#might need more time in the oven
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If I may be weird and petty for a moment, I don't get AUs where Martin is the Archivist when Melanie and Sasha are right there?? I mean I get why: roleswaps are popular AUs and martin is a popular character. And maybe its just my specific headcanons re: archivist requirements but I feel like the other two would be so much better?
Yes, Martin reads statements and yes, he gets marked, but I really don't think those are the Only Requirements to do the big ritual? Cause at that point Elias could've chosen any web-marked dude off the street, especially if they have the mark of another entity as well already.
Melanie and Sasha shared several important traits with Jon, most notably a burning curiosity, a willingness to put themselves in trouble for information, and (in Melanie's case (and Sasha's too, arguably) an ability to antagonize extremely dangerous fear avatars. Sasha's whole statement is her putting herself in a dangerous situation without telling anyone or acquiring any help (remind you of any main characters?) and running face first into supernatural dangers (sometimes to protect her friends, sometimes out of curiosity). Useful for collecting marks, but also useful for collecting information and developing her own powers as the Archivist. Considering her seemingly unrepentant willingness to look through her friends' and coworkers' personal files via accessing their accounts, I'd argue that her curiosity and boundary crossing could easily get stronger when investigating supernatural entities. Obviously, this never happened because of how early on she died, but I think you could make a strong case for Sasha's strong curiosity making some avatars incredibly mad. Not to mention how incredibly Beholding it is of her. None of this is criticism btw, I think Sasha should have access to whatever personal info she wants and I love it when characters are so obviously Eye-aligned. I know "Sasha wasn't promoted because she'd solve all the problems and find a way to kill Jonah" is also a popular headcanon but please think for a MOMENT about her appearances in podcast. There weren't many, but there's a very obvious through-line in almost all of them. She's curious, she takes risks in the face of the supernatural, she wants to Know. It's literally what caused the circumstances of her statement. Those traits are arguably the ones that got her KILLED. I'm sorry this went off on a tangent. I just love Sasha very much and I'm constantly filled with Thoughts of Sasha.
Melanie also has curiosity about the supernatural AND a much more obviously antagonistic personality!! Her first appearance is being a total asshole to Jon, mocking him, the place he works at, the equipment they use, and what they do. But she also dedicated basically her entire career into uncovering the supernatural? She ran a Youtube channel about it, and when she discovered that everyone was sticking to the same "safe" sites, she started looking off the beaten path for the real stuff. And she found it! She went looking for ghosts of war and violence and even without access to statements, probably working alone and sifting through bunk on the internet, she found them! She got stabbed by a ghost and instead of trying to avoid ghosts in the future, she decided to look for more violent ghosts. The slaughter tendencies might be a drawback for her becoming the Archivist, yes, but by that point Jon had already survived multiple marks and was developing his powers. If he failed by that point, Elias might've wanted an Archivist who'd be better able to defend themselves. By S4 Melanie was probably far enough gone to the Slaughter (and hated the Eye enough) that she was probably off the table as a candidate. By that point, however, Jon was expected to fully Become and only needed a few more marks.
I understand that Sasha was approved for a transfer to the Archives because Elias let Jon choose who take with him and Jon chose Sasha. And Melanie was almost certainly chosen to keep Jon in close proximity of a Slaughter-aligned person who'd be likely to mark him but unlikely to kill him. But I think that they served a secondary purpose of being backup Archivists in case something happened to Jon.
Obviously this is more headcanon than theory (not to mention it relies on other headcanons to fully stand) but I'm very fond of it. I guess I think that, even if Elias wasn't really looking for another Archivist when Jon seems like the perfect candidate in every way (and I'm not saying this JUST because I love him), I think that if something did happen to Jon, they'd be Elias' next candidates.
#I hope this makes sense?#I've been rotating this idea for a while but I'm not sure if its fully baked yet#might need more time in the oven#if you're wondering why I opened with petty complaints about martin being the archivist#it's because I am Filled With Spite and I Do Not Like Him#and I think he'd be a bad candidate#which is its own post#anyway my Sasha opinions are almost as high as my Jon opinions#my Melanie opinions are... mixed leaning negative#but I think she has archivist potential#I think its important for the archivist to be curious#and for a majority of the marks to stem from active choices they made#to interact with the supernatural#anyway not maintagging this#I've only just started a relisten after not listening in a while#so let me know if I've forgotten something important#or missed a line that invalidates all my headcanon-crafting#I know I post a lot of jonship stuff but I PROMISE I care about other aspects of the show#I got some meta stuff thats been percolating in the brain soup so you can possibly expect more of that in the next couple days#anyway I gotta go now#goodbye
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🍦Today's OC Tournament poll is delayed, I have been struggling endlessly writing these next bios, coupled with having to edit the new photo for Crystal. It'll probably come later today but just informing everyone.
#chirps#🍦roxas#God Crystal might need a little more time in the oven cause I tend to struggle with her even though I feel our base idea is solid
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New talent acquired!
Improvised hairpin: being unwilling to find an actual hair tie bc you took them off your wrist last night and forgot to return them, but needing your hair up while baking, figure out how to correctly stab yourself with a pencil so that your hair remains in place.
#hopeful rambling#i have hairties on me 90% of the time but never when i need them >:[#but im glad i figured this out!#i managed a looser version when my hair was too short to pull back but i wanted it all the way out of my face on stage#but i haven't done it in a while and this is much more secure. i think it might be tighter than hairties lol#anyway blåhaj has been given a pretty bow after like half an hour of struggle to make the long thin ribbon look nice#and my patented double-chocolate crack cookies are out of the oven cooling in prep for tomorrow#life is decent!
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some important calvin and hobbes facts in case you haven't read the original comic strip in a long time or only absorbed stuff on it from memes and out of context bits on here:
Calvin's last name has never been given, and neither has any of his parent's names. This was actually why his uncle Max only showed up for a brief storyline; the creator of the comic, Bill Watterson, ultimately felt that while it was fine to have him as someone for his parents to talk to, it felt far too awkward to never have Max refer to them by name and he never made a return appearance.
The general tone of the comic is fairly light-hearted, with a big emphasis on goofy slapstick comedy contrasted by clever wordplay and often surprising adult-centered jokes that'll hit you like a slap. A big part of the comedy is, as Watterson put it (paraphrased) "It's really funny to me when people express deeply stupid ideas with really fancy terminology." One notable example you might have seen is that one bit where Calvin asks his mom for money to buy a Satan-worshiping rock album and his mom replies that there's nothing genuine about them and they're just putting on the attitude for shock value, and comisserates with Calvin as he deplores that mainstream nihilism can't be trusted. He concludes that childhood is disillusioning.
There is a LOT of criticism of the extreme materialism and selfish mentality of the late 80s, when the comic was initially written. This may go a long way to explain how its aged so well; much of what it criticizes resonates well with people today.
Bill Watterson views comic strips a legitimate form of artwork, and repeatedly fought to have more space to draw more beautiful and artistic backgrounds, which was a very hard fight and unpopular even with other comic strip artists. He eventually did win some compromises and a lot of Calvin And Hobbes' artwork shows it, with the use of space to indicate time as well as a sharp contrast between the often plain environments of mundane life contrasted by the wildly beautiful imagery of Calvin's imagination (which often sports realistic depictions in an art shift of sorts).
Hobbes is explicitly not an imaginary friend, by word of Watterson himself. We don't know WHAT he is exactly, and Hobbes is apparently unaware of the strange nature of his reality; people look at him and only see an ordinary stuffed tiger plushie, but he has a tangible effect on the world that would be physically impossible for Calvin to do on his own. He's apparently been around for a while, and was apparently around when Calvin was a young baby.
On that note; Hobbes has implicitly killed (notably treated as both a gag and also with the vibe of 'he's a tiger, duh') and while he doesn't do it again on-screen, he doesn't have any moral issues about it. Calvin claims that he's never had trouble bringing Hobbes to school because the last time he did, Hobbes killed and ate a bully named Tommy Chestnut and simply comments that it was gross and he needed a bath. Calvin's tried to repeat this again, but Hobbes was grossed out at the thought having to eat a kid raw and not being allowed to use an oven first, or complaining that children are too fattening.
Hobbes became gradually less human-like in body language and more like an actual cat in both body language and behavior; this was due to Watterson drawing more inspiration from his cat, who also inspired a lot of Hobbes' running gags, such as pouncing on Calvin when he got home. Several years into the syndication of the strip, Watterson's cat passed away, and he did a tribute to her with a comic strip of the two of them agreeing to try to dream together so they can keep playing when they have to sleep; Watterson's commentary (if I recall right), remarks on his cat: "We can see each other again in dreams."
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MY MILK IS PAST ITS EXPIRATION DATE AND I AM SAD!
#i dont even know WHY i purchased it in the first place!#im really hungry#i have food.... just dont feel like cooking#specially since its sleepin time!#i need a more balanced diet lol#but im getting accustomed to not having a full kitchen#and also struggling with a toaster oven (they're weird and difficult to understand)#so ive been eating eggs. toast and has browns!#and pizza#i forgot how yummy eggs and toast is!!#i plan on doing pancakes soon!#im liking this life so far#I SAW A SHOOTING STAR ON THE WAY HOME THE OTHER NIGHT!#AND I CAN SEE MORE STARS IN THE SKY!!#i missed the stars!!!#i can see almost all of them now!#if I could hike out into the woods a bit and away from what little light pollution we have#i might even see the Milky Way#I absolutely adore space!
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Bats
#On some Oda stuff rn#I just like the way number 2 looks like so wanted to share#That's a lot of 4 head for a 2 okay tag canceled you guys go home#Bats#afamiliar doodles#doodles#digital art#1 and 3 need some time in the oven... Even 2 does... But he has a silly face and I thought you'd like to know that#Want them to look more mischevious in their final form#And admitedly bigger#Rn they just look like they'd go up to your hip at most#But that might work who knows
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Steve and Eddie meet through their local buy-nothing-sell-nothing group when Steve’s getting ready to move in with Robin and he realizes he can't keep everything he owns while trying to merge households with her.
The first time they meet, Steve hadn't even been meaning to actually meet the person picking up the free toaster oven he’s giving away.
He’s setting his toaster oven outside his house on the porch when Eddie hops out of his van to pick it up and it would be rude to duck back inside without saying anything since he obviously sees him coming up, so they make small talk for a minute and Steve has to keep his eyeballs in check because they keep wanting to rake all the way down this guy’s body.
He’s covered in tattoos and so extremely Steve's type, but he knows better than to hit on someone who lives in his neighborhood and is not here for that reason.
He laments to Robin about it the next day, about the hot guy who’s probably using Steve's toaster oven as they speak, who he’ll probably never see again.
Robin rolls her eyes fondly at him and tells him that maybe if he puts more stuff up for grabs on the facebook group, he might see him again, but Steve suspects she just wants him to get rid of more of his stuff so it doesn't overcrowd their new apartment.
The set of items he puts up in the group next is an old blender and a butcher block that has three of the knives missing—seriously where did those knives go? He has yet to find them.
He tries to pretend he isn't secretly hoping Eddie will comment under his post that he wants the items, but he isn't fooling himself when his heart literally skips a beat when the first comment is from Eddie. He messages him and tells him to stop by later that day.
When Eddie shows up, they talk for longer than last time, Eddie asking why Steve needs to get rid of so much stuff and Steve asking why Eddie needs all this stuff—especially considering Steve snooped through the group and saw that Eddie joined over a year ago and hadn't once commented before now (he doesn't mention that thought, but he is thinking it real hard).
Eddie laughs and says he was in the market for a toaster oven when Steve posted one and wouldn't you know it? He also needs a blender—the knife set is just a bonus, he says.
Steve tries not to read too much into it, but his brain is spinning the interaction around in his head for the next week.
He puts up a space heater in the group and within minutes, Eddie has claimed it.
“I should just get your number and text you directly when I find something I want to get rid of next time,” Steve says flippantly when Eddie comes by to grab it that night. “Instead of clogging up the facebook group.”
Eddie smirks at him and steps a little closer. He says, “Maybe you should.”
His neighbor’s car alarm decides to go off right at that moment, ruining the flirty atmosphere with its incessant shrill. They can barely hear each other over the drone of it, so Eddie leaves without giving Steve his number and Steve is left feeling like he keeps having these missed connection moments with Eddie.
In a fit of desperation to see Eddie again, Steve puts up a bunch of random stuff in the group the next day—a shoe rack that’s missing a piece, a step stool, a cheap side table he got from Ikea—and Eddie is still the first person to comment like he’s been refreshing the page, just waiting for Steve to post.
“I left without giving you my number last time and I didn't want to be creepy and message you unprompted,” Eddie says as they load the side table into his van. “I think I was overthinking things and then got kind of spooked.”
“It doesn't look like anything could spook you,” Steve says.
When they get the side table inside the back of the van, Eddie turns to him and admits, “A very pretty boy could.”
Steve can feel his face getting hot. “You think I’m pretty?” he asks.
Eddie nods. “Why do you think I keep coming here? There's no way a person who’s lived here for as long as I have would need all this stuff.”
“Did you need any of it?” Steve asks in a teasing voice. “Or were you just so blown away by how cute my profile picture is that you just had to meet me?”
“Oh, I needed the toaster oven, but everything after that was just to see you again,” Eddie says before biting his lip.
There’s an entire swarm of butterflies in his stomach when Eddie's hand brushes his, when Steve takes Eddie's hand in his and leads him inside his box-filled house.
Later, when they’re making out on Steve's couch—when Steve really should still be packing since he has to move in less than a week—he pulls back to ask, “Wait, so are you gonna put the rest of the stuff you don't need back up for grabs in the group? I feel like that would start so much neighborhood gossip.”
Eddie grins wide and Steve wants to kiss him again, wants to feel his smile against his mouth.
“Oh, we’ll be the talk of the town, baby,” Eddie says, pulling him back in.
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Hi there! I hope your day’s been going well :)
Could you maybe write something with Spencer where Reader faints? Feel free to ignore this if you’re not up for it!!
thank u for ur request! fem!reader, 1.6k
"It's so hot," you say, startled. The lobby of the hotel had been blissfully air-conditioned. The difference hits you immediately.
"Don't worry about blazers or professional attire," Hotch says, though he quickly amends, "within reason."
You take off your jacket and follow the herd of the BAU into the black SUVs. The SUVs are even hotter than the outdoors, blistering ovens of heat that have you feeling nauseous instantaneously. Spencer rubs your arm with the back of his hand swiftly —it's a friendly touch to say he's here, but it's quick to prevent any unnecessary added heat.
It's August in Texas, 107 degrees Fahrenheit. Emily smells distinctly of sunscreen from the front passenger seat. Derek, behind the wheel, looks hot around the collar. Spencer looks as though he wishes he'd had a haircut before he came, chin length curls tucked tight behind his ears.
Despite this, none of them complain beyond the general whine every now and then. You try very hard to shut up and focus on the case with them, but as the day goes on, bumping you from hot car to hot crime scene (with all inclusive smells of gore!), you feel wobbly on your feet.
"Spence?" you ask, sitting in a hard-backed chair in the police precinct.
"Yeah?" He doesn't look away from the geographical profile he's building. You're supposed to be helping, but your notes are half-hearted, likely useless. "What?"
"Do you have any water?"
He pushes a pin into the left of the map and grabs a ruler. "No, sorry. There's a staff room by the bullpen, the secretary said to help ourselves. Actually, she said to 'go ham.'"
"Okay. I'll be right back. And I'll be more helpful."
"You're plenty helpful," he murmurs, leaning down to follow the line of his rules with a pencil.
You don't feel helpful, you feel awful. Head heavy, eyes aching, every step sends a jolt through your teeth and jaw, your skull like a mashed potato. You know you're a poor sight with sweat wetting your hair and a crawling sensation between your legs and the fabric of your pants.
Letting yourself into the staff room, you're unsurprised to find a bone dry water cooler and a crate of water bottles with only one remaining. Spencer needs a drink too, and he has a thing about germs. You frown at the water bottle as though that might duplicate it, but when it doesn't, you're forced to take it and put it under your arm. You look around for a mug to at least have some tap water no matter how ill-advised that may be. They're all dirtied in the sink and on tables. Fuck.
Spencer is super, super lovely to you. You wonder sometimes if he might ask you out, or at least want to, but most of the time you're sure it's just a little extra friendliness because he knows how it feels to be the youngest on the team, how patronised or lonely it gets. And the weight of trying to prove yourself every mission, it's almost as heavy as your head.
"Hey," Spencer says as you open the conference room door. "I think I've worked something out. Could you call Garcia for me? I've got dry-erase marker on my hands."
"Got this for you," you say, offering him the bottle. He takes it without looking.
"Thanks. Are you feeling any better? I know you can be sensitive to the heat."
"Maybe we can get portable fans on the FBI budget next year," you say wistfully, pushing a chair in at the table. You lean on it to grab the phone in the middle of a sea of papers and cases and jackets, black spots popping up in your vision. "My head's rushing."
"Hey, guys," Emily says, sounding strangely chipper as she and Hotch trudge in. Her hair is in a tight ponytail away from her face.
You try to greet them and end up hanging your head.
"Y/N," Spencer chokes, alarmed.
You slump forward over the chair, desperate to keep your footing and failing. Your shin knocks into the chair and your hands grasp at the top of it, but you can't hold yourself up any longer, knocking your face into the chair as you collapse. A cheap tent in a strong breeze, you fall with little more than a weak sigh.
You're hurting a lot when you come to, blinking like your lashes have been brushed with glue. The lights have been turned off, and a blissful chill soaks your hairline. Someone presses a water bottle to your lips and lifts your head. You drink half the contents in three gulps and get laid down again with the utmost care.
"She's coming around," Hotch says.
Your neck aches propped over a leg. Two deft hands hold your head still.
"Don't move too much," Spencer says, his voice odd. You blink as his face moves into view upside down. "An EMT is on the way, okay? You passed out."
You can't find your voice. Spencer strokes your cheek with his thumb, says, "Hey, can you hear me? Let's hear your voice. Talk to me."
"You don't sound like yourself," you say hoarsely, each word tenuous. You wince at the bruising heat that radiates from your nose with each word.
"I'm worried about you," Spencer admits. "It makes it hard to stay objective."
"No, you sound funny."
"I'm worried," he repeats. His smile is strained.
"She's okay," Hotch says.
You realise Emily's got your hand in hers when she squeezes it. "Have you had anything to drink today?" she asks you, fondly incredulous.
"No, she hasn't, and I didn't say anything about it. I'm an idiot. I'm so sorry, Y/N," Spencer says.
"Y/N's responsible for her own preservation, Reid. And it's been a tough case, with the heat. Let's not blame anyone for anything." You press your chin to your chest to see Hotch's anxious frown. "We will be having a discussion about this later."
You turn your face into Spencer's thigh. "Oh."
"Don't close your eyes," Hotch says. He employs a firm, boss-like tone that has you rushing to follow orders. "You hit your head."
"I don't feel well," you complain, wanting to close your eyes.
"Considering your behaviour," Spencer says, one of his hands trailing down your face, neck, and collar, where he rests it genially, "you likely have a mild to moderate concussion. And you're dehydrated, so you'll be feeling the effects more severely."
"Why haven't you been drinking?" Emily asks.
"I just…" You blink sluggishly. "I don't know… We don't take anything that isn't coffee with us places and…" You lean your cheek into Spencer's hand, not quite connecting that it's his hand, or that you're laying on the precinct floor. "They only had one bottle in the staff room."
"Why didn't you drink it?" Spencer asks softly.
"I knew you hadn't had anything to drink, either."
"We could've shared," he says, sounding genuinely confused.
"You don't like sharing stuff like that. Germs."
Spencer's voice is barely above a whisper, "I wouldn't care about your germs, Y/N. They're your germs."
You don't have time to ask him what he means, but you've ample time to think about it on loop when the EMT arrives. He props you up, checking you over thoroughly, shining a light in your eyes and deeming you concussed.
"You don't have to see a doctor," the EMT advises. "But we're happy to take you to the hospital if that's what you want."
"Yes," Spencer says, as you say, "No."
Spencer puts a hand on your shoulder blade. It is an extremely forward move on his part, so unlike him that you recognise how odd it is despite your foggy mind. "She should go."
"She fainted, Spencer," Emily says.
"Exactly! So she should go to the hospital and–"
"I didn't break anything," you say, waving a shaky hand at the small but concerned crowd of people you've attracted.
"Luckily," the EMT says. "Drink plenty of water and take it easy. Don't be afraid to call again if you feel worse."
Hotch walks the EMT out, needing to take a phone call. Emily goes with him, promising to return with a dry shirt for you to wear now that yours has been soaked at the collar by the water they'd been cooling you down with while you were unconscious.
Spencer settles practically knee to knee with you in two of the uncomfortable chairs, his assessing gaze frankly perturbing.
"You'd share germs with me?" you ask.
Spencer's hand leaps across the gap to yours where it rests on your knee. His eyes, brown and sweet, have all the light of a blinding smile as his lips quirk into something more sheepish. "If it stopped you from fainting, yeah. And even if it didn't, I'd be stupid to care about germs when I…"
You breathe out slowly. "When you what?"
"Well," he says, looking down at your hands. "I guess I just wouldn't mind your germs, that's all."
If he's saying what you think he's saying, he's doing it in the most Spencer Reid way possible. Concussed, your charisma fails you. You've no wit to tease him with.
You fold your hand around his. "Thanks for catching me," you say gently.
He squeezes your fingers clumsily. "You're welcome. But it was actually mostly Emily."
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid scenario#spencer reid drabble#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds#criminal minds fic#criminal minds x reader
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Thankful
no outbreak!Joel Miller x afab!reader || W/C: ≈1.8k
Summary: You're trying to prep for Thanksgiving dinner when Joel asks if he can pull you away for a minute.
Warnings: Implied established relationship. SMUT 18+ MDNI. Oral sex (f recieving). Edging (briefly). Squirting. Desperate!Joel. Pleasure Dom!Joel. An extremely thankful, pussy drunk Joel...✨Mirrors✨! Cumming untouched (Joel's a bed humping mess, what can I say?). Pictures are for aesthetic purposes; no physical description of reader.
A/N: Happy Thanksgiving! Here's a little Thanksgiving drabble with a domesticated, pre-outbreak Joel for y'all. I left it kinda open, so you can view him as a boyfriend or husband, entirely up to you, but y'all do live together! Anyhow, if you are celebrating Thanksgiving, please be sure to acknowledge the land that belonged to the Indigenous people first. I say this because we can enjoy Thanksgiving and the general themes it stands for while decolonizing the white-washed version. All my love! Hope you enjoy Joel being a thankful, horny menace.👹
MASTERLIST
“Happy Thanksgivin’, baby,” Joel says, sliding up behind you, his big arms around your waist caging you between him and the kitchen counter. He places a kiss on your neck.
You smile in his embrace, loving the warmth radiating from his body. “Happy Thanksgiving to you, too, handsome.”
“Do you have a minute to step away?” He asks, voice low.
“Depends, baby,” you say, knowing you might know where this is headed. “Gotta finish prepping the sweet potato, so I can throw it in the oven. I can step away then?”
“This is for dinner later tonight at your parents, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Why?” You turn your head up to peer at him. He already has a big fat smirk on his face.
“We have so much time, baby,” he kisses you once more. “I just need you for a minute.”
“Joel,” you say sternly, though you feel your knees already buckling.
His hands are at your waist, guiding you to the kitchen sink and guiding you to wash your hands. As soon as you’re done, he’s twisting you in his hold, so your body is flushed with his. Your neck angled back to look him in the eyes. Within seconds, his hands are on either side of your face, lips smashing into yours, tongue immediately darting out to tangle with yours. His hips push harder against you, and you can feel his hard length against your lower belly.
Too lost at his sudden horniness, you don’t realize his hands leave your face and make their way to your thighs. He pulls away from you momentarily, letting out a breathless up as he taps the outside of your thigh. You lift your legs up to wrap around his waist.
He’s walking you to your shared bedroom, lips still on yours. As he reaches the threshold of the room, he tells you to close your eyes.
“Why?”
“Darlin’, just do it,” he says, amusement in his tone at your hard-headedness. One of his favorite things about you.
A small fine leaves your lips, and soon he’s throwing you on your bed, your body doing a little bounce at the fluffiness of your mattress. You squeal at being airborne, loving how he always manhandles you so perfectly.
Your eyes are still closed even though you’re dying to open them, and you start to feel Joel unzip your jeans, kissing every inch of your now-exposed lower belly. Once your bottoms are completely off, he settles himself between your legs, putting your thighs up onto his broad shoulders, keeping you completely open to him.
“Open, baby,” he says, kissing the insides of your thighs.
You peer through your lashes slowly, but then your nervousness fades. Nothing looks different. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. Until you look at Joel’s hand wrapped around your thigh. His one finger is pointing up to the ceiling. You look up.
Oh.
Oh.
You look up and see your reflection staring back down at you. A complete view of Joel’s body between your legs, his broad back on display with his cute ass you love so much. Your jaw is on the floor.
“You like?” you hear him ask, a bit nervous.
“When?” you ask, still a bit shocked (and crazily aroused) at your room’s new feature.
“You were so busy in the kitchen all day,” he responds, “‘N I remembered our conversation a month ago, and I’ve been wantin’ to do it since, but never had the chance.”
You look back down to his own eyes. “I bought everythin’ for it after the conversation, too,” he adds. “Thought I’d make myself useful today in the way I know best.”
You think back to that conversation.
“Baby,” you yell from the couch.
“Hm?” he grumbles from his place in the kitchen.
“How would you feel,” you pause for a second, easing your own nerves about your request. Sure, Joel is just as freaky as you are, but it’s a natural human reaction to be unsure about new things. “About putting mirrors in our room?”
He’s in the living room within seconds.
“Mirrors?”
“Yes.”
He raises his eyebrow. “Mirrors where?”
You look at him for a minute. “...above the bed.”
His eyes flash something dark.
“Okay,” he says.
“Okay?” you ask, shocked at his quick agreement.
“Okay.” You swear you see the one side of his mouth flip up in a smirk as he walks back to the kitchen.
You reach your hand down to caress his cheekbone, wanting nothing more than to kiss him but waiting because you know what he’s about to do. “I fucking love it,” you tell him.
“Good,” he says. His eyes look back down to your glistening cunt. He’s about to taste you when you speak up again.
“Wait.”
He looks back up to you.
“Take your shirt off. Wanna see you,” you say with a smirk as you point back up to the mirror above you.
He sits back up on his haunches, a smirk identical to yours spread across his face. He unbuttons his flannel slowly as he maintains eye contact with you. What a tease, you think. Two could play that game.
As soon as his chest is in view, you let out a little exaggerated moan, “Oh, fuck, baby.”
Your hand that was resting besides you moves to your chest. Slowly, you drag your fingers down your sternum, down your belly. “You’re so fucking sexy.”
His eyes are watching your hand like a hawk. He speeds up his unbuttoning process, but only by a millisecond, trying to keep his act and not fall under your siren spell.
Your fingers reach the top of your mound, coursing through the patch of hair down there. You shift your hips for added effect. As he gets to his last two buttons, the two pads of your fingers make their way to your clit, circling soft and slow, pulling the softest but neediest of moans from you. “Fuck, baby,” you drag out, pained. You bring your fingers lower, dipping into your wetness. You pump in and out of yourself for a few moments, letting him hear how wet you are. “See what you do to me, baby?”
“Fuck,” he growls out, the brown of his eyes completely gone. His act is done for as he rips off his flannel, the last button flying somewhere with a soft clack landing. He’s back between your legs at an instant, his hand grabbing at your wrist and bringing it up to his mouth, sucking at the slick on your fingers. His quickness mixed with his roughness sends you in a frenzy, a lewd gasp leaving your mouth at his actions.
He releases your hand and his one hand situates itself at the top of your ass, angling your hips more forward, putting your cunt directly in line with his mouth. His other arm situates itself over your belly.
He licks a wet stripe through your seam using the flat of his tongue, and you swear you saw Heaven flash through his eyes. “God, ya taste so fuckin’ good,” he says.
He places an open-mouthed kiss to your clit, pulling off of you with suction. Your hips try to chase him for more, but the hold he has on you has you going nowhere. “This right here is what I’m fuckin’ thankful for,” he whispers at your pussy before he completely dives like a man starved. Like it’s his Thanksgiving meal.
His actions are focused on your sobbing entrance right now, his tongue lapping up your juices and entering your fluttering hole every chance he gets. The deeper he fucks his tongue into you, the more his thick, hooked nose nudges at your clit, providing the perfect amount of pleasure that sends you screaming.
“Fuck, Joel-!” you yell out. “Please, don’t stop, just like that, baby, please!” Your back tries to arch as much as it can with his heavy arm weighing you down. He opens up his eyes, looking up to check on you. A smile forms as he licks at you: your head thrown back in pleasure, eyes tightly shut. He keeps his exact pace and pressure, pulling you to the very edge just like you so sweetly asked for. Then, he’s pulling off of you.
Your eyes shoot open, immediately searching for Joel’s. You’re thrashing against his hold. “Baby, no, please,” you whine in frustration. “I was so close, please.”
He points back up to the mirror. “Don’t let my efforts go to waste, baby,” he says with a condescending inflection. “You said you wanted to watch me. So, watch. Or I’ll stop.”
You whimper at his words, nodding your head frantically, babbling to appease him. “Yes, baby, yes, I promise. I’ll keep my eyes open. Promise. Please, baby, please,” you beg.
Your words leave your tongue as his returns to the place you need him most. He angles your hips just slightly higher, giving him the perfect position to put all of his wet muscle into your pussy as his nose perfectly hits your already sensitive bundle of nerves. Your hands fly to his curls at the contact, your eyes threatening to roll back in pleasure.
You use all your strength to bring your eyes up to the mirror, and the sight of his back muscles flexing and twitching with every movement he makes has the fire in your core burning brighter. The next thing you notice is what sends you over the edge. His hips are rutting into the mattress, easing his hardness as though he’s a dog in heat. The thought of his desperation for you — his primal crave for you — that ends you.
You’re nearly ripping his hair out of his scalp as your eyes clamp shut, a stream of moans and gasps for air fill the room as you soak his entire face with your slick. At your finish, he’s moaning into you, and you can feel his body begin to vibrate. You open your eyes as best as you can, and you can see his hips are still rocking, weak and shaky.
Fuck.
He came.
He looks up from your pussy, the bottom half of his face soaked with a devilish grin gracing his features. He looks more fucked out than you, and if you’re remembering your tiny glimpse of your reflection as you came, you also look utterly fucked.
He wipes the wetness of his face on your thigh only to lick it all back up, sucking a few marks to bloom later tonight.
He places one last kiss to your clit, causing you to yelp in overstimulation.
“Yeah,” he breathes, as if he’s reminiscing about the things he just did to you. “I’m fuckin’ thankful,” he says as he heads to the bathroom to grab a cloth to clean you up.
Tags: @javierpena-inatacvest @katiexpunk @janaispunk @farmerlarrry @mellymbee @jobee403 @soavenuepenguin @rainbowcosmicchaos @untamedheart81 @lilynotdilly @babygal-babygal @pedritoferg @pedrostories @akah565 @getitoutofmymind
EDIT: As of the new year 2024, I no longer do taglists!! Follow @endlessthxxghtsnotifs and turn on the notifications to be updated when new stories come out!!
#pedro pascal#pedrohub#pedrostories#pedro pascal character fanfic#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal smut#endless thoughts fics#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller x you#joel miller fic#joel miller#joel miller fanfiction#joel x reader#tlou fanfiction#tlou fic#tlou smut#joel miller one shot#joel miller x female reader#smut#fic#smut fic#happy thanksgiving
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My Person
A series of random Bucky Drabbles that I can't let go but don't have the brain to make the whole complete plot of.
Summary: In which Sam's question forces Bucky to reveal his true feelings to his so called "friend", Y/N.
Pairing: tfatws!bucky x female!reader
Words: 3.2k++
Warnings: 18+ content, no minors allowed, nsfw, fluff, wee bit of angst, bucky is so adorable in this I WANT HIM SO BAD, also he is a bit feral. I feel like he can be more feral than this but you know, he doesn't wanna scare her away lol. This is just a result from surge of need so might not be too much of plot but I hope you enjoy your reading, anyway.
Inspiration: This post right here by @black-cat-2
Read my other works here: Masterlist
Sam took notice on every single crooks and corners as he followed Bucky's dragging footsteps from behind. It wasn't that he didn't want to help him but Bucky refused the offer right on the bat, saying that the serum will fix him up sooner or later.
The aftermath of their final battle with the flagsmasher was chaotic to say the least. With the splitting sides of public opinions of the new Captain America and the whispers about how the former winter soldier saved a bunch of civilian tonight had been the talk of the town.
But both Sam and Bucky decided not to think of it too much, especially when both were exhausted from the fight. Not to mention Bucky was injured. Although Sam knew damn well that the soldier can managed himself to a hotel to rest for the night like he always does, but as a worried friend, or rather a babysitter some would say, he insisted to accompany Bucky all the way through.
And Bucky was not in the mood to argue; Sam is as equally stubborn as Steve used to be, so he let the man do whatever he wants.
It was clear Sam was suspicious of where the hell did this terminator brought him to, but mostly he was curious. He thought he would just accompany him to the nearest hotel but nope. After taking an Uber, the next thing he knew, Bucky was leading him into this apartment building, that was obviously not his.
"Last time I checked your apartment was in Brooklyn. When did you get a place here?" Sam asked as Bucky stopped at one of the identical looking doors.
"It's not mine" Bucky replied truthfully as he removed the glove from his fleshed hand and pressed his thumb at the top of the door handle.
Sam eyed him with a look on his face when he sassed at him, "Said the guy who is currently unlocking the doors with his fingerprint."
Bucky simply rolled his eyes before the chiming sound alerts that the door was unlocked. Bucky opened the door to let Sam inside before he himself got in after him. "Seriously, man. If I knew you can afford having two apartments I would've asked you to pay for tonight's dinner. That's the least you can do..." Sam's words died as his eyes scanned the apartment.
Whatever he was expecting the apartment to look like, it was far from it. He surely was not expecting the place to be fully decorated with complete set of furniture in every area of the room. Whether it is the living room area, or the huge kitchen that was also equipped with built-in oven.
Even with the lack of light, Sam could see the color pallette on the walls were definitely not what Bucky would go for. The sentimetal trinkets on the shelves, the sweet fragrant of the scented candles; everything was the very opposite of what Bucky's apartment in Brooklyn looks like, feels like.
This, it felt like home. Warm and inviting. Quiet and serene.
"You know what? I take that back. Whose house have you broke us into?" Sam asked, almost in awe rather than shocked, "I know for a fact that this ain't your house."
Bucky huffed a heavy breath as he remove his tactical gears, "I didn't say it was mine, remember? Or flying with the pigeons in the sky had made you forgot how to undertand human language?" there was an unfiltered sarcasm in his tone that didn't go unnoticed by Sam.
So obviously he got defensive and unknowingly increase his volume as he countered, "Woah woah, that was uncalled for. And for your information pigeons can't fly as fast a my wings, and rest assured that I--"
Bucky swiftly stomped towards him, eyes wide almost in anger, while his metal hand reached to cover Sam's mouth, "Can you shut the fuck up, she's probably asleep and your noisy ass will wake--"
"Bucky?" A tiny yet groggy voice interrupted the conversation causing both of them to turn their attention to the source. The figure peeped itself from the bedroom, her uncertainty made it that only half of her body was revealed through the doorway.
Her squinting eyes indicates how recent she was woken up from her sleep and Bucky flashed a quick glared at Sam for that. Sam simply shrug with his hands the air as a response. He was still confused who is this woman and why were they in her house.
Bucky's tight features softens as he called for her, "Hey, babydoll. What are you doing up?"
Recognizing that voice anywhere her feet made her way to him, "Heard some noises." She answered shortly as her knuckles find her eyes and rubbed it lightly. The closer she gets, the clearer Bucky can see the dark circles under her eyes, signifying how much she was lacking of sleep.
His heart squeeze a little at the sight, "M'sorry, sweetheart." it was as if their bodies were magnets that they naturally found each other. Bucky opened his arms wide for her to find her rightful place in his embrace.
"It's okay" she mumbled against his sturdy chest. "Welcome home." She continued.
You'd be surprise to know how much the former winter soldier absolutely adore the feeling of her lips moving against his skin. Even if it was blocked by the fabric of his shirt. It always felt good and he swore he could not get enough of it.
Bucky leaned down on top of her head, inhaling the strawberry yogurt scent of her shampooed hair, "Yes. I am home, indeed." His hugged got tighter, crushing her just enough to make those pretty little sounds slipped her from lips.
Strings of hushed moan kept purring in her throat when Bucky lightly swayed her from side to side; his fleshed hand drawing invisible circles on the back of her waist, while his metal hand gently squeeze the back of her neck.
If she let him pamper her more than this, they'd probably forget that Sam was in the room. Unabashedly had his mouth agape at the sight in front of him. He was not sure whether he wanted to look away or to continue staring because no amount of explanation will suffice to answer his questions.
Peeking from Bucky's shoulder, she smiled warmly as she finally acknowledge the unexpected guest, "You must be Sam. I've heard a lot about you."
She tried to wiggle an escape from Bucky arms, but it was no avail; he was not planning to let her go any time soon. She ended up dragging the enormous koala bear who was stuck on her back as she offered Sam a handshake, introducing herself.
"Good things I hope." Sam took her hand and lightly shake it as she replied, "Of course." As much as he wanted to keep his eye contact with her, it was extremely hard when the grumpy super soldier that he knew was basically melting in crook of her neck.
"I don't want to be rude but the two of you are..." Sam purposely left his words hanging, hoping that one of them would finish the sentence before he let out his assumption, however both of them remained silent. The woman was blinking at him confused, while Bucky was practically still drooling over the her.
"...Lovers?" Sam ended his sentence with an uncertain tone.
Both of them went rigid to the question but before Bucky could say anything, she answered first, "No!" She almost shouted, taking a deep breath before she rephrase her answer, "No. I mean yes. We're not... like that."
"So, you guys are friends then?" Sam quirked an eyebrow to her answer, and seeing Bucky's silence, he guessed that the super soldier might liked her more than just 'friends'.
"Yup, we are. We first met when Bucky was on the run from Hydra, before you guys found him. It's a long story, really." And by the time she explained the shorten version of their story, Bucky finally drifted his attention to Sam, a deep frown decorated his brows as he was mentally asking, "How much longer are you going to stand there? Get the fuck out."
Sam should be offended by his silent orders but considering he came in the middle of the night, uninvited, he realized that he should leave them be,"Then, let that be a reason for us to meet again. You can tell me all about this meet-cute of yours later. I don't want to keep you away from him any longer. Especially when he is staring daggers at me."
She lightly tapped on Bucky's arms, and quick frown at him followed after as she non-verbally asking him stop glaring at Sam. Needless to say, Sam removed himself from the scene after they, or rather she, bid him goodbye.
As soon as the doors closed, Bucky has her back pressed against the door, wasting no time than to capture her lips. A gasped from her made it easy for him to slip his tongue inside. He kissed her slow yet so hungrily as if he was starved of the taste of her sweet mouth against his.
Bucky broke the kiss momentarily just to whisper, "I missed you so much, babydoll." With his thigh in between her legs, he guided her clothed core to slowly hump against him. "Missed you, too." Her beautiful moans only encourage his cock to swell even more than it already was.
Breaking the kiss, Bucky let her catch a breath as his glazed eyes adored her soft features. He still remembered the day when he first met her. When he escaped from Hydra's control, he was determined to keep his life down low. Don't attract to much attention, follow the schedule and stick to rules.
And his schedule was never interesting, it was always:
- write his journal entry
- find/do odd and non-permenant jobs for money
- grocery shopping and cooking
- watch the news
- and mostly just stay at home
Obviously, Bucky knows how to use the internet and all those modern devices that they have nowadays, but he never understand them; the 'social media' and the 'viral' things were never really appealing to him. So one day he decided to pay a visit to a small local library; hoping to find fimiliar solace in books instead.
What are the odds that both of them reach for the same book at the same time? After the multiple exchange of: 'Oh, I'm sorry, here take it.' 'No, you take.' 'No, please I insist.' They ended up meeting on a common ground; making a decision to sit down and read together. Turns out, spending a few hours with her at the library was the most peace he had since forever.
Bucky had a strict routine and rules. But the moment she asked him if he want to spend more time with her while she was there, he was ready to break all of it. And he did; for 7 days straight.
She was his first sense of freedom. His first choice in life.
Though, back then he was on a run, for presumably a lifetime, while she was on business trip for a week. So, they lost contact after that, especially when Bucky was running around with the Avengers and fighting aliens, but fate seemed to be on their side when they were reunited again in New York.
It's a miracle that she even recognized him. Little did he knew, he wasn't the only one who got hooked on the first few hours of that reading session had.
Though, he was extremely grateful that she reach out the moment she recognized him; no hesitant, no doubt. Just a confident and cheerful shout of his name in middle of the park that he walks through everyday.
The first thing that came out from her mouth after calling out his name was a compliment of his new hair cut and how she can see his beautiful eyes more clearer now. And that alone had made Bucky absolutely red in blush.
Weeks after that, she often joined him with his daily walk, making it their routine instead of just his. And months into this newly founded 'friendship', they found solace in each other's arms, comfort in each other's touch, and this quickly become their new favourite activity to do together.
Though none of them ever actually discuss their status but their body language suggest that they are more than just friends.
Especially with the way Bucky was rubbing the tip of his leaking cock on her clit; so desperate yet so gentle. Just like how he always does when he makes love to her. But, tonight he felt different. Maybe he was just needy or maybe it was the way she admit that they were not lovers when Sam asked about their relationship.
It was true. But, it felt so wrong.
"Am I just a friend to you, doll? Bucky leaned forward, his forehead met hers, his hot breath tickling her skin.
His tongue briefly passed in between his lips as he spreads her legs further, revealing her dripping cunt for his display, "Do your friends touch you like this, hmm?" His husky whisper as he rubbed his hardened length in between her slit, brushing against her clit.
"Do your friends kiss you all over like me?" She moaned breathily, as he bit and kiss the softness of her breasts; easily leaving his marks as if she was his to claim.
And without any warning, his cock slammed straight into her hole, stretching the walls to his size causing her to yelp in painful pleasure. Bucky let out a satisfied groan as the tightness of her around him, "Do your friends fuck this tight little pussy with their cock like me?"
Bucky couldn’t stop himself from pulling and pushing his hips to meet hers, his fingertips was practically digging into the flesh of her hips, moving her in time with his thrusts, "What am I to you, baby?" Honestly, it was hard for her to form complete thoughts, let alone reply to his question when he was fucking her so good.
Gone was the gentleman she knew for the past years, the koala bear that she spent hours on the couch cuddling to a movie marathon with. Now, there was only this feral beast, hungry for pleasure, insatiable to devour her whole body and soul.
Each roll of his hips pushed her further from her sober thoughts, focusing only on the wild look on his face, his huge body hunched over hers, his throbbing cock kissing her cervix. Any answer she was trying to convey was lost at the tip of her tongue; there were just the mewling mess, as she fell apart underneath him, compliant to his every thrust as his cock ramming within her. "Tell me. Come on, now. Use your words."
Bucky was almost losing his mind, from how bad he wanted to cum and how stubborn she was for not answering his questions. He pushed her legs up and wide as his thrust punctuated to his words, "What. Am. I. To. You?"
It took her a couple of long moans at his roughness, before she could utter a single word, the only correct answer to his question, "Mine."
He groaned approvingly, pulling back just enough to slide his metal between their bodies. "I'm yours?" Those hard, cold fingers that she loved so much was quick to find her clit. She was already sensitive from all the friction of his rutting, and now was he relentlessly assaulting the swollen nub, "Then, does that make you mine as well huh, sweetheart?"
"Yes, Bucky. You're mine. And I'm yours. All yours. Pleasee"
Her back arches off the bed, toes curling tight as her nails dug into his skin and across his back; To have some kind of a leverage to hold as the overwhelming pleasure surged through her body.
"Yeah, that's right, babygirl. You're mine and mine alone. Mine to love, mine to fuck. Yes?" Bucky taunted her with both his words and the way he rutted into her wet pussy, as if he himself was not close to the egde.
The sound of skin to skin clashing intertwined with the sounds of her pussy squelching around his cock, his girth kept pounding straight into her sweet spot to the point that only lewd whimpers of plead were spewing out of her lips, "Yes, yes yes. Oh Bucky please,, fuck,, I'm cumming!"
"Cum, sweetheart. Let me feel that tight little pussy of mine cum around my cock" He hummed approvingly as he picked a deeper and harsher pace, causing her mouth to fall wide open and her eyes screwed shut as she felt her whole body shook as she came. "Yeah,, that's it, doll. That's my girl. fuckkk,, feels so good baby, gonna make me cum inside you if you keep choking me like that."
"Please, Bucky?" A breathy moan of his name passed her lips as she her walls spasm with need. Bucky groan to the sensation, he was sure that her pussy was already full of his precum, considering how it has been leaking inside her for so long, "Want my cum in you, pretty girl?"
Batting her eyes through her lashes, she stared up at him, pleading., "Need it, please."
"Oh fuck, you got it, sweetheart." Throwing his head back in pleasure, shutting his eyes solely to focus of the feeling of her wet and tight cunt, Bucky's pace quicken as he chased his high, "Hmmm,, fuckk,, gonna stuff you full. You'll leaking for days, babydoll. Then, I'm gonna keep filling you until you can't live without my cum inside your pussy."
Hearing such dirty confessiom only triggers her to near orgasm, "Yess pleasee i want it. Need it, bucky." Surely enough she came again when he hit that special spot inside her.
"Ahh,, fuck ahhh,, I'm cumming shit pussy so good m'cumming fuckkkk", Bucky couldn’t even stop himself from rutting in and out of her sweet pussy as his cock pulsed, especially when her cunt was sucking him in deeper.
His head fall down to watch his cock disappear inside her before squeezing it shut again when the white spurt of cum shoots against her walls. His jaw was loose as his mouth formed an ‘o’ shape to allow his loud groans contaminated the silenced room.
His thick endless cum warm her insides and the honeyed moans hanging off her lips to its own accord as Bucky hunched over her frame, pressing his face in crook of her neck, breathing heavily as she was. After awhile, a broken sound of his voice stopped the silence, "Do you really mean it?"
He refused to look at her in the eyes, afraid of the rejection that might come his way but she proved him wrong by holding him by his cheeks, leading his eyes to align with hers,
"Bucky. You, my dear, are my bestfriend; you are my heart, you are my person. And there is no one in this world that I'd rather spend my whole life with besides you." Her words was nothing but the truth and Bucky knew that.
His heart swelled with joy yet he didn't know how to express it other than, "I love you, doll..." there was pause as if he was gathering the pieces of his soul to offer it to her, "...So much."
And she accepted it with her whole heart, "I love you too, Bucky."
End.
Read my other works here: Masterlist
A/N: I was gone for awhile but never too long. Hope you enjoy this little drabble 👀
#bucky x reader#bucky x you#bucky barnes au#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#tfatws!bucky#bucky barnes smut#bucky smut
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After returning from an ill-omened pilgrimage to the Ringed City initially meant to recover sorceries lost to time, Darkmoon Knight Adrian did not immediately return to Irithyll and Anor Londor upon learning about how Gwyn shackled Humanity to the First Flame and that Gwyndolin had knowingly shepherded the Undead to the First Flame to keep Gwyn and the Divines in power as long as they could. Instead, he sought out more answers about the Dark and the Abyss, which lead him to the forsaken land of Drang (which is all but stated to be Drangleic, but for this HC I'm assuming it's just a name for it), chasing both rumors about it being the home of a reviled master sorcerer of the Dark as well as seeking out remnants of Aldia's research on the First Flame.
And the sorcerer he sought? Navlaan.
#;outofcabernet#★ headcanons: ds3 au ★#food for thought on why in this AU he wears a headpiece that covers his eyes#and why he has certain spells#definitely want to explore how he learned to see souls/Humanity through an incredibly excruciating training process#definitely helped by the fact there are places in Drang completely dark#namely the Undead Crypt#DS2 might have clearly needed more time in the oven on top of having being rewritten a few times#but I genuinely love the Undead Crypt#as well as the layers like onion with Navlaan
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night terror
🌙 staring. Seungcheol x afab!Reader
🔮 preview. As much as you love being a mother, you think some of your favorite moments might just happen when the kids are asleep. Seeing Seungcheol with Hana and Daehyun is one of the great joys of your life, but you have needs too, and after a long day, you really need something to help you relax.
tw/cw. unprotected sex, bathroom sex, mirror sex, dirty talk, praise, fingering, blow job, deep throating, mentions of masochism, loud sex, your kid hearing you scream during sex and then your husband lies to her and says it's night terrors when really it's him - he's the night terror, etc… I pet names: (hers) princess.
👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 4.2k
🍭 aus. rich businessman cheol, husband cheol, established relationship, father cheol, stay at home mom reader, etc…
☀️ mlist + an. i need a rich husband sugar daddy and i need him now
There had been a time in his life when Seungcheol had thought he might never settle down. As a busy businessman, he’d never been able to comprehend how it would be possible to factor a wife - let alone children - into his schedule. But then, one summer afternoon, he’d met you, and all his fears had vanished.
His previous relationships had been marred with accusations about his lack of making time, and he’d been ready to repeat the same issues with you. However, the conflicts never came. You were a strong, capable, young woman, and as the first months of you flew by blissfully, Seungcheol had realized you accepted him for him, work and all. If anything, distance made the heart grow fonder, and when you were together, you both gave each other your complete attention, nurturing the relationship in a way that he’d never had a relationship truly nurtured before.
Six months in, he’d asked you to marry him, and it was the most confident he’d ever been with a decision in his entire life. When you’d gotten pregnant, only a short while after your honeymoon, the two of you had sat down to discuss what being parents would look like. You’d both been committed to giving your children the best lives possible going forward, and - knowing he’d be around less than a dad with a different, less demanding job - Seungcheol had asked if you’d be interested in the stay-at-home life.
It’s been five years since then, and there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by where Seungcheol has questioned his decisions with you. He comes home at erratic times in the evening, but he always finds you excelling at motherhood.
He truly doesn’t know how you do it and make it look easy. You have such a gentle way with not only the kids, but him as well, and he almost feels as if you were meant for this role. You’re a caregiver, through and through, and Seungcheol thinks he must be one of the luckiest men in the whole world to be able to fulfill the provider counterpart.
It’s a Monday evening, and he’s managed to get off work early. When he arrives at your large family home, he follows the sound of giggles to the kitchen. This room has been the heart of your house ever since the kids were old enough to follow you around it like ducklings, watching you cook with eyes full of wonder - he thinks they must get that trait from him at least.
He leans against the wall while he watches you, taking in the vision in front of him. It’s mac and cheese night, a long-held tradition in your household, wherein you help the kids make the base, and allow them to choose their favorite toppings to go in the ramekins before oven baking.
The elder of your children, Daehyun, is more adventurous, and it looks like you’re helping him saute a pan of mushrooms on the gas stove top. Even while dealing with the hot element, and a little boy grabbing at your apron while teetering on his cooking step stool, you’re giving just as much attention to your youngest.
Hana is the apple of Seungcheol’s eye, and - bless her heart - she’s a cheese fiend. There must be five different kinds of cheese on the counter, and you’re softly talking to her while she struggles to grate a small block of what looks to be gruyere.
“You’re doing so well,” you tell your daughter. “Give mommy just a moment and she’ll help you grate the last of it. I don’t want you hurting your hands.”
“Okay, mama,” Hana nods, setting the cheese down before leaning over to watch you stir the pan.
“Do you want to try a mushroom, sweetheart?” you ask, picking one out of the pan to taste for yourself. “They’re very good.”
Hana’s always been better at trying new things if you or Seungcheol go first, and the businessman finds himself smiling while he watches the soft moment.
“Okay,” Hana says, but she doesn’t sound too sure.
“It’s a little hot, so I’m going to put it on the cutting board to cool before either of you taste it, okay?” You lift a few mushrooms from the sizzling pan, setting them down and gently blowing away the steam. “Let me know if these are good, Daehyun, or if you’d like me to cook them a little longer to make them more crispy.”
The three of you are so wrapped up in your own little world, and Seungcheol supposes the soft classical music in the background had drowned out the sound of his footfalls as he’d approached. He decides it’s a good time to make his presence known, so he moves into the room, coming to stand on the other side of the island countertop.
“Look at you three chefs,” he muses.
“Daddy!” His children scream, with Daehyun jumping from his stool to run around the table and hug Seungcheol around the waist. Hana, meanwhile, still needs help getting down from the steps, and Seungcheol watches you lift the small child to set her on the floor so she can join her brother on the other side of Seungcheol.
“It smells good,” Seungcheol tells you, smiling at you as he rubs the backs of his children.
“We were just trying mushrooms!” Daehyun announces, releasing Seungcheol in favour of running to you to grab the food before dashing back to his dad, holding his hand out.
Seungcheol accepts the mushroom, and he tries it, letting out an embellished groan. “These are great,” he says, which prompts both children to try them too.
“Perfect!” Daehyun agrees.
Seungcheol watches you turn off the heat under the pan, moving to finish grating the gruyere for Hana. “How was work, my love?” you ask.
“Fine,” he sighs, not wanting to think about his job in a moment like this. “I couldn’t miss mac and cheese night. How were things around here?”
“Hana, why don’t you tell daddy about preschool?” you suggest, moving a pan of preprepared pasta bake ramekins on a tray to the island counter.
“We did art!” Hana says proudly. “Made something for you.”
“Really?” Seungcheol loves receiving drawings from his kids. “Want to go grab it for me?”
You’re two steps ahead of him, even while cooking, and you reach behind yourself to grab a piece of paper from the fridge. You hold it out to Seungcheol, and he takes it from you, smiling widely as he looks at the image.
“It’s our family,” Hana explains, although, with the dad character holding a briefcase and dressed in a suit, Seungcheol thinks it would be impossible for him to think it’s anything else.
“I love it, you’re going to be an artist one day,” he tells her, reaching down to pick her up, tucking her by his hip. “And how about you, Daehyun? How was soccer practice?”
“Mommy picked me up after school and she had veggie snacks which weren’t that good but I ate them anyways, and we did practice and I scored goals-” Seungcheol loves how his son rambles, and he listens patiently while Daehyun describes finding a coin on the field that he can add to his collection of treasures he’s picked up throughout his life.
By the time the story is finished, you’ve already put the mac and cheese in the oven, and you’re standing with your palms on the counter, watching Seungcheol interact with his children. There’s a gentle smile on your face, your eyes lit up with affection.
Seungcheol is drawn to you, and he walks around the island, Hana still tucked on his hip. “Hi,” he says softly, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to your lips. “How was mommy’s day?”
“Good,” you respond. “Hana and I went to a greenery after preschool to get some new plants for the garden.”
“Oh yeah?” Seungcheol looks down at his daughter. “Did you two find anything nice?”
“Mommy got me a bouquet of tulips,” Hana confirms.
“We also got a few more lavender bushes and some rosemary,” you add. “She played with bubbles while I planted them, and then we went to get Daehyun for soccer. A few of his friends came over with their moms after that to play in the pool, and then we started mac and cheese.”
“Sounds like a full day,” Seungcheol nods. He’s constantly in awe of how you juggle both kids, house maintenance, a social life, and cooking.
“The kids are tuckered out,” you say, reaching out to brush some hair from Hana’s face. “They were thinking we could watch some Disney movies after dinner before bed.”
“Well we can’t say no to that, can we,” Seungcheol smiles.
“No, we can’t,” you agree. “Daehyun, the mac and cheese is in the oven, should we start on a salad?”
“Do we have to?” he asks.
“Greens are an important part of a healthy diet,” you remind the little boy who’s always had problems with his veggies. “How about you help me choose what type of salad to make?”
“Can we have the one with lots of cheese?” Hana questions.
Seungcheol loves his little cheese fiend, he loves his family, and most of all, he loves that he gets to share it with you every day.
After being filled up with hot mac and cheese, the kids had fallen asleep less than thirty minutes into their movie. Seungcheol had carried them to bed, double checking to make sure they were tucked in all right, and now, he heads into your shared room, closing the soundproof doors behind him.
“I’ve said it already, but I’ll say it again, dinner was great,” he tells you, as he heads to his closet to begin removing his button-up shirt. “Even the salad was good, I haven’t seen Daehyun eat that many greens in months.”
“He’s warming up to them,” you smile, coming up behind your husband to give him a hug from behind, your cheek pressed to his back. “We were all happy you were there to eat with us. I know work has been busy, so I wasn’t sure if you’d make it.”
“And miss mac and cheese night?” Seungcheol scoffs. “Not even Jeon Wonwoo himself could keep me from that.”
You laugh at the mention of his business partner. “He can join next time, if he has the time. Hana misses Uncle Woo.”
“That's because he dotes on her.”
“As if you don’t.”
“We all do, she’s a special kid, that one.”
“They both are,” you muse. “Daehyun downplayed it, but he was doing really well in practice. Coach says he has some real talent. Apparently he can’t shut up about the way that you take him to games twice a month in box seats. I think it’s making a huge difference.”
“That’s good to hear,” Seungcheol smiles.
“Anyways, enough about our days,” you sigh. “Do you need a shower?”
“Why? Do I smell?” Seungcheol can’t help but chuckle.
“No, I was just thinking I might have one, and maybe you’d like to join me.”
Seungcheol groans. “Well, now I definitely need a shower.”
“Perfect.” You pull away from his back, reaching down to take off your shirt as you head to the bathroom. “I’ll see you in there, daddy.”
As much as you love being a mother, you think some of your favorite moments might just happen when the kids are asleep. Seeing Seungcheol with Hana and Daehyun is one of the great joys of your life, but you have needs too, and after a long day, you really need something to help you relax.
You turn the shower on, and as the spa-like bathroom fills with steam, you undo your pants. You’re slipping out of the fabric when Seungcheol joins you. His large form gently presses against your back, and his lips find your shoulder. His hands smooth down your arms softly, and he presses his crotch against your bum, showing you how turned on he is.
“You look so beautiful today,” he tells you.
“And you look as sexy as ever,” you respond, smiling while leaning back against his bare chest.
“I do, do I?” You feel him grin where he’s kissing your neck, and you rest the back of your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes and enjoying the feeling of him. “Guess this means we’re a match made in heaven.”
You love when he sweet-talks you like this, and when his hand slips down your abdomen to cup your pussy, you let out a groan of pleasure. “Should we go in the shower?”
“The shower can wait,” Seungcheol states, “and these panties have to come off.”
“You got it, daddy.” You hook your fingers in the waistband, pushing them down so his eager fingers can touch you directly. The contact has you shivering, and he begins to circle your clit.
“How did I ever get so lucky with you?” he asks, teasing you while he grinds against your ass.
“I ask myself the same question every day,” you confess, whimpering when one of his large fingers slips into your core.
“I think I’m the lucky one,” Seungcheol tells you, sucking on the sweet spot on your throat that always makes your entire body react.
“Agree to disagree,” you whisper, consumed by the feeling of his fingers as he adds a second one, working you open.
“It’s torture spending a whole day without being able to touch you,” your husband confesses, as he applies pressure to your clit with his palm.
You know exactly how he feels, and although you’re leaning into his touch, allowing him to be the one exploring your form, you know your patience will run dry soon. You need his cock, more than you’ve ever needed anything in your life.
It’s tantalizing, having his large bulge rubbing against your ass while he finger fucks you closer and closer to a release that’s always much too easy for him to earn.
You turn your head to the side, reaching behind yourself to tangle your fingers in his hair, bringing his lips to your own.
After all these years, Seungcheol knows your body inside and out. There are no words that need to be spoken as he gets you closer and closer to your high, only whimpered moans and groans of pleasure as you remain lip-locked.
Your first orgasm overtakes you, and you gasp into the kiss, wiggling your hips for more stimulation while he helps you through it. His free hand is on your waist, and he aids in your motions, which only adds to your pleasure.
“Cheol-” you whisper.
“I know, darling, I know,” he presses his forehead to yours, finishing you off before removing his hand from between your legs. He quickly sucks your juices off his digits before working on your bra, which falls off to join your clothes on the floor.
You turn in his embrace, palms flat to his chest so you can push him back until his bum hits the edge of the sink. “I wanna suck you off,” you tell him, feeling confident and as needy as ever.
“Fuck, I love it when you use that sweet, pretty mouth of yours to say the dirtiest things,” Seungcheol groans, large hands moving down to work on his belt while you sink to your knees on the tiled floor.
“You had a long day,” you tell him, knowing every day is long for the successful businessman, “I just want to make you feel good.”
“You always make me feel good,” he smiles, pushing his pants down so his cock can be released.
Wasting no time, you wrap your hand around the base, taking one last look up at him to muse, “Well, I want to make you feel great,” before your mouth finds his large cock.
The sounds he makes during sex have always been a huge turn-on for you, and the groans he lets out as you suckle on the head of his cock are like angels singing. You close your eyes, leaning into the act of pleasuring the man you love most in the world.
His gentle hand finds your head, and he helps you blow him, taking more of him into your mouth while your hand pumps the base.
“You’re so good,” he whispers. “So fucking good for me.”
You groan at the praise, and it makes his hips twitch, cock slipping into the back of your throat.
When you’d first been together, you hadn’t been used to the sensation, but after all this time together, you’ve become accustomed to it. In fact, you even kind of enjoy it when he throat-fuckes you, in some odd masochistic kind of way.
He’s slow with it, and you know he’s watching you carefully for any signs that he should let up on you. With you focused on your breathing and relaxing your throat, he never has to actually pull away. You listen to his sounds of pleasure grow, his grip tightening in your hair.
“Fuck,” he groans, gently pulling you off his cock. “I need you.”
He helps you to your feet and in one motion, he lifts you up and sets you on the sink, slotting between your legs. Your hands find his strong shoulders while he guides his cock to your pussy. His lip is caught between his teeth in concentration, and your heart swells with love for your husband.
The head of his cock slips into you and you both groan.
“You’re wound up, darling,” he muses as he sinks a few more inches into you, test thrusting so your wet juices can cover his length and make it easier for you both. “Are you sure you don’t need some more of my fingers?”
“No,” you hold his strong shoulders tighter, “I just need you.”
“Yeah?” he leans in, pressing his lips to yours while his hands find your hips, one slipping to gently cup the small of your back. “Are you still my needy princess?”
It had been the first true pet name that stuck when you’d started dating, and even after all these years, it still makes a tingle run up your spine.
“Yes, Cheol, you feel so good-”
His thrusts have his cock sinking fully inside of you now, and you can’t help the way your eyes roll into the back of your head. Your body is alight with pleasure, and you truly can't help the sounds that are escaping past your lips.
You try your best to be quiet with Cheol most nights, but your kids are asleep. On top of that, there’s a soundproof bedroom door, a bathroom door and a shower running to muffle your noises, so you figure now is as good a time as any to let loose a little.
“God, I love it when you get loud for me,” Seungcheol groans, leaning forward to pepper your throat in kisses while you lace your fingers through his soft hair.
Each thrust has his cock hitting a spot deep inside of you, and you can feel tension building in your abdomen, a sign of another orgasm on its way.
“You look so perfect like this,” your husband muses. Suddenly, he’s pulling away from you. “I want you to see.”
You moan in annoyance as he pulls out of you, dragging you off the countertop so he can turn you around, facing the steamed mirror. You bend over the sink, letting out a whine when he slips inside of you again, leaning forward with his chest pressed to your back while he wipes a hand along the reflective surface.
You can see yourself now, and you look completely fucked out.
Cheol grins behind you, and you love how the reflection showcases how much larger than you he is. With your smaller form in front of him, his shoulders are visible on either side of your own, and his height makes your pussy clench around him.
“Told you it was sexy,” Seungcheol muses, leaning forward again to press his lips to your shoulder. “I want you to watch as I make you cum.”
You’re not entirely sure you’ll be able to keep your eyes open, but you nod all the same, eager to please him as he begins to fuck you again. Each thrust has your hips pressing to the marble sink top, and it hurts a little, but the pain is pleasure.
You groan, panting as you watch Seungcheol fuck you from behind through the mirror.
He truly is a vision. each slap of his hips against your ass has your breasts bouncing too-
Steam is quickly covering the mirror again, and you reach out a shaky hand to wipe it away, intent on doing your best to follow through with his command.
“Cheol,” you whimper, his thrusts getting faster, harder-
“That’s it,” he groans. “Let me hear you.”
Your sounds are getting louder and louder as the tension in your stomach builds- and when Seungcheol licks two fingers, slipping his hand down your front to play with your clit, the noises of pleasure become uncontrollable.
“Gonna cum for me, princess?” he asks, breath hot against your throat.
Everything feels so intense, the steam in the room adding to your heightened senses, and you nod quickly. You can’t find it in yourself to speak, you can only grab the sink as an anchor while your husband works you to the edge-
“I’m there too,” Seungcheol assures you. “Cum with me.”
The sound that escapes you as your pussy clamps down on his cock is almost inhuman, and you struggle to keep your eyes open, gazing at your own fucked out expression through the mirror while Seungcheol rides out your highs.
His head is thrown back, throat all gorgeous and on display-
You love him a stupid amount, and it only makes your core throb harder around his cock while he fills you up with his cum.
It doesn’t help that his fingers are still on your clit, and you twitch from oversensitivity, letting out another loud cry. Seungcheol’s eyes open, as if he hadn’t even realized what he was still doing, too lost in the feeling of your throbbing cunt- he’s quick to pull his hand away, resting it on your hip as his thrusts begin to slow.
“Fuck,” he groans, “that was good.”
His lips find your shoulder, and you both do your best to slow your heavy breathing.
“Now I really need that shower,” you joke, earning a chuckle from the man still inside of you.
“Let's do it,” he says, giving you one last kiss before he pulls out of you.
He grabs your hand, helping you to the shower-
“Shit, did you hear that?” His head turns towards the closed door.
“I didn’t hear anything,” you tell him.
“No, listen, there it is again-” Seungcheol lets go of your hand, and he quickly grabs his robe, wrapping it around his naked body. He opens the bathroom door. “Shit, we woke up one of the kids. I’ll be right back.”
He exits the bathroom, shutting you inside behind him as he tightens his robe, rushing to the large soundproof bedroom doors. When he opens them, he finds Hana standing there, her stuffed teddy in her arms.
“Is Mama okay?” she asks, looking up at him like she’s on the verge of tears.
“Yes, sweetheart,” Seungcheol is quick to sink to his knees, wrapping his daughter in a hug. “You know she gets night terrors sometimes. It was just a bad dream, but I got a shower started for her and she should be okay.”
“Are you sure?” Hana asks, wiping at her eyes.
Seungcheol releases her, taking a look at her face and helping her clear the tear tracks with his thumb. “Yes, love, mama is fine. Here, let me get you back to bed.”
He picks up his daughter, carrying her back to her room. She settles in alright, and with a quick kiss to her forehead and a goodnight, Seungcheol leaves her be. He’s in a rush to get back to you, and as he enters your room and ensuite bathroom, shrugging off his robe, he finds you in the shower.
“I swear that kid has super hearing,” he muses softly, joining you under the water spray and pulling your body tight to his own.
“Maybe our soundproof bedroom door isn’t as soundproof as we thought,” you suggest. “Did you tell her it was night terrors again?”
“That seems to be the company line, doesn’t it?” Seungcheol can’t help but chuckle. He feels a little bad that the lie has gone on for two years already, but what else is he supposed to say to a kid who just heard her mother screaming?
“Hey, Night Terror,” you tug him closer, “you look lost in thought. What’s on your mind?”
Seungcheol sighs. “Just that maybe we need to invest in some good earplugs for the kids.”
You laugh, snuggling close to his chest while he wraps you in his arms. “Darling, I love the way you think.”
☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! sometimes we all just need a short, sweet, established relationship sugar daddy/ A+ actual dad Cheol in our lives, you know?
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🔮 preview. “Fuck the house, I want you here. Now.” You don’t waste another second, grabbing his face and crashing your lips against his. His own hands find your hips, and within moments he’s pulling you onto his lap, growling into the kiss. It’s clear from the way that he’s touching you that he has no objections to fucking in the hot tub.
cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, exhibitionism, fucking in a hot tub, dry/wet humping, multiple reader orgasms, sensory stuff with the hot tub and heat, breast worship, fingering, cheol using her like a fleshlight, manhandling, some dirty talk, praise, breeding kink, finger sucking,. I petnames. (hers) princess.
👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.9k I teaser wc. 300
🌙 staring.Cheol x afab!Reader
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“Uncle Woo!” Hana lights up as one of her favorite people enters the house, and Wonwoo returns her smile, dropping onto one knee to embrace her.
“Hey, Hana,” he grins.
“They told us we were sleeping over with you but I almost didn’t believe it!” Hana raves.
“I got the guest room all set up for you two,” Wonwoo says, standing up while holding your daughter to his chest. His gaze shifts to Daehyun. “Uncle Mingyu and Uncle Vernon are going to pop by for a bit too, they’ve been missing watching soccer with you. I’ve got the game from earlier recorded, you could have some boys' time while I play princesses with Hana.”
God. You love Wonwoo. He’s the best uncle you could have asked for concerning your kids. It’s clear Seungcheol thinks the same, his grip tightening around you while his smile widens. You all watch Hana joyfully rant about playing princesses, and Daehyun is even smiling at the thought of spending time with his favorite uncles.
“Do you two have any special plans for tonight?” Wonwoo asks when there’s a lull in the conversation.
It’s your anniversary tonight, and you definitely have special plans, but none you can discuss in front of the kids.
“Mostly just taking her out for dinner,” Seungcheol says, which is only half a lie as he turns to gaze at you with hearts in his eyes.
“Nothing too extreme,” you agree, patting his chest.
Wonwoo gives you a look that tells you he sees through your bluff, but your kids are none the wiser, and - as it is with your ‘night terrors’ - at the end of the day, a few white lies to protect their innocence doesn’t hurt anybody.
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City Pigeons Bleed Green - Part 13
Cass looked up as Jason came out of Danny’s room. He looked better.
After Danny had been stabilized, Cass had taken Jason away from the safe house and to Jason’s place with the gym in the basement. She knew what it was like to have that need to act— to hurt to ruin to end— burning under her skin. She gave Jason the fight that he needed, letting him punch and kick until they were both covered in bruises and he was shaking apart in her arms.
Today he looked better.
“N is going to stay with Danny,” Jason said with a little nod backwards.
Dick, Jason, Tim, and herself had all been taking turns staying with their new brother. He was sleeping a lot right then; he was waking with nightmares a lot too. Waking up with one of them touching him seemed to help him calm the quickest so they took turns staying close.
“Red?” Cass asked with a little tilt of her head.
Jason glanced at the clock on the oven as he opened the fridge. He wasn’t really hungry, but eating out of habit. “He’ll be over here in two hours, I he doesn’t get distracted.”
“Be nice. Red cares. He’ll be here,” she said.
Jason seemed to settle on something and popped the top off before throwing it in the microwave. “Yeah… yeah. Danny’s pretty much wormed his way into all of our hearts, hasn’t he?”
“Yes. Will for rest too.”
Jason snorted. “As if he already hasn’t with B. They didn’t need to meet for that. You know how the old man is, a real bleeding heart of stone.”
Cass rolled her eyes and ordered again, “Be nice.”
Jason frowned at her but she just smiled serenely back until he rolled his eyes. It was a win enough for her.
The heated food was set on a trivet between them and Jason stuck two forks in it.
“I’m thinking we get O in here in a few days,” he said around his own large bite of lasagna. “Danny is healing better this time, but we don’t know what sort of set back this will cause mentally and all. Having another set of hands would be good.”
“O will like him.”
“Course she will,” Jason said with almost a scoff.
“No O and Red,” Cass added thoughtfully after she had chewed her own bite. This was definitely Jason lasagna and not Alfred lasagna.
“Yeah… I don’t think I’m going to trust those three in a room together for a long time,” Jason said with a dawning sort of horror. “Danny took apart the remote here and now it has buttons for services I didn’t even know existed. I swear it will change shows on its own too if no one is paying attention to it. It’s useful, I guess, but a little creepy.”
“Ghost brother,” Cass said with a little shrug.
Jason’s eyes narrowed before he let out an exhausted sounding sigh. “I hate that you might be right. Our controller could be haunted now.”
“Alas poor Yorick?”
“Wrong character,” Jason said, pointing with his fork, “but that is a play with a ghost in it so good job.”
Cass smiled happily at the praise. “Once Red is here, you and me errands?”
“You just want to buy Danny another present,” Jason said, jabbing his fork in her direction.
“Yes,” she said with zero shame.
Jason rolled his eyes. “Fine, but we have to do groceries too.”
-
Babs had been warned that Danny was still very skittish, but he hadn’t actually expected him to freeze like a scared rabbit when she came into the apartment. She stopped rolling forward and moved her hands to where he could see them both clearly.
“Hi Danny,” she said with her kindest librarian voice that she had. “I’m Oracle. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Danny shook his head, the motion ran through him like a shudder and whatever had frozen him shook off him like water off a dog. His smile was still shaky though, so Babs didn’t think that whatever the reaction had been was completely done.
“Hi, Oracle.” His voice was soft, rough, a little broken.
She’d heard from a number of the bats about the latest development and the trauma that went with it, but it as still something to see someone that looked like a young Bruce covered in bandages and looking more than worse for the wear.
“Are you alright if I come in? If you aren’t, that’s alright. I’ll just talk with Nightwing in the hall for a little.”
“No, you can come in,” Danny said, sitting up a little straighter. His eyes flicked over her again. “It’s just… your hair reminded me of someone is all. No one… no one bad.”
Babs offered him a smile and came the rest of the way into the apartment. “If that changes, just let me know.”
“It’s fine, really,” Danny said, though the words were still a little bit of a whisper.
“Well then,” Dick said, interrupting the end of the oddly tense moment, “Babs, do you want any hot chocolate?”
“Thank you, but without the mountain of whip cream I know you liked to put on it,” she said, giving Dick a playful glare.
He shrugged unrepentantly. “Danny?”
“Yes please,” he said. He was fussing with the blanket he had been sitting under, folding it up just so.
Babs moved towards the kitchen to give him a little bit of space and the illusion of some privacy.
‘What was that about?’ Babs asked Dick silently through raised eye brows, a slightly twisted frown, and a subtle nod towards the living room.
‘Not a damn clue,’ is what Dick’s shrug said back.
It almost made Babs sigh.
Danny was still a complete mystery to her. While they were being good and had avoided taking blood or fingerprints from Danny, Barbara had at least been trying to find Danny’s path through the city. She’d been saying for days now that the boy was like a ghost.
She just didn’t expect that to be as literal as it was.
The nickname had lost any of its fun.
“Danny, whipped cream for you?” Dick asked.
Danny’s eyes darted from Dick to Babs.
“Oh, feel free to have it like N,” Babs said with a smile. “I just don’t have the sweet tooth that he does.”
“She never has, it’s tragic,” Dick said with a sigh as he started to warm a pot of milk. “So, whipped cream.”
“Um, yes,” Danny said.
“I will take sprinkles though,” Babs said. “Do you have the little—”
“Bats?” Dick scoffed. “Of course I have the little bats. You can’t have proper hot chocolate without the little bat sprinkles.”
“Of course not,” words serious but unable to help the little smile that she sported.
“You all really like the theme, don’t you?” Danny asked, though he was smiling too now.
“The boy in the hoddie with the Bat logo on it does not get to talk,” Dick said and tossed a large marshmallow at Danny with pin point accuracy.
Danny caught it effortlessly and started to pull it apart with a little shrug. “Hood got if for me as a present.”
“Of course he did,” Tim said as he finally emerged from wherever he had been tucked away. He handed the tablet he was carrying over to Danny before he sat down in the neighboring armchair. “He’s just trying to claim you first, as if him and I didn’t find you together.”
“Hot chocolate, Red?” Dick asked while Danny was busy looking bewildered at that.
“Sure, but add some coffee to it?” Tim asked.
“No,” Dick replied far too cheerfully. “But seriously Dandelion, a Bat logo from a Bat means something.”
Danny’s face scrunched up at that and he looked down at himself. “I don’t think… he was trying to claim me?”
Babs snorted. “Oh, trust us, he was absolutely claiming you. He probably felt that he had to do something material to even start to compete with B.B., as if he wasn’t cooking for you all the time.”
Danny stared back at her with wide blue eyes. The open surprise and desperate want was odd to see on someone that looked so much like Bruce. Damian certainly never let himself appear that way.
“And Red is already souping up your tablet, I’m assuming— though if you really want an improvement let me see it,” she continued, talking over Tim’s little snort, “and N is making you the special hot chocolate. Even Signal is thinking what he can get you and Spoiler is whining that she hasn’t met you yet.”
“She is getting so annoying,” Tim whined while Danny stuffed the shredded marshmallow in his mouth, likely to get out of saying anything. He looked more than a little teary eyed. Tim gave him the out by continuing, “We’ll have her over one morning when she’ll be tired and easily distracted by waffles. You’re not up for the full Spoiler experience yet.”
“Trust Red on that,” Dick interjected as he stirred the coco, “he dated her.”
“I don’t know what either of us were thinking,” Tim said with a sigh. “We are both way too high maintenance in different ways for it to have worked.”
“You were still waiting for you bi awakening, baby bird, you were missing out on half the options,” Dick said. He dropped one of the oversized marshmallows in each of the four mugs before pouring the scalding hot chocolate over it.
Babs left him to his sorcery and wheeled over to the couch before working her way onto it. Danny helpfully moved the blanket out of the way and then offered it back after. She draped it carefully over her legs.
“So what did Red do to your tablet?”
“I actually didn’t do anything,” Tim said, and then had to pause. “Well, not after I gave it to Danny at least. I was just making sure everything was still good. Danny’s been tinkering with it.”
Danny gave a little shrug and picked at the edge of his hoodie.
“Do you like engineering then? Or inventing?��� Babs asked, trying to encourage Danny to open up a little.
“Yeah, my— I—, I mean…” Danny stumbled over his words. He lost some of his color with each false start until he was worryingly grey. He swallowed thickly. “Yeah, I used to at least.”
“Danny, hot chocolate,” Dick said with impeccable timing as always.
Danny whispered a thanks and took the almost overflowing mug. He could basically hide behind the mound of whipped cream and he definitely tried to. Babs took the offered mug with a much more modest dollop but an absurd amount of bat sprinkles. Her lips twitched up in a smile as she took a sip.
Tim’s portion was somewhere in between Bab’s and Danny and of course Dick’s was practically laughable. It’s a wonder he didn’t make an absolute mess of himself drinking it as they argued over a movie to watch. It was clever of the Bats, really, they had started to narrow down how long Danny had been a test subject by what movies he had seen or not.
It was somewhere between seventeen and twenty-three months.
Nearly two years.
They were all lucky that Danny had made it out at all. They all knew the statistics of something like that.
Hot chocolate turned into dinner turned into Danny cuddling Dick on the couch and eventually resting against Bab’s legs. A good sign about her acceptance, according to the birds.
“Oracle?”
Babs had thought that Danny was asleep. She reached out to run the tips of her fingers through his hair. The lights from the movie that was still playing glinted off her pink nails. “Yes, Danny?”
“If I asked… would you be able to find someone for me?”
She tilted her head. “The person that I remind you of?”
“Yes. Just… just so that I know she’s okay.”
“Is she in danger?”
“No, she’s not like me. She’s…” Danny cut himself off, swallowing back the words.
“But you’d still like to know.”
“Yes.”
Babs hummed. It was technically an abuse of her powers, but they were something she abused all the time. “Yes, if you ask me to, I can find out if she’s okay.”
“Okay. I’ll… maybe I’ll ask. Thank you.”
“Of course, Danny.”
---
AN: I struggled with this chapter at first, but it was because I was jumping right to Barbara meeting Danny and not giving the others some more time to deal with the change in Danny. They still haven't really dealt with it, right now they're focused on healing and getting more help through Babs being around.
All our poor Bat's. So attached already and so traumatized.
But not as traumatized as Danny...
Stay delightful, darlings!
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Office Sleepover - A.H
a/n: this is honestly kind of shit but whatever
might make this a mini series?
part two here!
‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧
pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader
summary: in which reader gets put on a hit-list and has to stay in the office (kind of based off when penelope got put on a hit-list by the dirty dozen)
warnings: reader kind of flashes hotch, really inconsistent with how the gov works i'm sure, there's also definitely not an oven in the break room but in my world there is <3
wc: 3.8k
Hotch's voice reached you, but the words tangled into an indecipherable code as they hit the air. You nodded, a reflex, but it was as if your brain had short-circuited. You could make out fragments--a hit on you, stay at office, 24/7 protection, you can take the back office. But no matter how many times he said it, it seemed to ricochet through your head, making less sense each time. You were on a hit list? A hit list?
It all felt very made up, like a script ripped straight out of a tv show. Risk was a part of the BAU job description, but a hit list? For a fleeting moment, a chuckle hovered at the brink of your lips, but it was swiftly swallowed by a wave of dread that rose in its place. You blinked a couple times, probably too many in a vain attempt to clear the fog and bring Hotch's face into focus.
"But what about all my stuff? And you want me to camp out here in the office? For how long, Hotch? I mean, I'm all for overtime, but this is... this is a lot, and I--," you babble, your speech racing ahead of your thoughts. "And my baking? That's my biggest stress reliever. Not to mention my DIY projects--I can't just abandon my half-finished throw pillowcases. Plus, how many pairs of shoes is too many for an office closet?"
Your pout formed a delicate bow, and though he said nothing, his eyes softened. Hotch could feel the frown marring his features. He might never say it, but seeing you like this struck a chord, making it a little hard to breathe.
Circling the desk, he planted himself in front of you, his hand settling on your shoulder. "Hey, take a deep breath," he urges softly. "Let's take it one step at a time. List out what you need, someone will bring it here. Your baking supplies, DIY projects, even your shoes."
True to Hotch's word, as usual, you found every piece of your life carefully compartmentalized into cardboard boxes, lined up carefully in the office that now doubled as your temporary room. There was an odd sense of dislocation in finishing your workday and needing only to count about thirty steps before arriving at your room.
You swung the door closed, the sound sealing the room as a deep sigh wrapped around you and you started sifting through the boxes. The pullout couch serving as your bed was less than appealing, its worn fabric making you grimace internally. Nevertheless, you diverted your attention, busying yourself with the organizing of your extensive collection of things. Spencer would definitely shake his head at the sight of the vast amount of clothes you had brought.
The irony wasn't lost on you; surrounded by the office's ceaseless motion, yet you felt more alone than in the stillness of your own apartment. God, this was pathetic, and you needed a drink, but you had a nagging suspicion the office handbook would have a thing or two to say about that. You spent a solid two hours attempting to infuse the sterile space with a touch of home, it wasn't perfect (at all), but it would have to do.
Rossi knocks on the doorframe, poking his head in with a grin. "I didn't realize we were redecorating the bureau in shades of bubblegum," he teases. "How you doing, kid?"
"Actually, it's blush," you correct with a mock-serious tone, meeting his smile with one of your own. "I'm fine," you insist, but Rossi's knowing look prompts a quick add-on. "I am, really, I mean I've always said I wanted my own office."
"An office with a view of the bullpen, no less. You're living the dream," he says, his eyes scanning the room. "Need any help with anything? Or anything else from your place? Maybe your favorite mug to make feel more like home?"
"Don't worry, I'm already one step ahead of you," you assure him, revealing a drawer brimming with mugs.
Rossi lets out a low appreciative whistle. "Why am I not surprised?" he chuckles with a broad grin. "Well, I'm heading out for the night. Remember, I'm just a call away if you need anything. And Hotch is still here, buried in paperwork as usual."
He left, and you were alone--a cue to try and cling to some normalcy of your routine; you drew the blinds and slipped into the comfort of your pajamas. You hauled yourself off to the office bathroom, reluctantly at that, and proceeded to attend to your skincare, brush your hair, and polish your smile with a thorough teeth brushing.
Eyeing the hallway warily, you made a silent exit from the bathroom, the carpet softening your footfalls. But in your rush to avoid prying eyes, you crashed into a solid wall of a figure, the force sending you tumbling backward. You hit the floor with a muted thud, your ass hitting the ground, legs splayed inelegantly in front of you. Your eyes rose to meet the firm, penetrating look of Hotch. Of fucking course.
There was a pause as Hotch's eyes drank in the sight of your flushed complexion and the wide, doe-like eyes that seemed to capture the light just so. He felt like his heart could stop then and there. And he knew it was wrong, but he certainly liked the sight of you sprawled below him. He blinked, breaking the trance, and offered a concerned, "Are you okay?" His hands were outstretched, ready to pull you back to your feet.
Your cheeks turned a deeper shade as you held onto Hotch's hand, the feeling unexpectedly comforting, rough in yours but nice. "What? Oh, yeah, I'm all good, sorry about that," you managed to say, the words squeaking out a tad too eagerly.
You stood up, and his closeness was all-consuming. You were suddenly intensely aware of every breath, every throb of your heart, and your mind went blank; the usual stream of thoughts replaced by a buzzing silence.
His eyes held yours for a fraction longer than necessary before he stepped back, creating a respectful distance. The hallway's warmth seemed to dissipate with the space, leaving you with an unexpected stab of disappointment.
"Rossi said you'd be here. Anything I can do to help?"
You rationalized the offer as a gesture of your goodwill, but a small part, well a big part, of you knew just wanted to be close to him, to be alone with him maybe--in the office, after hours, in his office. This was weird, I mean, you'd always admired your Unit Chief, but this was different. You chalked it up to the day's unfortunate series of events--you were tired, and lonely, and you needed desperately to snap out of it before you made a fool out of yourself.
"No, you need to rest. It's been a long day, and you've been through enough." He paused, his gaze assessing you. "How are you holding up?"
"At this rate, I'll need a sign that says 'I'm fine,' to stop the check-ins." Although you silently doubted that would deter him. You gesture to the surroundings. "And this? It's like a sleepover at work. Just hoping this so-called hit man doesn't show up."
Hotch internally recoiled at your words, leaving him with the sensation of a cold grasp tightening around his heart. He cleared his throat, the joke falling flat in the gravity of his concern. "I'll be here for a while longer. If you need anything, don't hesitate to come find me," he managed a nod before retreating to his office.
A while longer? You knew Hotch was a workaholic, but it now occurred to you that he must never sleep. Quickly, you gathered your scattered belongings, and made your way to your office.
The pull-out couch seemed even less inviting than you remembered, if that was possible. You perched on the edge, the metallic frame cold through the thin mattress. As you lay down, the couch seemed to swallow you in its awkward angles. Perfect. Tossing and turning, you struggled to find a comfortable spot. Eventually, exhaustion won over discomfort, the rhythm of your own breathing lulling you into a fitful sleep.
Your eyes flickered open at some point during the night and the blinds drifted apart, as if by an unseen hand, and through the gap, your eyes fell on a hooded figure, the face not visible in the dim light. Your muscles locked in terror, an icy fear clawing its way up your spine as you tried to move--to reach for your gun, to call out for Hotch, to do anything. But as if imprisoned by an invisible force, you could only watch, confined to the bed, as the figure crept towards the door.
A scream tore from your throat, a raw and piercing sound that ricocheted off the walls and echoed through your eyes. This was it, you thought.
Then, in an instant, you were awake and disoriented, your breaths coming in short bursts, and your body covered in a sheen of cold sweat. Your fingers clenched the sheets, the fabric twisting in your grasp as you fought to decipher what was reality. Your eyes snapped to the blinds, half-expecting to see the figure from your dream materialize, but the emptiness beyond them slowly calmed your racing heart.
With a throat dry as parchment and your pulse still echoing in your ears, you drifted from your room towards the break room. As you ambled past Hotch's office, you paused. The door, slightly ajar, felt like an invitation. Despite knowing better, a foggy curiosity nudged your feet forward. With a shaky breath, you eased the door open wider and slipped inside.
His office felt different at night--it was quieter, more personal, and you felt like an intruder on Hotch's private world. You took a moment, absorbing the sight of his meticulously organized desk, the case files that were always present.
It was tempting to try to piece together the man from his workspace, but you held back. As you turned to leave, a familiar scent stopped you--the subtle hint of his cologne hanging in the air. It wrapped around you, easing the tension that had sunk into your limbs. Almost without thinking, you found yourself sinking into the couch.
The room, infused with his distinct scent, seemed to have your blinking growing heavier, more intentional. You nestled deeper into the cushions; the fabric familiar beneath your fingers, lulling you into a sense of security. Just five minutes, you thought.
Hotch's steps were slow, his eyelids having a hard time staying open as he made his way through the bullpen. He carried his briefcase, the leather handle worn and conformed to his hand. He contemplated a detour to your office, a silent check-in to ease his mind, but he dismissed the idea--you were probably still asleep, and he'd definitely look like a creep. Reaching his own office, he noticed the door ajar, a sliver of morning light spilling through the gap.
He stepped into the room, and time seemed to stand still as his gaze landed on the couch. There you were, fast asleep on his couch. Your hand lay gently under your cheek, a makeshift pillow softening the hard angles beneath, while your nose gave the faintest twitches. Your lips were parted as if mid-whisper and strands of your hair were splayed in a disarrayed crown around your head. He knew that in no way could that have been comfortable. It hurt his back just looking at you, but still you looked so peaceful.
He moved with quiet steps, heat creeping up his neck as he placed his things on the desk. Turning back to you, he couldn't help but notice the gentle dishevelment of your pajamas, buttons undone in innocent disarray, the fabric parting to reveal the gentle slope of your breasts. He felt an odd mix of emotions--a gentle chiding for finding you in such state, and the guilt of finding the sight so undeniably sweet.
A quiet cough escaped him, more out of habit than necessity, as he approached a cabinet where blankets were neatly stacked--a nod to many nights spent just as you were. He draped one over you, his movements slow and unhurried, shielding you from potential curious eyes before finding his normal place behind the wooden desk.
He tried to focus--really, he did. I mean, he had a towering pile of paperwork and responsibilities that demanded his attention. But despite his best efforts, his gaze involuntarily drifted to you time and time again. It was as if he needed visual confirmation of your steady breathing to assure himself that you were okay. He thought about you here all night, alone, and he found his knuckles whiten against the grip of his pen. He knew you had security on you at all times, but somehow, he found no comfort in that.
Hotch's eyes flicked to the clock--7:30 am. You still had at least another half an hour before you technically needed to start work, although truth be told he would let you sleep as long as your body allowed. There was no way in hell he was going to disturb you when you looked so content.
As Hotch worked, the morning light grew stronger, casting a warm glow over his desk. It was nearly 9 am when the sound of shifting fabric eventually roused you. You were waking up, blinking away the remnants of sleep, confusion etched on your face. As your eyes caught sight of the clock and Hotch, mortification set it.
"Oh my gosh, Hotch. I am so sorry," you blurted out, embarrassment coloring your cheeks. "You could've woken me up--I... I should've set an alarm. And I shouldn't even be here, but I can explain, sort of..."
In a flurry of motion, you leapt from the couch, only to feel a sudden tug at your chest as a button from your top snagged on a stray thread. The fabric pulled open, revealing way more than what was appropriate for your boss to see. Your face turned a shade redder as you scrambled to cover up. Hotch, momentarily sidetracked by the sight of the cleavage of your tits once again, quickly refocused and interrupted your flustered explanations.
"It's fine," he assured. "Given everything that's happened, you needed the rest." He nodded towards the couch. "You're always welcome to sleep here if you need to--though I can't promise it'll be any more comfortable next time."
"Oh no, it was super comfortable, really," you insist, despite the awkwardness clinging to your words. Hotch gives you a look that says he's not entirely convinced. "Okay, well, I'm going to uh... go," you mumble, stopping short at the door with a sudden concern.
Hotch understands immediately and offers, "They're all in the briefing room--won't be out for a while."
With a relieved nod, and minimal eye contact, you dash out, hoping to reach your office unnoticed. But because the world just hated you these past days, just as you're rushing by, Morgan's hands come to your shoulders to stop you.
"Easy there, mama," he teases, a smile on his face. But as he gets a good look at your attire, his grin grows wider. "What in the world...?" he starts, laughter in his voice. He glances from you to Hotch's office door, then back again. "Hold up, hold up--you didn't... with Hotch? Are you?"
"What? No, Morgan, absolutely not! Why would you even--oh my god," you gasp, wishing the ground would swallow you whole. God, I mean, the day hasn't even started, and you needed it to end. Realizing your voice has risen in your flustered state, you quickly lower it to a harsh whisper, your eyes darting around to ensure no one overheard. "Why would you even suggest that?"
"Um, maybe because you're making a grand exit from the boss man's office in your PJs? Just a wild guess."
"No, Morgan, it's not what you think," you insist, but your attention snaps to the sound of the team's voices nearing the door. "I don't have time for this," you mutter, darting back to your office.
In a whirlwind, you shed the pajamas, slip into your work attire, and hastily run a brush through your hair. Good enough.
You threw yourself into work, the stack of papers becoming a welcome distraction, a rare sense of relief rather than the familiar dread. It was a considerable effort to divert your mind from the distractions--Hotch, the hit man, and Morgan's incessant teasing. Not that anyone would believe that you and Hotch were together; he was the very definition of sophisticated, handsome, and successful, and you were just, well, you.
Not that there was anything wrong with you. You liked yourself just fine; you laughed too loudly at jokes, talked to your houseplants as if they were your old friends, and you had an odd fascination with weather patterns. These things made you wholly you. You just knew you couldn't be more different from Hotch.
With a bit of luck and purposeful avoiding, your day passed smoothly, sparing you any unnecessary run-ins with Hotch. Everyone had gone home for the day which is why you stood in the break room attempting some baking recipe from Pinterest.
The slippers on your feet padded against the carpet as you hummed around the room. With swift motions, you ushered the coffee cake batter into the oven, then turned to tackle the mess you had created on the countertops. Cleaning as you go wasn't your usual style, but office break room didn't seem like the place for your usual creative sprawl.
Your phone had buzzed incessantly with Penelope's calls--her offers the keep you company is why you loved her, but you weren't going to subject her to that, no matter how many times she said she didn't mind.
Hotch's office was quiet, save for the soft scratching of his pen against paper as he finally closed his files. He moved into bullpen and as he passed the breakroom, the soft hum of the light and faint sound of movement drew him in. There you were, engrossed in tidying up, with your hair casually gathered above your shoulders and wearing your sweats, Hotch found him instinctively pausing to watch.
He knew he shouldn't bother you, knew he was likely the last person you'd want to see, yet he found himself rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed on you, the warmth in his chest intensifying with each fleeting second.
The moment you turned and saw a figure, a sharp gasp cut through the silence, and the icing in your grasp became a sweet projectile that flew across the room. Relief washed over you as you realized who it was.
"Jeez, Hotch, give me a heart attack why don't you," you said, half-laughing as your heart rate settled. "Especially when there's a hitman who might beat you to the punch."
Hotch parted his lips to speak, but you were quicker, a stream of thoughts tumbling out before you could stop them. "I thought everyone was gone. You weren't at your desk earlier--oh wait, you had that meeting with the DOJ, right? Did they have anything about the people who marked me?"
In your haste, you closed the gap between you, and only then did you spot the icing on his cheek. "Oh, sorry about that, Hotch," you said with an apologetic grin, reaching out as if to wipe it away.
As your palm made contact with his skin, a shared realization of the intimacy of the gesture washed over you. Time seemed to slow as your thumb traced a lingering path through the icing, your whisper barely audible, "There."
The word seemed to hang in the air as you froze, the proximity suddenly overwhelming, your breath caught in your throat. Hotch's backward step was almost imperceptible, but it was enough. You cleared your throat awkwardly, cheeks warming with a flush. "Um, did you need something?"
Hotch shook his head slightly, "No, just wanted to check on you before I head out."
You gave a thumbs up, mustering a smile. "Well, consider me checked."
Hotch nodded, his expression unreadable. "Goodnight," he said, to which you echoed in response as you watched him leave.
Alone now, you slumped against the counter, your hand pressed to your face. Consider me checked? God, someone needed to tape your mouth shut.
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner#criminal minds fanfic#hotch#hotchner#aaron hotch hotchner#ssa hotchner#agent hotchner#cm#aaron hotchner x fem!reader#aaron hotchner x fem reader#Spotify
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hi baby!! dont worry!! it was about reader getting so stressed and annoyed while building a gingerbread house that they throw it in the garbage because its going all wrong and carmy finds it hilarious lol then he builds one for her hehe<3 love u
Perfectionist.
Your boyfriend being a professional chef has its perks - especially when it comes to gingerbread houses.
pairing - carmen berzatto x female reader
warnings - cursing
word count - under 1k!! short and sweet
author's note - just a little dose of carmy at christmas for you. thanks baby angel for sending this request in (twice!!) <3
masterlist. inbox.
"Fuck this."
Carmy hears your raised voice and immediately comes running, coming to a halt in the doorway of the kitchen.
"You good, baby?"
"No."
The frown on your face is amusing him to no end, fighting to keep his smile from breaking out. He doesn't want to minimise your feelings, but you're cutest when you're mad.
Carmy takes in the scene in front of him, surveying carefully. There's chunks of gingerbread scattered across the table, icing dripping from the tablecloth. Your kitchen looks like a candy store exploded - sweets in red, green and blue littered over every surface. You're caked in frosting, hair falling into your eyes as you take deep breaths to try to keep your anger at bay.
"I knew this wouldn't be easy, but fuck me, Carmy... I'm on the brink of a breakdown here."
He makes his way over, grinning like an idiot. It's not often he gets to help you with things - you're fiercely independent, determined to get stuff done all by yourself. He likes teaching you, getting to feel like he's easing your worries a little.
"You want my help?"
"I said I'd do it," you huff, on the verge of stamping your feet and pushing the table over.
"It won't kill you to ask for what you need, baby."
You roll your eyes, bottom lip caught between your teeth. It's difficult for you to admit defeat, but you might rip your hair out if your gingerbread collapses one more time.
"Can you help me, Carm?" you whisper.
"What was that, honey? Say it again?"
You sigh in exasperation, slumping back into your chair.
"Can you help me, Carmen? Please?"
He beams at you like the cat that got the cream, making his way over to sit next to you at the table.
"Lets start again, hmm?"
"Good idea."
You pick up the remnants of your gingerbread house and throw them so forcefully, the trash can almost tips over. Carmy laughs, wrapping his arms around you from behind.
"I think we've finally found the one thing you're not good at, honey. It's a Christmas miracle."
You can't help but chuckle, leaning your head back to rest against his shoulder. He presses a kiss or four into your neck, nosing at the spot under your ear.
"Okay, Mr Michelin Star. Show me what you got."
You bake, first, Carmy explaining how to get the perfect texture you need for structural soundness. He even gets out a ruler, measuring the rolled out dough so the sides will be even.
He kisses you lazily while your gingerbread is in the oven. You're propped up on the counter as he stands between your legs, arms thrown around his shoulders. He tastes like cinnamon and spice, groaning when you lick the sugar straight from his tongue.
When it's cooled, you begin your assembly, sitting back while Carmy trims and remeasures. He draws out a template with a pencil and cuts accordingly, ensuring each piece has a straight edge. You watch in awe as he works, so careful, so attentive. You're fighting not to jump his bones at any given moment.
It's time to build, and Carmy has the perfect plan. He's made a thickened sugar syrup that acts as a glue, hardening when it dries and keeping everything together. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he concentrates, determined not to mess this up for you.
He steps back, then, to let you decorate. You clearly have a vision, your picturesque idea of what you wanted your original creation to look like. Carmy makes you multiple bags of icing in different colours, and melts down candies so you can make windows and doors. He opens packets of chocolates, and carves into them with a knife to make little trees for the yard.
Hours later, when you're both covered in powdered sugar and melted chocolate, you step back to admire your masterpiece.
"Holy shit, Carm."
"We did good, huh?"
"Is there like, a business in this? Can we do this for a living?"
He laughs, the sound vibrating through you from where his chest his pressed to your back. He's got you tightly in his arms, swaying gently to the soft music that plays from the radio.
"What were you saying about finding the one thing I wasn't good at, Berzatto? Hmm?"
He spins you, pressing his forehead into yours.
"I take it back. I take it all back, baby. You're good at everything."
"Especially gingerbread houses."
"Especially gingerbread houses."
You lean up to kiss him, wiping some frosting off his cheek with your thumb.
"Thanks for not making me feel like an idiot."
"I would never. Life is a learning curve, baby, You taught me that."
"I love you," you whisper. "And just so you know, we're never eating that. It's going to have to be display only."
He laughs, full chested and whole hearted, moving his hands to cradle your face.
"I love you too, baker extraordinaire. We don't need to eat it, anyway. We've got all this candy to get through."
You reach behind him to pick up a chocolate, tossing it into your mouth.
"It isn't as sweet as you," you wink.
A blush rises up his cheeks as he rolls his eyes, pulling you in closer.
"Merry Christmas, baby."
"Merry Christmas, Carmen."
#carmen berzatto x reader#carmen berzatto fic#carmen berzatto fluff#carmen berzatto x reader fluff#carmen berzatto x you#carmen berzatto#carmen berzatto x y/n#carmen berzatto smut#carmen berzatto x female reader#carmen berzatto x reader smut#carmy x reader#carmy berzatto#carmy berzatto x reader#carmy berzatto imagine#carmen berzatto imagine#carmy berzatto smut#carmy berzatto x reader fluff#carmy berzatto fluff#the bear x reader#the bear x you#the bear fluff#the bear imagine#the bear fic#the bear x y/n
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Meteors
Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader
When you start working on the Barton’s farm, you meet Natasha
Note: It’s been wayyy too long since I’ve been able to make time to write. Hope y’all enjoy this Nat fluff!
Natasha Masterlist 1, Natasha Masterlist 2, Natasha Masterlist 3, Main Masterlist
Natasha watches from the front porch as a truck she’s unfamiliar with pulls up in the driveway. Just when she’s about to go ask Laura if she had any idea who was arriving, the woman steps out onto the porch.
“Right on time,” Laura comments mostly to herself.
“Who’s this?” Natasha asks, her attention is piqued.
“The new farmhand,” Laura explains. “She’s been working here every week for about a month now. Clint didn’t tell you?”
Nat shakes her head.
“Well, she’s pretty great at it,” the older woman continues. “Come meet her.”
Natasha follows Laura down the steps and to the truck. You are unloading a bale of hay from the bed of the truck when they walk up.
“Hello!” Laura greets you. She’s always so kind. “How are you?”
“I’m doing well,” you reply before turning around to actually see her. “How are you?”
You drop the bale onto the group and turn to see more than one person standing there.
“Oh hi,” you say to the new person. She politely lifts the corners of her lips, but doesn’t quite smile at you.
“This is Nat,” Laura says. “Nat, this is y/n.”
“It’s very nice to meet you,” you say, holding your hand out for her shake. She takes it in hers and the eye contact you make lingers.
“Oh, I forgot I have cookies in the oven,” Laura says. “I’ll be back. Nat why don’t you get to know y/n a bit.”
With that, Laura leaves you there with this beautiful stranger. God, she really is beautiful. You both stand there a little awkwardly before you make a move to talk to her more.
“So, how do you know the Bartons?” You ask.
“I work with Clint,” Nat says. You try not to let yourself go weak in the knees at hearing her voice for the first time. “You’re probably familiar with what we do.”
“Partially,” you say with a soft laugh. “I better get started for the day. I’ll see you around?”
Nat nods and walks back towards the house. You work the rest of the day with Natasha on your mind. She had uttered barely ten words to you, and yet you can’t get her out of your head.
A few days go by before you see her again. It’s early in the morning when you arrive. Natasha is sitting in a rocking chair with baby Nate in her arms. You walk to the porch to say hello.
“Good morning,” you greet her.
“Good morning, y/n,” she says. You try memorize the way your name sounds coming from her lips.
“He’s up early,” you comment.
“Yeah, a little too early. I offered to hang out with him while Clint and Laura sleep in,” Nat replies.
You smile at that.
“You’re here earlier today,” Nat says. You try not to overanalyze why she knows your schedule so well. It’s probably just the spy in her, you think.
“I am indeed. The cows need some extra work today, so I got here early,” you explain. “Come on out to pasture if you get bored. I’ll be there all day.”
“I just might do that,” Natasha replies.
You get a boost of confidence from her words. After you bid her a farewell for now, you drive out to the cattle field.
Meanwhile, the rest of the Barton family wakes up. The kids eat breakfast and start chores. Clint asks Nat to help him with some outside work.
A few hours go by and Laura calls everyone in for lunch. Natasha looks around the kitchen for you, but she doesn’t see you.
“Is y/n eating with us?” She asks.
“She likes to stay out there and work, so I usually take her some food after we eat,” Laura explains. She tries to read Nat’s expression. “You could take it to her today if you want.”
“Oh, sure. Yeah I can do that,” Nat says.
Laura smiles knowingly. The family eats and then Natasha makes her way to you.
At the sight of you wrangling cows, she can’t help but smile. You’ve shed the light jacket you were wearing this morning and she can see how strong you are.
“Oh hey, Natasha!” You say once you see her.
“Hey,” she replies, her head cocked to the side a little to examine your current position. “Do I even want to know what you’re doing?”
“Probably not,” you reply. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Lunch,” Nat says. “Laura’s famous grilled cheese.”
You walk away from the cows and towards Natasha. She stands by the truck, so you open the tailgate and sit on it. You pat the area next to you as a way to ask her to sit.
She hands you the lunch bag and lightly blushes when your hand touches hers.
“Thank you, Nat,” you say. “Wait, do you prefer Nat or Natasha?”
“Either one,” she says, shrugging. “Technically my name isn’t Natasha, but I’ve always gone by that.”
“That is a fun fact,” you say. Nat laughs. You try to memorize the sound. “I like Natasha.”
“Then call me Natasha,” she says.
There’s a silence, but it’s not awkward. You eat your sandwich and watch the animals move around the farm. You wonder what Natasha is thinking about as she swings her legs and sits next to you.
“It’s so peaceful out here,” the redhead breaks the silence. “I feel like I can actually think and be free.”
“Yeah, I love it. Being out on a farm is my comfort place. So far, this one is my favorite,” you say.
“Why’s that?”
“The people. Clint, Laura, the kids,” you say. “And you.”
“I’m already a reason?”
“You were a reason I love this place the second I met you,” you say. You didn’t mean for it to come across so cheesily, but Nat doesn’t seem to mind. “Hey, how long are you staying here for?”
“A few more weeks maybe,” Natasha says. “Why?”
“In two weeks there’s supposed to be a meteor shower. Maybe we could come out in the field and watch it together?”
“Sounds fun,” Nat says, trying to act casual.
“I better get back to helping Clint. He’ll be pissed I let him stack bricks alone.”
You chuckle at her words. You want to ask her to stay, but at least you know you’ll be seeing her around.
And from that point on, Natasha brings you lunch every day. Laura doesn’t even have to ask her to do it. Nat wants to. She seems to sit with you longer and longer each day.
It all leads up to the night of the meteor shower. You wear a nice shirt and jeans and drive over to the farm.
When you knock on the door, Lila answers. You greet the family and have dinner with them. Natasha is in her element here. You can see how she lights up around the kids. And she loves watching you interact with them too.
Once dinner is over, you and Natasha sneak outside. You drive out to the field and lay a blanket down in the bed of the truck.
“Very fancy,” Nat comments.
“Only the best for you, Natasha,” you joke. “Laying down is the best way to see it.”
You both lie down a respectable distance from each other, but close enough that you both have butterflies.
“You know when I was a kid, I loved anything that glowed in the sky,” Nat opens up. “Stars, planets, and things that didn’t even really have to do with the sky. Like fireflies.”
“That’s really sweet, Natasha. I love those too,” you say. “There’s so many out here in the summer.”
“I wish I saw them more.”
“You’ve gotta move out here I guess,” you say. “Oh look!”
You point to the first meteor falling. Nat watches with bright eyes. You can’t drag your eyes away from the way she glows in the night light. Her green eyes are illuminated by the scene happening in the sky.
Natasha turns her head to the side and catches you staring.
“I’m sorry,” you mumble, looking away a bit.
“Don’t be,” Nat says. “But you are missing the show up there.”
“It’s fun to watch you watch it,” you say. “You’re beautiful, you know?”
Natasha definitely blushes at that. Her hand finds yours between the two of you. You’re it sure who leans in first, but you end up just centimeters from her lips.
“Can I kiss you?” Natasha asks.
“Please,” you reply.
The distance is shattered between the two of you. Natasha’s kiss is soft, but firm. Her intentions are clear as she moves her perfect lips over yours.
“Now we’re both missing the show up there,” Natasha jokes when she pulls away.
“So worth it,” you say.
You kiss Natasha again. And again. And a few more times before you decide to go back to the house.
“I’ll see you in the morning?” You ask her once you’ve walked up to the front door together.
“Yes,” Natasha says. “Thanks for tonight, y/n. I haven’t enjoyed myself this much in a long time.”
“Anytime, Natasha. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” she says.
You hug her for the first time and love the way she feels in your arms. It’s like she is perfectly shaped to be in your grasp.
You share a brief kiss before you let her go inside. As you walk back to the truck, you can’t help but do a little happy dance. Natasha watches through the window and laughs.
This is the start of something amazing. You can feel it.
You’re falling for her faster than the meteors fell in the sky. Little do you know, she’s falling for you in the exact same way.
#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff#soft natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff fluff#natasha romanoff comfort
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