#I have decided to just sign all of them from now on since most gifs require resizing anyway

[astrophileous]

A Well-Kept Secret

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Synopsis: While working on a case in D.C., Spencer didn't expect to hear a familiar name being mentioned as the sole surviving witness. Or, in which the team discovers Spencer's well-kept secret.

Warning(s): established secret relationship, mentions and/or depictions of death/physical violence/gun violence/injury/attack, signs of trauma, survivor's guilt, curse words, hurt/comfort, nudity but it's not sexual, allusions to sexy times, mentions/implied alcohol consumption

Word Count: 5900-ish

Author's Note: hiya! I decided to write this lil piece after seeing the fic challenge posted by @imagining-in-the-margins abt the family/found family trope. I had a lotta fun writing this one and I think it's got potential to be something more. So pls comment or message me if you wanna see me exploring with this idea (either turning it into a series of connected one-shots or multi-parters). Don't forget to like/comment/reblog and give me a follow :) I hope you enjoy! 💞

Criminal Minds Masterlist

When Hotch had notified the team to haul their asses up and drove all the way to D.C., Spencer never expected that it would also entail him having to suffer through a mini heart attack.

The series of attacks around D.C. had been dominating the 6 PM news segments in the entire country. What was initially perceived as a suspected sequence of robberies gone wrong--since the first two targets to have been hit were a bank and a prestigious auction house--soon turned into a nationwide panic as people realized that there was a bigger game at play.

After the third attack was found to have occurred in the headquarters of one of the top, up-and-coming renewable energy startups in the states, the D.C. police finally started to entertain the idea that perhaps they hadn't been dealing with their usual petty robbers at all.

And naturally, that was when the BAU had been called in.

As soon as the team entered the Metropolitan PD bullpen, they were struck with the smell of panic and the sight of chaos.

"Agent Hotchner?" A middle-aged man in a gray shirt and blue tie appeared in front of them. "My name is Detective Mills, we spoke on the phone."

"Of course, Detective." Hotch shook the other man's hand. "This is my team. Agent Prentiss, Jareau, and Dr. Reid. I have two others already at the latest crime scene. What can you tell us so far?"

"As you can see--" Detective Mills gestured towards the frenzied scene behind him, "--the entire D.C. area is going haywire after news broke out about yesterday's attack. The public is demanding the city to be put on lockdown, and I'm getting pressure from above as well. We received information that nearly half the city has called in sick today."

"A classic response to mass paranoia," Spencer noted.

"Well, paranoia or not, I just want to start getting some answers." Detective Mills began to lead the team further into the bullpen. "I have every pair of hands I could spare in this. If they aren't out there chasing leads, they're here interviewing the victims, friends, and families."

"Any luck so far?" Emily asked.

"Nothing more than what you've probably seen in the files."

Detective Mills pushed open the door to an office in the corner, away from the havoc in the center of the station.

"Lieutenant Jeffreys retired a couple of weeks ago. The lucky bastard." Detective Mills scoffed jokingly. "It's the most decent space I can spare at the moment. Think you'll be fine in here?"

"It's more than enough, Detective. Thank you," Hotch replied.

"What about the witnesses from yesterday's attack? Have you had the chance to interview them?" JJ asked as the rest of the team started setting up.

"Some of my men are with them right now. But I doubt they'll have anything useful. Just like the other two cases, the attack happened while most of the office was out. The rest left behind were DOA at the latest scene."

"They're rapidly devolving," Spencer pondered out loud as he skimmed over the case files. "They went from killing a non-compliant security guard during the first attack to executing almost every witness in the last one."

JJ raised an eyebrow. "Almost?"

"It says here there is one survivor." Spencer showed the word he had underlined in the case overview to JJ.

"Yes, there is," Detective Mills confirmed. "I had one of my men talk to her. There's not much she could give us. Thing is, she wasn't even supposed to be there."

"What do you mean?" Emily asked.

"She didn't work in that office. She was a consultant who just happened to be visiting. Poor girl's pretty shaken up. She hid in a supply closet the entire time. She was the one who found the bodies and called 911."

"So, the perpetrators never checked the rooms while they were holding the victims hostage?" Hotch questioned.

"Not according to her statement, no. See, I thought it weird myself. Do you have any idea why?"

"Not sure." Hotch hummed, deep in thought. "Perhaps our UnSubs didn't think to check because they didn't know someone was in there. Detective, you said all of the victims were the only employees of the company who didn't attend the event downtown, correct?"

"Yeah, they were the only ones who weren't listed as attendees. Why? Do you think those people were specifically targeted?"

"Unfortunately, we can't rule out anything yet this early in the investigation," Hotch said. "We need to talk to the witnesses to know more. JJ?"

"On it." JJ nodded. "What can you tell us about yesterday's sole survivor, Detective?"

"Not much. I didn't interview her personally, one of my men did. She works at a consulting engineering firm in town," Detective Mills replied. "I believe her name is... what is it called?"

When Detective Mills mentioned the name, Spencer's heart instantly crashed inside of its cage.

"What?" His hand had stopped scribbling on the board. In a matter of miliseconds, Spencer had crossed the room towards the doorway where Detective Mills was standing. "What did you say her name was?"

Dumbfounded, the detective stared at a dread-stricken Spencer before spelling out the name once more.

"Why? What's wrong?" Detective Mills asked in confusion.

JJ touched Spencer's shoulder. "Hey, you okay?"

But Spencer, either too alarmed or merely choosing not to acknowledge both questions, asked instead, "Where is she? I need to see her."

"In the waiting room by the pantry--"

Spencer didn't even wait for Detective Mills to form his complete thought before dashing out. JJ exchanged a glance with Emily following Spencer's sudden exit, perplexed by his odd turn of behavior.

"I'll go get him," JJ announced before leaving the room, chasing after a flurry of wavy hair and a wool-knitted purple vest sprinting across the bullpen.

The roaring commotion inside the station was almost loud enough to rival the intensity of your racing thoughts.

Almost.

At this point, you didn't think there was anything you could do anymore. The vivid images from yesterday's attack were playing continuously in your head. There was nothing you could do to stop them.

Rubbing your eyes from exhaustion, you mourned the loss of sleep that you failed to get the previous night. As if the waking nightmares weren't torment enough, the images had somehow translated even more cruelly into your subconscious. You could barely close your eyes for three seconds without feeling like you had been brought back to that place.

Cold, cramped, and alone. Fearing for your life in the tiny supply closet that smelled more like death than bleach.

At the sound of the door opening, you quickly turned around in your seat to hide your face away from prying eyes. The last thing you needed at that moment was having a complete stranger seeing you fall apart in the middle of a police station.

But when the voice came carrying the sound of your name, it wasn't the voice of a complete stranger you had heard. It was a voice you knew more than you probably knew your own. A voice you loved and a voice you had longed to hear for the past gruesome twenty-four hours.

"Spencer?" You turned back towards the door, seeing the face you adored most in the whole world staring back at you.

"Sweetheart."

At the speed of a lightning, Spencer dropped to his knees in front of you and gathered your broken little pieces into his arms.

Spencer's touch was everywhere. Your hair, your neck, your shoulders. As if he was checking whether you were real. That you were actually there inside his arms, and you were not a simple imagination that his mind had conjured up.

Surrounded by the safety of his embrace, you could feel the shattered pieces of yourself beginning to mend once more.

"Spencer," you uttered his name again as you pulled away, still in disbelief that he was physically there with you.

"I'm here," he promised you as he cupped your face gently.

"Spencer, what are you... How..."

"My team is working your case. We arrived half an hour ago," he explained simply. "Sunshine, why didn't you tell me? I thought you were still in Alaska?"

You had previously apprised Spencer that you would be hard to reach during your trip since you would be spending most of your time at the power plant site where cellphone receptions were scarce. So when an entire day went by without him ever hearing from you, Spencer didn't have any reason to be worried.

Never in a million years would he have ever predicted that you'd be caught in the middle of a hostage situation.

That thought alone caused Spencer to squeeze your hand a little tighter than usual.

"I'm sorry, Spence," you said sincerely. "My trip ended earlier than planned. I arrived back yesterday morning. I actually wanted to surprise you last night. After yesterday's... incident, I wanted to call you, but my phone was shot--"

"Wait, what? You were shot?"

"No! No, baby. Not me. Just my phone," you assured him. "But that's why I couldn't call. I did attempt you once using this station's phone, but it went straight to voicemail."

At the new piece of information, the colors immediately drained from Spencer's face.

"That was you? Fuck. I didn't--I didn't know. I rejected the call because I didn't know it was you."

"Hey." You stopped his guilty rambling with a hand to his cheek. "It's okay. I'm okay. I'm just glad you're here."

And then, because Spencer needed to make sure that you really were okay, he pulled you back into his arms and held you even tighter this time.

"Uh, Spence?"

The sound in the doorway snapped you both out of your mutual reverie. You looked up to see a blonde woman there, staring in an equal mixture of shock and confusion at the sight in front of her.

Spencer begrudgingly untangled himself from your arms before getting up to approach her.

"JJ, do you mind if I do the cognitive for this one?" Spencer asked.

The woman--JJ-- shifted her eyes a few times between you and Spencer. "Um, of course. I'll just go and inform Hotch. Tell us if you need anything."

After JJ's departure, Spencer closed the door again to award you both a much needed privacy.

He grabbed a wooden chair from the corner and dragged it before sitting down right in front of you.

"I need to start the interview now, sweetheart. Think you're up for it?"

Your whole body went rigid for a matter of seconds before you forced it to restart again. It was gone as soon as it came, but Spencer noticed it just the same.

"Look at me," Spencer ordered softly, using his delicate finger to nudge your face up until he was looking straight into your eyes. "I know it's scary. I don't want you to have to relive yesterday either, but it will help us catch whoever did this."

"I've told the police everything I knew yesterday. I was hiding the entire time." Like a coward. "I didn't see anything. I don't have anything else that could help you."

"I know that, sunshine. But as I've told you before, our method is slightly different. We won't be just focusing on what you saw, but also what you smelled, or maybe even heard." Spencer took your hands then, squeezing affectionately. "I'll be here with you the entire time."

The nod you gave him was hesitant, but it was a start nonetheless. You listened intently to Spencer's words and closed your eyes just as he had instructed.

"We'll start at the beginning," you heard him say. "Why don't you tell me why you went there yesterday?"

"I, uh, received a call from my friend, Nick, after my plane landed. We had been communicating back and forth since his company seeked my consultation for one of their upcoming projects," you began. "I wasn't even supposed to work because I had requested the day off. But Nick said it didn't have to be a formal meeting, so I agreed to meet him."

"Tell me what you remember after arriving at the office."

Your mind traveled back to that specific time one day prior. You remembered walking into the place and seeing its unusual state of vacancy even though there was still a good half an hour left before lunchtime.

"I just assumed everyone had gone to lunch earlier and shrugged it off," you recalled.

Spencer nodded his head. "Did anything else strike you as out of the ordinary?"

"No? I don't... I don't know. It was only my second time being there, I'm not sure what was normal and what wasn't."

"Okay. That's okay. You're doing good so far, sweetheart," Spencer quickly interjected, trying to get you to calm down before your distress could turn into a full-blown panic. "Now, what did you do next?"

"I followed Nick into his office."

Nick was keeping his promise true. It hadn't felt like a formal meeting, just two old college buddies reminiscing about the past and discussing possibilities of the future that, of course, included the company's upcoming project which you would be working on with him.

"I excused myself to the bathroom at some point," you added. "When I first heard the commotion, I thought nothing of it. It's like the idea that a group full of armed men had taken over the building didn't even cross my mind. I mean, why would it? I was on my way back to Nick's office when I saw them."

You recalled turning a corner after exiting the bathroom only to see those figures carrying machine guns and shouting at everyone to get on their knees or put their hands above their heads. You remembered sprinting the way you had come from and opening the first door you could reach that just happened to be the supply closet.

"Let's go back to the moment you saw them," Spencer urged gently. "How many people were there? Do you remember any conspicuous detail? Maybe one of them had tattoos or spoke with an accent. Anything that distinguished them."

Taking a deep breath, you tried replaying those crucial seconds slowly in your head.

"There were four of them. I couldn't see much. They were all wearing identical black clothes."

Suddenly, an unexpected piece of memory rushed to the front of your mind. You opened your eyes in shock, meeting Spencer's curious gaze that had been kept intently on you the entire time.

"I think at least one of them is a woman," you told him.

Spencer's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Are you sure?"

"One of the guys said something about... fucking this place up. And then she laughed. I heard her. It was definitely a female laugh."

"Good. That's good."

"Yeah? Do you think it'll help?"

Spencer nodded assuredly, bringing his hand to leave calming strokes on your head. "I know it will. You've done a great job, sweetheart. I'm proud of you."

The praise Spencer gave eased the tension in your shoulders. As if having been granted fresh air after decades of confinement, you were finally able to let yourself breathe again.

Spencer continued his loving strokes on your head. Little by little, the weight of his touch melted the resolve you had built into a pathetic puddle on the floor. Without its mental shield protecting you, your tears sped forward, gathering in your eyes until they spilled on the vast path down your cheeks.

"Hey, hey." Spencer's voice was laden with panic after seeing you start to cry. "Sunshine, what is it? What's wrong? Talk to me."

"I-I just... God." You struggled to get the words out in between sobs. "I'm a coward, Spencer."

"What?"

"All of those people... They died because I was a fucking coward."

Your admission tore into the air before stabbing Spencer right through his chest.

"Sweetheart, you know that's not true."

"But it is!" you cried out, pulling away from Spencer's grounding hold around your shaking body in favor of your own arms. "I was a coward. I ran and hid because I was too scared to die. Too scared to fight. If I had just tried a little harder, I could've called for help. That way, maybe all of those people wouldn't... And Nick wouldn't..."

A haunting image flashed behind your eyes. The image of Nick's limp and lifeless body on the floor, among those of the others. You remembered crying next to him, punching his chest, body, and arm despite having seen the gunshot wound on his forehead. It took you another five minutes before you eventually managed to gather yourself together, found a phone, and dialed 911.

Not that it made any difference. They were all already dead.

Spencer could hear his heart breaking at the sight of you curling into yourself, recoiling from his touch because you somehow believed you didn't deserve his affection at that moment. If Spencer could just transfer all of your pain towards him, he would. Seeing you beat yourself up that way over something that happened and was done to you was the worst kind of torture he ever had to endure in life.

And Spencer had been through more kinds of torture than the general population in the world.

Deciding that he had seen enough of your self-deprecating torment, he reclaimed your hands inside of his palms and urged you to look at him.

"Are you hearing yourself right now?" Spencer asked incredulously. "How can you even think that way? Sweetheart, what happened to those people, to Nick, it is not your fault."

"B-but, if I hadn't run away--"

"Then you would've died, too," he cut you off. "Sunshine, there were four of them with machine guns. No one stood a single chance against them. Those people were there to kill. There was nothing you could've done."

It was a hard pill to swallow, but Spencer needed you to hear it.

He needed you to know the truth no matter how unacceptable it was.

"If you hadn't hid from them, we would've found seven bodies there instead of six. And I--" Spencer took a shuddering breath, "--I would've lost you."

Your shoulders deflated at his revelation. "Spence--"

"So please--" he searched your eyes then, using his thumb to sweep away the remaining tears under your eyes, "--stop holding yourself accountable. I promise I will do everything I can to find those people and make them pay for what they did."

Spencer's vow triggered a new wave of tears that compelled you to sink into his awaiting arms. He let you stay there until you had cried your tears dry. It was something he also secretly needed for himself after suffering through the short-lived horror over the mention of your name in relation to the heinous case. He just needed to make sure that you were okay.

A few minutes passed by with you in his arms. Eventually, Spencer had to tear himself away to finish his job. He asked you to wait as he wrapped up the transcript of your cognitive interview, along with his professional report over it.

"I need to run somewhere real quick. I promise to be back in a couple of hours," he notified JJ as he handed her the interview report. "Tell Hotch for me? Thanks."

Without waiting for his friend's reply, Spencer rushed back to the waiting room before leading you out to take you home.

Back at your apartment, Spencer guided you towards the direction of your bathroom as soon as you had stepped into the threshold.

"Are you trying to get me naked, Spencer?" you remarked playfully after he refused to let you take your clothes off yourself.

"Yes." The gleaming mischief in your eyes caused him to flick your nose lightly. "Just to get you ready for your bath. Get your head straight, will you?"

You scoffed at his back as he turned around to check the water temperature in the tub.

Once you were submerged safely inside, Spencer left the bathroom to give you some privacy. Meanwhile, he began rummaging through your drawers to pull out a change of clothes, a towel, and a clean sheet for your bed.

By the time you exited, Spencer had changed your bedsheets and lit one of your favorite candles on the bedside table. He asked you to sit down on the bed as he kneeled before you, helping you put on the pajamas he had picked out with little prints of sunflowers on them.

None of Spencer's touches were sexual. They swept over your skin with the care of an artist handling their most precious work. When his eyes found yours, you swore you could almost cry from the intense adoration that seemed to shine so brightly out of them.

As he guided you to lie on the bed, you were surprised to see him following suit. He got under the covers with you, pulling you close to tangle every inch of your limbs with his.

"I love you, Spencer," you admitted to his chest, heart heavy with the deep appreciation and overwhelming affection for the man beside you.

Spencer looked down at your confession, finding his favorite pair of eyes already looking earnestly at him. Instinctively, he reached for your chin with his fingers, tugging your face upward until he could capture your lips with his.

The kiss was slow. Careful. Filled with silent promises and discreet reassurances. When you both parted, Spencer didn't pull himself away. Instead, he let his forehead touch yours while his eyes stayed closed.

"Will you be here when I wake up?" you asked quietly.

"Yes, sweetheart. Now go to sleep."

Although the two of you knew his answer was a lie, you both chose to pretend otherwise. You knew Spencer still had responsibilities to fulfill, along with a promise to you that he intended to keep. You knew that when you woke up later that evening, Spencer would already be long gone, and you would be forced to bask in the traces of himself that he had left behind.

But for now, Spencer was still there, in the comfort of your bedroom, lying on the bed next to you. And that knowledge alone was good enough for you to finally drift further into the land of sleep, surrounded by the warmth of Spencer's loving embrace.

"I'm telling you," JJ insisted, looking at her entire team minus Spencer and Hotch. "There was definitely something going on between them. Why else would he request to take over the cognitive for me?"

"Maybe he was feeling generous," Rossi deadpanned, earning an unimpressed glare from JJ.

It had been a full week since the BAU team had arrived in D.C. to investigate the series of gun attacks in the city. Just the day prior, they had successfully made their fourth arrest, bringing this case to yet another satisfying conclusion in the eye of justice.

If nothing else was amiss, they should have been on their way back to Quantico in less than an hour. In the meantime, though, JJ felt obliged to gather her team members in the middle of the bullpen to share her suspicion about a certain scene she had accidentally caught on their first day working the case.

"Pretty boy did seem more emotionally involved in this case than he usually does, though," Derek pointed out.

"Right? Right?" JJ replied almost too enthusiastically. "Come on, aren't you guys at least half as curious as I am about who this mystery girl might be? Don't you wanna try finding out who she is while we're still here?"

They all stared at each other in hesitation.

"Or, we could just ask Spencer directly and let him explain?" Emily suggested, receiving incredulous looks from the other three in response. "Yeah, you're right. What did you say her name was again?"

"I don't remember," JJ answered.

"It must be listed in the files somewhere, right?" Derek immediately sprung into action, reaching towards the scattered case files that might contain the name they were looking for.

"Just to be clear, I am not taking any part in this." Rossi sighed.

"Got it!" Derek waved the offending file in hand, giving it to JJ, who instantly began skimming over it.

"Alright. Says here that her name is..."

JJ read the name aloud when unexpectedly, an answering sound sprouted from behind them.

"Yes?"

Every single one of them turned in shock at your voice. You smiled at their wide-eyed expressions, waving your hand a little awkwardly in the air.

"You!" JJ exclaimed.

"Me?"

Emily nudged JJ in the ribs, making the blonde woman wince.

"Y-you're the witness from the startup case, right?" JJ said, trying to rectify the situation.

"That's me."

"What can we do for you, Miss?" Rossi asked, stepping forward and away from the rest of the group.

"I'm actually looking for Spencer. Do you know where he might be?"

"Spencer Reid? You know Reid?" Emily asked.

Before you had the chance to reply, the man in question came strolling into the bullpen, rambling animatedly to Hotch who was walking beside him. The moment Spencer caught sight of you, though, he immediately abandoned Hotch's side and rushed towards where you were standing.

"Hey, what are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, of course," you told him, fitting yourself easily into Spencer's side as his arm went around your waist. "Hi, Hotch."

The older man called your name in greeting. "I got your message. You wanted to talk to me?"

"I wanted to ask you--well, all of you, actually--" you glanced around at the other team members, "--if maybe you all would let me treat you to lunch? As a thank you for your hard work on the case."

Hotch nodded in response. "It's fine with me. We don't have to be back until tonight, anyway. Everyone?"

Instead of replying to your offer, Emily voiced aloud the question that was circling everyone's mind.

"You know her?" Emily looked at Hotch before dragging her eyes away towards you. "And you know him? You know each other? How?"

You gazed up at Spencer's eyes, seeing them shining with the same mirth as the one you felt dancing in your stomach.

"I guess this is supposed to be the part where I introduce myself, isn't it?" You chuckled.

Extending your palm, you shook each of their hands while telling them your name, them responding back with theirs even though you already knew who was who long before you had even met them.

"I still don't understand," JJ admitted after you finished shaking her hand. "How did you know Spencer and Hotch?"

Once again, you looked into Spencer's eyes, a question bouncing around in yours. Spencer's nod of affirmation was the only go-ahead you needed.

It's time.

"I'm Spencer's girlfriend."

"She's my wife."

You turned your head towards Spencer in shock.

In front of you, Spencer's teammates were causing an uproar.

"Wait, what?" Emily stared dumbfoundedly.

"You have a girlfriend?" Derek asked in disbelief.

"You're married?!" JJ shrieked.

"Hold on a second," Rossi interjected, holding his palms out as if to tell everyone to stand down and calm themselves. "So which one is it? Girlfriend or wife?"

And that was how you found yourself sitting in the private VIP room of your favorite restaurant in the city with some of Spencer's closest people on earth.

"That's the craziest story I've ever heard," Emily pondered in astonishment.

Rossi, Derek, and JJ were all wearing an identical look on each of their faces after hearing the story of how you and Spencer met: by drunkenly getting married in Vegas after only knowing each other for barely one night when you both weren't even twenty-two yet.

"If someone were to tell me yesterday that there's another member of this team who also went to get married while drunk in Vegas, I would have never even thought of mentioning Spencer's name," JJ mused.

At your curious expression, Spencer explained, "Rossi also got drunkenly married in Vegas to his third ex-wife,"

"Why didn't you two get a divorce?" Emily suddenly asked.

It was something that everyone who knew about your situation with Spencer had questioned at one point or another. The real answer was because you and Spencer had both been reluctant to go through the nasty and lengthy legal process of getting a divorce. Therefore, you decided to part ways without doing anything about it, vowing to only track each other down if one of you ever needed to end the bond because of another impending marriage or any other urgent matter.

But that reason alone was usually not enough to appease people's curiosity. And over the years, you and Spencer had poked fun over that particular fact by coming up with the most outrageous lie you could muster up.

"She wanted to get a divorce," Spencer fabricated smoothly. "I persuaded her otherwise because I had this inkling that someday we were gonna fall in love."

Usually, any other people would coo sweetly at Spencer's statememt.

But these weren't any other people. These people were Spencer's family in more ways except flesh and blood, and even without their profiling skills, you knew they could see right through Spencer's little deception.

"That sounds like bullshit to me. Doesn't that sound like bullshit to you?" Emily asked, turning to JJ for support.

"Yeah, that was bullshit, alright," JJ claimed vehemently, prompting an innocent-looking grin from Spencer and a series of chuckles from everyone else.

"When did you two start dating, then?" Rossi spoke up from one end of the table.

"About two years after Vegas, right?" you estimated, to which Spencer nodded in confirmation. "He strolled into my place of work while he was on a case, and then he asked me out."

Derek sat up on his seat after hearing the new information. "Wait, when was this? Why didn't I know about this?"

"The beginning of my second year in the BAU," Spencer offered. "Elle knew."

"Elle? Elle Greenway? You told Elle but not me?" Derek looked offended.

Spender shrugged nonchalantly. "Elle was assigned with me that day."

"Unbelievable." Derek slumped back down in his chair. "Penelope is gonna freak when she finds out what she missed today."

"Penelope? Oh, she already knows," you told him.

That revelation earned a collective disbelief look across the entire table.

"Yeah... I, uh," you cleared your throat, "I actually just went shopping with her two weeks ago."

"You've got to be kidding me," Emily muttered.

"You told Penelope but not me?" Derek sounded hurt as he pointed his accusatory stare at Spencer. "You even told Hotch!"

"I didn't tell Garcia. She dug through my history and found it out herself. Had to bribe her with candies and chocolates for a whole month to keep her quiet," Spencer grumbled. "And I had to tell Hotch. We needed to add her number to my emergency contact list."

Despite Spencer's concise explanation, Derek still seemed unsatisfied by the whole ordeal.

"How long have you known?" he finally decided to ask Hotch.

"A while," the man answered from his seat at the opposite end of the table from Rossi. "They even babysat Jack a few times for me."

"I don't believe this," Derek scowled. "Pretty boy's got himself a girl for the last six years, and I never knew? Outrageous."

"Technically, we've been married even longer than that," Spencer responded, as if he was unaware of the imminent glower that Derek was sending his way. "Eight years since Vegas."

"That's longer than any of my marriage," Rossi remarked before sipping his drink.

The laugh that resonated upon Rossi's little comment elicited an affectionate smile on your lips.

"So, you live in D.C., then?" JJ asked, at last stirring the conversation away from the topic of your and Spencer's secret marriage-slash-relationship.

"I do, yeah. But most of the time, I live out of my suitcase," you answered. "My firm has clients all over the country. A few overseas, as well. I'm lucky if I even get to have an entire week to sleep uninterrupted in my own bed."

Even then, you truthfully quite enjoyed the work you had to do. You didn't mind having to travel some place new every other week. In fact, you somehow believed that your constant need to travel for your job, and Spencer for his, was one of the reasons why the two of you worked so well together.

Although people might think that two adults who had to travel for a living were a recipe for a disastrous relationship, you and Spencer had so far proven otherwise. Because of your respective schedules, you could sympathize more with the other anytime they had to go somewhere urgent for work. It only made you savor every single second you spent together because of how much precious each one of them became.

The rest of lunch unraveled with the same bucket of smiles, jokes, and laughter. It felt good to finally tell the few people who meant the world in Spencer's life the truth about your relationship. It was also a huge relief to see them opening their arms and welcoming you into the family without an ounce of hesitation.

"Hotch?" Spencer called out after everyone exited the restaurant. "Will it be okay if I stay in the city for one more night?"

"As long as you promise to be back for tomorrow's briefing," Hotch reminded sternly, but the meaningful look he passed over you before he entered his vehicle spoke of a thousand things left unsaid.

"It was so nice meeting you," JJ said as she took you in her arms. "And I'm sorry again about your friend."

"Thank you. And thanks for all of your hard work in catching those guys."

"Of course, it's what we do." JJ smiled as she pulled away. "Invite me and Emily the next time you and Penelope hang out, okay?"

"Will do," you promised.

You watched as every single one of them scrambled into the two black SUVs, waving your goodbye until the cars drove out of your sight.

"I think that went well," you commented before looking up at Spencer. "Do you?"

"I think it went as well as it could."

"So--" you began, circling your arms around Spencer's neck, "--we have more than twelve hours until you're expected back at Quantico. What do you wanna do?"

Spencer nudged your nose with his. "I can think of a few activities we can partake in."

"Really?"

"Really."

Just as he was a hairbreadth away from pressing his lips to yours, you suddenly tore yourself out of Spencer's arms.

"Like getting some frozen yogurts?" you asked giddily, smirking at the dumbfounded look that you managed to put on Spencer's face.

"Fine. Let's go get some frozen yogurts."

Spencer had to hide his amused grin at your elated squeals. He was more than content at that moment to let you produce those addictive sounds at the mere prospect of frozen yogurts.

But later that night, he had a whole different set of activities lined up to pull those same sounds out of you once more.

And it might or might not potentially involve an entirely different yet creative use of frozen yogurts as well.

Spencer simply just hadn't decided yet.

[the-upside-down-umbrella]

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

Five Hargreeves x Fem!Reader

Summary: After finding out about the seven years Lila and Five spent together, reader walks in to a diner in between all time and space and finds exactly what she didn’t know she was looking for

Warnings: cursing, cheating, anxiety

Part 2 Part 3

The walls were closing in on her. The air in her lungs was poison. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She could only see the tender look that Five and Lila shared. A nightmare.

No, not a nightmare. Reality.

Her name was being repeated over and over but she couldn’t claw her way back to the surface in order to reply. Her knees gave way and she sunk to the ground, the world spinning around her.

Callused hands were cupping her face and she heard her name again. Pleads of forgiveness. Pleads for understanding.

She came to.

“Don’t…touch me,” she snarled, jerking away from the man in front of her.

“Y/N, please, let me explain,” Five pleaded, looking utterly dejected.

Her heart tightened in her chest and for a brief moment, the part of her that still loved him and still wanted to hold on to what they had, ached to reach out and comfort him. But it was quickly dashed by the realization that she was far angrier than she was sorrowful. She hated him. She hated him for making her feel this way.

“Just give her some room to breathe, asshole,” She heard Diego’s angry voice snap from somewhere off in the distance.

“Stay the fuck out of our business,” Five barked.

“You made it my fucking business the moment you decided to fuck my wife and betray Y/N’s trust!”

Five reached out for her again, his hand clasping her forearm as he blinked them away from the chaos. She stumbled, catching herself on a bench as they reappeared in the subway terminal he had brought them to just a few days before. At least, it had only been a few days for her.

“Take me back, Five!” She demanded, rounding on him.

“I need you to hear me out, Y/N,” he said, holding his hands up in defense, “please, just let me explain.”

She was shaking now, palms sweaty and heart beating erratically, “I heard enough, trust me. I don’t have anything to say to you. It’s over, Five. That’s all there is to it.”

Turning on her heel, she set off in a run, desperate to put some space between them. She had no idea how she would get back on her own, but she wasn’t thinking any farther than the need to be away from him. She couldn’t look at him anymore. The pain was unbearable.

She ran until her thighs ached and her lungs burned, forcing her to stop at the top of a dark set of stairs that went down in to what she assumed was more nothing.

She took them anyways.

When she reached the bottom, she blinked in surprise. A lone building stood before her, a neon sign blazoned across the front that read ‘Max’s delicatessen’.

A deli existed between all time and space, surrounded by nothing but dilapidated subway terminals.

She was definitely in an ask questions later mindset because her legs carried her forward without much thought until her hand was reaching out for the door handle.

She stepped across the threshold and every head in the room swiveled to look at her, the entire place falling in to shocked silence.

Her mouth went dry and her heart thundered in her chest as multiple sets of familiar green eyes stared her down. Every patron and every employee of this deli was a variation of her boyfriend. And they were all looking her like they had just seen a ghost.

“I’ve died and this is my own personal hell,” she murmured to herself, rooted to the spot.

Finally, a Five that was sitting in a middle booth stood up, breaking the silence as he waved off his counterparts, “As you were, you animals.”

He made his way over to her and gave her a gentle, easy smile, “You’ll have to forgive them. It’s been years since most of them have seen their Y/N and never in here.”

“You know who I am?” She questioned him as he gestured to his booth, leading her over to sit down across from him.

“Of course I do,” he spoke softly, a tenderness in his gaze that set her face aflame, “We all do. Now, where are you from?”

“Um,” she swallowed hard, not knowing where to start, “I’m from the cleanse timeline? Another apocalypse.”

Another Five, this time with his sleeves pushed up and an apron tied around his waist, appeared before them, sitting a cup of tea and a plate full of her favorite cookies on the table. She didn’t even need to ask how he knew what she would like.

“Thank you,” she said earnestly.

“Anything for the missus.” This Five said, voice laced with longing.

Her companion shooed him away and turned his attention back to her.

“You’ve been crying,” he said matter-of-factly, noting the tear streaks that still marked her face, “what happened?”

“Five, my Five that is, he and Lila…,” she choked on her words, tears pricking at her eyes again as she remembered what brought her here in the first place. She hung her head as her mind replayed the entire scene in Diego and Lila’s living room.

Booth Fives expression darkened as he read between the lines, his fists clenching on the table, knuckles whitening, “I’ll kill him.”

“He and Lila were stuck for seven years,” she explained, “but for me it was only a few hours. I can’t wrap my head around it.”

“That’s still no excuse!” Booth Five growled, “Do you know what every single one of us would do to have even just a moment longer with our Y/N? I don’t care how long he was trapped with her, he should have never crossed that line!”

His anger was palpable and she felt the need to reach out and soothe him, her hand covering his own, his fingers relaxing under her touch. She stroked her thumb across the back of his hand and he turned it palm up, interlacing his fingers with hers.

“I’m okay. I promise,” she assured him, “or at least I will be. Can I…can I ask what happened to me in your timeline?”

Pain flashed across his features and she realized she was probably forcing him to relive one of the worst days of his life.

“You…died. The handler put a hit out on you so that you wouldn’t be a distraction. They got to you before I could stop it. You saw it coming because you put up a hell of a fight, but there were too many of them.”

“Oh, Five,” she whispered, squeezing his hand, “I’m so so sorry. I can’t even imagine what you must have gone through.”

“It was a long time ago,” he said, voice distant, “But I still think about her, you, every day. I never thought I’d see you again until you stepped through that door today.”

“I’m the shittiest seer,” she said, lip quivering, “because I never saw any of this coming. And I’m willing to bet that no other versions of me could see what misfortunes were ahead of them.”

“You always did struggle seeing in to your own future. But there’s limits on all of our powers.”

She broke down at those words, feeling more powerless than she felt actually without her powers. What was the point of being able to see in to the future if she was never able to stop any of it? She couldn’t prevent any of the apocalypses in any timeline she existed in. She couldn’t stop the death and destruction that marred every last world that Five had fought for. She couldn’t even prevent her own death.

Before the first sob even escaped her chest, booth Five was scrambling out of his seat and sliding in to the spot next to her, pulling her in to his arms.

“Oh, my darling. My darling,” he cooed, kissing the tears from her cheeks, “None of this is your fault. You are not responsible for any of our unhappiness. You are everything good that has ever come to any of us, my love. Even if it wasn’t meant to last.”

She cried harder, her whole body shaking as he tightened his arms around her.

“I’m going to fix this,” he whispered in to her hair, holding her against his chest as she sobbed her anguish in to his shoulder, “I’m going to make sure that you never feel this pain ever again. You’re going to be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”

And she believed him. He was essentially a total stranger but the way he held her, the way he spoke, was of a desperate man who already went through the loss of her once and had no intention of losing her again.

She felt safe.

Authors Note: Possible part 2? I haven’t been this inspired to write in a long time!

[sansaorgana]

— LADY OF THE ROSES (III)

PART ONE || PART TWO || PART FOUR

PAIRING — Ser Gwayne Hightower x fem!Reader // Tyrell!OC

SUMMARY — Six moons of marriage have passed and an unexpected visit of Lord Jason Lannister causes Ser Gwayne and the new Lady Hightower to have their very first disagreement. Not long after, she gets pregnant with their first child.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — It’s written as an usual x Reader fic without describing anything about the Reader’s looks but I still classified it as an OC as well since she is a Tyrell. + You don’t have to know the previous chapters to understand this one. I wanted to include Gwayne and Reader having their first child in the previous part already but it was too long and the time skip would be too big so I decided to turn it into yet another chapter of the story. Since the pregnancy and birth would be quite boring, I added some drama with Lord Jason aka Reader's previous suitor from the first chapter (but the details are not required to be known if you haven't read the first part!). There will be one more part to this story for which I am very excited! 😊 Thank you for all the nice comments. 💚

WARNINGS — Lord Jason being himself, pregnancy, birth

WORD COUNT — 6,130

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

LADY OF THE ROSES (III)

First six moons of your marriage had passed by quickly and peacefully. You couldn’t believe it was half a year already and you were very pleased with how everything you had been so scared about turned out to be not so bad – performing marital duties was nothing but pleasure and fun, meanwhile running Oldtown could be exhausting sometimes but you still enjoyed it most of the time and you proudly held your head high while helping your husband with all his obligations around the city and the castle.

Having your own property with your own servants to order around was a good feeling, too. Not that you wanted to abuse the power that had been given to you but it was simply nice not to be someone’s daughter but your own Lady. Well, your husband’s – but he had never made you feel like that. Ser Gwayne Hightower was a chivalrous knight who was treating his duties and honour very seriously. He knew that being a husband did not only mean getting but it also meant giving. He was your protector and a shoulder to cry on, a strong hand to hold you and lead you and fight for you. You trusted him with your life and you would never doubt his loyalty to you.

Sometimes you wondered why had gods blessed you with such a good husband as you doubted if you had deserved him. Not that you were a bad person but you had your flaws – your pride, your stubbornness. Yet, you had not fought even once yet with your Lord Husband.

Well, once, nearly. Gwayne had suggested that perhaps you should start wearing more modest clothing because The Highgarden fashion was a bit too revealing for Oldtown. You had scoffed at that and he had not brought that up ever again.

You knew that The Highgarden fashion was considered too exposing for lots of regions of Westeros. Only Dornish women liked even riskier gowns but Oldtown was a part of The Reach so its people were not shocked to see a Tyrell Lady in a revealing dress. You had a feeling it was your Lord Husband’s personal preference because his own sister was known as a woman of strong faith and modesty like her mother before her.

Despite being Lady Hightower now, you still felt a very strong bond with The Tyrells. You always wore a golden ring with a rose on it and you loved all sorts of ornaments and decorations in the shapes of roses. You were corresponding with your Lady Mother and sisters every week and sometimes you were still signing the letters as Lady (Y/N) Tyrell – out of habit that was visibly saddening your husband whenever he’d catch you doing that.

Just like right now as you were sitting by your desk and Gwayne was handing out letters for you to sign them. Those were some official matters that he was supposed to send out to his vassals but ever since he was married and Oldtown had a Lady, he insisted on you both signing them even though it was not a popular custom for husbands to insist on such things.

You didn’t even read those letters since you trusted him as you mindlessly kept signing a letter after a letter. You gave him back the last one and he sighed, which made you look up and raise an eyebrow at him.

“What is it?” You asked.

“Lady (Y/N) Tyrell,” he read out loud and you felt bad at the sight of his sad expression.

“I am sorry,” you reached out to squeeze his wrist. “I was not focused enough,” you admitted.

“I shall rewrite this one,” Gwayne waved the letter in the air.

“No, I shall do it,” you took it from him gently. “Or will it be seen as something inappropriate when they realise it was the wife’s handwriting?”

“No, it won’t be,” Gwayne smiled at you and allowed you to take the letter. “Can I stay here and watch you work?”

“What kind of husband asks such a thing?” You chuckled at him. “Of course, my love,” you leaned into his hand as he caressed your cheek and you placed a soft kiss upon his fingers.

Gwayne sat in the armchair by the window inside your chambers. You would spend some of your days here but all nights so far you had slept with him. However, the chambers he had prepared for you were so beautiful that it would be a waste to never spend your time inside them.

You rewrote the letter and handed it for him to sign and then you could start working on answering the letters that were addressed to you specifically. Gwayne kept sitting in the armchair and looking at you, occasionally staring out of the window. It was peaceful and quiet and you wished that moment could last forever.

The next envelope on the pile of letters made you furrow your brows. It was red and the golden wax seal had The Lannister lion on it. You checked twice if it was really addressed to you and not to your Lord Husband but no, it was very clearly addressed to “Lady (Y/N) Hightower of Oldtown”.

“Weird,” you hummed to yourself when you opened the envelope with a small dagger, without breaking the seal.

“What is it, my darling?” Gwayne turned his head around to look at you since he had been gazing out of the window and staring at the water.

“It is from Lord Jason Lannister and it is addressed to me instead of you,” you told him. It felt quite inappropriate so you wanted your husband to know for you would never hide anything of such a matter from him.

Perhaps you would not be so suspicious about it if you didn’t have a history with Lord Jason. He had been one of your suitors and your father’s favourite. In fact, he had been plotting with your father behind everybody’s back to win the tournament for your hand and he had been playing dirty by using his knight brother to pretend to be him.

“And what does he want?” Gwayne crossed his arms.

“Well, allow me to read the letter first,” you rolled your eyes playfully as you began reading.

Gwayne was trying to be very patient but from the corner of your eye you could see that he was tapping his arms with his fingers and you found it pretty amusing so you read the letter three times before putting it down and taking a deep breath in as you laid your eyes on your husband.

“He wishes to visit us. He claims he was around for his friend’s wedding and he wishes to stay at The Hightower for the night on his way back home,” you explained.

“What friend, I’m wondering?” Gwayne snorted. “Oldtown is never on anyone’s way. It is usually a destination, not a stop.”

“He says his friend is Lord Bulwer, they are our vassals from Blackcrown. He must reach Oldtown to get on the Rose Road. It is a faster way to get back to Casterly Rock than to travel alongside the shore,” you explained because, sadly, Lord Jannister’s excuse sounded very realistic. “Well?” You asked Gwayne. “We must give him an answer.”

“We are not in a state of war with The Lannisters, are we? We shall let him stay for the night,” your husband sighed and stood up to read the letter himself as if he wanted to make sure there was nothing inappropriate in it.

In the meantime, you began working on a reply letter to Lord Jason Lannister. Your husband kept standing behind you and examining every word you were writing down. He had never done that before, even when you had been writing letters of much bigger importance.

“I don’t mind you being in the same room as me while I work but this is a little uncomfortable, my love,” you tried to make him realise calmly when you were about to sign the letter.

“Do not forget your surname this time,” Gwayne reminded you and you furrowed your brows at the tone of his voice. It was not rude but certainly harsher than usual.

“Lady (Y/N) Hightower,” you signed silently, “of House Tyrell,” you added, just to spite Gwayne and you didn’t have to look up to know that he rolled his eyes. However, he did not say anything.

Lord Jason was supposed to come three days later in the evening, right in time for the supper. You wore a green dress for that occasion but you had a rose-shaped jewellery that your husband usually did not mind but on that day he seemed to be bothered by it.

“This jewellery is beautiful, dear wife, but are you sure it goes well with the dress?” He asked during breakfast as you froze.

“Since when are you an expert?” You turned your head around with widened eyes. Well, Gwayne knew quite a lot about fashion but his comment had irritated you.

“Since I am a married man,” he cracked a nervous smile at you.

“Yellow roses always go well with green for those are the Tyrell symbols,” you reminded him with a forced, ironic smile.

“Is this how you wish to greet Lord Jason in Oldtown? As Lady Tyrell?” Gwayne raised an eyebrow at you.

“I have been walking around this city in this very dress and jewellery many times before and you have never said anything!” You protested and Gwayne blushed a bit because he had no idea what else to say.

You went back to eating because you didn’t want to torment him more by pointing out the flaws of his argumentation, however he did not choose silence at all.

“The dress is also quite low-cut,” he mumbled.

“Yes, it is, my beloved Lord, and what about it?” You clenched your fist around the fork you were holding.

“I suspect not many Lord Husbands would want their wives to greet their previous suitors in such a dress,” he commented.

“I have never treated Lord Jason as my suitor,” you scoffed. “And what is wrong with the dress?”

“Nothing,” Gwayne quickly fixed himself. “Nothing is wrong with the dress, my beautiful Lady,” he assured you and went back to eating.

“Are you perhaps jealous of Lord Jason? Do you wish to impress him or show me off as your property?” You asked after the sudden realisation as you laid your eyes on him again.

“Property? No. My wife,” Gwayne clenched his jaw as he explained. “I want to show you off as my Lady Wife.”

“My darling,” you smiled and shook your head as your anger subdued. You leaned in to kiss his cheek. “I would have chosen you as my champion during that tournament even if you were a beggar knight from a peasant family. I would love you even if you were a miller, a carpenter, a fisherman. And no amount of Lannister gold would convince me to go with Lord Jason anywhere,” you assured your husband and fixed his hair gently. “I want to show you off as my Lord Husband in front of him just as much.”

That seemed to calm Gwayne down for now as he nodded with a small smile and even stole a little kiss from your lips. You were alone by the table and the few servants walking around would not scold you for that anyway.

The sun was slowly setting down when you were standing by Gwayne’s side in the courtyard of The Hightower and awaiting Lord Jason Lannister. Your arms were brushing and you kept looking at each other once in a while as if you were giving each other courage. Not that you needed it but Lord Jason was rather insufferable and you knew that losing temper around him would not be good for your relations with The Lannisters. The relations were pretty fragile already anyway.

Finally, you heard the horses and saw a big, elegant carriage with the Lannister lion ornamented on its doors.

“I thought he would travel on a horseback,” Gwayne mumbled.

“Well, he is not a knight. He is used to certain comfort,” you whispered and wore a fake smile that very moment when one of your servants opened the door of the carriage and you saw Lord Jason walking out.

He looked around as if he could not see you nor your husband at first. Then, he faked a smile as well and approached you.

“Lord and Lady Hightower,” he looked you up and down and kissed the palm of your hand when you bowed your head down.

“Lord Lannister,” you greeted him.

“Ser Gwayne,” he nodded at your husband.

“Lord Jason,” Gwayne nodded back. “You must be tired after the journey. Come, the supper is ready and your chambers have been prepared.”

“Thank you. I have never been to The Hightower, I must admit,” Lord Jason followed you inside. He kept looking around like a curious cat.

“How did you get to Blackcrown, my Lord?” You asked him curiously since you and Gwayne had been wondering about it earlier – why was he asking you for a room to stay on his way back only.

“I went there by a ship, Lady Hightower, but the ship was the wedding gift for my friend,” Lord Jason answered and you nodded.

“Your wedding gifts are very generous, my Lord,” Gwayne pointed out.

“Well, I can afford such,” Lord Jason grinned at him as you reached the dining hall. “You must forgive me for not sending one to you, Ser, but in my position of a failed suitor, it would have been pretty humiliating,” he explained and you pretended to understand his point of view.

And it was not like you cared about any gifts from him anyway.

“Please, let us not dwell on the past,” you showed Lord Jason an empty chair by your husband’s side and he took it after you and Gwayne had sat down as well.

“I am not meaning to, my Lady,” Lord Jason informed you proudly. “I am a married man myself now.”

“Oh, are you? Congratulations, my Lord,” you smiled at him even though he had never congratulated you on your union. “To whom?”

“Lady Johanna of House Westerling,” Lord Jason answered and you hummed to yourself.

“Well, she is a lucky Lady,” you tried to be kind.

“Thank you, that is very flattering, Lady Tyrell,” Lord Jason bowed his head and Gwayne shot him a deadly glance. “Oh, do forgive me, Lady Hightower. The colours you are wearing have misled me,” he explained with a grin and you faked a smile but you began to feel guilty for not listening to your husband earlier.

“Green is the colour of House Hightower,” your husband reminded Lord Jason.

“Indeed but the roses…”

“My wife is not forbidden from wearing the emblems of her father’s house,” Gwayne interrupted Lord Jason and it was rude enough to make all of you sit in silence for a moment after that.

“Lord Jason,” you started quickly to change the subject, “why isn’t your Lady Wife with you?”

“It was not recommended in her fragile state. Lady Lannister is expecting,” Lord Jason straightened himself and you could see pride and smugness about him.

“Congratulations, my Lord,” you nodded at him.

“Aren’t you afraid of leaving your pregnant Lady Wife alone for so long when it is no matter of life and death keeping you apart from her, my Lord?” Gwayne asked and you clenched your jaw before kicking him slightly under the table.

“Ser Gwayne, there is nothing in this world women do better than give birth. She does not need my assistance,” Lord Jason found it quite funny, though, as he laughed but he was the only one doing so. “Speaking of, I’ve expected to see Lady Hightower being swollen already. How long has it been now since the wedding? Six moons?”

You froze at his question. It was incredibly rude to be up in other people’s business like that.

You had been discussing the matter of children with Gwayne in the very beginning of your marriage and you both had decided you wanted some time for yourselves before having children and to enjoy each other’s company first. You were regularly drinking teas prepared by The Hightower’s maester to prevent you from getting pregnant and so far it had been working. But if it had failed, you wouldn’t be sad about it either, for you couldn’t wait to have your babes soon anyway.

You exchanged a meaningful look with your husband, not knowing what to say. If you told Lord Jason the truth – that you wanted to wait and enjoy each other’s company – he would only scoff at that and find it hilarious.

“And who has told you that I am not swelling, my Lord?” You answered swiftly before Gwayne opened his mouth.

Lord Jason looked you up and down before humming to himself.

“Well, congratulations, Ser,” he patted Gwayne on his back.

“Thank you,” Gwayne gritted through his teeth and gave you a scolding look. “It is still very early news, though,” he added.

“May the Gods bless Lady Hightower and her offspring,” Lord Jason nodded at you and it somehow felt very sincere.

“Thank you, Lord Jason,” you gave him the very first genuine smile that evening.

The rest of the supper went pretty boringly and you said goodnight to Lord Lannister before the servants took him to his chambers. You and Gwayne went upstairs in awkward silence.

On your way to your husband’s room, you passed the door to your chambers. They were a floor below Gwayne’s chambers that were located at the highest level of The Hightower.

“I shall join you later,” you only mumbled out and he nodded, watching you disappear inside your room.

Your maids were already waiting there to help you into your nighttime attire. You kept sighing and they were exchanging looks.

“How was it, my Lady?” One of them asked. She knew your backstory with Lord Jason because she was one of the girls you had taken with you from The Highgarden.

“Lord Jason is insufferable as always and even though he is married now himself, he finds great enjoyment in tormenting my Lord Husband,” you told her.

“Well, my Lady, I doubt Ser Gwayne is angry at you,” her eyes widened.

“I do not know anymore. I have worn a dress he did not approve of and it indeed caused trouble. I have also said something… Something I should have not said and I have said it to defend his honour but he might not see it this way,” you confessed.

“Ser Gwayne is a very understanding Lord Husband,” the girl assured you and smiled while she brushed your hair.

You kept looking at yourself in the mirror’s reflection but you weren’t sure of her words. That supper had gone worse in the beginning than you had even imagined.

You thanked your maids and they left you alone but you kept sitting in the armchair and staring at yourself and at the candles slowly burning out instead of moving up and joining your husband as you had promised.

For the first time during your marriage, you simply blew out the candles and went inside your own bed. It even felt weird to lay there since you were not used to it but it just felt like the right thing to do on that night.

You couldn’t fall asleep though. And after a while of tossing and turning, you heard the doors open as the wooden floor squeaked under someone’s feet.

“Who is it?” You sat up immediately.

“And who do you think, my Lady?” A familiar voice made you sigh out of relief.

You reached your hand out in the darkness and Gwayne grabbed it as you led him into your bed.

“Why didn’t you bring a candle with you?” You asked.

“I felt a little adventurous,” he chuckled. “And I know my way to you by heart, my beloved Lady,” he added. “Why haven’t you joined me?”

“I thought you didn’t want me to, my Lord,” you admitted when he laid next to you under the cover. You cuddled him immediately by curling up next to him and putting your arm around his waist. “I thought you were cross with me.”

“I am not cross. I simply do not understand why you lied,” he confessed and kissed the top of your head.

“Is it the lie that you’re upset about?” You furrowed your brow. “I do value your honour but…”

“Not the lie itself,” Gwayne interrupted you. “Why didn’t you allow me to inform Lord Jason that we do not wish for children yet?”

“Because he would not understand and find you weak or assume you are unable to produce an heir and it is nothing but an excuse. I wanted to spare you further embarrassments,” you explained. “And… I am sorry for the dress…” You added, looking down.

“Do not be. I am sorry for insisting,” Gwayne rubbed your back. “And thank you for wanting to spare me embarrassments but now we are facing quite a challenge, aren’t we, my love?”

“What do you mean, my Lord?” You looked up, finding his blue eyes in the darkness of your chambers.

“I mean that Lord Jason now believes that you are expecting, my darling,” Gwayne smirked a little and you furrowed your brows.

“Oh no,” you gasped, faking the dramatic aspect of it. “And what shall we do about it now?” You wondered theatrically.

“Well, I have quite a few ideas,” Gwayne leaned in to join your lips together in a kiss as his hands pulled you even closer by your waist.

“Are you sure?” You breathed out between one hasty kiss and another.

“Only if you are,” he assured you.

“I am,” you nodded. “I am, I am, I am…” You kept repeating, suddenly realising how eager you indeed were to have your own little babe before you allowed your husband’s lips to devour yours with yet another passionate kiss.

Thankfully, Lord Jason was supposed to leave Oldtown after breakfast. You greeted him in the morning in another green dress and even though this one was pretty low-cut, too, you decided not to wear any roses on that day. Instead, you wore a necklace with The Hightower that had once belonged to Gwayne’s late Lady Mother.

Lord Jason kept staring at your chest and the necklace until it became a little uncomfortable and he cleared his throat before looking up to meet your cold gaze that you were gracing him with.

“I must admit I have not expected The Hightower to be that grand. It really is as tall as they say,” he bowed his head at you.

“We Light The Way, Lord Lannister,” you reminded him with a forced smile.

“Of course, Casterly Rock remains taller,” he added and you put the cutlery down, irritated. Gwayne gave you a look to remind you to stay polite.

“My Lord, why the remark? Is it a contest?” You asked him, trying not to sound too angry. “It is not the size of the castle that proves manhood. I do believe that you have already shown yours during the tournament for my hand in marriage,” you reminded him of his shameful behaviour and cheating. “The tournament which my husband has won fairly and justly,” you added.

Lord Jason did not say anything. He looked down and went back to eating while his cheeks' colour started to resemble The Lannister emblem.

You squeezed Gwayne’s hand under the table and the rest of the breakfast went pretty smoothly. You went outside to the courtyard to watch Lord Jason ride away. His farewell was pretty short and official. He was not trying to make any jokes anymore.

“My darling, you have acted as if you were a knight and I was a lady in distress,” Gwayne chuckled at you once you were finally free of Lord Lannister.

“Sometimes you are, my Gwayne,” you smiled at him sweetly and leaned in to steal a kiss from his cheek.

“Shall I get you a sword, my sweet?” He teased you and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Perhaps another time, Lord Husband,” you chuckled at that.

Two moons later you were watching Gwayne training with his sword as he was teaching a young squire on the courtyard. The day was quite hot but you had nothing else to do and you loved to watch him train anyway so you were sitting on a wooden bench, trying to remain in the shadow but you felt awful nevertheless. The sun felt too warm, the corset seemed to be too tight no matter how many times you had asked your maids to loosen it and you were hungry but too nauseous to eat. You blamed your condition on the weather and your upcoming monthly bleeding, which was late already but the soreness of your breasts could only mean that it would come very soon.

Gwayne kept looking at you from the corner of his eye with a worried expression because he could see that something was not right – you looked exhausted and your skin was a shade paler than normally. There were bags under your eyes and your voice sounded weak whenever you cheered for him or his squire.

He knew he was most likely overreacting but he was panicking deep inside that you could be seriously ill like his mother had been. The beginnings of each illness looked the same and losing you so fast after marrying you would surely kill him, too.

You were too exhausted to even notice the worried look on his face. You raised your head to shield your face from the sun and you felt a sudden dizziness that made you flutter your eyelids as your head grew heavy before losing consciousness for a short while.

When you opened your eyes again, the very first thing you saw was Gwayne’s furrowed brows and blue eyes filled with worry and fear. His cheeks were so pale that his freckles were more visible than ever and the strands of his auburn hair were tickling your face. His squire was standing behind him with widened eyes.

“Wh-what happened?” You asked and looked around while your vision was slowly coming back.

“You have fainted, my love,” Gwayne swallowed thickly.

“It must be due to the heat,” you tried to explain.

“Mayhaps. But I shall not underestimate your condition,” he picked you up the bridal style, carefully.

“What are you doing, my Lord?” You chuckled weakly at him.

“I am taking you to the maester,” your husband answered with all seriousness.

You didn’t protest because you knew he was worried and to be honest so were you. You only hoped that the maester would confirm that it was nothing serious.

Gwayne’s squire opened the door leading to maester’s chambers in front of you both and The Hightower’s maester stood up to bow his head. He had been sitting by his desk and working on something before you came inside.

“My Lord, My Lady,” he greeted you. “Is everything alright?”

“No, maester. My Lady Wife has fainted,” Gwayne laid you down gently on a bed.

“It is because of the heat!” You protested.

“Mayhaps,” the maester hummed to himself and approached you to examine you with his hands as Gwayne stood above him and watched worryingly. “Have you slept well, my Lady?”

“Oh, I can’t sleep for about two weeks now,” you admitted and yawned a little at the mention.

“I understand. What have you had for breakfast, my Lady?” The maester furrowed his brows.

“I was too nauseous to eat,” you confessed.

“May I ask you when was your last bleeding?” The maester raised an eyebrow.

“It should come any day now for it was more than a moon ago… I am sure it is going to come, though. My breasts are sore,” you lowered your voice a little, feeling uncomfortable with the way he was looking at you and Gwayne’s presence hovering above the both of you.

“May I?” The maester lifted his hands and you opened your mouth to answer but you noticed that he was looking at your husband and not at you.

“I mean, if you must…” Gwayne cleared his throat. “And if the Lady agrees,” he added and only then the maester laid his eyes on you.

“Go on,” you nodded and your heart skipped a beat when he grabbed your breasts gently through the fabric of the dress and squeezed them carefully. You hissed at the feeling.

The maester hummed to himself and moved his hands away before looking up at Gwayne again. Your husband shook his head out of anticipation.

“And?!” He asked.

“Lady Hightower is expecting. Congratulations, my Lord,” the maester informed and you opened your mouth slightly at that revelation.

“I… I am with child?” You inquired and sat up, feeling the sudden outburst of energy.

“I am quite certain of it. Too many symptoms confirming,” the maester nodded. “And when was it that my Lady stopped drinking the tea? Two moons ago, right?”

“That is quite right,” Gwayne answered and took you by your hand. He squeezed your fingers gently and sat on the edge of your bed. He placed a gentle kiss upon the palm of your hand and looked deep into your eyes with such a loving expression that you felt butterflies all over your body even though you had been married for more than half a year now.

The maester walked away and sat back by his desk to give you some space but you completely forgot about his presence anyway for all that mattered was your husband and his child you were apparently carrying under your heart.

“Oh, Gwayne…” You stuttered out as your eyes filled with happy tears. “So it is happening… And to think we have Lord Jason Lannister to thank…”

“My Lady!” Gwayne frowned and chuckled. “Do not say such things. Some people might get ideas…”

“That is true, I guess,” you laughed at his comment. “Are you still certain that you will not mind a daughter if it is a girl?”

“All I care for is your safety. And the child’s. In that exact order,” he answered and you gave him a faint smile.

“Whether they’re a boy or a girl, I just wish for them to be like their father,” you squeezed Gwayne’s hand lovingly. “That is my greatest wish.”

A slight blush covered his cheeks and you smiled at his reaction. It was quite easy to make him flustered with such compliments for he had not been getting many in his childhood. He had been left alone at eight years old, raised by all the septas and maesters of The Hightower alongside older knights teaching him the craft and chivalry. His life had been quite a lonely one but it no longer would be for you would fill the corridors and courtyards with tiny little Hightowers running around.

Your screams could be heard on every floor of The Hightower – a monument taller than The Wall itself – at least that was what your husband had claimed with a chuckle when you nearly crushed his hand while squeezing it tightly. You gave him a deadly look and he lovingly wiped your sweaty face, pushing away all the hair strands that got stuck to your forehead.

You knew that Gwayne was trying to distract you with his jokes here and there but overall he was very worried – perhaps even more than you were since your pain was too overwhelming to focus on anything else. The septas were busy around you, wiping your sweat away, helping you to drink water and telling you when to push as they monitored the birthing process.

You had not expected your Lord Husband to actually be there for you but he had not disappointed you. You had been conflicted at first for you had been told once that wives should not allow their husbands inside during labour. But you were too scared to go through this alone and the pain was much greater than what you had imagined as well. Gwayne’s presence was bringing you great comfort even if sometimes he was annoying you.

The birth had started after breakfast and the sun was slowly going down already but the septas were assuring you that it would not take long from now on. Gwayne had not left your side even for a moment throughout the whole day.

“I did not mean to upset you, my love,” he explained, caressing your hand as if it was the most delicate thing in the world and not a deadly machine that had nearly crushed his hand on several occasions that day. “You are the bravest woman in the Realm to me. In all the Realms of this world, in fact,” he assured you and you just couldn’t be angry at him any longer.

You smiled and wished to tell him something equally sweet when a sharp pain distracted you and you turned your head around while wincing and squeezing your husband’s hand tightly again.

“I can see the head!” One of the septas screamed. “Go, fetch the maester!” She ordered the young girl who was only getting her training but seeing her pale face and terrified expression, you wondered if she regretted her decision to become a septa.

On the other hand, as a septa she would never have to go through what you were going through at the moment.

The girl ran out of the room and you kept taking deep breaths in and pushing like the eldest septa was instructing you. Gwayne kept holding your hand throughout that but seeing his face, he needed the breathing instructions as well.

The maester entered the chambers in a hurry with the scared young septa after him and in that very moment the child’s screams and crying filled the room. The sound was so loud and determined that you immediately knew that there was nothing to worry about for only a healthy and strong child could make such a fuss.

The maester hurried to the newborn baby and Gwayne was trying to see as much as possible through all the septas swarming up around you to clean you up a little and wipe your face from all the sweat.

“It is a boy,” the maester informed and you couldn’t help but sigh with relief.

You knew your Lord Husband could not care less about it but you did care – you loved him and you wanted to give him an heir.

“Is he alright?” Gwayne asked with a raspy voice.

“See for yourself, my Lord. He is a perfectly healthy babe,” the maester approached you two and handed Gwayne his firstborn son. He showed your husband how to hold the little head up and you watched with a loving smile the little bundle of joy staining your husband’s clothes with blood as he was screaming his lungs out.

“He is beautiful,” Gwayne mumbled and moved closer to you as you reached out your weak hands to hold your own babe as well. He placed him gently on your chest but his eyes were fixated on the boy. “Thank you for him, my love.”

“I thank you, my Lord,” you answered but you did not look up at him either since you kept staring at the screaming child. But when he felt your skin and your heartbeat, he stopped crying immediately and just kept staring at you with huge eyes. You chuckled at that and cried happy tears. “How do you want to name him?”

“Lord Edmund Hightower?” Gwayne suggested. It was no surprise to you that he did not propose his father’s name and you liked the sound of Edmund Hightower, so you nodded. You could not care less about the name, you were just glad to have a son and you thought it was only fair for the father to choose his heir’s name anyway.

“I like the sound of that,” you assured your husband as you looked up to meet his gaze.

“So do I,” Gwayne nodded. “And the sight, my Lady,” he added and you felt your cheeks heating up.

Only Gwayne knew how to make you flustered still, after over a year of marriage and right after giving birth to a child, dirty with blood and sweat but to him you were nothing but a victorious warrior that had just survived a battlefield and he admired you now more than ever before.

MASTERLIST

[rafeandonlyrafe]

perfect wife

words: 1.9k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, breeding, mating press, established relationship, marriage, housewife stuff? cooking and cleaning

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @thelomlisrafecameron @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @drewsbabygirll @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog

it’s not that you enjoy cleaning all the time, but you get in certain moods, when your energy level is high and you got enough sleep the night before, that you absolutely love to clean, especially satisfying deep cleans.

today happens to be one of those days, and ever since you woke up, smiling at the note that rafe left you on his pillow, wishing you a good morning and saying he regretted not being there with you upon waking up, but also couldn’t bear rousing you from your sleep when he had to leave for work. it makes your heart flutter to see it signed not by his name but rather ‘from, your husband.’

you’ve been married to rafe for two whole months now, and it feels like a fairytale, somehow even better than being his girlfriend. you feel like a truly good wife as you already scrubbed all the bathrooms spotless before 10 am, and are now working on the common areas before hopefully cleaning the bedroom before rafe gets home from work.

you hum along to the music you have playing throughout the house wide sound system as you wipe down dusty surfaces, taking care to clean all the little crevices that normally get missed. 

time flies and before you realize, your stomach starts to grumble as noon rolls by. you take a pause from your work, having just finished the living room, and move into the kitchen, deciding to make yourself some food before getting to cleaning.

you love to bake, but cooking is not your favorite thing, so you make yourself something simple before you get a spark of creativity, making a stew to simmer so it would be ready by the time rafe got home around dinner. you finish your meal, having disregarded it halfway through to make the stew. 

you clean the kitchen while stirring occasionally before it gets to the point that you can lower the temperature and walk away, now off to clean the bedroom. you grab rafes hamper, filled with clean clothes that he didn’t have time to put away last night, too busy kissing and cuddling with you in bed.

you dump them onto the freshly washed bedsheets, taking the time and care to crisply fold everything or hang up what went on hangers. you even spend some time organizing rafes closet. he kept it pretty clean already, but you wanted to make everything perfect.

you run downstairs to check your stew before continuing onto your closet, it being a much bigger mess than rafes. you have a terrible habit of trying on clothes, deciding its not want you want to wear for the day, and tossing it onto the floor instead of putting it properly away.

“baby!” you hear rafe shout just as you finish up. you quickly flatten your hands over the comforter on the bed, smoothing out any creases to make the room truly flawless before you rush down the stairs, greeting your husband with a kiss as your arms loop around his shoulders.

“something smells good.” rafe says, taking a sniff of the entryway, the smell of the stew having radiated throughout the whole house.

“i made you food.” you tell him, smoothing your hands over his shoulders, keeping your body close to his having missed him all day. “it should be ready in about 30 minutes, just enough time for you to shower.” you know rafes routine well enough, he liked to shower right when he got home from work, to wash the day away.

“you’re the most perfect wife ever.” rafe bends his head to press kisses to your neck, making you giggle when he focuses on your ticklish spot.

“go shower!” you shoo him away, wanting him to have the soup when it is nice and hot.

“love you, honey.” rafe kisses your cheek before heading up the stairs. you echo the words back to him before heading towards the kitchen to check on the stew, but pause when you hear rafe calling your name from your bedroom.

you rush up the stairs, worried that you maybe accidentally threw something out that was important or moved something and he didn’t know where it was.

“what is it rafey?” you question, eyes wide as you see him looking around the room.

“you cleaned all this while i was at work? and put away my laundry?” rafe questions, seeing that even the baseboards have been cleaned of the bit of dust that always collects on them.

you give a shrug. “i like cleaning for you.” “you know you don’t have to do all this baby.” rafe moves to wrap his arms around your waist. “i mean i appreciate it, but don’t feel like you’re required to now that we are married.” “i know.” you smile, cupping his jaw in your hands. “i seriously just wanted to.” “okay.” rafe nods, satisfied with your answer. he knows you get little bursts of cleaning, but doesn’t want you to get the wrong impression about your role, even if you do stay home while he is at work.

“go shower.” you press a kiss to rafes lips before leaving him in the bedroom, smirking to yourself knowing that he’s about to see that you cleaned the bathroom as well.

you return to the stovetop, stirring everything together before preparing the final touches, even setting out the perfect silverware for the occasion, choosing the dining room for such a meal rather than the island where you and rafe usually eat.

you jump when rafe enters the kitchen. he always moves so quietly through the house that it catches you off guard.

“god, if we weren’t already married i would propose to you all over again right now.” rafe wraps his arms around your waist as you work on ladling the stew into individual bowls, deciding to keep the rest in the pot on the stove for easy splitting up into tupperware later.

“i like making food for you.” you hum. “don’t expect it all the time though, i also love getting take out.”

rafe laughs and nods his head in agreement, you have a habit of ordering food at least two times a week, making it a tradition on fridays to watch an episode of tv while you eat in the living room.

“let me carry them in.” rafe stops you before you can carry the bowls yourself, picking them up and following you into the dining room.

you blow on your spoon to cool the stew as rafe begins to eat, commentating over and over how delicious it is, even going so far as to moan and roll his eyes back into his head, but when you take a bite you can’t help but admit that it’s very good.

“when we finish eating-” rafe says after a few minutes of silence, too engrossed in your meal. “i’m going to take you upstairs and fuck you.” “rafe!” you giggle at the sudden lewdness.

“i’m serious, baby. i need to after you did all this cleaning, put away my laundry and made me food? i need to put a baby in you immediately.” 

“well… hurry up and get back to eating.” you gesture to rafe. you talked about having kids after marriage, but this was the first time since your wedding that rafe brought up actually bringing them into the world.

you both rush through the rest of your meals, leaving the dishes on the table to be taken care of tomorrow as rafe sweeps you into his arms, carrying you up the stairs with ease. he sets you down on the bed, his lips connecting with yours as he works on taking off his pants, throwing them in the general direction of his hamper before pulling away to pull your shirt off over your head.

“i can’t fucking wait to see you all filled up with my kid.” rafe says, massaging your breasts through your bra, unable to keep his hands off of them, even to take off the fabric covering them.

“need that so bad, rafey.” you whimper. you’ve always wanted to be a mom, and it feels like the perfect time to make that dream a reality.

“gotta fuck you now, princess.” rafe says, quickly taking his shirt off, his cock already completely hard as he pulls his underwear down, clearly excited to put a baby into you.

you reach behind your back to take your bra off before sliding your leggings and underwear down in one go, needing rafe just as desperately as he needs you. you move up the bed, resting your head on the pillow as rafe moves to hover over you. 

“i would eat you out or finger you but i need this right now.” rafe says, reaching down to rub at your clit as his tip presses against your entrance.

“i need you right now too.” you tell him, letting out a moan as he pushes in, moving slowly to let you adjust. you wrap your arms around his shoulders, rafes chest heaving with deep breaths, trying to control himself.

“you can move.” you tell rafe after a minute. he doesn’t give even a second for your comment to sit before he is thrusting in and out, making your joint moans echo throughout the room.

rafe presses sloppy kisses against yours, lips vibrating together when you’re both unable to hold back your noises of pleasure. “feels so good.” you whimper, his thumb still rubbing against your clit, never stopping making you feel good.

“i know it does, princess.” rafe says. “you’re doing so good for me. gonna fill you up real good.” “you’re gonna be the best daddy.” you tell rafe, and its true, you know just from the way he treats you, how he straightened out and takes care of you, that he’s going to be an amazing dad.

“fuck-” rafe curses, somehow able to move faster, slamming in and out of you, annihilating your cunt with the ferocity he is thrusting into you at. rafe is grunting with the effort he is giving as you grip his shoulders tightly, sure to leave red marks from your nails come morning.

“gonna go fucking crazy, your pussy is so good.” rafe says, as if he hasn’t already gone crazy with the way he’s fucking into you.

“keep rubbing rafe, i’m close.” you moan, back arching off the bed as his thumb rubs over your clit easily due to your slick.

“cum for me princess.” rafe begs you, needing to feel your cunt squeeze around him. you’d never deny your husband as he rubs you to orgasm, entire body shaking as your high hits you, moaning wildly as rafes cock maintains its blistering pace.

as soon as your clit pulses underneath his finger and your back settles back against the bed, rafe moves, pulling out briefly to reposition you, slotting his hands underneath your knees and pushing your legs up and open, spreading your cunt wide for him before his cock reenters you.

he begins to thrust immediately, keeping up the aggressive, feral pace. you’re so sensitive from your orgasm but you can’t complain when you know he’s working to get his cum inside of you, to fill you up, to grow your family.

“gonna cum.” rafe warns briefly, his words slurred out, his eyes half lidded from the ecstasy of your cunt as he pushes in for a final time, shooting his cum as deep as he can, leaning forward and pressing you into the mattress, not even caring as your thighs burn from the stretch.

rafe grinds himself into you until there is nothing more to release, moving your legs back to a more comfortable position but keeping his dick buried deep inside of you.

rafe looks at you with a smile, his sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. “gotta make sure it takes.”

[wosoamazing]

Shadows of Victory

Your parents die before the world cup final. 1.7k words

So i know I said the fic that won the poll would be out next but um, that obviously didn't happen, but I hope you all like this, came up with the idea and decided to just run with it. (I also do apologise for the cringy title - if it is cringy)

You were late, you were late to training and you were going to get punished for it, even though you had permission to go, even though you shouldn’t have even been playing. Two days post semi-final and two days pre final, you needed to be there, you needed to be at training and on time, even if you'd just gotten on a 21 hour plane ride.

Hoping to just slip into the group you walked onto the pitch, boots already on and tracker in. However your plans were foiled when Vilda shouted your name from across the pitch, you quickly transitioned to your pace into a jog and moved towards him.

“You’re late,” he snapped, looking at you expectantly.

“I know, I’m sorry,” you mumbled, as you looked to the floor..

“Well, I hope somebody died for you to be this late,” he mocked and you felt like you could punch him. He knew someone had, he was the one that allowed you to go back to Spain so you could go to your Parents' funeral that the city had planned. It was a flight you wished you never had to do, sitting with Luis on a 21 hour flight, but it was the only way you could go to their funeral.

“Do my parents count?” you asked, verbally punching him rather than physically punching him. You don’t think you’ve even seen the and left wordless and yet you did, he stared at you, in shock and you immediately regretted the decision.

“Alright everyone, back to training, we have a world cup final to win,” he said and you were confused, but quickly joined training, maybe he was just waiting to punish you until after training. 

You hadn’t spoken to anyone since then and you played the full 105 minutes of the final, most would see that as a reward but it was punishment, you didn’t want to play at all.

You sat on the pitch, a mix of gold confetti and grass under you as you watched everyone else celebrate, you couldn’t celebrate the weight of the medal around your neck, the weight of victory was nothing compared to the weight of your heart.

“Mind if I join you,” you heard the ever recognisable voice of Emma, and you knew she wasn’t asking, she sat down next to you but she didn’t say anything, waiting for you to talk first. 

Emma had been your coach for the past season, you’d signed for Barça at 18 however you’d never actually played for them, you were loaned to Man United for that season, then in the 21/22 season you were Loaned to Man City and for the most recent season you were loaned to Chelsea. You enjoyed all the clubs, but Chelsea was probably the best, unlike how Emma seemed to the public she was actually really supportive and kind. 

“It’s weird,” you said finally breaking the silence between you, “them not being here, it’s weird”

“I know. It is,” she replied. It was weird for Emma too, your parents were at every single game physically possible, they didn’t care if it meant stepping out of a meeting and onto a plane and then stepping out of the stadium into a virtual meeting, they would be there, no matter what. They were there for every award, every final, every first, and now they weren’t, they’d missed a final, a first and two awards. Emma also knew how much you loved your parents and how much they meant to you, you spent all of your free time with them, you called them every night. “They’d be really proud of you, I know you played against your will tonight, but you still showed them up, I’m not happy you’re going back to Barça, will make them harder to beat,”

“Why? Because I’ll be on their team or because you won't have me on your team?”

“Both,” she replied with a laugh, “Alright, up you get, you don’t have to go celebrate but at least go sit on the benches,” you nodded at her before getting up and making your way to the bench, where you brought your knees up to your chest.

-

Alexia had noticed you sitting by yourself on the bench, and decided to go sit with you, dragging Jenni behind her. 

“Pequeña,” Jenni said as they sat either side of you.

“Please just leave me alone,”  you mumbled.

“No,” it was Alexia this time, “you played really well today,”

“Thanks,”

“We know you’re having a tough time Pequeña but you could talk to us,” Jenni said softly not wanting to come across too harshly.

“What do you want me to talk about? That my parents are dead. That I was forced to play in this match even though I’ve flown 42 hours in the past 4 days. That I am teammates with most of this team yet I don’t know any of you because I’ve never actually put a Barcelona kit on. That I’m starting a new season with a new club that I’ve actually been part of for 3 years, that has some of the best players on the world on it, but mostly i was excited to finally actually get to play in the same city my parents played in and now they’re dead,” you snapped before tears started to spring out of your eyes, “Sorry, I’m sorry, you’re just trying to be nice and-”

“It’s okay Nena,” Alexia cut you off as her arm wrapped around your shoulders, and you all but launched yourself into her lap, surprising her slightly, however she was quick to adjust her arms so she could hold your shaking body in her arms, “We’ve got you Nena, you’re okay, it’s going to be okay,”

You sat next to Ona on the plane back to Barcelona, which was where you finally got some sleep, the exhaustion had settled in and you could barely keep your eyes open, you slept for almost the entire flight waking up an hour before landing. 

-

You were practically catatonic by the time the plane landed, you hadn’t made any indication of plans to get off the plane and so once everyone else had disembarked, alexia crouched in front of you, placing her hands on your knees.

“Nena, you’re going to come home with me, Olga, is waiting in the car for us, we just need to get off the plane and get our bags,”

You nodded your head once at her, as she stood, and she placed a hand between your shoulder blades, gently guiding you through the airport, and out to the waiting car.

You slid into the car and didn’t even notice when Olga greeted you, or notice the fact that Mapi, your idol, was sitting next to you. Your whole body felt numb and your head was fuzzy but despite that your heart felt heavy.

You were guided by Alexia into her spare bedroom, where you immediately lied down on the bed, on top of the covers, completely missing the way Mapi had gone into your home to get some items you would need for the next few days, having been instructed by Ona to do so, hoping that by the time you needed to return to that home you would be in a better place.

You laid on the bed with your eyes wide open, however you couldn’t actually see anything or at least you weren’t registering it. You didn’t see Alexia’s silent celebration when she realised you were at least drinking water, nor did you realise when she filled it up multiple times. You didn’t notice the multiple times Ona had sat in front of you on the floor, trying to coax you out of whatever state you were in. You hadn’t slept, you hadn’t cried, you hadn’t eaten and you hadn’t talked for two days, which is how Lucy and Ona ended up at the airport, picking up your girlfriend. Something that shocked most of the team when Ona mentioned it.

-

Alessia walked into Alexia’s house and straight past the multiple teammates in the living room, ignoring their varying facial expressions. She was expecting it, after all no one even knew if you were both straight or not, let alone the fact you were dating.

“Baby,” she said as the door to Alexia’s spare room closed behind her, she walked up beside you and crouch down, “hey baby,” said softly spoke as she placed her hand on your back, she noticed your eyes flicker and land on her, before the corners of your lips lifted ever so slightly, “hey, can I help you get up? I think it would be a good idea to have a shower,” you started to move and so Alessia helped you, guiding you to the bathroom where she sat you down on the edge of the bath, placing a kiss on your forehead, before grabbing clean clothes for you both, and messaging Ona quickly asking if she could get Alexia to get more sheets so Alessia could change them. She stepped back into the bathroom and locked the door. Placing the clothes on the counter she walked to you.

Alessia’s hands moved to the hem of your shirt before they stopped, “Can I?” she asked and you nodded, before putting your arms up helping her to take it off, she hesitated again before just going ahead with your shirts, you’d seen each other naked thousands of times, she’d undressed you thousands of times but this was different, you were so vulnerable, broken. Alessia’s heart broke at the vacant look in your usually bright eyes, she didn’t miss the bags under your eyes, or the way you were unsteady on your feet.

-

“I-I can’t do this, how do I do this without them?” you sniffed.

“I’m sorry, it sucks, I’m so sorry, but I’m here for you, I will always be here for you, no matter what,” she said softly before kissing your head, “I love you so much,” she murmured as sobs once again started to rack your body. Alessia held your trembling body in her arms, occasionally murmuring comforting words in your ear. Eventually your breaths slowed and evened out, allowing Alessia to relax slightly.

[cevansbrat0007]

Hello, Duchess

Summary: Your first encounter with Bounty Hunter, Ari Levinson, goes worse than you ever could've imagined. Takes place directly after the events in New in Town.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Bickering, Implied Jealousy, Threats of Violence, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Special thanks to my creative consultant, @curls-and-eyeliner. Part my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Ari’s P.O.V.

“Can’t believe this town actually has a real live bookstore.” Ari muses as he pulls up in front of the tiny, quaint-looking bookstore. “Fuckin’ wild.” Throwing his truck in park he takes a moment to survey the area, making note of the empty lot.

‘Must not do much business.’ He thinks before climbing out of his vehicle and confidently striding toward the door. Hopefully, the lack of an audience would make things flow a hell of a lot faster. Hell, if you were anything like some of the other women in this town, he’d probably just have to smile and flash his baby blues to convince you to spill your guts.

In fact, he was practically banking on it. Because this wasn’t Ari’s first rodeo – not by a long shot. He’d spent a lot of his life in and out of small towns like Bell’s Creek, which was part of the reason he couldn’t wait to bag his latest bounty and put this place, and its people, in his rearview mirror. Ari reaches for the handle on the door, only to frown when he gets a look at the sign hanging in the window that reads: “sorry, we’re closed”. 

Well, that couldn’t be right. 

He could’ve sworn that when he’d pressed Mrs. Turner, the First Lady of Calvary Baptist Church, about your whereabouts she’d said he’d be able to find you at your shop. Something about your preferring to work instead of resting and rejoicing on the Lord’s day. 

While the bounty hunter supposed he could always try back tomorrow, he was keen to check you off his list. Refusing to admit defeat, he decides to try his luck anyway, only to be surprised when the door opens with a tinkling chime of a bail. 

Confused but also now on high alert, Ari takes a tentative step inside as he looks for any sign of life. “Hello?” He calls out, finally allowing the door to swing shut behind him. Instinct has him reaching for his back pocket, checking to make sure he had brought along his firearm.

Just in case.

“Is anybody here?” He tries again, moving further into the shop. The place is clean and well lit, and boasts rack after rack of books. But what’s most impressive is that there doesn’t appear to be a speck of dust anywhere. “Look, I just came by to–”

“We’re closed!” A disembodied voice sounds from the back of the store. 

“Yeah, I saw the sign, ma’am…” He clears his throat. “But I think you forgot to lock the door, so I –”

“That means get out!”

“So much for southern hospitality.” Ari grumbles under his breath as he continues on his mission to track down the owner of the voice. “Ma’am, I just wanna talk. And maybe–ahh shit!” He curses when his hip accidentally connects with a half-full rolling cart, sending several of the heavier books crashing to the ground. “Sorry!” 

“Did you just break something?!” The voice suddenly screeches. “Don’t make me get my taser.”

“There’s no need for that.” Instead of picking them up, the bounty hunter hastily nudges them aside with his foot. “My name is Ari Levinson, and I’m just here to ask you a couple of questions.”

While this isn’t how the man had expected any of this to go, he’s relieved when he sees a familiar face peek at him from around the corner. A face that happened to be even more beautiful than he initially remembered. Even though it had only been a couple of hours since he’d seen you last. 

Damn! It was as if the image of you in that dress taking up space at the other end of the pew was now permanently imprinted into his brain. He'd have to tread lightly here.

Otherwise things could get complicated. Fast.

Your P.O.V

“Pretty sure this is what law enforcement calls trespassing.” You sniff, craning your head around the corner to stare at the man who was taking up entirely too much space in the narrow hallway. Sure said man was easy on the eyes, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t at least a little concerned about his apparent inability to read. 

“I can assure you that’s not what this is.” The lawman holds up his palms in an effort to placate you. 

And although you try not to stare, it’s impossible to miss just how big they are – how rough they seemed – with just the right amount of callus. You can’t help but wonder what those hands would feel like on your bare flesh. 

“Then what is it?” You ask, struggling to keep your tone short and clipped as you emerge from your hiding place. The last thing you needed was to have this man thinking you were actually attracted to him. 

If anything, you considered yourself to be curious. No harm there, right? 

“As I said, my name is Ari Levinson. I’m a bounty hunter from just outside Rosewell, New Mexico who also occasionally moonlights as a private investigator.” He tells you, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I just stopped by to ask you a couple of questions. And while I didn’t necessarily mean to intrude, I figured you might appreciate me taking a more delicate approach on account of your relationship with my person of interest.”

Fucking Martin Westbrook. He’d been the bane of your existence ever since you’d first crossed paths back in high school. 

“I know you’re looking for Martin.” Annoyed by the very nature of the conversation, you pick up a box, hefting it onto your hip so that you can carry it out to the sales floor. “But I’m not quite sure how much help I can be.”

You brush past him, inwardly smiling when he scrambles to get out of your way. It was a subtle reminder that this was your shop. And you absolutely refused to be intimidated by him or anyone else. 

“I’m sure whatever you have to say will be plenty helpful.” He’s quick to reassure you as he turns to follow the path you set. “Provided you’re honest, that is.”

“Did you really just waltz into my shop and call me a liar, Mr. Levinson?” 

“I meant no offense.” Ari coughs, scrubbing a weary hand over his bearded jaw. If you were the overly presumptuous type, you might think you’d just managed to fluster the poor man.

Now feeling extra prickly, you drop the box onto the far counter of your cashwrap before turning to face your unwelcome guest. “As you can see, I have a busy day’s work ahead of me. And I was really keen on doing it by myself.” You gesture at the array of other boxes and racks placed around the store. “So if we could get a move on, I would greatly appreciate it.”  

“Gladly.” He gives a brief look around. “Is there some place maybe where you and I can sit and chat?”

“I’d say here is about as good a place as any.” You tell him as you step behind the counter. Bending down, you snag a bottle of cleaner, along with a couple of rags. If this man insisted on being here, then he would just have to deal with you taking care of your business. “I’m pretty confident in my ability to multitask.”  

Nodding along, Ari pulls out a small notepad and pen from his back pocket. “When was the last time you saw Mr. Westbrook?”

You let out a sigh as you begin to spray down your countertops with your all-purpose cleaner. While you supposed you could’ve gone with something a little more industrial, you were partial to the way this particular brand’s products always smelled. 

“I don’t know.” You shrug as you bask in the scent of rose and cedar. “Maybe three, four weeks ago.” 

“Do you happen to recall the day and time?”

“No. Not really. If I had to ballpark it, I’d guess sometime around the 5th of last month.” You move to the next flat surface, spraying it down just like the last.

“You sure about that?” You try not to let it irk you when you see him take a seat on a nearby step stool out of the corner of your eye. 

“As much as I can be.” 

“And did Mr. Westbrook happen to give you any indication of where he might be headed?”

“Nope.”

He’d been nervous though. That much you did recall. By the time he’d come to you that night, your old friend had been well beyond spooked. 

“Did he give you his reason for leaving?”

“We didn’t…” You trail off, taking a moment to scrub at a particularly stubborn sticky spot that’s marring the wood. “There wasn’t really much time for talking.” You’re so concerned with scrubbing that you miss the way the county hunter’s eyes narrow as he studies you. “He just stopped over to say goodbye.”

And to borrow all the cash you happened to have on hand – to the tune of $500. Enough for a bus ticket and a couple nights in a dirt cheap motel.

“Right.” Ari scoffs, admittedly with a bit more heat than he intends. “Not a lot of time for talking.” He pauses briefly to drag a hand through his shaggy brown locks. “Not sure why I didn’t wanna believe them.” 

“Am I sensing a problem, Mr. Levinson?” You hum, tossing your rag to the side in favor of focusing on the rugs. 

“I guess I’m just having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that he kept you in the dark about his plans.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “In my experience, most men like Martin tend to have loose lips around the women they’re fuckin’.”

In that moment, it’s almost as if you can feel the air go out of the room. Just who the fuck did this knuckle-dragging, mouth-breather think he was?

“Excuse me?” Those two little words are spoken through clenched teeth. You’re so taken aback by his brazen accusation that you can scarcely breathe, let alone think.    

Ari simply quirks a tawny brow at you, seemingly unaware of the danger he’s just placed himself in. Did he not see how close your hand was to that damned stapler? While it was clear that folks in this town had been running their mouths, they’d apparently neglected to mention that you’d also been the star pitcher for your high school softball team.   

“Apologies if I offended your delicate sensibilities, Duchess. But I’ve never been the type to beat around the bush. Besides…” The smug bastard tucks his pen behind his ear. “You have to know that people in this town like to talk.”

Fire simmers hot in your belly, as you come out from behind the register. It takes less than ten  seconds for you to bridge the distance between yourself and the cocky lawman. While you might’ve been taught never to raise a hand against anyone, this man was sorely testing every last bit of your patience.

“I want to make one thing very, very clear.” You hiss once you’re finally standing toe-to-toe with the handsome interloper who, of course, makes no room to get up himself. “I have never – not even once – slept with Martin Westbrook. He’s a friend, you backwoods jackass. Something you clearly know nothing about.” 

“I get the feeling I struck a nerve.” 

And, judging by the newfound tick in his jaw, so had you. Except you had no way of knowing it was because he’d lost a buddy of his own a little while back. 

“And I think it’s about time you got the hell out of my shop.” His piercing blue eyes fly to yours, letting you know that you’d managed to surprise him with your heated dismissal. 

Good. Because this Ari Levinson fella had officially overstayed his welcome.

“Look, Duchess. I apolo –”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me out of my name, Mr. Levinson. And I’m not sure I appreciate it.” You spit as you take a step backwards with the intention of giving him enough space to stand. “Now, I’ve been nothing but amenable to your rather…invasive questions. But we’re done. So, I’m gonna have to insist that you leave.”

Before you decided he’d make a deserving candidate for death by a thousand paper cuts. 

Your pulse continues to thrum in your ears as you watch him rise to his full height – an impressive 6’4 – so that he now towers over you. Perhaps if you weren’t so angry you’d be a little more tempted to allow your mind to wander a little farther into the realm of fantasy. 

But not now. 

Right now, in this moment, all you wanted was to watch Ari Levinson’s sculpted ass walk right out your front door.  

Nodding, the now quiet bounty hunter begins moving in the direction of the entrance. Neither of you say a word as you make that quick walk. In fact, you don’t speak again until Ari’s hand is on the handle. 

“For what it's worth…” He blows out a weary breath. “This wasn’t how I meant for this to go.” His eyes find yours, as if imploring you to see the truth in them. 

However, instead of responding all you can do is offer up a shrug. Which he, of course, takes as an opportunity to keep going. 

“It’s just…the idea of someone like you getting caught up with a piece of slime like Westbrook…” He pauses long enough to open the door and take a tentative step outside. “I guess it bothered me more than I realized.”

His reluctant admission has your stomach tied up in knots, which prompts you to ask the one question you were almost certain you’d regret later: 

“And just what do you mean by that?” You do your best to seem unruffled as you awkwardly brace yourself against the doorframe.

“All I’m saying is that you’re out of his league.” Feeling even more confused, you watch as Ari’s lips curve in a faint smile. “And if you didn’t know that before, well, now you do.” His head dips politely as he turns to head towards his truck. 

“Guess I’ll see you around, Duchess.” You don’t have to see his face to know that he’s grinning. “Oh, and don’t forget to lock up. Might help with all those unwanted visitors you’ve been havin.”

Ari doesn't need to turn his head to know that you're currently giving him the finger. He can feel it. And all it does it make him smile harder.

END 

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[space-mango-company]

Stranger | Chapter 1

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

Summary: The Atreides daughter is sent off to Giedi Prime to marry the Harkonnen heir in an attempt to quell the feuding Great Houses. The bride, however, must prove her grit and earn the respect of her new family if she is to survive her new life. Perhaps she will find that she had more Harkonnen in her than she thought.

TW: none (for now)

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut (just not in this chapter lmao), No use of y/n, Original Characters, cannon what cannon

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Please bear with me, it has been ages since I've written anything and this is my first ever work of fanfiction. I've never written in the second person before so if you catch any mistakes, especially in verb tenses, please let me know. English is not my first language. Also, this might start out a bit slow but I promise things will pick up soon.

The smell of grass and the crashing waves of Caladan brought you comfort as you stood before the starship that had been rented from the Spacing Guild.

Your brother had insisted on accompanying you to Giedi Prime, but a round trip would have been unnecessarily expensive, even with the vast wealth of your Great House. Besides, it would be foolish to deliver the heir of House Atreides to the home world of their sworn enemies. It was bad enough they had to send you there.

"Give them hell," Paul teased as he hugged you goodbye.

You laughed, but you knew his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. He had faith in your strength and ferocity, but he had much less faith in the hospitality of the Harkonnens.

"I'll miss you," you pull away and try to give him a reassuring smile but you, yourself, are not so certain of your fate.

You made your way to your mother, next in line to bid you farewell.

"Remember your training." Lady Jessica held your face and planted a tender kiss on your forehead. She had already given you all the advice she could.

You take her hands in yours and kiss them. "I will," you tell her solemnly.

You finally make it to your father, whose eyes are already welling with tears.

"My darling princess," his voice cracks as he lays a hand on your cheek. The Duke may seem a stoic man to most, but those who truly knew him knew he had a big heart.

Perhaps it is because you are one of those people that you finally feel that weight in your chest that you've been dreading since the signing of your marriage pact. It will be a truly long time before you would see your family again. If you could ever see them at all.

The Duke waves at an attendant who approaches with a silver tray. Leto takes the dagger resting on it and places it in your hands. "To remind you that you will always be an Atreides, that you will always be my daughter."

You let your tears fall as you hold the gift close to your chest.

"Don't cry now," your father pulls you into a hug, hoping to hide his own tears, "or I might never let you go."

You let a laugh slip through the sobs. You knew it was already decided and it is your duty to fulfill. The Sisterhood and the Emperor himself endorsed the match. Nothing could change it now.

The harsh light of Giedi Prime's black sun assaulted your eyes as you made your way down the starship's gangplank. The stark, high-contrast black and white made everything a pain to look at. You were thankful for the veils of your travelling gowns for providing you at least some shade.

You were greeted by House Harkonnen's steward, Jaromir Naggul, and swiftly led into the imposing, Brutalist fortress of their stronghold. You were almost happy to escape the infrared outside.

"Your belongings are being sent to your new quarters as we speak," Jaromir, a lanky but stately man, informs you. "You may change out of your traveling clothes and rest there. The Baron will receive you in the throne room in the afternoon."

You note his accent and the mild contempt in his voice, as if you were an inconvenience.

"This is Iassa," he gestures to one of the servants that had been following you through the halls. "She is your assigned slave. Should you need anything, you may tell her."

The word almost knocks the breath out of you.

You eyes turn to Iassa in her pale gray robes and you give her a polite nod. She hastily curtsies in return.

You knew the Harkonnens and even the Emperor kept slaves, but you suppose it never occurred to you that you would be charged with one yourself.

"Of course," Jaromir continues, "any of the servants in the fortress will be at your command, but Iassa will be in waiting for you in particular."

"Of course," you reply coldly.

"You will be staying in the guest wing for now," Jaromir says as he shows you the door to your quarters. "Of course, until your wedding. When you will then be moved to the na-Baron's apartments."

"...of course," you repeat, grateful again for your veils that they hide your dread.

You are silent as Iassa helps you into a black gown for your audience with the baron. It is the fashionable color in the Harkonnen home world. Although there were many other 'fashionable' traits on Giedi Prime, this was the only one you felt comfortable adopting right now. The complete lack of hair in every individual you had seen was certainly unsettling, but you sensed it would be rude to speak about it.

"What is the na-Baron like?" you ask.

Iassa pauses her fastening of your dress, she swallows. "He is a fearsome warrior, my lady," she keeps her gaze averted, "handsome and popular with the people."

Her voice was shaky but she seemed genuine. You only wonder if those words hold the same implications here as they do back home.

You look over to Iassa as she fetches your shoes. It's not difficult to see that she fears you. You cannot help but feel that that is all there is. You are still an off-worlder. An Atreides no less. She harbors no respect for you.

You take care to style your hair in the fashions of Caladan, fastening a falcon-like pin at the back of your head. The symbol of your house. Perhaps it is a risky choice, to be seen as defiant by the baron should he notice, but you could already feel the black sun beginning to drain the life out of you. The thrill of quiet defiance would have to sustain you for now.

Jaromir returns in time to fetch you and you are led to the throne room.

The baron's grotesque floating body looms over you and his subjects. You had never met any of the Harkonnens before but you were sure that was him.

"Welcome to your new home, Lady Atreides," the Baron utters your last name with thinly veiled loathing. "Let me present my nephew, Feyd-Rautha."

A tall muscular young man steps forward. Stately and regal as a Harkonnen could be, he looks over you with condescending eyes.

He certainly looked like a warrior, and you could see how the people of Giedi Prime could find him handsome, but you find yourself wanting to spit in his face.

"Forgive me for not greeting you when you landed, my lady," the na-Baron bows to you. His gravelly voice sends a chill down your spine, "I was preoccupied at the time. I trust you have settled well?"

You curtsy in turn, "I'm sure my lord had important duties to attend to. I am grateful for your hospitality. My rooms are very comfortable."

"Do not find them too comfortable young lady," the Baron calls from afloat his chair, "your wedding celebrations are to begin and you will be sharing rooms with my nephew before long."

Feyd-Rautha smirks at this and you are almost willing to cast decorum aside to slap it off his face.

"Tomorrow, your groom will take part in the arena to demonstrate his prowess as a worthy husband and leader, as per the traditions of our house," the Baron announces. "I'm sure you will make a point to attend."

"I would not miss it, dear Baron."

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

[ivymarquis]

Say You Won't Let Go

Last House on the Right

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 1.1k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Post Apocalypse!AU, Single Mom!verse, pregnant reader, mentions of pregnancy related eating issues + vomiting, Reader's got some separation issues. Fair warning this is so half baked I haven't even decided what kind of apocalypse it is, but somehow Ive got a whole plotline regardless.Same pairing as my fic Blind Date

Next Chapter

You can’t believe your luck. 

You’re not sure what exactly it was about this house in the dead of night that had you so transfixed, but your intuition has paid off in spades. 

The area’s been abandoned, to your knowledge leaving you the sole inhabitant meandering around. 

Or maybe waddling would be a more apt description.

Fear and uncertainty of the outside hurry you along into the house. Most everyone- the survivors- has splintered off into groups. There’s no evidence of anyone still living here (admittedly it’s not like you’ve taken the time to check every room, but there are signs when a house is inhabited), but you luck out that the cabinets haven’t been picked over. 

It’s been entirely too long since your last meal, and it takes a good amount of restraint to not devour the can of ravioli too quickly. 

As much as you’re tempted, you know there’s a fine line between what will and won’t have you immediately throwing up in the sink- grazing seems to keep the worst of the upset down.

There’s no hospitals to jaunt off to if you end up dehydrated. Excessive vomiting is not ideal post end of days.

If you were in your right mind- not frightened, isolated, starving, cold- and not focusing on how the unheated chef boyardee might as well be a five star michelin meal for all you can think right now, you might have been paying more attention.

The sound of a safety clicking off behind you freezes your blood far more than the cold. That sound is deliberate. Whoever’s behind you- gun pointed at you- wants you to know they got the jump on you.

“Hands where I can see them,” the order is gruffly barked at you.

You feel stupid. Of course all of this was too convenient for you to simply be catching a break. It wasn’t exactly well lit and designed to draw you in- but you’re an animal caught in a trap regardless.

The fork clatters against the counter next to the can as you go to comply.

“Turn around. Slowly.”

You’re not much of a threat in your current condition. That much is obvious.

Time stopped having any sort of tangible meaning a while ago. You should know how many weeks you are, but the days run together fending for yourself and you just know that you’re close. There’s no hiding the swell of your belly.

The man at the doorway looks as gruff as he sounds. Your mind spins like a tire in mud to process everything in front of you in the poor moonlight. Military, that much is obvious. You’re not actually sure if that’s a good thing. Handsome from what you can see, though historically your type has been men who don’t have a weapon leveled at you.

The taciturn expression on his face falters when he spots your bump, but you’ve learned by now to not expect any sort of special treatment.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize immediately. “I-I didn’t know anyone was here. I’ll leave, I swear.” 

He looks at you another moment before a look of resignation washes over him.

“Turn back around. Keep your hands up.” Oh God. Your mind immediately goes to the worst- That this man, for whatever reason, has decided that your infraction has signed your death warrant. That he can’t quite bring himself to fire on a pregnant woman staring him in the eyes, so the last thing you’re ever going to see is some tacky wallpaper and ugly cabinets.

You yelp when one of his hands finds the pistol on your hip. Holy shit you didn’t even hear him cross the room.

“Easy, love,” he soothes as he starts to frisk you for more weapons. “Not gonna hurt you. You have anything else on you?”

“A knife in my back pocket.” It doesn’t even occur to you to lie; putting yourself in his good graces is your only option and you can’t do that by lying.

His hands slip under your jacket, the hem oversized and hanging even with your arms up, making a wrong guess at the first pocket he checks before grabbing the knife out of the second one.

“Anyone going to come sniffing around looking for you?” A fair question, but one that sticks like a knife between your ribs.

The “No,” that escapes you is softer than you meant it to be, voice warbling as you try not to cry.

Hormones would have had you on the verge of tears at any given point, and that would have been before the end of the world and before your group abandoned you. You’re well entitled to your tears, you think, but try to stuff them back down anyway.

“You’re out here alone,” he grouses, sounding like he doesn’t believe you. The like this? is implied.

Your arms are still up, and they’re getting tired. Everything tires you out these days.

Like he can read your mind, he releases you with a “you can set your arms down now, love.”

“Thank you,” you’re in full fawn mode, turning to face him. While he’s clearly decided against killing you, you’ve been scared and alone for the past few days and you really don’t want to be separated from the only person who will give you the time of day right now. 

“Is there anyone else here? Other soldiers?” Your fate is sealed and lies in the soldier’s hands regardless of his answer.

Nothing with change, no matter what he says, but you think you’re less intimidated if it’s just the two of you. 

The world’s gone to hell in a handbasket, and yet you’ll never forget watching 28 days later when the line I promised them women was dropped.

“Got separated from my team.”

He turns away from you, gesturing to follow him out of the kitchen and towards the living room.

He’s limping.

You haven’t seen him move until now. You’re more an expert on busted hardware than busted body parts, you can’t tell if it’s a fresh injury that’s still healing, or an old one that’s set in place.

“They left you.” They left me, too.

“They didn’t leave me for dead, they think I am dead. Gonna take a bit more than that to get the job done, though.” 

You have no reason not to believe him. Despite having just met him, the man is like a living manifestation of everything masculinity is supposed to be- down to the surly attitude despite him herding you further into the house. It doesn’t take much to figure out that he’s tough as nails and sure why not flirt in death’s face that her last attempt wasn’t good enough?

You sit on the couch he points to, as he settles into the leather chair across from you.

“Christ what’d I’d do for a fucking smoke right now,” he mumbles, pawing at his chest absent mindedly on reflex.

You mean to sit stiff as a board, but your body is tired and the couch is surprisingly comfortable.

The soldier, however, sits like he owns the house. “And now for the question of what to do with you.”

[gavisuntiedboot]

We Can't Be Friends (but I'd like to just pretend)

Pedri x Stylist! Reader

Part 2

Warnings: None

Word count: 4.3K

A/N: Back with part 2! I'm warning y'all now - it's going to suck until it doesn't. Please bear with me. Also, I have included the links to both the shirts being sold for Gaza and the direct donation link. Please check them out! And if you can't donate yourself, I donate $1 for every watermelon comment under this post! So please make sure to share at the very least.

~~~

Being scolded was the worst feeling in the world. Well, actually, sleeping with a famous client and then having him immediately chase your coworker was the worst feeling in the world. But boy was this meeting with Katerina a close second.

“There needs to be a case study on this kid.” She muttered under hear breath as she moved sticky notes around the December calendar. She darted her eyes around her current configuration, before turning sour and looking up at you. The dark circles under her eyes had darkened a shade since you had seen her the previous week, and a twinge of guilt played against your sternum for contributing to her fatigue.

“Let’s go over some basic rules, my dear. First and foremost, you cannot block your client’s number.”

“But I-“ You began to protest, but your boss lifted one finger, silencing you instantly.

“I do not care. I do not care if he is a dick. I do not care if he is going to make my stylists kill each other. Honestly, that might be a blessing.  I do not care if he is the father to a litter of bastard children running barefoot around your home. You work for SDF. You work for Pedro Gonzalez. He will have access to your phone, your email, your address, hell your underwear size if he asks. Understood?”

You bit back the urge to protest, just nodding silently. She breathed in deeply before continuing.

“Second, you will not share his information with the other girls in the office. That includes his photoshoot timing, the PR being sent to him– anything. I’m tired of having to file reports to Milan about my girls fighting.”

The command was followed by another nod, this one more genuine. You had no intention of getting within 100 meters of either Tania or Sylvia, who were still not speaking but had also telepathically decided that you were a common enemy. You had been stepped on a suspicious number of times while collecting their pins from the floor, and you always caught them whispering to the other girls in the office about “la naranja podrida”. Didn’t take a detective to put those pieces together.

You were still in a state of agitation regarding the whole ordeal. In your fit of anger, you had done the mental calculations of how long it took Pedri to text another girl. He had left just as the sun was rising, so about 5:30 am. Google maps said you lived 25 minutes from the stadium, but he would have gone home first, because that’s where the damned boots and more damned note would have been. That brings us to 6 am to account for wherever the gremlin lives. By all your most optimistic estimates, he had waited at most a hour between leaving your bed and texting your coworker.

“Hey Silvia” was the text heard around the world. After the report (and a few hair samples) was filed away, a company-wide letter from HQ was sent out reminding employees of professional boundaries with clients. The giddiness and satisfaction that had come from a harmless prank had dissolved, leaving a queasy feeling in its wake. Day damn one. You lasted 4 hours before you crumpled like a convenience store receipt over a boy at work. Ignoring every caution sign, you dove head first into a pool of prospective romance - and promptly hit the concrete.

The worst part was that you couldn’t tell anyone. Bryce had responded to your gushing sonnets in the worst possible manner: with logic. You had brushed aside every one of her very appropriate questions, looking through your rose-tinted lenses at your life. You had gone as far as to tell her she was being a bad friend for trying to find any possible negative in this situation, causing her to pull back.

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt, that’s all.”

The words of her static-garbled voice memo never left your head. There you were, only a few hours later, stomach turned and heart shredded, completely and utterly hurt. And you weren’t ready to face the sting of “I told you so” that was waiting for you, so you just… never said anything else. When she asked about Pedri, you responded formally with his upcoming campaign schedule. Lucky for you that she was too busy with her own life to keep pestering.

The upside to the current tragedy in your life was that you were working in fashion. It was hard to cry when you spent hours upon hours looking at some of the most beautiful clothes in the world, getting full creative freedom to bring your visions to life. Not impossible, because there were definitely a couple of wet spots on the Margiela from yesterday, but harder. Barca Femini had been in and out of the office for fittings, and it was a relief to be able to work with something other than khaki trousers and blazers. There were seemingly hundreds of hangers carrying vintage sports pieces, colorful jackets, and silky skirts. It sparked little moments of happiness, knowing that you were so good at playing dress-up that now you were getting paid for it.

It had been a week since your unfortunate altercation, and though the evening (and unfortunate following morning) had never left you, it had seeped from the front of your mind to the base of your skull, a dull throb that could be ignored during the course of the day. That was, of course, until you received an email from Adidas.

~

"Okay, Pedri, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but this means you're blocked."

There was a snigger that floated through the lunch room that, had he been able to pinpoint the source, Pedri would have promptly quieted with a slap to the head. But it whizzed around like a gnat between some of the younger players.

"How could I be blocked, Fermin?" The question was met with a raised eyebrow from Fermin, who was mentally cursing his college education.

"Maybe it has something to do with you sleeping with her and then disappearing?" Gavi offered up that brilliant hypothesis between bites of grilled chicken.

"No, it couldn't be. She's American - they don't take sex so seriously. Besides, we just met! What was I supposed to do? Propose?"

Pedri resisted the urge to shrink back from the judgmental stares he was receiving. He was used to being questioned by Gavi, who believed in the "stare at her intensely until she falls for me and confesses" method of romance. But now that he had roped in Fermin (the most tech-savvy of the squad), he couldn't handle the intensity of the silent disapproval.

In all honesty, Pedri was tired of the emotional rollercoaster that had plagued the entire day. The previous night had been incredible. He wasn't quite sure what to expect when La Naranja stepped through her front door, but she surely exceeded expectations. Pedri believed he was happy in his normal routine: DM an Instagram model, engage in the little cat-and-mouse game where she pretended she wouldn't bend to his every will, and go back to her place for a decently fun time. But there was something about the way you walked, so coy and bashfully, looking up at him through delicate lashes with wide eyes, that warmed the most primal part of his being. His heart quickened at the sudden desire to chase, to capture, to consume. He wanted to protect this pretty little thing from the sharp eyes and sharper teeth of his friends. He was ready to savor everything you offered.

Over the course of the evening, the feeling gnawing at the inside of his chest became harder to ignore. The soft grip you maintained on his bicep to keep him close, the warmth of your fingertips searing his skin. He wanted to bark at Ferran to never look your way again. To sink his teeth into your neck, have you cry out his name so every man would know to never come near you again. Your hand, so delicate and soft in his own, maintained a firm grip as he dragged you out of the club, and a firmer grip on his hair once he was finally able to kiss you senseless. He felt like a wild animal unleashed in bed with, unable to slow or take pause. You were so hypnotizingly innocent, and he was going to destroy that.

The warmth in his chest remained till the following morning. As he kissed your cheek and whispered his goodbyes, he allowed himself to imagine what kind of arrangement the two of you could have. He was more than eager to feel the caress of your soft lips again. Maybe you would be open to picking up his late night calls, spending long, tedious days together talking and fucking and laughing at nothing in particular. He thought about the flush in your cheeks that would arise whenever he came into work, dropping subtle hints about your activities in the days before. He could really make you a permanent part of his rotation with little difficulty, facilitated further by the fact that you had been assigned as his personal stylist. Filthy as it may sound, he contemplated not showering upon his return home. He would have to later in the day following practice, but until he could secure a second audience with you in a bedroom, he wanted to savor the scent a little longer.

His front doorstep was littered with packages once again, about half from Adidas and the other from Springfield. He was not a designer by any means, but he appreciated that he was at least sent the collections that were meant to be his. Fer was sipping on a coffee when Pedri walked in, and expertly avoided ay questions of where he had been the previous night. He was a concerned older brother, but he was also a guest. He instead asked to see the piles of PR that his younger brother had hauled through the door.

"I don't understand why they bother sending you all this stuff. Why wouldn't they just send it to the styling team."

"Because I actually have to play in the boots, hermano." Pedri said, lifting the lid off his newest pair. He was excited for another Adidas campaign, or any campaign really that would bring him closer to you once again. Oh how he wished he could have captured the way you looked in that dress forever, immortalized it in an oil painting and hung it on his wall (right beside the ripped remains of the dress, which he so desperately wanted to destroy). His daydream had been broken by a crisp white envelope contrasted against the bright orange of the boots. There was a feminine wave of scent in the air, and the heart pumping in his ears drowned out the sounds of his brother’s whistles and taunts. Had you done this? Had you been planning ahead to send him a note had he neglected to ask you out while at the office?

He tensed his forearms to disguise a slight tremble, ripping open the envelope and scanning the page only to find-

“Ay dios mío. Silvia.” He allowed his head to thud against the counter, Fer’s tittering laugh clear as a bell now.

“Is she the scary one or the weird one?” His brother asked, prying the crumpled letter from Pedri’s dejected form.

“Both are fitting adjectives. She’s the shorter one with the silver hair. She kind of looks like our Tia Marisol?”

Another tittering of laugher, and this time Pedri joined in with a cracked smile of his own.

“She wants to tell you how much she admires you, how much you make her … quiver? Ew.” Fer squinted at the note further.

“Listen to this line. Ehem: ‘I am ready to serve you, worship you, give you my body and soul because I love you.”

Pedri groaned so loudly he was sure the neighbors heard. Honestly, what were these girls thinking?? That he would start blushing and giggling at the mention that they would sleep with him? That was the least most girls would do. It turned his stomach, constantly fearing that he would be trapped with a child.

“Let me text this girl. I have to go in next week and I don’t want her bent over a table spread and waiting when I arrive.”

He typed in the number on the note, drafting a long text before deleting everything but the “Hey Silvia” at the top.

“It’s too forceful to say ‘hey I don’t want to fuck you’ right off the bat, no?”

He hit send, reluctantly heading off to shower away his escapades before he went into training, waiting for a reply before he asked not to receive any more erotic letters from his stylists. Oh how he wished she hadn’t.

~

“So run us through it one more time.” Gavi said, Ferran deciding to stifle his groan. The last thing he needed was to enrage Gavi further, as he suspected it would result in him finally getting the punch that was coming to him. Ansu and Fermin were nodding along vigorously, eager to hear all about Pedri’s first experience having feelings.

“We went out, we fucked-“

“Pedri!”

He rolled his eyes at the indignation from the boys. Kids these days.

“Okay. We went out, we had a magical lovemaking experience, and then I had to come to training. I texted her about her being my stylist to ya know break the ice. And I found myself in deep shit and promptly blocked on like everything.”

“I think your first mistake,” said Fermin, “was not texting her about last night. Why would you start with her working for you?"

Pedri dragged his hand down his face in frustration.

"What was I supposed to say? Good morning linda, great pussy last night?"

Gavi stood promptly with his hands up, leaving the room.

"I don't want to hear about another girl's vagina."

"Yes," Ferran muttered, "God forbid he cheat on his crush by listening to a story."

"Whatever happened to 'Hey, I had fun last night'? Is that not a normal thing to say?" Ansu asked, as shaken as Gavi but remaining planted by his desire to be in the loop.

"I think my agent is texting SDF to get her to unblock me. Not super easy to talk to my stylist if I have to do so through messenger pigeon. Where did Gavi go?"

Pedri followed his friend out of the locker room, watching as Gavi stared dejectedly at the Doctora’s office.

“Are you done moping?” Pedri asked, clapping him on the shoulder.

“No. She might lose her job and we play her stupid boyfriend’s team tomorrow. I just want to keep her safe from that asshole.”

For a minute, something sparked in Pedri’s chest. Was that jealousy? He had never before felt that there was something missing in his life, content with being surrounded by friends and family and teammates. But there was something about watching Gavi pine, listening to the way he spoke of this girl, and it caused him an ache. He was in awe of this foreign spectacle: loving someone so deeply, so intensely, that it led to begging for crumbs of their time and attention. He almost wished to be in the Doctora's position, always having someone waiting around the corner for him.

"I have a styling meeting today. Do you want to come and keep me company?"

~

"Naranja, the bastard is here."

You didn't even lift your head when Maria informed you of the arrival of your client. You had worn all black to mourn the death of your self esteem, prepared to ass-kiss as much as needed to preserve your job. Unfortunately, it was difficult to push down the burning rage in the pit of your stomach when you had to kiss the ass of the man who has hurt you so intensely.

Pedri strolled into the room clad in the ugliest jeans known to man, his doe-eyed teammate (Gavin?) trailing behind him. At least the littler one knew how to dress. He was in baggy jeans and an Amie Paris t-shirt, clean sneakers in the same shade of blue as his top. Pedri, on the other hand, was an abomination. His black hoodie was far too baggy on his frame, making him look somewhat inflated. It was made worse by the tight and ribbed denim hugging the (admittedly stunning) legs that ended suddenly in some chunky clompers.

"Good morning, Naranja."

God. Even the sound of his voice was like swallowing razor blades. You wished that you could hear the lilt in his speech without remembering the soft whispers against the column of your throat, guiding you to ecstasy at his command. The way that he encouraged you, coaxed the gentle sighs and high moans with just an ask.

"Let me hear you, pretty girl."

And who were you to deny? But now, looking at his soft eyes and confident stance, you wish you had resisted. Pretended you didn't speak Spanish that first godforsaken day in this office.

"Good morning Pedro."

A stifled laugh and wide eyes from the boy behind Pedri (God what was his name? Gustavo?). Pedri's shoulders had dropped significantly, his thick brows coming together in confusion.

"No one calls me Pedro. Not even my mother."

"Well, maybe it's a good time for you to learn what disappointment feels like. Especially since you're so comfortable giving it out to others. Do you have your boots?"

You could tell Pedri was lost for words, and it caused you a mild spark of satisfaction. You had spent the last week boiling silently, unable to unleash all the rage simmering in your chest. He nodded silently, pulling the box out of his bag.

"Great. Gabriel, there is a coffee shop on the second floor if you want to grab a drink while I'm fitting Pedro. I'm sure you've seen him naked plenty of times but-"

"No, no, I'll go. Would you like anything?"

After shaking your head, he exited the room, and you began frantically grabbing different sweat pants and shirts for Pedri to put on.

"His name is Gavi by the way." Pedri said to break the silence, and you turned so he could strip off his shirt.

"Come on, Naranja. Don't pretend you haven't see it already." He smiled somewhat earnestly, softer than he did at the other girls. You were a gentle thing, and he wanted to be gentle with you.

"How many other girls in this office have seen it as well, Pedro?" You asked with as much venom as you could muster, turning to face him and eyes locking as he unzipped his jeans.

"You think that sleeping with me is a company welcome gift, Naranja?"

"That's not my name."

"And Pedro isn't mine. But if you want to poke at me, I'll poke at you right back."

He was now in only his boxers and his socks, and it took everything within you not to glance downwards, a reminder of the sight from one week and one night ago. He took a defiant step forward, the heat radiating off his body.

"You know, Pedro," You began, steadying your voice. "Texting my coworker mere minutes after leaving my bed is a sin on it's own."

"Wait, what? Hold on-"

"But in those mere hours of bliss, I googled you. Looked at your name on Twitter. Saw who you were. And you're just another slimy athlete that uses girls and throws them away."

Your face broke when you heard him laugh loudly at the revelation. It made you angry, expecting him to feel ashamed of his behavior.

"I despise miscommunication, Naranja. So don't go jumping to conclusions and acting foolish. Your coworker sent me a letter essentially begging to fuck me, but I suspect you knew that already. Hell, you might have even been the one to switch the names around."

Your cheeks grew warmer, and a part of your brain registered that Gavi was now lingering in the doorway.

"But beyond that, linda, is that I was texting her to say I wasn't interested." He began dressing, joggers defining his legs in a way acid-washed denim never could. "But I don't like being judged based on rumors on Twitter. I want to be your friend-"

"Again with that word!" The outrage was finally seeping from you, and now that the lid had come off there was no containing it.

"How am I meant to be your friend, Pedro? You hit on me, you sleep with me, and then you moved on to the next girl. How am I supposed to be your friend after everything you've put me through?"

"What did you expect of me exactly?" He shoved his shirt over his head, a sweet bit of relief in a tense situation. "I like you, Naranja. More than a lot of other girls I've met. And I want to keep seeing you," he let his eyes burn a path down your body, "as a little more than a friend. If that's something you're into."

You took a step back, hand over your chest in shock. Did this man just ask you to be a friend with benefits, mere minutes after you asserted your disgust for his very being.

"You must think so highly of yourself." You couldn't raise your voice out of fear of it cracking. Just how much had you deluded yourself into thinking you found something special?

"I don't actually," there was a tone of laughter in his voice, "quite the opposite actually." There was suddenly not enough air between you. You simultaneously wished someone would interrupt you and that the moment would last forever.

"You're a sweet girl, Naranja. Too sweet for someone like me. I know who I am and what I want, and a girlfriend is not on that list currently."

"So what? I'm good enough for you to fuck and not to date?" You asked, the question heavy between the two of you. He remained silent, lips unmoving, the wheels turning behind deep chocolate eyes.

"I like you enough not to want to hurt you, Naranja. So, what do you say? Friends?"

"Go fuck yourself, Pedro."

~

The high pitched noise of the camera going off repeatedly was starting to get to your head. You leaned against the wall, rubbing at your temples to try and stave off the impending migraine. You opened your eyes briefly to see Gavi also leaning against the wall, gnawing on his lip and staring at his phone. Propelled by boredom, you shifted slowly along the wall to peak at what he was doing, desperate for any form of entertainment.

Thank God for the lack of Gavi's vertical blessing. A quick peek revealed that he wasn't actually typing any words, only rereading text from a contact that was saved as...

"Holy shit are you fucking your doctor?" You asked, probably a little louder than appropriate.

His eyes went wide as frying pans and he began to go visibly red. He started babbling out denials, explaining that the two of them were just friends.

"I mean she has a boyfriend and even if she didn't she would never go for me because she's so much older than me and cooler than me and she's way out of my league but all I want to do is keep her safe and make her happy and-"

His brain finally caught up to the words he was letting loose, and he abruptly suspended his word vomit.

"Does she know that you like her?" You asked, back against the wall, shoulder to shoulder with Gavi.

"God, I hope not. I don't want to do anything to make her life harder than it already is."

"Maybe telling her how you feel will make it easier. Maybe she feels the same."

"Yeah," he sighed deeply, looking wistfully at his phone again, "That's what Pedri keeps telling me."

The disgust was evident on your features. "I wouldn't really take Pedri's relationship advice."

"Now now, turning my best friend against me because you want me is a little extreme, Naranja." The voice behind you was too much to bear.

"Someone needs to give your best friend advice on how to not transform into a heartless user."

"Ironic. I remember one of us chanting 'use me, use me, use me' just last week." The response died in your mouth as Pedri's publicist approached. Where did this guy get off? Even if you believed his bullshit excuse about not wanting to fuck Silvia, the teen drama explanation as to why he doesn't "do" relationships compensated plenty.

"Alright you crazy kids! Ready to go shopping?" You spun around so quickly that you almost smacked Gavi with your hair.

"I beg your pardon? I am a stylist, not a personal shopper. I get pieces sent to me."

That was the truth. You weren't in charge or brand relations, and the purchasing department was an impenetrable fortress. Each week, a soulless intern wheeled a rack into the room, and you worked with what you were given. You had several ideas for how you could modernize some of these stuffy athletes, but that wasn't your place. Not yet anyways.

"Yes, of course. But we are redoing Pedri's wardrobe entirely. We have received communication from the team that his tunnel outfits are - what was the official wording? Oh yes, 'a detriment to the team's public image and an offense to the eyes of culers globally'. Springfield have also asked us to film some content during the journey."

"I don't think this is really part of Naranja's job description."

Of course Pedri was the one undermining you. Of course it was his voice speaking out only to call you incapable. You forced on your biggest smile, turning to face the agent directly.

"Oh, there's no issue at all. It would be an honor to makeover Spain's worst looking footballer."

~~~

Okay end of part 2!! I have decided that I want to post more frequent, smaller parts for this story rather than giant updates every three months. Please let me know what you think in the comments and in my ask box, and potentially where you want this dynamic to go! Thanks cutes xoxo gavisuntiedboot <3

(also if you would like to be on the taglist for this story, pls lmk!!)

Taglist:

@girlidekanymore

[ghostboneswrites2]

I really resonated with Daryl x abused reader could you maybe do one where the reader doesn’t let their past define them and shows little signs of abuse like they’re super cheery and happy and doesn’t let their past get them down and but maybe reader has a ptsd attack by Daryl after he confronts her about being so happy especially in an apocalypse and they just realize they relate to each other even if they’re personalities are so drastically and Daryl just comforts reader 🫂

The Painted Bunting

Era: Greene Farm

Summary: Daryl is paired with you on the search for Sophia and snaps at you after growing tiresome of your seemingly endless kindness.

Note: No more laptop for now since the cord broke so I hope you’ll all forgive the lack of my usual post formatting :(

Warnings: profanity, mentions of past abuse, grumpy sassy asshole Daryl (the man we originally fell in love with)

Banner credits on this post

        Shining hair in the rays of the sun, an infectious laugh, a beaming grin that never seemed to dissipate. A glowing beacon in the dark. That was what you were. And, admittedly, it got under his skin a little, so Daryl tended to avoid you. You weren’t oblivious to it, but you accepted it for what it was. After all, you couldn’t win them all, right? 

        You had always been that way; soft, gentle, graceful, kind. If you had never let the past change that for you, you certainly wouldn’t let present day events change it, either. Maybe the world had become a nightmare, but that didn’t mean you had to be one too. 

        Daryl thought that what really gritted his teeth about you was that through everything that had happened, you never changed a single bit. Not like the others had; not like he had. 

        After the world fell, after the camp by the quarry was overrun, after the CDC, after Sophia had gone missing, you remained exactly the same. For all of the afore mentioned, Daryl found you to be one of the most vexing people he ever had the displeasure of interacting with, second only to Shane, who could have easily been traded off for his own brother, Merle.

        Needless to say, he was peeved at the idea that you were sent on search duty with him after he hurt himself in the ravine. Rick decided a buddy system would be beneficial to all of the search party participants, and you volunteered to tag along, because of course you did.

        You weren’t so much looking forward to spending so much one on one time with the man, yourself. You didn’t necessarily have an issue with him, but you were all too aware of the issue he seemed to have with you. Really, you couldn’t relate to him at all. Not everyone around camp was perky and sweet, and rightfully so, but Daryl was such a brooding presence and you just couldn’t put yourself in that frame of mind.

        The two of you had set out just after dawn and the hours ticked by as you made friendly conversation and Daryl occasionally offered you a measly grunt in response. 

        “Do you think we’ll find anyone out here?” You asked. “I mean, aside from Sophia. I know we’ll find her.”

        “Pro’ly better if we don’t find nobody else.” Was his first verbal response all day. You shrugged. 

        “I don’t know. Could be good. I’m sure there are people who could really use some help.”

        “Ain’t our problem.” He argued. “Gotta look out for our own. The hell you worried about helpin’ strangers for when we ain’t even found the little girl we’re after?” 

        “Oh, no.” You chuckled nervously. “It’s not that I was just —“ You cut yourself off, sensing an oncoming ramble. “I didn’t mean it like that.” 

        “Mm.” He hummed, pausing his footsteps to take a breath and scan his surroundings. After a moment, he continued forward, and you followed without question . Admittedly, you had no clue how to track, so if anything you were there in case he got hurt.

        “So, if someone needed your help… You wouldn’t help?” You asked innocently.

        He whipped around to face you, the aggression behind his motion drawing you to a dead stop.

        “The hell’s your problem, huh?” He snapped. You blinked. “It’s the end of the goddamn world and you’re askin’ me about some hypothetical moral dilemma? Let me tell you somethin’, girl; ain’t no damn morals in the apocalypse. Ain’t no more law and order! It’s just us,” he paused, sending an arrow through the skull of a walker that had crept up behind you. You flinched and turned to watch its carcass thud on the forest floor. “And them.” He concluded. 

        “I—I was just making conversation.” You mumbled timidly. 

        “Why? It’s not a social call! We’re out here to find that little girl. This is why I didn’t need no damn babysitter.” He complained.

        “I was just trying to be nice.” You defended.

        “Nice?” He scoffed. That simple word seemed to trigger something in him as his eyes lit up with aggravation. “Don’t you get it? It ain’t about bein’ nice anymore. It’s about survival. Got dead people standin’ up and eatin’ people and you’re worried about bein’ nice. Walkin’ around passin’ out water and food and gigglin’ with everybody like we ain’t got a bunch o’ dead bodies stumblin’ around us just waitin’ to take a bite out.” 

        Maybe it was the way he raised his voice, or the way his eyes shot flaming daggers of fury right through your chest, or the way he threw his arms down and spat words at you like you were some puny, wretched little thing. You didn’t know what it was, but somewhere in the whirlwind of heated exchange, his voice slowly blended together with the other voice — the one that still lived in the back of your mind and ate away at you every day.

        The voice that belonged to your own father, the one person who struck true, genuine fear in you. Before you knew it, that old sensation of real terror, the one you’d buried somewhere deep inside you and covered with cement, was breaking free and engulfing you. 

        You were frozen, like a fawn under the scrutinizing gaze of a predator. The humid air felt like a thick paste as you struggled to gulp it down and catch a breath. At first, Daryl felt inclined to criticize your tears as a show of weakness, fragility, inability to handle a little raise of the voice. He quickly noticed, however, that this was no simple burst of reactionary emotions. No, this was something much deeper and it was rattling you to the core. There was a distant look in your wide eyes, one that he came to recognize, even if it took him a minute. 

       He shifted on his feet, scanning you, unsure how to intervene. 

        “Hey.” He eventually called out, but it was clear his voice wasn’t reaching you. This was the final piece of confirmation he needed. You were having an episode, the kind he experienced a few times when he first got out of his father’s abusive home. 

        He sighed and grabbed your trembling shoulders. You jumped but you didn’t flee or strike out. His touch seemed to dry you out and shrivel you up like a raisin. You shrank into yourself, hyperventilating. 

        “C’mon.” He said softly, ushering you done to your knees. “Hey. Ya gotta breathe.” 

        Your breathe only became more shallow and forced. Tears poured down your cheeks as your chest got tighter. 

        “Just breathe. That’s the only way it’s gonna stop.” He urged. He went to grab your wrists but you panicked, snatching your arms away and falling down on your back. 

        “No! Get away! You can’t do this anymore! I’m not a little kid!” You cried out.

        You were making quite a bit of noise by this point, between the gasps for air and the sobs. He crouched over you and grabbed your shoulders. 

        “(Y/N), ya ain’t there anymore. Wherever it is, it’s gone. In the past. It’s just you and me right now, and we ain’t there. We’re here.” He soothed, hoping his voice could find you somewhere in the abyss. “Just listen. Ya hear that? It’s a Painted Bunting. Look,” he pointed up into a tree at a bright multicolored bird, similar in its beauty to a parrot, only much smaller. “It’s right up there. Ya see it?” 

        Your breathing had started to slow down now, those shallow inhales finally reaching a little deeper within. Your eyes lazily followed his finger to the bright little bird singing a flute-like melody. 

        “Ya see it?” He asked again. You managed to nod once, still holding your arms tightly to your chest as you laid flat on the bed of leaves and twigs. He took a moment to see you, to really take you in, and he realized you were beautiful. Not just in the way a pretty girl with a nice personality was beautiful, but in a way that left so much of who you really were unsaid.

        “Just watch it.” He whispered, glancing back up at the feathered creature, hoping it would stick around long enough to bring you back down to earth. “They take two years to look that pretty. Did ya know that?” He asked, glancing back down at you. Your eyes were still on the bird, but you shook your head no. “Yeah. Only the males, too.” He added. “Otherwise, they’re just kinda greenish and yellowish.” 

        Once your chest was rising and falling with a steady rhythm, you finally looked over at him. Humiliation began to set in. You quickly sat yourself up and brushed the dead foliage away from your clothes and hair. 

        “I’m sorry.” You mumbled. “That hasn’t happened in a long time.” 

        “‘S okay.” He shrugged, standing himself back up as well. “Happens.”

        “Yeah, we’ll, it shouldn’t. Not nowadays.” 

        “Can’t help it when it does.” He assured you. “I get it.”

        “Maybe I should head back.” You suggested.

        “We both can. If ya wanna. It’ll be dark soon anyways.”  

        “I don’t wanna make you lose your trail or.. Ya know.” You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt.

        “Nah. Ain’t no use after dark, anyways. We’d just be stumbling in circles and bumpin’ into each other.” He insisted, contrastingly soft in comparison to before your episode. 

        “Oh. Right.” You nodded. Just as you got ready to turn back toward the farm, he cleared his throat.

        “Ya wanna talk about it?”

        “About what?” You turned back to him. He shifted his weight anxiously, chewing at the inside of his cheek. Offering an ear to listen was at least ten yards outside the perimeter of his comfort zone. “About that?” You asked. “That was nothing. Just something stupid that happens sometimes. That’s all.”

        While his tone was much kinder and warmer than before, yours was cold, dull, and tired. Those episodes could take a lot out of a person, and he was no stranger to that fact. 

        “Sometimes it helps.” He said. “Talkin’ about it. Makes it a little less…” He trailed off, searching for the word he wanted. “Less, uh… Consuming.”

        “It never gets less consuming.” You argued.

        “It does.” He insisted. 

         “And how would you know?” You asked, impatience lacing your words.

        “I used to get ‘em too.” He admitted. “Been awhile but… I just get it. That’s all.”

        You studied him. In all the weeks you’d spent around the man, you’d never seen him so genuine, or really so open. He never seemed to look at you like another person. You were always just another load on his shoulders. 

        “My dad.” You finally spoke. He nodded.

        “Me too.” 

        “I’m sorry.” You sympathized.

        “Me too.” He agreed. 

        “We should go.” You sighed, turning away again. 

        This time you didn’t wait for him, you just started walking, until he called out behind you; “‘M sorry.” You stood still, but you didn’t look back. He knew he had your attention, though, and he knew he had to say something else. “I know I did it this time. I shouldn’t’ve yelled at ya like that.”

        “It’s okay. Maybe you were right.” 

        “Nah.” He shook his head, taking slow steps to catch up to you. “I wasn’t. It’s good. Ya didn’t let none of that shit make ya bitter. Keep it that way. Else you’ll end up a grumpy redneck.” He joked. You suppressed the small smile that tugged at the corner of your lips.

        “Maybe the grumpy rednecks of the world got it figured out.” You said, walking again once you felt him catch up. 

        “Nah. I don’t know shit about shit.” He admitted, eliciting a small laugh from you. You shook your head.

        “I don’t think anyone does.” You reasoned.

        On the hike back to the Greene farm, you two shared some light banter, some stories of the past, some laughs and extended looks. He grew finder of you that day. The critical glares he’d send you from a distance were replaced with admiration and respectful nods. You’d often catch him looking and flash him a big smile, waving at him before you attention was drawn elsewhere. 

       You both learned that maybe the two of you were differently colored fruit, but you grew from the same tree, and you weren’t so different after all. And, that sentiment was never lost or forgotten. It carried with you for as long as you two knew each other. 

Taglist || Masterlist

tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck @duffmckagansbandana @celtic-crossbow @virginsexgod69 @dazzling-roaring-20s @l0kilaufeys0n7 @uhnanix

[redstarwriting]

the clash | viii. love you to death

hobie brown x goth!reader

word count: 4.2k

genre: enemies to lovers

warnings: language, insults, venom hating hobie, anxious and sad hobie, panic attacks, fight scene, injuries, lots of injuries, angst with fluff and then some more angst and then fluff again, mentions of blood, broken bones

a/n: y’all.... this one was so fun HAHA i’ve been seeing scenes from this part play out in my head ever since i thought of the plot so it was so so SO fun putting it into actual words. we’re getting closer to the end now, and i am so grateful for everyone who decided they wanted to read this lil story i thought up 🖤 i hope you enjoy!

previous chapter: vii. i wanna be sedated

now reading: viii. love you to death

next chapter: ix. last caress

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“Uh, Hobie… the hell is happening right now,” Miles asks, but Hobie stays silent. He’s trying so hard not to freak out. It’s taking everything in him to not give in to his emotions. He clenches his fists. “Let ‘em go,” he demands, and Venom laughs. “I don’t think so. I like this body more than I expected to. Looks like we’re in the same boat there, aren’t we?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he growls, an all too familiar anger stirring in him. “Awww, are you going to kill me like you did yourself?” Venom giggles, and he glares at it. “Just fuckin’ might, mate,” he says through gritted teeth, and Gwen pipes up. “What? Hobie, what are they talking about?”

“Piss off, Gwen. That’s not them,” he snaps, and she frowns underneath her mask. “We’re here to help you Hobie,” she says, and he clenches his jaw. “I don’t need no help.”

“On the contrary, I think you need all the help you can get. You mess up everything when you don’t have it, no?” Venom says, amused. Hobie knows it’s just trying to antagonize him. He knows that. But he can’t help but get angry. It’s using your body.

But he also knows that he does need help. He just can’t say his plan in front of this freakshow. “Go back to Spider Society, Gwen,” he touches his guitar, “tell Miguel I got it under control. Just gonna amp up this space slime a bit.” He hopes that was a clear indication of what he needs Gwen to do.

“Are you sure?” she asks slowly, and he smirks. She got it. “Positive.” With that, Gwen, Miles, and Pav disappear. If Hobie gets as many amps as possible, he can repeat what he did with Osborn and save you. Of course, the act of destroying this Venom might require more than just noise and be a little harder, but he’s willing to do anything to save you.

Anything.

Venom laughs. “That was a dumb move, what you just did,” it says, and he shrugs. “Yeah well, I’m full of those lately,” he responds, trying to think of his next move. He doesn’t want to destroy your flat, but he doesn’t want to cause too much damage to the city as a whole. “Are you going to do something, or do you prefer I kill you just standing there?” Venom asks, and Hobie scoffs. “Kill me? You’re a cheeky alien, you are,” he says, and he leaps off of the balcony. Venom follows him. He begins webbing through the city, expertly. Honestly, it’s a good thing he’s been here to see you so many times. But Venom keeps up with him, occasionally shooting out some symbiote webs at him. Luckily, he’s able to see it and dodge them with no problem.

He sees a giant arena and decides that’s a good place to fight Venom. Especially as it was all dark and he saw a sign talking about a celebration there for tomorrow, which means everything was most likely set up already and he didn’t have to worry about anyone being there since the event wasn’t until tomorrow.

He webs into it, landing in the nose bleeds and disappearing into the shadows. He hears Venom land where he was with a chuckle. “You can’t outrun me, Spider-Punk,” it says, and Hobie quietly webs down a few levels and ducks into a closed clothing store in the arena. He calls Gwen, who picks up almost immediately. “Shh,” Hobie says before she can say anything. “Bring the amps to the Mortician Square Garden Arena, line ‘em across the top, I’ll keep Venom distracted til you finish,” he whispers, and Gwen nods. “And one more thing. Get as much as you can out of (Y/n)’s flat, okay? Get Shadow out, take him to Miguel, and all the vinyls, their aunt’s skull, as much as you can,” he whispers, and she gives him a confused look. “Why?” she asks, and he sighs. “Their world isn’t gonna make it,” he says, and Gwen’s eyes widen. She mumbles a quick ‘got it,’ before hanging up.

He sits in the silence, confused as to why he doesn’t feel any presence. Suddenly, an inky tendril shoots out at him, and grabs him, pinning his arms to his sides. He mutters expletives, trying to get out of Venom’s grasp, but to no avail. He comes face to face with the grinning monster. “Found you.”

“Fuck you, mate,” he grunts, and thrashes around. “I thought you would be more difficult to catch. Looks like I was wrong,” it says and Hobie rolls his eyes. “Woulda been harder, bu–”

“But your little sense trick doesn’t work on me. That’s how I caught (Y/n), too,” says Venom as they pull Hobie’s mask off. Hobie glares at them and tries to get out of its grip again. “They’re right… you are handsome,” Venom says, and he delivers a successful kick to the symbiote. “Get out of their head,” he growls, and it giggles. “That tickled.”

Venom throws him across the room with force. He flies through a wall and groans as he stands up. Venom shoots out a tendril to catch him again, but he successfully dodges it. “If only you could hear their pleas for me to leave you alone,” Venom says, and it makes Hobie angrier. “I said get out of their head!” He yells, throwing a giant chunk of concrete at Venom only to have it shatter when it comes into contact with it. It only slightly falters, but that enough time for Hobie to quickly web away. He just needs to keep Venom preoccupied while Gwen, Miles, and Pavitr set up the first part of the plan.

He hears Venom following him, taunting him, and consistently trying to grab at him. As long as he keeps Venom from seeing outside, everything should go off just fine. He just hopes Miles, Gwen, and Pav can let him know when to go outside with Venom close behind. Ah well. Improvising is what spiders do best, anyways. Hobie is swinging past a food booth when Venom hits him into it. He winces as he crashes through the wall separating the front from the kitchen and straight into the knobs on the giant grill. Of course, it turns the electric grill on, but that’s the least of Hobie’s worries as Venom then uses one of its “webs” to pin him down on the ground. He grabs the web and tries to get it off of him, but it doesn’t work. Venom sprouts tendrils that make it literally look like a spider, with “legs” coming out of its back.

Luckily, Venom places one of these legs on top of the already hot grill, causing it to scream out in pain and freak out just enough for Hobie to get out of the “web’s” grasp. He quickly runs off, shooting out a web to disappear out of Venom’s sight. He sneaks around to the outside and sees Pav pushing an amp in place. It looks like they’re about halfway done, and Hobie nods. He can keep that thing distracted for that much longer.

He sneaks back into the indoor part of the stadium. He thinks about it, but ultimately decides he’s had enough with the stealth method. It obviously isn’t helping him in this instance, like it ever helped him before. “HEY VENOM! COME GET ME YA FUCKIN’ TOSSER!” he yells, and to his expectation, Venom burst through a wall and screams at him. Hobie shoots a web upwards and leaps up to the next story. Venom bursts through the floor, and Hobie quickly fires a web at a pillar, wrapping around it a few times and then firing another one to another pillar and tying them together tightly before taking off and doing it again to the next set of pillars, and then repeating it again. He made sure the first trap would land in the middle of Venom’s body, the second more of a tripwire, and the third at clothesline level. And it worked.

Venom ran directly into the first trap, which slowed it down, and then the second made it stumble and the third snapped its head back at a gross angle. It groans, and Hobie waves at it. “You should really watch where ya goin’,” he says, and Venom growls. “They feel everything.”

“What?” Hobie falters. “Your little partner. They feel it all.” Hobie frowns. Is that true? Did he just hurt you? Venom senses his distraction, and grabs him, pushing him down through the floor. He grunts, and Venom laughs. “It’s too easy,” it says, and Hobie glares at it. He’s trying to pretend like he isn’t completely battered and bruised by Venom, but damn. This alien can fight. He grunts as Venom picks him up off the ground and pushes him forcefully against the wall. “Aww, did that hurt?” Venom giggles, and he spits on it. He ignores that there was blood mixed in with the spit. That’s… probably not good, though. Venom smiles at him. “I don’t think I am going to kill you,” it hisses, cocking its head to the side. “I think I’ll keep you in case this body breaks.”

“Piss off, I’d never let you do that to me.”

“Even if it meant I would let (Y/n) go?” it asks, and Hobie clenches his jaw. Venom giggles. “Say I let them go, they could run free without the influence of me. Would you do it then?” Hobie clenches his fists, staying quiet. “You’d just make me kill them.”

“Clever boy,” it says, and Hobie yelps as Venom tightens its grip on him. “But you’re right. This body will do just fine, and I can easily find a new host if I need to,” Venom says, smirking at Hobie, “I’ll be kind to you before I kill you,” Venom says, and suddenly Venom’s creepy and unsettling grin melts away, and Hobie sees your face. You’ve been crying, and that sight alone breaks his heart. And your heart breaks at the sight of his bloodied lip, black eye and cut forehead. “I’m sorry,” you whisper to each other at the same time, but before any more words can be said, Venom takes over again.

Hobie tries to get out of its grasp again, but it's not happening. “Interesting choice for your last words,” Venom forms a fist, ready to strike Hobie, but before it can, it’s arm gets pulled backward by another web. “Those will not be his last words,” he hears Pavitr say. “Yeah, his last words will probably be ‘I DON’T AGREE WITH PEACEFUL PROTESTS’ or some shit,” Miles chimes in, webbing the arm holding Hobie against the wall and yanking it away from him. “I was thinking more like ‘I won’t let you hurt them!’ because I mean wow look at how unhinged he is right now! Imagine when they’re actually together,” Pav says. “Not the time, Pav,” Miles shakes his head, yanking Venom’s arm, even more, to make it parallel to the arm Pavitr’s holding back.

Pavitr and Miles hold Venom’s arms back as it shrieks and Hobie leaps away from it. “Good timin’, lads,” he says, wiping some of the blood off his face. “Don’t mention it,” Miles grunts and Hobie dodges some attacks thrown by Venom’s tendrils. “Miles! It’s sensitive to heat!” Hobie yells, and Miles smirks. “Ahhhh, I gotcha,” he says and uses his venom electricity strike. Venom yelps and falls backward. Pav and Miles let go of its arms, and the three of them crouch down. “Where’s Gwen?”

“She’s outside getting all the chords connected so all the amps play at once,” Miles says after electrocuting Venom again, meaning it didn’t hear what Miles just said. “Amazin’,” Hobie mumbles, dodging some more of Venom’s attacks. “I’m gonna get up there, stall it woulda?” Hobie says, webbing away.

He knows Venom is going to try and follow him, so he heads out to the open field. When he gets out there, he sees rows and rows of fireworks. What the hell were they celebrating that they needed this much fire power? He hears Venom’s yell and decides it’s not important, but it’s good that all of it is there. They can use that. He climbs and webs his way up to the top of the stadium, running over to Gwen who hands him the chord. “Thank you,” he says, plugging his guitar in, and she nods. “Don’t mention it.”

“Did you get everything out of their flat?”

“As much as we could. How do you know it’s the end?” she asks, and he frowns. “Cause I caused it.” He looks down, clenching his jaw and clearing his throat.

“It’s bout to get real loud. Tell Miles and Pav to lure it out,” Hobie says, and Gwen nods, about to web off. “Wait! Gwen, throw all the fireworks in a big pile,” he says, pointing to all of the fireworks. “What? Why?”

“Venom is sensitive to heat. Let’s blow it up.”

“But (Y/n) is–”

“They won’t be bonded when it happens, go!” Hobie says, and Gwen hurries to help the boys lure Venom out into the open. Hobie watches and waits, when he hears police sirens going off. Oh great. Piggies are coming to play. Maybe Venom will eat some of them. That would be the only time he ever supported Venom doing something. His attention gets pulled back to the field when he hears Venom’s shrieks. He sees Pav and Gwen web out, starting to throw the fireworks into a pile, and then Venom stumbles out, screaming from Miles electrocuting it once again. Hobie pulls out his pick, placing his fingers to form the beginning chord to one of his favorite songs. He hesitates and places his fingers to form a different chord. This time, it’s one of your favorite songs. He knows all of them by heart, anyways.

“When did you learn this song?” you ask him, as he lazily strums along to one of the songs playing on your vinyl player. He shrugs. “I hear it so much when I come over here, the real question would be when didn’t I learn this song,” he says, and you roll your eyes. He smiles slightly when he sees you swaying back and forth and humming along to the music.

The song ends, and without a beat, Hobie starts strumming along to the next one. “I must listen to this vinyl way too much,” you comment, and he shrugs. “At least it isn’t a shit album.”

Watching you vibe with his playing made him make a promise to himself, he would always learn your favorite songs just so he could see your reaction to him playing them.

How didn’t he realize his feelings before?

Venom spots him, and screams up at him, ready to rush up the seats of the stadium and take him down. He takes a deep breath.

“Come back to me, love.”

He strums, and the sound causes Venom to stumble, holding its ears while it screams. He can see Gwen, Pav, and Miles wince slightly from the noise as they finish bringing all the fireworks into a pile in the middle of the stadium. They web up to where Hobie is and turn to see what happens. Hobie doesn’t acknowledge them, his main focus is on you. Venom’s skin starts bubbling around you, and it seems to literally be melting. He sees flashes of you, the pain affecting you in the same way as Venom. It nearly makes him stop playing seeing the distress on your face. But he remembers it’s the symbiote causing you the pain, and he needs to get it off of you as soon as possible. The position Venom is in, trying desperately to cover its ears suddenly breaks as you finally regain control of your own body. You rip some of the symbiote off, your face breaking through. Hobie keeps playing, fixated on you as you crawl away from the inky black alien. It looks straight out of a horror movie, and he can’t wait to tell you about it. You’re gonna think you looked so cool. He’ll still give you some playful shit about how you looked though. It wouldn’t be the same if he didn’t.

He nearly tears up when he sees you completely separate from Venom. You look up, seeing him and the others, and immediately web up to him. You’re in your suit, but your mask isn’t on, and Hobie stops playing seeing that you’re next to him. You immediately wrap your arms around him, hugging him like your life depended on it. He hugs back, somehow tighter than you are. “I’m so sorry,” you whisper, and he shakes his head. “No, love, you’re okay. You don’t have to apologize for nothin’,” he says, rubbing his hand up and down your back. If the two of you could choose, you would stay like this forever. But the two of you are spiders. And it never works out like that for spiders.

“HOBIE LOOK OUT!”

Hobie hears Gwen shout just a second too late, and one of Venom’s “webs” attaches itself to his back, pulling him off the edge of the stadium. You reach your hand out to prevent it, and Hobie reaches out his, but you just weren’t fast enough. Your fingertips brush each other, but before you can grab his hand, he’s out of reach. You watch as he gets pulled down to the bottom of the stadium.

For the second time, you weren’t fast enough.

You get flashbacks to your second canon event, and a single tear escapes your eye.

Hobie, on the other hand, can feel Venom overtake him, no matter how hard he tries to fight it off. He starts to panic, hearing Miguel’s voice in his mind.

“Hobart Brown was meant to kill (Y/n) (L/n).”

Now the tears are falling freely down his face. This can’t be happening. He can’t let this happen. Why is this happening?

Once the shock of what happened passes, you find yourself pissed off. You just got back to Hobie, and now this alien thinks it can take him away? Fuck that. You scream out of frustration, webbing down and punching Venom’s newly formed face, full force. Well, as full force as your exhausted body will let you. You feel your hand break from your own strength coming into contact with something equally as strong, but Venom falls backward, so you don’t really care. You ignore the pain, noticing the pile of fireworks. You understand the assignment immediately. Unfortunately for you, Venom bounces back faster than you thought and punches you in the stomach. You grunt, coughing up blood, as you fly backward and hit the side of the stadium wall, hard. You glare at Venom, who laughs. “So weak,” you hear it say, and you glare at it. “Maybe if I should have drained more of your life force. Then you wouldn’t have even been able to punch me like that. Though, I know it took up more energy than you would have liked to do so,” Venom roars at you, beginning to charge at you.

You web to the other side of the stadium as Miles jumps down. “I got it,” he says, electrocuting Venom once more to slow it down. It screams and swats him out of the way. He hits the wall, and shakes his head, webbing up to Gwen and Pav, who immediately assesses the damage he got from Venom’s hit. They notice you’re up here, too now. “You are just so fast,” Pav says, impressed. “Oh my god, (Y/n), your hand,” she says, seeing it already turning black and blue, and blood pouring from it. “Not important right now,” you growl, picking up Hobie’s guitar. Luckily, your strumming hand is the hand that broke, so you form your fingers to a specific chord and strum. You play Hobie’s favorite song, the one he taught you to try and show you ‘real music’ so long ago.

“Ugh, can’t we listen to something other than your moody goth music?” Hobie asks, lazily turning his head towards you as he laid on his couch. Gwen, Pav, and Miles left like 30 minutes ago, but Shadow was too comfortable on Hobie’s chest for him to leave. “No, actually, we can’t. And don’t act like this song isn’t the best thing you’ve ever heard.”

“Listen just cause it’s your favorite doesn’t mean it has to be mine, love,” he says, causing you to roll your eyes. “You’re such an asshole, Hobart.”

“It’s part of my charm,” he says and you fake gag. At the sound, Shadow hops off Hobie and makes his way to you, making sure you’re okay. “Alright, you can leave now. Yayy, Shadow! Wooo!” you say, petting your cat and pretending like you want Hobie to leave. He clicks his tongue. “Nah, I’m not goin’ nowhere. Come here,” he says pulling his guitar from behind the couch and into his arms. “What are you doing?”

“I’m showing you real music. So, sit down, shut up, and soak up the jams.”

You play through the pain, doing the exact thing he did when he first showed you. Albeit not as good as him. But it works, he breaks away from Venom, running, climbing, and webbing as fast as he can to get to you. And seeing the sight of you playing the guitar like that? Especially his favorite song? He could have fainted if he wasn’t worried you’d die immediately after he did. He sees your hand and frowns. “Give me the guitar, love,” he says, taking it out of your hands gently, and picking up where you left off. Except he quickly fades into one of your songs. You smile slightly and look at him. He gives you a small smile back. “Hobie, you have your lighter?” you ask, and he nods. “I’m gonna go down there and convince it to come to the fireworks pile. When I say, throw me your lighter,” you say. “Kick its fuckin’ ass, (Y/n),” he says, as you leap off the top of the stadium.

The four spiders up top suddenly hear a police bullhorn. “We have you surrounded. Hands up or we will resort to using force!”

Hobie turns his guitar up louder.

You web down, purposely aiming to kick Venom closer to the fireworks pile. You hit the ground and roll, landing in a crouch before standing and sprinting to the pile. You scream Hobie’s name, and he throws you his lighter. He stops playing, seeing that it needs to be able to actually move to get to the pile. You web up a story, catching it before rolling back down on the ground. Venom shrieks in its symbiote form, and comes rushing toward you, but you quickly ignite the lighter, throwing it on the pile of fireworks. You leap on top of it, ensuring that Venom will be in the line of fire, and when the first one begins going off as Venom tries desperately to climb it and get to you, you web off it as fast as you can. Hobie watches as you get halfway up before all of the fireworks go off at once.

He hears Venom’s screams, but all he can focus on is watching you as the explosion breaks your web and propels you way higher than you should have gone. He quickly uses his left hand to web a building close by and his right hand to another one and slingshots himself up to you. He catches you in midair, cradling you to his body and webbing to another building. Luckily, Mortician Square Garden was close to the Ember Stake Building, your favorite spot in all of the city. He lands, crouching down and holding you in his arms in a way that your legs are resting on the building. You lean your head against his chest, and he gently places a hand on the side of your face. “Alright, love?” he mumbles, and you give him a small, weak smile. “’m tired, Hobie.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he says, running his thumb back and forth across your cheek. “Bet I looked cool just then, though,” you say, and Hobie chuckles. “Dunno. Think you need to work on your form,” he says, and you laugh softly. “You played my favorite,” you mumble, and he nods. “You played mine.”

“Not very well.”

“I would listen to that every day of my life, love.” You turn your head slightly to see the amount of fireworks lighting up the night sky. Hobie stays looking at you. “Looks pretty,” you mutter, and he grins. “Yeah. Sure does,” he says, ignoring the fireworks completely. “Reckon I get you somewhere safe to rest?” he says, and you nod softly. “I’d like that,” you mumble, turning your head back to him. The two of you stare at each other for a moment, not saying anything. He looks up, standing and helping you stand as well. He gently turns you to see your city, wrapping his arms around your waist. “I gotta admit. I do like it here,” he whispers in your ear. You smile softly, looking out at the city from your favorite spot. After getting a good look, you feel your legs about to give out as your eyes flutter closed. He catches you before you fall and is grateful you stopped looking when you did because he starts to see the nothingness begin to claim your world. You hear Hobie very quietly say, “I’ve got you, my love.”

Then everything fades to black.

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[thinkwosolife23]

She needs you, Alessia Russo

Today was one of the biggest games, if not the biggest game of the season.

As an Arsenal player, playing Chelsea has to be the most fustrating game to play. More importantly as a defender, you have the task of keeping Sam Kerr quiet. Even with Leah by your side, it can be extremely difficult. Despite being your rival, you have the upmost respect for the Chelsea team and all of there players, they are a talented side but that means they bring out the best in you. But it's got to the point where everyone almost expects Arsenal to lose, like we don't even put up a fight against them.

You've played Chelsea many times over the 3 years you have been at Arsenal, your win ratio isn't exactly ideal. You can count on one hand how many times you've actually beat them.

However, Arsenal have made some big changes and improvements this season. With the new signings and players returning from injury, you were hopefull, really hopefull that you could win,

One of the new signings just happened to be your fiance. You and Alessia had known each other since you were about 13 through the England youth teams.

When you were 18, you had made the venture to move to America to go to University and play for North Carolina Tar Heels. Alessia had also made the move, meaning the two of you became a lot closer. Eventually that lead to a relationship when your were both 19.

In 2020, you signed for Arsenal and Alessia had signed for Manchester United. The distance was difficult for the both of you, it definatly challenged your strength as a couple. But it mad you cherish the time you did have together even more.

You had proposed to Alessia in the iddle of Wembley stadium when you had just won the Euros, you couldn'y have thought of a better time to do it. Thankfully, she said yes.

You were over the moon when your soon to be wife decided to join Arsenal. Obviously, you knew that the choice was difficult for Alessia and you knew how much she loved her United. But you couldn't be happier knowing that for both club and country, you get to play alongside the love of your life. You had the hope that Alessia was exactly what Arsenal needed to beat Chelsea.

Anyways, the Arsenal coach had just arrived at Emirates Stadium.

Before your warm up, you had chance to go onto the field to do the pitch check, to speak with some of the Chelsea players and have time with your own teammates.

After talking to Millie and Lauren, two of your fellow Lionesses, you and Alessia began walking around the pitch looking for your families in the quickly filling stadium.

"How you feeling, love?" You asked Alessia as she began tracing patterns on your hand whilst you were walking along, somethin she usually did when she was nervous.

"I'm good." She told you, her voice not at all convincing.

"C'mon Less, you know you don't have to lie to me."

"I'm just a bit nervous, that's all. It's a big game, there's so much pressure."

"Forget about the nerves, the pressures. I have no doubt that you'll be amazing because you always are. My stargirl."

By now, the two of you had stopped walking around. You had pulled Alessia into a hug, lightly kissing her temple, her head resting in your neck.

"I love you"

"I love you too"

Before long, you were stood in the tunnel waiting for both teams to walk out. You always were last in the line, it became an almost ritual for you now. You and Katie were messing around as usual, laughing at something one of the mascots had said.

Arsenal Starting 11:

GK - M. Zinsberger LB - K. McCabe CB - L. Williamson CB - Y/N. Y/LN RB - S. Catley CDM - L. Walti CM - K. Little (C) LW - C. Foord CF - V. Meidama RW - B. Mead ST - A. Russo

Chelsea Starting 11:

GK - Z. Musovic LB - A. Lawrence CB - M. Bright (C) CB - J. Carter RB - N. Charles CDM - S. Ingle CDM - E. Cuthbert CAM - F. Kirby LW - G. Reiten ST - S. Kerr RW - L. James

The game was fairly even at both ends. You and Leah had an amzing partnership at the back which the Chelsea frontline were currently struggling to get by.

At the other end of the pitch, our fowards were doing a really good job of testing Musovic in goal but nothing had managed to get past her.

Until…

45+2' Alessia Russo Goal (A: Y/N Y/LN)

You had sent a long ball from the halfway line, which managed to go ever the Chelsea back line and reach Alessia who kicked it into the back of the net.

She ran over too you and jumped, wrapping her arms around your neck and her legs around your waist.

In the second half, Chelsea brought a tougher energy. The players were acting way harsher towards the Arsenal players, way harsher than they were in the first half. Their tackles were higher, the shoulder barges were stronger and the shirt pulls were far more occurent.

However, even by the 80th minute, you still were in the lead. You and Leah had made no mistakes at the back, the Chelsea frontline couldn't even get a proper shot off without one of you making the crucial tackle or block.

Leading to this moment. Chelsea had a corner in the 83rd minute due to you blocking a Sam Kerr shot.

At Chelsea, you knew that they either aimed for Sam's head or Millie's. They would always aim for one of them two.

You were currently in the main mix of people in the box. You were glued to Millie's side, doing your upmost to mean that the ball didn't go in the back of the Arsenal net.

Guro's delivery was impeccable, the ball heading straight fo the mix of blue and red in the box.

You jumped up to try and deter the ball when you felt something a lot harder than the ball in the side of your head.

Everyone in the stadium watched as Sam Kerr's Boot connected with the side of your head, sending you limp on the floor.

The Arsenal players in shock when you didn't get back up like you usually did. Play was immediatly stopped when you were face down on the ground, not moving.

Your teamates headed in multiple different directions. Some members of both teams gathered round your unmoving state to give you privacy whilst waiting for the medics. Alessia and Katie headed stright for Sam's direction in an angrily manor, whereas Leah and Steph wher among some wsho where straight by your side.

Leah, slowly and carefully began to roll you over so you were on your back. Players faces screwed up in horror as your face was covered in blood, which was now all over your shirt.

"C'mon Y/N, I need you to wake up now." Leah said, whilst scanning your face to see if there was any sort of response.

Alessia's fustration towards Sam had took her attention, her mind thinking you would be up by now. In the midst of it all, she hadn't noticed how you were still on the ground.

Your eyes slowly flickered open, shocked at the amount of light you were faced with. The pain in the side of your head was unlike anything you had ever felt with.

"Less?" Your voice barely scraped a whisper as all you needed was your lover by your side.

"Give us a minute, love. She's on her way."

Leah darted her eyes to Alessia's direction, to see her still going at Sam, emphisizing her fustrations and anger.

Katie had now noticed your state, realising it was way more serious than anyone had anticipated. And was now trying to help Beth steer Alessia away from Sam. Alessia wasn't ever the type to get in shouting matches but everyone knew that you were each others weak spot.

"Less, stop! You've had your say, now leave it!" Beth's unexpectedly firm voice slightly startled Alessia. Meaning her and Katie could pull her away.

"Alessia, she needs you." Katie's words made her turn around to realise that you were still on the floor, blood dripping from your head, with Leah and the medics by your side.

Alessia made little time in rushing over to your side, guilt swarming her as she let her anger overwhelm her.

"Baby, i'm sorry. I'm here now." Alessia said, taking your hand in hers. Watching on as you drifted in and out of conciousness.

The medics were quick to get you on the stretcher and off the pitch to get you properly treated.

The players and stadium erupted in claps as you were took off the pitch and down into the tunnel, towards the medical room.

There was a significant amount of extra time in the match due to your injury, but the players concentration wasn't on the match anymore. It was on whether or not you were okay.

Alessia couldn't even think straight, let alone play a match. As soon as the final whistle went, Alessia disregarded all the usual expectations of post-match and ran down the tunnel to find where you were.

The confusion flooded Alessia as she approached the medical room. Your laugh could be heard from the outside of the room.

Alessia quickly swung the door open to be met with sight of you on the medical bed with pading and bandages covering the side of your head.

"Oh my, Babe your awake." Alessia said as she saw you, her body instantly relaxed a bit.

"Babe?" Your face crumpled up in confusion and so did Alessia's as your reaction to her wasn't what she expected.

She quickly directed her look to the staff on the room who were fast to reassure her that you were quite dosed up on medication.

"I have a wife, you know." You told her factually, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Ohh do you now?" Alessia had to hold in her laugh, but her eyes also softened at what you had just said.

"Yeah, she's so beautiful. The most beautifulest girl ever."

Alessia did now actually laugh at the word you had just created.

"Can you tell me what your name is? Just so I can go and get your wife, I'm sure she would want to know that your okay." Alessia tried to go along with your words, hoping you'd eventually realise that your fiance was stood in front of you.

"Y/N Russo." You told Alessia confidently.

Alessia eyes watered at your confession but she soon thought that the best thing was to just turn around and show you the back of her shirt.

"So you stole her shirt and now your trying to steal her wife."

"Right, love, listen. I am Alessia. Your my fiance, we're not married yet."

"Ohhhhh." You said, the realisation of your confusion finally hitting you.

Alessia came and sat on the bed next to you. You moved over so she could lay down meaning you could rest your head on her chest. Your hands wrapping tightly around her waist as hers lightly rubbed your back.

"I quite like the sound of Y/N Russo, though."

[targaryenluvs]

if you’re still taking requests, what about a dark fic for coryo who takes advantage of a reader with one sided love for him, expecting her to be there for him and love him no matter what. so when he comes back to the capitol after all the district 12 drama expecting her to be his one consistency in life, he can’t take it when he sees she’s moved on

LATE TO THE PARTY!

pairings: dark!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

summary: after corio was sent away to district 12, you managed to come to terms with the fact that he did not love you by any means. but what happens when he realises he liked that affection? and what happens when you’re already in a relationship?

warnings: dark!corio, possessiveness, unrequited love (both sides at different times), pining, stalkingish, home wrecker corio, nc kiss, paparazzi, power dynamics/abuse of power for selfish reasons and intimidation

a/n: let’s let corio chase our ass for once 🙄🙄 shorter than i expected but i just wrote it all so here you go!!!

his hair was different.

you didn’t mind it but it’d been a while since you’d seen coriolanus, in all his glory, family name restored, fortune acquired and highway to power paved out. old you, in-love-with-coriolanus you would’ve fainted.

but you had moved on from him.

you had charles now and you could not have asked for anyone better. he was always there for you, actually payed attention to you and was literally everything a girl dreamed for. and you are content. but at times you felt as if it was just that. content. he didn’t challenge you, and your thoughts. he didn’t ignite passion and fire within you, every time he looked at you it was, meh. the sex was vanilla and cute but you always were left frustrated. you were being treated as if you were fragile whilst you wanted roughness.

coriolanus could tell. ever since he came back and saw you with him, you never looked your best as you usually did. whether it was snappiness at interns or fiddling with your nails, something was up. and he took it as a sign, you needed saving. so he did exactly that.

charles had been away on business in district one for a month now. as if him being present and not doing the most when you were together wasn’t enough, now you had nothing. no one. and god were you pent up and frustrated. half of your interns were always stumbling over each other and the rest were too confident in themselves. you needed a vacation. even if for a night only. that came in the form of a party invitation.

if you’d known who’s party invitation then you would have been sure to decline.

the dress you wore wasn’t yours. your maid had delivered it to you whilst you were in your study working. she said it was left on the doorstep, no claim of responsibility but a letter.

I hope you choose to wear it, the dress is almost as gorgeous as you are, Y/n.

- C.S

and for the life of you, you couldn’t bring yourself to think of who it came from. but it truly was breathtaking there was no doubt about it. off the shoulders and red, it complimented you well.

you took note of the amount of reporters which was odd. but you were here to have a good time, best to not focus on them and ruin your day. you were so ready to stuff your face after barely having time for it through the day.

the party was surprisingly tame, there seemed to be a lot of whispering and stares pointed your way but you tried not to let it affect you. perhaps they were surprised by you attending alone? you and charles had decided not to rush your relationship so you’d kept it secret to the larger part of the captiol. only your family and friends knew. but you couldn’t shake the feeling of them knowing something you didn’t.

“everyone please gather for coriolanus outside.” you may have given yourself whiplash at the announcement. this was coriolanus’s party? you never expected him to be the type to hold one in all honestly, let alone dish out speeches. but there he stood tall and towering over. his eyes zeroed in on you the second you joined the moving crowd, it was unnerving to say the least.

the faces in the crowd were largely people you didn’t know personally, first names and last rung through your head as you smiled at some and walked past, trying to make your way to the front. but the crowd seemed to huddle, not letting you through for some reason. a hand on your wrist dragged you away, which had you pulling to have it let go of you. the swarms of heads and bodies obscured your vision and the person was unseen by you.

it wasn’t long before you were being pushed up steps and standing to the side of coriolanus. why the hell did they place you up here?

“the lovely y/n l/n-“ coriolanus stretched his open palm, inviting you to take it. the fuck is going on? your eyes were looking into his for an answer and his were looking at you, secretive. “has been the object of my desire, and after chasing her down, she’s agreed to marry me.” flashes went off every which way as you stood still. there’s no way i heard that right. right?

but him pressing his lips to yours and a hand to your back shook you out of your daydream as you pushed him away. not that anyone noticed. “what are you doing?” you scolded him, your back to the crowd as he smiled, his hand stroking your cheek before leaning down and whispering, “taking what’s mine.”

you couldn’t sleep that night, or in the morning. it was your day off from work yet no one was letting you rest. letters, videos, flowers and more sent to your apartment, all congratulating yourself and your fiancée coriolanus. bleh.

you didn’t even know how you were going to tell charles all that happened. would he believe you? would he hate you? how are you supposed to be with him whilst coriolanus announced your marriage. not engagement, marriage. as in this is happening, and we’re already engaged. you’d be breaking of a marriage that hadn’t been planned nor known, by you at least.

your answer came in the form of charles’s letter, wish you and coriolanus well.

My Dear Sweetheart,

I’d hoped to hear of your time away from me in a good way. That you’d made progress with the interns or been promoted.

But it seems in my time away I’ve left you alone, too alone, for you’ve found comfort in the arms of your past. I wish no ill towards you, nor your soon to be husband Coriolanus. The two of you are a fine match, made for eachother.

I only wish you had told me before I left, for I was planning on surprising you with a ring of my own. I guess it’ll have to wait for another. I know it is selfish of me to say so, but I cannot deny the feelings I still harbour for you.

You’re as kind as a mother, as gorgeous as ever, you remind me of the night stars, I know you will shine bright in the capitol. Your smile brings me to remember all the things I love about you. Your soft skin reminds of silk,and your gentle eyes bring me to sleep, I do hope Coriolanus appreciates you as much as I do. I am always here for you yet I will have to settle for the memories and another woman.

I love you my dear, and I wish you the best.

Yours Only,

Charles

it felt as if your heart had been ripped out, you’d lost the love of your life because of coriolanus’s selfishness. and you couldn’t ever escape from him now.

your love for him was for everyone to see, yet he dismissed it when he had it. but his love for you was a secret, kept close to his heart. he only noticed you once you’d moved on from him, and to coriolanus? you couldn’t move on. too bad you didn’t see it till now.

you were late to the party.

[specialagentlokitty]

Reid x Deaf!Teen!reader - translation

reid x teen/child!reader who is deaf but no one realises till he starts signing to her - Anon💜

A/N: sign language will be in bold

Sitting in the interrogation room, you frowned a little as you stared at the two older men in front of you, they were talking but you had no clue what they were saying.

Looking around the room, you found a clock and decided that if you stared at it long enough maybe they would let you go.

“Can you give us anything? Did you see anything?” Rossi asked.

You didn’t reply and he turned to Hotch who sighed and shook his head, gesturing for him to leave and they did.

They stood on the other side of the glass watching you.

“Are they just ignoring us?” Derek asked.

“I assume so, but they’re the only one what was in the area. Surely they must’ve heard something, we can’t even get a name out of them.”

“Partners with the unsub?” Emily asked.

“I don’t think so, the profile points to the unsub working alone. Unable to work with a partner.” JJ replied.

“Maybe they’re protecting the unsub then.” Hotch said.

They all looked at you, they had no clue what to do.

They couldn’t find any ID on you, no address or anything, you didn’t have a phone with you, you weren’t coming up on their system and you didn’t match any missing persons report.

So if you did have a family they didn’t notice that you were missing.

“Hey Reid, come here.” Derek called.

Reid looked over from where he was sat at the table doing some research.

Getting up, he walked over.

“Yeah?” He asked.

“What’s with the kid? You’re the only one who hasn’t talk to them maybe they’ll talk to you.”

“We’ve all tried, we’re not getting anywhere.” JJ sighed.

Reid turned to look at you through the glass, you were looking at the clock on the wall.

“We haven’t gotten any response, they won’t even look at us most of the time unless we touch the table.” Hotch explained.

Reid watched you, raising a finger but stopped himself.

Instead, he walked into the room, noticing how you didn’t look at him as he quietly closed the door.

What did make you turn was when he tapped once against the table and you looked at him.

“Hi, I’m Dr Spencer Reid, can I sit?” He asked.

You blinked, staring at him blankly.

He smiled a little and raised his hands.

Can I sit?

You quickly nodded and waited for him to sit down before raising your hands.

You can sign?

He nodded.

Yes. I learned in high school, my team think you’ve been ignoring them. Are you mute or deaf?

Deaf. Since birth. My parents only sign so I never learned to lip read.

He smiled his head and nodded in understanding.

Can you tell me your name?

(Y/N) (L/N). What’s yours?

Spencer Reid, can I have someone come in to ask you questions? I’ll be right here to translate.

You nodded and he left, you sat patiently waiting for him to come back.

It was one of the same men from not long ago and he smiled at you.

This is Hotch, he’s going to ask you questions and I’ll translate for you.

Go ahead.

You were asked all sorts of questions, did you see anything, was there anything unusual, why were you out so late.

They were trying to get as much information they could to find anything that could help and when you saw Hotch ask something and Reid stop translating giving him a deadpan look at Hotch smiled sheepishly you smiled.

You tapped the table getting their attention.

He asked if I heard anything, didn’t he?

Yeah. Sorry.

You laughed a little, and shook your head.

I heard a massive mole man wondering about.

Reid laughed at this and told Hotch what you said and he laughed a little bit as well, smiling at you.

Do you have any family we can call?

You shook your head a little.

No. They passed. You can just drop me off where you found me.

Reid frowned and turned to Hotch.

You watched them have a conversation that seemed to last a few minutes and finally Reid turned his attention back to you.

You can stay at the station with us for now, just to be safe. Is that okay?

You shrugged a little.

Yeah beats my crap motel room.

Reid smiled and nodded, gesturing for you to follow him and you did.

He showed you where you would be able to sleep, and got you some food and something to drink and he sat talking with you most of the night.

When you did fall asleep, Reid covered you up with his sweater and went back to helping with the case.

He knew they’d have to cal CPS eventually, when the unsub was caught and you were safe, but he felt protective over you. He felt he had to keep you safe

[gatorbites-imagines]

Can you write jason todd with ftm reader where he defends him from transphobia in public? I need my big beefy boyfriend to beat up transphobes for me pls. Thanks and happy pride ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

Jason Todd x FTM reader

Headcanons

idc what anyone says, gotham knights Jason is beautiful to me

Hallo zusammen. Happy pride. My teacher decided last second to change everything about my next exam, so ive been stressing. So to make myself feel better, here’s some Jason going to pride with his BF.

As much as Gotham is a shithole filled to the gills with crime, its got a large demographic of LGBT. Even the heroes and villains are somewhere on that spectrum, which also means none of them target the local pride parades.

But like any pride parade, there are bigots at the sidelines. Now, Gothamites don’t do stupid well, so most are sent packing before they can even start up with their usual theatrics. Are you gonna yell homophobic slurs at poison ivy? Or when Killer Croc is walking by wearing rainbow streamers?

That doesn’t mean there aren’t stupid that sticks around. They are rarely locals, since even the most hateful locals know not to be dumb enough to cause a ruckus the one place the villains and vigilantes get along and have the same goal.

Not every hero was suited up though, seeing as you and Jason were walking side by side along with everyone else. Jason was wearing a less flashy outfit, mainly because he doesn’t do bright colors too much, but your sexuality and gender were more out in the open.

At least obvious enough for some hateful person to spot that you’re trans. And since you look like an easy target, amongst Gothamites at least, they decide to focus on you with their hateful rhetoric.

Insults weren’t anything new slung around Gotham, a city where you would get called a bad nickname more than your actual name. but it was never focused on something like your gender, your sexuality, or your race. It would be something like the fact that you wore ugly shoes, or that you ate weird.

which was why it catching the attention of more than just your boyfriend when the transphobic slurs get thrown at you. Apparently, you freezing up at the slurs seem like a win to these people, as they start yelling and jeering at you even more.

 Surprisingly it isn’t Jason that throws the first punch. Its some random chick wearing a lesbian flag over her shoulders and purple ladder laced boots. Her punch seems to unleash what everyone had been holding in, not wanting to give these bigots any attention.

Jason gets his own punches in of course, specifically targeting the people that had been yelling slurs at you. And as much as you hate this city sometimes, seeing people from all across the board come together to beat up bigots seems like its as unified as Gotham is ever gonna get.

Some other people wearing pride flags or colors come to check up on you, but you are honestly too busy watching Jason throw a guy with an offensive sign across the pavement.

The other people nod approvingly at your boyfriend. Fun to think Jason, the most Gotham guy you know, gets the approval from the Gotham gays.

When Jason comes back, he’s still jittery, his blood clearly rushing from the confrontation, but a couple of kisses and thank you gets him to settle down for the most part. He ends up more colorful than he would like, being given flower crowns and different lanyards and sashes. But hearing you laugh is enough to make him put up with it.

And if you’re wondering where the heroes were? Well, they just happen to have been busy with something else, even if Red Robin had been sitting on the ledge of a building, wearing his own pride flag the entire time.

You and Jason can both tell he won’t hear the end of this when you guys get home later. At the end of the day, the hateful speech doesn’t weigh too much on you, knowing that not just Jason, but Gotham as a whole, would chew up and spit anyone out who tried it.

[ohwaitimthewriter]

The scent of memory

Pairing : (implied) Caesar x human reader

Warning: FLUFF

Summarize (you'll never see me write a good one 😭): You started to cook a meal dear to your heart when a certain ape decided to pay you a visit.

Words: 2K

A/N: I tried a little something, I hope you'll like it! Enjoy your reading 😊 I lowkey feel a bit insecure about this one but shhh I just wanted to get this out of my mind

Masterlist.

There were surprises every day. Ever since you joined Caesar's clan, you'd spent your time learning what your human life had never taught you: to use what nature offered and adapt it to the needs of the community.

And there was a lot to learn. So Caesar asked Maurice to teach you, to teach you the way of the apes. You were a quick learner, but you never gave yourself too much credit: Maurice was a good teacher, patient and clear in what he showed you. Regardless of the activity, he always found the best way to help you master the techniques for weaving ropes or fine plant stems and knotting them, for whittling wood to create stakes or notches, for carving stone to make weapons… Maurice taught you to identify plants and mushrooms, the edible ones, the healing ones, the poisonous ones. One day, he even took you with him into the forest to learn how to track small game. Not that hunting was one of your favorite activities, and even if you still needed a bit of work in that area, being able to find and track game added a usefulness to your presence within the clan.

Being useful. That was all that mattered to you, and often, when night fell and Maurice left you to your own activities, you continued the work. You'd weave again and again until you obtained the exact density and solidity you were looking for. You could spend several hours whittling a piece of wood to the right angle or thickness. Carving stone required more strength and dexterity. You often ended up with scratches on your hands, but if that meant being useful, then you'd take all the cuts and scratches necessary to master these techniques.

With Maurice, you learned the manual stuff. But there was one last thing you needed to learn. Something that took time to communicate: sign language.

Caesar always found a moment in his day to teach you. You weren't sure why he'd appointed himself as your teacher for this language, but it gave you the opportunity to spend some time with him. And over time, you learned to savor those brief moments when he showed you a new word.

Moments of peace.

It was a strange thing to feel serenity in the face of this force of nature that was Caesar. Strong, powerful but also fair and caring. All he had to do was stand there, and all eyes were on him. He attracted loyalty and respect like a magnet, and everyone was bound to succumb to his power. And yet, in contradiction to the unsettled beating of your heart, you felt a deep sense of calm as you spent these moments beside him.

You looked forward to his daily interventions, brief and occasionally strict if you didn't place your hands correctly to form a word, as if they were a reward.

Yes, you spent most of your time learning.

However, on rare occasions, you did have time for yourself, or rather, you allowed yourself to take this time after lessons, without practicing. You mostly used it to wash your clothes or cook. On the days when a touch of nostalgia crept into you, you cooked meals from your old life. Back when you still lived in the city.

You couldn't always find all the ingredients you needed for the recipes you now know almost by heart, but you always managed to replace what was missing. Thanks in no small part to Maurice's teaching. And when you cooked, a sweet aroma would delightfully fill the space of your hut.

Tonight was one of those days when nostalgia rang at your door. You had decided to cook a ratatouille. A simple, unadorned meal, but one in which most of the ingredients were available to you in the village: cultivating the land was also one of the things you had to learn.

You carefully chopped your vegetables, some of them already immersed in an old iron pan you'd picked up on one of Maurice's supervised outings. The aroma of the tomato melted deliciously with that of the onion, and each portion of vegetable you added to your preparation pleasantly tingled your nostrils. You remembered how, as a little girl, you used to complain that you still had to eat vegetables while your mother sliced them with a smirk on her face: “You can decide on your meal when you grow up, and to grow up, you need to eat vegetables”. At the time, you thought this was the smartest thing a person could say, and it couldn't be further from the truth. Vegetables made you grow and when you grew up, you could choose not to eat them.

You inhaled deeply, savoring the fragrance's journey through your body until it reached your lungs. You almost wanted to hold your breath, letting the aromas mingle and swirl, but perhaps too soon, you exhaled, opening your eyes. How long had it been since you closed them? You weren't sure, but your heart skipped a beat when your gaze fell on the one of an unexpected ape.

“C… Caesar?”

His name falling on your lips was the signal that you had just become aware of his presence. He had watched you lose yourself in your thoughts and chosen to remain on the threshold of your hut, not wishing to disturb your deep reflections, whatever they might be. So he waited for a gesture, a mimic, a simple sign that you had become aware of his presence, before stepping forward.

As he drew closer, a tantalizing scent came wafting up his muzzle, and you couldn't help noticing his nostrils taking in a few breaths of the aroma. In fact, he glanced at your pan placed directly on the small fire, showing you that he had just identified where the smell was coming from.

Caesar plopped down beside you, always sitting so that he could read what was going on in your eyes. He often made the excuse that this way, you could more easily see and learn the words he was signing to you, which was true, but secretly, he enjoyed being able to study the slightest expression that ventured across your face.

And you were obviously entitled to a surprise quiz on your knowledge of sign language.

Caesar took care to sign slowly, stopping when he saw a doubt creeping into your eyes, sometimes repeating the sign that was obviously causing you difficulty in understanding, until you were able to correctly state the question he had just asked you, not without a touch of pride at your success.

“ You're not eating with the colony?”

You think for a moment, looking at your hands to try to find the right gestures.

“ Want to spend some time… ”

And when you couldn't find the right word, you said it out loud again.

“Alone.” You finished, silently asking him about the right sign for this word.

He looked at you for a moment, taking in your answer, before giving you the sign for the word “ alone ”. You repeated it to memorize it, and Caesar simply nodded when you signed it correctly. A comfortable silence settled between you and he glanced once more at the vegetables simmering quietly. The delicate sound of crackling food blended perfectly with the crackling of wood being devoured by flames.

You weren't done adding the last ingredients, and you took Caesar's silence as a signal that he wouldn't be asking anything more from you right now, so you set about crumbling the fresh thyme stalks on top of your preparation.

Caesar stared at the vegetables, their sweet aromas tingling his nostrils in waves, and when your hands appeared in his field of vision, he couldn't help but watch your fingers meticulously work around the thyme stems, creating a shower of tiny leaves over your meal. And as the food bubbled, the scent of thyme mingling with the other vegetables wafted up from the pan. For a brief moment, he felt as if a magic trick had been played on him, and his green eyes found their way to yours.

He knew about cooking. He knew that humans cooked every meal they ate, with the exception of a few that could be eaten raw, such as fruit and certain vegetables. He'd seen, and sometimes even tasted, when his humans' backs were turned, some of the meals and cakes they'd left on the table in the living room of his former home. But if he'd seen the finished products, how they were made remained a mystery. Will had never taken the time to show him how he cooked his meals. So there was something… wonderfully intriguing about seeing you at work.

Your gaze was still on the pot, and as you stirred the ingredients with a piece of stick from which you'd peeled the bark, you took a deep breath. Caesar watched your eyelids flutter and close as a smile crept over your face, as if a distant memory had just gently brushed over your mind.

You felt at home, and Caesar could have fallen even deeper in adoration at the serene, contented face you offered him, if he hadn't forced himself to avert his gaze, which he knew was sometimes too intense for you to bear. It was something he took note of mentally when he looked at you intently with the simple aim of learning the core of your entire soul. When his eyes settled on you for a little too long, you had this habit of rolling your shoulders, as if to rid yourself of some invisible tension, a self-conscious smile tacked to your lips, while your arms wrapped tightly around your chest to protect yourself from his inspection.

Caesar decided to keep his gaze on the contents of your pan, figuring it would be easier to suppress the gentle tingling sensation that was creeping traitorously into the pit of his stomach.

“It's… a meal that… my mother used to cook for me.” You spoke fondly, but with a hint of incertitude in your voice.

You didn't talk much about your past, just as Caesar didn't talk much about it either. Hearing you mention a memory that seemed to be cherished in your heart, though not sure it was the right thing to do, had softened the usually serious expression on Caesar's face.

Caesar nodded quietly, accepting your recollection as a gift, a token of trust. Even if these memories were attached to humans and to life before the release of the apes, they were memories that made you who you were today. Not allowing or accepting them would be like not accepting… you. And Caesar was already far beyond that.

You smiled again, your gaze lost in your memories. It was hard for him to understand how a simple scent could take you so far in thought, but after all, it wasn't for him to judge the complex emotions that must have been running through you at that moment.

“The same food?”

Caesar's gruff voice caught your attention, and a hint of joy lit up your face at his sudden interest in your past.

“Not quite.” You replied, still smiling. “I take the peppers off, I don't like them,” you giggled.

He huffed, slightly entertained by what seemed to be hiding a more detailed story you'd shared with your mother and didn't yet want to tell.

The smell was so tempting, it was hard to deny it. He watched you pick up the pot using a thick piece of cloth, so as not to burn yourself, and serve you a portion of food in a bowl. It was then that he caught himself thinking that maybe, some day, you'd agree to share with him this meal that seemed so dear to you.