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whisperofaflame · 2 months ago

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♡ Collision Course ♡

Chapter 16: I don't know who I am, when I am with you

WandaNat x [innocent, femme] reader

Collision Course – Masterlist Link to full fic (so far) on AO3

Chapter Summary: The three of you sit down together, to discuss your wellbeing and needs. After the intensity of talking about your feelings, Wanda and Natasha make sure to take extra care of you.

Word count: 8.9k (y'all deserve a long one after waiting for over a month 🙈)

Featuring: slow burn, emerging D/S dynamics, mommy kink, praise kink, copious pet names, non-sexual intimacy (but also with hints of sexual feelings at times), suggestion of sub-drop, elements of aftercare, hints of age-regression maybe? (You decide.)

Heads Up: This chapter contains passing reference (literally blink and you'll miss it) to self injury and disordered eating thoughts.

A/N: I am so, so sorry for the ridiculously long wait for this chapter. The last month has been insane. I've been super busy in my personal life, so it was a challenge finding time to think about the story, let alone write. Plus, I was struck by ADHD burnout (a long time coming, I suppose) and the worst bout of writer's block I've had in a long, long time. Anyway, writing has been hard, but it's finally here. Thank you to everyone who has waited for this, and to those of you who have left lovely comments and asks about Collision Course. Even if I don't reply straight away, please know that every one warms my heart and gives me a little boost, pushing me a bit closer to the next chapter. I really hope you enjoy this one ♡

As you wait, you feel the cold begin to creep through your skin. It draws you into hiding on the patio beneath the balcony, where you curl up on a wide cushioned seat, draping a blanket awkwardly over your body and tucking your bare feet underneath.

Worries swell and crash like waves in your head, and you’re consumed by thoughts of being thrown out, driven back to your arid apartment and left to languish alone.

There is no distraction, no reprieve from this. There is only waiting. Only enduring.

———

You hear the door opening a little wider to your side, and you simultaneously turn and shrink into yourself, body balling up beneath the blanket as if this will somehow hide you from her.

Wanda.

There’s fear, but also something else. A swooping feeling at seeing her, which doesn’t entirely surprise you. You missed her today. And it’s silly; it’s only been hours and you’ve only known her for a few days — but this was the longest you’ve been apart since the accident, aside from sleep. You’ve missed her kindness, her warmth, her touch — but you’re also scared that these things will be withheld from you now, after everything that has happened today. Although, paradoxically, a small part of you feels like you’d deserve that. That you deserve some kind of punishment for what you’ve done, for how you’ve been.

But now she is there, sending you a soothing smile as she slips past the door. It doesn’t quite break through the icy shell that has crystallised around you, but it’s warm against your edges. Maybe it will melt you, over time.

“Hi sweetheart,” she greets you quietly, stepping towards you with care. Your whole body begins to shake, and you’re not sure if it’s a shiver from the cold or a tremble of fear. Wanda sits down on your left side, her face full of concern as she draws her legs up to sit cross-legged, facing into you. She studies you for a moment, resting her elbow on the back cushion and tilting her head to lean into her elevated right hand. Then, very slowly, she reaches out with her other hand. You watch it approach, trying desperately to slow your breathing and still your limbs. She places it on the rise of your knee, easily located despite the blanket that covers you, and she presses down, gentle but firm. Wanda doesn’t seem hesitant or unsure. It’s like she knows you now, knows her touch will ground you though you’re nervous.

She’s right. The small but assured link between her body seems to pull you to safety, like she’s thrown a life-ring out to you and is plucking you out from the waves. They still crash somewhere deep inside you, but your head is above the water now, and you can breathe.

“Nat said you’ve had a difficult day,” Wanda tells you softly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help, myšička.”

The water level rises then, pooling in your eyes. A gentle stroke to your knee with her thumb coaxes out the tears, which begin to trickle silently down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and it comes out in a choked whisper. “I-I didn’t… I wasn’t…”

“Shh…” Wanda soothes, and she reaches out with her right hand to carefully wipe the tears from your cheeks, and tuck a loose lock of hair behind your ear.. “It’s okay, honey. I know. You’re not in trouble.”

“But I lied,” you stammer out. “I sort of knew I might do it… I planned it. And I almost left.”

“Almost,” Wanda repeats, emphasising the word as her fingers find your cheek again, cupping it and very slightly brushing her thumb over the tear tracks. “But you didn’t, did you sweetheart? Instead, you found Nat, just like I asked you to.”

The words seem to seep through your skin; they trickle through your veins, finding the guilt and settling in the same space. Not fighting to overrule. Just there, a silent alternative. Maybe the day wasn’t all bad. Maybe you aren’t all bad.

“Nat only let me use the bike because I pressured her so much,” you tell her, feeling obliged to explain fully, to shoulder the blame. “I just… I couldn’t bear it any more.”

“Myšička, no one is in trouble. Not Nat; not you. Nat explained to me, and I know you needed it.”

There’s a hollow, sick feeling in your stomach, and you can’t understand why. Wanda has told you twice now that you’re not in trouble, but you still feel like there are invisible strings pulling at all your limbs from within, the tension aching and shameful. Your head keeps revolving back to her words this morning, and the way they hooked some unknown chain inside you, like you were always meant to be attached like this. God, you just want to be good. And it’s silly, but you need her to know that. To know that you intended it, and that you still intend it to be true.

You turn your head away from her, forcing her hand to slide off your cheek and instead rest upon your shoulder. You can’t say this while looking at her.

“I wanted to be good for you,” you whisper, and you count the red bricks on the wall beneath the staircase, mentally tracing the lines like beads of a rosary. The action taps into that ancient habit; it scratches the scab and unearths the urge to repent.

“And you were,” Wanda assures you, finding your chin and gently redirecting your gaze back to her. It hurts a little, to look at her. You want her reassurance so badly, but it feels sinful, somehow, to accept it. It feels like you are bypassing the confession, skipping past the penance. “I asked you to find Natasha if you needed anything, and you did. You went to her, and you told her what you needed. That was all I asked you to do, hm?”

It’s hard to respond to that, because technically she is right — that is all she asked you to do this morning. But it misses everything else: every implicit expectation that compels you in their house, in their presence. And how can you express those in words? Those urges, those obligations that don’t even seem to originate from a clear source… Maybe it’s just you. Maybe you’ve created this all in your head, a bizarre alternate reality in which your decorum would matter so much to them. Fuck, it’s so confusing. So you just blink dumbly at her, unable to answer at all. And Wanda simply smiles at your stupor, renewing the gentle stroking of your knee and making you feel a little fuzzy in the soft glow of her full attention.

“I’m proud of you for opening up to Nat, myšička,” Wanda murmurs, her hand brushing some stray hair behind your ear again, then moving behind your head to gently stroke the baby hairs at the bottom of your neck. A shiver runs through your body, triggered by the electric touch of her fingers and the cool sensation of her rings as they brush against your skin; the fluttering feeling finishes in your half-frozen feet, leaving little prickles in its wake.

Proud. It feels undeserved, but you bat away the doubt and cling to it like another blanket, desperate for the security it can offer you when the rest of you feels so evil, so unworthy. Wanda’s arm feels warm where it rest against your shoulder and her fingers brush against your neck. Would it be so bad to lean in?

You give in, and the slow descent feels so sweet. Like with every small yielding movement you are rejecting the bad feelings, and replacing them with Wanda’s gentle alternatives. It feels like the longer you stay here, the more you lose yourself. Every part of you is being rewritten. And you can’t always find it inside you to care. Her fingers respond to your movement, moving down to hold your right waist as you lean down to rest your head on her shoulder. Your body tips, bent knees rocking over to rest every so slightly against Wanda’s crossed legs. A part of you wishes you could curl up there, with both of your limbs tangling together. Wanda’s left hand has moved to cup the back of your right knee, and you imagine her using the hold to lift you into into her lap.

You close your eyes, breathing out and letting go of the last little bits of reserve. One more admission. Not from guilt, but from hope.

“I missed you,” you whisper, the statement barely audible as it slips from your lips and catches on the gentle breeze. But she hears it; you know she does, because she hums a little, the sound happy and soft, and she pairs it with a gentle squeeze of your waist.

“I missed you too, sweetheart,” she whispers back. “I thought about you a lot while I was at work, wondering how you were doing.”

“Really?” you ask, the question slipping out desperately, your need for reassurance no longer contained by shame or reason.

“Really, myšička. I even texted Nat at lunchtime to check how you were doing. And when she said you were having a hard time, I wanted to come right back. But I had two more lectures to give, so I had to stay.”

You sigh a little in her hold.

“That’s okay,” you murmur, “I understand.” You’re not sure why you feel the need to say it. To reassure her? That seems strange. She shouldn’t need to come back to you. She shouldn’t need to explain herself.

“You’ll have me all day tomorrow,” Wanda tells you quietly, giving you an extra little squeeze, tightening the embrace just slightly, so she doesn’t hurt your shoulder. “And then we can figure out the rest of the week, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper.

You stay like that for a few minutes, your breathing slow as you gaze out to the garden and feel her thumb rubbing gently at the sliver of exposed skin between the waistband of your shorts and the hem of your vest top, which rides up slightly because of your sideways lean.

“In a moment, we’ll head in and sit on the sofa, okay?” Wanda tells you, and you relax a little more when you hear her gentle direction said in such a soft tone. You love it when she tells you what to expect, what to do. It makes you feel safe. “Natty will join us, and we’ll have a little chat together. Just about how you’ve been feeling, and what you need from us. Nothing bad, little one, I promise.”

The prospect of talking — or that nickname, you’re not sure — pulls out a small sound from your throat. A tiny whine, luckily muffled by the way your face is pressed against Wanda’s shirt. You can tell that she hears it though, because her left hand strokes the back of your leg gently, reassuring you with her touch.

“After we talk, I think a bath would be good for you, darling. You can get into comfy clothes for dinner, and then we can just relax after eating. Maybe we could watch some more She-Ra, hm?”

You make a small sound of consideration, of approval, and Wanda gives you a little kiss on the forehead in response.

“Let’s get you inside, myšička. Your feet are frozen.”

You make no move at first, your fuzzy brain still catching up, still figuring out the fact that you have to move yourself, that Wanda can’t carry you. Then she gives you a soft pat on the back of your thigh. A reminder, a signal.

You sit up, wiping your eyes with your freed left hand, then using it to unravel the blanket from your body and place it on the side. Wanda keeps her hand around your waist for a moment, then she lets go and moves to stand. She doesn’t say any more, she just holds out her hand, and you take it without hesitation, letting her lead you back inside.

When Wanda reaches the sofa she lets go of your hand and gestures for you to sidle between the sofa and the coffee table to take a seat in the middle. Once you’re seated, she sits down next to you, on your right, and places her hand on your leg, just above your knee.

“I’m just going to message Nat,” she tells you, pulling her phone out her pocket with her right hand, “to let her know we’re down here.”

In reply, you give a small nod. You like that she explains, that she keeps you informed even when you don’t ask.

It doesn’t take long for Natasha to arrive. She moves around the left side of the sofa and then side-steps round to sit on the coffee table right in front of you, holding up some fluffy socks.

“Wanda said you might need these. What do you think?”

You look to Wanda, who smiles reassuringly at you. Then you look back at Natasha, her smile gentle, hopeful. Slowly, you nod.

“Yes please.”

Natasha’s smile deepens, and she places one sock on the table next to her, so she can use both hands to open the other up, bundling the fabric so it can be pulled on it one motion. Shyly, you raise one leg, and let her slide the fluffy fabric over one frozen foot. Then you both repeat the process for the other side. The gesture makes you feel a little warmer inside, more from her kindness than the extra clothing.

“Thank you.” It comes out small but Natasha looks pleased as she stands up, turns, and sits down on your left side, shuffling herself back until she’s situated in the corner of the L-shape and she can see you and Wanda without twisting. Then she lifts her legs up onto the sofa, tucking her feet in close and hugging her raised knees.

“I know you’re a bit worried about this, lapushka, but we just want to have a chat with you, now that you’re feeling a bit more like yourself,” Natasha says, but despite her reassuring words and Wanda’s gentle stroking of your thigh, you shrink back into the cushion behind you.

Do you? Feel more like yourself? You’re not so sure.

“Wanda and I like having you here, Y/N,” Natasha continues. “And we want you to stay with us for a while. At least until your arm is better, and you can manage things more independently. How do you feel about that?”

“I’d like that,” you say quietly. “As long as it’s truly okay with you.”

“It is,” Wanda reiterates, moving her left hand to the back of your neck, fingertips playing with your baby hairs again. “We mean it, myšička.”

“Can I give you anything in return?” you ask. “I mean, I feel bad that you’re feeding me, and I’m using your spare room… I could give you some money for food, maybe?”

“No,” Natasha replies, her tone blunt and unequivocal. “This isn’t transactional, Y/N. We don’t need anything in return — not now, not ever, okay?”

You gnaw at your lip. You’ve paid for yourself for years; even when times have been tough and your parents have offered to send you money, you have refused, and found a way. It’s partly a point of pride, but mainly it’s an obligation you have placed upon yourself. Your childhood problems and ailments have cost the world, cost your family enough. In a way, your financial independence is a form of penance. It feels strange, foreign — wrong — to accept help for free.

“In case you haven’t noticed, darling — we have more than enough space and food to share,” Wanda tells you lightly, leaning forward a little so you can see her playful grin. “We don’t want you to worry about that, okay?”

“Y/N, all we need from you is honesty, alright?” Natasha says, and you turn to look at her again, feeling Wanda place her other hand above your knee, as she continues to stroke your hair in a slow rhythm. “Just let us know how you’re feeling, and tell us if you ever feel uncomfortable. Can you do that?”

Tears prickle in your eyes. Honesty. It sounds so simple when she puts it like that, but they don’t know what’s going on with you, not really. They don’t know how you’re fighting the feelings and fearing the fall.

You’ve spent so much time, so much energy over the years trying to paste up your cracks and build yourself into something stable, something independent and unbreakable. The scaffolding they have erected to support you is chipping through the cladding, and you fear it will expose the structural damage within, the ugly joins and uneven stitching where you’ve made hasty, inexpert attempts to pull yourself back together. You’re afraid to let them see. And you’re scared that you’ll learn to rely on their help, and then lose them.

“Sweetheart, what’s upsetting you?” Wanda asks, her voice no longer playful. She sounds concerned, sympathetic. Her hand squeezes the flesh above your knee, and the action encourages the tears to flow.

“I don’t wanna be a burden,” you choke out, squeezing your eyes tight shut in an attempt to both stem the tears and avoid their gaze. “And I… I like being here, I like you both so much, but also I… I…” Your words trail off as your thoughts spiral and fail to align in your head. What do you want to say? What do you need to say? It feels like you’re spinning, flung about in space, and you need to still yourself, you need to ground yourself. The fingers of your left hand, which have been resting on your lap, tense into claws. When you can’t run, this is what you are reduced to. Small doses of acute pain, to locate your limbs, to reassert your position in space. Even this tiny pinch helps. It helps you centre yourself on the immediate moment, helps you prioritise calming your breathing first, reminds you to wait for the raging winds to pass, before attempting to speak.

They wait for you, their presence heavy at either side, but also equal. Stabilising.

You find yourself speaking, the words arranging themselves on your tongue.

“I feel like… like I don’t really know who I am, when I am with you.”

The statement surprises you, but you know it’s true. You hardly recognise yourself, at times. So many parts of your personality are gone, with some pieces left behind in your homeland, and others ripped away in the accident. The only parts of you left are needy, clinging. Not new, just unfamiliar, forgotten. And though it feels nice to lean into it, at times — especially with them — this isn’t all of you. It can’t be.

You release your grip from your thigh, and wipe your eyes. Then you turn to Wanda. She looks worried: her head is tilted, and her hands are still, frozen against the back of your head and you right leg. When you look into her eyes, you notice that they look a little more shiny than usual. Have you made her upset?

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly, voice panicked and trembling. “I don’t mean to… I’m sorry.”

“You’re not a burden,” Natasha’s voice assures you. “And it’s okay to share how you’re feeling with us. It’s important.”

Reluctantly — because you really want to see her, and make sure she’s okay — you turn away from Wanda, and look to Natasha. She looks serious, and her arms move to cross over her chest, then loosen, and fall to her lap again.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” She asks, then she pauses, her jaw tightening ever so slightly. One of her eyebrows lifts quizzically as she adds another question. "Or anything you want us to stop doing?”

You look down to your lap again. You don’t want them to stop being that special kind of soft with you, even if it would probably resolve all the confusing feelings it brings. You just maybe need an outlet. A way to balance it out with other pieces of yourself. A way to remind you — and perhaps remind them — that you’re still yourself; still smart and strong and capable.

“You don’t need to stop anything,” you whisper, feeling your cheeks blush at your answer, and all it entails. The admission that you like them at their most gentle, that you like the hugs and the nicknames and even the slight hint of condescension which imbues their affection with an additional dizzying aura. At your words, Wanda resumes her gentle stroking of your hair, and she deepens the pressure above your knee. Like she was waiting for your confirmation. Like she wanted it.

“Okay,” Natasha acknowledges quietly. “We won’t stop anything. But we want to help, lapushka. Can you think of anything we can do? Or anything you want to do?”

You try to think, fidgeting with the hem of your shorts as you attempt to reorder your thoughts. But nothing comes. You frown at your lap, frustration building. You want to answer her; you want to supply an idea and please her. But you can’t.

Natasha’s hand finds yours, interlocking your fingers together. You look up at her, and she smiles gently.

“It’s okay,” she reassures you. “I can help with ideas. What about if we think about exercise first? Is that something you need?”

“Yes,” you whisper, grateful for the prompt.

“Tell us,” Natasha encourages, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. You nod, and take a deep breath.

“I need to get outside,” you say quietly, your words slow at first, but gradually gaining rhythm and confidence as you continue. “At least once a day, for a bit. I need the fresh air, and the movement.”

“Okay,” Natasha agrees, smiling and nodding in a way which bolsters you even more. “What else?”

“Sometimes I might need a bit more,” you admit, biting your lip briefly, but resuming your speech when Natasha continues to nod. “I know I should be resting, but sometimes I just get so overwhelmed, and when I do, exercise is kind of the only thing that helps.” You turn to look at Wanda. She doesn’t seem upset, like you feared she would. In fact, she gives you a little smile. She seems proud. It makes your cheeks feel warm again.

“Would using the gym help?” she asks you, and you nod shyly, grateful for her understanding.

“Yes please. If that’s okay. I won’t use it without your permission, I promise.”

Wanda nods at that.

“As long as Natasha or I can supervise, then it’s okay with me, myšička. But if you feel like you’re getting to that point, can you talk to one of us, please? I don’t want you struggling on your own, and reaching that point of overwhelm. We need to have other strategies, too.”

You nod, both embarrassed and touched by her request.

“I… talking is hard, sometimes,” you admit quietly. “But I’ll try. I promise.”

“That’s all we ask for,” Natasha tells you, squeezing your hand again. “Even if you can’t find the words, just find one of us, and we can be with you. We can go for a walk, or do something together to distract, if that helps.”

Your eyes fill with tears again, but happy, relieved ones this time. You’ve never felt so seen, so understood. So held.

“Thank you,” you whisper. Natasha smiles at you, her gaze so soft, so far from the stern demeanour you first associated her with.

“You said being busy helps,” she reminds you. “Do you want to go into college? Do you feel ready?”

You squirm slightly in your seat, a little overwhelmed by the direct question, and the reminder of your meltdown earlier today.

“I think so,” you breathe, biting your lip and looking down at your lap, trying to focus on what you want, rather than what you think they want to hear. “I think it would help, to have something to do. But I maybe need to start with just a little bit, and see how it goes.”

“That sounds sensible,” Wanda agrees, and her accepting tone reassures you enough to look up at her. “Darling, I don’t want to hold you hostage here, or force you to rest. I just don’t want you to overdo it, and hurt yourself.”

“I know,” you whisper, feeling small. Wanda watches you, breathing in deeply through her nose, then releasing it in a slow, silent exhale.

“How about you email your supervisor and see about rearranging that meeting?” she suggests, giving you a smile.

“Are you sure?” you check, and she nods. Her permission means the world to you, and you want her to know that. You wish you could hug her, touch her — but you have no free hand, and you can’t even lean against her in this position, as it would hurt your shoulder. So all you have to offer are your words, your smile, and your grateful tears. “Thank you, Wanda.”

She beams at you, and moves her hand from your neck to wipe your tears away with her thumb.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. When you have a time, let me know, and I can make sure to get you there.”

You nod, and your smile has to suffice as thanks this time, because you feel far too choked up with gratitude and relief to speak.

“Is there anything else you want to talk about?” Natasha asks then, and you shake your head. “Okay. We can leave it there for now, then. Thank you for talking to us, lapushka. We appreciate it.”

You feel your body relax a little, making you realise how much tension you were still holding. This conversation has been built up in your head over the last few hours, as some terrifying, earth-shattering thing — but it’s over now, and you feel better, not worse for it.

“Do you want to take a bath now?” Wanda asks you, and you nod. Words have escaped you. You feel so tired, so spent from all the emotions.

“Okay,” she whispers, cupping your cheek and squeezing above your knee before standing up and holding her hand out to you. You’ll accept it in a moment, but for now you turn to Natasha. Checking her face, checking for something. She smiles, and gives your hand a squeeze.

“It’s okay, lapushka,” she reassures you softly. “You go with Wanda, and I’ll finish getting dinner ready. When you’re ready, we can eat at the table, and then come down here to watch some TV before bed. Does that sound okay?”

You nod silently, your lips quirking up into a small smile of relief. You didn’t know what you needed, when you looked to her. But whatever it was, she gave it to you.

Natasha lifts your hand to her lips, and gives it a little kiss.

“Go on, kroshka moya. I’ll see you soon.”

She moves your hand to Wanda’s, facilitating an easy transfer. Wanda helps you stand, guiding you out the narrow channel between the sofa and the table, then out the living room and up the stairs.

Together, you walk all the way to your room, where Wanda begins to speak to you. But her words sound muffled, like you’re underwater, and you blink at her, lost in a daze. Wanda just smiles adoringly at you, then guides you to sit on the end of your bed. From there, you watch her find clothes for you, taking them out the drawers. She builds a little bundle, then returns to you and guides you back out, back down the stairs, through her bedroom and into the bathroom.

It takes a while for your brain to catch up to the movement, to the changes. You watch the water flowing out the taps, mesmerised and missing Wanda’s words. She captures your attention with a hand cupped under your chin, gently turning your head to look at her.

“Myšička?”

You watch her lips move, unable to find meaning in the muffled sound. But you feel her. Taking your hand and squeezing it. Brushing her thumb over your cheek. Her touch, pulling you back to her.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” she asks you, her expression wavering between worry and something else, something almost… pleased.

“Wanda…?” you whisper, wanting her closer, but unsure how to say it. Your lips wobble with the effort, but you can’t produce the words.

“I’m here,” she tells you, looking deep into your eyes, like she’s searching to find out what it is that you want to say.

Everything feels so heavy, and you just want her to take the weight from you, to hold you in her arms and make everything feel better. Your head droops and leans into her, falling to rest on her shoulder, face turning into her neck. Wanda’s arms waste no time in moving to embrace you. Even without words, she knows what you need.

“It’s okay, little one,” she soothes you, as you whimper in her skin. “You’re safe here. Safe with Mo… with me.”

Her words blur in your head, the sounds melting together, coalescing into something new. You’re too dazed to register it properly, but it settles there, the idea embedding itself in your brain. Stored in your subconscious. Saved for later.

Wanda rocks you slightly in her arms, as she whispers sweet nothings into your ear. You melt into her, your left hand finding her shirt and taking tight hold near the hem. Clinging to this piece of her, scared she’ll let go and set you adrift.

“I’m so tired,” you tell her, and it comes out in a sad little whine.

“I know, honey. Just let me take care of you now, okay? Let me do the thinking.”

“Okay,” you whisper, and the word feels like an exhale, like letting go.

It feels good to let her. It feels good to give in.

Wanda hugs you for a few moments longer, then unravels you from her arms, placing one hand under your chin, and the other on your vice-like grip of her shirt, stroking it and coaxing you to release her.

“Let’s get these clothes off,” she murmurs, smiling reassuringly at you, then moving both hands behind your neck, to release the sling. It’s no more sore than usual, but you feel so sensitive right now, and you wince and whimper as she removes it from your arm. “I know it hurts, baby; I’m sorry,” Wanda coos sympathetically, and it makes you feel a bit better, hearing her words. Just a little.

Wanda carefully takes your tank top off, sliding your good arm out, taking it up over your head and then sliding it bit by bit down your bad arm, which she holds carefully at the same right-angle. She has become your sling, your protector.

She sighs sadly, and you look up at her in worry, afraid that you’ve done something wrong.

“Oh sweetheart — I shouldn’t have let you choose this bra this morning. Your poor shoulder must be so sore from the tension…”

Your lip wobbles, and you open your mouth to apologise again, because you feel so awful, and it’s all your fault, not hers…

But Wanda’s free hand takes your chin quickly, and she presses her forefinger against your lips in a shushing gesture.

“You don’t need to apologise,” she tells you, her voice back to calm, rather than regretful. “I know for next time — I won’t let you wear it for the whole day. Just if you need to exercise, okay?” Her finger brushes down over your lips, and your breath catches a little as you stare up at her avid gaze, your eyes flickering down to her own lips, which press against each other in a very small rolling motion, then curl into a smile. You look away, afraid that she’s noticed your wandering gaze and the heat in your cheeks. “Hold your arm steady for me, please,” she directs you gently, and you obey, staring down and trying to avoid glancing at her chest as she comes a little closer to reach the bra clasp on your back. When she unlatches it, the relief is immediate. Your skin prickles in the place it has left, and you realise, too late, that you’ve been overstimulated all day, the tension of your sports bra a constant drain on your energy and resilience since Wanda helped you put it on this morning. All these things about yourself, that you never notice. The reminder of your uselessness pokes at you, the jabs of self-loathing so prominent in your mind that you barely register your half-naked state.

Wanda takes hold of your bad arm again, then reaches to turn the taps off. You glance over and see there is a thick layer of bubbles on the surface, enough to cover you completely once you’re in.

“Let’s give your shoulder a proper rest, tonight,” Wanda says, cupping your cheek with her right hand and tilting her head slightly as she speaks to you. “We'll leave the swimming costume, and the shower. Just a bath, and then I can get you straight into some pyjamas, hm?”

You blink at her, the words sinking in slowly, and meeting no resistance inside your mind. So you nod, and are rewarded with her smile.

“Good girl,” Wanda praises, making you smile back happily. “Can you take your shorts off for me, sweetheart? Then I can get you in.”

You blush when your brain catches up, but still you don’t feel scared or uncomfortable at the prospect. It makes sense, to save time and pain and pressure on your shoulder. Wanda’s already seen so much of you, and she’s never stared or acted weird around your body. So what does a little more skin matter, really? You trust her.

You move your left hand to the top of your shorts and tug them down, pushing the elasticated waistband down your thighs until it meets no more resistance and the shorts fall down to your ankles. You step out carefully, then push the fabric with your foot to meet the crumpled bundle of your vest top and bra on the floor, followed by the socks which you pry off with your toes. Your shorts have built-in briefs, so you’re entirely bare now, no fabric nor willpower left to hide any part of yourself from her.

“My beautiful, brave girl,” Wanda whispers, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your forehead. She keeps her gaze on your face, never straying to your naked body. It calms you. It makes it feel natural to be like this, with her. “Let’s get you in now.”

You let her take hold of your left hand and guide you to step into the bath. The water is pleasantly warm, not too hot that you’re hesitant to sink in. You crouch down and then sit, feeling the water lap against you and the bubbles press and burst at your edges. It’s a relief to be engulfed like this. Although the exposure was brief and Wanda entirely discreet, you still have enough grip of your faculties to know you ought to be embarrassed, even if you don’t exactly feel it branded on your skin right now.

Wanda moves to the shelf and finds a hairbrush, then returns to your side, crouching down so she’s not looming over you.

“I’m going to brush your hair out first, myšička,” she explains, her voice soft and soothing. You nod pliantly, unconcerned. She could probably say anything right now, and you’d agree.

Wanda brushes your ponytail first, holding the bunch near the top to prevent pulling. She works through the ends, then takes the hair bobble out and continues to tease out the remaining tangles, starting with small strokes at the bottom, then working up until she’s brushed it all the way through. You feel your eyes drooping, the repetitive strokes against your scalp lulling your deeper into the haze.

“I’m turning the shower on now, sweetheart,” Wanda tells you, and you just hum in recognition. You hear it turn on, feel the water splash behind you as she tests the temperature. “Okay. Lean back for me, honey.”

Wanda rinses your hair, then massages in the shampoo, making your eyes flutter shut in contentment.

“Keep your eyes shut for me, sweetheart, while I wash out the shampoo,” Wanda advises, before turning the shower on again and rinsing out the suds. You keep your eyes tight shut until you hear her turn the shower off, and feel her hand squeeze your left shoulder gently. “All done.”

You open your eyes and turn to see her. She smiles at you with such sweetness in her eyes. So kind, you could almost call it loving.

“Let me get your loofah, and I’ll help you with your arms and back,” she says quietly, standing up and walking away. You frown, your brain seeing her leave before you’re able to process her words, the panic overriding your comprehension. Don’t go, you think desperately. Don’t leave me. Wanda walks to the shower cubicle and slides open the door, reaching in. Her arms returns holding the pale-green loofah she bought you. Her other hand slide the door shut again, and then she turns back to walk towards you. Your body relaxes in relief, and she tilts her head as she approaches, her lips curling up as she considers you.

“Did you think I was leaving?” she asks you, her nose scrunching up with amusement as she crouches down at the side of the tub and gives your nose a gentle boop with her finger.

“Nuh-uh…” you protest, looking away and blushing at your stupidity. Wanda chuckles quietly, and you poke at the bubbles on the water with your left hand, embarrassment washing over you and spilling out in petulance. Wanda stops laughing then, and brushes her thumb against your cheek.

“I’m not leaving you, miláčik,” Wanda assures you, the mirth gone from her voice, leaving only her heartfelt words. “I promise.”

You breath out, the action halfway between a huff and a sigh of relief. Your hand settles on the surface of the water, your movements slowing and shifting from destructive to explorative on the foam.

“Will you let me wash your back and arms?” Wanda asks, the first real question in a while. She waits patiently for your response, clearly wanting an honest answer this time.

“Okay,” you whisper, after considering. You glance up at her, see her soft smile, then turn back to the bubbles. You’re caught between the realistic need for consent, and the desire for her to just take control — because it’s easier, then. You prefer it when you don’t have to think, don’t have to perform the charade of handing over your control every time. In truth, you’d let her control just about any part of your life without question. If she gave you a direction, you would follow it. Happily. When she asks your permission, it just draws attention to your yielding nature, and makes you doubt if she wants it.

Wanda moves to the end of the bath again, soaks the loofah in the water behind you, then starts to wash the back of your shoulders. It feels a little scratchy against your skin, but she’s gentle, and the warm water is doing a little to soften the rough texture. Still, the coarse sensation seems to awaken you, and unearths a niggling doubt inside you.

“W-Wanda?” you ask quietly, nibbling at your lower lip as you wait for her response. She stops what she is doing at once, moving back round to the side of the bathtub and crouching down so she can see your face.

“Yes, darling?”

“Is — is it weird for you?” you ask, voice wobbling. “Having to help me like this?” You try to look at her, but have to alternate between her eyes and the water, because her gaze is too intense, too attentive for you to meet.

“Not at all,” she tells you, and when you look back at her you see the worry has melted from her eyebrows, and her lips have curled into a smile. She reaches out with her free hand, cupping your cheek and stroking her thumb over your cheekbone. “Honestly, little one… I really like it. I like looking after you. I like when you let me.”

“Really?”

“Really really.”

You consider her words, watching her for a while, like you might see a crack in the act. But she holds your gaze, maintains her smile. She means it. You can see that she’s telling the truth. But that doesn’t mean that you understand.

“But… why?” you ask, struggling to accept it, struggling to believe that she’d want to do all this for you.

“Because I care about you,” she says simply, never stopping the soothing motions of her thumb against your cheek, “and I like to look after the people I care about, myšička, and make them feel safe, and happy.” She studies you as you take this in. “Do you like it when I look after you?”

You blush, because the answer is obvious, and yet she wants you to say it.

“Yes,” you whisper shyly, holding her gaze even though you want to hide. Wanda smiles.

“Then that’s all that matters,” she says quietly. “Okay?”

You nod in her hold, and she leans forward and presses a kiss against your forehead.

“Good girl.”

And with that, she moves to the end of the tub again, and continues to wash your back. You slide your feet towards your body, raising your knees and pressing them together. Beneath the water, you ache.

Wanda washes your arms and carefully wipes your underarms, then hands the loofah to you and directs you to wash yourself while she readies the towel. You do, blushing and staring resolutely down at the water, feeling thankful for the staying power of the bubbles tonight. Once you’ve cleaned yourself all over — as much as you can, with one arm available for use and one pinned painfully beneath your chest — you squeeze out the loofah, and place it on the rim of the tub.

“Finished?” Wanda asks, and you nod shyly. She smiles, and raises the towel with both hands, ready to cover you. “Can you stand by yourself?”

You nod again, glad she’s allowing you to do so, and preparing to preserve your dignity as swiftly as possible when you rise. With your left hand pressing against the rim, you push yourself up to stand, and let Wanda wrap the towel around your body, placing it over your right shoulder and under your left armpit, to keep your bad arm safely compressed and your good arm free.

“Not too tight?” she checks, and you shake your head. “Alright, let’s get you out safely.” She keeps hold of the towel with one hand, and takes your free hand in her other, helping you step out onto the bathmat. The change in temperature makes you shiver, and Wanda, noticing, doesn’t waste any time in trying to get you dry. She’s careful of your arm and she makes sure not to linger too long or too close in certain areas, but overall she’s clinical and efficient. When she’s done, she rearranges the towel in the same way, so she can clasp it together at your front with one hand. She leans down to pick up the socks from the floor, then gives you a gentle tug with the towel, moving you two steps towards the shelf to add the bundle of clean clothes she picked out to the pair of socks in her hand. The she leads you towards the door, out into her bedroom, where she gently guides you to sit on the edge of her bed, and moves your left hand to replace her grip of the towel. You stare at her expectantly, brain completely blank and waiting for instructions. Your hair drips onto the towel, and your shoulder feels sore from the strain of holding it up without the sling, but you can’t find it within you to care or complain. All you can think of is Wanda, because she crouches in front of you, sliding your dangling feet through the holes of your underwear, and gently sliding the fabric up over your knees. Then she does the same with a pair of pyjama shorts, and finally she replaces the fluffy socks from before.

“Pull these up, baby,” she tells you, giving you a little pat on your knee. Every time she uses that nickname, it makes you feel so flustered and needy. But it’s a nice feeling, somehow. You wouldn’t trade it for the world.

You stand up slowly, and fumble awkwardly to shuffle the underwear and shorts up beneath the towel. When you finish, she smiles praisingly and takes over holding the towel again. She readies the sling behind you on the bed, then holds up one of your oversized t-shirts and gives you a moment to process, before unwrapping the towel from around you and placing it down on the floor. She’s quick to cover you, sliding your bad arm through the sleeve then letting you wriggle your other in before slipping it over your head. The feeling of the soft, loose t-shirt calms you. You’re covered, but not compressed. After a day of emotional upheaval and physical tension, this is what you need.

Wanda carefully pulls your hair out where it’s been tucked beneath the t-shirt, then she starts putting your sling back on. It’s a relief when it’s over, and you can relax your arm muscles again.

“Now, my darling — I’m going to get changed out of my work clothes and into something comfy too. Would you like to go downstairs and see if dinner is ready?”

You stare at her. She’s worded it as a question, and it confuses you. If she’d given it as an instruction, you would have obeyed, albeit reluctantly. But she’s asked you, and your honest answer would be no.

Is that even okay? For your answer to be no?

“C-can I stay?” you ask meekly. Then, realising that this sounds weird and intrusive, you amend your request with haste. “Or — can I wait outside for you? Please?”

Wanda smiles, that nose-scrunching smile that tells you she’s happy, amused. She takes your hand and gives it a little squeeze.

“Of course you can stay, my love. Take a seat and I’ll be quick.” With her hold of your hand, she pushes you back a little until your thighs touch the edge of the bed. You sit, staring at her and mourning the loss of her touch as she lets go of your hand, picks the towel up from the floor and moves to her walk-in closet. When you look down at your lap, you feel that same ache inside. Along with a dampness between your legs, that you can’t entirely blame on the bathwater.

Wanda emerges a minute later in a plain blue t-shirt and light grey joggers, holding a small, thin towel in her hand.

“For your hair,” she tells you quietly, as she sits down on the bed beside you. “So you don’t get cold, during dinner.” She wraps your hair in it, then gently dries it off. At one point, you feel her chest press against your shoulder as she leans to reach the other side of your head. You bite the inside of your cheek, willing your body not to betray you, but feeling the warmth and the ache blooming anyway.

“Good enough, I think,” Wanda decides, standing up again and walking to the bathroom. You watch her walk in and hang the bathmat over the side of the tub, before picking up your running clothes. She brings them and the towel back to her closet, where you assume she must have a laundry basket. “Okay,” she says then, offering her hand as she approaches, “let’s go down and see Natty. Dinner must be ready by now.”

———

When you reach the kitchen, the table is already set, and Natasha is already standing up from her stool at the counter, smiling in greeting.

“Ready when you are,” she says warmly.

Wanda guides you to sit in your usual seat, but then she sits down on the chair at the end, not her usual place opposite you. Natasha doesn’t seem to bat an eye at this, she just rearranges the place settings, moving the plate, glass and cutlery from where she normally sits, to the space in front of Wanda. Then she sits down in Wanda’s usual seat, and smiles reassuringly at you. She doesn’t seem bothered by Wanda’s closeness to you. In fact, she seems happy. It undoes the knot of worry before it can tug itself tight.

You don’t feel hungry at first, and you expect to struggle through even the small plate Natasha serves you, but find yourself pleasantly surprised by your appetite, once you start eating. The food is good, really good, and it’s perhaps also going down better tonight, because you actually did a bit of exercise today. Whenever you look up, Natasha seems to be pleased. And though Wanda doesn’t draw attention to your improved appetite with her words, she grants you an affectionate touch every so often, conveying her approval with a stroke of your hair, or a light squeeze above your knee.

When you finish your plate, you nibble your lip and look up. Natasha watches you for a moment, still chewing.

“Would you like some more?” she asks once she’s swallowed. Her voice is neutral; her smile is soft and unassuming. You do want more, but there’s that familiar tug in your brain, holding you back. Natasha tilts her head, but her expression doesn’t change. You know she’s figuring you out, though. She’s good at reading you. Maybe even better than Wanda, at times. “You know, I gave you a small portion to begin with,” she says casually. “Just to see if you liked it. It’s okay to have more, if you want.”

You look down at your plate, thinking. Fighting.

“Yes please,” you say quietly, looking back up at her and feeling the tension ease in your chest as you breathe out. She nods, her face unchanged apart from the smallest little twitch at the left corner of her lips. A tiny, hidden smile. A smile she’s containing, so she doesn’t put pressure on you. Knowing that makes it seep in through your skin, warm like a hug.

After dinner, the three of you move downstairs to the sofa, and Wanda presses play on the next episode of She-Ra without pre-amble or discussion. You tuck your feet up beneath you for a bit, your left hand lifting to your mouth and the fingernail of your forefinger pressing against your lips until you notice the habit and move your hand back to your lap. You feel so tired but also there’s still that familiar, constant buzzing in your body that won’t still. The longer you spend around them, and the more comfortable you feel in their presence, the harder it is to hide. You cross your legs and shuffle back against the cushions. But that stance only lasts for a minute, before you have to try another, sliding forward to dangle your legs over the edge again.

“Y/N, would you like me to braid your hair again?” Natasha asks. You turn to face her, sitting cross legged in the corner and waiting patiently for your response. You nod.

“Yes please.”

“Alright,” Natasha says, with a smile. She reaches forward, and pulls a hairbrush out from the shelf beneath the coffee table. Then she opens her legs into a V, placing her feet flat on the cushions at either side so her knees can lift up and form a clear space for you to sit. She pats the empty spot expectantly, and you stand up, left arm curling around your stomach as you approach. You sit down, and she gives you a gentle squeeze on your good shoulder.

“Same braid?” she asks you, and you nod. “Alright. Just focus on the screen to keep your head straight. If it hurts, let me know, okay?”

“Okay,” you agree.

There’s a pause, in which you curl your fingers a little deeper into your waist, trying to contain the buzz, and the urge to move. Natasha seems to be considering something, considering you.

“Can you hold this for me?” she asks, holding something out in her left hand, and forcing you to unravel your anxious hold of your torso to accept the hair tie she holds out to you.

Natasha starts brushing your hair then, and you look back to the screen. You roll the hair tie between your fingertips, twisting and stretching it subconsciously as you tune back in to the episode. The combination of watching the show, fidgeting with the hair tie, and feeling Natasha’s fingers pull your hair into a tight braid — it settles you, muffling the buzz like a weighted blanket, until finally it fades away completely.

A/N: Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this, and I wish you well ♡

Taglist: (comment below if you'd like to be added to this) @nessheartnat ; @valerie-lexi ; @bishovapls ; @redheadsinmybed ; @electric-guillotines ; @naominanuq ; @alpalpym ; @dreaming-potato ; @snowazul ; @deathbylesbianwitches ; @queen-of-chaotic-surprises ; @loverluzer ; @methealt ; @theslutoflasignora ; @godhatesgoodgirls ; @absolutelyregal

#wandanat x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wandanat #f/f fanfic #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #collision course #marvel fanfiction

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nereidprinc3ss · 1 year ago

Text

weber's law

in which spencer reid comforts fem!reader when she's having a panic attack at the rossi mansion

fluff warnings/tags: panic attack lol, spencer is really cute and sweet my little perfect cutie pie angel baby, classic spencer info dumps bc they're pretty much his love language, established relationship, cheesy and sweet at the end a/n: this one is for my queens with panic disorders who are triggered by literally nothing and everything i see you have this ilysm

When Spencer had invited you to a small get-together at Rossi’s, you’d imagined a small get-together at Rossi’s.

And maybe that makes you a complete idiot.

Or maybe Spencer is just so used to FBI work functions that to him, this really is small.

But now you’re sitting on an expensive couch in a very nice house, and you’re surrounded by FBI agents who are all milling around and talking and laughing, and you’re worried maybe your outfit doesn’t look as nice on you as you’d thought it did, and you keep having very vivid visions of spilling your drink all over a furry throw rug that probably costs more than your rent does.

Music that could reasonably be considered relaxing or at the very least not objectionable plays over the sound system throughout the whole house and thus is inescapable—not that you’d get up from the couch even if you could, because Spencer is sitting to your right and he has his hand on your thigh and it’s the only thing that has until this point been keeping you from a full blown panic attack.

Maybe that makes you a complete idiot, too.

Regardless, you try to focus on nothing but the weight of his hand as it travels slowly up and down from knee to hip over the jeans you’re not so sure about, and the feeling of your breath coming and going, as slow as you can possibly summon it without passing out.

Spencer is laughing at something JJ is saying as she stands next to the couch with Will and you really like JJ but her voice seems so loud right now, and nothing is going particularly wrong but everything feels so, so wrong it’s scary.

All the buzzing tension in your body telling you to run away because you’re unsafe and at the same time locking you into place builds until you have to express it somehow. So you revert to an old habit—bouncing your leg rapidly like a rabbit thumping its foot. It’s not entirely conscious, but it feels better than being completely still. That is, until Spencer’s hand strays inward and cups just above your inner knee, where he begins fanning his thumb back and forth over the fabric.

“What’s this?” he murmurs, head angled toward you and voice low enough to not draw attention. You force yourself to plant your heel to the ground even though it worsens the feeling of gears crunching in your chest.

“Nothing. Sorry.”

That gets his attention.

Because of course it does. He’s always telling you to stop saying sorry so often.

His tone solidifies, still quiet but committed to this conversation now and no longer the whispery apparition of a quick aside.

“Why are you sorry?”

“I don’t know, it wasn’t—it’s nothing.”

You barely avoid apologizing again.

For a moment he doesn’t speak, just watches you—and you make the mistake of raising your gaze to meet his. He has that curious, analytical look about him, concern tightening his eyes and knitting his brow. He’s doing that annoying mind-reading thing again, and as soon as he actually sees your eyes, he’s figured you out.

“Do you want to go outside for a minute? Get some air?”

After examining his face for any clues that he’d rather stay in here, (not that you’d really know what to look for), you nod hesitantly. Spencer mirrors your nod and stands, holding out his hand for you to take as you follow suit after setting your drink on a side table (without spilling.)

JJ is now wrapped up in conversation with another agent and the two of you manage to abscond without attracting unwanted attention, which makes you feel slightly better as Spencer leads you deftly through rooms with high-vaulted ceilings and big windows and heavy, expensive looking oak furniture. It seems like you’ve been wandering through a maze when you arrive to a quieter part of the house and he opens a french door for you—which leads out onto an empty patio.

A cool breeze immediately sinks into your skin, and your nervous system is so hyper-alert that it gives you chills. Spencer notices the way you shiver and steps closer after closing the door behind him, his hand finding the small of your back immediately.

“You okay?” he asks, intentionally avoiding impeding your view of the sweeping backyard and the trees beyond. Sometimes focusing on something stationary is less overwhelming, but they’re so tall they seem imposing. Threatening, even.

But then again, everything feels threatening right now.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

Spencer seems unconvinced by your monotone—when you glance over at him he’s still watching you like you’re a puzzle to be solved.

“Are you sure? You can tell me if you’re not.”

“Why are you so convinced something is wrong?” you laugh, but it comes out too manic. You cross your arms. He looks pointedly at the motion.

“For starters, that. Often times crossing your arms is a subconscious way of comforting yourself when you feel defensive or threatened. And you could say it’s because you’re cold, but—” he pauses, reaching out to touch your cheek. “I can feel how hot your face is, and you shivered when we came outside even though it’s 71 degrees because your nervous system is overreacting to external stimuli. The leg-bouncing is also often indicative of an activated parasympathetic nervous system. Is me touching you okay?”

Again, you nod—unsure how to deflect when he calls you out so efficiently.

Spencer’s hand slides down to just beneath your jaw, where he rests two fingers. Each second that passes has him looking progressively more worried. You wish you weren’t quite so catatonic—the fairy lights hanging from the pergola shine through his hair and make him glow so appealingly you want to kiss his cheek.

“Your heart rate is really high, honey.”

That would be due to the sense of impending doom. Thanks for pointing it out.

But you’ve lost your words, and along with them has gone your sense of humor. All you can manage for a 30 second span is a meaningless shake of your head as you avert your eyes, staring at the sprawling carpet of blue-green grass soaked in night as each blade doubles with your tears.

“I think I’m dying,” you finally croak.

“Technically, we all are. Very slowly.”

Ah. There’s that social tact he’s so well known for.

“Spencer.”

“Right,” he kisses your cheek as you stare up at him, affronted, and pulls you into his chest. “Sorry. I was actually trying to be helpful. Changes in brain chemistry and hormonal activity associated with panic attacks change your perception of time and make things feel really fast which can contribute to feelings of anxiety. But in reality time is moving just the same as it always is. One second is always one second. Sometimes remembering that helps me to slow down. Not literally, of course. My gravitational pull isn’t great enough to have any discernible effect on the passage of time.”

You sniff, pressing your cheek to his tie. His words make your head spin, seeing as you hadn't been prepared for a lecture in psychophysics—but it spins in the opposite direction than it had been going previously. It's nice.

“Change your perception of time?”

“Weber’s law of perception. Stimulus sensitivity will increase proportionally with increased stimulus intensity. You’re only perceiving time to be going faster because your cortisol and adrenaline levels are making you hyper-vigilant and sensitive to all the markers of time passing.”

“Like what?”

Spencer hums, the bass of it a comforting resonance against your ear, and strokes your hair unhurriedly.

“Like… your internal clock. Your body measures time with your heartbeat, so when your heart rate increases, time seems to go faster. Also environmental cues, which lead you to understand that the world is not stagnant and thus is not frozen in time. Like the sound of the wind chimes…” he pauses, long enough for you to realize that indeed, you can hear the gentle, sonorous ringing and tinkling of steel chimes bouncing against each other. “And the wind itself, which is coming all the way from the Gulf of Mexico. Some studies actually suggest that wind direction can affect your energy levels and mood.”

It’s a gentle breeze more than it is full-blown wind. It feels cool against your hot skin.

Spencer’s hand on the back of your head, still rhythmically smoothing your hair, seems to slow down the passage of time as well. You focus on that, and the sound of the wind chimes and the breeze on your skin for a few minutes, until your breathing and your heart rate slow and soon you regain your footing in the temporal dimension, exactly sure of where you stand on Rossi’s patio and in your boyfriend’s arms.

“You tricked me into doing a grounding exercise,” you mumble into Spencer’s jacket.

“I did not trick you,” he defends, voice quiet to match yours. “I just wanted to make you feel better. Did it work?”

You pull away from him and he lets you, watching on as you sniffle and wipe your tears on your sleeves.

“Yeah, it did. Thank you.”

For a moment, neither of you speak as you gather yourself. He leads you by the hand to a cushioned hanging bench at the end of the patio, taking a seat next to you and gently rocking the swing.

“Do you know what triggered that?” Spencer asks, over the gentle creaking sound. You shrug, observing the dance of the fireflies in the grass.

“Nothing. Sometimes I just feel like everything’s wrong and scary but I didn’t want to tell you and ruin your night.”

“Hey,” Spencer murmurs, pulling you into him with an arm around your shoulder. “You are not ruining my night. I don’t want you to worry about that.”

“But all your friends and coworkers are inside, and you’re out here with me.”

He angles his head down toward you and you look up to meet his eyes, even warmer than the sticky summer night.

“I am. Do you know why?”

“Because I suck,” you sniffle, more hot tears rolling down your cheeks as you attempt to look away. But Spencer’s not having it. He encourages you to sit up again so you can look at him properly, before wiping tears away gently with his thumb. When he speaks, it’s in soft, soothing tones.

“No. I’m out here because if all my friends were inside having fun, and you were outside having a panic attack, I would choose you every time.”

You manage a laugh through the crying.

“I don’t know if that’s healthy.”

“Whether or not it’s healthy is an entirely different discussion,” Spencer smiles wryly, before it melts into something softer and more sincere. “All that matters is that it’s true.”

For a while after that, you simply lay your head on his shoulder. Spencer controls the speed of the swing with his much-longer legs, kissing your head and rubbing your arm as you admire the expanse of Rossi’s lush yard bathed in moonlight and the black silhouette of the forest beyond.

Eventually, Spencer speaks again, likely to make sure you’re not spiraling alone in your head.

“Can I tell you an extremely classified secret that I've been trying really hard to keep to myself for three days?” he asks, and the mischievous edge to his voice catches your attention. You hum in assent, already wondering what kind of information Spencer would have a hard time keeping to himself. It could be anything.

“Anderson is sleeping with Childers from Operational Tech.”

“What?”

Despite not working for the FBI yourself, Spencer and Penelope have you so filled in on the drama that you know exactly why that’s shocking.

You pick your head up to look at him like do not fuck with me right now.

His eyes sparkle as he nods.

“Yep.”

“Didn’t you tell me Childers was dating that girl in sex crimes?”

Spencer raises his eyebrows. The corner of his mouth twitches. You gasp.

“No! What? Does Anderson know?”

“I don’t know. I certainly didn’t want to be the one to tell him.”

“Wait—Anderson told you this?”

“Yeah!” He laughs incredulously at your complete disbelief. “People tell me things! I’m an excellent confidant!”

“If you’re relaying all of this information to me then you’re a terrible confidant,” you chuckle, still watery—but feeling light years better.

Spencer brushes your hair away from your face fondly, leaning a fraction of an inch closer.

“You don’t count. Telling you secrets is basically the same as keeping them to myself.”

“Basically,” you tease, angling your head up by a few degrees in invitation. Spencer says nothing, does nothing for a long moment—just studies you with soft eyes, continues stroking your cheek. When he takes too long to kiss you, you get impatient. “I’m still kinda anxious, you know.”

He smiles knowingly.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you nod, looking pointedly at his lips. “You should kiss me better.”

“I think that would take more than just one kiss,” he murmurs through a smile, leaning ever closer until your noses are bumping. “I think I would have to devote several hours to that. Maybe even a whole day.”

“How does tomorrow look for you?”

He’s laughing as he finally presses his lips to yours. The kiss is sweet and lingering.

“For you? It’s wide open.”

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

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enderlovez · 8 months ago

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Oooooo I have a Spencer x germaphobe reader where everyone knows how Spencer is with germs, which isn’t that bad. But imagine everyone’s surprise when they find out he has a huge crush like I mean in love with their coworker who is an extreme germaphobe (think of Ms, Pillsbury from glee) so she’s extra clean but he doesn’t mind he only has eyes on her so he tries to help her while also helping himself and she already has a crush on him but thinks he sees her as a patient in a lab even when he doesn’t but their feelings come to surface and they get a lil dirty lol angst, smut, and fluff thank u❤️

Germaphobe, Too

Spencer Reid x Female Germaphobe Reader WORD COUNT: 3600+ (yeah I got a little carried away)

Summary: You hate germs more than anything else in the world, and Spencer is so very much in love with you, so he's always trying to help you in any way he can — little does he know, that maybe you're feelings about the situation are a little bit different.

Content Warning: reader shows traits of obsessive compulsive disorder, germaphobia and germs, probably misinformation about germaphobia, NSFW content, reader is a freak, dry humping, reader bites Spencer a few times, miscommunication, Spencer likes boobs, groping, nipple play (sort of), unprotected vaginal sex (wrap it before you tap it), virginity loss on both ends, Spencer doesn't pull out, and I think that's it!

A/N I've never actually watched Glee so I went on a bit of a search-spree to try and find out how I would write this, so I hope I did it justice! Also, thank you so much for being the first person in my inbox, you have no idea how excited I was when this popped up, and I hope I did your idea justice!

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From the moment you joined the Behavioral Analysis Unit, everyone knew you were different — from the way you open doors with your sleeves rather than your bare hands, to how you scrub your hands raw after touching something that's not even really that dirty.

And it's not necessarily a bad thing that you're so conscious of these things, it can just be a little... difficult to navigate sometimes.

Take that one time for example, when you were helping out on a case! Morgan had no writing utensils on him, so without thinking, plucked a pen from the breast pocket of your blouse. To anyone else, it might not have seemed like such a big deal, but you were close to tears.

To put it plainly, you are a germaphobe. You're like a female version of their very own Doctor Spencer Reid, but on steroids, and somehow still a whole lot more sociable despite this fact!

Seriously. It's not to say they don't still see you as the strange new girl doing 'strange-new-girl' things, nor is it to say they don't frequently talk about you when you're not around, but they think you might just be the sweetest human being to ever grace the BAU.

Which is why it really shouldn't have seemed like such a secret, shouldn't have shocked everyone as much as it did, that Spencer was absolutely and irreversibly smitten with you.

At first, it was just little things like watching you from across the room with this strange look on his face — he was just watching the strange new girl doing 'strange-new-girl' things!

When he started spending more time around you than anybody else at work, and when it became apparent that he preferred your quiet company, it was just because you showed some similar traits to him, right? Nobody thought anything different, because come on, this is Spencer we're talking about here.

But in truth, Spencer is beyond mesmerized by you, the most beautiful woman he's ever met, and so kind to everyone even though they clearly treat you different to your other coworkers.

The poor man doesn't think he could ever admit this to you, though, considering he's a blabbering mess of hot skin and stutters every time he talks to you. So instead of further embarrassing himself (and giving Morgan ammunition to tease him for the rest of eternity), he shows his affection towards you in other ways.

Spencer himself is not a big fan of germs, so he can understand, to an extent, how you must feel most of the time. You've explained it to him before, while he was standing beside you at your desk, watching as you wiped the surface down with an antibacterial wipe.

"I know it probably seems like I overreact, but it's not something I can just turn off," you'd said to him in a whisper once. "I don't do this because I want to annoy people or make life harder. It's just... if I don't, I feel like I'll unravel."

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Sometimes it feels like the world is too loud. A stranger is screaming in your ear, you can't see them or touch them, but they're there; there's a bee buzzing in front of your face, but you can't swat it away.

How are you supposed to get rid of something you can't see?

You can't — it's as simple as that, but you can try you're very best.

As if sensing that your thoughts are headed somewhere unsavory, Spencer appears beside you on a rolling chair, as he does most days.

Out of all your coworkers, he's the only one that doesn't poke fun at you behind your back. That's how it's been your whole life, people testing your boundaries and teasing you for something you have no control over, so it's... a nice change of pace.

"Good morning, Spencer," you say softly, offering him a warm smile before turning back to your work. "How are you today?"

"Good—um, good morning," he responds awkwardly, smiling even though you're not looking at him anymore. You see it out of the corner of your eye, his little smile and his firetruck-red face, smiling faintly to yourself as you type away on your laptop.

You ignore how he completely dismisses your question, knowing he'd probably just say the same thing as always — 'Yeah, I'm doing great, thank you. As—as long as you're doing alright.'

He always gets so strange around you, and while you try your best to ignore it most of the time, it still irks you.

No, he doesn't join the teasing with Morgan and Jareau when they think you can't hear them, but he still treats you differently.

"I got you something," he says in a quiet voice, reaching into his bag and pulling out a book. You eye him nervously as he carefully places it onto your desk, using one finger to push it towards you. A tiny smile pulls at your cheeks when you see it's encased in a protective plastic film, but it quickly drops when you see what the actual book is.

'Overcoming Obsessive Compulsive Disorder: A Journey to Recovery' by David Veale and Rob Willson.

You peel the plastic away, tossing it into the little trash can under your desk and sanitizing your hands before picking up the bright yellow book, opening the front cover with a blank expression.

It's not like you aren't grateful he's trying to help, of course you're happy he cares so much. But a book isn't going to fix your problems, despite what he may think at times. And right now he doesn't feel like a friend, he feels like a doctor, and you feel like a patient laying on a lab table, vulnerable and stripped bare for the world to see.

For once, you just want to have a normal conversation without it turning into some kind of therapy session.

"Thank you, Spencer — um..." You voice shakes ever-so-slightly as you put the eyesore book in your bag. "I will be reading that tonight, that was very kind of you."

You know you'll probably put that book in a box and never look at it again. He doesn't seem to pick up on your unease, smile widening at your apparent acceptance of his gift.

"Actually," you continue softly, in a voice so quiet it's almost silent, head bowed forward, "I'm actually not feeling too well right now, think I might head home for the day."

The smile on his face falters slightly as you push away from your desk and stand up, packing your things away into your backpack. "Is everything — would you like me to drive you home?"

It's not unusual for your mind to trick you into thinking you actually are sick, but on the off chance that you really are feeling something, he doesn't think it's a good idea for you to drive yourself home.

"You know, about twenty-one percent of fatal car crashes involve tired or impaired drivers."

"I'll be fine," you reply blandly, though those statistics do alarm you mildly, stepping around him and walking in the direction of Hotch's office. "Thank you, though, Spencer."

As you disappear into the Unit Chief's office, Morgan give him this curious look from across the room, eyebrow cocked in question, but all Spencer can do is shrug, his own face twisted with confusion.

Usually when you get like this, there's some kind of trigger that sets you off, like a chain reaction of sorts, but right now, he can't for the life of him come up with something that might've set you off.

You're only in the office for thirty-seven seconds (Spencer was counting) before you reemerge, your head still bowed as you rush out of the bullpen, like there's something chasing you away.

"What'd you do to get Miss Sunshine all blue and teary-eyed?" Morgan asks mockingly when you're out of earshot. "She looks like you just kicked a fluffy little kitten in front of her!"

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

Spencer's never been to your apartment before — nobody on the team has, the only reason he's standing here now is because your address is on your information.

It feels a bit like an invasion of your privacy being here when he's not even supposed to know where you live, but Morgan was right. You did look like Spencer smushed a kitten under his shoe as you were leaving, and he couldn't in good conscience not check on you.

He reaches a tentative hand up, hesitating for a (very) brief moment before knocking thrice.

There's some muffled shuffling behind the door before it opens, revealing you, wearing a cream colored cardigan with delicately embroidered flowers on it. And while you're still neatly put together, there's a more casual air about you now, like you're more relaxed.

"Oh — Spencer, what're you doing here?"

Your voice rasps slightly, and when he takes a closer look at your face, Spencer finds that your eyes are a little red.

"I was just..." He pauses, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You seemed upset when you were leaving work."

You purse your lips and give him as once-over, then shift out of the doorway — inviting him inside? You close the door behind him once he's inside, guiding him towards the living room with a gentle hand on his back.

It's shocking, to say the least, that you're actually touching him right now, but he doesn't say a word.

"Would you — um — like some tea, or something?" you ask awkwardly, pushing him to sit on the sofa. "Or — or some water?"

"No, but thank you for offering."

You leave the room for a few minutes, presumably to make yourself something to drink, but come back with two steaming mugs, placing one in front of Spencer regardless of what he said.

Another couple of minutes pass where neither of you say anything, sipping on tea and glancing at each other every now and again. He's pleasantly surprised to find that you've used lavender tea.

Your apartment is very clean, looking more like a set you'd find at a department store than anything, but it's still so warm and inviting. You have a couple of candles lit around the place, and Spencer's fighting the urge to warn you about candle safety.

"I don't want you to try and fix me."

Spencer turns his head away from the tall bookshelf across the room to look at you, eyebrows furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

Fix you. What do you mean, he's trying to fix you?

"The book," you reply meekly, "I don't want you to try and fix me."

That catches his attention, the emphasis on that one little word — it's not that you don't want anyone to help, you just don't want him to help.

You must see the flash of hurt cross his expression, because you're rushing to elaborate, stumbling over your words.

"It's just that — um — I really like you, Spencer, and — uh — when you're giving me stuff like this..." You gesture to the coffee table, where the yellow book he'd given you is sitting. "I don't know, you kind of make me feel like I'm a patient in a lab. Something to be studied and prodded at and — and fixed."

"There's nothing about you that needs to be fixed," he murmurs, trying his best to ignore what you said — 'I really like you, Spencer.'

You place your half-empty mug of tea onto the coffee table and pull your feet up onto the couch, wrapping your arms around them.

"I wasn't trying to fix you — everything about you is perfect," he says, quiet and without thinking. "You just seemed so uncomfortable at work all the time, and I wanted to help you out."

"Why, though?" you ask sadly, a faint heat rising to your cheeks. "Why not just join in on all the teasing and mockery? It would be easier than dealing with me all the time."

"Because..." You raise an eyebrow at his entire face quite literally turns the same shade as a tomato. "Because I really like you, too. I didn't think about how it might come off, and I'm so, so sorry for—"

You hold up a hand to shut him up, leaning a little further towards him than he would have thought you'd like.

"Spencer, it's alright," you assure him, placing your hand on his knee, much to his surprise (and embarrassment). "You didn't need to worry, though — you're really the only person at work I spend much time around, and I'm not uncomfortable around you."

"You're... not?"

A soft smile graces your lips. "Not even a little bit. Not even at all."

Spencer deflates into himself, every inch of his his skin uncomfortably hot — this is news to him.

"That's a relief."

Your voice takes on a teasing lilt. "Why? Because you really like me?"

And just like that, his face gets infinitely hotter, but he gives you the tiniest nod, knowing that if he said anything, he would fumble.

"I don't understand why you're embarrassed," you whisper fondly, "I am the one who said it first, after all. You should be teasing me."

He might be the only one you'll accept it from, just like how he's the only person you'd ever accept physical contact with, the only person you'll ever trust enough to put your mouth near him, like right now."

Spencer has to restrain himself from physically recoiling in shock when you press the softest of kisses to his blazing cheek.

Your instincts are screaming on the inside, but if you're being honest, you couldn't care less.

This isn't a stranger, you assure yourself, this is Spencer, and he could never make you sick.

Spencer could never make you sick.

"Is this alright?" you ask as you press another slightly firmer kiss to the skin under his jaw, your voice dripping with something unfamiliar.

Unable to form a single word, Spencer nods, reaching to place a hand on the back of your neck, gasping when your teeth nipped at the sensitive skin.

It's a complete one-eighty from the shy, germ-conscious girl you usually are, but he can't find it in him to complain.

The girl of his dreams, the one who can't even bring herself to touch his hand at work, currently has her mouth on him, she's biting him, and his mind is in a frenzy.

"I'm not gonna freak out if you touch me, Spence," you tease lightly, lips fluttering over the space just beside his mouth. As if to prove your point, smirking against his skin, you take his hand in yours and settle it on the space just below your breasts — under your clothes.

Where you're not wearing a bra.

His mind reels and melts into goo at the feel of your bare skin against his hand, so soft and warm.

An embarrassingly loud whine escapes his mouth as you bite down on his neck again, sucking the skin into your mouth. His hand drifts slightly upwards, brushing against the supple skin of your breast and gently grabbing onto it.

Your breath hitches as he gropes at your chest, lips pulling off his neck with a little pop and head resting against his shoulder.

"Can I take your shirt off?"

Your question leaves him speechless, but he nods nonetheless, reluctantly letting go of you to help you get his shirt over his head.

The sigh of his bare chest has your mouth watering, and you want nothing more than to leave a trail of hickeys down his stomach, but first, you press your lips to his, hands threading through his hair.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs into your mouth, hands resting on your hips as you grind down onto him. "Absolutely breathtaking."

You tuck your head into the crook of his neck, whimpering as your hips wildly buck down on him. You've never been like this, desperate for the touch of another person, let alone a touch so intimate.

Spencer's grip on you tightens some, and he uses this new leverage to guide your hips, carefully pressing you clothed heat against the hardness straining against his pants.

"P-please," you choke out, arms wrapping around his shoulders, gripping him for dear life as he moves you.

"Hm?" he hums quietly, shifting the angle so he's rubbing right up against your covered clit.

"Please," you breathe out again, clenching around nothing. "Please, Spencer."

You're not even sure what you're begging for, only that you want — no, need more of this stimulation.

He seems to understand what you need better than you do, gathering your body to him and laying you on your back.

Your thighs automatically fall open for him, allowing his body to fit between them, one hand holding himself up. He presses himself against you again, drawing a desperate moan from the back of your throat as he works on undoing the buttons of your cardigan, letting the fabric slide off your body and pool at your sides.

The hand he's not using to support himself reaches for you, thumb brushing against your hardened nipple. The corner of Spencer's mouth twitches upward as you arch up against him, eyes screwed shut.

"You like that?" he asks genuinely, doing it again. You nod frantically, mouth dropping open, but no sound coming out of it.

"Yes," you pant, bottom lip catching between your teeth. "Yes, I like that — please."

"Please what?" His mouth descends upon your neck, fingers continuing their attack on your sensitive nipple, clothed cock still rubbing up against you oh-so wonderfully.

"Please... please touch me," you beg, unable to stop your hips from bucking up against him. "I need you to touch me, Spencer."

Such vulgar words coming out of your mouth. It shocks the man, but he complies, shifting his body backwards so he can pull your skirt and underwear down your legs.

The sight between them is magical — your folds glistening in the soft light of the room, you writhing in anticipation in front of him — and something he has, admittedly, thought about once or twice.

"Have you ever done this before?" he asks, running his middle finger through your slick and pressing down gently on your clit. You shake your head lazily, face screwed up in pleasure, a sight Spencer will cherish forever.

A strangled moan rips out of you as Spencer presses a finger against your hole, thumb rubbing soft circles on your sensitive bud, and enters you with little resistance.

"Neither have I," he admits sheepishly, pumping his finger in and out of you rhythmically, curling it until he finds that spongey spot within you that has you crying out his name and spilling over his hand.

"Two virgin germaphobes," you mumble jokingly, trying to wiggle closer to him again. You fumble with his belt, somehow managing to pull it through the loops, and toss it on the ground carelessly.

He helps you to push his pants down, just enough for his cock to slip out.

"Two virgin germaphobes," he agrees quietly, adjusting your bodies so you're both in a more comfortable position, sliding his heavy tip through your slick folds. "Are you sure—"

"I'm sure, Spence," you abruptly cut him off, running your fingers through his hair, subconsciously pulling him towards you. "Please just — just fuck me."

Spencer doesn't need to be told twice, slowly pushing into you, gasping as your warm walls suck him in, gripping his cock like a vice. He holds his breath, trying not to immediately blow his load.

You're writhing, gasping, clawing at his back, whispering his name out into the air, and it only works to make him more hungry for you. But he stills one he's fully sheathed inside you, giving you time to adjust.

"Does it — uh — does it hurt at all?" he asks in a whisper, directly into your ear.

"N-no," you gasp back, the small pain slowly morphing into one of pleasure. "It doesn't hurt, you can — fuck — you can move, when you're ready."

He doesn't think he'll ever be ready, with how tightly you're gripping him, but he still finds himself pulling out until only his tip is nestled in you, and slowly pushing back in all the way. You hum shakily, trying to press yourself closer to him as he repeats the action, then again.

Already so sensitive from your first orgasm, you know you're not going to last long with his slow movements, thighs clenching around his. Pressure grows in your abdomen as he thrusts back in, slightly harder this time, grunting into your neck.

"God, I'm already so close," you choke out, head thrown back, sounds you didn't even know you could make raking out of you. Spencer can't get enough of them, leaning down and catching one of your nipples in his mouth, gently sucking on the sensitive nub.

Without warning, you're spasming around him, drool dribbling out of your open mouth as you come, body going slack against the couch.

"W-where do you want me to—"

"Inside," you mumble incoherently, biting your lip hard enough to leave marks, tears building on your waterline. "Please, Spence, I want you to come inside me."

Your words alone are enough to have him spilling inside you, thrusts sloppy and unrhythmic. Your hum in content, clinging to him like a koala as he gently pulls his softened cock from inside you, rubbing soft circles onto the skin over your breastbone. It's comfortably quiet.

And then...

"Hey," you whisper in a tired voice, "you wanna go on a date with me?"

He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your hip. "I would love to," he whispers back fondly before standing up from the couch, "but first, we need to get you cleaned up and rested.

#spencer reid x bau reader #spencer reid x girlfriend reader #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #spencer reid x shy reader #spencer reid x germaphobe reader #germaphobia #fluff #smut #angst #enderlovez

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w1dowatrace · 3 months ago

Text

Good Luck, Babe

Chapter 8: Final Act | 3.6k

Summary: Not everything can be fixed. Some things are just broken beyond repair that even love can't fix.

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

Tags | Warnings: +18 angst, mentions of anxiety disorder, symptoms of some sickness, crashing out (that's it)

Author's Note: This series has now become a commissioned work.

⧗

"I will hurt her."

Was the only thing Wanda, your best friend said after you had come to her house with tears streaming down your face. You couldn't bear the weight of your feelings any longer and desperately needed to let them out and she is the only person right now that you could come to.

"That is so fucking stupid. Because clearly, she's jealous, Y/N with whoever your friend is. She's a fucking hypocrite, fucking some bitch's mouth then she's gonna get jealous of you having some coffee with a friend?"

"Chocolate drink." You correct hesitantly, thinking it would ease the tension.

"Yeah, whatever!" Wanda groans. She almost shouted, but felt guilty when you tried to move your head away from her direction. "I was looking forward to meeting up with you after your wedding," her voice was filled with concern as she continued, but you can still notice the irritation and frustration of your best friend, not to you though. "I wanted to catch up on everything and I didn't expect to find you in such a state. Everything happened so fast," Wanda said, shaking her head. "One day you told me you were leaving and getting married. I haven't even had time to process the fact that you actually got married. And I can't believe it's come to this."

"It's my fault," you said, your voice heavy with guilt.

But Wanda quickly interrupted, her tone firm and scolding as she stood to get you a glass of water. "Don't you even start, Y/N," she warned.

"I hurt her, Wanda," and there, you started.

"Then what about you?" Wanda's response was immediate and serious. "Y/N, she cheated on you." Your best friend just couldn't drop this fact out of the picture.

"I-I…I don't care I just want to fix everything," you pleaded hysterically, your voice shaking as you desperately tried to hold back your tears. "I thought we were okay…because we're doing fine." You continued, your words coming out in a disjointed, tear-filled stream. "Then she goes like that again. Everything goes down the drain again. I just want her to talk to me, to tell me what to do, how to fix it."

"What did she say?" from being upset, Wanda became cautious and considerate when you became emotional again.

A sob escaped your lips, and tears streamed down your face as the memory of her words haunted you again, reverberating through your mind like a cruel echo.

I wish you were dead.

The pain of those words stung your heart once more, making it harder to speak. And you very much don't want to add another stack of reasons for Wanda to fuel her anger at Natasha.

So you held back from speaking the words aloud. And your best friend knows you were holding back something…

"Do you respect yourself?" she now turn to start with you only avoiding that penetrating gaze of hers. "Because it sounds like you've lost sight of that. You can't keep letting that…" she trailed off, trying her damn best not to say bitch, "Her treat you like this. You deserve better and you deserve to be respected and to be loved."

"What are you trying to imply?" here you are again with the implying.

Wanda lets out a huff, she takes a deep, steadying breath, closing her eyes for a moment to collect herself. She doesn't want to see you like this—she hates it. But Wanda knew you well enough to understand that being blunt and straightforward wouldn't help in this right now. She had a reputation for being unwaveringly direct, but her harshness stemmed from a place of care. And clearly, you're in that state of being dumb, wait no, rephrase, blinded stings less. Clearly, you're being blinded that you're making excuses for Natasha's actions, even when it's gone beyond the point of what's acceptable, even when it breaks all the promises and boundaries you've set.

"Do you love your daughter?" Wanda began. She just had to bring out your weakness at this point and you could only nod and sob at the mention of your little one, you placed your elbows to your legs thinking about what your daughter could be doing right now. She might be looking for you at this moment of time, but you couldn't just go back in there—you just can't. Not in this state.

"Aliah is a smart girl, Y/N. Sooner and later she will figure things out." You bit your lip, your emotions heightened by thoughts of your daughter. Wanda's words hadn't fully registered because you were too emotional to think. Her intention was clear—she didn't want to provide the idea or the solution, she wanted you to arrive at the conclusion yourself because it is the only way.

The only way is for you to respect yourself that you'll be able to end things with Natasha.

⧗

"Wake up, sunshine. Let's eat. You need to go home now, my niece is for sure already looking for you. She's probably worried." You groaned, disoriented, as you slowly woke up on her couch.

"You slept on the floor?" you slurred when you saw some pillows and a thick blanket just on your feet.

"Yeah, had to sleep there I am afraid you'd do something." Wanda says, the sound of the utensils being prepared by her is starting to irritate you.

"I won't do something." You mumbled, harshly wiping your eyes with your hands.

"Sure, love. C'mon here."

"I missed your cooking."

"Sure you did. You okay?" Wanda asks as you almost fell if only you didn't lean yourself on the couch.

"Yeah, yeah, just my head." You say finally walking towards the small dining area. The two of you shared a silent meal together just like in the good old days, when you visit her home after you send Aliah to school. Before you could even take a bite, you felt dizzy again and you felt your stomach squeeze every organ you have there as if already refusing the food that you were about to take.

"Hey, Y/N. You okay?" Wanda panicked, running closely behind you as you rushed to the sink and vomited. She puts her hands on your back with a soothing rhythm as she gently gathers your hair up, holding it away from your face. "Is it anxiety again?" your best friend asks you worriedly. She knows about your condition—anxiety disorder. She had witnessed you struggle with it.

You were gasping for breath, your body straining as you fought to control your nausea. If your best friend was not on your back you would've actually fallen. Your chest was heaving with the effort, trying to decide if there was more to spew out. You ran your hand under the water to wipe your mouth and Wanda, quick to respond, quickly grabbed a paper towel for you.

"I…I don't know. Yeah…I think." You mumbled, still feeling hazy, unsure of what to say.

Wanda paused, her gaze lingering on you intently, as if something had just flashed through her mind. But she snapped back to the present when you started cleaning up the sink, running the water open.

"I got it." She said, gently guiding you to sit down on the chair. "Have you been to the doctor?" she doesn't know why but she's eyeing you suspiciously.

"No." You answer shortly.

"You really should go. I can come with you." Your best friend offers.

"Yes, sure. Thank you, Wands." You say, smiling faintly. You lean to the chair, gently rubbing your stomach. "I should get going now."

Wanda chimes in, "I'll book you a Lyft."

She finishes booking the ride, all the while still eyeing you with a hint of suspicion and worry, even though she doesn't know where it's coming from. The worry? From seeing you being sick. Her being suspicious? From you being sick.

Does someone get morning sickness with anxiety?

"15 minutes away. You should finish your drink, that's your favorite hot cocoa."

"Thanks, Wands."

You picked the glass and downed the rest of the drink in one quick gulp. You even made yourself some bread, even taking the ones on your best friend's plate. And your best friend who was just watching the whole thing happened just stayed silent. But her mind wanted to scream, okay what the hell was that?!

"Hey, slow down, you might throw up again."

"Maybe after all this…I'll call you?" you say, still taking some huge bites of your garlic bread.

"What's your plan?" she asks, she's finally done cleaning up the sink. She now went to sat down in front of you, her plate now empty God knows why…

"With?" you ask, then quickly realize what she was asking. "I'll fix it Wanda. I will fix it." That's all you got to say, because right now you have no concrete plans either. And right now, your heart still wants to fix everything. You don't know what to fix, you don't know how or where to start but you will fix it.

Wanda wanted to disagree, to voice her concerns, be that blunt best friend, to scold and warn you against making decisions based solely on emotion—on your heart. But as she looked into your tired still-swollen eyes, she could see that determination in you, masking that pain it is carrying.

Your heart was leading you, guiding your actions with its relentless beat.

And it has its big risks.

Your best friend was about to say something, just a little harmless caution. But the words died on her lips as you spoke once again.

"I love her, Wanda. So much."

It was at that moment that she knew whatever words she would tell you, it would be no use. You were truly in too deep, and there was nothing she could do to stop or change that.

"I will be here for you, Y/N. Every step of the way." Was the only thing Wanda, your best friend said. Because clearly, that's the only thing she can do with your already made up mind. Though she already thought of so many ways how to kill Natasha and how to make it look like an accident or how she will slap Natasha when she first gets to meet her, because…she can do that and she will.

But right now, the only thing she can do is be there for you.

⧗

Natasha was a mess. Her head was throbbing and she barely remembered collapsing on her office chair around midnight. The bottle of whiskey lay empty on her desk, surrounded by puddles of her own vomit. She groaned as some voice pierced through her pounding headache.

"Natasha! Natasha, wake up! You need to get up!"

"Y/N?" your name was the first thing she uttered as soon as she woke up. And it was also the last, after she lost consciousness after hysterically looking for you around the house last night.

"Natasha, it's Claire. We have a business conference with Stark and we're getting late!" Natasha barely registered it. Her mind was still stuck on your name, her body still searching for you even as her eyes fluttered closed again. Claire snapped, shaking her shoulder roughly. "Natasha!"

At this hour, she should have been cuddled up with her precious little girl, laughing and playing together and spoiling her about her upcoming birthday party. Or maybe even sharing some silent awkward time with you before heading off to work. Instead, she was a mess.

A real mess.

"I want Y/N…"

"Okay, well she isn't here is she? I am so sorry, I am probably banned here but I just had to go because you weren't answering anyone's phone call!" Claire grabbed Natasha's suit and wiped Natasha's mouth. "You stink!"

"I need her...I need Y/N..." she was barely coherent, as if she was still drunk, her mind still lost in the fog of you and only you. She then grabbed the woman's hand in front of her, her grip desperate and tight. Her face was inches from Claire's, her breath hot against her skin. Natasha searched Claire's face, her eyes, nose, lips…

She was looking for any sign of you.

But she wasn't you.

Then there's this figure standing in the doorway of her office. The face was yours—your soft features, your big innocent eyes, your wavy hair…

It was you. It looks just like you.

"Y/N?" Natasha calls, squinting her eyes to get a better look.

"Mama?"

Natasha's hungover state seemed to vanish as she realized it wasn't you. It was your miniature double, Aliah. She was crying, big, fat tears rolling down her cheeks as she looked at her mama and the woman she doesn't know beside her. Natasha stood up abruptly, her eyes locking onto Aliah with urgency. But before she could round her desk and reach her daughter, Yelena appeared in the doorway, she watched Natasha standing, feet stumbling. Then she dragged her gaze to a redhead woman in front of her, clutching her sister's suit who she can still remember the same woman she caught her sister was having an affair with.

"Aliah..." she saw the way Yelena hid her daughter behind her and the way her sister's face looked like death for a brief second. "Yelena, listen..." Natasha raised her hands slightly, as if trying to prevent an explosion.

"Ty yebanaya suka." (You're a fucking bitch) Yelena didn't shout for the sake of the little girl clutching her for dear life—she was dangerously calm and cold. Not wanting to get a sight of Natasha, she then faced Aliah and immediately carried her out from the scene.

Then there was you who just arrived at the house. The first thing you saw was Yelena carrying your daughter in her arms.

"Go, Rick will bring you to mama's house." Yelena's face was serious as she carefully handed Aliah over to you. As soon as your hands wrapped around your little girl, you noticed something odd—she was hiccuping.

"Baby?" your daughter is crying again, but silently this time. "Wait, what's..." Yelena gently pushed you back towards the door, her hands soft yet firm on your arms while trying to distract your daughter who was trying to look at her. She seemed almost anxious for you to leave, as if she didn't want you to witness whatever was happening inside. When you hesitated and tried stopping from your tracks, Aliah's crying grew louder, her tiny arms wrapping tightly around your neck.

"Just go."

"Yelena, what's happening?"

Yelena didn't even need to explain it at all because behind her, you saw Natasha descending the stairs and a woman with a familiar hair of red. You sucked in a breath, feeling like you'd been punched in the gut.

"Y/N?!" Natasha let out a hysterical shout the moment she saw you, she immediately rushed down the stairs towards you. "Y/N, wait!" she looked absolutely horrified that you'd seen her like this.

Yelena was met with your unshed tears, your lips trembled uncontrollably with barely suppressed emotion. You clutched Aliah to your shoulder like a lifeline, her tiny weight the only thing keeping you standing even though you badly wanted to curl yourself and break right now.

"Baby, please. I-It's not what you think it is." Natasha continued, she was crying this time, her words were slurred and nonsensical.

Yelena could only shut her eyes hearing her, ashamed of how her sister was acting—ashamed of her. "I'm sorry, Y/N. Please go." The blonde opens the door for you. "I'll handle this."

You didn't wait to hear another word from anyone, rushing out the door without a backward glance. A tear falls down your cheek when you hear Natasha cry even if you were now outside and the door is already closed behind you—you can still hear her call your name. It was like a knife twisting in your heart with each desperate plea. But you didn't bring yourself to look back, to see the woman who had just shattered your world that you're trying to fix once again.

Natasha did her best to reach you, she slammed the door with her hands almost hitting Yelena's body that is barricading the door. Her anguished cries echoed through the house, "Y/N! W-wait! Please!"

Yelena couldn't contain her anger anymore and landed a hard punch on Natasha's face.

"Natasha! Vy smushchayete!" (You are embarassing!)

Natasha's knees buckled. She fell to the ground, cupping her face in her hands. Her sobs echoed through the house, softer now, defeated.

"Ona mne nuzhna, pozhaluysta." (I need her, please)

"Kak vam ne stydno, vot teper' ty deystvitel'no vse isportil!" (Shame on you, now you've ruined everything!)

She shook her head violently, still on her knees, blood dripping from her nose. "No, pozhaluysta, vernite yeye." (Please bring her back)

Yelena whipped around to where Claire stood frozen, but the woman tried her best to not let the fear consume her. "And you," Yelena growled, "You have 10 seconds to get your worthless ass out of this house and if you didn't, I will make sure you'll never make it out alive here."

"It's not what you think it is. Nothing happened between me and Natasha." Claire's voice steadied slightly, her chin lifting with courage despite the fear slowly gripping her chest.

Yelena's lips curled into a smirk, her eyes narrowing as she took a step closer to the woman. "Sure," she sneered, "How am I supposed to believe anything that comes out of your mouth when that same mouth was the one who I caught sucking my sister's dick?"

Claire knew arguing would be pointless; her and Natasha's meaningless past would always be brought back.

"Tell your sister when she's finally lucid that we'll try saving her company without her."

And without 10 seconds, she's gone.

⧗

The car ride to your mother-in-law's house was painfully silent. You sat there in the back seat with your eyes fixed straight ahead, your daughter's tiny form sleeping on your shoulder, her short arms never letting go of you. You bit your lip so hard it bled, determined not to let a single sob out.

You cannot cry or break down. Not when your daughter is literally clinging on you right now, not when in a few seconds you will be in your mother-in-law's house—you still have to think on what to lie to her. Questions she possibly asks you the moment you step on her humble abode, why you're there or why your eyes are swollen red. You still need to make up things that won't trigger her sickness.

Everything feels numb. Your body feels numb like it wasn't even yours anymore. Your hands clutched your daughter tightly, but you barely felt her warmth. The familiar knots of anxiety in your stomach churned, threatening to make you throw up again.

A foolish part of you still held onto the words of Natasha that maybe, just maybe, it's not what you think it is. But you knew what you saw. It was so obvious right? It was right in front of your face.

Melina greeted you with a warm smile and surprisingly asked no questions. She simply led you to a guest bedroom and you gently placed your sleeping daughter in the bed. As soon as the door clicked shut, you heard Melina's soft sigh. You knew you had to say something. You took a deep breath and began spinning your web of stories you made up on the way here.

"I am really sorry, it's so sudden…well, I uhm Yelena made me go here since you know? Well, Natasha's in work and…" you rambled on, your words stumbling over each other as you tried to make sense of them.

But what you didn't know is that she knows everything.

"It's okay, darling. I know." You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure as Melina spoke calmly—too calmly for your liking.

"I…I am not sure I know what you mean." Is your cover blown? What does she mean she knows?

"I know the whole ordeal. You and Natasha. I know about the marriage, I know she's been with a woman. I know what happened just earlier ago…" she listed off each revelation with quiet certainty.

The facade you had been desperately trying to maintain crumbled. Your legs gave out, unable to support your weight any longer. Melina caught you easily and she held you tightly against her while your body wracking with sobs.

"I'm so sorry, darling. I'm so sorry…"

After you had finally managed to calm down after your huge mental breakdown, Melina told you how she had figured everything out and that she had to confront her youngest daughter about it since she knows she know something. And there, all her suspicions were confirmed.

She had made you tell her everything too, everything her daughter did. Everything you had to lie to her and you apologized over and over which Melina nothing but forgave. While spilling the truth, you also tried justifying Natasha's actions and how you had hurt her in the past. You told her that you two may not had a good relationship but she was a good mother to Aliah. Because after all you still care and love Natasha and you don't want to paint a bad image of her on her own mother.

"I'm not asking you to get her back, go back home and act like nothing again or because I am sick," Melina clarified firmly, her eyes searching yours. "You're like a daughter to me now, Y/N. You've been through enough and I don't want you hurt anymore especially it's already affecting Aliah."

The message is pretty implied.

"What's your plan now?" Melina asks the same question your best friend asked you. You met her gaze and smiles faintly, your lips tremble as it part.

"I...I really love your daughter. So much."

Good Luck, Babe: Masterlist

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #black widow #black widow x reader #black widow x female reader

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frostbitten-x · 13 days ago

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tragically earthbound 007

Lord Morpheus x Fem!OC (Ophelia) 007: wounded -> CHAPTER INDEX

English is not my first language, sorry for the mistakes but be nice about it!

Summary: even in the Sunless Lands, you can't escape his dreams.

Warnings: talks of grief, descriptions of wounds and allusions of eating disorders (on Ophelia's part)

previous: 006 / next: 008

There are no days, no weeks, no months that go by in the Sunless Lands. Only Death’s arrivals and departures would make you look for something as close as a cycle— a really confusing one at that.

Sleep was something you were also trying to avoid: slumber was an open door straight to him. And you didn’t need to be bothered at the moment.

If he was going to punish people so freely, you would too.

Depriving him of yourself would suffice for now.

“Dream doesn’t apologize” resounds in your head in Delirium’s voice right before Death hushes her and warns her against taking you into her realm.

For, you see, eternal life does not mean a lack of mortal needs: you need to eat, or else you would starve to the point of passing out and you need to sleep, otherwise you would fall into Delirium’s realm.

“Maybe it’s time you give in a bit, love” Death would say, and Delirium would nod repeatedly beside her.

So you did, only to find your dreams empty.

Which made you all the more depressed once you woke up.

You spent the rest of your days without the fear to find him while you slept and more overwhelmed by the creeping feeling of rejection— a small seed that would grow sometimes more than you would actually be alright allowing it too.

Death keeps you occupied, and for this you’re thankful.

She takes you down to the Waking World with her, collecting souls and giving you a piece of normalcy now that you can actually taste the air that’s been taken from you since you’ve been incapacitated to travel on your own.

And you ask your questions.

Sunbathing on a hill in the countryside of Switzerland, you watch your friend be rather confused about where to go. The warm breeze makes you sigh in delight when it caresses your skin— the light cotton of the white dress allows you to rest from the heat.

“Can you believe this?” she asks, dropping down besides you “He’s actually evading me” she crosses one ankle on top of the other, just like you do.

The hill is evergreen, and if you didn’t know any better you would suspect it was Fiddler’s Green hiding spot here in the Waking World. It was filled with wildflowers and the inexplicable smell of purity— sweet and refreshing. Small farmhouses could be seen a few miles away, far apart from each other but close enough to be considered neighbors.

You hum, facing the sky as you crane your neck— bluer and wider than anything you’ve seen in a while “Isn’t that impossible to do?” you wonder softly, enjoying the silence. You close your eyes.

“Not impossible,” Death sighs, “one just needs an incredible strong will to survive”

Nodding, “How does that even work?” you ask, opening your eyes once you turn to her— the sun still shining brightly behind your eyes, making you see all kinds of colored dots float around in your vision.

“It drives me,” she starts to explain “the feeling of someone craving me, or even when they’re utterly unsuspicious: I can get closer to them because they’re whereas too aware or not aware at all— and then there are the one who fight me off”

“How could anyone ever fight their destiny?” you point out, having a faint feeling that you knew all of this already— maybe from back in a time that is so distant to you now.

“Not Destiny, love— just me”

Then, she stands up— breathes in the air and closes her eyes as she tries to feel for something.

“You see, all of you get just that: a lifetime,” she nods, as she starts making her way down the hill towards one of the farthest farm houses “That’s your destiny: no matter how long or short it is, you’re still going to be dead and gone. Doesn’t matter how hard you’re fighting against it”

“That’s such a lovely thing to say” you huff out, standing up as well as you follow her down.

After walking for a while, you let out what you’re thinking “I’m not dead” you point out.

“You are,” she nods.

“How—?”

“Or you were” she sighs, “Your life as Freya ended the day we met”

You stop in your tracks, frowning— after a few more steps, Death turns to you.

“Freya?” you ask, confused.

Death tilts her head, “Oh, my love” she coos softly, shaking her head “Do you see what I mean?”

You do, you see now— your life as a mortal was long gone, so much so you also forgot the name you carried back then.

Before Death gave you a new one.

“Why did you choose to turn me into something else, then?” you ask softly, reaching her as you both kept on walking.

“I learnt something that day on that coast, you taught me something” she nods.

“What did you learn?” you ask, surprised you were even capable of teaching her something.

The second to oldest of the Endless, the ever wiser grandmother Death.

She doesn’t stop walking, “Some of you will successfully keep me away from the ones you love” she nods, “I was meant to take your brother days before we met— I was not supposed to take you at all”

“Isn’t that wrong?” you ask, not understanding.

“I did take him at the end, it just took me longer” she shrugs “You helped me understand how unpredictable this work could be— I knew people could live longer than predicted, Destruction was the first one to defy me on that” she smiles softly despite herself “My sappy little brother loved his friends so much he always was successful at hiding them from me… and there are experiments, too— Dream’s little thing with Hob Gadling”

“Hob’s still out and about?” you ask, smiling softly.

“Honestly, Ophelia, do the both of you ever talk?” she questions, and it makes your smile drop.

No, you think to yourself, Dream doesn’t share himself with me anymore.

It’s sad, and makes your heartache unbearable: the reminder of the conclusion you’ve reached a few days ago.

Death stops in her tracks, and you keep on walking as to not let her see how much her comment affected you— passing her and grabbing a handful of your skirt just to do something with your hands.

You hear her sigh, then “I knew the mortals could evade me— but that day I learnt you could aid a life with such fervor and conviction that you could stop me in my tracks. You helped me see that”

“I helped you” you whisper to yourself, then you stop to turn— squinting your eyes to look at her without the sun behind her making your eyes hurt. She looked out of place with her skinny jeans and leather jacket in that evergreen scenery. She looked like Dream. “That was it? I was useful?” you’re perplexed.

“You should know by now how hard it is to find people who would succeed at surprising us” she chuckles “You made everything more exciting for me when I needed it the most”

“Oh, how lovely: my death excited you to the point of falling in love with your job” you roll your eyes, she flashes you a wicked smile.

“More hopeful” she tries to correct herself “You made me see how love can play such an important role at the end” and then she walks down, passing you “I tried to give you your prize: I made your dream come true”

Flying. So high neither hunger nor cold could reach you.

“You gave me more than just my dream, Death” you counterpart “You gave me a friend”

Back in the Sunless Lands, everything was still the same— the plane bringing tears down your face in this inconsolable rhythm it likes to force onto it's residents. The first few moments was sad and concerning, but at this point you want the whole ordeal to be over.

Tears drain too much energy.

“Your job is exhausting” you whisper, seated on the bay window of her temple.

“In contrast to yours, that is listening to my little brother all day long” she bites into a green apple, and you shake your head when she offers you one.

“That’s not my job anymore” you shrug, putting your feet up as she sits down next to you.

“Thank Destiny for that one” she nods, smiling without a care in the world “My job is tedious, yes— but I get to see them more than any other of my sibling do”

“More so than Despair?” you challenge, “Are you sure of that?”

Death stays silent at that, chewing on her acid apple before looking back at you. You look away, and she says “Everything’s been a bit out of balance since Dream’s kidnapping, yes” she clicks her tongue “More so than when Destruction himself left us… so, yes, maybe Despair has the majority of them now”

You hum, “Destruction” you mumble “Olethros was tall and kind”

She chuckles, “Do you remember him?”

“Barely” you nod “It was too long ago”

She hums, standing up “Have you been eating?”

Pursing your lips, you turn to the mirror— looking out at the sea “I’m not especially hungry”

“Then you’ve been sleeping” she pressed.

Her insistence was logical, but also somewhat hypocritical: after all, she was the one who granted you eternal life when her little brother's momentary sorrow moved her to give you away all those millennia ago.

How to tell a friend you could barely force a bite down?

You take a moment “Is not as easy at the moment” you whisper.

“Sleeping?” she asks, confused.

“No” you shake your head, hugging your knees “Living”

You’re tired of it, but you can’t seem to escape it.

Sand, sun and water. Walking, your feet carrying you along the line the seafoam draws on the shore, bubbly and salty. The breeze is humid, and you feel it soaking your silk dress to the point of sticking to your skin.

Not the Sunless Lands, not quite as forgiving and warm but a reflection of that day in that awful coast, back when you had another name and people to call your own— back when Death was just a faraway fear and Dream was something you did in your sleep.

Now, goosebumps cover your entire body, and you try to sniff the air, since smells are a dead giveaway for determining whether this is a dream or reality.

But then, you need to stop— there at the line where sand starts giving into rock and the scenery becomes too much like the day you died.

Was there any real need to be this mean? You ask yourself, knowing Morpheus must be behind this.

Just when you're about to turn, you need to let out a soft whimper— a pointy and insistant pain taps your back. You arch your spine, trying to get a peak at it: flexing your shoulder blades until the stretch of skin makes you hiss. Droplets of blood run from your back to the back of your thighs just to finally stain the tan sand.

And you understand now— two large cuts run on your back from under both your shoulders down to your waist, parallel to each other. They bleed and burn.

But they don’t hurt.

And then, you smell his stardust “Ophelia” he calls, and in a blink of an eye he’s behind you. His gaze was urgent and his hands stopped mid air, trying to assess the best way to touch you without hurting you—

There where your wings should be.

“Don’t you ever get tired of cruelty?” you murmur to him as you look at him over your shoulder, his eyes snap towards yours.

He flexes his jaw, “This is not my doing” he defends himself as you turn to him, ignoring the sticky feeling of your blood draining itself out.

“This is your realm” you face him, outrage running through you.

“I would never make you bleed” he rasps out, eyes hurt— your indignation calling for his own.

“But I bled for you, Morpheus” you spat “And you let me”

His eyes turn cold, and he straightens up “Mind yourself”

You feel your heart burning within your chest, making it’s ache almost suffocating. If he wanted to punish you, you would not deny him: you craved his brutality just as much as you craved his benevolence “What is your sentence, Lord?” you whisper, taking a step closer to him “What could be any worse that what I’ve already endured for you?”

He disarms just as quickly as he was fortifying himself, and you can’t fail but to notice how wrong this all felt: this beach, this injury. The Dreaming itself. It all felt blurred, out of balance; not like when the sky would cry itself for you, but like something was pulsing with dread.

Like it was being tortured.

“You won’t believe me?” He steps closer, looking down at you with such an intensity you know you’re right on second guessing yourself.

You purse your lips, looking up at him “When have I ever questioned you?” you whisper.

His hands shoot up, and captures you before you can flinch away by the sudden movement— there where your jaw meets your neck “You should question me”

The pressure on your neck is soft in it’s strength and you find yourself wanting more “Stop trying to make my head spin” you complain, his inconsistencies and contradictions were confusion.

He never tapped this much in the shades of gray, never in the middle of two extremes.

“I am not making you bleed” he insists in his innocence.

His conviction is exhausting “It doesn’t mean you’re not hurting me”

“Do you ever find yourself lost in your own words?” he demands, sounding just as bothered as you if not a bit too far away in his own head “I can never truly find my way around yours”

“That’s because you don’t listen” you close your eyes, hiding away from this unfamiliar look in his eyes “What’s making me bleed, Dream Lord?” you ask.

“The consequence to my own recklessness” he whispers, “I was trying to spare you from coming back here as you rested and kept away, but she’s spinning everything out of control”

The vortex.

And then, you understand: it wasn’t rejection what you were enduring, it was his mercy. One of them could be so easily confused for the other when it came to Morpheus.

“I will regain control” he whispers as a promise, just as you feel something cold falling on your cheek. You frown as you open your eyes.

Snowflakes fall from the sky—white and clean, silent yet insistent. Amazingly out of place, completely unsolicited. You gasp softly as you look around. The scene is startling in its own peculiarity; you’ve only witnessed this a handful of times in the millennia you’ve spent soaring through the sky. In some places, it’s more normal than in others. You’ve watched mortals gasp and gawk with amazement, as if they’ve never truly seen it before. A phenomenon contradictory in itself.

Never in the Dreaming.

“Morpheus” you breathe out, knowing somehow this was his.

That’s how right it felt.

“Is it as inconvenient as it appears, little bird?” he asks, his eyes solely focused on you. As you look back at him, you’re not sure if you understand.

His face is open: gaze expectant and insistent, asking if this is too much to bear.

“No” you breath out, “No, it’s beautiful”

Snow on the beach, your blood mixing with the seafoam and the salt tingling in your lips. His eyes are relieved; peace expanding from his fingertips that were still touching you, directly to his heart.

And you know this is as close as you would get to know how much he felt when it came to you.

Letting on just enough to get you lost in his meanings.

Taglist! 🤎 @elinadenise @thelady-of-dragonfire @radioactivewatson @jeshomie @getitrtealgood @stranger-chan @universallyrascaldreamercookie @edynmeyer1 @littlemisstrashcan @blackthorngirl @villain-in-the-dark @unhinged-sorcerer @littlemoistcarrot @banter-banner

next: 008

#tragically earthbound fic #dream of the endless #morpheus sandman #netflix the sandman #morpheus x reader #morpheus x oc #morpheus fanfic #morpheus fic #sandman fanfic

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cece693 · 1 month ago

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MORE THAN METAL

pairing: bucky barnes x male reader synopsis: bucky had many insecurities. However, his largest one was his body. No, he didn't have body dysmorphia or an eating disorder; bucky saw his body as a weapon. Something not human. Luckily, you're there to make him see otherwise.

The problem wasn’t the metal. It was everything around it. The flesh stitched onto bone, stretched over old scars like a poor attempt at hiding war crimes. The fractured skin where Hydra had carved ownership. The way people looked at him when they thought he wasn’t watching—like he might snap, like he was more machine than man. A ticking time bomb with blue eyes and a past written in blood.

Bucky hated mirrors.

They didn’t lie. They showed him the full picture: the ruin, the weapon, the ghost of a man he once was. And yet you—you looked at him like you were staring at a sunrise. Not the aftermath of an avalanche.

“Hey, Buck,” you said one afternoon, padding into the shared kitchen at the compound. You offered him a lazy smile and a bottle of water. “Mission tomorrow. You ready?”

He didn’t meet your eyes. He didn’t trust himself to. “I’m always ready.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

You always meant things. Always saw him deeper than anyone else dared.

Bucky’s jaw clenched. “Don’t worry. The weapon still works.”

Your expression shifted. Hurt, subtle but visible, flickered across your features. “You’re not a weapon.”

“Yeah?” He bit out, pushing up from the counter. His voice came out harder than he meant. “Tell that to the pile of bodies behind me. Tell it to the people who flinch when I walk into a room. Hell, tell it to this—” He raised his left arm and clenched the vibranium fingers into a trembling fist. “This isn’t a body. It’s a fucking warning label.”

You took a step closer. He didn’t back away, but he didn’t look up either.

Your voice was quiet. Careful.

“And yet, when you hold someone’s hand with it—like you did for that kid we rescued last week—it feels safe. Steady. Human.”

Bucky scoffed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know you,” you said, firm now. “And I know what it looks like when someone punishes themselves every time they breathe.”

He turned sharply, fists clenching at his sides. “You don’t get it. This body—my body—it’s done things I can’t take back. It’s a monster's body. Built for war, not for love.”

Silence stretched between you. And then—

“Bullshit.” Bucky froze. You took another step, voice heated now, eyes shining. “You think you’re ugly because someone taught you to see yourself through their lens of pain and power. But I see you, James.”

That name made him twitch. You only used it when you were serious.

“I see a man who survived hell and still managed to be kind. A man who trains the new recruits gently, who watches everyone’s six like his life depends on it, and who wakes up screaming but still shows up the next day.” Your voice broke slightly. “And I see a man so goddamn beautiful, it hurts.”

Bucky blinked. “What?” he rasped.

You looked at him like he was a constellation no one had bothered to chart yet. “I said you’re beautiful. Anyone with eyes knows that. But more than that—you’re real. Flesh and metal and scars and soul. You’re you, and I’ve been trying not to fall for you since the day you stitched up my side in a mission gone wrong.”

He stared, stunned, as if you’d spoken in tongues.

“I—why?” His voice cracked. “Why would you want someone like me?”

You stepped forward and placed your hand on his metal wrist—gentle, reverent. “Because you’re not ‘someone like you.’ You’re you. And I’ve never wanted anyone more.”

Then, slowly, you brought his hand to your chest. Pressed it flat over your heartbeat. “Can you feel that?”

He nodded. The thrum was steady. Real.

“Then believe me when I say this—I want all of you, James. The arm, the scars, the man you are now. Every inch.”

That night, in the quiet privacy of his room, he let you worship him. Bucky turned his head to the right, hair hiding his vision of you staring—mesmerized—at his naked chest. His breath hitched as the covers slipped lower down his hips, baring the long, scarred stretch of his torso to the soft lamp light. Every inch of him was painted with war, trauma, time. Old wounds that had never been kissed.

You knelt beside him on the bed, one hand brushing the strands of hair away from his face with gentle care. “Don’t look away,” you said, voice low and earnest. “Let me look at you.”

He hesitated. Eyes fluttering open. Breathing shallow. And when he finally looked at you, his chest tightened. Because you weren’t staring at him like he was a cracked relic or an old war machine.

You looked at him like he was sacred.

Beautiful.

Worthy.

“Jesus,” you whispered, your fingers ghosting down his sternum. “How can you not see it?”

Your lips followed the path your fingers took—soft, reverent. You kissed the scar beneath his clavicle, the one he got in a Hydra facility he never spoke of. He shuddered. Not from fear. From feeling.

“You treat this body like it’s something to hide,” you said, dragging your mouth lower, “but it’s done more than survive. It’s yours. And I want to know all of it.”

His right hand gripped the sheets. The left—the metal one—hovered uncertainly, until you took it in your own. “Even this,” you whispered. “Especially this.”

Bucky’s eyes burned. “You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”

You shook your head. “I’m not lying. I’ve never wanted someone like this before. You're not just handsome, Buck—you’re magnificent.”

He swallowed hard.

You pressed kisses along his stomach, pausing at the faded ridges and the deep scar along his ribs. You didn’t avoid a single one. You worshipped each mark like it mattered. Because it did. Because it was his.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered against his skin. “Anyone who isn’t blind can see that and I’m the lucky bastard who gets to touch it. I don’t want a perfect body. I want you. All of you. The war-torn pieces. The steel. The guilt. The softness I see behind your eyes. I want every part.”

You looked up at him—eyes wide, voice low and trembling.

“Do you want me too?”

The silence was so thick he almost drowned in it. Then—

“Yes.” Bucky's voice cracked. “More than anything.”

You kissed him. And this time, it wasn’t slow. It was needy. Raw. Teeth grazing lips. Hands everywhere—tender, but not hesitant. You guided him back into the sheets, your body pressed flush to his, skin against skin. He groaned softly when you dragged your nails down his sides, his breath stuttering when you bit his jaw just enough to leave something behind.

But even as things got hotter, faster, deeper—you didn’t stop worshipping him. You kissed his scars. You whispered praise into the space between moans. You held his metal hand to your chest and told him it didn’t scare you—it turned you on. You loved him the way he never thought he deserved to be loved.

And when he came undone beneath you—his back arched, lips parted in something like disbelief—you didn’t look away. You held him through it.

Afterward, his chest still heaving, Bucky turned his head again. But this time, he didn’t look away in shame. He looked at you like he finally believed.

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rotagnus · 5 months ago

Text

general pick-a-pile messages--<3

for those who are lost; you shall find your way.

pile 1.

why do you alternate between the bad and the good? you are duality. the first message i have for you is short and sweet; there is a good middle between the two sides you're stuck on. you see things in a very narrow way, you think that things are entirely one or the other. this is not true. do not cage the world, do not cage yourself. lately you've been calling things out, seeing, watching. you're an observant person. travel may be significant, particularly during stormy weather; be safe. i feel like a lot of you are struggling with decisions in matters of the heart. your gut is telling you one thing, but to preserve your morals, or perhaps to protect someone, you feel like you must choose the other option. i think you should follow your heart--it does not lie. you cannot always be the shield that gets chipped and broken down while the other person cowers behind you. a lot of you have been cutting things away from your life, and now you face an emptiness that leaves you stunned. perhaps some of you have cleaned out your room, and found some things that made you reminisce on the past. do not get lost in it. you are better off now. you may have missed a person recently, wished you could hold them in your heart again, but this would cause turmoil. do not go back. never, ever, especially not now. keep your head up. you must pursue your passions, now, i am hearing. many of you are scared, maybe going off to a new place, where you do not know a lot of things. you aren't good with change, never have been, but now is your chance to grow, to blossom. you are a lotus; blossoming even in the dirtiest of waters. you will be okay. right now, try to worship your material world; not in the way you think, but you must take care of your body, your environment. these things will dictate the way everything else turns out to you.

signs: clownfish. parrots. 'regardless'. dying star. rebirth. foals. nakedness. annotations. snow. staircases. chin.

pile 2.

you and someone else in your life are going through it. you probably know who i'm talking about. you may be feeling drained, empty, lost. truth is, there is somewhere you can go to recover. think of a gas station after a long journey. it is a humble place, by no means a castle, but it still brings some relief to your tired self. right now, think of something that can shelter you; perhaps a hobby, perhaps it is even a cup of tea. what wonders that can bring; sit in front of a window, and have your favorite drink. think. the answers are within. you are a giving person, and now, you will be given to. you bring things into your life by giving them first; you and the universe are holding hands. think about what you want in your life, then put the effort into it. i cannot emphasize this enough--do the work, do the change. a lot of you are terrified of failure, terrified of trying and ending up on the ground. this will not end in tragedy, you must try, we are all like fledglings when we try something for the first time. a lot of you would have a good result if you developed a routine. mirror work, affirmations, yoga, even doing something specific every day at the same time would make you feel a bit better, would let you rest a little bit through this disorder. it is not forever, my love. this, too, shall pass. you will be able to rest, soon. think of a bear; it moves around a lot before it can hibernate. it must look for food in a frenzy. then, it can rest. now i know this may not be ecologically accurate, but i hope for the sake of me, you can understand what i mean. you will develop your looks soon, too. a lot of you have beautiful bare faces and shy away from that. now, i am not one to police what women do with their faces; but for those who are insecure, my specific message is that you are beautiful, much more ethereal than you think. do not worry about it, okay? a lot of you have been in your masculine energy lately. relax. you are safe. let yourself back into your feminine energy, okay? i promise you, you are protected by God/the universe. lean back. it'll get easier, my dearest. i promise.

signs: bats. snakes. typically dark creatures. rainbows. roses. 'for you i am soft'. bugs. babies. innocence. sunsets/sunrises. hearts.

pile 3.

you are so motherly, but not to yourself. it's funny, you view yourself as harsher than you are. maybe you have a tough exterior, and you worry that people see you as too mannish, too brutish, but my message for you is that people see your true self peeking through. do not fear, my sweetest. wow, the world fell out. yes, you are a contradicting person--terrified of vulnerability and softness, yet naive and chaste, viewing your life with an optimistic lens. your heart is pure, so pure, and while you do struggle with opening up, you're entirely willing to do so around the right people. a lot of you struggled with this in the past due to insecurity, or perhaps being in circumstances that created trouble. abusive situations, family troubles, fake friends...you have faced your fair share of pain, my darling. recently you've been thinking very much. i feel like this has been a very good development, as this journey has been able to move forwards with this; soon, your rewards shall come to you. you are brave, but you do not always have to fight. you can drop your hands and fall to the ground, but you will be caught. i was thinking about how funny it'd be if the lovers fell out, and guess what, they did! so yes, i feel like some opportunities are coming to you guys. some of you don't want to be in a relationship at all, and that is okay. i feel like love will come to you in the form that you crave it. and for others, if it is romantic, do not rush this. work on yourself and make sure that you are truly happy with yourself, truly able to open up and bloom. this person will be nurturing, kind, with a heart of gold; the opposite of you but in all the best ways. pisces/water signs may be significant. he is gentle, and he is very willing to care for you. you'll be safe.

signs: foxes. dirty blonde hair. swans. joan of arc. night. trees. missing. light pink. april. 333. action. oceans.

#pick a card #pick a pile #tarot reading #pac reading #pick a picture #tarotblr #rotagnus #divine guidance #intuitive reading

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sare-nim · 2 months ago

Text

A UNFORGETTABLE MESSAGE

Tw:eating disorder described

Pure Vanilla cookie is stupid—no actually naive is the best fitted word for him. It's a bad trait because he's your master. You had to do a lot to protect him because of his foolish decisions…his kindness and foolish ‘non judgemental’ mind makes you want to cry out in pain. He has to judge to make sure he's talking to some cookie who's okay, not a murder cookie–eating cookie!

You're a fox, a very fluffy cute fox in Pure Vanilla Cookies eyes. Also a very well behaved one at that. You were so protective too! So cute he remembers how you jumped at a cookie who tried to scam him. He knew what the cookie was doing but how can he not act along with it? Just to see you protect him gives his sugary heart a warmth he rarely feels.

He knows it's foolish but it makes him feel good to know his pet cares for him. Sometimes he takes pity on himself. How can he be so…pathetic? So pathetic that he has to test if his pet still loves him or not?

He can't help but sigh at his useless thoughts and feelings. Why must he feel this way when he has his dear friends? He shakes his head trying to throw those thoughts away from his mind.

He doesn't need this right now. He needs to distract himself.

You noticed that your master has become a bit blank. He has started to enter this state of working—sleeping nothing else. Like a blank state, like a robot who has been powered on and tasked to just work and not live.

You were getting worried but you didn't want to expose yourself. You didn't want him to treat you differently after knowing your actual a cookie that just hides in the form of a fox. What if he throws you out!? You don't want that. So you started to plan—you needed a good one. One that will give him a good message and make him think twice before doing such a thing again.

It started as not a big thing in Pure Vanilla Cookies eyes. You must have gotten bored of your food. That's why you weren't eating—you have done this before. So he just got the servants to switch the food into another type when that didn't work–panic started to hit his sugary heart and mind. Were you sick? Did you get poisoned? Did you eat a berry and get sick? No you're smart of course you wouldn't eat such a berry! You haven't been acting sick either.

He as a healer wanted to help you himself but he isn't very knowledgeable about animals. So he immediately went to check with a cookie who's knowledgeable in this field making sure to bring you with him. After the check up.

The cookie said nothing helpful. You weren't sick or poisoned like he thought. You were just not eating food…the poor cookie confused only suggested changing the food. They had no solution as there's nothing wrong with you. Nothing stopping you from eating.

Pure Vanilla Cookie felt very worried. He started trying to feed you himself even using a spoon! You still didn't eat. This made him more worried you never refused something he hands you.

He dropped the spoon on the feeding bowl. He felt tired out, maybe the eating habits it's getting to him. His body started to feel a bit heavy, his stomach crying out too hard for him to ignore. He gently lets go of your small body.

He got up from his seat on the ground behind you—to approach a fruit bowl placed on the cafe table in the middle of his office. He took an apple and took a bite of the fruit. A chewing sound followed his making him turn to look at you. His eyes winded filled with delight as he sees you chew on a piece of meat while looking at him. After he finished chewing he placed the apple down only for you to raise your head from the feeding bowl.

Making him freeze up in response. His eyes now look at you with confusion. He looked at the half eaten apple placed on the fruit bowl. He took the apple in his skinny tan hand. His hands used to be a bit plumper and now are worryingly skinny reflecting his poor eating habits.

He raised the apple to his mouth, taking another bite out of the fruit while looking at you. You were looking at him too while leaning down taking a bite out of your food at the same time. He felt his eyes burn, his lips trembling as he took another bite of the apple with you following his lead, continuing to eat your food.

He didn't know why he was crying. Was he sad? No really he felt overwhelmed by the feeling of glee. You cared for him so much…he remembers how Dark Cacao Cookie told him to not get too attached to you. You were just a pet. One that will leave his side If you see him as unworthy of your attention—but you keep proving him wrong over and over again.

He just continued to eat while ignoring the tears rolling down his cheeks. After finishing the apple he took another fruit to eat from the bowl. He ate a peach next.

He can't have you stop eating. Your health is at risk. You however felt pleased—he got the message. You kept your eyes on him only stopping your feast after he finished everything in the fruit bowl. He looked at you ignoring the tears to watch you swallow the last bite of your food.

He felt full–after eating everything in that bowl. His stomach once empty now filled and his body satisfied from this act. He raised his hands wiping away the tears on his face to approach you. Taking your body in his arms once again now to spoil your face with kisses.

“My little one…” He said between shaky breaths his trembling lips pressing against your head while his hand stroked your fur.

“You sacrificed your hunger for me…I'm sorry for worrying you so much that you had to do such a thing.”

You wanted to sigh at his apology. One would expect a scolding but the cookie seems too touched to do such a thing. Well right now at least.

He pulled away to wipe his tears away from his face once again. You leaned up licking the salty drops away from his face, making him smile softly. “My friend…my dear Y/N…”

He truly can't ask for a better companion in his meaningless life.

#cr kingdom #reader insert #pure vanilla cookie #fluff #pure vanilla x reader #pure vanilla crk

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itoshiierae · 3 months ago

Note

Shidou Ryusei x Therapist!Reader 😳😳🥵💳💳💳💳

PLEASE TELL ME YOU’RE SEEING THE VISIONNN TOO 😧😮‍💨🙏🏻

࣪𖤐.ᐟ shidou ryusei x therapist!reader ࣪𖤐.ᐟ

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

ᡣ𐭩 notes: OHHH I AM SEEING THE VISION ALRIGHT 💀🥵 this was supposed to be a slowburn but then he showed up dripping wet and everything went downhill from there.. therapist!reader has absolutely no self-control, shidou is the embodiment of chaos, and professionalism is just a myth at this point.

ᡣ𐭩 cw: mdni! 🔞, nsfw, smut, therapist/patient dynamic, f!reader, power imbalance, oral (f receiving), office setting, dirty talk, shidou calls you ‘doc’, emotional tension, unprofessional conduct, obsession/possessiveness, desk sex, forbidden relationship themes

shidou ryusei. he was late — again.

and now he stood in your doorway, soaked to the bone, dripping chaos onto your tile like it was a gift. he’s dripping — rainwater trailing down his collarbones, outlining every lean muscle and scar like a confession he didn’t mean to show. it’s the kind of sight that makes your clipboard feel useless and your ethics paper-thin. he steps inside like the room belongs to him, each wet footprint dragging disorder across the sterile calm you’ve spent years trying to protect.

and you?

you made the mistake of looking up.

“missed me, doc?”

his voice hits low, smirking around the edges with that same drawl he uses when he wants to test your patience. but today, something about it is different, less teasing and more… dangerous.

you should ask about his week. steer the conversation somewhere safe. reach for your clipboard, anchor the moment in protocol. remind yourself of the boundaries etched into your license, the title behind your name, the rules meant to keep the lines from blurring. you should remember why he’s here and everything he was never supposed to become.

but instead, you say the words that will ruin you both:

“so… what are you afraid of, Ryusei?”

he blinks — then grins like a man who’s just found your softest spot before answering,

“being this close to you and…. not fucking you senseless.”

you freeze.

but he doesn’t.

he rises slowly, crossing the space between you with that same predator grace that should’ve had you recoiling, and instead, he sinks to his knees beneath your desk, gaze locked on yours like he’s daring you to stop him.

“…you’re shaking,” he murmurs, lifting your calf like it’s sacred, trailing his lips along the curve of your thigh. “that means no? …or does that mean you want me just as badly???”

you should’ve stopped him. but when his hands trail beneath your skirt, warm palms grazing your bare thighs and his gaze locked on yours like a dare, you only spread your legs wider for him as he tugs your panties down like they’ve personally offended him, eyes fixed on your cunt like it’s a masterpiece he’s been waiting to defile.

“…so wet already,” he says, voice low.

“what would they think, huh??? all those patients who would come in after me? …if they knew you’re leaking onto your chair for the guy they think you’re fixing?”

you don’t answer. or maybe you can’t, not with his tongue dragging over your cunt like he’s been starved for it, each lick laced with heat and filth, reverent like prayer but ruthless like sin. he devours you with the desperation of a man convinced that your ruin is the only thing that could ever satisfy him.

his fingers dig into your thighs as he licks you through your first orgasm — no warning, no slow unravel, just devastation. and when you cry out, spine arching off the chair, hand clamping over your mouth like you can muffle the ruin? he moans into your pussy like he’s the one being blessed.

“you taste like sin, doc.”

he stands abruptly, hands already at his zipper, like the only thing he came here for was to bury himself inside you. he takes you on the very desk where you once held sessions; bends you backward like your profession was just a costume he’s stripped away, then fucks you until his name only sounds right when gasped through your parted lips or moaned around him with tears in your eyes.

“you like this, don’t you?” he grunts, driving into you so hard the clipboard slips from your desk, papers scattering like broken rules — every thrust rewriting what you were never supposed to want.

“getting fucked by your patient like a desperate little whore.”

#bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock #bllk x you #blue lock x reader #bllk smut #shidou ryusei #bllk shidou #shidou ryuusei x reader #blue lock smut #blue lock x female reader #blue lock shidou #shidou ryusei smut

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helenazbmrskai · 1 year ago

Text

Dark Office Romance (m)

Title [Dark Office Romance]

Pairing [Yandere Boss! Jeongguk x Reader]

Genre [Yandere Au, Office Au, Romance, Smut]

Summary [The company you work for is shady, sexist and full of men who think they could do anything. After Jeongguk's assistant quits you attend a meeting in her stead and you realise just how rotten these men are. You decide to quit and you have a thing or two to tell to your boss but what you didn't expect is for him to turn this around on you.]

Words [5,6k]

Rating [+18]

Warnings [Sexual harassment in the workplace, sexism, bad working environment, yandere behaviour, obsession, mental disorder, sexual content: rough handling, forced kiss, consensual unprotected sex, marking/biting, first times, take away virginities, oral (female receiving), creampies]

A/N: This fic has heavy themes so read it with caution!

Masterlist //

“Did you hear what happened today at the meeting?” A person talked in a hushed voice to another. Hiding in one of the stalls you could hear every whispering word between the ladies.

“Of course! There’s not a single soul who hasn’t heard. I don’t think I would be able to live through such humiliation. I hate this company, it’s so strict and harmful to the employees that I want to quit soon.”

You take a deep breath with your forehead pushed against the cold wall. Tears are wetting your eyelashes and your nose is clogged but you stopped crying in fear of someone hearing you. At least no one sees you in tears after what happened. You managed to put up a brave face that time. You felt more angry than hurt at that time but look at you now breaking down in the women's washroom like a fool.

“Yes, I agree. I hate that men can do anything. I fear coming to work every day, but I still think it was too much. Y/N is a diligent girl, and she didn’t deserve to have that kind of treatment right in front of our CEO. That bastard didn’t even try to stop it.”

“Shh. We’re still inside the building if someone overhears you talk about the CEO like that we will be in big trouble.”

“You’re right. Let’s go back to work.” The voices fade away until you hear the door close again behind your coworkers. You exit the stall when the coast is clear. However, when you see yourself in the mirror’s reflection you want to cry again. You look miserable with your mascara streaming down your face. You breathe in and out slowly until you’re able to calm down. You don’t have more time to waste you need to get your act together at least for when you’re back alone in your apartment. You can cry all night and curse your boss and everyone involved in today’s incident with a tube of ice cream and a six-pack of cold beer. Steeling your nerves you fix your make-up and get back to your duties. You finish your report and get everything in order. You don’t even get up to get lunch like everybody else as you power through it with an energy drink in you. If you went to the cafeteria you would get more of those pitiful glances and you don’t have it in you to answer their questions about how you’re feeling.

You know they don’t mean anything bad about it but it’s undoubtedly a thing that crosses everyone’s mind. Thank goodness it wasn’t me. It’s not wrong to feel this way before this happened there were times when you felt the same way, it’s just how things in this company work. You get humiliated and the next day someone takes your place.

Today it was your turn. It was bad enough that the CEO asked for you. The person who was responsible for helping him out during the cabinet meeting with the shareholders suddenly quit and you were tasked with helping with operating the slideshow and making notes.

This was your first time attending one of those meetings and after it was over you had a strong desire to quit as well.

No wonder she left in tears last week as she gave in her resignation letter you didn’t know what was happening inside those meetings. There was only one time you caught her crying in the bathroom just like you did now. You tried to ask what was wrong but she never told you.

You’re unsure how she was able to endure it for this long. Jeongguk’s assistant receives the most salary inside the company but for a while the seat was vacant and you were new to the company so you had no idea what was going on. Why did his assistants quit so quickly? You remember talking to her she was excited to get this opportunity she shared that her family is in a tough situation and the pay is good to get themselves back on their feet. Now you have a rough idea. At first, everything seemed normal.

You took your place standing next to Jeongguk and the meeting began when the participants sat down. They were all men. You held back at first when they touched your butt as you were passing around documents. You even ignored their sexist comments but enough was enough. One of the men squeezed your butt and whistled when the meeting was about to be over. You looked over to Jeongguk he looked straight into your eyes but didn’t do anything. You said that you would report this to HR as a case of sexual assault if he tried to do it again, now you were angry about how everyone treated you like a piece of meat. The man got angry and poured hot coffee over you.

Jeongguk ended the meeting and you stormed out.

He never tried to stop anything or protect you. He just watched it all play out as if he was watching a movie. This was the most humiliating experience you have had in your entire life.

There are other jobs out there. Maybe not paying this much but at least they treat you like a human being. A small mistake is enough and you get blamed. You have to come to work even on the weekends sometimes to finish writing your reports. Everyone is walking around eggshells. Waking up each morning with a knot in your stomach that you need to take digestive medicine regularly. You won’t tolerate any of this even if it will cost you this job or even better you’re going to quit yourself.

You push these hateful thoughts into the back of your mind so you can pull through the day. The first month you started to work here you thought it would pass but things didn’t get better over time. It just became worse but you didn’t want to be a girl who quit when things get difficult but even you know there’s a difference between not giving up and being foolish. Today you felt like the biggest fool out there.

They say life is beautiful.

You don’t remember the last time you felt happy. You keep working without enjoying life. You don’t have a boyfriend and you rarely talk to your family due to issues. You have lost a few friends as well because of the workload. You think about all the cancelled plans.

Although, enough is enough. This is the time you decide to let go. You’re going to tell him your opinion after you hand in your report at the end of the day. You even write your resignation letter. He will regret it. You’re bright and a good employee. It’s his loss if he lets you go.

You said that but you get nervous once you stand in front of his office you won’t change your mind on the subject you just need to find some courage again. You’re going to do what no one in the company dares to do. Everyone is scared of him the only reason that people don’t swarm him with letters of resignation every day is because it takes a lot of courage to see him directly. Everyone is afraid of him. Bad rumours are circulating about him saying that he’s mental. He has weird fixations and someone even told you that his parents regularly went to a psychologist with him when he was little. You don’t know if anything is true. You’ve never seen his parents visit him or even call him once. He never smiles or talks about himself not that you spent that much time alone with him. You only see him in regular monthly meetings otherwise everyone tries to avoid him inside the company the only exception is when you hand in important documents that you have to see him directly but that doesn’t consist of much as he just takes it and you leave.

You knock first then enter when he gives you the green light.

He looks hellishly good-looking in that black suit and perfectly styled hair, like the devil. He’s reading something but stops what he’s doing and looks up at you when you stop right in front of his desk. You hand him your report and he receives it without a single thank you or in fact, he’s not saying anything. You take in a calming breath before you speak.

This is your cue to leave but you stay rooted. Reliving that humiliation and mistreatment over the year that you’ve been working here whilst looking into his dark brown eyes helps you to finally find the courage to speak.

“This is my resignation but there’s something I would like to tell you before I leave.” You take a deep breath before you lock with his dark gaze again. You’re still furious and hurt. His soulless eyes are staring at you intensely as if he’s seeing you for the first time.

“I’ve never been through such a humiliating experience in my entire life. I wanted to hold on and not give up this job but I can’t do this anymore. I had enough of the mistreatment I received as a woman. Do you even consider me as a human? Groping my ass and making sexual jokes if the men that work here think that it’s okay to do that then I don’t want to work here anymore. The CEO should protect its people yet you looked into my eyes and did nothing to stop it. Are you a psychopath? Do you have feelings at all? I wonder if there’s anyone left in hell seeing as you are here making my life a living hell.” You want to say more but words get stuck in your throat as his expression changes.

Once you’re done unleashing your anger Jeongguk stands up from his chair and gets close to you. Real close. You step back until your back is against the wall your heart is hammering away in your chest afraid of what he will do. He closes up on you with a straight face his gaze is unreadable as he presses you against the wall. His face is really close and you close your eyes waiting for something. Is he going to slap you? If he was going to shout he could do that from his seat just fine. You wait for your punishment but it doesn’t come in the form you expected it to be.

He slams his lips against yours taking your breath away. Your eyes pop open wide as you see his face up close. You could see his closed eyelids ending in long eyelashes he breaths hard against your face. His expression is weird like he’s in pain while kissing you.

You push him away harshly unsure how to handle this situation. His gaze is intense as he looks at you. It’s crazy how his usually unexpressive eyes show such impulsive desire in them. He looked dangerous before but now it feels like you’re caught up in a trap.

Maybe there’s some truth in the rumours. You need to get out of here.

“Where are you going?” Jeongguk grabs your wrist before you can bolt for the door. Your face contorts in pain and fear instead of the previous alluring expression you had and he dislikes it. His hand is crushing your wrist as he pulls you back against him keeping you in place.

He saw that expression enough times to be boring but when you said all those things your eyes were fiery. You looked angry, hurt and confident. Defiant. He liked that expression so much that his whole body got covered in goosebumps. He felt the impulse to kiss you maybe do more. This is the first time someone told him off. Did not cower in fear even his own parents feared him. In life there’s nothing that Jeongguk didn’t get if he wished for it it was already his. His every wish and whim was granted. His parents never cared for him he could tell from a young age. He was never like the kids his age. They got him everything so they wouldn’t have to pay attention to him and now that he had his company to run there wasn’t a single wish of his that was unheard, except for one, he wanted to get excited. Sometimes expensive things did the trick then he started collecting beautiful things but his excitement never stayed for long. He got bored of anything he possessed quickly. You could be another whim for all he cares but he feels that you will be different. You’re treating him differently and he wants to explore all your expressions. Now he decided to have you. You can’t just get away if he needs to use force he will do it. You piqued his interest so you need to pay the price. He sees you in a new light.

“I want to go home.” Your face twists as his fingers tighten around your hand. It’s past the point where you’re sure it will bruise tomorrow. His wild expression is activating your fight or flight reflexes. It feels like he’s far away before he focuses back on your face.

“Do you think you can get away with what you said?” There’s something crazy in his eyes. You can’t explain it but it feels like you’re onto something far more dangerous than just getting fired.

He’s not gentle at all as he handles you.

“What will you do? Kill me?” You spit it out without a second thought but you’re just trying to mask how terrified you feel. Trying to survive you realise quickly that you won’t get out if you show that you’re scared of him. You need to find out what he wants from you.

“No. I won’t kill you. I’m going to keep you.” His finger gently clasps around a few strands of your hair pulls the tips over to his mouth to kiss it and takes a huge perverted sniff smelling your shampoo. He doesn’t pull on your hair thankfully and when your expression changes his attitude changes as well. He’s more gentle as he touches you.

“Bold of you to think I would want to do anything with you after what I had to endure at this company.” You pull away pretending to be disgusted. While his careful touch was ominous you can’t deny how your heart started to beat faster. His face changes minute by minute and you can’t predict what he will do next. One time he’s docile and the next he’s aggressive. Your heart tries to jump out of your chest as you wait for his next moves.

“I can take care of them. The ones who humiliated you I can get rid of them. Make sure that no one will lay a finger on you at the company ever again. All you need to do is to indulge me.” He caresses the side of your face as he speaks his mouth forms a small smile when you don’t push him away.

“I don’t believe you. If you stop finding me interesting you will just discard me in the end. I won’t play your games.” He might give you momentarily power but you know that he could take it back anytime.

“Discard you? No baby, I’m going to use you until there’s nothing left of you. Once I get obsessed with something I won’t lose interest until there’s nothing left to obsess over.” It’s true he discards things that are broken by him. If he doesn’t like something anymore he destroys them.

A man like him obsessing over you. No wonder he doesn’t have a girlfriend. A handsome man only remains single for a long time if there’s something wrong with him and he clearly has a few loose screws.

“Okay.” You must be crazy to agree too.

Jeongguk kisses you again and this time you don’t push him away. You twist your fingers into his hair deepening the kiss. You’re kissing the infamous devil it feels thrilling how his hands pull you to him possessively. Courage saved your life many times but this time it feels like you’re going to hell.

It feels so wrong that it feels so good.

His lips map out the curve of your neck his body flush against yours. He picks you up and pushes you against the wall his arm muscles flex as he holds your weight up with ease. Your legs curl around his small waist to balance. With the new position, your skirt rode up your thighs until the fabric was bunched around your waist.

Things are escalating fast but you don’t try to stop him. You will let the flames engulf you.

It’s only your panties that separate you from the pleasure as he rubs his cock into you.

He’s going to be big you can tell by feeling the outline.

Your hands wrap around his neck and his hands wrap around your torso to lift you off the wall and place you on his desk. Jeongguk spreads your legs with his fingers placing them on his shoulders as he hovers over you. The position is embarrassing you feel open and spread out on his desk. The pens and binders dig into your back but it all fades to the background. Anyone could just come in and see you but you remember that normally no one dares to come to his office unless it’s unavoidably necessary.

Even if someone came in they wouldn’t dare to say anything with the CEO’s notorious reputation.

He rubs his nose around your clothed slit taking huge whiffs of air as he’s committing your smell into his memory. It’s dirty but arousing. His nose does a good job at rubbing your clit eliciting moans from you.

“Stop teasing me.” Jeongguk could read your frustrated expression so he decided to push your panties to the side and push two fingers into you. The sudden intrusion hurt but soon ebbed away as he slowly moved them in and out paying attention to your clit with his tongue to make you feel good. You coated his fingers in your arousal, it made a wet sound each time he pushed his fingers back inside as you grew wetter.

His mouth ate you sloppily it did not look like he had much experience he just let his curiosity take the lead and experiment if it looked like you enjoyed something he repeated the motion until you were practically soaking his fingers. It's embarrassing how his inexperienced fingers could trigger your orgasm within ten minutes.

It's probably because it was the first time someone put his fingers inside you. Jeongguk cleaned up the mess. He put his soaked fingers into his mouth and cherished your taste.

“I don’t taste weird right?” You don’t know if it’s bad or not, no one tasted you to say it for sure and for a reason you felt insecure. No matter how bad of a reputation he has within the company he’s every woman’s wet dream he’s so perfect that it’s scary to think about it sometimes. He has a perfectly sculptured nose with sexy facial features even his body is fit and just the right amount of fat and muscle. He could be so perfect if he wasn’t so twisted in the head.

“No, It’s strongly sweet. I like it.” He reassures you with a smile. It would look almost innocent if he hadn’t got his hand palming his obvious erection as he sucks on his fingers.

“Sit down.” Drunk on his compliment you don’t think about anything other than having his perfect cock buried in you. He seemed to like anything about you even if you’re far from perfect.

It looked like he didn’t really care about your appearance he just found you beautiful after he changed his mind about you. You have a feeling he would have liked anything about your appearance it just needs to be you.

It’s embarrassing how your legs wobble once you try to stand but he doesn’t laugh at all. Jeongguk pushes his pants down his ankle along with his underwear and man spreads on his expensive leather chair waiting for you while his eyes look you over hungrily. You’re surprised he follows orders so well after all he’s a powerful figure that bows to no one. It looks like he doesn’t care about that if he can get his dick wet.

Jeongguk strokes his cock with his big hands spreading the precum all around as you get closer and closer. He’s more than ready. You straddle his hips positioning yourself over him one hand moves your panties to the side for quick access. You sit slowly swallowing him inch by inch until he’s buried deep. Jeongguk throws his head back when you slowly circle your hips testing out the stretch.

“Did you have sex before?” To be honest it feels like a ridiculous question to ask him but with his inexperience showing it makes you feel that way. You doubt he had a healthy relationship with a woman before so it wouldn’t be a surprise if he hadn’t had sex before.

“No. You’re the first.” Jeongguk moans deeply when you tighten around him suddenly. You can hardly believe that you can be the first to fuck him.

Technically he’s your first too but you’re not going to tell him that. He would like it too much. Thanks to your big dildo that you practised on for years you have no difficulty taking him.

A part of you likes it. Everyone keeps nagging you about when will you get a boyfriend. You were never good at keeping up with a relationship you didn’t want to make an effort to keep it and now with him, you don’t think he will care how much effort you put in. Even if you wanted to you had a feeling it would be nearly impossible to get rid of him.

He said so himself he’s not going to let go of his object of desire until there’s nothing left of it.

You start moving and panting as you extort yourself by bouncing on his lap with this angle he hits all the right spots that you can’t stop even when your thighs start to ache. Yet you push through the ache and ride him like you mean it. You should do some sports as you’re getting tired too soon. Jeongguk helps you with his hands lifting you by the hips and slamming you down on his cock. He trusts up into you for extra measure and that makes it super deep as he pounds into you. He’s going to cum soon.

His virgin cock fills you up to the brim with his cum but he doesn’t let up once he cums he pushes through the oversensitivity not stopping until you cum too. His thumb rubs your clit in fast circles while his hips flex and shove his cock deep inside with fast precise thrusts until you cream around him.

You move your panties to cover your pussy again and try to ignore the feeling of his cum oozing out. You help Jeongguk clean up as well using a lot of tissues to clean up the mess that he has on his desk and chair. The last thing you need to fix is his hair while you like it touseled like this you need to make sure no one knows you two just fucked.

There’s still an hour left until everyone clocks out.

“I guess this would do.” You look over him one more time except for his swollen lips he looks good. His hair and clothes are perfectly in order. Your finger swipes over his lower lip trying to clean the remains of your lipstick when you hear a knock.

Contemplating what to do you decide it’s best if you just remain there standing by his side.

Jeongguk clears his throat and tells the person to come in when you nod. “S-Sorry for disturbing you. I’m here to hand in my report.”

It’s the new blonde girl that entered the company not long ago. She tries to hide her desire for her boss but she does a poor job at that. If she didn’t show a strong face of fear she could be the one now with his cum dripping down your legs. However, Jeongguk finds her uninteresting. Fear is boring. He likes you now and everyone around him is just a passing figure.

“Oh, Y/N, you’re here too. Sorry boss, I didn’t know you had someone here. Then excuse me.” She bows and leaves quickly. Thankfully she doesn’t seem to think you standing next to him is weird.

You release a huge breath that you were holding back the entire time in fear of getting caught.

“I guess I have to go back to my seat too.” Unsure what to do you decided to just do more work before you let your thoughts run wild. You agreed to be somewhat his girlfriend but not at the same time so you’re confused about what you two are at the moment.

The entire situation is fucked up.

“No. Stay here until I finish my work.” Jeongguk pulls you to sit on his lap but you’re worried that his cum dripping out of you will stain his pants so you want to stand up but he doesn’t let you.

“I- I need to clean up.” You try again but he holds you against his chest firmly by a hand around your waist. His other flipping through some reports.

“I don’t want you to be where I can’t see you.” This man, can someone grow this obsessed so soon? Or maybe he is always transfixed on one thing and now that one thing is you. You barely know anything about this man but you will have all the time to learn.

“If you let me go clean up I will go home with you.” You can use this as a bargain chip if you don’t he might even try to kidnap you and make you stay in his house without ever letting you leave.

“Okay. Come back soon.” You can taste yourself on his tongue. Reality starts to sink in as you let Jeongguk kiss you needily.

After you clean up in the bathroom you take a look at your reflection. Not that long ago you dried your tears and fixed your make-up thinking that you were going to quit and now look at you. Your neck is forming bruises and you have your boss’ cum in you. Things changed fast.

After that, you went back just like you promised and sat on his lap while he reviewed reports until working hours. He occasionally kissed your neck as he worked dividing his attention. This might be the first time in weeks you don’t have to work overtime as he drives you to his condo. He held your hand which is a nice romantic gesture but you have an inkling he was just holding it knowing that you can’t run away.

His house is in pristine condition it looks like one of the model houses you see in a magazine. It doesn’t feel like someone is living here, no family pictures or any personal items in his space. The fridge is also empty. It didn’t look like he was cherishing good childhood memories. Usually, a home is filled with pictures but he doesn’t have any.

“Do you really live here?” Half a day ago you wouldn’t dare to speak to your boss this way but you realised that you have no reason to fear him anymore. Jeongguk hides his face in the crook of your neck smelling you again.

“Hmn.” He answers while hugging you from the back. It will take a while to get used to this new side that you see.

“There’s nothing here to eat.” You close the fridge with a dissatisfied frown. You’re famished after skipping dinner to write that report and now there’s nothing here to eat. Not even a single orange. The fridge is absolutely empty except for five bottles of sparkling water.

“I mostly order takeout.” You roll your eyes but fish out your phone from your pockets. You can order from your favourite restaurant.

“What do you want to eat…uh, Jeongguk?” You hesitate for a moment before you cautiously call out his name. It’s past working hours so technically he’s not here as your boss and you’re in his house and already fucked which is already unprofessional enough that calling his name wouldn’t be that big of a deal.

“Anything is fine.” You nod noting that he doesn’t seem to mind you calling out his first name. You dial the right number and tell the server your order, and you decide on pizza. You try your hardest not to mess up your order as Jeongguk decides to stop waiting and pepper kisses all over your neck forming new hickeys and kissing over the forming ones. You will need a lot of make-up to hide this tomorrow. He didn’t really take your resignation so you think you still have your job at the company.

“S-Stop it, the food will be here soon.” The protest dies on your tongue as he fondles your breasts over your clothes. He kisses you passionately like he didn’t get to fuck you just hours ago.

“I can be quick.” You don’t need much more convincing as you spread your legs for him. He doesn’t waste time removing your underwear and spreads your pussy with two fingers. It feels good when he licks the bud flicking his tongue over it before he wraps his perfect lips around your clit and sucks. Your legs shake as he keeps licking your hands tangle into his hair pulling when he pushes his tongue into you.

Jeongguk moans and breaths hardly into you as you keep pulling his hair the sharp pain in his scalp goes straight to his cock. His face gets wet with your arousal as you keep squirming running from the pleasure. He doesn’t let you get away he holds you open with both hands on either side of your thighs using only his wet tongue to bring you bliss.

It's obscene how his brows furrow in concentration and his mouth makes that wet sound relentlessly licking and rolling his tongue until your orgasm washes over you and you cum all over his mouth.

Jeongguk made sure you finished before the food arrived.

You both scarfed down the food in ten minutes before he showed you his bedroom and laid you down on it.

He had the stamina to keep you up all night with his cock buried in your heat. You had work the next day but you were sure your boss wouldn’t scold you if you were late this time.

You felt invincible after becoming Jeongguk’s secretary no one dared to grab you or say anything rude to you after they witnessed Jeongguk’s anger everyone knew in the company that you had him wrapped around your finger. No one dared to approach you as Jeongguk is a possessive lover. The men hated you and the women loved you as you made their jobs easier after getting rid of the people who harassed the female staff. Jeongguk would fire everyone in a heartbeat if you said so.

At first, you were afraid if you could keep up his interest but his obsession never faded.

There’s this blonde again. You can tell what she’s thinking in that little head of hers. It was obvious from the start that she wanted Jeongguk but apparently, he only wants you. No matter how hard she tries to flutter her lashes or wear revealing clothes he doesn’t care.

She comes in to hand in a report trying to impress him with her work but fails when he doesn’t react.

Getting annoyed by her relentless tries to seduce your boyfriend you decide to end her delusions once and for all.

You sit down on Jeongguk’s lap as he flips through her report for a moment he looks surprised you normally don’t initiate contact when someone is in his office but he doesn’t mind it as he always craves your touches and attention. His hand is holding you to him by placing it on your stomach. You even relax into his body and lay against him with your head right under his chin. She can’t say a single thing but her face is turning red as you kiss his cheek. Jeongguk smiles at your cuteness but his eyes remain on the report.

He wants to read it as soon as possible so that woman would leave and he can have you all to himself.

“He’s mine.” You mouth to her.

She glares at you but once Jeongguk rejects the report and tells her to fix it by this afternoon without looking at her she accepts defeat and leaves the two of you alone. You swear there are tears in her eyes as she leaves in a hurry.

“You’re hot when you’re jealous baby.” You thought that he didn’t realise your little exchange as he was glued to the report but it seems nothing can escape him when it comes to you.

“Of course, no one can touch what is mine.” You smile into the kiss swallowing his wanton moans as you palm him over his pants.

Usually, he’s all over you but this time you decide to show him how much you appreciate his sole obsession.

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