#and then afterward they run into them off the clock
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Speed Dating: One-O-One
PAIRING: Zhu x Male Reader (Romantic) (Fluff)
SUMMARY: Zhu’s parents set her up for a speed dating program.
“Find your one true love,” Zhu read aloud, looking down at the flyer which was placed in her back pocket. Her parents had snuck it on her the last time she visited them. She continued reading it next to her locker at work, waiting for the seconds to pass so she could clock in.
Yes, Zhu went to work earlier than usual today. Her mind kept racing and so she slept little that night. With a huff she sat down at her desk, espresso in hand; she needed something to help her get through the day. And to help keep her mind from wandering to that flyer.
“Someone seems preoccupied by her own thoughts.” Qingyi said, having appeared behind Zhu. She was drinking a small cup of hot water, the smile on her face growing by the seconds. Qingyi pulled up a chair and sat down next to Zhu, relaxing as she sipped her water.
Zhu looked at her mentor before sighing again. “It’s my parents: they want me to go to a speed dating event. I love them, but they’re so…a lot sometimes.” She vented to her. Qingyi nodded, listening attentively.
“So, will you go?”
“I guess.”
“Why does the action seem to make you so anxious, Zhu?” Qingyi asked. Zhu finished her espresso and rummaged through her work files. “Zhu,” Qingyi called out to her again, “don’t try to hide in your work. You’ll only be putting off the inevitable.”
“I know, I know.” She slumped over. “I…just don’t want to be in a relationship right now. But I want my family to know that I am trying to be available. There’s just…,” she trailed off.
“Always something else that takes importance over romance.” Qingyi finished. Zhu nodded. Qingyi sat up, now done with her water. She cleaned up the area and gave Zhu a reassuring pat on the back.
As she opened the office door, Qingyi turned back to give her friend one last piece of advice. “Even if you don’t want a boyfriend, all you have to do is show up, right? Tell them it didn’t work out afterwards. No harm, no foul.”
Zhu watched as her coworkers figure faded away, a new look of determination on her face. “Just go and have fun.”
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
…
…
It wasn’t going well. Zhu had never dolled herself up like this. Not since she was a little girl going on a family trip. When she told her mom and dad the news they were practically jumping over the moon. They dressed her up, did her makeup, everything. And when she finally got there Zhu had to force herself to go through the front door.
There were some dressed like her. But most wore casual clothing. She grimaced. “I’m like a sore thumb in a greenhouse.” Zhu twiddled her fingers, not wanting to attract too much attention. Thats when her stomach made itself known.
“…!?”
Thankfully nobody heard it. And then that enticing smell made its way to her. Zhu looked towards the buffet table, and there she saw it: grilled tomatoes topped with some basil and ranch dressing on the side. She could feel her mouth watering.
But only some people went to the table. “If I go there now they might think I’m…,” she didn’t want to finish the embarrassing thought, now feeling self conscious. So she waits it out with a pained expression on her face, hand subtly caressing her stomach as she fought the hunger pains.
And then he came. A young man wearing a pub sec uniform. He walked towards her with a small plate of that tomato dish in hand, smiling at her. The food certainly made her happy, but his uniform was already calming her nerves; talking to someone she worked with felt achievable. Much easier than mingling with a complete stranger.
“Here you go, Miss.” He handed her the plate and escorted Zhu towards a small table further off from the louder commotion. “You seemed hungry, eyeing that tomato like it would run away.” He teased. She blushed, trying not to quickly scarf down the meal. “But really, if you’re that hungry there’s nothing wrong with just grabbing a plate.”
His reassurance was comforting. And his presence so relaxing in a familiar way. Maybe it was just the uniform. “Thanks. I just didn’t want people to think I was gluttonous.” She confided to him.
“I mean if you’re eating for two it makes sense you would be that hungry.” He said casually, drinking his glass of water.
“Haha, yeah…wait what?” Zhu stared at him with wide eyes. She turned away blushing.
“Huh? Did I say something wrong?”
“Yes. I’m not ‘eating for two’.” Zhu corrected. The young man coughed into his hand, now turning away also. Zhu snuck a glance at him, and she could see the steam coming out of his ears.
“Sorry, you were rubbing and holding your stomach. It just looked like that to me, sorry. Not that I thought your stomach looked fat or anything like that because you’re not. You’re really pretty! Uh, not that you’d be ugly while pregnant; I think all pregnant women look beautiful! Wait, now that just sounds creepy.” He rambled on, continuing to dig himself further into a grave.
Zhu giggled at first. Now she was holding back from cackling. “You—ha! You’re so silly!” She was fighting back the tears. All the while the man scratched his neck, everything starting to feel too warm.
“Hey,” Zhu started, grasping his hand softly, “I’m having a lot of fun talking to you, but this place is a little too ‘formal’ for my taste.”
He smiled. “Wanna ditch and go somewhere more relaxing? Waterfall Soup is around the corner.” He offered. Zhu nodded, grabbing her belongings. That’s when it hit her.
“My name is Zhu. What’s yours?”
“(Y/N), reporting for duty, Ma’am!” He jested.
“‘Ma’am?’ I’m too young to be a Ma’am!” She joked back.
- Fin
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Hear me out
Modern au where Alton towers is still a thing, and smiler is an advocate actor during the smiler takeover, and valice are at the park for a date
Ha, I like that -- my original idea for involving The Smiler in Victor and Alice's relationship WAS for them to go to Alton Towers and end up having some fun with the ride and its theming (you know, before Victor insisted on me making a version of it that he could date). Smiler would be an excellent Advocate for the park -- and if this is set during the Takeover, maybe they could have one of the special roles? I'm leaning toward them being a Felix, since they love karaoke and the costume seems very them. XD But yeah, I think that would work out nicely -- Victor and Alice go to the park, enjoy the various shows and Smiler's over-the-top acting, then maybe go to a restaurant outside the park later and happen across Smiler out-of-costume. And quickly realize "oh, they WEREN'T playing it up at their job, they really are just Like That." XD And Relationship Shenanigans ensue. XD
#anonymous#ask#valicer#modern AU Smiler Employee#yeah my original conception had Victor and Alice just using the ride itself for fun and games#and then Victor INSISTED on making it into something he could have a relationship with#aaaand we see where that has gone XD#but yeah Smiler as a The Smiler employee does totally make sense#they'd be ideal either as a Felix#or just your average employee#probably see Victor and Alice and think 'aw they're cute'#make it their personal mission to make sure those two are smiling#and then afterward they run into them off the clock#and then it's 'oh the guy is especially cute'#'and the girl is really funny and smart'#'I gotta get in on this' XD#and as stated Relationship Shenanigans#I am here for it
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what if fleabag reader has to get a new vibrator 'cause her old one died on her or she's just getting one for her friend as a gag gift, and she runs into hotch in the process ? also i didn't know you could get them at pharmacies, but i guess that's a more realistic place for hotch to be (old back and everything).
For a Friend
triathlon!Aaron Hotchner x fleabag!reader Genre: 21st-century-feminist-meltdown-over-an-old-man and pre-relationship mutual pining Summary: You just wanted a new vibrator. Instead, you bump into Aaron Hotchner at 2 a.m., holding six modes of clitoral suction technology and a G-spot stimulator in a paper bag. Now he’s offering you a ride, a jacket, and possibly his number. You’re doing great. Warnings: Sexual themes & imagery (non-explicit but VERY suggestive), age gap, cuss words, hint of the vile act of female masturbation *pearl clutch* with *pearl clutch pt.2* sex toys, objectification of the Hotchner body, reader calls Hotch out for not having an ass, grief (your last vibrator died) Word Count: 4.7k Dado's Corner: Thanks for the request, dearest!! Sorry it took me forever, I hope you enjoy itttt!!! Special thanks to @hotchology for the free psychological counseling
masterlist(s)
Experts say it’s healthy to walk at least seven minutes a day, so here you are - taking your medically-recommended stroll at 2:06 a.m., in the direction of a 24-hour pharmacy, because you care about your health.
Deeply.
You really care about your health especially now that your vibrator has officially died in your hand right in the middle of what was shaping up to be a perfectly respectable late-night fantasy involving you, a locked door, and the tall, emotionally unavailable federal agent with zero small talk skills you’ve been mentally undressing since the first time you saw him do a butterfly stroke at the Y.
…It’s not like you always picture Aaron Hotchner.
You’re not that far gone.
You do have range.
You’ve gotten off to strangers.
To that chief of trauma doctor from Chicago Hope.
To the hot background guy from the Flintstones in Viva Rock Vegas who had two lines and really great hair.
You are complex. You contain multitudes.
It’s just that Aaron Hotchner is… convenient. Reliable.
He’s easy.
Not easy-easy.
Cognitively easy. Low effort. High reward.
You don’t have to invent a man from scratch. Don’t have to mentally composite three mediocre exes and C-list celebrity actors into a half-decent fuck-doll when he already exists fully formed and fully clothed (barely.)
You don’t even have to think.
He’s basically a mental shortcut to climax, muscle memory with forearms, a comfort fantasy - like soup for the soul, if soup were six feet tall and weekly served wet at your local pool.
…And also dripping, practically naked.
All yours, at least visually.
You’ve memorized the way his thighs flex when he pushes off the wall, that split second of coiled power, the twitch of his calves, the ripple up to his glutes as he launches forward.
Perfect form. Perfect technique. Perfect… well.
Not a lot of meat back there.
Not exactly the kind of ass you’d grab with both hands and sink your teeth into.
No jiggle. No fluff.
Just… deeply respectable glutes.
Taut. Efficient. Compact.
An ass with more function than fat.
An ass that clocks in at the crack of dawn, files a huge pile of case reports, tackles a serial killer or two, then goes home and makes dinner for his kid.
An ass that probably says “thank you” when it finishes and then folds the towel neatly afterward.
Toned, athletic. Not juicy.
You wouldn’t bite it. (Lie.) You wouldn’t slap it. (Another lie.)
(Because you’d absolutely slap it. If he walked past you up a flight of stairs in those tight trousers he insists on wearing - pleated, no less - you’d black out and wake up with a stinging palm, your handprint on him and a federal restraining order in the mail.)
You wouldn’t grope it. You’d shake its hand. A gentleman’s ass. Very in-character kind of ass.
…You’d still let it rail you against a doorframe, obviously.
You’re not an idiot. You have eyes.
And that’s how you know the way his back arches (yes, arches) when he does a lazy freestyle turn. That smooth, arrogant curve of his spine as he rotates, like the water exists solely to show him off.
You’d say he looks graceful, but that feels too innocent.
He’s obscene.
You know everything about his body. Everything except for one crucial part.
The only piece he hasn’t offered up for public consumption.
The mystery.
And yet… is it really?
Because thanks to the tight speedos he wears you’ve done more visual math in that pool cafeteria than you ever did in school.
Circumference. Vein definition. Drop. Girth. Angle. Hinge theory. Left or right lean.
You’ve factored in mass, blood flow, gravitational pull, and fabric stretch.
At this point, it’s not even fantasy, it’s field research. All you have to do is mentally rotate, enlarge by 37%, adjust for arousal, and boom - there it is.
You’ve seen that dick. You know that dick.
If it ever revealed itself in real life, you’d probably just nod.
Like, yes. Correct. That’s the dick I’ve been using. Thank you for confirming.
Your brain barely breaks a sweat.
Which is more than can be said for you, as you’re currently trying to act normal in front of a just-graduated baby pharmacist who definitely still gets ID’d at bars, while heading for the forbidden shelf.
The one that doesn’t technically exist, but everyone knows does.
You make the turn casually.
Like you’re browsing.
Like you’re not here to buy a vibrator at 2 a.m. on a Tuesday only because for some reason, buying it here - in a pharmacy - makes it feel... medical.
Like a wellness thing. Like vitamins, floss, or calcium chews.
Like a very modern, battery-operated form of hormone regulation.
Not pleasure. No, no, no, God forbid.
This is for health, for stress relief. This is for preventing female rage and preserving the social fabric of your household.
Also, it’s very, very late - which is strategic.
No lines. No witnesses.
No grandmas behind you buying Werther’s Originals and silently judging your rotating G-spot stimulator with ergonomic grip.
You tell yourself that’s why you’re here at this hour.
Not because, despite all the feminist essays and body-positive podcasts, you still get flustered at the thought of being seen in public holding a brightly colored orgasm machine.
No. Absolutely not.
You’re here because you swore - never again.
Never again would you endure the trauma of your vibrator dying mid-session and having to switch to manual mode like it was the Middle Ages just to finish.
(And worst of all, it didn’t even work. You dried up. Mood ruined. You just laid there, staring at the ceiling for fifteen full minutes before sighing, getting dressed, and deciding - once again, ironically - to take matters into your own hands.)
You’re a modern woman.
Sexually free modern woman living in a free country that still accounts for death penalty for some of their states. Nothing is more free than this freedom.
You can vote.
You can buy a dual-stimulation, six-mode, energy-efficient G-spot massager - (at least according to the box, which proudly claims it uses fewer batteries than your last one. And you believe it. You trust boxes. You’re loyal like that.)
Right next to the hemorrhoid cream. In the middle of the night.
And you can replace a fallen comrade - RIP to the last one. Gone, but not forgotten - and now, here you are, holding its shiny successor the way you’ve seen people hold babies in movie posters. (Tender. Hopeful. A little overwhelmed.)
Nothing says freedom like that.
Stars. Stripes. Clitoral suction technology.
God bless America.
…Maybe not.
Because just as you take a step back, you collide – directly -with someone you didn’t even hear approach.
“I’m so sorry,” you blurt, right as a much deeper, much more male voice says the exact same thing.
A voice your brain knows very well.
Because not even an hour ago it was busy fabricating that same voice whispering “You’re taking me so well,” and - though you'd never admit this part - also: “Sweetheart.”
(Ew.)
Aaron Hotchner is now standing right there in front of you - real, breathing, and terrifyingly three-dimensional in a full three-piece suit – and is trying so hard not to look at the aggressively pink vibrator box clenched in your hand.
But he saw it. Oh, he saw it.
He’s a profiler. He’s trained to notice things.
(Or at least that’s what your late-night Google search said back when you first typed: “aaron hotchner fbi real???”)
(Which quickly devolved into a behavioral analysis rabbit hole run by people with usernames like @wifeofunitchief69 and @peter-rhea. All of them openly thirsting after him.)
(Especially this Peter guy - who you’re 85% sure is real, 15% convinced was a hallucination - kept posting photos a few years ago that looked… suspiciously intimate. Like “taken through the blinds” intimate. You don’t know how he got them. You don’t want to know. He hasn’t posted since.)
(Guess it was just a phase.)
Aaron’s locking eyes with you. Terrifying. Unfairly hazel, thanks to the pharmacy’s aggressive overhead lighting.
He’s focused on your face. Just your face.
(You are maybe a little flustered by this.)
(You bet all the serial killers he interrogates fall in love with him, too. You bet they get weird about it. Understandable, this man definitely knows how to hold eye contact.)
But you don’t buy it.
There is no way he didn’t read the full headline: “CLITORAL SUCTION + G-SPOT STIMULATION - NOW QUIETER!” (Ironically printed in all caps. For maximum discretion. Obviously.)
You are so incredibly fucked.
Unfortunately, only metaphorically.
Also, the silence is not helping. Not even a little.
…This feels like a crime.
(It’s not. Not technically. You can’t terminate a pregnancy in half the country, but you can buy a dual-motor vibrator next to the Tylenol. It’s somewhere in the Declaration of Independence - just after “life, liberty,” and right before “All men are created equal,” [*except slaves and women].”)
Still.
You are now committing an obscene act of self-service capitalism directly in front of a federal agent.
And some small, awful corner of your brain - the one with leftover shame and badly wired internalized misogyny, inherited from a cocktail of bad parenting and several seasons of Law & Order – fully believes this is the part where he arrests you.
Pushes you against the KY shelf.
Pins you with his full body weight.
Snaps cold real handcuffs around your wrists and whispers, “You have the right to remain silent…”
Which you clearly don’t.
Because your mouth opens before your brain can file an objection.
“…It’s for a gift.” WHY. WHY DID YOU SAY THAT. “…For my friend,” you add… as if that helps. (It doesn’t.)
He nods. Polite. Awkward.
…Too bad his ears are starting to match the exact pink of the vibrator.
Goddammit, he’s a prude.
One of those soft-spoken, morally burdened types who probably says “intercourse” and excuses himself when a condom commercial comes on.
Oh no.
What if this is his first time seeing one up close?
What if you just popped his sex toy cherry?
What if he goes home, locks the door, and has a slow, shameful jerk thinking about you in CVS with a 6-mode clitoral suction wand?
(…You wish.)
No. Worse. Because now he’s staring at you like he wants to ask, “What kind of friend buys a vibrator at 2 a.m. on a Tuesday?”
But won’t.
And since you are a mature, well-educated, emotionally intelligent woman - and not, say, a liar desperately trying to salvage a crumbling cover story – you say:
“Her birthday’s tomorrow.”
(It’s not. It’s in three days. But the product needs testing. Obviously. You’re not going to spend that much money again unless you know it delivers. That’s not selfishness. That’s friendship. That’s quality control.)
“Well… technically today. Midnight and all,” you add, even smiling. So bright. So natural. So deeply suspicious.
“It’s alr-” he starts, finally working up the courage to glance down-
…Only to be slapped – hard - right between the shoulder blades by very enthusiastic, very just-graduated-and-finally-making-big-boy-money night-shift pharmacist who materializes out of nowhere behind him.
Ouch.
Now - to be fair - the pharmacist doesn’t see it. (You do. Unfortunately. In high-definition, too.)
Because Aaron Hotchner is currently holding a box of ThermaCare HeatWraps and naproxen sodium - both of which are for his back.
He jolts forward on impact, barely, and then freezes.
Just enough to make you worry that’s it, that’s the final blow. That he’s going to stay like that forever, just slightly curved, permanently bent.
Italic Hotchner.
“My man,” the pharmacist beams. “Everything alright?”
By the look on Aaron’s face, you can tell he has never seen this person before in his life. Never. Not once.
But Aaron nods - tight, polite, already calculating the minimum number of words required to exit the conversation without triggering a background check or losing his license to carry a firearm.
“Just wanted to say, I really admire you.” The pharmacist grins, still holding Aaron’s shoulder, “Not every guy’s open-minded enough to use toys in the bedroom with their girl.”
…Oh. Oh, fuck.
You should say something. Anything. Correct him. Laugh, even.
But you’re too distracted by the fact that Aaron isn’t saying a word either.
He’s just… frowning. Not full frown, just pulling his eyebrows closer together.
Which, in Hotchner language, could mean anything from “I’m flattered” or “You could’ve handled it differently” to “I’m about to shoot you.”
It’s impossible to tell. You’re not fluent yet. (You need more fieldwork. Preferably hands-on.)
“Damn, look at that,” the pharmacist chuckles, nodding at Aaron’s little arthritis starter pack.
Then turns. To you.
“Is this your fault?”
Ha.
Ha ha.
How adorable.
You wish. God, you wish.
You’d rail him into a herniated disc so bad he’d have to wear a brace for three months and think of you every time he reached for the cereal shelf.
But no.
“Um…” you manage, shaking your head. “We’re not-”
Fucking. Sexually intimate.
Connected in any capacity beyond weekly pool glances and intrusive masturbation thoughts.
(And it’s not like he seems like the type to just have a casual “friend.” No, he seems like the kind of man who'd call a hookup a regrettable lapse in judgment and then spend six months punishing himself for it.)
And so, in doubt? You flee.
A timeless tactic.
You did the same thing when your therapist asked, “Why do you think you’re so attracted to older men?” and you suddenly remembered - oh no! You didn’t lock the café.
“I think I’m just gonna…” you gesture - vague, noncommittal, something in the direction of the register - and after a short, awkwardly graceful round of people-pleasing Olympics with the vibrator-pink-faced pharmacist-
(something between “Sorry if I misunderstood, I’ve been here since 6 p.m. and I’m on my third energy drink,” and “It’s okay, no really, it’s my fault” [for what? unclear])-
You’re outside.
Alive.
Vibrator in a paper bag and…
…It’s pouring.
Not only do you not have a significant other to kiss in the rain like a scene from one of those movies you only watch when you’re actively trying to remember how alone you truly are, but your car is enjoying an extended, all-inclusive, paid-for-by-you vacation at the mechanic.
Great.
“Miss.”
You physically jolt. Because:
1. That voice.
And
2. Miss?! Hello???
Aaron is standing just behind you, yet again.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
“Oh, yes.” You are soaked. And flustered. And holding a fucking vibrator in a paper bag while the hottest man in federal law enforcement addresses you like a schoolgirl who dropped her books in a rainstorm. “Yes. Alright.”
He looks at you with that stupidly concerned face - the one where his brows pull just slightly together.
It lasts a second.
Feels like a week.
“You’ve been standing here for a few minutes…”
…Apparently, the old man’s been watching you contemplate your entire existence under the sad little pharmacy awning while he casually stocked up on meds for his fucked-up joints.
How romantic.
“Oh… I was-” Nope. Nope, you were not anything. You have no explanation.
“Do you need a ride?” he asks.
Oh. Fuck. “Don’t worry,” you blurt. “I live close by.”
Feminism is a beautiful thing.
Except right now.
Right now, feminism is cockblocking you.
Aaron hums - hums?! - already pulling his phone from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and it’s… it’s the smallest iPhone you’ve ever seen.
Probably an iPhone 4, but in his hand - his massive hand - it looks like he’s stolen it from a dollhouse.
He swipes the screen (with his very thick thumb), squints just enough to tell you he’s absolutely in denial about needing reading glasses, then turns the phone toward you:
“99% chance of hard rain until 7 a.m.”
…Unfortunately, you’re far too distracted by his hands to verify the evidence. Especially that thumb, still hovering near the screen like it’s not the most erotic thing you’ve seen all week.
(And speaking of data - there is a study. Something about men with very large hands also having very large-)
Without hesitation, Aaron just shrugs off his suit jacket. “Put it over your head,” then he hands it to you. “Don’t want you to get wet...”
Too late.
Not only because you're touching his very warm, very expensive, very tailored, very smells-so-much-like-him jacket, but because he didn’t even flinch.
Not at the acid rain.
Not at the dry-cleaning bill.
Not at the fact that he doesn’t have an umbrella for himself.
Not even at the fact that he’s now just standing there in a white shirt.
A white shirt. In the rain.
(You pray that he’s not wearing an undershirt.)
(You pray this turns into an unofficial Aaron Hotchner Wet T-Shirt Contest…Wet shirt. Wet dress shirt.)
“…You’re the one holding the electronics,” he adds, tilting his head toward the bag.
Ah. There it is. Thank you, Aaron, for making it weird. Again.
He sort of redeems himself by opening the door of his very shiny, very hot-dad black car like it’s the 1950s. (You hate how much you love it.)
…He even closes the door for you.
There are a few immediate observations that need to be made about Aaron Hotchner’s car:
• It smells divine. Like clean leather, big paycheck, small emotional availability and a touch of lavender, too.
• It’s spotless. Not a crumb. Not a fingerprint. There’s not a speck of dust anywhere.
• There are superhero comics tucked into the seat pocket. Jack’s, obviously. Unless… they’re his. Which would be - God. A brooding man with a soft spot for two-dimensional justice and emotionally stunted men in capes. Fatherhood and projection, hand in hand. Amazing.
But what really grabs your attention is the seating.
Full black leather.
Sleek. Cold enough to sting if your thighs were bare. Soft enough to leave marks if you were sitting on his lap instead.
Easy to wipe down. Easy to grip.
A car designed to be fucked in.
The hottest thing inside it, though? Probably the fact that it takes a few soft Are you alrights and Do you need anythings before Aaron finally starts the engine.
And it’s… quiet. Disturbingly quiet. No coughing. No sputtering. No “please God start” noises.
Just… starts.
“It’s such a cool car,” you blurt.
Fifty percent because you mean it.
Fifty percent because the silence is killing you and that’s literally the first thing your brain offered up as a conversation starter. You’re not even sure what you’re complimenting. Just that it has… technology.
You’re genuinely impressed. There’s literally a screen. A touchscreen. With sensors. A built-in navigator.
Meanwhile, your car still has a cassette slot, three loose aux cables, a suspicious stain that doesn’t want to come off, and a radio that only plays static unless you hit it twice.
“It’s a good car,” he replies, completely unbothered. Literally just a man stating a fact. About his vehicle. And yet, your brain shuts off.
You’re hot under the collar because Aaron Hotchner said something true… in a nice voice.
That’s it. That’s the bar.
And to make it worse, he doesn’t follow it up. No “Do you drive much?” No “What year is yours?”
Nothing. Just those three words and then silence.
He's the worst small talker you've ever met and now you have no idea how to keep this going.
You consider asking him about… tires. Or gas mileage. Or how long it took him to sell his soul to become this repressed.
Pathetic.
You’re even more pathetic when he does that thing. The hot thing. The driving thing.
Where he turns around to check behind him - one hand on the back of your seat, other on the wheel - torso twisting, shirt clinging, full neck exposure.
Basically porn.
You try so hard not to spontaneously combust.
Not just because you’re pressed into his personal space, or because his white dress shirt is completely see-through now after all that rain and you can see where his spine ends, or because he’s absolutely not wearing an undershirt and is one unexpected pothole away from full nipple contact.
No. It’s the tongue.
The tiny flick. Just a flash. Quick. Absent. Almost innocent.
His tongue darts out - just a little - as he focuses, like it helps him steer straighter. Nothing but a reflex. He probably doesn’t even know he’s doing it.
You, however, are acutely aware-
Just as aware as you are of the fact that the two of you are sitting in near silence. Almost comfortable.
If not for the small detail that you’re horny and holding a vibrator in a paper bag. The only sound is the rain-
And the soft, awkward half-comment he lets slip when you tell him your address:
“Oh. You were right. It is really… close.”
No shit, Sherlock.
If you had even an ounce of courage, this would be the most satisfying “told you so” of your life - because not even four minutes in, he’s already pulling into the cracked little square that overlooks your apartment complex.
“Where’s the entrance?” he asks, squinting at the very charming, definitely-not-a-fire-hazard 1970s architecture. “It’s barely lit here.”
He’s right, though.
There’s a little pedestrian alley that leads to your stairwell, and it’s lit by what is essentially half a lightbulb and probably one moth if you’re lucky.
“I can’t leave you here,” he says, already switching off the engine.
“It’s fine, don’t worry, I’ve done it alone a thousand times.”
You get The Look™.
The full Dad Look™.
Eyebrows lowered. Mouth set. Silent moral judgment loading. Which, naturally, makes you blurt out something helpful:
“I swear. Even at 3 a.m. When I was blackout drunk.”
He looks horrified.
Which is… great. Exactly the vibe you were going for on this totally unromantic, emotionally neutral, post-pharmacy ride home.
“Well, you’re not walking alone all the way there today,” then he proceeds to open the driver’s door before you can even object.
“Wait- really, you don’t have to-”
“Stay here,” he cuts in, already halfway out before you can finish.
Then suddenly, he’s at your door. Umbrella overhead.
Like some man from a black-and-white movie who has no idea you’re holding a vibrator in your bag and have a sink full of crusted risotto waiting at home.
Chivalry.
That’s what it should be called. But that word feels too… medieval. Too knight-in-shining-armor. Too “written by robed men who thought ankles were sinful and menstruation was the devil’s piss.”
No.
From him, this isn’t chivalry. It’s something else.
Not performance. Not politeness.
Just… kindness.
Offensively tender, nonverbal, soak-himself-in-the-rain kind of kindness.
And so the two of you walk under the same umbrella together, arms brushing every other step.
You try to create distance. He scoots closer.
Adjusts the umbrella to keep you dry.
Prioritizes your dry head over his own sopping suit.
Kind of romantic.
You could kiss him here.
Right now.
Under this umbrella. In the rain. In front of your depressing 70s concrete box of an apartment.
You could just… do it.
Lean in. Shut him up. See what that mouth actually feels like.
If it weren’t for the very inconvenient fact that you are juuuuuust a bit terrified of rejection.
Terrified in the “ha-ha I’ll never date again if someone even slightly hesitates when I flirt” way.
In the “I’ll replay the rejection in the shower for the next ten years, write five alternate endings, and mentally workshop comebacks well into menopause” kind of way.
In the “what if he says no and then I have to move to Vermont” way.
Also, you are currently holding a vibrator in a paper bag. So. There’s that.
Still, Temptation is real.
Even because Aaron is still mid-monologue about street lighting standards. Turning his head every few steps. Gesturing with one hand like a man who has read far too many municipal codes for someone this hot.
The idea of shutting him up for good with a kiss is honestly starting to sound like a public service.
“It’s barely visible here,” he mutters, scanning the alley. “No signage. No reflective paint. Anyone could-”
“Trip?” you offer.
“Worse.” He deadpans, then turns toward you, “Are you humoring me?”
“A little,” you shrug (he’s pathetic.)
He stops. Looks at you. “I’m being serious.”
…Ah, the dad voice. Firm. Slightly patronizing. Delicious.
“I know,” you smile. “That’s what makes it so fun.”
By the time he’s done glaring, you’re already at your building entrance, heart stupidly tight.
Saved. Almost.
“Well… this is me.” You pull out your keys to prove to him you’ve got your shit together. “Um… thanks for the ride. And the walk, of course.” (What is this, Pride & Prejudice?) “I think I’m good from here.”
You say it lightly, casual, because if you don’t end it now, you’re 100% sure he’ll keep going.
He’ll follow you to your door.
To your kitchen. To your hallway. Maybe even your bedroom.
Not for sex. God, no.
Just to make sure you’re safely tucked in.
That your bedroom window locks properly.
That the shadow outside was just a tree and not a threat (more likely, the stray cat you and two old ladies keep over-feeding.)
He’d stand there - in the doorway, quiet, stiff, arms crossed - and wait until you hit REM sleep before silently excusing himself.
The worst part? He’d make it feel horribly sweet.
And the much, much worse part? To do that, he’d have to walk through the disaster zone you call home.
The crusty risotto bowls still soaking in the sink. Three wine glasses, none of which match. A fork in a mug.
He’d pass your roommate mid-makeout with a “friend” who’s definitely not wearing pants and is probably sitting on your throw blanket.
He’d see the takeout containers on the counter.
The mystery stain on the wall you keep forgetting to Google.
The chair you keep meaning to fix but now just refer to as “decorative.”
He’d see you. As you are.
And you can’t be the reason this man actively re-dyes his greys by Wednesday. You’d love to be. You really would.
But not like this.
Also, you’re just really tired and you’ve got… things to test.
And, if you’re honest, some things are better when they stay in your head. Untouched. Untried. Safely fantasized.
So you smile.
“I’ll be fine.”
He nods. Doesn’t argue.
But doesn’t leave, either.
Instead, he pulls something from his coat pocket.
His business card.
“Text me when you’re inside,” he says, dead serious.
You blink at it.
The paper is thick. Embossed.
Feels like you’re holding a warrant.
“Oh wow,” you murmur, trying not to smile. “This is the smoothest way I’ve ever gotten someone’s number.”
He straightens slightly. “It’s my work phone.” Still serious, but fumbling.
(He’s so bad at this. It’s almost adorable.)
You nod, suppressing the second smile in a row. “Of course.”
He looks at you for a moment - too long, maybe, or maybe it’s just your perception that’s a bit fucked up - and says, “Goodnight, miss.”
You pause.
“It’s-” You tell him your name.
He nods. Revises. And repeats it. A little too careful. A little too gentle.
You might actually pass out.
Not just from the emotional whiplash, but also because your apartment has too many goddamn stairs and your legs were not built for this level of cardio or romantic tension.
You stumble inside, safe. Unmurdered. Emotionally unstable. Immediately grab your phone and text the number printed in the most intimidating Arial you’ve ever seen.
made it still alive didn’t get murdered not even a little bit
He replies almost instantly.
(Almost, because he’s an old man with disproportionately large thumbs and the texting accuracy of someone whose phone autocorrects “fine” to “filing.”)
aaron hotchner (work, no nudes): This is a work number. Please be mindful. – A.H.
…He signs his own texts. Oh fucking hell.
aaron hotchner (work, no nudes): But I’m glad to hear it. Goodnight, miss. – A.H.
You type back:
goodnight... agent??
Three dots appear. Pause. Then-
aaron hotchner (work, no nudes): 👍 – A.H.
taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @littlemisskavities ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mmmunson ; @mxblobby ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24 ; @who-needs-to-sleep
#aaron hotchner#hotch#criminal minds#aaron hotchner x reader#hotch x reader#aaron hotch x reader#fleabag!reader#aaron hotchner imagine#not smut but it's smut for me
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punchline, she can’t feel pain or something happens like she breaks an arm or something yet has no reaction or they do a health scan of her and she has some wounds.
-📝
Ok listen. It didn't feel like it was 3600 words when I was writing it. It just happened. Enjoy the feast though.
⚠️ Content Warnings: Broken bones, starvation/malnourishment, flashbacks, description of injuries, the Batfamily accidentally hurts you ⚠️
Punchline: Analgesia
Masterlist is Here!
You got out of the cell.
With no real place to put you, Bruce initiated a round-the-clock watch, both to monitor your health and make sure you didn't try anything dangerous. "Brucie Wayne" decided to go on a last-minute tour of Asia for a month so that he could take more shifts, allowing his sons time to rest and maintain their own lives without needing to stress as much over...
Well. You.
You, who spent the entire first day staring up at the ceiling and clicking your feet together, refusing to respond anymore to Dick or anybody else after telling them your name. You, who ignored your bed long after the time came where most people should be sleeping, then ignored any food and water delivered to you long after most people should be eating and drinking.
You just smile and click your feet. Click. Click. Click. Waiting. Lying still. Staring.
Except now you aren't. Bruce comes back from upstairs with another tray of food for you to find an empty monitor feed on the batcomputer. The bed is too low to the ground for you to hide under, and the privacy curtain isn't drawn to take cover behind. The pressure sensors on the floor don't indicate any signs of life, either — you aren't in there anymore.
He sets the tray down and starts rewinding the footage, panicking, when you click your heels behind him.
"Boo."
Bruce jumps. Honest-to-god flinches. His body moves automatically, leg kicking out and connecting center-mass with a heavy thunk. You go flying across the main area of the cave with a yelp, hitting the ground and rolling a few feet. The sound of your body colliding against smooth stone echoes in a way that it shouldn't, and you don't try to pick yourself up afterwards.
"Shhhit shit shit," he gasps, running over to your limp body and carefully cradling you. He triggers the scanner in his cowl, checking you over for injuries, and gingerly props you up against his chest. "Kid! Are you —"
You snort, shoulders shaking, then build up into a breathtaking cackle. Literally breathtaking — Bruce presses his fingers into your ribs and feels breakage on at least two of them. His lenses find fractures on three more. He needs to get you to the medbay.
"Kid," he says again, urgently, nauseous with guilt. God, you're just a little girl, heartbreakingly small in his arms. "Punchline —"
"I spooked the Bat!" You gasp, eyes welling with tears. Twin lines cut through your face paint, smearing some of the blue under your eyes with the white. It's haunting. You just continue wheeze and gently clap him on the shoulder, genuinely mirthful. "Fear was made fearful! Ohohoho, that's... that's priceless!!"
"I didn't mean to hurt you," Bruce says. You just laugh even harder at that, sharp, short gasps that only exacerbate your wounds and bounce off the cave walls around you in sickening stereo. He wraps one arm around your back and the other behind your knees, lifting you.
"Let's get you cleaned up, kid...you shouldn't be out here."
"I got you gooood, Batsy!" You grin. "Got you! Got you!"
Click. Click. Click. You knock your feet together again, wrapping your arms around his neck with glee.
"Spooked you baaad!"
His grip on you tightens slightly, then relaxes again. Anything he would've wanted to say to you gets trapped behind grit teeth.
--
Dick knocks gently on the door before he types in the code to your cell and watches it slide open. You chuckle, but don't otherwise acknowledge him as he steps inside with another tray of food.
"Yeah. I guess it would seem silly to knock on a see-through door," he says, sitting on the floor next to you. He sits the tray down and presses his back against the wall, lacing his fingers together. "Just trying to be polite, in light of..."
He glances around your bland accommodations and clears his throat.
"Anyway! You were so kind to tell us your name and we didn't even return the favor. I'm Nightwing."
"Wing-a-ding," you murmur, smiling at the ceiling. Click. Click. Click.
"Sure, you can call me that if you want." He uses his foot to gently nudge the tray closer to your supine form, then lowers his voice conspiratorially. "I'll even let you call me a bad word if you eat."
Your smile grows. "Silly Wing-a-ding. It's not mealtime."
"When's Mealtime?" Dick asks you. "Because, you've been with us for two days, kiddo, and you haven't eaten a bite. If you've got a specific diet, it's no trouble. You just have to tell us what you like. We don't want to hurt you."
You snort at that, lifting a hand to pat your stomach. Underneath your lime green shirt are thick bandages compressing your broken ribs. Your gasping giggles ring like broken chimes in the small space you're sharing with him.
Dick frowns. "I'm being honest. B didn't mean to do that to you, I promise. I'm really sorry it happened."
"Sorry? It was hilarious!" You chirp. "Shoulda seen his face. Popsy would have cracked up. Heehee!"
"Yeah..." Dick sighs quietly. "Can we circle back, kiddo? When's your meal time? If you don't try to eat or drink anything soon, we might have to give you some fluids. And I dunno about you, but I'm not a huge fan of needles."
The hand on your stomach drums the same pattern you knock your feet together with. Pat. Pat. Pat. Click. Click. Click.
"It's soon," you tell him simply. "Popsy says to eat when the world turns into a merry-go-round."
The knot of dread sitting in Dick's stomach tightens. He clenches his hands into fists in his lap and keeps his tone light and curious.
"What's the world look like now?"
You laugh. "Fun house mirrors."
"And...when do you get to drink?"
"When the lights start dancing."
Dick doesn't stay in your cell with you much longer, parting with a half-mumbled excuse of needing to go work on something. He hurries down the hallway and tries not to feel like a failure in his suit.
--
Damian wasn't factored in to the rotation, on account of being the youngest and needing to get up for school, but that doesn't stop him from sneaking through the cave to observe you anyway. Years of training in the League keep his steps light and his presence undetectable, until he's standing just out of sight to the door to your cell and able to watch you at an angle.
Your eyes are closed, your body having finally succumbed to exhaustion, and your breathing is slightly wheezy from your injuries. The bits of your arms poking out of your shirt sleeves are mottled black and blue from hitting the floor so hard.
Damian creeps in a tad closer to get a better look at you. Even unconscious, your resting face is a small smile. No doubt a conditioned behavior from your time under the Joker, he thinks.
There's no tension in your body, which is the most interesting thing. Even the severity of the bruises should be enough to cause a twitch or two as you shift on the floor, much less the broken bones, but it's like —
Oh. He needs to make a note in your file and alert the others promptly. As he draws a pad and pen from his pocket, his eyes glance over the simple observations he's already made of you, and stalls.
You're so small. It doesn't hit him until now just how tiny you are, even for your age. You've got the stature of a five or six year old, and there's clear signs of malnourishment in your body. It's hard to look at you and not feel pity.
It's hard to look at you in general. The face paint is slowly wearing away, revealing your natural skin color underneath, but enough of it remains that you look absolutely haunting. Like something designed for a horror movie.
You've refused to clean your face or change into the clothes others have brought you, clinging to the garish getup he and Bruce found you in. The vivid green of your shirt screams of where you came from, an unavoidable beacon that refuses to allow anyone to forget your legacy.
Damian realizes belatedly that that's the point. You aren't looking to separate your identity from your father. You likely can't.
He clenches his hands into fists and takes his leave. He returns to your cell once more that night, dropping his gifts off with reluctance, and sees his effort pay off almost immediately. The next time he catches a glimpse of you, you've freshened up the face paint with a slightly altered design and are wearing a bright green dress, with your typical bowtie and black shoes.
You, awake this time, catch his gaze and beam knowingly.
Damian looks away. Your genuine happiness twists his chest something fierce.
--
You're out of your cell again when it's Jason's turn to monitor you.
"I don't have the patience to deal with your escape artist bullshit," he calls, twirling a baseball bat in his hand as he walks along the caves corridors. "You can either go back to your cage and behave, or get dragged back kicking and screaming."
You giggle. Jason clocks it coming from his right. The bat switches hands and he walks towards the noise.
"This ain't a goddamn game," he says, "so don't get cute with me, kid, or I'll put the Punch in Punchline."
"That's a good one!"
Jason whips around, finding you sitting on the floor with your legs crossed. Today you're wearing a bright green blouse with suspenders and black shorts, always with the bowtie around your neck. You're holding a batarang in your hands, tracing idly over the shape of it with your fingers.
"Wordplay is my favorite! I'll put the Punch in Punchline. Heheha, classic! Now I know why Popsy liked you so much!"
You tilt your head back and cackle. It comes out in sharp, short bursts. It's so bone-chillingly similar to your dad's that it affects him immediately.
Jason blinks. Suddenly he's fifteen and cuffed, cowering before the Joker as he winds his leg back to start kicking him.
Jason blinks again. His arms and legs ache so badly from the repeated bashing of the crowbar. He's been screaming for Bruce for ages and he hasn't come for him yet, why hasn't he come for him, he promised he would always come and get him —
Jason blinks again. He's clawing at the door handle and trying not to cry as the timer counts down behind him, ticking closer and closer and closer to his death, inescapable. He wishes he'd never adopted the mantle. He wants his mom. He wants his dad. He doesn't want to die. He's too young to die. He's so fucking tired.
Jason blinks again. The bat is missing from his hands and his throat feels like it's on fire. Tim is crouched next to you and assessing the new break in your arm courtesy of the Red Hood. The bat is lying broken in half on the floor.
"Go," Tim says, voice flat with barely suppressed rage. He won't turn his head away from you. "Go home, Hood."
"Bye-bye, Birdy," you mutter, smiling at the ceiling, and knock your feet together. Click. Click. Click.
Bye-bye, Birdy!
Jason feels like he can't breathe. The swelling in your skin is already so bad. What has he done? He wasn't actually gonna hurt you, he just wanted to get you back in your cell where you were supposed to be. He has a code against hurting children, he would never do that on purpose no matter whose kid it was. He didn't mean it.
Jesus, fuck, he didn't mean it.
"I-I'm —" he chokes, warped and crackly through the helmet's modulator.
"GO!" Tim shouts.
Jason turns and walks away. After a tense conversation with Bruce, it ends up being his last time monitoring you alone. He doesn't get the chance to do it again for a month, but your serene smile is never far from his mind.
--
Tim takes over Jason's observation duty immediately. He moves you into the med bay again to set and cast your broken arm. You're quiet the entire time, save the clicking of your feet, and refuse to look at him.
He works quickly and efficiently, wrapping you up without issue, and you don't fight him. He comes to the same conclusion Damian did, when he accidentally brushes against another bruise but you don't so much as flex a muscle.
How entertaining it must be for the Joker, to have a child with congenital insensitivity to pain. How simultaneously infuriating, that one of his favorite methods of submission is unavailable.
Tim wants to throw up.
"There," he says. "I'm sorry, Punchline. Hood shouldn't have been left alone to watch you. It won't happen again."
You don't respond. Click. Click. Click.
"Why don't we get you back to your room? I'll find something for you to do so you're not as bored in there. I'm sure Agent A can get you coloring books, or some crafts..."
Again, you're quiet. Tim breathes in slowly, deeply, then lets it back out. He gently takes your hands and coaxes you to stand up, and you go without complaint as he starts walking you back to the containment cells.
Two sets of footsteps fill the silence of the cave's passageways. One set of lungs struggles to match pace. Tim slows down for you, and the wheezing quiets immediately.
"Do you need or want anything?" He asks. The same, easy smile on your face doesn't change. You walk beside him like he isn't even there. He has to try exceptionally hard not to take it personally, even though it is and he knows it. He knows what you've endured. He knows what you've gone through. He can make a damn good guess as to what you're thinking right now.
And he doesn't have the faintest clue where to start fixing it.
Tim was only under the Joker's clutches for a couple days, at most, and the brainwashing he underwent to become Joker Junior still haunts his nightmares to this day. The conditioning, the bargaining, learning the boundaries, the underlying fear of having to say the right thing, do the right thing, the obsessive need to earn his favor, he remembers it all. Even years later, seeing the Joker makes that sickly itch start up under his skin.
Maybe he's wrong. Maybe he doesn't know how you feel, because he only got the tip of the iceberg. Maybe your experiences are better. Or worse. Most certainly different. He doesn't know, and he hates not knowing things.
When you make it back to the cell, you walk in without complaint. Tim closes the door and keys in a new code to lock it, though he suspects you'll be able to crack it again soon enough. You've got nothing but time on your hands to play with the access pad.
He drops his hand when he's done, staring at you. You're back to lying on the floor in your original position, arms splayed and feet clicking together as you admire the ceiling. He opens his mouth, then closes it. Hesitates. Does it again. You just click your feet.
"Punchline. I'm sorry."
You blink slowly, mouth twitching like you've heard something funny but don't quite wanna laugh.
"If I knew, back then," he says, words stilted and strained. Tim nearly stops there, but he feels compelled to let you know. "If I knew that leaving him would've ended in him doing this to another child...I wouldn't have gone anywhere."
You stop clicking your feet. Your mouth curls into a grin, then thins out, then gets stuck in this uncomfortable half-smirk.
"Popsy misses JJ," you mutter, so quiet Tim only catches it because he's right next to the cell door. There's something sharp in your tone. "He was almost perfect. His first favorite toy."
Tim feels like he's been dunked in a tub of ice. The tips of his fingers go numb and he has to press a hand to his mouth while suppressing a gag. His eyes are stinging behind the domino mask.
"JJ ran away. JJ is a traitor. Popsy has a new favorite, now," you whisper. Click. Click. Click. "Wonder how long that will last." Click. Click. Click. "Wonder how long I'll be his favorite Punchline." Click. Click. Click.
"I'm gonna go talk to A, now," Tim says, stumbling away from you. The both of you feel more relieved the farther away he gets.
Click. Click. Click.
--
Alfred takes shifts for you when no one else is available. He doesn't do it at the computer, though; the screens are too bright for his aging eyes, and the chair isn't ergonomic enough for him.
So he watches you from within the cell.
"Good afternoon, Lady Punchline, my name is Alfred Pennyworth," he greets politely, setting a tray of soup and saltines next to your head. He steps carefully over your body on the floor and perches on the edge of your unused bed, crossing one leg over the other. "The time is just after one o'clock. Today I've prepared a simple miso soup, something light for your decidedly neglected stomach, and brought with me several activities we could partake in, either together or separate. The choice is yours."
He eases the tote bag he brought in off his shoulder and pulls out a series of items: A stuffed bear, which he perches on top of the pillow. A coloring book and a pack of crayons. A jigsaw puzzle. And several books.
"Might any of these appeal to the lady?" He asks.
Click. Click. Click.
"That's alright," he says, as though you gave him any kind of acknowledgement. "I will leave them here for you to explore at your leisure, and come back with more options the next we meet."
He pulls a novel for himself out of the bottom of the bag, gently flipping its weathered pages open, and settles it in his lap.
"Would it bother you too terribly if I read this aloud? You may stop me anytime, of course." You make no expression and take no action against him, so he looks down at the book. "Very well. This story is one of my favorites, so I'm interested to see if you find any enjoyment in it, too.
"When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen. It was true, too. She had a little thin face and a little thin body, thin light hair and a sour expression..."
Alfred keeps his voice calm, clear, and steady. There are mild changes in intonation when he speaks for the characters in the book, but other than that, he lets the words wash over the room peacefully. He stays with you and reads for several hours, until he reluctantly excuses himself to tend to his other duties for the manor.
"I shall mark our place in the book and bring it back if you'd like to hear more," he says, stepping past you again. "If you've any other requests, please let myself or the others know. We shall be happy to accommodate you, Lady Punchline."
When he closes and locks the cell door, he almost startles at your soft voice.
"Mistress Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?" You mumble. The smile on your face seems a touch more genuine than before he entered.
Alfred dismisses himself with a final, quick bow, then walks down the halls as Bruce comes back to relieve him. Before the man even gets the chance to speak, Alfred holds a palm up to quiet him.
"I should like to have you place me in regular rotations with our guest," he says. "We have a lot of work to do if we're to rehabilitate the poor girl, and we'll get nowhere if everyone chooses to observe her like an animal in the zoo."
"That's fine, but —" Bruce says, watching almost helplessly as Alfred walks right past him. "Agent A —"
"I shall also request a home visit with Doctor Thompkins to sort out a proper treatment plan for her Analgesia, malnutrition, and very likely no vaccinations. Afterwards, we'll need to start considering educational deficits and behavioral therapy. There's much to do, master Bruce, so pick your jaw up off the floor and go spend time with your newest ward."
Bruce watches him disappear with fond irritation. He pulls the cowl off, understanding there's likely no need to maintain secrecy anyway, if you're going to be here for the long haul.
#el speaks#punchline au#batfam x reader#damian wayne#bruce wayne#jason todd#dick grayson#tim drake#alfred pennyworth#tw: abuse#📝
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TAGS/WARNINGS: reader is gender neutral but afab, reader and keigo are married, reader is a civilian, this is post-war, toys (duh), forced orgasms, heavy overstimulation, dacryphilia, aftercare GENRE: smut SUMMARY: WORD COUNT: 702 🦊’s A/N: god im almost free sorry if this is shit idgaf anymore i need to take a BREAK im sorry this is short as fuck
when your husband brought up wanting to try a couple toys in the bedroom, he had failed to neglect that you would end up like this!
blindfolded and bound spread eagle to the bed, with an evil hitachi wand tied to your thigh with its vibrating head pressed snugly against your swollen, hypersensitive clit, having cum a minimum six times, and at this point, your cunt had gone numb three orgasms ago, yet it still hurt.
he’d had the heart not to gag you, at least—or maybe his perverted ass wanted to hear your pretty moans turned to choked sobs and wails of his name, begging him to come back, as you weren’t sure if he was even in the room anymore.
keigo, meanwhile, had been in the living room, finally doing some of the paperwork he’d been putting off, listening to the sound of your whimpering and whining from his spot on the couch and trying his best to ignore the painful erection in his sweatpants.
glancing at the clock on his laptop, he sees it had been about an hour and a half since he had initially left you like this; so he figures he should head back to check in on your exhausted form.
the sight he was greeted with was better than anything any porno could cook up—your back arched off the bed as you tug and thrash against the ropes binding you in place, the magic wand he’d tied to your thigh still happily buzzing away against your sensitive cunt, your inner thighs and bedsheets beneath you drenched in sweat and cum.
“awh, darlin’—you look so lovely,” he coos softly and your body tenses at the sound of his voice.
“kei–keigo! you—you bastard!” you cry, wrists tugging at the silken ropes holding them so tightly in place. “you— bitch! l–let me—let me go! please!”
you’re right on the precipice of another orgasm when he agrees; “okay, okay—don’t get your feathers all ruffled, dove.” (SIR?)
moving to turn off the godforsaken vibrator, he tenderly unties it from your leg, taking his time to run his calloused hands over your quivering thighs as he whispers soft praises of how you did so well for him. shifting to take your blindfold off next—wanting to see your tear streaked face before he untied you—you whine impatiently as he gently undoes the knot keeping the cloth in place.
“you’re so pretty when you cry, baby,” he says quietly. “now let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” he suggests, tenderly caressing your face and planting a quick peck to your lips.
it’s only a few seconds after that he’s untying your wrists, then your ankles, and turning on one heel to start a warm bath for you, saying he’ll be right back.
about five minutes of heavy breathing and sporadic twitching later, keigo comes back to scoop you up and gently set you in the bathtub, grabbing a clean washcloth to dip into the water and start washing the sweat off your sticky skin. during the intimate process, he makes sure to ask you how you were feeling and that you knew he was sorry for just leaving you there.
afterwards, he drys you off with a soft, fluffy towel and carries you to sit in the plush chair in your room as he changes the sheets in record time, simply discarding the used ones on the floor of the laundry room, a problem to be dealt with later.
“you feelin’ okay, sweetheart?” he asks sweetly, voice laced with genuine concern as he picks you back up and sets you on your side of the bed.
“‘ll be okay…. just—we’re not doing this again anytime soon,” you tell him, mind still hazy from having cum so many times.
he chuckles quietly at your words and runs his hand through your hair before saying he’s gonna go and get you some water; when he comes back, he’s greeted by your lightly snoring, absolutely passed out form.
“ah—that checks out, yeah,” he grins lightly at the sight and sets the water on your nightstand before crawling into bed to spoon you. “sleep well, dove,” he whispers into your ear, pressing a light kiss to your cheek.
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want you bad. (lee chan x reader)
summary: when a mishap during university examinations lands you and your colleague lee chan into a mountain of work, you suggest pulling an all nighter to get it done. you end up doing everything except the actual work assigned to you.
word count: 3.6k
warnings: teacher!dino x teacher!reader, smut, nsfw, unprotected sex, slightly subby!chan, dirty talk, oral (fem receiving), questionable professional behavior, chan is down bad, mentions of alcohol
It’s a little too early in the morning to talk to anyone, but when Lee Chan walks into your office with a grin and two cups of coffee, you can’t help but smile back.
You’re going over the Study Guide for the next semester when you hear a knock on your door, followed by a head of chestnut hair poking in. You usher him in with your hand, turning away from your computer screen to face him. He plops into one of two chairs before your desk, placing your cup before you. You take a sip immediately, humming as the bitter taste of coffee hits your tongue. Milk and sugar as well. Chan knows how you like your coffee by now.
“How was your weekend?” he asks, pushing up his glasses and looking at you expectantly. You realized early on that Chan doesn’t really do small talk like everyone else. He listens to everything you say attentively, no matter how drab the question. That’s what he’s doing right now, nodding as you tell him what you did on the weekend. Which isn’t much. Last week was finals week. You mostly just slept off the fatigue of it.
“I hear you,” he sighs, leaning back. “But I have to say, it was much better this time around. Last time, I was doing everything pretty much on my own.”
You scowl. “What about the other teachers?”
He rolls his eyes and makes a face. “They aren’t much help. Ugh, tenure changes people.”
You giggle at his words and he cracks a smile at the sound, returning to his coffee.
Chan is your closest—and only—friend at work. Unfortunately for you two, most of the department besides you are much, much senior to you. You joined just last semester, and until then, Chan had been braving the sea of old people (his words) all on his own. The thing about tenure is pretty real. Most of them don’t give a fuck about anything anymore except showing up to class, giving a lecture, and leaving. Almost everything else—making exam papers, then marking them afterward—falls on you and Chan. Since you’ve just started out and Chan is fairly new to this line of work too, neither of you really want to step on any toes. So you two just… do everything.
It’s naive, actually. Taking on a workload that isn’t yours. But you muscle through. You mark all the essays and submit them to the Department of Examinations. They’ll compile the result and post it on the university portal. And that’ll be it. Your job is done.
You and Chan make idle conversation as you finish your coffees. He talks about his weekend (he went hiking with his friends), complaining that his legs are sore now. His hair, which is always neatly brushed when he clocks into work, is quickly getting messier since he has a terrible habit of running his hands through it. It’s your typical morning routine. Chan shows up with coffee (even though you’ve insisted many times that you would pay for it, he doesn’t take your money), you talk about your days, and then either of you has a class or some other paperwork to get to, so you go back to your schedules.
Chan stands up, empty coffee cup in hand, sighing and stretching a bit. He brushes his hand over his torso to straighten his button-up blue shirt, shaking out his slacks too.
“I should head back now,” he announces, as usual. “I’m sure students are lining up outside my door to argue their grades.”
You snort. “I’m surprised they haven’t already broken my door down.”
A knock on your door—almost on cue—and Chan grins. You make a face and call out for whoever it is to enter. Instead of a student, in walks a wispy-looking boy in office attire and a huge stack of papers in his arms. You recognize him from the Department of Examinations. He sits at their front desk. Your eyebrows furrow.
“Everything okay?”
He nods and greets both you and Chan, eyes directed to your colleague. “I was looking for you at your office. You weren’t there.”
Chan nods. “Sorry, I’m heading there right now.”
The boy brushes it off, placing the stack of papers on your desk. You look at the pink pattern and filled bubbles on the sheet, recognizing what it is: the Multiple Choice portion from the final exam. Your mind swims with questions.
“It’s okay. I need to speak to both of you anyway, so let’s just do it here,” he says. Both of you wait for him to continue.
“The scanner isn’t working. For the MCQ sheets,” he explains, pointing to the stack of paper. “So we have no way of marking these.”
“What?” Chan looks flabbergasted. You feel the same. “So the result didn’t get published?”
The boy shakes his head. “Can’t publish the result when the papers aren’t even marked.”
“Okay…” You’re still confused. “So now what?”
“So now we need to get the machine fixed,” he replies. “Which will take over two weeks. And we can’t delay this result for so long…”
Chan’s jaw drops. You stare at him, still not understanding what’s happening.
“You’re kidding,” Chan’s voice is flat. The boy shakes his head sheepishly.
“About what?” you ask, leaning forward in your seat. The boy sighs painfully.
“You have to mark these by hand,” he states. “By tomorrow.”
You gape at him. “For two hundred and sixty students?!”
Nothing but silence. Chan groans and drops back into his chair, head falling back so he can eye the ceiling. He reaches up to run a frustrated hand through his hair, gripping it a bit and looking like he wants to pull it out. You stand up, staring at the boy who looks painfully uncomfortable. No wonder Examinations sent the front desk boy. No one else wanted to break the news.
“We can’t do it in one day!” you exclaim. “And two people only? Do you have someone who can help?”
“Uh…” he fidgets. “The answer key is in there. And we canceled classes for the day…”
Chan groans again, and you hang your head. “This is so unfair…”
“I’m really sorry,” the boy offers, his voice tiny.
“Stick it up your ass, man,” Chan says, his voice holding no venom. He already sounds so tired. You try to bite back a laugh. Not the right moment. The boy gives you both a sheepish nod before hurriedly scurrying from the office. You look at the papers in dismay.
“I hate this fucking place.”
……………………………..
“Number 3… B.”
“Next.”
“Number 4… B.”
“Next.”
“Number 5… B.”
Chan scowls. “How many Bs in a row are there?”
You give him a blank look. “You designed this portion of the exam. You tell me.”
He sighs tiredly and gives you a pleading look. “I don’t have it in me to take your snark right now.”
“I’m not exactly in the mood to rain flowers down on you, Channie.”
He slams down the stack of papers in his hand on the coffee table with a heavy thwack, melting back into the couch until he’s almost lying down on it. “Can we take a break?”
You give him an exasperated look. “This is our first paper!”
“Only two hundred and fifty-nine to go,” he grins, standing up to walk towards the kitchen. “What do you want to drink?”
You lean back into the couch, hoping to disappear into it. “Poison.”
“I have iced tea.”
“Fine.”
Chan’s house is cozy enough. The TV is pretty huge, and the shelf next to it holds a myriad of books, CD boxes, little trinkets. Even a football. You haven’t been here before today, but you quickly make yourself comfortable on the couch before the coffee table. You two decided to leave work early since there were no classes, choosing to reconvene at Chan’s house at his suggestion so you could really buckle down and get this done. So far, there’s no progress. You can’t blame him, though. It’s mind-numbing work, matching numbers and letters to each other.
Chan walks back into the living room with two tall glasses of iced tea. It’s something fruity and citrusy, very enjoyable. When you two begin working again, you manage to get through around fifty papers before Chan is again whining about taking a break. This time, you don’t protest at all, standing up immediately to straighten your back and bring feeling back into your legs.
“My brain is melting,” you sigh, looking down at him. His eyes are closed, glasses slightly askew. He had changed into a hoodie and sweatpants when he got back home, and he had offered some of his clothes to you too. You had accepted gratefully, not at all in the mood to work in suit pants, which is how you ended up in a large sweater and sweats as well. He looks cozy right now, and you half-believe he has fallen asleep, when he blinks his eyes open and gives you a suggestive look.
“You know what would make this tolerable?”
Your eyes narrow suspiciously. “What?”
He stands up to rush to the kitchen, peering back in with a bottle of murky brown liquid in his hand. You give him a look.
“Lee Chan, we are not going to start drinking right now.”
“Oh, come on!” He sounds like a child as he whines, ignoring your words in favor of grabbing two glasses and walking back to the couch. “Imagine how much easier this would be if you had a little buzz going.”
“And if we mark them wrong?”
“We aren’t idiots.”
You make a face at his words, watching him pour the drinks. “I’m not so sure about that.”
He holds out the glass to you, giving you the widest brown eyes you had ever seen. You can feel yourself falter. You sigh and take the glass. Chan whoops in celebration.
Turns out, you are two hundred percent right about not wanting to drink.
Within half an hour, you are giggling over something Chan said, the paper in your hands completely ignored as he tells you about the time he almost flashed someone at the gym. He talks animatedly, using grand gestures and dramatic pauses. He is a certified Good Storyteller, something you had discovered very early on in your friendship.
He is just as enthusiastic right now, painting you a detailed picture of everything that happened. His eyes are wide and bright, hair falling into them and making him blink frequently. He makes no move to push it away. In your inebriated state, you reach out to do it for him. He stops talking, blinking at you in surprise.
You feel your face burn hot at your action. What were you thinking? You and Chan clearly don’t have that kind of relationship. While you two loved hanging out, you were for the most part professional. Sure, there were some crude jokes here and there that weren’t exactly HR friendly, but you were both friends too. It didn’t really bother either of you. But physical touch was very clearly crossing a line. And this? Brushing his hair off his forehead?
”I should probably stop drinking.” You try to joke it off, feeling how the tips of your ears burn. Chan shakes his head and laughs a bit.
”It’s okay.”
He keeps looking at you strangely. You catch the exact moment his eyes flit down to your lips. You swallow hard.
“Can I use your restroom?” You manage to choke out. You don’t have a single drop of pee in you, but it’s the only thing that can maybe get you away from Chan’s burning gaze. He nods jerkily, muttering and gesturing down the hall. You immediately stand up and walk away.
You let the water in the sink run as you stand before it, contemplating. You had never thought of Chan in a….. romantic context. Of course, he is ridiculously attractive. Bright eyes, high cheekbones, strong jaw. He is built very nice too, if the bulge of his biceps under the dress shirts he wears is any indication. But you have always written him off as a coworker, and it never occurred to you that Chan was a single, available guy your age.
You shake your head. You need to stop. He is your coworker, the only one you get along with. And you can’t mess this up. Also, HR would eat you alive. You aren’t exactly a fifty year old with tenure. You need this job.
When you sit back down on the couch, Chan gives you a tiny smile before gesturing to the papers, now scattered all over the floor and coffee table before you. You nod.
“Let’s keep going.”
And on continues the mindless drivel, but this time with new thoughts in your head. You sneak glances at Chan as you both mark the papers, and you notice how his jaw ticks every now and then, how his hair is long enough to brush against the back of his neck. His sweatshirt is huge on his frame, but you know how he is built under there. When he fiddles with the pen in his hand, your eyes linger on his fingers. You fidget.
Screw this.
Chan pauses when he feels you shift, turning his head. You see his eyes widen when you lean into him, planting your lips on his for a brief second. You pull away, enough to breathe and get a look at him. Your heart is in your throat. Everything is dead silent.
Then Chan is moving forward, lips meeting yours again.
His hands fly up to your face, cupping your jaw and the back of your head. You can feel how eager he is, his tongue peeking out to lick at your bottom lip before it is sliding into your mouth. Your stomach tightens. You sigh into him. Chan inhales sharply.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.” He groans. He is rising on his knee, crowding you against your end of the couch. His energy surprises you, pleasantly so, and you can already feel the heat pooling between your legs. This is new. You hadn’t expected this at all. The onslaught of sensations is too much and you can barely process his words.
You lean against the arm of the couch, letting him lead you until you're trapped under him, his weight held up with one hand next to your head. His other hand grips at your waist, sliding down your thigh and nudging it open so he can slip his hips between your legs. Every action is smooth as hell. He clearly knows what he is doing. The thought sends a zip down your spine. You clench around nothing.
When his lips finally part from yours, he doesn’t give you a second to catch your breath. He nips at your jaw, moving down to your neck. His hands are tugging on your shirt, and you put your arms up so he can pull it off you. You aren’t far behind, doing the same to him. He takes his glasses off, followed by his hoodie, and then he is shirtless before you in all his glory. You eye his chest, how surprisingly toned he is, lean and slightly buff around the shoulders and arms.
“Very unfair that you kept all this hidden from me.” You tease. Chan chuckles and pulls away from your neck enough to peer down at you.
“You wanna talk about unfair? I’ve been wanting to get in your pants since you first started. I really didn’t think I would ever get the chance.”
You can feel your heart swell. You find him adorable, despite the fact that he is between your legs and has a very obvious erection poking at your thigh. You smirk at him.
“Well, you’re here now, big boy. What’re you gonna do about it?”
His gaze heats up at your words, and then he is kissing you again, even more passionately than before. He shifts his hips enough to press directly into your core, grinding hard against you until you are keening under him. You buck up in response, and Chan’s hands scramble with the waistband of your pants before he is tugging them and your underwear off in one motion. He doesn’t slow down, unlinking your lips in favor of kissing and licking down your naked body. He noses at your stomach, biting into it a bit to make you yelp. You can feel his smirk against your skin. His hand hooks under your knee, pulling it up and apart to rest on his shoulder. Your breath hitches, shivering in anticipation.
His lips plant kisses over your labia, biting gently on the skin before his tongue pokes out. His licks are tiny but precise, lapping into your slit and finding your throbbing clit almost immediately. He wraps his lips over it and gives a hard suck, making your jaw drop as you moan loudly, eyes falling shut at the sensation. Your hand flies into his unruly hair, tugging slightly. He hums his approval into your pussy, only making you pull harder when the vibrations send you into a frenzy.
“Wanted this-” he mumbles into your clit, “for so long.”
You keen at the words. You aren’t used to this. You’ve had your share of experiences, but no one has ever wanted you this bad. No one has looked up at you from between your legs, eyes hazy, nearly crossed, cheeks flushed, lapping at you so hungrily you fear he will cry if you pull away. Already, you can feel your high building, the fastest it has ever done so.
”Channie, you’re gonna make me come.” You gasp out, planting the heel of your foot on his bare back and pushing him forward into you. He doubles down on his efforts, filthy wet noises coming from your core as he licks and sucks at you. You hurtle head first into an orgasm, sobbing and shaking through it. Chan doesn’t stop for one second, greedily lapping up every last drop that comes out of you. It’s only when you pull at his hair that he finally surfaces, the lower half of his face completely wet and shiny. You flush at the sight, watching him lick his lips. He reaches up to wipe at his chin with his index finger, before sticking that into his mouth as well. You almost come again.
“You’re filthy.”
He grins, moving up your body. “And you’re the one who just let me eat you out.”
You kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue, tugging at his pants until he is shimmying them off, his cock springing up. It looks painfully hard, flushed a deep maroon, and already leaking precum. You want him in your mouth badly, but even more so in your pussy, so you shelf the desire for another time, spreading your legs wider and letting him run the tip up your slit. You let him play with you for a bit, enjoying the sensation, before you grow impatient and grip his arm, looking up at him with half lidded eyes.
“No more teasing, Channie.” You whine. He curses under his breath, jerking his hips forward, tip entering you and then continuing, going further and further until his balls hit your vulva. You moan at how full you feel, how he rubs up against a delicious spot inside you, just where you need him the most.
Chan’s arms shake as he holds himself up. He is breathing heavily, interspersed with little groans.
”I’m gonna bust so quick.” He manages to grit out. You giggle breathlessly.
He is quick to set a fast pace, leaning his weight on his elbows and anchoring himself enough to drive hard into you. Your eyes roll, clenching hard around him as he pumps fiercely into you, hardly letting you take any air in. Your nails dig into his biceps, trying to find purchase. Your legs are already trembling, weak under his actions, and you are sensitive enough from your first orgasm to feel your second one build up already.
“You feel so good.” Chan gasps. And he doesn’t stop there. He rambles on and on.
”You’re so tight, god. I’ve imagined this for so long. You’re so perfect. You take me so well. Like you were made for my cock. Weren’t you? Say it.”
“I was made for your cock.” You babble, half out of your mind with lust. Chan has you nearly bent in half, hips meeting yours over and over fervently, and before you know it, you are stiffening up again, gasping and crying through another orgasm. Chan only speeds up, his voice going higher in octave until he is lurching forward, grinding hard into you, releasing ropes of cum inside you. You flush at the feeling, trying to catch your breath. He collapses on top of you.
You stare at the ceiling for a bit, hands reaching up to brush gently over Chan’s sweaty back. He shivers. You crack a small smile.
“That was….. something.”
Chan sighs into your neck. “That was the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
You bark out a laugh at his words. Typical Chan. So dramatic. You can feel his cheeks stretch with a smile at the sound of your giggles. You settle in again, continuing to stroke his back. Neither of you make any effort to move.
“You’re buying me dinner.” You say. Chan laughs and nods eagerly.
#seventeen x reader#seventeen fanfiction#lee chan x reader#dino x reader#lee chan smut#dino smut#lee chan x you#lee chan x y/n#dino x you#dino x y/n#svt x reader#seventeen imagines
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KNOCK KNOCK congratulations on your celebration!!
“This is wrong.” “So wrong.” While continuing to pull at each others clothes, mind fogged with nothing but lust and arousal. With Carmy perhaps 🧎🏼♀️ forbidden romance of some sort
this got soooo far away from me ummm
word count: 2.1k, it got so far from me guys
content warnings: MDNI!!! afab reader genitalia, unprotected sex, mentioned drinking, mentions of the walk-in incident
side note: i finally get to clock in on my "what if reader was claires sibling" bullshit, which no identifiers are mentioned so they could be adopted, but we're a bit messy lmao
You've always had a thing for Carmen Berzatto.
The boy down the street. The youngest of the three bears.
However you spent more time with Nat, dragged into her orbit on the volleyball court. She was peeking over your shoulder one day, looking at the shot you had gotten of the rival girls on the field. After that you two became attached at the hip until she graduated. Even afterwards you still kept in contact while going through your separate schools.
Nat was there when you walked across the stage. Seeing you and Carmy walk across the stage that afternoon left Natalie in tears in the crowd, clapping as loud as she could when they called your name.
Being friends with Nat and related to Claire left you little room to entertain your crush though. Being in the same year as both of them was enough to make you hit your head on the desk everytime they stared longingly at each other. It made you want to tear your hair out.
Claire wasn't very good at keeping a diary, leaving it out on her bed or desk. Wide open for anyone to read.
That's how you knew about her crush on Carmen. The way she talked about him, made him out to be this mythical shy guy who couldn't speak up for himself. (Mostly she complained about school but didn't you all?)
So high school yielded no action for you. Instead pining from afar, lingering in rooms when Sugar sparingly invited you to her house.
Richie always seemed to be around that house, entering or leaving or hearing him from inside the house. You had seen from your own front lawn how Richie and Mikey liked to dog on Carmy, arm slung around his shoulder and laughing loudly as Carmen's ears and face flushed. Sometimes Nat was there, shoving at Richie's arm as he tried to boost to her something he and Mikey had done.
So being in Carmy's orbit was enough until he went off to New York and Copenhagan and you never saw him again.
Not until Claire texted you saying she had run into Carmy at the grocery store.
Hearing the ups and downs of Claire and Carmy's relationship almost daily was grueling. Their adventures and scheming and spending the night at his house finally.
But it got you back in contact with Sugar, which was nice. You got to catch up with her on her grieving and her life with Pete and her expected baby.
Claire and Sugar invited you to friend's and family night at his restaurant. An exclusive time at the newest fine dining in Chicago. It was obvious you would go, invited not once but twice it basically played into your lap.
That's how you ended up watching Claire walk out of The Bear's kitchen with tears in her eyes. Richie is quick to trade places with her as you watch her walk out of the front door, the two Faks tailing behind her.
The screaming on Richie's side of the door is messy and loud. You can't even hear Carmy through the door.
Sugar keeps you around for support and clean up as the hardware man takes out the door. The sound of the saw is loud as you wipe down counters and return dishes to cabinets.
Carmy makes his presence sparing when he gets out of the walk-in, beelining for the back door. After a few minutes Sugar comes to find you.
"Hey.." She leans against the counter, watching you scrub at a particularly annoying spot.
"Hmm?" You hum, glancing at her quickly.
"You're good to leave... I... I'm sorry about... All of tonight, I didn't think..." Natalie trails off.
"Didn't think Carmy would break up with my sister?" You ask dryly. Natalie huffs next to you, ducking her head forward and leaning her forehead against your shoulder.
"Yeah... It's... I'm sorry.." Natalie sighs as you bring an arm around her. "I appreciate you..."
You hum softly, resting your cheek against the top of her head. "S'okay.."
"Nat?" It's Pete. Calling from the dining area before his head peeks in. Both of you turn to face him where he stands in the doorway holding Sugar's coat.
"Thank you, again.." Nat sighs, placing a quick kiss to your temple before letting go of you and heading towards Pete.
Natalie leaving means your in the kitchen mostly by yourself, save for the hardware guy.
He's not your problem so you head for the back door, collecting one of the coats from where it hangs and tugging it on before walking outside.
You find Carmy leaning against his car, cigarette between his lips and jacket unbuttoned, showing you the white tee that hugs his chest tight. He's built muscle since the last time you saw him... Back in high school.
"Hey..." You call softly to him, crossing your arms over your chest as you walk towards him cautiously.
"Hmm.." Carmy hums as he exhales, removing the cigarette from his lips before he turns to you. "Oh shit.."
His response makes you huff, smiling at him softly.
"You grew up." He says it as an observation but it makes your cheeks flush.
"So did you.." You tell him, tilting your head to the side. Carmy shrugs at this, sliding down his car to make room for you next to him.
"Gonna yell at me, too?" He asks, bringing the stick back to his mouth and inhaling.
"No..." You tell him, sliding onto the edge of the hood. "You've been yelled at enough tonight, let you have a break."
Carmy shakes his head before offering you his cigarette. You take it graciously, having only ever smoked a few times.
"Didn't know Sugar still kept you around..." He says casually, watching as you bring the cigarette to your lips and inhale shortly.
You hum around the filter before handing it back to him.
"Not so much anymore.. Both too busy for it.." You shrug. "Kind of hid away after you left. Didn't hear from her too often until um... Until Mikey.."
"Oh.." Carmy says and you sigh. "Didn't know that um.. that she-"
"S'okay," you tell him. "You didn't know.. Partially my fault, phone works both ways. Since you're unaware of that."
Carmy scoffs, shaking his head at you again and making you chuckle.
"Sorry I didn't uh... I didn't see you at her table..." He doesn't have to say who's table. He was so enraptured with her and it wasn't anything new. But this time it looked like a tainted enrapture, one that was going to drive him mad.
"Nothing new.." You mutter, tucking your burrowed coat in close.
"What does that mean?" Carmy snickers, looking at you sideways. You shrug, softly tapping your heel against the car.
"Just that.... Well just that you never really paid attention to me whenever she was around.." You twist your fingers around a loose string hanging from your hood. "So like... It wasn't a surprise you didn't notice me.."
You don't know why you're saying all of this. Maybe it's the wine they so readily supplied, making you loose lipped. Carmy's looking at you absolutely bewildered.
"What-"
"It's really not that big of deal, Carmy. Did it when we were in school too, not a big thing.." You brush him off, waving your hand at him like you can physically clear it from the board.
"But-"
"Doesn't matter," you cut him off. "Doesn't matter, doesn’t matter. Doesn't-"
You press a finger to his lips when he trys to speak up again. "Matter."
Carmy huffs against your finger when you're done.
"Done?" Carmy asks you while you study him. When you're sure that he's not going to try talking again, you remove your finger from his lips.
You watch as Carmy let's his cigarette fall, snuffing it out when he turns to face his body towards yours. You both stare at each other for a moment, glancing over every little feature that might have changed.
Somewhere between your impromptu staring contest and your back hitting Carmy's front door, someone had made the move. Maybe it was Carmy who brought his hand to cradle your jaw and closed the gap. Maybe you had pushed off the hood of the car and pushed Carmy up against the car door.
What ever it was had you up against Carmy's door, breathing heavily as he fumbles for his keys. Carmy fumbles with his keys, swearing softly as he pushes his hips harder against yours. You whine as the lock finally clicks, door pushing open behind you as Carmy leads you.
As soon as the doors closed Carmy is reconnecting your lips, guiding you back, back, back until your lower back hits a rough edge. The force surprises a groan out of you, welcoming Carmy to explore your mouth. Carmy's hands are firm as they climb upwards, resting and squeezing softly at your chest. He's quick to tangle his fingers in your shirt, tugging it up and breaking the kiss to lift it over your head and leaving you in just your under clothes. The way he whines when he can finally get his hands on you is intoxicating, driving your hands to grab at his waistband.
Carmy's own fingers snake down to pop the button of your pants, tugging down your zipper with ease.
"This is wrong.." Carmy pants against your lips, hooking his thumbs in your waistband of your pants and underwear and shoving them down your thighs.
"So wrong..." You say, tugging his belt out of the buckle and undoing his button and zipper.
"We should stop..." Carmy betrays his words, helping you push down his pants and stepping out of them to push up against you. His erection is painfully obvious as he grinds against you.
"Definitely," you agree, pushing yourself up onto his counter. You kick your pants off, letting them fall to the floor at Carmy's feet. Carmy groans into your skin, pressing kisses to your neck as his hands knead at your thighs.
"You should.... Should go.." He whispers against your collarbone as his hands slide just out of reach of your core. You can't fight the whine you let out at his teasing touch, grabbing his wrist to coax him closer.
"Uh-huh.." You nod, closing your eyes as the pads of his fingers swipe between your folds. Carmy's breathing is heavy as he prods at your entrance, resting his forehead against your shoulder.
When he finally pushes in, you can feel his sharp inhale against your skin. His reaction causes you to open your eyes, looking down and following his gaze. Carmy is watching the way his middle and ring fingers stretch you open, pushing until he's to the knuckles. You whine softly as Carmy curls his fingers up against your inner walls, grinding the heel of his hand against your clit causing you to buck up to his hold. He starts with shallow thrusts, driving his fingers deep and yours into his curls.
"Need.... Need now, Carm..." You whine, bucking up into his motions. Carmen groans softly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. The hand not in his hair, slips fingers into the waistband of his boxers, tugging down at the elastic. He groans softly, starting to trail kisses up along your neck again.
"Please, Carm.." You whisper as he slowly starts slipping his fingers out of you, making you pout at the loss. His hands are quick to take over for yours, shoving off his boxers and letting his length spring free.
"Sure 'bout this?" He whispers against your cheek, nipping softly along your jaw.
"Uh-huh.." You nod, scooting your hips closer to the edge of the counter and feeling the warmth of him against your thigh. "Y're so warm, Carmy..."
The twitch he gives you in response to your whine makes you grin, capturing his lips quickly. "Please?"
Carmen is easy to persuade, bringing your knees to his sides and nudging his head up against your entrance. The first push makes you inhale sharply, just the tip much thicker than his two fingers. Carmy groans next to your ear, hands holding your hips tight.
"S'warm... Tight..." Carmy grunts, pushing a little deeper at his own words. You nod anyways, not registering his words but your body does. Carmy whines when he feels your walls clenching around him, bringing one of his hands to guide your face to him and kissing you deeply.
With you distracted Carmy is able to push until his hips are flush with yours, making you both groan.
"Gonna make you feel s'good.." Carmy promises.
And he does.
#saltnsugarbear#too much salt (18+)#carmy berzatto smut#carmy berzatto imagine#carmy berzatto x reader#carmy x reader#carmy berzatto#200 grains of salt [ 200 followers celebration ]#carmen berzatto x reader#the bear fanfiction#the garden [ mutuals! ]#original babygirl [ olive ]
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clash of colours | like mother, like daughter mini series
summary: rascal opens her presents on christmas day and is disappointed to recieve the wrong kit, much to katie's outrage over the situation.
like mother, like daughter masterlist
“Mammy! Caitlin!” You shout loudly, bouncing on the bed to wake them up, “Wake up, it’s Christmas!”
In your excitement, you stumble and flop directly onto Caitlin, who grumbles a half-hearted protest as she nudges her girlfriend, “Katie, Rascal’s awake.”
Katie groans, barely cracking an eye open as she glances at the clock, “What the– Rascal, it’s not even 6 a.m yet. What’re yer’ doin’ up so early?”
“Santa’s been, Mammy!” You exclaim, bouncing harder, “It’s Christmas! It’s Christmas!”
“Rascal, it’s not even light out yet, see?” Katie gestures toward the window, encouraging you to take a peek out of it and see it’s still relatively dark out, “How ‘bout we try sleeping a bit longer, yeah? Presents will still be there in a bit.”
Of course you’re not going to give in that easily though.
“No, Mammy. We’ve gots’ to get up and open presents!” You try your luck to pull her arm to get her out of bed, however it’s easier said than done.
“Rascal, let’s sleep for a bit longer. Yer’ presents will still be there to open even then,” Katie continues to try and persuade you, clearly not much of a fan of being woken up early despite the years she should have been used to it by now.
“No, up now!” Your frustration turns into whines, “Come on, Mammy!” You’re confused why won’t they wake up already?
“Something tells me I don’t think she’s going back to sleep anytime soon,” Caitlin jokes playfully, nudging her girlfriend, “Shall we go downstairs and see what Santa has brought you then, eh?” She wonders.
“Yeah!” You perk up immediately from the small tantrum you had begun to have and you're grateful at least Caitlin agreed to get up, “Come on, Mammy. We’re gonna open presents!”
Without much choice but to agree to you, Katie huffs and throws the duvet back before she scoops you up into her arms, “Right, come on then. Lets’ go and see what the man in red’s brought yer’ then, eh?”
“Santa!” You squeal in excitement, even more excited to see if he had eaten the milk and cookies that you left for him the previous night, “Santa! Santa!”
“Are you excited to see what presents Santa has left for you?” Caitlin questions, amused by your excitement as you flail about in Katie’s arms, “I bet you’ve been so spoiled!”
“Santa!” You continue to squeal, vibrating with excitement as your eyes widen in sudden realisation, “Wait, no, Mammy– Auntie Lalas’ not ‘wake yet!”
“Oh believe me rascal, I don’t think yer’ auntie will mind missing out too much on this considering the time,” Katie jokes, more than aware of the fact that her sister is definitely less tolerant to being awake at this time in the morning than she is, “How about we let her sleep for a bit longer while yer’ open yer’ presents, and then yer’ can wake her up afterwards?” She suggests.
“No, Mammy, it no’ the same an Lala needs to be ‘wake as well!” You insist, furrowing her eyebrows as you pass her bedroom door, “I go an wake her up!”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea rascal,” Katie hesitates to agree, shaking her head, “Let yer’ Auntie sleep–”
“No, Mammy. Wake her up!” You insist, wriggling around in Katie’s arms until she reluctantly puts you down and lets you have the freedom to run and dive onto your Auntie’s bed in a not so polite way to wake her up, “Auntie ‘Lala you gots’ to wake up! Santas’ been!”
“What in the… Rascal?!” Ella is completely thrown off by her abrupt wake up call by yourself and you should consider yourself lucky to not be tossed off the bed, “What times’ it?”
“6 am,” Katie grumbles, standing outside of the bedroom door, “I did try and tell her to let yer’ sleep but well, yer’ know how well that went.” She explains, shrugging her shoulders.
“6 AM?!” Ella repeats, her eyes darting to her phone on the bed side table, grumbling something under her breath before flopping her head back down on her pillow, “Wake me up when it’s later, like 10 or something,” She murmurs with her eyes shut again.
You don’t like the idea of her going back to sleep very much, not on your watch.
“Auntie ‘Lala, you gots’ to wake up cos’ Santa has been!” You repeat, you’re very excited about Santa paying you a visit during the night, “You gots’ to get up!”
“Sure, rascal, but it’s too early for that,” Ella murmurs in response to you, waving her hand in a gesture as she does no more than rolls over and continues to try and sleep.
You weren’t taking no for an answer though, “No, Mammy said we could get up–” Huffing aloud, you do no more than not so kindly jump directly on her stomach which makes her groan suddenly, “Get up, Auntie ‘Lala!”
“Whoa, okay, alright I think that’s enough,” Katie can tell Ella is much likely about to throttle you and steps in as she reaches for you and swoops you back up into her arms, “We’re going to leave Auntie ‘Lala to wake up and come downstairs when she’s ready, okay? We’ll go and open presents for now with just the three of us.”
You didn’t miss the way that Ella shot Katie a grateful smile as you were forced out of her room without much choice, Katie held you in her arms as she carried you down the stairs where a pile of presents awaited.
“Santas’ been!” You squeal in excitement, your eyes widen with wonder as you take in the sight of all the different presents that are laid out under the tree, “Mammy! Caitlin! Look, Santas’ been!”
“He has indeed, rascal,” Katie retorts, gently setting you down on the floor so you can explore them further, “Mammys’ just going to make me and Caitlin a drink because we’re in need of them. Can you be patient and wait until then?” She questions.
“Open presents, please,” You plead adorably, your enthusiasm infectious.
“Just wait, rascal, your Mammy won’t be too long,” Caitlin reassures you, smiling at your eagerness as plonks herself down on the sofa and anticipates the much needed cup of coffee early in the morning to deal with your excitement while opening presents.
By the time that Katie has returned with 2 cups of coffee, you are practically bursting with excitement and bouncing around the room like a bundle of energy, ready to explode, “Open presents now, please?”
“Go ahead and open them rascal,” Katie settles onto the sofa, passing a mug to Caitlin and gives you the green light to start tearing into your presents.
Your eyes widen with awe as you tear through the wrapping paper, revealing an array of toys that elicited squeals of joy with each new discovery.
Katie couldn’t help but chuckle, delighted to be able to watch the pure happiness as you unwrap every single present. She can’t wait to see the look on your face when you open your last present that she is partially excited about - A replica of her own shirt with the name “Mini McCabe” proudly emblazoned on it in the famous red and white shirt.
You continue to make your way tearing through the presents, finally reaching the last one. With eager hands, you tear off the paper, revealing the red and white football kit.
“Wow, a football kit!” You squeal in delight, clutching the fabric with glee.
However, your joy quickly turns into confusion as you examine the kit more closely.
“What’s the matter, rascal?” Caitlin questions, the concern evident in her voice.
Katie notices your sudden disappointment, “Do you not like it, rascal?” She wonders, her confusion growing.
“Tis’ Arsenal. Me wan’ Chelsea instead,” You declare, your tiny voice filled with disappointment.
Katie’s face registers a mixture of shock and disbelief, “Rascal, why would yer’ want a Chelsea kit? Mammy plays for the Gunners, not the Blues,” She reminds you, her voice tinged with surprise.
Your disappointment mirrors Katie’s as the tears well up in your innocent eyes, “Why’d Santa bring me this? I’m not a Gunner, I support the Blues!” You whimper, your heart sinking in disappointment.
Katie struggles to find her initial frustration, “Because Santa knows that in this house, we support Arsenal, rascal,” She explained, adamant about her decision that she will not be swapping out the kit for one of the rival’s team.
“Look, rascal, Santa brought you this one because he thought you’d like this one better,” Caiitlin tries to salvage the situation, “How cool does it look, huh?” She gestures, hoping to shift your focus to the positive aspect of the shirt.
“But no Chelsea,” Your bottom lip wobbled, signalling an impending meltdown.
“No Chelsea, Arsenal instead,” Katie reiterates, turning to Caitlin with a look of disbelief.
“Wow, look, rascal,” Caitlin speaks up, pointing with her index finger over the name on the back, “Do you see what it says on the back? Santa did it especially because he knew you would like it, look, it says ‘Mini Mccabe’ just like you!”
“No!” You push the material away, clearly unhappy with it.
Katie feels a pang of heart as you reject the red and white Arsenal kit, “Rascal, why don’t yer’ try it on?” She tries her best to get you to like it.
Shaking your head in disagreement, you're very reluctant to try it on, “No! Don’ want Arsenal. Wan’ Chelsea!” You insist, your tiny voice filled with determination.
“Rascal, why?” Katie’s voice trembles with surprise and disappointment, “Arsenal is the batter team, not… not Chelsea.”
Your stubbornness stings Katie, hoping you would share her passion for the Gunners but instead you have decided to lean towards their rivals in blue.
“Me wan’ Chelsea!” Your insistence crushes Katies’ hopes, leaving her at a loss for how to reconcile your conflicting loyalties, “Me no wan’ no stupid Arsenal!”
Caitlin and Katie shared a look, though Katies’ is more frustrated over the situation, “Over my dead body will my daughter wear a Chelsea shirt in this house… It’s not happenin’!”
But it did happen – As soon as Ruesha got wind of your disappointment over the “wrong” kit, she was all onboard in getting you the Chelsea kit you wanted. Anything to advert a meltdown – and, of course, wind Katie up as well.
“Look, Mammy, look!” You shout, bouncing in excitement as Katie opens the front door, her face falling as she sees you dressed head to toe in a blue and white Chelsea kit, courtesy of Ruesha, “Mama got me the kit I wanted!”
“Yer’ I can see that, Rascal,” Katie mutters, swallowing a lump of dismay as she shoots Ruesha a glare, “Really, Rue?”
Ruesha just shrugs with a mischievous grin, “Hey, anything to make the kid happy, Katie.”
Katie sighs, trying to mask her irritation, “Alright, Rascal, say bye to Mama,” She prompts, ready to end the exchange and once you’ve hugged Ruesha, Katie ushers you inside, already bracing herself for the upcoming battle of getting you out of that kit and into your pyjamas.
Much to Katie’s horror, the determination to wear your brand new kit everywhere sticks, even when it comes to the Arsenal training grounds.
“Rascal,” Katie tries her luck as she scowers your wardrobe for find something for you to wear other than that damn kit, much to your disagreement, shaking your head at every option of clothing she’s shown you, “What about this one? Look, it’s red, yer’ know like Mammy’s team!”
“No!” You exclaim, stubbornly against the idea, “Chelsea kit, Mammy! Chelsea kit!”
“You might as well give up and let her wear it,” Caitlin leans against the doorframe of your bedroom, amusedly watching the battle take place, “I’m sure this is just a phase and it’ll pass, right, Rascal?”
“Chelsea my team!” You declare, promptly as you tug at the blue and white material hung up in the wardrobe, “This one, Mammy!” You continue to insist.
“I never knew what heartbreak felt like until now, when my own kid decides to support the wrong team,” Katie murmurs, fauxing hurt as she clutches her hand over her chest, “Alright, alright, Chelsea kit is then, eh?”
Caitlin can’t help but grin in amusement, “Oh you know the girls are going to love this.”
The minute that you arrive at the training grounds, you are eager to run around and find everyone to show off your new kit to them all.
“Auntie Vivi!” You run straight towards her, as she scoops you up her arms, “Look at my new kit, it’s blue!”
“Rascal! You’re in the wrong colours,” Beth teases, eyeing your outfit as she sits beside her girlfriend.
“What on earth is this?” Leah asks with a gasp, playfully snatching you out of Vivs’ arms as she dangles you in the air to examine you head-to-toe wearing the gear of the rival club, “Katie, why is Rascal wearing this colour?”
Katie groans, already exasperated, “Don’t even get me started. Ruesha got it for her, and I’ve tried everything I can to get it off her.”
“No, ridiculous, this won’t do,” Leah tuts, shaking her head and showing her clear detest for the kit you’re donned in, “Rascal, don’t you want to be cool and wear red instead? You can even wear a jersey with my number on the back. Wouldn’t that be fun, instead of yucky blue?”
You shake your head stubbornly, “No, me wan’ wear Chelsea. I like Chelsea better, Auntie Le!” You declare to the blonde, before turning your head to look at Katie, “Mammy, do you think that Lauren James will sign my shirt at the next game?”
A ripple of gasps echoes around the room, and Katie’s teammates stare at you in stunned disbelief.
“Katie,” Lotte chimes in, horrified, “I think there might be something wrong with your kid. She might be broken.” She retorts, her tone laced with disbelief at your bold statement.
katie_mccabe11 posted
liked by caitlinfoord and 1,033 others
katie_mccabe11 true heartbreak right now as a mammy seeing your kid wear a different team to the one you play for 💔
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bethmead_ legend has it that leah is still crying about this
view 12 replies liked by 129 others
viviannemeidema no words. no words at all.
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leahwilliamsonn i am still in disbelief about this
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caitlinfoord way to go and break your mammy's heart, rascal
view 14 replies liked by 123 others
ellamccabe like mother, like daughter
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© scribblesofagoonerr
#woso x reader#woso fanfics#arsenal x reader#woso imagine#woso#woso one shot#arsenal women x reader#arsenal wfc x reader#katie mccabe x reader#caitlin foord x reader#scribblesofagoonerr
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hii maybe some morning sex with BDE
A/N: Thanks for the request! I'm not sure if this is exactly what you had in mind but here we go. Thanks to @sissylittlefeather for encouraging me on this one!
Way Down
Pairing: BDE x Reader
Word count: 1.9K
TW: Usual sorts of BDE things - self-esteem issues, impotence, and then smut - oral, fingering, p in v sex, reader calls Elvis daddy, spanking, bratty!reader.

Elvis turns over for the twentieth time. It’s no use. He can’t sleep. Sighing loudly he gets up and pads over to the bathroom. Maybe if he runs himself a bath and relaxes in some nice steamy water for a while he’ll come out feeling ready to sleep. It seems like a long shot, but at least it’s something to do. He’d already re-read The Prophet five times, written several new notes in the margin, ordered a sandwich from the kitchen and eaten it and counted all of the freckles on your face. There’s not much left.
He sighs again as he sinks down into the hot water, thinking about you. Thinking about the little performance you’d given him earlier, that’s been playing over and over in his head ever since. That’s what has stopped him from getting any rest. He’d come in, ready to get into bed and read and you’d been sitting there, waiting for him. Dressed in his favourite pink babydoll with your hair and make-up all pretty. So far, so good. He’d got under the covers and opened a book and you’d crawled into his lap, all eyes and hair and bright pink lips. Your little hands running down his chest, cute little voice cooing at him. He told you now wasn’t the time, and he was going to read to you. So you settled down, and listened, all cuddled up to him cutely.
When he was done reading he kissed you on the top of the head and then eased you back under the covers. As he lay down next to you he realised you’d wriggled out of the babydoll, and started to wrap your naked body around him. Your hands were journeying down somewhere he didn’t want them to be, so he firmly told you no, again, and turned over. With his back turned he could hear your tiny sniffles, knew he’d upset you. But somehow he couldn’t turn back and comfort you. Or apologise. He just waited until he heard your breathing getting regular and decided you were probably asleep. And then he started to feel guilty, and he still feels guilty now. He just didn’t want to disappoint you, when inevitably his dick didn’t work like it should. He screws his eyes shut. He should let you go, really. It’s not fair to you, being with half a man like this. But he loves you. And you make him feel less lonely. He sighs for the millionth time. The bath hasn’t helped, he might as well get out.
He dries himself slowly with a big fluffy towel and then carefully wraps it around his waist. At least some time must have passed by now. Maybe it’s a reasonable time for normal people to be awake. He walks back into the bedroom and looks at the clock. 9am. He hasn’t seen 9am for quite some time. Moving slowly towards the bed, he sees you’ve kicked off the covers. You do this almost every night - put the electric blanket on too high because you’re afraid of being cold, and then kick it off in your sleep. But usually you’re wearing pyjamas. And right now, you’re still naked from that failed attempt at intimacy earlier, and lying on your front with your long brown hair everywhere. His eyes trail down your body until they reach your ass. It looks perfect right now; tanned and round and just begging to be touched. He stands by the side of the bed and stares at it for a while, smiling, thinking about you running about in your skimpy little bikini, your ass and tits just bouncing around.
You huff a little in your sleep and that makes him smile even more. It’s like you’re being bratty even though you’re not awake. Huffing usually got you spanked, and he knows you do it sometimes because you enjoy a good spanking. You’re always dripping afterwards. He starts to feel something stirring below his waist and reaches out to run his fingers over your ass cheek. Your skin is smooth and warm. You grumble a little now and your head moves, eyes slowly opening as he strokes your ass again. Groggy, but enjoying the contact, you shift your legs a little further apart, inviting his fingers to toy with your pussy. Your grumble turns to a soft moan as you feel one of his long digits sliding inside you. It feels so good. His expert touch has you wet in seconds and you turn to look at him as he eases another finger in.
He’s a little damp from what you assume is a bath - that’s what he usually does when he can’t sleep. His belly pooches over the towel wrapped around his waist a little, his pretty face stares down at you intently and… wait a minute. You blink a few times to try and make sure you’re not having a very vivid dream. No, you’re not dreaming. That towel is tenting. You get up onto your hands and knees and reach for it, pulling it off quickly and revealing his more than half-hard dick.
“N-no, ah… honey I-” He tries to protest, wanting to wiggle away from you but unwilling to remove his fingers.
You shake your head. “C’mere I wanna suck you.”
He starts to tell you that you can’t do that when he’s not really hard, but all thoughts and words are knocked out of his head by that pretty little mouth of yours wrapping itself around him.
“Shit,” he mutters, trying to recover enough to keep pumping his fingers in and out of you.
You’re pleased at his reaction, your hand pulling him into your mouth as you flatten your tongue against the underside. He makes another little pleasured noise, making you feel even more self-satisfied.
The way his fingers are just slipping in and out of you, the way you’re so wet for him so quickly, your reaction to his floppy dick… everything is just making him more wildly turned on than he’s been in a long time, and he feels himself hardening in your mouth and hand. He puts his other hand in your hair, and you look up at him, lovingly.
“Baby, can I fuck you?” He asks, voice hoarse with lust.
You nod and let his dick slide back out of your mouth again, wet with your saliva.
“How do you want me?”
He groans. In every which way imaginable, he thinks. Instead he just says, “scooch down to the edge of the bed here, on your back.”
You do as you’re told, positively beaming. You like following instructions, and you like being fucked.
He strokes himself a couple of times and then lines his dick up with your entrance, slowly starting to push inside. You moan together, enjoying something neither of you have felt for a while. As he starts to slowly thrust in and out, he watches your breasts bounce with every movement. Gripping your legs for leverage, he starts to go deeper.
You’re just getting used to the feeling of him filling you up and stretching you out, your pleasure starting to gradually build, when he suddenly lets your legs go and grabs you around your waist, picking you up off the bed and holding you against him. Your legs wrap around him automatically, and at first you think he’s carrying you somewhere else. Then you realise he’s just fucking you standing up instead. You had no idea he was strong enough to do this. You’re pretty small and he’s certainly picked you up and carried you places a few times, but you’d never thought of doing it in this position. He had, though. Lots of times. Especially when you first met. It was an image he’d found hard to get out of his mind, but somehow he’d never had the guts to try it. Well, not until this sleep-deprived morning with the first hard-on he’s had for a long time, when it suddenly seems like a good idea.
You hang on tightly around his neck as his hands grip under your ass and his hips buck up into you furiously. You didn’t expect it to feel so good, he’s hitting somewhere inside that you really like and you can feel your pleasure building again. Also, it doesn’t hurt that it seems like he’s throwing you around like a ragdoll. You briefly wonder what came over him this morning that didn’t last night, and then he pulls you off him and back onto the bed again.
You whine. “Mmm Daddy. I was close!”
Your reaction just makes him grin, and he wonders how much longer he can do this for. He stands over you, dick red and rock hard, face flushed and hair a little wild. He hasn’t felt this good in quite a while.
“Turn over. No more whining.”
You lie back on your stomach again but the brat in you can’t resist another little whine. He shakes his head with a smirk and slaps your ass a few times.
“Told ya not to whine, bratty little thing.”
You’re not sure what noises you’re making by the time he starts to fuck you again, fingers gripping your hips as he pulls you back onto him with every thrust. They’re definitely pretty frustrated when he pulls out before you can cum, and tells you to turn back over.
“Please,” you moan, your pussy red and puffy and desperate to cum.
He laughs. “Alright. I’m getting tired.” Sitting down on the bed, back against the headrest, he lets his head fall back and his eyes half close. “Come and ride this old man ‘til ya cum all over his dick.”
You can’t get there fast enough. He’s laughing at your eagerness, and then you pout and he kisses you tenderly as you settle back onto him again, your hips rolling. He moans into your mouth as you ride him mercilessly, bouncing up and down and pulling his hair. Finally you’re there, tumbling over the edge into oblivion, fingers entwined around the back of his neck as you throw your head back and moan.
Your walls squeeze him like a vice and he throws his head back too, big hands taking up most of your back as he keeps bucking his hips into you until he cums. The feeling of euphoria hits him and he gathers you up into his arms, holding you tightly against him as he savours it. You bury your head in his neck and kiss him there, enjoying how he smells - clean with the slightest hint of fresh sweat.
You snuggle into him afterwards, your head on his belly as he drifts off finally into a peaceful sleep. You know you’re awake now for the duration, but you don’t mind. For a change he didn’t put his pyjamas back on, so you plan on spending the next few hours studying his body. Who knows when you’ll get another chance.
As the two of you panted together in each other’s arms, you’d asked him what had made him change his mind. He didn’t really have an answer at first, but then when he thought about it, it became clear.
“I realised how much you love me, baby.”
***
Taglist:
Please let me know if you want to be added or removed:
@vintagepresley @arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @another-identityofmine @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @cattcb @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @ccab @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog

#elvis#elvis presley#elvis fanfiction#elvis fic#elvis presley fanfiction#elvis smut#elvis presley fic#elvis 70s#elvis presely smut#bde#elvis x y/n#elvis x you#elvis x reader#elvis presley x you#elvis presley x reader#elvis presley x y/n#elvis fanfic#elvis imagine#elvis presley fanfic
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Kiss Me At Midnight









Summary: The Straw Hats Celebrate New Year's Eve
Content: gender-neutral reader x Luffy, Zoro, Nami, Usopp, Sanji, Chopper, Robin, Franky, and Brook, Straw Hats holiday headcanons, no true spoilers except for characters up till Marineford, Chopper is strictly platonic
Word Count: 850+
A/N: I did this quickly and hiding away from my family for the second time tonight. I did not read back over this, so I am sorry for any grammar/spelling mistakes but what is new when it comes to all that lol. I hope you enjoy and have a happy New Years!
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Luffy:
He’s eating everything in sight
Do NOT leave your plate unattended
When the clock strikes 12 he’s kissing EVERYONE
No one is safe
Full on mouth to mouth kisses too
He has no shame, no boundaries
He heard Sanji saying something about kissing someone you love at 12
And Luffy loves you all so it’s only logical that he’d kiss you all
Please give him a little smooch back
Maybe hold his hand while you watch fireworks shoot off over the pitch-black sea
It’d make his whole year
Zoro:
He’s drinking
That’s all he’ll do
Drink and eat something
Do NOT ask him to play any games
Unless he’s winning against Sanji
Do NOT ask him to kiss you at midnight
He won’t do it…
…okay maybe he will kiss you at midnight but you have to give him a whole bottle of champagne afterward
He’ll grumble and complain but he’ll share a glass with you while fireworks go off
Zoro will bump your shoulder to get your attention
And will wish you a happy New Year and tell you he’s glad to have you by his side for another year on almost gritted teeth
He’ll need another glass of champagne afterward though
Speak your feelings is hard
Nami:
She’s going to bet Zoro she could drink more than him by midnight
And she won’t actually drink more than him
but she’ll somehow still win
And Zoro is going to own her couple hundred berries by the end of the night
She’ll wear those year glasses only if you wear them too
You two will join the others for the countdown
And she’ll take your hand, a bright smile on her face
As the countdown gets closer and closer to zero
She’ll pull you closer and closer
Her nose will brush against yours
And as soon as the clock strikes 12, her lips will be pressed sweetly against yours
She’ll hold you close and rest her head on your shoulder as fireworks bloom across the sky
Usopp:
He’s on firework duty
And stressing about it all night
He’s stressing so hard he can hardly enjoy the food Sanji’s cooking
He’ll have a drink…
Then another and another until somehow Sogeking makes a surprise appearance to finish up Usopps work
You’ll have to quickly lift his mask, steal a kiss at midnight, and get way out of the way before he sets all the fireworks off
Sogeking will leave for the night
And Usopp will find his way back at your side
Kissing you silly as the last of his fireworks fall out of the sky
Sanji:
He will cooking up a storm all night
But he’ll be sure to make you specialty drinks and appetizers
That you have to eat quickly by his side so Luffy doesn't snatch it up
He’ll fight off Luffy as you scarf down on the run
Sanji is stealing kiss after kiss all night
Saying he’s going to kiss you every hour till midnight
When the countdown starts he’s rushing to your side
Pressing you to flush against him
And giving you the longest, deepest, most passionate kiss he can muster
He’ll whisper sweet “I love you” and promises of another wonderful year
Chopper:
He’s insisting everyone wear the year-shaped glasses
He somehow even gets Zoro to wear them
He’ll swap out his signature hat for a sparkly black and gold one
He’ll give you a big hug and a kiss on the cheek at midnight
Please do the same back
He’ll blush and tell you to stop
But you know he loves it
Robin:
She’s going to try and get everyone to play a board game
A game with far too many instructions
And ends with Sanji and Zoro bickering, forehead to forehead
While she takes the winning move
She’ll nurse a glass of champagne for most of the night
Give you a sweet kiss at midnight
And hold you tight and close as you watch the fireworks go off
She’ll thank you for staying by her side
And for always believing and loving her
And you’ll have to give litter small kisses over her hands and wrists just to remind her all over again of how much you love her
Franky:
He’s drinking and eating
Sing and dancing
Shouting so loud it leaves your ears ringing
He’ll grab you and have you sit on his shoulders while he does it
He’ll make something big and sparkly to add to the festivities
He’ll also make a platform for Brook to stand on for his small concert
At midnight he’s kissing with a smacking smooch
And shouting SUPER
For all the world to hear
Brook:
He’s singing all night
He’ll stop for a quick drink and a laugh with you
But then he’s back up on stage singing for you all
At midnight he’ll pull you on stage, give you a small forehead kiss
Before he starts singing Auld Lang Syne for everyone as the clock chimes
Afterwards, he’ll be by your side for the rest of the night, singing and laughing and enjoying your company
#luffy x reader#zoro x reader#nami x reader#usopp x reader#sanji x reader#chopper x reader#nico robin x reader#franky x reader#brook x reader#luffy fic#zoro fic#nami fic#usopp fic#sanji fic#chopper fic#nico robin fic#franky fic#brook fic#one piece fic#one piece#straw hats fic#luffy x you#zoro x you#nami x you#usopp x you#sanji x you#chopper x you#nico robin x you#my fics#dividers by strangergraphics
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My Squad
This is a dad! Evan Buckley imagine I am thinking of turning into a series if anyone would be interested in reading it. Any feedback or ideas are always lovely.
Taglist: @lunaticspoem@butlegendsneverdie@langdonzvoid@jennyggggrrr@rogmeddows@radiob-l-a-hblah@rogertaylorsbitontheside@chlobo6@rogertaylors-lipgloss@sj-thefanthefan@omgitsearly@luckytrashgooprebel@scarsout@deaky-with-a-c@killer-queen-ofrhye@bluutac@vousmemanqueez-blog@jonesyaddiction@milanosaurus@httpfandxms@saint-hardy@7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls@mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@noonenuts@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway
911 Masterlist
Summary: Evan hasn't been with the team long and has kept his family a secret, but now he is ready for the team to meet his daughters. All of them.
Enjoy.
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Evan loved his job.
Out of all the other odd jobs, random placements and painful experiences he had worked at throughout the years, being a fireman was his calling. It was the one job he felt so at home and eager to do and proud of. And it was the first time he had felt like his colleagues were his family.
But despite feeling like the team were his family, Evan made a quick decision not to tell them about the family he had waiting for him at home when he clocked out each shift.
There were different reasons he didn't tell the team. They all knew he was married, that was something Evan had to disclose in his interview since (Y/n) was his emergency contact so if something happened, she would be able to find him at the hospital if a situation ever arose. But he didn't tell them the rest.
Hen thought of him as a playboy, she'd made that clear from the start and maybe that was just due to the impression Evan gave off. He looked carefree and he was daring and hot headed and passionate when he did his job, his attitude was loving but not exactly the image of a family man. So Hen didn't think Evan was 'dad material' and he didn't take it to heart, he knew looks could be deceiving.
Chimney seemed to think Evan was putting up a front, he was always commenting on how if Evan had a wife waiting at home- he had never met (Y/n) so was slightly sceptical if Evan actually was married or not- he could be so daring in the job. He was first to climb the ladder or run into a burning building.
He didn't understand that it was in Evan's nature to be quick thinking and push forward and do whatever he could to help and think of the consequences afterwards. And at the front of Evan's mind was always his family, he didn't rush into things without considering them. Chimney didn't know this, he didn't see it.
For Bobby, Evan got the impression his captain thought he was young and quite like a puppy, still finding his way in life and working out what he was doing. Bobby thought of Evan as his kid, he thought of him as younger than he really was.
And Eddie, he was still the newbie to the team. He was working them all out and getting into their way of things and getting to know them. Evan didn't give the same 'dad vibes' as Eddie.
No one knew about his children.
He did hint, once or twice, about who he was going home to and what he had hidden behind closed doors. But Evan didn't want to rush into things when this was the best job he'd had and the best people to work with. Evan wasn't good with change and if they knew about his family, dynamics would change. He hadn't brought his family or even (Y/n) to the Christmas party last year.
It had been the first event Evan had been to since he joined the team and he was too anxious about telling them he had a family to actually break the news and bring them along. His family was his everything and he liked having a little secret at home to come back to.
He was ready now.
He was ready for the team to meet his family because he was tired of being questioned if his wife was real or just imaginary. He was tired or the team calling him a daredevil with no conscience and no rationality or consequences. If this was going to be his team and his family for the foreseeable future, he could let them into his world and let them see what he was always fighting for.
"Why aren't you asleep?"
Evan tilted his head down to the right when (Y/n)'s voice, laced with sleep, broke him out of his thoughts and changed the quiet atmosphere surrounding them. It dawned on him then that while he'd been laid on his back with his left arm behind his head, his fingers had been tapping on the headboard.
It was an old habit he couldn't break when he was deep in thought or anxious about something. It had been so automatic that he didn't even hear or feel his knuckles rapping on the wood until now.
"Sorry, just thinking," He tightened his right arm around (Y/n)'s waist, smiling to himself when he felt her move against him. Her arm crept higher over his chest until her hand was curled around his tense shoulder and her upper chest was laid over his. She nuzzled her face against his other shoulder she was laid on and pressed a butterfly kiss against his collar bone that made him shiver.
"About what?" (Y/n) feathered her fingers over his shoulder as she breathed in his scent.
She could feel his heartbeat beneath her ear and the way it pulsed through her skin like a steady drum, trying to coax her back into slumber again. Whenever Evan did a night shift, (Y/n) couldn't sleep. She was too used to laying on top of him and hearing his heartbeat lull her to sleep.
"Introducing you and the girls to the team."
"Is that what you want?" (Y/n) could feel herself waking up a little when it registered what he had said. She knew how important his family and his work family were to Evan and how he wanted them separate for the time being. But if he was ready to introduce them all, (Y/n) wasn't going to say no.
It would be lovely to put faces to the names of the people he had been telling her about. The people that kept her husband safe for her while he was at work. The people who he risked his life for and who, in turn, risked their lives for him.
"Yeah, I want them to meet you all." He reeled her into his side and pressed a sloppy kiss to her temple, unable to stop from smiling against her skin.
Maybe it was time to introduce them.
***
"Stay close girls, I don't want you wandering round here." (Y/n) eyed two of her girls closely and tilted her head at them so they knew she was being serious. The last thing she wanted was to lose the girls at the station and then an alarm go off and chaos ensued.
They had to stay close and within her sights so no trouble was caused, this was the first time the girls would see their dad at work.
It wasn't supposed to be today, but plans had changed.
"I want daddy," Ella bit her thumb, her big blue eyes doing a wide sweep of the station that looked as big as her whole school, playground included. She couldn't see her dad anywhere and she had been crying for him for the last hour. The little girl was getting restless.
"We're gonna find him now." Reaching down, (Y/n) brushed Ella's hair behind her ear before she juggled Cora a little higher on her hip. She didn't have time to struggle getting the pushchair into the car when she had to go and pick the girls up from school and now she was regretting it. She had to carry Cora around with her, lest she wanted to set her down on the floor and watch her crawl around the station and drool everywhere.
"Hi, can I help you?" Chimney stuffed his hands into his pockets, smiling brightly at the four girls he saw walking past the truck, clearly lost in the station.
"Hi… is Evan around? Is it okay if we see him?" (Y/n) smiled nervously and did another double take of the station. She could hear voices coming from the loft upstairs but she couldn't see who was up there.
"Sure, he's just upstairs… you must be Maddie, I'm Howie, but everyone calls me Chimney."
(Y/n) felt her smile melt into a more comfortable one as she walked over to him, making sure Angel and Ella were right behind her as Chimney guided them over towards the stairs. Evan had told the team he had a big sister then, at least he had opened up to them a little. (Y/n) knew he told them he was married, it was the girls he hadn't said anything about.
He didn't mention he had three of them.
"Hey Chim… do we have guests for dinner?" Bobby moved the large dish of pasta into the centre of the table before he pulled back and placed his hands on his hips. His smile was warm and inviting as he looked over the troop of girls who were stood beside chimney.
No one mentioned having family or guests popping by the station today, not that it really mattered. Anyone was welcome as long as it wasn't an inspection day or the bell didn't go off unannounced and ruin things. The station was warm and friendly, they wanted family to feel safe and comfortable coming here and being around the team.
"I think we do, this is-"
"(Y/n)?" Evan almost dropped the bottle of water he just got out the fridge when he turned around and clocked his gaze on his wife.
What was she doing here? Why did she have the girls with her? They should be at school right now.
"Surprise," She bounced Cora on her hip who gurgled, content at pulling the necklace tight in her fist and try to shove it into her mouth.
"Wait, (Y/n)?" Chimney pulled his hands from his pockets and turned at an angle to look at the woman stood beside him. She didn't correct him when he assumed she was Buck's sister Maddie. She didn't say her name or even say anything. This couldn't be the girl Buck was always telling them about, the girl Chimney had been very sure didn't actually exist. She was as beautiful as Buck always boasted.
"Daddy!" Ella could of cried when her blurry eyes finally set on the one person she had been crying out for during the past hour or so.
She pulled away from her big sister and bolted past the large table, bypassed Bobby who seemed to be in her way and made a beeline towards Evan, almost knocking him down with her force. She barelled into his arms, narrowly missing his legs when he lifted her up so she didn't rugby-tackle him down into the fridge behind him.
He lifted her up and swung her round in the air, a bright smile painting his face as he lowered her back down and snuggled her into his chest. His arms pinned her against his chest and he smothered her temple with kisses to feel her squirm and wriggle against him.
"Hi baby! Why aren't you at school?" Evan's voice was a notch higher than normal and full of surprise as he rubbed his cheek against the top of her head and shimmied side to side with his middle girl.
"Hi daddy,"
"Hi sweetie," Evan cooed back and raised his free hand to his temple before he slowly stretched his arm out in the sign for hello.
He grinned broadly when Angel trotted over and wrapped her arms around his legs, burrowing into him to get some of his attention since she was here too. She was the eldest, after all, she was the one who Evan always called his 'little angel' and not just because it was her name. She was his first born, then Ella was his middle girl who was his little double, and Cora was his youngest baby.
"Buck, care to introduce us?" Bobby clamped one hand down on his hip and reached the other out to lean against the kitchen counter.
He rose his brows and quirked a smile as Chimney stood flabbergasted, Hen sat at the table with an open mouth and shock written on her face.
And Eddie did well to hide his surprise as he made a beeline for (Y/n) and the toddler in her arms.
"Guys, this is (Y/n)," Evan pointed over to his wife who he slowly shuffled towards with Angel still clinging to his legs. "This is my eldest, Angel, then there's Ella here," He bounced her on his hip but she hid her face in his neck, too shy to look around. "And the youngest there is Cora; meet my squad."
All of them could see Evan had a proud smile, bright shining eyes and a deep chuckle hiding in his chest. These were his girls, his squad of ladies and he was proud and cherished each of them. He had his wife and three special girls to show off and now the team could see that he wasn't the reckless person they all thought he was. He was a proud dad to three girls.
"Girls, this is my captain Bobby… that's Hen, Chimney you've seen, and this is my pal Eddie."
"You didn't mention anything about this. Where have you been hiding them?" Hen spoke around her cup of coffee but she was too shocked to take another sip.
Buck; their nutter Buck was a dad. He had three children hidden away that they had no idea about.
"You don't waste much time, do you Buck?" Eddie smirked, letting his eyes drift between his friend and (Y/n) until the rest of the team looked over and it clicked in.
She was pregnant.
"I told you, this is my squad."
(Y/n) rolled her eyes but her smile gave away the slight blush and embarrassment she felt. This was exactly what they both had been expecting when the team realised that Evan wasn't even thirty yet and he already had three children, soon to become four.
Her gaze turned back to Eddie who was tickling Cora and she happily handed her toddler over when he muttered a kind 'may I?'. He moved to sit down at the table with Cora on his lap, bouncing her up and down and entertaining her like a champion.
"Now why aren't you at school?" Evan looked back down at Ella and gently brushed his thumb against her cheek to try and get her to talk to him but she stayed quiet and instead buried her face more into his neck to hide herself away.
Looking down at his eldest girl, Evan adjusted Ella a bit higher in his arms so he could raise his hands out in front of him with Ella in the crook of his elbow. He raised his left palm up and pressed his right palm down like he was making a funny clap, doing the sign language for school while he simultaneously whispered 'no school' at her. He was the one who had dropped them both off at school this morning and he knew they shouldn't have left early today which begged the question, why were they here now at lunch time?
The seven-year-old looked up at him with her doe eyes and then looked across at her mum instead.
"They gave out cookies at school but no one mentioned they had milk in them."
"Lactose intolerant?" Hen muttered quietly but she pursed her lips and realised she had to be wrong when she saw Evan's reaction. He quickly pulled Ella back and cupped her face in his palm to look down at her and examine her like he'd been told she had been shot. His fingertips skimmed across her face before going to examine her neck which made the little girl pull back with a whine.
He could see it now. He could see the dried tears staining her cheeks and the redness all around her eyes and the blotches across her cheeks and down her neck.
"Ella's allergic to milk," (Y/n) tried to smile but it was hard after the argument she'd just had with the school.
There was a laminated piece of paper in Ella's school bag that listed off her allergies and it was on her record and written down in reception and the classroom cupboard. No one could miss it or forget or not realise she had allergies. At home there was a big sticker that said 'Allergies: MILK' in bright brick red letters at the top so if anyone came round, they knew what they couldn't give to one of the girls. Then below that it listed her other allergies such as honey, lavender and plasters.
They had a section in the cupboard filled with all the biscuits and snacks Ella would eat which didn't contain milk.
Lavender brought Ella out in bright red splotches that itched and burned like she had been touched by a red hot poker. Plasters were less dramatic, they were irritating to her skin and slowly started to feel like they burned. Honey was hit and miss, it either made her chest burn and her skin blotch or she had a worse reaction and couldn't breathe.
But milk was the main allergy, anytime Ella had milk she went into anaphalactic shock. Her throat would swell and close up, her chest would ache and burn and she had to have one if not two shots of adrenaline from her EpiPen to stop the reaction.
When Ella was a baby, her allergy was less serious, they had to buy special baby powder that she could take. But as soon as she was a toddler and they tried any other form of milk, they had to take a drive down to A&E or call an ambulance.
"Did they use your EpiPen?" Evan spoke quietly, his brows still furrowed and his lips still held in a deep frown as he looked down at his daughter. He started to relax a little when Ella leaned into the palm of his hand and nuzzled her nose against his wrist making him feel more at ease but he still frowned when she nodded. She looked as if she was about to cry again but when she curled her arms around Evan's neck and he kissed her cheek, she seemed to calm down a bit more.
"I didn't know daddy, I only had one bite,"
"It's not your fault baby," He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and tightened his arms round her when she leaned her cheek on his shoulder.
The school had a list of Ella's allergies and they had two EpiPens, one in the classroom and one in the reception as a back up. She took her own pack up to school so there was no risk of anything being contaminated with milk but they should double check before they give her anything. (Y/n) had told them under no circumstances to give Ella anything that wasn't in a packet, especially cake when children brought in their birthday cake that didn't have a list of ingredients. It wasn't worth the risk when Ella had such a high allergy.
At least she was okay this time, Evan had been called before from the school saying she had two EpiPens administered and they called an ambulance as protocol.
(Y/n) got the phone call but they had been quick giving Ella her dose of adrenaline and she calmed down, started to breathe and talk just fine and when (Y/n) rushed down and checked her over, there was no need for an ambulance. But Ella was in a state and she didn't want to stay and to make things easier, she had collected Angel early as well so she didn't have to go back in a few hours and pick her up later.
The plan had been to take the girls home but Ella had cried as soon as she got in the car, demanding to see her dad. It was routine after any allergic reaction that Ella saw Evan and got comforted by him and today was no different, she wasn't going home without seeing her daddy.
"Would you like to stay for dinner?"
"Is that okay?" (Y/n) looked between Bobby and Evan, double checking that it would be okay for the girls to stay, none of them had had anything to eat yet other than a partial cookie that caused today's chaos.
"Of course! We have to get to know you all now anyway," Hen waved for them all to sit down around the table. It was the routine to eat dinner together as a family and now, finally, they could meet Buck's family and get to know them. They were going to be part of the 118 either way so they should stay.
Evan leaned over Eddie so he could give Cora a quick kiss, he hadn't seen his one year old yet who Eddie gently handed back to (Y/n). And Evan kissed (Y/n)'s temple before he moved and took a seat next to (Y/n) with Ella on his lap since she was attached to him at the moment. Angel moved to sit between Evan and Chimney while Bobby sat at the other end of the table.
A fondness washed over Bobby when he looked at Evan suddenly interacting with Angel.
He held his hands out in front of him and curled all fingers but his pinkies into his palm and made a circular motion with his hands before pulling his arms back at his sides like repelling magnets.
"Pasta for lunch sweetie," He spoke slow and clear and repeated the sign for pasta until Angel nodded and grinned. It was one of her favourites.
"What's the sign for hello?" Chimney looked over Angel at Evan who was sat on her other side but his eyes widened when Angel looked up at him and placed her hand to her head and did a salute. Hello was an easy sign, a simple gesture that many mistook for an army salute.
"She can read your lips if you speak clear, sign is just easier for her, we're working on pronouncing," Evan kissed her temple when she leaned into his arm, looking up at him with adoration in her eyes as she watched him explain.
Angel could speak but her pronouncing was a little bad at the moment, she could barely hear anyone or hear herself speak and it made her self conscious. Sign language was easier and calming for her because no one could make fun of how she said things and she could sign much faster than she could lip read or speak.
"Oh, right."
"Daddy…" Ella looked up at him with bashful eyes when he plated up Angel and himself a bowl of pasta, knowing Ella would share with him.
"No milk baby, I saw Bobby make it. You'll be fine." He winked down at her and took a mouthful before he stabbed another forkful and held it down towards her. He leaned his cheek against the top of her head to keep her calm and when she took a cautious bite, she grinned.
Evan went to take another mouthful but his jaw dropped and he gasped when Ella reached both her small hands up and grabbed his wrist to pull the fork down to her instead. She giggled when Evan tipped his head back and groaned but everyone else started to laugh.
"My daughters like your cooking, Cap." Evan gave up and handed Ella the fork so she could eat first, he knew he wasn't going to get very much now until she was finished. And he leaned over to the left and kissed Angel's forehead, rubbing his free hand up and down her back.
"I'm glad to hear it, that means they can all come by more often."
#evan buckley#evan buckley x reader#evan buckley imagine#buck imagine#buck x reader#imagines#911 imagine#911#bobby nash#eddie diaz imagine
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Caught
Pairing: Lighter x Reader
Summary: You just want to chill and jerk off but Lighter catches you in the act. What will he do?
Warnings: It's sex guys what can i say. Read at your own discretion, 18+ etc. Reader has a dick but is kept gender neutral (do tell if i missed something)
Notes: I am sooo normal about him. Super, completely normal. Not freaking out about him or anything. Nuh uh. No way.... I say, writing smut fanfic abt him shsjhdks
i feel like i wrote him a bit ooc, but im excusing it with the fact we don't interact with him that much shsks
Part 2 btw
"Ugh."
You plop down on your bed while letting out a very unceremonious groan. It was another hard day of working with the Sons of Calydon. After almost losing the cargo you were transporting and getting chewed out by Lucy (followed up by Caesar telling her to chill, which then ended in another battle, pulling you in as a judge and in the end bringing more of Lucy's wrath upon you because of course she lost) you want to do nothing more than just relax and have a restful sleep.
With the utmost willpower you can muster up, you get up to change into some clean clothes, do your usual before bed routine and slip under your covers. Happily, you cuddled yourself deeper into the comfort of your sheets. Only...
Sleep doesn't come to you. At all.
Looking at the clock, you realize it's still fairly early. So naturally, your mind is still running at top speeds even though your body craves some respite.
So what can you do to either pass some time or make yourself sleepier?
Well, some good options include making yourself some warm milk or counting sheep, reading a book, the usual options one would go for.
But all of those options sound incredibly tedious. Not only would you have to get up and leave the comfort of your bed for some of them, they all just sound so... unappealing. Plus you've tried counting sheep and the like before, you know it doesn't work for shit.
So, you choose the worn and proven method of: Masturbating. It weakens your mind so it can easily fall prey to sleep- you have some tissues on your night table as well. Hopefully, cleaning yourself up afterwards won't cause you to lose the sleepiness.
You push the covers off of you. It would be even more tedious if you accidentally smear pre on them, which would mean having to change the sheets and wash them.
Since you're not hard yet, you start gently palming your dick through your pants. You try imagining something arousing that'll do the trick, remembering some porn you watched recently or just general sexy stuff. But... even though you try not to think of anyone specific, only one person comes to mind. The undefeated champion and your one and only long-time crush, Lighter Lorenz. Well, not that he knows that he's your crush, you've just figured he's probably not interested in you. It's not like you're proper partner material.
Shaking your head, you try to get rid of your thoughts regarding Lighter. It's bad enough you can't stop thinking about him during the day, you don't want to also imagine him in the most vulnerable state. But it just seems impossible. The bad boy act he puts on captivates you, even more so when his nicer side shines through when he's flustered, not to mention his devilishly handsome face and his fat ass that keep circling around in your head until all your thoughts surround only him again. You wish you could just rail him into tomorrow until he forgets his own fucking name, slamming your cock into his hole and passionately sucking on his tongue- yeah you're beyond saving.
Groaning at your unsuccessful attempts of getting aroused by something other than who is basically your co worker, you rethink. Is it really so bad to desire him like this? After all, any thoughts like wanting him naked and the like won't ever come to his attention; it's not like he can read your mind. As long as you can manage to act normal towards him, it shouldn't be a problem to jerk off to your thoughts about him... Surely.
So you decide to just go with the flow. You pull your pants down to half of your thigh. Your dick springs up, throbbing eagerly at the thought of getting some much needed stimulation.
You lick your hand and then spit on it to have some lubrication, before you enclose your shaft in your fist, imagining it was Lighter doing this to you. A sense of relief washes over you and instinctively, you moan out Lighter's name, upon which you immediately slam your other hand over your mouth because you know the walls are not particularly soundproof. Technically, the others should be out but... there's still plenty of other people hanging about where they shouldn't be.
Keeping your hand clasped around your mouth, you start moving your fist up and down your cock again. Squeezing the top, you can't help but shudder blissfully at the pleasure coursing through you- until your door is suddenly thrown open.
"Hey, did you call for me-"
Your wide eyes make contact with Lighter's equally wide eyes through his sunglasses. For a moment, neither of you move or say anything, you with one hand around your dick and the other on your mouth, while Lighter stands at your door, still holding the door open.
Then you quickly scramble to pull your pants back up and Lighter quickly closes the door behind him, presumable to shield your dignity from even more humiliation.
Your face burns as you try to adjust to a position where your still raging boner isn't too obvious. Regardless of the obvious circumstances (and your very obvious embarrassment), you try to play it cool.
"So uhm, did you need anything from me? I'm too tired to do anything else today so you can also just tell me tomorrow... "
Clearing his throat, Lighter also tries to resume with his usual act of being aloof and uncaring, but his red face is a dead giveaway.
"I was walking past and heard my name so I thought you called for me... I really didn't expect to find you like this though."
No fucking way he heard you moan his name. Holy shit. You need to leave the Outer Ring, change your identity immediately. There's no way you can live with him knowing what you truly think of him. Just thinking about how awkward it would be- not to mention the chaos it would bring to the Sons of Calydon. As a gang, you need to work together like clockwork, there's no space for weird tensions. You could live with the shame, but you're not sure if he'd even want to hang around you anymore. Your mind runs at 100 miles an hour as you scramble to work some excuses up.
"Lighter, listen it's- it's not what you think-"
He raises an eyebrow at you. Yeah he clearly saw you jerking off- there's no way you're getting out of it. So you jump to plan B. You straighten up, trying to look as serious as you can, even with your still flushed face.
"Lighter, I'm... I'm sorry. I know you don't see me that way and that this is a super awkward situation. I know you're probably super grossed out at me, but I really hope this conflict won't affect the gang. I'm.."
You take a deep breath, trying to stay calm at your next words.
"I'm ready to leave the Sons of Calydon if I make you uncomfortable."
Lighter flinches at your words. You and him have shared a few of your struggles- so he knows this isn't an easy decision for you. After the gang picked you up when you were at your lowest, leaving it would mean leaving your only home behind. With nowhere to go, what would happen to you? The Outer Ring certainly isn't a place where it's easy to find one's footing. But more importantly...
" You've got nothing to apologize for. I'm not uncomfortable with... this situation, and uhm, you."
You stare at him, stunned. It'd be a lie to say you didn't half expect him to just start punching you.
He clears his throat and looks off to the side, a light blush covering his face.
"Actually, I'm very interested in what you were doing before I came in."
Huh?
"I-In fact, I want to know just what you were thinking about to get you to moan out my name... if you could tell me?"
HUH???
Not only is he not grossed out, it seems like he's enjoying this?? You can tell he has a smile on his face from the way his eyes seem to crinkle, even with his hand covering the lower half of his face. You sputter out a startled reply.
"W-well, I was imagining us making out and touching each other... I was thinking about you stroking my dick and- wait!"
You're sure you were as red as Old Daddy right now. Is this really okay? Is it really fine for you to just tell him your disgusting fantasies? Is he really... not upset? You squeeze your thigh before voicing your concerns.
"Are-are you sure you want to hear this? I mean, it's pretty gross for me to think these things about you and even more so to voice them so uh, I'm very sorry again"
A short silence engulfs you. Then, Lighter starts walking towards you. Squeezing your eyes shut, you brace yourself for the impact of his fist, but it never comes. Instead, you only feel him sit down at the end of your bed and gently put a hand on your leg. Composed as he seems, you still feel the slight tension in his hand. You cautiously open your eyes.
"If I had been uncomfortable, I would've made this clear by now. I definitely wouldn't stay around to hear someone being horny about me if I wasn't interested. And I also don't think you're gross. Actually I-, uhm"
He starts stammering and his face heats up again. He is pretty cute like this. You wish you could just snatch him up and kiss him so he wouldn't have to try speaking anymore.
"I think you're..."
He takes a moment to clear his throat, collecting himself.
"You're wonderful. You always care for me when I do end up getting into a fight. It... it helps me immensely in dealing with... the aftermath. To tell you the truth, I've also had significantly less nightmares because of you. And you're just... so pretty and handsome... It'd be hard not to like you."
Ah. You want to think he's lying- it's hard to accept anyone could ever think of you in a positive way. After all, you don't really have anything to offer. You're not funny or interesting to talk to, you don't have an important job in the gang and you most certainly aren't the most handsome person you can imagine. All in all, you're just an average joe!
But you know Lighter wouldn't lie to you- plus, all of these things are subjective judgments from you. Who's to say he doesn't see you differently?
Clenching your fist, you shuffle closer towards him, bringing your face near his. You reach up to take off his glasses, but hesitate. You know that they act as a sort of barrier against the world around him. Seeing your hesitation, Lighter gives you a short nod. So, you gently pull them off, your hands trembling. Gazing into his eyes, you reply.
"I... Well, you've probably already figured this out, but I also find you quite attractive. I mean, not only your body I just think you're so cute and I love the way you care for the other gang members..."
He gazes at you, with a love in his eyes that make you feel like you could burst at any moment. If there's anything you wish for, it's to keep this moment burned eternally in your memory. One of his hands comes up to cup your cheek.
"May I kiss you?"
You nod and he pulls you closer until your lips touch. Feeling his warmth on your lips is like a dream come true. There's a faint smell of oil and sweat coming off of him- it only makes you all the more hungrier for him.
Hesitantly, you decide to take the first step- since he has shown you that he truly desires you, it's time for you to step up to the plate.
You open your mouth and slide your tongue out to worm your way into his. He quickly lets you in, greeting your tongue with his own. They dance and wrestle with each other. You taste his spit and savour the taste, groaning into his mouth.
A string of spit connects you as you pull off with a wet sound. You gaze into each other's eyes as you pant, both utterly flushed.
Ligther regains his composure faster.
"Do you... think you could continue? With what you were doing before?"
You raise your eyebrows.
"You... want to watch me masturbate?"
"Yes."
"Well... I was going to do this anyway."
You return to your previous position under his heavy gaze. The way he drinks in every movement of yours leaves you utterly exposed- moreso when you start taking off your clothes. For the sake of him getting to see something, you undress completely.
Your dick already stands at attention again, having temporarily deflated during the serious talk with Lighter. Letting out an anticipating sigh, you grasp your cock again and squeeze it before starting up with the familiar up and down movement.
Moans fall from your mouth, partially influenced by Lighter's gaze on you. Glancing up at him, his flustered state encourages you.
You decide to put on a show for him. Sliding your fist up, you swipe your thumb across the head to collect the bead of precum, but then continue to tease the head and rub the spots which are the most sensitive. This naturally makes you let out more sounds, which seems to please Lighter, as he even sneaks a hand down to palm himself through his pants.
His watchful gaze leaves you feeling utterly exposed and incredibly aroused. Staring into his eyes, you can't help but imagine again that he's the one twisting his hand around your cock. Just the thought makes you unconsciously speed up, building up a feeling in your stomach that makes you curl your toes. Closing your eyes you let your head fall back, barely able to handle being watched.
After a few more strokes, you tilt your head down to look at him again. The sight is downright divine. He's panting almost as much as you, face flushed and still palming his dick. His elated expression brings you over the edge, ropes of cum shooting out onto you.
Seeing that you're finished, he stares at you, watching your chest rise from your heaving breaths.
Something in him snaps and he rushes forward to hungrily connect your lips again, shoving his tongue in your mouth once more. With barely any time to react, you try your best to reciprocrate, eventually managing to sneak a hand down to grope his ass. Lighter lets out a moan, his tongue still in your mouth. You use this opportunity to suck on it. His eyes flit to yours in surprise before they roll up at the wave of pleasure you managed to solicit by groping his very visible bulge.
But it's not enough friction, not enough of your touch for him, so Lighter separates from you and starts stripping. Although he only does it with the main goal of getting his clothes off, you can't help but be entranced by his body. His muscles flex and stretch while he undresses, a few scars decorating his body. It's obvious he fights for a living, but in the most positive sense.
You're so distracted with gawking at him that you don't even notice Lighter has finished undressing. So he decides to take the lead instead. Grasping your hand that's still covered in cum, he licks it off all while maintaining eye contact. You moan out at his actions, your dick twitching to life again at the erotic sight.
Encouraged, you immediately move to pleasure him after he lets go of your hand, but Lighter instead grabs the back of your neck and pulls you into a kiss.
His lips are somewhat chapped, you can smell motor oil and sweat on him. It feels so good to have his warmth against your lips, to move in tandem with him. It only gets better when he opens his mouth and licks at yours. You follow suit, letting him explore your mouth with his tongue. You can still taste your cum on it. The sensations of it make you groan into his mouth, eliciting a shudder from him.
But still you decide to focus on the more important thing: Lighter's cock. You gently push him back. Understanding your intentions, he moves back and adjusts to sit comfortably.
Grabbing his dick in your hand causes him to let out a hiss of relief. Seems like he has really needed this as well. Massaging it gently, you spit into your other hand for some much needed lubrication. Then you start stroking it, earning yourself a few moans from him. It doesn't take too long before he starts panting in earnest, hot puffs of breath leaving his mouth intertwined with occasional groans.
"Mmh... Very good...Ngh- I like that..."
You swipe at his tip when you reach it a few times, before deciding to duck down and kiss it.
"Ah! Y-you don't need to use your mouth for- ahhnnnngh...."
You had opened your mouth and taken his tip into your mouth. You swirled your tongue around his tip, playing with his slit. Lighter can't help but let out a series of moans and whimpers, sounding like an angel sent straight from heaven. All the while, you of course haven't stopped stroking the rest of it with your hand. You consider just deep throating him, but you're not really feeling up to the task. So instead, you focus on the tip and even swallow around it. This earns you a well-deserved whimper. To test the waters, you carefully graze his dick with your teeth. He bucks his hips up at that, accidentally thrusting his dick further into your throat, causing you to pull off of him out of reflex.
"Ah shit, sorry I didn't mean to- NGHHF" He starts reaching for you, but before he can do anything, you're back on track already.
You speed up your hand. This combined with you sucking him works him up faster than expected, his moans growing louder and louder until you notice he's trying really hard to hold back from thrusting into your mouth again. Instead, he grips the back of your head to have something he can hang onto. His head falls back, his eyes closed. It doesn't take much longer before you can feel his thighs tense beside you and suddenly he's filling your mouth with your cum. Diligent as ever, you swallow everything he gives you.
When you think he's done, you pull his cock out of your mouth. But it turns out he still had some cum left and he shoots one more rope of cum onto your face.
His dick softens in your grip, but that's only until he tilts his head forward again and catches a glance of your face- like magic, his dick is hard and throbbing again, the sight of your cum-covered face working wonders for him.
He pulls you up towards him, swiping his cum off your face with his thumb before forcing it in your mouth. You eagerly lick his thumb clean of his cum, playfully nibbling on it lightly. Lighter lets out a moan, pulls his thumb out of your mouth and smashes his lips against yours again.
While he's busying himself with your lips, you carefully adjust your position so he's laying down while you're on top of him. Since both of you are still hard, you figure he might want to go again- and you definitely aren't wrong.
So you line up your cock with his and grind into him. He moans into your mouth at the unexoected pleasure. You start out gentle with your grinding, making sure to use the leftover cum on both of your dicks as lubricant.
Meanwhile, you sneak a hand up to his chest, grasping one of his tits and kneading it. He gasps out at your actions, already overwhelmed by the pleasure. It only gets worse when you busy yourself with his nipples, giving them the occasional flick.
At this point both of your dicks are sufficiently lubricated, so you remove your hand from his chest after cupping his tit one last time and move it down to embrace your dicks together. You form a sort of hole around them, keeping them touching each other constantly. Then you start thrusting into the hole, all while rubbing up against Lighter's dick.
Both of you moan out in pleasure. You originally meant to start slowly and speed up over time, but when you look down at Lighter's expression, you just can't help yourself anymore. Seeing his eyes half-lidded and his tongue hanging out just the tiniest bit makes something within you snap, urging your hips to thrust faster and harder.
Lighter notices this, his eyes widening. However he actually enjoys you going rougher on him, so he lifts his arms and embraces you, pulling you closer to him. You oblige, touching his chest with yours.
"Yes, that's good, ah, keep going, hmpf!"
Feeling his warmth makes the knot in your stomach build up faster and faster. You groan into his shoulder, biting into it to let out your emotions somehow. He calls your name at that. It's obvious he's getting close as well, since his hips have also started thrusting against yours, not to mention his moans.
Retracting yourself from his neck, you instead plunge towards his lips again. Sliding your tongues against each other, the feeling builds up more and more until you come with a squeal, spilling ropes of hot, sticky cum against your stomachs, with Lighter following suit.
Once both of you have spilled every last drop, only your panting can be heard in the room. For a moment you gaze into each other's eyes. You were scared that Lighter would be disgusted by you now that he's used you to get off. But it's quite the contrary. His eyes shine with nothing but his love for you, it almost takes your breath away.
You let out a laugh and collapse on top of him. Cleaning up can wait until later, you decide, sneaking your arms under his torso in a somewhat awkward hug.
He chuckles as well, wrapping his arms around you. Gently, he kisses the side of your head. You think you hear him whisper an "I love you", but your exhaustion catches up with you before you can think about it any further and you fall into a deep slumber.
#lighter zzz x reader#lighter lorenz x reader#lighter zzz smut#lighter smut#lighter x reader#lighter lorenz smut#sub lighter#sub lighter zzz#sub lighter lorenz#well tbh not too much of a sub but more on the sub side#zzz smut#unmilked#milky writing
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— shinichiro sano x reader
// jealousy, fluff, suggestive
“Cash or card?” you ask, ringing up the small pile of parts sitting on the counter before glancing back up at the man standing before you, fingers hovering above the pin pad beside the register as you await his response.
“That depends on if you’re free tonight…” he trails off with a smirk, glancing down to look at your shirt. “Sano.”
Brows furrowing, you look down as well, belatedly remembering that Shinichiro tossed you one of his work shirts earlier after you offered to handle customers while he spent the afternoon holed up in his office balancing the shop's books. His surname is embroidered in tidy, red cursive atop a white rectangle placed just above the left breast pocket of the dark blue button down, the patch miraculously clean despite the splotches of motor oil decorating the rest of the material.
“Oh, I’m actually—”
“Everything alright over here?” Shinichiro smoothly cuts in, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.
His dark eyes sparkle with mirth as he approaches, not at all subtle in the way his hand skirts along the small of your back before he casually leans on the counter and offers the customer a grin. The guy spares a glance at Shinichiro, and you can tell he’s aggravated by the interruption after all the effort he put into flirting with you from the second he walked in the shop. But then you clock it—the moment he spots the matching name tag on Shinichiro’s shirt, and his features morph into something closer to embarrassment.
“I thought you said you liked when I bat my eyes at customers and convince them to buy extra parts they don’t need whenever I’m here,” you tease when the front door swings shut after the man leaves, turning around and leaning back against the till.
Between one breath and the next, Shinichiro has you caged in, hands resting on the glass just shy of your hips. His breath warms the scant space between your mouths as he murmurs, “That was before we were dating.”
A small thrill crawls up your spine at the way he says it, like he’s also thinking about the night your years-long friendship (and an outrageous abundance of sexual tension) spontaneously caught fire in a tangle of wandering hands and desperate lips in this very shop, albeit up against the door in his office.
And on the desk afterward.
And in his car—neither of you had the patience to make it back to his apartment.
“Are you jealous, Shinichiro?” you coyly ask, tilting your head to the side and biting your lower lip, casually running your fingers along the expanse of your throat and continuing on to the name tag on your shirt, tracing it pointedly with the tip of your pinky.
He leans closer, and you can’t help the way your heart stumbles in your chest as the scent of your own shampoo hits you, the light, floral scent tangled in the black locks of hair falling over his forehead—still messy from the way he hastily towel-dried it in your bathroom this morning. Meanwhile, the familiar, smoky notes of his cologne cling to the shirt you’re wearing.
You shiver as his soft lips ghost over yours, calloused skin tracing over your own as he reaches up to cup your face, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb.
“Maybe,” he murmurs, tugging your body flush against his before capturing your mouth in a heated kiss.
#shinichiro sano x reader#shinichiro sano#tokyo revengers#tokyo revengers fanfiction#dee writes#sano shinichiro#sano shinichiro x reader#rambling: s. sano
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I don't have the words (to tell you what you mean to me)
Summary: Momo's life has been action packed and often pretty scary for months. She thought she had her three most terrifying moments solidly ranked in her mind.
Watching Okarun crumple and fall like a soaked sandbag after taking a hit to the head-one that'd been meant for her-makes her reevaluate.
2878 words
Momo's leg bounces under her desk, teeth worrying at her bottom lip as she glares at the clock in the classroom. The teacher’s entire lesson just sounds like warbling to her; her brain marking everything in the world as a distraction save one.
Seeing Okarun as soon as school ended.
The further she gets into the school year and the more misadventures they rack up, the more she resents the fact that they’re in different classes.
The teacher hasn’t even reacted to the first chime for the end of the school day before Momo’s out of the room, skidding on the flat of her shoes to cut the sharpest turn possible and run down the hallway, her bag hanging as loose as an afterthought from her shoulder.
For all that screaming, running and fighting scary yokai and aliens had become a natural part of her day-to-day, the three most terrifying moments of her life had been set pretty solid in her mind: seeing Vamola get skewered by the globalists, her first meeting with the Serpos, and coming home to see Mr. Shrimp sitting over three people laid out and bloodied; and thinking that the one covered like a corpse had been Okarun.
She’d been forced to reevaluate after last weekend.
Because watching her best friend crumple and fall like a soaked sandbag after taking a hit to the head-a hit that’d been meant for her-and not move afterward had been even worse than finding out he’d been hurt when she wasn’t around to help him. It’d ripped something out of her soul, turned her blood to ice and crushed all the air from her lungs.
“OKARUN!”
She never wants to experience that feeling again.
After shoulder checking several startled students moving at far more leisurely paces, she catches the door jamb and yanks herself to a stop in front of his classroom.
There are other kids around his desk obstructing her view, but save the thick bandaging wrapped around his head, he’s not in any visible pain she can see. People who Momo bet wouldn't have talked to him before are asking questions about his head injury; Kinta’s just lapping up the attention by proxy, Vamola looks too stressed to be much help, and Okarun being Okarun, he’s too polite to tell them to piss off so he can rest.
“Hey.”
So, she does it for him; announcing herself to the room and walking in even while she’s catching her breath from the short sprint through the halls. He turns to her with a half-second delay compared to everyone else; a consequence of his concussion, probably.
She can see exact moment he recognizes her, though; those already-warm brown eyes turn impossibly warmer.
“Ayase-san.” He says softly.
Fuck, she loves him so damn much.
“C’mon,” she says, shoving past the onlookers to reach him and take his arm in a gentle grip. “Let's go.”
He immediately pushes his chair back to stand; a little too fast for his bruised brain, but she just tightens her hold on him to keep him steady so he can get his bag. She doesn’t let go even after the four of them have left the classroom, helping him navigate the crowded hallways.
“Takakura~!”
Aira and Jiji are waiting at the lockers by the front entrance; the former immediately gets a little too close to Okarun’s opposite arm.
“Don’t crowd him, skank.” Momo mutters without much heat or feeling behind it; as fun as riling up Aira is, she’s not really in the mood for it today.
The other girl ignores her in favor of simpering over Okarun. She must not be feeling up to it either.
“How ya holding up, buddy?” Jiji asks as they all walk out.
“I’m all right,” Okarun says. He readjusts his glasses. “It’s not as bad as”
“Don’t downplay it.” Momo cuts him off, with a bit more bite than she means to; still, she can’t stand him trying to brush this off, and she’s never been shy about letting people know when she’s irritated.
Okarun ducks his head a little, avoiding her eyes like he often does when he’s being scolded.
“Luckily it’s still Monday,” he says, changing the subject and nodding at Jiji. “I’ll rest as soon as I’m home so I’m ready for tomorrow.”
Momo tilts her head; it takes her a second to realize what he’s talking about. Tomorrow’s Tuesday. She clenches her jaw.
“If Evil Eye wants to fight you, he’ll go through me first,” she almost growls. She rounds on Okarun again, glaring. “And you’re not going home, mister; you’re coming with me!”
She can feel eyes drawing in on their group, her in particular; she may have been a little louder than she thought. She’s certain people will be talking about them again tomorrow, but she couldn’t give less of a shit about rumors right now.
Okarun’s more important.
—————
Okarun doesn’t put up much resistance to her insistence that he’s going to stay at her place. Momo might not know all the specifics of his home life, but the fact that it’s never even come up despite that he’s left the Ayase household in borrowed clothes, bruises and bandages multiple times just reinforces her belief that she can take better care of him than what he’d get at home.
That said. . .
“Uh, A-Ayase-san. . .”
He makes a little fuss after dinner, when Momo makes clear that he’s not shacking up in the guest room. Despite all they’ve been through, and the fact that he’s been here multiple times, he still hesitates a bit at the doorway to her bedroom. Normally, Momo finds it kind of endearing that he’s such a gentleman, but worry makes her impatient, and she’s not above bullying him a little until he complies, even if he’s hurt.
“Move it, dork,” she says, shoving him inside; he goes more easily than he usually would, but thankfully manages to keep his feet. She points around the room. “Sleep clothes are in my closet. You know where the bathroom is; red toothbrush is the spare. I’ll be right back.”
She walks back downstairs to give him time to change and get a couple water bottles from the kitchen. She vaguely remembers that hydration’s important in handling injuries, but she’s not sure that applies to blows to the head, let alone ones that have long stopped bleeding. Still, it can’t hurt to have them on hand in case Okarun wakes up thirsty.
She’s idling and trying to think of anything else he might need when her grandmother catches her.
“Hey, Momo. If you’re gonna put four-eyes in your bed, better not let me find out about it.”
She hears Turbo Granny gagging in another room.
“Don’t say shit like that just after I’ve eaten!”
Momo glares at them, stomping out of the kitchen toward the stairs and shouting as she goes.
“As if I’d do anything to a patient!”
She willfully ignores the heat blooming up from her neck.
Momo wants Okarun as close as possible because she’s concerned; her unreasonably massive crush on the guy is totally irrelevant!
Well. . . mostly irrelevant.
Fuck, now she’s thinking about it.
“Dammit, granny.” She mutters, standing in the hall outside her door.
“Ayase-san?”
Okarun’s voice, muffled on the other side of the door, calls to her. She shakes her head and wills her blush to go down.
“Yeah,” she says, one hand on the door. “You decent?”
“Y-yes!” He answers in that nervous way that she knows means he’s adjusting his glasses; not because he needs to, just to hide his face.
He looks. . . distractingly soft. He’s worn her clothes before, and she his a few times, but that’d been mostly out of necessity and in situations when other urgent stuff had been on her mind. Her oversized shirts don’t quite swallow him up like they used to when they first met, but it still gives him the sight-feel of someone she’d really enjoy cuddling.
And his natural curls are already pretty destructive on that front by themselves.
“Ayase-san?” He asks, pink dusting over his nose and cheeks from the fact she’s been staring at him for eight uninterrupted seconds.
Startled, she hucks the water bottles at him and stages a tactical retreat into the bathroom; with the excuse that she’s getting herself ready for bed, though mostly to keep herself from doing something stupid.
Like smooshing his face between her hands and gushing about how fucking cute he is.
“Dammit granny.” She mutters again.
—————
“What’re you doing?”
After changing, brushing, and internally debating whether or not she’d suffer through wearing a bra to bed–she trusts Okarun far too much to bother, which just means she’ll have to make sure she wakes up before he does–she steps out of the bathroom to find him still on the floor, a futon halfway unrolled.
He blinks at her.
“Preparing a futon. . . ?” He says, with an intonation that makes it sound like a question. “Am I not sleeping in here?”
“Yeah, not on the floor,” she says. “You’re in bed with me.”
She can hear the gears in his head stutter. His whole face erupts in red.
“Wh-wh-what?! Ayase-san, I can’t–that’s not–!”
“Not what, huh? You got a problem?”
“It’s not proper! I don’t–!”
“I don’t give a shit about proper! What, you don’t want to?”
“Why do you want me in your bed?!”
The argument, as sometimes happened with him, had emboldened Okarun; he never would’ve been able to ask that sort of question normally.
Momo snaps at him.
“Because I’m still mad at you!”
Okarun’s mouth opens, but no retort comes out. The tension in his shoulders deflate, and he’s left standing there blinking at her.
It’s not how Momo envisioned the night going, but it’s the truth. Between finishing the fight and making sure he was okay, and the wave of relief that followed, she never really got the chance to be upset.
But they’re alone now, and that lidded frustration is boiling over. She stomps over to her bed and hurls back the covers; folds her arms and glares at him.
“Bed.”
His eye flickers toward the mattress before falling back on her. He’s still reluctant; the state he’s in, she could easily wrangle him with her powers, but she really wants him to choose to join her.
She breathes a shaky sigh; forces herself to keep eye contact even as her toes curl.
“It’s not just cause I’m mad,” she says, going for honesty a little more naked than she’s used to. “I want you here. . . please.”
Her ears burn, but she holds her gaze steady. She doesn’t want him to misunderstand this as teasing or something he has to endure because she’s upset. Her Okarun has always been the first to apologize; at times, she thinks he’d apologize for his very existence if it meant he could keep his friends, if it meant he doesn’t have to go back to being lonely and ignored.
She needs this sweet boy to understand how much he matters to her, whether or not she’s angry with him.
Okarun ducks his head, shrinking in one himself a bit but shuffling over to her bed nonetheless. He gingerly sits on the edge, hands clenched over his shirt like he’s trying to avoid touching her bed as much as possible.
Momo can’t help rolling her eyes at his hangups; she puts her knee on the bed, such that her calf is pressing against his thigh. He nearly jumps back up; if not for her hand on his shoulder, he might have.
“C’mon, scooch.”
Finally, he puts his hands on the bed, pushing himself back to the side facing the wall; he looks up at her with wide eyes. A face Momo hopes reflects anxiety, if not anticipation, rather than wariness. She wants him to listen to her, not get scared or stressed out.
Momo leans forward and reaches a hand out to his face; slowly, giving him plenty of time to react or otherwise say no, she touches the frame of his glasses.
She feels his nervous breath on her wrist; she’s glad she typically wears long sleeves to bed that can hide her goosebumps. Gently, she lifts his glasses off his face.
She tilts her head, taking him in. He’s not any less handsome with the glasses on, but the novelty of seeing him without them is striking.
It occurs to her, then, how little they’ve talked today despite her all but cuffing him to her all afternoon and evening. Shit, she hopes the silence on his end isn’t related to his injury.
“You look different without your glasses,” she says, struck by an impulse to try reclaiming their usual rhythm. Okarun ducks his head again, and she quickly adds. “Not in a bad way.”
He peeks up at her through his lashes, a tiny smile on his face that threatens to push her into cardiac arrest. She tears her eyes away, carefully folding the arms of his glasses and stretching to place them on her bedside table and turn off the light.
“Lie down.” She says, tugging the covers out from under his feet and holding them up.
He slides onto his side, canting back until his head rests on her pillows. He immediately looks back at her again, as if waiting for a cue; lying too stiffly to possibly be comfortable. The moonlight peeking through her curtain reflects off the bandaging around his head, giving her slight illumination to see his face even in the dark.
His curls look even softer in the dim light, practically begging her to touch them.
So, she does, running her fingertips over Okarun’s forehead and carding them through his hair; careful that she doesn’t apply any pressure that might aggravate his injury.
“That was a bonehead stunt you pulled.” She says quietly but firmly.
She feels Okarun shiver as she lightly scratches his scalp.
“Is that why you’re angry?” He asks in a small voice.
She tugs on a bouncy lock in reply.
“You really scared me, dumbass.”
“. . . I’m sorry.”
Momo frowns. She knows he’s apologizing for scaring her, not for taking the hit. Because he’s Okarun, too kind for his own good.
She sighs.
“Does it still hurt?”
Okarun doesn’t answer right away; his eyes are already half-lidded, head sinking into her pillows.
“Not. . . at all.”
Whether or not he’s just saying what she wants to hear, he’s clearly more fatigued than he otherwise would be; his voice barely more than a whisper, humming a little when she brushes his bangs back from his forehead.
Momo stretches out beside him; she’d prefer to hug him, but he might actually implode if she does that and he needs the rest. She settles for finding his hand and taking it in hers under the covers.
She closes her eyes, tracing the lines of his palm with her nails and forming a mental picture. His hands are unexpectedly soft for the most part, but there are a few small, rough calluses developing on the pads of his fingers; a result of his strength training, one of several. She’s caught him performing on par, if not better than, most of the school’s runners when his class takes P.E. outside. And she’s not the only one who’s noticed.
Between Vamola’s transfer and his sudden athleticism, Okarun’s no longer the invisible otaku in school. Momo’s glad he isn’t being ignored, but annoyed that they’re only paying attention to such a great guy for such superficial reasons.
She knew how cool her Okarun is back when he didn’t have any stamina to speak of; even then, she trusted him to have her back.
The fact that some of the attention on him comes from girls also chafes at a less-than-pretty part of her that she doesn’t want to admit to, let alone examine.
Momo cracks her eyes open, peeking at Okarun’s sleeping face; listening to his breathing, feeling the slow and steady pulse in his wrist. She soaks in his presence, the tension she’s been holding since he got hurt finally settling.
Three short words are sitting on the tip of her tongue, threatening to spill over the next time she opens her mouth; it’s not the first time. The note she left with the curry had been the closest she’s gotten to saying them, but they’ve been there for a long time.
She won’t wake him up to say them; not after she just scolded him for being a reckless, self-sacrificing moron. She tamps them down, stemming her overflowing affection by lacing her fingers together with his; turning his hand up so his knuckles are facing her. His knuckles littered with small scars that he gathered in a short time, because he had to learn how to fight suddenly and quickly. Fight to survive; fight to save people.
Fight to protect her.
Momo brushes her lips over Okarun’s hand; the dark lending her courage, she murmurs into the warmth of his skin.
“Don’t get hurt for me, okay?”
She thinks, as she begins to drift off, that maybe she’ll greet him in the morning with those three words she’s been holding onto.
Imagining his reaction makes her smile.
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birthday kisses!
pairing. idol! song mingi x non idol! fem! reader
synopsis. you wake up feeling very parched and very in love with your boyfriend, song mingi. you admire his beauty and suddenly have the need to give him a kiss... too bad you're too shy.
warnings. pet names (tiny i literally saw someone say that mingi would call his s/o tiny and i literally died and i'm running with it now, baby, pretty/pretty girl), kisses (as an aroace person: ew), mingi being mingi (he is a menace himself he literally bites you)
genres. romance, fluff, established relationship
wc. 0.8k
a/n. reader has glasses because we are all blind in this today. also ! happy birthday to our lovely mingi :( (literally please ignore my last mingi oneshot. it was literally supposed to be up TODAY not two days early wtaf tumblr.....)
reblogs and comments are appreciated! helps with not getting shadowbanned!
YOU wake up suddenly, feeling very thirsty as you try to crane your neck back to see the stupid alarm clock you have sitting on top of your night stand. you can’t make out the numbers, and attempt to blindly reach out for your glasses when mingi grunts, trying to shove his nose further into the crook of your neck. it’s then that you remember that you fell asleep hugging your boyfriend while he rested his head on your chest, saying that listening to your heartbeat helps lull him to sleep while he had his arms tightly wrapped around your waist. you feel slightly embarrassed at the position you’re both in as you card your hand through his short-ish hair, your other hand resuming its previous mission of trying to grab your glasses from its place by the alarm clock.
after a few seconds of blindly reaching out for your glasses, you huff, deciding to just grab them later as you try to shimmy out of your boyfriend’s hold. mingi groans, tightening his grip. “what are you doing, tiny?”
“i’m thirsty,” you whisper. “i’ll be back before you know it.”
mingi sighs, “okay. don’t take too long, though,” he mumbles, attempting to open his eyes to look at you. “i just want to sleep the day away with you.”
you snort, now sitting up with your feet touching the cold floor. “baby, are you sure you don’t want to go out and do something? you only have today off, and you’ll be busy later at night for the live.”
the male shakes his head, stuffing his head into his pillow afterwards. “just wanna sleep with my pretty girl today…”
“even if it’s your birthday?”
mingi hums in response, and you laugh, quickly kissing the crown of his head and whispering happy birthday to him before pushing yourself up. when you’re in the kitchen, holding your glass of water, you purse your lips in thought, taking a sip from it.
you are definitely going to drag mingi out to do at least something today after he’s fully awake… which will probably be some time after one in the afternoon.
when you go back to the room, you happily crawl into the covers and mingi immediately pulls you into him, shoving his nose into your neck again. you laugh, wrapping an arm around his head and scratching his scalp softly. mingi hums, and he reminds you of a cat when he nuzzles his nose into—
“ow?” you yelp, bewildered as you push mingi away from you to see him smiling at you cheekily. “what was that for?” you pout, rubbing the spot mingi bit.
“nothing,” he replies. “let’s go back to sleep, yeah?”
you drop the subject and resume scratching his scalp. you don’t know how long it’s been when you decide to look down at the sleeping male. you can’t see mingi with how he has his face in your neck, so you lean back, almost cooing out loud at how adorable he looks with messy, oreo hair. you then trace over his eyebrows with a finger before lovingly caressing his cheek, eyes smiling along with your lips as you press quick kisses to the dots on his face. one kiss right beneath his eyebrow, one kiss on the top of his cheek, one kiss on his jaw, and one last kiss on his temple. your eyes then fall to his lips and you have the sudden urge to kiss them, but you flush in embarrassment at the thought of doing so.
unlike your boyfriend, you find it a little harder to initiate skinship.
well… only when you let yourself think about it just like now.
you settle with kissing the dot by his temple again, pulling back and gasping in surprise when mingi’s eyes fly open.
“what the…? mingi, since when—”
he cuts you off by leaning in, staring straight into your eyes. you attempt to lean back, eyes wide.
“well, if you won’t do it,” he says, licking his lips. “i will.”
mingi leans forward, his mission being to kiss you. you whine and cover your mouth, making him laugh as he gently pries your hands away.
“stop! i-i have morning breath!”
“okay, and? i don't care. c’mon pretty,” he says, chuckling. “let me have my birthday kiss.”
“stop,” you drawl. “when you say it like that, you know i’m going to cave in!”
mingi bites your cheek all of a sudden, pulling the flesh back as you squeal, laughing afterwards. “that’s why i said it. now give me my kiss before i bite you again.”
“you’re turning into wooyoung,” you huff, frowning as you settle down and admit defeat. “biting everyone out of nowhere.”
“i only ever bite you out of love,” he sings, pecking your nose quickly before kissing you.
the kiss is soft and fast. mingi opens his eyes to see your own flutter open, and before you can even process what’s happening, he’s already pressing his lips to yours again, the kiss being a little rougher than the previous one. it leaves you in a daze when he pulls back.
“w-why did you—”
mingi cuts you off by humming, pointing at his face afterwards. “give me more kisses, and you can't say no because it's my birthday.”
“you're abusing your birthday power,” you scoff, but nonetheless smile and pepper kisses everywhere on his face, making him grin. “happy birthday, mingi.”
#꒰💌꒱ drea's drabbles !#yuyusuyu#cromernet#ateez imagines#ateez scenarios#ateez fic#ateez fluff#song mingi x you#song mingi x reader#song mingi x y/n#mingi x y/n#mingi x reader#mingi x you#mingi x female reader#mingi fluff#mingi imagines#mingi scenarios
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People would assume
Part 1 <- -> Part 2



Take it up with HR.
You were meant to clock out before the trains stopped running.
Kento Nanami x Fem!reader Smut,non con, sexual assault,cunnilingus,forced orgasm,semi public sex
<- Masterlist
It was the eve of the big launch and you had stayed late voluntarily, though you were already starting to regret putting yourself forward.
You were alone in your office, the night sky had long welcomed you among the stars, threatening your eyes closed no matter how much coffee you drank. You weren’t sure how your colleagues stayed so late daily, living off copious amounts of caffeine and take out, you felt sorry for their bodies, you didn’t doubt they’d fail early in life with poor health.
That’s what this job did, put people in early graves.
You did try and leave, your boss wouldn’t have it though.
Kento Nanami.
He would simply refuse, offer you more money and you would stay, until the process started again and again and again. You were sick of it by now, after the launch at the gallery and the accounts were sorted, you were done.
So done.
A nice holiday would suit nicely. Hawaii or maybe Europe, maybe even Malaysia? You loved flying and never did it nearly enough as you wanted, this job practically banned it. Like your boss would actually give you the time off you were actually entitled to. Fat chance.
The web browser was open on your down time, you gave yourself ten minutes to take a break before your eyes started to ache again. Your bare legs were crossed and on top of the desk, stilettos on the floor with your feet tapping away as you flicked through the travel agency page, making a mental note of prospective destinations. You even had a paid leave entitlement form out on the desk.
The door knocked and you slouched your shoulders. One break, one uninterrupted break was all you wanted. You reluctantly answered and it opened swiftly and then closed. It was your boss.
“Hello Sir.” You rushed to put your legs down under your desk, you caught him taking a brief look.
“I came to see if you were ready with the Gojo account for tomorrow.”
You scrambled at the collection of papers and folders in the drawer by the desk. “Here it is, sir. All balanced and ready to go. Mr Gojo will authorise any payments when he arrives tomorrow.”
The Gojo account was the most prestigious, highest price account with the company, selling and collecting art from the three most lucrative galleries in the entire country, your workplace being one of them. A painting they wanted was being sold tomorrow with an online bidding start price of one million dollars. The gallery was in charge of finalising all payments and storing the artwork until collection. The paperwork to accompany the simple task on the other hand, was far more complex.
Mr Nanami studied the folder and flicked through the pages, he looked exhausted himself, eyes sunken like a black eight ball in the pool pocket, cheek bones pointed in sharp edges. Had he lost weight?
“Good, that will be all for tonight, go and get some sleep, tomorrow will be long and don't forget to dress nice. You’ll be my aide tomorrow night.”
“Yes sir.” You began to tidy your desk, filing papers away to their own like nooks in the opened metal drawer.
“By the way,” he stood in front of the closed door. “I was wondering if you ever considered that drink?’
You’d forgotten, he asked you weeks ago. If you were honest, you thought it was in passing, not an actual request, but it was inappropriate. He was handsome, you couldn’t deny it, but your boss? No, you wanted to see someone outside of work, outside of this hell before you left it.
You didn't want to take it with you afterwards.
“Yeah, um, I don’t really think it’s appropriate, you being my boss.”
“It’s only a drink.”
“I know, I just wouldn’t want anyone thinking or assuming.”
“Assuming what, that we’re fucking? Is that your concern?”
“W-well.” His response totally took you by surprise, you’d never heard him speak in a manner like, you hadn’t even heard him swear before. “I’d rather not, whatever my reasons are, I’ll politely decline. Thank you for the offer, Sir.”
He moved away from the door, taking slow steps, inching his way over to your desk. “I don’t think anyone would assume we were benefiting from each other sexually, in fact I believe no one in the office would care, especially with the launch coming up. Everyone is distracted.”
It made no difference to you whether anyone did or not, you just didn’t want to, and you were frankly quite shocked that someone with his intelligence couldn't take the hint.
“What is this?” He leant on the desk, looking over your shoulder at the web browser. “You’re taking time off? Don’t tell me you’re thinking of leaving me again, are you?”
“I just want to take a vacation, on my own to recoup, it’s been a long month.”
You felt the chair move with the pressure of his hand on the back of it, his other hand took the mouse and started clicking. “Malaysia. A wise choice. I hear Kuantan is nice this time of year.”
You froze while he continued to scroll, his slender finger moving slowly, controlled, purposefully taking time to make you cringe. “Y-yeah. I wanted to travel solo.”
“Everything's better when you’re with someone.” He said looking down at you. “It’s much more interesting when there's another body involved, especially in a foreign country.”
“Right. I’m still in two minds, but I’ll need authorisation from you before I can book anything.” You tried to move your chair ever so slightly, thinking he wouldn't notice, but he did.
His foot was in the way of one of the wheels, keeping you there right within his grasp. “I wonder what our colleagues would say, us being this close.” He didn't look at you, still scrolling away at flights and your personal calendar.
“Sit down.” He commanded you as you tried to stand.
“You, you said I was free to go Sir, I need to get the train before they stop for the night.” The digital clock on the computer screen blinked past midnight, the trains stopped at one o’clock.
“How can you leave if you don't have your stilettos on?” He kelt down and swung the chair around, he was much stronger than he let on because he did it with no issue, there must have been a whole network of muscles under his shirt sleeves.
You flinched, he took the heel of one foot, picked up a stiletto and slid it on so painstakingly slow, it frustrated you. “I can put them on myself.”
The other stiletto was moved from your reach, and when you pulled your foot away, he squeezed and kept it there making you hiss in the process.
“What sort of boss would I be if I let you put these on all by yourself?” He slipped your other foot in, his touch lingering more than was absolutely necessary. “A perfect fit. You always did look great in these ones, my favourite pair actually.”
“I really must go. This is inappropriate, HR would-"
"HR would do what?”
The pause, a brief moment there that was far louder than anything you had ever heard, your pulse rang in your ears as you tried so hard to find words to respond. What would HR do? probably nothing, just ignore it and let it escalate.
He still blocked your path, you still couldn’t stand, not without bumping into him. Your personal calendar was up. “You have a date soon, it’s on your personal calendar, like you're rubbing it in. I wonder. Will you’ll wear that dress you wore for the christmas party? Red always did look good on you.”
“Sir-”
The door knocked, breaking your attention for just a moment, a second. Mr Nanami had climbed under your desk in that second and pulled your chair into him.
You seethed at him from under there. “ Sir what are you-”
He pulled you in, holding you there in the seat, scooting your ass forward and holding your legs on his shoulders. What felt like a finger hooked your panties to the side and clamped you into place.
You growled at him, trying to pry his fingers off of you. “Get off of me!”
The door knocked again, louder than before. “One second!”
No matter how much you pushed away, he kept you still, like a statue forever inclined to remain where you were. Until you pushed the desk away from you instead, he grabbed your wrists and squeezed.
“I’d answer the door and act like nothing was going on if you don’t want to be seen as a whore. Just a piece of advice.” He pulled you in again, and kept you there.
Shit, shit, shit.
“Come in- fuck.”
That was his tongue, definitely his tongue lapping at your exposed cunt, slow motions, licking a deranged lollipop under the desk to distract you and you could do nothing about it.
“Ijichi.”
“Hello Miss. You haven't seen Mr Nanami anywhere have you?”
“N-no I haven't, I was just about to leave actually.”
What the hell were you supposed to say? The companies boss was eating you out like an entitled asshole, right under the desk the massive pervert, if anyone wanted him they would just need to get down on all fours. Yeah that was a logical answer.
“Oh right, would you like me to accompany you to the train station? It’s very late.”
Mr Nanami’s fingers rolled the fat of your ass and pinched the skin hard, you tried to suppress the squeal that came from your lips, but it was too late.
“Are you alright Miss?”
“Yep; Yes I’m okay. No, I won't need assistance, Ijichi. Thank you.”
His tongue swirled on your clit, changing direction, you were sure your skin was already starting to bruise against the pressure of his fingertips. Shit, you couldn’t believe you were in this position, how the fuck did you ever even get into this?
Holy fuck.
His tongue lapped you up, the warm muscle moving strong with purpose, faster than before. He was trying to make you come with Ijichi in the room, like he knew your body already, learning quickly to finish you off.
Ijichi gave you a quizzical look, he must have known for sure where Mr Nanami was, head between your legs and trying his hardest to make you an exhibitionist. If he did know, he didn't say and he never gave anything else away apart from the look on his face.
“If you see Mr Nanami, can you let him know that I have the results for the projected expenditures for the Zenin account tomorrow versus their budget?”
“Y-yes of course I will. As soon as I see him.” You said that with the reminder of his hair tickling your thighs as you could feel an orgasm approaching because of pure clitoral stimulation.
“Thank you, I’ll have his car ready for him whenever he's ready too. Have a good night Miss.” It was like Ijichi was speaking directly to your boss under the table.
When he left, you were on the verge of orgasm, building up a highrise tower block ready to crumble, threatening to do so with another person in the room. But he left just in time.
Breathing a sigh of relief only made that orgasm approach faster, Mr Nanami still held you in place and sucked, making your pussy throb, tipping you over and making you come.
“Mr Nanami please stop. Please don’t- oh my god.”
Covering your mouth to hide your moan didn’t work, the pull in your stomach was unlike anything you experienced in a while, totally throwing you off. You left teeth marks and indentations in your finger, the knuckle throbbed, rashing red and purple from disrupted blood flow.
The chair moved, but you didn’t, Mr Nanami wiped his mouth. “You did better than I thought you would, tasted like I knew you would. Shame Ijichi didn’t get to see your face, I’d love to have seen it. But I guess I’m also glad he didn’t, because I want to be the first.”
You were exposed and on show, totally vulnerable and he left you that way, getting up and smoothing down his suit, adjusting his tie. “Dress pretty tomorrow and maybe I’ll consider letting you take a vacation, maybe I’ll take you somewhere myself if you’re good and behave.”
Nothing he said stuck, flying through your head in one ear and out of the other, still coming down from a high you never expected to get inside your cramped little office.
Turning the chair to face him, he leant in, towering over you with a hand on either side. “That date you’re planning to see on friday, cancel it. You won’t need him anymore.”
Then he left by the closed office door, but not before stopping once more to look at you, wet and stimulated. “See you at eight tomorrow. Don’t be late.”
Part 1 <- -> Part 2
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#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#x reader#fem reader#reader insert#kento nanami x reader#kento nanami x you#kento nanami smut#jjk nanami#nanami kento#jujutsu nanami#jjk kento#nanami jjk#nanami x reader#kento nanami#nanami smut#minors dni#minors do not interact
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