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abarbaricyalp · 2 days
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Give Me Toothaches Just From Kissing Me
"But March 10th was two weeks ago!" Time doesn't exist. Happy Birthday to Bucky Barnes
The first time Sam had gotten Bucky a birthday cake, it was a joke. It was 2016, just a few scant months before their whole operation went to hell in a handbasket, and Sam had texted Bucky without expectation of a reply. Just a picture of the view from his fancy hotel balcony in Monaco or something, with a fancy chocolate cake on the wide balcony ledge. He was in town for a military tech conference, so his morning jogging schedule had been interrupted. Eating a whole cake on his own over four days would totally be in the realm of possibility. 
An hour later, when Sam was more than half a bottle of wine down and two albums in on a 'crooners' playlist, a shadow peeled itself off of the wall and greeted him with a, "Hey, birdbrain."
Sam, perhaps, did not do any work towards proving that nickname stupid by flailing dramatically and knocking the cake with his forearm. With twin movements, they watched the cake sail to the ground seven stories below and explode into a shower of sugar and cream. Then they turned to look at each other. There were three beats of shocked silence and then they both burst into laughter together.
"That was a really good cake," Sam whined in between the laughter as he leaned into Bucky's space and Bucky wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
"Yeah, I could tell. You already had half."
"I didn't figure you were gonna actually show up," Sam pointed out.
"Why wouldn't I show up? You called."
"That hasn't stopped you before," Sam pointed out. He spent a few extra seconds staring at the mangled cake on the ground before he sat back on the balcony furniture. Bucky followed him down. He kept his arm around Sam until it was unfeasible, and then he let his hand fall to Sam's, fingers tangling together. Sam allowed it because it was his birthday, even though it was vastly out of the range of usual activities for them.
"Well, this time I was promised cake," he added after a few seconds of amiable quiet.
Sam looked over at him to discern if he was serious or not. The grin pulling at his usually severe mouth said all Sam needed to know. They burst into quiet giggles again.
“Good thing I got all the sweetness I need right here,” Bucky eventually conceded. He tucked a knuckle under Sam’s jaw and leaned in to kiss him beneath the moon and the lights and everything but a cake.
. . .
The second time Sam tried to give Bucky cake, it was a year later. It felt almost impossible that the world had slowed down around them long enough to justify an impromptu visit to Wakanda to check in on Bucky.
When their jet had touched down, Bucky was waiting for them with a wide smile that Sam had never really seen before. "Now, I know I told T'Challa not to do anything for my birthday, but he went a step further and got me everything I didn't want," he joked as he and Steve collided in a fierce hug, the kind of thing that always made Sam want to look away.
Then Bucky was extricating himself from Steve's hold so he could crowd around Sam instead, ducking his face down to Sam's neck as he squeezed his waist. If it was supposed to be a hug, it was like no hug Sam had ever had. He could get used to it though. After a few heartbeats shared between them, Sam pinched Bucky's hip and stepped back.
"Hey, old man," he greeted. Bucky grinned at him, boyish and a little smitten. It was a look Sam was more familiar with. "Happy birthday."
"Is that what this is about? You stop paying attention after 90," Bucky joked. For a split second, his fingers lingered over Sam's but he didn't take his hand--Sam didn't take Bucky's either--and he turned back to Steve to amble along together as they instantly fell into a conversation like they hadn't just been apart for the better part of half a year.
By the time they got around to dinner and a small party, Sam felt silly for bringing a dozen store bought cupcakes--hidden away in his room upstairs. The dinner had been more of a feast, despite Bucky's protestations, and the dessert spread that followed was unlike anything Sam had ever seen. No expensive wedding or VA event or Stark fundraiser held a candle to the cakes and cookies and sweet bars that were available. Sam ate more Wakandan desserts than he could name American desserts and each one was better than the last. Bucky, for all his talk of not wanting anything, had at least sampled every chocolate food on the table and gone back for full servings of most of them.
By the time they managed to crawl into Bucky's room--which branched off into Steve and Sam's rooms and connected bathrooms--all of them were groaning about stomach aches and sugar comas. Bucky crawled under his blankets, becoming nothing more than a groaning lump, and Steve settled along the bench at the end of the bed, laying back on it and resting a hand over his stomach, while burping and then apologizing every few minutes.
Sam ducked into his room while the others settled and grabbed the two bags from him and Steve, as well as the plastic carton of cupcakes. It was absolutely not going back with him at this point. His stomach hurt just looking at it.
Back in Bucky's room, he passed off the bounty. Bucky set aside the gift bags, but his eyes gleamed at the sight of more sweets.
"Come on, open the gifts," Sam jostled, sitting on the bed nearest where Bucky was sprawled.
"Nah, I'll look at them later," he said as he peeled the safety seal sticker away from the cupcakes.
"Oh, come on," Steve laughed. "You're still shy?"
"I'm not shy," Bucky snapped. "I'm civilized. Not everyone has to tear into their gifts as soon as they're within reach."
Sam snorted and tried to hide it from Steve.
"I do not do that," Steve objected, but not with much conviction. Actually, he wasn't that bad, Sam had to admit. But clearly Bucky had better stories than Sam.
“What are these?” Bucky asked instead of fighting a battle he knew he’d already won. He took the cupcakes and deftly opened the package without making a cacophonous sound, which meant he knew perfectly well what they were and clearly had had his share of them.
“I know they’re not anything special after that whole show,” Sam acknowledged, waving his hand in the general direction of the kitchens. “But these are packed so full of preservatives, you’ll be able to keep ‘em until his birthday,” he joked with a gesture towards Steve.
“Way to sell ‘em, Wilson,” Bucky chuckled. He was already halfway through one of the cupcakes and he held a blue one out to Steve. It was the middle of march, so most of the predesigned things were spring flavored. This set, blues and greens swirled around, was about as festive as Sam could find. “I love the frosting on these things,” he added around a mouthful of cupcake.
Steve shot Sam a knowing, slightly gloating look. He’d been the one to insist Bucky would enjoy these, no matter what else was going on with the day. Then he shoved the entire cupcake in his mouth just like Bucky because apparently manners hadn’t been invented yet back in the ‘40s. Sam shook his head at their antics, both of them trying to one up the other until almost the whole carton was gone.
Bucky reached over to snag a smear of frosting off of Steve’s cheek and sucked his knuckle into his mouth while Steve cried foul about uneven division of frosting.
“You two are gross,” Sam laughed and made sure his own face was devoid of any frosting before their turned their attention on him.
It didn’t work. By the time Bucky had turned his playful, teasing expression on Sam, his eyes had darkened just a little and one eyebrow rose in a challenge.
“No,” Sam warned, holding up the half of a cupcake still in his hand. “Whatever it is, no.”
But Bucky didn’t listen. He reached out to and shoved the cupcake against Sam’s cheek, frosting first, then pinned him back against the headboard with a broad hand across Sam’s shoulder and collarbone. Sam swallowed thickly, couldn’t help the way he went lax beneath Bucky’s weight as the other man settled across his thighs and leaned forward to lick a stipe of the icing off of Sam’s cheek.
“Stevie, you might wanna think about gettin’ to your own room,” Bucky warned without taking his dark, hungry stare off of Sam.
“Ah, come on. You two are gross,” Steve complained, but he did hustle out of the room pretty quickly. Took a cupcake for the road.
Sam tried to put some structure back in his bones, tried to posture up under Bucky’s hold. He reached up for the frosting, wiped most of it off of himself, and then smeared it across Bucky’s cheek, down to his mouth.
That mouth split into a grin before it was against Sam’s, lips parted, tongue hungry as he licked over Sam’s lips, chasing after the frosting he was depositing.
Sam had to admit: this may be better than the desserts downstairs.
. . .
The next time he actually got to sit still for Bucky’s birthday, it was a few lifetimes later. He had every intention of sleeping in just a little bit, skipping his run to get up before everyone else and make a cake, wake up the house to the smell of chocolate and buttercream, the way his mama used to always.
Instead, he slept in a lot a bit and woke up to the sound of nothing short of chaos in the kitchen. Sarah was out already, he surmised when he finally dragged himself upright and grabbed his phone from where it had fallen the night before to check the time. He and Bucky had gotten in late the night before, stuck in New York doing paperwork after some giant worm appeared out of a sinkhole in New Jersey. He had no idea how Bucky had the energy to get up, much less start making noise in the kitchen.
Groggily, maybe a little grumpily, he pulled on a hoodie and a pair of shorts that wouldn’t aggravate all of the scrapes he was covered in and went out to see what was happening.
Bucky did make it a point to clean up the kitchen any time he was near it. Especially after himself, but even when Sarah cooked. He insisted that she did the cooking, so he should do the cleaning. And somehow this reflected badly on Sam, as far as Sarah was concerned, which seemed unfair. Sam cleaned plenty.
The cleaning never seemed to justify the mess beforehand.
“What in the world is going on here?” Sam asked, leaning on the wide doorjamb that led into the kitchen.
Cass whirled around first, clutching a too large mixing bowl to his chest. “Nothing!” he exclaimed.
AJ, less practiced in the ways of subterfuge, said, “We’re making cupcakes! For Bucky,” he clarified
Bucky, who was remarkably clean for the amount of flour and egg otherwise splashed across the kitchen, grinned at Sam. “I didn’t ask, by the way. They brought it up. I dunno how you and Sarah say no to these little faces.”
AJ preened and gave another spin with the spatula, sent more frosting over the edge of his too-small bowl.
“You guys are working at a disadvantage, trynna listen to Bucky,” Sam said, coming into the kitchen. “I know you know how to use paper towels. Why does the kitchen look like this?”
Cass let out a little noise of guilt, but Bucky saved him from having to answer by producing a roll of paper towel from behind himself. “It’s probably supposed to be my job, but I’m a better taste tester.”
“Uncle Sam, is it true he can’t get salmonella ‘cause of the super soldier serum?” Cass asked.
“Can I have some?” AJ added.
Sam shot Bucky an unimpressed look, but he was nothing but cheeky smiles and not a shred of embarrassment. “I guess we’re gonna find out if it’s true or not,” he said. He snagged the paper towels from Bucky to begin wiping up at least the bits of cracked egg that lined every countertop. “Lucky it’s me in here and not your mama.”
Cass made the same kind of noise again as he searched for a place to put down his mixing bowl. It must be an oldest sibling gene, because Sam remembered Gideon making the exact same kind of sounds. Usually when Sam was about to do something like jump off the stair bannister.
“Mom’s out at the restaurant,” AJ said, unbothered. He was usually unbothered.
“Come here,” Sam said, gesturing more for AJ to make space than for him to actually move closer. “Bucky let you pick the wrong bowl, so you’ve gotta be careful,” he said, holding AJ’s hand as he held onto the spatula. “Go slow, like this.”
He looked up as AJ failed to do that, more frosting going flying, and caught Bucky’s eye. Bucky grinned again, soft and lovely in the mid-morning light coming through the kitchen window.
“A guy could get used to this view,” he said with a warm honey tone.
“A guy will not,” Sam said. “Get to actually cleaning.”
Bucky gave him the laziest of salutes and took the paper towels back.
By the time Sarah came home, with balloons and, hilariously, an ice cream cake, the kitchen was clean and they’d managed to make the best cupcakes Sam had ever had.
. . .
It took finding their own place, saving the world a few hundred times, a lot of missed events, and one perfect spring day for Sam to finally have a cake on the table on Bucky’s birthday. Handmade, from the same recipe he always got for his birthdays as a kid.
“Happy birthday, old man,” he said, kissing Bucky’s temple.
Bucky caught Sam’s hand against his shoulder, tugged him down to sprawl across Bucky’s lap. “Is that what all this is about?” Bucky teased, like he did almost every time Sam tried to do anything for his birthday, no matter how delayed the celebration was.
“Yeah, yeah,” Sam laughed. He dragged the cake closer and lit the handful of candles–he was not putting a hundred candles on a cake–before sitting back a little. “Make a wish before you keel over.”
Bucky laughed, bright and loud, and his arms tightened around Sam. “I haven’t had to wish for anything for a long time, Sammy.” And he kissed Sam without even trying to blow out the candles.
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arthur-r · 1 year
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i’ve gotten really bad over break at falling asleep in a time frame where i can wake up in the morning and function at capacity. but in other news i’ve written a very angry song aimed at my father. so that’s fun
#good morning everybody i tried so hard to go to sleep when i still had a chance at eight hours#i’m still gonna get seven but that’s like. if i fall asleep immediately#anyway my dad deserves to have a song about his problems i focused too much on my mom with hard to break#although actually the core memory that made me want to write that song is my dad calling me a monster when i was like ten#however the song itself is mostly about the way my mom looks at me. where it’s like i’m not human. which is a mom thing#anyway things have been really bad at home lately like i’ve mostly avoided talking about it but literally earlier today i packed a bag to#run away and just kind of changed my mind when i found out my mom was working#(because the type of running away i mean is not as drastic as it necessarily sounds. mostly just wanted to move into the apartment#permanently and im basically going to do that starting next week like i’ll be supposed to go home but i can always decide not to)#anyway do you kiss my mother with that mouth or let your anger rise and cuss her out? do you want to fuck her or do you say fuck her?#either way you fucking overshare!! do you kiss my mother with that mouth? or tell me to shut up and get the fuck out?#and when you tell those jokes do you understand how deep it goes? cant you see i’m broken from the actions that you chose??#i just wanna get out of this i just keep getting sadder!! i’d rather not even exist does my involvement matter??#[/ly] anyway then the song goes on after that for another while. but it’s like. long. so i’ll spare you the rest#came up with the first bit on guitar a few days ago and my dad heard the chords from my room and was like hey that sounds like pink floyd#and i had to be like nope just a chromatic scale. and be glad that i was only whispering the words#anyway if you see me right now no you don’t. and i am so incredibly asleep rn. spooky scary talking in my sleep (/all of this is untrue)#sleeping is like. my favorite hobby. but i am entirely incapable of it when there are this many anxieties floating around my head#it also maybe doesn’t help that i finished the caffeinated lemonade this morning at like 1pm. digging my own hole to lie in here#anyway im going to try and stay after school tomorrow and then go to the apartment from there. rather than see my dad and pretend we’re okay#but hi from after midnight. i miss the days where i could sleep in until ten cause im kind of a night owl i just also really like sleeping#like if i could be blathers from animal crossing and nap for twelve hours getting woke up every once in a while and given a fossil and then#going back to sleep. and then waking up when it’s dark out and every once in a while getting given a fossil. that’s the life#anyway sorry for still being here. i was eyes closed for a while and my do not disturb has been on this whole time. and yet i’m awake#going to post this and go to sleep. though. cause unless we get another snow day in a row then i do have school tomorrow morning#and a snow day would actually be terrible because of. aforementioned not wanting to be at home. and being snowed in is terrifying#ok anyway i really have to go to sleep but yeah. goodnight world wish me luck again with sleeping!!#me. my post. mine.#delete later#ask to tag
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lijojo · 9 months
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genshin sugar daddies
premise: you have seven sugar daddies: one for every day of the week. a bit overwhelming, right? however, you somehow find ways to make time for each and every one of them, no matter how emotionally and physically demanding they are. it's just that, now they don't seem too keen on sharing, and you don't know what to do. (modern au)
tw: nsfw, dark content - minors dni
mondays are always harder in more ways than one. mondays are diluc's days, and that means that you're spending a good portion of your nights at angel's share.
on mondays, it's happy hour. which means that you're sitting at a booth in the corner looking pretty while diluc is tending to his customers. you're more than happy to sit back and relax while you wait for him to finish with work. when the drinks are on the house, you're willing to wait as long as it'll take.
periodically, when he's not busy, however, he'll walk over to you and engage in conversation. you act as a taste-tester for new drinks so he's always asking you if you like them. you two will talk about your day, any interesting events, and so on until diluc is pulled back into work again.
then you're back to fiddling your fingers and watching him work. over time, you've learned that he preferred that you not do anything while you were supposed to be with him. that instead, you fixated your gaze on him while he moved about. sometimes you'll catch him looking at you to see if your eyes are still on him.
even while he's dealing with a certain tone-deaf bard, there's something about the way he looks at you so intently that reminds you of a predator.
when angel's share closes, you're there to keep him company while he cleans up. when he's done, he'll sweep you away back to his manor.
you'll fall onto the sheets as he grinds against you. his shallow breaths brush against your throat. the look he gives you is nothing short of intense.
"everyone at the tavern was looking at you, you know," he mutters, running his fingers down your chest, sinking into your pants. he pulls them down effortlessly along with your panties. "didn't you feel it, darling? their filthy eyes on you. they want to ruin you. everyone wants to ruin you."
he throws your legs over his shoulders, his fingers crawling up your thighs. you jump when he suddenly inserts two fingers into your cunt, scissoring you. his free arm wraps around your leg to keep you locked against him. his eyes are glued onto you as he presses a kiss against your calf.
"but your eyes were on me all night, weren't they. couldn't take your eyes off me, could you. you're mine, dear. do you hear me? you're mine."
you don't overlook how tight his grip is. tight enough to make you wonder if he'll ever let you go. in the morning, he does, but you're scared for the day he wakes up and decides that it's for the last time.
tuesdays aren't as bad. when you’re sore from the night before, childe is there to take you out to meals, shopping, and sightseeing. he's not always available to spend time with you on tuesdays, because of his equally-demanding job and whatnot, but when he is free, he never wastes a second.
or a dollar.
childe smirks smugly from his sea. his posture is lax, one hand lazily tracing circles on the chair's arm while the other comes up to rest under his chin.
"how about you twirl for me, girlie? you look so beautiful."
you giggle, observing yourself in the mirror. "why thank you."
you bask in the way the soft satin kisses your skin. the way your newly-own earrings sparkle under the dressing room's light. just a couple years ago, you could've only dreamed of being dressed so prettily.
"do your side-bitches ever treat you as well as me?"
"childe!" you chide.
he laughs, getting up from his seat. but you both know better than to believe his little chuckle is genuine.
he approaches you, sliding his hands around your waist. tucking your head under his chin, he stares at you through the mirror's reflection.
you don't say anything, and childe doesn't either. it appears he's more than happy to enjoy just standing there. his gaze is glossed over, far away.
the two of you sway side to side for what seems like forever until he decides to say something.
"do they buy you pretty things like i do?"
of course they do, you think. although you spend one-on-one time with each and every one of them, they are all aware of each other. it's only right that they did. it was the first thing you said when you brought the idea up to them, that it wasn't going to be exclusive.
but when you see the way he looks at you, you can't really tell him the truth. not when his focus is redirected from his thoughts to you.
"the things you buy me are a special kind of pretty," you reply.
it seems like that answer is enough for him, because he doesn't say anything else. instead he hums quietly, letting the vibration ripple in the back of your head. he slides his hands down your hips and before you can say anything else, he whips his head around.
"i'll buy these sets." he motions over to the closest clothes rack to an attendant you hadn't noticed. "and that one. and the dress she's wearing. how many colors does this come in, by the way?"
the attendant doesn't hesitate. "five colors, sir. they come in bla—"
"great." he shuffles through his pocket to pull out a black card. "pack them up, we won't be here any longer," he retorts.
the attendant looks ecstatic, quickly shuffling out of the dressing rooms towards the cash register with newfound glee.
"childe," you whine. "i don't think these will fit in my closet."
his hands crawl lower, his finger hovering over your clit. "then they'll fit in mine. come over any time of the week when you want to wear one of my special pretty things."
your breath hitches as he rubs slow circles on your clit. he pushes the two of you back into the dressing room and closes the curtains.
"what are you doing, she'll be back any second—"
he kisses the corner of your jaw, pressing his lips close to your ear. "no worries. if there's one thing i'm sure about, it's that no one undresses you faster than i do."
wednesday is when usually everything calms down. kazuha will typically invite you to a new park, scenic route, or gallery. together, you'll write haikus, sonnets, and limericks together. some hours you'll just sit in silence, putting pen to paper. and when the sun goes down you'll exchange poetry.
out of the seven men, kazuha probably scares you the most. he was the first person you decided to do this whole ordeal with, after all. and since he's known you the longest, he also knows about your circumstances more than others. maybe that's why he's so focused on treating you as if you were a fragile cherry blossom petal. his touches feel like ghosts, running down your forearm as he presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek.
in exchange for his protection, his money, and his care, you give him honeyed words. you act as his muse for when he's hit a creative block. you're there to listen to him read out verses when the wind can't bear the strength to carry them. you listen to his grief about his best friend, his loneliness when he was forced to leave his home country. as someone many of the locals looked to for wisdom, he too carried the emotional burdens of being someone's rock. emotional burdens that he let onto you (whether purposefully or not, you're unsure). but you listen anyway, hearing him talk about days of poverty, where sometimes he had to worry about things to eat, or how to get proper healthcare.
you can't lie and say you're always stable enough to hear some of the things he has to say, but you try.
even if you sometimes feel like you can't take it, you just smile and squeeze his hand tighter like you're supposed to. sometimes your mind will go on autopilot, and sometimes you'll stand up on the grounds of needing to go to the bathroom. but at the end of the day, this is what you signed up for. this. making men happy so that you yourself won't have to worry about your endless debt.
you peer over your notebook to see kazuha immersed in his own writing. but instead of his usual peaceful expression, he looks somber. his hands won't leave the paper, his eyes glued onto the words that he's drawn onto the pages.
"what's got you so worked up?" you ask curiously. "is it something new?"
it's like your voice snaps him out of his trance. he blinks, looking up at you. there's a smile you know all too well on his lips. "yeah, i suppose you could call it that."
"could i look at it? i want to see what's got you so focused like that."
his lips press into a straight line. "hmmm, maybe later."
his words catch you off-guard. usually he's the one who's eager to share his work, regardless of the quality. "oh? is it something you want to keep secret?"
he doesn't many any hint of an answer. instead, he puts down his pen and stares at the ground in contemplation. he's picking and choosing what words to say.
"i could protect you," he says, shuffling his papers to the side. you turn to him, curious. his expression slowly hardens. "by myself, i mean. i could take care of you."
"kazu—"
"i have the means to make a living for the both of us. i could sell more of my poetry, i know they'll sell well—"
"where is this coming from?" you move closer to him, brushing his hair aside. "kazu, are you worried about something?"
there's something that's stopping him from saying anything. his fingers intertwine with yours, his thumb caressing the back of your hand.
he purses his lips, before turning away and sighing. "no, not really."
after that, he doesn't say anything else. the two of you bask in silence once again. even though you're used to the quiet, there's something deep down in you that feels nervous. like something in the atmosphere changed. there's a sudden resolved glint in his eye as he get backs to writing so diligently on a piece of paper he won't let you read.
after all these days spent talking about himself, somehow you're scared for the day he suddenly decides to stop.
on thursdays you're usually at tighnari's greenhouse, watching him take notes of other plants while you twiddle your thumbs. once in a while, he'll begin rambling about the plants—what kind of species they are, how rare, their medicinal properties, and the like.
you're more of a companion, than anything. someone who can make his days a little less lonelier. and you appreciate it. it's much more tranquil with him. you can enjoy his sharp quips, especially when cyno comes to visit.
his sex-drive is relatively normal, if not a little below average. just like wednesday, you also expect thursday to be a typical rest day.
except when spring comes.
when spring comes, your routine get a little wonky. for one week, at least. because that's when tighnari's heat hits him like a fucking monsoon.
you can already tell when it's coming when he begins to hover closer to you. whenever you take your hand out to do anything, even the slightest gesture, he's already taking it and dragging it towards his sensitive ears.
the moment you've made your plans set to 'take the week off' and help him out, he's already on you, face pressed into your neck as if it's his oasis.
as you can tell, he takes this week very seriously.
"i bet—shit—those other fucks don't get to hold you as long as i do," he lets out as he fucks into you like there's no tomorrow. his hands hold onto your waist like he owns it, pressing sloppy kisses down your spine. "looking so pretty for me. i wonder what they'd say if you got pregnant with my babies. you'd be so much more beautiful plump with my kids. is that what you want huh? to make them angry with my cum stuffed in your gorgeous pussy?"
some days you almost can't believe how uncharacteristically aggressive he is. he dicks you down like he's trying to imprint his shape into the core of your body so that none of the others can fit inside.
and when he cums, he'll take whatever unfortunate portions slip out and smear it all over your chest. especially where your heart is.
then the process starts all over again.
when it's over, he'll spoon you. as if he didn't almost fuck you to death. his touch is tender, like a ghost's hovering over your skin.
"why won't you leave them all for me?"
you shift a little to look at him and kiss him softy, sweetly, on the line of his jaw. "oh, nari, you know i can't."
his ears droop at your words. "you can't, or you won't."
his words make you freeze a bit.
you think back to last week, and the week before, and the one before that. you think about why you started selling your services in the first place, the endless debt you used to be in, and the progression of the relationship between all seven of your...contacts. even if you wanted to, you don't think you could back out if you tried. you've dug a hole for yourself. one deep enough to cause some sort of disruption if you ever decided to stop digging.
so you just hum. "you know how much i love routine."
as some sort of apology, you give him and open-mouthed kiss, one he's almost desperate to return. he moans, hands cupping your face to bring you closer to him.
you're well unaware how much your words have an impact him.
at the end of the week, all al-haitham wants to do is unwind. it's the only logical thing to do. no late-night drinks with the colleagues, no stressful trips to some tourist trap. on fridays, al-haitham comes home to a meal made with love.
when al-haitham's at work during the day, you're usually running your actual errands. it's when you have time to make those one-in-a-blue-moon visits to your actual home, although it's getting harder to call it that.
when it gets to the late-afternoon, you'll usually head to al-haitham's place to start cooking. if you didn't know how to cook before, you do now. every ingredient is handled with care, measured meticulously just as you knew he preferred.
and when he gets home, tired and stressed out, you're there to welcome him with a chaste kiss on the cheek.
during dinner, sometimes he'll talk to you about work or the latest research he'd gotten himself immersed with. in return, you tell him about some of your childhood memories. your likes, your dislikes, what used to be your hobbies. you do your best to keep your personal matters out of the conversation, no matter how many times he tries to pry into your private life.
sometimes dinners feel like a full on investigation, the way he keeps greeding for more information about you. he watches you eat with calculating eyes. you pretend to pay no mind to it.
in the beginning, kaveh used to join you for dinners. you always liked the guy, the way he bickered with al-haitham and riled him up. but now you've begun to see less of him, as if he never comes home on fridays at all.
after dinner, there are two different outcomes depending on his mood:
outcome one is that you'll spend the rest of the night curling up on his couch, the both of you immersed in your own books. al-haitham leans on your shoulder as he flips through the pages as if they're nothing. you can't help but feel ticklish whenever his hair brushes against your jaw.
somewhere in the middle, he'll move one hand to start fidgeting with the end of your shirt, sometimes crawling underneath to caress your sides.
outcome two is less quiet. the moment he gets home with that solemn face, you know it's coming. his voice is huskier, his responses shorter. it's usually a result of an impending deadline, colleagues being more peskier than usual.
the moment you two are done with dishes, he gingerly takes your hand and leads you up to the bedroom.
his kisses tastes like green tea and dinner. his hands run up and down your torso, trying to imprint the feel of your skin into every inch of your brain. you whimper when his thumbs press softly into your nipples, rolling them around as they harden.
your hands find purchase on his collar, tugging him impossibly close. he groans at the contact.
you let out a yelp when your back suddenly falls onto the bed. your hands are pressed onto the sheets, al-haitham's fingers encircling your wrists. his knee nudges your legs further apart, rubbing at your clit.
"don't look at the ceiling, dear, look at me," he breathes out, his hands leaving your nipples to gently guide your face towards. "that's it. good girl. just me. just look at me. only me."
he smiles.
"now, let me do god's work on your divine body."
saturdays with ayato can sometimes get hectic. some saturdays you're out getting bubble tea together and enjoying the city, and other saturdays you're hurrying to some publicitiy event hosted by the kamisato clan.
on those type of days, you can expect to wear gowns layered with shiny nylon tulle fabric. it's not as revealing as what you'd try on in dressing rooms with childe. in fact, it's a bit more modest.
today you're wearing a light-blue gown to match with ayato. you turn around to get a good look at the cute bow attached at your waist, your diamond encrusted earrings swaying along with you.
it's as if you've put on another costume. another front to wear for the night.
ayato enters the room just shortly after. in his hands is a diamond necklace to match with your stunning earrings. small smile falls upon his lips when he clasps it on.
"you're beautiful," he mumbles. you giggle when he kisses you square on the lips, licking away the tinted color.
"ayato," you press in-between kisses. you place a hand on his chest to gently push him away. "you're going to ruin my lipstick."
he pulls away with a cheeky smile, taking your wrists to wrap around his neck. "you can always put on some more later."
you pout but kiss him regardless. he tightens his hold on you in reaction, moaning into your mouth.
at these kinds of events, you're there as his plus-one. just so that other officials could stop introducing girls to him when he clearly wasn't interested in them. it'd be arguable to say that you might even be there to make the events a little less intolerable.
somewhere along the lines, you'd sleep with him in addition to being his arm candy at parties. sometimes even before: you two rushing to put on your formal attires and fix your hair minutes before the event started.
but beyond that, you started to get to know him better. he'd whisper into your ear about funny stories relating to the guests as you meet them. sometimes you'd run away in the middle of the party to binge out on the food and talk about your other interests. surprisingly, he doesn't talk about the politics behind his duties as the head of the kamisato family. not as much as you expected, at least.
instead he talks about his dreams for a family. how many kids, what their names would be, how he'd raise them. and as he talked, he'd give you this heavy gaze that you're not sure what to do with. as if he was expecting something from you.
you're beginning to believe that ayato has somehow confused contractual girlfriend with actual girlfriend.
when you had met ayaka months ago, ayato introduced you as his girlfriend. you didn't attempt to correct him—that's ayato's business. not your's. but when you're expecting ayato to come clean to his dearest sister, you're sorely mistaken.
instead, while he kisses your lips so hungrily, he subtly slips a diamond ring onto your finger.
sundays are usually kaeya's days off. although the cavalry captain's duties are seemingly never endless, he takes the day off to take a breather.
in other words, he sees you.
at first, it was just candlelit dinners. he'd walk in with a bouquet of roses, complimenting your dress and staring at you as if he was undressing you with his eyes. he'd take you to somewhere fancy, pull out the chair for you and sweet-talk you all through the night.
conversations were fun with him. you didn't have to think much at all, not about how to pay the bills, the six men in your life who seemingly began to want yours to only revolve around theirs, or being someone your not.
kaeya was probably the only one who you felt you could be comfortable with. he made you laugh, he'd tell all sorts of interesting stories, and he never made the silence feel awkward.
at least, that's how you used to be.
you see, usually after these candlelit dinners you'd both go back to his place, with him ripping off your clothes the moment the door closed. but as of recently, he's been asking to come over to your place instead more often. almost too often.
and that's not the only thing that's changed.
the sex used to be rough. heated. almost as if he was consumed by all of his pent-up sexual frustration and was only focused on getting off. he'd slurp your cunt like a man starved but he'd still rail you as if that's the only thing he cared about.
but as time passed, he's been getting more and more...sensual. the sex is much more slower. personal, almost.
vulnerable.
after dinner, he slowly slips off your clothing. one article after another, until your left in your underwear. he first kisses you on the mouth, then your neck, then your chest, then your stomach. slowly, he makes a trail of them down your body, as if no skin deserved to be left untouched.
although you made a rule that no one could leave your marks on you, it doesn't mean he doesn't try. as he kisses your lower lips, sometimes he'll attempt to leave marks close to your clit. if you're not careful, diluc will find it tomorrow.
his thrusts were always deep, but now that he's much more purposeful about it. it's rhythmic, as if he's trying to reach a new spot inside you. somewhere no one's touched.
the pillow-talks are much more longer as well. he holds you tighter now, wrapping his arms around your hips as he tangles his legs with yours.
instead of ranting on about the silly incidents he witnessed on the job earlier in the week, he talks about his feelings. towards you. towards diluc. towards himself. some nights you can handle it, some nights are too much.
but you can't say anything. not when he's holding onto you like you’re his lifeline. not when he helps you pay off your debt. and so you let his raspy voice whisper in your ear as he combs his fingers through your hair. you listen to him mumble sweet-nothings.
you're not sure if you like the adoring look he gives you as you drift off to sleep.
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sweatervest-obsessed · 3 months
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Unexpected Visitor
Pairing: Spencer Reid x G!n Reader
WC: 788
A/N: A lil Spencer Xmas Blurb while I figure my shit out. Also! I'm imagining older seasons Spencer for this one.
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"Hi! I'm, uh, so sorry to bug you but, um, do you know where Spe--Doctor Reid's desk is? Or, really, where D-Doctor Reid is?" .
Derek Morgan had to get his shit together because his jaw almost dropped when you walked in. What was some hot piece of ass doing, dressed like that, looking for Boy Genius.
He jumped up from his chair and strolled over to where you had stopped Garcia, who was just as flabbergasted as he was. "Reid is currently in a meeting sweetheart--may I ask what you, uh, want with him?"
You raised your eyebrows at the 'sweetheart', but smiled anyways. "He was supposed to be home about an hour ago and he wasn't answering his phone, so instead of panicking, because I know what you do for work, I wanted to come in and check before I lost my shit."
"Home?" Garcia squeaked out, still baffafled by how gorgeous you looked. It was like you were sent straight from heaven, a literal vision.
You nodded and tilted your head, slightly confused. "Y-Yeah...I'm sorry why is that---"
"We just didn't know Reid was living with anyone, let alone seeing someone."
"Ah." You nodded. "He's private like that, isn't he." Your smile warmed the two of them, and you shifted the coat from one arm to the other.
"y/n?"
You turned your head towards the back of the bullpen, and Spencer was walking out of Hatch's office. "What are you doing here?"
"Being introduced to your friends and coworkers since you haven't."
Spencer bit the inside of his cheeks and walked over to you both, placing his hand on the small of your back. You felt how tense he was.
"I'm here because our reservation is in twenty minutes and you said you'd be home over an hour ago." You looked at Spencer, whose eyes went a little wide.
"Shit. I-I didn't realize what time it was---"
"I have your suit in the car, and this is why I made the reservation for eight pm, instead of Seven."
"And this is why I love you." Spencer kissed your head and rushed over to his desk, scrambling to grab all of his papers and his bag and his coat and his scarf and his--
"Hi Y/n." Spencer looked up at the mention of your name, pausing in his frantic nature.
"Hi Aaron." You gave him a quick hug, but a bright smile. "How are you?"
"Well." He laughed a little. "I'd be better if we didn't have to work the day before Christmas Eve since I still need to wrap all of Jack's presents still."
"Oh how is Jack!"
"He's doing well. finally starting to enjoy reading, no thanks to you."
You laughed at his joke, all the while Derek and Garcia just shared an incredulous look. How the hell did you know Hotch? Jack?!? Why does Jack's reading habits connect to you--
"Ready sweetheart?" Spencer appeared at your side and you nodded. "It was lovely to see you Aaron. I'll stop by some time tomorrow to drop off Jack's gifts as well as yours. I got it when Spence I and went to Paris last month. I think you'll enjoy it!"
"That's why you weren't here for two weeks?" Penelope's jaw was on the floor. "I didn't take you to be a Parisian man Doctor Reid."
"W-Well, um--"
"It was for my birthday. My choice. I love art and museums so it made sense. Well, it was lovely to meet you all but we have a reservation to get to." You gave them all a quick smile before taking Spencer's hand and walking towards the elevator, your shoes clicking on the floor with every step you took.
"How long have the two of them been together?" Morgan turned to Hotch after you both had gotten in the elevator.
"I think today is their two year anniversary."
"TWO YEARS." Garcia clutched her hypothetical pearls. "How have I not known? How have WE not known?"
"He's private, and...well. You know Y/n."
"No we clearly do not know Hotch."
Hotch gave them a little smirk and a shrug. "Merry Christmas guys. I'll see you on the twenty-seventh."
As Hotch walked away, Garcia and Morgan just stared at one another. "So we're..."
"Going to spend then next ten minutes in my office finding everything out about this mystery person Spencer has been apparently dating for two years?"
"You read my mind mama. A little Christmas snooping never hurt anyone..."
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reginaofdoctorwho · 1 year
Text
i am going to Fucking Scream
#>:( i guess i like him now this sucks#also i already sent him a friend playlist with songs that are like ''snap out of ur stupid crush buddy''#and ''not gonna date'' songs which is like funny i guess but >:(#also i sent him the ''how do you get beautiful women to smoke weed with you in seven words'' post and based on his reaction#he seems still into me?? like even included a fuckin ;)#also i slid down an entire fuckin hill tonight in the dark because all the snow froze solid and turned to very painful ice#it took an HOUR to get back in my house#with help from my mom and brother who had to tie a rope around a tree stump and throw it down#also the sheep were ALSO skidding on the ice which was concerning because they're dumb enough to break legs doing that#i used more muscles trying to move in my own backyard without hitting a wild animal that i saw a couple days ago or a tree#than i have in the fucking WEEKS i have done of ballet classes#but back to the guy! he's also got a date coming up with a goth chick that used to do ballet#how the FUCK am i supposed to compete with that? does NOT help that i also started nerding out about how strong ballerinas get#like i KNOW we would not work out for multiple reasons one of which i'm still catholic but also like. i'm afraid of men ig?#and i didn't think it was a big thing but w the anniversary last week i was like 'i must be feeling like shit for NO REASON#IT CAN'T HAVE BEEN THAT BAD I'LL READ THE OLD MESSAGES TO CONFIRM IT WASN'T' uh besties it was WORSE#and like i know he's into consent and shit (which is SO weird to say because everyone should be) but like. smsjskdjdhfk the fuck#and i can't just SAY THAT#and it's not like w people you've been gay w since high school#because then u can be like 'hey i like u i know u like me but i don't wanna do anything about it'#and like you'll both be sad but also get it
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thef1diary · 2 months
Text
Little Big Fan | Three
— Little Big Race
Series Masterlist
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wc: 2.4k
Usually, you had a hard time waking your daughter up, and unfortunately she got that habit from you. It was something your mother laughed at a lot whenever you told her about it. She would always say, "you were a troublesome child so now you have a troublesome child but she's cuter."
Today was a different story, Isabella was the one waking you up. "Mama, mama, mama, wake up, we have to see Maxy race today!" She jumped up and down on the bed even though you've tried to tell her not to.
Groaning, you peeked out the blanket to see the biggest toothy smile on your daughter's face and it should've been enough to wake you up. You looked over and saw the time, it was way too early for her to be this energetic. You still have no idea how she musters up so much energy in her little body.
"Bella, qualifying is seven hours away, let's sleep a little longer?" You asked and easily wrapped your arms around your little one. Covering her in the blanket, you hoped to at least get another hour of sleep.
It took her less than two minutes to fall back asleep in her mother's arms. That habit, was from her father who never had an issue of being unable to sleep quickly.
The hour passed by rather quickly, and this time Isabella woke up as soon as she felt you getting off the bed. The giddy excitement was still there and rightfully so but it was a little calmer than an hour ago.
Since you only had to order room service instead of cooking breakfast, the morning was a lot less stressful for you. As soon as Isabella was finished eating breakfast, she ran to her little suitcase and took out her outfit for the day.
Once you helped her change, your little girl was decked in a blue dress with red glittery clips in her hair according to her wishes, her reason being, "Maxy always wears red and blue."
Soon enough, you two were enroute towards the track. You had gotten your passes when you first checked in at the hotel because Max had dropped them off before you arrived.
It was simple enough finding your way towards the entrance, but it was a whole different story after. There were so many people, albeit less than outside, and they all looked like they knew where they were going.
Holding Isabella's hand tightly, you continued walking in hopes to figure out where you're supposed to go. "Where's Max, mama?" Your daughter asked but you didn't have an exact answer.
"Hopefully somewhere around here, angel." You contemplated calling him, unsure whether or not he'd be busy. But then again, if he is then he won't pickup so there was no harm in trying.
Keeping your gaze on Isabella, you called him. After two rings, he picked up, "Hi, I was just about to call you, are you here?" You could hear him panting on the other end as if he ran to pick up your call, but you decided not to comment on it.
"Yeah, I don't know exactly where we are though," He laughed on the other end, "it's okay, just describe the area and I'll come find you." 
You did as he instructed and Max was walking towards you within three minutes. However, he was not alone, there was another man in different coloured teamwear walking next to him. 
Isabella's smile grew when she spotted Max but since you were holding her hand, she couldn't run towards him. Max crouched down and held his hand up so Isabella could give him a high-five. 
The man standing next to him the same, and Isabella was mesmerized, gasping, "Daniel Ricciardo." She probably butchered the pronunciation of his surname but he didn't seem to mind.
Max shook his head, "no, Isabella, he's Daniel Avocado." The comment made Daniel burst out laughing, and you couldn't help but join in. 
The sound of your laugh directed Max's gaze towards you and once it was on you, it was stuck there. Even when Daniel nudged him and asked, "introductions?" 
A few seconds passed by without Max saying anything so to save him from further embarrassment, Daniel decided to take the liberty of introductions. Once you introduced yourself to him, Daniel had a knowing smile on his face. 
"So you're the one who's daughter ran away because of Max," he chuckled while your cheeks grew red in embarrassment, "unfortunately yes, how did you hear about that?" You asked, having an idea that Max probably told him.
But the answer Daniel gave you was surprising, "I've heard the story around ten times so far since someone keeps bringing you up in conversations." 
Max's eyes widened but you laughed, "is that so? Well Isabella hasn't stopped talking about Max either." 
You and Daniel collectively looked at Isabella who was still starstruck by not one but two drivers, the shock of being in the paddock finally catching up to her. Then the two of you looked at Max, who was also unusually quiet according to Daniel, and burst out laughing once again.
"Looks like both of them had too much to say and now it's not enough," Daniel commented and you agreed with a nod. "Your daughter is adorable by the way," he added to fill the silence and nudged Max harshly when you looked at her. 
"How about I show you around?" Max finally found his words, and you looked at him skeptically, "I don't want to take up your time if you have something else to do." 
"I've got some time, plus it would be very unfair if you came all the way here and I didn't spend time with you and Isabella." Max didn't wait for a response from you, instead turning his gaze towards your little one, "right?" 
Isabella gave him a sharp nod, and you couldn't help but smile as you saw the two interact. "Alright then, lead the way." 
It took him thirty minutes to show you around the paddock, but he mainly focused on the RedBull Energy Center, as that was where all the driver's guests could relax and enjoy some team catered meals.
Isabella asked him all sorts of questions, and Max even stopped for an extra minute to grab some noise cancelling earmuffs for her little ears. 
Your eyes widened when he placed them on her head, mentally cursing at the fact that out of all the things you could've forgotten, it was the headphones. Once again, before you could hide your expression, Max noticed it and muttered, "it's okay, that's why we have them here." 
He explained that since it was his home grand prix—something you didn't know until he mentioned it—most of the fans were rooting for him. 
Then, Max was approached by someone from his team, telling him that he was needed back in the garage. The rest of the day passed by quite fast. You watched qualifying from the hospitality as per Max's suggestions. 
As the session continued, you slowly understood some of the terminology, but it would still take a few more races to fully understand what is going on. On the other hand, Isabella clapped happily every time Max's RedBull passed by, and you even joined her after a few times. 
It is race day. You and Isabella were back in the paddock and this time you had figured out where to go. You were proud of yourself for navigating the area after only being shown around once. You reached later than you hoped due to the traffic, but fortunately, there was still a while before the race began.
Max had told you to meet him near the garages and when you neared them, you could see him speaking expressively to a small group of people. Based on their outfits, you knew they were drivers. The only one you remembered other than Max was Daniel, as you've met him yesterday. 
"Mama, walk faster," your daughter urged, her pace fastened as soon as she spotted Max, tugging you along. You were glad that she didn't leave your hand. 
"Maxy!" Your daughter cheered as soon as she was in hearing range of the drivers. They all collectively turned towards the noise, Max's face lighting up as soon as his gaze landed on you two. 
"Isabella!" Max cheered with the same amount of energy, and you let go of your daughter's hand so she could run up to him. 
He greeted you as well, taking a step closer to you and with a sheepish smile on his face he spoke, "I got something for her." Max said quietly enough so Isabella didn't hear him, since he wanted your approval first before he revealed his surprise. 
You nodded, encouraging him and with a big smile he placed a cap on Isabella's head, surprising her. She took it off to look at it and when she saw his driver's number on the cap, she gasped.
Then, she placed it back on her head and turned to look at you, "mama, look!" You chuckled, "very nice, what do you say, angel?" 
Isabella didn't think twice before hugging him, "thank you, thank you, thank you!" 
Max held out another cap for you, and before you could say anything he added, "I need everyone to know who you're cheering for." Deciding to tease him you responded, "what if I want to cheer for Daniel?" 
You saw his smile drop, making you break out into a smile to let him know you were just joking. You pointed to the number on the cap, "number 1 driver, yeah,” you stated, the implication of him being the number one driver both literally and figuratively was heard loud and clear.  
"Mama," Isabella grabbed your attention, pointing at the driver in a red suit that you've yet to be introduced to. "Lightning McQueen," she added, making the group of drivers around you laugh at her words. 
Charles pointed at himself, "me?" he looked at you for an answer and you nodded, "yeah, can you really blame her though, you're all decked out in red." 
As if you were lying, he looked down and then shrugged, "fair." 
Isabella was content with being the center of attention between the drivers that you now know the names of; Charles, Lando, Alex, and George.
Max pulled you aside. "I wanted to ask you this yesterday but we didn't have time. Do you think Isabella would like it if I let her sit inside my car?" 
Your mouth quite literally dropped open, and you had to blink a few times as if it would make you understand his words better. "Huh?" is all that left your mouth. 
"My car? Is she going to like it?" He asked again and you nodded, "she would love that, are you even allowed to do that?" 
He chuckled at your question, "it's my car, I think I can do anything I want with it." 
Before he could turn around to speak to Isabella, you reached for his hand to stop him, "Max, you have no idea how much this would mean to her." He nodded in understanding, "make sure to take lots of pictures." 
You heard her squeal in excitement as soon as Max asked the question, watching her eagerly nod. You followed them into the garage, heart warming at how Max held Isabella's hand the entire time. 
With the way Isabella hasn't stopped smiling, you would think her smile was permanently stuck on her face. You took loads of pictures, a few even with Max's helmet on her head that was way too big for her. 
Even the team principal, Christian Horner, stopped for a moment to look at the joy on both Isabella and Max's face. It would make one think that it was Max’s first time around a F1 car as well.
By the time the race started, Isabella's energy had significantly drained, but she remained awake for the entirety of the race. Watching the race from the garage unlocked a different joy on her face, and she would cheer when Max came into the pits for fresher tyres. 
As soon as her eyes drooped, something would occur in the race that would cause her to brighten up again. Max barely had to overtake as he started off in pole position, only needing to pass the other drivers after coming out of the pitlane. 
Just like Isabella, your eyes didn't waver away from the race despite how fast your heart was beating due to nervousness about the drivers' speeds. 
You knew they were the best of the best, very professional, but ever since you've gotten to know them personally, you couldn't help but worry for them. Especially Max. 
Turns out, you didn't have to worry too much as Max crossed the finish line first, winning the race in front of his home crowd. 
Everything after that was a blur. You just remember Christian leading you towards the crowd underneath the podium, ensuring that no one had the audacity to push or shove you. Isabella was safely in your arms, watching the celebrations with wide but sleepy eyes. 
As soon as she saw the trophy being handed to Max, she rested her head on your shoulder and was out like a light. 
Once the champagne was sprayed, you made your way through the crowd, walking towards the exit. Your daughter was sound asleep and you didn't want the noise waking her up and disturbing her much needed rest. 
Other than the one extra hour of rest in the morning, she hadn't taken any naps since she was mesmerized by everything around her. Now, since it was all over, all you focused on was getting back to the hotel. 
As soon as Isabella was comfortably in bed, you decided to take a shower to wash away all the built up and dried sweat. While you were busy, your phone rang with two calls, both from Max, that were inevitably sent to voicemail. 
After your shower, you ordered some food and turned on the tv in the other room. Around fifteen minutes went by before there was a knock on your door. Thinking it was room service with your dinner, you opened it without checking who it really was.
Max was stood on the other side, changed out of his race suit but still in a Redbull polo.
Taglist: (let me know if you want to be added or removed) @xjval @mrsmaybank13 @cherry-piee @urfavnoirette @solphin @burningcupcakefire @nessacarty1 @dreamsarebig @omgsuperstarg @fanficweasley @redbullgirly @llando4norris @minskzy @wonnou @randomgirlnumber13 @dark-night-sky-99 @chanshintien @leilanixx @gisellesprettylies @peachiicherries @monsieurbacteria6 @67-angelofthelordme-67 @arian-directioner @loliaa @distancedss @bache3 @morenofilm @sachaa-ff @lighttsoutlewis @teamnovalak @casperlikej @lexiecamposv @sadg3
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peachesofteal · 3 months
Text
Simple Math / Part Six
Simple Math masterlist
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Ghost/Soap/female reader 4k words - AO3 Warnings - tags: 18+ MDNI. No smut but this fic contains mature themes. Nurse reader, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies. Reference to past domestic violence. Angst. Alcohol. Crying, anxiety, panic. Johnny in distress. Johnny is still a menace. Soft dads. POV switches. Note: Safe sleep for infants always. I do not endorse sleeping with your baby in your bed. This is a fic not real life. Simon does some digging.
“Shhh now, ye’re alright.”
Johnny coos, Penny cradled up to his chest. He’s not wearing a shirt, eyes still half sealed shut with sleep, and she squalls in his arms, screaming as loud as her little lungs will allow. “What is it, mah wee lamb? Are ye hungry? Do ye need a change?” He checks her nappy, efficiently looking for a mess or something to clean up and is nearly disappointed when he finds her still dry. If it’s not her nappy, then maybe her stomach? Could she be hungry again? He thumbs through the notes on his phone to find Simon’s last entry: 23:20 – 50 ML. 
That was only an hour ago. 
He frowns, walking in a circle, bouncing her gently, trying to settle her back to sleep. She’s so tiny, and still has grown so much in just the short time since they brought her home. It amazes him. It terrifies him. 
“What is it, sweet bairn? What’s got ye all upset?” He touches his lips to softest skin he’s ever felt, his thumb trying to swipe away the tracks of tears on her cheeks. “Please dinnae cry. I-“ 
“You okay?” Simon clears his throat behind him, and Johnny tenses. 
“We’re fine. Ye’re supposed to be sleepin’.” 
“Heard the two of you in here fussing. Thought I could help.” Simon’s trying to be supportive, trying to be a good partner, Johnny knows, but all he can feel is irritation, a defensive reaction making his hackles rise. 
It’s not fair. He’s so good at it. He’s a natural. And Johnny… Johnny feels like he’s failing his own kid, when she’s not even a month old yet. 
“I dinnae need-“ 
“Hey.” Simon touches his elbow, and then his chin, tilting his face upwards. “I know you don’t, love. You’re doing a great job. It’s not your fault she’s having a rough go.” He soothes him, fingers kneading into the top of his spine, squeezing the nape of his neck and pulling him into his arms. Penny is still crying, but softer now, a low-pitched tone of misery that makes his heart ache, and he feels so overwhelmed, so helpless, staring down at her as she tries desperately to tell him what's wrong, the only way she knows how. He rests his cheek against Simon’s chest, melting into his hold, letting him wrap his arms all way around his waist. 
“She hates me.” Johnny grumbles, and Simon presses his mouth to Johnny’s temple in short, succinct kisses. 
“She doesn’t. She’s brand new. She can’t hate anything, yet, and certainly not her Da.” He strokes her cheek. “Let’s bring her to bed, see if we can get her down and then one of us can put her back in the crib, alright?” Johnny sighs. 
“Alright.” 
“What’re you doing after this?”
“Going to bed?” What else would you be doing?
“I’m thinking about going to Jackie’s for a drink… wanna come?” Nia untucks her scrubs, pulling the top up over her head.
“Jackie’s, huh?” You chew on your lip. You shouldn’t. You really, really shouldn’t. But… Jackie’s is a dive. It’s dark, and dingy, with black walls, black floors, no window in sight. And... it’s a hospital haunt. 
“It’s my birthday.” She whispers, casting a glance around the rest of the room. “I’m not… it’s not a thing, I just want to go, have a few to celebrate.” You take a deep breath. “Please?” She tacks on at the end, and your shoulders dip down in defeat.
“Okay. One. And then I gotta go.”
“Yes!” She cheers, excitement smashing her palms together.
Nothing like a seven am beer. 
Jackie’s is a distinct place. It’s one of the only twenty-four-hour liquor licenses left in the city, or so you’ve been told, and has been frequented by hospital staff for decades. It’s dart boards and dark wood floors, cheap beer and rail vodka, a worn to hell pool table, and an old, disabled juke box that someone broke intentionally, years ago. It’s an institution, and reminds you of some old places you used to frequent, when you weren’t… who you are now. Years ago, before, you used to love a good dive bar. Didn’t mind the way the floor stuck to your feet, and you considered yourself nearly tactical at darts. It was a source of pride, the accuracy, the rate at which you could make a bullseye, even when you were a few sheets to the wind.
“Coulda been a surgeon.” You’d tease, a smirk growing across your boyfriend’s face.
“If you were a surgeon, sugar, who’d be at home waitin’ for me after work?” He’d push back, coating the warning in an adoration, giving whoever was undoubtedly watching a slick smile before snaking an arm around your waist and tugging you close. “You don’t need to be surgeon. You don’t even need to work. You have me.” 
You thought you knew, then. Knew how to handle it, how to navigate the ever-present, ever-growing threat… but you were wrong.
You were so, so wrong.
“So, heard there’s a spot opening up on days.” Nia chucks her purse at the bar top, climbing onto the stool next to you. “You’ve got the seniority… you givin’ it any thought?” The bartender walks by with a hello, and you nod at him.
“Old Speck please. And no, I like nights.” She raises an eyebrow.
“Didn’t know Americans liked Old Speck.”
“We have it in the states. I didn’t live under a rock.” You quip, and she laughs before ordering her own poison, a choice that makes your own eyebrows shoot up in question. “Vodka on the rocks?”
“I’m a straight to the point kind of girl.” She explains. “So, no days?”
“No days. You?”
“I might. Night shift is kicking my ass.” She complains. “Don’t even know what day it is half the time. My rhythm is off.”
“You need like, at least six months to fully adjust.” You put a note down in exchange for your beer, and then the bartender scuttles away, distracted by some insistent woman at the other end of the bar.
“Six months?!” You’re about to launch into your spiel about how it’s not that bad when your phone vibrates in your pocket.
>Make it home from work alright? 
>It’s Johnny, by the way :) 
The two texts are the start of a new group chat with your number, Johnny’s number and the number you put in your contacts just yesterday… Simon’s. Your head jerks back on instinct, confused.
“You okay?” Nia asks, and you nod.
“Yeah, fine just…uh-“ She peeks over your arm, and giggles.
“Is that your patient? Two sixty-eight?”
“What?”
“Your patient. The military hottie. The one that’s always lookin’ at your bum.” Your face burns, and she tsks. “Ah, don’t be embarrassed. He’s smokin’. Wish he looked at me the way he looks at you.” You’re surprised at the flare of irritation that starts up in your stomach at her, a hot streak of jealously simmering there, burning away indignantly. “Aren’t they… I mean… isn’t the scary mask guy his partner?” He’s not scary, you scowl inwardly. He’s just… protective. The butterflies in your stomach startle, and you drift back to last night, in the stairwell, in the car.
“You’re doing great, sweetheart.” 
“If you ever need anything, Johnny and I… we’re here.” 
Nia says your name, dragging you back to earth, and you shrug. “Yes… they… they’re together. It’s just been hard on them, so I think there’s a bit of an attachment growing there. You know, it’s not unusual.” She bites her lip, mouth pushing up into a smile.
“They’re quite fit. Wouldn’t mind if they formed an attachment to me.” She pauses, delicately sucking her gasoline on ice up through a straw. “Gonna text him back?”
“Nia.” You hiss, and she barks out a laugh.
“Oh, come on, just a bit of fun. I don’t mean anything by it.”
“It’s not appropriate.” You remind her, and she rolls her eyes.
“You’re such a stick in the mud sometimes. Remember when Marshall was fucking his brain cancer girl? Now that, was not appropriate.” You do remember- Marshall’s sudden absence, the whispering, the HR investigation that spanned weeks, interviews with everyone on the floor.
Your beer goes sour in your stomach.
“I gotta get home.” You wrap an arm around her shoulder with a squeeze and a whisper. “Happy Birthday.” You feel bad for abandoning her, and maybe in another life you might even consider her a friend, but you’re already too exposed here as it is, and staying any longer would be too indulgent- not to mention, incredibly stupid.
You pass another nurse on the way out and him know that Nia’s at the bar, alleviating your guilt just a tad before you hike up your hood and make a beeline for the train.
By the time you get back to your hotel room, get showered, and collapse on top of the far too big bed, it’s nearly been an hour. You plug your phone in, unlocking the screen to flick on do not disturb, and realize the group message is still open, cursor blinking, waiting for your response.
It’s fine. You can tell you got home okay, that’s not crossing any lines. 
>Yeah, just got settled for bed. See you later!
A text from Simon chimes back within a minute, and you squint at it, one eye open.
>Get some rest.  
The floor is dead silent at the beginning of your shift.
Nothing beeps or whines or cries, no noise echoes around the corner to where you’re scrolling through Johnny’s chart, getting caught up on his day, triple checking that his levels and vitals are all within normal range. He passed his follow up for the liver procedure with flying colors, and the relief you feel is not unexpected, the weight of worry lifting free from your shoulders without another thought.
He’s fine, he’s better than fine, he’s… too healthy for the ICU.
Reality hits you like a truck, and you stop short, sneakers squeaking along the floor.
He won’t be your patient anymore. 
He won’t… be your patient anymore. 
The thought twists you into a mess of complicated emotions. A snarled, tangled viper's nest of unknowns, uncertainties, things you're desperately trying to tuck back behind your heart, hide them away so no one, not even yourself, can see them.
This is a good thing. This is what you want. Stable patients, on their way to recovery. 
So, you’ll miss them, that’s okay. There’s a little bit attachment, that’s alright. 
This is the best case scenario. You’re making a mess of things. You’re getting too involved with your patient and his family. You let Simon drive you home, for fucks sake. 
They’re getting confused, because you’re the caretaker. It happens all the time. As soon as Johnny steps down, they’ll forget all about you. 
You’re risking too much. You’re risking their safety, their child’s safety, your own. 
It’s for the best. 
You put your best work smile on when you approach his room, pulling as much air into your lungs as you can manage.
Focus on your job. Your patient. You’re a professional. 
Johnny is alone. No Simon, no visitors, nobody keeping him company. It’s a strange sight, and he looks almost uncomfortable, creased brow lowered down over his eyes. That’s… odd. Worse, there’s a heaviness in his gaze, sadness pulling his mouth downwards, usual playful demeanor nowhere in sight. Even sad, he’s a marvel, and every day, he gets stronger, he gets healthier, he gets closer to leaving this room, amazing you with his tenacity, his will. 
“Hey, you on your own tonight?” You casually knock on the door frame, and then pull it shut behind you, cocking your head.
“Aye.” He’s sullen, his despair tugging you closer to the bed, an urge to try to comfort him too strong to deny. 
“How are you feeling?” You try the subtle question, hoping he'll be forthcoming, and you keep yourself composed as you wait for his answer. 
“’m alright.” You tab through his chart, glancing it over once more, if only to assuage your own anxieties, and then tap into his vitals. Everything looks good, last labs look great… so what’s going on? 
“Just alright?” His fingers flex in the blanket, tanned skin against white linen, picking at fibers and threads, unable to hold himself still. He looks like he’s going to burst open at the seams, explode inside this room, a ticking time bomb, just waiting for the end of the countdown.
A tear tracks down his cheek. “Johnny?” You step closer, close enough so your fingers graze his, trying to delicately let him know, you’re here. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. What’s going on?” The monitor beeps steadily in the silence, his chest depresses with a gust of air.
“It’s… it’s nothin’ bun. I’m jus’… I’m havin’ a bad day.”
“Want to talk about it? I hear I’m a pretty good listener.” You encourage, and his face twists.
“No, I- Ach. Aye, alright.” He shifts in the bed, and you hover in case he needs help, but he waves you away. “It’s… bein’ in here. I want to be wi’ my family. Penny turned one, before I left for this assignment. Was only supposed to be two weeks tops, but then it turned into a month, then two. And now, I’m home… but ’m not really home, and I-“ His voice cracks, raw thread of agonized emotion separating his words, and he swallows it, forcing it back. “I’m blown to bits and cannae even see my own daughter. I’m missin’ out on everything.” Oh, Johnny. Your heart is heavy, and it hurts for him, bleeds as he wipes his face. 
“You’re not blown to bits, just a little banged up.” You give him a soft smile, and when he shakes his head, your fingers find his on instinct. You don’t even stop to second guess yourself, fully sinking into the contact with a gentle squeeze. “Hey, look at me.” His lashes are wet, sticky with tears, and he sniffles. “You’re making great progress, Johnny, going to be out of here in no time. You won’t even be in the ICU much longer, and then once you’re downstairs, Penny will be able to come visit all the time. After that, it won’t be too much longer until you’re back home with them.” He nods, and you stroke your thumb across his knuckles.
“Ye think so?”
“You’re the toughest patient I’ve ever had, and I’ve had a fair amount, you know. Traumatic injury recovery takes time, it takes patience, but you’re doing a great job of it so far. You just have to take it one day at a time. Before you know it, you’ll be at home on your own couch, bossin’ Simon around all day instead of me.” He laughs at that, a throaty chuckle capable of spreading heady warmth through your veins, and then gives you one of those stupidly stunning smiles.
“Shouldnae be cryin’ in front of ye.”
“You can cry in front of me any time you want. That’s what I’m here for. Besides, it’s not the first time.” You tease and he rolls his eyes.
“Doesnae count. I was high.”
“Uh huh. Sure.” The untouched dinner tray on his side table catches your eye, and chilling worry reappears in the back of your mind. “You didn’t eat?”
“Didnae have an appetite until ye showed up, pretty girl.” Okay. You can remedy this easily, if he's interested in eating. Lack of appetite is alarming, but if you can get him to eat now... 
“You hungry? I haven’t eaten yet. Want me to grab you something?” He brightens, indulging in a spectacular smile, and you take it as a yes with a small laugh. “Alright. Let me run down to the café, yeah?”
“What’s that saying, about how I hate to see ye go, but love to watch ye leav-“
“Okay!” you practically shout, cutting him off, fire racing across your skin, and he snickers, palm pressing against his heart like he’s wounded. “I’ll be right back.” You give him a serious look, and and he rubs his palm through his hair, mirth sparkling in his eyes. Holy hell. How is he so attractive? And how is it still so blinding, every time?  
You get two of the only option left this late in the evening, chicken soup and some sourdough, balancing the bowls carefully on their trays until you’re placing them down in the room, swinging the little table over Johnny’s lap and settling in beside him, perched on Simon’s recliner. The soup is warm, spiced with herbs and thick with noodles, and you're pleased that it's better than you were expecting, happy that Johnny seems to like it as well. 
"Wanted to take ye out properly for our first date, but this will have ta’ do. Simon’s gon’ be so bloody jealous.” He masterfully hums between your bites, and your eyes go wide, trying and failing to swallow your soup instead of choking on it.
“Johnny, we… this… I- this isn’t a date!” you squeak.
“Why not?” He asks, inflection innocent, and your brain rattles around inside your skull, splitting down the middle, falling apart in bewilderment. Why not? What does he mean?
“You… you have a partner. Simon? You know, your family that we were literally just talking about?” He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you with this look on his face, one you can’t interpret. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“What did Simon tell ye, the other night. When he took ye home?”
“What? He… I don’t remember.” Does he know that Simon gave you his phone number? 
Of course, he knows, he started that group text. 
Does Simon know what Johnny said, about you coming into their lives? About-
“Didnae he tell ye, we’re here for ye?”
“Y-yeah.”
“We, bunny? We.”
“I don’t… I don’t understand.” He sighs. What is he trying to say? What is going on?
“We like ye. Like I said, we think ye’re really special. Simon, and I. Together, bun.”
“Wh-what?” Puzzle pieces snap together and then break apart, like a landscape jigsaw that you spent days completing once before it was promptly ruined. Does he... does he mean... Oh. Oh no. Oh no no no. You have to squash this. Now. Just explain it, he’ll get it. He’s smart. “No… no, Johnny it’s just… it’s this thing, that happens. Patients get attached to their nurses or doctors sometimes, it’s normal. You d-don’t like me, I promise. There’s nothing even to like.” He blinks, jaw grinding under stubble. If Simon’s stare feels like he’s reading your mind, then Johnny’s is like being pinned down in one place, unable to move. You’re paralyzed, and powerless, lost in the icy blue sea of his eyes, drowning with a hand sticking out above the crest of the surf, reaching for him.
“Why would ye say that? That there’s nothin’ about ye to like? Nothin’ could be farther from the truth.”
“I don’t… there’s not. It’s… I’m your nurse, Johnny. That’s all.” Sweat glosses the small of your back, slicking upwards to cover your spine, and your heart hammers, it beats, beats, beats- so loudly you’re sure the pulse point in your wrist is visible. “Johnny.” His name shakes from your lips, and he relaxes, gentle concern replacing the relentless intensity in his gaze.
“Shhh, hey. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didnae mean to upset ye.” You're still frozen, a statue, and he reaches for you, trying to grab onto your hand. The heat of his skin breaks you from the spell, and you force a robotic, bedside smile onto your face, scooping up your half empty bowl.
"It's okay." You need to get out of this room. Now. The walls feel too close, Johnny feels too close, everything is compounding on top of you, threatening to derail your entire life, ruin your plan. They cannot like you. They cannot care about you. They cannot show interest in you. You can’t let this happen. “I’ve gotta check on some other patients, okay? I’ll swing back your way in a bit.” You promise him, guilt eating you alive about running away, and when he gives you a sad smile, you almost lose your resolve.
“Alright, pretty girl. I’ll see ye later, then.” He murmurs, and you try not to trip over feet during your hasty exit.
Fuck. You’re so fucked. 
Simon and Johnny’s house is finally silent.  
Penny is down, safely tucked into dream world, her grainy grey-scale image flickering on the video monitor at Simon as he pours two fingers worth of bourbon into a glass.
Poor baby girl. His stomach twists. She put up such a fight tonight, hollering at the top of her lungs, standing up in her crib, working herself into an absolute state. He hates leaving her alone to cry, and on nights like this one, the only way she’ll close her eyes is if she’s being held, snuggled in Johnny's arms, or against Simon's chest. 
He’s a sucker, he knows. Doomed from the day she was born, but he can’t help it. Neither of them can. She’s their baby.
So, he doesn’t blame her for being so out of sorts. She always sleeps better when her Da is home. They both do.
His phone vibrates with a text, a short message from Johnny, and he scrolls through it, settling on the couch with his laptop, unopened email from Laswell blinking impatiently.
>She’s jumpy. Tired. Looks like she hasn’t gotten any sleep. Simon frowns.
> She manage to find a pair of panties for work today?
>Unfortunately. He can practically see the pout on Johnny’s lips, can hear the way he probably huffed and puffed when you first came into the room this evening, your hips swishing side to side, pretty smile on your face for him.
>I think I made her upset. Simon pinches the bridge of his nose. Johnny, love. Why can’t you listen? He takes a deep breath, trying to relax the worry that’s creeping up the back of his neck. 
Disagreements aren’t for text messages. They’ve learned that the hard way. 
>Take it easy for the rest of the night, then. She’s skittish. He shoots off the recommendation, and then pulls his laptop across his knee, clicking open the email from Kate.
Simon,  Your girl is a ghost. This kind of wipe work is professional level… are you sure she’s a nurse?  I’ve attached everything I could find, but it’s pretty scarce. The name you provided pulled a copy of her NHS nursing license, her taxes, an award she won at work last year, and a COVID vaccination record. No birth certificate, state identification, or public records of any kind, even after a global hand search. Nothing that even proves she exists or is an American except a sealed record from two years ago in the states. It’s not accessible, even for me, which means it could be WITSEC, or a court ordered name change in relation to a domestic violence case. There are 18 states that seal those records to protect the victim, so she could be from anywhere. My gut says it’s probably the latter, which is why she doesn’t exist prior to.  You’ll notice on the vaccine record, she marked ‘unhoused’, and I couldn’t find any lease/rental agreements, sale records, or mortgages in her name.  I wish I had more for you, but she really is a bit of a puzzle. I’ll keep digging.  -K.L. 
There’s an unsettling rattle going off in the front of Simon’s skull. It’s a siren, a smattering of warning bells, and he swallows the rest of the bourbon in one go, embracing the burn that slides down the back of his throat.
Who are you, little bunny? And who are you running from? 
1K notes · View notes
yxngbxkkie · 2 months
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miss you (b.c)
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i found this picture of channie, and i instantly had to write a short blurb on it. he's so handsome 🥹 i hope you guys like it 🩷
feedback is greatly appreciated 🥰
~
You step off of the elevator, dragging your suitcase behind you. You're feeling really giddy, ecstatic to be seeing your boyfriend for the first time in seven months.
Chan and the rest of the members have been on their second Maniac tour. It was nearing the end when you decided to surprise Chan with a visit.
All the members knew about your arrival, feeling thankful that they're helping you out. You read the number on the key card, making sure not to end up at some random person's door.
Felix sent you a text telling you that Chan is expecting him so he won't bat an eye when the door opens up. You giggle to yourself, biting on your lip as you get closer to his hotel room.
You stop in front of the room, staring at the keypad for a few seconds. You place the plastic card against the sensor, hearing the locking mechanism. You turn the handle on the door, opening it up slowly.
Your boyfriend of four years sits at the desk, headphones snugly fitted to his ears while holding a microphone. His singing voice echoes off of the walls as you quietly shut the door behind you.
After setting your luggage to the side, you step further into the room. Chan's singing stops, and his gaze moves from his phone to the laptop in front of him.
“Finally, Felix,” he laughs, setting the microphone to the side. “I thought you'd be here half an hour ago.”
You chuckle silently, not wanting to give yourself away just yet. You hum in a deep voice, pressing your lips together while standing behind him.
You rest your hands on his shoulders, gently massaging them. “Hey, has Y/N messaged you at all?” He suddenly asks, keeping his eyes on his work.
“Why? Did you miss me?” You ask him, whispering into his ear.
Chan jumps in his chair, causing you to fling back quickly. Giggles come from your lips as he stands up from the chair, whipping his head around to look at you.
“You're here?!” He asks, reaching his hands out to you.
“I'm here,” you whisper as tears begin to pool in your eyes. “I've missed you.”
He lets out a cute giggle and brings you into his arms. You wrap your arms around his neck as his snake around your waist. “I missed you too, baby,” Chan whispers in your ear, hugging you tightly.
The room is silent as the two of you stay in each other's arms. Your fingers gently comb through his hair, feeling his gliding up and down your back.
“It's been too long,” he huffs into your shoulder, pressing your chest further into his.
You giggle and nod your head, leaning it back so you can look at him. “It's also been too long since I've tasted your lips,” you flirt with him, combing his hair back.
“Hehe, yeah?” Chan giggles, grinning like a fool in love. “Well, I guess you should taste them then.”
You can't help but giggle again. “I guess I should,” you smirk before kissing him.
His hand grips your waist while tilting his head to the side, deepening your first kiss in seven months. You hum into the kiss, your fingers trailing along his jawline.
Chan breaks away from you, letting out a couple of heavy pants before reconnecting your lips. He takes a step towards you, making you take a step back.
A gasp comes from you when the back of your knees hits the mattress, losing your balance. He hovers over you, gently pushing you to lay on your back.
“I suppose Felix coming here was a cover up for you to come in,” he whispers before planting kisses on your face.
“It was,” you laugh, slipping your hands beneath the robe he's wearing.
He nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck, kissing, biting, and sucking on your skin. “Which means they know you're here,” Chan mentions, marking up your neck. “Which means I can reminisce with you all night long.”
~
tagging: @strawboorybunny @reddesert-healourblues @spacegirlstuff @moon0fthenight @foxinnie8 @like-a-diamondinthesky @prettymiye0n
832 notes · View notes
avis-writeshq · 7 months
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carriage six – spencer reid
summary: Spencer Reid prides himself in his routine. Wake up at half-past six. Leave his apartment at a quarter past seven. Get onto the seven thirty train. Arrive at Quantico at eight forty five. He has a plentiful of reasons as to why he does it; it’s efficient, it gets him to the office early, it works. But the biggest reason is the girl that always sits in the seat a few rows across from him, headphones on and always reading a book. 
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader
genre: strangers to lovers, rated G for mutual pining and second hand embarrassment. no use of (Y/N).
warnings: fluff, boy band spencer reid (caution, hot!). i tried to write in Spencer’s pov, and with that comes a lot of rambling. i like to think that his mind is running 100 miles an hour, so i tried to write in a style that could implicate that <3
wc: 1.8k
part two: platform ten
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Spencer tries not to look so excited when he enters the subway, clad in light grey slacks, a lavender dress shirt, a brown and purple argyle sweater vest and a mauve coloured tie. His signature leather bag is strapped across his chest and he has a light cardigan in his hand; the weather reports said it would be cold today. His head spins with the statistics on the accuracy of meteorology, considering the bright and sunny skies that blessed the citizens of D.C that morning. He’s donning a new haircut today as well. It was a lot shorter than he originally planned to get it, but he likes it. In fact, he likes it a lot, particularly the way it drapes across his forehead and the way it looks messy but still cool. That’s how he would describe it. Cool. He feels cool.
He hasn’t been able to get onto the subway for three days because of a case in Connecticut and his mind wanders. Will there be another case soon? How long would it take? He hopes it would be a local case. He feels guilty thinking that; he shouldn’t be hoping for a case at all. After all, that would only mean someone else has met their untimely death. He shakes his head to dismiss the thoughts. 
He steps onto the train, onto the sixth carriage, and sits on his usual seat. In his mind, it’s the perfect seat. It avoids the sun so he doesn’t need to squint and he doesn’t have to turn the brightness level of his phone all the way up. It’s right next to the door in case he needs to make a quick exit. It’s right next to a handicapped seat, meaning that people tended to avoid it. But the best thing about this seat was the view.
He cringes when he thinks of it. ‘View’ sounds gross. Perverted. ‘View’ is the wrong word to describe it. His favourite thing about this particular seat is the company. Yes, he likes the company, although it technically doesn’t exactly count as company. 
His gaze shifts to his company. Exactly four rows away, her eyes trained on the book in her hands. He recognises it to be ‘Pride and Prejudice’, the limited edition rose gold copy that was released eight months, three weeks and two days ago. He has the same copy sitting on his dresser. 
She looks different today. Granted, it had been three days since he last saw her. He scans her figure to try to place his finger on the difference and he realises. She’s wearing a new lipgloss. Spencer’s cheeks burn when he realises. Why on earth— no, how on earth is he able to tell? He feels himself cringe and he shifts his gaze and scans the rest of carriage in an attempt to busy himself and his mind, but his eyes ultimately fall back on his company.
Spencer can’t seem to take his eyes off of her. What’s she listening to? Where is she up to in her book? Does she like Austen? Has she read any other books by her? What does she think of Elizabeth and Darcy’s relationship? So many questions enter his mind and he wishes he had the guts to go over and strike up a conversation. But he’s not like Morgan. He doesn’t have that type of charisma or that type of confidence. If anything, he supposes, he’s self aware. He knows that the moment he starts a conversation, he would start rambling for twenty minutes about the relationship dynamics between the characters and why Austen was so incandescent and exceeded all beliefs as a writer in her world. He’d start to bring in authors like Virginia Woolf and why her admiration towards Jane Austen was warranted. Ultimately, Spencer thinks to himself as his eyes wander back to the girl, he’d scare her off.
He watches as she falters in her movements, her fingers pausing from flipping the page and Spencer frowns. From what he could tell, she was a little bit more than halfway through the book. Maybe up to page 260? But there’s nothing remotely difficult in that part of the book. If anything, that was the most simple and straightforward section of the entire text. And then he realises. His cheeks burn once more and he quickly busies himself with his phone, biting his lip and avoiding her amused gaze. Your amused gaze.
You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips as you meet his gaze. You’ve seen him all the time, for the past three years in fact, when you first moved to D.C. He’s cute, really cute, and he’s even cuter when he looks like a deer caught in headlights. You raise a teasing eyebrow his way and you watch as he quickly avoids your gaze, looking into his phone. You can’t the soft laugh that leaves your lips, your fingers tracing against the pages of your book. Maybe you have a little more confidence in yourself than you thought.
***
The next day, Spencer feels a small sense of dread creeping into his heart. He feels embarrassed, so goddamn embarrassed, and he wonders how he could face you. His cheeks are burning and he tugs at his collar. He’s wearing a light blue shirt with a patterned purple tie, along with dark navy coloured pants. He teeters on his feet, waiting with anticipation for the train. The moment he enters the carriage, his eyes fall to the seat you would be seated at, only to see no one at all. He can’t help but frown, a little disappointed but a little relieved. He moves to his usual seat, and lo and behold, he sees you there, one leg crossed over the other and reading a different book. 
He mutters a soft apology as he slides into the seat next to you, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.
“Wuthering Heights,” he says, surprising himself.
He watches as you look up from your pages, a small smile on your face. You’re wearing the same lip gloss as yesterday.
“Yeah.” You smile, taking your headphones off and letting them rest around your neck. “You’ve… have you read it before?”
He nods, and he curses himself for looking so eager. “Yes! Um, yes, I’ve read it. It’s really good.”
“Brönte is brilliant,” You respond, sliding a bookmark in between the pages. “I finished Pride and Prejudice last night. Jane Austen is still my favourite.”
You’re baiting him. He knows that. He takes it.
“I saw,” He says quietly, biting his lip. “Not– not in like a stalker way! I just… I just noticed you reading it on the train. Yesterday. I, um, I saw you reading it yesterday.”
He wants to kick himself. His face is flushed and he’s sure that his neck is just as red as his face. His ears are hot and his head spins when he hears you laugh.
“It’s okay. I saw you too.” You offer a smile, your own cheeks warm. “You were reading Edgar Allen Poe a few weeks ago. Is he any good?”
His eyes light up and he tucks an invisible strand of hair behind his ear. It’s a habit of his, since he’s had longer hair almost all of his life. 
“He’s very good,” Spencer insists, pulling the little book out of his satchel. “His works range from short stories to poetry, his most famous works being The Tell-Tale Heart, and Annabel Lee. The former is a short story. It’s a little grim, but he writes in an incredibly eloquent way that presents the narrator’s descent into madness, despite the point of the text being to convince the reader that he isn’t mad. Annabel Lee is a poem about a man obsessed with a woman named Annabel Lee and-“
He purses his lips, realising how much he’s spoken. He coughs into his fist, setting his book down in his lap as he quickly glances at you. 
“…and what?” You prompt, your head tilting the side in curiosity. “Go on, don’t let me stop you. You’re convincing me to actually get the book on his collection of works.”
His head practically snaps to look at you, a look of surprise on his face. He scans your face for any insincerity, from your eyes all the way down to your lips, before clearing his throat. 
“Um… well, uh, in Annabel Lee, the narrator speaks about keeping her in a castle by the sea. It’s a classic case of isolation and some literature analysts even go as far as to say that the narrator was hoping that Annabel would fall in love with him through Stockholm Syndrome but died before the narrator was able to carry out his plan.”
You take in his words, nodding along to his explanation. “You seem to be an expert yourself.”
He laughs, running his fingers through his hair. “No, I uh, I’m not an expert on literature or anything. But I am a doctor.”
“A doctor?” Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Like… a medical doctor or…? No offence, but you really don’t look like a medical doctor.”
He laughs again, nodding. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not. I have PhD’s in chemistry, mathematics and physics, as well as BAs in psychology, sociology and philosophy.”
You let out a low whistle. “You a collector or something?”
He blushes, swallowing thickly. “No, I uh… no…?”
“You don’t sound too sure of yourself doctor…” You pause, realising that you really don’t know much about this man. You look up at him expectantly. 
“Reid,” He says quickly, clearing his throat. “Spencer Reid. You, um, you don’t have to call me doctor.”
“Alright then, Spencer.” You smile, and he thinks it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. You introduce yourself and he tells you that you have a pretty name. 
Time passes, and the conversation continues. You could talk for hours with Spencer; about books, movies, anything. He can make anything sound interesting, it’s one of his charms. He smiles a boyish grin as he talks, gesticulating wildly as he rants about his favourite texts and why Austen is a genius. He asks you what you’re listening to and you almost scream at the thought of introducing him to Taylor Swift. 
Before long, the train lurches to a stop at his station and he can’t help but feel a little disappointed. 
“It was nice meeting you. Officially,” He adds, gripping the strap of his leather bag. 
“It was nice to officially meet you too,” You respond, smiling up at him as he gets up from his seat. “Tomorrow?”
His eyes practically light up. “Tomorrow.”
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reblogs are always appreciated!
part two: platform ten
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kissitbttr · 1 month
Note
your mafia!toji fic got me thinking so hard abt him😭😭 he’s deffo the type to just buy you sm stuff as an apology but when you don’t forgive him and sleep in a different bedroom mf will come into the room on his knees and beg for you to come to sleep 😩😩 imagine still saying no and him just flipping you onto his shoulders and carrying you to bed 🤭
oh you are absolutely correct!
|
“darling” toji softly calls you, letting out a tired sigh. “i said i was sorry. what am i supposed to do?”
“die” she replies nonchalantly, shoulders shrugging before grabbing a pillow and your favorite blanket off the bed,
he snickers, looking over at her with a raised eyebrow. “now, now that would be over dramatic don’t you think? won’t you miss me?”
he almost pisses his pants when she throws him a glare,
“okay. no jokes. got it” he put his hands up in surrender, feeling absolutely terrified at his baby being mad and speaking less than two words to him,
if anyone ever finds out that the most feared and notorious man in the city being tamed by his woman, he would never hear the end of it,
but she is scary. can you blame him?
toji looks over at the designer shoes and bags he just purchased a few hours ago, tucked neatly in the corner. untouched by her.
guess the apology gifts aren’t working,
“i didn’t know that she was coming, i haven’t even talked to her in years! never planned to anyway, you know i only got my eyes for my girl, right?”
she tries so hard not to roll her eyes,
toji had a meeting with one of the cartels at the club earlier that night. and of course, she always goes. it’s where he can always keep an eye on her and refuses to leave her at home all alone because he can’t risk that. also, because she’s his good luck charm. whenever she’s around, deals always goes well,
tonight was an exception though,
all was well until a certain person decided to crash. his old fling. one before he met his precious girlfriend. the red haired thought that it would be fun to press her fake ass tits against toji,
y/n was shocked to say at least. she didn’t say anything but her face spoke thousand words. toji could see that. throwing daggers at the bitch, corner of her lips quirk into a form of disgust.
and the worst part was? toji didn’t do anything about it! can you believe that asshole?!
something about being absolutely unprofessional if he was ever to push her off and it ticked y/n to the fucking bone so she decided to ignore him the rest of the night,
toji feels defeated when she chooses not to respond, simply just taking her stuff. he crouches lightly to look at her pretty face clearly. “baby… can you please look at me? I can’t stand seeing you mad. i’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you”
if it was any circumstances, sure she would melt and jump in his arms. but tonight is different. how could he?
she looks up at him and whisper “fuck. you” before turning around angrily and walk out of the door to go sleep on the guest room,
toji groans, the heel of his palms pressing against his eyes. she has always been so stubborn. too fucking stubborn. exactly why he had to get rejected seven times before she accepted his date.
what? he needed to get humbled, so she gave him that.
he contemplate for a while whether or not he should let her be or not. then he chooses the latter. it would probably be best if he let her cool off some steam for a while, he doesn’t want to do any more damage or make her feel more annoyed by his presence,
bet. not even ten minutes later, he feels like losing his mind without her here.
“fuck this shit” he mutters, getting up from the bed. rubbing his face furiously before stomping towards the other side of the room,
he walks in without knocking, ready to say what he needs to say again. yet he stops. heart clenching at the sight of his girl curled up in bed, back facing him.
“love?” he slowly walks over to her laying figure,
“go away” she speaks. now in a softer tone
“please” he begs, walking around the bed and catching a glimpse of her playing with her pink manicured hands. “sweetheart. I’m sorry” he repeats, going down to her eye level before letting his hand moves to rest on her bare thigh. he’s internally relieved when she doesn’t push him off,
he sighs when she’s not looking at him, seemingly only focused on the nails that she had gotten done a week ago.
“i should’ve pushed her off. shouldn’t let her touch me like that. hell, i shouldn’t even let her breathe near me. i know that” he realizes his mistake. “i didn’t even think about what my girl needed. i was being a horrible boyfriend”
no answer,
he sighs again, refusing to look away from her pretty eyes,
“baby—“
“i heard you the first time. leave. and close the door”
toji is taken aback. fuck. she really is mad at him.
“you don’t mean that”
“uhm, yes i do” she retorts in an obvious tone, sassily raising her eyebrow before scooting a bit further from him. she doesn’t realize this but it makes his heart break,
“princess, i swear-“
“go call that girl back to keep you company. let that fucking bitch sleep by your side” she mutters, looking at the tv instead of him,
he can’t take this anymore,
“you know what? that’s it” toji had enough, he will not be sleeping alone and neither will she. standing up on his feet, his hands reach out to circle around her ankles before tugging her body towards him causing her to yelp,
“toji! what the fuck are you doing-oh!” her voice gets cut off the moment he pulls her body up like she weighs nothing. throwing her over his shoulder. “put me down!” her fists start to hitting his back—as if they’re actually hurting him— legs swinging back and forth
“nope” he answers, keeping a firm grip around her waist before swatting her ass, locking the guest room behind him and walking back to their shared one. “you’re driving me crazy, woman—not saying that i hate it, but i’m pretty fucking beat tonight and we are going to sleep together. so stop fighting me”
she huffs, admitting defeat and letting him carry to the bed. “fuck you, toji”
he smirks at that. “oh i will, baby”
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dcxdpdabbles · 23 days
Note
I have this idea for a post but I feel like you would do it justice.
Basically, Danny is yeeted through a dimensional portal and reincarnated as the clone son of Tim and Connor(from when Tim cloned Connor during his death). This little shit wakes up after that, when Connor has already been found, as a six year old gremlin with a need for chaos.
Que pranks!
I don’t have much more than that so I will leave this in your capable hands.
-🎃
"Master Bruce, if I have to remind you to fix your tie one more time, Gotham will be without its protecter for many months to come!" Alfred snapped - actually snapped - from where he was attempting to reorganize the entirey of the Emberald Sitting room.
Right now, he moved all the furniture and all the wall directions. He was just adding some tastefully done flower pots to make the place look inviting but also regal.
It had been six hours, and from the looks of it, Alfred had not found the balance he desperately wanted. He started over four times. His patience was all but gone.
Bruce's hands snap to his tie, scrambling to get it set just right. He moves it only slightly to the left - not making much difference - with a nervous smile. Alfred's teeth snap shut with a click, and his eyes blaze with frustrated rage as he rounds the coffee table toward the billionaire.
Bruce looks to be holding back a scream.
Dick winces, sinking into his chair lest the aged Butler turns his ire onto him. He knows why this evening has to be just right. Especially to Alfred, but gosh, he could not handle how terrifying the butler could be.
It's just for one dinner and one evening. Dick tells himself. Once Alfred can finally say he married one of us off, things will return to normal.
"Honestly! If you didn't walk around looking like an unkeept vagabond all the time, maybe there would be a Lady of the House by now!" Alfred sneered at a pale-looking Bruce.
Or maybe Timmy bringing Kon over to announce their engagement means Alfred will try to marry the rest of us off harder. Dick despairs as Bruce endures another tongue-lashing. He wants to go help, but if he moves even an inch from his seat, Alfred might realize Dick is still in the room.
He can't afford to anger the beast any further.
"And you, Master Dick!" Alfred suddenly rounds on Dick, pointing one long finger into his face, with narrowed eyes and the grim reaper at his shoulder. Oh, dear.
Thankfully, that's when the doorbell rings. At once, Alfred's face clears into an excited smile. "They're here! I'll let them in right away; you lads, gather the rest of the family. And remember, we must make a great impression! Tonight is the night we invite Mister Kon into the family!"
The butler doesn't quite skip out of the room, but the bristle walking with a chipper head turning is the close that Dick has ever seen him do.
"I'm so happy for Tim." Bruce mutters,"but I can not handle any more reminders that I haven't had a spouse."
"Tell me about it," Dick sighs, following after his father into the hallway and down to the dining hall. He can distantly hear Alfred opening the door and greeting the two. "A hour ago, he made seven passive agressive reminders that Tamaraneans propse with a dinner and a mock battle. Seven. I mean, how does he even know what Tamaraneans do when courting?"
"It's Alfred." Bruce tells him, taking a seat at the head of the table. Dick sits in the chair to his right as the oldest and First Heir- considering the reply. It makes sense.
Damian, Cass, and Duke walk in, not even a moment later. All are dressed better than any gala Bruce could have dragged them off, too. He is rather impressed that Damian is a red suit that makes even Bruce pale in comparison. Then again, he is the only one besides Alfred who has an eye for such things.
"Has he already proposed, or is he doing it at dinner table and were all supposed to act supirse?" Duke asks while sitting down. "I want to know what kind of face I should have prepared"
"The clone has asked Father for his blessing in his courtship with Timothy. He knew we would have figured out his plans when that blunder. It is no surprise." Damian huffs. Dick knows he's just upset that his big brother is going to get married and move out soon. He's adorable when he's territorial.
"I can confirm that Kon hasn't asked yet." Steph announces, strutting into the room in all her purple gown glory. Behind her, the Row sbilings wander in with matching celtic blue suits, making Dick grin. It's always nice to see people appreciate the best color. "Tim isn't the type of person to not show off his ring whenever he has a chance."
"I've always wanted to see a real-life popersoal!" Jarro gasps, flying into the room with his own little suit on. It's a nice black with green undertones just like Bruce's.
He lands in the miniature chair with a dinner dining set Alfred had special ordered for him.
It sits on top of where a regular dining set usually is, always the second chair on Bruce's left, because he is literally the favorite. Bruce denies it, but they all see the tender smile he throws the floating star.
The Wayne kids know. Jarro is too precious and hilarious, so none of them mind that he's the favorite. In fact, Dick has half the mind that he's the favorite of the majority of the family.
Jason leans over to pat Jarro's head, grinning when the little starfish swears. He adores when the kid randomly curses out of Aldred's hearing range.
"Shh, they're coming!" Cullen says from where he was lingering by the door, hoping to see Tim and Kon. He always looked up to the older boys as someone who had been forced into the closet for his own protection.
Seeing people like him helped ease the fear, and Dick feels his smile wideing when Cullen scrambles back to his seat. He's so excited he's practically in the Speed Force.
Alfred opens the door first, stepping to the side to allow the guest to enter first. Dick feels himself sit up straighter, the moment really setting in, Kon is going to propose to his younger brother.
His little Timmy is growing up-
"Wow, this place is big!" A child says, running into the room. Who the heck is he? "It's amazing, Dad!"
"Slow down. You don't want to fall." Tim laughs, rubbing the stranger's hair with a soft smile.
"It's okay, Dad. I'm strong!" The boy flexes his tiny arms. Tim laughs again as Kon crouches down to the little boy's height.
"Woah! Look at all those musceles. You're going to help me protect your dad, son?"
"Yeah Pa, I'll be the strongest super or robin ever!"
"Tim? Who might this lovely chum be?" Bruce cuts in, voice slightly strained. No one calls him out on it since they are staring wide eye at the tiny little boy who looks like an exact copy of Tim at age five.
Dick knows because he was one of the few in the Wayne's who saw Tim at that age. He's practically a clone to oh no.
Dick thinks he's having a heart attack.
Tim looks up at them before a brillient glowing smile breaks across his face. "Everyone, Kon and I have an announcement to make!"
Kon wraps an arm around his waist, sending adoring looks to man in his arms before they both hold up their left hand.
There are twin silver bands on both of their fingers. "We got married in Las Vegas, and we have a son! I like you all to meet Danny Drake-Kent! I made him when I thought Kon was dead."
"I am Danny, clone of Kon-el and Tim Drake. Fear me if you dare!" His voice squeaks. Squeaks.
Scratch that, Dick knows he's having a heart attack.
You can hear a pin drop in the silence his announcement cause, as Danny puffs up his chest and floats a few inches off the grown.
Oh, great heavens, Dick is an uncle.
"A fellow clone, son!" Jarro cheers from his little table. He slams two of his star points on the table to a beat that he speaks to. "One of us. One of us."
Danny's blue eyes land on the star fish and widen. He raises both arms into the air chanting back. "One of us. One of us. One of us!"
"It's awesome is what it is!" Steph cries, jumping up from her seat. "Hi, Danny! I'm you, Auntie Steph! I'm the cool one."
"Isn't this lovely? Master Tim not only has a husband but a child as well. Unlike some Masters." Aldred doesn't quite glare at Bruce, but he doesn't have to. The Waynes know who he means as Bruce wince.
Danny pauses in his chanting to look her up and down, staring pointily at her plum colored dress before humming. "That's a bold statement for an eggplant."
Steph gapes at him as Tim roars with laughter.
Oh, Dick is going to love this kid. He leaves his seat, trying to get to his nephew as the rest of the family attempts to do the same. Damain makes alarming threats to Kon, letting him know he would easily take him out if he detects a hint of mistreatment to his brother and new nephew.
The Waynes act like they can't hear the threat because they all have their own versions of the shovel talk prepared. They just have to get the clone alone.
It's a nice dinner.
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seresinhangmanjake · 8 months
Text
Rather Be With You
Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader
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Summary: Jake has been away for six months and he just hopes you waited for him.
Warnings: cursing. I think that's it.
Notes: this was inspired by an ask (💐) from a bit ago. Sorry it took so long. So much happened in the last week and a half, some good some bad, and it just got on top of me. Writing had to come second. I have probably written better in my life haha, but I tried.
Words: 1972
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“You know he's only messing with you, right?”
He wasn’t sure how long he’d sat there, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees as he wrung his hands together. Surely it had been a while. For the entirety of the morning, perhaps? Rooster had made his teasing comments at seven a.m. sharp and they were due to dock at noon. Had it been that long? Or had he really managed to shove many hours worth of painful thoughts into just a few short minutes? Somehow, he figured, it was one or the other. No in-between.
When his eyes flicked up, Nat’s face seemed to hint at the former. 
It made sense, he supposed. Spending hours thinking about you wasn’t exactly uncommon. Usually, though, those thoughts were a bit nicer, with you naked and smiling, laughing, or whispering sweet words to him. He liked those better than the ones that had plagued him for…well, however long he’d been sitting there.
“He knows what he said isn’t true,” she continued. “He wouldn’t have had the balls to make jokes like that if he thought they would hold any weight. Trust me, no one particularly enjoys pissing you off.”
He wasn’t pissed off, though. He was devastated at the seeds of doubt planted in his head; at the pain and insecurity that came with the twisted knife to his gut. He hated the images forced into his mind at his friend’s words; the ones of you with other men; the ones that made it terribly clear how little you considered or missed him in his absence. 
“Jake, she waited for you. I know she did.”
“Yea? How?” he asked. 
Phoenix opened her mouth quickly, just as he would have had someone asked him a few hours ago if you loved him like he loved you—ready to confirm with a smile on his face. But if made to think of the answer for more than a half-second, without the hope and giddiness fueling his enthusiasm, he realized he couldn’t actually say for sure if you loved him, just as Nat now could not say with certainty that you had waited for him. 
Her mouth closed. 
"Exactly. You don't know," he said. "It’s not like I was smart enough to ask her to be my girlfriend before we left. She has no obligation to me, so why would she have bothered to wait six months to have me when she could have anyone?"
The brunette shook her head. “I don’t believe she's like that."
Leaning back against the bench and crossing his arms, Jake just barely held himself back from a scoff. "Like what, Nat? That wouldn't make her anything other than a woman who found someone new to sleep with after the guy she was sleeping with disappeared for half a year.”
“But you didn’t—”
“I know I didn't disappear. But I’ve been gone longer than we’d been together," he said, his voice drifting as he imagined what he hadn't stopped to consider before; a nightmare that, if proven true, would cleanly snap his heart in half. "Joke or not, Rooster could very well be right.”
"You're overthinking,” Penny’s voice snuck in from your left. 
She reached out to take the beer glass from your hand, polished almost too clean after the twenty minutes you spent absentmindedly running a rag over it. Your mind had been too occupied with troubled thoughts to notice your unceasing drag of the dishtowel around the cylindrical shape of the glass. 
It came free from your hand with ease, and as Penny placed it back on its shelf, you spewed, "What if he hooked up with someone? What if he decided six months was too long to wait for a woman that isn't his girlfriend?” You finally faced her just to find her rolling her eyes. “He likes sex, Penny. A lot. There are plenty of willing women and he's practically insatiable."
"When it comes to you, maybe."
The tenseness in your shoulders from well-formed stress was heavy with your exhale, forcing your shoulders to fall forward and your posture to take a hit. "Penny…" you groaned.
"I'm telling you, there's no way he messed around with anyone,” she swore, leaning back against the bar. "Besides, it's frowned upon to get involved with your coworkers."
"You think that's ever stopped Jake?"
She pursed her lips and tilted her head from side to side as she considered. "Ok, fair enough,” she agreed. “Once upon a time, that definitely wouldn't have stopped him. But after meeting you, he hasn't looked at another woman."
You couldn’t say that provided you with any relief. Jake had always presented as an ‘out of sight, out of mind’ type of man. He wasn’t a worrier. Once something exited his periphery, it promptly left his brain, discarded with all past challenges or predicaments. And wasn’t that what you were? An obstacle? He hadn’t asked you to be his girlfriend for a reason. Holding on to you for more than just the night didn’t necessarily make you more special than any of the other women. Perhaps it simply made you convenient.  
"You don’t know, Penny. You’re not with him 24/7."
Penny muttered something under her breath. Her fingers rose to rub at her temple and when they dropped back to her side, the stare she shot you was imbued with determination. "Look, my bar is where Seresin used to do his "best work," as he liked to say,” she said, and you made a face. "But the only work he's been putting in since he met you has involved getting you to like him and making you happy after you two started your little…thing." 
"You may not pay attention, but I do," she practically scolded. "Now, a month ago you were excited to meet him when he got back, and then you let your thoughts get away from you and it’s fucking everything up." 
To your own shame, you couldn't deny that. So you didn't bother, rather opting to nibble on your thumbnail.
"They'll be back soon, so are you coming with me or not?"
He didn’t know what he was doing, standing there with his bag over his shoulder. But he felt like a heavy weight, an anchor in a sea of levity. Looking around, the men and women he’d been packed in with for the last six months were thrilled, the room sprinkled with smiles and laughs of giddiness in anticipation of having their families in their arms again. 
He didn’t have that. 
He wanted to have it, but that was fully reliant on you. Your feelings. Your wants and desires. Your plan for your future. Jake could imagine a world where he had the strength to beg to be a part of your life—to plead as desperately as if fighting for enough air to fill his lungs—but reality made that entirely out of his will and control. So he didn't shove his way forward when they made it home. He couldn't bring himself to jump in front of the others who had people waiting for them upon their return. Instead, he let them file out, his team included, until he was one of the final few to step back on dry, solid land. 
As he walked by couple after couple, family after family, his already weak composure began to crumble at its edges. The people milling around him felt like a mocking montage of the life he didn’t have. Men and women kissing their partners or spouses, hugging their children with no intent of letting go, their tears coating the ground with joy. 
Jake's chest constricted. He needed to get himself on the other side of it, but weaving through the mass of bodies proved harder than he expected. 
His shoulders bumped into theirs, his chest skimming across backs and limbs when he turned to his side to sneak through narrow openings. Little kids ran into his legs like spinning tops on the loose from their wound-up energy finally releasing, though each one quickly recovered and returned to their parents, maintaining the same level of enthusiasm they had prior to smacking face-first into a muscled calf. 
With each unintentional nudge, he apologized, but no one so much as noticed, too engrossed in their relief at making it home unscathed or in seeing their loved ones still intact. Somewhere, his teammates were doing the same. They’d found their partners, and he thought he’d found his, but his overconfidence in your feelings kept him from ensuring you were actually together. And maybe it was too late. Maybe he would have no choice but to watch you move on from him.  
Finally breaking through the edge of the crowd, Jake took his first deep breath. He didn’t look back as he made his way to his truck. He didn’t turn when rushed footsteps grew closer until they sounded as if right on his tail. 
“Jake.”
He paused and sighed. He should’ve known he would imagine your voice. Six months without that lovely sound, his only chance at hearing it being within his dreams, took its toll. It haunted him like a ghost on that ship. Of course it wouldn’t cease just because he was home.
“I was calling you, but you didn’t hear me.” There was a soft chuckle, then, “Well, at least I hope you didn’t hear me.”
He spun on his heel and was greeted with your smile. It lacked its carefree nature, instead just barely failing to conceal a twinge of nerves, but beautiful nonetheless. He couldn’t help but smile back. 
“What are you doing here?” he asked, taking a few steps closer. 
“I came with Penny.” The roundness of your cheeks turned pink from your blush. You lightly shrugged. “I missed you.”
With those words, Jake knew Rooster was deserving of a swift smack upside the head, one he very well may deliver. You cared. You missed him, even. 
Fucking Rooster.
“Oh, I, um,” you continued, your eyes falling down to your hand. “I got you these. It feels silly now, but at the time I thought they would be nice, I guess.”
He followed your line of sight to the small bundle in your hand. Five long stems were tight in your grip, the bulbs on their ends made up of layers of silky red petals. 
"I was thinking," you swallowed hard and met his gaze, "I don't actually know if you like flowers. And if you do, I didn't know your favorite. I just picked mine." The sweet grin that returned to your face practically demanded he kiss you. Your lips, your cheeks, your forehead, your nose. All of you. Every little bit. 
And you weren't wrong. He hadn't had a favorite. 
He did now. 
Jake swallowed through the tightness in his throat, fighting back the stinging in the corners of his eyes. 
He didn't get gifts, and certainly not from the women he was with. But then again, with the exception of you, he hadn't chosen to be with a woman for more than a night or two in the last decade. 
"I like the yellow ones but they symbolize friendship and that wasn't really what I was going for, so I—"
"I love you.”
Your smile, your jaw, your hand, fell. "You…what?"
He let out a chuckle and reached for you. "Come here."
You didn't hesitate sliding your hand into his and he quickly pulled you to him, your chests hitting, lips meeting with an intensity that he hoped expressed even just a lick of how much he missed you. You draped your arms around his shoulders and the petals of the flowers tickled the nape of his neck. 
"Six months was too long," you whispered when you separated. 
He nudged his nose against yours. "Way too long."
---
tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @cinderellasmissingshoe @leila22rogers
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wandasaura · 1 month
Text
TOO IN LOVE TO THINK STRAIGHT
summary — when you mention to your dominants that you want to further explore the dynamics of your relationship, they’re all for it
warning(s) — established relationship, married wandanat, dom/sub dynamics, exploration of non-sexual bdsm, purposefully triggered subspace, implied mommy kink (never said), implied daddy kink (also never said), brief mention of sensory overstimulation, literal fluff to the fullest extent possible, men/minors dni
authors note — i committed to the lyric titles too hard, but wonderland perfectly describes this fic! daddy nat lovers, i see you
you are in love universe
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♥️⊹ ˚ . 18+, men/minors dni ⁺ 𓈒 ꒰💌꒱ ♡ ・ mommy maximoff ✧
“Are you excited?” The soft vibrations have become a fond sensation as you peer out of the car window and admire all of the buildings that you pass. You’re not in the best area, one of the worst actually, but you find something so calming about the construction crowded roads and graffiti covered storefronts. You’ve been stuck in bumper to bumper traffic for the last half hour, a plethora of detours and u-turns standing in your way of where you really wanted to be, but every time Natasha eases her foot back onto the gas and shoots between lines of cars that don’t have the balls to make the move themself, you hum in contentment. You’re okay with being stuck if you’re stuck with them. 
They’d been promising you this day for months, and although it had been canceled two weeks ago when you came down with an unexpected cold that left you miserable and bed-ridden for three days, it was finally here. There was no time left for another extenuating circumstance to push the date back farther. You hadn’t stopped bouncing in the backseat since Wanda had affectionately buckled your seatbelt, your fingerprints are smeared against the backseat window from how you point out the exit signs that mean your destination is growing closer. Natasha had long since stopped asking you to refrain from touching the glass she kept spotless, looking back at you through the rear-view mirror with fondness whenever a lull in speed occurred. Now was one of those moments. The line of cars all waiting to merge back onto the Garden State Parkway kept the car still, the break was applied heavily and wasn’t going to be let off soon. Unlike the other times she had looked back at you, she craned her entire body now, and you grinned at the easy way about her expression. 
Your fingers left behind the glass of the backseat driver side window to press firmly against the tip of her nose, wanting to see it scrunch up in annoyance like it always did when you poked it. Natasha was less compliant with your need for physical touch then Wanda was, but she allowed you small victories every once in a while. Today was one of those days where everything seemed to fly. You had eagerly pulled her around the house all morning, sat in her lap at breakfast, and all but forced her to help you dress when you decided picking the perfect outfit was too hard to do on your own. The women had immaculate taste in fashion, you supposed it was something that needed to come with their high-profile occupations, but you’d never complain about them making your old clothes look fresh and new without adding anything tasteless or unnecessary.  You hadn’t wanted to be apart from her since your eyes had peeled open at seven, the excitement in your belly too strong to ignore despite Wanda telling you that you wouldn’t be leaving the house until eleven. You were so beyond grateful that Natasha had been serious about taking you out when her and Wanda’s schedules allowed, that it didn’t matter to you if your earlier than usual wake up time meant having a full four hours to merely sit around and wait. 
You nodded your head at her simply asked question, bearing a smile that compiled a list of words you’d be happy enough to use in a sentence if she so desired. She didn’t though, you knew she was well aware of how excited you were and was merely pulling your leg because she herself was bored. There was no way she could be oblivious to your hyperactive movements when your feet kicked the back of her seat every handful of minutes, but she’d not asked you to stop only rolled her eyes in fond exasperation and murmured to Wanda about the copious amounts of fingerprints and scuff marks she’d have to tend to later. Natasha and traffic were not things that should exist in the same sentence. For as patient as the woman was, she quickly lost her composure when ‘assholes in black hondas don’t know what the fucking speed limit is’. The first time she’d bellowed in annoyance you’d shook your head and giggled into your hand, your eyes connecting with Wanda’s who had glanced back at you in a silent threat to not egg Natasha on further. You’d tried to keep your amused reactions to yourself after that, but it was hard not to laugh at Natasha’s annoyance for anyone going under eighty miles an hour; especially considering the speed limit was only sixty-five. 
The drive wasn’t meant to be any longer than an hour and a half, Wanda had meticulously gone over each and every available route before she’d loaded you and Natasha up in the car, but construction hadn’t been something to consider while she was planning your departure. It seemed every major highway and backroad was under construction lately, even the roads that led down to the shore in Westview. You didn’t mind it, occasionally pointing out the names of the yellow vehicles as you passed them, but you worried how little time you’d have to explore as the second hour of driving came and passed. When your legs grew restless, you settled for sitting cross-legged in the backseat, your elbows pressing firmly against your knees as you craned your neck to see between the head-rests on the couples seats. The sky was open and blue, no trace of clouds but apparent wind. The trees on either side of the road rustled with the flow of the breeze, and if you stayed just quiet enough, you could hear it howling outside of the windows. The sight of wind was a ploy to get unsuspecting people out of their houses. The weather was hot and humid, temperatures climbing into the low hundreds, but your destination was indoors, so thoughts about how you’d melt beneath the sun didn’t have valid reasons to come. 
Wanda’s eyes locked on yours when Natasha eased onto the gas again, pulling off the exit ramp like a bat out of hell and dodging oncoming traffic that honk and scolded her boldness. You giggled when a particular car just to your left raised their hand at her, a single finger pointed toward the sky. She was unaffected, returning the gesture with passion. Your smile fell off your lips when your gaze shuffled over to meet Wanda’s, and the Sokovian looked at you with displeasure. “Feet on the floor.” Wanda reprimanded when she knew she had your attention, and you sighed but complied with the request. “We'll be there soon. Why don’t you tell me about what you're most excited to see?” 
That had inspired a full tangent of thoughts that were only half complete to spill from your lips like rushing water off a cliff, but neither Wanda or Natasha had tried to interrupt you and get the full version of your story. They were happy enough to listen to you ramble nonsensically, your fingers twisting together in your lap out of pure elation that you had no other way to express. Wanda was simply content with knowing that should Natasha crash, you were sitting properly in the backseat. It wasn’t another half hour before Natasha was grabbing a ticket from the machine at the entryway of the parking garage and pulling into a reserved spot on the very first level by the exit. You’d known they would go all out for today, they always did, but it never failed to make you feel incredibly special to be getting such attentive treatment from two of the most willing and powerful women in the world. You flew out of the car before Natasha even had the engine off, feet not even hitting the pavement beneath you entirely before you raced around the back of the Stingray so you could pull Wanda’s door open for her. You bounced excitedly on your toes throughout the entire exchange, grinning up at her with an expression of complete innocence. The Sokovian smiled down at your adoringly, capturing your face in her gentle hands and pulling you just close enough for your forehead to fall against her lips. 
“Such an excited little duckling.” Wanda mused with gentle laughter, her breath warm and thin as it fanned across your temple and shot sparks of pleasurable admiration through your belly and across your spine. You would’ve stayed permanently fixed on her tender expression had you not heard Natasha’s door swing closed. Your eyes trailed over the top of the car until they met the sight of her, dressed casually in a white t-shirt and jean shorts, her red locks had been pulled up and away from her face in a fleetingly worn ponytail that swung behind her head with every subtle move her body made. You could drool over the sight of her, but there were other priorities at the forefront of your mind. 
“Can we go now? Please?” You bounced eagerly beneath their transfixed stare, your hands grabbing eagerly at Wanda’s who still had a soft grip on your cheeks. You knew the rules of walking in busy parking lots well, and although they’d made you feel like an incapable child at one point, you adored and craved them now. The lawyers reminded you so often that just because you are a capable adult, doesn’t mean you have to act like one when they’re there to take care of you. You let them take control easily now, no willingness to fight left to linger in your instincts, even in something as simple as finding your way through busy parking lots. 
A smirk splayed across Natasha’s lips as she approached you and Wanda, her hand shoving her phone and wallet into one of the back pockets of her denim shorts. You should be ashamed for finding the simple action so attractive, but you didn't. You'd stopped letting yourself feel embarrassment for merely noticing their beauty long ago, and greedily your eyes trailed over the muscles in her shoulder and bicep that flexed as she reached toward her back. Natasha chuckled knowingly, sending a wink in your direction before she purposefully flexed her biceps. You wanted to roll your eyes and tell her to knock it off, but Wanda had beaten you to the punch and sent her wife an exasperated hit to the gut. “I don’t know, malyshka. Can we?” Natasha answered your earlier question, letting her feet carry her impossibly close to Wanda’s side. You wanted to groan aloud when the Russian’s hand slid comfortably into the back pocket of the Sokovian’s denim shorts, but you were too excited to dwell on the fact that Wanda’s ass had definitely just been squeezed roughly and possessively. 
“Yes.” You made the executive decision with a curt nod of impatience, already setting your pace toward the exit, dragging Wanda behind you with rushed steps. It was the exact opposite of what she intended to happen when she’d first implemented the rule of wanting you to hold either her or Natasha’s hands in busy spaces. You were now the one leading her around by the hand, and quite blindly if she wanted to put it nicely. You’d hardly noticed when you led her body straight into a traffic cone, her feet just barely able to avoid tripping over the bright orange safety measure. Natasha had to stifle her laughter as she followed, her hand still in Wanda’s pocket and effectively pulling the Sokovian in two different directions as she remained a couple of steps behind. 
Wanda placed a firm hand overtop of your wrist, catching your attention as you looked back at her with a whine of impatience toward the back of your throat, ready to be unleashed if she didn’t make whatever she needed quick enough for your standards. You were almost there, almost to the long line of parents and children that wrapped themselves around the building in an unruly line. You could see the electric blue sign on the top of the structure perfectly, the artwork on the sides of the building visible but intercepted by bobbing heads and tall bodies. Her abrupt stopping when you were so close to where you desperately wanted to be was the cruelest thing that had ever happened to you. “Why don’t you leave the dragging around to me, lyubov’. Unless you want me to end up in the infirmary before you even get to see the sharks.” 
You groaned at her teasing, a fierce blush crawling up your neck that couldn’t be blamed by the unforgiving heat. You didn’t let her words sink beneath your skin however, deciding that pulling at her hand was effective enough. “Will you hurry up then?” You groaned, smirking victoriously when Natasha laughed at your antics and placed a kiss on the top of your head. 
“Yes, milaya. We can go.” Wanda rolled her eyes but agreed with your demand, already beginning to set your pace at a significantly slower speed before the rest of her sentence even lingered in the air for your ears to pick up on. You practically skipped beside her, a broad smile on your face as you once again droned on and on about everything you couldn’t wait to see and have. Natasha had promised you a stuffed animal from the gift shop, knowing that you’d never had many in childhood. You’d decided that today would be one of the first times you explored your dynamic outside of the house, and the Slavic women were sparing no experience in giving you the purest taste at reclaiming your lost childhood. It felt too good to be true, to just surrender your conscious mind and let them take control, but you found yourself submitting to them easily. They wanted to do this for you, they enjoyed playing up their roles in this aspect. It was still hard to grasp that something that could be so kinky in bed could also be so pure outside of it, but they were allowing you to learn at your own speed, and selfishly they loved how inexperienced you were. There was no former training to unwind from your beliefs, there was no burned skin around your heart that had been failed by somebody else. You were fully theirs to shape, and they intended to show you the purest sides of this dynamic. 
You frowned when Wanda began to lead you toward the front of the building, getting farther and farther away from the long line of people waiting their turn to enter. Toddlers pointed at you and tugged on their parents arms, not so quietly wondering why they couldn’t follow you and go around the line. A blush settled onto your cheeks when a little girl, no older than six, tugged at who you assumed was her fathers hands and boldly declared that you were ‘cutting’. Natasha and Wanda were in their own little world it seemed, laughing and talking with one another in quick Russian that you couldn’t comprehend, not batting a blind eye to the whispered accusations that were being pointed at you. 
“The lines back there.” You whispered albeit a little self-consciously, not wanting to draw attention to yourselves anymore than the redheads adoring your waist already had. The sight of you together dripped with wealth. The diamond studded Chopard watch on Wanda’s wrist dazzled in the sunlight, the yellow gold Tiffany hoops in Natasha’s first piercing swayed when the breeze caught them. You looked properly out of place amongst the parents and young children all waiting in line. 
Wanda stopped walking at your timid statement, looking down at you with a look that could only be described as dominating. It wasn’t hard, wasn’t demanding, but rather apologetic and soft. You felt entirely small beneath her sage green stare. “What did you want to try today?” Wanda reminded you softly, her body language not portraying the suggestiveness behind her quiet words. To any of the parents standing feet away, it looked like she had simply paused to ask you a well-intended question, which you supposed was true, but it wasn’t as innocent as it appeared.  
You deflated slightly, leaning into the touch Natasha had placed on the small of your back minutes ago. You were becoming fuzzy, a feeling you’d associated with rough sex, but there hadn’t been any of that today. The closest thing to having their bodies had come when Natasha pulled you into a bruising kiss before you left the house. “Letting you have control.” 
Wanda hummed, content with your answer, knowing that once again she had full control. Her fingers that always seemed to be perfectly polished ghosted over your cheek, and you could assume she’d attempted to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear like she always did, but today your hair had been tied back into two french braids that Natasha had suggested. “So let Mommy worry about where the line is. That’s not something for little girls like you to be concerned about.” 
You nodded softly, unable to help the rush of something sweet that further propelled the dizziness in your mind forward at the Sokovian’s dismissal. Although you didn’t resume your skipping like you had been doing when Wanda guided you across the street, your footsteps came lightly and with a bounce as you became lost in the simple action of counting the many cracks that adorned the sidewalk as you stepped over them. At some point, your hand had grabbed Natasha’s, and you swung your arms back and forth absentmindedly. The day was hot, unforgivingly so, and the natural flush across your cheeks was becoming annoying. You were ready to start vocalizing your discomfort when Wanda guided you inside of the aquarium, saving her the headache of listening to you whine about something she couldn’t control. 
You gawked at the sight of light blue painted walls and elaborate glass tanks that held any color coral you could imagine. The front desk was a giant fish tank, and little orange and white clownfish swam around the enclosure blissfully. You were practically vibrating beside Natasha as you looked around at the little details that had been incorporated into the entrance of the building. The ceilings were high, and painted across them were sharks and whales and every kind of fish you could even imagine. There was no embarrassment when you pulled at Natasha’s hand and let your own little finger shoot up to the ceiling, excitedly pointing out a boesemani rainbow fish that swam beside a hammerhead. Wanda had gone to check you in for your reservation, or at least you assumed that was what she was doing as she stood closely to the front desk and nodded at the teenager behind the counter. His eyes briefly flashed over to you when he noticed your head craned toward the ceiling and overheard your loud exclamation, but Wanda must’ve said something that made his attention snap back to her just as quickly as it had left. 
“Inside voices, dorogaya.” Natasha smiled sweetly at your excitement, having no real issue with the volume that you had spoken at before, but she knew it would bother you if you caught onto the lingering stares of judgemental adults who couldn’t possibly understand that not everything was meant solely for children. You had just as much of a right to enjoy these little things as the toddlers who ran free, but she couldn’t change everyone's opinion even with her deadly glare. 
Your cheeks flushed pink, and not because of the blistering sun, but you nodded to her request and tried not to let it sting. You’d been told all your life that you were too loud, reprimanded by your mother until you’d just fallen silent. You knew she hadn’t meant it in any particular way, but some things still struck a chord in your heart. The crushing feeling hadn’t lasted long, too comfortable in Natasha’s presence to dwell in self-consciousness. Your eyes went back to trailing all of the open space that you could see, and when they landed on a particular tank beside the single hallway that led into the larger room that veered off in several separate directions, you attempted to jut off. A whine rippled through your chest when your hand was squeezed and Natasha didn’t follow you forward, cemented in the place where you’d been instructed to wait for Wanda. 
“Seahorses!” You tugged at her hand, earning you a disproving expression complete with a single raised eyebrow. You sulked back toward her, giving the tank one last sad glance before you focused down on your shoes, a frown on your lips.
“What are we meant to be doing, hm?” Natasha didn’t allow you to keep your gaze transfixed on your shoes, one of her slender and ring adorned fingers guiding your chin upward until your eyes flickered to hers. Her heart clenched at the sad frown that clung to your features that had been so happy not even seconds ago, but she didn’t let your pout sway her decision. After all, Wanda had given you a clear direction, and she expected that you follow it. “Can you tell me what we’re meant to be doing?” 
You sighed, glancing back over at Wanda who looked to be wrapping up whatever conversation she’d been having with the teenager behind the counter.  “Waiting for Wands.” The words slipped past your lips softly, your eyes trailing back over to Natasha’s. “But there’s seahorses.” 
“And the seahorses will still be there when Wands is done. We’re gonna have our listening ears on today, aren’t we?” Natasha was really laying it on thick, even she knew that, but it was hard to help herself when you looked so soft and pliant standing in front of her dressed in an outfit that she picked out. You nodded your head, shuffling into her embrace, sadness still tainting your features. 
Natasha kisses the top of your head, wrapping her arms around your torso as she lets you have your feelings against her chest. She knows they’ve been guiding you into a stage of subspace all day, it had been perfectly intentional, but how you handle it is still a wildcard. Much to your misconception, subspace wasn’t always brought on by getting railed, as you liked to refer to it as. Any form of submission could send you down that rabbit hole, including following instructions; which you’d been doing all day. Subspace wasn’t about the weight of the scene or how badly your body ached afterward, it was just about trust and the right amount of guidance. They’d been doing something right, and Natasha could recognize the glassy sheen over your eyes as you peaked up at her and then over toward Wanda who was finally, finally, walking back toward you. 
The Sokovian had three brightly colored bands in her hands, her lips curled into a bright grin that crinkled her eyes. She stopped just in front of Natasha, effectively blocking you from view as she felt the eyes of the teenager behind the counter try to burn into your form. “What’s with the frown?” 
“Seahorses.” You pouted up at her, much to Natasha’s amusement. The Russian’s hand ran over your back soothingly, though she couldn’t fight her bright smile when you again tried to wiggle out of her arms and rush over to the cylinder tank now that Wanda was back in sight. 
“She wasn’t very pleased that you asked us to wait for you.” Natasha filled in the gaps, your explanation rather vague and rushed; if you could even call the one word response you gave much of an explanation at all. “Why don’t you tell Wands what kind of fish you found on the ceiling?” Natasha nudged you, prompting your attention onto something other than seahorses. You beamed at the excuse to ramble again, your finger pointing up to the ceiling like it did the first time, and even if Wanda couldn’t follow your finger to the specific fish she was meant to be looking at, she smiled encouragingly. 
“It’s a boesemani rainbow fish! They get brighter when they get older!” You laughed, your pouty face no longer a visual that filled the entrance of the aquarium. Wanda had not the slightest care in the world for the fish you were pointing to, but she praised your knowledge either way. She’d pretend to care about anything if it meant seeing that bright smile linger on your lips even after the words stopped coming. “Can we see the seahorses now?” 
Already anticipating how the rest of the afternoon was going to play out, Wanda laughed at your eagerness but nodded her head. You were just out of Natasha’s grip when she captured you in hers. This time, you did whine, sad eyes stuck on the tank in the corner of the room. Neither redhead could blame you for your distress when you’d been intercepted on your way to the seahorses twice now, and so neither scolded you for the sharp sound that reached their ears. “What are the rules if you’re not holding mine or Natty’s hand?” Wanda quizzed softly, her voice taking on a tone that had made you weak in the knees too many times. It was a voice Natasha called her ‘Mommy Voice’, which usually led to the Russian getting slapped upside the head when Wanda overheard. 
“Stay where you can see me.” You bounced on your toes, still pulling at Wanda’s hand and glancing between her and the seahorses with a desperate plea in your wide and glassy eyes. “Please!” 
She nodded at you with encouragement, smiling fondly when you raced over to the tank, carefully not to place your hands on the glass though it was already smudged with little fingerprints and what could only be assumed to be saliva. You marveled at the seahorses that bobbed in the water, illuminated by an electric blue strip of lights that made the gradient of colors on their bodies pop. You would’ve stayed staring at the seahorses all afternoon had Natasha not been the one to softly guide you away after five minutes of soft oohing and awwing. There were so many more tanks and creatures to see, she didn’t want you wasting any more of your time on just one tiny tank. You’d been upset about her gentle hands guiding you away until you’d turned a corner and spotted a tank of hippos in the distance. Your eager hand had pulled her through the crowd with Wanda following hot on your heels. 
You showed the same level of excitement at every tank and exhibit, which neither lawyer thought was possible. There was no lull in your squeals and shrieks, and both of their wrists hurt by the time they sat you down for a late lunch. You’d abided by their every rule, including the ones that seemed stupid to you, what was so wrong about falling into the penguin exhibit, it was an easy enough climb back over the thin glass barrier? They’d expected lunch to go smoothly, you’d been so well behaved that they’d even considered buying you ice cream first, but unfortunately for them, the small cafe in the heart of the aquarium was directly beside the shark exhibit. 
“Milaya, we will see the sharks after we eat.” Wanda cooed sweetly for the umpteenth time, trying not to let her face crack as she contemplated just giving into your pleas. Their firm voices and whispered praise had guided you into what Natasha referred to as the ‘sweet spot’. You weren’t so blissfully fuzzy that you couldn’t comprehend their words, but you were beyond the point of making a rational decision, and listening seemed to fall into that category as you struggled against Wanda, eyes fixed on the large sign that comically had a massive bite mark in the side. It was the little things that lingered throughout the building that made it more immersive, like the stickers on the floor in the shape of penguin footprints that lead to their enclosure, and the bite mark in the sign that led to the sharks. Your eyes searched to find every little detail that anyone else would overlook. 
“I want to see them now.” Your crestfallen face was enough to weaken the reserve both redheads had been putting forth since your little meltdown had started. They hated to think that had you not been so high on endorphins and adrenaline, you never would’ve expressed how much you enjoyed all the little things that the aquarium had to offer, but they were still working to earn this level of trust from you when peptides weren’t at an all time high. With your head firmly planted in subspace, there wasn’t a single insecure feeling prickling beneath your skin. You were utterly free, control sitting in their hands and they had to force themselves to remember that. 
“Not now, detka.” Natasha stepped in, guiding you toward the only empty table in the cafe. Your lips were turned downward in a persistent frown, but by some miracle, you’d actually sat down on the chair and let Wanda name out the options on the menu. It was no surprise to either of them that you pointed toward the chicken tender basket, but it was good enough for them to fulfill your request immediately. 
Wanda left to order the food while Natasha kept you occupied at the table, ensuring that you didn’t start to fall out of the state they’d been working you into all day. She offered praise when you answered her little questions about the fun facts you’d been reading on all of the displays, and she tutted disapprovingly when your fingers ripped apart a napkin that some other family had left on the table. When Wanda came back with a tray of three chicken tender baskets because it felt wrong to eat any of the seafood that was offered, you were firmly engaged in a conversation about the stingrays that had been yet to be spotted. You’d explored more than half of the aquarium, finding out that the pink band around your wrist was a pass to all of the activities that lingered around. You’d fed the penguins, given the seals high-fives, and watched a 4D movie that made absolutely no sense, but had dispensed bubbles and sprays of water that were fun enough. All that was left to do was walk the roped path overtop of the shark exhibit, but that didn’t sound like something you wanted to put your faith in, even if hundreds of people did it every day. You, nor Wanda, would be walking across a shark infested tank, though Natasha had plans to do it herself. She’d always been the more daring of the couple. 
When your lunch was finished, or when your lunch was picked over enough for Wanda and Natasha to set you free again, you wasted no time in grabbing both of their hands and zipping through the families that stood in your way. You’d been too distracted with the bamboo sharks to hear Wanda mutter to Natasha about how your crowd direction was just as bad as her driving, but you’d turned around in time to watch Natasha roll her eyes and whack Wanda’s bicep. 
In your fuzzy headspace, their rules engraved in your mind, one of them being to show respect to others, you frowned and settled both hands onto your hips. “You broke rule number six!” You stated rather angrily, stalking up to Wanda with long strides that didn’t match the innocence in your eyes. You kissed her arm softly, the place where Natasha had hit her engraved in your mind. 
“Yeah Natty, you broke rule six.” Wanda’s amusement wasn’t so easily hidden in her tone as her lips curled into a smile and she pulled you into her chest, settling a kiss onto the top of your head as you both sent glares toward Natasha. Yours was littered with a protectiveness that almost outshone the glassy gleam that had settled, Wanda’s however, was riddled with enjoyment and humor. “What should she do, detka?” Wanda giggled, leaning down to whisper in your ear though it was loud enough for Natasha to hear, and the redhead was just barely keeping the smile off her face as she watched you and Wanda conspire against her. 
“She’s gotta say sorry!” They’d noticed that in your fuzzy state, you’d shied away from the bigger words that slipped into your vocabulary normally. You weren’t yet at a point where communicating your needs was impossible, but you weren’t actively fighting to clear your head and search for words like apologize and blasphemy either. Natasha would never forgive Yelena for throwing that word around so often you’d started to pick up on it.  
“Well?” Wanda jutted out her hip, placed a perfectly manicured hand just above where her bone rested. You mimicked her stance, though you were significantly less threatening than Wanda with your french braids messy from the humidity that drafted in from windows, and your baby blue colored corset shirt that was adorned with intricate lace patterns and ribbons that tied the back together. 
“Ona razob'yetsya v mashine.” Natasha hummed, and although you knew enough Russian to know that wasn’t an apology she had uttered to Wanda, no, it was a very true statement that you’d crash in the car on the way home, the Sokovian had accepted it and laughed. 
Despite your excitement to see the sharks, you didn’t hang around the exhibit for long. There were too many people and you seemed to become overstimulated more easily when you were flush full of endorphins, so Wanda had been the one to lead you away toward tanks of lobsters and jellyfish. She started walking down the hallway, leaving you with Natasha, wanting to find a sign that could lead the three of you toward the stingrays because she knew you wouldn’t enjoy the aquarium for much longer. It had been hours, and in your sensitive headspace, the bright lights and sounds were quickly becoming too much to handle. You’d been so brave, trying this out with them and trusting them fully, but Wanda wasn’t about to compromise your happiness for a few more hours of mindless walking from room to room when you’d already seen everything that interested you. All she cared about was making sure you had a good time, even if she thought aquariums were savagely overpriced now. 
Wanda frowned when Natasha found her way over to her without you. Her eyes flickered around the long hallway, searching for your blue top that stood out brightly against the sea of other colors that adults and children wore. It was such a specific shade that even if seventeen other people all crowded around to watch jellyfish bob had blue on, you stuck out like a sore thumb. “Where’s Y/N?” Wanda questioned and Natasha frowned. 
“I thought she was with you.” The Russian quickly realized that no matter how many times she spun around in circles, you weren’t anywhere in sight. She distinctly remembered you telling her that you wanted to go with Wanda, so she hadn’t questioned when you walked off and toward the direction that the Sokovian had gone in. Natasha was properly panicked when thirty seconds went by and she still couldn’t spot you, but Wanda at least had the thought to check the next hallway before she let herself spiral too. 
The stingray exhibit turned out to be in the next room over, crowded by kids and parents who talked about the sea creatures with excitement in their quiet tones. The occasional toddler bellowed in disgust when they realized how slick the back of a stingray was, but for the most part, the room only vibrated because of the sheer number of voices that occupied it, not because of volume. You were hunched over the edge, elbows deep into the shallow water when Wanda and Natasha spotted you. Each let out a sigh of relief, but nothing was going to stop them from marching over to you and pulling you away from the water. 
“What were the rules, milaya?” Wanda asked you, her voice not as soft as it had been all day, but not hard either. They’d never been out of the house while you were lingering in subspace, and though they never wanted to lose you, it hadn’t been something that never crossed their mind. You wandered away even when your head was clear, your lack of impulse control only heightened that need to trail off.  
“Stingrays!” You beamed at Wanda, not taking into account the thin line that settled over her eyebrows as she peered down at you. Your excitement was cute, a telling indication that you really hadn’t meant to wander away and give them the scare of their life, but it wouldn’t get you out of the scolding Wanda had ready on the tip of her tongue. 
“Not stingrays, utenok. What were the rules?” Natasha laid heavy emphasis on the last word of her question, and though your eyes were more glassy then she’d seen them all day, she could see the wheels turning as you tried to process her words. 
“Oh.” You mumbled when you finally came to the conclusion, your shoulders deflating as your head dipped down and set your gaze on your shoes. “Sorry.” 
Wanda, who had been prepared to dig into you, sighed softly and dropped the topic. She may be a stickler for the rules but she knew it would only cause further damage if she laid into you about listening. Your disappearing hadn’t been intentional, and even she could see the tears threatening to spill over as you brewed in your own feelings of disappointment. 
“I want you holding my hand, dorogaya.” She instructed firmly, “No more walking by yourself. We don’t wanna lose such a sweet little duckling, huh?” Wanda lifted your chin, smiling reassuringly down at you. Her rings caught the light, glimmering like a million little stars that cried to be released from the gold adorning her fingers. It was over after that, you’d fallen too deep into the sea of bliss to want anything other than her. You shuffled close, all thoughts of stingrays forgotten as you breathed in her scent. Sensing your loss of interest, Wanda shared a silent conversation with Natasha who nodded. 
“Why don’t we go check out the gift shop?” Natasha claimed one of your hands, engangling you from Wanda before you could sink any deeper. They needed you coherent enough to get back into the car, and then you were free to settle deeply beneath the blanket of comfort they’d slowly been laying over top of you all day. Natasha held back on delivering any further praise, knowing it wouldn’t help you coming closer to the light. 
She guided you through hallways and crowded rooms, occasionally squeezing your hand when you winced at crying babies and strong fishy odors. She herself was over the aquarium, but she’d been holding out for you. She was glad she didn’t have to fake her enthusiasm anymore, though Wanda was certainly getting a kick out of all the exasperated eyerolls the Russian hid from you. 
The gift shop was practically empty when you shuffled inside, clinging to Natasha who didn’t mind the contact. She led you through rows of toys and puzzles, some not having any connection to the aquarium while others quite boldly sported the name in a thick black font. You found interest in none of it, which she couldn’t blame you for. Everything looked tacky and far too cheap to be as expensive as the prices on the shelves said, but still she guided you around encouraging you to pick something out. She’d promised you a stuffed animal, but when you finally reached the back wall where all the cuddly toys were lined up in rows, neither of you liked any. They were all filled with stuffing that was too stiff to cuddle, and you retracted your hand quickly when you reached out to touch one. Whatever had been used as fuzz was scratchy and coarse, and you hated it with a passion. Eventually, when Wanda came up to you holding a soft gray crewneck with an embroidered whale shark and the name of the aquarium on the front, you agreed to let it be purchased for you, and although it was still in the highest temperatures that New Jersey had seen all summer, you wore it out of the aquarium with a smile. 
When you reached the car, there was no keeping you afloat any longer. Natasha had uttered the first bit of praise in minutes, and you surrendered fully to the warmth in your mind. Wanda smiled, usually the one who you attached to when you fell over the edge, but Natasha had been your chosen pick today. 
“Just get in the back with her, Talia.” Wanda rolled her eyes after three minutes of Natasha trying to detach you from her arm, each attempt ending with whines and stomped feet as you tightened your grip. 
Natasha sighed, able to count the number of times she’d let Wanda drive her car on one hand, but she wasn’t getting away from you right now, and she didn’t really want to anyway. “If you so much as leave one fingerprint on my radio you won’t be getting laid for a week, Maximoff.” 
Wanda rolled her eyes, snatching the keys from Natasha’s outstretched hand and opening the driver's side door more aggressively than needed. If anyone was going to be leaving fingerprints it was Natasha, who could never decide which type of music she wanted to listen to. Seeing that you had gotten your way, you smiled up at Natasha with a grin that was only right to describe as cheeky. The Russian rolled her eyes and settled you into the backseat, shushing your protests when she strapped the seatbelt over your chest and made sure your feet were planted firmly on the floor. 
She pulled you into her side when her own seatbelt was clicked into place, gently releasing your hair from the tight braids that had been twisted together all day. At the first pass of her fingers across your sensitive scalp, you all but melted into her chest and let your eyes flutter closed. It wouldn’t take six minutes before you were asleep against her chest, clutching desperately to the white t-shirt covering her torso. With the absence of your questions and excited statements, the car settled with silence, filled with only the sound of the engine revving when Wanda stepped on the gas. 
“Did you have a good day, moya lyubov’?” Natasha asked, extending an arm to run over fingers over Wanda’s shoulder. She couldn’t see the Sokovian’s face, but she knew there was a satisfied smile settling over her lips. 
“I did.” She breathed out softly, flicking the right blinker on when she merged onto the parkway, thankful that all the construction seemed to have been paused for the day and the road, though filled with typical traffic, was clear of any major dead stops. “Did you ever think we’d be here?” Although Wanda hadn’t been specific, Natasha knew she was referring to you. You were practically the sun in their own two planet universe, everything they did revolved around you now, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. Things got boring when it was merely her and Wanda in a universe void of endless light and warmth. 
“I hoped.” Natasha kissed your temple softly, glad that she hadn’t stirred you awake. 
When Wanda pulled into the driveway, you were still sound asleep and the sky was dark with nightfall. It was early to call it a night, but the couple did so without complaint. You settled into Natasha’s chest with only the aquarium crewneck on your body, and Wanda had shuffled into the space in bed where your body typically rested, laying her head down on Natasha’s shoulder and placed a heavy hand on the small of your back. 
“Goodnight my little utenok.” She whispered into the thick stretch of silence before sleep overcame her too, and although the night carried on outside of your small bubble of peace, none of you had any idea.
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falling-endlessly · 2 months
Text
Boomerang (part 3)
Vox x Female!Ex!Overlord!Reader
Summary: Your infuriating ex is planning something, and it's putting everyone on edge. But if he wants at the hotel, he'll have to go through you (and Alastor) first.
<— Part 2 Chapter Index Part 4 —>
—6 HOURS AGO—
"What," Valentino growled, claws creating cracks in the table from how hard he was gripping it. "The fuck did you just say?"
Velvette was no better. Her lip was pulled into a furious snarl, and for once her phone was nowhere to be seen. "Vox, are you out of your fucking mind?"
"Relax," Vox reclined in his chair, raising a brow at his murderous business partners. Velvette's eye twitched and the table creaked in protest under Valentino's fury. "I'm not actually going for redemption, damn, calm your tits people."
"What happened to keeping up an image for the brand?" Velvette banged a fist against her armrest, gritting her teeth. "The Morningstar bitch was literally humiliated on live television, and now you're going to personally advertise for her?!"
"The next extermination is coming sooner than ever, and people are getting desperate. This little publicity stunt can work in our favor," Vox crossed his claws under his chin, megawatt smile growing. "What's a little pity pitch going to hurt? Think about it, I can gather intel, fuck up Alastor's little project, and show Y/n where her allegiances should lie. Win-win-win," he chuckled ominously.
"Cut the shit, Vox," Valentino scoffed, leaning forward to sneer in his face. "It's obvious you're only going this far for that bitch. Can't keep a leash on your toys, hm?"
Vox grit his teeth, digging his claws into his thighs under the table. He knew this wasn't going to go over well, but to be talked down to by someone who was benefiting from him? "So what if I am?" He hid his rage with a large, mocking grin. "And by the way, where's Angel Dust? Haven't seen him around in a while."
Val's face twisted with rage. "You fucking—"
"Enough!" Velvette snapped, glaring at both of them. "I don't have time for this stupid shit. Get on with it or this meeting is over."
Vox's unhinged smile slowly relaxed into his charming PR one. "Of course, my apologies Velvette, Val. I can see why you're not...convinced yet. Let me fix that."
The projector on the wall suddenly sparked to life, displaying three pie charts and a legend with many colorful categories. He gestured to them from left to right. "This is a distribution of our profits from ten years ago, five years ago, and last year."
"We have eyes," Velvette droned boredly.
Vox's antennae sparked in irritation, but he continued regardless. "Y/n's helped develop countless programs and softwares, and with her expertise our earnings jumped thirty seven percent, especially during the collaboration between Voxtek and DeepSpace VR. Now, what happens now that she's taken her business elsewhere? Hell knows she has the computing power to run it without our servers—"
"So, we're supposed to just bend over backwards for a few bucks?" Valentino snarled, crossing his arms.
Vox's screen glitched as he struggled to keep his composure. Thirty seven percent was not just a few bucks. But he knew antagonizing Val right now was more trouble than it was worth. "Val," he chuckled, sauntering forward to rest a hand on the backrest of Valentino's chair, leaning into his space. "Since when have you said no to money?" His eye widened, rings spinning.
"Since it walked out on two legs and ignored us," Valentino snorted.
"Val, I need you to see the bigger picture!" He grasped both of Valentino's shoulders, moving behind him so he could speak enticingly into his ear. "This is an opportunity to keep our brand at the top, and get dirt on that radio bitch. The future is what matters, and we are going to be the ones pioneering it."
The projector flickered to one of the surveillance cameras pointed at an exterior angle of the hotel. Then, the image suddenly rippled to show an artificial video of the same property, but instead of the tacky hotel, there stood a modern building adorned with a bright, neon V logo.
Valentino's smile grew at his last sentence, and he turned in his seat, leaning his forehead to rest against Vox's screen. "I like your vision, Cariño," he purred, grinning wickedly to show off his golden tooth. "But, if your little money-making cocksleeve doesn't come back, well, don't say I didn't tell you so~" he said in a sing-song voice, long tongue coming up to lick languidly along the side of Vox's monitor.
Vox's grin froze on his face, screen glitching.
Valentino chuckled, pushing out of his seat before strutting away. "Oh, and Vox baby," he threw a saucy wink over his shoulder. "Come find me when you get lonely, yeah?"
The double doors slammed shut behind him, bathing the room in silence. Which Velvette quickly broke, of course.
"What the fuck, Vox?" She scrubbed a hand down her face. "All this for a profit we can afford to lose? Really?"
"Velvette," his smile twitched up to full, blinding attention again. "Have I ever let you down before? Everything is under control, trust me!"
"Uh huh," Velvette scowled, unconvinced. "You know, Alastor and Y/n are the only people you've ever really lost it for, and you're going to a place where there's both of them."
"What, you don't think I can handle myself?" His smile strained.
Velvette shook her head, standing up from her chair and approaching him. "You know, that PR shit might work on everyone else, but I can see through your bullshit, Vox," she gave him a hard stare. "Just don't fuck everything up, got it? Or I'll make you wish you didn't."
His fists clenched as she walked past him, smile dropping into a scowl as soon as she was out of view.
****
—PRESENT—
"Whatever you do, make sure he's at least ten floors away from me," you muttered to Vaggie, watching as Charlie gave the bane of your existence an awkward tour of the hotel.
The atmosphere was so tense and suffocating, it was starting to make you incredibly antsy. The others were no better. Angel was drumming his fingers anxiously on the bar counter, Niffty was curiously regarding the new "resident" and Husk was already chugging his second bottle of hard liquor. Holy hell, and you couldn't even forget about Alastor if you tried, the radio demon releasing a constant stream of static and looking about ready to sacrifice someone—preferably Vox—in an incredibly painful and sadistic ritual.
"I can't believe she's letting him stay," Angel hissed under his breath, rubbing his temples in exasperation. "Actually no, what am I saying? This is Charlie, of course she'd let him stay. God damnit."
A tap on your shoulder made you turn around, only to find your favorite stiff drink on the counter behind you. You nodded gratefully at Husk, taking the glass and throwing it back like water.
"At least the hotel's in one piece!" Niffty chirped, her one eye back to tracking any stray insects. "Less mess to clean up." Her knife gleamed as she stabbed a cockroach clean in half with a deranged giggle.
"This isn't going to end well," Vaggie scowled darkly. "He's going to try something, I fucking know it."
"Yeah, no shit," Angel groaned, Husk grunting in agreement.
"Or," Pentious chimed in, hair flaring thoughtfully. "He truly does want to redeem himself?"
There was a silence as everyone turned to look at him incredulously, before a unanimous, resounding "no," rang out.
****
"Anddd here's your room key," Charlie presented it to him with a flourish, beaming brightly. "We hope you enjoy your stay! Breakfast, lunch and dinner are served downstairs in the dinning room, or you can go out and get your own food! We'll get your survey ready for you tomorrow so that you can start building your schedule."
"Schedule?" He quirked a brow, taking the room key from her outstretched hand. "For what, exactly?"
"Oh! Um," Charlie laughed, rubbing the back of her neck. "We actually host group therapy activities and trust exercises with the other staff and residents! You'll fill out a short survey so that we can personalize—"
"O-kay, let me stop you there, sweetheart," he chuckled, grin widening condescendingly. "I think it's great what you're doing, really, I do. But I've already got a schedule, and a billion dollar company to run. I'm quite the busy man, you know?"
Charlie furrowed her brow. "But—"
"Seriously, my sales would fall and what would my clients say? Hm?" A crowd booing track played in the background as Vox shook his head like she was just some uneducated child. "So thanks, but no thanks." He shot her a wink, before the door slammed in her face.
Charlie blinked in shock, taking a few seconds to process that she'd been dismissed in her own hotel. Her shoulders slumped as she trudged away.
But that only lasted for a few steps, before she perked right back up. What was she thinking? Giving up so quickly on one of her clients?
Charlie grinned, smacking a fist into her palm. She'd just have to try harder.
Unbeknownst to her, a figure had been watching the entire exchange from the shadows. Your jaw clenched, claws digging into the drywall.
"Unbelievable," you shook your head in disdain.
****
As soon as the door shut, Vox deflated like a balloon.
"Fuckkk," he hissed under his breath, sliding down the door tiredly. "The hell am I doing?"
He allowed himself only a few minutes to wallow in self-pity, before he sighed, pushing off the floor and getting to work. In less than twenty minutes, he had the whole room wired to his needs, electronic Voxtek devices littering the previously empty spaces. Now he had a way to travel without leaving his room.
He was just about to dematerialize into one of his laptops when a familiar, chilling presence made him freeze.
"Why, you only just got here! Don't tell me you're leaving already," Alastor chuckled, tilting his head in mock concern.
The radio demon was leaning an elbow against his dresser, just casually invading his privacy. God, just his smug face made Vox want to kill him already.
"What's it to you, old timer?" Vox sneered, electricity sparking from his claws in agitation. "Unlike you, some of us actually have responsibilities. So if you don't mind—"
"Oh my, breaking your word to Y/n already!" Alastor shook his head with a grin, sound effects of a heckling crowd emanating from his microphone cane. "How very...disappointing. Truly, I'd expect better from you!"
Vox's eye widened, the swirling rings on full display as his teeth grinded in rage. "Y-y-y-you keep her fucking name out of your filthy, cannibalistic mouth! You hear me?" He glitched furiously, electricity sparking in glowing webs from his monitor.
"Aha! Someone's a little on edge," Alastor laughed in tandem with an artificial, mocking laugh track. "Really, that was too easy! You're losing your touch."
"Get the fuck out of my room!" Vox snapped.
"Gladly," the radio demon grinned menacingly, the corners of his mouth stretching to unnatural proportions. "But first, I came to deliver a little message."
Vox gritted his teeth, curling his fists by his sides. His electricity buzzed under his skin, ready to electrocute the fuck out of this crazy fucker if he needed to.
"If you and your merry band of idiots pull even the smallest stunt to sabotage the hotel," Alastor approached him, antlers growing as his eyes turned to radio dials. "I think you'll find out that absence did not make my heart grow fonder."
"What, don't tell me you actually care about this place," Vox grinned, baring his teeth. "The whole redemption thing doesn't really seem to be up your alley, no offense."
"Oh, of course not! Haha! Don't be ridiculous," Alastor chuckled like he'd said something hilarious, but it was overlayed with bursts of radio static. "But I'm afraid I've invested too much in this source of entertainment for you to ruin it with your cheap, unoriginal touch."
The message was clear: don't touch my things.
Vox curled his lip, unwilling to back down no matter how utterly disturbing Alastor's demon form was up close. It gave him chilling flashbacks of their last explosive disagreement. "Then stay away from Y/n," he spat.
Alastor's grin widened, eyes glowing an eerie green as he held out his hand. "Is that a deal?"
Vox grimaced, looking at Alastor's creepy, voodoo doll appearance. "Hell no, you creepy fucker."
Then, like whiplash, Alastor's demon form receded and the air became breathable again. "Well, glad we cleared that up, then!" He laughed exuberantly, twirling his cane. "Nice catching up, chum!"
The demon grinned as he disappeared into shadowy wisps of smoke, melding with the darkness against the walls.
Vox's jaw clenched, electric anger vibrating through him and rattling his teeth. "Fuck!" He kicked over the first thing he saw, which happened to be a wooden workbench. It took a few deep breaths for him to finally calm down and collect his thoughts.
When he was no longer at risk of causing a city-wide outage again (that had been fucking embarrassing), he made his way back to his laptop like he was originally planning to do, only to pause in shock when he saw the brand new device short circuiting, screen full of pixelated static.
An explosive rage convulsed in his chest, the lights in the hotel flickering ominously.
"You red bambi ass fucker!"
****
<—Part 2 Chapter Index Part 4 —>
Taglist: @pooplyface1423 @spookysisters @that-one-weeb-buts-its-the-main @neito327 @hxzbinwrites @coleisyn @bababahannah @yellowsubiesdance @dirk-strides @justaspectatorforfandomarts @harmoira @sunnyslug @gum-iie @lady-valtieri @mit-suri @whatelsecouldgowrong @sillysimplysilky @eternalera @aoiyx @hazellight11 @hopefully-not @tsuvvy @imcryinginemo @dinorawrss @rekoloid @ayesha-eroticax3 @sle3pyh3ad2 @l0verboyxoxo1111
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shojizbae · 10 days
Text
Wellness Checks
Spencer Reid x Reader
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It was 11:37 when you checked your wristwatch. A knock sounded at your door, and you reached for your glasses on your nightstand blindly. Both your dogs sprang up and barked at the sound of the knocks.
"Nike, Artemis, Heel!" you shush them and rub your eyes to get them to focus. The two fluffy German shepherds follow your calves as you get to the front door, clicking the two deadbolts open. They sit as you open the door and reveal Dr. Reid. Only having been on the team for five months, you view Spencer as not just your senior but your superior. And not just the lanky piece of ass that he is.
"Uh, Spencer!" You attempted to smile, and he greeted you back. "Err, come on in." You stepped out of the way and widened the door. "Is there anything I can do for you?" You led him to the couch, where both your dogs sat and stared at him.
"Can I help you with something? Tea, maybe?" you start to walk away
"You were supposed to be at work almost two hours ago (Y/n)."
"I must have overslept, I'm gonna get some coffee would you like a cup."
"As long as it gets you to stop dodging my questions."
"Yes, Sir. How do two cups of sugar sound?" He's trying to be stern and show how cross he is with you, but it's hard to make a serious face when you're not wearing pants. You strut off the kitchen, and he can hear your faucet as you fill the coffee pot. He takes a moment to take you into your apartment. The walls were an olive shade, and there were giant purple curtains. It looked lived-in.
Organized chaos, as people liked to call this.
Your bag and shoes were tossed into oblivion. Your couch had just about a million throw pillows and a basket of blankets. It was cozy. You returned with two large mismatched mugs, handed one to him, and knelt on the couch. At the touch of your bare legs against each other, you realized that you had forgone pajama bottoms the night before. Instead, you had on an old gray UCLA raglan and some red underwear. Thank God you didn't wear a thong yesterday.
"Uh, I'm so sorry I didn't realize." You begin to stand, but a tentative grip on your wrist pulls you down.
"It's fine. You weren't expecting guests." you laugh but pull a nearby knit blanket over your lap
"Why were you sleeping so late? Normally, you are fifteen minutes early. What happened?" You take a sip from a mug that says '30 and flirty.' "(Y/n)." His voice is back to demanding.
"I'm sorry," you rub your eyes. I stayed in the office late to finish up my reports and help JJ with the debriefing.
"Bullshit, JJ was the second out; she had to get back to her son." He takes a long swig of his coffee and sits it on the table. "I've been profiling for over seven years. You're not going to get past me. Was it something on the trip?"
At the mention, you hang your head and whimper.
Tears pour uncontrollably from your eyes, and you hear them tap against your lenses. His mug clicks against your vinyl coffee table, and he pulls you into his chest by your shoulder.
"Shh sh, it's okay." His other hand rubs at your hair. "I know this job takes it out of you. It's important to focus on the fact that you're inciting real change."
"how could someone do that to a child? To ten children and keep going!" You pull up from your hands and look him deep in his eyes.
"I know it's not right." he holds the back of your neck as your forehead presses into his breast.
"How could- how could you do that to a poor sweet child." you begin to let out a mirage of sobs. Incoherent pleas. He pets your hair as you dampen his nice gray sweater. When you've finally calmed down you sniffle and wipe your eyes.
"You should get some water. Gets up and rummages through your cupboard and fills it with tap water. You throw back the last coffee and pull your knees up to your chest. You look up as he hands you a clear blue plastic cup.
"Thank you." you push your glasses up your nose. "You're free to grab anything in the kitchen. Although my groceries are quite lackluster."
"That's alright. I ate before I got here. I never knew you needed glasses."
"Oh, well, I try not to be public without my contacts. I was called four eyes more than I could count."
"Yeah, middle school is the worst."
"This was actually grad school." Your laugh is finally genuine, but you punctuate it with another sniffle.
"Well, I'm just going to text Hotch that you're going to stay home today." He reaches into his pocket
"No, no, I'll come in today. I just needed to rest a little." You push his phone to his chest and stand up. "I'll be right back."
You are ushered to your bedroom, which is basically a big closet separated from the rest of the space by three wide steps and two industrial barn doors. The two dogs follow you to your room and stand at the doors, scrutinizing Reid. You're halfway through buttoning your pants when you realize you're missing your good bra.
"fuck," you whisper to yourself "Reid!" You yell into your apartment
"Yeah!" As he responds, his voice gets louder
"Uh," you turn around quickly and cross your arms over your bare chest
"Oh, sorry,"
"I'm sorry, but could you get my bra from my purse?"
"Sure thing."
"Sorry, it's probably somewhere near the door." your forehead connects with your dresser briefly until you hear him knock on your door jam.
"Here." He taps your shoulder, and you turn slowly, but he squeezes his eyes shut like a 12-year-old boy.
"Oh, come on, Reid, it's not like you've never seen a topless girl before," You tease and spin around to put on your bra. "I'm decent now." You tap on his shoulder. A new method of communication for the two of you. He opens his eyes but looks away when he sees you're only halfway through buttoning your light blue blouse.
"Seriously? I know you didn't have a chance to have fun in high school, but this is ridiculous."
"Well, this is also unprofessional. You're my colleague." He put his hands in his pockets.
"I'm also ready to go. My shoes are by the door." You point to the exit, gather your belongings, put out food for the dogs, and make sure the dog door is unlocked. Reid insists that you take his car and that he'll drive you home at the end of the day.
His car is nice and clean, with only one of those clip-in air fresheners. He takes some sort of secret route to evade the Virginia traffic. You arrive at Quantico and log in to the relief of your coworkers.
"What took you so long?"
"Reid couldn't find my bra." You snort as you fill up another mug with coffee
"Heyo!" Morgan cheers
"That's not completely true." He interjects
"No, it's not. I was having a rough time processing our Alabama case. I guess I slept through some of the trauma."
"You should have stayed home (L/n)," Hotchner says
"No, I need to do at least three hours of work to feel like I've been productive. I'll be fine if I can stay behind my computer and file reports."
"Ok, but you'll be going home at five at the latest." He orders
"Yes, sir." You type in the government password and tie up some loose ends. Many of your reports were halted, and new cases sprung up. Your computer read 4:57 when your to-do list was empty.
"Hotch?" you knock on his door frame and poke your head around the corner. He politely hangs up the phone and rubs his temples. "I'm gonna head out now?"
"Good. And fantastic job finishing your reports. Go get some rest."
"You too," you meander to Spencer's desk and pat his shoulder. "Can you drive me home now?"
"Of course,"
"Hey, don't get too rowdy lovebirds. We need y'all tomorrow!" Morgn calls from his desk, but you're already speeding for the door when he finishes his sentence. Reid makes a sojourn at a nearby Chinese food place and returns with a doggy bag. He takes you and the food up to your apartment and watches you deadbolt him in with you.
"You understand, right?"
"Of course, I also noticed you don't have a ground or top-floor apartment."
"Yeah," Today, you drop your purse on the bench by your door and line your black heels up nicely on a rack. "Well, ground-floor apartments are easier to break into. And if I'm thrown off my balcony, it's low enough that I probably won't die—unless I land on my neck."
"Lovely."
"Feel free to make yourself at home. I'm going to put on some pj's." you start taking off your blouse as you walk to your bedroom. His worm-like reaction only entices you to embolden yourself. You shed your business attire, toss it in the hamper, and put on the same shirt from earlier and an oversized zip-up sweatshirt.
You grab a pair of grey sweats from your drawer and bring them to Reid. He's pulling small white boxes out of the brown bag. You tap his shoulder to avoid startle. He jumps slightly, though.
"Here, those slacks don't look couch-worthy." You hold them out, and he looks hesitant to. "Please, you're a guest who bought me dinner." He pressed his lips in a thin line. He got up with a sigh and put the pants on in your bedroom.
You flip through the channels until you get to BBC and play Dr Who. Reid joins you, wearing an undershirt and your sweats, and is shocked to see his favorite show on the TV.
"Those fit you better than me. You should keep them."
"You watch Dr. Who?"
"Of course," you open a box of Peking ravioli, "Come, take a seat." you open the blanket on your lap for him. "Oh, actually, I have to feed the dogs." You spring upright when he sits down, so he gets a view of your perky butt as he tries to take in the fictional storyline. You scuttle off while he struggles with chopsticks with some lo mein.
You rejoin him, pull the blanket over your lap, overlapping your legs on his. You laugh along with the absurdity of the episode, and as breakfast at Tiffany's comes on, you tell Reid that you're getting drowsy. It's not much later that your glasses are pinching on his arm, and he can feel your lips distorted against him. He pulls you into his chest.
As your snores overlap the sounds of the movie he slides his arm under your knees and by your neck to carry you off to bed. The dogs immediately start barking and leap toward him.
"I'm fine, I'm fine, Artemis Nike Down! Safe." You assure the dogs. Immediately, they lay down and whimper at you. Reid opens your blankets and tucks you in. Before he leaves he places a succulent kiss on your forehead.
"Spence, stay."
"Ok,"
307 notes · View notes
uplatterme · 1 year
Text
false god
—sub!dainsleif/dom!amab!reader, priest!reader | reader is called ‘father’, throatfucking, cockstepping, first half is plot and then the other is filth.
—and after posting about writing for dain since january, i actually finally finished one for him!
This isn’t the first time that such a thing had happened to the Bough Keeper.
Such a thing was, accidentally teleporting himself to a place he didn’t mean to, partly due to exhaustion and sleepless nights.
It was often like these that the immortality cast upon him mocked him more than anything. 
Droplets of water started to fall onto his hair, then eventually onto his body. He stares into the dark sky, the coldness of the rain bringing more comfort than it does harm.
Dainsleif sighs, and instead of teleporting away to his right destination, he starts to walk and explore this newfound place.
There isn’t much to say about where he’s landed himself, and frankly, he’s thankful for that. Silence is a gift for him nowadays and even when he’s isolated, it’s rare that he isn’t plagued by awful memories that keep him from just closing his eyes for longer than a few minutes.
His slow steps are halted though, when he sees that he has brought himself in front of a very peculiar building. The rain continues to soak his body as the man stares at the white architecture and the statue that is displayed in front.
He chuckles. Of course, it couldn’t be that easy. His luck had never been the one to land on his side, he didn’t know why he expected otherwise.
It’s quite big for a chapel, especially since he doesn’t recognize the figure in front. Still, it’s one of a god’s, nonetheless. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised considering the lengths that devotees had gone to.
His curiosity gets the best of him when he goes nearer the said building, wanting to examine the sculpture. However, before he could even get a closer look, the wooden entrance opens.
The Khaenri'ahn’s first instinct is to transport himself away but finds that to be useless as he meets the eyes of another. What he didn’t expect next, is genuine worry.
“My goodness! Are you alright?” 
He almost gets confused as to why one would react in such horror. He doesn’t have any blood on him, does he?
Dainsleif looks down, not wanting to traumatize a random stranger…and discovers that there’s nothing wrong with him?
He lifts his head back up, only to find you nowhere near the doors of the chapel. He wonders where you are for a quick second until he feels something warm covering his body.
“I hope my robe will make do…Come on, get inside. You must be cold.” His reluctance is evident in his face but before he can even say anything, he’s pushed inside the chapel, much to his distaste.
Him stepping inside such a place was too much for him already that he forgot the fact that he’s wearing a robe, one that he assumed was no ordinary one.
Dainleif wants to take it off and so he tries to, at least.
“Keep it. I apologize I don’t have any spare clothes at the moment.”
He really does not want to wear a priest’s robe. 
“Did you come here for the mass? I’m afraid it ended an hour ago…Ah, but you can still stay until the rain stops.” You offer generously.
“No. I just happened to be passing by.” He explains.
He watches as your mouth gapes, looking for the words to say after you’ve just brought him in here out of his will.
“That makes sense…I was wondering why I haven’t seen you before. Not that it matters, you can still stay. The Chapel of our God is glad to help any troubled souls.”
He takes offense at that. 
“Troubled, you say? That’s quite a big assumption of a man you’ve just met.” His tone is as monotone as ever, yet that doesn’t hide the disdainful look that lingers in his bright eyes.
You muse.
“Ah yes, a non-troubled person that enjoys looking gloomy and letting the rain pour all over them.”
Dainsleif bites his tongue at that.
“I’ll show you around.”
While it does interest him that this chapel worships a god that isn’t of the seven, that doesn’t mean that he wants to learn more about a dead god who was defeated in the archon war just like the others. Although he presumes that the way you tell of their tales makes it somewhat bearable.
Even if it’s not what he expected.
It’s not as overwhelming as he had thought, but perhaps that was due to the lack of nuns he usually sees when it comes to churches.
“Is there something wrong?” You ask fondly, stopping your rambling about your said god just to listen to him.
“Does this place have many attendees?”
“Not quite…but it’s a lot if you consider they’re followers of a God who isn’t one of the seven.”
Frankly, Dainsleif doesn’t get it. It’s not as if all these masses you lead would ever lead to something else. It’s just wasted hard work, if he’s to be brutally honest.
He can tell that there’s a lot of admiration and work you have put into this, but for what reason? What reason is there to keep spreading the word of someone you haven’t even personally met?
Would your faith waiver if knowledge of your god performing deemed evil acts is brought upon you?
“Should we continue the tour?” You ask.
He politely shakes his head, thoughts still lingering in his head.
“We must adhere to these values that our God has specified in their writings…that our way of living as a mortal is something that should be celebrated and not frowned upon…”
The non-believer sits at the last row of the chapel, somewhat half-heartedly listening to your words as you read passages from a book in your hands.
He only watches, observing the entire view in front of him. How people reply in unison whenever you say a certain phrase, an exchange that he finds to be quite strange. 
The mass isn’t that long, yet you still manage to lead that hour with grace, making sure that every part of it goes well without any fault.
How you stand to the side, leaning on the podium with a smile as everyone sings along with the choir.
Dainsleif’s eyes meet yours and he sees you mouth a greeting to him.
…He supposed that he can stay for a minute when everyone has gone.
He sees you grin as you start walking towards him, your robe neat and tidy as ever.
Surprisingly, he speaks first.
“I’m surprised you still have a recollection of me.”
“It’s only been a few months.” You reply, your voice soft and soothing, unlike the way you spoke as you preached earlier.
Most people would choose to forget. “You’re different in person than you are earlier.”
“Perhaps.”
There’s an uncomfortable silence in the chapel, the mosaic windows dim the bright sunlight from the outside but that only results in the colored glass reflecting stunningly on your face.
He takes the initiative and speaks again.
“Is it because I’m not a follower?”
Your breathing catches on his ear. “Maybe.”
He wonders if you know of his lineage and if that’s the reason why you had kept an eye out for him, suspicions rousing through your brain.
“Father.” The change of tone to formality shocks you a little that you were forced to question why he’s suddenly calling you that.
Your awkward chuckle echoes through the building. “What are you calling me that for?”
“Just seeing if your attitude would change. If you’re truly as honest as you present yourself to be.”
You click your tongue. “Is there a reason you came here?”
There it is. A snarky tone. He knew he was right to come back here. 
Why was he sent here before? Was someone playing tricks on him? The Abyss? The gods? He knows there has to be a reason for him being teleported here that day.
“May I ask how someone becomes a member of your church, Father?”
He hears you sigh deeply. Why?
Aren’t more members what you want and need?
“If that’s how you want to do this then…I’ll amuse you. Follow me, troubled one.”
Dainsleif’s fists close at the nickname.
He’s brought to a room that you once showed him the previous time that he was here. You never explained what exactly this room was for as he left just before you got to.
There’s a small fountain, clear and blue flowing through it.
“This is a small tradition we have. It’s based on one of the writings that…you haven’t read, but that’s alright. It’s not that difficult to follow.” You start to explain.
“It’s a symbol of starting anew, to wash yourself of the regrets you have.” 
“And if I do not have any?” He questions.
“You do. Everyone does, even Gods.”
“You think gods regret the things they’ve done.” His patience is thinning inch by inch. He almost laughs at the ridiculousness of that sentence.
“That I do. According to one of the passages that—”
“How exactly do I know whether what you’re saying is genuine or just out of a damn book?” He interrupts.
You stare at him with a disapproving look. “You’re deflecting.”
“Excuse me?” 
“What is it that troubles you?”
Nothing. He’s fine. He’s done with everything, there’s no use in pondering over what could’ve and should’ve been.
“Don’t act as if you’re superior to me.” He says, visibly upset.
“So much for becoming a believer.” 
That’s when the grin is swayed off your face in just a few seconds as Dainsleif pins you to the wall, your head slightly tilted up as he grips tightly on your collar.
“Who sent you?” His enchanting eyes cross yours, not even a shade of fear in them.
“What exactly have you gone through that you think everything is out to get you?”
He stills at that. You’re not trying to push him off.
Instead, you’re conversing with him like he’s a lost lamb who’s unsure of where to go. An amenable priest who listens and asks.
He lets go. Your robe is now crinkled, and the mark of his fist is clearly evident.
You sit on the bench near the fountain, patting the empty space right next to it. Dainsleif refuses the offer, choosing to continue standing while he searches for the next words he’d like to say.
You smile.
“You don’t have to apologize or continue this. It doesn’t mean anything anyways if you don’t take it to heart.”
It’s such a strange sentence to hear from someone like you. You’re not..forcing him nor are you trying to sell him your ways by threatening him of what he may face if he doesn’t.
The Khaenri'ahn sighs, the words of apology already at the tip of his tongue.
“I’d prefer it if we were to continue.”
“You would?”
“I can still change my mind.” He jests, seeing you beam from ear to ear.
Dainsleif slowly walks towards the fountain, sitting beside you and laying his head down on your shoulder. The gesture is surprising to the priest but it isn’t turned away.
“I hope you’re quite ready, Father. This might take a while.” He says with his eyes closed.
“Confess your regrets, my troubled one.”
Eventually, it becomes a habit of his to visit you whenever he’s plagued with thoughts that make him anxious and question his choices.
And each time, you’re there to give advice. To lend a shoulder, and sometimes a little more than that.
He will never worship a god, but he’ll sure as hell worship you.
Dainsleif always waits patiently in the last row, watching you and listening to how your voice sounded rather than the message you’re conveying.
It’s soothing, in a way.
He doesn’t say a thing and only waits as you walk down the aisle with a smile.
It’s a silent exchange.
You place your hand on his shoulder and Dainsleif rubs the side of his chin on your hand, his eyes shut. 
“Dainsleif.”
“Yes, Father?” He teases, a smirk forming on his face before opening his eyes.
Your fingers lift his head slightly before bending down to reach his soft lips. He doesn’t pull away, he presses them further as if it’s his salvation. 
It’s somewhat sick that he’s found comfort in someone like you. He contemplates whether he’s walking the path of failure that the gods have planned, if this whole thing will eventually turn over just to punish him even more.
In the end, it’ll all be his fault. He’s the one who revealed secrets that you’ve never asked for.
“You’re making that face again, Dain.” You speak.
“What face?”
“The kind you make when you’re overthinking things. The one I want to get rid of.”
Dainsleif reaches for your hand, asking even if he knows the answer. “Pray tell, how exactly?”
“It makes me wonder if it’s a turn on of yours to get fucked in a place of worship.”
“Like how it’s a turn on for you when I’m on my knees and calling you Father?”
You laugh, caressing his hair as you look down on him.
“You don’t even worship the God of this place.” He looks so sweet like that, his head between your legs. Such beauty ready to kneel for you and do whatever if you ask him kindly.
“What’s the need when I already worship you?” Dainsleif says and takes you in.
Dainsleif never imagined he’d gladly be spending his time inside of a chapel, right in front of empty seats where anyone can walk in through those wooden doors, acting as if the altar is your hips.
And yet he’s letting you use his mouth eagerly, so used to how you taste that sometimes he himself craves for it when you two are separated.
“That’s right, love. Just think of me.” 
He groans as you push further into his throat, his eyes wandering to you despite his breathing getting obstructed.
He loves the things you do. Whether it be hearing you talk so dearly to him, tugging his hair with the right amount of pull, or the way you fill his mouth nicely like this.
It’s yours.
The sound that escapes his throat when your foot presses directly on his crotch is loud and lewd, echoing through the empty chapel.
His cheeks lightly flush, grumbling something incoherent.
“Speak clearly, my lamb.”
He rolls his eyes at the mischievousness of your voice. You know he can’t, and yet you’re still asking him to do so.
He follows still, of course.
“M-Mo—ah!” 
Dainsleif chokes as he tries to speak.
“Too much for you?”
He shakes his head and tries again.
“Mow—Moah-”
It’s not working. He’s stuffed full to even say it.
“Come on,” Your foot steps on his cock again. “There’s another way to plead. I’m sure a smart devotee of mine can figure that out.”
His chest heaves, trying to calm his breathing from the pressure and whining as it stops.
That’s when Dainsleif moves of his own accord, taking you even deeper than you already were. You can feel the vibrations from when he slowly pants, breathing through his nose more so he won’t pass out.
He bats his eyelashes at you, with a face full of sin.
Tears are starting to form in his eyes.
Please.
Dainsleif gags on your cock again, moaning impurely when your foot begins to knead more aggressively on his pants.
Your shoe adds even more stimulation and his cock aches wanting, no, begging for a release.
“Such a sinful body, no wonder the gods haven’t been blessing you.”
Fuck.
He continues to whimper, sucking your cock needily and knowing you’ll stop if he doesn’t do well.
“You get on your knees to be a slut, I wonder if they’ve bruised already.”
They do. They always do when you fuck his throat like this.
His mind is hazy and he’s close, he’s so—
“Hmgh!—”
“Not yet. Be patient.”
His body wants to buck down when you remove the pressure just seconds before he cums, but your hold on his head keeps him from doing that and he’s left to whine painfully.
The tears in his eyes finally fall and he stares up at you to be merciful, to let him have this one since it’s been a month of waiting to finally have you get him off like this.
“You want it?”
He nods and whines, begging for you to hear him out.
“Alright.”
When he gets permission, he sobs out on your cock, cumming inside in his own pants and soiling the floor. You feel how warm his breath is, his body is tired and trembling, but he keeps trying to make you finish as if it’s the only thing he’s made for. Even if he’s barely doing it well, too drunk with his tongue tired already.
The sight of that is enough to get you off.
Dainsleif tries to swallow but he doesn’t do it fully, cum dripping down his chin and coughing on the amount he can’t.
He finds it a waste that he isn’t able to. He stares, wondering if he should clean it up.
“Dain, it’s fine. You did amazing.”
His heart softens.
“Let me help you out, love.”
His head rests on your lap, your fingers playing with his hair. A tradition that you two somehow have ended up doing each time you finish.
He thinks it’s sweet and funny that you act so soft despite the things you say when having sex.
“Tell me.” You say.
“Tell you what?”
“What’s bothering you?” You question.
Dainsleif only snickers at that.
It’s you, Father.
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