#the four-monitor problem

[avaantares]

It's one of those projects.

[singlethread]

.

[science-hoes]

Daylight: Month One

Michael Robinavitch x Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical medical descriptions

Chapters: Month One, Month Two, Month Three, Month Four

Description: The reader is trying to get to the bottom of her unusual symptoms with the help of Dana.

Michael Robinavitch Masterlist

——

You were well known in the Pitt for being able to handle the most gruesome cases better than any other resident. Degloved leg? No problem. Multiple gunshot wounds with intestines spilling out? Not even a flinch. Necrotizing fasciitis with maggots? Child’s play.

That’s why everyone was shocked to see you sprint over to the trashcan in Central Two and puke your guts out at the smell of a patient’s festering bed sore. Luckily, the patient was unconscious, so he wasn’t offended by your aversion to his wound. You coughed and sputtered the excess saliva in your mouth into the trash, hunched over in case your stomach betrayed you again.

You felt someone’s hands pull your hair out of your face as you vomited again. “Bed sores are your kryptonite?” She asked.

You could see over the edge of the trash can from the shoes (and ankle monitor) that it was McKay. You laughed weakly, trembling as your hands gripped the edges of the container. “I’ve never thrown up like this before. I guess I’m losing my superpowers.” You joked, and you could feel the nausea begin to subside. “Thank you.” You added when you stood up straight.

“No problem.” McKay said, but she had a look on her face that you couldn’t decipher.

You moved away from the trash can and back over to the patient. Santos watched you with an amused look. “I’ve never seen you get sick. Are you knocked up or some shit?” She asked brashly.

You shook your head, internally rolling your eyes. “No way. I’m on the pill. It’s just a stomach bug.” You replied, getting the supplies ready to clean up the patient’s wound.

McKay followed you back to your side and shrugged. “I don’t know, sweetie. My stomach bug is 10 years old now.” She said.

You looked to both women in the room with you. “Don’t worry. I haven’t been having sex anyway.”

Which was a lie because Michael Robinavitch was giving you backshots last night in his bed after work. But you needed to get them off your case.

Santos laughed. “Damn. That’s gotta suck. A sexless life is a pointless life.” She mused.

You took in a deep breath, trying to calm your irritation but also curb the nausea. “I don’t think this is an appropriate conversation to have in front of a patient.” You said, beginning to clean the patient’s wound.

McKay and Santos both gave each other a knowing look. Even if they didn’t know who you were fucking, they knew it had to be someone on the day shift. Too many times you came back from your 15 minute break with your scrubs wrinkled and hair less than perfect.

Their words began to eat at you even after you finished tending to your patient. The pill made your cycles pretty irregular and unpredictable. Your nausea seemed to come out of nowhere. And, of course, the damning fact that Robby hadn’t used a condom since six months of dating.

You had been secretly dating for a year and a half now. Only a very select few of your coworkers knew: Dana, Jack, and Mel. Early on, you and Robby agreed that it was best to keep it private to make sure the hospital administrators stayed out of it. Not to mention, you didn’t want any of the other coworkers to think you got special treatment because you were dating a senior attending.

Robby was sitting at his desk station, typing into a patient’s chart. Those damned black-rimmed glasses sat on his nose, and you made a mental note to make him wear them the next time he fucked you. He peered over the top of the glasses when he noticed you walking towards him. “How’s our bed sore patient?” He asked.

You leaned against the high counter of the desk. “He’s okay.” You said, and then looked around to make sure nobody was listening. “I threw up.”

Robby stared at you because clearly he misunderstood. “Huh?”

You folded your hands and pulled your lips into a thin line. “I puked. My guts out. In front of McKay and Santos. Because of the smell.” You explained.

He removed his glasses, so he could focus his full attention. “You threw up?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes in exasperation. “For the third time. I vomited while seeing a patient.”

Robby leaned back in his chair. “You eat something bad?” He asked.

You shrugged, leaning down a little closer to him. “I mean, not unless you gave me food poisoning last night.” You whispered.

He crossed his arms, a small smile playing at his lips. “I take offense to that. I do not undercook my food.” He replied.

You rolled your eyes, smiling with him. “You’re right. How dare I question your cooking skills?”

Robby’s smile broke into a grin. “That’s right. Don’t let it happen again.” He teased before nodding his head toward the doctor’s lounge. “Why don’t you go take your break? Get some water.”

You stood up straight, putting your hands in your pockets. “Yeah I will.” You said, and as you turned to walk away, you glanced back at him. “Have you taken your break yet?” You asked.

To anyone else, it was a normal question. But to you and your boyfriend, it was an invitation to the on-call room. Robby slid his glasses back on and watched you over the top of them. “No, I haven’t. But if you threw up, you shouldn’t get on any more rides.” He said quietly and winked at you.

What an asshole. You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide your grin as you turned to head to the break room. On the way, you passed the supply closet.

“My stomach bug is 10 years old now.” McKay’s voice echoed in your brain.

You looked around to make sure nobody was watching before entering, snatching two pregnancy tests, and hurrying to the bathroom. You switched the lock shut, taking a moment to breathe and find peace. You ripped both tests out of their packages, tossing the trash, and taking them as instructed. Once the test area was saturated, you wrapped both tests in a paper towel and shoved them in your pocket. There was no extra time in your day to wait 15 minutes in the bathroom when you still needed water.

You exited the bathroom and made a beeline to the doctors’ lounge. It was empty and quiet, a stark contrast from the busy, noisy environment of the Pitt. You grabbed your water bottle from the cubby, sat down in a chair, and washed away the stomach acid that lingered in your mouth. You tried to calm your nerves by closing your eyes and breathing deeply, but the pregnancy tests in your pocket were calling to you like the fucking Green Goblin mask. As if your hand belonged to another person, you reached down and pulled them out, unraveling them from the paper towel. And already, three minutes later, you had your answer.

Double lines. On both tests. Matching the “pregnant” option of the guide on the stick.

You felt like your soul had been punched out of your body. You were pregnant. The questions started running through your mind like an F1 race. How far along? Is Robby going to be upset? How are you going to finish residency? Is Robby going to leave you? How are you going to do this?

You didn’t realize the tears that began to well up in your eyes and threaten to fall if you blinked. With haste, you shoved the tests back in your pocket, left your water bottle on the table, and hurried to find the only person who could help you right now.

And, thankfully, she seemed relatively unbusy at the nurses’ hub. You marched right up to Dana, arms crossed over your chest in a protective position.

“Dana, I need your help.” You said before she had a chance to look up.

She immediately clocked your teary eyes, and she went into mama bear mode. “Oh, sweetie, what’s wrong?” She asked, hands resting on either side of your crossed arms.

“I just- I need your help.” You repeated, brows furrowing as you spent all your concentration on holding back sobs.

Dana nodded and looked around the Pitt. “Okay, okay. Do you need me to get Robby?”

“No!” You snapped in a whisper. “No, not right now. I need you to do an ultrasound for me.”

Her face changed from one of worry to one that was…still worried but softer and understanding. Without another word, she placed a hand on your back and led you to an empty room in the back of the Pitt where there was always an ultrasound machine ready to go. She swung the curtain open and closed as you both discretely entered the room.

You laid down on the bed, resting your head on the incline. Dana began to turn on the machine and placed the ultrasound gel in the warmer. The lights were dimmed, and you were grateful for it.

“How long have you known?” She asked, back turned to you as she set up the settings on the screen.

“Just a few minutes. I took a couple of tests from the supply closet.” You admitted, unrolling the tests from the crinkled paper towel.

Dana turned once she had the probe and gel in her hands. Even in the low light of the room, the tests showed two distinct lines. She chuckled as she shook the gel bottle. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a clearer pregnancy test.”

You pulled your tucked scrub top out from your pants, hoisting it to your ribcage. Dana squirted the warm gel onto the probe before staring back at you.

“Uh, this is your first ultrasound, hun. It’s transvaginal. I need your pants to come off.” She said.

You felt your cheeks grow red in embarrassment. You’re a resident for Christ’s sakes. You knew that. “You’re right, sorry.”

You kicked your shoes off and shimmied out of your scrub bottoms and panties. Dana handed you a blanket to cover your knees, and you gratefully accepted.

“Okay, you ready to see this baby?” She asked. “Just gonna feel some pressure down there.”

You took in a deep breath and nodded. The probe inserted, and Dana moved it around until she found the image she wanted on the screen. You didn’t look at the screen, almost afraid to.

“Looks like little peanut is in the uterus. Not ectopic.” She said, and then looked to you. “Do you want to see it?” She asked.

You felt relief wash over you at the confirmation. You looked over to the screen, and there was your baby. Just a little bean in your uterus. No arms or legs or anything. Just a shape. A smile found its way to your face anyway.

“It’s so tiny.” You said in awe.

Dana chuckled and pressed some keys on the monitor to save the picture. She removed the probe and cleaned it off, allowing you to pull the blanket over your waist. “Don’t worry, it’ll get bigger and more annoying before you know it.” She replied.

You stared at the screen, feeling an odd sense of peace that you’d never felt before. “Please don’t tell anyone.” You whispered.

Dana huffed in annoyance that you even reminded her. “You think I’m gonna go blabbing to everyone about you and Robby’s secret love child?” She asked.

You giggled and shook your head. “No…no, I trust you.” You responded before shifting uncomfortably. “Can you…” You trailed off, scared to even ask.

“Get Robby?” She finished for you.

You inhaled deeply and nodded. Dana placed the ultrasound probe back in its holder. “Just be discrete.” You pleaded.

She lifted her arms out. “It’s like you don’t even know me.” She teased before heading out into the Pitt, leaving you in privacy.

Dana made her way to the desk hub, scanning the department for Robby. When she saw him exiting a patient room, she waved him down. Robby, in fake exasperation, rolled his eyes and shoved his hands into the pockets of his worn navy hoodie.

“What now?” He asked.

Dana raised an eyebrow at the sass, but decided to let it slide. “I’ve got a patient in Ultrasound 1 that I need you to check on.” She said.

Robby furrowed his brow. “What’s the patient here for?” He asked.

“Patient is pregnant, wanted you to double check the ultrasound. Transvaginal.” She responded.

Robby looked to the back of the department where the ultrasound rooms were and turned to head that way. “Ah, yes. My girlfriend loves it when I’m knuckles deep in another woman.” He joked in a flat voice.

Dana smirked as he walked to your room, wishing there was some way to preserve the irony in the air. Robby pressed his hand to the hand sanitizer dispenser and swung the curtain open and shut before rubbing his hands together.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Robinavitch, but you can call me-“ His standard patient greeting came to a halt when he saw you laying in the patient bed, clutching the blanket to your chest. “What are you doing in here? Are you okay?” He asked, rushing to your side, sitting on the edge of the bed.

You nodded as one of his hands caressed the side of your face. “I’m okay.” You whispered. “Um, Dana had to check something out for me.”

For as smart as Robby was, he was having a hard time connecting the dots. “Check out what?” He asked.

You squinted in stress, wishing he would figure it out himself. So instead you just pointed to the ultrasound monitor screen. Robby turned to follow, and his eyes met the picture of a tiny embryo. His body language didn’t change, but he was frozen for sure.

You reached to the side of the bed to show him the positive pregnancy tests. “I think it’s why I threw up.” You whispered.

Robby looked down to the tests and their unmistakable results. He took them into his hands, and he just stared at them. You breathing became uneven as anxiety started to flow through you.

“I know it’s not what you wanted.” You said.

Your boyfriend looked to you with a look on his face you had never seen. Tears shimmered in the corners of his eyes, and his breath hitched. “It’s mine?” He asked, with a twinge of hope in his voice.

You wanted to smack him upside the head for even asking the question. “Yes, of course it’s yours, Michael.” You replied, pulling his first name to show you were serious.

The tears that began to fall down his cheeks inspired yours to do the same. Robby placed the tests down and fell into your arms, shaking with quiet crying. You ran a hand through his hair, surprised at his reaction. His arms pulled you into the tightest hug he had ever given you.

“We’re having a baby?” He asked into your chest, needing to hear your voice confirm it.

You smiled and lifted his head to meet your eyes. Those shining brown eyes were full of hope like you had never seen in your entire relationship. “We’re having a baby.” You replied and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Robby laughed with a new joy, one that you’d remember forever. He began pressing kisses across your face, and you felt like you could breathe for the first time in an hour. For a few minutes, he laid fully on the bed with you, pulling you close against his chest. You both stared at the picture of your tiny bean baby on the ultrasound monitor.

Your fingers were intertwined with his when you finally said, “We need to get back out there.”

Robby pressed a kiss to your hair and placed your coupled hands onto your belly. “Just a little bit longer.” He pleaded.

And you couldn’t say no to that.

—

A/N: Thank you all for being so patient while waiting for this fic! Robby deserves happiness more than anyone, so I decided to give him a break from all of the torture he’s been through on that never ending shift. I will be updating this fic weekly, possibly sooner, for each month of the pregnancy + a little before!

[woniwontons]

dead end - CHAPTER TWO

bob reynolds x therapist!reader

summary: after being assigned to monitor bob reynolds’ recovery inside the new avengers tower, you try to keep your fears hidden. but between quiet training sessions and unsettling therapy logs, you start to realize he’s watching you more than he should—and that something inside him never stops whispering.

w.c: 2.1k

warnings: abuse by parent, psychological thriller, inaccurately depicted mental illness, emotional manipulation (by void), nightmares, slow burn, possessive themes, combat violence, unreliable realities, hallucinations, left some yearning crumbs for y'all in here since its shorter...

chapter nav: one | two | three | four | five | six

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°｡⋆

ANONYMOUS POV

Transcript Log | INTERNAL FILE [REDACTED] Access Level: TOP SECRET Date: [REDACTED] Location: Off-site - Audio Transcript Only

Scientist 1: “Vitals?”

Scientist 2: “Stable. No unexpected rejection so far. Slight fluctuations during REM, but within limits.”

Scientist 1: “Neurological?”

Scientist 2: “That’s where it gets interesting. Her activity spikes in proximity to ▇▇▇▇▇.”

Scientist 1: “And the Void?”

Scientist 2: “We can’t detect it directly. But ▇▇▇▇'s energy readings dropped 17% during yesterday’s session. That’s the first time we’ve seen a suppression event without sedation or one of the New Avengers present.”

Scientist 1: “▇▇▇▇ doesn’t know?”

Scientist 2: “No. She thinks she’s been ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇. She was flagged in her old unit. High trauma index, low emotional volatility, adaptable but guarded.”

Scientist 1: “Are you saying ▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇ is working?"

Scientist 2: “There's too many variables here to know for sure, but I would say we're working towards a successful run.”

Scientist 1: “Continue observation. Let's try to introduce physical contact. If ▇▇▇▇▇ starts to escalate, we’ll pull her.”

Scientist 2: “And if he doesn’t?”

Scientist 1: “Then we’ve found the answer to our biggest problem.”

End of File

READER POV

You were barefoot.

The floor beneath your feet was sticky with something—beer, grease, maybe both—and the carpeted hallway stunk of cigarette smoke that had long since stained the drywall yellow. You knew, instantly, this wasn’t your memory, or at least nowhere you had ever been before.

You turned your head slowly.

A battered recliner sat in the living room, worn through at the armrests, facing a television that loudly blasted a wrestling match. The broken blinds cast sunlight across the floor. Outside, you could just barely make out a patch of dying grass.

"Where am I?" you asked yourself, feeling so lucid in this dream.

Down the hall, a door slammed.

"Useless piece of shit!" a man's voice roared from the other side of the house. You froze.

A crash. Glass shattering against the floor.

"You thought I wouldn't find out what you said to your uncle about me? Fucking liar, can't even man up and say it to my face."

Heavy footsteps approached the room you were in. Fear shot up your chest as you held your breath, slowly backing away from the hall before running to the nearest door. A set of steps appeared before you as you yanked the door open, and you ran upstairs to escape whatever was coming in your direction.

An attic.

You creeped quietly inside, looking for somewhere to hide if the footsteps continued to follow. It was a mess up there, filled with boxes and old furniture.

A broken patch in the floorboards appeared itself to you, drawing you to it. You crouched onto the floor and took in the scene underneath.

It was a small bedroom. On the floor, hunched near the edge of a mattress stripped bare, sat a boy. Knees to chest. Head down. Breathing shallow.

You recognized him.

Even this young, even under a mop of sweat-drenched brunette hair, you knew it was Bob. Thin. Shoulders curled inward, ready to disappear.

And across from him, towering in the doorframe, was his father.

Drunk. Flushed red. Breathing hard as he held a folded belt in his grasp.

His hand balled into a fist and slammed the doorframe hard enough to splinter it.

"Look at me, boy! Have you got something wrong with you in the head now?"

Bob didn't move. He didn't even cry, and you felt your heart throbbing in pain at the sight.

You leaned back from the floor as you felt a change in the energy of the attic, your senses screaming in paranoia.

A presence.

Your body swung around and your eyes met with your reflection in a mirror propped up in the corner of the attic. The air around you dropped in temperature, and behind you, stood a proper reason to shudder.

The Void.

He didn’t speak immediately, only stood at your back—close enough that you could feel the shape of him. His voice came low and deep, curling beneath your skin.

"No one came for me then."

You made in a sharp intake breath, unsure of what to do about such a powerful being standing right behind you. The crack of a whipped belt stung your ear from the room below you, causing you to wince at the following sound of younger Bob's cries.

"Why... why am I here?" you whispered, your voice cracking.

"I remember every time I wished I could simply burn this house down to get the peace I wanted. Every moment in this house turned me further into this."

You watch him reach toward you in the mirror, and you shut your eyes in horror, squeezing them in a grimace. But the touch that came was not in aggression, but a gentle grace of your forearm that made the hair stand up in goosebumps. You felt the tingle of his exhale meeting the back of your ear as he bent down to whisper.

"Is it wrong to want you to see it all?"

Your voice trembled. “This isn’t my memory to have, I shouldn't be here.”

"Well you've already seen it now, haven't you?"

You opened your eyes again to watch him. He tilted his head further forward, his gaze sweeping over the outline of your side profile. Refusing to look over, you held your gaze to the mirror, ignoring the sight of his blurred face in your peripheral. Examining you.

"You make it so quiet, I ought to consider you a threat." His hand on your forearm creeped downwards, his finger tips sliding down to the back of your palm. "But I can't help but to feel so intrigued."

You couldn’t breathe now. Your heart beat so loudly, you swore he could hear it hitting the inside of your chest.

"Let me keep you, y/n."

The training room on Sublevel 3 was colder than you remembered.

Bright, clinical lights shone down from above, reflecting off the polished floors. In the center of the mat, Bucky stood with his fists raised, sweat darkening the fabric of his T-shirt. Across from him, chest heaving but posture composed, was Bob.

He hadn’t seen you enter.

Neither had Bucky. But Yelena had.

She sat on the edge of a supply crate, legs crossed, examining the scene in front of her with careful precision. Her eyes flicked to you the moment you stepped inside and she swung her legs over the wooden crate to talk.

"You weren't on the schedule for today," she said, voice low.

“I’m not here officially,” you replied, watching as Bob ducked a punch and countered with a clean elbow to Bucky’s side. “Harding asked me to monitor some responses.”

That was a lie, but you needed to see Bob again. Or rather, you felt a strong, impulsive urge to do so. Especially after the dream.

“Again,” Bucky barked.

Bob nodded once. Then lunged.

The fight seemed brutal to you, all just weight and momentum. Bucky dodged the first blow and swept Bob’s leg, but Bob twisted midair, landing hard and kicking upward in the same motion.

You stepped closer to Yelena, clipboard clutched to your chest more out of reflex than necessity.

"Always with the clipboard, do you carry that around with you 24/7?" Yelena asked sarcastically. You scoffed back a laugh, realizing how nerdy you likely looked at all times. She eased your nerves a bit and you relaxed, letting your shoulders down as you watched the show.

Except, you couldn't help but notice that Bob was holding back. You could feel it.

Each punch he threw stopped just short of full force, like he was afraid of what would happen if he let go. But every time Bucky hit him, especially when it was hard, sharp, or unexpected, you saw it.

His eyes.

Brown. Then gold. Then back again.

A flash. So quick, you might’ve thought you imagined it. But the next time it happened, his hands changed too.

From flesh to something blacker than shadows, a smoke crawled up his wrists. Then, flickering back to normal as if nothing had happened.

Bucky didn’t flinch. He just kept pushing him.

"Does that always happen? It's in the notes, but I've never seen it with my eyes before," you question Yelena.

She shrugs, looking at you curiously. "Usually it's a little crazier than this. I'm getting a bit bored if I'm being honest."

Your reply is interrupted by Bucky's shout, “Focus, Bob. Control it.”

Bob gritted his teeth, catching Bucky’s next blow with a forearm. “I am.”

The room felt like it was vibrating slightly. Just under the surface.

You took another step forward.

"Let m̷̻̑e̸͔̍ ̵̙͋o̸͖̕u̵̡̓t̸̫͛."

The hairs on your arm sparked up again in shock. It wasn’t spoken aloud, but you felt it. Like pressure against your ribs. A whisper from inside someone else’s lungs. Something that had never occurred to you before. You looked to your side, but Yelena didn't seem to have heard the demonic voice that you had.

Bob swung wide and missed.

Bucky came in low and landed a blow to his ribs.

Bob staggered—and his eyes flared gold for just a second too long.

CRACK.

The floor beneath his foot cracked outward like broken glass.

Bucky immediately backed off, hands raised. “Bob—”

Bob doubled over, clutching his head.

“I’m fine,” he growled through his teeth, though his fingers had turned black again, wrists trembling. And simultaneously, a pressure grew in your own chest as he slowly lost control.

Bucky didn’t move.

Yelena stood, walking closer to the center of the room where the boys stood still. You followed closely behind her, ready to assist in any way you could.

"Bob?" Yelena spoke as she stopped in front of his crouched form.

And that was when Bob’s head snapped up, golden eyes searching the room like an animal sensing something off.

Then he saw you.

His posture stilled. His chest heaved once.

All of the blackness in his hands retreated at once.

“Did I lose control again?” he said softly, voice raw. It seemed like a question for the room, but he was staring directly at you. "Why do you make it so... quiet?"

You felt pathetic as your heart dropped as the memory of what the void said to you in the dream. "What?"

Bob straightened up quickly, smoothing the bottom of his shirt.

"Nothing," he exclaimed quickly, walking off to retrieve his water bottle at the corner of their training room.

Yelena looked between the two of you, confusion knitting her brows together. "What the hell was that?"

"Also nothing," you say curtly before spinning on your heel and walking away, noting the event on your clipboard.

The walls of Dr. Harding’s office were too white. The kind of professional warmth that pretended it wasn’t designed to contain people.

The artificial daylight panels made you squint as you sat in the stiff-backed chair across from her desk, hands folded politely in your lap. Your ridiculous clipboard rested beside you, useless for once.

Harding looked up from her tablet, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. “Thank you for coming by on short notice.”

You gave a small nod. “Of course. Is this about yesterday’s training observation?”

“Partly.” She adjusted something on her screen. “I just wanted to check in personally. After all, this assignment came with… heightened expectations.”

That was her way of saying: You aren't meeting them.

“I’ve been logging everything daily,” you said quickly. “Vitals. Verbal behavior. Motor regulation. There’s nothing I haven’t reported.”

Harding smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I know. Your notes have been thorough.” She paused, then added, “Surprisingly intuitive, actually.”

You sat up a little straighter.

She tapped her stylus once, then looked at you again. “How have you been sleeping?”

You blinked. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” she repeated. “Any dreams? Emotional disturbances?”

You hesitated, just a second too long.

Harding noticed.

You cleared your throat. “I really don’t remember most of them.”

She smiled again. “That’s normal, especially under cognitive strain. The stress of being near dangerous people can elevate cortisol, even unconsciously.”

You gave a tight nod. “I’ve managed worse.”

“I’m sure you have.” She leaned forward slightly. “Still, Reynolds is… uniquely sensitive with his emotions. His feelings vary amongst the different staff members. But with you,” She gestured idly. “he seems to have a preference for.”

You looked at her. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Harding hummed. “Mm. That’s what makes it so effective.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. Your hands folded tighter in confusion.

“Have you noticed any… changes in your own behavior since starting the assignment?”

The question was clinical. Neutral. Like she was measuring you against a standard you weren’t aware of.

“No,” you said, but your voice came out flatter than intended.

Dr. Harding didn’t argue though. Just tapped her stylus again.

The silence dragged.

You stood a little too quickly. “If that’s all, I have reports to finish.”

She nodded, but you could feel her eyes following you even as you turned.

“Thank you,” she said politely. “And y/n? Please let me know if your dreams become more memorable to you.”

You sincerely hoped they did not become more memorable than they already were.

link to chapter three

hi everyone! a bit of a shorter update that i think is a good segue into the events of chapter three. i wanted to get this one out quickly since i know we're all starving for more bob content... or at least i am.

if you have any requests for bob one-shots, please feel free to let me know! link to my requests is in my pinned post <3

ALSO: if you are not currently on the taglist, please comment down below if you want to be! if you already commented on chapter one, don't worry because i've already added you :)

[nereidprinc3ss]

andromeda | (dybmn? bonus)

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

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

series masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright. Got your phone handy?”

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

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spencer decides the problem is that he needs more caffeine. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kitchenette down there and to the left.”

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

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

But god, does he think about you like that. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Found it okay?” 

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

“Yeah. Thanks again.”

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

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

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

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

But. 

That’s all contingent. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not again. 

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

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

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

It makes Orion feel much closer. You, too. 

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

The distance between blue bubbles feels like light years. 

I’ll be home tomorrow. I miss you. 

[horsedylan]

Since we’re on the subject of things being fake. This post?

Yeah. Fanfiction that has been derived from the truth. Its been going around since 2015 so idk who made it..But do not worry. It is I, the humble horsedylan here to offer you Horseumbine information and lead you on the right path so you can meet god!

Whenever one of my lovely and good natured mutuals reblogs this I get itchy. It’s a conflation of two events with some creative liberties. And it certainly didn’t happen a few months before the massacre. If anything we can place the tampon incident in junior year according to Brooks Brown (source: www.westword.com/news/the-missing-motive-5063685)

Incident Statement One.

We can simmer this event down to four sources; Here is one from Sue and Tom's police interview.

"Mr. Klebold said that Dylan was sheltered at his classes at Governor’s Ranch. The Klebold’s perspective in that Dylan seemed well adjusted. Mrs. Klebold then stated the only time she ever saw Dylan cry was once when he came home from school and went to his bedroom. Dylan then took a box of stuffed toys from the closet and buried himself and fell asleep underneath the stuffed toys. Mrs. Klebold said that she checked on what the problem was, however, Dylan would never tell her what had caused him to cry. The Klebolds indicated that they monitored everything about Dylan and Mr. Klebold said that based on his own experience, Dylan seemed normal. Mr. Klebold went on to state that he asked Dylan in the past if people were picking on him and Dylan would tell him no, and would point out that he was 6’4" so people wouldn’t pick on him, however, Dylan did indicate that people picked on Eric" this wasn't in high school!!! and she didn't ignore him!!!

Source: https://zanazl.tripod.com/Columbine/Suspects/DylanKlebold/Interview.html

Incident Statement Two.

This was taken from Andrew Solomon's book Far From the Tree;

"Unbeknownst to the Klebolds, Dylan had experienced significant humiliation at school, though he was six feet four and not easy to push around. He had come home one day with ketchup spots all over his shirt, and when his mother asked what had happened, he said he’d had the worst day of his life and didn’t want to talk about it. Months after his death, she learned of an incident in which Dylan and Eric had apparently been shoved and squirted with ketchup by kids calling them f*gs. “It hurt so much that I’d seen the remnants of that day and hadn’t helped him,” Sue Klebold said." (Page 590)

Dylan explicitly lied or shrugged things off each and every time she tried to help. I'm sorry but simply put, people can't help you if you buck it and obstruct them each and every time they ask you what's up.

Incident Statement Three.

This is also taken from the aforementioned Andrew Solomon book;

"Every year on Dylan’s birthday, Tom goes up to the place where the two used to hike and takes a Dr Pepper, because Dylan loved Dr. Pepper, and the stuffed koala that was Dylan’s childhood favorite" (Page 594)

Incident Four.

When he was in middle school, he had gone up to his room after a bad day. She went in to bring him some chocolate milk and he had been crying. She asked again, what happened. All he was willing to tell her was that some kids were mean to him.

Like people will complain about how some people take this shit too seriously ( and to an extent I get where you're coming from for sure.) and complain about the seriousness of infoposters but then go on to simultaneously complaining about Dave Cullen and the smear job he did on E. Like you acknowledge that if you aren’t careful you spread misinformation so..idk. Okay yeah its a tumblr post and not a book fair point but then why bother having info posts at all lol. Its one thing to make a mistake thats fine, I make mistakes with my infoposts ALLLL the time. and thats okay but spreading fanfiction and calling it fact is another matter.

I think one of the reasons why this annoyed me so much is that people have such a ridiculous hate boner for Sue that they just lie about her ignoring her son to make her look bad. Its cringe. She didn’t, she asked him so many times and Dylan lied to her constantly. Like I legitimately saw some of you fuckers going off about how you can’t wait for this VICTIM (and yes. She is a victim) to die explicitly because of this post. I’m gonna be doing a post about her in the coming weeks probably (I mean half of it is already written up) because holy moly.

I'm also gonna save this in a google doc or on obsidian just in case lol.

Edit: updated with page numbers.

[demonic0angel]

Everyone talking shit about Clockwork shoving time missions on the Phantoms. Nobody ever talks about how hard he works to keep space/time from collapsing in on itself from bad timelines.

(You’re right 😔 he needs some appreciation. I had a lot of fun with this one lmao)

Part 3 of this post and this post.

Clockwork resisted the urge to sigh as he watched another world implode via the timeline shifting from the speed force. He silently sent another note to his children workers to solve the problem. As he monitored the situation in other worlds, he kept an eye on the collapsing timeline.

Soon enough, Dan swooped in before the catalyst to beat the crap out of the person who had accidentally created a zombie apocalypse and then he was stomping his feet and throwing a rage-induced tantrum within the poor scientist’s lab, destroying everything. He was shouting and overturning tables, but couldn’t be heard through the time stream.

Clockwork resisted a sigh again. He didn’t like overworking his children employees so much either, but it had to be done.

Just as Dan left the world to rejoin his boyfriend, Clockwork continued to watch the other timelines. Three more worlds suddenly took a turn for the worst and Clockwork sent more messages to the rest of his children workers in order to fix it. He paused as the door to his lair opened and Dan burst inside.

Clockwork tried not to tense. Dan was his most volatile child employee, and he was prone to attacking anything that enraged him. Jazz had once explained that it was his coping mechanism as a decade of grief and loneliness had completely corrupted his impulse control.

Clockwork turned, pretending that he didn’t feel apprehensive about Dan’s presence. “Is there a problem…?”

Dan strode forward with a cool, almost indifferent expression. Without warning, Dan threw himself forward and onto Clockwork’s lap. Clockwork tensed, but Dan only held onto him tightly, wrapping his arms around his waist and then burying his face into his ghostly stomach.

The presence of his child someone near his stomach made him recoil tightly, but he held still.

“Clockworkkkkkk,” Dan whined. “Can’t I kill the Flashes? Please? Just one! I’ll settle for killing Wally West. Can I please kill him?”

Clockwork couldn’t help the chuckle that burst out of him. “No, you cannot. They are vital for that world’s survival.”

“They’re not vital to my sanity!”

The door burst open again and his other three children poured in, also having just finished fixing another world from collapsing. Dani immediately gasped at seeing Dan in his lap. “What! I want Clockwork cuddles too!”

The three of them joined their brother in crowding him and cuddling him, until eventually, he had all four of his children within his embrace. Clockwork released a sigh as he was forced onto his back and rubbed at Danny’s hair, who was lying on his spectral tail. Jazz leaned against him unhappily, and both Dani and Dan were laying on his stomach.

“I’m sorry for overworking you four,” Clockwork said, despite knowing that it wasn’t his fault. He had no one else to solve the problems of the Flash family, not when he was needed to watch over the time stream. “But it is necessary in order to help as many worlds as possible.”

“We don’t blame you,” Jazz said, ever the most empathetic, “it’s all of the Flashes’ faults!”

“I propose that we kill them and save us the headache!” Dan said.

Dani sighed, but also laughed. “Well, Bart is one of my best friends, but I guess he’ll have to go.”

Danny grinned and said, “Cool, I’ll take Flash.”

Clockwork smiled as his children (his wonderful, powerful, extraordinary children) started squabbling over how to kill or whether not to kill someone with the speed force. Work was difficult as someone who was devoted to protecting other timelines and worlds, but with his family by his side, life wasn’t too hard. In a way, Clockwork was almost grateful to be reborn as an Ancient.

Perhaps now, his family and existence wouldn’t end as tragically as before, with his children by his side.

[mashtatosworld]

the end of the beginning

summary: it's Diva's first day of school. and this time, it's not Jiyong being the problem - but the menace herself.

The house had never felt so full and so quiet at the same time.

You were sitting on the floor of Diva’s room, her tiny legs swung over your lap as you sectioned off her hair with practiced hands. She handed you clips one by one, carefully choosing them from the pink box in front of her.

A perfectionist in the making.

“Rainbow,” she said solemnly, passing it over.

“Of course, rainbow,” you said, smiling as you clipped it in place.

Behind you, Jiyong was methodically packing her bag - checking the list for the third time, making sure her snack box was in the cooler pouch, her change of clothes were neatly folded in the side pocket, and the little stitched label with her name - Kwon Jia - was facing out.

His fingers hovered over the letters, tracing them almost absentmindedly.

She was really going. He sucked in his lips.

No. No more crying. He thought he had got it all out last night, lying in your arms as he came to terms with the fact that his baby was now four and would be starting big girl school.

Jiyong sighed. He just had to keep reminding himself that she'd have fun there. She'd play all day and come back with drawings for him.

Breathe. Breathe. Oh god, his eyes were watering again.

Angel stirring from sleep cracked through the baby monitor.

You looked up, already rising. “I’ll get her. Can you do socks and shoes?”

Jiyong nodded, dropping the sparkly pencil case back into the bag with a soft sigh. “Come on, princess,” he said, scooping up a pair of pink socks and her tiny white sneakers. “Let’s get your feet dressed.”

She sat, obliging at first, one sock nearly on before she asked sweetly, “Appa, what are you and Eomma gone do today?”

“Well,” he said, grinning as he adjusted the sock, “we’ll be home with Jemi. Maybe go for a walk. Clean up a bit.”

Diva froze.

Her face twisted into instant, fiery betrayal. “Without me?!”

Jiyong blinked. “Well... yes. Because you’ll be at school.”

“No,” she said flatly.

And then - with the speed of someone scorned - her foot yanked out of his hands and the sock was peeled off. Before he could even react, she whipped it across the room.

It hit the laundry basket with a dramatic thwap.

Jiyong stared. “W-what-”

“No go,” Diva declared, standing and stomping over to the bed. She climbed on top, grabbed her pink iPad, and flopped down like this was a perfectly normal Monday routine.

Jiyong scrambled to collect the socks. “Jia-yah, come on. Don’t you want to learn about shapes? You love shapes!”

“NO SHAPES,” came the sharp reply, muffled by the blanket she'd now thrown over her head.

He crept toward her, holding the shoes like offerings. “Jia, please, before Eomma tells me off.”

She started kicking when he got too close.

You walked in, Angel on your hip, blinking at the scene.

“What is happening in here? We're going to be late.”

“She’s can't go to school,” Jiyong said immediately, holding up the abandoned sock like it was evidence in a crime. “She’s not ready.”

Diva threw the blanket off, staring at you with big eyes. "I not ready."

You raised a brow. “You were so excited about using your Hello Kitty lunchbox fifteen minutes ago.”

Then Diva started crying - big, dramatic wails that were louder than necessary and accompanied by precisely zero actual tears.

You narrowed your eyes. She rarely cried. Not like this.

You crouched beside the bed, bouncing Angel gently. “Jia. Tell Eomma what’s wrong.”

She huffed, looked right at Angel, then did a full-body roll away from you, turning her back.

That’s when you knew.

This wasn’t sadness.

This was a tantrum.

You shot Jiyong a look.

He whispered, “I think she’s jealous. About Jemi. About us staying home.”

You turned back to Diva, stroking her hair gently. “Sweetheart, going to school doesn’t mean we won’t miss you. And you know Jemi can barely even talk yet, right? She just drools and kicks and looks surprised at ceiling fans.”

From behind, you heard Jiyong quietly agree, “We'll think of you the whole time."

Diva peeked over her shoulder, just a little. Still grumpy. But listening.

“And we’ll be waiting right here for you when you’re done,” you added softly. “We can get ice cream after.”

She was silent for a moment, staring, before her eyes narrowed at the three of you. "No. Go."

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Diva had not forgiven anyone.

She was in the backseat in full protest mode - sandals strapped on only after Jiyong gave up on the socks entirely. The silver buckles were slightly too fiddly for her to take off on her own, which you suspected was the only reason she hadn’t chucked them out the window yet.

“She’s not ready,” Jiyong muttered under his breath as he pulled out of the driveway.

You side-eyed him. “We’re five minutes in.”

“Exactly, we can still turn back.”

“Appa,” came the syrupy voice from the backseat, her earlier wails now miraculously softened. “I love you so much.”

You turned your head. “That's very sweet, but that trick only works once.”

She'd done it before when you had taken her to the doctors office: butter up the weakest link, Appa.

“I do,” she added, voice climbing in sweetness. “I’m your baby. Don’t send me away. I be so sad.”

Jiyong bit his lip.

“Eyes on the road,” you said sharply. “Don’t fall for it.”

“I don’t fall for things.”

You sighed, choosing peace over war, turning back toward the window as Diva softly began humming - a made-up tune that sounded suspiciously like the words nooo schooolll over and over.

By the time you pulled into the school’s car park, Jiyong was pale.

“Let’s just take her on tour again,” he tried. “We can release a shared album.”

“She’s been on tour three times. Get out of the car."

You turned in your seat and gave Diva your firmest Eomma look. “Let’s go. Now.”

But she was suddenly limp.

“Jia - ”

“No. I not going.”

“Princess,” Jiyong said, opening the back door. "This is just as hard for me, as it is for you."

She screamed like she was being handed over to a villain.

“HELP ME!” she bellowed as Jiyong pulled her out, arms windmilling, sandals kicking wildly.

A concerned woman at the front gate turned, startled. Jiyong winced and smiled.

“It's fine, she’s mine,” he said quickly. “We have the same nose." He held her up next to his face.

You walked a few steps ahead, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

Diva’s arms were now locked around Jiyong’s neck like a boa constrictor. Her face was buried into his shoulder, wailing faintly, muffled by his jacket.

As the building got closer, her grip tightened. When he went to gently lower her to the ground, her legs stayed clamped around his waist.

“Princess,” he whispered, “you have to let go.”

“No!”

You tried to help, gripping her back, tugging gently. “Come on, baby. You’re going to have so much fun - ”

She immediately switched targets, flinging herself into your arms mid-transfer. You stumbled back, Angel still strapped in the carrier against your chest.

She let out an excited 'ah' at being so close to her sister.

“Okay,” you grunted. “Now I’ve got two clingy babies.”

“She’s really not ready,” Jiyong said again, adjusting the little back pack on his shoulder. “Maybe next term. Maybe uni.”

You glared at him. “You’re not helping.”

You looked down at the little tangle of arms and hair and pouty faces clinging to your torso like koalas.

“I not want you to have fun without me,” she sniffed.

You softened just a little. “We don’t have fun without you. It’s boring. And we’ll miss you so, so much.”

She looked up at you, big eyes shimmering.

You felt yourself wavering. Then -

“Don't let Jemi play with my toys."

You blinked. “What?”

“No toys Jemi!” she turned to her sister with stern eyes.

And just like that, you were back in tantrum territory.

You sighed and looked at Jiyong helplessly.

He looked at you, equally defeated.

Then you both looked down at Diva, still firmly attached.

It was going to be a long first day.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

When it came to school pick up, you both decided it was best Jiyong go alone.

Diva was already upset Angel was getting to spend the day with her parents, without her, and had blown a loud raspberry at her sister over Jiyong's shoulder as he carried her in.

You started pacing a little by the front door when they were almost an hour late.

Angel was in her bouncer, cooing happily to herself, entirely unaware that her older sister had apparently dropped off the face of the Earth along with your husband.

Maybe he took her for ice cream, you’d told yourself.

Maybe the park. Or the bookstore. Or that overpriced toy shop she loves that smells like plastic and sugar.

Still - you checked your phone again.

And that’s when the front door slammed.

You flinched.

In stomped Jiyong, his jaw tight and stormy as he threw his keys into the dish and his jacket somewhere near the coat rack.

Following close behind him was Diva - thunderous, stompy, backpack crashing to the floor in one dramatic hurl before she stormed down the hallway.

She didn’t even look at you.

You blinked.

“…Hi?” you called weakly after them.

Jiyong made a beeline for the kitchen. You watched as he grabbed a wine glass and filled it to the brim.

He took a long gulp, leaned on the counter, and let out a sharp sigh.

“She told her teacher I wasn’t her Appa.”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“At pickup,” he bit, eyes narrowed. “I went to get her - just me - and she stood there and said, ‘He’s not my Appa.’ Just like that. And I didn't have my ID on me! Thank god we look alike.”

You stared at him. “You’re kidding.”

“Jagi, I wish I was. She’s lucky she’s cute.”

You tried to hide your smile, though it was difficult.

“She’s hurt, Ji,” you said gently, shifting closer and wrapping an arm around his waist. “Jealous. And probably hangry.”

“She got McDonald’s on the way back. I didn’t get McDonald’s. I couldn't even eat, I have emotional trauma.”

You kissed his cheek. “I’ll talk to her.”

He just nodded, taking his wine like it was medicine.

You made your way down the hall, stopping in front of her door, which was open just enough for you to peek in.

Diva was curled on her bed, her uniform torn off - vest still on, but no cardigan or shirt, and her little bowtie discarded somewhere on the floor. Her pink iPad was propped on her lap, playing some overly enthusiastic toy unboxing. She side-eyed you when she heard your steps but said nothing.

You smiled softly. “Hey, baby.”

No answer.

You crossed the room, crouched down beside her little bed, and gently swept her hair back from her face. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t lean in either.

“How was school?” you tried.

“Fine.”

“Make any friends?”

“Don’t ‘member.”

You nodded, used to toddler stonewalling. “Appa said you told your teacher he wasn’t your Appa.”

She blinked, still watching her screen. You waited.

Then her head dipped, lips forming into a sad, shameful pout.

You were about to ask again - gently - when Angel’s cry suddenly rang out from the front room. You instinctively turned your head, just for a second, even though you knew Jiyong would get her.

But Diva noticed.

And she huffed, loud and deliberate, rolling over and pulling her iPad closer.

“Go back to your new baby.”

Oof.

You stilled. The ache in her voice was unmistakable, even if her words were sassy. The truth was written all over her little furrowed brows and pursed lips.

You eased onto the bed beside her, nudging her gently with your hip. “No way,” you said. “I’m staying right here.”

Your legs curled around her, fitting yourself into the tiny space like you used to when she was a baby. You peeked at her screen. “So… are they going to open that sparkly egg or what?”

She looked at you from over her shoulder.

Then, silently, she moved the iPad so you could see better.

You smiled.

You rubbed her back slowly as the video played. Her breathing started to even out. Her little body softened, the tension draining away with each swipe of your hand.

Eventually, she turned over, rested her head on your chest, and within ten minutes she was snoring softly - just like Jiyong always did after a sulk.

You laughed under your breath.

“He's definitely your Appa,” you whispered, even though only the walls could hear it.

You pulled the blanket up and wrapped it around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Your first baby. Still your baby.

Always.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

That evening you and Jiyong quietly padded into the living room.

He settled next to you on the couch, one leg bouncing slightly as he scrolled through photos of her from earlier that afternoon, pausing on a blurry one where she was wearing her backpack sideways and scowling at a pigeon. You leaned into him, watching the screen.

“She told me earlier... when Jemi cried… she said to go back to my new baby.”

Jiyong winced, his thumb pausing on the screen. “She's a tad dramatic."

“Hmm, I wonder where she gets that..." You then sighed loudly, resting your forehead on his shoulder. "Ji, she’s not mad at just one of us. She’s mad at both of us. We keep taking turns with her, like she’s a task.”

Ever since Angel was born, of course you and Jiyong had spent time with Diva one-on-one, whether that was shopping trips or pamper days - but never the both of you, together.

“We were just trying to make sure she got time with each of us…”

“Yeah, but not us. Like it used to be.”

He nodded slowly, then turned to you, determined. “Okay. So… tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

He reached over and tapped your cheek. “Jia Day.”

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The next morning’s school drop-off was as dramatic as ever.

It was already twenty minutes past the time you’d hoped to be in the car.

“Jiaaaa,” Jiyong called, walking down the hall with her shoes in hand, patience worn thin. “You said you were just grabbing your bag!”

No answer.

He pushed open the door to her room cautiously. Her curtains were drawn again, casting the space in sleepy shadow. And there she was - tucked neatly in bed, covers pulled up to her chin, staring at him from the pillow small and silent.

He squinted, flicking on the lights. “Why are you back in bed?”

She sniffled dramatically and he immediately hurried closer, kneeling beside her bed, smoothing a concerned hand over her hair.

"What's wrong my Princess?"

“I sick,” she said gravely, then without warning, leaned forward and with a loud, exaggerated, "ah-choo", fake-sneezed directly into his face.

He blinked. Slowly. Very slowly.

“…Okay,” he said flatly, wiping his nose with this sleeve. “Now Appa is sick too."

You appeared behind him with a suspicious look. “What now?”

“She’s suddenly got a mystery illness,” he replied with a helpless shrug.

"Oh really."

This was also another regularly used ploy from the Diva playbook.

Just a few weeks ago she hadn't wanted to go to Uncle Dae's birthday party after he accidentally broke Tabi - the latest of her electric toy cars. She had claimed she was 'sick', coughing all over the two of you until the word 'cake' was mentioned. And suddenly she'd been healed.

You glanced at Jiyong. He exhaled, rolling up his sleeves. “Okay. Time for plan B.”

“Wrestling her into her uniform again?” you asked with a wince.

“Unfortunately.”

Ten minutes later, and little progress had been made.

Jiyong was on his knees in her room, hair messed up, hoodie now discarded, gripping one of her sleeves while Diva shrieked dramatically and attempted to escape out the other side of her bed.

“I don’t like it!” she wailed, yanking her hair in frustration, catching him in the eye with a flailing elbow.

You hid in the hallway as Angel sucked her thumb on your hip, eyes wide.

“I don't like it either!” he huffed, struggling to get her into her cardigan as she flopped in protest.

Finally, somehow, she was in the uniform - her tiny bowtie was crooked, and her expression was a mix between deep betrayal and anguish - but she was dressed.

Then came the car seat.

You stayed inside for that part. You had limits.

But it hadn't been as disastrous as dressing her.

Only because Jiyong, wide-eyed and flushed with battle, had caved and handed her a grape lollipop just to get her into the car.

Now she sat in the back, legs swinging, sticky mouth, quiet only because her entire soul was consumed by that one sugar orb.

You gave him a look as he leaned out the window to kiss you goodbye. "She's going to have a sugar rush,"

“That’s gonna be the teacher’s problem,” he mumbled, drawing you in again for another kiss as if he was leaving for war.

You leaned in for a final embrace, and gently peeled off the glitter sticker that was still stuck to his temple. “You did good, Gdaddy.”

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Then, later that day, you returned to her school gates - together. No Angel in tow. Just the two of you.

Diva spotted you immediately, approaching with a cautious shuffle. Her brows furrowed.

“Where Jemi?” she demanded immediately, still not quite trusting the situation.

“With Halmeoni,” you told her.

She looked between the two of you, analysing. Deciding. Then, without another word, she slipped one of her hands into yours, and the other into Jiyong’s.

You felt her tiny fingers squeeze yours tighter when you said, “We’re having a special day today. Just the three of us.”

She gasped. “Like… like a no Jemi day?”

“Well, we'll see her later, but right now...” Jiyong grinned, lifting her into his arms. “Is Jia Day.”

You’d packed a change of clothes so she wouldn’t be photographed in her uniform, and soon enough you were all seated at McDonald’s, watching her attempt to drink a milkshake with a straw she kept accidentally snorting.

She was delighted.

Then came the toy store.

Diva marched in like she owned the place, you and Jiyong trailing behind her.

“Oh no,” you said quietly, as she beelined toward a shelf of neon goo.

“She’s seen the slime,” Jiyong whispered back, hands resting on your shoulders.

She picked out a pot the size of her head and turned to you with a hopeful smile. “Eomma. Can I?”

You stared at it. “That… will end up in someone’s hair.”

“Jagiya,” Jiyong said softly, squeezing you with a grin. “We said whatever she wanted.”

Diva saw her opening and immediately launched a full-body hug attack on your leg. “Pweeease Eomma?”

You sighed. “Fine. But it stays in the kitchen. And nowhere near Jemi’s hair. Or my shoes.”

She did a little jump of victory. Diva continued round the store, sweeping the shelves of any toys.

And then, to your surprise, she picked out a weird, lopsided goblin doll and added it to the basket. “For Jemi.”

You blinked. “Really?”

“It look like her.”

"Oh," Jiyong nodded slowly, eyeing the creepy thing. "Well, that's very thoughtful to think of your sister."

"She need a toy too." Diva explained, tossing another bouncy ball in the basket for herself.

You and Jiyong locked eyes over her head and exchanged a silent, stunned high five.

Success.

Parenting success.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

When you and Jiyong arrived home, the house was quiet in that suspicious way that meant something was either deeply wrong or peaceful.

You rounded the corner into the living room and found Angel cradled in his mother’s arms, dressed in what could only be described as a... costume.

She was wearing a ruffled onesie with a tutu attached and at least four bows pinned into her hair, one on top of the other like decorative cherries. She blinked up at you both.

“She didn’t cry once,” his mother said proudly, bouncing her a little.

Jiyong sighed in relief. Although Angel rarely cried, she was very clingy. But it seemed that Halmeoni was enough to keep the chubby baby happy.

You grinned, kissing Angel’s plump cheek as you thanked Jiyong's mother and walked her out, promising next time you'd leave both grandkids with her.

Once she left, Diva settled herself in the living room, surrounded by her new toys. Angel was in her playpen, blissfully chewing on the horrifying goblin plush.

You stood in the kitchen with Jiyong, finally catching your breath, sipping tea and leaning against the counter.

"They're playing with their new toys..."

"Yep." You nodded, taking a slow sip as you stared at him with curious eyes. Your husband continued to slink closer, a mischievous grin on his face.

"So, do you think we have enough time to slip away?" He ran a hand from the nape of your neck all the way to your backside, lingering there with a firm grip. "It will only take us five minutes."

"For me, or for you?" You laughed with a scoff.

"Both," He shrugged, confident in his bedroom skills.

Then Zoa padded by, tail high.

With slime stuck in her fur.

Bright green, glittery slime.

You and Jiyong froze, slowly turning to look at each other.

“Oh no.”

You both broke into a sprint.

The living room looked like it had lost a fight with an alien lifeform.

Diva stood beside the sofa, expression unreadable, her entire front glistening with slime. Her bangs were matted straight to her forehead like a greasy helmet. The armrest of the couch had a neon glow.

Angel was now somehow out of her playpen, gurgling and chewing on Goblin Baby. Both green and gooey.

Your eldest stared back at you both. Not guilty. Not smug. Just accepting her fate.

You let out a long, soul-worn sigh. “I’ll start running the bath.”

Jiyong nodded, deadpan. “I’ll try to save the sofa.”

You pointed at him. “And that is the last time slime enters this house.”

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Bath time was a mission.

Diva went in first, leaving a greasy ring of green goo in the water. Then Angel, who actually enjoyed it, with her hair spiked into a soapy spike. Zoa was wiped down with a damp cloth - she was not pleased.

And now it was Iye’s turn - the cat, standing ankle-deep in the sink, yowling like she was being sacrificed.

Jiyong stood over her, scratched and soaked, attempting to hold her in place with a kitchen towel. “I am going to bleed out here!"

“We have band-aids,” you muttered from your position beside him at the counter, where Diva sat on it, wrapped in a towel.

You were trying - desperately - to comb through her bangs. The slime had set like cement.

“Ow,” Diva whined, squirming.

"Stop moving or you'll really look like Appa." You said as her hair seemed to be getting shorter and shorter with each cut.

You gently snipped at the clumps of matted hair, trying to salvage something vaguely respectable. It was not going well.

Angel was on the floor on a towel, watching the chaos unfold with wide, amused eyes, kicking her little legs like she was at a front-row show.

“We shouldn't have bought that slime,” Jiyong muttered, struggling with the soaked, hissing cat. “How are you always right?”

You shrugged. "I'm raising three Jiyong's. I've learnt a lot."

You then paused in your trimming and looked at your daughter’s very, very uneven fringe.

“...Maybe hats. You'll need hats for a few weeks.”

Diva looked at herself in the mirror and shrugged. “I like it.”

You caught your husband's eyes in the reflection - wet, scratched, exhausted - and just started laughing. Because somehow, despite the mess and madness, this was still the sweetest kind of chaos.

Your chaos.

And slime or not - you wouldn’t change a thing.

Well. Maybe the sofa.

And Iye was never forgiving any of you.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You gently pull the blanket up over Diva’s chest, tucking it beneath her arms as she blinks sleepily at you both. Her bangs - uneven, but absolutely charming - stick slightly to her forehead as she gives you a slow, satisfied smile.

“Did you have a good day, sweetheart?” you ask softly.

She nods, already half in dreamland. “Mmhmm… I wanna show my school friends my new hair.”

Before either of you can say anything else, she’s fully out - mouth slightly open, eyelashes long and damp from the bath, fingers still curled around the edge of her blanket.

You switch on her night light and tiptoe out together, quietly pulling the door closed behind you.

In the hallway, Jiyong exhales.

“You hear that?” you grin, bumping your shoulder against his. “She’s made friends already. Our little socialite.”

He nods, but when you glance up at him, his hand is moving discreetly across his face.

“…Are you crying?”

“No,” he says, immediately defensive, voice thick.

You raise an eyebrow.

He wipes at his eyes again and shrugs helplessly. “It's just all hitting me now - school... Our baby goes to school. And I was her first friend,” he mumbles. “Now she has others.”

You stare at him for a second before wrapping both arms around his waist, pulling him in. His forehead drops against your shoulder as he sniffles dramatically.

“Oh my big baby,” you coo, rubbing his back, “do you need some attention too?”

“…Maybe.”

You laugh softly and kiss the top of his head. “Alright, come on then. Let’s get you to bed before you start asking for slime too.”

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

happy Diva Day!! our baby is growing up fast - im not crying, you are 😭

the next diva series will hopefully include angel more <3 bless her

thank you for reading! slime was highly requested for this series - and it's not the last we'll see of it...

love always,

mash

xxx

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @breakmeoff , @emmiesoverthemoon , @rafesbunniebby , @ricecake9999 , @fleabagspurplewife , @sylviavf , @ldydeath , @wonyluvi , @deliciousmagazinequeen , @heartubeatusalon , @imminsugasgf , @steponupbabe, @moontabi , @1950schick , @wcnderlnds

[wandussyfantasy]

You Suck, Let's Fuck

Request from anon: g!p reader x Wanda pairing. background: reader and pietro are best friends and have been since childhood. reader and wanda never got along but secretly have crushes on each other. wanda is jealous because reader is a player and has hooked up with all of wanda’s friends, and reader just uses those girls to distract from not being able to have wanda because they don’t want to ruin their friendship with pietro. it all comes to a head when reader saves wanda from a handsy at a house party and the tension between them is too much and they confess their feelings and have sex.

Summary: Y/n is frustrated when Wanda's friends form a pact to not sleep with her anymore.

Pairings: Wanda x NB!AMAB!Reader

Word Count: 4,596

WARNINGS: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT READ & DO NOT INTERACT!!! smut, gn!reader amab, powerbottom!wanda, fingering, dirty talk, fluff, masturbation, sex toys, public touching, fantasies, and teasing.

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

“Pietro! Y/n! You're both dead!” Wanda screeches from the top of the stairs of the basement. You and Pietro look at each other and laugh. You hand him the joint that the two of you are passing back and forth. Wanda stomps her way down the stairs and neither of you move from your seats. You're on a bean bag chair and Pietro is sitting on an expensive gaming chair. The pair of you are playing a zombie game together. “You idiots think you're so fuckin funny don't you?” She points to her face with sharpie dicks drawn around it. “This isn't funny, I have to go to work unlike you bums!”

“Hey, we work,” you say defensively. Then a mischievous smirk pulls on your lips. “As a matter of fact, we're working right now,” you point to the camera that is pointed at you and Pietro, “say hi to our audience!”

Wanda’s eyes nearly pop out of her head as she sees herself on the computer screen monitoring the live stream. “Ugh! I hate you!” She runs up the stairs feeling completely humiliated. You and Pietro break out laughing. You can't help but check out her ass as she storms off.

“Woah! Hey! What are you doing?” Pietro shouts because your character in the game is being attacked by a hoard of zombies.

“Shit!” You say as you quickly get back into the game. There are crude comments on the stream being left about Wanda and some comments of how they caught you checking her out. You don't notice them as you continue playing the game with Pietro.

••••

“Wanda! Hurry up! We don't have all night!” You shout down the hall. The house you lived in with the twins had four bedrooms and two bathrooms on the main level. It was a small off campus house. There used to be a fourth roommate. She's still Wanda’s best friend but she moved out. You couldn't remember why. Wanda runs out of the bathroom in a little black dress with her hair and makeup done. She usually didn't do this much when going out and her look made you do a double take. This was not the Wanda you grew up with. And you couldn't tell if you liked it or not.

“Alright, let's go,” she says as she walks past you.

“Woah, you're going out like that? Where are you going to put your wallet or your phone? You can't leave like that,” you say as you catch up to her.

Wanda shrugs with a sultry smile, “Do you have a problem with the way I look?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” you state. “I think you're setting women back a hundred years and quite frankly, I find it offensive.”

Wanda makes a “really” face and scoffs. “Ah so you're a feminist today?” She shakes her head as she opens the front door. “You're such a hey mama sometimes.”

You roll your eyes, you hate being called that. “Why did anyone ever think there needed to be a lesbian version of fuckboi?” You groan as you follow her out the door.

“Will you ladies hurry! I'm not trying to get my rating down because you two take ages to get ready!” Pietro grouches from the backseat of the Uber. He hands the driver a hundred dollar bill to avoid a rating lower than five stars. You lock the front door before you climb into the car with the twins. “You're going out like that?” Pietro asks his sister. “You never go out like that.”

“That's what I'm saying!” You throw your hands up.

“Good for you sis,” Pietro holds his fist of for Wanda to bump. She does so with a laugh. “I hope you feel comfortable and confident because you look great.”

You make noises to express your shock with your mouth open. Wanda smiles at you and puts her fingers under your chin. “Close your mouth, don't want to catch any bugs.”

You clamp your mouth shut and narrow your eyes at her. “I'm not paying for your drinks.”

Wanda shrugs and slips her hand away from you. “I never asked you to.”

“Will you two stop bickering? We're supposed to have fun tonight. So let's just have fun,” Pietro says.

“P, we have been friends since we were five years old. Wanda and I have been enemies for the same length of time. You're still not used to this? It's the dynamic,” you defend yourself. Wanda agrees with you. “See?”

Pietro shakes his head. “It's gotten old. I thought that living together the two of you would at least try to get along.” He crosses his arms over his chest as he grows upset. “But no, all you two ever want to do is fight. It's exhausting living with you.”

“Ooh, I think he's really mad,” Wanda mutters as she looks between you and her brother. Neither of you take him serious and the both of you bust out laughing

Pietro glares at the both of you. “Excuse me, Happy? Do you mind pulling over just up ahead?” The Uber driver pulls over and stalls the car. “Both of you, out,” Pietro says with a fed up tone. You look at him like he's crazy but he doesn't let it go. You and Wanda start to apologize but in doing so, you two start arguing over whose fault it is. So you both exit the car and he takes the Uber the rest of the way to the party.

“Unbelievable,” you mumble as you shake your head. “You couldn't have just not been so irritating for once?” You gesture, frustrated with her and with the situation.

“Me?” Wanda is offended by the accusation and lack of accountability. “You're the one who wouldn't shut up about my outfit. Which by the way, I don't understand why it bothers you so damn much. It's not any different from what the girls who catch your eye wear!”

“Is that what you're trying to do, Wanda?” You ask, annoyed with the implication that you are as simple minded as any guy. If only she knew how you really felt about her. But you couldn't do that to your best friend. You wouldn't.

“Gross, don't think so highly of yourself,” her face is convincingly disgusted but deep down the answer is yes. “I'm just tired of being overlooked! I'm hot dammit and tonight, I'm finally going to get laid!” Wanda starts walking in the direction of the fraternity where the party was being hosted.

You jog to catch up with her, “Wanda, you can't be serious. You’re not that type of girl.”

“What makes you so sure that I'm not? I can be any type of girl I want to be,” she fires back stubbornly. “Tonight, I'm going to be like you.”

“Fine, whatever,” you say, annoyed that she'd use your actions against you. “Just be careful. There are a lot of guys who won't think twice about taking advantage of you.”

“Oh, is that what you do to the girls that dress like this?” She retorts.

You shake your head, hurt by the accusation. “That’s low, even for you. Look, all I was trying to do was prepare you. But you don't want my help. Fine.” You walk a bit faster than her to create a distance between the two of you. Wanda feels stupid for the comment but she doesn't apologize. She just keeps the distance between the two of you as you guys walk to the party.

••••

You are talking with Natasha, Wanda’s best friend, with a flirtatious smirk. She looked like she was on a mission to get someone's attention and though you doubt it was yours, she had it. “Hey, why did you move out? We could have had so much fun together,” you say as you play with her hair.

Natasha rolls her eyes, “We had our fun and then you proceeded to treat me like I never existed to you. Yeah, no thank you.”

You pout, “Oh come on, are you still upset about that? I'm not the commiting type. You know that.” You put your hand on the wall above her head, somewhat trapping her between you and the wall. Your bicep flexes and you catch her ogling you. That gives you the upper hand and you smirk. “If I remember correctly, that's all you wanted because you were trying to get over that Maria chick.” You lean in close and whisper, “I believe I cleared your mind of her for hours that night.”

Natasha shivers at the memory and almost kisses you. But she clears her throat and steps away from you. “No one likes being treated like they're invisible. No matter what the circumstances are,” she says before she walks away.

You frown and shake your head. You look around the room and find Wanda chatting with her friend Carol. You smirk as you recall being able to convince her to join you for a sleepover more than once. You walk over to them with intentions to get Carol to walk away with you. “Hey,” you start as you approach.

“Nope,” Carol walks away from you and Wanda and you frown.

“Damn, two strikes in less than ten minutes. What's wrong with my game?” You ask yourself out loud then you take a sip from your cup.

“They made a pact against you,” Wanda says over the loud music. You make a face, thrown off by the news. “You can't keep sleeping with my friends. They're done with you and your hey mama ways.”

You groan at the term. “Will you stop calling me that?”

“Sure,” Wanda says simply. “Just stop being one,” she walks away before you can start an argument. You start to look around the party to find someone you haven't slept with that you think you have a shot with. But it was slim pickings. You sighed as you feared that it would just be you and your fleshlight tonight.

••••

As you make your way through the house, you hear some commotion. Instead of ignoring it, you search for the source. “Stop,” Wanda says as a guy pulls her onto his lap. She swats at his hands as he tries to slip them up her dress.

“Come on baby,” the guy says, “you know you want this.” He doesn't let up and puts his hands on her breasts.

You burst through the room and pull Wanda off of him. “Get away from her!”

“Woah chill,” the guy holds his hands up. “We were just having some fun.”

You raise your fist In disgust and Wanda catches you. “Y/n! Cut it out!” You turn around, astonished that even when you defend her she's annoyed with you. “He wasn't doing anything I didn't want,” she says.

You scowl, “Don't defend him! I heard you tell him to stop!”

“He was tickling me, you know how much I hate that,” she raises her voice to match your level.

“I'm just going to go,” the guy says awkwardly.

“You stay,” she points to the guy. “You go,” she points at you.

“No, I'm not leaving you with this guy,” you state stubbornly.

“Get out!” She says as she tries to push you away. “Why do you have to ruin everything for me?”

You don't know what comes over you when you pull her in and plant your lips against yours. She breaks away from your kiss and smacks you across the face. You both stare at each other in shock then she grabs you by the collar of your shirt and pulls you in for another kiss. This one is a lot more aggressive than the previous.

“Now is the time for me to go,” the guy says as he slips out of the room, shutting the door behind him. You and Wanda are too lost in each other to care.

She starts to unbutton your shirt and you're surprised that she is being so assertive. You walk backwards until you fall onto the couch with your lips still attached to hers. She straddles your hips while kissing you. Her teeth clamp down on your bottom lip and you groan in pleasure. You put your hands on her ass and boldly give her right cheek a light smack. She yelps, “No, don't do that.”

“Okay,” you say just before kissing her again. For years you've refrained from doing this. Every time you had the urge, you redirected your attention to one of her friends. Each of them had a few traits that reminded you of Wanda. It felt like since you couldn't have the real her, you could settle for pieces that reminded you of her. Now that you have her, you don't think you could ever go back to before this.

“Do you have a condom on you?” Wanda asks as she rolls her hips on your bulging member.

“Yeah,” you say as if the answer was obvious. You pull out your wallet from your pocket and fish out the prophylactic. Wanda dips her hand between her legs and you thought she was adjusting her underwear but instead she was unzipping your fly. You jump a little when she slips her hand through your boxers and pulls your cock through the hole. You moan as you finally feel her stroke you after years of fantasizing about the day her hand would touch your cock for the first time. You almost cum right then and there.

“Let me see that,” Wanda says as she takes the package from your hand. She tears it open and delicately pulls the condom onto your hard cock.

You slip your fingers up before dress and lick your lips in anticipation to find out what kind of underwear she has on. But as you do, you graze her in a way that makes her squirm. “Stop, I said I don't like tickling,” she scolds.

“I wasn't trying to tickle you. I was trying to pull your panties down,” you state.

Wanda smirks and leans in close to whisper in your ear, “I haven't worn any all night.” Your hips jerk up in response and it makes her giggle. You pull her into another passionate kiss. Hoping to convey everything you feel towards her in the kiss without having to talk about it.

As she kisses you back, she hovers her pussy over your cock and passes the tip of your penis through her folds as she blindly aligns you with her entrance. The feeling of her warm pussy lips against your sensitive tip has your hips rolling instinctively. And you enter her. “Oh fuck! Geez you're so impatient,” Wanda snaps at you.

You chuckle as you start nibbling on her ear lobe. “I can take it slow but,” you push your cock further into her and grunt from the pleasure. “We don't have too long here. You want slow,” you lift her up by her ass to give you room to thrust into her. “Sneak into my room one of these nights. I'll show you a good time for a long time.”

Wanda moans as you thrust your thick dick into her. “Mmm, should I take that as an invitation? Or are you just,” her mouth opens in a gasp as you start to rub her cliterous. Your lips move about the sweaty skin of her exposed chest. Her taste has you feeling more intoxicated than any drop of alcohol ever has.

“It's an invitation,” you whisper against her neck. “You just have to keep quiet.”

“Oh sure you tell me to be quiet but when it comes to every other girl,” Wanda gripes, recalling past arguments of asking you to keep things quiet at night whenever you had a girl in your room. Especially when it was one of her close friends.

“They're not, mph, my best friend's sister,” you moan as Wanda's walls squeeze your dick. “Unless you want Pietro to hear,” Wanda covers your mouth with her hand making you laugh. She joins you in laughing and you stop moving, she sits on your lap with your dick inside of her while the two of you laugh. Wanda removes her hand from your mouth and gazes into your eyes for a moment. She knows that slow isn't the pace you go. She knows that this could be the only time she has your attention. She is grateful for this moment because she can believe that you love her. She can tell herself that this is more than what it is, even though she won't believe it tomorrow.

You get lost in her eyes and in the heat of the moment. You almost confess everything you've been dying to tell her for years. You can feel it on the tip of your tongue as you gaze into her hazel eyes. You don't say anything and hope that your actions speak for themselves. You pull out of her and sit her next to you on the couch. You don't have much time because you don't know what Pietro is up to and the chances of him walking into this room are too high. You do want to have a chance to take your time with her. You have to give her a reason to come to your room.

“What are you doing?” Wanda asks as she watches you pull the condom off and put your erection back into your pants. “Did I do something wrong?”

You shake your head. “Since when have you cared if you’ve done something wrong?” You ask as you get on your knees in front of her. Her curious eyes follow your hands as they force her dress up, causing the tight fabric tear in order to get it over her ass. You pull her closer to you by her thighs. “You didn't do anything wrong, but I need to get you finished off so we can get out of here before we're missed.” You explain as you trail kisses along her thighs.

“Oh,” she gasps out, “Wha-wha-what about yyou?” She stutters as you begin to lick her sensitive pussy.

You smirk and lean back slightly to look up at her, “You've never worried about me before. Don't start now,” you wink at her before you return your focus to devouring her. She tangles her fingers in your hair to keep you close as your tongue enters her. You eat her out like she's the last meal you'll have on earth. If she was, you wouldn't mind one bit. Her hips gyrate as she starts to ride your face. She moans as you expertly move your tongue around, humming a song to make your tongue vibrate.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” Wanda cries out as you please her in ways she didn't know possible. You're not the first person to go down on her. But you are the first person to make it enjoyable. So much so that when she reaches her climax, her whole body is shaking for a few minutes. Her pussy twitches as you lick up as much of her juices as you can. You pull away from her and smile at her with your face glistening from her arousal. She giggles as she pulls you up and licks her juices from your face. You groan from how much the action has turned you on. Then she kisses your lips.

“Now it's your turn,” she tries to pull you closer with her hand on your crotch without breaking from the kiss too much.

You smile as you pull away completely, “You'll have to thank me later.” You straighten yourself out and help her fix herself up a bit. She laughs at the red lipstick stains that she left behind on your face and chest.

“You might want to sneak into a bathroom,” she suggests with a smile.

“Good idea,” you nod at her. “I guess I'll see you at home then,” you say as you walk out of the room.

••••

You are sleeping when Wanda slips into your room. You don't sleep in pajamas and this is how she finds out. You're naked when she lifts the covers. She quickly drops the blanket. Startled by the sight at first. She shakes her head, embarrassed by her own reaction. You were inside of her a few hours ago and she slipped into the room with the intention of pleasuring your body. But it's different. She hadn't seen your body until now. Other than flashes from the years she's known you.

She takes a deep breath and lifts the blanket again. Her eyes widen at your size and she's surprised you fit inside of her. You weren't even hard yet. You twitch in your sleep and that causes something next to your leg to fall. She catches it before it hits the floor because she doesn't want you to wake up yet. She looks at it and realizes that it's a fake pussy.

She had no idea that you owned a flashlight. Your cum leaks out of it and she feels herself grow aroused by the idea of being pumped full of your cum. She gulps, surprised by herself. She has never wanted to be someone’s cum dump before but the idea of being yours has her growing hot and bothered.

She keeps the toy in her hand and climbs on the bed. She straddles your legs and starts by licking the length of your cock. It starts to come to life while you continue to sleep. She wonders what you could be dreaming about while she wraps her lips around the head of your penis. She licks and sucks on the sensitive area, trying to wake you up at this point. You thrust your hips up, pushing more of your cock into her mouth but you don't open your eyes or show any other sign of consciousness.

She had no idea that you were such a heavy sleeper. Wanda starts to bob her head up and down on your cock, getting you to stiffen up more. She couldn't believe how much this scandalous act was turning her on. She stops sucking on your cock and shoves it inside of the fleshlight.

Wanda uses the toy to jerk you off. “Fuck, Wanda,” you mutter in your sleep. She is flattered that you're dreaming about her. But she doesn't get too caught up in an idea that it might mean anything other than just sexual attraction.

Wanda giggles as she gets an idea. She crawls up to your ear as she continues to use the toy on you. “Mmm, Y/n,” she moans into your ear. Instead, you smile with your eyes closed. “You're so big. You're bigger than anyone I've ever had. Oh yeah, oh yeah,” she pants and squeaks as much as she can in order to get you to wake up. It isn't until she starts kissing your neck that you startle awake.

“Woah!” You shoot up in the bed and look down to see Wanda’s hand wrapped around the chunky base of your fleshlight. “Woah,” you repeat in a calmer tone as you look over at Wanda. She is blushing. You lay back down with your arms behind your head with your head turned to her. Watching her as she continues to pump your dick. “I'm surprised to see you here.”

Wanda shrugs as if it's suddenly not a big deal. “Eh, I owed you one. I figured that the faster I repay you, the better.”

You chuckle softly. “You do realize that I wouldn't have ever asked you to return the favor?”

“No,” Wanda answers shyly. She stops moving her hand. “Are you saying I should stop?”

You put your hand over hers and start moving the toy again as you maintain eye contact. “Now why would I ever say that?” You lean in and kiss her lips. The kiss is aggressive as you hold her hand still and start thrusting into the toy. Fucking it as hard as you want to be fucking her. “I'm surprised you went with the toy,” you say when you break the kiss.

“I wasn't sure where you kept your condoms and,” she looks over at your bedroom door nervously. “And I don't want to risk Pietro finding out just how loud I can get when the sex is good.”

You chuckle, taking her caution as a compliment. “My condoms are in the drawer by the bed. But you were smart not to look for them because, mmph, you were quite a screamer earlier.”

“Shut up,” she says as she starts to move the pocket pussy faster. She wants to make you cum so badly at this point. “Damn, do you always last this long?” She complains as her hand starts to get tired. She moves back to her position of straddling your lap so that she can use both hands.

“You say that as if it's a bad thing,” you snort as you watch her struggle.

“It is when I have work in the morning,” she complains again. “I should have known your dick would be as annoying as you are.”

“Is it my dick or is it because I'm picturing your grandma that one summer that she wore that one bathing suit-”

“Gross! You're thinking about that?” She makes a face and you laugh.

“It's an old trick, otherwise I'd cum before anyone I ever slept with.”

“Well, can you stop thinking about her and just focus on me?”

You smirk as you sit up. You lift Wanda slightly by her ass so that her chest is in your face. “May I?” You ask, pointing at her chest. She nods her head as she watches you.

You pull her oversized sleep shirt over your head. You kiss up her stomach until you reach her breasts. With your eyes closed your body can't tell the difference between the toy and a real pussy. Especially when you have Wanda's real breast in your mouth. With a couple of rigid thrusts you cum inside of the toy and groan against Wanda’s chest.

You give her breasts each a soft kiss before removing your head from under her shirt.

“Happy now?” You ask as you lay breathlessly against your mattress.

“No,” she groans uncomfortably. “Now I'm too turned on.” You shake your head and roll your eyes.

You climb out of your bed and pull the toy off of your softening dick. You go into your closet and pull out the promotional box that Adam & Eve sent you so that you could endorse their brand and their products. You pull out one of the many new vibrators. It's still in its packaging. “Here,” you say as you hand her the box. “Take this and get out. I'm tired and I don't want your brother to hear you.”

“He's here?”

“Yeah, I helped him get into his bed. So just take this and go.”

“Thanks I guess,” Wanda laughs to herself. “Geez I didn't realize your room was a sex shop.”

“The beauty of influencing. You get free shit and all you have to do is look pretty online,” you hop back into your bed.

“Thank you for this, um goodnight,” she kisses you on the lips one more time before crawling out of your bed and leaving your room.

You sigh happily as you go to sleep, excited for what this might open up for your future relationship with Wanda.

[richeeduvie]

SHIFTING ✭ DRABBLE

When witnessing you "flirting" with Robby, Jack attempts to cope with the way you, or the feelings he has for you, are changing him.

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

THE LENGTHS PART ONE

PART ONE DESCRIPTION: Jack meets the new nurse Robbie's been fawning over, only to then take the next couple of nights to pathetically cope with what he's feeling for the peppy, sunny young woman he's just met.

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

Think of Jack Abbott not being able to help the man he's becoming because of you. There's almost a point where he wants to blame you, but he'd never do that. He could never do that. But there's the problem, as capable and beautiful as you are, he shouldn't think you're perfect. Or innocent. Even in love. Even when he can finally accept the way his bones tense and his blood rushes around you, even when he becomes brave and secure enough in himself to almost feel entitled to the way he thinks and feels about you. He shouldn't look at you with a reverence you'd only reserve for...God. Or Jesus. Either one.

This is not the man he is. Even when he's falling for someone. What exactly are you doing to him?

"You're biting your lip again. That's your "I'm about to yell at Robby through the margins of the chart" face. What is it?"

There's nothing like sound mechanical symphony of beeping monitors and overhead pages to aid in witnessing you flirting with Robby yet fucking again. It would've been a month ago that Jack's annoyance would've been chalked up to the slight unprofessionalism of you two distracting him and other staff, but Jack can...possibly admit it now, he thinks it's flirting, and it's getting to him.

It's just that, even if he likes you, why is it getting to him so fucking badly?

"Excuse me, I never yell at you through the chart. And I am also...just now...communicating feedback."

"...No. You never have. But I'm sure I'll agree with your passive-aggressive, very legible "feedback."

"I've been told my handwriting is perfectly readable and bubbly."

"Much like yourself. I agree."

You laugh, nudging Robby with your elbow. Dr. Robby to you. Always professional in name, even if you're practically turning Jack's best friend into mush.

Jack squeezes the clipboard in his hand when he stops hiding behind the corner. A month ago, even if your peppy conversations with others spread like wildfire over his chest, the guy would've never actually have stopped behind the wall to eavesdrop on said conversation...to collect more material to get pissed at.

He's not the same man he was a month ago, and he's certainly not the guy he used to be before he met you. But he guesses that's the point, every time you meet someone, you'll never be the same person you were the second before they walk through the door.

And every time you catch his eye and offer that blinding, casual smile, Jack has no choice but to think the person he's regressing into is worth it if it means he has you. You. You. You.

Awfully capable and genius and horrifically beautiful.

But still, Jack hates the twitch of his jaw when he realizes that smile you're giving him right now is a shared one. Not completely his. That it would've been if you just stuck to night shifts like he suggested.

"How’s that post-op gallbladder doing in 9?"

You salute him. Robby smiles something at him that's almost an amused disbelief. But why are you amused, brother? You know her so well, you work together in ease as if you've known her more than the four months she's been working in the Pitt.

"Stable. Labs are improving. I already rechecked his hemoglobin, too—holding steady."

"Good. Let me know if his belly gets tense or he spikes again. No heroic discharges."

"Wouldn’t dream of it."

Jack nods. Starts to walk away.

"That’s her way of saying, 'Don’t micromanage me, old man.' Am I on the nose or--”

Jack blinks to the floor when you laugh. He stops mid-stride and turns slightly.

"Stop, you’re gonna get me reassigned to nights."

Just enough to let his eyes linger on his best friend. The closest man he's ever known. One of the best doctors he's ever seen. Jack could hope that if you were another pretty and sickeningly wonderful girl, the grip of his fists would be just as tight as it is now, because the ridiculous hellfire of his pangy-fucky-jealousy wouldn't be the result of you and you alone. It'd be on him.

It'd be on the type of man he becomes when he...when he...

“What was wrong with your night shifts?”

“…Nothin, Dr. Abbott. Just riffing.”

"Well. Glad you two are enjoying yourselves."

...When he falls in love. Fuck him.

But this is not him. The way his voice goes flat and casual is not him, but it's what he says and what he feels because of you and you and you--this sunny little nurse who knows too much for her own good.

There’s a beat. A weird silence. Robby furrows his brow. You straighten instinctively, and Jack almost feels guilty, but that held confidence in his sharp, accusing quip is also who you're making him become. And maybe he'll be sorry for that.

"We are, yeah. Helps the shift go by faster."

"Right. I'll see you."

Jack walks off without another word. Sure. Maybe he'll be sorry for that tonight. Maybe he won't be when he gets home, because he'll be too close to blaming you when he thinks of every time you've smiled at him today, and he wonders--no, he thinks that you have to know.

"Did I miss something?"

"No… I mean, I don’t think so."

And Jack could be sorry when your voice betrays the uncertainty...when it almost sounds...hurt. He can't because he isn't there, but if he were-- if Jack saw how his comments spiked you, maybe he'd actually try to stop himself from the man he's becoming.

But he doesn't. So. He'll act like this all over again tomorrow. He's very proud of himself.

"Did you see her handle that psych hold last night? You know, when I was a kid, I was a huge fan of WWE...for some reason, and that's what it was. He was swinging that chair like he was in WWE and she--"

Jack pauses at the sound of your name.

"She kept her cool. And he was handled like that. I would've cried. Maybe."

"Enough with the goo-goo talk, Mel."

"You would've cried."

Mel says her statement to Santos in a way that isn't unkind, just flat.

"I--no! I would've been the last person to bawl. But...yeah, it's almost resent-able, the way it's like she's made of chamomile tea and ten hits of morphine."

"Um...I don't think, maybe--that resent-able's a word?"

"It’s wild, isn’t it? I know she’s a nurse, but every newbie follows her around like she’s an attending. It’s kinda hot."

"Um. I wouldn't say hot--"

"Work with me, Mel. Please. You're brilliant and no, HR is not right around the corner."

Jack can see Mel smile from where he's standing, as if it's worn with an "Oh, yeah. I can do this."

"Just be careful. I have a mind to think that, possibly, Dr. Robinavitch is already interested in her. Please don't tell anyone that I even think that. I don't--really even think that? It's more so an observation that could totally be misconstrued as--"

"Yeah, well...he probably wouldn't be the only one."

"...Who are we referring to?"

The girls leave with singular laughter, but Jack doesn't move. And again, he'd never linger on a conversation just to make himself...twitch, and get tense.

But here he is, his face calm with a breathing that's steady--but shallow, sharp. He stares at the floor as if trying to reason with himself. It’s nothing. They were joking. It was just talk.

But the words—not the only one—they keep echoing.

Who else? Who else but Robby and everyone fucking else?

His mind flashes to how you laughed with Robby earlier in the day, tossing a roll of gauze at his head. How you snuck a granola bar into Perlah's and Mohan’s scrub pockets, or the way you called Santos "Santi" while you patched her up and got her tested when she got stuck with a needle.

Everyone loves you. Everyone's drawn to you. But before, that would've only been an observation, something to tease you over. Not something to turn make his fist bleed.

He bled for people before, got his leg blown up for them. Killed for them, in a different life. But that was for country, and even though that’s a lie in itself, that made sense. There was purpose he found in that for a moment.

How is his rage and blood and...entitlement over you purpose? Even if he could ever...ever actually love you mutually? How could this all be worth something?

Who else?

"Abbott! What--what happened? What the fuck happened?"

Jack opens his fist. He didn't realize he was dripping onto the floor, that thin line made by the depths of his nails. He blinks at his wound, and barely at Dana.

"Jack, you alright?"

"...I guess it's time for sutures. I didn't mean to--wow. Did not mean to color the floor. Sorry, Dana. I'll call Ahmad, I think he's on tonight."

"...Jack--"

Jack begins to walk away, he can feel their charge nurse follow and fail to.

"Do not clean this up. That's not your job. Hell, it's not Ahmad's. I'll be back with towels."

Is that it? Would it feel any more...worth it if he did have you? Would he be easier on the man he's becoming if he had you? God, hopefully not. Hopefully he'd get his fucking act together, because look. Apparently, it's dangerous. Bloody.

Either way, he'd have to become worthy of having you in the first place, and that's never gonna fucking happen.

[revelboo]

Hey Author! Can we can more scenarios with reader and her sparklings in Everything in Alright?

I think it would be so adorable if they watched a National Geographic Documentary about animals—I can imagine the sparklings being super quiet and in awe!

Hope you’re having an amazing day!

-anon

Cute idea! I hope you have a great day, too!

TV

Starscream x Reader, Megatron x Reader, Soundwave x Reader

• Stretching, your foot sliding against the inside of Soundwave’s leg, you adjust the nonexistent weight of the twins’s tiny frames tucked against you and by some miracle or, maybe sorcery, they’re both quiet. Their optics wide as they stare at the propped up datapad acting as a TV. Apparently entranced watching the penguins waddling around. And the older two are staring just as hard. Making you painfully aware that your kids haven’t been outside the Nemesis, yet. Haven’t actually even seen their home world. But asking any of your three over protective mates to let you take the sparklings outside and away from the safety of the Nemesis? You can just imagine how well that might go.

• Stretched on his back, uninterested in the struggles of little, monochromatic Earth birds that can’t actually fly, Megatron instead watches the sparkling Soundwave had sired. The little one warbling a hesitant note, head turning toward his sire and you, and Megatron cups a hand against his tiny frame. Trying to keep his own field calm, because his little daughter never shies away from him, but this one sometimes does. And after you’d told the youngling that he was ‘daddy Megs’ and gently placed the sparkling’s tiny hand in his, he’s been dying to win the little one over. Or at least be tolerated.

• “Don’t stress my son with your awful biofield,” Starscream mutters from where he’s sprawled with his daughter recharging in the crook of his arm. That little spot of warmth tucked against him so unbelievably precious. Sees Megatron lift a lip to show his denta and his oldest son warbles again, expression uncertain. Making his daughter whine as she comes online, little wings flicking. Picking up on her brother’s distress and about to make it everyone’s problem. Resisting the urge to hiss at Megatron and possibly upset the little ones worse, he brushes a servo against his daughter’s cheek, distracting her.

• Venting as Megatron rumbles and softly growls a few notes of a Cybertronian lullaby to his son in that gruff voice, Soundwave drapes an arm across you and the twins. Reaching a servo out to nudge one twin’s head away when they lean toward your hand, mouth opening. The youngling chirping until you offer him a thumb and you wince when he latches on, but don’t say a word. Optics sliding back to the warlord and his youngling as his son focuses on the nature documentary again, lifting an arm to silently point. Knowing that off he has his way, you and the sparklings would spend most of the time tucked inside the safety of his cassette compartment where he can monitor his little family.

• Watching the sparklings focus on the weird animals, Megatron wonders how hard a penguin would be to keep alive. A pet might do the younglings some good. Teach them responsibility. Watching Soundwave’s sparkling bounce on his chassis, chirping as his sister chimes in, both excited about the little animals, he glances at you. Your cheek against Soundwave’s chassis, eyes hooded as you yawn. Then at Starscream with his daughter, the Seeker leaning down to whisper to her about an old friend who’d loved organic life. Hears Starscream call the mech the sparkling’s uncle with an old hurt in his voice and Megatron looks away. Doesn’t want to wonder what happened to the Seeker’s old friend. If he’s still online or was lost in the war. Doesn’t want to feel pity for the other mech. These four sparklings and you are his, he’ll do anything to protect this family. But he doesn’t want to understand Starscream, doesn’t want to forgive all of those betrayals and murder attempts. Not yet. Maybe never.

[impuretale]

Revisiting hbomberguy's "Plagiarism and You(tube)" video because I love spending four hours screaming at my monitor in Tired English Instructor. But it borders performance art how many reactors I have seen do this particular video who ALWAYS MAKE SURE to skip the part where he calls out reaction videos, specifically, for being part of the problem.

[megalony]

Bonds And Attachments

Here is a new Elliot Stabler imagine, thank you all for the lovely feedback on my other Elliot stuff.

Please keep the requests coming they keep me motivated and prevent writers block.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt @strawberry-canyon @bieberhoodforever @911fangirlie @hollandxxmix @jasmineee05 @creat1venat1onn @devilslittlehelper @darlingcharling-blog @bear8585 @nickie-amore @elliott-calls @person-005 @mbioooo0000 @amara-mars @shypy92 @nikfigueiredo @sabsthedoll @rach2602 @itshamleth @ladespedidas @devilslittlehelper

@elizaelaine

Main Masterlist

Summary: While (Y/n) is on restricted duties, she interviews a young boy who takes a shine to her. But he gets a bit too attached and defensive over (Y/n) which causes some problems.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A sigh tumbled past (Y/n)'s lips and she leant her head on her hand, digging her elbow down into her desk until pins and needles began to circulate through her skin.

Desk duty was starting to get very boring now. The only victims (Y/n) dealt with were the ones who walked into the station to make a report, and those were usually straight forward cases that were sent down to the ADA.

She didn't get to go out talking to suspects or witnesses or out checking an alibi.

(Y/n) was left at the station to check reports, do background checks and type up notes. It got very boring, being stuck in these four walls day in and day out. She wanted to talk to witnesses and victims, she wanted to help with the cases and be properly involved rather than sitting on the sidelines, waiting for an opportunity to arise where she could be helpful.

She didn't realise just how many aspects of the job were classed as dangerous until she got pregnant. All of a sudden, almost everything (Y/n) did on a daily basis in her job was too dangerous now that she was pregnant and paperwork was about all that she could do.

It didn't help that she was on close monitoring by the midwife because she had been spotting and bleeding more than what was considered normal for pregnancy. That practically bound (Y/n) to the station as they didn't want to put her at any unnecessary risk.

Her fingers began to drum against her cheek while her blurry eyes tried to focus on the computer screen in front of her, but it was getting harder to stay focused when she felt immensely bored. All the reports she needed had been typed up already. Now (Y/n) was just jotting down notes that probably wouldn't be needed next week.

Just as her mind started to drift away without her, (Y/n) came flooding back to her senses when she felt a sudden presence behind her.

Shivers coursed through her skin and a smile found its way onto her features when she realised who it was. She felt Elliot's hand settling on the back of her chair while his other hand found her shoulder.

Elliot arched over her chair with one knee bent forward and his head angled down so he could kiss the top of (Y/n)'s head.

"Can you do me a favour?" His lips hovered over (Y/n)'s ear and he kept his voice quiet so no one else in the squad room could eavesdrop. Not that he really thought anyone would, the room was pretty quiet today, not as much hustle and bustle as usual which was a relief.

(Y/n) angled her head back into Elliot's shoulder and turned to nuzzle her nose against his neck. She leaned a little closer until her lips could attach to his jaw, and she felt the way Elliot's breathing changed and became shallow from her touch.

"Hm, that depends what you're after."

A grin formed on Elliot's lips which parted to emit a quiet laugh while he hung his head against hers. "Nothing like that. We've got a possible child abuse case, but the boy won't talk to me, he's too afraid and Wong can't get here for a while. Can you try?"

(Y/n) could feel adrenaline sparking in her stomach as she looked up at Elliot with inquizitive eyes.

That sounded interesting. Much more interesting than what she had been doing for the last week. Talking to witnesses and victims was exactly what (Y/n) wanted to do, it was an aspect of the job that she was good at.

And Elliot knew that if anyone could get through to this young boy he was dealing with, it would be his wife. (Y/n) and Elliot didn't have any kids together yet, this pregnancy was their first child together. But before now, (Y/n) had always managed to make connections with the vulnerable kids they tried to protect or remove from dangerous homes.

She got them to open up to her, they trusted her and (Y/n) was used to doing interviews with kids. It was something she had missed these last few weeks since being put on restrictive duties.

"You think he'll be okay with me?"

(Y/n) was more than willing to try, but she hadn't even met this boy. This was a child who had already began to talk to Elliot. A child who had been brought here by Elliot, that should have helped form some connection or level of trust.

It might not work if (Y/n) walked in as a stranger who might not be able to be involved in his case, with her restrictive work levels. But if Elliot thought it was worth a try, then (Y/n) was up for it.

A hum vibrated past Elliot's lips as he nodded before he pressed a chaste kiss to her temple.

This kid wasn't connecting with him, he was getting nowhere and it wasn't a surprise. They suspected that his dad was abusive and sometimes in these cases, children tended to mistrust adults if they thought they would act like their parents. Elliot was an authority figure, he was another man who might hurt this child. The boy wasn't going to open up to him, but he might just see (Y/n) as a motherly figure that he could trust.

"I think he's missing a mother and is too wary of men, if you talk to him, he'll open up."

"Okay."

Elliot murmured a soft "Thank you," before he stole a quick kiss from her lips. And he took a step back when (Y/n) pressed her hands down into the desk and pushed her chair back so she could get up.

His eyes raked up and down her frame, drinking her in like this was the first time he had laid his eyes on her. He wormed his arm around her waist and ticked his head to the side, beckoning (Y/n) along with him so he could introduce her to their newest case victim.

(Y/n) leaned into Elliot's side as they walked through the squad room, but as they passed the drinks corner, she diverted and crouched down in front of the mini fridge. Grinning when she saw a can of soda tucked away at the back. That would do. Giving the young boy a drink would help her earn some trust from him and show him that she was here to help and be kind, not to upset him or hurt him.

"What's his name?"

"Danny, he's in here. Barely said a word to me." Elliot pointed towards the interview room especially designed for children. With a small table, lots of toys, colours and crayons and books. Everything a child needed to entertain themselves and feel safe, almost as if they were in a classroom.

"He might not open up to me, you know." (Y/n) turned to cast a look up towards her husband. She didn't want Elliot placing all his bets on her and expecting this boy to open up to her, there was no guarantee that she could get any sort of information out of him.

But Elliot only smiled down at her. "You'll do better than me." He'd gotten nowhere and Elliot took himself out of the room when he realised he was making Danny nervous and intimidated.

Anything (Y/n) could get out of him, whether it was his address or his school, it was a good start.

With a nod of her head, (Y/n) gave his arm a squeeze before she knocked on the door and walked in. She tried to smile and look reassuring as she entered the room and approached Danny.

He looked to be around seven or eight and he looked very skinny and frightened. He was staring down at the table, messing with a few of the building blocks but he wasn't trying to create anything in particular.

"Hi, you must be Danny." (Y/n) waited for the young boy to look up and acknowledge her before she moved one of the chairs to take a seat opposite him at the small table.

She'd forgotten just how low this table was which showed how long ago it had been since she had done an interview in here. It felt like she was on the floor when she finally sat down and her hand moved to her stomach, trying to straighten up and get comfortable. She had to shimmy her chair back a little so the edge of the table wasn't pressing into her bump.

"I'm (Y/n)… I thought you might be thirsty."

When she slid the can of pop across the table, Danny finally lifted his head to look at her for more than a mere second. This time, he seemed to assess her like he was trying to work out whether she was someone safe to talk to or someone he should avoid.

He stopped tapping and aimlessly moving the building blocks around in favour of reaching out for the drink. His fingers drew patterns in the condensation on the can before he cracked it open.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Do you like to draw?" When he nodded his head, (Y/n) smiled and reached across for some paper and crayons. "Me too, shall we do some pictures?"

She slid a few pieces of paper towards Danny and placed the crayons in the middle of the table between them so he could choose what he wanted. He seemed sceptical, looking between the paper and (Y/n) like he presumed this was some kind of test that he could get wrong.

But he watched (Y/n) take a grey crayon and begin to sketch the outline of something he couldn't yet figure out, and it encouraged him to take a blue crayon.

"What do I draw?"

"How about you draw me a family picture? Do you have a big family?" (Y/n) continued the aimless sketch she wasn't really focusing too much on. It was more like she was shading a random shape than focusing on any actual drawing.

She was only undertaking the same activity to make Danny feel included and like they were doing something together rather than her spectating and evaluating him.

Danny started to do a few stick drawings, but he didn't look too happy and he shook his head. "Just me and dad."

"Are you close, you must get his full attention if you don't have any siblings around."

"He drinks a lot… he's mean when he drinks. Is your family big?"

With a deep breath and a tender look in her eyes, (Y/n) snook a quick glance to the window on her left where she knew Elliot and probably the Captain, would be watching. Danny was opening up. He was trying to keep up the conversation and he hadn't shut down yet, this was some progress.

She leant forward, resting her elbows on the table and aching her back out while she tried not to press her stomach into the table since the baby was settled and not kicking up a fuss at the moment.

"My partner Elliot, he's got four kids so we have a busy home. Lots of arguing. Is your dad mean to you when he drinks?" (Y/n) knew this style of conversation was the easiest to strike up.

Give and take. For whatever information Danny gave her, she would give some in return. She asked about his family and told him about hers, it would make him feel included and safe and he wouldn't feel like (Y/n) was pushing and probing him for information when she was sharing with him.

"Sometimes. Are you gonna be a mummy?" Danny's question took (Y/n) by surprise, and she watched with wide eyes as he pointed at her stomach with the crayon in his hand.

And in a moment of braveness, the young boy suddenly started to scrape his chair along the floor until he was closer to (Y/n)'s side rather than sitting directly opposite her. He moved close enough that he was almost touching (Y/n)'s right arm, and he kept looking towards her bump like he was expecting it to grow before his eyes.

They were making more of a connection than (Y/n) had hoped for. Perhaps she would be able to stay on this case if Danny felt he could trust her. After all, he was sitting next to her whereas he had barely gone near Elliot by the sounds of it.

When he made another motion to her stomach, (Y/n) nodded and set her crayon down so she could run her hand along her bump with an encouraging smile.

"Yeah, I'm gonna have a little boy soon." Her eyes glanced down to her stomach as she spoke, chiding herself for saying soon when she still had a few months to wait.

She was only twenty-one weeks along, they had at least another three months to wait before they would get to meet their boy. But that wasn't too far away in all reality.

"Like me?"

(Y/n) couldn't quite place the hopeful look in Danny's eyes or understand why he seemed so vibrant, but at least he was starting to open up to her. "You're a big boy though, aren't you?"

He seemed to contemplate the question, unsure whether he was a big boy or not so he mumbled "Only seven."

After a second thought, Danny turned back to face (Y/n) and she thought he was going to ask her another question, but he took her by surprise again. He reached a careful hand out and grazed his hand along her bump. (Y/n) didn't want to question him and make him think he was doing anything wrong, and if he was opening up to her then she wanted to keep this connection and learn as much as she could about him.

He stayed quiet for a few moments so (Y/n) slid his drawing from the other side of the table so it was in front of him and placed a new colour next to him.

"Do you have a mummy?"

The question caused Danny to retract his hand and look down at his lap like he thought he had suddenly done something wrong. "No. Dad said she was bad, so she left."

(Y/n) nodded but her breaths caught in her throat and she tensed when Danny suddenly leaned into her side. He rested his head on her arm and inched his chair closer to her, yet again, until there was almost no space between them and he could use her as a leaning post.

He was seeking comfort, he wanted reassurance and he clearly thought that (Y/n) was someone safe who he could trust.

Turning her head to the left, (Y/n) looked over at the reflective window that acted as a mirror on her side. She knew the team would be watching on the other side, or Elliot at least would be there observing. She raised her left hand to prop up her chin and she started to tap her finger against her cheek.

A signal to whoever was watching that this was time for a break. Danny wasn't colouring or drawing anymore and he had gone quiet, it would be best to give him a break before they tried talking to him again. And perhaps Wong would be here soon and he could take over, after all he was the psychiatrist and they would need to know if Danny was okay or at any sort of risk.

But for now, (Y/n) had gotten him to open up and that was enough. It was time to take a break.

***

"There she is!"

A bright smile lit up Danny's face and he let go of the officer's hand who had found him when he wandered into the precinct. His eyes were trained on the one person he had been hoping to see and he pelted through the squad room until he was near (Y/n)'s desk.

He didn't even have to call out her name to gain her attention, it was as if she had intuition that he had arrived.

Danny's wide round eyes watched with glee as (Y/n), who had been standing next to her desk with one hip slouched against the wooden edge, turned around at the sound of approaching footsteps. And a look of shock plastered across her face when she saw him making a beeline for her.

As soon as (Y/n) was within reach, he bound his arms around her and glued himself up against her front with enough force that (Y/n) stumbled back a few steps.

She couldn't contain a groan when Danny grabbed her. He held her so tightly her hips ached and the way he meshed himself against her stomach made her feel sick.

She hadn't been feeling well this week, but having Danny squeezing her and pushing into her stomach made it worse and the shock made the baby squirm to life.

It was hard to steel her expression and hide her grimace and (Y/n) sank her teeth down into her lower lip to try and remain calm and keep her expression neutral. Her arms reached down for Danny and she gave him a quick hug before gently trying to hold his arms and unlatch him from her so she could talk to him.

But before she got to ask him one question, the officer who had brought him up here stepped forward and looked across at (Y/n).

"Is this your boy?"

Confusion washed over (Y/n)'s face and her eyes narrowed as she looked between the woman and Danny, who was clinging to her tight enough that she was struggling go make him let go.

"Um, no, no I'm not his mother but I know him, you can leave him with me."

He wasn't her son, but (Y/n) had worked closely with Danny over the last two weeks. He was okay to stay here with her so she could find out what was going on and why he was here.

The team hadn't had enough evidence for social services to take Danny away from his dad, who they were sure was not a fit parent for Danny. But they had tried to keep an eye on him and social services promised to do random spot checks and keep Danny on their list in case any future incidents happened.

(Y/n) hadn't expected Danny to find his own way here, which was clearly what had happened because his dad had been furious to find him here two weeks ago. She knew that he wouldn't bring Danny back here under any circumstance, so it was plausible that Danny came here by himself or with someone else's help.

With a nod, the officer gave a quiet "Okay." and turned around to head out the squad room. She had only come up here to escort Danny and make sure he found the person he had been looking for. She was a little confused that the boy said he was going to find his mum, but at least he was safe here and with someone who knew him.

(Y/n) finally managed to nudge Danny back so he was no longer bound to her and she leaned back a little so she was looking down at him properly. But she had to take a few deep breaths before she dared speak with how uncomfortable she currently felt.

"Danny what are you doing here?"

"Can you look after me?"

He looked up at her with such a beaming smile that (Y/n)'s heart ached and the smile she was trying to plaster on her face faltered. And she wasn't sure what to do when he pushed forward and tried to bind himself around her once again.

"Honey I'm not your mum, where's your dad?" Her hands held onto his arms a little tighter so she could nudge him back, again, and she watched as his smile morphed into a frown.

"You can be." He completely ignored the burning question about where his dad was and (Y/n) couldn't gage from his expression whether Danny had run away from his dad, if he had come here all the way from home or if he got someone to bring him here.

(Y/n) took a few deep breaths, trying to ward away the headache burning behind her eyes while she looked around the squad room. Cragen was in his office and she didn't exactly want to bother him with this. She needed Elliot or George Wong to be around.

George had gotten through to Danny, but it was clear that he had attached himself to (Y/n) more than anyone else. And he hadn't exactly warmed up to Elliot, but he knew him at least.

She needed one of them to come and take Danny because he was getting too attached to her, and George's advice still rung in her ears.

"Just be careful. Him bonding with you is good, but attaching to you is bad. If he becomes possessive over you, he could become volatile and he won't take it well if he can't see you anymore."

"Let's go find George, he can sit with you while we talk to your dad." She took a look around the squad room, but she couldn't see either of them anywhere. She knew George was still here, he had been working on a case with Finn this morning, and Elliot hadn't left the precinct yet. They were around here somewhere.

"No. I want you."

Danny took her hand in a viper's grip that cut off her circulation to her fingers and caused George's words to circulate through her head again and again on a repeating loop.

It was already too late. He had already attached himself to her. They knew it since the second time he visited the precinct for an interview. They knew when he said that he wanted (Y/n) and how he wouldn't talk to anyone else that he had formed an attachment.

But talking to (Y/n) was the only way they could get him to open up and find out if he was in danger at home with his dad or not.

"Honey I have to work right now, you like George-"

"You look after me! You. I want you!"

Danny's sudden outburst caused more than a few pairs of eyes to look towards them and (Y/n) sank her teeth down in her lower lip as she looked around. But she felt her heart leaping up into her throat when she locked eyes with Elliot who was just walking back into the squad room.

He had his sleeves rolled up past his elbows in his usual fashion and his brows furrowed when he looked down to see who was clinging to (Y/n)'s arm so ferociously and creating a scene.

Elliot rolled his lips into a thin line and ran a hand down his jaw when he realised it was Danny. This was going to be complicated.

He could see the look in (Y/n)'s eyes, she was asking for help. They both knew this wasn't going to be an easy situation to get out of and Danny was already making a scene to try and stay with (Y/n). She needed as much help as she could get here.

So Elliot made a beeline for them and moved to stand beside (Y/n) and he reached down to rest his hand on Danny's shoulder. Although he could tell his presence wasn't wanted when the seven year old turned his head and glared up at him.

"Hey Danny, why don't we get a drink and go have a chat?"

With Elliot's hand resting on Danny's shoulder, (Y/n) reached down and managed to wrangle her hand free from Danny's tight grip. Once he let go, she took a cautious step to the side.

"I have to go do some work, but I'll come and see you in a little while, okay?" She knew her words wouldn't go down well, but she didn't expect his little face to burn bright red and for him to snarl at her like she had told him he had done something wrong and was being sent away.

"No!" A high pitch scream left Danny's lips and before the couple could react, he was reaching out and scratching his hands down (Y/n)'s arm to try and drag her back to him.

He yanked on her arm, clawed at her to bind her arm to his chest but when (Y/n) once again tried to step away from him, he started to whine. His heels scraped against the floor as he bolted after her, taking everyone by surprise when he started to bash his fists against any part of (Y/n) that he could reach.

"You're mine!" There was a desperate edge to his whining that caused tears to start trickling down his face.

(Y/n) held her hands out in front of her, fending off his punches as she stumbled into her desk, trying to add space between them. She knew if she tried to hold onto him to get him to stop, he would just wrap himself around her and refuse to let go again. There had to be a safe distance between them to stop him getting attached or hurting her.

"Danny stop."

"Alright that's enough."

Elliot's hands reached out for the desk chair in his way which he shoved back into the desk before he made a lunge towards Danny. He bound his right arm around Danny's middle and quickly hoisted him up off his feet, spinning to the side so Elliot was now in between his wife and the young boy struggling in his arms.

"Come on, time out." His voice was deep and the stern tone took Danny off guard, but it didn't stop him from thrashing around and kicking his legs out that couldn't reach the floor.

He couldn't get out of Elliot's arm that felt like a bar of iron around his middle and he began to scream despite how easily Elliot began to walk away with him.

Twisting to the right, Elliot glanced towards (Y/n) and tilted his chin down. "You okay?"

She couldn't find the words, but she managed to nod and she let out a shaky breath when she felt a hand on her shoulder and realised that John had moved to stand behind her for support.

"Wong, I could use some help here." Elliot's gruff voice resonated down the hall as he left the squad room and aimed for the interview rooms. He knew he had seen George in the hallway and he sighed in relief when the shorter man hurried over, clearly hearing the comotion.

Reaching her hand out, (Y/n) grabbed onto the back of her desk chair and leant forward, trying to ease the dull ache in her back and the pains in her stomach.

She could feel a headache forming like a thunderstorm behind her eyes and she realised she was leaning most of her weight onto the desk chair. If it suddenly moved in any direction she would end up on the floor.

"You don't look so good."

(Y/n) tried her best to smile, she really did. Her head turned to the left and she tried to look up at John over her shoulder, but she knew her smile wasn't convincing, neither was the look in her eyes.

"Thanks." She knew he wasn't trying to make a joke or be rude, he was concerned and that was endearing, but she just needed a minute to compose herself.

Her fingers drummed against the back of the chair and (Y/n) did her best to straighten up and click her spine into place to see if it would make a difference in how she felt. It didn't seem to do much good. For the last few days she hadn't been feeling well, but now she was starting to feel worse. Being grabbed and pulled and hit at by Danny hadn't helped her either.

"I'm okay." She didn't sound too convincing and when she glanced up at John, she saw that he wasn't buying it either.

But the pair of them turned when they heard loud footsteps and the distant sound of a child- presumably Danny- yelling out far down the hall. He still wasn't happy. He wasn't calming down. He was only going to calm down if (Y/n) went to speak to him, and that was exactly what she couldn't do. He had lashed out at her already, she couldn't be around him anymore and allow his attachment to grow or else he would never want to part from her.

An exasperated look flooded Elliot's face and he sighed as he scratched the back of his neck and moved towards his desk, which was directly opposite (Y/n)'s.

"That kid's gonna need a sedation, even Wong can't get through to him. And I have to call his dad and find out where he is."

A grunt left Elliot's lips as he arched over his desk and yanked open one of the desk drawers to find Danny's case file. They didn't have many notes on him, but they had a few and he knew that somewhere in that slim file, his dad's phone number should be written down. They were going to have to find out where he was and work out whether he had left Danny alone or if the seven year old had run away. And they were going to have to ask his dad to come and get him.

This wasn't going to be fun.

Twisting to the left, (Y/n) tried to step away from her desk but the moment she wobbled, she felt both John's hands on her arms preventing her from moving any further. Not that she could get far when the pains were starting to get worse again.

"Elliot." John arched a brow and angled his head down, looking across at Elliot over the rim of his glasses.

Elliot lifted his head, his desk phone halfway to his ear and one hand poised and ready to tap in the number for Danny's dad. But he froze, arched over his desk as he looked across at them both, quickly deciphering the problem when he noticed (Y/n) wouldn't look at him. And the way John kept glancing down at her with panic flooding his pupils told Elliot there was a problem.

He set the phone back down on the receiver, the imminent call now long forgotten as he weaved around his desk and moved to stand in front of (Y/n). He didn't like how she continued to stare down at the floor rather than sparing him even one glance.

"Baby, what's the matter?"

His hand found (Y/n)'s arm and when she continued to stare at the floor, Elliot gently cupped her chin and tilted her head up in his direction.

"I j- I just need to sit down…" She changed her mind about walking away, and she didn't know where she thought she would wander off to anyway. She didn't have the strength to walk around the precinct, not when she felt like this.

She turned back so she was facing her desk again, but her trembling hand quickly shot out and clamped down around Elliot's forearm when her stomach twinged. She couldn't help the whimper she let out and when her free hand moved to her stomach, Elliot closed his eyes and tipped his head back.

His hand clenched around her elbow and his other hand moved to grab her hip as if ensuring that she wasn't about to go down to the floor. He stepped closer and let (Y/n) lean into his chest that hardened with each deep breath he took.

"Okay, okay you're not well baby. We're going to the hospital."

"No, I-" (Y/n) wasn't sure why she was trying to convince Elliot otherwise when it was apparent that she wasn't okay.

She didn't want to cause a fuss or create a scene, but it seemed too late for that now. She didn't feel well, and Elliot knew something was wrong; there was no other outcome but him taking her to the hospital.

Elliot's lips attached to the top of her head and he moved his hand round from her waist to run his palm up and down her back. He took a moment or two to try and settle his own breathing before he gave (Y/n) a squeeze.

"Let's get you checked out."

***

"The scans showed blood flow is good and fluid is all there, but baby seems to be a bit lower down than we'd expect."

"Is that bad?" (Y/n) could hear the nerves floating around in her voice that barely made it through her own ears due to the static building up in them.

Her fingers were tapping out a rhythm along her thigh until Elliot reached out and interlaced their fingers together. She felt him bring the back of her hand up to his lips and he gave a light squeeze, as if reassuring her that she didn't have to sit here panicking.

It was hard to gage the midwife's reaction when her expression seemed to indicate that this wasn't a major issue, but her words gave the opposite effect. What she said seemed to be something to worry about, but she didn't look panicked enough for (Y/n) to think that this was a dire emergency. It made (Y/n) uncertain of how she was meant to feel or what she was meant to think.

"It's something we don't want at such an early stage. Baby typically moves down when labour is imminent." The midwife smiled, but there was a sympathetic look in her eyes that made (Y/n) tighten her grip on Elliot's hand.

No, they did not want that outcome at only twenty-three weeks along. They didn't want to be thinking about labour for another fourteen weeks at least because then (Y/n) would be classed as full term. She didn't want to have their baby now, it was much too early and dangerous.

"So what do we do?"

(Y/n) glanced her eyes over to Elliot when he spoke. He looked far too calm for her liking, but she knew he was good at masking his emotions. He had to be, in their line of work letting emotions show in front of suspects meant giving weaknesses and room for error.

"A few days on observation, and because of the bleeding you've been experiencing, it might be an idea to have a stitch in your cervix. The stitch will keep the cervix strong and hopefully fight off early labour."

That sounded daunting, but not as frightening as the possibility of premature labour. An added stitch would be a worth while option if it meant (Y/n) had a better chance of getting into her third trimester without any future problems. And if it would keep their baby safe and help prevent her from going into labour too soon, then it was worth a try.

She found herself nodding, but the midwife was already putting her notes away with an encouraging smile as she uttered "I'll give you a few minutes to talk it over, and you can consult with the doctor just to be safe."

Her eyes drifted to the left and she looked at Elliot as he moved from the chair next to her until he was sat down on the edge of the bed. His knee pressed into her thigh and he moved their joined hands to rest on his thigh.

"This is good news, nothing serious is what we want." With the way (Y/n) had suddenly gone downhill at the station, Elliot had the worst feeling that something horrible would happen.

He imagined (Y/n) going into labour today or finding no heartbeat in their scan or some major complication. And he knew by the pale, panicked expression on Cragen's face that their Captain had also assumed the worst. This was good news as far as Elliot was concerned.

"I know, I just- I want them to stay here and keep them safe." (Y/n) moved her free hand to cradle the side of her stomach as she looked down wistfully as if she could see through her stomach and look at their baby.

She wanted to keep them safe. She wanted their baby to stay connected to her where they were looked after and in no danger. Needing to have a stitch in her cervix was a big sign that without it, (Y/n) wouldn't make it to full term and even with this minor procedure, there were no guarantees. It practically cemented the fact that she wasn't going to make it to her due date, and that was frightening.

"They're not going anywhere, at least not for now." Elliot gently loosened their fingers so he could cup his hand over hers on her stomach.

And when he leant forward to kiss her stomach, (Y/n) tilted her head down and curved her free arm around the back of his shoulders, joining them both together in a hug.

(Y/n) closed her eyes and held her breath, trying to settle down her system. She knew one thing for certain, she wouldn't be on desk duty for much longer.

[winterscaptain]

like a family.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: it's soooo late but i will blame the brain damage (lmao). i am SO excited to share this one with you all and throw us back into the mean it era for a while!! we'll be living here for the next few weeks and i am working on a lot of revisions!! to orient us: this is the first case back from suspension!

maybe we get two fics this week as a treat?? i'll throw up a poll.

words: 13.1k content advisories: canon-typical violence, case discussion (acid attacks), language, emotional confrontation, mentions of PTSD and grief

summary: “love implies anger. the man who is angered by nothing cares about nothing.” – edward abbey. october 19th, 2011

Hat, blazer, shoes, phone, wallet, keys…

“You have everything?” Aaron asks. 

You hesitate, patting your pockets, feeling around in your work bag. “Trying to…figure that out.” Your speech is halting, distracted, as if you can’t quite remember the rhythm of this.

It’s been a long time since we’ve had to do this. Four weeks? Five weeks?

You glance at him. “We’re definitely looking at a case this week, right?”

Aaron nods. “Pretty bad, looks like. I've been monitoring a few, but we’ll see where Garcia sends us. My guess is Oklahoma.” 

You pull a face. “Okay.” 

You take a breath and walk over to him, pressing your full weight to his chest. He huffs a little laugh, warm and familiar, and kisses your forehead. 

“We have to go,” he murmurs, hands settling on your shoulders. Gently, he unglues you, holds you at arms length. His thumbs brush little circles over your coat, like a tether. 

“You love your job. We love our jobs. Right?” 

A beat.

“Right.” 

+++

You share a little smile before getting into your respective cars, lingering in the moment just a beat longer than necessary.

It’s been a blissful (and, at times, excruciating) few weeks without work. Stepping back into reality won’t be easy.

Aaron’s face is unreadable at first—calm, collected. But then, just before he reaches for the door, his jaw shifts. Just slightly. A reflex, like he’s forcing something back into place.

You’re not sure if having this much uninterrupted time together has been good for you, or for whatever this relationship is becoming—but at this point, there’s very little that could fuck you up further.

The separation, the boundaries, will be good. Structure. Distance. Something that’s just yours.

He exhales through his nose, his fingers flexing once at his side before closing around the car handle.

You pull your door open, mirroring him. Baby steps.

+++

“Look, master of all things Italian, I am having a Fellini festival at my house this weekend and I must serve the beautiful food of his country.” You turn as Penelope and Dave walk in, no doubt discussing the pancetta disaster in her little green tupperware. 

Dave makes a face. “Maybe you should show a Disney film and stick with burgers.”

“You know, Rossi,” Derek says, “you could always give Penelope a cooking lesson.”

“Oh, my gosh, that would be amazing. That would be like-- that would be like the Iron Chef meets the BAU.” She pauses, her voice creeping higher. “And we could do it at your house.”

“I don't have a house, I have a mansion.” 

You roll your eyes. When you look at Spencer to share the moment, he avoids you. There’s a little flash of hurt in your chest and you do your best to smother it. Everyone is clearly handling things differently and you’re trying not to take things personally. 

It’s not about you. 

A folder lands in front of you, and you feel Aaron pass behind you.

"Alright, let’s get started."

The sound of his voice—low, steady, too steady—sends a little shock up your spine. 

The impact he has on your heart rate isn’t reasonable or fair—you see him all the time, heard those words hundreds of times, but the added clandestine knowledge makes it so much worse.

It’s the undeniable weight of him in the room, the heat of his presence, the way he exists in your periphery like a living problem. Your heart takes off at a gallop. 

And it’s not just knowing him, now. It’s knowing how his hands feel, how he breathes and the sounds he makes when he’s close, how his pulse jumps when you kiss the scar on his jaw.

Plus, I know what’s hiding under those suits…

Stop!! Focus!

It’s knowing too much—and having to act like it means nothing.

You fight to keep your breathing steady. You can feel the heat creep up your neck. 

The best outcome you can hope for is that nobody’s paying attention to you. 

Aaron smirks out of the corner of your eye. He knows.

Well. Somebody is paying attention to you. 

Bastard. 

You ignore him. Well. As best you can. Eventually, he schools his expression—a fraction of a second too late. Like he almost forgot himself, just for a moment. But then the mask comes back, smoothing over the smirk, the glances, the heat. He takes a small, almost imperceptible pause before opening his folder, treating it almost like a little milestone. He’s focused, now, centered. 

You flip through as Penelope starts, noting the freshness of the paper. There’s new information on this case since this morning.

“You are jetting to Durant, Oklahoma, because in the last three days, two women have been found dead after being sexually tortured and then blinded with a sulfuric acid solution.” 

Yikes. He was right. 

Your body is still reacting to Aaron. Your brain is already spiraling into the horrors of the case. And in that moment, you hate how both things can exist at once.

“Abby Elcott is our first victim.” A photo of a young woman appears on the monitor. “A nineteen-year-old art student. She was headed to campus for an advanced drawing class. She'd been missing for two days.” Garcia clicks again and a few more photos appear. “Same goes for our second victim, Beth Westerly, seventeen. She had just finished her coffee shop shift and was on her way to a barre method class.”

“Low risk,” you note. “Hard targets.”

Aaron exhales through his nose, slow and measured, before adjusting the way his hands rest on the table.

Derek agrees. “And physically similar.” He looks at Penelope. “How close are the two abduction sites?”

“Five miles apart at bus stops. Abby’s cell was found near one, Beth’s scarf near the other.” 

“Where are the dump sites?” Spencer asks. 

“One in an alley, the other in a field.”

JJ’s brow crinkles, her finger supporting her temple as she works through the details. “So he stapled their eyes open, then he blinded them.”

“It's about power and control,” Derek suggests. “Maybe he didn't want them to watch while he hurt them.”

“Or it could be about shame,” Spencer replies. “Perhaps the unsub is disfigured himself. Blinding the victims leaves them helpless, lost, totally dependent. It may be a manifestation of how he sees himself in this world.” 

There’s something loaded, a hidden meaning in his words, and a strange look passes over JJ’s face. You glance at Aaron without moving your head, trying to be subtle. His tongue passes over his lower lip and he swallows. It’s an acknowledgement. 

Later.

Emily tips her head. “It is a form of enucleation, just without the scalpel.”

“His face is the last they see before darkness,” Dave says grimly. 

Damn. That’s dark, Dave.

Aaron compiles the papers in front of him, closing the folder. He clears his throat once before speaking again—unusual, for him. “Garcia, come up with a list of jobs that would give the unsub access to sulfuric acid.” He looks up, meeting everyone’s eyes around the table. “The rest of us, wheels up in thirty minutes.”

You hang back, letting Aaron leave before you start packing your things. 

“You good?” Derek asks. His eyes are creased, concerned. 

You nod quickly, too quickly. “Yep. Just nice to be back. Happy to be back into the swing of things, you know?” 

“Uh huh,” he says, skeptical, but not pushing. He doesn’t completely buy it.  His gaze flicks over you, assessing, before he adds, “Anything else going on? Seems like you ran a mile before coming in this morning or something.”

Your breath hitches—not much, just a fraction—but enough that you have to actively steady it before responding.

"Not sure. Feeling a little jittery, but that’s normal after some time away, right?"”

He shrugs, still watching you, but lets it go. You’re left with Emily and JJ, who are looking at something on JJ’s phone, heads bent close together. 

You smile a little. It’s good to have her back. 

You grab a few random papers—something, anything—and cross the bridge, stopping outside Aaron’s office.

You don’t need to speak. You don’t really even pause. Just a meaningful glance—a beat too long, a breath too deep.

He clocks it immediately. His eyes track yours, and something in his expression flickers. Acknowledgement. Understanding.

You keep walking.

You get down to your desk. Folders in, loose papers out. You don’t really care what they are, but you make a show of it, slow and methodical. Just in case anyone’s watching.

You take them to the copy room.

Sixty seconds later, Aaron joins you. The door clicks shut behind him.

You barely wait a breath. Your body moves before your brain does—a step forward, then another, and then you’re pressing yourself into his chest, arms winding tight around his waist.

He exhales as he catches you, his hands finding their place, firm and sure. One at the small of your back, the other settling between your shoulder blades. He doesn’t say anything—just holds you close, steady, solid.

“Are you okay?” 

You nod. “Just a hard transition.” 

“Yeah.” 

You’re quiet for a minute, content to melt into his arms, let all your stress drop out of you through your toes. “I miss you.” 

He hums. It’s almost an amused sound. “I miss you too.” 

“It’s silly, because you’re right here, but -” 

“No, I get it. Not the same as being at home.” 

You sigh into him. "No, it’s not."

He holds you just a little tighter for a moment—just long enough to tell you he means it.

Then, a breath. A return to center..

"Alright," he murmurs, softer now. "Fake copy that file, and I’ll meet you at the jet."

+++

There’s a thin layer of tension coating the inside of the jet, but it’s easy enough to ignore if you try hard enough. 

Spencer shoulder-checks JJ on his way to put his bag away and you watch, stunned, as he does absolutely nothing to help her as she stumbles, nearly falling into you in the bank of seats by the table. You catch her and let her grab your hand to steady herself. 

“Thanks,” she says. It almost sounds sad. 

You shake your head. “Don’t worry about it.”

She offers you a thin smile and you realize her jaw is tight, her smile only reaches her eyes by the barest amounts. You flip your hand, catching her wrist as she pulls away, and meet her eyes. 

The guilt is eating her up, and Spencer isn’t helping. 

It’s okay. 

She shakes her head, but smiles as if to reassure you, wrapping her fingers around yours and squeezing once. You hold her gaze. 

I gotchu. 

You know she knows. She softens and leans against Emily’s chair, studiously ignoring Spencer as he sits just about as far away as he can get without completely excluding himself from the group. You shift as the rest of the team joins you, taking a place on the arm of the sofa between Aaron and Spencer. 

“Victimology is very similar,” Aaron says, almost to himself. “Blond-haired, blue-eyed teenage girls.”

“Local PD believes they were abducted close to nearby public transit stops,” JJ adds. You look through the maps, noting the routes of the buses common to both stops. There’s only one, and you file it for later.

Emily holds up a picture of one of the victims. “When was this photo taken?”

“Beth was caught on a bank surveillance camera three hours before she disappeared,” he gestures to the other photo in her hand. “That’s a recent photo of Abby.”

“So, she wasn’t found in the same clothes she was abducted in?” Emily asks. 

You lean forward. “Maybe the ones she was wearing were burned by the acid?” 

“It’s possible,” Spencer says. “Sulfuric acid can turn human flesh into soap.” 

Gross. 

Aaron turns to Penelope on the monitor, “Garcia, any recent similar cases in the surrounding area?”

“Actually, yes. Two months ago a prostitute and a runaway were both found raped and killed and they had stab wounds to their eyes.”

“Could this be an escalation?” You ask. 

JJ’s brow furrows. “Maybe he practiced on high-risk victims first.”

Derek finishes her thought, “And then advanced to chemical enucleation.”

“Isn’t that a rare paraphilia?” JJ’s question is one you also had. 

You almost expect Spencer to answer, being the expert on all things odd or weird or otherwise rare, but Emily answers instead. “Well. the chemical part is. It would exacerbate the pain.”

Dave makes a comment about Ed Kemper and surrogates, but it’s nothing new. Surrogate murder is almost cliche at this point among serial killers with a specific victim profile. 

Aaron makes assignments and you land with JJ and Spencer, headed to the abduction sites when you land. You watch as JJ attempts to connect with Spencer like you had this morning, but he pointedly looks away from her, studying the file in his lap with a tight set of his mouth. 

This is going to be a long day.  

+++

“So, Beth got off the bus here and headed northwest toward class,” you recap, using the map and tracing your finger along the path. You look down the sidewalk as the three of you walk her last route, seeing an average amount of foot traffic and plenty of witness opportunities. 

JJ seems to read your mind. “It’s amazing no one witnessed her abduction.”

“I was think-” 

Spencer cuts you off. “Emily was buried six feet under and wound up in Paris, so I guess anything is possible, right?”

Yeah. His attitude this morning? Definitely not about you.

“So, that’s what this is about,” JJ says flatly.

Spencer carries on as if she hasn’t said anything at all. “Maybe our unsub's a little bit like Bundy. He feigns injury in order to get her to help him.”

JJ tries again and you feel more and more like an unwanted witness by the moment. JJ cuts him off with her body, stepping in front of him. “Look, Spence, if you want to talk about this -”

He continues to talk over her, “Maybe he tried other tactics, like, ‘Wow, you're really pretty. You should be a model. I can take your photo.’” 

She looks at you with a mixture of hurt and incredulity.  You take a big breath and shake your head. 

It’s not worth it right now. He’s not ready.

Regardless, she persists. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“Either one would disarm her,” Spencer says. 

You step halfway between them, hoping to create a subtle buffer. “Charm is quite the killer.”

“So are tears.” He carries on, hardly taking a breath between thoughts. “Whatever his ruse was, the unsub mostly likely used it to get her into his vehicle.”

“Well,” you answer. “If Abby was last seen at a bus stop a few miles away, then he definitely has a means of transportation.”

“Hopefully the disposal site will tell us more.” Spencer’s already walking away before he finished his thought, leaving you and JJ looking dumbly after him. 

After a second, you remember your purpose and follow, JJ on your heels.

+++

You meet Derek and Emily at one thrift store Aaron sent you to and you split up to cover more ground. You share a significant, loaded look with Derek, who then comes up with some way to rearrange Aaron’s assignments. He keeps JJ and Reid together, swapping you for Emily. 

You’re thankful, and your mission is successful. You and Derek find Abby’s clothes, hawked or traded for the items she was wearing when her body was found. The clerk identifies them, confirming that they were genuine 80s vintage sold at his store. 

Helpful, indeed.

On the way back to the station, Derek surprises you with an unrelated question. “So you’re pissed at him, right?” 

You look over at him, driving (to this point) in silence. “Hm?”

“Hotch. You’re pissed at him, too, right?”

You weigh your options. You could exaggerate how upset you are, citing and harkening back to Aaron’s return (leaving out the sex part), or you could be honest. You split the difference. 

“Well, I screamed at him a bunch when he got back. I’m less mad now than I was then, but that’s not a high bar.” You shrug. “I’m more upset about Pakistan than Emily though, if I’m honest.”

Derek nods. “I get that.”

“I know that wouldn’t be the case for you,” you continue, “since you were there when she, you know.” 

“Yeah.” 

You sit in silence for a minute. “So, how pissed are you?”

“I’m not happy, I can tell you that much.”

You resist the urge to parrot him. I get that. “Right.”

“Do I think it was a stupid and hurtful choice? Yeah.” He sighs. “Do I get it on some level? Also yeah. I mean -“ He huffs. “I can also understand the position they were in, you know? I mean, I wasn’t unit chief for long but there’s a lot you can’t -“ He cuts himself off. “I get it. I do. I’m still mad.”

You nod. “That’s fair. And I think I feel the same way. I get it, but that doesn’t help me be less-pissed, you know?”

“Yeah.” He pauses. “I’m worried about Reid.”

Your mouth twists. “Me too. There’s a lot of anger there and it’s leaking like a shitty faucet.”

Derek shakes his head. “He’s not like us, you know? He’s not good at stuffing his feelings -“

“Not that that’s an admirable quality, or anything,” you add wryly. 

Derek laughs lightly, deflecting. “No, but it can help with stuff like this.”

“Right.”

The two of you sit in silence after that. 

+++

Aaron looks over his shoulder from the board when you and Derek walk in, a little crinkle in his brow. “Where’re Reid and JJ?”

“With Emily,” you answer. When you get closer you murmur, “I’ll tell you later.” 

He nods and turns back to the board, writing labels in his blocky handwriting. “I’ve asked the chief to assemble his shift change officers for a profile delivery,” he says, only loud enough for you to hear. “Do you think we have enough?” 

“When Dave and the others get back from the dumpsite, I think we will. Three victims, we have the pattern and can deliver our conclusions from there.” You look over at him, studying the board with your arms crossed, and you know your face softens when your eyes meet. 

It’s so cheesy. So lame. But damn it, he makes you so happy. 

Disgusting. 

The eye closest to the board pinches in a lightning fast wink and you smother a bigger smile as Derek joins you, putting his notes under the photos of Abby and Beth. 

“We getting ready for profile delivery?” He asks. 

“Mhm,” you answer. You mark the latest dump site on the map. “Just waiting on the others to get back.” 

+++

Before the profile delivery, the team holes up in one of the conference rooms to comb through the findings so far. It’s…rough. To say the least. 

Spencer makes another little snide comment. You inhale deeply through your nose, jaw tightening. He’s been like this for days, snapping at JJ, sniping at Aaron. You’ve ignored it. Over and over.

Your fingers tighten around your pen. The back of your neck prickles. 

Breathe in. Hold. Out.

JJ speaks, her voice light but thoughtful. “Could there be something he’s not getting from the women in his life? Something he’s missing?”

“Wonder what that’s like,” Spencer mutters under his breath, but the sharp edge in his tone makes it clear he doesn’t mean the unsub.

Your pen slams onto the desk with a crack. “Goddamn it, Spencer. That’s enough.”

“What?!” He says, his voice crawling up a couple octaves. “What did I say?” He has the gall to look offended that you called him out.

“What haven’t you said?” You throw your hands and sit back in your chair. Hot, ugly anger flares in your sternum and you simply don’t care that the rest of the team is staring at you in various states of shock and concern. “You’re being mean. You’re being mean and pretending like you aren’t and I’ve fucking had it.” 

He has the nerve to look indignant. “Wh-”

“Don’t you think I’ve heard - that we’ve all heard - the innumerable little chirps and passive aggressive bullshit you’ve said to JJ and Hotch since we got back?” 

“They aren’t innumerable,” he snarks. 

You raise your eyebrows. “Oh. So we’re acknowledging them now? And counting them? That’s nice.” You can hear your last name leave Aaron’s mouth as a word of warning. You ignore him. There’s silence for a moment. You cross your arms. “Are you going to say anything else, or are you done? I’m sure either of them would be happy to discuss it with you—if you acted like a grown-up.”  

“Bullshit!” Spencer spits. “They -” he points at JJ and Aaron, whose faces are hard and hurt. “- weren’t acting like grown ups when they lied to our faces.”

“They were, actually.” You sound petulant, but you can’t really bring yourself to feel bad about it. 

“Oh, really?” It’s not a real question, but you’re happy to provide him with an answer. 

“Yes, really. It was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do.” Your voice is louder than you want, and you’ve straightened in your chair, jabbing your finger into the table.  

Spencer’s eyes harden. “So, you’re not mad at them at all, right? Academy hotshot, child prodigy that you are, right? Who defends every fucking thing that comes out of Hotch’s mouth, right?” 

Ouch. 

You get quiet. In your peripheral vision, you see JJ cover her mouth to cover her jaw dropping to the floor. Derek plants his hands on the table, moving to stand, and you wave him off. This is not worth Derek being on Spencer’s shit list too, especially not on your behalf. There’s thunder behind Aaron’s carefully controlled expression, and you know he’s holding back his worser instincts. Emily looks down at the conference room table and it only adds to your anger that she looks ashamed. 

She has nothing to feel bad about. 

Beyond that, the jab about Hotch isn’t worth mentioning. Plus, it really hurts. “I’m pissed, Spencer, but I am not -” and regrettably, your volume increases with every word, “- shortsighted and selfish enough to think that my feelings are more important than things that matter, like-“ You gesture vaguely, “I don’t know. Emily’s life and safety and international security.” You stand, pushing yourself out of your chair. “Grow up.”

Silence. A charged, suffocating silence.

No one speaks. No one moves. Aaron’s mouth is a firm, thin line. JJ looks stunned, almost hurt. Derek's hands flex against the table, like he’s deciding whether to step in. Emily won’t look up at all.

You turn on your heel and walk out, letting the door shut behind you. Hard.

Outside, the air is sharp in your lungs, but it doesn’t cool the anger burning under your skin. You take in a deep breath, then another, but your pulse still hammers in your throat.

The fresh air outside does nothing to cool you off, but you do gulp down several breaths before you hear the door open and shut behind you again. You know who it is. Though, given Spencer’s comment, you kind of hoped it was Derek. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Aaron says. 

“I wasn’t kidding. I’m fucking sick of it.” You can’t look at him. You’re already embarrassed. You’ve never yelled at Spencer like that, let alone in the middle of a conference room that may or may not be soundproof. At best, it’s unprofessional. At worst… “You should write me up now and save yourself some time when we get home.” 

Aaron steps up beside you, leaning against the railing, his shoulder brushing yours. “I’m not going to write you up.” 

You sniff. 

“I’m not going to write Reid up, either.” 

Your mouth twists. “We’re all mad. I get it. Some of us are just professional enough to shut the fuck up about it.” 

“Right,” Aaron says. You can hear a laugh in it, though his face doesn’t change. “Like we’re professionals.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

He sobers. “I do. I tried talking to him about it but I’ll try again. It’s not fair, to JJ in particular. He’s lashing out at her - it’s targeted and I’ve about had enough of it myself.” He pauses for a moment. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. It’s been a while since you’ve lost it like that.” 

Hot tears prick at your eyes. “I’ve never lost it on Spencer like that. Any of them, really.” 

“Just me, huh?” 

Your eyes flash to him for a moment, the side of your mouth tipping up. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s not. But it does tell me you care.” 

You take a big breath and the burning behind your eyes melts away to a simple headache. The heels of your hands scrub into your eye sockets until you see color behind your lids. “Give me five minutes and I’ll be back in to apologize.” 

“Take your time. You don’t have to apologize now, or ever, honestly.” He adds the last bit under his breath before continuing. “I’ll separate the two of you for the day and see where we land.” He taps the railing twice and shifts his weight to leave. 

“Aaron?” 

He turns back, looking at you, half-turned toward the door “Hmm?” 

You look at him, your lower lip disappearing into your mouth, hoping he understands. With the smallest of smiles, he reaches out and briefly (briefly) squeezes your bicep and turns, disappearing into the station. 

+++

The conference room is silent when you come back. You sit down and pick up your pen, forcing yourself to twirl it casually between your fingers. Aaron already planted himself in the chair beside yours, his breathing even as he marks up a copy of one of the reports, his right hand splayed over the paper. 

Spencer spins in his chair, a folder in his lap. Emily tapes the latest photos to the whiteboard mechanically, her eyes following her hands just a second too late. 

Dave sits in the corner, his ankle propped on his knee, his hand supporting his face. He looks at you, his eyes the only thing moving. His eyebrow twitches. 

You shake your head. It’s fine. 

Derek stands and taps your shoulder. “I’m going for a drive and I could use your eyes on this before we go for profile with the shift change.” 

You nod and stand, grabbing your coat, recognizing the effort for what it is. At least Derek’s attempting to be subtle about it. 

The door doesn’t quite slam when you get into the car, but it comes close. You cringe a little and settle as Derek rounds the back bumper, checks the trunk, and hops in. 

There’s silence as he pulls out of the station parking lot and gets onto the four-lane out of town. 

“So, where are we going?” You ask. You hope you don’t sound too cross, but you’re not even sure how you’re feeling right now, if you’re completely honest with yourself. 

Derek turns onto the highway. “Out. Figured it would be nice to get out of there for a minute.” 

You pull a face. “Was it that bad after I left?���

“No,” Derek says. He sounds convincing but you’re not sure he’s that good. “But I think everyone could use a little space.”

“From me, you mean.” 

“Including you,” he says, glancing over briefly. “There’s a lot of bad blood in there. Thought you might need a break.”

You’re quiet for a minute. “Was I too far out of line?” You do your best not to sound like you’re begging for affirmation or whining too much, but it may be a lost cause. “I know I’ve never really lost it like that on any of you except - well.” You cut yourself off. “I just want to make sure I wasn’t too ridiculous or overblown or anything.” 

Derek shakes his head. “Reid was out of line, and I’m not surprised you called him on it. You didn’t say anything untrue or hurtful.”

“Favor wasn’t returned, obviously.”

“Yeah… that was…” Derek lets out a breath. “I’m sorry.” 

“You didn’t say it.” 

A moment of silence passes. 

“I don’t defend Hotch that much do I?” You ask, your voice small. It’s not sudden, but Spencer’s comment unlocked some not-so-hidden insecurity that everyone can see through you, that you play favorites and Hotch is the recipient of most of your affection in the field. It doesn’t feel true, but you’re not sure if your perception is warped.

Derek reaches over and clasps your shoulder fondly. “No. We can always count on you to have his back, but it’s not like it’s a punchline or anything.” He pauses. “Why? You worried about what he said?”

“I dunno,” you say, shrugging. “It just struck a nerve and I wanted to check.” 

“It struck a nerve because Reid meant to lash out.” Derek’s eyes stay on the road, but his voice is calm. Too calm. “It was meant to hurt your feelings.”

Your throat tightens. “How do you know?”

He shrugs, easy and confident. “Because it’s not true. You push Hotch just as much as you back him up.” He glances at you, a knowing glint in his eye. “You do it because you love him.”

Your stomach drops. The words hit you with the force of a sucker punch, and for a moment, you can’t breathe.

Am I that obvious?

Derek continues on blithely, as if he’s said nothing of consequence. “It would be like if someone threw Garcia in my face. I’d jump in front of a moving train for her, so what?” He shrugs and you try to relax. “It’s fine to be close to people, to go out of your way to support them.” He glances over. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you answer, too quickly. “I’m fine.” 

A smile curves at the edge of Derek’s mouth. “Your secret’s safe with me, kid. Though I’m not sure how much of a secret it is anymore.”

This is not helping your adrenaline situation. You turn on the seat warmer and shove your hands under your thighs to hide their shaking. 

“What secret?”

Derek throws you a sardonic look. “C’mon. We all know there’s something going on there.” 

You shake your head and you just know it’s not convincing. You weren’t prepared for this. “Nothing more so than usual. Hotch and I have always been -”

“If you say ‘close,’ I’m gonna pull this damn car over.” 

You just frown at him, hoping it plays at confusion. To your chagrin, Derek sighs and takes the exit, getting back on the highway in the other direction before speaking again. 

“One of these days,” he starts, “you’re going to have to figure out what to do about that. Just -” He huffs. “- just be brave, okay?”

You're quiet. Any attempt to protest would just be damning, and any attempt to explain what you have, in fact, already done about that would nullify your attempt to have something (for once) that’s just for you and Aaron.

And, of course, you can’t mention that what you have ‘done about that’ includes, but is not limited to, Aaron himself. 

Sigh…

Derek surprises you, reaching over again to make contact. You hold his offered hand in two of your own. Maybe some tremors are warranted, now.

The police station is in sight when Derek speaks again. “Is Hotch going to write you up?”

You shake your head. “He’s not writing Reid up either.”

“Good,” Derek replies, releasing your hand so he can park, “best to keep this in-house.” 

You hum your assent and move to unbuckle your seatbelt, but Derek stops you, demanding your eyes with his hand over yours. You look up at him. 

“Remember what I said, okay?” 

You must look lost, because he clarifies.

“Be brave. It’ll be okay. You were brave with Spencer today and -”

You scoff and he grabs your hand. 

“I’m serious. You stood up for yourself and for JJ and Hotch. You did the right thing.”

“Really?” 

“Look - I don’t completely disagree with Reid and I am plenty mad at them, but there’s a way to go about it and that’s not it.” He pauses, making sure you understand. “I’m proud of you.”

+++

When you and Derek return, the rest of the team is ready to deliver the profile. 

Aaron addresses the assembled officers, introducing the team and giving a brief primer on the case and its scope for those who haven’t been on shift since you arrived. “We’re here to help your department and assist in narrowing your subject pool.” He pauses, briefing them on how the profile delivery works and how to apply it. 

With a jolt, you realize it’s been several weeks since you’ve seen him perform this standard task. The last time you saw him deliver a profile, it was before Pakistan, before… everything. 

It’s surreal. 

You don’t know it, but Emily catches you watching him, an unfathomably deep affection in your eyes and a soft smile on your face. She takes a note and tries to see what you see, but instead catches him catching you, meeting your eyes with a dubious kind of teasing in his own. You startle and drop your eyes. He looks back at the officers, a smile threatening at the corner of his mouth. 

…Interesting.

“We believe the unsub or unknown subject that we're looking for is a white male in his 40s,” Aaron says, kicking you all off. “This is someone who's reacting to rejection by a woman when he was teenager in the 1980s. He's punishing his victims for their reactions to him by taking away their senses with sulfuric acid.”

Dave adds on. “We believe our unsub could possibly work part-time as a janitor or a mechanic, which would give him access to this chemical.”

“And after studying the disposal sites, we think it's likely that he is homeless,” Derek says. “Now, how do we typically react toward the homeless? We judge them by their looks and smells. It's that same negative reaction we believe that a woman had toward the unsub at some point in the eighties.”

“The unsub's fixation on this woman is now all-consuming,” you add, gesturing easily and casually to your audience. These presentations have become easier over the years and feel second-nature now. “It caused him to develop Obsessive Love Disorder, characterized by compulsive and dysfunctional behavior focused on the object of the unsub’s fixation. He most likely has tunnel vision and believes that she holds the key to his happiness.”

“He will stalk her in an attempt to win her back,” Emily adds.

JJ jumps in next. “He will do whatever it takes to be near his love interest. But her rejection will spiral him into a depression.”

“Which would lead to rape and murder of the surrogates who represent her.” Reid cuts straight to the point, driving it home. “And it's only a matter of time before this rage and anger causes the unsub to go after her directly.”

Aaron thanks the assembled when everyone’s done presenting their findings, and makes himself available for questions. 

+++

You rest your temple on your finger as you look over Emily’s notes, combing through anything you may have missed. The rest of the team is out at the board. You’ve decided to place yourself in exile at this point, not trusting yourself to behave well enough for mixed company. 

“Spence, we have to talk about this,” JJ says, following Reid into your conference room at a decent clip as he blusters into the room, haphazardly collecting and gathering folders to his chest.

Oh, shit. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” 

JJ persists. “I get it, okay? You're disappointed with the way we handled Emily.”

“Listen, I have a lot going on, all right?” Spencer says, still avoiding her.

“You know what I think it is?” She asks. “You're mad that Hotch and I controlled our micro-expressions at the hospital and you weren't able to detect our deception.”

And that’s my cue to… get the fuck out of here.

You gather the notes and slip out of the conference room, taking refuge at Aaron’s side. You can’t hear JJ or Spencer clearly anymore and it feels better that way. Sure, you’re all privy to way more than normal colleagues, but this feels uniquely private. It would be intrusive for you to stay, especially after your little display only an hour or so ago. 

You’d almost feel bad for Spencer if he weren’t piling it all on himself. 

“Spence!” JJ calls after him as he backs out of the conference room. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s too late, alright?” He turns and tries to leave, passing you all at the board.

Emily’s fingers worry the corner of the report she’s holding. “Reid…?”

Everyone’s eyes follow Spencer as he takes your worn path out of the station. When the door closes behind him, the rest of you turn back to JJ, whose lashes are wet. She looks devastated. She takes a breath and turns, hiding from everyone’s eyes. 

You swallow and look at Aaron, feeling useless and helpless. He’s still watching JJ, his face hard. 

+++

“It would have had to have been a woman very close to the unsub to make him react this way,” Aaron says.

He stands at the corner of the table, Dave and JJ seated on either side of him. You stand over Emily’s shoulder, occasionally watching the door. 

Spencer’s been gone for hours now. All of you have texted him, but he’s only responded to Hotch to confirm he is, in fact, alive. 

“Then why go after surrogates?” You ask. “Surely with someone so close, he wouldn’t have to sublimate his rage?”

Aaron tips his head and takes a breath to answer, but Reid’s reappearance stops him short. 

“I don't think we're dealing with a typical homeless person. He's good with chemicals, owns a car.” He walks to the head of the table, by the board, and addresses all of you. “I think the only mistake in our profile was assuming there was something wrong with his physical composition, reducing him to some sort of stereotype.”

Welcome back? 

JJ blinks a few times and casts her eyes downward, studying the wood grain. There’s shame and sadness leaching from her every pore. Your eyes bounce from her to Aaron, whose eyes are on Spencer. Careful. Watchful.

“You think it's only his mental state?” Dave asks.

“I think this guy might be smart enough to use his disability to his advantage so he comes across as harmless.”

Derek nods, considering it. “Then when he's alone and the victim rejects him, he goes off.”

“What if he doesn't live on the street?” JJ asks, her tone flat. “What if he's in a halfway house?”

Aaron already has Penelope on the line. “Garcia, I need a list of halfway houses and mental health centers in the unsub's comfort zone.”

She provides five, and Aaron narrows it further to two with parameters related to the 80s. 

He sends Derek and Emily to the first, and assigns you and Dave with him for the second. 

That leaves Reid and JJ alone. Here. In the station. 

“What about us?” JJ must have the same thought, because she sounds a little worried.

“Stay here and check ViCAP for similar M.O.s and signatures.” Aaron pauses as she leaves her chair, taking the long way around the table. “Reid,” he says in a tone that brokers no room for argument. “If you want to be mad at someone, be mad at me.”

“I can't. I didn't come to your house crying for weeks.”

Reid’s voice is brittle, laced with something harsher than hurt, and it lands like a slap as he glares at you. The accusation is clear—you aren’t as devastated as him, as wrecked, as broken. Maybe you don’t care as much. Maybe you’re weaker for forgiving so quickly, for understanding.

And then, before you can even take a full breath, he’s gone—fast, too fast, like he couldn’t get away from you quickly enough.

Aaron hasn’t moved, except for his eyes—still locked on the door, his jaw tight, unreadable.

You take a breath, roll your shoulders back. “For what it’s worth, I did come to your house crying for weeks.”

Your voice is lighter than you feel, edged with something that isn’t quite humor, but isn’t bitterness either. You’re not sure what it is, really—only that it sits deep in your ribs, thick and unmoving. It’s the thing keeping you from committing fully, probably. 

Aaron finally looks at you. Really looks at you. His eyes soften.

“And I’m not that mad at you.”

“I know.” He pauses. “Thank you for being so… understanding.” You know he wants to say more, but there are eyes and ears everywhere. 

One side of your mouth tips up as you stand. “Anytime.”

+++

You’re back before Derek and Emily. Their spot was further and you’re sure Aaron sent them to that one on purpose. The extent of his awareness when it comes to interpersonal strategy can only be chalked up to his background in law. You’re just glad he’s using his powers for good now. 

He gets a call from Derek, who must report back on his findings. He shares yours as well. “We got eleven from the one we visited.” 

Eleven possible suspects, in addition to however many Derek and Emily found. You check your watch. It’s been the longest day of your life so far, you’re pretty sure. 

“Send your names to Garcia. Have her cross-check them against jobs that use sulfuric acid.”

Aaron hangs up and you continue walking down the hall, posting up on the other side of Dave.

“How’s Reid?” Dave asks. 

“He's angry and frustrated. I'm surprised everybody isn't.” He looks meaningfully at you. You shrug. 

Dave also offers a shrug. “Some of us had an inkling.” 

You look incredulously at Dave, your eyebrows furrowed. “There’s no way.” 

“What?” He asks. “I'm good at what I do.” After a pause, you’ve corrected your face and he turns more directly to Aaron. The three of you form a little triangle. “So, are you gonna get psychological counseling for the team or handle it internally?”

You can see the wheels turning before Dave even finishes his thought, noting the dangerous glint of amusement in Aaron’s eyes. “No, I think that if we all just got together, maybe a cooking lesson at the home of one of one of our founders -”

“Oh no,” Dave says, cutting him off. “Not you, too.” 

“It could boost morale,” you add, unhelpful in the extreme. 

Aaron nods. “I think it’s almost a guarantee.”

“Is this an order?” Dave asks, seeming to accept defeat.

“No, it's just a - it's a very tempered suggestion.” There’s humor in his entire demeanor, and you find yourself grinning. 

Dave repeats him sardonically before walking away. “Tempered suggestion.”

You rejoin JJ and Spencer, who appear to be working in tense silence over the ViCAP reports. Aaron assigns you and Dave to call families and get a sense of your eleven possible unsubs. It’s tedious work and half of them don’t pick up. 

Dave looks over at you, tipping his head toward Spencer. “Sure you’re not sick of us?”

You let out a short, breathy laugh, flicking your gaze toward him before returning to your work. “Never.”

Rossi hums, rolling a toothpick between his fingers. He leans in slightly, dropping his voice just enough for the words to slip in under your radar.

“Not everyone would’ve turned that down, you know.”

You don’t ask what he means. You don’t need to.

You don’t look up, your tone dismissive. “Didn’t want it.”

That should be the end of it. And maybe it is—for you.

But Rossi’s eyes flicker past you, toward the figure standing a few feet behind you. Hotch had approached, unnoticed, in the middle of the exchange. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t interrupt.

Just… stands there.

Watching.

And for a split second, Rossi catches something flicker across his face.

“So we interviewed the 19 people released from the group home,” Derek says, returning with Emily. “None of them fit the profile.”

You sit back, dropping your phone on the table. “We’re trying to reach families but it’s slow going.” 

One of the local detectives comes in with a new file. “Tammy Bradstone's parents just filed a report. Their daughter didn't return from homecoming.”

“Her face is similar to our three vics,” Emily says.

JJ’s face is sober, still a little watery from her rough afternoon with Spencer. “She's about the same age.”

“Well, the after party where she was last seen was smack in the comfort zone,” the detective says.

+++

The interviews with Tammy’s friends stretch long into the night, exhaustion creeping into every syllable, every note scribbled too hastily. It was already late before you started—now, it’s edging into cruel.

After Tammy’s boyfriend, you drop your head onto the table, exhaling in a slow, deliberate breath, fighting the yawn clawing at your throat. The words on your notepad blur.

A chair rolls back. Aaron leans forward, his voice even but softer than usual. “Alright. That’s enough for now.” He rubs his temple briefly before straightening. “Morgan and Prentiss, you take the parents’ house in the morning. We’ll keep going with interviews here.”

"Leave your phones on," he adds, already moving toward the door. “But get some rest.”

You drive with Aaron and Emily back to the hotel, taking the backseat to avoid any unnecessary temptation for your taxed and tired brain. 

“Goodnight,” Emily says. She steps out of the car and opens her arms. You step into her embrace and lay your head on her shoulder, holding her tight. You close your eyes and breathe her in, letting the peace of her presence settle you. 

Aaron walks ahead to give you and Emily some time, turning back to wait for the both of you. 

You pull back from her, holding onto her arms with affectionate hands. “Goodnight, Em.”

“Calling the boyfriend tonight?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

Emily stops, tilting her head at you, skepticism written all over her face. She lets the silence stretch just long enough for you to feel it. Then—

"Right." A single nod. Her eyes flick to Hotch, standing a polite distance away, and then back to you.

"Not your boyfriend." She pauses, her voice suddenly laced with amusement. “Is that for your benefit, or so that Hotch won’t fly into a jealous rage?”

“Like he’s capable of that. Or would have any reason to.” You roll your eyes and firmly, but with humor, repeat yourself. “Goodnight, Em.”

She idly wonders if you’re terrible at lying, or terrible at being in denial. 

+++

To your shock and awe, you get a text from Aaron before bed. 

11:13pm Check outside your door. 

You make a face. 

11:13pm Why?

Your fingers hesitate on the door handle, your phone still in your other hand.

The response is almost immediate. 

11:13pm Don’t you trust me?

"Jesus." You roll your eyes but open the door anyway.

Aaron is already stepping inside before you can react. The door clicks shut behind him, sealing you in together. He doesn’t speak—just reaches, slow and deliberate, pulling you in. His hand runs up your back, warm and grounding, before he exhales into your skin. 

The shift in the air is palpable—he’s here. He’s yours. He’s… close. So close.

Your head tilts, your cheek finding his chest, and you close your eyes.

“This is risky business, Mr. Hotchner,” you murmur, a smile in your voice. 

He leans back just enough to take you in. “I missed you.”

“We’ve been spoiled,” you remind him softly. “We just need to get used to it.”

He sighs. “Yeah. I just…I wanted to say goodnight.”

“Did you, now?” You ask, leaning into him. Your tilt your head up, teasing him a little. 

His arms tighten around you and he smiles a warm, gentle smile. “Yeah. I did.” He pauses, swallows, and wets his lips. “I also wanted to kiss you a little.”

“Just a little? - mmph!”

His mouth is already on yours. Your hands find his chest, wind over his shoulders, your wrists crossing as you settle against him, your bodies flush. 

You don’t think you’ll ever tire of kissing him, of being in his arms. You can feel him smile against your mouth, his touch slow and indulgent. One hand finds your waist, slipping under your shirt, his thumb stroking your skin. The other pulls you against him, spread over your lower back, the curve in your spine. 

For a split second, you consider ruining the moment—reminding him that somewhere out there, a teenage girl is still missing. But if that were the bar, you’d never have a good day again.

And you’ve learned this much: there will always be something, always someone having the worst day of their life.

It doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to have really good days, too.

He pulls away just enough to plant a chaste peck on the center of your mouth before resting his forehead against yours. You breathe him in—the warmth of him, the spice. His hair has been ungelled all week, and you love the way it flops over his forehead.

“I love you,” he says. 

That’s another thing you’ll never get tired of. 

“I love you.” you whisper. “So much.” 

He hums and nuzzles into you, his nose brushing yours. “I think I’ll have to sneak out of here, but I would like to stay.”

“I know,” you whisper, your arms slipping, your hands coming to rest on either side of his jaw. “We’ll be home soon.”

+++

You’re in the middle of an interview when Hotch pulls you. You join him in the hallway with Dave and Spencer. 

“They have a lead on Ben Bradstone, Tammy’s uncle. Morgan and Prentiss are with the parents and we’re trying to get a message to him.”

“What do we need to do?” You ask, mirroring him and crossing your arms. 

He checks his phone. “I just sent you and Dave the addresses to the mechanic shops where Mr. Bradstone picks up shifts. Reid, you go with Rossi.”

+++

You pull up behind Dave and Spencer at the Bradstone house, getting out of the car and jogging up the drive following your field trip. Derek opens the door. 

“Any luck?”

You answer. “He hasn’t been to either of the shops in the past two months -”

Spencer cuts you off. “But the one on Fourth said a bunch of car batteries had gone missing.”

You and Emily share a grim look as the house phone rings. 

“Wait,” Emily says, her hand up to stop Mrs. Bradstone from answering. 

Derek’s phone starts ringing scant seconds after the house phone. You’re almost certain it’s Penelope. He pauses, listening, then confirms, “It’s him.”

Emily gestures toward the phone, her tone gentle. “Okay, go ahead. Just like we talked about.”

Lyla picks up the phone with shaking hands. “Hello?..” Her breath catches in a sob and you know it’s not entirely fake. “Matt got arrested…They think that he hurt Tammy.” She pauses, shuddering and steeling herself. “Oh, God, Cy. I need you…I just--I--I need you to, uh, come over here and-” Emily reaches over, a note in her hand. Lyla reads it and nods, her voice turning almost mechanical. “I need you to talk. I need you to… hold me… Yes, I - Hurry. I have no one else to turn to.” She hangs up and bolts to her bedroom, trying to recover. “He’s coming.”

“You and Prentiss stay with them,” Dave says, gesturing to you and Spencer. “Morgan and I will get the front.” 

You watch from the living room as Lyla meets Cy on the flagstones in the front yard, watches her shake as he embraces her. She doesn’t wrap her arms around him, stiff and uncomfortable. 

“Cy Bradstone! FBI!” Derek appears from the side of the house. “Put your hands where I can see them! Let me see your hands!”

Dave gets closer. “On your knees, now!”

You get Hotch on the phone. 

“Hotchner,” he says. 

“Aaron? We’re coming in with Cy. I think you’ll need your A-game for this one.”

+++

You stand with Emily and Derek in observation, your arms crossed. 

“We need to know where Tammy is, Cy,” Aaron says. He’s in there with Dave, who stands in the corner. 

“We've looked in your car. There's no sign of her.” Dave is half in shadow, lurking on the side of the interrogation room without any lights.

“We know this isn't about Tammy,” Aaron says. “This is about your love for Lyla.”

“Lyla?” Cy asks. “Lie-la!” 

Dave starts the mid-game, prompting Cy to share information he wouldn’t otherwise. Aaron backs him up, prompting him along. Dave gets closer as you watch, affirming Cy’s worldview and redirecting his anger toward Lyla. 

Eventually, he agrees to tell you where she is. On one condition. 

You make eye contact with Aaron as he escorts Tammy’s father into interrogation. You sure?

His expression is sober, serious. We’ll be right there.

Your skepticism may have been well-placed. Aaron and Dave both have a hand on Mr. Bradstone’s shoulders as he lunges across the table at his brother, who laughs maniacally at his brother’s anger, hurt, and fear. 

Good God.

You and Derek head toward the cars, pending an address. You buckle in, your vest already on. 

“Ready?” Derek asks. “It could get bad in there.”

“I’ll be okay as long as we find her alive,” you assure him. “And even if we don’t, I’ll handle it.” 

You’re a little more explicit than you normally would be, but Spencer’s shoddy communication has brought that out of you in the last couple of days. The address appears on your phone, Derek broadcasts it on the radio, and you're off. A follow up text appears, moments later.

2:47pm Be safe.

You reply before stuffing your phone in your pocket. 

2:47pm Always.

When you get to the house, Tammy is alive, but unconscious. Holstering your gun, Emily calls for medics and you look at the shelves full of tapes, pulling box after box with Derek. 

You don’t envy the PD or the prosecutor in this case.

+++

You don’t realize how forlornly you’re staring out the window until Emily sits beside you. You’ve been so focused on not looking at Aaron too much or sitting too near to Aaron or touching Aaron too much or laughing too hard at what he says--

“You alright?” 

It’s exhausting. 

You snap out of your reverie. “Yeah. Just thinking.” 

She almost laughs. “It’s funny to see you so eager to get home. He must really be something, huh?” 

You don’t reply right away, but a little smile pulls at the corner of your lips. “I guess.” 

Emily scoffs and you catch Aaron’s smirk behind his tablet. “You guess?” 

“What do you want me to say, Em? Is it a crime to like the person you’re seeing?” There’s no heat in it at all and you grin at her.

Aaron’s expression morphs into something damn-near theatrical for him, looking mock-critical before he shakes his head as if seriously answering your question. 

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from breaking, keeping your face as neutral and serene as you can manage. He managed to conduct that entirely within your peripheral vision, sitting a couple rows away, just over Emily’s shoulder. 

“Well, it’s kind of a big deal, right? Like, when do any of us date?“

That’s a fair point. “Okay, true. But just because we don’t have lives doesn’t mean you get to harass me, though.” You raise your eyebrows, challenging her. 

“Oh,” she says through a sardonic laugh. “I totally think it does.”

+++

Eventually, you retire to the (shockingly unoccupied, except for Aaron) couch. You stretch, laying down, your travel pillow under your head. Aaron shifts, making a move to get up, and you wave him off. 

“Don’t bother,” you tell him, closing your eyes. “There’s plenty of space.”

He murmurs his thanks and you’re chuffed by your “normal” act. He sounds very casual, as if he doesn’t care either way. You’re impressed. You both know your lines. The blocking, however, could use some work. 

With that in mind, you make sure there’s respectable distance between you and Aaron. You have to, at least, give the impression that you tried. 

You shift in your seat, curling deeper into the couch cushions. Your slipper socks slide against the leather. Absentmindedly, in what could only be coincidence, your leg extends just enough—just barely—to brush against the outside of Aaron’s thigh.

You feel the shift in his breathing before anything else.

Predictably, he doesn’t move. He doesn’t shift away. Doesn’t even acknowledge it. But the weight of the contact lingers, warm and solid, grounding you more than the couch cushions ever could.

Derek, Dave, and JJ have settled, snoozing peacefully at the table. Spencer has exiled himself to the little bank of seats furthest away from you. 

You hear someone - presumably Emily, pass you and sit by Spencer. She’s making the rounds, apparently. 

Aaron murmurs to you once she’s out of earshot. “Are you asleep?”

You shake your head, burrowing deeper into the couch cushions. He sighs and rises, rummaging around in one of the storage areas. Moments later, you’re covered with a blanket, your feet tucked in. He takes his seat next to you once again and settles, his arm up on the back of the couch. 

“Get some sleep,” you murmur. You’re not sure how audible you are. 

A hand pats your calf, and you know he’s ignoring you. 

After a while, you really do fall asleep, the security of his presence beside you lulling you into the dark. 

+++

You finish getting ready, walking into the bedroom where Aaron is slipping his belt through the buckle, tightening it with a practiced tug. The worn, gray knit polo stretches across his shoulders as he moves, soft enough to touch, fitted enough to remind you just how unfairly broad he is. The silver watch on his wrist glints under the lamplight as he pulls on the leather.

"Ready?" His voice is low, steady—far too casual for the way his eyes flick over you. “We could drive separately, but I think they’ll buy that I gave you a ride if you don’t feel like taking two cars.”

You step closer, your fingers skimming along the leather of his belt, slipping the excess into the first loop. His muscles tense, just slightly, under your touch. His breath stays even, but his eyes drop—watching your hands, sharp and focused. Not quite surprised. Just… aware.

Your smile widens. "As opposed to what?”

He looks up, masking amusement with mock consideration. “That we’re keeping this grand secret from them that will surely confirm their sincerely held belief that we’ve been sleeping together for ages?”

You hum, tapping the belt at his hips once before letting go. “I think a ride is a much easier pill to swallow.”

You lean in to press a soft kiss to his cheek, just the barest brush of your lips against the warmth of his skin. When you move past him, he follows—like he always does, like he always has.

Then, with infuriating ease, his palm finds your backside. A light swat—just enough to get your attention.

You spin fast, forcing him to stop short—his chin retracting, his hands raised in a wordless show of surrender. But his smirk gives him away.

"You keep that up," you warn, tilting your head, “and we’re gonna be late.”

His smirk deepens. Slow. Knowing. "Promise?"

Your stomach flips. You roll your eyes and turn back around, grabbing your coat off the back of the couch. “You drive me nuts,” you tell him, poorly covering your body’s response to him.

Aaron passes you on his way to the door, close enough that the warmth of him lingers. His voice is silk and smirk, low enough for just you to hear.

"As long as I’m driving, baby.” 

You aim a glare at his back. He only chuckles, opening the door for you like the gentleman he pretends to be. But just as you pass, his hand catches you—just a single finger hooked at your shoulder. The warmth of his touch is barely there, but it pins you in place.

You glance up, a question forming on your lips—but you never get the chance to ask.

Aaron tilts his head down, catching your mouth in a kiss that is sweet, slow, and utterly consuming. His palm slides to your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone, as if he’s memorizing the shape of you before stepping into the role of Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief (Even on the Weekends), again.

You exhale softly, a pleased little sound slipping from your throat as your free hand spreads over his chest—broad and steady beneath your touch.

He doesn’t pull away quickly. No, he lingers. Like he’s the one trying to make this last. Like he’s just as reluctant to leave the warmth of home behind.

When he does finally pull back, his lips barely leave yours, his forehead brushing against you as he murmurs, “That should hold us over for a few hours, yes?”

You inhale, eyes still closed, willing your heart to slow. Then, with a smirk you don’t really feel, you shrug and throw on your jacket. "If you say so.”

Aaron huffs, rolling his eyes like he’s unaffected—but you can see it in the tight set of his jaw, in the flicker of his fingers like he’s fighting the urge to pull you back. He locks the door behind you, ushering you into the car. He’s a real gentleman about certain things - ensuring you never touch a door handle again seems to be one of them. 

Aaron’s hand finds yours the second he’s settled in the driver’s seat. Palm up. Waiting. Like it belongs there. You don’t squeeze, don’t fidget. Just let the heat settle between your fingers, a quiet tether in the space between you as the houses blur past the windows.

When you pull up to Dave’s, you release him without a word.

By the time you step onto the driveway, you’ve put enough space between you to avoid any hint of suggestion.

You reach the door first, knocking and letting yourself in. “Hello!” 

“In here!” You hear JJ and Penelope chirp in unison and you toe your shoes off, heading toward the kitchen. 

Dave has several stations set up, and to your untrained eye it looks like you’re making carbonara. He has a demo colander of pasta on the counter, pancetta and eggs out, and three bottles of (very) nice wine on the island near the barstools. You take a seat next to Penelope and Aaron leans on the one beside you, standing behind it. He reaches for a wine glass, setting it in front of you and uncorking the bottle. 

As he pours (generously), you give Penelope a hug and clasp JJ’s hand around Aaron’s back. 

“Thank you,” she says, meeting your eyes. “I know this week wasn’t easy and I really appr-”

“JJ, if you tell me you appreciate that I did the right thing, I’m going to spit in your wine.” 

She snorts. “Alright, fine. But seriously.” 

You take your wine glass by the stem and swirl it a bit, offering it to Penelope for a toast. After you clink glasses, you’re immediately chastised. 

“Wine goes with the pasta! No drunk cooking.” Dave appears out of nowhere, a slotted spoon in his hand. 

You pull a yikes face and place your glass back on the counter, folding your hands in your lap. Aaron clears his throat, hiding a laugh. 

“Thank you both for being on time,” Dave says, looking at you and Aaron. “It’s nice that some people are punctual.”

You share a look with Aaron and he smiles, shrugging. Almost weren’t, but that’s fine.

“Hey!” Penelope says. “JJ and I were punctual!”

“No,” Dave replies. “You were early, which is also rude.” 

Penelope rolls her eyes as you hide a laugh behind your hand. Emily arrives, looking very elegant in her black shawl, and takes a place at the end of the bar, leaning on the counter. JJ pours her a glass of wine and warns her in advance that she’s not allowed to drink it. 

Derek arrives moments later, swinging his keys. “We getting this thing started, or what? “It’s freezing out there.” He comes up behind you, resting both hands on your shoulders. “I dunno,” he says, dragging it out. “You check the weather in LA today? Might’ve been nice—surf, sun, fancy coffee—”

“Are we waiting for Reid?” You ask, pointedly ignoring him. Derek presses a quick kiss to your temple, then Penelope’s in turn, before finding a place to be on the other side of Aaron.

Emily’s mouth twists. “He said he wasn’t sure if he could make it.”

Aaron almost turns his head to look at you, a small crease between his brows as the conversation flows around you. 

“Well,” Dave says, “We can always catch him up if we need to.” 

He takes his place on the other side of the kitchen island, rolling his sleeves and washing his hands. You offer Aaron a little smile and stand, leaning on your chair and mirroring him. When Dave’s done with his little pre-show, he starts. 

"Cooking," Dave announces, dramatically tossing a towel over his shoulder, "is the most sensual art form."

You instinctively reach for your wine glass. Hotch coughs into his fist—probably to hide a laugh and remind you to keep your wine right where it is. You pull your hand back with a little grimace. 

Dave spreads his arms, gesturing to the neatly arranged ingredients. "And these—" he flicks his wrist with the air of a seasoned maestro, "—are my paints."

Penelope, to her credit, tries to keep up. "So, your hands must be brushes."

Dave points at her. "Don’t interrupt."

You bury your laugh in your hand. Emily’s shoulders shake.

Your lips disappear into your mouth as JJ and Emily snort little giggles. Penelope ducks her head and you bump her shoulder. She bumps you back. 

“In a pot of boiling water we cook our spaghetti until it's al dente, firm to the tooth.” He passes out the pasta and you take some, splitting your share with Aaron. He taps his pasta with yours in a little toast, sending you a subtle wink. 

“Here you go”, Dave continues, passing more to JJ and Emily. “Everybody pass it around.” When everyone has some, you take a little bite. “See? Feel the texture.”

“Now…” He turns, headed to the stove. “In a large pan, we fry up our pancetta,” He shows you his work, the pancetta and onions sizzling in the pan. “Keeping a sharp eye that the edges are crisp.”

“But careful not to burn the onions,” Aaron says, a little pasta still in his mouth. 

“Bravo, Aaron!” 

He lights up at the praise, sharing a smile with JJ.

“We saute until translucence,” Dave continues, poking the pancetta with his wooden spatula. 

The doorbell rings and your head whips around with Emily’s.

“Uh-” Derek holds up a hand to stop both Dave and you from moving toward the door as Dave brings the finished pancetta and onions to the pasta. “I got it.” Derek stands and heads to the door. Rossi thanks him in Italian and immediately makes a vaguely Italian noise in JJ’s direction as she attempts to sip her wine on autopilot.

She freezes, her eyes widening as she guiltily replaces her wine glass on the island. Both you and Penelope smother laughter. You snort, and Aaron’s smile widens. 

“Now, we mix in the eggs…” He demonstrates with each mentioned step. “The parmesan… The spaghett… And parsley.” He presents you with the finished dish, tossing it with the tongs. “You see, it's all about timing and rhythm. And if you don't feel yourself doing it properly, please, order a pizza.”

“Sorry I'm late,” Spencer says. To your surprise, he takes the spot next to JJ’s offering her a small, warm smile. Something feels cozy in your chest. 

“Yeah,” Dave says, making a play at exasperated. “And this is why I cook alone.”

Emily raises a tentative hand. “So, uh, when do we get to drink the wine?”

“Almost there,” Dave replies. “Okay. We start at the beginning. You eat what you cook, I'll supervise, but we're gonna do this all together, just like a family.”

“Okay now?” JJ asks, her eyebrows raised.

Dave tips his head and grabs his wine glass. “Now. Salud!”

The entire team takes turns tapping glasses, and ‘Saluds!’ abound. You clink Emily’s, bringing your wine to your lips just as you shift backward—

Right into Aaron.

You feel it instantly, the solid warmth of him against your back, his chest barely brushing your shoulder blade. His hand finds your belt loop, an almost imperceptible tug, guiding you just enough to ease you forward—not pushing, just placing. The motion is so smooth, so practiced, that to an outsider, it looks like nothing at all. But inside, the shift leaves a ghost of heat where he touched you.

You force your body to stay loose, taking another sip of your wine as if you didn’t just feel the deliberate pressure of his fingers hooking into denim.

Meanwhile, Derek is already herding you and Aaron right back together, nudging you toward the station for the pancetta and onions.

“Alright, dream team,” he says, a little too casually. “Make yourselves useful.”

Aaron barely reacts, stepping into place beside you, reaching for a mixing bowl as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

You follow suit, grabbing an unlit match from the cabinet and holding it between your teeth as you start on the onion.

“Does that actually work?” JJ asks.

You nod, talking around the matchstick. “As long as you ‘reathe through your ‘outh, it works.”

“Cool!” Penelope says. “How?”

“S’encer!” You call, needing all of your focus to not slice your fingers or breathe through your nose. The onion’s bite still sneaks in at the edges of your vision, making your eyes prickle.

Spencer, ever helpful, jumps in. “The end of a match is very absorbent to both odors and other airborne chemicals. When you breathe through your mouth, the tear-jerking enzymes in the onion fumes are absorbed into the end of the match. Therefore, it creates a filter of sorts between you and the onion.” He pauses. “You may need more than one match, though. They stop working in a few minutes.”

You reach blindly for the matchbox, but before your fingers can graze it, Aaron beats you to it, setting it beside your cutting board without a word.

You turn your head just slightly—just enough to see the corner of his mouth twitching.

“‘Ank you,” you mumble through the matchstick.

“Mmhm,” he replies, already moving to his own cutting board, dicing pancetta into thin, even pieces.

He’s too close—not inappropriate, just… unavoidable. The excuse of limited counter space is a weak one, but you both commit to it. His left arm brushes your right with every pass of his knife, his rhythm perfectly matching yours, neither of you needing to adjust.

He finishes first—because of course he does. You shove aside a thought inappropriate for mixed company.

Scooping his diced ham into a bowl, he reaches toward you—his fingers just barely brushing your lips as he pulls the matchstick from between your teeth and replaces it with a fresh one. You get right back to work, rolling your knife over the diced pieces, dicing them nice and small.

“That should be sufficient,” he says, like it was purely transactional.

For a moment, he lingers, watching you clamp it between your teeth with absolute seriousness, your brow furrowed in concentration. Something about it—your stubborn commitment to such a tiny, ridiculous trick—makes the corner of his mouth twitch. It’s painfully endearing, in a way he’d never admit aloud.

But if he let himself, he might’ve smiled.

Your lips twitch, fighting a smirk. Careful.

He takes your diced onions next, dropping them into the bowl with the pancetta, neatly sealing them into a baggie before tucking it into the fridge.

It’s seamless, effortless, the way you move around each other, like you’ve been cooking together for years.

Luckily, Dave’s kitchen is big enough for the six of you to move freely, taking sips of your wine as you cook. When the prep work is done, Aaron steps just behind you, just past you, his hand briefly finding your lower back as you dump the pancetta and onions into the pan. 

You both pretend you don’t notice.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? For two people who aren’t supposed to be interested in each other, your reactions to each other have never been proportional. 

Across the kitchen, Dave catches it all.

He’s been watching—casually, of course, a sip of wine here, a flick of the spoon there—but he sees the way Aaron’s fingers hesitate just a beat too long, the way your eyes stay on his as the new matchstick slides between your teeth. He sees the small tell in Aaron’s posture, how he angles toward you like it’s second nature.

Derek chops absentmindedly, lost in conversation. He glances up to check in with the rest of the team, paired off on their own individual tasks. 

Derek pauses mid-chop, watching as Aaron’s hand ghosts along your lower back in a casual, absentminded gesture. His touch is feather-light, almost not a touch at all, guiding you to the side as he reaches for the olive oil.

Emily looks up, following his gaze, catching just the tail-end of the moment. The way your movements align just a little too naturally. The way neither of you react. Her brow furrows, her grip tightening slightly on the knife handle.

Nothing overt. Nothing damning. But there’s something…

Different.

"Do you see—" Emily starts, voice low.

"Yep," Derek mutters, still watching.

For years, the tension between you and Aaron had been palpable, practically another living thing on the team, as obvious as a flashing neon sign to everyone but the two of you. Your colleagues had watched you hover in each other’s orbit, lingering glances, excuses to be near each other, the charged silence of things unsaid and left unacknowledged.

The unspoken yearning, the infuriating, barely restrained pining—gone. Excuses to be near each other have turned into excuses to be as far as reasonably possible. No more loaded eye contact or restrained body language; no more carefully measured inches of distance that still somehow felt too close. 

Emily and Derek exchange a look.

"Huh," Emily murmurs.

"Yeah." Derek shakes his head slightly, glancing back down at the parsley.

Penelope’s head turns, oblivious in the extreme “What?” She says, too loudly. Derek and Emily shush her, but you look over anyway. 

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” Derek and Emily say in unison, finding a little tupperware for their parsley. They place it next to the other parsley dish, standing back for now. Penelope looks confused, but you just shake your head. 

Nosy.

Aaron removes the pancetta from the heat, bringing it over to the trivet. “Pancetta’s ready for pasta!” He says, stepping back. 

“Almost done!” JJ calls over her shoulder. She’s testing some of the spaghetti, letting it dangle off her finger to cool it off before she takes a bite. 

You bring over the eggs and invite the others to help you separate, laughing as the egg whites get all over your hands as you let the egg yolk sit in your palm, the whites running through your fingers and into the sink. Derek offers a bowl and you plop the egg yolk in, letting Penelope have a turn. 

Looking over your shoulder, you shoot a smile at Aaron and idly threaten him with your eggy hands. He holds his hands up, blindly reaching behind him for a towel and throwing it at you. With another laugh, you catch it and get the egg white off, your hands soon returning to their clean, dry state. You throw the towel back at him and he whips it over his left shoulder with a wide smile.

When the eggs are all separated, the pasta is finished. Spencer dumps the hot water and pasta through the waiting colander in the sink. Emily grabs some pasta with the tongs, dropping it in the pan with the pancetta and onions. Penelope and JJ grab the eggs, mixing it while Spencer adds the parsley. You grab a healthy amount of parmesan and sprinkle it over the top, looking to Dave for approval. 

“Bravo, bambini!” He says. “Grab a plate, serve yourselves. Good work.” 

The mood is jovial and playful as you all get settled at the table, reaching over each other and pouring more wine. JJ asks for some bread and you pass it over, pouring olive oil and balsamic vinegar in one of the little dishes and passing it over as well. 

Aaron spots you, taking the oil bottle from you and filling the dish nearest him. Despite your best efforts, he landed next to you. 

Your shoulder brushes his as you reach for the salad. He leans back automatically, giving you space, but there’s the briefest of moments where neither of you move. You recover quickly, picking up the bowl and passing it to Penelope. 

“Sorry for the reach, Hotch,” you say, as nonchalantly as possible. 

(You fail.)

“No problem.”

(He does too.)

"Hey—" You smack Derek’s hand as he nabs a bite of your pasta. "You have your own!"

"You let Hotch take some," he fires back, pointing. 

"I did no—" You turn—just in time to catch Aaron swiping a crispy little piece of pancetta off your plate and popping it into his mouth.

Your jaw drops. "Oh my god!"

Aaron, chewing, raises an eyebrow like he has no idea what you’re talking about.

"Aaron Benjamin Hotchner," you declare, scandalized. "You keep your hands to yourself."

Something lights up in his eyes and you level him with a glare. 

Penelope “oohs” at him. “You just got middle-named, sir.”

Aaron lets out a laugh and shakes his head, taking a sip of his wine. You feel wholly undignified and thoroughly attacked. Even then, your lack of dignity came at a fair price. Spencer is smiling, and better yet, smiling at you and JJ and Aaron in turn. 

Worth it. 

+++

tagging: @chronicallybubbly @derekluvbot @jhiddles03 @soupyamanda @percysley @duchesschameleon @ssaic-jareau @viennasolace @youngcowisland @beyscape @reidfile @littlemisskavities @acidicbloody @sochalant @lessonincanvases @froggiefruitcake @realtrashcan

[leclercstars]

lando fic🙏🙏 size kink and pushing down on her lower stomach while he's inside!!?

Obsessed with this one. This might be my fave thing I've ever written so thank you to whoever requested this.

house of balloons.

Lando Norris x Reader

Warnings: 18+!! smut, hate sex, slight degradation and dom!Lando, cursing, size kink, unprotected sex.

“Get a grip,” you snapped as you strutted away from the bar. Now you had to wait to get another vodka lemonade. There was a viciousness to everything about you in that moment, from your facial expression to the way you sat and rejoined your friend group.

“What was that?” your best friend knew everything about your life, and you knew she was asking just to get a rise out of you.

“What do you fucking think? I thought him and his friends had stopped going here.”

“Well breaking news: that is not the case,” one of your other friends chuckled. 

“Ugh, I just cannot deal with this tonight,” you sat back in the the booth and groaned, pulling out your phone in hopes of avoiding more conversation about the topic.

“I should start making you that angry more often.” read the text that suddenly lit up your screen.

You hated Lando, and he hated you right back. Ever since freshman year you could not stand his “holier than thou” level arrogance and the way he always had to find a way to push your buttons in whatever setting you two were in. From class, to the bar all the way to the time you two ended up in the therapy waiting room together. 

“Okay Lando pls stfu. Dealing with you tonight was enough.” You had gotten into a heated argument with him in the bar, which you suddenly could not remember the subject of, pondering his last text in your head.

“I think I know how to fix our little problem”

What could he possibly mean by that. No way was he about to suggest sex.

“And what might that be?” you chuckled to yourself, noticing that your friends were peering over at your phone screen. Little snoops.

“Let’s leave.” Yep, there it was. He thinks fucking will somehow be the answer to your now four-year battle with each other. You had made each other’s lives a living hell. One time you fought so bad you both started crying, in public. Not the finest moment for either of you. But you thought more and more about his proposition. Sometimes he stared at you a little too long when you wore one of your skimpy going out tops, especially that lace corset, which of course you happened to be wearing tonight. He stood a little close to you to whisper insults in your ear, and occasionally slid a hand to the small of your back when you were standing next to each other. Maybe this was the answer. Besides, hate sex actually sounded kind of fun. 

“If you really want to do this then come over to the booth and I’ll get up and leave with you.” If this was really his master plan, you were going to make sure everyone knew about it. You weren’t gonna let him get away with lying about this little inchident later. It took him less than 2 minutes to appear at your table, hand extended towards you, a mischievous look painted all over his face.

“See ya around!” he waved to your friends as he dragged you out the bar.

“I better be getting a text about this later” you looked back at your friends' aghast expressions. They were looking at you as if you had just been shot through the head.

It didn’t take long to get to Lando’s shitty college house. You argued the whole way there. You almost shoved him in front of a moving car on accident. Maybe that would make the sex better.

He led you up to his bedroom, a surprisingly gentleman-ly gesture. The only light came from the dim glow of his computer monitor, casting a red ambiance over the entire room. How perfect, you thought.

“Let’s just get all that anger out, huh?”

“Worth a shot.” you smirked before inching closer and closer to him. The space between you two held so much tension, a pit of horniness, rage and frustration. He grabbed your face with both hands, his lips crashing into yours. You had never kissed someone with this much passion before. Neither of you knew how to keep your hands to yourself, but why bother. His hands explored every single inch of you, places that very few people had ever touched. He had already unhooked your bra effortlessly, your soft tits pressing against his chiseled chest. Fuck, he actually was kind of sexy all this time. He started gently biting your lower lip, causing you to moan into him. You could not be the only one moaning in this situation, so naturally you started palming his growing erection over his boxers. 

“Shit,” he whispered softly before groaning, his lips never leaving your face. There was a neediness, a hunger to the way you were touching each other. An intensity, a fury, and unfortunately one of the most erotic things you had ever experienced. 

He picked you up and threw you back onto the bed, the harshness of it turning you on even more.

You covered your pussy with your hands- giggling. You couldn’t help it, teasing him felt like the right thing to do in this scenario.

“Oh that’s not gonna work. I’m gonna fuck that little attitude right out of you.”

“I’d like to see you fucking try, pal.” your sly expression just making him angrier and angier.

He pinned your hands above your head as you laughed, loving that he was really taking it as a challenge. He slid his boxers off with his free hand.

Holy fuck. You had NEVER seen a dick that big. He was absolutely massive. Your confidence faltered for just a second, thinking that even though he was so much larger than you in stature, his dick could not have been that exceptional. But boy were you fucking wrong.

He gave you half at first, watching the way your face contorted as you adjusted to the feeling of him filling you up. He didn’t let you get comfortable for long, sliding the rest in as you shouted his name, probably waking the entire neighborhood up. Whoops.

“This might be the only time I ever get you to submit to me like this. Fuck you look hot when you’re being a good girl.”

You were going to fight back more- but those words made you want to listen to anything he told you to do for the rest of eternity. After two sickeningly slow thrusts, he started pounding into you. That attitude you had earlier had completely left the room, probably the stratosphere too. His dick felt like nothing you had ever taken before, nearly hitting your cervix with every pump in and out. It unfortunately was not going to take long for you to orgasm, as much as you wanted to hold out so you could keep experiencing this feeling. The feeling you never thought the guy you hated could give you. Pure and utter ecstasy. The alcohol flowing through your veins had you putting on quite the performance, moaning just as loud as Lando, tossing your head back and creating large claw marks along his back.

He thrusted deep into you- holding himself there. He made eye contact with you, his eyes low and filled with a fiery lust you had never seen before. He pressed against your lower stomach and holy fuck- you could not believe this was real.

“You feel that? That’s my fucking cock all the way inside you. You’re being such a good little slut taking me like this.”

You never wanted that feeling in your stomach to go away.

He pressed down again, shooting waves of pleasure through you that made your vision start to blur. Were you going to orgasm when he wasn’t even fucking you? 

“That’s enough of that, can’t make you feel too good.” he winked as he started fucking you again, bringing you right to the brink of an orgasm.

“Fuck Lando, you’re gonna make me cum.” He grabbed your throat.

“I’m gonna cum too. Look at me baby, I want us to remember exactly what we’re doing to each other.”

You never broke eye contact as you both lost control, his forehead pressed against yours as loud moans filled the room.

“That might be the only good idea you’ve ever had.” you laughed as he cleaned you both off.

“Of course that’s what you say right after I fucked the shit out of you.”

[tinylilacbun]

Baby's First Shots

Request: baby maybank is taken to her annual checkup with the pogues , them trying to distract her from the shots she needs 🤍

Pairing: jj maybank x daughter!reader

Warnings: shots, some crying, I don't know if what I wrote is correct but oh well 🥲

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ♡ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

"But Kie, look how happy she is right now!" JJ coos, holding your smiling self up to her face. "You can't expect me to just let her get experimented on."

"I already explained to you like- a hundred times that it's just regular shots, idiot. She needs them. They're not experimenting on her." Kie sighs, smiling at you gnawing on your hand, reaching a hand up to tickle your exposed belly making you shriek with laughter.

JJ turns you around to cradle you against his chest, softly talking to you before reluctantly laying you in your carrier, following Kie outside to join John B and Pope who have been waiting the whole time for JJ to get himself together.

"Damn. Finally!" John B groans. "We have to hurry now if we want to get there in time."

At the doctor's office JJ keeps bouncing his leg nervously, your carrier standing between his feet. You were so unaware of what was coming, pulling on your socks and cooing at him.

It's a little funny, the most people in the waiting room are mostly Mom's with their children and then there are the four teenager pogues with one baby. JJ is more than grateful for his friends support, they have been there for him every step of the way since your so-called 'mother' shoved you into his arms without another word.

He wouldn't know what to do without them. JJ gets pulled out from his thoughts when a nurse calls your name, his head snapping up to meet the friendly gaze of the nurse. "Yep, that's us."

He quickly gets up, grabbing the handle of your carrier with the pogues behind him.

"Oh, uhm, can my friends join as well?" He asks nervously, afraid he would have to do this alone.

The woman smiles at him, nodding. "That's not a problem, follow me."

The nurse leads them through a hallway and holds open the door to the exam room where the doctor is already waiting, looking through your file on his monitor.

JJ sits down on the chair in front of the desk, setting your carrier on the chair beside him, running a hand through his hair.

"So, Mr. Maybank-" the doctor starts but JJ cuts him off.

"JJ is just fine."

"Alright, so, tell me how has the little one been doing?" He asks. The last time you were here was shortly after your mother left you with JJ. He just wanted to make sure you were all healthy.

"Very good, actually. She sleeps, eats...y'know normal baby stuff." JJ crosses his arms, his leg bouncing again.

The doctor smiles, glancing at you who was babbling and trying to put your foot in your mouth. "That's good to hear. I guess we should go to the more unpleasant part now, so it's over quickly and you can take her home again. If you could please take her out of the carrier I will get the shots prepared."

JJ nods, tensing up a little but reaching over to open your straps, carefully picking you up and sitting you on his lap, your back resting against his stomach so you're facing the doctor.

Kie notices JJ's distress and places a hand on his shoulder, squeezing for reassurance. "It'll be fine."

Soon the doctor approaches with the first syringe in hand, kneeling down to wipe with an alcohol pad over your left knee. John B goes to stand beside the doctor, snapping his fingers to get your attention. "Look up here sweetie. Yeah, like that." He smiles, trying to distract you.

The needle breaks through your skin and your face scrunches up. John B grabs the teddy that Pope holds out for him, waving it in the air. "No, no, no. Look who I have here."

You sniffle, calming down but as soon as you get your second shot in your other knee you start to wail loudly. JJ's heart breaks at the sight, shushing you and rubbing his hand over your belly to soothe you and make you know that he's there. "Shh, it's okay...it's over now."

"There we go." The doctor finishes the procedure by putting a bandaid on each of your knees, standing back up straight and walking over to his desk again to update your shots to your file. "Okay, everything is finished. I'll see you again in two months, you can make an appointment at the front desk. Have a good day."

JJ didn't need to be told twice, holding you to his chest he stands up and hands Pope your carrier so he could solely focus on you while walking out and to the front desk to make another appointment.

Back outside you were still crying softly, your small hands clutching his shirt tightly. "Shh, shh, I'm here. You were so brave, dada's proud of you."

The others smile at the sight. JJ never fails to tell you how much he loves you and that he's proud of you even if you're just a few months old he always makes sure you know he will always be there when you need him.

John B pats his back. "C'mon, dude. You both survived, now let's head back to the Chateau."

JJ nods, continuing to bounce you and mumbles sweet nothings to you as he walks towards the Twinkie, waiting for you to fully calm down before getting you back in your carrier that Pope already strapped on the passenger seat.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ♡ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @aagn360 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @fluffyblanketgecko @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse @kissforvoid

For JJ:

@chiaraanatra @chimindity