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okay-j-hannah · 3 months ago

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The Kickstart | Smosh 💛

Smosh : Multishot

Spencer Agnew x Reader

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: slow burn, strangers to friends, friends to lovers, Spencer pining, reader is struggling in LA, not a lot of money, multiple jobs, poor studio apartment, inconsiderate boyfriend, lots of musical theatre talk, reader insert but a few things are already decided (last name is Bennett, favorite drink is Diet Coke, love the colors blue and green, artist, theatre nerd, etc.)

Request: This just came from my own head 😊

A/N: I haven't written for Smosh in years... but the current cast and crew has me sucked back into the fandom. And I am sorely in need of more Spencer content 😭

I was initially inspired by this incredibly well done fic "Late Night" by @simpingsavant Please give it a read because it's a masterpiece.

Part 1: The Kickstart {You Are Here}

Part 2: Mama Bear

It was nearly three in the morning. The witching hour, you think with a smile. There was a light flickering near the fountain drinks. You lean against the checkout counter, thumbing through an aged script.

You memorize the cue lines that signal when quick changes are supposed to happen between scenes. The current musical you are working on is Hairspray.

Going through the script and your production notes really help pass the time.

The small rinky-dink gas station you manage is your reluctant home most nights. It wasn’t your favorite place, but it helped with the bills. Trying to make a living on production design for musicals isn’t the money maker you hoped it would be in LA.

You barely made anything doing hair and makeup for the community theatre. But it was something you loved.

And wouldn’t you rather be doing something you love than being miserable in a high paying corporate job?

Sure, you think.

It had been nearly eight months since you started working at this gas station. The owner was as rinky-dink as the store itself, speaking in short, to the point sentences and avoiding eye contact. There were only two gas pumps out front that rarely attracted customers.

The biggest commodity are the cheap drinks and snacks inside. Many stop by for something quick on their way to and from work.

Normally working the night shifts from 10pm to 6am, you are quick to notice any regulars. Not many people are awake at this time of night, let alone on their way to the gas station for a drink.

The bell sounds above the door as a familiar face enters. It was Glasses.

That’s what you called him after seeing him for the third time in a week, back when you first started working here.

He usually came in late like this, looking exhausted. He has curly dark hair, gold rimmed glasses, and some scruff. Today he’s dressed in jeans rolled up at the cuffs, brown boots, and a gray sweatshirt.

He gives you an awkward, close-lipped smile as he passes. You watch him go for the drink fridges. Energy drinks are his specialty, maybe the occasional coffee or breakfast sandwich. He always bought them two at a time, taking the slight discount for buying a duo instead of a single.

About every other week he’s there three to four of those days. You’ve always wondered why – especially when he always looked so tired when he came in.

But you’ve never had a conversation that’s lasted longer than the cordial exchanges.

“Hello,” you say.

“Hello,” he replies with his awkward smile.

You scan his drinks, Mountain Dew Kickstarts like always. “Find everything you need?”

“Yep.”

The computer beeps. “That’ll be $8.56.”

“All right.” He taps his card on the machine in front of him.

“Would you like your receipt?”

“No thanks.” He grabs his two cans.

“Have a nice night.”

“You too.”

It had been like that for maybe six of those eight months. After that, your curiosity began to plague you. The next time he came in, you watch him browse for a Kickstart and a breakfast muffin.

Saying hello to him had felt routine. But it was clear that you both recognized each other. So you decide to say something a little more than usual.

“Getting breakfast a little early?” you joke in your quiet voice.

He smiles, pulling out his wallet. “I just haven’t eaten anything all night.”

“Sounds like a rough night. That’s $9.34.”

He scans his card. “It has been.”

With him looking down at the keypad, you take the time to look at the circles under his eyes. “You should try the croissant sandwiches. Much better than stale muffins.”

He nods his head, “Next time. Thanks.”

You watch him walk away, still at a loss as to why he’s always in there this late at night.

A couple days later he’s walking in and giving you a wave. You smile at him as he makes for the drinks again.

He’s dressed in those same jeans and combat boots. Now he wears a t-shirt with a denim jacket. If you had friends to talk to, you’d want to tell them how Glasses loves to wear the same jeans and jackets all the time.

He comes to the counter and clears his throat.

You scan his drinks and a breakfast sandwich. A croissant sandwich.

You chuckle, “You won’t be disappointed.”

“I’m counting on it,” he says, tapping his card against his hand while he waits.

“Haven’t eaten anything all night again?”

He hums, shrugging his shoulders, “Felt peckish.”

“Do you want your receipt?”

“No, that’s fine. Have a good night.”

You throw the balled up receipt into the garbage bin beside you. “You too.”

You’d love to tell a friend that Glasses seems shy. He seems nice.

A few weeks later, you’re drawing sketches for costume designs. You were doing Shrek The Musical at the community theatre. Papers were full of drawings depicting a white rabbit, a wicked witch, a wolf in granny clothes, and fairies with colorful makeup.

You were humming one of the songs when Glasses came in with a yawn. His eyes search for you and he waves, “Good evening.”

“Good night,” you say sarcastically.

He grabs his drinks and comes to the counter with wandering eyes. You try to move your sketches and pencils out of the way.

“Sorry,” you say, “That’ll be $8.56.”

He scans his card, but keeps looking at your art. “You draw those?”

“Yeah,” you say, abashedly. “Little project.”

“They’re really good,” he pops open one of the drinks and takes a sip. “Are they just for fun, or…?”

You shyly pull out a drawing of a person in a dragon scale costume. “They’re for the musical I’m a part of. Down at the local theatre.”

“That’s cool,” his face lights up.

Something warm tickles your stomach. You were actually having a normal conversation with Glasses.

“Are you the costume designer?”

“Assistant,” you bow your head. “I’m head of hair and makeup.”

He nods, clearly interested. “Have you been a part of production teams much?”

“For years,” you smile, “I love theatre. I’ve done almost everything. Acting, costumes, set design, lighting – you name it.”

He pockets the other energy drink in his jacket pocket. “Sounds like fun. Have a nice rest of your night.”

“Thank you, you too.”

If you had friends, maybe you’d tell them that Glasses might become a friend. The only person you have to text is your new boyfriend Aaron. But he wasn’t a fan of nonsense texts – texts that were unnecessary.

A few weeks go by, now seven months into your job at the gas station. Glasses was still making his almost daily visits. You caught him standing outside the window for a minute before coming in.

You have confusion in your face, but a smile on your lips. “You okay there?”

He raises his eyebrows and talks as he walks to the fridges. “What do you mean?”

“Was there something on that window or were you just making sure you weren’t a vampire?” At his knitted brows, you continue, “You know… checking that you still had a reflection.”

Heat floods your face at the poor attempt at a joke, but Glasses laughs, nonetheless. “I might be nocturnal, but no, I’m not a vampire.”

You smile, admiring him walking towards you. His fluffy curls were sticking out from beneath a green hat. In white embroidery it says, Smosh.

“How were auditions?” he asks, getting his card ready.

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Good. I think we’ll have a good cast.” Earlier that week he asked about the latest Hairspray script that was on your counter. “The quick changes will be fun.”

He clears his throat, having paid but still standing at the register.

“I’m sorry, did you want your receipt?” you ask suddenly. “Normally you don’t so I stopped asking.”

“No, no – sorry. I’ve been trying to find some clever segway to introduce myself. But we’ve been seeing each other for months and it feels strange to do it now.” He rubs his forehead, struggling to maintain eye contact with you while he talks. “I mean, it’s not like I have a nametag like you.”

You look down at your chest to see (Y/N) printed on the laminated tag. “That’s true.”

He takes a deep breath and extends his hand. “I’m Spencer.”

You take his hand. It was very warm. “(Y/N).”

He smiles, “Nice to officially meet you.”

Maybe you’ll tell Aaron that Glasses has a new name now. Spencer.

One night at two in the morning, you were asked to do inventory while another employee managed the registers. It was strange to have a coworker with you on night shifts, but when things need to be restocked, it took a team.

You use a box cutter to break through packages, pulling out chip bags and candies. You roll them out on a dolly. Plastic wrappers crinkling as you restock shelves, you don’t notice who Eric at the counter is talking to.

But then a pair of glasses peek around the corner. “Hey!”

You smile wide, “Spencer!”

He smiles back, “I was worried when I didn’t see you at the registers.”

“Yeah, they need two of us here when we do inventory,” you shake a bag of doritos before putting it on the shelf. “How was your day?”

He sighs, opening his drink, “Long. Shooting weeks always are.” He tells you about the online comedy group he’s a part of. It was called Smosh.

“Oh, you’ve worn some merch that has that logo on it,” you say, moving a box out of the way.

Spencer nods, “Gotta promote whenever we can.”

“How large is the group?”

“Well, it’s more of an entertainment company. We have a huge production team and a cast. We film content for four different channels.”

“That’s impressive.”

He suddenly dips down to help hand you boxes of candy. “I guess. I think most of LA are internet personalities in one way or another.”

“I’m not,” you say quietly. “It is impressive.”

You learn about his directorial position on one of the channels. Being a head producer, he has a lot of sway on that content. You commend him on the responsibility, and he seems pleased, if not a little embarrassed.

He excuses himself not long after that.

You head towards the registers to restock the candy on the counters. Eric is there giving you a telling smile.

“What are you looking at?” you ask.

The middle-aged man scoffs, “That guy came in with the biggest smile on his face, but then he realized I was the one standing at the counter and he looked so disappointed.”

“I’m sure he was just in need of an energy drink.”

Eric shakes his head, “It wasn’t me that he wanted to see.”

Now in the present, you stand at the counter while Spencer leans against the other side. You had just revealed the fact that you have a boyfriend.

“H-How long have you been together?” he asks with much more nervousness than before.

You scrunch your nose in thought, “About two months. It’s been great though. He gives me rides to work and everything.”

“You don’t have a car?” Spencer asks, paying for his snacks.

You throw the receipt away, “No. I was taking the bus before I met him.” Noticing the awkwardness enter Spencer’s face, you say, “Rough I know. But I manage.”

“It’s nice of him.”

“Yeah, especially because I don’t really make enough to get a car right now.”

“Isn’t that why you have this job on top of the musical theatre stuff?” he offers you a package of your favorite candy.

It makes you smile, “Sure. But rent isn’t helping with my savings. Living paycheck to paycheck.”

“Does Aaron drive you to theatre too?”

Your gaze falls from Spencer’s, eating a piece of candy to give you some time before answering. “No, he’s not a big fan of musicals.”

Spencer scrunches his brow. Unsure of what was stepping over the line with this new friend of his, he tiptoes. “He won’t drive you because he doesn’t like theatre?”

“It’s kind of inconvenient asking him to come get me late after rehearsals. I shouldn’t ask for so much, he’ll think I’m dating him just to have a cab driver.” You snicker at your joke, but Spencer doesn’t seem to think it’s very funny.

He drinks from his can when another customer enters the store. That always meant he would excuse himself so you could get back to your job.

You start to expect Spencer each week. You wait for when you know a filming week was at Smosh. During that time, Spencer would visit for his necessary caffeine. He always stops to talk to you for a few minutes before leaving.

You always feel bad since he normally came in exhausted from work. He denies himself sleep just to spend a few more minutes with you.

It takes a couple more weeks, but he starts to stay even when more customers come in. He just steps to the side and waits for you to ring the customer up.

Then he comes back to continue your conversation.

“So do you prefer acting or production?”

You share the snacks that he’s purchased. “Production, for sure. I kind of developed stage fright a couple years ago. But I do miss being on stage sometimes.”

He looks at you while you talk. He’s an active listener. He zeros in on your face while you speak, ensuring he doesn’t miss anything.

But when he speaks, he tends to look elsewhere. “Did something happen?”

You shrug, “I just get nervous being in the spotlight now. I don’t like the attention much.”

“I get that. I haven’t always loved being on camera. It’s taken finding the right company to do it.”

You nod, “That sounds nice. To be so comfortable in the workplace. And to have everyone there as friends.”

He agrees, “Though a lot of them like to crack jokes about not seeing each other outside of work.” He chuckles as he remembers something. “It’s great being a part of a company where the goal is comedy content. You get to have fun with your friends every day.”

“And you’ve been there for so long,” you say, “You’ve definitely earned your place.”

“Thank you,” he feels warm around the collar, “It’s been hard at times, but well worth it now.”

You suddenly feel a warmth in your cheeks. “You know, um… my show opens next week. If – If you’re interested in seeing it. I’ll be there every night.”

“Helping Edna quick change into her fancy 60s outfit,” he smiles kindly. His eyes are soft and considerate as he watches your nervous gesture. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

You brighten, “Great!”

A week later you’re in the wings of the stage, sweaty with the heat the spotlights generate. A headset adorns your head, microphone near your mouth. You’re readjusting a costume onto a rack from the last quick change.

The last number of the show was currently playing: You Can’t Stop the Beat. You whisper the lyrics and subtly follow along with the choreography.

It was safe to do so with the curtains hiding you from the audience.

You listen to the applause as the cast bows. You imagine them gesturing to the tech booth, acknowledging the production team behind the scenes. You give a little imaginary bow to the audience.

Waiting in the dressing rooms, you help organize the costumes and clean up the makeup counters. Cast members thank you for your help, carrying massive bouquets and presents from the crowd.

You compliment the flowers and give your praise to their performances. It’s forty minutes later, having put the makeup and hairspray away, preening the wigs, and spraying down the character shoes, that you find your purse and head towards the front doors.

Outside on the sidewalk you’re met with an unexpected surprise.

Spencer.

He stands under the white lights of the theatre logo. He adorns his usual rolled up jeans and band t-shirt, denim jacket over it. His curls look extra defined tonight and in his hand are three colorful carnation flowers.

“Spencer? What are you…? I didn’t know you were coming tonight!” You walk towards him and for the first time since meeting him – you hug him.

Arms around his shoulders, smelling his clean, fresh scent. He seems timid to hug you back.

“Well… I did say I would come see the show.”

You shake your head. “I would have come out sooner if I knew you’d be here. I’m so sorry to keep you so long.”

“It’s no problem,” he offers the flowers. “Worth the wait.”

You give a smile, but your face is still regretful, “You shouldn’t have. I wasn’t even on stage.”

“Of course you were,” he says, “Your costumes and wigs and makeup were there.”

You hold the few flowers, completely endeared by him. “Thank you. This is really kind of you. You didn’t have to.”

He shrugs, shoving his empty hands into his pockets. “It’s kind of weird seeing you out of uniform. I’ve never seen you out of that polo and black pants.”

“Well, stage crew attire isn’t much different,” you laugh, gesturing to the long sleeve black shirt and leggings. “What did you think of the show?”

“It was excellent,” he says, “It’s such a fun show. I bet you loved teasing those wigs and picking out costumes with those crazy patterns.”

“And the quick changes?”

“I counted like 38 seconds,” he laughs, “That’s super impressive.”

You smile warmly, though the night air had a chill to it. “Thank you for coming, Spencer. It means a lot.”

“Of course,” he steps away, “I’ll see you later.”

You start to walk down the sidewalk, opposite the parking lot. Spencer suddenly has a thought. He runs up to you.

“Wait, how are you getting home?”

“Oh, I walk to the bus stop and take that.”

He looks down at your crossed arms trying to keep you warm. “Aaron really won’t come get you?”

“I don’t want to inconvenience him.” You wave away the look of worry in his face. “I do this every night, it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Yeah, but… you shouldn’t have to.”

“Have a good night, Spence.”

You’ve never used a nickname with him before. He huffs a little before following your retreating figure, “Then let me give you a ride.”

You keep walking, “Really, Spence – I’ll be okay.”

“I know,” he says, “But let me help. I want to give you a ride. It’s cold.”

Your fingers feel like ice against your arms. You look in the direction of the bus stop before looking at the pleading in Spencer’s face.

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Thank you.”

Relief floods his expression, “Great, this way.”

He guides you to his car and even opens the passenger door for you. It’s a kind gesture that you aren’t used to. He turns on the heater and your seat warmer before exiting the parking lot.

You direct him to your poor excuse of a studio apartment. The pair of you speak pleasantries the entire way. The lighting design of the musical, the strategic sets that move quickly, the realistic prop hairspray, and things like that.

He didn’t notice how you cower in the seat. He thinks it’s just because you’re still cold.

“Is the gas station good about changing your schedule so you can be there on show nights?”

“Yes, they’re so kind about it,” you say, playing with your fingers. It was a nervous habit of yours – pinching, rubbing, and picking at them. “I switch with a usual day shifter.”

Spencer nods, “I – I’ve missed seeing you at our usual time.”

“Our usual time?” you laugh, like your gas station hangouts were scheduled playdates.

He smiles, embarrassed, “Yeah, I mean… your customer service is so excellent. How am I supposed to get a Kickstart when you’re not there?”

“You know there are dozens of other gas stations and convenience stores around here.”

“Yeah, but they don’t have you.”

Something beats loudly in your chest. It sends a waterfall of warm, fizzing fireworks into your stomach.

Your apartment building is in a scary part of LA – but it’s what you can afford. Aaron was hinting at moving in together just for the ease of splitting the rent. It did sound appealing when you could actually save a little for a car.

“Thanks again for the ride,” you say, unbuckling your seatbelt.

He looks nervous again, “Anytime. And… maybe we could exchange numbers – in case you need another ride from the theatre?”

You look at him warmly, “I’m not going to ask you to come grab me when you could be in a filming week.”

He shrugs his shoulders, “I would still come.”

With a small smile, you take out your phone and open a new contact. In the name slot you put ‘Glasses.’ Spencer switches your phones and puts his number in.

You smile wider as you put your name in the contact and put a little theatre emoji after it.

“Glasses?” he asks, handing you back your phone.

“Yeah, that’s…” you brush warm fingers with him as you accept your phone. “That’s what I called you when I noticed you as a regular at the gas station. I didn’t know your name, so I gave you one in my head.”

He seems overly please about that. He has to look away from you and smile. “That’s funny, I like it. What would you do if you saw me without glasses? It would be a whole new identify to you.”

“Very Clark Kent of you,” you laugh.

He suddenly removes his gold rimmed glasses and looks at you all serious. “You’re right, during the day I’m fighting crime with the Justice League and at night I refuel at the gas station.”

“Superman refuels with energy drinks?” you laugh, causally reaching over to snatch his glasses. “I don’t know if Krypton would approve.”

“No, no – Kryptonians thrive off extra energy. Sun energy and now caffeine energy.”

His eyes are a dark green-gray color. Maybe that’s just because it’s dark outside. But you can’t decide what color they actually are. They’re definitely not brown.

You raise the glasses to your eyes and look at him. “I didn’t realize Superman was so blind.”

“It’s not that bad,” Spencer laughs, looking at you fondly.

You return the glasses, “Drive safe. Thanks again for the ride. Text me when you get home safely.”

He waves you off, waiting until you’re able to unlock your door before driving away.

Inside your apartment, you look at the chipped walls and cracked ceiling. The musty, uncomfortable couch in front of the small tv atop a table you got free off a lawn. To the right is the tiny kitchen with only one counter and no dining table.

Rummaging through a cabinet, you find a tall plastic cup to put your carnation flowers into.

The bathroom is straight ahead, where you go into to get ready for bed.

The porcelain of the tub and sink have rust stains around the handles. The tile of the floor is broken in places and the dim light above is giving off an ugly yellow glow.

You open the mirror cabinet to grab what you need to brush your teeth. Brand names are all obscure as you did get the supplies from a dollar store down the street.

If you had a little more money, you would buy a face wash and face towels. But the essentials were good enough.

You cross the hall to get to your bed. Being a studio apartment, there isn’t a separate room for your bed. It lies on the floor behind the tv stand and in front of the only window in the whole place.

The queen mattress was the one thing you spent a little more money on. It doesn’t have a headboard or support to keep it off the ground, but it was comfortable and had nice periwinkle blue sheets.

You change into sage green pajamas with little daisies on them, climbing into your bed and fumbling for the phone charger next to the mattress.

As you plug your phone in, a text message comes in from Glasses.

“Just got home. You did amazing tonight! See you later this week.”

You heart his message and give him a thank you in reply.

~~~

The end of the week is approaching and you’re at the theatre again. Headset on, you hang in the tech booth, grabbing a few more safety pins, mic tape, and alcohol wipes.

The oversized fanny pack you love to wear across your chest is open and full of supplies. You stuff the microphone items inside, watching the stage from the view of the booth.

Tracy was beginning the song Welcome to the 60s. You turn on the microphone by your mouth.

“Head to the wings for quick change pretty please.”

A muffled reply comes through the headset, “On the way, (Y/N).”

You leave the tech booth and walk out of the audience room to the side entrance of the wings. Waiting on stage right, you hold Edna’s new dress for the song. Two stage crew members help by holding accessories and waiting to take off Edna’s current costume.

“Go mama, go, go go!”

Edna comes running off to stage right, tossing their purse to the stage crew member. They wiggle out of their simple purple plaid dress and step right into the sparkly pink dress you have waiting open on the floor.

You pull up the fabric as you hear the lyrics continue on stage.

“Don’t let nobody try to steal your fun, ‘cause a little touch of lipstick never hurt no one.

The future’s got a million roads for you to choose, but you’ll walk a little taller in some high-heeled shoes.”

You zip up the dress and readjust the mic pack on the suit strap beneath. Stage crew throws a new necklace on and a sparkle to the lip makeup. The other stage crew snugs a fuller wig onto the actor, starting to pin it down onto the wig cap. You hand a feather boa to the actor and help pin the new wig in.

“Come on out, hear us shout. Mama, that’s your cue!”

Just in time, you think, sending the actor back onto stage. It always felt like a close call, but the audience shouting their surprise and praise always felt like a reward.

You smile at the stage crew members and wave them off to help with set pieces. You then take the old purple plaid costume to the rack to keep it from wrinkling on the floor.

While in the dressing rooms you meet the actress playing Penny Pingleton, “Hey, sis – I noticed your mic tape not sitting so good on your cheek.”

She smiles worriedly, the action making the mic tape unstick from her face and the microphone dangle from her ear. “Just a little.”

You pull out an alcohol wipe and roll of tape from your pack. “There might just be too much makeup in the way.” You wipe the spot where the microphone sits on her cheek, fanning your hand to make the alcohol dry.

Cutting two pieces of tape, you line the microphone and stick it in place. The actress keeps her face straight, letting it adhere.

“Thanks, (Y/N).”

“Anytime.” You leave the dressing room to find the man playing Seaweed. His mic belt kept twisting beneath his costume.

You track him down and use safety pins to secure the mic belt to his undershirt. Now as he dances and changes, the mic pack will stay in place. He shares his gratitude and runs off to the next scene.

The rest of the show goes without a hitch. The audience claps during the bows, and you give your imaginary bow to the curtains.

You begin to clean the dressing rooms when you get a text. From Glasses.

“Hey, I’m at the entrance by the concessions when you’re done in the back.”

A smile creeps onto your face. He saw the show a second time? You text back, “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

You’re quick to clean up and organize the costumes before heading out. The front was still packed with audience members trying to talk and take pictures with the cast members. You push your way towards the concessions table to see Spencer there.

He was wearing a black Creed t-shirt, arms full of silly tattoos on total display. Instead of holding flowers, he’s holding a Diet Coke from the concessions. You grin, falling out of the crowd and into him for a hug.

He catches you and hugs you back. You feel the cold soda against your shirt.

“I can’t believe you came again!” You pull away, eyes shining. You’ve never had someone to meet outside the theatre after a show before.

He extends the drink he got for you. “I told you it was an excellent show. And I wanted to bring a friend to see it too.”

A woman stands beside him, “And he misses seeing you at the gas station every day.”

You miss how Spencer nudges the woman with his elbow. You were too busy recognizing her face.

“Oh my god – oh my fucking god,” you accidentally shake the soda as you wave your hands. “You’re Angela Giarratana!”

Her brown eyes widen ridiculously, “Um… yeah, I am.”

“You were on Nerdy Prudes Must Die!”

A smile replaces the surprise on her face, “Oh, yes! I was in that show last year. You really scared me there for a second.”

Spencer licks his lips, watching the excitement on your face. “I wondered if you’d seen anything from StarKid.”

“Well, I’m a theatre kid, aren’t I?” you say, “I literally have a Hatchetfield Nighthawks letterman jacket. It’s so nice to meet you, Angela. I’m (Y/N).” You lean into a hug and Angela returns it kindly.

“I know, Spencer’s talked about you.” She steps away and compliments the show, “You did a great job with the costume design. Spencer and I were timing the quick changes.”

“I am very proud of those,” you say excitedly. “I’m sorry, I can’t stop smiling. Thank you for coming to our show. How do you know Spencer?”

Angela smacks Spencer’s arm, “We work together. He’s more behind the scenes and I’m more on camera.”

“At Smosh? That’s awesome!”

“Yeah, it’s all right,” she says, looking to Spencer and then laughing. “I gotta be careful or Spencer won’t put me in any of the videos on Games.”

You open your soda, drinking it like you were parched all night. “Are you working on any more theatre projects?”

“Eh, not at the moment,” Angela says, folding her arms. “I’m spending most of my time on Smosh sets.” She eyes you for a second before saying, “Do you have a portfolio by chance?”

“A portfolio?” you ask, wiping your lip of soda. “Of what?”

Angela rubs at her chin, “Sketches of your costume designs or makeup aesthetics. Maybe a performing arts resume. Pictures of your work on stage.”

“Um…” you pull awkwardly on the edge of your shirt. “No, not formally. But I could pull something together.”

“That’d be great. I’d love to see more of your work.”

Spencer looks incredibly pleased with himself, biting on his lips. “Would you let me give you a ride home?”

Your eyes are still shining, flitting your gaze between the two friends. “Um… yeah – that’d be great.”

All of you walk outside the theatre and towards the parking lot. Spencer is quick to open the passenger door for you and you give an awkward thank you.

Angela rolls her eyes and climbs into the back. “He’s such a doofus.” You watch Spencer walk around the hood of the car to get into the drivers side.

“A what?” you laugh.

“Just watch him – you’ll notice sooner or later.”

He climbs in and uses the seatbelt, “Watch who?”

You clear your throat, “Joey Richter. He’s another actor on StarKid Productions. He’s super talented.”

Angela snickers in the back. “What was the first thing you watched on StarKid?”

“A Very Potter Musical,” you laugh, “Way back in the day.”

“Classic,” Angela says, folding her arms and slumping into the seat. “What brought you to LA?”

You play with your fingers. “I wanted to move out of my home state. And I wanted to get more into the arts. But it’s been hard to find stable work.”

“You’re telling me. That’s the life of an actor – just jumping from one gig to another.”

“It would be the dream,” you sigh, “To do this full time. I just wish I had a little more security with it. A stable income. Not to be afraid with how I’ll afford food every month.” You awkwardly laugh as you realize you might’ve said too much. “But I’m doing all right.”

Angela agrees, “It’s hard to do well in the arts.”

“Hard to be recognized,” Spencer says. “(Y/N) already does well in the arts.”

You smile, your cheeks warm. “When is your next filming week?”

“Next week,” Angela sighs, yawning big. “Which reminds me – I gotta pick up that new pair of glasses for the office.”

“Angela is super blind and never wears her glasses during shoots,” Spencer explains. “Especially on the games channel. She’s always squinting super bad at the tv whenever we’re playing a game.”

“And I’ve been doing just fine!” Angela says loudly, “I’ve been training my eyes to see that far.”

Spencer scoffs, “Yeah, and the compilations of you squinting are growing at an exponential rate because of it.”

“Shut up!” Angela yells.

You laugh at their antics. “Are you allowed to yell at your boss like that?”

Spencer looks in the rearview mirror, “Yeah, Angela. As your superior you need to treat me with a high level of respect. I expect a full written apology and a certain amount of groveling before you’re allowed back on the Games set.” His tone was serious, but by the wide comical look in his eye, you know he’s using hyperbole as a joke.

“The heads of Smosh are actually Ian and Anthony, so don’t you even pull that superiority card!”

You keep giggling at this funnier, more outspoken Spencer. Proof that he was very comfortable with this coworker and their workplace.

It sounds nice.

~~~

Angela sits in the passenger seat now, slumped into the door and leaning her forehead against the window.

“She’s really nice.”

“Yeah,” Spencer says quietly, thoughts still lingering on you.

Angela looks over at him and smirks. “You like her so fucking much. I knew you did when you wouldn’t shut up about her at the office, but damn – seeing you with her was nearly painful.”

“What are you talking about? I’m so subtle about it.”

“So you don’t deny it!” she sits up stick straight, so fast that the seatbelt locks into place and stops her from moving anymore.

Spencer flounders, “I – what – no, that’s not what I said!”

“You totally did you little fucker! You like her so much it hurts. You like her so much your cheeks are going to burst into flames. You like her so much you can’t get a full sentence out.”

“Angela, shut the fuck up – you don’t know what you’re talking about!”

She bounces in her seat, “I’m so subtle about it. I can’t believe you. You’ve been talking about this girl for almost a year. Of course you have a crush on her!”

“Angela, I swear to god, don’t ruin this for me.”

“How would I ruin this? I want my little Spencey to have true love. You have to ask her out.”

“Yeah, genius – you’re forgetting about a teensy little detail. She has a fucking boyfriend.”

Angela freezes, sitting back. “Right.” She bites her lip, “Should have made your shot earlier.”

“And risk looking like a creep asking a girl out at a gas station? No thank you.”

“Is you considering her for the production team on Smosh an elaborate way to play the long game with her?”

“No!” Spencer grips the steering wheel, sounding like a bickering sibling. “She has real talent, and I think she deserves the position.”

Angela holds up her hands, “All right, okay.” She side eyes him with raised brows, “… but you wouldn’t be upset if she suddenly became available and you could ask her out?”

He refuses to meet Angela’s eyes. “I’m not giving you the satisfaction by answering that question.”

“You basically just answered it,” she folds her arms, “You know… I can’t promise I can keep this from Amanda. Or Shayne.”

Spencer puts his elbow against the window and holds his temple.

“Or Chanse.”

“I figured.”

Angela gave him a sympathetic smile. “For what it’s worth – I think she has a real shot. We should get her portfolio to Ian and Anthony asap.”

~~~

You’re cleaning the counters at the gas station. It’s nearing the end of your shift, almost 6am. And Spencer hadn’t visited you like he usually did. It was actually making you worried.

You had spent the last few days collecting every piece of art and experience you had to compile a portfolio. It didn’t feel like a very thick folder, but it had every ounce of hard work from the last few years.

It sits within a blue cover under the registers, waiting for Spencer to come.

“Hey!” there he comes through the door. “I’m so sorry, we had an overnight shoot, and I forgot to tell you.”

You look confused, “Spence, you didn’t have any obligation to be here. We didn’t make any plans.”

“I know, but I usually…” he looks flustered and upset. “You know, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

You smile kindly, “It’s okay. I’m not angry.”

He runs a hand through his curly hair, his eyes considering you as you clean. “This early in the morning, we both look exhausted now.”

“Aw, we have matching dark circles under our eyes!” You go under the counter to grab the blue folder. “Here’s that portfolio Angela was asking about. I wasn’t sure how to get it to her, so maybe you could take it to work?”

“Um… yeah, for sure. Thanks.”

The bell above the door rings, signaling the appearance of a new customer. Usually at this point in the mornings, customers would come in for their sustenance before work. You’re focused on Spencer, unaware of the person walking towards you.

“(Y/N), let’s go.”

You turn your eyes around and see Aaron beelining for your counter.

“Oh, hey,” you say quietly, “You’re twenty minutes early.”

“And?”

This man was over six foot, broad shouldered, and unkempt. His eyes are lazy and hard pressed, his jaw tense as you contradict him.

You wring your hands, “I’m not allowed to leave until six.”

“Well, I’m here now. Let’s go.”

“That’s…” you suck in a breath. He smells like stale beer. “Let me clock out and tell my boss.” You round the counter and are quick to enter the back rooms.

Spencer stays where he is, holding the blue portfolio, and looking at Aaron with an air of disdain. It was not the first impression he was expecting when picturing your boyfriend.

“You waiting to buy something?” Aaron asks, frowning at the way Spencer’s looking at him.

“No, I was just…” he swallows. “I was just talking with (Y/N).”

Aaron squints his eyes, hands moving to his hips. “And you know her because?”

“Because we’re friends.”

“(Y/N) doesn’t have any friends.”

“Untrue, because I’m standing right here.”

Aaron flexes his jaw, “She hasn’t mentioned you before.”

“Yes, I have,” you reappear without your nametag and your purse now around your shoulder. “I’ve talked about him a couple times.” You stand beside Spencer and instantly feel the tension.

Aaron extends his hand like he wants to take yours. “If you did talk about him, I would have remembered. We’re leaving.”

You go to hold his hand, but he moves his to grab your arm, pulling you towards the door. You turn your head to mouth, “Sorry,” towards Spencer.

Spencer waves at you, his face placid and upset. He watches out the windows to see Aaron let you go on the sidewalk to get into the car yourself. He slams the car shut, neglecting his seatbelt, and squealing out of the parking lot.

Still upset, Spencer gets into his car and contemplates his next move. His instincts told him that you weren’t completely safe. He wonders if you and Aaron have moved in together yet – he was trying to pull the ‘cheaper rent’ card on that account.

It was blatantly clear that Aaron was gaslighting you. Within three minutes, he was pegged as an asshole.

Spencer pulls out his phone and sends you a text. “Nice seeing you today, hope you get some good sleep.”

He rubs hard at his face before driving off. He plans to show your portfolio to Ian and Anthony tomorrow.

~~~

You’re sitting on the couch, playing on your PlayStation, when someone knocks on the door. Enjoying the day off, you wonder what door-to-door salesman is at your house.

You open the door and a giant smile envelopes your face, “Spencer! You didn’t tell me you were going to visit.”

He take a breath, “Um… yeah, I wanted to ask you something and I couldn’t wait until you were on shift.”

You lean against the doorframe, biting your lip. “Well, I would invite you inside, but I have to warn you… it’s not very nice.”

“I don’t care,” he says matter-of-factly. “I just want to talk.”

“All right,” you say shyly, opening the door wide. You watch his reaction, already feeling embarrassment brewing in your stomach.

Spencer looks around for a second, taking in the minimal furniture and all around lackluster state of the structure. He zeros in on the old tv displaying your video game.

“Are you playing Red Dead Redemption 2?”

“Uh… yeah,” you say quietly, holding yourself and you walk into the living room. “It’s one of my favorites.”

Spencer smiles, finding it amazing to learn something new about you that he loves. “Nice horse.”

You laugh, sitting on the couch and grabbing your controller. Your cowboy character was riding a white horse in the middle of a river. “It’s the White Arabian you have to tame by Lake Isabella.”

“Is that… like the best horse or something?” Spencer comes to sit beside you, sinking into the musty couch.

“It’s the only elite Arabian horse that you can find in the wild.”

Spencer leans against the couch arm, resting his face in one hand. “I didn’t realize you were a gamer.”

“The more you know me, the more of a nerd I become.”

“Nothing wrong with that, you big nerd.”

You giggle, “What did you want to talk about?’

Spencer clears his throat. “I uh… I took your portfolio to work.”

“What did Angela think?”

“She thought it was all great. But um… a few others got a look at it too.” He shifts uncomfortably on the couch. “There’s this job opening on the production team, specifically on the Smosh main channel. But they would help with all the channels.”

You pause the game again and really look at him. “What is the position?”

“An assistant art coordinator. They help the art directors with creating sets, costumes, and character looks.”

“And what are the responsibilities?”

“They’re looking for someone to manage hair and makeup for Smosh skits and any character work on other channels. Most of the cast do it themselves, but we do need someone who specializes in prosthetics makeup. And you seem to have done that a lot in theatre. We also need someone to manage costume work – the upkeep of them.”

You swallow hard, arms slowly moving to hold yourself. “Do you know what the salary is?”

“I think it’s around 50k-60k. You’ll make between $24 - $28 an hour.”

You bite your cheek. “That’s great.” You look at your surroundings. This new job would be paying you over $10 more than you’re getting now. “Are you saying Smosh is interested in interviewing me for assistant art coordinator?”

Spencer nods his head. “That is basically what I’m saying.”

“Did you show your bosses my portfolio on purpose?” You lower your eyes but look at him through your lashes.

He takes a deep breath, stretching out on the couch. “Maybe. Maybe I thought you deserved a chance.” He looks at you seriously, “I think you’ve got some real talent, (Y/N). You should go for an interview.”

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll do it.”

You look at him, “I’m suddenly super nervous.” A laugh escapes you, “I… I have to talk to Aaron about it.”

“Okay,” Spencer says with an edge. He tries to be respectful. “Have you two…”

“We’ve moved in together,” you say softly. “To make bills a little easier. And… and as a trial run, I guess. I’ll be able to save up for a car now.”

Spencer has a finger on the corner of his mouth. “Do you think you could make an interview this Thursday?”

You think for a second, “I’m sure Aaron would be okay with that. I’ll just talk to him about it tonight.”

He doesn’t seem happy about that statement. But instead of saying something he might regret, he points to the PlayStation. “Have you completed this game before?”

“Oh, yeah – maybe three times,” you pick up the controller again. “This time I’m trying to complete all of the side quests before finishing the main story.”

“You should be wearing a cowboy hat while playing.”

“That would be awesome,” you laugh. You look at him with sincerity, “Thank you for looking out for me, Spence. I appreciate the chance.”

He gives a close-lipped smile. “Always.”

~~~

You step off the bus and begin to walk down the street. Using your phone, you follow the directions that Spencer gave you.

The Smosh office was right around the corner.

You enter the building, pulling on the only pair of dress pants you own. You readjust the simple blouse to show off the single diamond necklace you wear around your neck. You hope it gives you a professional first impression.

The main entrance of the building shows a little receptionist desk and plush chairs to wait in. You advance the desk while noticing behind it are many tables and folding chairs – probably for lunches.

“Hello, how are you?” a nice lady at the desk says.

You wave shakily, “I’m good. I’m here for an interview with Mr. Hecox and Mr. Padilla.”

She seems to find you saying their surnames comical judging by the little smile on her face. But she gestures to the plush armchairs behind you. “Sure, just wait there and I’ll call them.”

You turn around and notice that behind the chairs is a large window showing a large kitchen. The lunch tables and folding chairs makes more sense.

“Thank you,” you say, looking down at the name plate, “Selina.” You sit down and holding your famously large fanny pack in your lap. It gives you something to hold with your fidgeting hands.

Now sitting, you can see the wide windows behind Selina’s desk. There’s a long conference table in there with a television and speakers on a stand. There’s a phone speaker in the middle of the table for any people that are being called in remotely.

Behind the conference table is a little sitting area with a couch and armchair. A couple tables and folding chairs are in the rest of the open space. It’s probably a big room for any meetings with teams or big groups of people.

“(Y/N) Bennett?” someone asks. You jump and stand to see two men coming around the corner.

One is taller with dark, wavy styled hair, a nose ring, and cool tattoos spidering up his neck. He has a great smile and just radiates a natural energy you like.

The other is slightly shorter with brown hair in a classic cut. He has a scruffy beard and black square glasses. He gives very much dad energy with how he’s dressed.

“Yes,” you say rather breathlessly. “I’m (Y/N) Bennett.”

“I’m Anthony,” the taller says, “And this is Ian.”

You shake hands with them, Ian gesturing to the conference room. “We’ll meet in here.”

The three of you walk into the room and take seats around the long table. “It’s nice to meet you,” you say quietly, “Thank you for offering me an interview.”

“For sure,” Anthony says, leaning forward in his chair. Ian sits and immediately starts spinning back and forth. “We saw your portfolio and were really impressed with your work.”

“Thank you,” you say eagerly.

Ian clears his throat, “Could you tell us a little bit about yourself?”

“Well, I’m living here with my boyfriend. I’ve lived here for about two years. Before that I was in Nevada, just outside of Vegas. My family is still there,” you say quietly. “I’ve been a theatre and fine arts student all my life. I’ve been doing community and school productions since second grade. I have experience in both stage acting and in tech behind the scenes.”

“Which do you prefer?” Anthony asks.

You hold onto your fanny pack, “Right now, probably tech. I really enjoy designing costumes and putting characters together. Sometimes I do miss acting though.”

“What do you enjoy about art design?” Ian questions.

You focus on his chair spinning back and forth. “I’m a fan of storytelling. I think one of the greatest talents a person can have is in telling a story, no matter the platform. If I can be a part of that process, I’d enjoy every second. I want to show the story in costumes, hair, and makeup. It’s the most expressive way to describe a person or character.”

“Well said,” Anthony nods. “How would you manage a set when coordinating those things?”

“I would need to see the costume closet to know how to care for it. Organization is key, ensuring you don’t lose any pieces. You’d need a costume rack on set and some essentials, like safety pins, apparel tape, a lint roller, things like that. Makeup vanities will need to be disinfected and cleaned after use, brushes clean and organized. Prosthetics and stage makeup would need to be cared for to make sure we don’t share any germs and possible infections. The same goes for any hair and wig essentials.”

Ian seems a little lost in your explanation, just impressed that you were on top of it. “You have a fine arts degree, is that right?”

You nod, voice still quiet with the nerves. “That’s right. I got a bachelor’s in fine arts at Utah Tech University in St. George, Utah.”

“Is that close to where you’re from in Nevada?” Anthony asks.

You smile, “Yeah, it’s just over an hour away. It has a well known outdoor theatre called the Tuacahn Amphitheatre. I helped with a few tech things during summer shows. And then I acted at the college.”

“What shows did you act in?” Anthony asks further.

You play with your fingers. “We did Footloose, Addams Family, The Drowsy Chaperone, Elf: The Musical, Measure for Measure, and Much Ado About Nothing.”

Anthony whistles, “You did Shakespeare?”

“I love Shakespeare,” you say. “Much Ado About Nothing is my favorite play.”

“You are a major theatre kid,” Ian says, “Why don’t you act anymore?”

You squeeze your fanny pack, “I’ve gotten a little camera shy the last couple years. I prefer helping with quick changes and fixing any mic tape mishaps.”

You take a turn asking some questions about their art department and typical filming schedule. You learn about their expectations for the job and what the salary would be. It was exactly as Spencer had said.

Ian and Anthony share a look with each other before leaning forward. Anthony looks at you kindly, “Would you mind if we conference for a minute? We want to give you an answer today.”

You widen your eyes, “Yeah, of course. Thank you.”

The pair stand and excuse themselves to discuss things outside the room. You’re left in the swivel chair, picking at your fingers and praying that the interview went well. It would be incredible to be given a job that grants you the security and stable income you wanted.

There was a chance to have friends here. Spencer and Angela would be here. You would be storytelling in little comedy sketches. You’d be a part of a team that designed characters. You’d be in charge of ensuring faces weren’t shiny on camera, hair was in place, and clothes looked good.

This could be a home for you.

It takes almost ten minutes for Ian and Anthony to return. They come back with two others that are introduced as Cassie and Erin. They are art director and assistant art director for all productions.

You would be working beneath them should you be offered the position.

More questions are asked by the newcomers, and you find them to be very kind and artistic like yourself. You agree on many fronts, having many things in common. You would be happy to be working in their department.

Ian and Anthony both have smiles on their faces when they say:

“(Y/N), we want to formally offer you the position of assistant art coordinator. Responsible for hair and makeup, and the costumes of the cast. You’ll be our main reference for any special effects makeup and prosthetics. And you’ll help coordinate for all four channels.”

Tears start to form in your eyes. “Really?”

Cassie and Erin had faces full of sympathy. Cassie was covering her face with her hands. Erin was folding their arms and smiling.

Ian was standing their awkwardly, looking at your emotional reaction, but Anthony was quicker to ask. “Is that a yes?”

You laugh tearily, “Yes! Yes, I’d love to take the position. Thank you guys so much. I’m so excited – I don’t know what to say other than thank you.”

They all clap momentarily, Ian announcing, “Then we should call everyone to the lunchroom and make introductions.”

“We’ll have Selina bring up contracts to sign,” Anthony says, gesturing to the door. “You want to follow us?”

You nod enthusiastically, shaking hands with everyone on the way out. There are lots of thank yous and congratulations.

Cassie, Erin, and Ian go to round up cast and crew to the lunch tables you spotted earlier. Anthony goes to speak with Selina at the receptionist desk.

You exit the conference room, wiping tears away and clutching your fanny pack.

Spencer was there, pacing by the plush armchairs you sat in earlier. He has his arms crossed, one hand at his mouth, tracing his lips in a nervous gesture.

At your arrival, his head whips to you, eyes wide at the tears running down your face. He looks so afraid, unsure of how the interview went. But he might’ve misinterpreted your tears.

“(Y/N),” he says softly, “What… what did they say?”

He didn’t even notice the other people gathering at the lunch tables.

You walk towards him, still trying to wipe at your face, “Spence.”

He wants to hug you desperately then. He wants to comfort you. And he wants to hurt whoever decided to make you cry.

You throw your arms around his neck, burying your face there. He holds you back, still at a loss as to what the final verdict was.

“(Y/N)!” you hear Anthony, “Get over here!”

Spencer still holds you as you whisper to him, “I got the job.”

He pulls away and holds your waist, “What?”

“I got the job,” you whisper more excitedly. “They’re about to announce it to everyone.” You flounce away to stand at a counter with a few mini fridges, addressing a group of cast and crew. You notice Angela standing in the crowd.

She gives you two thumbs up and you wave back.

Spencer walks over just as Ian begins to talk.

“Hey, guys! We wanted to introduce our newest member of Smosh. This is (Y/N) Bennett!”

Anthony continues, “She will be working in the art department as an assistant art coordinator. She’ll be our head of character design and management of costumes, hair, and makeup.”

The crowd begins clapping and shouting their congratulations. Spencer joins them, standing next to Angela and a few others.

Unbeknownst to the pair of you, some cast and crew were sharing looks. People you hadn’t met yet were winking at each other. They knew full well how much Spencer wanted you to get this job.

You wave at everyone, “Hello! I’m so excited to meet you all and start working on these projects.”

Everyone breaks apart to introduce themselves.

Angela brings over a number of people, “Hey, (Y/N).” She says, “Here are some of our castmates.”

A tall woman in a beautiful jumpsuit says, “I’m Amanda, welcome to the Smosh family.”

“I’m Shayne,” a fit blonde man shakes your hand, “And this is Courtney.”

“Hi,” a blonde woman then shakes your hand, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Angela sticks her head in, “Those two are married.”

You nod, giggling, “Wonderful.”

“I’m Chanse,” a curly haired man says, giving you a hug, “Welcome to the team.”

A tall man with a great mustache waves, “I’m Tommy!”

“Hi!” you say, “It might take me a while to remember all your names. Thank you for being so welcoming. I’m so excited to start.”

“Spencer’s told us a lot about you,” Amanda says with a cheeky smile.

You look toward Spencer’s rosy face. “All good things, I hope.”

“Oh, definitely,” Shayne laughs, “He has nothing but praise for you.”

Spencer ignores the immediate retort that the single worst thing about you is your boyfriend. “You guys need to calm down.”

“Can we give you a tour?” Amanda asks, taking your arm, “The office has a lot of sets and rooms.”

Courtney appears on your other side, “We can show you the art department and the costumes closet!”

“And the makeup vanities,” Chanse says, already leading the way, “There are a couple by the sets, but there is one in the green room where Angela takes her naps.”

“Hey!” Angela instantly retorts, “Hey, hey, hey… uncalled for!”

Amanda scoffs, “But true.”

Angela snorts, “Yeah, sure.”

You are dragged away by Amanda and Courtney, Chanse and Angela still bickering along the way.

Spencer stays where he is with Shayne. The latter having a very knowing smirk on his face. Spencer ignores him as long as he can.

“Have you ever been told that you shouldn’t make faces because you’ll be stuck that way?”

Shayne chortles, “I’m just curious how you feel about this.”

“Clearly you already have a theory.”

“I do, based purely on the last eleven months of you pining over this girl.”

“I am incapable of pining.”

Shayne wheezes, “Yeah, sure. What do you call bringing up (Y/N) whenever possible, talking through ways to introduce yourself to her, workshopping conversations with me to get to know her…”

“All of those things were in confidence.”

“And all blatant examples of pining over a woman you’ve grown attached to!”

Spencer licks his lips, watching you being dragged by Angela towards the pods of employee desks. “I don’t… I can’t do anything about it now.”

“I’ve never seen you like this, man,” Shayne chortles. “It’s kind of throwing me off right now. You don’t talk about girls much.”

“The dating apps have been seriously lacking the last year.”

“Because you’ve been talking up some chick at the gas station,” Shayne laughs again. “I have to commend you for playing the long game.”

Spencer shakes his head, “I have to be fine with being just friends.”

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to be your best friend.

#spencer agnew x reader #spencer agnew fanfiction #spencer agnew smosh #spencer agnew #spencer agnew imagine #smosh games #smosh fandom #smosh au #smosh x reader #smosh pit #smosh #okayjhannah #fandomfantasia

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geekgirles · 2 months ago

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Am I the only one who laments Sam was often introduced having a wide array of talents and interests yet they never really became part of her character, only remaining a one episode thing or a quick gag?

Because everything about Sam's scenes implies she's incredibly layered.

The things laying around her room include countless vinyls, a keyboard, and a portable drum kit. All of which implies she has a deep interest, and maybe even talent, in music. Something Pirate Radio later confirmed when it turned out she's a knowledgeable and phenomenal DJ.

Then, there's the fact that she's a skilled gamer. Yeah, so are Danny and Tucker, but you kinda pick up on it on your own thanks to their characterisation of "wants to be a normal teenaged boy" and "techno geek", respectively. Between the show being from the 2000s and Sam's focus on the occult and environmentalism, you don't really see it coming that she's a gamer. Especially one so good she routinely kicks Danny and Tucker's asses.

I mentioned this before, but I especially hate how her talent for DIY clothing was just used as a quick gag. The eye for design you have got to have to turn a frilly pink dress into something a goth would wear is nothing sort of astounding. And knowing Sam and her usual disdain for money and mass produced content, you can't tell me she wouldn't be the type to alter all her clothes into something that fits her style.

Lucky in Love also introduced her love for goth poetry, something Beauty Mark implied she actually partakes in given her use of a haiku to warn Danny about Dora. And yet, it is rarely brought up. Though it is true this is the one interest the Phandom never forgets about and often adds to their fanfics and headcanons.

And finally, there's her love for plants. How cool is it that she takes care of her own greenhouse all by herself? That implies extensive knowledge on botany. But, again, unless it is to point out her vegetarianism or environmentalist ways, the only other time besides Urban Jungle where it was relevant was in Claw of the Wild, when she used some berries to treat Wulf's wounds.

To be fair, this issue isn't exclusive to Sam. Between teenage drama and ghost fighting, Danny's interests aren't explored or expanded upon all that much beyond "regular teenage boy stuff". Even so, they do get enough focus or leave a strong enough of an impression for them to become common knowledge among the Phandom. I mean, everybody treats Danny wanting to be an astronaut as an essential part of his character (and it kinda is), yet it was only brought up in three episodes in the whole show.

I guess, what I'm trying to say is that the show and Phans alike tend to sleep on the fact that Sam is surprisingly multitalented.

#danny phantom #sam manson #danny fenton #tucker foley #dp analysis #parental bonding #urban jungle #control freaks #teacher of the year #lucky in love #claw of the wild #pirate radio #beauty mark #princess dorathea #dora mattingly #wulf #kwan

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cerisereids · 3 months ago

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𝗜’𝗹𝗹 𝗕𝗲 𝗪𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗬𝗼𝘂 (𝗘𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗕𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗧𝗮𝗸𝗲)- 𝗦.𝗥.

Pairing- Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

W/C- 6.5k (crazy shit)

Summary- You and Spencer have never gotten along. Yet, you can’t seem to ever take your eyes off each other.

Contains- 18+ MDNI, not super smutty but there is a sex scene (not super detailed) canon typical violence, enemies to lovers, Spencer losing all brain cells over a pretty girl, bitchy!Spencer, reader and Spencer are held captive by unsub, dramatic love confessions, kissing, some icky misogyny directed at reader from unsub but it's quite brief, guns, unsub death, honestly this reads a lot like a regular cm episode but with Spencer being down bad, this low-key turned into smut when I didn't plan on it but c'est la vie

A/N: I can’t find the OP of the divider but it is not mine!! This is a little proofread but not a lot of proofread, I am also thinking about making a part 2 w some actual smutty smut so lmk if you guys like this!

An itch of irritation crawls up your spine, a deep ache settling in your skull as you sit in the BAU conference room. You massage your temples as a rapid, grating voice nestles its way into your ears.

“The fact that this unsub feels comfortable targeted a densely populated area such as D.C. tells us he’s either impulsive or incredibly bold,” he remarks, arms crossed, a pensive look on his face as he studies the map in front of him.

Despite your annoyance, you keep your eyes trained on the profiler as he rattles on. Your eyes narrow just slightly, You’re seated directly across the table from him, and you watch the way he gets lost in the information, almost like it’s in control of him as he frantically circles different locations on the map. Spencer Reid speaks with his entire body, he always has, ever since you started at the BAU one year prior.

“Maybe it’s a comfort zone,” he stands back, leaning his weight on one leg. Your eyes drift down his lanky frame for the briefest moment, lingering on his popped hip. They furiously snap back up to his face once he starts speaking again, cheeks heating up.

“The lines of longitude and latitude at each murder sight are equivalent to the central area of the city,” he mumbles.

“Okay, so we need to know what’s there. Something clearly happened to our unsub that has made him choose these locations,” you cross your arms over your chest, “you really think our unsub measured all of the crime scenes on a map? That shows an incredible amount of organization that I don’t think he has.”

Your tone is a bit defensive, skeptical of his work. To you, profiling is a subjective art. Your best profiling comes from understanding emotions, trauma. Spencer works completely different.

While you do have to recognize his intelligence, the strict logic in which he operates in this job is not something you entirely agree with. He spouts rapid fire facts nearly robotically, like he’s reading straight from a textbook. It drives you batty.

You’re not typically someone who’s thrown off by a different approach. Normally, you accept and encourage a fresh set of eyes while you work. If it wasn’t for what Spencer said your first week…

Plus, you had an early acceptance to Harvard before you decided to go to the academy. His intelligence doesn’t impress you that much.

“Yes, as a matter of fact I do. He’s very clearly organized, it fits the profile,” he states, his irritated gaze pointed directly at you.

You stare back brazenly, in a silent competition with the man across from you.

“I’m really just unsure how that helps us right now when central D.C. is so big. How are we going to narrow down his tie to the city?” His eyes narrow to slits at your question.

“She’s got a point,” Hotch succinctly breaks through the tension, and you’re reminded that you’re in a room with the entire team. “Give the information you have to Garcia, have her narrow it down. Afterwards, I want you and Prentiss on victimology in the bullpen,” he says.

You puff your chest slightly, sliding out from your chair to get closer to the evidence board. You feel his eyes burning a hole into your back before he huffs an irritated sigh, exiting the conference room with a harsh slam of the door. You keep your gaze on him through the window as he walks to Penelope’s.

Spencer grumbles under his breath the whole way down to Penelope. Head down, brows furrowed, he barges in there with the map. Without so much as a hello, he posts it on her wall.

“Well, hello to you too, Doctor!” She chastises him as he keeps his gaze on the map, like she’s not even there.

He knows it’s mean, that she deserves more respect than that, his brain is just unable to process anything other than her. She makes him want to explode.

“Sorry,” he grumbles, continuing his previous work on the map.

“Spence, you gotta stop letting her get under your skin like that,” he hears the pity in her voice, which only makes his blood boil hotter.

“Nobody’s under my skin, I’m trying to solve the case,” he’s speaking too quickly, like that’s even possible for him.

“Yeah, okay,” she mumbles sarcastically. She begins picking up what he’s doing on the map, entering coordinates in her computer as he works.

“She just-” his pen clatters to her desk, a knowing smile growing on Penelope’s face as she types. He ignores it. “She has to question everything I do! If she doesn’t trust me, why are we on the same team together. You know?” He huffs a heavy breath.

Penelope turns to him, “Spencer, she trusts you. Hotch wouldn’t have either of you on the team if she didn’t. Just because she has a different approach doesn’t mean she’s undermining you.”

He rolls his eyes, he knows she’s just trying to help. The irritation crawling under his sweater, seeping into his skin, is suffocating. He tugs on his collar so he can breathe.

“Then why does everything she say feel like an attack?” He asks, scratching the back of his head.

“Have you ever thought that maybe you want to impress her?” Penelope asks, and it knocks the wind out of him. “I mean, she’s like, the only person in the world who isn’t totally blown away by your incredible mind. Probably because she’s so smart herself,” she remarks under her breath. He rolls his eyes at that. “Regardless, you want her to agree with you, right? You might just want to impress her.”

Spencer’s face heats up as she raises her brow at him. His gaze immediately drops to his shoes, fidgeting awkwardly before turning back to his map.

“We need to get back to work,” he mutters.

To Spencer’s dismay, she stands in his exact line of sight as he’s with Emily, working on victimology. He stands at her desk, and he really should be listening to what Emily is saying. Instead, he has a laser focus on her.

She’s leaning over the conference room table, her back to the window. There’s a slight arch in her back as she pops her hip out. The silky fabric of her black pencil skirt clings to her and Spencer almost forgets why he’s so mad at her all the time.

Emily follows his line of sight and he rolls his eyes, as if she’s the one being ridiculous. The deepest parts of him know it’s not fair, but he’s never done well with his feelings on display. He feels vulnerable, like a raw nerve.

He feels exposed at the low chuckle escaping Emily’s lips. His gaze shoots towards the case file, now in an iron grip in his hands, clearing the awkwardness that has crept up his throat.

“I’m not sure who either of you think you’re fooling,” she nonchalantly mumbles under her breath, viewing her own copy of the case file.

“I’m sorry?” He snaps, his eyes squeezing shut in a long blink, as if he’s trying to unsee her.

“Y’know, if you just talked to her, really got to the bottom of your disagreements, maybe you’d see that you two are a lot more alike than you think,” she raises her brow at him, and it feels as if his heart’s been slashed open, bleeding on display for everyone to see. He always feels this way when someone shines a light on his vulnerability, his natural instinct to run from it. If it’s not there, then he can’t get hurt.

“I’m just trying to catch a killer,” he squeaks, his high pitched voice giving him away almost immediately. Emily playfully rolls her eyes and chuckles once more. His heart rate picks up, cheeks heating to an alarming degree.

The door of the conference opens, then. As if the universe is playing a cruel, practical joke on him, the click of her heels get closer and closer, until her perfume has invaded his senses.

“So, we figured out that our unsub was recently released from a mental institution in the greater D.C. area. Garcia is working on which one, but is there anything in the victimology that points toward abandonment issues? Particularly from a motherly figure?” She rattles off, the sound of her voice like a knife to the chest. It’s sharp, infiltrating every piece of him, stripping him of his defenses even further.

He stares at her, unabashedly. His eyes trail from her pink button up, sleekly tucked into that godforsaken skirt. He studies her as if it’s the first time he’s seen her, memorizing the ways her curves ebb and flow around the fabric.

His heart picks up when she looks back, but he doesn’t look away. Their eye contact is tense, as always. There’s a fire in her eyes that’s always there when they’re in the middle of a case. Her passion burns through, heating him all over.

“I think our unsub is too organized for him to be abandoned,” he replies, “typically when we see people traumatized by abandonment are reckless, but he’s taken the time to clean up after himself, even starting the dishwasher and laundry machine in his victims’ homes.”

“You still think he’s organized?” she asks right back, not missing a beat.

“He loaded the dishwasher and the laundry machine, that’s not organized to you?” His skin crawls as he answers, the usual thrill of her challenge thrumming through him.

“But if you look at these pictures…” she trails, grabbing crime scene photos of the laundry and open dishwasher from her file, “this is not the doing of an organized person. The plates are mixed with cups, there’s bowls where the silverware would be. It’s very evident he just shoved everything in there. Same thing with the laundry, we have socks with jeans. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe it’s a mix of both,” Emily suggests, “a sort of compensating? He was abandoned by his mother so now he’s completing what could be seen as motherly duties.”

“I could definitely see that,” the voice to his right mutters, and he watches as she chews the tip of her pen in concentration.

“We don’t normally see that in male serial killers…” he trails off, trying his best to appear nonchalant as he flips through the case file. The one he’s already memorized front to back.

“There’s a first time for everything,” she says, the slight uptick in her tone barely there, but he catches it. He always does, a telltale sign that he’s gotten under her skin. He seems to live there these days.

He takes her in again, the glint of irritation in her eyes. A hand on her hip, the other resting on a chair near Emily’s desk. Her stance is closed off, shutting him out. Even still, he sees the way her eyes drift toward his direction. Her gaze is facing the floor, but he can tell his shoes are in her line of sight, and a strange surge of pride rushes through his chest. He can’t repress the need for her to notice him, in any capacity.

You feel his eyes the second they hit you. It’s like a sixth sense, knowing exactly when he finds you. It’s become natural, almost instinctual, for his eyes to be on you. You’re no better, though, mirroring him as you watch each other.

He’s thin, sinking into his button up, a pair of slacks hanging low on his hips. You catch the way it pulls taut where it meets his belted waist, the slightest bit of skin peeking through at his hip.

Your heart races at the sight, even more so when your eyes snap back up to his, and you know he caught you. Your body heats all over, every bit of you on fire as his gaze pierces you. The heat spreads internally, acid bubbling in your stomach. It feels as if he sees right through you, looking into the deepest parts.

You shake your head, shedding the feeling of him like a snake. “What have you guys found?” You ask, doing your best to focus on the victimology.

“We think he’s finding these women from their social media accounts. He’s targeting women who post emotionally. The last few posts from each victim were about some hardship or another. Maybe there was a woman in his life who made her emotions his burden,” Emily suggests, and you cut your gaze to her, shaking Spencer out of your system.

Then, you hear it. It’s small. Under his breath. It infuriates you.

“Wonder what that’s like.”

Something inside you snaps, like a rubber band that’s been pulled too tight. It ricochets off your heart, piercing your stomach until you lose control over your response.

“I’m sorry, what is your problem?” It takes all the energy you have left to not absolutely screech. Your snappy tone still calls the attention of the people around you. You feel eyes on the two of you as you pierce him with a cruel gaze. You no longer have the capacity to care.

“My problem?” He retorts, knowing full well what she is talking about.

“You have been at odds with me this entire case. Actually, since I joined the bureau,” You scoff, your insides boiling over. All the frustration of bickering with Spencer for the past three years has finally come to a head. “If you don’t trust me if you don’t like what I have to say, then you need to be a man and do something about it,” the words drip off your tongue like acid.

“Like what?” He bites back, squaring his shoulders toward you, “take it to Hotch? You and I both know where that would get us. Why is it just on me? Because you’re never wrong, right? Our BAU princess is always correct-”

“Enough.”

Hotch’s stern tone cuts through the sarcasm falling from Spencer, and the two of you straighten up in record time.

“The rest of the team is going into the field to finish this case. You two are on paperwork duty until we get back. That’s an order,” he turns to collect the rest of the team, you and Spencer mirroring each other’s shock as you watch them go.

You deflate. The smack of your file hitting Emily’s desk is the only audible sound as you grab a box, hauling it to the conference room. Spencer follows suit, and the two of you begin to work in tense, angry silence.

You study him as he works, long, deft fingers moving in a rapid speed that nearly hypnotizes you. You catch his brown eyes, softer now, still focused as they flit through the endless pile of papers. You massage your heart, as if it’d ease the ever growing ache there.

“Do you remember this case?” Spencer asks softly, and you can’t recall a time he’s spoken to you in such a tone. It makes your heart flutter in a way that scares you, the giddiness warming your skin. You roll your shoulders, hoping it’d release the tension built up in your neck.

You lean a bit towards Spencer, glancing at the file that reads, ‘Plymouth Family.’ You can’t help the smile that spreads your lips, your cheeks bunching up around your eyes.

“Family of four, two girls, all kidnapped, all recovered safely,” you recite softly. You touch the pictures of the young girls, your eyes glassing over. “Four and six…” you whisper shakily, “they were just babies.”

You remember the way they clung to you when you found them in the shed they were kept in. They were dirty, smelly, and shaking. Their arms and legs were wrapped tight around you as you carried them to the medic. You sat with them the whole time the team looked for their parents. You were there when they woke up in the hospital.

“You were amazing on this case,” Spencer says. You feel the warm skin of his arm against yours, and you realize how close you’ve gotten. “You were empathetic, smart…” he trails off, eyes lifting to your face.

Your eyes dart up to meet his. “Thank you,” you mutter softly, your eyes scanning the length of his face.

“You’re welcome,” he replies in the same tone.

“Spencer,” you start, and he knows what you’re going to say before you go any further. His breath hitches, and you continue anyway.

“How did we get here?” You ask, shaking your head incredulously, “We’re two of the smartest minds on the team and we’re stuck here on paperwork duty.”

“I would argue it’s our inability to work together without high levels of conflict,” he responds, sarcasm lacing his tone.

“Yeah, well, you made that bed, now we both have to lie in it, I guess,” you mutter under your breath.

“I’m sorry, how is that so?” He asks.

“Are you serious?” You respond, your blood starting to race through your veins. His brows raise, prompting you to continue. “Do you not remember one of our first conversations after I joined the bureau?”

His brows furrow in confusion. You keep going.

“We were in St. Louis. We were working on the case with that Jack the Ripper copycat. I was so focused on analyzing the unsub’s background, digging into everything I could. You told me that if I value emotion over logic I’m going to get tunnel vision. That I wouldn’t last long if I let myself stray from the facts.” The words still sting, all these years later. You avoid looking at him, turning your back to him so he can’t look at you either.

“We’ve been like this for three years because I told you that you value emotion over logic? I thought that was a known fact,” he states plainly, as he always does when he thinks something is obvious.

“We’ve been like this for three years because you were someone I looked up to. When I was scouted for the unit by Gideon, a big reason why I agreed to join was because I’d get to work with you. The great Dr. Spencer Reid. I read about you, when I was at Harvard. I was amazed. A little jealous, too, but amazed all the same. When you said that, it-it was belittling. Like you didn’t believe in my ability to do the job. I spent everyday since trying to prove you wrong,” you rattle off in one long breath.

Spencer is still as a statue, watching you intently. His eyes are blown wide, his mouth slightly parted.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters lowly. “I’ve always used logic. It’s gotten me where I am. You came in here with a completely different approach, and it worked. Really well. It threw me off, it intimidated me…” he trails off, his cheeks tinting red as his chin drops to his chest.

“Intimidated? By me?” You saunter closer to him, a wicked grin on your face. You plop down on the chair across from him, knees barely knocking.

Spencer’s heart beats faster as she leans closer to him, her knees now slotted between his. The contact makes him dizzy.

The beep of his cell phone jolts him away from her. Spencer fumbles with his phone for a minute, before opening it with a shaky, “Yes, Penelope?”

You can hear her screech over the phone. “You and Miss BAU Princess need to turn on the news. Now.”

His cheeks heat at the nickname. He chokes on his own breath, exhaling sharply before grabbing the remote to the big screen in the conference room.

What he sees makes his stomach drop.

Multiple black SUVs, driving at top speed on the tail of a dirty, beat up grey sedan.

At first, in the pent up anticipation of the moment, he hardly registered her grabbing his hand. Once he did, the feeling of her branded his skin. A white hot sensation that spreads to the tips of his toes all the way to the top of his head. He wraps his fingers around hers and squeezes.

He takes a glance at her, and he wishes he hadn’t. His heart aches at the look of sheer panic on her face. Her furrowed brows, glassy eyes, and parted lips squeeze at his heart from all sides. He pulls her into him, allowing her to take refuge in his chest.

It’s not long after that he hears it, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. It’s the creak of the door. The click of a loaded gun. She must feel his rigidity, because she lifts her head up to look him in the eye.

“What?” She questions, lifting her head from his chest. She feels it too, he can tell. The lingering sense that something’s not right.

“Someone’s here,” he mutters, “stay here,” he moves to arm himself. It’s muscle memory at this point, his body moving of his own accord.

He feels the scoff she emanates deep within him. A small smile forces its way on his lips at the sound.

“Yeah right,” she replies. He feels her behind him, her own gun peeking through his peripheral.

He’s flooded with adrenaline, his blood thrumming in his veins. He moves slowly, tactical steps as he opens the conference room door. He’s met with a sharp pain cracking down on his head, rendering him unconscious.

Your hands are bound behind your back, legs tied together. Your wrists and ankles chafe raw at your resistance. You bite down on the tape plastered over your mouth, desperate to claw your way out. Your heart races, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you try and maneuver through the conference room without being seen.

After Spencer was knocked unconscious, he was dragged out of the conference room. You’re not sure where he is, and the thought renders you dizzy. You attempt to peek out of the window, the bullpen now completely cleared, save for the agents that were caught in the crossfire.

You flinch at the sound of loud, hard footsteps nearing the door. Scrambling back into place, you avoid eye contact as the strange man drags an unconscious Spencer toward you. He props him up next to you, his chin hitting his chest.

Your eyes glass over as you take in the bruise coloring his right eye a deep blue. The split on his pouting, bloody lip is crusting over.

A pair of cold fingers dip under your chin, forcing your head up to look this man in the eye. His hard stare burns into you, but before he can do anything, his phone begins ringing.

“Saved by the bell…” a gruff voice spits out, letting go of your face with a shove.

Your eyes squeeze shut, bracing for contact on the wall behind you. The blow stings for a moment, but you’re able to shake it off when Spencer starts to stir next to you. Your breath hitches as he grumbles, his eyes barely opening.

“Spencer,” you whisper, “what is going on?”

“It looks like a team,” he considers, maneuvering his body to sit up further.

"Where were you?" you hissed back, worry lacing every feature of your face.

"Hotch's office," he grumbles, "I kept...I kept drifting in and out of consciousness. But I spoke to him. He's fixated on the two of us, but he wanted a lot of information about you."

He adjusts, cracking his neck from where it rests against the wall. "Hotch is going to have to hire carpet cleaners when they get back," sarcasm laces his tone, and you can't help but roll your eyes.

"You just got beat within an inch of your life, and you're making jokes?" you scoff affectionately.

"How could you tell?" his voice shifts then, seriousness lacing his tone suddenly.

"How could I tell that you got hit?" you repeat, eyes scanning over his face and body. "You're bruised in multiple spots, a bloody lip, a black eye forming..."

"You're always looking at me. You think I've never noticed?" he mutters, and it steals the breath from your lungs.

"You're always looking at me!" you hiss, no choice but to deflect.

"I know."

It's the last thing that's said before the door opens again. You sit straight up, your back pressed against the wall as the man shuffles in. You immediately clock the gun in his hand, pointed directly at Spencer.

He stalks over to you, gun still pointed in Spencer's direction. His dry, cracked finger hooks under your chin, pulling your head up to face his.

"Do you want to know what he told me in there?" his head jerks back, gesturing towards Hotch's office. He stands up, moving towards Spencer again. "Wanna know what your pathetic, disgusting, deplorable coworker told me when you weren't here?" Each insult is matched with swift kicks to Spencer's stomach and chest. He groans, rolling on his back now as he tries not to succumb to the pain.

Your eyes don't leave him. You're not sure you could pull your gaze away if you tried. You don't have much of a choice, though, as the man yanks your head back to look at him.

"He told me..." the gun comes up under your chin now, holding your head in place once again, "that he has a little crush on you. Isn't that just pitiful?" he laughs sarcastically, shaking his head.

You study the man, recalling all the knowledge you gained about him over the course of this case. He's insecure, probably impotent. He hunts women because he could never get them any other way.

"Guys like us..." he yanks Spencer to sit up by his collar, "we don't get girls like that." He's nearly spitting in Spencer's face, and you know he's slowly dying inside.

"Spencer..." you breathe out, "is it true?" You do your best to appear completely turned off, though you know you never could be. Your brows furrow in disgust as your lips curl downward.

"See, look at her," he's got Spencer's hair in an iron grip, forcing you two to look at each other. "She's disgusted, she doesn't want you. How could you be so stupid?"

"I just got caught up in it," the words spill out of Spencer's mouth, "we spend so much time together, and you're so pretty, so witty, so smart. I just couldn't help but fall in love with you."

Those words knock the air right out of your chest. A crush is one thing, but in love? You shiver, his words unzipping down your spine.

"You see that?" he growls, yanking Spencer's hair even harder, "she doesn't want you."

"He's right," Spencer flinches at your words, and you continue despite the hurt in your heart, "I don't want you, Spencer. Because I want you."

You turn your gaze to the unsub, staring him straight in the eye.

"I just can't resist you. The way you've dominated us..." you breathe out a huffy laugh, "it's undoubtedly one of the most attractive things I have ever seen. Way more attractive than anything he has ever done," you nod towards Spencer as seduction laces each word, though it tastes like poison on your tongue.

You see Spencer in your peripheral. You can barely make out the look in his eye, but you swear you see the faintest tint of insecurity lacing his gaze. The fear that maybe you mean it. Your heart clutches at the thought, and you note to do something about that later.

He lets Spencer go, his attention is now fully on you. He saunters closer, a hand reaching for your tied up ankle. His hands feel like sandpaper on your skin, gritty and unwanted.

"You really think so?" he whispers, his grip now shifting to your bicep. "Then prove it. Come with me."

He yanks you up, helping you move with your tied up limbs. You glance at Spencer briefly before you're led out of the conference room into the bullpen.

It's not long before a gunshot rings out, and you prepare for the blow. You fall to the floor, though, suddenly unsupported by the man propping you up. You turn from your spot on the ground to find Spencer wielding his gun from the conference room, miraculously unbound.

"I had him!" you scoff, rolling your eyes as Spencer undoes your hands and ankles.

"He told me what he wanted you for when he had me in Hotch's office. Believe me, I did you a favor," his brows furrow in what looks like frustration, possessiveness, as he continues to free you from your bounds.

A shiver runs through you again, shaking the disgust at the thought. You let it pass, though, he's dead. He can't hurt you anymore. Once you're free, you fall back into his chest, letting him hold you from behind. Tears slip through your closed eyes as all of the emotions of the past two hours course through every part of your body.

Spencer tightens his hold around you, soothingly rubbing his large palms up and down. Your hand reaches up to the back of his scalp, gently massaging the spot where the man had pulled.

"Are you okay?" you whisper, your faces inches from each other.

"Better now," he replies.

"Me too," you smile.

Before you can manage anything else, Spencer's mouth is on yours. It's a small kiss at first, tentative, unsure. It deepens when you turn to face him, Spencer now resting on his knees. He opens his mouth further as the kiss envelops you both. He's desperate, as if he's trying to swallow you whole. The kiss is all consuming, the corners of your brain turning fuzzy as you let yourself fall further into his arms.

"Anyone wanna tell me why you two are making out next to our dead unsub?" you and Spencer break apart at the intruding voice, like two teenagers caught in bed.

It's just Derek, thankfully. A playful, supportive brow is cocked in Spencer's direction as the poor guy next to you flushes a shade of red you didn't think existed.

"I'm not against it," he says, moving to help you off the floor, "just maybe find a better setting next time."

Your face is on fire, probably just as bad as Spencer's. You see him move out of the corner of your eye, and you grab his hand. You run your thumb over the chafing on his wrist, your heart clutching when he hisses at the sensation.

"Hey, Spence?" you mumble, exhaling a shaky breath as your eyes lock on his red wrist.

"Yeah?" he mutters back, matching your intensity.

"How did you get out of those knots? I tried the whole time he had you, they wouldn't budge." You look up at him now, his big eyes tightening at the edges as a small smile spreads across his lips.

"It was a classic prusik knot. I just had to reverse it and I was out," he states like it's the simplest thing in the world.

"Right. Of course you did," you smile, no teasing in your words, just true affection. Maybe a little bit of shock as well. His mind always has amazed you, even when you were too proud to say it.

You give his hand a squeeze before separating to be checked out by the medics. The rest of your team engulfs the two of you with worried looks and comforting words. As always, you find Spencer in the chaos. As always, he's already looking at you by the time your eyes find him.

Spencer sits on the edge of his couch, a bag of frozen peas resting on his black eye. It never gets easier, the fear and adrenaline of being taken by a psychopath. No matter how hard he tries, he still has to fight that feeling at the end of each day. The feeling that, no matter how hard he tries, how good of a profiler he is, it'll never take away the visceral fear of having your life in someone else's hands.

A knock on his door snaps him out of his spiral, and he silently thanks whoever is here at 8:47 p.m. on a Tuesday. He swings open the door to find the last person he expected to see. Her. She's here, to see him, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. Her hair is up, not an ounce of makeup on her face. She's perfect.

"I couldn't sleep," she whispers, and he's now registering the sleep mask that must've never left her forehead the whole way here. As his eyes trail down the rest of her frame, he takes into account the stuffed animal nestled in her right elbow, the fuzzy slippers on her feet.

"Me either," he responds, unable to help the smallest uptick of his lips at the sight of her. She looks so soft, and he has to fight the urge to reach out and grab her. He would never let go.

"Can I come in?" she asks, her eyes wide, and he's not religious, but God. How is he supposed to say no?

He nods simply, moving his body out of the way so she can enter his apartment. She looks around, taking in the intricate rug, the bookshelves lined from floor to ceiling. A bolt of self consciousness strikes him. The fear of her not liking what she sees runs through him for the briefest moment. The fear is gone, though, when she turns to him with a huge smile on her face.

"It's just as I assumed it would be."

He smiles at that, his tummy turning over her imagining what his apartment looks like, over her thinking about him that much in general.

"Are you oka-" He begins his question, but she barrels right through him.

"Did you mean what you said earlier?" It bursts out of her, as though she couldn't control it. He knows exactly what she means, and she knows he knows. He plays dumb anyway.

"Which part?" he croaks. She rolls her eyes, though there's no malice in it.

"When you said you were in love with me. Did you mean it?" Her honesty burns right through him, exposing all of him to her without even trying.

"Yes," he whispers, "I just thought you never liked me. I thought it'd be easier to pretend I didn't like you too."

She smiles, a bit self-deprecating, a lot of adoration. "We need to get better at talking to each other," she remarks. She saunters closer to him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

Her touch makes him feel like he's on fire, his blood thrumming through his veins right to his heart. It feels like it's burning to a crisp, yet he never wants her to let go.

"I love you, too, Spencer. I think I have since before I even knew you. I was so hurt when you made that comment all those months ago. I was more naive then, took things too personally. I thought that maybe if I just repressed the feelings, they would go away," she says, and his heart grows three sizes at the confession. "Of course I didn't mean what I said, either, I hope you know that."

He nods, feeling even more on display. How could she tell he took that to heart?

"Why do you think I always look at you?" she continues, "I couldn't ever take my eyes off you, even if I was paid to. You're too beautiful."

He blushes something fierce at that. Beautiful is a new one. He's been called a lot of things, nerdy, annoying, genius. But never beautiful. It burns him hotter, a white flash of light spreading through his entire body.

"You're beautiful," he replies, his arms finally coming up to pull her closer, his forehead resting against hers.

"You really think so?" she teases, a cheeky smile spreading her lips.

He nods, "Prettiest woman I've ever seen," it's a whisper, and it's true. No one has ever taken the wind from his sails the way she does.

"Can you kiss me again?" she breathes against his lips, desperation punching through each word.

He grabs her then, his hands coming up to cradle the back of her head as they desperately chase each other's lips. She plants short, staccato kisses all over him. She starts with his lips, kissing him once, twice, three times. She moves to his face, then, trailing her lips and tongue along his jaw, biting lightly behind his ear.

He feels her smile at the noise he emits, a whiny breath of air that would leave him embarrassed with anyone else. With her, though, with the way she's worshiping him, it doesn't even cross his mind.

He pulls her head back as she reaches his cheeks, feeling sorry for making her do all the work. He smashes his lips back into hers, lifting her legs so he can move her to his bed.

She cuddles into the soft mattress the second she's there, her eyes piercing his. He watches the way her gaze rakes down his body, a boost of confidence pumping him up. He takes his shirt off, a swift movement that surprises the both of you.

"Is this okay?" he whispers as he crawls on top of her, settling his long legs between her spread ones.

She nods sweetly, "Of course."

His heart stutters at that. Of course. Those words have the power to knock him off his feet. Her hands drift up to his hips, lightly squeezing the tiny bit of excess body fat there. He kisses her cheek. She rakes her hands up and down his back, nails scratching ever so slightly. He shivers.

It's not long until they're completely tangled in each other, breathy moans escaping her lips as he moves in and out of her. He wants to drink up every noise she makes, every low groan and high pitched whine that escapes her the most enticing elixir.

When they're finished, he's in a state of content and peace that he had never previously imagined possible. Peace and tranquility floats through the room as they take turns glancing at each other. Every time their eyes lock, they burst out giggling like children.

She's glued to him, whining high and long whenever he tries to move. She'd nearly strangled him with her grip when he went to get her a towel. She only relented when he- very thoughtfully, he might add- educated her on the risks of UTIs after sex.

They're laying in a light, airy silence now. One that drowns out the horrors of the day. He recounts the events of the past year, everything from meeting her to where they are now. His mind plays it over like a VCR tape stuck on rewind. He's desperate to find any evidence of her feelings before today, his mind whirring nonstop.

When she shifts in his arms, though, her heavy breathing indicating a deep sleep, it suddenly doesn't matter. He's here now, with the prettiest woman he's ever seen. He's so grateful he never took his eyes off of her.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid criminal minds #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid blurbs #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one shot

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veltana · 6 months ago

Text

The winter rebound

✦ Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Fem!Reader

✦ Word count: ~3,6k

✦ Rating: Explicit

✦ Warnings/tags: Avengers!Bucky, alcohol consumption, fluff, pwp, smut, oral (fem receiving), piv sex, safe sex, dirty talk.

✦ Summary: You go with your friend to Stark's holiday party

✦ Note: This was the first thing I wrote and published when I got back into the marvel fandom, so it's a super self-indulgent piece! But I hope you like it anyway! As always, please comment and/or reblog! Asks are always welcome!

Masterlist | AO3

It was Friday. You watched yourself in the mirror and told yourself that you would have fun tonight. Forget about your ex of five years who broke off your engagement a month before the holidays, whom you had spent the last three weeks crying over.

Tonight you were accompanying your best friend to the annual Stark holiday party, and you would not think about him once during the night, while you danced and drank yourself into a stupor.

Standing outside the huge compound made you anxious. Maybe it was too soon to meet the real world without him. No! Don’t think about that asshole! You cut yourself off before your thoughts started to spiral.

“Come on!” your friend Lily laughed. Her genuine smile was contagious and you returned it, squaring your shoulders and forcing every dumb thought down before you took her arm as the two of you made your way down the gold and red carpet. At the end, two large glass doors were opened by life-sized mechanical nutcrackers.

“I sure hope those don’t spring to life and ruin this party too,” you mumbled. Lily giggled, “Don’t worry, I helped with the software, unless Mr. Stark went a completely different direction there should be no worries.” “So there is a possibility,” you joked as the doors closed behind you.

If she answered you didn’t hear because you were too busy taking in the amazing winter-themed party. The waiters were also dressed as nutcrackers and there were dancers in amazing outfits performing all over the floor. Music played in the background and some were moving to the beat while others stood around and talked.

Honestly, you had expected more people, like at least two hundred but there were only about fifty in the huge hall. Not only the regular people, like your friend, who helped with software, hardware, management, and the day-to-day running's of the compound, but it was impossible not to notice the heroes also in attendance.

Not all of them were there, no sign of Thor or Loki, or the Guardians, but this was your first time so close to any hero ever, you would take what you could get.

“Come, I’ll introduce you to everyone,” Lily said and started to pull you along while you gazed at the shifting decorations adorning the walls, obvious to the blue eyes that followed you with interest from the bar.

Too many names spun through your brain, accompanied by the alcohol your friend had been plying you with.

Everyone you had met so far had been incredibly nice and friendly and hadn’t minded when you asked all the dumb questions about working at such a place.

Finally, it came down to the big event, meeting Mr. Stark and maybe the rest of the Avengers currently there.

Lily stepped up to her boss and greeted him and Pepper Potts like they were friends rather than her superiors and then introduced you. Not a lot of people got to shake hands with Iron Man and Pepper Potts but now you had, and it was totally normal.

“Interesting hair color,” Tony Stark pointed out. “Is it meant to look like that?” It was such an old man thing to say you could only laugh as Pepper elbowed him in the ribs. “I am sorry,” Pepper apologized but you waved it off.

“He is paying for everything I drink, so if he wants to make fun of my hair, it’s fine.” Pepper gave you a relieved look and was about to say something else when a voice interrupted.

“It looks like the Aurora Borealis.”

Bucky Barnes had appeared out of nowhere, like the skilled assassin he had been trained to be. It was like he had materialized out of thin air at your side and you jumped when he spoke.

Before you knew what you were doing, you reached out, slapping your palm against his hard chest, and said “For fuck’s sake,” while your other hand rested over the heart trying to work its way out of your chest.

Then you realized what you’d done and pulled back your hand quickly, covering your mouth. Bucky stared back at you, mouth slightly open, while Lily and Tony both cackled in amusement. “That’s what you get Barnes,” your friend pointed out.

With a crooked smile, Bucky just said, “How about I buy you a drink to make up for it?” and held out his arm. “As long as it’s crazy expensive since the old man made fun of my hair,” you shot over your shoulder at Tony as you took the offered arm.

Your friend winked at you before she returned to her conversation with Natasha Romanoff, whom you would just have to say hello to some other time.

Bucky led you the short way to the bar and you eased your way on to the chair, making sure not to get tangled in your long dress, as Bucky leaned over the bar and asked for the most expensive champagne they had.

“I’m Bucky,” he said. “I know,” you smiled at him before introducing yourself too.

In no time there were two flutes in front of you, he offered you one, saying cheers before you took the first sip. The unabashed moan that left you wasn’t meant to be sexual but Bucky stopped his glass halfway to his lips to just stare at you. It cracked you up, “Sorry,” you said, “I’ve never tasted champagne this good before.” He also took a sip, his eyes widening a little, and when he’d swallowed all he said was, “Wow.” “I could get used to this,” you took another mouth and closed your eyes.

When you opened them again you found him looking at you and it made a shiver go down your spine. For the first time in a long time, you felt desire pool in your lower belly. “Will this make up for Stark’s comment?” he asked. “It will absolutely!” you promised. “I think your hair looks great and I’m like twice his age so…” he trailed off.

“My friend, Lily, has told me about these crazy old super soldiers, but you look spry for your age,” you winked at him. “You can only imagine,” he flirted back, and your cheeks heated. You had forgotten about this, about the utter intoxication of flirting with a man and having it returned to you.

After several weeks of drought, your body suddenly knew what arousal was again and flooded you with it, making your heart beat twice as fast and your skin flush. “Oh, you want me to think of everything you can do?” you asked with a raised eyebrow. “Anything you want, doll,” he leaned forward, “But I’m sure your imagination won’t hold a candle to the real thing.” “Are you going to show me?” “If you want to,” he smirked and you felt yourself grow wetter by the second.

You leaned in too, unable to resist him and not wanting to either. You wanted to get lost in him for as long as he would have you. He finished off the rest of his champagne like it was a shot of liquor.

“Come on, I have just the place,” he smiled, holding out his hand. Not even second-guessing yourself for a moment you finished your glass and let him lead you away.

Bucky took you through a side door, into a corridor that led to the heart of the compound which was now deserted, and finally into a large room with a domed ceiling.

It looked like a cinema almost, except the screen was the whole ceiling, and in the middle of the floor was an enormous sofa-like thing that easily fit several people.

After Bucky pressed something on a side panel the room lit up with the Aurora Borealis.

You let go of his hand, staring with huge eyes at the display. Maybe you had misinterpreted his intentions and they were actually pure, not at all the filthy things you had thought this would end up being.

Never had you been happier to be wrong.

This time when he appeared out of nowhere he didn’t scare you, he gripped your waist with the vibranium arm and spun you into his chest, before using his other hand to pinch your chin between his fingers.

“I’m going to kiss you, tell me if I should stop,” he breathed. Instead of answering with words you surged up and crushed your lips against his, wrapping your arms around his neck, and pulling him impossibly closer.

It was almost like he expected you to be timid or something because, for a few seconds, he didn’t move, but then he rushed into action, moving his lips and kissing you like a man starved.

Desire flooded you, making every one of his touches feel like fire even through the fabric of your dress. He moved you backward until your knees hit the oversized sofa, and you laid down.

Bucky’s face was burning with desire as he looked down on you, before he could move or say anything you grabbed your skirt and pulled it up until it bunched around your waist so that you were able to spread your legs without restraint.

The growl erupting from his chest made you smile and you crooked your finger toward him. He knelt between your legs, grabbing your thighs to spread them even more before he leaned down over you to capture your lips again.

The action made the hard cock in his jeans brush against your heated core, making you moan into his mouth.

He pulled back, eyes wild, “Your sounds make me fucking crazy.” he groaned, moving his hands down your naked legs, caressing them and gripping them, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to be rough or gentle.

“Hope so,” you smiled and started to tug at his suit jacket, needing to see his body. He obliged by sitting back and ridding his upper body of clothing. As soon as you could your hands splayed out across the expanse of his naked torso, feeling the hard muscles under the soft skin.

Your eyes grazed over the scars on his left shoulder but didn’t pay it any mind. The man had trauma, that was no secret, but tonight you didn’t need to delve into that. Instead, you sat up, kissing the skin you could reach and licking at his nipple, making him moan most deliciously.

He reached around you to unzip your dress and you whined when you had to move away from him to let him pull it off you. Now you were almost completely naked with the super soldier, except for the thong you wore that did little to hide anything from him, and your heels.

Without another word, he stood up and unbuttoned his pants, peeling them off and kicking off his shoes in the process, before he was back over you. Now it was his turn to taste your skin and when he closed his mouth around a nipple, using his vibranium hand to pinch the other, you released a high-pitched mewl you never heard from yourself before.

That only spurred him on, alternating between sucking and licking at you, squeezing or pinching your sensitive buds. The pleasure was too much, like you would implode or maybe even come from just him playing with your tits. You fisted the fabric under you, pushing your chest even more into him as moans and words tumbled from your lips.

“Bucky, please!” you tried forming a coherent sentence but failed. “What do you need, doll?” he asked, lips shiny with his spit as he looked up at you. “Touch me, make me come, please Bucky,” you didn’t want to wait another second for the pleasure you had missed for a lot longer than the weeks since your break up. This temporary connection with a stranger was already better than what you had experienced over several years.

“Can I taste you?” his voice was husky, filled with restrained want. “Yes!” you smiled and raised yourself on your elbows.

You watched as he kissed his way down your form, pulling off your thong and throwing it away. He grabbed your thighs and spread them wide before letting the thumb of his vibranium hand slowly drag up, separating your folds, groaning, almost whispering “Fuck, your pussy is perfect,” and leaning in to carefully lick up your spread lips. You fell back, staring up at the beautiful display as Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, one of the Avengers, ate you out with perfection.

Every move he made sent sparks through your entire body and pulled cries from you. Your hands tangled in his hair, not pulling or pushing, just needing to anchor yourself on something. Nothing would hold a candle to this for the rest of your life you suspected, because even though you had just met, Bucky Barnes took his sweet time, caressing his hands up and down your sides, down your legs, and back up again, using his tongue and lips to make your body blaze.

Your crescendo built steadily, as did your voice, the closer you got the more you pleaded and begged, even though he was doing exactly what you wanted him to. When two fingers on his right hand breached you with no problem your back bowed, the pleasure rushing through you, and when he crooked them and moved them inside you, it was everything the dam needed to break and the coil inside you snapped.

You screamed his name as the orgasm hit you like a freight train. What was even better was that he worked you through it, coaxing every last drop of pleasure out of you before you had to instead beg him to stop.

"Too much," you whimpered when the uttermost tip of his tongue gently floated across your clit. "No, darling, not enough. A man could get addicted to hearing you scream his name."

You whimpered again, your body rocking with overstimulation at every pass of his tongue. It was wonderful to hear him say those things but you needed more.

"Please tell me you have a condom so you can fuck me," you groaned and that made him stop, staring at you from between your legs before kissing up the side of your thigh to sit back on his heels before he got up. He freed himself from his underwear before he bent down to grab his pants and pulled a condom from a pocket and that gave you a chance to admire him. His cock was hard, glistening, and a lot bigger than what you were previously used to, but that only sparked more excitement in your lower stomach.

"Hands and knees, baby," he smiled and made a twirling motion with his fingers. You wasted no time rolling over, and getting into position. His flesh hand slapped your ass playfully when he knelt behind you and when you moaned he chuckled. "You like that huh?" he asked as the tip of his cock started to press into you.

He was big, you whined and whimpered with every inch he pressed into you. Maybe why he took his time eating you, because he needed you to be as aroused as possible for it to fit. You clawed at the fabric, feeling like you were having an out-of-body experience with how he filled you.

"So good, taking it all," he praised when his hips were finally flush with your ass. Trying to answer him with words was out of the question, instead, you rocked your body, feeling his cock press against everything inside you, giving you the most delicious sensation you probably ever felt.

His hand landed on your ass again and that spurred you on, starting to move a bit faster. "Look at you, fucking yourself on my cock," he sounded a little breathless and you wished you could see him. "Do you like it, darling? Do you like my cock filling you to the brim?"

Fuck, Bucky Barnes had a mouth on him you had not expected. He grabbed your hips and helped you along, starting to fuck you deep and hard, pulling almost all the way out before shoving back in again.

With every move, you cried out in sheer ecstasy. Bucky kept on telling you how good you sounded, he didn't mind at all that you were loud.

The pace was hard but not hurried, he seemed to like taking his time, not rushing through the action just to get to the finish line. But it was driving you mad, it felt like you were at the precipice constantly, ready to tip over but needing something more to do it.

Then he grabbed you around the waist and pulled you up until you were flush against his chest, his pace never stopping. "Hi, sweet thing, enjoying yourself?" he wasn't even winded and you were a panting, whimpering mess, feeling like you were about to lose it.

"Yes, Bucky, please touch me, make me come again." He kissed your shoulder, "My pleasure," was his answer and his left hand descended on your aching clit.

A shudder and a scream passed through you when he started to rub small circles over it. Suddenly you were so close to the edge you could almost taste it, and Bucky knew it too.

"That's right, come on my cock, doll. Can you do that for me? Be good and come for me?" he said between kissing up your neck, moving the arm around your waist up to grab your jaw, and turning your head to the side. The kiss was sloppy but delicious, and with the aid of his fingers and so full of his cock the orgasm took you by full force, making you shake in his grip.

He released your mouth and let the sounds you made fill up the room, pressing his mouth to the side of your head and telling you over and over again how fucking good you felt coming around him.

If he hadn’t held you up, you would have collapsed no doubt, but Bucky had no problem keeping you up as he found his own release, pressing his forehead against your neck and mumbling obscenities, his hips stuttering against your ass.

Now he was breathing heavier, holding you tight against him with both arms, letting his fingers draw random patterns on your skin.

You were in a post-orgasmic haze, only existing in that moment with no past or future, only his warm body, and a sated need. "Gonna need to let you go now, darling," he said in a low voice "Lay down." His arms loosened around you and you braced yourself with your arms and eased yourself down on your side.

Bucky got up, probably to dispose of the condom, before laying down behind you. You hadn't expected him to want to cuddle, but he draped his arm across your side, pulling you flush against him.

"You okay?" he asked in a whisper. "Fan-fucking-tastic," you answered with a small laugh and felt a million times lighter all of a sudden.

After a few minutes of laying there, you felt like you'd been gone from the party long enough, but judging by Bucky’s heavy breathing, he had fallen asleep behind you.

He didn't wake as you gathered your things. When you found the thong, you looked at it, looked over at his gorgeous form laying there, and giggled as you found his pants and stuffed the thong down his pocket.

With the help of some items in your clutch, you patched up your make-up and fixed your hair before slipping out and closing the door behind you.

It was a small miracle that you could find your way back to the party but you did and immediately went to the bar for a drink.

Lily found you minutes later and she just raised an eyebrow, you shrugged and tilted your glass towards hers, clinking them together, and then you both burst out laughing.

Monday rolled around and it was hard to work because you kept getting lost in the memories of Friday night.

His eyes, his scent, his voice as he said those things to you. You squeezed your legs together and stifled a low moan.

Suddenly your phone chimed and pulled you back into the real world. A text from Lily.

[So, Bucky Barnes just came by and asked for your number. I gave it, of course, just so you know!] [Okay? Did he say why he needed it?] [Apparently, you left something(????) here on Friday and he wanted to return it.] [Hmm, okay, thanks!] [What did you leave?!?!?!?] [Don't be so nosey, go back to work!]

Your stomach did a flip when the next message was from an unknown number. It had a picture attached, your thong tangled in his fingers, and the text [You left these.] For a second you imagined him using them as he got himself off. You bit your lips as you responded. [Keep them or throw them away, I have more, don't worry.] even added a little wink-emoji.

[I want to return them, personally. Are you free this afternoon?] His response was quick and very to the point.

A wonderful shudder traveled through you at the thought of seeing him again. You had meant for this to be a one-time thing, something to get you back into the world and learn to exist without your ex but there wasn't any harm in seeing where this could go, and hopefully, you would have a lot more amazing sex on top of it.

[Sure, I get off at five.]

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes smut #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #bucky imagine #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #bucky smut #veltana writes

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mythicmanuscripts · 11 months ago

Note

So I’m imagining Aemond’s wife has to leave him for a few days or even weeks. (perhaps to return to her family’s home somewhere else in Westeros for some reason) Perhaps she flies on dragonback or rides by horse/carriage. Either way she’s gone for some time and the longer she’s away the more on edge Aemond gets. Like he behaves his regular cold and withdrawn self but otherwise normally for a few days. But then slowly his already hard edges seem to grow sharper and sharper as the days without his wife creep by. His attacks in the training yard seem more brutal and vicious than normal. He stalks down the halls in an almost predatory walk as nobles scramble to stay out of his way and not meet his eye. He snaps at his servants more and more. And then suddenly the weeks are over and his wife is home and those hard edges are sanded down once again. He practically melts into her arms the moment they’re behind closed doors. Face buried in her neck or chest. The next day his training is much more subdued. He does not snap at people or move so hostilely about the Keep. Most people put two and two together. Now every time Aemond’s wife leaves him for more than a few days the whole of Kings Landing holds its breath until she returns.

(Bonus points: a few days before her return, Helaena states completely out of the blue to Aemond that she’ll be home before the week is out and he need not worry about her. Aemond starts. How could she know that? Was his wife writing to her and sending her a raven with that information but not him?? He knows they’re close friends but he’s her husband!? So he asks Helaena if she’s had a raven. Helaena just stops her needlework and looks at him confused: “No.” And then resumes her needlework without explanation. He decides to think nothing of it. Until two days later his wife is walking back up the steps of the Red Keep and his heart is doing somersaults in his chest he’s just so thrilled to see her.)

**nsfw thots**

On an unrelated note to all that: imagine them the night before she leaves. Riding him gently, holding him close, pulling orgasm after orgasm from him til he’s over sensitive and completely spent. Making sure to give him as much attention as possible before she leaves. As he lays there in a daze she gently showers him with kisses. Kissing up and down his neck and jaw she whispers in his ear “Aemond, my darling? I want you to think of this night while I’m gone. I want you to think about the night we shall have when I return. I want you to touch yourself and think of me. But you’re not allowed to cum. Not without me.” Another gentle kiss to his temple over his sapphire eye. “Can you be a good boy and do that for me, my love?” He shifts slightly and moans a quiet yes in response. Of course he can do that. He’s a good boy. With more willpower and obedience than anyone. And he will be rewarded handsomely for it when she returns.

I.... Anon you are truly a visionary. I am in shock and awe these thoughts are INCREDIBLE. I love everything about this oh my god.

So instead of splitting up my answer like you did here, I'm gonna answer this as one long ask about before you leave for a few days, how he is while you're gone and then what happens when you return so the entire thing will be NSFW sub!aemond with varying degrees of explicit content. So yeah! Venture under the cut if you dare :))

When you first married Aemond, not much changed because he hardly knew you. But, very very quickly he started to get attached. He realises that you care for him, that you enjoy talking to him and that you mean it when you praise him. For a long time your relationship is almost... professional? Once a week he'll attempt for an heir with you laying flat on your back and then leave immediately and besides that, you'd only see him at dinners and events.

When you started to show Aemond affection and began to ask him questions and love him, he really just melts into you? He becomes so needy so quickly, like a switch is flipped and once he's allowed a little of his self restraint to falter, he's incapable of controlling himself around you anymore.

People are shocked at the change in Aemond. He's much mellower, much less likely to lash out and he hears people out much more. They also learn that they can go to you with any issues, and you will relay them to Aemond. This process always works much better because he's always much better when speaking to you.

(Side note: you know how kings used to have a servant whose only job was to read their letters aloud for them? When Aemond becomes king he immediately gets rid of that servant and has you read the letter aloud instead. It's much, much better to hear your voice and be able to discuss the content of the letters with you)

Maybe this is the first time you've gone away without Aemond? By this point he is attached to your side, and the entire castle is thankful for it. You both spend every night in your shared quarters, and he allows himself to be open in how much he loves you and how much he needs from you.

So when you tell him you need to leave for a few days, at first he doesn't even consider the possibility that you mean without him? His response to hearing this is to nod and say, "Where are we going? And for how long?" Maybe his lips even twitch upwards a little in a very small smile because he thinks the two of you will be travelling alone together. Even if you're going somewhere terribly political and boring, the journey itself is enough to get him in a good mood. Just you, him and Vhagar would be perfect (and your own dragon if you had one, but Vhagar loves you and is more than happy to carry both you and Aemond, in fact sometimes she won't fly with just Aemond because she can tell he's angry and might do something rash, so she'll refuse to take off until you join them so that you can stop Aemond from doing something stupid).

(Side note: Aemond buys a small house somewhere far away and only reachable by dragon and that becomes your little sanctuary, whenever he’s about to lose it he goes up there with you and Vhagar and Vhagar actually won’t fly him back to the keep until he’s doing better)

When you clarify that you need to go yourself, his smile falls? He understands why he can’t go with, but that doesn’t matter. He just… you’re going to be gone for over a week?? What’s he supposed to do??

I think he’d be insistent on you taking Vhagar if you don’t have your own dragon. Not only because she’s quicker than any horse but also because he knows she’d melt down entire kingdoms if someone dared to lay a hand on you and knowing you have that kind of protection is the only way they’ll be any chance of him getting any sleep while you’re away.

You don’t even bother trying to argue against this, because you know he’ll just follow you on Vhagar if you don’t take her yourself.

The night before you’re set to leave, you tell him to get dinner delivered to your chambers and to tell everyone that the two of you are not be disturbed. He knows what this means, he’s so thankful.

You ride him first, until he’s so desperate to cum that he can’t stop bucking his hips. And then you get off him and make him eat you out before he’s allowed to fuck you again. His thighs are shaking when you eventually lower yourself down on him again and he cums almost instantly.

That’s when the overstimulation starts. Your goal is to take him apart completely until he’s a mess, until he’s twitching and whining and mumbling in high Valeryon. It honestly doesn’t even take that long to do.

When you give him the rules, he can only nod and turn to cuddle into your neck. He’s so plaint and completely wrecked, not a single wall left between you. He’s so sweet then, nodding and trying to kiss your neck because he’s just floating on cloud nine.

You slip out of bed the next morning before he wakes up, because you know that will be the easiest for him. If he has to actually watch you leave, he will almost immediately become hostile and unhappy until you return. This way there’s a chance that he might not immediately start terrorising the servants.

When Aemond wakes and you’re not there, he understands why you chose to do that and deep down he knows it’s the best choice, but it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t feel like a punch to the gut anyway. This is the first time in your entire marriage that he’s fallen asleep with you and woken up alone. You’ve always ensured to stay in bed until he wakes up and he does the same, so to roll over and find nothing but cold sheets actually makes him let out a sob out loud.

He pulls your pillow closer, hugging it tightly and curling himself around it. He knows he’s acting ridiculous and he does not care about it, not at all because his wife isn’t in his bed and he’s all alone.

He’s alright for the first three days, still very withdrawn but he wasn’t too bad. From the fourth day onwards he just got worse and worse. He was not used to going this long without you, without your attention and touches and voice. He’s so used to popping into places he knows you’ll be just to see you, bringing you food or wine or even just to ask your advice for something. Sometimes he’ll even come find you to invite you do dinner despite the fact that you eat dinner together every day.

So yeah he’s not doing very well. I also think he becomes even worse about touches? A servant accidentally brushes against him as they walk past carrying laundry and he flings himself against the opposite wall feeling like his skin is on fire where they touched.

Sparring with him is dangerous while you’re away, and if he loses he will just drop his sword and walk away. He would normally go to you and you’d kiss him gently and listen to him and give him advice. But now he just walks right out.

He also doesn’t make any big decisions? Irrelevant of whether he’s king, prince or prince regent, he always goes to you for advice and to hear your thoughts. You’re an extremely important part of his council and he won’t pledge to anything without discussing it first.

So the whole castle walks on eggshells for the next week or so until you eventually come back.

The moment one of the dragon keepers spots Vhagar, they immediately run to the keep and tell Aemond because they know how badly everyone needs you to be back with Aemond. The dragon keeper doesn’t even get to finish his sentence before Aemond is out the door and running for the dragon pits.

He’s there when you get off Vhagar.

The dragon keepers and servants know better than to try and get close to you before him. Normally, you hand the dragon riders your gear and the servants help take off the gloves and boots but no one moves this time because they all know that Aemond will kill them if they get in the way.

The moment you get odd Vhagar, Aemond is walking forward and before you can even say a thing he’s pulling you into a bone crushing hug. He clings to you as tight as he can, nuzzling his nose against your clavicle. You try pull away a little to give him a kiss and he refuses, his grip on you only tightens.

When he eventually pulls away, you take his hand in your hands and give him a soft kiss. He responds immediately and then hugs you tight again.

“You’re ever going for that long again,” he mumbles against your shoulder, “ever.”

You just rub his back and let him hold you for a moment because you know that there’s no point in trying to tell him you had to go. He’s too upset right now, and he just needs to be reassured to that you’re back.

Maybe you’re supposed to speak to the small council about something or give them a debrief of your trip but you end up only doing that the next day because Aemond refuses to share you with anyone. If anyone else tries to take your attention he may genuinely commit murder because it’s been far too long and he’s your husband, not them. He’s the one who gets your undivided attention.

He walks with you back to your shared quarters. On the way there, run into some of the ladies currently being hosted at the court and of course they all want to greet you and ask about your trip. Aemond is having absolutely none of it. He literally just says, "not now" and drags you away from them.

Normally if Aemond did something like that you would refuse to go with him and punish him later, but you know that this is different because of how long he's had to go without you and so you'll make some exceptions. Of course Aemond knows this, that's why he even did it in the first place. If he thought there was even the smallest chance of you being unhappy with him, he never would have done it.

Once you're alone in your chambers, he pulls you back into a hug, and pretty quickly you can feel his shoulders shaking.

"It's alright," you whisper to him, keeping your voice soft and gentle, "I'm back, it's just us here, it's alright." He nods, but he keeps himself firmly against your shoulder, crying softly.

When he stops crying, you tell him to boil some water and get a bath ready. Ordinarily you would call a servant in to do that, but you can see how unsettled Aemond is, how overwhelmed he is. He's clearly happy you're back, but he's also kind of unsure what to do with himself and clearly is just feeling a little too many things. So you give him a task to do, because that always settles him and he relaxes knowing that he's pleasing you.

You watch as he readies the water and then pours it into the bath with some cold water to make the perfect temperature.

Since you flew back on dragon back, you're in need of a bath before bed and so you tell Aemond to join you and let him wash you. It's one of Aemond's favourite tasks, one that he can't believe he is privileged enough to get to do.

He takes his time washing you, being so so gentle and ensuring he does is properly. Multiple times he pauses and looks to you, waiting for your approval before he continues. You can see him start to relax as he does it, can see the tension start to leave his shoulders.

You'd love to wash him in return, but you know it's not the best idea right then. Aemond is relaxed and at ease because he's served you and he knows he's being good. You know that if you turn the attention back on him and wash him, you run the risk of him getting overwhelmed and shy. So instead you just tell him to wash himself once he's done with you and you make sure to watch him as he does so. He absolutely loves having your eyes on him.

You let him dry you afterwards as well, and when you see his eyes trailing your body, you tell him that he can kiss you too. Immediately he does, kissing your skin after he swipes the towel over it.

He's turned by this point, of course, but he doesn't even think about touching himself. He knows the rules, and he knows you will look after him.

Originally you were going to ride him and edge him a few times, but when you see how vulnerable he is, you change your mind. He's missed you so much, and you can see how he's keeping his hands on you for as long as possible each time he kisses you, like he's afraid you're going to disappear. You don't need to wreck him, he's already wrecked.

Instead, you let him sit between your legs, his back to your front and give him a nice, soft handjob. He's shaking and whining in your arms, nuzzling against your neck and mumbling in high valeryon. He's so beautiful when he cums, crying out as his back arches away from you. He collapses once it's over, curling up between your legs and bringing your hand to his mouth to lick it clean.

You let him shuffle down the bed then and eat you out to his heart's content. He's so so happy, groaning against you because he's having as much fun as you are.

Even once you've came, he stays there and just rests his head against your thigh. He falls asleep like that soon after.

#sub!aemond #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #prince aemond #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd #house of the dragon imagine

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yanderecrazysie · 10 months ago

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For the reader rejecting her soulmate by hiding the fact that they're soulmates drabble, can we get that with Gojo Satoru?

Coming from clan of sorcerers and being one of the most promising heirs, reader was hoping that her soulmate was just a regular human being so that she could have a reason to abandon the Jujutsu world and live a normal life. But unfortunately for her, her wishes were granted backwards. So backwards that she got someone from a prominent clan who also happened to be the strongest sorcerer known to man. Not wanting to deal what fate has given her, she hid her true mark made up a fake one and informed her clan she's leaving to keep her "soulmate" safe. They were disappointed but accepted none the less, and just like that she left for a normal life.

Despite thinking she avoided fate, what she doesn't know is that a simple faking of a mark does not sever a soulmates' connection. Especially when fate has forcibly involved her with someone like Gojo.

I love this and I love you for coming up with it. NGL I was influenced by the amazing @envy-of-the-apple and the INCREDIBLE Gojo fics they've made. Don't get your hopes up for this story, it's not nearly as good as theirs LOL

Title: I Don’t Want Love

Pairings: Gojo Satoru x Reader

WARNINGS: yandere themes, swearing, violence, implied murder

“If I leave before you

And I walk out alone

Keep your hands to yourself

When you follow me home

I don't want love

I don't want love”

-From “I Don’t Want Love” by The Antlers

You would turn eighteen at exactly 1 am, on the dot. You had set up a mirror on your bed, aimed straight at your upper arms.

12 seconds to go…

You wondered which arm it would appear on. That isn’t what really mattered, of course.

7 seconds…

You wondered if you could tell if the person was average or ordinary by just the symbol alone.

3…

2…

1…

The silence in your room suffocated you. Your heart sank into the pit of your stomach.

It looked like a hand with the index and middle finger twisted together. You knew that symbol. You’d seen it every damn day.

Gojo Satoru. Your soulmate was Gojo Satoru.

The weight of your fate crushed you. This was even worse than the outcome you had feared the most. You had prayed for an ordinary person, someone who could whisk you away from this world of curses and responsibilities. You just wanted someone who could offer you the normal life you so desperately craved.

Instead, fate had bound you to the most powerful sorcerer alive, a man whose very existence was a magnet for danger and chaos. A man who would never, ever live an ordinary life.

“No fucking way…” you whispered to yourself, shaking your head frantically as though you could just simply deny what was seared into your right shoulder. You couldn’t accept this. You wouldn’t accept this.

You knew what you had to do. Your clan was skilled in concealment techniques and, with a bit of effort, you covered the mark on your right shoulder, and created a false mark on your left. It was a simple sun, unremarkable in every way. The perfect lie you could craft to fool your family, the world, and maybe even yourself.

The symbol could belong to anyone. Anyone but Gojo Satoru, who had been showing off his mark since his 18th birthday last year.

When the next morning came, your parents’ faces fell at the sight of the ordinary sun on your left shoulder.

“Oh, I was hoping you’d get a powerful sorcerer,” your mother had never sounded more disappointed, “Someone like that nice Satoru boy.” You hid a wince.

Your father crossed his arms, “Are you sure you want to leave our world behind for some ordinary man?”

You shrugged, acting like the decision was out of your hands. “I can’t drag an ordinary person who can’t even see curses into our world,” you replied.

Your parents agreed and, without much more resistance, you headed out to a world where everyone was oblivious to the existence of curses.

A world you had always wanted to be a part of.

—-----------------------------------------------------

1 am on the dot for Gojo Satoru was like waking up in a bath filled with ice cubes. He shot out of his bed, panting and ready to fight whatever curse had found its way into his room. Then, he felt a warmth spreading over his soulmate’s mark and he relaxed, a smile playing across his face.

His soulmate had reached her 18th birthday!

Gojo’s smile widened as he pulled up his sleeve and studied the mark on his arm, the intertwined fingers that must match yours. For months, he had anticipated this moment- the day his soulmate would finally know of their connection!

Then, a strange, muted feeling. As if all of the warmth had been sucked out of him and his senses had been dulled. His smile sank into a frown.

His soulmate was attempting to hide their bond.

He was no stranger to concealment techniques- he was a sorcerer of unparalleled strength. But why would his beloved soulmate try to hide her mark?

It bothered him, but also piqued his curiosity. You must know who he was (everyone did), so why were you trying to hide from him?

Gojo’s frown deepened as the muted sensations got stronger. His soulmate was actively hiding from him. He couldn’t help but wonder, irritation spiking, why you would go to such lengths.

This wasn’t some simple concealment- you were rejecting the bond itself. And how dare you? He was the strongest sorcerer alive, you should be goddamned proud to be his soulmate!

He took a deep breath and tried to remain calm. He’d wait until the morning and find out whose birthday it was. Then, he’d approach you and figure out what you were playing at.

—------------------------------------------------------

One month had passed since your birthday, and you had already gotten yourself a job as a receptionist at a law firm. Your parents’ money would buy you an apartment for a few months, but you’d be expected to take care of yourself after that.

One of the lawyers, a tall, handsome man named Akira, was always stopping by your desk, flirting casually with you. You encouraged it full-heartedly. He was handsome, kind, intelligent and best of all…

He was normal.

Akira smiled as he stopped by your desk for the third time that day, “So, I was wondering-”

Briiiiing

“Sorry, hold that thought,” you winked up at him, picking up the desk phone, “Thank you for calling Hashimoto Law Firm, my name is (Y/n), how may I assist you today?”

There was no response, except for heavy breathing. Unnerved, you tried again, “Thank you for calling, how may I assist you?”

More heavy breathing followed and you gave it one last shot, “If you are speaking, I’m unable to hear you. Please call back again if you are in need of our services.”

You hung up, heart pounding for a reason you couldn’t place. Your right shoulder began to burn and your heart just about stopped altogether.

“What’s the matter?” Akira asked, concern in his voice.

You straightened up, avoiding his gaze, “Just a prank call.”

Akira took the answer with a nod, still looking concerned for you, “Don’t take prank calls too seriously. It’s usually just a kid on the other line.”

You swallowed thickly- you had a feeling you knew exactly who was on the other line.

Akira looked up at the clock, “Ah, it’s time to clock out for the day.” You followed his gaze and your stomach twisted unpleasantly.

“Will you walk me home?” you blurted out.

Akira’s eyebrow raised, “Did that prank call spook you that badly?”

“I’m worried it may be my ex,” you lied, “And if he knows where I work, he could be waiting outside for me.”

Akira smiled and offered you his hand, “No ex-boyfriend will get anywhere near you if I have anything to do with it.”

You smiled back.

The walk to your apartment had your heart pounding in your chest and your hands shaking. Akira’s larger, warmer hand slipped into yours and you squeezed it for reassurance.

You were nearly to your apartment complex when Akira whispered, “Someone’s following us.”

You realized there were not two but three pairs of footsteps walking down this street. You didn’t need to look back to know who it was- the burning on your right shoulder told you all you needed to know.

“You keep going, I’ll tell him off,” Akira said.

You wanted to tell him to stay with you, to not risk his life over you. You wanted to tell him that the person he was going to face was infinitely stronger than him.

But you were selfish.

As soon as Akira turned around, you broke into a run. You heard the man make a confused sound, as though he had tried to punch air (or, more likely, infinity) and then a bloodcurdling scream cut off by the pained, guttural noise of someone being punched so hard that their organs were being ruptured.

Maybe it wasn’t that bad, maybe that was your imagination running wild, but you didn’t turn around to see if you were right. Each time you heard that fleshy sound of a fist caving in someone’s chest, you just ran faster.

As soon as you had reached your apartment, you bolted the apartment door shut, grabbed your suitcase, and began stuffing things inside with trembling hands.

Akira was most likely dead and all you could think about was how you had to change jobs and move right away. Were you heartless?

Maybe. But your soulmate mark wasn’t burning anymore and that was all that mattered.

—----------------------------------------------------

The next morning, you arrived at the law firm, ready to quit. You walked inside and found your boss already waiting for you. “Have you seen Akira? He was meant to be here an hour ago?”

“I haven’t,” you murmured, “Look, I have to quit-”

The door opened behind you and you spun around, hoping it was Akira, safe and sound. Instead, you were met with the sight you wanted to see least.

A tall man with white hair and a blindfold around his eyes. Gojo Satoru in the flesh.

“Oh, Mr. Gojo! Yes, you must be! Ah, why don’t you take that thing off your face?” your boss was quick to welcome the man, “Take a seat, (Y/n), you can take notes for us since Akira’s slept in.”

You remained standing, frozen in place as Gojo walked by you. Your soulmate was scalding hot, burning your skin so hotly that you let out a small hiss of pain.

“I’ll keep this on, if you don’t mind,” Gojo said, his voice carefree, “Now, about what we talked about yesterday…”

You began to inch towards the door.

“(Y/n), please take notes,” your boss said sternly. You jumped at the sharp tone of voice and found yourself helplessly obeying.

I need to quit. I need to leave!

Your thoughts didn’t match your actions. All you could do was hope that Gojo didn’t feel anything on his soulmate mark.

“So, Mr. Gojo, I understand you wanted to start a legal case about securing your soulmate?” your boss asked.

All of the blood drained from your face.

“Yes,” you couldn’t see Gojo’s stunning blue eyes but you knew they were looking directly at you, “You see, she’s a shy one. But, legally, I own her since she’s my soulmate. And she owns me, of course, too, but she’s not the one filing for an arranged marriage here.”

The two men shared a laugh as you began to feel faint. Unsteadily, you wobbled for a moment, before you collapsed to the floor.

“(Y/n)?” your boss stood up, surprised, “Should I call for medical attention?”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Gojo said, reaching out for you with a vicious grin.

“You see, I know just what she needs.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere one shot #one shot #yandere gojo #gojo satoru #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen

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drdemonprince · 4 months ago

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my personal experience with sex exceptionalism -

i was present at a mass shooting at age 8, and it didn’t affect me at all. i never brought it up to professions (psychiatrist and therapist) because it never seemed relevant or important.

i experienced csa from age 6ish to 9ish by an older child family member. it affected me, but way less than i felt like it Should have affected me. honestly, i think the idea that it Should have fucked me up more was the source of a lot of my suffering due to it as an adult. i started over analyzing my life bc what if xyz was actually an unhealthy trauma response, what if my sexuality as an adult is fucked up and “untrue” to myself bc it’s “just a trauma response”, etc. (i have since accepted that yeah, the csa probably did affect my sexuality, but i am okay with that. it is what it is, and it is not any less true bc i wasn’t “born that way”.)

i was seeing a psychiatrist and therapist for a few months while in a very traumatic school environment. when i disclosed the csa to them, i was evaluated for ptsd and got diagnosed. they took the csa so much more seriously than the school trauma. looking back, i recognize that it was not the csa giving me ptsd - it was the school environment causing all of the symptoms that led to my diagnosis (and causing me to be unable to cope with my past csa, which i had theretofore coped with well.) but the professionals could not comprehend school as being something ptsd-worthy; only the csa, which actually affected me way less than the school, woke them up to the idea that i might have ptsd.

even now, i feel the urge to invalidate myself. when i told my gf “i have ptsd and we’re entering a situation that might be tricky for me, so if xyz happens please do this to help me” - my first instinct was to “justify” my having ptsd by saying i was present at a mass shooting or had past sexual abuse, etc. like, how pathetic is it that of all the life i’ve experienced, the thing that every other american teen survives was the thing that really fucked me up. i felt inadequate in my own lived reality. it’s weird.

God, thank you for this incredibly self-aware and reflective message -- you see very clearly how coercive and controlling the school institutional environment really is, and how much damage it can do. so much of the trauma we endure is regular systemic stuff that is hard to put a name to bc it is so normalized. thanks for sharing.

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dio-icarticaae · 2 years ago

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AAAAAAHHHHH OH MY GOD I'M LOSING IT I LOVE TRINITY SHENANIGANS

I love that they apparently have regular do normal people things hang outs. That's perfect. Enrichment for everyone!

This is the right response to Batman announcing you're playing trivia.

Awwww love Diana just casually being like "we love you but no. You are insufferable about this."

Ah yep that is exactly how I'd expect Bruce to act about trivia.

I LOVE THIS PANEL. Clark hiding behind the paper with an "oh no" expression. Diana just given up slumped over the table. Bruce's flame eyes and incredible rage. It's perfect.

You're a lying liar that lies Bruce.

LOL love Clark calling his bluff. Get him! And this is going to turn into a "see how much until Bruce snaps" thing.

Diana is loving this opportunity to wage psychological warfare on Bruce.

Love that Diana and Clark are leaning forward at the same angle.

LOL he is so dramatic!

Of course Clark was listening in!

This panel is so gorgeous. I am all for more Trinity shenanigans!

#dc #wayne family adventures #dc trinity #bruce wayne #batman #clark kent #kal el #superman #diana prince #wonder woman #comics

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alatabouleau · 4 months ago

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Ok, but one thing I will never tolerate in Charles-Xavier-hate is when people say he's "hiding in his school" or "being a coward" because MY SIBLINGS IN CHRIST.

People who say this may not know THE GUTS it takes to be a teacher. As someone who is currently comoletely loosing it in their school-internship:

Not only do you have the responsibility for the well-being of so many youths in that moment: Your teaching will inevitably shape in a small percentage their entire life.

And you will make mistakes. You will never reach every single one of your students. And you know that and you still go back in. Every single day. Because those kids need you. And for better or worse, they're stuck with you now.

And in Charles's case, not only is he a teacher, he is also the principal of effectively a special-education-school. That means he not only deals with the responsibilities of a teacher in the regular system, he also has to deal with his own and his students needs that go beyond that. And work that in a system that does not support it. And deal with parents that may or may not have wanted a "normal child". Many of his students no longer even have a home, so he has to provide them with that.

Of course, other X-Men do the same.

But I am so tired of hearing that what Professor X did was "not effective enough" because it was non-violent.

Of course, we need drastic action. Of course pacifism isn't always the answer. Of course Magneto was right.

But in my view that does not automatically make the Professor wrong.

Yes, he has some incredibly obnoxious takes, depending on who writes him.

Yes, he has a strong tendency for patronising because he thinks his telepathy makes him omniscent.

But so many mutants would not have been in the position to do their amazing stuff if it hadn't been for his school.

Just because it did not bring the most radical of change does not mean it was as good as doing nothing.

#Yes this is still me projecting way too much on Charles character I am going through something #And maybe this whole post just exists because I'm feeling like what I do is not enough #I also mean it though #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #magneto #professor x #cherik #Just because some folks in that tag might find it interesting #meta

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notsopersonalcharlie · 1 year ago

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Touch Me, Belle

Biker!Bucky Barnes x afab!reader SMUT

Warnings: MNDI 18+, alcohol, dom!bucky, daddy kink, choking, bondage (handcuffs), oral (m and f receiving), mentions of thigh riding

More Biker!Bucky content here

Notes: Potentially the filthiest thing i've written for public consumption. I am on a writing rampage right now. Biker!Bucky is fueling something in me.

You stared down at the shining ring on your finger. You had done it about a hundred times in the last two hours. All of your friends were at the bar, along with the entire staff of the bar and garage, and all your favorite regulars. Sam made a drink called the "Engagement Gimlet" and you were nearing too drunk too stand. Maybe it was just the mass of muscles that had barely left your side all night and you hadn't had to use your own strength since he asked you to marry him. Maybe you never had since you met him.

"You like it?" Bucky's arm was wrapped around your middle, his tattooed arm in contrast to your white button down. You looked over your shoulder at him. His pink lips were wet with beer from his last sip and you kissed him. You couldn't help it, he looked good enough to eat.

"I love it. I love you," you whispered as you pulled away. His eyes were slow to open as he took a deep breath, the feeling of his chest inhaling and exhaling pressed to your back. The lights in the Howling Commando were adding a delightful neon tinge to the already firework-inducing night.

"I love you too, belle." When his eyes opened all the way they were dark with want, and you bit your bottom lip to stop the string of words you almost used to beg him to leave right now. It was your own engagement party. You couldn't bail early.

"You ready to go soon?" he asked, already finishing his drink, the pint glass small in his big hands. You were fixated on his arms and you had to blink and take a deep breath before nodding.

"Words, honey." His intent eyes on you and the rumble in his voice sent heat right down to your core.

"Yeah, ready to go."

"Finish your drink." You did without question. He had put on the tone he always did at the end of the night. The kind that said, do as I say and you'll get exactly what you want. You already had everything you wanted, and you still wanted more, but Bucky was intoxicating. His bright blue eyes steered you through the bar as you finished, saying goodbye and letting you throw yourself into hugs without taking too long.

The cool air of the late night felt amazing on your skin after being in the bar all evening. It also accentuated the incredible heat between your legs.

"-and congrats again and many times over!" Steve called as the door shut behind Bucky. Your car was parked right next to his bike, but they could stay there overnight. You stood staring up at the full moon and Bucky's hands came over your shoulders, thumbs rubbing at your neck. The little groan of relief you let out sent him into motion, his arm coming around your shoulders, steering you to the right down the sidewalk towards home. The walk was silent, tension building in the quiet air, occasionally intercepted by a plane overhead.

Bucky unlocked the front door, and quickly turned, making a wait motion as he went into the house. You sat down on the cushioned bench you had placed under a trellis across from the front door so you could read outside on the weekends. Read and watch Bucky workout shirtless in the makeshift gym he had built in the second spot in the garage. Your tiny car and his motorcycle took up the other half normally.

You looked down at the diamond sparkling in the moonlight and suddenly felt overwhelmed by emotion. You had spent years in an abusive relationship thinking that all you ever wanted was that man, his attention. You spent those years thinking being in love was supposed to be hard, supposed to be sacrifice on the way your house looked, what you did every night, the restaurants you went to, and the friends you kept.

Now you were sitting in the flower filled garden of a cottage you had decorated, sitting on a bench waiting for what you imagined would be an exceptionally sweet surprise from a man who would crawl on his knees after you if he had to. And you didn't even have to feel guilty that he had done all of this and you hadn't done anything in return.

"You okay honey?" Bucky's quiet panic brought your teary eyes to him.

"Yeah." Your nose twitched and you looked down, taking a deep breath before standing up from the bench and looking back at him, more tears rolling down your cheeks.

"I love you so much." Bucky laughed, wrapping one arm around you and the other coming up to wipe away your tears.

"I love you too. I can't wait to spend my whole life with you." His voice was quiet and conspiratorial, but you knew his love for you was anything but a secret.

"This might be the best day of my life, James Barnes." He beamed, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. He still tasted like beer.

"I think I might be able to make it just a little better." The sweet voice was gone, the conspiratorial whisper had turned to a rumbling dark promise. You didn't respond, just took his hand and let him lead you into the house. Battery powered candles were turned on down the hallway, leading you toward the bedroom. More candles were set up there, bathing you both in warm yellow light. In a contrast that only Bucky living in this floral and pink home could be a party to, on the bed were white and purple flower petals and amongst them black handcuffs.

"Making it better?" Bucky asked from behind you, his hands traversing your torso, grazing across your breasts and up to your throat. One hand wrapped lightly around your neck, directing your chin to one side as he pressed hot open mouth kisses to your skin. The other was already at unbuttoning your work slacks.

"Absolutely," you breathed, eyes closing as your head fell back against his shoulder.

"You know, honey," he muttered, his hands moving to unbutton your shirt. You hummed for him to continue, pressing your hips back into his as you slipped the slacks over your thighs and kicked them off.

"I knew the first moment I fucked you that I would have to do it for the rest of my life." Your skin flared ever hotter. The first night you fucked had been loud and messy and drunker than tonight. You had given into every urge you had ignored for years, and Bucky's hand pressed to your throat, the way his tattooed skin looked next to yours when he forced you to watch him fuck you in the mirror, it was the hottest thing that had ever happened to you to that day. And then you got it whenever you wanted it.

"And now I can." Bucky rid you of your bra, his mouth running wet kisses across your shoulders and neck before settling you on your knees amongst the flower petals. He was fully dressed still, but he smirked at you before cuffing your hands in front of you.

"You don't get to lift a single finger tonight." You opened your mouth to rebuttal that you never had to, but his sharp look stilled your tongue.

"If you start running your mouth, belle, I will absolutely blindfold you before I take my clothes off. And I know how much you love to watch me." Bucky had been anything but comfortable in his skin before he met you. Tattoos were to cover extensive scarring on his left arm and the rest had been to make it less obvious. The first time he had noticed you drooling over him, he had felt self conscious. You had fucked that right out of him the same way he did to you.

You nodded in understanding.

"Words, honey."

"Yes, daddy."

"Good girl." You watched hungrily as Bucky shucked the leather jacket off, exposing his tattooed arms under a brown shirt which was also quickly removed. You couldn't help but press your thighs together as you watched his muscles move, taking off his black jeans down to just dark boxers that hugged his massive thighs. The one time you mentioned how hot you found his legs, Bucky made you straddle one thigh, over a tattoo you particularly loved, and watched you ride it till you came, one hand lazily on your hip. Now you couldn't look at the tattoo without thinking of that moment. And Bucky knew it.

"Still thinking of that moment, huh baby?" Your eyes snapped up to meet his.

"Maybe I'll make you do it again today." You licked your lips, pressing your thighs together harder. He stepped closer to you, till he was looking down at you, hair falling over his forehead into his eyes. He looked dangerous, the hunger in his eyes would have been terrifying if he wasn't all yours. Two fingers under your chin to force your eyes to meet his. You didn't even notice your mouth had fallen open till his tongue slipped against the tip of your tongue.

"You're the hottest thing I've ever seen." His finger pressed to your lips were quickly replaced by his own mouth, tongue invading your mouth as he forced you backward on the bed, nearly tipping you over, but his hand snaked around your waist to keep you upright.

Bucky's knee slipped between your legs and as soon as your covered cunt came into contact with his leg, you moaned into his mouth, unable to stop your hips from rocking against him. One strong arm stopped your movements.

"Uh uh, honey, I intend to devour you entirely before you have to do any work at all." Your cuffed hands were resting on his chest, and he gently slipped his head between them so you could lean up and kiss him as he laid you back on the bed. His weight was all encompassing and put you in a trance as his hands roamed your body and his tongue mapped every inch of your mouth.

He rubbed the heel of his hand against your still clothed core, and you whined, holding yourself from moving your hips again.

"Learning already, belle. So smart." You shivered at the praise, head falling back against the sheets as Bucky's kisses moved down your neck and sternum, leaving marks across your skin till he got to the lacy thong that stood between him and what he really wanted. He made quick work, so quick that they were still wrapped around your left ankle when he got his mouth to your clit.

"Fuck, Bucky I-" His first finger was entirely a surprise, and it was quickly followed by a second. Your first orgasm rolled up just as surprisingly, the slight crook of his fingers and the expertise of his tongue sending you over the edge. You screamed out his name, bucking into his face as he finger fucked you through the end.

"That quick, honey? You must have been aching for me at the bar huh?" You looked down at Bucky, his hair a mess from your hands running through where they could reach and the bottom of his face soaked in you. His wet fingers rested against your thigh and the other hand pushed your cuffed wrists away.

"Always, daddy. Always." Bucky pressed little kisses to your thighs before pushing up to his knees so he could grab your wrists, pulling you up toward the headboard by them and leaving you to push with your legs. Flower petals stuck to your skin as he working the cuffs. You were entirely vulnerable to any onslaught he came at you with. But not entirely unable to retaliate.

As he unclipped the cuffs, you leaned forward and nuzzled against his covered cock where it strained inside his boxers. His abs rolled above your head as he pushed his hips back and you redirected your tongue through the tattoos there, lapping up the light sweat he had already began.

"You're a fucking menace," he huffed, finally getting the clips together behind the headboard and moving back away from you where you could no longer move to him.

"Only for you."

"Oh you will learn to be less of a menace." He sat back, and you looked at the artwork across his chest and mingling with the hair on its way down into his boxers. You were going to be marrying a work of art as much as the hottest man you'd ever seen.

"You only have the rest of our lives to teach me." Bucky was back between your legs right away, fingers and tongue alternating to bring you through another orgasm and close to a third. You whined when he pulled away, grinding against nothing.

"Have you learned your lesson, menace? Or should I keep going till you can't anymore and come all of your tits?" He shot back, slipping his boxers off. Your mouth watered at the sight of his cock, the scrawled artwork and hair that accentuated the way down. Your moan sounded more like a plea.

"I learned my lesson, daddy, please fuck me." He pretended to think about it as he leaned over to where he had left the condoms. He had flower petals stuck to his chest and thighs.

"Daddy, please I want your cock in my mouth." He stopped mid-action, staring at you already near fucked out, hands above your head. The ring he had placed on your finger a few hours before sparkled in the candlelight. You had never begged for that.

"You sure, belle? You were just begging to be fucked." Your red-lipped pout turned into a shy smile.

"I wanna see it shining when I touch you," you said quickly, feeling the betraying blush across your cheeks. Bucky's sharp blue eyes turned soft and sincere, and he left the condom forgotten on the side of the bed as he quickly undid the cuffs around your wrists.

"Touch me, belle." You pushed him over at the shoulder and he went easily, both of your gazes locked on your left hand wrapping around his cock. To hear what you said was entirely different than the experience, and when you moved your wrist, the light caught it and Bucky moaned.

"I love you, I can't wait to fucking marry you." Your lips slipped over the tip and his head fell back. You put your other hand to work on his balls and your saliva coated everything, your ring still shining in the darkness.

"Belle, you gotta stop, I wanna-mmm fuck, honey." You were slow to stop, but you did, and quickly found yourself on your back, Bucky looming over you again. He was quick with the condom this time, and your eyes rolled closed when he pressed into you. Bucky pulled your leg over his hip, using the leverage to slam into you, his own words getting incomprehensible as he fucked you and you screamed his name.

"Touch yourself, baby, I want to c-" You were already almost there, and as soon as you clenched around him, Bucky came, hard, hips stuttering as you hit your third orgasm of the night. He chanted your name like a prayer as your heat held him in till you were both boneless and panting. It took a few minutes of getting cold and sticky, but Bucky finally found his senses and pulled out, pressing light kisses to your cheeks and nose.

"I love you, James Barnes."

"I love you more, belle. Would you care to join me in a nice hot shower before we talk about how that was the hottest fucking thing over." You giggled, letting him manhandle you to your feet. You pressed yourself to his hot chest, and you stood there for another few minutes, your head to his collarbone and his pressed to your hair.

"I can't wait to marry you. I meant it then and I mean it now."

"I don't think I can wait particularly long," you responded, taking a step back. He was smiling at you like you hung the moon. You certainly looked the same and you followed him into the bathroom.

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