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yanderenightmare · 1 day ago

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♡ TW: implied nsfw, implied noncon/dubcon, poly yanderes, sprained ankle, captive reader, apocolypse au, talk of fertility and pregnancy

♡ FEM reader

♡ P1: The Bunker

Your ankle feels better after a little over a week.

The one initially against you staying has been giving you medical check-ups every day—something about wasteland toxins and underlying, possible contagious sicknesses he’d like to keep a weathered eye out for.

You hadn’t refused. After all, such precautions were only warranted.

When you first encountered them in the wasteland, they were both wearing hazmat suits and gas masks. And though you had already been put through the standard disinfection and the basic check—eyes, teeth, and tongue—before they’d even let you in, you can’t blame them for taking extra measures—no matter how meticulous the check-ups have been since, comprising of endless spit, blood, and urine samples.

Somehow, you actually appreciated the thoroughness. It was just one more thing that reminded you of the past. The way he sat there, behind the desk like a doctor, and you opposite, like a patient, waiting for your results.

You’d gotten more or less used to it now, so it didn’t feel as awkward anymore. And, if you were to say so yourself, you think he’s even warmed up to you a little bit too.

“You’re all clear. No detectable toxins,” he states after a moment, mulling over the data, more or less the same outcome he’d come to for the last four or so days. He scribbled a few things into the file he’d been conducting, a focused furrow between his brows as he worked. You felt inclined to inquire about what exactly he’d been jotting down all these days of running tests but then decided against it—explaining things to you would probably only vex him. He was a man of as few words as possible, after all.

He sighs, then informs, “We can stop checking every day now.”

“Really?” you light up—feeling excited for some reason. Suppose you took it as a sign of improvement even without knowing entirely what any of it actually meant. In any case, lesser checks must be good, right?

“Yeah. You’re way healthier, thanks to all our produce and not consuming any of that wasteland trash.” He pulled a grimace before his face settled back into that constant look of dour solemnity. “Blood pressure, heart rate, vitals—everything looks good.”

It almost seems like such a silly thing to even bother caring about. Only a few weeks ago, you hadn’t cared for any such thing as health as long as it meant you weren’t starving or freezing—and here you are, celebrating such a privileged thing as blood pressure.

You sniffle, can’t help yourself, balled fists quivering in your lap as a few tears start to drop, “Thank you—truly. I’d have died if it weren’t for the two of you.”

He must think you’re ridiculous, too, crying over something so small. You wipe your eyes, only to notice him holding out a tissue for you. You can only laugh at yourself while accepting it.

“You’ll help me in the greenhouse today since your ankle is all better,” he states while getting up.

You spring to your feet, too. This would be the first time you’d been asked to help out. “What about—”

“He’s busy doing inventory,” he answers before you get the question out. “We’ll have to change a few things since you’re staying.”

This stills you, breath caught in your throat. You look at him wide-eyed, scared you’d heard him wrong. Voice weak as if scared to ask, “I’m staying?”

“Tch—” It’s his turn to chuckle, though he does so much differently from you—mockingly, a way he often does at both your and the other's expense. Though, you’d taken to find it rather endearing. He gives you a look—it’s very almost soft. “You didn’t think we’d waste our resources on something we planned on chucking back out again, did you?”

A tug pulls your wobbly lips back into a smile. “I guess that would be silly...” you sniffle again. “Still, thank you.”

This time, as you say it, you rush to hug him—tightly, with both your arms wrapped around his tough midsection and your head tucked against his broad chest.

It’s him who falls still now—stunted by the action and left both speechless and frozen in place. His arms hover mid-air, unsure of where to rest, before slowly lowering to settle atop your narrow shoulders—so much smaller in comparison. It’s crazy to think you’d endured out in the wasteland for so long.

He’s sure you’ve done things in order to stay alive you’re not at all proud of. Still, your survival is no less than a miracle.

He clears his throat. “Let’s hurry up,” He dismisses, then proceeds to nudge you off as if the hug was unwanted, but even you can spot the blush dusting his cheeks as he looks away with another grumble, “We’re making dinner before he’s done.”

The smile on your face is a sight for sore eyes, he thinks. You didn’t smile like that a week ago.

“Yes, sir.” You salute, following him in stride.

You’d said it innocently enough, but by God, if only you knew how it takes everything in him not to bend you over the medical desk right then and tell you all about how you’re in the perfect window for conceiving.

He manages to steal himself.

After dinner, he promised himself soothingly, calming the hunger in his gut—after dinner, they’d decided, tonight would be the night they’d finally make use of you the real way they’d intended—have you earn your keep.

When you’re done tilling the gardens, about a couple hours later, the two of you move on to the kitchen. You’d learn that the brash one was in charge of making most meals, as the other one was more than hopeless in the kitchen. It seemed you were replacing him as the helper, given simple tasks such as cutting, measuring, and fetching things.

It felt nice to be doing something again, especially something so trivial. Housework and domestic chores were something one could only reminisce about, and yet here you were, doing just that—cutting carrots as if the outside world wasn’t a badland of people killing each other for a can of expired dog food.

You really were so lucky you could hardly believe it. The tears start bubbling again.

“If you’re finished cutting, go to the cupboard over there,” he jolts you out of your thoughts. Not looking away from stirring the pot, he points with his other hand toward the far side of the kitchen.

You pad over and open it to find two dozen or more bottles of wine, all neatly shelved.

“Pick one out,” he calls out.

You blink, looking between the wine and him. “You mean—”

“Anyone of ‘em is fine,” he says. “Feel free to read if you’re looking for something special, though. It’s you were celebrating, after all.”

This time, you can’t stop the tears as they trickle down your face one after the other, soaking your cheeks.

Hearing you sniffle makes him sigh with rust. Scolding you with military toughness, “Quit cryin’ already—it’s getting old.”

You wipe your eyes and stiffen your lip. “Yes, sir.”

Turning your head back to the shelf, you can hardly believe the sight. It had been all moonshine and slop out in the wasteland. Dangerous stuff you were better staying well away from.

You can’t believe you’re going to drink actual wine again—your mouth waters just at the thought as you pick the first bottle you set your eyes on. But then you stop yourself—a guilty knot in your stomach twisting.

“Is it really okay?” you ask. “Shouldn’t we save it?”

“Tch—” he scoffs disapprovingly again. “You gotta stop doin’ that.”

You’re left looking at him even though he keeps his back turned, still busy stirring the pot. He lifts a spoon for tasting, then adds more spice to his liking before continuing as though he could tell you were confused just from the silence.

“You’re not in the wasteland anymore—” he states. “You can afford to live a little now.”

A concept like that had yet to have reached you.

Suppose you were still settling in.

“Besides, there are more in the cellar,” he reveals. “Even if we drank a bottle every day, it would take years for us to finish. So don’t worry your pretty head ‘bout it, a’ight?”

Your grip around the bottle tightens—trying to toughen up to keep the tears at bay. But today was an emotional day, and it seemed there was no end to the blessings you were given. It was all so overwhelming, your heart swelled with happiness—a feeling you hadn’t felt in such an awfully long time.

“Something smells good!” comes a call.

It seems he’s returned from doing inventory.

“Oh no, why are you crying?” He instantly rushes over to you, holding your face to inspect the damage, then snaps his head to the other, who’s still busying himself with perfecting dinner. “Are you being too harsh on her?” he accuses. “You know, not everyone can live up to your cooking expectations—”

“Tch—I haven’t done shit,” he denies. “She’s just emotional ‘cause I told her we’re lettin’ her stay.”

“What!? You told her without me?” he cries then. “We were supposed to surprise her together.” His pout is instantly replaced with a blank look of surprise as you wrap your arms around him like you’d done with the other earlier—hugging him tightly.

“Thank you,” you repeat to him as well.

You still couldn’t believe how nice they had been to you.

After dinner is eaten, the three of you end up sitting there, chatting—about the past, most of all, how things used to be—how people would live in little houses with next-door neighbors they’d invite over for game night—little families with kids and backyards and pet dogs—college, marriage, careers.

You helped the stoic one clear the dishes while the chipper of the two opened another bottle of wine. You can hardly believe it when they bring out the record player and slide a vinyl on.

You end up crying again as the music plays. You even dance. Laughter fills the bunker while you get completely swept away with the feeling of utter bliss. And as the wine finishes and the conversation turns sloppy, the hands twirling your body to the music get a little touchier, a little greedier, until you’re suddenly kissed.

Between the two of them, the air becomes hot—steamy as you share breathes.

Busy hands, large and strong and callused from labor, work on your button-up shirt. It’s gone before you know it, then the hands move on to your pants.

Honestly, after all the emotions joined by the wine and dance and being spun between the two, you can’t say you’re completely without lust, but at the same time, you’re just a bit confused.

Despite not having seen them kiss in front of you, you’re certain they both go to bed in the same room every night—so all this time, you’d been under the impression that they were involved with each other and not interested in you that way.

Not that it matters much what you thought, you think, you’re not against what’s happening so much as you’re a little hesitant about how it’s about to happen. It’s been a while since you’ve slept with anyone—willingly, that is—you’ve sort of forgotten how to enjoy it.

If it were just one, you’d maybe find it a bit less overwhelming, but given there were two, you quickly found yourself feeling somewhat claustrophobic.

“Wait—” you stutter. Blocking the advance with your own hands, looking up into drunken and heated eyes and the soft look of arousal painted on the face before you.

“Don’t worry,” he comforts with that kind smile. “You’re the most valuable thing we have—we’re gonna be gentle.”

You almost bite, almost give in, almost let it soothe you. But even in the drunk haze, the choice of phrasing finds you a little odd. And you’re unable to disregard that feeling that’s been nagging at the very back of your head ever since you stepped foot in the place.

Something’s not right.

“Valuable?” Sure, you could choose to understand it as them saying they care for you, but somehow, it just doesn’t feel as if that’s all. “What does that mean?”

“You know…” he utters softly—his kind smile curling into something different. His eyes fall downward as he licks his lips before finishing, “This.”

He’s laid a hand atop your belly where his gaze is set—his palm flat and firm as he rubs tentative circles into the softness.

It takes you a moment before you shudder. “You…”

You needed to be rational about this. Some part of you always knew there was something going on, didn’t it? Why else would you be here? Why else would they let you stay? The cameras in the bedroom, in the showers, all those medical checkups—you’ve known there was something. And still, you hadn’t left. You hadn’t even so much as humored the thought even once.

There is no life for you out there. You don’t just want to stay—you have to—you need to.

And is it really so bad? Hadn't they been nice? Haven’t they been more than generous? Don’t you owe them so much more than what they’re asking in return?

But what are they asking? It’s not just intimacy. It’s something else—something premeditated.

“You want to use me to…” The realization makes you shudder. “To make you a child…”

Like an incubator.

They don’t deny it.

You want to back up—create space—room to breathe, but the other is just behind you with his big chest pressed stiffly against your back, keeping you close, trapped before the one in front.

“It’s true…” he confesses at your ear. “That is all we wanted from you in the beginning.”

It sends a chill down your spine.

“It was almost too good to be true when we found you,” he continued while playing with your waist in big hands. “How a perfect candidate fell right into our lap mere days after we decided to go lookin’ for one.”

You suck in a hitched breath as the well of tears breaches, dribbling down your cheeks at the clinical word—candidate.

“But you’re more than that now,” the other reassures, bowing and fishing for your eyes as you’d taken to look down—too horrified to look him back in his.

“We figured you’d be a savage, havin’ lived out there for so long,” the one behind says. He’d been the most skeptical at first, but he’d come to learn it was rather the opposite—your time out there hadn’t toughened your skin or hardened your heart but only made you timid and soft.

“In all honesty, we weren’t sure we were gonna keep you after the pregnancy…” the one in front whispers upon your lips. “But that’s all in the past now.”

He lifts your chin, taking in the all-too-soft look of despair on your face. It’s a strange thing to say he’d missed. It nearly makes him feel guilty for the hard-on in his cargo pants. But then again, tears are the allure of the gentler sex. It’s only natural for a man to enjoy the sight.

“We want you to stay.” He strokes your cheek, catching the tears on his thumb. “After all, it would be best for the baby to have a female presence—especially one as soft as yours.”

“And, well…” You flinch at the stubble being dragged upon your shoulder and neck, a kiss placed in the nook there along with his words, “We’ve grown to like having you around.”

His hands had fallen from your waist down to rub your hips, swaying you back against his crotch—and the bulge there, that now felt a little more like a gun being poked against your back.

“It’s been a long while since we’ve had the company of a woman,” he continues while pressing himself against you. “It was unfamiliar at first, but… it’s nice.”

Something urgent takes over your body then—even though it’s beyond stupid. There’s no plan, no further thought than run—despite having no solid clue as to where. And yet, it ends up not mattering in the slightest. You don’t make it far.

You scream as their hands snag you. The grumpier one locks your arms, the chipper one grabs your legs—and they both lift and carry you back—laying you down on the little round table you’d had dinner on.

You struggle, but your wrists are pinned down to the metal with a strength you can’t hope to match.

“Don’t be like that.” He clicks his tongue dismissively like he so often does when you say or do something stupid. “There’s nowhere to go.”

“No—” you cry. “Please—don’t.” Shaking your head while squeezing your thighs shut.

Never mind having sex, you could endure that much—but having a baby in this mess? They’re the ones who lost their minds down here.

“I can’t—”

“Of course, you can,” the other insists, prying your thighs apart to make space for himself between them, already with his hands returning to undo the button of your pants, zipping down the fly and tugging them off.

“No—”

He’s back to console you just as quickly, “Shh-sh, don’t cry,” he soothes, cupping your face in both palms. He gives you that kind smile again, but it no longer serves as any source of comfort—now just a mouth full of teeth. “We’ll be gentle.”

♡ BNHA – KiriBaku, BakuDeku, ShinKami, DabiHawks, EndHawks, ErasurMic ♡ JJK – SatoSugu, ItaFushi, SukuIta ♡ HQ – Miya twins, KageHina, BokuAka ♡ CSM – AkiDen, YoshiDen ♡ BLLK – NagiReo

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡��GN x M INSERT masterlist

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emiqip · 2 days ago

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Pt.3 Apocalyptic Ponyo AU ft. Shockwave and his... kids. @keferon

For all they've been through together, this had to be the dumbest thing they've ever done- which is saying something, considering not too many months ago they collectively decided to raid the city's garbage dump not taking into account that a) there would be some kind of security system (who defends trash anyway? weirdos) b) the smell and c) the local population of possums they inevitably bothered.

All in all, that could have even been considered a good day in Skywarp's book- yeah, they didn't find anything, they all smelled pretty fucking terrible without any way of washing the stench away and they were covered in bite marks, hoping none of those things had rabies- but they laughed and joked about it for weeks after.

This situation, however, was anything but funny.

Following Blue's little stunt, the remaining children left at base were informed to meet at the nearest shore, where the youngest's new... friend? Still waited for them. A few minutes of shock and surprise from both parties after, they finally decided on how to fix whatever this was. The plan was simple too: separate Blue from the sea freak, gather all of their stuff and set off to the sparkly horizon, leaving all of this behind their backs- no strings attached.

Obviously that would've been too good to be true, something had to go wrong: of course their youngest still refused to leave, even when Damus finally gained some courage and went over to pick Blue up by force- too bad the little menace immediately started ugly sobbing. Not only that, the twins got over their fear pretty quickly, replacing it with the raw force of curiosity little kids have for anything ugly, sticky and new. Cue Soundwave being assigned as their official babysitter lest the two would sprint and try to climb the fish like a pair of coked-up squirrels. And, yeah, not the smoothest outcome but hey! Now they could, you know, leave.

He was so so wrong. As soon as the Thing noticed they were walking away it started chirping at them over and over, like it was calling for them to get back. Kinda sad, but they could ignore it (unless you were Blue- still crying in TC's arms while making grabby hands at the mer), what alarmed them was the fact that it started to use all of its upper body strength and try to slowly beach itself in the goal of reaching their group. Needless to say the situation called for a new plan fast- even in ten, considering its size, they still weren't enough to push it back in to the water.

The solution was just to camp out on the shore and find a way out of this in the morning. To the absolute delight of their youngest, who decided that for the night he would be sleeping with the freak, and unsurprisingly the twins only followed by starting to poke and prod at the being, who seemed to enjoy the attention as much as them. Windcharger joined their little huddle too for the evening, explaining himself with a little shrug of his shoulders and a quick, "He's warm and I'm cold- you can freeze for one more night for all I care," and left it at that. That traitor.

Oh well, this would soon be over anyway.

\\\

Two. Weeks.

Two whole weeks passed since this whole charade was supposed to be over, but instead he found himself being ferried away on the wettest, most fucked up recreation of the 'Magic School Bus' he's ever seen. Worst of all Ms. Fizzle was replaced by an oversize pancake with gills.

This was supposed to be the closest thing to a compromise: the kids got to keep their fish and the others got a free ride trough the apocalypse- pretty sweet if you asked him.

They were slowly making their way towards what was once the busiest side of the city: he remembers coming here with his brothers and getting overwhelmed every time by the sheer amount of people bustling around. Both locals and tourists blended perfectly in a vortex of voices, faces and mannerisms. For a boy who lived at the edge, this was exhilarating.

But the best part of this chaos were the shops windows: there was one who was squeezed between a tiny flea shop and a bakery owned by a couple of kind old people- the window's space was taken by a plethora of several vintage televisions, each of them displaying something different- his favorite old show was filmed at their local aquarium and had as protagonist a young orca mer, chirping away happily at the camera, while the crowd gasped in awe at the adorable display.

He saw his face stare right back at him from the surface of the water. Tired eyes, sunken cheeks and hair grown matted and way too long- what would he do to reverse it all and go back to their shitty daily life.

From the front of their unusual mean of transportation, he could hear the youngest kids screaming and laughing, more likely pestering the mer like a swarm of particularly persistent flies. Being too focused on eavesdropping the racket, he didn't notice Damus approaching him on unsteady feet.

"I saw a billboard a few minutes ago: big bright and with the directions to the biggest mall in the city- I'd say we are overdue for a scavenger hunt to restock our resources, what do you say?" The older asked, before staring off into the distance.

"Sure, why the hell not? I'm pretty sick and tired of eating only fish anyway- cheers to the big guy for catching it for us though." He absentmindedly patted the mer, earning a pleased rumble up ahead.

With a brief nod of assent, he took off to most likely talk to Skids- the teen, after a very intense game of charades, managed to establish a method to communicate with their newest addition, he was even successful in teaching the fishman some very simple words, and in turn the mer taught him some of his language: it was mainly made up of sounds and gestures but Skids, being the fast learner that he was, took to them pretty quickly- a shame that he never had the chance to attend a public school, he would've at the top of his classes for sure.

He felt the mass he was sitting on stir briefly, as the massive mer changed the course of their journey. The scenery around them slowly changed: hills of crumbled and deformed buildings gave way to a forest of skyscrapers looming over all of them like giant concrete pillars. Since the wave hit, putting a stop to all human activity, nature was steadily taking over- vines descended from a top of buildings, patches of seaweed and sea flora were dotting the submerged asphalted streets.

They watched in awe as schools of brilliant colored tropical fish darted past them- he heard Blue squeal along the lines of, "Sir. Pancake! Look, it's you!" when a familiar looking shark swam past them. He could vaguely recognize some of the roads and alleyways, now nearly completely covered by corals and anemones, housing a variety of oceanic wildlife.

Despite everything, there was still beauty left in this abandoned world.

\\\

The dark gaping maw leading inside the mall stared right back at them. Having no way to access the lower levels, since they were long lost under the waves, they had to find another way in- one of the walls had luckily given away to the erosion of the water, leaving the perfect entry point for them and their fishy companion. They were all well aware the mer wasn't too keen on leaving them alone for too long without becoming restless, so this was a win-win situation.

As the shadows progressively engulfed them, the smell of dampness and mold welcomed them inside. He felt TC's hand grabbing his right sleeve to catch his attention, as he turned around he saw his brother pointing at the water with his mouth agape.

What he saw made him inhale quickly in complete surprise- a pool of neon blue light surrounded them from all sides, swaying gently at the rhythm of the mer's movements.

"...bioluminescent algae- read about them once, but I never thought I would ever see them for myself." He heard TC whisper softly at him.

"Woah, this is so fucking cool..." Soft murmurs of assent from his siblings filled the silence he left behind, as they all watched the water entranced by the spectacle of lights.

They were all suddenly woken up from their trance by a brisk movement from their means of transport that almost made all of them topple over into the water. Apparently 'Sides decided he wanted to touch the pretty blue lights, nearly taking a dip for himself if the mer didn't glance over and quickly caught the little kid with one of his huge webbed hands. At least the pest had the decency to look away sheepishly at the mer's silent but admonishing expression.

Without any other close calls, they made it to what was once the food court- a huge circular dome where the pavement had partially collapsed, leaving behind a slope where dry land and water could meet, the perfect place to finally get down and stretch their legs after hours of swimming around. Trailbreaker reached into his ridiculously big backpack and started passing around a bunch of flashlights- the teen liked to be prepared for anything, even if that meant bringing around some additional weight.

The moment his feet met the ground he let out a happy sigh- exploring the sunken city was great and all, but nothing could compare to the chance of finally burning all of his residual energy. Damus clapped his hands to get everyone's attention and started his usual spiel before any resource-gathering trip.

"Alright everyone, you know the drill: six of us are going in pair to explore the building- pick up only things you think will come in hand, leave everything else. Do not take more then you need, we are not the only survivors around, so let's not doom other people only because we felt a little bit greedy today. See something? Scream. Lastly, the brats stay here with Sir. Pancake, while one of us will also remain to keep watch- can I have a drum roll for our lucky winner?" The question was met with an enthusiastic chorus of voices.

"Aand- Trailbreaker you're up!"

"Awh man- what?" The teen sagged his shoulders as Windcharger smugly patted his arm.

"Look at the bright side dude: you'll have fish-dad helping you this time."

"Not helpin' Charger, kudos for trying though..." Trailbreaker's muffled response came from behind his hands, as the other kid only shrugged and joined Skids to prepare for departure.

In the meantime, Skywarp gingerly hooked his right arm with TC's, leading him towards one of the halls connected to the dome. From the ceiling stray cables and crumbled pieces of drywall dangled freely, occasionally disturbed by a gentle breeze coming from inside the hallway. He gave himself a few seconds to glance behind his back: the children, in the few minutes they arrived, had apparently started their very own game of tag, skidding away on the wet floor, completely unbothered by what was happening around them. Trailbreaker, accepting his fate, decided to use this time to clean the barrel of his shotgun, while sitting on the floor with his back leaning on the mer's arm.

The creature however was looking apprehensively at them: worry and fret swirled in his blue eyes- they all knew he didn't like to see them leave, but this was necessary. He absentmindedly threw him his best calming smile, hoping to reassure him enough. The mer was briefly taken by surprise before nodding and giving Skywarp a hasty nod.

'I trust you.'

"Good luck everyone! If you're not back in an hour we'll come find your sorry asses, so be on time- I'm talking to you Skids!" Damus voice bounced on the walls of the abandoned building.

"...you get lost one time-" The cut-off whispered replay of his sibling was the last thing he heard before entering the hall with TC in tow.

\\\

Their wet footfalls was the only noise filling in the utter silence around them.

The bright beams of their flashlights cutting through the thick wall of darkness. Now that he had the chance to look at it up close, he could pinpoint exactly when life had come to a stop between these molded walls: on tiny cafe tables sat long forgotten coffee stained cups, the occasional eerily empty stroller was abandoned haphazardly in the middle of the hallway, still pale mannequins were silent witnesses to the disaster, while purses and toys littered the floors. Moments frozen in time.

He felt himself shudder, trying to shake off the feeling of wrongness from his shoulders.

So far they found only a couple of useful things, mainly industrial tape, iron wire and other items from a hardware store they had just raided. All the possibly edible things they dug up have all been either completely or partially covered in mold- all of this moisture made it difficult for things to stay fresh, especially since electricity had been one of the first things they'd lost to the massive wave, completely cutting off all of power to fridges.

Hopefully the others had been more lucky, he really wasn't looking forward to another overcooked sardine- none of them had always been the greatest cook after all and he doubted Sir. Pancake knew his way around a stove. Great now he was thinking about the mer holding a comically small pan, while wearing a pink frilly apron with the words 'Kiss The Fish' printed on the front-

He was interrupted mid-giggle by TC's pointy elbow digging into his side- which he was about to comment on before his brother nudged him again, signaling with his light to something on the wall.

"Storage Room." Read his sibling aloud, with a knowing smile.

"Fucking jackpot, baby!" Skywarp blurred out- ooh the joy he'll feel when they'll be able to shove in their losers sibling faces a box full of protein bars.

A wide new hallway opened up for them, at the end of it he could discern the top of a pair of rusted shut down automatic stairs. They eagerly hurried down them, impatience and hunger for discovery was eating away at them- before diving waist deep into a pool of freezing water.

They both startled for a few seconds, and then realization hit. They both forgot the lower levels were entirely flooded, but thankfully water didn't seem too high from what they could see through the darkness- hopefully the floor was built on the same level and didn't suddenly dip under them. The water was way too murky to see what was happening under the surface, and that did nothing to appease the apprehension this place was giving off in waves- he suddenly felt the shivers he shrugged off return in full force.

"Thunders, not gonna lie, I have a bad feeling about this." His whisper echoed on the walls enclosing them.

"Yeah... I feel like there's something we're missing." The other confessed, as they slowly trudged forward. "It's been scratching my brain since we passed that cafè...".

"Right?! I feel the same... all that chaos and we only find a bunch of litter on the floor-"

Thundercracker stopped abruptly in his path, making him stop too.

"Uh- TC, you okay?" He lifted his torch to better look at his brother.

"...the corpses."

"Oh! Yeah, this was a very busy place, how come we haven't found... any... corpses..."

One of the worst mistakes humanity ever made, was to think that they had any chance at being on top of the food chain. Centuries of time spent spreading and conquering all known continents, had led them to believe that nothing could touch them if they hid behind their big wars and even bigger weapons. However, Hubris is the first deadly sin, condemned to be a human's last.

From the void, a pair of bulging white eyes stared back at him. A gaping maw full of jagged yellowed teeth, was framed by two lines of receding gums barely attached to the skull. Ivory white plaques covered a shiny metal body underneath, decorating a lizard-like muscular frame, still as stone- like a spring ready to be released.

They were moving even before his brain could catch up with him. Fight or flight on full force- his main goal was to get away and do it fast.

Thundercracker quickly followed him, as he felt the large creature pounce towards them.

Climbing the stairs and reaching the top almost slipping down and falling on his brother.

They sprinted down the hall- heavy footsteps never too far behind as the beast snapped his monstrous jaws, trying to catch them.

Blurs of the coffee shop and hardware store passed next to them, as realization hit him once more- they were bringing a human-eating mutant right to their little brothers.

'See something? Scream.'

And screaming he did.

His alarmed voice filled the dome as in a moment of distraction his foot slipped on a nearby puddle, leaving him to fall face first unto the hard ground- hopefully his little siblings where not stupid enough to try and come help him.

He knew this was coming.

A hot breeze hit the back of his head, as the stench of death reached his nostrils. The heavy weight of a massive clawed paw, pressed him flat on the floor, painfully crushing his chest. He wanted to say he had been brave enough to face his fate, but instead he hid his face inside the crook of his elbow, heaving a last breath verging on a whimper- he only wanted to help his family, and this is how he died, it felt a bit like deja-vu...

Too busy giving thought to his adrenaline infused rants, he didn't immediately feel the crushing weight being suddenly lifted off of him- a giant wall of muscle and pure unbridled fury, tackled the beast into the other side of the room. A low guttural threatening growl woke him up from his stupor and he was on his feet in seconds- the now enraged mer stood between Skywarp and the monster.

The teen almost didn't recognize him, a completely mirrored image of the usually peaceful creature- what was once a beacon of gentleness, who always moved like he knew he could easily hurt any of them, oh so very careful of his size and strength- now gave away to a terrifying predator, claws and fangs fully on display and ready to use.

The mutant pounced once again, now his attention taken solely by the mer, who in tow used his massive tail to spring forward and grab the monster by the tail- hastily pulling it towards the water where he could've a clear advantage.

Too focused on the feral brawl, he didn't hear Damus' muffled voice calling him through the static ringing in his ears.

"-warp, we need to move! Shit, Skywarp move your ass, goddamnit!" A hand forcefully grabbed his left arm, before he was pulled to his unsteady feet. The front of his shirt was snatched and he felt himself move and duck behind a nearby counter- his eyes never leaving the fight.

If this thing was anything else, now it would be long dead- but unfortunately genetics were on its side. The ivory armor covering its body made for an impenetrable defense- meaning, it was not only built to hunt things smaller than itself, but also to wear out bigger predators and use twist their tiredness on them to deal the final blow.

"...he's not going to make it."

"Uh? What are you talking ab-?"

"He'll lose- WE HAVE TO HELP HIM!"

A still out-of-breath Thundercracker slowly approached him with his hands held up, like he was placating a wild animal and not his own brother.

"Warp, please be reasonable- What chance do we have against that thing? Bullets will not work and we can't risk hitting our only ally against it, we shou-"

"What? Run? I'm not going to save my ass while someone else is going to die- you're not making me give him the Smokey treatment, no chance in hell."

Only the sound of the background fight remained, as a mournful silence descended upon them. That name was bound to stir flashes of awful memories in all of them- the darkest times since the beginning of their broken little family. Their missing piece, forever lost.

"...what's the plan?" The trembling voice of their youngest broke the silence.

Skywarp drew in a ragged breath as he blurred out their only chance for all of them to get out of this alive.

"Metal! The- that thing's body is made of metal underneath, if we can find a way to electrocute it, its own body is going to act as a super-conduct and fry it's organs from the inside out."

"Me and 'Charger found a small generator not too far from here, I think we can use it," Skid's chimed in from the back of their little huddle, "we attach some cables on it and pinch that thing- than boom fried fish."

With a plan in mind they all moved like a bunch of frenzied rats. Windcharger and Skids ran to fetch the generator, while Soundwave followed them in case they needed to jump-start it. The kids were ordered to stay put and not engage, as the others watched the fight, waiting for their time to strike.

But as they took in every detail of what was happening, it was clear they had run out of time. The mer was clearly using the last of his energies to just keep the thing still- deep bleeding wounds littered his frame, one of his eyes was closed off by a cut that run at the center of his face, as he gasped for breath- eye dazed and a shaky pupil stared at his enemy.

He registered his siblings returning with the small generator, but he was quick to snatch the cables attached to it from Soundwaves' hands.

"We don't have time- I'm going to do something crazy, but it'll be fine!" He cried out, ignoring his siblings' shouted protests- metal was not the only super-conduct present in the dome.

As he skidded to a stop and knelt near the water, he felt time slow down. He watched as the mutant freed itself and in a few seconds snapped its mouth on the mer's side, trying to rip off a large chunk of meat. The mer let out a haunting pain-filled cry, as he desperately used his last energies to claw at the mutants' skull, in hopes of getting it to let go.

Skywarp had to act now.

Before he plucked the sparkling cables into the pool, he glanced once more not expecting to lock eye with the blue one of the mer- illuminated by the blue hue of the algae, covered in gaping wounds and suffering immense pain, was smiling at him- one of those familial calming smiles that he became used to on a daily basis, since their crazy companionship began.

'I trust you.'

Those same eyes that were looking at him with only fondness, suddenly became bloodshot as an immense wave of energy traveled through his frame in a matter of seconds. Skywarp felt his, now free, hands tremble with adrenaline as they all watched their guardian being electrocuted- and with him the beast.

What had been merely moments, felt like hours.

They won.

The limp body of the beast slowly sunk into the depths dragged by it's own heavy body, as the victor stood tall in the middle of the dome. Water fell from his broad back in droplets, a deep purple hue cloaked him from underneath- the algae, who soon changed color after being hit by the wave of electricity. The mer red blood-shot eye never left his gaze as he held the other half of his face, covering his wounded eye with a clawed hand.

Skywarp and his brothers watched as their guardian's form eventually staggered and swayed, until his worn body hit the shore with a shuddering thud. A keening sound left the mer's mouth as his body convulsed a couple of times, before finally settling into a fetal position.

A small blur rounded the counter he left behind his shoulders- Blue sprinted towards the now still body of the mer, halting himself near his head before hugging it as best as he could.

"Get up... please, you have to get up- I don't want to leave you here," A sob escaped the little kid as he gently pushed at the mer's cheek, "please Sir.Panca- Dad, get up..."

Slowly they all began to huddle around the still-breathing, even if ragged, body of their guardian- the mer shuddered as he gently lifted his head to nudge soothingly at his youngest. He looked over all of them, as if to assure himself that nobody was injured, until he locked eyes with Skywarp once again. The mer cooed, lifting his hand to beckon him to come closer.

The teen got up on unsteady legs and made his way toward his guardian, collapsing into the crook of his massive neck. As a clawed hand started caressing his back, he found it so difficult to hold in his tears.

"I'm sorry- this is all my fault," he wailed, "and now you're hurt and- and I did this to you... when you've been nothing but gentle and patient with us from the beginning... some fucking friend I am."

"...hurt?" He was taken by surprise as the mer spoke to him- a thick warped accented voice.

"What? No, you big dummie- I'm not hurt..."

His guardian had the gull to smile down at him- the huge fucking sap. He couldn't help but smile in tow as he felt Bluestreak join their little hug, and settle himself down to nap away the residual adrenaline.

He watched as his siblings sat all around them- weapons in hand, standing on guard and silently daring anything or anyone to attack their guardian.

Yeah, he was not ready for this to end just yet.

#apocalyptic ponyo #transformers #hope you bulletproofed for this one #i would lie if i said that i was sorry for writing this as im an unstoppable agent of chaos thriving on peoples sorrows #silly fish and his silly kids </3 #ngl i cried gang #hope you enjoyed!!

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5sospenguinqueen · 3 days ago

Text

Please, Please, Please | Max Verstappen x Singer! Reader

Summary: What do you do when your ex-girlfriend moves on with another guy? Become needy and pathetic. But, when the guy brings you to tears, Max knows it's his time to save you from further heartbreak.

Warnings: barry keogan (i couldn't find any other men with her that worked), swearing, toxic relationships, pathetic max

Requested: yes by many of you on the previous part

Faceclaim: Sabrina Carpenter (she was used on the last one and yes, she's used a lot but I stole her song and her job so I'm also stealing her face)

F1 Masterlist

prev. || next.

part 4 will be the last part so it may seem a bit rushed but i didn’t plan anything else. sorry! these just seem to be getting worse as well, so i’m also sorry about that

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maxverstappen1 just posted

liked by danielricciardo, liamlawson30 and others

maxverstappen1 a good effort from the team to start on the front row tomorrow 💪 let’s keep pushing tomorrow 🇺🇸

6,633 comments

user1 twitter is claiming that max and kelly broke up

user2 okay but i actually can’t function until i know if max is free from kelly once more

user3 max please tell us if you and kelly have broken up

user4 i need max and kelly to be done forever this time

user5 is it true that you broke up with kelly?

→ maxverstappen1 yes. now can we focus on the race

→ user6 @/yn_ln this means you can give him another chance

→ user7 why would she want to after he ran back to kelly

(comments have been limited)

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yn_ln just posted

liked by mclaren, actorbf and others

yn_ln surprise! if you have any questions, you can refer to my new single please, please, please 💋

13,850 comments

user8 the two of them are so cute

jennaortega i’ll give you all the kisses

→ user9 i wouldn’t. not with all the men she goes through

→ oscarpiastri whoa now, there’s no need for that

user10 don’t get me wrong. i’m loving all the new music. but my heart can’t handle all the new layers to this drama

landonorris okay, little miss hollywood. that music video just proved you’d never do well in a film

→ yn_ln oi, i act better than you do, mr hilton

→ hilton we’d be happy to have you both

user11 ew, so she went from a hot motorsport driver to a subpar actor?

user12 wait, what? this wasn’t supposed to happen. she’s gone off script. max is single now, they were meant to be getting back together

→ user13 she’s not his back-up plan. plus she’s way out of his league

user14 don’t you think you might be putting strain on her new relationship? i doubt her new guy likes to see everyone preferring the old guy

→ user15 hopefully that means he’ll leave and we can get her and max back

user16 has anyone checked on max?

(comments have been turned off)

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yn_ln just posted

liked by charles_leclerc, verstappencom and others

yn_ln how to lose a cake in 10 minutes

16,334 comments

alexandrasaintmleux the most beautiful birthday girl

→ francisca.cgomes this dress is going to live rent free in my head

→ yn_ln thank you for letting me show you both twenty different dresses

→ alexandrasaintmleux just wish you were taller so we could steal some of them

→ yn_ln can’t believe you’d do this to me on the day of my birth

→ oscarpiastri technically your birthday is tomorrow. this was just your birthday party

→ yn_ln thin fucking ice, piastri

user1 guys guys guys. verstappencom liked this. i repeat verstappencom liked this

→ user2 okay but that’s not max

→ user1 but it’s an advocate for max so

landonorris dicaprio wouldn’t want you anyway. you’re too short

→ yn_ln i’ll make my boyfriend fight you

→ landonorris i’m not scared of your polly pocket boyfriend

→ mclaren you can’t say stuff like this publicly, lan

→ user3 i swear none of them actually like her boyfriend

→ user4 showing their support for max. he’s the only person who matches her beauty

user5 no but the hand in the dress is somehow cute and hot

→ user6 not with that guy. it should be max

redbullracing happy birthday to our favourite popstar

replies

user7 what do you mean she had to pay for her own birthday meal on her birthday because her boyfriend wouldn’t

→ user8 not even wouldn’t but flat out refused

→ user9 streets are saying it’s because he’s broke. not exactly like he’s raking in the job offers

user10 so this man is lucky enough to get a chance with THE y/n l/n, then he refuses to pay for her dinner, and then he yells at her?? all on her birthday???

→ user11 he’s punching above his weight and clearly that angers him

→ user12 especially with the way she looked in that yellow sparkly dress today

user13 someone clearly isn’t very smart. she writes a song for him - the first one she’s written recently that isn’t about max - and he does exactly what the song asks him not to do

→ user14 how dare he try to embarrass our queen by yelling at her in front of so many people

→ user15 i’m starting to question if our girl does have good judgement. how could two men do this to her?

→ user16 definitely doesn’t have good taste

user17 the audacity to yell at her in a restaurant of people, and then continue to do so after you were asked to leave because you were yelling at her

user18 and if i said i saw max verstappen pass them in the street, stop and turn, and start defending her, then what?

→ user18 he was literally yelling at this man whilst holding a crying y/n behind him, and rubbing her arm soothingly

→ user19 we’d say you’re full of shit and have no tangible proof

→ user20 this could be true because he was hanging out with charles and some of the drivers. and i just know alex sm got on the phone to her boyf and begged him to send the love of y/n’s life to save her

→ user19 pics or it didn’t happen

maxverstappen1 posted a new story yn_ln posted a new story

landonorris replied to maxverstappen1 i recognise the birthday girl's dress

landonorris replied to yn_ln who’s the 3rd person 👀 → wait why wasn’t I invited

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requests open

tag list

@omgsuperstarg @seonghwaexile @evie-119 @alejandrablacklupin @nina-or-anna-or-nora @shelbyteller @raynetargaryan2 @astroniii @raizelchrysanderoctavius @azuramicah @seasonswinter @chaoswithus @casey1-2007 @chemiru @strengthandstay @ivanag1rl@anayaverse @formulaal @ellelabelle @yara011 @callsignwidow @freyathehuntress @floweringlee @isagrace22 @sunny44 @lottalove4evelyn @danielshoe @paucubarsisimp @monacosprince @stereading @hoeforsirius @anilovessadbooks @armystay89 @cassofheartsss

sorry if i missed anyone. it wouldn't let me tag some of y'all

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ssa-dado · 3 days ago

Text

Cat Equals Sign Of Integration

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader Genre: fluff, smut (implied) Summary: Aaron, ever the strategist, decides that a little wine might help soften the blow of figuring out with you how to tell the team you’re dating. A solid plan - except for one tiny flaw: wine makes him a whore. Warnings: +18, MINORS DNI Hotch is a touch starved whore, a few cuss words here and there, wine gets a bit into both of your heads. Word Count: 5k Dado's Corner: Did I hallucinate this while working on one of the many requests still on my to-do list, only to realize halfway through that it was completely derailing from the main plot - but too cute to abandon? Yes. Is this fun? You tell me (pretty please).

masterlist(s)

One of the many rules you and Aaron had in your relationship was that if you cooked for date night, he was the one doing the dishes.

His idea.

You had been opposed to it at first - not because you minded, of course. You were actually a huge fan of grown men handling household chores without whining like toddlers about how it might somehow demasculate their poor, fragile egos.

No, you were opposed because you didn’t want him doing it out of some sense of obligation.

It took you a while to accept that Aaron wasn’t doing this because he owed you - he was doing it because he wanted to.

Because that was just… Aaron.

Ever the caregiver, always looking for ways to make life easier for the people he loved. He could give you the world and still come to you like a wounded dog, begging for forgiveness because he thought he wasn’t enough.

It was infuriating - for all the deep psychological reasons you could analyze for hours, but also for a much pettier one: when it was his turn to cook, instead of letting you do the dishes like the so-called rule dictated, he just… did them anyway.

And thus, the noble Mr. Clean - brave warrior of dish duty, his arms submerged in treacherous, frothy depths - found himself utterly helpless against the sudden, most dreadful buzzing of his phone.

A cruel twist of fate, indeed!

Stranded, defenseless, bound by duty to his porcelain captors, he could do nothing but stand there, a tragic figure of great importance, cruelly denied his right to immediately bestow his undivided attention upon whatever poor soul dared summon him.

Oh, the agony! The injustice! How swiftly the mighty are humbled… by a sink full of bubbles.

That was because, logically, if even a single drop of water touched his phone, he would instantly lose all of the very important, highly classified FBI secrets stored inside. Of course, phones couldn't possibly be waterproof.

Ha, imagine?! What a concept.

“Who is it?” Aaron asked, still scrubbing at your wine glass like he was trying to erase its entire existence.

Which – by the way - was completely pointless, considering that in less than five minutes, he planned on refilling it with some more. A different wine, yes. But for God’s sake, you weren’t going to die if the last few drops of white mixed with the red.

…What a fussy man.

“Penelope,” you replied, admiring the view.

What a view, really. That man was all legs and no ass, and you were finally learning to appreciate it.

“Ignore it,” he said, not even turning around.

Unfortunately for him - and for the HR department still blissfully unaware that their most serious, by-the-book boss was fraternizing with a subordinate - you were a profiler.

The U.S. government literally paid your bills every single month because you were exceptionally good at reading people.

And the way he answered? Yeah, that wasn’t the tone of a man casually dismissing an unimportant text. No, that was the tone of a man caught red-handed, scrambling for plausible deniability.

Embarrassed. Secretive. Suspicious. Frankly, if you didn’t already know what he was hiding, you’d be halfway to slapping cuffs on him. Wouldn’t even be the first time.

And so you read it – out loud.

Penelope Garcia, 7:56 PM:

hotch sir hotch bossman sir, i am DYING please tell me if you found out who her mystery boyfriend is i am suffering!!!!!!!! i know you know. i know it in my heart. if you can’t say it just give me a hint. a tiny one. a cryptic riddle. a blink. i will take anything.

^.ᆽ.^= ∫

By her, of course, she meant you - because despite a few months of keeping your relationship under wraps, you still hadn’t gotten around to telling the team. Your colleagues. Your friends. Your unwanted, overly nosy adopted children.

That their elusive "mystery boyfriend" was, in fact, your mutual boss.

You were going to tell them. Eventually.

Didn’t know when. But you would.

Then again, it wasn’t like you were surrounded by some of the best profilers in the country, trained to pick up on the slightest behavioral shift.

It’s not like the second two incredibly touch-starved people like you and Aaron started walking around with even a fraction of happiness, that wouldn’t immediately raise suspicions.

…Except, apparently, it hadn’t.

Because somehow, the team had only managed to land on half the conclusion: you were seeing someone.

But Aaron? Not even a blip on their radar.

It was almost impressive, really. The answer was so obvious that they had discarded it entirely, still wandering around in the dark, trying to piece together a puzzle that was sitting right in front of their faces.

Just like Penelope was doing now, so desperate for some reason that she was straight-up asking him outright - when not that long ago, she still thought twice before even making a dirty joke in his presence.

And so, you got up, walked over to Aaron, and held the phone directly under his nose. “What does this mean?”

He squinted at the screen, then at you. “Oh, honey, I don’t know. She always sends me that - I don’t understand what exactly equals the sign of integration”.

…What?

You were suddenly just as confused as he was.

He blinked at you, eyes wide, eyebrows raised in that utterly sincere, slightly bewildered way of his. “That sign before it,” he said, completely lost. “It looks Chinese. Thought you knew Chinese, sweetheart.”

…What?

Oh, for the love of God.

If this man hadn’t already seen the absolute worst horrors the world had to offer, you would fight for his innocence with your nails, your teeth, and - if absolutely necessary - one of the worst shooting records ever logged in the Bureau.

You looked at the screen again.

^.ᆽ.^= ∫

Oh.

Oh, that’s what had confused him.

“Aaron,” you said gently, doing your absolute best not to kiss him right then and there, “that is a cat.”

You sighed, then pointed at the message again. “By the way, the ‘sign’ in the middle is in Korean, not Chinese.”

He looked at the screen again - then back at you. “…Cat equals sign of integration?”

“No, honey,” you said, barely suppressing your smile, tapping the little text emoji. “It’s just a cat.”

He studied it for another second. “Oh.”

There. That did it. You gave in. Leaned in and pressed a loud smooch to his cheek.

At least your dignity was still intact - he had no idea why you’d done it, just assumed it was one of those spontaneous bursts of affection that came with being hopelessly in love.

Honeymoon phase truly did work wonders.

“Do you think I can have the cat too?” he asked, grabbing the bottle of red and a corkscrew.

That was a trap.

Because Aaron Hotchner still signed every single text he sent.

And while it wasn’t an issue when he was sending something standard -

Lawyer, 6:17 PM:

They found a new body, we’re gathering at the precinct in 30.

A.H.

- it became a lot more unsettling when he sent the filthiest, most depraved things you’d ever read, only to end them with that stiff little A.H. like he was dictating official Bureau correspondence.

Lawyer, 11:51 PM:

Sweetheart, if only these stupid walls weren’t so thin, I’d have you right here with me, bent over, face pressed against this mattress, making you come so many times you’d forget your own name. At least three. Maybe four, if I’m feeling generous.

A.H.

So now, standing in his kitchen, watching him pour wine like he hadn’t just permanently scarred you with his painfully bureaucratic approach to sexting, you knew that if you admitted he could simply copy-paste that ‘cat equals integration sign,’ it would only be a matter of time before you were subjected to something truly traumatizing, like -

Lawyer, very-late-office-hour PM:

It’s your fault I’m getting distracted with the paperwork, because I’m still thinking about how good you tasted last night while sitting on my face. God, I can still feel your thighs shaking, you were so sweet for me, honey, so fucking perfect.

P.S. How many reports do you still have left? Because I’ve been thinking about having you on my tongue again before the night is over. I think I’ve got about an hour or so left but then I’m all yours.

^.ᆽ.^= ∫

A.H.

Yeah. No. Absolutely not.

That man could not be trusted with the cat.

“Oh, honey,” you cooed, pressing a soft kiss between his shoulder blades as your fingers brushed over his back. “I don’t think you can get it. She must have programmed it herself into her phone.”

You truly hoped you were as convincing as he was clueless about text etiquette.

“It’s a pity,” he sighed, both of your wine glasses in hand as he made his way to the couch. “I would have loved to send you the cat.”

…Of course he would. Smug ass.

But as the words left his mouth, something shifted in him - just barely. A pause that didn’t usually belong there... weird.

Still, you followed, watching as he settled in, patting the cushion beside him with a half-smile. “Come here, sweetheart.”

A misleading gesture, considering his legs were very much spread - a much clearer invitation. At least, that’s how you chose to interpret it.

Because you could swear - those legs spoke to you. Called to you. So you slid right into your rightful seat - his lap.

…Would have been rude not to answer.

“Back to Garcia,” he said, resting a hand on your thigh as he handed you your painstakingly polished wine glass - so clean, so immaculately spotless, that the red wine inside looked redder than red. A real masterpiece, Mr. Clean. “She doesn’t seem to be letting up about finding out who you’re dating… This is the fourth message this week.”

You raised a brow, taking a sip of your wine. “Well, she’s second only to you when it comes to being nosy about gossip.”

Aaron exhaled, shaking his head, that same small half-smile back on his lips.

That particular smile.

The one he used when he was trying to convince someone he was fine when, in reality, he was not - when he was trying to reassure everyone else while simultaneously refusing to admit, even to himself, that something was eating him alive.

Oh, now you knew what this was about.

He had definitely practiced this conversation in his head - refined it down to the perfect phrasing. Measured. Logical. Reassuring.

A version so well-rehearsed, so carefully constructed, that he’d convinced himself first before trying to convince you - that this didn’t scare him.

That this was just another rational step forward.

That it was fine.

Because if he could make it sound easy, maybe it would be.

Maybe it would give you something solid to lean on, because the last thing he wanted was for you to feel like you were standing on shaky ground with someone just as fractured as he was.

But in the end, even the best-laid words couldn’t withstand the weight of his emotions - whether he liked it or not, even rocks are meant to erode.

“I think it’s time we come clean to the team,” he admitted, completely veering off-script - though, of course, he still made sure to soften the blow with a kiss to your temple.

Not that it made much difference. You both knew this moment was inevitable, but somehow, you’d managed to delude yourselves into thinking that if you just kept putting it off, the perfect time would miraculously appear.

At first, you’d delayed it until things were official.

Then, because you needed to be sure this could work in the long run.

Then, because you wanted time to just enjoy each other.

Truthfully? If it were entirely up to the two of you, you’d probably keep postponing it indefinitely - at least until the day you were both retired, far away from any fraternization rules or painfully awkward team dynamics.

Unless, of course, your eyes had been deceiving you all along, or life decided to be cruel and rip this happiness away from you before you ever even got the chance. All you could do was hope not.

Aaron sighed, watching you carefully. “So, how do you want to do this?”

At least he could take comfort in the fact that his very specific plan of having wine while discussing this was still intact - especially since the very large sip you took the second he asked hadn’t gone unnoticed.

He huffed a laugh.

Yeah.

This was going to be fun.

“Are we sure we have to?” You groaned, tilting your head back against his shoulder.

“I’m afraid so, sweetheart. It’s the only way to keep them from getting the satisfaction of figuring it out first and do this our way…”

It was his turn to take a long sip now… he surely wasn’t thrilled about the lack of an actual game plan.

“…Still need to figure out what exactly we mean by ‘our way,’” he admitted. “But, you know… that’s what these are for.”

He tapped a finger against his temple, then against yours, clearly implying that your very skilled, highly trained profiler brains would surely work this out.

You, however, were placing your bets on your problem-solving skills drastically improving after a few more glasses of wine, because right now?

“We are so fucked,” you commented.

Aaron clinked his glass against yours, deadpan. “Completely.”

You both took long, slow sips of wine like it might somehow provide divine intervention.

It didn’t. You were indeed left pretty much alone in this.

You sighed, setting your glass down on the coffee table. “Well, you definitely have the face of someone who already has a plan...” You reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw. “...a very handsome face.”

Cheesy. But deserved.

Aaron chuckled. “I believe…” He kissed you on the cheek – twice - before setting his own glass down too. “…We should tell them directly. Get ahead of it. Lay it out as matter-of-factly as possible.”

“Matter-of-factly?”

He nodded, all serious, like he hadn’t just suggested the worst possible approach.

“Sweetheart…” You pinched his cheek, making him scrunch his nose, hoping – more like praying - that it would snap him out of whatever fantasy land of logic, reason, and good intentions he was apparently living in.

“If we tell them directly, Penelope will throw an actual partypersonally design matching t-shirts, and have the entire team wear them.” You paused, leveling him with a look. “And you know it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I know.”

“Emily and Derek will immediately start making jokes like two middle schoolers who just learned what sex is and will not let us breathe.”

“I know.”

“JJ will be quiet but then ask all of a sudden, ‘So when’s the wedding?’ which will restart the chaos all over again.”

“I know.”

You turned to face him, deadly serious. “Spencer-”

“-Will hit us with a full statistical analysis of workplace relationships,” Aaron finished, exhaling sharply, already bracing himself.

Because there was only one team member left to account for - the worst of them all.

“And… oh God… Dave…”

And with that horrifying realization, he did the only logical thing a man in his position could do - he face-planted directly into your chest with a dramatic, muffled groan of pure defeat.

You blinked down at him, amused. “Honey…”

Why was he even so touch starved like that?

“All I ask,” came his muffled voice, still very much nestled between your breasts, “is five minutes of peace.”

You snorted. “You do realize this isn’t exactly discouraging me from making fun of you, right?”

He sighed again. “You do realize that if you keep laughing, you’re just shoving them further into my face?”

…Damn him and his irritating ability to state the obvious.

You sighed, fingers absentmindedly combing through his short spikes of hair. “…So we’re back to square one.”

Aaron exhaled, still very much face-first in his chosen safe haven. “Unfortunately.”

You hummed, “Okay, hypothetically, if we just… never tell them, how long do you think we could get away with it?”

That was so absurd that it actually made him lift his head. He blinked at you, utterly offended by the suggestion.

“I am not spending the next decade pretending I don’t stare at your ass every time you walk away.”

…Alright. That was definitely the wine talking.

In vino veritas, as the Romans said. Wine makes people say dumb shit: the truth.

“Wow. Didn’t know you were a poet, Hotchner.”

His lips twitched. “Don’t pretend you’re above it, because I catch you every time you drift off during briefings just to stare right at-”

“Alright, alright,” you cut him off, slapping a hand over his mouth before he could fully call you out... he was not happy about it. “We’re both shameless…"

You needed an exit strategy. Fast.

You reached for his wine glass over the coffee table. “Well, at least the bright side of telling them is that we won’t have to schedule our coffee breaks in advance anymore and pretend to look surprised when we see each other.”

And all of that was just for one single moment.

The fleeting brush of fingertips as you handed him the cup you always poured for him.

The way his hand was always warmer than yours, despite the fact that you were the one holding the scalding mug, as if basic thermodynamics simply did not apply to Aaron Hotchner.

And if it was one of those days, sometimes, there’d be a little extra something.

A longer touch.

Eye contact that lingered just a second too long.

A slow sip from his cup while still holding your gaze, and suddenly, it felt indecent - like something you definitely shouldn’t be doing in broad daylight, let alone in a federal building.

And now - here, in the comfort of his apartment, with nothing and no one to stop you - he reached for the wine glass you were offering, except… he wasn’t actually reaching for the glass.

He was just holding your hand.

Aaron chuckled, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your knuckles. “I think we’re holding onto this touch just a little too long,” he murmured, nuzzling into you, his breath warm against your ear. “Might start looking suspicious.”

Didn’t he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Oh, also some-” you started, or at least tried to, because as if everything else wasn’t enough, now he was kissing just behind your ear, his lips just brushing the sensitive skin there, warm, and slow, and wet and… God…

Okay. Okay.

Maybe it was the wine.

Maybe it was the fact that you were always kind of a little bit obsessed with him.

Either way, the result was the same: you really, really wanted him right now.

You sighed, tilting your head to grant him a little more access - but not too much, or you might actually end up using the full length of his three-seater couch instead of stubbornly remaining curled up in the same cramped two-foot space you’d unofficially claimed as your own. Ergo - going horizontal with him instead of just being seated on his lap.

“I thought we were having a serious discussion,” you murmured, though the breathy edge to your voice wasn’t exactly helping your case.

Aaron hummed in response, slowly dragging his lips from behind your ear down along the curve of your jaw, pressing a kiss at the hinge. “We are.” Another kiss. “What were you starting to say, sweetheart?”

And another one.

You tried to think. Really, you did.

But it was getting increasingly difficult with his mouth still very much on your skin, moving towards places that were making it exponentially harder to form coherent thoughts.

You would’ve made a mental note to never wear anything that resembled a tank top around him again, if only you had the actual brain capacity to form any notes right now.

“Aaron-”

Aaron smirked against your skin. “You were saying?”

…Blank. Absolutely blank.

Your brain stalled for a solid three seconds before mercifully rebooting.

“I-” You licked your lips, cleared your throat. “Penelope.”

That, thankfully, was enough of a keyword to get him to back off - though, the second he did, you already desperately missed the warmth of his mouth on your skin.

He tilted his head, “Penelope?”

You swallowed. “She’s… gonna be beaming.”

Aaron blinked at you. “Beaming.”

“Yeah.” You smiled, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, because God, he was too cute when he was confused like this. “Her and Kevin have been desperate for another couple to go out with. Ever since JJ and Will stopped leaving the house because they’re too busy baby-proofing every square inch of their lives.”

Aaron’s brows furrowed slightly. “And by ‘go out with,’ you mean double dates.”

You hummed, fingers grazing his cheek. “Mmm. Yeah. Double dates.”

Aaron didn’t even hesitate. “Oh, absolutely not.”

You blinked, pulling back slightly. “Wait, what?”

His face was resolute. “I’m not doing double dates.”

You squinted at him. “Okay, but why?”

And that’s how you learned that if there was one thing your boyfriend hated - more than messy paperwork, more than delayed flights, more than the Bureau’s budgeting meetings - it was double dates.

Not specifically with Penelope and Kevin. God, no. He was practically the puppet master of their relationship in the first place. Just… double dates in general.

“They’re impractical,” he said.

You snorted. “What do you mean?”

Aaron sighed. “They are a waste of time. You sit there, and for the first fifteen minutes, it’s fine. The usual small talk, polite conversation…”

You nodded, barely biting back a grin. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

Honestly, this just sounded like some classic Aaron Hotchner being the most adorable introvert to ever exist.

He shot you a look, deadly serious. “It’s a trap.” You nearly cooed. Adorable. “Because at some point, you end up talking one-on-one with someone from the other couple. And right when the conversation is actually getting interesting-”

He suddenly paused.

His hand started at your shoulder, innocent enough - until it wasn’t, until it drifted lower, fingertips skimming down until they found your thigh, before sliding inward, squeezing your soft flesh there.

“See?” Aaron murmured, voice deceptively casual. “It starts off innocently. A hand on the shoulder…”He angled his fingers just a notch further up your upper thigh. “…Then the thigh. Then-”

He leaned in, kissing you just at the corner of your mouth.

"A little kiss here," he murmured, lips barely brushing your skin.

Then another - softer, lingering just at the very edge of your lips.

"A little peck there."

Okay.

Ahem.

For a man who hated double dates, he was making a very strong case for them.

This was clearly foreplay.

Had to be foreplay.

You chose to interpret it as foreplay.

So, naturally, just as you were about to pull him in properly - to finally taste the wine on his lips – he pulled back.

Mixed signals whore.

“And then,” he continued, and you swore his voice had gotten even lower - sluttier, if you were being honest - "it escalates.”

...Wine-induced yapper. "Because one couple decides a little peck isn’t enough, so they turn and start devouring each other’s faces… in public.”

The wine that was in your system, instead, suggested you should have him biblically, right here, right now, on his couch.

“Care to demonstrate this part too?” You licked your lips, tilting your head.

Aaron sighed “Honey.” You knew you were in trouble the moment he smirked. “You’re demonstrating my point…”

Your stomach dropped.

“…You want more.” Aaron tutted, shaking his head, feigning disappointment. “Of course you want more. A chaste kiss isn’t enough. How could it be, sweetheart?”

Hell yes you wanted more.

Badly.

You might have even nodded without meaning to.

“But imagine if this was happening in public. In front of two other people. What about them?” he murmured, tilting his head, voice dropping into something dark, silky, dangerous. “In front of two other people.”

You swallowed, very much not thinking about them right now.

“Because at that point, they only have two choices: they either sit there - third-wheeling, watching - or…” His hand slid beneath your shirt, fingers splaying wide over your bare waist, gripping, pulling you that much closer. "… they start doing it too."

Your breath hitched. “Aaron-”

"With just a kiss, it creates an environment," he murmured, lips grazing the shell of your ear, "where both couples get competitive. Where they start copying each other - but making it more…"

He dragged his nose along the curve of your jaw, the ghost of his lips tracing just behind it. "Passionate."

A teeth-grazing kiss against your pulse.

A slow drag of his lips down the column of your throat, before he made his way back up, tilting your chin up with his fingers just so, forcing you to look at him.

And God, that look.

"More tongue," he continued, letting you see it first - his own darting out, wetting his lips just before he brushed them over yours.

Not kissing.

Not yet.

“More biting.” Aaron caught your lower lip between his teeth, pulling just enough to confirm what you already knew -

He tasted like red wine.

Rich. Dark. Addictive.

And so did you.

“More touching.” His hand drifted, fingertips just skimming over your ribs, teasing along the underside of your breast - so close, so close, before he let it trail lower again, just as his lips ghosted over your ear.

"More sounds."

You barely bit back the breathy, desperate little moan clawing its way up your throat because -

Aaron shoved you off his lap.

In one fluid motion, he shifted, pressing you back into the couch, caging you in beneath him, his arms bracketing either side of your head.

His knee slotted between your thighs, pressing up just slightly - just enough to make you gasp, make your hips twitch without thinking.

You were pretty sure now that this was, in fact, foreplay.

“At that point,” he murmured, lowering himself, pressing his body against yours, pinning you down with nothing but his weight, “if you’re already getting ideas…”

Aaron rolled his hips against you, his knee shifting just enough to have you sucking in a sharp breath. “…it’s better off just staying home. Because at least then,” he whispered, “we can do this.”

And then he kissed you. Properly.

Deep and hungry, pressing you down into the cushions until you moaned into his mouth, pulling him closer as one of his hands slipped under your shirt.

“You-” you swallowed, trying to find words, but he stole them from you, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw. “You expect me to believe this is why you hate double dates?”

“I expect you to understand,” he murmured against the sensitive skin of your neck, “that if I ever go on one…” he nipped at your pulse, making you gasp. “…I’ll be thinking about this the entire time.”

Then - click.

The sound of the button of your pants being undone, followed shortly by the hiss of your zipper. You felt the warmth of his fingertips slipping beneath the waistband of your pants, resting over your hip bone.

Well, fuck.

“You’ll be sitting across from me,” he continued, voice so unfairly composed, so infuriatingly smooth, “pretending to listen to whatever they’re taking about.”

He tilted his head, kissing along your collarbone, then much lower. You made a mental note to always wear anything resembling a tank top in his presence from now on.

“And the entire time…” his fingers dipped just slightly beneath the elastic of your underwear.

You shuddered. “Aaron.”

He hummed, pleased - so deeply pleased - before finally sliding lower, his fingers finally brushing right where you needed him most.

You whimpered.

“I’ll be remembering,” he murmured, “exactly how you sound right now.”

Your back arched into his touch, fingers digging into his shoulders, nails biting into muscle as his fingers moved.

“And how you look,” he added, his lips brushing the curve of your breast, “when you fall apart for me.”

Your breath hitched-

And then.

Then-

He stopped.

Just - stopped.

His hands left you completely as he leaned back, settling onto his knees above you, looking far too pleased with himself.

You gaped at him, betrayed. “Are you kidding me?”

Aaron just smirked, gaze flicking over you, taking in your flushed cheeks, your uneven breathing, the way your body was still desperately aching for him.

“See?” he shrugged, voice so damn smug. “This is why I hate double dates.”

How funny would it be if these ended up being his last words?

You huffed, adjusting yourself on the couch, crossing your arms like you weren’t still ridiculously turned on and very annoyed about it. “Alright, you know what? Fine. No need to suffer through a double date if we just… conveniently wait to tell the team about us until after JJ and Will start going back out with Penelope and Kevin.”

Aaron smirked.

At least you’d both come to an agreement - the exact same procrastination tactic you’d been using, just with a new and improved excuse attached.

“…Smart girl.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I wouldn’t dare, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, still breathing heavily, still so deeply unsatisfied, as Aaron pressed a kiss to your temple, then stood, stretching his arms.

“I’ll clean the wine glasses,” he mused, already heading toward the kitchen. “And then I’ll be back to you.”

You stared at him.

He paused, glancing at you over his shoulder, smirking.

You huffed, sarcastic, “glad we could work this out.”

You were not glad. Not at all. Especially because not even a full minute later, your phone buzzed with a text.

From him.

From Mr. Clean himself, who was currently just a couple rooms away from you.

Lawyer, 8:43 PM:

Sweetheart, I hope you're ready, because I’m going to spread you out on that couch and fuck you so deep, you’ll still feel me when you sit at your desk tomorrow.

^.ᆽ.^= ∫

A.H.

"Garcia just told me how to get the cat," came his voice from the kitchen - so damn smug you could hear the smirk in it, followed the sound of his footsteps getting closer.

Before you could turn, before you could say anything, he was there - leaning in from behind the couch, arms sliding around you, caging you in, whispering into your ear -

"It was just a simple copy-paste."

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#dado 400 #aaron hotchner #hotch #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x reader smut

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gf2bellamy · 1 day ago

Text

surprise — spencer reid

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spencer swallowed hard, his fingers gripping the seatbelt.

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

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

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

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

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

But Spencer’s mind was racing, heart pounding.

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

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

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

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

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

They didn’t even wait for him.

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

And there was a high chance that you were.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But—

You were nowhere to be seen.

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

No sign of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crisis averted.

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

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

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

Spencer froze.

He did. He never ate those granola bars.

But you did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Garcia and Derek just exchanged a look.

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

Like, say… you.

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

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

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

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

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

Spencer stiffened.

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

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

He blushed because he remembered the day it happened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then—

Derek stopped in front of the fridge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He remembered the moment perfectly.

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

"So you don’t forget."

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

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

You had blushed.

And Spencer had loved making you blush.

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

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

But what was he supposed to say?

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

Absolutely not.

But then—

The choice was taken away from him anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, there you were.

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

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

Then you stopped.

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

Garcia. Derek.

Standing there.

Staring.

At you.

In Spencer’s clothes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was beyond awkward—it was mortifying.

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

“Oh no, no, no,” Garcia said, her voice rising with every word, her hands flailing dramatically. “You do not get to ‘this isn’t’ us right now. This is happening. This is definitely happening.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x you #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fic

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yanderedrabbles · 3 days ago

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Imagine being a lady out in the Wild West, mayor's daughter, preacher's niece, something good and proper. All tight laced and demure on Sundays, sweet and pretty all week 'round.

You got plenty of admirers. Cowpokes drifting through your small town who promise themselves that the second they've got more than dirt to their name, they're coming back to marry you. Traders and tradesman who see you in your Sunday best and think how sweet it would be to have you waiting at home for them. And others too. Men with too sharp eyes and hats kept low. They think about you too, but always at night. Always with one hand slick.

You've got plenty of folk with eyes on you, but no real suitors. Whoever your guardian is, they've got high standards. Maybe your father is hoping for a good political match, or your uncle is looking for a God fearing man. Either way, you're untouchable. Untouched.

Well, until you ain't.

Maybe the man who takes you is one of those hard eyed drifters, with a mean mustang and an even meaner right hook. A crook in everything but name. Maybe he doesn't work alone, and it's a whole pack of them who grab you straight out of your backyard, hands pressed against your mouth so hard they leave bruises on your cheeks.

Either way, they've got just about one thing on their mind. And they don't want to be interrupted.

They take you out to the desert, or out into the deep woods, or far into the canyons. Somewhere lonesome. Somewhere they can take their time with you.

Maybe they succeed. Get to keep you all to themselves. A prize too sweet for men like them, a little missy who would always be out of reach if they didn't take matters into their own hands. Their hands are rough with labour - wrangling and gunslinging and digging graves for folk that wouldn't otherwise need them. And rough with you, too. Skimming up your thighs, prying them apart...

That's what folk would call a bad ending. Would shake their heads over and secretly pray that it never happens to one of their girls.

Maybe they succeed. Or maybe, just maybe... they don't.

See, the sheriff of your town is a hard man. White hat always clean, badge always shiny, but his gun is nicked with use, his spurs dull with hard riding. And when he hears what happened, it ain't long before he's on your trail. Pushing his stallion until it's frothing under the saddle. Hoping to get to you before night time. Before the sun goes down and the lust comes out.

He finds you easy enough, but it's just him against a gang and that ain't no easy win. He watches them from a distance, from up on the canyon maybe, or from between the thick trees. Sees you sitting at their campfire, hands and feet tied, pretty white dress stained with mud.

He sees that and thinks how he'd rather eat lead than see them stain the rest of you so dirty.

It ain't easy. It takes planning, skill. He lures them out one at a time and picks them off. Knife between the ribs, arrow straight through the neck, a wire pulled taught and tight around their throat. Until it's just him and the leader left - the man who chose to take you, the one who'd have gotten the prime cuts when it came to butchering your innocence.

It could go either way at this point. The sheriff ain't no slouch but the gunslinger is younger, hungrier. Folk would say the good guy should win, that justice ought to come out on top, and that you deserve your happy ending. But the truth is that they're both rotten to the core.

'Cause it ain't duty that made the sheriff ride his horse lame trying to get to you. No. It's love, of the kind just as perverse as the outlaw's. Only difference is that the sheriff has a whole society of rules and laws and expectations to keep him in check. And out here? Well, they just don't apply.

If the outlaw wins, the story ends pretty simple. He keeps you, has his way with you. Ruins you. Tucks you away in his hideout for only him to enjoy.

But I don't think that's what happens. The sheriff might not have the other man's speed, but he's got experience, age, years of watching cocksure young men giving themselves away when they go for their guns too early. He puts a bullet right in the other man's heart and steps over his body to get to you.

You're shaking, crying so hard that your gag is soaked through. Looking up at him so thankful that he wants to fuck you right then and there.

He cuts through your ropes and you hug him, not caring one bit that it ain't something a proper lady would do. He kneels on one leg and let's you cry into his shirt, voice all weak and sweet as you thank him.

"They was gonna do such awful things sheriff. Kept tellin' me how good it would be for me, but they kept touching me. Sheriff, I was so scared."

If he could, he'd kill them all over again. Instead he just holds you. Ignores the age gap between you, ignores how it ain't the proper thing to do.

"I'm here darlin'. And ain't no one gonna lay a finger on you again, you hear?"

You nuzzle into his neck, hiccuping. And God, it feels good to hold you. He's too old for you - hair going grey at the temples despite him still being lean with muscle. He's too jaded and mean for you - how can he be a good match for such an innocent thing when his hands are soaked in blood? He knows, but he just doesn't care.

Just scoops you up in his arms and carries you to his horse.

If there's one thing you ain't realised, it's that the sheriff is about as sly as he is mean. When he takes you home, he'll probably take your guardian aside for a quiet word. Lie straight through his teeth and tell them he was too late, that you were ruined before he got there.

He'll watch them go pale, watch the cogs turning. Who will want you now? And when he sees that awful realisation on their face, that's when he goes in for the kill.

Puts his hat over his heart and says he's so ashamed that he wasn't faster. That he couldn't save your innocence and your life both. That if your pa would give his blessing, he'd be more than happy to take you as his wife.

It's not the match they wanted for you. He's not a great political ally and he sure as hell ain't a God fearing man. But who else will have you once the rumours start flying?

And when they tell you, you're too shaken to object. Too indebted to the law man to wonder what he said to make them suddenly so amenable.

It's a nasty trick to pull. A theft almost as bad as your kidnapper's. You're too good for a dog like him, but he'll be damned 'fore he let's you get away. Rabid dogs sink their teeth in and never let go, didn't nobody ever tell you that sweetheart?

And on your wedding night, when he claims his reward from between your thighs, you slowly start to realise that honour isn't as easily found as you once thought, that a badge doesn't make a man good. He'll probably look up at you from between your legs, his lips and stubble shiny with your wetness. Smirking like a wolf who got locked in the pen with the whole helpless flock.

In the end, you only have yourself to blame. I tried to tell you he was rotten.

#Yandere sheriff #yandere male #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere drabbles #yandere scenarios #reader insert #x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x you #yancore

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lexirosewrites · 2 days ago

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Day One: Courting Rituals

for @stmarchmm

Before Eddie officially starts courting Steve, they’re together nearly every day.

Steve tends to hang at the trailer and watch movies with the alpha. Sometimes they go to the arcade with the kids or they host a DnD night at Steve’s place.

Everyone can see that they’re inseparable.

Robin even lightheartedly complains about how Robin and Steve time became Robin and Steve and Eddie time.

Steve wants to be around his new friend constantly and Eddie seems to want the same thing.

So they’re always together.

The funny thing is that Steve doesn’t even recall it becoming more than a friendship.

One day, they’re goofing off, cracking jokes, and getting high on Eddie’s rooftop.

The next, they’re holding hands at the movies and sharing milkshakes at the diner.

It’s an easy transition.

When people start asking about labels (Joyce keeps prodding Steve, reminding him that dating an alpha without clear intentions is a dangerous affair), Eddie beats him to the punch with a traditional bouquet of flowers.

Wildflowers. Hand-picked, colorful, and unique just like Eddie.

He’s received many attempted courting presents before, but these are Steve’s favorites.

Of course he agrees immediately to the unspoken request and that makes things between them official.

They can spend all the time in the world together now without speculation or judgement!

Only… now Eddie is barely around.

It makes no sense to Steve (or the other half of his brain, Robin). They’d been attached at the hip when it was casual and now that it’s serious, Eddie just up and disappears?

Steve is more than a little hurt, but he tries to be reasonable.

Maybe Eddie saw their official courting as a victory and he no longer has to work so hard to get Steve’s attention. Now he can put some space between them.

Or…

Maybe Eddie changed his mind.

Maybe Steve isn’t what he wants anymore and he’s delaying the pain of breaking it off by avoiding him entirely.

The uncertainty eats away at Steve. It’s one too many cancelled plans, dropped calls, and flimsy excuses.

Steve storms into the Munson trailer at 9PM, beyond panicking when Eddie didn’t answer his phone call they’d agreed to have at 8:30.

Eddie’s van is in the driveway.

In his rush to check for Eddie’s vehicle, he’d apparently missed Wayne’s truck.

“Evenin’, Steve. Eddie expectin’ ya?”

Steve’s anger deflates slightly in the face of the man he assumed would be as good as family soon.

Wayne has always been kind to him.

“No, I guess not. He was supposed to call me half an hour ago. I even tried ringing, but nobody picked up. I got—”

Paranoid. Angry. Hurt. Devastated.

“Worried. I was worried about him,” Steve explains truthfully.

Wayne pats the free spot on the couch next to him.

He hesitates.

If Eddie’s in his bedroom and willfully ignoring his calls, Steve would rather get this break-up over with.

The quicker his hearts breaks, the quicker he can start repairing it.

He sits anyway.

“I’m sure he lost track of the day again. Been happenin’ more and more lately.”

Wayne’s never lied to Steve before. It’s hard to imagine he’d start now.

“I just thought Eddie would want to be with me more since we started courting. It feels like he’s too busy to even see me anymore,” Steve confesses, a little shocked at his own honesty.

Wayne has that effect on people.

The old man hums thoughtfully, not outright agreeing or disagreeing.

“If there’s one thing I know about my boy, it’s that he’d give anything to spend every moment of every day with you, kid. He may not always do it perfectly, but Eddie loves you, Steve. Trust that much.”

He snorts.

“Well, he has a funny way of showing it these days. He used to at least make time for me, Wayne. Now, he’s practically avoiding me entirely. How else am I supposed to interpret that?”

The wrinkles of Wayne’s brow furrow deeper.

“Have you… really talked to him recently?”

Steve shakes his head briefly, trying not to let the tears fall.

“That would require him to pick up the phone for anything other than cancelling our plans.”

“Ah. I see.”

Wayne lets out a hearty laugh and Steve has to wonder whether Eddie’s uncle has lost his mind entirely.

“You should go see your alpha,” Wayne advises him with a smile. “Ease your troubled mind, omega.”

“What?”

“Go on, Steve. Just try not to startle him. That silly boy hardly sleeps as it is… I’ve got the night shift, but I trust you two won’t start on grandpups if I leave ya alone here?”

Steve nods frantically. His face is more than flushed at the idea of starting a family right now.

He’s not sure Eddie likes him anymore, let alone loves him enough to do that with him.

“Yes, sir.”

Wayne stands with a reassuring pat on Steve’s back, heading for the door after a pitstop for his keys.

“Goodnight, Steve.”

“Night, Wayne.”

He stays on the couch by himself a little longer, working up the nerve to go confront whatever is waiting for him in Eddie’s silent bedroom.

Steve would rather face another demogorgon than deal with Eddie’s incoming rejection.

Still, he promised Wayne.

He treads lightly on the creaky floors until he reaches Eddie’s bedroom.

It used to be a place Steve loved being. Full of Eddie’s personality and warmth. Smelling strongly of his loving alpha. Music always playing on the radio or turntable.

He turns the handle slowly, heeding Wayne’s advice to not startle Eddie.

It ends up not being an issue since his boyfriend is completely dead to the world, deep in sleep.

Weirdly enough, he’s still dressed. On top of the covers and wrapped around a box that Steve’s never seen.

Steve doesn’t flip the lights on, but he leaves the door open enough to light his way so he can come further into the room.

His hands move of their own accord, reaching for Eddie despite his brain saying it’s a bad idea.

Instead of a t-shirt, he touches a collared button down.

Steve doesn’t think he’s ever seen Eddie in anything so formal.

It’s a short sleeve shirt, but looks like nothing the alpha would ever choose to wear.

His fingers continue to wander until he finds a patch on Eddie’s chest. It’s ironed haphazardly.

He gets close enough to read.

‘Eddie.’ A name tag?

Steve continues to search Eddie’s shirt silently. He finds more words. Embroidering on the pocket states ‘Dan’s Auto.’

Dan’s Auto Shop is a garage in the next town over. Steve’s taken his own car there before. It’s decent, if a little rundown.

Does Eddie… work there?

Eddie has never held an honest to god job. Selling drugs to locals? Sure. But never a 9-5 blue collar hourly rate.

Why would he get a job and hide it from Steve?

Steve’s heart can’t take the suspense. He reaches for the strange box without care.

What’s inside makes him freeze.

A handcrafted brown leather collar with Steve’s name burned into it. And a ring. Simple, beautiful, elegant.

It matches Steve’s tastes exactly.

It has to be for him.

Steve lets out a shriek of surprise when an arm appears around his waist.

He’s pulled down onto the bed, Eddie’s strong hold tucking Steve right back against the alpha and keeping him in place there.

“Hi there, sweetheart.”

“Hi alpha.”

Steve doesn’t mention the missed phone call. Or the cancelled dates.

He’s missed his alpha too much to hold a grudge over such silly things.

In the morning, they’ll have a long and important conversation about proper communication and how Eddie doesn’t need to buy Steve any more fancy courting presents in order to impress him because he’s already in love.

Tonight, they just sleep peacefully in each other’s arms as (almost) mates.

#stmmm25 #stranger things march mating madness #steddie #steddie omegaverse #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #steve x eddie #a/b/o #omegaverse

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idontmindifuforgetme · 3 days ago

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Hello March <3

Humble urself and start w that 30 minutes of recreational reading a day. Go from there. Don’t overwhelm urself w a hefty tbr after a long reading slump

Ask for help. Who cares if it takes a village

Try to get things done in the morning. Then phone

It’s not as hard as you think it is

Be realistic about your limits. You will sacrifice some things in favor of other things. That is okay. Priorities are a revolving door and everything will get its turn

You’re at the beginning of your life. Calm down about doing everything at once

Hour by hour schedules have saved your life. Go back to them

People don’t ask for ur opinion before making decisions. Stop being so fucking concerned w what they think of yours

The truest cliche is sacrificing momentary comfort for long term gains. Sorry

Aim for perfection - don’t expect it off the get go. Perfection is a staircase. You will get there, or at least as close as u can, but you have to start somewhere. One chapter, one workout, one friend you’re consistent texting… then you go from there. Not everything has to be fixed at once

The only guaranteed time is now and what you do with it

Comparison is easily the most useless thing in the world

Green tea at sundown will make u feel better

Switching up your plan—your study plan, your timeline, your anything—is perfectly fine. But don’t use that as an excuse to not stick the landing

Ask if something/someone elevates your life—but ask if you’re also an asset to theirs. Survey others but survey yourself as well. Don’t be too hard on yourself but don’t coddle yourself

Just lock in tbh. Whatever you’re worried about u can take care of later. Choose 3 top things to focus on and own them. Accept other things might take a backseat as a result

Take piano practice as seriously as u do ur stem studies

You can fit a lot in w time management

Taking it one day at a time will save ur life

You can’t change it? Don’t worry about it. Most things are not a damning sentence. Pivot to another opportunity just as if not more lucrative

Intergenerational friendships:)

No shame in trying!!!! And also no one cares that much

Trust the process. It will happen w intention and incremental changes

Sit in the sun and practice thought stopping rituals about it

Embrace not over complicating things. Your therapist is good for u bc she does not indulge ur need to unnecessarily intellectualize/overthink things. She knows its not serving u anything and is just a distraction

#Needed to write a March scripture for me

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keigo-birdies · 3 days ago

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That meeting (if you could even call it that) was definitely scripted. It was designed to try and make Trump and Vance look tough but they just looked like petulant school yard bullies on the world stage. All it did was show even more how incompetent and weak they truly are.

There has never been a plan from the trump regime to help in the war in Ukraine. Putin is using trump to get what he wants because trump and all his loyalists are Russian assests. The plan is for Ukraine to just roll over and let Russia conquer them so that it will lead the way to Poland and other European countries to be attacked by Russia. Putin is trump's friend, but trump is not putin's friend. He just considers trump useful for the time being. Once trump is no longer of any use, putin will dump him. Because one thing is true, putin and trump are alike, in that they will use whoever they can to get what they want and then throw them under the bus when they are no longer of any use.

Russia is the new WW2 Germany for our generation. Putin wants more power and the only way to do that is to destabilize their biggest adversary, the US. And they've done that with the help of their Russian spy/asset, trump. Unfortunately, we with common sense warned our fellow Americans about this and every other thing we knew would happen but no one listened. His supporters and moderates still voted for him and many other eligible voters just couldn't be bothered to vote.

As a US citizen, I would like to apologize to Zelensky and the Ukrainian people. I know my words might not mean much, but I HAVE AND WILL ALWAYS STAND WITH THE UKRAINIAN PEOPLE as they fight tooth and nail to protect their country from a tyrannical Russia. You and your president are true heroes. Zelensky is what a true leader is supposed to look and act like. Even though your country is at war, it's good to know that Ukraine is lead by a great president. I'm jealous that you guys have a legitimate leader and not a petulant child like we do.

And I know there are many others here in the US who will continue to support and stand with Ukraine as well. Sending love and strength to Ukraine 🇺🇦💙💛

So this was a pre-planned (and likely paid for by the Kremlin) show: to invite Zelenskyy, scold him like a kindergartener in front of the press, present him with an unreasonable "deal" - an ultimatum - knowing full well he will refuse it (as anyone in this position would). And then tell the world: "Look, our mighty Orange King could've ended this horrible war in a day, but this poorly-dressed, warmongering, ungrateful twat just doesn't want peace! It's not our fault, we did what we could!"

The show is so cheap, so transparent, yet still effective for so many brainless people.

#ukraine #us #trump and putin and maga can choke #world politics

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girlgenius1111 · 13 hours ago

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grey november

leila ouahabi x reader r moves to manchester to be with her girlfriend, leila. manchester, however, is very different from barcelona where r grew up. it's an adjustment, and one that's taking it's toll on r. leila notices, and tries to make it better any way she can think of.

basically r has seasonal depression. very light angst, mostly fluff and leila being the sweetest girl in the world 🥰🥰

—

Manchester was very grey. Of course you’d known that, but the reality of living it was something else entirely than hearing about it. Rainy and overcast could be cozy. Spending the occasional rainy day inside wasn’t something you minded living in Barcelona, but your move to Manchester had increased those rainy, overcast days.

It was your first winter there, the first time you’d be spending an extended period of time in Manchester. The first two years Leila had spent in England, you’d remained behind in Spain. Mostly because your career, your family, your whole life was in Barcelona. Except… it wasn’t. Two years passed of flying to Leila, and her flying to you, and you never got used to it. Never got used to waking up most days alone in the bed you used to share, cooking breakfast in the kitchen alone where she’d used to sing off key every morning. And after two years, and no indication that Leila was coming back anytime soon, you’d realized life was too short. There would be plenty of years in the future, after football, that you could spend with Leila in Spain. For now, though, you ached for her every day. For her infectious laugh, the lines by her eyes when she’d smile, the way she slept with her head shoved under her pillow instead of laying on top of it.

Leila had wanted you to come in the first place, yet understood it didn’t really make any sense for you. But as much as you missed Leila, every second of every day, she missed you more. She’d never ask you to move for her, but she needed you.

She’d cried when you told her you’d be moving to Manchester.

It was the end of May, one of the biggest months for your girlfriend and her team, and you’d taken time off work to go see her. The idea of moving to her had been swirling around in your head for a few weeks, and it slipped out one morning as she tried to extract herself from your embrace and leave for training.

“I just want to be with you. All the time,” she’d murmured.

And with very little grace and absolutely no planning, you’d replied.

“What if I moved here?”

First, it was disbelief you saw on her face. And then, when she was sure you were serious, large tears welled in her eyes as she tackled you back down onto the bed, shoving her face into the crook of your neck and repeating over and over that there wasn’t anything she wanted more than that.

Leila had been late to training that day, and you’d made the move in July.

The first month was perfect. August and September, as well. October brought colder weather, more rain, more clouds. November was where it really started to go downhill. Leila was away with City and with the national team for what felt like half the month, and you were just… there.

There, in Manchester, with only your job to keep you busy. Very few friends outside of Leila’s football ones. It seemed lonely, more than anything. You didn’t realize what it really was until it was already happening, until you’d slipped back into a place you hadn’t been in since you were an overly angsty teenager.

Every day was harder than the last, the ones without Leila being the absolute worst. But you couldn’t let her see, couldn’t let her know. Your sweet, sweet Leila would be crushed with guilt. She’d try to move teams or scientifically alter the climate in England. You didn’t want her to feel bad; it wasn’t her fault the weather had an alarming impact on your mental health.

So, when Leila was home, you were fine. You were good, because you had to be. You laughed at her jokes and let her put on a film in the evenings after dinner knowing full well she would start kissing your neck within 10 minutes, and the movie would be forgotten.

When she was gone, you let yourself crumble. Staying in bed longer than was socially acceptable, wallowing in the oppressive weight that had settled on your chest. And when she’d get back, you’d make yourself pull it together. It was a cycle, one that began in November, and by December, one that you weren’t sure how to get yourself out of.

The thing was, you were so busy acting fine that you forgot to make sure Leila actually believed that you were.

—

Leila had been gone all weekend. An away game in London and an issue with their return trip kept her gone an extra day, but finally she was due home. The weekend for you had been… well, what had become averagely terrible. Most of it had been spent doing absolutely nothing, all the while your mind raced with all the things you should have been doing. You simply didn’t have enough energy for any of those tasks, though, the exhaustion you felt bone deep and paralyzing.

A few hours before Leila was due home, though, you dragged yourself off the couch. If there was one motivator, one thing that could get you out of your head, it was that Leila couldn’t find out. She just couldn’t.

You weren’t sure she’d get it, to start with. Leila was… Leila. Sunshine and smiles and laughter, all the time. Even when you weren’t dealing with depression, Leila’s social battery could long outlast yours. She’d go out and do something social with friends every day if she could. You’d never been that way, needing time to recharge between work and… work the next day.

Before Leila, you didn’t do things on weeknights. But Leila brought you out of your shell, and you found yourself craving more time with others, as long as she was there too.

So as much as you were beyond sure that your girlfriend would work tirelessly to understand where your head was at, you didn’t think she could. You didn’t think she’d be able to listen to you explain what was going on and not try to fix it. It wasn’t that you didn’t want Leila’s help; it was that you knew she’d give you a million suggestions that you wouldn’t physically be able to bring yourself to do. And she wouldn’t get that, you were sure.

Leila couldn’t fix this, so there was no reason to burden her with it at all. As much as you wanted her comfort, you couldn’t push your problems on her when she wouldn’t have the answer.

So, you cleaned the whole house in two hours flat. Changed the sheets, vacuumed behind the couch, and made dinner. By the time Leila arrived home, the house was perfect. Nothing out of order, nothing to suggest you’d spent the whole weekend on the sofa crying or sleeping or just staring at the wall.

Of course, Leila could see it on your face the moment she saw you. The bags under your eyes, the way you seemed to drown in her clothes.

She swept you into a hug, tucking her face into your neck and felt you sag against her.

Your hair was damp and smelled like her coconut shampoo, and you were mumbling something about dinner and watching a movie, but all Leila could think about was the way you melted into her hug, and the look in your eyes as she’d come through the door. Relief, and exhaustion. Deep, all encompassing exhaustion.

Gently, she nudged you back a little, her eyes locking on yours as she studied you.

“Are you okay, my love?” Leila asked softly, her expression warm and inviting.

For a second, Leila thought you might tell her what was going on. Your expression wavered a bit, but you blinked hard and forced a smile, leaning in to peck her lips.

“I’m fine! Excited to have you back.”

It was a lie Leila could see right through, but if she knew anything about you, it was that you were too stubborn for your own good. Leila could push and push, ask and ask, but you wouldn’t tell her what was going on until you felt ready. There wasn’t anything she could do about that, so she just nodded, pulling you back in by your wrist and kissing you much more fervently.

By the time you broke apart, there was a dazed look in your eyes, but a different kind from before. Satisfied, your girlfriend tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Did you say something about dinner?”

It took a minute for the question to process, your mind suddenly overcome with the softness of Leila’s lips, the little sliver of abdomen peeking out from her crop top, her slightly tousled hair. She was so pretty. You never got used to it.

“Uh… yes. Yes, dinner. I made dinner.”

With a grin, Leila grabbed your hand in hers and pulled you towards the kitchen.

“It smells so good, amor. Like the best thing I have ever smelled!”

You rolled your eyes at her enthusiasm, heading towards the stove to take the pot off the burner. As you rounded the kitchen island, though, you stumbled, foot catching on the trash bag sitting on the floor. Leila was across the room like she had super speed, steadying you before you could really come close to falling.

The trash. You hadn’t taken it out earlier like you’d meant to. The house wasn’t perfectly in order. And god, neither were you. The façade you were putting on crumbled within a second, all the time you’d spent making sure you seemed fine meaningless.

It wasn’t really a big deal, that you’d forgotten to take the trash out. It was just the last straw of an horrible, overwhelmingly emotional weekend.

“I’ll take this out, if you want to pick a movie?” Leila said easily, oblivious to the way you were about to fall apart next to her.

Leila grabbed the bag, her back to you, pausing when you didn’t reply to her. Then, she heard a small sniffle. She knew that sniffle, knew it from when something bad happened to an animal in a movie and you tried not to openly weep. She dropped the trash bag, turning around with a furrowed brow.

“Cari?” Leila prompted softly, moving closer as she saw your lip begin to tremble. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

It was as if the question had unlocked a floodgate inside of you, and before you could even think to stop yourself, you were stumbling forward into Leila’s open arms, burying your face in her shirt.

“Hey,” she murmured, wrapping one arm tight around your midsection, and resting the other on the back of your head. “Hey, it’s okay, baby. Everything’s okay.”

Wordlessly, you shook your head against her, clinging on tighter because you honestly weren’t sure what would happen if she let go.

Leila wasn’t letting go, though. She tugged you in even closer, squeezing as she rocked the two of you back and forth gently. “I love you. I love you so much.” Her voice was barely a whisper in your ear, but it was exactly what you needed to hear from her. Because, god, you didn’t love yourself in that moment.

The tears began to stop much sooner than you were expecting, and Leila was turning off the stove and leading you into the living room within a few minutes. You moved away from her to sit on the sofa, but she shook her head, sliding onto the couch and pulling you to lay directly on top of her.

One of her hands slipped up the back of your shirt, fingers tracing mindless patterns into your skin. She cradled your head with her other hand, making sure you stayed as pressed close to her as you could be. Leila held you like she could make everything better just by doing so.

For a few minutes it was quiet. That was one of your favorite things about Leila; she was talkative and loud when she wanted to be, but she was also content to just… be with you. Just sit and let you gather your thoughts, no matter how long it took. Leila waited, more patiently than you thought you deserved.

Finally, you found your voice. “I’m sorry.”

Leila scoffed, and you were sure she’d have flicked you if you hadn’t just been crying.

“I do not accept, because you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“You just got home and–”

“And nothing, baby,”

“ –and I fall apart because I’m a disaster,”

“ You aren’t a disaster!”

“ –and you have to deal with me and you shouldn't have to,” you finished despite Leila’s interruptions. You pulled away from her embrace, sliding off her body onto the soft next to her.

Her lips were pressed into a thin line when you looked at her, frustration radiating off her. It was such a departure from her normal temperament that you forgot entirely if you had anything else to apologize for. Instead, you just stared into her deep brown eyes, waiting for her to say something.

“I… I don’t deal with you. You are not a problem I have to solve. I love you, it isn’t a burden for me to be there when something is wrong, when you are upset.” Leila’s voice was practically trembling with conviction, so you reached out and grabbed her hand, giving it a squeeze. It was obvious that it hurt her for you to feel this way, for someone she loved and cherished to put such little value in themselves.

“I know that, Lei. I know, I’m sorry. I’m just not myself.”

Your girlfriend softened, then, her spare hand tugging at the ends of her ponytail like she always did when she was nervous. “Why aren’t you yourself, hmm? What’s going on?”

And though you’d spent the whole weekend thinking about it, the whole month practically wallowing in it, there weren’t any words in your head that would convey the weight that you felt resting on your chest.

“I… I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to say it.”

“Is… do you want to break up?” Leila asked quietly, the tremble of her voice matching that of her chin when you snapped your head to look up at her. This was always what she defaulted to, and you should have known better than to speak so ambiguously. Leila loved so hard, so deeply, she often worried it was too much. She worried it would drive you away from her, as if you’d ever grow tired of her adoration.

“Leila, no. Never. It’s not that, you’ve not done anything wrong.” You reassured her the best you could, brushing a soft strand of pin straight hair away from her forehead. Leila released a deep breath, concern returning to replace fear in her eyes.

“Then what is it? You’ve been off for weeks.”

You shifted uncomfortably, hating that you hadn’t been as good at hiding it as you thought. “I think I’m depressed.” You admitted finally, staring down at your hands as you began to pick at your cuticles. Leila’s hand covered yours almost immediately, her other gently tilting your chin until you had no choice but to make eye contact.

“You think?” Leila pressed. “Or you are?”

It was just like Leila to make you be as vulnerable as you could be, but you couldn’t deny it was one of the things you loved about her. The way she always saw through your futile attempts to write off your emotions as only partially valid.

“I am.” Voice no more than a whisper, you shrugged helplessly, tears stinging your eyes once again. “I don’t really know what happened. I haven’t felt like this in years, but suddenly I’m here and it’s– I don’t know.”

Leila’s eyebrows furrowed. “Here? Do you think being here has something to do with it?”

At this, you averted your eyes entirely, pulling your hand out of her and staring at a spot on the rug, where the design swirled into several different colors.

“Amor, you can tell me.” Leila implored. “Please. Is it England? Being away from your family? Your friends? Your new job? Do you not like the apartment?”

Finally, you raised your eyes back to your girlfriends, finding a desperate need to fix looking back at you. Exactly what you hadn't wanted.

“No. I mean, I miss my family and my friends but I’m so happy to be here with you. I like my job, I love our apartment. It’s…”

“What, baby?”

It suddenly felt so ridiculous. So stupid. What were you supposed to say? The clouds are making me sad, Leila. The rain makes me want to curl into a ball in our bed and never get up again. The weather in this country is draining all the happiness from my body.

“It’s the weather. The clouds and the rain. And the cold. I just… I never want to leave the apartment. I never want to go anywhere because it’s terrible out, so I don’t go anywhere and then I feel terrible about myself. I miss the sun, Leila. It’s so stupid, that it’s having this much of an affect on me, but I don’t know what to do anymore. I feel like I’m losing myself.”

“Oh, baby.” Leila sighed, uncrossing her legs so she could pull you in close to her chest. “That’s not stupid, not at all. That’s a real thing, a completely real thing that you are dealing with.”

And though you’d known that, it felt like a weight off your chest to hear Leila say it. You allowed yourself to relax into her, allowed yourself to feel the weight of your emotion in her presence in a way you hadn’t in a long time.

“There are so many things we can try to help you. We can find you a psychologist, and get you back to Spain for some sun more often. We’ll fix this, amor, I promise. We’ll get you back to yourself.”

Leila’s words were mumbled into the top of your head, and you found them more comforting than you were expecting. Even if you’d known she’d try to fix it… even if you hadn’t wanted that. Leila was going to help you, and that was a massive comfort. You nodded into her chest, gripping tight to her shirt in a way you hoped would convey how grateful you were to her.

The two of you sat there in silence for several minutes, wrapped up together so tightly you weren’t sure where you ended and where Leila began. It all felt less heavy just then, more manageable. You knew, though, that telling Leila what was going on was only the start of the process.

—

The next day was a good one; the sun had emerged from its cloud prison for the first time in weeks, and you’d gone for a run. As much as you hated to admit it, the exercise helped, as did the sunlight. Leila had been gone before you’d woken, though you thought you remembered waking just barely to a soft kiss pressed to your head and sweet words whispered into your ear.

It was a recovery day for Leila, and she was meant to be getting treatment down on her calf anyway, which had been giving her some trouble. She should have been home just before noon, just as you’d arrived home from your run. As it was, you’d had time to shower and make the two of you lunch before Leila walked in the door, a full hour after she was supposed to get home.

You weren’t suspicious or anything, mostly just curious where she’d been. The question didn’t even have time to leave your mouth before it was answered, though, Leila practically bounding into the kitchen holding a bulky box in her arms.

“Hi my love!” She grinned, putting the box down on the counter and sweeping you into a hug. Leila spun the two of you around, pressing kisses all over your face as you laughed, the flutter of her lips tickling your skin.

“Hi, Lei,” you replied, Leila finally halting her attack on your face so she could kiss you once on the lips.

“Hi.” She murmured against your mouth. “I missed you.”

“You were gone for like… 4 hours.” You chuckled, winding your arms around the back of her neck and pressing yourself closer to her even as you teased her.

“Still missed you.” Leila smiled, her face overwhelmingly earnest and adoring. “I got you a present!”

“No, did you?” You teased, nodding at the large box sitting just inches away from you.

Leila just rolled her eyes, shoving you lightly as she reached for the box and tore it open.

“It’s a light therapy box! You sit in front of it, and it shines on your face, and it’s supposed to feel like the sun!”

Leila was so excited, yanking the rectangular light out of the box and presenting it to you with a flourish. Your heart melted, knowing then that Leila had stayed up long after you’d gone to sleep, doing research to try to figure out how to make you feel better.

It was funny, that you’d been worried about her trying to fix you before. Leila wasn’t trying to fix you, and you weren’t sure how you’d thought she'd do so. Your girlfriend just wanted to help. Help wasn’t fixing. It was just what a good partner did.

“Thank you, Lei. Really.”

Leila blushed adorably, pushing hair out of her face as she smiled at you. “Do you want to try it?”

Lunch sat on the counter behind you, but it wasn’t getting cold, and the hopefulness radiating off your girlfriend was enough to have you nodding enthusiastically. The next second, Leila had to light in one hand, and your hand in the other, yanking you towards the living room.

For just a second, you thought that if her love could cure you, you’d never have gotten to this point. But you had. Love couldn’t cure you, but it could help. And Leila was determined to help.

—

The light therapy box wasn’t the only thing Leila got you, but her other gift wouldn’t be ready for a few more weeks, until the two of you were home from spending Christmas with your families in Spain, before returning to England for New Year’s Eve.

The time you spent in Spain was perfect. More than perfect. You got to see your family, got to enjoy the warmth. Well, it wasn’t warm by some standards, but it definitely was now that you’d spent time away from Barcelona. More than anything, you got to spend pretty much every second with Leila. No football to interrupt, no media commitment, no national team. Just you and Leila, spending every day together however you wanted to.

As such, your mood had improved. It wasn’t perfect; you could still feel the echo of the deep exhaustion lingering in the peripheral of your brain. You were deeply dreading going back to Manchester and falling back into the pit of depression you’d found yourself in not too long ago. It terrified you, that things could get bad again and you wouldn’t be able to fix it. That this was just how you were now, how you would be for the rest of your time spent in Manchester.

You could go to therapy and let Leila sit you directly in front of the light box as much as you wanted. There were certain aspects of your life in Manchester, though, that just meant loneliness. And that was what got you more than anything else.

Unbeknownst to you, though, Leila had been considering this exact point. The two of you had talked it over, talked it to death why you were feeling the way you were. You maintained that it was just the weather, but Leila could tell you were lying. Could tell that her unavoidable absences at times were really taking their toll on you.

And, ever the helper, Leila had come up with an idea.

—

“Shh.” Leila whispered. “Stop meowing, you’re going to spoil the surprise.”

While you slept in, Leila allowed herself to be impulsive, something she often fought in the name of being a responsible adult. It was mid morning, the day after you’d arrived back in Manchester from Spain, and Leila had snuck out to retrieve her idea.

A small, white and black kitten, with ears too big for his body and the biggest eyes Leila had ever seen on a kitten. She’d almost cried when she saw him for the first time, the sheer level of adorableness emanating from the little kitten. Leila had known in an instant he was perfect for you, a little buddy to be here when she couldn’t.

She’d gone to get him while you were still asleep, picking him up from the shelter and stopping to buy about half the pet store on her way back. The kitten would have no shortage of toys or treats, that was for sure. But now, as she crept into the house with the kitten curled up in her arms against her chest, she began to get nervous.

What if you didn’t want a cat? You loved your friends' cats, had talked about getting a pet before, but… maybe you’d changed your mind? She should have asked you first.

It was too late now. Mostly because she’d already adopted the kitten, and partially because she was attached, too. This was her kitten, even if they’d only really known each other for an hour or so. All she could do was pray you thought this was a good idea, or she’d be stuck with a kitten she adored and a girlfriend who was furious.

The small kitten mewed again, and Leila froze, just a few feet from the partially shut bedroom door.

“Shh, pequeño. We have to make sure she likes you before she finds out how noisy you are.” Leila whispered, peppering kisses onto the top of the little guy’s head. He pawed at her face in response and she giggled, before slapping a hand over her mouth.

“Lei? Are you… laughing to yourself?” You called, having woken just a few minutes prior and heard your girlfriend mumbling to herself. “And did you meow?”

“Um… I have a surprise.” Leila called back, still not moving any closer to the bedroom. She was using the voice she used when she spilled an entire mug of coffee on the white carpet in the living room, and you were suspicious instantly.

You sat up, eyes wide with surprise. A surprise… that meows. It didn’t take a genius.

“Come in here and show me.”

It was silent for a moment, before Leila took a deep breath and moved closer, gently pushing the door open.

“Oh… oh my god.” You breathed, scrambling out from under the covers and moving closer to your girlfriend. “Is that a cat?!”

Leila nodded nervously, holding the kitten out to you with both hands. “Surprise?”

It was clear to you that Leila had not entirely thought this through, the anxiety on her face speaking for itself. Expression still unreadable, you took the kitten into your arms, almost cooing at how he snuggled into you, apparently sleepy from giving Leila a hard time earlier.

“I… I know I should have asked you first. But I also know you hate being alone here, and I’m gone so often right now, and I just thought not being here by yourself might help. I should have asked first.” Leila spoke rapidly, hands gesturing wildly as she spoke.

You weren’t really sure what to say. Leila was known to do impulsive things, absolutely more of a ‘don’t ask permission, ask forgiveness’ kind of person, but you’d never expected her to do this. On the other hand, though, Leila was right. Absolutely right, and you’d been thinking about how to bring the idea of getting a pet up to her. Apparently, you hadn’t needed to worry about it.

In your arms sat the sweetest, most adorable kitten you’d ever seen in your life, purring softly as you gently rubbed his head. And standing just across from you was the sweetest, most thoughtful person you’d ever met in your life; how could you be mad at her?

“You should have talked to me first.” You began, softening as Leila cringed and nodded, quiet apologies spilling out from her. “But this… this is kind of perfect, Lei. I was thinking about asking you how you felt about getting a pet. And this guy… he’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Leila exhaled, relieved as if she’d been told the world had narrowly avoided a nuclear crisis.

“Oh thank god. I don't know what I was thinking. one second, I just wanted to help you feel better, and the next… I was buying a cat.”

Your girlfriend seemed genuinely baffled at her own actions and you couldn’t help but laugh, tucking the kitten under one arm and lifting the other, gesturing Leila closer. She scooched in, slouching herself down so she could tuck her face into your neck.

“I love you.” She murmured. “I just want you to feel good, to be happy.”

You tilted your head so you could kiss her temple, overcome with how very loved Leila made you feel.

“You make me very happy, Lei. Thank you.”

Leila just held you tighter, thinking she’d buy every cat in the world if this was your reaction. She’d buy anything, do anything, to see such a happy smile on your face.

—

#woso x reader #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso one shot #leila ouahabi x reader

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1d1195 · 18 hours ago

Text

Buttercup - Extra I

Read Buttercup here ~2.6k words

From me: most of the asks and follow up requests were for showing how in love they are and how Harry' s going to treat her right after she wasn't for so long. Hopefully this will work 💕

Warnings: a little angsty, but fluffy overall. Maybe a little TOO fluffy. Nauseating, if you will. Like eating too many peanut buttercups.

Summary: Moving in next to Harry is one of the best thing that's ever happened to her.

It seemed like it had been raining for weeks. The wind provided an eerie soundtrack to her dreams. The rain sheeting against her window didn’t help either. She wished she had taken Harry’s offer to install a doorbell camera. However, she worried she would stare at it excessively, worried about who could be approaching her house.

Staring at the ceiling she sighed covering her eyes with her palms groaning to herself. The house was too quiet. Of course, she felt safe. It was just the wind and rain adding to her anxious mind. All she needed to do was fall asleep and in the morning everything would be fine. Her phone said it was just after two she still had ample time to sleep before her alarm went off.

Stupid Levi.

She thought she was a pretty independent person. Given that she kept her secret of leaving Levi for a couple months she felt she deserved the title. It took careful planning. Her heart had been in her throat for well over a year prior to her escape.

A little wind and rain shouldn’t have bothered her.

But it did. Every extra sound made it feel like someone was breaking in. They weren’t and she knew it. There was only one person that would try to break in and despite his threat, he hadn’t been back in the months since he showed up unexpectedly.

Two in the morning was too early. It had to be. There had to be a limit. For God’s sake they’d hardly been dating long at all. Swallowing, she put the phone to her ear and sighed as she listened to the quiet ring. One, two, not even three. “’Lo?” He murmured. Clearly, she woke him. Part of her thought she should just hang up and let him sleep. “Buttercup, baby, y’okay?” His voice clearer as she didn’t answer.

Great. Now he’s worried. “Hi,” she whispered.

He chuffed out a breath of laughter. “Hi kitten,” his voice sounded way too good. It should have been illegal to sound that good half asleep. What was the reason? “Y’okay, Buttercup?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause, and she hoped Harry fell back asleep so he wouldn’t worry about her. She could hang up and he wouldn’t even notice. She would tell him he dreamt the whole thing in the morning. “Jus’ wanted t’hear m’voice, then?” He asked.

She sighed heavily. “No...” she shook her head. “Not... no. I woke up and... forget it. I’m sorry. Go back to sleep.”

“Buttercup,” he practically cooed. “Tell me.”

His voice was too soothing. Too enticing. She was pretty sure as independent as she was that if Harry asked or said it, with his pretty voice, she was doomed. He could convince her to rob a bank just by asking. Or quit her job and rub his shoulders all day.

“M’jus’ gonna come over, kitten,” she heard the rustling of his comforter and sheets. The creak of his bedroom door and his quiet footsteps around his house.

“No!” She said quickly, sitting up and pressing a hand to her forehead. “That’s ridiculous, Harry.”

“No, s’not,” he yawned. “S’actually a great idea. This weather keeps waking me up. I need someone t’snuggle with if I want t’save any remainder of m’sleep. I’ll use m’key. See y’in a minute.”

He was gone before she could respond. She threw her covers off and hurried to the front door switching on every light she passed. As she reached the front door, Harry was closing and locking the deadbolt. “Hi, Buttercup,” he grinned, kicking his shoes off. He was soaked from the short walk, the tips of his curls that didn’t stay in his hood dripped on his face. His jacket dripped on her floor (not that she cared). “Let’s go t’bed,” he hung up his coat and pulled her by the hand as he walked back toward her room.

He switched off each light she just turned on, saying nothing about the impromptu visit. In her room he stripped his shirt off making her gulp because even though she had seen Harry many times without a shirt on, he was stunning and made her speechless. He slipped out of his sweats next and all but tossed himself beneath the covers. The poor thing seemed totally exhausted.

“C’mere, kitten,” he mumbled and lifted the covers for her to fall into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered when she was settled into his embrace. He pulled her in, so she was spooned into his body. He was so warm it was insane. She threaded her fingers between his and tucked his hand beneath her chin. His other hand outstretched below her pillow. His lips were at the back of her head. Softly he pressed kisses along the spot on her neck he could reach.

“What are y’apologizing for, Buttercup?”

“For waking you—”

“Y’didn’t wake me,” he interrupted. She huffed because she knew he was lying. Lying to make her feel better. “S’not a big deal,” he decided after a moment. “Getting t’sleep with you s’a great reward.”

“But you had to go out in the rain and it’s late—”

“M’not gonna melt, baby.” She huffed again, irritation evident in the tone of just her breath. “Talk t’me, kitten.”

“I was scared,” she whispered.

He inched his body closer to hers. It seemed impossible as the heat of his thigh on the back of hers felt like she was suntanning in the tropics. “Scared of what, Buttercup?”

She didn’t answer for a moment. “The weather was just loud I guess, and every little noise bothered—”

“M’sorry,” he mumbled and kissed her skin. “I’ll stay when we have bad weather from now—”

“Harry, that’s not your responsibil—”

“You’re m’girlfriend, Buttercup. S’not a chore or anything. S’what m’supposed to do and more than that, I want t’do it. Sleeping with you is one of m’favorite things,” he explained.

“It’s silly. I’m a grown, independent woman and I shouldn’t need my boyfriend to sleep with me because I’m scared of a little weather.”

There was a long pause. She would have thought Harry had fallen asleep if it wasn’t for the fact that he released her hand to use his fingers to trace the skin on her arm. “Y’not scared of weather, Buttercup,” he whispered. She felt her cheeks warm at his accurate statement. “Y’don’t have t’be brave for me. Y’had t’deal with a really scary thing and frankly I’m scared for you. Not because I think he’s going t’come back, but because I know y’think he might, and it scares you and s’not fair for you t’live like that. S’why I sleep with m’phone on full volume. I would sleep over every night if y’asked. I would love t’do that. Jus’ because y’don’t need a lot from me, doesn’t mean y’can’t ask nor deserve it. Y’can be independent and still need me,” he spoke slowly, his reassuring words felt elongated by the night. She felt her eyes sting with tears. Harry saw her so clearly and easily. He didn’t even have to see her to know he needed her. He was willing to lie to her about her own emotions so she wouldn’t feel embarrassed.

“Can you tell me you love me already so I can say it back?”

He chuckled and twisted her around until she faced him in the dark. He cupped her face stroking his thumbs along her cheeks. “Y’could have said it first at any time, baby.”

“Absolutely not. You would have said something mean if I said it first.”

“Mean? Like what?”

“Like... thank you or something, I don’t know. Some silly prank that would make you laugh.”

He chuckled. “S’a good idea.”

“Exactly. Laugh exactly like that. I’m not saying it first. I don’t care how ridiculous that is.”

He brushed his thumb on her lip and leaned in blindly in the dark to press a gentle, warm, firm, and lovely kiss on her lips. It made her dizzy and she couldn’t believe he liked her so much despite her bad attitude and her stubbornness. “I love you, Buttercup,” he whispered softly, his breath fanning across her face.

She couldn’t believe he loved her.

“Thank you,” she sighed dreamily. He snorted, shook his head, and kissed her forehead. “I love you, too.”

“Go t’sleep, Buttercup,” he murmured and tucked her into his chest. “S’jus’ a little wind and rain.”

She fell asleep before he finished his sentence.

When she came home from work, Harry was on her front step. However, he wasn’t waiting for her this time. His attention was fixed right next to the handle of her door. “Hi Buttercup,” he grinned over his shoulder as she approached. “How was your day?” He asked. She stared at him as he continued installing the doorbell camera. “What did y’have for lunch?”

She watched him silently as he worked. “What are you doing?”

He smiled sheepishly. “Nothing, baby,” he shrugged. “Jus’ making sure y’feel safe.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Harry made her feel so safe all the time. “How—”

“I should’ve done this when we discussed it the first time,” he shrugged one shoulder and then put the screwdriver he was using in the small toolbox he laid on the porch at his feet. “Can I see your phone?” He asked. She opened the bag on her shoulder and handed off her phone. He unlocked it with her passcode. “Now y’can see,” he put a hand on her lower back. “Y’can adjust the sensitivity. Y’probably don’t need t’know every time a squirrel runs across the porch,” he kissed her temple while the back of her eyes started to sting with the threat of tears. “What do y’want t’do for dinner, Buttercup?” She shrugged and turned toward him. She pressed her face into his chest. “Hey, s’matter, kitten?” He hummed kissing the top of her head. “Hey,” he chuckled. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re so nice,” she sniffled.

“Buttercup,” he sighed and squeezed her tighter. “S’what a boyfriend is supposed t’do. I love taking care of you,” he promised her. “S’normal things t’do for you. S’what y’do when we’re in love.”

“I don’t do anything like this for you.”

“Oh, Buttercup, s’not true...” he frowned. “Y’make dinner, y’rub my back, y’made our garden look so much better than I ever could’ve done. And, not t’mention y’kiss me and let me do naughty things t’your pretty body,” he smiled impishly. “So y’do sweet things all the time.”

“But you make me feel safe and I don’t—”

“Buttercup, your existence makes me feel safe. S’my job t’make y’feel safe.”

“Are you guys making out in front of the doorbell to save for later?” Louis called from the yard. “That’s weird.”

Harry flipped him off and tipped her chin up. “S’a good idea,” he winked and pressed his lips against hers.

“I love you,” she sighed.

“Thank you,” he grinned.

She shoved him and he chuckled, pulling her back to his chest. “I love you so much, Buttercup.”

Harry woke up to the smell of something coming from the kitchen. It seemed unlikely that Louis was cooking something because the last time he tried, he thought they were going to need a fire extinguisher. He headed down the hall. “El are y’cooking breakfast?” He yawned rubbing his eye as he did.

“Not quite,” she giggled.

Harry perked up excitedly and quickened the last steps to the kitchen. “Good morning, Buttercup, t’what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked, coming up behind her at the counter. He pressed kisses to the crook of her neck while she worked with the waffle maker. There was an upturned bowl beside her little work station. “This is sweet of you, Buttercup. S’it our anniversary already and I forgot?”

“No,” she smiled. “I just, wanted to do something nice for you.”

“You’re always nice t’me, baby.”

“Well really nice then.”

She pulled the waffle from the iron and placed it under the bowl with three others before putting the bowl back to keep them warm. Harry’s couldn’t stop his hands from roaming her hips and sides. “M’in love with this,” he sighed dreamily. He tucked his face into her neck and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Me making breakfast?” She laughed.

“S’jus’ nice, Buttercup. I would never expect you t’make me breakfast, but s’jus’ thoughtful. You’re perfect.”

“Do you want something extra? You’re being super complimentary.”

“I love you, kitten. Take the compliments,” he chuckled, his words mumbled and obstructed by the way he pressed his mouth to her skin. She focused on the waffle again and remained quiet for a few moments. Then Harry realized the error of his words. “S’probably hard to take the compliments, hmm?” She shrugged one shoulder but didn’t say anything; confirming exactly what Harry already knew. “Well, s’a good thing I like complimenting you. S’good practice for you t’get used to it,” he peppered her cheek with kisses. “Can I help y’with something?” He asked.

She smiled. “No, I’m just going to put this on the table.”

Harry was so distracted by how pretty she looked in his kitchen early in the morning, making him breakfast, he didn’t even notice how cute the table looked. There were flowers in a vase in the middle. Four plates and sets of silverware set up like they were at a restaurant. There were strawberries, blueberries, chocolate chips, whipped cream, and butter. Orange juice and a tray of four coffees from their favorite shop nearby.

“You’re incredible,” he pulled her away from the waffle iron as she set the last one. He wrapped one arm around her waist, cupped her face with the other and tipped her back to kiss her. Her lips were so soft and so warm. his heart started pounding like he had never kissed anyone before. She tasted so good, sweeter than the yummy waffles they were about to eat. He couldn’t help but smile as he kissed her. He used to love pranking her; the joy he felt was unmatched when he made her grumpy. God, kissing her was triple the dopamine, quadruple the serotonin. It felt almost illegal to be so happy. It spread all through his body.

“Harry,” she giggled against his mouth. “Breakfast.”

“You taste better,” he mumbled not pausing his kisses against her mouth.

“At least taste the waffles before you insult them,” she whispered pulling back slightly while he dotted kisses along her face while she spoke.

He squeezed her tight to his body, tucking his face back into her neck as he did. “Hey Buttercup?” His voice muffled once more by her skin and his reluctance to move from her body.

“Yeah?”

It warmed Harry how easily she answered to the little name. She was lovely. Perfect. The best thing to happen to Harry. While he hated why she had to move into their neighborhood, he was so grateful her pretty self created a home right next door. He pulled back to cup her face, skimmed his thumb on her cheek. “You deserve compliments.”

He didn’t follow it up with anything cute. Didn’t even compliment her afterwards. He wanted it to sink into her brain—even if it only sank in an inch. He would tell her every day. She deserved all the best and Harry was happy to remind her of such and do whatever he needed to make her feel that way.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He kissed her forehead. “I’ll go get El and Lou.”

“Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you lots.”

“Me too, Buttercup. So much,” he winked heading down the hall.

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postracehair · 3 days ago

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fracture

max verstappen x reader | 3.5k

max breaks his wrist during the first week of the off-season.

cw: max breaks his arm, r is a bit rattled, some blood, a naked shower, intimacy, mentions of sex

a/n: c'mon. you know he'd be so annoying. good thing we love him. [i wrote this before the season ended and then...never posted it. so, here, have it before we start all this shit over again in a few weeks.]

You are not there when it happens.

You're asleep, actually, curled up on Max's couch with the cats while he enjoys the first week of the off-season. The celebrations have ended and there is a great deal of work to be done in the next few months, but everyone gets a little bit of respite.

Vacation will come after the holidays. That's the plan, anyway. The last few days have seen you in Monaco, mostly inside Max's place. Just spending time together, relaxing, watching movies, rumpling his sheets. Today, though, he and Danny decided to go on a world-class-athlete-level bike ride.

Which is why you're on the couch. They've been gone all day and you don't expect Max to get home until later. You ran errands, cleaned a little, and then took an afternoon nap.

As you rouse from it, you fumble for your phone to check the time. The screen lights up and you're greeted with --

35 texts. 4 missed calls.

"What the hell?" you mutter, sitting up and opening everything.

DR: sorry for the three calls don't freak out but i think max broke his arm

DR: he says you're probably napping but i'm going to document this for when you wake up

DR: he's fine but yeah that shit is fucked

DR: he says not to tell you he fell off his bike but he fell off his bike

DR: he braked for some animal in the road and went over his handlebars

DR: oh he also scraped his face but he's still pretty, don't worry

DR: his palms are fucked though which is why he's not texting you

DR: we're on the way to the hospital, btw

DR: you're gonna be so pissed when you wake up

It goes on like that. Daniel, to his credit, has given you a play-by-play of the whole situation. You've only been asleep for about an hour and based on the time stamps this started right after you fell asleep.

You get up as you read, grabbing your things and trying to find your shoes as you read. You need to -- you need to go and be wherever they are. You need to help. Heart racing, chest tight, you need to be near Max as soon as possible, even though Danny said he's okay. If this was you, Max would already be there. God, why did you take a nap?

According to the texts, they got to the hospital and he was seen immedietly, x-rayed, and bandaged up. Broken right wrist, Danny had said. He's pissed more than anything.

You're about to call him back when your phone rings in your hands.

"Danny," you say as soon as you accept it.

"Oh, thank fuck," Daniel exclaims. "I thought I was going to have to surprise you in person with the whole thing."

"I'm about to leave, just give me 15 minutes to get there--"

"No, no, no," he interrupts you. "He just got discharged. I'm bringing him home."

You stop in your tracks, one foot shoved halfway into your sneaker. "Really?"

"Yeah, we'll be there in like, 20 minutes?" You can hear Max saying something in the background. "He wants to talk to you," Danny sighs. "Mate, you'll see her soon--"

He's cut off and there's some muffled noises and then Max is saying your name.

"I'm fine," he says. "I only made him tell you so it wasn't a surprise when I came home."

"Max," you sigh, shoulders creeping away from your ears at the sound of his voice. "I'm so sorry, I was asleep!"

He laughs. You feel a bit weepy, which is both an overreaction and cathartic. "Good," he says. "The whole experience has been a pain in the ass."

"You're coming home now? Are you in pain?"

"Eh," he says, dragging out the sound. "They gave me something while they set it so I don't feel it much. Daniel says we'll be home soon. Oh, hold on --" There is some muttering, Danny's voice in the background. "Okay, I'm going to give you back. See you soon, liefje."

"Okay," you say softly.

"Be there in a flash!" Danny says brightly. "Seriously, don't worry."

You hang up and just stand in the hallway, at a loss. Something bad happened to Max and you weren't there. It feels wrong. Not that he's in poor hands with Danny -- quite the opposite. He's probably the only person aside from yourself that you'd want there for Max in a crisis. But, god. You wish you had been there.

The cats weave around your ankles as you pace, waiting for Danny to call or for the door to open or, anything at all to happen. Your mind is running a million miles a minute. Objectively, it's the best time for Max to break something. There isn't even a car for him to test right now and he had at least another week of time off before needing to go back to Milton Keynes. This might throw a wrench in your holiday plans but you couldn't care less about that. How long will he be in a cast? You assume he's in a cast. What kind of help will he need? Will you be enough to provide it? What if he --

Noises in the hall make you freeze and then you hear Danny's voice. You bolt to the door, unlatching the locks and pulling it open. You're greeted with the sight of the two of them -- Danny looking down at Max's keys in his hands, both of their backpacks on his back. They've both changed out of whatever ridiculous bike outfit they must have been wearing for the ride, but you devote your attention to your boyfriend.

You can see the bandages on Max's knees and forearms where he must have scraped himself up on the road. His wrist -- it's in a black cast that runs the length of his forearm. He cradles it to his chest in a sling they must have given him and then you make your way to his face. A few scratches along one cheek, hair a mess, mouth drawn into a frown. A frown that relaxes slightly when you meet his gaze. Your eyes well with tears.

"Max," you breathe. He steps in front of Danny and meets you in the doorway, his cast-free hand cupping your face through the bandages on his palm.

"I'm fine," he says. "You're looking at me like I'm in a coma."

"Sorry," you whisper. "I just --"

He tugs you to him gently, pressing your face into his neck and rubbing your back. You try to be careful of his arm as you breathe deep and will yourself not to actually lose it.

"Guys, can we at least go inside?" Danny asks.

Max huffs and you pull away. He drags his thumb under both of your eyes but doesn't comment on the dampness he finds there. "Inside, liefje."

Danny drops Max's stuff and passes along the documents from the hospital. He's quite the personality but he's all business when he needs to be. "Pain killers in his bag. Call me if you need anything, guys."

You step away from Max long enough to throw your arms around Danny. "Thank you," you whisper. "For looking after him." For calling. For bringing him back to me. For doing what I should have been there for.

He chuckles. "Alright," he says. "Max should break something more often."

Once Danny leaves, it's just the two of you. Max has settled on the couch, head leaning back into the cushions.

"Come sit with me," Max calls. "God, I forgot how much I hate hospitals."

His eyes are closed and he holds his arm gingerly. It's not the first time you've seen him injured -- you've been at his side in the medical tent before after watching him careen into a wall at 190mph. And yet, right now, you're still so upset.

You settle into the cushions on his left side and just watch him.

"I'm sorry," you say again. Max's eyes open. "I can't believe I was asleep when Danny called."

Max shakes his head. "What would you have done?"

"I could have come to get you and take you to the hospital, or just met you there, or--"

He puts his hand on your knee. "Come on," he says. "Don't be silly."

How do you explain it to him? How do you tell him that something happening to him feels like it happened to you? That not being there feels like a personal failing?

"Will you tell me what happened?"

He sighs and you pull his palm from your leg to hold it in your hands.

"It's stupid," he grimaces. "You don't need the details."

"Max."

He folds. Other people in his life have called this your superpower -- Max's will is iron clad. It is very difficult to get him to do something he does not want to do. But one word from you, one soft look, one gentle touch, and he often relents. It's like you can peel back that layer of him that has hardened out of necessity. To protect himself and his heart, to make sure he's taken seriously, to stop things from hurting.

It's like you remind him that it's okay to feel, even when it's hard.

"Daniel summed it up," he grumbles. "We were biking down a hill outside the city and something ran out into the road in front of me. I stopped. Or tried to, at least." He mimes squeezing the breaks, fingers curling in towards his bandaged palms. You stroke his unbroken wrist with your thumb.

"And you went over," you finish.

"And I went over. Got my knees, my forearms, my hands. My wrist, obviously. Just landed badly."

You reach for his face ever so gently, dragging the pad of your thumb over the shallow scrapes on his chin, his cheek. He allows it, knowing that you need to touch him to be sure he's okay. Whenever he has a crash on track you have trouble letting him out of your sight for hours. You just need to look at him, feel him warm and alive under your hands.

"I'm going to write a letter to your helmet manufacturer," you say, not entirely kidding. You slide your hand over his temple and into his hair. It's dirty, you can feel it, but you cradle his skull all the same. "Thank them."

He laughs once, amused with your sincerity. "I need to shower," he says. "But I can't get this wet." You finally direct your attention to his broken wrist, the entirety of his forearm and hand encased in the cast under the sling.

"Does it hurt?" you ask again. Max would tell anyone else off for badgering him so, but he keeps his face soft and reassures you.

"It's strange," he says. "I'm sure I'll feel it later."

"Did it hurt?" you whisper. "When you broke it?"

You know that Max has felt a great deal of pain in his life. His day job requires it -- physical, mental, emotional. He knows how to handle it and get over it. But he's also honest with you, always.

He wrinkles his nose. "It wasn't nice," he confesses. "I knew right away."

You grimace. In the silence, you match your breaths to his and just sit together for a little while.

And then Max's stomach growls.

"Whoops," he says, grinning crookedly. Still an athlete, still a boy with a fast metabolism. You can't help but laugh.

"How about this," you begin, unfolding yourself from the couch and standing in front of him, hands on your hips. Max looks up at you like you're the best thing he's ever seen. "I order some food and then we get you showered while we wait for it. Let the scrapes breathe and keep your cast dry, then we eat and watch a movie and go to bed. Okay?"

"We get me showered?" He sounds skeptical.

"You think you can wash your hair on your own?"

He smirks. "I can do a lot with one hand."

You roll your eyes. "So you're turning down an opportunity to shower with me, is what I'm hearing."

Max gets himself off the couch and rests his palm on your hip. "No," he says softly. "I'm not that stupid."

He kisses you lightly and heads for the bathroom.

"I guess we can wrap it in a plastic bag, or something?" you call after him. It takes a few minutes of opening and closing cabinets for you to find one. You put in a delivery order and make your way to the bathroom. Max has already turned on the shower and you find him shirtless and peeling off his bandages in in front of the mirror.

"Let me do that." He doesn't put up much of a fight, not even wincing when the tape pull at his skin. You see the gashes on his forearm, the raw skin of his palms. "Arm, please." The plastic bag goes around his cast and you tie it at his elbow.

"You planning to wash my hair while wearing your clothes?" Max asks with a straight face.

You stare at him, trying to seem unimpressed. He breaks first, mouth pulling up at one corner before he shucks off his soft shorts and briefs in one go. He pecks you on the cheek and gets in the shower, still smirking at you through the glass door.

"Alright, alright," you mutter. "So dramatic."

You feel Max's eyes on you as you undress, leaving your clothes on a pile on the floor.

The shower is unnecessarily big but Max does not give you much space. The hot spray is at his back and he keeps his plastic bag-clad arm mostly out of the way.

"Feel good?" you ask. Max sighs but nods. You'll bet he's aching but hasn't admitted it. He turns to the side so you can catch some of the spray, too, fighting off the chill outside the warm water.

"I might fall asleep in here," he mutters.

"That'll be the painkillers, darling," you tell him. "C'mon, get your hair wet."

Max tips his head back. You readjust so that you can card your hands through it. You shampoo him gently, taking your time and massaging his scalp. It's a miracle he stays on his feet, but he does. You hum as you work and Max's breaths get deeper, slower.

"Head back," you say softly. He obeys. You do the same with some of your conditioner because you know he likes how it smells.

This shower feels more intimate than the countless hours you've spend in his bed, tangled up in one another. He's been inside you and yet this feels more vulnerable. He's totally ceding control, trusting you to take care of him. You're naked, slick bodies brushing, always touching whether it's your hands in his hair or Max's own fingers reaching for your skin just to feel.

One time, when you were sick, you couldn't muster the energy to take a shower. Max ran you a bath and washed your hair for you, talking all the while because you asked to hear his voice. It's obvious that you'd do the same for him, as you're doing now. It's just how you love each other -- all the way, all the time. When it's easy and when it's hard.

"Danny was right," Max says, words slurring half from bliss and half the fatigue of the day catching up to him. "I should break bones more often."

You finish rinsing him and just stand there in the spray for a few moments.

"Please, no," you groan, brushing wet strands back from his forehead. "If you want me to wash your hair I will, Max. You don't need to break anything."

His eyes flutter open and find yours. He smiles lazily and you turn off the shower.

"If you say so," he says. "Can we take this off, now?"

Bag removed, skin patted dry, comifes on. The food comes when you're settling Max on the couch with a pillow for his arm. In all likelihood he'll manage a few bites of take out and fall asleep 15 minutes into the movie. But he needs the rest, you think. And besides, he'll have you to watch over him.

It becomes clear remarkably quickly that Max is an awful patient. You sort of knew this -- he's been sick a few times when you're around, but you figured that was just man-disease. Whining, refusing to sit still. This is 10x worse. He won't let you do anything for him until he's proven that he can't do it himself. You consider locking him in your bedroom to keep him from trying to do things he shouldn't do.

Max just wasn't made to sit still.

But you can empathize -- it's frustrating to not be able to do any of the things he really likes to do. Drive, use his sim, even play regular video games. It's a lot of movies and long walks and leg days with his trainer.

And then there's the way he just won't ask for help. That's a Max Verstappen original and you know it gets worse when he's frustrated. You do it too -- everyone does. But Max wants to do everything himself, wants to prove that he can.

You try to sit back and let him work it out. About a week after he comes home with his arm in a cast, he calls your name. You're in the kitchen, staring into the open fridge and wondering if you should order more groceries or just go to the shops yourself.

"You okay?" you call back. "Where are you?"

"Bathroom,"he shouts.

Ah, you think. Here we go.

He hasn't shaved yet. You've always loved when he keeps his facial hair a little longer. You love the feel of it on your skin and how it lightens along with his hair when you're on holiday somewhere nice. It's more likely that he keep it long in the off-season. Hot races are a nightmare with a beard, he's said. It itches like mad.

"Coming," you call.

Sure enough, you find him in front of the sink, razor in hand and frown firmly in place. He makes eye contact with you in the mirror and even though you can feel his annoyance from here, the set of his jaw softens.

"Do you think you could help me shave?" he asks. No lead up, no hem and haw.

"Of course, Max."

You quickly work out that sitting on the counter next to the sink while he stands between your knees works best. His broken wrist hangs at his side, the other hand resting on the counter next to your leg.

You lather him up, carefully applying the white foam of his shaving cream on his cheeks, his chin, his neck. He's got a fancy razor, one that will probably make it hard to cut him. Still, you feel the way he's basically handed you a blade and asked you to use it on him. In so many ways it's one of the most intimate things you've ever done. Even more than the showers you've had this week, just chatting and washing his hair.

"I'll be careful," you say softly.

"I know." He tilts his chin up, showing you his neck. "Go on, then."

It's quiet work. You're focusing hard and Max seems content to allow you. Stroke after stroke, rinsing the razor in the sink. You keep one hand at the base of this throat as the other works, gliding it over his skin. Cheeks, jaw, upper lip. Chin, neck.

"I like your beard, you know," you say when you're almost done. He waits until you're rinsing the razor again to reply.

"I do," he says, smirking. "You aren't quiet about it."

The last patch comes off as easily as the rest and you grab a damp towel to clean the rest of the shaving cream. Max appears to have relaxed enough to become pliant, leaning into your touch as you finish. He lets you rub moisturizer into his cheeks, eyes fluttering closed. His hand ends up on your leg, fingers pressing into the flesh of your thigh.

"Cheeky," you mutter. He smiles, boyish and easy. You take your time, pleased that he's letting you, but also because you could touch him forever. "Schatje," you whisper, trying to make it sound like it does from his lips. "All done."

Max doesn't move. You frame his face with your hands and lean in until your lips touch. You feel his smile against yours, but he dutifully tilts his head to deepen the kiss. His freshly shaved skin is so soft. You've kissed thousands of times by now, but you can never get enough of him. The way he responds to your every move, meeting your pressure with some of his own. Your tongue with his, swallowing your moans and giving you his own like a gift.

It's Max who pulls away, dragging his lips over your cheek.

"Dankje," he whispers. It means more than that, you know. From Max, it means thank you for dealing with me, for taking care of me, for loving me.

He doesn't think any of that is easy for you. But he's wrong. It's the easiest thing in the world.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen fanfic #mv33 x reader #mv33 #f1 fanfic #my writing #fic: fracture

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melanchoire · 1 day ago

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ot4 aespa x freeuse reader PLZZZ

so many requests about g!p aespa so HERE WE GO

cw: blowjob, breeding, creampie, degradation, double penetration, handjob, humiliation, mommy kink, riding, sex tape??

being the only member without a dick in a group where all your groupmates have one was a difficult task for you 😣 at first you weren’t aware that they had this... characteristic. but when you found out about it, there was a certain tension whenever you were around them, and you always tried to do everything possible to make sure it wasn��t an awkward moment! buuut there were times when tension and desires won…

unnie karina who always has most of the work; solo activities, special collaborations in music festivals, projects as a model or ambassador. besides being the leader of the group, you already know how that role involves a lot of work and time in the life of an idol and how much maturity and seriousness she has to put in sometimes. she has no time for anything!

so karina returns to the dorms tired after a week full of solo and group activities, flights to other countries and long hours of filming for upcoming campaigns with brands where she is an ambassador or muse. seeing the pout and tired expression on her face as she walks through the door to your room is all you need to know that today you will be the one helping your leader and take care of her as she usually takes care of her members

riding her cock while she can only flatter you and moan beneath you 😵‍💫 karina has no strength today to degrade you or try to dominate you, so she just lies on her back, resting her hands on your hips and enjoying how you’re making her feel good by riding her and helping her take some stress off her exhausted body :( looking up at you with bright puppy eyes, begging “please love. keep going, don’t stop. please.” and you wouldn’t stop even if she begged you! karina always works sooo hard and is usually a punching bag when it comes to criticism, being in the eye of the storm and under the judging gaze of the public 💔 and the best thing you can do is let your dear unnie use your body to forget about the world out there for a bit

ohhh and if you play with her tits while riding her cock 😵‍💫 super whiny and needy when your thumbs rub her nipples, writhing under your body as she thrusts her hips up to bury her cock deeper inside you as if it wasn’t deep enough already!

giselle being the talented writer and producer of songs or mixtapes that were never officially released due to company decisions, but it was no problem at all! she loved working on music as a hobby, enjoying writing songs and making new sounds or trying out other rhythms that caught her attention or were fun. giselle also loved inviting you to her bedroom! recording songs with meaningless but catchy lyrics, playing with voice effects and making instrumentals that were catchy and quite danceable

but giselle sometimes also wants to work on making music seriously, making songs for future projects or opportunities that may arise at some point in the future throughout her career with her group or as a solo artist. but she includes you in her plans too?? she states that she would like the two of you to do a collaboration in case she ever starts a solo career, or in any case, be a sub–unit outside the group or in some song for a group album in the future

she would say, “i would like to try something like ‘call me mommy, mommy.’ or something spicy and naughty like that.” and you would laugh in her face because you thought she was joking! until she arches an eyebrow and you realize that giselle was being completely serious about this…

lying on your stomach on her bed, a pillow under your stomach to lift your hips up so giselle can fuck your pussy from behind while you moan and whine into the microphone connected to her laptop 🥰 of course she could use a sample or be the one to record the moans for this track, but why would she do that when she has a bandmate willing to help her with her musical projects??

whining “mommy” after every time giselle’s voice sings the line “call me mommy, mommy.” and sounding so vulnerable and fragile that giselle begins to question whether she wants to release that song in the future because you sound so beautiful moaning her name that she wants to be the only person who can hear you in that position…

ALSO giselle opening her computer camera and recording or taking photos while she fucks you cruelly from behind 😣 pulling your hair and forcing you to lift your face from the pillows, making you look at your own reflection in the front camera, clicking the mouse and taking a photo at the exact moment her cock kisses your cervix in a thrust that makes you roll your eyes and open your mouth in a silent moan 🫠 but giselle won’t post that photo on her instagram! she would if she could 👀 she prefers to upload it to her private account where she only has the members of the group and her closest friends, showing off to the world the fun she has during the recordings of her songs

winter and ningning, the cute maknaes of the group who are obsessed and perverted when it comes to their beloved unnie 🥺 winter shamelessly staring at your ass while ningning has her gaze fixed on your tits, both exchanging a knowing look and talking mentally to decide if what they have is a good idea or not…

getting on your knees and jerking off both of their cocks at the same time, enjoying how sensitive and loud your sweet members get from having this kind of attention on them 😵‍💫 winter grabbing her cock with one hand, guiding the head against your lips and moaning as you take her entire length into your mouth without even choking or gagging 😳 of course ningning takes advantage of this to guide both of your hands to her cock, giving you a needy look and begging you to give her the same treatment you’re giving winter :( and of course you do! sucking winter’s cock at the same time as your hands go up and down as you jerk off ningning, both of them moving their hips towards you in search of more

and they’re so messy when cumming 😣 winter pulling out of your mouth, jerking off her cock in her fist at the same speed you were doing with ningning’s cock, trying to match your movements but whining and crying because it was a very fast speed and she was so overstimulated and sensitive that she could barely take it without giving in right there :( but winter is grateful when she feels your hand wrap around her cock and replace her own, now jerking off both girls at the same time and encouraging them to cum on your face, and they do! their cocks twitching in your hands, shooting heavy loads of cum straight into your mouth, looking at you in amazement when you swallow everything because those two always make a mess and cum in torrents!

being penetrated with both at the same time, riding ningning’s cock while winter is kneeling behind you and fucking your ass, enjoying the way your ass bounces every time her hips hits against it 🥴 hissing as she places her hands on your hips and fucks her cock into your ass at an even faster speed making you drip even more on ningning’s cock, earning a moan from her and making ningning finally start moving her hips up to fuck you from below

and both are two subs so whiny and needy 🥺 whimpering and babbling pleas or incoherent things, moaning “unnie” in every sentence that came out of their lips, and you loved that! always having a thing for the way they said “unnie”, maybe it was because of how soft and sweet their voices were and how that word sounded so adorable coming from them

both cumming inside you, desperate to fill you with their seed 😣 they would make you open your own cheeks for them, enjoying how the cum of both drips from your holes and runs down your thighs slowly, feeling their cocks start to harden again…

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lila-lou · 3 days ago

Text

✨Age gap crush - Pt. 1/2✨

Summary: Jensen froze—biggest age gap crush? Jared smirked, already knowing the answer. Because Jensen didn’t do attachments. But with you? He already had.

-requested-

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language

Word Count: 6341

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 🩷

The hotel room was quiet, except for the faint hum of traffic outside and the soft rustling of sheets behind you. Stepping out of the bathroom, steam curled around you as the cooler air of the room brushed against your damp skin. The towel wrapped tightly around your body felt like the only barrier between you and the weight of his gaze.

Jensen was lying on the bed, one arm tucked lazily behind his head, the other resting against his bare stomach. The soft morning light cast shadows over his toned chest, highlighting the ridges of muscle beneath his skin. His green eyes, sharp and amused, traced you slowly—like he had all the time in the world.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Well, good morning to me”, he murmured, voice thick with sleep and something else—something that sent a shiver down your spine.

You tightened your grip on the towel, swallowing the warmth creeping up your neck. “Enjoying the view?”, you muttered, trying to sound unaffected.

He chuckled, low and husky, shifting slightly but never breaking his gaze. “Oh, absolutely. Best way to wake up”.

Your stomach twisted at the way he was looking at you—like he knew exactly what he was doing, exactly how flustered you were.

You cleared your throat, the towel still clutched tightly in your grasp. "I thought you'd be gone by now", you muttered, eyes flicking toward the digital clock on the nightstand—but the numbers blurred together. You had no idea what time it was.

Jensen’s smirk deepened. "Didn’t have the heart to leave you just yet", he drawled, stretching out like he had no place to be, no convention to rush off to. "Besides, you looked too damn peaceful earlier. Didn’t want to wake you".

You scoffed, rolling your eyes to mask the way your stomach flipped. Peaceful wasn’t the right word. Wrecked, maybe. Spent.

Last night had been… intense. The kind of night that left your body sore in the best possible way, your mind hazy, your legs barely functioning by the time he'd finally let you rest. And now, standing here, the memory of his hands, his mouth, his body pressed against yours—it all came rushing back so vividly you had to fight the urge to squeeze your thighs together.

Jensen noticed. Of course, he did. His eyes darkened, amusement flickering beneath them like he was reading every damn thought in your head. "You okay there, sweetheart?". His voice was smooth, teasing.

You huffed, turning toward the dresser for something—anything—to distract yourself. "I don’t even know what time it is", you admitted, your voice quieter this time. "You really should be gone. The convention—".

"Still got time". His voice was lazy, like he didn’t have an entire schedule waiting for him. "And you really think I’d leave without a proper goodbye?".

This—whatever this was—wasn’t supposed to feel so dangerous. The two of you had set the rules from the start. No public outings. No red carpets. No standing in any kind of spotlight.

After all, he had enough attention on him—especially after the divorce. He didn’t need the world picking apart his personal life, and neither did you. It worked this way. Just the two of you, in stolen nights like this.

But mornings like this? Where he stayed longer than he should, watching you like you were the only thing worth his time?

Those were the moments that scared you.

And when Jensen sat up, his bare chest shifting with the movement, his smirk softening into something almost… fond, you knew you were in trouble.

"C´mere", he murmured, patting the space beside him.

You swallowed hard. You should tell him to get dressed, to go. To remind him of the agreement.

But your body had other plans.

And Jensen knew it, too.

You hesitated as you reminded yourself what this was supposed to be. Casual. Private. Simple.

But Jensen made it impossible to keep things simple.

The way he looked at you—like he had all the patience in the world, like he knew you’d give in before you even did—was downright dangerous. You hated that he was right.

Slowly, reluctantly, you moved toward the bed, stopping just short of where he was sitting. His gaze flickered down to your legs, still damp from the shower, before dragging back up to meet your eyes. He reached out, fingers ghosting along the edge of your towel, not tugging—just there—a silent invitation.

"You’re thinking too much", he murmured, voice low, rough from sleep.

You let out a small, breathy laugh, shaking your head. "Maybe because I should be thinking", you shot back, but you didn’t step away.

Jensen’s smirk returned, but there was something softer beneath it. Something more dangerous than the teasing. "Tell me you don’t want me here", he challenged, his hand resting on your hip now, warm and steady. "And I’ll go".

You parted your lips, inhaling as if you were actually about to say the words. You knew he’d keep his word. He always did.

But you didn’t want him to go.

You wanted this—the way his presence wrapped around you, the way his voice sent shivers down your spine, the way his hands on your body made everything else disappear.

That’s what scared you the most.

Jensen tilted his head, waiting. Not pushing, not rushing. Just waiting for you to be honest with yourself.

And you hated that you broke so easily.

Instead of answering, you exhaled shakily and let your knee press onto the mattress beside him, crawling up just enough for him to lean back slightly, welcoming you. His hands slid up your thighs, warm and familiar, but his eyes never left yours.

"That’s what I thought", he murmured, pulling you onto his lap, your towel slipping just enough for his fingers to dip beneath it.

Your stomach clenched. "You’re an ass", you muttered, but there was no bite to it.

Jensen chuckled, his lips grazing your jaw as his grip tightened, anchoring you to him. "Yeah, but you like me anyway".

And you hated that he was right about that, too.

Your breath hitched the moment you felt it—him—hot and hard beneath you, pressed insistently against the thin barrier of your towel. A sharp contrast to the teasing smirk still tugging at his lips, like he wasn’t fully acknowledging just how much you could feel him right now.

But he knew. Of course, he knew.

Your hands instinctively gripped his shoulders, fingers pressing into the warm, firm muscle beneath your palms. He was still naked, still radiating heat, and the moment your hips shifted—just the slightest bit—the friction sent a sharp pulse of heat straight through you.

Jensen groaned softly, low in his throat, his hands tightening around your thighs. "Shit", he muttered, voice raspier now, thick with something that wasn’t just amusement anymore.

You swallowed hard, pulse thrumming against your skin. "You should be getting ready", you murmured, though your voice lacked conviction, breathless as it was.

Jensen hummed, tilting his head, his lips brushing your jaw, his stubble rough against your sensitive skin. "Mmm. Could say the same for you", he countered, his fingers toying with the edge of your towel. "But here you are. On top of me".

Your stomach flipped, your thighs squeezing instinctively around his waist. He was right there, and your body knew it, heat pooling low in your belly, thighs already aching from the way last night had left you.

His hands slid up, tracing the curves of your waist beneath the towel, moving slow, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. "Y’know", he murmured against your skin, voice dropping lower, rougher, "if you’re really worried about me being late, maybe you shouldn’t be sitting on my dick right now".

A sharp exhale left you, your fingers flexing against his shoulders. "Jensen—".

"What?". His lips ghosted over your neck, fingers finally gripping your hips properly now, rolling you against him just enough to make your breath catch. His cock pressed right where you needed it, even through the towel, and suddenly, your brain short-circuited.

You weren’t sure who moved first—if it was him guiding you, or your own body betraying you—but the moment your hips rocked, the friction made your nerves spark, made heat flood your core.

Jensen groaned again, this time deeper, almost gritted, his fingers pressing bruises into your skin. "Yeah", he muttered, breath warm against your ear. "Exactly".

You hated how easily he ruined you. Hated how you didn’t stop, how you didn’t want to stop.

"Fuck you", you breathed, but you were already rolling your hips again, chasing that slow, delicious friction, the warmth pooling between your legs unbearable now.

Jensen laughed, the sound vibrating against your throat. "You already did, sweetheart", he teased, nipping just below your jaw. "And by the way you’re moving? You’re about to do it again".

With a sharp tug, the towel was gone, slipping from your body and pooling somewhere on the sheets beneath you. A rush of cool air ghosted over your skin, but it did nothing to quell the heat burning between your thighs.

Jensen's hands were everywhere—firm, claiming—gripping your waist, sliding down the curve of your back, fingers pressing into your hips like he was anchoring himself. His green eyes darkened as he took you in, his gaze flickering from your lips to the bare expanse of your chest, down to where your bodies were about to connect.

“Fuck baby”, he muttered, his voice thick with something between admiration and desperation. “You’re gonna kill me”.

One hand slid between your bodies, guiding himself to where you were already dripping, already throbbing for him. The swollen head of his cock nudged against your entrance, teasing, pressing, the sensation enough to steal your breath.

Jensen sucked in a sharp inhale. "Fuck—you're still so sensitiv from last night", he groaned, his voice strained now, his fingers tightening their grip on your waist.

Your stomach clenched at his words, your thighs trembling around him. "Maybe if you hadn’t—". You gasped as he pushed in just a little, stretching you open with maddening slowness. "Hadn’t wrecked me so hard, I wouldn't be".

Jensen let out a low, breathy chuckle, but his control was thinning—you could see it in the way his jaw tensed, feel it in the way his fingers flexed against your hips. "Oh, sweetheart", he murmured, his other hand sliding up your side, palming your breast before his fingers curled around the back of your neck, tugging you down. "That was barely me wrecking you".

And with that—he pulled you down onto him, fully, completely, stretching you inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt inside you.

A ragged gasp left your lips, your body clenching around him, adjusting to the sudden, overwhelming fullness.

"Ouw—", you choked out, nails digging into his shoulders.

Jensen groaned, his head falling back against the pillows for a moment, his fingers gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “Fuck, baby. Look at you”. His voice was wrecked, strained with restraint, with the effort it took for him to not move just yet.

Your breath shuddered, your body trembling at the way he filled you, at how perfectly he stretched you. Every inch of him throbbed inside you, heat coiling at the base of your spine, your thighs quivering where they straddled his hips.

"Jensen", you breathed, barely able to form words, your nails dragging down his chest.

That was all it took.

His fingers flexed against your waist, and then he moved.

A slow, deliberate roll of his hips that sent blinding pleasure spiraling through your core.

You whimpered, your hands flying to his chest for support, but he didn’t stop, didn’t give you a chance to catch your breath. He lifted you just enough before pulling you back down, forcing you to take every inch of him, again and again, harder, deeper, until the only thing spilling from your lips were broken, gasping moans.

"Fuck, that’s it", he gritted out, watching the way your body took him, the way your back arched, your mouth parted in pleasure. His grip on your waist tightened as his hips snapped up, meeting you with every downward roll, sending sharp jolts of electricity through your veins.

"You feel so good", he growled, his voice raw, his fingers possessive as they dug into your skin. "So fucking tight. Like you were made for me".

Your head tipped back, pleasure burning through you, your body already starting to tremble. The grinding, the pace, the deep, deep thrusts—it was too much, and not enough all at once.

"Jensen—". His name spilled from your lips like a plea.

He grinned, though it was more of a snarl, his control slipping. "That’s right, sweetheart. Say my name while I ruin you again".

And he did.

Jensen's grip tightened as he slammed up into you, pulling you down to meet each thrust, forcing you to take him deeper, harder, rougher. The stretch was overwhelming, the pleasure devastating, your body reduced to nothing but fire and sensation as he filled you over and over again.

Your fingers clawed at his chest, nails dragging against the firm ridges of muscle, desperate for something—anything—to ground you. But there was nothing to hold onto. Nothing but him.

"Jensen". His name left your lips in a gasping, broken moan, your head tipping back as your body clenched around him.

He groaned, the sound wrecked, his hands sliding from your waist to your thighs, lifting you slightly before slamming you back down onto his cock. "Fuck—just like that", he muttered, his breath coming ragged now, but his pace never slowed. If anything, he was getting rougher.

Pleasure shot up your spine, white-hot and blinding, your nerves on the edge of snapping. Every thrust hit deep, hitting that spot that had your toes curling, your stomach clenching, the coil inside you winding impossibly tight.

Jensen noticed. Of course, he did.

"Shit, you’re close already", he rasped, voice thick with pride, with something dangerously close to obsession as he watched you, completely undone on top of him.

You whimpered in response, your nails digging into his skin, your thighs starting to tremble.

He smirked—dark, satisfied, in control—as he sat up suddenly, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other gripping your jaw. His lips crashed against yours, swallowing your moans as he thrust up, sharp and precise, stealing the last bit of composure you had left.

"You gonna come for me, sweetheart?", he murmured against your mouth, his breath hot, teasing. His hand slid down between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles that had you shattering within seconds.

The orgasm slammed into you with a force that left you breathless, your body tensing, then shaking apart, pleasure pulsing through every nerve ending. A strangled cry tore from your throat as you clenched around him, waves of heat rolling through you as he kept fucking you through it, dragging it out, making you feel every second of it.

"That’s it", Jensen groaned, voice gritted, strained, his hands bruising as he held you still, as he thrust up one last time, burying himself deep. A guttural sound tore from his throat as he spilled inside you, his whole body tensing beneath you, pleasure rolling through him in hot, shuddering waves.

For a moment, the world spun, the only thing grounding you was him, his grip on you, his breath ragged against your skin.

Silence settled between you, thick and heavy, the aftermath still buzzing in the air. Jensen didn’t move, still buried inside you, his arms still wrapped around your body like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

And maybe—just maybe—you weren’t either.

But the moment couldn’t last.

He sighed against your neck, pressing the faintest kiss to your damp skin before finally leaning back, his hands gentler now, smoothing over your sides. "If I wasn’t late before", he muttered, voice still rough with exhaustion and satisfaction, "I definitely am now".

A weak laugh escaped you, your forehead dropping to his shoulder. "That’s your fault", you murmured, your body still tingling from the aftershocks.

Jensen chuckled, but instead of answering, he slid his hands up your back, slow, lazy, his fingers tracing soft patterns against your skin.

And that? That was what scared you the most.

Not the sex. Not the sneaking around.

But this—the way he lingered, the way he touched you even when he didn’t have to. The way he stayed.

Because deep down, you knew…

You were breaking all your own rules.

The loud pounding at the door jolted you from the haze of aftershocks and warmth, panic surging through your system.

“Ackles!”, Jared’s voice boomed through the room, followed by another aggressive set of knocks. “We’re fucking late! Get your ass out here!”.

Your entire body stiffened, still perched on top of Jensen, still connected, your thighs sticky, your skin hot from the lingering heat of what had just happened.

Jensen groaned dramatically, his head falling back against the pillow, one lazy hand brushing over his face. “Fuck, Jared”, he muttered, completely unbothered, like he hadn’t just fucked you into oblivion and left you a trembling mess.

Your eyes widened, panic gripping your chest. “Oh my God—”. You scrambled, instinct taking over, hands bracing against Jensen’s chest as you tried to get off him, but his grip tightened.

“Not so fast, sweetheart”. His voice was low, smug, his fingers digging into your waist just enough to make you shiver.

Your heart slammed in your chest. “Jensen—he’s right there!”, you hissed, eyes flicking frantically to the door as Jared knocked again, harder.

“Jensen! If you don’t open this damn door in ten seconds, I’m coming in! I will use my keycard, asshole!”.

Jensen just smirked, his other hand trailing down your thigh, so slow, so possessive, like he wasn’t at all worried about getting caught.

“Let him”, he muttered, his voice gravelly, his hips rolling up just a fraction, making you gasp, clench around him involuntarily.

Your stomach flipped, a sharp pulse of pleasure shooting through you even as your mind screamed in panic.

“You’re insane”, you whispered sharply, shoving at his bare chest, your pulse racing, the heat of him still inside you, still filling you so perfectly.

Jensen laughed, low and smug, but he finally released you, letting you scramble off him just as another aggressive knock rattled the door.

You stumbled, nearly falling, your legs still weak, your thighs still aching from the way he’d ruined you minutes ago. You barely managed to grab your discarded towel, wrapping it around yourself in record time as you bolted toward the bathroom doorway, trying to make yourself invisible.

Jensen, meanwhile?

Completely unbothered.

He stretched slowly, rolling out of bed with a lazy ease that made it clear he wasn’t in any kind of hurry.

Another pounding knock.

“Jensen!”.

Jensen rolled his eyes, dragging a hand down his face, clearly in no rush to deal with the six-foot-four nuisance on the other side of the door.

Little did you know, Jensen had already told Jared about you a couple of days ago. He’d expected this moment, knew it was only a matter of time before you got caught sneaking around.

But seeing you panic like this?

Adorable.

So, he let you squirm.

He smirked to himself as he tugged his shirt over his head, deliberately taking his time, knowing full well that you were still pressed against the bathroom door, heartbeat racing, eyes wide with the kind of panic he found way too entertaining.

Another pounding knock.

"Jensen! Open the damn door, or I’m—".

Finally, finally, Jensen swung it open, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the frame, giving Jared a bored look.

"Jesus, Padalecki", he muttered. "Ever heard of patience?".

Jared’s eyes narrowed, already looking pissed as hell, his gaze flicking over Jensen’s still-rumpled appearance—messy hair, swollen lips, trunks thrown on in a half-assed attempt to look presentable.

Jared’s brows lifted.

"Oh", he muttered, crossing his arms. "You definitely weren’t sleeping".

Jensen just grinned. "Didn’t say I was".

Jared squinted, eyes flicking past him into the room. Jensen angled his body slightly, blocking just enough of the view to keep you hidden, even though—let’s be real, the entire scene was screaming of exactly what had happened.

The unmade bed. The disheveled sheets. The fucking smell.

Jared let out a long, slow sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. "Dude".

Jensen smirked, playing dumb. "What?".

Jared’s lips twitched, like he wanted to laugh but was too annoyed to let himself. "You serious right now?".

Jensen shrugged. "Look, man, if you’re mad I didn’t invite you, just say so".

Jared grimaced, shoving his shoulder. "Oh, fuck off".

Jensen chuckled, but before Jared could barrel past him into the room, he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough.

"Don’t be a dick", he murmured. "You already know who’s in there".

Jared stilled.

His brows shot up, just slightly, before his expression shifted—less annoyed, more intrigued.

"Oh, so you finally told her I know?".

Jensen’s smirk deepened.

"…Not exactly".

Jared let out an exasperated groan, dragging his hands down his face. "You’re such an asshole".

Jensen grinned, clearly having way too much fun with this. "Yeah, but I’m your asshole".

"Unfortunately", Jared muttered, shaking his head. He peered past him again, curiosity flickering behind his eyes. "So, are you gonna let her out, or are we pretending she doesn’t exist?".

Jensen chuckled, finally turning his head toward the bathroom.

"Sweetheart?". His voice was sickeningly amused, way too pleased with himself. "You gonna come say hi, or you planning on hiding in there all day?".

You froze, heart pounding, throat suddenly dry as hell.

Jared knew?

Jared fucking knew?

And Jensen never told you?!

You were going to kill him.

Slowly.

You exhaled sharply, gathering yourself, before stepping out of the bathroom, towel still wrapped around you, your face heating instantly when Jared’s knowing gaze landed on you.

Jared blinked.

Then, with zero hesitation, he smirked.

"Oh". He nodded, fighting back a laugh. "Yeah. That definitely tracks".

Jensen’s grin widened, watching the way you glared daggers at him before crossing your arms, clearly one second away from launching something at his head.

"You knew", you said flatly, eyes locked onto Jared.

Jared snorted. "Oh, yeah. Jensen spilled days ago. Thought you knew".

Your eyes snapped back to Jensen, murder flashing behind them.

"You are so fucking dead".

Jensen grinned like a bastard, completely unbothered.

"Yeah, yeah", he murmured, stepping closer, hands slipping around your waist as he pressed a slow, teasing kiss to your temple, just to piss you off more. "Still worth it, though".

You swore you saw red.

And Jared?

Jared just laughed his ass off.

Eventually, Jared shifting his weight before casually holding out his hand toward you.

"Well", he said, smirking, "since we’re not pretending you don’t exist anymore, I guess I should properly introduce myself—".

But before you could take it, his expression shifted, realization hitting him like a freight train. His hand hovered in midair for a second before his face twisted in horror, and he yanked it back.

"Actually, you know what—never mind". He grimaced, shaking his head, his face scrunching up like he just walked into something disgusting. "I just remembered exactly what you two were doing before I knocked".

Your face flamed, heat rushing to your ears as the memory of exactly what had just happened surged through your mind.

Jensen, meanwhile?

Losing his damn mind.

He let out a loud, unrestrained laugh, gripping his stomach as he leaned against the doorframe, fully enjoying the absolute mess unfolding in front of him.

"Wow, Padalecki", he mused, mockingly wiping a fake tear from his eye. "And here I thought you were all about bonding".

Jared shot him a flat look, clearly unamused. "Yeah, I’m good, thanks. No need to get that close".

Jensen just grinned, slinging an arm lazily around your shoulders, pulling you closer as his fingers toyed with the edge of your towel—just to mess with you.

You immediately tensed, glaring up at him. "Jensen", you hissed through clenched teeth, shifting slightly, hyper-aware of just how little was covering you.

He winked, voice dropping.

"Relax, sweetheart", he murmured, lips brushing your ear, "not like Jared hasn’t already figured out how thoroughly I just fucked you".

Your entire face ignited, heat rushing through you so violently you had to physically shove him away.

"Jensen!", you sputtered, barely resisting the urge to smack him.

Jared groaned loudly, rubbing his temples. "For the love of God, can we go now?".

Jensen let out a dramatic sigh, rolling his shoulders like getting up and leaving was the biggest inconvenience in the world. "Yeah, yeah. Just lemme grab a shower real quick", he muttered, stretching. "Need to get her off my body first".

Your face somehow got even hotter, and Jared immediately threw up his hands.

"NOPE", he declared, turning around so fast it was almost cartoonish. "I refuse to hear another goddamn word. I will be downstairs, waiting, pretending none of this ever happened".

And just like that, he was gone, muttering something under his breath as he disappeared down the hall.

The second the door clicked shut, you spun on Jensen, smacking his arm hard enough to make him chuckle.

"You are such an asshole", you snapped, mortified beyond belief.

Jensen just laughed, stepping closer, hands gripping your waist again.

"Yeah", he murmured, pressing a slow, teasing kiss to your lips, "but you like me anyway".

Only ten minutes later, Jensen was moving around the room, hastily buckling his belt, his shirt slightly wrinkled, his hair damp from the world’s fastest shower.

You were still sitting on the bed, still half-naked, towel barely hanging onto you, watching him with a mix of amusement and exhaustion.

"Never seen you move this fast", you teased, tilting your head as he grabbed his SnapBack off the dresser and shoved it on backwards, clearly prioritizing speed over style.

Jensen shot you a look, smirking. "Yeah, well, someone made me late", he murmured, pointedly, as he reached for his watch—

Only to realize you had already picked it up.

You held it out lazily, wrist dangling over the edge of the bed, watching as he stepped closer, his fingers brushing yours as he took it.

That little touch—as brief as it was—made your stomach flip, and suddenly, you were too aware of the way he was looking at you.

Like he was thinking about throwing you back onto the bed all over again.

Like he was debating if being late was really that big of a deal.

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. "Better hurry, or Jared’s gonna come back up here and kick the door down".

Jensen exhaled sharply, reluctantly strapping the watch onto his wrist, still smirking like a bastard. "That man needs to take a breath. It’s not like they’re starting without me".

"You mean the convention where thousands of people are literally waiting for you?".

He shrugged, completely unbothered, but then his eyes flicked back to you—still sitting there, still wrapped in nothing but a towel, still looking too goddamn tempting for your own good.

His smirk turned dangerous.

"You’re really not making it easy to leave, sweetheart", he muttered, fingers trailing lightly along your bare thigh, like he was considering being just a little later.

Your breath hitched, body still sensitive from before, but you quickly swatted his hand away, sending him a warning glare.

"Nope". You shook your head. "You’re already late because of me. I am not responsible for you missing your flight next".

Jensen chuckled, hands up in mock surrender, but you could see it—the way he hesitated, the way he looked at you like he wanted to stay just a little longer.

And that?

That was dangerous.

Because you couldn’t let this become more than what it was.

So you forced a smirk, tilting your head as you leaned back against the pillows, stretching slightly.

"Besides", you murmured, voice laced with mock innocence, "I think you’ve had more than enough of me for one morning".

Jensen’s jaw ticked, his smirk faltering just for a second before his gaze darkened, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach for you again.

But instead, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head with a grin, before taking a deliberate step back.

"Yeah, we’ll see about that", he muttered, winking before turning toward the door.

And as he grabbed his keycard and slipped out, leaving you alone in that messy, wrecked hotel room—

You had a feeling he was right.

This wasn’t over.

Not even close.

The silence in the room was deafening now that Jensen was gone.

You sat there for a moment, towel still wrapped around you, staring at the mess of sheets, the faint imprint of where he had just been. The room still smelled like him—his cologne, the heat of his skin, the lingering scent of sex and something more.

And yet, all you could think about was what had just happened.

Jensen told Jared about you.

Your stomach twisted at the realization, your fingers gripping the edge of the towel tighter.

Why?

The two of you weren’t even labeled. That had been his rule, not yours.

No commitments. No expectations. Just this. Stolen moments, hotel rooms, late-night calls that always ended the same way.

Jensen had made it clear from the start—he wasn’t looking to settle down again, not after everything with Danneel. You were his secret affair or whatever the hell this was.

So why the fuck did he tell Jared?

Jensen wasn’t the type to just share information for no reason. Jared was his best friend, sure, but that didn’t mean Jensen had to tell him everything.

Especially about you.

And yet—he had.

Days ago, apparently. And he hadn’t even mentioned it. Hadn’t even warned you.

Your heart did a weird, uneasy flip, frustration creeping up your spine.

What did it mean?

Was it just Jensen being careless?

Or was it something more?

You hated that the question lingered, that it stuck in your chest, leaving you restless in the empty bed. Because no matter how much you told yourself this was casual, simple, no strings attached—

Jensen had just tangled you up in something you weren’t prepared for.

And you weren’t sure what the hell to do about it.

Inside the car, the steady hum of the road filled the space as Cliff sat in the front seat, engaged in casual conversation with the driver. The ride to the convention center was smooth, quiet—until Jared turned to Jensen, his voice low, casual, but laced with curiosity.

"She’s pretty young, huh?".

Jensen’s jaw ticked, his fingers drumming lazily against his thigh as he leaned back against the seat. He didn’t react right away, just let the words sit in the air for a second before exhaling through his nose.

He knew what Jared was doing.

"She’s twenty-five", Jensen muttered, glancing out the window like that was supposed to end the conversation.

Jared tilted his head, not buying it. "So… twenty-one-year age gap?". His brows lifted slightly, his tone neutral, but Jensen knew him too well.

"Jesus", Jensen grumbled, running a hand through his damp hair, still backwards in the damn SnapBack because he hadn’t even bothered fixing it properly. "Thanks for the math, professor".

Jared smirked but didn’t drop it. "I mean… it’s kinda a thing, dude", he said, shifting slightly to look at him. "Not saying it’s bad. Just… different for you".

Jensen didn’t respond immediately, but the muscle in his jaw twitched again.

Because yeah, Jared was right.

It was different.

Jensen wasn’t blind. He knew people would raise eyebrows if they knew. Twenty-one years. That was a big gap, no matter how he spun it. And yeah, you were young, but you weren´t a kid—you were smart, independent, and didn’t take his shit.

And yet, that wasn’t the part that bothered him.

It was the fact that Jared was bringing it up at all.

Which meant he noticed something.

Jensen sighed, shifting in his seat, still staring out the window. "She’s not some kid, man", he muttered, rubbing his jaw. "She knows what this is. I’m not leading her on".

Jared made a small humming sound, still watching him. "Right".

Jensen glanced at him, eyes narrowing slightly. "What?".

Jared shrugged, tone even. "Nothing", A beat of silence, then— "Just saying, if it’s really nothing, you wouldn’t have told me about her".

Jensen’s stomach clenched, but he kept his face neutral.

"Thought you’d figure it out anyway", he muttered, shrugging. "You always do".

Jared huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah. But you never tell me unless you want me to know".

And there it was.

Jensen’s fingers flexed against his knee, his teeth pressing together slightly, but he didn’t argue.

Because Jared was right.

Again.

And that?

That was the part that fucked with him the most.

Jared sensed the difference immediately.

It was subtle, something most people wouldn’t catch—but Jared knew Jensen too well.

During the double photo ops, Jensen was usually his usual self—smiling, laughing, making fans feel comfortable. But there was always something else, something second nature to him.

He looked.

Jensen always checked out the women who caught his interest, just a quick glance, a flick of his green eyes as if gauging if they were worth a second look.

He’d done it for years.

Hell, even when he was married to Danneel, he still had that instinct—never acting on it, never disrespectful, but the habit was there.

But this time?

Nothing.

Jensen’s gaze never lingered. Never even flickered to anything other than the camera, the fan he was greeting, or whatever dumbass joke Jared was cracking beside him.

Not once did he do the subtle once-over. Not once did he let his eyes wander, even briefly.

Jared took note.

He took a lot of notes.

Especially when, during a break between photo ops, Jensen pulled out his phone, his expression shifting just slightly—a look that Jared had never seen Jensen wear while texting someone.

Not some smug grin like he was setting up a fun night. Not some casual response like he didn’t care.

This was different. This was soft.

Jared leaned over slightly, trying to get a glimpse. "Who’s got you smiling like that?", he teased.

Jensen immediately locked the screen, tucking his phone away without so much as a word.

And that?

That spoke volumes.

Jared smirked to himself, shaking his head.

"Yeah", he muttered under his breath. "That’s what I thought".

The panel was going smoothly—plenty of laughs, plenty of inside jokes, the usual back-and-forth banter that fans ate up. Jensen and Jared had been doing this for so long it was second nature at this point.

But then, the question happened.

A fan stepped up to the mic. “What’s the biggest age gap crush you’ve ever had?”.

Jensen froze for a second, his brows knitting together as he tilted his head.

He was clearly trying to decipher the question, his brain gearing up for the wrong interpretation.

“I don’t know.. I don’t… I mean..I didn’t really have like.. uh.. crushes on celebrities when I was… I was too busy…“, he mumbled, still trying to piece it together.

Jared, standing beside him, instantly sensed the opportunity.

He grinned, just barely, leaning into his mic. “Doesn’t have to be a celebrity”.

The moment the words left his mouth, Jensen stiffened.

It was so fast, so subtle, but Jared caught it.

“Well”, Jensen started, but Jared interrupted him. “I‘m gonna answer for him“.

“Oh, great”, Jensen muttered, taking a long, slow sip of his coffee, like he was bracing himself for whatever the hell was about to come out of Jared’s mouth.

Jared, still grinning like a smug bastard, paused for dramatic effect, scanning the audience before leaning forward again.

“He has… he currently has.. a crush.. on somebody who is… ”, he drawled, dragging it out.

Jensen’s entire body tensed.

His eyes flicked with panic, just for a second—the kind of split-second panic that screamed oh, shit, I just got caught.

And that reaction?

Worth every damn second.

Jared barely bit back a laugh as he pivoted, fast as hell, finishing the sentence smoothly.

“34 years younger and 31 years younger”, He nodded dramatically. “And they’re his daughters”.

The audience roared with laughter and `aaaww´s´ completely missing the tiny moment that had just unfolded.

Jensen exhaled through his nose, his jaw clenching, before leaning into his mic with a deadpan look.

“What he said!”, Jensen quickly shot and earning more laughter from the fans.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

Part 2

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