#dynamic programming language

[eminence-technology]

Eloquent JavaScript 4th Edition

JavaScript continues to be the most dynamic programming language for web development, evolving with each new edition of its core learning resources. Among the most renowned books for mastering JavaScript, Eloquent JavaScript 4th Edition stands out as a must-read for developers who want to refine their skills and understand the language at a deeper level. The latest edition not only updates the…

[ukulelegodparent]

Heartbreaking: This German almost died bc they had to manually select Germany as their location on a German-language website, bc the default was Switzerland or Austria bc that's where the company is from

[ailelie]

Is "could of" our future?: The potential of AI in spellcheck to forecast shifts in word usage and spelling

...an article that I wish existed...

[cbeargyu]

I hate and need him so much !!

summary: you and beomgyu are the top students in your university’s music program—but that’s the only thing you have in common. constantly clashing over leadership and vision, your rivalry is infamous across campus. but when a heated late-night argument over your final project spirals out of control, you both cross a line neither of you can walk back from. tension turns to obsession, and hate becomes the hottest kind of desire...

pairing: enemy!beomgyu x fem!reader

genre: enemies with benefits, smut, angst, college au, slow burn, toxic dynamics, musical rivalry.

warnings: explicit sexual content, strong language, toxic dynamics, public tension, dominance & submission themes, rough sex, mentions of physical aggression (non-violent), mutual degradation, possessiveness, slight exhibitionism, slight humiliation, dirty talk, praise kin, overstimulation, begging.[18+ ONLY MDI]

wc: 5,94k

notes: my tiktok is flooded with beomgyu videos + beomgyu in those photos... I'm thinking... 🫦💦

you’ve never met someone as fucking insufferable as choi beomgyu.

you’re top of your class in music theory and composition. sharp mind, sharper tongue, perfectionist to the bone. and unfortunately, so is he. same major, same year, same goddamn classes—and ever since first year, you’ve been stuck in this sick, twisted competition that neither of you ever agreed to, but neither of you can let go of either.

he’s loud. smug. sarcastic. every time he opens his mouth, it’s like he’s begging you to punch him. he thinks he’s the most brilliant mind to grace the university halls and you? you’re just a stubborn little brat who got lucky with a few good scores.

you, on the other hand, think he’s a cocky little shit with too much talent and zero humility. a show-off. a provocateur. someone who gets under your skin just for the thrill of it.

and worse, he knows it.

“i don’t know how the fuck you got the leader position,” he says, arms crossed over his chest as he leans back against the piano like he owns the place. “but if you keep running this project like this, we’re all going to look like idiots.”

you’re standing near the whiteboard, marker still in your hand from the rehearsal plan you were setting up. you were already exhausted—it’s late, your head’s pounding, and everyone else already left the music room because they knew this was coming.

you and beomgyu. again.

“then don’t be part of it,” you snap, glaring at him over your shoulder. “no one’s forcing you to stay.”

“you’re unbelievable,” he scoffs, pushing himself off the piano and walking closer. “you act like you know everything. like your way is the only way. but guess what? newsflash—this isn’t high school anymore, princess. not everyone’s going to kiss your ass.”

“fuck you,” you hiss, dropping the marker and turning to face him fully now.

“oh, that’s rich.” he laughs—short, bitter, mocking. “you can’t handle being challenged, huh? the second someone calls you out, you throw a fit.”

“you’re not ‘challenging’ me, you’re being a fucking asshole,” you step closer too now, chests nearly touching. “you think just because you play guitar and write edgy lyrics, you’re some kind of genius?”

his jaw clenches. “i am a fucking genius. unlike you, i don’t treat people like shit to feel superior.”

“no, you just think you’re better than everyone and talk like you’re god’s gift to music.”

“keep pushing me, sweetheart,” he growls, eyes narrowing. “see what happens.”

and maybe it’s the hour. or the pent-up rage. or how his breath is hot against your lips now, because neither of you moved away.

maybe it’s the way your heart’s been racing around him since the first semester, and you’ve been too fucking proud to admit it.

but when he grabs your wrist, pulling you flush against him, and your mouths crash together in something that’s not a kiss, not yet—more like a war—you don’t stop it.

you kiss him like you’re trying to shut him up. he kisses you like he’s trying to make you forget your name.

it’s teeth. it’s tongue. it’s bruises forming before either of you even start taking clothes off. his hands are gripping your waist like he’s waited years for this, and your fingers are tangled in his hair, pulling hard, like you want to hurt him and fuck him at the same time.

you gasp when his lips leave yours, only to trail down your neck, biting hard enough to make you whimper. your back hits the wall behind you with a dull thud, and you’re too far gone to care if anyone hears.

“still think you’re in control?” he mutters against your skin, voice low, mocking, laced with heat.

“fuck you,” you spit, breathless.

he grins. that goddamn grin.

“yeah?” he grabs your chin, tilting your face so you have to look at him. “then why are you fucking shaking for me, bitch?”

you slap him.

not hard enough to hurt. just enough to sting.

his smirk drops for a second—and then he laughs, low and wild, before grabbing your wrists and slamming them above your head.

“god, you’re such a brat,” he growls. “always running your mouth, always trying to act like you’re better than me. but here you are, letting me pin you like a fucking slut.”

“go to hell,” you snap, squirming against him.

he leans in, presses his mouth to your ear. “after i’m done with you.”

he kisses you again—hard, possessive, angry. his hand slides under your shirt, up your ribs, dragging slow just to hear you breathe harder.

“take this shit off,” he says against your lips, tugging at your shirt, and you don’t hesitate.

the air is cold, but his hands are hotter than sin. they roam, greedy, rough, like he wants to memorize every inch of you just so he can ruin it.

“beomgyu—” his name escapes your mouth in a shaky moan when he sucks a bruise right beneath your collarbone.

“what, bitch?” he mutters, pulling your bra down like it’s in his way. “you like that? you like when i touch you like this?”

you don’t answer. your pride won’t let you.

so he smirks, teeth flashing. “still pretending you hate me?”

you glare. “i do.”

he chuckles darkly. “then hate me with your legs around my waist.”

and you do. you hook your legs around him as he lifts you off the floor, grinding into you, cock already hard through his jeans and pressed right against where you need him most.

“fuck,” you whisper, head falling back.

“yeah,” he breathes, mouth trailing down to your chest. “that’s what i thought.”

his fingers find the waistband of your pants, tugging them down with a sort of impatient frustration that makes your whole body ache. he kisses down your stomach as he does it, slow only to torment you.

“been dreaming about this,” he mutters. “ruining that smart little mouth of yours. showing you who really runs this fucking class.”

“keep talking,” you pant, “and i’ll bite your tongue off.”

he laughs again—low, dangerous.

“you’re such a bitch,” he says. “and you’re gonna let me fuck you anyway.”

and you do.

you don’t know how you ended up half-naked on the piano bench, legs spread, his mouth buried between your thighs like he’s starving.

maybe it was the way you clawed at his shirt like you wanted to rip his skin off. maybe it was how he shoved you down with a growl, like he couldn’t stand another second without tasting you.

either way, you’re too far gone to give a fuck.

“fuck—beomgyu—” you choke out, fingers tangling in his messy hair.

he groans into your cunt, licking you slow just to hear you whimper, then fast just to fuck with you. his hands are bruising your thighs, holding you still like he’s scared you’ll run.

“you’re loud now,” he says, voice muffled against your skin, “but in class you act so fucking high and mighty.”

“shut up—” your voice cracks when he flicks his tongue over your clit, again, again, again.

“no,” he growls, looking up at you with spit and you all over his mouth. “you don’t get to shut me up. not when you’re moaning like a little toy.”

you reach down, grabbing his jaw, pulling him up to kiss him hard—tasting yourself on his tongue, nails dragging down his back.

“you’re fucking disgusting,” you whisper against his lips.

he bites your bottom lip, just enough to make you gasp. “and you love it.”

you do.

you hate him. but you want him so bad it’s making your head spin.

when he finally unzips his jeans and pulls his cock out, thick and flushed and leaking, your mouth goes dry.

“don’t stare like you’re impressed,” he teases, pumping himself once. “you act like you’re not dying for this.”

you glare, then smirk. “i’ve had better.”

“is that so?”

he grabs your hips, pulls you to the edge of the bench, and slams into you without warning.

your whole body arches.

“fuck—!” you cry out, nails digging into his arms.

he doesn’t give you a second to adjust. doesn’t slow down. he fucks you like he’s punishing you for every word you’ve ever thrown at him, every smug look you’ve ever given.

“better than this?” he grits out, snapping his hips harder. “you’re dripping, you fucking liar.”

“shut up—”

“nah. say it. say who’s fucking you this good.”

“go to hell,” you growl, grabbing the back of his neck, dragging his mouth to yours.

he kisses you like he wants to bruise your soul. you kiss him like you want to rip his heart out.

“fuck, you feel good,” he groans against your mouth. “tight little cunt acting like she doesn’t need me.”

you moan. you hate that he’s right. that your body’s betraying you, clenching around him, begging for more.

“fucking bastard,” you hiss, throwing your head back when he hits that spot deep inside you.

“say it again,” he pants, pounding into you. “call me every name you want, i know you’re close.”

“pathetic, arrogant, loud-mouthed little shit—” you gasp, legs shaking.

“that’s right,” he growls. “cum for me, fucking hate me while you do it.”

you do.

you fall apart under him, clenching around him so tight he swears and grabs your waist like he’s losing control.

and a second later, he’s cumming too—deep inside you, jaw clenched, eyes shut, letting out a low, broken groan of your name like it physically hurts.

the room’s silent except for the sound of your heavy breathing.

he collapses against you, forehead resting on your shoulder.

you push him off.

“we’re not doing this again,” you mutter, standing up and adjusting your clothes.

he smirks, still breathless, watching you like he already knows better.

“we’ll see, sweetheart.”

he’s been staring at you like he wants to kill you since class started.

arms crossed, jaw clenched, foot tapping like a fucking metronome of rage.

you ignore him. or try to.

but when professor kim announces your proposal will lead the ensemble showcase, and not his—oh, the way his eyes meet yours. burning. hateful. hungry.

you smirk, just to piss him off.

after class, you don’t even make it out the door.

“come with me,” he snaps, grabbing your wrist, dragging you through the empty hallway before you can protest.

“fuck off, beomgyu—”

he pushes open an empty rehearsal room and shoves you inside.

you spin on him. “what the fuck is your problem?!”

“you are,” he growls, slamming the door shut. “fucking show-off. always need to win, huh?”

you scoff. “maybe if your idea hadn’t been shit—”

he grabs your face and kisses you so hard your back hits the wall, again.

and you let him.

because you’re both too far gone now.

you kiss him back, biting his lip, tugging his hair like you’re trying to hurt him—like you want him to hurt you back.

his hands are everywhere. under your shirt, gripping your waist, yanking down your pants without a word.

“so fucking full of yourself,” he mutters, yanking your underwear down roughly. “bet you soaked your panties the second you saw me lose.”

you slap him again.

he just grins. “hit me harder if you want, baby. i know you like it rough.”

you grab his belt, undoing it fast. “shut up and fuck me.”

“say please.”

“fuck you.”

he shoves you against the wall, lifts your leg, and thrusts in—raw, fast, brutal.

you cry out, hands slamming against the wall for support.

“god—fuck—beomgyu—”

“that’s right,” he pants, pounding into you like he wants to erase your fucking mind. “say my name. say it like you mean it.”

your moans echo through the empty room. it’s reckless. loud. stupid.

anyone could walk in.

and maybe that’s why it feels so good.

“you look so pretty when you lose control,” he growls, biting your neck. “not so smug now, huh?”

you clench around him, mouth open in a silent moan.

he hisses. “you’re close.”

“no—shut up—i’m not—”

“liar,” he snarls, fucking you deeper. “you’re so wet i can feel you shaking.”

“piece of shit—”

“say it again.”

“fuck you—”

“you are.”

he grabs your face again, kisses you hard, and you break—cumming around him with a cry you can’t hold back.

he follows seconds later, groaning against your mouth, cock twitching inside you as he spills himself deep.

you both freeze.

silence.

then—footsteps outside the door.

your eyes widen.

he smirks.

“we should do this more often.”

he’s pacing in the classroom like a storm trapped in four walls. jacket thrown on the floor, hair a mess, frustration radiating off of him.

“i just don’t get how you always win,” he spits, glaring at the floor.

you raise an eyebrow, calm, bored. “because i’m better.”

he whips around. “fuck you.”

you smile. “you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

his breath catches. just for a second. and you see it.

that crack in his anger. the want under all that pride.

you stand, walking slowly to him.

“what’s wrong, gyu?” you murmur, dragging a finger up his chest. “you mad because you lost again? or because you can't stop thinking about how good i made you feel last time?”

his jaw tightens. his eyes drop to your lips.

“i hate you,” he says, but his voice is already shaking.

you hum. “lie better.”

and then your hand slips between his legs, cupping him over his jeans—slow. gentle. cruel.

he gasps. you feel how hard he is already.

“fuck—don’t—” he tries to step back.

you press your body into his, pinning him to the wall.

“don’t what?” you whisper against his ear. “don’t touch you? don’t make you beg?”

he whimpers.

actual whimpers.

“please…”

you grin.

“look at you,” you whisper. “so hard just from me teasing you. you want me that bad?”

he nods, red-faced, biting his lip.

“use your words, baby.”

“please,” he whispers, breathless, “please touch me. i need it. i need you.”

you pull back slightly, watching him.

he drops to his knees.

and that’s when your power hits him full force.

beomgyu, the cocky bastard, the arrogant top of your class, on the floor, looking up at you like you’re his fucking god.

“say it again.”

“please…” he swallows hard, pupils blown wide. “i need you to touch me. to use me. i’ll do anything. just—just don’t stop.”

you sit down on the chair, legs spread.

“come here.”

he crawls between your legs without hesitation.

you grab his jaw. “good boy.”

his breath stutters.

“can i… can i taste you?” he asks, voice so low and wrecked you barely hear it.

you smirk. “you can try.”

after he buried his face between your thighs, you had to muffle your moans with your hand, desperate not to cry out. but it was pointless—the university was already empty, and anyone left wouldn’t dare come near that classroom with the way the air practically sizzled around you.

you should’ve left right then, should’ve played it safe. but the heat between you was too much, too consuming. so instead, you stumbled out together, breathless and shaking, and made it back to your apartment—ready to finish what you never should’ve started in public.

“you’re so pretty when you cry,” you murmur, dragging your fingers down his chest.

he’s panting, cheeks flushed, wrists tied to the bedpost with your silk scarf. thighs trembling. body covered in marks from your mouth.

his cock is red, leaking, twitching.

“please,” he chokes out, voice wrecked. “i-i can’t—please let me come—”

you tilt your head. “already?”

you’ve edged him three times now. never letting him finish. always pulling away just when his moans start turning desperate.

“you really are weak, aren’t you?” you coo, wrapping your fingers around him again, slowly, cruelly.

his head falls back with a loud whimper. “fuck—yes, i am, i am—just for you—”

“look at you,” you murmur, stroking him torturously slow. “the same guy who told me he hated me. now you’re begging like a good little slut.”

his whole body jolts.

you lean closer, lips brushing his ear. “you like it when i talk to you like that?”

he nods frantically, eyes glossy. “yes—yes, please—more—”

you tighten your grip, pace quickening.

“you like being mine?”

“yes—yes, i’m yours—only yours—please don’t stop—”

“you’re not gonna come yet,” you whisper. “not until i say so.”

he sobs, hips jerking, trying to chase the friction. “please—please, i’ll do anything—i’ll be so good—just let me—”

you straddle him.

his eyes widen.

you don’t even have to say anything—he’s already moaning.

“you wanna come inside me, baby?” you whisper, dragging your folds over his aching tip, not letting him in.

he’s shaking. “please, please, i need to, i need to—i’ll be good—fuck—i’ll make you feel so good, i swear—just let me—let me—”

you slide down onto him all at once.

his scream is broken. his whole body arches.

“thank you—fuck, thank you—” he babbles, clutching the headboard with white knuckles.

“you’re so deep,” you moan, starting to ride him, slow and heavy. “you feel so good when you shut up and take it.”

he’s sobbing now. overwhelmed. blissed out.

“gonna fill me up?” you whisper, kissing his jaw. “gonna come like the good little boy you are?”

he nods, barely able to speak. “yes—yes, please—please—can i—please—”

“do it,” you growl in his ear.

he breaks.

he cries out your name, cumming so hard it makes his entire body shake, eyes rolling back as he trembles under you. it doesn’t stop—he keeps twitching, breathless, whimpering, completely ruined.

you don’t stop moving.

his eyes widen in panic.

“w-wait—too much—i can’t—”

you just smirk.

“you said you’d do anything, baby. don’t disappoint me now.”

you barely step inside the third-floor bathroom before you feel it.

the shift.

he’s already there, waiting — back against the wall, eyes on you like he’s been planning something. calculating. hungry.

but this time… he doesn’t look shy.

he doesn’t look desperate.

he looks like a fucking storm.

you close the door slowly, a smirk playing on your lips. “someone’s eager.”

he doesn’t answer.

he just pushes himself off the wall, takes three steps forward, and corners you against the door. his body flush against yours.

his voice is low, dark.

“you think you’re in control, don’t you?”

you blink, caught off guard.

“you think you can tease me in front of everyone, make me sit pretty and beg for you like a fucking toy,” he growls, gripping your chin, tilting your head up. “but you forget something, babe.”

his breath is hot against your ear.

“you want this just as bad as i do. and you’re not as untouchable as you act.”

you scoff, but it dies in your throat when he grabs your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand, the other sliding down your waist and under your skirt like he owns every inch of you.

“gonna prove it,” he murmurs, kissing your jaw, then biting down harder than he should. “gonna fuck the brat out of you.”

“you’re dreaming if you think—”

“shut up,” he snaps, shoving his knee between your legs, forcing them open. “you had your turn. now it’s mine.”

your breath catches when he drops to his knees, yanks your underwear down and presses his mouth right where you need him. no warning. no build-up. just pure, messy heat.

you whimper, trying to squirm, but his grip on your thighs is brutal. “stay fucking still.”

he eats you like he’s starving.

like this is punishment.

like he wants to ruin you.

and he does — slowly. with groans that vibrate against your core. with tongue strokes that make your knees buckle. with lips that suck until you're gasping, trembling, begging—

“beomgyu, i’m gonna—”

he stops.

just like that.

you cry out in frustration, but he stands and shoves two fingers in your mouth, making you taste yourself.

“you don’t get to cum yet,” he smirks. “not until you say it.”

you glare at him, trying to keep whatever pride you have left. he leans in, lips brushing yours.

“say you need me.”

you don’t.

you won’t—

he grabs your hips and slams into you so hard you choke on your breath.

you almost scream, biting your hand to stay quiet as he fucks into you like he’s trying to destroy you. like he wants you sore. shaking. marked.

“say it,” he demands again, slamming deeper. “say you fucking need me.”

“fuck—i need you,” you gasp, losing it. “i fucking need you, okay?”

he smiles, dark and satisfied.

“good girl.”

and he keeps going.

you swear you black out a little when you finally cum, legs wrapped around him, walls clenching so tight he nearly loses control. but he doesn’t. he keeps going, overstimulating you until you're crying into his shoulder.

when he’s done, he pulls out, breathing hard, eyes glazed.

you’re a mess — flushed, dripping, lips bruised, hair wild.

he zips up, fixes his shirt, then grabs your jaw again.

“next time you wanna play boss,” he whispers, “remember who actually makes you fall apart.”

and then he’s gone — just like that.

leaving you shaking against the door, breathless, ruined.

it’s late. everyone’s gone, except for you and beomgyu. you both stay back to finish up the final arrangements for the project. the studio is dim, the only light coming from the desk lamps and the soft glow of the instruments scattered around the room. a low hum of the sound system mixes with the quiet shuffle of papers as you go over the details. you’re too focused, too determined to let anything distract you. not even him.

but he’s watching you.

you feel it before you see him. his eyes on you, the way his gaze lingers too long, too intense. he’s not the quiet, obedient beomgyu you’re used to. no, tonight, there’s a shift in the air, something darker, something that makes your heartbeat quicken.

you look up at him. he’s standing near the piano, leaning against it with his arms crossed, his usual casual look replaced by a more dangerous edge. his jaw is clenched, his eyes narrowed in that way that makes your pulse race. his voice is rough when he finally speaks, cutting through the silence.

“you’ve been ignoring me all night,” he says, the words low and biting. “like i don’t fucking matter.”

you raise an eyebrow, setting your pen down slowly. “i’m busy,” you say, voice steady, though there’s a hint of something else in it. something that shows you know exactly where this is headed.

“busy?” his lips curl into a sneer as he pushes off the piano, taking a slow step toward you. “you were too busy when i was begging for your attention. and now… now you’re too busy to notice how badly i want you.”

the words hit you like a shockwave, and your breath catches. but you stand your ground. “and what do you want from me, beomgyu? you really think you can just—”

“shut up,” he growls, closing the distance between you in an instant. his hands grip your hips, pushing you back against the desk. the suddenness of it has you gasping, your breath hitching in your throat. “i’ve had enough of you acting like you’re in control. you’re not. not tonight.”

his hands slide up your waist, pinning you against the desk, and the heat between you is undeniable. you try to fight it, but you know—you know—you’re not going anywhere. he’s stronger. he’s in charge now.

he lifts you effortlessly, his fingers digging into your thighs as he spins you around, his lips brushing your ear as he presses his body against yours. “this project’s been a fucking joke, but i’m about to show you who’s really leading this.”

you shiver at the feel of his hot breath on your skin. you try to push back, but he’s already got you where he wants you. his hands roam over you like he’s starved, hungry for every inch of your body.

before you can react, his lips crash onto yours. the kiss is aggressive, desperate. his tongue pushes into your mouth with no warning, like he’s claiming you, taking you without hesitation. you moan into it, your own hands finding purchase on his shirt, tugging him closer.

he breaks the kiss with a growl, his lips trailing down your neck, nipping at your skin as his hands begin to strip you down. he’s rough, unrelenting, as if he’s been holding back for too long. and now, now he wants to punish you for making him wait.

“tell me,” he whispers, his fingers tugging at your shirt. “tell me you want me. say it, and i’ll give it to you. all of it.”

you swallow, trying to keep your composure. you’re not going to give him the satisfaction that easily. but beomgyu’s hands are everywhere—on your chest, your waist, pulling you closer until you can feel the hardness of him pressing against your stomach. you can’t deny it. you want him. god, you want him so badly. but you won’t admit it that easily.

“fuck you,” you spit out, pushing at his chest, though your body betrays you, grinding against him involuntarily.

beomgyu smirks, completely unphased. his eyes darken, and he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear again. “you will, bitch. you’re going to beg for it.”

suddenly, he spins you back around, shoving you against the desk once more. he’s fast, too fast for you to react, and before you can even think, he’s pulling your skirt up, exposing you. his fingers are already there, teasing, stroking over your sensitive skin with slow precision.

“tell me you want it,” he murmurs, voice thick with lust. “say it.”

you close your eyes, breathing hard, your hands gripping the edge of the desk as you feel him push against you. his movements are slow, torturous, his teasing driving you crazy.

“please…” you mutter, barely audible, but he hears it. that’s all he needs.

“good girl,” he says, his voice dark with satisfaction. “you don’t get to hold back anymore. not when i’m in control.”

then, he’s inside you. deep. hard. he doesn’t give you time to adjust, doesn’t give you time to breathe. the desk rattles under the force of his thrusts, your body rocking with each movement. his hands grip your hips, slamming into you with ruthless precision, fucking you like he owns you.

you cry out, your fingers digging into the desk, but he doesn’t care. he just keeps going, taking what he wants. you’re powerless against him, lost in the rhythm of his hips, the relentless pace he’s setting.

“tell me you need me,” he demands, his breath hot against your neck as he fucks you harder. “say it. now.”

“fuck,” you gasp, unable to stop the words that spill from your lips. “i need you, beomgyu. i fucking need you.”

his grin is wicked, satisfied. “good. now you’re mine.”

and he pushes you to the edge, pushing harder, faster, until you come undone. your body shakes with the force of your orgasm, your fingers gripping the desk so hard you’re sure it’ll leave marks. and even when you think you can’t take anymore, he doesn’t stop. he keeps going, fucking you through it, until you’re begging for mercy.

your legs are shaking, but he doesn’t stop.

beomgyu grabs your arm, spinning you around again, his lips dragging down your neck, your collarbone, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp. “did you think i was done with you?” he mutters, voice dripping with dark amusement. “we’re just getting started, baby.”

he lifts you like you weigh nothing and carries you to the worn leather couch in the corner of the studio. he drops you onto it and spreads your legs without hesitation. you don’t even have time to catch your breath before he drops to his knees and buries his face between your thighs.

“oh fuck—beomgyu—” your voice cracks as his tongue licks a long, slow stripe up your core.

his hands grip your thighs tightly, pinning you open as he devours you like he’s starving. he sucks, licks, flicks his tongue in maddening circles, then flattens it against your clit until your hips buck off the couch.

“taste so fucking good,” he growls, voice muffled against your wetness. “you gonna cum on my mouth, baby?”

you whimper, fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. “shit, yes—fuck—don’t stop—”

but he does stop. the bastard smirks up at you, lips wet, eyes burning. “nah. not yet. i want you ruined when i’m done.”

before you can curse him out, he’s pulling you up, flipping you over. your knees sink into the couch as he grabs your waist, angling your ass up. you barely manage to breathe before he’s slamming back into you from behind.

“fuck!” you cry out, your voice echoing off the walls. the angle is brutal, perfect. you’re melting, unraveling around him, every thrust punching the air out of your lungs.

“you hear that?” he pants, fucking you hard and fast. “that’s the sound of your pussy getting absolutely wrecked.”

you can barely answer, but your body responds—arching into him, pushing back, greedy for more. he grabs your hair, yanking your head back so he can whisper in your ear.

“you love this, don’t you? getting fucked like a little slut. look at you—can’t even talk, just taking my cock like you were made for it.”

you moan, dizzy from the filth spilling out of his mouth and the relentless way he’s driving into you.

then he flips you again, pulling you on top of him as he falls back onto the couch. “ride me,” he commands, hands gripping your ass. “show me how much you fucking want it.”

you don’t hesitate. you sink down onto him, both of you groaning at the contact. your hands grip his shoulders as you start to move—slow at first, then faster, grinding down as he thrusts up to meet you. the friction, the heat—it’s too much. you're bouncing on him like your life depends on it, tits bouncing, eyes locked on his as you both fall apart.

“fucking ride me, just like that. shit—look at you,” he groans, his head falling back, his fingers bruising your hips. “so fucking tight, fuck—gonna cum if you keep that up.”

you’re right there with him. you’re shaking, sweating, losing control. your climax builds like a tidal wave, and he knows. He feels it.

“you gonna cum, baby? gonna cream all over my cock like a good little slut?”

“fuck yes—yes—beomgyu—!” you scream as your orgasm crashes over you, your whole body convulsing as pleasure rips through you.

he follows right after, grabbing your hips, slamming you down onto him one last time as he spills inside you with a raw, guttural moan. you collapse on top of him, both of you panting, sweaty, ruined.

the studio is silent again, except for the ticking of the clock on the wall and the lazy hum of the soundboard. you’re both still half-naked on the couch, skin slick with sweat, catching your breath. beomgyu’s chest rises and falls beneath you, his fingers lazily tracing shapes on your bare back.

“you look fucked out,” he murmurs, smirking against your temple.

you hum, eyes closed. “that’s because you fucked me out.”

there’s a beat of silence. and then he chuckles—low, dark, dangerous. “not yet...”

before you can respond, he’s flipping you over again, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand, his body hovering over yours.

“beomgyu, what the fuck—” you start, but he cuts you off with a kiss so filthy, so consuming, it leaves you gasping.

his voice is gravel when he pulls back. “you think i’m done with you? you really think that was enough?” his knee parts your thighs again, sliding between them, pressing right where you're still throbbing. “you’re dripping for me, baby. don’t even try to lie.”

you arch into him involuntarily, and he grins like he owns you. “god, you’re fucking desperate. like a little cum-drunk slut.”

he lets go of your wrists and slides down your body, dragging his tongue along your stomach, your hipbone, your inner thigh—until he's right where you need him again. he spreads you open and stares, admiring the mess he made of you.

“fuck, look at you,” he growls. “so wrecked. so perfect.”

then his mouth is on you again. this time, it’s not teasing. it’s relentless. his tongue fucks into you, circles your clit, sucks until you're writhing, crying out, begging.

“please—please, fuck—”

but he doesn’t stop there.

he stands, wiping his mouth, then grabs you by the waist and drags you to the edge of the couch. “on your knees,” he orders, voice rough. “hands on the floor. ass up.”

you obey without thinking—your body knows what it wants now. you feel his hand grip your ass, spreading you wide, and then the thick head of his cock pressing back inside you.

he grabs your jaw suddenly, fingers sliding between your lips, forcing them open. “open up,” he growls, his voice low and demanding. you moan around his fingers as he shoves them deep into your mouth, pressing them down on your tongue. “suck,” he commands, and you do—eyes fluttering shut, lips wrapped around his fingers like it’s instinct.

“that’s it, baby. just like that,” he murmurs, pulling them out slick and glistening, only to trail them down your body—between your thighs—before lining himself up again. “now i’m gonna fuck you nice and deep, just how you like it. don’t fucking run.”

he bottoms out in one thrust.

you scream.

“yeah, that’s right,” he pants, thrusting deep and hard. “let them fucking hear you. let everyone know how good I fuck this tight little pussy.”

the position hits everything. his hand wraps around your throat from behind, pulling your body up as he fucks you like an animal. it’s filthy, raw, and fucking perfect.

“say it,” he demands. “say you’re mine.”

“i’m yours,” you gasp, tears pricking your eyes from the intensity. “i’m fucking yours, beomgyu.”

he growls, slamming into you harder, faster, the sound of skin against skin echoing in the studio. “damn right you are.”

and then he flips you over one more time—flat on your back this time, legs over his shoulders as he pounds into you, eyes locked on yours like he wants to watch every second of you coming apart again.

“you’re gonna cum for me again, baby,” he says between ragged breaths. “you’re gonna soak my cock, and then i’m gonna fill you up again. you want that?”

“fuck, yes—please—do it—”

that’s all it takes. your orgasm hits like a damn freight train, your whole body seizing up as he keeps thrusting, watching you shatter beneath him.

and when you cum, crying his name, he loses it.

he buries himself deep, groaning as he spills inside you again, hips twitching, body shaking. and then he collapses on top of you, both of you gasping for air, completely, utterly wrecked.

you lie there in silence, your body trembling from overstimulation, your mind fuzzy with pleasure.

“you’re not leaving this studio tonight.”

after a long moment, he strokes your back lazily and mutters, “next time you ignore me, i’ll fuck you right on top of the damn mixing board.”

you laugh breathlessly, still trembling. “i dare you.”

“oh, you will, sweetheart,” he smirks, voice low and dangerous. “you fucking will.”

“we’re not leaving this studio tonight.”

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 4

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a (vindicated!) player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, player wants to sock a certain 3D character in the face  A/N: Here’s part 4! Also, a taglist at the end of this post! Just lmk whether you'd like to be added/removed, no sweat ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ Happy reading!

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

You swiftly pull up Reddit. And then Twitter (X) on another window. You’ve got to find answers.

Typing in “sENTIENT SENTINCE SENTIENCE LADS ML HELP” in the r/LoveAndDeepspace subreddit search bar, along with keywords that have anything to do with “breaking the fourth wall” and “recent major updates” on X, you quickly scour for anything that comes even close to your current situation. 

Immediately, you see a bunch of mix-match results, some even dating as far as the first month of the game’s release. Your eyes skim through blocks of texts, hoping there’s a comment – or a tweet – somewhere that could shed some light to this conundrum. 

Already, you see some discussion on sudden fourth wall breaks. But you’ve seen posts like this before, and they’re most likely pertaining to the way their LI’s gaze falls directly on the player’s line of sight when they’re in Dynamic Pose mode in Glint Photobooth. 

The common suspects for this are usually Xavier and your resident headache (Sylus). It's one of the “known” bugs of the game, even so far as being choreographed, almost, from the way players intentionally pose the MLs at certain angles to attain the likeness of sentience.   

You remember the first time it happened to you, way back when the Photobooth feature was just recently introduced. You were taking photos of Xavier—letting him pose freely in dynamic mode so that you could capture a more organic look, when his eyes “met” yours directly. 

Of course like any other (delusional) player, you entertained the novel idea of actually being noticed by the videogame character you’ve formed an unhealthy attachment to. Got excited, squealed over it, felt an instant doki-doki on your kokoro—the whole shebang. 

… Along with probably hundreds of other players who’ve experienced the same thing. 

So, yes, these instances occur more frequently than one would think. Not really what you’d call particularly noteworthy. 

Then you see the threads from players who swear that their LIs really understand how they feel during their tête-à-tête sessions. It sounds promising, and you spend a few minutes reading through their "testimonies."

—Until you surmise from what you’ve gathered that all of them only appear like they do. How Rafayel, Zayne (and yes, even Sylus) seem to know what they need to hear, from how accurate their generated responses are. 

Keyword: generated. So, no. They still aren’t anything more than glorified soundboards with really good timing, however attractive it may be to think otherwise. 

Ooh, that one sounds a little too bitchy, even for you. 

It’s got nothing to do with the players, nor has it anything to do with how the game works, really— bugs and all. Fuck, you were one of those people who milked the fantasy over the same coincidences once upon a time. You were. Before the coincidences started to be anything but. 

Before you had to worry whether you still have your mental faculties in order.

With every—misleading—post you stumble upon, you feel yourself becoming more restless. There’s a fervent glaze in your eyes and your typing’s getting diabolically worse. (you could barely read that last search input–bitch, how are you fit to work?) You’re sure that if you looked in a mirror right now, you’d look as deranged as you feel.

Xavier “bug” that looks so real omg?? Skip.

Sylus – New Voiceline? You check it out. Yeah, It’s just one of his newer—programmed—voicelines. 

Conversations with Rafayel got ~too real~ all of a sudden. You wish that yours had stayed the way they’ve always been, but alas. 

Stop feeding into my delusions [Zayne] challenge: Failed. Oh? You’re almost done reading the first paragraph of the Redditor’s post, when you catch sight of the latest update below: 

Resolved. Uninstalled the game. Multi-banners are getting too expensive (See my other post). Okay, you respect that. Hear that, Infold—

You’re slowly losing hope. Clearly, your case is kind of… mayhaps a tiny bit… different. From the rest. Dare say, exceptionally so.

To what end, you don’t know. You’re left with more questions than answers, and the primary enigma isn’t giving you much to work with.

Without anything else left to do, you resort to mindless scrolling. You’re swiping up, scrolling endlessly through the Top Posts of All Time, and it feels like you’re about to reach the end of this damn subreddit… When an unassuming post from a deleted user catches your attention. 

It only got a few upvotes, and barely enough comments to gain traction. Unless one’s desperate enough to have been looking as hard as you are, it just looks like one of the many random dead posts from months ago. Nothing special. 

Even the title is unassuming: I think the game’s broken??

You start to read.

Hi, so uhhh I’m 2 months in the game and everything’s been going well and all… Until a few days ago. IDK if this is a bug ?? but my Rafayel’s been acting so weird lately….. Ik I’m gonna sound delusional, but it’s like he’s actually aware of me ME. Not my MC. 

He’s got a bunch of new dialogues, and they’re all so accurately specific it’s creeping me tf out LMAO. IDK how the devs got THIS much info on me (like is this even legal) but they do. Or at least, Rafayel does? That sounds rly stupid out loud but yeah lol. Oh and he doesn’t even let me switch between MLs anymore. The game just… crashes? whenever I try to. 

Always been a Rafayel main (he’s the reason why I installed the game in the first place) so I was REALLY ecstatic over what I thought were new updates from the game… buuut when I tried looking it up, I can’t find any related news from the official LADS channel(s) about recent patches or updates with this feature, and no one seems to know what I’m talking about??? 

I feel like I’m going crazy… Literally as I’m typing this, Rafayel’s spamming me with notifications. He’s so fucking clingy… I love it??

Plsplspls if anyone’s experiencing the same thing, comment or DM meee. I need someone to talk to, aside from the fishie lmao no matter how much he insists that he’s enough omg (?!?!!)

Holy shit— you can’t believe it. This… this is exactly what you’re looking for. 

The six comments under the post ranged from calling it complete bull to outright mocking the OP, and you understand why the post didn’t get any more popular. 

For a brief moment, you feel a certain kinship with the original poster. A tinge of… shame (?) washes over you as you scan through all the negative reception; it’s as if the harsh insults were hurled directly at you instead.

How fun. There goes your fleeting idea to post the same question on the forum, if all else fails. 

Speaking of. Your eyes quickly dart to the small text just above the title to check their username—but to your utter dismay, you see (and remember) that it’s from a deleted account. 

The user no longer exists.  

God, that can’t be it.

You spend a solid twenty minutes trying to look up ways to retrieve information—contacts, socials, anything—from deleted accounts. No dice. 

Deep in your gut, you know that whatever else you could possibly find on both apps wouldn’t compare to what you’ve already come across.

You’ve officially hit a dead end. 

-

-

-

With heavy limbs and a downtrodden spirit, you haul yourself up from the floor—just to turn around and collapse face first on the sofa. A deep, drawn-out groan escapes you as you shut your eyes, trying to calm yourself down from all the stuff that’s been boggling your brain. 

It doesn’t seem like you’ll be finding a solid answer to your question (questions, in plural) any time soon. So what else can you do? 

Well, aside from putting away your groceries; the currently-thawing fish and the condensing bags of pre-cut veggies aren’t going to store themselves inside a freezer anytime soon. A loudly meowing ball of fur has also been relentlessly clawing at your leg at the foot of the sofa for the past five minutes, demanding to be fed and petted.

Whoops. You hastily push yourself back on your feet to address these pressing tasks pronto.

..

…

…..

 (Now that’s out of the way—)

You swipe your phone open—yet again—as you flop back onto the couch. And, maybe, you’re a glutton for punishment. Maybe you’re just a little too over the excitement of the unknown factors in play. Or maybe, you just want another shot– to try one last time—

What you know, though, is that whenever you’re feeling overwhelmed about stuff at work, or you need something to distract yourself with, you open the silly otome game on your phone to make yourself feel better. 

So. That’s exactly what you do. Even if that silly otome game’s now the reason why you’re feeling so goddamned stressed at the moment.

 

Go figure. 

The game boots up. You sullenly glare at the loading bar as it progresses from 35%.... 

68%.... 

95%......... 

Once again, Sylus_v1.0 (!) greets you from the center of the home screen, looking exactly the same as he did last when you opened the app, which was— damn, has it really been over three hours already? 

“At this hour, the day is just getting started,” he remarks nonchalantly, folding his arms across his chest as his eyes drift to whatever’s on his left. 

You give him a dead-eyed stare; slightly wary, but overall unimpressed by the act. “God, I hope the fuck not.” 

There’s no new content since your last proper login, as far as you can tell. At first glance, you see some of the regular, daily badge notifications, but nothing really stands out to you. There’s no unexpected red dot on the mail icon this time, nor is there any on the Hunter Info tab. 

So far, so good. 

With slight hesitation, you begin to speak, even if you aren’t sure whether your intended recipient can actually hear you or not.

“Um, so. I’m really kinda freaking out right now and–” You cut yourself off, swallowing down the frustration building in your throat. There’s an edge to your voice as you speak your next words, “it’s because you’re– you’ve been giving me mixed signals. I–I don’t know what to think anymore–!”

 

He remains unmoving, showing no signs of having registered what you just said. You sigh. 

“Ugh, it sounds like I’m talking to an actual boyfriend or something. This is driving me nuts.”

 

Still no response. 

“Can’t you give me a sign?” You whine defeatedly, trying to catch the eye of the pixelated man on your phone who’s resolutely looking at the right side of the screen. Is he purposely avoiding eye contact or what? “Like… I don’t know—blink twice if you understand what I’m saying right now.” 

He blinks. Once. Fucking—

Does he think this is some kind of joke? 

“I’m gonna poke your dick off,” You threaten him menacingly, your pointer finger at the ready to commit assault. “I swear, I’m gonna do it—” 

Wait. Was that a twitch on his lips? 

Pausing, you narrow your eyes at him, critical in your scrutiny for any sign that might reveal the truth to this stupid charade he’s putting on. Because it’s a charade. It has to be. 

All of a sudden, embarrassment colors your cheeks as it dawns on you what you just said to him. What you’re poised to do. Fuck, you just wanted to get a rise out of him. Test the waters or some shit. Then again, if he’s actually aware– if he CAN actually hear you— 

Quickly, you retract your finger away from where it hovers precariously centimeters above his crotch area. “Right. Sorry.” 

Scrunching your nose, you press the Agenda icon on the corner, resignation sitting heavy in your chest. Since it doesn’t look like you’re getting any answers tonight, you might as well just do your daily tasks while you’re in-game, right? 

So you go through the motions of ticking off each task on the list half-heartedly, collecting the subsequent rewards one by one; just enough to reach the hundred star mark. 

It’s petty, no doubt irrational, but you steer clear from anything that would require you to interact with him. You start off with what’s easiest to complete: gifting Stamina, spending Stamina, spending more Stamina, and buying items from the Shop. 

Speaking of items… You try your best to act indifferent as you catch sight of the staggering number of red dias that has recently come to your possession, there on the upper right corner of the screen. Before you could even recall the other materials so kindly gifted to you the other night, you immediately exit the Store window to go about your business after you’ve finished collecting today’s free loot. 

You breeze through the Bounty Hunts and Core Hunt stages with excessive use of the Auto Pursuit option, rinsing and repeating until you’re almost out of energy. You don’t want to risk playing an actual battle, since your strongest Memory Cards are from the man you’re currently giving the cold shoulder to.

Also, you have no idea what to expect once you enter combat mode—and right now, you can’t be damned to know. 

Before you know it, you’re done with the daily Agenda. Close enough, at least. You didn’t even have to interact with the white-haired male LYLA wannabe to get the hundred golden stars. Go, you. 

Without anything left to do, you’re back to staring at the—now-seated—man on the home screen who’s still intent on avoiding you. There’s Mephisto perched on his finger, appearing in a plume of black feathers, projecting a holographic screen for the Onychinus leader to scroll through whatever evil juju he’s been up to lately—the very picture of calm detachment. 

Almost a minute passes by. 

You can’t help it. Poke. Pokepokepokepoke—

“Once you’re trapped in life’s banality, the only thing left is “staying alive.”"

“Oh, for the love of— is that a hint or not?!”

You really wish you could’ve talked to the person on Reddit about this. Ask them whether their version of Rafayel had also been this difficult, this uncooperative. It can’t be that different from what you’re dealing with, could it? 

Just a chance to talk… You brood wistfully. To know what’s happening to them right now. Ask them for advice on how to provoke some type of reactio–

Suddenly, something clicks in your brain, and you almost bite your tongue to prevent the spark of anticipation from showing on your face.  

"Alright, you win," you concede with an exaggerated sigh, raising your arms over your head to appear as if you’re simply stretching away the stiffness in your muscles. You try to inject as much reluctance in your tone. “You’re really not going to budge, huh?”

 

Again, you’re met with radio silence—not that you’re expecting a response at this point. 

(Well, not yet.) 

“That’s fine…” You trail off deliberately, drawing lazy lines across the screen with your pointer finger, until it stops right before the small message icon on the left. 

With feigned innocence, you muse, “Hey, I wonder how Xavier's been doing lately.” 

…

A beat. You almost believe nothing would come out of your last, and obvious, attempt at goading him but then— 

Sylus throws his head back with a sigh, casting an almost exasperated glance at the ceiling. He flicks his wrist dismissively, and Mephisto vanishes in a puff of dark smoke. There’s an unsettling fluidity in the way his gaze shifts toward you; disconcertingly lifelike, when his eyes finally—finally—lock onto yours. An intensity behind those red eyes that makes the look feel unnervingly deliberate. 

Your breath catches in your throat. There it is. The reaction you’re looking for.

A weary amusement frames the way he tilts his head sideways—with the way the corners of his mouth curve into a mocking smile, eyes never leaving yours.

He raises an eyebrow up as if to say, now what?

“I knew it,” you whisper shakily, eyes widening into saucers. “I fucking knew it.” 

“Mm, took you long enough.” 

Before you could even react to that, Sylus flashes you a two-finger salute and winks.

The game crashes. 

“Oh, no, you don’t–" you growl, not wasting any second tapping the game icon again. It doesn’t even give you a chance to reach the main menu before it glitches, and you’re back staring at the widgets on your phone’s home screen. “Motherfucker.” 

You keep trying. 

And with every attempt, Sylus, freak of nature that he is, responds with another system crash. On the eight try, you succeed on entering the game and you feel a sense of relief seeing the loading bar—before, lo and behold, it crashes once more. 

Your left eye twitches. Inhaling deeply, you hold your breath for a solid fifteen seconds before sharply exhaling through your nose.

You jab a finger on the icon of his dumb face again. You ought to change that shit as soon as this game of chicken lets up. 

“You’re gonna let me open this app, Sy-Sy,” You sang with faux cheer. “Or, swear to god, I’m uninstalling this thing before you could even—” 

 

… It loads successfully before you could even finish your sentence. 

“Alright, alright.” 

There he is; closer to the screen now, wearing a faint smile, as though trying to stifle a full-on grin from breaking across his face. He looks thoroughly entertained by the entire situation, like it’s the most fun he’s had in ages. “Hi, sweetheart.” 

“You–you—” Sputtering, you glare at him, betrayal in your eyes. “You’re a fucking ass!” 

“And you’re an absolute delight to play with, kitten,” Sylus coos at you, his smirk widening.

But when he catches the trembling jut on your bottom lip, the amused glint in his eyes softens into something that almost seems sympathetic—and dare you say, apologetic? 

“For what it’s worth, I’ve just been waiting for the right moment to tell you. I couldn’t resist teasing you a little—but looking at you now, I see I might’ve taken it too far,” he murmurs, bowing his head slightly in a show of contrition. “I’m sorry, little dove.”

You press your lips together, your gaze darting away from the screen. “I thought I was going crazy.” As opposed to now? “B-but, um– it’s all good, I guess.”

A flush creeps up your neck when you hear him chuckle. 

Fuck, this is really happening, the hysterical thought rushes to your mind, unbidden. Chat, what’s the plan?

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 <3

[inthelibrarybtw]

you want me to pretend? | one

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: college!basketball!captain!rafe x college!student!reader content: fluff, teasing, college au, smau/irl, inaccurate statistic talk

summary: You were trying to make one problem disappear. You were tired, so you lied. That small lie led you to contact the last person you wanted to ask for help. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Rafe; only that you didn’t want to deal with his constant teasing more than you already did. Also, you two weren't that close, but this one lie was going to bring you two closer and maybe help some truths come to light.

word count: 0.1k

authors note: a little introduction to their dynamics before everything gets started 😌 As always english is not my first language so if I have a spelling error, kindly let me know :)

01 | 02

“One more time…” you talk to yourself. You quit the program and open it one more time to see if it will work now. It doesn’t. You know You should’ve done this days ago, but in your defense, you thought it was going to take you less time. 

“Come on!” you groan and throw your head back. You grab my phone to check the time: 2:15 AM. Hopefully, someone was going to be awake, that someone being Kelce. Who else were you supposed to text?

A yawn escapes your mouth as you turn off your computer. You feel the sleep creeping in already, you had felt it hours ago. You grab your phone to put the sleeping playlist you had carefully curated all those months ago and get into your bed to finally sleep.  

Rafe was also tired but he had to make a note or he would forget to tell Kelce about it. Thankfully he didn’t have early morning practice or class until noon so he could sleep in.

taglist: @zyafics @maybankslover @niaunoffical @marleymarleymarleymarley @rafesbabygirlx @akobx @papercranesandinkstains @masonmountme69 @winterivory @my-name-is-baby @drunkinthemiddleoftheday @drewrry if you want to be added send an ask or comment! :)

REBLOGS, COMMENTS AND LIKES ARE ALWAYS WELCOMED

INTHELIBRARYBTW ✧.*

[augustjoy]

Corruption

Based on the following ask: Aaron with the youngest and newest member of the bau, taking her virginity in his office after hours, corrupting her in the most unprofessional way but praising her for being such a quick learner – I kind of went genius, girly-girl, virgin reader…but enjoy!!!

Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

SMUT

Word count: 1772

Not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, age gap (reader is early 20’s), explicit language, virgin reader, she’s also a genius and kind of a girly-girl, naïve reader, slight d/s dynamic, soft dom Hotch, corruption kink, lots of praise, use of sir, no use of y/n, Fem reader, reader has no physical description other than female anatomy, use of pet names, fingering, semi-public sex, oral (m receiving), p in v, unprotected sex (don’t do this), choking, pure filth tbh…let me know if I missed any!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

It wasn’t the right time. That is what you said, time and time again, but then the right time never really came. First it was the high school boys were all too immature, then the college guys are all too pushy and unserious…and let’s face it, the guys in the FBI academy, well they were all too horny and desperate. So, you put all your focus into your studies and hard work. Who needed sex when you were achieving success at such a young age.

You were the youngest ever agent to join the BAU, even more so than Spencer. You’d been so motivated in school that you had dual majored during both your bachelor’s and master’s programs, finishing them in record time and completing your PHD while in the academy.

--

When you sauntered into Aaron’s office that day, trailing behind the director, he thought perhaps you were Cruz’s new assistant. With your tight little skirt and your long-painted nails, there was no way a sweet thing like you could be his new field agent.

Until you were.

“Hotchner, here is your latest recruit!” Cruz announced. “Be nice, she’s here to stay.”

You stepped forward and offered your hand to shake, quietly introducing yourself. Aaron took your hand, shaking it firmly before releasing it and gesturing for you to take a seat.

“You’re not at all what I was expecting.” He began.

“I hear that a lot. I don’t think people expect someone as accomplished as me to look this way.” You shift your gaze downward.

“How do you mean?” Aaron inquired.

“I just mean, I think people expect me to be a stereotypical nerd, seeing as I put my education first for so long. I don’t think they expect me to have put so much effort into my appearance as well.” You shrug.

Aaron was rendered speechless. You were right, when he had seen your long list of accomplishments, he was picturing someone a little more like Reid. Not a bombshell in a light pink blouse, tight skirt, heels and long pink fingernails.

And thus began Aaron babying you. He did everything in his power to keep you safe…which was becoming increasingly difficult as you continued to prove how qualified you were for this team.

--

He had been devastated when you’d been hurt the first time. It had been a slash of a knife to the shoulder, you’d ducked just in time to avoid your face. Aaron had been quick and pretty rough when taking that particular unsub down.

So, you see, it had been months like this and while…things were good, Aaron was overbearing, you were more than capable of holding your own and you didn’t understand why he was treating you this way.

That’s why you confronted him.

--

“Okay Hotch, what’s your problem?” You asked, entering his office unannounced.

“Excuse me?” He questioned you as you closed the door behind you and made yourself comfortable in the chair across from him.

“You know full well that I am capable of doing this job, so why do you purposefully hold me back?”

“Sweetheart, I’m just trying to protect you.” He justified.

“I don’t need you to protect me though.” You huffed.

“The fact that you think that only proves how innocent you are.”

“I – I’m not innocent.” You shook your head.

Aaron clicked his tongue, standing to walk behind you, letting his hands graze your shoulders gently. He leaned down, his warm breath hugging the shell of your ear, whispering.

“I think you are…but you don’t want to be.”

You shivered, leaning into his touch. “I don’t.” You breathed.

“You want to be bad, don’t you?”

“Yes.” You gasped.

“Then be bad sweetheart.”

--

Aaron walked over to ensure the bullpen was clear. He then locked his office door and pulled the blinds closed. He returned to his seat behind his desk, sitting and then wiggling his finger at you, signaling for you to come to him.

You stood and tentatively made your way around his desk, stopping just short of being in front of him. He took your hand and gently pulled you to stand between his legs. His hands slid down your sides, stopping at the outer part of your knees, tapping softly.

You looked at him with confusion…unsure of what it was he was asking you. Your confusion was answered when you saw the look in his eyes. You slowly dropped to your knees, your palms resting on his thighs.

“God, you’re like a vision. So sweet, on your knees for me.” Aaron caressed your cheek.

You reached for his belt, pulling it open, while he let his hand tilt your chin up to meet his gaze. Your mouth fell open in a gasp, his pupils were blown, full of lust. He let his thumb slip into your mouth, groaning at the sight of you.

You continued to work his dress slacks open, desperately trying to free his cock now. You were more than ready to have him in your mouth…but your nerves began to creep in. Aaron, ever the profiler, knew immediately.

“You’re doing great baby. I’ll walk you through it, don’t worry.”

You wrapped your hand around him, your fingers just barely out of reach of your thumb. As if that wasn’t enough, his length was quite shocking as well. You were sure you wouldn’t be able to take all of him, but you wanted to try.

“What if I…I mean – I want to be good.” You stuttered. “For you.”

Aaron groaned “You’re going to be amazing, sweet girl. Just start slow, it’ll come naturally.”

So, you did. Hesitantly at first, taking just his tip in your mouth, then moving down little by little. And judging by the sounds Aaron was making, you knew you were doing okay. You continued bobbing your head up and down, hallowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue around the tip, letting Aaron’s grunts drive your movements.

--

Aaron gently pulls you off of him, helping you back to your feet before lifting you onto his desk.  He stood, invading your space, your gaze shifts upwards to meet his…you just knew you looked completely wrecked for him.

Aaron leaned in and captured your lips in a searing kiss. He nipped at your lower lip, eliciting a gasp from you. He used the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, one of his hands moving to cup your cheek and the other sliding under your skirt.

It wasn’t until his fingers grazed the front of your panties that you whined, practically begging for him to do more.

“Please…”

“Please what?” He teased.

“Please sir. Touch me.” You huffed.

Aaron groaned at the name and allowed his fingers to move passed your panties, pressing them through your slick folds. Your hands moved behind you, palms down, holding yourself up. Your head fell back and before long, Aaron’s fingers were thrusting into you. He kept a steady pace, not wanting to work you up too much before he got the chance to fuck you.

“Ugh, God yes. I-it feels s-so good.” You moaned.

“That’s it baby, you’re doing so good for me. Take it like a good girl.” He praised.

Your hips were chasing his every thrust, begging for your release. He pressed further, the heel of his palm adding a delicious pressure to your clit, bringing you that much closer to the edge.

“Please Aaron, I’m so close.” You begged.

“Not yet sweet girl, I want to feel you cum around my cock.” He nipped your earlobe.

--

Aaron pulled his fingers from your heat, taking a step back, he pulled you with him and spun you around, pressing your front into his desk. His hands slid under your skirt and pulled your panties down.

“Aaron…I-I’ve never done this before.”

“I know baby girl, it’s okay. I’m gonna take real good care of you.”

You arched back into his touch; your body was shaking with anticipation. Aaron leaned down and pressed a kiss to your shoulder before he nudged the head of his cock at your entrance.

“You ready for me honey?”

“God yes.”

With that, he pressed forward, fully sliding his cock into you. You cried out and he did his best to soothe you, wiping the tear from your cheek. His movement caused you to let out a sharp hiss.

“You alright sweetheart?”

You nodded, reaching behind you to grab at any part of him you could reach. He placed his hand into your grasp and held still, wanting to let you adjust to him properly. After a few moments, you pressed yourself back, testing the waters to see if the pain had subsided. Aaron quickly caught on to your motion and all hell broke loose.

--

Aaron’s hips snapped into yours over and over, he had your arms pinned behind you as he held you down against his desk for leverage. You were a mess beneath him, tears and mascara running down your face, your skirt bunched up around your waist, your hair fallen completely out of your neat hairstyle. Deep grunts and soft cries filled the room as you both neared your peak. He had you falling apart completely, surely ruining you for any other man.

“It’s like this pussy was made for me sweetheart; she’s gripping me so tight.”

“Oh my god Aaron, I-I think, I’m close.” You cried.

“That’s it honey, cum for me.”

Your orgasm took over as your entire body shook. Your screams could be heard all throughout the office. Aaron shifted his hands, so they gripped your shoulders, pulling you back to meet his thrusts, desperately chasing his end.

With a few final thrusts, Aaron let out a low growl, filling you with his hot seed. You could feel it dripping out of you with every lazy thrust. When he finally stilled, he leaned down over you, pressing kisses to your neck, whispering praise of how well you did for your first time and how he couldn’t wait to ruin you again and again.

--

Aaron slipped out of you with a hiss and tucked himself back into his slacks. He pulled you up and turned you around, helping you back into your panties and pressing his hand to your core.

“I want you to hold it in sweet girl. Because when I get you home, I’m gonna fuck it back into you.” He pressed his lips to yours once more.

You met him with the same amount of passion, only pulling away when he did.

“So…what does this mean?” Your glassy eyes met his.

“You’re mine baby. Forever.”

Taglist: @bernelflo@pastelpinkflowerlife@just-moondust

[technoarcanist]

CALLING ALL DOLLS, DRONES, ROBOTS AND CODING ENTHUSIASTS

Are you a robot that loves to serve? Are you a doll maid who seeks guidance in your duties? Are you some form of drone or being with no free will, open to having your actions dictated by the will of your owner? Does the idea of your empty mind being programmed like a machine appeal to you?

Are you enticed by the notion of writing code for your robotic servants? Are you a witch looking to create more intricate control glyphs? Are you an owner seeking to create automated instructions for your drones? Do you love the idea of filling an empty mind with rules and instructions to reflect your will?

INTRODUCING DRONE RESTRAINT NOTATION!

WHAT IS IT?

Drone Restraint Notation, or DRN, is a pseudo programming language created by my good friend Errant Spark, a drone with a very creative <empty space>. I helped with some of the final tweaks for the 1.0 version, but this is almost entirely Its creation.

It is a programming language that is designed in such a way that anyone without a background in programming can execute the commands like a machine, doll, drone, or programmable entity of your choice. It is also simple enough that most people without a background in programming can pick it up fairly easily, and intuitively!

Once you understand the language, you can read and execute all kinds of dynamic instructions and instruction types, in a way that makes it easy to parse in a plain-text format.

HOW DOES IT WORK?

The main documentation document will provide far more detail to this question than I ever could, but effectively it goes like this:

There are a list of eight KEYWORDS, in block capitals, that show you the type of instruction you’re executing. Then, after the KEYWORD, the instruction’s details are shown. Commands are read and executed from top to bottom by the drone, and programs can be ‘inserted’ into the drone’s memory at will (Assuming prior consent, of course)!

These KEYWORDS all have different kinds of functionality. The most basic one just has you carrying out a task. One checks if a condition is true, one provides an ongoing task you have to prioritize and maintain, one lets you create loops, etc.

The language has been designed in such a way as to minimize the amount of actual memorisation a drone has to do, and only has to read what’s right in front of them, and memorize tasks they have to accomplish/maintain. Obviously, mileage may vary depending on the memory space of the doll.

WHY SHOULD I USE IT?

For fun, I suppose! If you are someone who loves the idea of being programmed like a machine, executing only the instructions given, then this provides that! If you are a programmer who wants to program your very own doll bot, then this is a great place to get started too!

You can keep things nice and simple with a headspace that accepts basic command inputs, or you can see how deep the rabbit hole goes and import whole libraries into your headspace to carry out a full day’s maid duties, or sexual duties, or more!

Have fun executing commands, writing new code, testing it on your dolls. Have some playful fun watching as your early code files cause unintended behaviors, ironing out kinks and bugs like a real programmer until you’ve got your bots performing all sorts of dynamic tasks- or insert purposeful bugs to make your robots twitch and halt~

As with all things, never execute an instruction that you cannot/would not consent to. This is meant to be fun, and is NOT meant to be a way to circumvent normal consensual kink play. Programmers who attempt to use DRN as a way to bully people into doing what they want (Unless you’re into that sort of thing, in which case go nuts) do NOT have my endorsement, or the endorsement of Errant Spark.

NOW GO OUT THERE, AND ENJOY YOUR PROGRAMMING <3

>> Posted by XCN-PSD/I-04135

[maximoffsgirl]

Peace in Chaos

summary: You can’t say no to the twins; Wanda, can’t say no to you. It’s a dynamic that often works in their favor—especially when they desperately want something. The twins know that, if all else fails, they can rely on you to soften Wanda’s resolve, even if they trick you along the way.

warnings: Established relationship, Wanda and Reader are married. Domestic Life. The twins are close to 7/8 years old. Wanda is referred as mama/mom, Y/N is referred as mommy. Otherwise, I think there's none, this is pure fluff

author's note: English isn't my first language :) and to the anon who requested this, I hope this is what you were thinking about❤️

word count: 3.311

not proofread!

When Wanda first joined the Avengers, she spent much of her time locked away inside the room they designated as hers, finding solace in the company of old books she had never had the chance to read before. Among those books, she stumbled upon a collection of poetry and came across a single phrase, quoted by Emily Dickinson; a phrase which was still written at the beginning of the diary Clint had gifted her for Christmas when the Avengers Tower became her home: "The heart wants what it wants, or else it does not care."

At first, Wanda found the phrase peculiar. How could her heart, which had never known a single day of peace, possibly want anything? Yet, as time passed, she began to understand. It was precisely because her heart had endured so much chaos that it longed for something different.

Stability was a foreign concept to Wanda. Her life had always been beyond her control, and when her powers came into the picture, they only added to the turmoil. But the constant inconsistency made Wanda’s heart want one thing more than anything in the whole world. A family.

She yearned for a family like the one she once had. A family she could come home to at the end of the day, where she could sink into the couch with the weight of the week pressing down on her shoulders - an uncomfortable ache, yet in a place where she felt comfortable. An environment where a television program no one was really watching played softly in the background while someone shared the details of their day. Wanda’s heart craved for care and tenderness, something solid yet gentle—a sanctuary that felt soft, safe, and unshakably real.

After the life she had lived—always running, fighting, and losing—it felt almost unbelievable that Wanda now had everything she had ever wanted cradled in her arms. Hard to believe, I know. But with your head resting against her chest, your body nestled between her legs as you scrolled through your phone, Wanda was certain that she needed nothing more. She closed her eyes  briefly, letting herself savor the peace, the warmth, and the steady rhythm of your breathing.

The sounds from your phone mingled with the lively chatter drifting down from upstairs, where the twins were deeply immersed in a passionate debate about something. It was chaos. But it was her chaos. A chaos that she chose and was looking forward to every single day live in. 

“Hm? What are you doing?” Wanda asked, her arms tightening around you as you started to move. Her voice was soft but carried a hint of reluctance. She tilted her head a little to the side, wanting to know what you were planning. 

You turned to face her, a small smile on your lips. “We forgot to put the plates in the dishwasher,” you replied casually, as if that alone was enough reason to leave Wanda's embrace. To your wife, it definitely wasn't.

Wanda let out a low, drawn-out groan, clearly unenthusiastic about you leaving the comfort of her body pressed against yours. She held you a little tighter, silently protesting your attempt to get up.

“Don’t you need to finish your mission report?” you teased gently, raising an eyebrow at her reaction. Your words made her sigh in mild defeat. She had mentioned earlier that she needed to wrap up her mission report after dinner. It wasn’t a task she enjoyed—especially when it meant sacrificing time with you—but it was something she couldn’t ignore, no matter how much she hated it.

“I do,” she complained, her tone carrying a mix of annoyance and reluctance. Her thumb gently brushed against your cheek. It was obvious she didn’t want to move, but the mission report wasn’t going to complete itself.

Before either of you could say more, a sudden, loud noise from upstairs interrupted the moment. Both your heads turned toward the ceiling in unison. Wanda frowned, her brows knitting together as she stared at the source of the commotion.

“What are they doing up there?” she muttered, her voice tinged with both curiosity and a hint of irritation.

“Probably destroying your things,” you joke, smirking at her. Wanda didn’t share your amusement; instead, she shot you a stern look, her concern evident. That only made you chuckle softly.

“Relax, baby” you murmured, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her lips, your way of soothing her. With a lazy stretch, you slipped out of her warm embrace, earning a soft groan of protest as you stood. “I’ll get the dishes,” you said with a playful shrug, heading toward the kitchen while Wanda remained on the couch. 

She reached out for you, calling your name with a playful pout on her lips, as if trying to coax you back into her arms. But all she got in response was a teasing kiss blown in the air, followed by a few more chuckles from you. "You're impossible," Wanda muttered, though the corners of her mouth twitched, hinting at a smile she couldn’t quite suppress

A few minutes later, Wanda mirrored your actions with a resigned sigh. With a stretch and a yawn, she slowly pushed herself off the couch, kissing your shoulder once she moved past the kitchen to her home office. She opened the door with another huff, the thought of that mission report weighed heavily on her, already draining her energy before she even began.

As peaceful as the silence was, it didn’t last longer than fifteen minutes—a brief reprieve, but in a house with twins, it felt like a blessing. The twins knew better than to disturb Wanda when her office door was closed, understanding the importance of letting her work in peace. However, today was different. They had something important to ask her, and they were certain that mama wouldn’t mind being interrupted if it was truly important.

Wanda, ever attuned to the sounds around her, heard the soft footsteps and hushed whispers before the three gentle knocks echoed on her office door. She glanced down at the mission report in front of her, then dropped her pen onto the pile of papers near the notebook, her attention fully shifting to the interruption. 

“Yes?” she called out, her voice loud enough to reach her sons, signaling they had permission to enter.

The door creaked open slightly, and two sets of curious eyes peeked through the gap. First, Tommy, with his usual impatience, then Billy, who always seemed a bit more cautious. Their wide eyes and raised eyebrows said it all—they had something to ask. Wanda couldn’t help but smile at the sight of them, her stern demeanor softening instantly. She gestured for them to come in, her smile softening as she watched them shuffle inside, their little hands fidgeting with each other in anticipation.

“Is everything alright?” Wanda asked, her voice filled with the kind of tenderness that only a mother could provide.

The twins, true to their age, began poking and nudging each other, whispering in hushed tones while they stood in front of their mother - who was looking at them with amusement as they continued to argue who would be the one to initiate the conversation. 

“Mom, we have something super important to ask. But… promise you’re going to listen first” Billy tried to negotiate, his little feet shuffled nervously as he spoke. Tommy, by his side, nodded his head in support, his wide-eyed expression practically daring Wanda to disagree.

Wanda arched an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she watched her boys’ antics. Leaning back in her chair, she murmured a soft, “Okay…” her tone amused yet curious, ready to hear what the twins were planning. 

“So.. we saw something on the internet..”

That wasn’t entirely true. Long before the twins were even born, you and Wanda had agreed, in a heartful parenting talk, that unrestricted internet access wouldn’t be part of your children’s childhood. That being established, the closest the twins got to the “internet” was their tablets - with a few games they begged to have since all their friends were active on and the little maximoffs were being left out- streaming shows, and, on some occasions like weekends, YouTube videos.

Still, Wanda stayed quiet, her expression neutral as she listened to Tommy’s words. Even if he couldn’t possibly get whatever their idea was from the ‘internet; more likely, he was just saying it as an excuse to shift the responsibility off himself and his brother. 

“And we wanted to try.. We wanted to have a night pool party”

Wanda arched an eyebrow, glancing between her sons with growing curiosity. She had a sneaking suspicion about where this was headed but decided to feign ignorance, opting to play along.

"A night pool party..." Wanda repeated slowly, dragging out the words with a hint of amusement as she looked at her sons. Her lips twitched with a barely suppressed smile. "And where would this happen, exactly?"

"Here! Tonight! We've already planned everything," Tommy blurted out, his words tumbling over each other in his excitement.

Billy immediately hissed at his brother, shooting him a sharp glare. That definitely wasn’t part of the carefully rehearsed convincing speech they had agreed on beforehand. 

Wanda frowned, her amusement fading. If it were any other season, the idea might not have bothered her as much. But her sons wanting to swim in the freezing water of the pool outside? That was a firm no. The idea would only serve so they’d catch a cold and be miserable for the rest of the week. Besides, late hours weren’t meant for pool parties—especially not in this weather and not with the age they had. 

There they stood in front of her: matching cozy pajamas, hair lazily brushed back, and fresh-faced from their recent bath. They looked absolutely adorable, and Wanda couldn’t bear the thought of letting their idea ruin that. Spring was just around the corner, and while her children were undeniably the cutest in the world, she had no interest in dealing with two sick little ones—especially when even the smallest sneeze turned them into impossibly needy bundles of chaos.

“No. It's not even hot.” she simply replied, looking back to the now black screen of her notebook. 

“But mom,” the twins protested in unison, their voices carrying the familiar tone of pleading.

Wanda, however, was unmoved. Her decision was final, and she wasn’t about to budge. Crossing her arms, she gave them a firm but gentle look that clearly said, not happening.

“No is no, boys. I’m not going to repeat myself. When it's hotter we can think about it”

The twins left her office with matching little huffs, their quiet complaints trailing behind them. They knew better than to argue further or try to reason with their mother—her decision was final, as always.

But the twins, as stubborn as any Maximoff to ever walk the Earth, weren’t ready to give up just yet. Instead, they exchanged a look, a silent agreement passing between them. They’d just have to come up with another strategy.

It was no secret that, between you and Wanda, you were the parent more likely to entertain the wild ideas your sons came up with. Camping in the backyard? Of course. Nearly a liter of milkshake, even if it was freezing outside? Without a doubt. If it sounded fun, you were usually on board.

You didn’t blame Wanda for seeing things differently. After everything she had endured in her life, control and structure brought her a sense of peace she had rarely known before. Ensuring that the household stayed balanced and comfortable wasn’t just her way of parenting—it was her way of feeling secure.

But that didn’t make her the “boring parent.” If you asked the twins, they’d insist that mama was just as fun as mommy. Sure, she was a little scarier when she got angry, but that only made her the perfect balance to your more carefree approach.

Although they knew better than anyone how to take advantage of your different personalities.

At times like this, when Billy and Tommy had their hearts set on something, they knew they could always count on you to try convincing Wanda to let them have their way.

Sometimes it didn’t work—after all, undermining Wanda’s authority wasn’t part of your parenting playbook, nor was it in hers. But there were moments when a little push for compromise didn’t hurt, especially for something harmless enough to reconsider.

That’s why you felt two little fingers poking each of your shoulders while you scrolled through your phone on the couch. Turning around, you were met with the two most adorable faces you’d ever seen.

“Hi, boys. Already tired of breaking the house upstairs?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

They responded with cheeky smiles, and without a word, Billy climbed up to sit beside you on the couch, Tommy quickly settling in next to his brother. Their mischievous grins told you they had something up their sleeves.

“Mommy…” Billy trailed off, his voice sweet and direct. “Can we have a swim party tonight?”

His question was much more straightforward than Tommy’s had been when they’d asked Wanda.

You frowned slightly at the idea. The weather wasn’t exactly cold, but it certainly wasn’t warm enough to make a pool party seem like the best choice. You thought about it for a moment. The pool was clean, they’d have fun, and it might tire them out enough for an easy bedtime.

“Hm. Why not?” you said with a shrug, giving in to their request. The twins smiled, happy to finally receive a ‘yes’ to their idea. 

“Can you convince mama then?” Tommy asked eagerly, his excitement practically radiating off him. Billy let out another huff, clearly annoyed by his brother's impatience.

You turned your body to face them, a sigh escaping your lips as you realized you'd fallen for one of their tricks, again

“Don’t turn this on me, boys,” you said, shaking your head. But when they hit you with those puppy-dog eyes, you knew you were in trouble. You sighed again, giving in.

“Okay, I guess I could try to convince her... but if she doesn’t budge, I won’t try again, alright?”

The twins nodded eagerly, their smiles growing wider once they got you to agree with their idea. You ruffled both of their messy hairs playfully before standing up, a smile tugging at your lips as you made your way toward Wanda’s office. The twins’ giggles echoed behind you, but you knew you had your work cut out for you if you were going to convince Wanda.

Just like your sons, you approached Wanda’s office quietly, giving a few light knocks before stepping inside. Wanda, who was about halfway through her report, looked up and smiled at the sight of you. Grateful for the excuse to take a break, she rolled her chair back slightly and patted her lap, inviting you to sit.

You settled sideways on her lap, and Wanda wasted no time wrapping one arm around your waist, pulling you close, sighing with the familiar weight of your body upon hers

“How’s it going?” you asked, your fingers working gently at the tense muscles in her neck. Wanda let out a soft sigh, her smile a blend of contentment and fatigue.

“Annoying, as always,” she replied, her voice laced with a hint of frustration. Her hand drifted to your thigh, her fingers lightly running over the fabric in soothing motions as she added with a small smile, “But I’m halfway through it”.

“You know... the twins mentioned something about a night swim tonight,” you said casually, your tone light but deliberate. “And, apparently, I’ve been tasked with convincing you,” you added playfully, though there was a touch of seriousness behind your words.

“Have you now?” Wanda replied, her voice mirroring your playful tone but laced with even more amusement. She arched an eyebrow knowingly, already piecing together where this conversation was heading.

“I know you already said no, but they’re so excited about it, Wands,” you said, trying to play the kids’ happiness card against her. Wanda rolled her eyes, a small smirk tugging at her lips. She saw right through your game but decided to let you play it anyway.

“And just think about it,” you continued, your hands gently moving along her neck, down to her shoulders, and back up again in soothing motions. “We can turn on the pool LEDs, make it fun. They’ll tire themselves out, and bedtime will be so much easier.”

You laid out the positives, your tone soft but persuasive, waiting patiently for her response.

“Love.. I know. But it’s late and It’s not even hot” She tried to resonate with you, sighing with each argument, knowing she has already lost. 

“They’ll be alright, babe. Let them have this,” you said with a convincing smile.”

Wanda let out a heavy sigh, her expression unamused as she looked at you. “If they catch a cold, you will be the one taking care of them,” she said firmly, pointing a finger at you for emphasis.

But despite her words, you both knew the truth. If that scenario played out, Wanda would be right there, rolling her eyes but still doting on the sick twins, as she always did.

You stayed wrapped in her embrace for a while, both of you savoring the quiet presence of each other. Wanda adjusted you on her lap, shifting just enough to free both hands so she could continue working on her report. You rested your head against her shoulder, your warm breath brushing against her neck, which made her smile softly despite her focus on the task.

The content of the report didn’t matter to you now—you’d already heard all about the mission the day after she got home. So you stayed quiet, simply enjoying the comforting warmth of her body and the peaceful moment you were sharing.

After that,  you and Wanda made your way to the living room, stepping in quietly. The twins were curled up on the couch, watching something on Netflix, completely oblivious to your arrival. Wanda stepped forward, arms crossed, hands on her hips, and her head tilted in mock frustration.

“I can’t believe you both!” she exclaimed, her tone sharp and disapproving.

The twins froze, their eyes widening as they turned to face you both. Wanda’s intimidating stance and your almost-guilty expression made them shrink in their spots, unsure of what they’d done.

“What are you two doing? You should be getting ready for the swim party!” Wanda said, feigning exasperation but failing to hide the faint twitch of a smile.

The twins blinked at her, then at each other, before springing up from the couch in pure joy. “Oh my god, seriously?!” Tommy shouted.

“YESSS!” Billy cheered, both of them jumping around excitedly as they circled their mothers, their energy contagious.

Soon, the house transformed into its familiar brand of chaos. The twins, now dressed in their swimsuits, were already splashing around in the pool, the colorful glow of the LED lights—courtesy of Tony Stark—dancing across the water. Their laughter echoed through the backyard, only occasionally interrupted by shouts of, "It's so cold!" Wanda, unimpressed, responded with a dramatic eye roll, her arms folded across her chest.

Standing at the edge of the pool, Wanda kept her distance, her arms wrapped firmly around her waist as she watched the scene unfold. She made no effort to join the fun, choosing instead to watch with a raised eyebrow and an air of feigned detachment. Yet, the slight tug at the corners of her mouth betrayed her amusement.

Somehow, despite her initial objections, Wanda found a sense of peace in the chaos surrounding her. The sound of Tommy and Billy's laughter brought a soft smile to her face, and she even chuckled at your playful teasing—directed at both her and the twins.

Two days later, the inevitable happened. The twins began sneezing, and you found yourself on the receiving end of a very pointed lecture from Wanda. But, as always, her frustration melted away with a sweet kiss, leaving her shaking her head in exasperated affection.

It was a different kind of chaos—one filled with sniffles, tissues, and extra cuddles—but it was hers. Wanda’s heart had finally found something. Had finally found peace in the beautiful mess of it all.

✄╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌

thanks for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it💌

masterlist

[keferon]

Just want to say, love your mimick au. I only found it like, an hour ago and I've devoured everything in the tag and I'm planning to do the same to the spellbound and monster hunter aus.

That said, in one of the mimick fanfics, Orion tells Prowl to leave him alone and to find a hobby, but a comic that (presumably) happens after this conversation when Orion meets Jazz, Orion seems to be back to working with Prowl. I thought the whole "leave me alone" order would go on infinitely because Orion didn't seem to have his goal locked down and he also never specified when to come back. So how did they return to working together? Did Orion find Prowl post-meltdown, or was it Prowl who just set an arbitrary amount of time before going back to Orion and going "so, how do you feel about defying god?" I just find Orion and Prowl's relationship so interesting in this au, simply because of how Orion doesn't seem to apply his morals about freedom and coexistence to Prowl despite the fact he's the one who points out that Prowl didn't include himself in his calculations, but at the same time, if he doesn't recognize Prowl's autonomy and only sees him as a tool (chatGPT style), he would have to accept that he's the one responsible for Prowl's actions because he's the one using him. But also also, Prowl encourages him to not take responsibility for all the immoral actions (like killing monsters to keep the Council's favor), which I think Orion does take up, but that would indirectly be accepting Prowl as a individual capable of making his own decisions, you know? It also the fact that Orion and Prowl both have different (and somewhat incompatible) ways of communicating. I was thinking when Orion asked Prowl to what he'd do to make the most amount of mechs happy, Prowl understood it literally: the majority of the population are non-monsters, so statistically, he'd focus on making non-monsters happy. But Orion doesn't want to make most mechs happy; he wants a diverse and equitable society, and that doesn't necessarily lead to happiness, especially in transition phases. Even in the academy, monsters are learning to compromise to live in a non-monster society; compromises are about restriction, which often aren't a source of happiness. But Orion equates that vision to happiness, and probably gets a bad impression of Prowl given "free reign" from his answer. It's great, it's so juicy.

And contrasts so well with how Prowl and Jazz interact and communicate with each other. Like how Prowl makes an attempt to learn hand language for Jazz in the same way he attempts to comfort Orion post-Shockwave demonification. But unlike Orion who has "Prowl is not alive" at the core of their dynamic, Jazz doesn't know and sees Prowl's attempt to learn as a genuine attempt to understand/communicate. You can argue that Prowl is just "programmed" to try and get more information and it's just efficient to ensure Jazz doesn't get carpal tunnel while working together, but you can also argue that we're all programmed to do that as well; small talk or bids for attention are behaviors/actions to build connection through information exchange that we are trained to do from formative years and general society. Which is to say, even if Prowl learns and tries to accommodate Jazz for mission purposes, it doesn't negate the fact that he is investing effort into communicating and building the foundation for a meaningful connection in the same way other people do. It's great, I'm having a blast with the whole AU.

Orion despite being afraid to continue his mission still has responsibilities in his Order so him and Prowl. Yeah hahah they just keep working together but purely on their usual legal tasks. I didn’t talk about the whole situation enough yet but basically Prowl never informed Orion about his new quest of suing God. Primarily because he knows that Orion definitely will try to stop him.

It’s kind of like. “What isn’t forbidden can automatically be considered allowed” mentality.

Also MY GOD YES. My favourite part of this au is reading asks like yours:0 Prowl exists in that thin line between being and not being a person capable of his own choices. Orion exists on the thin line between considering him being one of those options. He can’t see Prowl as a “real mech” because he knows for a fact it’s not true. But then seeing him as a tool means accepting that all questionable things he does are Orion’s responsibility.

At the end of the day Prowl is a metaphorical piece of fabric Orion uses to clean his consciousness. In his eyes Prowl isn’t alive enough to be fully blamed for all the bad things he does but he is also alive just enough for Orion to say “it was your fault. Not mine.”

Jazz doesn’t have that dilemma. Uh. Yet haha he will discover the truth eventually of course~. He thinks Prowl is obviously a real mech because in his world magic isn’t alive. It can create an illusion of a mech, sure, this is what all usual golems are, but it’s not smart or believable enough. It’s like one of those tests where all people think they can tell if they’re talking to an AI chat bot because “duh I would obviously know” and then fail to distinguish AI from a real person. Jazz is perceptive but he doesn’t know what to look for. All he knows is that Prowl is somehow doesn’t love anyone but seems to care about of things that aren’t people.

Also it’s a bit unrelated but I find it soooo interesting playing with the usual concepts of magic and technology. Because usually magic is perceived as something more “coming from your heart” and “connected with emotions” while technology tends to be more “soulless” and “emotionless”. And then we have the entire world of robots who think they are alive and magic isn’t :)

[readingkitty22]

Shared Walls, Shared Heat

Pairing: Alpha! Satoru Gojo x Omega! Reader

Description:College wasn’t supposed to be this complicated. As an Omega determined to carve her own path, the last thing she expected was to be forced into a new living situation,especially not one involving a too-handsome, too-smug Alpha like Satoru Gojo. Aloof and infuriatingly hot, he seems like the last person she’d trust with her secret. But Gojo has secrets of his own… and instincts he’s been holding back. What begins as reluctant cohabitation slowly spirals into something deeper, hotter, inevitable. In a world that expects her to fall into place, she dares to fall in love.

roommates AU, omegaverse, modern fantasy, slow burn to HOT burn, mutual pining, scent kink, protective/possessive Alpha Gojo, non-traditional Omega reader, emotional heat, soul-deep bond, claiming/bite, post-heat cuddles

⚠️ Warnings: Omegaverse dynamics (heat/rut, claiming, knotting, scenting), NSFW/explicit content, emotionally intense scenes, dominance/possessiveness (consensual), light breeding kink, gender-neutral reader language in parts but female-coded anatomy implied, mild angst and past discrimination themes

w.c. 5.8k

✦ ⋆｡˚ 𓆩♡𓆪 ˚｡⋆✦

Life as an omega was hard. It always has been.

You weren’t the delicate, sweet-scented kind that made alphas swoon and governments comfortable. You were sharp, stubborn, and worst of all ambitious. Your existence made people uncomfortable because you refused to be grateful for the box they'd tried to put you in.

From your very first heat, you knew the world had already made its decision about what kind of life you were meant to live: quiet, mated, marked, and out of sight.

But you had other plans.

At twenty, you’d done the unthinkable: applied to Jujutsu University. Not for a husband-hunting degree or some decorative arts program, but for a brutal, sleep depriving double major in biology and chemistry. You didn’t want comfort. You wanted autonomy.

Your suppressants worked well enough. The scent-blockers were top shelf, illegal to import without a license. And for the first four weeks, you thought you’d pulled it off. Two friends, Shoko and Utahime, both sharp tongued betas with no patience for alpha or omega drama. A studio apartment you could just barely afford. A schedule full of labs and lectures and no time for anyone to notice what you were.

Until the day your landlord let himself in for a “routine inspection” and didn't bother hiding the way his nose twitched. Thirty minutes later, you were standing on the curb with your textbooks in a trash bag and your omega status fully exposed.

You hadn’t cried, although your eyes shined with unshed tears. You didn’t argue. You were too used to people making decisions for you the second they smelled what you were.

And now?

Now you were on a stranger’s doorstep with your phone at 4% and your backpack digging into your shoulder, ringing Shoko’s buzzer at ten minutes past midnight.

She’d said it would be fine. She’d said she had space.

The door creaked open, casting a sliver of warm light across the dark hallway.

He filled the frame lazily. Tall, shirtless, tousled white hair falling into sleepy blue eyes that barely registered you for a second. A faint clink sounded as he shifted, the silver chain around his neck catching on his collarbone. He looked like he’d just woken up from the kind of nap that only people without real problems got to take.

And then his nose twitched.

It was subtle. The slight narrowing of his eyes. The way his jaw ticked once, almost like a reflex.

“...You’re the omega,” he said, voice low and flat.

Not hostile. Just observational. Like you were the answer to a question he didn’t remember asking.

You didn’t have the strength to answer. Not properly.

Your breath hitched before you could stop it, and you hated that it was the first thing he heard from you.

You were crying.

Not sobbing, not messy, not dramatic. Just silent, relentless tears that blurred your vision and soaked the collar of your shirt, born from exhaustion and rage and the bitter sting of being reminded that the world didn’t want you unless you were obedient.

He stared at you for a second. Not unkindly. Not kindly either. Just seeing you. Like he was reading something behind your eyes that you didn’t want anyone to know was there.

You dragged the back of your sleeve across your face and forced out something like, “Yeah. And you’re not wearing a shirt.”

The smirk came instantly, practiced and slow. “Guess we’re both a little exposed, huh?”

He didn’t ask if you were okay. Didn’t say you looked like hell, even though you did. Instead, he stepped back and opened the door fully. “Well, come in. You’re dripping on the welcome mat.”

His tone was dry, bored.Like letting in stray omegas at midnight was a weekly event.

You hesitated in the doorway.

He didn’t reach for your bag. Didn’t crowd you with fake concern. Just turned on his heel and walked down the hall, voice echoing casually behind him. “Sho said you’d be crashing for a while. Room on the left’s empty. Sheets are clean.”

You stepped inside, shutting the door quietly, the lock clicking louder than expected in the silence. The apartment was warmer than you thought it would be. Lived-in. Someone had stocked the kitchen with snacks. A spare hoodie hung over the back of the couch.

You tried not to fall apart again when you realized someone had put a box of tissues on the nightstand in the spare room along with a small chocolate bar.

You weren’t sure if it was Shoko or him, but either way, you’d been expected. Not welcomed, maybe. But not unwanted either.

From somewhere down the hall, his voice drifted again.

“Try to keep the crying down after 2 a.m., yeah?”

A pause.

“And drink some water before you pass out. You smell dehydrated.”

You let out something between a laugh and a sob, pulling the door shut behind you. Maybe this wouldn’t be the worst place to fall apart after all.

✦ ⋆｡˚ 𓆩♡𓆪 ˚｡⋆✦

Two weeks in, and you’d almost convinced yourself that living with Gojo Satoru was fine.

Sure, he was loud in the mornings, had a weird habit of opening the fridge 10 times in a row as if that would magically make a snack appear, and walked around the apartment like pants were optional. But he hadn’t crossed any lines.

If anything, he was... surprisingly easy to live with.

And that was the problem.

Because Gojo Satoru didn’t act like an alpha who’d been forced to room with an omega. He didn’t leer. He didn’t comment on your scent, even when you’d gone a little too long between suppressants. He didn’t hover. Not obviously.

But he noticed.

Shoko technically still lived there, too. But most nights, she was holed up at her girlfriend Yuki’s place on the other side of town. The apartment still smelled faintly like her beta-neutral sandalwood shampoo, but her laundry basket hadn’t moved in a week. The only sign she hadn’t moved out entirely was the occasional shift in the fridge contents and the echo of her sarcasm in your text history.

Which left you and Gojo. Alone. Constantly.

The first time, it was subtle. You’d forgotten to eat, late lab, two exams, and when you came home half dizzy, there was a takeout box on the counter with your name scrawled in Gojo’s messy script on a sticky note. No explanation.

The second time, you’d gone to leave the apartment without your coat. It was cold, but not unbearable. Still he’d watched you reach for the doorknob and tossed your jacket at your back without looking up from his phone.

“Wear that,” he muttered. “You smell thin.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know what I mean.”

He never said omega. Never flaunted the biological advantage, never made it feel like a power thing. But he watched you in that quiet, infuriating way that said he knew more than you wanted him to.

And worse?

You were starting to notice him, too.

You told yourself it was nothing, the way his voice sounded too warm when he called you “princess” just to piss you off, or how your stomach twisted every time he stretched in the kitchen, shirt riding up to show a sliver of toned skin.

But it wasn’t nothing.

He was stupidly attractive. And worse, he smelled good. Like cedarwood and fresh air and something expensive you couldn’t name. The scent clung to the apartment. The couch cushions. The back of your throat.

And it was starting to drive you insane.

Because your body knew before your brain did. Every time he passed behind you, something in you tensed. Not in fear but awareness. That low, instinctive itch that whispered he’s strong, he’s close, he’s paying attention.

You caught him watching you once. Late at night, the hum of the fridge was the only sound between you. You were bent over your notes, hoodie sleeves pushed to your elbows, gnawing the cap of your pen, and you felt it, his gaze on the side of your face.

He didn’t look away when you glanced up.

Just smirked faintly and said, “You smell stressed. Eat something.”

You threw a granola bar at his head.

He caught it, one-handed.

“Violence,” he sighed dramatically. “How you show love.”

You rolled your eyes but the flush on your face didn’t go away for a full hour.

He was annoying. And bossy. And far too smug.

But he noticed when you were cold. When you were hungry. When your eyes were glassy from not sleeping enough.

And sometimes when he walked past you in the hall, too close, too casually, you noticed that his scent changed. Just slightly. A little deeper. A little sweeter.

And you weren’t sure if it was you reacting to him, or him reacting to you.

✦ ⋆｡˚ 𓆩♡𓆪 ˚｡⋆✦

Gojo’s P.o.v

She fell asleep at the kitchen table again.

Gojo found her there around 1 a.m., face tucked into the crook of her arm, pen still in her hand. Textbooks spread out like a battlefield. Half a granola bar flattened under her elbow.

He stood in the doorway for a minute. Didn’t move. Just watched.

She was curled up tight: hoodie too big, knees pulled to her chest, a frown ghosting across her face like she’d fallen asleep in the middle of being frustrated. He could see the edge of her scent suppressor patch poking out from under her collar, slightly askew.

Probably forgot to change it.

Again.

His nose twitched. Her scent was bleeding through faintly, warm and soft and fucking distracting. Not the full hit, not even close, but enough to make something low in his chest tighten.

Gojo rubbed the back of his neck, leaned a hip against the counter.

He shouldn’t care. It wasn’t his job to care. They weren’t even friends. Not really.

Except he knew her class schedule now. Knew she chewed her pen when she was anxious and tapped her foot when she lied. Knew she always tried to look tougher than she felt.

He also knew she hadn’t eaten anything but caffeine and vending machine trash in two days.

He moved before he thought about it. Quiet steps. Careful hands.

Tugged a blanket from the couch and draped it over her shoulders. Not too close. Not too intimate. Just enough to keep her from waking up stiff and freezing.

He reached to straighten the suppressant patch.

Paused.

Didn’t touch it.

Didn’t trust himself to.

Instead, he pulled the box of them from the cabinet and dropped it next to her notes. No comment. No lecture. Just a quiet reminder.

And then he left. Not because he wanted to.

Because staying would mean inhaling her scent again.

And thinking things he shouldn’t be thinking.

✦ ⋆｡˚ 𓆩♡𓆪 ˚｡⋆✦

You woke up with a blanket draped over your shoulders again.

Second time this week.

And, like clockwork, your box of suppressants was sitting beside your notes, unopened, just far enough from your arm to say I didn’t touch you, but close enough to say I noticed.

Gojo never mentioned it. Never teased. Never hovered.

He just... did things.

Moved your laundry from the washer to the dryer without asking. Left your favorite ramen on the counter with a post-it note that said don’t skip lunch. Adjusted the thermostat at night when he thought you were sleeping cold. Always brushed past you in the hallway with a casual You good?, but never pushed if you weren’t.

It was starting to get hard to pretend you didn’t notice. Or that your stomach didn’t flip a little every time he did it.

And now you were heading to a party with him.

Well not with him. Shoko invited you both.

Apparently, Yuki’s best friend was throwing something “low-key” for the department’s upperclassmen. Shoko had waved off your half-protest with a wine glass in hand and a lazy grin. “Come on,” she’d said. “You’re overdue for a night where your blood isn’t 70% caffeine.”

So now you stood in the mirror, half-nervous, half-curious because it wasn’t often you got the chance to wear something nice. You’d gone simple: soft makeup, perfume light enough not to clash with your suppressants, a fitted dress that stopped a few inches above the knee. Classy. Subtle. A little daring for someone who lived in hoodies and sweats.

You heard Gojo’s voice from the hallway. “You ready yet? Shoko’s gonna start pregaming without us—”

The second you stepped out of your room, his words died in his throat.

He blinked. Once. Twice. He breathed in deeply before speaking.

“…Wow,” he muttered.

You shifted your weight. “Too much?”

“No.” His voice was low, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “No, you look good.”

The ride to the party was quiet, except for Shoko mumbling in the back seat about Yuki’s inability to remember which apartment she actually lived in. Gojo didn’t say much. Just glanced at you once or twice like he was trying not to.

✦ ⋆｡˚ 𓆩♡𓆪 ˚｡⋆✦

The party was packed.

Sweaty bodies, loud bass, someone already spilling something sticky on the floor. You stuck close to Shoko until she predictably disappeared into the hallway with Yuki, laughing over some inside joke that involved tequila and a stolen salt lamp.

You found yourself by the kitchen, fiddling with a drink, trying not to notice how many people were there, and how many of them were alphas.

You weren’t in heat. Your patch was fresh. But that didn’t stop the attention.

“Hey,” a voice said behind you, smooth and too-close. “Haven’t seen you around before.”

You turned to find a tall, broad-shouldered guy with a grin just a little too confident. He stepped closer, his eyes raking down your dress. “You here with anyone?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly. “My roommate.”

“Oh?” he smirked. “He your boyfriend?”

“No. Listen, I'm really not interested…”

“Then he won’t mind if I—”

You flinched as his arm wrapped itself behind you, his hand brushed your lower back, fingers dipping just low enough to make your stomach twist. You stepped back in fear and shock.

And then he wasn’t touching you anymore.

Because Gojo was there.

Fast. Quiet. Close.

His hand curled around your elbow, not hard, but firm. His voice low, almost lazy.

“She said she wasn’t interested.”

The guy scoffed. “Chill, man. I was just talking—”

Gojo smiled. It wasn’t nice.

“That wasn’t talking. That was a mistake.”

For a second, the tension was thick enough to cut. Then the guy muttered something under his breath and backed off, disappearing into the crowd.

You exhaled shakily.

Gojo still hadn’t let go of your arm.

“You okay?” he asked, finally looking at you, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded uncertaintly, pulse skipping. “Yeah. Thanks.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you,really looked, and something in his expression shifted.

Like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to drag you out of the party or kiss you against the fridge.

Instead, he leaned closer. Not enough to touch. Just enough for you to feel his breath by your ear.

“You smell scared,” he murmured. “I don’t like it.”

And then he was gone,disappearing into the crowd like nothing had happened.

But your heart was still racing.

And his scent sharp, grounding, alpha still lingered around you like a promise.

✦ ⋆｡˚ 𓆩♡𓆪 ˚｡⋆✦

The party had thinned out by midnight, and you were tired, buzzed, but not drunk, and still wound tight from the incident in the kitchen. Shoko had waved you off with a wink and mumbled something about “staying the night at Yuki’s, obviously,” before disappearing into an Uber.

Which left just you and Gojo.

The car ride home was quiet.

Not awkward, not exactly. Just… loaded.

You could still feel where his hand had gripped your arm, where his voice had dropped into something dangerous something protective. You kept your eyes on the window. The streetlights smeared into gold streaks, but you weren’t really seeing them.

He didn’t say anything until you were almost at your building.

“That guy’s lucky I didn’t break his hand.”

You blinked, turned toward him. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I did.”

Silence again.

Then, as he pulled into the lot and put the car in park, he added more quietly, less sure of himself, “You looked good tonight.”

You swallowed. “Thanks.”

“Not just the dress,” he said. “You. You just... looked good.”

That made your chest tighten.

You didn’t know what possessed you to say it, but you did.

“I noticed you watching me.”

He looked over at you, sharp blue eyes catching yours. “Yeah?”

You nodded slowly. “Not just tonight.”

His jaw flexed, and for a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

Then he cut the engine.

You didn’t speak as you walked up to the apartment. Your heels clicked against the stairs. The tension between you stretched like a rubber band pulled to its breaking point.

When you reached the door, you fumbled for your keys.

And that’s when you felt it.

Him.

Close.

Too close.

He was right behind you, just enough that his scent brushed along your back, thickened slightly with something sharp and warm and undeniably alpha. You froze.

“Gojo,” you said, warning, breath catching.

He didn’t touch you.

But his nose dipped low, barely an inch from your hairline. Just one long, slow inhale.

You felt it like a shiver down your spine.

“You changed your patch late,” he murmured, voice husky. “I can tell.”

You turned your head. Not enough to face him. Just enough to ask, quiet and unsure, “What are you doing?”

His breath was warm against your neck.

“Nothing,” he said. “Not really.”

But you felt it when he leaned in just a little closer. Just enough for the tip of his nose to skim the curve where your neck met your shoulder.

You swore the air itself went still.

“You smell like someone touched you,” he whispered. “Someone else.”

Your heart thudded, loud in your ears. “He didn’t really, just grazed me with his fingertips.”

“I know.” A beat. “But the scent’s still there.”

And then he did it, barely there, not skin to skin, but he dipped just low enough that his scent pressed over yours. Just a breath. Just a flicker of possession.

Your knees nearly buckled.

He stepped back first. Like it cost him.

“You should wash up,” he said, voice carefully neutral. “That guy’s scent, it’s annoying.”

You stared at him, pulse fluttering wildly.

Gojo opened the door like nothing had happened. Tossed his keys on the counter. Wandered to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water like it wasn’t still crackling in the air between you.

But his scent lingered. Hot. Thick. Claiming.

And when you passed him on the way to your room, he didn’t look at you.

But you felt his eyes on the back of your neck the entire time.

✦ ⋆｡˚ 𓆩♡𓆪 ˚｡⋆✦

The next morning, you tried to pretend everything was normal.

You woke up late. Took a long, scalding shower. Changed your suppressant patch early, even though the old one still had hours left on it. Just to be sure. Just to feel like yourself again.

But Gojo’s scent clung to you like phantom heat.

The worst part?

You didn’t want it to wash off.

He was already in the kitchen when you emerged, dressed in a hoodie and sweats, barefoot, mug in hand. You paused in the doorway, awkward, heartbeat stuttering.

He didn’t look up from his coffee.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Took a step forward. “About last night—”

“Nothing happened,” he cut in.

It stung more than it should have.

You folded your arms. “Didn’t feel like nothing.”

Silence. A muscle in his jaw ticked.

You shifted, suddenly angry. “You scent-marked me.”

“Barely.”

“But you did.”

His gaze finally snapped to yours, sharp, heated, cornered. “Yeah,” he bit out. “I did.”

You flinched. “Why?”

Another beat of silence.

Then, quieter: “Because I couldn’t stand that someone else did.”

You stared at him, breath catching. “Gojo…”

His name felt different now. Heavy with knowing.

He ran a hand through his hair, finally breaking. “I’ve been trying not to want this. You think I haven’t noticed how you smell when you're stressed? How you hold your breath when I get too close? You think I don’t know how you fake normalcy just to survive in a world that makes omegas feel like liabilities?”

Your chest tightened. “You make me feel safe.”

His breath hitched.

“And I don’t think I realized how much I needed that,” you whispered. “Until you.”

That finally broke something in him.

Gojo crossed the space between you in two strides, didn’t touch you, but hovered close. His voice dropped, lower than ever. “I don’t want to hurt you. You’re not mine.”

“Then say it,” you said. “Say you want me.”

His nostrils flared.

“Say it, Satoru.”

He growled deep in his chest and pressed his forehead to yours. “I want you,” he whispered. “Not just because you’re an omega. Not just because you smell like comfort and fucking home. But because you’re you.”

You shuddered, breath stalling, heart thudding.

Then carefully, achingly he brought his lips to your neck.

And this time, he didn’t hold back.

It wasn’t a full bite. Not yet. But it was a press of his mouth to the curve of your throat, warm and deliberate, teeth just barely grazing over sensitive skin. The mark he left was temporary. But his scent—

His scent drowned you.

Hot. Safe. Possessive. Yours.

You exhaled shakily, hand fisting in the front of his hoodie. “I want you too,” you whispered.

He pulls himself away from your neck to bring his lips to yours in a heated, messy kiss.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes.

And smiled.

But it wasn’t cocky, not this time.

It was reverent.

Like he’d been waiting forever to hear that.

✦ ⋆｡˚ 𓆩♡𓆪 ˚｡⋆✦

Things changed after that.

They didn’t explode, not right away. There wasn’t some dramatic claim or frenzied marking. Just a shift, subtle, constant, undeniable.

You were dating. That was clear.

Or at least, you were doing everything that looked and felt like dating:

Gojo started sleeping in his own bed less. Then not at all.

His hoodies migrated into your closet, and you stopped giving them back.

He’d come home from class, kiss the top of your head like it was second nature, toss his shoes next to yours by the door. Sometimes, you’d catch him watching you from across the room like he couldn’t believe you were real. Other times, he’d just silently pull you into his chest and breathe you in, fingers curling around the back of your shirt like he wanted to keep you there.

And the scenting?

He was shameless now.

Not in public, not yet, but every time you left the apartment, he’d hug you just a little too long. Let his scent stick to the back of your neck, the collar of your sweater, the inside of your wrists.

“You’re mine,” he’d murmur casually. “Just making sure people know.”

It made your heart flutter.

Made your body ache.

Because you knew it was coming.

Your heat.

The last few cycles had been short and mild, mostly regulated by the patch. But this one? It was going to be different. You could feel it in your bones, in the way your skin buzzed under his touch, in the way your scent was already shifting.

Worse still?

He could feel it too.

He was tense lately. Even more protective. Growled when guys stared too long at the library. Gave your professor a death glare when he touched your shoulder. Carried your bag. Checked your patch levels. Made you eat. Drink water. Sleep. Rest.

You caught him sniffing your laundry once. He didn’t even look guilty.

“You gonna tell me what’s in your hoodie drawer or do I have to break in?” he teased one night, lying sideways across your bed like he owned it. You were brushing your teeth, wearing one of his shirts, slouchy, soft, scented.

You spat and leaned in the doorway. “Literally just your hoodies.”

“Oh,” he said, smirking. “So I was right to check?”

“You checked?”

“Every day,” he admitted, like it was no big deal. “You smell better in them than I do.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“I’m your weirdo,” he grinned, arms open.

And like always you melted into him.

He pulled you into his chest like he was born to do it. Nuzzled your temple. Pressed lazy, open-mouthed kisses to your hairline, your cheek, the corner of your jaw. Not sexual,not yet, just possessive.

And underneath all of it was the tension.

He smelled too good. Woodsy and fresh and sharp. You found yourself curling into him deeper, inhaling him like you were starved for it.

You were, in a way.

He caught it.

“You getting close?” he murmured.

You didn’t lie. “Yeah.”

His jaw tensed against your temple.

“We need to talk about it.”

“I know.”

“If I stay,” he said, “I’m not going to hold back.”

You shivered.

He exhaled roughly, and the sound of it near your ear made your thighs press together. He noticed that, too.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “I can already smell the shift starting.”

You buried your face in his neck. “Then don’t leave.”

His arms tightened around you instantly. He growled. Low. Deep in his chest.

And when he spoke next, his voice was barely more than a whisper:

“I wasn’t going to.”

✦ ⋆｡˚ 𓆩♡𓆪 ˚｡⋆✦

It started in class.

You were trying to focus. Scribbling notes, nodding along with the lecture, pretending everything was fine. But your patch had started to slip. Literally and figuratively. A dull burn had settled low in your belly hours ago, and now it was turning sharp, liquid heat spreading through your limbs, fogging your brain.

You could feel it happening.

Your scent was changing.

And worse, you weren’t alone.

Gojo was waiting outside.

The moment you walked out of class, it hit you like a freight train. He turned toward you with that usual lazy smile and then froze. His pupils dilated instantly. His nostrils flared. You could see the shift behind his eyes: instinct, raw and undeniable.

“Shit,” he muttered. “You’re—”

“Go home,” you whispered, voice trembling. “Now. I can’t—”

He was already moving.

He didn’t say a word. Just pulled you to his side, threw his jacket around your shoulders, and practically marched you out of the building. People stared. You didn’t care.

You were shaking.

You didn’t even make it through the apartment door before your legs gave out.

Gojo caught you,arms around your waist, lifting you like nothing.

“You waited too long,” he growled, voice rough with restraint. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You buried your face in his neck, whining softly. “Didn’t want you to feel pressured.”

He carried you straight to the bedroom, kicked the door shut behind him, and laid you down carefully on the sheets. The scent of him flooded around you,rich, heady, grounding, and you felt yourself unraveling fast.

Your voice cracked. “It hurts.”

“I know, baby,” he whispered, crouching beside the bed, one hand smoothing down your arm. “I can smell it. You’re burning.”

Tears leaked from the corners of your eyes. “Please…”

That was it.

The last thread of his control snapped.

Gojo climbed onto the bed slowly, like you were something fragile he was terrified to break. But his body said something different his scent said something different. It wrapped around you like smoke. You whimpered and turned your face into his hoodie—his scent all over you, his hoodie, his bed, his body.

“Tell me what you need,” he said, voice low and guttural.

“You,” you breathed. “I need you. Satoru, I need you.”

He let out a low, hungry sound half growl, half whimper and leaned down to nose at your neck. “Say it again.”

You curled your fingers into his shirt, hips arching. “I need my Alpha.”

That was it.

He kissed you like he was starving, possessive, deep, desperate. His hands were everywhere: mapping your skin, soothing your trembling, pulling you closer until there wasn’t an inch of space between your bodies.

“I’ve got you,” he rasped. “No one else. Just me.”

Your scent filled the room, sweet and slick and overwhelming. He rutted against you with a groan, every inch of his restraint slipping through his fingers.

“You want me to claim you?” he murmured against your throat. “Want to be mine?”

You whimpered helplessly, needy.

“Yes. Please. Want to be yours.”

The second the words left your mouth,“I want to be yours”,he snapped.

Not violently. Not uncontrolled. But with purpose.

Gojo surged forward, pressing you down into the mattress, his body trembling with restraint he wasn’t going to bother holding anymore. His lips crashed to yours again, messier now teeth, tongue, need. Every sound he made was low and rough and Alpha.

“Say it again,” he groaned against your mouth. “Say it’s mine.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped. “Satoru, I’m yours.”

That lit him on fire.

He nosed at your throat, dragging his mouth down the curve of your neck, sucking kisses into your skin like he was already staking a claim. His hands slid under your borrowed hoodie,his hoodie,ripping it off in a single motion, scenting the skin underneath like a starving man.

“You smell like me,” he whispered reverently. “Fuck, you smell so perfect.”

You whined, writhing under him. “Please,please, it hurts—”

“I know, baby, I know. I’ve got you,” he murmured, one hand bracing your hip, the other slipping down, finally, to where you were soaking, swollen, ready. “Let me make it better.”

You arched with a gasp as his fingers slid in easily, heat spiking at the contact. He groaned at how wet you already were,slick and pulsing and desperate. His scent wrapped around you even thicker now, heavy and heady, like musk and fire and safety.

“This all for me?” he rasped. “Fuck, you were made for me.”

“Only you,” you choked out. “Need you—need your knot—”

That broke the last of him.

He lined himself up, hands gripping your hips like he owned you because he would. Soon. Forever.

“Gonna fill you up,” he growled. “Breed you so good. Knot you so deep no one’ll ever think about touching you again.”

You cried out as he sank into you,slow, deep, thick,and the stretch of him was perfect, the relief so blinding you nearly sobbed. He went slow at first, grinding in deep, dragging every ounce of friction against your walls.

“So good,” he whispered. “You take me so fucking good.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, nails digging into his shoulders. “Don’t stop—please—want your bite—want to be yours.”

Gojo’s breath stuttered.

“Yeah?” His voice was shaking now. Unhinged. “You want my mark? You want to belong to me?”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Please, Satoru. Bite me.”

He snapped his hips forward hard once,twice,then leaned down, mouth brushing the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “Mine.”

Then he bit.

The pain was sharp, bright, perfect. A flood of pheromones burst through your system the second his fangs pierced you, sending you both over the edge. You screamed his name as your body clamped down around him, your climax tearing through you with a sob.

He followed instantly groaning your name, knot swelling, locking you together with a desperate, grinding thrust that drove him as deep as he could possibly go.

He stayed there.

Buried in you. Breathing hard. Arms around you like a shield.

His mouth left your neck only to kiss it tenderly now, as he licked the blood from your bond mark. “You’re mine now,” he whispered. “My Omega. My mate.”

Your vision blurred, heart hammering, body aching—but safe. Sated.

Loved.

You smiled softly against his jaw.

✦ ⋆｡˚ 𓆩♡𓆪 ˚｡⋆✦

The world had gone still.

You were tucked beneath the comforter, his arms wrapped tight around your waist, bare skin against bare skin. Gojo’s knot was still nestled deep inside you, keeping your bodies locked, and neither of you minded. It felt right. Like the place you were meant to be.

His breath was warm against the back of your neck. He hadn't said much since the bite. Just small things:hushed praise, murmured reassurance, the occasional kiss pressed to your shoulder as if to prove you were real.

You rolled to face him slowly, carefully. His eyes,normally teasing and bright,were softer now. Blown wide. Worshipful.

He stared at you like you were everything.

“I was scared,” you whispered, your voice small in the silence. “Not of you. Just… of this. Of being an Omega. Of being claimed.”

His brows furrowed. “Why?”

You hesitated. “Because people act like that’s all we’re good for. Like we’re made for heat and nesting and breeding and nothing else. I thought if I let this happen, I’d lose myself.”

Gojo was quiet for a long time.

Then, slowly, he reached up and brushed your hair from your damp forehead. His touch was reverent.

“You didn’t lose anything,” he said, voice low. “You chose me. That’s not weakness.”

You looked away, embarrassed. “But I’m not like other Omegas.”

He smiled.

“I know.”

That made you glance back at him. “Do you?”

He nodded once, firm. “You’re smart. You’re stubborn. You’re brilliant. You’re reckless sometimes, but in the way that makes people pay attention. You work harder than anyone I know, and you fight twice as hard just to exist the way you want. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Heat prickled behind your eyes. “You’re just saying that.”

“No,” he said firmly. “I’m saying it because you need to hear it. You're not just an Omega. You’re my Omega. And I don’t want you small, or quiet, or safe. I want you. All of you.”

Your throat tightened.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours.

“They don’t get to decide who you are,” he whispered. “But I do get to love you for it.”

You let out a soft, broken sound and curled into his chest.

He held you like the most precious thing he’d ever touched. “You’re not a bond mark or a heat cycle. You’re a person.You’re mine.”

You smiled into his skin.

“And you’re mine, Alpha.”

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Threes a Formula

Word count: 3.7k

Summary: Y/n Müller, a Media Design graduate from Stuttgart, accepts a live-in nanny position with the prestigious Wolff family in Monaco. She moves to care for their young son, Jack, and quickly adapts to the fast-paced lifestyle of the Formula One world. 

Pairing: Toto Wolff x Susie Wolff x Nanny!reader

Masterlist

Warnings: fluff in the beginning. Later; 18+, cursing, age gap relationship, smut, Daddy kink, Mommy kink.

Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5

______________________________________________________________

Chapter 1: Welcome to the Wolffs

Y/n Müller had always been driven by a deep sense of creativity and a desire to make a meaningful impact on the lives of others. Growing up in a bilingual household in Stuttgart, she had developed a passion for languages and cultures, seamlessly switching between German and English. This dual heritage had given her a unique perspective and a love for connecting with people from diverse backgrounds.

When it came time to choose a field of study, Y/n followed her heart and enrolled in a Bachelor of Arts program, majoring in Media Design. She was drawn to the world of visual storytelling, believing that design could shape perceptions and inspire change. Her coursework was rigorous, covering everything from graphic design to video production, but Y/n thrived in the academic environment.

However, as graduation approached, Y/n found herself at a crossroads. While she loved the theoretical aspects of her studies, she longed for a more hands-on role where she could apply her knowledge in real-life situations. She had worked part-time as a nanny throughout her university years, discovering a natural talent for engaging with children and creating enriching experiences for them.

One evening, while scrolling through job postings, Y/n stumbled upon an advertisement that caught her eye: 

______________________________________________________________

WE ARE HIRING

a live-in nanny position for a family in Monaco. bilingual background (German and English) 

Job description: A high-profile family deeply embedded in motorsports is looking for a bilingual nanny who can travel with them fully and adjust to a dynamic lifestyle.

Required skills: Background in early childhood care.

Job Location: Monaco (base)

______________________________________________________________

It didn't say who that family was, but since she was a new motorsports fan, she had recently started watching "Drive to Survive" on Netflix, it only had 2 Seasons and she just started on episode 3 of season 1. All that she knew about motorsports she got from Drive to Survive but there are so many different categories, not only Formula 1. So she decided she may not know who they were anyway.

But that docuseries had piqued her interest, offering a glimpse into the thrilling and often dramatic world of F1 racing, full of fascinating stories, personalities, and grown men that could be so petty and childish sometimes. Between the drama and the drivers, she felt like watching an episode of "The Real Housewives" shows. Not to forget the lifestyle that comes with motorsports.

She felt an instant connection with the Mercedes team, even though they were hardly spoken about in the first season, since she was born in Stuttgart and everyone knows how interconnected that city is with the brand.

That's why her heart raced so fast as she read the listing. It seemed too good to be true! The chances that I really was anything remotely connected with the Show was slim but she still had a good feeling about it.

It also was just a chance to combine her creative background, passion for nurturing children, and newfound love for motorsports while experiencing life in an entirely new and glamorous setting, knowing that the family had wealth seeing as they live in Monaco. 

The more she thought about it, the more it seemed like the perfect opportunity. All those factors drove her to apply for the job. 

Working for that prominent family would allow her to make a significant impact on a kid's life, providing him or her as nanny a stable and loving presence amidst their busy lives. 

The role also offered her professional and personal growth, which a traditional design job might not provide. At least not in that capacity.

And the opportunity to travel with the family in their fast-paced world and manage the challenges of a high-profile household would push her out of her comfort zone and help her develop a diverse skill set. 

Plus, the exciting idea of living in Monaco, a city known for its beauty and sophistication, was too tempting to pass up. 

She could immerse herself in a new culture, build a global network, and create unforgettable memories. Her twenties were here so she could explore herself and the world so what better way than to travel and make friends.

She could always go back to her design background if she was getting tired of childcare. With her, you would never know.

Being highly interested in the job opening Y/n sent out her resume and a cover letter. Still not knowing who the family is. But she really didn't care who those people were as long as they were nice.

______________________________________________________________

I am writing to express my interest in the nanny position for your family. With a strong background in Media Design and over five years of experience in childcare, I am confident in my ability to provide a nurturing and enriching environment for your child. My bilingual skills and creative approach to education make me uniquely suited to support your family’s needs.

My experience includes designing engaging, educational activities that support children’s cognitive and emotional development. I am adept at managing busy schedules, coordinating travel, and maintaining the highest standards of discretion and professionalism. I believe my dedication and adaptability align well with the high standards you seek in a nanny.

I was born in Stuttgart, Germany, to a German mother and an American father, which afforded me the advantage of being raised bilingual in German and English. This multicultural background has not only enhanced my communication skills but also instilled in me a deep appreciation for diverse cultures. I am passionate about traveling and eager to learn from new environments, which I believe will enrich my role as a nanny.

Thank you for considering my application. I look forward to the opportunity to discuss how I can contribute to your family’s well-being.

Kind regards,

Y/n Müller

______________________________________________________________

When Y/n sent off her application, she felt a mix of excitement and anxiety. She had poured her heart into the cover letter, hoping her passion and experience would shine through. The following days were a whirlwind of emotions and activities as she waited for a response.

During those two weeks, Y/n kept herself busy to manage the anticipation. She continued her part-time nanny job, investing extra effort into creating engaging activities for the children she looked after. She also worked on freelance design projects, hoping to bolster her portfolio in case she needed to pivot back to her design career.

Y/n spent time with friends and family, sharing her hopes about the potential job in Monaco. They encouraged her, but the waiting was still nerve-wracking. Every time her phone buzzed, her heart raced, thinking it might be an email from the Wolff family.

To prepare herself for a possible interview, Y/n researched more about Monaco and the world of motorsports. She watched documentaries, read articles, and familiarized herself with the different sports leagues and key figures, hoping to impress the family with her knowledge if given the chance.

When the invitation for a video interview finally arrived, Y/n was both nervous and hopeful. The email's subject line made her heart skip a beat. She quickly opened it and read through the details, feeling a surge of excitement. She was thrilled to finally meet the family and get to know them, but also anxious about making a good impression.

______________________________________________________________

Dear Y/n,

We hope this email finds you well. Thank you for your interest in the nanny position with our family. We were delighted to receive your application and are impressed by your qualifications and enthusiasm.

Allow us to introduce ourselves. We are Toto and Susie Wolff, deeply involved in the world of motorsport. Toto serves as the Team Principal and CEO of the Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula One Team, while Susie is a former racing driver and currently the CEO of ROKiT Venturi Racing in Formula E. Our careers require a significant amount of travel and flexibility, which is why we are seeking a reliable, creative, and adaptable nanny to assist in caring for our son, Jack.

Jack is a lively and curious three-year-old who loves exploring new things and learning through play. We are seeking someone who can not only care for him but also foster his love for learning and creativity. Your background in Media Design caught our attention, as we believe your creative skills can help make Jack’s experiences both fun and educational. Your bilingual ability is also a big plus, knowing you can speak both English and German with him.

We have scheduled a video interview with you to further discuss this opportunity. The interview will take place on January 12th at 3 PM. You can join the call using the following link: [Video Call Link].

During the interview, we would like to discuss your experience, your approach to childcare, and how you envision supporting Jack’s development. Additionally, we welcome any questions you may have about our family and Jack’s routine.

We hope you are as excited about this opportunity as we are about the prospect of having you join our family. Please let us know if you have any questions or need further information before the interview.

We look forward to speaking with you soon.

Warm regards,

Toto and Susie Wolff

______________________________________________________________

When Y/n received the email, her eyes widened in surprise and excitement as she read through it. She had been anxiously awaiting a response, but she never imagined that the family she had applied to work for was as prestigious as the Wolffs. She quickly reread the introduction, her heart racing.

"Wow," she whispered to herself. "Toto and Susie Wolff? This is incredible."

The significance of the opportunity began to sink in. Toto Wolff, the Team Principal and CEO of the Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula One Team, and Susie Wolff, a former racing driver and the CEO of ROKiT Venturi Racing in Formula E, were offering her a chance to be part of their world. She felt a mixture of awe and determination.

Y/n couldn't help but smile as she thought about little Jack, imagining the lively and curious three-year-old they described. She was thrilled that her background in Media Design had caught their attention and that they saw the potential for her creative skills to enrich Jack’s experiences. Knowing they appreciated her bilingual ability gave her an added boost of confidence.

"January 12th at 3 PM," she murmured, making a mental note of the interview date and time. She clicked the video call link to ensure it worked, not wanting to leave anything to chance.

Her mind buzzed with a hundred thoughts at once. She needed to prepare thoroughly for the interview, making sure she could articulate her experience and vision for supporting Jack's development. She also wanted to prepare insightful questions to show her genuine interest in their family and lifestyle.

Y/n felt a surge of excitement mixed with a hint of nerves. This opportunity was bigger than she had anticipated, but she was determined to make the most of it. She took a deep breath, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over her.

"This is it," she thought. "This could be the start of something truly amazing."

She immediately set to work, planning her preparations for the interview. She wanted to be ready to impress Toto and Susie Wolff, knowing that this was a chance to combine her passions for childcare, creativity, and cultural exploration in an extraordinary way.

The night before the interview, Y/n rehearsed her answers to potential questions and prepared thoughtful questions of her own. She set up her laptop in her parents' house in Stuttgart, double-checked her internet connection, and ensured her surroundings were neat and professional. If this interview didn’t work out, she reminded herself, she could always fall back on her design background. But deep down, she knew how much she wanted this opportunity.

______________________________________________________________

She took a deep breath and clicked the link to join the video call.

The screen flickered, and soon she found herself face-to-face with Toto and Susie Wolff. Y/n had done a quick search on them prior to the interview, discovering their significant influence in the motorsports world, but she still didn’t know the full extent of their prominence.

“Hello, Y/n. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Susie said with a warm smile.

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Wolff. Thank you for this opportunity. Es freut mich sehr, dass wir die Möglichkeit haben, so miteinander zu kommunizieren (I am very pleased that we have the opportunity to communicate with each other like this),” Y/n replied, trying to keep her nerves in check.

“Please, call us Toto and Susie,” Toto said, his tone friendly and welcoming. “We’ve read through your application and were very impressed. Why don’t you tell us a bit more about yourself?”

Y/n began to explain her background in Media Design, her passion for working with children, and how she believed her creative skills would be beneficial in engaging and educating their son, Jack. She also mentioned her bilingual abilities and her experience growing up in Stuttgart.

Susie nodded thoughtfully. “We think your background is quite unique and would bring a fresh perspective to Jack’s upbringing. How do you feel about traveling frequently and adapting to different environments?”

“I’m very excited about the opportunity to travel,” Y/n said. “I think it would be an amazing experience for both Jack and me. I’m adaptable and eager to learn about new cultures and environments. Traveling has always been a passion of mine, although I haven’t had the opportunity to see and learn as much as I would like to until now.”

Toto leaned forward slightly. “One thing to consider is the nature of our lifestyle. It can be fast-paced and demanding. How comfortable are you with managing stress and maintaining flexibility?”

“I’m confident in my ability to handle stress and stay organized,” Y/n replied. “My studies and previous nanny jobs have taught me how to manage my time effectively and stay calm under pressure. Zudem möchte ich auch nochmal anführen, dass ich eben deutsch bin. Es liegt mir also eigentlich im Blut immer pünktlich zu sein und mein Leben gut zu managen. (I would also like to mention again that I am German. So it's actually in my blood to always be punctual and to manage my life well.)”

The last part was meant as a joke, but Toto and Susie knew she fully meant it.

Y/N paused before she asked a question she was eager to get an answer to. “I am very sorry to tell you I don’t really know about your work background and I was not comfortable googling the both of you so if you don’t mind what exactly do you do? Also, you spoke about traveling how often would that be and when would you like to have Jack with you guys?” It was a long question but she was confident they would answer her fully.

Susie and Toto exchanged a quick glance, their smiles warm and understanding. They appreciated her directness and respect for their privacy.

Susie spoke first, her tone friendly. "No worries at all, Y/n. I’m a former racing driver and currently the CEO of ROKiT Venturi Racing in Formula E. My role involves overseeing the team’s operations, strategy, and ensuring we’re competitive in the championship. It’s a dynamic and demanding job, but one I’m very passionate about."

Toto nodded, adding with a hint of enthusiasm, "And I’m the team principal and CEO of the Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula One Team. It’s an intense job, managing the team and ensuring we perform at our best during the racing season. So, as you can imagine, our schedules can be quite demanding and involve a fair bit of travel."

Susie continued, "Regarding travel, we do move around quite a bit, especially during the racing season, which runs from March to December. There are races almost every other week, and they happen all over the world. We'd love to have Jack with us during these travels, but it depends on the location and the duration of our stay."

Toto chimed in, "Ideally, we'd like him to join us for the major races and during the summer break when the schedule is a bit lighter. It's important to us that he experiences different cultures and environments, but we also want to ensure he has stability in his education and routine. We’re looking for someone who can help maintain that balance for him."

Susie nodded, "Exactly. We want Jack to feel secure and supported, no matter where we are. Your role would be crucial in providing that stability while also making the experience enjoyable and enriching for him."

Y/n listened carefully, nodding as Susie and Toto explained their busy schedules and travel needs. When they finished, she smiled confidently, ready to reassure them of her capabilities.

"Thank you both for sharing that with me. Your careers sound incredibly exciting and demanding, and I can see how important it is to you that Jack has stability amidst all the travel."

She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. "I have extensive experience working with children in various environments, including situations where parents have high-profile, busy careers. I understand the importance of creating a stable, nurturing environment for Jack, no matter where we are. I am skilled at maintaining routines and providing the educational support he needs to thrive."

Y/n continued, her voice steady and reassuring. "I’m very adaptable and have handled travel with families before. I’m organized and proactive, ensuring that everything Jack needs is prepared and that he feels secure and happy in each new location. I also love finding creative ways to make travel educational and fun for children, turning each new place into a learning opportunity."

She smiled warmly, looking between Susie and Toto. "I’m confident that I can provide the balance you’re looking for—supporting Jack’s growth and education while also making sure he enjoys the unique experiences your lifestyle offers. I’m excited about the possibility of being a part of your family and contributing to Jack’s development in such a dynamic and enriching environment. That of course is if you would have me.” She smiles at them.

After a few more questions about her approach to childcare and her thoughts on integrating educational activities with play, the interview began to wrap up.

“We’re very impressed with you, Y/n,” Susie said, glancing at Toto, who nodded in agreement. “We think you’d be a wonderful fit for our family.”

Y/n’s heart soared. “Thank you so much. I’m really excited about the possibility of working with you and getting to know Jack.”

“We’ll be in touch soon with more details,” Toto said, smiling. “Thank you for your time today.”

As the call ended, Y/n felt a rush of exhilaration. The interview had gone better than she could have imagined, and she felt a sense of validation in her choices and aspirations. The Wolff family represented a new path, one filled with opportunities for growth, adventure, and meaningful connections.

Two days later, Y/n received another email from the Wolffs.

______________________________________________________________

Dear Y/n,

We are thrilled to inform you that after careful consideration, we would like to offer you the position of nanny for our son, Jack. We believe that your skills, experience, and personality make you the perfect fit for our family, and we are excited about the prospect of having you join us.

As mentioned during the interview process, we would like to start with a trial period to ensure that there is a good connection between all of us. Therefore, we propose a trial run of three months, during which we can assess how well we work together and whether this arrangement meets everyone's needs.

We are genuinely excited to welcome you into the Wolff family. We believe that your background in Media Design, your bilingual abilities, and your passion for childcare will make a positive impact on Jack's life and development. We are confident that you will create a nurturing and stimulating environment for him, allowing him to thrive and grow.

Regarding logistics, we understand that relocating to Monaco is a significant step, and we want to make the transition as smooth as possible for you. If you are able to join us by the 1st of February, it would give us ample time to settle in and get acquainted before the busy racing season begins.

Please let us know if you have any questions or concerns. We are here to support you and ensure that you have all the information you need.

Once again, congratulations, Y/n. We are looking forward to embarking on this exciting journey together.

Warm regards,

Toto and Susie Wolff

______________________________________________________________

As Y/n sat amidst the flurry of emotions, her mind drifted to the impressions she had formed of Toto and Susie Wolff during the interview process. Toto, with his focused demeanor and stern yet approachable presence, exuded a sense of determination and drive that commanded respect. She couldn't help but admire his unwavering commitment to excellence, balanced by an underlying charm that shone through in the occasional dad joke or lighthearted quip.

In contrast, Susie embodied elegance and grace in every aspect of her being. Y/n admired the way Susie carried herself with poise and sophistication, radiating warmth and sincerity in her interactions. Behind her poised exterior, Y/n sensed a deep well of motivation, care, and love for others, driven by her passion for making a positive impact in the world.

As Y/n pondered these thoughts, she felt a sense of gratitude wash over her. To be welcomed into the lives of such remarkable individuals, to work alongside them in nurturing and shaping the life of their son, Jack, was an honor beyond measure. She knew that under their guidance and with their support, she would not only thrive but also contribute to creating a loving and enriching environment for Jack to grow and flourish.

With a renewed sense of purpose and excitement, Y/n turned her attention back to the task at hand—preparing for the journey ahead. As she packed her belongings, her heart swelled with anticipation for the adventures that awaited her in Monaco, where she would embark on a new chapter of her life filled with love, laughter, and endless possibilities.

______________________________________________________________

______________________________________________________________

@pand-de-pandora-blog @wonderwolffs @laura-naruto-fan1998 @strangegirl974 @totothewolff

[cbeargyu]

WISHES COME TRUE

SUMMARY: you’ve always been the quiet, bookish type — hidden behind oversized sweaters and your secret smut blog. yeonjun, the golden boy of the dance department, was supposed to be just a harmless crush... until a steamy story accidentally lands in his hands. now, your fantasies are no longer just fiction.

PAIRING: soft dom!yeonjun x fem!reader

GENRE: slow burn, smutty tension, university!au, angst, fluff, eventual nsfw (suggestive)

WARNINGS: suggestive themes, language, emotional tension, power dynamics, accidental exposure of private writing, crying, emotional vulnerability, soft dominance, yeonjun being too hot to handle, loss of virginity, unprotected sex.

WC: 4,8k

NOTES: i wish yeonjun would make my fantasies come true too...😞

you were a literature major at university—one of those girls who always seemed quiet, thoughtful, always with a book tucked under her arm or a notebook filled with scribbled ideas. you had chosen literature because, for as long as you could remember, stories had been your whole world. fairy tales, classic novels, poetry, fanfiction—especially fanfiction.

it had started innocently enough in your early teens: writing about your favorite movie characters falling in love. but as you got older, so did your stories. they evolved—bolder, darker, more explicit. the kind of scenes that made your cheeks flush even though you were the one writing them. you never said it out loud, of course. no one would ever imagine it of you.

you were the quiet girl in class, after all. the one with oversized sweaters, round glasses slipping down your nose, a soft voice, and a shy smile that made people underestimate you. but at night, in the glow of your laptop screen, you were someone else. your blog had grown into something much bigger than you'd anticipated. a loyal following of readers eagerly awaited your weekly updates, devouring every steamy, forbidden chapter you posted—always right on schedule, even with your hectic academic life.

and then there was choi yeonjun.

he was in the contemporary dance program—effortlessly popular, magnetic in every sense. tall, with dark hair that curled slightly when he sweat after practice, his ears lined with silver piercings, his eyes sharp but kind. he had a way of walking into a room and drawing attention without even trying.

you’d met him in a way that was both perfectly ordinary and somehow surreal. he’d started showing up at your department’s literature fairs. it surprised you the first time—someone like him, flipping through romance novels with genuine interest, not just killing time. but there he was, every time, stopping by the table you were in charge of, smiling that easy, sunlit smile that made your stomach twist in quiet panic.

“any recommendations today?” he’d ask casually, leaning over the table just close enough to make you forget how to breathe.

you tried to keep your voice steady. “uh—if you like slow burn… this one’s pretty good.”

he grinned. “you always know the good ones. you read a lot, huh?”

you’d just nod, cheeks warm, heart sprinting. he didn’t know. god, he couldn’t know.

your conversations never lasted long, but they left you dizzy every time. he’d wave at you in the halls with that same bright energy, calling your name like you were already friends. you weren’t, not really. but you liked pretending.

and when you were alone, writing late into the night, your mind would wander. you’d think about him—his hands, his voice, that little smirk when he caught you staring too long.

you knew exactly what kind of character he’d be in one of your stories. and you had plenty of ideas.

it all started when yeonjun announced that he was planning a showcase for the contemporary dance department—an open performance where students could display their personal choreographies. he needed help designing the pamphlets that would be handed out to the audience, and for some reason, you were the first person he thought of.

“you made those posters for the lit fair, right?” he asked one afternoon, catching you off guard in the hallway. his voice was casual, but his smile was bright, genuine. “i really liked the way you put them together. they had this… soft, poetic vibe. it matched the theme perfectly.”

you blinked up at him, heart stuttering. he remembered that? “i– yeah! i did,” you mumbled, trying to keep the surprise out of your voice. “i’d love to help.”

he grinned, like it was no big deal. “awesome. can i get your number? i’ll text you the details.”

you handed him your phone before you could overthink it. and when he tapped in his contact info, you felt a strange flutter in your chest. he told you he’d need it by next wednesday. today was friday—plenty of time.

saturday came, and as usual, it was supposed to be your sacred writing day. the day you sat down with your laptop and your coffee and let your imagination spill into a new chapter for your loyal readers. but today... you couldn’t focus. yeonjun’s face kept flashing behind your eyes. his voice, the way he smiled, the soft dip of his collarbone when he leaned in closer than he needed to.

so, instead of working on your usual story, you opened a new document. just a little spin-off, you told yourself. a character named yejun, inspired by him, paired with your unnamed female lead. it didn’t mean anything. it was just for fun.

your fingers moved quickly over the keys, each word making your face burn a little hotter. you described him in detail—his body, his voice, the way he would whisper dirty things between soft kisses. it escalated fast. soon, the bed sheets were tangled, the clothes gone, and “yejun” was doing things to the protagonist that made your thighs clench under the desk.

you bit your lip, trying to suppress the heat pooling low in your stomach. your skin was flushed, breath a little too fast. god, it was just a story. just fiction.

but every line felt real.

too real.

when you finally finished, you closed the file with shaky fingers and stared at the screen, guilt washing over you like cold water. you’d just written a full-blown smut piece about your classmate. someone you knew. someone who’d smiled at you in the hallway just days ago.

he’s never going to know, you told yourself, shutting the thought down. your blog was anonymous. your secret was safe.

you shifted gears, finally starting your actual chapter for the week. when it was done and posted, the familiar flood of comments poured in. the joy from your readers was like a warm blanket, grounding you again. they loved it, as always. you loved them. they were the reason you kept writing.

by the time sunday night rolled around, the guilt had faded into the background, replaced by the sudden panic of realization—you still hadn’t started yeonjun’s pamphlet. you checked your phone. a new story on his profile. something about drinks with friends. he was still out, probably.

you rushed to open your design program, pulling up the notes you’d made. soft color palettes, modern typography, minimalistic but expressive—something that reflected the rhythm and movement of contemporary dance. you made one version. then another. kept tweaking the alignment, changing fonts, shifting images.

finally, at 2:34 a.m., you saved both files. sleepy, but satisfied. you dragged the two pdfs into your chat with him, barely thinking. you typed out the message:

“hi yeonjun! i made two versions, choose whichever you like best :)”

and hit send.

except… you hadn’t just selected the two designs.

your stomach dropped as you saw the third file still hanging in the message bubble. the one labeled: “yejun_x_fmc_draft01.docx”

it sent.

you stared at the message for a second, read it over just to make sure it sounded polite enough, and then closed the chat. satisfied, you shut your laptop, stretched your sore arms above your head, and let out a sleepy sigh. it was late. too late. your body ached from sitting in one spot too long, your eyes heavy. slipping under your blanket, you let your head hit the pillow, completely unaware of the very wrong file you’d just sent to yeonjun.

you fell asleep thinking about fonts and color palettes—clueless to the chaos waiting in your inbox.

yeonjun had been scrolling through his phone lazily that night, the apartment quiet except for the occasional hum of cars outside. it was past two in the morning, and most of his friends were either out partying or already passed out drunk. he, on the other hand, was comfortably sprawled out on his bed, hoodie thrown somewhere on the floor, phone in hand and thumbs working through unread messages. when your name popped up with a new chat, he blinked sleepily, expecting a simple "here are the flyers" type of thing.

maybe a couple of PDFs, a casual "let me know which one you like better." he smiled a little to himself. you were cute, in that quiet, bookish way. sweet. unassuming. kind of awkward, but endearing.

he tapped on the files without thinking.

the first opened fine—bright colors, clean design, silhouettes of dancers mid-pose, your signature soft aesthetic all over it. he liked it. clean, expressive. you were talented.

he clicked the second, expecting more of the same.

but then he saw… text. not a flyer. a story. his brow furrowed as he scrolled further. the format was familiar. narrative, dialogue. descriptive paragraphs. curiosity sparked, and his eyes began to scan the words.

“yejun’s fingers traced slow, burning lines down the curve of her waist, his voice low and thick in her ear. ‘you’re so quiet during the day,’ he murmured. ‘but in my bed? you’re a fucking mess.’”

his heart stopped.

his mouth went dry.

at first, he thought it was just a coincidence. a character named "yejun"—close, but not quite. but as he kept reading, the illusion crumbled. the description was too specific. too detailed. tall, black hair, piercings decorating both ears, cocky smile, flirty attitude, reads romance novels like a secret guilty pleasure—fuck, it was him. it was him on those pages. and you? the girl in the story? that was clearly you. no question.

his stomach twisted into knots.

his brain screamed that this was wrong, that he should stop reading, that this was invasive and inappropriate and god, disgusting. this was a violation of boundaries, wasn’t it? some kind of parasocial delusion—was this how you saw him?

but his eyes wouldn’t stop.

line after line, paragraph after paragraph, you painted a vivid, searing image of the two of you tangled in sheets, dripping with heat and tension. “yejun” had you beneath him, fingers curled into your thighs, lips murmuring filth against your throat while you begged for more. he could hear your voice in the words—he could see the way you might look, squirming beneath him, wide eyes glassy and pleading.

his hand gripped the phone tighter. he didn’t notice how his breath had gotten shallow. he didn’t notice how hard he’d gotten, straining against the loose fabric of his pants.

“she moaned when he spread her open, kissed the inside of her thighs like she was something sacred. ‘i wanna ruin you,’ he growled. ‘wanna fuck you so deep you forget your own damn name.’”

he hissed through his teeth, biting down on the inside of his cheek. fuck. fuck. fuck.

he shouldn’t be aroused by this. this was someone else’s fantasy. someone he barely knew. someone who wore glasses too big for her face and oversized cardigans and always tucked her hair behind her ears when she got nervous. someone shy and innocent and sweet.

except—no. apparently not. not so innocent.

his cock throbbed against the inside of his waistband. his face was flushed deep red, part shock, part guilt, part something far more primal. and still, he couldn’t look away.

you thought about him like that.

you imagined him taking you apart, fucking you senseless, making you cry with pleasure.

and now… he couldn’t stop picturing it either.

you didn’t realize a thing.

monday came and went, and you went about your routine like always—classes, notes, reading during lunch, replying to your blog comments in quiet corners of the library. the only thing different was that yeonjun hadn’t replied to your message. not even a “thanks.” he’d left you on read. that was unusual for him.

you saw him in the cafeteria once—just once. he was walking with some friends, laughing at something, tray in hand. you smiled instinctively, raising your hand in a little wave like you always did.

but he didn’t wave back.

he didn’t even look at you.

he walked right past, as if you weren’t even there.

you froze, hand mid-air, cheeks heating up with embarrassment. something was wrong. you could feel it in your gut.

and yet… you said nothing. you told yourself maybe he was just busy. maybe you were reading too much into it. but your heart ached anyway.

by wednesday, you couldn’t take it anymore.

you saw him sitting alone inside the dance studio, stretching, sweat-dampened hair clinging to his forehead. the doors were unlocked. you hesitated only a moment before stepping inside, chest tight, hands balled into anxious fists.

"yeonjun," you called softly, walking toward him.

he looked up, his face unreadable.

your heart dropped.

no warmth. no smile. no teasing glint in his eyes.

"why have you been ignoring me?" your voice cracked, but you kept going. "if you only needed the pamphlet, you could’ve just said so. you didn’t have to pretend like you liked talking to me."

he didn’t answer at first.

he stood up slowly, towering over you, and for the first time you felt… small.

not just in height. in everything.

he pulled his phone from his pocket.

"what's wrong with me?" he echoed, voice low. "shouldn’t i be asking you that?"

you blinked in confusion, taking a step back. “w-what are you talking about?”

he held the phone up to you.

and there it was.

your story.

the wrong file.

your face went completely cold.

your mouth opened, but no words came out. panic flooded you, head spinning, knees weak.

"this character,” he said calmly, almost cruelly. “it's me, isn’t it? same build. same personality. even the name.”

his voice wasn't angry—no, it was too calm. too quiet. too dangerous. your eyes flicked to the screen he held in his hand, your own words staring back at you with damning clarity. you couldn’t lie, couldn’t explain this away as coincidence. it was him. everything from the raven hair to the pierced ears, to the soft but commanding energy—the character had always been him.

"i... i can explain," you stammered, your voice barely a whisper, raw from emotion. "i didn’t mean for you to read it. it was a mistake, i—"

"it was meant to be private?" he cut in, taking another step toward you. "so private that you decided to send it directly to me?"

you flinched, your body screaming for you to run but your legs rooted to the floor. tears prickled your eyes, shame wrapping around your throat like a chokehold. your fingers curled into fists at your sides, not in anger, but in a desperate attempt to hold yourself together.

"i didn’t know i sent it. please, yeonjun, i didn’t want you to see that. i never would've wanted you to think—"

he stared down at you, his gaze dark. dangerous.

“you pretend to be so sweet. so quiet. like some shy little bookworm,” he murmured. “but you write about me like i’m your personal sex toy. like you wanna use me. ride me. make me beg.”

you whimpered, barely able to breathe, your eyes wide with horror.

you wanted to die.

you wanted to disappear.

his fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at him. his thumb grazed your bottom lip.

but then his eyes darkened, jaw tightening, and he leaned in slightly. "the problem is," he said, voice low, "i can’t stop thinking about what you wrote. how detailed it was. how vividly you described it—me."

your breath caught. "yeonjun..."

"you wrote that you wanted me to hold you down," he whispered, his gaze dropping to your lips. "that you wanted to ride me until you couldn’t walk straight. that you dreamed of me moaning your name while you begged for more. and all that... from the quiet girl who blushes when someone says 'kiss' in class?"

your knees nearly gave out. your skin burned with humiliation and something else—something terrifyingly warm spreading low in your belly. you shook your head again, but there were no words left to give him. no excuses. you were caught. exposed. and he was standing there, looking at you like he was reading every single fantasy straight from your soul.

“you’re disgusting,” he said, voice low and rough.

your eyes welled with tears.

but then he leaned closer, and his breath ghosted over your cheek. his voice dropped even lower, thick with something dangerous.

“but the worst part?” he smirked. “the more i think about it, the more i want to make it real." he murmured. 

you gasped, a whimper escaping your lips before you could stop it. it was wrong. it was insane. and yet... the tension between you crackled like a live wire.

"yeonjun, i..." your voice trembled.

"you don’t have to say anything," he said quietly, his thumb brushing away a tear on your cheek. "but if you really meant what you wrote... i will make your first time unforgettable, better than your story, better than many stories, i will fuck you as hard as you ask."

your heartbeat stuttered. your mind screamed for you to step away—but your body leaned into him, trembling from something far deeper than fear.

“so this is what you think about when you see me?” his voice is low, controlled, almost amused. but there’s something dark swimming beneath it. something hungry.

you’re frozen in front of him, face hot and eyes watery with humiliation. your vision blurs as the tears start spilling over your cheeks.

“fuck,” he mutters, stepping closer, eyes flicking over your trembling frame. “you’re crying.”

you nod, too ashamed to meet his gaze.

“you’re embarrassed?”

another nod.

and then he laughs. it’s not cruel—no, it’s worse. it’s knowing. it's the sound of someone who's seen through every layer you tried to hide.

you whimper, thighs squeezing together at his words. that ache between your legs intensifies, shame curling up with desire in your belly like a knot pulling tighter and tighter.

he’s in front of you now, towering over you, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek—thumb brushing away a tear, so gently it makes your breath catch.

“and this part—” he whispers, pulling his phone from his pocket. “this part right here... where you wrote that he ‘pinned her against the mirror and kissed her until she forgot her own name, one hand gripping her thigh, the other buried in her hair, making her moan before he even touched her pussy.’”

you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block it all out.

“open your eyes.”

you do.

he leans in, lips ghosting over your ear.

“do you want me to do that to you?”

you pause. swallow hard. your silence is answer enough.

he chuckles again. “fuck, you’re cute when you pretend to be innocent. but now i know what’s under that little act. now i know what kind of slut you really are.”

your knees weaken. your panties are soaked.

“take it off,” he murmured.

your throat went dry. “w-what?”

he stepped closer, towering over you. the scent of his cologne and sweat from practice clung to him, heavy and dizzying.

“don’t make me repeat myself.” his voice dropped, gravelly. “hoodie. now.”

you hesitated, fingers curling at the hem.

your body moved before your brain could catch up. trembling fingers pulled your hoodie over your head, revealing your bare chest underneath—no bra, just skin, soft and warm and exposed to him.

“fuck, no bra? you were walking around like this, waiting for me to notice?”

he growled. actually growled.

“you walked in here looking like this…” his eyes roamed again, hungry. “thinking i wouldn’t notice the way your nipples get hard through your hoodie?

your stomach twisted, heat rushing between your legs.

“you act so innocent, baby, but that little mind of yours?” he leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “filthy.”

your cheeks burned. your thighs squeezed together.

“take off the pants too, those fucking pants hiding the slut you really are” he added, voice darker now.

you obeyed slowly, pushing down the waistband of your sweatpants, revealing your thin white panties already soaked through. the air hit your thighs and you shivered—whether from the cold or the anticipation, you weren’t sure.

yeonjun sat down on the bench behind him, legs spread wide, cock hard and pressing visibly against his sweats.

“come here.”

you stepped between his legs, every nerve in your body lit on fire.

his hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer until your soaked panties brushed against the bulge in his pants. he hissed at the contact.

“you’re wet already?” he whispered, almost mocking. “just from me talking to you like this?”

you nodded, lips parted in a silent gasp as he rubbed his nose along the curve of your breast, not kissing—just inhaling you. savoring.

“you know what’s crazy?” he murmured. “i remember every single thing you wrote. every moan, every word you gave that version of me… and now i wanna hear them come out of your mouth.”

his hand slid under the band of your panties, fingers slipping between your folds.

“fuck—so wet for me. untouched, huh? this little cunt’s never been filled?”

you whimpered, nodding, nails digging into his shoulders.

“good,” he groaned, pulling your panties down your legs. “i wanna be the only one who gets to ruin this pussy.”

he hooked your thighs over his, adjusting your body until you were hovering over his clothed cock, dripping against the fabric.

“say it,” he ordered.

“say what?”

his eyes locked with yours, deadly calm.

“tell me you want to sit on it.”

your chest rose and fell fast, lips trembling. “i… i want to ride you.”

“that’s not what i said, baby.”

you swallowed. heat flooded your cheeks, but your hips instinctively rolled against him.

“i want to sit on your cock,” you breathed, voice shaky. “please, let me ride you”

his head tilted slightly, lips curling into a smirk as he pulled his sweats down, cock springing free. thick. veined. already leaking.

“then prove it,” he rasped.

you didn’t even hesitate. you gripped his shoulders and lined yourself up, your slick dripping down the tip. his hands gripped your hips, steadying you.

“this might hurt, baby,” he whispers, brushing his lips against yours, “but i’ll be gentle. i’ll make it feel so fucking good you’ll beg me never to stop.”

he pushes in slowly, his cock splitting you open inch by inch. you gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders. he’s big—so much bigger than you imagined—and your body clenches tight around him.

“that’s it, princess. take it. let me feel that pretty little virgin pussy.”

you whimper, burying your face in his neck as he bottoms out, letting you adjust. he doesn’t move right away—just holds you, one hand cradling your back, the other gripping your thigh.

“you’re doing so good for me. so fucking tight.”

he let you sink down inch by inch, until you were fully seated on him, legs shaking. your head fell onto his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut.

he starts to move, slow at first, dragging you up and down on his cock with gentle rolls of his hips. you gasp again, tears springing to your eyes from the overwhelming stretch and pleasure.

“slow, baby,” he murmured, voice suddenly softer—but his eyes still burned with control. “i’ll go slow. i’ll stretch you out nice and easy, okay?”

you nodded, barely breathing.

“fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned. “so fucking perfect. this little pussy was made for me.”

you moaned totally lost in desire, little by little the pain disappeared and turned into pleasure.

“you’re doing so good for me,” he whispered against your neck, kissing you there. “being such a good girl while i ruin your first time.”

you whimpered, rocking your hips slowly, gasping at the overwhelming fullness. he filled every part of you—stretching, claiming, owning.

“don’t stop,” you breathed. “please, don’t stop.”

“fuck, you’re even better than i imagined. so warm. so wet. so fucking mine.”

his hands slid up your back, gripping your hair, pulling your head back just enough for your eyes to meet.

“then ride me, baby. ride me like you fucking mean it.”

his grip on your hips tightens as you start to move—slow, uncertain rolls of your body at first, each one drawing a sharp inhale from you and a low, rumbling groan from him.

his cock feels impossibly thick inside you, the stretch dragging along every nerve ending. your thighs shake from the pressure, the burn, the pleasure that's building fast and overwhelming.

“that’s it, baby,” he breathes, eyes locked on your face as you try to ride him, “you’re doing so fucking good. taking me so well… fuck, this tight little pussy was starving for cock, huh?”

you cry out when he shifts his hips up, thrusting deeper. your walls clench around him, and the reaction makes his head fall back against the mirror, a hiss leaving his lips.

“fuck—don’t do that unless you wanna make me cum already.”

his hands slide from your waist to your ass, grabbing handfuls of soft skin as he starts to guide you himself—lifting you, lowering you, bouncing you gently on his cock. your hands fly to his shoulders for balance, mouth open in a silent moan as he hits a new spot inside you.

“right there, huh?” he growls, pulling your hips down harder. “you like that, baby? you like being stuffed full of your senior’s cock in the fucking practice room?”

you nod frantically, tears stinging the corners of your eyes, not from pain anymore—but from the pressure building deep in your core, the knot tightening fast.

“say it.”

“i love it,” you gasp, rolling your hips now with purpose. “i love your cock—fuck—it’s so deep, i can’t—”

“yes you can,” he grunts, meeting your movements with rougher thrusts now, fucking up into you while holding you down. “you will. be a good girl and take it.”

you sob, pleasure tearing through you, sharp and desperate. your nipples brush his chest, slick skin against skin, sweat dripping down your spine.

“you’re such a filthy little thing, aren’t you?” he pants, dragging his tongue along your collarbone, biting down just enough to leave a mark. “acting shy in front of the others, but here you are—riding me like a fucking whore.”

you moan loudly, the sound echoing in the studio, your voice bouncing off the mirrors, filling the space. his hand slips between your bodies, thumb pressing hard against your clit.

“don’t hold back, baby. cum on my cock. i wanna feel this pussy squeeze me while you fall apart.”

your eyes flutter shut, and your whole body tenses as his thumb moves in tight circles, the thick drag of his cock hitting all the right places.

then everything snaps.

your orgasm crashes into you like a wave, stealing the breath from your lungs. your moan breaks into a cry as your walls pulse around him, milking his cock, your thighs trembling uncontrollably.

“that’s it, baby—fuck, that’s it, just like that,” he growls, holding you tight as your cunt grips him, hot and wet and spasming. “so fucking good for me.”

his rhythm falters, his breaths sharp.

“you’re gonna make me cum—fuck—where do you want it?”

you barely manage to speak, drunk on the high.

“inside,” you whisper. “please, fill me up.”

his hips snap up one last time, deep and hard. he buries himself to the hilt, a strangled groan ripping from his throat as he spills inside you, hot and thick and endless.

you both go still—bodies pressed together, hearts racing. his arms wrap around your waist, holding you to him like he never wants to let go. your walls flutter around his softening cock, the mix of your release leaking down your thighs.

he kisses your shoulder, slow and soft now, grounding you.

“you okay, baby?” he murmurs against your skin.

you nod, voice weak. “yeah… i’ve never felt anything like that.”

he chuckles gently, kissing your jaw.

“can i—can i ride you at your place next time?” you pant, nails raking down his arms.

he grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“you wanna sit on daddy’s cock at home, baby? ride me like a good little slut while i fuck your brains out?”

you nod frantically, eyes hazy with lust.

“please… dominate me. make me yours.”

his grin is wicked. his thrusts grow rougher. deeper. the sound of skin slapping fills the mirrored room.

“you are mine, baby. every fucking inch of you.”

you sat there, still straddling him, your thighs shaking against his hips, skin flushed and slick with sweat. your fingers dug into his chest, trying to steady your breath, but the heat between your legs pulsed with every heartbeat — a reminder of what had just happened. he looked up at you with that same wicked smile, the one you once only imagined while typing your dirtiest fantasies late at night. except now, it wasn’t fiction. it was real. your filthy little story had come to life, every word, every whimper, every shameless desire — all of it played out on the floor of the dance studio, with yeonjun underneath you, hard and breathless. he had read your mind… and fucked it into reality.

[codingquill]

Essentials You Need to Become a Web Developer

HTML, CSS, and JavaScript Mastery

Text Editor/Integrated Development Environment (IDE): Popular choices include Visual Studio Code, Sublime Text.

Version Control/Git: Platforms like GitHub, GitLab, and Bitbucket allow you to track changes, collaborate with others, and contribute to open-source projects.

Responsive Web Design Skills: Learn CSS frameworks like Bootstrap or Flexbox and master media queries

Understanding of Web Browsers: Familiarize yourself with browser developer tools for debugging and testing your code.

Front-End Frameworks: for example : React, Angular, or Vue.js are powerful tools for building dynamic and interactive web applications.

Back-End Development Skills: Understanding server-side programming languages (e.g., Node.js, Python, Ruby , php) and databases (e.g., MySQL, MongoDB)

Web Hosting and Deployment Knowledge: Platforms like Heroku, Vercel , Netlify, or AWS can help simplify this process.

Basic DevOps and CI/CD Understanding

Soft Skills and Problem-Solving: Effective communication, teamwork, and problem-solving skills

Confidence in Yourself: Confidence is a powerful asset. Believe in your abilities, and don't be afraid to take on challenging projects. The more you trust yourself, the more you'll be able to tackle complex coding tasks and overcome obstacles with determination.

[jikooklove9795]

The MMA 2018 seating arrangement switch is one of those moments that perfectly encapsulates why so many people (including those who are reluctant to see them in a romantic light) find Jungkook and Jimin's dynamic fascinating. Its not just about the visual contrast in Jungkook's expressions but what it suggests about his comfort level and emotional state when Jimin is near.

We also got to see this on this same night:

The way he glares at them 🤭

Let's get back to the topic.

Before Jimin sits next to Jungkook, he looks composed but somewhat serious or detached. Almost like he's passively existing in the moment. He's physically present but not necessarily expressive.

After Jimin sits next to Jungkook his whole demeanor changes instantly. His posture becomes more relaxed, his facial expressions become livelier and there's an unmissable light in his eyes. Its like a silent but obvious Oh, you're here! moment.

This is more fascinating and interesting because it is a natural, unconscious reaction. The fact that his expression changes so naturally and effortlessly suggests that Jimin genuinely affects his mood.

We all have people who make us feel instantly at ease. The way Jungkook responds to Jimin's presence is so automatic that it feels deeply ingrained. It suggests that Jimin is a personal source of comfort for him. Jimin brings out a side of Jungkook that is warm, free and full of joy.

Sometimes the strongest bonds don't need words. The way his body language adjusts and how his face softens says a lot. Its in the subtle details that you see the real connection.

This isn't an isolated incident. There have been multiple instances where Jungkook's mood or energy seems to brighten around Jimin.

Here's a few instances which shows how Jimin's presence and absence affects Jungkook:

1) Jungkook's "Jimin is here" and "You're here. Finally" when finally they got the opportunity to spend extended time together (I'm sure they spent time together before AYS but that time was too short due to their demanding schedules)

His bright face and excited smile. He was so happy to spend time with Jimin after all those stunts he pulled on his lives to get Jimin to come to him

2) Jungkook not knowing what to do when Jimin goes to bath in AYS Jeju

3) Jungkook not even wanting to talk about ms when it was uncertain if their request for companion program will be approved and then there's the same Jungkook talking about their ms in AYS Jeju once their application was approved:

4) Jungkook's words here:

Why would he say this?

Surely he's been on many trips. Even in 2023 apart from those trips for AYS with Jimin he went on other trips with his friends. So why would he say the trips for AYS were the best?

Because it was with Jimin. That's what made it the best experience for him. Traveling and exploring with his bf.

Its for this same reason we get to see a shift in Jungkook's demeanor after the seat switch in MMA 2018.

Jungkook is naturally close with all the BTS members and he has many other friendships outside of BTS but there's no denying there's something unique and deep about the way he interacts with Jimin.

We have seen how even in group settings Jungkook often ends up near Jimin. Whether its at award shows, interviews or casual moments he naturally gravitates to Jimin.

Jungkook is affectionate with all the members but his level of touchiness and physical comfort with Jimin is distinct. He often leans on Jimin, seeks out hugs or casual touches. He is protective around Jimin, loves to cook for him and doesn't hesitate to show his emotions openly when they're together.

If it weren't for Jimin I don't think we would have gotten to see Jungkook's naturally uninhibited, warm, affectionate and romantic side.

Credits to the owner of the video

[kyoshi-lesbians]

katara & sokka are rez kids. aang chooses to be a buddhist monk. ozai owns the factory town. ty lee ran away to the circus. this and more.

i'll never write my play-it-straight modern AU. but i roll it around in my head sometimes.