#first indian restaurant

[honeysuckle-venom]

I've been working on learning to tolerate small amounts of heat in food, and I'm making progress. I just ate and enjoyed Thai red curry. Did I ask for it mild? Yes. Did it still make my nose run and come close to the limit of my tolerance? Also yes. But that's still way more spice than I used to be able to handle.

[lesbeid0u]

mother has graciously given me a $20 gift card from work for "national gay day because i know what you are"

[the-neothtr]

I think I just got an ad on here for an NFT of the virgin Mary?

[fieriframes]

[Now, this place coming up is a Triple-D OG of another level. This is the first American-Indian restaurant that we ever did. It was orbital, it was mag, it was beyond the ult. It was seeing these young entrepreneurs really embracing their heritage.]

[ravenovni]

Ngl not that I super hate it or anything but I'm not actively looking forward to having my parents barge into my room to go on about happy birthdays the second the clock hits midnight. Don't think I've cared about birthdays since I was like? maybe 14 or so? Literally just a day like the others

[luveline]

Shy!reader and post prison Spence - the first time he calls her a pet name? I love that your Spencers always use “honey” or “dove” or “love” and we know she’d be a mess.

P.S. completely agree with how much I love the gentleness of your characters. The way you write Spencer in love is literally my favorite

ty for requesting <3 fem

“Are you sure it’s okay?” 

Spencer holds a hanging strap. You hold your own, core tense with the movement of the train. “I think I would’ve mentioned it before you got on the train if it weren’t.” 

You nod, glancing around the traincar at the other passengers. There's a stout lady wearing a large fluffy sweater, turquoise with two white kittens at her chest nuzzling one another in knit. A man with three bags of groceries sits just beside her. Further down, a teenage girl listens to music through leaking headphones, her phone reflecting blue light on her cheeks. 

“But are you sure I won’t be an imposition?” 

“You aren’t usually. I guess we won’t know until we get there.” 

“Maybe I should just find a hotel for the night.” 

“Y/N, I’m kidding. You’re not an imposition, it won’t be a problem. There’s enough room at my apartment for you to stay however long you want. Between all the books, that is.” 

It’s just not something you pictured asking him for. Your kitchen flooded in your apartment and the landlord had to put you up in a hotel until he could get someone in to make sure the stove wasn’t about to explode or catch light. But the idea of a hotel is rough torture —somewhere unfamiliar, living out of a suitcase, surrounded by people you don’t know without a door that locks properly. Spencer caught you sweating over it at your desk, pulling the story from you in reluctant drags with a hand on your shoulder. 

It’ll be okay, he said, you can just stay with me. 

Which is relieving and somehow a new can of worms to deal with. At least at a hotel there was no chance of seeing Spencer in a towel. Spencer seeing you in a towel, in your pyjamas, without your formal office protections. 

The worst part is the excitement. 

Terrified he’ll see it on your face, you stare at your shoes next to his. Spencer… Everyone told you he was a dork. When you joined the team in his absence, not once did you get the impression that the man who’d be coming back was like this. You feel like he’d been infantilised. Which isn’t to say he isn’t a dork, he is, he tells you the strangest things, facts or statistics to accompany each topic of the day, and he has all the manners and chivalry of someone who knows what it’s like to be as painfully shy as you are. But he isn’t shy. 

Autistic, he’d confided once. Probably. I’m better at dealing with it now. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“Nervous.” 

“I know.” He grasps your arm as the train screeches on tracks, turning a tight bend. You’re grateful, but immediately flushed with heat. 

“I don’t want to embarrass myself.” 

“You couldn’t. I think I know you too well already.”

“You’ve known me for less time than the rest of the team, but you were the first person to offer me a place to stay.” You clench the rickety handle of your suitcase. “Thank you.” 

“That’s okay, angel.” He says it simply and softly, like you really are an angel. Something breathless to wait with. 

Angel, you think, heart skipping a beat, pulse slow and then suddenly ramped. 

His arm slips behind your back. “I don’t want you to stay in a hotel if it’s going to scare you. Besides, it’ll be fun. Like a sleepover.” He laughs. And you, despite your flush, heat sinking across your chest like a bruise, manage to laugh back. “I’ve never had one before.” 

“What?” 

“Never had a sleepover. I didn’t have any friends in school, and I haven’t had a girlfriend stay the night before.”

You look up at him with wide eyes, expecting a retraction. Not that you’re my girlfriend, not that you’re anything like that at all. 

He smiles at you. “Should we get takeout?”

“What were you thinking?” 

“There’s an Indian restaurant between the station and my apartment? We can stop in. Or we can order something to come. Or I can cook, if you want home cooked.” 

“No, it’s fine, you don’t have to cook–”

His lips turn to a quizzical pout. “I don’t mind.”

You want him to call you angel again. You want him to take you home, make you dinner, and you want to sleepover. Like a girlfriend, you want to wake up in his bed. 

“Sorry,” you breathe, “I think I’m just tired.” 

“Are you sure?” You nod. “Alright. I was worried you didn’t like the pet name, but your pupils dilated when I said it–”

You can’t escape him. One hand in the hanging strap above, the over on your suitcase handle, you have no choice but to stand there with his arm around you to keep you from falling, face so hot with it that you’re sure you’d be feverish to the touch. “It’s fine,” you say, too afraid to look at his face that you end up staring at the nice shape of his throat, his black and purple tie. “Call me what you want. Um, I think we should get Indian.” 

“Good choice, angel.” 

[a-b-riddle]

Part 9 (unrevised version). Since I've gotten 6 messages and a good bit of asks requesting to view it. Here it is, not in its final form.

You had hoped Monday would have treated you better than the past two days, but walking up to your shop in the pouring rain to already see a body standing outside waiting wasn't a good sign.

Customers who waited outside your shop always made you feel uncomfortable. But when you finally got close enough, you took in the person before you.

"We don't open for another hour." Your voice flat as you fished for your keys.

"I'll wait." Was Kyle's reply.

"Then you'll have to do it outside." You said, the key sliding into the lock. He didn't argue as you shut the door behind you. Didn't even bother knocking when, after thirty minutes, you looked in the window to see that the wind was causing the rain to blow sideways.

You relented. Letting him in thirty minutes earlier. It was a small mercy, even if he was soaked to the bone. You almost felt bad when his chattering teeth were the only thing you could hear.

Almost.

"I take it John told you about our little talk yesterday." You said, going about your business. Engaging in the conversation as if you were talking about the shitty weather that had tried to drown him.

"He did." He gave a sniffle. Running a hand over his beautiful, wet face. Droplets still staking their claim on his skin. "H-he alssso t-t-told us we were on our own in begging for our own f-forgiveness. Ra-ra- rightly s-s-s-so."

You huffed. Guilt beginning to eat at you before you turned, disappearing to the back of the store and coming back with a shirt and a blanket. "You left the shirt here."

He had no shame and wasted no time in taking off his jacket and soaked shirt. His chiseled body exposed to you. It was almost instinct to reach out and touch the soft skin. You luckily possessed some form of self restraint.

"So are you here to promise to make amends as well?" You crossed your arms. You meant it as a sign that you were wanting to create distance, but honestly you didn't trust yourself. It was second nature. Kyle and Johnny were tied when it came to having to always touch you.

Probably why his ghosting sucked so bad.

"I'd like to take you out." You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you. It wasn't until Kyle's face fell that you realized, "Oh, you're actually serious."

He opened his mouth, ready to no doubt give you the same exact promises of doing better that John had given you the day before. Fortunately for Kyle, you didn't have the time to entertain a conversation.

"Fine." You immediately relented. No argument. "That Indian place where I asked you to go four months ago. Seven. If you manage to figure out which place, then I'll be meeting you there. Otherwise you'll be eating alone."

Kyle stood still. Unprepared for the fact that you had... agreed. You actually agreed to let him take you out.

"I can pick you up."

"Not sure what time I'll be getting off today. Might go home first. Might just go straight there." You started opening tasks again. "I have to finish setting up. Seven sharp.

"Seven sharp." He repeated, his smile lighting up the room.

It made you feel sick.

It was 6:45 when your phone started ringing. It was Kyle. Confirming that he was at the restaurant you were supposed to go.

7:00. He had gotten the two of you a table. He'll go ahead and order you a drink. They had mango lassi, but wasn't sure if you wanted to stick to just water.

7:15 He tries calling you. When it goes to voicemail, a follow up text is sent asking if you're okay.

At 7:20, while sitting on the couch you text back. Sorry. Something came up. We'll reschedule, I promise.

If you knew giving them a taste of their own medicine felt so good, you would have done it ages ago. You felt no since of shame in sending it. You hated being petty, but you wanted them to know what it felt like.

John had a lot more of verbal outbursts coming his way and if Johnny was hoping for a chance, he would be lucky if you had sex with him again before marriage.

Ten minutes later, on the dot, there was a knocking on your door. Your food had arrived. Blindly, you opened the door. Only instead of the take out you had delivered, Kyle stood there. Yet again soaked to the bone and this time out of breath.

"How did you know I was here?" Was the first thing that had come into your mind. If anything, he would have went by the shop first, but no. He came here. You weren't the type to deviate from a schedule, but christ. Simon at your date and then the club. John at the shop on your day off. Now this. "I swear to fucking god this fucking stalking-"

"Easy now, Love. No one's stalking you." Bullshit.

Absolute bullshit. They were military. Really important and special connections type of military, but this was bullshit. They were keeping tabs on you somehow.

"I know for a fucking fact that place is only ten minutes away. So you didn't have time to check out my store-- where I should be-- before coming here. So I'm going to ask you again, how did you know I was here?"

"Okay," he shrugged. "Stalking. We're stalking you." Kyle was lying. We he nodded like a bobblehead, you knew whatever was coming out of his mouth was bullshit. The first time you confirmed it was after Johnny had volunteered to make haggis. Kyle told him it was good, no doubt hoping to spare his feelings.

"Kyle." You warned, eyes narrowed and teeth clenched. He paused as if trying to form another lie, but coming up short. Sighing in defeat, he confessed.

"Blocking us didn't stop you from sharing your location." In that moment, you could have strangled him. They had been still using your location. Something you had given them as a way to find you if you ever needed help. Now those assholes were using it for their own benefit.

"Son of a-" you shut your mouth. "I can't do this with you right now, okay?" You didn't confess that your publisher had asked for a last minute zoom call in the middle of your busiest work hour to see how you felt about doing a few meet and greets, all expenses paid.

Good news, but still... overwhelming. You still felt like an imposter. That you didn't deserve the hype you were getting. Your story wasn't that good. Your characters didn't hold much depth.

"Everything okay?" You didn't want to tell him. Didn't want to give him the chance to offer the reassurance you desperately needed for something he had no idea about.

"Why?" You asked, changing the subject. "I just want to know why? With John I get that the job gets stressful and needing someone to take-"

"No," he finished. "That's not an excuse. It's a reason. Not an excuse." His jaw clenched. "There is no excuse for how any of us treated you."

"Then what was your reason?" you asked. "I'm finding it very hard that someone who quite actively avoided me suddenly wants to get back together."

"I slacked off?" He shrugged. "I figured there were four of us and if I wasn't able to be there, it wouldn't make a difference."

"If you're just going to lie, Kyle, there is no point in continuing this conversation." You go to close the door only for his hand to stop you.

He stands there, looking at the ground. Even from the this angle you can see him take his bottom lip between his teeth.

He's nervous.

You step back. Giving him the option of coming in and saying it is whatever it is he needs to stay. He may be an ass like the rest of them, but this isn't exactly a conversation you want to have in the hallway for your nosey neighbors to hear.

He takes the silent invitation. Walking in and not speaking until you click the door shut. "You want the truth?" His voice is soft, but there is something else behind it. Anger?

"No," you say sardonically. "Please. Lie to me." He sighed, but didn't say anything. You were exhausted. The past few days had been a back-to-back rollercoaster of emotions. You were drained. You didn't have it in you for this right now. "Kyle-"

"I thought you only kept asking because you felt bad for me." He said the words so quickly, it took you a moment to process them. He thought.... you felt bad for him? "Like you were still trying to include me even if you didn't want to."

"Why?" Was the only thing you could come up with. You didn't have the energy to try to come up with your own reasoning for his admission.

"Don't think I don't know how I am compared to the them." He scoffed. You always knew the hierarchy of their work, even if you didn't know all the details. John was at the top. Captain and head bitch in charge. Simon was the lieutenant with Johnny and Kyle as Sergeants. Kyle was the youngest of the group by two years, but still. What was there to compare?

"So you're not a Captain or Lieutenant?" you shrug. "Johnny is the same rank as you. And you are the youngest and I'm sure with time you'll get to a position-"

"Black!" He said. "I'm black. I am the only fucking black guy not only in this relationship. I'm the only black guy in the 141, in the unit."

When it came to Kyle, black was the last thing you thought of. You thought of his soft brown eyes or house his hands felt so smooth against your body. How his smile could light up the room and how beautiful, how head-turning gorgeous he was. "I'm just an after thought in everything else regarding the 141, why would you be any different?"

"Ky," you were going to be sick. Was this how he really felt? With you? With the others? With work? "You know I don't feel that way, right?"

"Do you remember that time we went out? That french place?" How could you forget. The maître d' had asked Kyle to put a card on a tab before the two of you were even seated. At first you thought it was preposterous. Why would you make patrons at a fine dining restaurant do that? This wasn't a pub for Christ sakes. Kyle told you not to worry about it and handed over a card.

The two of you never went back.

"Oh my god." It dawned on you. "When they asked for your card..."

"I..." he sucked in a breath. Trying to keep his composure. "It was fucking humiliating. I was a man dressed to the fucking nines with a gorgeous girl on my arm and before I even got the chance to blow my money, I was treated like I couldn't afford it. It wasn't because of what I was wearing or who I was with. It was because of me. Of who I was. Who I am."

"Kyle," words escaped you. Nothing in that moment to reassure him that it never dawned on you. That it stupidly never dawned on you how there were times that people did look at him different. You wanted to tell him that it didn't matter. That you were just as important and lovable and respectable as the others. That you loved him just as much. Words failed you. All you could say say was, "I'm so sorry."

He swallowed, before taking in harsh breath through his nose. "It's not an excuse. I got wrapped up in my own stupid fucking head about how other people looked at me, I forgot it only mattered how you did."

"And you did." You said, aching to reach out. To touch him. Offer some comfort. Hating that he ever felt like he wasn't enough. Knowing the feeling all too well. Even if he was the one to make you feel it. "You did matter to me."

"I know." He said. You were thankful he said it clearly. Not shrugging his shoulders or nodding his head as he spoke. "I'll do anything to matter to you again." He took your hands in his, even though they had ached to hold you closer. But he knew not to test his luck. "If you want to press restart and let's take it back to the very beginning, I'll do that. I will court you and woo you and make you fall in love with me all over again because I will never fall out with you. I can't."

You weren't prepared for this. You had prepared to leave Kyle waiting in a restaurant alone. Now your heart ached in your chest at the idea of letting him ever think he wasn't enough because of the color of his skin.

"It doesn't have to be now or tomorrow or next week or next fucking month." He squeezed your hands the same way had John had. With the exact same intensity and promise. "Just let me try again. I won't let you down this time. I'll put in the work."

"I don't want you to feel like you have to work to make this relationship work, Kyle." You protest, wanting to pull your hands away. Free from the spell his touch had seem to be putting you under.

He smiled. Not enough to show off his teeth, but enough where have of his face lifted up. "It's not the type of work with long hours and a shit commute. Loving you is the same kind of work an artist puts into making a masterpiece. Pouring everything into it and getting something beautiful in return."

Before you could comprehend it, your face was wet. "Kyle." Your lips quivered, a sob threatening to come out. "I never felt like I needed to spend time with you, Ky." You sniffled. "I fucking wanted to. I missed you." You were so close. You needed to reel it in. Get it together.

"I just didn't understand how you could." His confession broke any restraint you had. Your hand flew to your mouth, trying to subdue your cries. When Kyle pulled you to his chest, his arms wrapping around you, you allowed yourself to crumble.

Not even for yourself, but for him.

For the kind heart you now knew broke with every sideways glance from passer-byes. For the hateful and prejudice world you lived in and for how they could overlook such a wonderful man just because of something as basic as the color of his skin.

You weren't sure how long you stood crying. You weren't certain if the knock on the door behind him actually happened or something your mind had conjured to try and pull you from your fit.

Eventually you did pull away from him. Your face covered in snot and tears. Seeing that you still were in need of it, Kyle pulled you back to him, only this time your face wasn't buried into his shirt.

You stood there. His arms wrapped around your back while yours found their home around his waist.

"I used to love when you would come back to my place directly from base as soon as you got back from a deployment." You said, breaking the silence. "I would be waiting like a kid on Christmas waiting to see what trinket made you think of me. You made me feel like even though we were so far away, you still thought about me."

"Always." He said, before his lips pressed against the top of your head. "Not a day I didn't miss being here with you."

The two of you eventually settled down on the couch. Both on opposite ends with a hot cup of tea in your hands and the array of take out containers half empty. You had planned for a night of eating your feelings so there was luckily enough food for two.

"I don't want to say no." You admitted. "But I need time. Before I even think about saying yes to all of this again."

"Not all of this," he reminded. "Just me. I'm doing my part in groveling, let the others figure it out. Or at least that's just what Price told us. Although you would be doing all of us a favor if you talked to Johnny?" Your ears perked up. You hadn't seen or heard from Johnny since Friday.

"What's wrong with Johnny?" You asked.

"Lad didn't cope well with you going on your date." Not that you had fucked him and said it was a mistake.... or maybe he kept that tidbit to himsle.f

"It wasn't a-" you started.

"I know," he said. "Simon happened to be nearby." You shot him a look, letting him know you weren't buying that lie, before he continued. "But he didn't. Fuck you're lucky we were able to drag him out of your apartment before you got back and he made an even bigger fool of himself."

"What are you talking about?" You asked. "What do you mean by drag?"

"Johnny called Simon. Told him you were on a date and to bring your ass back. Although you had made it a point to fuck him and leave-- absolutely no judgement, by the way-- he was going to make it a point to never leave your bed."

"My top sheet..." You had come home to your comforters and pillows on the floor. When making up your bed, the top sheet was missing. You had just assumed you didn't put it on or maybe it was in the wash.

"Refused to put his clothes back on. Me and John couldn't risk carrying a naked, screaming Scot through the streets without making a spectical. So we rolled him up and carried him of like a rug. A very heavy, squirmy rug."

"Oh," your hand flew to your chest. "Johnny." He was the bleeding heart of the group so you weren't exactly surprised. He was also the one who blew up shit, so he was definitely one for dramatics. "So that's how Simon figured out about dinner. But the drinks-"

"Whenever Simon is home, he's your shadow. The only time we don't worry about you is when we know he's with you." That made you roll your eyes.

"You act like he's my guard dog."

"He is."

"Is not." You defended, your conversation from Saturday night coming back to you.

"You're not my body guard, Simon." You snapped.

"Not trying to be," he said. "I was never trying to be."

"He's not." you said again.

"You're right." Kyle relented, shrugging his fucking shoulders.

"You're saying that like you're just not trying to argue with me." He took a sip of your tea. "Kyle!" He sighed before looking at you as if the last thing he wanted to do was continue on the subject.

"He is." He said. "Your guard dog."

"I mean he protects me, but all of you do." He shakes his head, a huff of air going out of his nose, almost amused.

"Not like Simon." He admits it almost as if he were ashamed. "I want to say something." He said it as if he were preparing you for the next words to come out of his mouth would change the course of the night. "I need to say it because it would make me less of a man and even less of a friend if I didn't. But I don't want you to hate me or yourself for it."

Why would you hate yourself for it?

"Fine." you agreed, giving him permission to continue. "I won't hold it against you."

"You were always the one to coordinate things to do. One-on-one dates. Helping John with paperwork when shit got to crazy and you were the only one the uptight asshole would let touch his files." You gave a small smile remembering how John had barked at a recruit to get the fuck out of his office before peppering you with kisses at your arrival. Giving small pecks of appreciation as he explained what he needed you to do and how to do it.

"Helping me after my shoulder injury and staying on my ass about the physical therapy."

"Well someone had to." You countered.

"This past Christmas when Johnny needed to get his sisters gifts so you made a whole day out of it going to see lights and ice skating." Johnny was the proud owner of a freshly bruised tailbone after landing flat on his ass and swearing off skating for the rest of his life. Feckin' ice.

"Okay?" You asked, not really sure where Kyle was headed for this. He had pointed out what a good girlfriend you were, had been. How you had always tried to be helpful and do whatever needed to help your boys out.

He stopped. He looked at you as if he were debating to tell you what he had warned you about. He looked down at the floor before taking his bottom lip in between his teeth.

"Fuck." He muttered.

"Spit it out, Kyle!" You whined, now clueless to what point he was trying to make by all the examples of what a good girlfriend you had been.

He looked at you with the same solemness that a friend looked at another friend before having to call them out on their shit, knowing that the pill they were about to be given would be a hard one to swallow.

"You never did that with Simon."

[justyourusualash]

His Fault | A.H.

summary: the team calls hotch, but he doesn’t pick up. is he alright?

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x reader

warnings: mention of the stabby incident, making out, sorta public, teeny weeny bit of crying, its a tiny bit worrisome in the beginning but then its super hilarious, the horizontal tango hit an unexpected commercial break (coitus interruptus)

wc: 720

a.n: guys this is my first hotch fic. its not the indian-american!reader ive been working on. im just trying to put myself on the tag soo here we gooo

“Uhh… guys?” Emily started and the rest of them looked at her with questioning gazes.

“Yes, Emily?” JJ asked, getting worried.

“I’ve been trying to call Hotch, and he isn’t picking up. And considering what happened the last time he didn’t pick up our calls…”

“He got stabbed in his own apartment.” Derek interrupted.

“I think we should go to his apartment and make sure he’s okay.” Emily finished, glaring at him.

“She’s right. But, how will we get in?” Penelope’s arrival was signalled by the jingle of her bracelets.

“Rossi has a key.” Spencer pointed out.

“For emergencies!” Dave exclaimed.

“This is an emergency! We don’t know where or in what state our boss is!” JJ argued and hearing that, Dave relented.

They entered his apartment guns held carefully behind their backs, with Penelope trailing behind them, just in case something was wrong. But, Hotch was not there. “Now what?” Spencer asked, looking around his boss’ apartment.

“Now we wait. If something is wrong we’ll get an indication of it and if nothing is wrong, Hotch will come back and we’ll explain everything to him.” Derek said and everyone agreed.

They waited for about fifteen minutes, when something slammed against the front door and they all brought their guns out again. They then heard the unmistakable sound of Hotch’s keys, the door opened and…

It was her fault that he was half-hard by the time they got to the restaurant, she just looked so good in that dress.

It was her fault that he was completely hard by the time they left the restaurant, she was teasing him so much.

It was her fault that they were making out in the elevator of his apartment building, she showed him a peek of the navy blue lingerie she was wearing just for him.

It was her fault that he was letting her unbutton his shirt in the elevator, she put his hand on her thigh and it was gliding up with a mind of its own.

It was her fault that he all but slammed her into the door of his apartment, she just kissed him so good.

It was her fault that he let her push his shirt off of his shoulders when he closed the door by slamming her into it, she just tasted so-

“Hotch!”

He turned around reaching for his gun on instinct when he realized that it was his team, standing in the living room of his apartment.

“What the hell are you doing in my apartment at 9:30 at night?!” Aaron exclaimed, shielding y/n as he handed her his shirt to put on.

“You gave me a key!” Dave argued.

“For emergencies! Stop snickering, y/n.” He looked behind him and bit his tongue to stop himself from smiling as he looked at her.

“Give me the keys and get out of my apartment.” He plucked the keys out of Dave’s hands and turned around to face his girlfriend. “These are yours now.” He said, placing them in her hand.

“What if you need something and you’re not close to your apartment and it’s closer to go from the office?” Derek asked as a ploy to get the keys back.

“You will get the keys back when I decide that you won’t storm my apartment if I don’t pick up a call from you guys. Now, out of my apartment please.”

He turned around after closing the door to find y/n looking at him with tears in her eyes.

“Baby!” He took her face in his hands, worried. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“You gave me the keys to your apartment!”

“I trust you, sweet girl.”

“We’ve only been dating for four months.”

“It’s long enough for me to trust you with my life, baby. That, and I kinda wanna come home one day and see you standing there with nothing but my shirt on.” He smirked at her as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Oh you horny, horny old man. I love you so much.” She smiled as she reached up to kiss him.

“I love you too, pretty girl” He beamed as they kissed all the way back to his bedroom. It was his fault he gave her the key to his apartment, he just loved her so much.

[junglejim4322]

Used to just sit around and sulk on my dads birthday after he died and the first time I finally got convinced to go out and celebrate it I was probably 19 and went with my mom and ex to an Indian restaurant and I’ll never forget I ordered dal makhani and INSISTED it was not spicy enough (I did have a crazy spice tolerance at the time but I wasn’t ready for this) and they brought me actual volcanic molten fire lava I have tasted very few things that spicy in my life. Anyway after choking through half I started to feel weird but this story is NOT going where u think it’s going

I went to the bathroom which was a single bathroom, I piss, when I came back to the mirror my face was covered in blood from the worst nose bleed I’ve ever gotten in my damn life. Bleeding all over the place on a level I didn’t even know was possible and I just started grabbing all the toilet paper I could and wiping it up. I ended up not only going through all of it but also accidentally clogging their toilet w nosebleed paper. To the point it overflowed. Feeling woozy too atp. And the kicker is the whole time I’m thinking oh god everybody prob thinks I’m shitting myself or sad and crying over my dead dad or both so they’re never gonna check on me and I’m gonna bleed out in this bathroom and drown in an inch of toilet water and die the most embarrassing landmark dal makhani related death ever. I was in there for literally probably half an hour. Anyway I survived actually and now it makes for a pretty funny story hope u enjoy x lol

[terresdebrume]

As an homage to Jayden Revri once eating an entire spoon of mustard without even twitching during an interview: an alive AU where Charles & Edwin's first date/meeting ends at an Indian restaurant Charles knows well, where Edwin orders the lowest possible level of spice and Charles orders 'you know how I like it'

When Edwin kisses Charles a little while after, they separate and he closes his eyes, one hand on his mouth, with the face of someone who deeply regrets his choices, and Charles is starting to panic and wonder what the fuck he did wrong when Edwin gives a little cough

"I don't believe this is what the poets had in mind when they described a searing kiss!"

Charles invites him in for a glass of milk

[hurtspideyparker]

One night in the lab Peter finds an old prototype of the EDITH glasses and puts them on.

"Look Mr. Stark! I am Iron Man," he says with a deep voice.

"C'mon kid, that's the best impression you got?" Tony says before looking up.

He sees Peter with those rectangular frames and big grin. For a moment he thinks he's looking at old publicity photos of himself. A confident Tony Stark, tinted glasses and cocky smile, hair fluffed up and oozing manly charm.

Tony's easy smile drops a bit at the thought of Peter being anything like who he used to be.

"Oh sorry for talking over you Ms. Potts I just like the sound of my own voice more than hearing about the safety of our company. I'm too cool to apologize so I'll buy you a zoo for endangered species later honey," Peter tries again with the mocking deep voice.

Tony is quick to recover from the odd deja-vu feeling of seeing the teenager in the frame of a mirror, focusing back on his hologram.

"Yeah because I call the love of my life by her last name. And for your information it was an alpaca sanctuary, and she loved it." Tony corrects, pointing a pen at Peter in rebuke without looking up from his work.

"I chose to be respectful over accurate. Also I saw those alpaca photos and one of them was trying to chew on her skirt, she didn't look very impressed." Peter replies with a matter of fact press of his lips.

Tony glances back at the boy only to find himself unable to look away. He can't help but hear echoes of "I just wanted to be like you!" when he sees the boy wearing frames reminiscent of Tony's classic fashion sense.

Tony thinks about Howard, how he used to run laps to prove he was good enough, better than, worthy of being his son.

He was never enough for Howard.

"You're always better at remembering that kind of stuff than me anyways kid."

Peter is taken back by the earnest tone the older man suddenly possesses. His mouth opens but no words come out in reply, Tony looking at him as if he can see right through the spiderling.

"Now stop playing with my old crap and c'mere, we have some important decisions to make," Tony waves him over to look at something on his phone.

When Peter gets close enough he sees that it's a food delivery app, Tony's fingers hovering between an Indian and Thai restaurant.

Peter shoots him another grin, "I vote for samosas!"

Tony rolls his eyes but clicks on the Indian restaurant anyways.

Peter notices in the reflection of the phone that he still has the glasses on, reaching up to remove them before Tony puts a hand on his wrist to stop him.

"Keep em on, it's the first time you've ever looked cool enough to hang out with me. The tech in those is useless anyways, they're just a pair of sunglasses now."

Peter looks up at his mentor with such awe and admiration that Tony nearly melts like butter under the sun.

Tony may not do many things right when it comes to people, but he knows that even when he was still young and naive he'd known better than to ever look at Howard like that.

So maybe there's one thing he hasn't screwed up.

[unicornjoking1111]

I just realised my mom has manifested her life!! (Beauty, popularity and wealth)

A short bio of my mom’s childhood!!

She is brought up in a village area and kind of in the state of poor to middle class but mostly poor since it’s not what you call a normal living cause my grandparents have farm house with goose,horses and everything you would expect there and my grandparents have four children’s and the last one is my mom! (All are girls) so it’s hard during in that century cause having a girl child Is “hard” and having a “man” will be helpful for my grandparents which is a stupid mentality but it is what it is… so my mom is one of the most beautiful I mean I am serious she looked like a doll yk skinny, small head and everything just like Korean idols but Indian eyes (iykyk) and she told me once saying how everyone see her and get jealous of her and all the college boys glancing and admiring! She also mentioned she wanted to do modelling and did modelling once in college! She mentioned that she would save money and buy clothes for herself and show off herself and everything! And she would accessories herself! This is what assumption is!! And she loved buying new clothes and everything she has like more clothes I can’t imagine like three cupboard of cloths like my god and she won’t even use it 😂

She literally manifested this shit!! This also includes money since she showed off in the sense she pretended to be a rich girl and showed off with dresses which made it looked rich (since there is no social media or anything that time or no background of the cloths when a dress looks beautiful is what is considered rich that time) so that’s why she has more wealth now and a millionaire.

Btw she is a housewife and a very lazy one (I am still proud of her) she manifested not to work and still be a millionaire by marrying my dad! But my dad also didn’t have money but they gradually evolved and became millionaires so now they are high middle class. She also created a dream house for us with gardens and it’s so beautiful!! And she takes care of other business like renting something to get income.

(Sorry for my english)

I hope this motivates yall cause I just realised I have so many people I know manifested so much things!

I also have a success story! Basically I embodied being a trillionaire, I ordered food and the delivery guy asked for tips which they never ask and I gave a little more, and Amazon delivery guy told he doesn’t have extra cash to give me and I just left it, I had enough money to buy two clothes and a bag which is so good!! Today me and my family went to a restaurant and the guy who works there opened the door for me the moment he saw me (I mean it’s his job but it was also like my first time someone opened the door for me so I would consider it a success)

[aakeysmash]

hello! I saw you were asking about headcanons and I thought it'd be fun to share a thought.

Sukuna, despite being all tough and gruff.... not being able to handle spicy food.

Like at all.

One bite of something that mildly spicy and he's huffing and puffing, completely flushed and sweating with angry curses spewing about as he grabs what's probably his 4th glass of milk.

His face is a shade darker then his hair now and reader is absolutely in tears from laughing so hard. She on the other hand, can handle her spice quite well lmao.

Also Yuji can too, much to sukuna's misery haha.

LMFAOOOO I SAY THIS IS CANON‼️‼️‼️‼️ the first time you order take out from the indian restaurant down the street you’re the one who places the order, just to do something nice for your roommates. Sukuna comes back home after picking Yuuji up from school and smells the food first, Yuuji following him the next second. The kid sheds a couple of tears because he’s not used to fancy take outs, squeezing the life out of you while he hugs you, wetting your shirt throughly 😭😭😭

Sukuna can’t say thank you because he doesn’t know how to LMFAO. He doesn’t expect any nice gestures from everyone, like, ever. So he just stands there, hands in his pocket, nodding one time while averting your gaze.

As soon as his tongue hits the fork, though, he starts coughing. You and Yuuji look at each other confused, munching on your own bites. While Sukuna looks like he’s been too long under the sun, really, too long, he manages to croak out a “milk”.

Yuuji rushes to the fridge while you pat his back, worried. As soon as the milk reaches his lips, he bathes himself in it, trying to gulp down as much as he can in one sip.

“Are you okay?” You ask him after a couple of minutes.

“This shit is spicy as fuck,” he says with a hoarse voice, glaring at you. “Are you trying to fucking kill me?”

You and Yuuji look at each other, both frowning, before you crack up and start giggling.

“What the fuck are you laughing for?” He barks, trying to clean up the corners of his mouth, still completely covered in milk.

“Bro, it’s regular black pepper…” mumbles Yuuji, while you fall on the floor laughing.

[stormz369]

☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 37

Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, NSFW, MDNI, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

warnings/labels: some mild hurt/comfort, brief discussion mentioning and alluding to typical Crime Alley shit (drugs, prostitution, human trafficking, etc.)

wc: 2.2k

Chapter Selection

Gotham University stood tall and proud; the pinnacle of modern design, all sharp edges and floor to ceiling windows. Jason insisted on walking me to class for my first day, looking longingly at the library building as we passed.

“... You could take some classes too, you know.” I smiled softly. “I can just see you pouring over the Epic of Gilgamesh for some classic literature class while I'm memorizing the names of the bones or something. We could be GU's next power couple~”

He chuckled softly, smiling wistfully. “... It would be nice, … if only … I … I didn't even graduate high school … kinda died in the middle, and then …”

I gently squeezed his hand, stroking his knuckles. He smiled weakly, gently tugging me closer to press a soft kiss to my jaw; silently reassuring me that he was ok. I leaned in, smiling softly; “... You could get your GED, if you want it?”

“... Maybe, some day. But for now, I’m happy to cheer you on from the sidelines.”

I cupped his cheek gently; “if that's what you want.”

He nodded; “... For now.”

Other students streamed past us into the classroom. “Ok, … wish me luck!”

Jason smiled softly; “good luck, baby girl~ … you're incredible, you know that?”

I felt my face warm as he pulled me into a hug. “... Nah, not really…”

“Yes really. You're gonna knock their socks off…”

I giggled softly, kissing him one more time before heading into my class. Jason waved me off as the professor shut the door, starting class.

I changed, scribbled a quick note on the whiteboard on the fridge, in case Jason came home before I did, tossed Damian's helmet into my riding bag, and headed out. I found the restaurant easily enough, quickly spotting Damian at a little metal table out front. My heart ached at the sight; he looked so defeated, sitting there with his hands in his lap. Emma was nowhere to be seen. As I pulled in to a spot, he slid his backpack onto his shoulders and approached.

Damian: Sister, can you please come get me?

3:45pm

Me: Yeah, you at school?

3:46pm

Damian: No, the boba place down the block.

3:47pm

Me: Oh yeah, your date! How'd it go?

3:48pm

Damian: I'd rather not discuss it.

3:50pm

Me: Oh damn. Ok, I'll be there in 10 

3:51pm

Damian: Thank you.

3:52pm

His cheeks were a bit flushed, and his usual self-assured smirk was replaced with a blank expression. I pulled his helmet out of the bag, offering it to him, and he immediately tugged it on. His arms wrapped tight around my waist as he settled into his seat.

I gently squeezed his hand and we took off. “You wanna ride for a bit, or go straight home?”

“... Ride.”

“Ok, we can do that.”

I turned down a road that led to some nicer neighborhoods, so he'd have pretty parks and historic architecture to look at. He sighed softly, hugging me tight, and we drove in silence for a while. Eventually a chime in my helmet headset let me know I was being called.

I pushed a button on my helmet to accept the call; “hello?”

“Hey Doll, you on your way back?”

Damian squeezed a bit tighter. He wasn't ready. “No, not yet, Jay. Damian wants to ride around for a bit.”

“Oh. Hey demon spawn!” Damian grunted softly in response. “... Woah. Ok then. Not a good day. Should I order dinner, or is Damian going back to the manor?”

“That sounds nice to me. Kiddo?”

“... Indian?” Damian mumbled.

“Sure, Indian. You both want your usuals?” Jason sounded a bit concerned. Damian wasn't usually this obviously affected by things…

“Yes please. Thanks Jay~”

Damian grunted a soft; “thanks…”

“Sure. See you in … what, maybe an hour? Two?”

“Something like that. I'll call you when we're on our way home.” I stroked the back of Damian's hand, hoping he'd find it reassuring. 

“Ok. Be safe.”

“Always. Love ya!”

“Love you too, princess.” With a click the call disconnected, and Damian sighed softly.

“... You wanna talk, sweetie?”

“... She … she didn't even realize it was supposed to be a date. … She showed up with a group of people. … Everyone was ordering bobas, and laughing. I tried to talk to her, but she wasn't really paying attention … Suddenly they were all talking about going to the mall. I said I didn't want to go, … And she left with them anyway.”

I sighed softly, gently squeezing his hand. “I'm so sorry, Damian. That must have hurt a lot …”

“... Jon was right … I'm undateable.”

“Oh honey, Jon doesn't think that. I think he was just surprised that the first time you mentioned this girl to him was also the day you told him you had a date. That's all.”

 “... So he thinks I'm indecisive? … That might be worse. What kind of leader can't make a simple decision?”

“... You're not indecisive, baby. No one thinks that. You're discerning. You choose your friends carefully, and Jon knows that.”

He sighed softly. “... Can I sleep at yours tonight?”

“Of course. Should we head to the manor for you to feed your pets first?”

“Yes. … Thank you.”

I nodded, and we made our way to the Wayne household. Damian was silent the whole way, sluggishly sliding off the bike when we got there.

Alfred frowned, watching us as we entered the house. I smiled weakly, and Damian hurried off to tend to his animals.

“He's asked to spend the night with me and Jason.”

Alfred nodded. “I see. Well, do you have time for a cup of tea? I'd like to hear about your first day at the university.”

I smiled softly, nodding. “It was good. My biochemistry teacher in particular seems really nice; he's a bit stern, but still warm if that makes sense?”

Alfred nodded, leading me into the kitchen. We had tea and discussed my classes for a while. Eventually, Bruce stood in the doorway and cleared his throat.

“May I speak with you for a moment?”

I nodded slowly, standing to follow him. Alfred wished me farewell, and Bruce led me to a sitting room. We sat in plush armchairs, watching the fire in the fireplace.

“... I have a favor to ask.”

“Ok?”

“... I'm worried about Jason … and, I've been thinking about it, and you might be the only person who could convince him …”

I frowned. “Convince him?”

“... He puts himself in unnecessary danger on patrol. And I-”

“Wait. Is Bruce asking me a favor, or Batman?” I leaned forward a bit. “Because you know that I will not help Batman. And I cannot imagine why Bruce would be bringing up patrol with me.”

He sighed; “... I'm worried about my son's safety. And it occured to me that you, as his girlfriend, are in a unique position to convince him not to take unnecessary risks.”

“I see … risks, such as going out on patrol at all?”

“... Risks, such as having a reputation among the Gotham underground for coldblooded murder.” Bruce grimaced.

“Ah. … See, here's the thing, Bruce; that ship has sailed. Red Hood is already known to kill when necessary. Changing that now will not protect him, it will make him appear to be going soft, and put him in more danger. And even if that weren't the case, … I still wouldn't help you with this.”

He clenched his jaw, narrowing his eyes at me. “... Do you like that he kills?”

“... Let me tell you a little story, Bruce. When I was in high school I walked to and from school. And every single day I walked past half a dozen dealers, all offering me the first taste for free. I saw dozens of my classmates give in, one by one. They sought stress relief, or party enhancers, or study aids, but the result was always the same. Everything they were eventually slipped away until they were entirely consumed by the drugs. … By the time I graduated, almost a third of my classmates were dead, missing, or dropped out, most of them because of drugs. Only two kids had gone to rehab and come back in time to graduate with the rest of us.

When I first got my job at the diner, I only worked day shifts. I made sure I was home by nightfall no matter what, because from dusk till dawn the dealers, pimps, and gangs owned the streets. Joker, Two-Face, Penguin, and even Batman and Robin had all pushed the ordinary criminals out of the rich neighborhoods, out of the middle class neighborhoods, and into mine. So I followed all the rules; keep your head down, stay inside at night, don't draw attention to yourself, carry pepper spray but not a knife.

One day I woke up, I made my way to work, and halfway into my shift a coworker called in. I was told I could stay late to cover, or not come in the next day. So I stayed. Late that night I finally went home. … And nothing happened. I didn't see one shady deal in a back alley, or hear one prostitute calling out to the folks on the street. I was alone. … It was unsettling, to say the least. In the morning all the headlines were reporting that there was a new crime boss in Gotham. That a dozen gang members had been executed in a single night, and the underground was in turmoil.

… Over the next several weeks more reports came out, all calling the Red Hood a murderer, a serial killer even. But you know what the people in my neighborhood said? They called him a hero. They said we were finally safe, that we could leave our homes after dark again. The high school dropout rate in my neighborhood plummeted that year. Our sisters and daughters actually came home after a night out. It became known - if you see a flash of red in the night, someone evil is about to die. Seeing Red Hood wasn't a guarantee of safety, of course; innocents still died. But they died knowing that their killer would be in hell soon, because the Red Hood takes no prisoners.”

Bruce watched me, a pained look in his eyes as he took in my story. “... So you will not discourage him from killing?”

“... When Jason Todd returned to Crime Alley, he single-handedly did more good for my neighbors than Batman ever has. He makes us safer; not just feel safer, we are safer. I am not going to tell him how to run his business. I trust him to make good choices. He knows I want him to come home, and I trust that he will always do his best to do so. I can't ask for more than that. He's a man, not a god.”

Bruce sighed, nodding slowly. “... With every life he ends, he takes another step down a path of darkness. … Someday he may find himself too far down that path; too far to turn back, too far to hide from the consequences. … It is a path I cannot follow, and if I cannot follow him, how can I protect him?”

“I understand, but ... He's making the choices he can live with. He's a good man, Bruce. You know that, don't you?” He nodded slowly. “Then maybe you should try to trust him.”

Bruce sighed and nodded slowly. “... I am so worried for him…”

“Good. You're his dad, it's your job to be worried about him. But that doesn't have to mean second guessing every choice he makes. You're allowed to have different moral codes.”

Damian cleared his throat from the doorway, changed into casual clothes and a bag slung over his shoulder. “I'm ready when you are…”

I nodded, smiling softly. “Ok, baby brother. I'll meet you downstairs. Will you tell Jay we're on the way?”

He nodded, smiling a little. Bruce frowned a bit. “He's spending the night with you then?”

“He asked to. I'll take him to school in the morning.”

Bruce nodded slowly, sighing. “... Fine. … Have a good evening.”

After dinner, Jason convinced Damian to tell him what happened on his date. The boy curled in on himself, mumbling, and I went to the kitchen to load the dishes. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jason pull Damian into a hug, and Damian hugged back, even leaning into it. I smiled softly, glad they were opening up to each other.

“... I think I'll take a shower.” Damian slowly pulled away.

I nodded. “Go ahead, kiddo. When you're done we can have dessert. Nothing soothes heartache like a brownie sundae, yeah?”

He smiled a little and nodded. “Yeah, ok. Thanks.”

“Of course, baby brother.”

He headed into the bathroom and Jason came up to wrap his arms around me. I kissed his cheek, smirking a bit, and whispered; “way to go, papa.”

He blinked a bit, groaning softly. “Dear god, no.”

“Oh yes~” I giggled.

He chuckled, pulling me closer. “Ugh, gross … don't let B hear that.”

“Are you kidding? Bruce already doesn't like my relationship with Damian, I'm not about to give him any reason to distrust yours too.”

Jason nodded, kissing my jaw. “Good …”

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

Fanart in the header by: @crowkip

Taglist (always open):

@jawdropforkpop @krys0210 @snowy-violet @superthoughts @wordsfromshona @mystic60 @iwannabealocalcryptid @morstuavitamea-a @frosty--giants @arisa191 @prized-jules @phoenix666stuff @dinonuggysandhuggus @anuttellaa @whore-of-many-hot-men @cottage-worm @v1ckycheesue @roastyyytoastyyy @sarakmec @thestarcatcher7297 @stupidlyunhinged @mishkapi @mermaidgirl-11 @bunniboo0015 @bibibusinessman @iimichie @nekotaetae @sofiafantasies @casgh0st @fandom-trash0116 @viliwi

[mitskicain]

navi | m.list

. ⁺ . ✦ the doghouse — ken sato x reader

© mitskicain all rights reserved. the modification, translation, and plagiarism of my work is strictly prohibited.

synopsis: date night; you talk about dealbreakers and what you want out of life, and each other.

content warning: cursing and profanity, suggestive, innuendos

word count: 1.4K

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003: play date

He arrives fifteen minutes early, with Indian, Chinese, Italian and Japanese takeout.

“I didn’t know what you liked,” he says, letting himself in and kicking his shoes off by the door, setting the bags on the counter. “So I got a little bit of everything.”

You stare at the food with a bewildered look in your eyes. This would last you the whole week. What the hell is this guy—made of money? Well, okay, granted his apartment and how he didn’t even ask you for the 400 bucks back suggests maybe, but christ, doesn’t he have other things he should be spending this on, like supercars or thousand dollar clothing?

Your train of thought is interrupted by him shoving you a greasy tub of butter chicken, alongside some garlic naan with a side of udon noodles. Interesting combo. You take your seat on the floor, setting the food on the shallow coffee table that’s littered with unopened mail and receipts.

“Do a lot of shopping?” He asks, mouth full of lasagna—he’s already chowing down on the food without as much as waiting for you to have taken your first bite. What a gentleman.

“No, well, not for me,” you reply, pushing around the food on your plate, “it’s for them.” You point towards your two dogs that are eyeing him keenly from behind the screen door, their eyes a flash of light in the dark. From a stranger's perspective, they must look absolutely vicious, but to you they were just Lassie and Strauber—from childhood, from the old days.

“Mm,” he hums, taking a sip of his Diet Coke. “Not much of a dog person, I’m afraid.”

You make a face.

“Date’s over, eugh,” you say, “dealbreaker.”

The both of you laugh, faces cracking up and all teeth—a flash of canines, again—something in your stomach churns.

“Seriously?” You ask, looking over at Ken who’s still hunched over, trying to stifle his laugh. “How could you say no to dogs?”

“I got chased by one as a kid, I guess it stuck.” he says, scooping up another mouthful of lasagna. He motions over to the two, “they bite?”

“Hard,” you grin, reminded of the time you asked him the same question. “When they bite, they don’t let go.”

He grimaces a bit, imagining the bloody, messy scene. You dip the naan in the curry, mopping up all its goodness. Ken devours his plate, and reaches for more—it’s a disgusting sight, like he’s been starved for days—but there’s something fulfilling about it too, like watching Strauber absolutely demolish a serving after you run an extra mile with her.

“You’re a mess,” you say, leaning forward and wiping a sauce streak away from the edge of his lip. You see the surprise on his face when your finger meets his skin, like he doesn’t expect it—didn’t know you were capable of being tender. Part of you didn’t expect it either.

Silence for a moment; the atmosphere still. The two of you realize you barely know anything about the other. You were just two strangers sharing a meal in your apartment.

“I read some of your stuff from the dayplanner,” he says, clearing his throat, hand on the back of his head. “It’s really good, I mean—you’re a writer?”

You give him an incredulous look, and laugh, shaking your head.

“No, not me, well—” you set the plate on the table and reach for your drink, some Indian rose milk he picked up that actually tasted really good, “not yet, at least. I’m hoping to make my big break soon.”

Silence, again—just for a second.

“You’ll make it,” he says, voice soft, looking over at him. His head is resting on the cushion of the couch, hair messy and cheeks slightly warm. Did he run on the way here? From restaurant to restaurant, trying to figure out what you would like before deciding: fuck it, and getting everything? You feel his fingers twitch slightly, inching towards yours. You turn away and wrap your arms around yourself.

“Don’t do that,” you struggled to pinpoint the feeling—the twisting, the churning—it made you feel sick, like you wanted to puke. The world seemed to spin. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you believe in me,” your voice falters. “It’s cruel, you know—giving false hope.”

He presses his lips into a thin line. He reaches for your hand again, this time you turn to look at him.

“I do mean it.” He says.

God.

You tear your gaze away from him—it’s too much, all of this. You can’t possibly comprehend it. His fingers tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. You reach for his hand and look up at him—his eyebrows furrowed, gray irises shimmering in the low light, mouth slightly open.

“Hey,” he breathes, voice just barely above a whisper.

“Hey,” you reply.

“Am I still just a one night stand?” He asks, and your stomach sinks. You frown a little.

“What does it matter?” You ask.

“Because I want to be more than just that,” he says, quick and easy. He sucks in a breath, as if preparing himself. “I want you.”

Your shoulders fall, and you lean forward into him, his lips finding the sensitive skin on your neck; nibbling and sucking. You squirm underneath his touch.

“Please,” he sighs in between kisses, his breath hot against your ear. “Please.”

His teeth sink into your flesh, followed quickly by his tongue rubbing soothing circles, then a kiss—like apologizing. He does this throughout the entirety of your neck, from underneath your jaw all the way along your collarbone. Your skin is slick with saliva and sweat, face red from the heat. Your hands find their way up his neck, when they grab a handful of his hair—you hear him moan.

God, the way he sounded.

“Please,” he says again, begging. Breathlessly. Desperately. “Please, I’ll be good.”

You whine, and push him away, trying to catch your breath. He falls back but catches himself by his arms, biceps flexed and straining underneath the black shirt he wore. It’s tight enough that you can make out the rouse of muscles underneath. His face is flushed, eyes half lidded, mouth open—breathing shallow. What a sight.

God.

He’s about to lean forward to reach for you again when he knocks over the half full cup of rose milk all over you, splattering all across your legs and the floor. His face twists into a look of panic, and he frantically grabs a fistful of tissues, trying to dab away at the mess before you change your mind or yell at him.

“Stop,” you say, and he freezes in his tracks, looking up at you. You tilt your head, gauging his reaction—the way he looks up at you with wide curious eyes, arms still frozen in position, so eager to please—like a dog.

“You said you’d be good, right?” You murmur, leaning back, “then clean this up.”

He tries to wipe at the mess but you stop him again, making a sharp ‘tsk’ sound with your tongue. He stops, perplexed gaze fixed on you, trying to figure out what you mean. You smile at the sight and raise a pointed foot, his hands instinctively reaching for the flesh of your calves.

“Lick,” you command, a glint in your eye. He stays still for a moment—breath hitched in his throat—before leaning down, eyes still fixed on you, and kisses the skin of your legs. His tongue is warm, gliding over you in slow strokes, sending shivers up and down your spine. You can feel the soft, velvety texture of him as he moves upwards, savoring every inch of you. The sensation is both soothing and electrifying. A mix of gentle pressure and lingering heat.

You lean forward, and push him back again, his back against the couch. He’s surprisingly lenient, not struggling when you climb onto his lap and straddle his hips. You trail your hands on his chest and you feel his heart, thundering against his ribcage. His hands feel up the milky skin of your thighs, resting on your waist.

“Please,” he says again, so close you can feel his breath on your lips. “Please, I want you.”

You grab his hands off your thigh and pin them by his side, a gasp escaping his lips. Your other hand grabs his face roughly, forcing him to look at you before you turn his head to press a wet trail of kisses up his jaw. He shivers and moans underneath your grasp.

“Mmm,” you hum into his skin, pulling away to whisper in his ear. “I love it when good boys beg.”

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author’s note: Lassie and Strauber watching you make out with him from out the backyard be like 👁️👄👁️ HAHAHAHAH i love men when they beg and yearn like 💥💥 need him crawling, sobbing on his knees 🫡🫡‼️‼️‼️ my favorite genre of men is when they’re a little bit pathetic HEHEHEH🤭🤭🤭🤭 BUT ALSO‼️‼️ I wanted to ask: do you guys have any specific dealbreakers when it comes to dating? Like for me I absolutely can’t stand when they’re rude to staff like waiters or salespeople 😭😭🙏 or when they’re messy eaters—what about you guys?? feel free to share them in the comments, and as always, thank you for supporting my work ‼️‼️‼️‼️ MUAH MAUHHH👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

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[section-chief-prentiss]

Maternity Leave (part 1/3)

Summary: Past your due date and feeling desperate, you and Emily try everything you can to start labor.

Pairing: Emily Prentiss/Reader 

Word Count: 1,761

TWs: pregnancy, labor, fluff, comfort

Ao3

PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR

Every day past your due date that you woke up and weren’t in labor caused you to be in an extremely bitter mood.

Your raven-haired wife’s eyes would flutter open to find you curled around your pregnancy pillow, lips furled into a tight frown. Her eyes would crinkle in sympathy, and she’d reach out to comfort you.

By the fifth day, you’d officially had enough. You waited, somewhat impatiently, for your wife to wake up, wanting her to be well-rested. Your back was aching; there were no comfortable positions anymore—not sitting, standing, or lying down—and you felt like you were getting bigger every day.

You’d pushed the blankets off of you long ago—you were too hot these days, so all you could bear to sleep in was a sports bra and underwear—to look at your stretched belly. You rested your hand on it, feeling your daughter shift beneath your touch.

“I love you,” you mumbled, “but you can’t stay in there forever.”

Emily’s hand reached across the bed to rest on top of yours. “Still nothing?”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” you said, attempting to shift into a more comfortable position and wincing when you failed.

“Never apologize for that. How do you feel?”

“I love our daughter, but I want her out. Today.”

Emily raised an eyebrow. “Today, huh?”

“I had a lot of time to brainstorm when I wasn’t sleeping, and she’s coming out today.” You couldn’t be swayed.

But you knew your wife loved a challenge, so she sat up with a mischievous smile. “Whatever you want. What’s first?”

Fortunately, you had a specific craving that you hoped would move things along. With assistance from Emily, you sat up, resting your back against the backboard, and rested both of your hands on your ever-expanding belly.

“Baby wants scrambled eggs for breakfast. With extra spicy hot sauce.”

Emily leaned over to give you a peck on the lips before bending down to do the same on your bump.

“Whatever baby wants,” she said, throwing the blankets aside and jumping out of bed.

“I’ll be down in a bit,” you called after her, envious for a time when moving didn’t require quite so much effort.

Slowly, you eased yourself out of bed and threw on the first oversized t-shirt and pair of sweatpants you could find before making your way downstairs to the kitchen, where Emily was already hard at work.

She wasn’t much of a cook, but throughout your pregnancy, she’d mastered scrambled eggs and managed to make them exactly how you wanted.

It had taken you so long to get to the kitchen that breakfast was almost ready by the time you sat down. Emily already set the hot sauce on the table, and you debated the pros and cons of just emptying the bottle directly into your mouth.

But you weren’t quite that desperate yet.

Emily dumped the majority of the scrambled eggs onto your plate before setting a small amount on hers. She set the pan down in the sink and joined you at the table with a kiss on the top of your head.

“What else is on your master plan for today?” Emily said, reaching for the salt and pepper.

You bypassed both and started pouring hot sauce all over your breakfast.

“This,” you said, pointing to your plate. “Then some curb walking to that Indian restaurant for the spiciest spicy curry they will let us leave with. Curb walk back, eat the spicy curry, and if I’m still not in labor, I found some workout videos on YouTube that have comments raving that it sent them into labor.”

“And if you’re still not in labor?” Emily asked through a mouthful of eggs.

You stabbed the plate with more aggression than you’d intended before shoveling in as many eggs as you could fit in your mouth. The hot sauce burned, but you powered through it. Anything to not be pregnant anymore.

“Don’t you dare say that,” you said with a growl.

Emily raised her hands in surrender. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

You ate your breakfast quickly but with determination. As you chewed each bite, you waited for something to change, but to your disappointment, your plate was finally empty, and you still hadn’t felt anything.

Emily cleared your plates, knowing better than to ask after seeing the look on your face.

No amount of food was enough these days; so despite having just eaten, you were ready for some spicy curry.

Emily threw on some leggings and a t-shirt, tied her hair back into a ponytail, and joined you in the living room. She put on her own tennis shoes before putting yours on for you. You couldn’t remember the last time you could reach your feet.

Though it was only a few blocks’ walk to the restaurant, you could tell Emily was hesitant. If you did go into labor, it would be a long walk back, but that was a risk you were willing to take.

“It’ll be fine,” you reassured her as she held the door open for you.

You fought back annoyance as Emily refused to take her eyes off of you as you walked; you had to remind yourself that she only did it because she loved you to keep yourself from snapping in hormonal rage.

The walk to the restaurant was quick, and you’d placed the order on the way there so you could pick the food up and turn around immediately.

The walk back felt much longer, your body aching all over. But when Emily offered to run home and grab the car, you refused to give in. You would try this, and it would work.

As a reward, when you made it home, Emily rubbed your sore feet as you ate as much spicy curry as your stomach would allow. When your stomach started rebelling, you had to ask Emily to put the rest in the fridge.

You spent the rest of the day relaxing together until you regained enough energy to try the workout videos you’d found. Again, Emily hovered nearby in case you needed her, but you kept your focus on the TV, hyperaware of every sensation in your body, ready for any sign of labor.

But nothing came.

By nightfall, you were exhausted physically and mentally. Tears brimmed in your eyes. You’d come so far, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were failing. You sat on the edge of the bed, holding your belly, and your tears fell onto it.

Emily stepped out of the bathroom to find you a sniffling mess.

“Oh, love,” she said, sitting beside you. “Tell me what I can do.”

You rested your head on her shoulder, tears still flowing. “I’m sorry,” you whimpered. “She should be here by now; I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Hey, nothing is wrong with you,” she took your hand in hers. “She’ll come when she’s ready.”

You nodded and sniffled, not trusting your voice.

“Will you let me try something? It might help.”

You lifted your head, feeling wary. “What?”

“Stand up for me?”

She got to her feet first, offering you her hands. You took them gratefully, and she pulled you up.

She walked to the wall on the side of your room and pressed her back against it.

“Turn around,” she said.

You obliged, and she pulled you so your back was pressing against her body.

“I’m gonna lift your bump to try and take some of the weight off for you.”

You hesitated. “Are you sure? She’s pretty heavy…”

Emily scoffed. “Have you seen my arms? I’ll be fine.”

You giggled; she was right.

“Ready?” she said, interlocking her fingers and placing them under your bump.

“Yes.”

Gently, she lifted your belly, taking the weight from you.

The groan of ecstasy that fell out of your mouth was inhuman; your eyes fluttered shut, and you leaned your head back onto her chest. You could feel Emily’s arms shaking slightly from the weight, but you knew she would never complain. She would bear the weight for however long you needed her to.

Emily kissed the back of your neck. “I love you,” she murmured.

“I love you more,” you echoed in pure bliss.

After a few moments of peace, you knew you couldn’t ask Emily to hold on much longer. “You can set her down,” you whispered, bracing yourself for the weight to return to you.

Gently, she released your belly, and you immediately ached for her to take it away again. Instead, you whipped around and pressed your mouth against hers, hungry for her.

“You know,” Emily said with a giggle as you planted kisses down her neck. “There is one thing we haven’t tried to start your labor…”

She didn’t need to say anything else. You practically leaped into bed, Emily right behind you, stripping her clothes. You climbed under the comforter together, and you took a few minutes to try and maneuver the best way to pleasure your wife, but your belly posed an obstacle. It had been weeks since you’d last felt sexy enough to be intimate, and you hadn’t thought about how much a large belly would get in the way.

“Lay back,” Emily instructed, situating you on a cloud of pillows. You obeyed and felt the closest to comfort you’d felt in weeks.

“Let me take care of you,” she whispered, removing your clothes. When it was just your body and hers, she started biting your ear and planting kisses in a pattern down your body and over your bump.

You shifted a bit, pain lacing through your lower back.

“You okay?” Emily asked.

You nodded. “Keep going; you can’t imagine how that feels.”

With a smirk, Emily teased you, bracing a knee between your legs. You rubbed against her, pleasure building in your core. Even the persistent aching in your back couldn’t pull you out of the moment, this perfect moment where the only things that existed were you and your stunning wife.

“Are you ready for me?” Emily purred.

“Yes, love,” you panted.

“That’s my girl,” she said, parting your thighs with two fingers. You eagerly anticipated her entry, locking your eyes with hers, when you were interrupted by a new sensation. Water trickled down your thighs and onto the bed beneath you, and you sat up with a start.

Emily sat up with you, excitement in her eyes. “Is that…?”

Nervousness blossomed in your chest, quickly eclipsed by excitement. “My water just broke.”

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