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reiderwriter · 1 year ago

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✍️ Dear Diary ✍️

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

For the CM Kink Bingo Challenge

Requested: Hi thereee! I was thinking about a request since I saw they’re open again… I was thinking maybe Con-non con breeding/cream pie?🤭 maybe somnophilia too. S get home en R is sleeping and he just take what he wants but it’s obviously something mutual.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI Dubcon/ CNC, somnophilia, breeding, pet play (kitten/owner), daddy kink, unprotected sex, almost one bed trope, oral (m recieving), Perv!Spencer, dom!Spencer, sub!Reader and just incredibly horny Reader and Spencer.

Summary: Spencer comes across your dream journal and finds out that you're not plagued with nightmares but with wet dreams. And they're all about him.

A/N: Thank you to @reidmotif, who basically told me the entire concept of this fic was forcing Spencer to read smut headcannons about himself and watching the reactions. I think this is the quickest I've ever written something from start to finish 💀

Masterlist || Bingo Board

Spencer didn't know what possessed him to read through your diary, but he couldn't stop when he started. At a single glance, he could tell it wasn't the book that he was looking for, the one you'd sent him to find in your bedroom, the one you'd recommended he read.

That one was beside it on the side table, but there was something about the black moleskin, laid perfectly flat on the desk, that had his fingers itching as he moved it forward.

You were otherwise occupied with setting out the plates of takeaway you'd ordered for the six people currently sat in your living room, so knowing his company wouldn't be missed for a few minutes, he sat himself down and began reading.

Within ten pages, he completely regretted it.

He'd sussed out by the title page that this wasn't just a normal journal but a dream journal. It was heavily recommended in a lot of the mandated therapy sessions you guys did. Hell, even Hotch had suggested it to him a few times, so he shouldn't be surprised you kept one.

He was just surprised at the content of your dreams.

He knew his own were dark and painful, and he was curious, thinking that knowing your dreams could help him assist you better through whatever was plaguing you recently.

In ten pages, he'd managed to suss out that it was him that was plaguing you.

“May 8th - Woke up hot again. Dreamt of Spencer waking me up with his tongue. Need to get this out of my system.”

“May 10th - On my back tied to the bed. Spencer again. I'm going to hell.”

“May 22nd - Kitten ears. And Spencer's cum splashing on my face as a wake up call. I'm a freak!”

Each entry was similar, and he read on page after page, until he felt his cock stiffening and he had to put the book down and remind himself that there was company just a few doors away. Company that included his friends and a woman who'd been dreaming of fucking him every night for… three months now.

He took a deep breath. He took a lot of deep breaths, forcing himself to think of the most unappealing things ever as he calmed himself down.

A voice down the hall called his name, and he dropped the journal like a scalding pot and picked up the other book, opening it to a random page and trying to look convincingly entranced.

“Spencer, what-?” You asked, seeing him sat on your bed reading the book. He thanked the heavens that the book was a hardback and just big enough to hide the remaining stiffness in his pants while he tried to will it to deflate.

“Oh, good book, right? I should've known you'd start reading it straight away. Just take it home, Spencer.”

“No, no, it's okay, I don't need-”

“No, it's fine. You can give it back at the Stanford Review Psychology Seminar next weekend. We're rooming still, right?”

He took in what felt like a gulp of air, forcing the oxygen down into his lungs as his tongue laid as useless in his mouth as his cock felt in his pants.

“Right.” He managed to get out as you told him to haul his ass back to the living area.

He took up your journal again, though, and for the next few minutes, committed your diary to memory and left the room.

“Spencer, come on, kid, what book is as interesting as Wrestlemania?” Morgan said, clapping him on the back as he ripped through a slice of pizza.

One where the author said she'd woken up mid-orgasm just imagining he'd tied her down. And him specifically.

“Leave the kid alone, you know he's prone to his little fantasies,” Rossi chimed in as well, passing Spencer a beer quickly and cracking one open for himself.

Not the most prone person in the room to fantasies, of course, but possibly the second most prone.

“Shut up and watch the game, you're making him squirm,” you said from your perch behind his seat on the couch, giving him a quick pat on the shoulders, your fingers lingering just too long.

And with the word squirm went his whole concentration as he started imagining your small mews and purrs of pleasure, your sleepy face dazed as his fingers roughly curled into your cunt. You'd squirm for him, and you'd do a whole lot more than that.

The rest of the night tortured him the same way, though thankfully he'd managed to find a pillow to cover up his small - though growing ever harder - issue. At last, he was the last one left in your apartment, the others letting themselves out after you'd crashed on your own sofa just inches from him.

To be fair, they'd pulled off the herculean task of cleaning up after themselves without waking you, despite your notoriety for sleeping light.

He'd waved off the others and said he'd get you back into bed, protests quickly falling on deaf ears. Yes, Morgan may have been the better choice to carry your dead-tired weight, but he was also five beers in and just as likely to slam you into the bed a la whatever wrestlers Spencer had been ignoring on the screen all night.

He'd gotten himself mostly under control anyway, so he'd been able to rush them out of the door, drunk or senile, and managed to turn himself back to you.

You were curled up in a little ball, like a cat who'd found the perfect cardboard box to sit in. You filled the space and looked comfortable, but he knew you'd be sore in the morning. Either that, or your words had driven him to the brink of insanity and he just wanted his hands on you for once.

He didn't bother trying to fully lift you, knowing you'd definitely freak out and wake up if he tried.

Instead, he started talking to you in your sleep.

“Y/N… let's go to bed,” he whispered, pulling your arms limply around his neck as he tugged you upwards with two hands firmly on your hips until you were standing.

You let out a small whimper of protest, head falling forward to nuzzle into his chest as he started slowly walking you back to your bed. It was a technique he'd used on you more than once, getting you to comply when half asleep on multiple occasions to assist you when drunk or exhausted or both.

With the revelations of your diary, he thought about talking you into even more in your sleepy state but resisted.

“Spencer…” you mumbled, gripping him loosely and pressing kisses against his shirt and chest, lazily.

He had to remind himself you were still asleep, even if you were moving and talking. Asleep, even if you had wanted him to wake you up with a cock in your cunt. Asleep, and not his girlfriend, or lover, or anything more than coworker, as his cock hardened and the backs of your knees finally hit the side of your bed.

You half collapsed onto it, and we're half lowered gently by Spencer, though in all his uncoordination, he couldn't stop himself from falling directly on top of you.

“Yes, Spencer…” you sighed, hands brushing up and down his chest above you as he froze solid.

He was screwed. He'd read every word of that diary. He could imagine exactly what it was you were dreaming of at that moment, and he needed to extricate himself before he did something he'd hate himself for.

His hand snaked up your waist, just brushing your nipple as he finally dropped it to the bed and pushed himself up. He couldn't touch you anymore without consequences, and while those consequences sounded truly…delightful, he resisted.

Tucking you into bed, drowning out the sounds of your faint purrs and moans, he rubbed his cock through his pants to ease some of the ache. He denied himself more, grabbing your recommended book from the side table, leaving the infernal journal and closing the door on quite possibly one of the most arousing experiences of his life.

He was screwed.

A week passed and left him in his state of screwedness. You may have dreamed of him taking you like that, almost against your will, but he dreamed of you begging him to do so.

He awoke stiff every day and refused to touch himself, to acknowledge the disgusting pleasure he was getting from his imagination.

A week full of cold showers and blue balls, and what did it end with except being back in close quarters with your horny ass.

Screwed supreme.

You noticed he was acting off very quickly, and you'd commented on it the morning of conference day one, knocking him back slightly with each step towards him you took.

“Spencer, are you sick?” You said, stepping closer, raising a hand as if to test his temperature.

“No, no, I just... germaphobic, remember?" he smiled, gently brushing your hand away. He also took another step away from you to stop him from balling his hands into your sides and pushing you down to the floor to have his way with you.

“That hasn't bothered you before. You literally said last week that we're in the same places so often that we've been exposed to the same bacteria and have likely formed an immuno-connection or whatever-”

“There's just-” he said, now taking another step further away from you, hands up in a surrendering pose to halt your approach. “A lot of people at this conference. It's making me a bit uncomfortable.”

You seemed to understand that, backing off. And thankfully, just in time, because a second later and his hands would've been tangled in your hair, forcing you to your knees so he could show you just how compromised he could get you.

You'd dreamt about something similar on March 25th. And April 3rd.

It wasn't just his own lust for you fogging his mind - he'd dealt with that before, his hand a friendly nighttime companion - but compounded with your own, it was unbearable.

He looked at you and all he saw was “March 2nd - Begged Spencer to cum inside me, and fill his little kitten as much as he could. Could I convince him to fo that for real?”

For fucking real.

He felt infinitely more respect for your skills at your job now, knowing that he couldn't go a week without genuinely flinching away from your touch feeling this goddamn pent up, and you'd lasted three months and counting without so much as batting an eye.

After wandering through the conference all day, listening to the keynote speakers and giving a speech of his own, he'd grown exhausted. He was tired of avoiding you, but it had to be done. The thing he feared the most was breaking and becoming one of the monsters he'd dedicated his life to catching. The thing he feared most was you.

You'd hugged him when he completed his speech, lingering still after pulling away, so he was still aware of every inch and curve of you.

“I'm so proud of you,” you said with a smile, straightening his tie. You wouldn't be proud of him if you knew what he wanted to do with that tie. He imagined, even in a crowd of people, pulling you back by your hair - March 31st - and gagging you with the scrap of material - April 17th.

After almost doing just that, he quickly excused himself, and 12 miscalls and 27 text messages later, you'd finally given him what he wanted - “I'm going to sleep now. We need to talk in the morning.”

He finally crept back to the room you were sharing from a restaurant below. He'd thought about numbing his senses with alcohol but decided against it, not willing to take the risk that he'd numb his inhibitions at the same time.

It wouldn't be the first time alcohol had made him get handsy with you, scowling as he remembered his hands trailing all over you during karaoke at the Delfino, his hands gripping tighter as the night stretched out longer. You'd both been trying to sing Billy Joel, and then he'd been trying to keep hold of you no matter how much you'd giggled and fidgeted.

Looking back now, he was sure it was only the presence of every single one of your coworkers and half the FBI that stopped him from covering you in kisses, from pushing his hand up your shirt and playing with you.

Alone in your hotel room, there was nowhere else.

Sure enough, though, there was another bed, which he happily threw himself on when he entered, knowing he'd claimed the one closest to the door.

He sat for a minute, then two, then three, and just knowing you were close had his brain begging to repeat everything it had learnt in your diary.

“March 1st - I think I had a sex dream about Spencer. I think I really enjoyed it. I think I should avoid him today”

“March 18th - Used my vibratory before bed and still woke up needy. What would Spencer's cock feel like buried inside of me?”

“April 14th - He took me over a desk in the bullpen while continuing his conversation with Hotch. I almost cried, waking up and finding out it wasn't real.”

“June 4th - Spencer is coming over tonight, and I spent the whole day masturbating to memories of my own dreams about him…. I'm definitely going to hell.”

It was as he repeated each of these entries in his head like a mantra that the bed shifted and he felt something next to him.

Whatever bed he'd thrown himself into, you had decided to occupy as well. He felt your ass first, wiggling up against his crotch as you snuggled into whatever warmth he was offering beside you.

The content sigh that left your lips was the final straw as Spencer's nerves frayed and his already throbbing cock begged for relief.

His hands held your hips still as he unthinkingly began to rut into you, rubbing his cock against your ass in any way that would find release.

He tried to stop himself, but you were mid-dream now, and you were making those noises again.

Tiny little pants, mewls of pleasure, his name. Jesus Christ, his name.

He pushed down his boxers as you threw your head back, landing at the crook of his neck, your breath fanning over his skin as you turned over.

Instead of rutting against your ass, he could now hitch your legs across his thighs and at least get close enough to where he wanted to be, buried in your wet, aching pussy.

He didn't let himself. Biting his lip, he moved his hands from your hips to his cock, and began a slow, painful attempt at jacking off.

It should've been easy with you in front of him. He should've already exploded on his hand, especially after more than a week of nothing.

But you were in arms reach and it was as if his entire body was on strike until he sank into you.

In the end, it was your movements that led him to crack, just like it had been your words in the first place that had moved him to such desperation.

Shifting uncomfortably again in your sleep, you'd managed to push your leg over his lap and roll on top of him, all while unconscious.

And then you started moving. Like really fucking moving, like dry humping. Spencer's brain disappeared as he tugged at your clothing to figure out how to remove as much as needed removing.

Luckily, all he had to do was shift your panties to the side and make sure he didn't get tangled in the rest of your night dress, and, thoughtlessly, he was plunging into your depths.

He thought it would be that first thrust that would wake him, and though he had his suspicions, he was right. You didn't move. If anything you were quieter now with his cock filling you than you had been dry humping it not a minute earlier.

You were awake, he knew. You were awake, and you were pretending to sleep. His cock throbbed inside you at the thought and he knew he needed more.

“March 19th, I dreamed that Spencer woke me up with some cream for his kitten. I called him Daddy. God, I wish it were real,” he whispered in your ear as you continued your facade, quoting your diary back at you as he flipped you over.

He was gentle still, allowing you to maintain the illusion of sleep even as your heart beat out of your chest and a moan threatened to burst out of your mouth.

Softly, his hips retreated from over yours, his thick cock withdrawing from your heat before slamming back in.

“April 12th - Daddy let his good little kitten drink up her spilt milk from the floor. I licked his cum up with my tongue as he fucked me from behind. I'm perverse.”

Your breathing was way harder to control now, as his hips swayed into yours repeatedly, his real cock stretching further than you'd ever imagined his dream one reaching. You'd never been a good visualiser.

“Wake up, Y/N,” he said, kissing your neck and replacing his lips with a firm hand at your windpipe.

“Wake up and talk to me. We're supposed to be talking about earlier, right? You're supposed to be mad at me, but instead, you're close to cumming on my big fat cock.”

You screwed your eyes up tighter as he lifted his head and let his tongue silence the first moan that you let.slip through. He'd won.

His to guess clashed with yours as you tried to control his pace from under him, tugging your hips up, begging for more of his dick to enter you.

Sure, you were awake, but to you, this was just another dream, and he wasn't going to let you escape him this time.

“That's it, that's.my little girl, milk my cock,” he murmured, even as he grabbed your hips again and started setting the pace once again. It was his fingers stabbing into the gate of your hips and stomach that had you finally fully waking up and realizing that this was real, that Spencer had fucked you awake.

“S-Spencer,” you moaned, chest jumping with each jack hammer, his head buried between them, picking and sucking like some ravenous beast devouring prey.

“Daddy,” he corrected, sucking one nipple that had popped out of the top of your night dress into his mouth and biting down.

You arched into the touch, and he didn't let you move away, hands instantly gripping you tighter as you squirmed and fought in his grip. He held tighter still as his dick entered you, again and again.

Like you were falling asleep again, your brain cleared until there was only him, hic cock, his tongue on your chest, his hands on your ass keeping you in place.

“May 16th - Last night, Spencer was my owner, and he raped me in the middle of the night. He pushed his fat cock into me and I howled in pleasure, stating exactly where he put me until he released his load into me.”

The words were your own, but you couldn't feel any shame heading them, knowing the reenactment felt just as good as you'd hoped it would subconsciously.

“Y/N, focus on me. Focus on milking my cock like s good little kitten, come on Y/N,” he said, thrusting into you with no qualms now.

He'd given in, and he'd given in quickly, but if this was the reward, then he was never holding back again.

“Spencer-” you shuddered out as your orgasm broke through you, his panting writhing form finally pushing you back down into the bed as he continued tutting into you until he, too, could no longer hold back.

With a painful groan, he came and pulled out of you in an instant, letting his cum leak out of you as he watched.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he pulled you up, tugging at your hair until you were both on your knees, then pushing you down until your face was level with his softening cock.

“Clean up your spilt milk, kitten,” he panted, and you complied happily, licking up every drop that had splashed against his cock and stomach and thighs.

His moans were musical, whimpers and pouts and sinful curses as he held up your hair and tried not to fuck your mouth, enjoying the sensations of your exploring g tongue too much for that.

When he'd thought you'd done enough, he tugged you up again, wrapping his hands around your body firmly and pulling you in for one more kiss.

“Next time,” he said, pulling away and panting to catch his breath. “Next time- you have- a dream- just- tell me.”

You nodded and tried to chase his lips, but he pulled you back down to the bed before you made it eliciting a small whimper of frustration.

“You're sleeping in my bed,” he observed, stroking your head as he held you close.

“You were avoiding me.”

“I was avoiding you because I've been walking around with a boner for a week, and I didn't want to jump you in a conference room filled with 300 people.”

“You read my diary,” you said, pouting.

“You let me read your diary. It was wide open on the desk, and you sent me into that room alone, knowing my eyes move quicker than my conscience does.”

You hummed, smiling in reply but didn't answer the accusations.

“I wonder what my wake up call in the morning will be like,” you smiled, shutting your eyes and letting yourself fall asleep, his chest pillowing your head and his arms closed tight around your waist.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds smut #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #cmkinkbingo2024

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highdramas · 4 months ago

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ring of fire | dr. jack abbot

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader

warnings: language, age gap (unspecified, but reader is late 20s/early 30s and jack is mid/late 40s), power imbalance (reader is a resident and jack is her attending), drug use (they smoke weed bc they deserve it), references to sex but no explicit content

word count: 1.7k

summary: you like your little rituals with your attending.

notes: if you are under 18 do not interact with my work or this fic. this was born out of the fact that i want to smoke weed with jack abbot. that's all! not proofread so apologies for any errors <3

johnny cash plays on his speaker system and you sit, cross legged on the floor, an ashtray burning on his coffee table. he’s sat on the couch, legs spread, his head leaned back. you can tell that he aches, today– you could see it in his gait as you left work together, elbows brushing. you don’t know at what point it became ritual to smoke weed with your attending at 7am when you got off. you don’t know when it became typical to expect that you would fall asleep in his bed more nights than not. you don’t know when it became normal to brush your teeth alongside him, making eye contact in the mirror.

for what it’s worth, you haven’t found a reason to complain yet.

you turn jack’s zippo over in your hand while he settles, his prosthetic set to the side. you slide a joint out of your pack and place it between your lips. your thumb rubs at the engraved service dates on the lighter as you admire the owner. he catches the look as you finally spark and inhale– and it feels like you are just a bit lighter. you take another quick puff before jack says, “don’t hog it.” he tsks. “greedy.”

blowing the smoke in his direction, you shrug your shoulders innocently. “i’ve waited for this all day,” you say before passing it along to him.

the second smoke is passing from his lips, he lets out a long, satisfied groan, that you feel in every atom of your body. “yeah. me too.” passing it back to you, he continues to rub at the end of his leg, sore from supporting his body weight for far too many hours.

you smoke together in comfortable quiet until your eyelids feel heavier and the worries of the day feel far away. you slink from your spot on his plush carpet to beside him on the couch. his hand goes to your thigh. your head rests against his. you each close your eyes and enjoy the moment. “you tired?” he asks, painting stars into your skin with the pad of his finger. when you shake your head– you’re rarely ready to go to bed immediately upon getting home– he gets that knowing smirk. “you hungry?”

“i could eat a horse.”

“mmm– that’s my girl.” he fishes his phone out of his pocket and opens up doordash, sliding it into your hand. “my usual, please.”

you place your order to your favorite breakfast burrito spot– charged to his card, obviously. you recline and stretch your legs out across his lap. he rubs your foot with one hand. there’s nothing exceptional or different about the moment, but the easy domesticity is something that you still haven’t quite gotten adjusted to yet.

your partnership was born out of the fact that, on many levels, you two were the same. reclusive tendencies, a disposition to unhealthy coping habits, a therapist who tells them that they need to spend more time with people, not just patients– and, technically, your therapist didn’t say that you couldn’t find companionship with someone from work. it was born sitting out at the park across the street from the hospital. it always ended with everyone leaving, except the two of you– finding reasons to sit out there for hours before you accepted that you needed to get home. it was his idea for you to come over that first night– drink a beer, watch a little tv, before you would make the short walk to your place. one night became two, walking back to your place become crashing on his couch. he struck gold when he looked at you with a little coy grin and asked, “you like to smoke?”

“like, cigarettes?” you had asked, incredulous.

“nah, not my brand of death wish. weed.”

“of course i do.”

abbot liked to say that he smoked to help the pain, and while you knew that was true… you could see it wash over him, relax him after a day that deregulated his nervous system.

then, smoking became long stares amidst the smoke. at some point, you had crossed his living room and slid up next to him and bit your lip and he couldn’t take it anymore, and he kissed you– his resident.

definitely wasn’t above board. but, assessing the risk… you spent every day making the most stressful, important decisions that a person can make. to choose to spend your hazy mornings with abbot is the easiest one that you make in a day.

and, what are they gonna do, really? you don’t know. hell– you don’t know if you care. you know abbot doesn’t care, because when you first voiced the concern, you got an actual laugh out of him. “don’t– you’re gonna make my stomach hurt,” he had said. “i give two shits what gloria has to say.”

“you hurting?” you ask carefully. your hand plays with the curls at the back of his neck. your eyes carefully drink him in.

“not now.” there’s a playfulness in his eyes– even if he was hurting, he has the perfect poker face. you’ve learned how to identify the cracks in it, though, the small tells that he has. the slight wince or the rubbing of his calf tell you everything that you need to know. but you can tell, right now, that he’s being earnest with you. “i feel fan-fucking-tastic.” his eyes follow where his hand goes on your leg. he massages circles into your thigh, up near the juncture of your hip. then, he brings it back down to your calf, then your foot once more. “how do you feel?”

“fan-fucking-tastic,” you echo with a lazy smile. “like i could smoke another.”

this gets a laugh from him and he grabs your joint box from the coffee table. “don’t gotta tell this old man twice.” he pops it between his lips. “gimme a light.”

grabbing his zippo, you push yourself up onto your knees. the flame from the lighter reflects back at you in his eyes as you ignite the end of his joint, watching him inhale. smoke envelopes you like a warm hug, and with it still pinched between his two fingers, he pulls you in to kiss.

it makes you laugh. thinking about your coworkers seeing the two of you like this. you think you’ve put on a pretty good front, all things considered– you don’t avoid each other during shift, but your interactions would never lead one to believe that this is what you’re doing in your spare time. in fact, there’s been a few moments of vocal sparring about the course of treatment for a patient. you loved those moments. you loved challenging and being challenged by abbot. you wouldn’t give any of it up, if you didn’t have to.

sighing into his mouth, your back arches until your chest presses against his. he extends his arm as not to accidentally light your hair on fire– you’ve seen that once or twice in the ER– but still pulls you closer with the free hand. he has this casual confidence about him when he touches you. he touches you like he knows how to play your body like an instrument– to his credit, he sort of does. you’re not overly experienced when it comes to love or sex, but one thing you know for sure is that it’s never felt like this. you don’t know if it could feel like this with anyone but jack.

he’s guiding the joint back to your mouth when there’s a knock on the door, signalling the arrival of your food. you move to stand up but he shakes his head, adjusting himself back into his prosthetic. “sit your ass down,” he says with that playful smile, sauntering to the door shirtless and beautiful.

you finish the second joint and then dig in. he says something that makes you laugh so hard, a piece of bacon goes flying from your mouth. that makes him laugh so hard he nearly keels over. by the end, the wrappers are tucked away in the take-out bag and you’re a giggling heap on the sofa.

it dissipates, and you lay on the couch with your back to his front. you’re both too tired for sex, tonight– and emotions aren’t running quite that high, either. that’s usually reserved for those particularly hard days, where the only way to break through is to pile into the shower with the steam and let him have his way with you– in his dedicated, steady, perfect way. today was a good day. long, but good.

love is a burning thing, johnny cash croons as the two of you lay there. you look at the ashtray, with the smoldering remains of the two joints, and you smirk to yourself. jack must feel you shift, because his hand travels up from your hip to your waist. “we should get to the bed,” he says into your neck. “don’t got black out curtains out here, and i know how cranky you get.”

“i do not,” you pout, but you really do get cranky.

the two of you push yourself up, the exhaustion starting to settle into your bones. you grab at your favorite throw blanket of his and sling it over your shoulder. he looks you up and down and his hand lands on your ass as the two of you make your way into his room. it’s all navy and cream, mementos from his life and his service, coloring in the picture of him. you yelp and smack his chest, which makes him grin and catch your hand, pressing a long kiss to your palm.

you brush your teeth, side by side. he tugs your hair back for you while you get ready to wash your face. you lean before him and help him out of his prosthetic, putting it in its designated spot in his room. when the two of you finally hit the mattress– after you drew the black out curtains, of course– he only has time to sling a heavy arm across your waist and tug you in before you’re both dead to the world.

#jack abbot x reader #jack abbott imagine #jack abbot fanfic #the pitt fanfic #the pitt fanfiction #my writing

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wosospacegirl · 29 days ago

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Legally binding - Part 5

Summary: Alexia Putellas didn’t plan to become anyone’s legal guardian. But a very determined 12-year-old with a forged Barça contract has other ideas—and she's already moved in.

Warnings: Y/n has her first family dinner ever; Eli is in love; Alba has a new best friend; Alexia plucks little girl's eyes.

Word count: 7.3k

A/n: first of all, thanks for the patience, second of all, this is a little different from what I'm used to writing, it's a bit melancholic and angsty, I hope it's not that bad

Eli had fallen in love with Y/n the moment she saw the girl.

The kid barely had to do anything to get the older woman's affection, which was weird to Y/n. She thought she always had to give something to get something. She thought she had to be a good, quiet kid to get more dinner at night, that she had to be well-behaved to not get yelled at.

But Eli wrapped her arms around Y/n as if she had known her for ages. She kissed her head as if she had been waiting for this moment, even though Y/n was a hundred per cent sure Alexia had been keeping her a secret.

Eli sneaked a lollipop into Y/n's hand when Alexia went to the kitchen to get Alba (who looked like she was on the edge of passing out) a glass of water. She asked Y/n about her school, and if Alexia had been treating her right, if Alexia had been giving her healthy food.

Eli was just naturally affectionate, instinctively caring and wholeheartedly seemed like a good person. Y/n knew why Alexia was so good to her–she had a good mom!

It had been maybe half an hour since the Putellas met Y/n.

They were in the living room, the adults sitting on the big, white sofa while Barbie was playing on the TV, even though no one was really watching.

Eli and Alba were too focused on the little girl doing science homework by the coffee table. Y/n was too focused on finishing her assignment fast so she could spend time with her new grandmother and aunt.

And Alexia... well, she was focused on helping the kid understand the different planets in the solar system while also answering her mom's and sister's questions about Y/n.

The kid had told Alexia she was hungry, so Alexia decided to order food from a Mexican restaurant–she knew deep down that she wasn't going to get much cooking done, not with the way Eli and Alba were interrogating her about Y/n.

Alexia answered all of their questions (with the patience of a saint). Alba asked her who the girl really was; Eli asked about how the girl ended up in her care, and so many other questions that made Alexia's head hurt.

Y/n, ever so helpful, chimed in from time to time to give her version of the story.

"She saw me giving an interview at La Masia about how every kid should follow their dream–"

"No!" Y/n said, lifting her finger, as if to make a point. "You said that every kid should have caring parents who would allow them to follow their dreams!"

"Oh, and let me guess," Alba said. "You chose Alexia to be your parent?"

"Yes!" Y/n said happily, proud of herself.

Alba looked to her side as if ready to tell the girl a secret, she playfully leaned in and said, (absolutely not whispering at all)

"Be careful," she warned, "she used to pluck my dolls' eyes when I was a kid."

Y/n looked absolutely terrified.

Of course, Alba would scare her kid in less than a second of them meeting, Alexia thought as she rolled her eyes, giving Alba a 'really?!' face.

Meanwhile, Y/n watched Alexia in absolute horror, as if she had betrayed her deeply.

"I won't take your eyes out," Alexia had to say at least five times before the girl agreed that Alexia had left the eye-plucking world behind. "I promise."

"That's what she told me after leaving my Barbie eyeless," Alba murmured, ignoring the way Alexia pinched her.

Their conversation was cut short when the food delivery arrived.

It was tacos.

And Y/n had never had tacos before. And oh, she loved them.

Her mouth was all smeared up with sauce. She was the first one to finish, but when she looked around, there was no more food. Alexia had only ordered one taco per person.

The girl didn't ask, she didn't look at anyone with her big, round eyes, but Alexia knew she wanted more tacos. So Alexia gave her hers.

"Here," Alexia said, handing the girl the half-eaten taco. "I don't want it anymore."

The kid looked at Alexia suspiciously. "No?"

"No," Alexia agreed, "I'm really full."

The kid looked at the taco in her hand, then at Alexia, and back at the taco. "You didn't poison it just so you can kill me and take my eyes, right?"

"Oh my god," Alexia groaned as she held the bridge of her nose.

"I have a very cool film to introduce you to, sobrinita," [niece] Alba said. "It's called Coraline, you're gonna love it!"

"Really?" The kid asked happily.

"No," Alexia rolled her eyes. "You're not watching that."

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"That's not a real answer."

"Yes, it is!"

"N,o it's not!" The kid furrowed her eyebrows.

"They kind of look alike, don't you think?" Alba asked quietly to her mom as they watched the two in front of them arguing.

"Sí," Eli agreed, "she reminds me a little bit of Alexia when she was young."

"She's cooler than Alexia, though." Alba teased.

"Don't be mean to your sister," Eli said. "Ok, you two, stop." Eli interrupted Y/n and Alexia.

Alexia shut up right away, and Y/n too.

"Let's all finish eating, sí?" Eli said. "I want to talk more, I have so many questions."

They finished eating.

It was weird, Alexia noticed. Everybody seemed so... at ease, as if their weekly dinner date had always been made out of four people, not only three. As if Y/n had always been there.

It made Alexia feel warm inside, the feeling of family, but it was dangerous. She couldn't allow herself to feel that way, not yet.

She had a big decision to make, one she wasn't sure was the right one.

Alexia cleaned up while the three girls chatted.

"Are you really an orphan, sweetheart?" Eli asked, looking at Y/n while the girl was sitting cross-legged on the floor, drawing with crayons. "Do you have any relatives left?"

"I don't think I have any grandparents… or uncle… aunts," Y/n said, drawing what looked to be a head on the paper. "Or cousins or–"

"Did your parents die?" Alba asked bluntly. "Or were you... abandoned?"

Alexia and Eli both turned their heads to Alba.

"Alba!" they said in unison.

Alba lifted her hands in surrender. "What! Sorry, I'm just curious."

Alexia bent down and covered Y/n's ears, who continued to draw. "Her mother left her at the orphanage when she was a baby, and her dad was never found, either."

The kid took Alexia's hands off her ears. "This is my story, you know? I was there."

"You were barely a month old," Alexia said.

"Still–" the girl said, giving her attention back to the drawing. "My heart remembers it."

Alexia pretended that those words didn't leave a mark on her. She breathed once, then twice, before putting her hands on the girl's shoulders.

"Hop hop," Alexia said. "You need to go to bed."

"What! No!" The girl said.

"Yes," Alexia said in a calm tone. "You have school tomorrow."

"But..." The girl scurried to where Eli was sitting and put her head on her lap. "I just met my family, can I please stay awake a little more?"

Family.

Alexia didn't know how to tell the girl that that wasn't necessarily her family. Not yet, not when Alexia still had doubts in her mind about whether she could really take the kid or not.

"Cariño," Eli said. "ete a dormir, vale? Mañana, si Alexia me lo permite, te llevo a tomar un helado." [Sweetheart / Go to sleep, okay? Tomorrow, if Alexia lets me, I'll take you out for ice cream]

"Really?" The girl looked from Eli to Alexia. "Can I, Alexia? Please? After school?"

Alexia didn't like it when the kid ate sweets during the weekdays, but she looked very happy right now and... Alexia wasn't sure if she had EVER had ice cream, so she nodded.

"Okay," Alexia agreed. "But only if you go to bed now."

The kid kissed Eli and Alba before going to hug Alexia, then she walked to her room.

Alexia stood frozen on the spot.

Y/n had never hugged her that way. They weren't very physically affectionate. Alexia didn't quite know how to be.

She just bought whatever the girl wanted and hoped the kid understood that that was Alexia showing she cared.

Maybe when Alexia gave her back to the orphanage, she could keep on paying for her necessities. If the State allowed it, Alexia would pay for her clothes, books, and evem open a bank account in the girl's name and put her on her own health insurance.

She was going to make sure that she was taken care of; she wouldn't completely abandon the girl. She wasn't a monster.

"She's really lovely," Eli said with a smile on her face. "I can really see how she was so drawn to you and–"

"Mami, I need to tell you something," Alexia interrupted.

Alexia's mom didn't take it well when Alexia told her she wasn't going to keep the kid.

It was late at night now. Alba had long gone to her house when she sensed that Alexia's and Eli's conversation was serious.

The kid was sleeping in her room–Alexia made sure to check if she was tucked in properly–and Alexia was receiving the biggest earful of her life.

Her mom wasn't this mad when she and Alba took a bus and went to Madrid on their own when they were 15 and 17.

She didn't fight with her when Alexia lost herself in the middle of her ACL injuries.

Even when Alexia got a secret back tattoo at sixteen, Eli hadn't been this angry. But this? This Eli was so much different–very angry, very mad.

"What do you mean you were planning on giving that angelic child back, Alexia?" her mother asked, walking in circles in the middle of Alexia's living room while Alexia sat on the sofa, looking up at her mom guiltily.

"Mom, I didn't adopt her!" Alexia said, running her hands through her hair. "I signed papers about a contract. The kid slipped a fucking adoption form in the middle of it and–"

Her mom stopped and looked seriously at Alexia.

"You do not cuss in front of me, Alexia." Then she continued to walk in circles. "I don't know what's happening to you. First, you become the legal guardian of a kid, then you stay a whole month without showing your face to me and your sister, and now you're cussing–what is happening?"

Alexia felt something tight building in her chest. She watched her mother pace; the judgment was so clear in every step she took.

Alexia didn't want to disrespect her mom, but her patience was wearing thin. It was like no one around her understood what was really happening.

"You want to know what's happening?" Alexia's voice started low, controlled. "I wake up every morning terrified I'm going to mess up. I don't know if I'm feeding her the right things, if I'm saying the right things, if I'm–" She stopped, her voice cracking slightly.

Her mom paused, but the disapproval was still written across her face. "Alexia, that child needs–"

"I know what she needs!" The words exploded out of her before she could stop them. Alexia shot up from the sofa, her hands shaking. "Don't you think I know what she needs? She needs someone who knows how to braid hair without making her cry."

Alexia looked at her mom, the vein in her forehead showing. "She needs someone who doesn't panic when she asks difficult questions. She needs someone who doesn't Google how to build a volcano for school's science fair at two in the morning! She doesn't need someone who feels like she's drowning."

Eli's eyes widened, but she crossed her arms. "So you think the solution is to give up? To abandon her?"

"I'm not abandoning her!" Alexia's voice was almost desperate now. "I'm trying to do what's best for her! She deserves someone who actually knows what they're doing–"

She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes, feeling the sting of tears. "Someone who doesnt forget her dentist appointment, someone who doesn't travel all the time!"

The silence stretched between them. When Alexia finally looked up, her mother's expression had completely changed.

"One day, my main concern was the squad call-up for Spain," Alexia whispered, her voice breaking.

"The next day, I was trying to figure out how to put a kid on my health insurance, how to enrol her in school, how to explain to her why some days I can barely take care of myself, let alone her."

Eli stared at her daughter, watching as Alexia's shoulders shook with the weight of everything that had been happening in the last weeks.

The anger that had been building in her chest moments before was completely gone now; it was replaced by something that felt like her heart breaking.

She saw it now–it wasn't that Alexia was defiant or selfish. No–she was scared.

Her oldest daughter, who had always been a perfectionist, who had always held herself and everything she did to a high standard, was now terrified that she wasn't enough for the little girl sleeping down the hall. That she wasn't going to give everything the girl needed. That she couldn't be what she needed.

Eli's expression softened completely. She gently knelt down in front of Alexia and took the hands that were covering her face.

"Hija, mírame a mí," Eli said softly. [Honey, look at me]

Alexia did just that, feeling her eyes filling with tears, but she didn't want to cry in front of her mom. She never did.

"You don't mean what you're saying," Eli said, her voice firm.

"It's late, and you're tired. I have felt like this when you and Alba were younger–like you two were responsibilities too heavy to carry, like you were too precious, that I couldn't do anything wrong to you, that you two would break."

Alexia gulped, trying to keep her composure.

"You know what I see when I look at you with that little girl?" Eli's voice was gentle now, all the anger gone.

"I see the way your whole face changes when she smiles, or when she seems happy. I see how you always make sure she's eating before you even think about your own food."

Alexia's breath hitched, but she didn't look away from her mother's eyes.

"I went to her room while you two were talking to Alba," Eli continued, her thumb stroking over Alexia's knuckles.

"Those purple curtains? The matching rug? That wasn't an obligation, mija. That was love."

A fresh tear rolled down Alexia's cheek. "She mentioned once that purple was her favourite colour," she whispered. "I just... I wanted her to feel like it was her space."

"And those shoes she's wearing?"

Alexia's voice was barely audible.

"Her old ones had holes. She never complained; she wanted to keep them. But I took her to Nike anyway and let her pick whatever she wanted."

"She was excited...She kept saying, 'Are you sure? as if she couldn't believe they were really hers, it was weird, because I feel like she deserves everything."

Eli's own eyes filled with tears. "Yeah? What about her hair? It's so beautiful, Alexia. Were you the one who braided it?"

"Sí, she used to cry every morning trying to brush it, or sometimes not brush it at all" Alexia said.. "So I searched on youtube how to get her hair done, and all that… it doesn't look that good, but it's the best I could do."

Eli reached up and cupped her daughter's face with both hands.

"Hija, listen to me. Love isn't about being perfect. It's about showing up. And you've been showing up for that little girl every single day, even when you're scared, even when you don't know what you're doing."

She wiped away Alexia's tears with her thumbs.

"You chose that girl the moment you decided her comfort mattered more than your convenience. You chose her when you learned how to do her hair. You chose her when you made her room feel like home. And she chose you right back."

"I don't know, mami, it's too much sometimes, a whole... kid," Alexia said.

"It seems to me, Alexia," Eli said gently, "that you chose that girl just as much as she chose you."

Eli sat beside Alexia, wrapping an arm around her. "If you choose her every day, then you are already a better parent than most people out there."

"I don't know how to be a parent, mami," Alexia said in a small voice that even she wasn't used to hearing from herself.

"You already are one, cariño," Eli said, kissing the top of Alexia's head. "You can't do anything about it now. Trust me, once you get a child, they are yours forever."

Alexia chuckled, but it didn't have much joy in it. "Is that why you're comforting your thirty-year-old daughter?"

"I'm comforting my thirty-year-old daughter because she's hurting and needs her mom," Eli said firmly. "You need your mom just as much as that kid needs her mom, which is now you."

She moved her arms from around Alexia to hold her hands instead.

"That's why you need to step up. You can't go on with the thought of giving her back when things get hard. She's yours now, Alexia, and things will get hard, especially because she's not like any other kid–she has a past."

"I was scared all the time when you and your sister were little. Terrified, actually. But I couldn't let you two see it because you needed a rock, you needed comfort, someone you could talk to.

That's exactly the person Y/n will need, and you already are that person. You can't just let your fear get in the way."

Alexia looked up at her mother, eyes still wet with tears. "But what if I, I don't know, what if I mess up?"

"Mija," Eli squeezed her hands, "that girl has already been through the worst thing that could happen to a child–being alone. You're not going to mess her up by loving her... you're going to heal her by showing up, by being patient, by letting her know she's safe."

Alexia let her mom's words sink in.

Eli understood that this was something Alexia needed to work through alone, so she gently kissed Alexia's forehead before leaving her apartment quietly.

Alexia breathed in and out, more times than she could count.

Her mom was right.

There was no going back with this kid. Maybe Y/n hadn't come into her life in the most normal way possible, and maybe it was the kid who chose her first instead of the other way around, but it didn't matter now.

The kid had been with Alexia for only a few weeks, but it felt like so much more.

Alexia just... couldn't picture her life without the kid.

If the kid were to be sent back to the orphanage, would she just wake up and make omelettes for only one person? Would she drive around Barcelona without hearing a kid saying random things in her ear? Would she walk right past a kids' clothing store without going inside to buy some winter clothes?

That was her life now. The kid was her life.

That girl had changed Alexia in only a few weeks, but it was enough for Alexia to create a connection with her, for Alexia to feel responsible for her.

Her mother was right. Alexia was scared to be a parent, scared to screw up, but being scared was also part of parenting.

Parents didn't feel like they were doing the right thing all the time–they feared for their kids, they felt unsure, they felt stressed, but most important of all, they felt love. So much love.

And love was something Alexia felt for that kid, deeply.

Eli was a good mom to Alexia and Alba.

Of course, there were a few episodes during her childhood and teenage years when Alexia thought her mom could have acted differently, sometimes she was too angry, too stern, but Alexia never felt not cherished or not loved.

If Alexia could make sure that kid felt loved, then half of her work was done.

That was what Alexia was going to do. She was going to wake up the next morning and treat Y/n as if she was there to stay, because she was.

Y/n had chosen Alexia to be her family, and Alexia was going to act like it. No more thoughts about keeping the kid a secret, no more asking the kid to lie about who was responsible for her.

Y/n was Alexia's kid, and Alexia was going to step up and act like it.

She was going to be like her mother–caring, always there, present. The kid deserved that; she deserved so much more, too, but Alexia was going to learn.

Alexia didn't need to be the best parent in the world. Alexia only needed to be the best parent for Y/n.

Alexia made her way to her own room. It was too late, way past her own bedtime, she had training the next morning, and she had to drop Y/n off at school before going to Barcelona's training ground.

The kid's room had the door closed. The kid never let the door close, said she was too afraid of the dark. For a second, Alexia thought about opening the door to her room and giving her a goodnight kiss.

But it was 1 am and Alexia didn't want to wake her up, so she walked right past the kid's room and lay down on her bed.

She knew the kid was going to find her way into the bed in the middle of the night anyway; she always did.

Alexia left a pillow on her left side, where the kid usually slept and let her eyes fall shut as well.

The next morning, everything was going to be better. Maybe she could take the kid to Barcelona, introduce her to everybody as her own.

The kid would like that, Alexia was sure.

And with that, Alexia fell asleep.

She just didn't know that the bed in the other room was empty, and that Eli had left the door unlocked.

When Alexia woke up the next day, she didn't feel pressure on her back, she didn't feel Y/n's morning kick into her ribs.

She was also completely covered by the duvet, something that Y/n always stole from her in the middle of the night.

Alexia opened her eyes and didn't see anything-or–or well–anyone lying on the spot next to her. Alexia frowned, thinking that was obviously weird.

Then she got up from the bed and knocked on her bathroom door. The kid had her own suite, but she said Alexia's water was warmer (it wasn't). She knocked once, but the kid didn't say anything.

Then Alexia knocked again. Still nothing.

"Y/n?" Alexia said, "I'm going in, is that okay?"

No response.

Alexia opened the door carefully and was met with her empty bathroom. The sink was clean, her skincare products were on the top shelves–she had put them there because the kid always found a way to get to them, and Alexia thought she was way too young to put anti-ageing cream on.

Alexia walked to her walk-in shower and noticed that it was dry, so the kid hadn't taken her morning shower yet.

Alexia didn't understand what was happening. She opened her phone and saw that it was Wednesday. It wasn't Saturday, it wasn't Sunday. It was a weekday, so Alexia couldn't understand why the kid wasn't in her room, ready to start the day.

Alexia put on her robe and walked right to the kitchen, expecting to find the kid there, trying to make breakfast for them. But once again, the kitchen was empty, and the TV wasn't playing the cartoons Y/n liked so much.

Alexia was starting to get nervous, really nervous.

"Y/n?" Alexia said out loud, to nowhere in particular. "Where are you? We need to go. You can't be late for school."

The house was silent, as if its walls were keeping something from Alexia.

"Y/n?" Alexia went to the laundry room. Nothing. Then she went to check the powder room. Nothing.

Then she walked to the kid's room. She didn't know why it was the last place she checked–maybe because, deep down, Alexia knew she was going to be met with an empty room.

The kid's bed was made. Nothing was out of order.

The dolls Alexia had bought her were sitting perfectly on the shelf, the science kit Alexia had gotten her for getting a 10/10 in biology was in the corner of the room, as if it were untouched.

Alexia walked into the kid's bathroom. She knocked on the door only once, but no sound came. For what felt like the tenth time that morning, Alexia was met with another empty room.

The kid's hair products were there, and her towel was neat, hanging from the hanger.

Alexia tried to breathe, but she couldn't. Her hands began shaking as she felt like her stomach was sitting heavy in her body.

"Okay," Alexia said to herself, "the kid is not here. It's okay."

Alexia quickly walked to Y/n's wardrobe, looking for her, then she looked under the bed. As Alexia feared, nothing, absolutely nothing.

Alexia ran to check the front door.

It was unlocked.

Alexia felt like it was getting harder and harder to breathe each minute; she realised the kid wasn't there.

She opened the door to the hallway and looked from one place to another–no one was there. Then Alexia took the elevator and went down to the first floor, where she met one of the security guys.

He was sleeping at his desk. Alexia woke him up with a scream.

"My kid, have you seen her?" Alexia asked, her voice shaking. "She's like this tall–" Alexia placed her hand right by her chest. "And her hair is kinda wavy but not so much, it's not straight but not curly either and–and–"

The man looked at Alexia as if she were crazy. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Putellas, what kid?"

Alexia started to cry. "M-my kid, she's not at home. I think she ran away or–or someone took her from my apartment! I don't know, have you seen her? Did she walk through here?"

"I didn't know you were a mother, Mrs. Putellas?" the man said, as if this was the most important thing that Alexia had said.

"I am a mother!" Alexia screamed, "And my kid is not here! Can you fucking check the cameras? Maybe–fuck, maybe she walked to the pool? She doesn't know how to swim!"

The man saw how Alexia was becoming frantic and opened the cameras, watching them carefully to see if he could find any kids. Alexia looked at the cameras behind the man, but she couldn't see anything behind her tears.

Her heart was pounding, her head was hurting, and she wasn't breathing. The kid wasn't there, the kid wasn't anywhere. Alexia was going to be sick; she felt the acid taste on her tongue.

She had never been so nervous in her life. No, she wasn't nervous, she was horrified, she was in panic.

"I think I see her," the man said as he watched the camera footage up close. "That's her? Small, very skinny?"

The man pointed at the child in the footage. It had very bad quality, but Alexia could see it was hers.

"Es ella! De verdad se fue? ¿Salió por esa puerta?"" Alexia said desperately. "Cómo que no la viste?!" [It’s her! Did she really leave? Did she go out through that door? / How did you not see her?!]

"Sh-she left at 1:15am, Mrs. Putellas. I-I was sleeping, I didn't see her," the man said, holding his arms up.

"How did you not see a fucking child leaving in the middle of the night?" Alexia asked angrily.

"I-I'm sorry!" the man started. "We aren't used to people in this building having kids; it's not something that security thinks about. Also, on your apartment contract, it says no kids."

Alexia felt like it was getting harder and harder to breathe with every second the Y/n wasn’t found.

The security guard’s face blurred in front of her, everything in the building felt too bright, too loud, even though it was quiet.

"Fuck the– apartment contract!" she snapped. "Where's Y/n? Where did she fucking go?" She stepped closer to the man, her vision filled with tears, her pulse roaring in her ears.

The man flinched. He held up his hands. “Mrs. Putellas–please–”

Alexia’s breath hitched. Her hands were trembling violently now, clenched into fists at her sides. She wasn’t thinking–just feeling, just reacting. The world seemed narrowed.

And then she blinked.

Alexia didn't remember what happened after that.

When she realised where she was, she was in a police station, the light too bright in her face, the seat she was sitting on too uncomfortable.

There was a little bit of blood underneath her nails. She didn't remember if she had scratched the security guy's face, maybe she did. She felt a heavy arm around her–it was her mom. Then she felt a hand on her thigh, Alba.

She was in front of a woman wearing a police uniform who looked important. Maybe Alexia could talk to her about her kid.

"Y/n," Alexia said out of nowhere, looking at the woman with widened eyes. "She's twelve, she left, and the last time I saw her, she had this pyjama, it had strawberries on it, and she accidentally burned it on the stove, so it had a hole on the left arm hem and–"

"Hija, toma agua, por favor." her mother gave her a glass of water. Alexia didn't want to drink any of it at first, but her mother made her. [Love, please drink some water]

"You have said that already, Alexia," Alba said gently, "at least five times. The deputy here has already written everything down. You are in shock."

Alexia gave the glass of water back to her mom. "I-I'm not in shock! I lost her–"

"Mrs. Putellas," the woman said firmly, but gently. "I've already written everything down. We have police looking for your child everywhere in Barcelona, do you understand me?"

The deputy waited until Alexia nodded for her to begin. "We checked the footage, and it seems like she left on her own. She didn't have anything with her in the footage. Do you remember missing anything from her room?"

"No," Alexia said, "she didn't take anything. Her bag was there. I give her money on Monday for her to buy some snacks at school if she gets hungry, she-she left those too. She-she didn't take anything."

"Alright," the deputy said as she typed on her computer. "My division specialises in troubled kids who run away and–"

"She's not troubled!" Alexia said angrily. "She-she's not troubled. I think she heard me saying about how I wanted to give her back–" Alexia looked at the woman. "But I wasn't going to do it, not really. She had been mine the moment we met, but I think–"

"You think she ran away because she thought she was going to be given away?" the deputy said. "Alright, we already have a motive."

While Alexia was drowning in panic, the worst fear any parent could feel, Y/n had already been gone for hours.

Y/n had been dreaming about how she was going to go to La Masia next week when familiar voices woke her up. At first, she thought it was the TV, but Alexia never watched TV, especially not this loud.

But then she heard her name, realising it was coming from Alexia and her new abuelita. [Grandma]

She frowned and looked at the alarm clock on her nightstand–it was late. Alexia was never up this late, at least that's what she always told Y/n.

Y/n sat up in bed, and for a moment, she thought she was back at the orphanage, hearing one of the nuns yelling at kids for trying to sneak inside the kitchen in the middle of the night.

Y/n's heart was beating fast now. She didn't like that, didn't like yelling, she didn't like loud noises–it made her feel scared, especially if someone was yelling her name.

The voices were coming from the living room. Y/n slipped out of bed, her bare feet silent on the cold floor. She usually forgot to put socks on; Alexia was the one who had to remind her.

Y/n tiptoed until she was faced with her door. It wasn't completely closed–she didn't like it when it was closed, it made her room seem too dark–but right now, the door being half-opened was the reason Y/n could hear whatever... fight? Eli and Alexia were having.

Y/n was confused. She never had a mom, but she thought moms and daughters didn't fight. They loved each other, right? Eli and Alexia–why would they scream if they loved each other? Was Alba there too? Was she also screaming?

The kid put her face out of the door arch. The hallway was dark, but she could see the light from the living room, and the voices were clearer now.

"What do you mean you were planning on giving that angelic child back, Alexia?"

Y/n's stomach dropped completely.

Giving her back?

Alexia wanted to give her back. No, that wasn't happening, the kid thought to herself.

Alexia had promised her she was going to keep her. Y/n had told her she was going to be good and wouldn't cause any trouble.

"Mom, I didn't adopt her!" Alexia's voice was loud and frustrated. Y/n was used to seeing Alexia stressed out, but she never saw Alexia angry, never saw her mad.

That was weird; it made Y/n scared. She didn't like that conversation one bit.

"I signed papers about a contract. The kid slipped a fucking adoption form in the middle of it and–"

The words hit Y/n like a slap to her face, and just like when she was at the orphanage, she felt small, she felt wrong, like she shouldn't be there, not here, not anywhere, as if she was a mistake.

She pressed herself against the wall to her room. Her hands were shaking, and she didn't know how to make them stop.

She wanted to run back to her bed and pull the covers over her head and pretend she hadn't heard anything, pretend Alexia wasn't saying anything, but she couldn't move.

Her legs were glued; she couldn't control her hands, and she couldn't control her breathing.

"She needs someone who doesn't panic when she asks difficult questions. She needs someone who doesn't Google how to build a volcano for school's science fair at two in the morning!"

Y/n's eyes filled with tears. She didn't try to hold them. She let the tears fall down her cheek, but she made sure to place a hand over her mouth so she wouldn't be heard, just like she did when she was younger.

The nuns didn't like the sound of children crying–that's what they always said.

"She deserves someone who actually knows what they're doing, not someone who feels like they're drowning."

Drowning.

Alexia felt like she was drowning because of her? Y/n didn't really understand what that meant, but it couldn't possibly be good, right? Y/n didn't know how to swim; if she were thrown in a body of water, she would drown too.

Was that what Alexia was feeling? As if she were thrown in the water without her floaties on? That Y/n had done that to her?

Y/n was trying to be a good kid. She didn't know how to be a good daughter, but she was trying to be at least nice. But maybe throwing people into the water wasn't something good kids did.

Maybe Y/n was bad, just like the nuns had told her she was.

"I don't know, mami, it's too much sometimes, a whole... kid."

Y/n winced when Alexia said that. She was always afraid to hear those words coming out of Alexia's mouth, that she was too much to handle. But what had she expected? She had tricked Alexia into adopting her; Alexia didn't choose her.

Alexia was thrown into this whole situation because of Y/n, and now she wanted out. It was her right, really.

If Alexia didn't want her, Y/n would do Alexia a favour and disappear.

That way, maybe Alexia would be happy again, maybe she wouldn't fight with her mom anymore.

The kid tried to take a deep breath; she tried to stop crying. But she couldn't.

She quickly closed the door and walked back to her bed, sitting on the mattress while letting the tears stream down her face.

She couldn't hear anything now; it was like the voices had stopped. The only thing she could hear was her heart and her cries.

The kid looked around her room, at everything Alexia had bought her in the span of those weeks she was with her.

All the toys, all the clothing, everything. None of this was hers. It had never been. Alexia had bought them out of compromise.

She had to do it because she was her legal guardian, not because she wanted Y/n to have those things.

Alexia had been trying to make the best of a bad situation, but Y/n could see it now.

Every kind gesture, every time she had made Y/n dinner, every 'how was school?' was just Alexia trying to cope with the burden Y/n had dumped on her.

Alexia was a good person. She wasn’t mean. She didn’t yell. But she didn’t love Y/n either. She just... had to take care of her. That was different.

Y/n wiped her face with the back of her hand and stood up.

She walked to her closet and looked at all the clothes Alexia had bought her: the Nike shoes, the Barcelona jerseys, the winter coats…everything. She couldn't take any of it. It wasn't hers to take.

But now, wherever she was going, she had nothing again.

Y/n couldn't stay with Alexia anymore; she couldn't keep drowning Alexia. If she left now, Alexia wouldn't have to give her back. She wouldn't have to feel guilty or make excuses to the social workers.

Alexia wasn't going to keep her either way. Now Y/n had a choice: she could leave on her own, or wait for the next morning until Alexia called whoever was responsible for picking up orphans who didn't work out with their new families.

Y/n grabbed her old sneakers from the back of the closet, the ones with holes. These were hers.

Alexia had thrown them away, but Y/n went back to the garbage can and took them back. She was glad she did it.

Then she took some crayons and wrote on a piece of paper: 'I'm sorry for tricking you. You don't have to give me back, I'll go back myself. Thank you for the food and for paying for school.'

She read it carefully, but she didn't know if she should leave it there for Alexia.

She decided it was better if she didn't do anything; it was better if she just disappeared from Alexia's life. She walked through her bathroom and crumpled the piece of paper, and threw it in the trash.

Then she sat on her bed and waited. She didn't have anything to pack; she didn't need anything.

She could get food at a store–she was sure if she asked for candy, someone would give it to her, right?

And if she needed water, she could go to the park and drink it from the water fountain.

She could sleep on that playground next to her school, as well, so she wouldn't get wet when it rained.

And her school... well, she was probably not going to study, since Alexia was the one who paid her tuition, but she could always go to Barcelona's library and read some books there.

Maybe her football dream would need to be paused for a few months, just until she had everything figured out.

She could try and find some work, maybe as a dog walker; that way, she could pay for the tuition at La Masia and play football and become a big star.

The girl was thinking about her plan when she realised that the voices in the living room were getting quieter, then she heard Eli leave, the door closing.

The next sound came from Alexia's footsteps in the hallway. Y/n watched her shadow through the door's crack; she stopped in front of Y/n's room.

Y/n held her breath, hoping Alexia wouldn't come in, that she wouldn't see her sitting there ready to leave. But then, after a moment, the footsteps continued to Alexia's room.

Y/n waited a few more minutes until she was sure Alexia was asleep. Lately, Alexia had been waking up in the middle of the night. Y/n wasn't sure why; she never asked. Alexia would question why she was up so late, too.

When Y/n thought Alexia was in a deep sleep, she stood up, took one last look at the room, said goodbye to her dolls, and opened the door.

The hallway was still dark and quiet. Y/n walked through the hallways, looking at the pictures hung on the walls.

They were mostly pictures of Alexia, Alba and Eli; some of them were Alexia with the girls from Barcelona.

Y/n wished, deep down, that Alexia would hang a picture of her there one day, but it didn't happen, and it never would happen.

She opened the front door as quietly as she could (it was already unlocked; Y/n was sure it was Eli who forgot to lock it) and stepped into the hallway.

The building was silent, just like Alexia's house.

The elevator was too bright, and Y/n didn't like that.

When the elevator opened its doors, Y/n took a peek at the security guy. She prayed that he was sleeping, so that he wouldn't see her, and he really was.

Y/n walked past him and stepped into the night. It was too cold, way too cold. She felt her body shiver. She didn't know if she should turn right or left, but maybe it didn't matter, since she didn't know where she was going.

Either way was fine. The kid decided to move forward.

She just knew she couldn't keep being this weight on Alexia's life. She was old enough to be alone, old enough to care for herself.

Maybe she was alone again, but it didn't matter, because this time, she had chosen it.

She didn't want to be a bother to someone as nice as Alexia.

She wished she had never shown up at her house, that she had never gotten a taste of what love felt like.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt so much.

a/n: yeah...sorry <3 Did I create another situation I have no idea how to fix? Yes, yes I did

Tag list: @footy-lover264 , @fortifyde, @naomigirmadefender , @neutraiise , @milkveed, @browercc , @ace-of-baked , @ikzzzya , @sky-the-trans-guy00 , @knight-16 , @wosohk04 , @evaissleepy13 , @papimapileon , @unpoppablebubbles @whiskeredshrimp-blog @goodloe-e @liloandstitchstan @s0ciety-cxv @dfwspky @karmajn @awosofavs @wosofavfanfics

#woso x reader #woso fanfic #alexia putellas x reader #woso x platonic!reader #alexia puttelas x platonic reader #legally binding

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bgwlsmahf25 · 1 month ago

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For Keeps

Pairing: Natasha x female reader

Warnings: reader gets upset; touch of angst; fluffy ending

a/n: just something small, a little angsty, a little fluffy! :)

Rolling over with a sleepy sigh, you reached out instinctively, then sighed again as you took in the sight of the empty space next to you. Natasha was still away on a mission but would be back later that day and you couldn’t wait to see her.

There were a few hours for you to kill before her return. Propping yourself upright, you groaned at the sight of the messy room and chaos around you. Clothes and papers were strewn across the floor, books half-open on your desk, with an abandoned highlighter next to them, its lid missing, and a towel hanging precariously off the back of your bathroom door. Natasha was the tidy one – always keeping you in check with apparent minimal effort – but when she was gone, it was like order left with her.

Still waking up, you reached towards your beside table for your engagement ring. The one that Natasha had slipped happily onto your finger just a couple of months ago. You still felt the butterflies every time you thought about the proposal – how she’d perfectly surprised you by getting down on one knee. How she’d asked you to be her wife.

But your hand only met wood and scattered clutter. You frowned, confused.

You patted the surface again, more frantically this time, pushing aside your phone, several lip balms, a mug from two nights ago – no ring. It was a large, oval diamond, set into a gold band with two smaller gems either side of it – and you adored it. A twinge of panic bloomed in your chest.

“No, no, no, no, no,” you whispered, already half-falling out of bed as you dropped to your knees. You shoved aside clothes, books, a pair of Natasha’s old socks, tearing through the mess on the floor, under the bed, under the dresser. It had to be here. You always took it off and left it right there before going to sleep.

Or had you?

Your chest tightened. You thought you’d left it on the nightstand. But maybe you hadn’t. Maybe you'd been distracted. You’d gone swimming yesterday with some of the team – did you take it off in the locker room? Did it fall off in the water?

Hopping around the room on one leg, you quickly pulled your clothes on and tore out of your room, heading for the pool. The compound was silent – most of the team were at a conference or away on missions. Thankfully, the world was silent from any major threats and the Avengers were being drafted in to help with SHIELD initiatives across the globe.

You checked every locker, every bench in the changing rooms, scanning for any glint of gold. Nothing. Swallowing your nerves, you kicked off your clothes and dove into the pool, wincing at the chill of the unheated water. Tony had recently installed a new system that heated the pool – it was extremely costly but he declared it was worth it, muttering something about ‘team morale,’ though you had no idea what he meant by that.

Taking a deep breath, you swam laps underwater, eyes stinging as you searched every inch of the tiled floor, fingers scraping along the bottom in vain.

No ring.

You surfaced with a gasp, blinking away frustrated tears. Your breaths came quick and shallow as you raced through all the possible locations of where it could be. Had it slipped off while you were drying your hands? Fallen behind your dresser? You were usually so careful with it. With a brief twinge of guilt, you wished you’d asked Natasha to keep the box it came in, regretting throwing it out. It would have kept the ring safe, and you wouldn’t have lost track of it so easily.

Dragging yourself out of the water, you slowly redressed and headed back upstairs, heart pounding, tears refusing to fall. It had to be in your room. It had to be somewhere, you thought bitterly. You couldn’t bear to imagine what Natasha would think. What if she believed you didn’t care? What if she – you cut yourself off sharply. No. Don’t go there. Not yet.

But the knots in your stomach only tightened.

A sudden stroke of inspiration came to you. Pulling off your damp garments, you changed into jeans and a hoodie, then pulled on the old biking boots that Natasha had given you. You’d recently re-visited the spot where she’d proposed because it made you feel close to her. Maybe the ring had fallen off there. It was a long shot, but you were willing to try anything.

Grabbing Natasha’s motorcycle helmet and your keys, you raced out the door.

***

The compound was quieter than usual when Natasha returned.

Too quiet.

She’d expected to find you hovering by the hangar doors like you always did when she came home – often barefoot, often yawning, pretending not to have been anxiously refreshing the flight tracker. But today, the corridor outside her room was still, the only sound her own footsteps as she made her way toward your shared space.

Her brow furrowed the moment she opened the door. Her kit bag hit the floor with a dull thud.

The mess hit her first—your side of the room had exploded into chaos. Clothes everywhere, drawers half-open, the bed completely unmade. It looked like a war zone. Not the normal lazy clutter you left when you were missing her, but frantic. Rushed. Desperate.

Something was wrong.

She stepped carefully inside, scanning the floor, the overturned laundry basket, the faint trail of damp footprints leading in from the hallway. There was a pile of damp clothing in the bathroom, dropped haphazardly in the shower tray. She recognised one of her old hoodies which you always wore when she was away. Her stomach twisted with a creeping sense of unease.

“Honey?” she called out softly. No answer.

Her eyes moved to the bedside table – yours, specifically. She glanced at the scattered items on it, then at the bare space where your engagement ring always sat while you slept.

Empty.

That wasn’t unusual – you’d normally be up at this hour, but given the circumstances and the explosion of mess and clutter in your room, Natasha knew that something was off.

Her chest tightened.

She crouched beside the table, fingertips brushing along the floor. Nothing at first. Then – something. A glint. Just barely catching the light.

Natasha reached further, her knuckles grazing the wall as her fingers finally closed around cool metal.

She pulled her hand back slowly.

There it was.

The ring.

Her ring.

The one she'd chosen so carefully. Oval diamond, gold band, the tiny side stones meant to represent your birthstone and hers. It sat in her palm like it had never been lost – like it had been waiting.

Natasha stared at it for a long moment, her jaw tightening. She wasn’t angry, not really. But the thought of you spiralling over this, tearing apart the room in a panic and then vanishing – without so much as a text – made her heart ache. She turned the ring over in her fingers once, then slipped it into her pocket.

She needed to find you.

And when she did, she’d remind you that she didn’t propose because of a ring.

She proposed because she wanted you. All of you – chaos, clutter, and everything in between.

Glancing around the room for a clue to your location, she noticed the absence of her motorcycle helmet at the same time that she heard the familiar roar of her bike outside. Confused and slightly worried, she left the room.

***

You pulled the helmet off, your hair a mess, your eyes red from crying. The ring wasn’t where you hoped it would have been, and you’d broken down crying at the very spot that Natasha proposed. Slipping your keys into your pocket, you leant against her bike, shoulders slumped, exhausted with the pressure of finding it before her return. Your eyes flicked to the landing pad and your heart lurched as you spotted the quinjet.

Natasha was home. And she was probably looking for you.

The shift of a footfall to your left made your head jerk upwards, noticing Natasha moving slowly out of the doorway and towards where you were standing.

“Where have you been?” she asked. Her voice was low – tight – but not angry. Just... tired. Worried. “I came home to an empty hangar and an empty bed. The room looks like a war zone. What’s going on?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. Looked down at your feet. “I – I…” You were out of excuses and didn’t know what to say to her to explain the chaos you’d left behind you.

She took a step toward you. “Are you avoiding me?”

You nodded, throat thick.

“Why?” She took another step.

You swallowed hard, blinking fast. “I – I lost the ring.”

She stilled.

Your voice cracked as the words spilled out. “I took it off last night before bed, and this morning it was just... gone. I tore the room apart. I checked the pool. The changing rooms. The laundry room. Everything. And I couldn’t find it. And I thought – thought that…” Your breath hitched. “I thought you’d be mad. That you’d think I didn’t care, or that I wasn’t ready. That I didn’t deserve it.”

You felt your shoulders shaking and wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly so small under her gaze. “I know it was stupid, I just – I panicked, Nat. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Silence.

Then, she stepped closer.

“I’m not mad because you lost a ring,” she said softly. “I’m mad because you were hurting. And you didn’t come to me.”

You looked up at her, lips trembling. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Natasha’s expression flickered, something vulnerable crossing her face. “You think I proposed because of a ring?” she asked, gently. “I proposed because I want to marry you. Not the version of you who always has it together. Not the tidy one. You. The messy, sleepy, stubborn, overly dramatic you that I fell in love with.”

You gave a shaky laugh, wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie. “I’m so sorry.”

She didn’t say anything at first.

Instead, she reached into her pocket and pulled out something small and shining.

Your breath caught.

“Looking for this?” she asked.

You stared.

The ring sat in her palm like a little miracle.

“I found it behind your bedside table,” she said. “Rolled just out of sight. Probably when you put your phone down last night.”

You blinked, stunned. “You – how?”

“I’ve lived with you long enough to know where things usually disappear to.” She gave a soft smile. “And I know when you’re running.”

You laughed again – a disbelieving chuckle. “You found it.”

“I did.” She paused. “But you’re still the best thing I’ve ever found.”

Your heart twisted.

Then she held out her hand.

“Are you ready?”

You blinked. “For what?”

She tucked the ring safely in an inside pocket, then picked up the second motorcycle helmet that you hadn’t noticed she’d been carrying. “I’m taking you somewhere.”

“Where?”

She just smirked. “You’ll see.”

And in that moment, you knew. She wasn’t just giving the ring back. She was going to ask you again.

***

The sea was roaring its slow, unhurried dance when Natasha pulled up by the viewpoint. You could see people heading out for the last surf of the day. They looked like specks against the vastness of the ocean.

Natasha kicked the stand into place and stepped off the bike, holding out her hand to help you dismount. You wrapped your fingers through hers and carefully swung your leg over and out, feeling shaky despite being on solid ground. This time two months ago, you had no idea what was about to happen. Now, it was different, but your body was still swarming with butterflies.

Slowly, she reached out and unbuckled your helmet, pulling it off and staring at you with an intense gaze that made you blush and turn your face away. She smirked knowingly and pulled her own helmet off, running a hand through her short red hair. She’d cut it again recently and you loved how fearless she looked.

“You really didn’t have to bring me all the way out here again…” you quipped, unsure whether you and Natasha were okay after the tumultuous, emotional day you’d just had.

She looked evenly at you. “Yes, I did,” she said, the corners of her mouth lifting in a small smile. “The first time I asked you to marry me, I caught you completely off guard. You were in shock for like… three hours.”

“I wasn’t in shock,” you mused, leaning on the railing and staring at the setting sun. “I was processing. There’s a difference,” you added, turning to look at her.

“Hmm.” Natasha chuckled softly, remembering. “I distinctly remember you saying, “Are you serious?” about four times before you then said yes.”

You bit your lip to prevent a wide smile from spreading across your face. “That was because I couldn’t believe you actually wanted to marry me.”

“I still do,” Natasha said softly, “even more so now. Come on, honey,” she added, reaching out and taking your hand gently in hers. “It’s me.”

You slowly turned to face her fully, winding your fingers through hers and looking down at your joined hands, almost in disbelief. When you glanced up, Natasha was holding the ring between you. No grand gesture this time – just quiet certainty.

“You still manage to catch me off guard,” you whispered, your voice thick and tears prickling at your eyes.

Natasha smiled. “You thought losing this meant you’d lose me.”

“It felt like I didn’t deserve to wear it anymore,” you admitted, scuffing the ground with the toe of your boot and chewing at your lip nervously.

Natasha let go of your hand and reached out, gently tilting your chin up so that you were looking at her. There was something unreadable in her gaze, but the level of vulnerability she was showing you took your breath away. This was your Natasha – no walls, no barriers.

“You don’t wear this ring because you’re perfect,” she said quietly. “You wear it because you’re mine. I want every version of you, honey – messy, anxious, loud, soft. I didn’t choose you because you’d never lose things. I chose you because I never want to lose you.” She gently took your left hand in hers. “So, let me ask you again. No panic, no pressure. It’s just us. Will you marry me?”

You stared at her, tears flowing, heart thumping and nodded furiously. “Yes. Of course, yes. It’s always a yes, Nat.”

With a broad smile, Natasha slipped the ring onto your finger again – slowly but surely, placing it back where it belonged. You sighed in relief at the comfortable weight on your finger. It felt like a missing jigsaw piece had just slotted back into place.

Natasha pulled you into a hug, pressing her forehead to yours and planting a soft kiss on your lips. You tucked your head into the crook of her neck and stared out at the surfers beneath the sunset, holding your hand out to stare happily at the ring on your finger. Natasha ran her finger over it, before slotting her hand into yours, your fingers winding comfortably through hers.

“I’m never taking it off again,” you murmured.

“Good,” your fiancée said, kissing your cheek. “But even if you do… I’ll still find you.”

#fanfiction #fanfic #natasha romanoff #marvel #marvel fic #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #nat x reader #fluff fic

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eatos-blog · 2 years ago

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#pay at the table #table side ordering system #order and pay at the table #restaurant point of sale #full service restaurant #restaurant management software #kitchen display system #self service kiosk #restaurant kds #online ordering system #restaurant pos system #quick service pos system #point of sale

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twisted-broth · 2 months ago

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Emergency Rendezvous

Introduction

TW: accidental drugging, aphrodisiacs (no actual smut yet but reader is v horny)

You swat Grim's paws away from the ingredients on the table for the third time while Crewel continued explaining the science behind your assigned potion. He grumbled impatiently, resting his chin on the workbench. With the hand not prepared to Throw Down, you copied Crewel's drawing of some kind of chemical synapse with little bubbles in between labeled "endorphins".

"What makes this solution so potent is the ability of our magic ingredients to act directly on endorphin-releasing pathways in the brain, encouraging the body's natural painkiller system rather than introducing an artificial one. This greatly reduces the risk of addiction seen in non-magical analgesics. While this potion is relatively low risk, and hopefully easy enough that even you pups can't mess it up, there is a significant overlap with nearby pathways that may produce unintended effects. I trust that I've trained you properly enough to thoroughly check the labels on your ingredients and weigh them carefully."

The moment Crewel ended his lecture, Grim was grabbing at the various powders and herbs. With barely a glance given to the textbook in between you two, he started haphazardly shaking the magical- and probably expensive- elements into a weigh boat on the scale.

"Grim! What part of 'read the label' did you not understand?" You reach for the bottle, but are too slow to stop Grim from tossing the ingredient into your cauldron. You sigh wearily, resigned to leave the fate of your grade in Grim's trigger-happy paws. You manage to double check most of the ingredients before they're added to the mix, surprisingly in the correct order. After over a year spent with your troublesome pet/friend/roommate/co-student, you've learned to adopt an "it is what it is" mindset.

When the concoction is finally done, you're honestly shocked to see that your potion is the same color as everyone else's. To make it even better, nothing exploded in the process! You swirled the blue potion around in the flask, admiring the iridescent tone.

"Good dogs!" Crewel congratulated the class, almost sounding surprised that nothing had gone wrong. "Since you've all signed your waivers, and the risk associated is low, I'll allow you to test your products now or save them for later. If you experience any adverse side effects, inform me at once. Class dismissed!"

You eyed the potion on the desk in front of you, weighing the risks it posed. A tap on your shoulder stole your attention, and you swiveled around to see Ace sporting his usual self-righteous smirk. Beside him, Deuce was curiously sniffing their own creation.

"What d'ya think, prefect? Gonna give it a taste test?"

You respond with a weary laugh, finding that the shimmer of the potion was becoming less and less appealing. "I don't know... I mean I don't really have any pain right now. I guess my back is a bit sore?" You reply noncommittally.

Ace rolled his eyes with a tsk. "Aw, c'mon! Crewel never lets us try the potions we make. I, for one, have a killer headache. Cough it up Loosey Deucey!"

Ace swipes the flask from Deuce's hands, ignoring his scoff of protest. With disturbingly little hesitation, he downs the potion in seconds and licks the stray blue droplets from the corner of his mouth. The three of you watch him with mixed expressions of anxiety and curiosity, waiting for the potion to take effect. After another minute or so, Ace's eyes widened in excitement. "Hey, it's totally working! Damn that's a lot better!"

"And of course you had to go and hog it all to yourself," Deuce grumbled, resting his head on the workbench.

Grim pushed your experimental product closer to you. "Well? Go on, henchhuman! Anything the Great Grim makes will be 10x better than those two."

You raised an eyebrow, highly doubtful of Grim's claim considering his disregard for proper measurements. You open your mouth to voice your hesitation, but the excitement in his eyes gives you pause. Well, Crewel did say the potion was pretty low-risk, even if you did make it wrong. And you suppose even Grim deserves some semblance of a win on occasion. With a heavy sigh, you raise the flask to your lips and down the concoction.

You're pleasantly surprised by how good it tastes. Not that you were really paying attention to the ingredients, but you just assumed it would be terrible. Instead, the faint taste of honeysuckle and lavender dances across your tongue, gracing your throat with a warm coating on the way down. You can trace the warmth down your chest and into the stomach, where it slowly dissipates throughout the rest of your body. Despite the pleasant sensation, you say with certainty that your back ache had gone away. Rather, you were distracted from the dull pain as the same warm feeling flooded and settled in your groin.

Either from the potion or the realization of your situation, a furious blush burned your cheeks and ears. It took nearly a minute for you to regain your composure and notice the voices of your friends calling out to you in concern.

"Y/n! Are you alright?" Deuce gently placed a hand on your forearm, trying to bring you back to reality. You gasp at the touch, quickly withdrawing your arm as though you had been burned. Noticing your friends hurt expression, you cleared your throat in embarrassment.

"Sorry! Just a different sensation than I was expecting. You did great Grim! It works really well." You laugh unconvincingly, already feeling a drop of sweat budding at your temple.

Ignoring the various expressions of concern and confusion, you stand up abruptly, nearly knocking your chair over in the process. You make quick work of gathering your belongings, using all your focus to hold onto your last bit of composure.

"Sorry guys, I forgot that I uh... told Azul I would help out at the lounge! It'll be suuuuper boring though, so you guys should go on without me. I'll catch up to you later!" Without leaving room for protest, you rushed out of the lab room, hiding your beet-red face behind your free hand.

Within minutes, you were urgently knocking on Crewel's office door. The sudden noise summoned two large black noses to the narrow gap under the door where they sniffed intently at your feet. From within the office, you hear Crewel call out for you to enter. The dogs retreat from the door at the sound of their master's voice, allowing you space to slip in and close the door quickly behind you.

Although Crewel initially only glances in your direction, he does a double take at the sight of your flushed face and sweat-drenched brow. Two lanky Dalmatians regard you with mild intrigue from their large bed in the corner, where they lay daintily on top of one another. A rare look of concern crosses Crewel's features. "Prefect? Are you alright?"

You stay pressed against the door, trying to distance yourself from the tempting scent of Crewel's cologne. Your hand feebly attempts to cover your nose and mouth, and you shake your head no. "O-our potion," you stutter, "I think something went wrong".

Continuing to test your self control, Crewel stands and approaches you, assessing your vulnerable state. He presses the back of his hand to your forehead to feel for a fever. To your continued humiliation, a quiet whine escapes you at the contact. His eyes widened slightly, but he quickly dawns a mask of professionalism as he retracts his hand.

"I see. Well, as I mentioned in lecture, slight alterations in the potion's formula can trigger alternate pathways which are also mediated by endorphins. One such pathway is the arousal pathway. It would seem that significant enough errors were made that your potion activated your arousal pathway, rather than the intended pain relief pathway". He explains the error matter-of-factly, returning to his desk.

Your jaw dropped in disbelief. Arousal pathway? Doesn't the universe ever get tired of playing practical jokes on you? The persistent throbbing in your core sent the clear message that it doesn't. You groan, burying your face in your hands in an attempt to disappear from the face of the earth. "Can you undo it?"

"I'm afraid the only inhibitor of such endorphins is prolactin, the neurotransmitter released after orgasm. Unfortunately, we've yet to artificially synthesize an effective substitute. Otherwise, your body should metabolize the potion in eight hours." You were appreciative of Crewel's calm and even tone. Even if it didn't cure your current predicament, maybe you'll be able to look him in the eyes again someday.

Making the choice to not dig this hole even deeper, you gave him a grateful bow and quickly departed. Your mind was swimming as you made a beeline for Ramshackle, hoping to make it home before your knees started buckling. At last, you shut the door to your quiet dorm building. Your heart pounded in your ears, though if it was racing from the speed walking or the overwhelming arousal coursing through your blood, you weren't sure.

In any case, your options were to suffer for eight hours, or to get fucked. Well, you would be fucked either way. Your legs finally gave out by the time you had crawled to your bed and curled up on your side. The pillow trapped between your thighs did little to reduce the pressure that consumed every thought. As you stripped down to your underwear, your trembling fingers and raging heart made it very apparent that you weren't in any state to be able to take care of this yourself.

Several faces flashed through your mind, innocent encounters with your friends being quickly perverted in your brain. With less apprehension than was probably warranted, you pulled out your phone and opened your contacts. It wasn't an impressively long list, but nonetheless you quickly found the name you were looking for. The voice of reason in your head insisted that you would never live this down, but it was quickly gagged by the larger majority of your brain that was begging to be fucked.

With shaky hand, you pressed the call button.

A/n: if you missed the poll, I'm hoping to make this a series (no promises). Either way, the first victim will be Leona 😮‍💨

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