#I had a plan and then I just didn't do it

[mariasont]

That anon was living under a rock because your smut fics (all of your fics tbh!) I reread wayyy to many times, lol. But if you’re taking smut requests, I’d love to see more bimbo!reader and Hotch! I can’t get enough.

I’ll take anything!! But more specifically, their first time, all of that built up tension (that you write so perfectly!) finally breaks!

Anyways, I never send in requests but I saw a window of opportunity and had to take it, haha.

Third Date Rule - A.H

summary: the third date proves to be worth the wait when you and hotch experience your first time together. pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, sexy time, fingering, oral fem receiving, p in v, they did not in fact wrap it before tapping it and it's not really discussed so yeah idk about that one, aftercare wc: 7.7k

This was so overdue.

Technically, it's only been three dates. Technically.

But if you count all the years you'd known him, the months spent daydreaming about this moment, the weeks of waiting while he played the world's longest game of restraint, then really, you should have had him naked ages ago.

And if Aaron (which still feels like a thrill to say — Aaron — because you're dating now and you can freely call him that) wasn't so stubborn and noble and insufferably gentlemanly, you would have.

But tonight was finally the night. The third date. The sacred, hallowed, much-debated, universally accepted gateway to getting into the sheets. And yes, okay, maybe you barely survived the wait without jumping his bones, but that's hardly relevant now. The point is, you did it.

And now you're in his lap, his tie wound tight around your fingers, his tongue deep in your mouth, and gods, if this night didn't end with him inside you, you might actually die. 

Like, literally. Heart failure. Sudden death.

This was premeditated. At least, for you. You moisturized like your life depended on it, doused yourself in perfume that could be classified as a controlled substance, and selected a bra that made your tits look so insane, it might actually be illegal in some states.

And then you spent an embarrassing amount of time picking the perfect dress that says oh, I'm classy, but also please take me home and rip this off with your teeth.

You pull away, just enough to see him. To take in the slow bloom of pink trailing from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, the way his pupils are so wide they’ve all but erased the brown of his eyes. And his lips — swollen and red from kissing you — part like he was debating how bad it would be to drag you right back in. You wouldn’t mind.

“Aaron,” you sigh, fingers burying into his hair, marveling at how absurdly soft it is, how freely he lets you have this piece of him. “We should go to bed.”

For a second, he locks up. Not hesitation but calibration, a body processing desire so sharp it might break him. You feel it in the way his chest expands, in the quiet exhale through his nose.

"This wasn't my plan for the night," he murmurs, voice softer now, not strained, but steeped in something much gentler. Something careful. "I wasn't —," He shakes his head, like the whole concept doesn’t sit right in his mouth. "I don't want you to think this is just —,"

"Sex?"

You can see the way he wants to argue, like he wants to carve the word out of the air and replace it with something that means more.

"Yes."

You can’t stop the stupid, lovestruck smile pulling at your lips. Maybe it’s the wine from dinner finally working its magic. (It’s not.) Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, all serious and earnest, like you’re the only thing in existence, and if he blinks, you might vanish. (It definitely is.)

A laugh bubbles up, light and giddy, body not knowing what to do with all this adoration. You lean in, pressing a kiss to his jaw, just to see if he’ll let you. (He does.)

“Are you serious? If you just wanted sex, you wouldn’t have spent actual years pretending my very dedicated, very expertly executed attempts to seduce you weren’t happening.”

His brow arches, but you see it for what it is — a stall. “Expertly, huh?”

"Remember that heatwave last summer? When I just had to eat a popsicle at my desk every afternoon?"

His eyes darken like the memory is playing in high definition behind his eyes.

"I remember."

"Do you?" Your fingers slip beneath his color. “Because —” You tilt your head. “I always seemed to finish them standing in front of your office —"

You don't even get to finish your sentence. 

One second, you’re speaking, the next, you’re airborne. Lifted clean off the couch, legs locking around his waist automatically, arms thrown around his shoulders like you planned this all along.

You didn’t, but you wish you had. 

Not that it matters, because he’s already moving, already walking straight to the bedroom.

You bury your smile against his jaw, letting your breath tickle against the shell of his ear as another giggle slips out. It couldn’t be helped.

"I really hope you know," you whisper, “that I am, like, stupidly excited for this. Like, counting down the days excited.”

Aaron sets you down on the mattress gently, but his body doesn’t follow right away, hovering over you.

"You're not making this easy for me."

You ignore him because you’re much more distracted by how insanely soft his sheets are. That was your first thought when your back hits the mattress, hair fanning across the pillows.

For a fleeting second, you wonder if he’ll catch the scent of your perfume tomorrow. If he’ll notice the ghost of you when he lays down alone.

Your second was that this is so not the time nor place to get emotional. 

But this is his space. His bed. His room.

It’s tidy, but somehow not sterile, everything having its place, but not afraid to be used. A book sits on the nightstand, a book mark sticking out mid-thought. A photo frame faces the bed, though from this angle you struggle to see what’s inside.

There’s his suit jacket from yesterday, draped over the back of a chair, a little rumpled. 

And maybe it's silly, but you feel weirdly honored to be here.

You should probably be processing this moment, what it means to be here, with him, like this. Instead, you take a second to admire the view.

The lamp softens the sharp lines of his face, making him look almost gentle — which is funny, considering how you hoped to be thoroughly destroyed by him.

Something expands inside you, stretching against the walls of your chest, something too big, something that terrifies you.

So you do what you do best. You deflect.

“I can’t believe I’m about to sleep with my boss.”

He doesn’t even try to hide his exasperation, his forehead dropping into the crook of your neck. “Sweetheart—,”

"What?" You giggle, letting your fingers slide through his hair, letting your nails rake lightly over his scalp. "It's true."

His sigh is nothing short of pained, but then he kisses your cheek anyway, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. You were starting to feel like each was a thinly veiled attempt to tame you.

"Please don't phrase it like that."

"Yes, Mr. Hotchner." 

Every self-satisfied thought evaporates the moment he kisses you – really kisses you.

It’s not just a meeting of lips but a focused intensity, tongue sweeping inside your mouth and suddenly nothing before this mattered, because clearly, clearly, every kiss you’ve ever had was just practice for this one. 

Your body responds before your mind can catch up, spine arching and he doesn’t stop you, just kisses you with a hunger that makes teasing obsolete, that makes breathing secondary to the way he’s taking from you, giving to you, all at once.

His lips wander, dragging across your jaw like he’s leaving invisible ink behind, pressing something permanent into your skin.

You hope you’ll wake up tomorrow and still feel him there.

Your hands move to the nape of his neck, drawn by craving, by the need circling inside you like a ribbon of fire.

It stretches outward, licking at your skin, threading through your veins. His hands hold you still, spanning over your rib. His breath fans over your pulse, and you swear he can feel how fast it’s racing.

You should be gloating right now. This is, after all, exactly what you wanted, what you worked for. A biting remark sits on the top of your tongue, but then his mouth moves, and he finds it.

That wicked, traitorous little dip beneath your jaw that turns your entire brain into pink, glittering static. He pauses, listening, feeling, before sealing his mouth over it again, tongue dragging over the sensitive skin like he’s testing a theory that he already knows the answer to.

Your fingers clench in his hair, a startled sound choking in your throat before you can stop it. And then, the bastard laughs. Not sweet, not kind, but low and sharp and smug because he knows exactly what he’s done. 

You had the upper hand. Past tense.

"There it is," he murmurs, pressing another kiss there, his tongue flattening over it just to make you squirm. "You want to know how I figured this out?"

You hum, or try to. But it’s pathetic because you’re barely conscious, every cell fried to uselessness by his mouth.

He mimics you, just to be an ass about it, mocking the dazed little sound like he hasn’t just reduced you to it. "You always reached for it when I looked at you too long."

Your mouth opens. Closes.

"Or," he continues, "when I stood too close to you at the coffee machine. You'd fidget, tuck your hair behind your ear like you weren't thinking about it." His exhale burns against your pulse. "Cute."

You gasp, a little offended, mostly turned on. "Oh, wow. Profiling me? At work? That's, like, wildly unethical."

"Didn't need to," he murmurs. "You were practically begging me to figure you out."

His mouth is perfect in the way lightning is perfect – striking, searing, and completely out of your control. It’s perfect enough that you can pretend not to hear him.

He sucks, slow and hard enough to tear a sound from your lips before you even know it’s there, something that feels like vulnerability in its purest form. Something you would never willingly give him.

His laugh is quiet, wrecking, as he pulls back, lips slick with your skin. "That good?"

His mouth makes quick work, over your collarbone, down, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, down, branding every inch of skin he can reach. 

He stops at the neckline of your dress, and suddenly, you can't think about anything except how it's still on.

You want to strip it off, want to offer yourself up as a willing sacrifice, but you’re well aware that if you try, if you even reach, he’ll stop you. Or worse, he'll make you wait. He'll slow you down, draw it out just to watch you squirm because patience is his weapon of choice, because he lives for making you suffer.

His teeth graze the swell of your breast, just enough to sting, and whatever fragile grip you had on yourself disintegrates on impact. Your hands fumble blindly for his face, fingers shaking, needing to see his eyes.

"Please, Aaron.” It’s an exhale, a prayer. “Need you."

You see the ripple of tension along his throat. And for one tiny, blinding second you think this is when he finally snaps, abandons his tolerance and just takes you.

"You don't know how long I've wanted you like this," he rumbles. "I'm going to take my time."

You whine, frustration bleeding from your fingertips where they clutch his shoulders, fingers digging in like you can physically push him into moving faster.

He does not move faster. 

His hands slide up to the straps of your dress, as he drags it down with all the urgency of a leisurely Sunday stroll. 

Your mind is halfway through an exceptionally justified complaint about how slow he is moving when he folds the dress.

Folds it.

Sets it aside. Doesn't toss it.

And that may be the hottest thing he's ever done.

Because you know he knows. He’s always known. Known that your things aren’t just things — that your dresses, your heels, your overpriced lip glosses aren’t frivolous, aren’t some shallow indulgence, but tiny, curated pieces of you.

He has listened to you decide between two pairs of shoes that are, for all intent and purposes, identical. He knows jasmine is mysterious and vanilla is flirty, knows that you’ll debate your right to own the same three shades of pink. 

And instead of dismissing it, instead of rolling his eyes (though he does that too), he folds your dress. As if it matters.

You stare at him, somewhere between melting and spontaneous combustion, and he simply raises a brow. “Something wrong?”

"No." You shake your head for emphasis, voice a little too weak to get the point across. "Just thinking I might have to marry you."

His hands settle at your waist, fingers tracing over the pink lace like he’s trying to process it, like if he touches it enough times, it’ll confirm that this is actually happening and not some cruel illusion. His thumb brushes the scalloped edge, breathing shallow. You were pretty sure he’s currently having a full-scale existential meltdown over lingerie.

"Agreed," he murmurs, distracted, hooded eyes still glued to your chest. "I think the courthouse opens at eight."

Your giggle stutters, hiccups right out of you, because his hands are suddenly everywhere, roaming with no clear plan, just a man in crisis over how much of you he wants to touch first. His palms skate over your stomach, down your thighs, up over your breasts.

"So, this is all I had to do to convince you to do what I want?"

His mouth follows, retracting the path of his hands, rewriting, reworking, perfecting – because apparently, the first time wasn’t good enough, wasn’t thorough enough. 

"You think this is what did it for me?" His voice is hushed. "You could've walked into my office six months ago and told me to get on one knee.” A kiss, open-mouthed, starving, just below your navel. “I would've done it."

Six months ago. You don't know if you believed that.

Except now you're spiraling, backtracking, rewinding, piecing together little details like some lovesick conspiracy theorist with red string and a bulletin board. Every interaction, every loaded glance, every time he let you get away with high-level flirtation without so much as a blink. You thought you were testing him, but what if he was never fighting at all?

And before you can even recover from that, before you can file an official grievance about why no one told you sooner, his hands squeeze at your thighs, his mouth so close to exactly where you need him, and his voice —

"You're so beautiful."

His nose presses into the damp center of your panties, and your hands fly to his hair so fast it’s practically reflex, breath stalling in your chest like your body forgot how to function for a second. 

This is everything. What you've wanted, dreamed of, written in the margins of notebooks (hypothetically, of course).

It should be perfect, but suddenly, it isn't.

Uncertainty slips between the cracks, heat turning into something less solid. You don’t have time to find it, to name it, because he’s already there, already sensing it, already fixing it before you even know what’s wrong.

"Hey." His voice hooks into you, gently reeling you back from wherever your brain was about to go. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

"No, I—," The words come out far too fast and desperate, and you can't decipher why it's so hard to say. "I do want to. Obviously." The nervous laugh that follows is definitely not your usual flirty confidence. "Have you met yourself? Because if you haven't, I would love to introduce you. Tall, devastatingly handsome — you'd love him."

His move curves, but his eyes stay patient and focused, giving you a second to breathe.

"It's just..." Another pause, another frustrated sigh. "I haven't been with anyone in a while."

"That's okay, we can take it slow." He moves so that he's hovering above you again, brushing a strand of hair out of your face, his smile just amused enough to leave you flustered. "How long?"

"May."

"May?"

"Yeah, like, May. Three years ago."

Aaron just stares at you, processing. You can see the gears turning, the little mental loading wheel spinning, his expression caught between stunned and deeply interested.

His fingers creep up, sliding under your ribs, just close enough to the heavy swell of your tits to remind you exactly where you are. What he was doing to you before you so rudely derailed this into actual conversation.

"Really?"

You pinch his arm. "Hey! That is not an absurd amount of time."

"No. I know. I didn’t say that," he says quickly. "I'm just... surprised."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

His lips part and he immediately shakes his head, exhaling like he's physically trying to dispel what just ran through your mind, knowing exactly where your thoughts were.

"I just mean — I don't know how every man you meet doesn't immediately worship the ground you walk on."

"Oh, well, they do." You smile. "But I was only ever planning on letting one of them take me to bed."

You reach for his dress shirt buttons, tugging insistently, but your hands refuse to cooperate, not properly communicating with your brain.

It's his fault, you decide.

He looks too good, and it was extremely hard to focus on anything but that.

You have no idea how you survived dinner. Or the car ride home. Or even the eternity it took to get past the door, because that was definitely a struggle considering your mouth was all over his, tasting the whiskey he’d barely touched, before he could even get the key in the lock.

You spent all night picturing this, the way his hands would feel in you, the way his mouth would taste, the way his suit would look crumpled on the floor.

Which, in hindsight, probably meant you were a pretty terrible dinner guest. Nodding, smiling, pretending to listen, all while barely holding back the need to ride him in public.

Aaron laughs, clearly entertained by your struggle, and then, because he’s nothing if not arrogant, he starts undoing the buttons one-handed, to be a show-off.

It’s rude, really. Because now all you can do is watch, helpless as he peels himself open to reveal golden skin, dark hair dusting over firm pecs, trailing lower, disappearing beneath his belt. 

Your manicured fingers glide over the broad expanse of his shoulders, pushing his shirt away like uncovering some lost Renaissance painting that scholars would kill to get their hands on — something that should be in a temperature-controlled glass case, not just here, sprawled above you like he belongs to you. Which, he does, because he’s just letting you do this, letting you look. And you look. He is art. No, better than art. Art is stationary, lifeless, some brushstroke interpretation of what beauty should be. But this, him, he is warmth and breath and muscle.

Museums wish they had something this valuable. They’d burn down in despair if they knew he existed just for you.

"May," he muses, letting the word roll off his tongue, turning it over in his mind. "That's an oddly specific answer."

You make a vague sound of agreement, mostly just to acknowledge that yes, technically, he did say words, but you’re too busy to actually care. Too busy with spreading your hands over the planes of his chest, with grabbing at his belt.

"You were hired in May three years ago."

Your hands freeze. 

"That's... um weird." A slow blink. "Weird that you know that. Weirder that you noticed."

You work his belt loose, tugging it free. It’s meant to be a distraction, a well-placed touch to shift his focus from his revelation.

But then your plan backfires spectacularly because he’s hard, thick, unreasonably big and suddenly your fingers feel useless.

Aaron makes a sound — half a hiss, half a laugh — and his hands snap to your wrist, catching you before you can explore further, like he knew you were going to do that. "It’s okay, honey."

"I—I don't—," You blink up at him, floundering, desperately trying to sound casual. "That's, uh, I don't know what that's supposed to mean."

Aaron’s smirk deepens, his grip on you slackening just enough to trick you into thinking he’s going to be nice.

But then his other hand moves, slipping between your bodies, sliding beneath the heat trapped between your thighs, finding the neediest part of you, and pressing.

Your whole body jerks, a startled gasp catching in your throat as sensation flares — hot, sharp, mercilessly good.

His fingers start to move, rubbing tight circles against you. Your hands cling, one locked onto his bare shoulders, the other pressing against his dick, desperate to make him feel even a fraction of what he's doing to you.

It earns you a groan, low and gritty, hips twitching against your palm, his breath is hot against your lips, his mouth hovering just barely out of reach.

"I won't tease," he promises, but the way he bites at your bottom lip feels like a lie. His tongue is quick to follow, flicking over the welt he’s just left, soothing the burn before sealing it with a kiss, just this side of messy. “Three years… that’s a long time.” His lips skim yours again. “For both of us.”

A pleased sound bubbles up from your throat, slipping between his lips, that makes it obnoxiously clear just how much you love those words. That is a sentence you’d like embroidered on a pillow. Maybe cross-stitched into a nice, elegant frame for your future shared bedroom. 

"Oh," you sigh, a smile stretching against his lips. "I really, really, like knowing that. That's, like, incredible news."

Your brows scrunch, and you pull back just an inch. 

"Just to be clear, though, you do mean in a wow, you've ruined me for other women way, and not in a I've been to busy for a sex life way, right? Because those are two different things, and I need to know which one we're working with here—"

Aaron huffs a laugh and instead of answering with words, his hands slip into your panties, fingers finding your clit without prelude. Skin to skin now, no fabric, no flimsy barrier. Just touch.

His fingers dip lower, dragging through the slick, indecent in how easily he moves through the mess of you. He makes a noise — nearly a groan, mostly a hum of appreciation, of possession — before he spreads it, smearing your own arousal over your clit, rolling circles.

"Oh, wow, sweetheart."

Your thighs fall open like you have no say in it — because you don’t, because every instinct in you is reaching for him, needing it like a fix.

And maybe, maybe that should be embarrassing — the obvious, shameless way you seek him out — but it’s a gorgeous kind of humiliation, a flush that spreads lower.

"Well," you gasp, chest rising in stuttering little pants. "Y—you kept me waiting forever."

Aaron hushes you with a soft tsk, his fingers pressing, stroking, coaxing you into sweet, mindless submission. Every movement feels preordained, like he already knows your body, like he’s a man who’s spent years thinking about this.

"I know, sweetheart," he soothes, murmuring it against the fragile skin beneath your ear, punctuating it with a kiss. "But I think I'm making up for lost time pretty well."

"I guess," you manage. "Th—that's acceptable."

Aaron chuckles, the vibration traveling straight into your skin. His lips descend, an idolization thing, but it’s the kind of devotion that sets you on fire.

His hands spread over your thighs, parting them gently.

Your underwear drags down, slipping over your thighs, grazing the curve of your knees, and then off. And suddenly, there's nothing separating you from his eyes, from the way the air licks over you, cool against the sticky heat between your thighs.

His lips part like he wasn't expecting to fall apart so easily. Like he thought he'd have more time, more control. And the power in it, the sheer, intoxicating power of knowing he's just as affected as you are, that this is breaking him open, makes your skin fizz, burn, ache for him even more.

If someone had told you a year ago that Aaron Hotchner, mister all-business-all-the-time, would be between your legs, staring at you like he's never seen anything more perfect, you would have said something nonsensical. Something about fate. Or destiny.

And you would have been right. Because you always knew this was a definite.

"Oh, honey.... You're gorgeous," It's almost a whisper, like the words were dragged out of him against his will, stolen straight from his lungs the second his eyes landed on you. His gaze drinks you in, head tilting, lips parting, tongue skating over the swell of his bottom lip. “I knew you would be, but…”

A sharp, sizzling spark races up your spine, white-hot and unbearable, but when it should tip over into relief, it withers into frustration. The kind that makes your body revolt against the absence of touch. Your hips buck, thighs squeezing as if you can somehow force the friction you’re being deprived of.

"Give me a second, baby," he teases, caressing his nose along the inside of your thigh. "Just wanna look at you."

His mouth moves in decadent passes, open-mouthed kisses pressed into your inner thigh.

Another kiss. Then another. So close.

Then he detours. Veers off, pressing his lips into the dip of your hip instead, dragging his tongue along something that is not your clit.

"So perfect."

His fingers prod through your folds, parting you, fingertips wading through the slickness pooling at your entrance. The sound that spills from him is sinful.

All of your muscles coiling tight, every inch of you scorching with unmet need and just when you think you're going to have to beg him, just when the words start to form —

He gives in. 

His tongue is there first, dragging a flat, broad stripe through your center, licking over every hypersensitive inch of you before looking up at you through hooded eyes. You swear you nearly come from the sight alone.

"Knew you'd be sweet."

Aaron doesn't waste another second, burying himself in you, mouth moving like he's been ravenous for this. 

His grip is firm as he spreads you wider, keeping you at his mercy. His lips wrap around your clit for a split second before he moves again, tasing, licking, humming, lapping up everything you're giving him.

It's messy. Wet. Dripping. His mouth moves as he tries to wreck himself on you. Each second convincing you that he wouldn’t mind suffocating here if it meant another taste.

His nose nudges against you, the angle so cruelly perfect it sends another violent tremor through your body, legs jumping against his shoulders. Your fingers grasp blindly for purchase, gripping the sheets, tangling in his hair, at anything you can reach. 

"That's it, sweetheart," he murmurs into you, words muffled by your pussy. "Let me hear you."

"Oh — " The sound falls from your lips, your eyes squeezing shut like you can block out the overwhelming pleasure if you just try hard enough.  "Oh, that's — "

Your hips stutter, thighs tightening around his face.

Aaron chuckles darkly, and you feel it more than you hear it, the sound pulsing through your core.

You’re not sure you have a body anymore, not sure you exist outside of this moment. You’re just sensation, just trembling atoms held together only by his hands, his breath, his voice. There’s no past or future – just now, just him.

If this is what it means to transcend, to be unraveled and rewritten in the same breath, then let it consume you whole. You could die like this, and it would be the kindest death you could ever ask for.

A single finger ghosts over your entrance, teasing but never quite committing. He dips in, just the barest of intrusion, and you shudder, clenching around nothing because it’s gone just as fast. 

He waits, just long enough to hear the next breathy fussing before finally spearing back in. Your eyes flutter shut, breath breaking apart in little puffs.

The sounds coming from your cunt should embarrass you, sticky, so shockingly loud that if your brain was working, you’d be mortified. But it’s not working. Not even a little. 

His hand flattens over your stomach and suddenly the pressure doubles, triples.

"Tell me, baby," he murmurs, "feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yes, yes, oh my gods, Aaron, I—"

Your normal senses have left the building. Packed its bags, hit the road, abandoned you to whatever dark magic this is. Because this —this isn’t how your body works. This isn’t how guys work. You don’t come from this. 

But here you are, hurtling toward it at full speed and all because he decided you would.

It’s happening too fast, the pressure stacking. Your thighs shake open, stomach clenching so hard it aches. Your mind is lagging behind, still reeling, still trying to rationalize but it doesn’t matter because your body has already made its choice, has already given in, has already decided this is happening, whether you’re ready for it or not.

"Aaron, I think—,"

Aaron just groans, finishing your sentence for you, lapping up your confession with his tongue,

"I know, baby." Hot air blows against your swollen clit. "Let me feel it."

It crashes over you, back bowing off the bed. Your body splinters apart, thighs trembling so hard you couldn’t stop them if you tried. The edges of your vision smear into nothing as the pleasure consumes everything in its path. 

His mouth stays on you, tongue and fingers pushing you through the aftershocks until you’re clawing at the sheets, until that pleasure tilts so far into oversensitivity that makes you unaware if you’re pulling him closer or pushing him away.

Your limbs feel like liquid, consolidating into every inch of your body, melting into the mattress as Aaron moves to be face to face with you.

He's looking at you like he's the only thing keeping you tethered to this planet, and maybe he is, because when his lips get close enough, you tug him the rest of the way down, crashing your mouth into his in a way that's all sloppy desperation.

You can taste yourself on him, can feel the way he groans into it when you sigh against his mouth, all soft and dreamy and drunk on gratification. 

When you pull back, your fingers card through his hair, fixing nothing but feeling everything.

"Oh my gosh," you gasp, dissolving into giggles, toes curling as you flop back against the pillows. "I knew you'd be good at that, obviously, but I wasn't expecting all that. Like wow, you should get a certificate of excellence or something."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you sigh dramatically, "Or like, a trophy, a raise, a sash that says best head giver in gold letters—," You pause for a breath, sucking in air like you just realized how winded you are.

"— and I mean, I've never come like that before. So. You should probably put that on your résumé."

When Aaron presses against you, you feel every inch of him. Thick and unfortunately still restrained. His slacks are a cruel barrier, the rough drag of the fabric catching your clit in a way that rips a whimper straight from your throat.

His teeth scrape along your jaw, then he's mouthing at your neck, sucking, teasing, marking you.

"Firstly," he murmurs. "I hate the idea of anyone else touching you."

An involuntary shiver rolls through you.

"And secondly," he continues, "the fact that they didn't even know how."

Your hands are frantic as they fly to his waistband, fumbling a bit, the last hindrance between you offensive in its existence. 

"Well, yeah," you sigh, looking up at him through fluttering lashes, glossy lips parted just for him. "I mean, you're literally the only one who's ever known what to do with me. That has to mean something, right? Like, cosmic destiny or whatever."

Aaron shoves his pants and briefs off, barely sparing them a second thought, and then he's back, fitted between your thighs.

"You already know the answer to that." His lips brush your temple. "I'm the only one who knows how to handle you. And I plan on proving it."

"Yeah, okay," you say, squirming beneath him. "Not gonna argue when that sounds like the best idea ever."

You've seen a lot of versions of Aaron. You've seen work Aaron, serious and bossy, looking at crime scenes like he can hear the evidence whispering just to him. You've seen grumpy Aaron, glaring over his coffee when you talk too much at morning briefings (but you know he likes it, he just won't say). You've seen soft Aaron, the one who lets you steal his jacket even though you definitely don't need it.

But you've never seen this Aaron. This post-kissing-you Aaron. Lips slick, still damp with you, evidence of where he’s been, what he’s done.

His eyes flick to yours, and there’s no shame, no rush to wipe it away. If anything, he tilts his head, letting you see it from a better angle.

"You're so handsome, Aaron." Your voice trembles. You don't even know if you said it out loud or just thought it so hard he must have heard it anyway.

"And you,” he murmurs, tracing his thumb over your cheek, “are so damn sweet, honey."

You beam at that, overwhelmed, so unbelievably happy that your thoughts are practically spilling out faster than you can catch them.

"Okay so I just need to say — this is so exciting, like, you do realize I've had a crush on you for years, right? And now this is actually happening, and that's just — wow."

You suck in a sharp breath, nails dragging over the thick muscles of his arms, across his shoulders.

"I mean, it's us, Aaron. Can you believe that? Like, I feel like this has been building for so long and now I'm just — gods, you're so hot, this is actually distracting me. I can't even finish my own thought —,"

You laugh, because you already feel so full of him and he isn't even inside you yet.

"And I know you're being all careful and slow because you're sweet and romantic and, like, the most perfect man alive, but also —,"

You grind up, chasing friction, his cock sliding just right over your clit. Your breath stutters, hands fisting at the nape of his neck as you try to remember what you were saying.

" — I'm literally at your mercy right now, so you should probably take advantage of that before I —,"

"You talk so much, baby."

And then he shuts you up. Hard.

His mouth rams into yours, ingesting the comment, the breath, everything.

He doesn't rush. 

The head of his cock nudges at your entrance before he finally, slowly, pushes inside.

It knocks the breath from your lungs. Your mouth parts against his, lips catching on his as a little sigh slips out. Your nails dig into his shoulders, helpless against the way he's opening you up. 

He stills, a sharp, fractured inhale slicing through the air, fingers digging into your hips — hard. He is struggling. You can feel it. The way his cock twitches inside you, like his body is screaming at him to move.

"I-I'm good." Your laugh wobbles, catches at the edges, barely disguising how badly you want him to believe you. "You can keep going."

"You're tensing because it's been a while." You don't mean to, but your body reacts before your brain can tell it not to, stiffening. Stupid, stupid. His exhale is shaky, and his lips press against your cheek. "I know that. I expected that."

You swallow, but it doesn't help.

"I also know that you think if I notice, I'll stop." His forehead rests against yours. "But I need you to hear me, baby. I'm not stopping."

His lips graze yours.

"I'm going to work you through this. Just let me in, princess."

And the second you do, the second you finally give in —

He groans, pushing deeper, stretching you completely, filling you to the hilt. 

"There we go," he breathes, wrecked with praise. His hand presses to your lower belly, feeling how deep he is, how well you take him. "That's my good girl."

Your head tilts back, lips parting, body doing the melty thing that feels really, really nice but also really, really dangerous because you swear you're seconds away from levitating straight out of your own skin.

"Okay, so I did think this would feel good —," Your fingers twitch against his chest, nails raking lightly over sweat-damp skin as another sharp moan tumbles free. "— but, um, wow, this is like — this is so —,"

Your words taper off, get lost somewhere between your psyche and your mouth, because oh. Oh, wow. He's so deep, so heavy inside you, pressing into places you didn't even know existed.

"Go on, baby," he murmurs, a smirk plastered across handsome features as he dips his head. "You were saying?"

"You know," you gasp, words all flimsy and loose, like they've been shaken up inside you, "I kinda always wondered how big you were —"

Your breath hooks halfway through, hiccups on a moan, brain scrambling to keep up with your mouth, your mouth scrambling to keep up with — him.

"Not that I, um — I stared at your pants or anything —" Another sharp inhale, another desperate moan, your walls fluctuating and squeezing around something too thick. "I mean, I try not to because I'm a professional —"

An involuntary clench makes him curse, makes his fingers dip into your hips, makes his head plunge forward hard against your shoulder.

"Honey, shit—,"

Your lashes flutter. "What?"

"Sweetheart, if you keep squeezing me like that while you ramble about my cock, I'm not going to last."

Your mouth clicks shut promptly.

"That's what I thought."

Hotch rocks his hips, just once, a sharp gasp fissuring from your lips like you weren't expecting it. 

"Jesus, sweetheart. You're trembling." He cups your cheek, his thumb skimming over your bottom lip, eyes dark and aflame. "Does it feel that good?"

You nod, and he hums, dragging his cock almost all the way out before pushing back in. 

His hand drags down your waist, spans over your belly, fingers pressing like he's charting the way he fits inside you.

"I used to tell myself I wouldn't do this," he admits. "That I wouldn't touch you. Wouldn't ruin you like this."

Your head lolls back, eyes fluttering, lips parted prettily, gasping as he rocks into you again, and again, and again. You shake your head, or at least, you think you do.

"You don't —" You try to shape words, but they liquefy on your tongue. "Don't ruin me, Aaron, you — oh, you make me —"

Hotch's throat bobs, his pupils blown.

"You make me so, so good, so soft, so perfect."

His hand cups your jaw. "You're already all of those things, sweetheart."

"Not before you," you sigh. "I've been waiting so long, Aaron, so, so long —"

"I know, baby," he groans. "I know."

His hand veers between your bodies, his fingers finding the swollen, neglected bundle of nerves.

“Aaron — oh, wait, wait, wait —,” Your hands shoot up to his shoulders. “I don’t know if I can, I mean, I can, but it’s just —,”

His cock throbs inside you, his rhythm stuttering for half a second before he finds it again, harder this time, his fingers matching the pace.

“Too much?”

“Yes, no, kind of? I don’t know, I can’t—,” You choke on your own breath as another thrust knocks every last rumination from your head. “I can’t think.”

“Good.” His forehead presses against yours, his lips parting against your mouth, panting, his control slipping. “I don’t want you thinking. Just feel me, sweetheart. Feel what I’m doing to you.”

Your body is shaking, shaking so hard that you don’t even know if you’re moving or if he’s just pushing you through it. 

“I know, baby. But you can take it, can’t you?”

“Y-Yeah,” you stutter, body twitching. 

“That’s my girl,” he praises, groaning as he grinds into you, stretching it. “One more, honey. You can give me one more.”

It hits you slowly, unwinding through your organs like smelted honey.

“Oh, oh —,” Your breath falters, mind going blank, the pleasure overwhelming every nerve in your body until you can’t do anything but let it consume you.

“Christ,” he groans, feeling you clench around him so tight it nearly undoes him.

You barely register the way you’re gasping, twitching, babbling out breathless little moans, vision blurring, and for a second you think you might black out.

“That’s it, princess,” he rasps, fucking you through it the reverberations. “So, so good for me.”

His pace turns shallow, sharp, chasing the tight, perfect squeezing of you still thrashing around him.

“You’re so tight, honey,” he grits, hands bruising your hips, your breath still catching from your own orgasm.

You’re too gone to respond, too wrung out to do anything but whimper as he takes you, using your body to pull himself over the edge.

He groans, low and deep, his fingers tangling in your hair, his mouth ghosting over your cheek as he finally breaks.

A shudder, a muttered curse, his body jerking, hips slamming into yours as he spills inside you.

He doesn’t mean to collapse, you know that, because even as his body gives out, his arms brace, still trying to be careful, even now. You want to cling to him, lock your legs around his waist, but you barely remember how to move, so you just let out a sleepy sound, nuzzling blindly at his throat. 

He murmurs something low, something that sounds like praise, maybe worship.

His lips press to the side of your face, half-gone and still recovering, and then his muscles tense, trying to lift himself off you.

Your arms wind around his neck before he can get too far. 

“Sweetheart,” he rasps, “I’m crushing you.”

“Don’t care,” you mumble, voice a little hoarse. “Feels nice.”

“You did so good.”

When he finally pulls out, you feel the loss and everything that comes with it, his release sticky and warm beneath your thighs. 

Aaron disappears into the bathroom, and you barely have time to miss him before he’s back with a warm cloth in hand.

You giggle, squirming before he even touches you, already restless, and the second he presses the cloth to your inner thighs, you jerk, laughing helplessly.

“Oh, wait —,”

Aaron sighs, one hand pressing against your hip to keep you still. “Sweetheart. You have to let me clean you up”

“But it tickles—,”

He smirks and continues his work. “How do you feel?”

“Like I saw god actually,” you ramble, kicking your feet against the sheets. “Or, like, like, if I had to describe it, I’d say I transcended reality for a little bit —,”

Aaron just chuckles, pressing a kiss to your knee as he finishes cleaning you up. Each swipe reminds you that your legs might not be on speaking terms with you tomorrow.

When he’s done his mouth finds yours again. It’s easy to kiss him. If it were physically possible to stay attached to him, twenty-four hours a day, you’d gladly test the theory.

“Worth the wait,” he breathes into your mouth.

“Well, yeah,” you murmur, smirking up at him. “I figured it would be for you.”

He laughs.

“Yeah, baby, you were good,” he mutters, kissing right over your stuttering pulse. “You were so good.” Another kiss. “So good I’m already thinking about the next time.”

Your heart hasn’t even slowed down, and you’re already thinking about the next time. Already plotting, already ready to drag him back down and see just how quickly that next time could turn into right now. But before you can so much as tug at him — Aaron is rolling out of bed, pulling on his pants, disappearing into the kitchen.

You mean to protest, to demand why he left you alone in a post-bliss haze, but then he’s back, pressing a glass of water into your hand, watching you drink it like it’s his personal responsibility.

Then comes food, something light and something he feeds you between kisses, between lazy murmurs about nothing. 

At some point, the blankets are back over you, his lips pressing against your forehead, his voice saying something about getting some sleep before you got any ideas, before pulling you against him.

You hum, content and drowsy, shifting a little, rolling over to get more comfortable —

And then your eyes land on that photo frame from earlier. You had a clear view of it now.

It was you.

It takes you a second to place it, but once you do, you almost laugh. You know this photo — because Garcia took it. She printed it out months ago, probably as some ridiculous gag, and stuck it to Aaron’s office wall with a bright sticky note that read your favorite obviously. You’d rolled your eyes at the time, called it workplace favoritism, but he’d never taken it down. 

And now, somehow, it’s framed. On his nightstand, like he’s been looking at you every night for —

You don’t finish the thought.

Instead, you just smile, huge and uncontrollable.

He doesn’t say anything.

And you don’t need him to.

Because you already know.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[accidentcache]

self indulgent horny brainrot. i'm coping w period cramps and i need him terribly. minors dni or you will be blocked

dabi is unfairly quiet. silent. sneaky.

unfair that when he is home, he's the loudest motherfucker in existence. doors close so heavily, boots echo in the hallway… he's loud. he makes it known when he's home.

however, in the quiet of the night, somehow he was able to slip in undetected. he wasn't planning on sneaking in, hell there really was no reason for him to sneak in completely silent like he did.

but the scene playing out on top of your shared bed was enough for him to stay quiet.

here he was, thinking he'd come home from recon mission with the league, be able to curl up next to you and maybe watch a movie for the night. he was feeling lazy. order take-out and just veg for the night. apparently, you had other plans.

for some reason, keeping the bedroom door open. lying on top of the sheets, bare to world that in contained to the four walls of the room except for a ratty old t-shirt of his, and a toy between your thighs. if it weren't for the bedroom door being open, he'd assumed you couldn't wait for him to get back tonight and decided to get yourself off on your own.

no, apparently you wanted to give him a show.

and hell, he'll admit it was a show. the lewd way you'd grab at your tits underneath the fabric of his shirt, how your back would arch off of the bed-- the soft and breathless pants leaving those sweet lips of yours. he's almost upset that your eyes weren't open to catch how he paused in the doorway at the sight of you.

and now, he's too enraptured by the scene that he can't even bring attention to himself. he's crossed the threshold of the room, one hand in his pocket and the other covering his mouth ever so slightly. as if to muffle his breathing-- which definitely gets heavier when he hears his name drip off your tongue.

he has to bite down on his knuckle as he watches you. you know your body-- but dabi has some sort of sick satisfaction in the knowledge that he knows it even better than you do. he watches you as you move the toy around your swollen, puffy folds-- the toy glistens and drips from your arousal-- but you're clearly not hitting the right spots.

spots he knows he can reach. spots that he's memorized the location of. it's probably been so long that you've been on your own getting yourself off that you've probably forgotten those spots.

he can tell you're getting frustrated. little huffs and whines leave your lips every so often-- it causes a fire to start low in his gut. he's moving before he can even think, sliding inbetween your spread legs and dipping his head between your thighs almost immediately.

you jump almost six feet in the air at the contact, your hand almost dropping the toy and pushing at the warmth that suddenly appears between your legs. his lips barely graze along your folds as he speaks, "no, no-- keep going."

"when did you get home?" you question him, your voice breathless from the almost thirty minutes of struggling to get yourself off. "you didn't even make any noise--"

"i said keep going."

heat pools in your gut. a different kind of heat-- the kind only he can create. your imagination could only do so much, and hearing the real thing is always better.

your fingers shake as they curl around the toy again, sliding it along the opening of your cunt and dabi watches with hungry eyes. his hands are warm on your thighs, spreading you even further, leaving you so much more open than you were previously. you can feel his ragged breathing against your folds, hot and heavy.

he watches you tease yourself, slowly inserting and pleasuring-- but he can tell you're not as eager as you were before. almost like you were shy-- embarrassed or something. he barely hides the click of his tongue before his fingers wrap around yours and he begins to guide your movements.

you swallow hard, feeling that familiar burn in your tummy and the coil beginning to tighten. your head falls back against the sheets with a whimper of his name and dabi watches it all with lidded eyes.

"c'mon, pretty," he murmurs, low and rough. "like this, yeah?" he nudges the toy to a certain spot and your spine creates a delicious arch that he used to seeing. you try to pull your hand away from the toy, but he doesn't let you. his fingers tighten around yours so you can feel how you practically drip all over the toy and down both of your hands.

he practically coos as your thighs tremble-- a telltale sign that your orgasm is building. "that's my girl," he mumbles, his eyes locked onto your cunt as he watches the toy disappear into you with each stroke and movement. his free hand moves to your hip, blunt fingernails digging into the skin.

your hips roll and grind into the toy, finally able to let go of it so you can slide your fingers into the dark locks. your fingers curl around the strands and you tug, a gasp leaves your lips as the toy is quickly replaced by two slender fingers that curve immediately to the spot that has you seeing stars.

his tongue is warm and wet on your clit, circling in deliberate motions as his fingers pump in and out. you thighs are practically shaking around his head, your cries of his name are drowning out the lewd and wet noises that he's pulling from your cunt.

just when you're about to free fall over the edge, dabi's mouth connects with your clit, flicking his tongue over the sensitive nub and sucking hard.

you cum so hard you're pretty sure you're crying. panting and trembling, your hands are limp in his hair as you melt into the mattress, barely registering when dabi climbs up the bed to hover of you, his lips slick and smug. he waits for the haze to dissipate from your eyes before he props himself up above you, a hand next to your head and the other on your waist, his thumb stroking your trembling skin soothingly. "feel better?"

"i'm putting a bell on you."

dabi snorts, but he doesn't reply. instead, his head dips down and attaches to the skin of your throat, smirking when you gasp. yeah, like that will ever happen.

© accidentcache do not repost, translate or alter my work without permission. all rights reserved.

[gf2bellamy]

surprise — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: garcia and derek go into spencer's apartment, while you're sleeping in his bed. the problem? no one knows you and spencer are dating content warnings: secret relationship , reader also works in the bau a/n: hiii !!! i'm back to my secret relationship roots and i hope you like this <3 bc i had so much fun writing this ( i've been writing it for ages and i'm finally happy with it)

"No, no," Spencer shook his head frantically, his voice almost pleading as Derek expertly maneuvered the car into the parking spot at his apartment complex.

"Why not?" Garcia's voice was full of curiosity as she looked back at Spencer from the passenger seat.

The trio had spent the whole afternoon shopping for your birthday, which was just around the corner. Garcia, as usual, had already gotten everything ready—gifts, decorations, the whole nine yards. She even had a closet near her office packed with presents for you, waiting for the big reveal at the surprise party she was planning to throw at the BAU.

The whole mission was meant to be a fun, collaborative effort, the three of them picking out something special for you to celebrate.

But now, as Derek parked the car and they were all about to get out, Garcia’s sudden idea was making Spencer break into a cold sweat.

"I mean, we can just hang out at your place for a bit, right?" Garcia asked, her tone more like a suggestion than a question. She had already unbuckled her seatbelt, clearly excited about the idea.

Spencer swallowed hard, his fingers gripping the seatbelt.

"I don’t know if that’s such a good idea," he said quickly, trying to sound casual, though the nerves were practically radiating off of him.

"I have… stuff to do." His words stumbled, but Derek caught on immediately.

"You've got a date or something?" Derek teased, raising an eyebrow. "Come on, Reid, live a little."

Spencer’s face turned a light shade of pink, but he quickly deflected with a nervous laugh. "No, no date," he replied, but the nervous energy in his tone was giving him away. "I just—uh—need to get inside."

Garcia didn't miss a beat. "Come on, Spencer," she insisted with that gleam of excitement in her eyes. "It’s been forever since we just hung out at your place. You know, a little downtime."

But Spencer’s mind was racing, heart pounding.

The last thing he needed was for Derek and Garcia to come upstairs and see you there.

He knew you were in his apartment right now, sound asleep in his bed, curled up in one of his sweaters. This morning, you had practically melted into him that morning, clinging to him as he reluctantly told you he had to go.

You had been so warm, your face tucked into the side of his neck, holding him like you didn’t want him to leave. He’d rubbed soothing circles on your back, whispering that he’d be back soon, but you hadn't been ready to let go. Eventually, he had managed to peel himself away, promising to return as quickly as possible.

Now, his heart pounded as he watched Derek and Garcia hop out of the car without hesitation.

"No, no, no—" Spencer muttered under his breath, scrambling to open his own door. He practically stumbled out, rushing after them, but they were already making their way toward his apartment building.

They didn’t even wait for him.

"Of course," he thought bitterly as he hurried behind them. He knew he was too late. There was no way he could stop them now. His only hope was that you were still asleep.

And there was a high chance that you were.

Spencer knew your sleep schedule well—knew exactly how you curled up beneath his sheets, how deep you slept when wrapped in one of his sweaters. If he could just get inside before them and shut his bedroom door, everything would be fine.

As they reached the top floor, Spencer’s fingers fumbled in his pocket for his keys. His hands were practically shaking as he yanked them out, quickly jamming the correct one into the lock.

Slowly, he pushed the door open just a crack, peeking inside, praying you weren’t—

"Dr. Reid. What are you doing?" Garcia’s voice was laced with amusement as she leaned against the doorframe, watching him with a smirk.

Before Spencer could stop her, she pushed the door open wider, stepping inside.

Panic surged through him. His breath caught in his throat.

But—

You were nowhere to be seen.

His eyes darted toward the bedroom door. It was closed.

No sign of you.

Spencer swallowed hard, trying to compose himself as Garcia and Derek strolled inside, completely oblivious to the absolute terror he had just experienced.

Spencer quickly shut the door behind them, tossing his jacket over the nearest chair—something he never did. Normally, he was meticulous about hanging it up properly, but right now, his priority was making sure nothing seemed off.

Slipping off his shoes, he warily watched as Garcia and Derek made a beeline for his kitchen.

As they rummaged through his cabinets, Spencer seized the opportunity.

He darted down the hallway toward the bedroom, his socked feet barely making a sound on the hardwood floor. He cracked the door open just enough to peek inside, and there you were, still fast asleep, curled up under the blankets with his sweater draped loosely over your shoulders.

The sight made his chest tighten with affection, and a small, involuntary smile tugged at his lips.

He closed the door gently, careful not to make a sound, and hurried back to the kitchen before they could notice his absence.

Crisis averted.

He stopped in his tracks, however, when he saw the disaster unfolding before him.

“What are you doing?” Spencer asked, exasperated, watching as Derek and Garcia rummaged through his cabinets like raccoons.

Garcia, mid-bite into a granola bar, waved a hand dismissively. “Relax, genius, we’re just looking for snacks. By the way—” she held up the granola bar with a raised brow, “—I thought you hated these?”

Spencer froze.

He did. He never ate those granola bars.

But you did.

You loved them, so he always kept some stocked just for you.

He scrambled for an excuse, clearing his throat. “Uh—I just wanted to give them another try,” he mumbled, avoiding Garcia’s sharp, suspicious gaze.

Derek, now chewing a piece of toast, barely looked up. “Yeah, okay,” he said, mouth full.

Spencer shot him an unamused glare. “Can the two of you stop eating my food?”

“No,” Derek replied, taking another bite, completely unbothered. 

Spencer sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You know, most people ask before raiding someone’s kitchen,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words. 

Garcia giggled, popping the last bite of granola bar into her mouth. “Oh, come on, Spence. You love us. Besides, you’re acting super weird today. What’s going on with you?” 

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, and he quickly looked away, busying himself with straightening a stack of papers on the counter.

“Nothing’s going on,” he said, his voice a little too high-pitched. “I’m just… tired. It’s been a long day.” 

Garcia and Derek just exchanged a look.

Spencer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He needed to get them out of here before they found something they weren’t supposed to. 

Like, say… you.

“Do you think she’ll like my gift?” Garcia asked, peeking at the bag on the counter, her fingers fidgeting with the ribbon.

“Most definitely, babygirl,” Derek answered without hesitation, dusting the crumbs off his hands after finishing his toast. “She’s been talking about it for weeks.”

Spencer, still trying to recover from his near heart attack, nodded in agreement. “Yeah, she’ll love it,” he said, meeting Garcia’s eyes with a small, reassuring smile.

Garcia beamed, clearly pleased with herself. “Oh, she’ll love yours, boy genius,” she added, pointing at Spencer. “You know her so well.” Her voice carried a teasing lilt, her grin mischievous.

“Maybe too well,” Derek chimed in, eyebrows raised as he leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed. His grin was knowing, smug.

Spencer stiffened.

“When are you finally gonna ask her out?” Derek asked, his grin widening.

Spencer felt his face heat up instantly. He blushed, but not for the reason they thought.

He blushed because he remembered the day it happened. 

HThe way his heart had pounded in his chest, his palms sweaty as he rehearsed the words in his head over and over. He’d been so nervous, he’d almost convinced himself to back out.

But then he’d seen you—your smile, the way your eyes lit up when you noticed him approaching—and all his doubts had melted away. 

When he finally asked, his voice trembling slightly, your reaction had been everything he’d hoped for. Your face had lit up, and you’d nodded so quickly, it was almost comical.

“Yes!” you’d said, your voice filled with so much enthusiasm that it made him laugh. In that moment, all his anxiety had washed away, replaced by a giddy, almost overwhelming sense of relief and joy. 

“Aww, how cute!” Garcia practically vibrated with excitement, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she pointed an accusatory finger at Spencer. “He’s blushing,” she sang, her grin stretching impossibly wide. 

Spencer groaned, shaking his head in exasperation. “Did you two come into my apartment just to eat my food and make fun of me?” he asked, arms crossed.

“Pretty much,” Derek said, completely unfazed as he made his way back toward the fridge.

Spencer let out a sharp breath, trying to mask his anxiety. He knew you were still asleep, but that didn’t stop the lingering fear that their loud voices might wake you up.

But then—

Derek stopped in front of the fridge.

His eyes locked onto the calendar hanging there, and a slow, amused smirk spread across his face.

“Look at this, sweetheart,” Derek said, turning toward Garcia, his voice thick with amusement.

Garcia leaned in, her eyes widening as she saw what Derek was pointing at. There, on the calendar, your birthday was circled in bold red marker, surrounded by a carefully drawn heart.

Garcia gasped, clapping her hands together in delight. “Oh. My. God,” she said, her voice rising with every word. “Spencer Reid, you are down bad!”

Spencer felt his face burn even hotter. He wished he could disappear into the floor—or maybe just teleport to another dimension entirely. Anything to escape this moment.

Because the truth was, he hadn’t been the one to draw that heart on the calendar. It had been you.

He remembered the moment perfectly.

The day he hung the calendar up, you had been standing right there beside him, watching with an amused little smile. Then, without hesitation, you had grabbed the nearest marker—a red one, of course—and went straight to your birthday month, drawing a huge heart around the date.

"So you don’t forget."

He had chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped behind you, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. Then, he had pressed a soft kiss to your temple, murmuring against your skin—

"I don’t forget anything. Especially not something like that."

You had blushed.

And Spencer had loved making you blush.

Now, standing in his kitchen, faced with his coworkers’ relentless teasing, he was struck with the embarrassing realization that Derek and Garcia thought he was some hopelessly lovesick teenager who had scribbled hearts around his crush’s name in a notebook.

(Which—if he was being completely honest—wasn’t that far from the truth.)

But what was he supposed to say?

Tell them the truth? Admit that the woman he’d been secretly dating for months—the same woman they were here shopping for—was currently asleep in his bed down the hall?

Absolutely not.

But then—

The choice was taken away from him anyway.

Suddenly, the sound of running water echoed from down the hallway, causing both Garcia and Derek to freeze mid-sentence. Their heads snapped toward the source of the noise, their eyes widening as they stared at Spencer.

Spencer stared back, equally wide-eyed, his mind racing. You were in the bathroom, happily brushing your teeth, completely unaware that two of your—and Spencer’s—coworkers were standing in the kitchen, mere feet away.

“Spencer Walter Reid,” Garcia gasped, her voice loud enough to carry through the apartment. She clutched Derek’s arm like she was about to faint. “Is there someone here?”

“No, no,” Spencer said quickly, shaking his head so vigorously that his curls bounced. “It’s probably just my washing machine turning on.”

As if on cue, the bathroom door creaked open, and then closed again. Spencer’s heart sank.

“Oh no,” he mumbled under his breath, his stomach twisting into knots.

And then, there you were.

You padded into the kitchen, blissfully unaware of the chaos you were about to unleash.

You were wearing Spencer’s boxers, which hung loosely around your hips, and one of his Star Wars shirts that was far too big for you, the hem brushing against your thighs. Your hair was slightly messy, and you were still rubbing sleep from your eyes.

Then you stopped.

Blinking, you finally seemed to register the two extra people in the room.

Garcia. Derek.

Standing there.

Staring.

At you.

In Spencer’s clothes.

Two pairs of eyes stared at you. And you stared back, your own eyes wide, your brain struggling to process the scene in front of you. Spencer, meanwhile, was staring at the ground like it might suddenly open up and swallow him whole.

Garcia broke the silence, her voice low and uncharacteristically quiet—something almost more shocking than if she’d screamed.

“Am I… dreaming?” she whispered, clutching Derek’s arm like a lifeline. She looked pale, her usual vibrant energy replaced by sheer disbelief as she took in your disheveled state.

Derek, for once, seemed just as stunned. “I… no, I don’t think so,” he said hesitantly, his usual confidence replaced by uncharacteristic uncertainty.

He blinked at you, then at Spencer, then back at you, as if trying to piece together what exactly was happening.

“Spencer,” you hissed, your voice low but urgent. “What the hell is happening?” You tugged self-consciously at the hem of his Star Wars shirt, trying to pull it down further.

Normally, you were the picture of professionalism at work, always impeccably dressed and composed.

But here you were, standing in Spencer’s kitchen in his boxers and an oversized shirt, your hair a mess and your face still flushed from sleep.

It was beyond awkward—it was mortifying.

Spencer finally looked up, his expression a mix of guilt and panic. “I, uh… this isn’t—” he started, but Garcia cut him off.

“Oh no, no, no,” Garcia said, her voice rising with every word, her hands flailing dramatically as if she were conducting an orchestra of chaos. “You do not get to ‘this isn’t’ us right now. This is happening. This is definitely happening.”

She pointed a finger at you, then at Spencer, her eyes wide.

“You two. Together. In his apartment. Wearing his clothes. Oh my gosh, this is the best day of my life.”

You froze, your cheeks burning as you tugged self-consciously at the hem of Spencer’s shirt. “Penelope, it’s not—” you started, but she cut you off with a wave of her hand.

“Nope, nope, nope,” she said, shaking her head so vigorously that her curls bounced. “No explanations, no excuses. This is happening. I have been waiting for this moment for years.”

Spencer groaned, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Garcia, please—”

“No,” she interrupted again, her voice rising an octave. “You don’t get to ‘Garcia, please’ me right now. This is huge. This is monumental. This is—”

“A disaster,” Spencer muttered under his breath, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

Derek, who had been quietly observing the scene with an amused grin, finally chimed in. “Man, Reid, I gotta hand it to you. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “This is so embarrassing,” you muttered, though there was a hint of laughter in your voice.

Garcia, meanwhile, was practically bouncing on her toes, her excitement palpable. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun. I can’t wait to tell—”

“No!” Spencer and you said in unison, your voices sharp enough to make Garcia freeze mid-sentence.

“You are not telling anyone,” Spencer said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Garcia pouted, but there was a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Fine, fine. But only because I’m feeling generous. For now.”

Derek chuckled, shaking his head. “Man, this is going to be the best office drama ever.”

You groaned again, burying your face in your hands. “I’m going back to bed,” you muttered, turning on your heel and heading back down the hallway.

As you disappeared into the bedroom, Garcia and Derek turned to Spencer, their expressions a mix of amusement and disbelief.

“You’ve got some explaining to do, Pretty Boy,” Derek said, his grin widening.

Spencer sighed, knowing there was no escaping this. “Yeah,” he said, his voice resigned. “I know.”

[nonotnolan]

No Regrets

My roommate's body keeps looking at me like I'm supposed to be making the first move. It was weird enough when my roommate and his girlfriend swapped bodies for the weekend, but the unspoken tension was starting to become unbearable. "Seriously, Tiffany, you're starting to creep me out. Don't you and Daniel have plans for tonight?"

She just smiled at me. "No plans. I'm still deciding how I want to spend my evening. Daniel, though... he's taking my body out clubbing tonight. He wants to see how many free drinks he can score, and I think he's also planning to get laid." Gross. I knew better than to say anything out loud, but my face must have given me away. "Don't be such a prude, Jeff. You know we have an open relationship."

I tugged at my collar. "I know, Tiff, I'm sorry. I just... body swaps that cross the gender line still make me uncomfortable. It feels wrong, somehow. And, I mean, technically they are illegal."

"Oh please, get over yourself," she said, tossing herself onto his bed. "Swaps over 12 hours are also illegal, but that didn't stop you from hiring someone to take your Calc exam two weeks ago. You need to learn how to relax. Not everything you were told on Sundays is true, you know. Some things aren't actually all that bad. You're only clutching your pearls because society told you that swapping genders was bad. What harm is there, as long as both people consent?"

I wanted to argue, but I knew Tiffany was absolutely correct. There wasn't anything wrong with the two of them swapping bodies outside of society telling us that men and women could only swap with other men and other women. Which... given the way that their open relationship also defied societal expectations, I suppose it wasn't too much of a surprise that the two of them thought so little about swapping like this. "You're right, and I'm sorry. I... I'm trying, really. You've heard how conservative my childhood was. It's a lot to unlearn."

"Well, maybe it's time to start unlearning," she said, beckoning me closer. "You want to know the real reason I'm still here? It's because of you, stud. I'm here to see you." Did Tiffany just call me a stud? She had to be mocking me, but I could feel myself blushing all the same.

Tiffany started to unbutton my shirt, brushing her fingers along my exposed chest as she did so. I could feel myself growing erect. Were we... were we really doing this? They were in an open relationship, after all, it wasn't like he was helping Tiffany cheat on his roommate. With his roommate? God, Swappers made things confusing.

"I've seen the way you look at Daniel," she said, rubbing a hand across the stubble on my chin. "I love the man, but he's too straight and too clueless to pick up on those stares. And honestly, I can't help but think that you're too sheltered to realize you're even doing it half the time."

"I... thought I was hiding it better," I said, trying to steady my emotions. Her fingers started to tease my nipples, leaving me squirming with raw pleasure. "I still don't know if I'm bisexual, or gay, or just... Mormon. But I didn't think it mattered. He's already in a relationship with you. What I want isn't important."

"He's in an open relationship," she said, staring at me like I was a hunk of meat to be devoured. "He's also not here right now. I'm in control of this body right now, and I want to fuck you senseless. If that's what you want too, well..." Tiffany slipped her hand inside my waistband, giving my manhood a firm squeeze that had me gasping for breath. "Tonight's a perfect night to let loose. No regrets."

I couldn't hold back anymore. I leaned in for a quick kiss, which Tiffany returned with tongue. The two of us stripped down as fast as we could, though I made certain not to let her pull me onto the bed with her. "Not on Daniel's bed," I said, dragging her over to my part of the bedroom. "His sheets reek of frat boy sweat, and I doubt he has any lube."

"I, uhh... you're alright with being on top, right?" I asked, as I handed her the bottle of lube from my nightstand. It occurred to me that we hadn't actually talked through any plans, set boundaries, or anything like that. "The way you phrased it, I'm assuming that's what you meant, I just--"

"Stop. Thinking." Seeing Daniel's face looming over me, with a look of pure lust on his face, it was everything I never knew I needed. I started rolling over onto my knees before she yelled at me. "Not like that, stay on your back. I want to see your face as I fuck you senseless."

Tiffany spent the entire time telling me exactly what to do, and it was everything I could have ever wanted. She got me lubed, eased me onto her massive manhood, and railed me like there was no tomorrow. My chest was coated in strands of my own cum, while Daniel's cum slowly leaked out of my ass. I'd never had a no-hands orgasm before, but holy hell I could not believe how amazing that felt.

"I can't believe we just did that," I said, trying to catch my breath. She responded by scooping up some of the jizz off of my torso and putting it into her mouth. She was making an entire production out of licking it off of her finger, and I could feel myself getting hard again. "So, uhh... you... you'll be in Daniel's body for the entire evening?"

"If that's your way of asking me if I'd like to fuck you again? The answer is yes," she said, giving me a wink. "Even better, we might be able to make this a weekly thing," she added, standing up to grab some towels. "I don't think I'll have to fight too hard to convince Daniel to swap. What sort of straight man doesn't enjoy having boobs?"

God, I was falling for her so hard. What had I gotten myself into? Life was going to be a long, awkward hell once my roommate was back in his own body. And yet... I had to admit, I had no regrets.

[spiderb00]

- Fam out #6

Sophia Laforteza x reader 

“You and Sophia never fight, so imagine Yoonchae's surprise when she found out she would have to postpone her plan for a few more days” 

Genre – Fluff     Warnings – Sophia and Yn fight, but it's the usual fam out cuteness 

(request) 

Now playing – Compass, by The Neighbourhood 

The towel on the bed was grabbed roughly, Sophia's hands squeezing the fabric tightly as she hurried downstairs. It wasn't the first time it had happened, but Sophia always let it go, every time it happened she just took a deep breath and put the towel away, talking to you about it and listening to the embarrassed apologies that came out of your mouth. But this time, she was tired.   

As soon as you appeared in Sophia's field of vision, the towel she was holding was thrown over you, covering the view you had of the television. “Seriously, Yn!”   

You quickly tried to get the towel off your head, but it seems you weren't quick enough, because now your character was on the ground, while some other player was stealing the items that were yours. “NO! Sophia, you made me lose.”   

“I don't care about your stupid game! How many times have I told you not to leave a wet towel on the bed? Seriously, Yn. How old are you? Five years old?” Running a hand through her hair in frustration, Sophia watched you get up, while throwing the towel on the sofa.   

“Yeah, but what was the point of waiting until I'd finished the match?” You say, barely having time to react when the video game controller is snatched from your hand and thrown onto the sofa.   

“I DON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT YOUR GAME!” Sophia says, coming closer to you, making you automatically take a step back. “THIS WOULDN'T HAVE HAPPENED IF YOU'D PUT THINGS IN THE RIGHT PLACES!”   

“I PUT THINGS IN THE RIGHT PLACES!” The look Sophia gave you made you think about all your life choices, and lower your voice the next second. “I mean... I put things in the right places.”   

“No, you don't! I've been complaining about your towel on the bed for weeks, but what do you do? You keep leaving the towel on the bed!” Sophia says, making your head spin.   

The shouting, the complaining, you know it's your fault, but it was all making you a bit dizzy. “I just forgot...”  

“You didn't forget. You're acting like a damn child, you were addicted to this stupid game and you're simply forgetting the basic things you used to do.” Sophia said.  

She was frustrated too, not just about the towel, but because she'd missed you lately. You were spending so much time on your video game that you were forgetting about her. It had been weeks since you and Sophia had gone out together, weeks since you had done anything nice, or romantic, or even “family”. All because of that stupid video game.   

“Well, I have the right to have a bit of fun too. Maybe I'd like to be with my company, be alone for a bit too!” You say, without thinking.   

Laughing sarcastically, Sophia pushes your chest, making you fall onto the sofa. past you, the Filipino girl picked up her phone, putting on her shoes and texting someone. 

“What are you doing?” You said, getting up from the sofa quickly.   

“I'm going out. You want your space, have your space!”   

The deafening slam of the door was the last thing you heard, trying to follow Sophia only to see an Uber pull up in front of both your houses.   

It was Thursday, the silence in the house bothered you, any noise could be heard, and that made you feel empty. The days have gone by very slowly, since your fight with Sophia, you've been getting more and more upset, the thought that things didn't have to come to this, the thought that it was all a stupid fight, the thought that you could have avoided it. It was stupid.   

You wanted to make up with Sophia, to tell her that you'd been an idiot, that you'd been childish, that she was right and that she could come home now, because you missed her so much. But unfortunately, since that day, you haven't been able to see Sophia, you've respected her space, but you couldn't lie in saying that your heart didn't race every time she sent you a message.   

“Yoonchae is waiting for you.”  

“Come back at eight, we have appointments the next morning.”  

Parking the car in front of the Kats' house, you waited for Yoonchae to get out, seeing the younger girl running towards you. “Hey, kiddo! I missed you.”   

Yoonchae didn't really understand why you and Sophia were fighting, she just assumed it must be something serious, since you've never fought before. How wrong she was... “I missed you too. It's very strange to see you and Sophia apart.”   

As you got into the car, you sighed at Yoonchae's words, you knew that it affected her too, even if only a little. She was used to you and Sophia going out together, spoiling her constantly, looking after her like two mother tigers look after their cubs, and now, it was like she was missing out on part of a good thing.   

“I know...” You say, starting to drive through the streets towards the mall, where Yoonchae would spend all your money. “I'm sorry about that, it was just a stupid fight...”  

“But you'll fix it, right?” Yoonchae's question made your heart skip a few beats.  

Honestly, you had no idea. You and Sophia had never fought like this, you'd never gone more than a day without speaking to each other, you hoped it would never happen, and if it did, it wouldn't be because of something stupid you'd done.   

Giving a tight-lipped smile, you glanced at Yoonchae briefly, only to see the younger girl already looking at you for some kind of confirmation, anything that might reassure her. “Yeah, of course.”  

Boy, you were so lost.  

The clock on your wrist read 8:30 p.m., and you knew Sophia was going to kill you. Damn it, she was already mad at you, and now this? But it wasn't your fault that you were having so much fun with Yoonchae, the younger girl's happiness was making you forget your responsibilities.   

“You're late!” Sophia was already at the door, she was probably spying on the car through the window, and when you parked, she was already ready to unleash the dogs on you.   

“Sorry, we lost track of time...” Yoonchae tries to explain, lifting the shopping bags as if that justifies everything.   

“We have appointments early tomorrow morning, and you know she has trouble getting up early, Yn!” 

“I don't...” Yoonchae tried.  

“I know, I'm sorry, we were just having fun. It's been a while since we've seen each other.”  

“You could see more of her if you came here. Or were you still glued to the video game?”   

“Guys...” Poor maknae.  

“Why do you have to be so mean?”   

“Because someone has to put this family in order!” Sophia said, sighing before pointing in the direction of the bedrooms. “Yoonchae, go get ready for bed, we have a busy day tomorrow.”   

“But...”  

“Do what she's saying Yoonchip.” You say, giving a small smile to the younger girl, who was hesitant to leave you two alone.   

“Are you guys going to fight?”  

“No.”  

“No.”  

Looking at the two of you skeptically, Yoonchae sighed, knowing that she couldn't win the 2x1. Waving goodnight, she headed for her room, leaving you and Sophia staring at each other awkwardly.   

“Sorry.” It was the first thing that escaped your lips. Sophia's sigh was heard, and you took it as a chance to continue. “I know I was wrong, and I'm sorry for that. We've never spent so much time fighting, and that scares me.” You said, pausing, wondering if you were bothering her or if she was ready to have this conversation. “I miss you, baby.”  

Looking at you, Sophia's eyes softened, coming closer to you, she hugged your shoulders. “I miss you too, baby.”   

The truth is that you both recognized how silly it had all been. You knew you'd made a mistake, Sophia was right to complain to you about your sloppy attitudes, since you'd never been like that and seemed to be in a kind of constant black hole with that new game you'd picked up. And Sophia recognized that perhaps she had stressed herself too much, getting overwhelmed with the job of leader and all the things she had to deal with on a daily basis.   

“I'm sorry for yelling at you, and leaving...” Sophia began.  

“It's okay, baby. I understand, you were overwhelmed.” You said, placing a kiss on her forehead. “I love you.”   

“I love you too.” Sophia said, moving closer and sealing her lips with yours.  

The kiss was full of love, saying all the things you've wanted to say to each other for weeks, killing all the desire you've felt all these days.  

“How about we say goodnight to Yoonchae, and you take me home?” Sophia said, looking at you with a look full of love.   

“I think that's a wonderful idea.”   

Yoonchae's voice was muffled, but the two of you could hear her saying “Come in” right after you knocked on the door.   

You could have sworn you saw Yoonchae's eyes light up when she saw you and Sophia's hands intertwined, finally getting the confirmation that everything would return to normal that she so desperately wanted.  

“We came to say goodnight.” You said, approaching and kissing the forehead of the youngest girl, who was lying between the warm covers.   

“Are you all together again?” Yoonchae asked with a smile on her face.   

“Yes, everything's fine.” Sophia said, kissing the back of your hand as you smiled at her.   

Your cloud of love was soon broken by Yoonchae, who coughed falsely to get your attention. “Well then, since you've made up, I think it would be a good time for you to meet Evie.”   

Frowning, you looked at Sophia with a slight smile, seeing that she didn't know what Yoonchae was talking about either.   

“Who's Evie, Yoonchip?” Sophia asked, a confused smile on the Filipina's face.   

Looking at the two of you, Yoonchae took a deep breath, relaxing her shoulders, only to make yours tense at her behavior.  

“My girlfriend.”  

Holy shit.   

“YOUR WHAT?”  

Hey babies, how are you?

It's been a while, hasn't it? We're already on part 6 of fam out, and I'm surprised this series has so many chapters.

Anyway, I've been very busy these days, I have some asks to answer, and I'm going to answer it!

just a quick stop around here, drink some water, stay safe

xoxo, spider

[anakinstwinklebunny]

PAIRING: sugar daddy!anakin x f!reader

FLUFF ❦

"Ani, please," you pouted, clutching your phone in both hands, before out stretching them to practically shove the screen in his face. There it was, a picture of the fluffiest, most ridiculous little guinea pig staring back at him with those little black eyes.

Anakin didn't even blink. "No."

"What do you mean, no?"

"I mean no, sweetheart," he muttered, gaze moving down to the file, hand already flipping a page in the obnoxiously thick contract he has been reviewing at the kitchen table since breakfast. He didn't even gave you a further glance.

But you’re known for being relentless. You won't back down so easily. So, you moved closer to him before sliding onto his lap with grace. Your arms looped around his neck, expression twisting into a pout like the manipulative little minx you were. "But look at her, Ani," you whispered, tilting the phone so he had no choice but to look. "She’s just a baby."

He barely spared a glance at it before his eyes flicked back to his paperwork. "She’s a rodent."

"She’s a soft, sweet, helpless little baby," you corrected dramatically. "Like me."

His lips twitched—but he refused to let that take over , let that make him smile. Refused to let you win.

"Baby, they stink," he said painly, adjusting the gold cufflink on his sleeve. "I’m not keeping a tiny, smelly furball in my penthouse."

"They don’t stink!" you argued, of course, trying to pout even harder. "And I’d clean up after her, I swear! You’d never even notice she’s here."

Anakin snorted. "Oh, really? Because every time I get you a plant, you forget to water it. I don’t think a living, breathing animal is a great idea."

"Wait, Ani! It's different! Plants are boring. A guinea pig is—"

"No."

You huffed. Fine. Time for plan B.

With a slow, sweet smile, you nuzzled against his neck, before pressing soft kisses to his pulse point.

"Baby," he sighed, but it was weaker now.

You only hummed innocently, dragging your lips up his jaw, then lower, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to his throat.

"Not gonna work," he muttered, but the voice got already deeper.

"You sure?"

His breath hitches when your fingers trail down his chest, toying with the buttons of his silk dress shirt. "Y/N—"

"You’re so good to me, Ani," you whispered against his lips, rolling your hips just slightly against his lap.

And damn—

Anakin grabbed your waist, yanking you closer, groaning softly when your lips finally collided. It was slow, deep - just like everytime he kissed you, with passion, actual love and worship - his hand cradled your jaw, tilting your head just how he wants.

He surrendered so easily

You whimpered, pressing closer, letting him take full control. Letting his large, calloused hands roam up under your shirt, squeeze your waist, tease your ribs, go higher and higher, fingertips finally meeting the--

You pulled away.

He tried to chase your lips, but to no use. You shoved his hands away, leaving him breathing heavy, eyes hazy. "The hell was that?"

You grinned innocently. "So… about the guinea pig?"

Anakin blinked. Then groaned in annoyance, kind of betrayal (he should have known better), head tipping back against the chair, hands tightening on your waist.

"You’re fucking impossible."

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @babybell-cheese @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca @rubiesarepretty @luluartpop @cloverina @nikiloveshayden

[cherryheairt]

Guilty Pleasure

Pairing: Salesman/recruiter x reader

Request: Already in an established relationship, reader and Salesman have occasional game nights or simply reader wants to play ddakji, and at some point Salesman forgets himself and automatically slaps reader. Immediately feels bad and tries to make up for it. Whether or not reader knows he's a recruiter I leave up to you.

Fake name given to Salesman.

It wasn't often that your husband got to spend time at home with you. Even when he was off from his evening salary job (which was rare) you were working in the days. On weekends, you consider yourself lucky if you got at least a few hours together. When you finally did, you both made sure to make the most of it and spend your time making valuable memories.

Seo-joon got paid generously, and even though he was vague about his exact job description, you had learned that he really only cared to spend it on you. Expensive dinners at five star restaurants, vacations to foreign countries, a luxurious night out for couples massages and wine-tasting events. You didn't much care for what the activity was, so long as you were together. Seo-joon seemed to think the same, but loved seeing your smile when spoiling you rotten.

This weekend, you noticed how tired he seemed from his long hours of the week. Instead of going out and being in the public eye, you asked him to wait for you at home while you finished up your own work. With a raised brow, he submitted to your request without a complaint and finished up chores at home while you went out to do your own errands.

Groceries, done.

Car note, paid.

Dinner for tonight, secured in your hand.

The two ddakji folded papers in your other hand, also secured.

Tonight you were determined to let your husband sit back and relax. Movies, candy, and a little childhood throwback to ease his stressed mind.

“I'm home,” you called softly, kicking off your shoes and replacing them with slippers at the entrance. Your little cat, Ink, rubbed against your legs and mewed for attention. Seo-joon stood up from the couch, putting down his phone after a hurried goodbye to his, presumably, boss. He wasted no time in greeting you, carefully stepping around Ink and wrapping his hands around your waist, kissing the corner of your mouth on each side before finally connecting your lips together. His little tradition, for ‘good luck’ he said.

The tint of peach lip gloss transferred to his lips but he never bothered to wipe it, instead rubbing his lips together and savoring the familiar taste of you. “Welcome back.” He said in a low murmur, hugging you to his chest.

You giggled at the affection, missing him just as much as he missed you. “I have a surprise planned for you.” You started, lifting the concealed bags in between you two.

He pulled away, tilting his head ever so slightly while eyeing the bags. “Hm? What is it?” Typically, he preferred to plan the dates and surprises as he always said was traditional and gentlemanly, but any little treat you brought him home always made his eyes light up in a way that made your own heart melt.

“You've been so busy lately, I thought it would be nice for a night in. I got some takeout and ddakji!” You hummed pleasantly, placing the two bags on the small dining table. With an arm still around your waist and lying on your hip, you felt him tense almost imperceptibly.

Turning to face him, he looked almost pale in the light of the evening. “Seo-joon?” You asked, rubbing the back of your hand on his cheek. “What's wrong, are you feeling sick?”

Easily, he took your hand in his own and kissed it, leading it back to your side and shaking his head. Chuckling, he answered, “I just didn't expect to hear that. I haven't played ddakji since I was young.”

Beaming, you nodded. “Me too! I thought it might be a fun throwback.” As you plated the takeout, Seo-joon set the table with silverware and pulled out your seat.

After some debriefing about your day, Seo-joon and you finished your meals and relaxed into the sofa cushions, playing a rom-com drama movie and simply settled into each other's company. His scent was still fresh even after he changed from his formal attire into a more comfortable turtleneck sweater and sweatpants. With your face buried in his neck and breath brushing over his skin with each exhale, Seo-joon couldn't help but coo at your sleepy eyes.

“Are you ready for bed, dear?” He asked quietly, brushing hair behind your ear to get it out of your eyes.

Jumping up, you blinked away all tiredness and rapidly shook your head. Seo-joon's eyes widened and sat up to watch you flounce around the room from the table and back to the couch.

Holding out both hands, you revealed the two ddakji papers to him. One was a bright blue and the other a deep purple. “You can pick your color.” You gestured, eager to play the game.

Slowly, almost hesitant if you didn't know your husband well, he grabbed the purple and stood up, slightly looking down at you as he did. “Since I picked, you can go first.” He straightened up his sweater as if it were his usual grey-blue suit, muscle memory coming into play with every movement he made.

You nodded, looking down at his paper on the floor before questioning: “What is the prize for winning?”

He thought for a moment. “How about a kiss on the cheek?” He tapped his own cheekily, eyes squinted with amusement as you wasted no time agreeing.

Slapping the blue paper down, you laughed with satisfaction as the purple one flipped completely over. “First try!” You exclaimed. Seo-joon chuckled, picking up the blue and getting ready for his own turn.

With a loud ‘slap!’ he flipped his, too. It looked almost effortless, as if he had played the childhood game a mere day ago instead of years.

“The stakes raise…” you murmur, slapping your own one down yet again. It flipped, and somehow you both managed to hit each other's papers perfectly for multiple rows at a time.

Sighing, you almost felt tired with the exertion of throwing and picking up at rapid paces.

With a responding smack, you frowned when you realized you were the first to lose. “Aw—”

SMACK

You registered the sound before the pain. Clutching your cheek, you could only stare wide-eyed at the man in front of you, who bore the same expression verbatim.

It was silent for a long moment.

Then another.

And another.

Then, he finally unfroze. He stepped forward to caress your face in both of his hands, brows furrowed so tight that you thought he might burst a blood vessel. “Fuck. I'm so, so sorry, my love. That was an accident, I swear that on everything—”

Your resounding giggle cut him off. You held his wrists in a loose grip, face buried in his chest as you uncontrollably laughed at the silliness of the situation. Seo-joon would never actually hurt you with ill intent, this you knew for certain, but the absolute absurdity of him instinctively slapping you after you lost a game of ddakji was probably the funniest thing that had happened to you for months.

Seo-joon’s hands hovered over your shoulders in the meanwhile, unsure of whether to touch you or continue profusely apologizing to you.

“Seo-joon, did you and your friends slap each other as punishment?” You managed to wheeze out through your laughs.

His completely tensed up body loosened slightly after you said that. He sighed one long and extremely grateful sigh. “Yeah, something like that.” He said vaguely. “Are you okay?” He lifted your face up to inspect it closely, the mark left behind already fading in both appearance and pain.

You bit your cheek at his cute consideration, kissing his nose and lips after running your hands through his once neat hair. “I'm just fine. That was fun, we could keep going—”

“Absolutely not.” He said firmly, though he let a slightly amused exhale leave his lungs.

You only snorted, kissing the apple of his cheek and tugging him to the bedroom. “Come on, it's not like you've never slapped me before.”

It was his turn to be completely stunned and silent.

Listening to Guilty Pleasure and After Midnight by Chappell Roan im so hooked

this was amusing to write, sorry it's pretty short aha

[muniemimi]

I HAD A VISION OK. ehem excuse my ugly grammar, to anyone who comes across this post, hope you like it:33 (also love the art)

       Huff! And there we go, last sack of orchid seeds to organize. "That was a pretty heavy An, I'm glad you called me over before Ken-san would see you lifting and scold me for letting his precious daughter get tired." The sun continues to direct its blaze at our little flower shop managed by my coworker, and singing partners, dad. Along with the light, the winds blow a warm breeze past us, balancing the temperature. The air smelt of wet soil and the mix of fragrance from different flowers we had just finished arranging just now spread. An hour from now, we're able to go back to the 'Weekend Cottage' where me and An usually practice with the supervision and guidance of Ken-san to take a short break before we go back to watch the shop and tend to our costumers.

      "Akito.. don't inhale the pancakes at our break later.. leave some for Kohane-chan! She promised me shes coming back today! I'm planning to give her some too while I teach her bout' our shop."

     "Aah enough with this lovestruck manners! Alright, alright fine, I won't."

    I was already planning to hide the snacks for myself since earlier.. How'd she know I'd do it again? As expected of my close friend. For now I'll just slouch behind the counter and wait for time to pass by more quickly. Hurriedly, I focused my eyes on the lovely combination of petals infront of me. Chrysanthemums. The symbol of longevity and love. The way those countless petals curl to the middle of flower, focused on the most noticeable feature, the core. It was the way I have learned this flower had different colors too. My favorite. And it also happens that, that same plant represented my birth month. From the moment I had learned to walk, I had run across fields of flowers to which it seemed to be endless, and only one seemed to stop my being. It was as if it had poison, an antidote that could make me behave and listen. Since then I have kept chrysanthemums where I can see them, to watch them grow. Slowly, the clock slowly swings its arm around. While I intently adore the plants I have bloomed, an unfamiliar sound snatched my attention.

SNAP!

      A stem. My stem of sunflowers. I can faintly hear new steps from my side of the counter. An was in the greenhouse, sprinkling the shrubs I assume. I don't need to worry about that right now, I have to focus on who is suspiciously, threading lightly on a completely normal flower shop, if not a shopper. It can't be strays.. I've carefully fended them off and guided them away from the store so the plants wouldn't be disturbed. Or maybe I missed a few pups running around? Damn.. I should've just asked for help from An to drive away the dogs. I still can't seem to get used to getting close to them.. Our windows are tinted with translucent glass so it's pretty hard to see what was it that was rustling outside, so I need to check it out myself.

     I warily walk towards the wood door. It opens with no sound emitted, and I continue to inspect my surroundings, to find any movement, none. When I tilt my head to peek at the side I heard the snap, there was no one, nor no animal. What was visible was a sunflower that seemed to be trampled on the stem, but the flower itself didn't seem to be crushed. I hum to myself proudly to know that it really was a sunflower, glad to know I still know my own buds. Before I took another step to make sure no one was there, I call out a greeting, waiting for somebody to respond,

"..Hello?"

     And then I squat down to pick up the mangled handle of the wide flower. I got up from my knees, hearing the faint tapping of shoes behind me. I had thought it was An running towards here to call me back to watch the counter. It felt so similar to the sandals the star-clipped girl always wore when working.

    "Oh hey An, back from watering the plants so fast? Did you come here to ask me to come to the front desk? Don't worry about it, I just checked if there was someone here, it was probably just a stray dog I missed when I was shooing them away. Hah.. they stepped on my sunflower.. Anyway, do you mind if you take thi--"

CLICK!

!!!

    A..ah.. something clicks.

    I turn around in hopes the sunflower in my hand would be met with the bright, familiar face of my coworker only for it to be met with a.. gun..? Gun? Here? In this quiet, unknown town? Slowly trembling out of nervousness, I thought, I won't be able to defend myself if I attacked suddenly. They have a gun for heavens sake! 

    I can't quite see who was holding the weapon, only the hair of the individual being the first thing I notice. It was the combination of two seperate colors. It was a pale, muted baby blue on the left and a more dark, navy blue on the right. Was it a natural hair color they were born with? I can't help but stare at the odd mix of pigments. It strongly reminded me of orchids gathered with hyacinths and delphiniums in a bouquet, and was getting distracted by the fact a deadly weapon was still being pointed at my temple! I try my best to whisper a sentence without seemingly wanting to provoke the figure infront of me. Still poorly gripping the flower I had in my palm since earlier, visibly shaking and terrified.

   "..Your wound." 

   ".. ..?

   ..What..?"

(english seriously aint my first language, anyways I love akitoya)

mama im in love with a criminallll

[madewithsilk]

Virgin!reader x toxic gf!ellie

She pressures reader to have sex with her and she’s really rough with her even when reader asks her to be gentle

(Btw I love your writing so much 🩷)

— ᴛᴏxɪᴄ!ᴇʟʟɪᴇ ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍꜱ 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ; ᴛᴏxɪᴄ ɢꜰ ᴇʟʟɪᴇ ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍꜱ x ᴠɪʀɢɪɴ (ꜰ!) ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴄᴡ; ᴇꜱᴛᴀʙʟɪꜱʜᴇᴅ ʀʟꜱʜɪᴘ, ᴅᴜʙ ᴄᴏɴ, ꜱᴛʀᴀᴘ ᴏɴ

Ellie believes she has been more than patient. She notices the flicker of fear and the shadows of disagreement that cross your face whenever she brings having sex up, and she chalks it up to the norm. After all, it's only natural to feel apprehensive about the first time; she experienced those nerves herself. Yet, as she watches you, a wave of hunger washes over her, making it all the more enticing to bridge the gap between you and her. The way you lay in bed, watching TV, panties visible the her. She nearly swears you're doing it on purpose. It makes her think of all the times you were so needy but refused to have sex. She could hear you cumming on your pillow at least three times in one night while she stayed in the living room.

She wanted to keep being the slow-moving and forbearing lover, keeping to her promises of giving you as much time as needed and hiding how she truly felt. But her patience has always had limits.

She shuffles into the bedroom, a hand running through her hair. She was forming a script of words she’d whisper at you to finally bring you over the edge and give in. Your gaze shifts onto her, closing your thighs with a small redness on your cheeks. Ellie crawls onto the bed besides you, slipping one of her arms around your face to turn you and face her. Your puppy-like eyes stare up at her, an incoming pout forming. Her free hand strokes your cheek, a moment of intimate silence before she speaks up.

“How are you feeling, babe?” She whispers, thumb tracing circles on your hip. You grumble under your breath, being held flush against Ellie. Your eyes would dart around on her face, her tattoos. Your thighs clenched together. "Bit sleepy, just couldn't fall asleep." You huffed.

Ellie tuts, moving strands of hair out of your face in faux sympathy. "Poor baby," She begins, slipping a leg between your thighs, catching you by suprise. Your hands rested on her chest defensively, nodding. "Need help going to sleep?" You had an idea of what she could be suggesting, but you trusted her to respect your wishes, so you nodded again and asked "How?"

A smile ends up painted on Ellie's lips, refraining from rocking her knee against your clothed cunt just yet. “Y’know,” Her hands wander away from your hips and face, instead groping your tits in implication. You couldn't have shaken your head quicker, brows furrowing. Your hands pushed against Ellie's chest but she just held you closer. "Shh, shh, c'mon. It'll help you go to bed in no time, baby."

Your breathing was slightly uneven, biting your bottom lip. You wanted to sleep, but it was just so soon in your mind for sex. "I'll be so, so gentle, baby." You trusted Ellie, or at least you wanted to. Yet, you still denied the consistent offer. "No– Ellie, I'm not ready.." She rolls her eyes, body now above yours on the bed. She was caging you in. "Don't you wanna make me happy?" Her statement gave you a moment of contemplation. You feared her leaving if you didn't give her what she wanted soon enough.

“You promise you’ll be gentle?” Ellie keeps one hand besides your head on the bed, the other one reaching her pinky out to you childishly. “Pinky promise.” When your finger interlocked with hers, a small leaving your lips at the gesture, her hands went straight to undressing herself. She hovered above you, her belt undone right before you. You couldn't help but whimper, her boxers just begging to be taken off.

Your fingertips trace the waistband, seeing her already having a strap underneath. It slightly threw you off, wondering if she had planned this, but you didn't have much time to keep thinking when she fully tugged them down. The silicone dick was girthy, her palm encasing it and stroking it as if it were real. “Not gonna fit, Els..” She scoffed, kissing you to shut you up while removing your shirt and hiking up your skirt to reveal your panties and take those off too.

You responded to the kiss with fervor, hands tangling in her hair and groaning into the kiss alongside her. She didn't even reach down to play with your clit nor stretch you out with her fingers, lining up her cock to your entrance. Your tongue was exploring her mouth and she held you closer.

When you felt it stretch you completely, Ellie immediately buried herself to the hilt, you broke the kiss. Your eyes were wide, a bit of pain in your expression. Ellie groaned, hand resting on your throat as she began to thrust inside you. You whimpered, squeamish from the pain and incoming pleasure. She moaned into your neck now, hand pressing against your lower tummy so you could feel all of her inside you. “Fuckk— you don’t know how long I’ve needed this,”

You clawed at her back, head thrown against the mattress. Her pace was unrelentless and you felt the tip nudging your cervix. She pulled back from your neck, grasped your thighs, and kept pumping her dick into your sopping cunt. Tears welled in your eyes, it felt so good but it was so unwarranted. “Ellie— so- s’mean!” You whimpered, huffing and panting.

Your vision got blurry from both the tears and how her cock made your head swirl, you were filled to the brim. “Fuck, don’t- don’t cry, baby,” She was gasping for air, and even as you got closer and closer, she kept ramming the strap inside you. The sound of squelching and skin-slapping bounced off the walls, a knot forming deep in your tummy. “You’re dripping on me, baby, I can’t be that mean?” She chuckled breathlessly.

Your eyes were basically rolled to the back of your head, tongue lolling out. You wanted so badly to be mad and yell, but you couldn’t do much, just babble incoherent words. Your mouth was nearly completely slack, “Fuck— Els, can’t, can’t ta-take—“ She hummed, nodding and letting you ramble.

“You can, can take everything I give you, going so fuckin’ dumb,” She kept pounding into you, she swears she can feel you clench around her dick. You couldn’t stop squirming, back arching, she held you right in place while fucking you through your orgasm. She slithered a hand between your thighs to rub circles on your clit, throwing you over the edge and cumming all over her

Her pace slowed down, instead giving harsher, deeper thrusts as you came down from the high. Ellie pulled the silicone cock out, resting it on your abdomen with the white ring of cream you left on it. She swiped sweaty strands of hair off your forehead, kissing it gently. She noticed the upset front you put on, her pride too high to say sorry.

Instead, she whispers sweetly in your ear, “You’ll forgive me, right?”

[themultifanshipper]

Can you write another Jenson smut with a age-gap reader? Please. It’s so hard to find good Jenson stories.

Jenson had desperately needed a replacement teammate for the 24 hours of Le Mans after one of them had fallen ill. 

He was starting to regret choosing you for the job. 

Warnings: Smut, tension, fingering, massage, age gap, I have limited knowledge of how the 24hrs of Le Mans works so forgive me if there are inaccuracies, I decided to put Fernando as the 3rd teammate because why not, reader is basically 2000s Jenson, tiny plot twist at the end. 

wc: 5.7k

Not because you were incompetent or anything, you were very competent. 

Almost too competent. 

He was perfectly confident in your ability to help him get that damn trophy, but your youth and energy made Jenson feel old. 

He didn't know whether it was coffee, or redbull, or fucking cocaine that made you into a nervous ball of energy, but it was unnerving the way you would run literal circles around him all day. 

The other problem though, and honestly the main reason he felt old, was that if he'd been a decade younger, he would have definitely fancied himself a chance with you. 

You were beautiful, funny, witty… and Jenson hated to admit, very much his type. He had trouble not thinking about you, and about how much you reminded him of himself when he was younger. 

His only salvation, he thought, was that you'd never be in the car together, and when neither of you were driving, one of you would definitely be sleeping. 

 

Jenson managed to put the car on pole. Which took a huge weight off your shoulders, and he decided he should be the one to start the race. 

Fernando was going to replace him for the second stint, and then you would come in after him. Eight rotations of 3 hours each, you only doing 2 stints because you were the rookie.  

It was a foolproof plan. And hopefully Jenson would come out of it without doing anything stupid. 

So for the first few hours all you could do was wait. You watched videos on your phone, checked the livestream, got impromptu engineering lessons at the back of the garage, anything you could think of to keep yourself calm while you waited.  

This was your first endurance race, and you were in a team with two literal legends… which made you so nervous you felt like you could throw up at any given moment at the thought of disappointing them. 

The first driver swap went perfectly, Fernando jumped in and Jenson made his way over to you. 

You heart rate sped up when you spotted him. 

The reason you were so nervous around him was because he was your idol, and you were terrified of fucking up in front of him. 

Also you had a big fat crush on him, but that was just a detail. And right now he was drenched in sweat. It was hot. 

I mean it was hot in Le Mans. You know, because it was summer and stuff… 

 

He smiled at you as he made his way over. 

“You nervous?” he asked, eyeing the cup of coffee you were holding. 

“Yeah” you exhaled shakily “I am terrified of accidentally falling asleep or something”  

Jenson laughed. “That's why it's a good idea to sleep while you're not in the car. I for example am going to go take a shower, and a nap” 

Your eyes widened in panic. 

“But what if there's a problem?! What if we need to do an emergency driver swap! Fernando-“ 

He slapped his hand over your mouth to stop your rambling. 

“That is why you are here.” He tried to reassure you. “And given the size of that coffee, and the fact that you are still in the garage, I'm guessing you have no plans to go to sleep yet. So there's nothing to worry about!” he smiled tiredly, not realising his sweaty palm was still against your skin, partially obscuring the huge blush that was spreading across your face at the contact. 

“So chill out, watch a movie, and try to go easy on the coffee, if you start drinking too much now, you won't get to the end, trust me” 

He offered you a reassuring smile before retracting his hand and shuffling away, covered in sweat and eager to get back to his room. 

You stood there, a blushing mess while the engineer who had been explaining cooling systems to you smirked knowingly. 

“Don't say a fucking word” you muttered. 

He threw his hands up in surrender, but his smirk stayed firmly in place while he watched you slink away in embarrassment. 

Jenson had lied. 

Well, partially. His shower was great, but he was way too hopped up on adrenaline to go to sleep. 

He just didn't want to stick around the garage while you were there. He was already cringing at himself whenever he replayed the moment his sweaty, greasy palm made contact with your skin. 

Why the fuck had he done that?  

He set the stream up on his tablet so that he could keep informed on what was going on, and decided to scroll through instagram to pass the time.  

Within seconds he ended up on your profile, scrolling through the already too familiar photos. 

He clicked on your story to see the video (that he'd already seen 100 times that day) of you filming him and Fernando. 

The camera panned to Fernando first and your voice crackled through the phone speakers. 

“Fernando Alonso! How are you feeling about todays race?! Nervous? Excited?!” 

Fernando's laughter echoed in the room. 

“Me and Jenson have done this several times, we are used to it. I should be asking you the question!” 

The camera turned back to catch your face as you rolled your eyes. “Riiiight I forgot I was racing with a pair of old men!” 

“Hey!” Jenson heard his own voice shout, and your face lighting up while you turned the camera towards him. 

“Is that… 2009 Formula One world Champion Jenson Button?! I think it is!”  you laughed at his failure to keep a straight face at your antics. 

“Jenson Button! Huge fan! Could you sign something for me?!”  

Video Jenson rolled his eyes at you. 

“I'll tell you what, help me win that trophy and I'll see what I can do” 

You gasped, turning to the camera with an evil grin. 

“You heard it here first folks! If I win Le Mans, Jenson Button is going to sign my ass!” 

“That is NOT WHAT I SAI-“ 

The last few seconds of the video were Jenson and you grappling for the phone while a blurry Fernando facepalmed in the background. 

 

For Fernando to be the adult of the team was… unexpected. 

But you just brought out that side in Jenson, and he almost felt like he was back in F1 again, young and fun and- 

Well, sadly the time of being able to fuck his teammates was over. 

He was brought out of his thoughts when your name was said on the livestream. 

His head whipped up and there you were. 

“She hasn't left the garage. Jenson and Fernando's fellow driver, a rookie, is seemingly too excited to sleep and seems to have joined what looks like a human pyramid with some of the engineers…” 

Jenson's jaw dropped. 

Someone was giving you a lift up so that you could climb to the top of a pile of engineers. 

“She seems to be a breath of fresh air around the paddock, I will admit. I'm sure everyone has seen her story on instagram by now, where she teases poor Jenson. You just don't really see drivers having that sort of fun anymore do you?” 

Jenson watched in horror as you jumped off the top and into the arms of a waiting engineer. 

You then spotted the cameraman that was filming you and ran over to kiss the lense and smile evilly.  

A shiver ran up Jenson's spine. 

“Speaking of Jenson, I wonder why he isn't in the garage with her. In any case she reminds me a lot of him when he was in Formula One. They have that same fire and hunger that drives their wild child nature.” 

Jenson had seen enough. He put on some clothes and wandered back to the track. 

 That way he could be there for you during your stint and Fernando could have a nap before replacing you again. Or that's what he told himself, really he just wanted to be with you and have a bit of fun. 

As soon as you saw him step into the garage you grinned mischievously at him and waved. 

You’d just started a game of scrabble on a table in the back with a couple of the engineers. 

“I saw that, you know” he was hitting the dad pose next to you as he eyed the board. 

“Saw what?” you smiled, putting down the word ‘cat’ for 5 points. 

“The human pyramid. Can you imagine how much shit we would be in if you'd fallen and hurt yourself?” 

“But I didn't fall, so… we're all good” you smiled up at him. 

Jenson spotted the coffee cup next to you. 

“How many of those have you had since I left?” 

“Just the one, dad” you rolled your eyes at him. 

“It should have been none. Mark my words you will be exhausted if you can't sleep before your second stint.” 

“Oh is Mark here? I didn't see him!” you looked around the garage sarcastically while the other two chuckled. 

Jenson did not laugh. At least not on the outside. 

Your cheeky grin had a way of piercing through his defences and his resolve crumbled. 

“I hate you” 

“You won't feel that way when I get you that trophy and you're forced to sign my butt”  

“I will not be doing that” he grumbled, the idea of going anywhere near your ass was enough to make him tense. 

You took a sip of your coffee, peering at him over the rim of the cup.  

“We'll see…” 

It was time, Fernando was about to come in and you were going to hop into his seat and speed off into the night. 

It was impossible to tell who was more nervous, you or Jenson. 

“You'll do fine” 

“What if I crash?” 

“Then we'll lose. So don't crash” 

Your leg was bouncing nervously. 

Fernando's headlights appeared at the end of the pitlane and your heart skipped a beat. 

Jenson slapped your helmet playfully and as the car screeched to a halt, you wrenched the door open and swapped places with Fernando. 

With new tyres and a body full of nerves and caffeine, you drove off as fast as you could (within the speed limit of course) and rejoined the track. 

Jenson watched you go and didn't even register Fernando sniggering at the look on his face. 

“She will be fine, Jenson. She knows what she's doing. The adrenaline will eventually wear off and she will fall asleep as soon as she gets out of the car” 

Jenson sure hoped so. 

Fernando went to take a nap, because he was going in again after you. 

Jenson couldn't sleep though. He watched your onboards nervously while devouring a chicken sandwich. 

You were doing well. The track was cold, but dry so as long as you didn't get your lines wrong you weren't at a risk of slipping. 

But he could tell all that coffee was getting to you. 

Firstly because 45 minutes in you told your race engineer you needed a piss. Which was answered with a laugh and a comment about not being allowed to pee in the car. 

Secondly because he knew your body language, and you were always a bit hyper for sure, but the way your fingers kept tapping at the wheel and how much you were fidgeting definitely wasn't normal. 

Then your voice came over the radio. 

“Is Jenson still in the garage?” 

Your race engineer sighed and answered that yes, he was. 

“Jenson if you can hear me, you should go to bed, old man” 

Jenson scoffed at the nickname and then his heart rate picked up at the fact that you were thinking about him in the car. 

He tried to tell himself it didn't mean anything. After all, when you spend 3 hours alone in a car, your mind will go anywhere to keep itself occupied. 

But he couldn't help the butterflies in his stomach. 

By the end of your 3 hours, you had mentioned Jenson a total of seven times, and each one had gotten more laughs throughout the garage than the last. 

Fernando was ready to swap when you came careening into the pitlane, and off he went with new tyres and a good luck slap on the back from you. 

You immediately jumped into Jenson's arms and he was surprised that you were still this full of energy. 

Either you had the slowest metabolism on earth or you really were just that excited. 

“I did it! I survived!” you laughed excitedly and Jenson could feel his heart pumping in his chest when he realised how nice it was having you so close to him. 

“You sure did, now I recommend you have a shower and a big long nap before your second stint” 

You pulled your helmet off and sighed with relief. 

“A shower sounds nice, but there's no way I am going to be able to sleep” 

He chuckled. ‘Yeah, right’ he thought as he watched you practically sprint away. 

You were right. After your shower you went straight back to the garage, where Jenson was watching Fernando's onboard. 

He did a double take when he saw you. 

“Absolutely not, go and sleep. You have 6 hours until you need to be in the car” 

You looked at him guiltily.  

“I can't. I'm too excited to sleep” 

Jenson sighed, rubbing his face in frustration. 

“Come with me” 

You followed him out, and he lead you to his drivers room. 

It was quite cozy. He'd brought lots of pillows and blankets which were strewn all over the bed. 

You stepped inside nervously, not knowing what he was planning. 

“Lie down” 

You hesitated.  

“On the bed?” 

He gave you an unimpressed look. 

“No, on the floor. Of course on the bloody bed” 

You scoffed and did as you were told, watching Jenson warily as he unfolded a blanket and draped it over you. 

“You are not allowed out of this room until you've had a nap, understood? I don't care how you do it. Put some white noise on, count sheep, have a wank, whatever but I want you asleep within the hour” 

You couldn’t help the way your stomach fluttered at his words and his forceful tone.  

“You… want me to have a wank… on your bed?” 

“Whatever works for you” and with that he turned on his heel and stormed out the door. 

You were speechless, that was an insane interaction. 

You lay down, and stared at the ceiling, trying to slow your heart rate down. 

Jenson had to be joking. There's no way he actually thought you would do that, right? 

A shiver ran down your spine. You were contemplating it, after all you knew he was right about you needing to sleep. 

But you knew that wasn't going to happen. Not just because of the coffee and excitement, but because now your head was swimming with Jenson's words and dominant display. There isn't much you wouldn’t do to hear him order you around like that again. 

You decided to take his advice. 

It didn't work.  

Try as you might to get off, it only made you more antsy and you felt bad thinking about Jenson while you touched yourself. 

You thought about him, his hands, the way he was drenched after his first stint, the way he dragged you out of the garage. 

You felt hot all over, but your fingers weren't doing much to satisfy the need between your legs. 

You looked at the time.  

00:57 

You'd been tossing and turning for close to an hour now, and still you were no closer to getting off, or getting to sleep. 

You decided to send Jenson a text. 

“It's not working” 

Jenson groaned in frustration, rubbing his eyes after reading that. 

He'd spent the better part of the hour trying to forget the fact that you may, or may not, be getting off in his bed. 

He had no way of knowing and it made his skin crawl. 

‘Shrodinger's orgasm?’ he thought unhelpfully while his fingers typed out a response. 

“You mean…?” 

“Yeah… I just cant do it, Jenson. I'm too wired up” 

“Ok…I have an idea” 

He glanced at the clock.  

01:03  

He had just under two hours until he needed to be in the car. 

He barged into the room unceremoniously, making you jump. 

“On your stomach, top off, I'm going to give you a massage. It's the only thing I can think of to relax you”  

Your eyes widened in surprise and he waved a hand dismissively. 

“Don't worry I won't… look. Just trust me, you need to sleep. If you don't you're putting yourself in danger, and the team.” 

You took your shirt off and did as you were told while he grabbed a bottle of oil from his bag. 

“And you just happened to have that with you?” 

He glared at you and made his way over to the bed. 

“Shut up and close your eyes.” 

‘Yes sir’ you thought. Your heart was beating out of your chest. Jenson was about to give you a massage.  

It felt like you were dreaming, the object of your affections was climbing on top of you to straddle your hips and put his hands on you. His wondeful, big, strong hands. He was going to touch you. Jenson Button was going to make you feel good.  

Your cheeks heated at the thought. 

You were so in your head that you didn't notice his hands on your skin until he spoke up. 

“Relax… you’re so tense. Close your eyes and take a breath. Concentrate on my voice” 

You took a deep breath in and let it out slowly as you felt his fingers dig into your shoulders. 

He spread oil all over your back, pressing his thumbs in circles up and down the sides of your spine. 

It was a surprisingly quick process, you felt yourself relaxing into his touch the longer he pressed into your back. 

Then he pressed down on a knot. 

You'd been successful so far at hiding your noises, but the sudden mix of pain and pleasure was so intense you let a shaky moan slip out. 

Jenson's hands froze on your back. 

“Don't stop” you gasped “It feels good” 

You were desperate, the heat between your legs was only getting worse and you felt like you would die if Jenson stopped touching you. 

Jenson had to bite back a groan at your pathetic whimper. 

He was in over his head. This was a terrible idea, what had he been thinking? This was wildly inappropriate, you were his teammate for god's sake, not to mention how young you were and he was clearly taking advantage of you while you- 

“Jenson, please” 

“What do you need?” he rasped, resolve quickly slipping and he could feel his body reacting. 

“Touch me” you gasped “Please” 

Those words sent a fire throughout his body and satisfaction purred in his chest. His hands trailed over your sides teasingly, roaming over your bare skin and you arched your back at the touch. 

“That's not what I mean and you know it” you whined. 

He just chuckled and leaned over you to growl in your ear. 

“Then be a good girl and tell me what you want” 

“I want you to touch me” you whispered, feeling his weight shifting on top of you “I need you. Inside me, please”  

Jenson felt like he'd been punched in 5he gut. His lips travelled over the skin of your upper back and you could feel the smirk on them. 

“Need me, hmm? Need me to tire you out? Maybe a couple of orgasms'll do the trick…” 

You nodded desperately, lifting your hips so that he could reach under you and help you out of your pants. 

“Please, I need you so bad.” 

He gazed at your body in awe as you spread your legs and arched into him when you felt a finger dip into your wetness. 

“Is this where you need me, love?” he teased, pushing the finger in to the knuckle “So wet for me, all from a massage?” 

“Don't flatter yourself” you bit back “I spent an hour before this trying to get off” 

He hummed, slipping a second finger inside you. 

“Tell me, what were you thinking about that got you this wet, hmm?” he asked, and he pressed the pads of his fingers against your g-spot insistently while his thumb went to rub harsh circles on your sensitive clit. 

You let out a low moan and cursed as you felt the familiar tingling in your gut. 

“Fuck - I'm close, don't stop!” 

“I'm not letting you come unless you tell me what you were thinking about, darling” he smirked. 

The idea of being denied after being riled up for so long made you cry out in desperation 

“You! Fuck! You, Jenson” you cried out as you felt the first wave of your orgasm approach. 

“Really?” he couldn't deny the twitch of his cock in his shorts at the mental image of you picturing him to get off. “What about me, specifically?” 

“Your hands!” You panted, “Your hand are… fuck- they're so fucking…” 

Jenson grinned, speeding up his movements. 

“You mean the hands that are making you feel good right now? The hands that are about to make you come like a good girl?” 

You choked back a sob and your thighs twitched as you came in waves on his talented fingers. 

Once you went limp he helped you turn over and spread your legs, licking his lips at the mess between them. 

He didn't let you recover, and instead dived in, lapping up your juices like he'd wanted to do pretty much since he met you. 

He had to hold you down because you were squirming away from the onslaught of his mouth in overstimulation. 

He pressed his fingers back inside you and hooked them upwards. 

Your back arched at the overwhelming sensation. He was making you feel incredible, and you threaded your fingers through his hair, not sure whether you wanted to push him away or pull him closer. 

“Oh fuck, Jenson” your head was thrown back in ecstasy while he worked his magic. 

Your thighs clamped around his head, and it wasn't long before you were babbling nonsense as a fresh wave of arousal coursed through you. 

The constant pressure of his fingers inside you was making your body vibrate with pleasure and a new kind of feeling crept up your spine. 

It was much more intense than before, a sharp sensation curling in your gut before it unravelled, and before you knew it you were soaking Jenson's hand as you gushed all over him.  

He couldn't believe it, but he eagerly lapped up all that he could while he coaxed you through your orgasm. 

You lay there trying to catch your breath while he pulled the duvet off the bed and fetched a new one, careful not to disturb you too much while you recovered. 

You felt utterly boneless, and you didn't even realise your eyes were closing of their own volition. before you passed out. 

Jenson chuckled, happy that the endorphins had overridden whatever amount of coffee you'd drank. He shuffled around the room, putting the bottle of oil back in his bag, and making sure you had an alarm set on your phone just in case. 

You were supposed to get back in the car at six o'clock, and it was currently just after two. 

That left you enough time to have a good long nap before your stint, and Jenson had time to go and freshen up (and take care of the throbbing problem in his pants) before he needed to replace Fernando. 

The swap went fine, not that you'd know, you were completely out for three whole hours, and Jenson could have some time to reflect on what had happened in his drivers room. 

He really didn't know what had come over him. If someone had told him something like this would happen he would have smacked them across the face. 

He'd promised himself he wouldn't try anything. There were two decades between you two, and the more he thought about it the guiltier he felt. 

To the point where his race engineer asked him if he was okay because he was uncharacteristically quiet. 

You woke up in a cold sweat.  

You had no idea how long you were out for, and the thought of somehow missing the race filled you with panic. 

But when you glanced at your phone, which was ringing incessantly with your alarm, you saw that it was half five in the morning. 

You sighed and got up, fishing around for your clothes. It was only when you went to grab a race suit from the cabinet that it hit you. 

Those suits were way too big for you, this was not your room, and… 

Oh yeah, Jenson had fingered you to sleep. 

There wasn't really any other way of putting it, really. 

Fucking hell. Jumping in the car after Jenson was going to be awkward as fuck, not to mention you were going to have to speak to him like a normal human being after all this. 

As if Jenson fucking Button hadn't just… Jesus. 

A knock at the door interrupted your train of thought. 

Fernando's head peeked in and he eyed the room suspiciously. 

“You okay in… here?” 

You nodded,  and assured him you'd be out in a minute. 

You rushed to your own driver’s room and put your suit on, feeling your limbs lagging behind. 

You needed coffee. Or a redbull or something, you couldn't drive in this state. 

You ran back to the garage and looked at the time. 

05:41 

You had time for a cup of coffee and for it to kick in before the swap. 

Fernando appeared next to you while you sat at the scrabble table, gazing at where a dozen engineers were sleeping on little camp beds and mats in a corner. 

“So… were you so tired after your stint that you accidentally fell into the wrong bed?” 

You blushed behind your cup. 

“Something like that” you muttered and he smirked. 

You watched the stream, getting up to date with the places. Your team were still ahead, and by quite a margin.  

You could tell Fernando was excited about the prospect of having a fully dominant race, but it was much too early to call. The race was only halfway done. 

You got ready to jump in the car, and by the time Jenson came into the pits, you felt re-energised and ready to go. 

During your time out on track, your mind wandered back to Jenson's room. 

You were going to have to talk to him about it at some point. You couldn't avoid him forever, and his friendship meant a lot to you. 

Jenson was exhausted. He hadn't slept at all yet, and he was doing another stint in 3 hours, so as soon as he got out he made a beeline to his room and completely passed out.  

 

Your stint went fine, and the following swap from you to Jenson went fine, despite how tired he was. Everything was going according to plan. 

Fernando had slept all through your stint, and most of Jenson's.  

His hair was sticking up in different directions and the seam of his pillow was imprinted onto his cheek, but he looked incredibly happy that Jenson was still firmly in the lead. 

When Jenson came into the pits for the final driver swap, you and Fernando were all but buzzing with excitement.  

This was it. If Fernando managed to stay in front, you would win the race. 

You were going to be a 24 of Le Mans winner. As a rookie, as a replacement driver, and more importantly as a woman, you were going to prove to everyone you were worthy. 

Jenson needed help getting his helmet off. 

He slumped against the wall and you had to help him to his drivers room. 

You lay him down, unzipping his suit just enough to cool him down a bit and got him a glass of fresh cold water. 

You were going to leave him to it, but he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back to sit on the edge of the bed. 

You gave him a questioning look and he sighed. 

“We need to talk”  

Your gaze travelled around the room. 

"Yeah… Do we have to do it right now though?” 

“We've got three hours to kill, might as well…” 

It was your turn to sigh. 

“I suppose…” 

You scooted closer to him on the bed and he took your hands in his. 

“First of all, I shouldn’t have done what I did earlier. It was selfish of me to take advantage of you like that…” 

Your mouth hung open, utterly bewildered. 

“Take advantage? Jenson I asked you to… I wanted it just as much as you did.” 

He blinked at you. 

“But… still… it wasn't appropriate.” 

“Do you regret it?” you asked, suddenly self-conscious. 

He melted and stroked your thigh soothingly.  

“No! No of course not, but-” 

“Neither do I” you interrupted “So there's nothing for you to feel bad about. I want you, Jenson” 

You gently slid a hand in his fireproofs, feeling the firm muscle underneath, and the hot dampness from his sweat.  

“You're all sweaty” you remarked, hand travelling lower. 

His eyes were fixed on yours, pupils expanding quickly the lower your hand went. 

“Yeah… I need a shower” he rasped. 

“Well… we’re both going to get dirty anyway getting sprayed with champagne on the podium later” you murmured, leaning down so your face was hovering over his. “So we could wait until after, and then scrub each other clean…”  

Your lips barely brushed his but he groaned, partly at the image of your body soaking wet and naked. He didn't have a preference whether it was from champagne or soapy water. 

“Sounds good to me” he whispered, going cross eyed when he glanced down at your lips. 

“It's a date, then” you smiled. “In the meantime… why don't I thank you for helping me get to sleep ”  

You grinned into the kiss, hands roaming under his fireproofs.  

You both somehow managed to get all of your layers off without separating and once you were both naked, he carried you over to a wall and held you up against it. 

“This is gross, we're both disgusting.” He moaned as you pulled on his hair roughly. 

“I don't care. I need you to fuck me Jenson” 

He let out a shaky breath at that, and lined himself up with where you were dripping against his lower abdomen. 

“God are you just… always this wet?” he looked down in awe at his tip sliding into you. 

“Only when you're around” you smirked. 

Something about that sentence made something dark settle in his stomach, and without further ado he slid into you. 

His cock stretched you out perfectly and you scratched at the wall for purchase as he started fucking into you with fervour. 

He pressed his body against yours, mouthing at your neck while he snapped his hips. It was like he was in some kind of trance, all previous exhaustion forgotten as he buried himself inside you repeatedly. 

Soon enough your neck was covered in marks and you could feel your flesh bruising where his fingers dug into it to hold you up.  

He didn't tease you this time, he let you come and fucked you through it with determination. Not stopping until you were a shaking, begging mess in his arms. 

He dropped you back on the bed and instructed you to hold your legs open for him. 

He had a dark look in his eyes as he fisted his cock with intent, aiming for your leaking cunt and the backs off your thighs. 

He almost lost balance with how  hard he came at the sight of you all pliant under him.  

Satisfaction purred in his chest as he gazed at you, covered in his streaks of cum. It made him slightly feral if he was honest. 

The two of you cleaned up with a wet towel and curled up under the blankets for a while. There was still a couple of hours left. 

“So tell me” you started, fingers swirling through the thin patch of hair on his chest. “How many of your teammates have you slept with?” 

He chuckled, amused by your question. “Including you?” 

“Yeah” 

He quickly glanced towards his tablet, where Fernando's onboard was playing.  

“Three.” He said. 

___

 

“So the race is soon coming to a close, and the Hertz team are looking to have been completely dominant this time around. Yet Jenson and his dear rookie teammate aren't in the garage during this closing stage… I can only hope they’re sleeping.” 

“Together, perhaps?” 

“I wouldn't care to speculate… but…..”

___

 

“What do you mean three? How is that even possible..."

Your voice died in your throat as you glanced back towards the stream in disbelief. 

“No! You fucked Fernando?”  you couldn't help a small smirk of amazement creeping onto your face.

“Well actually he fucked me but y-” 

“WHAT?!” 

___ 

The champagne tasted like shit, as usual.  

But the pure joy of being soaked in it after an impressive win was truly something else. 

You were excited for a shower that was for sure. You couldn't wait to get the sticky feeling off of your skin.  

Fernando and Jenson had you on their shoulders while the engineers generously sprayed the three of you. 

Jenson was so happy he did in fact grab a marker to sign your ass over your race suit, which got whoops and cheers from everyone around.

And of course the fact that you were going to have not one, but two hot older men to help you get the tricky spots… was a definite bonus. 

Yes, two. Because after all, poor Fernando didn't have anyone to shower with, and you didn't want him to feel left out of the celebrations. 

[thetadispatcher]

The android nodded in agreement, at least there were humans that understood his methods and saw no problem with them. Even if Bishop was the first human he'd met that agreed with him, and his system had already calculated the likelihood of him meeting more to be slim, he could still appreciate that maybe one day he'd get to work with a human who wouldn't complain about his work ethics.

"If only I could get the humans, and androids, I work with to understand, although I see no possibility of that happening. Shame really, but such is life. Once you develop freewill, everything you do will be scrutinized differently, instead of them simply chalking it up to a machine being cold and unfeeling." Even if Gavin did occasionally question if the RK900 was truly deviant or just pretending. Something he'd never give the human a straight answer for, he felt it was a good chance for the detective to prove his skills, and just a good opportunity to mess with the man more.

John glanced at Bishop, raising his eyebrow slightly as he listened to the man talk about the fact there was a human version of him. "Hm... Well, even being human can't stop the military from getting their hands on me. Good to know, I had wondered that once." It had only been a brief thought, and not one he felt would ever be answered. But it seemed like anything was possible, so he'd have to take that into consideration when wondering things in the future.

"I can say Peter cares about me, although I sometimes suspect that's just due to me being the first deviant he actually got to experience. Another of Cyberlife's great plans, hide the units they lied about destroying with employees, and people they could trust to keep quiet about it. Catherine, his Cyberlife friend, made a pretty good argument for him being a good candidate for that activity. Didn't bother to warn him as they thought he already knew thanks to her, so he was a bit freaked out the day he came home from work and found me in his old apartment... I might've ruffed him up a bit more then necessary, but I wasn't prepared for him to start trying to fight me."

John couldn't blame Peter for reacting how he had to a stranger showing up in his home unannounced, and Peter didn't hold it against the android for defending himself against a clearly panicked human. But they did eventually get things worked out after he'd managed to restrain the young man, and prove to him he wasn't actually there to harm him.

"Oh, the talking corpse." Nines said calmly, ignoring Hugh giving him a shocked look at his choice of words. "I'm not shocked to hear he has a bond with another version of John, for having very different personalities they get along quite well. Although it seems things went down a more tragic path for them, if the smell of a roughly five month old corpse that been sitting on the ocean floor is any indicator." Hugh attempted to silence the RK900 by giving the unit a harsh shove to his shoulder and a very upset look.

Nines just gave him a bored look, as if he saw no problem with how blunt he was being about the odd man currently in the house. "I can provide further evidence, such as the black gel on his body. Any normal human would clean that from their skin, but he hasn't. So, that would lead one to believe it might be part of the reason why he's up and about." He glanced at John as the android wirelessly criticized him then shifted his focus to Bishop. "Am I correct?"

Kelvin didn't respond through the link as the damage he'd suffered made his attempts turn into a garbled mess of useless noise that overwhelmed whoever he was linked with, and he wasn't actually used to hearing the other speak through the link clearly since it was usually a dull buzz for him.

He perked up a bit upon being able to make out actual words through the low droning sound in his mind, to which he eagerly nodded as he understood what was being asked of him.

He allowed her access to his memories from the day he was damaged, the data was corrupted, but he felt there was enough still intact to be useful.

The memory file opened to the sound of a helicopter, briefly showing that to his left there was a vast ocean and his right there was another android in a similar outfit to his with an island visible out the window. The image of a human male on a laptop sat across from the other unit flashed before being distorted by the corruption, causing a lapse in time before the memories cleared.

Kelvin was back looking out the window at the water below before the window cracked, seconds later he was being tossed around the helicopter as it lost control. The helicopter came to a halt on the top of a cliff face, the landing jarring a door open causing the other android to fly from the aircraft and plummeting into the ocean below.

Kelvin was nearly flung out with the other unit, but had managed to grab hold of the seat. He struggled to pull himself up and back inside, the human reached to help him as he slipped, dangling from the very edge before he too fell into the water.

His system had been sending messages to Cyberlife and the company he was owned by, attempting to alert them of the situation, but his attempts were nothing but panicked jumbled words and code. Something that shouldn't have happened with a non-deviant android.

Kelvin's memory corrupted as he slammed into the water, shattering the inner mechanics of his ears, and severely damaging his brain as it was violently slammed against it's housing. Error messages flooded his HUD, obstructing his vision, somehow he managed to find his way out of the water as his system registered sand underneath him. Before the errors and agonizing pain overwhelmed his system, in response he desperately tried to send error reports as he didn't understand what was happening or the pain he was experiencing.

His memory continued after another time lapse, showing the human once again now looking the unit over, checking his visible damage and testing to make sure he was still functional enough to be useful.

The remaining intact sections of his memory were of the human giving him orders on a notepad that he happily completed without question. Kelvin seemed to believe the man was his friend as the human allowed him to stay inside the shelter he made, gave him tasks, and would scare off or attack the savage island natives Kelvin pointed out to him. The android took the actions as kindness, not that the man saw him as useful and therefoe was decided to keep him around.

Eventually the pair was rescued and returned to civilization, where the human seemed to have been given a choice regarding Kelvin as the company no longer wanted the android. The man glanced at the damaged unit and shook his head, Kelvin was then lead away by a pair of Cyberlife technicians, clearly not understanding what was happening. He kept looking back at the man, waiting for him to follow them. Moments before his system was deactivated did he understand what was going on, he glanced at the doors waiting for the man he'd believed was his friend to come save him before everything went black.

The next time he opened his eyes was to a very confused Peter staring down at him then looking at an equally perplexed Dan, his first thoughts were of him being hopeful that his human friend was coming to take him home. A hope the unit clearly still had, he seemed to believe the human was coming to get him, doing whatever tasks he could find well he waited for the man to arrive.

Sixty watched the two closely, tucking himself behind Strasky as he was still convinced the connection wouldn't end well.

"Oddly, he really doesn't yell, it's more of a calm type of rage. I think he just keeps his voice down 'cause of the more skittish units. He doesn't wanna start yellin' 'nd make 'em think he's gonna start beatin' on 'em, like their old owners did." He could understand why the human restrained himself from simply screaming, instead showing his anger in other ways as to not cause the traumatized units any unnecessary distress.

Ellis tucked the rag into the pocket of his Cyberlife issued coveralls, he had a feeling he'd be needing it again, so he felt it best to carry it on him so he wouldn't have to get up again.

"Yep, we get a warnin' if it's startin' to run low. Most units don't need to get it refilled that often, if ever. But ones like me, we're always gettin' somethin' in our eyes, so it's more of a monthly thing then a yearly. 'nd no, givin' us eye protection never seems to cross our owners minds." At least from the units he'd spoken with, it seemed the humans thought they didn't need to provide safety glasses to androids as their eyes were different from a humans.

"I always just thought it was my owner doin' all the brain dead crap, don't know if it makes me feel better learin' that isn't the case. Ugh, that man... He always felt the need to correct me on the stuff I was made to do, never made any sense to me, but I had to listen. I think he just liked feelin' superior to a machine, even if he was wrong 'nd the reason we were loosin' business... Which I, of course, was blamed for. I seemed to be his go-to when things when wrong, or when he decided to manifest issues." He rolled his eyes before he got back under the vehicle.

"Grade A idiot he was if ya ask me. I like it here a lot more, I can do things my way 'nd no one will try to tell me I'm wrong, or how somethin' I had nothin' to do with was my fault." He preferred his new life over his old one, and he had no desire to even see how his old owner was doing as he rather forget the man ever existed.

It was hard to say what the intention was there. Even Bishop's compliments sounded condescending.

"I can attest to the effectiveness of that method. There is no place for personal feelings while on duty."

Then one could be particularly wise and never stop working to avoid it completely. Bishop shuffled his cards as he waited on the androids. The question got no major reaction out of him other than the vague frown any attempt at asking him to disclose information got. He sat with his back straight, as expected from an agent of his caliber.

"Well, if you want to know about the human that looks like him," he pointed to John, "Claiming that I know him would be an overstatement. We met less than 48 hours ago. The brief conversations we had and all the flattering things I was told hardly make up for that. All I can tell you is that he was in the military and is of particular importance for Strasky."

And he was mostly neutral despite his interest in the skills of a fellow military men.

Willow showed a distinctively cautious approach as well as the link was established. While she had connected to unstable systems before, it was always best to feel around first, before risking to cause additional damage.

Though she was still confident she could handle this and even attempted talking back. "I would like to have a look at your memories. The others here believe it would help them understand you better if they knew how you were damaged. Additionally, I may be able to repair some of it as well."

Rook shrugged, "It isn't really what I'm aiming for with my streams, but I could steal some of those lines. It might throw them off enough to shut up whenever I stop playing to go back to Minecraft. I just can't be bothered and I don't want to scare my pets with random screams."

She made sure to keep her distance, knowing better than to get in the way while somebody was working.

"Yeah, I figured that was the case. Does that mean you've got to refill sometimes? Like wiper fluid or something like that."

[edenesth]

5 Steps to Losing to You

Pairing: student council president!Yunho x vice president!fem!reader

AU: high school au (enemies to lovers)

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: The student council president of KQ High had five simple steps to surviving his vice president: outshine you, outsmart you, outlast you, annoy you, and — definitely — never fall for you. Too bad every step brought him closer to late-night arguments, unexpected truths, and one unforgettable confession under the fireworks. Somewhere between enemies and uneasy allies, Yunho took five steps too far — and ended up losing (his heart) to you.

Genre: romance (duh), comedy

A/N: Thank you, @itstheghostofmypast, for giving me the urge to write another high school AU. This one's heavily inspired by one of my favourite animes of all time, Kaguya-sama: Love Is War.

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

Do you ever meet someone for the very first time, and somehow, without a single word exchanged, you just know — from the very core of your being — that you can't stand them? No logical reason. No past history. Just pure, gut-level irritation.

That was exactly how Jung Yunho felt the second you stepped into the student council room, your posture straight, your expression unreadable, exuding the kind of effortless confidence that set his teeth on edge.

You were the new transfer student — the one the teachers haven't been able to stop raving about, the one who somehow landed the coveted vice president title before even learning the school layout. And now, here you were, standing beside him, the council's golden boy, as if you belonged there.

"Dude, that's her? Oh, they weren't lying when they said she'd be eye candy," Wooyoung, the council treasurer, whispered with a smirk, elbowing Yunho's side. Yunho didn't even glance at you. He just scoffed, nudging Wooyoung back hard enough to make him stumble. "Yeah? Well, too bad a pretty face isn't enough to survive my council. I give her two weeks before she runs back to wherever she came from."

He said it loud enough for you to hear — on purpose — just to see if you'd flinch. But you didn't. You only lifted your chin slightly, eyes flicking toward him for a single, scathing second. And in that moment, you hated him just as much as he hated you.

Because from the moment you locked eyes, you knew exactly who he was — the adored, untouchable president who had everyone wrapped around his finger. The boy who carried himself like the school was his kingdom, and every student his subject. And now you were supposed to serve under him?

Absolutely not.

You hadn't transferred here to play second to anyone — least of all some arrogant, overhyped, self-proclaimed king. Back at your old school, you were always at the top: top grades, top leadership positions, top of every ranking that mattered. You weren't just a vice president — you were a future president in the making.

If Yunho thought you were here to play a supporting role in his perfect little reign, he was dead wrong.

You weren't here to make friends.

You were here to take his crown.

────

Yunho leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he watched you skim through the thick binder of council documents that Seulgi, the council secretary, had just handed over. His eyes narrowed slightly, studying you like you were some kind of unwelcome intruder trespassing on his territory.

"Hope you're not too overwhelmed," Yunho said, voice dripping with fake concern. "Student council here isn't exactly… beginner-friendly."

You didn't bother looking up, flipping another page instead. "Don't worry, President," you replied, tone sweet but sharp. "I've dealt with more organised councils before. This is nothing I can't fix."

The room went still for half a second — just enough for Seulgi to glance between you both like she was watching a fuse being lit.

Yunho's smile sharpened. "Fix? That's a bold word for someone who hasn't even seen our term plan yet."

You finally met his gaze, leaning forward just slightly over the table. "Oh, I've seen it. Last year's records were so charming, especially the part where half the events went over budget and the spring festival had a typo on the banner. Spring Festivel, was it?"

The muscle in his jaw twitched, but his grin didn't falter. "Funny. You talk big for someone who just transferred here. But I get it — new girl syndrome. All ambition, no clue how things actually work."

You rested your chin in your hand, elbow propped on the table. "And you talk big for someone who's clearly too comfortable sitting on his throne. Guess we'll see who adjusts faster — me to this school, or you to having actual competition."

The president's smile froze in place. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was being challenged — especially not by someone who hadn't even been here a full week.

Seulgi cleared her throat awkwardly. "So! Uh, why don't we go over this semester's goals together? You know… as a team?"

You and Yunho didn't break eye contact. Neither of you smiled.

"Can't wait," you said.

"Neither can I," he replied.

And like that, the war had officially begun.

────

To the outside world — to teachers, students, and anyone not trapped in this cursed room — Yunho and you were the dream team, the picture-perfect president and vice president duo. Smiling side by side during assemblies, coordinating in perfect sync during meetings, and even exchanging polite nods in the hallway.

But inside these four walls, away from the prying eyes of your adoring audience, it was an entirely different story.

It started small. The first time Yunho reached for the meeting agenda, it was mysteriously missing from his file. "Alright, let's get started with today's agenda—" he paused, flipping through his folder, only to find the neatly printed schedule gone. His eyes snapped up, narrowing instantly at you.

You sat across from him, filing your nails with deliberate slowness, not even trying to hide your smug smile when he had to wing the entire meeting from memory. "Looking for something, President?" you asked sweetly.

Wooyoung watched the exchange from the corner, whispering to Seulgi, "That's the second time this week. If this keeps up, he's gonna staple the agenda to his forehead."

The secretary sighed, already immune to the madness. "At least they're creative."

Then there was the presentation. Monthly council update in front of all the teachers, a perfect opportunity for the president to shine — until Yunho confidently clicked to the next slide… and instead of student council statistics, the screen flashed an embarrassingly tragic childhood photo of him mid-sneeze, teeth crooked, hair tragic.

Gasps filled the room. His eye twitched. From beside him, you covered your mouth, the picture of shocked concern, while under the table, your finger rested innocently on the laptop's trackpad.

"Oops," you whispered sweetly.

"You're dead," Yunho mouthed back.

The teachers would later praise your teamwork for handling the "technical difficulty" so gracefully.

The coffee war escalated next. Yunho, ever the gentleman, brought you coffee before morning meetings — extra bitter because he knew you hated it with a passion. You retaliated the next day, handing him a cup that smelled amazing but was actually salted beyond salvation.

Wooyoung took a cautious sip from his own drink, eyeing both of you. "This is why I only drink from the vending machine now."

"Smart," Seulgi muttered.

When it came time to make festival posters, the battle turned artistic. The school festival posters were a joint project — one half handled by you, the other by the president. What should have been a cohesive design turned into visual warfare.

Yunho's side was classic and professional, clean fonts and crisp colours. Your side? Bold, flashy, practically neon — and just slightly crooked, making his side look off-balance.

"It's like watching a couple divorce through graphic design," Wooyoung whispered.

"Except they were never married," Seulgi muttered. "Thank god."

The final straw — at least for that week — came during the morning announcements, when the president confidently read out the list of upcoming events — only to realise someone had swapped his script. Instead of the council's official calendar, he was now announcing a fake bake sale where Yunho himself would supposedly be dressing as a bunny mascot to promote sales.

His death glare found you through the broadcast window. You waved back cheerfully.

The students roared with excitement. "Bunnyho!" they chanted.

Seulgi buried her face in her hands. Wooyoung filmed everything.

And yet, the moment those council doors swung open, you both snapped back into your roles like pros. Smiling in sync at the cameras, cutting ribbons together with practised grace, even finishing each other's sentences when teachers asked about the upcoming festival. It was a performance so convincing that even Wooyoung — who knew the truth — found himself applauding.

"It's terrifying," the treasurer started, watching the two of you gracefully cut the ribbon at a new club opening ceremony. "They look like they actually… get along," he whispered, equal parts horrified and impressed.

"Tell me about it. They're scarily good at this," Seulgi agreed, clapping along with the crowd. "It's like they're starring in a romcom where only they missed the memo."

If only they knew.

If only the rest of the school knew.

If only anyone knew that beneath all the staged smiles and synchronised speeches, it would only take five steps for the mighty president and his infuriating vice president to lose — not to each other, but to something neither of them ever saw coming.

────

Step One: seeing each other.

It started like any other day in the student council room — a battleground polished to perfection.

You arrived first, flipping open your notebook, already plotting your next move. Yunho followed shortly after, shooting you a glare so subtle no one else would notice, but you caught it. You always did. The latest round in your ongoing war had been yours — you'd managed to replace his entire project folder with a stack of fake documents detailing a made-up proposal for a "Student Council Talent Show," featuring him as both host and performer. He'd spent an hour in front of the principal before realising the whole thing was a setup. You were winning.

So when Yunho swept into the room, you were already bracing for his retaliation. And sure enough, it came — a stack of freshly printed minutes from the last meeting placed squarely in front of you. Except every instance of your name had been replaced with "Her Royal Highness, The Vice President of Perfection".

You stared at it. He smiled, all teeth and zero remorse.

"Thanks for the edit," you said coolly.

"Anything for my vice president," he shot back.

But that wasn't the real blow. The real sabotage came during the club funding review later that afternoon. It was your turn to present the approved budgets for each club, a dry, boring task — until Yunho, in a voice far too innocent, asked, "By the way, Your Highness — didn't your old school have a fencing club? You were captain, right?"

You froze for half a second. It was microscopic — no one noticed. Except for Yunho. Of course, he noticed.

"Yeah," you said, flicking through the papers like the question meant nothing. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing. Just wondering why you transferred out so suddenly. From what I hear, you were practically royalty back there, too."

You knew what he was doing. Fishing. Trying to unearth whatever dirt might be hiding under your perfect exterior. You forced a smile. "It was boring," you lied. "Needed a challenge."

He hummed, unconvinced.

Later that evening, you found your chance to return the favour. You'd overheard a conversation between Wooyoung and Seulgi, something about Yunho always leaving in a rush after school, barely staying long enough to clean up. So you set a trap — a simple one. You "accidentally" scheduled a last-minute meeting that ran late, forcing him to stay behind.

You expected him to blow up at you afterwards. You were ready for it. What you didn't expect was to follow the tall and lanky boy out — purely out of curiosity — only to watch him walk straight to the convenience store down the street, throw on a part-time apron, and start restocking shelves.

You stood outside, stunned, watching the golden boy student council president clock into a job like any regular kid. Except he wasn't just any regular kid, was he?

For the first time, you saw him without the shine — no polished uniform, no cocky smirk, no sharp words ready to fire at you. Just a boy with his sleeves pushed up, quietly stacking instant noodles, stopping every so often to check his phone like he was waiting for a message.

And when his phone finally buzzed, you saw him smile — small, tired, real.

You didn't mean to see the text, but you did.

Mum: Yunho-yah, don't forget to bring home eggs if they're on sale.

You stepped back before he could notice you watching, heart thudding with something you couldn't quite name.

That was the first crack.

The next day, Yunho found a neatly folded discount coupon for eggs tucked into his student council folder. No signature. No note. Just a coupon.

He stared at it for a long time.

For once, neither of you said anything.

But it didn't end there.

Later that week, Yunho caught sight of you outside the school gates, long after the council room had emptied. He hadn't meant to linger — in fact, he had every intention of ignoring you like usual — but something about the way you stood there caught his attention.

You weren't scrolling through your phone or chatting with anyone. You just stood there, posture straight, hands clutching your bag like it was the only thing keeping you upright. A sleek black car pulled up, polished until the surface gleamed, and a middle-aged man in a pressed suit stepped out to open the door for you.

He scoffed quietly to himself. Of course.

Princess treatment. Figures.

But as you slid into the back seat, something about the way you moved made him pause. Stiff. Formal. Like you were stepping into a stranger's car, not your own. He caught a glimpse of your face through the tinted window before it rolled up — your gaze fixed straight ahead, unfocused, mouth pressed into a thin line. You looked... distant. Detached.

Not proud. Not smug.

Not like someone who had it all.

Just... tired.

Yunho frowned, stuffing his hands into his pockets, muttering under his breath, "Must be nice to have everything handed to you... so why do you look like you've got nothing?"

He didn't have an answer. And that unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

That night, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the memory of your empty eyes lingering longer than they should.

Neither of you knew it yet — but the game was already changing.

────

Step Two: the unexpected rescue.

The rain came down hard — the kind of storm that soaked you to the bone in seconds, drumming against the pavement with no mercy. You stood just outside the school gates, shoulders hunched slightly under the awning, arms crossed tight as your phone buzzed non-stop in your hand.

Driver (5 missed calls)

Driver: Stuck in traffic. 15 minutes.

Driver: 20 minutes.

Driver: Sorry, Miss. It's a mess out here.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, locking your screen before shoving the phone into your pocket. This was typical — your family's staff was always prompt when it came to your father, but for you? Delays. Excuses. You were used to it. Didn't make it any less irritating.

The rain intensified, and you took a careful step back, just barely avoiding a splash from a passing car. That's when you saw him — Yunho, already halfway down the sidewalk, hood pulled up, backpack slung over one shoulder.

He could have kept walking. You expected him to. Hell, you would've preferred it.

But he stopped.

He stood there for a second, back still facing you, before you saw his shoulders rise and fall in what looked suspiciously like deep, begrudging contemplation. Then, without a word, he turned back, marched toward you, and thrust his umbrella out with one hand.

"Don't make it weird," he muttered, hood shadowing half his face. "I'm not leaving my vice president to drown. People would talk."

You stared at him, dumbfounded, before slowly stepping under the umbrella's cover. Your shoulder brushed his — just barely — but it was enough to make the air between you heavier than the rain itself.

"You're still an arrogant ass," you said, mostly out of habit.

"And you're still annoying," he shot back.

But neither of you moved away.

The walk to the nearby bus stop was silent, save for the rain pattering against the umbrella's canopy and your synchronised footsteps on the wet pavement. The silence should have been awkward — it always was between the two of you — but this time, it felt... almost easy.

At the stop, he held the umbrella steady over both your heads until the bus pulled up, wiping rainwater off his forehead with his sleeve.

"Don't think this means I like you," he said, voice quieter than usual.

You snorted, climbing up the bus steps. "Please. I'd be more worried if you did."

But when you found your seat by the window, you caught a glimpse of him outside — standing there in the rain, umbrella still in hand, watching the bus pull away. Neither of you knew why this moment stuck so firmly in your minds. You just knew something had shifted.

The next morning, you were absent.

Yunho should've been pleased. A day without your sharp tongue, your constant presence, your infuriating need to challenge his every decision — it should've felt like a vacation. But instead, an uncomfortable unease gnawed at him from the moment he entered the council room and saw your usual seat empty.

He shouldn't care. He knew that. But for some reason, his mind kept circling back to the night before — the rain, the bus, the fleeting glimpse of your tired face in the window.

Did you even get home safely?

He scowled at the thought. Not my problem. I already did more than enough. But no matter how much he tried to shake it off, that knot of regret just sat there in his chest, stubborn and unrelenting.

By mid-morning, his irritation boiled over. Slamming his pen down, he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "Where's Vice President Pain-in-the-Ass today?" he asked, tone far too casual to be casual.

Wooyoung's eyebrows shot up — before a slow smirk stretched across his face. "Why? Miss her already? You two were so cute sharing that umbrella last night."

Yunho's chair scraped violently against the floor as he sat up straighter. "What?! Who said— That's not— I'm only asking because I was expecting her to submit the student committee reports today!"

"Suuure," Wooyoung drawled, dragging out the word until Yunho was ready to fling a stapler at his head.

Seulgi, ever the peacekeeper, stepped in with a sigh. "She called in sick. Probably caught a cold from getting drenched yesterday."

The president's stomach did an uncomfortable flip, though he masked it with a disinterested shrug. "Serves her right for not bringing her own umbrella," he muttered.

But later that night, during his shift at the convenience store, he nearly rang up a customer's items twice — his mind completely elsewhere. Each time the door chimed, he half-expected to see you storm in with some ridiculous complaint about student council policies. He hated the way that thought made his chest tighten.

He hated it even more when, the next morning, he found himself at his kitchen counter — brewing herbal tea.

When you returned to school the next day, you dropped your bag onto your desk, only to pause, brow furrowing. Sitting there, completely unassuming, was a flask of warm herbal tea. No note. No explanation.

You glanced around the empty room — only one other person was there this early, and of course, it was him. Yunho, head down, pretending to be engrossed in a report he had already read twice.

You nudged the flask aside and pulled out your notebook instead, determined not to play into whatever weird game this was.

Across the room, his pen froze mid-sentence. After a few beats of silence, he huffed, loud enough for you to hear.

"For heaven's sake, it's not poisoned," he said, still not looking up. "Drink it if you want to actually recover."

You narrowed your eyes at him, suspicious — but curiosity (and the faint scratch in your throat) won out. You unscrewed the lid, steam rising in a gentle curl. It smelled... comforting. Soothing. Like something homemade.

Reluctantly, you took a sip.

"...It's good," you admitted quietly.

He didn't respond, but when you looked up, you caught him — just for a second — sneaking a glance at you over the top of his file.

Again, neither of you said another word.

────

Step Three: forced vulnerability.

For a while, it seemed like the umbrella incident and the flask of tea never happened. Whatever fleeting kindness had passed between you both was quickly swallowed by your usual dynamic — sharp words, constant one-upping, and a relentless need to prove the other wrong.

That fragile truce didn't stand a chance.

It all came to a head after yet another brutal fight — the kind that had papers flying across the table, voices raised loud enough to make the underclassmen passing by the council room door wince. Seulgi had to physically step between you, arms stretched out like a human barricade.

"You always have to hog the spotlight, don't you?" you seethed, finger jabbing toward Yunho. "President this, President that — it's like you can't function unless the whole school is watching you."

"And you're any better?" His voice came sharp and fast, eyes blazing. "You waltz in here acting like you're saving us all, like this council should be grateful to breathe the same air as you. Spoiled little princess who can't handle not being number one."

The silence that followed was deafening. Even Wooyoung, who usually lived for drama like this, suddenly found his folder of expense reports incredibly fascinating.

You stormed out before anyone could see the flicker of hurt flash across your face. No way were you going to let Jung Yunho of all people make you feel small.

You walked blindly down the hall, fury pulsing in your veins, until you froze at the sound of his voice — quieter, softer, so unlike the boy who had just ripped into you moments ago.

"…No, Mum, I can't cover that shift. I already stayed late for council." A pause. "It's fine, really. I'll figure it out."

The reminder hit you hard. Yunho, the golden boy, the president everyone envied — was working part-time jobs after school. The same boy who seemed to have it all was just another kid juggling too much, carrying more weight than he let on. You didn't mean to eavesdrop, but you couldn't move either. Something about the edge of exhaustion in his voice made you stay.

Suddenly, the arrogant bastard didn't seem so untouchable after all.

A few days later, the roles reversed.

Yunho had gone to the library to grab an old council binder when he spotted you tucked away at a corner table. You weren't working — just sitting there, blankly staring at an open textbook like the words weren't even registering.

Next to you, a small pile of letters lay scattered — some still sealed, others torn open, the papers inside slightly crumpled like you'd held them too tightly. He didn't need to read them to know what they were. Letters from parents who cared more about achievements than feelings, words dressed up as 'encouragement' but laced with disappointment underneath.

He hadn't meant to stop, but something about the way your shoulders curled inward — that tiny, defeated slump — made him pull out a chair across from you without a word. He opened his own notebook, flipping through pages like he had a reason to be there.

The silence stretched, but for once, it didn't feel awkward.

Eventually, Yunho broke it.

"Not everyone's parents show up for them either, huh?" he said quietly, still pretending to read.

Your head snapped up, startled by the unexpected understanding in his voice. But he didn't look at you. He just kept twirling his pen between his fingers, as if the words had been said casually — like it wasn't the first time either of you had ever acknowledged this shared emptiness.

You didn't answer, but you didn't push the letters away either.

And just like that, things further shifted.

For the first time, you both saw each other — not as rivals or enemies, but just two kids quietly drowning under the weight of expectations neither of you had asked for.

────

Step Four: defending each other.

It happened so fast, you didn't even have time to think.

You were passing by the courtyard on your way back to the council room when you heard them — two students sitting on the low wall, voices pitched just loud enough to be overheard.

"I heard she only got vice president because her family donated a new wing to the school."

"Yeah, everyone knows Yunho's the real deal. She's just there to smile and look pretty. Riding his coattails the whole way."

Your hands curled into fists, steps already veering toward them — but someone else got there first.

The sharp thud of a bag hitting the ground made the gossipers jolt upright. Yunho stood there, shoulders squared, eyes dark with something dangerously close to fury.

"Say that again," he said quietly — and somehow, the softness of his voice was far more terrifying than if he'd shouted.

The students stammered, scrambling for excuses, and he didn't even spare you a glance as he slung his bag back over his shoulder and walked off, leaving you standing there — stunned silent.

Because for all the times you had accused him of being full of himself, Jung Yunho had defended you like it was second nature. Like the idea of anyone else insulting you was unthinkable.

You didn't know what to do with that.

The universe, however, was nothing if not fair. Because just a few days later, the rumours shifted — this time, about Yunho.

"Did you hear? Student council president's working at some convenience store. Imagine seeing him behind the counter after school, bagging snacks for pocket change."

"Golden boy's not so golden after all."

The words grated against your ears so sharply, you were standing in front of them before you even realised you'd moved.

Arms crossed, chin lifted, you gave them a smile so sweet it made your words all the sharper. "Funny. I didn't realise students who can't even pass basic math had opinions anyone cared about."

The stunned silence that followed was delicious. You didn't wait for their response — just turned on your heel and walked off like they weren't even worth your time.

That should've been the end of it — except Yunho was waiting for you by the lockers later that afternoon, arms folded, gaze unreadable.

"I didn't ask you to defend me," he said, tone somewhere between exasperation and confusion.

"Yeah, well." You shrugged, avoiding his eyes. "Couldn't let my rival's reputation get dragged through the mud before I beat you fair and square."

He stared at you for a long moment — long enough that you felt heat creep up your neck. And then, to your utter disbelief, he smiled. Just a little.

"You're insane."

"You're welcome."

Neither of you admitted what was really happening here.

Neither of you wanted to.

Because rivals didn't protect each other like this — right?

…Right?

It was supposed to be a one-time thing.

That's what you both told yourselves. Yunho stepping in when people ran their mouths about you? Just defending the council's reputation. You shutting down rumours about his part-time job? Basic professional courtesy. Nothing more.

Except it kept happening.

You noticed when he looked more tired than usual, dark circles smudged under his eyes like he hadn't slept a wink — and then you caught yourself caring. Which was ridiculous. You didn't care. You were just making sure the president didn't screw up his responsibilities because he couldn't handle his personal life. Right?

And Yunho? He wasn't watching out for you. No way. He just… happened to notice when you didn't eat lunch (because of course a spoiled princess would be picky), and maybe that's why he tossed a protein bar onto your desk without looking at you. Totally normal. Not thoughtful. Just practical.

The mental gymnastics you both performed to justify each and every concern were Olympic-level.

When you caught the president absently saving you the better seat during meetings, you told yourself he was just being tactical — easier for you to see the projector, of course. And when Yunho overheard you grumbling about forgetting your calculator before a math quiz, and then somehow one appeared on your desk five minutes later, you were definitely not touched. It was probably a spare he didn't need. Nothing more.

Wooyoung and Seulgi, meanwhile, were losing their minds — because the two of you were so deep in denial it was physically painful to watch.

"She just snapped at him for using the wrong pen colour for the event banners, then turned around and gave him the last slice of cake at the meeting," Seulgi whispered, wide-eyed.

"And he's been pretending to hate her handwriting, but I caught him saving one of her post-it notes in his folder," Wooyoung whispered back.

"Should we help?"

"Nah. Let them suffer."

Because to everyone else, it was painfully obvious: the two of you cared, far too much, and it was eating you both alive.

Neither of you could sleep without replaying your arguments, wondering if you'd crossed a line. Neither of you could look at the other without searching for signs — were they okay? Were they pushing too hard? Were they... thinking about you too?

Of course not.

You hated each other.

That's what you told yourselves.

That's what you needed to believe.

────

Step Five: the breaking point.

The final planning meeting for the year-end festival — the crown jewel of student council events — was supposed to be smooth sailing.

Supposed to be.

Instead, it turned into a sudden crisis and full-blown disaster. Miscommunications piled up like wreckage, schedules clashed, vendors were double-booked, and somehow, two essential permits vanished into thin air — all thanks to the endless assumptions of he'll handle it or she'll settle it.

In truth, the entire student council had been stretched too thin. With final year exams looming and everyone juggling revision sessions alongside festival planning, it was inevitable that details would slip through the cracks. Messages were missed, notes went unshared, and somewhere along the way, every member — even you and Yunho — had trusted that someone else would catch the mistakes.

No one did.

And now, with barely a week left until the biggest event of the year, it was all on the verge of collapse.

The council room was a war zone by the end of the day, with papers scattered across every surface, and half-eaten snacks abandoned next to rapidly-drained cups of instant coffee. The rest of the council had long since been sent home after nearly combusting from secondhand stress.

That left just the two of you — sworn enemies, or at least that's what you both kept telling yourselves — sitting across from each other in the wreckage, sleeves rolled up, hair undone, exhaustion written into every breath.

Somewhere between fixing the vendor placements and rewriting the schedule for the third time, you both cracked.

Laughter. Actual, delirious laughter. It started small — you snorted at something he mumbled under his breath, and he stared at you like you'd grown a second head before dissolving into laughter himself. The kind that made your stomach ache and your shoulders shake, the kind fueled by stress and sleep deprivation until it was impossible to stop.

"This is actual hell," you groaned, collapsing onto the table, cheek smushed against a poorly drawn map of the festival grounds.

"Yeah," he leaned back, arms hanging off the back of his chair, head tilted to stare at the ceiling. "But at least it's not boring."

You turned your head to look at him — hair sticking up in every direction, tie loosened, shirt wrinkled, sleeves unevenly rolled, and yet somehow still the same Yunho who drove you insane. Except, right now, he wasn't the 'golden boy president.' He was just… a boy. One who was just as tired, just as human.

"Yunho," you said softly, surprising even yourself. "Why do you hate me?"

His laughter faded. He didn't look at you right away — just exhaled long and slow, fingers tapping against the table.

"Because you make me feel like I'm not enough," he admitted, voice low, like a confession dragged straight from his chest. "And I hate feeling that way."

The honesty knocked the air from your lungs. Because it was exactly how you felt too — and you'd never meant for him to see you like that, just like you never thought you'd see him like this.

"I never wanted to hate you," you whispered, voice small. "I just wanted to beat you."

He finally turned his head, gaze meeting yours — and for the first time, there was no sharpness, no competition, no battle lines drawn between you. Just understanding.

And maybe, just maybe, something softer underneath. Something neither of you were ready to name.

"It's late. We should go," he murmured.

The air was cool, the sky stretched inky black above you, and the silence between you wasn't exactly uncomfortable — just unfamiliar. After months of snapping and snarling at each other, the absence of sharp words felt almost too quiet. Too fragile.

The two of you walked side by side down the empty street, your steps slower than usual, like neither of you wanted to be the first to break the strange peace that had settled over you.

But eventually, you couldn't hold back.

"…Are you okay not making your shift tonight?" you asked softly, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.

He took a moment before answering, the faint scrape of his shoes against the pavement filling the gap. "I'll just work a double another time," he said with a shrug, like it was no big deal.

It made something pinch in your chest — this casual acceptance of overworking himself like it was second nature. You hesitated, then asked the question you realised you'd never actually known the answer to.

"Why do you work so hard?"

He didn't answer right away. His hands slid into his pockets, shoulders hunching slightly under the weight of the question. But eventually, his voice emerged, quieter than you expected.

"For as long as I can remember, it's just been me and my mum," he said. "She works really hard, but money's always been tight. When I was old enough, I took as many jobs as I could — bagging groceries, tutoring, working at that convenience store. And I kept my grades up because… I just wanted to make her proud. Wanted to give her a life where she didn't have to worry anymore."

You slowed your steps, turning your head to look at him properly. And once again, you saw him — not as your rival, not as the frustrating golden boy — but as a son. Someone's son, trying his best.

"You're a good son, Yunho," you said softly, with a smile that felt more genuine than any you'd given him before.

He smiled back — just a little — until you added, just as softly, "Can't say the same for myself though."

Yunho's footsteps halted. You stopped too, eyes falling to the sidewalk beneath you.

"You wanted to know why I transferred here, right?" you asked, voice quieter now.

Without waiting for an answer, you bent down and pulled up the edge of your right sock, revealing a thin line of surgical scars tracing across your ankle. The streetlight caught on the pale skin, glinting faintly.

"One bad match," you said, almost to yourself. "One opponent who played dirty during championships. That's all it took."

His brow furrowed, but he didn't interrupt.

"Like you said, I used to be fencing captain. Top-ranked in my old school." You let out a soft, bitter laugh. "And after the injury, I couldn't compete. I fell from first place — took months off to recover, missed exams, missed everything. To my parents, that was all it took for me to become… a disappointment."

You let your sock fall back into place, hands brushing down your skirt, voice tight with forced cheer. "So, they sent me here to start over. To rebuild whatever glory I lost. To make me their perfect trophy again."

The president didn't say anything right away. And for once, you didn't try to fill the silence either. You just stood there together, in the middle of a quiet street, under a flickering streetlamp — two students who had spent so long trying to outshine each other, only to realise they were both just chasing shadows.

When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you'd ever heard it.

"They were wrong."

You glanced up at him, blinking.

"They were wrong to make you think you're only worth something if you're perfect."

Your throat tightened, and you had to look away — because if you didn't, you might actually cry, and you weren't ready for that. Not in front of him.

"Come on," he said gently, nudging your arm. "We still have to survive this festival. One tragedy at a time."

You laughed — watery, but real. And without thinking, you bumped your shoulder into his.

For once, he didn't bump back harder.

────

Five steps later, you were finally here.

The festival had somehow, miraculously, come together — the chaos you and Yunho had wrestled into order was now a blur of glowing lanterns, flashing booth lights, and bursts of laughter floating up into the night air. From the rooftop, you could see it all — your shared battlefield turned into something beautiful.

You should have felt victorious. But instead, your chest ached with something you couldn't name.

Footsteps behind you.

You didn't need to turn to know who it was.

"Shouldn't you be down there soaking up the praise, President?" you asked, arms folded across your chest, voice deliberately casual.

He stepped up beside you, hands stuffed into his pockets, gaze flicking down over the festival before settling on you. "Shouldn't you be down there taking credit, Vice President?"

You side-eyed him, lips twitching up despite yourself. "I thought you hated sharing your spotlight."

"I do," he said — quieter this time, almost too honest. "But… maybe I don't mind sharing with you."

You froze.

This wasn't the usual banter. There was no smirk, no teasing edge to his voice. Just Yunho, standing there under the open sky, the glow of the festival washing a soft colour over his face.

"I spent this whole year trying to beat you," you admitted softly, your fingers curling around the cool metal railing. "Trying to prove I was better."

"Same," he said — too quickly, like he'd been holding it in. Then he shook his head, a breathless laugh slipping out. "But every time I thought I was close to finally taking you down, I just… ended up liking you more."

Your heart stuttered. "Liking me?"

"Yeah." He exhaled hard, like saying it out loud physically knocked the air from his lungs. "I hated you so much I couldn't think straight, and then somewhere along the way, I just wanted to know you. All of you."

The first fireworks burst overhead, painting the sky in red and gold. The light caught in his hair, in his eyes — and you realised you'd been staring at him this whole time.

"You're such an idiot," you whispered, even though your throat was suddenly tight.

"Why?" He turned toward you fully now, his shoulder brushing yours. "Because I confessed first?"

"No." You took a step closer — close enough that the heat of him bled into your skin. "Because I've liked you too. For longer than I wanted to admit."

Another firework cracked, sending sparks raining down like stars.

Neither of you looked at it.

Yunho's hand found yours on the railing — the touch hesitant at first, until your fingers curled back around his. His thumb traced along your knuckles like he couldn't believe this was real.

"I still want to beat you," you said, voice barely above a whisper.

"Good." He leaned down, forehead almost brushing yours. "I wouldn't like you if you didn't."

And then — under a sky exploding with light — he kissed you.

It wasn't sweet or shy. It was a clash of everything you'd ever felt for each other — every argument that left you breathless, every late-night meeting where silence spoke louder than words, every sharp-tongued insult meant to cut but only carved deeper into longing.

His lips were warm and urgent, tasting faintly of festival cotton candy and the mint gum he always chewed when stressed. His hand slid up, fingers threading into your hair before settling at your jaw, his thumb tracing a line along your cheekbone so softly it left your skin tingling.

He pulled you in like you were something fragile and precious and dangerous all at once — something he couldn't risk breaking, but couldn't stand losing.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, hands fisting in the fabric of his blazer, tugging him closer until there was nothing between you but heat and heartbeats. You could feel the tremble in his breath, the subtle shudder that ran through him when your fingers brushed the back of his neck. His heart hammered so loudly against your chest that you could swear it was echoing your own.

The fireworks painted streaks of gold and crimson across your closed eyelids, but none of it compared to the colour blooming beneath your skin — the dizzying warmth curling low in your stomach, the ache of every unsaid word bleeding into every touch.

When you finally broke apart, panting slightly, foreheads pressed together, you both laughed — breathless and dazed — like you couldn't believe it took you this long to get here.

The fireworks were beautiful.

But they were nothing compared to this.

────

The following Monday after the festival, the entire school knew.

Some claimed they'd caught glimpses of you and Yunho sneaking off together just before the fireworks, while others swore they saw his arm casually draped around your shoulders during the late-night cleanup. And, of course, the boldest rumours came from those who witnessed you both at the council table, sipping from the same straw like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But none of that was the real giveaway.

The real giveaway was how you two fought — exactly the same as before, except now he called you baby in the middle of arguments, and you shot back with a saccharine sweetheart, both said with enough venom to curdle milk. The council meetings were still battlegrounds, but now they were laced with something sharper — affection disguised as irritation, fondness hidden under barbed words.

"We should focus on next month's fundraiser," Yunho declared, tapping his pen against the table.

"We should focus on midterm review sessions first," you countered, not even looking up from your notes.

"You just want to show off how perfect your study guides are," he accused, eyes narrowing.

"And you just want to procrastinate so you can rewrite your precious 'president's welcome speech,'" you fired back.

"It's called leadership."

"It's called an ego trip."

The room went silent — council members exchanging wide-eyed glances, already bracing for the explosion.

But instead of storming off like you used to, Yunho just leaned back in his chair, tilting his head with that infuriating smirk. "I'm still your boss, Vice President."

Your smile was too sweet, too dangerous. "And I'm still the one who covers your ass when you forget deadlines, President."

Somewhere in the back of the room, Wooyoung silently started a betting pool: kiss or kill — which would happen first?

Together, the two of you became the undeniable, unstoppable force of the student council — a perfect storm of brains, charisma, and sheer chaos. When Yunho's charm and golden-boy smile couldn't win over the principal, your cold logic and flawless presentations sealed the deal. When your sharp tongue and brutal honesty made freshmen tremble, his easy grin softened the blow. Together, you raised more funds, pulled off bigger events, and terrified more slackers than any council duo in school history.

And yes — you still argued like your lives depended on it.

But now, the fights ended with lazy kisses behind closed doors, fingers brushing under the table during meetings, and softly muttered threats of "I'm still going to beat you at this" whispered like a love language.

Some days, he walked you to your chauffeured car, fingers laced with yours despite the stunned looks from every passing student. Other days, you waited at the convenience store until his shift ended, pretending to browse the snack aisle while secretly watching him work — admiring the boy who once drove you insane, and now, somehow, made your heart ache in the best way possible.

And every night you walked home together, sharing an umbrella or splitting a can of soda, your shoulders bumping softly in the dark.

"We're still enemies, right?" you asked once, voice quiet under the stars.

He grinned, tugging you closer by the waist. "Always."

Then he kissed you again — and just like that, the fight for power had never tasted so sweet. Because somewhere between rivalry and romance, between every clash and compromise, you both realised: there was no winning without each other.

If you've watched Kaguya-sama: Love Is War and are also a fan of it, just know that I love you. The way Wooyoung was initially going to take Miyuki's role, but on second thought, Yunho seemed more well-suited for it. Wouldn't you agree?

Also, I hope y'all liked the rooftop kiss🙈

And if you haven't watched the anime, I love you too! For taking the time to read this, I genuinely hope it was enjoyable hehe I know I had a lot of fun writing this.

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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@cristy-101

All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

[twstfanblog]

Heyyyyy so uhhhhh…

What if the mc back in their world was a slave? Not servant like jamil, just, straight up slave where their opinion didn’t matter :( n they r female, afab, pronounce she/they? Hopefully nothing bad happened but people who get slaves r bad people so :((( overblot boys pls 🙏🥺

I feel like they would all threaten crowley to absolutely NOT look for a way to send mc home n to stop making her do his things cause that reminds her of back home in a very bad way :(

N then they comfort n hold the mc cause they r safe n wont have to be treated like shit anymore :(

They will punch anyone who treats em like shit

Which practically everyone in school did when they arrived at NRC, and they just thought ‘this is normal’. :(

Overblot Boys React to Slave Reader

Overblot Boys x Reader

Riddle

Lowkey saw you as an ideal student. Polite, respectful, and mindful of the rules. So he wouldn't notice anything past a few odd ticks that he himself wouldn't fully question since his own upbringing was shitty.

It takes him and Ace having an argument, Riddle brings up that Ace can learn a thing or two from you on being a respectful student. And Ace fires back on you being a SLAVE. Of course, his overbearing ass would love that. And Riddle has to really think about what kinda person that makes him that he didn't even notice.

He talks to you, wanting personal confirmation on what Ace had blurted out. Once he gets the confirmation, his attitude gets much softer. You don't get as harsh treatment for rule-breaking, but he's still stern about them.

End game, he makes up a secondary set of rules for you only. Rules like 'We say something if we are uncomfortable' or 'We are allowed to say No'. He just gets much softer but remains true on rules being important. He just also stresses that you should have your own personal rules now.

Leona

Clocked immediately you came from a background of servitude, though he wasn't aware how severe it was.

He didn't plan on getting invovled but his little bleeding heart took Ruggie under his wing for a reason. It was one part pity and mostly annoyance seeing you getting bullied by his dorm everyday.

You basically get 'Leona's Servant' boot camp with Ruggie suddenly. He teaches you how Leona likes his laundry tended to and what snack flavors he prefers. It's a smooth transition from slave to servant until Ruggie tells you it's free game to steal from Leona.

Leona never brings it up, but he knows your old home was not a good environment. He also knows he can't just fling you into a healthier dynamic with those around you, so he'll do it slowly and sneakily. Ruggie is the perfect one to bridge the gap for him to start spoiling you.

Azul

Knew something was off but had no real frame of reference. He would make little theories and try to figure out why you act the way you do. He only started thinking you had come from a background of servitude when you follow orders so quickly.

Honestly doesn't know how to feel because he did do slavery in tricking the contracted students into working at the lounge against their will. He's not entirely sure how to save face with you after he's come across as a cruel and unfair slaver. Lowkey uses his overblot aftermath as an excuse for a fresh start with you.

He starts treating you kinder, making sure to address you properly and showing that he respects you. People from his dorm follow his lead, at least. The Tweels are part-time bodyguards, making your old bullies more hesitant to start anything because an eel might slip out of a crack or something.

Azul is a sneaky one too, slowly helping you raise your standard of how you should be treated by others. If you get him blabbing long enough, he'll slip into just stating how precious you are to him.

Jamil

I'm sorry, even with the English sanitation, Jamil’s situation can only come across as slavery to me. He's a very well cared for slave because Kalim adores him, but a slave none the less.

It's a little jarring to him to see someone who really could understand. But he's so used to keeping himself guarded he never reached out in a friendly sense. Treating you more like a new coworker; helpful but distant. It wasn't until you accidently broke something in Scarabia and nearly had a panic attack when Kalim looked at you does he realize how severe punishment was back in your world.

Gets much softer to you. It's sad because he does love and care about you, but he would not allow you to be with him long term. You've managed to come to a new world where your old masters can't reach you, you're free. Don't waste it following him back into a life of servitude.

Jamil would understand you the best so he'd be the one to really push and guide you to trying new experiences with your freedom. Wants you to be selfish and use your friends' kindness to make your life better. If he never gets his dream of being able to travel the world he wants you to be able to.

(Should the miracle happen and he and Kalim have the conversation finally, Jamil would go globe trotting with you. He legit has thoughts of just not going back and disappearing with you.)

Vil

I don't think he'd mean anything malicious by it. But he would end up treating you like a purse dog for a while.

Vil has a strong and cemented personality and sense of worth. Dealing with someone as passive as an abused slave, he would easily bulldoze over them and not really notice. Because he'd basically have you on the 'Betterment Plan' he has Epel.

He saw the potential and just kept going because you never said stop. Lots of beauty routines, he picks outfits for you for outings, basically has you as his shadow before either Rook or Epel bring up how he's running you ragged.

Vil never dealt with someone who's come from the situation you did. The very idea that 'No' wasn't a boundary you were ever allowed horrified him for a bit. But like the queen he is, he doesn't try to defend his misstep and goes right into correcting his behavior. The introduction of choices was the best start, but you slowly start saying no to events and choices and Vil couldn't be more delighted.

Idia

Lowkey, I'm not sure if he'd notice in any capacity until you told him point-blank. Idia is the one of the boys who sticks mostly to himself and he'd avoid you if he saw you constantly being hounded by other students.

But, if you managed to get close enough to him, he'd question why you always freeze up when your bullies call you? Why running isn't an option you take? And then you'd tell him about where you came from and how running never ended well for you or the other slaves...

He's not one I think would actively try to curb your behaviors but it would effect his own. Now when he sees you being bullied there's a high chance he'll use what power he has a housewarden to get them to leave. When he's sneaking around, he'll catch your eye and give the mental offer to come hide out in his room with him. He becomes a legit safe space for you to just breath since no one but Ortho really enters his room.

He's had to stop you multiple times from cleaning his room. Yes, it's a mess. No, you don't have to thank him by cleaning. Yes, he's aware you can also keep his stuff organized for him while you clean. You don't have to clean, you aren't his maid. (He is terrified he will ruin your friendship the second you find anything embarrassing under his piles of junk. Like a body pillow, or a 18+ comic, or a stray love note he wrote you-)

Malleus

Adorable you think the bonds of slavery from an unknown world matter to him. Malleus is...a prince, a crown prince at that. I don't think he has 'slaves' but with servants of royalty, I'm never really sure. But anyhow, this boy hasn't been told no enough in his life and it shows.

So when you try to back away from the friendship a bit under the fact of you being a slave and not...worthy of his princely company. He just decides you aren't a slave anymore. Just wills and speaks it into existence. There, it's fixed. You can continue being his beloved child of man, now come. He has a new gargoyle he wants to show you.

Fae to me have favorites, and they love to keep an eye on them. So god help some poor schmuck who tries to bully you into doing their work after Malleus has decided you don't do that anymore... You start saying No and leaving the situation with much more effectiveness because the other choice is Malleus making some poor student drop out for fear of their life.

Malleus canonically ignores the autonomy of others for his own gain. So it would be a really weird balance of him simply stating that you are your own being capable of choice and that your old-world status as a slave doesn't matter here. But with that new free status, you are also his best friend, who will come on night walks with him, talk with him, and make friendship bracelets.

[juniperskye]

Stolen Moment

Based on the following ask: I was thinking it was Hotch and the reader's wedding but it's kind of loud and crowded and although the reader is no doubt excited to spend the rest of her life with Hotch the idea of the party didn't appeal very much because finds that type of event a bit difficult. So, she just hides but he knows where he can find her so he goes and sees her sitting in a corner with all her beautiful dress fluttering around her and he offers to skip the party and she just tells him ‘They’re here for us, it would be rude' but he really doesn't care, the only thing he wanted was for her to be his wife. I had to shorten the ask since it was a bit long, but I truly love this request – My wedding was lowkey because I knew I couldn’t handle a big wedding either.

Aaron Hotchner x Wife! Fem Reader Fluff Word count: 1645

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, reader has anxiety, wedding, wedding type content, feeling overwhelmed, Hotch being the best ever, mention of Jack, pet names, mentions of food and eating, let me know if I missed anything.

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

“And for the first time, I’d like to welcome Mr. and Mrs. Hotchner!” The DJ shouted into the mic, the crowd erupting in cheers.

Aaron and you made your way into the reception hall, hands joined as he raised them up above you, effectively showing you off to all your family and friends. Aaron turned you around, pulling you back into his arms, pressing a kiss to your lips. Everyone continued cheering for the two of you, joyous to be a part of such a special occasion.

--

The day had been so incredible, everything you could have ever asked for. You had done a private first look, the only witness was your photographer. After the first look you took photos with the wedding party before having the ceremony.

Your ceremony had been short and sweet, with Dave being the officiant, you’d been able to customize the entirety of it. He’d been amazing and personalized it to suit you and Aaron well. After the ceremony ended, Aaron and you stepped away for a private moment, signing your marriage license…but there had been another surprise, you’d also be signing the adoption papers to gain legal custody of Jack. The three of you shared a special moment, full of tears, joy and most importantly, love.

You then went on to take photos with your family and then Aaron, Jack and you took some photos as a family as well as just the two of you as a couple. The location your photographer had chosen was truly spectacular, it had been this lovely grove, the trees blooming with little white flowers, the grass green and lush. It had been perfect.

--

The reception had been scheduled meticulously:

Cocktail Hour (during photos)

Grand Entrance

First Dance

Dinner

Toasts

Dancing

Cake Cutting

Bouquet Toss

Grand Exit

You’d just had your first dance, to a slowed version of The Beatles I Will. Aaron had always been a big fan of the White Album, and that song seemed to be a perfect choice for your dance. Afterwards, you were happy to finally sit and eat, the constant interruption of family and friends coming up to you to offer congratulations and well wishes had been a little overwhelming, but overall, you were doing alright.

Aaron had kept his hand placed somewhere on you the whole night; clasped within yours, pressed to the small of your back, caressing your cheek or neck, or resting on your thigh like right now for instance. He did this to keep you grounded, he knew that this was a lot for you, having so many people around you, but more so the way they crowded the two of you, not leaving any room to breathe.

--

The toasts were planned, you had agreed that you didn’t want to do an open mic for toasts because that often took too long and you didn’t need any embarrassing stories shared in front of everyone. So, the only toasts that were expected were that of your sister, who was your maid of honor, and Dave, who was the officiant…but also technically a second-best man. Jack being the first of course.

What you hadn’t been expecting was Aaron to step up and give a speech of his own.

“I want to start this off by thanking everyone for being here with us on such a special day. For those of you that know us, well you know that I was down pretty badly from the beginning. She had me wrapped around her finger and she didn’t even know it. As our friendship grew, so did my love for her. I thought for a while that I was going to have to settle for being her friend because I needed her in my life one way or another. But then, she came up to me after months of, what I now know was mutual, pining and she said, “if you’re not going to ask me out, then I’ll just ask you.” That was the moment I knew I was going to marry you sweetheart. You aren’t afraid to call me out when it’s needed, you know how to break down my walls and comfort me through hardships, you make me laugh until my stomach hurts, and you have made me smile more in these last few years, than some people do in a lifetime. Jack and I are so very lucky to have you in our lives and I am honored to have become your husband here today. I love you so much sweetheart.”

Tears were streaming down your cheeks as your smile grew. Your guests clapped, many of them wiping their own eyes. Aaron always knew what to say, he had a way with words that overwhelmed you…he was able to say exactly what he was feeling, and you wished you could afford the same luxury. Unfortunately, the words didn’t always come so easily to you. You were able to express yourself in other ways though.

--

The DJ welcomed your guests to the dancefloor, you had been making your rounds greeting people and catching up with some friends when it all sort of hit you…all at once. It was loud and crowded and your dress was starting to feel hot and heavy.

After attempting to catch your breath for a moment, you decided to get some air…that would surely help you to regulate.

So, you snuck out into the back of the reception hall, it had been lit beautifully by the setting sun. Off across the back there was a tree that had grown out parallel to the ground, it looked right out onto the lake behind the hall.  You made your way over and sat, your dress fluffed out around you.

You’d taken a few grounding breaths, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself…despite the anxiety that loomed from being around so many people for so long, it wouldn’t dim the joy you currently felt from getting to marry your true love.

--

It didn’t take Aaron long to notice your absence. Once quick glance around the reception hall and he knew you had gone off to try and calm your nerves. He made his way around to see if you’d gone to the restroom or to the foyer…when he came up empty, he decided to check outside and the view he was met with was breathtaking.

Straight ahead of him, was you. Your back to him, sat on the trunk of this tree with your dress cascading around you. The rays of the setting sun illuminated you from the front, casting this angelic glow around you. Aaron felt so incredibly lucky to have found you in this lifetime. He had been so sure that he wouldn’t find love again…but then you came around and proved him wrong. He couldn’t be any more grateful for that.

He walked over to you, quiet enough to avoid disturbing you, but he also wanted to make sure he didn’t startle you.

“Hey sweetheart,” he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder “you doing alright?”

“Hmm, yeah I’m okay.” You sighed, leaning into his touch.

Aaron could tell you were exhausted; physically, mentally and emotionally. Today had been a big and long day. One that he knew would be hard for you to come down from. That was the thing, Aaron often sensed your anxieties before you did…you had high highs, and low lows. Today was the highest of highs…which meant a pretty big come down was sure to follow. Aaron wanted to do everything in his power to help you through that, starting now.

“Hey, why don’t we get out of here?” Aaron suggested.

“Honey, we can’t.”

“And why not? I’ll go grab Jack and the three of us will go grab something to eat and then head home to watch a movie!” Aaron smiled.

“It wouldn’t be right Aar. They’re here for us; it would be rude. Plus, this is our wedding, we’ve paid for all of this.” You huffed lightly.

Truthfully, Aaron didn’t care about all that. He just wanted to spend time with you. He was so incredibly happy to finally be married to you. Nothing else matters in this moment to him…just your happiness. All he’s wanted for the last few years was to have you as his wife, and now you were. His beautiful wife.

“Baby, it’s all for us. Which means we get to choose when it’s all said and done. What do you say?”

“Okay.” You smiled.

Aaron quickly made his way inside, he let Dave know your plan so someone could be in charge of closing everything up, he also informed your sister so she could make sure all your things were situated. Aaron then grabbed Jack and made his way back to you.

“Ready?”

“Absolutely.”

--

The three of you made your way to your favorite diner, a 50’s themed one called Barb’s. Your favorite waitress had even been working, making the night even better.

“Hey guys, did you guys…are you in…I feel like I’m missing something.” Thresa laughed.

“We got married a few hours ago.” You filled her in.

“Oh, and you guys came here? I mean, congratulations…but shouldn’t you be at your reception or something?”

“I am in our favorite diner, with my favorite two people. There is no place I’d rather be.” Aaron confirmed.

“Well, dinner is on the house tonight. Did you guys want the usual, or something else tonight?" Thresa asked.

“The usual.”

--

Aaron, Jack and you ate dinner that night, laughing and smiling and recounting your favorite parts of the day. Though you knew deep down…that years from now, when you looked back on this day, this would be your favorite part. Sitting in Barb’s Diner, eating a grilled cheese across from your husband who knows you better than you know yourself.   

You had never felt happier.

Taglist: @bernelflo@pastelpinkflowerlife@just-moondust@khxna @crimesthatnooneaskedfor

[uniasus]

The sputter of a coffee pot let Danny know he'd failed in his plan to slip out of the apartment before its owner woke.

He kept his eyes closed as the rest of his body woke up. He was sore, and a shift on the couch let him know it'd take longer to heal from the newest GIW weaponry. The sharpnel cuts on his cheeks felt healed though, and in his pocket he could feel the three marble-sized ghost cores humming softly.

He'd gotten out of the GIW facility. He'd rescued some of their other captives. And the dark apartment he'd broken into had been surprisingly well stocked in terms of medical supplies and even more surprisingly unempty.

He should have known it wasn't though; he felt the liminality of the guy, whose muttering Danny barely heard over the click click click of a stove turning, from across the room. He must have been pretty out of it last night.

Danny opened his eyes. The front door was feet away. If the guy was distracted with breakfast, Danny could slip out. Open the door, or waste a bit of ecto to sleep through the floor. Except from his position he saw the bloody towels on the bathroom floor.

It'd be polite to clean up his mess. It'd be smart to burn any traces of his DNA.

With a groan, Danny pushed himself up. Yup, that blast to his side was a motherfucker. It'd partially healed, but he was not looking forward to wandering around Gotham looking for a way out of the city.

"Don't move," the guy called out.

Danny got more comfortable on the couch, slowly moving to lay against the arm rest. By the time he'd settled, the guy sat on the coffee table, holding a fried egg on toast and a mug of coffee.

Danny eyed them, ravished.

"You want these, you gotta give me a name," the guy said. "I thought you were one of my brothers last night, but you're obviously not."

"Your brothers get in a lot of fights?"

"Whole family does."

Danny nodded. The Fentron weren't much different, if you considered ghost hunting ghost fighting.

"Danny," he offered.

He got the coffee, but the man withheld the egg. "Got a last name?"

"... Nightingale."

The guy didn't believe him, but handed over breakfast. Danny ate the fried egg in three whole bites. When was the last time he had a meal?

"I'm Jason Todd," the apartment owner said, sipping his coffee. "If you tell me who shot you, I'll make you two more of those."

Danny clutched the coffee. He'd prefer more sugar, but if black coffee was what he got, that'd be what he drunk.

"You wouldn't believe me."

"This is Gotham. We have a lot of weird shit."

"I don't want to put you in danger."

"Again, this is Gotham. You never know when you'll be caught in a rogue attack."

Danny looked at him. Jason looked like a fighter. Not just his broad shoulders and defined arms, but the seriousness in his eyes. The sure tone of his voice.

The very well-stocked first aid kit, and the pretty high-quality care considering he'd been half asleep last night.

Danny slipped a hand to his pocket, to the ghost cores he'd rescued. He had more to save. He didn't think he could do it alone.

But he didn't want to put a liminal on the GIW's radar.

"I'll clean your bathroom instead."

Jason sighed, pushing himself to his feet. He reached toward Danny, who flinched, but the older man simply ruffled his hair.

"You're wincing, you're staying on that couch all day. And if you don't want to tell me, I won't press. Just like I'm not going to ignore a starving kid. Two eggs enough?"

Danny curled into his coffee mug. "Can I have sugar in my coffee too?"

"Sure thing, Danny."

Muscle Memory (DpxDc)

Jason barely remembered getting back to his safe house or even finding his way to bed. The night had been so tiring, so busy, and so many parts of his body hurt.

The moment his head hit the pillow, he was out like a light. Drifting off into dreamland for some much need sleep.

That was until a noise stirred him up from his sleep. It was a soft creak of one of his many loose floorboards.

It was in a flash that Jason was up, eyes still heavy with sleep, and a gun held to his thigh as he exited his bedroom. The soft light coming from his bathroom was the first hint.

When he pushed open the bathroom door, the sight before him had him holstering his weapon. Black hair, blue eyes, and blood. That's all Jason needed to see.

Jason would swear he wasn't still half asleep, that he knew this wasn't one of his brothers. In reality, still sluggish from a hard night and sleep deprivation, Jasin's brain had automatically assumed it was one of his baby brothers.

As he immediately settled into patching up the wounds, holding back questions for now. It wouldn't be the first time one of them came to him for aid when they didn't want Bruce to know they were hurt yet.

It was pure muscle memory as Jason worked. Yes, he didn't like the injuries, reminding himself to ask which rogue did this in the morning.

Now wasn't the time for an interrogation. Not with the barely concealed tears in those eyes, or the dark bags that decorated beneath them.

He barely grumbled for the teen to take the couch, reminding that there were extra blankets in the hallway closet. Dropping a few pills into the boy's hand to help with the pain he was surely in.

Jason left the mess in the bathroom, leaving it a problem for more awake him. He waved the boy off when he tried to speak, telling him they'll talk in the morning.

In the end, Jason was glad to finally face plant back into his bed. Barely bothering to curl up under the covers before sleep took over once again.

When morning came, Jason almost forgot about letting one of his brother's crash in his place. Stumbling out of his bedroom to immediately notice the lump on his couch.

He put a pot of coffee on, grabbing his phone, ready to let Bruce know that whoever came to him last night was safe and sound.

Except, when Jason moved over to confirm who it was, he finally noticed. This wasn't one of his brothers. And last he heard, Bruce hadn't taken in any new strays.

Jason stood over the sleeping boy, phone in one hand, and mind figuring out what to do. His mind replaying the half-asleep memories from last night.

It made sense, now that he thought about it. The boy had seemed so scared, so surprised that Jason was helping. The boy hadn't done anything either by the looks of it.

He didn't seem to have taken anything or even snooped. The boy seemed to have just crashed on the couch like Jason had told him to. He didn't come here to rob him or cause trouble. The kid had broken into his safe house only to raid his first aid kit.

The kid had broken into his safe house only to raid his first aid kit.

Well, Jason wasn't about to put Alfred's teachings to shame by being a horrible host either.

[animasola86]

LOST & FOUND 🫂 CH7

You spend the night in the woods and find solace in Daddy's arms. Meanwhile, Mommy isn't too happy he disrupted her plans for the day...

soft!Daddy!dom x Mommy!domme x little girl!reader

WARNINGS: F!Reader insert. NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Mommy/Daddy kink. Dd/Md/lg dynamics. Dom/sub undertones. Pet names. Age gap. Size difference. Frottage/dry humping. Fluff. Angst. Fear of doctors. Medical exams. Date night with Mommy. (More notes under the cut!)

WORDS: 6.3k 🔷️READ ON AO3🔷️ 1–2–3–4–5–6–7

A/N: So, spoiler but: in this chapter, Reader (more info on her listed in the last chapter's A/N) gets a birth control implant. Now, I am not an expert on birth control, not even that particular kind, I am just an author with a bit of research on her hands. And I will not explain in detail how it works or why I chose it, it fit my story telling needs, and that's why. Please educate yourself if you want to learn more and do not take a word I'm writing here at face value. This is fiction, and in fiction anything goes, exactly how I, the author, want it to go. ❗ (Please READ THIS if you're confused about the tags I listed this under!) ❗

Chapter 6 🔷️ Chapter 7 🔷️ Chapter 8

The two of you spent the rest of the night huddled together on the hard floor, the food Daddy brought spread out in front of you. You were sitting between his legs, warm and cozy with your back to his chest (and his groin to your ass) as he leaned over you to reach for the thermos.

You were snuggled into the hoodie he had put into your backpack, while both of you were wrapped in the blanket. It was a picnic in the dark, with only the flashlight pointed at the nearest wall to give some light. He said his chef (it was still a somewhat otherworldly thing in your mind to have a personal chef) had prepared all kinds of finger foods, and while you expected chicken wings or fries or maybe nachos, it looked more like these fancy little snacks you'd only ever seen in movies (canapés or something? You weren't sure).

There was also a container full of cut fruit: apples and strawberries, pear and mango, and another full of cherries and all kinds of berries. You tasted something of each, quickly feeling full. Daddy was sitting behind you, sipping the tea he brought. Occasionally he'd feed you something, and you'd do the same, giggling happily when you watched the cherry slip between his lips. He'd kiss you after, sharing the taste.

You felt good, safe and protected, warm and happy. A strange feeling. In the quiet moments you wondered if it was real. Maybe you were still on that park bench, dreaming these things up. But then you'd feel Daddy's hands around your waist, rocking you gently against him as he nibbled on your neck, and you didn't care if it was real or not. It felt too nice to nitpick.

When the first yawn broke on your face, he scooped you up and carried you to the bed, wrapped the blanket around you like a cocoon and sat on the edge beside you, rubbing his large hand over your hip. You looked up at him, smiling tiredly, wanting to ask him to join you, but the words wouldn't come. And the bed was really small also...

He leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on the corner of your mouth, lingering there a little as he watched you. “Sleep now, pumpkin,” he whispered, his breath ghosting your lips.

“What about you, Daddy?” you managed to croak out.

“I'll clean up our mess and will take the other bed, don't worry about me,” he replied, leaning back slowly.

“Let me help,” you mumbled, trying to get your arms out of the tightly wrapped blanket.

“No, it's fine,” he said, pushing you back down, his hand heavy on your shoulder. “It was a long day, you need your sleep, baby girl.”

You huffed a sigh, snuggling into the blanket, blinking up at him. “M'kay,” you pressed out under your breath, your lips pursing into a pout.

He gave a short chuckle and pressed his mouth to yours. “No pouting, pumpkin, go to sleep. Another long day ahead of you tomorrow.”

You inhaled deeply, stretching your neck to keep close to him, but he leaned back, causing you to slump down again. “What's tomorrow, Daddy?” you whispered, already fighting to keep your eyes open.

“Mommy has something planned for you, I don't want to spoil the surprise,” he said, his voice quieter as he stood up, his hand leaving your arm.

You gave an unintelligible noise before you sighed, your eyelids fluttering closed. “Okay...” you breathed.

“Good night, sweet girl,” you heard his voice from a little away.

“Good night, Daddy,” you mumbled back, inhaling deeply before sleep gripped you fully.

You woke up with a voiceless shriek, your eyes flying open, but there was nothing but darkness around you. Your heart was pounding in your chest, a cold breeze washing over your sweat-slick face. A whimper escaped you as you lay stock-still on the hard bed, the blanket wrapped around you in a suffocating manner. You couldn't remember what woke you, if it was a nightmare or dream or just the noises of the forest. Oh. Forest. Right.

The hoot of an owl brought you back to the little cabin in the woods, and as your heart slowed a little, you could hear the deep breaths, almost snores, from the other bed. Without thinking about it much, you scrambled out of yours and stumbled through the dark towards the comforting noises, ignoring the cold shudder crashing down your spine as you left the safety of your cot. The blanket was still around your shoulders, dragging after you, and when you extended a hand to feel where you were, your fingers brushed against something warm.

“Daddy?” you whispered barely audible, voice heavy with sleep, a hint of growing panic vibrating through you. The impenetrable dark around you was beginning to feel suffocating. He didn't stir, just kept breathing deeply. “Daddy...” Your hand was on his shoulder, moving up, blindly feeling around until your fingertips nudged against his beard, the scratching sound sending pleasant shivers over your skin, dispersing the cold that had settled there.

Biting your lip, your heart beating faster, you decided to climb into his bed. There was no space, he was already filling out the small frame, so you clambered on top of him, carefully putting your knees on either side of his hips (having to spread your legs quite far to fit him between your thighs) before you lay down slowly, resting your weight on his torso, one arm cradling his head, your cheek pressed to his shoulder.

A garbled snore escaped him, before his hand shot up, feeling around until it curled around your side. “Pumpkin?” he rasped, his voice so low it was a mere vibration through your body as you pressed your chest to his, trying to relax on top of him. “What's wrong?”

“Couldn't sleep,” you mumbled into him, your hand teasing his neck, producing more scratching noises as you rubbed your fingers into his beard.

He exhaled loudly, making your hair fly. His arms closed around your body as he shifted beneath you. “S'okay,” he muttered hoarsely, pulling you against him.

For a moment you just lay there, your eyes falling closed again, the steady beat of his heart and the warmth of his body lulling you to sleep once more. Then his hands moved, rubbing from your shoulders down to your rear, and when his long fingers curled around your ass, you gave a little squeak, suddenly wide awake.

You leaned back on your elbows, looking down at him, trying to, but the room was too dark to see anything but more shadows. Your hands cupped his cheeks, the feel of his beard a calming thing under your palms. He kept kneading your rear, somehow the blanket had slipped off, adding a cold breeze to the shivers that traveled down your spine.

He breathed loudly against you. “You have no idea how hard it is to resist you, baby,” he growled, his voice just a rumble in the air, a thrum against your chest. “If you do things like this... all I want to do is grab you, turn you around, spread you open and sink my cock into your tiny cunt.” His low words, so lewd and tempting, but frightening too, made you gasp softly.

His hands tightened around your ass cheeks, pulling them apart, kneading, fingers slipping along the hem of your shorts. You were breathing harder, feeling a tense heat growing inside you, low in your core, a little throb, a clench, and then you were grinding your pelvis into him, against the bulk of him, hard and warm.

He gave a low grunt, pushing you against him, hands heavy and scorching, even through your clothes. “I can't do this, pumpkin,” he muttered. “Not yet. As much as I want to, as much as I need to... ugh,” he groaned, bucking his hips up against yours. “Little temptress,” he breathed, one of his hands moving up to grab the back of your head, pulling you down until your lips collided with his, his tongue quickly forcing into your mouth, a desperate gliding and rubbing and tasting.

He kept talking between kisses, his fingers tight around your nape, the other still groping your ass. “Soon...” he growled, kissing you harder with each word slipping past his warm lips. “Soon I'll fill you up, fill you up so good, all mine, you're mine, baby, mine to fill up, mine to open and use, your cunt will be molded to my cock and mine alone...”

You felt hot all over, his kisses and touches and words melting into a strange sensation floating through your body. You squirmed on top of him, grinding into him, your thighs trembling with how far they were spread over the bulk of his legs. Your fingers dug into his hair, holding on, kissing him back just as hungrily, your motions guided by pure instinct, by need, by unbridled lust. Nothing you'd ever felt before.

Your panting breaths mingled with his groans, the rubbing and grinding getting faster, more intense, his hand bruising your soft flesh. You wished there weren't so many layers of clothes in the way, it all felt too much, too warm, your clit throbbing under the constant friction of your underwear and shorts pressing into it. The hand on your neck was heavy, pressing you down, keeping you glued to his mouth, his tongue licking into yours as if he wanted to eat you alive (a thought that made your head spin). You tried your best to mirror the motion.

The tension in your stomach grew and grew, coiling so tight you were afraid it would break you from within. That heat gathering in your core, in your cunt, felt like liquid fire, burning through your nerves, setting everything aflame. Whimpers left your throat, your hands gripping his hair tighter, your hips rutting into him with desperate need now. His hands moved, gripped your waist, started pushing and pulling you over the bulge in his pants, a consistent pressure, burning friction, a deep shudder.

And then the lights came as you gasped into his mouth, a stifled little “Daddy!”, a swarm of fireflies dancing at the edge of your vision, your breath hitching in your throat, your heart skipping a beat. You felt your orgasm crashing through you like a wave, the first rough impact made you stiffen, then turned into a gentle lapping as it glided through you, spreading from your core into your trembling limbs, until your toes curled and your fingertips tingled.

He held you as you shivered, erratic breaths fanning over his face, his own body hard beneath you. Still shaking, you buried your face in the crook of his neck, his hands rubbing over your back, gently smoothing down your jittery nerves. Your core was pulsing, throbbing, blood pumping just beneath your skin. A low thrum that slowly eased into a little buzzing, fizzling out like a sigh in the wind. A sticky warmth settling in your underwear.

“My good girl,” he cooed softly, his lips brushing against your ear, voice low and soothing. “You're alright, baby.”

You relaxed on top of him, practically melting into the hard shape of his body, a little boneless thing held by strong arms. Head empty, filled with cotton, no thoughts, except for a tiny nudge of something, of wanting to give back, of wondering how he felt, but you were too tired to voice it. He didn't seem to mind either way, only shifted slightly beneath you before you slipped into the warm embrace of unconsciousness.

This time you woke up to a rumble below you, a little bump that made you shift against a warm body. Grumbling under your breath, eyes too heavy to open, you snuggled into the blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Your legs were angled, knees pressed into your chest, your head slightly lifted, resting on something warm and solid.

A hand rubbed along your arm, a soothing noise coming to your ears. “Go back to sleep, pumpkin,” you heard Daddy's quiet voice, but the low thrum of it surged through your body, giving you the energy you needed to open your eyes.

Squinting into the light, you found yourself curled up on the bench seat beside him, your cheek resting on his thigh, his hand on your arm. The truck rumbled beneath you, a constant drone that almost lulled you back to sleep, but you forced yourself to wake up fully. Slowly you turned onto your back, legs stretched out as far as possible (they remained angled at the knees, sock-clad feet pressing into the passenger door), before you looked up to the upside-down view of the tall man behind the steering wheel.

He gave you a gentle smile and a short gaze, then focused back on the road. “Good morning, Daddy,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes.

“Morning, pumpkin, did you sleep well?”

“Like a stone, apparently,” you whispered, looking around. “Did you... did you carry me all the way back to the truck? You could have woken me, I could have walked...”

“You looked so peaceful, I didn't want to disturb your beauty sleep, baby,” he said with a slight smirk, his fingers digging into the blanket, teasing at your armpit. You scrunched your nose, squirming against the touch, feeling your lips twitch.

“Did you get some sleep too?” you asked carefully when he pulled his hand back, brushing it over your forehead before gripping the steering wheel. Last night came into your head, hazy and fuzzy, a buzz in the back of your head and deep in your core. Heat crashed into your face. “I... I didn't mean to –”

“It's okay, sweetheart. I slept really good, you make for a great weighted blanket, so soft and cute how you snored right into my ear,” he teased, his hand back to caress your hair. You turned your head and pressed your hands to your face, hiding the blooming warmth on your cheeks. He laughed softly. “Don't be ashamed. And don't stress about sneaking into my bed. You are welcome to do so, it makes me so happy to know that you're comfortable enough with me to do that.”

You spread your fingers and peeked through them as he talked, his words burning the doubts away again. His fingers brushed over your hair (you noticed he'd loosened the braids and smoothed it out again). He seemed to have had a whole morning while you were unconscious. You wished you could remember how he carried you, probably on his arms, through the waking forest, tugged you into his car, positioned your head on his thigh...

You turned onto your side again, shuffling closer until your chin rested on his leg, your eyes directly in line with the bulk of his cock behind the thick denim of his jeans. His hand moved over your forehead, tucking a few stray strands back, before his fingers dug into your hair, grabbing a bunch of it as he tugged lightly.

Your eyes moved up as you watched him from under your lashes, your cheeks still warm, your hands resting on the side of his thigh to steady yourself. “Are you okay, Daddy?” you whispered, watching his face, the creases in the corners of his eyes deepening as he smiled down at you.

“I'm fine, baby. Why do you ask?”

You licked your lips, that little urge in your stomach crawling up until it sat heavy in your throat, making your mouth both dry and saliva to pool on your tongue. You looked back at the bulge in front of you, your fingertips itching to touch it, feel how hard it really was. Wanting to give back.

“I just... uh... did you... did you come... last night? When I...” you stammered, swallowing thickly.

“It's fine, pumpkin,” he said, easing your stuttering. “Don't worry about me.”

“But –”

“No,” he shot down your attempt to voice the growing need. To feel, to taste... You blinked up at him, frowning slightly. “Sorry, baby girl, we don't have time. Mommy is already very angry with Daddy.”

“Oh,” you mouthed, biting your bottom lip as you sank back into the seat, away from his crotch. Exhaling loudly, you curled up against his side, pulling the blanket back over your body. “I'm sorry...”

“Don't be, it's my fault,” he said quietly, his hand back on your shoulder, warm and heavy, a comforting touch. “I should have planned this better. But it'll be fine. We'll be back in town in a bit, and then Mommy can have her day with you. Try to relax now, I don't know what she's up to after your appointment, but expect a lot more walking and shopping and whatever else girls do, hm?”

You frowned, feeling something cold and heavy in your stomach. Slowly you turned your head to look up at him. “What appointment, Daddy?”

“She's taking you to the doctor, baby girl,” he replied nonchalantly, while you stiffened. “Don't worry about that, just a check-up, some precautions and all that jazz. You were not on birth control, right, pumpkin?”

You looked away, swallowing. “No,” you mouthed, curling more into the blanket, not really wanting to face the reality of things. You hated going to the doctor's office, but in the back of your mind you knew it was important, a necessary step to assure your new life with these generous people. You still felt weird about it, and the implications of it all made you a little nervous.

His hand rubbed over your arm. “You'll get an implant, darling, Mommy's got one too, it's the best way, won't hurt much either. No need to be afraid. And once that's settled,” he added quietly, his hand slipping down your front, giving your chest a gentle squeeze, “well, I can't wait to get real close to you...”

The innuendo wasn't lost on you (your cunt giving a little clench), but you focused more on his other words. It felt as if you didn't have much of a choice in the matter, they had already planned out your life, and while it was comforting on one side, it made you feel a little useless and trapped on the other.

Then again, you did sort of trust them, Mommy and Daddy, somehow you knew they only wanted the best for you, and if that one little inconvenience (that felt like a big stone in your guts though) would ensure that you could stay with them, hug them, kiss them, feel Mommy's fingers and Daddy's cock, then it had to be done.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you exhaled loudly, grabbing Daddy's hand and cradling it to your chest. “Okay,” you muttered, snuggling into his side.

“It'll be fine, baby,” he said, squeezing your hands. “Mommy will be with you, she'll take care of you today.”

“What will you do?” you asked after a moment of rumbling silence, the tires droning over the road beneath you.

“I have to go to work, pumpkin,” he replied with a sigh. “But I'll be back tonight. We'll have dinner together and watch another movie, okay?”

“Okay,” you said again, closing your eyes as you let the noises of the car and his warmth lull you back to sleep.

“You're late.”

“You already said that...”

“Seriously, you gotta work on your time management. And maybe next time you could have the decency of telling me if you plan to spend the night somewhere else? I was worried sick!”

“I didn't think you'd care.”

“Of course I care! What is that supposed to mean? She is mine too, you know? Our little girl, Noah! Our! We take care of her, we, both of us! Get that into your thick skull!”

The voices were muffled, slipping in and out as you slowly regained consciousness. Inhaling deeply, you rolled onto your back, blinking your eyes open. You were in your bed, in your room, alone, a sudden cold crashing over you.

Listening to Mommy and Daddy's heated voices reminded you of your childhood, spent under the covers with your hands on your ears, trying to drown it all out. The constant fights, the screams and shouts, everything ultimately leading to your father leaving and your mother bringing in new men every now and then, before it all happened again, and again...

Your door opened, making you flinch and gasp. Mommy came in, confident steps before she slumped down on the edge of the bed, her hands grabbing yours. “Hello sweet pea, are you alright?” she whispered, cradling your hand, giving you a soft smile. Her cheeks were slightly flushed.

“I'm fine,” you replied, sitting up slowly, watching her. “Please don't be mad at Daddy,” you then said, furrowing your brows as you looked into her pretty face.

“I... Did you hear us? Oh baby girl, I am so sorry,” she cooed, scooting closer before she pulled you against her chest, her arms tight around your shoulders. “I was just worried. This is all new to us, too, you know? Daddy has to understand that he can't just whisk you away without telling me.”

You leaned against her, breathing deep, her soft scent, warm and somewhat flowery, filling your nostrils, calming you. “It's my fault,” you mouthed into the soft slopes of her breasts, the low neckline of her dress allowing for your cheek to press directly to her skin. “I... I distracted Daddy...”

Mommy laughed softly. “I bet you did, but that's not your fault. It's his for not being able to control himself.”

“I don't want you to fight...”

“Oh honey, don't worry your pretty little head. We do that sometimes, but it's nothing bad. It's natural and necessary to talk about things, even if we don't always see eye to eye. I still love and respect your Daddy, but he does need a little kick from time to time, you know? And I'd do it more, but he's kind of into it...” she added with a chuckle.

You still felt a little bad for disrupting their plans and making them argue, but the longer you snuggled against Mommy's warm body, the quieter those doubts got. At least until she suddenly grabbed your arms and leaned you back, looking at you.

“Alright, so, I did plan for our day to be a little less stressful, but it is what it is now. We gotta get you ready and then we have to go.” She stood then, grabbing your hand to pull you up.

It was a blur how she nudged you into the bathroom and made you brush your teeth. While you did, she untangled your hair and braided it into a thick side braid that she fastened with a little pink bow. You blinked, and suddenly you stood in front of your closet, your reflection showing you that you had stripped (or were stripped?), before Mommy pulled a pink sundress over your head. She crouched beside you and helped you into a pair of white lace panties, then pulled frilly ankle socks onto your feet and made you step into a pair of pink ballerina flats.

She was gentle, though anything but calm, time (or lack thereof) probably making her a little hectic. You didn't protest, just let her do her thing, feeling more and more like a little lifeless doll. Somehow that was a comfort, not having to think what to wear, what to do, but it also unnerved you a little. When you were dressed, she turned you around and smiled, then grabbed your flushed face and brought her mouth to yours.

Her kiss was sweet, tasted like the glossy stuff on her lips (peach maybe?), her tongue giving yours a gentle massage you tried to meet in equal. It was only a short delight, before she grabbed your hand and pulled you after her. Down the stairs, a fleeting look through the house, realizing Daddy was already gone, then through the front door and onto the yard, a car waited there and she motioned you onto the backseat before slipping in beside you.

A few more hectic heartbeats later, the car stopped again and she helped you out. You were shaking then, noticing the sign on the building. She held your hand and you just followed, trying to breathe easy, telling yourself it'd be alright. At first you felt invisible next to her, a mere child pulled along by a parent, when she talked to the lady at the reception, when she did small talk with other people waiting there as well, but then it was your name echoing through the room, your name being called, and you slipped back into the focus with a clenching feeling in your guts.

But Mommy stayed with you, led you into another room, told you to sit down on one of those reclined chairs. The air was tight, it smelled so sterile and clean, and you hated it. She must have noticed your erratic breathing, how clammy your hand was, and she stepped to your chair and cupped your face, rubbing your cheeks, smiling down at you softly.

“It'll be alright, cariño,” she cooed. “Be a good girl, okay? No need to be afraid. It's just a check-up, some questions, a few tests, and then a tiny poke into your arm. But you're a big girl, you can handle this, can't you?”

You wanted to sink into the floor, vanish from her warm gaze. You didn't feel like a big girl, you felt helpless and small and pathetic, and you were ashamed that at your age you were still afraid of doctors and needles and examinations. You felt horrible, your stomach so tense it hurt, your throat tight, mouth dry, lips wobbling uncontrollably, tears burning in your eyes. And one thought came back over and over again.

I want my Daddy.

It was silly, he couldn't help you through this any better than Mommy did, but maybe he could have talked you out of your fear, held you tighter, his low voice thrumming through you, calming you. Mommy did her best, but she was not Daddy, wasn't as tall and broad, as strong, there was no soothing scratch of a beard or the steady heartbeat in a warm chest, coarse hair tickling against your cheek.

You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply, thinking back to your time with him, thinking ahead to later, after, when you'd see him again. You realized then that it wasn't fair. Mommy was here now, holding your face, trying to calm you. And you remembered her words (“our girl... we take care of her, both of us...”), knowing she was right. You agreed to live with both of them, Mommy and Daddy, and you shouldn't choose one over the other. They both let you into their lives, made you a part of their routines, they both took time out of their busy schedules to be with you, help you, make it better.

And being here, getting a check-up, was a step into that better future, you knew it, you didn't like it, but you accepted it.

Exhaling loudly, you nodded into Mommy's hands. Opening your eyes, you attempted a weak smile, and hers widened before she leaned in to give you a quick kiss. She stepped away when the doctor entered the room, but kept a hold of your hand. You barely remembered his questions or your answers or what Mommy said to fill in the blanks. You couldn't concentrate on the explanations of whatever procedure you were supposed to be getting either. Your mind was reeling, in a bad way, but you forced yourself to stay strong, to not cry, and it took all of you not to flinch or wince when you felt cold gloved fingers between your legs.

You tried to shut it all out, go back in your mind to the better moments, Mommy's kisses, Daddy's touches, her soft laugh, his low voice praising you, pumpkin, baby girl, words like caresses, Mommy's fingers in your cunt (a different set of fingers parting your labia), the rise and roll of your orgasm as you dry humped Daddy this morning, how your clit had throbbed against your panties (how it was prodded at now, the hood lifted, a clinical gesture), your insides feeling as if frozen in place, forced to remain neutral (this isn't sexual, not sexual, a normal thing, an examination, nothing more).

Your head was spinning, your hand tensing around Mommy's, your eyes glued to the ceiling, not acknowledging what was happening below. Didn't matter, it'd be over soon, very soon (soon... he'd said... soon he'll fill you up... your cunt that belongs to him... for Daddy's cock to mold into his shape... soon).

And then it was over. You blinked in confusion when a nurse wiped something over your upper arm, then put a band-aid on a spot on your skin that felt tense and as if on fire, a warm feeling soothing through you.

Mommy was on your other side, rubbing her thumb over the back of your hand, smiling softly. Her other hand reached out and wiped under your eye. “My good girl,” she whispered. “You've been so brave. Barely cried. I'm proud of you.”

At first her words stoked your embarrassment, flared up the unease that had settled low in your guts (you already felt like a stupid child, she didn't have to talk to you like you were one too), but the longer she looked at you with her warm eyes, the calmer you felt. You blinked, licking your dry lips, taking a shuddering breath, focusing back on her. Maybe you were a child (no matter your age), but you were also hers, her little girl, she was taking care of you, and that was all that mattered.

Later you sat opposite her in a cute little restaurant tucked into a charming side street, soft piano music was playing in the background, the lights were dim and cozy, paintings of old architecture lined the walls, chatter was hushed. The waiter brought bread sticks and a menu you couldn't read, so you had Mommy choose something for you.

It felt nice, almost like a date. The wine arrived, and you were allowed one glass too, and when she raised hers, you grabbed yours and gently clinked it, smiling at her. “To new beginnings,” she said quietly before bringing the glass to her full lips and taking a sip, watching you over the rim.

You gave her a shy nod, taking a sip yourself, feeling the rich flavor glide over your tongue and down your throat, a fruity taste ending with a buzz. You liked it.

“Don't tell Daddy,” she mused with a chuckle. “He was quite impressed that you said you didn't drink, a kid your age no less. Now, I don't want to be the one to seduce you after all, but this is a special occasion, wouldn't you say?” She took another sip. “By the way, is there a reason you don't drink? Usually?”

You put the glass down, looking at it for a moment. “Well, I... I saw what too much alcohol could do to a person...” you replied quietly, unable to look into her eyes.

Her hand reached out to you, her fingers curling gently around yours. “Oh honey, I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head, looking around the room. “No, it's fine. It doesn't matter anymore.”

“Hmm,” Mommy hummed, squeezing your hand. “If you change your mind, I'm here for you, always, okay?”

You looked up at her, meeting her warm gaze. “Thank you,” you whispered.

The food came then, pasta you couldn't pronounce, but liked all the same, nothing you'd ever eaten before. Mommy tried holding the conversation with simple topics like food or travel or exotic countries you might like to see one day. The more she talked, the smaller and poorer you felt. You had your dreams of seeing the world one day, but deep down you knew you would never be able to afford it. She, however, seemed to have seen it all already.

Though you felt a little jealous at first, you soon realized that this kind of lifestyle was open to you now. And while you imagined traveling the world with Mommy and Daddy, you opened up more and more, the fears and doubts of earlier falling off you bit by bit. By the time you'd finished your dessert (the most delicious tiramisu you'd ever seen and eaten), you were fantasizing about sitting in a gondola with Mommy, her arm around your shoulders, listening to some Italian dude singing as he steered you over the Canal Grande.

Mommy either kept holding your hand or bumping her knee into yours under the table, her other hand rubbing up your leg occasionally. It felt nice, she was so attentive when you did manage to say a few more sentences, smiling softly, her dark eyes wandering over your face. In a way it really felt like a date.

After a while, she was sipping on her third glass of wine, you gathered the courage to speak up again. “Can I ask you something?”

She tilted her head. “Of course.”

“I... uh, I told Da– uh, well, I'm... I'm not too comfortable... yet... to call you and him... uh, the names I'm supposed to call you... you know? In public? So I asked him for his name, and he said I could call him that when we were around people, and I was wondering... if –”

“Isabella,” she said with a smirk and her beautiful accent. “And yes, you can call me that in public. But when we're alone, I'd prefer... the other name,” she added, winking at you.

“Of course, Mo– Isabella,” you replied with a timid smile. She squeezed your knee under the table. “That's a really pretty name...”

“Thank you,” she laughed. “I think your Daddy, Noah, may see that differently. He only uses it when I screwed up somehow.”

“Oh,” you mouthed, blinking at her.

“But don't mind that, we do have a special relationship as you may have gathered by now. I do like it when he calls me by my name, with that deep voice of his. It really turns me on...”

Her confession made you blush, and you looked away, inhaling deeply. “M-me too, his... his voice, I mean,” you then mumbled, earning you another laugh and squeeze of the leg.

“Yeah? Well, I'm glad we share the same taste in men then,” Mommy said with a smirk in her voice. “Honestly, cariño, no need to be embarrassed about it. This is an open relationship, a love triangle if you will. We are sharing him, as well as he is sharing me, and I am sharing you, and however else you want to see it. And there's nothing weird about it. You are our little girl, you chose to be with us and we welcomed you into our midst. Say, after these few days, how do you feel about it? Do you still want to be our girl?” she asked, nudging your knee to make you look at her.

You nodded as soon as you met her gaze, almost a little too desperate for your taste, but it was true. You couldn't imagine being anywhere else at the moment. “I do,” you said quietly. “I really like it, being with you and Da– Noah, you've been both so kind to me, so patient and welcoming. I... I've never felt this safe before...”

Her features softened as she watched you, her dark eyes so warm and caring. Your own started watering the longer you watched her, recounting your experiences.

“I am really grateful,” you choked out, your eyelashes fluttering as you fought the tears trying to spill from them. “Really, thank you... so much, I... I have no idea how I will ever repay you for your generosity...”

She gave a soft chuckle, leaning over the table to grab your hand and cradle it between hers. “Oh sweetie, do not worry your pretty head about that. You will, very soon. You already made me so happy, and Daddy too, and I'm sure you will be just as perfect in the future. I honestly can't wait...”

She didn't say it, barely grazed the topic, but you felt it in your core, the implication. Daddy hadn't been as subtle about it, and you knew what was expected of you once you settled in more. Somehow the idea both scared and aroused you, and you wondered whether you could live up to those expectations in the first place. The last thing you wanted was to disappoint them, Mommy especially.

Apparently your worries were plastered all over your face, because suddenly she was there, had rounded the table, and crouched down beside you, cupping your face, resting her forehead against yours.

“It'll be fine, mi amor, do not stress,” she whispered. “All you have to do is submit to us, we will guide you through it all. You just let it happen. Do you want to let it happen? Do you trust us?”

You swallowed, biting your lip. “Yes,” you breathed. “I do, both, I trust you, I want this...”

“Good girl,” she cooed.

Her eyes bored into yours and the restaurant around you faded. All you saw was her, and when she tilted her head and brushed her lips against yours, she was all you felt. Warm, soft, the subtle taste of peach flavored lip gloss and red wine, and you soaked it up like a sponge, meeting the delicate swipes of her tongue, tasting her, feeling her...

She was gone before you could really register it, sitting back on her chair, licking her lips as she smiled at you. Your cheeks were aflame, but you didn't care who saw them. You were focused on Mommy, the beautiful woman who could honestly convince you to do anything with just a kiss.

What a dangerous gift.

Chapter 6 🔷️ Chapter 7 🔷️ Chapter 8

End notes: You may argue that some of the things that Mommy and Daddy do to pumpkin are dubcon, as they just “force” them onto her without asking first. Yes, maybe that's the case, but remember this is fiction and Pumpkin is too mentally unstable to decide on her own at the moment. It's for her own good, they really only want the best for her! There is no bad intent, even if it feels like dubcon.

Thank you for reading! New chapter every Saturday!

Up next: Mommy takes you to a special shop...

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