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cherryredstars · 6 months

Note

Next door part two! I NEED THEM IN MY LIFE THAT WAS SO GOOD!

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Smut with Plot, Wet Dreams, Sexual Fantasies, Brief Mentions of Male Masturbation, Blowjob, Cum Eating

Summary: Nice but naughty, a heart that’s pure. She's the girl next door.

Word Count: 2.6K (Not Edited)

Part 1

He’s driving himself fucking mad.

It’s been almost two weeks since he last saw you in person. It’s somewhat his fault. He hasn’t been avoiding you exactly, just giving you room. You were so dazed when he left you, he could almost smell the remains of sex on you. It drove him crazy, fists clenched as he stood outside your closed door for what felt like years. He cock strained so painfully against his pants that he had half the mind to pull it out and jerk off in the middle of the hallway.

He didn’t want to scare you. Big, old him running after small, delicate you. A pretty and young thing that he wouldn’t mind locking in his bedroom and fucking until the sun rose and he was off to work. He could- would - worship you. He has done it thousands of times in the last two weeks in his dreams. They plague him almost every night, his body pressing you down into the mattress as you mewl out for him. He can hear the sound of your arousal as his balls slap against you echoing in his ears. Your phantom grip on his cock follows him when he wakes up, his hands wandering into his pants to try to replicate the feeling.

He’s always interrupted by the sound of your front door slamming as you rush out to go to one of your little classes, his frustration and want burning strong in his chest. But he has to be patient, has to wait for you to seek him out. He can’t just break through your door, no matter how badly he wanted to and show you how a real man would treat you. How he’d treat you so good, spoil you in a way that none of the boys your age can. He could make you his pretty little girlfriend, giving you anything you want. Fuck, he’ll pay for your entire college tuition if you asked him to.

Or, maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d make you beg for it. Maybe he’d force you to work for it. He can already imagine it. He’d have you riding his cock, maybe even his face, laying back and watching you take your pleasure from him. He’d enjoy himself, moaning as you gasp and cry above him. You’d look so pretty with tears running down your face, asking him so sweetly to give you what you wanted. Your hips working to show him how much you deserved it, how you’re his good girl who deserves the right to every one of his credit cards. He’d have you coming until he’s satisfied with your pleas, finally giving in to you a-

Fucking annoying piece of shit.

Miguel’s eyes snap open, wondering to the alarm clock on his nightstand. The numbers are still blurry, and the sound of someone knocking on his door is the last thing he wanted. Especially when it pulls him away from his private time with you. His cock is poking a dent into his sweats, and he runs his hands down his face in frustration. He groans to himself as he gets up, adjusting his pants as he goes. His mind is still semi-stuck in his fuzzy little fantasy when he opens the door, mind slow as they try to process the sight of you.

You’re looking up at him with regretful eyes, a blanket draped loosely around your shoulders. His eyes can’t help but travel down your body, salivating at the way your cropped long sleeve shirt pokes out from your nipples and reveals the expanse of your navel. His eyes travel further down, catching on the plaid pajama pants that sit low on your waist with the strings untied. If his cock wasn’t hard before, it definitely is now.

“I’m sorry to wake you up,” Your siren voice calls to him, his eyes snapping back to your shy face as you bite your lip. “But, my heater is acting up again and I can’t sleep with it switching between hot and cold. I already called the landlord, but he said he’d send someone by next week.”

You look so pretty before him, cheeks slightly red from embarrassment as you stare up at him like he’s your savior. His hand grips tight on his door as he processes what you said. His poor little baby, suffering in her apartment. You should have come to him sooner. He would have gladly taken care of you. This just goes to show how he’s the only man capable of taking care of you, the only man you need to take care of your needs.

His hand covers the expanse of your stomach as he touches it. His warm hand is instantly met with your cold skin, sending shivers up your spine as he pushes you back so he can walk through his door. You walk obediently, taking a step back for every step he takes forward until you’re following him like a sweet puppy into your own apartment. It’s ice cold when his bare feet hit the wooden floors, his eyes trailing down to your own sockless feet. It brings a frown to his face, brows furrowing as he leans down and picks you up.

Your cold hands shock his shoulders as they hold onto him tight. The most precious squeal leaves your lips at the unexpected move, looking up at him with wide eyes as he carries you to your room. Most of the lights are on from your journey to the front door, but your bedroom is still clad in darkness. Your bed is soft when his knee sinks into it, lifting the covers to tuck you in where you’ll be nice and warm. He wraps them around you, covering you as much as possible. He makes sure you’re taken care of before he goes off into the hallway to check the heater.

It’s a quick fix, something he can do easily and doesn’t need a maintenance guy for assistance. It’s just dirty air filters, and he has spares in his apartment. It's a quick trip, with minimal labor. It takes him less than an hour to complete, but it’ll take some time before the heat starts filling up the place. When he walks back into your bedroom, you’re still under the covers and they shake slightly from the way you’re shivering.

“Got it fixed, should be working fine soon, give it an hour max.”

The soft thank you and beaming smile you give him tempts him to break something else in your house so you can give him more. He walks over to you, sitting next to you on the bed. Your skin still quakes from the chill, and he hates to see you so uncomfortable. His hand comes up to your cheek, attempting to warm the skin with the heat of his hand. You instantly melt into the touch, practically purring as you lean into his hold. He’s seen this scene so many times in his dreams that he can't help the dirty thoughts circulating in his head.

The darkness of your room hides the glazed look in his eyes as he studies your mouth, his thumb rubbing the expanse of your cheek, “You’re so cold, cariño. Needa find a way to warm ya’ up quick.”

The words are almost unheard, his thumb sliding down your face until it presses into your bottom lip. Your lips part slightly from the movement and he doesn’t ignore the temptation to slip the pad of his thumb through. Your mouth is warm and oh so inviting, your saliva coating his thumb print. You instinctively suckle at the skin, eyes shining bright at him as you open your mouth wider. It makes him groan softly, pressing his thumb further into your mouth until his hand is supporting your chin as his thumb presses flat against your tongue. It holds you still, blinking innocently at him as he rubs gently.

He can feel his cock twitching in his pants, and it doesn’t take him long before he picks you up again, dragging you and the covers to the floor until it forms a pile before him. You’re on your knees, body half covered in blankets and sheets. They protect you from the icy cold of the wooden floors, and simultaneously makes you look like an offering for him. Miguel spreads his legs, grabbing your chin again until your face is hovering at the same height as his stomach. Your beautiful doll eyes blink up at him and he smiles at the sight of you.

“It’s okay, I got a way to make you feel better again.” He mumbles down at you, his free hand fishing into his pants until he grips his cock.

It’s heavy and burning in his touch, a bead of precum glistening at the tip as it meets the frigid air. You stare at it in wonder, leaning your face closer to see better through the darkness. He watches you closely, slowly stroking his base as he basks in your attention. His hand leaves your chin, moving around until he grips the back of your neck. He pushes your face closer to him, stopping when your face is pressed to the underside of his cock.

The skin burns where the two of you meet, and his cock jumps in excitement. His hips move slightly, slowly dragging his cock along your face, the tip of your nose brushing just under his tip. Miguel lets out a muffled moan, his hand squeezed tight at his base as he slaps his dick against your face. Your eyes instantly closed, taking it without complaint besides a low whine.

Miguel lets out a low ‘fuck’ as he looks down at you, pulling your face away until his tip presses against your lips. He rubs his cock along the seams of them, watching as they get glossy with his precum. Your tongue tentatively slips out, gathering some of it as you hum out. His cock is quick to follow your pink muscle, slipping in the crown of his tip into your mouth. He can feel your hot breath on his tip as you gasp at the intrusion, your tongue pressing against him.

He lets out a pleased sigh, slipping his tip back out to slip it back in. You try to call out his name, but it gets swallowed by his cock reentering your mouth. Your hands fall to his thighs, gathering the fabric in your fingers as you lean into him. You instantly gag when you do, mouth and throat not used to taking something thick. It makes Miguel moan, knowing damn well he’s nowhere near the back of your throat yet. You’re so fucking sensitive. He pulls back, but you eagerly try to follow. His grip on your neck tightens, making you whine as he keeps you in place and he slips out.

“Careful now, muñeca. Don’t hurt yourself.”

You whimper at his words, blinking teary-eyed at him. He coos gently down at you, shutting you up by sliding himself back into your mouth. You hum against him, eyes shutting as he works himself in and out. He barely gives you anything, going no further than the end of his tip as your tongue glides against him. He moans, finally feeling what he’s wanted for so long. You’re sloppy, tongue uncertain as it prods at his slit and drinks up the precum he spills into your mouth. It’s warm and slightly salty as it travels down your throat, making something warm bloom in your stomach. Your hands fist his pants tighter and Miguel’s eyes drop down to them.

His finger is gentle as it glides over the back of your hand, the cold skin raised with goosebumps. He tsks lightly at you, grabbing your hand and placing it around his length. He moans at the contrast in temperature, hips bucking into your touch.

“Shit, baby, gotta warm up those hands too.”

He grabs your other hand, putting it slightly lower than your other on his cock. His hands leave your body, falling over your own as he guides you to stroke him. His tip still lingers in your mouth, and you moan around him from how heavy and warm he is in your grasp. Once you work up a rhythm, Miguel’s hands leave yours. His hand falls back to its original position at the back of your neck, letting out soft groans and grunts as you work him. He massages the pressure points near the back of your neck, encouraging your mouth to relax and start sucking at him again.

Miguel can’t help throwing his head back, eyes shutting as you work waves of pleasure out of him. He can feel his balls grow heavier. His cock twitching and jumping in your mouth the more you play with him. He’s close, and he looks back down at you before he pulls his cock away from you again. You cry out in displeasure, looking up at him with a pout on your wet lips. He sighs deeply at you, moving back to grip your chin.

“Open your mouth for me, yeah?”

You instantly do, not needing to be asked before you stick your tongue out eagerly. He chuckles lowly at your desperation, hand tight around his base as he rubs his tip against your tongue. You whine at him, eyes getting droopy as he slaps his cock against your muscle. It doesn’t take long for him to cum in your mouth, watching as thick, white liquid spills onto your tongue. He moans as he finishes, tapping his cock against your tongue a few more times to make sure he’s given you everything.

When he pulls his cock away from you, you close your mouth and swallow. Your eyes close as you savor the flavor, feeling the warm liquid slip down your throat and warm your belly. The warmth makes you sleepy, eyes half-lidded as you lean forward and press your head to his stomach besides his semi-hard cock. His hand comes to stroke your hair, humming at you as your warm breath hits his skin. Sometime during his attempt at warming you, warm air has started to spill into the bedroom. Miguel sighs in content, leaning down to kiss the top of your head before picking you up for the last time.

You instantly snuggle into him, always whining out when he deposits you into the bed. Your covers are soon placed over you, and you watch as Miguel tucks himself back into his pants before sliding into bed beside you. You’re quick to snuggle up against him again, basking in the extra warmth he gives off. The warmth in your stomach and from Miguel loll you into a sleep, your body pressed hard against him.

The comfort of it all and the post-orgasmic bliss makes Miguel drowsy, breaths beginning to slow. He can feel his eyes drooping, taking in the final sights of you before his eyes close. But once they do, a loud band echoes in his head. He’s quick to spring up from the bed, eyes opening as he finds himself staring at a wall. His wall. In his bedroom. In his apartment. Even from his bedroom, he can hear the sound of you rushing towards the elevator and on the way to class.

Miguel blinks in confusion, eyes moving towards the alarm clock at his bedside table. 8AM. He groans, falling into his bed as he sighs in frustration. His hands trail down his body, moving towards the aching dent in his pants.

Just another fucking dream about the girl next door.

Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5

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spencereidluver · 5 months

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I is for "I Knew It!"

summary: you and spencer are caught going out by an all-too-familiar face, causing the two of you to have a talk about the logistics of your relationship.

word count: 1.1k

warnings: the fluffiest fluff anyone has ever seen

“Hey hey, put that wallet away,” Spencer says as you pull your wallet out from your purse. He never let you pay for dinner, even though you begged every time. You will admit, it is nice to always have your dinner paid for, however, you felt bad having him spend so much money on you.

“No. I want to pay tonight. You always pay,” you said and opened your wallet.

“My payment is having the world’s prettiest girlfriend. I’m paying for dinner, that's final.” He gently grabs your wrist from across the table, stopping you from making any further moves with the wallet. “Got it?”

“Fine, but I’m buying you a coffee in the morning.” You put the wallet back in your purse and give Spencer a smile. You playfully click your shoes with his underneath the table and take a final sip of your drink. Spencer places a credit card on the small black booklet on the edge of the table.

The waitress comes and collects the booklet, giving the two of you a quick smile and says she’ll be right back.

Spencer hands her a five dollar and two one dollar bills as a tip, and she makes her way to the register.

Spence lets go of your wrist and points his finger at you. “You,” he says, waves his finger at you as he says the words, “should come hang out at my apartment tonight.”

The waitress comes back and hands Spencer his card. “You guys have a good night,” she says as she backs up to let the two of you out of the booth then proceeding to clear off the table.

Spencer laces his hand with yours as the two of you weave through tables to exit the restaurant. “We can watch a movie or something,” he leans into your ear as you walk.

“I would love to, Spence,” you say and open the door to exit.

“Spencer Reid?” a familiar woman's voice says as the two of you walk out hand-in-hand. You feel his grip tighten.

The woman was blonde and pregnant. She was with a thin goateed man.

“Oh, hey JJ,” Spencer says, stopping his step. “How’s it going?”

“Great, I can’t believe you have a girlfriend and didn’t tell me!” JJ looks at you, her mouth immediately becoming agape. “Y/N?”

Yeah, no one knew you and Spencer were seeing each other.

“Hey, JJ…” You say, happy to see her, but in a little bit of an awkward situation.

“How long? How long has this been going on?” She says, looking over at her boyfriend, Will excitedly.

“Um about a month,” you begin to say before being interrupted by Mr. Exact.

“35 days,” Spencer says matter-of-factly.

“That’s crazy! Oh my god I can’t believe this. Does anyone else know?” JJ would probably be jumping for joy right now if she wasn’t 9 months pregnant. Will just looked at her lovingly.

“No, we haven’t told anyone yet, we wanted to wait until our relationship was solid.” Spencer said, letting go of your hand and wrapping his arm around your waist.

“Seems pretty solid to me,” you say under your breath and lean into Spencer.

“You have to tell the team! They’d be so excited,” JJ exclaims.

“Yeah, we’re going to, we’re just not sure when.” Spencer says.

“It better be before I come back from maternity leave. If you guys aren’t BAU official by the Christmas party you will be sorry.” JJ playfully threatens before being dragged to the door by Will who waves goodbye.

You and Spencer begin walking to his car. “You know, That felt good. To finally tell someone,” you said and lean further into Spencer as your steps match up.

“Yeah, it did,” Spencer says, “What movie do you want to watch?” “The Red Circle is always good.”

“Yeah, but I think I want to watch more of an immature movie. I need a break.”

“How about WALL-E?”

“WALL-E sounds awesome.”

Spencer let go of your waist when you reached his car. He opened the passenger door for you, helping you in by your hand, then hurried around to get in the car himself.

_____

“I think we should tell the team,” Spencer says. You were sat between his legs on his couch leaned against his shoulder. One of his arms was wrapped around you, the other hand was playing with your hair. He halted his movements once the words came out of his mouth. It was almost as if he didn’t mean to say it outloud.

“What?” You ask, turning to look at him. The lighting from the t.v. hit his face, bringing attention to the rosy blush bleeding through his cheeks.

“I um… I want to tell the team we’re together,” he repeats. Your mouth falls open, unsure of what to say. “I know it’s early, but I just, I don’t want to have to hide you from them. You’re so special to me.”

“Spencer…”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to yet, I know it could put a lot of pressure on a new relationship, but I…”

You need to shut him up. You lean in and plant a kiss on his lips, letting your breath linger on his mouth. “No, if you’re ready to tell everyone, I’ll be there every step of the way.” His eyes light up. He looks so happy.

“I’m so lucky to have you.” He leans his head into your shoulder and gently pecks a kiss on your collarbone. You tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear. He looks up at you and smiles, resting his chin against your chest.

You loved when he let you baby him like this. It took him a while to be comfortable enough to let his guard down like this around you, but once he was able to, he basically never stopped. He loved being able to have someone to care for him as it was something he never experienced, even as a child.

WALL-E is playing in the background, the scene where he is showing EVE around his house illuminating the room. Spencer looks up at you, eyes glowing. He nuzzles into your chest, careful not to bump your breasts. He was so respectful; the sweetest boy.

“What, Spencer?” you ask, keeping your voice smooth and calm. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but you had to make sure not to seem annoyed as he was sensitive.

“You’re so pretty,” he says, then buries his head in the crook of your neck.

That’s not what he wants to say, but you comb your fingers through his hair and say, “thank you.” You feel him mumble something into your chest. “What, baby?” you ask him.

“Y/n,” he says, you hum in response, “I think I’m in love with you.”

You can’t help but smile. “I think I’m in love with you, too, Spence,” you say, grabbing his chin and leading his face up to kiss him.

______

next chapter: J is for "Just So You Know"

a/n: hiii :3 i'm currently on break from school and have the next two days off from work, i'm going to try to grind so hard and try my best to get the christmas part out on the 25th, but if that doesn't happen please don't get upset at me... it will 100% be out in december, as the new years part is for sure being posted on the 31st. have an awesome night guys !!

taglist: @universallyblizzardlove @ms-ks-world @justlivinginadaydream @dij-ology @lotus-ignis @sammy-4103 @ktssstuff

@ada--44 @moongirl27 @monfleurr @shycreationdreamland @cultish-corner @ariianelle @iiheartbowie

@spencerreidismybitch @traderjoesmints @ivyflowers13 @hades-disappointment-child @aceofspades190 @taygrls @hookergutss

@random-3455 @nmw-am @bookworm124 @hizzielover @jem08 @cherrybowbabby @theofficialfunk

@hookergutss @skylions-den @smalltownbeautyqueen @spencereidapologist @lunajay33 @novaeatsworld @pleasantwitchgarden

@mellowdreamerbanana @readbydayana

#spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x bau!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader

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https-milo · 2 days

Text

the baker's daughter - 400 cupcakes

WORK SYNOPSIS Y/n L/n works at a small bakery owned by her parents. One day, a pro hero in training shows up asking for 400 cupcakes.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Chapter 1 - 400 Cupcakes

masterlist / next chapter

The bell above the door rang, alerting me someone was entering the bakery. "Hello! Good afternoon, how may I help you?" I ask. The man who entered had split hair, one side was white and the other was red. His eyes were different too. On his right he had a dark grey eye, and on his left was an ice blue. The left side of his face was scarred around his eye and down his cheek. Another thing I notice is his U.A. uniform. I quirk an eyebrow at this, knowing the uniform was always a sure sign of a quirk-user.

"Good afternoon. I have a question, it's very sudden," the boy said.

"Shoot!" I said with a smile. The boy tilts his head, not getting my words. "Oh uh, ask away..?" The boy nods.

"How fast can you make 400 cupcakes?"

I choke on my spit, "S-sorry?"

"400 cupcakes, how much and how long?"

"I uh, would have to ask my parents," I answer. "They should be in the back, I'll go get them."

The boy nods and I leave the cash register to the kitchen where my mom is baking and my dad decorating pastries. I knock on the wooden doorframe before entering. "There's a boy up front asking for 400 cupcakes," I explain.

"Sweetie, what did we say about believing scams?" Mom sighed.

"Hey! That was one time!" I pout. "But I think this one is serious, he's wearing a U.A. uniform. You know how the people from that school are."

"Quirk havers? Probably thought he was being kind going to a quirkless business," Dad grumbled. Mom looked at him with empathy. The three of us were judged harshly for our lack of quirks, we weren't 'ideal' in the current society. That angered my father.

"I'll go see what he wants, you stay here, F/N," Mom sweetly said. She rubbed his shoulder soothingly and walked out of the kitchen with me.

"Hi, my daughter tells me you're interested in 400 cupcakes?" My mom greeted him.

"Yes, that's correct. How much would that be and how long would that take?" The boy replied.

"Well, it'll run you almost 82 thousand yen..." Mom hesitantly said, knowing the price would scare most people off.

"Doesn't matter. I just need them in time for the U.A. School Festival," The boy said.

"Oh so you're rich-rich," I mumble to myself. The boy must've heard as he looked at me confused. My mom lightly hit my arm. I roll my eyes playfully.

"Well... that's two weeks away. We should have enough time!" Mom answered. "We do a half payment upfront and you pay us the rest once you collect the cupcakes."

"I can pay it all at once, it's no trouble," the boy said. He pulled out a black credit card. I looked at my mom and she shared my same thought "money, money, money".

"Right, that'll be... 81,700 yen," my mom said. She entered the price in the register and turned the card reader to face the customer.

Silently, he put the card in and used the PIN number. The satisfying ding of the payment going through made the workers at the shop elated. "Right! Thank you. If you could leave your name and number, my daughter will contact you for information regarding what you want." Mom explained. She offered over a pen and a notepad.

"Sure," the boy said. He grabbed the pen and paper and wrote his information on it.

"Thank you again... Todoroki," Mom said, her eyes widened when she read his last name. He nodded and walked out. Mom turned to face me, she had a mischievous smile on her face. I knew what she was up to.

"My daughter will contact you," I mocked. "REALLY MOM?!" My face flushed with color as I covered my face in embarrassment.

"Just trying to set my baby up!" Mom teased. "But you really should message him, we kind of need to know what to make."

"I can't believe he paid up front like that..." I said amazed.

"Right?! Didn't ask for proof or previous works... paid just like that."

"Why'd you look surprised at his name?"

"Todoroki is the last name of the number 1 pro hero."

"All.. Might..?" I was never really caught up on heroes. The prospect never interested me. Being a hero was a dream I could never chase. All because of the extra joint in my pinky toe.

"No. All Might retired. Endeavor!"

"Oh cool," I reply. Mom rolls her eyes. I stick out my tongue and pull out my phone. I put Todoroki's number from the paper into my contacts.

I showed Mom the messages. "Music-related, huh?" "I think it's kinda cool," I defended. She hummmed. "I'll work something up with your dad. Why don't you head upstairs?" She offered. "I can help you know!" I groan. "I know you can. But you also have a bunch of homework," Mom countered. "What's the point? I mean, I'm probably just going to end up working here for the rest of my life." "I don't want that for you, hun. This was mine and your father's dream, it doesn't have to be yours too." I sigh, "Fine. Goodnight, Mom. I love you." "I love you too."

I walk upstairs to the living area my parents and I reside. I open my bedroom door and flop onto my bed. I didn't bother doing my homework, instead I just stared at the ceiling. I thought back to the customer. He wasn't bad-looking at all. I hope I get to see him again. Well I mean I will, but maybe (and hopefully) not in the context of buying cupcakes at my parents' bakery.

Thank you so much for reading <3

#mha #my hero academia #bnha #boku no hero academia #shoto todoroki #todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #my hero academia x reader #shoto x reader #xreader #bakery au #anime #anime x reader

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screeching-bunny · 5 months

Note

Need more of our yan slasher,he's so pookie,i wanna bite his cheeks (in a affectionate way) and cuddle with him until the end of times,he's such a cutie 😭💗

Yandere! Slasher Pt.2

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Yandere Thoughts, Bad Writing, Stalking, Possessive Behavior, Reader is Referred as ‘You’

Pt. 1

After reading the message sent by Yandere! Slasher, everyone subconsciously looked at you. Never in your life did you want to go home more badly than you did right now. Why did you even decide to go to a party in the first place? You don’t even like people in general! You were definitely never going out to socialize with others after this. If only there were more booze around here you really didn’t want to handle this situation semi sober.

You: “... What are you all looking at me for, they gave out a very vague description of someone. This could literally be anyone in this room with similar features to me.”

The next minute the phone screen immediately lights up with a message.

Yandere! Slasher: “I’m talking about you.”

You: “...”

After a few more seconds of silence, you finally managed to suppress the fear and uneasiness in your heart. You took the phone from the person beside you and carefully looked back at the messages that were sent by Yandere! Slasher. Finally looking down at the text box you begin to slowly type a message.

You: “Sorry, I don’t like guys with dark hair.”

Yandere! Slasher: “I can always dye it.”

You: “I don’t like your face.”

Yandere! Slasher: “There’s always plastic surgery”

You: “How do I know that you're rich? What if you’re lying and actually not broke.”

Yandere! Slasher: “I’ll buy you whatever you want right now. I can even send you my credit card information if you decide to be with me.

Damn you were broke but not broke enough to allow yourself to be with some killer. If it weren’t for your morals you would have probably folded by now.

Yandere! Slasher: “Well it’s not like you have a choice anyways. I plan on making you my spouse either way. You can either come with me willingly or I could take you by force…. Well looks like you’re taking too long. I'll decide for you.”

With that text message sent, you immediately began to feel queasy. You were struggling to keep your eyes wide open and your body was beginning to become very sluggish. Slowly but surely your senses were starting to stop and the last thing that you were able to hear were the sound of your peers screaming for help. With one last attempt to get out of your situation, you try to slowly crawl away. Only for your attempts to be interrupted when someone gently picks you up. “You’re not going anywhere cutie.” and with that you were now fully unconscious.

—

The next morning you woke up with the world’s worst hangover in the world. Never in your life did you feel this fucked up and and groggy all at once. You begin to raise up your body but soon realize that your body was tightly restricted by some rope and you were wrapped in the arms of some guy. The immediate thought in your head was that this was, last night was either the kinkiest night of your life or some random weirdo had ended up kidnapping you. Due to your movements the man next to you begins to wake up and looks over to you with a smile on his face.

“Cutie! I’m so glad you’re awake. We have so many things that we need to discuss right now! I’ve been thinking about the names of our future kids. Do you have any preferences? I don’t really mind what we name them but I want a lot of kids! Wait! I’m being so inconsiderate right now. I never even asked you if you wanted kids. If you don’t like them we can adopt as many pets as we physically can and we–”

As he was rambling it finally hit you. He was the fucking weirdo from the night before. You wanted to fucking die. Never in a million years did you think that you’d have to deal with a serial killer and an extrovert at that. Maybe if you pretended to be deaf he would stop talking to you. You begin to look at him and begin to make gestures with your head and facial expressions to signify that you were deaf. Yandere! Slasher looks at you for a few minutes before laughing.

“Sweetie, that's not going to work. I’ve been stalking you for the last couple of years. I know that you’re not deaf. Besides I’ve looked at your medical, you're perfectly healthy right now. Which reminds me, my precious little darling must be starving right now. It’s my job as your future husband to take care of you. Now wait right here for me.”

With that he leaves you entrapped alone in the room. Although your eyes were still a little blurry you were still able to make out the contents of the room. Scanning the room, your eyes fell upon a glint of metal under a desk —a discarded tool left by neglect or chance. Adrenaline surged as you inched closer, your heart racing in synchrony with your movements. With trembling fingers, you grasped the tool, the cold touch sending a shiver down your spine.

Summoning every ounce of determination, you started sawing at the ropes, each movement a blend of agony and hope. The metallic smell of blood filled your nose as the sharp edges of the tool cut into your skin. With each passing second, the knots loosened, freedom within tantalizing reach. With one last rough movement you were able to be free of your binds. As you made your way towards the window. A creak soon shatters the silence and the door swings open. Revealing your kidnapper's looming silhouette.

“Look at you all covered in blood because I left the room. Did you really think I would leave the room without any monitors watching you? I was hoping that you wouldn't try to escape but I guess I’ll have to be training you from now on cutie. Guess I’ll have to punish you right now. Do me a favor and lay down won’t you?”

#yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere slasher

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cometkenji · 1 month

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killshot, baby

Pairing: Aaron Hotch x Doctor!Fem!reader Cw: Fluff (for real this time), LONGING (this is literally 9k words of pure yearning idek how I did that), mentions of blood, Hotch gets shot, Jack being adorable, Jack gets injured too :(, no explicit age gap, this is just rlly cute idk it's sweet I love Hotch so much I need him Summary: When you get hired as the BAU's stand-by medic, the team leader ends up being the hardest part of your job. Disclaimer: Reader is chubby! She's always fat coded, but like usual she's not described here. Just know a chubby person was imagined when writing this <3 WC: 9k (Hotch is the love of my life I could go on about him forever) This is definitely not medically accurate, please just enjoy for the sake of the story. I LOVE HOTCH I WANNA SMOOCH HIM

As weird as it was, band aids were the thing you remembered most from your childhood. You grew up as a canvas for any sort of scrape, cut, or bruise. Any wound that made your parents feel mildly worried to utterly terrified were ones that decorated your body frequently. You never tried to assign any meaning to why you became a doctor, simply crediting it as your call to the profession - to people. If you had to, though, your consistently bruised adolescent body is the best root cause you could think of. It seemed only right that the kid who couldn’t keep her skin in tact would grow to love helping others. You liked to think that’s how you kept your head an average size. Your bosses and co-workers had raved about your abilities no matter the job you took, and after a while you had to start prioritizing keeping your humility. You had started as just a kid with bruises.

You tended to ground yourself with those same memories in times like this. For as long as you’d worked in the hospital, you held some disdain for agents. You saw many federal ones, being so close to the HQ for divisions like Behavioral Analysis, but some locals swung by too. You’d had far too many experiences of them being snappy, demanding, and usually inconsiderate to the team of people trying to save someone. You understood the individuals you were committed to helping often got there by doing monstrous things, but demanding to talk to someone when they were bleeding out and half-conscious always forced your tongue between your teeth in an effort to stay respectful. Especially now, pushing a stretcher with 3 other workers while trying to shake off the feds trailing after him. You recognized them, Agents Rossi and Hotchner, if you remembered correctly.

“We’ll need to talk to him immediately.” The man - Rossi, you assumed, seeing as he was going gray and had less of a charge fueling his steps - spoke quickly as the two men followed your team.

“Be here when he’s out of surgery.” You didn’t bother to look back, trying to convey your annoyance and praying they got the hint.

“He’s killed three women and has another one hostage. We don’t have time.” The other one piped up, easily keeping pace with you.

Abandoning your previous strategy, you let your team push the man into the operating room, shutting the door behind them and whipping around to face the duo. “I understand that, sir, believe me.” You were more elevated than you would have liked, years of unease unfortunately slipping through your efforts to withhold them. “But whatever happened when you found him left him barely breathing. You can’t speak to a corpse. You’ll have your time when he’s stable. Go do your job and let me do mine.” You tensed your calves planning to turn around, but quickly felt the guilt catch up to you. “I’ll call you if he wakes up.”

“If?”

You sighed. You hated profilers. “I’ll call you.”

“Call the headquarters.” He was scribbling down a number on the back of a hospital business card. “Ask for Agent Hotch. We’ll be waiting.” You nodded your head once, taking the card from his hands. He started walking away as he thanked you. “We appreciate it.” Sure.

–

The surgery to save the man had been a trip and half. One of the bullets had internally ricocheted, and the other two were lodged next to crucial arteries. You praised your mother for giving you steady hands as you inched them out of him. It took you and your team six hours and fifteen minutes to get his heartbeat steady, you estimated he’d be knocked out all night. You should call, you thought. You had no idea how late these people worked but they were more than likely expecting to talk tonight and you didn’t know if that’d be possible. You fished the card out of your pocket, his handwriting was impressively neat for how fast he’d written the number. You heard the line ring twice before someone picked up.

“This is Penelope Garcia with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, who am I speaking to?”

“Uh- I’m Dr. L/n down at Quantico Med. I’m looking for Agent Hotch?” Your words tilted up at the end of your sentence. The casual nature of his shortened name left a weird feeling in your mouth after you said it. “I have an update on a patient he was asking after.”

“Is this about an unsub?”

“A what?” She lacked professionalism. You wondered briefly if he had just given you the phone number of an employee.

“I’m sorry-” she laughed slightly. “Is this about a suspect? Hotch told me someone might be calling.”

“Um - yeah it’s about a suspect. He was brought in earlier. Is Agent Hotch there? I’m sorry ma’am but I've been in an operating room for the past 6 hours and I want to go home.” You hoped she’d respect your honesty, you really didn’t have the patience to explain yourself to someone new.

She chuckled. “I got you honey, I’ll page you over.” The line went dead for a second before the ringing resumed. Please be quick, you prayed, get me out of this fucking hospital.

“Hotchner.” His voice was rougher over the phone. You guessed the long hours started to weigh on him by this time of night. You always felt it the most around this time, too.

“Hi, sir. This is Dr. L/n from the hospital. We managed to stabilize your guy, but it’s unlikely he’ll be up before tomorrow. I know it was assumed he’d be awake tonight but it took longer to operate than expected.” Your guys put 3 bullets in him, so sorry for the inconvenience. “I’ll be here all day tomorrow. You can come by at any time and I’ll let you in.”

“Are you positive we can’t talk to him tonight? I understand the situation is difficult but this case is extremely time sensitive. I’m sure that’s not lost on you.” You cursed the man for not being more condescending in his delivery. Thinking of the poor person either trapped or dead right now due to the guy you just saved made you sick.

“I know.” Fucking hell. “I can wake him up.” A quarter dose of adrenaline works wonders. “Be here in fifteen minutes. You won’t have much time to talk to him.”

“Thank you.” He hung up. You put your head in your hands. Just a little kid with bruises.

–

The layout of the BAU made you envious of the workers here. You’re sure they’d dealt with atrocities beyond what the average person could stomach, but you also worked within the belly of the beast and man were those hospital hallways claustrophobic. The daylight shone beautifully through the large windows, and you asked yourself if you’d be able to cope with all the paperwork in exchange for a feel like this. There weren’t any front desks, nowhere to sign in, so you sat in one of the chairs by the door and waited to see if something would happen. You had been specifically requested to visit the building , a note signed ‘Strauss’ being left with the hospital secretary. You didn’t like being called on by a stranger, it made you nervous beyond belief. You’re sure anyone walking by assumed you were being charged with something. Sweating like a sinner in church.

“Dr. L/n?” A woman was standing near you, having completely avoided your eyesight until now. “I’m the board supervisor, Erin Strauss. Thank you for coming.” The woman was nice enough, but she seemed rigid, clearly confident in her authority. She led you to her office and gestured to the chair facing her desk.

“I’ll cut right to the chase.” She smoothed her pencil skirt as she sat down. “The BAU is seeking a stand-by medic and I’d like to offer you the position. You’re revered highly by your previous places of employment and your current boss has only good things to say. Along with a personal reference by an employee of mine, you’re certainly a person of interest. You’d be working interchangeably with three other individuals, however you would be the first one called when needed.”

That is definitely not what you were expecting. You were almost immediately ready to turn down the offer. You didn’t work well with cops. You worked well in a hospital, going into the field to patch the wounds of both good and evil was a less than appealing deal to you.

“You’d be on call while you worked your current position at Quantico Medical, when you’re at home you can remain there, but you’ll be flying with the rest of the team when they leave. You will be entered into a federal database, and employed as a stand-in for hospitals near you when working abroad.” She went on to explain you’d be paid salary, and when you heard just how much you could add to your monthly income by doing this, you took it. You were doing fine, you definitely didn’t need the financial boost, but you had family that could use it. Your niece had been close to turning down college because of the cost, so some extra money could really set her up.

“Excellent. You’ll start your field training next Monday.” She was shuffling papers into a hefty stack as she talked. “Come back when you’ve finished this and I’ll arrange a team meeting.” The stack was even heavier than you expected when you picked it up. It was far too early to be regretting your decision.

–

The first day of training had been easy enough. You weren’t an agent, so you avoided having to learn weapons or combat. It generally consisted of learning efficiency, along with how to work properly with agents and the expected etiquette when dealing with an unsub. You had met the team only once by now. Everyone had been nice - Garcia especially - but aside from her nobody had been particularly welcoming. The conditions of your job were a bit strange, basically capitalizing on the what ifs that came with the FBI title, and that created a bit of distance between you and the rest of the team. They questioned the necessity of you, they’d survived this long without a stand-by medic with them, why did they need one now?

Above any disregard for those in law enforcement sat your stubbornness. You knew they were on the fence about you, the most logical thing for you to do now would be attend every session required of you and prove yourself through pure accomplishment. Easy in theory, much harder to execute when Aaron Hotch is the one you’re learning from. He was a good teacher - you’d give him that - he had a confidence to him that easily dominated a room, attracted eyes in a way other men couldn’t manage. You’d ignored the initial stir in your stomach when meeting him in favor of attempting to scold him and his partner. Now, it was much harder to quell the slight pound in your head or the sweat on your palms. He was just standing up front, lecturing on the importance of a team, but his attire was the only thing able to break through the haze in your mind. Every time he’d shown up at the hospital, he’d donned a suit, a slightly baggy blazer worked incredibly well as a shield to your curiosity. That had clearly changed, as he shed the overcoat when talking to the class, having just a white button up adorn his torso. You took notice of the rolled up sleeves, clearing your throat quietly to snap yourself back into focus. You had the intention of snuffing out this little thing of yours but were a living contradiction at this point, setting on the goal of avoidance while barely ignoring the sight of the veins on his arms. You pondered the thought of sleeping with some man at a bar just to get this out of your system, but remembered how little projecting attraction onto someone else helps a situation. In other words, you were probably fucked.

–

The first mission you worked with the team had you flying to a tiny Georgia town to investigate a string of bodies being found in ransacked homes. It seemed to be a simple motive, robbery turned to murder, but the team was called down to help once the kill count hit five. You had been expecting a long commercial flight, figuring you’d need to invest in a good neck pillow and some aspirin. Nobody had bothered to inform you the Bureau utilized private air travel, or that you’d be flying in one with people you’d known for two weeks. You’re sure you looked a little out of place, looking around the plane without being obvious you were doing it and adjusting to the sight of couches on planes. The others, having had this privilege for years now, took their respective seats. You had been nervous about that, unfortunately. The unsure feeling of where to sit reminding you painfully of high school cafeterias and inferior reputations. The only open seat happened to be right next to the man you’d been ducking away from the past two weeks. Lovely. He took a moment to look at you when you sat. You were prepared to talk to him, but for now you busied yourself with rummaging through your bag looking for nothing and pretending not to see him in your peripherals.

“Do you get sick on planes?” He seemed to have a deeper motive when he asked, like you saying yes would solve a puzzle in his head.

“Not really.” You’d only been on a plane a handful of times. “Turbulence can make me nervous, but I think that’s fairly normal.” You thought momentarily that perhaps he would blame your obvious anxiety on that instead of his proximity to you. He was a profiler, you’re sure he picked up on tells for nerves you weren’t even aware you had, but maybe he’d write it off. “Why do you ask?”

“You seem…” He trailed off for a moment, looking over your face to try and categorize your expression. “I don’t know, lost?” He smiled, light and easy, and you realized he was trying to reach out to you. The comfortability in the gesture made your head spin. It was like a shot of morphine, enveloping your body in a dull elation - an escape. You wanted that comfortability, wanted him to feel weightless around you. There had been a certain tension between the two of you since you started. He was warmer than the rest, but also more awkward. Your first real interaction had been an outburst, and it left you hesitant to talk to him.

You chuckled at his remark. “No I -” You shook your head as you spoke, as if shaking off his accusation. “Nobody told me about the jet. You’d think exclusive aircraft would be in the job predecessor.”

He nodded in agreement, holding a slight upturn on his lips. “Yes, you would.” He glances away to check the time, looking back to you quickly like you were his homebase. “Strauss has a habit of getting ahead of herself. Plus, we’re all pretty used to it by now. I have to remind her sometimes that normal provisions don’t have a TI.”

“I’m sure.” It was clear she’d worked with the unit for a while. “Even if they did, though, they’d never find another Garcia.” You thought of the woman, bright and sparkly and incredibly good at her job. “You guys are lucky to have her.”

He stared at you, losing a hint of the lightheartedness and letting a wave of genuinity intertwine with it. “You have her too, Y/n.” His eyes were like a trap, rich pools of honey just begging to tug you down in. “You’re a member of this team. Don’t think your newness makes you inferior to anyone else on it. We’re lucky to have you too.”

Fuck, you were whipped. “I really appreciate that, sir.”

He smiled, shaking his head and waving you off. “Don’t with the sir, please. It’s bad enough when Garcia does it. You can call me Aaron.” Not even the other team members called him that, a thought that seemed to strike you both simultaneously. “Or Hotch, whatever you prefer.”

You just looked at him, letting a smile rouse your lips and trying your hardest not to let the effect he had on you reach your face. “Ok.”

–

The first case had been good training wheels, simply tending to a vic who needed stitches and getting a feel for the life of a field agent. You’d been adjusting nicely to it, quickly getting used to working random hospitals and waiting to be needed on an active crime scene. The others had warmed up to you tremendously after getting back, opening their circle for one more, and you couldn’t be more grateful. A team like this was something you’d wanted for a while, growing more and more unsatisfied with the callous ER workspace by the day. Ironically, there was much more life in jobs dealing with murder. He had also been warming up to you. The two of you hit the status of work-place friends nearly instantly. The endearing encounter on the plane simmered inside you for a while. The memory of it prompting you to keep talking to him, always searching for a fix of the painkiller you’d felt that day.

You weren’t a profiler, but you were unfathomably infatuated, leading you to never miss his tone getting softer with you, or any one of his touches that lingered for just a second too long. It just barely bypassed the line of friendship, but you never lost sight of that linear barrier, so it was incredibly prevalent to you when he breached it. You scoffed at the idea of any reciprocity, brushing off every remark made by a coworker or the one horrific time you heard JJ refer to the two of you as ‘mom and dad.’ This wasn’t a plausible thing. This was a stupid workplace crush that was more of a hindrance than anything. The growing closeness between you and him would have it’s effects properly restrained to the confines of your head, only permitted to express themselves once you were away from the man. It was an odd dynamic, but Aaron wasn’t an obvious guy, so trying to define the edges of you two would only draw attention to the fact you had been looking at all. No thank you.

“Shit.” The team was sitting around the table going over their files. You were mainly there for support, as you were never a part of the lead up to the catch, the chase. You heard Hotch mumble the exclamation under his breath and looked over to see the trouble. He was looking down at his phone, jaw resting between his thumb and pointer finger. You got up and moved to sit next to him, the motion virtually ignored by everyone else as they continued searching for connections.

“Everything ok?” You mumbled to him, trying not to disturb your friends who were nearly nose-deep in their files.

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Jack’s sitter canceled. I wanted to stay here to go over the latest crime scene but I guess I’ll have to raincheck.” The killings of your latest unsub had been increasing. You knew the collective stress that was starting to boil within the team. Him going home would only slow them down, a horrible addition to a killer that was speeding up.

You volunteered your night away before you even got a chance to think about it.

“I can watch him.”

Surprise was apparent in the raise of his eyebrows. “I appreciate it, but I couldn’t ask that of you.

You’re fairly certain you would do anything he asked of you, but the nobility of the man in this case almost made you roll your eyes. “No, please. I offered and I would love to. I’m not helping anyone just sitting here, and you leaving would slow them down. You know what to look for here, I don’t. I don’t want another girl going missing just cause your sitter flaked. I can do it.”

He seemed mildly speechless. “I -” He paused, trying to find the wording he wanted. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll send you the address, if you’re sure.” He looked at you with more adoration than you’d ever had directed at you, so intense your eyes instinctively ducked down. “Thank you, Y/n.” He was so touched by the action it made you slightly sad to think about. Had no one ever helped him? Maybe you were raised weird, this seemed hardly beyond common decency to you.

“What are friends for?” He exhaled a slight laugh in gratuitous agreement, but you saw the glimmer of his eyes dull slightly. The notion surely reflected in your own eyes as the words burned your tongue. Friends.

–

Jack was a delight. A well mannered, clearly well raised kid. Parts of his dad shined so vibrantly in him that you’re sure you’d be able to pick him out of a crowd based on mannerisms alone. Hotch had called Jack’s daycare, verifying your identity and giving you the ok to go pick him up. He seemed quiet on the way home, but rushed to give you a tour of the house, and excitedly led you to his line up of toy trains once you’d entered the place. There was a shift between you and Hotch that happened when you gave the offer. A shift that was now only just settling in you. This was his house. His space, his stuff, his place of security. He’d invited you into it, gave you permission to enter it, to exist within it, and it was strangely intoxicating. He was intoxicating, and you realized quickly how much you ached for the permanence of it. You’d made Jack dinner, played for a bit, went out for ice cream per his pleading, and wished him a peaceful goodnight when his bedtime rolled around. He’d dubbed you his ‘best babysitter ever’ and you knew as soon as the words hit your ears that you’d be watching him again. You’re sure situations like today popped up frequently for Hotch, you could be a valuable asset to him when you had free time. He would be saving money too. No need to pay a sitter when you were being paid by the Bureau every second you were there. Aaron had gotten home a few minutes past one, utterly exhausted and uncharacteristically apologetic. He was sorry for being gone so long, making you stay so late, everything and anything the man could apologize for was pouring out of his mouth. He’d welcomed you to stay, but his hair was messy from messing with it all night, and he’d ditched the suit jacket for a gray long sleeve. You’d wanted to take the opportunity, wanted to bask in the safety of him for as long as he’d allow it, but those restrained thoughts were clawing the walls of your skull with a vigor unlike anything you’d felt before. It would be abhorrent to dream about the man while in the confines of his home. You couldn’t do that - you wouldn’t. You brushed off any apology he could conjure and let him escort you out the door. His hand was on your lower back, and his voice was low from the siphoning nature of the day.

“Thank you, again.” He looked at you. “You’re a lifesaver.” You’d expected to hear some humor in his voice. The start of banter between friends, a casual appreciation for a job well done, but there wasn’t any. He sounded rough, slightly beat down, his eyes filled with a sincerity all aimed at you. A blend of pure adoration and a deeper level of dedication. Was this a commitment? What kind?

Heat bubbled in your stomach as you made eye contact. “Please.” You shook your head slightly. “Jack’s an angel. You’re clearly as good at this as you are profiling.” You nodded in the vague direction of Jack’s bedroom as you referenced the kid. “It was my pleasure. I’d love to do it again, if you’ll let me.”

He sighed out a small laugh and broke your gaze for a moment, looking back to you as he spoke. “I’d like that.”

–

You’d seen Jack a multitude of times after that. Aaron was never particularly fond of asking you, claiming that he appreciated the gesture but it was mainly Jack’s begging that made him cave. That, and your persistence. You liked Jack a lot, and more selfishly, you liked being around Aaron’s stuff. It was a little creepy, yes, but you felt better acquainted with him after being around his things. An energetic type of understanding, the type that deepened a connection without words. He was needed late tonight, and as much as you hated denying an offer to see Jack, you had priorities at the hospital. The previous sitter wasn’t able to watch him, so she gave a personal recommendation, and Jack got stuck with a stranger. You thought about him while working, probing and patching people half-focused with the desire to be elsewhere. You’d felt mildly guilty about it, but it’s not like it altered your work, so you figured it was harmless.

You wondered slightly if you manifested the event you were watching play out. You watched in pure disbelief as a sobbing Jack was being carried into the ER by a flustered blonde woman. There was blood staining the right sleeve of his shirt, pouring out of his skin in a surplus and completely soaking through the material. A jagged piece of glass was standing at attention in his wrist, having sliced through the fabric like butter. He was marked ‘urgent,’ who knows if the shard had hit an artery or where the glass had come from.

Most other doctors were busy, either operating or tending to patients. You’d walked to the front desk, remaining as calm as your racing heart would let you, and told the secretary to assign the case to you. “I know this one. Let me take him.” She just nodded, marking your name down as the primary doctor and allowing you to take him back.

Walking up to the blonde woman, you assumed this had been the new babysitter. She was a wreck, trying to explain what happened through her own hysteria while simultaneously having her words drowned out by the crying child. “It’s ok, ma’am.” You’d reassured her, obviously she hadn’t intended the injury. “Let me take him, I’m a friend of his father.” You saw the calmness dilate her eyes, making itself apparent in the relaxation of her tense shoulders. You removed the bleeding boy from her arms, holding him against you and cooing at him the way you would a baby. You took him to a stretcher a few feet away and laid him down, ensuring his wounded arm stayed flat in an attempt to slow the blood. He was on the brink of passing out, his body not having nearly enough energy for the sobbing on top of losing vital fluid. “Jack.” You addressed him directly, two more doctors aiding your transfer to an examination room. “I need you to stay with me, buddy. Just a little longer, I promise. You’re gonna be just fine.” You pushed with one hand, caressing his non-injured arm to emphasize your affection. “Just a little longer.” You looked at him in between looking forward to keep the stretcher straight, seeing that same adoration from his father’s eyes mirrored in his. You felt protective, realizing you cared for the Hotchners much more than you let yourself believe. Little kid with bruises, you skimmed through your origins in your mind in an attempt to center your focus. Just a little kid with bruises.

Two hours later, Jack was stitched up and sleeping soundly. You knew his sitter had called Hotch, probably as soon as something happened, and were not surprised to find him idle in a waiting room chair. He was leaned forward, head in his hands and knee bouncing violently. He heard footsteps getting closer, a feeling within him recognizing them as yours, and he looked up. His eyes were teary, tired. The look of a concerned father.

“How is he?” You’d never witnessed this type of worry in him, heard the amount of desperation in his voice.

You smiled lightly as a predecessor to Jack’s wellbeing. “He’s fine. Glass missed his arteries. We had him patched up in around an hour and a half. Gave him a lollipop and a light sedative to get him to rest. He should be all set to go in the morning.”

He sighed, and the amount of stress that audibly left his body made you feel a little lighter from where you stood. “Thank God.”

“Hey man, give us a little credit.” You joked, relieved when you heard the slight laugh come from his downturned head. Pity laugh, probably, but it was a cherished sound nonetheless.

“You have full credit, Y/n.” He shook his head, raising it to look at you. “Quite the hero.”

You almost physically recoiled from the term, rushing to correct him while maintaining the lighthearted nature. “Definitely not.” You rejected the praise. “Just doing my job. I’m glad I could help him.”

He leaned back in his chair, relaxing for a second before he planned to stand up. “Noble.” He chuckled. “But you helped my son. That’s about as heroic as it gets to me, doc.”

Blood rushed to your ears at your professional title being used so affectionately. “Go check on your kid, Hotch.” You waved back towards the direction of Jack, knowing that even though he was asleep, he’d want to see him anyway. You also hoped the slight distraction would draw his attention away from your increasingly flustered state. “You’ll have plenty of time to praise me.” You weren’t entirely sure you’d wanted the sentence to exit your mouth, but it was too late to bite your tongue.

He raised his eyebrows so slightly that you scolded yourself for having noticed. Such a minuscule action that seemed to move mountains within your brain. “Oh?”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes at your own remark. “I’m walking away. You know what I meant.”

“Mhm.” He smiled, nodding his head dramatically and rising from his seat. “Just name a time and place, doc. I’ll do good on that promise.”

You went momentarily braindead, hoping your eyes weren’t giving away the less than work appropriate feeling pumping through your veins. You stared baffled at him for what was definitely a millisecond too long before giving a half-shocked, half-flattered laugh and gesturing him away. “Say that when you’re not obviously sleep deprived and delirious and maybe we can arrange it.” The last thing you heard was him, laughing the way you do when you’re very serious but desperately trying to pass it off as a joke. You knew it well, having done it almost every time you were around him since you started. Comfortable, witty retorts between friends. “Have a good night, Aaron.”

Aaron, he thought. He’d remember that.

–

That had been the second shift between the two of you. Felt immediately by both parties and tossing you both into the deep end of whatever you’d been building with him. He’d been much more touchy, seemingly subconscious on his part but noticed by every part of your body, mind, and soul. You thought about what it could mean, then sunk even further into your incoherent mind when realizing just how subconscious the actions really were. He was just drawn to you. You had viscerally fought that conclusion as it came to you but it genuinely could not be anything else. He was touching you more because - whether on the surface or deeper down - he just wanted to, and that fact was wrecking you. You were so fucking into him that it hurt. Hurt to look at him or be in his home watching Jack or have his knee pressed against yours in the back of car during a team outing. It all hurt because he wasn’t yours. He seemed into you, too. Of course, you didn’t know to what extent. You worried maybe he hadn’t said anything yet because he simply didn’t like you enough, and that hurt more than any other factor. It was a foolish notion - one you would have abandoned instantly had you peeked inside his head - but alas, no such luck.

He’d been more relaxed, too. The two of you reaching a point in your relationship you hadn’t ever let yourself dream about. He was funny, achieving that lightness around you that you’d wanted from the start. He’d gotten riskier, amping up the dial on his remarks a bit. Starting with those like the hospital, ending with ones that made you have to take a breather in the room where they kept the coffee. It hadn’t gone unnoticed, per say, but the others were certainly ignorant to the true depth of the change. You simply couldn’t measure it by witnessing, you had to feel it. And fuck were you feeling it.

A week or so after Jack’s ER visit, you’d asked after him. You didn’t know if the regret was immediate, but it flooded through you quickly. Aaron got nervous, shifty, like you’d touched a live wire of his and he now had to patch it up before it blew. You got concerned, asking if something happened with his stitches or if Jack was now showing some sort of trauma response to the event. Was that even plausible? You weren’t sure, PTSD wasn’t exactly your strong suit. However, he quickly stated that wasn’t the case, noting that Jack was actually in perfect health and had been relentless about wanting you over for dinner.

“He’s grateful.” Hotch was smiling with paternal reluctance, proud of his son for having such good morals but also uncomfortable with the possibility of rejection he was facing. “He wants to see you, say thank you for “saving his life.” He emphasized the last bit in a sarcastic tone, both of you knowing his life hadn’t been in danger but also knowing that fact wouldn’t deter the boy from considering you some type of guardian angel. “Would you be up for it?” If you hadn’t been so focused on snuffing out the heat rushing to your face, you would have seen that same heat reflected in a slight pink across his cheeks.

“Definitely.” You smiled at the thought of the boy bugging his dad about getting you to the house. “When were you thinking?”

“Saturday night?” Both of you were scheduled to be off that day, and you found yourself begging whatever merciful being would listen to not have some lead to chase that day. “He’ll want the day to prepare.” He chuckled.

“Oh no.” You joked. Prepare? You couldn’t even begin to imagine what that meant. “Well, I am extremely curious to find out what an eight year old boy has to prepare for. How about seven? Would that be good?”

Aaron felt his palms start to sweat. He’d never actually been around his house when you’d been there, only seeing you on your way out. “That’s perfect.”

“Great.” You smiled, checking the time and realizing you needed to get going to the hospital. “I’m looking forward to it.” You nodded slightly as one last confirmation and headed out, suppressing a giddy smile while trying to force yourself into a headspace you could work in.

In the meantime, Aaron watched you walk off from where he’d been perched on your desk, entirely oblivious to the man watching the scene.

“As I live and breathe.” Rossi had crept up on him, not spooking him but rather suspending him in a state of immeasurable embarrassment. “Aaron Hotcher has a crush.” The man held his shoulder, patting him there like a father witnessing his son get his first girlfriend. “She’s a good one. Quite the eye you got, Aaron.” Then he was gone, walking away with Aaron’s dignity clasped in his hands. Closing his eyes in pure mortification, Hotch simply thanked God that nobody else was around for that and walked away with the intention of fusing to his office chair to avoid ever looking at Rossi again. At least you’d said yes, he thought. He didn’t know how he’d cope with his friend watching him swing and miss.

–

The daylight seemed to be anticipating this more than you were, hours passing by like minutes until eventually the sun woke you up on Saturday morning. It was blazing through the cracks in your blinds, settling in slim lines across your floor, as light and gentle as snow. You’d been rehearsing your poker face in preparation for tonight. Writing safety manuals for any ungodly situation that could happen, everything from a fire to Aaron gaining the ability to read your mind and unearthing what you really thought about him. You were so happy that Jack held you in such high esteem, but your hands were shaking at the thought of sitting down with him and his father and acting like it wasn’t the dynamic you fucking dreamt about. You knew it was a good sign of compatibility if someone’s cat liked you - did their child liking you mean the same thing? You hoped Jack’s seemingly innate approval of you gave you at least a couple brownie points. Aaron had called you a hero. Swiftly ignoring the memory of what he’d said after he called you a hero, you pulled out your phone. You and him didn’t really speak outside of work and babysitting schedules, but you were pacing around your room and needed something to give you a semblance of structure, a reassurance - even if it was just for the time. You texted, asking if you were still on for tonight, then went to go make breakfast and inevitably pace some more. He’d gotten back to you about twenty minutes later, confirming the time and giving details of how excited Jack was about it. You smiled at that, praying tonight would be as smooth as humanly possible and you could walk away with an ounce of emotional control. You set an intention, this wouldn’t deepen your feelings for Aaron. Was it a pointless goal? Yes. Was it also highly unlikely to prove true? Yes. But the loose plan you worked around the resolution almost completely extinguished the anxiety that had been blazing for hours now. It would be fine, you thought. Completely and utterly fine.

The same words were looping through your thoughts when you got to his front door. Casual - but still minorly more dressed up than he’d seen you. You’d put a little extra effort into your appearance, mainly to pass the time if you were honest, and you walked in with mild confidence fueling your steps. You did your best not to ogle him, he was in an attire that was already threatening to unravel the safety net of the goal you set. You were used to the suits hidden beneath blazers you cursed the existence of, maybe a snippet of his forearms when he rolled up his sleeves late at night. Now, though, he sported a simple black tee, more comfortable than you’d ever seen him. Domesticity was practically oozing from the entire situation. You felt the pieces slip into place as Jack ran up behind him, and you almost cried with how badly you wanted this feeling to be your normal.

“Hey, buddy.” You laughed as he hugged you, reciprocating the act as well as you could from the multiple feet you had on his height. “How’s the arm?”

He raised up his wrist, now gauze free and proudly showed off the scar there. You played up the genuine admiration you felt for him. “That’s a pretty gnarly scar.” He nodded in response, probably feeling cool for the evidence he handled such an injury. “I don’t want to see you back in my operating room, you hear me? Scared the life out of us.” The scolding was playful, and he giggled at your words.

Aaron huffed in agreement, cocking his head to the side slightly. “You can say that again.” Jack looked between you two, smiling and seemingly thinking something neither of you could decipher. To break the moment of silence, Aaron patted his shoulder. “Why don’t you tell her what’s on the menu, buddy?”

He told you, and you hummed along to his words, commenting that it sounded delicious and actually meaning it. He ran away a second later - presumably back to whatever he’d been doing before you got there - and left you and Aaron alone. Venturing into the kitchen, you saw multiple pans and pots sitting neatly on the stove, table set and ready to be utilized. Everything was being kept warm, and you finally gained an appetite after having wrestled with nerves all day.

“Do you want a drink?” He asked it while entering the kitchen, pausing to look at you.

“Please.” You were desperate to calm yourself, eager to subdue the shaking of your hands. “Do you have any wine?” You weren’t the biggest fan, but you couldn’t think of a drink more fitting for the evening.

He nodded slightly. “Red or white?”

“White.”

He chuckled. “Thought so.” It was quiet, more to himself than you as he was already walking away from you when he said it. He’d thought about what kind of wine you liked, you thought. He’d thought about you. He pulled two wine glasses down from the cupboard, then walked over to the fridge. He reached above it, barely having to stretch, and pulled an uncorked bottle from the storage up there. You felt your legs tense looking at how tall he was, how sure he was of his actions. Jesus. It’s been five minutes and you were crumbling. You watched his hands as he uncorked the bottle, reading the label and realizing the brand.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Seems a little fancy for a dinner.”

He laughed under his breath as he finished pouring the glasses, walking back over to sit next to you on the island stools. “You’re a guest of honor.” He placed yours in front of you. “I thought it was fitting.”

You searched, but couldn’t find the humor in his tone. You raised your eyebrows slightly. “Am I?” It was sarcastic, you needed to stop the heat in your stomach from spreading. “I didn’t know doing your job earned such a title.”

He was drinking as you spoke, finishing his sip before joking back. “You’re a doctor.” He said. “I thought you knew that better than anyone.”

You sucked air through your teeth as if wounded by his words. “Touche.” You took a sip of your drink, relishing the taste. Damn, he didn’t come to play. He laughed, and you set your glass back down. “Ok, I have to know.” He drew his attention to you. “What the hell did Jack need the day to prepare for?” The question had been on your mind since he asked you.

He took a drink, chuckling with a mouthful then swallowing so he could reply. “He actually helped cook most of this.” He nodded towards the stove full of different dishes. “That was what he needed the day for. Time for trial and error.”

You grinned at the thought of Jack and Aaron spending the day in aprons, making sure everything turned out perfect. “That is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He looked back towards Jack, coloring in the living room, close enough to see but far enough to miss your discussions. “He gets nervous around you.”

That surprised you. “Why on Earth would he be nervous around me?” You took your turn looking at the boy, an idea hitting you and making you feel sick. “Wait, I didn’t do something did I?”

He looked back at you, smiling. “No, no. Nothing like that. He gets nervous because he likes you. He knows who you are to me, too, so he wants to make a good impression.”

Your mind latched onto that sentence and played it like a broken record, bouncing between your ears over and over. “Oh?” Your lips were curling up at the corners, eyebrows furrowing as you got ready to hold him to that statement. “And who might I be to you, Aaron?”

Fuck. He’d let that slip past his lips without even thinking about it. So used to being in the confidential company of his son. Good thing he used to be a lawyer and could lie his ass off. “Most of his sitters aren’t also my coworkers.” He delivered it the smoothest way he could, smiling and drinking to hopefully exude a false comfortability that he certainly wasn’t feeling.

“Mhm.” You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to look sarcastic but in truth downplaying the sting you felt. What if this had been one-sided all along? You hadn’t prepped a safety guide for that.

Luckily, Jack came sprinting into the kitchen a second later, pleading with his father to eat now. Clinging to his leg and declaring how hunger was killing him by the second, dramatically threatening to wither away before your very eyes. You both shared a look, agreeing silently to put the kid out of his misery. The instinctual nature of the act hit you like a bolt of lightning. Both of you so in tune it was comical. The dinner had been lovely, and you reminded yourself to encourage Jack to keep up his cooking hobby. Maybe you could foster a professional chef. You’d talked with them both, light and the happiest you’d felt in a while. There it was, you realized. That weightless feeling you wanted to give him. You felt it in yourself too, and you could only pray it was because he felt it first. When dinner concluded, you’d help clean up while Jack resumed his coloring. His bedtime was soon, and you didn’t want him to spend his last hour washing pans. He was nearly delirious by the time 9:00 graced the clock, tired from the preparation of the day and needing to get to sleep. He’d given you a hug goodnight, thanked you for coming like the gentleman he was, and that was the last you saw of him. The rest of your time there was spent on the couch with Aaron, you both held a second glass of wine, and you noticed it manifest in the blush on his face. He was gorgeous, and you were staring. You know your eyes went to his lips a couple times as he spoke, low and rougher as the time ushered more light out of the sky. You saw his eyes slip down a few times too, this sort of unspoken, agonizing rule of look don’t touch. He’d walked you to the door, thanked you for your attendance, and then you were leaving. Sitting in your car, warm on the inside from both his presence and the anger you felt at yourself for not just kissing him. You were so incredibly needy for this - for him, and that fact just sat with you, like a raincloud constantly in a state of downpour, never letting you forget the pure fucking craving you had for him.

–

You think the start of your blackout was Morgan’s panicked voice over the speaker. You’d been stationed in your typical hut, equipped with medical gear and waiting on someone to need you. It was almost never your team in need of service, typically you were tending to an injured hostage or sometimes the unsub themselves, but never your friends. Your breath had been baited since you’d heard the gun go off. You knew the case was dealing with an aggressive attacker, you’d been expecting a fight, but nothing is ever more excruciating than waiting to hear who the shot was meant for. Derek crying out your name followed by a “get in here. Hotch is down, we need you in here.” had you ready to run the soles of your shoes down to dust just to make it in time. In time. God, in time for what? You’d ran past Emily and Rossi hauling out the unsub, anger evident in their treatment of him. How bad was it? How bad had he got him to have them acting like that?

The scene was bloody. Your brain switching off and forcing you into autopilot as you registered the pool of Hotch’s blood that Morgan was kneeling in. He was putting pressure on the wound, an attempt to stop the bleeding but it was flowing like a river. He wouldn’t make it to the hospital like this, you realized. He wouldn’t make it to the fucking hospital. You were holding his life in between your hands right now, the slightest tremor could sever that chord and you were feeling the pressure hard. Aaron was leaned against the wall, slumping down slightly which was only making the bleeding increase under the internal pressure.

You looked at Morgan, putting on the bravest face you could muster and effectively seizing control of the situation. “Morgan.” You got his attention quickly. “On three I need you to lift him away from the wall. I need to check for an exit wound.” He just nodded, doing exactly as you’d told him when you reached three. You checked the area, finding an exit wound in nearly the same spot. It’d been a straight line. You sighed in relief. Thank fucking God. “Ok, Morgan, I need you to put pressure on the wound on his back. I’m going to stitch the front to give us the time we need for the hospital drive but I need you to hold it. You got me?”

He nodded once. “I got it.” He moved his hand from the front to the back, Aaron wincing at the switch.

You took out the numbing cream from your pack, knowing it wouldn’t do much for a gushing bullet wound but hoping it would at least quell the sting of a needle. You took out the needle, threading it with hands frighteningly stagnant as the adrenaline gave you tunnel vision. You had to save him. “Aaron.” You looked at him as you prepped his skin for the procedure. “I’m gonna need to double stitch this, and it’s gonna hurt like hell. I need you to stay with me.”

The man just nodded, exhaling in exhaustion. “Do it.”

You worked as quickly as possible, gaining hope as you listened to the ambulance approach. “There you go.” You said under your breath, at this point you couldn’t tell if you were reassuring him or yourself. You looked to Morgan, who was still sealing the other injury. “Help me get him up. Keep your hand on there. These stitches are gonna give us twenty minutes tops. Hold his shoulders straight and walk quickly.” You counted again, both of you rising when you hit three, taking the man with you. The walk to the ambulance was the longest of your life. Aaron was clinging to his consciousness but you knew he was losing grip. Finally getting him to the stretcher and slamming the doors was a relief like nothing else. There was no time to debate anyone else going, you rushed him in and sat right down beside him, taking off almost immediately after. The bleeding had slowed, and your hand took the place of Morgan’s on his back. Since he was laying down, his full weight was on it, and you felt the circulation lessen more and more as it remained there. You couldn’t care less, you’d let the blood drain from your entire arm if it meant Aaron’s survival. He hadn’t passed out, which you thought was miraculous, simply walked the line of decently delirious. Groaning under his breath at every slight bump in the road.

“Why am I always having to save you Hotchner men?” You knew now wasn’t the time to be humorous, but you would have done anything to deviate from the tears in your eyes, the ball in your throat. You finally understood why it was frowned upon to date coworkers - it should be illegal to care this much.

“I don’t know, honey.” The pet name was the kicker, allowing a tear to break the dam and roll down your cheek as he chuckled. “You seem to be pretty damn good at it, though.” You laughed too, fighting the devastation you felt at the sight of him with the fact that he was clearly well enough to still be joking. “I should have kissed you when you came for dinner.”

Fuck. “Aaron, now is not the time.” You chuckled slightly as more tears fell. This is absurd.

“I know but-” He flinched as the ambulance hit another bump. Almost there. “I might as well say it now.” You wondered if there was genuinely something wrong with him. “You’ve been all I can think about since the moment-'' He paused to breathe slightly in exertion, you giving a disapproving look as his confession took it’s toll. “since the moment you started, you know that?”

“You are dying! Please, for the love of God, Aaron. Use this energy to prevent that from happening.” Your scolding was dramatic, but your actual concern shone brightly through your ruse of sarcasm.

“Exactly.” He was being equally as sarcastic. How on Earth did he manage this with a rapidly declining life force. “Give a dying man a chance. How unfortunate would it be if the last thing I hear before I go out is the woman of my dreams rejecting me?”

“Jesus Christ.” You shook your head in pure amazement. This was by far the most goal oriented man you’d ever met. “I’ll let you take me out if you shut the hell up and save your energy.” He smiled, letting his head hit the reclined back of the stretcher. “After you get better.” You added, reminding him that his recovery took priority. “Deal?”

“Deal.” This was probably the most insufferable man you’d ever met. “Such a good motivator.”

Scratch that. Most insufferable man ever.

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maybankprincess · 8 months

Note

request

could you please make a pierre gasly insta au or a max one. You don't need to and if you don't want to please just ignore this comment. Stay Hydrated Love.

pairing...max verstappen x christian horner's daughter!reader

summary...in which yn promised she would never fall for a driver until a certain driver made her take back her promise

{instagram}

yourusername

liked by christianhorner, kymillman and 1,098,675 others

yourusername my favorite kind of weekend 🤍

comments:

fan1 love to see her in the paddock

christianhorner you look pretty happy for someone who didn't want to come to last year's races

yourusername no need to expose me like that, dad-

fan2 loved your look this today!

lilymhe bestie looking good!

yourbestfriend1 missed you this weekend 😢

yourusername i'll be back soon!!

{instagram}

enews

liked by maxvfan1234, maxy4eva and 109,879 others

enews yn horner was photographed walking in the f1 paddock ahead of the austrian grand prix. the brunette was seen engrossed in the practice sessions, qualifying, as well as the race, this comes as rumors swirl that she may be rooting for someone special. link in bio for more.

comments:

fan1 love her fit!!

fan2 no offence enews but get your stories straight, our queen could never!!

fan3 someone show enew's admin yn's iconic tweet from a few years ago 🙄

fan4 istg imma send them the post 🙄

{twitter}

{instagram}

yourusername

liked by therealgerihalliwell, maxverstappen1 and 209,583 others

yourusername reunited with the besties 🤍

comments:

yourbestfriend1 girls' trip finally left the groupchat!

yourusername who would've thought 😂

yourbestfriend2 need to do this again sometime!

fan1 ahhh dream girls' trip!

fan2 am I the only one who realised max liked her post??

fan3 i did too, probs nothing though

fan2 hm we'll see

therealgerihalliwell glad you enjoyed your time away!

yourusername no, THANK YOU for convincing dad to let me go!

christianhorner hey! i had my reasons

yourusername sure dad..

{instagram}

yourusername has added a photo to their story!

{twitter}

{instagram}

yourusername

liked by therealgerihalliwell, yourbestfriend1 and 594,027 others

yourusername life lately <3

comments:

yourbestfriend1 gotta get credits for a few pics 👀

yourusername of course! here it is lol

fan1 love the skirt 🫶

fan2 THE SECOND SLIDE WAT-

christianhorner hope you had fun, dear

fan3 are we just gonna ignore the seond pic..

fan2 THATS WHAT I THOUGHT

therealgerihalliwell gorgeous 💗

yourbestfriend2 i see you really enjoyed your company lately

yourusername shush you

fan4 obviously we don't know smth-

{instagram}

maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, maxmaxmax123 and 2,983,093 others

maxverstappen1 went karting with close friends

comments:

fan1 maxy 🧡

fan2 max soft launching is not on my bingo card

fan3 max AND yn soft launching in the same week? they're together, I'm calling it

fan1 ig we'll see

{twitter}

{instagram}

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, christianhorner and 1,563,392 others

yourusername ready for the last race before the summer break <3

comments:

fan1 ICONICC

fan2 i love her 😭😭

christianhorner number one redbull supporter

yourusername thank you thank you

fan3 yn's pic with max 😭

fan4 and him liking her post too!!

fan3 ikr!! like can you guys be more obvious???

{instagram}

redbullracing

liked by yourusername, maxfan4ever and 571,223 others

redbullracing broken record (and trophy cc @mclaren)

comments:

shelovesformula1 🔥🔥🔥🔥

fan1 lando was like: if i can't have it, no one can

fan2 yn liking the pic 👀

fan3 chill it's baseless

fan4 apparently @fan3 lived under a rock for the past fex months

fan5 frr the soft launch and all

{instagram}

yourusername

liked by therealgerihalliwell, maxverstappen1 and 1,837,093 others

yourusername congrats on the big win, my love ❤️

comments:

fan1 im still shook even if we already knew-

fan2 SAME HERE IM SHOOK

fan3 WAIT WHAT????

fan4 told ya

fan3 ...

maxverstappen1 thanks baby! thanks for being my good luck charm <3

yourusername always <3

christianhorner didn't know your boyfriend was one of my drivers...

yourusername ...oops?

{twitter}

a/n: hope you liked it!!

click here to be added to my f1 taglist

tags: @peachiicherries @charli123456789 @lovings4turn @qnktmr @flannelforthetoads @iloveyou3000morgan @the-depressed-fellow @mirrorball-6 @cha-hot @shobaes @luvrrish @sainzluvrr @oscarpastryyyyy @escapism-writer

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trulyhblue · 2 months

Note

Bf Leah being wound up after a bad game and takes control. Smut pls!!!!

BLED BLUE

leah williamson x chelsea! reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, humiliation, dom/sub dynamics, age gap (legal + consensual), hate sex, enemies w/ benefits, rough, coarse language.

________________

Part of you wondered how long it would take Leah to take you home. There was not an ounce of blue in her body, taken only by the lifelong allegiance to North London, but the thought of you, a blue-born Chelsea girl, taking up the space under her sheets, was addictive.

Chelsea were the better team. Always was, and always will be. The Blues were better at everything. Their players were more advanced, their game plans had been executed to perfection. Arsenal were sloppy, poor, and unjust. It was embarrassing to the point where it stood out as entertaining to you. Seeing the almighty, reigning Arsenal fall on their knees and succumb to the superiority of your team was endearing, and you found yourself searching for the thrill increasingly more as the game progressed.

And the sight of the woman you hated oh so much angered by the defeated notion of the final whistle was your idea of an indescribable victory.

“What a shame, Williamson.” You snagged, clutching the fabric at your hips, looking down at her bent figure. “I thought you’d play well.”

“Ah, it is you.” She replied with just as much spite. “I thought I saw someone falling flat on their face. Makes sense now that I know it was you.”

You smirked, folding your arms over your chest. “Yeah, tried to show my humility… y’know, after scoring two goals tonight I thought it was only necessary.”

Leah scoffed, straightening her posture to display her authoritative height over you. “Both off deflections… sounds brilliant.”

“Player of the match worthy.” You bit back, stepping forward, pressing your chest against hers, suppressing the heat in your face. “Don't worry, I’ll make sure to credit your own goal in the interview.”

“Always have an excuse to talk about me. Can't stop, can you?”

“Is that what you think of me?”

“I don't think of you.” Leah shook her head, grabbing the hem of your shorts and fiddling with them persistently. “But if I did, I’d be sure to let you know.”

“If only I cared enough to hear it.” You tutted, not really caring about the openness of your situation. The stadium was still quite full, with both of your teammates lingering on the field. Fans were banking the barricade, no doubt looking for the two of you.

“I could tell you now if you’d like.”

“Aw, are you thinking of me now, Williamson?”

You felt Leah’s hand move to the inside of your thigh, pressing a tight pinch to gain any type of reaction from you. Biting your lip, you hoped that the post-game redness covered your blush.

“I bet you love the thought of people watching this, don't you?” She asked, glaring at you with such hatred that her words felt bittersweet. “Always so desperate for attention that you’d do it in front of everyone. Fucking needy.”

“You’re the one touching me.” In anger, you snapped. You didn't like the way Leah seemed so confident, so right in what she was saying. You wanted to be right. You were the one who won it for your team. You were better than her. She needed to realise that.

The only separation between the two of you was by your arms crossed over your chest. Leah was drawing furious patterns along your thigh, pressed up against you with her face above you, your height earning her to look down.

“Pull away then.” She uttered, now pulling you into a hug. You knew this would send fans into a spiral. Everybody knew about your rivalry with Leah. It was evident in the tackles, the cards, the teams, the games, the interactions. This was unclaimed territory. You had both teased each other after the games. There was always fire and spite, anger and resentment, but never contact. She told you to pull away, and by the tension that lingered, if you did she would let you have there was something else there. You felt it between your legs, running down your spine, making your core yearn.

It was in the way she kept her hand in between your thighs, deepening her fingers just below where you needed her most. She held you tight, closing any physical gap, forcing your arms to circle her waist as she wrapped her spare arm around the name on the back of your shoulders. You don't know why, but you held her back just as tight, breathing heavily when she started moving her fingers upwards.

“So tense.” She spat, rubbing your shoulder.

You shook her arm off, keeping the contact but still resistant. “I pulled it at training, of course it is.”

“Wasn't talking about your shoulder, baby.” She chuckled, her voice sending goosebumps down your neck. “In those thighs. Clenching them so hard and I'm hardly touching ‘em.”

That was when you knew your cheeks were burning.

There was a hint of humiliation in your tone, but your anger was still prevalent. “I didn't even notice your hand.”

“Yeah, alright.” Williamson grinned, pulling away. You felt the cold air nip your cheeks at the sudden loss of contact. Her fingers were no longer soothing the ache in between your legs. “Alright, baby, no, all that flushed cheeks from the big game, hm? Breathing so heavily cause you scored two goals, is that you’re so wet for me?”

“I’m not— you're so—”

Leah stepped away again, and you were too stupid to step forward in response. “God, is that what you're gonna sound like in the interview? You a mess, Baby, really. All flustered and red.”

“I'm not red.” You snapped. “And stop calling me baby. You're only four years older than me.”

Leah could see straight through you. “But you love that though.” She saw straight past your visible persona. “Why don't you show me how mature you are then? Can't call you baby if you prove that you're not.” She could tell by your flustered state, your wide eyes and your tainted disposition that you were struggling to handle the conversation.

“I don't need to prove anything to you. I just won the match. That's enough to prove that I'm better anyway.”

“But you needed help to get there, didn't you?” She retorted. “It’s not your name on the score sheet, it's mine. Look,” she pointed up to the screen, almost condescendingly, above the stands, where WILLIAMSON (OG) was printed boldly in white below the score. “All that hard work and I still get the mention.”

There was a fight for dominance, but the fight was so clearly won when you audibly gulped, unable to come up with just enough answer to compel yourself into a deeper state of anger. If anything, you were willing to resort to forbidding, but you were stubborn and bled blue.

“You’re just mad that you lost and we won. Chelsea was always better anyway, and you were just too slow… bet that's always the case.”

Leah’s jaw clicked, her lips settling into a thin line.

“In what case?” She muttered distinctly.

“You know what case.” You failed to notice the challenge, finding yourself in a superior position of confidence to realise the hole you were digging for yourself. “Slow and boring… on and off the pitch. You definitely get around, but you never seem to see one person twice. Maybe that's because they don't want to see you.”

Leah grabbed your wrist, yanking you off the field. It was a tradition that you would see the fans after every game, so you tugged back in retaliation.

She pivoted to face you, glaring at you with so much affliction that you yearned for more.

“You seem really interested in how I ‘get around’. Sounds like you wish it was you.”

No matter how hard your body was willing to succumb to her words, you stood firm by scoffing, rolling your eyes at her cockiness. “If only I was so desperate.”

“I’ll show you just how desperate I can get you.” The captain spat, holding your forearm now, easily leading you further down the tunnel where fans or players could no longer find you. “Didn't even properly touch you before and you were a needy mess.”

“You’re always so fucking sure of yourself, aren't you, Williamson?” You snapped back, hearing the clad of your boots fail to drown out your ungrateful tone. You did not care for what Leah was so keen to impress you with. Never had anyone told you that Leah did not impress. She was determined to make sure everyone was supplied with the right things for their needs. She valued giving pleasure over receiving. But if there was one thing she hated, it was brats like you.

You stood outside the Chelsea changing rooms, your kit still adorned on your figure.

“Go get your shit.” She snarled, letting go of your arm and jabbing you forward.

You scoffed, stopping dead in your tracks. “And what? You're gonna wait for me and drop me home? I have a license, Williamson, I'm not your fucking—”

You couldn't finish your rant, yelping when Leah cut you off, grabbing the collar of your shirt and mashing her lips against yours. One of her legs found its way between yours, her knee pushing against your core. A moan fell from your lips, and the woman wasted no time in slipping her tongue in, caging your figure between you and the wall.

She waited until you were kissing her back before grabbing your neck. She instantly moved down to litter harsh kisses down the nape of your neck, using her hands to move underneath your shirt, massaging your breasts. You were a mess beneath her, breathing heavily when the pressure on your clit intensified when her knee started rubbing patterns up and down.

“Swear at me again and see how it turns out for you.” She muttered in your ear, relishing the whines that fell from your lips as her knee continued its work. “If I tell you to grab your bag, that's what you do, yeah? You understand, Chelsea?”

The nickname left you shrinking, her words making your core glisten. You weren't completely sure whether the Arsenal girl was planning on taking you home. You didn't understand why you were all of a sudden pretty much moaning at the friction of her knee.

But you weren't fucking complaining.

“My teammates are in there.”

Leah let out a laugh. “You had no problem letting me touch you in a filled Stanford Bridge, Babygirl. I think it’d be healthy if your teammates realised who fucks their Stargirl after a home game.”

“You haven't fucked me, yet.” Your cheeks flushed a deep crimson, the thought of the England captain fucking you sending you into a spiral.

“Go get your bag and then I can use that pretty mouth for something other than moaning my last name… not that I mind when you do that.”

You wasted no time in doing as you were told, forever thankful that all of your teammates were either still interacting with fans or showering. You grabbed all of your stuff and quickly followed Leah over to the away changing rooms.

She let you walk through, since none of the girls were present, grabbing your belongings and chucking them inside her cubby. You felt her figure cage you back into the nearest wall, her hands how playing with the hem of your shirt, inching it further up your waist until it was completely disregarded, and you were left in your sports bra and shorts.

“Why so quiet?” Leah asked, kissing down the column of your neck, fondling your breasts. You sighed at the growing ache in your core, throwing your head back when Leah’s knee came back into contact with your clit.

“Some— someone’s going to walk in.”

Leah snorted. “Like you would mind.”

You huffed, grabbing the back of her neck and pushing her head further down your body. Leah’s knee stopped in return, leaving you writhing at the loss of pressure.

“Use your words or you can get off yourself.”

“Like you could get me off.” You retorted.

“I don't make brats cum.” She spat, moving back up to tower over you. “I edge them until they’re desperate and getting themself off my thigh. I treat them like brats, and maybe you need to work a little fucking harder for what you want.”

“You were just teasing me!”

“You're just desperate.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Leah.” There it was. Music to her ears.

“What?”

You whined, using your hips to drag yourself along her knee.

“What was that, Baby? Couldn't hear you under all those whines.”

“Leah, c’mon.” You stated potently, getting more impatient by the minute. “I'm not begging.”

The number six shrugged, looking down at you with wide, innocent eyes like she had no clue what you were going on about. Like she didn't even realise that you were humping her leg longing for some relief.

“Begging for what?” She moved her finger painstakingly down your chest, tracing your abs ever so slowly.

“For you.”

“For me?” She questioned, feigning confusion. Her hand dipped into the waistband of your shorts, circling your clit over your underwear. “Answer me, Darling. What do you want me to do? I'm touching you.”

“Touch me more.”

Leah tutted, moving her hand away. You groaned, throwing your head back when no pleasure was offered. “I'm afraid that's not how you ask. It might get you somewhere at Chelsea, but at Arsenal, we treat our Captains with respect. Even our star girls use their manners in the North end.”

“Touch me more, please.”

“Where, Chelsea?” Leah moved closer to you, peeling off her own shirt, removing your shorts, leaving you in your underwear and bra. “Be a good girl and tell me where.” She asked, her body lowering itself closer to the ground. You watched her kneel before you, hands gripping your waist, kneading your hips, lips biting your inner thigh.

“My clit, Lee, please. I need you to touch me there.”

“Such a good girl for your Captain, aren't you?” Leah ran her tongue along your folds, your underwear pooled at your feet. Your legs were swung over her shoulders, your hands buried in her hair, pulling taunt to her ponytail and the hairs that had fallen out during the game. Your moans were still muffled by the bite in your lips, the nerves of someone hearing your desperation for your enemy is still evident in the way you kept your mouth shut.

It was when Leah’s tongue latched onto your clit, sucking harshly on the swollen bud that your noises fell so adamantly from your reddened lips. You felt Leah’s cocky smile, her chuckles sending vibrations of pleasure through your body.

“Sound so pretty, Baby.”

“Leah— fuck, Lee. I'm gonna—”

“You’re going to hold it. Taste so good, you can wait.”

The coil in your stomach was forming long before Leah had even started, and the more Leah attacked your bud, the more your orgasm led to burst. Your moans had doubled in volume when one of her hands came up to play with your nipple, pinching it and playing with the nub every time her tongue licked up your folds. Her other hand worked its way through your pussy, spreading your slick all over your thighs, letting it run down your shaking legs and make your skin glisten with the glossy arousal.

“Want Stanford to hear you,” Leah spoke from below you. You whined at the thought. You were in a state of pure bliss that all cautionary thoughts of interruption were so far gone. All you could think about was Leah’s face between your legs.

“Feels so good, Lee. Want to cum so bad for you.”

“You can hold it, baby.”

“Mh, Lee, please.”

Leah moaned at your whines, nuzzling her nose up against your clit, pinching your nipple hard, reeling at the moan you let out in response. She saw the way your hole clenched around nothing, smirking at the way you rolled your hips across her face, working your pussy into her mouth so easily. She felt powerful knowing she had you at her disposal. You were stunning always, but there was something about you now that set Leah off. It made her angry knowing that you weren't hers to fuck at her discretion. It made her protective over you in ways she had never felt before. You were Chelsea’s protege — everyone worried when going up against you.

“Leah.”

It wasn't like something had changed, but Leah had realised that her hate was actually protection and adoration. She wanted you for herself. She wanted to steer you away from anyone that would hurt you. She hated Chelsea, she despised the West side more than anything, and it wasn't the sex that made her realise this.

“Leah.”

It was her name coming from your lips.

“Cum for me, Baby.”

That was all you needed to hear before you were barreling over the edge, your legs relying entirely on the strength of Leah’s upper body to keep you balanced. Your moans exemplified the stimulation of your orgasm riding out, and Leah’s endeavours to lick the result of it up as it poured into her mouth and onto your thighs.

The woman made sure you had somewhat caught your breath before she moved, having a moment to catch her own breath and comprehend what just happened. When she knew you were able to stand independently, she moved over to her cubby, grabbing the baby wipes she always had handy, moving back down to her knees to clean the mess across your legs as you covered your chest back with your jersey, and later your shorts.

Leah moved to do the same, except she watched as you fumbled with what to do. She gave you a pointed look as if to question your thinking, and you simply sighed and waddled over to her, slight humiliation at your wobbly legs painting your cheeks as you grabbed your bag.

“You all good, Baby?” She asked, her voice no longer authoritative and rather empathetic.

“Yeah, thanks.” You nodded. “Erm… sorry for being… rude… actually I'm not sorry but I am.”

“Yeah, same,” Leah replied a cheeky grin settled on her complexion. “I think we can settle for friendly rivalry from now on.”

“If that's what you call this, then sure.” You added, laughing along with what to make of the situation, feeling more out of place than ever in the middle of the Arsenal room. “I better go.”

“I’ll drive you home.”

“Lee, I've got my license—”

“It wasn't a question, Chelsea.”

You stood there defeated, knowing internally that you had no way home after Millie had driven you to the stadium and would have left by now anyway. Leah must’ve known that by the way she wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into her chest.

“Besides, wouldn't want that Player of The Match Trophy getting forgotten now, would we?”

_________________

A/N — bad ending but oh well… HOPE YOU ENJOYED!!!

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sunshinescribes · 7 months

Text

The House Always Wins

Part 2 of this fic

Pairing: Sir Crocodile x Fem!Reader

Rating: EXPLICIT (18+)

Warnings: Possessive Behavior, Jealousy, Rough Sex, Cunnilingus, (lowkey) Sugar Daddy Crocodile, Crocodile is smug and petty

(edit: realized the original artwork was fanart and I couldn't find the artist's @ to credit them, so I changed it)

Crocodile doesn’t know what to expect when he wanders onto the casino floor of Rain Dinners in search of you. Slot machines chime, playing a catchy little tune with each pull of the lever. Dealers grin and offer words of encouragement, coaxing big-eyed fools into another game with the sweet promise of lady luck’s favor.

You don’t usually partake in gambling, not keen on the idea of betting away your berries when you know it’s all rigged—and why would you even need to? You never ask for anything, but Crocodile provides. Spoils you even.

He enjoys watching the way your eyes get all big, stunned by the diamond necklace he places around your neck, or the soft gasp that passes your lips when he gifts silk charmeuse and chiffon dresses, designed, and tailored just for you.

Crocodile continues to seek you out, his sharp eyes flitting between the slot machines and card tables. He ignores the curious and lingering looks targeted at him—the smartly dressed patrons who vie for his attention as he continues to search—and then he hears it.

Your laugh, loud and beautiful—music to his fucking ears. He turns.

Crocodile doesn’t expect to see you at the bar, perched on a stool, leaning into a man he doesn’t recognize. Your hand is on his slender arm, your lips pulled into a pretty smile, and laughter escapes again—so lovely and genuine and for someone else.

The man grins at you sheepishly, transfixed on your mouth. It’s so blatant—barely contained, the way he’s staring at you with a mix of adoration and lust.

You must feel Crocodile’s eyes on you because you glance over your shoulder suddenly. Your smile widens, and you exchange a quick word with the mysterious man before hopping down from your seat.

Crocodile is silent as you approach, stone-faced. You grab his arm with both hands and tilt your head towards the man, all while smiling up at him.

“I want you to meet my friend,” you say excitedly, steering him towards the bar.

Crocodile doesn’t catch the name that rolls off your tongue—he can’t seem to hear anything over the sudden ringing in his ears, so sharp it drowns out the sounds of the jingling slot machines and triumphant cheers of those foolish enough to think they’re the winners.

The fond smile that plays on the mystery man’s lip never falls, but Crocodile notices the sudden unease as the man’s eyes land on him. The imposing height, the cold, almost irritated expression he comfortably wears—the golden hook that glints under the blinding casino lights. It’s enough to strike fear in the heart of anyone smart enough to value their life.

And the man is a small thing—average in every sense of the word, Crocodile thinks. The plain clothes, the nervous, uncertain words that stumble from his mouth as he tries to introduce himself. Crocodile doesn’t feign interest—he barely even acknowledges your friend, and that only serves to add to his anxiety.

If it wasn’t for the pitiful look you shoot him, Crocodile would laugh at just how pathetic this man is.

“We both grew up in Coombe,” you explain, glancing back at the mystery man. “I never thought you’d leave the North Blue.”

He must take your surprise as a compliment because he gives you another bashful smile.

“I didn’t either. Guess I finally figured if you could do it, so could I,” he chuckles softly. “Imagine my shock when I saw you here, of all places.”

“Small world,” Crocodile chimes in dryly, drawing your friend’s attention once more.

Crocodile places a hand on your hip, drawing you a little closer to him.“She never mentions much about her home in the North Blue.”

And she never mentioned you. The insult is unspoken, so subtle that he thinks even you don’t catch it.

But it’s also true. You rarely spoke about the North Blue—of the life you had before you entered the Grand Line and ended up in Alabasta. You never mused over an island you once called home, or a lovesick, hairbrained boy you left on it, and Crocodile doesn’t pry. He isn’t particularly interested in knowing, truth be told. He only cares about the life you have now, with him.

The man goes on an excited tirade about how beautiful Coombe is this time of year, about how you used to love the new bloom after winter finally passed, and all the fun you both had in your youth. He can’t help but reminisce, tries to connect with you in the only way he’s able.

“You should visit when you can. Uh—you both should.”

You pretend to consider it, and Crocodile gives little more than an unaffected grunt.

You inquire how long he’ll be staying and recommend shops and restaurants he must visit before leaving. He shamelessly seeks more of your company—your attention—and asks if you could possibly give him a tour.

You promise to check your schedule and follow up, and he beams as if he’s won an invaluable prize. Crocodile’s irritation grows—twists and festers the longer he stands by your side, little more than an onlooker. His frustration isn’t directed at you—you’ve always been friendly, offering a smile where he would surely offer a sneer, but it doesn’t stop his grip from tightening on your hip.

You notice, finally excusing yourself. The man gives you both a soft goodbye, one that Crocodile ignores completely as he whisks you away, and he can’t help the way his lips pull into a smug grin at the quick glimpse of the dejected look on his face. It must hurt him to see you walk away in the arms of another—to know the golden opportunity he thought the world had provided him never existed at all.

“You didn’t like him.”

It’s the first thing you say when you enter Crocodile’s private suite, disappointment dripping in your voice. You weren’t foolish enough to think he would be thrilled, but you thought Crocodile would at least be amicable.

He shrugs his coat off, placing it on the coat hanger near the door. “He was shameless.”

Your brows furrow, your lips pull into a slight frown…You don’t know? It takes Crocodile by surprise; surely you must. The man is far too obvious; his intentions are impossible to mask.

“He would have taken you right there on the bar if you had let him,” Crocodile scoffs.

You blink, dumbfounded.

“Gage?”

So that’s his name.

Your voice comes out in a high-pitched squeak, taken aback by the sudden accusation. “He doesn’t want to fuck me.”

Crocodile gives a mirthless laugh. You’re so sweet. So naïve. Always offering others the benefit of the doubt.

Crocodile recognized the hunger in his eyes—the longing. He suspects this friend of yours has harped on you for a long time, never quite brave enough to take the chance.

Not even now. By some miracle, he survived the Grand Line, and he still can’t brave his own futile emotions. Crocodile isn’t sure whether to laugh at how spineless the man is or burn with anger at how he even thinks he has any chance of having you.

The dark, ravenous part of him takes high offense.

Crocodile comes up behind you and dwarfs you with his body as his decorated hand cradles your jaw. “Course he does. Look at you.”

He tilts your head, forces you to face the full-length mirror on the opposite wall. You try to focus on your own reflection, but you can’t help but watch Crocodile when he dips down, pressing a tender kiss to your neck, all while his half-lidded eyes hold your gaze.

“Maybe I should invite him to our room so he can watch me fuck you,” he murmurs against your skin.

You shiver, nearly stumble out of his grasp as his lips trail higher.

“Don’t be cruel...”

Cruel? His offer would be courteous. It would be the closest your lovestruck friend would ever get to your naked form. The only way he would ever know what you sound and look like at the height of your pleasure—how perfect you are, stuffed and babbling through your orgasm.

The cruel thing would be what he truly wants to do—to use his devil fruit powers to turn the man into a withering corpse, forgotten in the endless sand dunes.

“Would you rather he joined?” Crocodile inquiries plainly.

He attempts to come off unaffected…curious, but the wicked voice in the back of his mind nags at him, hisses about feelings that could have been, and still may be.

The man matches your gentle nature, and is somewhat competent, at least to have made it this far from the North Blue. He’s the kind of man who would kneel at your feet if you asked, worship you as if it were his sole purpose—he’d give you a typical life, picturesque in its simplicity, and you would be content.

The thought makes something vicious twist in his gut. It makes time stand still as Crocodile awaits your answer.

“No.” You shake your head softly, meeting his cold eyes in the mirror. “I’ve never thought about him like…that.”

Of course not. What would you want with a sniveling worm? How could you go back to mediocrity after everything that’s been offered to you? The attention of a warlord of the sea—the savior of Alabasta. How could anyone else ever compare?

It’s pathetic how the gluttonous beast inside of Crocodile settles and hums contentedly, knowing that you only want him.

And maybe this is your power he couldn’t recognize before, why he was so unnerved in the beginning—this ability to effortlessly turn sensible men foolish. Even him.

“Only want you.” You turn, your soft eyes trained on him. “Always want you.”

Crocodile captures your lips as the words escape, and you melt into him—mold your body into his until he is all you sense. The heady scent of his sweet cigars mixes with hints of patchouli and cedar—his cologne—it lingers on his fitted clothes, drawing you deeper into his searing kiss.

You feel the bend of his golden hook press into the curve of your back, forcing you to curl into him as he parts your lips with his tongue. You’re caught in a pleasant haze, lightheaded, while Crocodile kisses you like he’s claiming your mouth, making sure that your lips never forget the feel and taste of him—that they never desire another’s.

Crocodile lifts you from the ground effortlessly with his ringed hand, still kissing you hungrily as he shifts blindly through his suite, knowing the layout well enough to stumble into his lavish bedroom. He parts from you with a low groan.

“Lay down,” he orders against your lips, and you comply, sinking into the soft mattress while he looms over you.

The ache you feel in your core blossoms—hurts so good from how desperately you want him—to be wrecked and teary-eyed and a mess for him.

You even go as far as to whine when you notice Crocodile isn’t working to free the fierce erection that strains his dress pants, eager to be lost in your warmth.

“None of that,” Crocodile tuts coyly, lowering to his knees near the foot of the bed. His large hand skims up the length of your thigh, pushing up your dress until it is bunched around your waist, and he can see the evidence of your arousal staining your thin lingerie—another gift.

That creature inside of him purrs gleefully, proud of how well he turns you into a spectacle—a gift of his own to admire and unravel again and again.

Crocodile tugs your panties down your legs, tossing it aside carelessly as his hooded eyes catch on your bare pussy, already slick and ready for him. A deep, guttural noise catches in his throat as you part your legs—eagerly welcome him where he belongs.

“I bet he wonders what you taste like…” Crocodile muses, leaning into your aching slit. A soft gasp passes your lips when you feel the heat of his mouth on your needy cunt, tending to the ache his salacious words and desperate kisses created.

There are rare moments when Crocodile takes you apart slowly, his movements languid and measured, bringing you to the height of your pleasure at an agonizing pace, only to rip it away just when you begin to tip over the edge. And then he continues the process again and again. He leaves you delirious on days like that, wasting the hours away with your body—and perhaps today would be a day such as that if he didn’t feel he had something to prove.

If the desire to plague your every thought didn’t control him like a cruel master.

Your soft whimpers turn to shameless, needy moans, light and airy but loud enough to satisfy the wicked parts of him.

“S’good,” you whine drunkenly, your hips bucking instinctively when Crocodile’s lips latch onto your neglected clit. Your fingers thread into his long hair, pull him even closer, and he groans—it makes you arch painfully as the feel of it cascades through your body and tickles your aching nub.

Each swipe of his talented tongue pushes you closer, making the heat that pools in your stomach metastasize until you’re chanting his name, so close and ready to reward him.

He squeezes your clit with his mouth, sucks your aching bud, and you’re gone—shoved over the edge as pure hot pleasure rips through you, flows from between your legs, and Crocodile laps up your sweetness like a starved man.

You glance down at him through your lashes, eyes heavy, body slowly recovering. Crocodile pulls away from your pretty pussy with a sigh, as if he’s sad to part, and the idea alone makes your core ache with newfound need.

“Always so sweet for me.”

Your release smears his chin. It makes him look depraved and delicious. If you had the energy for it, you’d lift from your spot on the bed and kiss him. Feel the taste of yourself on his tongue, but all you can do is watch him with tired eyes as he rids himself of his clothes, tosses his lavish vest and dress shirt aside haphazardly.

His pants are the last thing to go, and you watched as if caught in a spell, buzzing with anticipation as he palms his hard dick. It’s so pretty, with the tip blushing and spilling precum that glides onto his thick fingers. Crocodile smirks, amused by the enchanted look in your eyes.

“This what you want, darling?” he asks, giving his dick a rough tug that warrants a delighted hiss. You nod—nearly sob—as you continue to watch Crocodile’s hand rub up and down the length of his lovely cock. You feel so empty—the desire to be filled in a way only he’s capable of taking precedence in your mind.

“Tell me,” Crocodile encourages as he shifts to the bed, his large frame casting you in shadows as he hovers over you. That smug smile still plays at his lips and only grows crueler as he grinds his hard length against your needy cunt.

“N-need you. Fuck—need you so—so bad. Baby please—”

The request sounds pathetic, even to your own ears, but it must be exactly what Crocodile wants to hear because he sinks into you the second the term of endearment passes your lips.

A deep grunt rips from his throat and tickles your ear pleasantly as Crocodile drags his fat cock deeper into you. You’re so warm and wet and snug, your velvety walls hugging him like this is where he belongs—where he should always be.

And he’ll admit, there’s no better place than here, between your legs. No better feeling in the whole fucking world—not even the sweet giddiness that builds inside of him each passing day as the fall of the Alabasta Kingdom draws closer. Having you writhing beneath him, breathless and lovely, is incomparable—a sensation he never tires of.

“Always take me so—mmm…well,” Crocodile rasps, transfixed on how your sloppy cunt swallows him over and over and over again. It makes him fuck you harder; drive even deeper. “This pussy was made for me. You were made for me.”

And he thinks perhaps it’s the most honest thing he’s ever said to you. Uncertainty still stirs within him—dread lingers in the corner of his mind, silent and waiting, because you complicate everything. You’re the only person who can placate the ravenous creature within him, feeding its insatiable appetite without it ever growing incurious. It wants everything you have to offer—can’t conceive of feeding from anyone who isn’t you. Not anymore.

Never.

Crocodile pushes your thighs close to your chest, drives his dick even deeper as he continues to pound into you. The sound of his powerful thrusts and your tortured moans is a beautiful symphony, lovelier than the melodic sounds of the stirring sand at dawn.

You have that lost, blissed-out look in your eyes as you blink up at him, words completely evading you as he uses you.

How could your foolish friend ever even dream of having you like this? Think he could possibly do to you what Crocodile has done?

Crocodile feels equally as hopeless as you—is incapable of thinking clearly because a confession he knows he should swallow pours from his lips without warning.

“I’ll fucking kill anyone who tries to take you from me,” he growls, digging the tip of his hook into the mattress, inches away from your head.

You should be…shocked. Unnerved by such a confession. Crocodile doesn’t pretend to be a saint, but he never mutters his murderous intent. He hides behind practiced indifference; let’s others paint a glorious picture of him, never revealing his true nature. You attempt to feign shock for a split second, but you can’t help the way your pussy clenches around him and goes mad at his declaration—some depraved, feral part of you stirring to life.

And the knowledge that a part of you likes this fucked up part of him must awaken something in him, because his thrusts grow brutal, his balls slap against your ass as he fucks you into the mattress like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance to. Crocodile hits deeper, the head of his throbbing dick brushing against that sweet, spongey spot inside of you, and you’re gone before you can even warn him.

You choke out something that sounds like it could be his name, tears trickling down your cheeks as you come so violently that your breath stutters. You shake through your orgasm, squirm beneath Crocodile while he fucks you through it—watching you come apart with wicked fascination and unbridled lust.

He loves how he wrecks you—how you hold onto him for dear life, as if he might slip away.

He’s ruined you, just like you’ve ruined him.

The thought alone is the final push he needs, make his dick throb violently as he explodes inside of you and fills you up the way he knows you crave—the way your perfect pussy deserves. The squelch of his seed mixing with your sweetness is enough to drive him mad. Makes him want to fuck another load into you.

Maybe in a bit, he considers as he rocks his hips sluggishly, riding out the sweet aftershock of his powerful orgasm.

You’re little more than a quivering mess under him. Your eyes are closed, your breathing is ragged…so so beautiful, and Crocodile doesn’t frighten at the tender feeling that blossoms in his chest—a sudden warmth that takes him by surprise yet seems to make all the sense in the world as he stares down at you, all while a pleasant thought crosses his twisted mind.

What’s the harm?

Why shouldn’t I revel in what’s mine?

divider credit @/cafekitsune

#sunny.fic #sir crocodile x reader #sir crocodile x y/n #crocodile x reader #crocodile x you #sir crocodile smut #x reader

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