancing at me to see if I was watching.

“I’d endure it,” I assured him as he patted himself down, searching for the lighter which was already in my hand. He gave me a crinkled smile, leaning forward to let me light the cigarette for him.

“Anyways,” blue smoke curled around his face, “Nobody looks like you in the morning. Nobody is so effortlessly sexy and enticing.”

“Really,” I was quiet, chewing on my lip at his compliments.

“Nothing better than mornings with you, darling,” he squeezed my leg above my knee, “Don’t you think?”

I hummed. “More of an evening girl, I think.”

His cigarette hung from his curved lip, “Mm, that I know.”

“And what does that mean?” I laughed, mouth open at his presumptuous tone.

“Means that you’re… happiest, in the evening,” he exhaled a laugh, “Happiest and handsiest.”

I slapped at his shoulder, and he held up his arms in defence, giggling. “I’m not complaining!” he cried. He stubbed out his cigarette on the ashtray, then crawled over me to kiss my forehead.

“This is very much like a rom-com,” I smirked, his curls tickling my face as me met my lips.

“I’m really trying,” he gave me another wet kiss, “What should happen next?”

“You could do the dishes,” I grinned, and his head fell to my chest.

“I was thinking…” he grumbled, then laughed, “No, I won’t say what I was thinking.”

#matty healy #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty the 1975 #matty x reader #matty healy x reader #64matty #Spotify

[jksprincess10]

Are we out of the woods 5. It was a bad idea

Summary : Your father is a dangerous man who has a lot of enemies. One day, you’re taken from your home by force to go to a safe cabin in the woods to be protected from an unknown danger by three of his men: Ironhead, Pope and Catfish. You’re not really a nature enjoyer, but in your boredom, you discover a new love for nature. You also get to know the men working for your dad and interest sparks between you and the mysterious and silent Francisco.

CW: canon-like violence, explicit smut, reader is kind of a princess at first, talks of divorce, drugs & alcohol, talks of addiction, slight age gap (reader in her mid 20s, frankie in his late 30s), jealousy, tension, frankie is a mess.

Fic masterlist

Notification blog

Their slumber is short and abruptly stopped by the strident sound of alarms. You groan and put your pillow over your head, without a care in the world that you could be in grave danger. You hear the boys moving, the heavy steps of their boots and the shouting of orders in Santi’s voice.

One of them comes into your room.

“Sorry to bother you, ma’am, the movement detector, and the cameras detected some suspicious action.  How do you want us to proceed?” It’s Will’s voice. So formal. You still wished for a code name.

You can barely look at him, the light hurts your eyes. You’ve never been this hungover. “Do what you have to do.” You mumble as you hide your face in your pillows.

“Perfect. Santi and I are heading out. Frankie will stay with you in case anything goes wrong. But we might need him.” He throws a walkie-talkie on your bed. “Keep in touch.”

And just like that, he’s out. You understand now why your dad hired them. They’re pretty… effective. Minutes later, you hear a shy knock on your half-opened door. Frankie.

Memories from last night flood your head. The way he kissed you. The way he held you. The way he made you come without even touching you.

Oh god.

What have you done.

“Go away.” You groan and throw a pillow at him, which he catches mid-air. This shouldn’t be attractive, but it is.

“You should get up and get ready in case we have to leave. I’ll get you aspirin and water.”

“Why are you suddenly so fucking nice, huh?” You slowly stretch your body, trying not to be self-conscious of your the way you looked in the morning.

“Because what is going on right now is part of my job and I’m trying not to fuck this up. Go. Dress up.”

“So bossy.” You mumble as he closes the door.

You fetch a pair of fleeced-lined leggings, warm socks, and an over-sized flannel burgundy shirt. You move slowly, but you manage to get dressed without any accidents. You get out of your room with the soothing promise of getting aspirin and water. Frankie is waiting for you in the small dining room, where he has set the care items for you. You swallow everything in one go, relishing the feeling of the cold water on your tongue.

“I’m never drinking and smoking weed again.”

“They all say that.” The tips of his fingers tap lightly against the wooden table. “Look, about last night…” He starts.

“Nothing happened last night.” You cut him off, embarrassed as the memories kept flooding in. The way you begged him to let you kiss him. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”

“…Right. Maybe you should tell that to Santi too.”

You slap your hand against your forehead, annoyed at your past self for going around and kissing the men working for your dad.

“I’m gonna make breakfast.” You announce to change the subject. You get up and get working on scrambled eggs and toast, while Frankie takes care of the coffee machine, in an unsettling silence. You felt so fucking stupid about the situation, like a teenager who didn’t have any self-restraint. You would do better. Your head was still pounding, and you tried to ignore the loud sound of the old coffee machine, wincing.

“You know what helps with a migraine?”

“What, Francisco?” You groaned as you emptied the contents of the pan into two plates.

“An orgasm.”

“I swear to fucking god…” You took your plate and coffee mug, before disappearing into your bedroom and closing the door harshly behind yourself.

You would eat in silence. Maybe while reading a smutty book on your kindle. Yeah. Good idea. It would help you forget how good Frankie felt as he grinded desperately against you for sure.

You spend the morning secluded in your bedroom, keeping an eye on the walkie-talkie in hopes to have good news soon.

After reading chapter after chapter, you heard a sound coming from the communication device. “Ma’am, we’ll need help.” Will.

You grab it to respond. “Everything okay?” You couldn’t help the worry tying your voice.

“They are just more than we expected. We are observing. Waiting to make a move. Can you put Frankie on the line?”

You run out of your bedroom and give the device to Frankie without a word. He was chilling on the couch, but when he heard the urgency in your step, he got up. You blank when they start talking in codes and you sit on the couch, still warm, bringing your legs up to your chest as you tried to calm down. You really didn’t think there was a threat until now. You thought your father was exaggerating as usual.

You see blood. So much blood. You hear distinctly your mother’s scream.

Warm hands are on your knees and Frankie’s at your level, hazelnut eyes trying to get you to focus. “Listen.” When he sees your eyes on him, he lets out a breath. “When I head out, you have to hide and barricade the door with whatever you can. You don’t come out until you hear us shout the word Evergreen, okay?”

“What’s that?”

“Your codename. Congrats, soldier.”

“Frankie, I’m so scared…” You whisper. You feel like a child in front of your mother’s corpse. He cups your cheek and looks at you with all the confidence and softness he can muster.

“You’ll be fine. I promise.”

You nod and watch as he gets ready. You follow him to the door, not sure what to do with your hands when he’s about to leave.

“Be careful.” You finally say, and he nods before he closes the door. You lock it, before pushing the couch in front of it. You think of a hiding place, and the best would probably be under your bed.

You went to your room and stole a blanket to lay between the mattress and the floor. You feel paralyzed by your racing thoughts. You address a prayer, even though you don’t believe in God, to please protect these nice men. You couldn’t live if people died protecting you.

Under the bed, time passes. You don’t know how many hours it had been when you hear the loud and clear call of your codename in the boys’ voices. You get out from your hiding spot and run to the door, pushing away the sofa before unlocking the door. You open it and you feel relieved to see the three of them in the flesh.

“It’s been… dealt with.” Santi says with a smile. He’s covered in dirt. In fact, all their clothes are covered in dirt and dark blood. Your eyes immediately go to Frankie, to see if he’s hurt. Besides a few scratches on his face, he seems fine.

“Put your clothes in the washer.” You finally say, swallowing the tears back. You’re trying to keep your cool as if you hadn’t been having an anxiety attack for the past hours. “Is any of you wounded?”

“No…” Frankie says he finishes taking off his boots. Still, you grab his hand, and you pull him with you while he protests.

Santiago wiggles his eyebrows at him, and he gives him the middle finger.

You push Frankie to the bathroom. “Sit.”

He does, reluctantly, interrogative eyes fixated on you, while you try to find something to clean his wounds. “Don’t lie, your face has scratches.” You mumble.

“It’s not-”

The look you shoot him quiets him. You start by wiping a warm cloth on his face, erasing the dirt and blood. Even though he looked incredibly sexy. You pushed the thought away and concentrated on cleaning him until there was no trace of dirt on his handsome face. You felt his burning, puzzled gaze on you.

“I thought you didn’t want anything to have to do with me…”

“You do get on my nerves, Frankie, but I need you alive to protect me, don’t I?” You push back the words you really want to say; that you care about him and that you feared losing him after your little fall-out this morning.

“I guess so.”

You hum in approval as you start disinfecting his superficial wounds. He grabs your wrists to stop you. His touch is burning, and you want to run away from the flame that animated him.

“It’s not necessary. Are you… are you okay?”

You sigh and you fall to your knees in front of him as you realize that no, you’re not. You see panic passing in his eyes, as he gets down from the toilet seat to hold you, like he held you yesterday when you were too drunk and wobbly.

“I’m scared and I’m turned on that you killed people for me and I’ve been having a panic attack for the past hours and I didn’t want you to die for me and I’m so done with all of this.” You say in one breath before you choke on a sob.

Confused, but supportive, Francisco strokes your back. “I’m gonna make your clothes gross.” He grumbles.

“I don’t care.” Your fingers settle in his curls on the back of his neck, trying to find comfort and grounding in physical touches. You sniffle and wipe your tears with your arm, before you look up at him, your faces close. You see the way he hesitates, the way he looks at your lips then at your eyes, and when you almost close the distance between the two of you, you hear someone clearing his throat.

“Sorry, I just… I need the bathroom.” Will stands awkwardly in the doorway, in his boxers, with clean clothes in his hand.

Frankie moves away first. “Yes, I should wash my clothes.” He also clears his throat and gets up, before helping you up. Then, he’s distant again as you both go your separate ways in the same cabin.

You were drunk and high last night, and now you were high and delirious on anxiety and fear. You had to get it together.

#frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales fan fiction #frankie morales fics #triple frontier fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fics #triple frontier #frankie friday #awootw

[pancakes4two]

ANYWHERE WITH YOU - ONE

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | TALK TO ME

⭐️ NEXT CHAPTER ⭐️

word count: ~3.2k

warnings: language

preview: “I thought you were fucking with me on the phone,” you sigh exasperatedly, slapping Harry’s hands away as he tries to reach for your coffee and take a sip. “I wasn’t expecting you to actually show up here.”

“Why would I be joking?” Harry asks, reaching for your toast instead when it becomes clear that you’ll never sacrifice your morning caffeine. “Haven’t been able to write anything useful for the past month. I need a change of scenery, and I knew you wouldn’t say no if I asked to stay with you. You love me too much.”

✽ ✽ ✽

“You can’t be serious,” you say as the front door to your apartment swings open, a gust of humid air filling the area surrounding you. It’s six in the morning and you’re half-asleep. You’re standing face-to-face with your childhood best friend, who last time you checked, was supposed to be halfway across the world, staying in a ridiculously expensive AirBNB and recording music for his latest album.

“A warm welcome, as always, Y/N,” Harry replies simply, slipping off his shoes and waltzing into your living room like he owns the place. It’s brave of him, really, considering how little time he’s spent in your apartment in the last four years that you’ve lived here. You’re about to throw one of his sneakers at his head when he makes his way to the kitchen, opening your refrigerator, and then closing it immediately when he realizes how unimpressive the contents are. Rent in New York City is expensive—he can hardly expect you to have anything other than frozen Trader Joe’s meals and the occasional fruit or vegetable stocked in your fridge at all times.

“I thought you were fucking with me on the phone,” you sigh exasperatedly, slapping Harry’s hands away as he tries to reach for your coffee and take a sip. “I wasn’t expecting you to actually show up here.”

“Why would I be joking?” Harry asks, reaching for your toast instead when it becomes clear that you’ll never sacrifice your morning caffeine. “Haven’t been able to write anything useful for the past month. I need a change of scenery, and I knew you wouldn’t say no if I asked to stay with you. You love me too much.”

You throw your hands up in disbelief. “You make, like, a million dollars a minute. Can’t you just rent your own place in the city? Why do you have to subject me to you as a roommate? Haven’t I suffered enough in our twenty years of friendship? I’m calling your mum.”

Harry does nothing but grin at that, his dimple deepening as he watches you pull your phone out from your pocket and angrily pull up his mum’s contact card.

“Hi, Anne,” you say sweetly when she picks up on the third ring, “Listen, so sorry to bother you, but your son has just shown up on my front doorstep and is asking me to take him in for the foreseeable future. And we both know how awful of a person he is to live with, so please, if you could talk to him…”

Anne laughs loudly over the speakerphone, and it makes you think that you should really make an effort to call her more. She’s practically a second mum to you, after all. 

“Morning, darling,” Anne chirps while Harry takes another bite out of your toast, loudly crunching on his mouthful. “You know in any other case I’d knock some sense into H, but this could be really good for both of you. He’s been struggling with his writing recently, and your mum’s just been telling me how she wishes you had more company in the city. Living alone can get lonely, dear, and the two of you have always had each others’ backs—it’ll be just like old times!”

Harry does a silent victory dance and mouths ha-ha to you as you pinch the bridge of your nose, leaning your elbows on the kitchen counter.

“Anne, I’m begging you. For my sake. I can’t deal with him singing in the shower and taking over my kitchen for God-knows-how-long. He’s already stolen my breakfast and he hasn’t even been here for thirty minutes.”

“H, you’ll behave, won’t you.”

“Promise I’ll be on my worst behavior,” Harry jokes, drawing a cross over his chest. “Wait, no, sorry. I meant my best behavior.”

“I hate you so much,” you concede, but if you’re really being honest with yourself, you know you were always going to end up agreeing anyway. You’d never admit this out loud, but you’ll always have a soft spot for Harry. Growing up together does that to a person.

“Take care of yourselves!” Anne says over the line, “you’ll call me if H gives you any trouble, won’t you?”

“I’ll have your number dialed before he even gets a chance to act up,” you sing-song, while Harry resorts to kicking your leg. “Have a nice evening, Anne. Promise I’ll call more.”

You hang up and Harry is staring up at you with a pout. 

“Why do you love my mother more than me?”

You place a palm on his forehead and push his head back, scoffing. “Why do you make my life so hard?”

He smiles sweetly at that, “Because I can.”

“Well, I have to go to work. Try not to set the place on fire while I’m gone,” you sigh, shoving the last bite of toast that Harry had been so kind as to save for you into your mouth. You had recently been hired as a lecturer at NYU, which meant you were stuck teaching 8 and 9 AM lectures for the foreseeable future. Hence your early start this morning, and why you actually came to answer the door when Harry started knocking at what otherwise would be considered an ungodly hour.

“Wait,” Harry says sheepishly, grabbing your wrist as you turn away and begin to walk back towards your room. “I was 99.999% sure you’d say yes, right. But, I also didn’t want to seem like an idiot on the minuscule chance that you’d say no, so I didn’t bring my stuff with me. I’ll text Jeff to have a suitcase brought here overnight, but…”

“Oh my God,” you groan, understanding what he’s implying. You lead him into your bedroom and angrily open your drawers, looking for a t-shirt you would be okay parting with. You find one at the bottom of the top drawer, a souvenir shirt from a family holiday to Paris from years ago. Harry would’ve been on that trip too, except he’d been touring in Southeast Asia or somewhere, you couldn’t remember. You bundle up the shirt in your hands and shove it into Harry’s chest with a huff. “Here. You can keep it.”

Harry hugs the shirt to his chest and grins. “Smells like your perfume.”

“Piss off.” You say, but you leave the apartment with your lips curled around a smile, feeling more awake than you have since the day you moved to this city.

✽ ✽ ✽

You finally make it to your office at noon, carrying a large box filled with exam papers and answer sheets. You only briefly get a moment to yourself before two figures appear at your front door, smiling. It’s Claire and Julian, two other lecturers from your department who were hired around the same time as you. You’d become quick friends, and now daily lunches had become somewhat of a routine for the three of you. It was a good way to let off steam after spending so much time in proximity with college students, and you looked forward to your daily debriefs about the travesty that is adult life.

“We come bearing lunch,” Claire exclaims, handing you a salad bowl from the fast-casual place down the street. 

“Thank God,” you say, holding onto the lid and shaking to mix the contents. Julian pulls up a chair for Claire, and the two of them take a seat across from you at your desk. “My stomach was about to start eating itself, I’m that hungry.”

“You okay?” Julian says, eyes scanning quickly over your features. He was weirdly perceptive. You were still trying to work out whether you hated or loved that about him.

“I’m fine,” you say with a brush of your hand, “just… a roommate thing at home is kind of stressing me out. Plus the fact that I’m down a TA and have to grade double the amount of exams I normally do.”

“I thought you lived alone?” Claire asks, tilting her head curiously.

“I did, but my mum thought I needed some company here. She thinks I haven’t adjusted well enough to the city, so she’s conspired with a friend’s mum to have us live together.”

“So it’s someone you know already? At least that’s better than rooming with a complete stranger. I still remember my randomly-assigned roommate from freshman year of college, living with her was like pure torture,” Claire sighs.

“Yeah, something like that,” you laugh, because how do you even begin to explain the complicated history that is your friendship with Harry?

“Sounds like you need to come to happy hour with us after work,” Julian states plainly.

“I wish,” you reply, “but I promised my students I’d get these exam scores back to them by the end of the week. Have a long night of grading ahead of me. Plus, I’ve got to figure out how I’m going to share the flat with someone else.”

“Well, text us if you need anything,” Julian says, grabbing your hand from across the table and squeezing. “If that roommate of yours turns out to be a menace, we’ll come put them in their place.”

“Grateful for that,” you say, taking another bite of your food. The rest of your lunch hour together passes by like it would on any other day. Julian gripes about how unengaged his students have been since returning from summer break, Claire complains about her hopeless crush on a professor from the engineering department, and you offer your harsh yet loving advice to the two of them. Eventually you shoo them both away so you can get a head start on grading, and the remainder of the afternoon is uneventful. You take the C train back to your apartment, and stop by a grocery store on the way to pick up some pasta and vegetables. Harry doesn’t eat meat, so the three bowls of microwaveable orange chicken currently stocked in your freezer wouldn’t do him any good.

When you finally get back home, Harry’s sitting on the couch, freshly showered and in your t-shirt, strumming a guitar. You follow a drop of water as it drips down from his hair and falls onto his lashes, his eyes fluttering shut at the sudden wetness.

“Back already?” Harry smiles. He rubs at his eyes and gets up to help you with the grocery bags. He places them down in front of the kitchen and starts pulling the items out, sorting them on the countertop.

“It’s been ten hours,” you reply, washing your hands at the sink. You grab a pot and fill it with water, placing it onto the stovetop.

“Ten hours is too short of a time to be without you,” Harry pokes, “Was hoping you would never come back and I’d get this gorgeous flat all to myself.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” you retort, pulling out a cutting board and prepping your vegetables. You dice an onion and finely chop some garlic, while Harry sits at a barstool in front of you, watching you make dinner. The water starts to boil, and you pour the pasta into it, eyeballing what you think looks like two full servings.

“What’re you making?”

“Veggie bolognese,” you say, splashing some olive oil into a pan. You glance at Harry across the granite counter. He’s looking at you weirdly, an almost fond look in his eyes as he examines how you cook the ingredients. His stare makes you feel something you’d rather not unpack right now, so you opt to fill the silence awkwardly. “So, get any useful writing done today?”

“Not sure,” Harry sighs as you turn away from him. You grab a handful of mushrooms and toss them into the pan. “Gonna try and get into the studio tomorrow after Tyler and Mitch’ve flown in. See what I can do with it.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” you say, adding in tomatoes and watching the vegetables boil into a sauce. “You always tend to overthink your writing. Sometimes what you get down the first time is perfectly fine. No point in trying to whittle it into something more complicated than it needs to be.”

“Hmm,” Harry nods thoughtfully, getting up from his seat and helping you drain the cooked pasta. He adds the noodles into the pan that’s cooking down the sauce, and starts washing the dishes you left behind in your dinner prep. “Good advice. How was your day?”

“Busy,” you sigh, combining the pasta and the sauce. You let the combined dish sit on the stove for a few minutes, bubbling under the heat, before you portion it out into two plates. “Students had an exam. Probably going to stay up grading their papers.”

“I can help with that, if you want,” Harry says, carrying the two plates over to your tiny dining table, that just barely fits one person, let alone two. On his way over, he passes your fridge and notices a photobooth strip taped to the front, which makes him laugh. It’s from Gemma’s graduation party—the three of you had crammed into the tiny space and taken so many pictures together, hogging the booth for so long that the rest of the guests had complained.

“I doubt you know enough about 19th century English literature to be able to grade 50-some essays about it,” you laugh.

“Fair enough, but I can at least keep you company while you grade. You can listen to me angrily scratch out lyrics and rip out notebook pages in frustration. I’ll listen to you whine about Yeats. Not bad for a Wednesday evening.”

The two of you eat in a comfortable silence for a while after that. The sun starts to set outside, leaving streaks of golden light on your dining table and your walls. You can see small bits of dust catch the light, swirling around Harry’s curls and suspending in the air.

Harry says your name suddenly, leading you to pause around a mouthful of pasta. “Listen, I know we joke around a lot, but if me being here is going to be a burden then please tell me and I can find somewhere else to stay in the city.”

“Don’t be stupid,” you say simply. And that’s that. You’re left to stare at your best friend, who’s wearing your shirt and sitting in your apartment, somehow filling the space like he’s belonged there all along. “You’re always welcome here. And you’re in charge of dinner tomorrow, so do your best not to poison me.”

Harry gets up and envelopes you in his arms from where you’re sitting in your chair, your cheeks flush against his chest. He smells like your soap and the cologne he’s worn since he was fifteen. You silently sigh and curse yourself in your head for getting into this situation. As if this won’t get complicated.

✽ ✽ ✽

Like with most childhood friendships, yours’ and Harry’s begins due to pure luck and your meddling mothers. The summer before year four, your mum tells you that a new family is moving in next door. You acted like a right brat about it at first, stomping your feet and refusing to leave the house to greet them. You hated that your mum thought it was so lovely that they had a son your age, how wonderful it’ll be for you to have a new friend going into the new school year. You didn’t want her to dictate your friends for you. Plus, there was no way the neighbor’s son could be half as cool as you were. It wasn’t until a week later, when you were playing in your front yard, that you finally met him for the first time.

You’re sitting on a wooden swing that your dad had fastened to a tree, reading a book, when he steps in front of you. He’s wearing a striped shirt and he’s got an ice lolly in his hand. His eyes are big and green, and when he smiles at you you notice that he’s missing a front tooth. 

“Hi, ‘m Harry,” his words unfurl slowly, “Mum said you’re the next door neighbor.” 

You look at him questioningly, still unsure of what you think of him. But then he points at the book in your lap, and flashes you another toothy grin. “You’re reading Harry Potter too? Sick. My sister got me the books for my birthday. I’m reading number four right now. What house are you? I think I’m a Gryffindor, ‘cause it’s the coolest, but Gem always says I ought to be a Slytherin, ‘cause I’m so evil and annoying…”

“I’m a Ravenclaw, ‘cause they’re the smartest,” you shrug, scooting over on the swing so Harry has room to sit, too. 

“I’m reading number four too, but I’m almost done. It only took me a week to finish,” you boast, kicking your legs forward.

“Woah, you must be, like, a really fast reader then,” Harry looks at you in awe, helping you propel the swing forward. “Hey, are you going to Holmes Chapel Comp for school? I’m starting there in the fall.”

“Mhm,” you say, watching the sun set over the hill. “Going into year four.”

“Cool, I’m gonna be year four, too,” Harry replies, legs dangling in the air. The two of you talk until Harry’s mum calls him in for dinner, and you find that you actually have a lot in common—you both like the color blue, Lord of the Rings, and support Man United. You learn that Harry lives with his mum and his sister, who’s called Gemma and is four whole years older than him. You head back home with an invitation to hang out with Harry again the next day, and when your mum asks you what you thought of the neighbors later that night as she sets the table, you have no choice but to concede and tell her she was right all along. Maybe you had found a new best friend in the boy from next door.

✽ ✽ ✽

a/n: a new story, as promised. gonna try and actually keep up with this one this time since i’m super excited about the concept. i’m a sucker for childhood friends so hopefully i’ll do the trope justice. shoot me a message if you want to be on the taglist! aiming for weekly updates, although they’ll probably be more frequent for now as i try and get this story going. i’m excited for this!!! hope you are too!!!

#harry styles #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic rec #harry styles fanfiction rec #harry styles rec #harry styles fanfic rec #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles reader insert #anywhere with you

[taliya-writes]

Nonconformity snippet - DCMK

Dawn found Kaito sleepily shutting off the vibrating alarm on his phone and stretching himself while half tangled in his duvet, groaning out a yawn as he mumbled, “I really don’t want to go to work...”  He blinked muzzy eyes open and spotted a blanketed lump on his floor with tufts of gold strands sticking out from one end.  Hakuba, his brain sluggishly informed him, is sleeping on my floor.  Deciding that unpacking that statement was too much work for his brain at five-thirty in the morning, the brunet slid out of the warmth of his bed and silently slumped into his bathroom.

As Kaito washed his face, the lukewarm water that had not quite fully warmed up woke him up more.   Hakuba came to me last night after being slapped in the face by his father for refusing an arranged marriage.  Even having had all night to chew over the blond’s situation, Kaito still found it difficult to believe that stuffy, proper Hakuba had been ousted from his father’s house—for rebelling, no less!

Super late teenaged rebellion stage? he absently pondered as he began the mindless process of making himself a breakfast of toast with butter after starting up the coffeemaker.

#writing wip #snippet #dcmk #kuroba kaito #hakuba saguru #taliya writes

[melodygatesauthor]

Nothing Like Home

Maxim "Kapkan" Basuda X gn!Reader

Original Request: Happy early birthday to you! May I request a Kapkan x Reader with the romantic line, "You remembered my favorite food?" It's the little things that count-

Nonnie YES, I love soft!Kapkan so much. Thanks for the prompt. I wrote this so corny but...I don't care teehee.

Tags/Warnings: SFW, food mentioned, comfort, fluff, romance, just a cute fluffy fic.

Word Count: 390

You were standing in the entryway of the house, waiting anxiously for Maxim to walk through the door. The moment you’d heard he was coming back home from another dangerous Rainbow Six mission, you’d been planning his meal. You knew he would be back early in the morning, so you’d been up since 6:30am just trying to make it perfect.

You knew his favorites, eggs sunny side up, French toast with cinnamon and fresh strawberries, and sausage links. You smirked thinking about the time you gave him patties instead.

“Krasivaya, what is this?” He picked up the patty in his fingers before slapping it into the plate.

“Sausage, why?”

“I will eat it, because you made it, but this is not right.” He did eat it, and every time you made sausage since, you thought back to that day with fondness.

The table was made, orange juice in the fancy glass bottle in the center; you normally only used it for special occasions and this one was as special as any. Your heart leapt when he walked through the door right at eight, tall and broad as you remembered. He wasted no time dropping his bags and grabbing you in his huge arms.

“Krasivaya, I missed you.” He said, squeezing you so hard you thought you might suffocate.

“Max, I missed you too but I can’t breathe.” You managed to choke out before he put you down.

He leaned in and kissed you deeply, you imagined he must’ve been a little touch deprived after having been gone for so long. When he stopped, his sharp eyes narrowed and he took in a deep inhale.

“Is that…” he looked at you with an affectionate smile, “you made breakfast.”

You nodded, “yes I did.”

Other than his obvious excitement to see you, Maxim was excited to finally be able to eat some real food. He made his way to the dining room where you’d put the meal out on display for him. You stood there proudly at your accomplishment.

“You remembered my favorite food…” he sounded a little surprised, “spasibo.”

“I’m glad you’re happy, and I’m glad you’re home.” You felt warm knowing he was there with you, and having a good hot meal.

“I love you.” He said softly, kissing you once more.

“I love you too, Max. Welcome home.”

Birthday Celebration Masterlist

#kapkan/reader #r6s kapkan #kapkan #kapkan r6s #maxim basuda #maxim basuda x reader #maxim #basuda #maxim basuda x you #kapkan x you #kapkan x reader #rainbow 6 siege #rainbow six seige #rainbow six #rainbow six siege #rainbow six siege fanfiction #r6s fanfiction #r6s x reader #kapkan fluff

[smalltowngrl86]

Dean Winchester x reader Warning: Language, smut Word Count: Approximately 2900

So.

This is my first time writing smut AND posting on here.

(take it easy on my po ass, y'all 😂😂)

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

When you woke up, the sun was filtering through the pine trees outside the window of your house. You sighed happily and looked at your husband. "Dean Winchester," you whispered, smiling as the sun kissed his features, "how did I ever end up with a man like you?" There was a soft knock on the door followed by the sound of your daughter's excited voice. "Mama, can we open presents now?" "Just wait a bit, baby." You whispered back as she stepped in. "Can I come sit with you and daddy?" Mary asked. "Sure." You invited, scooting over to make room for her in bed, "Is uncle Sam awake?" "Yeah. He's making coffee and breakfast." "Okay. Make sure your daddy doesn't run away on me." You muttered, crawling out of bed as quickly and quietly as you could. "Where are you going, mama?" Your daughter asked, pulling the covers up around her torso. "To Say good morning to Sam." You answered, clicking the door shut behind you. As soon as you reached the kitchen, your senses groaned with hunger for food. It all smelled so good. There was sausage, bacon, eggs, pancakes, and best of all, French Toast. "Sammy! What're you doing?!" You said, scarin Sam. "Holy smokes, Y/N! You really scared me! I'm making breakfast." "So I smell…" You whispered, walking over to him and wrapping your arms around his waist in a hug. "How'd you sleep last night, Y/N?" Sam asked, rubbing your back. "Good. Dean snored literally all night until about 5:30 this morning." You smiled, squeezing Sam and then getting a cup of coffee. "Typical," he laughed as you took a seat at the bar, "when we were living in hotels NON-STOP, he would snore all damn night." "It's only after a really long day, though. I think he does it when he's really tired." You noted, picking at a pancake with a fork. "You gonna eat that?" Sam asked, arching a brow and gesturing at the pancake with a spatula. "Eventually." You said sweetly. "Mama! Mama!" Mary yelled excitedly, running down the stairs into the living room. "In here, darlin." You called, smiling at Sam. "Mama! Mama!" She repeated, and came tearing around the corner of the kitchen. "Mama! Can we open presents?!" Dean asked, grinning tiredly like an idiot. You couldn't help but smile equally stupidly as you more or less drooled at the sight of your husband. His dumb ass came strutting down the stairs, hair still messed up from sleeping, shirtless with his grey sweats hanging loosely off his hips, and his voice still deep with sleep. No matter What he ever said, he was perfect in the morning in your opinion. His tired smile made your smile widen impossibly bigger. "Starin problem, beautiful?" Dean asked, kissing your forehead and sitting down next to you. "What? Yea- I mean No!" You caught yourself. "It's alright. Not everyday you get to see this." He grinned, squeezing your knee lightly. "Yeah, it is. I get to wake up next to you about 9 times out of 10." You sassed back. "Daaamn….easy." Dean smiled, getting up and pulling Sam into a bro hug, "How'd you sleep last night, Sammy? Really." He asked seriously. "Okay, I guess. Not too bad of dreams." Sam answered in a quiet voice. "Mama, can we open presents, now?" Your daughter pled, tugging on your pants leg. "Yes, Mary. We can open presents." You said. "I have the oven on low so I can stick for in there and keep in warm." Sam added, leaning into Dean and putting his arm around his brother's shoulder. "Okay. Let's kick this bitch in the teeth." Dean said, slapping Sam on the back.

"DEAN! NOT IN FRONT OF THE CHILD!" You laughed, yelping when he grabbed your ass with a wink.

"Mama, who is this one to?" Mary asked, holding up a bag filled with bright blue and red tissue paper. "That one is fooorr….dad. I think, lemme see." You said, trying to remember. "Yep. That's from Uncle Sam." "Here, daddy." She said, dropping it on the floor in front of your half asleep husband with a heavy thud. "Woah! What's tha-. Okay." Dean said, suddenly awake. Sam smiled to himself. "Hope it didn't break your floor." "Oh, hush." Dean glared at Sam as he tore the tissue paper out of the bag. "FIVE FRICKIN POUNDS OF SNICKERS?! HOLY SMOKES, SAMMY. WHERE'D YOU FIND THIS?! THANK YOU!!" "There's a wonderful place you'll probably never set foot in called " Sam's Club"." "Did you go there on the name?" You asked, skeptically. "Forget that, darlin'. We got 5 whole POUNDS of snickers!" Dean said with a smile, his eyes lovingly and sarcastically telling you to shut the hell up. "Naw. I was buying all of my canned stuff and whatnot when I saw that on the shelf and instantly thought of Dean." "Aww…thanks, Sammy." Dean said, hugging his little brother tightly. "Mama, can I open this one?" Mary begged from under the tree. "What's it say?" You asked "From Dad & Mom." She answered. "Yep," You said, then turned to Dean, "where's the one from you to Sam?" "In the garage." Dean said, wiggling his eyebrows mischievously. "Oh god." You groaned, smiling. "Do you know what I even got him?" Dean asked, arching a brow.

"No…but have the feeling I'll find out." You shook your head with a grin.

"Dean…I- I don't know what to say… I mean, this is great." Sam stuttered, rubbing his neck and trying to search for an appropriate response as he gazed on the sleek 1968 blue Chevy convertible Camaro sitting in the garage. "How 'bout "thank you, Dean. You're the best brother anyone could've ever asked for. How can I ever repay you, oh, marvelous one?' ." Dean said in a mock serious tone with a flourishing bow. "Jesus, Winchester, don't flatter yourself." You grinned, grabbing his ass, causing him to jump. "Thank you, Dean. Really. This is incredible." Sam said, pulling Dean onto a tight hug. "You're welcome, Sam. I love ya, man." Dean replied, patting Sam on the back and squeezing him tightly. "I love you, too." Sam said quietly, squeezing Dean back. "Don't worry, Y/N. I'll get you one next year." Dean said, rolling his eyes and looping is arms around your waist. "I don't mind being passenger princess until then." You smiled, kissing Dean's warm lips softly. "Fine by me. I want food, though. Let's eat." Dean announced, grabbing your hand and walking back to the house. "Of course you want food." Sam laughed from behind you two.

"Daddy always wants food." Mary agreed from on top of Sam's shoulders.

Breakfast was, as you had expected, amazing. Everything was done perfectly and tasted like heaven. "Sam," Dean managed with a slight laugh between drinking coffee and stuffing his face with French toast, "this is really good. "Glad to heard it. Needin' anything, Y/N?" Sam asked, turning to you. "A nap?" You asked, smiling, "no, I'm alright for now. Thank you, though, Sam." You added, wrapping an arm around Sam's shoulders. "Uncle Sam, can I have more sausage?" Mary asked politely, holding up her plate. "Sure, the links or the patty." Sam offered. "Links, thank you." Dean looked at you with surprise in his perfect green eyes. You shook your head to say "no clue" and took another drink of your coffee. Mary was usually fairly polite, but never on this scale. "You two," Sam said, getting yours and Dean's attention, "I gave her a couple pointers when you two were busy sleeping your lives away." "I slept until 6:30 this morning, thank you." Dean sassed, jokingly rolling his eyes with a warm smile. "Whatever." Sam laughed. "I'm doing dishes!" You announced, jumping up and starting to run dish water. "No, you're not!" Sam argued, picking you up and setting you down across the floor. "Sam, you made breakfast. I will do dishes." You complained jokingly, starting back towards the sink. "No, you won't. I live here just as much as you do. I will do the dishes." Sam reasoned, grabbing you up in his arms "Just let him do the damn dishes, Y/N," Dean interrupted with a wave of his hand, "besides I still have to give you your gift." "The hell does that mean?" Sam and you asked at the same time, you whipping around in his arms. Dean looked at you like it was obvious. "Winchester, I have no idea what you're talking about. It could be anything from a fight between me and Mike frickin' Tyson to a new puppy. You have to let me in on this." You said, raising my eyebrows at him. Dean closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "Sam, we'll be about an hour." "Oh, god…."Sam groaned, " lock the door so Mary isn't gonna be traumatized like me." "See? Sam gets it!" Dean laughed, grabbing your hand and leading you up the stairs.

"If you had said that, I probably would've, too." You said, shaking your head with a chuckle.

When Dean had shut the door and locked it, you knew you were in for it. An hour? This could be some pretty filthy sex. You thought, sitting on the edge of the bed, awaiting your "gift". "Clothes." Dean ordered, pulling his pants off. You listened and yanked your sweatshirt off over your head and pulled your sweatpants off to reveal some lacy, black, lingerie that Dean had bought you for your 2nd anniversary. Dean had a staring problem. Big time. But only when it came to you or to pie. Pie was your only competitor. He was practically drooling just looking at you. "We doin this, or ya just gonna stare at me?" You asked, pulling on the waistband of your panties. "We're doin this." Dean confirmed, pushing you down on the bed and sliding your panties off. Dean started a your lips and began kissing and leaving hickeys down your body, ending at your ankle. Then, he went back up, lingering at your inner thigh and your chest. Then, he quickly went back down to your soaked sex."Dean, please…just fuck me." You whined as He traced a shape on your folds with his tongue. "Been a minute since we did this last. Wanna take my time." "Well, you only have a handful minutes." You noted breathily as he pushed two fingers inside of you. "Mmm-hmm." He mumbled, curling his fingers inside of you, causing you to cry out in ecstasy, "Hey, hey…gotta be quieter than that." He added gently, covering your mouth his his rough, calloused hand, and beginning to pump his fingers in and out. The faster his went, the tighter the band of pleasure got in your stomach. Your head fell back against the pillows and immediately Dean had you picking your head back up and watching his every move while he fingered you. "Dean…please…" You whimpered, so close to letting go. "What? What do you want. Use your words." He said, his green eyes flooded with lust. "I want your- Oh, God!" You cried as your high washed over you, your walls clenching around Dean's hand. Dean pulled his hand from between your legs and wiped his fingers on the towel he had grabbed off he towel rack in the bathroom. "What is it you want, sweetheart?" He purred from between your legs. "I need your dick it your tongue or something, Winchester. Don't tease me." You whispered. Dean obliged by sticking his head back down in between your legs and licking one solid line up and down your middle and then suddenly sticking his tongue inside you. All the while, he had you watching and keep eye contact with him. Just as you were about to cum all over his pretty face, he brought his head out and kissed your lips, the taste of you lingering heavily in his mouth.

You grinned devilishly as you brought you hand to Dean's hardening member and began to slowly slide your hand up and down its length. Dean groaned and pulled your bra off quickly. "You're so wet I don't think I even need any lube." He whispered, squirting the cold gel into the palm of his hand, rubbing his dick up and down and your pussy as he lined up with your entrance. "Beg." Oh, shit. You thought. You weren't the greatest at begging, but maybe since he hand fucked you in so long, Dean would just want to hear you. For a second, Dean's weight shifted and his dick slid against your folds and you 'bout came again. "God, I need this dick in me. Need to feel you cum in me and make me yours." You whimpered, biting your bottom lip and stroking his dick with your thumb, hand still wrapped around it. He answered by slamming into you, A wave of ecstasy coursing through your veins. Immediately, he found your g-spot and wouldn't let it go. Not long after, your second orgasm was welcomed by a string of dirty words and a barely contained scream. "Dirty mouth for such a pretty slut, huh?" Dean purred in your ear as you whimpered pitifully, riding out your high as best you could. "Yeah…well, I'm…fuck…I'm, shit, your slut." You panted as Dean kissed your neck gently. Whadda guy, whadda guy. This man could be railing you into an alternate life in an alternate universe and he would kiss your forehead or neck so gently and carefully that you wanted to laugh. Or you'd be blowing him and he'd all of a sudden stop you and bring your face up to his and kiss your lips before ordering you back to deepthroating him. He'd be calling you a slut or a dirty little whore accompanied by a few other expletives but he'd be kissing your face sweetly to punctuate every word. Whadda guy, whadda guy. "Yeah, and you fuckin' love- oh, shit, Y/N." Dean hissed as he met his high. "I wanna hear you scream my name, Dean." You growled in his ear, A dominant streak surprising both of you. "I'm not about to repeat myself." "They'll hear…" Dean whined as his dick throbbed inside of you. "Sam has the music up. Scream it, Winchester. I wanna hear it." You whispered as Dean pumped in and out of you. In the process of talking to him, you hand slipped your hand between your legs and had begun coaxing a third orgasm out of yourself. As your wrist had began to tire out, you could feel the Knot in your stomach about to break again. Dean moaned ever so slightly at you bucking your hips into his and that's when you were sent over the edge. "Holy shit, Y/N. God, baby. Fuck, Y/N. Just like- son of a bitch…" Dean sinfully moaned out your name and so many more swears that you were almost forced by your subconscious to ask him who had the dirty mouth now. Instead you smiled to yourself. "What's so funny, you little whore?" Dean muttered in your ear as he flipped you onto your stomach and Took you from behind. Your hands wrapped around the top of the headboard, steadying yourself as both you and Dean grunted and moaned your way through every movement. Dean had one hand around your throat whispering some of the nastiest things you've ever heard fall from his lips in your life. "Nothing, daddy." You answered, leaning your head against the headboard of your bed. Apparently, Dean has a daddy kink you didn't know about. That name had a little more power than expected. Dean exploded in you with sloppy movements and curse words galore. As soon as Dean came down from his high, he collapsed on top of you in a sweaty, panting, but incredibly hot mess. "I love you, Mrs. Winchester." He whispered, kissing the shell of your ear. "I love you, too, Mr. Winchester." You smiled, grabbing his hand. "And as much as I love you, I don't think I want another kid right now. So you'd better pray your ass off that I'm not pregnant." "And, Lord, we ask that baby Winchester #2 would be a little boy and that he'd be here in nine months. Amen." Dean joked.

"DEAN!" You cried, laughing.

As soon as you both had cleaned up (you, of course, had Dean's help. He was the master if aftercare and wouldn't allow you to do anything after sex.) and gotten dressed for the day, you went hand in hand downstairs. Sam was sitting in the living room with Mary in his lap, helping her read a book. As soon as he saw you he made a gagging noise, rolled his pretty blue eyes, and flipped you off discreetly. The look he gave said "that was a little more than an hour."

"Oh, Sammy, oh, my dear, dear brother Sammy…one day you'll Find a woman and you'll understand." Dean grinned, picking you up carrying you bridal style to the kitchen.

#dean winchester smut #dean winchester x reader fluff #dean winchester #supernatural

[takashimakato]

Skate Along

(fanfic based off of Art by @nineeteen2000 )

As the vibrant California sun streamed through the windows, 2D, clad in his signature black attire, stood at the kitchen counter, flipping a slice of bread in the toaster. Ace, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, shuffled over to the fridge, clad in his unmistakable Powerpuff Girls attire.

2D glanced over at Ace with a small smile. "Morning, Ace. Fancy a bit of breakfast?"

Ace yawned, his voice groggy. "Morning, 'D. Yeah, sure, what are we having?"

"Just some toast," 2D replied, adjusting his now-white eyes to the morning light. "I was thinking of hitting the skate park later. You up for it?"

Ace nodded, his interest piqued. "Skating sounds cool. Count me in."

As 2D retrieved his toasted bread and began to spread some jam, Ace leaned against the counter, watching him. "Hey, 'D, you making coffee?"

2D's cheeks flushed pink as he chuckled nervously. "Oh, no, just toast. Sorry for the confusion."

Ace grinned playfully. "No worries, mate. I can make my own coffee." He poured himself a cup before joining 2D at the table.

Silence enveloped the kitchen for a few moments as they savored their breakfast. Ace broke the quietude with a gentle kiss on 2D's cheek, eliciting a surprised but pleased expression from the singer.

"Mmm, thanks, Ace," 2D murmured, a soft smile gracing his lips.

Finishing his cereal, Ace looked up at 2D. "So, ready to hit the skate park, 'D?"

2D nodded eagerly, swallowing the last bite of his toast. "Absolutely. Let me just grab my gear."

With a shared sense of excitement, they headed out the door, ready to embrace the adventures that awaited them under the California sun.

As they ventured out into the world, gliding effortlessly on their skateboards, 2D couldn't shake off the lingering insecurity brought on by the laughter of some passing kids. Sensing his friend's unease, Ace swiftly intervened, lifting 2D up and directing his attention towards the source of the laughter.

"Hey, forget them," Ace whispered, his voice filled with reassurance. "Show 'em what you're made of."

With a mischievous grin, Ace encouraged 2D to retaliate. "Flip them off," he urged, his voice barely above a whisper.

Feeling a surge of defiance, 2D stuck out his tongue and flipped off each of the giggling girls, much to their displeasure. As the tension dissipated, Ace smoothly glided away, leading 2D to a serene spot along the boardwalk.

Once they had some distance from the commotion, Ace gently set 2D down and turned to him with concern etched on his features. "You okay, mate?" he inquired, searching 2D's eyes for any lingering traces of discomfort.

To his relief, 2D burst into laughter, the tension melting away like morning mist. Caught up in the infectious joy of the moment, Ace joined in, their laughter mingling with the rhythmic sound of the waves crashing against the shore.

"That was incredible, man!" Ace exclaimed between chuckles, slapping 2D on the back. "Let's celebrate with some ice cream."

Grinning from ear to ear, 2D nodded enthusiastically, his earlier insecurities now a distant memory. With a newfound sense of camaraderie, they set off in search of sweet treats, the promise of laughter and adventure guiding their every step.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the boardwalk, 2D and Ace strolled side by side, ice cream cones in hand. With each lick of their sweet treats, their bond grew stronger, strengthened by shared laughter and moments of vulnerability.

As they reached the end of the boardwalk, 2D turned to Ace with a smile that reached his now-bright eyes. "Thanks for always having my back, Ace," he said, his voice tinged with gratitude.

Ace grinned back, nudging 2D playfully with his shoulder. "Anytime, mate. That's what friends are for."

With a contented sigh, 2D leaned against Ace, enjoying the warmth of their friendship and the simple joys of a carefree afternoon. Together, they watched as the colors of the sunset painted the sky in hues of pink and gold, knowing that no matter what adventures lay ahead, they would always face them together, one skate at a time.

#Spotify #2dace #2d gorillaz #ace copular #gorillaz fanfiction #the now now #gorillaz #nineeteen2000

[canirove]

Best friends… forever? | Chapter 22

Author’s note: Next Tuesday’s chapter... 👀

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Masterlist

"Good morning, Mila."

"Morning."

"Are you... Making breakfast?"

"I am indeed" she says. "It's my way of saying thank you for putting me to bed last night."

"I couldn't leave you on the sofa. And you kind of were glued to me" Rúben smiles.

"I can't remember that. I was asleep" Mila shrugs.

"Yeah... You were" he says, still smiling. "Anyway, what are you making?"

"Your usual avocado toast. And I got you your ginger shot too" she says, putting the little bottle in front of him. "I don't know how you can drink that."

"It's good for you."

"Seeing the faces you make when you drink it, I'm not so sure."

"It is good. Look at how healthy and strong I am" Rúben says, flexing his biceps and making Mila feel her cheeks get warm.

"I actually think you drink it so you can be around the house like this and don't get sick."

"Like this?"

"Shirtless, Rúben. Since we started living together, I think I've never seen you having breakfast with a t-shirt on."

"Are you complaining?" he asks with a cheeky smile.

"Whatever" Mila says, turning around and moving to the fridge to hide that, this time, she is properly blushing, something he would definitely be able to notice.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"What are you doing at the door?"

"Watching" Mila says.

"I thought we were going to train together. Burn those chocolates, you know?"

"You have to burn them. I ate one, and I eat some chocolate every day. It's part of my diet, I don't need to do anything" she shrugs.

"Not even some stretching from falling sleep on a weird position?"

"You have a very comfortable shoulder. But I could do with some yoga, yes. I'm gonna see if I left any work out clothes in my room" she says as she leaves the gym. When she moved to her own place, she left some clothes and random things at their apartment. Rúben didn't mind that she used it as some sort of storage room.

After getting changed and going back to the gym, Mila can't help but stare at him. He's resting next to one of the machines with his back to her, and in a position that asks for his butt to be slapped. That, or for a photo. Or both, to be honest.

"What are you doing?" Rúben asks her when he sees her in the mirror.

"Taking a photo to put it on my stories. After the one with the chocolates, we need to make sure Pep knows you are burning them."

"Does he follow you?"

"Nope. But his daughter does. She knows Manchester is red" Mila says, putting her phone down and picking a mat.

"Manchester is red..." Rúben repeats, shaking his head.

"It is and you know it" she replies, lifting her arms and bending down.

Now Rúben is the one staring. Since when is yoga this... Sexy? He's seen people doing those same moves many times before, and he's never felt anything. But seeing Mila arch her back during the cat cows, and the way her butt is popping out, is making him think of things they've done and...

"Focus."

"What?" Mila says while looking at him, her body on that exact position that is driving him crazy.

"Nothing. Just thinking what I'm doing next" Rúben says, moving to one of the machines.

"Ok..." she says, going back to her routine. She's so focused on it, that it isn't until she gets up and does her first warrior two, that she notices that Rúben has taken off his shirt. And to make things worse, he's doing some back exercises. "Oh, c'mon."

"Uh?" Rúben says, looking back at her.

"Did you really need to do that?" she says, not being able to hold her pose anymore.

"Do what?" he asks, taking a towel and rubbing it over his chest.

"Jesus Christ, Rúben" she says, rolling her eyes. "Did you seriously have to do that shirtless and in front of me, when you know they way the muscles on your back make me feel? And now... That too?" she says, moving her hands in the air and in front of his chest.

"Me? You are the one sticking out your butt while stretching, and you perfectly know how that makes me feel."

"That's how the moves work!"

"And with a t-shirt it's uncomfortable to make my moves!"

"Since when?"

"Always! When have you seen me on that machine and with my t-shirt on?"

"Maybe never" Mila says after thinking about it for a few seconds. "But things are different now."

"They are, yes. And we need to do something about it" Rúben sighs.

"What do you mean?"

"We need to get this out of our system."

"Rúben... We are not going to..."

"We are going for a run" he says, cutting her before she can finish her sentence. Though he knew what she was going to say. The smile that he's trying to hide says it all.

"Running? On our free day?"

"Yes, running. Did you leave any shoes here?"

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"I fucking hate you, Rúben" Mila says, trying to catch up her breath once they make it back to their building.

"What?"

"That was horrible."

"That was nice" he says with a big smile.

"Nice is the bath I'm having the moment we walk through the door. That run... That run was torture."

"C'mon, Mila. You are a professional football player, that should be nothing for you."

"I'm a professional football player, yes. But I'm not a freak. Only freaks like you can run like that, my God."

"Maybe you should try being a freak, it can help you against certain players. That West Ham goal from the other day? I think you could have avoided it if you were a freak like me."

"Oh, fuck off" she says.

"It's the truth" Rúben shrugs.

"Did I ever tell you that Rodrygo, the one that plays for Real Madrid, follows me on Instagram? He sends his regards."

"Oh, that was low, Mila" he laughs.

"It's the truth" she shrugs before walking towards the door.

And that's the mood for rest of the morning. They keep teasing the other and laughing, feeling like the old days. Like what they've always been. Like two best friends.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━ 

#ruben dias #ruben dias fanfic #ruben dias imagine #football fanfic #football imagine

[hotchs-bitch]

The Morning After

Summary: When you and your fiancé wake up after a night of drinking, you have to figure out exactly what happened last night.

Or, loosely based off of the Pineapple Incident episode of HIMYM (although I’ve been told that it’s like that one New Girl episode and it’s also giving Phil and Claire. These are all good things in my book.)

Pairing: Hotch x blank slate Fem!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: Alcohol, description of hangover (very accurate if I may say so, because I wrote it while hungover), cursing, allusions to smut, a bit of fighting and arguing, mentions of case-related violence (homicide)

A/N: Honey, I’m home! (If home is writing about hotch) (it is) Lovingly beta’d by the long suffering @laurensprentiss, of whom I am trying to drag by the ear out of her sloppy dog boy era, and @spacecowboyhotch. Gorgeous moodboard by @honeybrowne. Anyways, find it on ao3 here, or under the cut!

Happy reading <3

You wake up to the sound of birds chirping outside the window, and Aaron snoring next to you; just like any other day.

Except it’s not  just like any other day, because your head is pounding and you don’t remember how you got home from the bar last night and holy shit, has Aaron always snored so loudly?

You give him a weak shove with one hand, but it does the trick and makes him fall silent. He might be waking up or maybe still half-asleep, but at least he’s being quiet.

And then he starts to talk.

“Morning, sweetie,” he mumbles, rolling over and pressing a kiss to your temple. He says something else, something you don’t hear, because he’s making your entire head vibrate with his stupid mouth and it hurts so badly that all you can do is slap his chest lightly and turn your head away. 

He pulls away, takes the hint and settles a hand on your thigh under the blankets. That’s Aaron; he’s always got to be touching you, feeling you, knowing that you’re there and you’re okay. A hazard of the job, and of how much he loves you.

When he clears his throat, you wonder if maybe he doesn’t actually love you and if he’s just being loud because he’s an asshole. “I said, I’ll go make breakfast.”

Okay, so maybe he does love you. 

“Mmph.” The noise comes from somewhere deep in your chest, vague and agreeable enough that he stands up without shifting the bed much. Thank god.

The slow, steady drag of slightly uneven footfalls disappears down the hallway, and you hear the distant ‘clang’ of a saucepan followed by the sound of Aaron cursing. Serves him right for being so damn loud, in your opinion.

You’re starting to sweat now, overheated from head to toe, so you push down the blankets to find yourself wearing a bra and a pair of Aaron’s boxers. They’re warm and soft- using them as pajama shorts isn’t new territory by any means- but there’s a stain on them that smells suspiciously like alcohol.

Eyes squinted at the soaked-fabric splotch on your hip, you rub a finger against it and bring the finger to your nose. When the smell of pure bourbon hits your nose, you gag aloud. Alcohol is the last thing you want to be thinking of right now, with the way your head and stomach are spinning in opposite directions.

Why the hell are you wearing Aaron’s booze-soaked boxers? And if you’re wearing his underwear…. What is he wearing?

Your answer comes a minute later when Aaron reappears in the doorway, holding a tray. He’s got dried blood on his knuckles that you hardly notice, because breakfast smells so good. There’s water, scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and a bottle of Advil in the tray, and you settle a hand on your stomach as it turns. 

“Smells good,” you croak, and Aaron sets it down by the foot of the bed. He turns to grab a pair of pajama shorts, and gives you a minute to take him in. 

When you do, you pause. “Baby?”

“Mmhm?” Aaron asks, slipping black fabric from under his shirt to down his hips before stepping into the sleepwear. He’s obviously not doing much better than you if he hasn’t noticed yet, but you still clue him in.

“Is that…. My thong?”

Aaron turns his head downward to observe the black lace fabric pooled by his ankles on the bedroom floor, then brings a hand up to rub at his temple. “Where are my…?”

“Here.” You snap your waistband to bring his attention to the boxers, wince when the elastic snap hits your ears and stomach at the same time. You pull back the waistband a little, revealing a circular bruise on your hip.

“What’s… Why are…?”

“I don’t know,” you groan, letting your head fall back against the pillow. “God, what happened last night?”

“I came to pick you up,” he replies, sinking back into bed next to you. He grabs a water and passes you a glass as well, and you swallow it back with pills that are way too big for your poor, sore throat. “I think… I stayed for a drink?”

“You think so?” You grumble sarcastically, pointing out the bourbon spot on his boxers. “Just one?”

Aaron pinches the bridge of his nose and wraps an arm around you, letting you rest your head on his soft, solid chest. “Maybe a few, I guess. How are you feeling?”

Your groan into his chest must be enough of an answer, because he just sighs. You feel him shift as he sets the breakfast tray on the nightstand, then pulls you back in close. “Tight,” you complain, and he loosens his grip.

Large fingers come up to stroke your hair, brushing strands away from your face. “Go back to sleep, hon,” he whispers. “We can figure out last night later, when you feel better.”

When we both feel better, you want to say, but you can’t. Your mouth is semi paralyzed with exhaustion, and it’s all you can do to hum into his shirt before falling fast asleep in your boyfriend’s arms, one big hand stroking up and down your back long after you’ve gone back to snoozing.

———

When Aaron wakes up, he finds you faced with a bigger worry than what happened last night.

“We woke up in bed together, Aaron. Almost naked. Oh my god, what if we had sex?” You fret, louder than before now that your headache has started to dissipate, and he shoots you an unimpressed look.

“We’re engaged. It tends to happen,” is his dry response, and you slap his shoulder as he sits up.

“We’re out of condoms, you idiot!”

Two large hands reach out, envelop your own. “Hey,” he murmurs, and you meet his eyes despite the throbbing of your head, “You’re on birth control. We should just figure out what happened last night. You went to the bar…” he trails off, ready for you to step in and pick up the story.

“Right.” You take a deep breath, settling back down. “I went to the bar to meet up with the girls. They were, uh, teasing me. Saying that I’m an old married lady since we’ve gotten engaged.”

And then you fill Aaron in.

—————

“Drink, drink, drink!” You aren’t sure who’s chanting now; you’re three shots in and everything is getting blurry.

“One more!” Emily pushes a shot glass towards you. “You’re never going to come out with us anymore, after the wedding.”

“Not true!” You protest, but you shoot the shot anyway. It tasted sweet, vaguely of cherries, and you’re definitely more lightheaded than you were a moment ago. “You guys are my friends, I’m not just gonna, gonna ditch you!”

It’s hard to hear Penelope’s ’tsk’ over the bar music, but she manages to project it. “You and boss man are going to cozy up and lock yourselves away and we’ll never see you again.”

“Just have a good time while you can,” JJ urges, “Before you’re stuck at home because you’re too tired, or your baby is sick, or something.”

“I don’t even have a baby!” Your pushback is useless, and just results in three more shots being placed in front of you. “I don’t know why,” you say before taking a shot, “You guys think I’ll just be boring.” Another shot. “My best years are ahead of me!” Another shot. “I can party like-“

———

“And that’s all I remember,” you admit with a wince.

“And then I came to pick you up, after Emily called me,” Aaron says. He holds you a little closer, kisses your forehead. “That was about an hour after you went out.”

And then Aaron fills you in.

———

“Well, how is she?” Aaron asks Emily. 

She responds by pointing to you across the bar, just in time for the two to see JJ stop you from climbing up to stand on the table. “That’s how she is.”

Aaron shakes his head, fiddles with his car keys while he watches you. “She’s been so stressed with trying to plan the wedding; she really needed tonight,” he confesses to Emily, who waves it away like nothing.

“She’s having a great time. She was first out onto the dance floor, kickstarted everybody dancing.” 

It’s an impressive brag, Aaron thinks as he looks at the sea of bodies on the dance floor. “She did? After how many drinks?”

Emily laughs at that, in a way that says she’s personally responsible for the answer. “Seven,” she admits, and Aaron cracks a smile.

“Well, we should get going,” he finally says, holding his car keys in one hand as he makes a start towards you. 

“You aren’t going to stay for a drink?” Emily asks, and Aaron shakes his head. “Come on! If she needs to lighten up, so do you.”

She has a point; that’s the only thing that gets Aaron to hesitate. “One drink.”

“One drink,” Emily promises. “And then you can go right home and go to sleep.”

“One drink,” Aaron agrees, following her to the bar. He orders himself a rye and coke; not his usual drinking method of slow-sipping straight liquor by any means, but he is here to relax.

“Aaron! Honeybear, baby!” He hears your slurred voice through the crowd, and winces as Prentiss starts snickering. “Did you come to dance?”

Emily throws her head back into a full-bodied laugh, cackles for a couple of minutes before she settles back down with a hand wiping away tears of laughter. “Yeah, honeybear. Are you going to dance?”

Aaron gives you a smile, turns back to the bar, and orders without skipping a beat, “Also, a double of bourbon and two shots of tequila. Thank you.”

Thankfully the liquor is set down first, and he winces at the tequila shots before drinking them both. He grabs his rye and coke to nurse, leaving the bourbon on the nearest table.

“Honeybear!” He looks to the side, just in time to feel you run straight into his chest. “Wanna dance?”

The drinks have gone to his head sooner than they should have, but he blames it on the club-like atmosphere and grabs your hand.

He’s careful not to let Prentiss hear when he pulls you close and says straight into your ear, “Let’s dance, sweet pea.”

When you let out a peal of laughter, he pulls back to hand his half-empty drink to Prentiss, who trades him for another glass of… well, something. He tips it towards her in gratitude, throws the contents of the glass back, and sets it down. 

“Ready?” You ask, tugging him out onto the dance floor with both hands.

“Ready,” Aaron confirms. He raises one arm up, spins you to the beat of the music, and pulls you in for a long kiss as the music surrounds you.

After a few minutes of dancing and more drinks for both of you, you start to complain about your feet. “Maybe it’s time to go home,” Aaron suggests, stumbling a little too much for his taste as he leads you off the dance floor and towards Emily.

Shoot. He really didn’t want to have to call a cab tonight.

“No, I want- Aaron!” You cry out as he stumbles into the table from earlier, knocks over the forgotten bourbon with a glass ‘thud’. 

You both watch in horror as the liquid seeps into the side of Aaron’s khaki pants. It darkens the fabric, and he swipes at it uselessly, only to end up with the liquor sticky on his fingers as well as his thigh. 

“You can’t wear those,” you protest, grabbing his hand. “It’s okay, honeybear, we’ll find you something else!”

“No, no,” Aaron insists, swinging your hand up in the air. He wonders briefly, drunkenly, why he even did that, but he’s back to his train of thought in no time. “We should, uh, we can just go home.”

“Home?” You ask, frowning at him. “You aren’t having fun?”

Drunk or not, Aaron thinks you’ve got no idea what kind of power you hold over him. Especially when you’re looking at him like that, like he’s single handedly taking away your only source of happiness.

“Of course I am, sweet pea.” He leans in to kiss you, ready to prove it.

Unfortunately you surge forward to kiss him too, accidentally bumping him into a large well-muscled man in a black shirt.

Great.

“You got a problem?” The man asks, accusatory, and Aaron clears his throat.

“No, no problem. Just an accident,” he tries to explain, but his new friend isn’t having any of it.

He crosses his arms, looks Aaron up and down like he’s sizing him up for a long minute. “I’ll tell you what,” he bargains, “If I can get her number, we won’t have no problem.”

Aaron sees you open your mouth out of the corner of his eye- probably to agree, just to get this man away- but he’s quick to speak first. “Absolutely not.”

“I’m sorry?” The man turns toward him, arms uncrossing. “I don’t think that’s up to you.”

“She’s my fiancée. You aren’t getting her number,” Aaron says as menacingly as possible, taking a single step towards the man. Did he stumble forward?

Apparently yes, he did. He catches himself against the man’s forearm and straightens up in a hurry, says, “We can work this out-” before a meaty fist connects with the side of his face and everything goes black.

———

“He hit me,” Aaron frowns, and you kiss the pursed expression off his lips. “He can’t do that; I’m an agent.” His gaze catches his bloody knuckles, and his eyes widen with the implication of where the blood came from.

As a loving fiancée, it’s your duty to distract him. “You’re my hero,” you say dreamily, and he makes a face like he’s trying not to roll his eyes.

“Anyways,” he continues, “I don’t know what happened afterwards.” One hand comes up, rubs absently at the bruise forming on his cheekbone.

“That’s okay,” you promise. “You know what? I bet Emily would know what happened, if we asked.”

“Yeah, she’d know that you call me honeybear,” he grumbles, and you can’t fight the giggles that overtake you.

“What? It’s cute!” Your protests fall on deaf ears, even when you cover his face in kisses.

“Sure.” Aaron is stoic, unmoved. “Are you going to phone Prentiss?”

“Uh huh. Are you gonna let me eat while I do?” You motion to the breakfast tray that he set down on his nightstand before you fell back asleep earlier. “I think bacon would really help my memory.”

Aaron passes you the tray, stealing a piece of bacon for himself as he does so. “Doesn’t help,” he declares around a mouthful, and you shush him as your phone begins to ring on speaker.

“You’ve got Prentiss.”

“Emily, hi,” you say, turning down the volume on the phone with a belated wince. “It’s me. And Aaron is here, too.”

Aaron hums in acknowledgement around his mouthful of toast, but doesn’t say anything else.

“Hey, sweet pea. And hi, honeybear!” Emily greets you both, and you cover your face as though you can hide from the words. “Are you looking for your earrings? You left them in my car.”

“No. I mean, I guess. I didn’t realize-” When her words sink in, you pause. “I was in your car? Pen drove me to the bar.”

“I drove you after the bar. You know, after Aaron got in that fight?”

And then Emily fills you both in.

———

“We can work this out-” Emily hears, and she looks up just in time to see her boss get clocked in the face by some massive guy who was definitely trying to dance with you before your fiancé showed up.

To his credit, Hotch shakes his head, rights himself, and swings back. His fist connects with the other man’s nose in a sickening crunch, and they both recoil; Hotch shaking his hand, and the other man clutching his nose.

As Emily watches, a bouncer comes up to the three of you. He says something, grabs both men by the back of the shirt collar, and pushes them in the general direction of the door. Message received. 

You follow behind them, stumbling blindly until Aaron takes your hand in his and starts to lead you out with all the care in the world.

Hotch probably drove here, but Emily knows he’s in no condition to drive. That, and the fact that you’re totally going to owe her for this, is the reason she throws a few bills on the table in front of JJ and rushes out of the bar behind you.

When she catches up, she grabs your free hand in greeting. You stop walking immediately, causing Aaron to walk into you with an ‘oof’. “I can drive you home,” she urges. “It’ll be safer than walking and cheaper than a cab. C’mon.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” You’re still stumbling a bit so she offers an arm that you grip with both hands, dropping Aaron’s hand completely.

“Hey,” he complains with a sickly sweet grin on his face, reaching the hand back towards you. Emily thinks that if any unsubs were to see that smile, this guy would never get a murder confession again. “Sweet pea, c’mere.”

Oh, great. The sappy nicknames go together. That’s cute, even if it seems otherwise when Emily has to hide a gag.

She releases you, lets you stumble back into Aaron’s waiting arms as you all round the corner towards the parking lot. You and Aaron are whispering to each other, giggling- Aaron Hotchner is actually giggling, and if she were a worse person she’d be recording it- until she unlocks the car and opens the back door on the passenger side.

“Everyone in.” To her relief, there’s no drunken argument about not wanting to go home; you both slide into the backseat and cuddle up immediately. 

It’s sickening.

“Em, d’you know where to go?” You ask, already in the process of texting her an address with shaky fingers.

“I’ve got it.” She shuts the door for you and gets in the car, starting to drive with one eye on the rearview mirror and the other on the location you’ve sent her. “Did you have fun?”

“Mhm. Aaron, baby, did I tell you what she said?” She hears you ask, followed by a low grunt from Hotch that must mean ‘no’. “She thinks I’m gonna be boring after we get married.”

“Not boring.” There’s a kissing sound, and Emily looks back again to see Aaron pressing kisses all over your neck, exposed shoulder, anywhere he can reach. “Just all mine.”

Emily has never wished to be deaf, but there’s a first time for everything. Still, it’s kind of sweet to see SSA Hotchner, the big scary boss who used to dislike her, cuddling his girlfriend and drunkenly calling her sappy names.

It’s certainly nothing she ever expected to bear witness to, that’s for sure.

She decides to leave the two of you to your own devices for the rest of the drive, until she brings the car to halt a few minutes later. “We’re here. Are you sure this is the right address?”

You clamber to the window, pressing your face against it like a kid in a candy shop. “Yep!”

“This isn’t a house. This is a strip mall,” Emily points out. It’s sort of a sketchy one, too, judging by the amount of graffiti on the dumpster out front.

“Mhm. Aaron wanted to go mini golfing.” Aaron opens the door and helps you out of the car, and Emily watches with concern and mild amusement as you tap the roof of the car twice. “Okay, go! Thanks!”

She rolls down her window as the door shuts, just in time for Aaron to lean in to speak to her. There’s alcohol on his breath, and she wonders if he somehow had a few drinks that she didn’t notice.

“Thank you, for the ride.” He’s pronouncing each word slowly, careful to enunciate, like he’s trying to seem sober. “We’ll be fine. We can call a cab later. Thank you for the ride, Emily.”

“No problem, Aaron.” So sue her for using his first name; he never lets anyone except you use it, but he’s drunk enough to be calling her Emily and repeating sentences. “Be careful. And just give me a call if you need a ride,” she insists.

Aaron waves her off with one hand, the other one already finding its way around your waist as he leads you to the door of the strip mall.

———

“So I left,” Emily finishes. “You didn’t end up calling me, but you texted me the word ‘safe’ a bunch of times, so I figured it was okay.”

“We went mini golfing,” you clarify, then turn to Aaron. “You wanted to go mini golfing?”

He’s too occupied with his injured hand to pay much attention to you. “I punched him,” he says, a frown on his face. Your poor fiancé; he’s got all the power of an FBI unit chief, and twice as much empathy for anyone who isn’t a killer.

“You defended yourself. And me,” you remind him, taking his hand and kissing it gingerly. “Thank you.”

Emily clears her throat, a reminder that she’s still on the phone. “No offense, but I had to listen to you two last night, and I’m still trying to recover. Enough with the cute, please. I’m going to be sick.”

“Sorry, sorry,” you apologize, squeezing Aaron’s hand as you talk. “Thanks for updating us, Em. I’ll grab those earrings on Monday.”

“Sounds good. Rest up today, okay? Sergio, get down from there!” Emily shouts. You hear the sound of something smashing in the background- a vase falling, from the sound of it-, and the line goes dead.

Aaron moves the breakfast tray off the bed, and you notice that the two of you have cleared off the plates while Emily was speaking. “Well, I guess that’s it,” he says.

“We’re going on a field trip,” you correct. “Come on. We swapped underwear and I’m bruised, you’re not curious about that?”

While he sighs at you, you take the opportunity to stand properly for the first time today. You’re woozier than you thought, and you steady yourself against the bed, shaking your head like that will get rid of the hangover still rolling around in your skull.

“Are you sure about this?” Aaron asks. “Maybe you should just rest.”

“No,” you insist, turning away as you pull off his boxers and start to get dressed. “It’ll be fun. It’s like we’re investigators.”

“We put someone in jail for six counts of homicide on Tuesday. We are investigators,” Aaron says, but he gets up and starts to change clothes nonetheless. “Do you even know where this place is?”

“Well, no.” You grab your purse and phone and start towards the front door with your fiancé on your heels. “But you heard Emily. I texted it to her.”

Your long-suffering partner follows you out to your car without further complaint, and the drive to the strip mall is made in comfortable silence.

It’s not far away, but it’s in a noticeably different area of town. The parking lot is full, so you drive into the parking lot of the chapel next door.

Aaron steps out of the car first. “Not a great neighbourhood,” he says like he’s profiling a scene, motioning to the graffiti on the dumpster.

You shrug a shoulder and get out, leading him inside the strip mall. There’s a legal office, a dry cleaners, and a mini golf place down the main stretch, so you beeline to the mini golf doors and walk up to the desk with your fiancé in tow.

“Hi, how can I help you?” The girl behind the counter can’t be much older than mid-20’s, you think. She’s got red hair in a long braid, and fair skin with a smattering of freckles covering both cheeks. You notice a green name tag pinned to her shirt, reading ‘Brooke’ in neat cursive.

“Hi. Uh, who was working here last night?” You ask, and she tilts her head slightly. 

“I was.” When she looks up at you, her eyes widen in recognition. “Oh! You two were here!”

Aaron places a hand on the small of your back, then clears his throat. “We were here, yes. We were just wondering, uh, what happened. We’re sort of… missing a piece of last night, and hoping you can fill in the blanks.”

“Do you mean after your fight?” She asks, looking between the two of you.

You frown back at her. You and Aaron fought? That can’t be right. “What do you mean, our fight?”

And then Brooke fills you both in.

———

“Two for Hotchner, please. Or Aaron. Aaron Hotchner.”

Brooke looks up to see an older man standing over her, holding out a credit card. He’s got his arm around a woman- you, she later finds out- who isn’t tearing her eyes off of him, and Brooke guesses that they’re together.

“Yeah, sure thing. It’s going to be $9.50,” she says, and he hands over the credit card. The smell of alcohol is rolling off of both of you. It’s nothing unusual for this time of night in this part of town, so she runs the card and hands it back without comment.

“He’s Aaron,” you say to her, placing your left hand on the man’s chest. She notes the ring on your ring finger, and then the stain on his thigh once he steps back. You’re his fiancée, then, and it’s been a long night already. “Aaron Hotchner.”

“Okay. Well, you two can start right there,” she points over to the first hole and hands over two clubs and balls. “Just shout if you need anything. Uh, and be careful.”

The two of you stumble away, and Brooke watches you start to play for a moment before she grabs her phone. You’re the only people there, and though drunk, you seem relatively harmless, so she sits down behind the counter and starts shopping online.

She doesn’t look up for a while, until she hears the undeniable thud of a golf ball against skin, and “Sorry, sweet pea!”

When she does glance up, you’ve got your pants pulled down a couple of inches, exposing the waistband of a black thong and a patch of skin that you rub a hand over gingerly. “Y’all okay, Mr. Hotchner?” She calls out, and after the man gives her a thumbs up she turns her attention back to her phone.

There’s a good sale on shoes, especially one pair of heels she’s been eyeing, and she’d be adding them to her cart right now if you hadn’t distracted her by saying, “She called you Mr. Hotchner.”

“She did. Because that’s me,” Mr. Hotchner- Aaron?- explains, turning away from you to putt the ball.

“But she didn’t call me Mrs. Hotchner. Why can’t I be Mrs. Hotchner yet?”

“Well, you will be. After we get married.” He sinks the shot and grabs the ball, and you don’t move a muscle.

“You’re the one who keeps pushing back the wedding!” You raise your voice and drop your club, and it clatters to the turf.

Brooke has seen this about a hundred times in the two years she’s worked here. A little too much alcohol, some underlying tension, and the smallest thing can send people into a tailspin. She sets her phone down completely, trying to be subtle about watching the two of you over the counter.

Aaron, meanwhile, shakes his head like this is an argument he’s had a million times. “How do you expect me to pick a date when we get called out of town all the time?” He sounds a bit more frustrated now, his voice carrying easily up to the counter.

“David got married three times. Ask him how he managed, since you trust him so much more,” you snap.

“I talked to him about how to propose. Are you almost done holding that against me?” Aaron sets down his club next to yours. “If you want to set a date, go ahead. But it’s going to be a huge waste of money when we have to work that day.”

Usually, Brooke thinks, at least one person is drunkenly crying by now. That’s why she isn’t surprised when you speak next, and your voice is thick.

“Do you even want to get married?”

“What?” Aaron freezes completely. “How can you- of course I do. You know that.”

“You don’t want to pick a date, and the girls all think I’m going to be so old and boring, and we’re going to be engaged until we die,” you say, and Brooke watches as the man takes both of your hands in his own.

“You know what’s not old? Or boring?” He’s lowering his voice, and it’s a strain to hear. 

Brooke misses his next words, but whatever he says perks you right up.

“Really?” You practically shout, throwing your arms around your fiancés neck. “Let’s do it!”

“Okay, okay. Come on.” Aaron pulls back and grabs your hand, stumbling towards the counter.

Brooke quickly pretends to busy herself with the register, hoping she wasn’t caught eavesdropping, until Aaron taps the counter with one large hand. “Hi. Can I help you?”

“Yes. My fiancée and I-” you cut Aaron off with a squeal of excitement, and he shushes you with a smile- “Need to get married. Right away. Is there a... a place where we could do that?”

There’s a legal office in the strip mall, but they’re definitely closed by now, so she shakes her head. “Nowhere that’s open,” she says apologetically. 

“You don’t get it. If we don’t get married, we’re not gonna get married,” you insist, and Brooke doesn’t really have a response for that.

“She means it’s a special circumstance. We go on a lot of business trips,” Aaron explains. “We need to have a wedding. Tonight.”

“Legally, I don’t think that’s happening tonight,” Brooke says apologetically. As soon as she finishes speaking, an idea pops into her head. It’s got to be the stupidest idea she’s ever had, but you both seem like nice people. Albeit, nice people who had a few too many, but still. “What if you did a fake wedding instead?”

“A fake wedding! Yeah. Yeah, we can do that. Right, honeybear?” You ask, and Brooke watches Aaron for his reaction.

She bites back the sting of jealousy when Aaron says, “Of course we can, sweet pea,” and kisses you. Boys her age would never agree to something like this.

“Okay, y’all!” She claps once, then grabs two plastic water bottles. She takes the caps off both, grabs the little plastic rings from around the neck of the bottles. “Here are your rings. Just… go ahead, I guess.”

“Uh huh. Okay.” You take both rings from her and hand one to Aaron while he moves to stand across from you, holding both of your hands while swaying slightly on his feet. “Um… I’m nervous now,” you confess, and Aaron chuckles.

“Want me to go first?” He offers, and you nod. “Okay. Um…” he looks over at Brooke, squinting at her nametag. “Can we have a minute? This is going to be embarrassing,” he admits, and Brooke just laughs at that. 

“Of course. I’ll be cleaning up the course, you two can take your time and shout if you need anything. And, uh, congrats,” she says, walking over to where your clubs were abandoned.

She keeps a safe distance, out of earshot but with an eye on you both, as she tidies the course and puts things back where they’re supposed to be and you say what she can only assume are sickeningly sweet drunk wedding vows. At one point she gets on the floor to grab a ball out of the windmill, and when she turns around, you’re both gone.

———

“That’s all I saw,” Brooke says. “I wasn’t even sure if y’all got home safe, but you left these behind.”

After a moment of searching under the register, she pulls out two plastic rings. You take them from her, clutching them both tight in one hand.

“Um, thank you. For everything,” you say softly, and she smiles and nods and waves politely while you go back outside.

You walk back to the car and drive in silence for a few minutes before Aaron speaks. “So, a wedding date,” he prompts, and you shake your head with a smile.

“I can’t believe we did that. But if we’ve got the vows out of the way, maybe we can just get it legalized and skip the whole wedding hassle,” you suggest, playing with the plastic ring that you’ve slipped onto a finger.

“Or, I’ve got another idea,” your fiancé says. “We don’t have to, of course, but it might be a nice alternative.”

And then Aaron fills you in.

———

“A toast!” Emily says, clinking her spoon to her champagne glass. “To SSA’s Honeybear and Sweet Pea Hotchner, with whom I am never drinking again. Cheers!”

“Cheers!” The BAU team and their dates all echo her from their various spots around Rossi’s garden. There are only a few snickers at the nickname, thank god, or you’d be holding your new husband back from demoting your friend.

“This was a good idea,” you commend him, tipping your champagne glasses together before taking a sip. 

“Hey, hey, not too much of that.” Aaron gently pulls your champagne glass away. “Are you looking to repeat the other night with the honeymoon, this time?”

You let out a giggle, and turn to kiss him. One hand settles against the side of Aaron’s face, carefully avoiding the bruise shining on his cheekbone that has steadily shown up in the last day and a half. “Depends. Do you want to go to Europe, or somewhere tropical? I don’t care, as long as we’re gone for a month.”

“Don’t,” Aaron warns, but it’s through a snorted laugh. You both look up when hands land on your shoulder, only to see Dave standing between you.

“So,” he asks, “Are you kids having fun?”

Aaron nods and sips his champagne, leaving you to answer aloud.

“We are. Thank you for officiating, and helping us with this on such short notice.” You wave a hand around to the garden, which has tables and chairs and even a tent set up, and is strung with fairy lights throughout. 

“Short notice?” Dave snickers and grabs himself a glass of wine from the bottle next to you. “We’ve had bets on when you’d do this for months. All of this has been ready in the garage since you got engaged.”

At both of your surprised expressions, he just chuckles. “You’re a part of the BAU! You’re never going to have more than a day’s notice for anything; how were you supposed to plan a wedding?” He walks away, still laughing under his breath as he goes to talk to Derek and Savannah.

“Zero privacy,” Aaron mutters to himself, one of his hands finding yours under the table. “We work with animals.”

“They’re not that bad,” you chastise, squeezing his hand in your own as you look out at your friends, all of them either gathered in small conversations or on the dance floor. “We’re lucky to have them.”

“We’d be lucky to have private nicknames. Or less bets placed on our relationship,” he counters, but you can see the way his gaze softens when he looks at Penelope and Spencer playing with JJ’s sons.

“Don’t be like that. I’ll make it up to you later,” you coax, turning again to kiss Aaron’s cheek, and then his jaw. “You know, JJ said that I’m never going to come out because I’ll be too tired, or I’ll have a sick baby, or something.”

Aaron watches as you take another sip of champagne. “So?” He asks, his voice going slightly deeper.

“So, there isn’t even a baby yet. But if you can be nice for a couple more hours, I’ll let you try to change that,” you tease, and Aaron’s hand tightens on yours. “What do you say, honeybear? Gonna give me a reason to stay home from girl’s night in a year?”

Aaron actually lets out a little groan at that, bringing your hand up to kiss the back of it. In lieu of a wedding band because of the short notice, you’ve got a plastic bottle ring wrapping around your finger next to the engagement ring you’ve had on for months. “Sweet pea, I’ll give you a reason to never leave the house again,” he promises, low and husky.

You sigh dramatically at that. “I can’t believe the girls were right. I’m going to be an old, married woman. All boarded up, no time for my friends.”

“More time for me, then,” Aaron murmurs. You giggle, turning your attention back to watching your friends interact. This is one of the best nights of your life, and you would have never had it if you hadn’t had too much to drink and then spent a day unraveling the mysteries of the night before.

You never end up finding out why you swapped underwear.

—————

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