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nereidprinc3ss · 1 year ago

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andromeda | (dybmn? bonus)

a bonus vignette from spencer's POV. we find out how he really feels about reader. takes place the day before the argument at the bar.

note: this is not part six! takes place between parts four and five.

series masterlist

18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, semi-graphic descriptions of sexual fantasies, some angst, you're not actually present, mention of alcohol, very vague discussions of murdery stuff bc he's supposed to be working, sassy spencer makes an appearance a/n: for all my angels who said they wanted a snippet of spencer's POV! i'm sorry if i'm overdoing it with this story or clogging the spencer tags, i'm just having a lot of fun! i hope you enjoy or that this may be clears some things up for you, pls lmk your thoughts:) ily!!!

Spencer is incessantly drumming the particle board table underneath his fingers.

The polymer veneer is one of his least favorite textures—he hates the grain of it and if he were to accidentally scratch the table with his nails he knows it would make the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

But of all the things he’s worried about, that ranks very low on the list.

He’s got a lot of mental tabs open all the time—and the tabs, he can deal with. It’s when he starts trying to operate with multiple windows that he begins to struggle. His brain, while it is a very fine tuned sort of computer, only has one monitor. Unfortunately, no human (except for the ones who’ve had their brain hemispheres surgically split) is immune to the inevitable pitfalls of multitasking. By dividing his mental energy between you and his job, he’s really fucking up his job. But he also thinks he really fucked up with you on that phone call the other night and for being as logical as he is he can’t seem to make that feel unimportant—even though he’s disgusted with himself for it because there are literally people dying.

Someone knocks on the open conference room door—he looks up, skimming his lips over his fist.

“What’s up?” he says too quickly upon seeing Emily’s mildly concerned face peering in on him.

Her mouth bridges into a sort of nonchalant frown and her brows kick up.

“Just… checking in. Haven’t heard from you all morning.”

“Yeah, the, uh—the geo-profile. I’m still… I’m still working it out.”

It’s not like he’s ever been phenomenal with his syntax in a social sense, but Spencer is certainly aware he’s doing even worse than usual right now.

“Okay. Uh… is there anything in particular stumping you, or…?”

“Nope. Just not enough information. But I’m—I’m going to keep trying.”

“Alright. Got your phone handy?”

It’s an odd question—of course he has his phone handy. He’s been doing this job longer than Emily has. How else would he communicate with the rest of the team? He bristles.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

Emily shakes her head. She’s always been particularly good at reading his moods.

“You’re not under attack, Reid. I was just asking.”

Just as he’s about to say, why would you assume I’m not prepared for my job, he manages to swerve away and stifle the words with his fist. Instead he looks back down at his copy of the map and nods. In reality, he truly isn’t prepared for his job today. The reason he has his phone so close, fully charged and at top volume is because he’s worried he’ll miss a call from you.

Emily says something else, and he hums in response, and then she’s gone.

He shouldn’t be reading into your reticence this much. It’s not like you just sit by the phone all day, eagerly awaiting a call or text from him (like he does you). You have a life. You’re busy. And even if you are intentionally dodging his texts, he can’t entirely fault you for it. Spencer knows he’s clingy. He knows he’s overbearing. It’s part of why he panicked the other night and told you the whole humiliating story about Elle. Because he can’t ever just be cool and he felt the need to explain himself.

But the problem was, and is, that he doesn’t know how much longer he can go without saying those three words that fucked him over all those years ago.

So he’d danced around them. Applied them to someone else to try and avoid outright professing his all-consuming love for you over the phone. However you feel, Spencer has to assume he feels more. Spencer always has to assume he feels more because he usually does and it’s gotten him into trouble before. And now he’s pretty sure he was exactly right, as often is the case, because you didn’t tell him he was mistaken and you’d clammed up and you haven’t talked to him since and he’s not supposed to be reading into it this much.

Three victims killed and dumped within a 6 mile radius of the first victim plus one victim killed and dumped 23.8 miles away. That doesn’t make any fucking sense. Fuck this guy.

Spencer decides the problem is that he needs more caffeine.

Or possibly, if he were a different kind of man—copious amounts of alcohol.

So he stows his phone in a pocket and asks the first person he sees where the coffee machine is.

“Looks like you found it earlier,” the woman says, glancing pointedly down at his mostly empty mug. A playful smirk tugs at pinkish-brownish lips. She’s pretty, he realizes distantly. But he registers it the same way he’d take note of the model of a car, or the species of a bird, or the kind of shoes someone is wearing. It doesn’t actually interest him. It’s just part of processing his environment. “I can show you to it?”

He doesn’t have the heart or energy to explain that someone else brought him his cup earlier and he’s not flirting with her.

“If you could just point me in the right direction…?”

She laughs, short and dry, before she’s pointing down a hall.

“Kitchenette down there and to the left.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, already walking away without sparing her a second glance.

She’s the kind of woman he would have paid a lot more attention to before you came along. Not that he’d ever sleep with someone on the job (not since he was 25, anyway), but if he’d met her under any other circumstances he probably would have cared more about the way her pupils dilated and her eyes had widened slightly and she’d adjusted her posture and all the other small things people do when they’re attracted to someone else. 30 year old Spencer might have slept with her. 27 year old Spencer definitely would have slept with her. Current Spencer obsessively pines for a woman who is already his girlfriend and whom he has yet to sleep with at all far too much to think about other women like that.

But god, does he think about you like that.

His feet carry him down the dim, carpeted hallway but really it took barely a nudge and he’s thinking about you like that. At work. As he’s pouring himself coffee.

Spencer is confident in the fact that if anyone were to look at him right now, they’d never guess he’s running clips of you in his mind like a dirty supercut. Because he’s just pouring coffee. That’s one good thing about having all those tabs open all the time. He can toggle between them quickly. He has enough going on in the background that people look at him and all they can tell is that he’s thinking hard about lots of things. Some of them just happen to be the way you look when you’re naked on his bed, skin shining and glazed eyes sleepy, parted lips higher in color than usual and catching your breath. Some of them happen to be your hair brushing his stomach before he gathers it back for you. Some of them happen to be the way your thighs feel on either side of his face, or how you stretch around his fingers, or how you might feel when you stretch around his—

He hisses as hot coffee overflows from the mug and burns his hand.

Maybe he’s not as calm and collected as he thought.

But on top of all the other things he’s dealing with, having been so close to actually sleeping with you the other night is really fucking with his head. Even if he tells himself he wouldn't have done it, he knows himself better than that. He's too familiar with the effect you have on his judgement.

“Found it okay?”

Spencer looks down, surprised to see the woman from earlier sitting at her desk and watching him as he quickly passes by on his way back to the conference room. Her legs are crossed. She’s wearing a pencil skirt and a flouncy sort of blouse which seems impractical for working in an FBI field office. Maybe she notices his eye catching on her figure and misguidedly swivels her chair to give him a better look. But all he’s noticing is that it doesn’t look like yours. Now he’s picturing the curve of your hip dripping in silk after that first night at Rossi’s. How your waist and your stomach feel when he slides his hands over you. This woman—she might as well not even be here for all he’s actually seeing her.

“Yeah. Thanks again.”

Then he’s gone. Very briefly he acknowledges that he should feel sorry for so obviously brushing her off, but he doesn’t care even close to enough. He sets the coffee down on the table and rounds to the board where one of several maps is taped. On autopilot he draws lines between dump sites because one of the background tabs had deduced, while he was busy watching you like porn, that the distance between dump sites form the beginnings of the constellation Orion with some mathematical precision that’s too exacting to be coincidental. Orion’s Belt plus the most recent victim. Betelgeuse.

There are ten formally named stars that make up Orion. He marks all of them, but circles the transposed coordinates of Bellatrix, Saiph, Rigel and Meissa as the next most likely dump sites. Most probably it will be Orion’s head. They’re all in wooded areas. He calls Garcia. Garcia will call Emily, wherever she is. If the unsub sticks to pattern, which they always do, they have until midnight. It’s trite, really. Predictable, like people always are. Far too quickly he drinks half the cup of scalding coffee and retraces his steps through the office to find the bathroom.

It’s empty. The fluorescent lights hum. Spencer washes his hands with cold water and presses still wet fingers to his eyes. You’re waiting for him behind the black of his lids.

At first you would whine, and he would kiss you and you’d moan into his mouth and say his name when he opened you up as far as you would go. The air would be thick and warm with sex and vanilla perfume. Afterwards he’d take care of you and buy new sheets for his bed in your favorite color even if they didn’t match the walls and there would be nothing you’d want for that he couldn’t give to you ever again.

But.

That’s all contingent.

No matter how often he fantasizes about it, no matter in how much detail, and regardless of how often those details change wildly, one thing always stays the same.

The shape of your lips, swollen from kissing, bending around five or six vowels and only two consonants (it seems odd that there are only two consonants in I love you), sometimes before you start, sometimes in the middle or right at the peak—but always there, always moving in slow motion—and always silent.

In real life, they’d be aloud. It’s why his fantasies aren’t good enough. It’s why he can’t stop fantasizing about it. That’s the only part that really matters to him. The rest varies.

Not because having sex with you doesn’t matter—it matters so much he almost shatters his molars whenever he starts picturing it around other people. But because Spencer can’t have sex with you until you love him.

And he worries that you can’t love him until you have sex with him.

The last time he thought that about a person, it didn’t turn out well.

Maybe there is some magic number. Some amount of times you need to have sex with someone before they’ll love you back.

If there is, he knows for a fact it’s more than 32.

And he also knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he cannot have loveless sex with you thirty three times while he waits to find out.

Not again.

But he's going to hold out as long as he possibly can until you say it because he so badly wants you to love him back. He'll let the weight of every ignored text, every reminder that you don't feel that way about him, hang from his shoulders until he collapses. And then he'll probably try to get back up.

Recycled paper towels scratch against his skin. He dries his face and hands and throws them crumpled into the trash can.

Outside the restroom, he pulls out his phone. For safety reasons and paranoia disguised as professionalism, you’re not his lock screen. It’s a photo of the Andromeda Galaxy. Whatever distance lies between you and Spencer, it could always be greater. No matter where you are in the world, you will always be the same 2.537 million light years away from Andromeda that he is.

It makes Orion feel much closer. You, too.

He sends you a text—the third message in a row.

The distance between blue bubbles feels like light years.

I’ll be home tomorrow. I miss you.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

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omgfangirlland · 2 months ago

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The Shadows That Nurture 22

Batsis is slowly turning feral, but that's hot 😩 Also, in ch 24(maybe ch 25 if 24 gets too long) Bruce is about to get what he deserves :) I just wanted y'all to know because I'm so happy with the plot line for it and I'm bitting at the bars of my enclosure to not spoil more than that.

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 22 >>next

Your week has been shit. From finding out the other Guardians almost got wiped out, again, to the Immortal almost breaking down twice, due to finding out about Kate and about Nolan- granted, that one turned out okay- well, as okay as it could considering he’s been crashing on your couch for about three days. The only win you had was Nolan writing down everything that could hurt the Viltrumites and how and where to find these things.

And then you found out Damian and Talia had been lying to you. From a Celebrity Gossip TV show while yapping with the Immortal. You joined his emotional support blanket that night and have been avoiding Talia and Damian since. You couldn’t face them. You knew you should- you wanted answers- but what other reason would there be for Wayne’s youngest to be here other than to find dirt on you and your family or to just make fun of you? They didn't like you. Why would he?

And fuck, did it hurt. Seeing Bruce carry the boy from the time he got in the family to even now when you almost crashed to your knees to beg for a drop of that attention so many times. It only made you realize that he never actually had it in him to care for you. It was never about you not being good enough or him not having enough love to give around, Bruce just didn’t want to give you any of the plenty of love he did have.

“We need to talk.” Your body tensed at the voice you heard, hands clenching at your side. You just wanted to do your job. Damian barely blinked before he was lifted high in the air, his ears clogged due to the sudden altitude change. “You want to talk?” His sister hissed, her hands holding him up by his jacket. “Fine. Let’s talk. Why the fuck are you here? What does Bruce want now?”

“You found out…” His dumbfounded expression and Cecil yelling in your earpiece only raised your anger, their voices mixing into a cacophony as they both spoke, Damian trying to explain himself, doing an awful job at it, while the old man was trying to coax you to discuss stuff on the ground. “You want me to put him down, Cecil? Fine.” You let go of Damian, letting him fall for a few seconds. “You’re forgetting, Cecil. You need me, not the other way around. Act like it.” The earpiece went into your pocket before you grabbed the teen again.

You weren't really angry at the old man, you were more angry at Damian looking so surprised at the fact that you knew. Like he thought you were that stupid. “Of course I found out- forget it. I want you out of my city, and while at it- keep your siblings and father on a tight fucking leash.” A warm hand on your shoulder stopped you from speaking, your head snapping towards the owner only to see Nolan with a shirt covering his face and, a little behind him, the Immortal. “So this is the Damian Wayne, huh?” The boy glared at the man. “How about we talk over some lunch?” You scoff at the man. “Over lunch?! Are you fucking-“

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You and the Immortal were seated on one side of the table. Oliver, who usually sat with your parents, sat between you two, while Damian took the baby's place between Nolan and Debbie. They were trying to placate you with your baby brother. Traitors.

Nolan has been staring at the teen for a while now, while your glare didn’t seem to leave your plate. “You know, once I was invited to a rich people party- they had fried these robins.” The older man started, a gleeful tone. “They were quite the delicacy.” You and Damian looked at the man with disgust.

“Nolan.” Debbie glared at him. “Ew, first of all, aren’t they like no meat?” you grimace at the thought. Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should. Nolan just shrugs, eyes staring into the teen’s soul. “The crunch of the bones was the best part.”

“…Is this about him being Robin and Bruce being Batman?” Everyone stared at you wide-eyed. “Yeah- I found out. No thanks to any of you.” You grumble. “So. I’m here to be threatened into silence?” Damian’s question was met with a resounding yes and a quick no from Debbie. “He’s a child- we’re – We can’t threaten a kid.” Your mother was sadly outvoted.

“You lied to me. You and Talia. I don’t care if mom wants to remain friends with her, but I better not see either of you again.” The Immortal softly said your name, trying to calm you down. “No- I let them both near my mom and my brother, thinking they were who they said they are!” Your head turns to Damian. “You could have told me the truth- I would have respected you for having the balls to do so. But to send your mom to spy on me, on my family, and then for you both to lie straight to my face-“ You take a deep breath in, shaking your head.

“Fuck this. I don’t want to see you or your mom again.” You get up, sneering and grumbling. “Oh- I’ll be busy tonight, by the way. Don’t wait up.” You informed the others and left.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Mark, listen to me. Say you'll do it.” Mark could hear Cecil talking in his ear, telling him to say that he will. “You can't beat her, kid. Say it. Get her to leave, and we'll get ready for these assholes together.” Mark just glared at Anissa. “Hell no.”

The punch he threw was strong enough to make the woman fly a few feet away, but it was also strong enough to break his hand. “My sister gave you a warning. Nobody may believe her when she says she can eliminate you all- but I’ve seen what she’s capable of.” The young man fixes his posture, standing tall.

“When she finds out you’ve gone against her warning, she’ll find you.” He gave a bloody, toothy smile. “And she’ll kill you without mercy, just like a true Viltrumite.” Mark’s growled words were followed by a lunge, getting back into the fight. Cecil could only watch the fight with shaking hands, face blank, and Mark’s words repeating in his mind.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Once the sun set, you were quick on going off planet, going to search for the Justice League space station. Well… You tried to, but Jon caught up with you before you could break through the clouds. “Kid-“ You sigh when he blocks your path as you try to fly around him. “Please, just hear me out-“

“I know you and the other Waynes aren’t on the best terms, but Bruce didn’t even know Damian was here to see you! We both lied to him-“ You scoff at the boy. “And then you both and Talia lied to me. How nice. Good job. Now, if you excuse me-“ Jon latched onto your leg, making you stumble a bit. “No!”

The young teen cringed at the look you gave him “Sorry- I just- We know we should have told you the truth- but Damian was afraid you’d reject him just for being your dad’s son-“ You grab him by the back of his top, bringing him to eye level once more. “Bruce is not my father.” Jon mutters another sorry at your snap. “We’re truly sorry- we both are. Damian just wanted to know you, I swear.”

“He could have known me if he didn’t lie to me.” You let go of the youngest Kent. “Now scram.” He doesn’t listen to you, though. “Please just give him another chance- he’s really sad about what he did!” That made you stop, cogs turning inside your head. “You know where The JL’s space station is?” Your question was met with a confused nod. “… Show me. And I’ll consider it.” You were lying to him. There’s no way that you’ll just forgive the boy because his puppy-eyed friend wants you to, but you couldn't pass on something that'll save you some time.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You didn’t really expect them to be there, so you spent a few minutes watching them. They weren’t here when Jon first showed you the location. Diana Prince, Clark Kent, Oliver Queen, Dinah Lance, John Constantine, Zatanna Zatara, Hal Jordan, J’onn J’onzz. You weren’t sure what they were doing with the Bat family, frankly, you didn’t care. You’ll ask from Bruce what he owed you, and then you’ll be sure to bury any memories of them, even if you had to bury them with actual bodies.

“We need to talk.” The league members and the other bats present froze at the voice ringing through their minds. John and Zatanna just looked at your form outside the window with various degrees of confusion. Batman could only stare at you, at the subject of the discussion he was having with the others- “I need help.”

“You need help?” John’s surprise at the mere thought was visible. “Yeah- of course- Bats, open the window or something-“ John slapped Bruce’s arm as he moved closer to the window. “No.” You quickly interrupted, John repeating what you said. “They may be your friends or allies or whatever, but I don’t trust them.”

Your words seemed to have created a ruckus inside, one you weren’t quite privy to due to them speaking out loud. Your eyes were, however, on Black Bat- or was it Orphan now?… Batgirl? You couldn’t remember- you retained way too much information in a few days. Nevertheless, as the older people argued, Cassandra seemed to be moving out of your view range.

When she reappeared again, you did a double take. She was wearing a space suit- you hoped she was considering how sleek it looked compared to astronaut suits- and was jetting straight for you. “What the fuck are you doing-“ You gasped freezing up when she attached to you like a koala bear. “What. The. Fuck.” The young bat just looked at you. “Inside.”

This fucking family was making you crazy. But you relent, opening a portal and walking through, setting your feet on the floor. “Get off me.” You frowned as she tightened her grip while your voice startled quite a few people. “Now.” She let go with a whine, stepping a few inches back. “Now-“ Your head turns to look at the other. “You’ll help me. Not if, not maybe, you’ll do it, when I say.”

“Why would we?” Hal scoffed. “Imagine what the press would do to you knowing that you refused to fight against the Viltrumite problem two different times. Add to that the many disasters you refused to help with due to them being too 'low priority' for oh the great Justice League.” John’s head snapped to the Bat. “You refused to even look into it? Twice?!”

“We didn’t get another report about them-“Clark tried to defend, but your laugh cut him short. “Then all of you are as stupid as you are tall, or you’ve got a rat keeping things from you. Nolan, before killing the guardians, sent in anonymous tips and even came up here and to some of you, personally. You and Wonder Woman brushed him off.” Clark looks at Diana. “We didn’t think-“

“Of course you didn’t. There’s always something more important. Right, Bruce?” You tilted your head at the man, the use of his birth name made everyone tense up. Batman said you didn’t know. “You’ll help. It’s the least you fucking owe me.” The growled words made Batman flinch. “Or I’ll just expose everyone, from personal lives to dirty secrets to your contingency plans. Everything I have on the Justice League.” You tuned and smiled oh so sweetly at Bruce- he wished it was a real one. “If I and mine go down, I’ll make sure to drag you all to hell with me.”

“You can’t just-“ Hal choked on his words, falling into his chair when you appeared right in front of him, close enough your noses would have touched. “Sure I can. You have until tomorrow, eleven a.m., to decide.” You walked away from the man. “Once you agree, I’ll tell you how you can help me- And how we can stop the Viltrumites. If I don’t get an answer, I’ll take it as a refusal.” The green light of your portal created an eerie glow around you. “And Bruce? Keep your kids and yourself away from me.” Green Arrow looked at Batman. “First of all- What the fuck did you do to that kid to hate you like that? Because that wasn't the spoiled brat kind of 'I hate my dad' attitude.” Nightwing sighs. “It’s- not really what we did…“ Red Robin continues for him. “It’s mostly what we didn’t do.”

The blond was judging them. Hard. “…Okay… Second, is no one worried that we have someone on the inside keeping stuff from us?” Oliver turned from his wife to look at everyone else. “No one?” Bruce just grunts. “He’ll deal with it.” Dick gave a shaky smile as he patted his father’s shoulder. “Like he took care of your sister?” Oliver yelped as Dinah hit him. “What? It’s the truth- kid’s clearly messed up because of him-“

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Roy watched with worry as Jason kept replaying the celeb gossip clip that had been recently posted. Jason, despite shaking like a Chihuahua, was beyond ecstatic. The image of you, pearls adorning your neck, at some fancy restaurant with two men and then from a different recording holding those same men’s arms, clearly talking their ears off while the fuckers just smiled and looked at you- it opened opportunities for Jason.

Not because it’ll just make Bruce lose it over the possibility of you dating, and dating older men at that- no, that was nothing- but you being so chummy, so touchy with Lex Luthor and Slade Wilson? At least half of the family will lose it. They weren’t privy to the texts you sent him, to the silly pictures you took of the men without their knowledge, to what actually happened that day. The cards are in his hands, and he’s about to make Dick have to go back to anger management classes.

“Jason..?” Roy drawled out softly. “Are you okay? Have you taken too much of Scarecrow's gas, again?” Jason turned his head towards the man, grinning widely. “This may top Joker’s death.” Roy just sat up after processing it for a bit. “Okay… I’ll go get Selina… and maybe Harley too. You just- stay put, okay, buddy?”

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Sneak peek of ch 23:

“How about we don’t talk about that?” Lex tutted at your failed diversion. “Aw, did she break your heart?” You gave the bald man a blank stare. “I will throw you into a black hole.” He just laughed.

#dc x invincible #dc crossover #invincible crossover #yandere batfam x neglected reader #yandere invincible #yandere batfam #neglected reader #yandere batfamily #fem!reader #female!reader #platonic yandere #yandere nolan grayson #yandere batfam x reader

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starryeyedjanai · 1 year ago

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Steve and Eddie meet through their local buy-nothing-sell-nothing group when Steve’s getting ready to move in with Robin and he realizes he can't keep everything he owns while trying to merge households with her.

The first time they meet, Steve hadn't even been meaning to actually meet the person picking up the free toaster oven he’s giving away.

He’s setting his toaster oven outside his house on the porch when Eddie hops out of his van to pick it up and it would be rude to duck back inside without saying anything since he obviously sees him coming up, so they make small talk for a minute and Steve has to keep his eyeballs in check because they keep wanting to rake all the way down this guy’s body.

He’s covered in tattoos and so extremely Steve's type, but he knows better than to hit on someone who lives in his neighborhood and is not here for that reason.

He laments to Robin about it the next day, about the hot guy who’s probably using Steve's toaster oven as they speak, who he’ll probably never see again.

Robin rolls her eyes fondly at him and tells him that maybe if he puts more stuff up for grabs on the facebook group, he might see him again, but Steve suspects she just wants him to get rid of more of his stuff so it doesn't overcrowd their new apartment.

The set of items he puts up in the group next is an old blender and a butcher block that has three of the knives missing—seriously where did those knives go? He has yet to find them.

He tries to pretend he isn't secretly hoping Eddie will comment under his post that he wants the items, but he isn't fooling himself when his heart literally skips a beat when the first comment is from Eddie. He messages him and tells him to stop by later that day.

When Eddie shows up, they talk for longer than last time, Eddie asking why Steve needs to get rid of so much stuff and Steve asking why Eddie needs all this stuff—especially considering Steve snooped through the group and saw that Eddie joined over a year ago and hadn't once commented before now (he doesn't mention that thought, but he is thinking it real hard).

Eddie laughs and says he was in the market for a toaster oven when Steve posted one and wouldn't you know it? He also needs a blender—the knife set is just a bonus, he says.

Steve tries not to read too much into it, but his brain is spinning the interaction around in his head for the next week.

He puts up a space heater in the group and within minutes, Eddie has claimed it.

“I should just get your number and text you directly when I find something I want to get rid of next time,” Steve says flippantly when Eddie comes by to grab it that night. “Instead of clogging up the facebook group.”

Eddie smirks at him and steps a little closer. He says, “Maybe you should.”

His neighbor’s car alarm decides to go off right at that moment, ruining the flirty atmosphere with its incessant shrill. They can barely hear each other over the drone of it, so Eddie leaves without giving Steve his number and Steve is left feeling like he keeps having these missed connection moments with Eddie.

In a fit of desperation to see Eddie again, Steve puts up a bunch of random stuff in the group the next day—a shoe rack that’s missing a piece, a step stool, a cheap side table he got from Ikea—and Eddie is still the first person to comment like he’s been refreshing the page, just waiting for Steve to post.

“I left without giving you my number last time and I didn't want to be creepy and message you unprompted,” Eddie says as they load the side table into his van. “I think I was overthinking things and then got kind of spooked.”

“It doesn't look like anything could spook you,” Steve says.

When they get the side table inside the back of the van, Eddie turns to him and admits, “A very pretty boy could.”

Steve can feel his face getting hot. “You think I’m pretty?” he asks.

Eddie nods. “Why do you think I keep coming here? There's no way a person who’s lived here for as long as I have would need all this stuff.”

“Did you need any of it?” Steve asks in a teasing voice. “Or were you just so blown away by how cute my profile picture is that you just had to meet me?”

“Oh, I needed the toaster oven, but everything after that was just to see you again,” Eddie says before biting his lip.

There’s an entire swarm of butterflies in his stomach when Eddie's hand brushes his, when Steve takes Eddie's hand in his and leads him inside his box-filled house.

Later, when they’re making out on Steve's couch—when Steve really should still be packing since he has to move in less than a week—he pulls back to ask, “Wait, so are you gonna put the rest of the stuff you don't need back up for grabs in the group? I feel like that would start so much neighborhood gossip.”

Eddie grins wide and Steve wants to kiss him again, wants to feel his smile against his mouth.

“Oh, we’ll be the talk of the town, baby,” Eddie says, pulling him back in.

#steddie #stranger things #janai.doc

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maplesyrupsainz · 1 year ago

Text

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙it takes a village | CS55 ˖⁺｡˚⋆˙

pairing: carlos sainz x doctor!reader y/n (she/her)

genre: social media au, established relationship

warnings: none just fluff also idk anything abt medicine nd stuff so jus ignore anything tht makes no sense lol

summary: in which you are finally ready to truly settle down and start a family with your husband after years of you both focusing on your careers

a/n: carlos i love u . let me know if anyone wants more!!

request!!!: Could you do a Carlos x doctor reader where they're married? And he's like super proud of her? And maybe even a pregnancy reveal at the end?

fc: various brunette girls on pinterest

my masterlist

instagram ->

yourusername

liked by carlossainz55, yourbff, and 120,293 others

yourusername officially doctors 🥼

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yourbff FINALLY!!!!!! go us

yourusername can't believe we finally made it. sososo proud of us

yourbff teenage us would be crying rn!!

carlossainz55 i am beyond proud of you!! i love you so much, you amaze me everyday

yourusername stop im blushing!!! i love you and i couldn't have got through it without you

carlossainz55 you absolutely could but thanks for making me feel important 😉

user1 THIS IS SOOO CUTE

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user3 i wanna be like her when im older

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yoursister clever clogs!!!!

liked by yourusername

carlossainz55

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, and 502,183 others

carlossainz55 my tortured student is no more

tagged: yourusername

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yourbff sounds like you murdered her :)

carlossainz55 😢

yourusername leave him alone y/bff/n!

yourusername the last pic i look so stressed😭 thank u SOOO much for always being the rock i needed

carlossainz55 anything for you

user5 so girlboss of her

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yourmother thank you for always looking after her, carlos!

carlossainz55 of course ❤️

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yourusername posted a story

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user11 congrats y/n!!

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carlossainz55 posted a story

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user16 awwww good for her

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user20 i want a relationship like this

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, yoursister, and 212,283 others

yourusername 👩‍🎓

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landonorris congratulations 🥂

liked by yourusername

charles_leclerc congratulations y/n, knew you could do it!

yourusername 🥹🥹 sorry for all of the breakdowns you witnessed

user21 aww carlos pouring champagne for everyone

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fernandoalo_oficial so proud!

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lilymhe congratulations my girl!

yourusername LOVE you!!!

alexandrasaintmleux you're amazing y/n 🫶

liked by yourusername

twitter ->

instagram ->

carlossainz55

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carlossainz55 married life i guess

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user27 omg i cant cope with how cute they are

landonorris rubbing it in much

carlossainz55 sorry that nobody loves you

landonorris very harsh

yourusername he doesnt mean it like that lando dw i love u!

landonorris thanks y/n 🤡

user28 LOLLLLL poor lando

user29 still can't believe they're married

user30 ikr same we lost a real one (y/n)

lilymhe i love u guys

yourusername I LOVE YOU LILY

user31 i wanna be like y/n one day 🙏

yourusername posted a story

liked by lilymhe, carlossainz55, and 11,293 others

user32 wait what

user33 HUH

lilymhe giggling

yourusername 🤫 just another day at work

user34 wait a second

user35 URMMM Y/N???

twitter ->

messages ->

instagram ->

yourusername posted a story

liked by charles_leclerc, georgerussell63, and 22,183 others

user40 AWWW

yourbff cuties

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user42 my fav couple

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liked by yourusername

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yourusername

liked by carlossainz55, yourbff, and 829,294 others

yourusername some news... 🍼👶🤰

tagged: carlossainz55

view all 34,917 comments

user45 OMG ARE U FREAKING JOKING

yourbff hehe congratulations my angels

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liked by yourusername, carlossainz55

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carlossainz55

liked by yourusername, alexandrasaintmleux, and 1,029,282 others

carlossainz55 stages of pregnancy

view all 41,092 others

user49 omg. she's beautiful

alexandrasaintmleux perfect beautiful girl

liked by carlossainz55, yourusername

charles_leclerc congratulations ❤️

carlossainz55 thank you charles :))

landonorris congrats to my parents

carlossainz55 thank you lando

yourusername our first child 🫶

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carlossainz55 ❤️

user51 i love them so much

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carlossainz55 no never, you are breathtaking

THE END ❤️

#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 smau #f1 fic #f1 x reader #smau #f1 imagine #carlos sainz #carlos sainz fanfic #cs55 #cs55 smau #cs55 fluff #cs55 imagine #cs55 x reader #maddie's smau

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frostgears · 1 month ago

Text

gardening

you did something stupid and now you're here in your itchy twice-a-year dress uniform in this bright busy room in the regimental HQ trying to figure out if you're going to be yelled at, shot, or promoted. the room's full of folding chairs. apparently not enough furniture in here normally to contain all the suits and all the brass.

your "ops coordinator" ("we don't say 'handler', grunt, it gives the civilians weird ideas") got pulled off for a side conversation two minutes after you got here and you haven't seen her since. you're looking anywhere for a familiar face. you're coming up empty. at least the woman next to you looks equally stressed. she must be civvie, some consultant or other; soft face, masses of curly hair. she's wearing a blazer and slacks with big round dataframes.

"hey," you elbow her. "what are you in for?"

"gods above and below." she sighs. "everything. but today mostly Neryx-9."

"the ag research station. you were there?"

"hardly," she says. "just came up on my huge list of problems."

"creepy shit. i was front and center for it…"

she cocks her head to listen. you explain.

Neryx-9 had been a cluster of greenhouses on the surface. supposed to be vacant, powered down — actually they'd said "mothballed", then looked at you like you were stupid when you asked what a moth was and what they did with their balls. but not vacant. far from it. you went in with a miniframe. first thing you found was the bodies of the grid authority techs that had called it in. purple mold already growing over them.

"it was wrong," you tell her. "not like that white stuff you get when an open nutripak sits in the fridge too long. i mean, i don't know if that would have been better. i just, i don't know, i didn't want to get any of that stuff on me. frame or no. maybe there was some already on me, but didn't want to get it on anyone else. so i backed out, sat in the airlock, thought about calling for extraction. thought better. backed to the wall, cycled my flight jets until it was starting to get warm even inside the frame, thought maybe i'd cook it off me. my ha– ops coordinator asked me what the fuck i was doing. snapped me out of it, i told her, i need fire. incendiaries."

they'd found them, somewhere. support rigged another airlock outside of the main airlock after you'd yelled at them to keep that shit inside. a miniframe-scale plasma cutter for outside construction work, and some purpose-built low-velocity liquid pyrophoric agent rockets.

the woman in the blazer made a face. "we just have those sitting around?"

"starship boarding actions. when we don't want to breach the hull but we do want to use all the oxygen. splashes around, gets everywhere, but nowhere near hot enough to melt anything structural. only used 'em in sims, of course, not like we get a lot of star traffic. horrorshow shit. or i thought it was, before this."

the outside airlock door opened and you'd taken up what they'd brought you.

you stepped over the bodies of the grid techs into hell. purple and orange jungle everywhere. insane external humidity and particle count. dome after hallway after dome of the shit, growing over the grow lights, growing up the walls, into the vents. you could feel it through your frame, through your suit. it was hungry. it wanted in.

"ma'am, compared to that feeling, that pressure, the first giant critter trying to eat my frame was a relief."

six thick legs, triangular jaws, scales and plates all over, massive paddle tail. it had reared out of a pond and tried to drag you back in with it. it wasn't as heavy as you, maybe, but it was mad as hell and a fast mover, and fuck, what right had anything like that to exist in an abandoned greenhouse? you knew you didn't want to be in that filthy water. who knew how deep it was? it'd clog your exhaust, choke your radiators. you twisted around as best you could in its grip, armed your wrist weapon, and blasted a thousand flechettes directly into its face.

"and that stopped it?"

"well, wasn't much left to be stopped, but yeah. and that's when i found it that it had friends and they could smell blood in the water."

she wrinkled her nose in a way that was either a dataframe input gesture or genuine surprise.

"why not just depressurize the domes, at this point?"

"thought about it. i had breaching charges. but… like i said, this stuff felt like it shouldn't get out. there's not much out there, yeah, but i just couldn't. and i had the cutter, and the rockets. so i decided to make it too hot on the shore for them to get me so easy."

you'd turned the artificial jungle into curtains of flame. the big creatures dove back into the water, giving you a narrow path to keep going. in the burning canopy, smaller things flared and dropped; you hadn't seen them moving until they died.

your handler had been screaming at you to get clear, get back to the airlock, but the flames made that a losing proposition. so you kept going in. Neryx-9 was roughly linear. there was another lock on the far side.

"past the labs, it turned out. and maybe some of those corpses in there had been growing these things, but it looked like the shit got away from them and was growing on them. there were these ribbons of orange moss, growing everywhere, out of containers, branching into foam and fabric and dead flesh — i tried to pull it off someone, before i realized they were all dead, and their skin came off in sheets, brown-black and full of tiny holes. charred, but not. think it was acid."

"something like a lichen."

"yeah, maybe? i learned about those in school. you can see 'em out the windows in a lot of places. they grow on rock, right?"

"they do," she says. "useful. so what did you do then?"

"i set the cutter to max spread and i torched a path through to the far airlock. and i don't mind saying, when i noticed the cutter battery and gas cylinder were doing okay, i started spreading it around a lot more. i just. i had to burn it."

"happens that was the right move," she said. "good instinct."

"please tell me someone did something about that shit."

"well," she smiled, "there's you. you know, you're refreshingly simple. like a cat that somehow had the sense to eat an invasive lizard. and since you didn't drag the bits all over, i tasked a solarsat to finish the job. can't beat a pass with an X-ray cloudpiercer beam for that kind of cleanup."

she wrinkles her nose again, and the general murmuring of a dozen conversations in the room changes as people look to the main wall display, which now shows a collection of greenhouse domes sagging as if collapsed by an invisible weight. the rock under them begins to glow.

"what's a cat?" you blurt out, before the words "i tasked a solarsat" have a chance to sink in. like, her, personally?

"an animal. a dumb little predator that associates with humans. from Terra, way before the Catastrophe. we're not ready for them just yet, but maybe someday."

a door opens to your side, and you both turn to see your handler, looking about at the end of her rope, and next to her, her boss, the major, who reports directly to the colonel.

"shit, there you are. look. you're gonna have to answer some questions. and it's not guaranteed you're going down for this, not yet, so just be honest, but for fuck's sake be brief, don't try to understand or interpret—"

both of their faces blanch. like, almost completely bloodless. eyes wide.

the curly-haired woman in the blazer smiles widely. "don't worry," she tells them, "she already did. she's been very helpful. in fact, i think i might like to keep her." she puts a hand on your knee.

"i'm not sure i understand, ma'am?"

"pilot," the major says, "is there a reason you've been occupying the time of the Director of Planetary Ecology? the woman who keeps this entire planet breathing oxygen and eating something other than rocks?"

and now your face must be bloodless too. the DPE? even you know that position. but you can't remember ever seeing a photo.

"oh, she was just telling me how she improvised containment protocols to prevent someone's experiment with Araukan imports from getting out of hand. clever girl. or lucky, at least."

you risk a glance to your side. she's still smiling. the woman who can steer any bioscience research on this planet, cut off power and water and air to anything she deems anathema to the coming ecosystem, commandeer keystone orbital infrastructure and burn habitats like you burned trees.

"i don't think we can possibly say no, Director," your handler says, carefully.

"no," the Director agrees. "you can't." □

#microfiction #mech pilot #mechposting #DPE

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daenysx · 7 months ago

Note

lovely Hii

Can i get poly!marauders x fem reader where maybe she has been exhausted and busy lately and maybe they’re giving her some space cause they dont know if she wants affection now but she sees them all lovey dovey with eachother all the time and she feels sad cause she wants to join but feels too shy to ask so she tries to discreetly slip back and one of them notices?

Im sorry if that is a bunch of gibberish but i have been awake for over a day now and my brain is fried (i hate uni)

thank you for requesting, i hope you enjoy <333

(comments are always appreciated and i literally need to see what you think to keep writing, angels. of course i can't force you to send me anything but it would be amazing if you take two seconds to tell me what you think. it's not always easy to keep doing something without getting any feedback about it ♡)

poly!marauders x fem!reader

the relationship between james and remus has always been somewhat chaotic.

they have huge chemistry, maybe something like opposites attract situation. remus is calm when james is bubbling with excitement, remus loves with silent kisses when james loses his breath as he makes love, remus likes rationality when james swims deep in his emotions.

you watch them flirt as they sit on the couch. you're at the table across them in the living room, staring at your laptop screen with exhausted eyes. it probably would be easier to complete what you've been writing if you could have more energy, but sadly you sit all tense and cold at your place. your arms get the chills, you avoid looking at your lovers.

if you leave the table to join them, james and remus would welcome you with open arms. the mere thought of james's lips against your forehead and remus's fingers rubbing your neck makes you want to cry loudly. it's just torturing yourself, but you don't think you're strong enough to ask for love. you need to get this done. you need to think about the classes you gotta pass.

james kisses a line on his boyfriend's cheek, so warm, remus practically loses his mind. "where's sirius?" james asks, remembering sirius leave for the kitchen minutes ago. "is he burning up our kitchen, do you think?"

"we would've notice."

"no, we wouldn't." james whispers. "you're too damn distracting."

remus melts. autumn always brings starvation for touch and loving, two things james is the best at giving. he looks at your way briefly, your droopy eyes worry him.

"she seems so tired." remus says, his lips kiss james's knuckles mindlessly. "should we say something to make her give a break?"

"she said the essay has a deadline, moons." james answers. "i mean, she clearly needs a break, but i'm not sure if we should interrupt her."

it's hard to decide because you get nervous with breaks sometimes. you complain about not controlling the time good enough when you're spending your free minutes with them and being unable to finish stuff at time. you say most of this teasingly, but the boys know there's always some truth in it.

sirius walks into the room with a big mug in his hands. he carries it carefully to your table. james and remus watch the scene, their hands together and legs tangled.

"here it is." sirius puts the mug on the table. "a perfect cup of hot chocolate for my gorgeous girl."

you look at him with the widest eyes. you can't cry. fuck, he's so sweet. he smiles, he looks so handsome with his old t-shirt and messed up hair. you close your laptop, curve your lips to stop yourself from crying.

"this is so nice, siri." you say to him, unshed tears clog your throat. "thank you."

"um- can i get a kiss? i spend fifteen minutes for this."

you nod with a smile, he leans down for you. you only mean to kiss his cheek, but he smells so good and he's so kind- your hand shakes as it touches his shoulder. it doesn't take sirius long to understand what's going on. he manages to hug you before you start crying.

"oh, baby, no-" he says with a sad voice. he attempts to make a joke. "you can't cry for hot chocolate- i'm sure it doesn't even taste that good."

james and remus sit straight with worry. "dove?" remus leaves the couch. "what's wrong?"

"are you okay?"

you nod, they probably won't believe it. you hold onto sirius, he lifts you up from the chair. it's a proper hug now, your skin tingles with the sensation. it feels so good to be touched.

"it's okay." sirius kisses your head. "you're just overwhelmed. you're okay."

you keep your head on sirius's chest. he's warm and his arms are strong, he supports your body to help you stay on your feet. remus brings his hand on your waist, his thumb gently draws a circle.

"can we go to bed?" you ask. separating yourself from sirius is hard, but it's harder to stay vertical. james extends a hand to you, you hold it greedily. they are all thinking the same thing, you'll calm down but you need to feel safe enough with your surroundings to do that. even though they'd like to keep you stuck in their arms, this might not be the best idea.

the bed is cold. it will pass in a few minutes. remus takes you under the blanket, james adjusts the pillows. sirius has a wrinkle between his eyebrows, he gets behind you on bed and wraps his arm around your shoulder. you sniffle softly, suddenly embarrassed by all the attention.

"sorry." you offer, your voice sounds sincerely sorry. "i don't know what came over me."

"i think we should be sorry." remus says. "jamie and i were talking about whether we should tell you to take a break but- we didn't wanna distract you. we should've distract you."

"it's not your fault that i can't manage my time doing stuff i've been doing for years." you say, weakly. "i'm just sick of being tired. i guess i- missed you."

sirius gives you a generous kiss on the side of your head. "you can jump on us any time you want, you know that, gorgeous."

"i think my head doesn't work like that when i'm exhausted."

"it doesn't have to." james says. his voice is like honey. "you don't have to ask for anything. we should be giving you everything before you even have to ask."

"he's right." remus agrees. "it should be like this for all of us, i think."

you nod. your eyes have a grateful look in them, they are undeniably tired, but still pretty to your boys. the bed is warmer. you force yourself to stop counting down the minutes for deadlines. james puts his head on your chest, hugs you as your back touches the bed, his arms are tight around you like you'll run away.

it's good to be touched. it's amazing to have contact with their hands, safe and secure, you can do anything you want if you always feel like this. remus kisses your fingers. his eyes are gentle. they are all so gentle, kind with you, you feel like you'll never break as long as you have them.

sirius's kisses help you fall asleep at the end. he's always bold with his affections, this time he manages to be softer with his lips and more tender with his hands. long fingers in your hair, chapped lips on your skin. he whispers how much he adores you, the tone of his voice hits your mind so well. you are okay. you think you'll be okay, and that's a nice beginning to get things done.

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sarahowritesostucky · 1 year ago

Text

Happy Little Family

📖"Taking Back What's His"

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6170

Tags: dark!Bucky, mafia/mob au, dubcon/noncon, a/b/o, threats and coercion, rape, forced pregnancy, forced domestic "bliss", yandere, kid fic

Summary: You thought you'd left behind the man who turned out to be more dangerous than you'd ever imagined. But one day he walks back into your life and reminds you that, come hell or high water, you're all going to be one happy. little. family.

This chapter: You try one last, desperate ploy to escape, but it doesn't exactly work out. And James hasn't come alone. The next time you wake up, you're a long way from home.

Nickname Dictionary: vorishka = "little thief" mamochka = "mommy/little mother" kotenok= "kitty/kitten" omegya = (made up) Russian spelling of omega omegechka = (made up) "little omega" krasotka = "Pretty(n.)/pretty one" pchelka = "little bee"

2. Taking Back What's His

(Wait! I haven't read part 1 yet!)

He says something to you, after. Words that might as well be in his native Russian, for how well you take them in. But they're soft, and reassuring—he’s pleased. His body weight moves off the bed.

When you finally open your eyes and blink up at the ceiling, it’s the softest baby pink all around the edges, like smoke curling into your vision. It’s nice, peaceful. Feels good-all-over in that way that painkillers do. You haven’t experienced it since the last time you had sex with an alpha.

Which James unfortunately seems to have figured out was with him, almost two years ago.

“Oh, kotenok, You haven’t been fucking anybody.”

You’re still in the afterglow, mind muzzy, all of your previous panic and fear blunted near to the point of erasure with how nice it feels to float, when you hear James’ pleased chuckle from where he’s getting dressed. He comes back and leans over you. “Hey Sweetheart. Feeling good?”

You frown at him, though it takes a concerted effort to make any expression of displeasure. You want him to know you aren’t happy, that this state he’s fucked you into isn’t real. You want to slap that smug fucking look right off his face. All you manage to come up with is a pouty little “no" that makes James laugh.

“Come here.” He fixes your dress, then helps you up off the bed. He seems to be checking to make sure you’re steady on your feet before he lets you stand on your own. “You good?”

“M’fine.” He knows you too well, knows how intense it can be for you, how strongly you react to him. You avoid his knowing gaze. You’re not completely useless like this. You can still remember everything that’s going on, can still remember June. “Please,” you say again, trying to change the tone of your voice. “Let me give her to Hilde.”

James rolls his eyes. “Right, right. Your friend across the street.”

“Please James?” You look up at him, pink edges all around his face, so pretty. Goddamn him. “She’ll be safe there.”

Again, something passes through his eyes too quickly for you to identify. It might be annoyance. He sighs, and the look, whatever it was, is gone. “Sure thing, Doll. Babies need a lot of stuff. You might as well pack up what she needs.”

You nod tearfully, going to your closet to grab a bag. He follows close behind, sending a clear message that he’s not planning on letting you out of his sights while you do this. James isn’t stupid, you’ll give him that.

In the nursery, June is happy to see you and wants you to pick her up. You talk to her in a sweet, placating voice as you go around the room grabbing different things that she’ll need and stuffing them in the bag. At this point you know to be grateful for the haze. Even as it tapers off, it’s blunting the sorrow that you know would otherwise have you sobbing and your voice clogging with tears. This way at least, you’re able to keep June thinking everything is alright. This way she isn’t scared.

It’s when you’re crouched beside the changing table, stuffing diapers into the bag with James behind you that you get the idea: Downstairs: the kitchen: in the drawer. Your gun.

You stop moving long enough that James notices. “What’re you doing? Come on.”

You stand back up. Yes. You have to do it. This is the only chance you have at getting out of this and not losing June. You lick your lips nervously before turning back around to face him. “I … have to get her bottles and stuff from downstairs,” you say, hoping that the lingering post-coital haze is enough to keep your true intentions off your face. Your eyes flick up to James, who’s squinting at your tits.

“Bottle?” He starts to smirk, and you glare at him.

“Yes. Asshole. I won’t exactly be around to feed her, now will I?”

His face softens at that and he gives you an apologetic look. “Right. Well go on, then.”

You move for the hallway, realize he’s not following you, and turn back in confusion. He’s beside the crib, holding his hand out for June to touch. Your heart leaps from your spot in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

He arches an eyebrow. “I’m waiting right here until you come back upstairs,” he says, his message clear.

Your pulse picks up, but you force yourself to nod. You’re useless without that gun. You have to get to it. He narrows his eyes at you while June giggles and reaches for his wiggling fingers. “No games.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, and turn and head for the stairs.

It’s pure torture to move at a casual speed, especially as your mind is clearing and the fearful emotions returning. In the downstairs hallway, you check once over your shoulder that James hasn’t followed you, then pick up your pace, hurrying into the kitchen and heading straight for the drawer where you keep the gun.

Your eyes tear up as you maneuver past the digital lock that you installed for nothing. June’s still crawling. She never even got old enough to toddle over here. You press the code into the keypad, cringing when it does its quiet little two-tone ‘beep’ at being unlocked. You wait, heart in your throat until you hear the mechanism moving, then rip open the drawer.

Your heart stops and your brain freezes and all you can think is: No. No, no no—

“Looking for this?”

You whirl around, and there he is: standing on the other side of the kitchen, leaning against the sink as he holds your only weapon in his hands.

His face is relaxed, Goddamn him, as he pretends to ignore your horror and instead holds the gun up to flippantly inspect it. “I have to say, Doll, I’m impressed. I would’ve expected some puny girl gun. Ruger, Derringer. But this?” He turns the Skorpion in his hands, and chuckles softly when he sees the cartridge. “Jesus. You really wanted to blow a hole in somebody, didn’t you?” His eyes finally drag up to you, the hand he’s holding the gun with dropping down by his side as he starts walking over, slowly, step by step, eyes boring into you with a growing anger.

Oh shit. Dread curls in your gut but you’re frozen. Bolting now wouldn’t even get you to the staircase. He presses in close, pinning you against the countertop. He brings the gun up and nudges your jaw with it, leaning in and breathing in your face, “Did you really think I wouldn’t find it, vorishka?”[little thief]

He’s taunting you with your own failure, and you can’t stop the whimper that breaks from your throat at having your one and only plan foiled so pathetically easily. “James,” you plead, “I didn’t—”

“Shh sh sh. None of that, now.” He’s speaking softly, sweetly, but he’s furious. He drags his lips over your cheek and the barrel of the gun you stole from him over the other. “So what was the plan? How were you going to kill me with my own gun? Pop upstairs and shoot up the nursery?”

“N-no.”

“Ah. Right. You’re smarter than that. You would’ve waited for me to come down and see what the fuck was taking you so long, or put it in the duffle and waited until we dropped the whelp off at the neighbors. Is that it?"

You sniffle and nod, angry at him for being such an all-knowing asshole. “You can’t hold that against me,” you say, trying to defend yourself.

He nods thoughtfully. “Hmm. Yes, I suppose you’re right. I can’t blame you for that.” Your shoulders start to relax, that is until he pulls back to glare at you and holds the gun to you again, this time pointing it right underneath your chin. He looks angrier than you’ve ever seen him. “But do you know what I can hold against you, Little thief?” Your face pinches in fear, sure that you’re about to be shot, and he digs the muzzle cruelly into your skin, forcing you to look at him. “The fact that that pup up there is ten months old, and I’ve never even fucking seen her.”

Your eyes widen as you realize: he knows. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but he beats you to it.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to tell she’s mine?”

“James,”

“All this time!” he hisses, hurt lancing through his features. “You kept her from me! What gives you the right?”

“I—I didn’t—”

He growls and pushes away from you, several steps back, glaring. “Nothing, is the answer you’re looking for. You had no right to do that.”

You try to edge to the side, but freeze when he straightens his arm and points the gun right at you. “James, wait …”

He aims it at your face, but then lowers it for a center mass shot, which is what really convinces you you’re about to die. “Say goodbye, mamochka,” he says, with steely eyes and his finger curling over the trigger.

It’s a submachine gun that fires in three shot bursts, or fully automatic. Either way, you know you’re about to be riddled with bullets, so you start to hyperventilate. It’s an embarrassing reaction, but at least you have the dignity of knowing what your last words on this earth would’ve been. “Don’t hurt her,” you gasp.

His eyes fill with rage and he pulls the trigger.

… Nothing happens, but you’re bracing so hard that it takes you a full two or three seconds to realize it. Then, when you do realize it, and you see James standing there looking grim but completely unsurprised that you haven’t been shot, all of the breath rushes out of your lungs. You feel like you’re about to faint, which is apparently what he’s waiting for.

He ejects the empty magazine, shaking his head in disbelief. “You really thought I’d do it, didn’t you?” He takes a step forward, but pauses when you flinch back. “What the hell have you convinced yourself that I am?”

You step back again when he moves. “Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t.”

“Don’t, don’t,” he whispers, mocking you. “Don’t what? Don’t take back what’s mine? The mother of my pup? A pup I didn’t get to see grow or come into this world?” Your breath hitches with emotion and he doesn’t miss it, the bastard. “Yeah,” he says darkly. “You robbed me of that. But I’ll get over it, don’t worry.” He leers up and down your body in its flimsy sundress. “I’ll be putting another one in you real soon.”

You see red. Fury sweeps through you and stings your eyes, roars in your ears. You grab the nearest thing to you, which is the edge of the utensils crock on the counter. It spills over and your hand closes around the handle of the meat mallet. You cry out and swing at him, wanting to smash his smug fucking face to smithereens.

“Woah-ho, easy there.” He laughs and takes a surprised step back, as though you’re nothing but a tantruming child. “Stop being so dramatic.”

You growl and lunge for him again, but cut off in a shriek as someone suddenly grabs you from behind. The meat mallet clatters to the floor as you’re hauled back against the hard body of another man. One big arm wraps around your middle, and the other holds a cloth up at your face, pressing it over your mouth. “Mmph!” you yell out, muffled, and get a huge inhale of chlorine-like smell into your lungs for your trouble. You hold your breath and thrash, but it’s less than useless. The person holding you is large and strong. When you try to headbutt him, it doesn't even clip his chin. You bring your hands up to try and claw at the hand holding the cloth over your mouth, but your nails meet metal instead of skin, and you gasp in another inhale of chemicals as you realize who it is. “Mmph!”

James steps up close, smirking fondly as he watches you fighting the urge to inhale. Eventually he tuts and reaches up to cup your cheek. “Shhh, omegechka. Stop. Stop fighting now. It’s all over.”

“Nngh!”

“Just take a deep breath and go to sleep. Everything’ll be alright, I promise. Just relax.” You whimper as you feel yourself running out of air, knowing that your body’s going to force you to draw breath in a second. James leans in and kisses your forehead tenderly. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispers, just as your vision starts to fade out, “or our daughter.”

The smell of professionally scented, circulating air hits you first, and then the taste of old pennies in your mouth. Then, a gradually increasing sense of awareness of your body in space and time. At first you think you're somewhere very bright, as colors and rainbows dance through your lashes, but the more you blink your eyes open, the more the brightness fades and your vision comes into focus.

And there he is: holding a crystal tumbler and looking like he's been waiting for you to come round. "Well hello there, Sleepyhead,” he says. “Welcome back." He takes a sip of whatever it is he’s drinking, the ice cubes clinking softly against the sides of the glass. He looks totally relaxed.

You sit up straighter in the seat where you’d been slumped, moving your tongue around inside of your dry mouth and trying to remember what happened. And then reality hits you in waves, each one more devastating than the last:

James—He found you.

June—She's not there.

"How're you feeling? Thirsty?"

You blink, dazed, a few lingering specks still floating at the edges of your vision. You look around the room you’re in, clocking your surroundings. Windows, cabin—Shit. You're already on a plane. Pressure builds rapidly at the backs of your eyes as you fight not to cry, thinking of your baby girl left behind, never getting to see her again.

You didn’t even get to say goodbye.

Bucky’s eyes sharpen on you when your stifled sob breaks out and you throw a hand over your mouth. "Steve,” he says, still watching you in concern. “Get her a bottle of water."

“Sure thing, boss.”

And then the worst realization of all: You look over and see the winter fucking soldier walking down the aisle, holding your baby.

They've got June.

Your eyes widen and you make a distressed little ‘meep’ of a sound. “Steve!” you blurt, and he turns to face you. He looks surprised that you’ve spoken directly to him. He’s not wearing his usual black mask, but he still looks huge and intimidating, and it’s like seeing a wild animal right next to your baby—dangerous, wrong. Your mouth works uselessly as you stare at his hands on June’s body: one supporting her head, and the metal one scooped under her butt. You see her back rise and fall steadily through her bumblebee onesie and you realize that she’s asleep. “I-is she okay?” you ask, heart in your throat.

Steve’s eyes narrow at you, but he nods curtly. “She’s fine.”

Across from you, James scoffs, drawing your attention back to him. “He’s going to put her down. There’s a crib in the back. She’ll be fine,” he says, when he sees you stiffen in protest. “You and I have some catching up to do, vorishka.”

“I thought we did that back in my bedroom,” you snap.

“You still want the water?” Steve asks.

“That’s okay.” Bucky keeps his eyes on you. “I’ll take care of her. You just stay back there with pchelka while she sleeps.”

Steve nods, and you can’t help yourself. “Wait! Please. Please give her to me. Steve?” You sit forward with your arms outstretched, but can only watch helplessly as the other man obeys Bucky and ignores you, disappearing back into the next section of the plane. Bastard never did like you.

“She’ll be fine,” Bucky assures you. “Just sit back and relax. We won’t be in the air for too long.”

You hate it, but you do sit back in the chair. James won’t hurt her. You know that. Especially now that you know he knows. You look around the cabin, taking in the wide, leather seats and gleaming wood finishes. There’s a couch, tv, a bar. A fucking electric fireplace. It's the sort of luxury you used to go starry-eyed over; incredibly rich men, fat or old or ugly, tripping all over themselves to spoil you.

… Only, James was never any of those things.

“This is your plane?” you ask, dragging your hand over the arm of your seat.

James smirks. “What? You thought I’d kidnap you and then fly commercial?”

You purse your lips at his joke. “I guess not.” You relax back, trying to get your bearings. It is bad news that you’re already on a plane with him. You’ll be landing at his private airstrip at the Siberia compound, which gives you no middle ground to run. You bite your lip as your thoughts race and you try to think of anything you might be able to do once you get to—

“Stop it,” James says quietly, drawing your attention back to him. He’s giving you a stern look. “You barely got away before, and that was on your own. Now we’ve got our daughter. Anything you try will put her in unnecessary danger and you know that.” He shakes his head, some of that sadness from before creeping back into his eyes. “You’re not leaving me again, omegechka.”

“I’m not?” you echo, stuck in place by his stare, by the memories you share with him, and the fear you have of what he’s planning for your punishment. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m just taking back what’s mine, Sweetheart. You do realize that?” You fail to answer him and his gaze hardens just a little bit. “That’s okay. You’ll see it eventually. This isn’t a bad thing. If you had just stuck around a little longer instead of lying to me and running off, then you would’ve seen it before, and we wouldn’t have to be going through this right now.” He raises his drink to you in a little salute. “You, me, and pchelka? We’re going to be a family.”

You don’t refuse the water he gives you, or the drink that he mixes for you, after. If James wanted to keep you drugged up until reaching Siberia, he certainly could’ve done so without allowing you to wake up on the plane. You’re only conscious right now because he wants you to be. And because you know that, you don’t protest the drink he prepares for you over at the bar. To be honest, a stiff one actually sounds really good right about now.

“Thank you,” you murmur as he hands it over, still unmoored by this drastic shift in circumstances. A few hours ago you’d been safe in your cottage, then suddenly you weren’t. One minute you’re sure you’re about to get a bullet in the face from this man, and the next, he’s got you sipping thousand dollar vodka on his private jet, calmly explaining how he intends to keep you and force you into some twisted form of domestic bliss.

“I had a whole renovation done for her,” he tells you. “Pchelka will have plenty of room to play and grow.”

You frown, hating the idea of your daughter growing up in that cold, Siberian fortress. You don’t care if he’s bought her an indoor waterslide and a herd of ponies. It’s no place for a child. “What does that mean?” you ask grumpily. “That word: chelk—? You keep using it. You can’t just rename my daughter.”

Hurt flashes in his eyes, but he wipes it away fast. “Pchelka means little bee. The outfit you put her in has bees on it.”

“Oh … Right.” You love that set. It’d been another gift at the shower, from Hilde.

“And she’s my daughter too,” James says tightly.

You gulp at the bitterness in his tone, at his eyes boring into you with reproach. It’s silly, but you do feel bad about hurting him in this one way, at least. “Her name is June,” you offer quietly.

His face draws tight with emotion that’s impossible for you to decipher. Mostly you just sense hurt coming off of him, tingeing his scent and making it into something mournful and awful. He stares at you for a long time. “You made me think you’d lost it,” he eventually whispers. “How could you do that to me?”

You shake your head. “I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not. You’re just sorry that I found you.”

“I saw you kill people, James!” you cry. “I saw who you really are. I couldn’t stay. Not after that.”

His mouth ticks up at the corners. “Oh, Sweetheart. You’ve got no idea who I am, or what I’ve done for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

His eyes gleam and he lifts his drink, tipping back the last of it. “Do you even remember where we met?”

You frown. “Of course.” You’d met him on a yacht, off the coast of Greece. At a party you’d been paid to attend as one of a flock of similarly hired ‘pretty girls’. Five hundred bucks just to sit around and drink cocktails for a few hours and make whoever owned the yacht look like a successful playboy. James had taken one look at you and made it his mission to charm you off of that boat with him. And you’d fallen for it, hook line and sinker. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You don’t know as much as you think you do,” he says disdainfully. “Don’t know how lucky you really are. I saved you.”

You scoff. “You’re no different from those boat guys. You think you’re so special, God’s gift to omegas, I get it.”

“No,” he grits. “You really don’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I don’t know! I know what I saw. All over the floor of your goddamn office. I slipped in it for Christ’s sake!”

“Right, right. The men you saw me kill,” he says, referencing the scene you’d walked in on just before you’d faked your miscarriage and fled. “You were eavesdropping outside the door, weren’t you, Little thief?”

You jut your chin out. “Yes. So what?”

“You know, I’d always assumed you heard the entire conversation. Now I realize I was wrong.”

“What?”

He laughs under his breath—at your expense, you suspect. “Who exactly do you think they were?”

“Your business associates. The same sort of underworld, black market scum as you. Only they didn't work for you. You screwed them over and they were there to collect what you owed them, and you murdered them instead.”

James scoffs and smiles angrily, sticking his tongue into his cheek as he looks away in frustration. "Figures," he mutters.

“What?” you snap. “You’re gonna deny it?”

“I’m not denying anything. But I killed them for you.”

“Oh please. Just stop it. Stop lying! I know what you do for work.”

Granted, you'd been a little slow on the uptake back then, too enamored and swept up in the whirlwind romance with your first Alpha that you hadn’t ever stopped to wonder where his money came from, or where it was he jetted off to “on business” every few days. It’d taken a year for you to piece it together, to see the true magnitude of the enterprise he ran, and how dark it really was.

Sitting in front of you now, he doesn’t deny it, which only bolsters your disdain for him. “I don’t want that in my life,” you hiss. “Arms dealing, drugs, smuggling, mercenaries. And apparently human trafficking as well.”

His eyes flash. “They don’t call it that, you know. It’s called the ‘skin trade’.”

“I don’t care.”

He gets up to go pour himself another drink at the bar. “Right,” he snaps, like you’re an idiot. “You’re so fucking naïve, krasotka [pretty (n.)]. So convinced that I’m the devil. But you have no idea how much worse it could’ve been for you.”

“You threatened to sell your own daughter before you figured out she was yours!”

Refusing to be provoked, he returns to stand right in front of you, forcing you to look up at him towering over you. “I knew she was mine from the second I walked in that house,” he says, making your breath catch.

“How?”

He smiles nastily and takes a sip from his drink, then sets it aside. He leans over you with his hands on the back of your seat, caging you in. You can smell the expensive alcohol on his breath as he gets in your face and tells you, “I put that baby in you, moya omegya. She’s a part of me. You think I wouldn’t be able to figure that out? Think an Alpha doesn’t know the scent of his own flesh and blood?”

You tense, fighting not to shrink away. “You’re making that up.”

He chuckles lowly and puts his face right next to yours, cheek to cheek, savoring your reaction. “Sweetheart,” he purrs, “I may not have forced a mating bite on you back then like I should have, but there are other ways to leave your mark on someone.” He dips in to kiss your neck, right over your unbitten glands. “I found you by your scent,” he whispers. “Sniffed you out.”

You shiver at his hot breath on your skin and the deadly soft tone of his voice. The way your body responds to him isn’t anything you can control, and he knows that, but it still makes you flush with embarrassment when he takes a deep inhale in the bend of your neck and hums with satisfaction when he smells the effect he’s had on you. “I wouldn’t have sold her anyway,” he tells you, pulling back and picking up his drink. “I want you to know that. I don’t participate in the skin trade.”

You swallow thickly, watching him watch you as he waits for you to react to him in some way. You don’t know why you believe him about this one thing, but you do. “But you’re aware of it,” you say. “You know it happens, and you don’t do anything to stop it.”

His jaw works in frustration. “I’ve interfered a time or two, when I could get away with it.”

“Well, aren't you a hero.”

“I didn’t say that,” he snaps. “I said I’ve done what little I could. These men make a lot of money dealing in omegas, and they don’t take kindly to being stolen from.”

“I can imagine.”

“No,” he mutters into his drink. “You really can’t.”

There’s something oddly bitter in his tone, like he's working hard not to tell you something. You bite your lip and watch him for a minute. “... How much?” you ask.

“What?” His eyes darken when he figures out what you’re asking. “No.”

“Tell me.”

“It depends,” he grits, glaring at you. "Now cut it out."

Sober, you might have; but half a vodka spritzer after nineteen months of no alcohol has you bolder than you usually would be. You look down at yourself, feigning flippancy. “Well what about me? How much would I go for?”

“Kotenok,” he warns lowly, growling when you continue to press him with a snotty little,

“Come on, I thought you were such a dangerous criminal? You can’t even discuss a little human trafficking with the weak omega you just trafficked?”

He probably knows you’re trying to antagonize him, but he still rises to the bait. He sits back and lets his eyes drag over your body in a way that makes your pulse pick up. “Well,” he drawls, “you just had a baby. So that’s less right there.” Your nostrils flare angrily and he gives you a look. “You’re the one who asked,” he reminds, waiting until you give him a nod to continue. He gives you another onceover, this time lingering in certain places longer, a softer look in his eyes for the softer parts of your body. He almost seems to get distracted. He catches himself overindulging and looks away, like it’s hurting him to consider you this way. “Most people want their omegas untouched,” he says quietly. “Especially if the buyer's alpha, which they usually are. It’s an instinctual thing for us. We’re very driven to possess. We don’t like to share.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” you mutter.

His gaze snaps back to you, a painful amount of familiarity in his eyes. “You’dve been a couple million, back when we first met.”

Your eyes widen. You weren't expecting that. “But … I wasn’t even a virgin.”

He arches an eyebrow. “I said untouched, not virginal. Not in that way. Alpha buyers want unbonded and never bred, first and foremost.” He leers at you. “Not that there aren’t some who’ll pay a little extra to pop a girl’s cherry. But that’s not the main thing they’re looking for, when they buy.”

You scowl. “Right. So I guess I’m damaged goods now."

“Oh no, mamochka,” he says seriously. “You’ve only gone up in value in my eyes. Though believe me when I say I’m more than happy to contribute to the depletion of your market value." He raises his glass to his lips, looking darkly pleased. “You’re not for sale, and you never will be. You’re mine.”

You're embarrassed to be the one to break eye contact first, but you can’t keep listening to him talk about how much he likes you and watching him look at you like you’re his most prized possession. With any other man you’d just be disgusted, but James has always had a knack for getting you flustered, and he knows it. There’s always been an inexplicable pull between the two of you, and he knows that, too. It’s the main reason why you've always refused his attempts to bond you. You're terrified of what it’ll be like after, since you already know how pathetically helpless you are around him without a bond.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you mumble quietly. “Where is it?”

“Just down there.” He nods in the direction behind you, opposite from where Steve had gone with June.

You press your lips together and get up without looking at him, but you can feel his eyes on you the entire time you’re walking away.

“Don’t take too long in there, kotenok,” he purrs from back in his seat. “Or I’ll have to come in after you.”

In the bathroom, you splash water on your face and lean against the sink, looking at the girl staring back at you in the mirror. You blink, and she blinks, but it feels like you’re looking at another person, someone you don’t know. She looks fragile. Tired, and dazed. June’s been sleeping through the night for months, but it’s been a hell of a day.

You scrutinize your reflection, smoothing your dress and tucking your hair behind your ears, thinking about how you have zero makeup on. Then you scoff at yourself for caring what you look like in front of him. You think about how much you’ve changed in the seventeen months since you ran away. Not just physically, but mentally. You’ve had to be so strong. For June, for yourself. It’s been awful, and lonely, and you’ve hated yourself for not being able to stop missing him.

You sniffle and splash more water on your face, grumpily thinking that postpartum hormones are so much worse than the pregnancy ones. You grab the towel off the wall, but freeze when you bring it up to pat your face dry and get a smell of it.

Oh.

You whimper, unable to keep from pressing it harder to your mouth and nose and inhaling deeply. It’s James’ scent, and it smells so good. It smells like Safety and Love and Alpha. You hear the sound of your own, needy mewl and you gasp, yanking the towel away from your face and tossing it into the sink, trying to keep your shit together. You brace your hands on the counter and glare at your reflection to tell her to stop it, stop it, stop it, but all it takes is seeing your lower lip quiver, and soon your entire face is collapsing in long-repressed sadness. You turn away from the mirror with a pathetic noise, throat aching from the urge to keen.

Why does this have to be happening?! You’ve tried so hard, for so long. To be strong for June, to get over him, to move on! You bury your face in your hands and choke on a wrenching sob. You know you have to be quiet, have to stop, have to pull yourself together before he—

A soft knock comes from outside the bathroom. “Doll?”

You whine and hastily search for a lock on the door, but there is none, and James hears your crying and pulls the door open. “Honey,” he mourns when he sees you. “What’s wrong?”

You push past him, hurrying in the direction he isn’t blocking. “Leave me alone!” you cry, hating the blubbering in your voice that makes you sound just as weak as James thinks you are. You arrive in a perfectly made up bedroom with no point of egress other than the one you arrived through. You whine in distress, circle around helplessly, and then throw yourself onto the bed when he arrives at the doorway looking worried. “Leave me alone!” you cry, curling onto your side and pulling one of the pillows down to bury your face in. At least it isn’t suffused with James’ scent. You still cry though, unable to keep it in anymore now that you’ve started.

He tuts sadly from the doorway and comes into the room slowly. He stands there for a long minute, silent, before he sighs and his weight comes onto the bed. “Sweetheart,” he says.

“Just leave me alone,” you whine miserably. “Go away!”

“Shh sh sh.” He curls up behind you, arms around your waist and legs pushing in behind yours. He kisses your shoulder and hugs you, but it only makes you cry harder at how achingly familiar it is. “It’s okay,” he murmurs between kisses. He doesn’t try to get you to stop crying, or ask you what’s wrong. He seems to know exactly why you’re breaking down, and he simply devotes all his efforts to helping you calm down in your own time. “S’okay, s’okay. Everything’s gonna be okay,” he keeps saying, soothing you with a deep rumble in his chest. “I’ve got you, Sweetheart. I’ve got you now. It’s all gonna be okay. Shhh.”

At first, his placating makes you angry, but not enough to stop your crying, and once that tapers off from sobs to quiet, sniffling tears, you can’t seem to dredge up the anger anymore. It isn’t there.

“You feeling a little better?” he asks kindly, gently tucking your hair behind your ear and then hugging you again.

You whine when you feel his lips against your neck. “I’m fine,” you rasp, voice coming out scratchy from all of the crying. You cringe and scrub your face into the pillow in embarrassment. “Just got a little sad.”

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly, giving you a supportive squeeze. “That’s okay.”

You hate how he says it, because it’s obvious that he knows why you were crying: Poor, sad little omega, bawling her eyes out over how much she’s missed her Alpha. He nuzzles into your neck, telling you it’s okay and that you’re allowed to cry. As much as you hate him being able to see into you so easily, you’re just grateful that he isn’t rubbing your face in it right now. The way he's holding you and comforting you feels good. You don’t fight to get away from him.

The two of you lie there together for what feels like a long time. Once you’ve stopped crying and are only giving the occasional sniffle for your runny nose, he goes back to running his hand over your side. It’s a gesture of comfort. He’s not groping you, but even still, you blush at the vulnerability of it. You find yourself glad that you’re facing away from him.

The plane shifts noticeably, and James’ hand pauses on your hip. “Pilot said we’re landing soon,” he murmurs. “Should probably go and get pchelka up.”

You sniffle and fight off the urge of resurfacing tears at hearing him reference June. One day of knowing his daughter and already he’s got a nickname for her. You should be annoyed by that, but instead it just makes your heart squeeze with emotion. “Pchelka,” you whisper, trying out the word.

“Yeah.” He hums happily and kisses your shoulder one last time. “Little bee. Come on. Let’s go.”

You don’t think about how it’s far too soon to have arrived at your destination, until you’re back in the main room of the cabin on the way to where Steve disappeared with June, earlier. You pause at the windows, peering out at the landscape. “This isn’t Russia,” you say, confused. The plane is definitely descending, but you’ve only been in the air for a few hours at most. “James?” you ask, as he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. Together, you both look out at the looming mountains and turquoise waters below. “Where are we?” you breathe.

James rests his chin on your shoulder and sighs happily. “Home,” he says. “We’re home.”

A.N.: See? Much less Rapey! Plenty more mega-dub con to come though, so don't you angst-lovers worry. Thanks for reading!💖Sarah

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calebsdog · 2 months ago

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You know what baby Caleb absolutely did for baby Mc? Helping her with her clogged sinuses.

Your school was ground zero for a common sickness passing around. Caleb was one of the lucky few children who didn't get hit with the symptoms. You, however, were not so lucky.

"C'mon, pips. You'll feel a bajillion times better when you're done." Caleb stands in front of you with a small blue container in his hands. A dastardly neti pot.

You haven't had to use a neti pot many times in your life. But the thing you remember most about the neti pot was how miserable of an experience it was. The drowning sensation doesn't go away after the first few times.

"Nu-uh. I don't wanna." Your clogged nose makes you sound nasally. Like you were speaking from the back of your throat. Reduced to mouth breathing you were unable to get a good night's sleep.

"I know you hate it. But it's just for a minute. You won't have to huff and puff through the house anymore." Caleb tries to guide you into the bathroom.

"It's distilled water. No brain eating amoebas can gobble up your brain on my watch." He already set your stepping stool in front of the sink.

"No!" Snatching your arm out of Caleb's grasp you spin on your heels. Rushing away as fast as your little legs can carry you down the halls and away from the cursed neti pot.

You curl up in the closet. Your usual hiding place when you feel unsafe. Or, in this case, when things weren't going your way. You stay there for hours, trying with all your might to breathe in through your nose. The mucus lodged in your nostrils remain stubbornly clogged.

But where was Caleb? He always found you, no matter how good your hiding spot was. Was he mad at you for running away when he was trying to help? Was he going to ignore you forever now? Were you all alone?

"Gege!" Unable to take it anymore, you run to Caleb in tears. Your sobs only manage to stuff you up even worse. Your entire head felt heavy with mucus. You needed Caleb to make everything better again, the way he always did.

"I'm sorry!" Caleb allows you to curl up to his chest and pout. This would've been over if you hadn't been stubborn.

"Don't cry." Caleb scoops your tiny, trembling frame up. He doesn't seem to care about catching your sickness, even when you've been nothing but a brat.

"Next time, just listen to gege. Okay? I only want what's best for you." When you're done crying he leads you into the bathroom, helps you step up onto your stool, and tilts your head to the side when he uses the neti pot.

The distilled water rushing through your nose felt just as horrible as all the other times you were sick. But Caleb was right. You do feel a lot better once you're able to breathe through your nose again.

#love and deepspace #caleb x reader #caleb love and deepspace #caleb x mc #lads caleb #lnds #love and deepspace caleb #lnds caleb #caleb xia #caleb x you #caleb #lnds caleb x reader #caleb x y/n

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thatguywhofedme · 3 months ago

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❤️🐷 Never enough 🐷❤️

You know when you asked me how fat I wanted you when we first met ? I thought you were joking

You knew exactly what I was into the moment you saw me watching you stuff that greedy mouth of yours like the good piggy you already were , already a hefty 330 lbs, all belly like I love with a massive double chin, taking food by the fistful, barely chewing as you swallowed it all, not caring about who could be looking until we locked eyes

You were curious at first, it wasn't the usual look of curiosity or disgust you were used to, you saw me looking with a big smile on my face, until I got up, went to your table and asked if I could sit with you, you were shy at first, it wasn't everyday you were approached by someone who seemed to be interested in you while having food crumbs and stains all over you

From the moment I sat down I was completely honest with you, I told you how much I love your fat body and enjoy seeing you stuff yourself

You were as red as a beet, meeting someone into you who wasn't miles away behind a screen, complimenting you shamelessly in front of everyone never happened to you and before you could reply, I took one of your many greasy cheeseburgers, dipped it in your extra mayo and put it in front of you, ready to get fed, without a second thought you took it in between your greedy lips, almost putting the entire thing in your mouth while I was busy caressing your fat face, cleaning it little by little as I sucked ketchup from my finger, looking at you with envy like you've never seen before

You knew I was going to make you eat like there's no tomorrow each and every day, stuffing you like it's your last meal on death row with nothing to lose

And that's exactly what you were looking for

As the months went by and we got to know more from one another, we told each other what we were into and no surprise there, we were both into feedism and extreme weight gain

During that time your body went through some drastic changes

Your stretch marks got even brighter, your belly got even heavier, wider and most importantly, lower as it almost reached your knees as they slapped against the bottom of it while you barely waddle a couple of steps before needing your walker and oxygen, your face got so fat you couldn't really look down, what was the point anyway with me taking care of you like the prized piggy you are

We celebrated 500 lbs with a three tiered cake on all fours, or at least as best you can with all this fat making it impossible for you to move much as I took you from behind, grabbing your rolls for support as I made you hungrier with each orgasm, always wanting more with each fucking

One night I decided to try some darker themes when it came to having some fun and see where it goes, telling you I want you immobile, unable to do anything except getting fed and fucked all day long while I take care of you with some sponge baths, funnel feed you pure lard and feeding you sticks of butter dipped in sugar by the dozen, clogging those arteries while making you wheeze like crazy with each breath even with your oxygen to the max and giving you as much as it can, knowing full well there's more greasy food than air getting into this extremely obese body of yours

It certainly clicked for you as you came seconds after I said all those things and I knew I had the perfect piggy to fatten up beyond any limits we could think of

It wasn't long after before you needed a bariatric bed with me as your fulltime caretaker, feeder and lover

You were scared at first, not knowing if you could adjust to your new lifestyle, but with me making you feel like you're on top of the world, making you cum over and over again as the tube above you is slowly pumping your gut full of grease and lard to incredible sizes, which by now has grown so incredibly fat, it goes further than your feet and is almost nearing the end of the bed

We both look at the heart monitor often ever since your second heart attack, not because we worry about it, God no !!!

More so from morbid curiosity, wondering when it will be your last time clutching your chest, knowing full well it'll be a massive turn on for the both of us

So to answer your question, there's no answer for me to provide

We both know you can never be fat enough and we need to keep on making you fatter for as long as we can, no matter what happens, that body needs more lard and it needs it now

It's not because you're over 700 lbs that I'm going to take it easy on you, on the contrary, you know i'll fatten you up even faster with no end I'm sight

I can't wait for that heart monitor to stop beeping, knowing we both accomplished our goal and made you the greatest death piggy to ever live

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months ago

Text

Collision

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, blood, injury, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: you find yourself in the hands of unexpected saviours after an accident.

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Helmut Zemo

Note: Ugh, here we go.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

A loud bang awakes you.

You're not in your bed. Not sleeping. That cloudy feeling in your head combines with the haze of dust across your vision. The same ash coats your skin, suffocating as you writhe beneath the weight that pins you.

You moan and cough, dizzy and dazed as your mind turns slowly. You reach up instinctively to drag yourself free of whatever is on you. The effort does little more than pull more scraps of plaster towards you.

You fall flat and wheeze. What the heck happened? You blink and try to wipe the grime from your face.

It comes in patches. The big building, the interview, your borrowed heels. The desperation that's now turned dire as you stare at the singed ceiling.

"Dammit," a voice snarls as there's a clatter. Some metal thumps and there's a hiss. "You goddamn--" the man stops himself. "I said no bombs."

"You said you wanted a way in, soldat," the lilted slither returns.

"Don't call me that. I'll break your jaw," the deeper voice warns. "I doubt that thing you're wearing will protect you. You look stupid."

"Well, forgive me for having taste," the other man snickers. "You got what you needed--"

"I don't need all this. Do you have any idea the kinda shit that's gonna rain down on me. You're lucky this place was as shell--"

Your throat clogs with ash and you cough again. You try to wet your lips but even your tongue is pasty with the stuff. Their voices silence. You listen but only hear one pair of steps.

A shadow appears on the other side of the lumber and metal that traps you. Another from your other side you don't hear. You raise your palm helplessly to shield yourself. Blood covers your fingers, one of them bent to the side. You whimper and choke again.

"Shit, I told you--" The bare-faced man snarls at the one in the strange purple mask.

"She was not in my calculations," the other rebuffs.

"Not in your--" the other huffs and stops himself. He drops to one knee over you. "Miss, miss, can you hear me?"

You try to answer and your voice comes out like a fizzle. He shakes his head and turns to sneer at the other man. He stands and lifts the thick pillar from over you, clearing away the rest of the mess.

"Little help," he snips at the other.

"I think you got it," the other pulls a thin thread free of his glove.

"Miss," the other man kneels again, feeling around his belt. He frees a canteen and searches his pockets. He shrugs and pours the water over your face. He wipes the dust away with his hand then put the neck above your lips. "Don't swallow, you gotta rinse this stuff out."

He fills your mouth and you gag. He hurriedly sits you up and you hack out the liquid with a rattle. Your arms hangs at your left side and you grunt at the pang in your bones.

"Zemo! You just gonna watch."

"Yes," the other man answers smugly. "What are we going to do with the creature?"

"You're serious?"

"I am... on the lamb, as you say," the other shrugs.

"Get the car," the man holding you up growls.

"Wh-what..." you can barely speak for the pain. Your head droops as the room tilts in your vision and you stare down at the red stain across your pressed blouse. Blood. Your blood.

"Go!" The man yells.

The footsteps of the other scamper off beneath his grumble. The man lifts you as you put your head back and scream in horror. You feel the blood draining out of you.

"Shh, stop," he hisses as he walks over the piles of rubble. "Don't do that, alright? You gotta calm down."

"B-b-but..." you babble and put your hands to your side, feeling the warm stickiness.

"That's it, doll, put pressure on it." He girds as he nears the blown-out wall.

You whine and quake as you obey him. You tuck your chin down and focus on containing the flow. An engine whirs up and he angles you around to open the door. He slides you into the backset and follows you.

"Go," he orders the driver.

"Oh, Barnes," the man he called Zemo tuts. "Not such a cold heart after all."

"Be quiet," he snips. Barnes?

He slides something free of the pocket in the door and opens the small chest. He takes out gauze and folds it in layers.

"Let me get a look," he touches your hand with his. His fingers are forged in metal. Huh?

Your hand slips and he wipes with the gauze. He hums as he leans in, parting the torn fabric around the gash.

"Not awful," her mutters.

"Dying," you murmur.

"No," he insists. "Zemo, what are you doing? Taking in the sights?"

"Be calm. It wouldn't do to draw attention," he insists.

The other man growls again but keeps tending to you. He tugs your shirt up above your chest and wraps your middle, padding around the cut with a thick layer of cotton. He knots it tight then puts his fingers to your neck.

"Pulse is strong," he says then feels along your arm. You cry out as he touches left. "Can you move it?"

You try and shriek again.

"Dear man, her screams are rather distracting."

"Shut up." Barnes' lips thin. "Alright, uh," he unzips his jacket and slips his hand under, fishing around. "Just relax, doll. I got something will help you until we get you fixed up."

He slides out a metal tube. You squint, your lashes still covered in dust. A sharp point pops out the end. Before you can react, he jabs it into your upper arm. A coolness spreads through your vein and tingles over you, washing out the agony.

"Zemo..." Barnes hisses as your eyes drift upward into the sockets. "... you goddamn idiot."

💞

Swaths of black and grey fold into each other in the abstraction of your subconscious. You forget the ruin, the blood, the fear. You forget yourself as you sink into the pit.

A glimmer of light breaks the void. A thin line between your eyelids. Your skull pulses and you feel as if you're moving. You open your eyes completely. You're still. Laying on your back, propped up slightly, in a king bed.

Where are you? The world around you is unfamiliar. The tall posts of the bed frame, the canopy pinned back behind them, the silky duvet and sheets. For all the comfort, you are entirely uncomfortable.

Your shoulder hurts, your ribs and side too, your face is thrumming, and your finger is on fire. You look down at your right hand. Your pink is wrapped and splinted. Your left shoulder is achy, your arm bent into a sling. The blankets are folded right beneath your elbow, hiding the rest of your injuries.

You remember the earth shaking, the dust, the voices. Those men...

You peer around as slowly the edges of your vision sharpen. There's a large painting showing a scene of ribaldry, men and women from another era sloshing wine without modesty. The furniture is antique and polished, well-kept, the wall-paper vintage but not gauche.

Next to you is a folded paper standing like a pyramid. Next to it, a golden bell. The card reads; ring me.

You whimper at just the thought of moving. You don't even try your left arm. You reach and grab the handle, your pinky kept straight in the splint. You tinkle the bell and the noise rattles in your head. You put it down to quiet the sharp noise.

You wait. You don't hear anything. Nothing changes.

You close your eyes and ease against the pillows. You hurt so bad. You wish you could just go back to sleep but the pain keeps you restless.

There's a creak. You look out from beneath your lashes as the door opens. A man enters. Brown hair, browner eyes, and a permanent smirk written into his thin lips.

"Darling, you are alive!" He raises his glass of dark liquid and slurps bawdily. "Cheers to you."

You blink. You know that voice. The buzzing in your ears clears.

"Zemo?"

"You remember!" He winks triumphantly. "Ah, but you must be miserable. Scotch?"

He comes closer and offers the glass. He wears a silken robe that gives a peek at his fluffy chest hair. You frown and shake your head, grimacing at the ripples of pain.

"I do recommend it. In your state, especially."

"Zemo," his voice rolls like silt in the air. He backs away and turns to watch the other man enter. The one with the metal arm.

"Barnes," you croak.

He stops short and looks at Zemo. "Bucky," he corrects you.

You can only nod. Just once before you moan and quiver against the pillows.

"It must be wearing off," he shakes his head and approaches. He opens the drawer of the nightstand. He takes out another metal tube. "Half-dose this time. Don't wanna make a habit."

He pokes your arm again. Too quick for you to react. You sigh as the soothing floe overrides your pain.

"You do like them sedated, eh?" The other man teases.

"Why are you in here?" Bucky spins on his cohort. "Hm? And why aren't you dressed?"

"You should be praising me. I was quick to respond for her call for help. I did not even fully draw my bath. I came at once."

"With scotch?"

"Well, forgive me for enjoying the finer things."

"You are unbelievable."

"Me? You are the one who absconded with a casualty."

"I did not--"

"You should've taken her to hospital."

"You said--"

"You don't usually listen to me," Zemo counters coyly. Your eyelids droop as their argument turns to low drones in your itchy ears.

"Doll," Bucky startles you as suddenly he's beside you, sat on the edge of the bed with a glowing glass of water. "You need to drink some. Eat too."

You gurgle senselessly. He leans the brim on your lips and slowly tips it into your mouth. He gentle rubs your throat to make your swallow. It's almost soothing.

"We're just gonna get you back to new then..." he trails off into a sigh. "Wasn't supposed to happen." He trades the glass for a bowl. "Soup."

He offers the spoon. You bat your lashes and open your mouth numbly. He feeds you the warm broth. You close your mouth and gulp with effort.

"Sorry, ya know? It's not-- not what I'm doing-- I thought--" he shakes his head. "Does it matter what I say? Look at you."

You don't say anything. You can't. He feeds you another bite and you shakily move your right hand towards him. You touch the hem of his shirt. He looks down in confusion.

"What?" He furrows his brow, blue eyes swimming like water sparkling over the coast.

"Know... you." You utter as your brain flickers.

He shrugs and scoops up more soup. As he hovers it before you, you groan and lift your hand to touch his. You brush the metal plates of the heel cradling the bowl.

"Hero." You say as the thoughts slowly piece together.

He sighs and looks down. His jaw clenches and his nose flares. He glances over his shoulder.

"Trying," he utters.

You keep your hand up, shifting it to look at your pinky. You frown. He does too. He rests the spoon in the bowl and gently guides your hand down.

"Tried to fix you up," he spoons up more soup. "Gonna be a bit."

You take another bite. It's better the more you eat. Not as stringent. Your stomach slowly adjusts.

You watch him as you eat. That seems to make him nervous. You remember him from pictures and videos. On the news. In history books.

"Bucky," you say.

"Just like I said, doll," he affirms.

You nod and open your mouth again. He puts the spoon in and you suck it clean. Now he watches you.

"Sorry about my... about Zemo."

You shake your head and wave weakly. You push your hand on the bed and try to sit up. His eyes flash.

"Woah, don't-- you gotta take it easy."

You fall back and whine. He sets the bowl down and turns to help you, sitting you up higher as he adjusts the pillows. He draws back, his hands brushing your sides and he sits again.

"Doll, you need anything, you say so." He eyes you with concern. "Already did enough damage."

#bucky barnes #helmut zemo #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #dark zemo #dark!zemo #zemo x reader #bucky barnes x reader #series #marvel #mcu #fic #dark!fic #dark fic #avengers #captain america #winter soldier #falcon and the winter soldier #collision

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