#AS A JOB. BUT WHAT IF I COULD DO IT FOR FUN.... BUT NO | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mydearzero · 3 days ago

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The Babysitter | Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x fem!Reader - Chapter 6 | Hurt

Summary: You didn’t have any superpowers, nor were you even qualified for the position, yet somehow a mishap between Alexei and Yelena ends up in getting you a new job. Bob-sitter.

Contents: No Y/N, fem!reader, college student!reader, themes of depression, violence, choking

Read it on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 5

2.2K words

A/N: I currently have an insane cold and am dying and this is not proofread so I’m sorry if it makes zero sense

“What the hell is this? A sleepover?” Walker’s voice was a deafening boom in the peaceful morning. Pain shot up your back as you got up from your uncomfortable sleeping position on the floor. Bob also stirred awake, though a bit more lethargically.

Ava followed John into the living room. “What’s going on?” She asked.

“Apparently Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum over here had a sleepover and forgot to invite the rest of us,” Walked scoffed. He spared the situation no second thought, dropping his taco-shaped shield next to the couch and walking into the kitchen to make himself some coffee. Both of them were still in full gear, so you assumed they came straight from wherever it was the emergency had been.

“I thought I told you there was a free room next to Bob’s?” Ava looked at you pointedly. You gave her a sheepish smile as your eyes fell on Bob, who was gathering the pillows and blanket you put with him last night and put them back on the couch.

“Yeah, my stuff is in there. We just… Stayed up too late talking, I guess.” It was a lame excuse, even if it was the truth. You didn’t want to tell them about the conversation you’d had with Bob, afraid you were going to lose this amazing job after so little time.

“That’s… Fun, I suppose. I’m staying at the tower today, so you can go home whenever you like. Yelena will text you if something comes up.” And that’s how easily you were dismissed.

Bob had gone back to locking himself in his room, something which didn’t go unnoticed. Walker sat at the dining table, tablet in one hand, coffee in the other. From what you could see, he was reading some type of debrief. All classified information, of course.

You heard Alexei before you saw him. The elevator doors had yet to open, but his voice was already slipping through the cracks.

“And then– WHABAM, he goes down. Very proud of you, Lena. Great work,” was what you could make of it when the doors slid open.

“I know, Alexei. I was there. Thank you,” Yelena grumbled, slipping off her boots and kicking them into the abyss.

Another person had followed them out of the elevator, some you had yet to have the pleasure of meeting. Just as you looked him up and down, he extended a hand, a metal hand, for you to shake. You gripped and shook it, introducing yourself.

“So I’ve heard. I’m Bucky. Bob do okay?” He wondered. You hesitated before nodding, deciding to simply not speak as to not give too many details.

Before you forgot you turned to Yelena. She’d become your go-to person when it came to anything Bob related. And everything else, really.

“By the way, Valentina came by,” you grimaced. You heard multiple groans from the team.

“What did she want?” Yelena asked, joining Walker at the dining table with her own steaming mug of coffee.

“I don’t know, actually. She was kinda… I don’t know.” You shrugged. Ava narrowed her eyes at the statement, clocking the fact you knew more than you were letting on.

“What are you not telling us?” Walked asked, also having caught on.

You chewed the inside of your cheek and looked around before answering. “Look, I genuinely don’t know with what intentions she came over. What I do know is that she tried to, like, bribe me? To, y’know, hand Bob over, or whatever,” you were deflecting.

“And?” Ava urged you to continue.

“And nothing. She left before anything could go down,” you shrugged.

“She just left? That doesn’t sound like her,” Bucky piped up.

“Bob might have told her to leave, but that’s all that happened. Like I said, I don’t know why she came over.”

“Well, whatever it was, it can’t have been anything good. She knew we were unavailable. My guess is she overlooked the fact you’d be here, too.” Ava concluded.

“Where is Bob?” Alexei asked. Neither him, Yelena or Bucky had witnessed the both of you curled up on the floor.

“In his room. He was there all day yesterday, too, after Valentina left,” you told them.

“And you let him?” There was an underlying tone of accusation in Walker’s voice. Your guards shot up and you felt the need to defend yourself. Before you got a chance to speak, Walker spoke again.

“Isn’t that the whole fucking reason you’re here? So he doesn’t lock himself away and drown in his sorrows or whatever?” His eyes were narrowed, eyebrows set in a deep frown.

“I mean, he’s a grown man. I can’t exactly force him to spend time with me,” you retorted, mirroring John’s heated tone.

“Tell me. If he locked himself in his room, how come you were all cuddled up on the floor when we came in?”

“He came out eventually and we talked and he fell asleep so I tried to make him comfortable and I guess I must’ve fallen asleep, too.” You crossed your arms.

“Oh yeah? And what did you talk about?” Walker questioned.

“Why does that matter?” You spat back.

“Why does that matter? Why does that matter? Where the hell did you find this girl? Is she fucking stupid?” Walked had gotten up out of his seat and was slowly making his way over to where you were standing, getting in your face.

“John, that’s enough,” Yelena tried to butt in, but it didn’t work.

“The whole fucking reason you’re even relevant whatsoever right now is because you’re supposed to keep little Bobby over there from going nuclear, you hear?” John’s finger was pointing in your face.

“Nobody has told me why that would be a problem! How am I supposed to be doing when I don’t even know what I’m trying to prevent?!” Your voice was getting louder and louder.

“You didn’t tell her?” Bucky asked full of disbelief.

“Didn’t really get a chance to, yet,” Yelena tried, but she knew it was bullshit, too. They should’ve told you.

“She should know what she’s up against if she’s gonna be risking her life like that, don’t you think?” Bucky seemed to be on your side.

“Risking my life? What are you talking about?” Your eyebrows shot up. You turned to Yelena, looking for answers.

“I told you, he’s stronger than all of us combined and his powers are unstable and tied to his mental wellbeing. Does that not cover enough to tell you that if he goes downward, that means nothing good?” She asked. She had a point, there. She did tell you those things. But she also left out the details enough to not scare you off. Clever.

“You missed the detail where I’m apparently risking my own life!” You jeered.

“You wouldn’t be risking your life if you did your fucking job and kept him distracted!” John shouted. You glanced back at him, expression as equally furious as your own.

“Did he seem off last night?” Ava was a lot calmer than the others.

You didn’t have to answer for them to know. “Great,” Walker mocked. “Just amazing.”

“I didn’t know! I knew his mental wellbeing was important, but I didn’t know it was to this extent” you gestured around you. Clearly you had misjudged the size of the problem.

Walked stalked closer. You took a few steps back, shoulders hitting a wall. You felt caged as he got all up in your face.

“Listen here, little girl. If you fucked this up? If we go into Bob's room and he’s not– If he’s not Bob?” The threat went unspoken.

“How would that be my fault?”

“You had one job. Stop him from going dark,” you had no clue what he meant by ‘going dark’, but you could imagine. The flickers of darkness you’d witnessed the night before, combined with the first time you’d shaked Bob’s hand, told you it was trouble.

Your eyes flickered to those of the rest of the team. Nobody moved a muscle. A door slammed down the hallway. It couldn’t have been yours, as it was currently still shattered to pieces on the floor.

It was then you noticed John’s hand. It had reached out to you. To do what, you’d never know. It was hovering mid-air, John visibly straining against an invisible force holding him back.

“That’s enough.”

Everybody tensed. It was Bob, but it also wasn’t.

‘You see, Bob… He’s very strong. Stronger than all of us combined. But he’s not stable.’

Yelena’s words echoed through your mind. They were scared. Not for you or for Bob, but for themselves. The slight shift in their postures was enough to scare you shitless.

You made eye contact with a wide-eyed Yelena. She was gesturing to the elevator with her eyes, telling you to get the hell out. You couldn’t move from your current position, caged by a petrified Walker. It was then you finally craned your neck enough to be able to see him. He didn’t look any different, aside from the bright eyes and flared nostrils.

“You guys are talking about me as if I’m a child. A bit degrading, don’t you think?”

Nobody replied. They all awaited his next move. He put his hand down, finally releasing his invisible hold on Walker.

“Bob, let’s talk about this,” Ava tried, but Bob cut her off.

“I think we’ve talked enough, don’t you? I’m aware I’m unstable. I know my other side isn’t allowed to come out and play. But hiring a full fledged babysitter for a grown man? A little emasculating, no?” Who was this and what had he done with the soft spoken Bob?

“You baby me, treat me like I’m gonna break at any moment and keep me locked in here like a goddamn damsel and think that’s what is best for me?” Nobody interrupted him.

He commanded the room, took up all the space. He took all the air for himself, leaving no room for any of you to breathe.

“How good do you think that is for someone’s self image, hmm?” It was self deprecating yet sounded offensive at the same time. Then he turned to you.

“You tried, you really did. With all the therapy speak? Talking as if you know what I’m going through?” Walker had long gotten out of the way, but you hadn’t moved away from the wall.

“Bob, leave her alone. She hasn’t done anything wrong,” Bucky tried to intervene.

“I’m not gonna hurt her, don’t you worry,” he didn’t look away from you when he addressed the team. His hand slowly reached for your throat. You squeezed your eyes shut. He didn’t put any pressure, but the fingers wrapping around your neck were a warning.

“I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m not gonna let them hurt you, either.” He whispered. Then he craned his neck around.

“Maybe I should let him out. Make sure you all understand once and for all who you’re dealing with. I’ve tried to play nice, but maybe that’s just not who I am inside. Maybe I’m just not the sweet guy you all make me out to be.” It sounded sadder than he’d probably intended. It was supposed to come across as a threat, but he was so clearly just waiting for them to confirm he was a monster.

You pushed past your fear and against your better judgement slowly brought your hand up to cradle his face. His eyes snapped to yours, but there was no sign of recognition. He looked at the gash on your cheek, now scabbed over. He ran his thumb over the wound.

It was enough to momentarily distract him. Bucky had pierced the skin on his neck with a syringe. You didn’t want to know what was in it for it to be strong enough to work that fast on someone with Bob’s powers. For now, you were glad it knocked him out. He slumped against you and you struggled to hold his dead weight. Alexei quickly jumped in to help you and picked Bob up easily, putting him on the couch.

“You should go home,” Bucky suggested as he pushed his hair back. You nodded and finally peeled yourself away from the wall.

“Is he gonna be okay?” You asked.

“I wasn’t even sure it was gonna work, if I’m honest. He’ll probably wake up in a few minutes. Probably best to leave before then,” Bucky reassured you.

You hastily grabbed your stuff out of the unused bedroom and made your way back home.You were glad for the commute, at least having some time to think. The entire time you couldn’t help but wonder what you could’ve done. What you should’ve done differently. Maybe you did need to step away for a bit. Bob needed real help, not some college girl who just chats with him in the hopes of keeping his mind off the complexity that is mental health.

You let yourself fall on your couch. A lot less nice than the one in the tower, that’s for sure. The lack of sleep and all the stress of the morning caught up to you. You felt yourself doze off before you could catch yourself.

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darkmatilda · 3 days ago

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𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: the static of the radio, the lights turned off, and the two of you side by side on the couch—miles apart. spencer had lost the person he loved most, and even though you stayed loyally by his side, he began to slip through your fingers, unaware that if you could, you would’ve given him the moon.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x female!non bau reader, angst, situationship?? right after maeve's death so spencer's grief and depression, lots of domestic scenes but not much talking, apathetic spencer, reader takes care of him, mention of reader's lack of appetite/forcing herself to eat, party at rossi's spencer gets drunk, reader is scared to go home alone, make out, spencer mentions maeve... in bed..yelling at each other, no idea what the heck that ending is spencer is so but the reader is also doing something questionable youll prob want to shake her by the shoulders and yell at her oooh and inspired by phoebe bridgers song 'moon song'

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 9.8k

𝐚/𝐧: i think it’s pretty sexy of me to post angst at 3 am. have fun xx

Dozens of gift baskets at the door.

You started counting them instead of the minutes that would pass before Spencer finally opened the door for you. Or, more likely—before you’d let out a heavy sigh, trying to blow off that gnawing sense of failure (which, of course, wouldn’t work), and walk away. Step by step, slowly descending the stairs, secretly hoping that before you reached the bottom, you’d hear the sound of his apartment door opening.

And then...you weren’t sure

You had never before found yourself in a situation where the most important person to you had lost their most important person.

You didn’t move. Instead, you raised your hand to knock again, but it just hung there in the air, limp at the wrist, and dropped without making a sound. You had a feeling it was pointless. You could start kicking the door, and he still wouldn’t open. His girlfriend—his Maeve—had been killed just a few days ago, right in front of his eyes. It was obvious he wouldn’t want to talk to you, or even see you, let alone let you in.

Anyone, not just me, you thought, glancing at the baskets lined up by the door, as if this could offer you any comfort.

The thought of backing away so quietly felt unbearable. You had to do something—send him some kind of message, even the simplest one. Something that would make it through the grief surrounding him—not to dissolve it, but to settle inside it. To let him know that you had been there, and would be, no matter the day or hour. Not necessarily on his staircase, but there. In all of it.

There, for him.

In the end, you knocked.

“Spence,” you said his name gently—loud enough, though, to pass through the wall and the door. Standing so close to the surface, your temple nearly touched it. You waited a moment—not counting it in your head anymore, just letting it pass. “Hey, Spence. I’m here.”

You said it, and your lips itched with the need to say more.And it was supposed to be just a simple message. A simple message might have done the job if he were just having a bad day—you would’ve wanted to show him that you could talk about it. Not in a situation that felt like the weight of three generations’ worst days crashing down on the shoulders of one man.

You took a deep breath.

“Spence, I’m here,” you repeated. “You don’t have to talk to me, but I want you to know that I’m here. For you.”

You waited like that for a moment, with the air caught high in your lungs, as if your body believed the door would open and only then you’d be able to let it go—at the sight of him. But time passed in the stairwell, and no sound came from his apartment. As if he wasn’t even there.

Worry wrapped itself around you so tightly, you couldn’t move. You couldn’t walk away, like you’d assumed you would at the start. Besides, your thoughts and concerns were so wrapped up in him that you didn’t even know how you’d go home. Not even morally—more like, what else would you even do? Chew through cardboard food and lie under the covers, too worried about how he was to fall asleep.

That state was inevitable if you got no answer.

So, you stayed.

You wondered if this was how dogs felt. Keeping watch, waiting for their owners to return—even if they wandered off to another room, still bound by some invisible chain to that spot by the door. Their confusion and sense of pointlessness offset by loyalty.

By the door, gently leaning against the threshold, hands tucked into the pockets of your coat.

Time was passing—of course it was—but you didn’t feel it, at least not in any sharp way.

When your legs started to ache, you simply shifted in place, taking two small steps, and only then realized that the grayness in the stairwell had deepened.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by a sound.

You immediately stepped back, even though you didn’t care how pitiful you might look to him.You even straightened up, silently scolding yourself for not preparing anything to say. Were condolences appropriate? No—he definitely wouldn’t want to hear your condolences. The phrase felt so dry it sent a shiver of unease down your spine. I’m sorry? Just a plain I’m sorry? Or should you skip it altogether? Did you really have to spend your time thinking about dogs instead of preparing literally any kind of plan?

With dread, you pushed your brain cells into action, ready to fire off the most emotional and supportive ramble you could manage the moment Spencer opened the door—but he didn’t.

You blinked. You had clearly heard the sound of the lock turning. Imagination, or…? Yes, you hesitated. But everything pointed to him letting you in. He hadn’t invited you in directly, but under the circumstances, you were grateful even for that. You stepped inside.

You stepped inside—and immediately collided with darkness.

You had been in Spencer’s apartment before.

It had always reminded you of silence—a pleasant, peaceful kind of silence that begged to be exchanged for the sound of pages turning and quiet conversation. A silence threaded with the warm light of the setting sun filtering through one of the half draped windows, casting a glow that brought out the details in the vintage furniture while simultaneously concealing—or at least softening—the optional mess within.

Though mess might have been the wrong word. The space simply evoked the image of a genius’s desk, and those had never been synonymous with pedantic order.

In that moment, the silence inside was one of those crushing kinds that seemed to whisper intruder with every step you took forward. Like an abandoned building in a postapocalyptic world, your stomach knotted at the memory of what this place used to look like—and it had only been a few days.The windows tightly covered, and the air thick with a warm, heavy scent that spoke of how long they'd remained unopened. There was a certain density to it.

If he had let you, the first thing you would’ve done was open all the windows for a moment, let a bit of life in. But you didn’t want to confirm the words whispered by the silence, didn’t want to truly act like an intruder. So you tore your gaze away from the papers and objects difficult to identify in such darkness, though clearly out of place.

A step in his direction—toward the shadow sitting on the edge of the couch. You slowly took a seat beside him, at a certain distance. The cushion beneath you was sunken, warm, suggesting he had been lying or sitting there for so long it had fully adjusted to the shape and temperature of his body.

You knew that if you looked at him, Spencer wouldn’t return your gaze. Just like him, you kept yours fixed blankly ahead, not allowing yourself even the slightest glance, because it felt like even that might bore a hole into him. You breathed quietly, too, letting him slowly get used to your presence. He hadn’t seen anyone since that day, hadn’t let anyone in. Not even his friends—those who had seen it, who had known him years longer than you.

You didn’t even want to spiral into analyzing what that could mean. Whether he considered you more important than the others, whether he thought he could rely on you the most—or the opposite, that you were distant enough for him to let himself fall apart in front of you, because it still felt as if no one had really seen him.

Oh, and you were just starting to do it. You drew in a breath, one that trembled on its way to your lungs. You still had no idea what would be best to do, and only after sitting in silence for a while did it finally hit you that anything you might say would be wrong. It would be inappropriate, it would be an intrusion, it would desecrate the shield of isolation he had wrapped around himself. But that was exactly what you had to do. Isolation wasn’t a shield. It only gave that impression. You knew that, even from experience.

“What I said in the hallway,” you finally spoke, your voice hoarse, because in reality more time had passed than it felt like. “I really meant it.”

Only then did you turn your head toward him, swallowing hard. His hair was messily scattered on both sides, obscuring his expression—you couldn’t read him. Not that there was anything to read. You knew the text you’d find on his face would be painfully simple. A blank page, without even a page number at the bottom.

Draped over his hunched shoulders was a thin brown robe. Lighter in shade than the leather couch you both sat on, the edge of which his hands rested upon—not clenched, but not relaxed either. You leaned slightly forward, turned toward him, your chest near your joined knees, your gaze gently fixed on him.

“I don’t know if you saw, but your friends left quite a lot of things at your door,” you told him. “They care about you.”

You had deliberately avoided the word worry, not wanting it to sound like it was his fault. Still, you instantly regretted speaking at all. You had only meant to remind him, quietly hoping that maybe there would be a shift in his slow, shallow breathing, maybe a slight nod to show he was aware.

But of course, nothing like that happened—only the silence between you grew thicker than the air around you. Thick from your helplessness. Thick from your awareness of that helplessness.

At that point, you were already certain he wouldn't talk to you. Your presence brought him no relief, but the pain he was feeling was too overwhelming for him to feel discomfort because of it. So, he probably endured you. Maybe even tolerated you—in the end, he had opened the door. Both to your silence and to your voice.

You drew your knees up to your chest, resting your heels on the couch and sinking your back into its support. Spencer himself wasn’t leaning back, his shoulders drooping faintly forward.

“I’ll tell them I saw you,” you added after a moment, once again referring to his team, his friends without really understanding why. “They, um, it’ll probably ease their minds a bit. Unless you don’t want me to contact them, in that case—”

You cut yourself off, sighing at the complete senselessness of your words. Unless you don’t want to, you said, as if there were anything else he did want, aside from for all of this to just be over. Sitting back against the couch, your eyes landed on the back of his head and his hunched shoulders—that’s where they stayed.

He hadn’t moved at all since you stepped inside.

“Have you eaten anything today?” you asked. Already knowing you wouldn’t get a reply, and deep down knowing the answer anyway. “Is there something you need? Something I can do for you?”

You weren’t used to having a conversation with a ghost, so after every question your lips stayed parted, just in case he actually answered and you could then say thank you for letting me take care of you.

You closed your eyes.

“Spencer, please, say someth—” you interrupted yourself, pressing your hand firmly to your forehead, something he obviously couldn’t see. Finally, pulling your gaze away from his back, you felt your body lift on its own. “I’m gonna make you a sandwich,” you announced, standing over him for a brief moment. No protest came, though part of you wished he would object. You sighed. “And I’llopen the window for a moment. It’s impossible to breathe in here.”

You set about doing everything you’d mentioned. You stopped trying not to be an intruder. You were an intruder. And you intended to be one hell of an intrusive intruder if it was going to do him any good. Gently, you slid the window open, expecting the rays of the setting sun to strike the depressing grayness of his apartment—only to realize the sun had long since set. For a moment, you froze in surprise at how quickly time had passed, and how you hadn’t even noticed.

But you quickly pulled yourself together and moved toward his fridge, narrating out loud everything you were doing. You couldn’t stand the silence any longer, couldn’t keep pretending you agreed with it.

“With peanut butter, okay?” you asked, as if he might answer. When he didn’t, you stopped pleading with your eyes and just kept going. “Well, there’s some ham here, but I’m doubtful about how fresh it is. Oh, and you have jam, good. Oh no, wait, it’s empty. Too bad. Tomorrow I’ll buy you a new one, and I’ll throw out that ham. Is it okay if I come by again tomorrow?” Unlike before, this time you really hoped for an answer. Because you were going to come either way, whether he wanted you to or not, but it would mean a lot if he did.

You returned to the couch with a plate of two sandwiches, which you placed in front of him, taking one for yourself, because eating is always easier when someone is doing it with you. Finishing it came with considerable effort, your stomach clenched since the morning and, as always, the silence in his apartment made you entirely focused on the process. Saliva softening the bite, it turning into a mush that should have been easier to swallow, but there was something disgusting in it, something that triggered a gag reflex. Dragging out the eating also allowed you to stay with him longer without the awkwardness (felt only by you) of sitting next to each other, saying nothing, doing nothing, not even looking at one another.

When the moment of your departure came , which you had already delayed, some time had passed since you last spoke, and your throat was dry, you hadn’t had anything to drink in a while. But you didn’t want to leave without a word. You also didn’t know what to say. So, after a long struggle with yourself, you slightly leaned toward him on the couch and gently rested against his hunched back, your hand on one of his shoulders.

The movement of his body as he breathed, his shoulders rising and falling, the scent of his body and clothes — all those little things reminding you that somewhere in there, he was still there.

The next day you came at the same time, and surprisingly, the door was waiting for you open.

You let in a bit of light and made two more sandwiches, first throwing out the one he hadn’t eaten the day before. Just like you’d promised, you bought jam — but it didn’t make the process of eating any more pleasant, like you’d thought it might. Still, you forced yourself to finish it.

Through the slightly open window came the sound of passing cars. While the people driving them were heading somewhere, you, sitting on the brown leather couch, felt like you were in some surreal cage that blocked the passage of time — which wasn’t a good thing at all. When time doesn’t pass, nothing changes.

“Can I turn on the TV?” you asked.

A long moment passed before Spencer glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, and an even longer one before he spoke.

“If you have to.”

You had to.

That particular day, the weight of the silence on your shoulders was simply too much. It wasn’t the second day you had visited him, not even the third — one of many, you’d stopped counting. Each one followed the same routine, everything that came before it a little blurred. Then you would reach his apartment, and things — not just him, but the rest of your life and its problems — would come crashing down on you. Sitting there, as usual, with your heels up on the couch, you felt like there was something so gnawing inside of you that you wanted to grow claws and scratch it out.

You needed to consume some kind of numbing medium — something that would drown you out so thoroughly that not a single thought could manage to settle in your brain for more than a second. You started looking for the remote, unaware that it was lying right next to Spencer’s hand.

He spoke to you, but only in the absolute bare minimum. Only when you asked him something — which, all things considered, was progress, and every time it happened, it made you soften just a little. And calm down. Because suddenly you realized that all your efforts weren’t for nothing.

Eventually, you found the remote and pointed it at the TV. Nothing happened. You tried again, frowning.

“Batteries,” Spencer said.

You looked at him, trying not to show how surprised you were by this sudden remark. Since there was now some kind of natural flow between you, you wanted to keep it that way — not act as though it was shocking or unusual. And there was no irritation at all in the way you tossed the remote aside.

For a moment, you sat in silence, wondering whether, since he seemed to be in a somewhat talkative mood, you should try to draw him out a bit. Nothing that might scare him off no how are you feeling. But maybe you could mention the book you’d been reading, like you did yesterday. Back then he only listened or at least, it seemed like he did.

“But you also have a radio here, right?” you asked, suddenly remembering.

Before he could answer (if he even intended to), you sprang to your feet and returned a moment later not only with the small device and its antenna, but also with a sense of satisfaction.

When you sank back onto the couch, a momentary feeling of brightness filled you—quickly blurred, however, as you frowned and realized you had no idea how to work the damn thing.

Only static came from it, more grating than the silence—which, in your current state, was a shocking realization. You struggled with it for a moment, leaning over the radio on the table and turning that round dial with no results. In a show of determination, you even knelt on the floor, elbows resting on the tabletop.

A curse was already forming on your lips when you sensed someone beside you on the floor, and you nearly jumped. Because, of course, the two of you were alone in the apartment. It had to be Spencer—of course it was Spencer—but after all these days of sitting as far apart as possible, with your only interactions (if they could even be called that) consisting mostly of your questions or monologues, plus your customary leaning against him when saying goodbye—still unsure if he was okay with that—it caught you off guard. Maybe it was more for you. Maybe you were being selfish.

Anyway, Spencer slid down to the floor beside you, one knee bent close to his chest, both hands lifted in a sort of questioning gesture—asking if he could take the radio from you. You’d been staring at him so intently, you’d forgotten you were still holding it.

You realized you hadn’t seen him this close in a long time. In recent days, it had mostly been his profile—you’d never sat face to face. You’d watched the coarse stubble slowly spread across his cheeks, saw how they grew more hollow each day, but you hadn’t yet confronted his distant eyes.

Truly distant. You felt like if you shone a flashlight into them, he wouldn’t even blink.

It caused a tightness in your stomach that lingered as you watched his long hair fall over his eyes, making it hard for him to focus on tuning the radio. You took a deep breath and shifted to sit back on your heels, directly across from him. Then, slowly, you reached out to his face and tucked the hair behind both of his ears, giving him a clearer view.

Spencer’s hands froze completely, his gaze fixed on nothing but those hands, before he hesitantly shifted it to your eyes. You felt as if the silence was squeezing you both—suddenly present, maybe too present. You felt like he was a stranger, a man sitting on some grass in a park, and you had just come up and made this gesture, completely unannounced. At least that was the perspective you found in his gaze, for a very, very long time, before it frustratingly and slowly began to soften. But before your Spencer looked at you, the sudden disappearance of the radio’s static and the screaming vocals of some song interrupted you both.

You both looked at it as if you had both forgotten it existed. Spencer put it down on the table and slowly got up from the floor back onto the couch, the hair you had tucked behind his ear slipping back onto his face.

“Here you go,” he muttered.

You smiled gently.

“Thanks, Spence.”

You sat down next to him; he gave you a vague explanation of how to switch between radio stations, and you found one that suited both of you. Finally, the apartment was filled with a sound other than your breaths and the noise of cars outside the window. You made sandwiches for both of you, and surprisingly, he ate his, which somehow made the tiring process easier for you. Despite everything, you came to the conclusion that you hate peanut butter.

"Please. He only talks to you."

An hour after your meeting with one of his teammates, Penelope, you were staring at the folder she had handed you. Inside were all the details of the case BAU was currently working on—one that, according to her, needed Spencer to take a look at. Although that might’ve been an understatement, judging by the pleading tone in her voice and how she all but shoved the documents into your hands, refusing to take no for an answer.

You stood in front of the building where Spencer’s apartment was and weren’t sure whether you should give it to him.

It was part of his job. A job that, in its own way, had led to his current state. A job that could undo the progress he’d made over the past few days. He was still in a truly awful place mentally. That much was clear. But…the two of you had started talking again. You didn’t want a glance at the papers—at murder, blood, victims, and human suffering—to drag you both back to a place of unanswered questions.

With trembling hands, you opened the case file, though it wasn’t easy for you. You’d always hated that world—you could switch the news channel without hesitation when it covered a violent incident. You were too easily overcome by fear, and simply far too sensitive.

Someone once called you ignorant because of it. And somehow, it stuck with you. Enough to make you bring it up to Spencer, albeit hesitantly. It was a bit like asking an expert for their opinion, though you only realized that now—back then, you were simply asking a friend. You remembered perfectly that he told you if following news about other people’s tragedies made you nervous, sad, or scared, then you should protect your peace above all. Because that was more important, and your knowledge couldn’t bring anyone back to life.

This situation was completely different, you realized. His knowledge might not bring someone back—but it could save a life.

You stared at the victims’ photos, feeling a cold sensation creeping up your back, but you couldn’t look away. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to move. Instead, you snapped the folder shut. It was harrowing, it was terrifying, but as awful as it might sound, above all—you cared about him.

After all… the BAU had other brilliant profilers. Was his insight truly necessary to push this case forward?

You also knew how intelligent he was. A genius, plainly speaking. But… what if even he couldn’t come up with a solution? Were you supposed to risk hurting him for the faint chance that he could? In the state he was in? You let your arms fall helplessly to your sides as a stronger gust of wind blew, making even your scarf flutter.

The day was gray, like all the others lately.

It might have sounded awful, but cases like this happened every day… oh, you weren’t Spencer, you didn’t know the statistics, but surely—many. You didn’t know any of those people personally, which of course didn’t diminish their tragedy… but he was the only one. And you put him first. That statement wasn’t even a realization to you. You knew it. You knew it deep down, it was coded into you—that’s why you checked on him every day, did everything in your power to support him.

You really fucking loved him.

That’s why you shoved the folder under your coat, with no intention of showing it to him.

Once you stepped inside, the sound of very quiet music reached your ears. You always turned the radio up louder yourself, which meant he must have lowered the volume—but hadn’t turned it off completely. You took that as a good sign. It meant he recognized the damage silence could do, that he felt well enough for silence to be capable of hurting him.

Your gaze moved across the green walls and suddenly collided with brown—his eyes.

His eyes widened slightly at the sight of you—just from surprise, since by now he was used to your visits at this exact hour. You froze in place, because his appearance caught you off guard. Instead of a bathrobe and greasy hair, he was wearing a fresh t-shirt, and a towel rested around his neck as he dried his wet hair.

“Oh, hey,” you said, trying not to stare. You also held back a pleased smile at the fact that he’d taken a shower. That was a huge step. Taking care of hygiene while in depression. Just getting up was hard enough, not to mention undressing, confronting a body you didn’t want to exist in, stepping into the water, the chill afterward. It was all as exhausting as running a marathon. You were glad he’d managed to do it.

He nodded, one hand tangled in the towel's fabric.

"It's okay."

A sudden awkwardness settled between the two of you—the way you had walked into the apartment like it was your own, which used to be completely normal. He wasn’t even looking in your direction as the couch beside him gave under your weight. But back then, the place had felt a little more alive—the window would be cracked open, he’d be freshly showered, and now, you truly felt like you had barged in with no sense of manners.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. Up until now, you’d avoided the question, but you couldn’t stop it from escaping your lips.

"How are you feeling?"

“You’re not gonna take off your coat?” he asked, completely ignoring your question.

You parted your lips, realizing you were still wearing it. And that this was the first time he had initiated speaking to you—not just passively responding to your questions. You nodded.

“Right. I forgot.”

You moved to hang it up, and immediately the folder Penelope had handed you ended up in your hands. He only talks to you, her words echoed in your mind. She had entrusted you with a certain responsibility—one you had promised to fulfill.

You had decided not to go through with it, but now, seeing him like this—alive—you were torn again. Maybe you were wrong, and it wouldn’t affect him that badly. Maybe you were right, and it could undo everything you had just witnessed. Maybe it would only make him pull further away.

You regretted ever agreeing to meet with Garcia.

Slowly, you turned toward him, coat already off but folder still in your hands. You took a breath. He probably already guessed what it was; you couldn’t just brush him off.

“What is this?” came the question from behind you.

Asked in an apathetic, uninterested tone, but hey, at least that was said. At this point, you were glad for anything.

“Penelope asked me to bring this to you,” you explained, not extending the folder toward him, holding it pressed to your chest. You were still full of doubts—the difference now was you couldn’t do anything about it. “These are case files. Your opinion is needed.”

Spencer’s jaw tensed slightly, but his eyes drilled a hole in the documents you held. You saw him swallow hard. But in the end, he nodded slightly. He reached out for them, but you didn’t even flinch. You didn’t like how readily he wanted to look at those files. Maybe your role in all this was important—maybe he really did need someone to protect him.

Your hands gripped the files tighter.

“Listen, Spence,” you began. “Are you sure you’re ready? I mean…” you sighed, struggling to find the words.

Are you sure you want to expose yourself again to the sight of dead bodies, after your girlfriend was shot right in front of you?

“Show me,” he ordered more firmly.

Your lips pressed tightly together, your eyes locking with his for a moment, then you finally gave in and handed over the files. Without even sitting down, he immediately flipped them open. The towel slipped off one shoulder, but he didn’t seem to notice.

You, on the other hand, didn’t want to witness any possible pain cross his face, so you slipped around him and sank down onto the couch. You changed the radio station, searching for a song to catch your ear, turning the volume up slightly.

Behind you, nothing happened — at least, you didn’t hear anything. After a while, footsteps reached your ears, and you turned to see Spencer slowly pacing around the apartment, probably without even realizing it. He was too absorbed in the analysis; his face tense but present, engaged, and alive in a way you hadn’t seen since she died.

You couldn’t suppress a fleeting nod.

It hurt, even though you knew you shouldn’t let it.

In recent days, you had done everything you could to draw at least some emotion out of him. Not immediately light or joy, of course not. But simply focus on what you were saying to him. Any reaction, some sign that he valued your presence, not just endured it like a sentence. You hadn’t managed to get that — his body remained so stiff and distant when you pressed close to him for that brief moment before leaving, his eyes empty and absent.

Yet all it took was showing him the murder case files for the old Spencer to suddenly appear before you — not just a shadow of him.

You turned back to the radio. You rested both forearms on the table and laid your head down on them; you were truly exhausted that day. You even closed your eyes, allowing yourself a moment of rest that stretched far longer than you expected.

Behind you, Spencer kept pacing the room, flipping through pages, pulling some books off the shelf, checking things, even jotting something down once or twice.

That was… a good thing?

You preferred him like this rather than barely moving at all. Though, was such sudden hyperactivity after a state of complete apathy normal? You rubbed your forehead, begging yourself to stop worrying for just a moment — your head was literally splitting from it. To drown it out, you turned the radio up a bit louder.

You just happened to catch a song you liked. Tears in Heaven by Eric Clapton. With the first verse, you planned to close your eyes again when Spencer’s voice interrupted.

“Can you turn that off?” he asked. Asked — but there was a sharp note in his voice. Until now, he had been pacing back and forth, but suddenly he stood still, a book in his hands. You straightened and turned your head toward him. “I can’t concentrate,” he added. There was a short pause, because that didn’t make much sense — the earlier music hadn’t bothered his mental storm at all. He sighed. The towel had long since slipped from his shoulders and now lay on the couch, by the way. “I really hate that song,” he muttered.

You nodded in understanding. But you still felt a little disoriented by the fact that he was talking to you — you weren’t used to it anymore. So you just nodded, his eyes fixed on you, waiting for you to do what he’d asked. You snapped out of it.

“Me too,” you said, not really knowing why — maybe just to say something, to prove to yourself that the two of you could still have a conversation.Truthfully, you liked that song. It was melancholic, and as you changed it, you felt the urge to defend it. You cleared your throat. “I mean. It’s sad…it’s sad that his baby died.”

Spencer…let out a quiet, brief laugh and went back to work.

You threw it out like it didn’t matter. Spencer had already lowered his gaze back to the case files in his hands, but upon hearing that, he raised his eyebrows and looked at you again.

Eyes locked, a Britney Spears song suddenly playing from the radio.

You opened your mouth, staring at him.

You really didn’t want to make premature assumptions or predictions…but the way he laughed — something you hadn’t heard, something you didn’t expect to ever hear from him again — made it seem like maybe you were getting him back.

You were right about one thing.

Since then, although slowly and with many setbacks, Spencer had started to come back to himself. The biggest role in that was played by his return to work, which he threw himself into completely. You started seeing each other rarely, only when you reached out. But each time he agreed, so…you decided to believe he really did want to see you.

During your conversations, you didn’t touch on those first days after Maeve’s death that you had spent together. You didn’t touch on Maeve herself either. Spencer’s grief manifested as denial. He never mentioned how he had felt, pulled away when someone asked him questions.

It wasn’t like you were trying to play his pushy personal therapist, either.

You simply assumed that since he had let you into his apartment when he wouldn’t let anyone else in, the same kind of privilege would apply to other areas too. That he would be more honest with you than with others — or at least not hide his emotions so carefully.

Besides, you had grown close in your own peculiar way.

Something intriguing you noticed about your relationship was that every time you saw each other, it felt as if you had only just parted. Or as if you were roommates who saw each other constantly throughout the day, so it was normal not to say hello each time — instead, you’d immediately fall into the flow of a pleasant conversation. You didn’t want to think too much about it, about what it really meant.

The past few months had drained you emotionally, and a potential what are we question would have been just another stone thrown at you. By yourself.

One day, you called to ask if he wanted to meet for coffee, and he said yes.

It was before noon, and you met up on the way.

The weather was chilly, and the café you went to had a few outdoor tables, all empty — except for three black birds perched on one of the folded umbrellas.

You stepped inside. Spencer shared a fun fact about crows, which warmed you more than the café’s actual heating. You sat at a table by the window. The purple scarf still around his neck, he suddenly fell silent to take a sip of coffee and didn’t speak again, clearly lost in thought.

“My team is planning to meet this Saturday,” he suddenly announced, dropping the previous topic. You tilted your head to the side, unsure why he was telling you this. Did you have any plans he wanted to cancel because of it? You couldn’t remember, and you always remembered your plans.“At one of their places, Dave’s. It’s…it’s not really a party, seriously, just a get-together, mainly to, possibly…maybe someone else will come. Wine, knowing Rossi.”

You nodded, signaling that you were following.

“Would you like to come?”

Your coffee cup froze on its way to your lips.

“Me?” you asked. “I mean, are you inviting me?”

Spencer shook his head, the swallowed sip slowing in your throat.

“They wanted me to invite you,” he clarified, looking at you and waiting for a reaction. Agreement or refusal.

You pressed your lips together. You weren’t thinking about whether you had time on Saturday, you were thinking about how much he had improved. How he emphasized that it wasn’t him inviting you, but them, and he was merely the messenger, Hermes. A deliberate act creating distance, or your overinterpretation? You leaned toward the latter, but hesitated for a long time before answering.

Spencer watched you, probably assuming you were just shy or didn’t want to go.

“Well, they’ve been saying for a while they’d like to get to know you better. Especially Penelope. So, what do you think about that?”

It’s funny how you would have said yes immediately if only he had phrased the question differently. If he had said he wanted you to come. Him, not his team. You didn’t want to act that way; you understood how hard the last time had been for him and thought it was a bit self-centered. But just once, just one single time, you wished you didn’t have to beg for confirmation that he really wanted to spend time with you. That you weren’t just an intruder in his life.

You sighed.

“Saturday?” you asked, even though you remembered perfectly that it was Saturday.

“Well, I don’t know. Probably in the evening? You know…you know I don’t like coming back alone at that hour. The neighborhood where I live.”

You had talked about this before, so you didn’t need to go into details. Spencer nodded understandingly, then shrugged.

“I’ll walk you home,” he offered simply.

You looked at him a bit skeptically.

“Really?”

“Listen, I totally get that you might not like it. Coming back alone, I mean. I wouldn’t want you to come back alone either. I’ve seen too much at work and honestly…” He trailed off, a sentence that didn’t really need finishing. He swallowed, gently nodding. “So, yeah. You can count on me.”

You stared at him, seeing a promise in his eyes. You took a deep breath.

“In that case, okay,” you decided.

Spencer smiled softly to you over the table, and you returned to the topic you had left earlier. One of the crows had perched right behind the window glass next to where you were sitting.

“Hey, Derek.”

You were just coming down from the top of the stairs in Rossi’s house, the residence, where you had gone looking for the bathroom. A well-built man you addressed was standing alone at the bottom of the stairs in a casual pose, holding a half-empty bottle of beer. He turned his head toward you, raising an eyebrow slightly. You knew they all called each other by their last names, but you just couldn’t get used to it. Even their boss you called simply Aaron.

Derek gave you a questioning nod.

“What’s up, Reid’s girl?”

Yes, that’s exactly what he called you. Yes, it made you blush inside. Yes, it was exactly because of that reaction that he stubbornly kept doing it. Always with a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

“I’m looking for him,” you said, folding your arms across your chest. There was no one else in the hallway where you stood except for the two of you, but from the living room you could hear some conversations — slightly drunk and full of laughter, which you had joined in until the man you had come with disappeared somewhere, and you started feeling a little lost. They really were good people, no doubt about it. But it was the first time you had met all of them, and the attention was focused on you a little too much. That’s why you went to the bathroom, also intending to find Spencer. It was already late, and you wanted to leave. He had promised to walk you home. “Have you seen him anywhere?”

After a moment’s thought, Derek nodded his head and indicated the right direction with his bottle.

“Last time I checked, he was out on the terrace.”

“Thanks.”

“Wait a sec,” his voice stopped you just as you were about to pass by. You turned on your heel, your eyebrows raised in curiosity. “Can we talk for a moment?”

You took a step back, surprised. You had no idea what you might talk about, but you nodded.

“Sure.”

You watched as he took a sip of his beer, casually resting one hand on the stairs beside you.

“You know, I’m just messing with you all calling you Reid’s girl,” he began, giving you an analytical look. “But seriously, I’m curious. You two… is there something going on there?”

You stared at him in genuine surprise, unable to find an answer. Really unable to find one — your mind went blank. You took a deep breath and realized after a moment that you were laughing.

“Sorry,” you said after a pause. “Sorry, you…you caught me off guard.”

“Hey, it’s cool, no pressure. Just me being nosy,” he said, lifting his hands in a gesture of surrender.

He nodded, smiling faintly at your reaction, but that didn’t change the fact that his question had been serious. And he was still waiting for an answer — you could see it in his eyes.

The two of you fell silent. Your laughter faded quickly, and you shifted uncomfortably. He must’ve noticed.

But it didn’t ease you. Not really.

Because the way you felt wasn’t his fault.

It was the question — a question you’d already asked yourself more than once — only this time, it had come from someone else's lips instead of echoing in the privacy of your own worries.

“So…” you started, your breath immediately catching, lips dry. “It’s…”

“...complicated?” he offered gently, with a kind of understanding — like been there, done that — probably meant to comfort you.

You shook your head, not even sure if it meant yes or no. In theory?

“It’s just…I think it’s still too soon for him,” you finally said, getting the words out. The teasing look on his face vanished the moment your eyes met. “You know why.”

You saw him draw in a breath, like he felt guilty, like he wanted to apologize for steering the conversation that way.

You didn’t hold it against him. You even managed a faint smile.

“But I don’t blame you for asking,” you said softly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to find him.”

“Spencer.” You reached out and grabbed his shoulder—not gently. You actually shook him. “Spencer, you promised you'd walk me home!”

Derek hadn’t been wrong — you really did find him on the patio. You held your coat in your hands, the chill of the night air immediately biting into your skin, but you didn’t put it on. Spencer was sitting on the patio steps, and it took you only a single glance to know he was completely wasted. He didn’t even seem to realize you were standing right behind him.

Before doing anything, you took a deep breath, bitter taste filling your mouth. You barely managed to swallow it down.

He turned his head toward you, dazed and disoriented. The collar of his shirt was wrinkled and half unbuttoned, his hair a mess—but it was the look on his face that said everything. That look told you exactly how drunk he was.

Completely unfazed by your anger, he blinked at you.

“Walk you home? I can still walk you home,” he mumbled, barely intelligible, turning his gaze back to some vague point in the distance. “Safe and sound. I even got a gun.”

He patted his pockets.

“I don’t have a gun.”

And just like that, you ended up alone with the idiot, practically dragging him back to his apartment. He kept trying to talk, slurring through some drunken ramble, but you cut him off every time—sharply, without patience. You were just plain furious. Just plain furious. You’d had a couple of drinks yourself, which probably played a role in why the anger was bubbling so close to the surface.

The walk had one benefit—the cold air and movement were speeding up his sobering process. He was still drunk, sure, but at least he was walking mostly on his own now. Well, sort of. His arm was draped around your neck, his cheek pressed to yours, but his legs were managing a decent pace.

“You don’t have to be so mean to me,” he mumbled at one point, after you snapped back at some dumb question he’d asked.

You stopped in your tracks, and so did he.

“I also don’t have to help you,” you hissed through gritted teeth, and driven by some impulse, you shoved him off you.

Spencer staggered back, confused and unsteady. Freed from his weight and his touch, you started walking ahead, refusing to look back—refusing to check if you’d knocked him over or if he was even following.

He could keep you at a distance. He could pull you close, push you away, then act like nothing had changed and you were still just as close. He could break promises. But you were still going to worry about him. Like no one else ever had.

You were almost at his apartment, and your place was too far away to just turn around and pretend you’d never come. Besides, even with drunk Spencer, you felt safer than alone.

You started climbing the stairs, and with each passing floor, his voice reached you again—his I’m sorry, louder every time.

You stopped in front of the door, the one that once had dozens of gift baskets resting beneath it. You wrapped your arms around yourself and waited for him to appear—with the keys. He did appear, but not with the keys—only with another loud I’m sorry.

“Spencer, you’re going to wake up your neighbors—”

“I don’t give a damm about them,” a flash of a key in one of his hands—you wanted to grab it, but he was faster and shoved it into his pocket. Then he pulled them out again, just to reach for you. More precisely, to gently (gently in intention, because the alcohol in his system didn’t quite align with subtlety or softness—in fact, his suddenness made you step back, your back hitting the threshold) place them on both your shoulders.

“I’m just trying to say I’m sorry. You’ve been and still are so good to me. Too good. And look how I repay you. Look what I’ve done.”

You sighed heavily, avoiding his gaze, which wasn’t easy with his face so close.

“I see,” you replied shortly.

He let out a tearful, desperate sound.

“I’m sorry—”

“Stop saying that already, and open the door, Spencer—”

“No, not until you say you’re not mad at me.”

“When I am mad at you, Spen—”

“Then I’ll keep saying it. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

He said those words with such ease that you wondered if he even knew what he was apologizing for. It felt so shallow. You rolled your eyes, overwhelmed by the urge to block your ears. Yet you knew his voice would pierce through anyway. Deciding on the easiest way to silence him, you pressed your lips to his.

You couldn’t deny that besides practicality, there was a bit of fulfilling a deep desire within you. In that exact moment, your lips moved somewhat tentatively. Since he was so sorry, he probably intended to show it somehow, right? To pierce his guilt with passion. To put all the last months, all your conversations, one-sided hugs, those damn peanut butter sandwiches into this kiss.

At first, quite the opposite happened.

His lips parted before you, but they didn’t pull you into their abyss.

That came only after his hands moved from your shoulders to your face, pulling it closer and tighter. Your mind, as quiet as when you first managed to turn on the radio in his apartment, didn’t want to break the moment for even a second. It felt good, and if something feels good, it can’t hurt you, right?

How you managed to open the door remained a mystery. But moments later, you stumbled inside, him setting the direction that you faithfully allowed yourself to be led by. Your back sank onto the mattress of his bed, where you hadn’t been in ages, but which immediately embraced you just as you embraced him. You wrapped one of your legs tightly around him, still wearing your shoes. That’s exactly where his hand landed—first on your knee, then tracing a path up your thigh.

It felt nice. Really it felt nice. His touch—felt more than nice. You would’ve been more than happy to just give in, let him do whatever he wanted, truly. But your damn mind always had to show up and ruin your pleasure. It sent fears, uncertainties, and doubts racing through you. The way he kissed you—greedy and unrefined—made you wonder: was he even kissing you?

It felt impersonal. Mechanical. Hungry, but not craving. Not that you expected him to whisper your name every time your mouths parted for air, but you at least wanted to know, to feel sure, that you were the girl he was kissing. The girl he wanted to kiss. Not the one who happened to be there. Just like the bottle that had come before you—an easy way to forget and suppress—and he was a damn expert at that.

You broke it off, letting the back of your head sink into the mattress, only then realizing there were tears on your cheeks. Spencer was staring at you in confusion, his flushed lips parted in a silent question.

“E-everything okay?”

“No,” you whimpered, suddenly letting go of his neck to press your hands to your eyes, rubbing your face roughly, wiping away the ugly tears. “No, stop, I don’t want this.”

He slid off you like he'd been shocked by electricity, staring in disbelief. Well, you didn’t entirely understand yourself either. You probably never would. The bedroom was thick with silence, broken only by your ragged breaths — heavy from emotion and the lingering traces of desire that would need a long time to settle.

You lay on your back in the same position, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

You heard him swallow.

“Can I stay here?” he asked instead.

“You know, just to let you know, it’s totally okay if you change your mind halfway through,” he said, like it was something he was obligated to assure you of. “If I was being too pushy…”

He seemed like he wanted to say sorry — really say it, the kind of sorry that would erase all the shallow ones before it — but he hesitated. He didn’t say it at all, just let the sentence die in the air.

You didn’t answer — and he took that as a no, already beginning to lift himself off the bed to leave — when you gave a small nod. Agreeing to let him stay with you. So you heard Spencer lie down on the other side of the bed, close but not touching. And from the position you were lying in, you couldn’t see him anyway, so it didn’t really matter if he was next to you or behind the door.

There were still so many questions and uncertainties hanging between you. But you didn’t feel the need to chase them away. You were used to it — used to feeling this way.

For Spencer, clearly, this was something new.

You could sense it in the way he lay on his side, facing you, staring at your profile. You could feel how his supposedly genius brain was trying to piece it all together and find his footing in the situation. Eventually, he sighed and softly, pleadingly, said your name.

“Will you look at me?”

He had to repeat the request — had to say it quieter and with more pleading. Funny, isn’t it, how they say dogs respond to hearing their name immediately. It took you three times. Only then did you turn to face him.

The smell of alcohol still lingered on him.

At least his eyes were present.

“What actually happened?” he asked. “What…what went wrong?”

You felt the urge to laugh — like you had with Derek that time. But this time, your mind wasn’t blank, and surprisingly, you knew exactly what to say. You even pushed yourself up on your elbow so you could look down at him.

“Was this going anywhere?”

He pursed his bottom lip, not understanding the question.

“You mean… you mean what just happened between us?” he asked. “I think… I think it was. I don’t know about you, but I—”

“I don’t just mean tonight, Spencer,” you corrected him.

He still didn’t get it.

Alright, then. Let’s paint it out for the genius.

“Actually, fine. Let’s say it was just about tonight. Let’s say we slept together. What would you do then? What would you do tomorrow?”

Your words could’ve cut something clean open — and maybe they did. But you’d put everything into them. Really, you kind of impressed yourself. So much weight in so few syllables. It only took that for Spencer to hide his face in his hands, sucking in a breath.

“Oh, so you—”

“Yes, I did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ve heard that a lot today.”

“No, this time I mean it. I don’t know…I don’t even know for how long—”

“Since the beginning.”

His mouth fell open again, like in shock. A genuine, terrifying kind of realization.

He gently shook his head side to side, almost unconsciously.

“Even if I wanted to, no matter how much I wanted to,” the shaking grew stronger and then suddenly stopped, something on the verge of a sob escaped his lips. At that moment, he couldn’t meet your eyes anymore. “All the love I had stayed with her, stayed with Meave, and if I tried to give it to someone else...I’d feel like I was taking it away from her, or...does that even make sense—”

You sat up completely, eyes wide in disbelief. Your breath caught, like you’d just woken from a nightmare.

““Did—you really have to mention her now?”

Slowly, awkwardly, with a look full of confusion fixed on you, he got up too. You sat facing each other on the bed.

“I was just trying to say how I feel—”

“But did you ever, even once, care how I feel?” you asked, your words seeming to tear through your throat like handfuls of razor blades.“I was there for you when you couldn’t even wash yourself for a week, I waited outside your door like a dog with a dead bird in its mouth, giving you everything I could. If I could, I’d give you the moon. And maybe back then I didn’t even expect anything in return, I would’ve done it even if you literally told me to fuck off. But now I see it, and I think how fucking cruel it is that you never once said thank you to me. Not even once.”

He watched your outburst without blinking. His face was tense, but his eyes didn’t waver.

“I never asked you for that,” he said so quietly you might have thought you misheard. Oh, it wouldn’t have changed anything if you had. You’d still dream about it at night, and it would still be the most painful thing you’d ever heard from him. I never asked you for that.

You were about to simply get up from the bed, but he grabbed your wrist, stopping you.

“Listen, please, just let me finish. I never asked you for that, and that’s the truth. I’m grateful for what you did for me, but I can’t thank you—”

“How come you can’t—”

“I can’t thank you because you never wanted to hear thank you in return.” You tried to pull away again, but he came closer, grabbing both your wrists this time, so you found yourself so close he was practically speaking right into your face. Your breath was quick, broken, uncontrollable. “In return, you wanted me to love you. But I can’t. I’m not able to—”

“You are sick!”

“I could say thank you for everything you’ve done for me, dozens of times, thousands of times, but it still wouldn’t be enough for you. I apologized today, and you wouldn’t accept it, saying it didn’t mean anything to me — but it does. I’m sorry I can’t love you. What really doesn’t matter is my thank you — not to you.”

You repeated it once more — he was sick, in every fiber of his being. But he still held you, trying to keep you tight and close, though you were like water slowly slipping through his fingers. So he had to change his grip; it couldn’t be strong, it had to be secure above all. He wrapped his arms around you, and although at first you didn’t want to, you pressed against his chest, not caring how much you stained his shirt with your tears.

You fell asleep together, and you dreamed it was your birthday. You had only known each other for such a short time; back then, you didn’t know about his phone friend. He didn’t know her yet either. So he sang, and you never again saw him smiling that big in your presence.

You woke up in the middle of the night, too drained to think about what would come next. You would probably have to decide in the morning. But there were still a few hours until morning, so you took advantage of the fact that he allowed it and slipped back into his embrace once again.

#criminal minds #criminal minds angst #spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid x reader angst #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction

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blueberrybirdsworld · 21 hours ago

Text

Plus one 4/5

Summary : When Lando Norris realizes he's the only F1 driver attending the Monaco F1 movie premiere without a girlfriend, he panics and convinces Oscar to help him find a last-minute plus one.

Author note : I get this story idea after the private projection of the F1 movie with all the drivers in Monaco (also can we imagine they weren't wearing their team kit and actually did dress up).

Genre : pure fluff

Serie masterlist

Main masterlist

The credits began to roll, and the house lights rose gently, flooding the once-cozy darkness with cold brightness. Applause echoed around the theater as the names of actors, producers, drivers, and directors lit up the screen. People stood, stretched, straightened their jackets.

And just like that, the spell broke.

The cocoon Lando and Y/N had shared in the dark, the stillness, the little glances, the quiet laughter during that scene, vanished like smoke. Their seats were just seats again. Her hand was no longer on his arm. And he didn’t know what to say.

He rose slowly, brushing invisible dust from his trousers, glancing toward her. She was smiling softly, still processing. He wanted to say something.

What did you think? or You okay after that hospital scene? or even just Thanks for coming but he didn’t get the chance.

Because Lily appeared instantly.

“Oh my God,” she said, looping an arm around Y/N’s. “That scene. I thought I was going to melt into my seat.”

Y/N laughed loudly, clearly relieved someone else had brought it up first. “Right? That was so intense. I didn’t know where to look. The sound design alone deserves an award.”

Lily grinned. “I could feel Carmen holding in her breath next to me. George was so uncomfortable. Did you see his face?”

They dissolved into laughter, already halfway down the aisle, wrapped in their own moment. Y/N didn’t even look back.

Lando stood there, still beside his seat, watching her disappear.

Oscar tilted his head. “Uh-oh. I know that look. You’re spiraling.”

“I’m not spiraling.”

“You are absolutely spiraling.”

“I’m not.”

“You look like you just got dumped by a girl who doesn’t know she was your girlfriend.”

Lando glared at him. “Well it's your fault, you didn’t tell her.”

“Tell her what?”

“That it was supposed to be a date. You said you’d explain!”

Oscar blinked. “I said I’d text her. Which I did. I said you needed a plus one. What more do you want? A powerpoint presentation?”

“You made it sound like I needed a replacement.”

Oscar burst out laughing. “Oh, come on. You’re blaming me because you suddenly fall in love after one movie?”

“I’m blaming you because she thinks this was a girl’s night out!”

Oscar shrugged. “To be fair, she had more fun with Lily than you.”

“That’s not helping!”

Oscar put his hands up. “What do you want from me, man? If I’d told her it was a date-date, she never would’ve agreed!”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do. I absolutely do.”

Lando crossed his arms. “She held my arm during the movie.”

Oscar gasped dramatically. “Oh my God! Call the wedding planner!”

Lando shoved his shoulder. “Shut up.”

“Maybe if you had told her she looked nice instead of staring at her, she’d have picked up on the vibe!” Oscar said, adjusting his jacket.

“I did tell her she looked nice!”

“When?”

“Before the movie.”

Oscar squinted. “No you didn’t.”

“I meant to.”

“That’s not the same thing!”

Lando groaned. “This is the worst night of my life.”

Oscar snorted. “You were literally on screen. A whole movie about your job. And you're out here pouting like someone forgot your birthday.”

“She called herself a fill-in!” Lando hissed.

Oscar wiped a tear of laughter from his eye. “You’re so dramatic. Do you want me to go over there and tell her for you? ‘Hi, Y/N, Lando caught feelings somewhere between the opening credits and the awkward sex scene.’”

Lando exhaled, staring across the room. Y/N was still with Lily, laughing about something. Probably about him. Or his tragic inability to flirt.

The after-party was in full swing.

The rooftop venue above the theater was everything you’d expect in Monaco: sleek lighting, a terrace overlooking the glowing harbor and champagne flowing like water.

Lando stood near a tall table, trying not to look as out of place as he felt. Y/N was laughing with Lily and sipping something pink from a flute like she belonged in this world, even though she’d insisted all evening she didn’t.

He hadn’t spoken to her since they left the theater.

Oscar, being a menace, appeared beside him with a wine glass and a grin. “So. What’s the hold-up now? You gonna make a move or just watch her from across the party ?”

“I’m waiting for the right moment.”

“She’s not a solar eclipse, mate. You don’t need to time it with the NASA.”

“She’s talking to Lily again.” Lando glanced toward the other side of the terrace. “They’ve been talking for twenty minutes. What could they possibly still be discussing?”

“I don’t know. Probably the sex scene again.” Oscar smirked and continue teasing him. “She did say it made her want to hide under her chair. Maybe you traumatized her by existing.”

Lando shot him a look.

Oscar shrugged. “Or maybe, and this is wild, she just doesn’t know it was a date. Because someone” he jabbed a finger toward Lando’s chest, “didn’t clarify anything. And someone else” he pointed to himself “may have been not clear enough in his text.”

Lando groaned. “Alright, fine. I’m going.”

“That’s the spirit. Please don't be awkward.”

Lando straightened his jacket, walked toward her, mentally rehearsing a million ways to start the conversation.

But before he could reach her, Lily spotted him.

She smirked. “Landooo,” she sing-songed, immediately elbowing Y/N. “Look who’s finally decided to say hi again.”

Y/N turned, smiling. “Hey! You okay? You kind of disappeared after the movie.”

“I didn’t disappear. I was... mingling.”

“Alone?”

He blinked. “Strategic mingling.”

Lily sipped her drink, clearly not buying it. “So strategic that you ended up standing still for twenty minutes behind the gelato cart.”

Y/N laughed. “Is that where you were? I thought I imagined that.”

“I was...thinking,” Lando muttered.

“About what?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“How do you feel about sunsets?” he blurted.

Y/N blinked. “What?”

Lando cleared his throat. “Sorry. I meant, sunset views. The view up here is really nice. I thought maybe you’d want to see it. With me. For a minute.”

“Oh.” She tilted her head. “Are we not already seeing it from here?”

“No, I mean… yeah, but like…just with me. Away from everyone else.”

Lily coughed into her drink to hide a laugh.

Y/N blinked again. “Sure?”

Lando exhaled through his nose like he’d just been given a time extension on an exam.

They stepped aside toward a quiet corner of the rooftop. The breeze was softer there. The glow from the city sparkled across the dark water. Romantic. Intentional. Perfect.

Lando tried to speak. Failed.

Y/N leaned on the railing. “It’s pretty.”

“Yeah,” he said. “You too—I mean—it’s pretty too. The view.”

She smiled, not really reacting.

He stared at her profile. “Did you have a good time tonight?”

“Yeah,” she said. “The movie was really good. Intense. But good.”

“Even the awkward part?”

She laughed softly. “Even with the awkward part. Do you liked it ?”

He nodded. “I wasn’t really paying attention to the movie.”

“No?”

“I was watching you.”

That made her glance at him, surprised. “Oh?”

He swallowed. “Yeah. You just… you looked so into it. Like your reactions to things were better than the film.”

She blinked. “Oh. That’s… sweet. I think?”

Lando looked down at his hands, then up at her, then… blurted it out.

“So, listen—I just… need to say something.”

Y/N tilted her head, sipping her drink, waiting.

“I kind of thought this was a date,” he said. “For me, I mean.”

Her brows shot up. “Oh.”

“I mean, I thought I was being clear. With the whole ‘plus one’ thing. And inviting you. Actualy Oscar propose it first and then I ask him to text you. Which—okay, that part was a bad idea, but I thought you knew what this was. I know we just met but I wanted you to come here with me tonight, not jus as a fill-in”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed instantly. She looked down, fiddling with her glass. “Oh. Oh God.”

“I didn’t mean to freak you out—”

“No! No, you didn’t! I just—Lando, I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t?”

She shook her head, groaning. “I thought you had an extra ticket. Like, your original date bailed or something. And Lily told me to come with her, and Oscar texted me like it was all casual, so I just figured… I don’t know, that you had no one else to bring.”

Lando blinked. “You thought you were a backup?”

“I thought I was here for the vibes!” she said, covering her face. “I was excited to see the movie and spend the night with Lily. I didn’t realize I was your date. That actually explains so much.”

He laughed under his breath. “What does it explain?”

She dropped her hands and smiled sheepishly. “Why you were acting weird. Like nervous-weird.”

“I was trying to be cool.”

“Well… you weren’t,” she said, then immediately added, “In a cute way!”

He laughed for real this time, warm and a little relieved. “You were so calm, though.”

Her face scrunched up. “I was not! I just looked like it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“I was freaking out inside,” she admitted. “I kept thinking, ‘oh my God, I’m sitting next to Lando Norris at a movie premiere, try not to say anything stupid.’ So I just… said nothing at all.”

He grinned. “If that’s you freaking out, I need lessons.”

She laughed, eyes crinkling. “I avoided you most of the night, didn’t I?”

“A little.”

“I was kind of… intimidated,” she said, almost whispering it.

“You were?”

Y/N nodded. “You’re you. You’ve got a Netflix special and a race car and a fanbase that tracks your every moves. I have a biology degree and anxiety.”

He looked at her, fond. “I’ve got anxiety too.”

“Well, great. We can panic in harmony then.”

They both smiled.

Then she paused, suddenly serious again. “Also, um. This is awkward, but… I kind of maybe have a crush on you.”

Lando blinked. “What?”

“Like, before tonight.”

“You do?”

“I did. I do.” She rolled her eyes at herself. “God, this is embarrassing.”

“No, it’s not,” he said, grinning now. “It’s not at all.”

She peeked at him. “Lily knows. So I think Oscar knows too.”

Lando laughed. “That little gremlin.”

“Right? I should’ve known it was suspicious when he asked me if I ‘liked red carpets.’ He was so casual about it.”

“So he did set us up.”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling. “And I didn’t realize it until just now.”

They stood in silence again, this time smiling like two people who finally figured out they’ve been reading the same book.

“Okay,” Lando said. “So we agree. This was a date.”

“Technically retroactively, yes.”

“And we’re both awkward.”

“Painfully.”

“And we both like each other.”

She looked up at him. “Seems like it.”

He grinned. “So if I asked again, clearly, directly this time, what would you say?”

She leaned in, her voice lower now. “I’d say yes.”

“To a real date?”

“To whatever you want,” she said softly. “Just... no matchmaking texts from Oscar.”

“I’ll block him.”

She laughed and bumped his arm gently with hers.

He glanced around. “You want to go? Grab real food somewhere that doesn’t sparkle?”

“God, yes. I’m starving. I’ve been pretending to like those fancy canapé things all night.”

“Same. I had three and still don’t know what any of them were.”

They turned together toward the stairwell, but not before looking back one last time.

The empty terrace. The glittering skyline. Their friends somewhere inside, probably watching through a window, smirking.

“They’re going to be insufferable,” Y/N said.

“They already are.”

“And you’re not mad they set us up?”

Lando smiled. “No. I think... maybe they were onto something.”

She looked at him, that familiar, quiet smile he’d fallen for all evening.

“Yeah,” she said. “Maybe they were.”

And together, under the soft Monaco night, they slipped away from the rooftop, not just as teammates’ friends or accidental plus-ones, but something quietly beginning.

Something real.

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astars-things · 2 days ago

Note

Hii here is the idea from the hate and comfort fic: I was thinking that maybe the reader could go to a Grand Prix and meet some fans who give her things like friendship bracelets and gifts. Landon would be really happy about it. Then, Landon wins the race and kisses her in front of everyone."

Lando Norris x quadrant athlete!reader

1.4k words

You were nervous, this was your first paddock experience since going public with Lando and being announced as a quadrant athlete. Your job felt more like a breeze than walking into the paddock. You had finished the Australia leg of the Nitro Circus tour and had a month off before continuing.

Lando had practically begged you to join him for a few races. "Just Imola, Monaco, and Spain," he’d said. "Then go see your family before the next leg of your tour. Please?" So here you were, in Italy. You landed late, 2 a.m. to be exact, and slept all of four hours before the morning chaos began. Lando, annoyingly chipper despite the hour, handed you an energy drink and hopped into the shower.

You wore a pair of black ripped jeans, a quadrant t-shirt that you cut to make it into a crop top, with a pair of custom papaya airforces and one of Landos bucket hats. You stood in front of the hotel mirror, questioning your outfit. Most wags would be wearing heels and expensive dresses, not ripped jeans and bucket hats.

Lando knew from the way you were standing in front of the mirror that your mind was spiralling, Lando walked up to you and wrapped his arms around your waist behind you, pausing your overthinking "Babe, you look good, you look like you" Lando cooed in your ear placing a kiss to your cheek.

You sighed, leaning back into his chest. "You sure I’m not about to get roasted online for looking like a skater kid who took a wrong turn?" You questioned, Lando chuckled. "That’s exactly why people love you."

----

Walking into the paddock, you clung to Lando’s hand. Your heart beat against your ribs, eyes darting behind your oversized sunglasses. The cameras clicked instantly. Flashes. Shutters. Lando gave the occasional wave or nod. You kept your head high, remembering his words

Not even 5 minutes into the paddock you heard your name being yelled from a group of teenage girls, you thought maybe they were trying to get your attention for Lando, so you gently squeezed his hand so his attention was on you

"Hey bub I think those fans want you" You whispered nodding your head over to the group of girls who were calling out for you, Lando took your hand and pulled you closer to the group Lando grinned. "Nope. Pretty sure they’re yelling for you, superstar." You blinked. The girls, four of them, all in various shades of Quadrant merch, were waving, phones in hand, one even holding up a sign that said "Y/N IS OUR RIDE OR DIE "

You turned to Lando. "Okay, what the hell?" He laughed, dropping a quick kiss to your temple. "Told you. People love you." You gave him a look that screamed help me, but Lando was already nudging you gently forward. "Go on. I’ll hold your drink." So you walked over to the barricade, nerves knotting in your stomach, but the moment you reached them, the energy shifted completely.

"Oh my god, Y/n!" one of them squealed. "You actually came!" "You’re so much cooler than the other WAGs," another added. "Like, you do flips for fun. Who even does that?" "I watch your Nitro vlogs religiously," the third said, shoving a small box into your hands. "We made you stuff!"

You opened the box and nearly choked up. Inside were four handmade friendship bracelets, each themed after your content, one had tiny bike charms, another had little papaya beads, the third spelled out QUAD SQUAD, and the last one had your name and a tiny helmet charm.

"This is... insane," you said, slipping the first bracelet on immediately. "Thank you." you said trying to hide your glossy eyes, You got handed a black sharpie and did your signature on their things "Can we take a photo with you?" one of the girls asked. You blinked. "Oh, yeah! Of course!"

The girls instinctively turned to Lando, shoving their phones toward him. "Can you take it for us?" He barked out a laugh. "Wow. Okay. Reduced to Instagram boyfriend already." You blew him a kiss while sliding into the center of the group.

"Make sure I’m in focus, Babe." You said to Lando acting like he didn't know how to take good photos "You’re always the main character, love," Lando teased as he snapped a few photos. before handing the phones back, you gave them a wave and a last thank you before walking to Landos drivers room.

It was FP1 and Lando had told you "you can either stay here and catch up on sleep, or watch me do my thing from the garage or you can walk around the paddock" you chose the third option and set off on your adventure.

As you made your way around the paddock, you swear you have never heard your name being yelled so many times before, you knew you had fans but not this many. You signed a lot of posters of Lando as people didn't expect you to be here, you took many photos and ended up with many gifts

"Stealing my fans are we?" Lando teased as you made your way back to his drivers room "Holy shit" Lando eyes widen. "Did you rob a merch stand?" Lando finally saw the amount of gifts you got as you had to recruit two of the comms girls to help you carry everything "Hey bub, Nope. This is all fan stuff. I think I might need to go out and buy another suitcase" you grinned taking in all the love you have been shown and its only day one of the weekend

One of the comms girls passed you a stack of cards decorated with doodles and sweet notes. "These are adorable," you said, holding them out so Lando could peek. He raised an eyebrow. "One of those better say 'tell Lando we love him too.'"

You flipped through until you found one with a stick figure labeled "Lando" holding a flower. You held it up triumphantly. "Look! You made the cut."

"Excellent," Lando deadpanned. "I was worried for a second."

----

Once Lando finished his media duties you both made your way back to the hotel, Lando was sat on the bed now in a pair of sweatpants and no shirt, curls still damp from his post-session shower, and absolutely no business looking that good this tired. You stood at the end of the bed giving Lando a haul of everything you had been given.

You made two piles one being your gifts and the other Landos "Alright, so this pile’s mine…" you started, stacking most of the gifts neatly to your right. "And this teeny, tiny little sad excuse for a pile, that’s yours." You said pointing to the other plie "Okay why is my pile so small" Lando pouted, trying to fake being sad, but on the inside he was happy that fans loved you for you

You shrugged your shoulders before moving your things off the bed and belly flopping on the bed next to Lando "Today has been a day, like holy shit" you breathed out Lando turned to you, propping his head on his hand.

"You killed it, by the way. Everyone loves you. Including the girl with the ‘Y/n is my ride or die’ sign. She might actually fight me." You laughed into the comforter. "I’d bet on her, honestly." Lando rolled his eyes, then leaned down to press a soft kiss to your temple.

"next stop, Monaco. Let’s see how many fans you steal from Charles." You laughed. "Well its good we have an apartment there, might have to move your helmets into storage so i can display these" Lando raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. We do not disrespect the helmets." you grinned, propping yourself up on your elbows, "Fine. We’ll compromise. Your helmet shrine can go in the corner, like a little museum exhibit."

He laughed, full and warm, shaking his head. "Unbelievable. I bend over backwards for you and this is the thanks I get?" You raised an eyebrow. "You’d move them if I asked nicely." Lando didn’t even try to deny it. He just shot you a look that said you know me too well and stayed quiet, because, yeah, you were absolutely right.

Lando pulled you closer to him so that you were now laying on top of him. You laid your head on his chest letting the sound of his heart beat softly thumping putting you straight to sleep. Lando ran his fingers up and down your back, slow and soothing, while the quiet hum of the city outside faded into the background. You mumbled something unintelligible, half-asleep already, and Lando smiled softly, pressing a kiss into your hair.

please reblog, like and comment 🫶

thank you @star73807-blog for this request I hope it lived up to your expectations

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allllium · 2 days ago

Text

The Guy at the Bar

[ Jack Abbot x reader ]

~ Fluff, maybe ooc Abbot? WC: 1899

~ Prequel to Just a Bit of Fun

[ - Banner coming Soon - ]

- You meet a maybe grumpy old man at a bar

Being a doctor is no joke.

After a 12 hour shift all you want to do is chill for a while and maybe have a beer. What a better place to do that then a janky old bar with only one worker and shady people hiding in every corner.

It's definitely not the fanciest place ever, but it's cheap and convenient. Ten times better than going home and cooking for yourself.

You've had a hard day and going home seems too daunting at the moment. Maybe you'll feel better after scrolling on your phone with cheap food and even cheaper drinks.

But no, of course the world just has to throw something else your way today. As if a hard day working at a shitty hospital isn't enough.

"Excuse me." You say to older man sitting on the corner bar stool. The stool you sit in after almost every hard shift at the hospital just a street over.

"What." It's not a question. Just a word thrown out with no real interest in the answer. You pause for a spilt second. Confused at his harsh tone but you're not the only one that has hard days.

"Is there any way you could move to another stool?" You try to ask as polite as possible. You know he has no reason to listen to your request but you're not one that does well with change. Even something as small as a stool. A routine is important. Especially while working in a place as chaotic as an ER everyday.

"Why?" He asks, this time with a little interest. At least you think. You can't tell considering he has a completely straight face and won't take his eyes off the drink in front of him.

"I sit here every time I come here." You try to explain in a way that doesn't make you sound dramatic or childish. By the way his lip curls up on the side, you don't think you succeeded.

"Must come here a lot to have your own stool." He doesn't look your way or pay any attention to you. If he hadn't responded so quick you'd think he was ignoring you entirely.

"I work a hard job. Sometimes I just want to relax with some bad bar fries." You don't have to explain yourself. You could find another stool instead of standing here over explaining yourself to a complete stranger. A stool is not a big deal and this man shows no sign of moving.

"At seven in the morning?" There's no judgement is his tone. He seems more like he's trying to get a simple read on you. Not really necessary in order to switch stools but you won't question him, out loud.

"I work nights. What's your excuse?" He gives you a other lip curl and tilts his head to actually look at you for the first time during this conversation.

"You're not the only one on the night shift." He takes a second to actually look you. Unfortunately after a long shift, you know you probably look like a mess.

"Y'know we don't have to bond for you to move." You match his strange voice. If you had to pin his vibes down, it would be an uneven mixture of mystique and sadness.

"My stool, my rules." He shrugs and finishes his drink.

"Oh that is not your stool and you know it." You're ashamed of the whine that comes through your words, luckily it's masking your struggle to not laugh. You wouldn't want him to downplay how serious this is.

"My ass is on it."

"Well your ass is about to be knocked out of it." He turns back around to face you with an eyebrow raised. You're not actually gonna knock him on his ass. That's a very dramatic reaction to a simple situation and this man is far too scary looking to even consider it.

"Wow. Wasn't expecting to be threatened by a stranger today." He doesn't look worried at all. Makes sense. You are complaining about a stool.

"In this city? You're just asking for issues at that point. You should always be weary of strangers."

His eyes widen just enough to be noticeable. "I'm pretty I could handle it."

"Alright but I don't want to hear any complaining when you end up on the floor." You laugh and he continues staring at you intensely.

He takes another look at you before turning back to his drink. "Fine I'll move. Wouldn't want to end up on such a nasty floor." He eventually resigned. You want to think your toughness scared him off but realistically he got annoyed by your presence.

You're about to celebrate this small win but he gets up and sits back down on the stool directly next to yours.

"Why man? Why?" He smirks to himself as you sigh in confusion and annoyance but still sit on your stool to celebrate your small victory.

"I'm Jack." He introduces. He doesn't do anything fancy like reach out to shake your hand. Once again you'd believe he's ignoring you if it weren't for his short responses.

"How interesting." You remark in fake uncaring. Of course you're secretly excited that this handsome man wanting to introduce himself to you, unprompted at that.

"Do I not get to get know your name?"

"I see no reason why you need it." You shrug as you wait for the bartender. "For all I know you'll try to follow me home and murder me."

"I am definitely not gonna do that."

"Exactly what a murder would say." You double down, not looking his way.

"Okay, that's fair." He raises his hands in play defense. "But in my defense it's also what a non-murderer would say."

"Well I guess I'll never know."

You fall into silence until the bartender comes. You chose not to order an alcohol for the day and instead settle for a simple appetizer. He orders another of whatever he had been drinking when you arrived.

"So what is your hard job?"

"You're real chatty aren't you?"

"You must bring it out of me." You shake your head with a smile. You look over to see a similar smirk on his face.

"I'm a doctor." You decide to answer. What's the harm of indulging a men you'll never see again. Granted he's not a murderer or alcoholic.

"What a coincidence, so am I." He turns his entire body to face more in your direction.

"Coincidence indeed. What kind?" He doesn't give you doctor vibes at all.

He sighs heavily and takes a big drink. "ER."

"No shit." You turn your body towards him as well. Now you're completely facing each other. For the first time can see his whole face. It's probably just the bar lighting but he's extremely good looking.

"You too?"

"Yeah, just across the street."

"That place is the worst."

"Definitely. Where are you at?" As you talk he leans over and steals a piece of your food. You're about to lecture him but he shakes his head at you and offers a bit of his drink. What the fuck is up with this guy?

It makes you laugh to yourself. You never thought you'd meet such a weird guy in such a weird place. Actually that makes a lot of sense. You shouldn't be too surprised.

"Pittsburgh Trauma."

"I've heard no good things about that place." Apparently the staff calls it The Pitt. Nothing good can come from that name.

"It's not so bad."

"So says the man on drink two at seven in the morning."

"What can I say, I'm a lot more positive after two drinks."

"This is you being positive?" He chuckles at your slight surprise.

"You come here after every shift?" He asks suddenly, changing the subject completely.

"Not all of them. Usually when I'm too tired to cook or had a hard shift." You sigh and reach over to take a sip of his drink. If he's gonna be weird, so can you. Here's hoping he doesn't have any sort of strange disease you can catch. "Why are you here?"

"Hard shift. As usual."

"Trauma's tough."

"Y'know we almost always have positions available." He casually mentions. Now that the bar is close to closing they turn up the lights just a little bit. It's unusual how seeimh him in more light, makes him more attractive. You can see a lot better how much older than you he is.

"Sorry are you trying to make me come work for you." You chortle at his not so subtle antics.

"We could always use more people."

"You don't even know my name, let alone how good of a doctor I am." Before he can answer, you decide to order a drink after all. It might help ease the nerves of talking to Jack. You've only been referring to him as that guy in your mind. Even thinking his name changes the vibe of this situation.

Once you're done ordering, Jack leans slightly into your space. "It's okay, I could teach you."

He says it with a straight face. It's very hard to tell if he's flirting or not. Does he mean to sound so flirty with that or is he just very serious about his job? Maybe it's just his voice making it sound like this.

"Unfortunately I require no teaching." You say it quietly because he's still leaned over to you. He has his arm resting on the bar and his hand holding his head.

"So you say." Okay. Flirting or insulting? This guy is hard to read but you're not about to ask him for clarification. Wait maybe that'd be a good thing, he strikes you as the type to like that.

"Do you always offer jobs to people you meet in bars?"

"No this would be a first. You seem interesting."

"Usually if you wanna flatter someone you call them something better than interesting."

"I'm not trying to flatter you."

"Are you not? Maybe it's just the tone of your voice that gives that impression."

"My tone?" He wonders in genuine curiosity.

"Yeah it's confusing. You could be super excited or about to jump off a roof and I can't tell which."

He immediately lets out a loud, bold laugh.

"I think you can read me a lot better than you think." He admits with lingering hints of laughter.

"Spend some time on roofs do you?" You copy his pose by resting your arm on the bar and putting your head in your hand.

Naturally, this pose moves you both closer together than before. You're realizing now how close together the stools are.

"More than the average."

Checking your phone, you notice how close it is to closing.

"Oh what a great note to end off with." You chuckle to yourself as you get up to pay your bill.

Jack doesn't move from his seat and you decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. You highly doubt a murderer would come as strange as he has.

Before you leave, you chose to give him your receipt with your name on it.

He grabs your wrist to stop you from walking away so quick. "Think about what I said. We'd love an employee I don't have to teach."

"We'll see."

- This was a lot harder to write than I thought

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iinterstellaarr · 2 days ago

Text

even frat!satoru understands when something isnt right.

[remember, partying is fun when you're safe! please be aware of your drinks and who you trust holding them, nearly a million people are spiked every year. its not fun or cute. stay safe! <3]

the house shook with the bass of the music. the door could hardly contain the sheer amount of people squeezed into one place, and a small part of you wondered how much of a fire hazard this was. your friend had stupidly requested that you come with her to the halloween party that Delta Mu Beta hosts every year. you were certain that some frat boy had followed her on instagram and requested to see her there, which she takes as a romantic gesture, but you see it for what it is, a quick hookup.

frat parties always irked you. its not like you were one to pass up a good party, but a frat party is not a good party.

sticky floors, loud EDM remixes, a suspiciously pungent punch bowl, and a concerning amount of bud lights littering the floor.

you adjusted your costume. well, if you could call a black dress, some dramatic eyeliner, and the fake fangs you bought from spirit halloween a costume, and glanced around for your friend. she had already disappeared into the crowd, no doubt trying to spot whichever backwards-hat wearing guy had sent her a “u comin tn? 👀” DM.

you sighed and stepped past the third couple making out in the most convenient of locations, like door frames and awkwardly small hallways. you subtly wondered how long you would have to linger before it would be social acceptable to ditch. two drinks? one awkward convo?

you creeped into the kitchen, grabbing a drink from a classmate and thanking him as he walked off.

"are you lost?" the voice reverberated in your skull with a baritone edge. well, that's one way to describe the voice that cant seem to focus on you tutoring him.

"you always seem to find me just when I don't want you to." gojo smiled and shrugged his broad shoulders.

"maybe I'm just always looking for you."

your relationship with gojo was... complicated. not quite friends, not quite strangers. more like orbiting satellites, always crossing paths in just the right moments. you tutor him once every weekend, showing up with a lazy grin and half-hearted jokes that somehow lingered longer than they should. he was infuriatingly charming, always toeing the line between playful pest and something gentler, something almost real. and despite yourself, you never entirely pushed him away.

you gave him a flat stare over your cup. “that’s not charming. that’s stalker behavior.”

he grinned wider. “then I guess I’m your favorite stalker.”

you rolled your eyes and turned away, scanning the crowd. you still hadn’t seen your friend in a while, and your drink was starting to taste... off. too sweet. or maybe too bitter? something about it just didn’t sit right. your head swam for a second, but you blinked it off.

gojo noticed. “you good?”

“yeah,” you said. “just dizzy from how insufferable you are.”

he grinned, leaning on the wall beside you. “then I’m doing my job right.”

he kept talking. some joke about how you dressed as a vampire but didn’t even need a costume because you already sucked the life out of people. you rolled your eyes again, but this time it felt like your brain lagged behind. you brushed it off.

you took another sip of your drink, mostly out of habit.

it felt like your feet weren't connected to your body. even though you were stood still, and firmly leaning against the wall behind you, you could still feel your head spinning. maybe you should've accepted that lunch invitation from your friend this morning.

still, you smiled through it. “do you ever shut up?”

“never,” he said proudly. “but for you, I'd consider taking a vow of silence.”

“that desperate for my attention, huh?”

this time, it was his turn to roll his eyes and shove you slightly.

that got a small laugh from you, but it came out breathless. something was wrong.

your tongue felt heavy in your mouth. the warmth in the room had turned sticky, like it was pressing against your skin. your vision didn’t blur all at once. it tilted. like your eyes couldn’t focus on one thing at a time. you were looking at the world through glass warped by heat.

you reached out, meaning to steady yourself on the wall but instead grabbing gojo's bicep.

“okay,” he said, and now his voice was serious. still soft, still gojo, but no teasing. “something’s not right.”

“I’m fine,” you said automatically, but the word felt wrong as it slipped past your lips

“no, you’re not.” his hand grabbed your shoulder, balancing you as you swayed. the room felt like it was closing in, and the only thing you could focus on was the blue eyes looking down at you.

you swallowed. it took effort. “its just… a lot of people.”

he seemed to frown while looking down at you. "what'd you drink?"

"I'm not sure, someone just handed me a drink." that's where you mentally kicked yourself. seriously? taking a random drink from a stranger? or... was it a stranger...? you could've sworn you remembered him from a class. or was that the guy you rejected?

"was it bitter?" his voice had a lace of worry wrapped around it. it was scaring you.

"kinda? i dont remember."

gojo exhaled sharply through his nose, something flickering behind his eyes. anger, you thought, but not directed at you. he looked over his shoulder like he wanted to find someone. like he wanted to hurt someone.

instead, he turned back to you.

“i’m getting you out of here.”

you opened your mouth to argue, but no words came. you were aware of your own heartbeat now. too fast. uneven. your limbs weren’t working right, like you were halfway underwater.

"my friend... she's somewhere around here. need too.. find her." your own voice was betraying you as you spoke. like it never wanted to open when you wanted it too.

gojo's arm wrapped firmly around your waist, hauling you towards the stairs. you mentally gagged at the thought of keeping your mind together enough to even climb up 4 steps.

gojo’s arm stayed firm around your waist as he helped you up the stairs, away from the noise, the sweat and the pounding bass. the hallway spun a little as he guided you into a room with a couch and dim lighting, keeping the door open as to help calm some of your nerves.

“here, sit,” he said, lowering you gently onto the cushions. his sunglasses were tucked into his shirt now, and his expression had turned unreadable.

you slumped back against the couch, head swimming. gojo crouched in front of you, scanning your face like he was looking for answers written in your skin.

“i’m gonna get you some water,” he said, already on his feet, already moving. when he returned, he pressed a cold bottle into your hands and helped guide it to your mouth.

“i should’ve noticed sooner,” gojo said, voice low. “i saw you swaying. i thought it was just the alcohol."

you shook your head, eyes fluttering closed. “not your fault.”

“still.” a pause. "i hate that this even happened.”

something about the way he said it. like the guilt was personal, like he should’ve been able to prevent it, made you open your eyes again.

“i’ll find your friend,” he said. “you shouldn’t be alone tonight. you okay if i leave you for, like, two minutes?”

you nodded. “i’m okay.”

“atta girl.” he said, softer.

he was gone and back faster than you expected, your friend trailing behind him, her eyes wide with worry. she rushed to your side, clutching your hand, asking you what happened. you explained as best you could, the words coming slow but steadier now. she nodded, her jaw tight, anger flashing in her expression.

“I’m taking you home,” she said.

Gojo stood back near the doorway, hands in his pockets now. He watched you, unreadable again, but softer than before. His usual cocky ease had melted into something quieter. Something real.

your friend helped you up, draping your arm over her shoulder. gojo moved in, ready to help if she needed it, but she had you.

at the door, you turned your head toward him. your vision was still a little hazy, but you met his eyes.

“thanks,” you said. “for… everything.”

gojo gave you a small, lopsided smile. “don’t mention it. just promise me one thing.”

“what?”

he leaned against the doorframe, gaze steady. “next time you come to one of these things… don’t take a drink from a stranger. and maybe let me keep an eye on you a little earlier.”

you smiled, weak but real. “you just want an excuse to bother me.”

he shrugged. “maybe. but I think you secretly like it.”

you rolled your eyes again. he grinned like he’d won something.

then your friend led you down the hall and away, leaving gojo standing there in the half-lit doorway, sunglasses hanging from his shirt and a furrow between his brows.

-----------------------

the next morning was fuzzy. you opened your phone, immediately regretting the decision as the brightness assaulted your eyes.

however, you did see one unread message.

[dont reply – 10:40 AM]

you alive or should i start planning the memorial i already have a speech prepared, it’s very moving

you stared at the screen for a second before smiling, just a little. your friend had stayed over, made sure you got into bed, even left you water and a note in the kitchen about breakfast.

your thumbs moved slowly.

[you – 10:44 AM]

very disappointing you didn’t check in last night. i expected bedside flowers i lived, thanks for asking

he replied almost immediately.

[dont reply – 10:45 AM]

oh i did check in just from the hallway like a proper gentleman your friend looked like she’d kill me if i got any closer

you laughed softly and let your head fall back against your pillow. it took a moment before you responded.

[you – 10:47 AM]

thanks for staying i don’t remember everything, but i remember that.

a beat.

[dont reply – 10:49 AM]

yeah you were kinda scaring me for a sec ngl but you’re welcome. anytime. (like actually anytime. i know i joke a lot but yeah.)

your heartbeat kicked up a little. you stared at the last message, trying to decide what to say. you could play it off. tease him. keep the banter going.

but you didn’t really want to. not right now.

[you – 10:52 AM]

maybe next time you can just annoy me before the near-death experience keep things fresh

[domt reply – 10:52 AM]

deal

you smiled, phone warm in your hand, the headache already somehow fading.

#oneshot #jjk #jjk fanfic #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #satoru gojo x reader

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razorblade180 · 2 days ago

Text

9 Days of Lancaster Day 2: Jealous Ruby

The bustling streets of Vacou

Jaune:Alright everyone, single file line. No need to push or shove. You’re all going to the same place one step at a time.

Nora:*watching* He’s really gotten a lot of mileage from taking those traffic jobs.

Ruby:I think he appreciates the organization and structure of it all. *sips drink*

Yang:Better him than me. Be it driver or pedestrian, I fear my road rage has taken my tolerance for bullshit away.

Weiss:One, tolerance? Two, you don’t get road rage. You just have rage.

Yang:Why do you feel the need to pick me apart every chance you get!?

Weiss:Careful. You might prove my point.

???: Mr. Arc!

A little boy and his green eyed mother approach the young man. Without hesitation, the child holds up a drawing of Jaune with an extra big sword and muscles.

Jaune:Hey, Zach! Aww, is that me!? Quite the artist.

Zach:Thank you for saving me last week!

Jaune:Of course! Gotta look after one another. Remember, don’t away from mommy next time.

Cynthia:That’s right! You scared me half to death. It was fortunate Vacou has no shortage of talented heroes.

Jaune:It was nothing really.

Cynthia:Oh you’re too modest. This little guy is my world, and you’re the wonderful man that protected it. Quite literally a knight in shining armor.

Ruby stared at the raven haired older woman in yellow. She was quite tall. Almost Jaune’s height. Something about the way she carried herself made it clear she was late 20s or early 30s, yet her flawless tan skin and youthful grin made the idea of her having any children a surprise.

Ruby:Who’s that?

Nora:That’s Cynthia. Jaune saved her kid last week when a few Grimm snuck in. Not only did he kill it, but shielded Zach from an oncoming car that was attacked.

Yang:Damn. Maybe I should take traffic patrol?

Weiss:I’ve seen her before. She gave Jaune a pie last week and thanked him. Now I understand why.

Yang:That’s where that apple pie came from?! I knew it was too delicious to be store bought.

Blake:You can taste the difference?

Yang:Of course. There was love in it.

Ruby:Love? Pfft, maybe admiration. Gratitude for a hero and stuff.

Yang:Yeah, but like… look at them.

The two were still having a conversation. Nobody could make it out but they were laughing alongside the child. Cynthia even went as far as to touch Jaune’s left arm, and he made no move against it.

Nora:Oh, bold approach. I respect it.

Ruby:Guys, they’re just talking.

Blake:He might be. She’s pretty close to him. Physically I mean.

Yang:You think he’ll take the bait? Get a bit more than a pie?

Weiss:Yang, grow up. Jaune isn’t like that anyways.

Yang:It’s not like he’s leveraging the situation. Plus he’s been isolated for a long time. If anything, he’s out of his depth, but clearly in his element. Who knows, maybe he has a taste for older women now? What do you think Ru- Ruby?

Nora:Yeah she started walking over after your pie remark.

In no time at all, the redhead weaved through the crowd and made it to Jaune. Instead of calling his name, Ruby didn’t think twice about surprising the three of them by suddenly taking his right hand as she made herself known.

Ruby:Hey, sounds fun over here.

Jaune:Oh hey! Finished early? Cynthia, this is-

Ruby:Ruby Rose. Fellow huntress.

Zach:Wooooah!

Cynthia:Oh wow! I know you. Everyone knows you! I mean that speech was really something. Jaune, you didn’t tell me you knew such a celebrity around these parts! Must take a load of worry off working with someone like her.

Ruby:I should be the one praising him actually. He’s pretty reliable.

Cynthia:Isn’t he!? You should’ve seen him last week. *squeezes his arm* He’s got quite the muscle, and knows how to use it haha!

Ruby:Hehe oh I know… He is my partner after all.

Cynthia…Oh? Is that right?

Jaune:Yeah. Ruby and I have been through practically everything together. I can’t count how many times she’s saved me.

Ruby:And vice versa. Yep, lucky to have you by my side. Speaking of which, I need you. *leans on him* We have another mission together.

Cynthia:…

Jaune:Oh? Already? Okay. I’m technically not done with this one though.

Ruby:It’s okay. Yang volunteered to fill in. Cynthia, Zach, sorry to steal him away from you but duty calls. *grins*

Cynthia:Oh, no problem. A hero’s job is never done. We can have dinner another time. My treat of course. After all, you have my number.

Ruby:!?

Cynthia:Feel free to give me a call whenever you get back. Zach would love to hear all about it, and I can give you a fresh dessert.

Ruby:.. *looks down*

Jaune:That does sound pretty nice. Thank you, but…I think I have to decline.

Ruby:Huh?

Cynthia:Oh? It really isn’t a hassle. I’d hardly say it’s the least I could do for you.

Jaune:Perhaps, but right now I’m pretty tangled up in some crazy situations. Like you said, a hero’s job is never done. The last thing a hero should be doing is attracting danger to innocent civilians. I’ll save Zach any day of the week, but better to have him in no danger to begin with, right? *smiles*

Cynthia:R-Right. Of course…

Zach:Does this mean you’re not coming over?

Jaune:Sorry, lil man. *ruffles hair* I wanna keep you nice and safe by fighting the baddies. Meanwhile you keep your mom nice and safe by sticking with her. Can you do that for me? I’ll show all my friends your awesome picture and make sure to hit a monster for you!

Zach:Really!? Coooool! It’s a promise! I’ll be extra good! Then I’ll be hero too.

Ruby:You already are one kiddo. Welp, we should get going. It was nice meeting the both of you.

Ruby immediately walked away with Jaune in tow, not looking back once as she put distance between him and Cynthia. She glanced over at Yang, pointing at her specifically, then towards the spot they left.

Ruby:Have fun on traffic patrol!

Yang:Wha-hey! I wasn’t being- and she’s gone. Would any of you like to maybe-

Nora:Nope?

Weiss:Should’ve kept quiet.

Blake:At least it’s half a shift.

Yang:…

Jaune:Umm, Rubes? We don’t have to walk so fast. Is the mission that urgent?

Ruby:Huh? Oh! Uh, sorta? I just think your talents are better used on active hunts. Keeps fighters healthy and stuff, so…*red* try to leave the civil tasks to others if you can.

Jaune:…I can delete her number.

Ruby:…That’s your business. Not mine. It’s not like I have a say in who you socialize with.

Jaune:Doesn’t mean you can’t express an opinion. I’ll listen to what you have to say; you know that. *squeezes hand* So, be honest with me.

Ruby:*bright red*…. I don’t think you should get caught up with Cynthia. Just a personal feeling I guess. So… deleting her number would probably be for the best.

Jaune:Hmm, is that so? Good thing I never saved it to begin with.

Ruby stops walking immediately. She whips her head around to see a cheeky grin on the boys face that gets her face hot the same it does when she feels caught being mischievous. She can’t evil speak. Ruby can only make varying degrees of frustration before giving up and looking away entirely. Still, she gripped his hand tightly.

Ruby:Name your offer to never speak of this again.

Jaune:Hmmm how about… one delicious apple pie?

Ruby:…Alright. Mark my words, it’ll be the best you’ve ever had.

Jaune:Heh, I know~

#rwby #ruby rose #9 days of lancaster 2025 #nora valkyrie #jaune arc #blake belladonna #weiss schnee #yang xiao long #rwby lancaster #9 days of lancaster

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roc-haze · 1 day ago

Text

Appetite | Arthur Hill

Long distance was harder than Y/N expected.

After moving abroad to Australia for a job opportunity, time zones became her biggest nemesis and the travel time between the UK and Australia made the days all blend together. Arthur, however, remained exactly where he was. Y/N could guess where he was at any given time. He was available to talk at the same time each night. He was dependable. Reliable. A constant.

“I’m really struggling, Arthur.” Y/N spoke down the phone.

“I know, darling. You’re in a new place, sleeping in a new bed, having to make new friends. I’d expect you to feel a bit out of sorts.” Arthur spoke gently, wincing as he heard a sharp inhale and a sniff on the other end of the line.

George sat across from him, each of them commandeering the table in Chris’s office to work. “Is that Y/N?” He mouthed.

“I just feel lonely. I’m having dinner and going to bed while you’re getting up to go to work”, she spoke gently.

Arthur nodded. He closed his eyes, his hand coming up to cover them gently. “We’ve just got to get 8 weeks and I’ll be there.” There was a groan on the other end. “How about we organise a time to have a virtual dinner date over the weekend? Dinner your time, I mean”.

He was met with a soft sniffle. “Okay. That sounds nice”. She spoke softly. She sounded defeated. “I think I might go to bed. I have a long day tomorrow.”

“Okay, lovey. Text me when you’re awake.” He sighed.

“Will do. Have a nice day, I love you.”

“Love you too. Sweet dreams.”

The line clicked.

On the other side of the world, Y/N lay with her phone locked, staring up at the ceiling. Come on, Y/N. Change is tricky but you can do it. It’s just a little bit of long distance. She felt a little bit silly feeling so homesick, after being considered for an incredible opportunity.

George raised an eyebrow at Arthur. “That sounded like it went well”, he spoke sarcastically. “I assume she’s not travelling well”.

Arthur sighed, his chest heavy. “I think she’s having a really rough time settling in. It’s been a few months and her situation’s not gotten much better… she’s the youngest in the workplace, she’s struggled to make friends. I feel a bit useless not being able to help her”.

“Why don’t you just go visit? Surprise her”. To George, it made total sense. “I think Will’s flying over next week to film some things with Mikey and Ieuan. Give him a call and see if you can travel together - 24 hours is a long haul on your own”.

Arthur stood up suddenly, pushing his chair in. “You know what, I might see if he’s in the office. Not a bad idea”. He walked out of the room, tapping George’s shoulder as he went.

A short 45 minutes later, his flight was booked.

——

Their dinner date went ahead as scheduled.

Arthur sat in his room, the curtains drawn tight. Despite it nearly being lunchtime for him, he sat in the dark with a bowl of pasta and an array of candles to simulate a real dining experience. “You know babe, I even copied your recipe. Just put more chilli on mine. I haven’t had much of an appetite lately.” He laughed.

Y/N, in a similar setting, raised her bowl for him to see. “I usually neglect the chilli when I cook for you.”

“Are you saying I can’t handle the heat?” He quirked an eyebrow.

“You pretend you can!” They shared a laugh. “So, what are you up to this week?”.

“The Sidemen have asked me to do a shoot with them on Wednesday. It’s one of those 24 hour challenges.” Arthur pushed his pasta around the plate, trying to conceal the lie.

She grinned. “That sounds like so much fun! You’ll have to send me a link when they post the video”.

“You know I will. I just wanted to give you a heads up in case you don’t hear much from me.” He smiled sympathetically.

“That’s all good. I’m finishing up my project on Wednesday afternoon, so I have a feeling I’ll be exhausted. I’m just excited to hear about it.” She found his eyes through the screen, smiling sincerely.

“I can’t wait to tell you about it.”

——

Wednesday morning came, and Arthur found himself at the airport. In line with Will, they made their way onto the plane with coffee and handheld luggage in tow.

“It’s a shame we can’t be there to watch you surprise her.” Will spoke, stretching back in his seat.

“You’ll definitely have to come out for dinner with us, I know Y/N would love to see you.” Arthur softly jabbed his arm.

“I’d love that,” Will grinned. “You know… I’ve got a lot of time for the both of you.”

“Really?” Arthur turned to face him.

“Yeah. I don’t know if Y/N told you, but we had a conversation a few months ago at Stephen’s party. I told her I was feeling a bit lonely and now I find myself getting invited around to your place every so often. I really appreciate you guys.” Will spoke fondly, hiding from Arthur’s gaze.

“You know, she actually never mentioned that. She just said that we hadn’t seen much of you lately and she’d like to catch up. I didn’t think twice about it.” Arthur shrugged.

“You’ve got a gem.”

——

A whole 24 hours of travel later, Arthur exited the uber with a backpack and small suitcase in hand. He nervously made his way up the front steps, setting his belongings down. He stood in front of the door for a few moments before knocking.

“Were you expecting someone?” A distinct voice was heard on the other side of the door. That was his girl.

Y/N’s roommate could be heard replying with a “no? What if we’ve got a murderer behind the door?”.

Suddenly, the door swung open and there she was. Decked out in an oversized crewneck, comfy shorts and mismatched socks, she stood in front of him.

Y/N’s jaw dropped. “What the fuck.” Her hands covered her mouth as she stood in shock. “How did you get here?”.

“I swam. What do you think?” Arthur grinned.

Stepping forward, she engulfed him into a hug. “You cheeky bastard.”

They stood in the doorway for what felt like hours, gentle sobs escaping Y/N as Arthur gently stroked her back and placed gentle kisses to her temple.

Her roommate yelled from the hall, “Y/N, let the boy in! It’s gonna be chilly out there shortly.”

Y/N pulled back, allowing Arthur to stroke his thumbs across her cheeks and wipe away a few stray tears. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me too. You should thank George, it was his idea.” Arthur spoke softly.

She grinned. “I’ll give him a big kiss next time I see him.”

Arthur’s jaw dropped in pretend shock. “You will do no such thing.”

Y/N laughed. By god, she was angelic. “Come in. I bet you’re hungry.”

“Yeah, I seem to have gotten my appetite back.” Arthur picked up his suitcase, walking through the front door.

He may have been on the other side of the world, but it was the closest he’d been to home in a long while.

A/N:

A quick one for my fave, @clarkeysbedchem 🫶

Side note - would anyone like to be added to a tag list?

#uk youtuber #arthur hill x reader #arthur hill #roc haze #Spotify

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ambiguous-avery · 3 days ago

Text

Spice and Vice

Dean Winchester x fem!Reader/You | WC: 2062

Summary: Dean Winchester shows up at your restaurant with questions and a fake badge. You answer with heat, sass, and eventually, a very compromising position in the back of a delivery truck.

Tags/Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, unprotected P in V sex, violated food safety rules, PWP (Plot? What plot?), no use of Y/N, no beta we die like men

A/N: This was a fun, unofficial challenge from @bettystonewell who liked my throwaway line from Tangled Sheets where Dean admitted that the weirdest place he had sex was in the back of a food-delivery truck. I’ve also been playing around with tenses and whatnot. If you read my stuff, you know I typically write in past tense, but I’ve seen that a lot of other stuff in the SPN community is written in present-tense. I wanted to give it a try and see if I could tell the difference (spoiler: I can. I feel like I’m a baby deer trying to find my writing legs again). If you have a preference for present- or past-tense, let me know! I’m curious!

The restaurant is dark except for the flickering neon sign in the window reading ‘Closed.’ The other staff had already gone home long ago. Hard to need an entire team for prep when the restaurant was under investigation.

You sigh into the cool night air as you stack another box in the food delivery truck. Your apron is tied loosely at your waist and sleeves are pulled up to your elbows, the scent of spices still clinging to your skin. It’s just you, the quiet hum of the refrigeration unit of the truck, and the low buzz of the rest of the town tucking in for the night.

Until you hear the sound of boots on gravel.

“You always do your inventory at midnight?” a deep voice calls out.

You don’t flinch, not even a little. You’ve got a kitchen knife not even ten feet away from you, and you’re confident you could get your hands on it long before any would-be assailant made it to you. But you know the voice. And the owner of it. The man that’s been hanging around your restaurant all week. Asking questions, flashing around a fake badge, and giving you a smirk like he knows something that you don’t.

Dean Winchester steps into the light, arms crossed and stance wide like he owns the damn alleyway.

“Maybe I just like the quiet,” you reply with a shrug, lifting a box of onions and sliding it into place. “What do you want, detective?”

“I want answers.” He walks closer, his footsteps unhurried. “About the missing dishwasher who apparently just ‘walked off the job’ without his phone, wallet, or keys. Or your waitress who just randomly decided she wanted to take a sabbatical from life.” You shrug, looking down at him from inside the truck.

“Guess they couldn’t handle the heat,” you say, not bothering to hide your annoyance with him. Or the smirk playing on your lips. Dean steps into the truck, ducking under the half-open sectional door. His voice drops, dangerous and low.

“You think this is funny?”

“I think you’re looking in all the wrong places.”

He looks around the back of the truck. It’s nothing but metal shelves, boxes of vegetables, and a flickering camping lantern. No signs of voodoo or hexes or whatever else he and his brother had been muttering about earlier on in the week.

“You hiding something?” he asks, stepping closer. You stand your ground.

“If I was,” you begin, meeting and holding his gaze, “you’d have to frisk me to find it.”

The air between you crackles with energy. The two of you had been dancing around each other like this all week long. It was your restaurant. You weren’t about to be intimidated by some fake fed who thought he could get his way by barking orders. And by day three, he didn’t seem like he really thought you had anything to do with your missing employees. But that didn’t stop him from coming back day after day to ask you more questions. Some of them had even been... less professional. Dean wets his lips and tilts his head, a slow, knowing grin spreading.

“Is that a challenge?”

“Depends,” you say noncommittally, backing up until your hips hit the stainless steel counter behind you. “You gonna waste more time with your accusations, or are you finally gonna do something useful with those hands?”

Dean doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he cages you in, one hand pressed against the side of the truck beside your head and the other sliding down to your waist, yanking you into him like it’s instinct. His lips crash against yours, hot and demanding, and you’re kissing him back with the same fire and passion you cook with.

His hands are everywhere on you. Rough and callused in ways that aren’t entirely dissimilar to yours. They grip your hips like he’s staking a claim. Like he’s been waiting all damn week to get his hands on you. And now that he has you, he’s not wasting another moment. He crowds you, fingers fumbling with the knot of your apron before he tugs it off of you. His tongue slides against yours, and you moan into his mouth as he holds your face with both hands.

“You gonna arrest me or strip me?” you ask breathlessly against his lips.

“Maybe both,” he growls, his mouth trailing across your jaw and down your neck. Your chef’s jacket is the next to go. His lips find the hollow of your throat, and he nips at it gently. “Still deciding.” His teeth scrape at the edge of your collarbone, and you’re pretty sure your knees just about buckle.

“You don’t strike me as the indecisive type.” You reach for his belt, tugging him closer. He chuckles, his green eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Far from it. But I’m thorough.”

“Alright, Mr. Thorough,” you say haughtily. “Get the door so neither of us get arrested.”

He chuckles, low and dirty, before stepping away from you to pull the truck’s sectional door down until it’s barely cracked at the bottom. Then, he’s on you again. He lifts you like you weigh nothing, setting you down on the prep counter behind you. Your legs fall open, and he steps between them, mouth back on yours. He’s greedy now. His hands are under your shirt before you can catch your breath. He slides them up your sides, thumbs brushing the band of your bra.

“Last chance to tell me you’re not involved in this case,” he rasps against your ear.

“Oh, I’m guilty, alright,” you say. “Just not of the crime you’re here for.”

And that’s all it takes, really.

Dean groans like he’s officially out of patience and surges forward, kissing you harder. His hips grind into you, and you can feel his hardness press against you. The truck rocks slightly on its wheels as you pull him closer, the smell of spices and sweat and adrenaline hanging thick in the air.

Somewhere in the chaos – between your body arching into his, his jacket hitting the floor, and buttons on his shirt popping loose and clattering to the floor – the last shred of your rationality reminds you that this is absolutely a health code violation.

Dean’s tugging your shirt up and over your head, tossing it somewhere behind him without missing a beat. His hands splay across your bare back, fingers warm as he drags you closer until your chest is flush against his. He’s hot and hard and straining behind his slacks, and it only spurs you on.

You reach for his belt, fingers fumbling with the metal buckle. It clinks between gasps as you work it free, and Dean groans when you slide your hand into his waistband, fingers teasing the edge of what he clearly wants you to find.

“Fuck,” he mutters, pulling away back just long enough to look at you with pupils blown wide. “You sure?” You don’t answer, not with words. Instead, your answer is in the way you grip his slacks and slide them down with purpose.

He grins, all teeth and dimples, before leaning in, his lips pressing against yours as he makes quick work of your pants next. There’s a bit of awkward fumbling as the two of you strip each other down with clumsy urgency, and Dean doesn’t even get his pants entirely kicked off by the time he’s back between your legs. His hands trail down your thighs, lifting your legs to wrap around his waist. The cool stainless steel beneath you is a stark contrast to the way his skin burns against yours.

And when he slides into you in a single, fluid movement, it’s with a groan that rips straight from his chest. Your head falls back with a breathless moan as he fills you so completely.

“Jesus,” he hisses, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. His breath his hot against your skin, coming in short pants as he stills inside you, giving you both a moment to adjust. You dig your fingernails into his shoulders, and he responds by gripping your thighs so hard that you’re sure there are going to be marks tomorrow.

“Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts,” you tease. He lifts his head to look at you, his eyes dark with desire and a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Not a chance in hell.”

And he finally starts to move. He’s slow at first. Deliberate. Deep. The truck rocks in time with your movements, suspension creaking slightly. Your breath catches as he finds his rhythm, each thrust sending pleasure spiraling through you. The muscles in his back flex beneath your touch with every press of his hips.

The metal shelving rattles behind you, boxes shifting with the movement of the truck. Dean’s grip on your hips tightens as he pulls you closer to the edge of the counter, changing his angle until his name falls from your lips.

“Fuck, Dean.”

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he murmurs against your throat, voice rough with want. His teeth graze against your pulse point, and you arch into him, nails dragging down his back. The camping lantern you had hung from one of the metal shelves cast shadows that danced across his face as he moved.

The refrigeration unit, which had turned off at some point, kicks back on with a low hum, and you can’t help but huff out a laugh as the air begins to shift around you. You were definitely going to make that thing work some overtime…

The cramped space forces a different level of intimacy. Every breath mingles. Every movement feels amplified in the confined metal box. You can taste the salt on his skin when you press your lips to his shoulder.

“Still think I’m wasting your time?” he pants against your throat.

“Ask me again,” you gasp, “when you’re done with me.” His responding laugh is a dark rumble against your skin.

“Oh I’m just getting started.”

He shifts his weight, one hand bracing against the wall of the truck behind you while the other slides down to where yours bodies meet. His thumb finds your clit with devastating precision, drawing small circles in time with his thrusts. The sensation of it all sends electric currents through your limbs, and your head falls back with a gasp that echoes in the small space.

“Let me hear you,” he encourages, voice strained with his own building pleasure. His rhythm grows more urgent, more desperate. The truck rocks harder on its suspension, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you can’t help but wonder if anyone passing by would notice. It was late enough in the night that there likely wasn’t anyone still out, but the thought still added to the thrill coursing through you.

“Dean,” you moan, feeling that familiar tension coil and tighten inside you. “Fuck, you feel good.”

Your words break off into a breathless whimper as his hips snap against yours. His hand that’s braced against the wall slides down to grab your hip with bruising force.

“Come on,” he growls, pressing his thumb harder against your clit. “Let go for me, sweetheart.”

The heat building between you reaches a crescendo, and when you finally come undone around him, it’s with his name on your lips in a cry that bounces off the metal walls. Your body clenches around him, pleasure crashing through you as your fingernails dig into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.

Dean follows you over the edge with a strangled groan, his movements becoming erratic before he stills completely, buried deep inside you. His forehead drops to yours, both of you breathing hard in the suddenly quiet space. Quiet except for the sounds of your ragged breathing and the steady hum of the refrigeration unit. For a moment, neither of you move. His hand is still on your hip, his thumb tracing the jut of your pelvis.

“So,” he begins slowly as his green eyes meet yours in the flickering lantern light. “Still don’t have anything to confess?” You laugh, still breathless, and playfully smack his shoulder, feeling just a little proud of the red marks you had left there.

“Yeah, I’ll confess,” you say, a haughty grin playing on your lips. “This was so fucking worth the violations.”

---

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Dean taglist: @jollyhunter @aylacavebear @globetrotter28 @bettystonewell @supernotnatural2005 @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @maddie0101 @sir-thisisadndserver @colours-of-thewind @kiddieclaws @mostlymarvelgirl @rurwu @imalapdog @losers-clvb @zyra-7 @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @alexfms97

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screamingintotheneverendingvoid · 3 days ago

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John Carter x nurse!reader

Warnings: 18+ pls SMUT AHEAD!!! It might be my first time writing it, so it might not be great but it’s still smut!! PiV (no protection, please make smart choices in reality) grinding, making out, unrealistic car sex but hey we’re here to have fun, clit play, reader has a vagina/clit, riding, it’s a quickie but took me way too long to write.

A/N: This is my first dive into smut, I don’t know if it came out exactly as I wanted because I got a little nervous, I kind of want to make a part 2, but we’ll see how this does first. 😅 Anyway, it’s based around season 4, episode 15 because damn Carter, please take charge all the time.

You had just finished giving report to the next nurses to come in, or at least you all tried to, with the best of your ability in all of the chaos that still persisted from the night.

People were still trying to get things to ‘normal’ for the ER after the spill, and you honestly would’ve stayed longer to help, but you wanted to get home, shower, and crash.

… At least that’s what you told everyone, and sure, you did want to do that, but you couldn’t tell them that your skin was still buzzing with the images in your mind you had to push aside to do your job all night. Images of your boyfriend in the chaos of the night standing tall and taking charge without a second thought. He just did it. Not only did pride bloom in your chest as his partner for seeing the amazing job he did without protocols to follow, all the supplies he needed, and in less than perfect circumstances all around but seeing him seem to take charge so easily and running around person to person, helping anywhere and everywhere he could… it made you feel something you shouldn’t have felt in the middle of everything happening.

The flush of your face was the only thing that might have gave you away, but it could easily be explained away by the rush of the situation or at least that’s what you told yourself. Either way you decided to push those thoughts away at the time, but now they had time to burst free and run wild. So the sooner you could find John and get out of here, the better.

You let your eyes scan the parts of the ER you could see from where you stood before you started moving forward to the front desk, Jerry and a few others moving around it trying to find some sort of organization in the chaos it had became during the crisis. You walked over and leaned on the closest edge, “Jerry, have you seen John? It’s time for us to get off but I figured he must still be off helping somewhere…”

Jerry looked up from the stack of binders he was looking through, “Last I saw him he was in the doctor's lounge.”

You quickly nodded your thanks before heading off. That was a good sign, maybe he was ready to go and you wouldn’t be stuck having to take the train to his place and being in what felt like a form of torture until he got home.

You walked the few feet it took to get to the lounge and pushed the door open, being greeted by the back of your boyfriend.

Thank you universe.

He turned at hearing the door open and smiled the way he only did for you. You weren’t sure you could pinpoint what made it special to only you and no one else, maybe the fact you could tell that even though he was tired, and life hadn't exactly been easy for him lately, he still managed to reserve that little smile for you. You didn’t take a second of it for granted.

“Hey, baby, you ready to go?” He said grabbing your jacket out of the locker first, you walked over to him and leaned up to give him a kiss on the cheek, and turned around so he could help you into your jacket.

“Yes, please. I thought I might have to drag you from this place.” You said it jokingly but you both knew it had happened before and was bound to happen again. He gently turned you back around to make sure your jacket was adjusted correctly before leaning in to touch your lips against his. You eagerly jumped at the opportunity to be closer to him, your hands immediately grabbing a hold of his shoulders to pull him closer, his hands found their way under your coat to your waist. You moved your lips to make the kiss deeper but he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours and you couldn’t help your frustrated groan, which just caused a smug expression to cross his lips, “Now what is that all about, hmm?” As he said it, you playfully whacked at his shoulder. “You did an amazing job today and I just think someone should show you some appreciation is that such a bad thing?” You tried to put on your most innocent of acts as you said it, knowing you meant it in no such way.

“No, no… I mean..” He started trying to stutter out but you closed the gap between the two of you and kissed him on the lips before kissing his cheek, and then his jaw, and then his earlobe, “So put your coat on and hand me my bag, and grab yours, so we can get out of here and I can show my boyfriend just how appreciated he is.” You purred in his ear before teasingly pulling yourself out of where he still held you by the waist.

You felt pretty damn accomplished at how dumbfounded he looked at first before a goofy grin took over his face and he almost cartoonishly fast grabbed his jacket to put on over the scrubs he was still wearing after having to throw out his clothes earlier. He lifted his bag on to one shoulder and then slid yours over top of his, slamming the locker door shut, pulling his car keys out of his jacket pocket. He was by your side again in seconds and threw his free arm over your shoulder, “Please, let’s get out of here.”

—-

The walk to John’s jeep, while uneventful, felt like it took hours. You would glance over at John and just his beautiful profile in the night, the way his nose was outlined by the moonlight and his freckles put the stars to shame, was driving you absolutely nuts.

Once you got to the jeep, he unlocked the doors, went to your side to open your door for you, you pecked his cheek sweetly as you got in and he shut the door behind you. Then he opened the driver door, threw the bags in the backseat and got in.

You don’t think he was ready for what happened next. No, you know he wasn’t ready.

As soon as his door was shut, you more or less launched yourself at him, and it was his turn to let out a surprised yelp. You had intended to kiss him, but the sound he made caused you to burst out into laughter instead.

“I’m sorry, John, I didn’t mean to scare you, but if I don’t kiss you right now I might exploded and that’s a medical diagnosis, you can look it up.” You know your words were cheesy but they had the intended effect in one, causing John to look at you like you might have two heads, and two, caused him to laugh. Which was really what you lived for, you truly believed that sound could cure anything. Someone should look into.

“I don’t remember learning that in medical school. Maybe it was just a nursing school thing?” He teased as he wrapped one arm around your waist pulling you fully into his lap, not the most comfortable in a car, but you could honestly careless right now as long as you were close to him. He laid his hand on your cheek, his fingers gently following the curve caressing the skin there.

He seemed to get very serious for a moment, those brown eyes you loved more than anything in the world just studied your features as if committing every detail to memory, “You are breathtaking.”

He whispered the words as he moved closer, savoring the moment until your lips touched again.

Your skin felt like it was buzzing all over again, or maybe it never really left, as you felt his tongue dancing over your lips and you happily granted it access. You had scrunched his green scrub top under one of your hands, your other hand already having a mind of its own, wandering to the edge of his top and ghosting your fingers at the soft skin of his abdomen. The inhale of breath he took at even the smallest of your touches gave you a satisfaction unlike any other. You broke away from his lips to drag your lips across his cheek, down to his jaw, down to his neck. Letting your hand wander a trail over his chest, then back down to his stomach carefully skating around where his pants started, you listened as his breathing would change and become a little heavier every time you would dip your hand a little lower. You started nipping at the skin at his neck, grinning against his skin as he groaned, “You’re just teasing me… why don’t you get in your seat so we can get to my apartment faster?” He said it while moving a hand on to the back of your neck, causing goosebumps to rise where he touched, he only half heartedly attempted to remove you from your place on his neck.

“Who said we have to go to your apartment? Are you afraid of being caught in the parking deck? Doesn’t that make it a little more exciting.” You teased against his skin, and you know it had to be exciting to him to some extent because the scrub pants he was wearing did little to hide how hard and exciting this was.

You heard John sigh in ‘defeat’ as he seemed to finally have the idea to lean over and recline his seat back to make some room for the two of you. Honestly with how tall he was, you weren’t sure climbing in the backseat would be a better option at this point anyway, this jeep only had so much room.

“If we get caught, I’m blaming this entirely on you seducing me, I hope you know.” You heard the smile in his voice, but just happy he agreed you brought your face back up to his and crashed your lips back together, just taking a moment to cherish him. His taste, which right now was a little soapy with whatever they had hosed everyone down with during decontamination, but still very much him.

Now reclined you settled as best as you could with you knees on either side of his hips, not caring that clothing was still between you, you let your hips drop down on his and started a gentle rhythm grinding against him. Taking pride in the almost immediate moan you elicited from John, his hands flying to grip onto your hips.

“We’ll hurry, no need to worry that pretty head of yours.” You playfully whispered against his lips, letting your hands fall between the two of you, to quickly untie his scrub bottoms. You lifted your hips up for just a moment to be up to yank his bottoms down enough to free his cock. Awkwardly shifting around, relying on John’s help to get out of your own scrub pants and underwear, you let out a huff of frustration. Now realizing the thought of car sex was much smoother than the actual execution.

He must’ve thought your frustration was cute because he laughed as he left your pants a tangled mess at your ankles, now focused far more at looking at your face.

“Maybe it’s your head we should be worrying about, not mine?” His voice was now barely above a whisper, as those brown eyes bore into your soul, capturing every detail of you. You leaned back to prop yourself on his thighs, and leave a little room between you. “Maybe.” You shrugged as you took one of his hands that had found their way back to your waist and brung it up to your mouth, kissing along his wrist, following one of the veins and kissed along it until you got to the back of his hand. Then let yourself gently plant a kiss along each of his fingers. You didn’t let your eyes leave his for a second, and his attention was still all on you. His breath heaving, and you could audibly hear him swallow. You kissed your way back to his pointer finger before you took it into your mouth. He let out a deep groan as his head fell back against the seat. You let your tongue playfully swirl around it before letting it go with a pop.

You stalled for just a second while you debated what to do next, you wanted his fingers inside you but you didn’t really have the time. Quickies were fun but inconvenient, but you could continue your fun at home, because no way would this be nearly enough of him for you.

You leaned towards him in the reclined seat letting your entrance tease against his dick, causing you both to let out moans. John lifted his head up from the seat, hands bruising in their grip on your hips, as he let his lips find their way to your neck. “Please, baby…” he mumbled softly against your skin.

You knew you were plenty wet enough and just torturing you both at this point, so you reached down between you and made sure he was lined up with your entrance, and then you slid down onto him, the feeling as delicious as it had been the first time you had ever done it.

The ‘fuck’ John let out from his place against your neck was rewarding, he even bit down softly on the skin he was lavishing, and then began to suck a mark there.

Your moans were music to his ears as you started moving on top of him, setting a fast rhythm, that his hands seemed happy to help you keep.

You let your eyes fall closed as sensations quickly started taking over you, one of your hands gripped John’s shoulder tightly for support, the other stayed glued into his short locks, holding onto them to keep him as close to you as possible. You felt your orgasm close at hand, and you started to move your hand from John’s shoulder, but he stopped you, “May I?” He asked, never moving away from his place at your neck, he was addicted to it tonight it seemed. “Of course.”

He moved one hand from your waist to in between your bodies, and between your legs, and his fingers found your clit. As soon as he did you swore you almost saw stars.

He knew your body better than he knew any medical school text book and he would happily use that to his advantage anytime.

He kept up the motion around your clit, and you heard his breathing becoming heavier, almost in time with yours, “I’m about to-“ “Me too.” It was all the exchange you needed, he finally came up from his place at your neck, and found his way to your lips again, and when you came, his name was on your lips but it was muffled against his own. You felt him come moments after you, as you kept riding him through both your highs.

You both stilled and tried to catch your breath. You buried your face into the crook of his neck as he soothingly ran his hands across your back.

“Are you okay?” He softly asked.

“Of course, baby. Thank you for indulging me.” You planted a small kiss on his neck before lifting your face and planting a soft kiss on his lips. His sweet smile soothing to your entire soul.

“Good. Now I hate to interrupt our afterglow… but we should probably put on our pants and get back to my place.”

—-

tag : @omgbrianab

#er #er 1994 #dr john carter #john truman carter iii #john carter #john carter x reader #nurse!reader x john carter #smut #john carter x nurse!reader #18 + content #my writing

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