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reiderwriter · 2 months ago

Text

Rumours

A/N: I'm back! I started this one literally in February and then got so distracted by my job I couldn't finish it. Employment is a curse.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Plot: Spencer is displeased about some rumours he hears about you around the office. Only the way he goes about confronting them is clumsy and downright maddening.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, misogyny, misunderstanding, Spencer is a dick for a while, violence (breaking glass etc.), penetrative sex, oral (F receiving), slapping, choking, anal fingering, general BDSM content, Dom!Spencer, sub!reader, breeding kink (tee hee), cock warming, almost exhibitionism?

Masterlist

It wasn't as if you'd made it your life's mission to be the most rumoured about person on your team at the FBI, but you weren't exactly doing anything to correct people's perception of you. Spencer may have been to jail, Emily may have faked her own death, and Luke's past was a big, fat question mark, but nothing caught the attention of the pencil pushers in the office than the string of broken hearts you'd ostensibly left behind you at Quantico.

At one point in time, you'd even promised yourself you wouldn't date anymore law enforcement officers, lawyers, detention officers or anyone even remotely adjacent, but life was short, and you had a decent appetite for a men with guns and badges. It was very convenient to say the least.

Convenient for everyone apart from Spencer Reid.

The FBI was a boys club, sure, but with all the women on your team, the most ridicule you got after a drunken escapade with a distant coworker was a few teasing remarks. The first few months on the team, you'd been able to date, fuck, and play freely without any judgement. And then Spencer Reid had come back from leave, and you suddenly began to doubt your bachelorette lifestyle.

Because fuck was he frustratingly territorial.

It wasn't as though he was interested in you. He was 13 years your senior, fresh from an FBI mandated leave of absence and false imprisonment, and absolutely used to being coddled by every member of the team. If the BAU was a family, he was absolutely the youngest child who'd returned home to find his parents had adopted a dog while he'd been gone to replace him with.

You were the dog.

Spencer took issue with your attitude, your work ethic, your professionally, and with the sheer amount of times he'd been approached by men asking for your number, home address, or if the rumors were true.

He was used to casual oversharing, of course, he'd worked with Penelope long enough to not be phased by much sexual talk. But everytime he stepped into the office - or specifically the offices male bathrooms - he'd end up stuck in the same conversational loop.

“I heard she can do this thing with her tongue…”

“... definitely likes it rough…”

“I could show her a good time…”

“....I'm definitely hitting that by the end of the year…”

He stewed in it for a few weeks before the cracks fully formed in his exterior professionalism. When he heard about how you'd definitely fucked every male member of your team, though, that's when he lost it.

“You need to be more careful,” he said one day, pulling you aside between cases in a rare private conversation.

“Oh, yeah, in the field I can definitely rush in-”

“No. You need to be more careful with men.”

The look on his face sent a flare of shame through your chest, as you found yourself suddenly out of your depth. You didn't know this man well enough for him to be giving you advice. Your body set to full alert, and your fight or flight was in full go, as he cornered you and continued.

“They talk about you in the bathrooms, and I would not like to repeat what they say, but-”

“I don't care what they say.”

“You should.”

You frowned again, as he continued, completely oblivious to your growing anger.

“You should, because now it's reflecting badly on the team, and-”

“The team? I'm sorry what had the team got to do with this?”

To his credit, Spencer at least managed to look uncomfortable after that. He was set on reprimanding you, fine, but you'd make sure he wouldn't try to get so personal again.

“They're saying that you've slept with a number of coworkers-”

“Why should I care if-”

“Including me.”

You managed a half laugh in his face as his frown deepened.

“Oh so this isn't about my reputation, it's about yours. I should be safer with men because I'm reflecting poorly on our golden boy?”

“That's not what I'm-”

“Don't worry, Spencer. I'm safe enough.”

You made sure to push past him as you walked away, and he'd not been quiet about his dislike of you ever since.

Every man on a case you interacted with got you a disapproving glare, a slight turned down lip, a questioning glance. It was like you were being watched constantly, and it felt horrendous.

It was almost worse when the knowing looks he sent you were spot on in their assumptions. If you spoke to a man you had been with, hooked up with, been on a date with, even simply flirted with for a while, you felt his eyes pricking you.

His gaze knew everything it needed to know, almost as if he'd been in the room watching you submit your body for pleasure.

You thought it would be better on cases, that he'd be focused on other things and not worry as much, but when your first case post-argument landed, it landed you uncomfortably close to your childhood home, and included a face from your past you'd hoped not to see again.

Having an ex boyfriend in the police department in the middle of nowhere Washington was helpful for the case, but on a personal level it sucked.

You managed five minutes of personal conversation before you felt his eyes on you.

“Beautiful, you're not paying attention to me anymore. And here I thought fate had sent you back into my life as a little gift for a job well done,” your ex had said, ducking in close to you at your makeshift desk but locking eyes with an approaching Spencer as he spoke.

“Y/N, can I have a word?” he asked, though his jaw was set, and his tone insistent.

“Professionally or privately?”

“Y/N,” he warned, his tone a bit lower as you rolled your eyes and stood, following him to a quiet interrogation room quickly.

“What's wrong with you this time?” you demand as soon as he has the door closed. “Panties in a twist?”

“We are on a case, Y/N. Please at least pretend to be a professional.”

“What? What am I doing that is so wrong?”

He fisted a hand in his hair quickly, closing his eyes as if it would drown out your arrogant tone.

“You can't be serious, Y/N, he was practically fucking you with his eyes in the middle of the precinct-”

“And that's a behaviour he needs to change, not me. What. Did. I. Do. Wrong?”

“What? What, you expect me to sit around here and wait for him to ask you if you can still do that thing with your tongue that makes him cum instantly? Want me to wait around for him to ask you if you're still as flexible as you were give years ago, while we have work to do?” He demanded, stepping so close you had to back up against the wall to avoid colliding with his incoming body.

“I bet you'd love to hear just about everything I can do Spencer, but if you're going to act like a jealous ass, maybe you should take a breather.”

“Jealous? You think I'm jealous?” he chuckled slightly, raising a hand slowly and pushing against the wall as he stepped, somehow, closet to you again.

“You're so obsessed with my personal life that-”

“Your personal life is not so personal when I have people asking me if I've also fucked you on a weekly basis-”

“You're being cruel. My sex life is none of your business, Spencer.”

“That's exactly what I'm trying to tell you. I'm glad we finally agree.”

He was so close you could practically taste his breath, and while your mind raged at his thoughtless words, your body wanted his to press his against it and say all of that one more time with his hand wrapped around your throat this time.

“Jackass,” you said, pushing against his chest and storming out of the room quickly, before you could make any other mistakes.

Part of you wanted to stick it to Spencer after that. Part of you wanted to do something to start an even bigger rumor, something to piss him off more, something that would get him angry and bring him closer to you somehow.

Another part aggravatingly agreed with him. Your behaviour, while nowhere near as promiscuous as half of the male staff, was judged twice as hard as anyone else's. You enjoyed sex, and you wanted to unashamedly keep enjoying sex, but every man you ran into recently had that look about them. Half judgement, half possession, like they were looking at goods to consume rather than a coworker. You weren't obtuse, but you'd allowed yourself to ignore it until Spencer made you face it, which only made you resent him more.

You stopped going on dates, stopped entertaining the men in the office when they flirted with you. You put your head down, and you worked, and it frustrated you to no end.

You ended up snappy in the office, short with every single coworker and not just Reid, who was also (inexplicably) short with you. You'd done what he'd asked, and he was still not satisfied.

Emily, sensing the tension, tried to ease the situation slightly, with a mandatory team dinner, volunteering Rossi for dinner duty.

“Welcome to Casa Del Rossi, keep your hands off the pasta until I serve it, and please do not ask about the wine unless you want to be talking about it all night.”

You felt slightly uncomfortable being forced to play happy families under the watchful eye of 5 profilers and an incredibly perceptive tech support girl, but you tried to be civil over dinner.

Until you couldn't be.

“So, Y/N, any dates recently?” Emily laughed over a sip of wine, genuinely curious about your sudden lack of suitors.

“No,” you said, locking eyes with Spencer, who rolled his eyes as he looked away.

“What, not even a single hinge match?” JJ added, and you suddenly regretted not telling any of your other coworkers the root of your tension with Reid, because they were happily digging your grave.

“Come on, we all love your stories, Y/N,” Penelope laughed, prodding you with a finger as you smiled feebly.

“No, not all of us do,” Spencer mumbled under his breath, still loud enough that the room fell silent.

“Relax, Doctor Reid, I'm not going to regale you with tales of my conquests.”

“Good, I get enough of that in the male bathrooms,” he said, standing up from the table and excusing himself.

You stared slack jawed at him as he walked away, simmering anger getting ready to explode. You stood as well, and followed him, aware of every set of eyes watching you intently as you searched for Spencer.

You found him in a spare room, following him in and closing the door behind you with a thud so he would know you were there.

“What the fuck is your problem, Spencer?”

“Oh, it was Doctor Reid earlier, but now we're friends, huh?” he said, not bothering to look at you as he picked up a book and sat in a chair at the edge of the room.

“You can't just disrespect me in front of the team like that, and… and what? Slink away to read?”

He looked up at you with an annoyed glance, and you almost lunged at him. You'd probably be able to gouge out an eye before he could react if you wanted.

“You know, when we first talked about this, I was seriously worried for you. The way those men talk about you-”

“How do they talk about me? What do they say about me specifically that's any worse than usual misogynistic bathroom talk, huh?”

You stepped closer, leaning over him and poking his chest. You wanted him to react, wanted him to get angry. You wanted a fight, not for him to walk away shaking his head in resignment.

“You really want to know?”

“Yes. I'm a big girl, tell me what's so bad that has you acting like such a spoiled brat.”

“Okay. Okay, fine.” Putting down the book, he looked up at you, locking eyes with you as he started.

“They talk about how well you take it. How much you love cock, and how if they got the chance they'd fill you up with so much cum you'd be leaking for days. Some of them even talk about using you as a human toilet.”

“They mostly talk about your body, about how flexible you are, about how flexible they'd force you to be, how-” he had to stop to look away, clear his throat and start again.

“Mostly they talk about your lips,” he said, finally risking a look down at them before dragging his eyes back up to your own.

“My lips?” you asked, mentally scolding yourself when you hear the breathy whisper you let out.

“They talk about your lips a lot. I'm sure you can imagine.”

You take a second to think about it, reeling at how close he was, how open he was being, how….

How turned on you were hearing these words fall from his mouth. Every sentence from his mouth felt like a confession.

“I don't believe them though,” he said finally.

“What?”

“I don't believe them. I don't believe you're as good as they say you are, as they're fantasising about you being.

Your mouth opened in shock, and the indignity of the accusation had your heart beating out of your chest.

“Say that again,” you demanded, forcing him to meet your eyes again.

“You're not that good, Y/N. I'm sure of it.”

Quickly, you snaked your arm up and around his neck, grabbing him and pulling him down to meet your lips. You'd hoped to take him by surprise, to enter his mouth as he lost himself in the feel of you pressed against him. You'd hoped for the upper hand, until you realized you'd played right into his.

He kissed back immediately, hotly, insistently. His hands roamed your body for any hold of you they could find, settling on your waist and your ass as he pushed you back into the wall you stood in front of.

Frustrated by his attitude, you pushed back, twisting your bodies around until you'd switched positions, nails digging into the tender skin at his collarbone. You wanted to grab him hard enough to draw blood, you wanted to permanently scar him to remind him how good this felt.

He growled into the kiss, and you momentarily lost focus. He swung you around again, hands pushing your shirt up and roughly grabbing your boobs as he bit down on your lower lip.

With a moan, you hiked a leg up around his hips, rolling into him as he pinned you to the wall.

Your final act of defiance was pushing him away with all your strength.

Taken aback, he stumbled once or twice before hitting a dresser behind him. It shook, and with the tremors, the lamp that had been sat on it fell to the floor with a crash.

You stared at him panting as your coworkers ran to you both, opening the door with a loud bang as they assessed the situation.

You kept your eyes on him as Emily scolded you both, putting the two of you on BAU time out.

You quickly left the party after that, apologising to Rossi and tucking your tail firmly between your legs as you retreated.

Desk duty for the next two weeks was exactly the punishment you were expecting from Emily. Honestly it was what you deserved. If you couldn't play nice together, you weren't allowed to play at all.

You sat at your desk, and Spencer sat at his, and you were happy and content to ignore him for as long as physically possible.

Unfortunately, your sudden voluntary celibacy must have been driving you insane, because you couldn't stop picturing his hands on your waist, his hot lips tracing down your neck, your hips pushed so close you could practically feel his cock begging to be inside you.

Imagining.

You were sure your staring was making the man uncomfortable, or at the very least frustrated. You saw the vein in his neck jump out when he noticed you looking at him, but it didn't help too much to dispel the sudden and aggravating attraction you felt towards him.

You wanted to be angrier. Every interaction you entered needing to be angry.

Instead you found yourself somewhat softening based purely on lust, and it was eating you up.

You were not a pushover, and contrary to popular office belief, neither were you desperate or easy. One kiss with a coworker shouldn't have you trailing after him like a forlorn love struck child.

Spencer was definitely avoiding you though.

At first, he justified it to himself as giving you space, an apology of sorts after you'd been so brash before.

Then he came clean to his own conscious and realized he was afraid of another confrontation. Afraid was perhaps the wrong word, eagerly anticipating might be better, though when he tried to explain it to Penelope it didn't come out right at all.

“It's like- Okay, so we're like water and potassium, right?”

“You've lost me lover boy, I do computers not sciency science.”

“Potassium and water are both stable enough on their own. They do their job well, they work nicely.”

“Potassium is in potatoes, ergo they are in French fries. They work superbly.”

“Yes, but when you put potassium in water it has a tendency to catch on fire and explode.”

Penelope still looked at him confused, unsure what kind of avoidance excuse he was crafting in his mind.

“I'm potassium. She's water,” he said again to no avail.

“I need to avoid her so I don't explode.”

“What makes you think you're going to explode? Just talk to her nicely. Avoid topics you think are going to be more… reactive?”

Spencer just solemnly nodded and went back to avoidance.

He realized quickly that the only thing he'd ever talked to you about outside of working hours was your sex life, and that made him feel like both a creep and a pervert and also like he needed to take a long cold shower before quitting his job and moving into a cabin somewhere in the woods. But he wasn't Gideon, so he just suffered through it, leaving rooms you entered and ending work related conversations as quickly as possible, before his mouth could move quicker than his brain.

After a week of being swiftly dodged, you had the chance finally to corner him and you took it.

Watching as Spencer stood to get himself another coffee from the break room, you stood, grabbed your own mug and quietly followed him. You prayed to God that the room would be empty, but were quickly forsaken by the door when you heard two make voices inside.

“So Y/N, huh?” an unfamiliar voice asked, tone polite but playful.

“I've heard some stories about that one,” he chuckled, and even the sound of it set your hair on edge.

“She's a very hard worker,” Spencer simply answered, as you heard him preparing his own coffee.

“She certainly makes working hard,” the man slapped his back, taking a sip of coffee.

“I heard you two have been going at it in the office. Strange foreplay, but she must be into rough stuff like that, isn't that right?”

You'd heard enough men talking about you in your life to be used to it, but a flush of anger still ran through you at the man's insinuations. You almost walked in to embarrass the man when Spencer spoke up.

“I don't like your tone,” he said calmly, and continued quickly when the man tried to joke again. “I have been to prison, you work in white collar, let's see which of us comes out of the kitchen in better shape when you're done speaking.”

“You're fucking insane.”

“You're what, 35? From the looks of it, your marriage is over because you keep playing with your ring uncomfortably, probably because you're cheating, but you feel just guilty enough about it to worry about your kids. They lied by the way, your not the world's no. 1 dad. Even if such metrics could be determined, you'd rank low on the list. Is it their babysitter or their teacher you're sleeping with? Or your wife's sister, perhaps?”

“You're crossing a line, Dr Reid, I don't know how-”

“Well, I'm glad you seem to understand boundaries well enough. There are lines you cross, and ones you respect, and if I hear anything at all unprofessional from you about my coworker again, I will use the last six months of my experiences to make life difficult for you.”

You walked in quickly, hearing the change in Spencer's tone from casual to something more threatening, more desperate. The other man had two fistfuls of Spencer's shirt, though you didn't doubt Spencer would easily be able to floor the man.

“Good afternoon,” you said quickly, just loud enough to be heard above the thick tension filling the room. “I believe you were just leaving, right?”

You looked to the unfamiliar man, and the shame burned his face as you forced him out of the room. As soon as he was gone, you walked over to Spencer, finished making his coffee as he stood silently next to you, eyes refusing to meet yours.

You put the hot drink in his hand, smoothed his shirt out and whispered a quick thank you before retreating back to your desk.

After that, you didn't get closer.

You thought you would. You tried to follow him to the kitchen to actually have the talk you wanted in the days that followed, but you never quite managed it.

You'd just stand together in equitable silence making your coffees. Sometimes you'd talk about the weather. About the case. About things your coworkers did that you both found funny. About shows and books you both liked. About whatever random fact Spencer became enthusiastic about that day, or whatever noir movie he'd seen the previous day.

You didn't become closer, but you grew used to one another.

When the team finally came back, Emily patted herself on the back for a job well done for keeping the two of you grounded. You begrudgingly admitted to yourself that while Spencer lacked tact, you should've been more patient with him when he was asking you to be careful.

You'd heard him similarly chastising a handful of men since, always careful just to listen until he was done, and then clean up afterwards.

Spencer found his anger closer to the surface after prison than it had been before prison. Instead of sympathy or words, his fists always tightened into balls when anything displeased him. He wanted desperately to hit colleagues sometimes, and kept his breathing steady enough to reply with violent words rather than violent actions.

He couldn't blame his experiences in prison for everything, of course. Part of the blame was yours.

As much as he knew potassium and water weren't a safe combination, he found himself wanting to be dropped back into that pool once again. Looking at you was like setting himself on fire, remembering your bodies twinned together was like a little explosion.

He didn't know what brought him to your door, but he knew it was an inevitable reaction, one in a long chain.

“Spencer?” you asked, meeting him at your door, wrapped only in a loose robe and the too small, too flimsy sleep set you'd taken to sleeping in in the summer months.

“Hi,” he said, a little awkwardly, as if gaining the courage to knock on your door was the end of his plan, and he didn't know what the next steps were.

“Hey. Why are you…?” Here. Standing at your door looking so hot after you'd stayed obsessed with him for the last week.

“Why are you holding a bottle of wine?”

“Oh. Oh this. This is for you. To drink. Its for us to drink together, really, I… I wanted to apologise.”

You welcomed him in silently and quickly. Quickly still, you made your way to the kitchen, grabbed two glasses and a bottle opener and made your way back to your sofa where Spencer was standing awkwardly still.

“Please sit down,” you said, craning your neck to look up at him as he gently handed you the bottle. He nodded and sat down next to you, both too close and too far away at once. You'd thought of Spencer as more of a silent apologiser. You'd expected him to just be happy and friendly with you from here on out instead of directly acknowledging anything had happened. You'd seen him bottle up so many emotions, what was a little more shame and sympathy?

Now that he was in front of you, you didn't know what to do.

“So, um. I'm sorry.”

“Yes. Yes, I know.”

The tension in the air was thick as you turned to pour two glasses of wine, waiting for him to continue.

“Thank you,” he said taking the glass you offered him in two hands before glancing at it quickly and then downing it.

“When I got out of prison, I was in a bad shape, and that isn't an excuse, it's just a fact. My brain was in overdrive, and I was on guard around all… all men specifically. The things I heard in prison weren't good, nothing nice as said about women in prison, and when I got out, and I still heard those things…” He stopped and looked away, taking another deep breath.

“I was overstepping. I was being overprotective, and overfamiliar, and jealous-”

“Spencer, stop,” you said, putting your glass down, and smiling at him reassuringly.

“I appreciate your apology, but really it's fine. I came in while you were gone and getting back to schedule when your entire team dynamic is off is hard, so of course you were going to be on edge around me and a little bit jealous of my bond with the team but-”

“The team?” Spencer stammered quickly, cutting you off as you tried to reassure him.

“You were… jealous of my place in the group. I was an outsider who took your place and then you were just a little shorter with me than you would've been if we were introduced in normal circumstances.”

“No, Y/N… I- Did you think this whole time I was jealous of you?”

He said it in his softest voice which almost hurt a little bit more.

“Yes. That's how you were behaving, you were always annoyed and-”

“Jealous. Yes. Not of you, because of you.”

You felt every single place on your body where the material of your clothes were touching your body. The distance between the two of you, already small, felt smaller still, like you were tipping over an edge towards one another when in reality you were as solid as a statue in your seats.

“Y/N, I want you,” Spencer whispered, almost little bit ashamed, a little bit scared of his confession. It was the kind of voice criminals used when confessing, a voice that seemed ashamed of its own actions. “I listened to every single word men said about you, and I wanted to rip their tongues out and feed them back to them so they wouldn't have the chance to taste you again. So they couldn't torture me with their knowledge of you.”

He stood up abruptly and took a step back, placing his wine glass down on the table and pacing a few more steps away.

“Y/N, why did you have to kiss me?” He said, almost defeated. “Why did you have to kiss me and then push me away?”

You stared at him for a second, unsure whether he wanted a real answer or not, his eyes round with desperation, but face turned away slightly, as if he couldn't bare the answer.

“To shut you up,” you whispered. He nodded at your answer and took a deep breath.

“Well, Prince, so Genoa and Lucca are now just family estates of the Buonapartes. But I warn you, if you don’t tell me that this means war, if you still try to defend the infamies and horrors perpetrated by that Antichrist-”

“Spencer? What-”

“I really believe he is Antichrist—I will have nothing more to do with you and you are no longer my friend, no longer my ‘faithful slave,’ as you call yourself! But how do you do?”

“Spencer, what are you doing, why are you- are you quoting something at me.

“If you want me to stop, you know an effective solution,” he said, kneeling to the floor and looking up at you, continuing after a moments pause.

Quickly sinking to your knees as well, you grabbed the man by the collar and brought your lips to his.

As quietly desperate Spencer had been moments before, he took your kiss as an act of submission and countered quickly. You'd come to him, you'd listened to his request, and now he wasn't going to let you get the upper hand anymore.

Pulling you into his lap, his to guess pushed into your mouth as he wrapped your legs around him, guiding your cunt over his bulge as he kept up his attack against your tongue.

You fought back, trying to push him down to no luck. He caught your hands quickly, and standing up on his knees with one hand holding your ass in place, pinned you to the floor, arms held above your head in one large, strong, nearly painful grip.

Your body shook at the sudden motion, robe falling open and satin spilling over your body, revealing a single pink, perked up nipple that he eagerly latched onto.

You moaned at the contact of his hot tongue, the cold air hitting you at the exact moment his tongue dipped, as you held in a moan.

You couldn't hold in the second or third. By four you were practically humping up into the air to chase the sensations of his body pressed against your cunt.

“Spencer-” you moaned, cut off by a choke from your own throat as he roughly ripped down the other side of your shirt, harshly tugging at your other nipple with his fingers.

“If I had more time, I'd make you cum just from this. I'll spend hours edging your sore little nipples, just to make you happy,” he whispered, and you moaned as if it were your job, as if you were some cheap whore he was paying to abuse for the night.

“Good girl,” he said, tugging your underwear to the side and rubbing you slowly, coating his digits with your juices before pushing two fingers fully inside you quickly.

“No complaints. Take everything nicely.” he said, changing the angle of his hand as he began fucking you hard with just his hands.

“Fuck, Spencer, fuck- no, no, no, you have to stop! Fuck, I'll-”

He stopped just as instructed quickly, and you grabbed his hands to still his fingers, still inside of you.

“I need… shit I need hard nos's quickly Y/N. Tell me what I can and can't do.”

You gathered your breath enough to speak, but it was breathy, your breath still uneven, your legs still twitching as you lay on your back, cunt exposed to Spencer's greedy eyes. He drew small, gently circles on your clit with his thumb as you recovered.

“W-Why?” You managed to squeak out, cunt twitching at every accidental contact between you both.

“Because I'm either going to slap you to shut you up, or fuck your face, and I do believe in letting the lady decide.”

You couldn't help the scoff that came from your mouth, even though it was followed by another hitched breath and moan as you melted beneath him.

“You wouldn't do that, you're not the type.”

“What? What type am I not?”

“Slapping, spitting, demeaning. You're too… Spencer to do any of that,” you said, slowly raising your hips to fuck his fingers once again, pracitically begging him to keep us all his hard work.

Until he withdraws his hand and pulls you back into his lap, arms locking you in place on either sides of your waist.

“If I was anyone else,” he said slowly and deliberately, “Or if I was me and I possessed the ability to do any of that, would you consent to it?”

His words were a whisper, his fingers wet and hot on your nipples as he pulled, prodded, and played with them quietly.

“Well… you wouldn't-” you moaned at a sudden hard pinch, your hips jolting as he continued abusing your nipples.

“Everyone else has. Why can't I?”

“Spencer-” Another sharp pinch cut you off, forcing your eyes down to where he had a hand gently brushing against your chest, before sharply pinching it again.

“Hmm? What was that?”

“Spencer, p-please-”

You moan again as his other hand hooks around you to slide into your panties.

Pulls you fully onto his lap as he starts playing with your clit while tugging on your nipples, and he's waiting for you to give him permission to fuck you rougher.

“Can I do those things, Y/N?”

“Spencer….”

“Use your words to answer me, not your cunt. I know you're enjoying this.”

“Y-Yes.”

“Thank you,” he said, letting a hand trail up to your neck before kissing you gently on your lips again. The softness didn't last long as he picked up the pace with his other hand again, looming over you like a monster bent to its prey. His hand moved quickly, pushing in and out of you as you writhed on the floor, breaths shallow as he controlled where you went, where you looked, how you moved, and even how you breathed.

“S-Spencer,” you choked out, hands wrapping around his between your thighs, already twitching as your first orgasm hit you, twitching as he didn't slow down, moaning as you felt wetness seeping out of you in waves.

“Good girl. Good girl, you're doing so good for me. You want me to stop?” He asked.

“Yes, I can't- I can't do it anymore- nghhhh.”

“You can. Yes, you can, baby, you can. My little whore,” his voice was soft where his hands were hot, gripping your neck tighter as you focused only on breathing, legs shaking and twitching, squirming to get away even as you wished yourself to stay put.

“Good girl,” he said again, kissing you once again as his hand on your neck eased up. “One more time? One more right, baby?”

You nodded, not trusting yourself not to scream. With an open hand he slapped your face, just hard enough to draw a moan from your lips.

“Use your words, Y/N.”

“Y-Yes, I can do one more,” Ayou moaned, unsure if the stars you were seeing were from the harshness of the slap or the overstimulation. “Please.”

“Good manners,” he said, fingers slipping out of your cunt as you started to grind into him again, as soon as you said yes to another orgasm. “But I don't think I want you to cum yet.”

Lifting your hips, he urged you to turn over, pulling a pillow under your hips to help you lift them, still trembling as you were. A soft blanket was put under your head as he pushed your hips up, your shorts and panties pulled down and not just to the side now as he took all of you in.

“So drippy and wet, just for me…” he mused, probing a finger at your pussy again, laughing when you twitched at the contact.

“They say it tastes better than it feels you know,” he said pulling his phone out of his pocket before snapping a photo of your pussy, dripping and ready for him. “Look at it, what do you think?”

He thrusts the photo in your face as he pulled his dick out, letting it rub against the folds of your pussy as you moaned into defeat.

“Y/N, come on, what do you think? Do you taste better, or feel better?”

He propped up the phone in front of you and opened the camera, clicking record quickly as he slapped your ass.

“Answer me,” he insisted, cock head rubbing furiously against your clit now, fingers clamped down on a nipple, nails digging into your waist.

“Should I fuck you or eat that little cunt?”

“I- I don't know, Spencer, I don't know please-”

“Yes, you do. What should I do?”

You cried out in pleasure as you came again, the pressure on your clit too much too soon.

“F-fuck me,” you said, exhausted but still excited.

“Good girl,” he said again, withdrawing his touch before laying down under you and bringing your cunt to his mouth.

You tried to hold yourself up, but you couldn't as he licked and sucked and nudged at your clit with his nose. He'd ignored you, prolonged your torture, and decided he needed to decide for himself.

“Spencer…” you moaned, but it was weak. He chuckled into your cunt and you clamped your thighs around his face as far as you could, but he didn't relent.

Running a finger through your pussy to pick up your cum, he pushed a single digit into your asshole as you moaned slowly and weakly, face completely squished into the floor.

He pushed in and out slowly at first stretching your ass as you began riding his face, fucking against his to gue as you got closer and closer to release. The sooner you came now, the sooner he would release you.

But Spencer stilled your hips, and slowed his own movements to a few kisses here and there, letting one finger become two as he fucked your asshole. Eventually, all contact stopped with your cunt as you hungrily fucked his fingers, the stretch uncomfortable but good.

“Good girl, you like that? You like being my little anal slut? Good girl.”

The words hit hard, as you came on his face. He pulled his hands away and pushed you onto your back again, rising up to your fsve again.

“Open,” he said, and you obeyed letting him spit your own cum back into your mouth. His tongue connected with your own as you tasted yourself, hot and heavy on his lips.

As you kissed, he pushed your legs up, knees spread and with a single, hard, rough push, filled you with his cock.

You screamed in pleasure as he cooed into your ear. “I'm sorry baby, I couldn't help it. Your cunt looked too delicious, it was begging for my dick.”

Another slow pull out, and again he pushed in hard, stealing the breath from your lungs without even needing a hand on your neck.

Grabbing his phone, Spencer angled it towards where you were hungrily taking him in.

“This cunt is mine now, okay?”

You nodded, and he slapped you again.

“Words, Y/N, I need words. Tell me whose cunt this is.”

“Its yours, Spencer, all yours,” you moaned as he picked up his pace, lifting to his knees so he could drop it all into you.

“Shit, say more. Tell me what I can do to this pussy?”

“Abuse my pussy, Spencer. Stretch me out, slap me, keep me full, fuck I don't care, breed me,” you moaned, wrapping your arms around his neck as you lifted your chest up to his, thighs wrapped around his waist, ankles locked together behind him.

“You want me to cum in you? Want me to claim you so everyone can see?” He asked, nails digging into your thighs almost hard enough to draw blood.

“Yes!”

“Good…. fucking… slut,” he saif, and with a final thrust, he emptied his balls inside you.

You didn't move for a long time, catching your breath on the floor, a pile of limbs coated in sprsys of wetness and cum.

You started rubbing your cunt again first, as he joined in again with shallow thrusts, wincing and seething as he overstimulated himself.

You came quietly that last time and waited for him to pull out and clean you up.

He didn't. Keeping himself sheathed inside you, he awkwardly lifted the two of you to the couch and pulled your head down into his chest, letting you cockwarm him as your cum soaked into the material of the couch.

“Sleep for an hour or two. You'll wake up when it's time to go again.”

When you woke, it wasn't to Spencer starting again, but instead the ring of your phone. You tried to reach for it, to silence whatever alarm had decided to disturb you at that point, but Spencer was faster.

“Hello?” he said down the line, forgetting where he was for a second before you nestled into the crook of his neck again, fingers gently tracing his collarbone.

“Spencer?” Emily asked, confused and voice tired.

“Emily?” He asked. “We have a case?” He sat you up with him crasling you in his arms as you fully woke, your muscles objecting at this sudden movement. His cock stayed buried within you as you reoriented yourself.

“Uh, yeah. We've got an hour to get to the office and debrief, then were flying out- Spencer. This is Spencer?” she asked again, voice a muddle with confusion, tone rising by the second.

“Yes, Spencer. I'll be there.”

“And Y/N?” Emily asked. “I didn't dial the wrong number, Spencer, I have you all on speed dial. You're with Y/N?”

You sat bolt upright and took the phone from Spencer quickly, the shrill ringing of Emily's voice echoing down the line.

“We’ll be there,” you practically shouted. “We just drank together and-” you pulled the hair out of your face as you felt Spencer go rigid inside you again.

“A-and that's it. See you in an hour.”

Speedily you hung up, grabbed Spencer and pressed your lips to his again, pushing him down into the couch.

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cowboybeepboop · 10 months ago

Text

Desire

“Anything you want, baby,” he murmurs, his voice strained with desire. “I’ll give you anything you want.”

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x fem! Reader

Genre: Friends to lovers, romantic smut

Word count: 4.9k

Summary: Your feelings for Jake resurface after you tried to push them away, leading to an extremely intimate night with your best friend.

a/n: I really hope there's still an audience for Top Gun Maverick smut because I really loved writing for Hangman and Rooster. Also, I’m currently working on the requests in my inbox but as always feel free to send any my way! I hope you enjoy <3

You're best friends with Jake, in fact you're the only one who he doesn't seem to have an attitude with. Working at The Hard Deck allows you to see him even more frequently, which you truly enjoy.

You know not to get too attached to him, you know how he is with women, you know that given the chance he would simply fuck you and leave your life forever. So of course you’ve entirely given up on the chance of ever being anything more than just his friend, his best friend.

The doors swing open with Mav and his team bounding in, he greets Penny, glancing over at you as you lean over a table obviously lost in thought.

“What are all of you doing here? I’m not even open yet,” she starts to scold but Maverick brushes her comment off.

“I thought you could make an exception for us,” he shoots her a sly grin and she rolls her eyes. Hangman gives you a gentle pat on the back as he passes you, saying a soft hello.

Phoenix chuckles as she stands in front of you, “Hey Y/N,” you groan in response.

“Hey, bagman.” Phoenix addresses the blond who's standing at the pool table, “What's up with Y/N?” Hangman turns toward Phoenix and raises an eyebrow in response to her question. He didn't seem particularly interested in the conversation, but his attention was piqued nonetheless.

"Hm? Oh, Y/N? What about her?" he said, leaning against the pool table with a nonchalant tone.

“I mean, just look at her. She looks like she's got something on her mind.” she says, nodding in your direction. Their gazes fall on you, watching as you wipe the same place over and over. He approaches you with a frown on his face, clearly noticing your distracted state.

He stands in front of you, his arms folded across his chest, and observes you silently. "You look like you're in another world, sweetheart," he finally says in a low voice, tilting his head to get a better look at your face.

You glance up at him, letting out a soft sigh. “Yeah, something like that.” you mutter.

“Well, don't just say that and not give me the details.” he raises an eyebrow, watching the way you look away. Something was definitely on your mind, he could tell by the look on your face alone. He knew you all too well, and your usual mood was certainly not this solemn.

He leaned down a bit, making sure he was in your field of vision again, his arms still crossing his chest. “Come on, you can tell me. What's going on?” he prodded, a hint of concern in his voice.

“It’s nothing,” your expression softens as you toss the rag into the red bucket under the counter.

“Oh, really now?” he says with a doubtful tone. He knew you were lying straight to his face, you were usually a pretty terrible liar. He leans against the counter a little bit, keeping his eyes on you. “I know there’s something going on in that pretty little head of yours. So spill it.” He spoke in a firm tone, trying to get you to open up to him.

“It's just,” you purse your lips as you choose your words carefully, making sure he doesnt find out you're talking about him. “Just some guy, has me distracted.”

“A guy?” he says, narrowing his eyes at you. There was something off about the way you spoke, like you were intentionally being vague. But his curiosity quickly shifted into jealousy as you mentioned you were distracted by another guy.

His arms tensed across his chest as he leaned a little closer towards you. “Who is this guy? Is he bothering you?” he asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice. He didn’t like the idea of someone else capturing your attention, let alone making you distracted.

“Don’t worry your pretty head over it.” you tease him, your mood becoming a bit more lighthearted.

He rolled his eyes at your teasing, a small hint of a smile appearing on his face. But he was still determined to figure out who this other guy was, who was taking your attention away from him.

He pushed off the counter, moving to stand in front of you so that you were now face to face. “Come on, spill it. Who is this guy?” he said, a hint of insistence in his voice.

“I don’t want to make you jealous.” There was a hint of a smirk on his face as you mentioned making him jealous. He knew you were teasing him, but his competitive nature couldn’t resist the challenge.

“Oh, you think I’d get jealous?” he said, a hint of mock arrogance in his tone. “I don’t get jealous, sweetheart.” you think for a second, realizing that maybe getting advice from the man who's bothering you so much, might actually be your best option.

“Fine,” you pull yourself up on the counter, sitting on the edge in front of him. “He’s an ass sometimes, all he cares about is getting laid so I know I need to stay away. But.. I just can’t stop thinking about him.” you sigh.

Hangman looks a bit surprised by your admission, he wasn’t expecting you to be so blunt about the situation. He wants to tell you to forget about the guy and focus your attention on him instead, but he knows he doesn’t have any claim over you.

He leans against the counter next to you, his arms resting across his chest once again. “Sounds like a player, why bother with him?” he asks, trying to sound indifferent.

“I don't know, it’s just that he's always on my mind.” you lean back on your palms, “I guess that's why I’m so distracted today.” He can see the hint of frustration and confusion in your expression, it was clearly bothering you that this guy was constantly invading your thoughts.

He’s silent for a moment, his mind racing with different thoughts and feelings. But eventually he speaks, his voice low and firm. “You can do so much better than some player,” he says with a slight scoff, “You don’t need a guy like him in your life.”

Your eyes wander across his face as you sigh, “I know..” your voice trails off. He looks down at you, noticing the way your eyes are wandering across his face. He can see the hint of disappointment in your expression, as you admit that you know you can do better.

He steps a bit closer to you, his eyes never leaving your face. “So why bother with him then? Why waste your time and energy thinking about a guy who doesn’t deserve you?"

“I should get back to work.” you smile softly at him, hiding the frustration at his admission. He didn’t want you to go, he wasn’t ready to let the conversation end just yet. The way you smiled softly at him, a hint of frustration in your eyes, made him want to keep talking to you and find out more.

But he knew you had a job to do, and he didn’t want to come off as needy or overbearing. He nods in response to your statement, forcing a small smile back.

“Y/N,” Penny smiles warmly at you, “How about you call it a day?” she presses her hand to your back.

“Are you sure?” you question her, she simply nods at you. You find your way over to the pool table watching the pilots play.

The pilots are in the middle of a game of pool, laughing and teasing each other as they take turns shooting. Hangman in particular is clearly enjoying himself, relishing in the competitive atmosphere. He knows he's good at pool, and he's not afraid to show it.

He’s the first to notice your approach, and his demeanor changes slightly. He glances at you, a hint of a cocky smile on his face. “Finished working already?” he teases, his eyes watching you intently.

“Yeah, but my ride won't be here for a couple more hours.” you bite down on your bottom lip, gazing at him.

He steps even closer to you, his gaze unwavering. “If you don't want to keep waiting, I can drive you home.” his voice lowered as he stares down at you.

“Actually that sounds like a great idea,” you smile up at him, thankful you won’t have to stay any later.

He can't help but feel satisfied that you agreed so easily to his offer, pleased that he'll have more time alone with you. He grins back at you, his arms still crossed in front of his chest.

"Alright then, let's get going." he says, jerking his head towards the exit. He places a hand on your lower back, guiding you towards the doors. You wave goodbye to Penny and Mav who are deep in a conversation.

“Do you maybe have time to watch a movie with me?” you fiddle with your fingers, “I mean, it's been a while since we've hung out just the two of us.”

He listens to your question, his mind racing with different thoughts, but he quickly shoves them down. He would do anything to spend more time with you. He pretends to act a bit indifferent, but his voice betrays him as he replies.

"Sure, we can watch a movie." he shrugs, trying not to seem too eager. "Got one in mind?" you reach for the handle of his passenger side door.

“Hm, we could watch anything. I just want to be with you,” you admit carelessly while getting into the car.

He can’t help but feel a flutter in his chest at your admission, his heart races a little bit faster as he watches you get into the car. He quickly gets into the driver’s seat, trying to act like your words don’t affect him.

“Anything, huh?” he teases, glancing over at you quickly as he starts the car. “Even a cheesy romance movie?” he smirks, knowing how much you love them.

You gasp in response, “Obviously, you *know* they're my favorite.” his mind goes back to the discussion you had earlier as you smile at him.

He lets out a soft chuckle at your response, “Of course I do, I can’t forget your obsession with them.” he teases, his eyes staying focused on the road as he drives. But his mind starts to wander again, thinking about your earlier confession.

As his mood shifts slightly, he glances over at you with a hint of a frown on his face. “So, uh, this guy you were talking about,” he says, breaking the silence in the car. “How… how serious are you about him?”

“Hm?” your eyebrows furrow softly. His grip on the steering wheel tightens ever so slightly at your reaction, his eyes staring straight ahead as he continues to drive.

He can’t help the pang of jealousy that runs through him, he glances over at you, his face trying to maintain a nonchalant expression. “I just mean, you said you didn’t want to get in trouble with a guy.” he says, his tone guarded.

“I don’t know.” you sigh looking out the window.

His heart does a backflip at your words, he tries to maintain a neutral expression, but he can’t help the small smirk that appears on his face. “So, you’re single, huh?” he teases, a hint of hope in his voice.

“Mhm, why do you ask?” you question him. He continues to drive, keeping his eyes focused on the road as he answers your question.

“Just wondering,” he replies casually, trying to feign indifference. But he can’t help the nervous energy that’s building inside of him. He glances over at you, his gaze raking over your face thoughtfully. “You know, I’ve been single for a while too,” he adds, an underlying hint in his voice.

“You’re always single,” you retort, “you prefer hook-ups over relationships, right?” you tease him.

He lets out an annoyed huff, not expecting you to tease him like that. His face flushes slightly as he remembers all the past hookups he’s bragged about to you, in an attempt to make you jealous. “Hey,” he says with false annoyance in his voice, “I can be in a relationship if I wanted to.”

“And would you want to?” you question as he pulls into the parking lot of your building.

He parks the car, his heart racing slightly at your question. He turns to look at you, hesitating for a moment. The thought of being in a relationship, with you, was something he’d fantasized about for a while. But he’s also a coward, terrified of being vulnerable and getting hurt.

He takes a deep breath, trying to maintain a casual composure. “Maybe, if it was the right person.” he finally responds, his eyes searching your face for a reaction. You nod in response, slightly disappointed with his answer.

“Who’s your right person?” your voice is quiet. He’s taken aback by your question, the subtle disappointment in your voice stabbing at his heart. He glances down, his mind racing with different thoughts and emotions.

He takes a deep breath, his eyes shifting back up to meet yours. His heart pounds even faster as he musters up the courage to answer you. “Well.. I think you already know.” your eyes widen at his implication, feeling his hand moving to cup your cheek.

He can see the surprise in your eyes as he cups your cheek gently, his thumb stroking your skin softly. His heart is racing as he looks down at you, his eyes searching your expression for a reaction.

He takes a deep breath, gathering the courage to speak. “Do you… do you feel the same way?” he asks, his voice soft and nervous.

“Jake.. I.” your heart races as your words get stuck in your throat. His chest clenches as you struggle to speak, his stomach in knots as he waits for your response. His hand is still gently caressing your cheek, his eyes never leaving your face.

He swallows hard, trying to maintain his composure. “Please, just tell me. I need to know.” he says, his voice quiet but firm. Finding yourself speechless, you respond by pressing your lips to his.

He’s taken by surprise by your action, his eyes widening for a split second before he responds to your kiss. A wave of relief and happiness washes over him as he feels your lips against his, his heart racing with excitement and disbelief as he realizes the asshole you were talking about earlier just so happens to be him.

He moans softly against your mouth, his hand moving to the back of your head, his fingers burying into your hair as he kisses you back, passionately and hungrily. You lean closer to him, your hands cupping his cheeks as he slips his tongue into your mouth.

He deepens the kiss, his tongue twirling with yours. He can’t believe this is actually happening, that you feel the same way he does.

He pulls you closer, his hands gripping your hips and guiding you onto his lap. He moans against your lips, his hands roaming down your sides, his touch both gentle and desperate at the same time.

“Jake,” you whisper against his lips, feeling his bulge pressed against your heat. He shudders hearing his name leaving your lips, his eyes darkening with desire for you. He can’t help but moan softly as he feels your body pressed against his, his hips instinctively bucking up slightly in response.

He pulls you even closer, his hands gripping your thighs, his lips trailing down your neck. “Sweetheart,” he breathes, “I want you so damn bad.” you moan quietly, leaning into his touch.

“We need to go inside,” your voice and gaze are filled with desire. His heart races at your moan, his body aching with need for you. He nods in agreement, his eyes filled with the same desire.

“You’re right, we should go.” he mutters, his hands roaming over your hips, unable to keep himself from touching you.

He lifts you off his lap, opening the car door and practically dragging you out with him. He shuts the door behind you before pulling you towards the building’s entrance, his eyes filled with impatience and lust.

He presses you against the wall of the elevator, his hands roaming over your body, exploring every inch of exposed skin. His lips trail down your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses in their wake.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” he mutters against your skin, his voice thick with desire. He kisses and nips at your neck, unable to get enough of you, your soft moans fill the cramped space.

He can’t help but smirk to himself as he hears your moans, his heart racing as he realizes he’s the one making you feel this way. He feels a surge of pride and satisfaction knowing he’s the one who has your heart racing and your body yearning.

“Jake, fuck, you’re driving me crazy.” The ding of the elevator pulls you both out of your trance as the doors open, revealing the empty hallway. He grabs your hand, practically dragging you towards your apartment.

You fumble with the doorknob as you unlock it, feeling his desperate hands around your waist.

He can't keep his hands off you, his fingers tracing the exposed skin of your waist as you fiddle with the keys. Impatience floods him, his desire growing with every second.

He presses himself against you from behind, his lips finding your neck once again. "Hurry up," he mutters against your skin, his breath hot against your ear. "I need you, right now."

You pull the door open, smirking at his impatience. He traps you between his arms, your back pressed against the closed door, his body pressed firmly against yours. He gazes down at you, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and possessiveness.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he mutters, his voice hoarse and low. He leans down and captures your lips in a fierce and passionate kiss, his body desperate to get closer to you.

You press against him, your palms against his lower abs, as you lead him to your bedroom blindly. He follows your lead through the apartment, his lips never leaving yours. His body is on fire, the feeling of your hands on his abs driving him wild.

He pushes you against the doorframe of your bedroom, his body pinning you to it as he continues to kiss you deeply and hungrily. He can't get enough of your mouth, his tongue tasting every inch of it. He slips his knee between your thighs, pressing into your sensitive pussy. You moan into his mouth, your eyebrows scrunching in pleasure.

His knee presses against your sensitive core, his tongue exploring your mouth greedily. He can hear your moans, your breath hitching as he presses into you. He feels a surge of satisfaction as he knows he’s the one who makes you feel this way.

He nips at your bottom lip, his hands roaming down your sides, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. “You like that, sweetheart?” he mutters, his voice low and hoarse. “You want more?”

“Please,” you grasp onto his sides, moaning desperately, “I need more please.”

He can hear the desperation in your voice, your fingers gripping his sides. His heart aches at your plea, his body responding instantly to your need.

He moans against your mouth in response, his hands roaming down to your thighs. In one swift motion, he lifts you up with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you into your bedroom.

He gently but firmly presses you against the plush comforter of your bed, his eyes devouring every inch of your body. The room is bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, casting shadows across your flushed cheeks and the passionate hunger in his gaze. You can feel the heat emanating from his body, and it sends shivers down your spine.

With a low growl, he starts to peel away the layers of fabric that separate his skin from yours. His rough hands glide over your smooth flesh, sending waves of pleasure through your body. Each piece of clothing that falls away reveals more of your beauty to him, and he can't help but moan in appreciation. His eyes are locked onto yours, watching the way your pupils dilate with every touch, every kiss.

He nips at your earlobe before tracing the line of your jaw with his teeth, making you squirm under him. His hands are everywhere, exploring the curves of your body, learning every dip and peak that makes you gasp. His kisses become more fervent, his teeth grazing your neck as he sucks soft hickeys into your skin. You can feel the pressure build, the promise of bruises that will be a secret between the two of you.

Your breath comes in pants as he kisses down your chest, his tongue swirling around your hardened nipples. You arch your back, pushing your breasts closer to his eager mouth, your hands tangling into his hair. He groans, the vibration of his pleasure echoing through your body, making your core clench with need. His teeth graze the sensitive skin, and you can't help but bite down on your lip to stifle the moan that threatens to escape.

His mouth continues to travel downward, leaving a trail of hot kisses down your stomach. His eyes never leave yours, the hunger in them growing with every inch closer he gets to your wet pussy. You can feel your heart pounding against your ribs, the anticipation of his touch making your skin tingle with excitement.

With surprising gentleness, he spreads your legs apart, his gaze lingering on the wetness that's already gathered there. He groans, his own arousal evident in the tightness of his pants. He leans in, his breath hot against your sensitive skin, and you can't help but moan out his name as he kisses the inside of your thigh.

The first suck is gentle, but firm, and you feel your pussy clench in response. He starts to suck dark hickeys along the sensitive skin, each one a little harder and closer to your center. Your hands tighten in his hair as he works his way closer to your core, the pleasure building with every mark he leaves.

“More, Jake, please!” you beg him, your voice desperate and needy. He chuckles against your skin, his tongue flicking against your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. Your back arches as he takes your clit into his mouth, sucking hard. You moan loudly, the sound bouncing off the walls of your small apartment.

He inserts one finger inside you, feeling the slickness of your arousal. You gasp as he starts to pump in and out, his thumb rubbing circles around your clit, teasing and taunting it. His eyes watch yours as he reads every reaction, making sure to hit all the right spots.

You're close, so close, but he knows you can take more. He adds another finger, stretching you just right, the friction making your toes curl. Your eyes roll back into your head as he starts to pump faster, his mouth never leaving your clit. He feels you tighten around his fingers, the warmth of your orgasm approaching.

He keeps his rhythm steady, not letting up even when your moans turn into whimpers of pleasure. You're so close, your body begging for release. His eyes never leave you, the intensity of the moment causing your chest to heave with every ragged breath. And then it hits you, the orgasm crashing over you like a wave.

You scream his name, your body convulsing with pleasure. He keeps his mouth on you, drinking in your release, savoring the taste of your arousal. As the waves subside, he kisses up your body, his hands still holding you in place.

"You taste so good," he murmurs against your skin, his voice filled with satisfaction. He can feel your legs shaking as his own need for you grows with every second. He strips off his own clothes, his eyes never leaving yours, and then he's on top of you, his body pressing you into the mattress.

He positions himself at your entrance, his cock aching to be inside you. He looks into your eyes, searching for permission, and you nod eagerly. He takes a deep breath, then gently pushes in, feeling your warmth envelop him. You gasp as he stretches you, his eyes never leaving yours, watching for any signs of pain or discomfort.

As he’s fully sheathed in your wetness, he holds still for a moment, savoring the feeling of being connected to you so intimately. He starts to move, his hips rolling in a slow, torturous rhythm. Each time he thrusts into you, your eyes widen and a moan escapes your lips. He loves the way you react to him, the way your body moves with his.

He keeps his movements gentle, not wanting to overwhelm you, despite his own desperate need to claim you completely. His hands are everywhere, stroking your skin, feeling your curves, as he kisses along your jawline. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, your legs tightening around his waist.

Your thighs squeeze around him, your heels digging into his back as he continues to thrust into you, deeper and deeper. His movements become more urgent as he feels your body tightening around him, the walls of your pussy clenching down on his cock. You moan his name, urging him to go faster, harder, and he responds eagerly, his hips moving in a punishing rhythm.

You can feel yourself on the edge of another orgasm, your breaths coming in short gasps. Hangman’s eyes are locked on yours, watching the pleasure build in your gaze, feeling the power he has over your body. He can’t believe how beautiful you look, your face contorted in ecstasy, your eyes glazed over with lust.

Your body begins to spasm around him, your pussy clenching down hard. He groans, his hips stuttering as he feels you start to cum. The sensation is overwhelming, your muscles tightening around his cock like a vice, sending waves of pleasure through his body.

With a sudden jolt, he pulls out of you, unable to hold back any longer, his cock spurting cum onto your stomach with a loud groan. His eyes never leave your body, watching as your orgasm takes over, your pussy pulsing and gripping at nothing.

He's left breathless, his chest heaving as he looks down at you, his expression one of awe and satisfaction. He leans down, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead, before his eyes drift down to the mess he's made of you.

He watches as your eyes flutter shut, your body trembling with the pleasure he’s given you. He can’t help but feel a sense of pride and satisfaction at the sight of your beautiful, sated body.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire and exhaustion. His eyes rake over your form, taking in every curve and plane, every mark he’s left behind.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he mutters, his fingers tracing the lines of his bites and hickeys on your skin.

“Now let's get you cleaned up, hm?” He lifts you up, wrapping his strong arms around you, and carries you to the bathroom. He turns on the shower, letting the water run until it warms up, before placing you gently under the spray.

He steps in after you, his body pressing against yours as he begins to lather your body with soap, his hands moving over your skin gently but possessively. You exhale contentedly as you press into his chest, relaxing in his embrace.

He holds you close, his arms encircling you, as the water cascades over your bodies. His hands run over your body, washing away the sweat and evidence of your passionate encounter. Jake nuzzles his face in your hair, inhaling your scent, a sense of peace washing over him. He murmurs sweet nothings in your ear, his voice low and soothing.

“You’re not just fucking around with me are you?” your voice is uneasy as your stomach twists with anxiety. He freezes, taken aback by your vulnerable question. He can hear the anxiety in your voice, and it pierces his heart.

He pulls away slightly, turning your body to face his, cupping your face gently in his hands, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes are intense but filled with understanding.

“No. No, sweetheart, I’m not just ‘fucking around with you’.” His voice is firm but tender. “What we did tonight, it meant something to me. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise. You mean way too much to me.” your eyes soften as his gaze into yours with sincerity.

“Good, because I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.” you bite down on your lip. He feels a rush of tenderness and protectiveness wash over him as he hears your sincere words. He pulls you closer, your wet bodies pressed against each other, his arms encircling you in a firm embrace.

“You have no idea how much that means to me,” he mutters against your hair, his voice filled with a mixture of vulnerability and possessiveness. “You’re all I want too, sweetheart. You have no idea how much I need you.”

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seumyo · 1 year ago

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BAKUGOU KATSUKI ✰ 3:58

No amount of hectic schedules, exhausting patrols, rowdy villains, and never-ending legal paperwork could ever keep Bakugou from attending his daughters’ extracurricular activities—because he’d literally go through literal hell and back than to ever see a disheartened pout along with the silent treatment after he gets home from work.

You think he’ll ever miss any of his daughters’ milestones? Fuck no!

Bakugou insists on being at every event, his phone—and even an actual camera during a good day—in hand, his heart swelling with pride and unconditional love that makes his chest figuratively hurt; it might as well be a medical problem at some point.

Because, if anything, Bakugou Katsuki is a father first and a hero second.

“Shit, ‘m late. Have they started yet?”

He’s sweating as if he just used his explosions to propel himself in the air to get to you quicker, but, in truth, he sort of had to just run since the traffic on the highway today would’ve only angered and slowed him down. He left patrol to Halfie, who offered to take his shift, knowing how many times Bakugou covered for him when he was in his son’s piano recital.

“They just started doing warmups,” you answer. “Did you run? You’re drenched to the bone; you’re going to catch a cold if you don’t get changed into some dry clothes.”

“Hah, doubt it.” He snorts, though he does appreciate the thought of you bringing him a spare shirt for just-in-case purposes.

You're always the one who thinks ahead, aren't you? Bakugou knows he’s a very lucky man to have such a doting, caring wife that humbles him whenever he gets too focused on his pride. The balance that he didn’t know he needed!

Ignoring the gawking stares of the other parents—because it’s not everyday you see the Pro Hero Dynamight in mundane activities such as watching his kid take gymnastics’ lessons—he looks through the glass in search of his little princess.

Just as he saw her, his lips curled to that oh-so genuine smile, one that just said, “That’s my daughter, right there! Look at how awesome she is!”

Bakugou remembers how his parents were the same and how they were very supportive of his interests and hobbies, no matter how odd they may be for a five-year-old. How often do you see someone learning to take on both hiking and archery at the age of five? Bakugou was sure he learned most skills during his childhood that made him a firm hero in the field today.

“She has a bit of trouble with tumbling because of her tummy.”

“Yeah? And does that have somethin’ to do with my awesome cooking?” Bakugou replied smugly. “Besides, ‘ts just baby fat, and I’d prefer to see her like this than to see her thin but often sick.”

“Mhm, and she makes up for the cutest ending pose.”

“And her effortless splits. Have the coaches seen her do that?”

You shook your head. “Not yet,” you say, “but I think they’re about to do it—oh! Look, look!”

And he does; his phone’s camera is already recording his youngest daughter doing a perfect vertical split, while the other girls somewhat struggle to maintain a consistent posture.

“She’s a natural, hun.”

“She is,” you chuckle, “just like her Daddy to a certain extent.”

“Damn right, she is.”

Bakugou tries to hold back his laughter when your daughter once again attempts a forward roll with the guidance of the staff. Her tummy somewhat makes it a bit difficult for her to do so. The way she hesitates but then does the forward roll, albeit a little lopsided with a smile that shows her adorable tooth gap—it was safe to say that your daughter was over the moon with her gymnastics lessons.

It’s all too much for him to take.

And when all is over, he greets his daughter by picking her up and blowing raspberries on her neck that have her squealing in laughter before he insists that he’ll be the one to talk to the coaches about the upcoming schedules and the progress your daughter has made.

“Mr. Bakugou, she’s a good listener, and I believe that she’ll be moving onto the next class with the older children in no time,” they told him. “Has she received prior training before this one?”

“She’s also taking ballet lessons,” he answers, “but gymnastics is what she really likes. Ballet was just a compromise since your services weren’t available in our area at that time.”

“That’s wonderful to hear. It’s a joy to have her in class. I’ve already sent Dr. [Last Name] the schedules we offered, and we are looking forward to having your daughter in the upcoming lessons.”

The walk back to your car was light and quiet for a change. Your youngest daughter, Kusami, was out like a light in Bakugou’s arms, having worn herself out with socializing, rolling, doing splits, and whatnot the gymnastics’ instructors told her to do. And Bakugou was just letting the simple moment sink in because this is what he considers the most rewarding part of his day.

Time spent with his family.

Bakugou also warmed up to the thought of having to interact with other parents. He chatted with a single father earlier, whose daughter was the oldest in Kusami’s class. It was nice to converse with equally enthusiastic and supportive parents that you meet through your children's extracurricular activities.

“Let’s go through a drive-through; get Katsumi her usual order,” Bakugou murmurs, remembering how his oldest daughter, Katsumi, would’ve probably woken up from her nap by now and was probably anticipating her family’s return.

“Alright,” you nod. “Katsumi and Kusami have swimming lessons tomorrow at five in the afternoon, too. Do you think you’d get home that early?”

“Of course,” he answers. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

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3vln · 4 months ago

Text

Prologue, Part 1

Words: 5k+

C.W.: missions, galas, Spain, banter, pre-FATWS, no usage of Y/N, tried to keep Reader as vague as possible (might change in the future), Reader is Widow-trained but mostly uses training for combat training and espionage, dives a little into Black Widow plot, somewhat bilingual (2nd half is set in Spain, tw: Spaniards), no smut yet but will have (so MINORS DNI), smidge of exhibitionism (for the mission, right?)

A/N: If fleshed out how I want it to be, this should be a 4-part story: the Prologue I & II (pre-FATWS) and the Epilogue I & II (during FATWS or CA:BNW). Please, please, please, if anyone wants to proofread future stories, please lmk.

Pairings: Lt. Joaquin Torres x WidowTrained!Reader

Joaquín met her when they were both just starting out in the Air Force—young, restless, and burning off the weight of training with cheap drinks and too-loud laughter in some forgettable dive bar. She was adaptable, mostly quiet, and knew when to get rowdy to keep the vibes going. She wasn’t in his cohort, just another face in the sea of military friendships that came and went. He’d be lying if he didn’t try to get to know her a little in the beginning, but something in her eyes or tone said she wasn’t interested - he’s been met with rejection multiple times to know that tone - and left it at that.

Over time, though, their paths kept crossing. Base assignments, joint training sessions, overlapping missions—until familiarity turned into something steadier. As they climbed the ranks in their respective fields, their work intersected often. But while Joaquín’s role was clear, hers always felt… murkier. She never volunteered details, and he never asked. Still, he noticed things—the way she disappeared without explanation, the way her conversations died the second anyone entered a room. Whatever she did, it wasn’t standard military work.

"Remind me what you’re working on these days," he said, securing the wraps around his knuckles as he eyed the punching bag. He had just arrived at the gym as she was gearing up to leave.

She hummed, filling the environment with a light-hearted air. He knew better, she thought, so she shrugged, “Stuff.”

He chuckled back, shaking his head. “Always so secretive, swear to God,” he muttered, and continued wrapping the other hand. He looked up at her for a moment, and found her smiling at him. She shrugged again in an “oh well’ manner, and went for the exit.

Joaquín felt his chest swell after she left, the flirty look she gave him engraved in his brain - and soon doubting himself if it was something he thought he’d imagined. He wished she’d stay a little longer to get to know her more.

She wasn’t like that. Or at least, had never seen her be flirty.

Deep down, she had to admit—he was cute. Not in an obvious, heart-stopping way, but in that boy-next-door kind of charm. Annoying at times, sure, but somehow still endearing.

"Hey!”

They were in the hallway now, the door clicking shut behind them as Joaquín lingered, still gripping the handle. She arched a brow, waiting. Seconds stretched. His lips parted slightly, as if a thought had almost formed, then—nothing. Joaquín, who always had a sharp remark, a clever comeback—something—found himself choking on silence.

Her brow furrowed. “No, yeah, good talk,” raising her thumb after a few long seconds.

“No wait,” he sighed, jogging toward her. “Listen, listen. This is… weird… to say,” he started, “and I acknowledge that, but I really don’t know anything about you, and…”

“Yeah….”

He sighed, “I’m not trying to come off wrong, but I’d really like to know you more, what you do – here, at least, you know? I’m just generally interested in your… line of work.” He swayed side to side in his words, trying to find the correct wording to things.

She considered his words. Trying to figure him out, understand what he can or can’t keep up with. He was smiling sheepishly, hoping she would open up a little by his nervous smile. But he was just irritating to look at, at this point, and turned away to walk towards her room, ignoring his protests.

Poor Joaquín Torres didn’t know what he was up against if she took up his request.

But of course, that wasn’t up to her, because if there’s something he’d do, is find a way.

“I guess I’ll be joining you and the others for this one, huh?” He walked alongside her, too distracted by his own achievement of joining the woman next to him on the mission she’s leading, to notice her fuming. “I mean, it’s nice, and seems pretty straightforward, and–�� in an instant of a moment, she grabbed his arm and shoved him in the nearest supply closet and debated locking him in before stepping in herself and setting things straight.

“Listen to me carefully,” she whispered inches from his face, a finger on his chest keeping him in place. This was the closest in proximity she’s ever been to him, her closeness putting him at unease. “You will hear my orders; you’ll follow my lead. Do I make myself clear?”

He looked down at her, the proximity intoxicating him, stilling him. Her face was lethally calm, collected, and serious. He wondered how she could express so much in her voice, while remaining cool and in charge. Something about this was new territory for him, but a new high was building; an excitement that was new to him. He wasn’t sure if it was her pointed finger giving this effect, but he felt his chest clench.

“Do I make myself clear?” she repeated, emphasizing each word. She dug deeper into his chest through his uniform, snapping him out from her trance.

He nodded stupidly. “No, yea-yeah, yes ma’am.”

She held his gaze and groaned after a while, resting her hand on her waist while the other ran through her hair, a headache already taking place. “Jesus.”

She took a moment to think ahead and plan the debriefs, the strategies, the roles her teams were going to have to play in this mission, and how Joaquín could be an active player in all of this…. from a distance.

“I think you should have a little faith in me,” Joaquín said, his voice light but laced with sincerity. She studied him for a moment, taking in the way his expression softened just slightly—earnest, hopeful. He was an eager guy. She’d give him that. “I’m just trying to learn, that’s all. I think it’ll be good to be a sort of jack-of-all-trades type, you know? Kick ass,” a karate chop, “be the ‘computer guy’,” fingers feigning typing; that earned him a scoff, “do spy stuff–”

“‘Computer guy’?”

“Yeah, the-the guy with the comms and stuff in the mission and the-” he snapped his fingers trying to find better words.

“Yeah I don’t know….”

“You do know,” he said, exasperated.

She blew raspberries, “You mean like a Communications Specialist?”

“Well, sure, and–”

She smirked. “Ok well, you have to get better at communicating,” she chuckled

The corner of his mouth twitched at her teasing, but something about the way she laughed, effortless and a little self-satisfied, made something twist in his chest. He tried to ignore it. Instead, he exhaled sharply and cocked his head. “Oh, you think you’re funny?”

“Yeah, hilarious, actually,” she stated matter-of-factly. She bobbed her head side to side, “It’s a burden, really. A gift and a curse.”

Joaquín let a beat pass before he gave her a lazy, knowing smirk. “Yeah?” His voice was lower this time, something smug and amused settling into the word. Something about that Yeah sent an inexplicable shiver up her spine. “More like a curse, I’d say.”

She clutched her chest, feigning hurt. “Woah, that was almost as sharp as my wit.”

“Yours is as sharp as a butter knife. Dull and mildly annoying.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms. “Oh please Joaquín, that’s all you.”

He mirrored her stance, crossing his arms right back, eyes twinkling. “And yet, here you are. Must be captivated,” he grinned.

She rolled her eyes, and started towards the door, “Whatever, more like suffering through it with grace.”

“Ah!” He nodded his head with a gotcha look, “so you admit I have a certain je ne sais quoi.”

“Yeah… ‘je’ no sé why I’m still talking to you,” she waved him off and started walking out of the supply closet. "Just, follow my lead when we get to Spain." Joaquín rocked back on his heels, smiling curiously to himself.

“Wait! So, when do we go into the details?” he called after a distance.

She didn’t stop, didn’t even turn around—just threw up a lazy wave over her shoulder.

It was during this mission that Joaquín started to understand her a little more. Before, she’d always been a bit of a mystery—never offering much about herself, never filling in the gaps. She never liked talking about herself. Maybe it was habit, maybe it was survival, but letting people in had never been something she did. Information was a liability. It could be twisted, used against her, turned into a weakness. And yet, here she was—sharing pieces of her past over frozen yogurt on a quiet evening in Madrid.

“I’ve heard about the Red Room, thought it was just a conspiracy,” he mused, spooning another bite of frozen yogurt into his mouth.

“Nope, was the real deal,” she nodded.

They had just wrapped up an infiltration, posing as CIA informants to dismantle an underground operation. Joaquín had handled himself well, but tonight, for the first time, he seemed to really see her. Not just as a teammate, or someone filling in the gaps between departments, but as a whole person—one with a history, one with ghosts.

“So why the Air Force?” he asked after a beat. His voice was casual, but there was something beneath it—genuine curiosity. “I mean, with everything you know, why not just—” he gestured vaguely, “S.H.I.E.L.D. or something?”

She considered that, tapping her spoon against the rim of her cup. “Oh, I am,” she admitted with a chuckle. “That’s probably why you barely see me.”

Joaquín blinked, then leaned back in his chair, nodding as realization settled in.

“What Dreykov did, it was rough. All of the Red Room thing in its entirety. But I learned to fly planes, it was my specialty, or trained mostly on. I figured the Air Force was the most straightforward choice. I just needed approval to join since ‘immigration’ and whatnot,” she yawned.

Joaquín hummed in understanding. He respected that. No probing, no need to drag out things she wasn’t willing to elaborate on.

He scraped the last of his frozen yogurt from the cup and grinned. “Alright, last question.”

She deadpanned. “It’s never the last question with you.”

“Promise, this time it is.” He held up two fingers in mock oath before leaning in slightly, eyes glinting. “Did you ever meet Natasha Romanoff? Like, the Avenger?”

She gave him a long, unimpressed look.

Joaquín just grinned wider.

She chuckled. “Nah.” She tried recalling back to her time while training, and heard about the infamous redhead that escaped Dreykov’s reach. She was the reason the Widows became chemically rewired to follow his orders–not that she blames her or anything. She mostly remembers the scientist one, Melina; she’d show up on base from time to time. “Anyways, I’m tired, and we have an early plane to catch tomorrow.”

As expected, his “last question” was never really a last. Walking to the hotel, he kept asking about her past, what she remembers about her childhood, questions about the chemical that had the Widows under Dreykov’s spell. A lot of them she didn’t really care to answer, others were just too personal to share. It was getting really exhausting, until she told him to shut up.

“How’d you learn Spanish?” he finally asked. It was like she told him something from one ear and out the other.

“Huh?”

“Don’t think I heard that little ‘no sé’ lingo in there from last week,” he shimmied. “Even here, hearing you speak Spanish, it’s perfect Spanish.”

“Honestly Joaquín, you’re like a nonstop yapper, how do you have the energy after all this time?”

“Wha–I’m just curious!” he grinned.

“Yeah good night.” She stepped into her hotel room, adjacent to Joaquin’s own room. The rest of the team had their own rooms as well, sprawled out across the hotel, all possibly in their bed asleep, or working on their briefs or reports. Others probably out partying. Whatever the case, she was just glad to be heading home soon. She sighed.

There was just one last thing to do before she could call it a night.

The night's mission wasn’t complicated—no intel to extract, no targets to eliminate. A simple side job. Something she could handle in a few hours, then return like nothing had happened.

She slipped into a black cocktail dress, the fabric sleek against her skin, something that would help her effortlessly blending in with the right crowd. She pinned her hair up with a clip-on fringe for a 90s updo, a few strands framing her face just right. The disguise wasn’t elaborate, but it didn’t need to be. The right outfit, the right posture, and people only saw what they wanted to see—a woman heading out for the night, nothing more.

She made her way down, weaving through the soft hum of conversation in the lobby, heels clicking against polished marble. She didn’t notice Joaquín sitting at the bar, sharing drinks and laughter with a few others from earlier.

But he noticed her.

At first, he barely registered her—a pretty stranger dressed to kill, a woman disappearing into the night. But then something tugged at his subconscious. The frame of her shoulders. The way she carried herself, poised yet alert. He frowned, lips parting slightly.

She had told him she was exhausted, ready to crash. But the moment she stepped under the golden glow of the chandeliers, something in the way she moved confirmed it. It’s her.

Joaquín straightened, setting down his glass. She looked different—glamorous, effortless, like a damn movie star. The strapless dress hugged her in a way that made it impossible not to stare. But beyond that, beyond how good she looked, something didn’t sit right.

He excused himself from the group without explanation, watching as she slipped through the lobby doors. His mouth opened to call her name, but he stopped himself. Instead, he followed, keeping his distance.

She didn’t hesitate at the curb, stepping into a black car with the ease of someone who had planned every second of her evening. As the car pulled away, the neon lights from the street flickered across her face, and for the briefest moment, her side profile was unmistakable.

Joaquín’s jaw clenched.

Something in his gut twisted. Whatever she was up to—it wasn’t just a night out.

And he wasn’t about to let it go.

“Follow that car,” he ordered the taxi driver, pointing out to the sleek car ahead of him. It’s not that he didn’t trust her, but he didn’t trust that she’d all of a sudden decided to get up, get pretty, and go clubbing. If she had, then this would be one big misunderstanding, and there was more to her he didn’t know. But what if this version of her is an evil clone and the real one was back at the hotel, injured? Guess he’d have to find out later.

He pulled up to a museum, an event taking place with lots of seemingly important people dressed up to the nines. He looked at his attire after stepping out of the car, and looked like he was ready to wander the wilderness or play pool, not waltz into high society.

Amongst the crowd, he spotted her messy updo, by some stranger’s arm, laughing. Given the fake bangs, making flirty eyes at this balding guy, and laughing, he deduced she was possibly on a mission. He frowned, something had to give.

He made his way to the back entrance, where the staff was most likely entering from. His palms were sweaty, not sure if this little rendezvous was worth the risk. He never really thought things through, just ran with his first thought, until he realized he needed to think things through more.

The museum kitchen was a controlled explosive environment. Expletives being yelled out in Spanish. Servers coming in and out of doors with equal enthusiasm with their own expletives. But everyone knew their place, and if he didn’t move past, people would catch on he wasn’t from there. But God the smell of the food getting prepped was incredible.

He moved past the kitchen towards what he thought were the lockers, and couldn’t believe his luck when he got his hands on an extra all black attire someone had left, likely what the servers were wearing for the evening, and one of someone who was most likely late. It was a little tight, but nothing he didn’t feel uncomfortable with.

“¡Cava! ¡Vamos, vamos chicos! ¡Que no tenemos toda la noche!” someone had started to yell to get the champagne out.

Joaquin walked out without anything in hand trying to find her-- that was a mistake.

“Oye, ¡tio! Pero que os haces? Aqui, valé. En andar.” The same man gave Joaquin his tray of Spanish champagne flutes to present to the guests and hurried him along. He muttered a quick “valé” to blend and started walking around, looking for his target.

The museum was grand. Artwork displayed for everyone, the guests looked wealthy - more than he would make in his lifetime. He would stop to occasionally look at a piece, and continue to play his part in pretending to be the flute guy, eyes in search of her.

He spent a good 10 minutes until he spotted the messy updo walk up a set of stairs with a different guy, smiling and laughing, making conversation and entering a secluded wing of the museum. He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to think. This wasn’t his mission, but his gut told him to keep watching. He needed to move without drawing attention, so he grabbed a new tray of champagne flutes from the bar, slipping into the role of an event server. The disguise wasn’t perfect, but in a place like this, people only paid attention if you gave them a reason to.

Balancing the tray in one hand, he made his way toward the wing—only to catch sight of her again, walking in the opposite direction across an overhead walkway, headed for the upstairs terrace. What the hell is she up to?

Joaquín hesitated for half a second before following. He had no plan beyond figure out what’s going on, but he’d deal with that part once he got there.

Stepping onto the terrace, he set the tray down, scanning the area. A breeze rustled through the cypress trees lining the edge, their dense branches concealing an exit. He was just about to check when—

A sharp yank at his collar dragged him backward.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Torres.”

Oh she’s pissed.

“Hey! Oh hey, I…” he started. He tapped his thighs, thinking of something to say. There was no use lying, she earlier mentioned she has a good bullshit detector, making him hyper-aware of every nervous tell he might have. He wasn’t a good liar, either way.

“Torres,” she pressed. “Go back to the hotel.”

“Why are you here? I thought you were too tired to go out,” Joaquín shot back.

“Confidential,” she curtly spit. She didn’t like that he was really prying now.

He frowned, “I don’t like this, we’re supposed to be a team–all of us. Why are you on a side mission? On your own?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. She wasn’t sure if she wanted him to know the truth, or how much she could tell him before he pressed for more. Or how much he could contribute to the mission now that he was here.

Joaquín took a step back, studying her. His gaze flickered up to her hair, and his expression shifted.

“And what's up with your hair?” He narrowed his eyes, then smirked. “Actually, this Pamela Anderson vibe you got going on? Real sexy, not gonna lie.”

She scoffed, taken aback, “What's up with your wardrobe, why are you dressed as a server? Are you spying on me?”

“No,” he shook his head, his high pitch tone giving him away.

“Santa María, madre de Dios…” she groaned, pacing back and forth. “Listen, I really don’t have time for this, just go back to the hotel, or be my ride for the night but just, keep yourself busy, I’m working here.”

“And another thing! That.” Joaquín pointed at her. “That’s what I mean, how do you know Spanish? That isn’t just textbook level Spanish you learn through fucking–Duolingo!” he gestured wildly.

Her patience snapped. “Joaquín, por favor, que te parto la madre. Hazte.”

He exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. He knew when to quit—mostly because he was sure she could and would kick his ass if he didn’t. He stepped aside, silently letting her pass.

On the way towards the entrance, she stopped before going in, he watched as she hovered there, shoulders tense, debating something. Then, finally, she turned back to face him.. “I… I have to do this thing later. If you want to make yourself useful, guard the door when I ask you to. And if you see anything, don’t… question it.”

He frowned at her curiously, and nodded.

She huffed, like she’d just given something away she hadn’t meant to, then slipped inside.

As if they had rehearsed this numerous times, she found Joaquín to make an excellent improv partner. As he was serving more flutes, and later hors d'oeuvres, she was schmoozing with the elites. He never really understood what she was doing. To him, it looked like she was networking, talking with peers. Flirting with men because she was bored. And damn she’s a natural. He wondered why he never saw this side of her. Whatever the case, she looked good.

But to her, this was part of the job. She didn’t mind the small talk, the ditzy persona. It was fun to play pretend, and flirt with the men and women available. This would end up leading to the main guy she was in search of.

“<<Yeah, Ivan and I go way back,>>” one of the drunk men slurred, leaning in close. “<<the guy’s great, I bet he’d like to meet your pretty face.>>”

“Ah, ¿si?” she grinned.

The man nodded eagerly, his eyes a little too glazed to be fully present. “<<He has a weakness for pretty girls, I can’t blame him. The dude can spot dimes from a mile away. You’re his type for sure. Maybe we can have a good evening together? And bring a friend for a good time all four of us.>>”

She bit her lower lip, feigning interest. “<<Don’t tempt me with a good time.>>”

“¿Croquetas de pollo?” Joaquín interjected with a plate of Spanish tapas, his eyebrow quirked in that teasing way he knew would annoy her.

The male just shook his hand, eyes not paying attention to Joaquín.

She followed his lead, shaking her hand to shoo him off. God, he was so annoying.

“¿Qué te parece si vemos ‘ese tipo Iván, hm?” she purred, letting her voice dip into something more seductive.

The male’s eyes lit, a type of hunger scanning her, thinking of the different ways he’d like to have her in. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but the smile never left her lips. This was the part she hated—this look they gave her—but it was all part of the dance. Keep it light, keep it playful, and lead them exactly where she needed them to go. “Vamos,” he said as he pulled her hand between his, caressing her.

Just before he strung her along further, she stopped in front of Joaquín to grab a piece of croqueta and held it up to thank him for it, silently telling him to standby. It was communication through the eyes, one where she was actually thanking him for sticking by, and not for the stupid piece of chicken meat he was offering her. He dipped his chin in understanding, barely mouthing a go.

Whatever this thing she was doing, it was one that he knew she could handle by herself, but he figured it was nice to have a partner in this. He watched her go up the stairs into the wing once more, and didn’t see her again. He wondered what she’d be doing, and felt sick if these were the types of missions she’d gone through during her years as a Widow.

He forced himself back into his fake role, serving tapas, keeping his hands busy, trying to anchor himself in the mundane. But his mind wouldn’t stay put. It kept drifting—to the slit of her dress, the way her long legs moved effortlessly through the crowd. The velvety fabric that clung to her, the shimmer at her collarbone catching the soft light.

To him, ella era la luna personificada.

Her lips—shining, plush. How they might feel against his own. How they might taste.

Joaquín exhaled sharply, shaking his head. Focus. He had croquetas de pollo to serve, champagne to pour. Not this.

This was Red Room training, he reasoned. The art of seduction. The carefully crafted illusion of a siren—luring men in with a glance, a smile, a whisper in the dark. And when the time called, strike at a moment’s notice.

He let out a breath. If she was anything like the person she was during the morning’s mission, he knew she’d be okay. He’d seen how she maneuvered, how she struck with precision. That woman didn’t need saving. She didn’t even need backup. The more he thought about her skill, the sharper his confidence in her became.

As he walked around carrying a round of, now champagne, for the guests, he was met with a hand on his back, making its way down his arm. He felt a chill go down his spine, and saw her, a little frazzled, but composed.

“Me parece que querrán más tapas y cava,” she murmured, smooth, practiced.

Joaquín smirked, inclining his head in mock obedience. “En seguida.”

And then, just like that—a wink. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment, and made her way to the women’s bathroom.

Joaquín wasn’t sure what was really going on now, but he was just glad to be a part of it. With a tray of Spanish champagne at hand, he made his way up the stairs with her, into the right wing of the museum. This side of the museum was dimly lit, and he started feeling unsure of himself. But she was leading him to a room, confidently walking with grace, as if she owned the place. He liked this about her. She was confident about everything. Never faltering to new things. She led with caution certain times, but confident nonetheless.

“You look real good,” his words escaped him. He mentally kicked himself.

She looked back, studying him for a moment if the champagne had gotten to him, but no. Figured this was the real Joaquín speaking. A little brash, or with little thought process, but still him. “Thanks,” she chirped over her shoulder.

“Now,” she began, stopping behind some big doors, “remember what I told you–if you see something, stay quiet.”

He nodded, unsure, “yeah, sure.”

On the other side of the doors, two bodies were over a couch, one on top of the other, half-naked. Joaquín’s eyes grew, and looked at her incredulously. She was making her way towards a desk, leaning forward to focus on what was on the display screen. He figured he'd ask about that later. “Get on watchdog duty; let me know if you hear steps nearby.”

He fake saluted and made his way out, leaving the flutes near the desk. “So what exactly are you doing?” he asked.

“Joaquín, hush,” she sang absentmindedly, and he closed the door.

The small USB drive she carried in her garter was taken out and inserted into the hard drive.

She thought she wasn’t going to need to extract information or execute anyone for the night. At least one of them is true. She was supposed to be pure arm candy and eavesdrop on a few conversations. But as soon as she got a hold of this Ivan guy, she knew she couldn’t miss out on this opportunity.

This wasn’t an overall SHIELD operation, but it was one she knew the information would be useful to pass along. She’d leave everything untouched after she was done, no proof that she was ever near the computer. As for the men on the couch? They were simply…asleep. Halfway through their ravenous evening, they were met with a strong desire for sleep, and she left them at that. In the morning, or if someone found them, they’d just think they had 1 too many drinks and that things led from one thing to another between them. She’d done her research on them to know it was a possible outcome.

She looked at the monitor, only 85% of the extraction was downloaded. It was a lot slower than usual, but there were a lot of orgs, addresses, and key clients to take down.

“Hey,” Joaquín stepped in, nodding towards the hallway, “footsteps.”

Fuck, she saw 87% on the screen.

She glanced at Joaquín, already knowing what she had to do. If this went sideways, he could not be caught up in it.

“Take the tray of flutes,” she whispered, nodding toward the passed-out men on the couch. “Put it on the side table near them. Then leave through those doors.” She flicked her eyes to the set opposite the main hallway. “They lead to a corridor of lecture rooms. Find the exit.”

Joaquín hesitated, eyes flicking to the doors. He hadn’t expected them to lead anywhere but another room.

“What about you?”

“I’ll be right behind you.”

He didn’t trust that she’d get this done in time, the footsteps were fairly close, but he needed to take the plunge. She was capable and he trusted that. He exhaled sharply and slipped through the doors.

Darkness.

Dimly lit artwork lined the corridor. For a split second, he thought he’d made a mistake and doubled back into the main hallway. He needed to find the lecture rooms. The exit. Fast.

Joaquín picked a direction and sprinted left. At the end of the hall, he skidded to a stop, swearing under his breath. No lecture rooms. No exit sign, just more hallways with artwork.

"Fuck… fucking—" He clenched his jaw. Why couldn’t she give clear instructions?

He heard the doors open of the room he’d just left, and quickly pressed himself against the wall, breath held. Heels clicked against the floor—sharp, steady. He risked a glance.

She moved fast, slipping through the opposite direction, already working to kick off her heels. Smart. In a matter of seconds, she was gone—disappearing around the left corner at the far end of the hallway.

The doors opened again, and this time, security. Joaquín stilled. One of them stepped out, scanning for movement. A pause. Then, they retreated back inside.

He figured it was now or never, and sprinted towards the opposite side of the hallway, hoping he wouldn’t get caught, and quickly turned to the left. He stopped to find a big lecture hall in front of him, and cursed her. Now where was that stupid exit?

The doors opened behind him again, “<<Yeah, I’m gonna check it out.>>” the security spoke, alerting their teammates.

Joaquín’s pulse spiked. He scanned his surroundings—options, options— there.

Joaquín spotted an empty conference room near the lecture hall and shoved the door open. Frosted glass walls—semi-private, good enough.

He caught a flash of silver from the corner of his eye, the movement a second too late, barely deflecting the knife with a high kick, twisting just enough to shield his ribs.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” he repeated, incredulous, steadying himself.

“It’s a wonder how you moved in that tight-ass suit.”

“Yeah, we’ll talk about that later—someone’s coming.” He adjusted his pants, glancing toward the door. Heavy footsteps. Too close.

She exhaled sharply, brain working fast. A stupid idea surfaced, ridiculous but effective. Her lips parted in amusement before she said it.

“Kiss me.”

Joaquín blinked. “What?”

She stepped closer, urgency in her gaze. “Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable. If we look like drunk guests sneaking away for some ‘alone time,’ they won’t question it.”

Joaquín hesitated, searching her face like he wasn’t sure if this was just part of the job, or if she was messing with him.

Trust me, her eyes seemed to say. And finally, he did.

His hand found her waist, the other tilting her chin up. A split second of hesitation, then—

Her breath hitched as his lips met hers, soft but firm, tasting of heat and something unspoken. It started slow, deliberate, but the second she parted her lips, it shifted into something else. Something dangerous.

Joaquín followed her lead, and she let him. His fingers tightened at her waist, pulling her flush against him, and—fuck—he was a fast learner.

To him, she tasted like something sweet and dangerous, like champagne and trouble, lips parted just enough to draw him in. Her fingers curled into his hair, and just like that, he lost the thread of where performance ended and something real began.

She pulled him in, deeper, fingers threading into his curls. The table pressed against the backs of her thighs, and she let herself be lifted onto it, legs bracketing him.

From the hallway, voices neared. Slowed.

She knew better than to react, but Joaquín turned slightly, just enough to see their shadows lingering. Watching. He tightened his grip, selling the performance.

For them. For the cover.

That’s what she told herself, at least.

But to him, the way she responded—the way she kissed back—made him forget, just for a second, that this was an act at all.

She made a small sound against his lips—something like a sigh, something like surrender——and any rational thought disappeared. His hand skimmed up her thigh, gripping firm, thumb pressing into soft skin, feeling the heat of her beneath the dress. She leaned into it. Into him. Joaquín deepened the kiss, angling it, molding her closer.

Was it still an act? Because the way she kissed him back—the way she melted against him—made his chest tighten, his stomach coil.

His thumb dragged across her jaw, slow, almost reverent—possessive—and he felt her shiver.

Fuck.

His hips rocked forward before he could stop himself, chasing some kind of relief from the tension knotting between them. Her breath stuttered, nails digging into his shoulders, and—

A muttered curse. The sound of footsteps retreating.

The second the coast was clear, she pulled back. Blinking. As if shaking off something thick and consuming.

For a beat, neither of them moved. The air between them felt thick. Charged.

Her lips were swollen. So were his.

Joaquín looked at her—really looked at her—like he was trying to untangle something he hadn’t expected to feel.

She cleared her throat, her voice almost steady. “Nice work,” she murmured. She meant it.

But she also meant, we’re not talking about this.

Joaquín didn’t answer right away.

He just looked at her. Like he was trying to solve something he hadn’t expected to want an answer to. And he wasn’t sure if the moment had ended.

And the worst part? She wasn’t sure either.

#joaquin torres #banter #espionage #galas #danny ramirez #joaquin torres fic #joaquin torres x reader

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toxicrelief · 1 month ago

Text

Crawling Back to You

Chapter sixteen

Synopsis: You realize a bit more about how you feel towards Rex that extends past just being teammates. Just in time for a specialized mission you’re the only one interested in going on.

Pairing: Rex x F!Reader

Word Count: 6.8k

Chapter: 16/?

Masterlist of all Chapters

TW: None

Note: I loved reading your guy's shocked comments last time, you're all so funny. This chapter and the next were both going to be one chapter but this one is already so long it would probably end up being 10k+ words 😭 Then the chapter after the next one will be a Rex POV. Reblogs, comments, likes, taglist requests are all very appreciated!!

You don’t like him. Not like that, that’s ridiculous. You could hardly stand him a few days ago! It wasn’t even just dislike, you hated him. And he hated you. He spent months trying to get rid of you. This is ridiculous, more than ridiculous it’s… well, it’s just plain idiotic. You barely like him enough to visit his room! And that’s just because you feel bad. Sure, he seems to be making an effort of sorts to be better, but that does not erase months of heartache and borderline misery. Heartache isn’t the right word, that implies that he has some kind of effect on your heart, which he does not.

But he was at least semi-good company after long shifts at the hospital. Who else did you have? Rae didn’t want to entertain you constantly, and she was still asleep most of the day because of her healing process. So, who else did you have other than the asshole? You just liked to see his steady improvement; it was akin to a social experiment. Nothing more. And as far as social experiments went at least he was somewhat good company. You liked the banter as much as you hated to admit it. And you liked how much he seemed to concede to what you were saying. A stark contrast to the Rex who had fought you on everything. If you asked to see his new hand, he would let you see it without hesitation. If you told him to stop talking while you were trying to focus on a message that just popped up from Cecil, he would instantly shut up. It was like he had been trained almost overnight. Sure, he could be funny, and surprisingly insightful but that doesn’t mean anything either.

At this very moment, he’s telling you how annoyed he is at his hair. Which as of now was starting to grow out from the close-cut buzz he had received during surgery. It was a little scruffy, not nearly long enough to be weighed down, so it just stuck out in different directions. He looked dumb in an endearing sort of way. For the first part of your visit, he just sat with one hand on his head as if it would hide it from you. Chunks stuck up through his fingers, and he somehow made it look perfectly natural for someone to sit like that. Until he needed to talk about something with more animation, and then his annoyance at how it looked was forgotten. You didn’t think it looked that bad, it was very different from his usual look, but not bad. It looked soft-

Ah, shit.

You were starting to like Rex.

It was hard enough to look him in the eye after your dream the other night. It was embarrassing honestly. You might have self-indulged a little, asking Rex to inspect his hand for fully no reason other than because you wanted to. He didn’t even ask why, just offered it and kept talking.

“Cecil’s talking about getting me to be field ready after today-”

You hummed quietly, only half listening after your sudden realization. God, Rae was going to have a field day with this.

“I hope my suit is all fixed up, you know? If not I guess I could call Eve or something cause the amount of damage it had I doubt I could patch it up-” His left hand was still nudged towards you, palm up, even though you were no longer examining it.

“Wait, you said Cecil wants you back on the field?” You dropped your thought process for a moment, finally focusing fully on him.

“Uh, yeah.” He said with a small nod. “I’m getting discharged today, they said I’m basically good to go-”

“I don’t think ‘basically’ isn’t very assuring.” You frowned.

He tilted his head a little at you, a sly smile ghosting over his lips. “You worried about me, nurse?”

Normally you would roll your eyes, quickly followed by an exasperated groan. But now, you could swear the temperature of the room went up a few degrees. “No, I’m worried that if you get put on a mission, you’ll fuck it up. You should be fully healed before going out again.” Harsh, maybe harsher than it needed to be. But you didn’t want him reading into the way you had just looked at him.

“First of all, fucking ouch. Second of all, if you’re so worked up about it, why not just check me yourself?” He holds his right hand out to where you sit on the recliner.

You glance down at his hand before snapping your gaze back up to him. “Well, if the doctors say you’re good to go-”

He barks out a laugh. “What is going on right now?”

“They are professionals, they know what they’re doing.” Your eyes jerk down to his hand for a second again, which he is still holding out to you.

“You just said-” Rex raises a brow, but before he can finish you interrupt.

“Oh, piss off, fine.” You grab his hand a little rougher than you meant to. You can feel him tense from the gesture which sends a feeling down your spine. Good or bad, you couldn’t quite tell, but you felt it. You close your eyes, focusing on whether there are any remaining injuries, and surprisingly enough, besides a few left-over bruises he seems fairly fine. You let go after healing the measly remainder, “See? You’re all set.”

“See?” Rex repeats, confusion lacing his tone. “See what? I wasn’t the one raising doubts,” He looks to the other side of the room as if looking for an imaginary camera. “What-?”

“Gotta stop living in the past Rex, keep moving forward.” You stand up swiftly, preparing to leave. Should you feel bad for borderline gaslighting the poor guy? Maybe. But you were feeling your own confusion as it was.

“Wait.” Rex’s voice calls out as you go to grab your coat. “Are you still coming around the HQ?”

“Yep, still work there.” You folded your coat over your arm.

“So, I’ll see you around?” He’s wincing slightly as if he’s being too vulnerable, and he has to express it externally.

“Yes.” You affirm, your expression softening. “I know where you live, don’t worry.” You give him a small smile.

“I know where you live too.” He says back.

“Great, and I know where I live, and you know where you live, so we’ve got that covered.” Not sure how to fully end this exchange, you take a few steps back to exit the room.

Rex opens his mouth as if to say something, but quickly snaps it shut, gripping the sheets of his hospital bed tightly. His jaw ticks as he looks off to the side, and you decide you need to get out of there now before you make a fool of yourself.

“See you later, Rex!” You call out as you step out of the room.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

You’re entering Rae’s room; some trashy reality TV show is playing on the screen. Rae herself is working on some breakfast, obviously not enjoying it much. “Hello?” She raises a brow at you as you close the door with an unintentional slam.

“Hi.” You respond as you sink into the chair.

“Did someone die?” She eats a spoonful of her food, shuddering as she swallows.

“Worse.” You respond dramatically, your hands covering your face.

“They’re making you move into The Guardian’s HQ?”

“Ohhh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You peeked through your index and middle finger to look at her.

“Eh, not really. Then I can’t escape to your apartment for drink nights. So, if it’s not that then what is it?”

“You’re going to laugh.”

“Probably.”

“It’s so ridiculous.”

“Come on, are you being paid by the word?”

“Rex.” You close your fingers, feeling your face heat up again.

“Of course.” Giggles sound off from Rae’s direction as soon as you say it, not needing to ask another clarifying question. “I knew this was coming.”

“How?” You tried not to sound extremely pathetic, but it still came out in a half whine. “I couldn’t stand him!”

“You brought him a bottle after you kicked his ass, constantly looked at him when he was around, talked about him when I was over-” She starts counting out on her fingers.

“You’re the one who brought him up when you came over!” You exclaim.

“Because I knew you wanted to talk about him!”

“He has been the major cause of any drama or problem in my life, of course I’d want to talk about that. That doesn’t mean I liked him!” You held your hands out in an animated fashion as you spoke.

“Oh no, you definitely didn’t like him. But you thought about him all the time, didn’t you?”

“Ugh, you’re not making me feel better.”

“Well, at least you don’t have to worry about it being one-sided.” She finally ditched the food, pushing it away with a sour face.

“What?” You slouch more in the chair, swiveling to face her.

“Every bit of energy you’ve taken up talking, or complaining-or whatever, about him, he’s done like tenfold over you. He’s obsessed.”

You sigh and roll your eyes, somehow sinking further down. “I wish I had your level of delusion, Rae.”

“Call me delusional all you want, give it a few days, weeks.” She pauses and looks at you. “Or months, given the sluggish pace you two have been moving. I might be dead by then with the likes of this job.”

“Oh boy.”

Rae takes the pause to turn more towards you, letting out a groan at the exertion which has you shooting up even though she has no intentions of letting you help. “So, what made you finally realize?”

“Are you sure I can’t help in some way?” You rub your knuckles absentmindedly.

“Stop changing the subject, help me by giving the details.”

You sigh for what must have been the millionth time since entering the room. “I had…a dream.”

“Ooh, the scandal!”

“Shut up.” Pause. “Yeah, I mean kind of.”

“Call me the moment he shows up at your apartment looking like a lost puppy, Bulletproof is going to owe me so much money.”

“I really hope you’re joking.”

“No offense, but since when did we take orders from you, Donald? Where is Cecil?”

“This isn’t orders, it’s a prospect job.” Donald responded with a cool air.

He was always good at taking the shit everyone gave him. It made you feel for him more than most.

A few days have passed since you last saw Rex at the hospital. Somehow the two of you just couldn’t seem to coincide at the headquarters. It was frustrating, and even more frustrating than the lack of his presence in your life, was the fact that it frustrated you in the first place. You had walked by instinct to his room at the hospital multiple times the day after he left just to be greeted by sterile air and the smell of various detergents used to clean the area. The disappointment that filled you with the sight of it was not lost on you.

Right now, you finally saw him. The Guardians were assembled for some ‘special’ mission. Donald had gathered you all on Cecil’s behalf, it had all been very vague. Every member was present minus Rae, who was still recovering, and now going through physical therapy. And Kate, who was well…dead.

The memory of the fallen member had its effect on you just like every other mistake you had made. In order to be productive, both as an individual and as a hero, you had to push it away every time it entered your mind. You could wallow or you could act. You choose to act.

“A job? I thought we already had jobs. You know, being that we are Guardians and all.” Rex’s voice sounded out from the other side of the group, causing you to shift your attention. He was wearing his suit, and from the state of it he had recently been in a fight. His headpiece was pushed back but his goggles were perched on top of his head, his short hair poking up around it. You clenched your jaw tightly, he should be on vacation, having a break, or I don’t know, in therapy? He almost died. There’s no way that he came back from that completely fine. In that case, maybe you should be in therapy too, the number of times you’ve kind of almost died. But that’s only kind of so you’re obviously exempt. Rex shifted slightly, his line of sight landing on you, which sent you looking back at Donald again with no idea how long you’d been staring.

“This is technically out of Guardian jurisdiction, but an important donor has asked us specifically for undercover security detail.”

“Wait, we’ve been asked to be someone’s glorified security guards? Isn’t that a bit below our pay grade?” Bulletproof sounds off from right next to you.

“There are plenty of other heroes around, do you need a portfolio that you could send to him? I still have one from when I was running tryouts for the new team.” Rudy input a bit further down the line.

You glanced over before adding your own contribution, “Donor? Aren’t we government-run? How do we have donors?”

“They have asked specifically for members from The Guardians. You can technically refuse, but it wouldn’t be without repercussions.” Donald focuses on you. “There are a select few donors that contribute to the GDA and other operations, which entails all of you. Makes for more funds for renovations after damages that occur after Guardian missions.”

It makes sense, kind of. Cecil made a comment to you once about how much it costs to use his teleportation device, and with how much upkeep the Guardians themselves take just from missions, you can’t imagine it is in any way cheap. But donors?

“It would be a small detail, two or three. The person of interest has received a few concerning terroristic threats and wants to be sure everything runs smoothly.”

“Everything, as in?” Amanda questions.

“It’s a fundraiser, a gala-”

“A dance? This is ridiculous.” Immortal interjects, scoffing at Donald. “We are the Guardians of the Globe, not some dollar store rent-a-cop business.”

A few voices intertwine, speaking out all at once, mostly sounding disgruntled, displeased. On one level you understood their reservations. This was not the kind of thing any of you dealt with. Stakeouts? Sure. Life-threatening last-minute situations? Of course. A money-raising ball with the off chance of terrorism? Not as much.

Rex’s voice was surprisingly not one of those you heard. You tried to subtly look over at him, just to see that he was already looking right at you. Seemingly gauging your reaction. After looking away so suddenly earlier you would be pushing your luck doing it again right now. There was nothing else you’d rather do than break this scathing contact, but you just looked at him. And he looked back, his pale green gaze washing over you. Internally, you were trying to decide how long an acceptable amount of time would be to look at him, giving him a small smile. You didn’t have to wonder for long, because he broke the eye contact first. His attention turned to Immortal who was saying something about none of them partaking in this “obsolete distraction”.

“I’ll do it.” Before you fully thought it through the affirmation passed your lips. You weren’t really sure what the big deal was. So, what, it’s not some city-leveling threat. It almost sounded like fun, even exciting. You would be able to dress up, play a part, improvise. It would be a nice change of scenery.

Immortal sighed heavily. “You can have her. But we can’t spare anyone of importance.”

Give me a fucking break. You closed your eyes, letting out a controlled breath before turning to Bulletproof. “Come with me.” You whispered.

“Oh, hell no. I don’t want to have to dress up for some dance. No way.” He whispered back, not turning his head.

“Please! It would be at least a few days away from this place. It could be like a vacation.” You hiss, determined to get someone to go with you. Bulletproof was nice enough, and you knew he would be professional, which you couldn’t say for other members.

And you wouldn’t dare ask Rex.

“Ugh.” Bulletproof grumbled quietly. “I’ll go too.” He said loud enough for everyone else to hear.

Donald nodded, giving you what you swore must have been a look of appreciation, but with the glasses, you just couldn’t tell.

The Immortal grunted in displeasure but didn’t comment, folding his arms.

“I’ll also go.”

The whole group turns their attention to the voice that spoke from the other side of the room.

“What? I’d never say no to a party, you guys should know that by now.” Rex expressed with a composed tone.

“We can’t spare both you and Bulletproof.” Immortal said gruffly, turning to Donald. “Won’t just one person do?”

He couldn’t even use your name. Your expression betrayed how much this was getting under your skin, but you couldn’t seem to return to indifference.

“Technically, only two members are needed-” Donald starts,

“If something happens Bulletproof can just fucking fly back-or something, right?” Rex cuts in, drawing attention back to him.

“Technically-” Bulletproof begins, holding a hand up to his chin.

“Great. Then it sounds like we’re set.” Rex finishes and you catch his eye for a moment, mouthing a small ‘thank you’, to which he briskly nods, looking back at the Immortal.

“Very well.” Immortal bites out, leaving the conversation entirely, followed closely by Black Sampson.

“Shall I too go on this adventure?” Shapesmith asks, which is immediately shut down by a hand on the shoulder from Bulletproof and a shake of the head.

“You will each receive a detailed briefing later today by handout.” Donald explains to the three of you that agreed to attend. “The Gala is located on the donor’s personal land in northern Montana. The morning after will consist of a special guest brunch which you all will be attending as well. There will be rooming for you there as they want you on scene all night long just in case. And it would also be easier on resources to keep you all there.”

“Who is this person?” You inquire, Donald has not said anything specific this whole conversation other than where this dance would take place, and that the mystery person was a donor for the GDA.

“That will be in the handout you receive.” He stated concisely.

“Why all the secrecy?” Rex furrows his brow, folding his arms.

“Discretion is involved regarding every donor.” Donald responds, straightening his tie. “The gala is tomorrow night, you will all be flown in tomorrow afternoon, outfits and identities will be assigned to you.”

Bulletproof looked exceptionally put out, Rex looked like he was trying to solve long division in his head, and you? Well, you were borderline ecstatic.

You would never get used to using a private jet. After so long flying commercially, all the space felt like heaven. Your back didn’t start aching after the first hour, you could stand up and stretch your legs, even more you could write an essay about the bathroom. The other times you had traveled in the Guardian-affiliated-jet it had been the whole team. Now it was just you, Bulletproof, and, worst of all, Rex.

The carpet was a crisp maroon, the rest of the interior was a sterile white. Which you thought sharply contrasted with the Guardians of the Globe headquarters, that consisted mostly of aluminum tones. The walls of the plane’s interior were accented with mahogany plating, something you couldn’t decide if you thought was tacky or classy. The opinion changed every mission.

Any excitement at the prospect of being in semi-close quarters with Rex again was quickly drowned out by Rex and Bulletproof incessantly bickering.

“I’m just saying I still think you could have come up with a more inspired name.”

“I’m about to be inspired to knock your teeth out.” Bulletproof spit back.

You didn’t get between them, eventually they would both wear themselves out.

The clouds outside your window hung far below. Clustered together, forming wool-like patterns. For a moment you imagined what it would be like to surf on it. Then you looked back at the handout Donald had provided you each with. The three of you were meant to be covert, blend in. You were each free to use your own names, as apparently most of these people were not horribly well-informed. However, you each had been assigned backstories. You were a philanthropist by blood, having inherited a section of the oil industry. Rex was a wildlife activist who had traveled all over the world. Zandale was meant to be a journalist who was writing about the event for Time Magazine. Hopefully, there wasn’t someone there actually from Time Magazine, but you guessed that Donald already checked the guest list for that.

When you first read through it you had mentioned to the other two that you thought it was odd that Rex was the person who had been all over, rather than Zandale, who could fly.

“I have been all over.” Rex had said defensively.

“What? When?” You had scoffed.

“Just…well, a while ago, I don’t fucking know.” The tension in the room had skyrocketed for reasons you weren’t sure of, so you didn’t ask further.

The donor was someone named Dr. Mune. Apparently, the doctor was a genius. Having created many of the lifesaving measures the GDA is still using today. One of those included the brand-new hand Rex was situated with. You wish you could have seen Rex’s reaction to that information. Would it make him work harder on the mission? Or did he feel indifferent to it? It made you feel more connected to the job; the new hand was nothing short of a work of art. Memories of how it felt against your touch flood your vision, sending electricity down your spine.

“Joy?” You turned as Rex said your nickname, feeling annoyance at the sound of it after it had been used so long as an insult. Or at least that was how you had formerly perceived it.

You hummed in response, waiting for him to speak.

“Well, what do you think?” Rex said, tilting his head.

“I think you’re both extremely annoying.”

“God, I already know that. Focus! Whose name is better?”

They both looked at you expectantly. It was weird to see Bulletproof, or rather Zandale, without his goggles on.

“Do I have to take a vote?” You sighed heavily, turning back to the window.

“Yes.” They responded in unison.

“I like Invincible’s name most probably.”

“That was not one of the options but thank you for reminding us of your crush.” Rex retorted, a hint of bitterness lacing his words.

You scoffed, turning back towards them, ready to correct him, only to hear Zandale let out a laugh. Your gaze snapped to him, eyes narrowing. He was pursing his lips and purposefully not looking at either of you. Shit. Rae hadn’t been joking. Great.

“What?” Rex looked at him too, his brow drawing together tensely.

He bit the corner of his upper lip, looking up at you first then at Rex, then back and forth a few times. GREAT.

“How do you know I don’t have the hots for Bulletproof here, hm?” You panicked, you had to say anything to get him to get off Zandale’s obvious trail.

This caused them both to turn their attention to you. “What?” They said in unison again, which made you laugh.

“God, you two are like Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum, I’m surprised you don’t get along better.”

Rex shook his head while holding his hands up as if putting away all of this information to deal with later. “Okay, can you just answer the original question?”

You hum again, you could be honest, or you could really mess with Rex. Unfortunately for Rex… “Honestly, probably Bulletproof.”

“Suck it!” Zandale shoots up out of his seat, doing some kind of air-pump gesture.

“You- you’re lying! She’s fucking lying don’t listen to her!” Rex holds his hands out in distraught, watching as Bulletproof had his own little celebration.

For a brief moment, you made eye contact with him, smiling the cheesiest grin. His annoyed expression softened as he sucked on his teeth. For that small moment, it felt like it was just the two of you. Your smile shrunk into something more genuine, gentler. And for some reason, you waved. It was small, you hardly lifted your hand. His gaze dropped to it, and a small smile ghosted over his lips before he returned the action. His free hand gripping the armrest tightly.

Bulletproof had nodded off, his head rested against the edge of the window next to his seat. You were thankful more than anything he didn’t snore. He had already changed into his tuxedo for the night, it bunched up at his chest while he slouched against it. Someone, somewhere in high society would have cried at the sight.

You and Rex hadn’t changed yet. Rex exclaimed that he wanted to remain a free man as long as possible, and you thought it would be more exciting to dress up closer to landing time. Your stomach was already starting to twist unpleasantly each time the pilot announced the amount of time until arrival. It was similar to your first mission, fresh, and unfamiliar. A good portion of your stomach aches revolved around glances to the other side of the plane at your teammate. After the conversation had died down, he hadn’t looked in your direction once. You would have felt hurt by it, wondered if he was starting to hate you again. But it felt too charged, too intentional. The old Rex wouldn’t have hesitated to shoot a glare in your direction. This was nothing like that.

You would glance over at him from time to time, his gaze was on his lap, and had been for almost an hour, his hands clasped together, left thumb tapping the tip of his right one. You were positive he could see you somewhat, because every time you looked over his jaw clenched.

We will be making our descent in forty-five minutes.

“I’m gonna get dressed.” You whisper so as to not wake up Zandale while rising out of your seat. Rex practically jumps out of his seat at the broken silence.

He clears his throat. “Okay.”

What was that? “Are you okay?” You grab the garment bag containing your dress, and the shoe box next to it from the overhead rack.

Rex nods, letting out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, obviously, I just forgot you were here.”

“You forgot I was here?” You raised a brow, holding the garment bag over your shoulder as you turned to look at him.

“What? I’ve got a lot on my mind. Whole…mission and everything.”

“Okay, weirdo.” You laugh, moving towards the nose of the plane where the restroom is located.

Once inside, you pulled the dress out. It was a silky material- well, it probably was silk now that you thought about it. You would have to thank Donald for whatever strings he had pulled to make it your favorite color. The dress was sleeveless, with a mock neckline. It was fairly simple, the end of the dress reached down to your ankles. The shoes had a few inches of heel to them, which made you hope there would not be any hitches in the night, as you’d have to ditch them the moment you needed to sprint anywhere.

After getting it all situated and neatly folding your streetwear you started to pull the zipper up on the back of your dress, only for it to get to a point on your back you couldn’t reach.

A few beats of silence passed before you tried reaching your hand over your shoulder to get it, with no success.

You were not going to be able to do it on your own. How had women for decades zipped their dresses alone? Should you take it off, zip it, and try to pull it over your head? If it ripped in any way you were royally screwed. With a defeated sigh, you grabbed your stuff, put your hand out towards the door, and slowly pushed it up.

Rex was standing in the aisle, pushing his shoe box back into the overhead space. He had gotten dressed at the same time as you. Got dressed is a loose way of putting it. If someone could spin their way into clothing, you imagine they would look like Rex did now.

“You’re going to wrinkle it.” You put your things down in the first seat you walked by, straightening out the front of your dress absentmindedly as you made your way to him.

“I don’t think the shoes are going to wrinkle-” Rex started with a scoff before he closed his mouth from the scathing look you gave him and…something else.

“The suit, jackass.” You try not to smile, as you finally reach him. “This is supposed to be buttoned- you missed one of your shirt buttons.” You point out, the end of his dress shirt lopsided at the bottom. “Your shirt is also meant to be tucked in. Didn’t you see how Zandale looked?” You hold your hands out offering to help but he brushes you off, undoing his shirt himself with a groan.

“Since when were you two on a first-name basis?” He mumbled, working his way down them.

“Since I started treating him like a human being, so always.” You roll your eyes at him, folding your arms as you wait for him to catch up.

Did you forget he was, for lack of a more delicate way to put it, completely and totally built? No. You had seen his torso before, you had spent the better part of a half-hour with your hand pressed to it, healing him after a wound you had inflicted. But this wasn’t like that time. Then, you had been focused on the shame you had felt for causing the injury in the first place. Now, you were a bystander. Waiting to tell him how to properly wear his suit.

At first, you watched him, the way his hands flexed with each button. How the white linen of his shirt accented his chest underneath, which was becoming more and more visible. The way his chest rose and fell subtly with each inaudible huff. You eventually had to look away, determined to look at anything that wasn’t the warm tone of his skin.

His hands caught slightly on the last button, and he muttered something about ‘not having to put up with this shit’ as if he wasn’t the one to put it on wrong in the first place. “So, I just-?” He started from the bottom, lining each hole up to its corresponding button. He paused after a few, glancing up at you as if checking he was doing it right.

“Yep.” Your voice cracked in the worst way, forcing you to clear your throat as inconspicuously as possible. “Have you never worn a button-up?” Anything to get your mind off the fact you were blushing right now based on how warm you were feeling.

“You don’t really get the opportunity much in this business. Only time it’s ever come up was for funerals. The only one I’ve ever considered going to was for the old GDA director. But I didn’t end up going so…” He pauses for a moment, his thumb rubbing a few times over the material. “This good?” He asks, holding his hands up so you can see.

“Yeah, that’s good.” You respond softly. “Now you’ve got to tuck it in.” A breath passes as he does as you say. “What was he like?” You aren’t sure if you should ask, but you do any ways.

He stops what he’s doing and looks up at you. Making direct eye contact for the first time since your wave earlier. “The director?” A small look of confusion spreads over his features, clearly not thinking you would ask further.

“Yeah, I’ve never heard anything about him.” You tighten your arms closer over your torso, nibbling on the inside of your cheek.

“Oh, well-” He continues tucking his shirt in, “He was, well he was an asshole is what he was. If you think Cecil is uncaring, you should have seen Director Radcliffe.”

Even from the way Rex called him by his title rather than his first name like Cecil, you could feel the difference in relationship. “Were you around him a lot?”

“Yeah.” Rex said softly. “Okay, so I button this up then or do I leave it open?” He gestured to his suit vest.

You file away that conversation for later, not wanting to push him further than he was comfortable with. “Yes, you button that.”

“Do I tuck it in?”

“No.”

“What about this?”

“Wait, where’s your tie?”

Rex looks around for a moment, his hands suspended out partially as he looks around. “It was…ah, here.” He holds it up triumphantly after grabbing it from where it lay crumpled a few seats down. It was the exact same shade as your dress, in the same silky texture. You wanted to sigh. You were going to look like prom dates.

“I’m guessing you don’t know how to tie it?”

Rex looks down at it for a split second before looking back at you. “Do I really need it?”

“Yes. You will stand out immediately. This whole thing is supposed to be undercover, remember?” You hold your hand out for him to hand it to you.

“You know how to tie it?” He looks at you with suspicion, as if you’re trying to pull a fast one.

“Yes, now will you let me help you?” He looks down at it for a moment, then begrudgingly gives it. “I learned in the hospital, I had this one patient who never let me heal him, but he always wanted to wear a tie.” You start as you signal for him to bend down, he does so without convincing and you hook it around his neck, angling it so it would rest under his upturned collar. “He never wore a suit or anything, but he insisted on wearing one over his gown. The first day I was there, I had no clue. He got really mad, huffed, puffed, the whole act. Told me he never wanted to see me again unless I learned how to tie a tie.” You looped it, “When I got back to my apartment, I was so frustrated. I swore I was going to quit at the hospital, quit with Cecil, everything. I was scared to join the Guardians, and I didn’t think I was ready-”

“You were scared to join the Guardians?” Rex interrupted; a quick glance up revealed that he was staring at you intently. You returned your eyes to your work, ignoring the rekindled heat that spread across your face.

“Don’t interrupt. Anyways, I was so mad. I picked up my phone to call Cecil, I was done. And then I got distracted. I opened a tutorial on how to tie a tie, then another. And soon enough I had watched way more than I needed, and I was sure if I tried again I could do it.”

“And did you?”

“No.” You laughed, “I screwed it up immediately, and he threw his Jello at me.”

“Jesus, really?”

You nodded. “And then I went back the next day and tried again, and the same the day after that. Until one day I did it right. He never thanked me or acknowledged the times before, but slowly he started telling me about his life. His wife who passed away a few years ago, his children that didn’t know where he was. Everything. I used to look forward to seeing him.” You finished tying it, but you didn’t let go quite yet.

“Do you still see him?” Rex’s voice came out soft, you could feel his words against your face.

“He died.” It was short, simple, but not sweet. Bitter reality. “He had stage four leukemia, even if he had let me heal him it wouldn’t have mattered. I can’t fix stuff like that.” You folded down his collar, your fingers lingering over it. You could feel his body heat just below the fabric.

“Did you go to his funeral?” You looked up at that. His gaze wasn’t on you but shifted to the side. You weren’t sure what response he was looking for, or why he asked, but you answered.

“No.” It was a quiet response, uttered so soft he could hardly hear, even from his close proximity. He met your gaze, searching it quietly. And you let him, staring right back.

Five minutes to arrival.

The pilot’s voice jarred you both, causing you to let go of his tie, and remove your fingers from his collar. The sudden interruption sent Rex back into a fully upright position, rather than the slouch he had been partaking in for your ease. He shoved the tie under his suit vest and straightened out the jacket.

“How do I look?”

You held your hand up in a spinning motion and he did a quick turn. “You clean up pretty well. Almost looks like you weren’t in the hospital a few days ago.” He looked good, so good you didn’t want to keep looking at him. This almost qualified as torture.

“That’s all I needed to hear.” He smiles, his eyes crinkling from the depth of it. Just that small detail made your stomach flip. You needed to get this under control-

Oh, right, your dress. “Rex, can you actually help me with his?”

He nods, waiting for you to do something but you just stand there. Shit, you should have just risked ripping the damn thing. “It’s my dress. I can’t get it zipped.”

“Oh.” He blinks a few times. “Your dress has been unzipped this whole time?”

“I got it part of the way, so it’s not falling off or anything, calm down.” You tried to joke but your palms were sweating. If anyone needed to calm down, it was you. All you were doing was asking for a zip, pull yourself together. After checking that he was still waiting to help, you shake out your hands at your sides and then turn so he can do what you’ve asked. “Hopefully you’re better at zipping than buttoning.” The chuckle that follows your words is dry.

“I think I can manage.” His voice is low, and you can feel his breath fanning over the back of your neck, causing you to suppress a shiver. You should have asked Bulletproof, woken him up, or something. You can feel his fingertips press lightly into your back as he holds the two sides together so that his other hand can pull up the zipper. The contact itself gives you goosebumps, every thought you can conjure now that isn’t about the feel of him is praying that he doesn’t notice. “I think you’re set.”

“Thanks, Rex.” His hands don’t leave your back in haste, his left hand brushing over your exposed shoulder blade. You turn a notch, looking at him against your better judgment.

He clears his throat and puts his hands down. “You’re set.”

“You said that already.” You smile, mildly confused.

He stares at you again, expression unreadable, and his jaw ticking like before. Then, he steps back. “Someone’s got to wake sleeping beauty.” His previous expression fades and is replaced by one of mischief, as he tips over to where Bulletproof is. Fully intending to scare him awake.

The plane eventually landed, and the three of you talked about your game plans, which ended up just being ‘don’t be suspicious, mingle-’ pretty self-explanatory.

“Where are we?” You were looking out the window, your fingers splayed out around it as you leaned down. There were other planes around you, but from the way you were angled, you couldn’t see the airport.

Both of the guys shrugged, helpful as always. You moved to the nose of the plane where the pilot had already opened up the door.

“Holy shit.”

“What?” Rex followed up close behind you.

“We landed in the backyard.”

Rex looked out at the other planes lined up next to you and then over at the looming mansion. “What the fuck?”

Author's Note: Rex is so yapper boyfriend core. Guys tell me what color’s your dresses and Rex’s tie is :3

divider credit: @/ saradika

taglist: @kittymeowmrow @sketchlove @jewelwayne101 @0ut0fsweets @sugaramped @spidernuggets @sweet-cuddlebug @ohmysoultakemysoul request to be tagged for new parts!

Chapter seventeen

#rex splode x reader #enemies to lovers #slow burn #can they kiss #invincible rex splode #invincible season 3 #invincible #rex splode #rex sloan #rex sloan x reader #no beta we die like rex splode apparently #rex x reader #crawling back to you rexfic #invincible fanfic #fanfic #rex x you

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aperrywilliams · 1 year ago

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I'm Sorry I Couldn't be Here for You Sooner (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader.

Summary: You have one of the worst days in a long time at work. When Spencer returns from an assignment to the BAU and sees your current state, he must do something.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Frustration/Hurt/Comfort. Just a self-indulgent rant. A lot of cuss words. Spencer is the best boyfriend in the world.

A/N: I just need Spencer to hold me now.

-----

The clock ticks and ticks, but the time seems to stand still. Even if you don't know how long you have been looking at that piece of wood, plastic, and metal, it feels like an eternity.

In the distance, a voice keeps throwing out words and sentences to which you should pay attention. However, even if you tried, looking at the clock on the wall is still more interesting than hearing Hotch talking about new protocols for field agents.

Still lost in your head, you don't notice the meeting is over and people are starting to leave the room. Only when someone squeezes your forearm. It's JJ.

"Are you okay?" she asks, eyebrows furrowed. You look at her and blink a few times.

"Uh- yeah," you mumble.

Are you okay? No, you're not. But why bother others with that?

On second thought, this may be a chance to spill what's on your mind. JJ is usually a forthcoming and wise person.

"Well, actually-" you begin, but before saying anything else, JJ cuts you off.

"That's nice. Because I want to ask you if you can babysit Henry tomorrow night. Will invited me to a romantic dinner, and our babysitter is sick. Hope it doesn't make much trouble to you?" the blonde probes.

Okay, you didn't expect that.

Not in the mood to turn the subject back to you, you say yes, and after thanking you, JJ quickly leaves the conference room. Alone with your thoughts for a few seconds, you wonder if the tightness in your chest isn't an exaggeration. You decide to forget about it and go back to your desk.

Opening a folder with the information on the last case, you are ready to write your report. But not too so far on it, Emily approaches you.

"Hey, how are you?"

You have doubts about how to answer the question. A few minutes ago, when JJ asked, you lied to her, and she didn't even notice. Maybe it's good to be honest.

"Actually, not so good," you sigh. And Emily raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah? What happened?"

"I just don't know, I don't feel good," you try to explain. But you're not sure how to do it either.

"I'm sure it's something you can manage," Emily muses. "Look, whatever it is, have a drink when you get home today, relax a little, and I bet you'll be as good as new tomorrow!"

You open and close your mouth several times, trying to get a word out, but nothing comes to mind.

A drink and relax? Is that simple?

You let out a hum, and that's enough for a response to Emily.

After wishing you good luck, she heads down the hallway, presumably to Garcia's office.

It's clear that Emily didn't grasp your actual emotional state, but you don't blame her either.

The last case was hard for everyone, so there is no reason to take it personally.

Focusing on your report again, you expect the sour mood surrounding you to fade eventually.

To finish your paperwork, you need to make copies of the reports. So you get up and head to the copy machine. After carefully placing the papers in the tray, you press the start button. When you think it will start copying, the machine stops mid-scan. You frown, and after a few seconds of nothing, you press the 'start' button again. Nothing. You do it again. And again. It's not working, and you feel your blood running hot.

By pressing the button again and again, anger comes.

"What the fuck is wrong with you stupid fucking machine!"

It's not enough to swat with force the button panel; now you're kicking the machine out of pent-up frustration.

"Whoa, whoa, stop right there, pretty girl."

Morgan steps between you and the machine, putting distance with his palms. And that's when you realize your outburst. Panting and still with the heat of rage on your cheeks, you are not yet satisfied.

"What the fuck, Morgan. Now you're defending a fucking copy machine?!" You hiss. Derek narrows his eyes to assess your current state. He's seen you mad, but it usually goes away easily. You are not a dense person.

"Okay, what's wrong, pretty girl? Since when do you unleash your frustration with pretty boy on inanimate things?"

Pretty boy. Spencer. Your boyfriend. Today, your boyfriend is conducting a cognitive interview with a convict in a DC jail—Hotch's orders. You wish he were here.

Morgan knows you usually laugh at his jokes, and even when you are in a bad temper, they help to light the mood.

Not this time, though.

"Don't talk about Spencer or me like that!" You snarl. "He doesn't have to do with any of this!"

Morgan doesn't like you are talking to him. Folding his arms over his chest, he let out an unamused scoff.

"Come on, don't you think you're overreacting here? Was this whole outburst only for a joke? What, are you four years old?"

You want to keep yelling, but a lump forms in your throat that is making it difficult for you to speak or even breathe. Morgan doesn't even wait for you to say something.

"You know what?" Morgan continues. "If you cannot stand the pressure of this job right now, maybe you should go home."

With that said and shaking his head in disappointment, Dereks leaves you there.

Stumped. Frustrated. Broken.

All the anger from moments before turns into an almost uncontrollable urge to cry. What have you done to these people? They are supposed to be your friends, your family. They are supposed to understand you and support you when you need them. And now that it's the time, they've only ignored you, minimized your problems, and even questioned your worth. Maybe Derek is right, and you should go home.

Defeated, you're strolling to your desk when Hotch peaks out of his office and gestures you to come.

Great, just what you needed now.

When you walk into your boss's office, he is already sitting in his chair, sternly looking at you.

"I won't ask you what's wrong with you today because it's your private life. However, I must remind you we are all professionals on this team. If you need time off, you have the right to get it, but I will not tolerate disrespect, like when you are distracted as I give fundamental instructions. If you don't pay attention, it could affect your work in the field and even put the lives of innocent people at risk."

If you didn't feel trampled before, now you feel like a ton of dirt was dumped on you.

You know Hotch can be sharp with words, but his ultimate goal is always to look after the team. But why does it feel like you're not part of that team right now?

"Do I make myself clear?"

With no more energy left in your body, you just let out a 'yes, sir.' Without waiting for another response, he sends you back to your desk.

It's already noon when you resume your work. Your mind spins at a mile an hour, and although it's hard, you force yourself to concentrate enough to get your job done, so at least the salary they pay you is worth it.

Like a mollusk in its shell, you close yourself in that bubble and stop paying attention to your surroundings. It's your safe place—only you.

In the distance, you feel your coworkers come and go. Never do you look up. Time goes by, and your throat feels dry from not speaking for hours.

Before everyone starts planning lunch, you are already picking up your lunch bag.

Social interaction is out of the table, so you are secluded in the building roof where an improvisated garden has benches. You sit alone, and the breeze helps to steady your breathing. As you open your Tupperware, you tentatively plunge the fork into the almost-cold pasta.

Even so, you're better here than in the bullpen minutes ago.

-----

Spencer walks through the doors of the BAU. It's 2 in the afternoon, so hopefully, the team is still having lunch in the conference room. Slightly worried that he wouldn't be able to reach you when he wanted to let you know he was on his way, he assumed that you had a lot of work and that your phone was mute.

Arriving at the conference room, Spencer scans the place and immediately catches something odd. You are not there. JJ, Prentiss, Morgan, Rossi, and Hotch are, though.

With an eyebrow furrowed, he asks, "Where is she?"

His teammates perk their heads up.

"Hello to you, pretty boy," Morgan teases.

"How was the interview?" JJ asks.

"Did you eat? You still can sit with us," Prentiss offers.

"Did you get the interview done?" Hotch asks with a raised eyebrow.

Spencer gets an uneasy feeling about what's going on. He knows you weren't feeling so okay this morning, and even if he tried to convince you to take a sick day, you didn't let him.

"Neither of you responded my question," Spencer points, voice harsher than when he asked first.

"(Y/N)? I thought she went home," Morgan muses.

"Why would she do that?" Spencer questions, alarmed. "Something bad happened?"

"She said she was okay when I asked earlier," JJ explains. "Maybe she has an errand to do."

"She was way distracted when we were at the meeting in the morning. She didn't listen a thing of what I said," Hotch adds.

"And you sent her home?" Spencer directs his question to Hotch.

"No, I didn't. She didn't ask it either when I called her to my office."

"You called her to your office? Did you reprimand her?" Spencer asks in disbelief.

"Of course, I did it, Reid. She did something disrespectful to the team," Hotch defends.

"And considering her rage moment directed to the copy machine, maybe it's better if she went home," Morgan supplies.

"Why are you being so dramatic, Reid?" Emily questions, very confused about why Spencer is so upset.

Spencer huffs, frustration running in his veins.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now? Did you ever realize she wasn't doing okay and nobody took her seriously? Yeah, sure, she said she was okay, but did you really check on her? Did you really ask her what was wrong? Did someone listen to her?"

The people in the room go silent after Spencer scolds them.

Did they help in any way?

"You are unbelievable, and you call yourself profilers," Spencer huffs, turning to exit the room in search of you.

"What are you doing, Reid?" Hotch asks. No turning around to face his boss, and halfway out, Spencer replies.

"The thing you should have done in the first place. And I don't care if it doesn't fall protocol, I can give you my resignation letter tomorrow."

-----

When Spencer reaches the building roof and sees you sitting on one of the benches, he lets out a sigh of relief. He suspected you might be there, considering your things were still on your desk.

You can't see it since your back is turned. Your eyes look at the horizon without focusing on anything in particular.

The breeze is nice despite the November weather in Virginia.

Not wanting to scare you, Spencer slowly approaches you as he clears his throat. You turn around and see him standing a couple of meters away from you, but close enough to see your eyes red from crying.

You know he noticed it, and you avert his gaze.

You don't like the idea of looking vulnerable right now. The morning was already catastrophic enough to explain your current state of mind to Spencer.

Spencer is a man of many words. He is known for his diatribes on any topic at hand. So you expect some kind of rant or even some statistical data about what could be happening to you.

But contradicting his very nature, he just silently approaches, takes your hand to get you up from the bench, and pulls you into a tight, comforting embrace.

And for the first time all day, you feel like you can actually breathe, and your chest isn't tight anymore. Words are not necessary; just being held like that is enough for now.

Spencer kisses the top of your head lovingly.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be here for you sooner. I'm sorry you had such a horrible morning," your boyfriend laments.

You shake your head, still buried in his chest.

Tears fight to come out from the corners of your eyes, and you no longer want to hold them back.

"Let it out, baby. Just let them out."

And that's what you do. For the first time all day, you allow yourself to cry without holding back. Spencer has you the entire time, rubbing your back soothingly.

"I don't know why I feel so bad, Spencer. I don't understand," you muffle your words into his embrace.

"It's okay, love. You don't have to explain to me, or anyone for that matter. There are days when we are not okay, and it's completely valid. Never think you don't have the right to."

Hearing Spencer say that relieves some of the pressure on your head, but you can't help but think about your teammates' words throughout the morning.

Separating yourself from Spencer to look at him, your eyes still denote your inner struggle.

"What if they are right? What if they are right when they say I shouldn't make so much fuzz and rather think about doing my job well?"

Spencer cups your cheeks so you can look at him.

"They are not. Okay? By any means, you are the most professional person I have ever met in my life. Not only that, you are also the most compassionate, selfless, and willing to help to the fullest extent of your capacity. Does JJ need help babysitting Henry? You don't think twice. Does García need assistance organizing a girls' night? You are the first one to be there. Does Hotch need to finish a stack of reports in one night? You offer to help him. Does Derek need a backup to kick his way into a place and catch the unsub? You're the first to watch his back."

You are indeed like that, and you do all that. But you've never seen it as something extraordinary. For you, being part of a team and a family means all that and more.

"And that doesn't even scratch the surface of what you have been to me.

My love, you have been the person who has entitled me to open my heart and love without reservation. You have taught me to trust and that asking for help when you feel bad is okay. You are the light of my life, and I swear I'll do everything in my power so you can see the wonderful person you are and that you deserve all the love and support in the world."

Without a doubt, Spencer has something with his words and eloquence. How can you not believe him? The veil of doubt indeed emerges from time to time, but having someone who is by your side showing you what is really important makes the doubts not cloud your path.

A shy smile appears on your face, your eyes filled with gratitude.

"There she is," Spencer whispers, stroking your cheek with love and never breaking eye contact.

"Maybe I should have listened to you this morning and called in sick," you sigh. Spencer kisses the top of your nose.

"I know you weren't going to do it anyway."

You giggle because he's right. Spencer knows you too well.

"Lunchtime is almost over. We should come back to work," you remind him. Spencer pulls a face, and you raise an eyebrow at him. "What was that?" You inquire.

Spencer laughs nervously. "It's just I may or may not have made a scene in the conference room earlier, and I may or may not have offered my letter of resignation to Hotch if he didn't allow me to come find you."

"You did what? Spencer, oh my God!" you start laughing. "Does that mean there's a chance we'll both get fired today?"

Spencer thinks about that for a second.

"Honestly? I don't think Hotch would risk losing his two best agents," he decides, winking at you.

"Hope you're right, Dr. Reid. Hope you're right," you voice, grabbing his hand in yours and making the way back to the sixth floor.

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

Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity @levi-of-starz @themoonchildwhofell @silver138 @lovelybaka @shinytinywhispers

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfics #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid x fem!bau!reader #aperrywilliams #amanda perry williams

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ruegarding · 10 months ago

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You know, if they’re going to show us Percy killing himself to get into college, can they at least tell us what he’s going to study, and let us see him feeling somewhat excited about it?

yeah, as far as i can tell the general consensus that percy is going for marine biology is bc of annabeth's throwaway line. if percy's major has been confirmed somewhere, i'd love to see it.

it's weird that rick hasn't written percy actually liking any of his classes since...mr brunner's??? which percy didn't even find the specific material interesting as much as he found mr brunner to be engaging. the lack of focus makes sense, at least, in pjo and hoo bc their focus is less on school, so percy's classes are on the backburner after tlt (outside of acknowledging he's not experiencing straight-up ableism and is therefore doing better), but w the focus on college in the new marketing trilogy, percy's lack of interest stands out. it would be so easy to have percy say that he really enjoyed x class or lecture or assignment and wanted to study it more/focus on it in college. instead, rick has written percy to be slacking off in class, as if that was his problem and not, you know, the ableism he was experiencing (which is why mr brunner was the exception) and the fact that he had to miss a year of school bc of hoo. also, i'm unsure what accommodations (if any) alternative high is making for percy...considering he says he can quote sparknotes instead of shakespeare makes me doubt they're giving him audiobooks for his dyslexia...but the fact that percy is written to be struggling in his senior year bc he's lazy and not disabled is literally just ableism.

it makes it difficult to see college as a "good ending" when percy 1) has never showed an interest in pursuing a specific field of study (outside of him technically being a published author in-universe, which i'm not sure counts bc it's not referenced in the series...? is the implication percy writes the books after going to college? idk.), 2) is working himself incredibly hard to the point where's he's falling asleep in class, and 3) has to leave his mother/family behind to live across the country. rick also changed it so that demigods don't really have to worry abt monsters once they're 18 (which is coding for their disabilities...) and retconned nru so it requires good sat scores and isn't a full college (it's a satellite campus w uc berkeley and annabeth goes to classes at berkeley bc they don't have what she wants at nru???), so there's really no unique incentive for percy to be going to college at all, let alone in new rome. it's a series of very strange writing choices. to say the least.

#do i think percy could enjoy college? yes #do i think w the way rick is writing him like percy would enjoy college? no #am i frustrated w the way rick is handling all of this? yes #does that one blog post abt percy thinking college is a breeze make any of this better? no #does rick even write the blog posts? i don't pay attention tbh #but it would be funny to me if the only good thing to come out of this isn't even written by rick #wottg spoilers #rr crit #queenmorganlafay #answered #disability #marketing trilogy #<- also i've decided to call these books this

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adoresia · 5 months ago

Text

꣑ৎ contains ★ Fluff ,, Crack ,, suggestive (if you squint) ,, might be ooc cause i havent met him yet.. gulp.

ft Michael Kaiser :: ★ Getting a matching tattoo with your boyfriend was one thing, trusting him with a needle was definitely another. ★ W/C 0.8k

˙🧷 ̟ Sia here ! :: I haven’t even met kaiser yet but i saw this illustration and i started barking out loud, i saw it on pinterest but the artist is bunnyluvrrr on instagram her drawings are so good you guys should go check them out 😚😚

˙🏷️ ̟ Kaiser’s masterlist | BLLK masterlist | Main masterlist

Looking back, you weren’t sure why you agreed to let him tattoo you. Actually scratch that, you knew exactly why — because of his inability to take no for an answer.

A week ago, when he first proposed the idea of getting matching tattoos you almost choked on your drink. “You? Want to Tattoo me? Yeah, no.” you laughed off this sudden joke of his, but knowing him he wasn’t going yo give up so easily. “You didn’t even think about it,” he whined dramatically. Flopping onto the couch beside you with the same infuriating grin. “I’ve got great hands. You trust me on the field don’t you?”

“Hey so, a football and a needle are actually two different things.”

“Don’t you think I’d be good at it? I’ve got an eye for detail.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” you muttered, but he ignored it completely.

“I think it would be cool,” he insisted, leaning closer. “Our tattoos will connect like we do. That’s Romantic, no?” You squinted at him. “That sounds like a really bad pickup line”

“Well, did it work?” He smirked smugly. “I literally just said bad.” you deadpanned him. Why is he trying to gaslight you?” Admit you’re thinking about it.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking about why I’m still talking to you.”

But of course, a week later here you were. Perched on the extra cushioned chair of a makeshift tattoo station he set up especially for you, your leg extended across his lap while he prepped the machine with a confident flick of his wrist.

“You nervous?” His voice was honeyed with amusement as his eyes flickered up to meet yours. “No.” you lied through your teeth. “Just wondering how and why I ended up trusting you with a needle.”

“Because you realised you have nothing to worry about, I am the best. You know that right?” He chuckled. “At football, maybe.” You answered rolling your eyes.His grin only grew as he gently took hold of your thigh, his fingers brushed against your skin in a way that made your breath hitch. He was steady and confident, yet surprisingly tender.“I’ll be gentle,” he promised. Athough the teasing tone in his voice made you doubt it. “Yeah okay, just hurry up.”

The humming sound of the machine filled the room, and the first prick of the needle made you tense. His hand tightened ever so slightly around your leg grounding you. “Relax,” he reassured. “It’ll hurt less if you stop being so stiff.”

Easy for him to say.

Okay you were nervous, but not just about the tattoo. There was something about the way his fingers rested on your skin, firm yet oddly intimate, that had your heart racing. And of course he noticed.

“Aw, what’s this?” he teased, glancing up with a grin. “You sure it’s the needle making you so nervous?”

“Shut up.”

“Oh yeah?” he teased, his voice thick with amusement. “Is that why you keep looking away from me? I see those paintings on the wall everyday. There isn’t anything all that interesting about them.” he teased. You hadn’t even realised you were staring so hard at the paintings behind him, trying to divert your attention from what was going on in front of you.

“Focus on the tattoo.” was the inly thing you could muster up. It made him laugh. The sound was warm and far too smug. “Whatever you say.”

As the needle traced along your leg, following the intricate design that wrapped from his arm to your leg, you couldn’t help but notice how focused he was. Despite all the teasing, he was meticulous with the way he traced the ink into your skin. The thorned stem mirrored the one on his arm — it was sharp and elegant. The vines curled gracefully around your thigh, wrapping down your leg in a way that made it look seamless, as if your tattoos were always meant to be connected.

Every one of his movements was precise and his concentration showed in the way he furrowed his eyebrow. His usual arrogance was still there, but it was tempered by precision and care. His teasing words contrasted with the steady determination and gentleness in his eyes.

“Are you still with me?” he asked, his voice somewhat softer now.

“mhm,” you managed to utter. Although your heart raced for reasons that had very little to do with the sting of the tattoo at this point.

“Your a tough girl.”

The teasing never stopped but neither did the gentleness. His thumb brushed absentmindedly against your skin which soothed the burn of the needle. You wondered if he even realized he was doing it.

“You’re doing great baby,” he praised. His eyes flickered up again. “I told you I was good with my hands.”

“Do you ever stop flirting?”

“Not when it’s working.”

Despite yourself, you laughed. The tension eased from your body and he grinned as if that was the real victory here. And when he finally finished, he leaned back to admire his work. The thorned stem wrapped elegantly around your leg, seamlessly continuing from his own tattoo. It was beautiful; raw and intimate in a way you could’ve never expected.

“Perfect.” he said proudly, wiping down the fresh ink. “Just like us.”

“You’re so annoying.” you muttered. Although your lips curled into a smile.

“And yet here you are,” he grinned as he wiped the last bit of ink residue from your skin.

You ignored him though, turning your leg slightly to get a better look at the intricate design etched into the entirety of your leg. It was so beautifully detailed. Each curve wrapped so elegantly around your skin, tracing a sinuous path from just above your knee to the side of your thigh, and the way it so seamlessly connected to Kaiser’s own tattoo felt… intimate. Like your tattoos were meant to intertwine, bound together, just as he had promised.

“Wow,” you breathed, fingers hovering near the fresh ink but really careful not to touch. “You outdid yourself.”

He said nothing at first, unusually silent and less taunting. His eyes fixed on your reaction instead of the tattoo. You could feel his gaze, it was warm and unwavering. Tracking every subtle shift of your expression while you admired his work. His usual teasing demeanor softened as it was replaced by something quieter and more genuine.

“You like it?” he finally asked, you glanced up at him and when you met his gaze your heart did that stupid fluttering thing it always did when he dropped the cocky act for just a second. “Yeah,” you admitted, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “I love it.” His lips curved into a knowing smirk. “I know you do.” You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest lingered.

He leaned closer, thumb brushing gently along your thigh just below the fresh ink. “I told you I was good with my hands,” he murmured , the teasing glint returned to his eyes. “And your ego is still insufferable.”

“But you love that too,” he said confidently. You shook your head with a laugh. “Debatable.”

“Not at all” His fingers lingered on your skin for a bit longer than necessary. “It is romantic, right?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, though you didn’t pull away from his touch.

“And yet you’re still here,” he whispered smugly, “matching tattoo and all.” He pressed a kiss just above the tattoo, his breath was warm and gentle against your freshly inked skin. “But you do love it, right?” He asked, eyes gleaming as he looked up at you.

“I guess I do.”

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blublurz · 5 months ago

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900 words. sonic the hedgehog/gender-neutral reader.

Competitive isn't the word you'd use to describe yourself.

Driven, motivated, obnoxiously ambitious - but never competitive. It's not nearly as strong of a word needed to properly define how you played in gear riding, especially with such a plentiful prize. The number of zeroes following the coins offered was enough to make you feel dizzy.

Maybe, just maybe, that dizzy feeling is what caused the crash in the first place, though that accidental shove from Storm certainly had something to do with it too.

The on-field medic had said it wasn't anything terrible. It was a bad friction burn and it hurt if you moved several of your joints a few degrees in any direction, but nothing was broken so you'd count it as a win in your book.

The damage done was bad enough that the med-tent to the side of the starting line wasn't enough. Visiting an actual doctor took longer than you would have liked, but you were back in your hotel room soon enough. Other riders had stopped by after the race and everything that followed had finally ended late into the night. Some brought teddy bears and flowers while others brought gossip and news, neither of which you particularly cared for given your current condition, but you thanked them all the same.

Stuck on bedrest and forced to scroll through the same five travel channels the television offered, boredom was quick to creep his claws into your shoulders and dig them in viciously. What else could you do? Certainly not look around the city you’ve been dying to visit since finding out it was home to one of the tracks for the prix, that was what.

A groan forces itself out of your throat.

“Knock, knock.”

Already pushing his way inside your room before you can get the motivation to habitually answer “come in,” Sonic pokes his head inside the room with a grin that can only be read as no good. He’s holding one hand behind his back and is careful to not turn around when he steps in and shuts the door behind him. A younger, less-injured you would have welcomed him in excitedly and asked him what kind of havoc he was looking to cause, but now? Your body was beginning to scream as the painkillers wore off and you could only hope that he read the room. Yeah, you were bored, but that didn’t mean you were looking for anything Sonic-levels of exciting.

“A little birdie told me you were looking down,” the blue blur hums as he sits himself on the edge of your bed. Still careful to not show his hand, Sonic’s sure to lean with you when you curiously try to take a peak. “I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to cheer you up.”

One of your brows raises as you put a stop to your losing game of hide-and-seek, lower back flaring up in pain. “My hero. However shall I repay you?” Your tone, though flat and tired, still holds a playful lilt that makes Sonic’s grin grow wider.

“Don’t thank me yet! You haven’t even seen what I got you!”

“I don’t need to,” you’re quick to huff, slumping back into your headboard of mostly pillows. “As long as it gives me something to do without getting up, I’m thankful.”

Sonic lets out something between a scoff and a laugh as he pulls the gift from his back, free hand wiggling its fingers as though to further entice your interest. He leans forward when you take the box from him, crossing his arms over your shins just so he can rest his chin on them.

Catching your hands when you try setting it down on your thighs, Sonic only smiles when you look around the box and at him. “What’re you doing?”

He's barely able to keep his volume contained to anything below an inside voice. “Don't worry about it! Just open it!”

You roll your eyes but do as told, letting him hold it as your hands work at unraveling the surprisingly intricate bow. There's no doubt he went to Amy or Cream for it. He’s much too impatient to spend more than a minute perfecting the coils of the ribbon and the wrapping was too crisply done for him to take the time making sure each corner was perfectly folded.

Carefully picking at the tape, pulling apart the wrapping paper, and lifting the flaps of the box, you let out a quiet sigh at the sight. You're met with a get well soon card, a stuffed animal that looks an awful lot like him, and a couple packs of chocolate.

Finding there's tissue paper packed at the bottom of it after placing each gift to the side, you hum.

“You should totally take it out,” Sonic whispers.

“And if I don't?”

“I’d be suuuper disappointed.”

Your laughs grow louder as you do as told, tossing the tissue to the side just to unveil him beaming ear-to-ear. Of course this was the gift he'd been planning to give you, because what better gift was there from him than him?

Dropping the box to the floor before nudging pillows and bears out of the way to make room, Sonic doesn't hesitate to make himself comfortable in the space against your side. He swipes the remote from where you discarded it on the duvet, swiftly clicking through the channels while you open a pack of sweets.

“Now how about we put something actually good on, yeah?”

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic x reader #sonic the hedgehog x reader

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magics-neptunes-things · 2 years ago

Text

Collide (2)

Hello everyone!

Here is the rest of Collide, you can find the first part here, I obviously advise you to read it if you come across this part first… Otherwise you will surely not understand much!

A big thank you for your support, this story is longer and more thoughtful than the ones I have written so far, so it takes me much more time.

I really hope that all of you are having or will have a wonderfull Christmas. Take care of yourself and your loved ones ❤️

I hope you'll enjoy this part :)

TW : Alcohol, Angst and I think it’s ok like that!

World : 5.4K

PART 1 I PART 3 I PART 4 I PART 5 I PART 6 | PART 7

______________________________________________________________

Time has gone by nicely since you arrived in London and your integration into the Arsenal team is no longer in doubt. You get along well with everyone, you participate willingly in the parties organized by your teammates and you even managed to make yourself appreciated quickly by the fans. Which is not a difficult thing as long as you play well. And without wanting to throw yourself flowers or play the presumptuous, you are more than satisfied with your performance on the field right now.

Alessia has become a very close friend and the fact that she’s your neighbor probably helps a lot too. You often go to the training ground together and it happens regularly that one finishes at the other apartment in the evening. You have become a bit of an essential element of each other’s apartment decor. You are also close to Manuela, your goalkeeper, and Viv makes you die laughing. You also enjoy spending time with Lia, even if she is very close to Leah who continues to torment your thoughts. Katie and Caitlin are great mates too.

After some time of tension between Leah and you following your defection during your kiss, you managed to find a cordial relationship. You can’t help but look at her when she doesn’t see you, you still feel very attracted to her. And it’s not just about physics, you find her funny, interesting and you have the impression that your souls are made to get along. But you’ve never been alone with her since the party. And you feel like it suits Leah like that.

You were getting ready for practice when your phone rings, somewhere in your apartment. After a few long seconds of research, you end up finding it under a cushion of your sofa and answers without taking the time to look who may try to contact you.

"Y/N, hi!" makes a joyful voice.

"Wally, what’s going on?" you ask, sitting on your couch.

You hear from the noise around her that she’s definitely driving somewhere noisy.

"I had to pick up Leah to take her to practice but I’m stuck in traffic and I don’t think I’ll be on time myself. Could you go get her, please?"

No? Out of question to find myself with my crush in the same space clot for twenty minutes without interruption miss Wälti, I am not sure to survive. Have you see this girl? The way her face light up when she smile make me want to...

"Oh, yes, of course" you answer, pinching your nose. "You’re telling her I’m coming?"

"Yeah, yeah, no worries. Thank you very much Y/N, see you later."

"Drive carefully. See you"

Your voice is just a mumble at the end of your sentence and you hang up before Lia has time to say something else. You always go early when you drive alone like today, Alessia having an appointment before training. You have plenty of time to get Leah, but you’re still very worried.

So you nervously take the wheel, driving to the blonde's house where you’ve already been to for one of your evenings. Before the kiss. When you park in front of her house, you take a few seconds to take a big breath before getting out of the car.

You press the doorbell a first time before sliding your hands in the pockets of your sweatshirt and you press a second time after a few minutes, when you realize that no one comes to open. You know Leah lives alone so maybe she just didn’t hear the doorbell the first time.

But your ear is drawn to a piano melody that makes you frown. Since when has Leah been playing the piano? You don’t have time to question yourself any longer, though, since your captain’s voice ends up in your ears.

"Come on in Wally, it’s open!" Leah screams

Ouch. So either she didn’t get Lia’s messages, or Lia just forgot to warn her. Whatever it is, you’re hoping Leah won’t take your presence at her place badly. You end up slowly entering inside, carefully closing the door behind you. Leah’s home is different in the daylight and you mechanically follow the melody of the piano that resounds in the house.

You end up finding Leah in a room that probably serves as her office, actually installed behind a piano. This woman is full of surprises. You don’t dare interrupt her, so you cross your arms and lean on the door frame until she’s done. You recognize a song by Shania Twain, but you can't remember the title of it.

When she’s done, Leah turns in your direction with a satisfied little smile. That quickly turns into a surprised frown when she sees you there. "Hi" you say before clearing your throat. "Lia is stuck somewhere in London with her car and asked if I could pick you up. She was supposed to warn you. Sorry, I guess she forgot to" "Oh, okay" Leah replies, getting up "It’s been a while since I looked at my phone, I may not have seen her message" You nod thoughtfully, tightening your arms around yourself mechanically while waiting for Leah to check her phone. You see a new smile lightening her face and you imagine that it is by seeing the message of the Swiss woman. You’re kind of jealous about the ease of their relationship, to have a friendship as strong as they both have... No, actually, it’s not a friendship you’d like to have with Leah. But you have to stay wise. Anyway, you doubt it’s what the blonde wants on her side. She’s not one to be in a long relationship. "Shall we go?" Leah’s voice cuts you off in your thoughts and you simply nod, taking off against the wood you were always leaning on. You pick up Leah’s bag mechanically as you pass the front door, which seems to both surprise and amuse her. "I can carry my bag, you know?" "Oh... I just thought with your leg... sorry" Leah does not answer, content to laugh gently closing the door of her home with a key. You mask your red cheeks by storing her bag in the trunk of your car and you hope to have found a casual face when you sit next to her. "I didn’t know you played the piano" you say after a few minutes of silence. Leah looks at you briefly and you feel like she’s holding back from saying "There’s a lot you don’t know about me," which is probably true. "I started it during the lockdown. I’m not really good, but I like it."

"What I heard was very good" you countered, looking at it in the corner of your eyes.

"Well thanks" Leah laughs and you feel your belly make a somersault "But I’ve been repeating this song for a long time. I have no right to tell you why for the moment"

"It’s a piece by Shania Twain, isn’t it?"

"Yes. You’re still the one"

This time, you see her turning in your direction to be able to better observe you. Is it done voluntarily or not, you do not know. What you do know is that you’re happy to have started a conversation that allows you to exchange without having disturbing silence in the car.

"Do you like country music?" asks the blonde

"Not really. All I know about country is that Miley Cyrus has a father who does. Does it count?" you ask with a laugh.

"I could hit you right now"

Leah has a smile when she says that, and it makes you laugh again. A new silence comes between you, but this one is nice. You are finally relaxed with each other since your party and you feel you can breathe more easily.

"We’re going to a Luke Combs concert next weekend. You could come with us, it would open you up to the country world?"

You bite your lip thoughtfully. You know many of them are going. Leah, Lia, Alessia, and so on.

"Less offered it to me a few days ago but I refused saying that I didn’t like to go to concerts if I could not sing the lyrics" you admit thoughtfully.

Your gaze clinging to the dense traffic in London doesn’t allow you to see the disappointment read for a few seconds on Leah’s face.

"I guess I’ll have to revise quickly"

To be honest, what also made you turn down that offer was not to make Leah’s evening unpleasant. You quickly understood how she can’t stand being away from others on the field and how these shared moments with your teammates are important to her. But that she still wants you to come also makes you exceedingly happy.

During the rest of the trip, Leah asks you about your own musical preferences and you tell her that you got stuck with the old rock and pop-rock bands you used to listen to when you were a teenager. A little Norwegian variety also thanks to your parents, whom she has never heard of but that doesn’t surprise you particularly.

********

"Looks good, your integration into Arsenal" Leila’s voice says from your phone as you cook yourself something for dinner.

"Frankly, I have nothing to complain about. They are all adorable" you answer sincerely.

"Adorable is not a term I would use for Katie McCabe"

You laugh softly and shake your head. You know perfectly well the reputation that Katie has outside the field, you have heard about it since your arrival in the English champion.

"She’s like a bulldozer on the ground, but outside she’s really nice. A hell of a character maybe, but I’ve never seen someone as loyal as her"

"Look at her, completely on the enemy’s side"

Leila laughs and you smile, rolling your eyes. Sometimes keeping friendships isn’t easy when you’re away or playing on opposing teams, but you’re glad to see that you seem to be keeping your bond with Leila for now. You obviously hope it lasts.

Two shots are taking at your front door before Alessia comes inside to drop on your couch. It’s become such a habit between you that you don’t even react to her presence.

"How was the concert?" asks Leila.

"It was good, sincerely. It’s not the music I used to listen to, but I liked it."

That’s the truth. You honestly didn’t expect to have such a great time. The good relationship between Arsenal players also exists outside the field and this spirit makes you feel like part of a family. From someone so far from yours like you, it’s more than pleasant. And that night you spent gave you an opportunity to spend some time with Leah too. Like a child who tests his own limits, you try to determine where the line is that you must not exceed. As if she were reading your thoughts, Leila resumes speaking as you mix what you cook in your pan. "What about Williamson?" "What about Leah?" You ask, taking a quick look at Alessia to see if she’s listening to what you’re saying. "Huh? Since you kissed, is..." You don’t hear the end of the sentence, jumping on your phone to cut the microphone. But it’s too late and you see Alessia’s face turning into a surprise. The amazement, rather. "I call you back Lei" you mumble to your friend before hanging up. "You kissed Leah?" Wide-eyed, Alessia has made her way to you. A big smile appeared on his face, but you startled when you heard him scream half. "Shh!" you tell her, as if you were afraid someone else would listen to you. "Why didn’t you tell me? When was that?" Alessia put her two hands on your shoulders and she shakes you gently, apparently more than willing to have answers to her questions. "At my moving-in party" you end up sighing. "And she kissed me." Well, you didn’t reject it to be honest. Well, at the beginning anyway. The rest, no need to remind. "Do you know how many girls would kill to be in your place?" laughs Alessia. "Why does it look like you killed someone when you talk about it?" "Because nothing has happened since then, we are probably not looking for the same thing. Not many people know, Lessi, you have to keep it to yourself please"

"Of course I will. But maybe Lia knows too, Leah say her everything."

"Maybe" you shrug.

"But still. You kissed Leah Williamson"

********

The break for international competitions arrive at à great time. You were able to see your family again, especially your parents and seeing your friends from the national team also make you happy. Your reunion with Ingrid was filmed and posted on social media, your embrace being visible to everyone. You don’t know what makes people not think there’s something going on between you, but you’re grateful that it’s going on like this. You like Ingrid as a friend and you don’t want to have to think about how to behave with her so you don’t hurt her girlfriend.

The results of your national team didn’t live up to your expectations however, despite the goals you were able to score. The disappointment must have been visible in the message that you tried to shoot positively on Instagram. You got some messages of encouragement from your friends, from Arsenal or not. You also received a message from Leah, the first one she addresses you directly on a Whatsapp band.

If you were sad to have to say goodbye to your best friend again, finding your Arsenal teammates is a pleasure. This feeling of being at home warms your heart.

"Hi Frozen" tease Katie at you when you see her for the first time, making you roll your eyes with fun.

This time again, the hug that you exchange with Leah lasts a little longer than the others and you smile at her when she pinches you affectionately the cheek. Maybe you missed her too much.

In the next game, against Aston Villa, you feel like Leah’s mind is somewhere else, but yours too. This is the first time in a long time that you will find yourself facing your ex and you know that Leah will also have to live with the fact that Jordan will be around.

Even though the blonde is still not playing, Leah participates in the briefings and is always around when you play at home.

No wonder, her love for the team and the club is now known to everyone. You haven’t been thinking particularly about Alina lately, Leah taking a lot of time in your thoughts. But you have to admit that to see her again, even from the back, training with her teammates, it does you something. You no longer have the slightest feeling of love for her, of course. Everything magically disappeared the day you learned about her infidelities. But you still have trouble swallowing betrayal.

"Are you okay here?"

You recognize Leah’s voice easily, but the hand on your shoulder makes you jump. Crossing her eyes, you quickly understand that she understood and you just shrug your shoulders.

"Yeah, I know. Come on, let’s go."

Leah’s hand slips on your back as she takes you to the small group forming by Alessia, Katie and Kyra. You find yourself regretting the feeling of her hand in your back when Alessia puts her arm around your shoulders in a comforting embrace. You nevertheless let yourself go against her, looking over Leah’s shoulder. From a distance, you have the impression that Jordan Nobbs was looking in your direction.

The game was hard, Aston Villa scored first and your team have trouble to find the back of the net. It last almost until the end of the game, until you caught Leah’s eye in the bleachers. From there to say that it’s her who gave you the impulse to go and score the goal, there is a world. But still, it’s only a few seconds later that you score. And a few minutes later, Alessia scored the winning goal, allowing Arsenal to win the match.

It’s probably cruel for the other team, but honestly you don’t care. You don’t get asked to show your joy, celebrating with Wally, Kyra and Alessia. You watch while a smiling Leah jumping into Alessia’s arms just before Katie comes to offer you a hug in her own way, passing an arm around your neck while strocking your hair with the other hand.

"Manu’s organising a party for tonight, are you coming?" says you a happy Katie.

When she gets your positive answer she releases you, literally pounding up to Caitlin. It’s by following her with your eyes that your eyes cling to a silhouette that you know very well despite yourself. Alina, standing in the middle of the field with her hands on her hips, looking disgusted. As you said, seen from the other side, the defeat must be bitter.

When she looks at you too, you hurry to turn your heels, only to rush straight into Jordan Nobbs.

"Oh… sorry mate" you mumble by rushing to run away.

You are relieved to see that the person who pulls you by the arm right after is Alessia, carrying you away from this situation. An amused smile is visible on her face, and you feel that she restrains herself from saying something.

"Don’t"

Alessia laughs and can only smile when hearing it, gently shaking your head. The fans in front of which Alessia trains you claiming photos and autographs, that make you forget easily what has just happened.

********

A few hours later, you’re in a nightclub with almost the entire team. Although we have to admit that everyone was a little scattered throughout the nightclub. Maybe you drank too much, too. Leah is here, of course. When she came to sit next to you with her big smile and her sexy outfit, you almost fainted. You feel like she’s doing it on purpose. But it’s nothing compared to the wave of chills that runs through you when she looks at you to say "Pretty goal, superstar". The ambient music forces her to have this behavior, but still.

It’s not the ambient music that will make her invite you to dance with her. If you refused at first, claiming not to know how to dance, you couldn’t resist her any longer. And you also noticed that others girls don’t seem against keeping Leah company. Of course, you have absolutely no right to be jealous, but that definitely tilts the scales.

You’ve been dancing with Leah for a long time now, to be honest, you’ve completely lost track of time. Your teammates are far too drunk around you to pay attention to you and none seem to have realized how your body seems unable to detach from Leah’s. Your body is attracted with the strength of a magnet by hers and as long as you had your back against her, you managed to fight against yourself and keep an almost clear mind. But when the last song changed, you stupidly turned around and you were hypnotized by the captain’s gaze. Your heart rate is faster, your breathing is more complicated and you have to fight with all your strength not to lean in her direction a few centimeters more to be able to kiss her. Her hands on your hip and in the hollow of your back hold you all against her and the arms you tied around her neck may not help either. It’s as if your mind and your body wanted two things and you were pulled from two sides at the same time. You’ve obviously noticed Leah’s eyes slipping regularly on your lips, seemingly wishing nothing but to kiss you. The message is very clear, it would be for anyone. But when Leah tries an approach and touches your lips with hers, you step back. You obviously realized that Leah didn’t even look at a girl other than you tonight, but the fear of getting screwed again is stronger than the rest. You only stepped back a few inches so you could look into Leah’s. If you haven't saw Alina today, maybe you would have kiss her. You certainly read a part of disappointment, perhaps even a little rejection, but also uncertainty. Does she think that she misinterpreted the signals you send her? That is not the case, of course. You are undeniably attracted to her, you don't want to lie to her either. Or worse, let her start thinking that you’re the one playing with her feelings.

"I’m sorry. I don’t want to be an extra number on your hunting board, Leah."

By your position, you feel Leah’s breath against your lips and it makes you half crazy. When you gently detach you from her, she lets you. You can see her jaw is tight, but you don’t feel like it’s anger. You can’t take the time to figure out what it is, before you decide to get out of there. You pick up your jacket and bag and go out, even unintentionally bumping into someone who hasn’t asked for anything on your way.

"Are you alright?"

A voice next to you makes you jump and you raise your eyes on a couple that was probably out smoking. The girl looks at you with special attention and you realize at this moment that your hands are shaking.

"Yes, yes, it’s okay" you mumble taking a deep breath.

"Sure?"

You nod again, both surprised and touched by so much soliscitude. Maybe there is still some hope in the human being?

"Do you know where I can get a cab?"

The one you imagine being her boyfriend points at you the end of the street. You thank and greet them, walking quickly going in the right direction. It only take you twenty minutes to return home, your mind haunted by the image of Leah, the sensations felt when your face was only a few inches from you. Regrets mix with relief and you still don’t know if you made the right decision.

You don’t even take the time to remove your makeup before hiding under your duvet. You want to call Leah, but this is the second time you’ve pushed her away in a short time. You will never dare to return to the training ground without having a terrible fear of running into her. You were wondering if you are going to contact your agent to ask him to propose you for a loan with another team when you hear someone knocking on the door of your apartment. "Y/N?" It’s Alessia’s voice and you realize no one saw you leave, except maybe Leah. You hiss when you feel the cold ground under your bare feet when you answer, finding yourself facing an Alessia who seems both relieved and annoyed. Her phone in hand, she seems to finish reading a message when she reports her attention to you. "Why didn’t you say you were going home?" Her tone is accusing and you pout, feeling like you’re being scolded by your older sister. But you can understand the worry. "Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you." Alessia still looks at you for a few seconds while squinting before sighing and slipping into your apartment. She hugs you before she lets you go. "You and Leah were missing, we were worried" she explains before going for a glass of water. "Leah too?" In spite of yourself, you feel the anxiety rise suddenly. If something happened to her because of your behavior, you will never forgive yourself. Worry is easily detectable in your voice, as Less hurries to comfort you. "Yes, but she’s home. Lia found her there. What happened?" "What do you mean?" You mumble looking at your feet. "Well you both disappear, you’re closer than you’ve ever been... But you don’t have the face of someone who had a nice evening"

"I screwed up" you sigh softly as you cross your arms on your chest.

Your gaze is always fixed on your feet and you frown, trying to remember the meaning of your memories and thoughts. Alessia knows what happened with Alina, the deception and everything, it’s not for nothing that she remained close to you physically speaking today. In the field, at least.

Alessia doesn’t answer anything, waiting patiently to see if you want to continue to explain yourself or not.

'I panicked. There’s this kind of attraction I’ve had for her from the beginning and the more I try to fight it, the bigger it gets. It’s like every thing she did or said is what I expect her to do, without me even knowing it."

You looked up at the blonde this time and she watches you talking, holding her half-empty glass of water in her hand. Her eyebrows are ruffled, but she looks more pensive than upset this time.

"We managed to catch up with the bond we had after I pushed her back. But tonight… I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about what happened with Alina all day and… I panicked. I don’t want to be heartbroken again."

This time it’s a compassionate smile that appears on Alessia’s face, which is content to extend your arms as the very first answer. You accepted and snuggled up against her, sighing softly. She didn’t steal her nickname of Lessi Bear.

"I think you should talk to Leah" Alessia says after a few seconds.

"I doubt she’ll want to talk to me again"

********

You were right. You don’t know if it’s voluntary or not on Leah’s part, but you haven’t seen her since the nightclub. She seems to have changed her physiotherapy and training schedules so she won’t run into you again. And you have to admit that it hurt your heart. But again this reaction is probably very selfish, if you are both there it is only your fault.

Your mood has deteriorated throught the days when you feel someone sitting next to you in the locker room. You look up expecting to find yourself in front of Caitlin who has her locker next to yours, but instead it’s Lia who addresses you one of her famous smiles.

"Are you okay?" she asks and you ask yourself in the first place if she’s not making fun of you.

But it would mean not knowing Lia at all.

"Good. What about you?"

Lia nods, still armed with her smile, while you finish putting on your sneakers. The training session has just ended, you are showered and changed and ready to go home.

"I was wondering if we could talk together?"

"Of course."

You get up and follow her, wondering what it is. Lia trains you with her in the cafeteria of the team, currently completely deserted. After having caught yourself drinking and sitting at a table, you look at her with an undisguised curiosity. If you really like the Swiss woman, you’ve never really exchanged one-on-one.

"Is everything okay?" You can’t help but ask her, afraid she’s in trouble.

"Oh, yes. It’s not me I wanted to talk to you about, it’s Leah."

You make a slight grimace but nods gently, your look staying on the cup of coffee you ordered yourself.

"I’m sorry if I intervene in a way that is not my business and you will have the right to scold me later, but I think it’s time someone did"

You look at her again a little surprised. Faithful to her country of origin, Lia is far from wanting to conflict with anyone. However, the fact that she wants to take the risk of doing so is a testament to the importance of what she will say.

"Leah told me what happened between you two"

Lia gives you an apology smile, but you told Alessia and Ingrid about it so you just nod. It would be rather inappropriate for you to resent Leah for needing to confide to someone.

"I don’t know who told you things about her, but what I do know is that Leah has been my friend since I came to Arsenal. She was always loyal and honest with me. When my ex and I broke up and I was lower than earth, she came home every night to try to cheer me up. She is sincere, kind and much sweeter and more tender than what people want her to be."

You know, you’re uncomfortable. You are one of those people who preferred to listen to what people was saying about Leah at the worst time, when she showed you during all these weeks that she is the girl that Lia has just described to you.

"I don’t know your past Y/N and I’m not judging you. But I really believe that Leah is genuinely interested in you. If it were just for one night, she would have moved on for a long time especially after you told her you don’t want a one time thing"

You remain silent for a few seconds, during which you assimilate what Lia has just told you. Passing a hand through your hair, you end up looking up at her.

"Anyway, it’s too late now. She must hate me, right?"

"I think you should talk to her about all this"

You bite your lip, realizing this is the second time you’ve been advised to do this in a few days. Unfortunately, this could be complicated.

"How? She doesn’t even want to see me here anymore"

Your desperate look seems to amuse Lia, or at least she smiles while rolling her eyes.

"By extraordinary luck we’re in the 21st century. You can either contact her via your phone or go to her house to talk to her"

Lia’s amused tone makes you smile slightly. She’s right, but it’s not so much your style to impose your presence somewhere. Your interlocutor must understand your reticence, since she puts her hand on your arm, making you look at her again.

"I will not speak for her, but she also suffered in her past. The only thing holding you both back is a lack of communication. I’m sure it can be fixed."

********

Right in front of Leah’s house, you don’t remember being so nervous for a long time. After thinking long and hard about the conversation you had with Lia, you then had to think about how to approach Leah. The blond continues to flee you like the plague and even if contacting her by message would probably be easier, you are not sure if she answers you. If the blonde has many qualities that have made you fall under her spell, she is still atrociously stubborn and resentful.

You turned in your head several scenarios, again and again until you became half crazy. Then you had enough. Sitting on Alessia’s couch in front of a particularly lame reality TV, you suddenly got up. Alessia gave you a worried look but you just threw at her while leaving her apartment

“I’m going to see Leah”

Your voice was clear and determined, making her understand that your decision was made. After shrugging her shoulders, Alessia lay down again in front of the television.

“Okay. But maybe change your pajamas first.”

Interrupted in your way, your hand freezes on the doorknob of the stricker’s apartment. Your eyes slide on your polar pajama bottoms with avocados drawn on them.

A grommet escapes from your lips as you open the door, triggering Alessia’s laughter behind you.

_____________________________________________________________

Merry Christmas you all 🎄❤️

#woso x reader #woso imagine #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson #woso fanfics #woso #woso imagines

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steamingstewchunks · 5 months ago

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Kids being kids, I'm downright positive that at one point the tfp trio had debates about who was the "best" in terms of their friends. It happens a lot, conversations get out of hand, and all of a sudden Miko is pummeling Jack with a pillow to "defend Bulkhead and wheeljacks honor",

What's to say the bots don't over hear these conversations?

In bits and pieces of course, because I need thise guys egos to inflate and deflate at rather rapid paces.

"I'm not bulkheads human friend!" (Estimated accurate quote from the show), the kids recognize them as friends but also guardians. It's like having a favorite uncle. When babysitting their obligated to take care of you but of course you gravitate towards what your familiar with, or, who received you best, and so, there's words like "Bumblebee likes Raf more than you Miko", and "Arcee isn't that much of a dunebasher," and conveniently, the mentioned would only hear the first part not the "she's more for high speed riding in the canals! Fast and smooth!"

Ratchet gears the bulk of those conversations, and within feeding myself (maybe you guys, y'all can have some too,) I'm down to say he gets a little bit salty that he's rarely mentioned in them. He does recognize it as his own fault though, one cannot subtly threat people and get away with it in the first meeting.

"they could go squish." (Jeffery combs, one of the few voices I can recognize thanks to ratchet, you beast), I'd like to think he regrets how he's acted towards them within their first meeting, but is, understandably to the kids, constantly busy. Gently brushing off their attempts at bonding purely since it's always at inconvenient times! He would like nothing more than to talk and teach the trio about cybertronian history (as evident in their school projects) and other things regarding his own experiences, hell maybe even be the "cool grandpa" thing they keep mentioning. He has no clue what a grandpa is, but it seems to be positive.

Even better, the reason any of them can hear the bits and pieces they do is cuz of how powerful their own audials are, the kids haven't gotten a complete look at how enhanced their senses are, outside of smell and taste to be fair, and so their hushed whispers when they remember Ratchet is pretty close aren't enough.

Back on track, away from Ratchet sadly, I genuinely think all the bots love the kids, and with what they hear they might be devastated to assume the bots like their respective humans more than the other, even going so far as to find them downright annoying.

Ex;

"yeah, I don't think Bulkhead really likes me as much as you. We don't talk too much and it gets quiet really easily." Raf responds, lounging on the couch legs curled in to hold his laptop up comfortably, typing away.

From the hall before what the kids call the "living room", certain audials pick it up, leaving turbulent thoughts as Bulkhead, simply walking from the wash racks to his room, raised his optical ridges in surprise.

Does Raf... Think he doesn't like him? At all? I mean, sure, the two don't actually have much to talk about, with different interests, but he Loved speaking with the boy about the different Biomes on earth learning about the surrounding deserts and forests that, thanks to Raf, he regards it all with a new light upon seeing the way the ecosystems work and balance each other out! It was awesome! Had he done something wrong? "Quiet really easily", is that something against human customs? Or at least where he comes from? Was he exuding annoyance towards Raf?? DO THEY ACTUALLY HAVE EM FIELDS JUST.... IN A DIFFERENT WAY???!?

End ex,

There's lots to deal with, including the nuances of conversation, the fact that cybertronians have vastly different social cues and linguistic tones and everything, and I doubt the bots had much contact with other humans outside of Agent Fowler and any official he brought with them, and they where always straight forward with everything.

Meaning the way that the kids speak, children civilians, would be lost in them for a while. Of course casual conversation isn't completely off the table, it just takes a few repeated words and explained definitions, but like regular conversations, especially overheard conversations, can be taken out of context with the wrong ideas, and all that Jazz.

Tldr; I want to see those Bots "make it up" to the kids by hanging out with them more.

This is also applicable with smokescreen, wheeljack, and Ultra Magnus. Less so with Magnus since he's probably heavily limiting his own contact with the kids.

#rafael esquivel #chewing words #tfp #tfp trio #tfp Ratchet #ratchet #bulkhead #tfp bulkhead #autobots #im just #a huge sucker for misunderstandings #not in a harmful ir romantic way #get me some bots being so flippin worried when Miko starts to leak after eating hot cheetos.#get me some bots being so confused when Raf calls a sibling and starts qrguing with them full volume but its for the #STUPIDEST REASON.#like wether or not spiderman or plasticman would win in a fight #miko nakadai #jack darby #scenario ramblings

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karma-uh · 2 months ago

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The Murderbot TV show is.. interesting.

Someone made a post about treating it like another fanwork (albeit one on a much grander scale) and I think that's a good mindset to take into watching it.

It's definitely an adaptation that reads the material, but it makes it all the more jarring when something completely left field happens and you're left confused.

Spoilers under the cut from here for the first two episodes and up to the second book in The Murderbot Diaries, maybe forth? Mostly details.

Overse is, notably, completely missing. I'm not sure why, but as a result, Arada is not her wife. The romance isn't important, but the dynamics it supports are. MB goes on an internal monolog about it, which is in-character. It unwillingly knows what's going on. It absolutely does not want to. Volescu is also absent, and I can only guess this is because he had a minor (not in our HEARTS) role, and his later retirement made him.. less important?

Arada instead plays into.. not naive, but more outwardly progressive in the preservation group, which physically should not be possible. (Joke) This does make it stranger later on when she is the one to misgender Murderbot. Someone said the scene is in there to nudge watchers in the right direction, so I'll tentatively give it benefit of the doubt.

Pin-lee and Arada are together. That was probably the first difference to kick me in the head. The contract scene gives a nod to Pin-lee, but it feels strange. They're obviously trying to put worldbuilding in there, and they do, but it's just.. huh. The dynamics are otherwise very mushy and preservation (light-hearted).

I'm not going to go into the casting of MB, because there was enough debate of that before it came out, but I can respect the actor for who he is and the way he controls his facial expressions is definitely a bonus for this type of narrative. Kudos to him.

MB itself is a bit strange, because we don't see any outside indicators of it being a construct. At all. Except for the lack of secondary sex characteristics. Which.. yeah. This, combined with MB listing Worldhoppers as one of its favorite media options after it hacked its government module, makes me believe that we will not be encountering ART. MB doesn't need physical alterations, and their comfort show that MB canonically picked up after ASR has already been established pre-survey.

It plays out without needing any background knowledge, so if you want a queer sci-fi show to recommend someone, maybe toss it someone's way in a few weeks when more episodes are out.

I think, based on what's happened so far, this is going to be very different if it does go past ASR. I'm not saying it's a bad show, but it is constantly hitting me with flashbacks I don't know what to do with, lmao.

#murderbot #murderbot tv spoilers #murderbot tv show #the murderbot diaries #stag speaks

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gingerrtarot · 2 years ago

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◌ ｡ PAC: “All eyes on me” - how you can fight your insecurities and start to stand out?

hello, everyone!

honestly this reading turned out to be pretty different from what the heading suggests🫡 but i hope it will still find those who it destined to find. So, as always, remember that this is a general reading, so it may it may not resonate with you. good luck~

pile 1 pile 2 pile 3

°｡ Pile 1. ◌

hey hey, group one!! first of all, why do you underestimate yourself so much? seriously, this group came through as the ones with poor self-esteem, so if it’s not about you it’s not your group. I see people here focusing on their flaws and weaknesses too much. It comes to the point when you see nothing good in yourself, you refuse to recognize just how many good and outstanding qualities you possess. Every one of your strengths turns to weakness in your eyes. But seriously, you are so freaking cool, guys. Cards show you as someone extremely talented, interested and unique. Your personality is fascinating. There are not many people like you in this world. You are remarkably smart and intelligent, be it in a spiritual or scientific way, or maybe you know everything about, for example, cinematography or astrology. But, i believe, there’s not just one field in which you are educated. You know a lot. And i think you are pretty much aware of yourself too. And that’s interesting, because you still have self-esteem problems. Maybe that’s because you didn’t even have a chance to really esteem yourself, to see your worth, to show yourself to others, maybe, and receive some feedback, which, i am sure, would have been positive. You possess qualities that allow you to attract not only friends, but fans. Many of you have a talent, an outstanding one. Especially for performing in public, maybe singing, dancing, comedy, modeling or whatever. Many of you are destined for fame here. Wow, guys.

But what to do with that low self esteem of yours? First, acknowledge all your strengths and abilities. Make a list of them, and a list of your accomplishments too. Read them everyday. Teach yourself to stop seeing only bad side. You probably don’t tell anyone about this problem, but it will be really helpful for you to share it with your close friend (family member, lover, etc.). You would receive needed support from them. You don’t even realise how much their praise, compliments and encouragement will boost your confidence. And you will receive it for sure.

If what I said about a talent does resonate with you, well, it’s just a crime to hide it from the world. “Firework” by Katy Perry just started to play, so yeah, you know what to do. Don’t be afraid to express yourself. Wear that outfit you are afraid to wear, go out with that make up that it “too bold”, sing out loud, dance, post whatever it is that you want and so on. Remember, you are a star!!

°｡ Pile 2. ◌

hellooo, group 2!! who do we have here? we have critics. I see that people here are very critical of themselves. You set high standards for yourself, you must be the best in everything. You have to be all that: beautiful, smart, educated, skilful, proper etc. You want to succeed everywhere and in everything. It is important for you to show that you are no worse than others. You may have a fear of being left behind. And this makes you “cling” to everything at once, which ultimately leads to the fact that you are not truly successful at anything. “If you run after two hares, you will catch neither”, you know. And that makes you feel insecure, doubt your abilities and skills. You always feel like you are not enough. For example, you want to send resume for a job, but then you think “oh, i am not good enough for this position, they will definitely find someone better”. And you give up without even trying. Yes, you also give up too easily. Impostor syndrome may be the thing for you.

In fact the problem here is that because of that you don’t put enough energy and efforts into things that are interesting for you, that you want to do. It’s so hard for me to focus on your reading now, something distracts me all the time. You may feel the same. You can’t be perfect at everything, you should focus on what you really like.

I see that you are fast learners. You easily perceive new information and grasp the essence of things. You are probably always aware of what is happening in the world, you know all the latest news, follow trends, and all the gossip about your surroundings is unlikely to go unnoticed by you. And I think that you would be good at spreading information. Something about the way you speak captivates people. You can become a good speaker, blogger or work in marketing sphere.

Don’t let your doubts stop you from working towards your goals. My advice to you is to stop thinking and start acting. if you are unsure of your abilities and skills, take courses to improve your qualifications so that you can feel more confident. And stop being afraid to try and experiment. You are afraid to send this resume because “of course, they won’t accept you”but just try it. Or you don’t start drawing, let’s say, because you’re sure that you’ll get some kind of nonsense, just do it, draw it, and then again and again so you’ll improve and understand that it’s not all that bad. Here you need to stop expecting something supernatural from yourself, it’s okay if you are not perfect, accept yourself as you are and do what you can to become better. It is better to try and fail than to frame yourself into this “perfection” and do nothing. Good luck!!

°｡ Pile 3. ◌

Hi, group 3! An interesting case here. People here either have a decent, healthy self esteem (and if that is the case i don’t have much to say to you) or pretend it to be so. I see you here as extremely flamboyant personalities. You know how to draw attention, how to make people love you and how to get whatever it is that you want. You are charismatic, fun and charming. You learnt to be this way. At first i didn’t see a problem here. So maybe you don’t realise it either. You show the world a person that is not you, and you get so used to it. You display signs of a person with high self-esteem, but deep inside there’s a lot of pain, insecurities and fears. I see your inner child is extremely hurt here. Your connection with them is messed up. You lost yourself while pretending to be someone else to deserve love of people. Maybe you, the way you are, didn’t fit into society and weren’t accepted and that made you change. Many of you here are truly differ from your surroundings. Damn, we can have geniuses in this group. Your ideas, ways of thinking and seeing this world are something that people may not understand. You have very rich imagination and a creative vision. You are one of those who are able to come up with truly original ideas. Many of you also possess psychic abilities and are great master manifestors. And you all are so strong, because whereas I see your inner self suffering so much you are still able to show the world an absolutely happy and content person.

I see your inner child here as literally “bottled up” with its problems, fears and wounds. And he has to face it all alone. You are too scared to “open this bottle” because you would have to feel it all too. Or maybe you are not even aware of it. But it’s still there, inside of you. And if you stumbled across this reading it’s not just by accident.

So, what cards advice you here. You need to reconnect with your inner child, to recall who you was and who you really are. Understand and become aware of all your inner pain, triggers and everything that may bother you. Stop pretending. Give yourself time to acknowledge it all, accept yourself and relive all that pain. Let your feelings and emotions out. I’m not a doctor, indeed, but some of you would really benefit from working with a therapist if a lot of what i said resonates with you. To be and not to seem to be, that’s what you have to learn.

#pick a pile #free readings #pac #pick a card #tarot #tarot cards #tarot reading #pick a picture #tarotcommunity #daily tarot #free tarot

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