#cotton lunch bag

[coolindianjutebags-blog]

[c0rpsedemon]

at my aunt (mother's half sister)'s house and all her Other nieces and nephews are here (through her other half siblings) and they are Trashing The Place . it genuinely looks like a crime scene in here

[urbancreative]

Gift our sustainable and zero waste lunch set to a loved one or get one for your self! This Zero Waste Set comes with a Set of 2 Medium Madhu Wrap Beeswax Food Wraps, 1 Medium Bento bag,  1 Travel Cutlery Wrap and 1 Napkin in organic Kala cotton.

[giannaln4]

Lucky Bracelet

lando norris x fem reader

summary: Making friendship bracelets was one of your favourite things to keep you entertained during race weeks, and you just had to make a special one for your boyfriend.  (1.5k words)

warnings: fluff, established relationship, a couple sexual innuendos

a/n: guys look at me! two posts in one week? crazy. i'm honestly trying to clean up my inbox since i still have a few requests from before my break 😭 so if you sent one, i'm getting there, i promise! now, this is a little bit cheesy and there are a few weird time skips so I apologise for that, but i really hope you like it! pls let me know what you think 🫶🏻

check out the original request here!

↺ back to navigation — send me a request!

Being constantly surrounded by hundreds of people and the double amount of cameras was not something you liked, but it’s something you had to put up with given the amount of attention your boyfriend got; it was something you have learnt to deal with. Not that you were fully used to it now, but at least it didn’t make you as anxious as it used to when you first started dating.

At least now you found something that helped you get your mind off the intense atmosphere that surrounded you during race weeks: making friendship bracelets. You made a few when you went to see Taylor Swift in concert late last year, and it stuck with you since then.

You travelled with all the materials you needed: colourful beads and cotton threads, tape, scissors — the whole deal. It wasn’t like you made an insane amount of bracelets every time you accompanied Lando to a race, but if you were bored or overwhelmed, you knew you had something to do.

Today was one of those days; Lando was specially busy today, and given your shy and quiet personality, you didn’t know that many people around, so you decided to lock yourself in Lando’s drivers room and get to it, carefully picking the letters and colours you would use.

Lando hated to leave you alone. He was aware of the many things he had to do, but he didn’t expect them to take that long, so as soon as he got a little bit of free time to catch lunch, he went looking for you. 

“Hey,” he greeted one of the mechanics. 

“Hi mate, how is it going?”

“All good, thanks. It’s a bit hot outside but still nice.”

“And yet, you are wearing a hoodie.” He teased him.

Lando let out a laugh, well aware of his reputation. "Well, I still have to keep it in style, don’t I?”

“You do, we know.”

“Anyway, have you seen Y/N?��� 

“She must be in your room. I haven’t seen her since the two of you got here this morning.”

He smiled, knowing exactly what you were up to if you hadn’t left the small space all day. “Thanks.”

Lando made his way to his room, carefully knocking on the door before coming in. He didn’t want to scare you and make you drop all your beads, which has happened more times than he would like to admit.

“Come in,” he heard you yell from inside.

He opened the door and gave you the sweetest smile you have ever seen. “Hey, I’m back.”

“Hey, what took you so long?” You dropped everything you were doing to direct your attention at him. 

“Sorry, I didn’t know we would have to be there all morning, but I’m back for lunch.”

“It’s okay, and thank God, I’m starving.” You took a piece of tape to hold your bracelet in place and started to get up.

“What are you making here?” He asked you as he got closer to the small table, analysing what you had on display as the bright-coloured beads caught his eye.

“No, it’s a surprise.” You responded, quickly hiding your unfinished creation with your hands. 

“A surprise you say?” He came behind you to wrap his arms around you, softly kissing your head. 

You melted into his embrace and hummed in response, using one of your bags to hide it instead so you could hug your boyfriend back. “You can’t see it until you win this race.”

“Mhm, I see. What if I don’t win? When do I get to see it?” He questioned, not wanting to jinx his weekend, but he was still curious. 

“The next race you win.” You said this as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Got it. In that case, I’m gonna have to win this race.” He grabbed your hips to turn you around, kissing you on the lips once you were facing him.

You went to eat your lunch together as you normally did, enjoying each other’s company as you talked about anything you could come up with. Before you knew it, he had to go back to his duties, and even though you tried hard to act normal about being left alone so he wouldn’t feel guilty, he still noticed. He knew you better than you knew yourself, anyway.

“You can come with me if you want, that way you don’t have to be alone.”

“No, it’s okay. I know there are millions of people and cameras when you do these things."

He couldn’t help but feel guilty; he knew you were there to support him, so he hated to be apart from you when you did. “I’m sorry, love. I know you don’t feel comfortable when there are a lot of people around. You know you don’t have to be here if you don’t want to, you could always stay home.”

“If you don’t want me to come, just say that,” you joked.

“No, it’s not that,” Lando replied immediately. “I do want you here, I always do, but I hate that you feel like you have to hide.”

“Lan, I’m not hiding. Sure, I do prefer to stay inside, but it’s not because I want to hide from the world. Besides, that’s why I always bring something to entertain myself with. I’ll be fine, I promise,” you reassure him.

“Okay,” he nods, smiling at you. “But if you want to go back to the hotel, that’s okay.”

The rest of the weekend went on a lot quicker, even though he was just as busy. Qualifying and race days were a lot less boring since you got to see the cars from the garage, enjoying the full wag experience. 

As the race went on, you couldn’t help but feel anxious and excited at the same time. Lando started from pole (which made you assure him the night before he would get to see the bracelet after the race), but you still had the need to crack your fingers every once in a while. There were only a few laps left, and he had led the entire race so far, and with the gap becoming bigger, you couldn’t contain your excitement.

Once he finally crossed that finish line with a 21-second margin, everyone in the garage cheered and jumped, celebrating Lando’s achievement. A lot of people gathered outside to see him get off the car and celebrate his third win himself, shouting his name and patting him in the helmet to congratulate him.

When it was time for the podium, you decided to go get the finished bracelet you kept in your purse and held it close to your heart, feeling extremely proud of Lando for the amazing race he just had. You couldn't stop the few tears that left your eyes; it made you so happy to see him accomplish his dreams. 

The whole thing was finally over, and you waited for him right there so you could finally express how proud of him you were. 

“Congrats, baby,” you said, hugging him as if you hadn’t seen him in months. “You did amazing.”

“Thank you.” Lando couldn’t erase the big smile off his face as he hugged you back. 

“That’s a cool trophy you got back there.”

“Yeah, I don’t really care about that.” He said, puling away and looking down at you. 

“You don’t?” You asked confused.

“No, I’m still waiting for my real reward.”

“Oh… we can go back to the hotel-”

“No!” He interrupted you, laughing loudly at the fact that your mind went there. “I mean my bracelet, didn’t you say I would get it if I won this race? Well, I did, and now I’m claiming it.”

You laughed, your cheeks burning a bit from embarrassment. “Right, uh- it’s not that great compared to your trophy.”

“I’m sure it’s better than any trophy I could ever get.”

Man, he really knew how to be the sweetest boyfriend in the entire world. You pulled the bracelet out of your pocket, hiding it in your fist before dropping it in his hands. 

The colours were the first thing that caught his attention. Fluoro green and black beads. He inspected these first, until he got to the little letters that read ‘MY WINNER’. He almost couldn’t contain his tears; he was so endeared by you and how much you supported his passion.

“I love it,” he whispered, lifting you up and kissing you emotionally before putting you back down and sliding the bracelet in his wrist, admiring the way it looked there. “Thank you.”

“See? I told you you would get to see it today.”

“It must be a lucky bracelet, then. I’m never taking it off.”

You giggled at this, loving how Lando reacted to the bracelet you made with much love, but you still thought he was just messing with you. “You must be tired.” You teased him.

“Mhm. Now, about my other reward-”

“Oh my God.” You rolled your eyes as you let out a loud laugh, holding his hand as you made your way to the car.

[after-witch]

The Morning After [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: The Morning After [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: You wake up in a room you’ve never been in to the sight of a man you’ve never met.

Word count: 3500ish

Notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, degradation, drugging

Memory and time and the world itself are fuzzy, gray things as you wake up. Before the abrupt, awful, heavy awakening, there was nothing--just a dull blackness where you did not exist. 

Yet there’s a dim sense as the world returns to you, as your heavy eyes struggle to open, that you are, indeed, alive. 

Alive and a person, you remember that, too. Alive and a person and... somewhere. You must exist somewhere, that is a basic tenant of existence, isn’t it? But as your eyes finally open and the world above you is stark white, too bright, you can’t quite remember where somewhere is.

Underneath your head, there is a body. That, too, feels heavy. So you flex it, or at least you try. Your fingers feel like fuzzy sticks but perhaps they are moving when you try to curl your hands. The fuzziness extends all the way through your body, like you’ve rolled around in pins and needles and have yet to shake them off.

Breathing--you’re breathing, too. That is a sign that you are alive, that you have returned to the world. Even if your mouth feels dry and sticky, and there is an awful taste in it. You open and close and it almost hurts; there’s a vaguely wet smacking sound, and the awful taste is amplified by the trace spit that registers against your tongue.

Your head hurts. Your neck, too--specifically one point. There’s an instinctive desire to reach for that point, and your arms obey, feeling like heavy lead, until your hand slaps against it. Why does it hurt like that? 

It’s a small point of pain, like someone had stuck a needle into your--

And there. There. It all comes flooding back to you. Your name, your life, your world, the moments before it all went dark. 

You worked the day it all went dark. It was an ordinary day of work, a bit stressful, with moments of reprieve. Your lunch had been soup and rice and a treat: blue raspberry soda from the vending machine. After work, you went grocery shopping--you needed something for dinner--and returned home to your apartment. You remember the sound of the key turning in the door, the surprise that there was a light on in your kitchen--hadn’t you turned it off that morning?--and then… and then…

The pain, in your neck. That small point. An awful prickling, like being stung by a bee. Only there was no time to swat it away, and you fell into darkness, the bags of groceries hitting the floor before you did.

That was… however long ago. How long had the world been gone? A few hours? A day? Days?

With the returned sense of self, your body seems to want to catch up with your mind, and the sense of buzzing heaviness fades away enough for you to push yourself up onto your elbows. The material underneath you is soft: a bed, a mattress, with plain white cotton sheets.

You’re in a bed. In a bed, in a room with plain white walls. There is sparse furniture: two wooden dressers, a table, two chairs. There looks to be a folding door--a closet?--and two more doors, besides. 

Are you in a hospital? Did you pass out, and some kindly neighbor heard the thunk-thunk-thunk of your body and bags falling to the ground, then called for emergency services? It would explain the sparse room, although there’s no IV in your arm, no machines monitoring your heart rate. 

It would explain, too, what you’re wearing.

You’re not wearing the clothes you fell down in. Instead, you’re wearing a cotton nightgown, made from a thick but relatively soft material. There is lace on the collar, which is strange (but not impossible, your mind reminds you) for a hospital. Still. It makes sense. You pry away a thin comforter with still fuzzy hands and see that your shoes are gone; your feet are clad in only soft white socks. That, too, makes sense. You wouldn’t be put in a hospital bed with work shoes. That would be silly, and silly things did not belong in hospitals--which must be where you are.

Even though there are no IVs hooked into your arm, and no machines monitoring your heart and blood pressure and many more things, besides. Even though this appears to be some private suite, and you were sure that no hospital would put someone who fainted into a fancy room like this. You weren’t wealthy or notable, just a nobody who lived in a mediocre apartment and had a mediocre job and--

The door opens, and a doctor walks in. Or he must be a doctor, because who else would walk in wearing a tailored black suit and a face mask, if you had woken up in a hospital? Which must be where you were--despite all the confusion, and the strange details, and the fact that you had neither the wealth or status to be in a private room like this.

He stops when he sees that you’re sitting up. He must be surprised to see you awake, or perhaps he’s looking you over for signs of continued injury, because the way he stares is a bit unnerving.

You want to ask where you are, and what happened, and if anyone called your emergency contact. But your head still feels heavy, a little cottony, and all that comes out is--

“Um.” The word comes out all dry and croaked, and you’re suddenly aware of your dry, parched throat.

“I’ll get you water,” the mystery doctor says. He has dark hair and his voice is low, almost neutral. Well, it would be, wouldn’t it? Doctors probably had to practice speaking like that; like nothing was wrong, even if you’d clearly had some awful medical episode that required some sort of specialized care with a private room.

He steps away from the door he entered--locks it, too, and isn’t that strange?--and walks to the only other door in your suite. When it opens, you realize it’s a bathroom. Just as white and sterile-looking as the main area. There’s a squeak of a tap being turned on, and a rush of water, and before long he walks up to you.

Your heavy hands move forward to take the glass, but he takes one look at the trembling and tsks.

“I’ll hold it,” he says. The thought makes your stomach squirm but, he would know best, wouldn’t he? 

So you don’t protest when he raises the glass lid to your lips, and tips it back so you can take a drink. He doesn’t hold it there for long. Just long enough for your throat to feel soothed and damped. Then the glass goes away, and he sets it down on the nearby table before grabbing a chair and placing it near the bed.

He sits.

You stare.

Shouldn’t he be taking your vitals, or something? The thought comes softly. He’s not like any doctor you’ve ever seen. And this is not like any hospital room you’ve ever been in; even a private suite should have… something, right? An IV bag trailing into your arm, a heart rate monitor in case something went wrong. 

The sense of wrongness hangs in the air as he begins to speak.

“I’m glad you’re awake. I had to guess at your body weight, so I wasn’t sure if I had the correct dosage.”

Your brain feels heavy as you ask--

“The correct dosage…” Dosage, of what? “You mean, medicine?”

He blinks impassively at you. Then there are wrinkles around his eyes, like he might be smiling. 

“The sedative.”

The sedative? The sedative--

Memories come back slow, unwillingly, like dragging your feet through heavy gray slush in the winter. 

When you opened your apartment door, the kitchen light was on. The kitchen light was on and when you turned, there was something; no, not something. Someone. A man with no mouth--a mask--and cold eyes and there was a glint of silver before it plunged right into your neck.

This wasn’t a hospital.

The man in front of you wasn’t a doctor.

If you had been hooked up to a heart monitor, it would have no doubt gone haywire in the next moments, as you forced your leaden body to shove back against the wall, your trembling legs getting stuck on the cotton sheets of the bed. There was nowhere to go; the bed was pushed up against the wall and he blocked the only exit.

“You--you--” The words come out stuttered and tingling, like they aren’t even coming out of your mouth. “You kidnapped me.”

He eyes your sudden skittering with nothing more than a moment of raised eyebrows.

“I acquired you,” he corrects, as if that was a correction to be made at all. “To keep you safe. To keep you away from the filth.”

His words barely register as your breathing speeds up. You’ve been kidnapped. Kidnapped and redressed and taken to some bizarre room by someone who was clearly out of his mind. So you do the only thing you can think to do in an awful situation like this: you bargain.

“Please,” you say, and the dryness in your throat comes back and makes your words crack. “Please let me go. I won’t tell anyone. If--if it’s money you want, I don’t have much, but I can--”

He raises a gloved hand.

“Please, this has nothing to do with money. I won’t be letting you go.”

You shake your head, like that matters. 

“Who are you?” You ask, not sure if you really want to know.

The lines around his eyes crinkle again.

“Chisaki Kai. That’s what you may call me, anyway.” He sighs, a soft, almost imperceptible sound. “Very few have the privilege of doing that, you know.”

You’d rather have your freedom than this thing he calls a privilege, but you don’t have the wordpower to voice that particular thought. 

Your fingers cling to the only thing they can: the cotton sheets underneath you. Tighter and tighter, until they almost feel like they’ll cramp up.

“Why did you bring me here?” There are tears in your eyes now, and you can see his gaze begin to follow them as they trickle down your cheeks.

“To protect you,” is all he offers, before slapping his thighs and standing up. “Now, it’s time to get up.”

A million awful scenarios rush through your head at once, leaving you feeling sick. What is he going to do to you? Is he going to hurt you? Kill you? Are you just one in a long line of people he’s brought to this room, all drugged and hazy, before he kills them and does who knows what with the bodies?

You shake your head.

He tsks from behind the mask. There are no crinkles around his eyes, now.

“Get up,” he orders. Softly, yes, but there’s a finality and firmness to his tone that makes your wobbly legs push towards the end of the bed as if you were an automaton. 

“Why?” You squeak out. If he’s going to kill you, will he tell you, first?

He turns around and repositions the chair so that it’s back at the table, and pulls out the second. His hands hover around you as he guides you on jelly-like legs to sit down. 

“It’s time for breakfast.” A simple answer, like you had met him on the street and asked the time. Like he didn’t just admit to drugging you and kidnapping you. 

“I’m not hungry,” comes the automatic answer. You’re not. Your stomach feels empty, but it’s wrenched; from fear and stress and gallons of adrenaline.

“You will eat breakfast,” he says, just as automatically. “You will eat everything on your plate, as well. I’ve calculated out the perfect nutrition for your needs.” There’s a bit of a smile to his voice, even though it doesn’t seem to reach his eyes.

The wooziness in your body, the fresh horror creeping from your skull down to your toes, keeps you rooted to the chair while he briefly leaves. When he returns, he’s carrying a tray--it reminds you of a hospital tray, despite everything--with a modest amount of bland, healthy looking food on it.

Your stomach turns.

--

The rest of your day comes in awful little vignettes, all blurry black around the edges, only becoming clearer when he explains the rules to you. It’s an awful form of clarity.

He doesn’t call them “the rules,” but that’s what they’re meant to be, certainly. He lays them out so simply, almost sickly sweet. Like you’ve been brought to some boarding school and are getting shown the ropes.

The thought of ropes makes you feel sick. But he hasn’t tied you up, and that’s some small relief.

Or it would be, if it weren’t for the rest of those black-rimmed vignettes that fill up your day. 

When he picks out an outfit--a simple dress, a pair of clean underwear, and soft socks--and turns around, telling you to get changed. He won’t look, as long as you behave; as long as you don’t make a fuss.

When he shows you the dresser, the closet, the bathroom, the empty shelves. Tells you that if you behave, you’ll get rewarded; with books and paper and pencils. That the better you are, the happier you’ll be here, he says. Like you had any control over the situation at all.

When he makes you eat lunch and tells you to chew your food more slowly, more thoroughly. It helps with digestion, he says. You’ll get an upset stomach otherwise. As if you aren’t fighting the urge to gag with every bite you take--as if the reason you’re feeling queasy isn’t sitting in front of you with a mask on his face.

When you tell him, teary eyed, that you want to go home and burst into sobs but he merely waits until your hiccuping shoulders have ceased to move and tells you: “This is your home now. I’ll take care of you. Crying is only going to work you into hysterics.” 

When you refuse to eat dinner--your first act of rebellion, such as it is--and he simply sighs, leans back, and tells you that if you refuse to eat, you will go to the clinic and be fed through an IV.

“Would you like that?” Honey drips bitterly from each word.

You would, in fact, not like that. 

The spoon trembles when you lift it, but the soup goes inside your mouth, all the same.

--

“But why do you have to watch me?” The words come out dry and scratched. If you were home, you would brew yourself a cup of tea and drizzle in a modest amount of honey for good measure. You, however, are far from home.

“It’s my job to look after you.” Even if he wasn’t wearing the mask, you’d have no idea what he looks like right now, because you can only manage to stare at the tiles on the bathroom floor. Below you are your bare feet, feeling shakier than ever; above, your cheeks are burning so hot it almost hurts. 

“You don’t have to… I’ve always--what I mean is--I can do this myself,” is what you manage, fists clenching at the soft fabric of your dress. It felt flimsy enough all day--how much flimsier, then, if you were to pull it over your head and let him see you bared? 

“I’m sure you think that.” There’s something like a smile in his voice, and it’s a smile you hope to never see. “But the reason you’re here is that you can't take care of yourself. Now,” he says, with an air of finality. “Remove your clothing and step into the tub.”

There’s no room for argument. No room for pleading, no room to change his mind. There’s only one thing that you can do to end the situation, and that's to do exactly what he wants: take off your dress, your underwear, even your white padded socks, and sit in the clear water while he stares at your naked body. 

“I’ll turn around while you get undressed.”

It’s a wonder that you don’t burst out laughing. 

Instead, you fight back tears and look up, staring at the still back of the man who has turned your world into a frizzy, confusing mess in a matter of 24 hours. 

Despite the warmth of the water steaming up the room, you shiver. Your heart might as well be in your ears, for how well you can hear it pounding. That haziness from the morning returns, a sort of numbness as your fingers clench the fabric of the dress and you pull up, up, up, slipping it over your head and dropping it on the floor. 

The underwear takes longer to remove. So long that you worry he’ll turn around, and that’s what finally has you yanking the fabric down, has you stepping out of them and then--like an automaton cranked too tightly--rushing to step into the tub.

Water splashes around you as you settle, pulling your knees up to cover what you can.

He turns around and, of all things, kneels next to the tub. If he touches you--if he reaches for the sponge and tries to wash you--you think you’ll scream.

But his hands stay where they are, resting on his knee.

You look at his hands, and not his face. There’s nothing you want to see less than his eyes right now.

“Most people don’t know how to bathe properly,” he tells you, as if instructing you on something of high importance. And it probably is, to him. You can sense the beginning of some long speech, a list of things you must do in the bath, just as he gave you a list of things you must do when dressing, when eating, when everything.

“I know how to wash myself,” you mumble, feeling hot around the ears.

He doesn’t bother acknowledging you, and a further rush of shame flushes through your chest and threatens to jump out and migrate to the wobbling knees pressed against it. 

Instead, he points--you follow his hands, still unable to look anywhere else--to a line of cloths and brushes hanging from hooks on the wall of the tub. 

“They’re color-coded,” he offers, almost cheery. “Pink is for the initial scrubbing, to slough away the initial dirt and dead skin. Blue is for cleansing with antibacterial soap. Purple is for rinsing.” His fingers tap the brushes. “The same for the brushes, for your back.”

There’s a moment where you think he might actually grab the cloth and wash you, but thankfully, his hands return to their former position. 

A moment more--two or three, at least--and he clears his throat.

“Start with your legs. Most people do not scrub their legs well enough, and it leads to an excess amount of dead skin.” There’s a bit of distaste in his voice at the mention of dead skin. Your thoughts go to the gloves on his hands, the mask, the insistence on making sure you get clean enough in this tub of his.

You grab the pink cloth. Dip it in the hot water, and start scrubbing at your knee.

He clears his throat again, and your stomach drops.

“Put your legs down. Scrub under the water, so the dead skin doesn’t accumulate on the cloth.” 

No. No. No-no-no-no-no. It’s what you want to say, a simple word, a clear word.

But the word is stuck in your mouth, and you’re left with nothing to do but let your knee slide down, one, then the other.

He can see you. He can see you.

The thought makes the held-up tears finally come, bubbling out like soap. Something childish in you glances at him, then, hoping for pity--for disturbance, for him to wonder if perhaps he’s doing the right thing.

But the only thing you see in his eyes is a flash of impatience.

“If you take too long,” he says, over your sniffles, “the water will not be hot enough to disinfect. We’ll have to start over, at that point.” Start over and--would he want to take over, fed up with your clear incompetence? 

And so you get back to work, the colored-coded cloth scraping at your skin, and you can only hope you’re doing it well enough to avoid dragging out the bath any longer than possible.

“Don’t forget behind your knees,” he murmurs. Despite not looking at him, you can feel his eyes on you. Watching. Assessing. 

And that’s what he does: assess. Because the comments don’t stop, even as you move on to cleansing and rinsing and everything else he’s ordering you to do.

Wash this. Scrub that. Do it gently, do it harder. Use this soap and only one pump--don’t wash your hair like that, it causes breakage--let me test the water to make sure it’s hot enough. 

--

That night, on clean sheets, in a clean nightgown, with a clean body, you cry yourself to sleep. 

And in the morning, when you wake up, you’re still here.

And Overhaul still comes in through the door, breakfast tray in hand, a smile hidden behind his mask.

[inkdrinkerworld]

Oh my god post-prison spencer and sunshine!reader is my new favorite 🥹

Can I request how spencer would react if something goes wrong in one of their cases and reader is held hostage/taken? I imagine she would be shaken ofc and spencer would comfort her after

canon level violence, reader has dislocated her shoulder and was concussed while also trying to fight off the feelings that are rapidly developing for spencer, and spencer doesn't give a fuck about her fighting their attraction

“Unlock the door, Y/n.” Spencer’s outside your door, he has been for the last couple of days. You’d been injured in the field, a concussion and a dislocated shoulder that had come from the unsub taking you during what would’ve been his take down. 

You’d been dispatched from the hospital last week after being less than attractive to the doctor who wanted to keep you there for longer. 

You’d answered texts and calls from your co-workers, but you’d been ignoring Spencer. 

“Go away Spencer, you’re supposed to be in Nebraska.” you were consulting on a case the team is currently on, so he can’t lie. 

He doesn’t try to, like you’d suspected, “I asked Emily to stay behind, you aren’t doing well.” 

You sigh on the other side of the door, relenting because you know that he won’t leave. 

“How can I help you?” You’re a little less than polite, but Spencer doesn’t seem to care. He knows what it’s like to be sidelined from the team due to injury and be upset about it. 

“Well first, you can let me in, I may look strong but these arms were not made to hold more than five bags at a time.” he’s as tender as he always is and it softens you. 

Stepping aside, you let Spencer in. Your apartment is clean, you’ve been surviving off delivery breakfasts and take out lunches, you can’t raise your hand high, so cooking is a no. 

You’re not worried about your attire, you’re in a green tank top with ’save the planet’ embroidered in cursive with a sick earth just beneath it, and a pair of cotton shorts that hit just above your knee- the heat in the city was driving you crazy and you also didn’t have the energy to try for more clothes- certainly not without upsetting your shoulder some more.

If Spencer is surprised by your outfit, he says nothing. You’re hardly surprised by his, a purple shirt tucked neatly into his dress pants and smart shoes; you’re not sure how he’s managed a perfect outfit in this heat.

Spencer sets the bags down and begins the task of taking out all the things inside- he pulls out packages of various nuts, passion fruit juices and a mountain of those clear, plastic bowls filled with fruit. 

“You didn’t have to buy pre-cut fruit; I know it’s more expensive that way.” You say to him, finding a bit of trouble pushing yourself into the chair you have at your kitchen island. 

Spencer sets down the plastic bags and moves around the countertop to help you, “I cut them myself, they didn’t have the ones you like in the grocery store.” 

You’re stunned silent, the bowls are full of watermelon, cantaloupes, orange quarters, mangoes, grapes and pineapple. All your favourites cut exactly the way you liked. Spencer must’ve spent around a hundred dollars just getting the fruit alone, maybe even more if the number of grapes is anything to go off of. 

“Spencer, you didn't have to.” He shrugs, his eyes searching your face. 

“How’s your head? Have you been feeling dizzy or having double vision?” It’s not easy to lie to Spencer, doubly so when he’s standing before you and staring at you so intensely. 

“The dizziness comes and goes, mostly when I’m in the shower.” You say honestly, and Spencer frowns. 

“You could’ve told me,” you blow a raspberry and pull the bowl full of mangoes towards you. 

“You would’ve made me go back to the hospital; I don’t like the smell of them.” you chew on a piece of mango while Spencer carries on assessing you. 

He notes that the mottling on your shoulder has gone down significantly, now it’s just purple and a little blue. Your eyes don’t appear unfocused, and Spencer is glad for it. “I wouldn’t have.”

“So, what’s your verdict, Doc?” you ask, shutting the lid on the mangoes before you burn through the entire container. 

“You’re not concussed, I think your dizziness in the shower is from you moving your shoulder too much and agitating it.” Spencer presses a light fingertip into the bruised skin and you hiss, batting his hand away making him laugh. 

You hum, “So what? I just never shower again? In the middle of this heatwave? I’d rather die.”  

“I forget how dramatic you can be.” Spencer shakes his head, “Or, you could’ve called me, or Penelope and either one of us could’ve given you a sponge bath.” 

You make your eyebrows dance, “You would’ve liked that, wouldn’t you Spence?” He rolls his eyes, tugging on the braid your hair is in. 

“How’d you do that?” he asks, helping you off the chair and leading you into your kitchen. 

Your face is red hot, “I bribed my neighbour’s kid to do it for pumpkin bread the minute my arm is out the sling.” 

Of course you did, you might be sunshine incarnate, but Spencer knows everyone has a spot they don’t want others to see- this is yours. You don’t want anyone in your team viewing you as incapable or in need when they should see you as capable and able to do every facet of your job. 

“I can help you make the bread tonight if you want something to do when the case is over.” 

You tilt your head, watching Spencer look around your cupboards for a glass. “Top left cabinet,” you say and he nods, smiling when he finds a glass covered in stickered ladybugs. 

Spencer fills it almost to the top with passion fruit juice and passes it to you. 

“Are you staying the night, Spencer Reid?” you take a sip and sigh in delight, it’s been a while since you’ve had passion fruit juice, you’re not entirely sure how Spencer knew it was your favourite. 

“If you let me, it isn’t good for you to be by yourself and the more you strain your shoulder, the longer it’ll take for you to get back in the field.”

An impish smile tugs at your lips, your eyes gleaming with a mischievousness Spencer hardly thought you possessed, “So what you’re saying is, you miss me desperately and will sacrifice your hatred of germs and touching other people just to ensure I’m back in Quantico at your earliest convenience?” 

A call from Penelope cuts through the fat of your question, making you laugh when Spencer rushes to answer it and slides you a mock glare that you know is just for show. 

“Yeah, Penelope, what have you got? Y/n and I are here,” well, there’s no escaping his presence now. You find you don’t mind it quite so much, your beginning aims of not falling for him is shredding more and more as the months go on.

[nouearth]

blue current.

clark kent x male reader headcanons.

warnings: fluff, co-workers at the daily planet, maws!clark, soft!clark, intern!reader.

a/n: it's been a hot minute since i've written anything! i feel so bad because i've been swamped with school, so hopefully this will hold you guys over until i post my next fic! it's not much, but i've been feeling fluffy as of recent, and clark is the perfect candidate, HAHA. idk, i've been feeing low-key creatively stuck for writing, so hopefully this well get me out of the slump!

—clark was smitten from the moment he first laid eyes on you.

—it had only been the fourth month into his internship, but it was no secret that the higher-ups, and even his colleagues, have been impressed by clark's rapid growth.

—it was enough to ensure their trust in clark to train the new intern as the lead journalist had taken a month off for vacation. while he had his doubts if he would do a good job, clark always loved challenging himself.

—his mother had always reminded him: one who feared failure will never achieve greatness.

—sure, you weren't being mentored by the best journalist in the city. though, you had to admit that you felt defeated since miss lane was the only reason why you chose the daily planet over other internships.

—but bitterness turned to throat-drying, cheek-flushing, and hand-flexing sweetness when you came in your first day and met the man who would be training you.

—for clark, it was the drowsiness in your gaze that suddenly brightened when he met your eyes. if he could have seen his own face, clark would reckon that his eyes lit up the same way yours did upon meeting you for the first time.

—he's so... handsome. maybe training him wouldn't be so bad after all...

—his blue eyes sucked you in like heavy ocean current, but instead of fighting back the pull like any sane person would, you allowed him to drown you in the gorgeous wash his gaze doted on you with.

—god, are you toying with me right now? have you finally come around to my reckless behavior back in high school? i knew you always would!

—it began with a handshake. when clark's large hand cupped into yours, a current of sparks flickered from the bone of your knuckles to his own, and you both released with a gasp.

—"sorry! it must be my vest or something—has a lot of... cotton, i think—" clark assured with a laugh, but cursed his lame excuse in between breaths.

—"no, you're fine! i guess your sweater vest knew i was half-asleep, huh?" you laughed with him, and almost as if it was choreographed, you reached back to rub at your nape when he does, and the discomfort left the collective laughter in a fleeting dance.

—"well, lucky for you, our first stop is the break room! i'll show you how to make a poor man's mocha if you get sick of the coffee here!"

—from then on, you two had quickly become close friends.

—where clark would teach you more hacks to spice up an ordinary roast of coffee, you would return the favor by surprising him on random days with lunch that you prepared the night before.

—on nights where you were too tired to function, you simply settled for sandwiches and prepared an extra meal for clark.

—whether he claimed he forgot his lunch, or was too busy to even take a glance at his lunchbox; eating lunch had become a rarity for him.

—unless it was with you.

—even before opening the brown paper bag, clark knew it was going to be delicious.

—you always remembered what ingredients he liked and disliked since the first time you had lunch with him.

—clark smiled to himself as he ate the meal you didn't have to prepare for him in big bites.

—and then laughed when you watched in amazement and mirrored him like a parrot with messy bites.

—somehow, the thought of cared for was more filling than the actual meal.

—in moments where clark suddenly felt guilt for liking you as more than a friend, he sat silently, staring blankly ahead, with the tissue crumpled in his hands.

—and you sat beside him on the bench, compelled by his silence, while the birds watched from their home of oak and birch.

—it had been happening more frequently: clark's sudden mood shift. no matter how much he tried to deny it, how much he attempted to pacify your silent worries with his handsome smile, it was clear that something was bothering him.

—at first, you tried to break him with a joke.

—"geez, was my sandwich that bad?! i guess i shouldn't have used that expired mustard..."

—you've studied clark enough to anticipate a half-hearted chuckle from him; weak, but still had the intention to please. to masquerade his thoughts.

—instead, the birds chirped in his absence, and your frown only deepened as clark maintained a fixed gaze to the pavement.

—"clark?" you nudged him once on the arm, and he immediately dropped his head in between his legs with a heavy sigh.

—"what's wrong?"

—"there'ssomethingigottatellyou..." he muttered into the crook of his elbow, and your brows knitted together in worry, despite your amusement at the fact that he was behaving similarly to a puppy throwing a tantrum.

—"huh? didn't quite catch that when your mouth is full of linen." you gently nudged him once more to vacant the space between his legs, then another with a gentler squeeze to his arm when he doesn't.

—"clark, come on. talk to me." you squeezed harder to the sound of his groans. "people are staring—"

—then another squeeze.

—"there's something..."

—and another.

—"i gotta tell you..."

—and before you could alert him once more, clark returned the pressure into your own palm when he suddenly took your hand into his, and held it as if it was a pirate's lost treasure.

—the warmth of your skin compelled him to sit back up, but he refused to look at you. instead, he gazed every perimeter that didn't involve your eyes.

—the birds again, the sky, the trees, anything to drown out the sight of potential rejection.

—but how you wished he would turn to you right now, because you smiled. wide enough to sting the apple of your cheeks, and as much as you wanted to yell out his name for him to do so, you wanted to let clark do it for himself.

—to take upon the challenge of potentially meeting failure or success.

—heat crept onto his cheeks as he stared at a couple who were charmed by chubby ducks floating on the nearby lake. for a brief moment, he could see you two walking hand-in-hand, while the other free hand threw feed at the eager ducks.

—he was lost in his imagination. a blink turned into a dream, and a dream turned into a desperate paradise.

—it wasn't until the trail of your hand that looped your fingers into his, tightly sharing the warmth of anxiousness with a sticky clamp, that clark opened his eyes again and finally turned to you.

—wet eyes and shaking blues, they told a story that you didn't need to read into.

—silence filled the space between the two of you, then groaned in annoyance when you scooted closer until your knee was pressed to clark's. you folded his hand into yours, still clutching onto him tightly, and laid the joined affection on your lap.

—"i like you too, smallville." your thumb ran several laps over his knuckles to calm the tremors clark had possessed.

—he watched, open-mouthed as if he was about to respond, but the shock trapped the remainder of his words within his throat.

—you lounged back and squinted at the radiance of the sun, the brights of the sky.

—"(m/n)..."

—the sunlight faded into the background as the beauty of your best friend came into frame once again. he absorbed all the color and light of the world until your focus was on him.

—"i really like you."

—the sigh on his lips told a different tale compared to the previous exhales. it curled his lips upwards and finally pacified the shakes that had been bothering clark for months.

—when he pressed his palm back into yours, folding his fingers over your own, you braced for impact as you felt the electrical current from the first day you met him return in stronger pulses. it nipped at your skin, then at clark's, in its desperate escape.

—but clark held tighter, as did you, until the shockwaves melted in his skin, into his veins, then into his blood, and became one with the victorious cheer of his heart.

© nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like! feedback is also much appreciated!

[merumis]

by the time kuroo turns 23, he's the richest he's ever been.

you both know it's not much. you're still renters, but he could afford to pay your half of it if he wanted; could cover your end of the groceries (the ones from the budget stores, aldi, trader joe's) if you asked; more than half your furniture is thrifted, and you have more diy decor than you'd like to admit, but there's a check for 375 dollars made out to his grandmother sitting on your coffee table. he sends one every month.

when you both stumble into your apartment—a little drunk, kuroo half-an-edible in, both just starting to come back down—that little check shouldn't be the first thing your eyes land on. but they do, and you peel yourself off of kuroo to look at it. you lean over the coffee table and squint, your hair falling around your face as you scrutinize his little signature.

"when you gonna send this off?" you ask. when you turn your head to look at kuroo, it feels a little wobbly—like if you turned fast enough, your head would keep spinning without your body following.

he's setting down a whole slew of things on your counter: gifted bottles of wine that have red bows tied around their necks; three gift bags with tissue paper threatening to spill out of them; a pair of sunglasses that you don't think he started the night with. he spreads his hands out on the counter when they're finally free—stretching out his neck and his shoulders with a few soft pops as his palms slip across the granite.

"tomorrow," he replies, and then laughs. "felt weird to send a check out on my birthday."

you hum and walk over to him—on the other side of the island, so you can look at him while you grab one of his hands, lightly playing with one of his fingers.

"happy birthday," you say, "by the way." you bob your head to the last three words and you catch the way the right side of his mouth curves upwards—exposing just the tip of his canine. he glances back then, turning towards your stove. you follow his line of sight and find 12:16 blinking back at you.

"think you're a little late."

you lean over the counter to swat at his chest, and he laughs—maybe a little harder than deserved.

"you know i wasn't," you say, and kuroo shrugs.

"whatever you say," he replies, all dragged out and a little stupid.

he's wearing a sweater that he bought with his first big paycheck. he'd passed it four times in the mall before he went in, just to get a closer look. he winced at the price tag and you told him you'd venmo him for half—he wouldn't accept it, so you bought him lunch later and ate it in his car while a little brown paper bag sat in his backseat.

it's soft, you know. you reach out mindlessly, pinching the material between your forefinger and your thumb. he lets you, though visibly amused as you rub the cotton against the pads of your fingers.

"did you ever think you'd get here?" you ask him.

"where? to twenty-three?"

"no," you groan, elongating the 'o' sound as you drop your head down. you still feel a little floaty. "like, here," you add. it's not very descriptive. "yuppie-ville, making money, whatever."

he laughs, "yuppie-ville?"

"there's a plant store two blocks down."

"yeah," he says, "yeah, okay." he takes in a breath. you're still holding his sweater, so you can feel the way his chest swells. it pushes against your fingers for a moment, until he expels the breath with a solid no.

you hum a little question in reply.

"no, i didn't think i'd get here." he chews at the side of his mouth for a second, and you watch the way his eyes narrow at nothing, focusing somewhere behind you. "i thought i'd be back home by now. probably working dad's hardware store."

"i thought he sold last year?" he glances down to you, a grin inching its way into his eyes.

"he'd find a way to get me back there."

and though you know he didn't expect to be here yet, and you know this is probably the last thing he's thinking about—you keep watching the way he melts into the counter. and then your eyes flick up to his hair, that smells like the expensive shampoo he decided to splurge on last week, and then down to his arm—where you know he has a new tattoo hiding. it's a silly flash he got from an apprentice he likes—a whale that wraps around the side of his bicep.

"you look good," you say, without really thinking, but you're watching the way his hair has started to curl and you keep glancing down at his hands and you're still holding his sweater because he's still letting you. "here," you continue, "you look good here."

you might live in yuppie-ville, but when you first moved in, you were both surrounded by boxes and exhausted, so kuroo ordered you a pizza while you laid on the floor, and now he walks to work whenever he can because he likes to peak into the store windows on his way over. he still wears the t-shirts he got for free in college, and he switches between the fancy cologne you bought him in august and the cheap one he loves from two birthdays ago.

he wraps his fingers around your wrist.

"you're drunk," he says. a little heat finds its way into your cheeks, but you shrug.

"and you're high," you reply, he laughs.

"barely."

you've been at three of his birthdays now, and though you always love watching him at the party—where he's loud and maybe a little annoying, walking the room and hugging people you think you remember stories about—you find you always prefer the wind-down. they come earlier every year and this one, you note, might be your favorite yet.

you don't want to say he's getting old because, frankly, he's not. but you found a grey hair at the nape of his neck the other day, and you kept it your little secret. you couldn't find it the next night, combing your fingers through his hair while he slept on your chest, but you know its there. you think you could chalk it up to stress, or maybe the fact that the first pictures of his dad going grey start at twenty-one, but in a weird way it rounds him out for you; bridges the gap between the kuroo you hooked up with halloween parties and the one who mops your floors every sunday.

"we should go to bed," he says, finally, after you've both been holding onto each other over this island counter for far too long.

there's a part of you that wants to protest—that wants to watch him for a little longer; put on a record and stare at him and maybe finish the other half of his edible before bed. you think about combing through his hair, resting his head in your lap, memorizing the bump that lives right in the middle of his nose bridge. you think you could fall asleep on that big fluffy rug you bought—that might be the only full-price item in this apartment—and let the sun shining through your balcony door be your first order to wake up in the morning.

and then you think about ending the day in bed. the sheets kuroo bought you as a gift just because, the soft nightlight you found in the clearance section of a department store that changes colors when you tap it. you think about crawling under the covers and curling into his chest and the feeling of one of his old t-shirts swallowing you whole.

"okay," you say. "birthday boy's last wish, or whatever."

kuroo laughs as he pulls you towards your room.

"don't call me that again."

[teamchasezwrites]

The Ride

Word Count: 6,802

Characters: Roman Reigns (minor appearances from others)

Genre: Smut

Summary: A tight fit leads to an interesting ride.

Author's Note: Not very good at writing smut, at least not like some of the great ones I've read on here. Hope you all enjoy!

THE RIDE

“Try it now!”

She heard the muffled voice as she walked through the parking lot toward one of the few remaining vehicles. A black soft side suitcase rolled along behind her; a matching black book bag slung over one shoulder. A yawn escaped and she wished she was on her way to the hotel, but it was a travel night.

Hershey to Columbus.

A five and a half hour drive.

Not bad in the grand scheme of things, but it was nothing like the other night when it was Philadelphia to Hershey. A quick two hour ride. She was still wired when she arrived at the hotel. Now though…

She was thankful it wasn’t her turn to drive. She was tired and worn out after her match with Dana Brook. If she were being honest with herself, a little sore too. She took a helluva spot into the steel steps.

The whining of an engine trying to turn over broke through the silence. A few empty parking spaces down from the Toyota Sienna rental she shared with the rest of the faction she was currently a member of was a silver colored hatch back. The hood currently up; the driver’s side door hanging open.

A leg clad in black joggers hung out the open door. Black and white Jordans pressed against the asphalt. The cotton material of the joggers clung to a muscular thigh. The owner of the thigh sat in the driver’s seat with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the ignition turning the key.

“I don’t fucking know…” Dean Ambrose appeared around the front of the car leaning his arms across the open door.

“Call the rental place, Ro.” Seth Rollin’s head appeared over the hood to look at the remaining member of The Shield through the windshield.

Roman, the owner of the muscular thigh, sat back in the seat. The whine of the sickly engine ceased. “I did when it wouldn’t start the first time. It’s closed.”

“Call them again.” Dean pestered.

“What part of closed don’t you understand?”

“What are we supposed to do?” Dean’s voice rose. His hands jerked in agitation.

The pending argument between the faction was interrupted as laughter echoed across the parking lot. She watched as their heads turned toward the sound as the rest of her team finally appeared.

The Royals.

The name caused her to make a face, but that’s what Creative – Vince – wanted.

Wrestling royalty.

Charlotte Flair.

Natalya.

Tamina.

Her.

All bloodline to top wrestlers from the past. Charlotte to Ric. Natalya to The Harts. Tamina to The Rock. Then there was her. Descended from a secretary and a plumber. Bloodline to no where. Fortunately for her, she was popular with the crowd in NXT and had the right look the powers at be were going for. So she became a Piper.

She supposed if Kane and The Undertaker could be brothers, she could be related to Roddy Piper. She didn’t care. She would do whatever she needed to do to make it on the main roster. Wrestling was her dream.

With her being the lone team member not truly with the proper lineage, she was the outcast of the group. Sure they played their parts well, but once the cameras were off, she was the leper. A lonely girl sitting at the lunch room table in middle school by herself all over again.

Not that she didn’t have friends. Naomi and Bayley were warm and welcoming. They clicked so well she wished creative would let them team up. In the meantime, she worked out like hell. Worked on her mic skills with anyone willing to help bounce word battles. Took notes on who was kicking it, what was causing the fans to react. Anything to get ahead for the moment the hammer dropped and she was kicked out of the group.

It was coming, she knew. The whispers and meetings that didn’t include her were a dead giveaway. When it came she wanted to be ready.

“Perfect.” She heard Seth mumble. “Hey!

The yell caused her to jolt but she watched from her spot leaning against the van. It was locked and Charlotte had the keys.

“What are you doing?” Roman whispered as he climbed from the car.

“Getting us to Columbus,” Seth answered. “Unless you have a better idea?”

“Hitchhiking,” Dean mumbled under his breath.

“Pretty boy like Roman would get us far,” Seth ran a hand over the man’s chiseled cheeks. He grinned when it was slapped away.

She giggled watching the antics of The Shield. A sense of longing moving through her wishing her own group was the same way. These long drives wouldn’t suck so much.

“What’s up boys?” Natalya asked as she, Charlotte, and Tamina came up to them. “Car trouble?”

“Ro got us a lemon.”

“Man fuck off,” Roman snapped, glaring at Dean. “Next time you can get the car.”

“I can’t do any worse.”

“Can we squeeze in with you?” Seth asked, ignoring his brothers. “Rental place is closed and I don’t even know when we can get another car.”

She watched the girls look at each other. The silent communication used to get under her skin but now it just is what it is.

“Should be plenty of room with the six of us even with our bags…” Seth continued.

“Uh… seven…” she said speaking up for the first time. Heads whirled in her direction and she raised her hand, wiggling her fingers in a little wave.

“Jesus Christ, when did you get here!”

“Right before you were prostituting Roman out...” Even from the distance she could see the blush on Roman’s cheeks.

“Well that makes it a little more crowded but it should work.” She could practically see the gears turning in Seth’s head as he worked out the logistics of seating and suitcases. “Someone might have to sit on a lap…”

Heads turned in her direction again and it was her turn to blush. If someone needed to sit on a lap, then it was obviously her with her small frame. Barely five foot four. She almost wished it was her turn to drive, but knew there’d be concessions made to the travel rules if it was.

She bit her tongue to make a snide remark about the number of suitcases each of the other women had. It wouldn’t get her anywhere. The rest of the members of The Royalty did not travel lightly.

“I’m cool with it,” Tamina said exchanging looks with Charlotte and Natalya.

“Sure,” Charlotte shrugged. “No big deal.”

Of course. No skin off their backs. She planned on passing out across the back seats for the whole ride. Not anymore.

Expectant eyes turned toward her. Well three sets anyway. Her faction already started walking toward the van as if it was a done deal.

Of course it was.

“Sure. The more the merrier,” she pasted a smile on her face.

“Great.” Seth moved quickly to shut the hood of the car then scooted around to the trunk.

In the cluster of doors opening and closing, came the sound of wheels moving over asphalt. She climbed into the van and over the collapsed middle seat and into the back. She put her suitcase on the seat opposite her and stuffed her book bag on the floor in front of it. She let everyone else deal with their own luggage.

She wasn’t sure how it happened but suitcases and bags were passed to her to stack on the seat alongside her own. Biting her tongue she just stacked them trying to give her as much room as possible.

There was plenty of room for her and another person until she watched with wide eyes as Roman climbed into the backseat with her. Large and impersonating Roman Reigns. All three members of The Shield were big but she thought Seth would be squeezing in with her. Out of the three, he was the smallest and even then, not by much.

“Fucking Dean and rock, paper, scissors,” Roman grumbled catching her look. He shrugged and carefully turned to sit on the seat. It was a snug fit. His thigh pressed right up against hers. He reached forward and pulled the seat in front of him back into its upright position. The space got even smaller.

“You’re just pissed I always kick your ass.” Dean was grinning as he climbed into the seat Roman just popped up.

She watched as the rest of the crew filed into the vehicle. Natalya next to Dean in the middle seat with Seth on her other side behind the driver’s seat. Charlotte in the driver’s seat with Tamina riding shotgun. There was a few moments as everyone got situated and fought for phone chargers.

It crossed her mind to raise a complaint with the seating assignments. Roman and his big bulky self should be driving or at least in the passenger seat. She and Charlotte would be the best ones to squeeze in the back. While Charlotte towered over her in height, the woman was skinny. Before she could though, the diva was backing from the parking spot and pulling away.

Tense didn’t describe the atmosphere in the back of the Sienna. She held herself pressed against the luggage pile, trying to put as much room between her and Roman as possible. She wasn’t even buckled. Didn’t even know where the housing was. Probably beneath Roman. He hadn’t buckled either, she noticed. She sent a quick prayer Charlotte would drive save.

“I don’t bite…”

The voice startled her and she turned her head to meet Roman’s gaze. His eyes were dark. Every so often the headlights of a passing car would reflect in the brown orbs. “What?”

“I said, I don’t bite.”

“He will if you ask,” Dean turned his head around to look at her with a smirk.

“Fuck off,” Roman slapped the back of Dean’s head. He turned his attention back to the woman next to him as Dean turned back toward the front laughing. He gave her enough room as possible, scooting himself as close to the interior panels as he could. With his wide frame it wasn’t much.

“I’m okay,” she told him, determined to keep herself against the luggage. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the bigger man shrug.

The hum of the vehicle and the low tone of the music playing through the speakers lulled her. She wasn’t sure about Tamina in the front seat, hearing low chatter every so often, but Dean was out; his head against the window, thick headphones settled on his ears. Seth mirrored his friend on the opposite side of the seat. Natayla’s head rested against Seth’s shoulder in apparent sleep.

A couple hours already passed and the time was getting to her. Every time she felt herself relaxing, she’d snap back up. Her posture on point as any woman who attended and graduated etiquette school. Luckily the ride was easy on the Pennsylvania turnpike then to I-70. The late night hour held less traffic. Mostly tractor trailers.

The next time her eyes drifted closed and she slumped, arms grabbed her.

“Wh-what?” Her eyes shot open and her breath grew heavy as panicked eyes looked around. The bodies in front of her were still in the same position as they were earlier.

“This is ridiculous,” came the whispered growl in her ear. Goosebumps broke out over her arms at the deep sound. A hand gripped either of her biceps. Then she was plucked and unceremoniously dumped into the lap of Roman Reigns.

“I’m tired of watching you try to keep from touching me,” Roman murmured in her ear, aware of close by ears. “We’re touching. Now get over it. Relax and get some sleep.”

She sat frozen in his lap. His left arm fell to the vacant seat besides them while his right hand stayed on her thigh keeping her stable. Her ass pressed into his crotch. Her legs fell on either side of his left thigh. She wasn’t relaxed. Not even a little bit.

“If you don’t relax, I’ll make you.” Roman spoke directly in her ear. His hot breath moved across her skin and she shivered.

It took a few minutes before she started to move. Then they both started shifted in the seat, moving together to find the most comfortable position for them both. As she angled herself more toward the interior panel and less against the hard chest behind her, he moved with her. He sort of wedged himself in the corner where the seat met the panel, slouching a little. In doing so, he was able to move his left thigh more up onto the seat.

“Sorry,” she murmured when she noticed her hands were gripping his thighs. She blushed feeling his muscles flex beneath her hold.

“Just relax,” Roman rolled his eyes. He wrapped his arms around her waist to hold her steady as she finally relaxed back into him. He accepted her weight. What there was of it anyway. “Isn’t this better?” He whispered in her ear. He was able to finally relax himself. Her sitting next to him on edge had him on edge. He hoped to catch at least a couple hours of sleep during the drive.

A shiver worked its way through her feeling the hair on his chin tickle the sensitive skin of her neck. His hot breath brushing over her ear. Her face flushed red feeling wetness pool at her center and she pressed her thighs together.

“Cold?”

She shook her head. Cold was the furthest she was feeling. Roman’s body heat invaded her space chasing the chill from body. Every part of her body that touched his felt on fire. She quietly released a breath she’d been holding. Closing her eyes, she let the tension melt from her body. Her head lobbed to the side; her temple resting against his chin.

Looking back she’d probably blame the late hour combined with exhaustion. She felt a sharp pinch at the crease where her thigh met her center. She bit her lip and shifted her hips slightly, hoping the movement would scratch the section of skin and bring some sort of relief.

It didn’t.

The itch persisted.

Without thought she reached down between her thighs and rubbed a finger over the itch. A strangled noise sounded in her ear and she froze.

“If you need help with that…” Roman spoke quietly in her ear; the sound so quiet he barely made a sound. He was caught somewhere between awake and dozing. Drowsy but hadn’t quite fallen asleep when he felt the movement on his arm. She had both her arms resting on his over her belly. It was the loss that alerted him. Focusing his eyes, he watched her left hand reach down and he nearly swallowed his tongue when she touched herself.

“Just an inch…” she hissed just as quietly, snatching her hand back, trying to cover her embarrassment. “On my thigh. I shaved the other day and forgot my lotion at the last hotel.” She still smarted about that too. Left the nearly full bottle she religiously applied daily after shaving her bikini line and the rest of her pussy bald to ward off the irritation.

“I can scratch it,” Roman murmured. His right hand left her belly and slowly moved south toward the apex of her thighs. He had no idea what he was doing. Why he hadn’t pretended he didn’t see her hand. Maybe it was the drowsy state he was in. Maybe it was the sweet smell of her hair permeating his senses. Maybe it was the firm ass pressing into his crotch making him work to keep himself contained.

Seeing her hand on her center, blew his concentration. His hand kept moving. The touch of his fingers light over the spandex of her leggings as they moved down her thigh dangerously close. He felt more than heard her breath hitch. Her hips shifted in his lap and he bit back a groan as her ass rubbed against his cock who was taking interest in the situation.

Roman continued to move his fingers up and down her thigh. His left hand dipped down and found the soft skin of her belly. He brushed his fingers against the taunt skin warm beneath his touch. Because of him? He didn’t know. He brushed his nose across the side of her head; from her temple back to her ear. He nipped the lobe causing her to jump. He soothed the bite with the soft stroke of his tongue.

“Roman…” she whispered her hand falling onto his on her thigh stopping his movements.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered in her ear. He would have stopped if she told him. Pulled his hands back to a neutral position, leaned his head back and caught some z’s to the hotel. This wasn’t even on his mind when he climbed into the van hours before. Now it was the only thing he could think about.

His hand started on its path down her thigh again, this time her hand didn’t stop him. He grinned against her ear; victorious. “Good girl…” her breath hitched and he filed the information away. “You gotta be quiet.” He thought he could smell her arousal and he quickly glanced to the other patrons in the van. They still appeared to be sleeping. “Promise to be quiet…”

She nodded against his shoulder. Her legs widened, giving him more room and her hips shifted chasing his hand. “Please…”

“This would be easier if you had your ring gear on…” He placed damp kisses on her neck. Her ring gear… a dangerously short red plaid skirt where he could easily slip his hand underneath to reach his prize.

“I’ll remember that for next time I’m stuck in the back of a van sitting on someone’s lap…”

He growled at the thought of someone else in his current position. A random flair of anger ripped through him. On the next pass of his fingers, he moved them just enough and he was running them up the center seam of her leggings. He felt her heat and he released another low growl. “I bet you’re soaked.”

She whimpered and pressed against his hand seeking relief. She felt like a bitch in heat.

“You need me Baby?” He asked softly. His tongue traced the outer shell of her ear. His fingers still completing the ministrations over the leggings, up and down her center. Her hips started moving back and forth in his lap. His cock filled and pulsed inside his joggers. He gripped her hips with either hand and pulled her firmly into his lap and he flexed his muscled and pressed up into her.

A full body shiver worked its way through them both. He clenched his eyes shut and breathed heavily pressing himself into her ass again.

“Ring gear would come in handy right now, huh?” Came her teasing whisper in his ear, complete with a wiggle of her hips.

“You’re not so innocent,” he grumbled as his mind exploded with images of her sinking down on his cock with that little tantalizing skirt on her hips. “Stop moving.” His hands gripped her hips tightly. He shuddered again wondering how the tables were turned. He gave his head a shake and got back with the program.

His fingers trailed across her belly along the hem of her leggings. Her belly quivered beneath his touch and her breath caught when his fingers dipped beneath the fabric. “Quiet,” he whispered before sucking her lobe into his mouth. It was his turn to moan softly when his fingers encountered smooth, bare skin. “Fuck...”

She shifted against his hand trying to get his probing fingers where she wanted them. In her hot, wet center. “Roman,” she moaned softly, barely making a sound.

Her pleading had the desired effect. Roman’s fingers moved down over her outer lips. The black spandex of her leggings pressed uncomfortably against his wrist, but he didn’t let that hinder him. He gave teasing strokes before he pressed a finger between her folds. He nearly came in his pants feeling how wet she was. She was a dripping mess.

“You need my fingers, don’t you?” His left hand came down and shifted her left leg over his knee, opening her up more for him “You’re so wet for me,” he whispered working his fingers through the slick folds. He pressed his face against her neck and shuddered.

A moan had him slapping his free hand over her mouth. They both froze as Dean shifted in front of them, but the man never woke.

“Quiet,” Roman commanded roughly. “If you don’t stay quiet, I can’t do this,” as he spoke he pressed a finger deep inside her. “Don’t you want me to do this?”

She nodded her head frantically. She squirmed in his lap. An ache built deep in her belly and she knew it wouldn’t be long before she would be coming all over his fingers.

He started moving his finger once it was clear Dean wasn’t going to wake. Withdrawing his finger only to slowly press it back in. He pressed hot kisses along her neck. This time when he pulled out, he ran his finger up her center finding her bundle of nerves. He circled it with his fingers and he breath caught. He pressed his finger on it, causing the back of her head to hit his shoulder with a sigh.

She bit her lip in order to keep sounds from spilling out. Her eyes drifted close as she kept moving her hips in a circular motion seeking his fingers. Her fingers gripped his right thigh, the muscles hard in her palm. She could smell her arousal and was concerned everyone else could as well, but she was beyond caring.

She was inundated with a kaleidoscope of emotions. They all swirled within her. Swirling and churning. The want. The need. The naughtiness of being so brazen in a semi-public place. At any moment a head could turn around and catch Roman’s hand down her pants. Her flushed skin. Blown pupils. She almost relished it.

Roman brought his fingers back to her entrance. This time sinking two digits deep inside her. He felt her wetness gush over his fingers and he wanted to pull them from her and bring them to his lips where he could taste her. His mouth watered at the thought. He found himself thinking about more. Instead of licking her taste off his fingers, pressing his face between her legs and going right to the source.

“I wonder what you taste like,” he whispered hotly in her ear. “I bet you’d taste sweet on my tongue… shhh….” He hushed her moan. “You’d cling to my beard, driving me crazy for hours after.”

His fingers continued to piston in and out of her. She heard the squelching of her juices. They rang loud in the quiet of the van but she was unable to put a stop to anything. She was too far gone. Her hips moved with his fingers, seeking more. His cock pressed against her ass. She clenched around his fingers, wishing his cock would replace them. He felt big and she nearly wept with need.

She panted behind his hand still covering her mouth as if he didn’t trust her to keep quiet. She wouldn’t trust her either. She wanted to wail loudly especially when his thumb found her clit. Her limbs tingled; goosebumps peppered her skin. Her stomach churned with a ball of want and need.

“You’re so tight around my fingers,” Roman murmured, continuing to work his fingers in and out of her. She clenched each time he pulled out as if attempting to keep him inside. He groaned against her ear. “I keep imaging you on my cock. Ripping your pants off and lowering yourself on my cock…”

She nodded desperately. Fuck yes. She wanted that too. Sinking down on him and bouncing with wild abandon bringing them both to a frantic finish.

She squeezed his fingers at his words and he pressed his face against her neck to muffle the moan he couldn’t hold at bay. His fingers left that warm, wet cavern causing her to moan behind his hand. He hushed her once more and moved his fingers to her clit. The bundle of nerves pulsed beneath his fingers. He moved his fingers in a circular motion. He was done teasing. He wanted her to fall apart in his arms.

“I want you to come for me…” he licked a strip up her neck to her ear where he blew softly. He felt the tremor work through her body. He pressed two fingers back inside her and pressed as deep as he could. He curled them forward, searching for that elusive spot.

Her legs snapped shut, trapping his hand, stopping most of his movements. Her eyes wide. “You want me to scream… do that again…”

Roman’s grin against her neck was predatory-like but he backed off the spot. Now was not the time nor were they in the right location. He set an easy pace moving his fingers in and out. Her body relaxed in his lap and her legs spread back open giving him access once again. Using the hand across her mouth, he tightening his fingers moving her head away from him. Once her neck was bared to him, he bit down on the curve on her shoulder. He soothed the sting with a couple soft licks.

She clenched her eyes shut. Her breath heavy against his hand. She licked her lips, feeling the rough pads of the palm of his hand. She felt the hiss of his breath and she gave another teasing lick to his palm.

“You need something in your mouth, Sweetheart?” Roman said gruffly. He adjusted his hand sliding it further up her cheek. His thumb caressed her glistening lips. When her tongue came out to tease the tip of the digit, he wished for another hand to shove into his mouth to bite down against the groan threatening to release. A bead of cum drippled down his cock at the teasing ministrations; a perfect imitation of what it would be doing on another part of his anatomy.

She sucked at his thumb, nipping at the tip before allowing it to slip into the wet heat of her mouth. His fingers picked up their pace. Heat coiled deep in her belly threatening to release. His hips gave short thrusts against her. His hard cock digging into the cleft of her ass. Her hips chased his fingers giving teasing rubs against him. Her mouth watered and she sucked his thumb harder. Her tongue teasing the underside.

“You want my cock don’t you,” Roman whispered hotly in her ear. At the mention of his cock, she squeezed his fingers nearly trapping his movement and it took everything he had not to release a sound. “Fuck…I want you on your knees in front of me so I can sink my dick in that pretty little mouth.”

With his fingers covered in her wetness, he drug them up her slit once more to her clit. He rubbed her clit with perfectly measured strokes.

She surrendered to the feelings he was bringing her to. Pure euphoria. She raised an arm behind her, wrapping it around the back of his neck. With a quick pull, his hair fell down from the bun it was pulled back in to. The long dark strands fell down tickling her neck. With her fingers buried in the strands at the back of his head, she pressed his face against her neck.

“You gonna cum for me?” Roman growled into her ear. Her hips moved with wild abandon, undulating in his lap. If he wasn’t careful he was going to end up coming in his pants. Something he hadn’t done since was a teenager. His hair pulled tight from his scalp, clutched in her fingers.

Nodding her head furiously, she swallowed a gasp as his fingers pushed back into her straight to the hilt. They slid in with ease, slicked with her excitement. He pumped them feverishly. His thumb pressed against her clit.

Her hand slapped against his over her mouth, holding it tight, trapping the cry wanting to escape.

“Cum all over my fingers,” he whispered, the movements of his fingers and thumb unrelenting. “Don’t make a sound Sweetheart…” his teeth sank into the tendon on her neck and that was it.

Her body jolted hard. Her eyes clenched shut as white light burst behind her eyelids as her climax slammed through her. She wanted to wail uncontrollably, but his hand pressed hard over mouth suppressed any sound she might have made. Lightning raced through her body as she rode his fingers until the waves ended.

“Fuck,” he growled in her ear. She clenched so tight around his fingers, it nearly drew a moan from his mouth. Juices coated his fingers and he rode her climax, continuing to pump in and out of her until her legs clamped around his hand. Then her body slumped back on his chest. Her chest heaving rapidly. The hold she had on his hair loosened, but her fingers never quite untangled from the strands. A blissed out look on her face, he caught in the headlights of a passing car.

He was poised for release himself. His cock hard and pulsating almost to the point of pain. Wouldn’t take much for him to shoot off. Just a quick reach down and squeeze. He’d pop off like one of those toy rockets.

He placed light kisses up and down her neck. He licked at her pulse point, beating rapidly on the side of her neck. A trail of wet kisses to her ear, he growled softly, drawling in his breath through his teeth. Her body shivered in his lap and she clenched around his fingers, still deep inside her channel. “That was so fucking hot…” he breathed. “Gushing all over my fingers like a good little girl.” He nipped at her ear before suckling the lobe between his teeth. “You almost made me cum in my pants…”

The words roused her. Her head rolled across his shoulder so her temple met his chin. Her laxed fingers start to tighten in his hair. Her hips rolled in his lap. The movement caused them both to hiss. His thumb still pressed against her sensitive clit.

He removed his fingers from her, causing her to moan softly behind the hand that still covered her mouth. When he was free, he used both hands to grip either side of her hips to stop her movements. “It’s okay,” he whispered in her ear. He had a helluva case of blue balls, but he’d live. He’d take care of that particular state later on in the hotel room when he called dibs on the shower first. It wouldn’t take long. All he had to do was draw up the sounds of her breathy moans, muffled by his hand. The feeling of her firm ass pressed against his dick. The way her body clenched and the wetness coating his hand when she came apart on his fingers. He’d blow his load in no time.

His words had the desired effect as she relaxed once again on him. This time her hand fell from his hair to her stomach. He lowered his own hand from her mouth – worried for a second he left a mark behind – but that thought caused his cock to twitch, still very much interested in the body in his arms. He shifted in the seat into a better position and a smile graced his lips at her soft moan of protest. Her hands grabbed his as if to stop him from removing her.

“Just sleep,” he whispered and pressed a kiss into her hair.

It was all she needed to hear. Her body went lax. His arms tightened around her for she would melt right onto the floor.

“I knew I could get you to relax.”

~

The door to her hotel room shutting behind her echoed through the quiet of the night. The strap of her backpack fell off her shoulder as she dropped it to the floor next to the generic table that sat along the wall. Turning around she wheeled her suitcase further into the room. She collapsed the handle and picked the suitcase up, sitting it on the end of the bed closest to the door. Then set about unpacking the items she needed.

The first thing she plucked from the luggage was her toiletry kit; crammed so full the zipper nearly burst. It took everything she had to zip it after each hotel stay. Absentmindedly scratching an errant itch at the base of her head, she rifled through her clothes in search of the oversized t-shirt she slept in. Armed with her sleep shirt, a clean pair of panties and her toiletry kit, she walked into the bathroom.

The exhaust fan blew loudly when she turned the light on. The hotel was on the average side of the echelon than where wrestlers usually stayed. Ultimately she didn’t care. As long as there was a bed, hot water, and a working A/C unit she was good. While she waited for the water to warm for her shower, she scrolled her phone. A message waited.

‘Staying with Char tonight.’

The message from Natalya didn’t surprise her. Most times she had hotel rooms to herself.

Whatever.

Walking from the bathroom, she knelt at the floor next to her bag and dug into the outside zippered pocket for her charger. Unearthing the cord, she plugged it into the outlet attached to the lamp next to the bed. With her phone charging, she pulled the hoodie over her head and pushed the joggers and underwear down her legs, letting the articles of clothing pool on the floor.

Dropping her bra to the pile, she turned to walk naked back to the bathroom when she spotted a box sitting on the table.

She frowned.

The table was empty except for the box, a desk lamp, the tip envelope, and a pad of paper with the hotel letterhead on top and a pen.

She cautiously approached the table. Her steps slow and pointed. A quick glance around the room told her nothing else was out of place. Both beds remained undisturbed. The TV, sitting on a long dresser with drawers stacked two by two, was black. The remote sitting right in front of it. The curtains pulled closed, blocking the parking lot lights but did very little to block the sound of the expressway beyond.

Now upon the box, she stared down at it. A simple square brown box, no bigger than six inches tall. A plain white label held the top flaps together and she further frowned seeing her name. It obviously didn’t come through the mail. Someone from the hotel staff must have placed it in her room.

Holding a breath, she lifted the edge of the flap, ripping the label right down the middle. She paused and counted to ten in her head. If it was a bomb or another type of exploding device, ten seconds was a long enough window. Obviously nothing was going to blow up in her face.

Pulling back the flaps, she peered into the box. Her shoulders slumped and she rolled her eyes at her silliness. A three by five white cardstock laid on top of another box. The card blocked the information of the product so she lifted it out. Her eyes bulged seeing the item laying by itself in the box.

Coochy Plus.

The four ounce bottle lay on its side. The bottle clear with a silver screw top and a black dispenser. Another clear cap on the dispenser. A white label faced up. A purple line drawing a square lined the label with black letters depicting the product.

Intimate After Shave Moisturizer.

“What on earth…” she murmured staring at the item. She didn’t order anything of the such. Her own lotion was currently tucked in her toiletry kit in the bathroom. The hot water steam leaking out of the bathroom. The mirror already fogged over.

Lifting the card in her hand, she stared at the writing.

‘For when I’m not there to scratch that itch.’

Her face flamed bright red in embarrassment. The car ride with Roman a couple weeks ago was never far from her mind. She still found it hard to believe it truly happened. Thoroughly embarrassed when she woke up when the car stopped near the West Virginia-Ohio border for fuel – for the vehicle and its occupants. She could almost believe she dreamt Roman’s hand down her pants if it wasn’t for the slickness she still felt in her underwear and the knowing wink he sent her under the bright lights of the gas station awning.

No more car issues arose. The Shield traveled together while she was left feeling noticeably empty with her own faction. He never sought her out backstage nor did she look him up. Earlier while backstage for Monday Night Raw, she thought she felt eyes on her, but no one was ever around when she looked.

That night became fodder for her bedtime activities. She pulled up that delectable growl in her ear. A proper mix of breathe and sound that made her instantly become a poodle of goo. While she brought herself to orgasm every time to his voice demanding she come on his fingers, her fingers were never enough. Even with three stuffed inside her, they never felt like his. Her dildo paled in comparison to what she felt pressing into her ass. Her orgasms always left her feeling empty and unfulfilled.

With him on her mind, she placed the items back in the box and went into the bathroom to shower the show away. She didn’t linger like she planned on the way to the hotel. Her dildo might be shut away in the drawer next to her bed back home, but she had her fingers, his acknowledgement of their titillating coupling, and a sexy day dream of her in her ring gear on her knees in front of him his fingers tangled in her hair while his other hand unbuckled his belt to feed her his cock.

Back in the bedroom with a towel wrapped around her body and one in her hair, she glanced at the box once more. Her cheeks heated at the intimate item inside. She picked up her suitcase and put it on the floor against the wall, out of the way. With a tug on the blankets, she pulled the blankets back, revealing the crisp white sheets.

The bed turned down, she went back to the bathroom to hang her towels up. Using the one in her hair, she rubbed it through her hair one final time, removing any of the lingering water clinging to the strands. Tomorrow was a travel day back home for a few days. Her hair was going up on the top of her head in a messy bun. She could sleep with it damp.

When she shut the bathroom light off, the room was encased in darkness. Using her hands, she checked to make sure the latch was on the door before shuffling her feet back to the bed. She slide beneath the covers, the sheets cool on her skin. Her phone beeped with a text notification, the display coming to life.

‘Did you get my gift?’

Her eyes widened at the message. Her eyes shooting toward the box on the table. The shadow just noticeable in the darkness of the room.

Roman!

How did he get her number? Beyond that, how did he even get her room number to leave the gift?

‘Roman?’ She tried to be coy.

‘Someone else scratching your itches?’

‘Just me currently.’

‘Currently? You got your fingers deep in that pussy?’

‘Not yet.’ She bit her lip, debating on her next text.

‘Show me.’

‘Come see it in person.’ She held her breath at the text, not believing she could be so bold. Then again, she let the man bring her to orgasm in the back of a van traveling down the interstate with three of their co-workers a foot away.

‘Where’s your roommate?’

‘Sleeping elsewhere.’

‘If I come to your room, we won’t be sleeping.’

A shiver of delight worked through her body, starting and ending at her center. Her legs shifted listlessly. She rubbed her thighs together trying to relieve the pressure building.

‘Good.’

[erwinsvow]

i’m definitely projecting BUT i genuinely feel like shy!reader would have wavy hair and be so insecure about it (even tho it’s so pretty) so it’s always straightened but i just know if rafe saw it he’d fall even deeper in love with the girl!

oh 100%. lets project together angel why not. if you dont have wavy hair pls look away im sorry. but i do have wavy hair that i straighten all the time so ! you sent this to the right bitch

your hair, though you've been told so many times was pretty either way, is usually straightened several times a week, if not daily. it's easy to fall into the trap of preferring it sleek and shiny than the waves that were pretty for the first day, frizzy the next, and somehow constantly clashing with the outfit you selected for the day.

you thought straight hair was easier, looked better, went with everything. even if it wasn't true, you had bought into it for long enough, your blowdryer and flat iron your two best friends.

the first time rafe met you, your hair had been straight. it was that way on your first date, as well as your second and third, as well as every sleepover at tannyhill or early morning drive to watch the sunrise at the beach. he'd never seen your hair any other way, not realizing there was, in fact, another way for it to be seen, until today.

you and rafe had spent the first hour of the morning rolling around in his bed at tannyhill, working up a sweat, which then was washed off in the shower together. rafe gets out first, listening to his phone ring repeatedly in the distance. you finish up, washing your hair and turning the water to the hottest setting now that rafe wasn't there to complain.

when you walk back to rafe's room, he's on the bed, still on the phone. you try to dry yourself off and get dressed without giving him too much of a show, settling for one of rafe's old frat shirts and using another shirt of his to start drying your hair. he looks at confused, but you don't say anything, knowing he's still on the phone. you need at least a minute to explain cotton t-shirts and scrunching to him.

rafe finally hangs up the call with barry while you rummage through your overnight bag, realizing your flat iron and blow dryer were left behind on your bathroom counter, a result of finishing up your hair for your date yesterday.

"is sarah home?" you ask, looking up at rafe.

"don't think so. and didn't i give you a towel? why's my shirt on your head right now?"

"i forgot my hair stuff at home."

"oh," he says, walking back to his dresser and returning with something in his hand. "here." he hands you a hairbrush.

"what am i supposed to do with this?"

"you said you needed hair stuff. uh, you're welcome."

"i have a brush, rafe. i meant my dryer and my iron. do you think sarah would be mad if i used hers? is that weird, though?"

he didn't think it was that serious, but you look more upset by the second.

"what'd you need that shit for? we're not going anywhere until lunch. it'll dry by then." you stand up, taking the hair out of his shirt and trying to salvage whatever waves remained.

"i wanted to wear it straight for the club, though. my outfit, it looks better with straight hair-"

"huh?"

"and i didn't even detangle or use that conditioner, it's all at home. ugh." you keep scrunching, going to the mirror and taking a look. rafe follows behind you, eyebrows knitted in confusion while he takes a piece of curly hair between his fingers. it's pretty, the way it falls around your face and certain pieces are curlier than others. you look pretty like this, though he's sure you look pretty any which way.

"how come i didn't know your hair's like this?"

"um, i like it flat. do i have to go to the club like this?"

"i like it. s'pretty. c'mon, leave it."

you turn to face your boyfriend. like everyone else, he's just saying it to be nice.

"will you take me home to grab my stuff? please?"

"if you really want it, kid, but i think you should leave it," rafe says, bringing his hand up to your hair, stroking the pieces by your face, twirling a wave around his finger. "c'mon, for me?"

you hesitate, looking up at your boyfriend.

"but i wanna look nice for the club."

"the fuck are you talkin' about? you always look nice."

"but it's not as nice. it's messy. i like it-" rafe interrupts you, bringing his hand to your jaw the way he always does, squeezing tight but not too tight.

"stop. it looks nice. stop overthinkin' it. got it?" you nod. "s'nice. you should wear it like this more often."

"sure. whatever you say."

"that's right."

[shemybitchhh]

𝕀 𝔾𝕠𝕥 𝕐𝕠𝕦☆

HEADCANONS of you taking care of injured Ellie.

<<Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader>>

☆Ellie, who the first time you two would talk, she would have a rather serious wound on her side. You, being the daughter of one of Jackson's doctors, were always interested in medicine and learned quickly from your father. "What happened?" You asked her, worried as you saw her clutching the side of her muscle shirt that had a huge red stain on it. "Nothing, mind your business." She told you coldly but you stopped her by grabbing her shoulder. "Aren't you going to go to the infirmary?" You asked and Ellie turned her head to look at you angrily. "You don't care what I do." You bit your lip, still worried. "If you don't let some nurse take care of you, at least let me do it."

☆Ellie, who from that day on would notice your presence in every place she went, and when she didn't see you she would look for you until she found you, without knowing why she needed to keep you in her sights.

☆Ellie, who would find you one day treating the wound of a little boy who was crying because of a scrape on his knee. "Shhh, easy little one. Everything's okay." You assured him as you gently disinfected the wound with a cotton ball. "That's it. You're very brave." You told him, making the boy smile a little. Ellie felt her heart warm when she saw that scene.

☆Ellie, who wouldn't know how to start a conversation with you so she would pretend to get hurt just to have an excuse.

☆Ellie, who would start asking you anything no matter how stupid it was just to hear your voice. "So, do you swab the wound with alcohol before bandaging it?" "What's worse, a knife or gun wound?" "Can I drink booze after antibiotics?"

☆Ellie, who would look for supplies during her patrols to surprise you. "Where did you get these?" You asked, looking in surprise at the empty blood bags and clean gauze she had gotten. "They were inside an ambulance a short distance from our checkpoint. Nothing out of the ordinary." She said downplaying it, when in reality she had entered an abandoned hospital full of clickers and runners completly alone, just to get them for you.

☆Ellie, who would invite you over to her room for the first time and you would end up reading her comics together.

☆Ellie, who would ask you what your favorite band is and a few days later a CD of it would appear on your doorstep. She would never take credit for it, although it wouldn't be too difficult to guess.

☆Ellie, who would invite you to have lunch with her in the dining room, after seeing that you were too shy to sit next to anyone besides your dad.

☆Ellie, who would stare into your eyes while you told her the plot of your favorite book. She wasn't listening to a single word that came out of your mouth. Her mind was lost in the vibrant and full of life color of your gems.

☆Ellie, who would tell you her stupid jokes just to hear your laugh.

☆Ellie, who would ask you to teach her first aid so she could take care of herself. Although she would never apply the theory since she preferred to go with you and have you take care of her.

☆Ellie, who would arrive from a patrol almost fainting from the number of infected she had to kill, and you would run up to her so that she could lean against you. "Shhh, easy, I got you." You whispered to her before she passed out.

☆Ellie, who would wake up exalted on the stretcher in the infirmary and the first person she would look for would be you. She would see that it was your father standing next to her, taking her pulse, and she would instantly be embarrassed. "I'll tell her you're awake and to come see you." Your father said with a kind smile, without Ellie having to say anything.

☆Ellie, who would accept your hug without second's hesitation after you ran in to check on her.

☆Ellie, who would start spending some nights at your house, listening to music, talking about irrelevant topics to pass the time, and sometimes even cooking with you.

☆Ellie, who would stare at your lips while you chewed the chocolate she had brought you as a gift. "Want some?" You asked, extending your hand with a generous piece.

☆Ellie, who would act without thinking and would pull you towards her by your outstretched wrist and kiss you, tasting your chocolate-flavored lips.

☆Ellie, who couldn't stop telling you how beautiful you are, loving how you looked away with an involuntary blush.

☆Ellie, who would promise to take care of you from everything, just like you took care of her when she got hurt on her patrols.

☆Ellie, who would hug you from behind with her folded hands after you disinfected her knuckles for the thousandth time, and would fall asleep smelling your scent and pressing you against her.

☆Ellie, who would let you know how important you are to her. "I got you, love."

[coolindianjutebags-blog]

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[rainydayathogwarts]

this is my first time requesting something from anyone so, sorry if i dont make sense

but would you be willing to do something about sirius taking care of his sick girlfriend

no worries, it makes total sense! also can i just say i am very honoured to be the first person you request from 0.5k+ wc (a cutesie little blurb) - fluff!! no warnings

A knock on your door has you digging your head further into your pillow, eyes shutting tightly to block out the light peeking through the curtains of your four-poster bed. The knocks fail to subside, continuing so vigorously that you know there’s only one possible person on the other side of that door. “Come in!” You manage to croak out, pulling the covers back up to your chin. You hear the door opening and closing softly, and you shimmy onto your back just in time to see Sirius’s head poking through the red curtains of your bed. 

“Oh darling.” He opens the curtain wider and sits down on the mattress next to you, a hand reaching to push some hair out of your face. “Heard from Lily you weren’t well in transfigurations. McGonagall didn’t know whether to believe her or not.” You scoff at his words but it comes out sounding like a snort, your blocked nose stripping you from any charm in front of your boyfriend. “‘S that why Madam Pomfrey came to check on me?” You barely see Sirius’s grin forming through your squinted eyes, but it still manages to bring a small smile to your face, especially as he goofily says “Probably.” with a loose shrug of his shoulders. 

Slinging his book bag over his laps from where it previously rested on the floor, he begins saying “I didn’t think you’d have had anything to eat so I brought you some stuff.” He pulls out a barely creased paper lunch bag, immediately telling you he’d gone to the kitchens before visiting you. “‘S got some orange slices and pastries. I also brought you tea.” Sirius says, placing the bag on your bedside table to go digging into his own one again, looking for the tea. You fish out a hand from under the covers, sniffling slightly as you go to place it on Sirius’s thigh. Your touch has Sirius immediately glancing up at you worriedly. “What?” “Thank you sweetheart.” The pet name brings a pink flush to Sirius’s cheeks, and he places his hand over yours, bringing it up to his lips so he can give you a soft kiss. 

“Pomfrey excused me from classes for tomorrow too.” You tell him, watching closely as his eyebrows furrow. Letting go of his hand, you cup his jaw instead, rubbing your thumb on his cheek. “What? Can’t go another day without me?” You only mean to tease him, but the stubborn shake of his head has you huffing in adoration. It’s almost as if you can see the moment Sirius decided to lay with you, eyes widening when he shuffles down the bed to lay down next to you. “Sirius no! You’ll get sick.” You insist, but your body defies you, moving to make more space for him on the bed as his strong arms wrap around you. With a single kiss to your forehead, he’s made up your mind, hands finding warmth underneath the cotton of his shirt. 

It’s no surprise the next day when McGonagall looks up to find not one, but two seats empty in her classroom. “Has anyone seen Mr. Black?” She asks, her gaze pointed at one table in particular. “He’s sick, Professor.” Sound out the voices of James and Remus, shooting each other amused glances. 

Professor McGonagall has the decency to turn her back to her students before muttering “Of course he is.” Under her breath.

[urbancreative]

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[fandom-whores-world]

Remarkable 3

Batfam x Neglected! Reader

Prologue , Part 2

Hey guys! I’m back! After seeing how popular this series became I knew I had to shift my focus to it! I hope you guys enjoy Part 3

You woke up the next morning, and everything went the way it usually did. Alfred knocked on your door to announce breakfast, Tim walked right past by you in the hall, and the rest of your siblings made plans you would never be invited to. You finished up breakfast quickly, thanked Alfred for the delicious food, gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and then were on your way.

Instead of taking the limo to school with Tim and Damian, you preferred the less stressful option of riding your bike to Gotham Academy. You hadn’t really cared much about going to school with Tim, but now that Damian was about to enroll as a freshman a part of you wished you had gone to school in Metropolis. Damian was a difficult person to deal with on the best of days. His status as Bruce Wayne’s only legitimate son gave him more than a big ego, but the truth was you really just didn’t want another Wayne to have to compete with. At least if you had gone to school in Metropolis you would have been closer to your best friend Kara.

Kara and you had become fast friends when you first moved into the manor. She would tag along with her cousin, Clark Kent, who had a close relationship with your father despite living in a different city and having very different occupations. According to Kara since you were the same age it was a sign you two were meant to be best friends. While you didn’t really believe in things like “signs” you were glad to have Kara in your life. She was kind, funny, strong, but most importantly she saw you. It didn’t matter to her that you weren’t a prodigy like your brothers. She loved you for you, and that meant the world.

You sighed before chaining up your bike outside of the school. ‘What’s done is done’ you thought as you approached the large marble building of your school. Even if you didn’t like going to school with Damian, there wasn’t anything to be done about it. After his elementary school graduation Damian would be attending Gotham Academy whether you liked it or not.

As you entered the school building you noticed a large group of students crowded around the announcement board. You tried to catch a glimpse of what they were looking at, but there were too many people in the way. Eventually you found your friend Olive in the crowd and asked her what was happening.

“You haven’t heard (y/n)?” She pulled you to the side of the crowd where there was a small gap just wide enough to see the poster that had caught everyone’s attention.

“Your father is coming to give a speech about running a successful corporation”

You whipped your head around in shock. Olive continued talking, but all you heard was static. Your mouth felt like cotton, your ears started ringing. You were about to start spiraling, but before you could you felt a hand clamp down on your shoulder. You turned around and saw Olive looking at you with worry.

“Are you okay, (y/n)? Maybe you should sit down? Come on, just a few classes before lunch with Kyle and I”

She guided you away from the crowd and the board so that you could calm down.

“Homeroom is about to start (y/n). Why don’t we head to class?”

You nodded mutely, but your mind was still on your father. You may not fight for his attention anymore, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t affect you. You knew that as soon as the event was over everyone would be swarming you and Tim for info about your father. While Tim may not like being pestered with questions at least he wouldn’t have to reopen all those wounds of neglect you would.

Eventually you reached your homeroom. Olive started waving at her boyfriend, Kyle and pulled the two of you over to where he sat. Kyle smiled warmly at the two of you before gesturing to the seats around him.

“Don’t leave a poor boy alone guys”

Olive laughed before putting her bag down and sitting next to him. The three of you were desk mates with Kyle sitting closest to the window, Olive in the middle, and you in the aisle. Seeing that they were waiting for you to join them you shook your head free of the negative thoughts that filled your head, and took a seat.

Eventually the three of you settled into light conversation over one thing or another, and before you knew it the class had started. You were grateful to have Biology as your homeroom since it is one of your best subjects. When you first moved to Gotham you had wanted to be a Doctor like the men and women who took care of your mother before she passed. While you didn’t want to be a Doctor anymore, you were still reaping the rewards of study from your childhood dream.

The class came to an end, and after that the rest of the day went by in a haze. By the time you realized it you were on your way back to the Biology Lab for second homeroom. You had left your book bag open by accident, and a girl pushed by you knocking all of your school supplies out in the process. She threw out a half hearted apology and a tight smile before rushing by. You decided not to let it bother you. There were very few students in the hallway, but the hall was very narrow which made it difficult for you to pick up your things without getting in someone’s way.

Eventually you decided to just wait for your classmates to leave the hall before grabbing your things. When you were almost finished picking up everything you heard some footsteps approaching the hallway. You looked up and saw the Dean of Gotham Academy turn into the hallway while talking to your father’s party guest, Harvey Dent. You were surprised to see him again so quickly after the party. While you were lost in thought the Dean became aware of your presence, and moved to introduce you to him. However, before she could Harvey stepped forward and held out his hand,

“Ms. Wayne, it’s a pleasure to see you again after the gala”

You laughed awkwardly while getting off the floor before accepting his hand and giving it a shake.

“It’s nice to see you again too, Mr. Dent”

The Dean noticed your familiarity with Harvey Dent and started going on and on about your accomplishments at the school.

‘She’s probably looking for a donation’ you thought wryly.

The whole time Dent nodded his head and listened with rapt attention. Eventually the two started to wrap up their conversation. Once again Dent turned to you, and started to chat

“I don’t want to seem pushy, but it really would be nice to have you work with me. Have you given my offer any more thought?”

You bit your lip and fidgeted awkwardly before finding some inner courage and saying

“I want to take you up on it please!”

Dent gave you a million dollar smile, shook your hand, and said

“That’s the spirit, kid. Glad to have you on board as my newest intern! You start Saturday at 9:00 a.m. Don’t be late!”

[daenysx]

hi love ! i know you did one kind of similar to this so don't worry about it if you don't want to do this request but could you maybe do something with a reader who wakes up annoyed with just james? like she doesn't even cry until later but she's just annoyed? i feel like he'd be so good at giving you space but still letting u know he was there for u :) once again no pressure at all lovie !

hi, angel, thank you for requesting! i hope you enjoy <3333

james potter x fem!reader

your head feels like it's full of cotton when you first open your eyes.

you don't like waking up feeling useless, like every bone of your body is ready to give up the second you leave your bed. funny thing with bad mornings is that you never know when you'll have them. they just come and ruin your day until it's at least the afternoon.

sitting on bed, you reach for your phone to get it from your nightstand. there's a piece of paper under the phone. you open it.

leaving for the training, angel, i'll be home before noon ♡

james likes drawing hearts around his name when he leaves a note for you. you smile a little no matter how terrible your head feels. it's almost half past 11. you force yourself to leave the bed.

the shower may help. you try so hard to shake off the anger you feel. summer mornings are not so easy to get through without a cold shower, you also like washing your hair and leaving it wet on your bare shoulders. you don't take long, after 10 minutes you go back to your room to get dressed in plain shorts and a small tank top.

you don't feel like eating or drinking a huge iced coffee which is basically your favorite every morning. waiting for james is better, you sit on the couch, watch water drops fall on your skin from your hair.

james opens the door silently, thinking you must be sleeping. you like calling him when you wake up when he's not home, it has become an easy habit. instead he sees you spread your legs on couch, you look exhausted, he doesn't know why. you look at him with widened eyes, no energy, no spark.

he takes off his shoes, leaves the grocery bags on the kitchen counter. he comes to your side, sitting on couch with a hand on your leg. "morning, angel." he says, kissing the side of your head. "slept well?"

you shrug. "not really." you tell him. his brows come together.

"are you tired?" he asks, rubbing his hand on your leg affectionately.

"a little." you say. you'd tell him what's wrong with you if you'd know it yourself. "how was training?"

"same as every time." he answers. "there are two new guys, i think coach wants them in the team."

"that's nice." you say silently. james's eyes have a pinch of worry in them.

"is everything alright, sweetheart?" he asks, gently. "can i get you anything? have you eaten breakfast?"

you don't know the answer of the first question. nothing's wrong actually. you feel like you can throw a tantrum for no reason, you also feel like you have no energy for it. you don't wanna ruin james's day, he was happy in training and he came home to an upset you. it doesn't feel fair. you wanna bury yourself to your pillow and scream until your lungs hurt.

"i just-" you start, not knowing the rest of the sentence. "i don't know, jamie, i just feel off today. please don't worry, i'm sure i'll feel better in a few hours."

it's hard for james to see you like this. like you have no will to do anything. you look like you can't even lift your finger, your eyes lack their usual spark. he doesn't push it, though. you'll come around when you're ready. his hand lingers on your leg.

"it's okay." he says. "i'll prepare something for lunch. come to me when you feel like eating, okay? or for coffee. for anything, i'll be there."

you nod. he leaves after giving you a perfect kiss on your forehead.

you can hear the sound of plates and forks from kitchen, james washes a few things, he cooks something simple for himself. he thinks of making you a plate of your favorite breakfast but he knows you won't eat it unless you want to. he's not gonna force you into eating or drinking something, a bad morning is a bad morning. he eats in the kitchen to give you some space. he cleans up the dishes, talks to remus on the phone with a silent voice, replies some texts as he drinks a cup of tea.

you rub your eyes with your fingers. your anger has been washed away by something different, kinda like an exhaustion, something that makes walking hard and talking harder. you manage to go to the kitchen. james looks at you with a soft pair of eyes.

"can you-" you start, tears clog your throat but you don't mean to cry over nothing. "can we cuddle, please?"

james stands up from his chair. "baby." he says, cooing. "of course we can. anything you want." he hugs you in the middle of the kitchen.

"i don't know what's wrong with me." you say. you hate how desperate you sound.

"nothing's wrong with you." james says. "it's okay to have a bad day."

"i don't want to feel like this, jamie." you tell him. "i feel annoyed for no reason and my head keeps pounding, and- i hate it."

"angel." he cups your cheeks to dry your tears. "look at me."

he patiently rubs two gentle thumbs on your tears.

"let me make you something to eat. you can have a painkiller after that, okay? and maybe a cup of coffee. and then we can cuddle all day in bed. you just gotta eat something first."

he makes you a toast after you agree. it's quick and delicious, you eat as much as you can with a glass of cold water. james kisses your head as he takes your plate. you decide you don't need a painkiller. you feel better after eating anyway, and even though you don't really like it, crying helped.

james takes you to bed. he opens the window for some fresh air before joining you.

"better?" he asks. you nod, settling down on bed next to him. he holds you closer, you put your head on his chest to listen his heartbeat.

james doesn't talk until you say something. it's not that he doesn't want to or that he doesn't have anything to talk about, he just feels a tenderness in the air. you don't close your eyes, not sleeping at all, just breathing softly against his chest.

he feels so affectionate towards you, it's like his heart will explode. it makes him more protective, more attentive, more anything to keep you safe and happy. he rubs a big hand on your back until your tight muscles feel a bit relaxed. you get closer to put your head on the crook of his neck.

"i'm okay." you say suddenly. "i'm sorry for worrying you."

"i'm not worried." james lies. you know. "i know you'll be okay."

he knows but it's not the same as seeing you okay, seeing you happy and content in his arms. you are in your head more when it's summer, the weight of not having as many routines as winter is a bit heavy on you some days. james rubs your arm, you wrap it around his waist. your hair smells amazing, he buries his nose against the scent and breathes deeply.

you think it's still nice, having time to spend on bed with james with the summer breeze on your legs. he falls asleep shortly after your generous neck kisses, he must be tired from the early training. you draw shapes on his skin, admire his pretty face. your love for james runs deeper than any kind of anger you could have, he has your heart in his hands and he takes good care of it.

you don't fall asleep, only watch his chest as he breathes, his curled lips and blushed cheeks from the warmth of the nap he's taking. you smile genuinely for the first time that day. a coffee doesn't sound so bad now. james likes waking up to the fresh coffee scent anyway.