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januaryembrs · 18 days

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YOU WERE LIKE AN ANGEL TO ME | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Request: my DARLING @avis-writeshq says- i’m a menace but i ADORED the spencer fic u posted 🥹 UGH THEYRE SO CUTE YOUR HONOURRRR 👹if it’s okay, may i request another fic with the same couple 🙈 perhaps one day reader is not as sweet or chirpy as she usually is, or she gets injured or threatened in the field? much love and lots of kisses xoxo 🫶

Description: Spencer swore he wanted to hate her. She was too happy, too chirpy, too much for a guy who spent months rotting in prison. But how could he ever hate her when she cried in his chest like that?

Length: 5k (I'm feral for these two)

warnings: post prison reid. Angst. depiction of suicide from the Unsub. gory language used. guns mentioned. mention of $nuff video and other murders. Nothing that hasn't been done on CM already.

authors note: if y'all want to see more with these two just SAY because I am all ears I would die on this ship

There were a lot of times in his time at the BAU that Spencer had wished he could have changed the outcome of their bad guy, surprisingly enough. There was the time they found their UnSub a few minutes too late, and one of the victims fathers decided to take him out then and there with a shotgun to the head. He was just a kid. There was the entire time he was with Tobias Hankel, and he lived in a state of both fear and sympathy for the boy trapped in his own body after years of abuse. There was Nathan Harris, the kid who had stopped him at the subway station and practically begged him for help to stop his urges to murder, only to slit his own wrists before Spencer could get to him because he thought he was tainted.

He could see how it was easy in their job to get wrapped up in saving the day, in saving everyone they could. He just had hoped, on some stupid grace of a god he didn’t even believe in, that she would have at least remained untouched by the bad luck.

Spencer had always thought, since the first day he had arrived back into the office after his stint in prison, that she seemed to just waltz through life easier than anyone else. He knew the concept of luck was not quantifiable, that it was just a coincidence that good things happened to some people, and bad things happened to others. He always grouped himself in with the latter, because what was his entire life if not one bad hand of cards after another?

Part of him had been seething with vitriol jealousy when he first met her. He hated how the elevator doors seemed to open without hesitation for her, no waiting required. He hated how her hair never seemed to fall out of place, while his required primping and preening to upkeep. He hated how she was always so happy, whether it had been she’d been given an extra cookie at the bakery for free, or her coffee had just tasted super delicious that morning, or the road works clogging the city had been put on hold the one day she needed to drive into the office. She was one of those people, he had decided, that life just seemed to smile down upon, and she beamed back in that dazzling grin.

He felt sick to his stomach for ever wishing it gone, especially when she looked like she might never smile again.

They never liked to say that they had easy cases and hard ones, all of their cases were difficult to process. But this one had been a handful above the rest.

“UnSub has been killed on site, all units stand down,” Luke said into the radio, and the entire squadron took a sigh of relief, all of them except him.

Because he saw that look in her eye, the way everything sparkly about her seemed to have vanished.

They had been following Bobbie Wrids for a week. Five bodies in, five men shot between the eyes execution style, almost six by the time they’d arrived on the scene.

She’d gone with Tara around the front of the abandoned building; Penelope tracked their newest victim, Henry Frond, through his phone pinging off the nearest satellite towers, and it had been straight forward from there. Or at least it should have been.

Because by the time Spencer and Luke arrived in their own SUV, Penelope had time to access the rest of Henry’s phone, and it was clear to see the victimology behind all six men.

They were distributing snuff videos of women, some between themselves, some to other usernames on the darkweb, and Bobbie Wrids’ daughter had been one of them.

Bobbie had become somewhat of a vigilante, but he was a grieving father above all. He was a wounded animal chomping at the bit to soothe the ripping pain of his daughter's murder, the same one those men were getting off to.

Tara and her exchanged a glance as Penelope relayed the information over their headsets, her once serious expression falling into something sombre and sorrowful. How could she arrest a man she couldn’t help but feel sorry for, one she couldn’t help but think wasn’t entirely wrong in his actions.

“Bobbie Wrids,” Tara’s voice was stern, cutting through the silence of the desolate building. Their footsteps were careful as they made their way through the hallway, down to what had once been a rec-room, or perhaps a staff room, where they knew Bobbie had Henry, “This is the FBI, we’d like to talk,”

They heard nothing, and she looked up to the older woman hesitantly, her finger hovering over the trigger the way Spencer had taught her. Tara took a minute, knowing she was leading the charge here with the girl being so inexperienced, before she nodded to the door knob and the rookie twisted the handle, pushing the peeling wood open gently.

Bobbie Wrids stood in the centre of the room, moth eaten couches either side of the damp rug, the ceiling tiles half caved in from wear and tear. Henry Frond was already a pulp in the UnSub’s arms, and yet it was Bobbie that her eyes shot to first, sympathy shooting through every fibre of her being when she saw the distraught look on the father’s face.

He was grieving. He was grieving his little girl’s death. He was looking for a solution, and this seemed to be his best bet.

“Bobbie,” Her voice was shaky, her and Tara frozen in the doorway as the man brought the pistol to Henry’s beaten face, cocking it towards his temple before they could even explain themselves. “We’re going to come in, is that okay? We just want to talk, just let us talk-”

They had only edged closer by three paces between them as she was speaking before his knuckles turned white and he squeezed the gun tighter to Henry’s skin, the barrel contorting the flesh, “Don’t come any closer, this pig isn’t worth your mercy,”

“We know,” She said, her and Tara slowly stepping over a fallen ceiling tile, cracking under her boot as she met his desolate gaze for the first time, his head snapping to her. “We know what he did, Bobbie. What they all did.”

His throat bobbed, his bottom lip quivering and the sight of it, a man so broken, forced a frog into her oesophagus, and she willed herself not to cry.

“They hurt my little girl,” Bobbie choked out, his face turning mauve as the tears began to build behind his eyes, “She was my girl. She was only eighteen.”

She nodded, his wetted hues seemingly permissive when she stepped closer to where he held Henry hostage.

“I know, I’m so sorry for what happened to her,” She said, her voice croaky, unstable as she wrenched it into something audible, “I’m so sorry,”

“He doesn’t deserve mercy, none of them did,” Bobbie spat, his forearm crushing against Henry’s trachea in a vice-like grip. The man floundered, a wheeze coming from his lungs, not that she felt much sympathy for him.

She sprung into action, flicking her gun onto safety and holstering it, Tara doing the same as she lowered her weapon to her side. He profiled as a vigilante; he had no reason to hurt them.

“Bobbie, listen, I know they didn’t deserve to walk free, okay?” She said, taking the smallest step towards where the men stood, “But she wouldn’t want this for you, would she?”

The man flinched, his jaw hard as a rock with how he clenched his teeth together, as if holding back a sob.

“Come on, Bobbie. Let him go, we have enough evidence to get him sentenced. We can get you a plea deal, I know a good lawyer,” She begged, because she wasn’t beneath it, because she knew he was a good man backed into a corner, “Please,”

Maybe it was the way her eyes were soft when she looked at him, or the fact two more agents burst into the room from the hallway, Spencer’s eye immediately falling to where she was stood so close to their UnSub, her gun out of hand. Tara stood by, but that wasn’t good enough for him. He edged with light footsteps until he was behind her, his gaze cautious, never leaving the gun in Bobbie’s hand.

“Please,” She repeated, and Spencer saw Bobbie’s shoulders drop, every sliver of resolve draining from his body at her gentle tone, a deer approaching a hunter.

Henry was thrown to the floor, the man practically dead weight as he gasped, almost retching at the feeling of air sucking back into his chest frantically, and Luke and Tara were quick to wrestle him into cuffs, the woman reading him his Miranda rights.

Spencer almost made a grab for her then, because she was still creeping forward towards the man who had a loaded gun still live in his hand. He didn’t care for one second that the statistics said Bobbie wouldn’t lay a hand on her since she wasn’t part of his list. He didn’t care that every sign pointed to their UnSub being benevolent towards women, especially younger ones, that she fit his daughter’s description. Spencer didn’t care, he wanted her as far away from that gun as possible.

His heart lurched into his throat when Bobbie did in fact make a lunge for her, just not the way he’d feared. Because she had grabbed him. She’d pulled him into an embrace, a hug, kind and sweet as she always was.

Spencer cursed her for being so soft. It was going to get her killed.

“Agent,” His voice was terse, worried if you dug a little deeper than the sharp surface, but she didn’t listen to him. She held Bobbie tight as the man unravelled on her shoulder, falling into heart breaking sobs and it was then Spencer realised she was crying with him.

“It’s going to be okay, you’re okay,” She was shushing him, the killer, reassuring him he was safe, as if the killing thing wasn’t still between his fingers that clutched at her back with rough hands.

“They killed my girl, they took her from me, and then they laughed about it,” He wailed, and she nodded, squeezing him even tighter if that was so possible, “No one would listen, the police didn’t listen, I had to do something,”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry,” This was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be sympathising with the criminals. But she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help the gasping urge to comfort the man who had lost his whole world, “I’m listening. Tell me about her,”

“She was so beautiful,” Bobbie whimpered, sniffling into her shoulder. Spencer felt his chest twinge at the scene. He hated that she was so soft. “She never hurt a soul,”

She cried with him, though hers were choked down as much as she could get them, her wet cheeks the only proof she had ever let them slip.

“I’m sorry,” She said again, because no matter how many times she repeated those two little words, it would never bring his daughter back, “I can help you,”

He pulled away from her shoulder, and it was only then that Bobbie Wrids even noticed Spencer, his face taut in anxiety as he watched the man’s hands still holding onto her body as if she was the only thing that kept him upright, which Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if it were true.

He fished the cuffs out of his back pocket, his finger never leaving the trigger as he stared down at their UnSub cautiously. He knew he may be being cruel, knew that ten years ago he would be just as caring as her. But that Spencer was long gone. And what remained was screaming in terror that she was in the line of danger, that she was holding the danger in her bare hands like she didn’t see the jeopardy she was putting herself in.

Bobbie pulled away to look at her, the creases around his eyes deep chasms, and even with the smattering of grey hair, the stubble, the cold, empty look of someone with nothing left, she thought he might have been a handsome man once. He looked at her with a ghost of a smile, and one of his callused hands came up to tuck her hair behind her ear as if it had been second nature to him for eighteen years.

“You’re a sweet girl,” He murmured, and she blinked at him, her chest easing at the way his wails had subsided into something quiet. She could help him, she swore she would help him. He was a good man beneath it all. “But no one can help me anymore, sweet girl,”

And with that he lifted the pistol beneath his chin and pulled the trigger.

—

She heard someone scream before she realised it was coming from her own throat, but her ears were ringing and she couldn’t open her eyes. Her face was wet and hot, and for a second she thought it was tears, but she was beyond crying now. She felt arms pulling her back into a strong chest, and someone was murmuring to her, or perhaps they were speaking normally and the sound of the gunshot had knocked her hearing. Either way, it was like someone had pulled a bag over her head as she brought her shaking hands up to her eyes to wipe.

She managed to crack her lids then when the sludge was gone, only to see the room still a blurry mess. She could make out, in the haze of blobs and crimson tint, Bobbie’s body slumped to the floor, a dark puddle seeping into the rug as those long arms tugged her out of the room. She only then looked down to her hands where she had rubbed her face and she caught the same claret plasma coating her fingers, her white shirt, her pants, her arms. It covered her head to toe.

It was in her eyes, she realised when she saw the ichor coating her fingertips. It was blocking her vision, turning the world a vivid wine colour, and she thinks she whimpered, or perhaps it was a moan of horror seeing the puddle beneath Bobbie’s body growing larger by the second.

“I don’t understand,” She said out loud, her head spinning, and she brought her fingertips up to her eyes again, maybe to get the blood out, god there was so much blood on her face, or maybe because she hoped to everything out there that she would clear her sight and find it all a terrible hallucination, the product of one too many nights of sleepless tossing.

But when she rubbed her lids again, this time seeing the scene a little better, Bobbie was still dead. She had still been too late.

“You’re in shock, you need to breathe,” A voice instructed her over her shoulder, and it was from the same person who had their hands around her waist, pulling her away from the crime scene, as CSI filed in from behind them.

She tried pushing the arms off her, weak because she couldn’t feel anything that wasn’t the horror in her stomach, and it took her a second before she listened to their words and realised she was holding a breath in her chest, the way a toddler does when they’re overwhelmed.

“I don’t-” She gasped, the air rushing through her lungs, so fast it made her cough, “I don’t understand, I was going to help him- I don’t understand- why?”

“I know, just breathe for me, sweetheart,” Spencer. She only just realised it was Spencer speaking, because he had never called her that and the gentle tone he’d taken was nothing like his usual, civil cadence. He had been dropping a few jokes the past few weeks since she’d driven him home, had been more touchy feely with correcting her form when she was at the shooting range, had delicately touched the small of her back when they were navigating a crowd together. He was slowly cracking from his statuesque expression that hadn’t left his face since he’d gotten out of prison, but the softness with which he held her waist was entirely new.

“Spencer, I don’t- I don’t get it,” She said, her voice bubbling into a sob as she allowed herself to be pulled away with no fight left in her. He took her into the hallway, turning her body from the sight of his hand lifeless on the floor with little to no effort. She was damn near limp in his arms, “Spencer, I don’t under-understand, I was going to h-help him, why would h-he do that-”

“Shhh, you need to breathe,” He murmured into her hair, trying to lead her out the front of the building and far away from where she’d just been front row seats to a messy suicide, “Come on, just breathe for me, baby, and then we can talk,”

But she wasn’t listening, and he wasn’t offended. Spencer knew it was the shock. He knew the symptoms by how her respiratory system had picked up in a matter of seconds and it was like she had gone from zero to a hundred. She let out a long whine, tears collecting the blood on her lash line and her chest seized into action, gulping down air, too short to do anything for her lungs, and her legs began to buckle beneath the two of them.

Spencer stopped in the hallway, realising she was in more shock than he must have thought. He knew she was sensitive, hell it was one of his favourite things about her. He knew she felt everything so deeply, burned too easily, like a daisy wilting in a dry heat, or candyfloss melting in his mouth. Spencer knew, as awful as watching death up close was for any agent, it would hit her hardest of all of them.

He moved around to her front, his hands migrating from her waist up to her shoulders, brushing over her upper arms soothingly. But her body felt numb, her head felt heavy, and her eyes were glazed over, down a rabbit hole entirely away from him, even when one of his hands cupped her wetted cheek gently.

“Just breathe, hey, look at me,” He tried a firmer tone, and she bent to his will too easily. It was a punch in the gut seeing everything shining and pretty leached out of her eyes, as if she had become soulless in a matter of minutes, as if she had lost all hope in the world the second Bobbie pulled that trigger. She looked like hell, blood still fresh on her cheeks, in her hair, smeared around her eye sockets where she had scrubbed so hard to get it off her skin, “You need to calm down, you’re going to faint if you don’t breathe,”

She nodded, or something close to it, her eyes falling down to the floor, and she seemed to wrestle for control over her chest then. But what came after was worse, Spencer thought. Her brows screwed together, her eyes welling up with more of those fat tears, and her lips dropping into a devastated pout, her eyes trailing over the mess on her uniform, on her hands.

“Spencer, I don’t understand, I tried to help him, I wanted to help him,” She sobbed, sniffling to herself miserably, and he barely even thought about it when he pulled her into his chest, not caring that her skin would dirty his shirt.

His hand wound into her hair, stroking her sweetly as she buried her wails into his vest. He used his other arm to pull her close to him, which she seemed to have zero qualms about as she clawed at his back to keep him close, as if she didn’t want to face what was going to happen when they left that building.

Spencer regretted ever thinking her sunshine was too bright for him.

–

She hadn’t smiled in a whole week. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had given Penny a very forced smile when she had fussed over the younger woman the first day she got back, had said thankyou with downcast eyes and a fragile grin when the blonde presented her with a framed picture of a puppy to keep on her desk ‘incase she needed something nice to think about,’

She hadn’t looked at it once, because they both knew it wouldn’t do anything, no matter how much she pretended for Penelope’s sake that she would put it to good use.

He had taken her out for coffee on him that first day, but by the time they had got to the front of the queue, he had been doing almost all of the talking, which had become rare nowadays since he had come home from Mexico. Usually, it had been her filling the silences, because he knew in her right mind she hated the sound of static nothingness, she found it awkward and unnecessary when she could talk to anyone without thinking about it too hard.

They had got to the desk, the barista smiling up at him as he ordered his usual, before he turned to look at her as the woman serving asked her what she would like. But she wasn’t listening, she was watching out the window, nothing particularly invigorating beside a bird cleaning its feathers on top of a stop sign.

He said her name, putting his hand on her back and her head whipped around, her eyes empty as they looked up at him expectantly, “What do you want to drink?”

She blinked, waking herself from a stupor, and looked at the barista with an embarrassed expression, “Hot chocolate, please,”

And that was all she really had to say until lunch rolled around, and she excused herself to head home early. Emily smiled at her reassuringly, her eyes wary as she watched their happy-go-lucky rookie head for the elevators with a desolate look in her eyes.

Spencer hoped she would come around on her own, or maybe even be brave enough to talk to someone about the thoughts rattling around that head of hers, but she just didn’t. She stayed as silent as possible, only ever speaking when spoken to, asking Emily if she could finish off her reports at home, to which the Prentiss woman never protested.

But Spencer had had enough. He’d worried himself sick over her, and where all thoughts of how endearing and lovely and charming she was had sat in his head before, now it was all just ways he could think to make her smile again.

It was the following Tuesday by the time he braved action. She had gone home after their midday briefing, apologising to Emily with tired eyes that seemed to be growing more and more heavy by the day, like she hadn’t slept a wink in a fortnight. Which Spencer thought was entirely possible.

He pulled up to the house Penelope had not so discreetly told him was hers, definitely not because he’d asked, and definitely, definitely not breaching any human resource policies about distributing fellow workers information (meaning Spencer had almost certainly not begged Penelope for the address with those puppy eyes of his he knew could bag him anything).

The peonies in the window bays were wilting but her house was something out of a fairytale. He wasn’t sure why he was really so surprised. It screamed her, everything about it, from the toadstool post box to the little green, cast iron bench that sat in the garden, the metal forged to look like florets of ivy holding the sitter upright.

He rapped the brass knocker, the metal cold under his long fingers. Brushing invisible dirt off his shirt, he hoped she would answer as the present squirmed at his feet.

“Just a second,” He hushed, and as if she heard him, the front door swung open to reveal her bare face he hadn’t seen since he’d helped her wipe the blood from her skin in the back of the ambulance.

She looked at him with furrowed brows, before they quickly shot to the floor, to her cobbled pathway that had clicked under his shoes, and her face washed with a shock.

“Oh my god, Spencer!” She crouched to her knees, a slobbery lick immediately meeting her cheek as the Spaniel rubbed his wet nose up to her ear, sniffing her unique smell, as if it was a bag of Class A’s, “I never knew you had a dog,”

“I don’t,” He replied, kneeling with her to ruffle the soft fur behind the canine’s ear, “This is Ace. He retired from the Bomb Unit a month ago and Penelope sent me his handler’s number. They said he’s the happiest dog in the world,”

“I would be too if I stopped so many people from blowing up,” She said, but before he could ask what she meant exactly by that, Ace had jumped up and attacked her entire face with kisses as if he too thought that statement was worth silencing.

And she laughed. She laughed louder than she had in days, weeks, her eyes crinkling in joy as the little pink tongue stole away her sorrow, tickled away the traces of the blood that had tainted her skin.

Spencer smiled, his eyes watching her face scrunch in a squeal, hands eventually coming up to the elderly dog’s jowls to gently push him down.

“Oh, you are the sweetest guy,” She said, and the words had him tugging at the leash to lick her all over again, “Yes you are, you’re the sweetest little guy around, huh?”

She chuckled, scratching down the mutt’s neck, and her eyes flicked back up to Spencer, who watched her with more intent than she’d realised.

“Petting and receiving affection from pets causes spikes in serotonin in our brain and reduces anxiety, did you know that?” Spencer said, Ace pushing his muzzle into the palm of her hand to prove a point.

Her smile wavered slightly, and she looked at his hazel hues that seemed to see right through her, “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been so off lately, I just can’t sleep at the moment-”

“Don’t apologise,” He cut in, though his tone was kind, and the two of them stood back up to their full height, “What happened was horrifying, even some of the longest serving agents I know would struggle seeing that,”

She scoffed, unusually pessimistic coming out of her mouth, “You wouldn’t,”

His head tilted, not quite understanding what she meant, because she hadn’t sounded cruel when she said it. Then again, he didn’t think she was actually capable of that emotion.

She looked at him, a flash of something vulnerable in her eyes, something like that day he’d held her in the hallway; too fast he almost missed it.

“You’re so brave, Spencer, you’re like invincible. I mean, you survived prison and your mom getting kidnapped and you bounced straight back to work like it was nothing. I can’t even watch a murderer die without spiralling out of control,” She huffed, rubbing the bridge of her nose and before he could respond on just how wrong she was, before he could tell her that that was exactly the opposite of what had happened because he had damn near changed every inch of himself in prison to stop himself from breaking, he caught her murmuring and he thought he might just have been punched all over again, “I wish I was like you,”

His jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowing into a frown as he stepped towards her, and her head shot to him, worried she may have said the wrong thing by mentioning everything that had happened, everything Pen had specifically said was a touchy subject, and she opened her mouth to apologise.

“Do you know how unbelievably glad I am that you are nothing like me?” Spencer said, his voice bordering on furious and her fumbled for a reply, worried she had truly pissed him off.

She wouldn’t blame him for hating her. She’d always worried, until perhaps that day they’d gotten into her car and she’d driven him home, that her very essence annoyed him.

“I’m sorry-” She started, but he shook his head.

“Stop apologising,” He said, his hand reaching up to grab where her fingers tugged together nervously, his hold featherlike, his face softening when he saw her expression, “I don’t want you to be anything like me. I like you just how you are,”

She sighed, eyes doe like with emotion as she looked at him, “Really?”

He smiled, a rare and genuine smile as she seemed to glow under his words, “Yes, really.” Spencer allowed himself to enjoy the way that the twinkle returned to her expression when he smiled at her with something almost like the old Spencer in him, before he cleared his throat, “We all like you. Everyone on the team likes how you are,”

She paused, nodding to herself as if knocking herself out of a silly daze, and Ace bounced on his hind legs trying to get her attention again.

“You don’t think I’m too sensitive?” She asked, holding her palm out for the dog to nuzzle at with that wet nose of his.

Spencer shook his head, “Sensitive is good. It means you feel something. Means you feel the good things deeper too,”

Her smile was blinding, because she’d never thought of it that way before, and she looked like her old self again. Spencer wasn’t stupid enough to think she was never going to think about Bobbie again, he still thought about that first UnSub he’d tried to save. He still thought about Tobias Hankel. He thought about them all.

But he was going to make sure she never turned into him. He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself if she did. He’d protect her sunlight even if it burned him to know he could never have her the way he wanted. Because she was everything good, and he was him.

She looked down at Ace, the life returning to her as she stood aside for the two of them to enter her house, “Tea?”

Yep. Spencer felt something run hot knowing she would always be out of reach. Didn’t stop him from thinking about it, though.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #Post Prison!Spencer Reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #matthew grey gubler x reader

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chqnified · 1 year

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What am i going to do to celebrate getting the job offer?

Drink and buy more skz albums.

#seems a great plan #probably start sunday. seems a sensible idea considering i have work tomorrow #and fuck no to throwing a party like everyone has said. I'm not doing that shit.#I'm not about to make a party about myself. I'd rather dig a hole in cement and bury myself in it.#i did say 13 was my lucky number lmao. in 13 we trust.#izar tag #was cute to see Aris and our friend Danielle just lose it whilst still on the phonecall #to get off the phonecall and both scream and hug one another.#funny how you can be genuinely happy for someone and not be a jealous bitch. Danielle setting the barrier high.#We love them #bless Echo too.#hopefully it's light to Charlie too. He seems lighter since. like you can see a small faint smile from that tear stained face.#maybe it's the start of a change for good. I think so.#I'd say a big well done to the parts who pulled off the tests and interviews. I hope they're proud of themselves #Charlie. Felix. Isla. Xera..... and the rest. yeah. I'm proud of them all.#even if they didn't do directly the job application. they still were there dealing with the rest of our life #without them too it wouldn't be possible. Especially Celia Dani and Avi who had to step up more in day to day stuff #it was a team effort. As it always has been. As it always will be.#system rambles

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flor4de4amor · 8 days

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thinking about how when aviator!abby gets home from base she asks you to unbraid her hair and play with it

Aviator!abby brainrot

so i got a bit ahead of myself writing for this... n changed the prompt a little to washing avi!abby's hair cause i love her + my love language is acts of service.

just a reminder for everyone reading, these aviator!abby writings are the last of the au as i'm clearing out drafts plz enjoy!

click for palestine | boycott tlou | read b4 engaging w me

warnings: casual nudity, abby's an annoying freak - per the usual.

abby’s hair is a tousled mess. she most likely undid her braid in the privacy of your shared garage, once parked after her long work day. her face is tense and you can see her body is rigid. it’s been a long day for her. she’s pressing your face with wet kisses, slaughtering your face with appreciation in the front doorway. “hi baby,” you mumble into her neck.

“hello,” she whispers back to you. exhaustion is evident in her voice. you know exactly what she needs.

running your fingers through her messy hair she groans, “want me to wash your hair up?” you offer while twirling your fingers around her soft wavy ends, a result of her tight braid.

“mm,” she groans back appreciatively, which you take for a yes.

“you’re lucky i speak your secret little language of grunts,” you tell her softly. she pinches your backside in retaliation. you groan and laugh all at once. “be nice to me or else i’m not gonna run your bath,” you threaten without meaning.

“sorry,” she mutters into your neck. her weight is heavy on top of your body as she clings to your flesh. her hands come underneath your sleep shirt, running up and down your spine. her way of apologizing silently. you separate, and abby sprawls out on the couch while you run the bath for her.

she sneaks up on you silently. while you’re bent over, vunerably, sticking your index finger in the running water, checking how hot it is. she snaps her hips into yours while your knees are dug into the bathroom tile. she pretends to fuck you mercilessly, and soft giggles escape her mouth.

you gasp at her actions, “abigail!” you laugh. “here i am rushing to take care of you, and you molest me.” you tease. your neck craning to look back at her.

her face is red with excitement and a smile prominent on her lips. she shrugs her shoulders, “couldn’t help myself, your ass is so cute,” her hand reaches down to pinch your left cheek, as your underwear peeks out from underneath your sleep shirt. you jump upright, laughing at her actions.

“you’re agitating me,” you sigh though your smile is peering through your lips. you turn around to face her, a playful glare rest on your face. all a facade, it’s near impossible to stay mad with abby.

“sorry,” she mutters again, her hands touching the back of your neck. her thumb rubbing slow circles on the base of your skull with care. you know she’s not really sorry.

“all these sorry, sorry, sorries, full of shit.” you sigh as her warm hands comfort your neck. “just take your clothes off and get in the bath babe,” you command gently.

“kinky,” she mutters with a sly smile.

“abigail,” you roll your eyes at her, taking your time to unbutton her uniform top, as she stalls. her hands reach to undo her khakis, the checkered print of her boy shorts poking through the undone zipper.

“mrs. anderson,” she replies with that stupid voice of hers. she’s down to her sports bra, which she quickly discards, and her boy shorts, which she’s more than happy to rip off. her toned body on display alongside her messy hair, you can’t help but take a minute to admire her and her confidence.

“into the bath please,” you command of her once more. she slides in, with ease.

“you’re so bossy today.” you smile and scoff. her legs soak in the water and her lean back is pressed against the cold ceramic of the tub, facing you. her blonde waves covering her shoulder blades.

“you complain too much, remember who’s gonna take care of you when you get old.” you remark, and grab the shower cup from the edge of the tub.

“can’t help myself babe,” she muses with her eyes closed in relaxation.

you fill the cup up with the running faucet water, “pass me the shampoo abby,” you tell her while sitting the cup next to you. you sit on top of a step stool, matching your squatting heigh to abby’s sitting height, which still carries a few inches over you. she opens her eyes and hands you the mint scented shampoo. you crack open the plastic container, squirt some into your hands, and place the soap unto your wife’s scalp. she sighs at the cooling sensation, but moans in satisfaction once you begin scrubbing her scalp. your nails scratching away any impurities that lay on her pretty little head, suds building on top of her blonde hair. you rinse the soap out with the plastic cup besides you, brushing her long locks when finished. “pass me the conditioner now, yeah?”

she obliges, passing the container. “thank you, love.” she turns head around, kissing you softly.

“well someone’s gotta take care of you yeah?” you smile against her lips.

“and i’m glad it’s you,” she kisses you once more.

you lather the conditioner in her long hair, sloppily braiding it so it gets out of her way. “rise off, yeah?” you urge her, knowing that she likes to shower without help.

you groan getting up from the stool, watching as she lifts the lever, turning the shower on, wincing slightly as the hot water hits her chest. you sit on the lidded toilet, observing while she scrubs herself with pine soap. she always smells like a christmas tree. she nods at you once finished, “come rinse my hair out please?” she practically begs.

“you’re just a spoiled little princess,” you smile at her freckled face and blue eyes. but you oblige, getting up anyway.

“you’ve made me this way,” abby replies and sits back down once more. you scoff and use the cup to wash the conditioner off her hair. brushing out the soft lather with your fingers delicately. once you’ve finished up, your wife steps out the shower, and you wrap a towel around her. water dripping from her hairline to her forehead. “you gonna braid my hair for work tomorrow?” abby asks, throwing in some puppy dog eyes.

you sigh, “i can’t say no when you ask like that.”

abby pumps her fist in victory, “love you so much baby.” she kisses your cheeks relentlessly.

“shut up anderson, you’re getting me all wet,” she almost cuts you off to make a dirty joke before you click your tongue at her, silencing her quickly. “go get dressed so i can pamper you some more.”

“sure thing baby.” she paddles out the bathroom and rushes into your bedroom, eager for more of your caring touch.

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bbunisre · 4 months

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11: MEGUMI'S (surprise) BIRTHDAY PARTY (0.3k)

“There’s something going on.” Megumi announces as soon as he enters your car on the day of his surprise party.

Megumi would debunk it was what you thought before picking him up. His household forgetting his birthday? Megumi would figure it out. You tilt your head, “What do you mean?”

“Tsumiki and Gojo are acting weird…you know about it.”

You laugh, hands on your steering wheel. In the corner of your eye, you spot Panda sneaking around the house to help decorate, a suspicious brown bag in his hand. You sigh, “Happy birthday, Megumi.”

He blinks at you, lashes fluttering as if he didn’t believe you ruined the surprise.

“Thank you.”

There was no point keeping it a secret when Megumi knows about it anyway. Gojo, Tsumiki and you have gone out of your way every year to make sure Megumi has a good birthday and feels appreciated every year. Although he’d prefer to keep things on the down low, it’s his birthday for God’s sake. He deserved to be celebrated.

You shake your head, “Don’t worry about it. Tsumiki’s throwing you a surprise party though. I know there’s no way to fooling you but please go along with this to make Tsumiki happy.”

“I will.” he nods, putting his seatbelt on, “Is this part of the plan?”

“Me taking you out for the day?”

“Yeah.”

“Basically. I hope you didn’t take it was weird of me to bring you out on your birthday.” you respond, “Especially after…”

Mentally, you curse yourself for not stopping yourself. Why did you have to keep bringing up something that was an accident?

Megumi visibly blushes, “N-No. Um…where are we going?”

You clear your throat, “We’re going to get lunch at that place you like. My treat, obviously.”

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ravens-two · 10 months

Text

PICK A CARD reading

What do you need to work on?

Pile 1 -> Pile 2

Pile 3 -> Pile 4

Deck used: Dark Wood Tarot

TIPS | BOOK A READING WITH ME | PATREON | LINKTREE | SUGGEST A PAC TOPIC

Pile 1

2 of Pentacles

"We've been breathing underwater no we don't know how/ Time will keep us moving so don't turn back now" Closer every day - Chris Malinchak, Stealth

Hi, pile 1, I think it's really interesting that you picked an illustration with a person almost drowning and then this song came up. I feel like things have been difficult lately, it might be that you've been feeling like you're barely been able to keep up with everything that's going on in your life. With the 2 of Pentacles thrown in here as well, you may have been in a situation where you're trying to deal with two big things at once. Like, say for example, you're dealing with your own problems and a helping a friend deal with their problems as well. The first message that is coming for you pile 1 is that you need to prioritize because you won't be able to keep every ball in the air.

Now onto what you need to work on. The 2 of Pentacles is a card of duality and flexibility, of making space for a little bit of everything. For me this means that you need to work on not seeing things so black and white. I think that the people in this pile either have a bit of a fatalistic view of things or are super happy go lucky with no in-between. Spirit is asking you to try and look at things in a different way. Maybe things aren't all terrible - or maybe they aren't perfect. You need to recognize the good, the bad and the neutral in every situation. Also, you don't need to have a super strong and unchangeable opinion on everything. It's okay to change your mind as you grow and learn, and sometimes you won't have an opinion at all - and that is perfectly fine.

Going back to this difficult situation that you have been going through, maybe take a little bit to think about it and try to see it from a different angle. Has anything good come out of it? What is a simple thing that you could do that would make this situation better? Try to keep it as simple as possible, sometimes our fears and worries make our problems seem more monstrous than they truly are. As a last little message: be brave and keep going! You're so so strong and as your song says you're getting closer every day. Don't give up now!

Pile 2

The Sun

"Wake me when I fall" Wake me - Messages To Bears

Hey there, pile 2! First of all let me ask, how are you? Are you okay? This may not be for everyone, but I am getting deep sadness and depression vibes from this pile. There's almost a sense of mourning here. You may have recently lost someone or something that was very important to you. Some of you may have never even had this thing to begin with - like you wanted to get into a certain college but you didn't make it. Honestly the vibe here is like seeing the first rays of sunlight, but not being entirely convinced yet that it will rise indeed. I have this feeling that despite this loss and this longing you want to be hopeful, but you're not seeing enough proof that everything will be alright yet.

With the Sun card here more than working towards something (even though yes you do have to work for it) I think that what you need is reassurance. And I really want to give it to you pile 2. Yes, everything will be okay. No, the future won't undo what has been taken from you and it won't erase the pain you have been and you are going through. But you will laugh again, you will feel the sunshine on your skin again and you will feel happy and content. This was not the end. Your future is still being built and it wants to tell you that you will be alright. Side note, but the song "A quarter past five" by Avi Kaplan just came to mind because he sings something like "It turns out fine". And yeah pile 2 it does turn out fine.

Your life is currently in expansion, maybe it's really hard to see it yet, but it is. You will be safe, healthy and happy. The only thing that Spirit wants you to do is to hold on. Keep being hopeful, keep one foot after the other and you will get there. There isn't a future without pain, that's just impossible, but there is a future filled with joy and contentment ready for you.

Pile 3

The Tower

"Have I found you, flightless bird? / Or lost you, American mouth?" Flightless Bird, American Mouth - Iron & Wine

Pile 3, the Tower is the card of destruction, but in your reading, rather than predict disaster this card is asking you to evaluate your behaviors. Have you been unnecessarily aggressive lately? Have you been lashing out at the people who love you? Even if you don't necessarily mean to, mean words may have been quick on your tongue lately. Spirit wants you to think about these misplaced aggressions. Who are you really angry with? or What are you really angry about? There are other, healthier, ways to use this anger. Art or sports could be a way to channel this aggression in a way that would make you feel better and that wouldn't hurt your loved ones. The most important thing to realize though is that misplacing your anger/taking it out on others doesn't make you a bad person. Realizing that you're doing it and not making an effort to change though, does.

This isn't necessarily the case for everyone though. I feel like some of you are taking it out on yourselves instead of other people. Simple thoughts like "oh you're so stupid" or "you screw everything up" are signs of self-aggression. Just like the others, I ask you to stop and to think what is causing that anger and why are you taking it out on yourself. Why do you feel that you deserve bad things? This is difficult work, but that will make you feel so much better.

Others of you may be trying to make trouble on purpose as a way to gain attention. This could be literal trouble, like stealing or cheating, or it could be a more subtle form like provoking someone into a fight. Again, we make no judgments here. But ask yourself why do you feel like you can't just ask other people for their attention? What or Who is making you feel unseen? You deserve to be loved just as you are pile 3 and you don't need to be perfect or to cause trouble to deserve other's attention.

Pile 4

7 of Pentacles

"I don't love very often when I do I love too hard" Stupid Boys - Cassidi

Pile 4, according to Sasha Graham (the creator of the Dark Wood Tarot) the 7 of Pentacles is a card of slumber. For you, the work you have to do is subtle in a way, because it's hard to realize all the small little things that we do and that hurt us in the long run. Constantly and without us realizing we continue to hurt ourselves until it's hard to understand where our problems are coming from. You need to wake up pile 4. I know that there are times when we just want to curl up into a ball and daydream our days away, but what you need to do right now is the opposite of that. You need to gather your courage and wake up. Go slowly at first, just watching, paying attention to yourself. What opportunities are you losing without even noticing, because you're afraid? These could be really "simple", like being invited to go out with a group of friends and refusing because you've been anxious. You think that going out will be worse for your anxiety, but the more that you keep refusing these outings the more your anxiety grows. You are giving it power, essentially. This is just an example, but some of you might actually have anxiety (also I also have it and I know that it's really easy to talk, but very hard to actually to take action).

Another big thing that you need to face is fear. What are you afraid of? What is fear taking from you? What would be the worst possible outcome of something? And then I need you to realize something, you are the one in control here, not your fears. They might freak you out, but they are not in control. Let's imagine that you're in a car with your fears, you're the one driving not them. They might try to grab the steering wheel, they may scream at you to slow down, they may be annoying as shit, but you're still the one driving. You get to decide your path, not your fears.

Ultimately, pile 4 there are big opportunities ahead of you, but you need to wake up, be brave and grab them.

#pac reading #pick a card reading #pick a card #pick a picture #pick a pile #tarot #tarot reading #shadow work

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