#and i was so mad & scared & now i’m so proud and inspired by him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

diorjadore · 3 years

Text

You’re Special — Vinnie Hacker

—

Pairing/s: Vinnie Hacker x fem!reader

Summary: Subathon stream! Vinnie tells her and chat how much he loves her.

Warning/s: Fluff, language

Word Count: ~1.9k

Song Suggestion/s:

—

Your boyfriend’s day was packed from the afternoon till nighttime and maybe even the next morning because he was doing a Subathon stream on Twitch. You didn’t mind though because you were swamped with college work that you would rather stay at home and focus. But that didn’t mean you can’t watch him be a goofball on camera.

He started at 3:00 pm and was having the time of his life and he didn’t even notice that hours had already passed. You finished eating dinner and decided to splurge on your man, thinking he deserves it. You gifted him 500 subs with the message: “I love you. Do great.” and the whole chat went crazy but he was quick to read it. This simple message might not be a big deal to others but it’s so heartfelt and pure that he’s just bursting with love right now. Sort of like how Tom Holland greeted Zendaya on her birthday with the caption: “My MJ, have the happiest of birthdays…”, it’s so sweet you could feel it through the screen.

He genuinely smiled and blushed at your presence on stream and said: “I love you, Y/n/n. Thank you, bub.” He sat back in his chair just smiling at the comments saying they wanna cry from how cute the both of you are.

“You’re so lucky, Vinnie. Yeah, honestly I don’t know what I did to deserve her.” He read a comment off chat.

“It’s a forever thing. Yes, it definitely is! It’s me and you forever, Y/n. You’re stuck with me.” He twisted on his seat and put a hand on his cheek while chuckling and wiggling his brows.

“I’ll gladly spend this lifetime and another with you, my love.” You typed while just looking at his contagious grin on screen, the smile lines around his eyes and mouth evident. It’s true though, it’s like you found each other at the right moment, and everything just sort of fell into place for the both of you. You weren’t looking for love when you guys met at that grocery aisle and I guess that’s the best kind of meet-cute there is?

“Bro she’s your sugar mommy.” Deny said through the screen and Vinnie just laughed.

“Hell yeah, she’s my sugar mommy, my sugar baby, my baby girl, my best friend, my future wife, everything. I don’t care!” He said while throwing his hands up as if surrendering.

“I should call her.” Deny sighed and the both of them just laughed.

“Put a ring on her then. I dare you. Yeah, dare me again in like a few months, years, I don’t know when but I will.” He pointed at the screen, all the while you were just watching him with a huge grin on your face.

“No, because you guys don’t understand. She makes me happy and she inspires me to be a better person for myself and for her cause I’m afraid I’ll lose her if I don’t become the man she deserves, you know what I mean? I love her so much it scares me sometimes actually. Like maybe my love for her is as big as that Ikea bear or I don't know maybe twice as that.” He confessed as if he was lecturing the chat while still focused on the game.

You were finishing up your homework when you decided to FaceTime him, coincidentally he died on game. He picked up after the second ring and when he came to view, you said: “Say it to my face, Vincent.” You tried to act mad but it was useless when his smile’s the first thing you see.

“Come over then.” He smirked, proud of his suggestion.

“No, I wanna hear it now. Say it again.” You demanded but failed.

“Nope.”

“Ugh, fine I’ll come over later. Chat we have a simp!” You shouted over the phone hoping they heard you.

“You’re a simp, you’re clingy as hell. You twitch in your sleep.” He fired back. You gasped because he didn’t just expose you like that.

“You’re one to talk, Vin. You get up in the middle of the night to pee.” Two can play this game.

“Okay, whatever. You win.” He sighs, acting all irritated. He wasn’t though, secretly he loves to see you amped up like this because most of the time you were shy and non-assertive.

“Hera doesn’t love you.” You knew this would make him gasp and you were right. The chat was booing Vinnie for being a bad cat dad and although it wasn’t true, which everybody knows, it was still funny to see him all offended.

“Okay enough! My cat loves me, mine.” He showed off his big hazel-brown eyes at you to taunt you but you weren’t budging. He loves to shove it in your face how Hera’s his and we all know you’re Hera’s mom but we also know who will get custody if you guys ever break up. Hopefully, you won’t. Cat’s too precious to have divorced parents.

“Cat come here!” He picked Hera up from her tower making you jealous because you wanted to cuddle with her more than your own boyfriend.

“See? She loves me.” He said as he laid her down to the floor.

“Fucker.” You were about to hang up when he called for you.

“Wait, Y/n! I’ll say it later but uhm yeah in all seriousness though, you’re what I’ve been praying and waiting for. You’re special to me.” He sheepishly smiled at you, completely forgetting about his stream which was bawling their eyes out.

“Aww! I love you, Vin-…” You began to say while gushing at this sudden affection but he cut you off.

“Too bad you eat mayonnaise.” He abruptly said. You shouted for his name but he ended the call immediately, not wanting to get in trouble for exposing you. He burst out laughing at his silly attempt. Like a fucking middle school boy that joked in class even if his friends were the only ones that found it funny. In fairness though, his laughter is contagious because you couldn’t help but laugh as well, even if you were annoyed at him.

After a while, you arrived at Hype with middle eastern food for the both of you because you knew well that he hadn’t eaten yet and it was already 10:00 pm. Although you ate already, you were particularly craving some chicken shawarma, samosa, and flatbread. To be honest, it was more for you than for Vinnie.

You knocked on his door and he faintly said come in. He saw you and smiled widely but didn’t bother to stand up because he was still miraculously alive in Valorant. “Hello, my love.” You came up to him and hugged him sideways and kissed his temple, to which he leaned into.

“Hello, Y/n. Are you done with school works?” He looked up at you and asked as you nodded, his big doe eyes sparkling thanks to the bright screen. You started putting out the food you brought as both of your mouths watered.

“Chat we got middle eastern food!” He abruptly shouted which made you jump. He brushed your forearm in comfort because he knows how jumpy you always get and yet he still does it. It’s entertainment to him at this point.

He got up and got you a seat so you could eat together on camera. Your boyfriend was eating in between deaths while you were sitting back focusing on your shawarma. Vinnie couldn’t help but let out a little laugh at how focused you were on your food. “Look at how she’s eyeing that shit.” He said while looking at you through the monitor. That’s another thing he always does: just look at you while eating your food. It’s mesmerizing to him because you look at food with more love than when you look at him which is partially true.

“Mhmmmmm, yummy?” He said as you were about to take a mouthful. You stopped and glared at him.

“Yeah, it tastes better than you.” You smirked and he got caught off guard.

“Ayo! What the hell?” He asked in shock. You just slapped his arm and threw your head back in laughter.

“I’m kidding, babe. Both are delicious.” You said nonchalantly while biting into your food.

Vinnie shook his head in embarrassment from his suddenly confident girlfriend. “I apologize, she’s usually not like this.” He said in an English accent. You began to wonder why you said yes to your goofy boyfriend.

Another hour has gone by and the both of you were finished with your meal. You laid on his bed and pet Hera who was on your stomach. Vinnie glanced back at the both of you and adjusted his camera so chat could see your shenanigans. You noticed and carried Hera and walked towards him, using her paw to pat his head. He just broke into a smile and continued with his game. When she broke from your grasp, you sat beside him again.

“Vin?”

“Yes, my love?” His head tilted to face you but he didn’t move his eyes away from the monitor.

“Do you want me to cook for you tomorrow? What do you want?”

“Hmmm let me think.”

“I can cook you chicken alfredo. You want that?” You asked while gently stroking his nape to relax him.

“Well… it’s-hmmm. No. You see, Y/n…” He started off and you visibly tensed up.

“You don’t like my cooking?” Your lips pouted as if you were gonna cry.

“No, baby. It’s not that.” He chuckled.

“Then what is it, Vinnie?” You asked warily. By now, your mood was shifting because of how sleepy you are.

“I like your cooking, it’s just that I would rather cook with you than you cook for me.” His words calmed you down.

“Oh. Okay! I guess that works too, bubby.” You stood up and kissed his cheek.

“Goodnight, Y/n/n! I love you.” He shouted out because he knew you slept at this time plus the fact that you were grumpy.

“Goodnight, Vin. I love you.” You trailed off while making yourself comfortable on his bed.

After a few more hours he was still streaming and his scream woke you up from when he lost at Valorant. “Vinnie!” You screamed and threw a pillow at him which hit his head.

“Oops, sorry baby girl.” His apology was useless because he did it again. You got up from the bed and dragged your feet towards him as you laid exactly on him to shut him up. You snuggled yourself closer to his neck while you were sideways, your back was supported by his right arm that was gripping the mouse.

“Okay, now I really can’t scream.” He chuckled and it vibrated through his chest which you were palming. You just hummed and gave a faint smile in response and fell right back to sleep.

“I meant what I said you know. I’ll marry you someday, Y/n. You’re too good for me sometimes but I’ll try every day to be deserving of it. Can’t believe you put up with a cornball like me.” He quietly said as he kissed your forehead.

“Simp.” You softly slapped his chest and snuggled a little more closer to him now completely falling asleep. His warmth and just him in general never failed to make you deeply fall asleep. His vanilla scent filled your nostrils as your breathing mimicked his steady one. Vinnie felt your body relax as he gently leaned his head on top of yours. He might sound like a broken record but he’s absolutely-head-over -heels-madly in love with you. He really wouldn’t have it any other way.

—

Author’s Note: this is so empty buy yay subathon fluff! Sorry if its mainly dialogue hehehe reqs r closed for now btw :( mwah

676 notes · View notes

samuel-de-champagne-problems · 3 years

Text

De(railed) +18

Summary: The canon episode "Derailed" reimagined where Reader is sent on the solo interview and Spencer, recklessly, decides to save her. Plus, the aftermath.

CW: mommy kink sub! Spencer x dom! female (she/her) reader, cum play, penetrative sex, light degradation, praise kink, light choking (mentioned), edging, calling him a slut (please let me know if I missed anything)

Word Count: 6 K (this is the longest thing I've ever written!)

Author's Note: Special thank you to @shemarmooresfedora for reading this for me because I was very nervous about the smut portion. And a very special thank you to @notanotherreidgirl for inspiring this idea! this was my ask so yeah, this is a little out there for me so be kind (*dips into the shadows*). Also I either really hate or really love this title :)

Taglist: You can join the taglist here!

De(railed)

Sitting on the train, headed towards Virginia for the custodial interview, you tried to remind yourself what Spencer said to you the previous night when you dropped him off at his apartment. You had his hands in yours and you could feel him shake with nerves when he spoke.

He told you that he believes in you. Even when you think that Hotch and Gideon are sending you out to the solo interview too early, Spencer believes in you. If only you’d believe a little bit in yourself, then maybe you’d be able to figure out a way off this train, but an armed man and innocent passengers proves that a little challenging.

The man passes the train up and down and you tell yourself to relax. In hindsight, it seems like a horrible series of events that lead to the man shooting the train attendant. You’ve done your best to keep him calm until the police can see him off the train. Looking outside, you see SWAT, local PD, and FBI lined up 50 yards from the train.

Continuing to wave his gun around the train, the unsub rants about wanting to talk to a higher authority. To yourself, to wish that Spencer was here with you. He’d have figured out exactly what was wrong with the man by now. For less than professional reasons, you’re forever grateful that he’s not here- that he’s safe on the other side of the train.

“He’s out of his mind,” the man holding a bottle of whiskey says, “You gotta do something, lady,” he says, taking a swig of his drink. Your eyes dart to him and back up the doctor, the unsub’s psychologist, looking for a way out.

You breathe deeply, hoping that the BAU would come up with a plan. Knowing FBI protocol, you expect them to try to initiate a line of communication. Glancing over at the unsub, you think that he’ll want to talk to someone who looks like they are powerful. That would be either Hotch or Gideon. Selfishly, you’re grateful that Spencer still looks like an underpaid TA with a toy gun attached at his hip.

“No! Please, don’t hurt me!” the young woman screams, trying to release herself from the man, Ted’s, grip. He releases her, throwing her to the ground when his phone rings.

Gideon.

On the phone with Gideon, the man demands for something to be removed. You can’t hear what he’s saying to the unsub, but you place the little faith you have left into hoping your team can save you.

***

His vest is much too big for him.

That’s all you can think of when you realize Spencer is the “technician” that they’re sending in. His tie and shirt stick awkwardly and there is a gap in his shoulders around the vest. The straps are pulled so tight that they nearly fold over. His hands aren’t shaking when he carries the small black box, but his eyes look terrified.

You want to reach out to him, maybe hold his hand or brush the strands of hair that have fallen into his face, but you can’t. You have to sit there and pretend that this is the first time you’ve met him. It’s excruciatingly sick and mildly amusing in an equally twisted way. The first time you’ve come to terms with loving Spencer, you both can very well die.

“I’m here for the chip,” Spencer says, holding his hands up, “the higher authorities sent me,” he claims, feeding into the unsubs delusion. You shield your glance, unable to trust yourself from launching yourself in between Spencer and the man with the gun.

“That’s far enough and drop your weapons,” Ted says, holding the crying woman by her neck, “and take that vest off. I want to see you,”

“I don’t have any weapons. They don’t authorize them for-”

“I said take it off!” the man shouts, throwing the woman to the ground.

Spencer complies, taking off the much too big vest and tossing it to the ground. He holds his hands up, playing the part of the unsuspecting underling well. He reaches out to Ted, showing him the tools that he’ll use to take out the “chip”. You wonder how Spencer will pull it off, but you know he will in the end.

Spencer digs into the man’s skin with the scalpel. You can’t catch the sleight of hand, but you know that’s what he used.

“I have to leave, the higher authorities need the chip-”

“Turn it on,” Ted orders, “Turn it on!” he screams, his voice booming in the small train.

Spencer’s eyes dart to yours thinking of ways that he can get out of here. He looks almost sorry, and you feel a wave of intense regret. The thousands of times you could have said those little words seem so simple now.

“I can’t turn it on,” Spencer says, “I can’t turn it on,” You hate how scared he sounds, and you hate even more how you have to pretend that you don’t know him.

“Why!” the unsub yells, thrashing the gun around, “You’re one of them!”

Thinking quickly when you see him point the gun at Spencer’s face, you jump to your feet. You push Spencer out of the way, terrified that he’ll do something rash. You can’t lose Spencer, not when you’ve hadn’t had the chance to have him yet.

“It needs to be implanted to be activated,” you say, “I know this stuff Ted, I’m a Fed. Only me. Everyone else,Ted is just innocent. Just let them go, Ted,” you plead, “Just let them go,”

“No!” he yells, shooting up into the ceiling of the train, “no!”

The windows are closed, but you suspect that Hotch and Gideon have the train surrounded by now. Spencer moves closer to you, staring at the man as he scratches his upper arm. He drops his hand towards yours and squeezes, like he’s saying sorry and saying goodbye all in one touch. You don’t realize this before it’s too late.

“Doctor Brier,” Spencer says, standing up with his hands near his head, “you’re right, there’s more-”

“Just make it stop!” the desperate man pleas, “Make it stop!”

“I know what it’s like, Ted. The voices, they’ve been talking to you since you were a kid. They don’t stop. I know what it’s like Ted,” Spencer says, inching closer and closer to him, “Leo? Why don’t you let him think for himself?” Spencer says, trying to use the man’s delusion against him.

“Don’t! Stop, you’re trying to trick me!” the man begs, whipping the gun around too close to Spencer’s face, “stop!”

You always listen to Spencer. Whatever he talks about, you listen. From Russian cinema to Star Trek to the Birch and Swinnerton-Dyer conjecture, you listen to him. It’s not that hard and it’s easy to get lost in his eyes or the way his hands move when he talks. But the seconds leading up to when the gunshot goes off, you’re not listening.

Because without Spencer, there isn’t much worth listening to.

***

Your eyes are squeezed shut so when a large hand hovers over your shoulder you jump at the touch. It takes you all of ten seconds to realize it’s Spencer. You look him over, searching for signs of mortal wounds that will rip him from your clutches, but there isn’t any.

“You’re okay,” you say, wanting nothing more but to kiss him or yell at him, or maybe a mix of the two, “you’re okay,” you repeat, not fully believing it the first time.

“We’re okay,” Spencer says, hugging you tight as you collapse into his arms, not caring if the rest of the team watches.

“I haven’t been fair to you, Spence,” you say, breaking from the hug to caress his face. You stop, holding his face in your hands, soaking him in, “you’re not someone who gets strung along, baby. I fucking love you and you-you mean so much to me. And I hate-I hate that it took you almost dying for me to realize that,” you cry, unable to care anymore.

“You love me?” Spencer whispers, unable, himself to care that they have an audience, “You love me back, but I’m, I-I,”

“Spencer,” you tell him, pausing to kiss him fully, “I,” you plant another kiss, on his right cheek, “love,” left cheek, “you,” forehead.

“You do, don’t you?” he says, looking at you with a proud smirk, “I guess that’s good because, I love you, Y/N. I don’t go risk my life just for everyone,”

“Watch yourself, baby,” you remind him, channeling the surge of pure life that runs through your veins, “you’re in for it later, my darling,” you tell him, whispering into his ear so only he can hear.

***

You didn’t even give him time to breathe before you pushed him up against the wall. Spencer’s hands still held yours, you don’t think that he dropped them since you two safely exited the train. He whimpers through the kiss, his breathy moan only serving to spur you on. His hands broke from yours, clinging to your waist. Spencer tries to peel your clothes from your skin, but he's much too distracted by your lips that travel across his cheekbones and down to his neck. He’s breathless and panting, but you don’t let up. If he’s breathing, he’s alive and that’s all that matters now.

“I’m so sorry, so sorry,” Spencer pleads, the desperation in his voice causing you to pause from your attack on his neck, “I-I, Y/N,” he stutters, feeling empty without your kisses.

“I’m not mad, sweet boy. I’m not mad at you,” you say, laying on a sweet voice as your fingers skim through Spencer’s hair. He’s shaking slightly and closes his eyes, looking like he’s grateful to be alive.

“You’re not, but I wasn’t good,” he whispers, “I wasn’t good for you, Mommy,”

You do everything in your power to keep your composure, but after a day like today, you’re ready to melt into him. He might be the one begging at your feet soon, but there’s no doubt in your mind that it’s you who's wrapped around his finger. He looks up at you, with his back leaning against the wall; his face flushed pink and marks littering his neck.

“You scared me, Spence. I thought- I just let me take care of you,” you request, dropping your hands from his hair and grabbing onto his hand as you lead him to your bedroom. You’ve made it a habit to go to your place after cases; Spencer claims that the sunlight that dips into your bedroom in the morning is more pleasant than his view of the street, but you know he just prefers your bed and the attention he gets at your place.

“Please, Y/N,” he begs, following you into the bedroom. He’s at your heels and burrowed deeply in your heart, exactly where you want him.

You drop his hands, guiding him so his knees hit the edge of your plush bed. He kicks off his shoes and starts to undo his tie and shirt, but you stop him before he gets the chance.

“Let me do that for you, baby. I’m taking care of you tonight,” you say, feeling your heart swell as he looks up at you adoringly, “Mommy’s got you, my brave boy,” you tell him, your fingers grazing over his cheekbones, his nose and eyes. His eyes close as you continue to draw shapeless shapes over his skin.

“Thank you,” he mutters, saying it like a pray as he relaxes for the first time today, “thank you, Mommy,”

You smile at the name, enjoying how pliant he is as you unbutton his shirt and loosen his tie. His flushed cheeks lead down his equally flushed chest. You place both your legs over his body, hovering over him as you straddle him. The proximity eggs him on and the minimal friction near his pants causes him to buck up words. Mercilessly, you chuckle at his attempt to get off. You want nothing more than to put him out of his misery, but watching him squirm for the tiniest bit of affection— your affection makes you nearly as desperate as Spencer.

“Patience, sweetheart,” you tell him, harshly pulling off his shirt as you nibble on his ear. He whimpers out in desire, already unable to form coherent thoughts even though you’ve so much as kissed him.

You stop touching him, sinking down to your knees before him. Spencer looks down at you, his pupils blown and his hair messy from being pushed up against the wall. His breathing is erratic and unmeasured, but he’s heart is still beating. You smile, unafraid and not caring that it breaks character as you give his thigh a squeeze. You bring his hands to his buttons, motioning for him to unbutton his pants for you.

“I can’t do all the work now, can I, baby?” You question rhetorically, quite self satisfied that he nods eagerly. He quickly undoes his pants, kicking the heavy corduroy trousers near your bathroom door. If the moment wasn’t so tense and erratic, you probably would have teased him for his excitement.

“I want to touch you, please? Mommy” Spencer starts, his hands holding your face as you kneel. He holds your face so delicately and gently, it’s a contrast to the sinful way he’s squirming above you.

“Not yet,” you tsk, slipping your finger under the waistband of his boxers. The bulge in his underwear looks very uncomfortable, but Spencer clearly tries his best to behave under your strong stare. You peel back the underwear and let it drop to Spencer’s feet. His cock, now exposed, is painfully hard. He concentrates on his breathing and trying to remain composed as your fingers travel up his leg and towards his groin.

“There’s my pretty boy,” you coo, grabbing Spencer’s jaw and making him look down at you. He lets pitiful whine at your words, “Come on, make my fingers nice and wet,” you order, sticking out two fingers that he sucks enthusiastically.

“What a good little slut I have, you’re sucking Mommy’s fingers just as if it’s my strap, aren’t you sweet boy,” you say, gently resting your other palm loosely around his neck. You don’t apply any pressure, but let it serve as a reminder of what could happen.

Happily, Spencer sucks your fingers, moaning around them and bucking his hips up in frustration. Marred by impatience, you remove your fingers from his mouth and kneel back down on the floor. Loosely, you grip his cock with your wet fingers. Spencer whines at the friction that’s nothing close to enough.

“Tell me how that feels,” you demand, “Tell Mommy how I makes you feel,”

“I-I feel,” Spencer starts, concentrating intently, but unable to truly articulate the passion you ignite in him, “Mommy, you make me feel so good,” Spencer says, finally finding the words, even though they barely scratch the surface.

“That’s all I want, baby. You deserve to feel good. So let me take care of you, my love,” you tell him, watching as he simpers at your words.

For a second there you let yourself think that maybe it’s calling him my love that prompted his reaction, not the promise of his cock in your mouth. You know after tonight there’s no tip toeing around it anymore: you’re unequivocally in love with him and you’re a little disappointed that it took the pair of you nearly dying to figure it out finally.

Looking back up at him, you abandon your plans for a moment. You kiss him hard. Normally, you’d hate the way your teeth clash against someone else’s and how the kiss isn’t really a kiss. It’s hard to pace yourself when he’s whimpering below you as you grind down hard on his crotch. The fabric of your pants provides much needed friction, causing Spencer to cry out in a twisted mix of pleasure and pain. He paws at your work short, silently begging for you to shed your layers as well.

“Good boys wait,” you tell him, kissing his forehead and sinking back down for the last time. You’ll never be done teasing him, but for now you intend to put his needs first.

“Such a pretty cock that only I get to see,” you coo, running a finger up his length, relishing in how he shudders at your touch. You’ve touched him so many times, yet he reacts each time as if it’s the first. He’s leaking precum as his breathing becomes more and more strained. This is far from your first time with Spencer and you’re well aware of the signs of his release.

Smiling up at him, you lazily wrap your hand around him, giving him the smallest bit of friction and attention that he needs to come. You drop him once he’s close to the edge, his pleading, begging eyes turning glazed over when he realizes you’re taking off your shirt. By the way he’s looking at you, you’d think you’d be wearing your best lingerie. Quickly, you’ve learned that with Spencer you could be wearing your ratty college tee shirts and he’d still look at you like you were dripping in gold.

“Mommy,” he pleads, “I’m a good boy,” he says, no trying to convince himself to hold back from his release, “please Mommy. I’m gonna-“ Spencer says, the flush on his face deepening as he throws his head back in ecstasy. However, he summons enough energy and will to reach out and palm your boobs. You don’t hide your moans as he rolls a nipple in between his thumb and pointer finger. It only encourages him, but nowhere can you find in yourself to care.

“I’m sorry, Mommy,” Spencer whimpers, unable to hold himself up anymore and collapsing on the bed. His chest heaves up and down as he tries to collect himself. He comes all over your chest, staining your lavender bralette and looking very proud of himself. Spencer learned quickly as well that coming before you’ve even touched him earns him quite the praise.

“Such a good boy,” you praise, choosing to ignore him coming without permission, “such a messy boy though,” you chastise, squeezing his thigh and crawling your fingers up his chest.

“Mommy, please, I want to make you feel good too. I love you,” Spencer begs, his eyes droopy with exhaustion from the long day and glazed over with his orgasm. His words slur together as if he's drunk off something potent. His eyes meet yours, but flit down quickly. He scans your soiled chest, licking his lips unconsciously as his eyes rank over your breasts covered in the lavender lacy and stained with his cum.

“Do you know what good boys do?” You ask, expecting Spencer to answer the question without hesitation.

“They clean up their mess, Mommy,” he says. In a moment of bravery, he grabs your hand, guiding you to lay down on the bed. He twists his hands around your back, unlatching your bra from your body and tosses it on the ground.

Above you, Spencer lowers his face so his chin barely grazes your chest. His tongue darts out onto your skin, licking up the messy cum that fell on your chest. You place your hands in his hair, gripping firmly. It’s not hard enough to cause any pain, but it’s tight enough to remind him to stay put. Spencer hums contently, lapping up your chest, but keeping his eyes trained on yours. You pull him up by his hair, pieces fall over his blissed out eyes. He smiles up at you, his chin glistening with cum, but looking pleased with himself.

“That’s a good boy,” you praise, pulling him up to kiss him deeply. His tongue swirls around in yours and his large hands cup your face. You can feel him moving in your lap, more and more desperate for attention and friction as you continue to hold him off, “I love you, baby,” you say, hoping that he’ll hear enough times for it to stick and for him to start living his life like he wants to stay alive.

“Just for you, Mommy,” Spencer mumbles, already sucking and marking the valley between your breasts, “Can you? Please?” Spencer asks, still embarrassed, after all these months to put to words his desires.

“What, baby? You need to use your words,” you tell him, scooting up in the bed and smirking to yourself as Spencer practically chases you up the headboard, “You need to tell him what you want me to do, baby,” you say, talking slowly as you rub circles into his skin. He’s still hot to the touch and flushed all over.

“I want to make you feel good,” Spencer begs, licking his fiery red lips that are swollen and bitten from your earlier treatment, “I want you to feel good,” he says, attempting to buck his hips against your legs.

“Are you sure about that, Spence?” you ask, teasing him with your wandering hands. One stays latching in his hair, exposing his criminally bare neck and the other sneaks down to his cock, but hardly satisfies his burning need, “Because it seems like you’re an insolent little slut who only cares if he gets off. Do I need to remind you that I have needs as well,” you chide, increasing your grip on his hair as your lips nip the sensitive skin of his neck. He shudders in response, unable to fully articulate a sentence.

“But you’re lucky, you’re beautiful, Dr. Reid,” you say, dropping his hair and letting his head fall onto your chest. Knowing your expectations, Spencer doesn’t hesitate to kiss and nip along your skin. You feel your panties dampen at the sight of him: his hair wild and messy, his neck marked with evidence of your mouth, and his chest is bright red, somehow still flustered and embarrassed by your affections. You find it bizarre that he still doesn’t fully believe just how head over heels you are for him. He’s too good and pure for this world, and you’ll happily spend the rest of your life reminding him just how deserving of goodness and pureness he is.

“I love you,” Spencer whimpers against your skin, his breath is hot as he pants, “but please fuck me,” he begs, flipping around on his back so you can be on top.

“Don’t worry, sweet boy, Mommy will take care of you,” you remind him, balancing yourself so you can hover over him, “Now, I’d normally want you to be quiet, but I want to hear everything. So use that pretty mouth of yours and tell me how you feel, sweetie,” you instruct, maneuvering yourself so you’re lined up with him.

“Give me a second, please,” Spencer asks, pushing himself up so his back rests against the headboard, “You make me crazy, I just need a moment to think,” he says, quietly, staring off nothing in the bedroom. You take the opportunity to grab his hand, that’s gripping onto your floral patterned sheets, and kiss his scars on his knuckles. Some are new and fresh, while others are old, from longer ago than working at the BAU. You kiss them over, as if your lips are able to help the evidence of his physical pain.

“You make me crazy too, Spencer,” You say, growing more and more unhinged as he moves underneath you, “I love you so much, darling,” you tell him, kissing his eyes, lips, nose, anything you can reach.

Slowly, so slowly, you sink down onto Spencer. You watch his microexpressions, but you know how he’ll react. He squeezes his eyes shut, as if he’s willing himself to hold off. He breathes in and out, teetering on the edge. You wait for his nod, for his sign of approval that you can move. He whines and peeks open his eyes. Spencer’s hands dig into your waist, his strong, large hands searching for any skin to grab onto.

“Please move, Mommy,” Spencer begs, burying his head into the crook of your neck as he starts to plead with you to have mercy on him, “I need it, Mommy,” he moans.

“Don’t be greedy, darling. You’ll take what I give you, but don’t you want to make me feel good too, baby,” you ask, guiding his nimble fingers to your slick core. His thumb and pointer finger begin to rub quick circles around your clit. You bite your lip, trying to keep your composure as you feel the pressure build. Between the heightened tensions of work and Spencer's hot breath against your neck, you know that you’ll come soon. Spencer’s breathy moans get more and more desperate.

“Are you already going to come again, love?” You ask, increasing your pace. His other hand grips your thigh, drawing shapes into your soft skin. Following suit, you match his sweet movements on his cheek. His breath is his shaky as you stroke his cheek lovingly, “Make me come first and then, maybe if you’re good, I’ll let you come inside me,” you promise, already knowing that you’ll let him come inside you.

“Watch you disappear inside me, baby. Watch your pretty cock slip inside my pussy. It’s just like you were made for me, darling,” you cry, your voice getting slightly breathy yourself. You watch yourself as his cock goes in and out, red with overstimulation. Spencer’s eyes, littered with small tears, looks transfixed.

“Fuck,” Spencer says, “I’m so close, Mommy. I-I, you make me feel so good. You’re so beautiful, I-I-”

“So needy, you’re so fucking needy,” you say to him. You can tell he’s growing more and more impatient by the moment. His hands lurch towards your chest, pawing at your boobs. Spencer’s sloppy movements bring you closer and closer to the edge.

“So good, so good,” he repeats, his sweaty forehead rests on your collarbone. You pull him up again his hair, relishing in the pitiful moan that he lets out. It’s raw and pure sin, it should make you want to fuck him more, but it only makes you want to love him more.

You’re drunk on him. Drunk on his moans and whimpers of pleasure. You’re drunk on the way his skin sticks to yours and how his hands roam around your body, always finding a spot on your torso and legs that makes you approach the edge closer and closer. You wonder, for a second, if you’re being too hard on him. If you should just whisper that little sentence and let Spencer feel the wave of pleasure.

“I need it, Mommy,” Spencer pants, kissing lined up your chest and collarbone. His face is pressed up against your face and moves up and down as you continue your pace, “I-I, Mommy, I want you to-”

“What do you want, baby? Hmm? Tell Mommy?” You ask, your voice sounding sickly sweet. The noise of moans fills the room, Spencer’s moan akin to whimpers and whines and your’s more like praises and words of approval, “you’ve been such a good boy, baby I’ll give you want whatever you want, my love”

“Please, please let me make you come, Mommy. I need you to come, Mommy. I need it,” Spencer whines, looking up into your eyes and latching onto them in the darkness.

It’s sinful how the filthy words contrast with his sweet, shy tones. He looks so innocent, but enthralling with his face between your hands, but his own hands rubbing small circles on your clit. His moans grow more high pitched. You kiss by his ear, ready to whisper the words of approval that you’ve neared your release.

“Oh god, Spencer. God. You have no idea what you do to me. My sweet boy,” you murmur, pressing Spencer’s face further into your chest. You can feel him heave and his breathing grow more and more unsteady, but he still has enough sense to continue rubbing your clit.

You kiss him, wanting to feel him everywhere when you come undone. Kissing him is desperate and full of gasps of air. His skin is so soft as you slide across his mouth, up his cheeks, and over his jaw. His helpless moans spur you on, giving you the strength and energy to thrust down on him another time before you feel yourself come undone.

“It’s your turn, baby. Come on, sweetheart. Come inside me and maybe I’ll have to call you daddy? Hmm?” you chant, halting your movements to torture him a little longer.

“Please, Y/N. Please let me fill you up,” Spencer begs, his voice hoarse and scratchy from being so vocal, “I’m yours. I love you so much,” he calls out, wrapping his arms around you so your chests are pressed up together. He holds you sweetly and you kiss his shoulders and his neck, choosing to leave a large red welt as a reminder for him.

“You like that? Hmm you like if I call you Daddy and let you fill me up? Come on, Spencer. You can come. Don’t you want to be a good boy for Mommy?,” you say, giving him the permission that he’s been desiring all night.

He tightens his grip on your upper half as he meets his release. Spencer’s strangled moans turn into sweet whimpers as he looks down into your laps. Quietly, you ride him through the rest of his orgasm, letting him come down from his high peppered with light pecks along his freckled shoulders and sharp jawline. Spencer smiles into the kisses, his eyes are shut and his cheeks are dusted with a light pink flush. For the first time today, he looks relaxed and safe.

“Thank you, Mommy,” Spencer says quietly, mirroring your motions and kissing your shoulders and neck as you slow your pace, “Can we stay like this. Just for a moment,” Spencer asks, burning for the feeling of being inside you for even a couple more minutes.

“Of course, baby,” you tell him, squeezing him into a tight hug, “you did so wonderful for me. Such a good boy. I love my sweet boy,” you tell him, brushing the stray hairs from his face. His neck is marked by your mouth and his eyes are glazed with sleep and desire.

“I love you,” Spencer says again, his forehead falling against yours and his breath hitching as you move slightly with him inside you, “and I’m sorry. I’m sorry about today,”

“Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart and then we’ll talk about it,” you suggest, taking the opportunity to kiss his lips as you pull yourself away from his lap.

Spencer doesn’t say much in response, but nods silently. He groans slightly as you separate your bodies and he tries to chase your lips with his as you climb out of the bed and into your bathroom.

“Please come back,” Spencer says, sounding like he wasn’t sure if you’d keep your promise.

“I’m right here, Spence,” you reassure him, returning from the bathroom dressed in an old tee shirt and carrying a warm, damp washcloth and a pair of clean underwear for Spencer.

“Can you please hold me? Please, Y/N. I need you,” Spencer says, reaching out to you in the dark. That’s one request you know you’d never deny.

“Of course, Spence. Just let me clean you up and I’ll hold you,” you tell him, gently dragging the warm towel over his skin. He’s quiet as you clean him up, but his soulful eyes look lost and sheepish, making him look smaller and more vulnerable than he actually is. You drop the towel to the floor, not caring that the water isn’t good for the floor.

You lay back down on the bed and Spencer, like a magnet to another magnet, crawls in close. He’s still undressed, except for the underwear that you gave him. His eyes are droopy and his breathing is still shaky, but steadies out as your hands draw circles on his back. You pull the covers up to his chin, making sure he’s covered before you start what you know all too well is a difficult conversation.

“Spencer,” you croak, “Why did you do that? Why do you think that’s okay?” you ask, still trying to make sense of why Spencer would risk his life like that so recklessly. You hold him tighter, squeezing his arm as he breathes out, ready to tell you what he’s never told anyone before.

“Bec-, because- I don’t matter,” he says, the words choking out between cries of years and years of pain, “because it doesn’t matter to anyone if I don’t come home. I don’t have anyone to come home to,”

“You’ve always had me,” you say quietly, “I’m your person to come home with, Spence,” you tell him, hoping with all the faith in your body that he’ll believe you. You hold his hand, weaving your fingers in his. Looking at your hands intertwined together, you’d think that your hand was made for it. It’s a little cliche, but Spencer is the kind of man that makes all those cliches seem like wonderful possibilities.

“I-I, I never had someone before,” Spencer says, “I mean, I had my mom, but it’s gotten harder. But then, then, I met you. And I never thought you’d like me like that, Y/N. I never thought you could love me,”

“Spencer,” you say, twisting around so you can hold his face in your hands, “Spencer, I love you. You are so much more than your job. You’re worthy of being loved, Goose. And I’d spend the rest of my life making you realize this”

“You want to spend the rest of your life- the rest of your life with me?” Spencer asks, sounding like he can’t believe the words that you say.

“Spence, I’ve loved you since I’ve known you,” you say, dragging your hands through his curly hair that’s matted against his forehead, “You would have realized that if you weren’t too carried away with making me your future history,”

“I think I have a habit of doing that,” Spencer confesses, kissing your forehead sweetly, “You’re- I’m sorry that I worried you like that, but for so long, for so long this is all I’ve had. And before that it was school. I throw myself into academia or work because it’s all I had,”

“Had,” you repeat, “as in the past tense. You’ve had some much more than too, Spence. We all love you. Elle and Derek. JJ and Hotch. Penny and Gideon. We all love you, but I love you the most,”

“Good,” Spencer replies, turning his head down to kiss you, “because I love you the most,”

His lips glide across yours, moving slowly at first and faster as he grows more urgent. There’s no sense in rushing through. You could kiss him lazily in your bed all night and continue until it gives way to morning. There’s no time limit, no buzzer that’s going to go off and force Spencer to whole himself back up into his past. He smiles through the kiss, knowing well that there’s more to come tomorrow, or maybe even tonight. His lips were warm and soft, maybe still a little tender from before, but still eager to feel your lips against his. Breathing together, savoring that you both are breathing, you smile yourself, fully ready for whatever comes next.

***

Taglist (not my usual taglist because I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable bc this is smut. You can join the taglist here!)

@shemarmooresfedora @just-another-persona123 @folkreid @idonotexiste @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @fandomfriend33 @spencersrose @strawberryspence

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #no minors #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut fic #spencer reid x fem reader #sub spencer reid #derailed #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #no minors please

783 notes · View notes

itsdanii · 4 years

Note

can i req the iwa, atsumu, and suna being in a secret relationship w the reader and the reader gets insecure bc they wanna keep it a secret? w comfort after plspls

Hey, bubs! Of course, you can request ♥️ Unfortunately, I'm only taking 1-2 characters per request so I canceled Iwaizumi from the list. Also, this is only Atsumu's part. Don't worry, I'm still going to do Suna's part, however, it will be uploaded tomorrow instead of today. I hope you enjoy it! Have a good day, stay safe and hydrated! ♥️

Secret Relationship

genre: semi-angst to fluff, comfort

warning/s: self doubt and insecurity, descriptions of anxiety, do message me if i missed any

a/n: please do read the warnings before you proceed. warnings have been put there for a reason.

ft. atsumu miya

maybe keeping your relationship wasn't the best decision after all

Atsumu Miya

You and Atsumu have been in a relationship for 2 years now

With the rising popularity of Atsumu, not only throughout Inarizaki but to the other schools as well, he decided on keeping your relationship a secret

Though you respected Atsumu's choice, it can't be helped that sometimes your emotions got the best of you

Random girls would always approach your boyfriend. They were basically anywhere, everywhere - at school, during practice matches, and even when you were both trying to have a simple date on a nearby cafe

You tried to confront Atsumu about it once but you only ended up fighting, him saying that there was nothing to worry for because you were the only person he loved

So despite the heavy feeling of insecurity looming over you, you tried to understand his side which eventually caused the both of you to make up

You tried to ignore the insecurity and put your trust on Atsumu

But maybe sometimes, trust isn't just enough

"Y/n, someone's looking for you."

You lifted your gaze from the book you were reading, eyes snapping towards the direction of the door where two unfamiliar students were currently standing and waiting for you.

Even without having the need to hear what they needed you for, you instantly knew why they're here. For the past weeks, after Inarizaki's defeat against Karasuno, you've been bombarded by several girls, holding chocolates and teddy bears in hand, asking you to deliver them to Atsumu since they were afraid of giving it to him directly. So, as his "bestfriend," they wanted you to give it to him instead.

And although you wanted to be mad and scream at them to stop, you couldn't just do that. It would be wrong for you to snap at them since nobody, aside from Suna and Osamu, knew about you and Atsumu's relationship.

Sighing loudly, you shut the book you were reading and went over to the two girls with a semi-forced smile. "For 'Tsumu?" you asked, taking the paperbag from them and taking a peek of what's inside.

One of the girls nodded eagerly, her eyes sparkling as she fanned her face with her hands. "Yes, please! I really really like Atsumu and the way he played from the previous match was so splendid! With every spike, I can't help but fall in love even more!"

You could only chuckle at what she said because even though there was a feeling of jealousy inside of you, you wouldn't be able to deny that what she said was true. You loved how he was able to inspire other people through sports and you couldn't be more proud of being his s/o.

"Please hand this letter to Atsumu, senpai!" the other girl said, bowing down as she handed you a letter.

You reluctantly took the envelope from her, your body becoming stiff as you muttered a small "Okay."

"I put all my feelings and support in that letter so I'd really appreciate if you handed it to him," she said with a smile.

Just how were you supposed to tell these girls to stop giving you stuff and ordering you to hand them over to your boyfriend? You weren't the type of person who would hinder others to relay their feelings. In fact, it wasn't your job to blatantly tell them to give up. It was Atsumu's responsibility, not yours.

But it wasn't your obligation to be their messenger as well.

Torn between two sides, you decided on maintaining a polite smile, giving the two juniors a pat on the head before nodding. "I'll make sure to deliver these to him, okay? Now, go back to your classroom and study well."

The two girls glanced at each other, eyes sparkling before smiling at you. "Thank you so much!" Turning around, the two went on their way, squealing slightly at their successful mission.

You, on the other hand, sighed and stared at the paperbag with a small frown. "Guess that's two more girls on the list," you mumbled before slipping back inside your classroom.

When the class ended, you immediately headed to the gym where you knew Atsumu was currently training. With the paperbag and 2 more boxes of chocolate given by some fangirls along the way, you entered the gym and placed the items down on the empty bench.

"That fer me, angel?" came Atsumu's voice from behind you.

Spinning around, you were met with a grinning Atsumu before getting engulfed with a warm hug. Sighing with your eyes closed, you wrapped your arms around him tightly, unconsciously gripping the back of his jersey. You couldn't help but bury your face more to his chest despite the slight sweat clinging to his clothes.

"Ya alright?" Atsumu murmured beside your ear, worry obviously evident on his tone as he slightly squeezed you.

As you were about to answer, someone from behind Atsumu cleared their throat. Your small moment was immediately cut off and Atsumu reeled back as if you were caught doing something wrong.

The comfort he brought awhile ago was instantly replaced by uncertainty and insecurity, making your heart throb as you bit your lower lip.

"Sorry, did I interrupt something?" Aran asked while shifting his gaze between you and Atsumu.

With a forced chuckle, Atsumu was quick to scratch the back of his head. "It's fine. I was just givin' y/n here a hug. They seem kinda down. Ya know, bestfriend duties."

Bestfriend.

"Ah.." Aran simply muttered with a slow nod. "Practice is almost done. Why don't ya sit down while we cool down and clean up?"

Sitting down on the bench, you looked at Aran with a small smile before nodding. "Okay," you said before turning your head to Atsumu's direction. His eyebrow was already raised as if asking you whether you were fine or not.

"I'm fine Atsumu. I'll wait for you here."

When the boys went back to the court, you were left alone to ponder with your thoughts. It felt as if the sounds around you suddenly died, your self doubts once again making its presence known.

You knew how much Atsumu loves you. In fact, he never failed to remind you everyday. Not once did he forgot to say it and express it through actions, or at least when you were both alone.

Everytime you were in school, he would deny your relationship. When people asked if you were his s/o, he would simply shake his head and claim you as his bestfriend. It really didn't bother you at first but as the time passed, you were slowly starting to question why he would do such thing.

Though he claimed that it was to avoid people from harassing you and picking on you, was it really? What if there was a deeper reason?

What if he was slowly getting tired of you? What if he didn't even liked you in the first place?

You anxiously tapped your foot on the floor at the thought. Gripping the hem of your hoodie, you stared at the gifts you brought from his fangirls. You knew that it was an act of invading someone's privacy but you couldn't help but reach for the letter given by your junior awhile ago.

You took a quick glance at the boys, checking if they were still cooling down, before opening the envelope slowly. As you read on the letter, you unconscious tapped your foot faster on the floor, your grip on the paper tightening as you let each words sink into you.

Bit by bit, you absorbed what was written on the paper, making the unpleasant feeling inside you deepen. You wouldn't deny that the letter was well written and you were certain that if it was handed to Atsumu by that girl personally, she might be able to get his attention.

After all, she was pretty. She looked like a bubbly person and someone who people would easily get along with. There was an optimistic aura around her which you knew Atsumu would appreciate.

And maybe if-

"Y/n."

You were snapped out of your thoughts by Atsumu's hand touching your shoulder.

Jolting up slightly, you looked up at him with wide eyes, immediately noticing the worried expression on his face. "Tsumu.." you mumbled with a shaky voice, your eyes glossing with tears as your lips trembled.

Atsumu was quick to sit down beside you. Lifting you up, he sat you down on his lap and nestled your face on the side of his neck, knowing how much you hated it when people see you crying.

"Y-your teammates," you mumbled against his skin, hiding your face even more as you tightened your grip on the letter you were holding, almost crumpling it.

"Let's worry about them later, alright, angel? Yer my priority and ya know that," he answered while rubbing your back, "Now, tell me what happened. Why are ya crying?"

With the overwhelming emotions surrounding you, it took you a few seconds before you could answer, and you were thankful that Atsumu was patient enough to wait instead of forcing you. "Do you really love me, Tsumu?"

You felt Atsumu stiffen at your question and for a biref moment, you were scared of hearing the answer.

Was this it? Was he really lying to you all this time?

"Look at me, angel," Atsumu said, slightly pulling away from his embrace to cup your cheeks in his hands. "Of course, I do. Where is this coming from? Did somebody-"

"No," you cut him off. "It's just that... you always tell people that we're nothing but bestfriends. I can't always have my moments with you because you want to hide our relationship. It didn't really matter at first but... because of your constant denial, your fangirls would keep sending me these random stuffs and ask me to give them to you. I'm scared, Tsumu. What if one day you get tired of me... or worse, what if it's me who gets tired? I don't like this set-up..."

"Y/n-"

"I want to be able to express my feelings. I want the people to know that you're mine. Why can't you show them that you love me, Tsumu?... Do you even love me?"

Atsumu was left speechless as he listened to your words. All he could do was rub your back soothingly while listening to you as you let everything out. As you did, the guilt inside of him kept on piling up, enough to make him clench his jaw at how disappointed he was at himself for making you cry.

"Of course, I do. I love ya so much, angel. Don't ever ferget that. I'm sorry fer not taking yer feelings in consideration. I didn't know that ya have been feeling this way fer quite a while now. I really thought that we were already fine after our first argument about this but.. I guess I should've paid more attention," Atsumu said while staring at you, his hands still cupping your cheeks to angle your face to him. "The reason why I wanted to hide our relationship was fer people not to bother ya. It wasn't my intention to make ya feel insecure. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, angel." Wiping your cheeks with his thumb, Atsumu leaned down to place a kiss on your forehead. "Would it make ya feel better if we open our relationship to other people? No more hiding it."

Nodding, you wrapped your arms around his neck and smiled. "Mhm, yes, please."

"Alright, if that's what ya want."

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated ♥️

2K notes · View notes

spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

i can't forgive me & you can't forget

Summary: Spencer is happy that his boyfriend is as compassionate as he is, but watching Derek do everything he can to help Strauss with her alcoholism when he stood by and did nothing back when he was struggling with his dilaudid addiction is beginning to take its toll.

Tags: hurt!spencer, miscommunication, angst, insecurity, est. rel., hurt/comfort, cuddling & snuggling, angst w a happy ending, fluff TW: referenced past drug use, addiction, and overdose, implied/referenced alcoholism

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 4.5k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // The other fic in this universe

Inspired by @marisatomay’s post here!!! The title is from the second part of the poem Betrayal by Lang Leav.

It’s pushing ten pm by the time Spencer finally hears the front door open and close with a soft click, hears the rustling of Derek ditching his leather jacket on the crowded coat rack and toeing off his shoes — no doubt placing them neatly at the side of the hall like he always does — and listens to his footsteps as he nears the bedroom where Spencer’s been holed up since Derek left.

“Hey, baby boy,” Derek says with a warm, relaxed smile, his fingers already working on undoing his shirt buttons, before digging through their wardrobe to find a more comfortable top.

“Hey.”

Spencer watches him with tired eyes. He’s been feeling as hurt and despondent as he does this evening for weeks now, but tonight is the first time he doesn’t have the energy to hide it. He’s spent the entire afternoon in bed, and he’s certain it shows in the imprints of the creased pillowcase on his cheek and his messed up hair, and where just a couple of days ago he’d rush to hide those tells, he simply doesn’t care enough anymore.

Derek turns around from the wardrobe and shrugs off his shirt, replacing it with a soft blue t-shirt Spencer’s always liked on him. “Have you had anything to eat yet?”

Spencer shakes his head. Derek undoes his belt and switches his trousers for a pair of grey sweatpants before walking over to the bed and climbing onto the mattress, grinning cheekily as he rolls over Spencer’s body and leans down to press a tender kiss to the tip of his nose.

It’s sweet and romantic and so painfully normal, and maybe that’s exactly why he suddenly finds himself swallowing back tears. He’s hardly spent any time with Derek outside of work in weeks and he’s hurt and sad and struggling, and it’s only making it worse that his loving and attentive boyfriend hasn’t seemed to notice. Really, Spencer knows he needs to communicate, and that a significant part of his pain is his responsibility, but the shame—

“Well that just won’t do,” Derek murmurs, interrupting his thoughts as he brushes his fingers over a lock of curly hair resting on Spencer’s temple. “I’ll go and make you something. Or we can order in? What do you fancy?”

Spencer shrugs, looking away. He’s not trying to be difficult, it’s just incredibly hard to think about food and a relaxing night in with your partner when you feel like your insides are splintering and you’re just barely holding yourself together.

Even without looking directly at his face, Spencer can see Derek’s brow furrow and his happy expression fade, and soon enough Derek’s fingers are at his chin, gently moving his head until he’s looking at him again. “Hey, pretty boy,” he says gently, looking so concerned it makes his chest ache, “what’s wrong? Tell me what’s going on in that big old head of yours.”

So much of him wants to give in and tell him everything, wants to spill his fears and his anxieties and his anger and his shame onto the sheets of their bed and lay it all out for him. He wants to shout, “See? This is who I am! This is all my mess and my pain and my regret! Look at it!”

But he can’t. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before opening them again to meet the swirling worry in Derek’s deep, beautiful brown eyes and he wills himself not to cry. “Nothing,” he lies. “I’m just tired. Hungry.”

He knows Derek doesn’t believe him, but there isn’t much he can do if Spencer isn’t willing to communicate, so he nods reluctantly and leans down to place a kiss on his forehead this time, lingering there for a moment longer than he usually does. The feeling of his boyfriend hovering over him and asking him what’s wrong and kissing him so tenderly is all Spencer’s craved for weeks, but now it’s here, he still feels sad and empty and hollowed out by shame and bitterness, desperate for something more without so much as an idea as to what exactly more might entail.

“I tell you what, I’ll go make you some tortellini, alright? There’s a pack in the fridge and it only takes a couple of minutes so I’ll be back before you know it,” Derek promises, and Spencer can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Regardless, Derek hops off the bed and heads out to the kitchen, leaving Spencer alone in the softly lit bedroom. He pulls the duvet further up to his chin and buries his face in it, the soft fabric gentle on his skin, and the comforting scent of Spencer’s shampoo mingling with Derek’s cologne settling him slightly.

Derek had spent the afternoon with Strauss at the rehab centre. And not for the first time.

The problem is, how can Spencer be mad at him for that? Really, it’s the epitome of his character: genuine, constant, unconditional compassion for everyone around him, no matter who they are or what his history with them might be. Of course he’d see Strauss struggling with her addiction and swoop right in, getting her settled in at the centre and spending hours with her on visiting days, fighting alongside Hotch to persuade the director to let her keep her job.

But watching him leave every week, watching him text her encouraging messages, hearing him talk about her progress and recovery… it strikes a nerve deep inside Spencer. He isn’t proud of how he feels. He knows it’s petty and illogical, but he can’t help it.

Because somewhere deep in his soul, an old version of himself, a sad, lonely, scared, addicted-to-dilaudid boy is crying out, why didn’t you do that for me?

It’s that question that really plagues him. They’re called into work the next day for a fairly interesting case in North Dakota, and there are some fairly strong links to the world of academia, so usually, Spencer would be all over it, reeling off facts and statistics and reaching out to his contacts to further the case. But for some reason, he just can’t get his head in the game.

He finds himself zoning out on the jet and wandering off at crime scenes without even knowing where he’s going. Initially, his team had assumed that he was thinking, or was going somewhere deliberately that might help them with the case, they’d all counted on Doctor Reid to come up with some brilliant theory to bring them closer to catching their unsub.

But Hotch had quickly realised that his head was somewhere else and kept him close to his side from then on. At least staying at the police station with Hotch and being tasked with reading through the unsub’s literary work and constructing a geographical profile both gives him something specific to focus on, and — as much as Spencer hates to admit it — keeps him away from Derek.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Hotch asks gently when they both find themselves at the coffee pot in the late afternoon. He doesn’t look over at him, his eyes focused on the stream of coffee and creamer headed straight for his mug. Spencer knows it’s a tactic to make him feel less ambushed and more relaxed, but that doesn’t stop it from working.

“No,” he says honestly.

Hotch nods in acceptance. He puts a warm hand on his shoulder and squeezes briefly. “Well, you know where I am if you change your mind.”

Both JJ and Emily eye him suspiciously throughout the case as well, but no one is more confused and concerned than Derek. Spencer tries not to think about the irony.

“Baby, what’s got you all distracted like this?” Derek asks softly when they’re finally alone in their room that night, full up from the rushed dinner they’d all had in the lobby before crawling to their rooms for a couple of hours’ sleep before the manhunt continues in the morning. “This is so unlike you and you know it.”

Spencer doesn’t reply, just continues quietly changing into his pajamas before brushing his teeth and washing his face. Derek’s still sitting in the same position when he comes out, looking frustrated and contemplative, and Spencer feels guilty for making him feel this way, but he just doesn’t know what to do. He can’t act like everything's okay because it isn’t, and he’s tired himself out from pretending that it was for weeks, now. But he can’t tell him what’s going on either.

The thing is, how is Spencer supposed to admit that he’s still hurt over something that happened almost five years ago now? And how is he supposed to admit that Derek doing the right thing is only reopening wounds he’d tried so hard to heal and close? That both Derek and Hotch had specifically helped him heal and close?

He doesn’t know how to verbalise his feelings without sounding petulant or pathetic, so he doesn’t. He keeps them buried deep inside him and hopes desperately that no one comes digging.

“I’m fine, Derek,” he lies again, leaning down to kiss him gently before rounding the bed and crawling under the covers. “Just having an off day, I guess.”

Derek sighs but doesn’t push any further, clearly knowing a lost cause when he sees one. Instead, he follows in Spencer’s footsteps and gets ready for bed silently, whispering a quiet good night before switching off the lamp and climbing into bed on the other side.

It feels like the expanse of white sheet between them goes on for miles.

It’s the first time Spencer’s regretted Hotch’s decision to continue letting them share a room.

The question continues to plague him over the next week. He gets marginally better at pretending he’s not falling apart at the seams, and it’s enough to make almost everyone back off, but Hotch is still concerned and Derek is still confused, and he can feel himself drifting further away from the team each day, as though his rope tying him to the others has been cut, and now the current is having its way with him.

Nothing much changes. He continues in his hurt and lonely quietude, and Derek continues to ask what’s wrong, sighing sadly when he gets nothing out of him, and they exist in tandem.

It had always felt — ever since the beginning of their relationship — as though their relationship was a salsa dance. They were tangled in one another’s lives, both physically and emotionally, and they existed in this relaxed kind of ease that Spencer’s only ever seen before in long-term relationships. They’d fallen into a lucky, easy kind of love, and it was never as much work as everyone had promised him a relationship would be.

They’ve been together for four years, and their worst fight was over whether the cheese grater went in the cupboard next to the sink or above it. (Granted, it had spiraled into some other disagreements that came along with cohabitation, but. Still.)

Spencer knows he’s introducing a dynamic they’re unused to, and he hates it. Guilt plagues him, mingling with his shame and sadness until he’s drowning under the weight of it, no way to claw himself to the surface to take a breath.

They exist on parallel lines: next to one another; yet never crossing over. Their relationship is no longer a salsa dance.

The next off-day they have, Derek can’t get out the door fast enough. “I’m off to visit Erin,” he tells Spencer, and it still makes him irrationally angry that he’s stopped calling her Strauss and now refers to her like a friend.

Is it better that Strauss is now Derek’s friend? Him helping someone he actually cares about makes him not caring about Spencer all those years again slightly less of a gut-punch, he supposes. But the fact that Derek and Strauss of all people are becoming closer while he and Spencer drift apart hurts in a way he can’t even begin to explain.

This time, he spends the entire day crying. Every time the tears slow down and he catches his breath, another wave of grief and pain and anxiety and shame and jealousy crashes over him, and all of a sudden he can’t breathe again. It’s an exhausting cycle, and by the early afternoon his stomach muscles are aching and his ribs feel bruised.

It’s also the first day he gets a craving.

He’s an addict, right, he’s had periods of intermittent cravings over the years, that’s completely normal. Sometimes, even thinking about it in passing is enough for the itch to come back, to whisper the number of his old dealer in his ear, to recall in both his physical and mental memory the feeling that came with each press of the syringe.

This is the most intense one since his withdrawal immediately after waking up in hospital following his accidental overdose in his parking garage. It’s so intense that it scares him.

Crying harder than he thought it possible, he fumbles for his phone on the nightstand and — fighting the temptation to type in the digits of his dealer — he dials the number he’s had memorised since he was nineteen. He can’t speak through his gut-wrenching sobs, but he knows the sound of him crying this hard will be enough, so he lies in bed and continues his pity party until he hears the front door swing open and the rapid steps through the hall.

Soon enough, Hotch is pulling him into his arms and he finally feels a little less alone.

Hotch lets him cry himself out, and only when his tears have dried up and the hiccups have subsided does he say anything besides the reassuring murmurs he’d spoken into Spencer’s ears as he cried.

“Spencer,” he says — somewhat desperately — “please. You have to tell me what’s going on. Let me help you, okay? Whatever it is, I’m here. I won’t let you suffer on your own anymore, I promise.”

Spencer doesn’t raise his head from its position buried in Hotch’s t-shirt, but he does finally say something. He doesn’t know what overrides the shame that’s kept him quiet — maybe it’s the exhaustion or the loneliness finally winning out — but whatever it is, he’s glad it does.

“I had a craving today,” he whispers, because it seems like a good place to start. “Haven’t been feeling good since, uh. Since… Strauss.”

It’s hopelessly phrased, but it’s the best way he can explain it and Hotch, being the miracle profiler and father figure of Spencer Reid, figures it out instantly.

He feels the way he slumps slightly, hears the tired, frustrated sigh, and knows he’s probably beating himself up for not figuring it out sooner.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I just… I couldn’t. I didn’t know how.”

Hotch shushes him. “You don’t need to apologise for that, Spencer, don’t be sorry. I’m the one who should be sorry for being so blind, and I am. I hate that you’ve been suffering like this and we’ve all been too stupid to realise why.”

“It still, it still hurts,” he says quietly, sadly, regretfully, “it still hurts that no one helped me until it was almost too late. But everyone dropped everything to help Strauss— I’m sorry, it’s so selfish, I shouldn’t be—”

“Hey, Spence,” Hotch interrupts him, caressing his arm gently. “It isn’t selfish. It’s human. And you’re right, we should have helped you sooner and it’s always been my greatest regret that we didn’t, and that because of that dereliction of duty, we almost lost you.”

“I’m not, I’m not trying to make you feel guilty or anything—”

“Spencer, I know that. But you need to stop feeling guilty for how you feel, alright? It makes complete sense that this is bringing up both the feelings of rejection and betrayal, and also cravings for the drug you were addicted to at the time. It’s so obvious that I don’t know how I didn’t see it earlier.”

Spencer nods, but he doesn’t say anything for a couple of minutes. “Derek’s been visiting Strauss on our days off,” he admits quietly. “I’ve barely seen him for almost a month now, and that— it isn’t helping.”

“I can understand that. Have you talked to him about any of this?” he asks, even though Spencer’s sure Hotch already knows the answer.

He shakes his head.

“I know it’s hard, Spence, I really do, but I think you need to talk to him. Obviously, it would’ve been better if both he and I had figured it out without you having to tell us, but clearly, he isn’t going to realise by himself. I know that as soon as you explain it, he’ll understand completely.”

Spencer sighs. Some part of him had known this was coming, he just didn’t know how it would come about. He wouldn’t have put money on Hotch being involved, but maybe he should have done. He always seems to come to Spencer’s rescue.

“He’ll probably be out for a while. He usually stays out for hours when he goes to visit her.”

“Well, how about I stay until he comes home, and then you can talk to him? How does that sound?”

Spencer looks up at him. “What about Jack?”

“He’s out with a friend and their family anyway,” Hotch reassures him, smiling as he runs a hand down his arm. “Now how about I make you some tea and we go and sit on the sofa?”

Spencer reluctantly agrees and moves from the safety of his bed to the comfort of his sofa, but he has to admit that the light streaming in from the big bay window and the feeling of sitting up makes him feel just a little better straight away. Once Hotch is back and placing a cup of chamomile tea into his hands, he doesn’t feel quite so much like he’s going to burst into tears at any moment.

“I have to ask, Spencer,” Hotch says carefully, “did you buy any dilaudid? Or attempt to contact your dealer?”

“Thought about it,” he admits, not meeting Hotch’s concerned eyes, “but I didn’t.”

Hotch relaxes. “Good. I’m proud of you, you know.”

Spencer looks at him with a hesitant smile that only grows when Hotch beams back.

They spend the afternoon watching nature documentaries — and Spencer admittedly dozes through a lot of them, exhausted from the burden of carrying so much pain around and the physical exertion of crying so hard — until Derek comes home at just gone five thirty.

“Hotch?” he asks, confused, and his voice wakes Spencer up from one of his unintentional naps.

He scrambles to sit upright, going inexplicably red at the thought of what he knows is coming. For some reason, he feels like he’s done something wrong and he’s about to be told off. He hates that this is what his relationship with Derek has come to.

“Hi, Derek,” Hotch says, squeezing Spencer’s ankle and getting up from the sofa. “Spencer asked me to come over earlier” — which is a bit of a stretch when really Spencer sobbed into the phone until Hotch showed up — “and I was just keeping him company until you came home.”

Derek’s eyebrows only furrow further, looking between them, confused. “Right.”

“Spencer,” Hotch says, meeting his eyes, “are you okay if I go now? You’ll tell Derek what we talked about?”

Immediately, Spencer blushes red as Derek’s scrutinising eyes fixate on him, but he nods and smiles weakly at Hotch, following him with his eyes as he lets himself out, if just to avoid meeting Derek’s.

“Pretty boy?” Derek says cautiously, slowly taking off his jacket and approaching the sofa like Spencer’s a wild animal liable to be spooked away at any given moment. He supposes it’s probably quite a good analogy, actually.

Spencer shifts nervously in his seat, moving his legs out of the way to give Derek more room to sit down on the sofa.

“You finally gonna tell me what’s been up with you these last few weeks?” Derek asks, and Spencer isn’t oblivious to the hope in his voice. “I’ve been worried about you, baby.”

Spencer nods and closes his eyes for a moment, taking a couple of deep breaths to compose himself. He’s told one person, and it went fine— it went well, actually. Derek is his life partner, his soulmate, and they tell each other everything. He just needs to start at the beginning. He needs to tell him all of the disclaimers, remind him that he’s not angry at him for doing the right thing or for being the compassionate person he is, he just needs to— He needs to focus, and he needs to tell the truth.

“I called Hotch earlier because I was scared of myself,” he says, finally opening his eyes and looking into Derek’s. “I was having some of the most intense cravings I’ve had since being sober, and I was seriously considering calling my dealer, but I managed to call Hotch instead, and we talked about how I’ve been feeling.”

“Baby, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here,” Derek says regretfully, his face melting into the very picture of apologetic as he scoots a bit closer on the sofa so he can grab Spencer’s legs and pull them over his lap.

“I know,” Spencer replies, ignoring for now that him not being here is why they have a problem in the first place. He moves on. “I’ve been… struggling… over the last month or so with feelings that I haven’t really known how to rationalise or explain, and when I finally did make sense of them, I felt that I couldn’t share them with anyone, which is why I’ve been so distant and private. And I’m sorry for that, by the way.”

Derek just smiles, caressing his bare ankle with one hand as he rests his other over his shin.

He pauses for a moment, trying to find the best way to word his thoughts, but before he can think about it too hard, the words come spilling out, unbidden. “I’ve found it hard to reconcile your attentiveness and willingness to throw everything at helping Strauss, and the way no-one helped me with my addiction back in 2007.”

Derek’s face instantly falls, and saying the words out loud brings all the emotions he’d managed to control back again in full force, and suddenly his face is crumpling, too. Derek surges forward, moving them both until he’s situated between the sofa cushions and Spencer, cuddling him as close as he can while Spencer cries into his chest.

“I’m so sorry, baby, I’m so sorry,” he whispers, voice breaking as he begins to cry as well. “I’m sorry I didn’t do anything then and I’m sorry I didn’t put two and two together to realise why you were struggling so much. I can’t believe I was so oblivious, Spence, oh God.”

They lie there for a long time, crying together as Derek runs his hands through Spencer’s hair and Spencer clings desperately to the fabric of Derek’s t-shirt.

“I was just feeling so distant from you because we weren’t spending as much time together, and I had no idea how to admit that I was feeling hurt about something that happened almost five years ago,” he continues when they’ve both calmed down again, and they’re ready to resume the conversation. “I guess I just felt… ashamed of both my feelings now and being jealous, which is so ridiculous, I had no idea how to tell anyone how I was feeling. And I’m so sorry that my lack of communication affected us so much.”

“Oh, baby,” Derek sighs, leaning in to press a kiss to Spencer’s lips. “You don’t need to be sorry. I’m sorry that I was hurting you when I should’ve known the effect my actions would have. This whole mess is on me for so many reasons.”

“Der, I don’t want you to feel guilty,” Spencer says insistently, urgently, looking at him imploringly. “You’ve apologised enough for what happened back then, and there’s no way we can change what happened. You were just being the same kind and compassionate person you always are when you were helping Strauss.” He reaches out and cups Derek’s face gently, hating the tells of guilt and self-loathing he can see all over it.

Derek sighs and moves Spencer’s hand to his lips so he can kiss his palm. “When I was sitting in that hospital room waiting for you to wake up,” he explains, “I made a promise to myself. I told myself that I would never let anyone down like that again. I was never going to stand back and watch anyone else I knew fall into the same trap you did. So when I realised Strauss had a drinking problem, all I saw was an opportunity to keep that promise.

“The only problem was that I was so wrapped up in doing the right thing in helping her that I wasn’t doing the right thing by you. I should’ve realised all the feelings, physical and emotional, that this would bring up for you, but I didn’t think. I’m so sorry, baby boy, I really am.”

Spencer cuddles back into Derek, burying his face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder and relaxing into the reassuring scent of his person. “I know, Der. I forgive you.”

“How about we order in some Thai for dinner from your favourite restaurant and watch some Doctor Who?” Derek suggests after a couple of minutes of silence. “I think we’re long overdue for some quality time together.”

Spencer smiles at him, feeling so much of the heaviness that’s been weighing him down over the last few weeks lift that he feels almost like he’s floating. “I think that sounds like a plan.”

They set the living room up to be as cosy as possible, lighting the candles Penelope had made for them and using only their soft lamps to light the room, before piling the couch high with blankets and pillows until they’re cuddled together in a little nest.

The evening is spent eating their favourite food and watching their favourite season of Doctor Who, and while Spencer’s still hurting and they still have healing to do, this feels like a damn good start.

“I’m proud of you,” Spencer whispers to Derek late into the night, when they’re close to falling asleep in the comfort of their blanket pile.

Derek turns to him, looking confused. “What do you mean?”

“You made a mistake when you let things get bad with my addiction back in 2007,” Spencer explains, “and when you saw someone headed down the same path, you stopped at nothing to make sure you didn’t make that mistake again. If anything shows me how much you regret not doing anything sooner, it’s your devotion to Strauss’ recovery.”

Derek smiles at him, his eyes a little watery, and holds his chin gently as he leans in to kiss him. “I love you,” he murmurs. “I love you so much.”

Spencer kisses him again before cuddling back into his side. “I know you do, Derek. And I love you, too.”

And really, when it comes down to it, that’s enough.

Ahhh, this was the first fic in forever that actually felt fairly easy to write thank GOD. I loved this concept and writing that good, good angst was so much fun. Plus, we always love a happy ending in this house! Also, a reminder that how other people when you confront them with the way they hurt you or made you feel is not your responsibility.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @lesbiantodds @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @enbyspencer @reidology @transhanniballecter @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @hotchscotchh @marsjareau @oliverbrnch @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @ropoto @thosecriminalminds @wifeyprentiss @cmily @love-pyramus @notevanbuckley @thebipolarbisexualnerd (add yourself to my taglist here!)

249 notes · View notes

amesstm · 3 years

Text

s/o who is scared of spiders

Characters: Daichi, Kita, Kuroo, Oikawa, Bokuto, Terushima, Futakuchi, Ushijima

A/N: This is inspired by my terrifying experience with a spider last night. If anyone wants to know, spraying it constantly with B&BW fragrance sprays is very effective. Now, my bathroom smells like warm vanilla sugar.

✨Daichi✨ would hear your scream and immediately think it’s a home invader because he’s a cop. As he ran towards you, he’s glad he’s done all the exercising he’s ever had to do for this exact moment. Absolutely no one was going to touch you. “What’s wrong?! Are you okay??? Is someone dying??” He assesses the situation and immediately sees you pointing at a small spider in the corner. He’s completely stone-faced (with that look on his face whenever Hinata and Kageyama argued) because he got so worried over nothing; so, he starts to turn away. “Nooo! Please come back!” After much pleading on your part, he’d promptly kill it with a press of his shoe. Clean scene with no evidence. You’re still breathing heavily but don’t worry, he hugs you because you’re his baby. You may be embarrassed because you know that your fear is irrational, but he’s seen a lot of fear in his lifetime.

✨Kita✨ would be running because of the blood-curdling scream. Kita is usually calm, collected, and stoic, but he actually shows worry for the first time in his life. He notices how you’re curled into a ball with your eyes fixated on the mirror. His keen eyes immediately see what you’re freaking out about. “Please get rid of it, Shin!” Yeah, all the anxiety disappeared from his face and a relaxed demeanor replaces it. “It’s only a spider, it won’t hurt you.” “It’s hurting me spiritually.” Since Kita works in the fields, he’s perfectly fine coexisting with bugs so he’d walk past you calmly, pick it up in his palm, and show it to you. Of course, you yell in terror so he just releases it outside, a little farther away from the house. “It’s gone.” “You released it, didn’t you…” He’d nod nonchalantly. “What if it comes back?” “I’ll be here for you.” You sighed but smiled, unable to ever really be mad at him, “We’re making a pillow fort for defense.”

✨Kuroo✨ would be concerned because he’s never heard you scream like that before, not even with him. But as soon as this man sees that you’re freaking out over a spider, this man of science will rationalize that it’s not a threat. Of course, Kuroo would laugh at you at first, but then he’d educate you on why spiders are good for the environment. He would absolutely try his best to make you understand that the specific spider you were scared of at this moment was actually not dangerous whatsoever. He knows that you’d freak out with visual examples of harmless spiders, so he sticks to an audio lesson. By the end of his spiel, you’re okay with spiders. Kuroo would still be in a teasing mode as usual, saying, “I’m so proud of your character development.” You pout, “Can we still evict it, though?”

✨Oikawa✨ would probably hear your screams from across the house and think you’re being dramatic (as if he can totally judge you). So, he takes his time sauntering to you whilst you’re just hoping he’d hurry up. He would literally roll his eyes because it was probably over nothing. But as soon as Oikawa enters and sees the menace, he would scream just as loud and definitely possibly higher than you would. If you could handle his weight, he totally would’ve jumped into your arms at that moment. You two would stare at it from across the room, holding onto each other and crying together. “You kill it!” “No, you kill it!” If it moves an inch, you two are screaming again. Even the spider would be confused by the spectacle because all it did was exist. Meanwhile, you both contemplate relocating to Antarctica (aka the only place without spiders in the whole world). Instead of any drastic actions, you call Hajime to be the savior of the day. Unfortunately, you had to use Oikawa’s phone and Hajime let it ring.

✨Bokuto✨ is concerned at first - as he should be - but then he’d love the spider because it’s small and docile. His eyes would widen like an owl’s in wonder, creeping even closer to the little guy so he wouldn’t scare it. The large man would even pick the little creature up, much to your astounded horror. He also dares to get close to the spider in his palm, whispering, “Hey little guy, was my little owl scaring you?” You’d definitely be offended because it scared you first??? You’re in the corner pouting from frustration and betrayal, watching Bokuto admire it. Soon, Bokuto would absolutely be engrossed in a whole conversation with the spider as if it would reply, so he didn’t see you enter with a vacuum. Now he’s the one screaming because you killed his friend.“STUART, NO! He had a wife and kids!” “Okay, so?” Bokuto is in emo mode until you prepare a funeral for ‘Stuart.’

✨Terushima✨ is all cocky and arrogant when he tries to kill the spider for you. His signature smirk wasn’t even subtle or disguised as concern when he teased, “Awh, does my darling in distress need me?” Now you stop freaking out, opting to glare at him because you just want him to get rid of it. Your hand swats at him, causing him to tease you even more. He’d laugh at your expression and shoo you away with an easygoing smile, “Don’t worry, it won’t be a problem for you anymore!” You’re bouncing slightly in place as you anxiously wait for some relief. Little did he know it was one of those jumping spiders. So when it jumps to another location entirely, he jumps and screams from terror and confusion. Wild TERUSHIMA fled! You sighed in disappointment and promptly closed off that area of the house because your knight in shining armor refused to enter a rematch.

✨Futakuchi✨ would think your phobia is irrational at first, as most do. In fact, he wanted to tease you for it, but the look on your face melted his iron heart. A big pout rested on your lips and your eyes dropped in pure hopelessness. Now, he decided that the perpetrator should be eliminated as soon as possible for you to be happy again. He’d swiftly grab a tissue, kill it in one go, and flush it down the toilet. Let it be known that your phobia had always been made fun of, so your boyfriend killing it without any questions? Futakuchi would definitely notice the sparkling heart eyes you were making at him, so he’d chuckle, “Why are you looking at me like that?” With the most serious expression and tone you asked, “Can we get married now?” He’d chuckle and walk away, not taking you seriously. You’d scamper after him, whining, “No, no, I mean it! Come back!”

✨Ushijima✨ would be really confused by your fear. “Why are you scared of it?” His furrowed eyebrows and confused eyes weren’t mocking whatsoever. So, you knew he was genuine in his curiosity and confusion. After calming yourself down, you’d explain why spiders absolutely terrified you. While many considered your boyfriend to be dense - and to be fair, he was - but he knew the look of fear. He’s seen it with his opponents before. Silently, he just kills it for you. You breathe out in relief, “Thank you! How can I make it up to you?” He’d slightly pout, “Do I scare you like the spider?” Confused by his question, you tilted your head, “No. Why?” “Because you looked like my opponents.” You blinked a few times and began to laugh, “No, no, baby. You don’t scare me at all.” Afterwards, you make him lean in for a kiss, which he gladly accepts as reassurance.

A/N: y’all why did my autocorrect wanna write cow when I was writing Ushijima’s??? It knows bro.

©amesstm on tumblr // pls do not plagiarize, steal, or repost my content w/o permission!! BUT likes & reblogs are highly appreciated :)

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #hq captains #daichi imagine #kita x reader #koutarou x reader #ushijima x y/n #kuroo tetsuro x you #terushima x you #daichi sawamura #kita shinsuke #haikyuu koutarou #kuroo tetsurou #haikyuu terushima #ushijima wakatoshi #oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader

238 notes · View notes

return-of-a-space-cowboy · 3 years

Note

Yandere halloween ask yandere mad scientist! Bruno uses mind control chip to get darling to be the perfect spouse?

This ask right here made my mouth froth, I love Stepford wives so this ask just rolled along perfectly. Anyway enjoy!

This love

(Yandere mad scientist Bruno X female reader)

You had always thought so highly of Dr Buccirati, you were his apprentice after all but there were times that you thought he just went a little too far with his work and this was one of them.

As he explained to you about how he made a chip that could modify an animal's behaviour. How the chip was planted in the rat's brain that you were holding.

"See (Y/n), look at how tame she is now" he said as he petted the poor creature's head.

"What do you intend to do with what you have learnt?" You asked with anger in your words.

"I intend to have the chip used to help with the conservation of the many animals that are close to being extinct. The animals will have the procedure and be put into captivity, they'll have no more issues with stress or aggressive behaviours which allows for them to be safely cared for and less risk during the reproduction cycle" he explained.

"So what you are saying is that you're going to be suppressing their natural survival instincts so they become domesticated?" You asked with a bitter taste on your tongue.

"That's exactly it, they'll have a safe place to repopulate and have nothing to worry about" he answered as he expressed his delight but it only made you grit your teeth in anger.

"I'm disgusted by what you are doing! You're essentially performing a lobotomy on these poor animals! You're playing god and taking away the emotions of a living creature!" You yelled at him.

"I've helped you work on some crazy things before… but I cross the line here!" You continued as you put the rat down in her cage before folding your arms at Bruno.

"Come on (y/n), you're overreacting… what I'm, no what we are working on is going to change history. So many species will be saved from becoming extinct. we will be two of the greatest scientific minds the world has ever know" he held your shoulder and lightly massaged it as he tried to convince you that there was no wrong in it.

"I don't know why you insist that this is a joint effort but I don't want anything to do with it, if people figure out how it works then it won't be long before this is used on humans… how many corrupt governments do you think would love to have this kind of technology used on their own people?" You rebuttal.

you glared at Bruno as you could see his usually calm demeanor wearing thin. He had his hands gripping his short black locks.

"(Y/n) the truth is that I love you, more than I could love anyone else. I want you to be by my side and I want you to be my equal…" he as his grip on you grew tighter.

"You are so intelligent and so beautiful… I just want you to do your best" he continued.

You pulled away the male with a shocked expression plastered on your face.

"Bruno… I didn't know you felt that way about me but I'm afraid I don't share the same feelings, I just don't think the chemistry is there between us" you told him before you headed to your bedroom.

🧪🧪🧪

You had decided you needed to cut ties from Bruno and finally begin your own work. You don't think anything could keep you working with him now. You began to pack your clothes back into your suitcase.

"(Y/n) are you planning on leaving now?" He asked as he rested himself against the door frame, he seemed to have recollected himself but to you something was off about his almost carefree tone.

"I intend to leave tomorrow" you said as you sat on your bed and folded your clothing.

"Don't you think you're blowing this out of proportion, can't we put the breaks on just talk about this over some tea..." he said as he slowly drew closer to you.

"I understand that you're upset and I didn't make things much better" he continued calmly before violently grabbing your hand causing you to fall back onto the bed before you heard a metallic click. You screamed as you tried to pull your hand back to find it was handcuffed to the head of the bed.

"What the hell?!" You screamed at Bruno who was now on top of you.

"I'm sorry that it had to come to this but I can't let you leave" he said.

"I love you too much to let you go… you're too good for this world" he continued.

You felt your stomach twist horribly and your vocal cords seize up. Your eyes were wide with horror.

"I dealt with my unrequited love for so long, I tried to just to put my feelings aside for you but I feel like if I keep it up any longer I'll explode" he rambled you tried to push him with your free hand but he was quick to hold it down.

🧪🧪🧪

It had been a month since he'd locked you up. You were curled up with your knees to your chest, you could see every little mark he'd ever left on your body, you still felt the sting that each love bite left on your skin. Today was cold and the chain and cuff around your ankle made it worse as you shivered in a silk nightgown.

You flinched as you heard the front door open. You had hoped that maybe that was anyone but Bruno, someone that could free you from this place. You heard a pair of footsteps draw closer, your hope dying as the same pattern tore into your brain… you knew he was home.

"(Y/n) I'm home" his voice was cheerful as he opened the door.

"I'm sorry I was later than usual… I found so many things I thought you'd like" he explained as he walked in with a large bag in his hand before placing it on the bed. You were hesitant to look but his sapphire eyes stared at you in anticipation, making your skin crawl.

You grabbed the bag and the first thing you pulled out was a 50s style white and black polka dotted dress. You looked at Bruno with a forced smile on your face.

"Bruno this is really nice but I've never really been a fan of dresses" you told him. He didn't respond. You pulled out another similar dress before picking out various boxes with golden jewelry till there was one more box inside, however it was rectangular in shape unlike the others. You pulled it out only to gasp in horror as you gazed upon the packaging of a pregnancy test. You looked back at him.

At this point you knew something was wrong, your stomach was telling you.

"What's going on?" You asked him with shakey words.

"I just need you to take it" he responded.

"Why?"

"I need to know whether or not you're pregnant, it's urgent"

"Urgent, what's urgent?!" You yelled at him.

"You're being extremely vague, it's scaring me" you replied, unsure of what was so urgant. You really hoped you weren't, having to live knowing your child was of his blood.

"Just take it please, wouldn't you like to know as well?" He begged.

You had a bad feeling about this but if you knew now then you could try to do something about it if it did come back positive. You let out a defeated sigh as you unboxed the test.

"See you didn't need to make such a big deal about it dear" he said in a light hearted tone as he walked towards the bed and unlocked the shackle on your leg and allowed you to go to the bathroom.

You felt the relief wash over you as you saw the results. It was negative, perhaps you were getting yourself all worked up.

"(Y/n) dearest, what's the results?" Bruno asked from outside the bathroom door. You opened it and showed him, his eyes lit up with joy as he hugged you which was very odd indeed, you assumed he'd had baby fever… if that was the case shouldn't he be disappointed.

You recoiled as you felt a sharp jab on the inner side of your elbow. You saw the now empty syringe in his hand.

"What are you doing?!" You screamed as you stumbled back from his grasp. He looked at the syringe and let out a content hum before his eyes returned to you.

He contemplated on whether he should tell you or not but at this point you couldn't do anything to stop him so there was no point in hiding it.

"I remember back on the night you tried to leave fondly, in hindsight you gave me the most brilliant idea" he explained.

"That whole talk on how my chip could work on humans was really inspiring, so I'm going to do just that… if you won't love me like this, then I can just make you love me" he continued as a smile grew on his lips.

The shock hit you as he explained it all, it horrified you to imagine it. It shook you to the very core. Everything else seemed like a luxury in comparison to losing everything.

"Bruno, please don't do this! I love you so much!" You screamed as you draped your body over him.

"My dear I love you so much… I'll stay with you forever… I'll give you as many children as you want, please oh please don't do this!" You were practically sobbing as you tried to pull on his strings.

"I'll do anything for you, anything at all!" You continued as you felt everything becoming numb, he had you in his hands and he could do anything he wanted to you.

"Please Bruno, we can put this all behind us and start over… you never imprisoned me, you never did those things to me… we can be the happiest couple!" You pleaded to him as your eyelids grow heavy.

"Please… please… I won't be the same person you feel in love with if you do this…" your screams turned into a mutter and as you tried to fight off the deep abyss of unconsciousness you swore you could see a glimpse of your whole life with every slow blink.

🧪🧪🧪

"What you've made is amazing Bruno, you should be proud of your work" the man in front of Bruno complimented his work.

"Thank you sir, to be honest I wouldn't be here showing you this if it wasn't for my wonderful wife" he said as he beamed with joy.

"Oh, your wife must be an amazing woman to help you" the man replied.

"Yes she is. She always gave me the right idea when I was unsure, she'd be here with us right now if it weren't for the upcoming baby. She's just been so ecstatic about it since we found out" he stated as he had his head in his hand. He was over the moon with joy, he couldn't talk to someone without bringing up the fact that he was going to be a father soon.

"Oh congratulations, how long till it's due?" The male congratulated him.

"Oh it's close, we're expecting around October… It's hard to imagine that I'll be a father in two months"

"And how's the lucky lady feeling about this? My wife was pretty worried before our first" he asked.

"Oh she's been great, she's been taking it all in stride. I haven't seen her sick or having any mood swings like what most of us tend to expect" Bruno chuckled as he slumped back into his chair.

"We should probably get back on topic… I should probably explain how these chips work in detail"

#yandere jjba #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #yandere x reader #yandere bruno #bruno x reader #halloween au

114 notes · View notes

astranva · 4 years

Text

Golden

Word Count: 1.4k

Category: Fluff! Nothing but fluff!

Warning: JUST THAT IT MENTIONS THE GOLDEN MV AND THAT SHOULD BE A WARNING

Summary: You watch Golden for the first time with Harry.

UM FIRST OF ALL, I’M NOT OK, OK

Harry loved love. He loved emotions.

While heartbreak was nasty, he was a firm believer that “a heart that's broke is a heart that's been loved.”

While his love life history had many well-known people, to fall in love with someone who worked a job so different from his world, who also happened to be a fan of his, was something Harry was continuously in awe of.

You were a happy accident, as Harry would like to call your encounter. A wrong turn taken while he ran in the morning ended up with him harshly bumping shoulders with you as you walked down the pavement, making you drop your tote back and for the Harry’s self-titled album vinyl record to make an appearance.

You were excited, in awe, and completely enamoured by the man you have been supporting for years and listening to, telling him about how his debut album was “more than amazing” and having a heartfelt conversation that had made Harry’s entire week.

Before either of you knew it, you had been talking for well over 30 minutes; a conversation that was deeper than the ones Harry, and yourself, had with the closest people around you that it was bewildering that out of all people, you would have that conversation with someone you looked up to and for Harry, a fan he hadn’t seen nor heard of until that day years ago.

If you were to ask him how it happened, he wouldn’t give you any direct answer; not because he was a private person, but because he was unsure.

Sure, it might be cliché to say that “fate wanted the both of you to happen” but it was a cliché for a reason – it happened before, and it keeps happening, and it was exactly what happened with you and Harry.

Being a fan meant many things; sure, you get to show off his merch anywhere you go, and sure you get to enjoy his talent and presence live in more ways than others, but it also meant genuine, hyper excitement over his new work.

His second album was a blast, and you were glad that you were a part of the journey of the making, having had cried a little when Harry sat you down one night and told you that you were the inspiration and muse behind his love songs on Fine Line, to the point where he even briefly included you in his Watermelon Sugar music video.

“You sure you don’t want to join? Will miss you.” Harry mumbled one day against your hair as you had your arms wrapped around one another in a hug while he stood by the door of his (well technically, your shared) private Italian house.

He was leaving for the sole purpose of your trip; film Golden, and while he wanted you to join the filming, your decision was set.

“Stop pouting,” you chuckled at him, “I don’t want to see anything before it’s premiered.”

He couldn’t hide the smile on his face at the reminder, fully knowing that you wanted to embrace the fan part in you and if it meant sitting at the house for hours while he goes to film, then so be it.

“You’re stubborn.”

“I’m loyal.” You corrected him with a teasing tone before pulling your face away to look at him, “You’re going to be late.”

He hummed, leaning to kiss your lips. After one kiss and 3 pecks, Harry let out a sigh of contentment. “You’re right.” Another peck before he let you go, grabbing his bag, “I marinated the chicken last night while you were sleeping, just pop it in the oven when you’re hungry.”

“You’re an angel, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.”

Now, September was over, you were in LA accompanying Harry while he started filming Don’t Worry Darling for a few days, and out of all days, you happened to be with him on the day when Golden’s music video was getting released.

You had known when the fans did, having had told Harry that you didn’t want to know beforehand as well and that made him itch for a while.

So there you were, sitting outside in the backyard with Harry’s pink MacBook on the table in front of you, the screen showing you the countdown.

To mask his worry and nerves, Harry had you seated on his lap, arms around your stomach while you had your hands clutched together in eagerness underneath your chin.

“Baby, j-”

“Hush! It’s starting!” You instantly cut him off, causing Harry to laugh.

Harry had his phone perched against the metal vase on the table, camera opened and showing the both of you to catch your reaction – a keepsake for Harry for when he was away for too long and just because he enjoyed watching you supporting him, all eager.

With the first scene and music sounding, you let out a tiny squeal, covering your mouth as your wide eyes were set on the laptop.

Harry knew the video well, he didn’t need to watch himself again and besides, he had a better view anyway.

You were seated on his lap slightly sideways, making him catch sight of your face as you smiled genuinely while watching, eyes twinkling before you cupped your own face.

“You look so happy,” you cooed softly, your heart fluttering at the sight of your boyfriend looking so carefree, “I’m so proud of you.”

He refrained from replying, knowing that your commentary didn’t need any comments from him and that you’d scold him if he talked, so he pressed his cheek against your back for a second before looking up at you and beaming.

“Oh my God, you look so good!” You gasped as you exclaimed, “Are you kidding me?! How can this be so hot and cute at the same time?!” You pointed at the screen after the shot of him crouching in shorts while on a rock, arms up as he shook his head while singing “I’m out of my head and I know that you’re scared because hearts get broken.”

He giggled, watching you place a hand to your heart as you watched him dance, being so…himself.

“All that running,” you shook your head, “No wonder your thighs almost crush me when we’re sleeping.”

“I don’t crush you.”

“Hush! I don’t want to miss- I don’t wanna be alone. You’re so golden! You’re so golden,” you sang loudly, swaying as you did and throwing your arms up, “You’re so goldeeen. I’m out of my head, and I know that you’re scared because hearts get broken! Awwwwwh, you know I love it when you have your hand on your cheek like that,” you feigned crying, “That nail polish, too. Kill me!”

No matter how many times Harry has watched you react to his work, he knew that there was no way he’d ever get bored of it.

The video came to an end, your eyes not leaving the screen for a moment.

“Am I allowed to talk now?” He teased, tilting his body slightly to the side to look at you better.

“Yes,” you breathed out, “You’re allowed to do whatever that you want because this,” you pointed at the laptop, “Was the best thing I have seen all damn year.”

“You like it?”

“Like?” Your eyes widened as you looked at him, looking offended, “Like?! How dare y- I love it! I love it so much, H! You, looking all happy, prancing and doing goofy dance moves like that, with a tan and your hair, don’t get me started on your hair. I’m still mad you had to cut it. You look beautiful anyway but your hair in that video? You know what that is?”

Harry, amusingly, grinned at you, “What?”

“Art! Your hair is art! I’d watch you dance and going wild in swimming shorts any day, any time. Just say the word and I’m free.”

He laughed, face heating up and veins making an appearance as he did. “But was it worth the wait?”

“Oh, hell yes.” You nodded slowly, “I don’t feel bad about deciding not to join the filming.”

Harry smiled, “Come here.”

Knowing what he meant, you wrapped an arm around his shoulders before capturing his puckered lips in a kiss.

“Harry?”

“Hm?”

“You’ve just killed millions of people with that video.”

“Are you dead?”

“Just about right.”

#wellbeafinelime #harry styles imagine #harry styles #golden #harry styles golden #harry styles golden mv #golden music video #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff imagine #harry styles fluff blurb #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff one shot #harry styles fluff

921 notes · View notes

ks-dreams-fantasies · 3 years

Note

Hi can I request like a vinnie x reader like the reader wrote deja vu by olivia rodrigo (let’s pretend the reader wrote it and released it) and when the music video got posted on yt yall watch it together with the hype house members and when it finish your crying (tears of joy) and vinnie is proud of her and the other hype house congratulated the reader and thomas and alex filming everyone’s reactions and later thats night the reader and the other hypehouse member are hanging out in the living room and vinnie is all cuddled up to the reader and mia ask who’s the song abt and the reader said its abt vinnie and she explained it that she wrote the song when they broke up and vinnie got with another girl and everyone is shock.. you ucan continue it and do whatever you want in the end thank youu<33

Déjà Vu - Vinnie Hacker

Sooooo, I feel like this wasn't my best piece but I hope you still like it. I love Olivia Rodrigo 👀 I just can’t imagine Vinnie breaking someone’s hearts tbh, he looks way to sweet

Warning : None

Word Count : 1.2k

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

Today was an important day for you and your career. Your debut single Déjà vu was coming out and you couldn’t stop yourself from being excited but nervous at the same time. Having been doing covers of your favorite songs on social media for the last 2 years, fans wouldn’t stop asking you when your own music would come out. Today was the day they would hear your ideas for the first time in what seems like forever. You had posted little bits of some compositions you had made but never did you post a clip over 15 seconds long, let alone a full song.

You had been recording a lot in the past few weeks and when you presented the lyrics to Déjà vu to the producers, they fell in love with it. In all honesty you didn’t think it would be one of their favorites since it was sad and angry. You had written these lyrics a while back when you and your now boyfriend were apart. You and Vinnie had been good friends since the moment you had met. Being two growing TikToker, you found yourself hanging in the same places with the same group of friends.

Your relationship was complicated to say the least, you both knew you had feelings for each other, but he wasn’t ready to be in a relationship at the time and you were afraid to get into one as well. It didn’t stop the both of you of doing everything together, you were inseparable. From sharing one spoon to eat your favorite strawberry ice cream, to sharing clothes, you did everything a couple would do. All went crashing down the day you went on a trip with your best friends, a bunch of pictures of Vinnie and a blonde girl holding hand and sharing ice cream, laughing, came flooding the internet. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing, the guy you liked, the guy you thought liked you too was with another women having the time of his life not even giving the time of day.

A few days after you came back from your trip, Vinnie had texted you, but you had decided to ignore him, staying in your room writing down into your notebook. That’s how the lyrics for your new song were created.

After that, things got awkward between the two of you, both of you having the same friend group, hanging out wasn’t easy. He would often bring his new friend with him and the situation made you uncomfortable and sad. They would share moments together, moment you first had with Vinnie, moments you thought belong to the two of you. The girl even posted pictures of places Vinnie would bring her to, places you showed him first.

A few months past and the two of them broke up, leaving the majority of your friends and yourself happy. Soon enough, Thomas invited you to move into the Hype House and you did. You and Vinnie got back to talking frequently and he one day asked you to lunch which you agreed to. You decided to give him a second chance and soon enough he asked you to be his girlfriend. Everyone had been talking about your relationship, approving of your love. The fans were mostly happy, some of them were mad that Vinnie found a new girlfriend, but for the most part, everyone was supportive.

Four weeks later, here you were, all sitting in the backyard waiting for the show to start. Your roommates had decided to surprise you with a nice diner, and they had set up an outdoor projection screen for the release of your debut single. Vinnie had his arms wrapped around you as the both of you sat down on a huge bean bag next to the others. You were all laughing and talking when the voice of the presenter got your attention.

“She’s been getting more and more popular over the past two years and fans had been waiting for her to drop her own music. From singing covers of her favorite songs on the internet to now coming out with her own song, this artist is destinate to a great career. We had the pleasure of getting the exclusivity of her debut single and videoclip, here is Déjà vu by (Y/F/N)”

The screen changed quickly, your face appearing as you licked some ice cream in a convertible. You had told Vinnie about the song a few weeks prior since it was about him. You could feel his arm tightened around you as he kissed your temple

“I’m so proud of you baby” he whispered so only you could hear. You smiled feeling the tears well up in your eyes, realizing how far you’ve come. It wasn’t always easy, but you were doing what you loved with the people who you cherished most. Once the videoclip ended, everyone was clapping making you laugh slightly as tears poured out your eyes.

“OMG! This song is so good (Y/N)” Kouvr said smiling widely as you turned towards her, seeing Alex filming.

“It is, and the video is great” Thomas continued

“Thank you, guys! You’re too kind, you’ve been supporting me from the beginning, and I couldn’t thank you enough for that” you said wiping your tears, looking at them.

“I could never do what you do, you’re so creative, where do you get all your inspiration from? Like for this song, I didn’t know you had all these emotions built up” Mia said, questioning you. You felt yourself tense up as Vinnie rubbed your arms softly.

“It was from an old relationship, all is good now” you shrugged, trying to avoid the question

“Well, this guy seems like he made a big mistake, who would do this to you?” Michael said trying to light up the mood

“Actually, it was me” Vinnie spoke as everyone looked at him with big eyes, including you.

“I’m sorry. What?” Kouvr was the first one to speak

“I was a dick to her two years ago, and I know I broke her hearth. I still regret it to this day and I’m sorry about everything” Vinnie stated now looking at you deeply

“I decided to forgive you and give you another chance and look where that has gotten us. I was scared at first, because of what had happened, but you proved me wrong. You showed me that you’ve changed and that you weren’t that guy anymore. You make me feel so special and I feel so lucky to have you”

“I love you baby, and I’m so proud of you” he said before kissing you tenderly, his tongue finding your bottom lip, making you smile slightly against his mouth

“Okay guys, get a room” Alex said, pushing Vinnie slightly

“We’ll gladly do that” he stood up, offering you his hand to help you do the same

“Stop” you said swatting his chest softly, laughing “Thank you guys so much for this perfect evening, I couldn’t wish for better friends”

“We love you (Y/N)” Mia said bringing you into a tight hug “And you” she said pointing at your boyfriend “If you break her hearth, I’ll have to kill you”

“Don’t worry, I won’t make this mistake a second time”

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

Thanks for reading

Hope you liked it, let me know what you think

-K

#vinnie #vinnie hacker #vinnie hacker imagine #vinnie hacker x reader #vinnie hacker x y/n #vinnie hacker tiktok #vhackerr

312 notes · View notes

maraudersftw · 3 years

Note

“I made a bet. I lost. It’s as simple as that.” From the prompts 🥰

Finally found some inspiration for this. Thank you for the prompt, I love you! x

Sore Loser

He knows she’s coming before he sees her. This is, undoubtedly, in part, thanks to the magical map in his proud possession and perhaps, also in part due to his uncanny awareness about everything to do with her. She’s the axis he can’t help but rotate around.

Before tonight, he wouldn’t have dared admit to such a sappy, candy-sprinkled thought even inside the safety of his own mind. But before tonight, he’d convinced himself of a lot of other lies as well.

“Well, this is quite the surprise,” her tinkling, happy voice remarks. He looks up, sees red hair and green eyes and glowing pale skin. “How’s the star of the match missing out on his own party?”

“Not missing,” he informs her, taking the effort to pull his hand up and shake the bottle of Firewhiskey dangling from his fingers for her benefit. “Having my very own personal party right here.”

Pink lips coated in clear, shimmery gloss pull up into a smile. “D’you reckon there’s room for another?”

He shrugs. “Be my guest.”

She becomes it, moving closer to the alcove ledge he’s currently perched on. He watches her gazelle-like grace as she twirls, plants two palms on the slab and swiftly lifts herself up near his feet, nary a skirt pleat out of place. Her cheeks are tinged a merry rose, and the carefree brightness of her gaze tugs painfully on his heartstrings.

He looks down and traces the lip of the bottle with his forefinger.

“Why d’you look like someone killed your beloved pet?”

His glare is not nearly as annoyed as he wants it to be. “I don’t. I just didn’t like the crowd in there.”

The smile on her face drops for a second. “Oh. Well, if you want to be alone, I can leave, Potter. Honest.”

“No!” he rushes like an idiot. “I mean, I wasn’t talking about you. If I didn’t want you here, I wouldn’t’ve asked you to stay.”

She seems to accept the answer, a small smirk in place as she snatches the bottle from his relaxed fingers. The protest dies in his throat when he notices her staring at him over the rim, a playful glint in already dangerous eyes.

“You’re too drunk for a Head Girl.”

“And you’re too sulky for a Head Boy,” she throws back at a speed that has him wondering whether she’d had the comeback ready before his actual quip. Lily Evans, always two steps ahead. The tip of her trainer nudges his. “You’ve got awfully long legs. My arse is almost hanging off the edge here.”

He doesn’t think it wise to retort to that and simply scoots over. “Can I have my drink back, please?”

“No,” she says, and then takes a deep swig from the bottle as if to prove her point. He tries not to stare at the way her lips purse around the opening, soft and firm at the same time, and fails stupendously. When she pulls the bottle away, her cheeks glow even redder. “So, are you going to tell me about it? The reason behind such brooding?”

He considers her for a second, and then shrugs. “There’s nothing to tell; I made a bet. I lost. It’s as simple as that.”

“Ah,” she nods, head leaning back against the wall, tongue darting out just the barest amount to lick some residue from the corner of her mouth. He’s almost positive she’s taunting him. “Always knew you were a sore loser.”

Despite himself, amusement bubbles inside. “And you aren’t?”

“I’m certainly worse,” she laughs, and he knows the sound is only so loud because she’s drunk, but the strange pride in his chest seems delusional. “But lucky for us, I’m generally not in the habit of losing.”

“Hmm,” he tilts his head, snatching the bottle back from her loose fingers—“hey!”—and leaning back to mirror her pose. Even in her current state of inebriation, James knows she looks cooler than him. Because she is. “Remind me to never make bets with you then.”

“Well, that would hardly make sense now, would it? How can I win if you don’t lose?”

He wonders the same thing, and often. Between the two of them, she almost always wins, and yet, it feels like the only person he loses against is himself.

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

She lets his non-answer go with just an amused smile, and he’s certain the Firewhiskey is to thank for it. “Who did you bet against?”

“Myself,” he gives her the truth.

She finds this funny, laughing even louder. “Typical of you to sulk over a bet with yourself, Potter. Did you not score enough goals to beat your personal best today?”

“That’s exactly it.”

“You’re mental; you won us, what? Eighty points single-handedly?”

He passes her the bottle again, leaning forward just to have an excuse to see her better. “That’s quite the precise number, Evans. Been keeping an eye on me, have you?”

“That’s exactly it,” she echoes, grinning winningly, “both my eyes.”

His heart has gone absolutely mad. Her gaze on him persists through her next swig, and he waits for her to lower the bottle again. “Let’s go back. It’s very late.”

“Why?” she leans forward too, too close. “Are you scared?”

“Terrified,” he confesses, eyes betraying him by straying to her lips. The way the corners pull up, he knows she knows. “But also, we need to clean up the common room before McGonagall can raise hell come morning.”

“What a day,” she sighs, swinging her legs down and jumping off the ledge with just as much poise as she’d begun with. His head spins at her sudden absence. “James Potter, making me feel like the irresponsible one! I’m most ashamed.”

He watches her brush off invisible dust from her skirt, empty bottle hanging from between her fingers, and smiles. It’s not the worst thing, he supposes, to lose a bet with yourself about getting over Lily Evans. Especially not when she looks over her shoulder at him with that smirk.

“Are you just gonna sit there and stare, Potter?”

He grins, jumps off, and steps towards her. “With both my eyes.”

#asks #claudia writes #claudiawrites #hodgepodge #jily #jily fic #jily drabble #jily canon #james x lily #james potter #lily evans #sore loser #jily fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #jily ficlet #jily flash fic #prompts #dylan is a darling #claudia answers

199 notes · View notes

redgillan · 4 years

Text

Under Pastel Skies - 10

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

Word Count: 6,179

Warnings: nothing new

A/N: Hey it’s me, daddy! ...well apparently. I really gotta take a chill pill... these chapters are getting way too long. But anyway, I hope you enjoy it, my babies are soft and sensitive :’) Thank you for reading, I truly appreciate it!

Wannabe sugar daddies don’t interact, idc if you have money, eat it and leave me be.

You looked around the bar while you sipped your drink, a 12 dollar grapefruit juice and club soda cocktail. There weren’t many people at one in the afternoon, mostly suits and wealthy tourists, though you half expected to find Natasha hiding in the back with a hat, a large pair of sunglasses and an unfolded newspaper.

From the rug to the chairs and armchairs, everything was either black or white. You ran your index finger over the intricate calligraphy on the back of your chair. It was a number: 5.

Turning back around, you glanced at the clock and mentally cursed yourself for always being so early. You hated being late, and arriving less than ten minutes early counted as late in your book. You were nervous to see Wanda after all this time.

You hadn’t been expecting her to stay at a hotel on the Upper East Side. You wondered how she could afford it, but decided it was none of your business.

“I had a feeling you’d be here already.” That familiar voice brought back fond childhood memories and other not so pleasant memories. “You’re always early.”

You didn’t move a muscle as Wanda took a seat next to you, number 6. She signalled the bartender and ordered a latte. Meanwhile you played with your straw, trying to subtly steal a glance at her.

“What did you do to your hair?” you asked with a grimace, turning your body toward her.

Without looking at you, she raised her brows in mild exasperation. “I dyed it.”

“It’s orange.”

“Okay,” she sighed. “I get it. You’re angry with me.”

“Oh,” you drawled out. “I’m well past angry. I was angry four years ago, now I just don’t care anymore.”

“You don’t care about me anymore?”

“No, and it’s not like you cared about me, or Scott, or Okoye.” You paused. “Or mom.”

Wanda had a shocked look on her face as she finally met your eyes. “That’s low. You have no idea-”

“No, you have no idea what it was like to live in that house after you all left. You have absolutely no idea,” you said, enunciating each word between your teeth, “because you weren’t there, because you left us –you left me. Six years, Wanda.”

She looked away and you saw her bottom lip quiver. She clenched her jaw and took a small sip of her latte. You instantly felt bad for snapping at her. You didn’t like confrontation. Hated arguing. You internalized. It was difficult for you to acknowledge that you had a right to express your feelings.

“I, uh,” Wanda said, then cleared her throat. “I knew you weren’t going to welcome me with open arms, and I know what I did was wrong, but I’d like us to be a family again. If it’s not too late.”

“It’s not too late,” you said with a small sigh. “But I’m not going to instantly forgive you just because you’re back.”

“I know.”

“What made you come back?”

She fiddled with her fingers in her lap and you noticed the ring on her fourth finger. It was a beautiful vintage-inspired ring made of black rhodium with an ornate cadenza halo in the centre.

A terrible thought occurred to you, making your stomach twist painfully. You didn’t know her at all. Not anymore. You had missed so much of your sister’s life. Or more accurately; she had cut you out of her life, and it was painful.

“I went to London,” Wanda said, unaware of your inner turmoil. “I saw Uncle Michael. He asked me if I was here to see mom, and I said, ‘No, mom’s in New York.’ And then he told me-” she tilted her head to look at you “-he told me mom was sick, that you and Okoye put her in a nursing home not far from his apartment. I didn’t believe him, so he took me to mom and she-” She paused, staring straight ahead as if she was caught in the memory

“She looked at you like she didn’t know you,” you said, knowing exactly where the story was going because it had happened to you too.

“Yeah,” Wanda breathed out, tears in her eyes. “I never felt so alone. They told her I was her daughter, but she didn’t recognize me. She kept asking Uncle Michael who I was, then she got mad because she was adamant she never had children.”

“I know,” you said sympathetically.

“I wanted to see you and apologize for not being the sister you deserve. For not being here when you needed me most.”

“Where were you all this time?” you asked, practically begged for an answer.

Her shoulders tensed and she straightened up in her seat. “Just travelling.”

“I know, I got your postcards.” You nodded toward the engagement ring on her finger. “I guess I should say congratulations.”

“Mhh,” she said running the pad of her thumb over the diamond. “It’s funny I never thought I’d fall in love and get married. I don’t need a man in my life to make me feel whole. Mom raised us alone, we’re independent and strong.” A small smile graced her lips. “But I found someone sweet and charming, someone who makes me feel safe and calm.”

“Are you writing your vows?”

“Har har,” she deadpanned, rolling her eyes, a faint smile on her lips. You’d missed her, missed your banter. “You haven’t changed.”

“If you say so,” you said in a sombre voice. You looked at the clock above the bar. “Listen, I have to go but I’m happy you found someone. I’d like to meet him one day. I bet he doesn’t know about your Baby Spice phase.”

You jumped off the bar stool and picked up your jacket. Wanda turned in her seat, catching your wrist as you looped your purse over your shoulder.

“Can you stay a little longer?” she asked, looking at you with pleading eyes. “Just a minute.”

“Okay.”

She let go of your wrist. “Scott’s been released last month. I talked to him on the phone and asked him to fly to New York. He should be here tomorrow. I also talked to Okoye, I asked her to come here. We have things to discuss. I know things will never be the same, not after Pietro, not after mom, but we can try. We’re still a family.”

“Great,” you replied. Your word came out with more force than you had intended, but you didn’t apologize. They were all coming back for Wanda but when your mother needed help, you were all alone.

“Yeah,” Wanda whispered, her eyes cast down. “I was thinking we could all meet up for dinner. Okoye’s bringing her boyfriend so if you... if you have a partner-”

“I’m single.”

“Oh, uh, you can bring Natasha if you want.”

“No, thanks.” You reached into your purse and pulled out one of your business cards. “Text me, okay? I really gotta go.”

She smiled as she read your card. “You’re an artist? Splotchy, I’m so proud of you!”

That damn nickname... “I still haven't found a gallery. Not many people want to represent an unknown artist but I’m not giving up.”

“You never give up,” Wanda said with a gentle smile. “That’s why I love you.”

You took a cab to Natasha’s apartment. It had been three weeks since Sam moved to D.C., and Nat was having a hard time finding a job in her field.

She didn’t want to find another sugar daddy. It seemed ridiculous since she was still carrying a massive torch for Sam. She had saved enough money to live on until she could find a job and a new place to live.

“I’m officially done,” she grumbled in lieu of a greeting. “Job hunting sucks. New York sucks. Life sucks.”

“Pretty bold statement.”

You entered the apartment and plopped down next to her on the sofa. With a groan, she wrestled out of her blouse and threw it on the floor, leaving her in a simple white spaghetti-strap shirt and a pair of black trousers.

“I hate wearing a suit.”

“You look good in them.”

“I know,” she cried out. “I hate wearing suits when it’s all for nothing. I’m not the boss, I’m no one. Just another doofus with a college degree standing here like-” she cupped her hands together, as if she was holding a bowl, and looked at you with a pout. “Please, sir, I want some more.”

“I don’t understand why you didn’t get the job,” you said, biting back a laugh. “I would hire you for that spot on Oliver Twist impression.”

She laughed. “I think I lost my fire. People used to be scared of me. Remember? I miss that.”

“You’re a psycho,” you snorted, using her shoulder as a pillow. “If it’s any consolation, Bucky’s terrified of you.”

“Good.”

“Hey!”

She pressed her cheek against the top of your head and sighed. You stayed in that position for a few more seconds before you told Natasha what had happened with Wanda. She offered to go with you to your family gathering but you insisted you wanted to go alone.

“I gotta go,” you said. “Bucky’s taking me to dinner.”

“Oh,” she cooed, “is he finally going to propose?”

“That’s very funny,” you deadpanned. “I was starting to feel cooped up in our apartment so we decided to go out. Have fun, y’know.”

“Our apartment,” Natasha repeated with a lopsided smirk before she burst into a fit of giggles.

“Whatever,” you grumbled, embarrassed.

“That’s cute.” She pinched your cheek and you batted her hand away. “You should talk to him.”

“Don’t start.”

“What? I’m just saying-”

“Natasha,” you cut her off. “Stop asking me to talk to him. It’s not going to happen, and it’s giving me so much anxiety. You couldn’t talk to Sam, what makes you think I can talk to Bucky?”

She looked at you for a long moment. “I know you love him.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line, considering. You had never really been in love before but falling in love with Bucky had been so easy. And it was particularly scary because you had never been in a relationship, only flings.

“I do,” you admitted quietly. Saying it out loud was both freeing and terrifying.

“Don’t lose him.”

You knew Natasha missed Sam, she’d told you about it, but she wasn’t the kind of woman who let others see her pain. She confided in you and her friend, Clint, but other than that she rarely shared her problems with others.

Her bony shoulder was digging uncomfortably into your cheek so you shifted and let your head rest against her chest. She started playing with your hair. “Have you heard from Sam?”

“Not since he left,” she replied, then glanced down at you. “Have you?”

She tried to sound casual so you played along and acted like you couldn’t hear her heart jackhammering in her chest. “He called the landline the other day. Bucky wasn’t home so I answered.”

“The landline?” Natasha repeated with a scoff. “Your husband is old.”

“He asked if you were okay,” you said, choosing to ignore her comment. “You should call him.”

She stayed quiet for so long, you began to worry. You tilted your head to look at her, she had a faraway look in her eyes. You didn’t want to break her trance but she was starting to scare you.

You booped her chin and almost immediately a soft smile touched her lips. She cleared her throat, then checked her watch.

“You should go, you’re going to be late.”

“It’s okay,” you said. You couldn’t leave, not when she looked so sad. You knew Bucky would understand. “We can order some pizza, binge watch something on Netflix and go out for ice cream later. Like we used to.”

She laughed softly. “That sounds amazing. I kinda want to be alone tonight though, and Bucky’s waiting for you. I’m fine, I promise.” She looked down at you with a kind smile. “Rain check?”

“Absolutely.”

With a heavy heart, you left Natasha and started walking to the restaurant. The clouds above you were low and dark, masking the setting sun. You smiled, remembering the day you and Bucky went to the park.

You had wanted to go paint outside but you got caught in a rainstorm on the way home. As rain poured down on the both of you, you caught Bucky’s hand and tried to run to the nearest subway entrance but he didn’t budge.

He stayed in the middle of the street, still holding your hand, and grinned at you while people rushed around you. His hair was plastered to his head, little rivulets of water running down his nose. He smiled at you, bright and playful, and you almost melted on the spot.

What’s the rush, sweet angel?

When you got home, you both changed into dry clothes and sat in front of the fireplace with a bowl of soup. He looked adorable with his slightly damp hair, a few big curls flopping down onto his forehead. When you started sneezing, he adjusted the blanket around you.

The next day, you felt a little feverish and Bucky took care of you. He pressed his lips to your forehead, checking your temperature. Your mother used to do that too. You doubted the accuracy of that little test but you couldn’t care less. It felt incredibly comforting. They should teach it in med school.

Bucky was waiting for you in front of the restaurant. The weather was warmer now, and you were pleased to see that his maroon bomber jacket was back. It was a rerun of the night you had met him.

“Hey you,” he said, dropping a quick kiss on your cheek. “How did it go with Wanda?”

“Good, I guess. It could have been way worse.” You paused to look at him. “You okay? You look a little nervous. We don’t have to-”

“I’m okay,” he chuckled, smoothing his hand down his jacket, lightly patting his pocket. “Shall we?”

You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Promise me you’re not over-exerting yourself again.”

He stood in front of you, smiling kindly. “I promise.”

It had been a while since he had a panic attack, but they were always impressive and you couldn’t stand the thought of him trapped in his own mind, battling his demons alone.

You must have been silent too long because Bucky cupped the side of your face and said, “Thank you for taking care of me, angel. But I promise you, I’m fine. So what do you say? Wanna have dinner with me?”

You playfully rolled your eyes at him as he flashed you a cocky grin.

The restaurant was a quaint little place in Midtown with curved black leather booths lining the walls and simple cutlery. There were books everywhere, arranged neatly on the shelves along the walls. The place was well-lit, yet still cosy and calm.

Despite the hour, the restaurant wasn’t crowded. There was a couple, probably in their sixties, enjoying their meals together. Several people were eating alone, a book opened next to their plate, and a few others were browsing the shelves looking for something to read.

While you ate, you filled Bucky in on your conversation with Wanda. He didn’t interrupt you, he listened to you ramble on about how much you didn’t want to go to her reunion dinner.

“You can invite them over for dinner,” he said. You almost choked on your food. “Call me crazy but I think you’d feel more at ease if you were in a familiar environment.”

He had a point. You had no idea what that night had in store for you, and you definitely didn’t want to cause a scene in a restaurant. You weren’t one for airing your dirty laundry in public.

“I know that our... um, friendship is a little unconventional but I’d like to meet them.”

“Really? Wait,” you said, spotting a bit of tomato sauce on his chin. “You have something on your chin.” You reached over and used your napkin to wipe it away. “You eat like a wolf.”

“Mhh thanks.” He swallowed his mouthful of pasta and washed it down with a gulp of water. “To be honest with you, I’m a sucker for family reunions. I love watching people’s faces when they see someone they haven’t seen in a very long time.”

“I’m not sure it’ll be a happy one.”

“Well, then you could probably use some moral support,” he said. “And I’m curious if they ever gave you a silly nickname. Or maybe they’ll share some funny anecdotes.”

You stopped mid-bite and swallowed quickly, your eyes widening in fear. You couldn’t let that happen, Scott and Okoye would jump at the chance to tease you. “Oh, no, no, no! You are never meeting them.”

He laughed. “I bet you were a cute kid. I imagine you in some paint-stained overalls, hula hooping through the 90s, listening to the Spice Girls and watching Saturday morning cartoons with a bowl of cereal or a plate of pancakes.”

“You’re not too far off.” You grinned.

“You don’t have to make a decision right now,” he said in a more serious tone. “But think about it, okay?”

Inviting your siblings and their partners over for dinner was a bad idea. You could already picture their faces upon seeing Bucky. It would turn into an interrogation, and it would be absolutely unbearable.

But then again, you didn’t think you could endure the reunion without him.

The waiter came over to collect your dirty plates and asked if there would be anything else. He recited the dessert specialties and you ordered something that sounded both extravagant and mouth-watering.

“I have something for you,” Bucky broke the silence between you.

You responded with a curious yet playful frown and a tilt of your head. He glanced down at the table for a second as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a slim jewellery box.

He placed it on the table next to his glass and let his fingertips linger on the lid, caressing it slowly as he hesitated. Then with a smooth flick of his wrist, he slid the box across the table. Your eyes flickered between the box and Bucky’s worried expression.

Inside the box, nestled in cream velvet, was a gold artist’s palette pendant with a delicate chain. The pendant had two paint brushes sticking out of the palette and four tiny stones representing the colours waiting to be mixed; ruby, sapphire, emerald and topaz.

It was incredibly tiny, about the length of two staples, but it made the details even more impressive. You could tell it was an old piece. There were light signs of wear and the design reminded you of the 1930s. It looked full of stories from previous owners. A testimony of love, passion and devotion.

“Oh,” you gasped as if all the air had been punched out of you. Bucky straightened up and jerked forward in his seat, his eyes round with anticipation. “Oh,” you repeated dumbly, at a loss for words.

“I saw it in the window of an antique shop on the way here,” he said.

That was a lie.

He had spent weeks searching for the perfect charm. He had a very specific idea of what he wanted to buy. Until one day, he found it. It reminded him of you; delicate, discreet, irreplaceable.

“Bucky,” you sighed, spellbound. “It’s... it’s beautiful.”

“It reminded me of you.” He met your eyes, smiled, and extended his hand in your direction. “Can I?”

Without hesitation you removed the necklace from its box and gave it to Bucky. After living with him for about six months, you knew there was nothing he couldn’t do. Even fasten your necklace with one hand.

He stood up and rounded the table, sitting next to you on the booth. You turned, giving him your back as he slipped the necklace around your neck. You held the pendant in the little dip between your collarbones at the base of your throat and let the ends of the chain dangle down your back.

“I noticed you haven’t been painting a lot since-” Bucky trailed off. Since you had a meltdown in your studio, since you realized your art was not good enough. Since you realized your dreams were too big to accomplish.

You looked over your shoulder and watched him fumble with the spring ring clasp. You couldn’t see what he was doing but he seemed entirely focused on the task at hand.

“Inspiration is a fickle thing, it comes and goes,” he continued. “I worry about you. You put too much pressure on yourself visiting galleries and trying to match their vision. I want you to remember who you are. You’re an artist. Never doubt yourself or your skills.”

He secured the chain around your neck and adjusted the necklace so that the little palette fell nicely above the neckline of your sweater. You stared at him wide eyed and amazed, and he smiled tenderly at you.

“Thank you,” you said quietly. “I’ll never take it off.”

“My pleasure, angel.”

“I really love it but it’s too much,” you said as he returned to his seat. “I don’t want you to think I’m after your money. I’m so grateful for your help, you do so much for me already.”

“I know you’re not after my money, but it’s mine and I’ll spend it as I please. I know you like gifts with meaning. And all I want is to make you happy.”

“You want to make me happy?” you asked, dumbfounded.

“Of course, I do.”

It was a foreign concept to you, you could hardly comprehend it. He wasn’t your childhood best friend, he wasn’t your brother or your mother’s brother, and yet he wanted to be the one who put a smile on your face.

You weren’t used to random acts of kindness. You spent most of your life taking care of others, making sure they had everything they needed, you forgot what it was like to feel loved.

And it all became so much clearer.

You knew in your heart that your feelings for Bucky weren’t one sided. Not when he looked at you like that. Not when he touched you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

There was a mutual, yet silent, understanding between you. This is good. Let’s not make things complicated. Even though we both want to. And you abided by that unspoken rule, not wanting to make things more complicated.

Your eyes were overflowing with tears. When a tear escaped, you felt it bounce on your cheekbone before it landed near your pendant. You rolled your eyes at yourself and smiled.

“Why am I always crying?” you said, laughing a little. “I’m not sad, I swear. These are happy tears.” Bucky’s smile was calm and sure. “Wait, I’m just gonna-” you trailed off, wiping the back of your hand under your nose with an embarrassed laugh.

“You’re beautiful.”

You lay in bed that night, replaying those three words in your head until you fell asleep.

It took you a couple of days to come to term with the realization that your feelings weren’t one sided. A little voice in your head tried to protect your heart, it said: Don’t get your hopes up. Remember what happened last time.

But that voice was quiet, almost too quiet to hear.

Against your better judgement, you agreed to invite your siblings over for dinner. All you had to do was call Wanda’s hotel and ask the hotel staff to pass along a message. Easy-peasy.

Well, in theory, because it turned out to be stressed depressed lemon zest.

There were things Bucky didn’t know about you and your family, things that you had intentionally kept from him. One of these things was your brother’s criminal record.

Bucky had asked you a few times what Scott did for a living and you always gave him the same rehearsed answer. “Scott has a master’s degree in electrical engineering but he’s between jobs at the moment.” It wasn’t a total lie but it wasn’t the whole truth either.

You finally decided to tell him everything.

Scott was a thief. Before Cassie was born, and thanks to his computer skills, he used to steal from criminals and give back to those they had stolen from. He promised his wife, Maggie, that he would stop after Cassie’s birth.

He took up a job at VistaCorp but noticed that the company was overcharging their customers. Thinking that it was a coding error, he fixed it before his boss, Geoff Zorick, ordered him to change it back. It made him realize that the company was intentionally overcharging their customers.

He was fired soon after. Maggie begged him not to get involved, she begged him to think of his family but Scott didn’t listen. He broke into the company’s headquarters, hacked their system and redistributed the stolen money. Then he broke into Zorick’s house, stole a bunch of stuff and drove Zorick’s car into the pool.

He got five years.

Bucky was a little shocked but he took these new revelations well.

“People make mistakes,” he said. “He paid for his mistake, and not seeing his little girl for five years is punishment enough.” He bumped his shoulder against yours and grinned. “He sounds like a chaotic Robin Hood. I can’t wait to meet him.”

You chuckled. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Nope.”

“So... you’re not going to hide your valuables in a closet somewhere?”

“I would but I’m not sure you’d like to be stuck in the closet all night.” You rolled your eyes and huffed, thinking he wasn’t taking you seriously. He laughed quietly. “The only valuable thing I own is the bookmark my niece made for me, everything else is meaningless. And I don’t judge people on their worst mistakes.”

“You sound like Natasha,” you chuckled lowly. “But I’m glad you think that way.”

“That being said, they have a lot of apologizing and making up to do. They left you all alone. It isn’t right.”

You squirmed in your seat. “Argh, I don’t know. It’s in the past now, I don’t want to dwell on it. We were all miserable back then, and I’m not exactly blameless here.”

Bucky gave you a puzzled look. “You took care of your mom when she was sick, you sold your childhood home. You found your mom a nursing home where she gets the best treatment possible. You put your dreams on hold to pay her hospital bills. You did everything you could.”

“No, that’s not true,” you replied, biting your bottom lip.

You tried to find the courage to say it out loud. It was something that ate away at your soul. Your biggest mistake.

“I should have known something was wrong with her,” you said, rushing the words out. “At first she started misplacing things like her car keys, her glasses or the remote. She always had a good excuse, like was tired or stressed, but I should have known.”

“I misplace my keys all the time, angel. Sometimes it doesn’t mean anything. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

“She’s my mom, I’ve known her all my life. I should have noticed something was wrong. If I had, maybe she’d still be with us, living in our old house.”

“C’mere,” he said, extending his arm toward you. You didn’t hesitate, you abandoned your seat on the sofa and wrapped your arms around him, your face buried in his chest. “I understand why you feel that way,” he said, stroking your hair. “But you did everything you could. You didn’t fail her. Alzheimer is... well it’s a sneaky disease. There are a lot of things we don’t understand. It’s unfair to blame yourself for something completely out of your control.”

“Maybe,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against his shirt. “But it still hurts.”

“I know,” he cooed, his fingernails grazing your scalp. “I know, my angel.”

You stayed like that for some time, your cheek pressed against his shirt. You focused on the calm rhythm of his breathing and tried to match it. He gently ran his fingers up and down your back, calming you almost instantly.

You were terrified to see your siblings again. Despite Bucky’s reassuring words, a part of you still believed that you could have done more to help your mom, and you were afraid your siblings would feel the same.

“It’s going to be okay,” Bucky said, seemingly reading your thoughts. “I won’t let them belittle your efforts.”

The next day, you called Wanda’s hotel and left a message with the receptionist. Wanda called you back a few hours later, saying that she would love to have dinner at your place instead of going out.

She sounded surprised, and you could tell she had a lot of questions, but she knew she wasn’t in your good graces yet so she simply told you that she couldn’t wait to see your apartment and spend the evening with you.

Meanwhile Bucky was having some sort of nervous breakdown.

A few days before the party, he started to obsessively clean his apartment. Every single room had that distinctive lemony scent, his homemade disinfectant, except your room. It was still a line he refused to cross no matter how strong the urge might be.

He often had those spells but they usually didn’t last more than a few hours. You could see the tears in his eyes and the disgust on his face; grimaces that had been triggered by the realization that he still couldn’t control his need to constantly clean and tidy. His OCD had been dormant, not gone.

You knew it was hard for him to meet new people. He had offered to invite your siblings because he knew it would make you feel more at ease. He didn’t care about his own needs. This man was willing to endure anything for you. How could you not fall in love with him?

You let him clean. You knew from past experience that it wasn’t something he could control and getting involved usually did more harm than good. You made sure he knew you were there and that you were not judging him in any way.

He felt so physically and emotionally drained afterwards that you simply held him in your arms until he fell asleep.

On the day of the party, you were chopping dried apricots in the kitchen while Bucky was making sure the chicken pieces weren’t sticking to the bottom of the pan.

You had wanted to order dinner from the restaurant down the street, and Bucky wanted to cook. You told him that cooking a meal for seven people was pretty stressful but he simply shrugged.

“I can do it, angel.”

“I know but you don’t have to do it.”

“Yeah, I do,” he replied with a sad smile.

You remembered him telling you that his ex-girlfriend often babied him in front of her friends and that it always made him feel weak and pathetic. He wanted to prove himself. He wanted to prove that, even with only one arm, he was able to cook a meal for an entire family.

“Okay, fine,” you reluctantly agreed. “But you’re not doing this alone.” He opened his mouth to protest but you raised your hand and touched a finger to his lips. “You can’t change my mind. I’ll be your sous-chef, and that’s final.”

So you ended up cutting vegetables for him. He made two tagines, one with meat and one with vegetables, in case anyone had any allergies or dietary restrictions.

Once the kitchen was spotless, you both went to your rooms to get ready for the night. It didn’t take you long so you checked on the tagines and waited for Bucky. The smell of harissa and coriander wrapped around you like a comforting hug.

You stole a dinner roll and checked the time on your phone. Nearly seven. A wave of anxiety rolled through the pit of your stomach. You took a deep, calming breath and decided to go check on Bucky.

As you reached the top of the stairs, you heard a deep, frustrated groan followed by a whine. Stifling a giggle, you tiptoed down the hallway towards his bathroom.

“C’mon, stay put or I’ll cut you!”

“Do you often threaten your hair?” you asked, leaning against the door frame. He gasped and jerked away from the sink. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Is everything okay?”

“I can’t do anything with my hair,” he complained. “I’m this close to shave the whole damn thing.”

You pushed yourself off the door frame and moved toward him. “Mhh, why not. A buzz-cut would make you look super dangerous.”

“You think so?” he frowned.

“Yeah,” you replied enthusiastically as you perched yourself on the counter by the sink. “A buzz-cut and a beard. Now that’s a look.”

He ran his hand over the dark stubble on his cheeks. “I already have the beard.”

“You’re halfway there.” You watched him consider what you were offering. “You know what, never mind. Your hair is too pretty to cut.”

“I should cut it though. It’s getting too long, I can’t style it.”

“Oh, poor you with your thick, fluffy hair,” you teased.

“It’s a gift, and also a curse,” he sighed with a whimsical grimace.

You laughed. “Come here, I’ll help you tame the monster on your head.”

He chuckled as he stepped between your parted legs. You took the hair dryer and a comb from the counter and started working on his hair. Despite its messy appearance, the comb ran smoothly through the strands.

“I think we need a safe word tonight,” you said while you worked.

“A safe word?” he repeated, confused. “Why would we need one?”

“Just in case,” you replied with a shrug. “I love my siblings but they can be quite a handful. So if you’re tired or if you feel overwhelmed, you just say the word and I’ll politely ask them to leave.”

“All right. Same goes for you.” He made a face. “What’s the safe word?”

“I don’t know,” you said, your eyes focused on his hair. “Flamingo?” You pulled back to look at him. “I saw an amazing documentary about baby flamingos the other day. See? It works.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, laughing. “Flamingo it is.”

You picked up his hair gel and applied some to his hair.

“There you go,” you said, smoothing the hair over his temples before sliding your fingers down the sculpted curve of his cheekbones. “Ready to break some hearts.”

It was a joke, but your voice came out breathy and small. Bucky didn’t say a word. He pressed himself closer to you, and you resisted the urge to wrap your legs around him.

He rested his hand on your thigh, then slid it from your thigh to your waist and lingered there for a few seconds. He gazed into your eyes for a moment; careful, cautious. You cupped his face between your hands, feeling the bristle on his cheeks against your palms. It was rough against your sensitive skin.

He slid his hand up your side, fingers passing over your ribs, and you let out a gasping sigh as he rested his hand over your heart.

“Did I break your heart, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice low.

“Just cracked.”

He cupped the back of your neck and massaged lightly while he looked at you longingly. He continued to stare at you as you moved your hands to his chest, feeling the strong thud of his heart beneath your palm.

“I-uh,” he started, then licked his lips. “Angel, I-”

The intercom buzzed loudly, awakening the two of you from your trance. Bucky took a step back and closed his eyes. You were glad you were sitting, because your legs felt unusually weak.

“You ready?” he asked, breathless.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you nodded.

You followed Bucky to the kitchen and answered the intercom, giving Wanda the apartment number. Bucky busied himself setting the table, unable to look you in the eye. You didn’t know what to say.

Finally, he stopped moving around and faced you.

“Who am I tonight? Who do you want me to be?”

You had anticipated his question. After all it was a legitimate question to ask giving the nature of your relationship.

“Just you,” you told him. You were tired of lies and half-truths.

A knock at the door startled you.

You opened the door, your hands shaking uncontrollably. You couldn’t help but gasp at the sight of Wanda, Okoye and Scott standing in front of you, each with a bottle of wine. There were two men behind them, both looking extremely uncomfortable.

“Hey Splotchy, long time no see, right?”

Part 11

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagines #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #marvel imagine #redgillan #redgillanwrites

1K notes · View notes