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heartiis · 2 months ago

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the big apple ꩜ .ᐟ pt.3

pt.1 pt.2 pt.4

pairing - ellie x reader

synopsis - you've just moved to nyc and ellie's your new neighbor. she hates you though and you don't know why :((

cw - mean ellie, eventual side gig dealer ellie, weed, tattoo artist ellie, smut, reader is not a total pillow princess, swearing, ellie flicking joint scene but different

a/n - sorry for the late upload, I tried finishing this yesterday but it just wasn't flowing very well. not my best work in terms of sentence flow etc. and it was actually my first time writing smut like this which was uhh a funny experience but yeah I hope u like it ;)

The next week after the night at the club had gone by in a frenzy. Dina and Jesse had both followed you on instagram and shown up for their drinks on the house as early as Monday. It made you happy because you felt they genuinely liked and wanted to spend time with you, especially Dina, who loved to chat and who also listened when you talked. She’d asked you to stop by her workplace too, which you did on Wednesday and were met with excited talking and lots of book recommendations. You two were becoming quick friends.

As for Ellie, you didn’t see her again after that Friday night, which made you increasingly less hopeful of anything happening between the two of you. Had her staring at you on the dance floor meant anything at all? Was it just her being pissed at you? If it was, hadn’t it been a strange moment for her to choose to express it?

You didn’t dare ask Dina. She had most likely caught on to you and you did not want to stoke the flames. Yes, she was nice, but she knew Ellie longer and as such was more loyal to her. You didn’t want to risk her mentioning your questions.

It was hard keeping it all in, especially because your mind couldn’t help wondering to your neighbor every so often. Her freckles, her tattoos, how her hair looked with the top half tied back. The way she had gazed at you that night.

You were almost at end of your Friday shift and anxious to go home when Dina walked in beaming. She came up to the cash register and leaned her hands on the counter, looking from the register to you.

“Hey there.”

“Hi.” You grinned. “What are you so exited about?”

“Well, me, Jesse and Ellie were thinking we wanted to do something today, but we were all too spent to go out. So Ellie suggested we have a smoke sesh at hers. I remember you told me that your shift ends at six today, so I’ve come to get you. What do you think?”

You bit your lip. You’d told Dina about you missing weed. Of course you wanted to go. You had been itching this whole time to get high, and you really were curious about what it would be like to get high with Ellie. But it didn’t seem at all like she’d want you there. “Did you ask her if it was okay for me to come?”

“She knows we’re friends now.” Dina gestured with her hands. “Imagine if I came to her place to smoke, which is right next door to yours, and didn’t invite you?”

“Dina.”

“Okay, okay! I know you two have a lot of tension.” Your heart fluttered at the way she said tension. Like that word contained so many things, and not all of them just some version of animosity. “But like I said, she’ll warm up to you. She’s got no choice now.”

“Did you ask her if I could come?”

“I told her through text, actually. And she didn’t say anything, which is as good as a ‘that’s fine.’”

You sighed. “You’re sure it won’t be weird?”

“Oh, it will be at first. But then we’ll get high, and everything will be great. Her weed’s amazing.”

You crossed your arms, then unfurrowed your brows. “Okay,” you said. “My shift ends in fifteen minutes.”

“Yay!” Dina pressed her palms together. “I’ll have an iced tea, then.”

Dina knocked on Ellie’s door after you had left your things at your place and changed into fresher clothes. You wore simple jeans and a tight fitted top this time. Jesse was the one to answer, soft music streaming out around him as he opened the door. As soon as he saw you were next to Dina his mouth opened up into a smile.“Y/n! Nice to see you. Come in.”

You stepped inside, feeling as if your stomach was folding unto itself. You took in your surroundings. The apartment was well kept but obviously lived in, with pieces of memorabilia and hints to Ellie’s personality scattered all over, including an acoustic guitar sat on a stand by the window.

Your stomach only squeezed in tighter when your gaze landed on Ellie laid back in the living room couch, wearing a loose t-shirt and baggy jeans. On the coffee table next to her lay a mason jar with more weed than you’d ever seen at once, as well as rolling papers, a lighter, and a grinder with a planet print on it.

“Ooh, nice,” Dina said, already getting close to peer at the spread on the table. You followed her lead and she took your hand and sat you down on the other edge of the couch. You waited for her to sit in between you and Ellie, but she didn’t, instead plopping herself down on the carpet. Jesse sat on the carpet too, criss-crossing his legs and leaning his elbows on the coffee table.

Ellie’s stare fixed on you then dropped away. As you, Dina, and Jesse chatted she got to work on rolling a joint. You couldn’t help but stare when her tongue slid against the paper and her deft fingers pushed it down She took the lighter from the table and lit the joint, taking two hits before passing it to you. It went around without much talking, but on Jesse’s second turn he glanced at you, then at Ellie, then at Dina.

“So,” Jesse started. “Ellie was telling me about this client who came in and got a big moth tattoo, but started absolutely sobbing after it was done, demanding a refund.”

Ellie’s mouth broke into a grin. “Dude, you’re making it seem like I’m bad at my job.”

“What? Of course not! Everyone knows you’re fucking great. She obviously just hadn’t thought it through. It was funny.”

Dina laughed. “You guys are horrible! The poor girl’s going to be stuck with that for life.”

“Could be a worse situation,” You said. “Ellie’s tattoos are pretty good.” It was at that moment when you complimented her that you realized you were already beginning to feel high. Jesus, it really was good weed. And like any good weed, it was lowering your inhibitions, making you less afraid to talk.

For a second, it was quiet. Then she spoke. “Thanks.”

Dina subtly threw a grin your way. “So, did you get her a refund?”

“Hell no. I spent six hours on it.”

“Damn Ellie, that’s cold,” Jesse teased.

Ellie just took the joint and smoked.

The night went on with the four of you in conversation. Ellie was still much quieter than you imagined she normally was, but at least she wasn’t being actively hostile towards you. She would say things to you sometimes, and you would say things back, and the higher you got the easier it was.

Eventually your high began to fade, and everyone else agreed that it was going away for them too. Ellie rolled another joint and flicked on the lighter, dragging the smoke in in order to light the end properly. As soon as she raised her hand at Dina to pass it to her, Dina stood up and declared she was tired and needed to go home.

You looked around, unsure of what to do now. Dina saw you begin to adjust yourself to stand up and quickly pushed you down. “Don’t worry, y/n. You can stay. You told me you’d been craving weed, right? Ellie’s already lit the thing. Enjoy it. She’s got a shit ton more.”

You looked at Ellie, who had withdrawn her hand, leaned back and brought the joint once again to her lips.

“Well, I’m staying here,” Jesse took the joint from Ellie. “It’s still early.”

“No you’re not.” Dina walked around the coffee table and started to pull him off the floor. “I need you to ride the subway with me so you can walk me home. It’s not safe for me at this hour.”

“What—“ but before he could get in more words of protest, Dina was already saying goodbye and dragging him away. Between you still being slightly buzzed and it all happening so fast, you could barely think of what to do besides watch them walk out.

You turned back to Ellie, who was grabbing the joint from where Jesse had left it on the table. To your surprise, she offered it to you. You accepted it. Why not, right?

“So,” you said, trying to make conversation. “You play guitar?”

“Yeah.” She watched as you took a drag. “Do you play anything?”

You looked at the guitar. It really was a beautiful instrument, clearly well made. “Unfortunately not. I wish I had something like that to impress girls with,” you joked, passing Ellie the joint.

She frowned as she took it. You were keenly aware of every move she made, every ripple in the taut muscles of her arms. “You think that’s why I learned to play guitar?”

You crossed your legs. “No, no. I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”

“You’re not sorry. But it’s fine.” She scoffed. “And you don’t need a guitar to impress girls.”

Your heart fluttered. “What do you mean?”

Ellie stayed quiet. When you wouldn’t stop staring at her with an expectant look on your face, she shrugged. “It’s… it’s nothing. Just, you know.”

“No, I don’t know.” You pulled in closer, uncrossing your legs. If she wasn’t going to tell you, then fine. “Maybe I do, actually. That girl at the club seemed pretty into me. Maybe I just have to dress like that more often.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And to let girls play with your ass in public?”

You opened your mouth, stammered, then shut it. You were not expecting a response like that. After the initial shock, it made you angry. “What’s it to you?”

She just stared. You could feel her gaze burning into you. The whole living room, with its low yellow lighting and quiet surroundings seemed warm with it.

“You really piss me off sometimes, you know that?” She said.

You took the joint from between her hands and took a drag, not letting go of eye contact one bit as you breathed out and the milky smoke rose around you. “Yeah. I know.”

“Fuck you,” she said breathlessly.

You got in closer to her. You were burning now, too. “Fuck you too.”

You moved your hand to take another hit, but Ellie snatched it out of your fingers and flicked it on the floor. You only had time to make a ‘what the hell?’ face at her for a split second before she had her hands on your face, pulling you into a kiss.

The instant you felt her warm lips on you, you gave in. You kissed her back, not caring that she could feel your desperation because you wanted her to feel it, you wanted her to know what she did to you. What she’d been doing to you, all this time. And you could feel hers too.

You placed a hand on her jaw and soon she pulled away, hands still on your face. You frowned. She just took it and brought it in close again, but not enough for your lips to touch fully. Just enough for them to ever so slowly slide against each other. You tried to kiss her properly again, but she stopped you, adamant on letting you only have that much.

“That’s how you made me feel,” She said softly.

Oh, really? You thought. Two can play at this game.

You pulled away fully, taking her hands in yours and pulling them down. She frowned. Then you came back in, only not to kiss her. You brought your face to the level of her neck and left your mouth open as you slid your lips over the soft skin, painstakingly slow. Her breathing got heavier.

Then you rolled your leg over her, getting on top of her lap. With one hand on the neckline of her shirt and the other on her jaw, tracing the line of her bottom lip with your thumb, you smiled softly. “What did I make you feel, Ellie? Did I make you feel desperate?” You lowered your face, your cheek just brushing against hers, mouth right next to her ear. “When I danced with that girl at the club, did I make you jealous?”

“Fuck you,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” you said. “Fuck me.”

She threw your back onto the sofa and kissed you hard. It was fast and rough, rougher than you were used to, but she was so good at it and you were both so feverish that the harshness felt good. She was warm, so warm. With her body against you and your mind high you felt as if you were melting into her. It was intoxicating, she was intoxicating. You’d kissed girls before and it had felt nice and sometimes it had even felt pretty good, but not like this. Never like this. Like pure, poisonous nectar was dripping through your bloodstream.

You ran your hands over her back, digging your fingers in, and let out the smallest moan in her mouth. You felt her back rise and stand there for a moment before falling. Then she lodged her thigh in between your legs. Right on that spot that had been aching like hell.

You kissed her harder, and she pressed her leg in a little harder. You grabbed at her hair, running your hands through it. She pulled her leg back slightly and pressed harder.

Then she drew back. “Do I have to fucking beg to hear you?”

You looked at her eyes. Green, with the tiniest bits of brown running through them. There were slivers of yellow light reflecting off of them, and in your high state it was as if there was liquid gold running over her irises. No, she didn’t have to beg.

You kissed her again, gently this time, and ground yourself on her thigh. You whimpered into her lips. Then when she grabbed onto your hips and started guiding them, you parted from the kiss and moaned. It was like she couldn’t get enough, every noise from you made her move faster, more restlessly, until you put your hand on her stomach and when you couldn’t find skin, lowered it so you could push her shirt up and touch her abs.

Once you did that, she started pulling it up. Your hands immediately rose to help her, and when the shirt was fully off, you gazed at her body. She was wearing a similar sports bra to the one you saw before, and underneath it, inked over her skin was the rib tattoo, a snake coiling over a bird. Along with it were others, over her hips and her stomach, crawling down her hips to her pelvis, where it disappeared under her jeans. You traced that one with your pointer.

She drew back her thigh and touched your own stomach, toying with the hem of your jeans as if asking a question. You used your other hand to guide her in, just enough so she could feel the lacy top part of your underwear. She slid her hand down onto your cunt. You could feel her smile against your cheek when she noticed how wet you were.

A whimper left your lips as she started to move her fingers. God, you didn’t know that could feel so good. Nobody had ever done it that well on you, not even yourself. As she sped up, strained moans spilled out of you. Your body wanted you to be louder, but you were scared someone would hear.

Ellie’s cheek dragged against yours. “Why the hell are you holding back?”

“I… don’t want the neighbors to…”

She lessened her pace, leaving you desperate. “Fuck that,” she said.

She withdrew her hand. Once you were desperate for more, but now you were full on throbbing. She started to move back on the couch, and you furrowed your brows in protest until she fully unzipped your jeans and pulled them down. Not satisfied, she tugged at your shirt so you would sit up and take it off. Then she slowly pushed you down, her hand on your bare rib making your skin feel electric.

She studied your body, breathing hard. “Jesus Christ,” she said, before putting her hands all over you, sliding them up and down. Massaging your breast, she licked the soft part of your belly just over your panties. Even though she wasn’t touching your cunt, you couldn’t help but make soft noises. Then she moved her tongue up, around your belly button, to your sternum, where she stopped.

“Don’t keep quiet this time.”

She pulled off your panties and spread your legs, planting her tongue on you.

“Shit,” you breathed.

She sped up and slowed down at just the right moments, using just the right pressure, as if she already knew your body better than you. All the while the feeling of it, the wetness of her tongue sliding over your folds made you delirious with pleasure. You couldn’t hold back anymore. The more you moaned the better it felt, the closer you got until you were gripping her hair and shifting your hips back and forward.

“El, fuck,” you moaned as you came, instinctively using the nickname. She guided you through the orgasm, lapping her tongue slowly.

You let go of her hair and she brought her face up, then began to fidget with your bra, pushing her hands to your back so she could find the clasp as she licked the parts of your boobs which were bare.

“No, wait,” You said, still a little breathless. Ellie stilled, looking at you. You gently pushed her back, and she let you, until you were back on top of her lap and she was staring up at you. Your hands led hers to the back of your bra where the clasp was so she could take it off. She brushed her thumbs over your nipples, causing them to harden. A pleasurable electric sensation shot up between your legs, but you only let out a few whimpers before stopping yourself from becoming too distracted.

You touched your face to her neck, sliding your mouth once again over it. You started to grind yourself on her while making lewd noises right next to her ear. Her hands went over your hips and guided them back and forth, urging you to thrust harder. One of your hands traveled to the button of her jeans. You fidgeted with it but held it there. Biting at her neck, you moved your hips ever so slightly in time to the sliding of your fingers on her stomach.“Do you want it?” you asked.

“Yes—fuck, I want it,” she replied.

You undid the button and zipper of her jeans then dug your hand underneath her underwear, smiling at the feeling of her bush and her wet folds. You were worried you perhaps weren’t going to be as good as she’d been, but your worries faded as she whimpered, gripping your hips hard. The noises became quieter when she began to suck your breasts, to your delight still making muffled grunts and whines against them.

As you sped up she became more frenzied until she took your face in her hand and kissed you, tongue against tongue. You realized she was coming when she couldn’t kiss you properly anymore and buried her face in your neck and cursed, her body tensing until it began to twitch. You both caught your breath, inhaling and exhaling raggedly. Then she laid you back down on the couch and kissed you softly as your legs wrapped around her. The two of you made out until you were too sleepy, at which point your arms and limbs intertwined as you drifted off to sleep.

pt.4

a/n - depending on wether or not ppl seem interested I will be continuing this series, which I will prob finish in one or two parts. if you really want me to continue feel free to comment or dm!!

#ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie x reader #fanfic #ellie x fem reader #dealer ellie #tlou2 #ellie x y/n #ellie williams smut

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miley1442111 · 7 months ago

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Heyyy!! Would you be interested in writing an angst aaron and bau!reader fic where they're in an established relationship for quite a while now and even have a kid together other than jack. they having relationship problems tho and maybe decided to take some time off their relationship temporarily. so reader takes her and aarons kid in their time off and jack is with aaron. angst where poor jack feels abandoned by reader and thinks she's leaving them cause both the adults are too prideful to talk everything out and make it work. (you can write it however like btw but hopefully with a happy ending 🤞🤍🤍🤍)

i love this idea, sorry i let it sit for so long! only realised i hadn't posted this now :0

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pinky promises-a.hotchner

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a/n: fem reader but as per usual, imagine what you like :)

summary: how you and aaron worry jack, and how aaron finds something out 20 years later.

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader

warnings: angst, fighting, mentions of divorce, jack being upset, etc.

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It had been weeks and weeks of pointless fighting. You were exhausted. Aaron was exhausted.

“What do you want me to say about it Aaron?” You sighed, exasperation running through your bones.

“I want you to say anything!” He shouted. You felt a wire snap inside you. Aaron never shouted at you. He knew how horrible he was being. He knew how bad you felt. He knew that this was a stupid thing to be fighting about.

“I’m going to my brother’s house, how about that?” You sighed. “Is that what you wanted me to say?”

Aaron rolled his eyes, irritated at your dramatics. When he came home from one of the worst cases he’d been on for a while, all he’d wanted was to wrap you up in his arms and not let you go. But of course, he had to ruin it by starting an argument. You were 7 months postpartum, he shouldn’t have been picking fights and he knew it. But he was just so irritated. He realised something, he was taking the worst parts of his job home with him again.

“I need a break from it Aaron, alright. I’ll take Marcy and you’ll get some real sleep for a weekend and we’ll calm down and talk on Monday, alright?”

Some sleep sounded great. Calming down sounded great. Reconciling sounded great. “Alright,” he nodded curtly.

“Alright,” you sighed. You had never wanted it to come to this. He promised you it wouldn’t come to this.

Yet it had.

“I’ll pack a bag for you,” He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek as he started to walk off but you grabbed his hand and kissed it softly.

“I love you. Always,” you reminded him. His heart melted a little bit.

“I love you too.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ While you and Aaron were busy fighting, Jack was in his playroom down the hall. He was terrified, you were leaving? You were taking Marcy?

What would happen to him? He’d already lost his mom, he couldn’t lose you too.

“Honey?” He whispered as you passed the playroom. He’d picked up the habit of calling you ‘honey’ the same way Aaron did.

“Hey Jackers,” you smiled through the inner monologue running through your head. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

Jack thought this would be his last time with you tucking him in, so he got up immediately and hugged your legs. You chuckled at his antics, unaware of his anxieties, and picked him up in your arms.

“Can I say goodnight to Marcy?” He asked and you nodded.

“Of course you can, I’ll get your dad as well, we can all say goodnight,” You smiled.

Jack, being the little profiler he was, noticed the way you’d said ‘his dad’ not just ‘dad’. His stomach dropped. He felt sick, the kind of sick he felt before he vomited. Jack ran into Marcy’s nursery as you went to find Aaron.

“Ok Marcy, I love you, I don’t say it enough,” he whispered into her cot as she slept soundly. “I hope I was a good big brother, you were a great little sister-”

“What are you doing jack?” You asked, worried and confused by his actions. Aaron stood behind you, his signature frown painted on his face.

Jack started crying and both you and Aaron ran to him, wrapping him up in your arms. After a few minutes of calming him down, and calming Marcy down after she woke up with Jack crying, you sat on the floor of the nursery beside Aaron as Jack explained.

“WellIheardyouguysfightingandIknowY/nisgoingawaynowandI’llmissher-” He rushed out but Aaron held up a hand to stop him.

“Slowly Jack, slowly,” he reminded him and Jack crawled into Aaron’s lap and whispered it to him.

“I heard you two fighting, and it was like when mom and you used to fight, so I know it means that Y/n and Marcy are going away now, like when you went away and I’m sad because I’ll miss them like I miss mommy,” he sniffled as Aaron’s heart broke. His eyes filled with tears that he forced himself to swallow, the task almost proving too difficult. He looked at you, your head in your hands, you’d heard him too.

“Jack, your dad and I aren’t breaking up, we’re both just really stressed right now and we thought it would be a good idea to give each other some space. The only reason I’d take Marcy is because I have to breastfeed her,” you explained, your voice breaking. “I love your dad so much, and I love you so much, I could never leave you,” you smiled sadly and took his hand. “Remember the pinky promise I made to you on my wedding day? I meant that.”

Aaron’s ears peaked up as Jack nodded. There was something unspoken about the way that Jack seemed to relax at your words, his entire body lacking any and all tension in mere seconds.

What was the pinky promise?

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Aaron walked out of Jack’s bedroom and leant against the door of your bedroom, watching you read your book. When you looked up, you were reminded of a younger Aaron, the one you'd met in college when he was with Haley. You felt awful having a massive crush on one of your friend’s boyfriend so you steered clear of him. Who knew you’d be here now? His wife. The mother to his children.

“Hey handsome,” you smiled at him.

“I don’t want space. Please don’t leave,” he asked, not meeting your eyes.

“Let’s be honest, we both know I wasn’t getting over the threshold of my brother’s place before I ran back,” you smiled. Aaron plunked himself down beside you, lying down and pressing kisses against your neck.

“I’m sorry I picked a fight,” he sighed.

“Sorry I kept it going,” you whispered, kissing his head.

“So we're alright?” he asked hopefully.

“Yes, we’re ok,” you chuckled. His hands wrapped around you, pulling himself closer into your comforting embrace. For a few minutes, he tried to read your book alongside you, but his question still nagged, what was the promise?

“You want to know what the promise was, don’t you,” you chuckled.

“Yes,” he admitted, a shy smile on his face.

“Too bad,” you smirked, making him roll his eyes.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------It was 20 years later that he found out what the promise was, on Jack’s wedding day.

“Now, probably 20 odd years or so, I made a promise to Jack on my wedding day,” you admitted in your speech. Aaron’s interest peaked once more. “I promised him that I would love him and his dad as long as they allowed me to. That as long as Jack wanted me there, I would be. I told him he could call it off at any time, if anything was ever too much for him or if he hated me when he became a teenager. I promised him I’d go without a word of his involvement. I swore that I’d love him until the minute he didn't want me there, and even then that I'd just love him from far away. But I’m so happy you let me stay around Jack, you’ve become quite the amazing person,” you smiled through tears as he held your hand in his, just like he had all those years ago. Aaron’s heart swelled. You’d thought about Jack since day one. When your speech was finished, Aaron pulled you away from the rest of the party to kiss you in the beautiful sunset, the same venue you two had gotten married in.

He loved you.

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criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games :)

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #bau team #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch x reader #thomas gibson #thomas gibson x reader

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roosterforme · 8 months ago

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Some Things Take Time | Bob Floyd x Reader

Summary: Bob is a man well known for his patience. He never rushes things in the air, and he tries to live by a similar philosophy on the ground. You and he are both on the same page about welcoming a child into your home through foster care, but it's hard for him to watch you try to bond with her unsuccessfully. He soon realizes that Avery is a lot like him, and that some things are worth the extra time.

Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of infertility, mentions of foster care and adoption, Bob making all other men look like trash

Length: 5800 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x wife!reader

Happy birthday @wkndwlff! Check my masterlist for more!

You were laying on the couch with your head resting on your husband's lap, spinning his wedding band around on his finger while you tried to put your thoughts into words. You could tell he knew you were on the verge of speaking, sending you several expectant glances as you and he both pretended to watch the movie he started an hour ago. But Bob would never rush you, and you were thankful for that, because you wanted to make sure you got this right.

"We've been trying for a long time," you whispered, and Bob's blue eyes met yours as you looked up at him. "Almost two years."

He nodded once and smiled softly. "We have," he murmured, squeezing your hand in his larger one. You pressed your lips together as tears stung your eyes. Bob never seemed upset that he was pushing forty years old and in spite of trying and trying, you'd never gotten pregnant. He never put pressure on you to keep trying or to stop. You were convinced he never would, but you wanted to know what he was really thinking.

"What if we... stopped. Stopped trying. And just went with an alternative?"

"Honey, I already told you I'm happy with things how they are. We can stop trying if you want to, or we can talk about alternatives if you want to do that. But there's nothing wrong with just you and me. In fact, I'm really quite enjoying myself."

You closed your eyes as his fingers drifted along the curves of your side. It would be delicious to get back into the habit of having sex when you wanted to instead of when your cycle demanded it. You and Bob sharing your undivided attention with each other was something you were craving, but you still wanted something else, too.

"What if I said I wanted to look into fostering and adoption again?" you asked softly as you started to sit up.

He pulled you closer so you were straddling his thigh. "Then I would say we can call our lawyer on Monday and get some answers."

You smiled as you nudged his glasses with your nose and kissed his cheek. "And what if I said I'm not fertile today, but I want you anyway?"

Bob reached for the remote and turned the movie off as a soft blush rose in his cheeks. "Then I would say it's time we got in bed, Honey."

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Bob was a man who was well known for his patience. He never rushed things in the air, and he tried to live by a similar philosophy on the ground. He knew he wanted to marry you about halfway through the first date. He also knew you would have looked at him like he was insane if he admitted that to you halfway through the first date. So instead of rushing things, he took the time to make sure you were on the same page he was and that you were comfortable. He always tried to do that.

When a baby just didn't seem to be happening, he was more than willing to keep trying, but he was also completely content with the idea of no kids at all. It wasn't worth rushing anything as long as he had you in his life. But you had recently convinced him of a third option, and his lawyer helped the two of you smooth out the details.

And this is how Avery ended up at Bob's house on a random Monday evening. She was eight years old and in need of a foster family, and you were adamant when you answered the phone call that you and Bob were more than ready for her to be dropped off even on such short notice.

"I'm so nervous," you whispered as you held Bob's hand and watched through the front window as a van pulled up.

"I'm excited," he told you with a soft laugh. When he thought about having kids, he always pictured a little girl. For some reason, the idea of reading princess stories and painting a bedroom a putrid shade of purple really appealed to him. As he watched Avery being led up the walkway, he realized she didn't look one bit like you or him. He also realized that having a child who resembled him was actually never part of his dreams.

As the doorbell rang, you bounced in place and whispered, "She's here. She's really here."

Bob pulled you in for a kiss as his heart thudded. He realized he needed to tamp down his excitement a little bit. The two of you were merely fostering Avery. Nothing was set in stone even though you told the lawyer you wanted to eventually adopt a child. But right now your eyes were glittering with hope and anticipation, and Bob couldn't take that away from you.

"Let's make her feel welcome," he said as you both headed for the door.

Avery stood there with an unreadable expression on her adorable face, and Bob noticed right away how the case worker seemed to rush through everything. There were papers to sign and a schedule to keep, and even though all of it pertained to Avery, she ended up sitting quietly at the kitchen table while everyone else talked about her.

It was late by the time you and Bob were alone with her, and now her unreadable expression looked something like sadness. "Avery," Bob said softly. "Do you want to see your bedroom?"

She looked up at him and nodded without saying a word, and then you helped her down from the chair. You had taken the time to freshen up the extra bedroom and buy a pink glitter toothbrush and a pair of pajamas in her size. But Avery just sat down on the edge of the bed with her bag and asked, "Do I have to go to school tomorrow?"

"Yes," Bob replied with a smile. "I'll drop you off on my way to work, and then I'll pick you up in the afternoon."

When she didn't respond, you asked, "Is there anything you want? A bedtime snack or something to drink? I could make you some hot chocolate or get you a cookie. Bob makes the best oatmeal cookies, and there are a few left from the weekend. Maybe you can help Bob make the next batch." You were rambling now, and Bob reached out to squeeze your hand as you said, "We're just excited that you're here."

But Avery shook her head and told you, "I'll just read my book. Thanks." Then she untied her shoes and took a well worn copy of The Secret Garden from her bag, but she sat on the bed with rigid posture, not looking at either of you.

Bob wasn't quite sure what to do. You'd already shown the child where the bathroom was, and she seemed to have all of her essentials. He swallowed hard, deciding not to rush Avery even though he could feel your disappointment radiating off of you. He cleared his throat and said, "We'll leave our bedroom door open in case you need anything. And we'll get you up around seven for school. Good night, Avery."

She just nodded and squinted down at the tattered book cover like she was going to cry. Bob led you down the hallway, through your room and into the en suite bathroom where he gathered you in his arms as tears filled your eyes. "I don't think she likes us," you gasped before you buried your face against his neck.

Bob kissed the top of your head and whispered, "I just think she needs some time. Let's not rush anything."

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

You cried yourself to sleep the first night. You knew that your response wasn't fair to Bob or Avery or even to yourself, but you'd imagined meeting a little girl who was at least a little bit more talkative if not upbeat. You had your hopes set on fostering a child who at least gave the impression that your home was better than another alternative. You'd been given a vague picture of where Avery had come from, and you wanted her to be comfortable here, but now you felt stupid for buying the glitter toothbrush and the Minnie Mouse pajamas.

Bob's hand drew lazy circles on your back as you turned away from him and cried softly. "It's just the first night," he reminded you in that sweet, even tone that you loved so much.

"I know. I just wanted this so desperately," you admitted between shaky breaths. His hand on your body helped you eventually fall asleep, and the next morning, Bob was up before you, making breakfast. When you tapped on Avery's door which was ajar, you poked your head in to find her once again sitting on the bed reading.

"Did you sleep okay?" you asked, and she nodded in response. "That's great!" you said in a tone of forced excitement. "Do you need help getting ready for school?"

"No," she said softly, setting the book aside.

You took a deep breath and said, "Bob's making breakfast. Do you want to come downstairs and eat?"

"Yes."

That was the last word you heard her speak before Bob led her out to his car in his uniform. He smiled at you over his shoulder as he told you to have a good day working on your true crime novel, but you knew you weren't going to. You spend two hours trying to write, but you ended up with three and a half new sentences. Instead, you spent most of the day thinking you'd made a huge mistake and hating your own body. Avery would probably last two weeks tops with you and Bob before she was begging to go somewhere else. You didn't even know if you could stand to see her melancholy little expression when your husband brought her home from school today, but you didn't want to call her case worker for help yet.

In the afternoon, you bought everything you needed to make oatmeal cookies along with the rest of your usual groceries. You paused next to the checkout line where there was a display of children's books and grabbed a few of them. Avery appeared to like her book more than anything else, so maybe she would appreciate these ones, too.

But when Bob brought Avery home with him after school, she barely spoke. She didn't want to help make any cookies, and after dinner, she went back to her bedroom. Bob tried to help her with her homework, but she told him it was easy and she already finished it. When you dropped off the new books, she told you she already had a favorite.

"Oh," you said, standing in the doorway with your hands full of the unwanted books. "That's good... that you have a favorite. I have a favorite book, too."

She looked up at you and nodded, but soon you were backing out of the room and trying to hide your tears from Bob. "It takes time," he reassured you as you balled your hands into fists and cried on him again.

You knew you needed to be as patient as he always was, but you just weren't like him. And you started talking before you could stop yourself. "If we could have gotten pregnant, we'd have our own child," you sobbed. "One that we raised from day one who would love us and bake cookies and read new books."

Bob kissed your ear and whispered, "Nothing is easy, Honey. But sometimes the harder something is at first, the more rewarding it is later on."

You cried yourself to sleep again.

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

Bob tried his best for that first week. He watched you start to pull away and retreat into yourself the more Avery kept to her bedroom. Every day when he dropped her off and picked her up, she thanked him for the ride. When he asked if she would rather start taking the bus, she told him it didn't matter. When he asked if there was something special she wanted to eat for dinner, she said she wasn't picky.

And all the while she just squinted down at her book. Just The Secret Garden even though you brought home some others. When he pulled up to the curb in front of her school one morning, he said, "Avery, would you like me to take you to the library one day? Or maybe a bookstore where you can pick out what you want?"

She looked at him as she grabbed her backpack in one hand and her book in the other. "Maybe." Then she climbed out of the car, and he waited to pull away until she was inside the school building. That was the most promising answer he'd received yet. He drove to work thinking about signing her up for a library card, and when he got there, he was in a much better mood.

Natasha was the only one who knew that Avery was under his care. He didn't want to give anyone too many details, but she sweetly asked him the same question every morning after they got to work. "How are you and the Mrs. making out with your houseguest?"

And this morning, he said, "Maybe a little better today, Nat. I'm just trying not to rush it."

She patted him on the chest and smiled. "You never do, Bob. You're a man of details."

She was right. He spent the day thinking about all of the details that he knew about Avery. She was eight years old and very quiet. She only wanted to read one book even though you offered her more. She seemed to find the most comfort when she was alone. She was honestly a lot like Bob.

When he picked Avery up from school, he watched as one of the teachers patted the top of her backpack and sent her on her way. She squinted toward his car before trudging over in his direction with a frown on her face. Bob sighed as she climbed into the backseat and buckled herself in. "How was your day, Avery?" he asked as he shifted into drive. But today he got no verbal response at all. Instead he heard her crying.

Without another word, Bob pulled his car around and into an empty parking spot before killing the engine. He opened his door and closed it before taking a few deep breaths, and then he climbed in the back door and settled in next to the crying child. He let one hand gently rest on her shoulder, giving her a small squeeze before asking, "Do you want to talk about what's bothering you?"

She just shook her head as tears flowed down her cheeks, and she stared at her feet. "It's stupid."

Bob smiled slightly. "You might think so, but I'd probably find what you have to say fascinating."

She turned her head to look at him, examining his face to see if he was being honest. But of course he was. He just wanted her to tell him what was on her mind. It took a few minutes before she started to settle down, but eventually she said, "I failed my eye exam with the nurse today." She unzipped her bag and pulled out a yellow sheet of paper and handed it to him. "She told me my eyesight is terrible and that I need to get glasses."

Bob looked at the page and had to hide his alarm from her. Avery failed her eye exam spectacularly. It was a wonder to Bob that she was even able to see in her classroom. But now her squinting and her preference for one, well worn book were starting to make sense. As he filled in the blanks in his mind, he said, "Glasses aren't so bad," while he tapped his own silver frames. "They certainly make my day a lot easier."

She kind of rolled her eyes and said, "But you're an adult. People aren't going to make fun of you for wearing glasses."

"You think you'll get made fun of?" Bob asked softly, folding the yellow paper in half.

"Yes," she replied immediately as she wiped at her tears. "I already do. Glasses will make it so much worse."

Bob wanted to press her for more details, but he didn't think this was the right moment. Instead he asked, "Is that why you only like to read The Secret Garden? Because you already know most of the words by heart?"

Avery looked at him like she couldn't believe he solved a very complex riddle. "Yes."

He nodded and asked, "Would you like to be able to read other books, too? Because glasses would definitely help with that."

She shrugged and sniffed as she said, "I like books about gardens and flowers and fairies. I don't know of any other ones I would like anyway."

Bob patted her on the shoulder one more time and said, "I like those kinds of books, too. And I think I can help you get glasses that look cool and help you pick out more books. If you'll let me."

Another partial shrug was his only answer, but at least she wasn't telling him no. As he climbed back into the driver's seat, he sent you a quick text telling you that he and Avery were fine and to go ahead and have dinner on your own. Then he drove along to his optometrist's office, hoping they would squeeze an extra appointment into their schedule.

"You're in luck," the receptionist told him when they arrived. "There was a last minute cancellation. Have a seat, and we can take you back shortly."

The rack hanging on the wall was filled with books and magazines for people of all ages, but Bob watched Avery squint as she took a seat empty handed. He skimmed a magazine and offered to read an article to her, but she said no. When ten minutes had passed, Bob asked her, "Are the kids at school mean to you?"

He was already considering other options that might make her feel more comfortable when she said, "I just don't fit in. Everyone else has parents or grandparents. Everyone else is loud, and I like it better when it's quiet. Everyone else already made friends."

Bob nodded his head. It was like she was living his own childhood in many ways. "I like it better when it's quiet, too. So does my wife. And making friends can be hard at any age. I still struggle with it."

"You do?" she asked him, eyes wide and interested.

"Absolutely. Sometimes I still get nervous and stumble over what I want to say, and I'm thirty-nine. And you know what?"

"What?"

"There's nothing wrong with that."

He watched Avery take a deep breath and look down at her hands before both of their names were called. Once they were in the exam room, Bob got to witness her fail the test for the second time in one day, and then her tears started up again. The crying was only made worse when the receptionist popped in and tried to quietly tell Bob that Avery wasn't approved for any vision insurance.

The child was clearly smart as a whip, and if she was having a hard time fitting in at school, he didn't want to make it worse by making her feel like she didn't fit in with you and him either. "I was planning on paying out of pocket today," he told the receptionist who just nodded in response. Then he turned to Avery and said, "Looks like the nurse was right. How about we pick out some glasses?"

She looked at the displays while she wiped at her eyes with a tissue, but she wouldn't tell Bob which ones she wanted to try on. "Which ones are the cheapest?" she asked softly.

"I have no idea," Bob replied easily. "What's your favorite color?"

"Purple," she whispered, and Bob followed her squinting gaze to a purple frame sitting on a shelf above her head.

"I like purple, too," he said as he reached them down and handed them to her. She held them for a couple minutes, and Bob decided not to rush her. She finally slipped them on and looked in the mirror, and he told her, "I think they look cool."

She nodded a little bit. "They're pretty good. But nobody else at school has purple glasses."

As she removed them and tried to hand them back to him, Bob quickly looked at the adult sized frames. There was one pair that came in a deep purple, and he kind of liked them. "Just hang onto those for a minute. I need help picking out new glasses for myself, okay? What do you think about these?"

When he removed his wire frames and replaced them with the purple plastic, it seemed like Avery couldn't help but smile. "I like them."

He nodded once. "Then I'll get them. That way we can match since we both like purple. Thanks for your help."

"You're welcome," she replied quietly, looking at the glasses she was still holding before handing them to Bob.

He took both pairs in his hand before nodding toward the door. "I'm feeling like it's a good day to get ice cream for dinner and look around the bookstore. I can think of at least two more books that you might like to read once your glasses are ready for you to wear. Sound good?"

"Yes."

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

You didn't know what to expect when Bob brought Avery home after seven o'clock on a school night, but you definitely weren't prepared to hear her laughter for the first time. You'd barely made any progress on your novel since Avery arrived a few weeks ago, merely existing in your own funk all day long. But the sound of Bob's voice followed by her light giggle as they walked inside left you feeling better than you had in ages.

"Hi," you said, your voice dripping with optimism as Bob headed your way with a shopping bag in his hand.

"Hi, Honey," he replied, kissing your cheek while Avery took her shoes off.

"How was school?" you asked her.

"Terrible," she told you with a smile aimed up at Bob. "I failed my eye exam."

"Oh," you gasped, already making a mental note to call the eye doctor first thing in the morning so she could get some glasses. "We can take care of it for you."

"Already did," Bob said as he squeezed your hand. "Stopped on the way home and picked them out. Should be ready next week."

"Really?" you asked in surprise as he pulled two books out of the bag. Both were covered in vines and flowers, but one was clearly a novel for an adult while the other was much slimmer and looked like it was for Avery's reading level.

"Yes," he replied softly. "Now, on the drive home, I told Avery that you're a writer, but that you're also really good at reading books out loud." When you nodded and looked at her, she was squinting up at you. Bob handed you the smaller book and said, "I didn't get to take a shower before I left work, so I need to go do that now. But I promised Avery that you'd read a chapter to her after she gets ready for bed." He patted her on the shoulder and then made his way upstairs.

Your head was swimming with information. New glasses and new books and a child who was looking up at you with hope in her eyes. A husband who set up some time for you to spend alone with her. Tears stung your eyes as you said, "I love reading books out loud. Do you want to change for bed and brush your teeth now?"

Ten minutes later, you were sitting next to Avery on the spare bed, reading to her about a magical garden filled with flowers that turned the characters into superheroes. You read all sixteen pages of the first chapter, and then she asked you to read more.

It was a little bit past bedtime when you finished the third chapter, and she was yawning. "How about I go get you one of my bookmarks from my office? And we can read more tomorrow night?"

"Okay," she replied easily, and when you returned a minute later with a bookmark that had a purple tassel, she smiled. "I like this book so far, but I think I'd like it a lot better if there were fairies, too. Thank you for reading to me."

"You're very welcome," you told her, barely shutting off the light in time for a tear to slide down your cheek. "Goodnight, Avery."

When you rushed into your own bedroom, Bob was in bed reading the other new book. "How did you do it?" you asked him, quickly climbing under the covers with him. "How did you get her to open up a little bit?"

He set the book down with a soft smile. "She just needed some time, Honey. She's a lot like me. She can't be rushed."

"No," you said, pushing your fingers through his hair as you cried a little bit. "That's not it. I think you're actually magical."

"Maybe," he agreed. "But her vision is so bad. That's why I think she kept reading The Secret Garden. She probably has it memorized and didn't want to tell anyone she couldn't see."

"Poor thing," you whispered, realizing that most of Bob's magic came from his patience as you fell asleep in his arms.

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

A week later, Bob noticed you were exhausted, but you seemed a lot happier, because Avery seemed a lot happier. You had successfully read two books to her, and she was starting to become more vocal around the house. He was hoping she was having an easier time making friends at school now, too. But he was a little bit concerned with how late into the night you'd been working.

When he got a message around lunchtime letting him know both pairs of glasses were ready, he smiled. Pretty soon Avery would be able to attempt reading a new book on her own. He sent you a text letting you know that he'd be home with Avery after a quick stop back at the optometrist's office. And when he picked her up from school, she squinted at his car before climbing in the backseat.

"Ready to go get our new glasses?" he asked before pulling out onto the road.

"Yes," she replied softly. "I've decided that wearing glasses is a better alternative than not being able to read new books. At least until I can get contacts."

Bob chuckled. "A wise choice."

A few seconds later, she asked, "Will you take me to the library this weekend? There have to be more books there that I'd like."

"Of course I'll take you to the library. We can ask the librarian to help you find you as many books as you want to read."

He hoped that would make the new glasses an even easier decision for her. He parked and led her inside where the eye doctor got them both fitted correctly before handing them a mirror. "What do you think?" Bob asked as he smiled at Avery. "I think they look cool on you."

She shrugged. "They're okay."

"Can you see better?"

"Yes," she whispered. On the way outside, she said, "Thanks for getting new glasses with me. I like yours, too."

Bob checked himself in the mirror before he backed out of the parking spot. "I think it's kind of my color."

You were waiting in the living room for them when Bob opened the front door. The house smelled like dinner cooking, and you had a stack of bound pages on the couch next to you. When you jumped to your feet, you said, "You both look great!" as you bounced in place a little bit.

"Purple is kind of our color," Avery said, making Bob laugh as you covered your massive smile with your fingertips.

"It really is," you replied, wrapping Bob in a quick hug before cautiously placing your hand on Avery's shoulder for a beat. "I have something I wanted to show you. I was hoping to get your opinion."

"Me?" she asked, looking up at you, eyes wide behind her purple frames.

"Yes," you told her softly. "I've been working on a new story for the past week, and I really think you'll be able to help me with the ending."

"What kind of story?" she asked you, and Bob slowly made his way into the kitchen where he could still hear the two of you talking.

"Well," you told her as she joined you on the couch, "it's about a fairy who gets invited to live in a magic garden. And she starts to learn how to use magic herself while a friendly witch and a kind wizard supervise her. And the garden is really pretty, and she loves it there and starts to make friends with the other creatures. Do you want to take a look at it?"

"Okay."

Bob hovered in the doorway and watched you hand the bound manuscript to the little girl next to you while you chewed nervously on your lip. He knew you wanted this to work out; he did too. He was also very surprised that you'd been working on this for the past week without sharing your secret even with him. But it truthfully wasn't really for him. It was for her. And you.

The child looked up at you and whispered, "You named the fairy Avery."

You just nodded and smiled. "Your name is so pretty, and you remind me of the kind of little girl who would have magic inside her."

Avery turned back to the page in front of her and snuggled in a little bit closer to you. She started reading out loud, and after a few pages, handed it over to you for a little bit. The two of you went back and forth like this for an hour before Bob carried in two plates of dinner and set them on the coffee table.

"Even magic fairies get hungry," he said softly before leaving both of you to the story.

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

When you woke up a few weeks later on Avery's ninth birthday, you were beyond exhausted. The past few nights had been late ones for you as you tried to finish up and edit the story you'd been working on. The title that the two of you came up with was The Littlest Fairy in the Garden, and you were just as proud of this as your true crime releases.

Then you realized that there was actually a reason why you woke up. You could hear Bob talking. It sounded like he was on the phone even though it was barely eight o'clock. You climbed out of bed and stretched before finding him sitting on the floor in the walk-in closet talking softly on the phone in his pajama pants, undershirt and purple glasses.

"I'm sure she's going to agree with me. We want to move forward if that's what Avery wants, but I'll call you back in an hour or two. Thank you so much."

He ended the call right when you asked, "Who was that?"

Bob jumped a bit as he looked up at you with a tentative smile. "Our lawyer," he whispered.

"What did they say?" you whispered back as he got to his feet and wrapped his arms around you.

When Bob's lips found your ear, you shivered at his words. "It was just a preliminary conversation, but they asked if we would be interested in pursuing adoption."

"With Avery?" you gasped, and he nodded against you.

"Yes. With Avery."

Tears filled your eyes as you clung to him. You thought about all the books she'd been reading with you and the birthday cake waiting in the kitchen. You could practically still smell the oatmeal cookies she and Bob made a few days ago. You could picture her smile and imagine her laughter, both of which were coming more easily with each passing day. "I want to adopt her. She belongs here. With us."

"I think so, too," he replied immediately, and you could hear the unshed tears in her voice. "I think we should have a conversation with her about it today. The process could take a little time, but I want to be sure it's what she wants as well."

You nodded, a jerky motion against him as your heart pounded faster and faster. "Let's talk about it when she wakes up."

Bob led you downstairs to the kitchen, his fingers laced with yours, and he started to crack some eggs while you made coffee and fresh orange juice. Avery had picked the menu for each meal today for her birthday, and the plan was to take her to the zoo after lunch. There was currently a purple banner with flowers and fairies on it stretched across the kitchen along with a large assortment of balloons. You couldn't remember being this excited about something in such a long time.

"Good morning," came a soft voice from the bottom of the stairs, and you nearly dropped a mug on the floor as you turned to look at her.

"Happy birthday!" you and Bob replied in unison, and then all three of you started laughing.

Without another word, Avery made her way into the kitchen in her Minnie Mouse pajamas and gave you a hug around the waist. You gasped softly as you hugged her back, her purple glasses pressing against you. Then she tucked herself against Bob's side and hugged him right after that. "Thanks for all the birthday stuff. And thanks for being so nice to me and getting me glasses and everything."

You and Bob shared a look over her head as he rubbed his hand along her shoulder. "It makes us happy that you're here, Avery," he said softly, and you had to swipe at your tears. "Let's have your breakfast, and maybe we can talk about making this permanent."

"Permanent? Like me staying here for a while?" she asked softly as she looked up at him.

"Like you staying here forever."

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

This is a little birthday treat for @wkndwlff! I hope you have a great day, Taylor! I set out to write a nice little story based on this mood board, but somehow it turned into this angsty thing instead. Thanks to @sylviebell @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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wandasaura · 9 months ago

Text

LOVELORN AND NOBODY KNOWS

summary — your relationship with natasha is not as black and white as it seems, but you’re in no rush to figure out the logistics of it. when she leaves for a business trip, wanda is your only source of comfort, but you hate her… right?

warning(s) — established relationship, married wandanat, dom/sub dynamics, playful banter between three idiots, somnophilia, edging, praise, begging, teasing, oral, fingering, semi-clothed sex, finger sucking, bratty reader, a fuck ton of domestic shenanigans, copious amounts of fluff, essentially hurt/comfort, mentions of anxiety & panic attacks, mommy wanda 101, so much softness, men/minors dni

authors note — this is actually such a wild ride, and i shamelessly got the slightest bit carried away, but hey, we’re making progress in the wanda x reader department!

you are in love universe

♥️⊹ ˚ . 18+, men/minors dni ⁺ 𓈒 ꒰💌꒱ ♡ ･ mommy maximoff ✧

You saw Natasha at least three times a week, she made sure of it when she could. Sometimes, you were lucky enough to see her every day in some capacity, other times her business kept you apart for an entire week if not longer. Your favorite days were the ones where she’d stop by your dorm room for a quick lunch break. She’d bring your favorite meal and a bouquet of vibrant flowers, and it gave you a taste of what an authentic relationship with her would look like. You never forgot about Wanda. Never forgot that she was already married and had her wife’s explicit permission to be seeing you, but it was nice to pretend anyway. It probably wasn’t the best idea to have a crush on your employer, even if your arrangement was anything but practical, but even still, you should not be crushing hard on the woman who pays you for a fuck.

You’d seen Natasha four times this week and it was only Wednesday. She’d stopped by your dorm room for lunch on Monday afternoon, holding onto a takeout bag from your favorite Italian restaurant, a bouquet of wildflowers neatly arranged in a tall and elegant vase, and one of her old Avengers University hoodies that had been meticulously sprayed down with her expensive perfume. On Tuesday, you ran into her at your favorite coffee shop where she subsequently stopped you from ordering a triple shot espresso in exchange for an ice water. You’d wanted to be mad, wanted to tell her that you were a big girl and you needed the extra caffeine to survive the long day of studying ahead, but when you’d even thought about challenging her, one look into her green eyes had you melting into the submissive partner she expected you to be. Sometimes you hated how easily she could break your strength without even trying, but you knew that was the biggest lie you've ever told yourself. You adore the control she has over you, you allow her to have that control, but sometimes you just wanted her to remind you of that. She did later that evening when you’d gone to the Maximoff’s residence for dinner. On Wednesday morning, you woke up with a soft ache between your thighs and the remnants of her touch in the form of scattered bruising across your chest.

Every Wednesday night since you’d signed the contract to be Natasha Maximoff’s sugar baby, you had gone over to the Maximoff residence for a movie night and pizza. There was never a promise of anything sexual happening, but sometimes you just couldn’t help yourself and Natasha would fuck you right there on the couch if you asked nice enough. Wanda wasn’t always a participant in your film marathons. She worked in the office a significant amount more than Natasha did, claiming she liked the fast paced environment more than the peaceful quiet of the house, and her late hours kept her away from you most Wednesday nights. For that you were beyond grateful, but you didn’t always get so lucky.

Tonight was one of those nights where Wanda had retired from the office earlier than usual, and was already on the couch with a half finished glass of wine before you’d even shown up at seven. The key you kept on your lanyard was practically useless on Wednesdays. If the door wasn’t already unlocked prior to your arrival, Natasha was sprinting to open it before you could even attempt to do it yourself. The gesture made you blush a ferocious shade of red each time, and you wondered if she sat by the window and watched you drive up just so she could fluster you, but you’d never get that answer out of her no matter how prettily you begged. Some secrets were kept tightly underwraps, even if they were merely forged in amusement. You’ve come to learn that Natasha Maximoff loves secrets, even if they made both yours and Wanda’s skin crawl.

“How were classes, milyy?” Natasha asked sweetly, pressing a soft kiss to your lips in the doorway of the house, not yet letting you enter fully. The warmer days of Spring had finally settled over top of the small New Jersey shore town she and Wanda lived within, and the lick of heat that encased your body was particularly pleasant tonight. Dressed in only a pair of soft pajama shorts and her recently gifted hoodie, you didn’t mind standing outside for as long as she wanted, the moonlight reflecting off of her eyes created its own endless galaxy that you had the pleasure of getting lost in. You’d hate to shuffle inside and lose sight of it.

“Tiring.” You hummed, leaning into her gentle touch when her calloused palms reached out to cup your cheeks. Your answer sets the mood for the evening even without meaning to, but you don’t mind what you’re getting yourself into. Natasha is always particularly attentive and soft with you if you tell her that you’ve had a long day, and secretly, you’ve been anticipating her coddling since your second lecture that afternoon. “It’s almost done, I just keep telling myself that.”

“And then you’re mine for an entire summer. Think you can manage six more weeks before I steal you away?” She asked softly, already having a plethora of ideas for how she’d ask you to spend your break. You practically lived at the Maximoff residence during the semester, she couldn’t imagine three full months of your undivided attention and company. It was sure to be bliss.

“Or I can drop out and we can start early.” You suggested, though it was merely a fabrication of your need for calm rather than any actual intentions of dropping out. You adored your academics, as demanding as they were, you were just reaching a critical episode of burnout. “Never let me overload again. I think my cerebrum is malfunctioning.”

“That’s a big word for such a little girl.” Wanda’s voice quipped from deeper into the house, a playful edge to her tone but you were in no mood for jokes, especially not from her. You scowled with the knowledge that you wouldn’t even get a handful of hours alone with Natasha now, whining pitifully into the chest of your dominant. Sometimes you wished you could call her more than that, but you’d settle for anything if it meant calling her yours.

“Be nice, she’s just teasing.” Natasha rewarded you with a gentle kiss, her cold fingers tilting your chin upward until she had your lips perfectly available. You tasted like coffee, and her brows furrowed at the realization that not long ago, probably not even a full half hour ago, you’d consumed caffeine. She always worried about you getting enough sleep at night, and the repercussions of caffeine on days when your anxiety was particularly brutal, but you never listened to her. “How many coffee’s have you had today, milyy?”

“Please don’t punish me.” You sighed in regret, melting against her chest and forcing her arms to wrap around your waist and support the majority of your weight, the front door still open and allowing the valued cold air that Wanda paid a pretty penny for to slip out into the streets of Westview. “I just needed something to get me through class, and I didn’t want to fall asleep on you ten minutes into a movie so I stopped on the way here. I didn’t even finish it, promise, it’s still half-full in the car. You’re leaving tomorrow. I just wanted to see you.”

Your nervous rambling was enough to indicate that your head was swimming in thoughts that made no real sense. Truthfully you knew that Natasha wouldn’t punish you for your caffeine intake. She’d be worried, she’d make you drink enough water to refill the ocean if it somehow managed to evaporate, but she wouldn’t punish you. Her consideration for your wellbeing did not warrant a physical punishment for choices you made as a grown adult, even if they concerned her.

“Is that what this is about?” Natasha quizzed, looking down at you with a fondness in her eyes that made your cheeks flush a shade of pink only she had ever been able to create. When you nodded sadly, still not willing to let go of her waist, the lawyer huffed out a mixture of laughter that was somehow both saddened and amused. “It’s only two weeks, milyy. Fourteen days. How many hours is that?” She asked softly, knowing that you knew the answer. When you had first learned of her inescapable business trip to the Bahamas, which honestly sounded more like a dream than an obligation, you’d gone on a rampage. You’d listed off the number of days and hours and seconds that you’d be apart. You’d pleaded with her not to leave you for so long, and as embarrassed as you felt once you’d sobered up from your state of panic, the fact still remained that you were dreading the time apart. Yeah, Natasha was definitely more than just your contractual dominant, but neither one of you had braved a conversation regarding what the true extent of your relationship was.

“Three hundred and thirty six. That’s over twenty thousand minutes, Natty.” You whispered into her chest so softly that the howling wind almost drowned you out, but still Natasha heard you and tightened her hold around your midsection, not caring about how warm the house became as a result of the still open front door. She’d melt into a puddle if it meant easing your mind, and Wanda, despite her tendency to poke fun at you, didn’t mind either.

“You’ll be okay. I have a surprise for you, but I think we need to get some food into this belly and some water into you before we do any of that.” Natasha smoothed the wild flyaways away from your face, cradling your cheeks sweetly and tenderly, almost as if she was afraid if she touched you too hard you’d crumble on her front porch.

At the mention of a surprise, your attention peaked, and you tried to peer around her body for any indication of what it was that she had. “Now?” You tried to convince her, a lively spark coming back to your eyes. You always loved her surprises. They weren’t all material, and the ones that were didn’t always make your bank account hurt at the mere thought of how much she’d spent on you. Sometimes a surprise meant that she’d take you out for a walk and bring you to her favorite bench by the shore, sometimes it meant she’d found little canvases to paint and had set up a makeshift studio in her office. Sometimes it meant that she had new toys to test and outfits to wear. You never knew what she had up her sleeve, but you adored her efforts nonetheless.

Natasha laughed at your eagerness, glad that you had come back to yourself if only for a couple of minutes, but shook her head to decline your temptations. “Not now. Come on, inside, baby.” She guided you further into the house, finally closing the heavy front door when you were far enough inside to not be nicked by the latch. She’d made the mistake once, and you hadn’t let her forget about it since. She was so excited about your company that she’d more or less attempted to close the front door on your body, and while she’d apologized profusely, you’d just taken the bait and been able to call her the impatient one for once.

“Hi Wanda.” You mumbled out pleasantries, knowing that it would make Natasha happy even if you just wanted to ignore the other CEO in the room. The woman was curled up into the corner of the couch, far away from the spot you and Natasha typically occupied during movie nights. Briefly you wondered if she’d done it on purpose, or if that was just the spot she liked to sit in.

“Hi, darling.” She returned the greeting, though it was significantly warmer than yours. Natasha praised you for your efforts either way, running her cold hands up and down your thighs as she came to stand directly behind you, her chin resting on the crown of your head in the way you despised when anyone else tried to do that same. She was only two or so inches taller than you, but she made up for it in dominance, and it was no help that you shrunk in on yourself whenever she was around.

“Go sit with Wanda, baby. I’ll bring you out some pizza.” Natasha left a kiss on the side of your head before she pulled away from you entirely and gave you an encouraging shove toward the couch. You pouted not only because of her asking you to keep Wanda company, but because the last thing you wanted was to leave her company after just entering it.

Wanda laughed at your expression, patting the soft silk cushions of the couch invitingly. You adored their couch. You had made it known on multiple occasions when you all but refused to move into a bed at the end of the night, but something about being left alone with Wanda made even the softest seat feel daunting and scary. “I don’t bite, detka.” Wanda laughed, watching you pleadingly stare at Natasha who promptly ignored the burn of your eyes on her back as she disappeared into the kitchen. Her auburn hair looked like pure fire as she slipped into the brighter lit room, the overhead lights casting spells on her appearance. “She’ll be right back, there’s no need to pout.”

You huffed at Wanda’s unwillingness to appease your sadness, but shuffled on your feet until you were close enough to the couch to plop down in the way she hated. The cushion sank beneath your weight and the back of the couch welcomed your presence without any additional need to wiggle around and get comfortable, and as much as it felt like a warm hug, your skin crawled being so close to Wanda without Natasha around to mediate.

“Don’t be a brat, darling. It’s only for a couple of minutes.” Wanda’s scold wasn’t necessarily cold, but it was still laced with dominance that you couldn’t ignore. You huffed, pouting deeper, grabbing fistfulls of the hoodie’s sleeves and holding them over your trembling fingers. Wanda’s reserve melted as she picked up the subtle tells of anxiety, and that indistinguishable gleam reappeared in her eyes that were green like Natasha’s but so so different and unique. “You still have all of tonight. There’s no need for the tears right now, angel. Tomorrow, you can cry all you want, but enjoy what you have in the moment. Can you do that, detka?”

“I don’t want her to leave.” You mumbled, nervously bringing the cuff of Natasha’s sleeve up to your mouth and chewing on it. Wanda had seen Natasha reprimand you for the action, she herself had reprimanded you for the action, but you looked far too nervous to scold right now, so she let you be. You didn’t know what had come over you. Never would you admit such silly feelings to Wanda, but you figured she would understand your thoughts. Natasha was nothing to you but a piece of paper, even if you didn’t believe that it was still the truth, but Wanda was her wife, and she had every reason to hate this trip more than you did.

Not making a sarcastic remark like you’d half-expected her to, Wanda merely shrugged sadly and took another long sip of her red. You hated red wine, but the lawyer beside you found it particularly comforting for reasons you’d never asked about. “I don’t want her to go either, but she has to. A long time ago we stopped getting upset about what’s best for our business. It doesn’t do either of us any good if we work ourselves up about the inevitable. She’s come back before, hasn’t she?”

“Yeah, but– but she’s never been gone this long, and– and, I don’t know.” You shrugged, your words practically incoherent with the thick material still between your teeth, but Wanda had understood you perfectly.

“I think you do know, but you don’t want to tell me, and that’s okay. It’s okay to need her, malysh. She does a lot for you, yes? More than just providing orgasms like you’d thought you’d be getting into.” There was a hint of a teasing in Wanda’s tone, and her words caused a blush to spread across your cheeks at the implication of her knowing about your most intimate moments. Of course she knew. She’d seen you cum on Natasha’s strap and her fingers, on her thigh and on her tongue, in her bed and on her couch and her dining room table, but still you found ways to be shy about the topic after nearly a year.

“Shut up.” You mumbled through your mortification, wanting desperately to hide your face and scrub this conversation from your memory. Your cerebrum may be failing in an intellectual sense, but it was working just fine now and you hated to admit that talking about orgasms with Wanda made you needy.

Wanda laughed at your embarrassment, setting her wine glass down on the coffee table in front of her, her ringed fingers sparkling in the dim lighting of the room. The diamonds on her left hand were particularly blinding, and once again you remembered what you were to them and what Natasha wasn’t to you.

“Natasha is just as upset about leaving you. She knows this is a stressful time, or did you forget we both went through eight years of law school?” Wanda quirked a perfectly sculpted brow in your direction, her green stare unwavering, and honestly, you had forgotten that they’d been in your shoes once, even if it was years ago now. Your silence was enough of an answer for Wanda whose lips curled upward into her signature smirk of amusement. “I think you’ll like the surprise.”

“You know what it is?” Your head whipped in her direction, and no longer did you avoid looking into her eyes. Your excitement was back, and desperately you bounced on the couch and pulled the sleeve away from your mouth. “What is it?”

“What kind of secret would it be if I gave it up so easily? You should know better than that, little one.” Wanda laughed, curling her legs further beneath her as she readjusted on the couch, not missing your immediate pout at her unwillingness to even give you a hint. “You will find out soon.”

“I wanna find out now.” You huffed, throwing yourself back into the couch and crossing your arms over your chest. You wouldn’t beg with Wanda, no you still had enough self control to restrain from stopping to such low levels, but maybe you could work Natasha and get her to cave before she made you sit through an entire movie still not knowing.

“Are you still pouting about the surprise?” The voice of your dominant hadn’t been expected, and you lurched forward on the couch in a desperate attempt to please her. Both women laughed at your stick-straight posture and firmly planted feet, but only one of them leaned forward to kiss your head and for that you were grateful.

“Yes!” You huffed, throwing your arms out toward your sides in exasperation, narrowly avoiding hitting Natasha in the face as she leaned down to place three plates of pizza on the coffee table. You’d never understand how she could balance so many things at once, but when you’d asked once, she’d just laughed and told you she was a skilled spy in another life. “Please, Natty? I want to know! Wanda knows! You know! I’m the only one who doesn’t know!”

“That’s because A, Wanda lives here, and B, the surprise is for you. Do I need to remind you of the definition of a surprise, or is your brain working enough to remind yourself.” She taunted, not yet moving to sit down on the couch and collect you into her embrace, and it was then you realized that she still needed to go and collect the waters from the kitchen. “Eat. If half of that slice is gone by time I get back, maybe I’ll throw you a bone.”

Wanda laughed at your deep frown, but she made no other comments that would’ve gotten you into hot water with Natasha when you inevitably quipped back at her. You aggressively grabbed the slice from the plate, biting off more than you could comfortably chew just as a means of expressing your annoyance.

“Somebody’s fussy.” Natasha merely commented, and you sighed knowing she was right. She was always right, but it never made the pill any easier to swallow when she called you out. “How much sleep did you get last night?” She quizzed, and once again it felt like you were under interrogation as she looked up into her eyes and simultaneously felt Wanda’s gaze on the back of your head.

“How many hours will you consider a reasonable amount?” You tried to wiggle your way out of trouble, but Natasha was unwilling to budge as she placed her hands on her hips. “Two.” You eventually admitted. “And I had four coffees. I never answered that question. But it wasn’t my fault, honest, Natty!”

“And how would that not be your fault?” Natasha played your game, even if she so desperately wanted to march your ass up the stairs and make you go to bed right then and there.

“I had to cover for my group partners for a stupid project that’s literally worth half of our grade! I don’t know how those fucking idiots have even made it this far without being kicked out. I’ve been reaching out to them all semester, but I couldn’t wait to finish it any more. It’s due next week and every time I emailed the professor she just told me to wait a little longer because I still had time before it was due. I left them parts to do so that they could get some credit at least, that was a fucking mistake.” You seethed, your jaw locked as you recounted the events of last night that had definitely ended with you crying yourself to sleep out of sheer frustration.

“Detka.” Surprisingly, it was Wanda’s voice that called out to you, and you turned to face her with unbridled tears in your eyes. “You are not responsible for the academics of others who do not wish to put in the same amount of effort as you. It was very nice that you tried to save their asses, but if I hear that you sacrificed your own wellbeing again, you will have to deal with me. Not Natasha, and not your professors. Is that understood?”

You knew that Wanda could punish you if she really wanted to. Natasha had made that clear when you’d been filling out the contract. As much as you were only her submissive, you’d agreed to her proposition of letting Wanda deal with you if she saw fit, and clearly, this was an instance where both of them agreed because Natasha didn’t offer a single defense in your favor. Wanda had never threatened to punish you, not seriously at least, it was more or less just banter between two dominants who sought out different things in a submissive, but now she was beyond serious and your cheeks flushed at the scolding. Your typical snarky response attitude fell away in an instance, leaving only a pliant submissive in the place where sarcasm usually filled. You tested Wanda. You pushed her buttons and bit back at her when she dangled bait in front of your face, but it was always Wanda that you fought with, the woman Natasha married, not the dominant you knew that she was both inside and outside of the bedroom. You had enough respect for her to address her with obedience now, even if you tried to tell yourself you hated her guts.

“Yes, ma’am.” You whispered, dropping your gaze to your trembling hands in your lap. “I only tried to help them. My professor kept telling me everything was okay.”

“Your professor is an idiot, and if she doesn’t fail your partners when you tell her that they did nothing to help you, which you will tell her next time you have class, I will deal with her myself. Is that understood, little one?” Wanda’s hand reached out to capture your chin, and although you wanted to flinch away from her touch, scared that it would burn you if that was at all possible, you allowed her to redirect your stare until you were looking into her worried and angered eyes.

“Yes.” You deflated, hating that your peaceful evening had turned into this. “Can we just drop it? Please? I don’t want to talk about school.”

“You’ve had a long couple of days, haven’t you?” Natasha cooed sweetly, understanding what you needed even if you hadn’t explicitly asked for it. You wanted to shut your brain off and just surrender yourself to her. You wanted her to take control, you wanted her to make the decisions, and she was more than happy to comply with that request.

“The longest.” You sighed out, leaning into her touch when she reached a hand out and gently cradled your face. “I didn’t want to be naughty. I didn’t think I was being naughty.”

“I never laid out academic expectations, you have no reason to feel guilty about breaking a rule you didn’t know existed. You know now, and will you do it again?” Natasha asked softly, getting down on her knees in front of you and softly wiping the pads of her thumbs against your cheeks, wiping away tears that hadn’t yet fallen.

“No.” You shook your head, an admission that you couldn’t stop from forming on the tip of your tongue. “Wanda’s scary.”

Natasha laughed at your statement, but she nodded her head softly, not disagreeing with you. She had been on the receiving end of Wanda’s scolding one too many times, and she knew just how threatening it could be. If you thought she was scary now, when she was admittedly being very soft and patient with you, Natasha knew you’d be a gonner the second you actually did anything to piss her off. “She is pretty scary, huh? But it’s only because she cares about you, even though you like to act like a little brat whenever she’s around. You’re a cute brat.”

“Natalia.” Wanda’s sharp tone caught both of your attention, and subconsciously you leaned in closer to Natasha as if she could protect you from her wife. “Do not encourage her.”

Natasha cracked a small goofy smile that had you giggling, your guilt and upset long forgotten as you leaned forward to kiss her nose the same way she did to you. “Eat your pizza, baby. I’ll show you the surprise after, okay?”

“Okay.” You agreed, letting her stand and retreat back to the kitchen to collect the water she would undeniably make you drink entirely. “I’m a cute brat.” You looked back at Wanda, repeating Natasha’s words that would definitely get you in trouble at a later date, but for tonight, Wanda allowed you to feel content with the admission, not wanting to see any more tears in your eyes. She would never tell you, but seeing you upset broke her heart just as much as it did when she saw Natasha upset.

“I am not above spanking a cute brats ass until it’s sore for a week, but yes, you are a very cute brat.” Wanda laughed, not missing the way your eyes bulged out of your head and you quickly distracted yourself with another bite of pizza.

When pizza was eaten and a significant amount of water was drunk, Natasha kept her promise of showing you to your surprise. Wanda didn’t trail along with you, more than content to let you have a moment alone with the woman you would miss unbearably by this time tomorrow. You held onto Natasha’s hand as she guided you down the upstairs hallway, practically bouncing on your toes as she took her sweet time.

“Why are we going in here? It’s empty.” You frowned when Natasha abruptly stopped walking and instead stood still in front of the third door on the left; the last door on this side of the hallway. The first two doors led to rooms you knew well, although Wanda’s office was significantly less explored then Natasha’s, you’d still been in there a handful of times when your dominant asked you to place some paperwork on her desk.

“Finals are coming up, and I know you hate working in the library because college kids don’t know the definition of quiet.” Natasha began, her hand not yet reaching for the gold doorknob. The suspense was killing you, and she seemed to take great pleasure in that fact. “I thought you would like to have a space where you can come and do your work, or just decompress if you need to. Well, it was actually Wanda’s idea, but she thought you’d hate it if she knew it was her suggestion, so don’t tell her I told you.”

“My lips are sealed.” You giggled, keeping your voice low and hushed, though you were absolutely certain Wanda could hear the both of you perfectly clear despite your mutual efforts to be sneaky. The woman had a strange sixth sense for knowing when you and Natasha were causing trouble, but this time it was at least a good trouble.

“You have your key. I want you to use it when I’m gone, even if Wanda’s home and you think she won’t want to see you. This might not be your home, but you are welcome at all hours of the day and night.” Natasha kissed the side of your head gently before she reached out for the doorknob and gently led you inside, flicking on the lights when both of you were inside of the room.

The plain white walls that you were used to were now adorned in all kinds of photographs and prints. Some of the pieces displayed were photographs of you and Natasha that you didn’t even know existed, but some were posters of your favorite places and artists that only someone who paid careful attention would know. You’d droned on and on about Scotland and Moscow one night with Natasha, and you hadn’t expected her to really be listening, nor remember the exact locations mentioned, but the scenic photographs of your favorite towns and cities proved that she had been and that she did. There were little knick knacks and trinkets on the bookshelf toward the back of the room, and your eyes quickly spotted a figurine of a whimsical fairy placed right beside your favorite children's book that brought you comfort on long days. There was greenery in almost every corner of the room. A succulent sitting on your desk with prickly beige spikes adorning its thickest section. You giggled at the pot of choice, approaching it slowly as if you weren’t allowed to touch it. The entire room was magnificent and so perfectly you, you didn’t even know how to express your gratitude.

“This is amazing, Nat.” You breathed out in wonder, sweeping the tips of your fingers along the potted cactus. The pot was a nude color, notably the same shade of pale as Natasha’s skin in the wintertime, and the painted nipples on the pot were comically small and pink. You knew that she’d been the one to pick out that pot, and you could almost imagine Wanda’s exasperation when she’d been shown it. “How much of a fuss did Wanda put up about the pot?” You giggled.

“Oh she made me cook dinner for three days after that purchase. Something about me being ‘incredibly childish and needing to learn how an adult acts’. I know she likes it though. There’s a matching one in our bathroom.” Natasha’s smirk was smug, and you desperately wanted to kiss it off her face, but you were frozen in place when you realized there was a desktop computer sitting in the middle of your desk that was identical to the one in both her and Wanda’s office.

“Nat, you didn’t need to do this. This must have cost you a fortune.” Tears brimmed your eyes, but unlike before, they weren’t in the slightest bit sad. You crashed into her chest with a force that threatened to knock her on her ass, but she had maintained upright and had reciprocated the embrace with a tightness that only reminded you about her upcoming departure. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

“Hey, look at me, angel.” Natasha gently guided your eyes to meet hers, and you were shocked to find that they were just as glassy as your own. Maybe Wanda was telling you the truth when she said Natasha was just as upset about the business trip as you are. “I’ll be back in three hundred and thirty six hours, and then I’m not leaving for the rest of summer. You have me for three full months, can you be my strong girl for two weeks?”

“Only if you promise that you won't have any fun while you’re gone. And that you’ll drink a pina colada for me, straight out of a coconut, with a pink bendy straw and a little umbrella.” Natasha laughed at your petulant proposition, but she extended her pinky finger in the same childish fashion.

“I pinky promise I won’t have any fun. It’ll be impossible to have any fun without you, detka.” She whispered, leaning forward to brush her lips against your forehead. “And I pinky promise to drink a pina colada straight out of a coconut with a pink bendy straw and a little umbrella just for you.”

“I can be your strong girl then.” You wrapped your pinky around hers, pulling your entangled fingers close to kiss them softly and lock in the promise. “I wish you didn’t have to leave.”

“I wish I didn’t have to leave either, but it’s my turn to be the big scary boss lady. And, you’ll have this space to come to if you miss me. There might be a couple of other surprises laying around, but I want you to find them in your own time, okay?”

“No super sneaky peeking around.” You agreed, cracking a genuine smile up at her. “Can we go watch the movie now? Wanda hasn’t complained about seeing Cars in a while.”

“Are you ever going to let her have a moment of peace?” Natasha laughed at your cheeky expression, smoothing it down with a lingering kiss that was nothing but sweet.

“Absolutely not.” You giggled, already peeling away from her body and making a mad dash down the stairs and toward the living room, knowing that she’d be right behind you.

A fire in your lower belly is the sensation that eventually pulls you from sleep, though the blinding presence of morning sunshine is a close second. It takes only three seconds for you to realize that your hips are pinned to the soft mattress beneath your weight, incapacitating you from attempting to stretch like a newborn kitten, it takes you a further three seconds to realize that the fire in your core was not a result of a wet dream you couldn’t remember, but rather Natasha’s tongue and fingers as she worked you open.

You gasped at a particularly harsh thrust, her fingers curling into your pussy with a vengeance, seeking out that soft spot within your walls that made your eyes roll each and every time she abused it. If you weren’t so disoriented from sleep, you would’ve had the decency to feel embarrassed about the wet squelching sounds that Natasha draws from your cunt every time she snaps her wrist back toward your mound, but there's no time to think about how desperate your body is for her touch even when asleep.

“Daddy!” You cry out, your back arching off the bed, attempting to push yourself closer to her face and seek out a deeper pressure on your clit that's being worked over with practiced ease. You briefly wonder how long she’s been between your legs, but it's not a thought that stays longer than a fleeting single second before you're being distracted by her nails digging into your thigh wit the hand thats not fucking your desperate hole. “Please! Fuck!”

Natasha moans against your pussy, and it’s only when you raise your head to see her clearly that you realize that there's a vibrator clenched between her own naked thighs and she’s actively chasing her own high, her hips rocking against the bulbous head of the purple toy you have a love-hate relationship with. Your fingers reach down to grab at her auburn hair, pulling her closer to where you need her most, begging her to fix the mess that she single-handedly created.

You can feel the coil growing in your stomach, getting tighter and tighter with each pass of her tongue against your throbbing clit. You come undone so quickly for her, there’s no telling if she’s been between your thighs for mere minutes or entire hours, but the sensation of sunlight against your face tells you that it’s at least ten in the morning, and Natasha’s an early riser, so you know that if anything, she’s been edging you for at least an hour so successfully that you hadn’t even stirred.

Her lips pull away from your clit far too soon for your liking, and the hill that you’d been climbing slowly starts to fall despite the fingers still practicing a punishing pace as they disappear into your most intimate part. “Do you know how many sweet orgasms Daddy has stolen from you, Princess? Do you know how sweetly you moan when you're still asleep?”

“Fuck, Daddy, please!” You cry out in desperation, writhing on the bed before her free hand leaves your thigh and reclaims its position against your hips, effectively stilling your movements and leaving you to just accept what she gives you.

“Five. Daddy’s edged you five times. You must’ve been so sleepy, baby girl. Do you feel all rested now?” She teases, and her mouth is so close to your pussy that you can feel the vibration of her words against your clit. She wont start up again until you’ve answered her, but there's not a single coherent sentence in your brain at the moment. Your senses and thoughts are consumed with one thing; her. “Hm, do you feel better now, baby? You were so tired last night you didn’t even make a fuss when Wanda carried you to bed.”

Your face flushes in embarrassment as you learn about who had been the one to tuck you in so tenderly. You remember red hair and soft lips as they kissed your forehead, you remember a gentle hand brushing against your cheeks as you whined for them to stay with you, but it hadn’t registered that it was Wanda who carried you upstairs and not Natasha.

“Y-Yes, yes I feel better, now please! P-Please Daddy, make me cum! Let me cum!” You sob rather pathetically, but you're too lost in pleasure to care about how needy you come across. Your fingers that are still threaded into her hair attempt to pull her lips back to your clit and she lets you. If she didn’t want you winning, you know she could’ve easily resisted your grip, but there's something so satisfying about believing that you’ve overpowered Natasha Maximoff.

“Thought you’d never ask.” Natasha hums against your clit, devouring your pussy with purpose. She’s not wasting time on pleasantries, you suppose she’s already done enough of that, and her tongue sets a punishing pace in tune with her fingers as she circles and flicks at your clit with the very opposite of kitten licks like you know she loves to tease you with.

“Oh! Oh!” You cry out, an orgasm approaching you, but unlike earlier, Natasha doesn’t pull away and she doesn’t slow down, if anything, she picks up speed and hammers into your pussy so harshly you know you’ll be feeling these lingering touches for days afterward. You can’t bring it upon yourself to care though, and your hips attempt to meet her thrusts. “Please! Please!”

“Hold it.” Natasha sounds desperate herself, and it's only when she increases the speed of the vibrator that you realize what she wants. She wants to cum together. She’s leaving today, in less than two hours, but she’s taking the time to be with you rather than packing her carry-on, and on top of that, she wants to cum together. You're drowning in adoration, blinded by pleasure, completely surrendering yourself to her and whatever she deems you worthy of receiving. “Just a little more, Daddy’s so close, baby. Gonna cum with Daddy? You gonna cum all over Daddy’s face and let her taste you before she leaves? Gonna let me remember the taste of your sweet pussy before I leave for the airport?”

“Please! Please, I want to cum for you!” You cry out, your blunt nails clawing at the skin of her neck and shoulders as you feel yourself beginning to crash over that blissful edge of satisfaction. Natasha doesn’t stop you this time, and with the slightest signal of permission as her fingers tap twice on your belly, you fall over that edge and gush around her fingers.

“Good girl.” She coos, her breath caught in her throat as she comes down from her own high, wiggling away from the vibrator when the sensations become too much against her sensitive clit. “Such a good girl for me.” She praises you, rewarding you with a soft kiss against your throbbing clit. “Shh, let Daddy clean you up.” Natasha hums, pulling her fingers out of your pussy and replacing them with her tongue. You reach for her hand, knowing how much it drives her crazy when you suck your orgasm off of her fingers, and right now, you’re more than willing to please her in that way. Your tongue rolls between her knuckles, your teeth gently nibbling at her skin. You can barely feel her tongue cleaning you up as you devote yourself to her fingers, but you know she’s satisfied when she leans overtop of you and kisses you slowly, her lips damp with your arousal.

“Morning, Natty.” You whisper shyly, threading your fingers through her hair in a much nicer manner now that you’re not desperate for release. She smiles and mumbles the same greeting against your lips, and though you can taste yourself on her tongue, you can also taste Wanda, and you have a feeling the Sokovian lawyer in the room just next door was woken up in the same fashion. “Can taste Wanda on you.” You giggle softly, shoving her away from you in favor of cuddling up into her chest and making the most of the next hour and a half.

“She’s sweet, isn’t she?” Natasha teases, her fingers, still damp from your mouth, trace the smooth embellishments on your cheeks. She adores all of your imperfections, she’s guilty of running her thumb across the jagged scar on your hip whenever you wear shirts short enough to reveal the blemished skin, but something about her right now is so different then the many other times you’ve been in this position. You never want to leave her embrace but you know that you have to. You hate that you have to. “Wanda’s making breakfast. I have time for some coffee and pancakes before my flight.”

“I don’t want you to leave. I can fit in your suitcase if I really try, I’m sure of it.” You plead with her, but despite her wanting to see you try, she shakes her head and kisses away the pout on your lips.

“I think that counts as human trafficking. I might be the best lawyer in the world, but even I don’t have a good enough defense to get me out of those charges.” She teases, pulling you into an upright position so you won't fall asleep on her like you want to.

“Piggyback down the stairs?” You question, rubbing your eyes with closed fists, another one of your habits that both Natasha and Wanda hate, but she doesn’t reprimand you today.

“Of course, darling. Put your shorts back on and then I’ll bring you down.” Natasha kisses you one last time before she gently forces you off the guest bed and onto your own feet. You make quick work of redressing, forgoing the purple panties you had initially worn over last night, knowing that if she’d taken the time to edge you five times before you’d even woken up, that they were surely drenched and in need of multiple washes. Better yet, you might as well just throw them out.

You clamber onto her back with a smile on your lips the second your shorts are back into place, giggling manically when she jostles you around and makes a show of running down the stairs two at a time, much to Wanda’s displeasure. Your sensitive core rubs against the seam of your pajama shorts and the muscles in her back, but you pay the tickling sensations no mind, desperate to just enjoy these last few moments in her company to the best of your abilities.

“Do you still have a voice, malen’kiy? I’m pretty sure the neighbors heard you.” Wanda teased the second you and Natasha entered the kitchen, bringing an immediate scowl to your face. You kicked your foot out in her direction, knowing you’d miss but just wanting to retaliate in some way. “Do not act up with me, little one. Natasha can’t save you when she leaves.”

“Don’t be a meanie then!” You stuck your tongue out at her, hardly realizing the grave you were digging for yourself. Tensions were high with the promise of Natasha leaving, there was no real malice behind your jabs, but just as your emotions were unruly, Wanda’s patience was thin. Your eyes went wide when she suddenly appeared so much closer than you remembered her being, and you anticipated her next move before she’d even acted, but unfortunately for you, you hadn’t been quick enough to pull your tongue back into the safety of your mouth before Wanda was pinching it between her thumb and pointer finger.

“I understand you’re upset, but I will not tolerate this disobedience. If you want to join us for breakfast, you will knock it off now, otherwise I have no problem making you a plate and sending you to eat in the living room by yourself. Is that what you want, milyy?” You shook your head, but quickly regretted the decision when you remembered Wanda still held your tongue firmly. You whined, batting her hands away from your face but she was unrelenting, and if anything, her grip only got tighter. “If I see that tongue out again, you’re not going to like what happens.” She warned, and even though you wanted to call her bluff, Natasha’s tight grip on your ankles told you that was not a fire you wanted to play with today.

You whined, thankful that she had stopped holding your tongue captive and had walked back toward the stove, but now you were left with the sickest feeling of embarrassment crawling up your spine. For as bratty as you tended to be, you hated being scolded. You attempted to hide away in Natasha’s neck, but Wanda seemed to have grown a third eye and was quick to reprimand your fleeting attempts to worm your way into Natasha’s good graces.

“You do not get to hide. You wanted to be a brat, you can deal with the embarrassment of being reprimanded. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times, I am not as lenient as my wife, and I do not tolerate disobedience. Fix your pout, go sit down at the table, and wait quietly for me to finish your eggs.” Wanda pointed toward the already set table with her spatula, only briefly glancing back at you when she made the effort to reach for the salt and pepper shakers.

“Wanna stay with Natty.” You pleaded quietly, not attempting to hide your face again, but still holding tightly onto your dominant who would be leaving for the airport in forty minutes. You didn’t even have a full hour left anymore.

“I’ll be right there, go sit down. It’s okay, you’re okay.” Natasha lowered you onto the ground, softly kissing your temple before she patted your bottom and guided your shoulders in the direction of the table just beyond the threshold of the kitchen. Wanda and Natasha were the only people you know that actively used their dining room for every meal they ate together. They even had a breakfast nook in the corner of the kitchen with pretty blue placemats and a vase of fresh flowers as a centerpiece, but on the nights that you slept over, you’ve never even seen so much as a book be left on the table.

You sighed, doing as was asked of you, if only for a handful of minutes before you headed straight back toward the kitchen. You could hear their whispered voices even from where you were meant to be sitting at the table, but what they were saying was practically indistinguishable. They were too far away and far too quiet to make out clearly, but you hoped it wasn’t about you. You hoped that you hadn’t completely ruined Natasha’s last morning at home before her business trip. You sighed softly, deciding against ignoring your anxiety, and slowly approached them again, your hands clasped in front of you. As much as you wanted to run straight toward Natasha and have her hold you, your eyes were trained on Wanda, waiting for her to notice your presence, though you knew she already had. Maybe she was waiting for you to make the first move, or maybe she was ignoring you because she thought you were deliberately disobeying her. She wasn’t your dominant, she wasn’t anything to you, not really at least, but somehow it felt wrong to disobey her so directly.

“What is it, detka? Wanda asked you to sit at the table, did she not?” Natasha decided to throw you a bone after it was made clear that neither you nor Wanda were going to make the first move. You were both far too stubborn for your own good, but luckily enough, you had her to bridge the gap when neither of you were willing to give an inch.

Your eyes flickered between both Natasha and Wanda, and softly, so softly, you found the strength to apologize. “M’sorry, Wanda.” You admitted weakly, looking down at your naked feet in a lash ditch effort to avoid her strong stare, not wanting to see her face if she decided to reject your apology and send you away again. “C-Can I stay here?”

“Come here.” Wanda sighed softly, and you faintly recognized the sound of the spatula being set down and placed on the countertop. When you looked up from your feet, still avoiding Wanda’s eye but no longer trying to make yourself seem small, you noticed that the eggs were done cooking, piled up onto a serving plate and resting near a pitcher of orange juice that you had no doubt was freshly squeezed and organic from the local farmers market, though it lacked pulp much to your delight. Natasha was a freak when it came to how she liked her orange juice, but you were glad to see that at least somebody who permanently occupied a space in this house had some sanity. “I didn’t send you over there as a punishment, detka. You needed to breathe, and now that you have, you feel better don’t you?”

You nodded your head, because admittedly you did feel a little bit better now that you had taken a couple of minutes to put space between yourself and Wanda and all the big sad feelings you had no choice but to shuffle through. You still wrung your fingers together and looked everywhere but Wanda’s eye, but you definitely felt better. You could see Natasha’s smile in your peripheral vision, and you exhaled softly at the confirmation that you hadn’t completely ruined everything, another weight falling off of your shoulders.

“Did being over there make you anxious because you could hear us talking and you thought it was about you?” Wanda tested the waters, and your head snapped up to look at her with pure bewilderment in your expression. “Aren’t you the one who calls me a witch, shouldn’t you expect for me to know everything that goes on in that pretty little head?”

“Yeah.” You grimaced slightly. You didn’t know she had caught onto your less than creative nickname for her, but apparently she had and had just accepted it without complaint, or maybe she had complained to Natasha, but she wasn’t saying anything to you about it now. You felt bad, not normally someone who resorted to name calling when you were around someone you didn’t like, but Wanda just made you so… annoyed, for lack of a better adjective.

“Good job recognizing that.” She praised you lightly, and as much as you didn’t want to, you glowed beneath her positive attention, your eyes flickering to Natasha as if to ask her if she was actually hearing the same thing as you. The auburn-haired woman laughed at your expression, merely shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders. “Ah, not looking at Natasha, looking at me. Good girl.” Wanda gently scolded, and your cheeks flushed at her continuous praise. If someone would've told you that when you’d gotten into this situation that Wanda would be the one dishing out praise while Natasha stood silently on the sidelines, you would’ve laughed in their face. “Come here, I made Natty and I’s pancakes, but you can make yours.”

“I can help?” You light up at the suggestion, eager to get your hands on the bowl of batter that was waiting on the side of the stove, and you definitely spotted chocolate chips sitting right beside it. Neither Wanda nor Natasha had any specs of brown on their breakfast, so you wondered if those had been taken down just for you.

“If you promise not to splash batter everywhere.” Wanda hummed, and her eyes flickered briefly over to Natasha who was less than amused at the unneeded comment.

“It was one time! And it was your fault! Who comes up behind someone in the middle of making pancakes!” Natasha exclaimed in playful exasperation, though her wide smile betrayed her faux annoyance.

“And what is throwing pancake batter going to do if I had been the intruder you claimed to think I was? Was your plan to avoid being murdered by offering them a nice homemade breakfast?” Wanda rolled her eyes, pressing a kiss to Natasha’s cheek before she focused her attention back to you. “Bring the eggs to the table, Natasha.”

“Bring the eggs to the table, Natasha. Wash my car in the middle of a snowstorm, Natasha. Find a way to make elephants purple, Natasha.” The woman droned on in an accent similar to Wanda’s, though there was a distinguishable difference in her tone. With her Russian roots, she couldn’t quite master the Sokovian accent, but she certainly tried her best. Her mocking was more or less ignored, though Wanda did threateningly snap a dish towel in her direction and wordlessly pointed toward the dining room. “I thought this was my going away breakfast and yet I’m being put to work.”

“You have thirty minutes to eat, and unless you’d like me to let you get on a plane starving, you’ll do as I ask.” Wanda rolled her eyes, but her attention was no longer on her dramatic wife. Instead, she was entirely focused on you and guiding you through the motions of pouring the remaining pancake batter into the already hot and sizzling pan. You giggled when the smallest bit of batter splattered out of the pan, landing on the skin of your hand though you were grateful it wasn’t yet hot.

“Can I put chocolate chips in it?” You bounced on your toes excitedly, already reaching for the bag despite not yet having Wanda’s permission. Natasha was strictly against you eating sugary things for breakfast when you had classes to focus on, but it seems Wanda didn’t share the same concerns, because she hummed her approval seconds before your hand dipped into the bag.

“Do you want some pancake with your chocolate, honey?” Wanda laughed, and for once, you didn’t get offended by her teasing, just craned your neck and offered her the brightest smile you could muster. “If you can’t pay attention in class today, we will not be having chocolate chip pancakes on weekdays again. Got it, dove?”

“Got it!” You giggled, not really paying attention to her anyways. You were entirely too busy making sure that your single pancake didn’t burn as a result of the too high heat and combined culinary negligence, though every couple of seconds you snuck a handful of chocolate chips into your mouth and hummed as they melted on your tongue. They bought the good chocolate, that shouldn’t have surprised you.

“I can see you, you are aware of that, aren’t you?” Wanda laughed, but there was no bite to her taunt, and again you found that it didn’t bother you like it usually did. If she had wanted you to stop eating the chocolate chips, she would’ve asked you to, but she quite enjoyed seeing you so carefree and happy with the ongoing promise of Natasha’s departure looming heavily in the air around you both.

“Do you want one?” You replied coyly, holding up your hand for her to see. There was in fact a singular chocolate chip pinched between your fingers, and while Wanda wanted to roll her eyes and remind you that she had been the one to purchase them in the first place, she settled for simply accepting your offer. Her way of accepting your offer however, had not been what you’d had in mind, and you’d flinched in shock when her teeth grazed the knuckles of your fingers and her tongue corralled the single piece of chocolate into her mouth. “That– That is not what I meant!” You blushed a ferocious shade of red, quickly turning back around and focusing your attention on the pancake that had finally finished cooking.

“Stop teasing her, Wands!” Natasha’s voice called out from the dinning room where she had remained throughout the entire ordeal, but you could hear the amusement in her tone and wondered if she could see the both of you from wherever she was standing.

“Yeah, Wands.” You giggled, poking your tongue out at the lawyer before you remembered her earlier words and your face dropped. “Sorry!”

“She stuck her tongue out at you again, didn’t she?” Natasha’s voice filled your ears, and the sound of her laughter followed shortly after, but you were too mortified to smile at the sound. You turned around to look at Wanda nervously, noting that her hands were on her hips and her perfectly manicured nails glimmered beneath the bright lighting and unfiltered sunlight. Her eyebrow was quirked perfectly, and you wondered how long she had practiced that expression until she was sure it was perfect. She had her intimidation tactics down pat, but you supposed that came with owning the world's most successful law firm.

“Sorry! I really didn’t mean to!” You pleaded with her to believe you, knowing that the time you could spend with Natasha was slowly dwindling, and you really did not want to spend the last few minutes of contact with Wanda mad at you.

The stern expression on the lawyer's face melted away like it had never been there in the first place, and Wanda laughed so sweetly you were almost absolutely certain that you’d somehow missed a joke Natasha murmured from the dining room. You pouted in confusion, digging your toe into the hardwood floor and flickering your gaze down to watch.

“You’re fine, detka. Thank you for apologizing, but I know you were just teasing, huh?” She smiled, lifting your chin to meet your gaze. She kissed your forehead, something she had only ever done when you were half-asleep or entirely fucked out, but you couldn’t deny, even though you desperately wanted to, that it felt nice, comforting even. “Get those pancakes into the dining room before they get cold. Natty only has a couple more minutes before her driver gets here.”

And once again you were faced with the unavoidable truth. Natasha was leaving for fourteen days and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

The first five days without Natasha had gone as well as had been expected, though you would say you were faring significantly better than she’d ever anticipated. Even Wanda, who you had seen a handful of times throughout the week when you escaped to the Maximoff residence to work in your newly established office, had been surprised at your composure. The older woman of the couple had never been away for so long, usually capping her trips at three to five days, and even that was challenging for you to accept in the beginning of your relationship, but you were handling the distance well and with pride, being her strong girl like you’d promised to be. You talked daily, and though you didn’t hear her voice as much as you would like, she’d made the time to FaceTime twice so far. Just because she didn’t have the time to call didn’t mean you missed out completely on what activities she was up to though. She made sure to send you plenty of pictures of the scenery, and you’d all but gushed over the resort she was staying at when she sent you a picture of the sunset from her room. There were at least twenty pictures of Bahama sunrises in your camera roll now, but your favorite pictures were the ones you got at random throughout the day that were nonsensical and entirely her. She sent you pictures of her outfits and of her drinks when she managed to escape to the bar after whatever meetings had given her a headache. She’d managed to get her hands on a pina colada in a coconut on the second day of her trip, and although the bendy straw was yellow not pink, you forgave her and asked how it was. Your most favorite pictures however, were the ones of her notes. You’d expected the CEO of a successful law firm to take detailed and attentive notes, but every time she sent you a picture of her notebook, the pages were filled with random doodles of flowers and stick people, and yours and Wanda’s name in different squiggly styles. You held those closest to your chest, because even if you were just her submissive, she was thinking about you the same way she was thinking about Wanda, her wife.

Your academic workload hadn’t lightened in the last five days, but you’d been juggling classes and routine well, somehow managing to balance studying and homework as seamlessly as anyone who made the decision to overload in a Spring semester could manage. You had hours of homework a night, research papers and historical annotations never giving you a break, but the end was in sight, and for a while, that simple fact had been enough to keep you pushing through. You knew Natasha would be proud of your grades at the end of the semester, and you had been anticipating the praise and reward she was sure to provide, but that all came crashing down after your last lecture of the night. Your professor, Sharan Carter, had berated you for your complaints about your group project, but not only that, she had failed you. Her reasoning had been that you did not adhere to the guidelines of the assignment, claiming that you made no effort to work alongside your partners, and even though she had a small novel of proof in her email history that debunked that accusation, she hadn’t wanted to hear your side of the story, and had sent you out of her office with the dismissive shake of her head.

All you had wanted in that moment of shame and defeat was Natasha, and although you knew she was over a thousand miles away on a tropical island, probably stiff as a board in some multi-hour meeting that she had no real care for, you had gotten in your car and driven straight to the Maximoff residence. Your hands were trembling at your sides, and it would appear to anyone who even glanced at you too quickly that you’d been caught in a sporadic storm with how damp your cheeks were from the tears that defied your attempts to keep them at bay. Your hands were trembling so violently that you couldn’t get the key in the hole, and dissimilar from how the front door remained unlocked until lights out when Natasha was home, you found that Wanda was in the habit of locking it each and every time she left and entered. The thought of the Sokovian lawyer made a sob crawl past your lips, and feverishly you knocked on the door, hoping she could hear you from wherever she was in the house. You didn’t care about how you were supposed to hate her. You didn’t care about the rivalry that existed between the two of you, though it was slowly becoming an afterthought as the days passed. She was the only source of comfort you had right now, and as you waited on the porch, shaking like a leaf in the middle of a hurricane, you yearned for her touch and her citrusy scent.

When the door opened, and the quickest glimpse of Wanda’s burgundy hair flashed before your eyes, there wasn’t a second of hesitation that crossed your mind before you stepped past the threshold of where their porch met the entryway and dug yourself into the lawyer’s chest, desperately clutching at her t-shirt. Agonizing sobs further shake your already trembling body, and you barely recognize the weight of her hands slinking around your waist and drawing you in closer to her chest as you finally let yourself fall apart completely.

“S-She failed me.” You sobbed into Wanda’s arms, acutely aware of how silly you probably came across to the businesswoman as you allowed yourself to become so distraught over something as trivial as a project grade, but the combination of academic failure and Natasha’s absence had entirely demolished your reserve. “A-And you told me to t-tell you if she didn’t listen to me! So I am! I did! I’m telling you! A-And Natty’s not here, and I’m so tired, and she failed me and it dropped my entire semester grade to a D! A-And I just, I just wanted Nat, and I don’t even know why I came because I know she’s not here, b-but then I got here and I just wanted you, and-and-and-”

“Shh,” Wanda soothed you gently, effectively stopping you from working yourself up even further than she thought possible with your practically incomprehensible rambling and heartbreaking tears. Her gentle hands rub patterns onto your back that you were only vaguely aware of in your state of upset, but eventually the combination of her physical presence and dull beating of her heart in your ear calms you down enough to allow you to suck in a sharp gasp of air. “You’re okay. You’re okay, sweetheart. Just take a deep breath for me, okay? Good girl.”

You melted into Wanda’s embrace as she continued to hold you tight, one of her ringed hands eventually trailing up your spine until it found a home at the back of your head. She pressed your face into her neck, not caring about how your wet cheeks made her skin damp and sticky, just wanting to keep you close until she was absolutely certain that you had calmed down enough to breathe normally. Even if you hadn’t realized how close you were to tipping over the edge and into a full episode of panic, Wanda had, and it scared her half to death to see you so distraught and beside yourself. Up until this very moment, she’d never even considered how she would miss your sarcastic quips and ruthless banter, but opening her front door to find you a mere shell of the woman you usually were had been horrifying and not something she ever wanted to relive.

Eventually, you pulled away from her embrace, wanting to wipe your cheeks free of tear tracks and mascara, and desperate to breathe in the fresh scent of blossoming spring that surrounded the suburban roads of Westview. Wanda smelled heavenly, she was positively addicting with her coconut mandarin mix, but fresh air was non negotiable in your current state, and greedily you breathed in through your nose deeply until that suffocating feeling in your chest became a simple buzz. It was then that you realized Wanda was wearing her blue light glasses, and your gut clenched in guilt, realizing that she’d been working up until your little meltdown.

“Fuck, you were working. I’m sorry.” You apologized quickly, a fresh onslaught of tears brimming your eyes. You couldn’t seem to do anything right today, and so desperately you wished that Natasha were here to make it all better, despite knowing the luck of your day had nothing to do with the physical presence of one single person.

“No more tears. No more tears, detka.” Wanda coaxes you farther into the house, not allowing you to back away and retreat toward your car like you’d been attempting to do since realization sunk in. “Nat told you to come over whenever, I’m glad you remembered that. I know I’m not Natasha, sweet girl. I wish I could bring her back for you, but for right now, why don’t you tell me what you need, hm? Can you do that?”

“You’re working. It’s important if you're working at home this late.” You whispered shamefully, not wanting to be the reason Wanda falls behind on deadlines. You know it’s her company and she can do whatever she damn well pleases, pushing off a few measly emails included in that long list of possibilities, but you would feel horrible if your childish breakdown caused more work and stress for both her and Natasha in the future.

“It is important, you’re right about that, malysh. Darcy fucked up big time with a client, and now I need to fix her mess before they ask for her release, and I won’t be able to argue with them if it comes to that, but nothing is more important then your wellbeing, so can you talk me through what you need?” Wanda gently cupped your cheeks in the same manner that Natasha usually does when you're in this state, and you felt a pang of sadness rush through you as you realized the true extent of how much you missed her. You’d been pushing off the sadness and grief that came with her absence, but you couldn’t avoid it forever, and apparently it had decided to catch up with you now.

“Water. Natty always makes me drink water after and she… she holds me.” You admitted shyly, afraid of Wanda’s reaction to what you were indirectly asking of her, but all she did was smile at you reassuringly and lead you in toward the kitchen, the wide open front door forgotten about for a few short moments.

Wanda makes quick work of filling a glass for you, not letting go of your hand for more than a necessary second throughout the entire process, for which you were grateful. You were absolutely certain that if she let go now, you’d spiral back down into that isolating pit of never ending thoughts. She pours herself a glass as well, though hers is taller than yours. She takes a sip before motioning for you to do the same, watching you intently over the rim of her glasses that have started to slip down the bridge of her nose. The cold water feels marvelous on your throat when you finally raise the glass to your lips and take a small sip, having not realized how scratchy and stiff it was as a result of your crying.

“Would you like to sit in with me as I finish up with the paperwork?” Wanda questions you, her tone indicative of your freedom to decline her offer and ask for something else, but you wouldn’t even dream about saying no to her right now.

“I can?” You asked meekly, shuffling on your feet nervously.

“I wouldn’t have offered it if I wasn’t being truthful, dorogoy. I know you’re worried about me falling behind, so I figured I could hold you in my lap for a while until I finish up everything that needs to get done. Does that sound like a good plan?” Wanda checked in with you, her thumb rubbing comforting circles on your knuckles. Her touch on your hand is a stark contrast from how she’d last grabbed you when you were in the kitchen together, but it feels nice and you don’t ever want to pull away from it.

“The front doors still open.” You remind her, and she laughs softly at your concern for the door, guiding you back into the living room and toward the entryway. She closes the door with a soft push, making sure that both locks are clicked before she even considers turning toward the stairs and leading you up toward her office. She may be a capable woman, but a home intruder felt like something she wasn’t quite qualified to deal with.

“There, all better.” She smiled down at you, leaning in just close enough to brush her lips against your forehead. “Do you need anything else before we head up to my office? It might take a couple of hours before I have everything completed.”

“No.” You decline her offer, shuffling closer into her embrace when you ultimately decided she was too far away. Your free hand was still holding onto the glass of water, and you were careful not to spill any of it as you moved.

“Okay then, bug. Let’s go.” She squeezed your hand tightly, slowly leading the way toward her office despite your familiarity with the route. You didn’t complain about her slow pace, taking the time to really admire the subtle details of her home that you overlooked when you were busy chasing Natasha around.

The Maximoff residence was luxuriant and abundant to put it gently. There were large windows in both the kitchen and the living room that allowed sunlight to pour in at every hour of the day and coat the furniture in golden hues. There were subtle traces of both Wanda and Natasha’s separate personalities in the decor that filled bookshelves and countertops, but for the most part, their style blended together superbly. It wasn’t obnoxious or over-the-top, no, it was done so tastefully that you thought the interior of the house belonged in some high class magazine that showcased celebrity homes. The accents of black in their appliances and metal hardware that were undoubtedly Natasha’s doing, but you thought it fit perfectly with the presently white walls and light colored wood. Wanda had more to do with the furnishing if her office was any indication. While Natasha’s furniture was practical and bare, Wanda spared no expense in assuring her office was both functional and comfortable. Their subtle differences were what made them work as both romantic and business partners so well, and you hoped that one day you’d be lucky enough to find a love like theirs.

“You still with me, sweetheart?” Wanda checked in, effectively drawing you out of your head that you’d somehow gotten lost in, but your thoughts weren’t unpleasant, and the ghost of a smile on your lips assured Wanda that you were fine.

“Did Nat pick the black hardware?” You questioned softly, following Wanda as she stepped into her office and closed the door behind you both.

The woman laughed at your question, having expected hardware to be the last thing on your mind, but she nodded her head. “She did. I wanted gold.”

“I like it. I could tell she picked it. You picked the furniture.” You mumbled, glad to be talking about something other than your breakdown. You didn’t know what you expected when you originally sought Wanda out for comfort, but you were glad she was just rolling with the punches as they came.

“Very attentive, little one. I did.” When she sat down in her office chair, setting her water down carefully a good few inches away from her keyboard, she turned to you expectantly, patting her lap with a silent invitation. She pried the glass of water from your grip, placing it next to hers, and you realized then that she had gotten down two different glasses on purpose. “Get comfy, we might be here a while.”

You sank into her lap tentatively, unsure of how she liked to be held. You practically koala’d yourself around Natasha whenever she allowed you to keep her company in her office, but you’d never cuddled like this with Wanda before, and you didn’t want to make her feel suffocated with your clinginess. So instead, you settled for resting your cheek against her chest, the crown of your head tucked beneath her chin, and you kept your arms pinned between your chests. You could feel her every inhale as she breathed, and you quickly decided that you liked this position.

“Before you get too sleepy, I need the name of your professor, malen’kiy.” Wanda rubbed your back with a heavy palm, making note of the fact that you seemed to have forgone a bra when getting dressed that morning. You were just like Natasha in that way, and she found a gentle smile gracing her features at the subtle similarities between the two of you. It was no wonder you fit together like a glove, you were practically replicas of each other in the little aspects of your interests and personalities.

“Sharon Carter.” You mumbled, entirely too content to really care about how you were basically feeding the woman to wolves with your admission of her name. Wanda would rip her to shreds when she got her claws on her, you were sure of that fact, but she deserved it after the harsh and unnecessary comments she’d made.

“Carter, huh.” There was something in Wanda’s tone that implied she was familiar with the woman, or at the very least her last name, but you didn’t care all that much about whatever was going through her head.

“Shh.” You silenced her, snuggling deeper into her chest and clutching the hem of her t-shirt between your fingers, wanting to rest in silence for the next couple of hours.

Amused with your antics, Wanda pressed a kiss to the top of your head before she got back to business, the only sound that filled the office was the rhythmic clicking of her keyboard as her fingers worked feverishly to resolve the issue that Darcy had created. It wasn’t even a full ten minutes before you were sound asleep against her chest, your deep and even breaths tickling the exposed skin of Wanda’s chest, but she didn’t care as long as you were feeling better.

Your relationship shifted that night. It wasn’t perfect, not yet at least, but you couldn’t deny that Wanda had somehow wormed her way into your heart, or maybe, just maybe, she had always had a place in it to begin with.

#wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #dom!natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff fluff #daddy natasha #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #dom!wandanat x reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fluff #mommy wanda #wandanat #wandanat x reader #wandanat smut #wandanat fluff #series: you are in love #minors dni ৎ୭

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joonberriess · 1 year ago

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𓆩♡𓆪 “It’s the way you can ride, think I met you in another life, so break me off another time,” – jock!jk

·˚ ༘ 💌 TAGS — creampies, marathon sex (mentioned), face-sitting/riding, dirty talk, NASTY SMUT, soft moments too, drunk sex, oc being lovely and jk being obsessed with it, high sex, lazy sex, get ‘em cowgirl style, unprotected sex as always, jk gets sappy when drunk, love these two 🥺

MONDAY

Mondays are reserved for studying after partying the weekend with Jungkook and his friends. You ran your errands in the morning and by lunch you were back home with Luna doing assignments and lounging around in your room. Jungkook usually was off doing his own things and then later dropping by with food at your house. Nights however weren’t any different.

Mondays are for winding back and relaxing, and lucky for you Jungkook knows exactly how to get you to unwind with him on a peaceful Monday night.

“Jungkookie,” you softly moan out, “feels so good, ‘s deep inside me.” You murmur out with your head tilted back and hands settled over his chest for leverage.

Jungkook had his lip caught between his teeth and his face was scrunched in pleasure. He lets breathy moans slip past his lips, his hands were grabbing anywhere he could reach. His hands greedily squeezed and played with your ass cheeks while you worked your hips up-down, side to side, and back-forth over is cock. Oh Jungkook was convinced you were made for his cock.

“Just like that baby,” Jungkook whispers in a huff, “made it so messy, gonna have you clean it all up.” He licks his lips and looks down where his cock appears with a sheen coat of creamy slick, a ring of white forms around the base of his cock which disappears every time you sink back down.

You mewl at the idea of licking his cock clean and your hips stutter in their movements, his cock digs into that sweet spot and you roll your hips eagerly for more. “Love making it messy for you,” you whimper, “sounds so good.” Your words are slurred from the pleasure, your eyes flutter shut as you start riding him faster.

The headboard begins hitting the wall repeatedly from the force of your movements. You raise your hips up and down on his cock, bouncing the way you know will drive him crazy. Jungkook can’t do anything but lay there and take it as you use his cock to get off. He becomes more vocal and less talkative as he loses himself to the feeling of your pussy massaging his cock.

“Oh fuck..” Jungkook throws his head back and clenches his jaw, the way your hips slow down at the base of his cock and swivel in a small circle has him gripping the sheets for life. “Like that.” He swears you’re trying to kill him or something.

His groaning and slight whimpers send you over the edge, your tummy feels like there’s a ton of butterflies in there with the way he’s moaning out for more. You eagerly bounce on his cock with wet slaps as your ass makes contact with his thighs. His cock perfectly aims for your g-spot and has you shaking from your thighs.

“Jungkook..! ‘M gonna cum..!” You throw your head back, “Gonna cum, gonna cum,” you repeat breathily as a low whine slips past your lips.

Jungkook rolls his hips upward to aid you, his fingertips press into your hips as he grabs you for dear life. “Shit y/n,” he hisses out as he throws his head back, he feels your cunt clench down tightly on him and it makes his poor cock throb with need.

It happens so quickly neither of you register your orgasm at first, at least not until he feels your cunt squeeze him rhythmically, pulsing as your cream all over him and make the slick dribble down to his balls. Jungkook slows you down as his cock throbs weakly in response, it’s easily one of the most intense orgasms he himself has ever had. He feels like he’s in paradise as he collapses into the bed.

“Oh shit..” He gulps, what exactly just happened?

You collapse on top of him with a weak little moan, “Felt so good..” You whisper out as your eyes flutter tiredly, “I don’t wanna get up..” You mumble. Jungkook slaps your ass in response with a tired groan.

“You have to, gotta clean up.” He sleepily replies, ignoring your whine of protest. What a night..

TUESDAY

Tuesdays are free days, you always like to stay in and take the day off from studies and anything work related. You spend it lounging with Jungkook in his apartment watching some random movie on his TV while he rolls a blunt in the background propped up against your ass using it as a pillow.

“Baby,” Jungkook mumbles and licks over the wrapping paper, “I want some..” He murmurs out in a low whiny tone.

“Some what?” You softly reply.

Jungkook reaches up to grip your soft ass cheek, fondling it in his hand as he turns his head to give it a soft little kiss, “You know what.” He murmurs as he sets aside his blunt on the rolling tray and turns over. He cages you in under him, arms settling over both sides of you as he leans down to kiss your shoulder, “What are you watching?” He says softly as he looks over your shoulder.

“I put on that new Scream movie that came out.” You reply softly, shivering a tiny bit because you feel his necklace dangle behind your neck.

He hums nonchalantly and kisses over your shoulders, sighing deeply as he turns his face to hide away in your neck. He slips his greedy hands under you and into your shirt, cupping both tits in his hand as he rubs his thumb over your nipples and occasionally pinches the soft buds. When you whine out his name in that sweet little voice of yours he can’t help it, he turns you over on to your back and leans down to kiss you.

You softly moan against his lips and wrap your arms around his neck, he settles himself nicely over you with his hands splayed over your hips gently. Jungkook’s lips move against yours slowly. He's not rushing or anything, just savoring this nice moment with you. You’re not in much of a rush either anyways.

“Wanna smoke some?” He asks softly when he pulls away from the kiss, a thin string of saliva connecting both of your lips. He stares down at you with half lidded eyes and his lip between his teeth.

You look back up at him with hazy eyes and nod, “Yeah..” You pull him down for a gentle kiss, “Just a lil’ okay.” Jungkook nods and his eyes flutter shut again, kissing you while he reaches over for the rolling tray.

When you both pull away from the heated kiss you’re both panting softly, the movie is long forgotten and Jungkook focuses on lighting the blunt. You sit back and watch as he takes a small hit, hissing under his breath as he holds the blunt out to you. “You don’t have to.” He gently reminds you like every other time.

“I’m fine..” You softly say and take the blunt from his hand, taking a semi-long drag like he’s taught you before. It’s been a while so you end up coughing a tiny bit but Jungkook simply smiles as he drags you onto his lap. “ ‘m okay Jungkookie..” You murmur and pass the blunt back to him.

Jungkook takes a long drag from it as he lays there with his arm behind his head. Occasionally he passes it back and forth with you until there’s nothing left of it. You’re both left lying there with half-lidded eyes, high out of your minds but more importantly..horny. With Jungkook there’s no in-between, either he’s super hungry/sleepy or he’s super fucking horny. Same went for you.

It’s no surprise you end up lying under him with your panties cast to the side and his cock inside of you. Jungkook lazily leaves his marks all over your neck and tits he’s worse than usual as he covers you in dark purple blotches. The feeling sends shivers crawling up your spine, the pleasure is heightened from the weed doing its magic. You swear everything is ten times more better this way.

Jungkook lays his body flat against yours, groaning quietly into the side of your neck as he clenches the pillow tightly. You really made a mess this time given that his pelvis is smeared in your slick, every thrust sends you reeling in pleasure from the way his fat cock rubs against your oversensitive walls and his hips rub up against your swollen clit. You could really just cum from this slow pace alone.

“Kook..” You murmur out quieter than usual, your hands weakly come up to grip his shoulders. Your thighs shake from holding them up around his waist, they slip every so often until you end up lying there bonelessly with a weak whimper escaping your lips. “ ‘s so good..” You mumble.

“Yeah..” Jungkook turns to capture your lips in a slow kiss, “Need more..?” He hums out, reaching down to thumb at your slippery throbbing clit.

You keen in pleasure, hands shakily coming down to grip his wrist to stop him, “ ‘s too much..!” You gasp out, “Nooo..” You whine out, “Gonna make me cum too fast..”

Jungkook doesn’t reply and keeps rubbing instead, his hips kick upward a bit more forceful but still maintaining that lazy pace. He silences your moans and whines with a kiss, panting hotly into your mouth as he moves his lips against yours. The noises you two emit from the filthy kiss only makes you throb even more, you feel a bit of drool slip down your chin too..

“Mmm…” You wrap your arms around his neck and hold him to you, panting as you try to pull away from the kiss.

Everytime you do move away he follows you, lips pressing against yours insitently as he moans lowly, “Stay still for me baby..” He mumbles, “Wanna kiss you.” He whispers as he stares into your eyes. Both of your lips are coated in spit, glossy and swollen from basically sucking eachother’s faces off. Jungkook thinks it makes you look cuter.

“Jungkook,” you gasp and arch your back. He hits your g-spot dead on at this angle and it sends you into a surprise orgasm. It hits slow and makes goosebumps form all over as you tremble under him whimpering. He lazily smiles and keeps fucking you past your orgasm, chasing his own as he hugs you tightly and buries his face in your neck.

You lay there whining for him in oversensitivity as your cunt clenches around him tightly. Jungkook cums after a few more thrusts, he doesn’t make any noise and simply shivers as he slumps against you. “Ah.. fuck.” Jungkook mutters, “Baby, you want somethin’ to eat?” He smacks his lips as he slowly sits up, cock slipping from your wet pussy with a lewd squelch.

“Chips?” You softly say.

“Okay..” He slowly rolls out of bed, “Stay here, I’ll go buy some from the 7/11. I won’t take long, love you.” He comments on his way out after re-dressing.

“Love you too.” You sleepily smack your lips and lay back down with a sigh.

WEDNSDAY

Wednsdays you do your laundry, you find it so much easier to do it in the middle of the week that way you have it out of the way.

Jungkook sits there with his hands in his pockets just admiring the pretty view, oh it’s a view alright. You’re bent over digging through the dryer wearing these tight little shorts you got from PINK, you even wear this white tank top that rides up and shows your soft little tummy. Jungkook tilts his head with a stupid smile, kicking his legs as he watches your cute ass (literally).

“Jungkookie, I didn’t know that you had to take your dry clothes before the timer ends because then your clothes shrink! Can you believe that, look what happened to my undies.” You lift up the red lace undies to show it to him, dangling them right in the air where everyone looks and stares in shock.

Jungkook chuckles quietly, “Oh you’re so fucking cute.” He whispers under his breath and turns to side-eye someone who gives you a judgemental look, “C’mere, I can’t see them from here.” He says patting his thigh.

Like a puppy you come right over with the basket of dry clothes, huffing as you set the basket off to the side. You step in between his legs and lift the panties up, “See? I think they’re going to fit tighter now.” You pout.

“Tighter the better.” He grins and swoops down to take the garment out of your hands. “So,” he starts as you step away to the side, “are you still down to go out later? Jimin wants to go to this new bar that opened up, opens around eleven I think.” He tosses your panties into the basket as he gently taps your arms with his fist.

You nod, “Oh yes! I even bought this new outfit that I really like Jungkookie, it’s pink, it’s cute, and it’s pretty.” You cheekily smile. He laughs and you keep going, “The only downside is I don’t have anything to cover up with when it gets cold..” You pout sadly but then smile at him, “Can I have your hoodie? I think it’ll look super cute.”

“Sure, knock yourself out baby.” Jungkook grins softly as he picks out a few of your panties from the basket to neatly fold, “Maybe you should buy more of these,” he dangles the lace panties in your face, “they make your ass look so pretty.”

“I know! I was thinking about getting more because of how comfy they are!.” You smile softly and step between his legs again, giggling when he wraps his arms around you tightly, “Jungkookie if you help me fold the rest of my stuff I’ll show you what I got on right now.” You tease softly in his ear.

Jungkook hops off that counter so fucking fast.

THURSDAY

Thursdays are the busiest for you, they’re spent going to your lectures and turning in important papers. Your poor little brain is so fried by the time you’re done! Nothing beats coming home to Jungkook though, he already knows exactly what you need.

“R-Right there..!” You gasp and bury your fingers in his hair, “Please, please, please,” you beg under your breath and rock your hips against his face. Jungkook does not disappoint, he gives it his all, lapping at your slicked up hole and sucking on your fat little pussy lips, groaning and occasionally going back to your clit.

His strong arms hold you down over his face, his nose occasionally bumps into your clit whenever you move forward a tiny bit too much. You put one hand on the headboard and angle your hips down so your pussy sits perfectly atop his face. You’re half tempted to just ride his tongue, to make him take it while you get yourself off on him. He wouldn’t mind..would he..?

Jungkook’s hands squeeze your asscheeks tightly when you begin to ride his face earnestly. He moans softly and manages to catch your clit in his mouth, sucking harshly before letting his tongue run over it. “Kook..!” You sob out, hips humping his face as you rub your clit over his soft tongue over and over again.

Jungkook let you have it, groaning under you as he slapped your ass while you rode his face. He felt your thighs squeeze his head from the pleasure, shaking every so often as your hips stuttered in their movements occasionally. He was in pure heaven right now with a mouthful of pussy and your thighs as his earmuffs. He didn’t EVER want to leave.

“I’m coming..!” You whimper all breathy and high, “J-Jungkookie..!” You gasp out and your hips come to a stop as you cum hard. Your clit throbs and your pussy pulses around nothing. It feels so hot between your legs after such an intense orgasm. You almost forget Jungkook’s under you. “Oops..” You whisper and climb off of him, “Did I almost kill you?” You pout.

Jungkook pants softly as he lays there staring at the ceiling, “No.. even if you did I’m pretty sure that is what heaven feels like..” He whispers like he’s seen a whole new world, “Next time, wear your Sailor Moon costume.”

FRIDAY

Fridays are the best. The weekend is coming, classes are out for you, and Jungkook has plans for the two of you. You’re so ready to forget all about your stupid classes, and not to mention the fact that you’re looking forward to doing no work for the next two days.

Tonight Jungkook takes you out to a party his friend throws. You dance together and have a couple of beers before ending the night with good old fashioned body shots. Jungkook ends up taking about four shots from your pretty little body, and by the time you’re both going home in a uber he’s drunk and so are you.

Drunk nights lead to drunk sex, and drunk sex is hot, nasty, and it lasts all night.

You’ve been at it since you both stumbled into his room. He has you spread out under him wearing nothing but your pretty pink heels and that damned g-string with his intials hanging from the front and the back. The room feels hot and stuffy, the sheets are ruined and the headboard won’t stop banging against the wall. Your pussy makes the loudest noises ever, squelching wetly from both your creamy slick and his cum.

A light sheen of sweat covers your bodies, you’re not too sure how the hell he has so much stamina at the moment but you’re not complaining. In your drunken state you manage to pull him in by your legs, heels digging into his back as you cry out for more. Jungkook doesn’t mind, he carries on fucking you like nothing else matters. His balls slap against your taint creating this fopping sound everytime he bottoms out.

“Shit–” He moans out, “You look so goddamn pretty right now baby, pussy’s so fucken wet.. God look at those tits,” he slurs out and leans down to suck a nipple harshly, “fucken love fucking you.” He switches to your other nipple with a low groan.

You mewl in pleasure and hold on to the bed sheets for dear life as he fucks you within an inch of your life. It’s getting harder to hold back your orgasms when he’s pressing into your g-spot over and over again. This will go down in history as one of the best dickings he’s ever given you.

“y/n,” he moans, “look at me,” he pulls away to cup your face, “fuckin love you, you know that? Gonna make you my baby mama, marry you n all that shit too.” He grinds into you while he says this, “You love me too don’t you baby?” He moans out. You nod vigorously with tears in your eyes from the pleasure, you don’t trust your voice to reply verbally. Luckily he seems content with what, “Fuck,” he slams into you, “ ‘m gonna cum again..” He mumbles.

Jungkook fucks you until the sun rises, and by the end of it you’re left laying there with cum spilling from your pussy and sweat on your body. Jungkook somehow ended up on the ground sleeping in the mess of blankets and pillows, you don’t comment to much on that..

SATURDAY & SUNDAY

The weekend is reserved for fun, and fun comes in many forms. It could be Jungkook taking you shopping, going out to eat with friends, or even going out for drinks. This time however you’re both nursing the biggest hangover you’ve ever had. You decide a self care weekend is in order.

You both order takeout and spend the day inside curled up watching movies and trying to stave off those pounding headaches. “Owie..” You whimper and curl up into Jungkook’s neck, “The lights are hurting me.” You whine out, “Off, turn ‘em off..”

Jungkook hisses as he quickly shuts off his bedroom light, “Fuck I’m never drinking like that.” He shakes his head, “Next time pinch me if you see me trying to take shots or something baby.” He lays his head on yours with a sigh.

“That’s mean, why don’t I give you kisses! That way you focus on me and we can dance. Wait, do you want me to tell you no too for beer?”

“Oh you sweet thing.” Jungkook whispers under his breath, “Babe, beer is just as bad as the shots we drank, so yes, I need you to tell me no for that as well..” He trails off, growing sick from the thought of any more alcohol. You nod a bit too quickly because then you’re doubling over whining about the pain and dizziness, “You and me both baby.” Jungkook says as he sighs, “You and me both..”

And that’s how your week goes with Jungkook.

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#bts #bts fanfction #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #bts jungkook

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act-nat-ural · 21 days ago

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Classroom Crush

It had been a few weeks since Kiyoomi first noticed you.

Sakusa Kiyoomi didn’t get crushes. He was meticulous, focused, and, in his mind, too busy with volleyball and his personal space to indulge in such frivolities. But there was something about you that caught his attention—a girl two seats in front of him, always scribbling in a notebook or staring absentmindedly out the window during class.

He didn’t know when it started—maybe it was how you carried yourself, or how your eyes seemed to light up when you talked about something you loved, even if it was just a passing comment.

But no matter the reason, it was undeniable now: Kiyoomi had a ridiculous, inexplicable crush on you.

It was a typical Monday morning, the sunlight streaming through the golden slats of the classroom windows. Kiyoomi sat in his usual seat near the back, his posture stiff, trying to avoid any kind of attention. His fingers were drumming on his desk absentmindedly as his gaze kept flicking toward you. You were two rows ahead, sitting by the window, completely engrossed in a book.

He knew nothing about you—well, nothing beyond the fact that you always sat in that seat, and you were quietly kind. He’d overheard you laugh once or twice when talking to your friends, but most of the time, you were serene, focused, and almost always reading or writing.

It was a little tragic, how his crush had never even had the chance to be something real. He had barely spoken to you—maybe three words at most: “Excuse me” when you accidentally bumped into him on your way to class last week, and “Can I have a piece of paper?” when you forgot your notebook. It was painfully insignificant, but his heart still beat faster whenever he saw you.

Today, however, he couldn’t concentrate. Your scent—the same perfume you always wore—drifted toward him as you shifted in your seat. You had just opened your notebook to write something. He found himself absentmindedly staring at the way your hand moved, the grace in every line you drew, even how you bit your lip in concentration.

“Kiyoomi?”

His head snapped up, his gaze snapping back to his desk before he realized it. His eyes met the professor’s, who was now standing at the front of the room, waiting for his answer.

“Sorry, what?” Kiyoomi muttered, wiping his hand across his face in frustration.

The professor raised an eyebrow, but before Kiyoomi could dig himself into a deeper hole, you spoke up, a soft but audible voice from the row in front of him.

“He was probably just distracted,” you said with a smile that almost made him lose track of everything around him.

Kiyoomi froze.

You had spoken to him. His heart did a strange little flip in his chest, and for a moment, he couldn’t think of anything except the warm, easy way your words had come. He felt his face heat up in embarrassment.

“Uh, yeah,” Kiyoomi muttered, trying not to make a bigger fool of himself. “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

You shrugged, a small smile still on your lips. “It happens,” you said casually and then turned back to your notebook, the conversation seeming to end as quickly as it had begun.

Kiyoomi’s mind raced. That was it? That was the only conversation he’d had with you in weeks? But it felt like something more. His heart couldn’t help but keep replaying the way you’d spoken to him—so effortlessly, so kindly.

The next day, you weren’t in class.

Kiyoomi tried to ignore the knot of disappointment in his chest, but it was hard. He spent the entire class time distracted, glancing over his shoulder, half-expecting you to walk in any moment. But you never did. By the time the lecture was over, and he packed his things, he was already overthinking. Maybe you were sick. Maybe you had dropped out of the class entirely. Maybe you weren’t even interested in… whatever this feeling was.

He was halfway out the door when a voice stopped him.

"Sakusa!"

His heart stuttered in his chest, and he turned around so quickly that his bag swung awkwardly at his side.

There you were, standing near the door, your book bag slung over your shoulder, eyes scanning the room for him. You were alone, and you looked a little hesitant.

Kiyoomi swallowed hard. "You... you missed class yesterday."

"Yeah, I was feeling sick," you said, offering a small smile. "I didn’t want to bother anyone with it."

Kiyoomi found himself nodding, even though he wasn’t sure what to say. The silence between you two stretched for a beat, and then, impulsively, he blurted out:

“Do you want to... maybe study together sometime?”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh?”

He had barely said anything to you in all this time, and now this?

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t know... I just thought... Maybe we could,” he stammered, feeling heat creep into his face. “Like, you know, if you ever wanted to, or whatever...”

You laughed—a soft, genuine sound that made Kiyoomi freeze, staring at you in shock.

“I’d like that,” you said, your voice warm. “Actually, I’m always looking for a good study buddy. You don’t mind math, right?”

"Not really," he replied, the edges of his lips curling into a shy smile.

"Great," you said, the smile now fully blossoming on your face, “I’ll text you the details later?”

Kiyoomi nodded, though he could hardly contain the flood of excitement rushing through him. This was real. This was happening.

As you turned to leave, you glanced back over your shoulder.

"See you tomorrow, Kiyoomi."

—

You walked into class a little earlier than usual, glancing around for an empty seat. Your eyes instinctively fell on the spot where you usually sat by the window, but today, there was a different kind of pull in your chest. The seat next to Kiyoomi was open.

You hesitated for a split second before shaking off the uncertainty. It’s just a seat. Just sit down, you told yourself. You’d spent the entire night thinking about the conversation from yesterday, about the way he’d looked at you with those piercing, quiet eyes, and how he’d blurted out that invitation to study together. You had to admit that his awkwardness was kind of endearing.

Taking a deep breath, you made your way over and sat down, silently hoping you weren’t making a mistake. But when you settled into the seat, the quiet thrum of the room didn’t feel so uncomfortable. There was something calming about being close to him, even if you hadn’t exactly exchanged much in the past weeks.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Kiyoomi glance toward you, but when you looked directly at him, he quickly shifted his gaze down to his desk, his posture as stiff as ever. You couldn’t help but smile. Even when he was trying to hide it, he was still so obvious. You wondered if he was nervous, too.

Class started and you opened your notebook, pretending to focus on the lesson, but your mind kept wandering back to Kiyoomi. He was beside you, his gaze drifting toward the window as the professor launched into the lecture. He didn’t seem to be paying much attention—his pen tapping rhythmically on the desk in a pattern you could almost set your watch to.

Your heart skipped a beat. Why did he want to study with you? You barely knew each other, and now you were supposed to spend time together after class? He’d barely said anything outside of casual requests or off-hand comments in passing. But somehow, yesterday, when you’d spoken, it felt easy. As if it wasn’t strange at all.

The professor’s voice faded into the background as you stole another glance at him. His eyes were still distant, but his lips were curved slightly, like he was lost in thought.

You wondered if he was nervous, too. It was a silly thought, really—Kiyoomi Sakusa, nervous? He was one of the best players on his volleyball team, he was smart, and composed, and everyone knew how intensely focused he was. But you couldn’t help but notice how out of place he looked when his gaze flickered to yours for just a moment before he shifted uncomfortably.

The class continued, but you couldn’t keep your focus. You did catch Kiyoomi looking your way a couple more times. Each time, his gaze would dart back to his desk like he hadn’t meant to. You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up inside.

It wasn’t like you had any more experience with these things than he did, but for some reason, today, things felt a little different between you two. You could feel the change, even if it was small.

The bell rang again, signaling the end of class. You packed up your things slowly, unsure of how to move forward. The conversation from yesterday was still fresh in your mind, and now that the moment had arrived, you weren’t sure what to do next.

You couldn’t help but steal another glance at him. He was already standing, stretching his arms above his head with a casual air about him. His face was still serious, but there was something softer about the way he carried himself today.

You stood up and made your way toward the door, your heart hammering in your chest. When you reached the threshold, you turned back, catching his gaze. For a moment, neither of you said anything, just locking eyes for a few seconds that stretched longer than they should’ve.

“Um... Kiyoomi?” you said, voice a little quieter than usual.

His gaze snapped to you, but instead of the usual guardedness, there was something almost... warm in his eyes, like he was waiting for you to say something.

"Yeah?" he responded, his voice surprisingly soft. It made you pause, and your stomach did a little flip.

You took a step toward him, feeling a little less confident than you had intended. "I... um, I guess we can meet up later? If you're still up for it?" You looked down at your shoes for a moment, feeling a little awkward, but you couldn’t help but notice that the heat in your cheeks was starting to build up.

He didn’t respond right away, but when you looked back up, you found his usual stiff demeanor had softened, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He nodded, his expression still slightly unreadable, but there was a subtle shift in the air between you.

“Yeah. I’ll see you after practice, then,” he said, the words coming out smoother than you expected. His voice was still quiet, but it held a certain finality to it that made you think that, yes, this was real. This was happening.

“Okay,” you smiled, and this time, it was easier to meet his eyes.

You walked out of the room, your heart racing, a mixture of excitement and nerves bubbling up in your chest. You weren’t sure where this would go, but for the first time in weeks, you couldn’t wait to find out.

note: i wrote this instead of sleeping 😕

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#hq x reader #haikyuu #sakusa kiyoomi #hq #sakusa x reader #sakusa fluff #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #haikyuu x female reader #fem!reader

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chrisbesitos · 15 days ago

Note

younger! Reader having a pregnancy scare and she’s freaking out while Chris is just happy he might be a dad(she ended up not being preggo 🙁)

"I'm really worried about you, doll." Chris says, helping you to get back in the bed after spit out all your breakfast. He lightly rubs your hands, while you give him a weak smile, trying to tell him you're doing fine, even though you're not. You lay your head on the pillow, inhaling the scent of Chris in the bed sheets, the boy brushes your hair off your pale face. "You can handle anything in your stomach since monday."

"I'm probably just having a stomach bug, I'll be fine soon." You say, your voice sounds rasp, Chris groans rolling his blue eyes, really worried about how you're doing lately. Suffering with headaches, puking your meals and he's pretty sure your period is late, because you didn't complain about any cramps this month yet. He's really thinking about this.

Like, he knows you're only nineteen, but he also knows you sometimes fuck raw and even though you take pills, sometimes accidents happens.

"Doll, you're sure this is not — you know." Chris hums, you frown your eyebrows in confusion, lifting your body to stare at him better. Chris sighs, holding your waist to help you to sit, he rests his hand on your thigh.

"This is not what?" You ask, genuinely confused about what he's talking about. Chris lowered his eyes, looking at your belly covered with his blue hoodie, you follow his eyes, staring at your body too. You widen your eyes once you realize what he's talking about. Definitely no. "Chris, no. I'm pretty sure I'm not pregnant."

"You don't know!" He groans. You take a deep breath, shaking your head, giggling lightly. This is crazy, you're not pregnant, Chris' just overreacting on your sickness. "Look, you're throwing up, getting more tired and I know your period is late." He points, sounding a bit desperate. You cup his cheeks, smiling soft and shaking your head again.

"Baby, I'm on birth control and my period is not late." You say, trying to relax your desperate boyfriend. Chris opens his mouth, but you cover his lips with your thumbs. "I'm just having bad days, probably because I'm getting more stressed with my exams. Don't put this on your head, pretty."

"You should take a test to make sure."

"Stop saying this, okay? I'm definitely not pregnant." You giggle, kissing Chris' lips.

You're not pregnant, or you are? Your stomach bug is still making you puke your meals, now your period is really late by some days. Maybe Chris is right, maybe you're growing a baby in your uterus. The idea of being pregnant makes you feel scared, you're only nineteen, you definitely can't have a baby, not now. Chris is still worried, he bought a pregnancy test the other day, but he didn't say anything, because he knows you'd deny taking the test.

Sitting on the couch, rubbing your own arms, after throwing up again. Chris brings you a glass of water, his worried eyes staring at your soul. He kneeled down in front of you, rubbing your knee.

"Maybe I'm pregnant." You murmur, your voice cracking, almost sounding like a whisper. Chris frowns his eyebrows, resting the glass on the coffee table, he holds your hands and rests them on your thigh. "Maybe you're right."

"You want to take a test?" He asks, rubbing your small hands. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out, only a weak sight. He takes this as a 'yes', he squeezes your hands before lift and walks towards his room to take the test he's been hiding in the bathroom cabinet. He walks back, sitting by your side and handing you the box.

"I'm scared, Chris." You whisper, he nods grabbing your chin to give you a peck on your lips. You smile, a weak smile trying to be positive. You don't want to be pregnant.

"I'm here with you, doll. It doesn't matter if it's positive or negative, I'll be by your side." Chris cups your cheeks, your eyes getting glassy by the fear of being a mother at nineteen, but Chris' words help you to calm down a bit.

You walk to Matt's bathroom, Chris waits for you outside. You take the test with your hands shaking, your heart racing and your lips trembling. Outside of the bathroom, Chris is thinking about you being pregnant, he wants to be a dad and wants to grow a family with you. Of course he's scared, he doesn't know how to take care of the baby, but he'll figure it out. He's thinking about all of this and he doesn't know if you're really pregnant, but in case you are, he's already ready for the news.

"Chris?" You call, the test upside down on the sink. Chris comes in, holding your shoulders and rubbing lightly. "I didn't look yet, I'm too scared."

"We're gonna figure it out, babydoll. Trust me." Chris says, picking the test and looking at the visor. His smile fades when he sees the result, you widen your eyes picking the test from his hand. Your body instantly relaxes, you were freaking out.

Negative. You're not pregnant.

"Thank God, I was shitting my pants." You smile, resting your head on Chris' shoulder. "We're not gonna be parents, at least for a while." You sigh, genuinely happy for not carrying a baby. But Chris looks kinda. . . Upset? You frow your eyebrows, putting the test back in the sink, you hold your boyfriend's hands and give him a kiss on the chin. "Baby, you want me to be pregnant? Be honest."

"Hm, no — I mean, I kinda like the idea of having a kid with you." He says, you smile nodding with your head. You let it go his hands and cup his cheeks. "I would like to be a dad."

"Oh, baby. I would love to be a mom and have kids with you, but we're too young for this. In a couple years, when we have our own place, we can think about a baby." You brush your thumb on his cheek, offering a soft smile. Even though you're only nineteen, you're really mature. Your words make Chris smile and nod, that's okay for him. Having a baby in a couple years, he'll remember this. "I love you, baby."

"I love you so much more, babydoll. Mother of my future kids."

꩜ chérie's notes: y/n is not pregnant and chris' upset :(((( poor baby, just want a baby to call he dad.

taglist ; @lizzymacdonald06 @lushjunkie @sweetreliever @watercolorskyy @ivysturnss @brianna-grace12 @blahbel668 @gabri3la-sturns @stvrnzcherries @unknvhx @pvssychicken @all4l0vee @i4longhairchris @sluttybitchformattsturniolo @sophand4n4 @sturniololetstrip2 @zayluvss @sturnsmia @sofieeeeex @ifwdominicfike @planettori @jetaimevous @leclecwifey16 @mattswifeyx @joclyn240 @voqueflms @pepsicola-pussy @sturnobsessedwh0re @chrissturnioloswifeee @sturniolossss @imonlyhereformattfluff @sturniolosluttt

masterlist. | taglist.

#chrisbesitos 𝜗ৎ #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #꒰ younger.ᐟreader ꒱#꒰ older.ᐟchris ꒱#chris sturniolo x y/n #ꞌꞌ ࣪ chérie loves yapping ✿ . ꒱#chris sturniolo fanfic

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mrs-weasley-reid · 6 months ago

Text

TEN'S A GOOD NUMBER

Aaron Hotchner x psychiatrist!reader

Sypnosis: After Aaron's traumatizing encounter with Peter Lewis, he's sent to you, but who knew a profiler is the worst patient you'll ever have? Warning: enemies to lovers— ish(?) angst. a dash of fluff. light mentions of death and trauma. a few curses. went ballistic— it's lengthy, so pace yourself. A/N: loosely follows Mr. Scratch timeline for three seasons.

Monday, May 4, 8:34 AM

Aaron Hotchner sits across from you.

He studies you in every detail like he's about to take an exam, and you're the topic.

The weight of your scribbles—light, almost featherlike. Ink leaves a soft trail of words, a map of your thoughts, your perception of him.

The speed of your hand. Swift and elegant. Each movement portrays a scene in a movie. As if they're telling a quiet story, your story he is yet to unravel.

The way you deprive him of eye contact.

What are you hiding?

Why can't you look him in the eye?

The occasional nod to remind him that you're listening—not like anything's coming out from his end.

In conclusion, just about everything you do, really.

To Aaron, you're a cheat sheet. His way back to the field, to work—the part of his life that cannot be halted despite the need for a break.

"Your hand is heavier," Aaron vaguely goads.

You silently stare at him, waiting for the rest of his thoughts to spill out of his mouth.

"Usually, you write like you're afraid to puncture the paper, but just right now, your strikes are deeper. Your grip on your pen is also tighter. Am I annoying you?"

Creative.

You think to yourself as he rakes his eyes down the canvas of your face, blank and land of nothing but mirroring eyes.

Although you prefer Aaron's comment about your new lipstick and how it makes your skin glow—something about your prospect of finding a lover—fifteen minutes into your session. You didn't peg him as a man who knows his lipstick shades, but you stand corrected as he says coral with the utmost confidence for a man who wears his tie like a choker.

Aaron does it all the time. Every five minutes, he says one thing he's noticed about you and then proceeds to zip his mouth, denying you details about him like you're some hired criminal paid to torture the King's hidden fortune out of him.

And as per your entertainment, you'd do something out of your character to throw him off. If you can laugh at his gullibility, you would.

His goal is to intimidate you. Pressure you. Make you tick like every other serial killer he's encountered. Because he'd really rather be across an unsub than you. Aaron would rather be the one to ask questions and not you. In his eyes, you're no better than a small-town detective ignorantly interrogating a serial killer for a cheap gas station robbery, unaware of the skeletons in his closet.

At this moment, Aaron ponders why he agreed to meet with you once a week only to sit in almost absolute silence for about an hour, then go about his day like he hadn't just wasted minutes of his—and your—life.

It's always the same.

He arrives, flaunts his profiling skills for an accumulated total of twelve minutes, and then sits across you like a rock for the remaining forty minutes.

Aaron could've talked more, but...

He despises you.

Well, not you, per se. He despises the profession, and you just happen to choose it as your career. Nonetheless, Aaron generalizes and includes you on his list.

He finds it unnecessary and a waste of one's valuable time. Presenting a series of well-thought-out facts that he's sure Spencer Reid will enjoy. A list of reasons why talking to a psychiatrist isn't as helpful as people perceive it to be.

Aaron spits the words 'family' and 'friends' for the sake of ease and comfort as if he doesn't flinch at the words 'your father' and his face hasn't been frozen into a permanent stern. Because why talk to someone who doesn't know you when there are people who know you best? He lies through his teeth. He lies to himself.

Then, there's you.

You don't know him enough to trust his lies.

"Profiling me won't get you cleared," you state out of the blue. "This is our seventh session, and you haven't said anything." You add, finally lifting your gaze.

Aaron feels taken aback. He'd never encountered a shrink with such pride at their job—they managed to infuriate him. You infuriate him.

Now that you've granted him the wish—your eyes meeting his—it's having an effect on him instead. One that he wishes he didn't feel creep under his skin, stimulating the anxiety he's worked hard to ignore.

Still, Aaron squares his shoulder, "Nothing is wrong with me," He claims like he's not feeling the pit of his stomach churn with every word. "I'm only here for the formalities." He says.

"Ahh," You deadpan, pulling your eyes down on your clipboard. Hushed scribbles echo in the room. "Is that what you told, Dr. Briar? Or Dr. McCormick? Stiles doesn't seem to remember you at all—"

"They deemed me fit to go back to work, which you don't seem to realize." Aaron cuts you off. He doesn't notice the slight lilt of his voice. How a vein peeked on his forehead as he furrows his brows.

You have an effect on him, and Aaron's in strong denial.

"How?" You lean a bit, propping against your lap. It's the first time he's ever let himself tear out of his 'I don't break' shell. You consider it a crumb of a breakthrough and a laughable stain on your pride.

Challenging his stability—you raise your brows—makes him tick.

A faux frown draws on your face—patronizing, "Did you play a staring contest, and they lost against you?" You notice the little twitch of his eye masked as a blink.

It's a little unprofessional to provoke your patient, but you do, anyway.

This one's been particularly adamant about manipulating you into permitting him back to work like you were born yesterday. You think it hilarious how smug he's been for the past six sessions. It is as if you didn't spend almost half of your life devoted to the study of behavior. Like you hadn't figured out his plans from the get-go.

Profilers. They catch a criminal out of idea of sorts, and they think they can read everyone. It makes you want to laugh while pointing at him.

Aaron stares at you with his usual stoic expression, intimidating eyes filled with unforeseen horrors, and a straight mouth that's no use in your four walls.

He decides then that he hates you with a passion.

You feel a vibration on your wrist, "Would you look at that? Your time's up, Hotchner." You withdraw, straightening your back as you scribble yet another word Aaron is curious to know.

If he only knew you're not really writing anything new about the nature of his mental state or anything legible at all, you imagine Aaron exploding like a stack of case files blown by harsh wind.

But can he blame you when he's given you nothing to write?

"Agent Hotchner," He corrects with gritted teeth. Aaron's jaw clenches as he pierces his gaze through you. His hands intertwined with each other as if he's preventing himself from clawing at you.

You smile at him, "In this room, you're just Aaron Hotchner. A patient. A case." You know the specific word will piss him off, much less the motherly tone you paired it with.

A tactic. Unlike him, you don't need a team of agents to get a rise out of a culprit. The bare idea of you, a stranger who has access to his life on a piece of paper, is enough a stimuli to get an individual aiming at your neck.

"So, between you and me, I think you should start talking if you ever want to fly to wherever city your team wanders in. The longer you take, the less progress we make, and the less progress you make, the more possible that the bureau will assign a new psychiatrist for you." You say nonchalantly, letting his anger lead him right into your trap.

The words float like small fire specks of dust, both dazzling and dangerous to the eyes. Getting assigned to a new psychiatrist is like getting an easy case directly handed to Aaron. However, it also means he'll have to restart his psych evaluation process, and he knows firsthand how time-consuming that is.

"But, then again, who knows? Maybe the next fella will let you slide like the others did. Or you'll have to attend a series of sessions again for a lengthy psych evaluation. I've got friends too, you know? They might do me a favor and make your life more… difficult." You're bluffing. In no way, shape, or form will you jeopardize his health, even if Aaron's the most stubborn patient you have ever met in your lifetime.

His nose flares as he stands up. You know that he's done and murdered you in his mind at the way he's glaring at you with invisible daggers, but you play it well and act blameless.

Aaron marches out of your office with blazing hatred. You watch as he dulls every vicinity he's stepped into like death taking a stroll. A part of you is apologetic to his colleagues. They'll be having one hell of a day.

Retreating back inside your office, you plop on your chair behind your desk as a heavy sigh escapes your lips.

You stare at Aaron Hotchner's patient chart.

"What am I going to do with you?" You ask rhetorically in the air.

Aaron Hotchner is—for you at least—a special case. A case so intricate you had to be careful how you'd tread the water, wary of its fragile ripples.

When Aaron's chart landed on your desk, you immediately knew that he'd be toilsome. He'd make it his goal to skip the talk and jump back onto another case. The same routine he did with his old therapists and psychologist, anyone that was able to write a note and say he's fine when he's really not—never have been for a long time.

You already had enough patients on your plate, but you just couldn't say no to your favorite Italian patient; you only had one. You're the best bureau-mandated psychiatrist. His words, not yours.

Then, again, you never fail to mentally brag about how easily you read Aaron just from his chart, his image, and the first step he took to get inside your office. You read him like an open toddler's book, a piece of cake.

During the first session, you learn how badly Aaron's last case had affected him. The intonation of his voice. The way he'd shake his hand, your hand. His scorn. His fiddling fingers.

It's amazing how he's managed to divert his anger towards you instead of the man who traumatized him.

Melodic ringing snaps you out of your trance.

Aaron Hotchner might just get what he wants.

Sunday, May 10, 11:51 PM

A sniffle tickles your nose as you lay flat on the carpet floor of your apartment.

Your face stings from tear stains, and you muse how horrid you must look after your makeup runs dry. Your chunky heels were still on. In a minute or two, you expect one of your feet to cramp.

The day has been hostile towards you.

The mind, which used to be an oasis of positive thoughts, has gone draught. Sleep begins to blur your vision, and you don't hesitate to let it take over.

Until a bombarding knock jolts you up.

"I'm here! I'm here! Calm down!" You shout as you swing the door open. A familiar man stands in front of you with a dour face. Your eyebrows narrow tightly, "Mr. Hotchner—"

"What did you write?!" Aaron badgers as he storms inside your apartment like he owns the place. He pivots on the balls of his feet once he's reached your living room, glowering at you with scalding fury. "I was relieved to know that you released me from your care and looked forward to my clearance. So, tell me why a random therapist called me this morning to confirm an appointment I didn't even know I had. What did you write on my report that I have to go through this again for the second time? Is dealing with your sick games not enough? I'm fine. I know I'm fine. I'm straight in the head to go back in the field. I aced the psych evaluation questions. Your sessions are the problem. You're the problem." His ears, face, and neck are burning red. If he's a cartoon character, you imagine he'd be steaming with smoke by now.

Quite surprised; you're standing speechless. You're watching Aaron like he's a crazy old hag yapping about the Revolutionary War and how she hates not having the power to shoot every redcoat for the sake of rage.

You head towards your sofa, taking a seat.

Aaron examines you in confusion, furrowing his brows.

After a moment, you look at him expectantly. "Don't be shy, Mr. Hotchner. By any means—" you nod towards the armchair across you, glancing back and forth between him and the empty space "—continue with your thoughts. You already started. Might as well let it all out."

He only clenches his hands inside his pockets as he bores holes into your head.

What a sad little man.

You scoff in your mind.

You lean against the back of the sofa, tilting your head to meet dagger-like brown eyes aiming at you. "No? Suit yourself, then." You shrug, feeling the soft cushions under your palms.

"Let me remind you that I'm a federal agent, and I can make your life a living hell if I want to." He threatens, glaring at you as if the twitch of his eye is enough to make you combust into thin air.

But all you see is a child on a tantrum, deprived of getting what he wants.

"Answer my question. What. Did. You. Write?" He growls.

Silence coats the two of you.

His heavy breathing fills the deafening air. Your nonchalance fuels his hatred more than ever and the sentiment is beginning to emit from both ends. It takes a lot out of you to think of multiple ways to sprinkle some salty sense onto him without stinging his wounds.

One thing you learned well enough in time is how good Aaron is when pushing someone's buttons. A perk of his prosecutor days and seasoned by his bureau career.

He's just troubled.

He's just in denial of his own pain.

You chant the words in your head—uncertain of its purpose. Detachment ironically detaches from your senses like old velcro.

"You're not the first agent in my office, Mr. Hotchner. And frankly, you should be thanking me for taking you in. Unlike your old therapists, I actually read through your chart and took the time to understand you to the best of my ability. I cared—" Shocked as he is, your eyes subtly widen.

Before you can continue Aaron speaks over you, "I do not care about your pity. What I wanted was for you to do your damn job and clear me back to work. But that's just little to no pay for a shrink, isn't it? You need messed up people to stay messed up so they can continue knocking on your door." A clear hint of a demeaning smirk flashes across his face.

The sheer irreverence makes you dizzy. The calm snaps, banishing kindness and composure out the window. And rage knocks on your door.

"That's the problem. You don't care. You don't care about yourself." Your tone is sharp—stern.

You knew. You knew from the moment his file thudded on your wooden desk. The moment SSA David Rossi charmed his way to get your favor. You know that Aaron Hotchner does what he believes is right. Not because the unit chief title has gotten in his head. No. Not the slightest. But because he only cares about his values and people.

And you're neither.

It's not you to hold grudges. So, you had it down and set before you accepted Rossi's request. You had it tattooed in your mind that no matter how sharp-tongued and insensitive the man before you might be, he's still just a man under the weight of the world's greatest horrors.

You cannot break. You're not allowed to break.

Pieces of you shatter at the realization that some patients under your care inevitably slip away from your fingers. How your promised oath to do no harm did nothing—not enough to stop the monsters that haunt the world. Not enough to stop you, Aaron's psychiatrist, from dumping your own frustration onto him the same way he's currently doing to you.

But you're not Aaron's psychiatrist today. You're not anything today. You're not on the clock. And no one except Aaron—to your demise—will ever witness such an ugly sight. If ever he shuts up about his dilemma, that is.

"I did my job exactly as I should." You declare, licking the bottom of your lips. Damned the Hippocratic Oath. You wonder if the healing gods will forgive you.

You really shouldn't say the words that are about to leave your mouth, but you've been taking whatever hostility he's got for the last two months; the capacity has reached its limit. A little bit of harshness wouldn't hurt, would it?

"When are you going to admit that the reason you can't sleep at night is not because of all the serial killers you claim I prevent you from catching?" You finally stand. You are a few inches shorter, yet you have never felt taller than you do right now.

You grit your teeth as you move closer to Aaron, almost a breath away, tiptoeing. "When will you admit that the mighty SSA Aaron Hotchner, unit chief, doesn't blink, not once, because he's afraid he'd become the very thing he promised to put away." You raise your brows, challenging him.

Aaron's face morphs into bewilderment and perturbation. His brows are sewn shut. His jawline pops out as he grinds his teeth.

Resentment. Fury. Vexation. Chagrin.

All Aaron felt was anger.

Antagonized.

A walking tower of pure acrimony, finger-pointing towards the innocent.

"Don't you dare compare me to those— I'm anything but." He towers over you, losing his words through the stream of lividity flooding all over his senses.

"Do you really believe that?"

Aaron studies your face. It's different. It's raw and maimed. A squeeze of guilt whispers, but he shoves it quickly.

"What did you write?" He asks once more, earning a scoff out of you.

You step back, staring straight into his glare. Crossed arms tight against your chest. Brows rest over your deadpan eyes.

"While SSA Aaron Hotchner is proficient at his skills and rather placid in physically and mentally challenging situations, I strongly recommend further evaluation in psychotherapy as his emotional capacity is at its limits. The stress accumulated from the job itself has given him little to no time to allow himself the indulgence to properly process certain impacts of the stimulus he encounters on the job. Will update after further observation. Is what I wrote… so far."

You pause.

"Aaron Hotchner is an insufferable, pompous idiot who's afraid of nothing but himself. He is incapable of stepping off his pedestal and refuses to cooperate while complaining about the consequences he himself caused. He has been through enormous trauma. It will be torture to try and help him cope properly. I do not want him in my care as he is a danger to his own progress, and I don't want any part of it. Is what I wanted to write."

Silence.

For him to reflect.

For you to breathe.

Aaron's frozen before you. A pale statue bleached under the moon's harsh reality. Words that used to be superficial insecurities float in the wind of truth, forming into a cage he's sentenced for life.

Your fuse still runs—a long time coming from two months of his deliberate disrespect. The silence annoys you, so you break it. "Excuse my hostility. No one's invaded my privacy and barged into my household at such an unreasonable hour before." The impassive smile on your lips can haunt anyone.

Maybe you've gone too far.

Maybe it's evil to say such blunt things to someone fragile.

But Aaron started the countdown. He lit the fuse. Now, you're exploding right before his eyes, reaping what he sowed. And he's forced to eat up all the debris.

His eyes twitch, scanning your face for any sign of bluff, any sign of fallacy. Any sign that he successfully pissed you off and your words were nothing but overwhelmed impulse.

"I—" he closes his mouth, then agape. Any sign. Aaron will take anything besides the forthright expression on your face. He inhales, "I'm sorry." The sound dies before it can roll off his tongue.

It's like watching a bully shrink into the tiniest man who's ever lived.

Okay, maybe you were a little bit brutal.

You gulp as guilt creeps along your veins, wishing that someone out there would just do you both a favor and snipe you out before the embarrassment settles.

Drawing in a gentle breath, you take another step back from Aaron with a delicate voice, "You're not starting a new evaluation, but you're not done either. I transferred you under someone else's care because of personal reasons. My life doesn't revolve around you, Mr. Hotchner. So, if you have nothing else to say, go home." Your eyes drift to the vast selection of objects in your living room to diffuse the growing pity you can't help but harbor.

Only then does Aaron discern his impulsivity. Internally arguing with himself as he allows himself to look at you. One thing he's never done since the moment he met you with screwed brows and unwavering bias. His gaze instantly softens like a thick fog around him finally dissipates. Like he's achieved a clearer vision.

The first thing he notices is the state of your face. The dry mascara that drew faded stripes down your cheeks. Your puffy eyes are now faint pink, but he recalls them being red when he arrived.

Then Aaron brings his attention to your black dress. It's a simple formal, mesh midi dress, but he admits how it elegantly fits you. But he doesn't say it aloud because there's only one reason why you'd wear such an article of depressing clothing.

As if your words and his own realizations aren't enough, he gets a glimpse of the clock on your wall that reads 12:03 AM.

His blood suddenly stops flowing—skin clammy and pale. Aaron's lightheaded from guilt and penitence.

Without another word, you lead him towards the door, swinging it open. The past 24 hours already drained you, and Aaron just about made it fifty times worse. All you wanted was to get a shuteye.

Aaron swallows the shame and makes his way out. Before he leaves, though, he turns to face you once more. Genuine curiosity pinches his brows.

"Why didn't you just clear me out like the others did if I was such a difficult case?" The word tastes bitter in his mouth. What used to be a desired flavor turned rotten on his palette.

He asks with utter softness, leaving you skeptical to respond.

"Same reason why you kept attending my sessions even though you clearly hated it." You slightly close the door, only leaving enough space for the two of you to see each other.

He looks at you like the answer's all over your face but written in some foreign language he's not familiar with. Aaron barely opens his mouth when you answer the question in his mind.

"You needed a place where you can just be."

The door shuts.

Friday, June 19, 11:02 PM

"I didn't know where to go."

You pore at Aaron Hotchner with nothing but a flimsy robe to prevent his imagination from going rampant—and dirty.

It's eleven in the evening. It's been one month since you last saw him. It's been a month since he barged into your apartment like an entitled brat. It's been a month since you let your emotions take over. It's been a month since the two of you revealed parts of yourselves either of you don't dare think of.

A month and no contact.

You didn't wonder; just hoped and prayed that Aaron finally finds it in him to let go of the emotional turmoil that's torturing the soul out of his body.

Sighing, you step aside and let him in, closing the door behind you like it's normal to stop by one's ex-psychiatrist's apartment in the middle of the night without prior notice and, most importantly, without meter to run the minutes he's inconveniencing you.

Aaron walks in, and the heavy humidity of arousal immediately hits him.

Oh.

Well...

If he had something to say, Aaron kept his mouth shut. He is at fault for driving straight to your place like he's your bestest friend. So, he doesn't mention it, ignoring the fact that you're barely clothed.

Besides, after your last interaction with him, Aaron's certain he didn't have any prerogative in how you'd like to spend your Friday evening.

"Take a seat. I'll be with you in a minute." Your steps are light behind him—feet nimbly grazing the wooden floor.

He turns to face you but quickly averts his gaze to avoid the glistening sight of your thighs. "Thank you..." He does his best to sound normal, choking in between syllables.

Aaron begins to regret his decision. Though, not enough to leave your place.

You disappear in the corner of the hallway. Allowing Aaron to finally release the breath he didn't know he was holding.

With you out of sight, his mind deliberately wanders...

What were you doing?

Aaron shakes his head vigorously like a worm under a storm of salt. The thought is undiscovered—untouched territory, forbidden to be exact. Should he form such thoughts, he'll do it somewhere else or rather about someone else.

Just as he caters to the sudden dizziness caused by his action, a man, half-dressed, walks past him, cursing under his breath and buttoning his shirt. Aaron's eyes widen a little, keeping his stoic face.

Oh, that's what you were doing.

Ick—as Aaron would like to call your visitor—had brown and curly, unruly hair. He was tall and definitely had a face, which, Aaron assumes, is nothing like the one he envisioned you're attracted to.

Somehow not a pleasant discovery compared to what he attempted to imagine—you, alone.

Ick looks at Aaron with a scoff echoing out of his throat, "Oh, what a surprise! She's a slut." He states smugly.

"Or she just wants someone better." The words spill out without hesitation, fired on sight. Aaron doesn't know where the boldness came from as he leans against the seat with a cocky smirk on his face. Definitely no more perplexed than the uncertainty of anger boiling inside of him. He glares at the man either way.

The man scoffs again before leaving with a couple more insults that Aaron thinks he's lucky to whisper, or your visitor would've left your apartment in an ambulance.

Ick slams the door, shaking the vase on the accent chest by the entrance.

Where did that come from?

He's questionably not as big of a hater as he was before, but Aaron can't determine the motivation that made him act the way he just did with a person who has business with you, which he should have no interest in.

Moments later, you come back, fully clothed, in an oversized hoodie and a pair of wide-leg linen pants. Comfy and a 180 contrast on how you dress at work, plus the garments you had on minutes ago.

You make a beeline to your kitchen, "Water or scotch?" You holler out, opening cabinets with a creek on their hinges.

The question is rhetorical. You place a glass with brown liquid glinting under the warm ambient light on the coffee table in front of Aaron, then plop on the armchair across from him, catering your own glass.

He stares between you and the glass while you kiss yours, never breaking your gaze. You hum in delight, making a popping sound with your lips.

Aaron opens his mouth and then closes it, falling into a cycle like a fish underwater. How should he explain himself? How does one explain why they're bothering their ex-psychiatrist past working hours? After making a scene a month ago? He swallows the thick void in his throat.

"Don't talk, just drink. Sit here for an hour. Then, go home." You say, opening up a book that's been sitting on the table since he arrived.

Aaron feels a surge of relief. He reaches for the drink and lets the smoky taste trail down his throat without hesitation. He wouldn't have guessed you as a fan of scotch—or anything not clear or fruity. This is the first he's seen you without some sort of filter he can't read through, and the observation prints you under a new light.

The silence comforts him. The occasional scrape of paper against paper with each flip of a page provides him reassurance. The company he finds within your presence gives him solace.

You let him be. Asked no questions, reading in peace like he was just any other friend who needed company.

He does as you said. Indulging in the hour of tranquility and stillness. His nerves tame. And he forgets why he went to you in the first place.

Why did he go to you?

Of all people. Of all the friends he brags about. The family he cherishes. His feet dragged—drove him to you.

The onerous unit chief chose to wander to your front door, sipping scotch as he enjoyed the silence and absence of others' guilting worry and constant craving to make him feel better when all he wanted was peace and letting the ache pass in gradual acceptance.

By the end of the hour, you call him a cab with the instructions for him to pick up his car the next day.

Aaron slept effortlessly that night.

Saturday, October 24, 9:24 PM

Aaron expected some sort of rejection or for you to slam the door close, or worse, ignore him as soon as you see his face through the peephole.

One can only tolerate a couple of unannounced visits from an insufferable ex-patient, right? He's surprised you haven't called the cops on him.

He skims your face for any sign of irritation or annoyance as soon as you reveal yourself behind your door, standing next to it to give him way. Aaron saw nothing but impatience.

You knit your brows, slightly tilting your head at his frozen build outside the frame of your door. "Well? Are you stuck or something? Get in, Hotchner—" You turn before you can even finish talking, disappearing down the small entryway.

He turns deaf for a moment. Your voice rings in his ears as if a bomb had just popped the only working drum he had left.

Hotchner.

Agent.

Mister—

Just Hotchner.

One simple change, and the light above your head suddenly looks brighter.

Like he's found something good. Something he can say he knows. Something he can trust(?)

"Don't forget to take your shoes off and shut the door!" You holler from the living room—unfazed.

Aaron flinches, snapping out of his trance. He wonders where you'd gone to, furrowing his brows, and yet enters your apartment with the permission you'd given him. He closes the door, pivoting on the soles of his dress shoes as he tentatively takes them off per your instructions.

He emerges back in your peripheral while you stare at the screen on your laptop, blue-filtered glasses back on. Your fingers hammer on the keys, soft sighs slipping past your lips every once in a while.

You glance at Aaron when his figure stays at the corner of your eye, cupping a coffee mug between your hands. "There's fresh coffee if you'd like. Are you hungry? I don't usually eat dinner, so I have nothing ready to eat, but I can whip something up." You blow over the surface of caffeine, and steam wafts on the tip of your nose.

"No—" He shakes his head, scoffing in confusion, "I'm sorry—"

"Apology accepted," You muffle into the mug.

Aaron's brows connect tighter, and his forehead creases. He looks at you like he's under an illusion, a hypnotic dream he can't quite distinguish.

"Hold on," He hoists his hand up as if to pause a scene in the movie. "I'm very confused. What is going on? Why are you being… casual and nice?"

"You say it like I'm incapable of human decency." Your back makes contact with the cushion of your sofa, pulling your legs close to your chest while one hand holds the handle of your mug. You roll your eyes when Aaron only stares at you, "Are you uncomfortable? Do you want to leave?"

Aaron shakes his head.

"Problem solved, then?" Confusion is still fresh on his blank face. You mentally smack your forehead. "There are patients who lack temporal sense, but turning them away when they clearly need immediate tending to would be a form of negligence on my part. So, feel at home." You theatrically stretch your arms, offering every corner of your space as his own.

"But I'm not your patient anymore. I've been back on duty for weeks." Aaron informs. Although he finds a place for his go bag on your floor.

If you didn't know any better, you'd assume he's about to stay for a sleepover—coming to your apartment late at night.

You wrinkle your nose, "Okay?" You look around as if someone else is in the room with you two. "Is that why you went here? You wanted to brag?"

Three months.

Aaron's been back to his usual routine for the past three months. And it's been four since he drank scotch on the very couch you're comfortably in.

A chuckle.

The sound tickles your ears, filling you with unexpected pride.

"No," Aaron shakes his head as the chuckle resonates through his chest. "I… I don't really know why I came here, if I'm being honest." He swallows air.

You nod, setting your laptop back on your lap. "Like I said, you're free to feel at home. Scotch is in the third cupboard. Coffee's in the pot. I've got some stuff to take care of, so help yourself." Your eyes are already fixed on the screen, hands jumping from one key to the other.

With your permission, Aaron ventures into your kitchen. Neat. Clean. Cozy. He somehow imagines you cooking as a hobby.

He settles for coffee. Asking you from the kitchen island if you'd like a refill—which you took without a thought, hoisting your cup up—and taking out a couple of his files to get a head start on his paperwork. He wasn't allowed to bring them outside the bureau's building, but it didn't matter at the moment.

Your apartment becomes a haven.

Aaron, for the first time in years, feels comfortable to slouch. He had no collection of when and how, but turns out he'd changed into a quarter-zip and one of his pajamas tucked in his go bag through the hours.

The two of you silently took care of your own thing until 1 AM strikes, and a yawn pulls you back into the earth.

You turn your head towards the kitchen to find Aaron scribbling over your kitchen island. He's sipping coffee—a fresh batch he made not long ago.

Stretching, you make your way past him. After placing the mug into the sink, you lean against it, crossing your arms as you stare at him. "Ten."

"What's that?" Aaron halts on his seat, lifting his head to look at you.

"I'm granting you ten visits," You announce.

"And that means?.."

Your face deadpans, and he does well at stifling a smile. "You can come here whenever you want—need, but only for ten free visits. It doesn't matter if it's late, too early, or unreasonable. I'm allowing you to knock on my door whenever you need. Any more than that, you have to attend my sessions in my office, where I get paid."

"What's the catch?" Aaron entwines his eyebrows, straightening his back as he props on the edge of the counter.

"No catch. Just one condition," You shift your weight on your other leg, "Don't come empty-handed. Food, drink, things, a person, anything. Bring something." Your brows hang on your forehead, anticipating any type of response.

Aaron weighs his choices. Calculated every possible outcome and benefit. He meets your eyes again. Index and thumb rubbing the growing stubble on his chin.

"Ten's a good number," He says as he nods.

Wednesday, March 2, 7:31 PM

Eleven months pass by in the blink of an eye.

It's the seventh time Aaron showed up without warning, and by this point in whatever acquaintance you two had, you aren't fazed or surprised anymore.

The fourth time he knocked on your door, he was carrying a hefty price of whiskey. An odd reason for a psychiatrist and a former patient to bond with, but you had no qualms about sipping neat whiskey that night.

At first, he stayed for an hour. Then, an hour turned into three. One time, a case hit too deep, and three became seven, but that only happened once—all you remember was a Wednesday night.

"Are you okay?"

Gentle sighs escape shivering lips. Tears pooling deep inside sockets.

One sharp sniff breaks it all.

You sob under Aaron's worried eyes as your grip on the knob almost snaps it off the door.

His brows twists and he reflexively yanks you by the back of your head into his chest, bringing you out of your apartment and into the complex's hallway.

"What happened?" He carefully inquires while he rests his chin atop your head.

You're a mess in his arms. Uncontrollable whimpers muffled in his soaked chest.

Aaron suggested that you two step inside for more privacy and heat, but he didn't complain when you two stayed frozen in the end of winter evening.

When it stops. The suffocating ache. You lightly push yourself off him, wiping the leftover tears off your cheeks—half of it already dampened his shirt.

Fifty-three minutes and seventeen seconds.

You cried to the point of dehydration.

"Sorry," you mutter, eyes down. "We should go inside if we don't want to catch hypothermia." You sniffle.

"Oh, we don't want that," Aaron attempts to joke, closely observing whether you'd react to it.

You didn't.

He closes the door behind him, following your figure as you practically drag yourself to your unofficial designated spot on the sofa.

"I know I'm the last person you'd want to hear this from, but would you like to talk about it?" He bites his inner cheek.

Nothing.

You only mold yourself into a ball.

Aaron hesitates whether to stay or leave you alone. It's true that you said he's welcome anytime, but you're definitely in no condition to entertain his own problems when you can't even look him in the eye the way you would, no matter how insufferable he is.

But he can't just leave you by yourself either. Nothing is stopping him, but he's not cold-blooded enough.

"It's not easy," Aaron fractures out of his trance at the sound of your small voice. You look at him with a tight-lipped smile. "This job, I mean."

You inhale a sharp breath, tucking your lower lip between your teeth. "I can be hopeful, positive, supportive… Everything to prove that a better life is possible, but at the end of the day, it's not my choice." You wryly chuckle. "It's the patient's. It's your decision to want to feel better. To want to change. To want to live—" You choke, and the tears flow once more.

"It's not about me, but I can't help feeling like a failure." Sobs spill off your lips, gasping for air. "I was supposed to make everything better. I was supposed to heal everyone and save everyone from whatever monster was hurting them. She said she's never felt so much better. She said it's the first time she felt so peaceful for years, Hotchner. She said she was looking forward to our next session. But she just… I didn't—" You gulp—struggling. "I didn't catch it. I didn't catch her lie. And hours later, I get a call from her mother telling me she— she died." Your hands shakily clasp your mouth to push the sobs back, but you fail.

Aaron doesn't know what to say.

But he knows what to feel.

He knows it well.

The guilt. The shame of never living up to your own promise. The pain of losing someone you swore to keep safe.

Then, it hits him like a wrecking ball.

How difficult of a patient was he before?

Has he ever made you cry before?

It's a stretch that you'd ever shed a tear over his stubbornness, but Aaron hopes you never did.

Because he's never seen anyone care so much despite getting all the hate. Despite taking all the blame. You stood your ground and became other people's foundation. You became their comfort.

You became the only thing that gave him serenity.

With the little time he's known you—a total of 43 genuine friendly hours—Aaron can testify in heaven that they had mistakenly dropped you into the earth. And he's never felt blessed to have someone like you. Never felt lucky enough to find someone with who he could feel broken as much as he could but never needed to save face.

So, he's heartbroken for you. And guilty that more than half of the time you'd known him, he made your passion a miserable experience.

And also guilty of developing feelings for you.

Saturday, August 13, 4:16 PM

"I'm not playing favorites, but your tech analyst definitely deserves better than being cooped up in the bureau's building." You say, plopping on the sofa with a soft bounce and a squeak from the coil spring.

Aaron hands you a glass of bourbon while sipping his own. Eyes fixated on the board on your coffee table. "I have no other choice. It's the only way to keep her safe. Unless you're willing to adopt her, I don't want to hear it." He chuckles, connecting his brows at the sight of your winning streak.

You two are playing Scrabble. It was Monopoly twenty minutes ago, but along the lines, you learned how butt-hurt a six-foot and two-inch man can get. Not an enlightening experience. It would have been two stars if you had to rate it.

So, you switched to Scrabble.

And Aaron is losing again.

Boy, were you so entertained.

He just came back from a fairly short case from Los Angeles. The case is not heavy or mentally draining—according to Aaron, but Jack's at a two-day sleepover, and Aaron has no idea how to spend the rest of his day—turning down Derek Morgan's and David Rossi's invitation to grab a drink at O'Keefe's with you in mind.

Aaron leans on the back of his seat. You don't know when your reclining armchair became his designated seat, but you noticed how lax he is in it and didn't question it further.

Months and months of relaxing stillness in your home—only ever full of bizarre surprises and irresistible joy whenever Aaron knocks at your door. With no means of communication or ever seeing each other at either workplace, Aaron's visits are welcomed but never fully anticipated. Thrilling.

Spelling the word 'loser' on the board with triple points, you bite the tissue inside your lower lip. "Maybe you can play Scrabble with her. Who knows, maybe you'll get lucky and win." You grin smugly at him.

Aaron gapes at you with a mixture of disbelief and merriment. He looks down on the flat entertainment, then back to you as he blinks. "You're cheating." He declares, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

A hearty laugh Aaron's never heard before roars out of you, and it's melodic to his ears. The meringue light spills through the forgotten open blinds of your window, painting your face with a dreamy filter. Aaron feels dizzy at the sight.

Your smile is contagious, and out of nowhere, his heart starts to pick up as if he'd caught whatever illness your radiant lips had by only staring at it. The loose hair over your forehead frames your face differently—different good. Like you'd been glowing, and the watts in your core mysteriously increased, so you're as bright as the sun and as warm as its light.

"You're just a sore loser. Suck it up, Hotchner." You shake with mirth, casually running dainty fingers along the curve of your ear.

"Aaron," He blurts too fast, too soon—too late to take back.

With a nonchalant shrug, you rephrase, "Suck. It. Up. Aaron." Much more emphasis and friskiness.

You tease him more about his lack of greatness in board games compared to his undeniable talent in every case the BAU encountered. But Aaron's already dazed by your lips calling his name.

Without either of you realizing it, 4 PM became AM.

Talk about abusing one's privileges. Aaron's moderately good at that. You conclude he's simply a strutting opportunist.

After the longest winning streak you've ever had in your life, you and Aaron decided to take a much-needed break and fell into silent reading—or, in your case, grooming your schedule for the next five months.

Midnight strikes along the grumble of Aaron's stomach. You two were too quiet. It echoed all over your apartment. Both of you fell into an obstreperous fit of laughter for another hour, stopping for a minute in between only to laugh some more as soon as you met each other's eyes.

Now, it's four in the morning. You're busy munching on Chinese takeout from a 24-hour restaurant Aaron called in. He claims he has handsome privilege courtesy of the owner, which you mockingly laughed at, to his dismay.

"I'm still terrified." He blurts.

The case must've been very difficult, then. He lied yesterday. However, at this point in your friendship, you expect him to do so, even if it's obvious.

You'd long given up on coaxing Aaron to talk about the case that brought him to your office. Or any other cases that got him knocking on your door at the most unreasonable hour. You thought that the best you could offer him was the comfort that no matter how beaten up he looked, you'd ask no questions and let him sort his boggled mind until he was ready to talk about it.

Looks like tonight's the moment. It only took more than a year, so it is not a big deal—to either of you, at least.

He looks at you when you remain quiet, silently asking for your permission. You nod, and he continues, "What Peter Lewis did to me was terrorizing. I always wonder whether I'm making the right decision or sending my agents straight to their deaths. I second guess. I'm scared that a part of him is still in my head, driving me to make a fatal mistake." Aaron starts playing with his food, poking an orange chicken with his chopsticks.

The memory brings a tangy taste to his tongue, and Aaron can't help but cringe. It's the first time he's ever talked about Peter Lewis. Granted, Aaron spoke about the event numerous times but never about how it made him feel. Never how it broke him.

Is it weird to say you're a little proud of Aaron?

Of course, you don't tell him that. Not out loud. You know he knows you're proud of him. And that's enough said.

With a few audible chews—caused by a carrot bit stuck between your teeth—that somehow doesn't piss Aaron off, you swallow the food and draw your lips into a thin line. You place the chopsticks on the side, wiping the rim of your mouth.

You know he's watching you. Anticipatingly waiting for a response for anything other than the silence he's accustomed to.

"Breathe," You gently instruct, clear enough for him to hear but not too loud for Aaron to jump in shock.

And he does.

His shoulder blades rise and fall into a soft rhythm. Aaron was holding his breath, and you knew. Of course, you knew.

"Do you know the purpose of defense mechanisms?" You quiz him, earning a nod from Aaron, and yet no following answer. "You were already mad at me even before we met. And for what? Nothing concrete, I'm sure."

Aaron was about to object, but you raised your hand to stop him, "I'm not trying to attack you. All I'm saying is that rather than being in denial, you displaced your frustration on someone else less threatening—me."

Silence.

"I'm sorry—"

"I'm not done, shush!" You close your fist to mute him, cutting him off.

Aaron subtly rolls his eyes. He started doing so on his fifth visit when Aaron brought Jack and a few video games.

He told you that Jack's heard about your interest in a couple of games and wanted to play with you, but you know damn well Aaron bought the game for himself. Nonetheless, you entertained them by teaming up with Jack and obliterating Aaron. He vowed never to play against you ever again, at least not to your face.

"I would never know the pain and suffering that you went through. And somehow, even with that fact, a part of your life was in the palm of my hand. You had no control, but I did. So, instead of understanding the why, you hated the wrong who. And it's okay."

You take a sip from your straw, and a bubbly sensation fills you. Your tongue glides over your lips as you lean against the counter. "In short, for a man who's been through a lot, you know how to cope." A shrug ends your sentence, grabbing another bite of chow mein on your plate.

"Yeah, right," Aaron scoffs. The sincerity in your voice sparks something in him. It's giddy and tempting. But he can't possibly show the smile that's itching to spread his lips.

But his nonchalance may have triggered something in you because Aaron doesn't expect your next move. His neck felt like a snapped glow stick after you manually turned his head to face you—grabbing him by the space between his neck and chin. Aaron widens his eyes in the process.

"Listen here, you stubborn poopy head." You start, forehead creasing.

Aaron badly wanted to poke fun at your poor, intimidating skills, but he realized you didn't need any pointers just by the glare in your eyes.

"Peter Lewis got to your head, but that doesn't mean you were weak to let him. Yes, you fought through the influence of the drug heroically. Yes, you saved your agents and, most importantly, yourself. But it's still okay to be scared. It's okay that you feel broken. Who says broken things aren't great?"

It might be the sleep deprivation that's hitting Aaron, but he's very much enjoying your little fuse. How your words meant nothing like how you sound.

"That silver watch of yours—" you glance at his wrist "—has been broken for years, but I bet if you pawn it, it'll be more valuable than me. Antiques are expensive because they have unique histories. They survived beaten up, scratched, damaged, but still as beautiful as ever."

You're rambling, explaining more than you need to. Felt obligated to drill in his mind that despite the bad things, Aaron remains good. You're uncertain—clueless—as to why you felt the need to prove his praiseworthy, almost as if you're trying to convince yourself rather than him.

"From my observation, you're a sharper profiler despite all the things you went through. A part of you suffered and died in that house and many houses before. Of course, you'll be broken. You're a human being, Aaron. Act like one for Pete's sake!"

"I don't know whether you're being nice or mean." He chuckles with a mischievous grin, marveling at the way your eyes narrow as you look at him.

"I liked you better when you didn't talk." You tut, rolling your eyes.

For a moment, your senses heighten, and the simple brush of his hand against the skin over your wrist, as he takes your hold off him, sends billions of electricity throughout your body.

Aaron smiles—genuinely. "Thank you," He says softly, clearing his throat. His hand is still tight around your wrist. "You simply could've slammed the door the first time I knocked, but you always let me in. I appreciate you tolerating me."

You laugh, retracting your hands off his skin before you melt in his grasp. "I did not let you in the first time. You barged in like I'm some fugitive." You fix your posture on the stool beneath you, looking away.

His chuckle wakes the butterflies in your stomach, and you shove them right back down by stuffing your mouth with food.

Your eyes catch a glimpse of the time, "Y-you better go home and change before your son wonders why his father smells like Chinese food for Sunday brunch. Jack's a big fan of good 'ole syrupy pancakes, there's a good one by the bureau's building. Better hurry up and pick him up." It's amazing how much you almost choked and stuttered as you spoke, hoping that Aaron wouldn't question the way your demeanor changed.

Aaron takes one last bite before towering next to you, "Let me clean up. It's the least I can do for imposing half of your weekend." He insists, swiping the styrofoam off your hands.

"Glad you got manners," You nod approvingly, earning another chuckle from him, making sure you gave him enough space to move around without brushing any part of your body, or you wouldn't know what the brewing feeling in your chest would make you do.

You mindlessly peer at Aaron's broad shoulders and dark hair that looks so soft you wonder if it'll melt with your touch. You blink, catching yourself mid-swoon.

After a few minutes, Aaron bids you goodbye and you wish him well, asking to relay a short message to Jack.

"I think you're only nice to me because of Jack," He jokes, pivoting on the heel of his shoes to get one last glimpse of you.

You give him a tight smile, raising your brows as you shrug.

One visit left.

Thursday, May 5, 12:51 PM

The news said Mr. Scratch escaped prison. Peter Lewis is out and about, no doubt, planning serious harm against Aaron. You turn the TV off. The image shrinks into a small diamond spark 'til it leaves a dark screen.

Ninety-eight beats per minute are your normal, but you surmise it's about a hundred and twelve at the moment as your mind anxiously ruminates your not-so-favorite-unofficial patient's well-being.

You glance at your phone, debating whether to give him a call, but even if you gain the guts to do so, you don't have his number. Who knew that refusing personal contacts would backfire? Aaron can knock anytime, you said. It doesn't matter whether he texts or calls before, you said.

Now, you have no means of contacting him, and you refuse to resort to his ways—going through his file like he went through yours.

It's a shitty feeling.

You keep your fingers as far away from your mouth as possible, afraid you'll bite your nails to its quick. If Aaron was with you, he'd say something annoyingly witty about how your anxiety's too easy to read, and you'd be bantering back a remark about his tells that not many notice but sure slightly pisses him off that you know him like the back of your hand.

Eyes dart in the direction of your entryway, waiting for any distinctive sound only Aaron makes whenever he closes the door like a teenager coming home past curfew.

"This is driving me crazy!" You ruffle your own hair, rubbing your face in frustration.

Tempted to wait outside your door for Aaron to arrive, in need of a company. A once-in-a-lifetime bone-crushing hug, given by yours truly. Or open up the 1997 Old Forester bourbon on top of your shelf that Aaron's been eyeing for a year.

You need to know if he's okay. You need to see that he's okay. Physically, mentally, and emotionally okay.

No one ever knocked.

Friday, November 18, 2:33 PM

"Aren't you curious?"

You look at Rossi, "About?" Your eyebrows pinch together. You backtrack the entire session in your mind, trying to remember if there is anything you are supposed to be curious about.

There's none.

Rossi turns to face you, a hand emerging out of his pocket. "You're not curious where he's been? I've known him for years, and I've never been more curious about his whereabouts 'til now." The hand waves around as each syllable flows, and slices the air every emphasis he makes like a conductor of his emotions.

He usually talks with his hand whenever he's emotionally troubled, attempting to make a point to himself, justifying that his feelings are reasonable.

David Rossi has been your patient for years; you can write any and everything about him into a best-selling book.

"You said it yourself, Dave," You shrugged with your arms. "You've known him for years. He and I saw each other a couple of times during our physician-patient interaction. Any interaction we had after is just the two of us drowning in silence."

Aaron never knocked that day.

He hasn't redeemed his last visit for the past five months. While it isn't the longest time he's never stopped by, you're bitter about it.

You couldn't sleep for a week after Peter Lewis escaped prison. You were afraid that Aaron's name would flash across any type of screen or mark a headline on every article and newspaper. You had to take anxiety medication to stop your body from trembling whenever the thought of him crossed your mind.

It was hell.

The utter hopelessness and lack of courage teared you apart. The strangeness. The nonexistence. You don't reckon a conversation with Aaron that involves you and him. Only you or him or whatever depressing topic comes up. You're not even sure if you had actual conversations. Always wallowing in silence while sipping either scotch or coffee.

But you two had a deal. No catch. Not even feelings. Developing one for Aaron did not cross your mind when you granted him the power to bother you at any running time.

All of it is to say you wish you had known Aaron's last visit was, in fact, the last.

Rossi squints, "You're telling me the quietness you shared didn't matter? That his company didn't benefit you the same way it did for him?" He stands tall, pleased with his words.

It did.

Of course, it did.

And you loved every second of it.

Even if you realize it too late.

But you won't say that to Rossi. Or to anyone ever.

A sigh drops your shoulders. You give him a blank stare, letting his question hover for a moment. "What do you want me to say?" You continue packing up your things on your desk, breaking eye contact.

If you knew David Rossi like the back of your hand, David Rossi knew you like every family of the victims he managed to save.

Worried.

Heartbroken.

Hurt.

Aaron never told Rossi about any interactions with you after he was released from your care. It's information Rossi's only ever heard a confirmation from you. But he knew it from the moment Aaron came to work after his first session with you and couldn't seem to get the specific idea of you out of his head.

"We're doing everything we can to catch Peter Lewis. Aaron will be back, I promise."

Pause.

You fight your every single sense to remain composed. Hearing Aaron's name instantly made you crumble. The sound of it hitting your chest with such force you had to bite the tissue behind your closed lip. You badly wanted—needed to cry and throw a tantrum.

The inner ends of your brows lift up as you nod, "Good for you... and for him. I'll see you in two weeks, Dave." You dismiss, walking around your desk to push him out of your office.

"Wait, wait! Just listen!" You retract your hands off his back and let him face you. "He's okay. He and Jack are safe somewhere I, unfortunately, don't know." He tries to meet your gaze—successful. "But! But that's a good thing. Not knowing where he is while in protective custody is good. Safe. I just thought you'd want to know."

You nod, "Certainly a good information, Dave. But not really necessary." Your tongue subtly swipes the bottom of your lips. "Aa—Agent Hotchner was a patient. Anything outside of that is not my business." Liar.

Rossi tucks his mouth into a thin line, nodding. "See you in two weeks, kid."

Tuesday, March 27, 6:12 PM

It's a nice Spring.

Your hair dances like the breeze is music as you trudge back to your apartment against the rush hour sidewalk traffic.

A year and a half.

You moved to a different place since then.

Moved on— from something that never existed, but really, your old complex just ran out of business.

You couldn't possibly move on, even if you wanted to.

"Good evening, Mrs. Willows," You smile at the old lady as she steps on the base of the stairs.

Mrs. Willows was old, close to ninety. And she's the best landlady you've ever met.

She smiles back, "Oh, just in time!" She waddles towards you, scraping the soles of her flats against the creaky floorboards.

"Did you need anything, Mrs—"

The old lady doesn't let you finish when she yanks you back up the stairs. Confusion fills you, but if you are being honest, you're more amazed by her speed. You didn't know it was possible for her to have that much energy.

"There's this handsome boy knocking at your door earlier. So, I let him in."

You dig your feet on one of the steps, halting her. "Mrs. Willows, you let a stranger in my house?" Your brows knit.

She looks at you, "Well, I figured it's one of your patients." She shrugs.

"I wasn't expecting any home visit today." You announce, peeking at the top of the stairs. "And I would've been home if there was…"

You excuse yourself, cautiously walking towards your door. The floor plan is different from your old apartment. But everything still felt the same.

The anxiety of a random stranger going through your place left you rushing to the living room. You don't exactly let any random patient inside your home. It's usually the profilers that seem to have a liking to you that lucked the privilege to visit your home at any given time.

"I'm sorry, but you're gonna have to set an appointment at the clinic—" you abruptly stop, blinking.

Aaron Hotchner.

He's sat on the armchair, only lifting his gaze after he'd closed the book you were reading before you decided to step out to run some errands.

He is wearing a navy blue quarter zip sweater and a white shirt, peeking from under. It's paired with loose-fitting gray casual pants. Like his closet had an upset stomach and threw up all over him.

The bags under his eyes are almost invisible. It used to be a tint of greenish purple. A proof of his late nights and stressful days. He's caught up with sleep for a while now.

His hair, a little longer than you're accustomed to, somehow made him look young and boyish. Probably why Mrs. Willows referred to him as a boy.

It's quite an image. Not one you'd expect to see upon opening your front door, but you mentally admit liking it.

He looks refreshing and well-rested.

"I heard you started your own practice?" He didn't mean to form it as a question, tongue-tied by nervousness. He flashes an awkward, subtle smile, dipping his hands into his pockets.

Your lashes flutter like butterflies gliding through the soft wind of Spring, except you're struggling to go against the breeze, winded by the city pollution.

"H-have you eaten?" You ask, snapping out of your trance as you head to the kitchen. Great. A question for a question. You're as nervous as he is, and you don't feel the need to hide it, though you aren't inclined to admit it.

He chuckles, and it still makes you melt after a year of trying to remember how it sounds, "That's your first question? Not 'What are you doing here?' or 'How did you find me?'" He follows you to the kitchen, it's a lot smaller than the one at your old place but you had a dinner table now, which still feels like an upgrade.

You turn and face him, leaning against the counter, "I'll just charge the entire team on their next visit. But I have a feeling David's the culprit." You blurt, earning raised brows from Aaron. "Oh? They didn't tell you? Your team unofficially designated me as their psychiatrist. I guess they also kept an important information from you." You twist on your feet to focus on the produce you carefully picked in hopes someone would join you for dinner.

But you didn't expect Aaron to be that person.

"Are you mad at me?"

"No!" You almost stumble as you spin back to face him. "I'm in no position to be mad. If a patient doesn't need my services, then I have no say." You lick the lower of your lip, biting it as soon as your tongue glides past. Heat pooling in the back of your eyes.

Aaron steps closer, "I didn't mean to—"

"I told you I'm not mad."

"You're really going to lie to an FBI profiler?"

"Former," You correct him, sniffing as you fight the tears from rolling down your cheeks. Your head's tilted up, almost facing the ceiling. Anger and frustration hammer into your chest.

He rolls his eyes, trying to catch yours. "Former, right." He parrots with a little more sarcasm. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you anything... I needed to make sure Jack's safe." He softly speaks, making sure you understand every syllable.

It's your turn to roll your eyes, blinking and letting a tear fall in the process. "You don't have to apologize for protecting your son. I'm not evil, Hotchner. I'll do the same thing for my family. I'm completely indifferent about your disappearance, and i-it's allergy season. I'm fine." You wipe the tear stain off your face.

"I missed hearing you say my name like it's a foul word." Aaron smiles so brightly you thought you were dead and some divine was just using his image to guide you across.

"Seriously? That's what you took from it?" You shake your head, turning your back to him once more. "I feel bad for Jack now that you're a full-time father."

Aaron laughs, and by definition. "Oh, he's had enough of me." His eyebrows jump on his forehead, drifting his eyes aside as if he's replaying every instance Jack's complained to him.

You laugh, too. A full hearty laugh that seems to source from the casualty between the two of you despite the irritation you felt.

It's still the same. The ease. The effortless flow and connection despite anxious nerves. It felt like talking to an old friend you've known longer than you are alive.

You nibble on your lips, "So? You're off protective custody, or do I have to call you Brad?" You quiz airily, back still facing him to hide any form of amusement that's forming on your facial features.

"Brad?" He scoffs, crossing his arms and knitting his brows. He sounds about offended as if you'd disrespected his entire bloodline.

"Yeah, you look like a Brad to me." You remember a story from the women in the BAU. One that they happily shared one evening at Rossi's before they all begged to be added to your list of patients once you start your private practice.

Aaron lets out another scoff. "No, I'm just Aaron. Aaron to everyone. Aaron to you." He grumbles something under his breath that you don't hear, but a clear indication of his disapproval regarding the name.

You stifle a giggle, "Well, just Aaron. Consider yourself lucky that I got a free slot. I would've been with a patient by now." You state.

"Am I really just a patient to you?" Aaron inquires from behind you. He attentively observes for any subtle movement or expression in your voice. There's a longing look in his eyes that you aren't aware of. A frown drops his lips as he adds, "I at least thought we were friends."

"Mm," You hum a chuckle, "More like my stalker. But sure, we'll go with yours... friends—"

He spins you by the waist, and you're not sure if your initial thought of dreaming is ending anytime soon as your body tenses under his hold.

A small yelp squeaks out of you, hands flying behind you on the counter as if to hold yourself up from your wobbly feet. And you're certain both of you can hear the loud pulse on your carotid.

"Hotchner, what the hell?!" You chastise, pulling back, but to no avail. Caged and pinned by his strength, and you're too baffled to react accordingly.

"I'd like to redeem my tenth visit." Aaron smiles from ear to ear. You never thought it possible for a stern-faced man to ever grin this wide. To ever be this bright and bubbly.

Aaron keeps the two of you that way for a few minutes. His face is a few inches from yours. You can hear him calculating in his head.

Only the busy street outside and one of your neighbor's loud TV fills the silence.

"Your pupils are dilated." Aaron grins mischievously. He further scans your face, the same way he did when he used to be your patient, reading you like it's his job to know every micro-movement and expression you make.

Your eyes widen, "Stop—" Your voice barely comes out, breath hitching halfway through your throat. "—profiling me." The space between you and his body feels suffocatingly good. It's making you dizzy.

"Usually, you're composed, but you can barely look me in the eyes." His hands remain on your hips, and every twitch of it makes you stiff like a statue. "Am I making you nervous?" He quips wittily.

Like a switch, your heart rate steadies, and his image becomes clear.

It's Aaron Hotchner.

Just Aaron, he said.

Warmth surges through your veins. You stare at the grin on his face.

Your head tilts, and you blink excruciatingly slow. "Are you trying to ask me out, Hotchner?" You mirror the trail of his eyes like a map.

Aaron beams like he'd won the lottery. Sending you impulsive thoughts such as kissing the smile off his face.

It's tempting and nauseating.

And if he doesn't stop, you just might.

"Ten."

Your eyebrows merge in confusion, "What?"

"Ten dates," He breathes as he looks you in the eye. "Let me take you out on ten dates. Then you can decide if I'm just one of your many stubborn patients or if I can be more. Let me make it up to you in ten dates. Please." He implores, hopeful, or rather knowing that you'd say yes.

And he'd be right.

All you want at that moment is to say yes.

But teasing him won't hurt, at least not you.

"And what's in it for me?" You try your best not to smile as you taunt him.

Aaron rolls his eyes, but his grin tugs the corner of his lips up. "You get unlimited access to me?"

"Wow, that's... very compelling." And you burst out laughing, folding on your stomach as you lean against his chest. You inhale, "Sorry, I expected better negotiation. Uh, any catch?" You say between chuckles.

He shakes his head, "Just one condition," He's chuckling now, too. Not immune from your contagious giggles. "I spend most of my days with you. Even if it's just sitting in silence. I want it to be with you." He lets go of one of your hips and tucks a strand behind your ear.

The giggles die down a bit, gazing at him with reverie. You nod after a few seconds, squeezing his arms. You lift yourself, tiptoeing, closing the gap.

You leave a quick, soft peck on his lips, smiling as you get back on your feet.

Aaron smiles, and you're as ecstatic as he is.

Another nod fills your chest with utter joy as you breathe in euphoria.

"Ten's a good number."

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #ssa aaron hotchner #fem!reader #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner criminal minds #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch #cm #criminalminds #bau team

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gyeomsweetgyeom · 1 year ago

Text

[7:37 pm]

(cw: f!reader, a few curse words, no hate at all to business majors xx)

“Baby! Come on you know I didn’t mean it!” Fratboy!Jaehyun calls out with a laugh in his voice.

“You called me stupid, Jaehyun," You pout.

He fails to hide his laugh at the sight, "No, I said don't be stupid. There's a difference."

"And there's a difference between being single and having a girlfriend, asshole," you reply, slamming the door behind you.

You stomp down the stairs and almost make it to the door when Taeyong, your favorite of Jaehyun's frat brothers, asks if you were going to stay for dinner. You can never say no to him.

In the kitchen you help him chop vegetables before he finally asks you what happened, "I told Jaehyun I couldn't spend the night because I had a big project due by Monday and he told me there was no way a project for my major would constitute me not being able to spend the night. Then he just kept talking and said that none of my classes could be harder than his."

Taeyong stopped with wide eyes, "he said that?"

You nod quickly, "Oh yeah, then he told me that he doesn't think any major would be harder than his business classes, especially mine, and I'd be stupid to think so."

Taeyong ends up agreeing with you and your current upset state, Jaehyun is officially in the wrong. You can feel your phone in your pocket vibrating with texts from Jaehyun but you don't care enough to text back. He can learn from the consequences of being rude.

When the meal is finally ready, you take a seat at the table, far away from your honorary seat at the dinner table, the seat that was right beside Jaehyun's.

Jaehyun walks into the room and sees you sitting beside Taeyong and Haechan, "Really? You're still butt hurt? You didn't answer any of my texts, I wasn't sure if you were safe."

You make it a point not to look at him, so Haechan answers for you instead, "You have her location and you made her feel bad, she doesn't owe you anything."

Jaehyun glares at the younger man, he could be so annoying sometimes. While he ate, Jaehyun's eyes were glued on you with a scowl watching you laugh and interact with everyone but him. He looked like a child who was forced to share his favorite toy, it was hilarious.

While you stood in the kitchen and continued conversing with Taeyong, Jaehyun slipped in and wrapped his arms around your waist, "are you really still mad at me baby?"

"Yes, Jaehyun," You reply curtly, not reciprocating any type of affection like you would usually. This was new for everyone to witness, usually it was you giving the affection. It was you who initiated the hugs, used the mushy petnames, began the disgusting make out sessions. It was funny to see Jaehyun being the clingier of you two now.

He nuzzles his face in your neck, pressing kisses to the slope of your shoulder, "I'm not Jaehyun. I'm your love, your baby, your babe."

"Not when you're being mean."

"I didn't mean to say it," he whines, hearing someone snort out a laugh in the background.

"Jaehyun, I just can't believe you'd say that to me. You're a fucking business major with a 2.8 GPA and I'm on the dean's list with a 3.9. Almost all your classes are freshman level classes. Anything I do is harder than what you do," you finally snap.

"My love, I'm sorry," he cups your face and begins pressing kisses across your face while you still huff in annoyance in his hold.

"I don't like it when you call me stupid or imply that I am," You pout looking up into his eyes.

He presses his forehead to yours, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, "You're not baby. You're so smart and I'm the stupid one."

Someone imitates a whipping noise and mocks, "No, I'm stupid! Me! Me! I'm so stupid!"

"Fucking whipped is what he is," someone else chuckles.

"Would you guys knock it off, I'm trying to apologize to my girlfriend here!" Jaehyun calls out with an annoyed groan.

Another whip noise, "Pretty sure, I heard her call you single bro."

"Did you break up?" Haechan asks hopefully, fingers visibly crossed on both hands.

"Jaehyun gets a pass this time," you reply leaning into Jaehyun to give his cheek a kiss, ignoring the groans of the other guys in the room while he smiles happliy, "but I want flowers too."

He kisses you softly a few times, your face still cradled in his hands while he looks you right in the eye, "then my girl is getting her flowers."

#kpop imagines #kpop au #kpop scenarios #kpop reactions #nct #nct imagines #nct fluff #nct timestamps #nct x reader #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun blurb #jaehyun drabbles #jaehyun timestamps

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strawbeerossi · 1 year ago

Text

Cherry

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: You decide to wear a little tank top to your lecture and you catch the attention of Dr. Reid.

Content/Warnings: Power imbalance, professor/student, age gap (r 20s, s 40s), reader is a bit of a tease, tit worship, oral (m rec), tit fucking, cum on tits.

Word Count: 1.7K

Kinktober Day Twenty Seven: Tit Fucking

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

In your defense you had to do laundry and you just didn’t have the time before your lecture. You were lucky enough to find a pair of shorts, however you were stuck with a tank top that barely covered much of anything. You made sure to get your sweater before heading out, draping it over your shoulders as you were running out of your apartment. Campus was only about a ten minute walk, so you didn’t mind too much taking the brief walk.

As you’d made it to the old building where the criminal justice classes were held, you were pushing open the doors as you headed inside. Taking the same path as usual, it wasn’t long until you were making it to the lecture hall that Dr. Reid used Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. His class was always an interesting one, your love of criminal justice being newfound. At first, you’d audited a separate criminal justice class and ended up being genuinely interested.

As you walked into the heavy doors, you were blushing as all the eyes were on you. You were late, however it wasn’t too bad. Dr. Reid wasn’t on a long tangent yet so you knew you were safe. “Please take a seat.” His voice spoke up while he offered a smile, turning his attention back to the board as he was writing his layout of the lecture. “Make sure you sign the sheet as well, I need to keep track of attendance.”

As you made your way to an empty desk towards the front of the class, you were placing your backpack by your side as you kept your gaze on the board after pulling out your laptop to take notes. You’d spent a good chunk of class asking a majority of questions or being called on. Maybe you were delusional but you felt like he was putting extra focus on you today. You had hardly spoken to your professor, so you weren’t sure why the sudden interest.

It didn’t occur to you that your attire was what had his full attention. The way the white tank top showed off a tasteful view of your cleavage was enough to make Spencer want to drool. He’d always been a fan of tits, having an affinity with them. They were just.. So perfect. Soft, warm, begging to be touched. However, he tried composing himself. You were his student. This was inappropriate.

As the class was coming to an end, you were staying after to apologize for your tardiness. Not many professors accepted such apologies but Dr. Reid was understanding. He knew what it was like to be a student who was all over the place. Today though, he wished you would’ve left. “Dr. Reid, I just wanted to apologize. I know I wasn’t too desperately late but I still feel like it’s my responsibility to let you know that I’m sorry. I didn’t respect your time,”

Spencer was turning to look at you while putting his hands up. “Nonsense. I’d never hold it against you. Things happen.” His face was red as his eyes were struggling to say locked with yours. You were a bit confused by the look on his face but you had brushed it off. “I just feel horrible,” You spoke while you let your arms cross slowly over your chest.

Whenever you did, Spencer couldn’t help but let his eyes cast downwards, your arms under your breasts enough to push them up and give him quite the sight. His hand was slowly moving to straighten out his tie as he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes from your smooth skin. That was hard to ignore so you let your eyes glance down before noticing just what captivated your professor’s attention. Instead of moving to cover your partially exposed chest, you were sticking it out more. You liked the attention, if you were honest. You weren’t used to getting too much of it.

Spencer was licking over his bottom lip while letting his eyes drag up from your chest to your neck, then stopping on your face. “I know what you’re trying to do and it’s inappropriate.” He stated in a simple tone while you raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know what you mean, Dr. Reid. I was just minding my own business and you were staring at my chest. I think you’re the one acting inappropriately, not to mention highly unprofessional.” You stated. There were no hard feelings actually, you just found it incredibly hot to find your professor staring at your body, a hungry look in his eyes.

“Wearing what you are wearing right now is equally inappropriate. Do you know how distracting it is whenever an attractive woman has her tits in your face for the whole lecture and after the fact?” He asked, continuing on with this little game. “You think I’m attractive? I’m flattered, sir.” You didn’t know where the rush of confidence came from, however you enjoyed this. Wearing a tank top and going braless to class wasn't a choice you’d made on purpose, however the reaction it pulled out of your professor was too good to pass up.

“I can always take it off instead?” You suggested. The mere idea being mentioned had your professor groaning lowly as he glanced at the door of the lecture hall. He didn’t have another class for thirty minutes, plus his fellow coworkers weren’t going to barge in because of their own plans. “Come here.” He grunted, waiting for you to get close enough before grabbing your tank top and tugging it down. Your tits spilled over the thin material as he did so, the male letting out a whine of sorts as he brought his hands to your chest. His hands cupped your breasts, giving them a squeeze and eliciting a whine from you. “Can’t believe you wore this to class of all places. I bet you wanted my attention.”

Your cheeks were heating up at the accusation, his hands kneading at your soft flesh as he was dipping his head down to flick his tongue against your right nipple. As he sucked and flicked at the hardened nub, your fingers tangled in his soft curls. “Fuck.” You cursed, watching as your professor was having a field day licking and sucking at your tits. He looked like a boob guy so it made sense on why he’d spend so much time in them. His warm tongue was dragging over every ounce of your skin as he alternated between nipples. While one was in his mouth, the other was being pinched and rolling through his long fingers.

By the time he’d had enough, he was pulling away with a satisfied hum as he assessed the damage he had made. There were purple marks all over your skin, nipples standing at full attention and the shine of his saliva shining under the bright lights of the lecture hall. “Get on your knees.” The man commanded. Who were you to argue? You watched as he was tugging down his pants and boxers just enough to let his hardened cock spring to life, smacking against his abdomen. You were definitely staring, mouth watering as you took in the beauty of the dick in front of you. With a slight curve and bulging veins along with a leaking head, it was a beautiful sight.

“Gonna have to have you get it wet enough so I can fuck those pretty tits of yours.” He murmured, watchinf as you were quick to take the tip of his cock in your mouth. You massaged his slit with your tongue before hearing him tell you to hurry up due to the time getting shorter and shorter until another group of students were coming in. Swallowing down his cock the best of your ability, you were letting your head move slowly along the shaft as your cheeks hollowed. Once he felt like he was lubed up enough to avoid rubbing your skin raw, his hand was roughly gripping your hair before tugging you off of him.

Your hands were coming up to your chest to push your breasts together, watching the male standing above you stroke his cock a few times before getting in a good position. His cock was sliding between them, a low groan leaving his lips. “You look so good on your knees for me.” He commented, voice low as he was starting by slowly slotting his dick through the valley of your tits. “Gonna make a mess of your chest. Gonna show you why you shouldn’t wear shit like that in my class.” He huffed, his thrusts getting a bit more intense by the minute.

As his cock slotted effortlessly through the valley of your breasts, you were dipping your head down to attempt at licking any part of him that you could with each thrust. Even with your spit lubing him up, you knew that you were going to feel the after effects later but you honestly didn’t care. His thrusts continued, eventually growing sloppy as the whines, whimpers and moans were falling from his lips. Even with some dominance, he whined and whimpered with each thrust, relishing in the feeling of your soft flesh enclosing his cock. “I’m gonna cum.” His voice slurred, thrusts still a bit sloppy but it wasn’t long until the warmth of his sticky cum was on your chest, some even on your chin from the line of fire. With his spent decorating your chest, Spencer had to grab his phone to snap a quick picture of you. “You look so sexy, I can’t help myself.” He chuckled.

As he was tucking his cock back into his bottoms and tugging them up, he was grabbing a tissue from his desk before offering it out to you, letting you get cleaned up. Once the tank top was covering your most valuable assets, he was chuckling. “You should get out of here.” He commented, making you nod as you tried to make yourself look presentable. On your way out, you stopped when you heard his voice. “Oh, by the way.” He began, making you turn.

“Never wear a tank top to my class again.”

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thetxtdevil · 22 days ago

Text

Strawberry Dreams

Blueberry Boy!Kai x Strawberry Shortcake!Reader

summary: Kai knows a girl and he knows that no one is sweeter. She's got that special touch.

content: nsfw/mdni short thoughts, aphrodisiac body, fem.reader, innocent reader+kai kinda corrupting each other, oral (f. & m. rec), breeding kink, descriptions of cum, cum eating, missionary, riding

word count: 900

In Strawberryland where all the people are happy and a little fruity. A big plump strawberry cottage sits in a green meadow and across was a just as big blueberry house. Cute, shy, Blueberry Boy Kai, sits and waits watching your house. Waiting until his best friend opens her red and white striped curtains and unlock the top of her front dutch door, and like clock work you did. "Hi Kai!" "Hi y/n!!!" You're Strawberry Shortcake, you are Kai's best friend in the world and the most popular girl of the place. You wave to all your friends while riding your bike all through town and to your bakery booth. While Blueberry Kai follows you close behind. Your booth is open 5 days a week at the Strawberryland Farmers' Market and Kai is always there to help you set up.

On your free days you were consistently making your strawberry shortcake desserts while Kai strums his guitar on your pink fluffy rug in your very red living room. "Mmm Kai you need to try this!" The blueberry boy is swift on his feet prepared to grab a spoon to try your new icing, but he stops once he sees your fingers stretched out in front of him. His form bends down to lick your fingers getting more than a taste of your icing. His agrees that the icing tastes really good, but something felt odd... he felt different... Hungry, not in his stomach, hunger burned in his chest down to his groin. Kai's blue eyes study your focused face attention back on your pastry. The next events happens fast, you gasp feeling something soft and wet licking your neck. You look down only to see a fluff of the blueberry boy's sapphire hair. Now you were questioning this same new feeling something weird yet felt good...

Poor, poor strawberry you, you didn't know that your strawberry nature was an aphrodisiac. Now that your blueberry boy had a taste, he's addicted. A whole pandora's box of smut and so on...

Your booth had a late start that Monday when you asked help to bring up the canopy. Kai walks up behind you raising his arms successfully creating a cover for your little shop, but then you feel something poking you. You turn around with worried eyes only to be faced with a predatory stare from Kai. Leading him to fuck you under the table of the booth. Once you begged him to stop because you needed to start business he respectfully stops, but he never leaves his spot under the table. Finding relief to eat you out while you try so hard to give the greatest customer service.

You were an aphrodisiac, but your slick was something more to Blueberry Kai. A sweet taste of fresh strawberries that strike his sweet tooth just right. His long tongue explored your folds intently, learning fast what soft parts have you shaking.

But who knew your best friend would make you just as obsessive. It seemed like Blueberry Kai's scent became stronger every sexual encounter you two had. He had an earthy scent that smelled close to a childhood memory made you feel warm inside. His cheeks turned the brightest pink every kiss you gave. Head lowering down to what seemed like a chronically erected dick, you soon found another addiction, his purple blueberry scone flavored cum. So sweet yet a little salty, you'd do anything to hear his whimpered moans and to get your tongue a shade of his lilac cum.

"Come on, Shortcake, what's taking you so long?" You bite your tongue as your hear your lemony friend call out. "B-berry I was supposed to go out with my friends today." However you were far from ready to go out, at that moment your legs were over Kai's shoulders while he was balls deep in you. "Come on, sweet, just one more." it will be 3 more until that blueberry is tired and you can go hangout with your friends

Let me take it a step further and mention Kai's new found breeding kink and loving the idea of a strawberry/blueberry hybrid child. You're making a pie with a mini version of him with purple hair, that's what he envisions when he sees you all creampied with his cum. You make Kai want to do it again and again when you whine out of arousal every time he pushes his sweet cum back in your cunt.

A sweet picnic turned into a make-out session. You two bike down the road eventually turning into a dirt path next to a big lake. Laying a gingham blanket on the plush emerald grass, shaded by the trees that encapsulate the area. You sit close to the Blueberry Boy, feeding him a triangular cut jelly sandwich. Oops, some jelly is left on his lip, you lick it off. Leading to a kiss, to an open mouth kiss, his tongue gets a taste of you quickly reminded of the fact that you're a walking aphrodisiac. Kai picks you up to put you on his lap, not wasting time to have you watching the small waves of the water while riding his big cock. :')

This goes to show that Blueberry Boy Kai and Strawberry Shortcake you are a very fluffy couple. So sweet just like your names, but please PLEASE don't have Kai get too close to you or you will be split into two strawberries.

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil 🍓 🫐

taglist: @inkigayocamman, @naoristerling, @incogrio, @biteyoubiteme

#txt devil #txt hard thoughts #txt hard hours #txt smut #txt x reader #txt x you #txt x y/n #txt thoughts #txt imagines #hueningkai imagines #huening kai smut #hueningkai smut #hueningkai x reader #hueningkai hard thoughts #hueningkai hard hours #hyuka hard hours #hyuka smut #hyuka x reader

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carolmunson · 1 year ago

Text

the cars that go boom | (daddydom!sadist!eddie)

this fic isn't related to the title song reference at all, it's just stuck in my head. needed to get this out of my drafts so here's some ddlg themed sadist eddie that's been sitting in my draft folder for fucking ever and i'm sick of looking at it. tw: 18+ mdni ddlg dynamics, daddy kink, eddie being all over a cocky shit bag hottie who likes control but it's consensual, use of a vibrating toy. lots of allusions to other sex.

You watch him get out of the bathroom after his shower, tattoos stretched taught over softly cut muscles. You almost drool. He tried something new with you this week, an orgasm ban -- nearly a sex ban -- in fact, he didn't even want you to see his dick. And much like he always does when he finds a new way to torture you; he was feeling really pleased with himself about it.

'That's more than you deserve,' he hissed at you Monday night while you knelt obediently between his legs. He pet your hair while you watched TV and he jerked himself off, you were not allowed to turn around until he was finished. You pouted all night, and when it happened the next day you started pouting all week. But, the week was over, which meant your punishment was done. You'd spent all day getting ready, a long shower, smooth skin, body butter, his favorite perfume, everything you could do to feel perfect for him. You cleaned the trailer and made dinner, you kissed him when he got in the door to which he blushed and smiled.

'Hi beautiful,' he greeted you so gently, 'I missed you today.'

You watch him dress now, hair dripping while he tugs on a pair of grey sweatpants and a ratty cut off Iron Maiden t-shirt. You sulk a little. Those aren't normally the clothes he'd put on if he wanted to take you to bed, but you don't say anything just yet.

He goes to the kitchen table with a composition notebook and a collection of pens and markers, opening the beat up pages to what you can only assume is a new campaign, a new drawing of a map. You walk over while he mulls over it, adding new territory, scribbling in new lore. You let your hands slide over his shoulders.

"Hi baby," you say sweetly.

"Hi," he responds, focused on his notebook. Your hands slide forward, onto his chest, your face leaning down to his, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Whatcha doing?" you ask innocently.

"Workin' on a campaign," he responds, "We're gonna meet up on Wednesday night so I want it to be semi together."

"Okay," you nod, you run your fingers gently over his scalp, giving him a soft scratch. He keens into the touch, shoulders relaxing while he rolls his head back. You press your luck, letting your fingertip trace over the curve of his ear.

"Hey," he warns softly, "I'm tryin' to focus, sweetheart."

"Oh, I'm sorry," you apologize, but he can't see your grin. Your fingers continue to wander, giving him a sweet shoulder massage while he reads over his story. A quiet 'thank you honey', falls from his full lips while you work out the knots. You press your luck again, trailing your finger down the line of his neck that's the most sensitive to your tongue and touch. Eddie's shoulders tense and he sits up straight, turning to you with a sour pull at his full lips.

"Do you need something?" he asks pointedly. You feel heat rush to your cheeks, "Do you need some attention?"

You nod and he grins, pulling the other kitchen chair over, "Come sit next to me then, you can help."

You roll your eyes and sit down next to him, he bites his tongue at the offense, happy to get to spend some time with you like this. He gives you a chaste kiss on your cheek while you watch him work.

You barely 'help', just sitting there while he crosses things out and re-writes them. While he flips back ten pages and then forward twenty, grabbing a red pencil and putting it down for a blue pencil then picking the red back up and so on. You get restless watching him work, so you get up and grab each of you a beer. Another sugar sweet, 'thaaank you baby,' pours from him, this time deep and focused, dark and syrupy. Molasses tongue. It goes right to your thighs.

You press your luck a third time, scooting close to him, letting your hand smooth over his covered thigh and further up, skimming over his cock that was perfectly outlined in his sweats. He let's out a frustrated sigh when he takes your hand away from his crotch, gently putting it on your lap when he looks at you sternly.

"Daddy's busy, baby," his eyes look down at you, his dominance brewing under angry brows, "Why don't you go play by yourself in another room, hm?"

He turns his attention back to the campaign notebook, while you throb from being scolded. The humilation pools through you when he chastises you, eyes lingering on you while you continue to sit there. After a beat, you get up to walk to the bedroom hearing his voice as you do.

"Good girl," he teases, "Are you being a good listener?"

You look back and see his grin while he leans back in the kitchen chair, crossing his arms. His legs are spread wide under the table, cool authority flowing off of him.

"Are you?" he asks again, a smirk cracking his face as if to ask, 'Does this embarrass you?' It does, it's humiliating.

"I'm a very good listener," you respond quietly, heart dropping in your chest.

His brows raise, waiting for you to add more to the sentence. You let out an aggravated huff through your nose, crossing your arms.

"I'm a very good listener, daddy," you repeat.

"There we go," he smiles cruelly, "Go have fun, sweetheart."

'Have fun? HAVE FUN?' you think to yourself while you go to the bedroom and shut the door with a firm click, 'Fine! I'll have fun without you then! See if I care!' It's not fair that you've been quite literally begging to be fucked for seven straight days, but to go straight into teasing you like this? The type of dominance that makes you feel the most -- god -- embarrassed? Degraded? You'd rather gag on fingers and have him wipe your spit on your face. You'd rather him make you lick someone's cum out of his ass, literally anything but this.

With a huff you open Eddie's top dresser drawer and grab the Hitatchi he bought you as an anniversary gift last year. Hastily, you plug it in behind the bedside table before climbing on to bed, shimmying your jeans off and tossing them to the floor.

Your legs spread, bent at the knees, turning the toy on low and slowly lowering it onto your covered core. The hum is quiet, barely a tremble in the head of the wand when it meets the lacy fabric of your panties. A soft gasp escapes you at the feeling, it had felt like years since you'd been touched there. You move the toy up and down slowly, teasing yourself, little puffs of breath escaping you as you do.

With a click, the buzz intensifies, sliding the head upward to settle softly on your clothed clit. You whimper while your hips start to move slowly against the vibrations, the whirr of the toy filling your ears while your eyes shut. You keep yourself like this for a little, enjoying the slow sensation, the mild tease. You feel it start, like the hook looping into the first car of a roller coaster train, the first tug when the attendant hits 'go'.

“Huh!” you gasp out breathy while your hips twitch. Your lower lips start to swell against the gusset of your bottoms, slick building between them. A slow start. You savor it, a small smile pulling at your lips.

“Look so pretty like that, baby,” you hear his voice and gasp, tossing the toy next to you and snapping your legs shut. He smirks, a devilish chuckle bubbles from his chest, “Oh no, don’t let me interrupt. I said you could go play by yourself, and look at you…”

His voice raises in a lilt, while he sits on the bed. He passes you the wand and smiles, “You’re being such a good girl for me.”

“Go on,” he says with a nod, “Show daddy how you were playing.” You lean back on the pillows, opening up your legs again slowly. He glances between them, eyes flitting down to your mound briefly before meeting your eyes again, he subconciously licks his lips. You keep your legs up and bent up against your chest so he has a view, puffing out a soft sigh when you click the toy on again. He looks at you with a hazy gleam in his brown eyes, nodding slowly at you to remind you of his permission. You run it up your thigh before settling it back down on the center of your slit, letting the vibrations pulse over your entire core. "Hm," you hum out softly as your brows pinch together in a tilt. "Aw, yeah?" he coos out, "Does that feel good?"

"Mhm," you whine, lower lip tucked tight between your teeth. Yuo swallow when he reaches his hand out, smoothing over the soft plushness of your inner thigh. He squeezes, grinning when you let out a soft grunt with a twitch of your hips.

"You've been so patient this week," he purrs, "Such a good girl. Isn't that right?"

You nod hurriedly, watching his hand slide up your thigh, his index finger tracing up the hem of your underwear. It's a smooth hand off, watching his rings gleam in the bedside lamp when it wraps around the handle, both of your hands falling flat by your head. Your palms face the ceiling, matching your eyes when he turns up the vibrations. "Isn't that right, baby doll?" he asks, adding a gentle pressure up against you. Your pussy strains against the fabric the more excited you get, back already in a soft arch while you push into the mattress. "Y-yes, sir," you manage to mutter out. "No, no, that's not who I am tonight," he admonishes, still in a soft and steady voice, almost sweet -- like you don't understand anything. He takes the toy away; making you whimper, leaning up on your elbows behind you.

"You know how to address me," he says, a serpentine confidence flashing in his face, "You're a big girl, aren't you? Or do I have to teach you?"

You let out a shrill groan, head leaning back on it's hinge while your legs kick out in frustration in front of you.

"Hmm, of course," he says, getting up off the bed to pull off his shirt and slide off his sweats. His boxer briefs hug him in tight but it's there and it's missed you more than you've missed it this week, "You act like this and you don't think I should treat you like a little girl?"

You look up at him, bitten lower lip jutting out with a sheen of spit.

"So pouty, too," he coos, crawling onto the mattress between your parted thighs. He sits up on his knees, tall over your frame splayed out on the bed. He lifts one of your legs, pressing it flush against his chest so your foot rests by his ear.

"M'not pouty," you say back while his other hand reaches over your cheek with a light back before splaying over your jaw. His thumb brushes your lower lip before pressing on the dip at the center.

"Open," he instructs, you don't even think to stop yourself. You suck his thumb slow, letting your tongue lave over the length all the while. Spit fills your mouth, wet and eager, already inching at the corners of your mouth. You might as well drool. "Very good," he purrs again from the back of his throat, "Someone learned her lesson this week."

You nod, taking his wrist to steady his hand while you take more initiative with his thumb, implying what you really want.

"Don't get too ahead of yourself," he says lowly, taking his thumb from your mouth. He wipes the spit on your cheek before reaching back over to the wand, keeping your legs spread and holding thight to your thigh against his front.

Your hips shimmy when he holds the toy back in place, thumb running over the power button but not pressing down.

"Hey," he says, commanding, "Look up at me."

Your gaze snaps to his in unadulterated obedience, his distaste for even having to ask evident on his face, "You know better."

"I know better," you nod while you say it, confirming his words. "You do not ever stop looking at me," he glowers down.

"I don't ever stop looking at you," you repeat back, needy for whatever he has for you next. Your hips shimmy again, you try to stifle the whine in your throat but it comes out just the same; desperate and childish. "Oh, baby, do you need help asking for what you want?" his voice lilts, "Does daddy have to guess?" "Turn it on, please," you whisper. "Please what, princess?" he asks, voice mocking with a knowing stare, leaning down so your knee hooks over his shoulder. His chest hovers at an angle over you, chain and guitar pick dangling over your lips. "Please what?" he asks again. "Please daddy," you whine, "Please turn the toy on." "Look at those manners," he grins wickedly, "My sweet girl."

He turns it on, speed setting high with the flick of his finger. It rumbles loud, thighs already twitching while runs it back and forth over your sensitive clit. "Fuck," you gasp out, eyes rolling, "Oh my god, right there." "That's not a very nice word, sweetheart," he chastises, "What do you say?"

"S-sorr-Oh! Oh my god! Oh! -- Sorry, d--shitshitshitshit-- sorrysorrysorrysorry," you nearly cry when the cord in your belly snaps, gushing into the fabric against your core. He greedily keeps your thighs apart, watching while you come undone under him. You gulp when he doesn't take the toy away, your sensitive nerves screaming at the buzz of the vibrator. Your hips writhe and jump, trying to pull away from it all the while he's shaking his head no.

"Gotta hear that apology, princess," he murmurs, "Say sorry."

"Sorry daddy, I'm sorry," you babble out, "M'sorry I'll be so good, I'll be good." He let's out a satisfied hum, clicking the wand off and placing it gingerly on the bedside table. His hand lingers for a moment to make sure it doesn't roll off and then finds it's footing back on the mattress.

"You'll be so good?"

"So good," you nod when he settles back between your thighs. He crawls forward like a cat, pressing his hips slowly up against yours. You sigh needily when you feel the drag of his erection against you, whimpering when you see it affect him the same way. "Shit, baby," he smirks, trying not to break character while he grinds against you a second time, "Fuck." "That's not a very nice word," you tease back, looking up at him through heavy lids. "Well I'm not a very nice guy, am I?" he muses, leaning in to kiss you deeply before one hand reaches down to tug at your panties. You giggle, a sound that sends him reeling when he's in this kind of mood. "You're very nice," you whisper against his lips. "Hmm, yeah?" he growls, noses brushing while he lingers above you. He offers another roll of his hips right before he gets to work on pulling your panties down slipping them off of each ankle with ease. Undressed completely below him, he admires you. He hadn't seen you like this all week, finally getting what you've been waiting for. So patient, so willing. He runs his hands from shoulders to hips, greedy fingers digging into you rough and tumble, grabbing and kneading with disregard to comfort. "Daddy," you start, getting his attention in a voice that makes him ready to serve accordingly, "Fuck me."

A smirk splits his face, it's cute when you ask so brazenly when you're busy looking at him with those sad puppy eyes. "Please, fuck me," you reiterate while he readies himself, boxer briefs peeling off to leave him bare. Your soft gasp at the release of his cock is more of an ego trip than he expected to have, never realizing how much you truly need him like this. How you can really only get off to him, how you've submitted in every way you could. "Daddy's gonna fuck you, sweetheart," he says steadily, climbing back ontop of you, pressing your thighs to your chest, "God, m'gonna fuck you real good."

He leans in for another hungry kiss, ownership laced in his lips. When he breaks away you catch his chin in your hand, an action that makes him bristle, jaw clenching at your attempt at control.

"Fuck me like I've been bad," you request in a timbre so low he nearly melts at the sound, "Fuck me how you fuck bad girls."

He's never flipped you over so fast in your life.

#eddie munson smut #dom!eddie munson #daddydom!eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader

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