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rems-writing · 3 months ago

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Secretary Jongho headcanon

》 Pairing: secretary!Jongho × CEO afab!reader

》 Genre/Trope/AU: Fluff/strangers to lovers?/office AU

》 Wordcount: 1,591 words

》 Rating: nc-17

Nets: @mirohs-aurora-society @othersideoutlawsnetwork @illusionnet

-> Choi Jongho is the youngest worker in Kim Corps, a stock company that was named the best in all of Seoul. He didn’t have any experience in office work prior to applying, so it was a miracle that you, the CEO, hired him on the spot even though his resume was shit. He was now your personal secretary.

-> secretary!Jongho, who would do the usual routine of getting your morning coffee, fixing documents, creating spreadsheets, scheduling meetings before emailing copies of the meeting agenda to potential clients, lifting heavy boxes into the storage room (you were not turned on by his impressive strength… you definitely weren’t. 👀)

-> secretary!Jongho, who would admire you from afar as you acted like a boss bitch.

-> secretary!Jongho, who fell in love with the way you were running the company with an iron fist yet still be lenient to those that were working hard, including him. After all, a good CEO must have a balance of both. If it was one or the other, the company would fall.

-> secretary!Jongho, who would scold himself for feeling jealous whenever a man was near you. You had no time to fool around with these boyish guys and you made it abundantly clear that if they mistook your kindness for either weakness or a way to get into your pants, they’d be fired immediately. However, he couldn’t help himself.

-> secretary!Jongho, who had a habit of fixing his glasses in the middle of typing every time they were slipping off his face.

-> secretary!Jongho, who would take his 30 at his desk since the break room was small and it was filled with nothing but gossipers and slackers. He wanted you to keep a good impression of him, so he made sure to stay away from them as much as possible.

-> secretary!Jongho, who would exit the office to go retrieve something from the copier in the other room since your own printer broke (you broke it in a fit of rage since one of your clients backed out of a deal at the last minute) and you didn’t have time to replace.

-> secretary!Jongho, who was stopped by a couple of nosy coworkers when he tried to exit the copy room.

“So, how’d you do it? You clearly had no idea what to do when you started out. Yeah, you’re better now, but still. How’d you do it?”

-> secretary!Jongho, who was confused by their questions yet didn��t have time to answer since he had no time to mingle whatsoever. You needed these documents immediately and you were not a patient woman. The last thing he needed was to be yelled at.

“Well? Out with it, Choi! You probably said or did something to her. Like threaten to blackmail her or try to initiate sex with her or something! Come on! You can tell us. We’ll keep our lips shut.”

-> secretary!Jongho, who was appalled with the way these co-workers insinuated something so utterly disgusting. He pushed his glasses upwards to his face and huffed out a short breath.

“Listen. I don’t know where you got that idea and I don’t care for what you have to say. She hired me because she saw potential in me! And if you can’t handle the fact that I, someone with no experience, can handle my job better than you, then I think it’s high time you pick up the slack and do something for once.”

-> secretary!Jongho, who felt proud for sticking up for not only you but himself as well. However, that pride soon washed away when he attempted to walk back to your office.

-> secretary!Jongho, who was tripped by those same co-workers. Despite the tumble, not being too painful, his vision blurred. That’s when he realized something… his glasses fell off!

-> secretary!Jongho, who frantically searched around for them until he felt a tap on his forehead.

“Looking for these?”

Oh hell no…

-> secretary!Jongho, who tried to blindly reach out to the coworker that held his glasses captive, only to freeze when he heard a soft thud followed by a sickening crunch.

“Oops. My hand slipped.”

-> secretary!Jongho, who hung his head low as his coworkers laughed and pointed fingers at him. At this moment, he wanted to curl up into a ball and cry for hours. Or crawl into a hole and never see the light of day again. Whichever one works best for him.

“I didn’t realize that I was back in high school.”

-> secretary!Jongho, who froze even more when he heard the familiar click of your heels heading towards you and the icy tone in your voice when you spoke.

“What is going on here?”

-> secretary!Jongho, who flinched as your icy tone melted into impatience mixed with seething anger. Before he knew it, he was bowing at your feet and muttering so many apologies, ignoring the fact that he stuttered as he spoke.

“Madam Jade, I was stopped by t-these hooligans as I retrieved the documents, which are now scattered everywhere! They said things about you in the m-most disrespectful w-way possible! I t-tried to walk away, but they t-tripped me and… and…”

“And what?”

“And they broke my glasses…”

-> secretary!Jongho, who grew even more appalled when he heard his co-workers try to turn the story around. Luckily, you didn’t tolerate bullshit.

“I will stop you right there. You have said enough. Now help Jongho up, gather all these documents, and give them to him. After that…”

-> secretary!Jongho, who heard you inhale deeply and exhale slowly.

“Gather your things from your offices. All of you are fired. End of story.”

-> secretary!Jongho, who felt relieved when he heard you say that.

-> secretary!Jongho, who winced internally when he heard his soon-to-be-former coworker protest your decision, which led to him saying something unbelievable.

“Wow. Looks like I am back in high school.”

-> secretary!Jongho, who prayed for those guys when you laughed sarcastically and clapped your hands slowly.

“Clearly, my secretary must’ve done something to you in his past life to make you have this vendetta against him. News flash, Jones! He’s actually doing his job correctly and without question while you sit on your ass and get others to do your work for you! Don’t even deny the fact that you do extortions as well! Because I will slap you so hard that your brain falls out your fucking ears! Or do you not have a brain to begin with?!”

-> secretary!Jongho, who could visualize the looks on their paling faces as you continued to chew him out.

“We are not in high school anymore! This ain’t no damn High School Musical or Grease or One Tree Hill! This is the real world! Grow the fuck up and do better! Or so help me God I will blacklist you and your shitty friends!”

-> secretary!Jongho, who heard you breathe in & out slowly before speaking in an eerily calm tone.

“If you do not have your things cleared out by the time I clock out, I will have security throw you out myself. In addition, I’ll see to it that all of your things are either broken apart or burned. Do I make myself clear, gentlemen?”

“Yes, madam Jade!”

-> secretary!Jongho, who heard the shuffling of feet as his now former coworkers scurried back to their cubicles to clear their things out. He was soon helped up by you and the two of you walked back to your office.

-> secretary!Jongho, who was so busy putting down the files and neatly stacking them that he didn’t hear the door click shut. Since you had no windows, you locked the door before making your way towards his hunched over form. You saw his hands flat on his desk and his head hung low. It didn’t help that you saw his back muscles contract through the dress shirt he wore today. He usually wears a blazer, but it was sitting on top of his chair.

-> secretary!Jongho, who felt your arms wrap around him from behind and your head lay softly on his back.

“I’m sorry, Jjongie. I should’ve been there to protect you.” You muttered sadly.

-> secretary!Jongho, who turned around so he could hug you properly. He nuzzled his head in the crook of your neck and sighed deeply.

“It’s ok, honey. They’re just being stupid. Don’t worry about me.”

-> secretary!Jongho, who couldn’t help but chuckle as he visualized you looking up at him with a pout.

“I can’t help it! They had no right to treat my bear like that!”

-> secretary!Jongho, who finally got a good look at you when he fished out a backup pair of glasses from his desk and put them on.

“You told me yourself. I needed to learn how to stand up for myself. I can’t be too dependent on you.”

“While that may be true, you must also remember that you can lean on me if you’re tired of being strong. We’re in this together.”

-> secretary!Jongho, who intertwined your hand with his so your wedding rings touched.

“I know, Y/N. I know.”

-> secretary!Jongho, who only knew your real name since the two of you have secretly been married for three months.

-> secretary!Jongho, who leaned in to connect his forehead with yours.

“I love you, Jongho.”

“And I love you… my beloved wife.”

-> secretary!Jongho, who is the only man to hold the key to your heart. Nothing that people will say or do can change that.

#mirohsaurorasociety #other side outlaws network #illusionnet #ateez #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader

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ragingbookdragon · 2 years ago

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Alejandro sighed, running a hand through his dark hair, tiredness pulling at his bones as he looked over the files and reports his men had compiled. “This isn’t enough,” he muttered, looking at Rudy who was just as tired.

“Ale, we don’t have the manpower to gather more intelligence. No one is opening their mouth on Valeria’s movements since she was released.”

“If she gets out of Las Almas, we’ll never find her.”

“What if she already is?”

He gazed at Rudy and let out another sigh as his phone started ringing. “Let’s pray she isn’t.” he raised the phone to his ear, a tired smile on his face as he answered, “Mi alma, how lovely it is to hear your voice. I’ve missed you today.”

A beat skipped over the line before a young woman’s voice followed. “Uh…Seño—Colonel Vargas?”

Immediately, the sleepiness was gone from his demeanor as he stood up and demanded, “Who is this? Where is my wife?”

“Oh, oh she’s right here, sir—Señora Vargas, say hi—HIIII—This is Nurse Lisa at Saint Maria’s, um, your wife is on some pretty heavy pain medication at the moment so she’s not fully here.”

“What happened?” Rudy was already rounding the table with his keys out.

“She had an unfortunate accident at work with a box cutter. Took a good chunk out of her hand, so we had to stitch her up. Legally, we can’t dismiss her given the amount of medication and local anesthesia we had to give her. Can you possibly come get her or send someone to release her?”

Alejandro let out a groan and waved Rudy to follow. “I’m on my way.”

“Good, we’ll just—wait! Señora Vargas you can’t eat that! Sir, I have to go!”

***

As he helped his wife into the backseat, he looked back at the nurse still giggling away at them. “How long until this wears off?”

“Oh, just an hour or so. Give her a hydro before she goes to sleep. She’ll be out like a baby.”

Before he could say anything, his wife poked her head from the side and pointed at Alejandro. “This is my baby,” she grinned, wide and toothy. “I caught this big fish all on my own. Didn’t even have to show my boobs either.”

“Mi alma!”

The nurse didn’t even seem to be fazed. “Really? Did you show your butt?”

She waggled her brows and pointer at him. “More like my pus—”

“OKAY GOODNIGHT!” Alejandro shouted and pushed her in the door, shutting it behind her. “Goodnight, Nurse Lisa, and thank you.”

She waved at them. “Come back in a week to check her stitches!”

***

“Rudy!” she shouted as she saw him in the driver’s seat, leaning up to hug him around the neck rather lopsidedly. “I’m so happy to see you.”

Rudy smiled and patted her arm. “As am I, Señora Vargas. How are you feeling?”

“Do not call me Señora Vargas. That’s what we call Mama Vargas.”

“What should I call you then?” he mused, and she winked.

“I dunno…what do you want to call me?”

“Hmm…” he pretended to think as he started driving around the bend. “How about… Señora Vargas?”

“Rudy!” she whined, laying her head on his shoulder. “‘s’not fair…you call Alejandro Ale sometimes…I want a nickname too.”

“How about bombón?”

She blinked. “Did you just call me baboon?”

He snickered. “No, bombón.”

“Bombón?”

“Mhm.”

“What does that mean?”

He looked at Alejandro who was grinning. “Oh, just sweet and soft.”

“I like it,” she smiled, kissing his cheek. “Se gracias, Rudy. Eres un amigo maravilloso.”

Rudy felt his cheeks warm, not at the kiss but at the affection in her voice, the real love. “De nada, bombón.”

She patted his head and turned her attention to Alejandro. “Mi amorrrrrrrr.”

“Mi almaaaaaaaa,” he cooed back and she tried to wiggle into the front seat and he held her upper body as she laid her head on his chest.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said, kissing her head. “How do you feel?”

“Sleepy…and hungry.” She looked up at him. “You’re so beautiful, Alejandro.”

He chuckled. “Not as beautiful as you, mi alma.”

“Shut up, I’m being serious.” She lifted her bandaged hand and with her two fingers still poking out, gently touched his face. “I’m so lucky to have you. You mean the world to me and more. I could lose it all, be broke, homeless, and nowhere to go, and I’d be okay if it meant I still had you with me.” She smiled at him, hazy and drunk on pain medication and love. “Whenever I think about us growing old, I’m not scared of going before or after you. I know that wherever we end up next, we’ll be together. Every life, me and you. How it’ll always be.”

Alejandro felt the corner of his eyes begin to sting and he gently brushed her face and nuzzled his nose into her hair. “Mi alma, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, mi amor,” she whispered back and pressed her lips to his vest; for a moment she lay there, and Alejandro had figured she’d fallen asleep until she popped up and asked, “Will you make me a margarita when we get home?”

“Absolutamente no.”

“But Alejandrooooooooo!”

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unadulteratedfandomtrash · 2 years ago

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Steve Rogers x Reader ~ April Fool’s Day [Shield Adventures]

A/N: I came up with this idea after April Fool’s Day, sadly, but I figured you guys won’t mind a belated fic! There will be more “Shield Adventures” stories to come in the future.

[My Marvel Masterlist]

Word Count: 1967

“Steve!!!”

Before the Quinjet’s ramp has a chance to lower all the way onto the landing pad, (Y/n) is running straight into the aircraft, making a beeline for her husband clad in red, white, and blue. The man in question has to brace himself and the young woman all but throws herself into his embrace.

“Hello to you too, (Y/n),” he chuckles softly. “As much as I’ve missed you, I am pretty sweaty right now. I wouldn’t exactly recommend hugging until I am out of the suit.”

(Y/n)’s head lifts away from the comfortable spot between the blond super soldier’s pectorals to flash a pout. She pulls away with hesitance, but Steve promises to make it up to her with cuddles on the couch, which immediately puts a smile on her face.

“Oh yeah,” (Y/n) suddenly exclaims, “Tony told me he needs your shield. He mentioned something about upgrades and polishing it.”

“”Right now? Can’t it wait until after I settle down and finish up my mission reports?”

“I can drop it off with him. I have to head over to his lab anyway. Tony’s been working on a new design for my uniform that’ll give me more maneuverability when I move my arms around. It’s pretty neat.”

While (Y/n) continues to ramble on about the new upgrades, Steve cannot help but zone out. Rather than focusing on the conversation, his attention is on (Y/n). Ever since the beginning of their relationship, Steve has admired her ability to grow excited over every little aspect of life. Something as simple as improved mobility in a tactical garment normally does not elicit too much excitement, but with (Y/n), it is as if Christmas came early.

“Steveee,” she whines, stomping her foot all the while. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Yes, yes. I heard you. You’re getting some awesome suit upgrades to let you flail around better on the field.”

His phrasing brings back her pout. With arms crossed in front of her chest, (Y/n) begins to explain in heavy detail about her telekinetic powers requiring calculated movements, not uncontrolled flailing.

“Don’t worry,” Sam butts with a smirk as he makes his way down the ramp. “Steve flails just as much whenever he uses the shield. You should’ve seen him today. His arms looked like those weird balloons at the car dealerships each time he threw that frisbee of his.”

The couple, scandalized by the former airman’s remark, send him a glare and threaten to assign the least-favorable task come the next mission.

“Anyway, I should get going.” Wrapping her arms around Steve, (Y/n) squeezes her husband once more in a tight embrace, only this time, her hands find their way to his shield as she pulls away from him. “I’ll see you tonight for those cuddles. Bye, Steve!!”

Steve finds himself shaking his head with amusement as he watches his beloved run off across the landing pad.

“Well…there’s no telling when I’m getting that back.”

“I got it!”

Grinning like the cat that got the cream, (Y/n) holds up the shield in triumph as she enters Tony’s lab. She nearly runs into DUM-E, but her quick reflexes, and the shield, save her just in time when the robot nearly hits her head with a fire extinguisher. Unfortunately, her safety comes at the cost of DUM-E’s mechanical arm, which is now bent and dented at a weird angle.

“I invite you to my lab, and here you are, breaking my stuff.”

“It’s fine! That’s what the shield is for,” she snickers, “And DUM-E has been broken since you made him. You have no one to blame but yourself for that one.”

“I’ll remember that the next time you come to me for a favor,” the man teases while holding up a large box. “Are you sure you wanna do this? Cap isn’t gonna be too happy in the morning.”

“He’ll be fine. You said the glue will come off with a bit of soap and water, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

Tony eyes her warily. Despite his excitement to prank Steve, he will suffer the consequences if the blond super soldier finds out who lended a helping hand with the prank. He knows for a fact that (Y/n) will be left off easy for simply being married to him. Tony, on the other hand, will not. He already had a shaky start at the relationship when they first met to save New York. While their relationship has been mended since then and he and Steve are both friends and coworkers, pranking him feels like a line that should never be crossed. Especially when it involves his shield. “You better not mention my name. Tony played no part in your shenanigans, you hear me?” “Yes, sir,” (Y/n) replies as her hand comes up in mock salute. “Now, hand over the gems and glitter.”

The sun has long since set beyond the horizon. Disregarding this, Steve elects to keep the lights off in the bedroom as he lays on top of the duvet, his eyes close to just rest as he waits for (Y/n) to return from whatever it is she has occupied herself with after having run off with his shield. Being a man of his word, Steve has stayed awake in order to fulfill his promise of cuddles, yet he has no clue where his wife could be. “Maybe I should call her,” he mutters to himself once he realizes midnight is nearly creeping up. Yet, right as he decides to turn to grab his phone from the nightstand, the familiar sound of the bedroom door creaking open has him freeze.

Despite being shrouded in partial darkness thanks to the cloudy night sky keeping the moonlight from shining through the windows, (Y/n) carefully sneaks across the master bedroom. She carefully tiptoes with her uniform in one hand and the leather shield bag in the other. There is a soft clunk as she sets down the bag in its designated corner by Steve’s nightstand; the super soldier has grown paranoid of potential break-ins or emergency missions, so he has gotten into the habit of keeping the weapon within arms reach.

“Ya’ know, if you were trying to be sneaky, you’d have to try harder.” Steve watches in amusement as his beloved jumps in the air like a spooked feline. A small chuckle escapes once he notices the sour look on her face.

“Steve, you scared me! Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Well, someone was feeling clingy earlier today, so I promised cuddles, remember?”

“Oh yeah!” Dropping the uniform to the floor in favor of physical affection, (Y/n) all but dives onto the bed, landing on top of her husband’s chest and successfully knocking the wind out of him. “Snuggle time!” Strong arms wrap around the smaller form sprawled across him. The cool spring breeze is nothing compared to the heat radiating from the super soldier’s body. The warmth has (Y/n) sighing in comfort, nuzzling her head against Steve’s pectorals with a hum of delight. “So, what kind of changes did Tony make?” “I dunno. Wasn’t paying attention.” “You weren’t paying attention to your partner in mischief?” “No,” she argues, “Sam is my partner in mischief. Tony just provides the money to fuel the chaos if he approves of it.”

“I knew you had looped Tony into your shenanigans.” “Shhh. It’s late. Go to bed, old man.” “You’re married to this old man,” Steve teases, pressing soft kisses along her neck.

“Yup. And grandpas like you need sleep,” (Y/n) states with finality, leaving the blond super soldier to chuckle even more when he peers down to see her eyes fluttering shut with exhaustion. “Good night.”

“Good night, (Y/n).”

“(Y/n)!!!” The woman in question freezes at the sound of her name being yelled from the other side of the compound. She woke up early to evade Steve, and to solidify her reason for disappearing, the young woman dragged Bucky and Sam to accompany her in an extensive training session.

“Ooooh, he sounds mad,” Sam remarks with a smirk. “What’d you do this time?”

“This time? Are you accusing me of always torturing my poor husband?” “Well,” Bucky joins in, “your ‘poor husband’ always uses that voice when he’s upset. I would know. He’s been doing that since the 40’s.”

Rather than answering, (Y/n) chooses to drag the two men in front of her to hide behind them right as the double doors slam open. The two veterans in the gym are unable to contain their laughter once they realize the reason for the blond super soldier’s anger. In his hands is a shield covered with red, white, and blue glitter with rhinestones covering the star in the center.

“Goin’ to a party or something, Cap?” Sam manages to wheeze out between choked breaths. “Star spangled man with a plan? More like a sparkly spangled man with a plan!”

Steve sends Sam an unamused glare. He does not need to look hard to find his wife, given that Sam is hunched over in an attempt to catch his breath from laughing too hard. Words are not needed as he glances back and forth between the bedazzled shield and (Y/n). “Hi, Steve.” “Are you going to explain yourself, (Y/n)?”

“Happy April Fool’s Day?”

Without speaking, Steve gestures for (Y/n) to make her way to his side. But instead of listening to his silent request, she chooses to simply peek out from behind Bucky’s metal arm. Her eyes stay trained on her husband, waiting for any sudden movements so that she can panic react accordingly.

“It was just a fun little prank, Steve. No need to get upset.” “Upset? (Y/n), my shield is covered in glitter and jewels. How am I supposed to get them all off in time for the next mission?” “But Tony said the gl-” A hand slaps itself over her mouth as soon as the woman realizes her mistake. Unfortunately for her, it is too late to take back what she had said. Steve heard her loud and clear; the blond super soldier sets down his newly-bedazzled shield by the entrance in favor of using both arms to cross them over his chest. Authority oozes from his stance as he raises an eyebrow, waiting for (Y/n) to speak up. “Tony said what exactly?” (Y/n) mumbles the answer meekly, but the only person who can hear her is the two men acting as human shields, and being the cheeky person he is, Bucky shoves her towards his best friend. A gasp can be heard at the sudden betrayal. “I’m not actually mad,” Steve admits softly when he realizes (Y/n) is actually worried. “I know you were just having a bit of fun. I know you well enough to know that if you were the mastermind behind a prank, there won’t be any permanent damage.” “Tony promised that the glue he bought should wash right off with soap, water, and a bit of scrubbing.” With a quick kiss pressed to (Y/n)’s forehead, Steve picks up his shield and turns around to leave.

“Thank you. But don’t think I’m gonna let you get away with this without some form of punishment. The next mission we have, you’re benched.” “What??” “Love you, sweetheart!” Steve exits the room just as quickly as he had initially entered it, stomping away with purpose as he enters the elevator and instructs FRIDAY to lead him to a certain genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist; as (Y/n), Bucky, and Sam resume their training, they choose to ignore the distant shouting from the floor above.

The End

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multiverse-aesthetic · 9 months ago

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Play me a memory

• tva Loki aka 2012 Loki

Ps. He saw his future till Thanos like in season 1 and saw how his relationship with codie had become through the years

*****************************************

It was a sunny morning in new York , streets busy as always and codie is busy as always but this time not with work thank god , she was tidying up her flat , moving everything that’s related to him … loki.

After a year she wanted to move on , after what thanos done to her .. and to the world it was hard to do anything so now she decided it’s time to move on , she removed every photo of them and into a box , she got the pictures that was in the bedroom , she stopped sleeping in it after he left , with a heavy sigh she closed the door and went to the living room pumping into a box on her way she almost stumbled , she placed the frames of picture on the table as she crouched down opening the small box , seeing records in it , she smiled as soon as she know what they are , with a hesitant hand she grabbed and went to the tv and started to play it and sat on the couch .

“So what do you think love ?” loki says through the tv , the camera was on him and the wall behind him that has lots of book in

codie’s breath hitched as she heard his voice , this was way back when they wanted to organize a library in their flat

“Where did you get all those book from?” codie says her chuckle comes from the screen as loki turned the camera towards her , she had her back facing him , wearing her jumpsuit with a shirt under it

“You look stunning” he chuckles

“Haha flirting doesn’t suit you loki” she says sarcasticly as she turned to face him

“Why are you filming ?”

“Because .. this is a memory darling”

“A chaotic one” she laughs

“I rather think it’s a beautiful one dear”

She smiles as she looks at the video of the two of them but something caught her eye a gold flicker next to the tv she hit pause on the video as she goes to the flicker and suddnely as she stood in front of it it turned to a door

“What the hell-” she says but three women came through it , codie backs away

“codie joans we need you to come with us” one of the women says , codie didn’t have time to reacts as the woman grabbed her and lead her through the door into another place

“Let go off me !” she says loudly as she tried to yank her hands away but the women placed a collar on her neck

“ we need you to remain calm”

Loki was in the library as he gathered information that Mobius but he heard a women voice ringing loudly through the place , he payed no attention to it , but her voice sounded so familiar to him , his eyebrows frowned as he counties to read through he papers but again he heard it

“Let me go!” She shouts loudly

And he knew exactly who was that but it couldn’t be her “codie?” he whispers to himself as he looked through the library before dropping the papers and got up and out of the library and into the hall where the voice is coming from , seeing the guards holding a women by her arms but he can’t see her face as her back was facing him , loki saw Mobius and went over to him .

“Who is that ?” loki asks as he looked at the women with curious look , Mobius looked at loki “oh her .. nothing , just another one messing the timeline” he says shrugging his shoulder , loki tilted his head to the side trying to get a look at her face , Mobius looks at him with a grin , the guards turns around and her face was visible to loki .

His eyes winded codie..” he whisperes

Codie on the other hand had her gaze on the floor

“You! Let go off her” loki shouts as he walked towards them

Codie lifted her head at the sound of … of a familiar voice , but how ? she looked up and saw him.. loki .. she thought she’s in a dream ..

“I said let her go!” He says again and the guards looks around them and Mobius then nodded his head towards them , the let go off her arms and moved away but not too much in case something happened .

Codie looks at him with glassy eyes , she can’t believe he’s here .. and without a second thought she ran towards him and hugged him placing her hands around his neck “loki..” she whispers in relief , he stumbled back a bit but he was quick to catch her in his arms .

He placed her feet on the floor again as she broke the hug , her hands went to his face

“Oh , it’s really you” she whispers as she strokes his cheek

A tear streamed down her face “how? How did you survived .. I saw you- I saw you laying there” she says quietly her voice cracks in the middle of the sentence , he placed his hands over hers removing it gently from his face

“Because .. it didn’t happen yet … I’m not that loki , I’m still loki that you know but from the past” he explains quietly

“I saw it too .. I heard what you said , I saw how your life was after I was gone” he adds as he strokes her knuckles with his thumb

Her eyebrows frowned in confusion

“I’ll explain later” he says quietly with a nod as he reached under her hair and with a click he removed the collar that was around her neck

“She's human.. she doesn't have powers” he says to the guards as he held the collar up to them and then dropped it

“I know which loki you are … I can tell , but I don’t care , if it means that I will play you every memory we done together I’ll do it” she says quietly as she squeezed his hand gently as a reassuring squeeze , she got closer and kissed his cheek , her lips lingering there for a second before breaking away and hugging him once again , he hugs her back as he lowered his head over hers giving a kiss over her hair .

#fanfic #one shot #fanfiction #loki laufeyson #loki series #tva loki #loki odinson #loki oneshot #loki laufesyon x reader #loki layfeyson imagine

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kururu418 · 7 months ago

Note

Honestly some wholesome Rosalie and Breaker interactions would feel nice. They seem like they genuinely care for each other since they’re family and all that 🥺

Rosalie snatched the box of crackers away from Breaker, a frown on her face. “Oh no uncle, that’s your second box. You might as well just be cramming salt down your gullet,” she said.

He scowled towards her. “Damn it Rosy! I’m a grown ass man! I can eat all of the crackers I want! Besides, I told you I’m as healthy as a horse!”

“And I’m trying to keep it that way…”

~~~~

Breaker frowned as he watched Rosalie carry the rather large stack of books. He quickly made his way over to take them from her. “Here, I’ll get that.”

Rosalie smiled. He always insisted on stepping in whenever he saw her doing anything he even considered heavy lifting. “I could get them myself, you know,” she said, thankful for the gesture.

“Well you shouldn’t have to. You know Rosy, at some point you need to find a man who can do these sorts of things for you. A strong man.”

“I could end up settling down with a woman.”

“Bah, whatever they are, just make sure they can lift books so you don’t have to!”

~~~~

“You seem like you’re in a good mood today,” Rosalie said, noticing her uncle walk with a pep in his step.

“Damn right I am! Had a big game today and the girls pulled off a win! That was our toughest opponent for the year too! No reason we can’t take it all!”

Rosalie hummed. She liked to think her uncle really was a great coach. But she was also sure that slipper probably was far more motivating for the girls than anything else. “Well, good on you,” she said.

#Mr. Stern #Rosalie #Coach Breaker #anon ask

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dreamy625 · 2 years ago

Text

Everyday without you in my heart - one-shot

Words: 1039

Content: Something for Sad Steve Day. Set January 8th 1992.

—-----------------------------

It’s mid-afternoon when Phil hears the security gate buzzer. With Jackie and Rory not due back until the evening and not expecting visitors, he assumes it to be a delivery driver who will eventually notice the large, bright yellow, mailbox conveniently sited right next to the bell and work out what to do with it, so carries on fitting the new strings to his third-favourite acoustic. But the buzzer sounds again, three little trills, so, sighing, he puts the guitar down carefully and walks into the kitchen to look at the monitor. The screen shows a woman standing a little way back from the gatepost with her head tilted down, but, even in black and white, and even if he hadn’t been trying to call her all morning, he would recognise that head of messy curls anywhere - Maddie! But what the hell was she doing here? Quickly he presses the gate-opener and heads outside to meet her.

Maddie has stopped a few steps inside the gate, poised on one foot and looking like she’s deciding whether to turn back again. When she sees Phil coming down the drive, she gives him a weak, apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry. Turning up like this. I just didn’t know where else to go.”

“You’re always welcome, you know that.” Unhooking the heavy backpack from her shoulder, he gives her a one-armed hug. “Come on, I’ll make you some tea.”

“Explains why I couldn’t get you on the phone this morning anyway.”

“Yeah, I was on a plane. Had to be at Newark by 8am.”

As Phil pulls out teabags (imported from England) and switches on the kettle (also imported from England, and requiring a box of electronics cooked up by Phay to work on a US socket), Maddie wanders restlessly around the kitchen picking things up and putting them down again.

“It’s changed a lot since we… since I was last here. I like it, very… shiny.”

“We remodelled last year. It was a bit rustic for our tastes.”

“And you look great! You’ve been lifting weights again haven’t you?”

“Thanks. And you look…” He turns to look at her. Red is a bit of a theme - red hair of course, but also red eyes and a red nose. She’s wearing ripped jeans and a t-shirt he recognises as one of Steve’s. “...terrible. Oh Maddie.”

The concern in his voice cracks the polite facade and Maddie starts to cry. No wailing, her face just creases up and fat tears run down her cheeks unchecked. Phil grabs the only thing to hand, a dishtowel, and pats ineffectually at her face.

“It’s okay, love, it’s okay.”

“I can’t believe it’s been a year.”

“I know.”

“I just… miss him… so much.” she hiccups.

“Of course you do. Of course. I miss him too.”

He abandons the towel and lets her sob into his shirt. She feels frail and insubstantial in his arms. Minutes pass and the weeping shows no signs of slowing up. His t-shirt is now decidedly soggy, and even a petite woman hanging round your neck starts to feel pretty heavy after a while, weight training or no weight training. Shuffling backwards, he steers her into the den. While trying to manoeuvre them both onto the sofa, somehow Maddie ends up on his lap and, instead of moving away, she curls into him, her face against his neck. He shifts awkwardly, trying to find somewhere to put his hands without touching anywhere inappropriate, but once he settles on a shoulder and an elbow as safe territory, it starts to feel more comfortable, comforting even.

“I didn’t know… what to do.”

“Me neither. Heh, I’ve restrung all my guitars today. They didn’t even need doing.”

“It’s like… no one else… remembered. I was going to go… to Sheffield. I know they’re doing something… at the grave. But the family don’t want me around, so…”

“So you came here instead?” He feels her nod. “I’m glad you did. And we can remember him just as well here.”

She nods again. The tears have dried to just an occasional sniffle. Phil drops a light kiss on the top of her head and rubs her shoulder.

“This is Steve’s shirt isn’t it?”

“I only wear the ones that were in the wash when he… the others are still in the drawers. His jackets… I just open the cupboard to touch them sometimes. They still smell like him. But it’s fading now. I don’t know what I’ll do when it’s gone altogether.”

“The only guitar I didn’t do was the one of his that Joe filched for me. It’s still got the original strings he played.”

“Don’t ever change them.”

“I won’t.”

“Sometimes I still hear him playing, like he’s just in the other room.”

“Me too. When I was playing along with the demo tapes, it was like he was there with me. I looked up so many times to say ‘did you mean that to be a G?”, and then remembered.”

“D’you think he is up there somewhere, watching over us?”

“Now that is a big question.”

“I wish… I don’t believe in heaven. But I can’t believe he’s in that hole in the ground either.”

“It doesn’t matter, because he’s in here.” He taps her forehead and then his own.

“Yeah. So many memories.” She sighs. “My head is full of him.”

Lost in his own thoughts, Phil continues to stroke Maddie’s shoulder soothingly with his thumb until he notices that her breathing has slowed and her grip on the front of his shirt loosened. Craning his head around, he sees that her eyes are closed. For a moment he feels gratified that he has succeeded in calming her, then realises he is now trapped for the foreseeable future. Oh well, if it helps Maddie, if it helps them both…

—-----------------------------

Phil is startled from his doze by a light touch on his shoulder. He blinks and looks up to Jackie standing over him.

“It’s not what it looks like.”

“I know. I know what day it is.” She looks down at the still-sleeping woman cradled in her husband’s arms, “Is she okay?”

“No, not really.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I mean, no, but, you know…”

—-----------------------------

(This is based on a sad but comforting dream I had. I bet Phil gives really good hugs.)

#steve clark #steve clark fanfic #steve clark fanfiction #def leppard fanfic #def leppard fanfiction #one-shot #sad steve day #death #death and dying

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carmillascrusade · 1 year ago

Text

Shrouded affection II | Emily Prentiss x f!reader

Images do not belong to me. Summary: You ask the team about the gifts and a sweet moment happens between you and emily where she tells you that she doesn’t hate you.

Word count: 1,903

A/N: This is rushed and not proofread, very sorry about that.

JJ stood with a coffee in hand, mindlessly reading over the case file handed out earlier that morning. You beelined towards her, wanting to know if she had gotten a mysterious gift last night. And if she hadn’t, did she know who had sent yours? Her head snapped up as she heard your footsteps, heavy but moving fast.

“What’s got you in such a rush this morning?” She asked, barely lifting her eyes from the file to look up at you.

You pulled out the copy of Carmilla you had been gifted yesterday and gently pushed it into her hands. JJ raised her eyebrow at you. Why were you giving her a book? An extremely old one at that.

“Uhm, what’s this?”

“A gift,” you sighed exasperatedly. “I came back from the case yesterday to find this on my desk. It was signed with kisses, nothing more.”

Surprisingly, JJ did not seem surprised at the revelation that you may have a secret admirer; in fact, she seemed rather smug, her lips quirked up in the small all-knowing smirk she often sported when mocking Reid. You had caught her reaction, after all you were watching her for any minor tell tale signs that she knew something.

Your gaze narrowed, a short breath of air being puffed in her direction as you snatched the book back. “What do you know?” You questioned accusatorially.

“Nothing!” She said, saccharine sweet and high in pitch.

“Right.” You spoke before looking around for another team member, quickly realising that JJ was a lost cause.

Out of the corner of your eye you caught sight of Penelope. If Penelope knew, hopefully she would be far too excited thar she lets it slip. Your hope were lifted as you trotted over to where Penelope stood tapping away on her tablet.

“Penny!” You exclaimed in an unusually bubbly tone, trying to match her speech in hoped of extracting the information you wanted.

“Oh, hi. Yes?” She smiled at you.

“So,” you drawled. “Yesterday I received a lovely gift from a secret somebody. I was hoping that you’d know who gave me it.” You we’re pulling the best puppy dog eyes you could muster at the moment. If this didn’t work, you would be all out of ideas to find the identity of this secret admirer of yours.

“Nope! I know nothing! I swear.”

“Yes you do!”

“No I don’t! Maybe Emily does!”

“What? Why would Emily know?” You asked, quite surprised. After yesterdays incident you were certain she didn’t want to speak to you ever again.

“Emily? Did I say Emily?” She chuckled nervously which caused your confusion to rise even further.

“Yes?”

“Well, actually… I have somewhere to be. You know! There’s always data to be found.” With that she waltz off in the direction of her office, leaving you stood stumped in the Bullpen.

Sighing in defeat you walked over to your desk, slumping down into your chair as you accepted the fact that you weren’t going to find out who your admirer was any time soon. Blinded by your sour mood, you almost missed the small box on your desk- as beautifully wrapped as the one before it.

Your back straightened immediately, your interest in the gift overpowering the disappointment of not obtaining the information you wanted. You flicked the gift tag over with the tip of your finger, surprised to see something other than x’s scribbled down on it.

“Sweet mother, I can’t do my weaving—

Aphrodite has crushed me with desire

for a tender youth.”

One of many translations of a poem by Sappho you recalled as you read over it. The poem giving you an inkling that the sender must be a woman. Interesting, you thought as you gently tore open the gift.

A beautiful handkerchief was laid in the box, stunning violets were embroidered into a border around the handkerchief. Your name sat in the middle, cursive in font and elegant in the way it sat. Despite the beauty of the piece, you could tell it was hand embroidered and by an amateur at that. The knowledge that somebody had spent the time to learn a new skill for you warmed your heart, your cheeks heating up, displaying a pretty blush as you admired your gift.

JJ looked over to you at your desk, after noticing that you were staring at something in awe instead of doing your paper work she decided to walk over. “Hey,” she spoke softly in greeting. Your small hum the only response offered. “What do you have there?”

You lifted the handkerchief up in an effort to show it off with out taking your eyes off it. “Oh wow!” She gasped. “That’s amazing.”

“It is isn’t it.” You agreed. “I just wish I knew who it was so I could thank her.”

“Her?”

“They left a Sappho poem. Would be pretty weird if a man had left that.” You joked. Jj just stood there confused so you carried on. “Sappho was an Ancient Greek poet, known to have had affairs with women.”

“Oh, right.” Your concentration was solely on the handkerchief, allowing JJ to slip away unnoticed. Your attention, however, was short lived as you realised you had paper work too. Tons of it. Placing the handkerchief back in the box, you carefully placed it in your desk drawer before starting your work.

Emily had watched you open the gift she left from her desk, attention solely focussed on you as you marvelled at the handkerchief. If her heart beat just a bit faster and her palms got just that bit warmer as she watched your reaction, well that was for her to know and her alone. The amount of glee she felt was so enormous that she failed to hide it. Her small grin the only indication that she was focussed on anything other than her work.

The rushed heel clicks that often accompanied Penelope drew nearer to her until a very out of breath Penelope rushed to her side, guilty look adorning her face. “Garcia? What’s the matter?”

“So, I, omg this is so terrible of me.” She was rambling and Emily needed to end it quickly to find out the root of her guilt.

“Garcia.”

“Oh, yes! Anyway, so I may or may not have accidentally spilled that you know something about the secret admirer.” Her teeth were on show as she grimaced. “Please don’t be mad at me!”

Emily was at a loss for words as she briefly panicked. Was her secret over before it truly began? “Penelope!” She whisper shouted. “Why would you do that?!”

“I didn’t mean to! She was just asking so many questions and I didn’t wanna give it away but I think I might’ve accidentally. I said I was sorry!”

A low grown, barely audible in the bustling atmosphere of the Bullpen, escaped Emily as she placed her head in her palms. She knew that Penelope truly meant no harm and that it was an accident, but alas, it didn’t make it any less annoying.

“It’s okay, Penelope.” She reassured, the headaches already starting to form. What if you never wanted to speak to her again? What if you thought she was a creep? Suddenly, the plan of secretly wooing you wasn’t seeming so good anymore and she began to rethink everything. Paperwork left untouched as worry clouded her judgement.

You found her at her desk, hours later, staring at the desk in front of her. Perplexed at her sullen attitude, you made your way over to see if she was okay. You sat on the edge of her desk and nudged her softly with your hand. Wide eyed stared up at you for a brief moment before she realised where she was and who she was with. Her posture straightened immediately and she cleared her throat.

You chuckled softly at her very rapid change in posture, muttering a soft ‘hey’ in greeting before your eyes sweeper over her desk, landing on the stack of paperwork that she hadn’t even started.

“Are you alright, Emily?” You asked, eyed soft as you reached for her hand, ecstatic when she didn’t push you away.

You thumb was rubbing soothing circles on the back on her hand as you watched her intently. Her nervous, high pitched giggle so uncharacteristic to her, alongside her inability to meet your eyes suggested that something was up.

“Of course I’m alright. Why’d you ask?”

You rolled your eyes at her tough persona, knowing that it was nothing but an act. “Em, your paperwork is untouched and you were in your own little world when I came over. You don’t have to lie to me, I know somethings wrong.”

“Well, there isn’t anything wrong.” She snapped.

You sighed I’m defeat and retracted your hand from hers before standing up with the intention of going home. Just as you turned around, a hand grasped your wrist and tugged gently. You turned to see Emily’s eyes pleading with you, for what you didn’t know.

“Wait, I’m sorry. Please don’t go. It’s just been a long day that’s all.”

You quickly glanced to the door, your brief hesitance making Emily look like a wounded puppy. As you gazed upon her pouty face, you couldn’t help but break your resolve. After all, you would do anything for Emily.

Once again looking at her stack of paperwork, you interlaced your fingers with hers and grabbed half the stack with your free hand. “How about you invite me over, we order Chinese, I do half your paperwork and you help me find this secret admirer of mine.”

Although voiced as a suggestion, you both knew that it wasn’t as she would accept anyway. The two of you walked out hand in hand, Emily not letting go as you went to pull away. “Leave your car here. Stay at mine tonight. I’ll drive you in the morning.”

“Okay.”

The two of you lounged on her couch eating the takeaway you had ordered, paperwork done and dusted. A cheesy rom con played in the background as you sat in a comfortable silence. Emily’s shifting broke the silence as she turned to face you. She placed her takeaway box down onto the table, before grasping your hand again.

This clingier version of Emily was new, but you weren’t complaining.

You noticed her hesitation to speak and smiled at her in encouragement. “I don’t hate you, y’know. I could never hate you.”

“I’m glad because I could never hate you either.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Silence enveloped the two of you as you stated at one enough in contemplation. Both unknowing of the feelings shared between the both of you, believing your them to be unrequited. Emily tugged you up off the couch and pulled you to her bedroom, and patted the bed. You climbed in without hesitance as she followed, taking the space closest to the door.

As you laid in the dark, mapping out the features of Emily’s face with your eyes, you decided that there was no other place you would rather be. Emily’s knowledge of your secret admirer pushed aside as your thoughts were consumed by her.

It would always be her. And if it came to it, you knew that you would always choose her. For Emily Prentiss shone brighter than the sun.

And you wouldn’t be able to live without the sun.

Chapter 1, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

#criminal minds #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss

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resowrites · 2 years ago

Text

On Hold - oneshot.

Summary: Phone sex between Henry and his girlfriend goes awry…

Pairings: AU!Henry Cavill x Girlfriend!OC

Warnings: NSFW 18+ only, light smut (mention of f masturbation)/innuendo, dialogue heavy, banter/British humour, fluff, language, pet names, nondescript OC body type/appearance, hastily written/lightly proofread.

WC: 1170

My work must not be copied, reposted, or translated elsewhere. Likes, follows, reblogs and comments are thoroughly welcome and appreciated! Gifs/pics not my own. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for visiting!

On Hold - oneshot.

"Oh, yes, good evening. Er, before we get started, can I just check the rates per minute?" She laughed.

"For the third time this week, you’ve got the wrong number. Now, piss off."

"Wait! This was the number advertised!"

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. In a phone box about twenty minutes from here." Henry could practically hear her pursing her lips, annoyed.

"Well try ringing from there cos you’re blocked on this number."

"Wait, I don't need long, just tell me what you’re wearing…" She grinned into her screen.

"Hang on… are you that knobhead who plays Superman? Can’t you find some actresses to bring back to your hotel?"

"Nah, they think I’m too old."

"Aww, have you told them how much you're worth?" He roared with laughter.

"Are you gunna touch yourself for me or what?"

"You’re an hour late darling, sorry."

"What d'ya mean? Did I wake you? I thought you sounded sleepy."

"No, I'm just laying in bed."

"At 9 pm? What you been up to?"

"Oh I didn’t tell you did I… got a new wand delivered. Great fun. Submersible too." There was a slight pause.

"Well, careful… don’t electrocute yourself." She smirked.

"Don’t worry, it’s rechargeable."

"Wow, and it lasted that long?"

"Longer than you." Henry snickered.

"Well you haven’t broken up with me yet, so it can’t be that good…"

"I was waiting till I got my strength back," he scoffed, "I’m not joking, I still can’t move my legs."

"Hang on, let me lie back for this," she giggled, "well you can hardly blame me! It’s been days since I’ve seen my beloved. She won’t even send me any pictures…" She rolled her eyes.

"Does she know you’re calling me right now?"

"Oh stop it, one bloody woman’s enough. Now take ‘em off."

"Take what off?"

"You know fine well."

"I really don’t."

"Yes you do. Off, now. Or are they still on the bathroom floor?"

"Says the man who probably took his off in the lift." Henry scoffed again.

"Christ, I’ve never known a woman make me work this hard for it from hundreds of miles away," she yawned followed by a long pause, "hello?"

"Sorry, if the line goes dead again it means I’ve fallen asleep." He giggled.

"That’s it, I wanna speak to someone else."

"What, like a manager?"

"D'ya know what I’ll just hang up and dial again shall I?! I might get through to someone nicer!"

"Sorry, it’s only me and Big Sandy tonight."

"And is she busy?"

"Well she’s only got two hands." Henry snorted.

"Fucking hell, why me Lord?"

"Oh darling, are you having trouble? You might wanna take something…"

"Well it'd be bloody wasted on you!"

"You’re telling me, fuck that wand is good."

"… How many times?"

"Six." He frowned.

"Yeah, right."

"What? That’s only six more than you’ve given me."

"Well it’s not my fault I can't vibrate! What do I do? Stick a battery up my arse?!"

"Tsk, typical man, always putting his needs first." Henry cackled.

"Did you even think of me at all?"

"No more than usual."

"Oh, I see. Still got the hots for the new weatherman on channel five then?"

"You mean the one who looks like you ten years ago but with a straighter nose?" He harrumphed.

"You know you're lucky I'm not there right now, you’d be getting a smacked arse."

"You wish."

"I do! You’re going over my knee the minute I get back."

"Only if you make it past the porch…" Henry smiled fondly.

"Christ I remember that time, how long had I been away?"

"Six weeks. You even tripped over a parcel." He laughed.

"… God I miss you."

"You’ve only got one more week, soppy bollocks."

"Way too long… please come visit me. You’re missing out big time on the food here."

"Darling you know how busy I am with work. How are the interviews going?"

"Awful, thanks."

"You poor sod, I know how much you hate talking about yourself…" Henry smirked.

"Oh fuck off, there’s only so many times you can answer: ‘so what’s the hardest thing about playing Sherlock Holmes?’”

"And what do you say? The accent?" He almost choked on the drink he'd been sipping.

"You know, all things considered… you're not in a very good mood."

"Can’t smile wide enough, thanks. I’m just knackered."

"Oh sorry darling. Do you want me to let you go?"

"No, it’s alright… gotta wait for it to recharge anyway."

"Oh, well then you better rest up for tomorrow."

"Hmm, think I’ll aim for ten." Henry sniffed sharply.

"Yeah well, enjoy it while you can cos the thing's going out the bloody window when I get back."

"Well there’s no rush…"

"Oh yes there is. I'm gunna drown you in how much I've missed you."

"Right, I'm hanging up. At least I don’t have to talk to the wand."

"Wait!"

"What?"

"What position you lying in?" There was a short pause.

"On my side, why?"

"… Which tit’s pressed into the mattress?"

"You’re a perv."

"Tell me!"

"Hang on, let me check…" He laughed, exasperated.

"For fuck's sake, why can’t we just have phone sex like a normal couple?"

"Cos you’re a pillock." Henry smiled.

"You love me though."

"Eh… you’re alright."

"Say it!"

"Ugh, don’t make me."

"Say it, or I’ll call you every hour on the hour until you do," she gave a heavy sigh, "oooh."

"What?"

"… Make that noise again." She tutted.

"Definitely not."

"Oh go on, you know I need you."

"Why, what happened to your hand?" He bellowed with laughter for what felt like the hundredth time since the call began.

"I love you darling."

"Me too. Seven times, in fact." Henry's eyebrows shot up.

"I thought it was only six?"

"It was but then my phone rang and it startled me." He started laughing so hard she could hear his headboard shaking.

"It wasn’t the weatherman by any chance?"

"I wish. Oh wait a minute, you work in entertainment. Try and get his number for me."

"If I do it’ll be to warn him."

"Mmmm you should have seen him today, talk about a warm southern front." Henry sighed.

"Why aren’t you like this when I’m around?" She bit back a laugh.

"I dunno, it’s like some terrible weight’s been lifted."

"Right well then I’ll bid you goodnight, shall I?! Tuck yourself up warm okay? And kiss our boy for me."

"Will do. Oh and be sure to rinse that shower floor, wouldn’t want you slipping tomorrow morning." She could almost hear him grinning.

"I mean it, I love you darling." There was another brief pause.

"Love you too."

"See! that wasn’t so hard, was it?"

"Either way, I’m disappointed in myself." Henry chuckled.

"Night-night wagon."

"Night, buggerlugs."

It was just as she hung up that a thought crossed her mind. He meanwhile sighed and switched on the tv. A few minutes later his phone pinged and he beamed once he opened the message.

To be updated on when I post please follow @resowrites and turn on post notifications.

@marytudorbrandon @luclittlepond

#henry cavill #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fluff

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sillyrabbit81 · 3 years ago

Note

Can you write about meeting Sy for the first time & it turning into something more please? Like you have to ask a stranger for help to reach something on the shelf at the grocery store & it’s him or maybe you meet him on a vacation with friends. If smut happens, that’s ok too. 😏 You’re writing is my favorite!!

Thanks for the ask Anon. Sorry, no smut but I hope you enjoy it!

Summary: You buy too much at Ikea and have trouble fitting it in your car. Will a hero come to your rescue?

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female Reader

Word Count: approx. 1.5k

Warnings: None, fluffy.

Authors Note: Thanks as always to @amberangel112 who had to work a little harder on this one for me and pushed me in the right direction.

Masterlist

Tetris

Wiping sweat from your forehead you start having a tantrum in your mind. Fuck this Ikea furniture, put it together yourself, flat pack bullshit! This shit is meant to be easy, but no! Twenty-five kilograms isn’t hard to lift but when its bloody 2 meters long and you’re playing Tetris with your trunk it fucking sucks. You’re going to have to take two trips. Fuck your back just twinged.

Growling with frustration, you go to your handbag and grab your water bottle taking huge gulps. It was so humid and hot you thought someone had thrown a wet woollen blanket over you. Your feet felt like they were on fire in your canvas shoes, you should have worn sandals or flip flops. You grab the front of your summer dress and pull it away from you trying to let some air in to cool your skin.

As you use your dress to fan yourself, your eyes start to wander around, and you notice a guy parked near you packing his stuff in his truck. Fuck he was huge with massive shoulders, thick legs, and a big scruffy beard. You can’t tell how old he was, but shit, was he hot. He was wearing a trucker hat, dark grey cargo shorts, well-worn with scuffs and splatters of paint and a red t-shirt that while it appeared a little small on him, it looked fantastic. He squats low to lift a couple of his flat packs into the tray and your eyes meet for the briefest second. You turn away quickly, pretending to study your trunk. Fuck, he saw me. Mortified, you take one last swig from the bottle of water and put it back in your bag.

After being sprung by the hottie you feel even warmer and not to mention embarrassed by the situation. Yeah, you were a strong independent woman, but it was at times like this you wished you had a man around. And if he happened to look like Mr Hottie over there, well even better. What made you think you could bring home this much stuff at once?

Sighing you pick up another flat pack. It wasn’t as heavy as the others, but by now you were exhausted. You shove it on top of the other boxes, pushing with your hip until it seemed like it was all the way in and tentatively shut the trunk, testing its fit. It did but that was it, the car was full and you didn’t see a way to make the last two boxes fit.

“You know, if you stacked ‘em flat instead of on their sides you may have gotten more in.” A deep, southern voice says. You glance at the truck where the hottie was, but he wasn’t there. Before you turn around you wonder if you want it to be the hottie giving you unsolicited advice or if it was too humiliating for him to see you in such a helpless situation.

You turn and it’s the hottie. God, he was a hot. You try and think of something witty to say but instead what you say makes you sound like a petulant child. “You could have said something earlier.”

If he was annoyed, he didn’t show it, he smiled and said, “Well, I’m here now.” He comes closer and you see the beads of sweat rolling down his neck and disappearing into his shirt. You wonder how he can stand to have a beard in weather like this, but you’re glad he does, it seems to suit him. You watch him study the trunk before he turns his attention to you and your eyes meet again. Oh no, they were so blue and pretty with long eyelashes so thick they made you envious. Could he possibly be more attractive?

“What are you thinking?” you ask. “Can you make it fit?” He raises an eyebrow and smirks, his look makes you feel like you said something inappropriate but you can’t work out what. He presses his lips together to hide the amusement on his face and looks back at the trunk.

“Sure,” he says. “Help me with this one?”

At his direction the two of you pull out a couple of the boxes and he helps you rearrange the flat packs. His instructions are concise and clear, no padding to the words and it seems to you like he was used to giving orders. You wonder if he was the boss of a building company, a personal trainer or maybe a soldier. You think about asking, but his tone is all business, no room for small talk at all. He isn’t being rude, he smiles as he works with you, and he does all the heavy lifting, just asking you to help guide the boxes into the right spaces. You had to admit, his demeanour was appealing, his confidence alluring and his appearance downright sexy.

When it all fit, he says, “Well, now. You’re all set.” He flashes you his grin again, showing you his teeth and a hint of dimples in his cheeks nearly hidden below all the thick hair on his cheeks.

You can’t help but smile back, “Thank you so much. I mean you didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he says. “I wanted to.” He crosses his arms across his chest and tilts his head like he’s thinking. “Why were you tryin’ to do this all by yourself? Surely you have a boyfriend or someone who could help you.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” you say quickly. Shit, that sounded desperate.

“If you want, I could go to your house and help you unload them.”

“Oh,” your alarm bells start ringing. You don’t know this guy; he could be trying to find out where you live or he could do something to you if you let him in. There’s no way you could stop a guy that big. But on the other hand, he could just be a nice guy. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

He smiles, this time a real charming smile. “You didn’t, I offered.”

You bite your lip thinking and you notice how his gaze strays to your mouth. “Look, I don’t know you and…”

“Say no more,” he says. “I understand.” His face still held that charming grin, he wasn’t angry you refused his offer which made you feel a little better and you half regret saying no.

You know you have to say good-bye, but you don’t want to and you look awkwardly at your feet. You realise you can’t drag this out any further, so reluctantly you stick your hand out. He looks at it and takes it. “Thanks, I owe you one,” you say.

After a couple of shakes you expect him to let go of your hand, but he doesn’t. You feel this thumb run over yours, exerting just enough pressure to feel the texture of his calloused pads against your soft flesh. “How about you let me take you out for dinner tonight and we’ll call it square?” he asks.

“Oh.” You’re surprised, but recover quickly to say, “Yeah, sure. But how about I pick you up and pay for dinner as thanks.”

“Counteroffer,” he says. “How about you pick me up and I pay?”

You hum pretending to mull it over, “How about I pick you up and we split the bill?”

He follows your lead humming before he answers, “Ok, final offer. What if you pick me up, we split the bill for dinner, but we stop and have some ice-cream on the way home, I’m buyin’?”

You let out a little laugh and say, “Deal.”

“Well alright then,” he says. He glances at your hand, letting his thumb take another pass over yours before he lets it go.

“So,” you say.

“So,” he repeats with a grin. “You gonna take down my address?”

“Oh,” you say. You pull out your phone and write his address down. He gives you his number too. “What’s your name?”

He chuckles and says, “Syverson.” He spells it for you. “Most people call me Sy.”

“Sy,” you repeat.

“Yeah,” he says nodding.

“Well, I’ll see you in a few hours then.” On impulse you press call on your phone. Sounds of metal music come from his phone. “Fucking Hostile?” you ask.

“You like Pantera?” he grins. You nod. “Never woulda picked that.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and looks at it and goes to put it back.

“That’s me,” you say, and you tell him your name. He adds you to his contacts and for a moment you look at each other awkwardly. “Well, I’ll see you at around seven?”

Sy hums and says, “How about six?”

You grin, liking the game he’s playing. It’s like he’s letting you win, but still controlling the situation. It was kind of hot. “Six-thirty,” you offer.

“Six-fifteen,” he counters.

You laugh again and say, “Alright, Deal.”

“Well, alright then,” he says. “See you soon, Darlin’.” He tips his hat to you. You stand frozen as he hops in his truck and drives away, giving you a wave as he goes. He tipped his fucking hat.

You seem to be able to move again, so you jump in your car, your hands shaking as you call your best friend. When they answer you squeal excitedly, “Oh my fucking god, I think I just had a Wattpad moment.”

Tag List 1

@henryobsessed @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective @posiemax @nostalgicb-txh @moonlacebeam @anitababi @agniavateira @blakerogue @shadesofarrogance @mansaaay @stxlemate @wheretheriversrunintothesea @amberangel112 @madbaddic7ed @eldarwen333 @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @summersong69 @littlefreya @littlebirdofrivia @luclittlepond @myloveforhenrycavill @mary-ann84 @tellingyouastory @beck07990 @zealoushound @sofiebstar @sweetlybigdragonn @bloodyinspiredfuck @marantha @diegos-butt @greensleeves888 @endofalldays01 @justaboringadult @ysmmsy @offroadinjandals @littlewrenofrivia @pussyverson @foxyjwls007 @kebabgirl67

#henry cavill fic #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill #captain sy x reader #captain syverson x you #captain syverson fanfic #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson x reader #captain syverson #captain sy #captain syverson fluff

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fivelakesinwriting · 3 years ago

Note

can you do like a part two on where you’re actually pregnant with barry’s baby, and he walks in on you putting things away in the new little bungalow you bought and he’s like “i can do that mamas”

Author's Notes: This is a second part to Tough Day - thank you so much! Baby Daddy Barry? Yes, please.

Warnings: Pregnancy, Swearing, Sexual references - Sexual innuendos (daddy kink? if ya squint?)

Requested? YES! Requests for OBX are OPEN!

*My work is not to be transferred, copied, translated or reposted to any other sites without my permission. Please see my masterlist for all other works and warnings. Thank you! xoxo

Barry pulled the rented truck into the driveway of the new home on the hot weekend afternoon. The road beneath the truck was bumpy, they couldn't afford a paved drive, but that was just fine with the both of them. A small little bungalow with two bedrooms was all they needed.

"Home sweet home." Barry mumbled as he parked the truck and killed the ignition. He looked over at his girl, six months pregnant and gave her a small smile.

"It's so cute, Barry. I love it. You did so good." She smiled over at him, reaching a hand over to rub the back of his neck.

"Yeah? Thought it would do the job for that lil' monster cooking in there." Barry grinned as he pocketed the keys and hopped out of the truck, quickly making his way to the other side to help her down.

"I told you to stop calling Him that." She pouted, taking his outstretched hands, cautiously stepping down to the ground. She pressed her hand to her lower back, giving a small wince as she spread her weight on both feet.

"He gonna be just like his mama. A fucking handful." Barry grinned as he rubbed her swollen belly over the stretched tank top of his that she had all but stolen. He didn't mind, he loved how it fit her before she had been carrying his baby and he loved it more now.

"Oh, please. I'm beyond pleasant." She scoffed as she ran her hands through her hair, her eyes scanning the new piece of property they got to call home.

Barry breathed out a laugh, nodding his head. He knew better than to argue with a pregnant woman. Especially his pregnant woman. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her up the little dirt path to the small step stones that led to the porch steps.

"Go inside and put your feet up. I'll bring all this shit inside, it's too heavy for you anyways." Barry muttered as he unlocked the door to their little home and opened it for her.

"Don't have to tell me twice. He's kicking the shit out of my guts today." She groaned as she held her belly then pouted at him.

"Little monster. Go in and rest. I'll be inside soon, gotta take the truck back." Barry laughed softly as he kissed her forehead.

"Okay, Daddy." She smiled up at him.

"Don't start." Barry grumbled with a smack of her backside before he turned and made his way back to the truck, his fingertips running over the scruff on his top lip.

Barry unloaded the boxes in the back of the truck and lifted them to the ground at the back wheel. He prioritized them by need then started bringing them in. He brought two heavy boxes into the house, one full of the baby items they had accumulated over the last few months, and their own bedroom items and set them by the front door.

"What are you doing?" He asked when he spotted his too pregnant girlfriend standing on her toes, trying to reach the top cabinet in the kitchen.

"I'm trying to clean these cabinets so we can start putting our stuff in them. But I can't reach." She replied, straining on one foot to reach the top shelf.

"Stop. I've got it, Mama. Just go and sit down. Take care of my boy, alright? I'll do this shit." Barry muttered as he grabbed her hips from behind and pulled her down, flat to her feet.

She turned around and wrapped her arms around his neck, her belly pressed into his. Barry smiled as he placed his hands on either side of her bump on the inside of her shirt.

"Who would have thought, all I had to do to get you to help me around the house was get you to knock me up." She smiled as she pulled herself as close to him as her belly would allow.

"Only a matter of time the way you throw yourself at me and call me Daddy all the time." Barry grinned, his hands running from her soft belly to her backside.

"Easy, Big Guy. I'm already pregnant." She laughed when he bent forward to press a few open mouth kisses to her warm neck.

"Then I don't have to be careful." Barry grumbled against her skin, his thumbs hooked in the belt loops of her shorts.

"No, but you do have the take the truck back to the rental place or we get charged for another day." She smiled as she placed a hand on the back of his neck.

"Fine, woman." Barry groaned as he pulled his lips from her neck, his head tossed back dramatically.

"And do you think you could grab me some iced cream on your way home?" She asked sweetly as she wrapped his necklace around her fingers.

"What kind you want?" Barry grinned as he pulled his hands off his girlfriend and reached into his pocket for the keys to the rental.

"Will you get the matcha iced cream?" She asked as she bit her bottom lip.

"Seriously? That's fucking disgusting. Why can't you like something normal? Like chocolate." Barry grimaced.

"It's not me! Blame him! He likes food that's green." She replied with a point to her belly.

"Fine. I'll get your gross iced cream, but I'm not happy about it." Barry teased with a rub of her belly.

"Do you think you could get me some key lime pie, too?" She asked with a kiss of his chin.

"You gonna share a piece this time?" Barry asked, a hand on her lower back.

"With my baby daddy? Of course." She smiled up at him, her hands in the back pockets of his pants.

"C'mon, woman. You're already pregnant." Barry grinned, as he pressed a kiss to her forehead then reluctantly pulled himself away from her to exit the house and take the truck back.

He lit up a cigarette outside the house - his goal to quit smoking almost entirely by the time the baby was born - and hopped in the truck. He sat in the truck for a moment, just letting it idle as he looked at his new home.

"Fucking matcha." Barry grumbled with a smile as he put the truck in reverse, and backed out of the new drive.

Please let me know what you think if you have a moment. Thank you so much xoxo

Requests for OBX ARE OPEN!!!

Hottie List:

@sodasback @barrysjumpsuit @starkey-babie @fashion-fasting

#obx barry #barry x reader #outer banks requests #barry x reader smut #barry obx #obx requests #outer banks imagine #barry baddies #obx fic #outer banks fluff #outer banks barry #obx imagine

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

Text

Heart-Shaped Box💟9/End

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), forced pregnancy, some violence, intimidation, some elements untagged for sake of plot.

This is dark!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Sister Series: Get Your Fix

Summary: You accept a job as an au pair, but not all is as it seems.

Note: Finally finishing this one up. Sorry it took me ages but I’m doing my best to go back and wrap up whatever I can.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Masterlist

Bucky pulled out of you as he held your head down, bouncing the bed beneath you as he pushed himself onto his back. You panted as your sweat dampened the sheet beneath you and he leaked between your thighs. You winced as you rolled onto your side and slowly sat up.

He had you whining loud enough that you had no doubt your guests heard it all. It only seemed to encourage his partner-in-crime as you soon heard a similar scene on the other side of the wall. You were sickened by that noise and stood warily as you cupped your hand over your cunt and scooped up his cum before it could drip onto the floor.

“I told you to keep it down,” he snickered and sat up, his muscled back to you as he stretched his arms above him, “get the shower started, I’ll be in shortly. You girls have a lot of work to do today.”

You grumbled and dragged your feet to the attached bathroom. The low buzz of the pipes filled the silence and you stepped under the steamy water. The moment of calm broke sharply as Bucky appeared from the other side of the curtain and stepped in behind you. He had you clean him with a lathered loofah and you bore it only for the eventuality of time away from him.

The other woman meant you wouldn’t be trapped with just him. It was little help or hope but it was better than your former solitary torture.

You dressed in black dress with daisies and made yourself look like his perfect housewife. You couldn’t hold the smile and make him believe it all the way but he wouldn’t anyway. He flicked your chin and clicked his tongue.

“Mmm, you’re getting there,” he mused as he dropped his hand and reached around to slap your ass, “better go get breakfast on. I’ll check in on our guests.” He squeezed and winked, “be a good girl.”

Those words made your insides curdled but you swallowed your disgust and nodded, “yes, sir.”

He stepped out behind you and watched you go down the hall to the stairs and you heard him knock on the door as you descended. You went to the kitchen and pulled out the frying pan and the coconut oil. You lined up the ingredients for crepes on the counter and took two bananas from the yellow bunch. Your mother used to make the oversweet delicacy and you needed a reminder that you were still that girl.

You stopped as you searched for something to keep the crepes warm after you assembled them, a lid that could fit over the plate or something akin to it. The lower cupboards you rarely opened. Bucky left the cleaning supplies on the counter with your chore list every day and you never bothered to look for anything else.

You stopped and stared at the drain cleaner and the can of toxic oven spray. Well, that wouldn’t be subtle enough, would it? They’d smell either of those a mile away. Anything under the counter would be easily discovered but it did give you an idea.

You closed the wooden door and went back to your task. You heard the voices in the next room and the scrape of the chairs on the floor. Steve’s girl appeared in the doorway, rubbing her stomach as her face contorted.

“Smells sweet,” she said as you simmered the bananas with brown sugar, cinnamon, and a little butter, “almost too sweet.”

“Morning sickness?” you asked innocently.

“All the time sickness,” she sighed, “anything I can help with?”

“Do you know how to make crepes?” you asked as you whisked the batter.

“Not really,” she shrugged, “but I can learn.”

“It’s easy. Takes less than a minute,” you waved her over and tested the temperature of the pan with a flick of water, “so you wanna put just a little batter in…” you ladled in a careful dollop and lifted the pan, “you spread it like this,” you tilted it so the batter spread all around, “you just use the spatula a little on the edges to make sure they don’t stick and you flip.”

It was like second nature and she nodded quietly as she watched. The crepe cooked quickly and you threw it onto a plate and put the pan back to the burner.

“You think you can handle that?” you covered the plate with the lid of a pat to keep it warm. “Then we put some of the bananas and wrap them, bit of cream on top and some icing sugar…”

“You like to cook?” she wondered as she added batter to the hot pan.

“Not particularly, but my mother taught me,” you shrugged, “she can cook anything.”

“Oh,” she flipped the crepe and glanced at the door, “I suppose… it keeps him happy.”

“He’s never happy,” you murmured and cleared your throat, “so, you must be excited to move in!”

“I guess,” she slid the crepe onto the plate as you lifted the foggy lid, “you know how it is.”

You smiled and she tilted her head as she squinted at you. You went to the drawer where there was a box of blank recipe cards and continued speaking as you fished out a pencil from another.

“It’s always nice to get settled,” you said as you wrote, ‘they can hear us’.

“I suppose, nice to be in one place,” she replied stiffly as her features relaxed.

‘I have a plan,’ you wrote and raised your voice just slightly, “oh, you know, we didn’t even get you a housewarming gift. I’ll have to remind James.”

You went to the burner and held out the card under the coil until it caught. You threw it into the sink and watched it burn and curl. You ran water over it as it turned to ash and washed it away. You nudged the bowl towards her and leaned on the counter, “need help with that?”

“No,” she said as she started again, “I’m getting the hang of it.”

💟

You looked around the front room of the house next door. Steve’s girl opened one of the stacked boxes. For once, the men were gone and you could just enjoy their absence.

Bucky agreed that a gift was in order and Steve had mentioned wanting to explore their new hometown. You tried not to seem eager but even the small walk across the lawns enlivened you. How long had it been since you’d been outside?

You started with the pictures. You left the frames in a stack as she assured you Steve would put the nails in and hang them. Then you moved onto the kitchenware and you kept her from lifting the heavy box of dishes. She seemed to forget about her condition and the reminder made her frown.

You stood behind the counter and set the dishes in the cupboards one at a time, the plates clacking one on top of each other. She watched from the other side as she arranged the silverware in the plastic tray.

“Can you do me a favour?” you asked as you kept on.

“What?” she asked as she dropped a butter knife with the rest.

“I know they’ve locked us in but can you check the garage door? Can we get in there?” you asked evenly.

“What?” she blinked and pushed herself straight, “even if we can, they won’t have been stupid enough--”

“That’s not what I’m worried about. I know we can’t get out that way either. It’s the same at our house. Everything is bolted up tight.” You assured her, “just go and check while I get these sorted.”

She left you and you snapped shut the door and finished with the utensils. You slid the tray into the drawer as she returned, rubbing her stomach.

“Yeah, we can get in but it’s mostly empty,” she said, “so…”

“Mostly empty?”

“Yeah, just the car--”

“The car,” you rounded the counter and curled two fingers for her to follow you.

You headed for the plain white door that led to the garage. You hopped down the steps as she remained at the top and watched you tentatively. You went to the car as she crossed her arms.

“He took the keys,” she said.

You tried the handle and the door opened. “I know,” you said as you put a knee in the front seat and peered into the back. Nothing.

You felt around under the dash and found the lever for the trunk. You pulled it and it popped. You shut the door and went around the back of the car. You felt around the spare tire and your hand felt something plastic. You grabbed the handle of the half-filled jug and pulled it out.

“Hey,” you held up the bright blue anti-freeze, “do you wanna cook dinner here tonight? A housewarming dinner?”

Her brows knitted and she gave a long blink. Her lips parted then curved.

“You can’t mean--” she let out a scoff.

“It’s sweet. Hopefully they won’t notice if I add enough sugar to the cake,” you breathed, “we can’t let them settle. This is our chance.”

“I don’t-- I don’t know. What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then we’re still in the same boat,” you turned your free hand out, “that man has drugged me for months. I think it’s only fair that he gets a taste of his own medicine.”

She swallowed and looked down at her stomach. She inhaled and cradled her bump. “It can’t get worse than this, can it?”

💟

You spent the day unpacking, the distraction not much of one as you thought of the bottle you hid at the back of the cupboard. By the time the men returned, you were ready to move onto the second floor.

Bucky offered a bottle of non-alcoholic wine and basket of expensive macarons as your gift to your new neighbours. He forced a kiss from you before he let you follow Steve’s girl upstairs.

You sat in the bedroom and heard the men ascend shortly after. You peeked in on them as you opened the linen closet to shove in the spare sheets. They were hammering together a crib. You knocked lightly on the doorframe as you watched them.

“Huh, what’s going on?” Bucky looked up from the directions.

“Um, we were just… thinking, we could have dinner here tonight? A little housewarmer? I could grab some ingredients from ours--”

“Give me a list, I’ll grab it,” Bucky puffed as he bent to help hold the rail in place for Steve, “that sound okay?”

“Fine by me,” Steve smiled, “it’ll be nice to have our feet on solid ground.”

You left them and returned to your only ally as she sat on the bed and stared at a packet of pills. She crushed it in her grasp and huffed. She flicked away tears with her knuckles. She tossed them over her shoulder.

“He kept them,” she snarled, “it’s like he’s mocking me.”

“What?” you neared her and sat carefully beside her.

“I never… I worked with him, you know? He brought me these drinks and I didn’t realise he was dosing them. The stuff, it made me itchy… it made me so hot and I just needed anything. I hopped on him I was so desperate and-- I told him to stay away. I realised what he’d done and I told him to leave me alone and you know what he did,” she crossed her arms over her stomach.

“No, I--” you touched her elbow.

“He broke into my apartment and replaced my pills. And he didn’t leave me alone,” she spat, “he did this all and he still has the goddamn pills like they’re some sort of trophy.”

She hung her head and grunted in frustration. You leaned against her and put your arm over her shoulders. She let you and the tension drained from her body.

“Even if we get out…” she whispered, “I’ll always have this piece of him.”

She pressed her palms to her stomach and you frowned. There was nothing you could do or say. You’d been lucky so far, even if it only fed your suffering. You didn’t have another life to worry about.

“We don’t have to if--”

“I want to,” she hissed lowly, “I want him dead.”

💟

Usually, you tasted the icing and licked the spoon. Not that night. The blue shade of the frosting was anything but suspicious as you spread it over the fluffy cake. It was a perfect disguise. You topped it with blueberries to add to the theme and dusted on a few coloured sprinkles. You stood back and admired your work as the smell of garlic filled the kitchen.

“I know it’s not much,” Steve’s girl said as she stirred the sauce, “but it’s what I can manage.”

“I’m sure it’s great,” you said as you took the meatballs of the burner and tested the spaghetti, “noodles are perfect.”

You strained the pasta and helped pour the meatballs into the sauce. You mixed it up and poured it into a large glass dish and the noodles into another. You brought them out to the table and called the men to dinner before you fetched the wine, both alcoholic and not.

Steve’s girl sat as you poured a glass for each of you and the men sat. You set the bottle down and nestled in next to Bucky as he served himself. When the plates were full, the other woman nudged Steve and whispered in his ear.

He cleared his throat and stood, “um, I know it’s just us but I guess I should say thank you for all the help and we’re excited to be neighbours… can’t wait for the kids to be running around these halls together.”

“Mmm,” Bucky lifted his glass, “hopefully…” he muttered doubtfully and looked at you, “that better be what she’s having,” he nodded to your glass.

You held it out for him to sniff and he gave you a sour look. He tutted and sat back to twirl noodles around his fork as he set aside his glass. You took a sip of the gutless wine and speared a meatball on your tines. You chewed and looked at Steve’s girl. She let Steve rub her thigh under the table and forced a smile.

She was playing it well and you felt as if you would fall apart. You felt as if Bucky would see right through you the minute you walked in with the cake. What would he do then? Steve couldn’t hurt his girl, she had the baby, but you, Bucky could replace you still. Maybe that was for the best but it didn’t mean you weren’t scared shitless.

You cleared the plates and retreated to the kitchen. Just you. You’d gone over it, you didn’t want them to catch on. You didn’t get too close with them around, you acted like strangers, you really were after all.

You sliced the cake into careful portions and came out with two plates at a time. You put them in front of each chair and sat. As you did, Steve’s girl covered her mouth and gagged. She pushed herself up unsteadily.

“Honey?” Steve asked as he rubbed her lower back.

“It’s the baby I--” she gulped sickeningly, “I gotta--”

She rushed out and Steve gave a look, “nausea. It’s been like this for weeks.”

“I’m going to make sure she’s okay,” you stood, “go ahead and start without us.”

You went down the hall and as you neared the bathroom, Steve’s girl opened the door and pulled you inside. She looked genuinely sick and you smelled vomit on her breath. She turned and rinsed her mouth and shuddered.

“I didn’t actually feel sick until I got in here,” she wiped her face with the hand cloth, “when I realised--”

“Everything’s in the trunk,” you assured her, “once they’re out, we get the keys and go.”

“How do we know--”

“Retch,” you hissed, “we wait until we’re sure.”

She gave an exaggerated hurl and you heard the clink of porcelain and silver and the drone of voices. You listened through the door as she watched you in the tight space of the half-bath.

“I’m thinking about getting her an… exam,” Bucky’s deep tone carried, “maybe she can’t…”

You let out the breath you were holding and closed your eyes. Just a little longer.

When you heard a sudden lull, your eyes rounded and you turned the handle and let yourself out into the hall. She crept close behind as you peered through the open archway. Both men had their faces on their plates in the crumbs of vanilla cake and smears of blue icing.

“Let’s go,” you went to Steve and shoved your hand into his pocket, “shit, they’re not here.”

“Here!” she pulled her hand from his jacket hung on the rack, “you think they’re dead?”

You looked from one to the other and shakily felt along Steve’s neck. “Still a pulse. I think maybe… they’re only knocked out.”

“The serum,” she shook her head, “means we have to go quick.”

You hurried after her and followed her down into the garage. She climbed into the driver’s seat and moved it back as her stomach pressed to the wheel. You got in the other side as your body trembled with adrenaline. She hit the button attached to the keys and the door slowly raised behind her.

As she reversed, you felt a sudden shock around your neck and yiped. You’d forgotten entirely about the necklace. She stopped suddenly and watched you writhe in agony.

“Shit, shit,” you leaned forward until the shock stopped, “the necklace.”

“Fuck,” she reached for it and you batted her away.

“No, you’ll get zapped,” you gasped as you pulled on it desperately. It was too tight to get past your chin but too strong to snap.

She took the keys out and tossed them in your lap. You lifted them and twisted the necklace around the house key but there was no give. You sobbed and dropped your hand.

“I can’t,” you looked at the bent key, “you gotta go without me.”

“What? No, I can’t--”

“You have a baby,” you said as tears burned in your eyes and your throat tightened, “go, please.” You dropped the keys on the dash and opened the door. “I can’t--”

“No, you have to come with me,” she begged.

“No, you have to go before they wake up,” you got out as you grasped your neck, the searing pain still hot on your flesh, “I’ll… I’ll survive. I have this far.”

“N--”

“Shut up!” you slammed the door and hit the hood, “go!”

She stared at you and her lip quivered. She gave you one last sad look and grabbed the keys. She sniffed as she gripped the wheel and backed out down the drive.

You fell to your knees and sat back on your ass as you watched her drive away. You shook your head and held it in your hands as you sat behind the invisible wall of your prison.

The tires screamed at the end of the street and the noise of the engine faded into the distance. You laid on your back across the concrete and covered your face with your arm. At least you could live with knowing you got her out. Well, you couldn’t really say you’d be living. You’d be alive but little more than that.

But you’d survive knowing that you kept one person from that pitiful fate. Even if it wasn’t you. Even if you knew that you would pay for it in the end. Even when those men woke up and found you laying in the garage, the sweet flavour of antifreeze on their tongues as the bile of their anger overflowed and drowned you.

You couldn’t do anything but wait. If you were lucky, they might just kill you and that in itself would be freedom.

💟 💟 💟

END

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #fic #Heart-Shaped Box #dark fic #dark!fic #series #mcu #marvel #winter soldier #captain america #avengers #steve rogers

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scuttling · 3 years ago

Text

All I Have To Give

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 5,096 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Daddy kink, Dom/sub, Collar & leash, Oral sex, Deep throating, Restraints, Fingering, Cockwarming, Spanking, Unprotected sex, Come marking, Subspace, Subdrop, Aftercare Summary: A difficult case brings complex emotions, and Aaron is willing to do anything to help the woman he loves process them. *Prompted by @ssamorganhotchner and @angelhotchner and this Link to AO3 or read below! Even after all of his time at the BAU, Aaron knows he hasn’t seen it all, or even close to it—it seems like the atrocities just get worse every year, that humans never fail to find a new way to hurt one another, and that makes him and everyone else on the team constantly question everything they know. He’d like to say it gets easier, but it really doesn’t; you just find new ways to lean on your partners, new ways to cope with the horrors and indecencies the world has to offer.

The case they are currently working on is hitting one profiler especially hard, and because Aaron happens to be in love with her, it’s hitting him hard as well.

“I just can’t imagine waking up one morning and thinking you have your whole life ahead of you, and then some asshole decides he likes the way you look and wants to turn you into his property,” she murmurs that night when they are laying together in the hotel room they share. She had been so strong all day, as always, and then all but collapsed into tears the second the door was closed behind them. “It’s disgusting.”

“I know, baby; cases like these are some of the worst.” He rubs her back with strong hands, pulls her close to his chest. “What can I do for you? I hate to see you like this.” She sniffles, brushes a hand over her eyes, shakes her head.

“I don’t think there’s anything right now. Just being here with me like this, and talking to me, it’s helping. Thank you.” He sighs, because he knows when she gets this upset just talking it out isn’t usually enough, but he has to follow her lead; he just leans in to press his lips to hers, gentle and sweet, and she curls her fingers into his t-shirt and falls asleep with her head against his chest.

The next day, they apprehend the unsub after a standoff; unfortunately, he’d killed the girls when he heard on the police scanner that law enforcement was approaching—all twelve of them. She is the one to find them, and she gets sick, a first in her five years at the BAU. Aaron goes to her side, brings some water for her; her eyes are haunted when she looks up at him.

“Branded,” she croaks, and he doesn’t understand at first, until he looks more closely at the pile of bodies and sees the marks seared into their hips: DM—the unsub’s initials. He exhales deeply, and she turns around and gets sick again.

They take him back to the precinct, try to get a DNA sample, but he won’t agree until his lawyer is present; his story is that his property has been unoccupied for some time, and that he had no idea the girls were being held there, or by whom.

Aaron knows he shouldn’t let her interrogate him. He knows that, but she pleads, and that is something he’s always been unable to resist.

“Branding, huh? Are you that insecure—that worried that the women you called your property wanted nothing to do with you?” she asks, standing with her arms crossed.

“Do you mean my herd? I didn’t just call them my property, honey. They were my property. I owned them. The brands are for everyone else, not for me.” She slams her hands down on the table, sweeps them over the photos she’d laid out in front of him, and they go fluttering to the ground. He can’t see her face, but he knows from her tone that her jaw is clenched, her eyes ablaze.

“You did not own them. Ownership is granted, not taken, you pathetic excuse for a man.” He flexes his hands against the cuffs fixed to the table but says nothing. “You are so powerless that this is the only way you can get it up, isn’t it? By stealing women from their families, their lives, and pretending they’re yours.”

“They are mine!” he shouts, but then he takes a deep breath, visibly calming himself. “I took… the herd, from their meaningless, mundane lives, I brought them home, I gave them purpose. Being my property gave them value they didn’t have before.”

“And then you killed them, so what’s the value now? How dumb do you look?” She gets right up in his face, and hateful, misogynistic poison glints in his eyes, shows through the calm facade he tries so desperately to project. “It’s like burning your own house down, isn’t it? Only there’s no insurance money to collect here, Darren. All that’s left is your stupid ass and a pile of bodies with your fucking name on them.”

“Don’t call me stupid,” he mutters, and she drums her fingers on the tabletop, almost thoughtfully.

“What would you call it? Risking everything to abduct twelve women only to turn around and kill them so they can’t tell us what a pitiful human being you are?” She leans in closer, and he turns his neck to face away from her, like he’s trying to ignore her. “But the thing is, I don’t need them to tell me,” she whispers. “I know you were a disappointment to your father, a disgrace to your mother. I know the disgusting, depraved things you did to your sister, and now the whole world’s going to know. I’m going to tell everyone.”

Aaron can see the change in him from where he stands on the other side of the glass, and he glances at Morgan, then makes for the door. He’s just gotten it open when the man pulls back and spits on her cheek; she freezes, then reaches up, wipes it off, calm and collected, and grabs his jaw with the hand not covered in saliva.

“Guess what, Darren? You’re my property, now. Your ass belongs to the US Government, and I’m going to personally ensure you never see the light of day again.” She holds her hand up—covered in DNA evidence—and walks past Aaron, out the door. She is unusually quiet on the flight back to DC despite the successful interrogation, pensive and solitary; even on the ride from the airport back home she just leans toward him, silent, hand resting on his thigh, her eyes unfocused.

He knows how hard this case hit her, can only hope that she will open up to him when they get home so he can give her what she needs to get through it. He will do anything, just needs to hear it from her.

“Why don’t we take a bath?” he says softly when they get home, dropping their bags in the laundry room, and he brushes a hand over her cheek. “We can soak the day away, and then maybe if you’re feeling better we can talk about what I can do to help.”

She looks up at him, nods, and they rid each other of their clothes and he draws them a bath, hot and foamy with calming aromatherapy oils she enjoys. She lays along his body, curled up, head on his chest, and he holds her close, massages the back of her neck and her shoulders with gentle fingers.

When they get out and dry off, she heads for her closet, returns with a box as tall as a thick book, a little less wide; she sets it on the bed, perches next to it, and looks up at him with expectant eyes.

“What’s this, baby?” he asks, approaching, and he kneels down, puts his arm around her and sets a hand on the box. “Is it for me?”

“Yes, daddy. It’s for you to put on me. I bought it a few weeks ago, but I… I need it now.” He lifts the lid, pulls out what he thinks at first is a wrist cuff but is actually a thick leather collar, with two metal rings attached to the front, and a… a leash. It’s made of metal chain, not long, with a leather loop to hold, and to say he’s caught off guard by this gift would be an understatement.

“You want me to put this on you? Can I ask why?” She moves toward him, puts her hands on the collar too, looks up at him with wide, wet eyes.

“Because I’m not my own person. You own me.” She tilts her neck, bares it, clearly waiting for him to put it on her, but what she’s saying doesn’t sit right with him, too many parallels to the case that made her so physically and mentally unwell.

“Baby, you are your own person. I love you for exactly who you are, and I would never try to own you, to take who you are away from you.” He presses his palm to her cheek, and she leans into it, kisses it with soft, gentle lips.

“It’s not you taking, daddy, it’s me giving. I need to give this to you—it’s the most important thing I have, and I need you to let me give this to you.” He exhales deeply, still not sold on the idea; she may think she wants this in the moment, feeling low as she is, but, what if she changes her mind? What if she no longer trusts his judgement because he plays into this when she’s not at her most clear-headed?

“Are you sure?” he asks, looking into her eyes, checking them for hesitation, but she only nods; he moves his hand from her cheek, gently pulls the collar out of her grip and brings it to her throat, buckles it at the nape of her neck. She sighs, something like relief when he leans back; she wets her lips, and her eyes are heavy.

“You own me, daddy. I’m yours, see?” She tilts her neck again, but all he sees is that it’s tight against her skin, maybe uncomfortably so. He frowns.

“Is it too tight? It looks too tight. I think we should take it off; maybe we can try again another night, when you didn’t have such a hard day.” He moves his hands to the back of her neck, wants to unbuckle it, but she gets upset almost instantly, looking down at her empty hands like they’re causing her pain. He covers them with his own, shushes her softly. “Oh, what is it, sweet girl? Daddy’s right here, it’s okay.”

“I just wanted to please you, daddy. Your name is on me, and I thought you would like it, but if you don’t want me this way…” That makes him pause, and he brings her hands to his lips, kisses them.

“What do you mean, my name is on you? What does that mean, baby?” She pulls her hand out of his, moves her hair out of the way, and then he sees it: his initials, AH, embossed on the collar in silver script.

God, it’s no wonder she had such a visceral reaction to the branding. And it’s no wonder she is stressing wanting to give this to him, when the other women had their choices taken from them. She has a choice, and she’s making it, and all he has to do is accept the gift she’s trying so hard to give to him.

“Please, daddy. I need to give this to you,” she murmurs, further solidifying what he now knows, and he wraps the chain around his hand, pulls it tight, tugs her close for a kiss.

The easy way the tension leaves her body at the possessive gesture makes him groan, and he kisses her so long and hard that—between the kissing and the collar—she is already in subspace when he pulls back to let them catch their breath.

“You’re mine, baby girl; my name is on you. I own you.” She pants, nods, puts her hands on his shoulders and looks into his eyes, so grateful, beautiful.

“Yes, daddy. Thank you, daddy. I’m yours so tell me what to do and I’ll do it, anything. Please.” He kisses her again, then climbs onto the bed, loosens his grip on the chain a bit and pulls her with him as he lays back against the pillows. Her gaze is warm, brilliant, and he guides her to kneel between his legs, drops the leash and takes the black hair tie off of her wrist to sweep her hair back into a ponytail. It’s by no means perfect, but she likes when he does it, knows what it means; she’s already staring at his cock, and he’s willing to bet her mouth is watering in anticipation.

“I want you to suck for me, sweet girl. Owned girl.” Her eyelashes flutter and she wets her lips, nods enthusiastically. She wraps one hand around his cock, presses the other against his thigh, and he picks up the chain again, tightens it as she drops to cover him with her mouth.

She starts with short, wet, slow strokes, looking up at him through her pretty lashes, and he’s reduced to just his love for her and his need to come, as always when she does this for him. He moans softly, reaches down a hand to squeeze her breast, to give her some contact and pleasure, and she whines, moves a little faster.

He wasn’t planning to come this way, but he can think of plenty of ways to keep her occupied and feeling good while he recovers, so he wraps the chain around his hand one more time, guides her down, so she’ll take him deeper. She can do it, has been trained at her own request, because almost nothing makes her wetter than having her mouth full of his cock.

“Good girl, you’re doing so good for daddy. Can I come down your throat, baby? Can you take it?” She nods, bobs, and he yanks the chain just to see what she will do.

It turns her into a bit of a feral little monster, humping her hips against nothing, digging her nails into his thigh, doubling down on her efforts to make him come, and he just tips his head back and enjoys it, pinches her nipple between his fingers.

“Yes, sweet girl. So close. Keep moving your hips, baby; horny, desperate girl. Daddy will let you come soon, just keep going.” Perfect woman that she is, she hums around him, takes him deeper yet; the chain is wound so far around his hand he thinks absently that he may as well just hold onto her collar, and when he hooks his finger around the metal ring she looks up at him and moans.

He comes holding onto that ring, and when she is finished swallowing for him he pulls her up by it, kisses her passionately, gratefully, and whispers praise against her lips; she is soaking wet, he can feel it where she is sprawled on his stomach, so he guides her to lay back on the bed and leans in for a couple more kisses.

“That was perfect, my sweet, owned girl. Did you like that?” He holds the chain loose and rubs two fingers over her clit, and she bucks up, nods her head.

“Yes, owner daddy. I love when you let me take you that far. It makes me achy,” she whines, and he spreads her thighs apart, very wide, presses a finger inside.

“I know, baby. I can feel how soft and wet you are for daddy. I want you to come on my fingers next, okay?”

“Yes, please, I want to. Want to come on them hard for you.” He leans in for a sweet, soft kiss, slides his finger out of her, then takes her hands and brings them together under her chin, wraps the chain around her wrists so they’re loosely bound, holding the handle in his fist. She moans like he’s destroying her, though he’s barely touched her, but when he slips two fingers inside her she just gasps softly and throws her head back, her stomach tensing.

“Such a pretty girl for me. I’m so lucky you’re all mine.” He is calm—or at least, he’s projecting calm—where she is keyed up, eager, desperate, and he always loves it like this, loves to see how much he can tease her, how long she will hold out until she’s begging for him to fuck her with his hand. “Can you stay still for me? I wonder how long you can stay still for me, sweet girl.”

“Mmm, daddy.” Her chest is heaving as he thrusts his fingers slowly in, then out, then rubs them up her pussy, between her lips, and then thrusts them back in. It’s got to be torture for her, but she just breathes. “I can stay still, daddy. I can do whatever you ask.”

He closes his eyes briefly, collects himself so he doesn’t let all that power go to his head, and pushes his fingers into her a bit faster just to watch her struggle to behave.

“Does that feel good, daddy’s girl?” She bites her lip and nods, offers him a strained god, yes, so he adds another finger; the fact that she can speak at all means she’s far too coherent for his liking. He leans up for a kiss, brushes his nose over her throat, along the edge of the collar, right where his initials are, and she lifts her hips but stops herself, whimpers. “Oh, baby, what is it? Are you needy?” he whispers in her ear.

“Needy, please daddy,” she pleads softly, her eyes focused on him when he pulls back to look at her face, but also a little far away at the same time. “Please, please, I need to come. I need to come, I’m achy.”

“Shh, it’s okay, I’ve got you. I’ll make you come, sweet girl.” He presses their mouths together a couple times, losing his composure a little as she loses hers, and then he moves down between her open legs and rubs his tongue over her clit while pounding his fingers inside.

She is unable to resist moving her hips as she gets closer to climax, and he pulls away, pausing to look up into her eyes again. They’re very hazy now, and she’s whining high in her throat at the sudden lack of stimulation.

“If you don’t stay still, daddy will have to spank you, baby girl. Do you understand?” She nods lazily, and he taps his hand against her pussy, a couple of light slaps just to get her attention. She blinks, makes eye contact, and he asks again. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, daddy.” She flicks her tongue over her lips, closes her eyes, and he leans back in to roll his tongue over her clit, fingers moving quickly in and out of her. She remains still for about thirty seconds and then slams down hard against his hand, and from there she doesn’t stop. “Oh please, please. So close, please daddy,” she begs, pressing into the thrusts, and just when she is starting to come he wraps his hand around the chain around her wrists, tugs her body up so he can reach her mouth, and kisses her deep and wet while he fucks her through her orgasm.

She comes hard as promised, soaking his hand, moaning into the kiss—probably due to the fact that he’s holding her up by the leash, because displays of strength make her feel extremely submissive—and when she is through he lays her gently back, unwinds the chain and kisses her wrists.

“Good girl, you did so well. Daddy is so proud.” He leans up to press easy kisses to her cheeks and mouth, and she wraps her arms around his neck, making soft noises of contentment against his lips. “I love you so much, sweetheart. I love making you feel good. Do you love making me feel good?”

He knows she does, but likes to hear it, even when it’s just a sigh like the one she gives him now—he knows what all of her sounds mean, when she’s so deeply sunken into subspace that she's all begging and soft noises and daddy.

“Yeah, I know you do, sweetheart. Are you ready for me to come inside you? Daddy comes inside because he owns you.”

“Daddy, mmm,” she breathes, and he gets up on his knees, spreads them, and drapes her thighs over his, slides in easily because she is still so open and slick. He wraps one hand around her thigh and brings the other to the chain hooked to her collar, loops it around his forearm, and thrusts quick and smooth, grunting when she grabs his wrists and bucks her hips against him. “Oh, fuck. Oh.” She gasps when he pulls on the chain a little harder, bounces roughly against his thighs and whimpers her pleasure, then drops a hand to her pussy and rubs as he slams into her with equal desperation.

“Yes baby, fuck daddy. Good girl, rubbing your little pussy; if I come before you, you’ll have to wait a while, so I hope you get off first.” She whines unhappily at that, rubs faster, her head tipped back, and when he squeezes her breast with the hand holding the handle of the leash she wraps her legs tightly around his thighs and comes with his name on her lips.

It doesn’t take long for him to follow: he takes his hands off of her completely, since she’s holding on to him with her legs, and fucks her hard, pulling on the chain and muttering praise until he spills deep inside her. She is breathless, still but for the rise and fall of her chest, and he takes a moment before pulling out, unwrapping the chain from around his arm and encouraging her to turn onto her stomach.

She complies easily, looks fucked-out and spent, and he kisses along her spine, between her shoulder blades when he slides back into her.

“Again, daddy?” she asks, barely a whisper, and he runs his hands over her body, soft and soothing, leans in to put his weight against her back, his mouth at her ear.

“Not yet, baby girl, but I want to stay inside you, okay? How are you feeling?” She turns her head for a kiss, hums.

“Fuzzy. Good.” He kisses her again and moves his lips to her jaw, then her neck, right up against the collar.

“Is it uncomfortable? Too tight?” he asks softly. He doesn’t want to upset her by suggesting they take it off, but he’s been rough with it, so he wants to check.

“No, owner daddy. It’s perfect.” She gets her arm out from beneath her, reaches it around his neck and pulls him close, nuzzles against his throat. “I love you and I love being owned by you.”

“I love you, baby girl, and I love owning you. You’ve given me everything.”

This may have started as something to do to get her through the lingering effects of the case, but he would be lying if he said he doesn’t see and feel the value in the voluntary transfer of power, how easily she gave herself to him, willingly, completely. He kisses her again, sweet and slow, and then leans up, puts his hands on her ass, massages it.

“Do you need anything?” She murmurs yes, and he smiles a little to himself, rubs a hand up her back. “Thank you for telling me, baby. What can daddy do for you?”

“I need to be spanked, daddy. I couldn’t hold still.” She slides up to her hands and knees, knees spread wide, and though he’s no longer hard inside her, he doesn’t see that being a problem for long.

“That’s right. Good girl for reminding me.” He squeezes her ass, then lightly taps it, and she whimpers. “You were too horny, you couldn’t stay still. I’m not mad,” he promises with another tap. “I know how you get when I touch your pussy: you become such a messy, needy, desperate baby. You can’t help yourself.” She sighs, presses her ass back against him and tilts her head back a little.

“Can’t help myself, daddy,” is all she says, voice breathy and short, and he picks up the leash, holds it loosely along the length of her spine, and smacks her hard on the ass with an open palm.

She gasps, digs her fingers into the bedding, braces herself for more impact; by the sixth, she is grinding against him, panting and whining, her ass an angry red. She’s drenched in slick, and he’s hard again, so he grabs her ass roughly with both hands and thrusts a few times before spanking her a seventh time.

“Fuck daddy, yes daddy,” she moans, pushing eagerly into his thrusts; she fucks herself on his cock even when he’s still, even when his hands come down hard on her already irritated skin. “Mmh. I’m bad, daddy. I’m bad and I’m not perfect, but you still love me.” He exhales deeply, because he knows his girl well, and he knows this means she will be dropping, hard, as soon as she comes; he mentally prepares for the worst, just in case.

“You’re not bad, sweetheart, you are so good; not just to me, but to everyone.” He moves one hand to her hip, holds her steady, then grabs the chain with the other hand and pulls her closer while he pounds inside her. “And no, you’re not perfect, but you’re perfect for daddy; you’re smart, and sweet, and so beautiful, and I love you.” He drapes himself over her back, tugs on the chain so she will meet him for a gentle kiss, their lips so soft in contrast to the way their bodies meet, eager for release. “I love you, baby. Come and let daddy take care of you. Daddy will make it all better.”

She reaches back for him, covers his hand with hers and takes a deep, shuddering breath; it’s only a matter of time before the tears fall, and he would like to be holding her by then, so he curls his hand around to rub at her clit, murmurs reassurances and repeats that he’s got her, and she comes trembling, gasping beneath him.

He kisses her shoulders, thrusts a few more times and then pulls out to come on her hot, marked ass; breathless, he eases her body down onto the bed, leans up to brush her hair back and unbuckle the collar, sets it aside.

“That’s it, sweet girl. Time to rest and let daddy take care of you. You did so well for me, baby. You gave me everything; I will be so careful with it.” He squeezes his eyes shut, feels so much emotion for the sensitive, thoughtful, incredible woman beneath him it makes his chest ache. He brings a hand to her ass, rubs his come in, knows that it stings—but they both like this, and he knows she will expect it, would feel somehow inadequate if he didn’t. He presses a kiss to her lower back. “I’m going to get you some water, good girl. Amazing, special girl. Be right back.”

He grabs a pillow, brings it to her head and lifts it up so she’s pressed comfortably against it, then gives her a peck on the cheek and heads to the kitchen for water and a snack. When he returns, she’s clutching the pillow, turned to face the door so she can see him enter. He pulls her close, sits her up enough to give her a few sips of water, then sets down the glass and holds her against his chest, soft and shivering slightly in his arms.

“I know we just had a bath earlier, but would you like another? Or a shower?” He tugs the blanket loose and wraps it around them, rocks her a little. Gently removing the ponytail holder from her hair, he shakes it loose with his fingers, rubs her throat where the collar left a slight indentation. “Sweet, owned girl, I will give you anything you need, always. Just tell me when you’re ready.”

She cries, clutching at him, and he soothes her, squeezes her, moves his hands through her hair and brushes the tears off of her face; when the sobbing slows, he reaches carefully for tissues on the bedside table, dries her eyes and helps her blow her nose, then gives her more water. She looks a little better after drinking half the glass, so he convinces her to take a couple bites of food, rubs her sore ass with a soft hand.

“Can we shower? And then more of this?” she asks, just a whisper, and he nods and leans in for some slow, sweet presses of lips. Her fingers card through his hair, and he presses a hand to her cheek. “Thank you, daddy. I’m so grateful for you.”

“I’m grateful for you, too, baby. The world just isn’t right when you’re upset—when I can’t find that brilliant smile.” It’s not quite brilliant, but the corner of her mouth does curve up for him, which he considers a good sign. “Let’s go get cleaned up and then I’ll hold you until you’re sick of me,” he teases. He unwraps them and gets off the bed with her in his arms.

“Could never be sick of you ever. Perfect daddy, perfect man.” He shoots her a look, something like yeah right but not too self-deprecating, and she cuddles closer. “Okay, perfect for me, anyway. Strong, gentle owner daddy I know I can trust with everything.”

They shower—she practically purrs when he scrubs her head with shampoo, when he combs conditioner through her hair with his fingers—and slip into pajamas, and he takes the comforter to the laundry room and grabs the spare, wraps her up tight and pulls her close, hugs and kisses and talks to her about everything and nothing until she’s ready for some dinner and a movie on the couch.

She thanks him for everything he did to help her through it, but it’s really his pleasure; it’s where he finds his value, and he tells her so. Because she can’t wear the collar to work, he makes a stop on his lunch break a week later, sneaks into a jewelry store, and buys her a ring.

There is no room to inscribe his initials, but his intentions are heavily implied.

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #request #prompt

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after-witch · 4 years ago

Text

Sweet Escape [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: Sweet Escape [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: Escape isn’t easy. Nor is it very long-lasting. When Overhaul’s men drag you back into captivity, you brace yourself and wait for what your captor will do with you.

Word Count: 7,592

Notes: yandere, kidnapped, humiliation, degradation, mentions of eating disorder behavior, improper use of household cleaning products, Overhaul is a mean man 90% of this fic is just Overhaul being an asshole to you

There are going to be bruises on your shoulders. Fingerprint shaped bruises from the men holding you steady, afraid that you'll try to sprint off--maybe afraid that you'll try to spring at their boss, disobedient, unruly possession that you are.

You know that Overhaul won't like it when he eventually sees those black-and-blue fingerprints marring your skin--he might kill them for it, or worse. They're digging in too hard, but you don't warn them to ease up lest they find themselves on the wrong end of Overhaul's hands; they brought you back to this place, after all, and they deserve nothing but your hot, raw contempt.

You could run. You could slip out of their grip, if you put your mind to it. Your clothes are wet and the medical table that you're sitting on is slippery from the rainwater that's dripped out from your soaked clothes. But Chisaki Kai--no, Overhaul, you remind yourself, for the energy he’s exuding now is very much that of a foreboding boss--is standing in front of you, and you'd never make it to the doorway.

"Leave us," Overhaul says, not bothering to move as the men gripping your shoulders release their painful hold and swiftly leave the room. He tears off a sanitizing wipe from the ever-present canister on his desk and wipes down the doorknobs that they touched, before locking the door. An unnecessary precaution, given your nerves, given your state, given your realization that your escape attempt was a massive fluke that would never be allowed to happen again.

You numbly watch as he gathers up supplies from around the makeshift clinic he'd created in the small suite of rooms he allowed you to exist in. The canister of disinfectant. Medical-grade soaps. Sponges. A bucket. Needles, needles, needles... you remember the feel of the syringe you'd stolen in your hand and distract yourself from the fear of what he's going to do to you by retracing the steps of the past day.

You got farther than you thought you would--really, you did. At every stage of your plan, you expected Chisaki to suddenly reveal that he knew every step you'd taken so far. That he'd catalogued every act of false obedience to lure him into relaxing the rules, that he saw you swipe the syringe of tranquilizer from the clinic when he'd left for a moment to grab a fresh pair of clothes for you, that he knew you asked to sit with him at his desk only to sneak a glance at his calendar, so you could sweetly plead for an afternoon in the garden when he would be busy, when he would surely ask a highly trusted subordinate to watch over you.

A highly trusted subordinate who knew all about your weeks of good, sweet behavior and who was none the wiser when you'd jabbed him with the syringe, plunging the medicine, the same kind your captor once used to 'calm you down' when you were having fits, right into the man’s thigh.

You didn't hesitate: you'd dipped your hands into the man's pockets, pulled out his wallet and ran. You barely remember anything until you were in the forest--you vaguely remember using the key card to open the gates surrounding the base, you remember the fear that at any moment you would hear an alarm sound; but from there, everything was a blur as you sped into the forest wearing only the soft day shoes you'd been given to go outside.

You made it through the forest, though not without bumps and cuts and sore feet and a dimly throbbing ankle that was thankfully only turned. You ran until you reached a small town, one you'd never been in before. You buried your first instinct deep, deep, deep: do not contact the authorities. Who knows what connections Overhaul had, especially in a town so close to where he operated? So instead you waltzed into a little corner shop and made a beeline for the bathroom--where you promptly vomited out your breakfast as all of the anxiety and fear and adrenaline caught up with you in an instant.

You remember staring into the bathroom mirror afterwards, your face cold with splashed water. It was then, staring into your pale and anxious face, a face you hadn’t been allowed to see in a mirror for ages, that you felt freedom slamming back into you. You could do what you wanted, now. You were going to get your life back. You could make your own schedule and have your own hobbies back and eat what you wanted and--your stomach had gurgled, as if on cue. You had to get something to eat. But how would you pay?

The wallet you'd pilfered felt heavy in your pocket, and you opened it without a second thought. No cash. But a credit card. It would do, until you were able to get some cash of your own. You wandered back into the shop and even now, you can still feel how struck you were by how cozy, how nice, how different it felt. Just a small general store with big open windows and soft music in the background, and an old woman behind the register who immediately asked you if you needed any help finding this or that.

You smiled--a real smile, how nice that felt--and shook your head and loaded up a basket. A first-aid kit, a large water bottle, a toothbrush and toothpaste... then came the snacks. Candy. Chips. Soda. Things you hadn't tasted in so long. You even grabbed a pointless fashion magazine. The old woman had glanced at the name on the card and you offered a sheepish smile, a fake one that made you feel a pang of guilt for lying to her: "My boyfriend sent me to do the shopping. He's no good at this stuff." She'd smiled and nodded, oh I understand dear, before packing up your order.

You stepped out into the sunshine--you can't pretend like you remember how it feels, right now, shivering from the damp rain on this table--and took a deep breath of fresh air. It smelled crisp and sweet and clean. Not the sterile cleanliness of your captor's clinic, but truly pure--real. There was a slight tinge to the air, and you spotted grey clouds on the horizon. Not an omen, no: just another sign that you were outside, you were in nature, you were free. The smell was the promise of thunder, of electricity, of cool rain.

It also smelled like... well, lunch. Or more precisely, you smelled the vague scents of the little pizza shop a few shops down.

And here is where you made, looking back, your biggest mistake. You should have headed to a bus station. Or called for a taxi. You should have gotten the hell out of there right that second. But your mind flashed back to Overhaul's little calendar, the words printed neatly in the little square for today: he would be away until the evening, which meant you (surely, surely) had a few more hours before he came back and discovered your escape.

He’d ordered no one to bother you and your now-unconscious guard in the garden, so if no one saw you run out, then an alarm certainly wouldn’t raised for a while. You had time, didn't you? Time to grab a meal? You could always get it to go, and you could even ask an employee inside about buses or taxes. Yes, it was fine--you would get a few slices to go and hop on a bus and leave forever. More than that, it was practical. You needed energy, and the junk in your bag--while undoubtedly delicious--wasn't going to be enough to sustain you for long.

The door to the pizza place dinged when you entered, and you almost teared up at the normality of it. It was a buffet style place, with rows of pizzas under yellow-cast lights and rows of red booths and people lifting slices onto their plates with shared tongs. Unusual for a small town, but maybe it was a remnant from a more bustling time, when American-style pizza places were all the rage. For a moment, your thoughts had turned back to your captivity: Overhaul would have never set foot into a place like this--nor would he have let you. Germs, germs, everywhere. And you loved it.

You paid with the card, but there was no need for excuses this time--the young man behind the register didn't even check for a name or signature, much less ask for identification. You asked about a to-go box and he'd shrugged, mumbled out an apology--they didn't do that here. You have to eat inside.

For a moment, the rational part of your mind screamed: get the hell out of here, then! But your stomach growled, and hunger beckoned, and damn if that row of glistening pizza slices didn't make you want to eat. And eat. And… eat. You shoved repressed thoughts deep down, your heart hammering all the while, and took a tentative step towards the buffet. Thunder rumbled as you debated. You could be out of here in... 30 minutes? Enough time to eat--to binge, your mind whispered, you can now--and maybe get it out after? Yes, it would be fine. (It would not. Future you, the one sitting on the table and watching in increasing anxiety as Overhaul finishes up his tasks, wishes she could tell you.)

You should have seen the start of the rain, sudden and relentless, as a bad sign. Instead you ignored it and filled up a large cup with diet soda that spilled a little when you forgot to let go of the button. You ate without thinking, not even really enjoying the taste of the first greasy pizza slices you’d had in ages.

You were on your fifth slice when the restaurant doors dinged, but the sense of small town charm was overrun by the immediate realization that you were caught. You were fucked. The air thickened--were you the only one to notice?--as two men in slim suits entered the restaurant with an air of immediacy. You were spotted in a second, if that. You thought about running.

But then you thought about the bored teenager behind the register and the old man cutting up his wife's pizza slices because she had trouble chewing and the little girl stacking up pepperonis while her mom chatted on the phone and you resigned yourself. You didn’t want anyone else to get hurt…even if it meant giving in. You didn't struggle, couldn't struggle, and let them lead you swiftly outside where the torrent of rain soaked you immediately as they pushed you down the block, where an unmarked car waited. You glanced up helplessly as the cloudy sky and rain streamed down your face before you were unceremoniously pushed into the backseat.

Overhaul was sitting inside, staring at you with an intensity you've never seen before.

Your backpack drops with a thump next to you and you flinch out of your memories.

"Let's see what you bought with that stolen card during your little adventure." His voice is deceptively calm. He must be furious with you, you think. And you can't believe you didn't think about credit fraud alerts before you used the damn card.

The noise of the zipper is thunderous and you scoot yourself back on the exam table, pressing against the wall to put a little more room--even if it's only inches--between you and your captor. He begins to pull everything out of the bag, one by one, and seeing it all lined up makes it clear what type of lecture is coming.

A few bags of chips, a bottle of soda, bars of chocolate, all junk, junk, junk. All food he would never permit you to eat, and certainly not in such quantities.

"Disgusting," he murmurs, before tossing each item into a trash bin kept against the wall, one by one. You cringe at the sound of each bag, each bottle, hitting the bottom of the trash. You didn't even get to taste them. He stares at the trash, eyes narrowed, as if the food itself was worthy of his venom. "Full of unnecessary sugars and fats and oils. Eating so much of this will make you sick. We've talked about this."

You say nothing. You press your lips together. You won't give him the satisfaction of argument. You won't let him pretend like he has any right to lecture you on what you eat, and certainly not what you eat after you've escaped (however briefly) from his clutches.

"At least you didn't have time to ingest them during your ill-planned escape, hm?" He replaces his previous gloves--tainted with the thought of germs on the junk food bags, no doubt--and your stomach flips at the sound of the medical gloves he's snapped on in their place. "Which is more than I can say for the pizza." You never knew someone could say pizza with such a ridiculously nasty tone, but you've learned a lot of things during your captivity.

"You weren't content with this junk hoard," he says, gesturing towards the trash while keeping his eyes firmly on you. "You had to gorge yourself on greasy pizza from a dirty buffet, too? We are going to clean your mouth out, by the way.”

You hate the way he says gorge--you hate the way he says greasy--you hate the anxiety that comes with wondering what he’ll do to ‘clean’ your mouth. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him. The hate makes you answer defensively, despite your earlier resolution to stay quiet. You can't help yourself, in a lot of ways.

"I was hungry," you say, still feeling defiant.

"No one working on their fifth slice of pizza is hungry," he answers, simply. You feel diminished, but not enough to shut you up.

"So? It's not your business what I eat anyway.” A familiar tightness is springing to your throat. You don't want to cry in front of him ever again, so you clip the words out, fighting to retain control.

He presses a fist to his forehead in a sudden, rather surprising show of frustration. "Not my business? Not my business? It's my business to take care of you. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you out there?"

The fullness in your stomach, the cold rain soaking you, the remembrance of the wind and branches lashing at you as you ran hours before, all these freedoms have made you feel bold. Or maybe you're succumbing to the effects of an adrenaline crash and you just can't control your mouth.

"I could have been free. You can’t--you can't just keep me here. You can't just kidnap someone and decide you know what's best for them."

There's a long, steady pause as he stares at you. His expression--what you can see from his eyes--is blank, and you almost wonder if perhaps you've stumped him.

"I can," he says, lightly. Easily.

Fucker.

He sighs, and you get the distinct impression that you’re a nuisance, something to deal with, something he’s having to deal with instead of doing far more important things. "You’re showing a severe lack of appreciation for all the work I do to take care of you."

You don't know how to respond to that. "You kidnapped me.” It’s all you can think of--the bare truth.

He doesn't speak at first. Then he lifts something from the supply tray he's set up--a blue hospital gown, thin and short, and tosses it towards you. You catch it instinctively, feeling the thin, feather-light material in your fingers. He tosses a towel, next, and you hold it against your damp chest. He turns around.

"Change."

You don't want to. You don't want to. But you've never pressed your luck on what would happen if you refused to get dressed before, afraid that he might do it himself, and that fear overrides any thoughts of outright rebellion. For now. You slide off your wet clothes and push them towards the end of the table, then use the towel to dry off your skin. There are scratches and bruises, including a nasty looking one that's already turning green on your ankle. Your feet are swollen from running on the hard forest floor with your thin day shoes.

When you're finished, you clear your throat, and he turns back around. He tosses your wet clothes right into the trash--damn, you liked that shirt--and wipes off the table with a separate towel. You sit, legs dangling off the table, and wish he'd just get the punishment or examination or whatever it is he has planned over with. You can feel the coldness of the table through the medical gown, and its thinness makes you feel even more helpless. Weak. You want to retain that feeling of freedom that you had earlier in the day. Even choosing to return without a fight, choosing to avoid hurting the innocent people in that town, made you feel bold.

He stands in front of you until you force yourself to look up, to get it over with. He's swapped out his mask for a medical one.

"Have I ever hurt you?"

You hate this.

"No," you admit, voice tight. "Not physically," you add spitefully, because fuck him for trying to make himself sound like a decent person because he kidnapped you but didn't happen to hit you.

"Do I take care of you?" His tone is firm, commanding. It leaves no room for silences. Instead, it makes your stomach feel light, makes your heart feel like it wants to race.

"I can do that on my own," you counter.

"Can you?" He says, voice dripping in condescension.

"Yes," you spite, bile rising into your throat. "I can take care of myself."

He reaches back and grabs the little stool he keeps in this room, rolling it up to rest in front of the table and in front of you. He sits down and cups his hands together, resting them on his thigh. He leans forward. An easy gesture. Like he wants to have a conversation. But something about his movements sends out warning signals. Big, glaring, flashing warning lights that scream DANGER.

“You can take care of yourself.” It’s a statement, yet the way he says it is brutally mocking.

“I can,” you insist, your voice cracking just the slightest bit under his gaze.

"So, where would you live?" He watches you intently and it takes a moment for you to realize what he just asked you. He isn't offering you freedom, no. But maybe you can win an argument, just this once, and forcibly stop his delusions that he's "taking care of you."

"Anywhere," you say, but he looks unimpressed. "An apartment," you correct. "Like my old one. Doesn't have to be big." Your heart pangs with nostalgia for your old place, for your independence, for your life.

"Ah." Overhaul brings a gloved finger up to his chin and rests is there, nodding, as if he's seriously considering your words. "And how will you pay for rent at this apartment?"

You can't resist the snarky tone. "A job."

He rests both hands on his thighs. "Tell me, how much did you make at your last job, again? No--tell me, how long did you hold your last job?" You cross your arms defensively around your waist as he continues. "If I recall correctly, you were fired rather quickly from that one... and the one before."

You squeeze your waist, hoping for the tiniest bit of comfort from the gesture. "I... it wasn’t my fault.” You feel like you’re under a magnifying glass. “The first time. And the second, well, I was looking for something better, anyway."

He raises his eyebrows, curious. "Looking where? At the bottom of a bottle?"

Your entire body tenses.

"After all," he continues, voice almost taking on a syrupy sweet tone. "Your fridge was so well-stocked with them. Hmm. Do you think it's responsible to spend so much money on alcohol when you're behind on rent payments?"

"No," you say, voice tighter, "But--"

He doesn't give you a chance to finish. He stands, and you immediately squeeze your arms again. "And how much were you spending on other luxuries? Those clothes you kept carelessly shoved in your closet... they were a name brand, weren't they?"

Your throat is dry and your mouth is dry and you lick your lips. "There were sales," you insist.

"Ohh," he says, his voice lifting in mockery. "And I bet there were sales on the jewelry, the trinkets, the--" his eyes drift upwards, an implication of his disdain, "--figurines."

You lift your chin in defiance. "I'm allowed to buy things that I like."

He begins to pace. Not aimlessly, no, nothing with him is ever aimless. He paces until he stops in front of you, turning to face you for effect.

"What happens if you're late on three rent payments? Remind me of the policy that decrepit building you called an apartment complex had."

You squirm on the table. "I was only behind on two--"

"What happens?" His voice is firm. You can't avoid it.

There's a pause before you murmur, unwillingly. "You get evicted."

"So." He takes another step, and turns back towards you. "Do you think it's responsible to spend money you don't have on luxuries, when you're behind on rent?"

You want to run. Maybe you should have run at him earlier. Getting tossed into a solitary room after attacking him might be better than this interrogation.

"No," you admit. You swallow, dry and thick and a bit painful. "Okay. I'm not great with money. I bought things to make me happy because I was stressed out about---life. It's not that big a deal. I--I didn't get kicked out, anyway."

He sits again, but keeps himself upright, the air of faux casualness replaced with an air of command. "How did you catch up on your rent? Tell me."

You hate him. You stare at him, hoping he'll end this, but he simply stares at you until you blurt out the words. "You paid my landlord. Anonymously." You stare down at the floor, at the drops of water still there from earlier. "I didn't ask you to. I would have figured something out."

"I'm sure."

He stands, and you stare at the wall until you hear him roll the tray of supplies towards the table. Your body trembles of its own accord when he grabs your arm firmly and wraps a blood pressure cuff around the top. You sit in silence as the cuff gets tighter then mercifully deflates.

He tsks at the number, and jots it down on the pad resting on the table. For once, you're not tempted to peek.

"I need to take some blood," he says, and you stick out your arm in automatic, habitual compliance before your brain even realizes it. He grips your wrist firmly while he swipes your arm with an anti-bacterial agent.

"How much do you weigh?" He asks suddenly, voice nonchalant.

You stare at him, incredulous. He's never brought up weight before. He’s always been careful to avoid details about weight, nutrition--calories. The most he would do is point out that you need a well-rounded diet with the right vitamins and nutrients, and ignore your questions about sauces and cooking oils and grams, all attempts to find out something that could give you an ounce of control over what’s going into your body.

"I--I don't know. You don't let me look at the scale when I step on it." He knows this. He knows that he's forbidden you from seeing the number, because he knows about your past, knows your tendency to get obsessive and strict and focus on food and weight and worth.

"Why don't I let you look at the scale?"

Your stomach feels like it's twisting.

"I don't know." The lie is bitter on your tongue.

The casual tone in his voice when he replies is far more biting than any cruel insult. "Yes, you do."

His words are punctuated by the harsh medicinal smell of the next wipe. But you're in no mood to appreciate that he's still choosing to numb your skin despite your earlier transgressions.

The tears you felt building earlier begin to prick at the corner of your eyes. You don't want to cry, you don't want to cry, you don't want to cry.

“Why don’t I let you look at the scale?” He repeats, firmer, more insisting. He winds a band around your arm and taps at your veins.

Your arm looks fatter, like this. You swear it does. You look away to avoid your arm and the needle and his gaze.

“Because, um, I sometimes have problems with food. Or weight. Or whatever.”

“You have an eating disorder,” he tells you, all business as he plunges the needle into your skin; there’s only the ghost of a sting as he begins to slowly draw your blood. But you barely feel it, you can only feel the impact of his words, blunt and hateful.

"You were going to throw up in that germ-infested hovel. Eat until your stomach was distended, then head into a bathroom--which I'm sure the staff hadn't cleaned in ages--and stick your unwashed, greasy fingers down your throat until it all came back up. Am I correct?"

You can't tell if you feel woozy because of the needle or the way that your heart is racing at his words. Throw up. Greasy. Disgusting. You're disgusting.

"Stop it," you say, voice muddled with humiliation and anger.

He pulls the needle out, and quickly presses a bandage to your skin. He keeps a finger there, firm and pressing. He looks up at you, now, as he continues his onslaught.

"And then what? Let me make an educated guess. You were going to get on some filthy bus and open up all the junk you bought earlier? Perhaps," he muses, as he rips off a piece of tape to keep the gauze in place, "you could have asked the bus driver to stop at a public bathroom for a vomit break. And you'd probably make sure that whatever flea-ridden hotel you found along the way had a scale in the bathroom so you could keep track. And another one of your delightful," he practically spits the word out, "cycles would have started, hm?"

"Stop it," you repeat, voice breaking. "I wasn't--I wouldn't have--"

"You were going to," he says simply, interrupting. "Thankfully, we got there in time. Although I'm sure now you will endure a stomach ache after your reckless indulgence. A lesson, perhaps, though not the exact one I would inflict myself."

As if on cue, your stomach rolls and clenches. You’re keenly aware that you’re going to have digestive problems tonight, and the thought of being at his mercy while you’re dealing with them threatens to send you over the edge. Could you get even more disgusting? The thought of how you look right now, stomach no doubt bulging, hair disheveled and damp, covered in ugly bruises and cuts--combined with the fear of spending the night on a toilet sends you over the edge.

You press your knuckles against your mouth and squeeze your eyes shut and try to force the sobs down. Your body begins to tremble, even more so as he lifts your leg. Without warning, he begins to unceremoniously scrub it down with a sponge dipped in disinfectant.

It stings and your eyes feel like they might pop at the sudden pain. You hiss at the feeling of the liquid on your cuts and try to pull away, to no avail. Your legs feel like jelly in his grip.

“That hurts,” you whine.

“It can’t be helped,” he tells you, holding your leg firmly as he scrubs the sore bottom of your feet. Any sensitivity you had there is overruled by the soreness and pain from running, from the stinging aches that remain in your cuts. “I have to clean every cut or you may get an infection.”

He sets your leg down and lifts up the other, and you cringe before he even begins to move. You can’t help but whimper as he scrubs your leg, and the helpless stings of pain only increase when he moves on to your arms.

“Please,” you say, feeling low, nearly flattened. “I can’t… I can’t take this.”

He pauses, and the seemingly genuine concern in his eyes (it’s not, you remind yourself, it’s not--you think of the shop and the pizza place and the old man cutting his wife’s food, that was concern, that was care) has you feeling sorry for yourself.

“The stinging will go away in a few minutes. You chose to run away, you can certainly deal with this minor consequence.” He retains his grip on your upper arm and he swipes the sponge across your shoulders, briefly pushing the fabric aside as he does so. He pauses when he sees the blooming fingerprints on your shoulders, but says nothing. You wonder if those men will survive the night.

There’s a a cut, thin and long, dragging from your collarbone down across your chest. He dips unceremoniously below the gown, touching you in a spot he normally avoids. The feeling of him so close, touching you--not quite on your chest, but close enough--only intensifies your humiliation. You whimper again and try to pull away, but his grip offers no room to move.

“I can’t--” You don’t finish. Your throat is so tight and you hate it, you hate that you can never talk about anything with him, never argue with him without clamming up with tears and a thick throat.

You bring your hands up to your hair, tugging on it until it prickles. Your breath starts to come in short bursts, your chest having as you pull on your hair and will yourself to be anywhere but here. For a flashing moment, you wish you’d never tried to escape. If you didn’t, you’d be getting ready for bed right now. Things would be--not okay. Never okay. But you wouldn’t be here, on this table, cold and stinging and in pain and utterly despondent from having your failures shoved in your face. But then you remember that if he’d never kidnapped you, you wouldn’t have had to try to escape in the first place, and the wish fades.

He remains silent, and instead simply keeps a steady, firm grip on your upper arm until your breath slows, until you can control yourself. Your skin feels at once numb and prickling in anxiety and adrenaline and emotions coursing through you.

Overhaul gives your arm a squeeze that is, perhaps, meant to be reassuring. “Are you suitably recovered?

You nod. Your stomach feels sour. You want to ask if you’re done, if you can just go sleep or get sent (you dread the idea) to solitary confinement or whatever it is he has planned in the wake of your escape. Anything would be better than this room and this soft, thin gown and his bright blue surgical gloves and your failure hanging in the air.

He extends his arm out and you pause for a moment before you grasp it, holding tight as you get off the table and stand on wobbly legs. You’re loathe to touch him, but you’re even more loathe to fall flat on your face on the hard floor.

He speaks before you get a chance to ask if you can change out of the medical gown.

“Now, we’ll go to the bathroom.”

Your knees suddenly feel like they might drop out from under you. “The bathroom?”

He nods, and pulls himself away from your weak grip as he begins walking towards the door. You follow without thinking, pausing when he stops to slide his medical gloves into the trash before slipping on another pair.

“We’re not finished here,” he tells you, and you swear his voice is almost giddy as he turns his head to meet your questioning face. “I told you earlier, we’re going to clean your mouth out.”

He can’t mean--

You take a step back, and your knee buckles. He’s quick--he catches you before you fall, but doesn’t let go. His pulls you upright and pulls you along. Your legs have no choice to walk--walk or be dragged--and you struggle for words as he leads you out of the clinic. Before you know it, you’re back in your room (familiar, warm, the same as it ways this morning) and led swiftly into the attached bathroom.

He pulls you in far enough that he’s able to shut the door behind him, trapping you inside. As if you wouldn’t be trapped by his mere presence. For a moment you wonder if he was bluffing, trying to scare you into submission, but by the time you take another breath he’s running the sink water and tearing into a new box of bar soap.

Your voice catches as you finally speak up. “You--you can’t be serious.”

“What makes you think I’m not serious?” He doesn’t even face you as he speaks. Instead, he turns on the tap and fills a paper cup with water before setting it on the sink’s edge. Next comes the bar of white soap, which grows slick underneath the water. He turns off the tap and lets the excess water drip off, before turning to you, soap bar in hand.

“Open your mouth.”

Your lips press together automatically, and you shake your head. No, no, and no. This isn’t happening.

He sighs, and again the feeling that you’re annoying him creeps under your skin. Why does it bother you that you’re annoying him? It shouldn’t bother you at all, but somehow you feel a pang of regret at how much has changed in less than 24 hours.

“If you don’t open your mouth willingly, I will open it for you.” He takes a step closer, but your legs feel heavy now, rooted to the spot. It isn’t like there’s anywhere you could run, anyway. “I don’t want to do that,” he continues, voice slightly softened. “Cooperate and open your mouth.”

What choice do you have? You could protest, you could argue, you could leap into the bathtub and make him fight for what he wants. You could keep your mouth shut tight and force him to find a solution. But he is stronger than you, in more ways than one, and he would get his way in the end.

So you make the only choice available to you. Your entire mouth shakes and seems to fight against you as you slowly open your lips in compliance. You feel stupid, standing here with your mouth hanging open.

You can’t reflect on the feeling for long, as he wastes no time in shoving the bar inside your open lips. You can’t help but whimper at the intrusion, but he doesn’t let up and begins methodically scrubbing at your tongue. At first, there’s no taste--then the built-up slick of clinical soap makes itself known, and you take advantage of the soap slipping out of your lips to press them together again, denying him entry.

“Open,” he orders, soft and firm.

And you do, heaving your shoulders in an unreleased whimper. What else can you do but listen? He continues to scrub, this time moving the bar into the side of your mouth to scrub at your teeth. The clammy, greasy feeling of soap coating your teeth makes you curl your wide open lips downward. You must look ridiculous, in all respects, lips gaping in an unpleasant frown as your captor mercilessly soaps the inside of your mouth.

“Do you not like the taste?” His eyes glance over at your frown, and the mockery in his tone is more than blatant.

“Uhh-uhh,” you mumble, open-mouthed, shaking your head. The position you’re in--Overhaul scrubbing into your mouth, your shaking body, the dim feeling of your bruises and cuts from earlier--makes you feel so painfully exposed. So painfully helpless.

He hums and rests the soap against your tongue. Before you can attempt to move your tongue, lessen the feeling of the taste of the soap against it, he gives you a command.

“Bite down.”

Your teeth sink into the soft bar, keeping it in place, and your whimpers grow stronger at the humiliating order you’ve just obeyed. Could you sink any lower?

You watch him through tear-brimmed eyes as he moves to stand in front of you. You know what’s coming before he even speaks and when he does, it’s no surprise.

“Have I ever hurt you?”

Back to this, again.

You shake your head, mumble around the soap: “No.”

“Are you capable of being on your own?”

You hesitate, and he merely jumps to another question, one far more pointed.

“Have you held a single job for longer than a year?”

You want to protest, but any attempt at complicated speech is marred by the soap--the weight of it, the taste, and your need to keep it steady in your mouth.

“No,” you admit, hating the feel of the bar as your lips press against it with the effort of speech.

“Would you have been evicted if I didn’t pay off your debts?”

“Yes.” Tears sting at your eyes. You want to wipe them away but you’re afraid you’ll get soap in them, somehow.

“Are you responsible enough with money to hold a job, maintain an apartment, and buy yourself the necessities for life without someone else stepping in?”

The soap somehow tastes even more bitter. “No, I can’t.” Your tongue pushes up against the soap at this, and you resolve to keep it to one-word answers only.

“If we didn’t intercept your little outing, would you have attempted to throw up at that restaurant today?”

You shake your head, but it’s a lie, and you know it’s a lie--and he knows it’s a lie. So you nod, weakly. “Mm-hmm.”

“Have I been feeding you healthy meals? Have I been ensuring that you don’t engage in disgusting self-destructive behaviors?”

He has, but that’s not--your mind wants to argue, but you’re so tired and sick and your stomach hurts and the taste of the soap is too much. So you nod, instead.

He nods in response, and you pray that he’ll take the soap out and end this. Instead, he lifts your chin with a single finger, making you keep eye contact as he speaks.

“Do I take care of you?”

“Yes,” you cry out, your words garbled around the wet soap bar. He releases your chin and it’s these words, this final question, that make you break entirely. Your shoulders ache from bruises as you cry, hunching over slightly and watching as some drool-laden soap droplets fall on the floor. “Yes, yes, yes,” you repeat, mechanically, crying around the bitter soap that’s digging into your front teeth.

Satisfied, he takes hold of the bar and waits for you to release it, then tosses it with ease into the trash. You blubber and spit, only succeeding in releasing a trail of soapy drool down your chin. Your tears are hot and stinging as they roll down your cheeks. You open your mouth, you try to say something, but all that comes out is soft cries punctuated by your attempts to spit out the soapy film.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, bringing a gloved hand up to your cheek and wiping at the tears. “My poor thing. You can’t even speak. You can’t even articulate yourself. How could you ever hope to make it on your own?” His words are soft and cruel and you merely cry harder, humiliated and helpless.

Your throat is sore. Your stomach hurts. You want your warm nightgown on. You want to be in bed. You wish your stomach didn’t hurt so much from eating junk. You wish you weren’t covered in cuts and bruises. You wish you’d just enjoyed the garden and went back inside. You wish you’d never done this at all. You’re so stupid. You’re so stupid.

And you finally say so, all of it, blubbering, bits of soapy drool dribbling out of your mouth as you cry and admit your faults out loud.

After your wrought-out apology dissolves into meaningless whimpers, Overhaul finally grabs the glass of water he set on the edge of the sink, and you gratefully swish the lukewarm liquid with earnest. You lean over the sink and spit, body trembling, then fill the cup again and repeat the gesture again and again to get rid of every bit of white soap stuck in your mouth. Even as you spit, you realize that the taste isn’t going to be completely gone anytime soon--it’s stuck in your mouth like a bad memory.

You jerk when his hands are suddenly on your back, rubber gloves sliding up and down the thin medical gown covering your cold, helpless body. But he merely keeps rubbing, gentle and soothing, while you swish and spit, and cry and cry.

His hands leave your back only to grab a washcloth from the built-in shelves across from the toilet. You watch as he wets the cloth and you stand silently, allowing him to wipe up the drool and soap from your chin, your neck, even a bit on your chest where it dribble-dropped downward.

When you’re all cleaned up, he fills up a cup with mouth wash and silently hands it to you. You gratefully swish it for as long as possible before spitting it into the sink. The soap taste is still there, but lessened somewhat by the overpowering mint of the mouthwash. He gestures to your toothbrush and you pick it up, and begin mechanically brushing your teeth, stopping when the 2-minute timer flashes on the bottom. You instinctively grab your floss without having to be told and make quick work of that, too.

He opens the door to the bathroom, but gestures for you to wait. You do, standing numbly, wishing that he let you have a mirror so you could see your own state. But he doesn’t, and you can’t, and so you wait until he returns with a bundle in his arms.

It’s your pajamas. A soft, pink nightgown--he didn’t pick the soft blue one, tonight, and you’re grateful to avoid any reminders of the medical gown you have on--with matching socks and underwear. You nod and accept the bundle meekly. He turns around and you make quick work of the medical gown, tossing it in the trash yourself before you get dressed for bed.

“M’done,” you mumble, though you quickly realize speaking makes the lingering soap taste stronger. You follow him silently out of the bathroom and into your bedroom, which is just as you left it that morning. The only thing different is you. Subdued, humiliated, helpless.

Overhaul pulls the cover on your bed and you sit down, numb and chastened. You pull your legs up and tuck them under the soft comforter. You’re forcing yourself into the routine you’ve been following for the past few weeks, but the secret thrill you once had of obeying with ulterior movies is no longer there. It’s been replaced by a heavy stillness, the knowledge that you failed in more ways than one. The occasional roll of your stomach reminds you that the night may not be over, bedtime routine be damned.

But you ignore it for now, and you lean your head back on your pillow as he pulls the comforter towards your shoulders, tucking you in. Rather than leave immediately, he sits next to you on the bed, looking down at you with an obsessive, possessive expression in his eyes.

You force down an instinctive flinch when he suddenly begins to stroke the top of your forehead, moving up to pet your hair softly. His gloves are gone. While not completely new, it’s rare--rare enough that the feeling of his bare fingers is still an unusual sensation.

You close your eyes. It usually makes him leave faster. Your heart begins to pound as you hear him stand, as you sense him leaning in, as you feel the ghost of his breath against your face.

“Sweet dreams. We’ll start fresh in the morning.”

What a silly thing to say, you think. Your dreams are never sweet anymore.

#yandere overhaul #yandere chisaki kai #yandere #yandere x reader #overhaul x reader #afterwitch writes #uhh I added 2000 words in between last night and now

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parkersroses · 4 years ago

Text

sunflowers. | harry styles.

pairing: harry styles x fem!reader (dad!harry, husband!harry)

summary: harry is very much in love with his little family.

word count: 2724 words

warning(s): a sprinkle of sexual mentions and a whole lot of fluff

disclaimer: gif is not mine.

author’s note: hey there. been a while. i missed writing here and the reason i haven’t been doing that is because i was focused on finishing school. of course now, i still am busy with school, having to start my degree. but i miss writing so i thought i’d make this little piece here. it’s my first harry styles fic! quite exciting and nerve-wrecking for me. but as always, leave a like and a comment if you enjoyed this, also constructive comments do help me to improve my writing and i do want to be better at it. and reblog (!) it really helps writers out in creating content for you so pls do so if you like it. all the love x

She pushes her cart down the aisle as she browses through the shelves of delicious snacks. She already has picked out a bunch of biscuits and juice boxes when her phone rings, making her jump a bit. She takes out her phone and smiles as the screen showcases the contact name ‘lovie’ with a picture of her husband. She accepts the call as she continues to stroll down the aisle.

“Hi, lovie!” she answers happily. “Hello, darling. Hope everything’s alright there,” Harry answers back. She giggles as she stops by the fruits and vegetables section. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that since you’re the one that’s looking after the house?” She questions about Harry’s intention of calling her. He chuckles through the phone. “Pfft, don’t be silly, love. I got everything under control here,” He says. She imagines how he is probably pouting a bit on the other side of the phone as she playfully rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, hun. Now, what do you need?” She asks, figuring that Harry has some last minute additions to the grocery. Harry hums and thinks as Y/N picks out some fresh salads. “Could maybe buy more bread for us?” He asks, which confuses Y/N as she thought she has already bought bread for them.

“Harry, didn’t I already buy those, like, two those days ago?” She questions as she starts picking out some fruits. She picks out two packets of strawberries and grapes each and one honeydew melon. She feels as though Harry is hesitating to answer back through the phone. “Yeah, but.. I got hungry so I finished most of them,” He says as though he is embarrassed by admitting this to his wife. Y/N only giggles at this information.

“You and your bread. Any kind that you fancy this time?” She asks as she makes her way to the wet area of the supermarket. “Just the usual ones. Oh, and the whole wheat bread if there’s any,” He requests. Y/N hears the sound of cutleries clanking in the background, though she brushes it off, thinking it is just Harry cleaning the kitchen. “Alright. I’ll see you guys at home, yeah? I’m nearly done here,”

“Of course, darling. Bubs and I will be waiting,” he says, and Y/N smiles at the thought of her little family at home. The couple say their goodbyes and hang up. Y/N makes a note to herself to get some bread after picking out some salmon before checking herself out of the supermarket.

After over a year of marriage, the both of them decided to start a family of their own. It excited her to think about Harry with their own child, knowing very well how good he is with children in general. They were both overjoyed by the news that they will be expecting a baby girl, more so of Harry than herself. He was ecstatic to be a father throughout the pregnancy journey. Even on the occasional dates they would go on, he would always make sure they picked some of the most private areas, paparazzi and fans-free. It was an important time for them and they wanted to keep things on the low most times.

Now, their baby girl Rosie is six months old and is just the purest ball of sunshine and happiness. Harry and Y/N swore that their hearts grew ten times bigger upon first laying their eyes on her baby. Of course after she was born, it was tiring enough for them to handle a baby as they were new to being parents. Though, they managed to get the hang of it after some sleepless nights and cleaning up baby vomit.

All of that which leads up to this moment where Y/N is buying some groceries for the family. Harry suggested they should take little Rosie out for a picnic. Although it was rather difficult to go outside without them getting papped and stalked, they luckily had a backyard that was big enough to have their little picnic together. It was all fenced up with a couple of flowers planted. It was ideally the perfect place to relax and have some family gatherings.

Y/N quickly gets home in time for dinner, not before buying some Chinese food for her and Harry. She unlocks the door and quickly rushes by the living room and into the kitchen to put the heavy bags of groceries down. Harry, who had been folding the laundry and entertaining his daughter, notices his wife and calls out to her. “Hi, honey!” Baby Rosie, who has been laying on a plush little blanket, perks her head up and excitedly babbles after her father’s voice. “Hey, lovie! Give me a minute to put these away!” Y/N yells back at him.

Harry hums and puts away the last of the clean laundry in a basket before laying on his side next to Rosie. He lets his baby grab a hold of his large hand. He watches as Rosie puts his tiny little hand on the center of his palms, smiling widely as she looks at him and babbles about in baby language. It’s not long until Y/N comes in with a bag of Chinese food and some baby food. “C’mon, let’s eat, my loves,” She gently says as she sets the food down on the coffee table. Rosie holds out her arms to her mother; much to her delight, Y/N carries her up and sets her down on her lap.

Y/N multitasks eating her dinner and feeding Rosie throughout dinner time. The faint sounds of a Fleetwood Mac album playing on the vinyl player filling the background. “So, what’s on the menu for tomorrow’s picnic?” He says as takes a bite off his spring roll. Y/N shrugs and wipes the excess baby food off Rosie’s mouth. “Don’t know yet. Maybe I’ll make those smoked salmon sandwiches that you like.”

Harry playfully moans in delight. “You mean, those sandwiches you make are award-winning, darling,” he says, which makes Y/N giggles at her silly husband. “Well, I hope they are, Mr. Styles. Would be shameful if the salmon I bought just went to waste.” Little Rosie eventually finishes her food and decides to play around with her mother’s hair. She stares and strokes on Y/N’s hair, gently tucking it at times. The couple smiles widely at the sight of their daughter. “You doing alright, bubs?” Rosie merely stares at her parents with her big green eyes, not understanding their question. It still amazes Y/N how much of Harry’s features Rosie inherited. “Surely you weren’t a handful with your daddy this evening, were you?” Y/N playfully questions.

Harry chuckles and takes Rosie out of Y/N’s arms. “No, she wasn’t. However, she wasn’t helpful in helping daddy with the laundry, were you princess?” He says as he lifts his baby girl above both of the couple’s heads, eliciting the sweetest laugh from Rosie. He does this a few more times until he stops since he didn’t want her to get dizzy and throw up.

It was a very domestic moment for them. Just the three of them, having dinner, smiles and laughter all around. It is moments like this where Harry prefers the simplicity of life, in the comfort of his little family. “Think it’s time for someone to go to dreamland, don’t ya think?” Y/N says as she caresses Rosie’s soft cheeks with her finger, Rosie obviously showing her tiredness with her droopy eyes. Harry nods in agreement, already packing up to empty food boxes to throw away.

“You wanna go up first, love? Nurse Rosie a bit. I’ll clean this up quickly.” Y/N insists on helping out Harry after he’s taken care of the house while she went to buy groceries. Though, Harry insists back on helping to clean, saying it’s no big deal. Without much of an argument, Y/N lifts up Rosie from his arms and heads up, not before giving Harry a loving kiss of appreciation.

After nursing her, Rosie quickly falls asleep in her mother’s arms, lulling to the faint sounds of her heartbeat as she rests her little head on her chest. Harry soon joins in the room and he stops to admire the sight he has become all too familiar with. Just the sight of the woman he loves, carrying and rocking their baby daughter to sleep, a feeling of warmth and peace fills his entire heart. Sometimes, he can’t believe how lucky he was to have ended up in this position and he always thanks the universe for blessing him a family that he loves with his entire soul.

Rosie gets tucked in her cot, a soft purple blanket covering her. Harry and Y/N go back into their room soon after. Harry lays on his bed with his eyes closed, humming a random tune while Y/N picks out her nightwear, which turns out to only be one of Harry’s T-shirts and underwear. “Can you believe she’s six months old now?” Harry asks out of the blue. Y/N turns around and stands between his legs. He sits up and gently pulls Y/N in by the waist. She runs her hands through his curls, he sighs in delight of the feeling. “Time flies, huh?”

“Soon she’s gonna start walkin’, runnin’, she’ll become quite the troublemaker,” he jokes and pouts at Y/N. She chuckles at his silliness. “It’s nothing we can’t handle, right?” She smiles at him lovingly as she strokes his cheeks. Harry smiles back and puts his head on her stomach, giving it a light kiss through the dress she’s wearing.

“Thank you. I feel like I haven’t said that enough,” he mumbles against her stomach. She looks down at him with a confused expression. “You carried her for a whole nine months and went through so much to deliver her to us. So, thank you. And I love you, darling. I’m so lucky.”

Y/N feels her breath hitched at his confession and she smiles at him. She leans down and kisses him hard. Sometimes, she thinks that she is the lucky one. She managed to find someone who loves and support her unconditionally, even through the late night snacks she had while pregnant with little Rosie. Harry doesn’t hesitate to kiss back and pulls her closer to him. She feels his tongue swipe across her bottom lip, asking for entrance. And who is she to deny making out with her incredibly talented and beautiful husband as she opens her mouth, making the kiss more passionate. Harry hears a soft moan from her and swears he feels shivers running up his spine.

They break away after feeling the oxygen running out of their lungs and lay their foreheads against each other’s, breathing heavily. “I love you, too,” she breathes out. They both smile widely at each other, feeling like teenagers in love. She pecks his lips one last time before pulling away from him. She starts undressing as she makes her way to the ensuite bathroom, Harry watching her every move as his mouth gapes open slightly.

God, my wife is so fucking beautiful, he thinks to himself. He continues to admire Y/N as she undresses until she’s fully nude. He gulps as he feels the blood rushing towards his lower region.

Harry’s cut out from his thoughts as a piece of fabric flungs to his face. He grabs it from his face and he chokes on his saliva upon seeing Y/N laced lavender-coloured underwear. He looks up to his wife leaning against the bathroom door, every inch of her on display for him and him only.

“Mind joining me for a shower, baby?” she smirks as she quickly heads in the shower.

When he hears the shower turn on, Harry jumps up from the bed and quickly takes off his clothes, tripping on his sweatpants on his way to join his wife in the shower.

━

Rosie giggles loudly and she reaches out for the blue butterfly in front of her. Y/N smiles at this soft moment and holds up her digital camera to take a picture. The sky was a nice shade of blue and clouds looked like cotton candy hanging above. The flowers in the garden were blooming and Harry managed to pick out two sunflowers for his sunflowers. It seemed like the perfect day.

Harry comes out with a bowl of freshly washed strawberries and grapes. He sits down next Y/N on the blanket they laid out, giving a soft kiss on her forehead, before looking over at his daughter. “What’s that, bub?” he asks Rosie in a seemingly excited voice. Rosie squeals and babbles to her father as she points out to the blue butterfly fluttering in front of her.

“That’s right, bubs! That's a butterfly!” Harry picks her up and puts her on his lap. Y/N is already munching away on the strawberries. Harry opens his mouth to her, implying that he wants to be fed with the red fruits, Y/N rolls her eyes at his silliness but complies as she puts it in his mouth, plucking out the stem. As she does this, little Rosie looks at the exchange and opens her mouth wide, copying Harry. The couple merely laughed at the little girl’s behaviour.

“You want a strawberry, Rosie?” Y/N smiles as picks one out, she bites lightly on the tip of it so Rosie could have the smallest bite of the fruit. Rosie whines and reaches out for the tiny piece. “Calm down, you bugger. Might wanna say ‘please’ to mommy first, yea?” Harry says to her gently as he rubs her back.

Of course, Rosie wouldn’t know how to say any words at all yet, so she babbles in her baby language and whines to be fed. “Think that might be ‘please’, love,” he says jokingly to his Y/N.

“Well, who am I to say no to the cutest girl ever?” She jokes back and puts the tiny piece of strawberry in Rosie’s mouth, her mouth slightly stained from the juices. Harry wipes it off with a napkin and leans back on his arms, admiring the beautiful day outside. He takes in the clean summer air as he listens to his daughter babbling about to her mother, Y/N merely nods back as if she understands and talks in the most gentle voice to her.

Harry sees Rosie picking up the large sunflower he picked out, her little fingers brushing against the yellow petals. He takes a look at Y/N and as he sees her smile, he thinks back about how lucky he is to have them two. There is not a day where Harry was never in awe of the love and passion Y/N gives to the family and he thinks of how he couldn’t possibly love his Rosie more every day.

He breaks off the other sunflower from its stem and tucks it behind Y/N’s ear. She looks up and blushes at the gesture. “You okay, H?” she asks.

Harry nods and smiles at her. “I just really love you,” he says as he cups Y/N’s cheek, stroking it gently.

Y/N feels the heat rising up to her cheeks. There is not a day where she’ll ever stop being in love with the man in front of her. She holds the hand that’s resting on her cheek and kisses it softly. “I really love you too,”

She leans forward and gives him a kiss or two. They both smile widely at each other, radiating the same amount of love, if not more, that they have for each other. Rosie squeals and claps her chubby hands together as she watches the sweet exchange between her parents. They both laugh at her cuteness. “And we love you too, my little love!” Y/N exclaims to her as she cups her cheeks and plants many kisses all over her face, making Rosie squeal in delight. Harry laughs and smiles at the sight.

Life certainly feels good to him. Surrounded by the loves of his life, there’s no place or moment Harry would exchange this beautiful day with them.

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #parkersroses writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #dad!harry styles #husband!harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles oneshot

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