#and prep for the rest of this garbage week

[obae-me]

Dumb Injuries- Pt 2

This may or may not be based off of real events that may or may not have happened a few days ago... Only I was on my own with no sweet demons, just my panic, a bloody sock, and a bunch of tissues. I bet it's going to leave a scar...

Warning: Blood, glass, injury. Note: I am not a medical professional, so do not use this as advice on what to do in a situation like this.

--

A gleeful little hum came from your mouth as you walked about in the kitchen. Today was your day to make dinner. And while sometimes you loathed these days, expecting nothing but needy demons practically clinging to you as you cooked and begging for a taste as if they were all Gluttony, today was different. Today everyone was giving you the proper space to work on your own. The peace was much needed. You’d felt like you’d been running around non-stop going from room to room, reading message after message, fulfilling your duties with hardly a chance to rest.

You loved these people, but boy did they run you dry sometimes.

However, despite your exhaustion and perhaps slight irritation, dinner was still being made with much love. You figured, perhaps, if the meal was fulfilling, they’d all be calm the rest of the evening.

Even from here you could hear them bickering.

Something had been up with all of them all week. They were picking fights with each other constantly. Or, should you say, more than usual. If that was somehow even remotely possible. In fact, they very nearly destroyed the kitchen a handful of days ago. Someone had eaten Satan’s special cat-shaped cake he was saving for himself after a day of testing. So, naturally, he went ballistic. He assumed it was Beel, but Gluttony- for once- swore it wasn’t him. After being blamed too many times, he got frustrated. Lucifer of course had to get involved. And let’s just say he wasn’t in a very good mood that day. Luckily, no appliances were harmed, but you recall how long it had taken them all to clean it up. And now they were all still on edge as the culprit had still yet to come out with their crimes.

With an audible sigh, you shook your head. Demons will be demons as some of them so often liked to say. Moving away from the stove and towards the table in the middle of the room, you reached out for the cutting board of vegetables you’d prepped earlier.

Pain. You gasped loudly, hurting your throat in the process. You stumbled, completely dropping the items that had been in your hand. They struck the ground with several noisy clangs. As you grasped for balance with support from the table, you clenched your teeth. The nerves in your body sparked, starting from the bottom of one of your feet and all the way up your back. Even if you wanted to swear, you were so stunned, you couldn’t. You leaned harder against the furniture, curling your leg up and raising your foot to spot an inch long piece of glass sticking out of your heel. While the adrenaline was still pumping through your body, you reached forward and plucked it out. It didn’t seem to have much blood on it. Shaking hands wrapped the little shard in a small wad of paper towels before it was chucked in the garbage.

Apparently, whoever had been in charge of cleaning the mess after the fight from a few days ago missed a spot… Of course you had to be the one to find it… Limping, keeping your injured foot on the tip of your toes, you headed towards the door to the kitchen. Thank Diavolo that your room was nearby. Hopefully you could make it there and patch yourself up before—

The door swung inwards, just a few inches away from smacking you in the face. You staggered back a bit. Mammon nearly barreled into you, grasping at your shoulder’s and steadying you to keep you from falling over. “You alright?! I mean… what did ya do this time, huh?” He blushed a little at his worried blurt before glancing by you and seeing the mess of scattered vegetables on the floor.

A heavy sigh from a second voice rang out behind Mammon. Your heart nearly stopped for a moment. Lucifer glared at you with narrowed eyes. “You couldn’t have waited another few weeks before making another mess of the kitchen?”

Well, at least so far, neither of them had noticed… You lowered your hurt foot a little flatter, keeping your heel just barely hovering over the ground. “I-I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I’ll get it cleaned up, don’t worry about it.”

The eldest, while usually appreciating those who fixed their own messes, was not satisfied with that answer. Exhaustion filled his eyes as he brushed past you and further into the room. “You can work on cleaning up your mess while I finish dinner. If we are even a few minutes late serving the food, Beel might go on another rampage.”

You nodded, gulping down a painful lump in your throat as your heel began to sting and throb. “Okay. I just have to grab something from my room real quick.” Lucifer just hummed at you, already pulling out replacements for everything you’d dropped. You looked up at Mammon, who was staring at you suspiciously, remaining unusually quiet. Walking as steady as you could, you squeaked past him and out into the hallway. Your hand pressed against the wall for support, fingernails almost digging into the wallpaper as you worked hard to remain quiet and upright.

Thank goodness your room was right next door…

All the sudden, the hallway flipped. Your head felt light and your chest squeezed as the floor was no longer right under you. You slipped, completely thrown off balance. You held our your arms, ready to catch the floor, but instead caught someone’s shoulders.

“I got ya…” Mammon sighed as he seemed to reach you just in time.

You leaned into him for a moment, trying to calm your wild heart. Then you straightened yourself, pulling away and looking down to see what you had slipped on.

A bloody streak covered the hard ground. Wide eyes looked down in shock, both Mammon’s and yours. You turned to look over your shoulder. Drops of blood made a pretty dotted trail all the way down the hall, stretching from your feet to—

“Lucifer…” You spoke as your gaze met his own. He no longer seemed exhausted, but now stunned, standing just outside the kitchen door.

“What the hell happened?!” Mammon shouted, his voice projecting far down the hall.

Oh great...

Like curious little mice, the Dining Hall opened as several demon heads poked out of the doorway, eager to see who was getting in trouble. You noticed Beel sniff the air and turn pale, muttering a single word to the rest of them that had all of them scurrying down the hall.

Either panicked or jealous, you were suddenly swept up into Mammon’s arms and absconded away. The House was a series of blurred colors before a door slammed open, nearly breaking in half. Mammon used one arm to sweep several items on the bathroom counter onto the floor before setting you on the empty space by the sink. You curled your leg and raised your foot again. Blood coated nearly your entire foot, steadily gushing and dripping onto the floor.

A hand ran through his own white hair as he nearly looked ready to pass out on your behalf. “L-Let’s wash it off…” Mammon whispered, his voice shaking as he turned on the sink and held his hand underneath the stream till it felt warm.

The other brothers were starting to flood into the room now, varying levels of shock, awe, and worry coating their faces. However, they were starting to learn about proper care, and how to not have a complete meltdown anytime you got hurt. But there was still a bit of a scene, the demons pushing each other aside and crawling over the others to get closer to you, reeling at the sight and smell of your blood.

Mammon cleaned your foot off, but frowned as it crimson continued to spread across your skin. Levi rushed over and placed a little Ruri-Chan bandaid across the injured spot. It bled through the bandage and started dripping again within a few seconds…

Now they were all starting to panic.

“We need to stop the bleeding!” Asmo shouted!

“Oh, do we?!” Belphie huffed sarcastically.

Satan pushed his way forward. “We need to add some pressure to stem it.”

Lucifer pulled out a first aid kit from… somewhere. You were starting to swear they had one in every room now… The eldest handed out specific items from the kit. Mammon continued to clean off the dripping blood. Asmo pressed a small folded cloth over your heel. Belphie started wrapping a cloth bandage around the injured spot. Beel gently pressed his hand down over the bottom of your foot to add some pressure.

“A-Are you okay? Does it…hurt?” Levi stammered from behind his other brothers.

You responded a little sheepishly. “It stings a bit, but… I didn’t think it was that bad.”

“Probably the adrenaline,” Satan sighed, bending down to pick up the items off the floor that Mammon had thrown down in a frenzy.

“What in the world happened, hon?” Asmo wondered, coming over to pet your head in a bit of comfort.

Biting your lip a bit, you took a breath. “Stepped on glass…”

A very gentle flick struck the back of your head. “Do you remember that little conversation we had where I told you to be wary of the kitchen floors?” Lucifer shook his head at you, his furrowed brows laced with worry, and perhaps a bit of guilt if you were reading his expression properly.

“I… thought it was fine.”

Pride opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Mammon instead. “You gotta be more careful!”

Beel rubbed his thumb over your foot before removing his hand. “I don’t think it’s bleeding through anymore.” Taking a peek, he appeared right. You didn’t see anymore blood seeping through the bandages.

His twin looked over at you. “So, you’re okay now, right?”

“I think so.” A little squeak came out of your mouth as you were suddenly picked up again. Satan hardly said a word as he took you out of the bathroom.

“Hey! No fair!”

“Satan!”

Wrath ignored them all as he walked on. “Don’t worry about dinner tonight. We’ll take care of it. You stay off your feet.”

It didn’t quite sound like a suggestion…more like a command.

Well…it sounded quite like you wouldn’t be walking anywhere on your own this week…

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie #obey me nightbringer

[fuck-customers]

fuck two of my coworkers, ok. gonna be a long one.

so i’m kind of a floater between stations in the kitchen, originally hired on for pantry (cold apps, salads, and desserts) with occasional training on expo and line. since our old dishwasher got himself fired, i’ve mostly been doing that for the last couple months. for the last two weeks we’ve been having issues with the garbage disposal sink getting backed up and not draining, fucking up one of the pipes in the wall to make it overflow—this has made doing dishes in a timely fashion with one person on that station vastly more difficult.

as a result of the above, the chef (C) tells me last night to come in an hour earlier than my original schedule “so you don’t get fucked on the dishes during brunch rush.” unbeknownst to me, he also tells the main pantry worker (J1) that she needs to ask me for help to make sure she has all her prep done before brunch.

i don’t find out about that until i’ve already been working for upwards of half an hour on making sure all the stations have the dishes they’re supposed to and any leftover from last night have been put away. this includes multiple trips to and from pantry to cart stacks of plates, during any of which J1 could have asked me to help when i get my hands free. instead, it’s the SOUS CHEF (S) who stops me on my way to prep for a weekly cleaning task to tell me to ask J1 if she needs help.

i’m just like, yeah ok sure, and i go to ask her. she’s like “🫤 weren’t you supposed to be over here helping me anyway” and i’m like “…i don’t know, C told me to come in for dishes, i’m just going off of what he said.” and ask her what she needs help with. she puts me on a non-crucial task that ends up fucking us over because we’re completely out of one of our more popular menu items for pantry, and she and the other floater/currently mostly pantry guy (J2) haven’t been getting their prep done right/at all. meaning i have to drop everything while the brunch rush is starting to get everything prepped before i can even make the item for it to be served. (put a pin in this. 📌)

brunch ends, we each get our 15, i come back from break and ask C where he wants me, “so i’m back on the same page as the rest of the kitchen.” he tells me to continue helping at pantry, making filling for deviled eggs. i don’t know the new recipe and he hasn’t written it down yet, so he tells me to plate desserts instead. J1 comes back from break right then and starts plating desserts. J1 does know the new filling recipe. i just kind of sigh and go back to C and ask him to just show me how to make the new filling. C, instead, walks back to pantry with me, and tells J1 to swap roles with me, telling her to make the filling while i plate cakes. she doesn’t fucking hear him because she’s got headphones on and loud, to the point that i have to get her attention three times before she even looks up.

i say, “C wants us to switch.” she straight up rolls her eyes at me and starts moving her dessert setup. we have one working outlet that we can plug the food processor into in the pantry area, where the fuck does she think i’m going? i clarify “no, C wants you to get started on the filling, and let me finish the cakes” and she goes “oh” before moving to start the filling. the food processor turns out to not be working, so she asks me to relay that to C, and i do, and when i come back she’s fucking plating cakes again. i remind her that C told me to do that and she just goes “🙄 i got this, go do one of your other tasks” so i just get fed up with her and her shit and spend the next two hours getting some hardcore catharsis in by sweeping, deck scrubbing, and mopping the dry storage area. the rest of the night with her goes pretty smooth because i’m mostly able to ignore her while i prep for tomorrow. she’s been kind of a cunt since a friend of hers, A, got fired/walked out/i’m fuzzy on the details anyway, so like. oh well. seethe and mald but stop making your problems mine, yk? let me do my fucking job.

📌 circling back now to that pin. the popular food item in question requires sliced cured meat. there was some cut, but only enough for about 3 of them before being left with unservable scraps that C doesn’t want on the plate. so i take a fresh meat log to the slicer, only to find it in an absolute STATE. it looks like it hasn’t been cleaned all fucking month. there’s old yellowing grease all over it and bits of dried meat scraps/flakes caked everywhere on and around it that have gone past dried and starting to turn rancid—like, this shit was turning green.

i am, of course, disgusted and appalled, because making and prepping for this particular menu item was easily 85% of my job when i was focused on pantry, and the worst i ever let the slicer get was getting too busy to remember to clean it before the end of one shift and doing it first thing when i came in for the next. the worst you’d find then was some dried meat flakes that had turned a slightly darker pink. so of course i immediately set to cleaning the slicer before even thinking about putting anything intended for human consumption near it.

C comes back to see what’s taking so long bc i usually have a full log sliced by that point. i’m still in the process of cleaning the slicer, so i point out what mess is left (i had about a third of it done by now; it was Bad) and he goes “oh, that might have been J2” and tells me to hurry and slice just enough for a few more orders, and i can finish slicing after they’re arranged for service.

i come back to pantry, where J1 is now running window to expo and J2 is arranging the non-meat parts of the item. i say aloud for both of them, “hey, just so you know, we need to wipe down and sanitize the slicer after we’re done using it.” J2 straight up says “well, it wasn’t cleaned the last time i had to use it,” which just hits me with such an intense wave of anger that i go nonverbal for a minute while i focus on plating. like. so you agree, you admit it, you didn’t fucking clean it after you were done. J2 has been risking unleashing food poisoning on our entire clientele for god knows how long.

later, after dinner service, i’m helping the temp on dishes—i’m hand-washing mostly pans and other things that won’t fit in the machine in the three-tier manual sink, while the temp is running the machine, and J2 has been putting the trays of dishes away as they come out. as i’m filling the manual sinks i turn to J2 and say, “if you wanna just focus on putting things away, i can knock out the washing here,” and he agrees.

and then he proceeds to completely fucking ignore the rapidly filling sanitizer sink in favor of continuing to put away the machine dishes. even when i move things onto the counter between the sanitizer soak and the “out” side of the machine, taking up almost all of the available space to give myself room to keep cycling through the dishes, he continues ignoring it, simply lifting the dish machine trays over and past the growing pile of waiting manual dishes.

i step away for a bit to cool off, catch my breath, take something for the migraine that has been steadily building since ~11:30am (it is now almost 9pm) from having to deal with J1 and J2 all fucking day. i have been asked to help with trash as part of close. J2 has the gall to ask me “how much longer do you think you’ll be?” at a fucking guess i’m going to be a lot goddamn longer than i would be if you were actually HELPING ME, dickhead.

J2 ended up clocking out after the temps helped him with trash without putting a single manual dish away, leaving me with three full sinks and an overloaded counter. i didn’t get home until after midnight (partly because my ride was helping with after-dinner bar service) and i have to go back and do it all the fuck again at 11a again tomorrow.

i swear, if J2 gets fired and is never allowed to work in foodservice again after tonight’s bullshit, especially the state i found the deli slicer in, i’m converting back to christianity, because i’m taking it as proof that there is a merciful and loving god.

Posted by admin Rodney.

[neonovember]

Almost

summary: weeks away on a covert operation had steve longing to be where he was meant to: between your thighs. Didn’t they say distance made the heart grow fonder?

warnings; overstimulation, depraved steve as well as touch starved? steve, smut, p in v, housewife kink, mentions of violence

a/n: steve is like, really depraved in this..A mission goes wrong and what does he do? Takes it out on your pussy :)

The smooth sounds of Etta James waft through the kitchen, the vinyl recorder Sam had gifted the both of you sits perched on the windowsill nook.

You’re almost done with the roast you’ve prepped earlier, preheating the oven before clearing away the dirtied utensils strewn about the granite countertop. Steve would be coming home tonight, finally, after 2 weeks away on some undercover mission Fury refused to tell you about.

God you truly felt like a part of you was missing each time he slung his duffel bag across his body, your heart aching with every passing day where you didn’t where or how he was, always left on edge for fear of getting that phone call.

Missions like these were rare but they still were expected from the super soldier, and at times you wished that he was solely yours, not America’s golden boy.

You usually cooked together, you and Steve, putting the expansive commercial oven to use, and with the summer evenings stretching into warm nights it was perfect to hold dinner parties for the rest of the team.

But there was something about cooking something just for him, your heart preened whenever he’d groan in appreciation for a meal that you created, testing out the waters with different flavours and tastes. He’d always eat your food he’d said, no matter if it tasted like hot garbage or a fine dining restaurant. You’d shoved him then, telling him your food would always be good. You didn’t go to culinary school and shelve over thousands of dollars that you were still paying, for it to be anything else.

Placing the marinated glazed chicken into the warmed oven you set the oven to cook for an hour, give or take, just in time for Steve’s arrival home. The house had already begun to smell like caramelised onions and honey and feared you might eat the whole thing before he gets here.

You began finishing the dessert you’d curated last night, the recipe was one you fine-tuned over these weeks, noting to add to your menu once you’d gotten Steve’s approval. He’d always helped you with the development of new menu items, with such enhanced senses it was like having a table full of experts, sometimes you’d even say he had better taste than you.

Sometimes.

The French doors of your shared home were left open, letting the syrupy warm rays flood into the living room, the smell of chrysanthemums you’d planted was wafting in, and the gentle crash of waves glided with the jazz sounds coming from your vinyl player.

You so badly wanted to lay on the plush rug and just bask in the summer heat, it was just right, not too hot, but enough to get your skin warmed. Your mind shifted to summer days in which you and Steve lay just right there on the living room floor, your body sprawled out against his beating chest.

His soft words reading a novel or nimble hands across your warm body lulling you both to sleep. You can’t remember how long it’s been since you and Steve just existed, outside of missions and superhero duties, but just exist, as two people who were in love.

It was what made today all the more important, the super soldier mantle Steve rested on would be deserted for a couple weeks, after you’d challenge to sue Fury over refusing to give Steve his well-deserved break.

There was still a mountain of dishes waiting for you in the kitchen sink, and you began to roll up your skills to tackle them before you hear the front doors slam open, the bang of it vibrating throughout the expansive house.

You glance at the chestnut case that has your pistol in it, the one Steve gifted you when he was away on missions and anxious about your safety.

You’d spend countless hours with both Steve and Natasha learning how to shoot properly, the kickback now gliding with your body instead of pushing you two steps back.

You found that you were quite good at it anyway, the blaring bull's eye shots in the shooting range causing Natasha to question if you really were who you said you were.

If anybody walked through that hallway looking for a helpless wife to take advantage of, they would be met with a hole in their chest, Steve made sure of it.

There is a loud thud, like something big and heavy dropping to the ground, and it causes you to bristle, facing backwards from the opening hallway, fingers gripping the sink and eyes strained on the drawer to the right.

Maybe you weren’t the fearless woman you thought you were.

You begin to maneuver your body to reach for your pistol before you hear the familiar sound of Steve’s boots against the hardwood floor.

Of course, it’s him.

You laugh at yourself as the beating in your heart eases, your chest evening out in neutral breaths and you're instead filled with eager excitement at his long-awaited arrival.

You turn quickly, a smile stretched almost painfully on your face, ready to meet the site of his open arms and warm smile. But Instead, you’re met with a quite different view.

Steve is standing there, still dressed down in his soldier uniform, the star dirtied with ash, blood and mud. His boots press into the hardwood floor, leaving large footprints marked with dirt.

Steve's eyes stare directly at you, unwavering and a deep cerulean blue. He looks animalistic, a wolf life expression that takes over his usual soft features, his blond hair tussles and mussed, all over the place as if he’s run his hands through it too many times.

His cheeks are rosy, and his knuckles are bruised and god why is it so hot in here? You can’t take your eyes away from his intense stare, mouth agape and your back pressed into the kitchen sink.

His chest is heaving up and down and he breaks his stare to let it travel across your body, eyes zeroing in on the apron he’d bought you, tied around your waist, hugging your curves and pressing your boobs, causing them to spill out.

Your hair is held up high, messy but kept out of your face, and you don’t think you look the picture of presentable, much less sexy but a dark look takes over his features, and his bloodied knuckles are pressed into tight fists.

The loud thunk of his shield drops to the floor, leaving an imprint of dirt and dust, and that simple act has you breathless, your thighs squeezing against each other.

What happened? Why was he acting like this? Steve was all smiles and soft kisses when he’d come back from missions, his demeanour now, well it almost looked as if he was still locked in his super soldier mindset, with you being the target.

“Steve?” You squeak out, gulping down a breath.

He growls, he literally growls, the sound vibrates through his chest and in two long strides he’s looming over your trembling figure.

You don’t have a second to react before he’s gripping your hips, maneuvering your body to bend over the granite countertop, lips crashing into your own.

He gulps down the moans that fill your mouth, hands trailing all across your body, squeezing, pinching, gripping. His shoulders relax as if the stress of everything has just been lifted off his shoulder, and his fingers come up to cradle your head, deepening the kiss.

His tongue trails over your lips, before biting down on them, causing you to let out a pretty squeak that allows him to shelve his tongue into your mouth. Steve was usually so gentle, all sweet honey kisses, now though, this kiss was anything but that. All teeth and tongue, the truth of his eagerness and insatiability falling into your mouth.

The bruising kiss begins to teeter on asphyxiation before he lets go of your lips with a loud pop, the instability burning in his dark orbs seems to shine even brighter now, as he begins to trail bruises down the column of your throat.

Steve begins to softly rock his body against your own, your head thrown back as you feel the stiff hard on press into the softness of your thighs.

Steve groans into your skin, sucking on the taste of it, vanilla and lavender bursting on his tongue from the body wash from earlier and your gardening from the morning.

He begins to move down your neck, leaving hickeys that were purposefully hard to obscure. Steve kneels at the foot of the counter, hands gripping your hips as he sucks a bruising kiss on the dimple sitting on your thigh.

Steve begins to murmur as you rack your fingers through his dirtied blonde strands,

“Mission..bad, you- you good. So fucking good” Steve groans as he reaches his fingers to tug your lace panties down. It’s all he says before he pulls them and tucks them into his pocket.

Your eyes widen as he rides your fitted apron up to your stomach, pushing your stomach down onto the granite countertop, before gripping your thighs, and placing them on his shoulders. He kisses his way to your pussy, licking at the skin, his harsh breaths on your clit causing you to moan loudly.

“Steve” You groan in earnest, needing him where he refused to be.

His eyes flicker up to your face, a smirk falling on his before he licks a long stripe through your folds, moaning at the taste, before sucking harshly. You groan his name loudly, head lulling back as you enjoy his harsh bruising tongue.

Steve moves his tongue to suck on your clit, his fingers coming up to caress your thighs, before shelving a digit into your pussy.

Steve begins to curl his thick fingers into you, eyes fixated on your withering body, watching every moan, every shiver, every groan of his name as he moves his tongue and hands to leave you in a heaping mess of arousal.

How long would it take before he broke you? The thought caused his erection to press painfully against him, spurring him to add a second digit. You try and close your legs, hands coming up to press against his chest before his thick arms come up to press your stomach back down.

Steve tutts mockingly, refusing to stop his rough mouth against your pussy and his fingers from pressing into your walls.

Your eyes begin to roll into the back of your head as Steve’s ring finger glides over a particularly spongy spot in your pussy, he grins against your clit, driving his fingers deeper into you as he curls them against the spot. Arousal drips from between his fingers, collecting onto the granite countertop as the wave of pleasure crashes down on you, Steve refuses to ease his motions, driving harsher and further as your orgasm violently.

Your thighs shake from beside his head, your back arching from the countertop as your vision clouds with saccharine pleasure.

You can’t speak, the broken syllables of his name the only thing falling from your lips as you lay shaking, uncontrollably. Steve’s eyes darken as he watches you, his mouth sucking onto your clit as he helps you ride the waves of your orgasm.

“That’s it, just like that my pretty girl, god don’t you look so pretty underneath me?” Steve mutters more to himself than anything, fingers trailing your trembling clit as he collects the last of your arousal, sucking on his digits as he slowly raises from his knelt position.

His hands come up to grip your waist, fingers wiping down across your face, before gripping your cheek, a singular thumb wiping the tears collecting on your waterline.

“What do you want?” Steve says, the question startles you, it’s Steve asking for your permission, the truth of his goodness shining through even at times like this, where you could practically feel his clothed cock bumping into your stomach and the shivers that went down his back as if he’d cum right then and there.

Steve would still jump into a cold shower if you told him to. But you didn’t, no you didn’t want that at all, you wanted him in you as deep as possible

“I want you Stevie, and I want it all” You whisper breathlessly, nails digging into his shoulder blade as he groans audibly. His eyes darken with a possessiveness that tells you you'll leave limping and blissed out. A shiver runs down your back as Steve trails his eyes down the prisms of your body underneath him, hands trailing over bite marks and bruises.

“Well, who am I to deny my pretty girl?” Steve says, before snapping his hips into the junction of your thighs. Steve doesn't give you a second to get accustomed to the sheer size and girth of his cock, before plummeting into you roughly, a groan passing his lips as your name falls and rolls over his tongue.

“Fuck, you feel so good baby, so fucking good” Steve moans into your skin, sucking on the slope of your shoulder as you grip onto him tightly, his cock hitting and gliding against your greedy walls just right.

“Been thinkin’ bout this the entire mission, almost got Sam killed cause this pretty little pussy was on my mind all. damn. day” Steve grunts, fasting his pace so that he rutted into you loudly, and with such ferociousness, you feared a bruise would appear.

The pornographic sounds of your moans and the thick slick of Steve's cock pounding into your dripping pussy echoed across the house, emulating into the front yard from the large open living room doors and for once you were glad your shared home was a further drive up from the surrounding neighbours

Your head lulls back as Steve’s thrusts deepen, your walls fluttering around his length as he repeatedly pounds into your cervix. Steve reaches his hands to grip your neck, and carefully raises your arched back to rest in his arms. With one hand wrapped around your waist, Steve raises your thigh to rest on his shoulder, enabling him to press you into the granite countertop, going impossibly deeper than you fear you would split in two.

“Just like that, god you take me so well doll, gripping me so fucking tight” Steve groans into your ear, his thumb tracing the outline of your face, pushing the strands of hair pack behind your ears and raising your body to grind onto his own.

Your hips begin to move on their own, your greedy pussy chasing the release that was just around the corner, Steve's cock brushes against the spongy spot he'd abused not even a few moments ago, slowing his pace to drive deeper, almost cursing you to bounce off of him.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head, as spit begins to dribble from your open mouth, Steve's cock filled you to the brim, leaving you almost suffocatingly full, each stroke began before the last had even ended, somehow never letting you feel empty as his thickness engulfed your tight walls.

It had taken a while to get used to the sheer size of him, the first few times he'd made you come with just the tip, but god even know, years later, you felt like you were mere moments from collapsing onto him, cumming just from the sensation of his cock driving against your walls.

And as if Steve was reading your mind, he slips a hand to circle your clit, and all it takes is the roughness of his thick fingers before you’re cumming around him, your walls squeezing him tightly as your mind blackens. Your nails press into his back, scraping against the expansive muscle, causing him to groan loudly as your pussy practically flutters around him.

Steves presses sloppy kisses across your body, humming into you, nodding as he watches through hidden lids, growling as you moan his name loudly. He made you like this, a heaping blubbering mess incapable of even coherent English, he loves it, he craves it, the sight below him, refusing to blink of fear of missing even a second of your arched body, shaking violently.

“Let it out darling, let it out, I’ve got you babygirl” Steve murmurs. The sweet pet name Steve whispers, contrasts against the harsh pace he's resumed, pressing into you insatiable, even as the aftershocks of your orgasm continue to run through you.

“Just one more baby, just one more, can you give me one more? Hm? Will you let me empty my cum into this tight little hole?” Steve groans, as he grips the small of your back, pressing you into his chest as he loses all abandon. What seemed to be the last of Steve's restraints is broken as he rocks into you with such roughness all you can do is grip his arm tightly, head rocking against his shoulder as he slides his thick cock into your fluttering walls.

Holding you up with just one hand around your waist, Steve fucks up into you mid-air, eyes laser-focused on the image of his cock disappearing into your cunt, the slickness of your orgasm glistening across his length, and dripping down your folds.

Your walls tighten unconsciously as Steve thrust into you from a different angle, gliding his thick cock against your walls in ways you didn't think were possible, Steve groans your name as the feel of your tightenings walls grip his length, causing him to stifle as his thrust grow sloppy, unable to move as if your cunt has wrapped an iron grip on it.

Profanities fall from Steve's lips as he throws his head back, the dirty blond strands lying messy onto his forehead, Steve's grip on your waist tightens painfully, as he shoves the entirety of his length into your cunt, his cock still thrusting into you uncontrollably. And as if his own climax triggers your own, you throw your head back in equal ecstasy, revelling in the burning hot pleasure falling down the slope of your back. Thick white ropes of cum shoot into your quivering hole, coating your walls with its milky slick, both of your arousals leaking from between your folds.

You slump your back onto the kitchen countertop, the coolness of the granite causing you to groan as it eases the burning heat radiating off of your body thanks to the human furnace above you. Steve follows your motions slumping onto you, as he basks in the aftershocks of pleasure.

A moment passes, with you running your nails across his back before raking them through his dampened curls, humming gently against his heated chest. Steve signs in pleasured relief, pressing into you as if he wanted to get under your skin. You whisper into his ear, careful to keep your voice soft as the exhaustion of the mission becomes evident on his face.

“Well, that was quite the welcome,” You say, grinning into his ear

“I wasn’t lying when I said I missed you” Steve replies with a snort, raising his face from between the pillow of your breasts, a smirk gracing his once again softened features.

There was truth to what he was saying before, even in the throes of pleasure, in fact being distracted was an understatement. This mission was a particularly long one, and he missed the feeling of your sweet cunt wrapped around him so perfectly. There were countless times when Steve would find himself shamelessly thrusting into the column of his wrist thinking of you, nights in sweaty motel rooms where all he could think, all he could breathe was you. You were blissfully unaware of it, the times when he’d call and thrust to the voice and video of you, under the covers whilst you chatted obliviously to his salacious doings.

He just couldn't help it, you were just too good, and most days he could restrain himself but today? When the first thing he could smell was the musky scent of your slick between your thighs? And the scene that he walked into? He was ravenous. It didn't help that you were dressed in one of those frilly aprons, cooking a meal just for him, his sweet girl, so eager to have him home that you'd gotten up extra early.

There was a deeper part of him, one that longed for this to be the norm, coming home to those sweet hips swaying along to the music, his chest against your back as he danced along with you, fucking up into you against the hallway before eating dinner together.

“Dinners almost ready, ya know you’re lucky I put the roast in before you came or else we'd be having burnt potatoes and dry chicken,” You say, however making no motion to get up quite yet.

“My perfect amazing wife, you know I would eat it anyway” Steve sings songs, pressing a soft kiss onto your clavicle, before slowly rising from his slouched position across you. Gently pulling you into his arms with a soft “come here”.

“Besides, I’m feeling quite satisfied anyway” Steve whispers cheekily, looking down at you as you hug his torso.

“Not on god's green earth am I going to let a perfectly good chicken go to waste” You gruff, slapping Steve playfully, as you wobble towards the oven. Steve rushes forward, hand gripping your arm as he gently wraps you into his arms tutting disapprovingly, as he carries you bridal style towards the large leather couch in the living room.

Gently placing you down, Steve takes out the pot roast himself, groaning as he smells the caramelized onions and honey chicken oozing with bubbling juices and herbed vegetables stuffed around the meat.

“Fuck, this smells almost as good as you do pretty girl,” Steve says from the kitchen, you smile softly, your chest preening in happiness as you drink in his praises.

Fixing both of you a plate, Steve moves you to sit sprawled across his lap, pressing a soft kiss against your forehead as he breathes in the decadent scent you carried after sex. Steve leans in, his hot breath against your earlobe before he utters,

“Almost”

Divider by @firefly-graphics !

send an ask to be part of my taglist for steve, and requests are always open :)

#steve rogers fic #Steven Grant Rogers #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x fem!reader #depraved!steve rogers #steve rogers x smut #steve rogers x you #steve rogers filth #steve rogers x wife!reader #husband!steve rogers x wife!reader #domesticated!steve Rogers x reader #steve rogers x black!reader #steve x reader #domestic!steve rogers x reader #domestic!steve #avengers #marvel cinematic universe #neonovember #Neo writes #touch starved!steve rogers x reader #touch!starved x steve rogers #overstimulation! x Steve rogers #steve rogers fluff #Steve Rogers x fluff

[thezombieprostitute]

Sparks Fly - Part 1

Summary:  After working as an engineer for Wilford & Gilliam Trust for several years you find evidence of seedy dealings and burned books. After turning in the evidence you find yourself in danger and seek help. You're taken into the protection of a mob family where you run into your high school best friend, Mace.

Word Count: ~1000

Warnings: Implied violence and attempted murder. Please let me know if I missed any.

A/N: Kind of a short chapter to get things started. At the moment Reader has no descriptors. This is part of the Garbage Men AU.

Part 2

Series Masterlist

Mace was enjoying his time at the bar. It wasn't often he and all the other guys got to go out together. Well, all except Curtis. Him and Teach were still in their Exciting New Relationship phase. He couldn't fault them, especially since he was able to prod Curtis on how he'd been right all those weeks ago.

He was enjoying watching Hal trying to teach Jake some pickup artist stuff when he got a text: Prep the guest suite. Mace put his phone away and paid his tab before letting the guys know what was happening.

The Guest Suite was the name given to one of the nicer apartments the family kept as safe houses. Mace was generally in charge of their upkeep, seeing as how he was handy with just about everything they needed. Furnaces, fuses, water heaters, even plumbing, he was really good at fixing and maintaining the apartments. It’s why he was officially in charge of the maintenance for the low-income housing that the Family funded. 

Several apartments were kept empty for specific reasons. The only one Mace didn’t touch was the Basement Studio, where Barnes and Fowler did their more intense interrogations. Curtis took responsibility for that one and Mace was happy to let him. Most of the others were Singles, kept open for victims of abuse or runaways in need of a safe space. There were a couple of Lofts for when Family members needed to lay low for a while. But the Guest Suite was something special, reserved solely for potential witnesses that the police were unable to keep safe. Its upkeep was focused on making it feel warm and welcoming and catered to witnesses, making them feel more inclined to testify, if only because they felt safe to do so. 

Part of prepping the Guest Suite was stocking the place with food. It was an off hour but Mace managed to gather up enough to last someone a couple of days, making a note to pick up more at a better time. He got to the apartment and set to work making the place ready. He stored the food, got the heater going and kept an ear out for any off noises while he did the rest of his work. He made sure the bed was made and even checked that the dishes and cooking supplies didn’t have a layer of dust.

While he was checking things he got another text, We’re here. Mace kept working and listened for the door to open. He made sure to keep himself where the guest would be able to see him immediately. It wouldn’t do to startle the guest. He was just double checking the security bars on the windows when he heard the door opening.

“Now this is where you’ll be staying,” he hears Huffman say. “Mace here has got the whole place secured and full of food. And if you need anything else, we can get it for you.”

“Mace?”

He turns around and sees you. It takes his brain a second to recognize you, “DC?”

You run up to Mace and hug him, “AC! God it’s been so long!”

“What kind of trouble are you in that brought you here, DC?”

“Umm…well..” you stutter.

“She’s got dirt on Wilford & Gilliam,” Huffman interrupts. “You two know each other?”

Mace looks at Huffman, “we went to high school together. We were really good friends, bonding over a shared interest in engineering.”

You giggle, “we were such nerds we even nicknamed each other after the AC and DC electrical currents. I was DC, Direct Current, because I had my life all planned out and was a straight shooter.”

Mace smiles shyly, rubbing his hand on the back of his head, “and I was AC, Alternating Current, because my plans were all over the place and my interests kept varying from month to month.” He turns to you, “you’re in trouble with Willford & Gilliam?”

“I…I was working for them and found some…irregularities in the finances. And the blueprints. And a few other things.” You start shaking at the memories of the past week and Mace pulls you in for a hug to steady you.

“They sent goons to kill her,” Huffman continued. “They’ve managed to find her at three different safe houses under my department's jurisdiction. I’m pretty sure I’ve got a mole or something. Barnes approved getting her set up here.”

Mace nods, “who do you have set for guard duty?”

Huffman gives Mace a once-over, “I’m thinking it should be you.” 

“Woah,” Mace argues, “I’m not guard duty material. I’m just maintenance and information!”

“Mace,” you whimper, “please? I’d really like to be protected by a friend, not a stranger.”

He looks into your eyes and sees how tired and stressed out you are. He knows you’d be safer with someone else but he can tell you need something familiar and safe or you’re going to be a nervous wreck.

“Okay,” he concedes. He turns to Huffman, “I’m still gonna want some back up or something.” Huffman nods in agreement. “And someone’s going to have to tell Curtis I’ve been commandeered for a little while.”

“I’ll make sure he agrees to the plan.”

“So you’re gonna talk to Teach?”

“Well, I do value my life, Mace.” Huffman heads out, leaving you and Mace alone together.

Part 2

Series Masterlist

Please let me know if you'd liked to be tagged in this series.

#mafia!james mace #mob!james mace #james mace x reader #mace x reader #mafia au #mafia!mace #mob!mace

[bumpkinspice0]

Recovery Time Chapter 8

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

No use of y/n

Rating: Explicit (Minors do not interact!!!!!!)

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: November is here, winter creeps closer, and feelings become more real.

Warnings: Like none? Typical angst, fluff, desperation??

Series Masterlist

Previous - Next

AO3

_______________

Chapter 8: Storm Brewing

The garden was finally bare, the soil tilled over and weeded of its dead occupants. Precious loved herbs and other plants dug up and brought inside to last the winter. Seeds sorted and stored for next year. Harvest time was over and the dirt can lay in rest for another winter. October had come and passed, the early days of November bringing a new chill to the air. 

Joel helps you prep the garden soil for next year and he almost wishes he hadn’t offered. You had buckets of compost stored and ready to enrich the soil, nasty smelling stuff. Vegetable scraps, egg shells, bones— garbage really. He was helping you spread garbage around your dead garden. He’s done stranger things, he supposes. 

“Please tell me this is the last one,” He sighs, dumping out the final nasty, juicy contents from the last 5-gallon barrel you rolled out.

“It’s the last one,” you scoff, raking the dumped contents evenly over the soil’s surface. “You can start putting the leaf piles on top then we’re done.”

“Thank god,” he retreats to the edge of the garden where you’d had a massive leaf pile waiting. He grabs an armful and spreads them on top of the compost, “Why are we doing this again?”

“Keeps the soil healthy.” You dust your hands off and grab a fistful of leaves for yourself, “You gotta put back what you take out. The parts you don’t use decompose and make the soil healthier. Circle of life and all that.”

“And the leaves?”

“Extra barrier and extra compost.” You step closer to him and he does his best to ignore how that makes his heart speed up ever so slightly. “Use what’s around, ya know?”

“Yeah, I suppose,” He grabs another armful of leaves, “But it was good this year? The garden?”

“Better than other years. Only got good at it the last two years or so.” 

Joel wasn’t much of a farmer. Hell, he killed nearly all of his houseplants. The idea of constantly managing something so delicate was intimidating. Game hunting was easy in comparison. Straight forward— almost literally. Point and shoot. Set a trap and leave it. Hunting didn’t take skill, it just took luck. But growing food… That was a whole different story. 

Your storages were plentiful from what he saw. You didn’t really seem to keep track of resources used because of it. Much more lax than Bill. If he had to guess you probably easily had enough for 6-8 months at the moment— But he can’t help but wonder how much you’d used on him. How much did he take from you? The question that’s been constantly on his mind lately.

He’d brought back some meager kills. That turkey and a good handful of rabbits. Was it enough? 

“Thinking you got enough to make it through the winter this year?” He asks before he can stop himself. 

You pause, he’s not sure if it’s from his sudden forwardness or because you’re actually thinking about it, sorting through everything in your head. He sees your expression drop a little bit— his unspoken words evidently being heard loud and clear. 

Will you be fine without me? 

He hadn’t brought it up in weeks, him heading back to the QZ. You hadn’t either. Christ he’d been healed for just as long and he still wandered around here like a lost puppy. What was he waiting for? You to chase him out with a broom in hand? Or maybe for you to tell him please don’t go. 

He had to. He had to leave and him lingering around you like a ghost was making it all the more difficult. 

“It was a good harvest this year,” You finally answer, kicking out more leaves in your path. “Winter can be unpredictable, though. For extra assurance, we should probably think about getting bigger kills if we—” 

You pause again, your back to him. He can’t see your face but he can guess what’s painted across it. Panic. Blushing embarrassment. You said it twice, the forbidden word. 

We.

You’d both been dancing around referring to each other as a pair since he got here, now you were the first to let it slip. He knew what we meant. We meant I’m thinking of you. We meant I’m planning a future where you’re there. We meant don’t leave. 

He doesn’t say anything, the pleasant afternoon soured by him asking silent questions. Joel didn’t like being so timid. It’s not who he was. He was a blunt, straightforward man— often to a fault. He wishes he could still be that emotionless with you. It’d make everything so much easier. Instead, he lives in fear of hurting you. Of bringing the curtain down on this small little paradise you’d given him. He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve you. It’s time he gets back to what he was actually good at.

All things must come to an end, even the good things. He had to come back to reality. Joel just had to pull the trigger… but when?

He tosses a final fistful of leaves onto the barren garden and stomps off to the edge of the property. 

“I’m gonna set up a few more traps.”

__________

A bloated awkwardness had settled between you both since this afternoon, and you have your stupid mouth to thank for it. The damn thing always got you into so much trouble. 

You said we. You desperately wanted to try and recover and blurt that you were referring to you, Gus, and Lily, obviously, but that would have made the whole situation ten times worse. You just blurting whatever came to mind had gotten you into this mess. 

How had Joel become such an integral part of your life in such a short time? He’d crawled into your heart and made a home there without even trying. From day one you knew he wouldn’t stay, and yet that never seemed to matter. 

You’d told him six weeks for his estimated recovery time. It only took a glance at the calendar to see that specific date had come and gone. He’d been recovered. Walking strong with newly healed over scars. He was a picture of health… and he was still here. That meant something.

He hadn’t mentioned the QZ once. Not even people inside it. He’d been vague, at best, about what he’d done there. The only family you knew about was his brother, who was likely now hundreds of miles away. What did he have to go back to, you wonder. You’d never asked, but then again he probably wouldn’t tell you if you did. 

Maybe you’re waiting for him to ask. Ask if he can stay here… but you probably made your feelings about that rather clear… right? Maybe you have to ask, then. Ask him to stay. Tell him how you feel.

The fear of rejection is a powerful one. People underestimate it all the time.

So, instead of facing the fear, you dance around in this awkward limbo you’d made for yourself, because of your big dumb mouth. 

You’re curled up on the couch while he passively plays guitar in the corner of the living room, Gus and Lily curled up at his feet like he always belonged there. 

The playing stops and you dare to glance in his direction. His gaze is on the curled-up fur children at his feet, sadness pulling at his features. You can only hope what he’s thinking about. 

“Hey,” he looks at you, “So… I was thinking bout somethin’.”

“That’s dangerous.” You hope, just for a moment. Hope that he’ll ask to stay the winter. Stay longer. Stay forever. Just… stay.

“Yeah,” he gives the weakest smile you’d ever seen in your life. Oh no. “I was… thinkin’ about when I should leave.” 

You’d never had your hope dashed so quickly. 

“Yeah?” You say, trying your best to hide the fact that your heart is shattering.

“I should… do it soon. Before the snow falls.” 

You look away from him, clutching your book to your chest, “That’s… a good idea.”

He lets the silence brew in the room. God, if you thought the air between you two was uncomfortable before…

You hold back a tear, putting on a brave face. “When were you thinking?”

He’s set the guitar aside, leaning heavily over his knees. He wrings his hands together nervously. 

“Tomorrow.”

The single word is like an arrow to the heart. Tomorrow? That soon? You can’t believe you’d scared him off so easily. If there was a time to tell him to stay, it was now. Beg him not to go. Tell him how you feel. Show him he’d always have a home here. 

Say something. Anything. 

“That’s… soon.”

Idiot.

“It is.” He nods dismissively. You don’t know why, but you really want to punch him right now. He sighs, coming over to take a seat next to you. Good. Closer to punch. “I’ve taken enough from you, darlin’. It’s time I be on my way.”

“Good, you’ve been a nuisance anyway.” You think hiding behind some sarcasm will distract from the stinging behind your eyes. It doesn’t. Still, you manage to will the tears to stay inside, “It was a pleasure you have you, Joel.”

He rests a hand on your thigh and you swear it burns. “I… don’t know how to repay you.”

Don’t leave. You want to say it so badly. That’s how he could repay you if that’s what he felt he needed to do. Is it selfish of you to want him all to yourself? Like a treasure you found. Yes, of course it is. He had a right to leave. He had a right to his own damned free will. 

“Just live, that’s all you have to do,” You place your hand on top of his, “And come back to visit?”

“Of course.”

Those sorrowful deep brown eyes say all his mouth never could. Does he even really want to leave? God, you hate this. What do you do now? Do you eagerly start packing his supplies? Leave him alone? Cry? Beg? Say it. Just say it!

“Joel…” You squeeze his hand just a little tighter. His expression lightens, just a little. “I…” I don’t want you to leave. “I’ll miss you.”

Coward. 

He breathes out a small smile, squeezing your hand back. Can he feel it? Your heart breaking.

His other hand comes up to rest on your cheek. “I’ll miss you too, darlin’.”

“Joel…”

This was too much. He was too much. You can’t just sit idly by while this happens. You can’t just watch him leave without fighting just a little. Without speaking your peace. If you don’t, you know you’ll regret it forever. You have to do something. Do anything. 

You come crashing into him, your lips finding his immediately. He moans into you, his other hand coming up behind your head to pull you in closer. He wanted this too. Good. You crawl on top of him… or he guides you down to the couch, you’re not really sure. It doesn’t matter. You had him, here, right now. When your words fail you, this is how you can tell him. Tell him to stay.

His hands trail down from your face and squeeze your waist, pulling you closer to him. You rake your hands through his hair in a frenzy, just needing more. All of him. Oh god, he felt so good already. His tongue comes out to explore your mouth, you open with a desperate sigh. He was eager. He was willing. 

He was yours. Right now he was yours. 

Your hands drop to his belt. You feel him flinch under your touch. 

“Darlin’... I…” he breathes between your lips. Whatever he was going to say dies on his tongue. His hips raise up in encouragement. 

“Joel,” you moan as you undo the buckle, “Joel, I—”

A mighty gust of wind shakes the cabin, testing its very foundation. You both jolt upright, the moment completely ruined by shock. The windows rattle with newfound intensity. The bones of your little home creak in protest. 

A storm was coming. 

“Shit…shit,” you grumble, climbing off Joel, much to your disdain. You walk over to your little weather station by the front door, three little mounted dials that Art always swore by. A thermometer, a barometer, and a hydrometer. The temperature had dropped significantly since this afternoon, dwindling down past freezing. The air pressure was dropping rapidly, you swear you see the needle moving before your very eyes. Yep, the telltale signs of a storm. When you glance out the window your heart drops. 

The snow had only just started to fall, small white specks starting to blanket the ground, and it was picking up speed. The sky was barely visible, the undoubtedly massive clouds whited out by an oncoming freeze. It was going to be a blizzard—a big one.

“What is it?” Joel comes up behind you. 

You groan, wishing so badly you could ignore it and take him back to the couch and continue where you left off— but you know you can’t. You’d said earlier that winter was unpredictable, and that was true. Early snow meant more work that had to be done now before it got worse. Preparations done to assure your safety. More wood inside, more water in the tank, relocating the chickens, bringing up more food from the cellar— You could both do it before the storm got worse. If you hurried it’d be done in an hour. Then you could get back to… everything. 

You were likely going to be snowed in for a few days. Maybe it’s a sign, you think. A final gift from the almighty to get Joel Miller to stay just a little longer. You’ll take what you can get.

“Winter came early.”

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #Joel Miller #tlou #the last of us #recovery time

[romanarose]

Taking Care

Steven Grant X Reader

Summary: Sick fic with Steven! You are recovering from surgery, and Steven is happy to help take care of you.

Just something for my precious Mona, love you @welcometostayingawake I hope this at least makes you smile, thanks for being there for me last night!

Warnings: Mentions of surgery, mentions of not eating but not on purpose, just not feeling good.

***************

As you stir awake on the couch, you vaguely register the sound of rustling around you, and you open your bleary eyes to see Steven tidying up the apartment.

You take the moment to star at the absolute cake in his pants as he bent over, and smiled at him as he turned around, hands full of trash from the take out you ordered for lunch. “Hey beautiful” You smile softly.

Steven smiles, setting the garbage down on the table to kneel by your side. “Hey there, hope I didn't wake you, how are you feeling?”

“Crappy” You grumble.

At that, Steven frowns, and you watch his eyebrows furrow together in concern. “Hold still” He directs, grabbing the thermometer and checking your temp. “Well, you’re 37 degrees” Steven was very concerned of you getting an infection, so he checked your temp frequently. He turned to the mirror, where either Jake or Marc likely were. “That’s 98.6 for you Americans.”

“Steven…” You pout at him.

“Yes love?” He answered immediately, ready to get you whatever you need. “What is it?”

“I’m so fucking horny, baby” You whine, causing Steven to giggle in relief, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I know, my love, but you heard the doctor, not yet.” But he graced you with a kiss, which prompted you to pull him in for a deeper one.

“Can’t I at least suck you off?”

“Christ” He mumbles, pulling away. “You’re gonna get me in trouble…” He laughs, standing up as you whine again, trying to hold onto his hand. “No sex, no outercourse, nothing until we get your doctor’s clearance. Now, are you hungry?”

You let go of his hand, but he stands above you, playing with your hair as he awaits your answer. “No, not really”

Frowning again, he negotiates. “You haven't eaten all day.”

“No appetite”

He considers this for a moment. “I understand, can I make you a smoothie? That way you at least get something in you, vitamins and all that?”

You mull over this for a bit. You felt a bit sick, but at this point it may be from the lack of food. “Lots of berries?” You ask, looking up at him from the couch, faint sounds of Bluey playing on the TV. 

“Of course, I made sure to pick up raspberries at the store anticipating this.” Steven winks at you before turning to the kitchen. You listen to the sounds of him prepping a smoothie. He had gone grocery shopping this morning while you napped for the first time, and it seemed he had thought ahead. You had no doubt he was also putting spinach or kale in the smoothie, the blades of the blender cutting them up so small you’d never notice, as well as powders of protein and whatever the fuck else you needed to make a quick recovery that you wouldn’t know, but Steven had been reading up on for weeks. 

As he approached you he set the cup on the coasters that look like books you had given him for Hanukkah, a book for each night. The one he used right now was painted like Pride and Prejudice, a book you doubted Steven had read, but choices were limited, and you knew he appreciated Jane Austen as a historic woman in literature. Steven loved his strong women. That’s why he dated you. Also, Pride and Prejudice (2005) was one of your favorite movies and was a date night movie you and Jake early in your relationship. Surprisingly, the man had a thing for period pieces.

Steven helped you sit up, sitting beside you and giving you the cup and spoon. “I even added greek yogurt for you. Don’t tell cows, you’ll never forgive me”

You smile at him fondly. “You don’t have to sacrifice your principles for me.”

“Hey now, I’m not eating the yogurt, so I think we can allow it”

Resting your head on his shoulder, you drink the smoothie, feeling better as the sugar in the raspberries danced on your tongue.

“Can you lay with me?” You ask as you finish the drink, bending to set it down, but Steven took it out of your hand to put it down for you. You felt babied, but in the best way. 

“Of course, my darling, how could I ever say no to that request?” He adjusts to that the two of you lay on the old couch, Steven’s strong arms around you, careful not to hurt you as he fiddles with the remote. “Do you want to watch that terrible movie Marc hates?”

Immediately, you perk up, turning over to grin at him. “You’ll watch Triple Frontier with me??”

With a kiss on the forehead, he assures you. “With you in my arms, we can watch whatever you want.”

*****************

Just something I whipped up while avoiding doing laundry

anywaaaayyyyyy @kittyofalltrades @jake-g-lockley @welcometostayingawake @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @trinkets01 @luciannadraven33

#steven grant #steven grant fluff #steven grant reader #steven grant sick fic #steven grant is a sweetheart #steven grant x reader #steven grant is a good boyfriend

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Hand in Hand (part five)

@whumptober No. 12 "I haven't slept in days, but who's counting?"

cw: sleep deprivation, manhandling, death mention

prev ///// au masterlist ///// next

~ ~ ~

It's been a few weeks, and Dan is doing everything he can to convince Swift. He attends meetings, voices hollow support for her conquest, defers any questions to her. Around the base, he's either by her side or confined to a locked room. He's been given a bed, but he hardly sleeps. How can he? He hasn't seen Wes since the card game, and all he has are the comments from Swift that may well be lies.

"Very good, I suppose your friend will eat today."

"I went through all the trouble of unchaining him, but now you've gone and upset me."

"Count yourself lucky I'm not punishing him for this."

She won't let him see him. She's hesitant to even give him an update if he asks after his condition, asks for proof of life.

"You'll just have to take my word for it. Or don't your trust me?"

He's behaving as best as he can, but in his head, the one safe place he has left, he's plotting.

An escape will be difficult, but in the long run, he has no choice. Swift will never fully trust him, and it's only a matter of time before she has no more use for him. He knows when that day comes, she'll have no trouble killing them both.

So he plans. He tries to memorize the halls, the doors. There are three exits he knows of; seven ships he's seen in the yard; two small enough for him to pilot on his own.

He hates the meetings, hates sitting in silence as Swift and her new allies plan bloody attacks against a power that won't go down so easily. He's as much against the Fleet as anyone, but can't they see this won't beat them? Can't they see this will only end in countless deaths?

But he never says that aloud. He can't, not when Wes is what's at stake. Once they get out, once he's safe, Dan can worry about the rest of the world.

He practices picking the lock on his door when he can't sleep, which is fairly often. He knows there must be some kind of surveillance in the room, so he makes sure to only work at it when the lights have gone dark. Getting material to create makeshift lockpicks was easy enough. Pens slipped up his sleeve during a meeting, wire and pins scavenged from the garbage when Swift turned her back on him.

It took several tries for him to get his own lock, and from there he did it again and again and again until he was certain he wouldn't fail. The lock on the cell where Wes was kept was different, made for a larger key, but he knew he wouldn't have much opportunity to practice on that one. He'd just have to hope--pray--he succeeded when he made it to that step.

From there, he had to find an opportune time. The shipyard was probably a minute's walk from his room, double that from the cell. Double again, if he's carrying Wes. Adding a minute for possible obstacles brings him to five.

Dan closes his eyes, walks himself through the route. Ten seconds to pick his own lock. A minute to get to the cell---No, he should prep the ship first. If he can't get a craft working , they're dead anyway.

Okay, a minute to get to the yard. Estimated five minutes to check for keys or hotwire a ship. Two minutes to the cell. One minute to pick the cell lock if he's lucky, closer to five if he isn't. Probably another two if Wes is chained. Five minutes to reach the waiting ship.

Twenty minutes. It's no time at all, but it might as well be an eternity. In the moment, it'll all come down to luck, and he hates that. Even if he picks the best possible day, even if he executes the plan in the dead of the night when only the patrols are awake, there's still the possibility that everything could go wrong.

But it's a risk he needs to take.

|°|°|°|°|°|°|°|°|°|°|°|°|°|°|°|°|°|°|°|°|°|°|°|°|°|°|°|°|°|°|°|°|

It's a few days later when Dan decides it's time. He's tried to get more sleep in preparation, even though that mostly just results in him lying on his back, staring at the ceiling for hours on end. He's tried to make himself eat more of the rations Swift sends his way, though he hasn't had much of an appetite. He'll need every advantage he can get.

As the hour draws near, Dan lays on the bed and waits. His hands are shaking again. His whole body feels fragile, like a building that's had its foundation destroyed and is on the verge of collapse, compounded by a bone-deep exhaustion that doesn't quite reach his overaware mind.

As soon as they're out, he can sleep. As soon as he knows Wes is okay, he can sleep.

The time comes, and he slips out of bed, moving to the lock. When it gives way with a telltale click, Dan gently pushes the door open, peering out into the dark hallway. He holds his breath, listening for doors, steps, voices. When he hears nothing but silence, he steps out, closing the door behind him. Ten seconds.

He keeps a decent pace on the way to the shipyard, only slowing down at doorways or corners, and makes it inside without any trouble. One minute.

The smallest ship is the furthest from the door. Good and bad; less chance of being seen, but a longer journey to make. Dan sprints to it, does a quick scan for the keys, sprints back when he finds nothing. His head spins from the exertion, but he needs to keep going. If the escape is ruined by the failure of his own body, he'll never forgive himself.

There's a small office attached to the yard; his next best bet before he has to risk hotwiring the ship. If he fails, will he still have time to sneak back to the room? To reassess and try again?

The door to the office is locked, but that's a good sign. Why would they lock up an empty room? When he sees no light on the other side, hears no voices, Dan begins to pick the lock. It's similar enough to the one in his room that he's done in seconds.

Inside are drawers and desks and filing cabinets; some kind of storage area. He tests drawer after drawer, trying to stay quiet but growing more frantic as each pull turns up nothing until--

One doesn't open.

Another lock.

Dan tries to keep his hands steady as he reaches for his picks, letting out shallow, shaky breaths as he kneels to work on it, not daring to hope when he hears a quiet click.

Relief floods through him when he sees the glint of metal inside, the smooth, colored glass that makes each ship's key distinct. He takes them all. He can worry about which one wakes the small ship once he has Wes.

Dan closes the office door, locking it from the inside, if only to buy himself more time. Five minutes.

Now he just needs to get to Wes. Dan has no idea what condition the other man will be in. Will he be able to walk? Will he even be conscious? Dan is willing to carry him, more than willing, but the thought of what he might see when he pushes open the cell door makes his gut twist.

What if he's dead?

It's that thought that does him in; buzzes in his mind, stealing his focus from the path ahead.

What if I'm too late?

With this new, horrible idea ringing in his ears, he doesn't hear the echo of footsteps until they're too close to hide from.

"What the fuck--?"

"Grab him!"

Even as sleep-deprived as he is, Dan's reaction time is quick, but not quick enough. He's slammed against the wall, an arm on his throat, making him choke.

"How did you get out?" the Riot King--Viktor--growls.

"Doesn't matter!" his partner snaps. Warner. Being able to put a name to every face is far worse than being set upon by strangers.

"Get him back to the cell before she finds out---"

"Great plan, until he escapes again," Viktor snaps, increasing the pressure on Dan's throat. "How?"

"Y' left the door unlocked," he manages to choke out. The lockpicks are in his pocket. Fuck, the ships' keys are in his pocket. If they search him, it's over, and how could they be so stupid as to not?

But Viktor looks like he might believe him. "Who did? Was it Erin? That idiot--"

"Shut up," Warner says, and when he reaches out to pat Dan's thigh, his stomach drops. His hands are shaking again. All of him is shaking.

Warner seizes the contents of his pocket and draws them out, holding the ships' keys in his palm for his partner to see.

As soon as Viktor's gaze lands on them, Dan is thrown to the ground, a heel pressed between his shoulder blades to keep him there.

"Trying to rob us, huh? I knew Swift shouldn't have trusted you, you're a fucking---"

Dan doesn't hear the rest of the man's rant, his mind racing, trying to find a way out, and failing that, he tries to find the outcome that hurts the least. Will Swift be angrier if she thinks he was trying to disable the fleet? Or will she be more insulted by the truth? Should he pretend he was trying to escape without Wes, or would that only serve to put his friend's head on the chopping block?

Outcomes and ideas fill his head like a swarm of wasps, but none of them matter, none of them really matter.

He failed. He's failed Wes. Wes is the one who's going to pay for this.

He makes no move to resist as the men take him by the wrists and drag him down the hall, his chest hitching with barely-suppressed sobs.

It's been two minutes. If he'd been more careful, he'd be at the cell, he'd be unlocking it, he'd be able to see Wes. If he hadn't fucked it up, they'd be out of here, they'd be safe.

But they aren't. They won't be.

He failed.

~ ~ ~

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast @kixngiggles @shywhumpauthor

#whumptober2023 #no.12 #i haven't slept in days but who's counting? #oc #fic #death mention tw #riotkingsau #angst #sleep deprivation #escape attempt #whump #needed the plot #mel's analyzing side

[jakekiszkaenthusiast]

yes chef - j.t.k

warnings: SMUT, jake is an asshole at the start lol sorry, unprotected sex, dirty talk

author’s note: watched the bear today and i just..had to. byeeee hope you enjoy

friday evening was always, always the busiest of the week.

the fast-paced, frantic atmosphere of working in a diner was par for the course, you knew this; but friday would always loom over you, a ticking time bomb waiting to explode, getting louder with every order sent back to the kitchen.

“hands! can i get some fucking hands?”

the head chef, jake, yelled out for the tenth time in under five minutes. he bustled around the kitchen, doing vegetable prep, snatching utensils out of the sous chef’s hands and stirring, brushing the occasional stray hair out of his face.

“what exactly do you think is wrong with this sauce, rob?” jake asked, holding onto the handle of a pan, shoving it in rob’s face.

“it broke.” rob muttered, casting a careful eye towards the shorter man, who still managed to tower over him.

“it fucking broke! if you want to fuck up recipes, find somewhere else to crawl to like the scum you are, okay?” jake lashed out cruelly, storming over to the garbage to dump the blackened, congealed thing that was once a sauce.

“yes, chef.”

jake never took stress well. he was an excellent leader, a kind friend when he wanted to be and a damn good chef. he was insanely talented, and held himself to an impossible standard- it just so happened that he also held the rest of his staff to that same standard, and it often felt like no one could ever be good enough.

friday was always when the thin line of patience jake barely managed to stretch to last the week would snap, unleashing hell on his staff and making the pressure of the job even stronger, until everyone could barely stand to be in the red hot room.

after working at the diner for six months, you had slowly began to fit nicely into the place. you and your fellow waiters got on well, and your relationships with the chefs grew to a friendly, teasing spot, where you knew if you batted your eyelashes and leaned over the counter with the top button of your shirt undone just so, they would whip up that order of fries you and the chefs knew you had forgotten to put in with the rest of the table.

tonight, it seemed, you were jake’s victim. from the moment you had clocked in, he hurled demands and insults to you, shoving hot plates into your hands before you were ready and ignoring when you cried out, forcefully moving your body with his large hands every time you were even slightly in his way. you were very quickly becoming frustrated and upset with his treatment, biting back tears when he shoulders you out of the way and calls you something foul.

“hands, people, hands! i got two orders sitting here getting cold!” jake shouted, throwing a look over his shoulder to discern exactly where his waiting staff were.

you were leaning against the counter, reading an order, feeling a bead of sweat roll down the back of your neck. your entire body was warm and trembling with anxiety- your feet ached, your back was stiff and the pads of your fingers were tingling after hours of hauling burning hot plates around.

running an absentminded hand over your forehead, you wipe sweat from your brow, your other hand still sweeping over the order. you were sure you missed something, you just couldn’t remember what. it was very often the case that you would wake up after a long shift, frustratedly yelling out about the burger you had forgotten to ask for without pickles.

in your quest to find whatever was missing from your order, you tuned out the loud noises of the kitchen. you elected to ignore jake’s frantic yelling, and the sounds of pans slamming against the stove.

“hey! what the fuck are you doing?”

something swatted the back of your leg, and you finally direct your attention back towards the kitchen to find jake stood behind you, his face red and sweaty, his eyebrows creased into a scowl.

the dirty rag he would sling over the top of his shoulder dangled from his clenched fist, a throb of anger overtaking your body.

“did you just hit me with your rag?” you ask, eyes wide.

“why the fuck are you just standing there when you have two orders to be getting out?” jake shot back, using his free hand to push the hair sticking to his forehead away.

“i was just-”

“- you were just what, slacking? not doing what i told you to do because you have no fucking work ethic and i should just fire you on the spot?” his voice began to raise as he spoke, his eyes growing darker and darker.

“chef, i wasn’t-”

“- hey, shut up. i don’t want to hear your excuses, i want you to do what you’re fucking told. run those plates out. now.”

jake took two plates from the counter, shoving them into your hands forcefully before turning back towards the stove. you stood, shell-shocked and glued to the floor.

of course, you had been the subject of his anger before, but this was relentless. as you walk back into the kitchen on unsteady feet, his eyes immediately latch onto you, waves of trepidation drowning you until your heart thumped uncomfortably against your ribcage.

“oh, she can do her job! hear that everyone? our little waitress can actually listen to an order for once and not fuck it up!”

“i’m taking my ten.” you say hurriedly, despite it being fifteen minutes to closing time.

“and now she’s running away because it’s too hard!”

you rolled your eyes, slamming down an empty plate onto the counter before shoving the door open and escaping into the only marginally cooler evening air.

quickly lighting a cigarette, you sink to the floor in a heap of shaking limbs and soon your chest begins to heave with sobs. the words which seemed to roll so easily off of jake’s harsh tongue had dug beneath your skin, uncomfortably nestling themselves in the center of your chest until you couldn’t seem to drag in a single calm breath.

he could just be so mean. you knew it was only because he wanted everything to be perfect, but his attitude had an affect you weren’t entirely sure he was aware of. on a regular day, he joked and flirted with the waitresses just like the rest of the chefs, and you often felt something more than just playful banter when you looked at him, but the busiest night of the week always tested everyone’s patience and frankly, their ability to work as a team.

the door creaked open, and you look up to find rob standing with a plastic cup of water in his hand, a soft, coaxing smile upon his face.

“i’m not going back in there, robbie.” you say bluntly, taking a drag of your cigarette.

“he is on one tonight, sweetpea. you just gotta push through it.” he tried, his words just barely getting cut off by a scoff from your lips.

“what the fuck did i do? what makes him think he can be like that?” you rant, flicking the ash from your cigarette as you speak.

“doll, do you think if i knew i would let him be like that? he’s just an ass on friday, you know this.”

“i know.” you whisper, staring dejectedly at the brick wall in front of you.

“cmon, let’s get back inside.”

“why, is he asking for me?”

“something like that, yeah.”

pushing yourself up off the floor, you stamp out your cigarette before trailing reluctantly behind rob and through the open door. jake’s voice floated from the kitchen, and you quickly wipe your tears from the tops of your cheeks.

everyone was packing up for the night, dishes being done quickly by equally harassed-looking sous chefs, waiters anxiously mopping the floors of the diner, while jake stormed around the kitchen shoving pans into the sink and adding to the pot washers’ pile.

“you. stay behind after close.” jake points a finger in your face as he approaches, his eyes hard and angry.

“yes, chef.” you whisper, feeling his shoulder barge yours before you can even open your mouth.

you assist where you can, ignoring the sympathetic smiles sent your way when you pass plates or when you stack chairs on the tables- everyone was vastly aware of what was awaiting you in jake’s office.

comforting pats on your back from your coworkers were received with noncommittal grunts from the back of your throat, and when it’s finally just you standing absently in the darkened and empty kitchen, you feel your fingers begin to shake.

lifting your fist, you knock on jake’s office door. you hear a hum, his voice inviting you to crack open the door and step inside- despite your complete reluctance to do so, you take a deep breath and tread gently into the room.

jake was sitting at his small desk, reading over a shipment form, his eyebrows furrowed with concentration. he had taken off his overshirt, and wore a simple white shirt with dark jeans. his hair was still tied back, his hairline wet with sweat.

“you told me to see you after we close up, so i’m here.” you huff, shutting the door behind yourself out of habit, even though there was no one to interrupt you both.

“i did. do you know why i asked you to do that?” he still neglects to look up from the sheet of paper in his hands, eyes scanning over the words.

“not really, no.”

“really, you don’t have a clue?” he hums.

“nope.” you say, rolling on the balls of your feet to relieve some of the ache.

his eyes finally flick up to look at you, setting down the paper as he does so. cocking his head to the left, his lips tug into a faint smirk, and you bristle at his amusement.

“i want to talk about your inability to follow orders.” he speaks quietly, his husky voice only made more gravelly by a night full of yelling.

you stand awkwardly, unsure of what to say. it wasn’t like you were an idiot, jake was just hard on all of you.

“i can follow orders, chef.” you mumble.

“i don’t think you can.” he shoots back quickly, lifting his eyebrows.

“yes, i can! you’re just an asshole- it’s not my fault you choose to be a bitch over nothing.” you snap, frustratedly bunching your fists into the skirt of your uniform.

“okay, come here.” he says, placing his hands on his thighs.

you take a step towards him, taking in a ragged breath. he angles his chin to watch your face as you slowly inch your way towards him, as if he was a wild animal you weren’t so sure was going to stay calm.

“no, here.” he emphasises, patting his thigh.

“you want me to sit in your lap?” you ask incredulously.

“can you follow orders or not?” he questions, widening his eyes.

you cautiously lower yourself into his lap, perching yourself on his strong thigh and placing a hand on his chest to steady yourself. his arm wraps around your back, holding you closer to his hot body.

“now, do you want to explain to me why you stormed off earlier?” he asks, using a single finger to brush your hair away from your shoulder.

“well- because you, uh, because-” you find yourself stammering, your face flushing red.

his free hand rests heavy on your thigh, his thumb rubbing up and down over your bare skin. you watch his hand with dumbfounded concentration, unable to wrench your eyes away from the tendons and veins moving underneath his skin.

“because why, flower?” he murmurs, his voice low and careful in your ear.

“because you were yelling at me.” your voice falls into a quiet, huffy register, your lips pouting.

he mirrors your pout, poking his bottom lip out while his large brown eyes scan over your face. his hand is still stroking over your thigh, ghosting softly across the expanse of your skin, the warmth of his hand rendered useless against the goosebumps covering your leg.

“i’m sorry i yelled. i just get stressed, y’know?” his face hovers close to yours, and you are remarkably aware of how near his lips are to your jaw.

“yeah, well, find another way to relieve your stress. it’s unfair and you’re rude to everyone.” you mumble, feeling his quiet sigh ruffle your hair.

“i know i am, you know i don’t mean it.”

you remain silent, still pouting and watching his fingers trace over your leg, desperately trying to ignore the warmth between your thighs.

“c’mon baby, forgive me.”

lifting your eyes to meet his, he lifts his eyebrows expectantly, blinking slowly while he chews on his bottom lip.

“but…” you trail off, letting your hand sit on top of his, tugging and playing with his long fingers.

“but what, flower?”

“but you were mean to me.” he nods slowly, leaning only slightly to rest his chin on your shoulder.

“can i make it up to you? y’know, remind you that you’re my favourite?” you feel his eyes staring up at yours, but you instead choose to focus on his hand tangling with yours.

“i’m your favourite?” you ask quietly, a small smile peeking through your pout.

“of course you are. you’re my favourite girl.”

your cheeks heat up even more under his soft touch, his gentle voice and his contrasting, intense stare. he lets go of your hand to touch your thigh again, smoothing it up higher and higher until it disappeared under your creased skirt.

“chef, you have to promise me something.” you blurt out quickly, holding onto his wrist and finding his eyes again.

“anything for you.”

“you have to be nice to me.”

“okay, baby. i’ll be really nice to you from now on, alright? let me start right now.” he whispers against your ear.

his fingers press against your panties, slinking down to cup over the dampness he caused. he hummed quietly, watching you flush a bright red before smoothing a kiss over your hot cheek.

you let your legs fall open, allowing him to shift the light pink cotton to the side and brush a finger over your aching clit. he rubbed it in tight circles, torturously slow and feather light until you shifted in his lap, hoping to find more pressure against his ministrations.

despite your obvious efforts to gain more friction, jake never lets you find it. he dances over your sensitive skin, barely touching it, ignoring your quiet whines attempting to coerce him into giving you what you want.

he dips his finger inside of you, sliding in with gentle ease and curling it against your sweet spot, breathing a quiet laugh when your hips buck up at the contact.

“fuck, chef. please.” you whimper, holding tightly onto his wrist, trying to move his hand for him.

“oh, baby. you sound pretty when you say that.”

he slips his finger out of you, taking hold of your thighs and lifting you until your back is pressed against his chest, your knees resting on the tops of his thighs. he soon finds his way back between your legs, working his finger in gently.

you try to move down on his finger, but he stops you with his spare hand, holding your stomach tightly.

“let me take my time with you, flower.” he whispers into your hair, pressing a kiss against the side of your neck.

“please. more. i need more.” you gasp, writhing around to find any semblance of friction.

he adds a second finger inside of you, and takes your hand wrapped around his wrist, pressing it against your clit. you start rubbing, letting out a moan barely trapped between your lips float out into the small room.

jake begins to move his fingers in time with yours, watching transfixed as you tip your head back, letting you roam your free hand over his face until it finds his hair. you tug his hair free from its hair tie, smoothing over his soft waves before threading your fingers through them, tightly tugging away at him.

he gently bites down on your neck, suckling red and purple splotches into the skin. you close your eyes when you feel a pressure start to build in your stomach, rutting your hips against both of your hands and sighing a breathy, feathering sound.

“let it go, flower. cum for me. show me how much i pissed you off today, let me make it better.” he spoke against your neck, licking a stripe up to the base of your jaw in one fluid motion.

you cry out into the air, feeling your body careen over the edge of pleasure, free falling into the sensation of jake wrapped around you, his fingers working you to your peak, his lips comforting you through your high.

you slump down in his arms, the tension slowly relieving itself while he rolls his fingers to a stop- he shifted underneath you, pressing his hips against your ass until you feel him, hard and straining in his tight jeans.

“you sounded so pretty for me, cumming on my hand. i knew you’d sound pretty but- fuck, if i could, i’d record you and play it over and over and over…” he mumbled into your hair, his lips curling into a smile when you laugh gently.

“i like the sound of that, jakey.” you press your ass against him, smiling when his breath hitches in his throat.

he trails a finger up over your stomach and chest, brushing over your throat to hook under your jaw and tug your face to his. your lips connect swiftly, moving against each other in sync, your tongues quickly melting together.

jake hums into your mouth, a low moan catching in his throat. he pulls your body right against his, grinding you down into his lap to gain some friction. you wriggle out of his hands, slinking down to your knees and facing him with a devilish smile on your lips.

“wanna suck your cock.” you mumble, your mind barely on the same plane of existence as you deal with something akin to tunnel vision, only able to concentrate on tugging jake’s pants open.

when you finally wrap your hand around him, he sighs, sinking lower into his seat and spreading his legs, anticipating the pleasure of your mouth around his cock.

you softly, almost shyly, take him into your mouth. swirling your tongue around his head and hollowing your cheeks, you quickly find a pace of bobbing your head down over him and, had your mouth not been stuffed full, you would’ve smiled at the noises you were hearing from him.

“you look fucking gorgeous on your knees, flower. should’ve had you like this sooner, six months wasted imagining this when i could’ve had the real thing.” he said, brushing his hands through your hair.

you pull off him with a pop, pumping his cock with your fist as you rest your head against his thigh, smiling up at him with wide eyes.

“in your dreams, you could’ve had me six months ago.”

“oh yeah, what changed your mind, then?” he asks.

“some asshole yelled at me.” you joke, laughing when he rolls his eyes.

“yeah, i’m awful- whatever, get back to work.” he tugs on your hair gently, guiding your mouth back towards his cock.

“yes, chef.”

with that, you resume your previous task. his hips thrust up into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat until you choke, but he doesn’t seem to care all that much. he gathers your hair into a makeshift ponytail, using it to guide you up and down at his preferred speed, grunting and moaning softly every time you swallow around him.

your nails dig into the tops of his thighs, smoothing over the denim of his pants until you find his t-shirt, sliding them under the fabric to brush over his stomach, feeling his tense muscles and his laboured breathing.

“fuck, i’m gonna cum if you don’t stop.” he pants, pulling you off of him, a single strand of saliva still connecting you to him.

“and if i want you to?” you shoot back, wiping your chin.

“i’d rather do that inside of you.”

“c’mere, baby. stand up.” he handles you until you’re both stood, still clutching you close to his body.

he brushes his hands over your legs, pulling your dress up as he goes, stroking over your ass and massaging gently.

“i know i said i’d take my time with you, flower, but i really need to get all my stress out now. i just- bend over.”

his hands grow rougher, digging into your hips and pushing you down until your chest rests against the desk. he pulls your panties down, suddenly in a desperate rush to have you in any way he needed. you heard his deep sigh as he stroked himself, heard the sound of his mouth leaving a trail of saliva onto his cock.

he suddenly nudged himself inside of you, easing in slowly to allow you time to adjust. you sucked air in through your teeth at the feeling of the low burn you secretly loved, shuddering quietly when he was finally fully seated. he groans as you clench around him, arching your back.

“move, jakey. fuck me, please. use me.” you whine, slowly fucking yourself on his cock until he finally moves.

his hands grip your hips, using them as the anchor to your body as he sets a fast pace, driving himself deep into you. quiet groans and hisses of his breath set you on fire, the slapping of his thighs against yours filling the room.

his fingers dig so harshly into your skin you’re sure you’ll find bruises tomorrow, but you don’t care. you let him lose himself in the feeling of you, hot and wet and clenching around him, delighting in the sounds he couldn’t seem to control falling from his lips.

“fuck, flower. such a good girl, letting me get all my stress out- gonna have to use you like this every friday, hm? use you like my little toy and fuck you until i’m happy.” he pants out, speeding up his hips as he emphatically spurs himself on.

you snake a hand between your body and the desk, toying and rubbing at your clit, trying desperately to catch up with jake. he grunts when you clench down on his cock at the added stimulation, and you moan back in reply.

“you can use me whenever you fucking like, jakey.” you groan, your mouth hanging open.

he smooths one of his hands over your back, squeezing the top of your head before moving his fingers to blindly find your lips, pushing them into your mouth for you to suck.

his hips grow sloppy with every clench around his cock, and you’re soon grinding against your own fingers, squeezing your eyes shut as your second orgasm crashes into your body.

it takes jake no time at all to find his peak of his own, spilling into you with a loud moan you’d like to record and play over and over again if he’d let you, his hips convulsing as he continues to move inside of you.

he collapses against your back, pressing kisses wherever he could reach, whispering soft words you couldn’t quite make out through the haze of your recovery. you hummed back in reply, quiet, pathetic sounds leaving you.

“oh, flower. you’re so precious.” he spoke against your ear, feeling you shiver at his words.

reluctantly, he slips out of you. he helps you clean up, kissing the top of your head when you all but melt into his arms. you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his faint cologne and curling his hair around your finger.

“does this mean you’ll be nice to me every friday now? cus i’m, y’know, your favourite.” you joke against his lips, feeling him smile into the gentle brush of a kiss.

“let me take you home and after another few rounds i’ll tell you if i wanna be nice.”

“yes, chef.”

taglist: @theweightofstardust @emsgvf @doodle417 @katie-gvf

#greta van fleet #fanfiction #jake kiszka #greta van fic #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fluff #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka fan fiction #jake kiszka one shot #jake gvf

[dragoon811]

I am so so tired

What is a rest? What is a good night's sleep? My oldest has a cold and is clingy. My youngest has gone from a kiddo with a good sleep routine and a nighttime cuddle to having the biggest tantrums EVER. I spent THREE hours last night getting her to bed.

I don't know how I stayed calm. I don't.

I say tantrum I mean shrieking "NO! YOU STUPID!" and kicking and hitting and running off and sobbing like she's being murdered and hiding under beds, in closets, etc. Like... please understand. She is a very sweet child. Frilly flannel nightgown with minnie mouse on it. Little wispy hair. Just a full-on nightmare.

And then I had to get the older to sleep. Because it has to be mommy. And she took another HOUR to go to sleep! T__T.

Like...I work full time. I do the grocery shopping. The meal-planning. Wrangling daycare and school. I do most of the cooking. I still have 2 loads of laundry to fold. By time I get the kids to bed? It's too late to vacuum so I pick stuff up by hand and put it in the garbage. I wish I had hardwood - at least I could mop at night. You look crazy, sweeping cheese off of carpet.

I come home and the List wasn't done. Put away laundry? I video'd everything - what it was, where it was. Closets and drawers are labeled. And there is still. laundry. not. put. away. OK. I'll just do it. Litterbox? Floor wasn't swept. Grab the broom and dustpan. Not enough litter put into the box. Do that, too.

Dishes? Hah! A paltry amount. A mountain awaiting wash. And the few that did get washed? Not properly clean.

Fill the diaper bag, make sure there's spare clothes. Wash out the lunch box. Brush hair. Eczema lotion. Style hair. Convince toddler to pick an outfit from the options presented. Meal-prep. School lunches- ensure they're allergy-friendly! School - events, check with teachers, return library books. Holidays! Gotta do valentines. Make sure snow pants are clean and dry. And coats. Don't forget to wash them once a week!

Change sheets. Clean couch cushion covers. Bath time! Let me clean your hair, clean your ears. Trim cats' claws. Play games to learn letters/words/taking turns. Color. Draw. Do Lego and playdoh to strengthen hand muscles.

Playdates/activities. Grocery shopping. Gas in the car. Bills. Clothes for children who seem determined to destroy or outgrow everything. Wear your bra til it falls apart because they're expensive.

Try to reach out to your friends at least once a week so you can TRY to maintain those relationships. It's usually a 5-minute phone call on your drive home because that is the only time you have to yourself.

Be constantly sick. Cry over the price of medicine. Cry over the cost of groceries. Try to find deals. This may mean driving all over town and four different stores.

And all of this dragging two kids and a husband you're taking care of but who would rather play video games for 10 hours and has memory problems. Wonder how much is the illness and how much is incompetence.

Get everything done. Sit...no energy for a book. No energy for a movie or show. No energy to knit or crochet. No energy to write.

Does...does it ever end?

#shut up dragoon811 #i do NOT want advice i just want to vent #could use me a sugar daddy #can't do only fans i have gross retail feet

[dossantosbooks]

Nightmare Junction

(i once started a book, but it ended up as a short story that won a Writers of the Future Honorable Mention, and was longlisted for First Chapters Contest at Voyage YA Magazine, and now I share it with you)

NIGHTMARE JUNCTION.

My mother needs more Venom.

"Laina," she whispers, reaching for my hand as I sit on her bed. Her skin is cold and clammy. Fear seeps in through my pores from her trembling fingers and digs under my skin.

"You okay, Momma?"

She nods but the tight lines around her mouth betray her. Her face is thin and sallow, her curly hair brittle. Her pain is, at times, unbearable as her body turns against itself; her hopelessness suffocating. She wants to hide it from me, but I can feel it almost as if it were my own--courtesy of my enhancement for heightened empathic intelligence--and my mother knows it. Knowing her pain in this way, so close and intimate, stokes the guilt burning inside of me.

It's my fault my mother is dying after all.

Microchimerism, the doctors call it, bits of genetic material passed from fetus to mother during pregnancy. In most people, nothing comes of it, but I have a 47th techno-chromosome-- added for genetic enhancements--and it triggered an autoimmune disorder in my mother.

My extra man-made chromosome is, apparently, a killer.

I want to pull my hand away, but I squeeze hers instead, then I grab a box of syringes from the nightstand drawer and a small, brown bottle of Venom. I don't need to shake it to know it's only half full. I always know how much Venom we have and it's never enough.

"Do you need help?" I ask her.

"Please." Her hands have become too unsteady. Lately, on the really bad days, they curl inward, tendons and muscles all haywire, though it is unclear at this point how much of it is the autoimmune disorder and how much it's the drugs ravaging her nervous system while providing pain relief. Venom is made with a compound from a snake's venom, hence the name. It's illegal and highly addictive, and the only thing we can afford to help with the pain. The Venom will likely kill her if her body doesn't fail her first.

There is a cure, but we can't afford it, and insurance won't pay for it on the grounds my mother volunteered to participate in the experiment twenty years ago, signing all kinds of waivers she shouldn't have. I don't allow myself to think about it much, how the company took advantage of thousands of poor young girls, how the government has done nothing to protect them or help the ones who, twenty years later, are suffering.

I prep the syringe while my mother ties a tourniquet around an arm that is all bone and sagging skin. She closes her eyes. I insert the needle into her vein and pump the cocktail of synthetic drugs into her. The first time she asked for help, my hands shook worse than hers. She ended up crying the rest of the day--not because I hurt her, but for making her daughter complicit in this war against her body. I decided that day my hands would never shake again, but the sour taste of guilt still coats my mouth every single time.

I throw the used needle in the trash and put everything else back in the drawer with a sinking heart. We only have enough Venom to last us a couple more days, maybe.

"Thanks, baby," she says, the lines around her eyes and mouth softening, her voice thickening with relief. "Are you working tonight?"

The question launches my heart into a frantic rhythm against my ribcage. I hate lying to her, but I can't tell her I got fired two weeks ago and haven't been able to find work since. No one will hire 47s.

I can't tell her we're running out of money for bills. For food. For Venom. Instead, I smile, and I nod.

It's not a lie, not entirely.

Tonight, I go to the Nightmare Junction.

#

I hurry through blocks of graffiti decorated storefronts and overflowing garbage cans hugging the edge of sidewalks. Rusted, gas-guzzling cars turned prime real estate for the homeless line the streets. Some have plastic covering the windows, some have cardboard, very few still have glass. When a tank of gas costs more than a month's rent, the poor stay put. I turn onto Commerce Drive and spot a group of men gathered around the next intersection. 

Protestors. 

Handmade signs bobbing up in the air and all.

I slow my pace.

They pop up every so often to remind us all the Enhanced are the damnation of the human race. Very holy of them. Last year, an enhanced kid was beaten to death. The murderers's defense: enhanced aren't human because of their extra manufactured chromosome. Human or not, those bastards are serving two life sentences.

There's no way for me to avoid them completely, but I cross the street to keep as much distance as I possibly can. One of the men, short but broad shouldered with thick hands fisted around the signpost, stares straight at me. Heat spreads from my chest all the way to my face under scrutinizing eyes--he knows he knows he knows.

 I reach for the small blade I keep on me whenever I go out.

"They belong in Hell's fires," he yells, raising his sign up in the air. It has a proverb written on it, and I can't help but imagine its pointy handle coming down on my head. Like a stake.

He can't know, I remind myself over the panic ballooning in my chest that's making it hard to breathe. Our ultraviolet markers are tattooed just below the clavicle where it meets the shoulder--easy to cover--but I hold onto the blade nonetheless, and keep my senses on high alert until I round the next street corner. It's not until I'm a couple of blocks away that my heart finally settles back into its place.

By the time I reach the industrial park on the edge of the city, the sun has set and my nerves are back on overdrive. There are just enough working street lamps left to illuminate a long row of abandoned factory buildings. I search for number twenty-seven, which is easy enough to find given the cars parked in the lot across the street, and take the ramp leading to a door. I try it. It's locked. I'm about to bang on it when a voice startles me. "Try the doorbell."

The buzzer mocks me on the wall next to the door. I go to ring it, but the door buzzes before I do, and I scramble to open it before the person changes their mind. I imagine them watching me from a camera and laughing. My cheeks burn in the dark.

Inside, an astringent smell of chemicals and plastics fills my nostrils. I look around, unsure of where to go. Across the way, on the other side of the large loading area, I spot a door with soft light glowing through a small viewing window. I hustle towards it before I change my mind, taking careful steps to avoid puddles of water dotting the concrete floor. I go down a flight of stairs and through another door.

A guy sits on a stool, arms crossed over his chest. Everything about him is hard and mean looking.

"I'm looking for Victor" I say, a little breathless, a little unsure.

He makes a motion with his hands I don't understand, so he gets up, reaches under my arms, and slaps them up. I stiffen. "Sorry, sweetheart," he says, his voice deep and rough like he just swallowed glass, while he pats me down. "We check everyone that walks through the door." He finds my pocket knife and throws it in a box behind his stool. Before I can protest, he adds, "You can get it back on your way out." And then I'm following him through a large open area that seems to run the length of the building. 

Old shop machines are pushed up against the walls. Men stand around an elevated area--like a boxing ring. Screens hang from the ceiling over it. Everyone's eyes are on them, but I can't make out what they're looking at. The air reeks of cigarettes, hard liquor and sweat. On the opposite end of the floor, he leads me down a short hallway and into an office.

Victor sits behind a desk. Green, cunning eyes seem to glow against the warm light brown of his skin.

"A friend told me to come see you about the games," I say, though drug dealer is a more accurate description for Chipper than friend. When I didn't have enough money to buy more drugs after being fired, Chipper told me I could make more than enough money playing a virtual reality game.

Victor puts out a cigarette in an already full ashtray, reaches for the whiskey next to it, and motions for me to sit in a plastic chair across from him, "It's fifty a game," he says, swirling the liquid. Ice clinks against the glass. "You get it back if you win plus a percentage of my winnings."

"I don't have that kind of money." I have so little of it left, the idea of losing it all knots my insides.

He leans back on his chair, eyes never wavering from mine. "I'll make you a deal. I'll front you the entry fees and if you win, you get the drugs you need for your mother. If you lose, you owe me the fee plus ten percent interest."

My blood thickens in my veins. I want to ask him how he knows about my mother, but I already know the answer. Chipper.

"Venom is cheaper than your entry fees," I say, straightening up in the chair.

"It is, only no one in this city will sell it to you after tonight."

I frown, trying to understand the meaning behind his words, but when he picks up his drink and downs the whole thing in one gulp, I see it.

The tattoo.

A red circle with a GS in the center of it--the gang symbol for the Great Sharks--peeks from the cuff of his shirt. This part of the city belongs to the Sharks, and the Sharks control drug supplies.

My heart sinks.

Victor sets the glass down and smiles. There's no tension in the lines around his mouth, and for a moment I'm confused by the sincerity behind it, then realize it's not sincerity but a knowing.

He's just made it impossible for me to walk away. 

#

Victor sends me into another office where I have nanobots injected into me by Joaquim who most definitely does not look like a doctor.

The bots will travel to the part of the brain involved in dreaming and transmit the game directly into my dream center. Right before a match, he tells me, I'll be given a quick acting sedative that also blocks hypocretin receptors, sending me straight into REM sleep and a state of lucid dreaming.

I imagine tiny robots traveling through my body, conquering my brain, turning me into a robot

"Welcome to the Junction," Joaquin says, then sends me into the Pit.

#

The Pit is where the players wait for their turn to play. The whole room goes silent when I walk in. The floor is dirty, the walls grey and dingy, the lack of windows suffocating.

I stand, unsure, at the door, heart hammering in my chest. A few guys sitting around a table watch me. One of them says something I don't catch, and they all laugh. My fingers itch for the knife I no longer have.

 This room is a storm of excitement and dread and a hunger I don’t quite understand; it rattles my bones. It feels like war.

Across the room, a girl sitting on top of a counter waves me over. A wide smile cracks her mouth open, and my feet make the decision for me before my brain does, releasing my breath when the room fills with the clatter of chatter once again. 

"I'm Arlington," she says.

"Laina."

Her knee bounces up and down. Up and down. Fast and manic, her energy is prickly and consuming. I pull in a few deep, centering breaths to help me keep her erratic energy at bay, but I’m struggling. A headache is starting to form at my temples, and I can't tell if it's the late hour or the exertion of keeping myself from drowning in the midst of so much energy.

"That's Mario," she says, nodding at a kid sitting at the other end of the counter, doodling on his jeans with a black pen. He glances up--he has round, soft features, like puberty hasn't quite made its mark on him yet--but gets back to his drawing without saying anything.

The tingly feeling of someone watching me creeps up my spine. I scan the room and find menacing eyes boring into me from one of the guys sitting at the table. He’s tall, lanky, dark hair and sharp features. The intensity coming off of him is unsettling. Violent. I jut my chin out, not wanting to show how nervous I actually am.

"That's Razor," Arlington says, having noticed him staring as well. "Stay out of his way if you can."

"Is he any good?" I ask, glad for a reason to let my gaze travel to a board hanging on a wall with names on it, but not before catching the start of a smirk pulling at his lips.

His name is at the top.

"Undefeated," she says. "He's a beast, afraid of nothing. He's also the mayor's son." She offers that last bit of information like a warning I don't quite grasp.

My own name has been added to the bottom of the list. There are numbers next to some of the names, which Arlington tells me are scores. "What's with the stars on some of the names?" I ask, noticing one next to mine.

"Enhanced players."

Panic rises in my chest, and I feel the blood drain from my face. My eyes slide back to Razor, thinking about the violence I had sensed from him, and Arlington's earlier warning about his father being the Mayor. Razor's attention is on the guy next to him talking. I let out my breath, slowly. The Mayor has been vocal about his belief that the Enhanced don't have the right to privacy, that we are a threat to society and should be monitored at all times. Because of him, I’ve had to report to social services for an yearly interview that feels like an interrogation. He has made our lives harder than they ever needed to be in this city; he has made me feel like a criminal.

Keeping the truth of my enhancement hidden as much as possible has always felt like a matter of survival, but now it is being displayed for all in this room to see--maybe even the people watching out there--and I have no idea what they will do with this information.

Arlington, too, has a star.

When I turn back to her, she points at the kid doodling on his pants and says, "The three of us." 

"I've never..."

She grins. “Wild, right?”

The impossibility of it makes me lightheaded. I have never met another Enhanced, though I know there are others who live in this city. Most hide what we are.

Arlington doesn't appear to be scared that everyone here knows about us. I glance at Mario. His energy is murky, I can't quite read it unless I were to reach out to him--place a hand on his knee, grab his hand--which I'm not going to. I know what it feels like to have someone disregard my right to privacy.

"Game's on!" someone shouts. Everyone hushes and turns their attention to a large screen hanging next to the board with all the players's names.

The screen splits in half.

Player one is in a bedroom, player two in a living room. The camera in the bedroom starts to move and I realize we're watching from the players point of view. The players are exploring around, one moving quicker than the other. 

There's a sound, like a door slamming shut, and both players freeze. In hushed whispers, Arlington explains what's happening, which I am thankful for. No one else has, outside of the basics.

"Each player gets dropped in a different part of the level,” she says, ”but eventually, you either run into each other, or the game brings you together. The goal is to fight your opponent until one of you wakes up. The game leaves parts of the environment blank, including what your opponent looks like, and because you are in a dream state, your subconscious fills those blanks in with stuff that's personal to you. And--" the pitch of her voice rises. Her energy crashes against me, and I lean away from her. "--since your fear center has been stimulated, your subconscious is more likely to fill those blanks with things that scare you. Like a nightmare. It's fucking brilliant." 

There's a flurry of movement on the screen. My eyes dart from one player to the other trying to understand what I'm looking at. A growl rips through the air, then both players start running. Player one is being chased by player two down a darkly lit hallway that seems to have no end. For a few moments there's only the sound of feet pounding, and someone panting. Their panic comes in short bursts of air, in and out, in and out, and I find my pulse quickening to match their rhythm.

Another growl, raspy and wet and desperately hungry, cuts through the air as player two leaps forward. Something metal glints in the screen, and it's not until it connects with player one's shoulder that I realize they're claws. Metal claws that slash down his back. There's a cry, either of pain or fear, I can't tell, and the screen goes black.

I hold my breath, staring at the screen waiting for it to come back on. It doesn't. The other side of the room fills with cheering and laughter.

"What just happened?" I ask.

"Game's over," Arlington answers.

"Laina! Joshua! You're up." Someone calls out.

My heart sinks.

#

The crowd is thick and loud, and I'm barely keeping it together with everyone's energy encroaching on me. I can't feel my legs when I climb the three steps up to the ring. My opponent is already sitting in a chair. His eyes are closed.

Joaquin, the guy that injected the nanobots into me, stands behind a table full of computers.

I take the chair across from my opponent and look out into the crowd, into the sea of faces. The room is suddenly a million degrees warmer, melting my limbs until I can't feel them. I fix my gaze on my clasped hands resting on my lap and focus on evening my breathing.

"Lean forward," Joaquin says, and I feel a calloused finger on my neck, feeling and prodding between my vertebrae. I tense. Something cold and hard touches my neck. "Relax and don't move," he says. A moment later I feel a pinching that sends an electrical current up and down my spine. My eyes well up with tears. "It's just the stimulant, now lean back." 

He lowers the back of my chair until I'm staring at the wires coming off the screens hanging from the ceiling. I touch the back of my neck and find nothing even though I feel a weight hanging from it. My heart races, unnaturally fast, and my hands are tingling, like they have fallen asleep.

"Players ready for the Junction," Joaquin calls out.

I want to tell him I'm not ready, that this whole night already feels like a nightmare, but loud cries and cheers erupt from the crowd and the words dry up in my throat. I close my eyes and breathe slowly, trying to block out all the noise.

In and out. 

This is for my mother. 

In and out.

It's just a game.

The countdown starts.

Five...four...three--

#

The sound of metal clanking startles me, and I spin around. I'm standing in the middle of a deserted street I don't recognize. A street lamp a few feet away casts a dull light that glints on wet pavement. I squint and focus on a plaque hanging from the lamp post. Nightmare Junction, it reads. The words tug at me, the feeling like I should know its meaning. 

A bitter cold wind cuts through my clothes, rattling my bones and I'm suddenly aware it's raining. It's just a drizzle but it stings when it hits my face. Shivering, I pull my sleeves over my hands.

I can hear traffic off in the distance.

There's that scraping sound again. 

It's coming from a different direction now, but I can't tell from where. I walk towards the traffic noises because it feels like that's where I'm meant to go. Or should go. The buildings on both sides of the street are inching closer. I blink several times. It's the rain and the darkness making the world seem distorted, I tell myself. Buildings can't move. 

Off in the distance, headlights zoom by. I quicken my pace, wanting to find people, but the lights are getting farther away instead of closer. What the hell? I break into a run, determined to catch up, but the faster I run, the farther they get, like that end of the street is being pulled away from me, stretching the already narrow street too thin, forcing the buildings on either side of me closer together. 

I run faster and faster, gasping for air as the buildings loom closer and closer. Laughter erupts all around me and I trip over my own feet and fall. A sharp pain shoots up my elbow, I cry out but jump back up to my feet and spin around, wanting to know who the laughter belongs to.

There's no one. 

My right hand burns. The skin has been scraped off my knuckles. They are red and raw and the tips of my fingers burn from the cold and the pain. Everything is blurry, and I can't tell if it's the rain or tears. I wipe my eyes on my sleeves. I need to keep going towards the lights, but just as I think this, I spot a door to the right. I hesitate. Something about the door pulls at me, beckoning, but I'm overcome with the feeling that I am safer out here on the street.

I will my feet to move, and suddenly, the world explodes with noise, like a bomb went off right above me and the world comes crashing on my head. I cover my ears and drop to the ground, this time on purpose, and fold into myself. I might be screaming but I can't be sure. The ringing in my ears is deafening.

Underneath me, the ground trembles, gently at first, but the trembling quickly strengthens, and the earth is cracking open and about to swallow me whole. I scream again, this time I am sure sound erupts from my throat though I can't hear it. Another explosion. I throw my arms over my head in an attempt to protect myself.

This is it. This is where I die, buried underneath these buildings on a street I don't even recognize.

And then, everything--the noise, the shaking-- stops just as suddenly as it started. My mouth and throat are coated with dust.

My breath catches.

The buildings have jumped. Close together. My brain tries to make sense of it, it's no illusion. Their walls are cracked, the windows shattered. I stand, cradling my elbow. Heart racing. The buildings start to move again, slowly this time, silently.

They're going to crush me. 

"Please stop!"

I catch a glimpse of the door again. It's open now. I still don't want to go in, but it's either that or be crushed between walls.

I'm inside a living room. Sheets cover the furniture, the windows so caked in dirt there's barely any light coming in from the outside. The air is damp and musty, and underneath it there's a pungent smell, like something has died and is rotting away. My pulse quickens at all the possibilities running through my mind that could explain the smell of rot. There's a knock on the door even though I don't remember closing it.

"Who's there?"

My throat is still burning from all the screaming and the dust from the city, but that seems to have been so long ago.

"Laina?"

"Oh God, Momma!" I run to open the door and fumble with the chain. I'm so happy to have finally found her. Was I looking for her? Yes, I must have been. I finally get the chain and throw the door open but it's not my mother on the other side.

A man smiles with a mouth full of tiny razor sharp teeth. Dark angry eyes bore into me. "I've been looking for you," he says and when he speaks the air fills with the scent of death. I stumble backwards. He steps into the room, a wooden spike resting over his shoulder. 

I scramble back, my legs hit a couch and he's suddenly on me, trapping me against the couch. "I've been cleaning the world of filth," he says, grabbing the spike with both hands. As he brings it forward, in front of him, the other end of it rises up into the air.

And there, at the top of it there's a head. A human head. His mouth cracks open into what I think he means to be a smile. "It's your turn," he says at the exact same moment dead eyes meet mine. He lifts the spike over my head.

I scream and--

#

Gasping for breath, I bring my hand up to shield my eyes from the bright lights, and will myself not to cry. The man's face flashes in my mind's eye and bile rises in my throat as I suddenly realize where I know him from. He was the protestor I saw on the way here.

I avoid looking into the crowd, into the eyes of all these men who have seen the inside of my head, and the worst part is, I realize I didn’t even know I was in the game. It felt like a real nightmare. Across from me, my opponent stands. He is tall, with gangly arms dangling by his side. I wonder what kind of monster I was in his head. I want to tell him that I'm sorry, but when our eyes meet, his mouth twists into a smirk, reminding me that I am the loser here.

#

We ran out of Venom two days ago.

My mother tried to stretch it as much as she could, but there's only so much pain she can handle. I've barely slept the past two nights, I'm so afraid something will happen to her while I sleep. She tries to hide the pain, but I can hear her soft, muffled cries. I can feel it in her energy every time I walk into her bedroom.

So tonight, as I walk into the games, I tell myself over and over that I have no choice but to win.

I just need to focus.

When I walk into the Pit, Razor is standing by the door, like a sentinel. "You're back," he says, face twisted into a scowl.

"Why wouldn't I be?" I try to sound relaxed, but every ounce of self-preservation I own is screaming danger at me.

"Figured after losing last week, you'd realize this isn't girl's play." He means it to be mocking but his tone is much too serious.

"And yet," I say before I can stop myself, "you sound worried."

Surprise flickers in his eyes, and I know I've got it right. He's threatened. I just don't know by what. It can't be me. I'm at the bottom of the pyramid, and he is at the very top. He leans in, too close, and hatred washes over me with such force, my breath catches. 

"You think you're better than us,” he says, “but I'm going to make you regret ever walking through that door." Then saunters to the table and sits next to his buddies, laughing like he didn't just leave a ticking bomb at my feet.

When my turn to play comes, I stare at the wires and screens above my head, the buzzing of the crowd scratching against my awareness.

My head is stuffed with ants crawling all over my brain as I listen to the countdown and sink into the game.

#

The burning sensation comes into focus before the room does.

I hold a cup. Hot water runs from the faucet into it and overflows, burning my hands. I drop the cup and it shatters against the porcelain sink. I turn the hot water off and turn on the cold, hoping to soothe the stinging. The pipes groan in protest then sputter out something that's not water, but dark and thick, and the smell of rotten eggs fills my nostrils and I shut that off too. I was filling the cup for something important, but I can't remember what that might have been now.

I pat my hands on my jeans and look out the window above the sink. Slim naked trees are black against a bruised sky. The feeling of being watched washes over me, so I turn away from the window.

It's dark inside save for a single lit candle in the middle of a kitchen table. The flame struggles to stay alive against the drafty old house. I walk towards it, slowly, carefully, holding my breath, afraid the candle might go out if I release it. The top of the wooden table has carvings on it. I can't make sense of most of it, but one thing catches my eye, the words Nightmare Junction.

As soon as I read it, the candle goes out. My pulse quickens. The words are familiar but I can't quite place where I have heard them before and I'm overcome with the sense that I need to get out of here. As soon as I think this though, I hear it. Running water. 

I turn back to the sink. It's not coming from there. 

It's nearly pitch black but my eyes have adjusted enough that I can make out the furniture as I go around the table and into the living room. There are stairs to my left, and there's the sound of water again. I seem to have forgotten it for a moment, but it is coming from upstairs.

The steps creak under my weight. There are pictures on the wall leading up to the second floor. Family portraits. I stop halfway up the staircase to take a closer look, wanting to know whose house this is. I have to get really close and squint to see, like the pictures might be out of focus. It's the same woman in all of them. She's in her mid-twenties, long curly hair. She's expressionless, her eyes missing a spark so that she doesn't quite seem human.

A shiver runs down my spine and I start back up the stairs, still looking at the pictures, but not as closely. 

There's a thumping sound. I stop. There's another, then another, like footsteps going up the stairs. But there is only me. My heart quickens. It sounds like it's coming from the other side of the wall so I press my ear to it and listen.

"Hello?"

The thumping stops.

I imagine whoever is on the other side has their ear on the wall too. 

Listening back. 

The longer I stand here with my ear pressed against the wall the more I feel like I'm not just being listened for, but also watched. Dread snakes up my spine and I run up the stairs, the sound of water dripping filling my head. 

The bathroom door is open, water overflows from an iron claw tub. I look down. The water level is at my knees, which seems impossible, and rising quickly. I try to hurry towards the tub, but my movements are slow and sluggish, like I'm walking knee deep in mud instead of bathwater.

"There you are," a voice says. 

I whip around.

It's my mother, and I realize she's the woman in all the pictures. A younger version of her. There's no water where my mother stands even though she's just a few feet away.

"Help me," I say, but my mother doesn't move, her eyes are as empty as they were in the pictures. 

The water is up to my chest and I'm suddenly aware of how cold it is. I start shivering. My whole body aches from it. I look down at my feet, willing them to move. They do not. 

When I look back up, my mother is standing mere inches in front of me.

A stone statue, mouth wide in a silent scream, eyes are black holes, hand raised over her head. She holds a needle. And though her face is frozen, like an angel of death, she says, "I've got your Venom."

 And plunges the needle into my chest.

#

I wake up to the burning of bile rising up my throat. My eyes water. I press my hands into my eyes to push back the tears. I will not cry. My skin's cool and moist. My chest aches where my heart thrums against it from the adrenaline rush. This part I hate, the shakiness and jumpiness. Last week it took hours for the effects of the stimulant to wear off.

Joaquin has that same look as last time, a mix of kindness and pity, but he doesn't say anything about that. Instead, he says, "Victor wants to see you."

I avoid looking into the crowd. Into the eyes of all these men who have seen the inside of my head. 

Victor stands outside his office talking to some guy. I slow my pace and wait for him to be done. When I'm within his reach, he grabs my arm and pulls me close. His bald head glistens with sweat. His nostrils flare. His fingers dig into my arm, and I wince. 

"Let go of me." I try to jerk free. His energy rams against me. It’s all anger.

"I took you on to win. Not to cower and hide every time the boogeyman shows up."

"There was nothing I could do," I say, the tremble in my voice giving away the fear rattling inside my chest.

"It's a fucking game, fight back." 

"I'll do better next time. I promise."

"Next time is all you have." He lets go of me and walks away leaving me with a bruised arm and a pit of fear in my stomach. I am deeper in the hole and farther away from being able to get Venom for my mom.

#

I splash cold water on my face. The restroom is small, two stalls covered in graffiti and a sink. The mirror looks as if it has never been cleaned. It stinks of urine and mildew and cigarette smoke.

My whole body hurts, like I strained during the game when in reality, I was paralyzed by fear.

Arlington comes out of one of the stalls, leans on the wall behind her and meets my gaze in the mirror. "You okay?"

"I can't even tell I'm in the game," I say, trying to hold back tears.

“The words Nightmare Junction always show up right away,” she says, “that’s your clue. Sometimes it takes our brains a few games to figure it out, though. To adjust the way the game works and remember it’s not a real dream. But once it clicks, you’ll be fine.”

I grip the edge of the sink. "I don’t have a few games. Victor wants me to play again tonight, and if I lose again, I'm out."

Her gaze drops to my hands. "Too much of that shit will mess you up."

"I don't have a choice."

"Victor doesn’t fucking care if it kills us, you know that, right?" There's something in her tone I don't understand. An urgency. A warning.

She closes the distance between us, our gazes still locked in the mirror. "No one cares what happens to us, Laina. They look at us like we're not even human."

I drop my gaze, afraid Arlington will see the ugly truth. That maybe I believe it too, that the techno-chromosome has made us something other.

"They're wrong," Arlington insists, like she can hear my thoughts. She starts pacing the short distance between the wall and the sink. I focus on keeping her energy at bay. I want her to stop talking, to stop moving, but she just keeps going. "They took advantage of our mothers and used them as lab rats. And now, they make us feel ashamed so we hide who we are, so they don't have to face the consequences of their carelessness and can go on about their lives without guilt."

The bathroom is suddenly too small for this storm. My mouth and throat go dry. Arlington is putting words to feelings I've worked hard to trample down.

"They didn't know what the consequences would be," I say. "How could they?"

Arlington comes to an abrupt stop. "Oh come on! They made us sterile, Laina. They knew how risky the experiment was and they made sure if shit went wrong, it'd end with us." She turns to the mirror, leans in closer and stares at her reflection.

I want to ask her what her enhancement is. I want to know her, but I'm afraid. And yet, she is right. I know she is. We hide, we're scared, but the world made us this way. We never asked for it.

"I can read minds," I blurt out, and my heart stops. Arlignton's eyes grow wide in the mirror, but I push through the panic welling up in my chest. "Sort of," I add. "If someone is feeling something strongly and I touch them, I can..." I look for the right word because It's not that I can hear their thoughts exactly, it’s a knowing. "I get an impression of what they are thinking or feeling, I guess."

Arlington grins. "Holy shit, you have a legit superpower."

A nervous laugh escapes me. "No, it's not like that. I can feel people's energy really well, but lots of people can do that, you know? The knowing what they are thinking, that's more... well, I don't know how accurate it is or isn't, exactly, because I've spent my life tamping it down."

Arlington nods. "Out of fear."

I nod back. "I've spent my life protecting them from me."

"It's no wonder you always look like you're about to fold into yourself," she says, then she grows serious.

For the first time in my life, as we stand in a filthy restroom, in silence, I feel like I am no longer alone. Tears prick the back of my eyes.

A smile begins to crack her mouth open--slowly. She reaches for my hand. I'm startled, but fight the urge to pull away. Her hands are warm. Her energy is like a derailed train. I've never felt anything quite like it. It's overwhelming, and I wonder if she knows this is what she feels like. Would she want to know? And it hits me: Arlington touched me knowing what I can do.

She isn't afraid.

She doesn't think I'm a monster.

"You're a train wreck," I say, a little breathless. 

She laughs. "They erased my fear center. I've been a danger to myself and others from the moment I was born." She squeezes my hand, and when she lets go, it feels a little like falling, and I need a moment to steady myself.

"Laina," she says, leaning in, eyes boring into me, "use your enhancement in the game. You--who you are--is how you win."

#

The crowd is loud and expectant, its energy humming against my skin until it burns. As I approach the ring, Arlington's words crash against my skull, the desperate need to help my mother and the fear of being found out at war with each other. I remind myself everyone here already knows I’m enhanced.

I'm playing Jordan next. He's not one of the best players, but certainly better than I am. Everyone is. If I lose, I'll have failed my mother. Fear coils in my stomach, ready to strike. When I reach the steps, I move aside to let my opponent go first, wanting to buy myself an extra few seconds to think through what I'm going to do.

The crowd breaks into hollers and cheers. I frown, then climb the first step and crane my neck to see over the sea of heads.

My heart sinks.

It's not Jordan walking out of the Pit.

It's Razor.

The crowd parts for him, slapping his back, already congratulating him on his win. This is wrong. I'm supposed to play Jordan, not Razor, the best player in the games. 

I swallow the bile burning up my throat.

He saunters up the stairs, his mouth cracks into a malicious grin, the ticking bomb ready to detonate, but before he can get away from me, I grab his hand. I don’t know if it will work, but I have to try something.

He pauses, gaze dropping to our hands. His is hot and sweaty, and I fight the urge to pull away. "Good luck," I say, smiling, because I have no other choice.

Confusion flickers in his eyes, and he yanks his hand back.

My smile widens. It was enough.

I follow behind him. I plop on the chair, then Joaquin's fingers are on my neck, and there’s the pinch that follows. I let the crowd's energy wash over me. I wait for the shame of what I have just done to come crashing down and drown me, but instead, as the countdown into the Nightmare Junction begins, all I can think is about Razor's older brother. How afraid he is of him, and how terrified he is his brother will show up in the game.

I have no idea what I’ll do with this once in the game, but if I can win against Razor, if I can find a way to win these games, I can renegotiate my agreement with Victor and,maybe even make enough money to pay for the treatment that will cure my mother.

#

A single bulb swings from the ceiling. I glance over my shoulders. Behind me there's only darkness.

"Hello?" I call out through the fear thickening in my throat.

No one answers. I start towards the light. The floor is sticky under my boots. The hallway is not very wide, if I reach out I can touch both sides before having to extend both of my arms out. I don't.  

As I near the light I can make out stains in the walls. Wet stains. There's a metallic smell in the air. I can taste it.  When I'm under the light, I realize those are not stains on the walls, but writing. Symbols I don't understand. My gaze follows it all the way up the wall and onto the ceiling. I tilt my head all the way.

Nightmare Junction is written on the ceiling around the single lightbulb.

At the sight of the words, something clicks.

I smile.

I’m in the game.

There's the sound clicking and scratching somewhere behind me, and I turn. It takes me a moment to realize it's claws. Claws scraping at metal. And then there's growling. It's getting closer. I can hear someone or something, breathing fast and ragged.

My whole body tenses, and I'm frozen in place, but when the growling comes again, I forget everything and I run. Away from the light. Now there's only darkness approaching, the sound of my boots pounding the floor, and my heart punching my chest.

The hallway seems to go on forever and I have to slow down because I can't see very well. Whatever is behind me has also slowed down. I realize too late I should have stayed where there was light and fought back, but in that moment, my flight response took over.

I have one arm straight out in front of me, and the other feeling the wall on my right. The tips of my fingers feel for what's coming ahead as they brush the wall's uneven surface and feel the wetness of the paint, or at least I hope that's still what I'm touching.

And then, there's nothing.

It's disorienting, and I sway.

I reach to the right, extending my arm even more and find nothing. I feel for the wall on the left. Still there. 

I hesitate, unsure of what to do, but then I hear the growling and it's much too close and I swear I can feel hot breath on my neck.

I veer to the right and break into a run.

Up ahead there's a red glow, as I get closer the word Exit sharpens. I run faster as a laugh bubbles in my chest. I win if I can just get to the exit. I run and run and then it's gone. The sign is gone, and I realize too late it's a trick, I try to slow my pace and turn but still slam my shoulder into a wall, screaming as loud as I can. Searing pain shoots through me. It's blinding and I fall to my knees. Hot tears stream down my face and I'm having trouble breathing, my arm hurts so bad.

It's just a game. 

The growling is back, and I know the monster is coming. Grabbing my shoulder, I get to my feet and press my back against the wall because my legs feel like they might give in from under me. My heart beats in my throat. Think Laina. Think through the pain.

Play the game.

There is no monster, only Razor. The boy who is afraid of his brother. I can only see a couple of feet in front of me. "Come on, give me something,' I whisper, willing the game to obey me, as I look all around me.

Anything.

And it does. An axe leans against the wall just behind me. I wonder if I just ran past it, or if I actually made it appear. It doesn't matter. The monster is coming straight at me, growling like I'm a meal.

He can't hurt me.

This is just a dream.

I reach for the axe, my shoulder burning like someone is trying to rip my arm off as I swing it over my head.

"Hey, little brother," I say, right before Razor comes into view, and at my words, he stops.

I step forward, hope blooming in my chest. “I’m coming to get you.” The words tumble out of me. I don’t recognize my own voice, all sing-song-like, but it has the desired effect.

When I step close enough that I can finally see him, and he can see me, I hesitate. He is a nasty thing, all sharp teeth and claws--a nightmare from my own brain. I think he's about to retreat, but I don't wait. 

I am here to win.

I let the axe come down on the monster's head.

#

I squint against the bright lights blinding me, and I laugh.

My mother will get her Venom tonight.

#writing #short story #scifi #virtual reality #writers of the future #authors #am writing #ya books

[defilerwyrm]

heyo! i’m trans neutral but have reaaally been wanting to get a hysterectomy at some point in the near future (like <10yrs preferably), do you have posts from the past talking about what yours was like or got any general info to share? somehow it’s easier for me to read about peoples’ personal experiences on tumblr than it is to look up the procedure itself (major major squicking) so really i’ll take anything and everything you got. how much of That Organ Situation you managed to throw in the garbage can (i personally would like as much of that as possible out of my own carcass), how long recovery was after the surgery, sort of what the process looked like to get it done (like who you had to go through or any tests like seeing a g*no), etc etc etc. i’m on mobile so tumblr is kicking my paragraph break like halfway down the screen rn which is why this is a thick blob of words but thank you in advance for any advice you have or even just for reading this message :>

Happy to help!

Prep work

I did some internet searching to find a trans friendly OB/GYN in my area. It was actually pretty easy since I was living in Austin at the time, but ymmv. If you, too, are anywhere near Austin, I highly recommend Dr. Jenna Mushtaler. I told her what I wanted done and she basically went Cool, let's do it. It sounds like this won't apply to you, but I needed a total hysterectomy (removal of the uterus, cervix, and both ovaries) to get phalloplasty, and also my mom & her sister have both had tumors and/or cancers in those parts, so there was plenty of medical justification for it. If you're not transitioning and don't have other extenuating circumstances like PCOS or teratomas, you'll probably be given a standard hysto, which does not remove the ovaries; otherwise you'll be on HRT for the rest of your life (which isn't such a bad thing, it's just an extra thing).

I had to get I think two letters from mental health professionals, but that's a gatekeeping step non-transitioning folk aren't forced to endure.

Note that if you're under 35 and in the US, you may get pushback, but that's where going to a trans-friendly doctor comes in handy because they're less likely to piss and moan about children.

I asked the doctor if I could get one of my ovaries in a specimen jar, but that was a no go.

I'm pretty sure they made me take a piss test for pregnancy right before surgery, which was just lip service really in my case since I hadn't done anything that could conceivably lead to that in almost a year.

Right after surgery

I was kept overnight in the hospital. I woke up about once an hour to piss like a racehorse—they kept me pumped full of fluids all night, so that was the intention—while being gently made fun of by two jovial nurses who disconnected and reconnected my IV lines for me as needed.

I went home the next morning. My doctor gave me photos of my insides from the surgery and of the uterus & cervix on the little tray after removal. I still need to get those framed. In my opinion I have a cute liver.

Recovery

I was out of work for I think 4 weeks; I work an office job so that was sufficient, but if you lift things at work you might be out 6-8 weeks.

The first two weeks I was absolutely useless, sleeping in a recliner most of the time and only waking up to pee and take more Vicodin. Some friends gave me a freezer buddy, which is a stuffed toy filled with temperature-retaining pellets (mine's a penguin!), which I kept on my lower belly most of the time. I didn't have a lot of soreness, I think largely because I was taking pain meds on a timer, but standing up was not particularly fun. The second two weeks I was more cogent and mobile; by the fourth week I was fully ready to be a living person again.

One week after I had a follow-up appointment. My doctor comfirmed what I had suspected for a very, very long time: both ovaries were riddled with cysts.

One thing that kinda sucked was I could only take sponge baths and use dry shampoo for the first two weeks. Get you some wet wipes.

Every so often for the first year, I'd get a little bit of pain in one of the voids where an ovary used to be. Nothing serious, just a short-lived little ache. I haven't had one of those for a few years now. I also had a few hot flashes here and there because my estrogen level had fully flatlined.

Overall it was a pretty easy recovery—but a big part of that is I had someone there with me pretty much at all times.

There has been exactly one downside to life without my puppy box and cyst factories: I have to pee ALL THE TIME. Usually once every 1-2 hours, sometimes more often than that when I'm drinking a lot of water. I talked to my mom and a friend who've both had hysterectomies and they confirmed it happened to them too. I drink 3-5 liters of water a day, though, so that's a factor. But I could definitely not make it in an Amazon warehouse or as a youtuber now, not that I could before. 1000000000% worth it.

#hysterectomy #reproductive rights #medical stuff #medicine #meatspace #trans matters #replies to things

[storiesofsvu]

A Redemption Earned Ch 9

Heather Dunbar x reader Jackie Sharp x OC Warnings: language, gossip, just a lil filler chapter for today.

At first, neither you nor Heather were quite sure how a month managed to pass after your second date, and your first kiss. Then you sat back for a moment and looked at how life really did have a way of taking over everything and certain things just ended up on the back burner no matter how much you wanted to partake in them.

You were both working full time Monday to Friday jobs with extra work to be done on the weekends. Fridays usually left you exhausted, and Sundays were the prepping for the upcoming weeks. You also knew that she was working on repairing her relationships with her family, specifically Becca, trying to regain her trust once again. Heather hadn’t said the words out loud but you knew that her time was limited, and she was still figuring out how to delegate it appropriately, and no matter how much she wanted to indulge in more time with you, her family was still more important.

Instead, she would come back to her office after a meeting or a session with a client to find a specialty coffee and muffin on her desk, a small smile breaking out on her cheeks at the gesture. You’d remembered her favourites, leaving them for her when she definitely needed a pick me up. Sometimes it was mid text conversation that she would mention she was still at work and you’d ask when the last time she’d eaten was, next thing she knew, there was a delivery driver at the firm door with exactly what she had been craving.

You had plans for your next date night all figured out, the week had flown by, all of your extra work was actually done on time and Heather didn’t have any surprise cases. Then you woke up on your bonus day off, Friday a school holiday and you felt like you’d been hit by a bus. At first you thought you were just tired, maybe a bit burnt out, or that the couple of beers the night before decided to remind you how old you were so you went back to sleep. It wasn’t until a few hours later that you woke up in a sweat that you realized that wasn’t what it was.

You let out a small groan, your entire body aching as you moved from your bed to the bathroom. The worse symptoms seemed to be quickly waning, but your throat still ached, your head was throbbing and you generally felt like garbage. You grabbed a large bottle of water from the fridge and your favourite blanket as you burrito’d yourself on the couch, sending off a text to Heather that as much as you wanted to see her, you didn’t want to infect her with whatever grimy gremlin germs you had. She offered to still come over, see how you were doing and you insisted that despite her motherly instincts, you were fine and would be able to sleep it off. Roughly an hour later there was a knock at your door and you found a delivery order for chicken noodle soup, orange juice, some electrolyte water, and a big bottle of Tylenol on your stoop. You made sure to send a huge thank you text to Heather, promising that you would get all the rest you needed and not stay up too late. This was followed up by a ten p.m. text from her reminding you that you should be in bed, no matter how comfy the couch had become over the last few hours. You were honestly thankful, having lost track of time due to the marathon TV watching and dozing on and off throughout the day, and made sure to send her a good night text as you snuggled deep into your bed.

For the couple of days that you were sick, Heather constantly checked in on you, making sure you were starting to feel on the mend and not worse. She once again offered to come over, even if it was just to do the dishes you’d let pile up over the week or tidy up other things. You teased her about her mothering tendencies and reminded her that there was only one week of school left before summer break and you’d have all the time in the world to deep clean your house and relax.  It was only after you accepted a one time professional cleaning service as an end of year gift that she thanked you and backed down, reminding you to get lots of fluids and rest.

**

While you were snuggled up on your couch lazing around in an attempt to recover before you had to head back to work, the gossip mill was in high forces across town at One Observatory Circle. Becca and Nat were sitting in the upstairs sitting room, having gone out for lunch and a little bit of day drinks, continuing on with a couple of seltzers while the conversation changed from one of politics and Becca’s job hunting to one of more gossipy material. Jackie was in the next room, French doors open wide as she listened in while getting ready for an event that evening, calling a soft greeting as the two girls jogged up the stairs.

“How was lunch?” She asked, her gaze meeting Nat’s through the mirror, humming as her wife ducked to kiss her cheek.

“Delicious. I left yours in the fridge for later.”

“Thank you.” She smiled, pinning back a piece of her hair before she turned towards the doors, finding Becca settling in on one of the couches, “how’s the job hunt going?”

“Better than expected.” She called back, “though I like, actually have time to breathe for the first time in like, nine years so I’m not worried about a timeline. Sarah might take some time off so we can travel.”

“That’d be nice.”

“Yeah. I still wanna figure out exactly what field I want to get into, there’s a couple different options I want to explore a little bit more before deciding.”

“Have you looked at internships?” Jackie asked as you settled on the couch with Becca.

“I’ve thought about it. I mean, it’s not like I need paid work right now or anything.” She laughed, ignoring the eye roll from Nat, “Mom offered to put me in touch with some people she works with to sort through a couple of fields, get a little inside scoop on what really goes on.”

“Really?” Jackie raised a brow, pausing in her movements to turn to look at the two of them, “I thought you were against all that.”

“She’s not giving me a job, or even hooking me up with one, it’s just a few meetings and phone numbers. She knows I won’t accept a handout; she just wants to be supportive.” She shrugged, sipping back at her drink.

“Hmm… so she has actually been making improvements…”

“Didn’t you go to talk to her?” The younger girl asked and Nat let out a small laugh.

“I don’t know if talk is the right word, more like she threatened to throw her in prison if she fucked up.”

“Jesus Jackie, spending too much time with Underwood much?” Becca teased and Jackie barked out a laugh, turning back to the girls.

“I just want to make sure she’s not going to try and get under Nat’s skin again. Sure, she was gone a long time and it’s clear she’s put in some work, or she’s just gotten better at hiding it, but her being back in Washington and around old company…. It could make her regress. You’ve spent a good amount of time with her…”

“She’s definitely made a lot of progress and is still working on it. One of her therapists even wants to do a family session with me and Dad if we’re comfortable with it, which I kinda think is dope. Like, we’ll kinda get to talk through our sides of the story and how we felt about everything with a professional who can like, mediate the conversation.”

“That actually is really great.” Jackie replied.

“Yeah, and for what it’s worth… I don’t think you have to worry about her trying to steal your wife or anything.” Becca laughed and the older woman raised a brow.

“What’d’you mean?” Nat asked, nudging Becca with her foot, “she too scared of Jackie?”

“No.” Becca grinned, “I think she’s seeing someone.”

“What!?” Jackie’s wine glass hit the make up table in front of her harder than she’d intended, pulling a snort of a laugh from Nat as she turned to the younger girl.

“You can’t be serious?”

“Well, I mean, I’m not sure yet.”

“Okay well spill what you do know!” Jackie was swiftly moving through the room, wine in hand before settling in the chair across from the two of them, “does Heather know you know about this? Or is it some kind of big secret? Oh please tell me she’s not in her twenties?”

It was Becca’s turn to snort out a laugh, playfully rolling her eyes at the antics of the literal Vice President of the country. Though, she knew from Nat that things had been a little boring around the White House recently, if that was even possible. The return of Heather Dunbar to Washington honestly had been the talk of the town for at least the first month once a staffer spotted her in the streets.

“That was my first question.” Becca laughed, “and yeah, she’s in her forties.”

“Really? I thought that was out of her age range.” Nat teased with a grin and Becca tossed a napkin in her direction,

“You were in her age range and you’re forty!”

“Fuck off.” Nat replied with an eye roll, tossing the balled up napkin back, “you know what I mean.”

“I do.” She laughed, “well, they had a not date, date, run in at a coffee shop and Mom came freaking out to me about whether y/n was just being nice or flirting.”

“I’m sorry, she seriously doesn’t have any gaydar?” Jackie cut in with a laugh.

“Well, think about it.” Becca shrugged, “she used to just like, find girls who needed money and craved comfort, it didn’t matter what sex they preferred, Mom got her way. She like, full on gay panicked over everything.”

“And?” Nat nudged at her with her foot.

“Y/n was flirting! They went for dinner, Mom said it was nice and they both had a really good time but didn’t say much else from that. We’ve both been pretty busy, but like, it’s been like… five months since they met? Dad said she apparently went to Mom’s for dinner about a month ago, he only knew because she called asking what he thought she should cook.”

“God.” Jackie couldn’t help the eye roll, sucking back her wine as Nat laughed.

“I kinda wonder…” Becca began with a grin, pulling the attention of the other two, a raised brow from Natasha, “if maybe she makes her call her mommy too. You still into that?” She grinned and Nat let out an offended scoff, leaning in to punch her friend.

“Rude!”

“So clearly you are.” The younger girl prodded with a smirk and Jackie simply laughed,

“No. I prefer daddy.”

With a smirk on her lips, after that admission she stood from the chair, crossing back to the vanity in the bedroom as Becca sputtered, choking over her drink, Natasha convulsing in a fit of laughter. After the few moments it took Becca to recover from her coughing she glanced towards the VP,

“That pant suit you wore for inauguration makes a whole lot more sense now.”

Jackie laughed, shaking her head at the antics, but so incredibly glad for the entertainment and distraction from the ever dull and boring politics that had been taking over their lives the last little bit. A little bit of play made everything a bit better for everyone, and she genuinely was curious to hear about Heather from someone’s perspective who had been spending more time with her. Not to mention everyone knew that Becca was someone who was at the top of the ‘hating Heather Dunbar’ pillar six years ago. When the rug had been pulled out from under Heather, Becca had been one of the top suspects before it was revealed Rob had made the very public leak.

“So are they dating?” She asked, glancing at the other women through the mirror as she began to finish up her make up.

“I don’t think so.” Becca shrugged, “I don’t know if Mom’s really ready for that anyways. Like, I know she likes the girl, and wants to make a good impression…”

“Okay but the question remains, does this girl know who she is?”

“No!” She laughed, “that’s the best part! Mom somehow managed to find someone who was living overseas for both of the last elections and doesn’t give a fuck about politics.”

“Are you fucking serious?!” Jackie’s arm hit the table in front of her, “oh that poor fucking girl.”

“I don’t think it’s like that.” Becca interjected, “and like, I’m not defending her in any way, I’ve just witnessed it first hand.”

“We know.” Nat urged, squeezing at her friends arm.

“Me, Mom and Dad actually kinda all had a little family day over it, and she even made breakfast in the morning, but like, she told y/n about Jordan of all things within the first two times they saw each other.”

“Really?” Nat’s eyes widened.

“Yeah.” She nodded, “we all know that’s like, trigger number one. Obvi, she didn’t tell her everything, but she knows bits a pieces. And from the couple of texts I got after their home dinner date, Mom came clean about cheating, and y/n’s still on board, but did say that she doesn’t condone adultery.”

“Good.” Jackie mused with a firm expression on her face, it suddenly softening as she met her wife’s eye in the mirror, “no offence….”

“Babe…” she laughed, “how could I take offence? She painted it as a terrible marriage and I was making upwards of two grand a week, I don’t support affairs but that shit was on a whole different level.”

“I guess you’re right.” She laughed in return, quickly finishing up as her phone went off, the other two women continuing on their gossip fuelled talk, cracking open fresh drinks.

Jackie swept through the upper suite, collecting a few things here and there, making sure she had her phone and keys before a loud knock from downstairs on the main door echoed through the house. She paused to interrupt the girl’s conversation, her hand trailing over Nat’s back, closing around her shoulder to fully grab her attention,

“I should be home around ten.” She leant down, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips, “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

“You guys have a good night.”

“Oh we will!” Becca grinned, pulling a laugh from the VP.

“And you better save me a fucking brownie!” Jackie called as she reached the staircase, pulling a laugh from the two of them, knowing just how much they all loved to indulge when there weren’t any political matters to be dealt with.

With Jackie gone, Nat and Becca moved back downstairs, refilling their drinks and turning on the tv, their first plan of the night was a few rounds of Mario Kart, the loser having to take a shot each time. Every few rounds they would swap out and take a break to catch up on a tv episode, gossiping and catching up with each other. This was where Nat got a lot more information on Heather and this new mystery girl, things that she would try to remember so she could relay to Jackie later that night. Though tonight was all about best friends finally having free time to spend together however they wanted, and most of that was ignoring the adult world, the one of politics surrounding them, and just relaxing without a care in the world. Which is exactly what the two of them needed at this point.

____________ @ms-calhoun @naturalxselection @yesterdaysgone @hbkpop @giftedchildturns40 @anya-casablanca @svulife-rl  @swimmingstudentchaos891 @alexusonfire @jamiethetrans @natasha-danvers @oliviaswifey @mysticfalls01 @cmmndrwidw @bumblebear30 @svushots @yourtaletotell @cerberus-spectre @emskisworld @ex-uallyactive @addictedtodinosaurs @imaginaryoperagloves @multifandomlesbianic @annegilletteslostwh0r3 @bookpillows @drduckthief @whimsicallymad @mmmmokdok @ladysc @momlifebehard @mmemalwa @holycrapraewth @poisonedcrowns @wannabe-fic-reader @when-wolves-howl @dead-of-niight @fighterkimburgess @lannister-slings-and-arrows @borg-queer

#heather dunbar #house of cards #heather dunbar x reader #jackie sharp #a redemption earned

[whatifimnotevenbipolar]

Depression Tips from an experienced Bipolar:

Sometimes theres nothing we can do. Even if you do all the right things it can still get bad. I’m in my first episode in a while right now, and though I’ve found no way to make it stop, I’ve found ways to make it easier. It’s worth note that my experience is specific to Bipolar Depression. I’ve been dealing with this for at least 5 years now, and I’ve been medicate for less that a year (But meds really do make all the difference).

I have good days and bad days. If you have good days, utilize them. If you have the energy to cook dinner 1 night out of the week, try to make a big batch of whatever you’re making. Throw it in containers so you have meals made for your bad days when the task of cooking feels too hard to make it worth eating. If you never have one of these days eat what you can. No prep food is better than no food. But having something real to eat makes a big difference.

Everyone always says to push yourself to go out and to exercise and this and that. This can be really helpful with generalized prolonged depression, but for me my episodes aren’t super long lasting and not allowing myself to rest can actually make the episode worse. If you feel in control allow yourself to rest. Watch movies. Relax. Just be as intentional with it as you can.

With that being said, there are alot of easy ways to reframe a depressive episode as a time of rest, and sometimes gaslighting yourself works. One of my biggest things is prioritizing cleanliness over everything. If I only have 10 minutes worth of energy I use it on this. If I don’t have any, this is the one thing I force myself to do. I tidy my room. I don’t deep clean it. But I don’t allow dishes in my room. They have to be left outside the door. Garbage goes in the mini trash can. Clothes and clutter goes in the closet away from my sight until the episodes over and I’m able to clean properly. I shower, every day if possible and keep myself in clean, comfy clothes. If I can’t do everyday I keep my hair braided so it stays clean and I don’t feel disgusting. Teeth tends to be the hard thing for me, but rinsing my mouth out has to do sometimes.

In continuation of the intentional rest. Weed does wonders for me. I control my use due to addictive tendencies, but when I’m in an episode I allow myself to use it at my own discretion to soften the sharper edges and prevent any suicidal thoughts from coming up.

Get a big ass water bottle/cup/jug/case of water. I can not fill my water for the life of me when it gets bad. Leaving my room is my biggest barrier so I’ve found ways to work around it without harming myself. Make sure you can keep hydrated without any barriers if at all possible, by any means necessary.

No sad media. That means music. Movies. Shows. It makes it worse. Hard limit. Keep it away. I try to stick to Christmas movies and straight men music.

Take you ur meds if you have them. If you feel like you should go off them, don’t! If you don’t have access to meds, I have a couple tried and true methods that work FOR ME. This might not be the case for everyone. I take D3 and Magnesium. NO MELATONIN// it makes you more depressed. HTP-5 as long as you aren’t on SSRI’s works to increase dopamine and acts as a diy anti-depressant. If all else fails, I’ve always had success with micro-🍄 gummies.

Fuck what you have to do. Do what you want. Doing something you enjoy is better than doing nothing because you feel guilty about not doing the things you’re “supposed” to be doing. Surviving is your priority. Everything else can wait.

#bipolaire #mental health #tw depressing thoughts #depressing shit #tw depressing stuff #bipolor #ed not ed sheeran #self care #mental illness #actually mentally ill #mentally fucked #sewer slide #sewercide

[good-night-space-kid]

Hi, I am looking to go to a university next year with a STEM major, and I was wondering how you find balance between courses, social life, jobs, and relationships. Or if you have any tips on how to manage these things, if you do, please share because I am worried for college life. Thanks!

Hello, anon! Being a STEM major is hard, but I honestly love my major. I won't sugarcoat it though, it's going to be a lot of work and I myself have a hard time balancing everything.

Disclaimer: I want to make the most of my time as a student and keep myself very busy, other people I know in other and the same STEM majors are significantly less busy so my experience may not be yours.

To start off, I'll outline my general college situation

I'm a geology major, and while many people likely don't know, geology is a very academically challenging and time consuming major. I routinely spend 8-13 hours on a single one of my upper level classes every week, which is why I try to space out the classes that I know will be really difficult.

I'm getting a history minor with a focus on public history to support my major as I want to pursue grad school in museum studies.

I've taken on average 15-20 credits a semester. Don't take over 15, much less 20 credits unless you absolutely have to.

I work during the school year, but not a lot. I am a TA for intro level geology classes and have worked 2-3 labs (~3.5 hours each time) with a TA meeting. In the past I also worked ~9 hours a week in a geology research lab.

I'm now the president of a club which takes ~15 minutes to 1 hour of prep work for each week.

I'm generally away from my dorm from 8am to 5 with classes/work, but often I don't get back until 9-11pm on weekdays because I need physical resources or other people to work on something. I won't lie I kind of hate this part, but I chose a very hands on major. It really varies for me though, sometimes I'm doing homework until 1am and sometimes i'm done by 4pm.

Here are things that I recommend to help balance school and social life (in no particular order):

I do everything I can to ensure that I have one weekend day where I do not plan to work on school work. Sometimes it happens that it's either not possible or I want to get ahead, but I really try to make it happen. This allows me to go to an estate sale, do some grocery shopping, go on a hike, watch a show, whatever I don't have time for during the week. This truly saves my mental health.

Know your sleep needs. I am such a sleepy guy, and if I don't sleep enough my mental and physical health is hot garbage. I prioritize getting 6.5-9 hours of sleep every night because I know that I will be happier and more capable of finishing work faster if I'm well rested.

I have dinner with my non-geology friends once a week, typically Friday evenings. I also try to schedule a meal with another friend at some point in the week when I can. Making time to see people you like purely for fun is really important.

Try to have at least one class that you are genuinely looking forward to each semester. The history minor is good for grad school, but it's also so I have something other than STEM to do each semester so I don't go crazy. Take a class just because it looks like fun, you're in college. And get a minor in something random if you enjoy it.

I have homework friends and I have fun friends, and it's okay (and imo often better) for those to be different people.

Start a group chat and set up study sessions for your classes. My school has a "study buddies" feature on an app where you can sign up and anybody can email out to those people so that's how I've started many of them, but just asking people also works. I study best in a group, but know yourself on this one. I especially recommend finding some people in your major early on for this.

Don't be afraid to use campus tutoring if you need it.

Take a break before going to bed. Read, watch a show, drink a cup of decaf tea, whatever works for you. I try to be done with all of my work by 9pm so I can just chill for a bit and this helps a lot.

Don't take 20 credits a semester, and if you do, don't do it more than one semester back to back.

Join a club, any club. I know that this is very standard advice, but it is actually a good one. I'm in a small major so we have our own club and it's a great way to get to know other majors as well as something to add to your resume/scholarship applications. It's a great way to make friends, and going to a random club is very low stakes because you can always just not go back.

Keep up with a hobby. I have lots of succulents and it brings me great joy to care for them, but I have plenty of other friends who crochet, draw, etc. You just have to have something to do other than school.

Be unapologetically yourself, it's the best way to make friends that you actually want to be around. Also it makes you super cool.

SAY YES. If you are being invited to do something (that you want to do ofc), say yes. People are inviting you because they want you to come. But this also goes for opportunities. If you have the chance to do some research, work in a lab, volunteer for a cool event, whatever it may be, give it a try.

And in a similar vein, invite people to do things with you. It might be awkward at first, but the best way to make friends is to just do things with them. Especially as a freshman because everybody is in the same boat and making friends is hard.

Shameless geology promo, take an intro geology class if you can (they usually fulfill at least one gen ed). They're a good way to learn a bit about the world around you, and the labs are usually very fun and way better than a chemistry or physics lab.

I know this was kind of a lot, but I hope at least some of it helps! Despite having a really full schedule, college has been a lot of fun for me and I've had the opportunity to learn a lot and meet really cool people!

#i hope this helps!! #i truly love geology and have had the chance to do some really cool things through my major #but i know people in a lot of majors who are also doing really cool things #two of my friends (one biotechnology and one computer science) are doing a genetic engineering project and going to a competition in Paris #just as an example #but also other people I know have so much less school work than I do #like my biotech friend has sooooo much free time (but is also unfairly smart) #also summer internships are a great way to work a job you hopefully don't hate and make a lot of money so you can work less during the year #also i don't drink/do drugs because that's just not my thing so that influences my personal school style #also dm me any time I promise I’m friendly #and if you want anything more specific just ask

[spencerreidsconverse]

When Evil Doesn't Sleep

summary: Spencer has been gone far too long on a case and when he finally returns home, reader shows him just how much she missed him.

word count: 3.4k

warnings: smut, implied dom/sub undertones, pet names

Pairing: Spencer Reid/Female Reader

A/N: My first fic!!! I hope you all enjoy! <3

“Y/n I’m really sorry but it looks like the case is going to take a lot longer than we thought. We had a recent development and the profile is now pointing to a partnership so now we’re hunting down two unsubs”. You sighed as Spencer rattled off his apologies through the phone before putting him out of his misery “Spencer honey, you don’t have to apologize. Quit worrying about me and focus on catching the bad guys.”

To say you missed Spencer would be the understatement of the century. He had been in Utah for six days already and now with a pair of psychos your odds of finding him in your bed by the end of the week were growing increasingly slim. It didn’t help that you had been swamped prepping for an extra class you’d agreed to take on at Georgetown where you worked as a Criminal Psychology professor. Between both of your hectic work schedules you hadn’t had a real weekend to yourselves in a few months, and while you knew when you first started dating Spencer that it was an inevitable of his job, it had never been this crazy before. They say evil never sleeps but lately it hasn't even taken a catnap.

“I love you Y/N. I promise I’ll come home to you soon and take you out on a real date. I’m sorry darling, I have to go. I’ll text you when I get to the hotel tonight and if you’re still up we can talk for a bit okay?”. “Alright Spence, I love you too. Stay safe okay?”. “I promise, goodbye love.”

Your farewell barely made it past your lips when the dial tone cut you off and once again your boyfriend of three years vanished from your side of the country. You let out an exasperated sigh before reminding yourself that there were other people who needed his help and that you could wait for his attention - at least until that night. Continuing the trek up the stairs of your and spencer’s shared apartment, you managed to haphazardly balance your grocery bags in one hand while unlocking the door and disabling the security alarm, internally cringing at the high shriek that rattled through your brain.

Walking through the living room, you sat the bags on your kitchen counter and began reorganizing the small fridge space to fit all the perishables you had brought home, absentmindedly hoping they wouldn't spoil now that it would be just you for several more days. Moving to the cupboard you replaced the few grab and go snack boxes you had made up to try and encourage Spencer to eat more throughout the day and refilled the paper plate stash that quickly became a requirement after you realized neither one of you could tolerate doing dishes every night. You ripped open the cardboard packaging of yet another microwave dinner and set the timer before leaving to change into more comfortable attire.

Opening the door of your shared bedroom, the smell of vanilla wax melts and dryer sheets hit you like a brick and immediately sent a pang of loneliness through your chest. Spencer was usually around by the time the chores needed done, and you rarely had to do them yourself. Unfortunately, the laundry was piling up and you needed something to distract you so you spent the day running errands and cleaning the apartment more thoroughly than necessary. You walked over to the stack of black dresser drawers and pulled out the first pair of pajama pants you touched, Spencer’s old caltech sweats that now fit you far better than him considering he had received them when he was 14. They looked more like capris on him now and it was embarrassingly difficult to convince him to buy a new pair that fit him properly. You slipped on a tank top and pulled your hair back before making your way lazily to the bathroom to take off the remnants of your simple makeup.

After scrubbing your face clean and pulling your dinner out, you moved to ready the couch for yet another night of binge watching cheesy 90s movies. You selected Clueless and watched the vibrant colors pop across the screen while you dived into your meal, making a poor attempt to ignore the slight freezer burnt taste that lingered after every bite. You finished your dinner and set the bowl aside before covering yourself with a blanket and allowing yourself to sink into the cushions, desperately awaiting Spencer's text.

You were jolted out of your doze by the loud buzzing of your phone against the wooden coffee table. Clumsily you reached for it and managed to swipe the answer pad before it sent your genius to voicemail. “Hello?” you managed before a yawn ripped its way through you suddenly. “Hey Y/N, I’m sorry it’s so late. I didn't mean to wake you, I figured you’d still be up. You should go back to bed love.” For the first time, you noticed the neon green numbers on the microwave. 12:30. You stifled another yawn and shook your head in an effort to wake yourself further “No way, I just dozed off while watching a movie. I was waiting to talk to you. Besides, I’m up now anyways so you might as well stay on with me for a bit. Did you get any further today?” “Well, JJ had the idea that the partners were originally a typical dominant/submissive partnership but that something in the dynamic must have changed because the MO began to deteriorate. We think the partners must have split up now, because we’re finding similar pieces of the previous MO at separate crime scenes.”.

You processed the information he fed you slowly due to your semiconscious state but eventually you put your words in order well enough to respond. “That should be helpful though yeah? I mean, they’re used to working in a partnership so being suddenly separated from your other half so to speak would throw you off track quite a bit right?”. You could practically hear him smiling through the phone as you drew the conclusions the team had come to only a few hours prior. “Yes. We’re hoping to be able to draw them out and trap them. Play them against each other.”.”Does that mean I can stop sleeping on the couch soon?”. You heard him let out a dejected sigh - you knew he hated that you would force yourself onto the cramped couch when you had a king sized bed a few hundred feet away but he understood.

When he had come home in the early hours of the morning after an abrupt end to a case a few weeks after you had moved into his place, he had caught you curled up on the sofa with a throw pillow stuffed under your head. When he questioned you about it the next morning, you simply answered that the bed felt too big without him and that you couldn’t stand the empty feeling. “Sooner than later I hope my love. Y/N I really wish you wouldn’t do that to yourself. It’s horrible for your body. It can put you at a much higher risk for chronic back and neck pain as well as-”. “Spence. I’m not a giant like you are. I fit on the couch much better than you do, and I barely notice the difference.”. You both cringed, hearing the lie clear in your voice. Still, Spencer must have felt bad because he humored you. “If you're sure. What did you do today my love?”. You smiled sadly hearing in his voice just how desperate he was to escape from his reality and come home to you.

”Well, I straightened the house. In fact, it’s so clean i think we could use it as a sterilization room.”. He let out a soft chuckle and you could hear him begin to relax as you recounted the rest of your day, excluding the part about the microwave dinner. Spencer loved to tell you how many of the ingredients were one step away from processed garbage and you decided to opt out of the lecture for the evening. He had more than enough to worry about without having to focus on your diet while he was away. After a half hour of light conversation, a loud yawn betrayed you as you were excitedly discussing the cute puppy you had met on the way to the market. Spencer immediately requested that you hang up and get some more sleep but you refused. After a few minutes of bickering, you relented on the condition that he would read to you until you had fallen asleep. You curled up under the fluffy blanket as Spencer’s even voice recited the collection of Grimm’s fairy tales quickly lured you to sleep.

You woke up the next morning as sunlight peered through the curtains, stretching your body out to ease the aches from the previous night. You smiled softly as your screen lit up with a text from Spencer wishing you a good morning and an update that they had a solid plan for boxing in the two unsubs that afternoon. “If all goes to plan I should be carrying you to our bed before midnight tonight.”. Your smile widened and you sent back “Can’t wait to truly see you - and love you- tonight. I’ll be waiting.” You plugged your phone into the charger and straightened up from the night before when your phone went off again. The one word message glared at you from the screen and you let out an involuntary giggle. “Tease.”. You hoped it gave him something to look forward to until he was back in your arms. You sent back a simple “XO” before deciding to reread one of your favorite books for a few hours to kill some time. You made yourself a sandwich for lunch and had a few glasses of water as the clock slowly ticked by. You were over halfway through the lengthy novel when you received another message.

“We apprehended both unsubs. Hotch is postponing the paperwork until Monday so we can go straight home. I’ll see you in a few hours baby.”.  You jumped slightly in celebration before finishing your current chapter, marking your place, and all but skipping to the shower to shave and exfoliate your skin. You knew Spencer would still be heavily worked up once he arrived home and luckily, his favorite release included intertwining your bodies as close as possible and loving you sweetly and slowly.

You took your time in the shower careful not to nick yourself with your razor. You scrubbed your scalp with your nails, letting your stress and soreness melt away under the steam. You waited until the water ran cold before turning the knob and stepping out, wrapping yourself in a fluffy towel and blow drying your hair until it layed perfectly even. You applied lotion all over your skin and stepped out of the bathroom to slip on your black silk robe, knowing it wouldn’t be worth it to dress up further. Spencer would be desperate to feel your skin against his and any fabric in his way didn't stand much of a chance.

You made an actual meal for dinner, a pasta dish with chicken that could be easily reheated for Spencer when he grew hungry later in the night. You helped yourself to a serving and after quickly cleaning up the kitchen and storing the leftovers, you retreated to the bedroom to wait for his return.

You were half paying attention to the feed you opted to scroll through on your phone when you heard the door creak open and bags drop to the floor. You set your phone on the bedside table and ran towards the foyer, all but throwing yourself at the exhausted man in front of you. He took a step back from the impact but still enveloped you in his arms and pulled you impossibly tight into his chest. “Hi baby.” you whispered against the scruffy skin of his jawline, peppering kisses up towards his earlobe. He let out a long sigh of relief and picked you up off the hardwood floor, wrapping your thighs around his waist resulting in a high pitched giggle to erupt from your throat. He kissed you then, slowly at first but quickly building more passionate. Your lungs were burning when he finally allowed you to pull away, opting to kiss down your neck to your collarbones and the skin of your chest that was newly exposed as your robe slipped open.

He carefully made his way back to your room, continuing his kisses back up to your shoulder, stopping only to leave marks you knew would only grow darker as time passed. At the very least he was sure to only mark you in places you could cover with little difficulty. “I missed you so much Y/N. The entire ride home all I could think about was you waiting for me in our bed. My gorgeous girl.”. You felt your chest heat up at his words of admiration, wrapping your fingers into his curls and pulling his lips towards your own once more.

You felt him groan against you and moved to quickly unbutton his shirt, slipping it down his arms and tossing it in the general direction of the hamper. He pulled you up with him then, so you were both on your knees, chest to chest as he pulled your robe fully down your back to the swell of your ass where he grasped at you through the slick fabric. You let out a whine and you pulled his belt off, undoing his jeans desperate to continue. He grinned against your neck and pushed you down so you laid flat on your back, completely exposed to him. He kissed at your stomach, making his way down to your inner thighs. He licked a slow wet trail from your pelvic bone to the top of your clit as you whimpered desperately. “Spence, please… I need more”. He humored you, creating slow small circles with his tongue moaning at the taste. You cried out as he created the perfect amount of pressure on your clit, legs threatening to close around his head when he moved to slip one of his fingers easily inside you as the mix of your own wetness and his saliva aided him. He smirked as he felt your thighs flex before using his left hand to throw one of your legs over his shoulders at a time. He pushed a second finger in, curling them up to perfectly reach your g-spot with every thrust. Soon though, you grew impatient with just his fingers. You needed more and you knew just how to get it.

“I want you so bad Spence. I’ve waited for so long and I just can’t anymore. I need to feel you deep inside of me.”. You were positive those words would leave him just as needy as you were and he proved you right when he kicked his pants the rest of the way off and went to line himself up against you. “Wait.”. He stopped immediately, examining your face for any indication of what was wrong. “What’s the matter baby? Are you okay?”. You shook your head and smiled at his concern before switching your positions so his back was resting against the pillows as you straddle his thighs. He smirked at you as he caught on, trailing his hands up the front of your legs to rest at your hips. “You gonna ride me angel?”. You responded with an eager nod and he squeezed your hips, pulling you up further so you were hovering above him. “Sit pretty like my good girl then.”. You whined softly at his words before slowly sinking yourself down around his length, sucking in a harsh breath at the stretch. Even with how wet you were, the adjustment took longer than usual due to the dry spell you were both suffering from as of late.

When you finally felt stretched out enough to move, you slowly ground your hips forward flush against his. He groaned out, lifting you back up so you were almost completely off of him before pulling you back down. You moaned both at the sensation and the idea of being manhandled by the genius below you. You realized what he was asking though, and began bouncing yourself up and down his cock, stopping every few thrusts to grind your clit down on him. You let out soft moans, and after a few more minutes you felt his fingers dig deeper into your hips and his breaths quicken. You knew he was close and as if on cue you started rubbing fast circles against your clit as he spoke again.

“Baby girl I’m getting close. You gonna cum with me angel?” You nodded furiously in response and you felt him start thrusting up to meet you. You panted as you hurried towards the edge of your orgasm, holding on until his thrusts grew sloppier. “You ready to cum with me baby? You gonna cum on my cock?” “Yeah.. gonna cum all over your cock Doc.” You fought to keep the grin off your face when he moaned at the title. He thrusted deep into you twice, before he ordered your release. “I want you to cum now baby. Cum all over my cock.” You felt your orgasm rip through you, electricity shooting through your limbs. Spencer groaned loudly as you tightened around him before pulling you down deep and releasing inside you.

You both fought to catch your breath as you rode out your highs before you found yourself slumping against his chest, suddenly drained from your activities. You felt him chuckle at your drastic change in energy as he wrapped his arms around you again. “I know you just washed the bed sheets and we’re both sweaty but do you think a washcloth will suffice for tonight?”. You nodded against his chest before slowly lifting yourself up and off of him, rolling onto your back on the other side of the bed. Spencer swiftly made his way across the hall, returning to wipe you down gently with the warm fabric. You shivered as the cool air dried your skin, watching him move throughout your room.

He slipped on a fresh pair of boxers before tossing the washcloth in the hamper along with his previously discarded clothes. He hung your robe on the back of your bedroom door then flipped the light switch off before rejoining you in bed to slip under the blankets with you. You immediately curled up into his chest, sighing contently as the sound of his heartbeat filled your ears. You kissed his chest and whispered goodnight, drifting into your first real sleep since before he left.

The next morning you and Spencer went shopping after you successfully convinced him to upgrade to a smart phone with video call abilities. He had begun to shut down the idea as he always had before but after the mere suggestion of what it could do to better your late night hotel room chats he was the one pulling you towards the nearest phone shop. You smiled politely while Spencer took his sweet time weighing the pros and cons of each model, letting your mind drift to the first time it would come in handy. As you finally neared the checkout counter, you took Spencer's hand in your own and gave it a gentle squeeze. After running his card through the machine, the salesgirl gave him the small plastic bag and wished you both a good afternoon.

As you exited the shop, you looked up at him, nudging him to get his attention “What do you think of an app controlled vibrator?”. He stared at you incredulously for a few moments, almost stopping dead in his tracks. After recovering from the initial shock at the vulgarity of your suggestion, he shook his head with a soft smirk and nudged back against you. “Tease.” he called you once more. “That’s the reason you love me right?”. He pulled you into his side, kissing you softly. “One of many Y/N. One of many.”

#spencer reid #Spencer reid/reader #spencer reid/you #Spencer reid x reader #Spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #cm #Spencer reid smut #smut #Spencer reid x you #Spencer reid fanfiction