#its the way she holds her coffee mug in the morning

[cutemeat]

so whats mac’s equivalent to the pen chewing thing in this verse……

[januaryembrs]

hot chocolate!!!

what about bau!reader who’s super affectionate with spencer (and he just takes it with a blush and sugary coffee)

example; jawline kisses that are supposed to be cheek kisses instead of hello’s and goodbye’s & reader having her arm around spencer’s waist at all times cuz she’s just so used to his body warmth!!!

(for some reason i’m imagining s9 reid & new-ish reader but u can do what u want ofc!!)

FUGITIVE AFFECTIONS | Spencer Reid x BAU!reader

description: fugitive (noun) meaning escape, runaway. (adjective) meaning fleeting, brief, passing.

Length: 1.1k

warnings: fluff fluff FLUFF.

He knew what was coming the second he heard her footsteps. The coffee machine spluttered with effort as it churned out his third cup of the day, and he was already perched with the sugar waiting for the appliance to do its thing. Spencer barely had chance to acknowledge the approaching figure when he felt arms wrap around his waist, someone attaching themselves to his back with a feather light kiss to his spine. 

“Good morning,” He called over his shoulder, and you hummed, quickly squeezing the soft pooch of his stomach and releasing him. 

“Morning,” You said, and he leaned up to open the cupboard door, which wasn’t a big feat for him with his heinously long limbs. Plopping a mug down on the side, he poured coffee in your cup first before he started on his own, “Reports due today?” 

“Hotch wants the Minnesota and the Nevada cases wrapped up,” He said, sliding the milk and sugar over to your side of the counter and keeping his head down. Spencer felt his ears run hot, like they usually did whenever you got so close to him, which just happened to be always. 

He doubted the words ‘personal space’ were ever a thing in your vocabulary. It had started with Garcia, with the two of you linking arms and braiding each other's hair after two weeks of you moving to the BAU, and he’d figured that Garcia had won you over with that natural, bubbly charm of hers. But Spencer was perceptive, and he’d quickly realised the behaviour was not strictly limited to Penelope and her chirpy attitude. You tended to walk close to everyone, like you were trying to mesh you bodies in with them and the shoulder bumps and hands brushed against one another didn’t matter. In the end, rather than push you away, Morgan had taken to wrapping an arm around your shoulder as the two of you waltzed around the office together. Even Blake was succumbing to your touchy-feely attitude as you liked to cosy up next to her on the jet, usually falling asleep with your head on her shoulder, and she thought little of it now, just continuing with her crosswords unbothered. 

And then you’d set your sights on Spencer. 

He supposed you hadn’t quite got the memo about his germaphobia, or perhaps the transference of bacteria between humans during simple hand holding just never occurred to you. Yet after just a month of being desk buddies with him, he nearly jumped out of his skin the day you slipped your fingers in between his when the two of you had been paired up on a case and you were heading down the witness’s driveway to interview them. 

He’s been about to ask what the hell you were doing, or perhaps scramble to shove you off, and sanitise his hands with the emergency gel he kept in his bag at all times. But by the time he’d looked over at you, his cheeks a flaming strawberry colour with what he’d thought of as annoyance, you were simply smiling at him, and began swinging your joined hands back and forth, nudging your temple into his shoulder affectionately. 

“You look really pretty in that purple shirt, Spencer,” You said simply, and whatever scathing remark about how eighty percent of pathogens are transferred during hand holding was robbed from his gullet and he was stunned into silence. The way you’d said his name alone made his lips part in wonder, because he’d never heard it said like that. 

“T-thankyou, I like your jacket.” He cringed as soon a he said it, and the two of you looked down to your government issued FBI vest, the same one he wore, the same one Hotch wore, the same one they’d all worn for the past nine years. 

You sniggered, bumping him again with your forehead like you were a cat purring up against him, marking your territory. 

“You’re cute,”

You were full of sweet, loving words like that he realised, all buttercups and candy floss and honey and sweetie and my love and he felt himself expecting it now, biting his lip in worry if you were ever just the tiniest bit too busy to fluff him up with affection.

Like when you’d been called out by Blake on an emergency, the two of you scrambling to grab the SUV keys to go meet Morgan and JJ where they were moving into the building  after the suspect. 

The two of you had all but ran out of the precinct in the effort to catch up with the other agents, leaving Spencer, pen still in his hand as he mapped out the geographical profile, and he hadn’t realised anything was missing until he heard the door slam shut and he hadn’t felt the warmth of your hug, your hand in his hair ruffling it lovingly, not even a ‘goodbye, sweetie!’

Spencer pouted, despite the fact he’d spent the first few weeks wondering if he should be shying away from your touch because he was quickly running out of sanitizer and had yet to want you to stop. He felt like his routine had been interrupted, because that’s definitely what the source of his disappointment was, not the fact he wondered if he had done something wrong, and yet before he could think too hard about it, the door swung back open, Blake yelling something from the hallway that he could just about make out was your name, before a body crashed into his side and your lips were on his jaw, kissing him lightly through laboured breaths. 

“Bye, Spence.” You murmured, kissing up his cheek a few times to apologise for the wait, and he hadn’t even had the chance to return the favour through the fish out of water gape as he watched you run back to the door, Blake looking at you incredulously. 

“I just watched you run up three flights of stairs for that?” She asked, the door slowly closing behind you and giving him unfiltered snooping on your conversation. He smiled so wide his cheeks hurt, the same one that you had just kissed over and over again like it was a normal thing for you two, and he wondered if he could coordinate you rushing out of the office every time if it meant he’d have that again. 

“It’s Spencer, it was important,” You insisted, and he squoze his hands so tightly his nails dug into his palm, because it was too late to tell you just how much you’d made him feel in such a tiny gesture, and the electricity from your kisses had to come out somewhere. If not, Spencer worried he might explode. 

His hand sanitizer sat empty in his pocket, the same way it had been for months, and Spencer couldn’t care less.

[freakassfemme]

beloved butch abby and her soft femme

a/n: yeah, this is a self indulgent as fuck drabble <3 this is heavily inspired by my own relationship so sorry if it gets too niche </3 my fiancé and I just have a running joke about how much they are like abby so it kinda veered off that way. I still think its rly cute regardless

how you meet! <3

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who manages a nice cafe a few streets off of downtown in a big city somewhere on a northern coast. she's stumbling in the front door, grumbling about how the delivery trucks always drop packages out front instead of the back when she sees you.

sure, she's used to tourists, but it's fucking february. hardly anyone is traveling, let alone for anything beyond the major sights, and you're sitting in a booth, sipping on a hot latte with lipstick stains on the mug and clasping your hands like a princess as you look over your scrapbooking supplies. yeah, you're a local.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who doesn't even bother trying to get your number at first. she's too busy with the cafe, with lev, with crippling debt from her attempt at medical school before her dad passed -- at least, that's what she tells herself and her coworkers who catch her ogling you when you show up more and more.

she notices some pins on your tote bag when you come up one day, listening to you chat to the barista and waving them off each time they ask her a ridiculous question like what syrups do we have, playing stupid so she is forced to interact with you.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who just can't resist you when you start showing up more and more, so she goes home and listens to chappell fucking roan because she sees a pin on your bag. she hates it, but one day, after a month or so, she adds it to the morning Spotify shuffle, and just turns and smiles and says "me too" when she hears you telling the barista how much you love my kink is karma.

"oh my gosh, really?!"

yeah, everyone knows that's bullshit.

dating! <3

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who surprises you with full on fucking roses every date night, which are often on Wednesdays, because she loves taking you to karaoke nights. no, she doesn't sing, but she'll hold up your mirror for you to check your makeup before you run on stage, singing something adorable like from the start by Laufey.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who is always so delighted when you swing by midday, dropping off a handmade lunch in a cute little metal bento box, even if she's covered in flour. she'll bring you to her office, give you a little somethinggggg sweet to hold you over, make you a coffee and send you on your way.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who is so scared to have you meet lev, her fingers are physically shaking when you two are in the same room together for the first time. lev is a little suspicious of you at first, but quickly becomes well-adjusted when you start sending baked goods home with abby for him as well.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who comes over to your apartment in a black tank top and sweats, hair messy whenever (yep! you guessed it!) the sink is clogged, because city plumbing is terrible and she's fixed them enough times at work to be able to save you from a regular bill each month. plus, the way you thank her is always payment enough

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who nearly fucking cries when you make her a homemade Christmas stocking. lev doesn't celebrate, and without her dad, she hasn't found a reason to do anything like that just for herself. so on Christmas morning, when she carefully shakes out a set of matching heart-shaped carabiners, yeah, she does cry a little bit.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who shyly comes out of the bathroom one day holding some chest tape, asking if you’ll help her put it on because “for some reason the right side is halfway on but I put it on backwards on accident so I can’t get the plastic off so—“ (obviously you help her)

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who offers to buy you tennis skirts, athleisure dresses, fucking lululemon or whatever it is that will get you to come to the gym with her, even just to sit on her lap when she does hip thrusts. she loves sending you mirror pics after leg day, and yeah, you of course die every time.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who weaves through crowded downtown like it's nothing with you on her arm and two tote bags of your mail hanging from her arms when you finally get around to sending it out. she insists that she doesn't mind the little canvas bags with their floral prints.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who wears her beat up brown leather jacket like she's trying to run through the fabric. Lets you help her condition the material and put on patches, and even goes so far as to wrap you up a matching red one for your birthday that year.

as for her other clothes, she's constantly wearing little holes in the elbows and knees that you're more than happy to stitch up for her, and she swears her heart flutters every time she catches a glimpse of the woven embroidery thread in a green tee shirt or wool sweater.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who goes feral for the type o negative/out of the fire TikTok trend. she doesn't have her own account, but when you show her the videos of girls in their dainty Mary Janes stepping on to leather or work boots, she agrees without batting an eye, much to your surprise.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who slips a tag with your name on to it next to her other dog tags, keeping it like a secret special token on her necklace.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who lets you do her hair sometimes, even though she's perfectly fine at it herself. she just adores those sweet late nights in her bedroom where you're rubbing some warm-smelling lotion into her back and weaving her hair back into place.

nsfw! <3

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who is a god damn sucker for praise and worship, both ways. she feels like you two are the only people in the world when she's on her knees, hands inching under your skirt and up your thighs while you purr sweet things in her ear, and she's telling you all the things she wants to do to you.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who definitely talks you through it, and is constantly astonished by just how into her you are.

"oh, fuck baby -- you're dirty, jesus,"

"she's so needy for me, huh? you gonna let me take care of her, baby?"

"mmpf, thank you, thank you--"

"fuck, i know baby, i know. you can, i know you can. you're taking it so well, let me do it f'you. shit"

-`♡´- beloved butch abby whose hand nearly rips the mattress open the first time you're sat in front of her, leaving little lipstick marks on her strap as you work your mouth around it, making a slobbery and moaning debauched version of your pretty self for her.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who lets you slip a finger between her legs while you suck her strap, lets you push it inside while your mouth pushes the base of her strap against her clit until she's shaking and stuttering and practically face-fucking you.

yeah, she stays strapped up on dates, too.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who has a mean 3 finger combo that she'll pull out absolutely anywhere - in the back of her truck, on the kitchen counter, in the bar bathroom, wherever she sees fit.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who takes mirror selfies while you're riding her, or just in her lap, sucking on her neck or looking shyly back at the mirror. puts her huge ass hand on your ass, squeezing it and saves the photos for her own personal spank bank. the arch of your back drives her crazy.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who melts so easily under your prettily-painted nails, dragging down her abs while you murmur how handsome she is right into her pussy. her legs twitch, and god, she's trying so hard not to fucking crush you (not that you'd mind), but she about loses it when you ask her to sit on your face.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who hoists you on to her shoulders against the inside walls of her office, the door locked shut and your hand clamped over your mouth during her lunch break. covers up any stains on her shirt with her apron, acting like she needs to work up another batch of something while you're prancing out breathless and pink in the cheeks.

-`♡´- beloved butch abby who lets you play Jesse Jo Stark when you fuck in the backseat of her truck, hands intertwined and leaving palm prints on the steamy windows while you eat each other out in parking lots, murmuring I love you's while the truck rocks back and forth.

[unholyhelbig]

More Wandanat pls 😊

Title: Are you Avoiding me?

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

Word Count: 2935

Warnings: pet names, sexual situations implied, broken glass, and horrible spelling (I don't proofread).

Summary: It's becoming harder and harder for reader to avoid both Natasha Romanoff and Wanda Maximoff. Things only get worse when they're cornered in their lab.

[A/n: This is just a little drabble, that's been sitting in my drafts for months, nothing with too much sustinance! I've been distracting myself lately with Wenclair content instead of writing]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

There were thousands of mugs with Shield’s logo on the side that floated around the compound, changing hands between agents and the high-ranking Avengers. It’s why you felt less bad about dropping the one in your grasp to the floor. It shattered into dozens of pieces, and the rest of the pale coffee you were drinking seeped out of the wreckage.

“Ow! Why? Why?” Clint’s voice had turned to a growl by the end of his sentence. He had righted himself and gripped his own mug to his chest, leveling you with a glare that was much too vicious this early in the morning.

The words were trapped in your throat and you dropped down behind the kitchen island, pressing yourself close enough to the wood to become apart of the grain. If you could just hide long enough for them to wander away, then all would be well.

The archer glanced down at you, and then back to the hallway that passed the communal kitchen. Natasha Romanoff had her brow furrowed, lifting a sculped eyebrow at him. She had just come back from her morning run, a fine sheen of sweat coating her muscles. He gave her a shrug and that was enough encouragement to send her on her way.

You let out a long sigh at the sound of her footsteps retreating. “Don’t look at me like that, Barton.”

“I can look at you anyway I want to, you’re the one that would rather be on the ground than talk to Natasha.”

It wasn’t just talking to Natasha. It was looking at her too; breathing the same air as her, meeting her fern-colored eyes across the room and ceasing to have a tangible thought pattern. You were an Avenger, for fucks sake, an ex-KGB spy shouldn’t make you fumble the way that you did.

“It’s not that hard, y/n. She’s harmless, really.”

That was easy for him to say. You huffed quietly and picked up the broken pieces of mug before depositing them into the trashcan. Coffee would make you too jittery anyway. So, if you really thought about it, your nerves had done you a favor.

“She’s terrifying.” You said, reaching for an empty glass. You filled it up with tap water and tentatively took a sip. It went down clunky and cold. “And gorgeous.”

“A combination that renders you absolutely useless.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

Clint lifted both of his eyebrows at you, not saying a word. He didn’t have to. And you didn’t need all of this judgement from him in the first place. He had been so scared of Natasha that he couldn’t bring her in, in the first place. He would tell it differently, but you didn’t stick around to find out.

There were other things that you had to do; like a mountain of paperwork and a few modifications to the Vibranium arm that had found its way onto your desk. A cold shower wouldn’t do you any harm either. And if your fingers were to wander? No one would know.

You flashed him the middle finger, abandoning all thoughts of nourishment for the day. Tony kept his labs stocked with bottled water and granola bars after some nagging from Pepper. That would hold you over until lunch and if you started to drift, there were plenty of electrical sources that would give you a low-grade jolt.

Most of the time, you kept your head down, earbuds in even if they weren’t playing music. It was easier not to get caught up in the fanfare of the Avengers. Most of them were human, and they made human mistakes even if they weren’t.

You answered your superiors and fixed any problems that arose with tech and machinery, sometimes even costuming. Those things were simple, cut and dry. Your feelings for Natasha Romanoff and Wanda Maximoff weren’t even slightly that.

There was admiration from afar, and Clint would even say a numbness that clouded your brain completely. That celebrity that all other agents produced around any of the spandex wearing heroes often evaded you.

But each time Wanda stepped through the doors of your lab to get a personal watch fixed, or once, a VHS player that had the scent of smoke and burning plastic. She’d jutted out her lower lip when a copy of ‘I Love Lucy’ was burnt to a crisp.

Despite your meager salary, you had found one at the thrift and set it outside her door without a word. Not a romantic gesture, Clint. You should have seen her face. It was something you’d do as a friend, a co-worker.

Your shoulder collided with something strong, yet soft. There was a small grunt released from the back of your throat. You got a mouthful of the scent of rain and vanilla tobacco. But strong hands were suddenly gripping your forearms, keeping you steady.

Your eyes widened and met with curious hazel ones. You thought you gave Natasha enough time to get back to her room. But here she was, in that tight tank top, sweat drenching the collar. She looked beautiful, the lights overhead hitting her.

Agent Romanoff reached up and pulled one of your earbuds out, letting it hang loose against your chest. “Doctor y/l/n, are you avoiding me?”

“Avoiding?” You laughed with a little too much force, compensating for the lost air by snorting and instantly regretting it. A light blush fell over your cheeks. She didn’t look mad, in fact, she looked quite amused. “No, no. I’m not avoiding.”

“So, what would you call ducking down behind the counter in the kitchen?”

“How did you…”

“I’m a superspy and you’re not exactly subtle.”

Yeah. You’d forgotten about that. She didn’t’ allude to the fact, simply continuing on her way and leaving you to your horrible conversation with Clint. But then she had waited in front of your lab, her own clearance not allowing her past the sliding doors without you in it.

She lilted her head to the side “Don’t worry about it, it’s actually rather adorable.”

The heat against your cheeks started to spread down your neck and to your collarbone. If she noticed, and of course she noticed, she didn’t’ say anything. But she released her hold, and you fought back a whimper of disappointment.

“What can I do for you, Agent Romanoff?”

“Us, actually.” She responded, eyes darting towards the locked doors. “I’d rather talk somewhere a bit more private, if that’s alright.”

“Yeah, yeah, absolutely that’s alight. If this is about the Widow Bites that I redesigned then I can most definitely tweak them. We don’t want you to get a jolt every time you use them. Not that I’m saying you’re not skilled enough to avoid that,”

You kept talking as you swiped your card and it with a beep, walking into the instant familiarity of your lab. There was a coolness there for tactical purposes, but it washed over your heated skin and hopefully took some of the soft color away.

You started to flit around the lab, flicking on all the lights and the different purifiers. There was an experiment that Fitz was working on that needed a rotating heat source and that was turned on as well.

“If we remove the outer panel and with a little tweaking, we can make them non-lethal, heavy with stopping power. They can break up under the sub-cutaneous tissue-“

Again, you ran into Natasha. Her body was so warm and solid, stable compared to the way you buzzed about. The door had slid shut behind you, its frosted glass exterior shielding you from the rest of the world.

This time you didn’t’ rush to apologize, instead you pushed your glasses up to the center of your nose and stared at her in a comfortable silence. “This wasn’t about your widow bites. You said us.”

She nodded at you, suddenly seeming quite shy herself. You’d never seen her avert her gaze before and something about the reaction worried you. Your stomach was doing somersaults, flipping back and forth between pure panic and excitement. This was the longest you two had spent in one another’s space without you bolting from the room.

“For the past six months I’ve been involved in a sexual relationship with Wanda Maximoff.”

“Uh,”

It was the only word that you could muster. Thoughts that flushed your cheeks all over again ran through your mind; bare breasts pressed against each other, lips hungrily clashing, hands raking up perfectly toned muscles. Your eyes were hazy with lust, but you blinked it away just as fast as it had settled. Natasha ghosted a smirk regardless.

“It was purely sexual, we both needed to blow off some steam. I’m sure you know how that is.”

On nights when you needed to ‘blow off steam’, you went into the empty training room and ran for six miles before taking a stark cold shower to loosen your muscles. When you ran, you forgot about the dip of Natasha’s collarbone and the dexterity of Wanda’s fingers.

Now that you thought about it, there were signs that the two of them had something and why shouldn’t they? Subtle touches that led to more. The tenderness in Natasha’s eyes betrayed more. If she hadn’t noticed yet, you weren’t going to be the one to tell her.

“It was fun for a while, a supply closet here, the gym floor there. But going on month seven it’s almost losing its… spark.”

“I’m sorry?” You were cautious with your words, and she giggled, the Black Widow herself was giggling at you.

“I’m not so good at this.”

“You’re good at everything.”

She smiled “Wanda insisted that I come and talk to you first because you’re skittish. Moreso around her than me. She was upset when I told her you let me stay the afternoon in here last week, just watching you work.” 

Each move you made that day was languid. There was a nervousness to you that seemed to vanish when you could open up the back of a monitor and stare at the innerworkings. You were recruited right out of MIT, and though you had been offered more than one job, you jumped at the idea of working in the Stark tower, living here.

She worked her hand through her hair and sighed “see, not so good at this.”

“What exactly is this?”

Natasha furrowed her brow and a small crease formed between her eyebrows in response. You wanted to reach up and smooth it away with the subtle touch of your thumb. That part wasn’t complicated, not like people usually were.

So, you did just that, you touched the pad of your finger to her soft, warm skin and pressed until the tension started to leave her body. Natasha’s fingers wrapped around your wrist and moved your hand until you cupped her cheek. She sighed into the embrace; eyes closed for more than a single moment.

“I want you, y/n.” She mumbled against the palm of your hand, turning it to the side and delivering a single kiss to the pulse point on your wrist. You were sure that she could feel the quickness in which it thrummed. “So does Wanda.”

You were dizzy, suddenly glad for her hold on you. Months, close to a year, you had spent ducking behind counters and taking the long way back to your dorm. They were both stunning to an intimidating degree, to the point where it devastated you.

“Say something, please” Natasha whispered, voice breaking “I know this is a lot and you can absolutely decline. We can forget this conversation ever happened and you can go back to breaking coffee mugs.”

“No! I mean, no. I don’t want to go back to breaking coffee mugs. I think Clint is running a tab, and Mr. Stark isn’t exactly generous with our salaries.”

A grin spread across Natasha’s face. It was like being wrapped in a warm towel after a long day in the rain. You’d do anything to make her smile. You were in down bad, not that you’d admit it to Bird Boy.

She tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Can I kiss you?”

You nodded, not trusting your ability to vocalize anything right now. Her lips were on yours, soft and tender. She kissed you slowly, with purpose. The two of you savored the moment, a sigh of extasy escaping you, your arms winding around her shoulders, hers pressing against your spine.

Natasha broke the embrace, staring hazily at you. That cocky smile had turned into a wonderstruck and borderline goofy one. Have you broken the superspy? She’d certainly made you waver. You were effectively rendered silent.

“Oh, sweet girl, how easy it is to fluster you.” Natasha pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “But I fear that a certain witch is lurking just close enough for you to open the door.”

It slid open on its own with a dejected beep. You glanced down at the pocket of your lab coat, badge still attached. A small pout made its way to your lips but softened when Wanda stalked into the mostly empty lab, you felt your defenses lower.

The remnants of red twirled around her fingers- and god, you didn’t mean to stare, but they held a power to them. With Natasha slotted against your body, the primal scent of her, you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering. Oh, how good they’d feel on your tongue.

A pink blush crept up her collarbone and at the tips of her ears. Wanda raised a perfectly sculpted brow at you. There was no doubt in your mind that your thoughts were loud enough for her to hear them. And somehow, you didn’t mind one bit. You’d never imagine being this bold with either of them, but the kiss with Natasha had left you heady, greedy for more.

“Have you been able to do that the whole time?” You panted out, watching the door slide shut once more.

“Well, yes. But I respect your privacy… to an extent. You have quite the dirty mind, don’t you?”

“I… you… no!”

You pulled away from Natasha, crossing your arms over your chest. If you weren’t careful, your glasses would fog up just by being in the same vicinity as them both. Sure, there had been a few times where you’d let your mind wander; images of Wanda shoving you against the wall, pinning your arms above your head.

Natasha taking you over the lab table that you made sure was meticulous in every single way each night before you left. The thought of them taking control was alluring, tantalizing. You thought all the time, too much about every move you made. You didn’t want to admit that you’d welcome not thinking at all, even if it was only for a few moments.

“You’re a terrible liar.” Wanda soothed.

“That’s why Stark keeps me in the basement.”

She’d gotten impossibly close. You could smell the lavender shampoo that often accompanied her. They were both taller than you, though, not by much. Your breath still hitched in your throat at her proximity. Wanda tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, lilting her head to the side in a way that made your knees feel unstable.

“Is this okay?”

You nodded, and a smile moved across her lips. “You need to use your words, sweetheart.”

“Oh, don’t be mean, Wanda.” Natasha wrapped her arms around your midsection, resting her chin against your shoulder. You felt the incredible warmth she provided, nearly sighing into it. “This is a lot to take in. Baby steps.”

You couldn’t tell which of the two held more control over the situation, but didn’t much care when you felt Wanda’s breath hot against your lips. She closed the distance and you kissed until it stung, until your lungs were begging for air. A desperate noise that you had never made before escaped you when she broke the embrace.

All the while, the calloused pads of Natasha’s fingers were running softly over the expanse of skin between your waistband and shirt. Her touch was so delicate and impossibly warm compared to the coolness of the lab.

Natasha hugged you closer, and you allowed her to. Everything about both women surrounding you screamed control. The darkness that settled over Wanda’s stare made a wetness pool between your thighs. You squeezed them together in an attempt of subtly.

It was like fooling a seer. They could read your body like an open book and you clenched your eyes shut but could still feel the grin that stretched across Natasha’s face in the crook of your neck. It would be so easy to give up control to them.

“Does anyone else have the key to your lab?” Wanda purred, her hand splayed on your chest in a startling grounding motion. Your eyes snapped open, hazy with lust.

You were breathless, stunned. “Just you.”

Wanda’s head tilted, her tongue darting out against her bottom lip. Chills pushed down your spine, Natasha’s hold tightening around your center. You were sure that you’d catch flame right there and wake up from this dream. But neither of them vanished when you blinked.

“Good. What’s your safe word, darling?”

Natasha’s grin was nothing short of wolfish. She squeezed both of your hips possessively, hauling you with a spy’s quickness onto the nearest counter. You nudged a white mug with a SHIELD logo on the front. It fell to the floor, shattered into a million different pieces.

 None of that seemed to matter.

[shares-a-vest]

Wayne shuffles to the door, desperate to answer the incessant knocking that sounds like whoever is on the other side is going to beat the exterior fly screen straight off its hinges. He is greeted by Claudia Henderson, clutching her handbag strap tight across her chest and looking very serious.

Although it might just be his sleep-deprived inability to gauge the emotions of chipper 9-to-5 receptionists who wear cosy sweaters. He checks his watch. He’s only been asleep for about an hour after getting home from night shift - what with waiting for Hurricane Eddie to finally head off for the garage.

“Hello, Wayne,” Claudia nods and purses her lips.

He scrubs a hand over his face but steps back nonetheless to let her in. Claudia is one step in the doorway anyhow.

“Coffee,” he not-so-much asks as he moves to the kitchen.

“No, thank you,” Claudia says politely, “I usually wait for my morning tea break.”

He looks over to find her pulling out his assigned chair at the breakfast table. She looks nervous, if a little pissed off as she gathers her handbag up on her lap. He blinks harshly and pinches his nose enough to press his forefinger and thumb into the inner corners of his eyes. He really needs to wake the hell up a little more, it appears.

“What did Eddie do?” he sighs, looking over the drying rack on the sink for one of the mugs he has in his rotation at the present time.

“Oh, Eddie hasn’t done a thing!” she insists, a smile evident in her voice, “I’m here about Steve.”

Cubs mug it is then...

He frowns again and turns back to Claudia, confused. And the woman looks like she was expecting such a reaction because she huffs and straightens up, looking like she is readying herself to give a sermon on the kid.

“I need you to help me convince that boy to move in with Dustin and me,” she explains, promptly holding up a defensive hand, “Now, I know he stays here, mostly This isn’t about anything to do with you… Or Eddie…”

She tacks that last mention of his nephew on with a tone and a knowing look.

Wayne clears his throat. It’s certainly far too early in the morning for the ins and outs of that conversation. He flicks the kettle on to drown out the awkward silence between them.

“Have you uh...” he hums and scratches the back of his neck as he searches for words, “Have you talked with him about this, at all?”

Claudia squeaks out a noise he assumes is a negative as he quickly spoons coffee into his mug. He’ll settle for black coffee for now - he really cannot be assed to stand up for much longer, even if he did have the sense to quickly step into his comfy slippers when Claudia came a-pounding on the door.

“And you want my help specifically?” he says, raising his voice above the steaming kettle that is whistling away in boiling readiness.

“Yes!”

He waves a hand in the air, “Well, what about Robin?”

“Oh, gosh, no! I can’t talk to that girl,” he barks a laugh that makes Claudia startle in her seat, forcing her to clarify, “I mean she is a steel trap about that boy!”

Wayne smirks and nods as he heads for the table with his piping hot - and hopefully, heavily caffeinated - beverage, “He’s not the biggest talker when it comes to himself.”

“I’m not one to speak ill of other mothers,” Claudia says in a hushed tone, “God knows, I am not perfect. But where are his parents?”

She rocks a little with each word like she has needed to ask that question for a good long while. Of course, Wayne thinks about Steve’s parents. A lot. Because the boy almost never mentions them.

He shrugs, “He says they stayed away on business.”

“After everything that has happened in this town?” she argues, voice growing shrill with worry, “Did he tell you what actually happened with the mall fire? It was more of that other dimension nonsense!”

He almost chokes on his coffee. He knows a little - there was no way around it with Eddie in the hospital surrounded by all those secret nurses and doctors. But he didn’t know Claudia Henderson knew about some of it too. Still, he decides to remain cautious and gestures for her to continue.

“And he’s been concussed more times than he can remember!”

She slumps back in her seat with a look of such horror, Wayne thinks the sweet woman sitting opposite him considers it her closing argument.

Wayne taps on the rim of his coffee cup. They would have to tread carefully, not ambush the kid.

“He does get a lot of migraines - ” is all he can think to say.

“ - And he has dizzy spells,” Claudia cuts in, leaning forward. He can see tears starting to well up, “I just want him to be looked after. I know he’s a young man with his own life and everything, but he still needs a parent to care for him, to support him.”

“Yeah,” Wayne nods firmly, “Yes, he does.”

[muffinpink02]

Coffee Shop

Summary - You get a job with Mapi, she's a big flirt, your current partner is a dick, does Mapi sway your mind? Some appearances from the Barca girls. Got a lot done but a lot more to go. This will hava a part 2 at some point.

Warning Smut 18 & rough, consensual sex/shitty partner

“That’s it, just like that. Good” She husked

“Like that?” You whispered, listening intently to the girl's instructions.

“Sí, go a bit higher.” You could see from the corner of your eye she was biting her lip. 

The Spaniard placed her tattooed hands around yours, directing your movements, you felt your breath catch slightly in your throat from her touch. 

“Just like that. You’re doing good, hold it there.” She was so close, you could smell her woody perfume. She let go of your hands, giving you range to move. 

“I can see someone’s getting more comfortable.” Mapi hummed. 

You chuckled softly, her breath tickled your neck. “I have a good teacher.”

The brunette lightly chuckled. “Okay. Now hit it hard so the air bubbles go.”

You pulled the jug of milk from the machine and did as the brunette said.

“Perfecto. Now this part is more tricky, but try and do the heart, like I showed you.”

You tilted the mug with the shot of coffee and poured the frothy milk inside. Trying your best attempt at making the artwork from the steamy milk. You both watched as the hot milk mixed with the coffee. It had started out well but began to look similar to a poo emoji. 

“Ergh. I can’t do it, Mapi.” You looked at the coffee mug, a frown now on your face. 

The Spaniard put her hand on your shoulder. “Hey, it’s not easy, princesa. I didn’t get it straight away. You’re getting there.” She smiled warmly at you.

“Yeah, I just want to get it right.” You looked down at the coffee mug, letting out a loud sigh. 

——————-

It had been a month since you started working at the coffee shop. On your first day you arrived ten minutes early, you entered the small cosy cafe that you had always passed on your walks, but for some reason had never entered. 

The bell rang above your head, catching your new colleagues' attention. You were greeted by the tattooed Spaniard, the very confident, very beautiful, very cocky Spaniard.

“Hola, you must be the new starter. I’m Mapi.”

Mapi was hot, with a capital H. You drank in her olive skin and tattooed covered arms as she walked toward you. You tried your best to not stare for too long. Though the Spaniard didn't try very hard, her brown eyes scanned your body as soon as you walked through the door. A cheeky smile plastered her face as she stuck her lean arm out for you to hold.

She showed you around, demonstrating the basics of the machines, where the storage cupboard was and where you could find most of the supplies you would need during your shift. She got you to clean for the day, not wanting to overwhelm you on your first day, allowing you to get used to your surroundings. 

You cleaned like she had asked, even cleaning bits that looked like they hadn’t been touched in a while. You weren't able to talk much longer as the shop got busy in its morning rush.

But now and again you got distracted, you had found yourself staring at Mapi throughout the day. Your eyes drifted to her decorated arms as you cleared tables. You watched the way her muscles flexed when making the drink orders for the customers. Or how she stuck her tongue out in concentration as she counted the customers' change. 

The Spaniard had caught you staring plenty of times, but never said anything. She would smirk at you as if she had an idea of what you were looking at, and she would take the opportunity to ask if you were doing okay, or ask if you needed help, smirking to herself as you flustered. 

Of course you tried to make it look like you weren't staring, trying your best to look away before she caught you.  But your eyes would still end up wandering back to her not long after. 

In the quieter hours of the day you found out you had a lot of things in common. Mapi played for a local football team, she played in defence. You explained how you had played before but not since you injured your knee, but you told her you’d love to try again in the future. 

“You are more than welcome to come and try out. Or even come and watch us play.” The Spaniard smiled at you, pure joy on her face. 

“Yeah, definitely. I’d love that.” You smiled at the brunette.

By the end of the shift music started to play through the shop's speakers, Mapi asked what you wanted to listen to. Finding out you had very similar music tastes. 

She closed the shop door behind her, locking it with the keys. She turned to you. 

“Hey, you did well today. I’ll show you more of the coffee making tomorrow, in the quiet times.”

“Thank you. Yeah, that sounds good, I don’t want you to think I’m useless.” You laughed.

“I don’t think you are anything of the kind.” She looked at you with a straight face.

You felt your cheeks warm up, you chuckled gently. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.” She smiled at you.

————

It was now a month in, and you were a lot more comfortable, thanks to a certain Spaniard. It was closing time, and as usual Mapi had her music blaring over the speakers. You swept the floors while she emptied the dishwasher.

“Hey, what are you doing tonight? Me and my friends are going to Club 10 if you want to join?” 

The thought of going out clubbing with Mapi was exciting, and you were a little sad that you couldn’t join, only as you had plans.

“I can’t. My girlfriend’s coming to mine for dinner. But thank you for asking. Next time though.” You smiled apologetically at her. 

“Ahh no worries, I’ll ask again.” She winked at you as she started to stack the mugs. 

Since you started working at the coffee shop, Mapi shamelessly flirted with you. She flirted with such ease it never felt serious. She would laugh after a one liner that made your cheeks go bright red, then get on with whatever task she was in the middle of doing. She never made you feel uncomfortable, it never felt gross or too much, she just liked teasing you. 

You knew the Spanish were flirty, touchy people, you had even seen her do it with customers now and again. She was clearly just a naturally flirty person.

However, it didn’t stop your heart from racing every so often, especially if she was giving you a certain look when she did decide to flirt. Or a certain cheeky smile when she was being extra touchy, you would have to take yourself to the bathroom to have a quick breather. You weren't blind, Mapi was beyond sexy, but not only was she your type on paper, she was kind, funny and genuinely seemed to care about what was going on with you. 

But, you never took your feelings further than that, you had a girlfriend, a girlfriend of nine months. Things were going good, you really liked Frankie, she was smart, successful, funny and great in bed. You had even recently said those big three words just over a month ago, she hadn’t said it back but you weren't going to push her. She would say that in her own time. 

————

You plaited up the food you had spent ages cooking, pleasantly surprised at how it came out. 

“Smells good babe, you didn’t put any spicy stuff in it did you?” Frankie asked while scrolling on her phone. 

“No, nothing too spicy. I added some seasoning, but only for flavour.”

You placed Frankie’s food in front of her. 

“Okay, cos I really can’t do spice.”

You sat down across from her and smiled. 

“I know. No spice. I promise.”

Thankfully Frankie deemed it edible enough to eat. Well, it was more the vegetables that she ate. She attempted the chicken that you had added a small amount of flavour to, she had to stop a few times for extra water.

“So when do you think you’ll get a proper job?” Frankie asked as she pushed around the food on her plate. 

You stopped your own fork before it got to your lips. 

“What do you mean?” You frowned.

“Well a waitress isn’t a real job. When do you think you’ll be going back to an office job?”

“Well, I’m not a waitress, it’s a barista role and I’ve only started there and I actually really enjoy it. You know I wasn’t happy at my last job. I needed a break from all that corporate shit.” 

She gave you that look that you hated, it was a look that made you feel stupid, like you had just said the dumbest thing she had ever heard. 

“Well, you can’t do that forever. You’ll have to get back to it at some point.” She drank her water. 

You suddenly lost your appetite, you placed your fork on your plate. You felt that anxious feeling creeping on your skin. 

You had left your project manager role just over six weeks ago, you hated your last job, it had gotten way too stressful. Your manager would make you feel bad for not putting in extra work, and extra work was putting it lightly. He wanted you to do two people’s jobs, and then some. They hadn’t hired enough staff due to people leaving monthly. You wouldn’t have minded too much but they didn’t even pay you for the extra hours you did do.

The job had even started to creep into your personal life. You were too tired to meet your friends as you were working over time and too stressed to not take your mind off work during the weekends as you would get constant emails and calls from clients. 

Your manager had even called you while you were on a pre booked holiday asking you to end it early. And you did leave the holiday early, as you were half threatened that you would lose your job if you didn’t. When you needed a half day for a funeral you were denied straight away, that’s when you knew you were done with the company. 

You gave in your notice the next day and decided to have a small break, you had saved up a bit of money over the years, so financially you were fine. You just wanted to have a two or three month break, to maybe go away or just figure out a new role. Nothing like what you were doing before. 

You had only taken the coffee shop job because Frankie wouldn’t stop talking about you not having a job. It made you feel lazy and insecure, you felt like you kind of had to. So your break was cut short to two weeks. 

“Well, I’m happy there. I don’t think I’ll be looking for anything else any time soon.”

Frankie rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her water.

“Whatever, it’s your life, waste it on what you want.” 

Before you could respond Frankie’s phone began to ring. “I got to take this, you can throw the rest away. It’s too spicy.”

Frankie left the room, her phone pressed to her ear. 

You cleared the table, a lump bubbled in your throat, you felt like shit. You knew Frankie meant well, but she was from a different background. She was from money. Her dad got her role in PR because he knew the owner of the company. She hadn’t worked for the role in any way. And if that didn’t work out he would more than likely get her a role in another firm, like he always did.

————

It was half three, and dead in the coffee shop. You and Mapi were having a debate on what women’s team were likely to win the euros in 2025. 

“Come on, Spain will win, we won the worlds! Why would we not win euros?” 

You loved winding her up about football, she was the only other person that loved it as much as you. 

“Hmm I don’t know. You guys got lucky in my opinion.” 

“Pshhh. You are just hurt because we are the better team.”

“It was luck, just one goal. Nothing to shout about.” You smirked.

Mapi was done with your teasing, she grabbed the jug of milk off the side and flicked the froth right at your face. By the look on her own face she had done more than she meant to, she looked slightly worried until she saw you smile.

You dramatically gasped, wiping some of the mess from your cheeks. You broke out into a playful smile and began to laugh. She smiled instantly at your reaction, laughing at her mistake.

You looked around the counter, trying to find your own weapon, you grabbed the hot chocolate ganache pot, laughing internally as Mapi’s face dropped.

“No, come on. I was kidding. I’m sorry. Please, chica.” Mapi put her arms up in defence. You stepped closer to her, clearly not caring about her protest. She then took a different approach.

“Come on, princesa.” She pleaded.

You couldn't help but feel butterflies at her nickname for you.

“You can’t waste it, you can’t put good chocolate to waste. If you do it, you’ll have to eat it off me” She stepped closer to you, a devilish smirk on her face. The smirk that made your knees buckle, and you had a feeling she knew that. 

You were never one to flirt back, you would normally roll your eyes or batter off whatever hot and heavy sentence the Spaniard would lay on you, but you decided to play her at her own game. The words came out before you could really register what you were saying. 

“Hmm. but I don’t think you could handle my tongue.” 

Mapis' face was a perfect picture of shock. You gave yourself a mental pat on the back for being able to make the girl falter like you did. Before the brunette had a chance to reply the bell on the door chimed, you turned around to greet the customer 

“Frankie? Wha- what are you doing here?” 

Frankie walked towards the counter, a big smile on her face. Until she eyed up Mapi, who was probably standing too close for Frankie’s liking. 

“Well, don’t look too happy to see your girlfriend.” She emphasised the last word. 

“No I am. I just. I wasn’t expecting you.”

Frankie loved when she made you a bit helpless, you could see it on her face, you must have looked like a deer in headlights. 

“Well I was passing by, I wanted to see why you loved it here so much.” She then eyed up Mapi once more. 

“Frankie, this is Mapi. She’s trained me on everything I need to know about coffee and how to make the perfect hot chocolate.” You smiled at Mapi. “Mapi, this is Frankie, my girlfriend.”

Mapi reached her hand out for Frankie. 

“Hola, it’s nice to meet you.” The Spaniard smiled at Frankie. 

Frankie looked Mapi up and down like she didn’t want to touch her hand, but she did, and she did it quickly. You didn’t miss it, and neither did Mapi. 

Frankie laughed. “Is there really much to know? It’s coffee, not rocket science. It’s not that hard.” 

You felt your skin prickle. You hated when Frankie was like this.  

“Actually there is a bit to know about coffee and how it’s made. It can almost be a science lesson.” Mapi laughed at her own joke. 

“Mapis right. There’s a lot to it.” You looked at Frankie, almost pleading with your eyes to stop her rudeness. 

“Hmm, I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree. Are you allowed to have that many tattoos showing while you’re working? Does it not put the customers off?”

You heard Mapi laugh under her breath. 

“I actually get a lot of compliments, especially from the ladies.” Mapi winked at Frankie, she wasn’t going to bite back. 

“Each to their own. I just wouldn’t be allowed to have any tattoos showing like that at my work.” 

You then chimed in. “You don’t even have tattoos and I don’t actually think they would care much at your work, Frankie. It’s not like you're a rocket scientist.” You joked but could tell that pissed Frankie off. 

Mapi laughed, she put her hand on your shoulder. 

“I’m going to count the items in the storage cupboard chica. Was nice to meet you Frankie.” Mapi walked away, leaving you and Frankie alone. 

“That was rude. Why are you being like that?” 

“I was just joking. Listen, I came here to apologise. I was a dick the other night, I don’t want to argue.” Frankie took your hand in hers, giving you the puppy dog eyes that she always used when you argued. 

You smiled, you weren't one to stay mad. You squeezed her hand back, leaning in to give her a quick kiss. 

“Do you want to go for dinner next week? We can go to that place that you like?” Frankie asked. 

“Yes! The Spanish restaurant?” You chimed.

“Yeah, that one.” 

“I’d love that.” You clapped. 

Frankie smiled, you could tell she had more to say. 

“I also have to travel for work tomorrow. We’ve got a new client that the company wants to impress. So I’ll be gone for three nights. I won’t be able to talk to you much.” 

You felt your shoulders drop. “Really? Okay well. I guess you can’t say no. We can FaceTime at night.” You tried to be positive.

“Well, maybe, you would have to text me first. Don’t just spring a FaceTime on me, I might be out with the new clients.” She laughed. 

“Yeah that makes sense.”

“I’ll be back Thursday evening, we can go for dinner on Friday evening.” 

“Okay, I can’t wait.” You said. 

“Anyways I got to go, I’ll see you later tonight?” Frankie smiled.

“Yeah. See you tonight.” 

You leaned back in to give Frankie a quick kiss, but you suddenly felt her grab you by the T shirt, pulling you hard. You yelped as she pushed her tongue deep into your mouth. You pulled back, looking at Frankie in confusion, she never kissed you like that in public, she was always one to hate PDA. You caught her eyes, she was looking at Mapi, who wasn’t paying any attention to the pair of you. 

“What are you doing?” You wiped your mouth, slightly annoyed.

“Nothing. Just wanted to kiss you. I’ll see you later.” Frankie walked out the coffee shop, smirking to herself. 

Mapi came back up to restock the fridge. “Your girlfriend is nice.” She said it with enough sarcasm. 

“Sorry. I don’t know why she acted like that.”

“It's obvious, no?” She smirked as she stalked up to you. “You have to work with a very sexy.” She stepped closer. “Very charming.” Her arms trapped your body against the coffee bar. “Very tattooed, Spanish girl, all day.” 

The brunette had your body caged between hers and the bar. Her face was so close to yours, you could feel her breath on your lips. You couldn't stop your eyes from roaming over her delicate pink lips. Your mind wondered what it would be like to have those same lips on yours, or other places. You felt your pussy spasm at the dirty thoughts flooding your brain.

She whispered.“See bonita, you can’t keep your eyes off of me.” 

Her smirk was devilish. It was like she could read your mind. You felt your cheeks blush from her comment. Her dark eyes roamed your face, it looked like she wanted to kiss you. Suddenly her body was gone. Her laugh brought you back from the daze that was Mapi. She started stocking the fridge, chuckling to herself as if she hadn't just had you hanging on to every word of hers. 

“You are like a baby rabbit, no. Squirrel? Some kind of fuzzy creature.” 

You blew out a chuckle, trying to compose yourself. But you could feel the heat between your legs. You looked over at the clock. How many hours did you have left?

—--------------

“Fuck, just like that.” You were between Frankies legs, eating her out while she pulled hard on your hair. It was the third time in a row that you had gotten her off, not that you minded but you had been horny since work. 

Not for any particular reason. 

But you had been desperate to have some release and the minute you stepped through the door you could tell Frankie needed it to. She had just about said hello when she pulled you into the bedroom, kissing you hard. Her teeth sunk in your bottom lip making you whimper against her mouth. But she only swallowed your cries. She pushed your back against the wall, you winced as you hit the foundation. 

“I need your tongue.” Was all she said before you were being pushed to your knees. She unbuckled her jeans and grabbed your head, forcing your face between her legs. She let out a gasp, her head tilted back as your tongue made connection with her clit. You didn’t mind this kind of sex, you were the more submissive one between the pair of you, and it could get rough and desperate and you knew Frankie liked being in charge. 

She grabbed the back of your head as she fucked your face against the wall. Her hips rolled into your mouth, taking complete charge of your movements. 

“Stick your tongue out.” She demanded. 

You stuck your tongue out for her. She grinded her pussy along your tongue, it was like you was her fuck toy. 

She came quickly, pushing your head against the wall as she used you to get off. After she came, she moved you onto the bed. You thought she wanted to do the same to you, but she made herself comfy on the pillows. You watched as she laid back, opening her legs and pointed between them. 

So you did as she asked, you didn't mind going again, you were a giver, you loved pleasing your partners but the wetness between your legs was ever growing. It took her a lot longer to come this time, as she had literally just came a minute before she had you on your knees again. But eventually after some time she came in your mouth, her hand holding your head down roughly. 

Once she released your hair you sat up. You were desperate for her now. It had been a while since you had sex with Frankie. You knew she was stressed from work, having new important clients on. So sex was off the cards. Well, she would be too tired to do bits to you. So you ended up like this a lot of the time, your face or hands between her legs. You moved up to kiss her, she sucked your tongue into her mouth.

“Again.” She husked out. 

“Again?” You chuckled breathlessly.

“Yeah, I need you babe. You make me feel so good.” She stroked your face lovingly.

“Okay. Are you not too sensitive?”

“No.” She kissed you again and started to push your head down.

“Okay.” You gave her a final kiss before you moved down her body, kissing her stomach on the way down. You licked slowly.

“Fuck.” She pushed your head further in between her legs, rocking herself on your tongue. Once again it took her a while to come, clearly too sensitive. You could feel your cunt throbbing, needing to be touched. 

Your jaw began to ache from how long you had been eating her out. She pulled your hair hard, your eyes closed from the pain, she sometimes didn't realise how rough she was being. You wondered if Mapi was ever this rough. You could feel your underwear becoming uncomfortably wet. Finally, you could tell she was close, she started to grip your head tight, it was painful, but before you could stop her, her hips bucked into your face. You groaned as she pushed you further into her core. It was almost hard to breathe.

“Fuck, suck it. Suck it. Yes, just like that. Such a slut” She gripped at your head, not letting you move an inch as you sucked on her clit. 

Her legs started to shake. You felt her wetness start to enter your mouth. Her thighs clamped your head. She kept you how she wanted you, her hips grinding into your face. You swallowed her juices. As she let out a groan. You tried to move your head away to breathe but she pulled you back.

“I didn't say stop, keep going” 

Your lips wrapped back around her clit. 

“Do it gently. Swallow.” She gripped your neck.

You stayed there like she demanded. Finally she let go.

“So good.” She husked out. 

You lied next to her, catching your breath. “Yeah?” 

She sat up, groaning from the pleasure. “Yeah. I needed that. I'm going to get in the shower.”

“Oh?”

“What?” 

“Nothing, I just.. I thought we could carry on? I wa- I really want you Frankie.” You smiled, hoping she would get the hint.

“I’m tired.”

“Okay. It’s just that, it's been a while since you kind of touched me like that. I just miss you.”

She rolled her eyes already annoyed. “I’m tired.”

“No, I get that. I just wanted t-,” 

“God, can’t you just give me a break. I don’t want to. Don’t try to make me feel bad because I’m tired.” 

This was the third time you had mentioned it. Frankie hadn’t touched you in 6 weeks. You tried to ask her what was wrong. If there was a reason she didn't want to touch you, if it was something she needed to talk about, but everytime she just brushed it off and blamed work. 

You already couldn't be asked to argue. You would just take care of yourself. Again.

“Okay.” You looked away, not able to look at your girlfriend, worried she would see your pain.

“Ergh. I’m going to mine. Thanks for ruining a good moment.” 

“No, Frankie don’t.” You begged. 

“No. You’ve pissed me off.” She quickly put her clothes on and left. Slamming the door behind her.

You flinched from the slam. You felt the tears prick at your eyes. Then the hot tears ran down your cheeks. You felt numb. Frankie had been arguing with you more and more lately. Snapping at you for small things, arguing over nothing. And now she wasn't touching you. You felt ugly, unwanted. 

You definitely didn’t feel horny anymore. You took yourself to the bathroom and had a long hot shower, you had your dinner and scrolled through Netflix to watch a movie. It had become a routine at this point, doing this alone after an argument with Frankie. Half way through you got a text, you ignored the giddy feeling you felt when you saw it was from her. You looked at your phone to see Mapi’s name on your screen, you couldn't stop the stupid smile that appeared on your face. 

It was a picture of her cat dressed up in a cowboy hat. She told you about the purchase she had got for her pet. You didn't believe her, but here it was picture proof. You replied.

Mapi - Picture sent

You - she doesn't look too impressed. 

Mapi - ignore her, she always looks that way. She loves it 

You laughed, shaking your head at the Spaniards' antics. Another text came through.

Mapi - I'm going to the ‘Blue Cherry' tomorrow, wanna come?

You bit your lip in thought. You had no plans tomorrow. Frankie was away, and if it was anything like her trip before you didnt get to speak to her once. So, yeah why not. It had been ages since you had a night out.

You - Yes! I’ll be there 🎉

That stupid goofy smile grew on your face once more. Mapi always had a way of making you smile, or feel special, even something as simple as wanting you to go out with her and her friends. You found yourself looking over her instagram page, again. You smiled as you looked over the now familiar pictures. You scrolled down to the very familiar picture of Mapi sitting on a rock in her bikini. The girl's body was unreal. You felt a little bad that you lingard on the photo, learing at your friend. But you had been so worked up from earlier, your body was basically on the edge of exploding.

Your mind drifted to your memories of today. You could still feel the weight of Mapi’s body pressing against your own. You could see the curve of her pink lips smirking at you, the way she always did when she was messing with you. Her lips had become a common thought in your mind, you had wondered how her lips would feel on your own, or how her tongue would feel if it were to trace down your stomach. Followed by gentle kisses.

And suddenly that hornyness returned. 

Your hand slowly descended down your stomach, your fingertips traced small lines on your exposed skin, just teasing yourself with the thought. Recently you had been doing this more and more.

You slipped your hand down your pj shorts. You weren't shocked at just how wet you already were. You tried to put it down to you pleasuring Frankie, but you knew deep down it wasn't because of that, not right now.

You dipped your finger past your lips and just below your clit, finding your essence already dripping. You gathered the juices on your finger tips and brought it straight to your clit. You let out a small hiss. You were past sensitive. It almost hurt to touch yourself, you weren't sure if it was mental strain or physical. 

You bit your lip at feeling the pleasure of finally having some friction on your bundle of nerves, circling your clit just the way you liked. You couldn't stop the images of today flashing through your mind, you could see Mapi in front of you, you could feel the shape of her body pressing against yours, your fingers picked up the pace. 

You could see her brown eyes looking at you, her lips smirking at you. Your imagination got the better of you when you pictured Mapis' hand in place of your own, touching you, pressing your clit lightly. Her smirk became wider as she felt you becoming wetter. 

“You want me, don’t you?” You imagined her voice.

You nodded. Even an imaginary Mapi knew you wanted her. Your hips started to grind into your own hand. You imagined her fingers touching you, her eyes watching you. You then imagined the girl in front of you, in your home, pulling your pjs shorts down, her brown eyes staring between your legs, licking her lips.

You started to get rougher with your touches, needing Mapi more and more. You imagined her tattooed hand reaching between your thighs, stroking your skin, teasing you as she got closer to your core. You imagined her gentle touch as she finally got to your clit, rubbing tight circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“You like it, princesa?” Her imaginary voice asked.

You nodded. You could feel your orgasm rising. Mapi invaded your mind, her freckles, her smile, her laugh, the way she smelt, the way she talked, the way her eyes watched you when she thought you weren't looking. She filled your mind with everything that was her, your legs began to shake as her imaginary fingers brought you closer to your orgasm. 

You imagined her lips tracing your neck, sucking gently on your skin. You gasped as you felt your climax start to take over. Your legs began to shake, your back arched off the sofa as you imagined Mapi kissing you while you came. Your hips bucked into your hand at the aftershocks of your orgasm, your breathing slowly returning to a normal pace. 

You laid there, staring at the ceiling, guilt took over for Frankie and Mapi. But before you could think anymore about it a text came through, you looked at your phone to see Mapi replying to your text.

Mapi - Finally!

You let out a loud sigh as your head dropped back on the sofa.

[avis-writeshq]

pairing: early seasons!spencer reid x sunshine!fem!reader genre: fluff, pining, best friends to lovers warnings: reader struggles growing her nails out, reader gets her nails done. vietnamese women are the best at doing nails i swear (also if you get the reference you win another kiss) wc: 1.08k

Spencer thinks you deserve all the best things in life. There are various reasons for this but the one that sticks out to him the most is that fact that you have always been exceedingly kind to him. You have always listened to him when he talks and never once tried to belittle him for any of his interests. A part of him thinks that it’s because your ages are so similar. Another part of him thinks that you’re just pitying him. He truly hopes that isn’t the case. 

He makes you your coffee in the mornings. He knows how you take it– which milk you prefer, the amount of sugar. He has even gone as far as to buy your favourite instant coffee brand– the kind that are unreasonably expensive and have to be bought through a weirdly sketchy website despite its raving reviews. He remembers the way your eyes lit up as you held the familiar box excitedly and he can’t help but preen at the memory. 

“Thank you for coffee, Spence,” you chirp as you spy your unofficially assigned mug on your desk. You’re wet from the rain, the shoulders of your coat darkened from where your umbrella has dripped water onto it. “Hotch would’ve killed me if I had to spend another five minutes at the kitchen. It’s not my fault my train came fifteen minutes late.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, watching as you shake your hair away from your face before warming your hands with the mug. “I did tell him that there was a correlation between rainy weather and increased train delays which could have been a reason that you were late.”

You smile, clearly amused, asking, “how did he take it?”

“He pointed out that I’m still earlier than the rest of the team,” Spencer responds sheepishly, his cheeks growing pink. “I planned my train route for when the rain would be the least heavy.”

“I should follow in your footsteps,” you muse, sipping at your coffee and sighing in relief. “You always make this better than me.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he murmurs, his hand brushing against his scarf. “I was– um, I was wondering if you wanted to get lunch together later?”

You laugh softly and he relishes in the sound. “I only just got here and you’re already asking about lunch?”

He feels his cheeks glow hotter as he scrambles to explain himself. “Well– usually– uh, JJ usually asks you so I guess I wanted to ask before she did. And you have lunch with Garcia a lot so I thought I should ask when you get here and– sorry, is that wrong?”

“No, of course not,” you assure, beaming. “I’m touched that you think that I’m so popular that you need to book an appointment with me.”

“You are popular?” He says it like a question because a part of him is genuinely baffled that you don’t realise how well liked you are. He has found that you always manage to command the attention in the room and he has seen first hand the way people would be instantly drawn to you. He finds that he is no different. 

“I promise you that I am not as popular as you believe I am,” you say with another laugh. “I’m flattered though, truly. I’d love to have lunch with you.”

Spencer cannot stop smiling.

*** 

“You’re whipped.”

Spencer shoots JJ a look, his cheeks glowing hot with embarrassment. “I am not whipped.”

“You have been staring at her talking to Officer Deetmore for the past six minutes and twenty seven seconds,” she points out, her eyes narrowing. 

“They’re probably just making small talk.”

Emily shrugs from her desk, mixing her cup noodles around. “I don’t know, I’m surprised that she can hold a conversation with someone so intellectually disinclined.”

JJ snickers. “You’re just mad that he mislabeled a file and spread the profile.”

“Intellectually disinclined.”

“Guys,” Spencer pleads, inconspicuously gesturing to you saying your farewells and already heading in their direction.

You’re smiling although it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Your arms are folded over your chest, a classic sign of discomfort, and your hands are tucked into your armpits. “Hey. What’s going on?”

“Are you alright?” Spencer asks instead of answering, soft enough as not to call attention to your little group. “What’s wrong?”

“Hm? Oh. I broke a nail.” You show him briefly– your natural nail has split at the corner just where they’re gaining length. “I’m a little bummed. It caught on the zipper of my go-bag.”

“Do you want to get your nails done after the case?” He asks, brows furrowing. “I have a nail clipper and file in my bag.”

JJ can’t help but be amused at this new fact. “You have a nail care pack in your bag? What, do you just take it around with you everywhere?”

He shrugs, ignoring the slight jab, pulling out the little pack from his satchel and handing it to you. He is well aware that you take pride in what you look like, especially your nails. You’ve told him the reason before, that your school was so strict that they wouldn’t let anyone grow their nails long and if they did they would be cut short by the nurse. He thinks that it’s borderline abuse. 

“Manicures are expensive,” you murmur, your eyes downcast as you focus on clipping each of your nails to an equal length. “Are we even allowed to have our nails done?”

“Federal Enforcement Resources states under grooming guidelines that ‘Makeup (including fingernail polish and artificial nails) may be worn by employees but must be professional and must not interfere with the proper use and handling of equipment necessary for their assigned duties’,” Spencer provides helpfully. “I can pay for your nails, too, if price is the issue. The bakery I buy my banh mi from has a nail place next door. I’m sure I can get a discount.”

You laugh as you file down your nails into a smooth edge. “You want to pay for my nails?”

“Oh, um, yeah.” He nods, cheeks suddenly hot and he wipes his palms on his slacks. “If you’d let me.”

“Gosh, well, at least take me out to dinner first, Spence.” You say it with jest, your eyes lighting up with mirth.

He doesn’t seem to catch your joking tone, nodding in earnest. “Alright. After the case, how does Saturday sound? I can pick you up at 6?” 

Emily and JJ are all too pleased. 

reblogs are always appreciated !!

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Simmer #3

CH.3 Sunny Side Up | The Menu [4.3K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.

Talking to Eddie became a little easier after that night. Just a little. You greeted each other on morning shifts with tired nods, maybe a small ‘hi’ from you, a grunt from him that you’d learned not to take offence to. You’d watched time and time again as Jonathan brought his coffee to the kitchen, handing Eddie a mocha full of chocolate syrup and the boy received another grunt in thanks too. 

The diner became more familiar, as did your colleagues and it made your heart ache a little when you realised you melted into their routines, their little world as easily as they did with each other. Steve knew your favourite song, liked to turn it up when it came on the radio, pointing at you with enough fanfare to make you flush when he sang the lyrics into the end of a wooden spoon. 

Robin had invited you to hers, an unofficial girls night after a Sunday late shift that became a habit without meaning to. You shared her apartment space the way she shared yours, leftover pyjama shirts in each other's drawers, rented movies swapped between television sets. And at times, when she was home from college, Nancy would join you both, curled on the loveseat with Robin as they listened to your horror stories from Chicago. 

Argyle would offer you rides to work, always passing you on the days you missed the bus, pulling over his brightly painted van with a lazy grin and a yell of “jump in my ‘lil Chicago pizza.”

It was easy, comfortable, a slow kind of life that you craved in the city, the long days and quiet nights that you were more suited to. Hawkins was far from the white picket fence dream, but you loved your little apartment with its view of the cornfields, the long road out of town that you knew took you to work. And when the bus stopped on Sundays and you walked to the diner, you’d pass that old garage the same way you did on your first day in town and wave to Wayne. 

It was easy. It was simple. 

That Tuesday, you clocked in early after swapping a shift with Nancy, the heat rolling into the side door with you as the sun rose. It was the earliest you’d started and the diner was still quiet, a lack of customers between the midnight hours that the truckers frequented and the breakfast rush. The radio was up louder than usual, the smell of fresh bread coming from the ovens, a huge bowl of batter on the counter beside some chopped strawberries, glittering with sugar. 

“Hey! Hey what's the matter with you, feel right? Don't you feel right, baby?”

You could see Jonathan in the front of the diner, setting clean tables with new cutlery, Argyle trailing behind him - not necessarily helping, but definitely talking animatedly about something. Jim was in his office, groaning over receipts and copies of everyone’s vacation requests, two empty mugs of coffee in front of him. You weren’t sure where Ed—

“Jesus, watch it!”

You gasped on instinct as someone collided with your shoulder, a dull pain that wasn’t all that sore but scared you nonetheless. Eddie was glaring at you, holding a hot tray of morning rolls aloft with a dish towel. 

“I could’ve fucking burnt you,” he snapped, setting them down on his station with a clatter. 

You winced, an apology on your tongue, already tasting sour. “I’m sorry, I didn’t— I didn’t hear you say corner, or, or door or—”

You watched as Eddie’s frown disappeared momentarily, a soft drop of his expression that made you realise at the same time he did, that he didn’t give any of those warnings at all. You thought he’d apologise then, maybe back track with a rare smile but instead his scowl deepened and he set about pulling ingredients out of the fridge. 

“Stumbling ‘round like a baby deer, man,” Eddie huffed, his voice low, like you maybe weren’t meant to hear. But you did. “Gonna end up seriously hurtin’ yourself— or someone else. Not supposed to be in the damn kitchen, told you you weren’t made out f—”

Tears burned the corners of your eyes at the first sign of conflict but your heart pounded and you let yourself get wound up. You squared your shoulders, sucked in a breath and let the sting of your eyes and the lump in your throat fuel you. “Hey!” You snapped, only sounding a little watery, a little soft. “It wasn’t— it wasn’t my fault. You’re supposed to tell someone you’re coming if you’re holding something.” You blew out a breath, acutely aware of how Eddie was watching you with raised brows. “Especially something hot. And I don’t stumble.”

You glared right back at the boy, hoping you looked as intimidating as he did, throwing your hands on your hips for good measure until you felt too much like your mom and dropped them back by your side. You squirmed in the silence, pulling self-consciously at the hem of your uniform dress, still trying to keep your lips in an annoyed flat line, your brows as turned down as Eddie’s. Eddie scoffed and rolled his eyes, throwing a pound of butter into a huge mixing bowl. It made the station shake with a thud and he turned his back to you before he spoke, shoulders stiff, a tattoo that curled up from his back to the nape of his neck just visible for the way he’d pulled his curl up in a bun. 

“Why are you always in such a bad mood? Huh? And I’m allowed in the kitchen,” you added, hating that you sounded haughty, but fuck this boy and his attitude problem. The hot and cold act was starting to wear thin. “I work here too.”

He turned then, the sleeves of his chef whites rolled up to his elbows, ropes of muscle and lines of ink curling around his forearms. His fingers were covered in butter and sugar, and when he took a few steps closer, brows raised at you in a challenge, he smelled like cinnamon. “That right, sweetheart?”

You didn’t back down, even though your stomach flipped. You lifted your chin higher, tried to give it back to him as good as he gave it out. “You think I come here for the good of my health?” You wanted to bite, you wanted to sink your teeth in and draw blood. You wanted to hurt. The taste of honey on fresh sourdough lingered on your tongue.  “I heard the food is shit.”

Eddie’s nostrils flared at your childish barb, but as immature as it was, the boy gritted his teeth and stormed back to the work station. The bowls clattered against each, steel on steel and the spatula he’d been using got launched into the empty sink. 

“Just stay out my way,” Eddie grunted. 

 The sharpness of his words made your throat tight, face scrunching unhappily because what had you ever done to him? You decided not to answer, pressing your lips together instead and hoping Eddie didn’t see your watery eyes when you stalked past his table. You ducked into the office, slamming your locker door as you shoved your bag inside, shouldering into Steve by accident on the way back out. 

“Oh, sorry— hey, hey,” Steve frowned, catching sight of your face. “What’s wrong?”

You didn’t answer, just smiling and shrugging him off, already pulling out your pad and pen from the front of your apron, as if the quiet diner was suddenly full of people who were desperate for their orders to be taken. You didn’t look at Eddie as you left, disappearing between the table and booths, hoping for something to clean until a table filled up. 

You didn’t see it, you didn’t hear it, but Steve walked to Eddie’s station with a scowl that matched the other boy’s and stole the spoon that was in his hand. 

“Hey!” Eddie’s head shot up, eyes narrowed, ready for a fight. “Give me th—”

“Stop being a dick,” Steve scolded, holding the spoon over his head when Eddie tried to grab it across the bench. “You’re being an ass, man. And for what?”

Eddie glared, reaching for the stolen utensil and swearing when Steve rapped the back of his knuckles with it. “What’re you even talkin’ about?”

Steve scoffed, “don’t act dumb, Munson, it isn’t cute. What have you got against the new girl?”

Eddie didn’t answer, giving up and crossing the kitchen to rake through a drawer for another spoon instead. He stalked to the refrigerator too, still scowling, piling more ingredients in his arms as he went. He walked back to Steve with eggs and fruit, jars of spices that were all different colours. Steve was still standing, shirt sleeves rolled up, his name badge on upside down. 

“Well?”

“Steve, just—” Eddie let out a huff and set a pan on the stovetop, flicking on the switches until a blue flame appeared. It bloomed into red, orange and Eddie spooned some butter into the pan. “I don’t have anything against her.” His cheeks were hot, he could feel it. A pink flush that went across his nose and attacked the tips of his ears. He cracked an egg too vigorously, shell in the yolk, making it burst. He swore. 

“No?” Steve didn’t look convinced. He handed Eddie back his spoon. “Doing your damn best to convince her otherwise. Poor kid looked like she was about to cry.”

Eddie’s eyes shuttered closed at that, guilt gnawing a hole in his chest. He cracked another egg, watched it turn white over the heat. He really wanted a cigarette. 

The bell for the diner door rang, signalling the arrival of customers, a bleary eyed bunch of business men that looked like they were from out of town. Their suits were too sharp, close shaven beards and briefcases making them look like sore thumbs against the garish decor and sticky booth seats. Both boy’s watched you approach their table, smiling sweetly and nodding shyly as you scribbled down their orders. When you turned to head to the hatch, a piece of paper ready to be slapped onto the stainless steel bar, Eddie watched as the men eyed your behind, appreciative faces and shared whispers about the way your legs looked in your dress. 

He cracked another egg, eyes narrowed, chest tighter than before. 

“Say sorry,” Steve finalised the conversation with a friendly slap to Eddie’s shoulder as he passed him. You were only a few tables away, head ducked down, eyes hidden as you approached. Steve looked serious as he said, “fix it.”

—————

By the time the clock hit eleven am, Jonathan was coaxing you into going for your break, handing your orders to Steve as he cleared the table your customers just left. He waved away your protests, voice quiet and soft as he handed you the dollar notes that were left for you beside a ketchup stain. 

“I’ve got it,” he tsked. “Go on, go get some food or somethin’.”

So you smiled and pulled off your apron as you headed through the back, already sipping on a glass of lemon water you’d poured yourself at the bar. You could hear Steve greet a family at the front door, all charm and sweetness, and the radio in the kitchen was still playing. Breakfast was almost over but the place still smelled sweet, syrup and cinnamon, cooked pancakes and fresh bread, maple bacon that the diners always ordered an extra plate of. 

Argyle was at the sink, washing a pot and he smiled as you walked across the tiles. “Wassup Chicago town?” There were bubbles on his arms, a walkman clipped to the waistband of his chef whites and headphones around his neck. “You lookin’ for Eddie?”

You frowned without meaning to, wondering if you could get away with pinching some leftover breakfast without anyone realising. Jim didn’t mind, but Eddie was way too particular with his leftovers. 

“Uh, no,” you answered. “Should I be?”

“Think he was lookin’ for you.”

You didn’t get to ask anymore questions, or even laugh at the idea of the chef seeking you out, because Eddie was coming back out from the pantry with a new bag of sugar. His eyes flitted to you as he walked to his bench, cheeks a little pink and he sprinkled some of it over a bowl of chopped fruit before he said anything. He nodded to the stool he made you sit on the other day, the one at his station and it was only then you noticed there was a plate sitting. 

Two perfectly cooked eggs, sunny side up with a huge slice of orange that was arranged like a smile. There was a single blueberry in the middle of the plate, plucked from the bowl that Eddie placed beside it, finishing off the smiley faced breakfast. 

“You hungry?” Eddie murmured, his voice softer than it had been when you last ran into him. He kept his head bent, curls framing his brown eyes, lips twisted. “You didn’t have breakfast.” 

“Wh—?” Your lips parted, your apron still fisted in your hand and you rounded the station slowly, eyes on the boy like you were waiting for the joke to land. 

Eddie’s gaze shot from you to the stool and he tilted his chin once more. “Sit.” His demand wasn’t bossy, despite the bluntness. His voice was so much more gentle than you’d heard it before. The frown was still there, the stitch between his brows but his eyes looked softer, honeyed caramel, brown sugar, the stickiest kind of toffee. “Gonna get cold.”

So you sat, looking behind you to glance at Argyle, wondering if this was strange enough for him to take notice too. Sure enough, the boy had stopped scrubbing, his hands still in the hot water as steam rose up around his confused face. He was watching the both of you, eyes glancing between you and Eddie as he tried to work out what was happening. 

Eddie turned his back on you as you stared down at the meal he’d made you, eyes still wide and something inside of you sank at the idea of his walking away. But he spun back, a fork and knife in his hand, wrapped in a napkin. He didn’t hand them to you, but he slid them across the counter, his expression neutral - you couldn’t work him out. 

“Thank you,” you whispered and Eddie nodded. You wondered if Steve and Jonathan got their breakfast made for them when they went on break, if they came into the kitchen to a bowl of fresh fruit - mangoes and berries and brightly coloured slices of citrus. You thought it would be best not to ask. “Looks good.”

Eddie hummed and nodded, waiting until you picked up your cutlery and unfurled it from the wrapping. He made his leave then, cheeks pink, curls going a little frizzy in the heat and he ducked away, picking up a crate that he took into the freezer, the large door thumping behind him. 

The napkin fell to the table as you took out your fork, marvelling over the way the yolk burst perfectly as you dug in, golden liquid pooling across your plate. You picked up the blueberry nose before it got caught, popping it into your mouth and humming at the flavour. And when you looked down, there was a word scrawled across the napkin, faded black ink on white tissue. 

“Sorry.”

—————

Eddie made sure he waited long enough for you to be gone by the time he appeared from the walk-in, nose red with the cold, skin goose pimpled under his uniform - because fucking hell, why did he decide to hide in the freezer? He came back out warily, keeping his back against the tiled wall as he peered around the corner. You were gone from his station, your twenty minute break already over and he could see your empty plate and bowl stacked at the sink beside Argyle.  

He squared his shoulders and tried to act normal as he stomped back into his kitchen, frown set back on his face but his heart was thundering. It made him feel ill, the way his chest got right, the way his stomach flipped. His station was clear of your plates, but you’d left the napkin there, the corner of it tucked under a plastic quart container so it didn’t float away. 

There, in your much neater handwriting and the pink pen you liked to take orders with, was a reply to the boy’s scrawled apology. 

“Thank you.”

Eddie stared at the words for too long, until the rosy coloured ink went blurry and his cheeks turned the same shade. He wasn’t sure where you’d gone, but he could smell perfume he assumed was yours, lingering between the stacks of chopped strawberries, the halved mango on the counter. 

“You got a crush, my friend?” 

Eddie’s head snapped up, a scowl set back on his face instinctually. He liked Argyle, he didn’t mind him at all, but the boy was standing by the sink and was looking at him knowingly. Argyle grinned and raised his brows, waiting for Eddie to answer. 

“What? No.” Eddie slammed the napkin back down on the desk. Argyle was still grinning. “Shut up.” Eddie waited until the other boy returned to the dishes before he took the napkin and folded it up, tucking it into his pocket. 

He’d bin it later, he told himself. It wasn’t a big deal. 

—————

The day Eddie was scheduled off on the rota was a much busier day. It seemed like bad luck, the main cook’s day off coinciding with the monthly farmers market that was set up in Hawkin’s Main Street. The square was filled with stalls, fresh fruit and vegetables in crates, the smell of homemade soap, lavender and rose on the breeze. The tiny storefronts helped funnel the crowds in the direction of the diner, lines of cars driving to the restaurant for breakfast, their trunks full of fresh goods and Mrs Sinclair’s apple pie slices. 

It meant your day went too fast, the tips good and the chance of a break slim. Argyle was pushed to his limit, the freezer used more than ever as the full tables called for a quicker turnaround, the frozen burger patties being used instead of the way Eddie liked to make each one fresh. But Eddie wasn’t here and you certainly weren’t thinking about him, so he didn’t need to know. And when your shift ended at five, the dinner rush was just as crazy so you stayed on until six and helped Nancy clear a table of twelve guests, two families from out of town that had too many kids and there were lines of coloured crayon along the walls that just wouldn’t shift until you gave in and brought out a bottle of bleach. 

She was grateful enough that she split the table’s tip with you, something you tried to wave away but she insisted and stuffed the dollar bills into the front of your apron, not caring about the stains, the dryer grease, the spilled coffee there. Nancy looked just as undone as you. But it had been a good day - you missed the chance to eat, and maybe get something made for you by Eddie - but you had enough cash rolled up in your purse to start a new stack in your freezer at home and the bus back into town should be due any min—

The bus rolled past before you could get to the stop, the tires squeaking in protest as it passed you by, your feet not able to take you out of the parking lot quick enough. And it was still fine, there was still a little light in the sky, that navy-lilac kinda way that told you nightfall was coming soon, or maybe rain. Maybe both. 

So you pulled the strap of your bag across your chest and wished your uniform wasn’t as starchy and tight, ‘cause the heat still lingered even in the evening, warmth collecting in the shadows even as indigo coloured clouds rolled in above. The rain didn’t hit until ten minutes into your walk, a Misty drizzle that had you scrunching your face until it turned into a downpour. A heavy summer storm where thunder shouted at you from the distance, way out across the cornfields and making the sky flash white. You ran down the sidewalk where there weren’t many places to stop, to shelter and you suddenly wished more than ever that you still had your shitty old car that you barely needed to use when you lived in Chicago. 

But the garage was coming up, a familiar building with peeling red paint on its walls and a huge shutter that was already closed a third of the way. You hoped and prayed that Wayne was still around, wondering if it would be too cheeky to ask if you could finally take him up on the offer of that ride he once asked if you needed. Weeks of passing by and waving to him - and offering a snickerdoodle from the box you once took into work for Jonathan’s birthday - had built up a quiet sort of friendship. 

The garage was quiet and the bell sounded as you pushed open the door, the workshop floor stained with oil and paint, leftover footprints that would never clean off. Cars sat asleep, some with their hoods up, engines ripped out and dismantled on the floor, and thank god, there was still a light on in the office. A warm glow through a window, the outline of a man sorting through papers and his head lifted when he heard you bump into the side of a workbench, a tool you didn’t know the name of clattering to the floor. 

You winced and raised your hand in a greeting and an apology. “Sorry, hi— I just— it’s raining.”

Wayne laughed after he got over his surprise, beckoning you in with an oil stained hand. His tiny office smelled like gas and burnt tires but his smile was as friendly and tired as it always was. “Miss the bus?” He asked. 

You nodded, crossing your arms over your chest. Out of the summer air, the garage was cooler and you were drenched, goosebumps trailing across your forearms. “Drove right by me.”

Wayne tutted, sympathetic and he pushed what looked like a stack of invoices into a tray for tomorrow. “That’ll be that Hagan boy, never should’ve been allowed the job. Doesn’t pay any darned attention to nobody.” The man patted down his pockets, searching for his keys. “Jus’ gimme a minute and I’ll drop you off, think the boy took my damn keys. Hey, son—”

Another figure appeared in the doorway, cutting off Wayne’s call. This man was tall and broad shouldered, with dark curls that weren’t tied back. They hit his shoulders, wild strands springing around brown eyes that quickly widened at the sight of you. 

“What the fuck are you doin’ here?”

“Hey!” Wayne snapped with a frown. He whacked the boy’s shoulder with a rolled up newspaper he grabbed from his desk. “That’s no way to speak to a lady. I raised you better than that, you little delinquent.”

Eddie looked astonishingly different out of his chef whites and your surprise showed on your face. Out of his uniform, you could see more skin, more ink. Tattoos curling around his forearms and creeping up towards his biceps, black leaking across lithe muscles that you didn’t get to see at work. He was all dark, black jeans with rips in the knees, a black T-shirt that was well worn, the band logo on the front unrecognisable from wear and from the fact that your music taste was wildly different. 

Jewellery he didn’t get to wear glitter on him, silver rings on almost every finger, skulls and orjer horned things around his knuckles, a silver chain peeking out from underneath his collar. There was a hole in the hem of his shirt, heavy scuff marks on his big boots. He was still scowling at you though, a familiar sight that made him look more like the Eddie you knew. 

You glanced at Wayne, still confused as to why he was scolding the line cook from your work. You looked back to Eddie, lips trying to wrap around an explanation. He made you feel like you weren’t supposed to be here. “I— the bus. I missed the bus.” You swallowed, an awful shyness coming over you, or maybe it was nerves. “It’s raining.”

The weather was making itself known as the storm closed in, heavy, fat drops of rain pounding on the tin roof of the garage, a deafening roar that only got heavier. 

“Yeah, no shit.” Eddie called back, raising his voice to be heard over the din and his cheek got him another smack from Wayne. 

“You better hope I don’t find out you talk like that in the kitchen, boy,” Wayne pointed an accusatory finger at Eddie, to which the boy merely rolled his eyes at. “I’ll ask Jim, he’ll tell me.” When Eddie didn’t reply, Wayne pulled on his jacket and set about collecting more sheets of paper. He asked Eddie for his keys and pocketed them before saying, “Ed’s, be a good ‘un and take my friend here home, yeah? I gotta finish up this mess.”

When Eddie raised his brows and dropped his jaw, you were pretty sure your expression was the same. Except you were burning, both at the embarrassment of Wayne being so sweet and the idea of having to spend time with Eddie alone. 

“Friend?” Eddie scoffed. “Since when?”

You wanted the floor to open up below you. “I can, I can just walk.” You jammed a thumb at the door, at the torrential rain that was still falling angrily outside of it. “I think the rain has stopped…”

Thunder bellowed from above. A leak in the corner of the work floor dripped onto an old tire. Wayne stared at you both, unimpressed. 

And that’s how you ended up in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van. 

[fuctacles]

Remember late bloomers ?

Love popping into my wips and finding finished stuff I should have posted ages ago

Jeff gently informs him that getting running gear for the first date is a bit of an overkill.

“There is so much wrong with that idea. First of all, you hate running. Exercising, in general. And second, this is kinda pathetic.”

Eddie gasps.

“How dare you!”

“Dude, you just officially met today. Why would you waste money on something you might use once and then never again?”

Jeff was, of course, none the wiser that Eddie was about to enter his fit era. He’s going to jog every morning from now on, he’ll get cute matching sets with Miss Stephanie, drink smoothies, and get a gym pass. He’s going to turn his life around, lose the tummy fat he’s been harboring all winter, and turn it into a sixpack. Their fans are going to love it. Stephanie, too. They’ll run off into the sunset—or sunrise—together, they’ll make and raise the healthiest little babies—

“Are you planning your wedding or something?” Jeff interrupts his daydreams with a scoff.

Eddie bristles.

“I’ll be planning your funeral if you don’t start supporting your perpetually single friend,” he bites back.

Jeff raises his eyebrows.

“You sure that’s what you should be saying to the only friend who can lend you some jogging clothes?”

“Uh…”

“Thought so.” And Eddie hates his satisfied smirk but he’s desperate so he bites his tongue. “So, what you really need are good running shoes…”

He feels all kinds of stupid in his sporty get-up. He’s wearing his old Reeboks he wears only when his shitkickers are in repair (he will wear them to his grave), Jeff’s tracksuit pants, and his lucky Ozzy t-shirt. He woke up extra early today and his mug of coffee was almost empty by the point she, Stephanie, rounded the corner.

His mind goes blank when he recognizes his hoodie.

Maybe he hasn't woken up yet. What other explanation was there for this beautiful creature, backlit by the rising sun, to be walking up to him, decked in bright-colored leggings, and tank top and his hoodie, clashing unforgivingly with its blackness?  How else would he get a date with her if it wasn't a dream?

"You're actually dressed for running," she observes. No 'hello', no 'good morning', just her eyes roaming over his body from above. He quickly jumps up from the porch steps.

"Yeah! Lemme just..." He motions to the door with the mug, then quickly gulps down the last mouthful. "Want some water?" he asks, hand on the door. 

Stephanie's eyes snap up to his face.

"Yes."

It's weird, the way she says it, the way her eyes wander over his body. There's no way he's looking that good in borrowed sweats. They have some ugly gym logo on the side too.

"I don't really own gym clothes, but my friend was nice enough to share his," he explains, letting her in. She hums absentmindedly and follows him into the kitchen. He puts the mug in the sink and grabs a glass to fill it with freshly filtered water. When he turns around she's right there, now without the hoodie which she hung over on one of the chairs. Her tits are right there, but he holds her gaze, like a gentleman.

"Thanks." She takes the glass from him and takes a tiny sip, not breaking eye contact. Then puts it aside, on the counter behind him. "What's your stance on making out on the first date?"

Eddie's brain starts screaming.

"Not opposed to it," he answers and is immensely proud of himself for keeping his voice steady.

"Great," she says, almost relieved, as if he could give any other answer than an enthusiastic "ravish me, lady," and gently grabs his face, thumbs rubbing on the stubble along his jaw. She gives him a second to back away before leaning in.

She kisses his lips, just a little peck, a gentle caress. Dives in for another, and one more. Eddie reaches up to run his hands from her elbows up to her shoulders and feels little tremors running through her body. He frowns.

"Steph...?"

She groans instead of answering and her little kisses turn to kitten licks. When he parts his mouth for her, she licks across it, tongue pulling on his upper lip. He yelps in a pleasant surprise.

"I come here with innocent intentions," she says, her voice a bit strained, dipping into lower registers. "And you sit here, with your scrawny little ass in gym sweats." She lets go of his face so her hands can squeeze his waist minutely, before hauling him up onto the counter behind him. He squeaks, less dignified than the sounds he made before, holding onto her. Stephanie presses in and he opens his legs for her without hesitation. "And your dirty old sneakers, ready to jog with me. Eager like a puppy."

Eddie whines at the comparison.

"I'm not," he protests. He's just an adult man confronted with a beautiful woman out of his league.

"You're not?" she asks condescendingly against his ear. She's been rubbing her cheek against his stubble, nosing along the bones like she's the dog, trying to rub her scent all over him. Now she leans back to pout at him. Her lips are plush and pink and they haven't been kissed enough yet. "But I like strays."

Eddie's brain short-circuits.

"Uh... bark?"

She laughs and grips his thighs before capturing his mouth. She dominates the kiss without struggle and Eddie lets her use his mouth to her heart's content. He just wraps his arms around her neck and takes it, moves his tongue where she guides him. He can feel her hands on his thigh itching to touch more, but he doesn't want to part long enough to let her know she can, that she can take whatever she wants.

Eventually, she slides her hands up, thumbs digging into the crease of his thighs, and he mewls. His face immediately goes red at the sound that just left him.

"Well, that's something I'm not gonna un-hear."

Stephanie freezes and moves to pull away, but he traps her with his legs around her waist and presses his face against her shoulder, to hide his shame. Of course this is when Jeff decided to get up and walk into the kitchen.

"Uh, I'm sorry? And, good morning," Stephanie offers, seeing as her actual host won't be of any help. He makes a little wounded sound against her shoulder and she swats his thigh. 

"Good morning," Jeff offers back. "Stephanie, right?"

"Yeah."

"Jeff. I live here too, unfortunately. I was under the impression you were going out for a run, though?" He raises his eyebrows. "Did I lend him my exclusive membership sweats for nothing?"

"They're yours? Can we keep them?" she asks immediately. Eddie presses his nails into her skin not to make a sound at how she said 'we'. "He almost has an ass in them."

"Hey!" It's the first thing he says since Jeff walked in and the first time he moves away from the safety of Stevie-shield. Thankfully, his friend looks mostly amused, not angry or disgusted.

"Please," he makes a face. "I don't want them anymore."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Eddie's eyes narrow, the familiar back and forth giving him enough courage to release Stephanie from the clutch of his legs. She doesn't move far, just enough so the three of them can look at each other and chat comfortably. Well, considering the situation.

"I just saw you dry humping in them and you dare ask me?" Jeff scoffs.

The two culprits start protesting over each other with "We weren't dry humping!" and "We were just kissing?!" but he stops them, raising both his hands.

"I don't care! Just take them and leave the kitchen! I need some caffeine before work and the only bodily fluid I want in it comes from cow tits."

"Ew, dude," Eddie groans, but Stephanie lets out a surprised snort. 

"We're leaving!" she promises, pulling Eddie down from the counter. He scrambles to find balance but she grabs his hand to steady him. Despite them just making out, that's what makes his heart skip a beat. "it was nice to meet you, Jeff!" she offers, waving on her way out of the kitchen.

"Likewise. Good luck on your run!" he calls after them.

"Thanks!" 

Through the windows, he can still see them, Stephanie fixing Eddie's rumpled t-shirt while he's staring up at her with the dumbest expression he's ever seen. And he's seen a lot of them from his friend. 

"Good for him," he mutters to himself with a fond smile. 

[roosterforme]

Playing From the Rough | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley agrees to play in a charitable golf tournament as long as you tag along. When he tells off a professional golfer for being rude and then beats him at his own game, Bradley braces himself for the consequences. But it's you the professional decides to take it out on. Guess he didn't get the memo: don't mess with the Bradshaws.

Warnings: Fluff, swearing, mentions of smut, mentions of blood, non consensual touching

Length: 3800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Beautiful banner by @mak-32

"Come on, Rooster. We need a fourth golfer," Bob coaxed, handing Bradley another beer at the Hard Deck. "It's a foursome, not a threesome. And it's for charity."

Bradley sipped the drink and thought about how he'd have to spend a whole weekend day away from you, and he really just wasn't feeling it. The two of you were enjoying that newlywed bubble you'd been living in. Recently, Saturdays had been reserved for sleeping in late, walking the dog, and fucking. 

"Wow, I guess Bradshaw just hates charitable events for children's hospitals," Jake drawled, sipping on his glass of bourbon. "Come on. Be a sport. Payback and Fanboy are deployed. We need one more to make a team."

Bradley sighed. "Let me check with my wife."

"Bring her," Coyote said, lining up a shot at the pool table. "We get two extra tickets. She can drive a golf cart and drink beers all day if she wants."

Bradley cocked his head to the side before he turned to look at you and Nat taking shots up at the bar. "Who else would come?" he asked the guys. "With the other extra ticket?"

But Coyote had followed his gaze. "Give it to Nat. They'd have fun."

"They can be our cheerleaders," Jake said with a smirk.

Bradley snorted. "Don't hold your breath. I think drinking, heckling, and hitting us with the golf carts would be more their speed."

------------------------

"Roo."

Bradley woke up to you pushing your fingers back through his hair, and he groaned. It was just before six in the morning, and you were rubbing yourself against his leg and kissing his neck. He realized he had an erection before he could even remember what day it was, and then he groaned louder.

You and he had to be at the gold course for the charitable fundraiser in about an hour. Bradley wrapped his hands around your waist. "We need to get up, Baby Girl."

"No," you whispered. "You need to fuck me. I'm so horny."

"Shit," he sighed, glancing at the time on his phone. "We can't. We'll be late."

"Roo!" you whined, thoroughly unaccustomed to being told no when it came to anything, but especially when it was something you wanted in bed. Bradley was weak for you in that way.

"I'll make it up to you later, after I'm all sweaty and you've had even more time to get wound up," he promised, squeezing your ass. 

You moaned softly next to his ear. "You better. I want it twice."

"Three times," he replied with a smirk as he got out of bed. He watched you get dressed in a little tropical print pleated skirt and a sleeveless white golf shirt. And nothing else. "Are you planning on wearing any underwear?" he asked, following you into the bathroom.

"No," you told him casually, bending over at the sink to wash your face. He could see your bare pussy. You were doing this intentionally to mess with him. This is what he got for telling you no sex. "Fuck."

When he came up behind you, clearly having a change of heart, you stepped away from him and said, "We don't want to be late." He watched you walk back into the bedroom with your chin in the air. Oh, he'd get you good later.

Once you were holding two travel mugs of coffee and Bradley had his golf bag, he followed you out to the Bronco. He tossed his clubs in the back and then buckled your seatbelt. He let his palm rest on your thigh as he leaned in to kiss you. 

"You're going to look so pretty sitting in the golf cart and cheering for me," he said, trying not to laugh. 

"If anything, you're my trophy husband," you replied with a laugh as you kissed his scarred cheek. 

"I love you," he promised before closing the passenger door and heading out. 

The weather was perfect, the sky was blue, and when you and Bradley arrived at the golf course, the others were already there. The four of them were wearing matching golf shirts emblazoned with Top Gun on the back along with white pants. Bradley wasn't the best golfer by any stretch of the imagination. He usually just tagged along because it was fun, and today was no different. They were raising money for a local children's hospital, and some of the kids were present. 

Bradley smiled at the children who were waving to them after they got checked in. "They'd probably love some pictures with you guys," you whispered, running your hand up Bradley's bicep. 

"Nah," Bradley replied. "There are some TV stars and musicians here. I don't think they care about us."

But you pushed him and Jake toward the kids, and their little faces lit up. Soon Bob was handing out some pins with wings that said Top Gun, and you took pictures while the kids asked questions about aviation.

Bradley ended up sitting with a little girl named Abigail who asked him a million questions about his Super Hornet, but he didn't mind. He loved kids. But it was almost time to get started, so he stood and gave her a high five. And he posed for one more photo that you took before he headed to one of the golf carts. 

"That was sweet of you to pose for pictures with the kids," you told him as you slipped into the driver's seat. 

"It was sweet of you to take all the photos," he replied, sitting next to you and kissing your cheek. 

"Ready?" Coyote asked, taking a seat in the back. Bradley watched Nat tear off in the other cart with Bob and Jake barely hanging on. You followed them to the first tee at a much slower pace, and Bradley was happy to see that there were more kids among the spectators. 

He played the first few holes pretty well. Surprisingly, he was keeping up with Javy and Jake. You and Nat were half watching and half laughing with some drinks in your hands, but Bradley just wanted you to have a good time. 

And you were definitely making sure he was having a good time. Whenever he met your gaze, you ran your fingers up your bare thigh or licked your lips. He was probably playing so well because he knew what was in store for him later. Probably a blowjob to start, but you'd definitely let him finish in your pussy. When he checked the time on his phone, he saw a text from you.

Baby Girl Bradshaw: I'm really horny.

He groaned. You were hot for him and texting him from twenty feet away. He texted you back before tucking his phone away so he could tee off.

Behave, or I'll spank you.

Bradley thought he could hear you moan from the golf cart. But that sweet sound was soon drowned out by someone else.

"Jesus Christ. I told him to fuck off! He doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about. And his golf swing looks like a piece of shit, too." 

It was a guy about his age, swearing up a storm in front of all the kids. Bradley clenched and unclenched his fist in his glove. Sure, he could appreciate the subtle art of the f-word, but not in front of families with kids representing the charity! There was a time and a place. Like bullshitting at the bar or whispering dirty stuff in your wife's ear.

"Rooster, you're up," Javy called, and Bradley rolled his shoulders and walked away.

But this prick was still running his mouth at the next hole. Bradley didn't know how he got unlucky enough to have to play next to this idiot, but he couldn't take much more. And when he looked up and saw Abigail and her parents, he decided that was enough. 

"Hey man, do you mind?" Bradley asked him, and then he was met with cold, gray eyes. 

"I'm sorry, but who the fuck are you?" the prick responded, sizing Bradley up.

"Someone who's sick of listening to your mouth," Bradley replied without hesitation. This guy was handsome and smug, and Bradley couldn't stand him. "This is an event for children. There are kids everywhere. Cut it out with the foul language."

Bradley turned and walked back toward the golf cart where you were laughing with Nat when Jake jogged up next to him. "Dude, what did you just say to Hunter King?"

"Who?"

"You were just talking to Hunter King. He's a super famous pro golfer!"

Bradley turned back to see that he was still being glared at. "I told him to shut his mouth and stop swearing in front of all the kids," he told Jake.

"But that's Hunter King," Jake insisted with wide eyes. 

Bradley shrugged and said, "I don't care who he is. He's being rude." Then he took a quick sip of the beer you were holding before handing it back to you with a kiss to your forehead. 

"Ready to go to the next hole?" you asked, brushing the hem of your skirt a little higher. 

"I'm ready to take you home," Bradley replied, squeezing your perfect thigh. 

"Gross," Nat complained, climbing out of the cart and heading to the other one. You and she drove the four of them to the next hole, and Bradley saw that Hunter King was right there as well. 

"Go get a hole in one, Roo," you told him, rubbing high up on his thigh and brushing his cock. 

"Baby Girl, I'm gonna teach you a lesson later."

"Ohh," you crooned. "Will you teach me how to hold your club?"

"If you're good," he replied, climbing out of the cart with a shake of his head. Bradley watched Hunter King play par on the hole, and then it was his turn. Bradley drove the ball with a nearly perfect swing, and the ball landed on the green.

You and Nat were both cheering for him, and the kids in the area all looked delighted as well. Nat drove Bradley over to the green to putt while you waited with Bob and Jake. And to Bradley's surprise, he came in at one stroke under par for the hole. He just did better than a professional golfer. And now Hunter King looked even more pissed off.

"Good," Bradley muttered to himself, bending to get his ball out of the hole. "That's what you get."

And then Bradley beat him on the next hole. And the one after that. 

"Wow, Rooster," Nat said, rubbing his shoulder. "I had no idea you'd be this good. Jake tells everyone how terrible you are."

Bradley rolled his eyes as you walked over and wrapped your arms around his waist. "You're doing better than Javy, Bob and Jake," you informed him, clearly impressed. 

"It doesn't matter," he replied. "It's just for charity." But he was still shocked when he finished in third place overall. Hunter King finished in fourth. 

Bradley went over to congratulate the first and second place finishers, but he was cut off by Hunter. "Good game," Bradley managed through clenched teeth, holding out his hand. But the other man didn't shake it. Instead he smiled in such a way that made Bradley feel very uneasy. 

"Are you married?" Hunter asked him.

Bradley's brow scrunched up. "Yeah," he replied.

"Which one's your wife?" Hunter was nodding to where you and Nat were standing in the sunlight. You looked beautiful, the golden glow illuminating your skin as you shifted weight from one foot to the other. With one hand planted on your hip you tossed your head back and laughed. You were his wife. His perfect wife. 

"You know what?" Hunter replied. "It doesn't matter. I'll take real good care of both of them."

"What?" Bradley asked, but as soon as Hunter headed your way, someone was trying to pull him aside for a photo with the other winners. When he turned back, all he saw was you and Nat being led away with Hunter's hand on your lower back.

---------------------------

"Ladies."

You looked up into a pair of soft, gray eyes and were met with a brilliant smile. "My name's Hunter, and I'd love to take you on a tour of the VIP tent."

"Sounds swanky," Nat replied, smiling at him.

"Oh. It is. I promise," he said with another charming smile. "Let's go."

You looked back to see that Bradley was absorbed with a photography crew and some of the kids associated with the charity. You tried to wave to get his attention, but you supposed it didn't really matter. You wouldn't be gone long enough to even need to grab you phone from the golf cart. 

Then Hunter's hand came to rest just above the swell of your butt, and you thought your eyes were going to bug out. As he nodded at the security guard watching the entrance to the VIP tent, you slipped out of his grasp. 

"Welcome, Mr. King," the guard said with a smirk. "Two guests with you?"

"That's right," he replied with a laugh. He was annoying, but the inside of the tent was incredible. It looked more like a small arena inside. There were people checking out golf simulators and waiters walking around with drinks. You watched Hunter grab two bottles of champagne from a large ice bucket. 

"This way, ladies," he said, and you took Nat by the hand before she could wander over to the simulators. Hunter looked at your joined hands as you both followed him, and he muttered, "That works for me, too."

You pulled Nat a little closer as the three of you ended up in a secluded area. After he popped the first bottle of champagne, he handed it to Nat. "A whole bottle?" she asked. "Thanks, Hunter."

Then he popped the second one and gave it to you. "Drink up."

His fingers lingered on yours as you said, "I love pink champagne. My husband buys it for me all the time."

Hunter's eyes appraised you, lingering on your lips and chest. You were suddenly very aware of your lack of underwear and peaked nipples. "Oh, you're married?" he asked casually. "Was he the one who finished in the top three?"

"Yes! He placed third," you told him before taking a sip of the expensive champagne. It was delicious, and Nat had already finished half of her bottle. You kind of wanted to share your bottle with Bradley, but you also kind of wanted to ditch it and leave. 

"You like to play golf?" Hunter asked, completely focused on you now. 

You shrugged. "I haven't played much. I usually just hang out in the golf cart when I go."

"Your husband won't let you play?"

You rolled your eyes. "I can assure you that I do whatever I want."

"I love to hear that," he laughed with a smile. "And I think you want to try out one of the simulators." 

You noticed that Nat had already wandered away to one of the booths. "Just for a minute," you agreed.

Then you listened to him explain how the simulator worked. It was a small booth, and you would wear a virtual reality mask. It looked just like you were really on a golf course. 

"Let me close the door for you," Hunter murmured next to your ear. "So you can get started."

He closed the booth, and it took you a few seconds to realize he was still in there with you. Because when you bent a little at the waist, you bumped into him with your butt. 

"You need a little help with your posture?" he asked, wrapping his hands around your hips from behind. In an instant, you knew you were rubbing against the zipper of his pants, and his left hand was skimming over your skirt right where your little rooster tattoo was covered by the thin fabric. 

You gasped when his hands slid a little lower. You had no underwear on, because your main goal of the day had been to tease Bradley. But now Hunter was the one almost touching your bare skin. 

"What the hell?" you shouted in the small space, whipping off the mask covering your eyes and spinning around. "What the hell is your problem?" You watched his face as you pulled your right hand back. He looked alarmed, eyes wide and hands held up in surrender as your palm made contact with his face.

"Ow! Fuck!" he screamed. Somehow you managed to slap his cheek and also hit his nose with the heel of your hand at the same time. It started gushing blood onto his pale blue shirt, and he tried to pinch the bridge of his nose to get it to slow down. 

"I'm married, and you're creepy!" you informed him loudly, shoving past him to get out of the simulation booth. "Come on, Nat," you called, taking her hand again.

"Why are we leaving? I didn't finish my champagne!" she complained. So when you walked back past the ice bucket, you gabbed a new bottle for her and a second one for yourself.

"Hunter is a creep," you informed her as you made your way to the tent exit. But Hunter was hot on your heels and reaching out for you.

----------------------------

Bradley saw you go inside the VIP area, but he got pulled aside for some group photos. He knew the kids, including Abigail, were waiting for more photos as well, but he quickly excused himself to head after you.

"That son of a bitch," he muttered to himself as he approached the security guard. Hunter King was mad that he told him to shut his mouth, and beating a professional at his own game really hadn't helped Bradley's cause. And he just knew Hunter was going to try to take it out on you and Nat. 

He started sweating. You were all horny and wound up, and you had skipped underwear to mess with him. And now the guy who was pissed off at Bradley was probably inside pawing at you. And you weren't answering your phone. 

"Whoa, hang on," the guard said, sliding into place in front of the entrance just as Bradley got there. "This area is off limits for you."

Bradley grunted. "My wife is in there."

"Good for her," he replied with a shrug of his enormous shoulders. 

"You don't understand. She's with Hunter King."

The guard had the audacity to smirk at him. "One of those two attractive women? I'm sure she's having a great time with Mr. King."

What was that supposed to mean? Bradley had to close his eyes and silently count to ten. "I just need to pop in there, and then I'll be right back out."

"Absolutely not."

Bradley ground his molars together before he managed a very insincere sounding, "Please?"

Then the security guard laughed at him, and Bradley contemplated trying to shove this guy out of his way. He had about a hundred pounds and four inches on Bradley, but it would be worth the pounding to make sure you and Nat were okay. Just as he was working himself up to do it, he caught sight of you heading his way, dragging Nat along. You emerged from the tent looking unscathed.

"Hi, Roo," you said sweetly, gripping a bottle of pink champagne for some reason. You wrapped your arms around him, the cold condensation from the bottle pressing to the back of his neck. 

"What's going on, Baby Girl?" he asked, still completely bewildered as you kissed him. "Where's Hunter King?" He was pulling you a little closer, waiting for some sort of explanation. 

But Nat started laughing. "You don't need to worry about your wife. Cheers," she said, holding up a second bottle of champagne before popping the cork.

You whispered, "I love you," against Bradley's lips just as he saw Hunter come storming to the tent entrance with blood all over his shirt.

Bradley took your face in his hands. "What happened? Why is he covered in blood? Did he try to hurt you? Or Nat? This is all my fault for telling him to stop swearing and then beating his score." Bradley could feel his pulse quicken, feel his brow crease in concern, but you were smiling.

"He's a creep. I told him I was married, and he still tried to touch me, but I'm pretty sure I broke his nose."

Bradley shoved you gently away from him, ready to beat the ever living shit out of both the security guard and Hunter King. He watched Hunter's eye grow wide as he clenched both hands into fists, but then you were in front of him again. 

"Roo! It's okay!" you promised, pressing the champagne bottle to his chest and pushing him back. 

"It is not okay," he growled, letting you push him a little further away from the tent. "I'll rip him in half."

"Roo! Right before I saw you, he tried to grab me again. I told him I'd call the cops if he didn't match the donation that was being made to the children's hospital." 

"Match the donation? That's like four hundred thousand dollars," he replied, looking at you with surprise. "You just got Hunter King to make a personal donation of four hundred thousand dollars?"

"Yep!" you replied, pressing yourself to the front of him. "I sure did. And I got him to say it in front of one of the charity's coordinators. I also insinuated to that coordinator that perhaps Mr. King shouldn't be allowed to spend any time alone with women in the VIP tents in the future. And that maybe he should be removed from the circuit. Now let's go home, pop this delicious bottle of pink champagne, and celebrate your third place victory!"

Bradley was still gaping at you before he scooped you up into his arms. He was careful to keep your butt covered with one big hand as you kissed his face while he glared past you at Hunter King until the other man slinked back into the shadows where he belonged. 

"You're such a badass," he told you suddenly. "I'm so impressed by you all the time, Sweetheart. You don't even need me."

"No, I don't," you agreed with him, kissing his cheek and trailing your lips back to his ear. "But I really, really want you."

"Let's go home," he grunted, carrying you to one of the golf carts. "I just want my bed, my wife, and the expensive champagne she stole from the VIP tent."

-----------------------------

Don't mess with the Bradshaws! Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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[storiesofsvu]

One ask wasn't enough! So, how about these prompts, with Cabot?

"I can't sleep, can I stay here?" and

"Don't... I'm ticklish!"

Thank youuuu 🥰🥰

Thank YOU so much!! Here ya go!

Insomnia Strikes

Alex Cabot x reader (more implied than anything else lol) Warnings: mentions of anxiety/insomnia, I think that's about it. Just a nice little comfort one shot.

Being the natural night owl that you were, you never had any problems swapping shifts around when someone on the squad got roped into an overnight shift. You honestly didn’t mind it, you basically chilled alone, ate snacks, scrolled through your phone and answered a handful of phone calls that the desk clerk downstairs didn’t catch. It was a very rare occasion where something actually made its way to you prior to six in the morning and by then you were usually only on intake, passing it off to the day team before heading home. It was a nice little break from the chaos that the squad room and a courtroom normally were.

You spent the first few hours catching up on paperwork, finishing all the nearly late files, scrawling your signature across them before popping them into Cragen’s inbox. The squad slowly disappearing as late evening hit until only Olivia remained and you tossed a crumpled up piece of paper onto her desk, telling her to get out of there. You knew she liked to stick around as late as she could, not wanting anyone to really be trapped all alone in the building and she was quick to ask if you’d eaten dinner yet. You laughed, saying you had your breakfast before you came in and that she better get home to get some sleep. If she complained of being tired when you finally did have to call her in, you’d hold it against her. That finally got her going, giving you a warm smile as she wished you goodnight and finally left the precinct.

Once office lights began to flick off and the downstairs desk attendant clocked in things fell into a state of stillness, quiet and calm seeping through the air. Your paperwork was actually done, the most recent case you’d been working on waiting on the jury and you appeared to be free from actual work. So you started on the more mundane tasks, things that didn’t get done until you were on night shift. You started out by cleaning your desk, tossing out old receipts, crumpled up pastry bags, pencils that were so slivered down they couldn’t be used. Grabbing the collection of coffee mugs from the bull pen you headed into the break room, loading up the sink with hot soapy water to take care of the dishes in there. The cleaning crew usually came through around midnight, so you tackled the fridge, throwing out anything and everything that wasn’t labelled, had been in there for too long or seemed to be growing its own ecosystem.

After a very thorough hand wash, you wandered back to your desk, phone in your hand as you ordered some food for dinner, though maybe it was technically your lunch. Having no messages, calls or emails waiting, you pulled out your I-pad, sitting it on your desk as you settled back into your chair, pulling up your most recent binge. You were starting to get a little antsy twenty minutes in, your foot tapping against the floor over and over again. If it were day shift you’d usually caught a case or had to trek over to the DA’s office by now, but you were still just sitting there wishing you had an easier way to get your steps in. Your prayers were partially answered when the desk sergeant called up saying your food was there and you got to jog down the stairs to pay the driver before wandering back up them to your desk.

You ate a couple of slices, snagged a soda from the machine and set the box off to the side as you turned your attention back to the screen in front of you. The cleaning crew came and went, efficiently working through the space in no time, waving a friendly hello and then goodbye to you once they were finished. It wasn’t much later after that when you heard the shuffling of feet coming from the hallway and you glanced up, half expecting the desk clerk to be coming to take advantage of the vending machines. Your head tilted when instead you spotted Alex, loose leggings and a fuzzy sweater wrapped around her frame, hair messily tied back.

“Lex?” You greeted and her head lifted up, a small smile on her cheeks when she saw you. “What’re you doing here? Please don’t tell me you’re gonna have to go wake up a judge.”

“No.” She replied with a small huff, leaning over to press a kiss to your temple before pulling over a spare chair and dropping into it. “Tried your apartment first, neighbour said they saw you leaving for work late so I figured you were stuck on night shift.”

“And you thought I needed a babysitter?” You asked with a tease and she shook her head at you.

“Long day. I just wanted to make sure I got to see you at some point.” She yawned, her hands sneaking under her glasses to rub furiously at her eyes.

“You could’ve just called.”

She glanced up at you, a nervous look in her eyes as she chewed on her lip for a minute before letting out a breath, “I can’t sleep. Can I just stay here?”

“Yeah.” You smiled, reaching out to squeeze at her knee, “course you can. Did you at least try to sleep? Or were you still up on the couch pouring over case files?”

“I did.” She revealed with a sigh, “stared at the ceiling tossing and turning for almost four hours before I gave up. My brain just won’t shut up.”

“Did you take your meds?” You asked and she glanced up at you with a sheepish look on her face, softly shaking her head.

“I ran out on Monday; didn’t realize I was so low and I couldn’t get an appointment for a refill until next Tuesday. I took the anxiety one at eight and doctor’s orders say I can’t take melatonin with it, so I’m just kinda out of luck.”

“Shit.” You frowned, squeezing at her leg again, “next time we’ll make sure you always have an immediate refill on hand.”

“Thanks.” Her hand caught yours, squeezing it softly as she smiled across at you.

“You eat?”

“Wasn’t really hungry.” She shrugged, “had a granola bar.”

“How about you dig into this,” you tugged the pizza box from the other side of the desk, flipping it open in front of her and when the smell wafted over to she felt her stomach begin to grumble. “I’ll see what they have for tea in the break room.”

Leaving a kiss on the top of her head you left her to it, commenting for her to change the Netflix to whatever she wanted while you were gone. Digging through the break room you were pleasantly surprised to find a box of chamomile tea, turning on the kettle and brewing a mug exactly the way Alex liked it. When you crossed back into the bull pen she was curled up in the spare chair, your NYPD hoodie you normally stashed in the lower drawer of your desk draped over her lap as her hands played with the fraying cuffs.

A warm smile overtook your features as you placed the mug down in front of her, kissing her cheek again before reminding her to eat. With a tired sigh she finally leant forward, taking a slice of pizza, a pleased groan leaving her when she found it still warm.

She’d chosen one of your mutual favourite comfort movies, a classic rom com with no drama or terribly corny jokes set in the city you’d made your home. She ate her slice and sipped at her tea while she watched, relaxing into your side as she did so. You had to answer a couple of texts over the course of the hour but otherwise you were pleasantly occupied and comfortable. There were about five minutes left in the movie when she was fully slumped on your shoulder, you could feel her steady breathing and were certain her eyes had finally closed even if she wasn’t asleep yet. Your fingers poked gently at her side and she grumbled, flinching away from your touch without moving her head off your shoulder.

“Don’t. I’m ticklish.”

“Sorry.” You murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “lets get you to the crib, you can get some actual sleep.”

“Come with me?” She finally looked up at you with sapphire puppy dog eyes and a pout on her lips. You smiled softly, letting out a breath of a laugh.

“Okay, but only ‘til you fall asleep. I am on duty after all.”

“Fine.” She scowled, yawning, her eyes still drooping as she reluctantly stood from the chair, your hoodie still curled in her arms.

Alex shuffled away to the bunk room, letting herself in and leading you to the bunk burrowed in the corner. You grabbed a couple of extra pillows and blankets, making sure she was more than comfortable, tucked in and relaxed as she curled up on her side face you. Perched on the edge of the bed you smoothed back her hair, tucking it behind her ear as her eyes fell shut again, letting out a content sigh.

“Thank you.” She murmured; her voice muffled by the pillow.

“Anytime baby.” You whispered back, fingers trailing across her cheek before you kissed her forehead.

By the time you’d sat upright she was out like a light, soft snores echoing through the small room and a small smile crept onto your lips. Pulling out your phone you quickly set an alarm so she would have enough time to get home and get dressed properly for the day before having to return to the DA’s office and quietly made your way from the room. You knew it wasn’t much, but it really was the little things, knowing that whenever Alex was fighting a bout of insomnia she found solace and relief in you, that no matter where you were, she would eventually be lulled into comfort and thus sleep as long as you were around.

________________________

@mickey-gomez @cabotfan42 @detective-giggles @red1culous @beccabarba @imlike-so-gaydude @altsvu @svulife-rl rl @svushots @mspetey @wannabe-fic-reader @lawandorderimagines @gaylorrds @mysticfalls01 @littlegaybabe @bumblebear30 @wosoimagines @solemnnova @cerberus-spectre @emskisworld @ex-uallyactive @lawandorderuswnt @samwithnoplan @multifandomlesbianic @narvaldetierra @momlifebehard @poisonedcrowns @a-little-bit-of-this-and-that @somethingimaginative17 @alexxavicry @daddy-heather-dunbar @evilregal2002 @7thavenger @disneyfan624 @msvenablesbitch @happenstnces @onmykneesformarvel @desperate-gay @riveramorylunar @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @noahrex @temp0rary-bliss @wittygutsy @chimnlex @maximoffcarter @sapphicqueenofdonuts @ralla-ralla @chestnutninny @gamma-rae-bursts

[paisleypens]

Hello! I hope you’re having a good day. I heard you were taking requests so I have an idea!!

How about a Spencer Reid x Fem!shy!reader who is really quiet around the team? And so she doesn’t talk to them much? (Especially Spencer because she likes him!)

So to show her love/affection she does small things for him but doesn’t admit she was the one who did so. (Like making his coffee, secretly organizing his desk, like little kind things)

I want the confession to happen but I don’t know how I want it so you can decide! Have a little fun with it if you will.

I hope you can write this, and I’m so so sorry if it’s something you don’t want to write or feel uncomfortable with it. I just wanted to give you an idea for a story! Let me know if you don’t want to or if you will either way is fine with me!

I’m sorry if I didn’t include enough details and thank you for taking the time to read this!

Have a lovely day. 💕

(ALSO I READ YOUR OTHER SPENCER STORIES THEY WERE SPECTACULAR)

I LOVE YOU SO MUCH STOP IT MOST POLITE ASK EVERRR

this is genius btw and ive been writing so much to avoid things i actually have to do so… THANK YOU FOR FEEDING ME LMAO

acts of service | spencer reid x f!reader

let me know what you think <33

~~~~

The BAU office buzzed with its usual energy as Spencer Reid meticulously poured over case files, his mind racing through complex connections only he could decipher. Among the team, a shy figure often went unnoticed, working hard behind the scenes. Y/N, the quiet and reserved member of the team, kept to herself, her actions speaking volumes that words couldn't describe.

Spencer often found his desk mysteriously tidied up, papers organized, and his favorite pens neatly arranged. Coffee appeared magically beside his laptop, always sickeningly sweet, just how he liked it. At first, he attributed it to the office fairy, a playful term Morgan coined. However, as time passed and the small acts of service continued, Spencer couldn't ignore the pattern.

One evening, as the team gathered after a long day, Derek leaned back in his chair, eyes glinting with mischief. "Hey, pretty boy, you ever notice how Y/N here keeps your world in order without saying a word?"

"What do you mean?" Spencer furrowed his brow, glancing at her, who was discreetly arranging files nearby.

Derek chuckled, nudging Spencer. "Come on, Reid. The coffee, the desk, all those little things. It's like having a secret admirer right under your nose."

Spencer's gaze softened as realization dawned on him. He watched you for a moment, noticing the slight blush that dusted her cheeks as she worked. In that moment, he saw beyond the quiet demeanor, understanding the depth of these silent gestures.

The next morning, Spencer arrived at the office earlier than usual, a determined gleam in his eyes. He set about making coffee, meticulously following Y/N’s routine, ensuring every detail was perfect. As she entered, surprised to see him there, he offered a shy smile, holding out a mug of freshly brewed coffee.

"Morning," he greeted softly, his usually fast-paced words slowed by a newfound nervousness.

Y/N blinked in astonishment, taking the mug from his outstretched hand. "Th-thank you, Spencer.”

He nodded, his cheeks tinged with pink. "I just wanted to say... I appreciate everything you do. Your actions speak louder than words, and they haven't gone unnoticed, I just hope you meant it in the way I interpreted it."

A smile bloomed on her face, warmth spreading through her chest. Finally feeling understood, she replied, "I like you too, Spencer. And not just for the coffee."

From that day forward, Spencer and Y/N shared more than just a quiet understanding. Silent acts of love were now met with drawn out conversation and reciprocated gestures, creating a bond that spoke volumes even when rooted in the absence of sound.

[doctor-dusk]

𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧 | 𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐱 𝐭.

being the only witness to a crime has its advantages.

warnings: hard dom!alex, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), piv, mentions of death/strangulation.

word count: 4.7k

celebrating am's birthday with an am!alex smut. is it weird for me to say that i actually enjoyed writing this? save me officer turner save me. hope you like it :3

the ticking of the clock was starting to irritate you. not that you were easily irritated, but since you had been sitting there for almost forty minutes, everything seemed to be at least a little irritating from your point of view.

they said it would be quick.

the ceiling fan was also irritating you. it was spinning slowly, barely ventilating. you crossed your legs, leaning back against the cushioned chair, and looked at the clock on the wall. it was almost 8pm.

they really did say it would be quick.

‘’miss.’’ the strangely deep voice of the police station clerk caught your attention. you turned your head to look at her. she didn't look that old, but the strands of gray hair scattered throughout her brown hair gave away that she was in her 50s. ‘’can you sign here?’’ she pointed to the paperwork laid out on the counter under a black ballpoint pen.

you stood up, your shoes making a clicking noise on the porcelain floor as you made your way to sign the papers. you signed the fields marked with an 'x'. it was a boring form, but necessary.

‘’follow me, i'll take you to the interrogation room.’’ she said, coming out from behind the counter, going through the small door to get to you. you followed her through the hallways full of doors, you couldn't tell if they were cells or other departments. you weren't in a position to find out right now, you would just go there, tell what you knew and leave.

she opened the door to interrogation room number 5. you looked around before entering. dark gray walls, a mirrored glass wall to your left, a medium square table with two chairs at the ends. oh, and of course, a small recorder right in the center of the table.

‘’the investigator will be right there to talk to you.’’ she said, motioning for you to sit in the chair. you nodded, taking a few steps forward to sit in the first chair.

you left your purse on your lap, crossing your legs over the other, swaying back and forth. there wasn't much to look at there. you didn't have your phone with you. somehow, they took it as soon as you entered the police station.

that's what you get for going to a pub with a college friend and watching her get strangled in the alley.

you shook your head, guilty for having thought that. it wasn't her fault. at least as far as you know. it was on saturday. it didn't take long for the police to call you in for questioning when they found out you were the only one who witnessed the whole thing.

you sighed, looking around, not sure exactly what you were looking for. you looked at the recorder on the table, tilting your neck forward to get a better look. it was ridiculously old, but it seemed to be in good condition. several small buttons, a small sound output and a vertical microphone, almost imitating an antenna.

you reached out your hand, wanting to touch the tip of the small microphone.

‘’don't touch it.’’ you heard a male voice behind you that made you straighten up immediately, the shock making your heart beat faster and your hand twitching back to your lap in the blink of an eye. you didn't even hear him come into the room.

‘’sorry.’’ you said in an apologetic tone, glancing at him when his steps got louder and firmer towards you to sit in the chair.

all in black, including the suspenders. tailored pants, shoes that were shined that morning. ironed black shirt closed to the last button with the collar low. utility belt circling the small waist with a badge and a gun in the holster.

so this is the investigator? fuck, he's hot.

he let out a heavy sigh, holding a mug with black coffee without sugar and a brown folder under his arm. he smelled like cigarettes, especially because he had smoked one before entering the room. there were bags under his eyes, you didn't know if they were dark circles or if that was something characteristic of him. he certainly looked like he hadn't slept in three days. but still hot.

he threw the folder on the table without much care, pulling out the empty chair to sit down.

‘’coffee?’’ he asked, gesturing with the mug. you shook your head. he shrugged, taking a sip and soon reached into the small outer pocket of his shirt. ‘’gum?’’ he asked again, taking a piece of gum from inside the small rectangular package. ‘’you can take it, you know?’’ he said as if he knew you were hesitant to take it. of course, he was an investigator. he certainly knew a lot about body language at this point.

you reached out to take the gum, accepting it. watermelon flavored, curiously enough, it was one of your favorites. he repeated your action, opening the small package and putting the gum in his mouth, keeping the paper inside his shirt pocket to throw in the trash later. 

‘’comfortable?’’ he asked you. you shifted in your chair, nodding. the chair wasn't that comfortable, but you wouldn't dare complain. ‘’good. let's get started, miss…’’ he paused, reading your name on the interrogation sheet. his accent made it even better. 

he spread the papers on the table meticulously in front of you. it was the investigation dossier. photos of the crime scene, the autopsy report, the draft of the opening of the investigation. he opened a small, worn notebook. there was a pen inside, the clicking sound crackling in your ears as he tested the pen to confirm that it was working. he cleared his throat, turning on the voice recorder, making a small red light light up in the upper left corner of the recorder. he brought his face closer to the microphone, making a few strands of his black hair fall over his forehead like a small waterfall.

‘’tuesday, july 8th, 8:15 pm. this is investigator turner from the 3rd regional police station, and i will now be taking the statement of...'' he paused, reading his name and surname again on the file. ‘’... about the crime of homicide against tori baker, which occurred on the 5th.’’ he said out loud as the recorder began to emit a tiny red light that blinked non-stop, indicating that the recording had started. ‘’did you know the victim?’’

you nodded. he let out an impatient sigh, shaking his head.

‘’words. we're recording.’’ he said in a firm tone, pointing to the recorder. you mentally cursed yourself for having forgotten that detail. he was intimidating you more than you would have liked.

‘’yes, sir.’’ you answered loudly, hearing him hum, writing it down on the interrogation sheet.

‘’was she your friend?’’

‘’college classmate.’’ you answered, eyeing him up and down. you couldn’t help it. cops in general were hot, but this investigator was something else.

‘’were you very close?’’ he continued asking, his eyes fixed on you, looking for some kind of hesitation.

‘’not really. we went out for drinks every now and then.’’ you answered with a slight shrug. ‘’on saturday it wouldn't be any different.’’

‘’any particular reason for drinking on saturday?’’ he asked, pretending he didn't notice you devouring him with your eyes. ‘’birthday, celebration...?’’

‘’good grades.’’ you answered. he raised his eyebrows, not writing down the information because he didn't think it was that important.

‘’tell me about this pub you guys went to on saturday.’’ he prompted, crossing his arms and leaning his weight on the back of the chair.

‘’we used to go to this pub almost always. it's good and cheap. they serve great drinks there and the fries are made fresh.’’ you answered, seeing that he hadn't written anything down in his notebook, since he didn't think it was important yet.

‘’when you guys went out, was it always the two of you or did someone else go with you?’’ he asked, fiddling with the pen between his fingers. there was no way that even this was sexy.

‘’most of the time it was just me and her. some college friends would go with us too, but not always. on saturday, a friend of mine had gone with us.’’

‘’and where was she when it all happened?’’ he sat up straight in his chair, ready to write it down.

‘’fucking the security guard in the bathroom.’’ you answered. he was speechless for a few seconds, raising his eyebrows. you knew it was very blunt of you, but you knew you couldn't lie. ‘’her words.’’

‘’right. i think we can leave that part out of the interrogation.’’ he muttered, clearing his throat. ‘’tell me how it all happened. where you were, how you got there and what you saw.’’

you took a deep breath, trying to collect your thoughts. it wasn't a memory you liked to keep and much less one you would like to recall out loud. you clenched your fists a little, becoming merely restless.

‘’take your time.’’ he said when he realized you had been silent for too long.

you sighed, chewing your gum for a few seconds before starting to speak. ‘’i was already a bit tipsy. i had had about 4 shots. maybe 5. she told me she was going to smoke and left through the back door. i stayed at the bar.’’ you said slowly, especially since he was writing it down quickly. his writing was a bit sloppy, but it was enough to understand. i mean, at least he understood. ‘’at a certain point i decided to leave too. i wasn't feeling well and the bathrooms were too far away.’’

‘’how long between her leaving and you leaving too?’’ he asked you. you blinked a few times, you realized you were too distracted by how his body was leaning over the table.

you scoffed, trying to think. ‘’i don't know... maybe 10 minutes. i wasn't looking at the clock.’’ you replied and he nodded, gesturing for you to continue. ‘’so i went out the back door and…’’ you stopped. ‘’can't remember vividly.’’

he looked at you, squinting his caramel eyes. you remembered, of course. you remembered enough. and he knew it.

‘’c'mon. tell me what you know. i promise if you tell me we'll finish before 10pm.’’ he drawled a little. it strangely gave you chills. you chewed your gum, blowing air into it, the sound of it popping echoing through the silent room. so silent that you could even hear the blood running through your veins as your heart beat faster.

the investigator clenched his jaw, pressing the recorder button to pause the recording, clasping his two hands together, resting his forearms on the desk, leaning closer to you. fuck, he was so pretty up close. you could even see a mole in the lower left corner below his mouth.

‘’what do you want?’’ he questioned.

‘’what do you have to offer me, investigator?’’ you asked back, your shoed foot climbing up his leg. his fingers clenched against each other subtly at your tone.

he stood up, firm footsteps walking across the room towards the door. he opened it, sticking his head out and looking down the hallway from one end to the other, making sure there was no one there. the police station was almost always empty at this time. almost everyone was having dinner.

he closed the door again, locking it. the clicking sound made your heart beat faster and your mouth went dry.

‘’let's make a deal, miss.’’ he urged behind you, his big hand flying to your shoulder, your eyes widened at the firm contact. he bent over, his head right above your shoulder, his face close to yours. ‘’i'll give you what you want as long as you tell me what you know i need to know. deal?’’

oh, please. you didn't even need to answer. your cunt throbbed at the single thought.

‘’deal.’’ you answered, glancing at him, catching his smirk in the corner of your eye.

‘’sit down at the desk.’’ he commanded, straightening his posture and carefully removing his utility belt, leaving it hanging over the back of the chair as you stood up.

‘’the papers.’’ you pointed to the papers spread out on the metal table.

‘’fuck the papers. i told you to sit down.’’ he said rudely, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. rough. you liked it.

you sat down on the table before he could lose his patience, your jeans were crumpling the papers under your ass, but he didn't care about that, and neither should you. he hurried to reach for the button on your pants, pulling the zipper down.

‘’not even a little kiss to warm up?’’ you teased him. he narrowed his eyes on you.

‘’no. you're asking too much.’’ he said and you giggled as he roughly pulled your jeans down along with your panties, going down to your ankles, where he pulled only the left side, keeping your pants and panties hanging by your right heel.

‘’you're going to eat me out and you're telling me that a little kiss is too much?’’ you questioned as you watched him getting down on his knees in front of you, the sight alone already making your cunt even wetter.

‘’the bones of the trade.’’ he grunted, spreading your legs without any delicacy, as if he was impatient and in a hurry. but oh, he couldn't help but lick his lips at the sight of your glistening pussy right before his eyes, so pretty and ready for him. he looked up at you for a split second. ‘’any particular reason for being like this?’’ he asked, teasing you for the first time.

‘’i have a thing for investigators.’’ you joked, already feeling his hot breath ghosting over your sensitive skin, making your cunt pulse in reflex. he took the chewed gum out of his mouth, sticking it under the table.

‘’guess i'm lucky.’’ he shot back, moving his hands to your inner thighs, his rough and calloused fingers digging into your skin, almost leaving marks because of how little delicacy he was using. ‘’now tell me what you know.’’

before you could even begin, his tongue slowly runs itself against your pulsing clit, making your eyes gradually roll to the back of your head. he licked again, this time starting from the bottom, collecting a stripe on his tongue, swallowing his own grunt for doing so.

''w-where do i start?'' you asked after recovering from that first contact.

''you left the bar through the back door.'' he recalled, his mouth going back to your pussy, his tongue swirling around your entrance, collecting your slimy juices, lapping his wet muscle over your folds like he meant it.

oh, this is going to be harder than you thought.

‘’i left the bar, they were on the dark side. the lamp was broken and i couldn't see very well.’’ you kept going, your eyes almost closing as he was sucking against your folds, the squelches were sloppy and your both hands grabbed the edges of the cold desk, grounding yourself as he delved into your pussy, licking and sucking you like your pussy was an orange, where he could smear himself with your sweet wetness. ‘’i- i was so fucking drunk and…’’ he hummed against your throbbing cunt, his eyes and ears on you the whole time, multitasking between eating you out and continuing with the interrogation to get more information.

‘’what did he use to strangle her?’’ he asked, his breath coming out in hot puffs, his hot mouth rising to suck your clit, shoving two fingers inside your cunt. his long and slender fingers scissored you, stretching you out, exploring your gummy walls and making you whine.

‘’hands.’’ you panted, your head falling back, all your eyes could see was the white light from the interrogation room ceiling.

‘’hands.’’ he repeated, curling his fingers inside you, reaching the caves of your walls and hitting spots you didn't even know could be located, feeling the clenching motion around them. ‘’were they saying something?’’

‘’i couldn't hear, i swear…’’ you babbled, feeling him giving sweet kisses all over your pussy while his fingers were buried in you up to the knuckles, moving in and out, making a squishy sound. he made a disappointed face, but didn't stop what he was doing.

‘’he saw you?’’ he asked. you nodded. you remembered the man looking at you that night. his piercing eyes staring into your soul. you didn't even know how you were still alive. ‘’do you think there's a reason he didn't kill you too?’’

‘’i think it's because i’m hot.’’ you hissed as he slapped your pussy sharply. you were being too bold for your own good.

‘’maybe you're right.’’ he answered, you could even feel that annoying smile against your pussy as he slurps everywhere, making sure no spot goes untouched as his protruding nose rubbed against your clit.

oh, you almost smiled. he thinks you're hot too.

you're so wet and so sensitive now, soaking not only his mouth but also his chin. but damn, that man was an eater. you couldn't control yourself, almost closing your trembling legs around his head as his fingers pumped inside your pussy with purpose. your hand moved from behind to hold his head, needing to keep him close as you're approaching your climax.

‘’and what did you do after he strangled her?’’ he asked, moving his mouth away a little, his fingers never stopping their restless movements, feeling that your cunt was coating them so much at this point.

‘’i threw up.’’ you answered honestly. his mouth and nose twitched a bit.

‘’understandable. what was he like? i know you saw him.’’ his tepid breath hitted your fevered skin.

‘’m-maybe i saw him.’’ you babble out. he rolled his eyes, realizing he needed to change his strategy.

without any warning, he pulled away from your pussy, pulling his fingers from your gaping and aching hole. you looked at him, you were close, so close...

turner wiped his wet face with the back of his hand, standing up again.

‘’what was our deal?’’ he asked, placing both his hands on the table, caging you. he was impatient. ‘’i'll give you the what you want and you give me what i want.’’

‘’i told you what i knew.’’ you shrugged nonchalantly.

‘’fucking brat.’’ he growled, running his hand through his hair, combing back. he took a deep breath, pulling you from the table and making you stand, your weak knees almost gave out, but you managed to balance yourself only for him to turn you around and push you against the table, forcing you to bend down.

you let out a gasp at his attitude. his hand crept along the curve of your ass in a strangely delicate way.

‘’change of plans.’’ he announced, the sound of him unbuttoning his own pants ringing through your ears like a sweet melody. ‘’take this notebook and this pen.’’ he said, referring to the small notebook and pen he was using. your eager hands reached out to grab it. ‘’you will write down all of his characteristics that you remember on this sheet of paper while i fuck you. is that enough for you?’’

his words hit you harder than expected. you nearly convulsed at the feeling of his reddened tip nudging your entrance.

‘’fucking answer me.’’ he growled, gripping the back of your head hard. you nodded quickly. he pressed your face against the papers on the table, your eyes glanced at him behind you, his thick cock threatening your entrance the whole time. ‘’words.’’

‘’yes, yes, i get it.’’ you answered almost breathlessly.

taking a deep and sharp breath, he buried himself inside you, a high-pitched moan escaping your lips as your toes curled and your hands twitched. he bottomed out, watching how your pussy swallowed his cock with greed. he forced himself to look away. god, he was already hard since he saw your pussy, when he ate you out then... he almost came in his pants. if he gives in a little more, he might explode cum inside you in the blink of an eye.

‘’what are you waiting for? write it down right now.’’ he ordered, his hand slapping you hard on the ass, watching it jiggle and you winced, feeling it sting like a painful insect bite.

‘’fuck, you're so deep…’’ you cried out, you could feel his tip poking your cervix. he was indeed balls deep inside your cunt, forcing the goppy insides of your cunt to accommodate him.

‘’stop complaining. you asked for it.’’ he grunts as his rhythm begins to become restless, his hips snapping against your ass, hitting you deep and raw. so dirty and raw. yes, you definitely asked for it.

he was taking you so hard, almost as if no thought was going through his head while he was pumping into you, making you feel full of his big, veiny cock. trembling, your hand began to write. your handwriting was almost a scrawl, you could barely stand and the desk was shaking too much with his incessant rhythm.

‘’tall. good girl. how tall are we talking?’’ he hummed in your ear, seeing what you were writing.

‘’mmm i think 6 feet tall…’’ you replied, a pathetic moan leaving your lips as he started to roll his hips against you.

‘’write it down.’’ he tapped the notebook with his index finger.

you were so drunk, your body was practically stretched out on the table, but you were determined to write down everything you remembered about that man. god, you even felt guilty because your colleague had to be strangled for you to be there, but it was so good, he was fucking you so good, so hard and deep.

he couldn't say he was hating it. oh, quite the opposite. he was loving feeling your cunt gaping out around him. he was so thick, the stretch making your mouth water and your knees buckle as your tongue lolled out.

“tall, buzz cut, green eyes, scar on the cheek and tattoo on the hand. that's because you didn't remember, hm?” he groaned hoarsely into your ear, smirking and slowing down his movements, moving as slow as a turtle now. “was that all you needed? for me to fuck you to the hilt? what do you think your colleague would think about this? you're so fucking selfish.”

“shut up.” you gulped, feeling his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he slammed back into your pussy again and again.

“tsk tsk, don't you dare to talk to me like that." he scolded you, his hand returning to your head, pressing your skull against the table, you're already drooling over the papers, but you loved it. he was right, you're selfish.

“or what?” you asked, feeling the pressure in your bones like he was smashing your head at that desk. worse than that, he was practically skinning your pussy, it was getting sore, swollen, it burned like it was getting raw.

“or you'll spend the night in a cell to learn to respect authority. sound good?” he panted in your ear, closing his fist around your hair, twisting it and forcing you to raise your head to look at him. 

“will you pay me a visit in the early hours of the morning?” you asked, a wicked smile playing at your lips. he almost smiled. damn, you're crazy. and in a way it made his cock throb.

“maybe. what was that tattoo on his hand? promise, that's all i need and i'll make you cum.” he tilted his head, his hand grabbed her buttocks tightly, pushing it to the side so she could look and see how his cock was already coated with a white liquid from the friction. “milking my cock already.” he scoffed, giving you another firm slap on your ass cheek.

“i-it was a snake. a snake.” you cried, coaxing a groan from the back of his throat, his pace quickening as his smile widened. the scent of sex surrounding you both and permeating the interrogation room. 

“mhmm, good girl. well, you were actually useful to me.” he said in a tone of mere disdain, deep down a bit of desire dripping into his voice as he pounded into you restlessly. the way he said it did things to you, and soon you were collapsing on his cock, your cunt pulsing and squeezing him like a vice. 

he forced himself to pull out of you. of course, he wasn't using a condom, he would never risk it. he watched with wide and attentive eyes while you were reduced to a mess, your cunt gaped, oozing arousal, a strong pink hue predominated, demonstrating how abused your hole was because of him.

turner looked down at his cock, it was so hard that it was painful the veins were much more marked and the reddened tip was leaking precum, he needed to release it somehow. he grunted, tucking his cock back into his pants and zipping up. he didn't ask if you were okay. he knew you were. 

he cleared his throat, watching you collapse into the chair behind you. you were breathless and blissed out with all that happened.

it took a while before you could put on your jeans, you felt like you were completely boneless now, every part of your body was exhausted and begged for bed and two muscle relaxant capsules. 

“alright, the interrogation is over, you can leave.” he said to you, sitting back down in his chair, taking a sip of the coffee that was still warm. simple as that. you weren't expecting more, actually. 

you held your purse, feeling a pain in your cervix that you knew would last a couple of days, but it was worth it. you wiped your face, wiping away the sweat and fixing your hair so it didn't look like you were hit by a bus.

“i think he was a drug dealer.” you said, stopping at your tracks. "that area has a lot of them and she wasn't a saint either. but she was a nice person.” 

the investigator nodded, noticing the hint of resignation in your voice. that was all he needed to know, actually. the police didn't get too involved in cases involving drug trafficking. society had its laws and they had theirs. the police didn't have much power in that regard — in fact, they didn't want to fight. what would the militia be without drug trafficking, by the way?

“thanks for your cooperation.” he replied. you nodded, pressing your swollen lips against each other, forming a thin line. “there will be a vehicle with two cops outside to take you home safely.”

“is that all? i mean if you need anything else…”

he interrupted you. “i know. i have everything about you here.” he tapped the sheet with your file. “besides, i'm an investigator. i will find you.”

you could see the shadow of a smile forming at the corner of his lips. but you weren't sure. he was so hard to read. you nodded, excusing yourself and walked to the door, unlocking it and leaving the interrogation room without looking back. 

turner spent a good few seconds staring blankly at the closed black door. he didn't know what he was thinking exactly. it wasn't like he fucked every witness he questioned. but he didn't regret it either. 

he shook his head, collecting all the paperwork again, seeing that you had drooled over some of it, smudging the written words with printer ink. he didn't care. it wasn't like this investigation was going to go anywhere. he carefully placed all the papers in the file folder, turning off the recorder. 

his body relaxed a little in the chair, his head fell back and he closed his eyes, rubbing his closed eyelids hard with the thumb and index finger of his left hand. your moans were still echoing through his head. he had to admit, he liked you. 

his cock throbbed again at the thought of you, he had almost forgotten about his own problem now. he would have to spend a few minutes fucking his fist in his office to get some relief.

before he got up from his chair to leave the interrogation room, he picked up the small notebook, looking at what you wrote. his eyes rested on your handwriting before he closed it and picked up the pen, starting to scribble on the investigation update sheet on the cover of the brown file.

#case 521 — tori baker

status: closed…?

a/n: i shoud be working rn...

taglist: @thenightslikeawhirlwind, @goblinontour, @yourstartreatment

(if there are more people who asked to be on the taglist, please enlighten me again, i must have forgotten to include :x)

[adore-laur]

WINDS OF CHANGE

— here’s an update on dad harry & the fam <3 please reblog/comment, or i will haunt you

——

You've been dreading this day since March began.

Every time you passed the calendar on the refrigerator, you averted your eyes so you didn't see the specific date circled with the words "Lovebug's First Day" written inside it.

Time ticked by in an unyielding manner. Like an apex predator lying in wait, it crept up on you and pounced, leaving you disoriented, helpless, and wounded. You couldn't mentally process the breakneck speed of reality sprinting straight at you. When you merely blinked in a daze, another month unfurled, leaving no chance to recover.

The day arrives with a strong western wind and a brilliantly bright sunrise that mocks your low spirits. You're awake before anyone else, which is rare. Sleep evaded you last night, your eyes rejecting the heaviness that always comes with sleeping in Harry's warm embrace. The restlessness was paired with a fierce ache clutching your heart and holding on tight until the early morning.

At almost four years old, your eldest daughter is attending preschool today. After being a stay-at-home mom since she was born, you're finally setting her free to grow somewhere new. It was always in the cards, considering you would like to get back to working part-time to help provide for the family. You love bonding with and nurturing both your girls, but you're eager to put your brain to use in a different environment. It's time to return to other identities besides being a mother and a wife.

You begin brewing coffee, then open the kitchen curtains to allow the sun to pour in. For some odd reason, the atmosphere feels different. It feels like your first day of school all over again, where there's that nostalgic zest in the air fused with an underlying fear of the unknown. It's impossible to describe lucidly, but its presence is strongly felt nonetheless.

Today will forever change your family's routine, and it will make you want to rip your hair out and also burst with pride. There's a tug-of-war match taking place in your heart right now. Your nerves feel frayed; anxiety's merciless hands are harshly plucking at the threads. It's like fighting a biological battle with no shield—your brain is futile against all the attacks.

The sound of the wooden stairs creaking dissolves your whirlwind thoughts. Harry appears, wearing a snug black sweater and athletic shorts. He yawns, the sparkling sunlight accentuating his face gorgeously—the neatly trimmed scruff on his jaw he kept throughout winter; the tired shape of his eyes; the wispy way his hair curls after his morning shower. It's a blessing to be able to see the serene side of him that just woke up and isn't burdened by stress.

"Hi, sweetheart," he says, taking the mug of black coffee you prepared for him and sipping with an appreciative hum. "Both kids are still asleep."

You simply nod, afraid that if you speak, your poise will crumble instantaneously. Your hands distract themselves by lighting the wick of a sandalwood-scented candle. A part of you falsely hopes the comforting aroma will calm you down, but you know nothing will break through the full-body anxiety you're currently experiencing.

"No cuddles in bed this morning?" Harry asks curiously, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. He smells like his sage and citrus body wash. "I missed you. Thought we'd have a little cry session before leaving."

Did he really have to mention the elephant in the room? You force your tears to save their arrival for later and say, "Sorry. I'm just trying to avoid crying as much as possible today."

His sigh is weighted with emotion as he sets his mug down and massages your shoulders. "I'm losing my composure already," he admits, laughing weakly.

At least he's in the same boat as you. Being a father has cracked him open in the best way possible—he's more softened than ever, and these parenting milestones always make him tenderhearted.

You rest your head against his chest and say, "This is harder than I thought it'd be." Every outcome you predicted involved an aching heart. Now, in the thick of it, you're defenseless.

"Remember our first night at home with her?" Harry asks, applying pressure with his thumbs to get rid of the muscle knots in your shoulder blades.

"Yeah. You woke me up because she had the hiccups."

He groans into your neck, almost like he's reliving the panicked moment. "I was so scared something was wrong."

You recall opening your eyes in the dead of night, the mellow lamplight illuminating Harry's troubled expression. Your baby, so small and precious in his arms, had harmless hiccups leaving her mouth. While you were half asleep, you reassured him by saying it was probably because she fed for too long. He agreed, yet still brought her to bed and gently rubbed her tummy until they were gone. You two were learning and tag-teaming through pure exhaustion. It was tough, but the rewards came in refreshing waves.

"Then she threw up on me," Harry adds, shaking his head fondly.

You turn around and slide your palms under his sweater, feeling the gloriously warm skin of his sculpted stomach. "Remember when she said her first word?"

He smiles reminiscently. "Mama."

"You started crying, if I'm not mistaken."

"Because she recognized you. It was special."

"Are you surprised she didn't say Dada first?"

"No, considering I talked about Mama all the time around her." His knuckle strokes under your chin. "Still do."

You hum thoughtfully, welcoming the pleasant memories that replay behind your closed eyelids. "Our girl is all grown up now. What are we going to do?"

Harry tilts your head to kiss the sensitive spot behind your ear. "You and I will be okay. It'll take time, but we'll eventually sink into this new normal."

"You think so?"

"I know so. Our love is steadfast, and nothing will ever change that." He hugs you in an all-consuming way—it's intimate and infuses you with safety, warmth, and a hopeful spark that everything will patch together the way it's supposed to.

——

When the preschool comes into view, you get slammed with immediate sadness.

You toured it with Harry months ago, ensuring it was where you wanted your daughter to be during the weekdays. The curriculum focuses on outdoor learning and is nestled in a safe neighborhood only ten minutes from the beach house. The teachers, classrooms, and overall energy of the place made you less anxious, but now it's back with a vengeance, eating away at your calm facade.

Kids linger outside the building, the sun shining on the blacktop that's scribbled with chalk drawings. A few participate in supervised hopscotch, while others twist their bodies nervously. A gated playground area is off to the left, with colorful swings, slides, and seesaws. To the right is a woodsy area with a large sandbox and flower beds. The stone pathway is decorated with little handprints that must have been dipped in paint. It's darling.

In the rearview mirror, you watch your daughter kick her legs in excitement and hug her tiny ladybug backpack, all ready to go. She woke up happy as a clam and impatiently scarfed down the big breakfast Harry had made her. After that, Harry braided her hair while sitting on the front porch, the March winds and briny air bringing the spring season with them. Pictures were taken, hearts were broken a bit more, and then you all were off to part ways.

Harry to the restaurant; you to your part-time job. No babies to look after, just an empty house waiting to be filled with love again.

Your youngest daughter, who's ten months old now, sleeps peacefully in the car seat. She's getting bigger every day, and it's a double whammy to see both of your children become more cognizant. You want to curse time for being such a thief.

She'll be dropped off at the nearby daycare center next, which will further twist the knife. It's possible for separation anxiety to occur, and while you can handle it, your baby girl's reaction will be a mystery. You sincerely hope the transition from home to somewhere unfamiliar will be smooth sailing.

Harry parks the car and looks over at you unwaveringly. "It's now or never," he whispers.

You draw in a deep breath, then exhale slowly. "Let's go."

Stepping out of the car, you open the back door and let your daughter hop out. You'd walk her to the door, but you want to stay near your youngest.

As she bounces with anticipation, you open her backpack and double-check that she has everything—her lunch box, a change of clothes, sunscreen, and the comfort blanket she's had since she was born. You zip it back up and then unhurriedly help her arms into the straps, trying to stall what happens next.

Harry, never the one to procrastinate, kicks things into gear by crouching and cradling her head. "You have the best day, all right? Be kind, make friends, and have fun. I'll be picking you up later."

"Can we eat ice cream after?" she asks, clasping her hands and standing on her tiptoes. "And play on the beach?"

He kisses her forehead. "We can do whatever you want, lovebug."

You can envision it now. Harry will bring the girls home, exhausted from work. He'll make dinner and wait for you, then you'll all sit at the kitchen table and attentively listen to her talk about her day in great detail. Then, as the sun sets, he'll entertain her by the shore until he insists on bedtime. Come tomorrow, he'll do it again with the same steadfast devotion because that's what good fathers do.

"We love you so much," you say, petting her braided hair.

"Love you," she replies distractedly, eagerly glancing at the front door. "I gotta go now, Mommy. Bye, Daddy."

She turns, ready to break free, but Harry stops her and says, "Not so fast, little lady. Give us some love to get through the day."

She shyly hugs him. She's growing out of her clingy tendencies and becoming more independent, and you can tell by Harry's sad smile that he recognizes it too. She briefly hugs your leg before running to the front door, where teachers are waiting with enthusiastic expressions and name tag stickers.

Harry slowly stands, never taking his eyes off her. He's more adjusted to not seeing her as much during the week than you, but you know the sentiment of her starting school still weighs heavy on his heart. After watching her disappear, he slings his arm around your shoulders and guides you to the car.

Inside is where you fall apart. The first cry that escapes has Harry blowing out an unsteady breath and embracing you. Against your neck, he sniffles, letting his piled-up emotions finally fall to pieces. He's not much of a crier, but when he does, it's a raw sight to see.

"Reservation for a cry session? Table for two?" he says humorously, rubbing your back and lightly scratching it.

"We're so lame," you whisper, gripping his sweater like a vice.

"God, I know. I even packed tissues." Harry takes an on-the-go pack out of his pocket, plucks two tissues out, and wipes both his and your tears with them.

"Eventually, we're going to have to do this again," you say. From the passenger seat, you peek at your baby girl and shoo away the thought—you still have more than enough time with her before she starts school.

Harry kisses your cheek. "One day at a time, honey."

Undoubtedly, this routine will get easier. It will become second nature, and you'll discover the exquisite simplicity of watching your children grow before leaving the nest and soaring through the sky.

They came into this world like a soft spring breeze, carrying seeds and dispersing them into your life. The roots emerged from under your home and flourished into a bountiful garden. Each day, there are new blossoms to admire and appreciate. And each day, you aim to help them thrive with support from Harry's sunshine.

Try as they might, the winds of change won't cause harm. Your family's roots are firm in the ground.

——

[stariikis]

𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙞 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣 | nishimura riki | encafe *₊˚☕୧

↬ rest of the encafe series (ongoing!) synopsis ; following an unexpected encounter with a long-lost friend, riki sparks a fresh connection with a familiar face. and what if he wants something more with you this time, and the boundaries of your friendship extends into unfamiliar territory? (news flash: he’s loving every second with you.)

pairing ; barista!nishimura riki x fem customer!reader genre ; fluff, childhood friends to lovers, mutual crushing trope ; barista x customer reunited buddies wc ; 4417 warnings ; kissing! reader is very very very oblivious and riki is very in love, they are so cute :(

taglist (open!!) ; @chaseyikis @nikiswifereal27 @llvrhee @aileeeeeeeeeeeee @doyochibubu @jikepi @enwonz @rikihqq

14.02.24 – valentine’s day.

If not for a particular order of caramel macchiato on a cold winter’s day. That’s what Riki likes to think when he looks at you with such a look of adoration you can’t help but cover your face in your hands, cheeks flushing a vibrant pink. 

Similar to the wisps of steam rising from atop your coffee mug, you can feel Riki’s love for you swirling in the confines of your heart. Just last winter, your heart whispers, was the moment when he came crashing back into your life. One quick decision to slip into the quaint little coffee shop before work was all it did. 

He’s still in his custom designed apron, scooting ever closer at the window seats. And though he remains content in the pin-drop silence, the hand that sneaks up your back speaks on his behalf. Suddenly, you can’t bear to meet his gaze and turn to the cosy view of the dim street. 

It’s the definition of a romantic street down a road in London – just in Korea. Cobbled roads lined with streetlamps that have a soft golden glow once sundown approaches. Every once in a while in the darkness, a couple or person donned in light winter wear strolls down past the cafe. And Riki looks over at you with a wistful, longing expression as if he wants to be one of those couples. He wants to go out and dance with you, he wants the flurry whiteness embracing you both at the darkest hour. 

He taps your shoulder, enthusiasm glimmering in his eyes, and begins to untie the back of his apron. You carefully sneak a glance at your signature marking its spot on the back of one of the lacings. Your boyfriend had insisted on getting it printed there when you became official, last valentines. 

You would never have imagined that the boy, peeping out amidst the craze with a pink, valentine-themed iced drink in his hands and fumbling uncharacteristically for the right words to confess his feelings to you, would be your long-lost childhood friend.  

(riki’s pov, 10.12.22)

“Psst. Riki! Pretty girl’s coming up to the counter. Hurry – do something!” 

Riki’s coworker nudges him teasingly, noticing his relentless stare on the office worker who has just entered their cafe. It’s not unusual that pretty girls walk in on early weekday mornings like this, but this girl, clearly not a regular, seems familiar somehow. She seems to move in slow motion towards them, and Riki has to put down the ceramic cup he’s holding before it inevitably falls to his feet. 

While it may be an exaggeration to say, her chic grey office clothes seem to sparkle in the minimal lighting. Her brown hair also seems to swish like time has slowed, blonde streaks evident when she tosses her locks. Long eyelashes, a petite nose and strawberry freckles that Riki could spot from a mile away. It’s like he’s met her before. A memory is fighting its way to the surface of his mind, but his efforts are useless when the girl continues to walk up to the counter. 

His mind keeps going completely blank. 

Sunoo drags him by the hand towards the cashier area, raising his eyebrows and giving him a knowing look. When Riki finally snaps out of his mesmerised daze and turns to protest, Sunoo has already taken over the order he was preparing. Gulping, Riki turns to meet the girl in the eye. Or more like past her eyes, because he barely feels enough strength to meet her gaze. He’ll probably faint. 

The idea that he knew her in the past keeps popping up in his head, but he repeatedly shoves the thought down. He’s probably intensely attracted to her, and it’s making him think he has history with her. Which isn’t really a good thing at the moment, with his throat dried up and Sunoo sneaking peeks over to see how he’s doing. 

“U-Um, what would you like to order?” 

The girl leans in and laughs. There’s a sick, uneasy feeling brewing in Riki’s stomach as she does so, because the memory he’s been trying to uncover is slowly emerging from the back of his mind. She recovers from the bout of laughter, still smiling, and when she opens her mouth to speak, Riki remembers. 

“Your sciences are pretty good, Riki, are you planning to pursue them in the future?” A fourteen-year-old version of the girl standing in front of the counter asks. 

Riki replies sheepishly, taking his report card off y/n’s table before others in the class have the chance to see. “Actually, no.” 

“Really?” She tilts her head, hunches over and laughs. “Don’t tell me you want to be an artist or something. But actually that would be pretty cool.” 

“Promise you won’t laugh?” Riki looks away from her gaze. He knows she’s not the type to judge, but he doesn’t like when people jab at his interests and prides. And y/n seems to find even the littlest things funny – she has the habit of leaning in and laughing when she finds something amusing. 

“I won’t, pinky promise.” 

“Why are you laughing?” 

Finally, Riki can muster the courage to talk to this ‘mystery girl’ now that he remembers her and knows her name. It has to be her, and it can’t be anybody else. There’s only one girl he used to know with chocolate hazelnut eyes, the bad habit of rumpling her own hair every few seconds (she got it from him), and a height she deems short enough to require heels everyday to work. 

She’s back. When did she fly back from Japan? When did she get a corporate job? When did she dye streaks into her hair like she said she wanted when they were younger? 

“No reason, you just seem frightened.” She – y/n – giggles and Riki swears her head leans in towards him once again. 

He grins. “Why would I be?” Liar, liar, liar, liar liar liar liar liar–  “Anyway, what would you like to order?” 

“Hmm. It’s cold out. Why don’t you surprise me with a warm drink?” Playful as always. This is undeniably y/n. But she seems as if she doesn’t know it yet. Has she erased Riki from her memory or is she pretending to not recognise him? His nametag states his name clearly. His facial features haven’t changed much since then. 

“Promise you won’t laugh?” Riki tests, for her answer. I won’t, pinky promise. 

It’s what Riki expects her to say. Or, more accurately, what he desperately hopes she’ll say. His stomach drops with the possibility that this might be the last time he ever sees her. If she fails to realise he’s her long-lost best friend from their teenage years, will she ever show up in this cafe ever again? 

The face-framing strands of her hair flutter as she nods earnestly. “I won’t.” 

This is going to be hard to work with. 

“Okay, then, why don’t you take a seat? I’ll surprise you with a custom order.” He winks at her, the only flirtatious move he feels comfortable executing. “Shall the name I put on the order be y/n?” 

“How’d you know?” The girl purses her lips and looks at him curiously. 

She still doesn’t realise? Just how much has she erased from her memory? 

“U-Uh…” He scans her for any hints or labels. Luckily, her corporate key card is strung over the straps of her bag, and he breathes a sigh of relief as he points shakily its way. Y/n follows his gaze and gasps cutely when she notices.

A fantasy of a scene. 

When she finds herself a seat by the window, partially hidden through numerous wisps of smoke rising off coffee mugs, Riki finds his heart aches the same way it did all those years ago. 

With the pain that came with leaving her for the first time, he hopes she won’t leave forever for the second time. He turns to where Sunoo is grinding coffee beans, fully concentrated. He doesn’t even look up when he asks,

“So, what’s the order?” 

Riki’s voice cracks when he replies. “Caramel macchiato.” 

What a teenage dream.

“Order for y/n,” Riki calls gently, one hand holding a tray with her hot drink and the other hand reaching out to tap her shoulder. She unplugs the earphones from her ears and blinks warmly at him. Just as warm as the coffee Riki quietly prepared and snuck an extra shot of caramel in. 

“Oooh,” she giggles and claps her hands. “What’s the surprise drink?” 

“Try it,” Riki pushes the tray closer to her and raises his chin. Subtly, he also takes a seat beside her, while his mind unhelpfully screams, notice the nametag, notice my name, notice my face, notice me!

But instead of looking at him, she carefully blows on her coffee and takes a sip. The face she makes instantly after is so vague he doesn’t know whether she loves it or absolutely despises it, never to return again. 

“Who made this?” Her expression still refuses to give anything away.

Panicking in the split second of a moment, Riki blurts his coworker’s name. “Sunoo. There.” 

“Ohhh, it’s really good! Thank him for m–” 

“I did the foam art!” Once again, Riki lets his mouth run loose and internally smacks himself hard when he gestures towards the heart-shaped imprint in the sea of white. The girl stares at him for half a second before bursting into laughter again. She leans in close and places a hand on his shoulder. 

‘How did you guys know that caramel’s my favourite?” 

“I want to be a barista.” 

“What? Really?” 

Teenage Riki scratches the back of his head and nods. Accompanying his mother to her coffee shop on their ‘bring your child to work day’ was enough to lock in his love for the pleasant aroma of caffeine. He particularly enjoyed creating his own versions of cafe-art. He’s born to be creative, a natural artist at heart. Lab experiments and hypotheses may be his strong suit, but all he wants is to express himself with the tasty remnants of coffee beans and cocoa. 

“Will you make me a drink then?” Y/n smiles brightly. She doesn’t seem to be weirded out by the unusual career choice. Instead, she’s beaming as if it’s a normal occurrence for a top student to want to live a peaceful life at a cafe. “A test run for you.” “Sure,” Riki plays along, his heartstrings tugging seeing her contagious excitement. “What drink would you like? I’ll make it when you come over today.” 

“Hmmm.. make me a caramel macchiato. Nowadays, it’s my comfort drink.” 

“Got it.” 

“Oh, Riki,” She calls as he heads back towards his seat before the next lesson. He whips his head around, raising his eyebrows. “For the record, I think baristas are cool.” 

“It’s a customer favourite in autumn and winter,” Riki lies through his teeth. He doesn’t even stutter once – how commendable. “It’s practically our house special.” 

“Mannn, I thought I’d be special,” she jokes, finishing up her coffee in a few quick sips. “Augh, that’s hot. Anyway, I gotta go to work, I think I’m late.” 

Her eyes widen and she checks her watch. 

“Shoot, I really am. Okay, bye, see you!” 

She waves and darts out the store before RIki can say anything more. Is it odd that all he worries about is the way she’s dressed in the blistering cold? She really needs to bring a padded jacket around. 

Days turn into weeks, and it comes as a surprise to Riki when y/n shows up the next day. And the next. And the subsequent days. She comes to get the same order every day, the same personalised cup of coffee with Riki’s signature foam heart. Little does she know, though, the whole cup is made by him, with love. Not Sunoo, not another coworker, not following a standard cafe recipe. 

Around Christmastime, Riki snags her socials. When she finally learns about his name, tagged to all his accounts, she merely tilts her head as if its clogged. “Why does your name sound familiar to me? Ehh, must be deja vu. I’m getting it a lot these days.” 

Yeah, deja vu, Riki thinks, scrolling through all her pictures of every single cup of coffee she’s ever had from the cafe. It’s like a daily update, and she posts nothing else apart from occasional group pictures and selfies. I’m just a disconcerting feeling to you. 

(y/n’s pov, 14.01.23)

There’s a number of things that are off about today. One of which, is the way Riki doesn’t greet you at the counter as you walk in. His coworker does instead, the one who you remember Riki pointed out to have prepared your caramel macchiato. Another unsettling thing that can’t be helped is the way you have to order manually instead of Riki smiling and keying in your order without a word needed to be said. 

When you receive your beverage, the barista doesn’t sit down beside you to engage in small talk. The curls of steam don’t clear to reveal a heart print in the foam. Rather, it’s a traditional cafe leaf, grains of cocoa flecked on the froth with no emotion whatsoever. And usually, Riki has a way with his words to manipulate time into travelling faster. In a few seconds you finish your drink and head to work like routine suggests. 

Today, everything is different. 

When you hesitantly take a sip out of your coffee, you cringe. It’s not bad, per se, but it’s not the same. Without Riki’s latte art, the taste can’t have changed that much, could it? Or did the cafe decide to revamp their recipes? And just what happened to Riki? 

The next day, you’re secretly hoping he’s behind the counter laughing with his coworkers like normal. But he isn’t. And so you begrudgingly order your caramel macchiato, to go, and leave with hope for tomorrow. 

Third time’s the charm – but not today. Riki still hasn’t come back, your coffee tastes like wet dirt (it’s not even that bad, but you’re not used to it. Why doesn’t it taste as sweet as it used to?) and it’s another unordinary day. 

It’s what constitutes the change from this cafe to the newer one closer to her workplace, down the street from it and next to a popular florist. There’s an ache in your heart, perhaps because you don’t like changes. Perhaps because you’ll miss the comfort of frosted windows and small talk. Or perhaps because you’ll miss Riki. 

(riki’s pov, 21.01.23)

“What do you mean she doesn’t come anymore?” 

Riki’s heart drops all the way down to his feet, and Sunoo looks at him with a mixture of guilt and sympathy. “After she tried my coffee, she pulled a face. I’ve never had my pride shattered like that.” 

“And a few days later, she didn’t come back. I can’t believe she didn’t tell you first…” 

Sunoo’s words drown in his thoughts as he pulls out his phone and checks her socials. She is bound to have posted something about it. Either that, or post pictures of her coffee from whatever new cafe she might be purchasing from. And true enough, her page displays jungle-green coffee mugs with drizzles of caramel atop the foam. 

“Oh, isn’t that the new branch further downtown?” Sunoo’s voice suddenly penetrates through his train of thoughts once more. “I think Sunghoon hyung’s starting his job there soon.”

“How do I work there?” Riki leans against the counter and mutters without hesitation. “How do I take a shift there?”

Another coughing bout attacks him before Sunoo can answer. Stupid flu, if he had never caught the illness he wouldn’t have to scheme some kind of master plot to be able to see y/n again. He blames her too, of course, for not telling him, but he blames his white blood cells first. 

“What’s this about wanting to take a shift where?” 

Riki, recognising his boss’s voice, whips around and practically falls to his knees. He doesn’t really, it’s embarrassing, but he feels like he’s grovelling in some way or another. “Heeseung-nim. Please let me take a shift at the new branch tomorrow morning. I can take someone’s place if they’re sick – I’ll even do restocking.” 

“Restocking. How mundane. You’re really desperate, aren’t you?” Sunoo whispers in his ear, and Riki shoves him aside with eyes only for Heeseung. 

“Please!” 

Fortunately, his boss just huffs in amusement. “You’re ridiculous. I’ll ask if there are any slots you can take as a cashier or waiter.” 

“You’re the best, hyu- Heeseung-nim!” 

The next day, Riki wishes he could replay the astonished face y/n makes when she walks through the doors and sees him immediately. “Deja vu, huh?” 

To the confusion of the other workers on shift at the time, he takes over the whole order, insisting he knows what he’s doing. They don’t bother to argue with him though, when they see the latte art he makes. The prominent heart shape says all the words he never did. Holds the explanation that was never necessary. A man in love is not be interfered with en route to his destination. 

“Why did you change cafes?” Riki sighs, trying to act nonchalant as he pushes the tray in front of her face. As she reaches out to pick up the cup, he grabs her hand and shakes his head. “Answer me first.” Her eyes grow wide, cheeks flushing slightly. But she turns to face him properly, looking nervous as she tries to explain herself. “I think the cafe changed the recipe of the caramel macchiato or something… and you didn’t come for days… so I just decided..” 

“I don’t come for a few days because I’m sick and you disappear?” Riki can’t help but tease, his heart beating in his ears. “You’re funny.” 

She looks shocked at this revelation but giggles to herself, body leaning in towards him. 

“The coffee didn’t taste the same either. Even though the hands who prepared it were the same, I clearly saw your coworker making my coffee. And I’m not saying it’s because of this, but there wasn’t your signature foam art, and I kinda missed it.” She gestures towards the cup. And Riki can’t take it anymore.

His lip trembles as he bursts out, “That’s because it wasn’t Sunoo hyung who prepared the drinks for you. On the first day, I made your drink. I added an extra shot of caramel because I knew you liked it. I deliberately took care of your order myself.” And you still don’t know why, to this day. You don’t remember me at all. Of course, at the airport, I was the one crying ugly tears, wishing you weren’t going. I wanted one more chance. I knew you didn’t like me back, and it felt like you never would. 

Now that you’re back, how am I supposed to let you go again? 

“Come back to our cafe. I’ll be there. I’ll make the caramel macchiato like you like, and I’ll even design custom latte arts on your coffees.” By the end of his outburst, he’s wiping his sweaty hands on his apron, scared to hear her answer. Will she say yes and let things return to how they usually were? Or would she reject him and tell him she was fine without him all along? 

“Okay,” she smiles and it reaches her choco-hazel eyes. “I’ll see you there tomorrow, then. But I have to rush, I’ve got a movie I want to see.” 

Oh? A movie? Isn’t this perfect to… 

“Is it the new Disney one?” Riki blinks earnestly when she nods. “I’ve really wanted to see that too!” 

“Why don’t you come with me, then? I’m going alone, since all my friends are busy and tomorrow’s the last day it’s in theatres.” 

Consider Riki the luckiest boy in the world.

“I’ve got something to show you,” Riki whispers, in the pitch-black darkness of the back of the movie theatre. The movie has just ended, but all Riki remembers is the way y/n laughs and coos at the animations and characters. He only recalls his reaction to seeing her in such a whimsical dress as she walked into the cafe on a Saturday morning. Thin, soft pink ribbons holding her french plaits together, accentuating the doll image she wanted.

All he wants is to finally make her his. He wants to be able to call her beautiful without sounding like a creep. He wants to be the reason why she wakes up and stops by the cafe every weekday morning. Though he has an inkling that he already is, and she just doesn’t want to admit it. 

“What is it?” 

Her eyes. They gleam even in the utter darkness. How is that possible? She’s like a materialisation of a fairy from a fantasy story. 

His voice wavers as he says, “let’s head out first.” 

“Okay…” 

She follows him out the theatre, and they head back towards the cafe. Riki’s glad he’s not on shift today, otherwise Heeseung would definitely have his head off. All the way back, he fiddles with his wallet, which holds the photograph of truth. 

“I don’t want you to go…” On the 8th of December in 2017, Riki waits by the airport barricades and wipes his snot away when y/n leans in to hug him goodbye. “How long will you be gone?” 

“Not long, I promise.” Tears well up in her eyes upon seeing her best friend in this state. “I believe we’ll see each other again, if it’s truly fate.” 

Riki’s mother, heart aching at the exchange, steps back and suggests, “let me take a picture of you both for you both to remember, okay?” 

Riki doesn’t notice the flash between sobs. 

When they reach the cafe, Riki sits y/n down at her favourite window seat and puts the very same photograph in her palms. He awaits with bated breath for her response, but she just remains silent. He doesn’t know if she’s breathing anymore, either. 

Finally, after nearly a minute has passed, she looks up with a glaze over her eyes. 

“It wasn’t just deja vu, was it?” Riki doesn’t know how he manages to tease her even in this tender moment. She gasps like what he says is scandalous, before pulling him in close to hug him. For a few moments, they remain this way, Riki wondering whether she can hear his heart pounding as if it’s going to shatter his ribcage. 

Even if she does, though, she says nothing of it. 

“So I was right,” she murmurs, pulling away from the hug. Her cheeks are smudged with wetness. “I was right like I always used to be. Idiot.” 

He cocks his head, bemused. 

“It’s destiny. I said we’d meet again if fate aligned, and it did.”

Like the north and south poles of two magnets, they’ve found their way back to each other. It’s like a fever dream.

(y/n’s pov, 14.02.23)

There’s no way Riki would ask you to come to the cafe at 12pm sharp for no reason, right? In the middle of a huge crowd, no less, knocked right and left from the couples who are here for a Valentine’s date. You have a feeling that a confession is awaiting you, but how does a confession come about without the confessor? 

You continue to stand in the middle of the crowd in your carefully selected pink dress, white laced leg warmers adorning your calves to keep you warm. Riki’s always very adamant about you staying warm, so you put on extra layers to please him even if you’re not cold. Otherwise, he’s bound to smother you with jackets and sweaters. 

Lost in your own thoughts, you don’t notice Riki rushing over to you with an iced pink drink in his hands. It’s the first time he’s ever prepared an iced drink for you, considering you’ve only experienced winter season together. He looks regretful about this, staring down at his carelessly tied apron for comfort. 

“Sorry I didn’t make it a warm drink, I wanted you to be able to see the pink. And I can’t put hot drinks into the plastic cups… obviously…” He rambles, holding the drink out for you. Just as you fish out your wallet to pay him, laughing all the while because of how cute he looks in the moment, he shakes his head. “Oh, it’s on the house.” 

“That’s not legally right,” you stick your tongue out at him and pull out a five-dollar-note in spite. His hand comes up, but as you think he’s going in for the note, he grabs your wrist and tugs you close to him instead. He angles his head and his eyes flutter shut as he kisses you. Drink still in his other hand. He drops your wrist and pulls your waist instead. 

Breathless when he pulls away, he whispers, looking deep into your eyes, “if you go out with me, it counts as the couple special. Be my girlfriend.” 

You bet your cheeks are as pink as the drink Riki prepared for you when he goes in for another kiss. 

13 February 2015

“Do you like anyone?” 

Ten-year-old Riki poses his very important question to you as he hangs from the monkey bars. You take a while to think, but eventually can’t come up with a name that’s worthy enough to be considered your crush. “Nope! You?” 

“I think so.” 

“Really? Who is it?” 

Riki makes a hushing face as his way of telling you he’s not ready to reveal his secret. “I know tomorrow is Valentine’s day, but I think we should grow up first before I tell her.” 

“Awwww, will you at least give me a hint?” You beg, oblivious that the girl of Riki’s dreams is you. It has always been you. He smiles softly and shakes his head no. 

He drops down from the monkey bars and comes to sit by your side on the grass. “I’m very close to her. I think one of these Valentine’s, I’ll tell her. Isn’t that romantic?” 

“Man, I hope she doesn’t steal you away from me. We’re best friends, you’ll remember that, right? You promise?” 

“I will. Pinky promise, chocolate sprinkles on top.”

↬ rest of the encafe series

NOTES ; thank you all so much for reading this first inclusion of me and @enwonz series !! we hope you give us lots of support and love hehe. please like and reblog if you enjoyed, and drop either of us an ask if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

[redroomreflections]

Not Easily Broken Chapter 6

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha and Reader go through a tragic divorce

Masterlist | General Masterlist

6/10

Note: Yes,i know the picture has a watermark. it's 2 am.

W/c: 4.2k (less painful to edit!)

Rating: M (Minors DNI; angst, fluff, smut, heartbreak, heart fix? the best ending for them coming soon)

You don’t know how long you’ve stared at the blank paper. Its thin blue lines taunted you. The questions on the tiny notebook assigned to you were intimidating. You’re sitting here, at the kitchen counter, nursing a mug of tea and looking down at the paper. This is the first part of the assignment. Once you’re going to fail. There are several steps Cheryl gave to get things going for both of you. Answer the questions. Find something both of you like to do. Discuss them together. That should be easy, right? Wrong. It’s been four days and counting and you have yet to write anything. Not that there’s nothing to write. No. You have a lot to say. It just can’t be on paper. Neither of you has been good at expressing your thoughts. You’re worse. You come from a family where conflict was solved with abandonment and passive aggressiveness. Two things you do quite well. This venture into vulnerability is foreign. You’re afraid of being the bad guy again. You don’t want to address the unknown. What if even after all of this you and Natasha don’t work out?

You’ve been doing a lot of self-reflecting the past week. There’s always something in the back of your mind that says you’re ruining her life again. You’re ruining your children’s lives. Everything you worked for you ruined. This time would be different. You’re coming into this with a clear head and a fresh perspective. You want your life back. You want your wife back. You want your family. It’s not like you cheated. You didn’t step out of your relationship. You sometimes wish it were so easy. Maybe then your actions can be excused. That’s not the correct way to say it. Cheating is never excusable. You guess it would have been another way to avoid accountability. You blame yourself every day for what happened. Even then guilt is not enough. 

You sigh. Back to the questions. You hold the pencil in your hand—first question. 

“You lead separate lives despite living in the same household.” You read aloud. Wow. Okay. That’s a tough one right off the bat. It’s relevant. It makes sense considering the context. You write yes. You move on to the second question. “You mostly speak about finances or household chores. Question three you have sex less than once weekly.” You stop your reading right there. You’re three for three. If this is how this is going you’re going to be in therapy for a while. 

Were things really that bad? You wonder if Natasha is thinking the same things. 

Across town, Natasha is indeed wondering the same things. She’s just finished up her run for the morning, having gotten the kids out of the door and off to school, and now she has the morning to herself. She’s sitting on the couch, her feet propped up on the coffee table, as the notebook rests in her lap. She pushes her glasses further up her nose. 

“Sex less than once weekly?” She reads. ‘Sex never’. She writes. It’s true. Besides the phone sex last week she doesn’t remember the last time you two were so intimate. Well, she can. Emma’s fifth birthday party. She would hardly count that as something to brag about. While you’re skilled in the bedroom, she felt dirty afterward. She felt used in a way she wasn’t all that willing to share with you. Sex with you has always meant so much more to her. She hopes it’s the same for you. She doesn’t think about it for too long. She can’t dwell on the fact that her body aches for you. Natasha Romanoff knows her worth. She is aware she could go out and find anyone to fuck. She doesn’t have to go far truthfully. She doesn’t want that. It’s kind of pathetic and she would never admit it to anyone. 

Natasha is about to answer another question for the checklist when the doorbell rings. She glances at it, hoping that whoever it is will go away when the ringing becomes more insistent. Natasha rolls her eyes, slamming the book down against the coffee table, to go and answer the door. She swings it open, ready to give whomever it is a piece of her mind when she stops. She crosses her arms and glowers at her visitor suspiciously. 

“Romanoff,” Richard grins at her. “Don’t you look swell?” He admires her messy hair, tank top, and running shorts. He waves a file in his hand. “I have work.” He offers her one of the coffees in his and she takes it. 

“I thought we were meeting at the tower,” Natasha drops her hands from the door. She walks away without offering him a second glance. He would follow. What she doesn’t see is him checking out her ass as he steps inside. He closes the door behind with and walks with her toward the living room. 

“I thought this was much better,” Richard shrugs. “I was in the neighborhood.”

“I’m sure you were,” Natasha rolls her eyes. “Okay, give me a minute to change and I’ll be right back down. I have a couple of notes over there.” She waves her hand somewhere in the room. Though Richard is an asshole she knows he won’t do anything to put her in danger. She leaves him to his own devices to change out of her workout gear. Not that her new outfit would be much better. 

Richard stands, walks over to the couch to sit, and places the file on the coffee table. He spots the notebook she’s been writing in. It’s safe to assume it’s the one she permitted him to read. It’s not. 

“Healthy relationship checklist,” He reads to himself. “No sex?” He whistles. Wow. That’s disappointing. 

“I’m going to have to ban you from my house soon,” Natasha calls down the stairs. He quickly places the notebook back where he found it. Natasha comes into the living room in a simple blue blouse and slacks. She glances at the notebook, noting that it’s moved a few inches, and tsking. “Richard, seriously, you’re my partner. One I didn’t want. At least have the decency of giving me privacy.”

“I’m sorry I was curious,” He raises his hands in surrender. “If it makes you feel any better I haven’t done it in a while either.”

“No, it doesn’t make me feel any better,” Natasha shakes her head. “And I don’t believe you. You’re looking at a sexual harassment complaint and a broken nose if we keep talking about this.”

“Fine,” He shakes his head. “I just think you deserve better.” At Natasha’s warning look he clamps his mouth shut. “I need a consult. Fury wants the entire team on this case but we need your expertise.”

“Why would you need my expertise?” Natasha sits across from him. She takes the file, flipping through the pages before she shakes her head. “What is this?” 

“A recruitment center,” Richard describes. “Someone is recruiting young girls to be assassins. Training them to go out and do their bidding. We want to know the best way to, uh, get in there and get out.” He gestures. 

Natasha frowns. They could have very well asked Melina Yelena or anyone but her. She’s not an expert on brainwashed children. She only knows so much. Even then she provides him with an answer.

“You’re going to need to get someone on the inside obviously,” She says. “Preferably someone young. Wanda Maximoff could pass. She gets in. Find out who knows what. You protect her with your life. Make sure she feels safe at all times. Know that if it’s as bad as this film reads some of them will die.”

“That’s dark,” Richard comments.

“Well, it’s not all sunshine and roses,” Natasha mumbles. She sets the file back down. “Is that all you needed from me?” 

“Well, yeah,” Richard nods. 

“Well, I’d like to be alone in my home now,” Natasha says none too politely. She passes him the large envelope. They both stand. She walks him to the door and to both their surprises you’re on the other side. You’re a bit off-put by Richard being there. 

“I’m sorry,” You shake your head. “I stopped by to..” You trail off. 

“Y/n, so good to see you,” Richard offers you a fake smile that you don’t return. 

“He’s leaving,” Natasha makes a face at him. She wasn’t really in the mood for this nonexistent love triangle thing that goes on every time you’re all in the same space. Not that it matters to her. Richard would never be someone that is on her romantic radar. Not when she only has eyes for you. 

“Right, leaving,” Richard nods. He’s about to make a joke when Natasha punches him before he can even open his mouth. He holds his sore arm, offering her an “ow!” Before he shakes his head. He walks down the stairs and to his car without another word. 

Natasha’s gaze returns to you and the brown paper bag you have in your hands. 

“Is that for me?” She asks and you nod silently. Seeing her with Richard does things to you. You follow her into the house where she closes and locks the door. She takes the bag from your hands to set it on the hallway table. You’re not sure who makes the first move but Natasha is in your arms, kissing you, feeling you, and walking backward toward the couch. Your hands are everywhere on her body. You feel the skin under her shirt, down her sides, and her hips, as you push her gently to lie down on the couch. Your kiss is hungry and rough and full of passion. She moans at the feel of your weight atop her. She kisses you back. When your hand slides up her shirt, pinching her nipple through the sports bra she’s wearing, she rips her lips from yours to moan. Her cries go straight to your core. You’re lying here between her legs, kissing her neck now, and holding her right where you want her. Natasha enjoys your touch. It excites her. It makes her feel wanted. She raises her hand to place it over yours. 

“Y/n,” Natasha begs. She doesn’t know exactly what for. She imagines it would be so easy to allow you to take her right here. Right now. The kids aren’t home. There’s no one here to stop her. Even so, she can’t help the nagging feeling at the back of her mind. “Y/n.” The tone of her voice stops you in your tracks. You lift to look into her concerned eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask. You take in her kiss-swollen lips, her mussed hair, and her flushed skin. She looks so damn sexy. 

“You did this last time,” Natasha points out. Her voice is small and barely there. You can tell she’s trying to keep the conflict at a minimum. You give her a confused look. What was she talking about? “It’s… it’s stupid.” She shakes her head. “I can't help but notice. Every time Richard comes around you feel the need to stake your claim in some way.”

“I don’t do that,” You scoff. She gestures to the spot on her neck that’s formed into a slight purple bruise. When did you do that? You deflate, sitting up, removing yourself from her embrace. You take deep breaths. Were you doing that to her? 

“I didn’t want to bring it up to upset you,” Natasha instantly misses your touch. She fixes her shirt, adjusts her bra, and moves to sit closer to you. “I don’t want you to want me because someone else does.”

“Do you seriously think that?” You question. “Nat, baby,” You breathe. “I want you because I missed you. I want you because I find you attractive. I want you because you’re everything.” You take her hand in yours. “I don’t want you to think I’m doing it to show ownership over you. That’s not something I want.”

“I want to be yours,” Natasha confesses quietly. “Just not like that.”

“I understand,” You nod. Natasha kisses your pouting lips. You smile. The notebook on the coffee table catches your eye. “So you’ve been doing the assignment.”

“I have,” Natasha glances at the paper. 

“It’s pretty eye-opening,” You say and she nods in agreement. “I didn’t think things were that bad for us. I mean, I know, we got a divorce. I just…it puts things into perspective.” 

“It does,” Natasha runs a hand through her hair. 

“I want this to work for us,” You admit. “I’m sorry. I am. I want us to work.”

“Me too,” Natasha kisses your lips again. “Did you bring your book? We could go over some of the questions now.”

“I did,” You say as you reach over her legs to the bags you brought. You pull out the book, cracking it open to the page you’ve written on, while Natasha opens hers. “So, I’ve realized a lot of these are things we’ve done at the beginning of our relationship. We seemed to enjoy each other then. Pre-kids I guess.”

“Hmm,” Natasha hums. 

“Okay, this question,” You go to one you haven’t answered yet. “Please be truthful. Don’t hold back because you think it’s going to hurt my feelings.” Natasha nods. She could do that. “Do you feel comfortable being yourself around your partner?”

Natasha bites her lip. “I have always felt I could be myself with you. There were times I didn’t think I could. That maybe I needed to play a part to, um, make you happy.”

“I felt the same way,” You mumble. “Nat, I’m -”

“You’re sorry that’s understandable,” She shakes her head. “It’s something we have to work on. I love you for you. I’ve always loved you for you.”

“I’ve always been attracted to everything about you,” You begin. “I’ve always loved your personality. Your tenacity. Your humor. Your ability to be vulnerable.” Natasha blushes under your intense gaze. She takes her pen to write a few things before moving on to the next question. 

“You rarely hug, hold hands, or touch each other in a non-sexual way,” She reads aloud. There’s a silence that neither of you breaks. “The butt rubs stopped.” She points out. 

“What?” You look at her in surprise. “I guess they have. Was that the first indicator that something was wrong with you?”

“It was one,” Natasha shrugs. “I just thought you needed space and it’s not always a sexual thing but we stopped touching each other. It wasn’t only you. I stopped too.”

“Damn,” You curse under your breath. “We could try it now? I mean, one of our exercises was extended cuddling time. Now would be the perfect opportunity.” You offer and Natasha likes that idea. She takes both notebooks to sets them down on the table. You lie down first and she crawls on top of you. Her head rests on your chest, your arms wrap around her waist, and you simply hold each other. Your shared breathing and warmth lull you to a place of comfort. Natasha wriggles her butt, silently asking for your hands on her, and you oblige. You reach down, and your right hand travels over the slope of her soft, supple behind, before you rub. It’s tentative touches at first. Just a simple swipe of your hand before your rubs turn into kneading. You massage the covered flesh in your hands and Natasha hums. 

“I missed this,” She mutters into your chest. She peeks her head up at you. Her eyes travel from your eyes to your lips. She follows through with whatever thought she’s having and she kisses you. Her kiss is gentle and reassuring. She lingers, her lips brushing against yours before she opens her eyes again. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” You kiss her again. “So much, Natasha.” She smiles widely. She can’t describe how happy she feels right now. She’s here with you, in your arms, and there’s no other place she’d rather be. Her happiness surges to something else entirely. Suddenly all she wants is you. She kisses you again, deeper, harder, this time it’s all teeth and tongue. She sucks her bottom lips into your mouth, eliciting a moan from deep inside you and your grip on her ass loosens. 

“We shouldn’t,” She breathes between kisses. 

“You’re right,” You nod in agreement. “Though she did say we could.”

“It’s not like we need permission,” Natasha smirks. “We’ve done this before.”

You shrug. She may be right. 

“Which means I know how to get creative,” You flip the both of you over in one swift move. You adjust Natasha against the pillows, her hair fanning out under her, as you lie beside her legs. “Interesting choice of attire today.”

“It was either this or the workout gear,” She laughs. 

“It’s okay, makes it more fun,” You take nimble fingers to the buttons of her blouse. Natasha watches as you unbutton to reveal her smooth skin. “Tell me to stop.” You say but she doesn’t say a word. 

“What if I don’t want you to stop?” She challenges. You slide your fingers under her bra cap, feeling her nipple harden under your palm, and she shivers. 

“I’ve always liked you,” You joke and she nips at your chin. “I love you.” You correct and she hums. Much better. You twist her nipple, bordering on harsh, and Natasha practically jumps out of her skin. God, she’s missed this. You lean your head down, pushing the cup to the side, to suck her rosy nipple into your mouth. You swirl your tongue, alternating between licking and sucking and Natasha drops her head against the pillows again. You make sloppy sucking noises, only proving to turn her on further, as she rests a hand over your head to keep you there. “I want to make you cum.” You release her nipple with a pop. 

Natasha is a grown woman. She likes sex. She enjoys sex. She’s about to throw away all of her reservations and tell you to do whatever. You offer an alternative. You button her slacks, zipping them down far enough for your hands to reach inside and you slide in. Your fingers ghost over the lips of her panties, pushing to feel the wetness seeping through, and Natasha preens. 

“Like this then?” You say and she nods. That makes it more fun. You rake your nails over Natasha's pussy, finding the small nub peeking through the fabric, and you pay the most attention to that. Natasha arches her back and forces you to press against her deeper. “You like that baby?” You ask. “Is this what you wanted?” You ask as you work your magic through the cotton of her panties. Natasha nods her head, mouth open, eyes closed in complete pleasure. 

“Ngh,” She moans her words caught in her throat, as she rocks her hips into your fingers. It feels so damn good. This entire act may seem a bit immature but she doesn’t care. Your fingers are on her, practically inside of her, and even with the thin barrier of her underwear she feels everything. You are firm in your movements. You’re purposeful with every circling of your fingers. Your movements go from small tight circles to wide and rough as Natasha moans louder. “Yes,” She hisses between her teeth. “Yes.”She whines and you know she’s close. 

“Chase it, baby,” You encourage. “You’re so pretty like this. At my mercy.” You continue. “The perfect doll. So open and wet for me.” You kiss her bare shoulder, her neck, her chest. Anywhere you can reach. It feels so dirty here. The smell of her sex reaching your nose. The sound of shuffling and moving against the cushions is the only thing heard in the entire house. You want to give Natasha this. You need to give it to her. “My pretty girl. I want to make you my pretty wife again.” You find yourself saying and it’s the right thing. Natasha stiffens, and her left hand comes to grip your right arm as her hips thrust against your fingers. Even through her panties, you can feel the sudden gush of wetness from her. Natasha whimpers pitifully as you talk her through it. “That’s it, baby. I know. Your pussy feels so good.” You whisper closer to her ear. When she finally comes down, Natasha falls limp against the cushions and you catch her. You remove your fingers from her pants, resting them by her side, as you watch the rise and fall of her chest. Natasha opens her eyes a moment later, a bit startled by the fact that you’re watching her, and she shakes her head. You kiss her swollen lips. 

“You did so well for me,” You praise and delight in her skin turning into an even redder shade. “I liked seeing you cum.”

“Stop,” Natasha groans. You chuckle. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me for your orgasm,” You deny her. “I had fun doing it. I’d like to do it again soon. Maybe with that strap, you’ve been asking for.”

“I’d like that.” Natasha nods. 

“This didn’t change things for you right?” You question and she tilts her head. “I mean to say that I meant what I said about making you my wife. It wasn’t just something I was saying to get you off.”

“It worked either way,” She quips. “I want that too. With you. Someday.”

“Good,” You smile. You trade kisses with Natasha, noting her sudden fatigue until you fall asleep in each other’s arms. You weren’t exactly intending to but you know you both need it. 

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

A few hours later you’re awakened by the sound of the front door unlocking. The kids are home. You awaken first, tapping Natasha awake, and she only nuzzles into your body further. She’s not ready to move away. 

“Unbelievable,” Yelena Belova’s voice interrupts your bliss. You both pop up to see the blonde standing over the two of you with a look of disgust on her face. “I can’t believe it.” Yelena shakes her head. 

“Mommy!” Emma and Ryan chorus. Natasha makes quick work of buttoning up her shirt and pants without them seeing. It’s Yelena who notices and shakes her head. 

“Is this why you wanted me to pick them up?” Yelena asks but then she drops Emma’s backpack onto the ground. “You know what, I’m leaving, I don’t even care.” She heads for the front door. You watch in trepidation as Natasha races after her. 

“Yelena,” Natasha calls after her younger sister. “Yelena, you’re acting like a child.”

“And you’re being stupid,” The woman insults. She turns back to Natasha with a disappointed look on her face. “You can’t think one quick fuck is going to make her stay. She left you. She left your kids. I can’t fucking believe this.”

“Yelena, that’s enough,” Natasha speaks firmly. “You don’t know what’s going on.”

“Well I have eyes,” Yelena argues back. “ I think I can see.”

“She’s my wife,” Natasha pleads with her sister to understand. 

“No,” Yelena rants. “She’s your ex-wife that broke your heart.”

“And she’s trying to make things better,”

“And just like that, you believe her? You’re smarter than that, Natasha.” Yelena scolds her sister. Natasha doesn’t speak. “Don’t call me when she decides she doesn’t want to play house anymore.” Yelena walks away after that. 

Natasha watches as her sister gets into her car and drives down the street. How was she supposed to respond to that? She turns back toward the house to see you standing on the steps waiting for her. 

“That was intense,” You comment. Natasha nods. You hold out your arms for her to step into them. She hides her face in your neck. 

“Am I being stupid?” She mumbles into your neck and you almost miss it. 

“No, Natasha,” You assure her. 

“Don’t make me look stupid,” She pleads. “I won’t survive it this time.” 

“Me either,” You hold her. 

You wouldn’t give this up again. You understand that Natasha’s family has a right to be cautious. They have a right to hate you. You could only hope that they see that you’re trying.

---> next part