#WHAT THE FUCK? ABSOLUTELY STACKED TEAM HELLO

[cantsaythetword]

Finding A Motive

~A/N  - OK HELLO I AM HERE!

Yes I know I have heaps of prompt fics I should be working on BUT I had to had to HAD TO write something for this post that Happy made about reward tickles cause ITS SO DAMN CUTE and it works perfectly for Jake from b99.

This is also my first ever b99 fic so I hope its good!! I just cannot get the idea of Jake being a massive lee out of my head hehehe.

I also have a v big thing about Gina knowing this about Jake and being super casual about it to the others (but ofc really teasy about it with him) hehehehe.

Also holy fuck this is long so hope you have the time to read it lmao, this might be my longest fic yet! (EDIT: YEP ITS DEFINITELY MY LONGEST YET HOLY SHIT)

(DOUBLE EDIT: I'm also adding a link to this clip cause it's adorable and is 100% Jake's tickle laugh hehehehehehe enjoy)

- Enoy! ~

Tag List: @happyandticklish

Masterpost Link 

Amy Santiago was about to face one of the hardest challenges of her career.

Top drug lords, hardened criminals, serial killers - they had nothing on this. This was an impossible task. One that even the greats would never dream of tackling.

The job? Motivating Jake to fill out paperwork.

Considering the fact that a major portion of her job was often figuring out what motivated people (though usually it was what motivated them to kill), you would think this would be relatively easy. However, she knew filing was the absolute bane of his existence - something that would take him days to work up the headspace to even consider starting.

Nothing helped. She had tried every trick in the book. She had bought him some (BEAUTIFUL) new stationery and folders, scheduled time in the briefinf room so he wasn't distracted by noise, broke it into steps, bribed him with food, it was all useless.

It had been weeks, and the papers just kept piling up on his desk with no remorse. To make matters worse, his lack of motivation was starting to affect his mood. His usually cheeky quips marking his arrival towards whoever was listening had died down to nothing more than a nod of acknowledgement when he entered the office. Amy was getting desperate, and so she tried reaching out to the others.

Hitchcock and Scully's input was simply offering to do it for him, which helped ease some of the pressure but completely bypassed the point of the exercise.

Rosa's pure threats only managed to get him to sit down at his desk and stare at the paper for hours.

Terry's sticker reward chart ended up with Jake spending more time choosing what stickers to use than anything else.

And Charles' encouraging words started off strong - but quickly broke off when Jake suggested they take a lunchbreak (and the task was promptly forgotten).

It was beginning to look like all hope was lost, and as the team sat in the break room wondering what on earth to do, Gina Linetti waltzed through the doorway.

"Amy, Amy, Amy..." Gina sighed. "Why would you waste your time asking these guys for help when you have someone who's known Jake since the womb?"

Terry's brow wrinkled in confusion, "You guys aren't twins."

Gina shrugged. "We might as well be."

"You aren't even related." Rosa added.

"Guys?!" Amy interrupted. "Not important."

She turned to look at Gina, who was already walking towards Jake's desk with a confident flair only she could pull off. The group casually followed her out, curious as to what magic she was about to enact to get Jake out of his slump.

Amy watched as Gina leant down next to Jake's ear and whispered.

Somehow that was all it took.

Jake, with his face painted pink, sheepishly grabbed his stack of papers and moved past the group towards the records room without saying a word. It was like magic.

"You're welcome." Gina grinned as she sauntered back to her desk.

Now it was impressive in itself that Gina had managed to get Jake to start working, but it was astounding that he was still working almost an entire week later.

The man had become a paperwork machine, and an extremely effective one at that. The organization rivalled that of Amy's herself, and if she wasn't so awe-struck she might have been a little jealous.

She begged Gina to spill her tactics, but every time Gina responded with a laugh and some clever line around how "A lady never reveals her secrets.". But Amy had to know! She had to find out what was Gina's tactic.

Thankfully, she wouldn't have to wait for long.

It was a sleepy Thursday evening. The precinct was quieter than ever, and Amy was finishing off some last minute research. As she walked past the break room, she caught wind of a very particular sound. A shrieky, medium-pitched giggle that only came from one person doing one thing.

Well, more accurately having one thing done to them.

She peered through the window, and surely enough there was Jake. He was lying across Gina's lap, arms held above his head by one of her hands, legs kicking the couch cushions at the other end. Gina's fingers were going absolutely feral on his stomach, the speed and precision at which they moved was enough to give anyone butterflies just watching.

But it was Jake's face that was the most interesting part. Though it was a deep red and scrunched at every point, it was pulled into what was possibly the biggest smile Amy had ever seen. And nothing about it seemed forced, not even the laughter pouring out of his mouth. No, it seemed like Jake was actually enjoying it.

Well wasn't that cute. Amy laughed to herself at her little discovery. She'd have to try that out later, but for now she had to act natural.

She took a few steps past the doorway, just far enough to hear Jake's giggles subside as the tickling presumably stopped. Amy heard the door open, ducking behind a desk.

"Keep up the good work Jakey." Gina said with a smirk. "Same time tomorrow."

Oh my god.

That was it? Gina's incentive that worked perfectly was tickling? Amy was frozen in disbelief. It was so easy. So simple and yet it never would have crossed her mind.

The next morning, Amy argued back and forth with her own brain about whether to ask Gina about Jake's little quirk. On one hand, the more opportunities for motivating him the better. But on the other hand, perhaps this was something best left for childhood friendships. Should she ask to join in? Or would Jake feel uncomfortable about anyone other than Gina knowing?

There was only one way to find out.

"Hey Gina?" Amy asked nonchalantly, leaning over Gina's desk.

"Ames." Gina cocked her head in friendly acknowledgement. "How can I help?"

Amy took an awkward breath. "So last night..."

"Ahhh you caught me." Gina interrupted with a smile. "That's the best way to get Jake moving."

As if to prove her point, Jake came power-walking past with a stack of binders. Somehow, with the balance of a tightrope walker, he lowered a steaming cup of coffee onto Gina's desk before plowing off again.

Amy gave her a look. "And that's improving his productivity too?"

"Oh no." Gina laughed. "This just reminded me of how I got Jake to be my little helper through middle school."

"Moving on." Amy shook her head. "Do you think Jake would mind if I... knew? ... Or more accurately, if I... joined in?"

"Oh he'd love it." Gina grinned. "He's super fun to tickle, so try not to get carried away. Though he'd probably enjoy that too."

Amy beamed. "You're the best!"

"You know it."

Now it was just a matter of waiting for the right time to strike. And, with Jake's little productivity streak, the perfect opportunity presented itself quite quickly.

Amy spied her target almost immediately. He looked so out of place, sitting there hunched over his desk when everyone else (and usually himself) were out at lunch. The emptiness made for an ideal privacy level without putting any more pressure on the guy.

"You've been working hard recently." She commented.

Jake jolted out of his intense hyper-focused state. "Uh... Yeah. Yeah I've been... uh... On the grind. You know, it's just non stop with me!"

Amy took a moment to maintain her composure. "See I've been wondering what managed to help... Cause we tried everything."

Jake averted his eyes from Amy's gaze.

"So I asked Gina."

Oh that did it. Jake went bright red - almost as red as last night - and he brought his hand up, partially to card his fingers through his hair, and partially to hide his blushing face.

"Why didn't you just tell us?" Amy put her hand on his. "It's the easiest and most adorable solution I've ever heard."

Jake's head was now pressed into his palms. "I was worried you would find it weird."

Amy smiled genuinely. "I mean, it's not the usual route, but it's super cute."

The pair sat for a moment, before Jake broke the silence.

"Do the others know?" He asked, and Amy couldn't tell if it was worry or curiosity in his voice.

"No... Do you want them to?"

Jake hesitated, his mouth twitching into a nervous smile. "I don't know..."

"They won't find it weird either." Amy reassured.

"... I wouldn't mind..."

Amy couldn't help but break into a bright grin.

Later that night, Amy packed away the last of her work. More than ready for the weekend, she exited the bullpen to the sounds of Jake's laughter. Clearly Gina thought he had worked hard this week. And she had to agree, but her reward for him would have to wait.

Monday morning came and went, and Jake somehow still wasn't running out of steam. In fact, Amy had noticed that - since she found out about his little secret - Jake had volunteered to take some of her filing duties. While she would normally be slightly annoyed by this, she knew exactly what he was looking to get out of it. And who was she to deny him?

Once again, lunchtime proved the best chance for a little alone time with her target. As the rest of the force eagerly made their way towards the elevator, Amy inconspicuously followed Jake towards the records room.

As he pushed the door open and stepped through without a second thought, assumedly with the goal of letting it swing shut behind him, Amy slipped inside and cleared her throat.

Jake jumped, almost dropping the stack of manilla folders he was carrying. "Ames?! What are you- I mean, how come you're in here?"

Amy grinned. "Oh I was just hoping to let you know how good of a job you've been doing recently."

Jake blushed, eyes flicking to the floor, then the door, and back to Amy. "Ah... Well, thanks thats... Yep, thanks..."

Amy, barely letting him finish, took a step towards him. "I don't think you quite understand."

Jake's face tensed, his mouth twitching into a nervous smile and Amy could tell he was struggling to contain himself. His arms instinctively pressed against his sides, hands squeezing into fidgeting fists.

"What's wrong Jake?" She teased. "Is this not why you've been stealing my usual paperwork duties?"

Jake couldn't help but let out a singular barking laugh, rubbing the back of his neck (but making sure not to lift his elbow and expose his armpit).

"I'm taking your silence as a confession Jake, is this what you were looking for?" She smiled. Partially to further fluster the poor guy, but also as a subtle way of checking she wasn't taking this too far. Based on Jake's reaction, she was clear for landing.

As Jake stumbled over his words, trying to come up with some answer that wouldn't incriminate him but also wouldn't ruin his chances of getting wrecked, Amy dashed towards him.

And Jake crumbled.

It took only a few seconds of Amy's nimble fingers skittering across his torso before his knees gave out and he slid down the filing cabinet behind him. Amy followed, ending up half-crouched next to his legs, at the perfect angle to attack all up his sides and over his stomach. So that's exactly what she did.

As Jake haphazardly 'attempted' to grab at her hands and push them away, he let out the most precious giggles Amy had ever heard. The sounds of Jake's serotonin filled the room, and Amy was absolutely intoxicated.

While he definitely reacted more as Amy grew closer to his armpits, Amy found herself spending much more time around Jake's lower ribs. Something about that spot, the way the giggles just spilled out of Jake's mouth, the way he leant his head back so carefree, the way his hands gently gripped her wrists but never pushed her away (even though he definitely could). She was completely enamoured.

"You're adorable." Amy murmured before she could catch herself, taking a sharp breath when she realised she had said it out loud.

"Ahehehehames!" Jake laughed, ducking his head in embarrassment.

Grinning in relief that he either hadn't noticed or was too ticklish to care, Amy continued her soft syncopated two-fingered squeezes against Jake's stomach. This was even better than she imagined. And she was fully prepared to continue, until the sound of footsteps thumped outside the door.

Shit, how long had they been in there? The pair locked eyes, all mirth fading from Jake's as he took a much more worried demeanor at the risk of being discovered. Amy glanced at her watch - 1:52pm.

They had been in there for almost an hour? It had felt like 20 minutes... Probably even less to Jake.

Amy stood, offering a hand to Jake who clumsily took it - still a little too giggle drunk to stand on his own.

"I'll let you get back to work." She grinned on her way out.

Jake wasn't the only one who had work to do, as it was officially time for Amy to spread the word. And who better to start with than Terry.

It was such an obvious transition, Amy didn't have to think twice. Of all the people at the 99, he was the best balance of secret keeping without judgement. So as soon as Amy saw him, she pulled him aside into one of the interrogation cells.

"What's the matter?" Terry asked, immediate concern washing over his voice.

Amy pulled a slightly awkward face, perhaps she should have rehearsed this a little before jumping straight in.

Well, no use thinking about it now.

"Nothing's wrong." She began. "It's just about Jake."

Terry relaxed, half-sitting half-leaning against the table. "I've noticed he's been plowing through his work ever since Gina talked to him."

Amy nodded. "I figured out how she did it."

"And?" His eyes widened with intrigue.

She took a breath. "It's... He..."

Terry gave her a look of encouragement.

"Tickling."

There was a pause. And in that moment every cell of Amy's brain screamed into panic mode. Maybe she was wrong about Terry being one to tell? Maybe she was wrong about everyone? Would they all find it weird that Jake liked getting tickled? Would they all find it weird that she liked tickling him? Has she completely ruine-

Terry began to laugh.

Not in a ridiculing way, or even a nervous way. A genuine, entertained laugh.

"What?" Amy said, the panic still bubbling in the back of her throat.

"That is possible the most Jake answer I've ever heard." Terry said. "It makes total sense."

Amy breathed a sigh of relief. "It's definitely very Jake." She admitted with a smile.

"So," Terry cocked an eyebrow. "Have you tried out this method yet?"

Amy blushed slightly. "Uh... well, yes."

"And how did it go?"

After a conversation that lasted much longer than it should have - mostly due to Amy doting on Jake's reactions the whole time - Terry was more than eager to participate.

As the workload slowed growing closer to clock-off time, and the traffic within the compound faded to a trickle, Amy and Terry waited (rather impatiently) at their desks for Jake to return.

It was practically a ghost town, the perfect setup for their little attack, by the time Jake came back to his desk. He locked eyes with Amy, a glint of nervous excitement flickering across his pupils, and sat down. Completely missing the 6 foot 2 figure lurking behind him.

"So Jake." Terry said, having successfully snuck up behind the man. "Amy's just let me in on your little secret."

Jake's face burned, knowing exactly who it was without even turning around. Honestly, with the number of times he had gone red recently it was a miracle his face hadn't permanently stayed that way.

"And I'm keen to find out if what she's said is true." Terry continued, placing his hands on Jake's shoulders.

Jake's mouth squirmed in an anticipatory smile. Amy simply leant back in her chair, ready and eager to watch the show.

With more speed than expected for a man of his stature, Terry skewered his hands under Jake's armpits and lifted. Jake let out a shriek as his legs dangled above the chair he was sitting at moments ago, before descending into laughter as Terry's fingers started worming around his underarms.

It looked like the opening to the Lion King - just with much more laughter from this Simba. Terry conducted his tickling with the skill of a well seasoned Dad - as expected from a man with 3 daughters. Jake was unravelling in front of Amy's eyes, but he still had that huge smile on his face that let her know he was loving every second.

"Aw Jake this is adorable!" Terry cooed, unable to stop himself from dropping the tough guy facade he had put on moments ago.

"Shuhuhut uhuhup!" Jake squealed, his legs thrashing in every possible direction to relieve some of the ticklish torture that Terry was putting him through. "Saharge plehehease!"

"I can't believe I didn't know about this sooner!" Terry teased, beaming a smile in Amy's direction as he lowered Jake closer to himself. Trapping the man against his chest, he snaked his hands around Jake's still wriggling body, swapping what armpit each hand was attacking.

As Terry began to claw at the edge of Jake's pectoral muscles, Jake cackled. His body seized up, before slumping forwards into a pitiful attempt at a protective curl.

Terry's dreaded bear hug had him almost completely spent. Jake's laughter was becoming breathy, and his energetic thrashing had completely faded to the occasional twitch in his limp body when Terry hit a good spot.

"Ok Sarge I think he's had enough..." Amy said with a touch of concern, a soft smile still stuck on her face from watching Jake laugh.

Terry scrunched his face with a frown, obviously not quite finished with Jake yet. But, noticing just how tired the poor guy was, he slowly placed Jake back into his chair. Without a word (aside from the giggles still trickling out of his mouth), Jake folded his arms on the desk and resting his forehead on top.

"Are you alright?" Amy asked with a laugh.

Jake responded with a meek nod of his head. Amy didn't have to see his face to know there was still a bright beam of a smile splitting his cheeks.

Terry softly ruffled Jake's hair for a moment. "That wasn't too far, was it?"

Jake snickered in embarrassment. At Terry's worried face, Amy shook her head with a smile.

"I think that means it was great Sarge." Amy laughed.

Relieved, Terry patted Jake's shoulders. "I'll leave you two to pack up then."

Amy nodded, mouthing a 'Thank You' as Terry backed towards the elevator. He simply nodded, before turning to leave.

Over the next few days, while Amy contemplated who to tell next, she noticed that Jake had picked up some more errands for the Sergeant. And, with Terry being Terry, each time Jake put a paper or file on his desk for him Terry would give him a friendly poke or squeeze in the side and a few teases as an accompaniment. Each time Jake would walk sheepishly away from the desk, but his smile was unmistakable.

But the more public displays of Jake's reward method came with much higher risk of discovery. And of course, the most eagle-eyed member of the force picked up on the change pretty quickly.

On her way to the restroom, Amy noticed Rosa and Terry having quite the one-sided discussion in the briefing room. While initially she wasn't going to interfere, when Terry flashed her a 'help me' look she had no other option.

"Is everything alright?" Amy asked cautiously, moving through the doorway and standing next to Terry.

Rosa looked at Amy for a moment. "Do you have any idea why Sarge has been tickling Jake recentl-?"

"I tried to tell her it was just for fun!" Terry interjected, a slightly panicked look on his face.

Amy laughed. "It's alright, Jake's ok with people knowing."

Rosa raised an eyebrow curiously.

"It's the best way we- well, Gina - found to motivate him." Amy glanced at Terry briefly, who nodded alongside her.

"I thought he was working weirdly well..." Rosa considered for a moment, before giving a small chuckle. "Cute."

Amy and Terry shared another look, this time smiling softly.

Without another word, Rosa walked off with a smirk. Straight over to the man of the hour.

"Jake." Rosa gave him an inverted nod as she stopped next to his desk.

"Diaz, what's up." Jake replied, not looking up from his work.

"Amy told me about your tickling thing."

Jake lurched, caught off guard by the casualness of Rosa just announcing it. He struggled to get words out, some way to explain himself.

"It's fine you know." She grinned. "It's cute."

Jake blushed even more, bashfully scratching the back of his head.

"So." She continued, holding out a thin binder. "Reckon you could finish off this patrol report for me?"

Without meeting her eyeline, Jake nodded and took it from her hand.

"Thanks." She smirked, running her fingernails up the back of his neck a few times as she walked away.

Jake's shoulders twitched before relaxing into the sensations. As he began to read through the documents, a hand shielding his eyes from any onlookers, his mouth curled into a shy smile.

This continued over the course of the day. Rosa would hand Jake something to fill out or give him a task to do, and gently tickle the back of his neck each time. While Amy first assumed Jake would be disappointed by the lack of stimulation, she quickly realized he was almost glad of Rosa's near incognito method of delivery. Amongst Amy's, Terry's and Gina's exhausting sessions of what most would consider tickle torture, Rosa's soft scratches during team meetings or brief skitters as they crossed paths in the hall seemed to bring a sense of normalcy and casualness to the whole process. And those little ticklish appetizers seemed to keep Jake engaged and on task throughout the day between bouts of playful attacks from the others.

It was the perfect system. And though there was an element of 'if it ain't broke don't fix it', Amy knew the others would probably find out eventually. So better for her to fill them in, especially Charles.

"Why has Jake never told me?!" Charles exclaimed when Amy finally broke the news to him over a food truck hamburger.

"Well..." Amy grinded her teeth for a moment, looking for the best way to explain herself (or more accurately, explain Jake). "He's a little embarrassed about the whole thing, he didn't tell anyone about it himself."

"Who else knows?"

"Uh." Amy froze. "Only me, Gina, Rosa and... Terry..."

Charles scoffed indignantly. "So almost everyone else except for me."

"This is about Jake ok!" Amy interrupted, giving him a stern look.

And clearly it worked, as Charles calmed himself almost immediately.

"Of course." He said quietly.

"So." Amy continued. "If you see him working feel free to tickle the crap out of him OK?"

Charles grinned. "Oh I look forward to it."

With the newly accepted fact of both Jake's ticklishness, and his affinity towards it, Charles had a ridiculously easy time picking his moment of attack.

Jake had just finished his first coffee of the day, and was about to begin making his second when Charles approached him.

"We have to talk." Charles stated, using every ounce of self control to keep a stern face for his master plan.

Jake turned, worry reeling through his mind. "Yeah, of course man."

Charles gestured out of the kitchen and towards the break room. Jake naively followed, unaware of what was about to go down.

The second the door closed behind them, Charles tackled Jake onto the floor.

"Charles?!" He shrieked as the pair fell to the ground, Jake lying face down and Charles on top of him.

Without another word, Charles dug into his best friend's hips. The reaction he got was more than he ever expected.

"WAHAHAHAIT!" Jake cackled, thrashing awkwardly from side to side while trying to bring his hands down to pull Charles' off.

"How come you never told me?!" Charles interrogated, squeezing his way up Jake's sides and back down to those awfully ticklish hip bones.

"CHAHAHARLES PLEHEHEASE!"

"After all our years of friendship..." He continued, sitting more upright and attacking the muscle on Jake's back - just behind his ribs.

The poor man squealed in response, legs bouncing on the floor behind them.

"Did it all mean nothing?" The overly dramatic flair in Charles' voice soaked his words in playful sarcasm.

"CHAHAHARLES!" Jake begged, half managing to roll on his side until his attacker clawed at his belly enough to make him twist face down again.

"The betrayal!"

"I'M SOHORRY!"

Charles grinned. "How can i take this apology seriously when youre laughing?!"

At that, Jake's hands went from trying to fend off the tickling to hiding his poor face. "CHAHARLES PLEHEHEASE!"

"No can do jakey!" He tutted, but decided to have a little mercy on his poor friend. He slowed his fingers to a soft spider walk - just enough to keep Jake laughing but allowing the man to catch his breath.

"Chaharles... I... Please..." Jake giggled out, still not showing his face. "Lemme gohoho..."

"Nuh uh." Charles shook his head, not that Jake could see that. "You've been working far too hard this week for me to let you go that easily!"

Jake let out a giggly groan. "Nohohot youhou tohohoo!"

"What? You want me to stop?" Charles asked, a cheeky smirk across his face.

As his hands came to a stop, he watched the cogs in Jake's brain turn. Would he admit out loud that he wanted more? Or would he cave to his embarrassed state and stop the fun? Charles mentally crossed his fingers that he had made the right choice.

"fne..." Jake mumbled into the floor.

"What was that Jakey? I couldn't hear you?" Charles teased, pushing every button he could to get more of a reaction from Jake. God it was fun flustering his friend.

"... i said fine..." He repeated.

Charles couldn't help but let out a titter. "Still got nothing Jake."

"Chaaarles..." Jake groaned again, still covering his face (which Charles could only assume was the colour of tomato soup).

"Jaaaaaake." He mimicked. "Come on buddy, do you want to keep going?"

Jake shuffled a little under Charles weight, before nodding his head.

Charles let out a gasp of happiness, before clawing into the muscles on Jake's back.

"ACK WAHAHAIT!" Jake arched backwards, before crashing down against the floor again. He squirmed helplessly as Charles conducted the most pointy, ticklish massage he had ever endured.

Poor Jake was stuck at Charles' mercy for at least 30 minutes, before the detective finally released him. He flipped over and lay there on his back, gasping for air on the ground.

"So how was that?" Charles asked, elongating the last word in an unbearably teasy tone.

"Screhew you Chaharles." Jake grinned, covering his eyes with his forearms.

"Love you too buddy."

Life at the precinct had never been smoother. Hitchcock and Scully had the excellent idea to log Jake's work into a group-wide 'tickle tally chart' (Terry's prototype name that ended up sticking), which only prompted more work from the now unstoppable detective.

While the major displays of rewarding Jake's efforts were left to the more private hours of the work week, the building was more than familiar with the occasional shriek or giggle fit if someone had the opportunity to thank Jake in passing.

And, his closest friends definitely didn't shy away from teasing the poor man every chance they got - and, to be quite honest, Jake absolutely soaked up the attention.

"Ey look who's here!" Gina announced as Jake waltzed into the bullpen.

"Coffee for m'lady." He bowed, before handing Gina her starbucks cup. "And a donut for ma boy."

Charles gave a generous smile before eagerly tucking in.

"Damn." Rosa chuckled. "Really racking up those points today, huh Peralta."

Jake's mouth moved but no solid words came out, his confident swagger fading quickly.

"Now that you mention it, who is on jake duty today?" Gina blinked, looking around the room.

"Ginaaa!" Jake whined.

Terry grinned. "That would be me."

"You guys are so mean!"

"Oh Jake?" Amy asked genuinely, breaking the teasing tension that had been rising. "Don't forget you need to book your dentist appointment today."

Jake gave her a puzzled look, a little relieved she wasn't going to continue his torment but also a little disappointed. "How do you know about that?"

Amy rolled her eyes and gestured to his desk. "For the first time in your life you're actually using your desk calendar?"

"Oh... Thanks..." Jake muttered, moving towards his seat.

Amy tilted her head towards him. "So...?"

Jake groaned. "I have to do it now?"

"You do if you want tickles." Rosa smirked from behind him.

Caught off guard again, Jake spluttered out some semblance of an attempt at a sentence, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. The team's coos and teases about Jake's immediate reaction drove him to seek refuge in the copy room (plus some peace and quiet wasn't the worst thing for a phone call).

As he made his escape, Jake popped his head into Holt's office on his way through. He might as well check in and see if he was needed for anything before making his call.

"Anything I can do for you Captain?" Jake asked, leaning against the doorframe. Helpfulness seemed to be his default state these days, and who could blame him? He was hooked on the reward it seemed to get him, and it definitely helped to keep work flowing smoothly.

"You know Peralta," Holt began, folding his hands on the desk.

Jake tilted his chin up in acknowledgment, ready to accept whatever job he would be given.

"If you want to be tickled you can just ask."

#fic #mine #b99 #brooklyn 99 #jake peralta #brooklyn 99 tickle fic #jake peralta tickle fic #also not saying that this tactic would totally work for me but it would TOTALLY WORK FOR ME- #p.s. extra fic commentary: i am v v happy about the title of this fic hehehehehe i think its funny

[f1-giuki]

A Sunday Kind of Love 6 is at +13k words and I don't know how longer it will get, probably a lot, I love it.

Should I add a scene where Max, on the phone with Charles’s mom, dyes Charles’ hair?

And, here's a snippet of the fic! Enjoy!

~

The next morning Max is awake and not too dumbed by a long 12-hour nap. All the tiredness he accumulated caught up with him. He wakes up rather early and manages to eat half of the sweets in the pantry for breakfast. He drinks a red red bull can, the only one he's allowed in the house, and he walks upstairs to turn on the simulator. He might do some endurance racing until lunch.

As the computer turns on he checks his messages. There are a few texts from Charles, a bunch of I lost my dildo, do you know where my pink dildo is texts, a picture of a cake his mother made with a finger half covering the camera lens, another one without the finger, a video Arthur took of Charles asleep on the sofa snoring loudly, you stole my highway pass!!, BASTARD!, then Charles texts him the time he will leave for Italy, two days later, Max blinks twice when he sees that Charles will drive from Monaco to their place.

Babe, are you insane?

Wait, don't answer… What will you do today?

He texts and grins when he sees Charles's answer, a sticker of his face holding a red triangle sign saying 'don't'. Max laughs.

I'll sleep again, go to your place since mine is flooded with people outside, I'll help mom make a menu for the dinner with the cousins and then I'll probably be forced to make lasagne for lunch by Arthur, he doesn't let me live after the ones I made for Easter

Tell him that the next time you fall asleep he should draw a dick on your forehead

Like he did last week

absolutely no, don't give him strange ideas

You're lucky I don't have his number

I know you think I lack self-preservation instincts, but I don't go that far

I miss you

I love you

I love you too

don't let Arthur wait for his food

Blah blah blah, ttyl <3

God you're so sexy when you use millennial slang

Max smiles and puts his phone on the Red Bull mini-fridge he has in the sim room, next to his first world championship trophy. A curious piece of tat. He sits down and fixes the camera in front of him. He still has an hour before he needs to turn it on and join a live stream with his sim racing team. He grins and opens goat simulator and takes his phone to text Lando.

Wanna do one hour of goat simulator before I go live?

Fuck yeah, mate

-

Max's stomach rumbles at half past noon, while he's still streaming and, after five minutes of good teasing, he turns off the live stream, and goes to the kitchen, trying to understand what to make. He looks at the package of tagliatelle Charles bought but didn't like. It's been sitting on the counter for two weeks. He takes it and grins as he opens the pantry filled with stacked jars of fancy tomato sauce. Charles really has a problem…

"Okay, that will do," he mumbles as he takes a new jar.

He puts on another Paul Simon vinyl and jams to the music while cutting onions and garlic, humming the words of 50 Ways to leave your lover. Max grins and puts the chopped stuff in a little bowl. Charles has taught him to be organised in the kitchen and he's trying. His phone starts ringing and Max stops the music to pick it up. It’s a number he hasn’t saved in his contacts, an Italian number.

"Hello?"

"Ciao zio Max! Sono Lorenzo!" Hi uncle Max! I'm Lorenzo!

"Ciao Lorenzo, come stai?” Hi Lorenzo, how are you? He asks with a big smile on his face.

“Tutto bene, scusa se ti chiamo, ma mia mamma non riesce a venirmi a prendere a scuola… Potresti passare tu?”

“Aspetta, I don’t understand, one second, un secondo…” Max says as he hurries to the living room to take his tablet with him and opens Google Translate.

“Parla, per favore,” Speak, please. He says and Lorenzo repeats the phrase. All’s good, sorry if I’m calling you, but my mom can’t pick me up from school… Could you come and pick me up?

#lestappen #lestappen fic #charles leclerc fanfic #max verstappen fanfic #ao3 #lestappen wip #lestappen fanfic #a sunday kind of love

[stars-n-spice]

Thoughts on s3 ep14!

Woke up at like 12:10 something,, didn't get my usual "waste 2-3 hours to mentally prepare myself" so I jumped right into it once I made my coffee (bad idea)

Once again recorded my reaction so actual screaming will be under the cut!

SERIOUSLY HOW THE FUCK DO WE HAVE ONE FUCKING EPISODE LEFT?! HELLO?!?!

Anyways-

Incoherent screaming and spoilers under the cut!

Why the fuck are they going into this with like no backup and like,, they're just fucking jumping into it. Like I understand because Omega but like CMON guys. This happened before!!

Click here to hear my actual live reaction to the episode

Fuck, this armor is kinda growing on me

seriously what the fuck are they going to do with rampart?? he's literally dead weight

He makes for really good comedic relief though and he had me fucking dying this entire episode

WHO THE FUCK REPORTED THEM?!? DID I MISS SOMETHING?? LIKE I GET THAT THEY KNOCKED PEOPLE OUT AND SHIT BUT YOU'RE TELLING ME THAT PEOPLE RECOGNIZED THEM AND DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING UNTIL LATER OR WHAT?!!

Also the fact that they KNOW they're coming. fucking HELL the odds are stacked up against them

THE KIDS :(( Omega having to tell them what "cover me" means and them doing their absolute best to do so

ECHO MY BELOVED <33

Echo in the stormtrooper armor I'm

He has a hand now - "Thanks for the hand" - my comedic genius

IS THAT THE FUCKING ZILLO BEAST!??!?! FUCKING FINALLY!!! NOW WHEN THE FUCK IS IT GOING TO EAT HEMLOCK?!?!?

I miss Batcher :( Where is she? Is she safe? Is she alive?

Crosshair shoving Rampart around <3

"I've changed" - "Sure you have" WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT RAMPART SHUT YOUR WHORE MOUTH

Rampart acting like he knows Crosshair, fucking no you don't, just because you disrupted his meals like twice a day to call him to the principal's office doesn't mean SHIT

I love Echo so much, he's so cool

ECHO AND EMERIE TEAM UP

THE WAY THAT I SCREAMED BECAUSE AAAAAAAAA

OMEGA TALKED ABOUT THEM :( AND EMERIE LISTENED :( AND EMERIE REMEMBERED ENOUGH TO KNOW THAT WAS ECHO :( RAGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH

I need to kick Rampart so badly, please, please let me kick him

"we can't use blasters i'll give away our position!" - AND MAKING ALL THAT NOISE WONT?!?!

WRECKER OH MY GOD GOT FUCKING SLASHED HE BETTER BE OKAY WHAT THE FUCK

HELLO?? Rampart getting his fucking ass found. What are they going to do with him now? What can he tell them that they don't already know??? I guess Echo but like-

To anyone who is starting to like Rampart STOP. Because watch him be the Saw Gerrera of this season

Cannot wait to see the kids break out and release the zillo beast <3

Emerie :( "I was doing my job" EMERIE MY LOVE THERE'S MORE THAN THAT

I'm so scared for her now SHE'S REALIZING THERE'S MORE TO LIFE AND I SWEAR TO GOD IF SHE FUCKING DIES-

WHERE THE FUCK IS C-2X OR WHATEVER THE FUCK???? I'M LOSING HOPE FOR A TECH REVEAL. FUCKING HELL I MISS HIM SO MUCH. THIS WHOLE FUCKING SEASON WITHOUT HIM??? RAUUGHHHHHHHH.

This episode was just fucking,,, stakes stakes stakes

Did not get a rest

holy shit

Emerie and Echo are fucking MOTHERS love them

ECHO HAS FUCKING EARS?!?!?!?!?!?!? OK NOW GIVE HIM HIS HAIR AND COLOR BACK!!!!!!

Craziest fucking thing to come out of this season - Echo having ears

LOOK

a lot happened

i'm so scared for next week

this whole episode was fucking action, action, action

WHY DID IT FEEL SO SHORT

SO MUCH HAPPENED BUT AT THE SAME TIME NOTHING HAPPENED????

Ugh

More thoughts are in the audio because I go on like a 13 minute rant but

FUCK <- my final thoughts

#tbb #tbb s3 #tbb spoilers #tbb s3 spoilers #the bad batch #tbb hunter #tbb crosshair #tbb wrecker #tbb echo #tbb omega #emerie karr #admiral rampart #max's musings

[ace-but]

Big Hugs!

So the person who requested the cooking thing, I'm sorry but that is kicking my ass rn, it'll be up soon but one of the characters I chose for it is really tripping me up rn

But! Here's the list of characters I think are physically affectionate! Why? Because I'm a cuddly little guy and I like to think of other cuddly little guys.

Characters: Bennett, Diluc, Diona, Gorou, Heizou, Klee, Qiqi, Razor, Thoma, and Venti!

Warnings: Physical touch/contact, playful violence, mentions of kinks(Heizou's part)

Not edited! Sorry

Diluc probably has the longest part, I'm sorry, he's the love of my life.

You're joking if you don't think Bennett greets people with a hug!

Bennett-

Bennett is just... Like that. Y'know? He thinks it's the best way to greet someone you know! And it's not only people he knows very well. If you know Bennett, you're going to be hugged!

I think he also would cuddle in to sleep at night on adventures. If his team would allow it, of course! It's just, the way he feels safest. And if you try to escape in the morning, Bennett makes the saddest little noise, but doesn't hold onto you. He's just a cuddly little fella.

I'm a little hesitant to write romance stuff for the kids in this age range, just because it's a little weird to try and imagine them in that way? But I know that there are definitely kids his age who are like "Bennett <3" so, I will? No one be creepy about this tho, I'll find you.

Bennett seems like the kind to always hold his partner's hand. Like all the time. It makes him feel safe :)

He also slings an arm around their shoulder sometimes. Oh, and tickle fights are frequent. He is immensely ticklish, and he finds it fun!

Diluc-

I have very strong opinions on Diluc. One of the hills I will die on is that fact the Diluc ABSOLUTELY play fights with his friends. Not that he has many.

Diluc is the kind to be walking next to you, decide he's bored, and shove you to the side without saying a word. You'd better shove him back! The fight will go on for as long as possible.

If you're a similar size to him, just straight up wrestling is common. Anyone who grew up with siblings knows why. It's the easiest way to entertain yourselves! But if you're smaller than him, he's not likely to try and wrestle with you. Just like... You're too small, what if he actually hurt you? But if you come at him, that all goes out the window.

Oh, and if you're short? Hello new armrest. On your shoulder, or if you're tiny like I am, on your head is Diluc's favorite place to lay his arms.

Yup, it's affectionate headbutting time. If you're not quite tall enough for him to comfortably headbutt your chest, then it's right in the side of the face.

If you're taller than him(first of all, what the fuck, shrink) Diluc can, and will, headbutt you.

Of course none of this happens in public. The public can never know how genuinely playful Diluc can be. He would rather die than let everyone know.

If you're dating? Cuddlebug. Please let him hold you. Especially if you're considerably smaller than him. Just letting him hold you close, trusting him enough to let him hold you close? It means the world to Diluc.

In his sleep, he reaches out for you, and if he grabs you, you'll never escape. Strong lad wants his partner safely in his arms.

If you have long, thick, hair like this man does, you know that sometimes... It's just too much work to brush it out properly.

Please, please, please brush this man's hair for him. He'll melt. Just absolutely melt.

Oh also, if you're short, or really tall, Diluc will just scoop you up. Just grab you. No reason, just to grab you.

Babey!!! No romance, she's babey!!!!! I'll hurt you if you make this weird!!!!!

Diona-

Diona might not admit it, but a good scratch behind the ears is sometimes just what she needs.

She's proud, but also cat, so...

Your desk? Her seat. Your stack of important paperwork? Her pillow.

Will sit on your lap and watch you do work. Or that's what you think she's doing, until suddenly her head lulls back, and her back hits your torso because she's fallen asleep.

Any dangle-y bits on your outfit are her favorite. She's not likely to bat at them, just grab and hold.

Gorou-

Now, Gorou also occasionally craves some good scratchies. But he's an adult(I think???), and that's very unprofessional. So don't touch his ears or his tail!

Generally, don't touch someone without permission but like-

Anyway, Gorou gives you a little punch on the shoulder when he greets you, and if you're really close with him, he gives you a hug! One of those really aggressive ones with the loud pats on the back.

Gorou always stands close enough that your shoulders are touching. He just enjoys being close to people.

If you're dating, you have free reign to play with his ears and tail. Even in front of people! He loves you that much.

In fact, please rub his ears, you are very good at that, and it is very pleasant.

Nuzzles. Gorous nuzzles you all the time. He just likes doing it. He can't explain it really. He nuzzles your neck, and you can hear his tail going crazy. The simplest joy Gorou can find in life.

Not actually very cuddly in his sleep, usually, but when he's tired? You couldn't peel him off if you tried. Evenings and mornings are a little more difficult, because you have to go about all your routines with a clingy Gorou wrapped around you.

Heizou-

It may surprise you, but I think this guy is a massive creep. I don't like him. But, I have seen his fans, they scare me, and endear me at the same time. So this is for you guys.

Seriously tho, this guy freaks me out. I was planning on using him, but even I can't look past what he's said.

Walking with friends? Heizou has his arm around their shoulders the whole time. It honestly looks like he's leading you somewhere, even when you're the one leading him.

Playful shoves, like Diluc. But he's smaller, and slightly more feral, so expect things to get really out of hand really quickly.

Knows all of your ticklish spots. Does he use that to his advantage? Sometimes. He's not ticklish himself, though.

If you're dating, he'll offer an arm to you when you walk anywhere. If you don't want to hold his arm, hold his hand. Heizou really likes to be held onto.

The leash he wears? It's for you <3

But no, seriously, you can hold that rope in public. In fact, you're the only one who's allowed to. Heizou hides the fact that it's straight up a leash most of the time. If you want, it can stay partially around his arm if you don't want to look like one of those weird domination kink couples. If you do, Heizou's fine with that.

If he's doing some sort of paperwork or other thing that requires he sit, Heizou wants you there too.

He's also really cuddly when he's tired. But he generally likes to be touched at all times. Do that thing where you hang onto his arm/chest? Heizou might actually swoon. Especially if it's at some sort of gathering or social event.

"We can sit at my desk, or I can grab a clipboard and come sit with you here. Which do you choose?"

Ah, the illusion of choice. Either way you end up on his lap.

Klee-

Klee! Loves! Hugs!

Klee greets her favorite people with a big smile and hug. When someone takes her somewhere, she holds their hand and drags them around excitedly. And her friends know she loves to nap on them.

Ruffle her hair, it makes her feel like she's doing good.

Qiqi-

Qiqi may prefer not to be warm, but Qiqi likes to be held. Qiqi will sit on your lap and watch you do whatever it is you're doing. Qiqi is happy to sit like this for far longer than you are.

Qiqi also likes to ride on your shoulders. She spreads her arms out and pretends to be a bird.

Razor-

"Hey, Razor! How have yo-"

And then he jumped on top of you without a second thought.

Razor knows... Not very much about human body language. But when the wolves are happy to see each other, the jump on each other. Razor is just showing that he's happy to see you!

Razor also sniffs things. He remembers your scent, and if you change something about it with perfume or lotion... Well he might not be pleased by that. He'll make his displeasure known with the few words he knows, and by rubbing all over you.

Razor also play fights with anyone he wants to play with. He has a certain level of maturity about him, but he's still a kid who likes to play around. Please play with Razor. It makes him easier to work with around bedtime.

If you're... Dating him... Well you'll never get him off of you.

Teach him to hold hands? Welp, learn to live your life with one hand, or face The Eyes™. He will probably want to hang onto your arm all the time. Let him!!! You monster!!!!

Sleeps on you. Not next to you. On top of you. But, he's very warm, at least?

The guy!!!!! Thoma loves to be loved. Hugs for close friends, holding hands with close friends. Close friends can sit on his lap for all he cares. Just! Touch! Him!

Thoma-

Except, don't tickle him. First of all, he's ticklish in all the wrong places, places that close friends probably shouldn't have their hands anywhere near anyway. Second of all, he's very ticklish, lightly brush a spot and he's d e a d.

Thoma likes to be given headpats.

If you brush dust off him, he smiles. If you poke him in the side, he smiles! You can't go wrong!!!!

If you're dating? Hand holding, hold his arm, sit in his lap all the time. Never sit anywhere else ever again. Please?

I am begging you, greet him by walking up behind him and wrapping your arms around his waist. Hold him there and feel all the tension release from his body and he leans back into your touch.

Run your fingers through his hair, Thoma melts every time. And while you're at it, kiss him on the top of his head.

Sleeping next to him? No, you wake up on top of him. Every night, without fail, he manages to pull you there. You're his new weighted blanket.

Slings an arm around your neck and makes you dance along with him! Venti is very fun to be around.

Venti-

Walk shoulder-to-shoulder with him! He may even place a hand on the small of your back to guide you.

Doesn't play fight or shove, but tickles. So. Much. Tickling.

If you're dating, Venti wants to be in your lap all day long.

Carry him on your shoulders if you can! And of course, get up early and do his hair for him. Venti will sniffle all morning about how sweet you are. He may even write another few songs about you!

Sleeping next to Venti, expect his face in your chest all night. That's the best place to sleep, after all. Oh! And he likes to lay his head on your lap, too!

#genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin diluc #genshin impact #genshin thoma #genshin venti #genshin heizou #genshin bennett #genshin diona #genshin klee #genshin qiqi #genshin gorou #genshin razor #diluc x you #gorou x you #thoma x you #venti x you #bennett x you #razor x you #heizou x you #headcanons #genshin headcanons #cuddling

[nedlittle]

thoughts on twilight

this has been fermenting in my inbox because i saw it and immediately got into a spirited debate with my best friend over the correct ranking of the twilight films (my answer is: twilight/breaking dawn pt 2/new moon/breaking dawn pt. 1/eclipse. my best friend was trying to argue that new moon is the worst but the soundtrack fucks so supremely it saves it from the slush pile). anyway. being a twilight girl (gn) from approx. grades 5-8 was the great equalizer. it crossed boundaries. you found your most unlikely comrades in the foxholes of the twilight trenches discussing how breaking dawn would end in between subjects. it was like what i imagine model un is like. there were at least two other people in my class aside from myself who got alice's haircut (which i do think is genuinely quite cute but the thing is we were all pudgy-faced 6th graders so it was not the most flattering of haircuts. whoever is responsible for alice's hair in bdpt1 i will hunt you for sport). i would sit on my kitchen floor rereading those damn books like i was possessed and i think eclipse was my favourite but don't quote me. the only two movies i saw in theatres were the og and new moon and the memory of rolling my eyes whenever jacob took his shirt off is burned into my psyche. i continued to be repressed for more than a decade after that but to be fair i was also 12 and catholic. the first movie is a Good Movie both in that there are some solid technical elements and in that it's so funny i'm sorry. in uni my roommates and i watched all the films back to back for the first time and we were so emotionally strung out by the absolute roller coaster of emotions we experienced over the course of 10 hours that we all genuinely started sobbing our goddamn eyes out during the final battle/vision and then cried again when literally every single character is given their due in the credits bc it's just really sweet :'). then my parents stopped by for a visit like half an hour later and we were like hello. we are all normal. also the composers on those films were absolutely STACKED??? carter burwell twilight/breaking dawn both parts alexandre desplat new moon goddamn HOWARD SHORE for ECLIPSE??? howard why did you score the WORST one??? the soundtracks ripped. they had no reason being as good as they were. the last two were shot by gdt collaborator guillermo navarro and it SHOWS they look FANTASTIC. by the last two everything genuinely was camp. i think engaging with twilight in the year 2022 is a bit different than engaging with...y'know bc smeyer isn't actively on twitter like i think all trans people should be forcibly detransitioned and then burned at the stake you guys wanna see how much i can hate minorities but then there is the whole vampirism makes you white & indigenous people are literally animals i'm gonna make billions off a racist misappropriation of your tribe while you get nothing thing. i mean it's a case of Use Your Brain While Critically Engaging With Media but if you've spend actual money on something twilight-related in the past like. three years. why? pirate that shit. at least donate the same amount to the quiluete higher ground fund sidenote did you know that quiluete is one of only a handful of languages that doesn't have nasal vowels? that's neat. billy burke charlie swan performance of a lifetime. seth and leah clearwater best characters.

i got this ask before the mcr twilight show in washington happened and i just have to restate. "i want to watch you turn into a werewolf" on the drum. coming back for the encore in a team edward shirt (WHERE DID IT COME FROM. I DESPERATELY NEED TO KNOW THE PROVENANCE OF THIS PARTICULAR ITEM OF CLOTHING) simping for rpattz in the batman into your song about being asked to write a song for one of the twilight movies and saying Fuck No into the first paragraph of interview with the vampire read into the vocal distorter into your biggest banger also about vampires into the final song of the night and arguably your saddest which is about dying of cancer. thanks for coming to the show glad you enjoyed the double vampire encore now think about your own mortality.

those are my thoughts on twilight :^)

#long post #jeynepoole #answered #this unlocked something in me. as you can tell #fully did not check to see if this is coherent i know it isn't i just sat down and typed until i ran out of things to say #my firefox window rn is just like. tumblr. two job postings. 32 wikipedia entries abt various synagogues. the quiluete language #(i've been looking up various Massive and Beautiful religious buildings since last night i've already done churches & mosques)

[areus-in-a-little-cave]

okay stories!!! quick first bit explaination. - took a boat to trail (saw sea otters!!!) - we skipped a two day portion of purely bog bc we just wanted to. so we got extra boat time. - hiked a painful 7km. it was the worst portion of the entire trip - arrive at the spot to camp and i want to die - there is a fire on the beach (illegal but eh) we go and join - and we met... - gino. Lovely guy who had a cool chair he'd hiked in. he's a nurse who's hiking with his two buddies. but then it gets better. these two buddies are a) dating b) gay and c) TAKE FUCKING HOURS TO HIKE. they've been regularly arriving at 10pm and 11pm and hiking at night. everyone esle was concerned about that. gino was not. man had his tent and his food he was absolutely chiling. apparently his friends had sex during the bog. also all three are sharing a tent. i love them dearly - Francois. this man is a cryptid. he built a huge, and might i stress, ILLEGAL fire. he is french. he offered the gay couple magic mushrooms when he bumped into them on the trail. (they accepted). he had strong political opinions (like any quebecois person tbh) he heard that i was fixing someones boot covers (i carry needle/thread) and was like "what d'you wanna do for work". i mention being a seamstress at cirque du soliel. mf goes "my sister is the head seamstress. ill give you her number right now." then he did more drugs and went into teh freezing ocean. a legend. - Alex. he brought a spiderman fishing rod. it broke. he was very chill. a docter. apparently he was very agile on the trails. he kept just appearing just in the ocean. he liked building fires and was hiking with francois i don't know if they knew each other though. he was nice. - later we met a father/daughter hiking team. she was just a bit older than me. they were fun to talk to. he kept offering us chocolate covered almonds. her and i watched the stars and gossiped about teh other hikers for hours last night. francois works in her town and she's scared. those two hiked in a fucking pound of cheddar cheese. they slept in hammocks in the trees - we also "met" the 'tree planters' a group of 6 like 20 somethings who slept in hammocks but they were stacked in the same trees. they just climbed the trees. they got up at 6am and then i never saw them again. too fast. apparently one of their boots broke later though bc when i was leaving the forest today there were fucking barefootprints in the mud and it was one of them. i fear them. they apparently went so fast to avoid francois.

and then the normal couple - megan and her boyfriend who's name is escaping me. they did not like being around francois. francois liked being around them. didn't talk much but they were nice. my first conversation with him was "whats you're favourite food." he then put his head down and went "I would take anything right now." we took the bus back with them. more highlights - did a cable car accross rivers!! - saw no bears - saw amazing stars

HELLO?????? this is so funny parker I'm absolutely obsessed

every single person here is such a character I cannot articulate how much enjoyment I got out of reading this. I hope they all had happy camping trips this is awesome

sounds like tons of fun :D!! ye hiking can be tiring but it's also just fun yknow you get to see the sights of nature and. well the mud doesn't sound fun but hey stars! and a cable car very cool!!

still reeling over the people you met. sometimes sitcoms seem very unrealistic, and sometimes. well the world is like that

#areus rambles #ask #ask box #thank you for the ask! #mutuals tag!!! #parker-likes-tea

[shurisneakers]

harmless (xiii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader)

Warnings: cursing, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, smidge of angst, guns, little bit of violence, obnoxious flirting, and kidnapping lol

Word count: 6.2k

A/N: welcome to chaos week >:) this is the first of three updates coming out this week (if i can finish the last one in time).  big thank you to my love @no-shit-sherl0ck for the kidnaped!reader idea, and that one anon who suggested the inator that’s used here. i know you wanted to see it in a zoo but i couldn’t really figure out a way to use that so i referenced it a bunch in previous chapters. oh and also @ginevranights​ for this specific imagery 

Previous Part  || Series Masterlist

Who the fuck kidnaps a villain in this day and age?

Saturday started normally enough.

Nat kicked Bucky’s ass in training, evening the score to 120 and 120. He blames it on the lack of sleep. She tells him that it’s his fault he stayed up late to binge watch 911 Lone Star.

He still thinks it was worth it.

The team’s sunshines and rainbows that morning. Someone had cooked up a batch of pancakes and fresh orange juice. Someone else burnt the bacon but left to feed his dog before anyone could complain.

Nat opened up the newspaper. Different sections went to different people until Bucky got stuck with the entertainment section. Fun, considering that he doesn’t even recognise half the names. He’d have to pretend to be interested until the next rotation.

He watches the orange juice levitate in front of him from the corner of his eye and just assumes that Wanda’s getting a refill even though she could have just asked him to pass it. He smells the next batch of bacon burning and figures that Clint is back.

Sam’s beside him, annoying him about how long it takes for him to read about which new celebrity relationship just ended and Bucky retaliates by reading even slower. Fuck you.

He’s on his second stack of pancakes absolutely drenched in maple syrup when the doors to the elevator open and Marie steps out, laptop in her hand.

An instant chorus of hello’s and invitations to have some charred bacon resound through the table. She politely declines them with a small smile, instead opening her laptop and placing it in front of Bucky without further ado. 

He looks at her questioningly, slowly swallowing whatever was in his mouth.

“An email for you.” She tuts her head towards it. “It has a video attachment of your friend.”

Bucky has plans to not watch the video in front of everyone, given that the content could range anywhere from you reading out fanfiction about him to a deep-fake of him singing a Whitney Houston song.

Both of which you have done before and would do again, without any hesitation.

“Aren’t you gonna watch it?” Wanda asks from across the table.

He slowly shakes his head no, cutting his stack into smaller pieces.

“If what’s in it is real, it’s important,” Marie stresses.

“What’s in it?” he inquires instead, hoping that the team would stop staring at him. If Marie was implying strongly that he needed to watch then something was wrong.

“Just watch it, man.” Sam’s statement has everyone agreeing with him. Bucky can’t refuse now, and if the team makes fun of him for the next month about how he looks good belting Greatest Love of All, he’s going to personally assassinate you.

He clicks on the email, noticing it came from a throwaway address. Probably untraceable, if the cards are played right. 

The video opens to grainy footage, which is stupid considering modern technological advancements. If this is one more of your stupid LARPing sessions, it could definitely wait till after lunch. 

But, he instantly recognises your silhouette strapped to a chair and suddenly the room feels very cold around him. His hand automatically clutches onto a bead from the bracelet you gave him that still remained tied to his left arm more often than not.

“Speak,” someone commands off camera.

“About what?” You sound annoyed, exasperated even.

“Why you’re here.”

“I’m here because you have unaddressed feelings of childhood insecurity.”

“I warned you to take this seriously.”

Bucky’s eyes widen slightly but his body relaxes the minute he reads the situation. 

The team’s crowded around him, he can feel it. His attention remains on the screen in front of him.

“Who even are you sending this to?” You don’t sound the least bit threatened. “My roommate’s not at home but my cat is and I don’t think she’d care.”

”You’ve made a complete joke out of villains everywhere. Fraternising with the enemies, the Avengers,” he spits the name with so much vitriol. “You’ve erased what it’s like to be truly evil. Turned us into a laughing stock.”

“If it takes one person to undermine your whole movement then maybe it wasn’t strong enough to begin with.” You look at someone outside the lens, face scrunching in distaste. “Also your costume’s ugly.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you trace this voice?” Bucky asks, receiving an immediate confirmation. “Figure out who it is.”

“On it.”

“Tell them. Tell them we are a serious threat and are to be feared.”

"No,” you say resolutely. “You’re an overgrown manchild. Go watch Teletubbies or something.”

“She does not give a shit,” Clint marvels at the situation, a piece of half eaten burnt toast between his fingers.

You didn’t. And if he knew you in the slightest, which he prided himself on at this point, you already had six different ways of getting out of there.

“She knows she’s going to be fine,” Bucky murmurs, returning back to take a bite of his pancakes. “She’s probably still there just to irritate him.”

He zeroes in on your wrist to see if the teleportation watch was still there but no, your wrists are bare. Guess you forgot.

“You have to.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s how a real villain does it.”

“A real villain- what are you, gatekeeping the villain community?” You scoff. “You sound like a fuckin’ incel.”

“Just send them a message,” the guy bellows, hitting a table.

“She’s going to frustrate them to death.” An accurate observation, Sam.

“Okay, jeez, fine.”

Bucky just knows that you rolled your eyes at that moment.

He had faith in you, or in your abilities at the very least. While every wisecrack could possibly inch you closer towards harm, you probably wouldn’t be making them unless you felt completely secure in your situation.

“Help, I’m totally kidnapped and in danger. Save me because I can’t do it myself. This man is too powerful and strong and sooo scary.”

“Do you think she has a strategy?”

“Definitely.”

“You’re not worried, James?” Wanda asks curiously. “I thought she was your friend.”

“She is my friend.” He reaches over to take the jug of orange from across the table. “That’s why I’m not worried.”

“Are you going to fight the Avengers?” you interrupt his endless tirade. “Because that’s a stupid plan. You get how that’s a stupid plan, right?”

“Let them come. I’m prepared.”

“With what? A stick you found outside? A Nerf gun? Man, you’ve tied my hands with fuckin’ zip ties, you can’t be serious-”

“Shut up,” he roared and the stand shakes slightly from where he stamps his feet. “Our army is enough.”

“Wow,” you exhale. “I wish I had your confidence, I really do. I want to study you under a microscope.”

“I have reinforcements.” It sounds like he turns to the camera to address it directly. “This is a warning. Your friends have an hour to find you or things are gonna turn ugly. This is what real evil looks like.”

“Evil dresses in a dollar store Speedo, apparently.” The man pays you no heed, instead picking up the camera. “Hey, sarge, if you’re watching this, don’t bother. I’m fine, it’s not even the real me-”

The camera cuts to black.

“When was this video sent?” Nat looks at Marie, eyebrows drawn together.

“About ten minutes ago.”

Bucky clicks out of the email, determined to get at least half his breakfast in him before he left to see what’s up with your situation. A notification pops up immediately.

[email protected] just sent you an email.

A video attachment.

“We got another one,” Bucky informs the team, drawing their attention back to the screen from the informal conversation that had erupted between them about what they could do.

This time, there’s a subject line included.

Attack on the Clone.

"Ain’t that a Star Wars movie?" he asks, craning his neck to look at Clint.

"That's Attack of the Clones," Sam corrects. "Probably autocorrect."

Bucky narrowed his eyes in suspicion at him, jaw sliding outward before falling back into place. Enough times had Sam called him Fucky in the group chat and gotten away with it for him not to be wary.

“Or a code,” Wanda suggests, too many crime thrillers read and podcasts listened in her spare time. She occasionally brought them over to Self Care Saturday, introducing him to the world of true crime as a bit of light content while they snacked on chocolate chip cookies he baked. “Like the Zodiac.”

“For what?” Bucky peers over at her.

“All I remember from that movie is them rolling around a field together,” Clint mutters. “Maybe that’s how you’re supposed to save her.”

“I’m not saving anyone. Look at her, she’s fine.” Is he the only one who saw it?

When he’s met with skeptical looks and no other useful suggestions, he presses play on the video.

This time it's clearer footage. It hardly takes him a second to ascertain where it was.

"That's her lair." It showed the pathway leading up to the flat concrete building, exactly where the intercom should be.

There was a black Sedan parked haphazardly outside, engine still on judging by the sound of the radio blasting an AC/DC song. 

Within a few seconds, someone drags you from the entrance of the lair to the car, despite your very clear protests and opposition, shoving you inside before it takes off in full speed, tires screeching. 

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., track the car from that video. Check all the CCTV and surveillance footage from around the area that you can find," Bucky commands, taking a sip of orange juice.  

"Why would they send us that?" Clint pipes up. "They make their email untraceable but send us a video of the fuckin' abduction itself?"

"I don't know." Bucky shakes his head, setting his glass down. "She probably convinced them to."

It was an unusual scenario, he realised that. But his eyebrows lower in contemplation, his lip caged between his lip before a thought suddenly occurs to him. A laugh in disbelief almost escapes his throat ad he pushes it down with some freshly cut strawberries. 

"And they listened?"

"I don't think you realise how annoying she can be." He knows, though. He knows. "Bet they regret it, though. I should tell them to keep her for a little longer."

"Voice recognition registers voice to someone named Chad, better known by his alias Soul Crusher. Surveillance footage places the car about thirty minutes away. Exact location sent to your phone GPS."

Soul Crusher. That was worse than Dr. Strange.

"I can make that fifteen." Bucky shrugs, setting down his fork and knife. If his hunch is right, the team didn’t really have to get involved. “See you guys later.”

“Do you want any of us coming with you?” Wanda gestures to the crowd at hand.

“I got it.” He pushes away from the table, depositing his plate in the sink, dropping an extra piece of bacon on the ground for Clint’s dog. “She’ll be alright.”

They watch him trail out of the room briskly, heading up to his room to change.

“Is it just me or is he too casual about this?” Clint continues staring long after he leaves.

“Both of them are weirdos.” Nat pulls open the newspaper again, going back to the sport’s section. “Who knows what goes in their heads.”

“Can confirm that not a lot goes on in his.”

Without Bucky to retaliate or grumble, a Steve walking into the room, sweaty and shiny after training becomes the new subject of jokes that morning.

__

For the first time in months, he’s had to bring a weapon or two along with him. Two revolvers and a couple of knives kept out of plain view. He wouldn’t need more than that anyway.

True to his word, it takes only fifteen minutes to get there, thirteen if he didn’t stop for the chain of ducks that crossed the street.

He’s also dressed in a little more leather than he usually reserves for your meetings. A jacket that brings to act as a windbreaker and tightly laced up combat boots make him look like he either stepped off a runway, or more menacing than usual depending on who was looking.

The GPS points him to an old warehouse near a more subdued part of the city. It was abandoned by the looks of it, and had been for a while judging by the lack of upkeep. Prime real estate.

He pulls off his helmet, hanging it on the handlebar along with his backpack before kicking the stand into place. The bike’s a few metres away just in case they decide to blow something up.

Bucky looks up at the warehouse, assessing the most damage he could do to it if at all it was needed. That thing could barely stand on its own, a grenade would absolutely decimate it. That wasn’t good news for you.

He sighs once before putting on his death glare, straightening out his shoulders into a stature that screams stone-cold, and pushes the door open, gun raised.

A mini-army of people ranging from their early twenties to late thirties stood guard at the entrance, all with rifles pointed at him. He counts fifteen, maybe eighteen.

“Oh, hell no,” a voice erupts from the back, followed by the sound of his gun being thrown to the ground. “No one told me that he was coming.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, his death glare not shifting and Glock not lowering.

“I’m out.” The same guy raises his hands up to show he meant no harm, slowly brushing past Bucky as he squeezed out of the building.

“You got five seconds to leave before I shut this door,” Bucky gives the rest of them an ultimatum. Not like there was a point anyway. SHIELD was sending down some people to account for the one day rise in new morons. 

They all looked at each other, swallowing thickly before raising their weapons.

“I hope he’s giving you good insurance.” The second he finishes his sentence they all cry out in what sounds like a fucking war chant, launching themselves at him. 

______

“They’re here.” Someone presses his ear to the door as if the gunshots and screaming weren’t enough. 

“Brilliant. We’re ready.” Chad picks up the knife, running his finger along the sharp end. You try to see if you can use your Twitter-ordained powers of manifestation for a paper cut.

“How much are you asking them for?” You put forth a query instead, when it disappointingly doesn’t work.

“Asking who for what?” Chad stops his dumb intimidation tactic for a second. 

“You know,” you insist like it was obvious, “my ransom. How much did you ask them to pay?”

“We didn’t-” He looks around at the other people in the room for confirmation. “-we didn’t ask for any.”

“Because I’m invaluable?” Your head droops to the side in mock flattery. “Aw, you guys.”

“We didn’t think of it,” someone from the corner behind you speaks up, coming to the aid of their boss.

“Now that’s just rude.” You tut, shifting maybe an inch or two in your bounds to try and get more comfortable. “Leaving aside your lack of preparation, let’s just assume he bursts in here, desperate and ready to bargain. How much would you ask for?”

“Three million,” Chad says confidently, gathering a nod and sounds of agreement from everyone else.

“Are you serious?” Your jaw drops, a scoff escaping you. “That’s all?”

His self-assurance falters a little bit, you can see it under his 5 Minutes Craft mask.

“Three mill-” You stop mid-sentence. “With this wiring? Ridiculous. Make it ten, I demand it.”

“We’ll ask for fifteen mil,” Chad proposes, his teammates agreeing again, a little more delighted than last time.

“Ask for thirty, you coward,” you argued. “Thirty million and a jet.”

“You’re not worth that much.” The dipshit diagonal to you pipes up with his unwanted and, frankly, useless opinion.

“And you are?” You whip around the best you can. “Henchman number four?”

“Megedagik,” he informs, standing up a little taller now that he was given some importance. “It means ‘killer of many’.”

“Did you just say your name was Mega Dick?” 

“Megedagik,” he corrects.

You stare at him hard before turning away. “Alright, other than Mega Dick here, does anyo-”

A knife lands right next to your feet, driven at least an inch into the ground. You look up at the guy you managed to piss off within four sentences, his face now a beet red. 

“These are brand new, asshole,” you barked, shaking your shoes around. “You’re gonna pay if there’s even a scratch on it.”

“Permission to kill her?” Meg growls, casting a side eye at Chad.

The boss man looks at you thoughtfully, assessing the repercussions of what might happen. You raise an eyebrow.

“Slow and painful,” he settles. 

A small smirk makes its way onto your face. 

“Title of your sex tape,” you quip as the man in the corner storms towards you.

_____

It’s all a flurry, really. A bunch of inexperienced newcomers versus one of the most skilled assassins the world had ever seen? Ten minutes tops.

Bucky doesn’t do any serious damage. A couple of broken bones but only out of necessity, a lot of concussions, and maybe a bullet wound, or three, here and there. 

Most of the time he spends thinking about things that have absolutely nothing to do with what was going on. He forgot to take his laundry out of the machine. There was a biscotti recipe he had been procrastinating on trying. His succulents needed watering but he could do that once he was back. Was he wearing his good combat pants or was it the pair that had a hole in the pocket?

His left hand thrust outwards to shove someone away while he stuck his right hand into his pocket to check if it had frayed away. The person he pushed slams into a wall with a loud groan and no, his pants didn’t have a hole in them. 

He stops to take a breather, assess what was going on. There are bodies scattered all around, mostly writhing in pain from minor injuries. Someone very bravely stands up, hands posed in front of him in a regular fighting stance.

“You sure about this?” Bucky asks, reaching for one of the concealed knives he hadn’t had a chance of using yet. It twirls rather nimbly between his fingers for something so dangerous, the hilt finally landing in his palm for a sturdy grip.

The man takes one look at the knife before sitting right back down on the ground. 

“Good choice,” his voice drops to an octave lower than his self-esteem. He’s tired of this old routine but it works like a neat little party trick, often getting him the result he wanted. “Where?”

A few fingers point down the hall to the only room whose door was closed.

He makes sure to step over everyone who was lying along the way, ears tuned in to even the smallest of noises just in case one of them decided to attack him from the back. It doesn’t come.

He doesn’t bother creeping down the hallway. With all the ruckus that just went on outside, he’s pretty sure it’s obvious that they had an intruder. 

Bucky kicks in the large steel door with ease, given that it was barely hanging on its hinges. His gun’s raised, muscles tight, and senses on high alert for any immediate threats. 

It lands with a large thud, reverberating through the room. He’s reminded of your first meeting with him.

There’s a chair in the middle of the room with a person tied to it by a mixture of rope and tape. Others found themselves slithering around on the floor in a similar fashion, trying to get out of their bondages.

“Hey, James,” you call out, drawing his attention to you. You were sitting atop a table, legs swinging back and forth without a care in the world, a blade in your hand. 

“You okay?” He tucks the gun into his waistband when he realises that none of the henchmen are going to be going anywhere soon.

“All good.” You hop off the table with a little spring in your step. “Did you bring your bike? I need a ride back to the lair. I think I left the TV on when I was, you know, getting kidnapped.”

“You coulda teleported back home before all of this even happened.” Bucky does a quick assessment of your body to make sure there weren’t any bruises or anything of the sort. “Avoided the whole thing.”

“Don’t have the watch with me.” Odd, since he knows you consider it one of your essentials but it just fuels his theory further. “Besides, if I just quit before we started, they’d keep messing with me over and over again.”

“Do you want me to punch someone’s face in?” He glances around the room at the ones wiggling about on the floor like fucking worms. “I’d be happy to.”

“Nah, I got a few in myself.” You rotate your wrist, other hand still holding onto the knife. “You know what, maybe I’ll have another go.”

He simply makes a noise in acknowledgement before he places a hand on the hem of your shirt, gently reeling you back. “I think you fixed ‘em up real good. That’s enough for today.”

“Fine but only ‘cause you said so.” You huff, looking past him and at the weirdos on the ground. “You hear that? This man just saved your life. Say ‘thank you’.”

A muffled chorus of what sounded like appreciation echoed through the room. Bucky awkwardly looks around.

“Damn right.” You walk over to the guy in charge of the whole event, bending down to his level. “If you ever try to fuck with us again...”

You stare straight into his eyes, unblinking. You hold up the knife to his Adam’s apple. Chad doesn’t dare to move other than the thick swallow.

You raise your finger and flick him in the forehead. “Get a better costume.”

The corner of Bucky’s lip quirks upward.

“Let’s go, sarge,” you announce, standing upright again and making a motion to follow you. “D’you have an extra helmet I could use?”

“Yeah.” He had brought one along in his bag, assuming that you’d need one once he noticed the watch was missing in the footage.  

“Yay.”

The only storage space on his bike was under his seat and it’s just enough for an extra revolver. Clint asked him if it was his way of flirting with someone, give ‘em a quick spin around the city and then show them his gun. If looks could kill, Clint would be 7 feet under. 

“You sure you wanna ride it, though?” He cringes immediately when he realises what it sounds like, waiting for you to smack the innuendo in his face. “We could wait for SHIELD.”

“Don’t really have another choice, Bucky,” you say absentmindedly, strolling out the room as you tossed the knife behind you.

He frowns at your indifference but turns around for a second to look at Chad. The man in question looks back viciously, his grandeur from that morning basically deflated and left to die along with his reputation.

“Might wanna reconsider the name,” Bucky remarks, doing a quick sweep of the area once more. “Soul Crusher.”

He waits until both of you are outside the cell and the door is shut on the ringleader and his circus clowns, handlebar twisted out of place so that they don’t escape for the time being.

“One second,” he calls, touch gently lingering on your forearm to stop you without even thinking twice about it. A famously uncharacteristic move for him.

"Hm?” You don’t even look like you notice his action.

“You sure you’re good?” he asks seriously, actual concern slipping through the question. “Do you need medical assistance?”

“They couldn’t hurt me anyway.” There’s something strange about the way you say it, almost assuredly. “I’m good.”

“Okay,” he concedes, his hand darting back when he realises it was still on your arm. His eyebrows furrow when he realises how instinctively he had reached out in the first place.  He didn’t touch anyone, ever.

“What are we gonna do about them?” you inquire, stepping over someone on the floor to get to the exit.

“Marie told Agent Hill. They’re sending someone over.”

“They’re sending SHIELD for these wannabes?” Someone groans in protest from somewhere and you elect to ignore them. “Ew.”

“Just to make sure confidential information isn’t compromised in any way.” There’s a large bang that comes from the room they just left. Maybe one of them shot their teammate by accident. They were more than capable of doing it.

“I would never,” you exacted a little more solemnly, pushing the door open with your elbow to let the sunlight flood in.

“I know.” He doesn’t realise how dark it was in the warehouse until he steps out into the noon sun. “I’m pretty sure this is more about the fact that you were abducted.”

“For me?” The smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes the way he kinda likes. Something definitely felt off. “I love being class favourite.”

He doesn’t reply, a small grunt as he twists the handle of the warehouse door upwards, effectively jamming it. 

“Can I drive?” You bat your eyelashes at him innocently, disregarding the loud screaming that came from inside as those less injured probably regrouped for a last ditch attempt. 

“No,” he doesn’t hesitate in replying, handing you a helmet and buckling his own securely.

“But I just got kidnapped,” you complained, watching him swing a leg over the bike and straddle it. Okay then. 

“All the more reason for you not to drive right now.” He mentions for you to get on, squinting at the warehouse a few feet away.

“Fine, but next time I’m driving,” you grumble, climbing on the back.

“Do you even know how to?” His head is tilted to look at you from the corner of his eye, voice heavier on account of the obstruction on his face.

The door starts shaking violently and he knows for a fact that it won’t hold up for much longer. Some of those who he had knocked out probably had been shaken awake again for manpower. 

“I can learn.” You take a pause, mischief seeping into your next words. “You can teach me.”

“No.” He didn’t exactly practice what was considered safe, law abiding driving. He just got from one point to another and that’s all he cared about.

“Then I’ll do it myself.” You sound determined. “I’m going to leave a note for us in the lair.”

“You do that.” He revs the engine when something solid hits the metal door. As guessed, their usage of props to push it down faster was coming into play. “Now, can you hold on to something? We need to go.”

If only those idiots just realised that the windows covered by newspapers were right there, ready to be broken.

“Only if you promise to let me drive next time,” you say defiantly, drawing this whole ordeal out.

“Whatever,” he urges. “I promise. Now can we go?”

“Wait for it...” There’s a devilish smile on your face. “One.”

There’s a loud creak as the door finally gives way.

“Two.” The same people you left tied up in the room burst out, almost stumbling over each other in the process.

“Three,” he completes it on his own, not waiting for you to finish because God knows how long you’d stretch it out just for the drama.

Your excited screech of laughter as he narrowly misses a rod that gets thrown at him like a fucking javelin temporarily distracts him from the brain freeze he gets when your arms wind around his waist to hold yourself in place. 

There’s angry screaming and bullets that whiz past in an attempt to get him to stop but a swift turn around a corner, pulling the both of you out of their sight is enough to get rid of them. 

“We should get a few weapons and go back,” you yell over the wind rushing by, barely audible.

“You do that in your own free time,” he shouts in response, yanking you through narrower lanes and less popular streets.

“Maybe I will, you bore.” 

Still, you shut up for the rest of the ride, only grumbling when he stops the bike to tell you that no, you cannot let go just because you want to throw your hands in the air like in the movies.

You hop off when he finally pulls up on the street outside your lair, adrenaline still pumping through your veins. He waits patiently as you unbuckle the helmet, switching off the engine. 

“You gonna drop me off at my door too, now?” You snicker, fingers pulling off the helmet.

He looks at you for a second before dropping the kickstand into place and dismounting from the motorcycle.

“I was kidding.” You laugh, handing him your headgear that he shoves into his backpack. 

“You’re pretty capable of gettin’ abducted along the way.” An absurd notion, considering it’s a short path from the road to the door. 

“Oh, how chivalrous.” You let him tag along anyway, for his peace of mind. 

“My ma didn’t expect any less.” A couple of sharp lessons from Winifred Barnes and Bucky was nothing short of a damn angel. 

You knock on the door three times, crossing your arms over your chest as you waited. 

“Aren’t you the one with the key?” Bucky questions, one hand on his waist. 

The door swung open in the middle of his sentence revealing... you.

Another you.

“Nah, she has it.” Ex-Kidnapped-You raises your head in acknowledgement at Doorway-You.

“Ah.” He fucking knew it. An unnatural sense of smugness blossoms in his chest. 

“Hey,” the both of you said at the same time.

Doorway-You looked way more relaxed, a little less grimy and dishevelled but exactly the same.

“Buck, I see you met my other half,” the you from the doorway greets him. “Or other whole, actually.”

“Sure did.” He sends a glance at Ex-Kidnapped-You.

“You can go on in. Big first day, huh?” Doorway-You refers to the you beside him.

“You wouldn’t believe,” Ex-Kidnaped-You mutters, pushing past the entrance and disappearing inside.

“She gonna be okay?” His gaze trails after your clone.

“Oh yeah, just needs to recharge.” You turn around to make sure she’s fine. “She’s made of some pretty strong carbon, technically almost indestructible.”

No wonder ‘you’ said they couldn’t hurt you.

“Heya, sarge.” You draw his attention back to you. “Always good to see you.”

“Can’t really say the same about you.” 

“Ever the emotional repressor, Mr Barnes. I like this little leather show you got going, did ya wear it just for me?”

He shifts his balance to his other foot, feet slightly wide apart. “Take it that the clone machine finally worked?”

“I was in the middle of celebrating.” You sigh, recalling the events of that morning. “Teleported home for a second to get some champagne and when I came back she was gone.”

“Irresponsible.” He tsks, head shaking in disappointment. 

“Sorry I didn’t take amateur kidnappers into account for my risk factor analysis, Bucky,” you shoot back, pressing on his name for added annoyance. “Anyway, I did the responsible thing. I sent all the evidence I had to you guys.”

“Real clever.” Bucky looks at you in dry amusement. “Attack on the clone? Really?”

“Hey, always make time for a good pun.” You finger gun, lopsided grin on your face. “Did the team like it?”

“They thought it was a typo.” Or a code. He really had Wanda to thank for his big revelation. “Your video didn’t help either.”

“Don’t tell me they couldn’t make out it was me.” You laugh, crossing your arms over your chest.

He doesn’t reply, pursing his lip inwards in sympathy, but more so to conceal a smile.

The happiness drops from your face slowly, horror taking its place. “Don’t tell me they couldn’t make out it was me.”

“Good job, your machine worked,” he adds helpfully.

“C’mon, there were so many differences,” you whine, the success of your endeavour the last thing on your mind. 

“That is your literal clone,” he points out, only to see you- clone you- walk into the giant box in the corner of the room, bright green light emanating from it like a xerox machine.

“How could they not tell the original apart from a copy?” You look genuinely offended. Insane. “Not even Sam?”

“Guess you’re not unique enough.” A rise and fall of his shoulders signify his attitude towards this whole thing. “Think I like your copy better, too, actually.”

“You’re so mean.” You puff in disbelief. “I’m a 100% original. How many mad scientist teachers do you know?”

“Two.” 

“I don’t mean now, that’s not even the-” You poke at his rock hard chest. “You are so much more annoying than when I first met you.”

He thinks it’s good relationship development.

“I have to deal with you every weekend.” He watches your finger drop from his chest. “Picked it up along the way.”

“Boo hoo, talking like you don’t have deep, deep feelings for me.” You roll your eyes. “I see right through you, Bucky Barnes.”

“Can you see the part that couldn’t give less of a shit?” He gestures to himself. “It’s all of it.”

“You think you’re such a comedian, huh?” You narrow your eyebrows. “How did you know she was a fake then, huh?”

Busted.

“Probably ‘cause you didn’t talk as much today,” he dodges. “Actually had some peace of mind for a change.”

“You knew before you got there, you liar.” You push past his fabrications. “You figured it out before everyone else.”

“You literally put it in the title.”

“Yeah, but the rest of the team saw it too.”

“Rest of the team didn’t know you were building a goddamn clone machine for months.”

“You remembered that?” You pulled away, palm over your heart. “Oh, sarge, you paid attention to me.”

His nose twitches.

“You said it, like, eight hundred times.” He could use both his hands to count the number of references you had offhandedly made in the last three weeks alone.

“Why'd you go save me when you knew it wasn't real?” you continue to challenge relentlessly, knowing fully well that he was fibbing. 

“Because you fuckin’ peer pressured me. Had the whole team around me when you sent your little video during breakfast.”

“Just admit it,” you coo, ignoring all his justifications. “You noticed it was fake me right away but showed up anyway because you’re wildly in love with me.”

“No,” he says stiffly. 

“No as in you won’t admit it you have a crush on me, or no as in you didn’t know it was fake me?”

There was no winning this. 

“Good day to you.” He pulls the motorcycle helmet on to hide the expression that plain as day screamed the former of your two options.

“Also,” you bring up indignantly, “she even got to ride the fucking bike and I’ve been asking to drive it for months now!”

“We-” he chooses his words carefully. “-compromised.”

“Oh, you did?” Your voice lowers at the newfound information, interest piqued. “I’m gonna hold you to that then, whatever it is.”

“Doesn’t count.”

“Absolutely does,” you huff. “A promise is legally binding. Blue’s Clues taught me that.”

“Bye, Y/N.”

“You’re my knight in leathery armour,” you swoon, switching sides immediately, “Kinda.”

“See you next week,” he says in farewell, determined to leave before you made it worse. “Try not to get killed by then.”

“Why, so you can do it yourself? Protective much?” You pull him back when he starts walking away, laughing slightly. “Wait a second, you weirdo.”

He sighs, staying put anyway, arms crossed impatiently over his chest.

You pull out the pen tucked behind your ear and slowly tap him twice on each shoulder in a makeshift knighting ceremony. “For your sacrifice.”

He rolls his eyes at the ludicrousness, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth.

You ignore his lack of enthusiasm, pressing your fingertips to your lips in a small kiss and then to his nose, given that it was the only part of his face you had access to.

“That was for your bravery.” You grin brightly at him and he sure as hell is glad he’s wearing the stupid helmet because he can feel his cheeks light up a bright crimson.

“Thanks.” His voice sounds gruffer than a second ago. He clears his throat.

“Now you’re my knight in leathery armour,” you fawn, nearly falling over yourself dramatically. “Let’s ride into the sunset together. I love you.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he calls out over his shoulder, turning away to return to his bike. “I despise you.”

“But you don’t.”

He really didn’t.

also i managed to fuck my phone up really bad so all proceeds from my ko-fi go towards getting it fixed

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

[burnedbyshoto]

arrière-pensée

— When you start a new job, you never thought you would come face with Most Wanted Ground Zero who decides that you’re going to help him make a point.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

warnings: smut, 18+, robbery kink, consented noncon, public sex, exhibitionism, degradation, spanking, slight gunplay, sadist bakugou, machoist reader, blow job, character death, murder, blood, gun violence, knife violence

word count: 8,550

a/n: literally fuck me. I super fucking liked this prompt had clearly had too much fun because this was not supposed to be a long fic. anyways, I hope you like the idea of big bad evil bakugou fucking you to make a point. also, just trust me on the details on y/n I make, please. make sure to comment on all fics you enjoy, all authors love them! carefully read the warnings!!!!

kinktober day 4 main kink: robbery kink

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“As for our latest news, the city of Chiba has decided to close the current twelve-month reigning search for the missing victim of the Chiba Bank robberies. However, known criminal known only by his alias Ground Zero who has been on our countries most wanted list on account of robberies, murder, and rape is still on the ru—”

Click.

You frowned as you threw the TV remote onto the bed, unease sitting on your stomach.

Pre-work jitters were a normal thing, right?

You looked at the full-length mirror in front of you, your finger pressed against a black pencil skirt, trailing up to brush against the white silk shirt you wore. Today is a special day, you reminded yourself as you lined closer to the mirror. Your hand grabbing the dark red lipstick you owned and as smoothly as you could, smoothed the cream over your lips.

The first day working at the esteemed Yaoyorozu Banking Inc., the world's most influential and wealthiest bank. Getting an interview at the prestigious bank had been a once in a lifetime opportunity, your incredible resume and references without a doubt getting your foot in the door to simply be a bank teller. 

Yes, to simply be a bank teller, you had to know at least three languages (you knew English, Japanese, Mandarin, and Spanish), had to know someone with affiliations to either the Yaoyorozu family or the hiring team (your number one reference was none other than the CEO and Founders daughter), and have a certain intellect (there was an admittance test to even qualify to fill out a job application). It had been a rather challenging admittance for you, especially as they had only been one job opening. Frankly, you think your only reason for winning the spot was due to Yaoyorozu Momo’s hand.

Still, it mattered not in the end because you had the job—no use of trying to figure out just what made you stand out so much.

Pushing away from the mirror, you studied yourself over one last time.

Your outfit was exactly as they required it to be, your pink hair styled appropriately out of your face, and the slight gleam of your pantyhose made you heave a heavy sigh.

You were as ready as you could ever be. 

With one final look into the mirror, you tilted your head at the gold-colored contacts you wore, a symbol of the job you held at Yaoyorozu Bankings and thought it made you look like a whole other person. No time to dwell on that, you decided, slipping on your watch and red-bottomed high heels and left your apartment. 

It was time to work.

The commute to work was dull if you ignored the way your stomach twisted and turned in the thought of arriving at work. What would the security be like, at the bank, you couldn’t help but wonder? Would there be bulletproof glass? Ten security guards?

All the banks you’ve ever had the pleasure of entering had always been handled with a small waiting room for clients and a five-inch thick bulletproof glass wall. But that had been at smaller, local banks, not anything like where you were about to begin working. Yaoyorozu Banking had several different buildings designated for the different types of jobs located within their name. You did, however, know that the smallest only two-story building was for their in-person bank tellings. That is where you would be working. Two floors for an essential part of their business, and you had no idea what it looked like as you had no account with them, and your interview had taken place at their headquarters. 

By the time the bus had pulled up to the stop, you would need to get off of, you could feel the nerves of the upcoming day begin to sit heavily on your bladder. You could feel the eyes of everyone else on the bus staring at you as you exited the vehicle. Everyone knew what this stop was for and had undoubtedly seen the gold contacts when you passed by them.

Each step of your heel against the sidewalk's paved concrete seemed to echo distinctly in your ear. It was rather odd, you noted as you walked toward the bank's building, that despite a large number of employees and patron’s the bank had, it seemed almost deserted. Looking down at the watch on your wrist, you knew immediately that you weren’t running late. As a matter of fact, you would be running precisely on time, showing up to your on-call site fifteen minutes before you were due. 

Regardless, you took each stride in your step as powerfully and as in control as you could. Your gaze narrowed, focused, intense as you stared at the revolving crystal clean glass doors. With one last supporting thought about how you were absolutely going to make sure that you would end this day in success, you pushed through.

White marble floors, glossy white walls with black and gold accents met your gaze immediately. Despite the apparent shock of seeing the indoors of this lavish, distinctly rich bank, you continued moving as if unaffected. The clicking of your heels against the floor was the only thing letting you know that you were, in fact, moving. 

Twelve men lined the lobby hallway, each tall, bulky with sunglasses and earpieces on. Although you couldn’t see their eyes, you had without a doubt that they were looking at you as you passed them to a set of large oak and gold accented doors.

There, a smiling woman greeted you. Her smile is warm and gentle as her own silver-colored eyes welcome you, and your spine stiffens at the appearance of information that passes through your vision.

Name: Fuwa Mawata Position: Greeter & Inspector.

“Ah, welcome Uzume-chan!” she cheered in greeting, her mascara painted eyes closing in greetings. You said your hello’s, your voice breathy with the shock of this bank's high technological advantages. “I see that this is your first day here, and luckily for you, no one is around, so I may quickly inform you of entrance clearance!”

“T-That sounds perfect!” you admit, your smile feeling just the littlest bit too tight, but your hands held your bag tighter in your grip.

“Wonderful! Well, here at Yaoyorozu’s Banking Inc., we have a strict business protocol for both our clients and our employees! First, as you may or may not know, all of the building's operations take place on the floor above, and due to the clients we have, it's a bit… unorthodox in our approach. We are the only bank with no bulletproof glass between you, the bank tellers, and our customers!”

What now?

“Our clients are so finicky about being treated with such distrust that they’d rather have this approach!” Fuwa laughed as if there was absolutely nothing wrong with such statements. “So, to approach the bank, you must pass by me! But do not worry! We have never, ever within our nearly century-long reign, have ever been robbed or seized before. Our twelve men out there are true experts, and I have the only button to inform the police right here! Everyone, so both clients and employees, must leave their personal belongings here, and I will search you for any potential weapons!”

“I’m not allowed my phone up?” you asked, a bit confused by this rather outlandish set of rules.

“I’m afraid not! You’ll be so busy working the entire time you won’t be needing it. You are allowed to come and retrieve while on lunch since the break room and lunchrooms are down here on the first floor!” Fuwa confirmed, her head nodding in confirmation. “I understand that it can be a bit different, I myself am not yet used to it, but these rules are in place so that every one of our clients and employees can remain safe!”

You fight off the frown that dangerously tries to grow on your face by nodding, handing over your purse to Fuwa, “That makes sense.”

“Glad to know that it isn’t an issue for you, Uzume-chan! Now, if you’ll step past me, I’ll be checking for any concealed weapons, and you will be met with your supervisor as soon as you enter the second floor!”

It takes exactly two seconds for Fuwa to complete her scan of your body. She explained with a wink that her contacts allowed her to find any potentially dangerous weapon on a person's body. “No matter where it might be,” she added with a tilting head and a bright grin. “By the way, I love the watch! It’s so beautiful, it must’ve been expensive!”

“Oh,” you feel your face warm as you gently touch the watch, your finger tapping the watch’s face twelve times while your smile is unparalleled as you think of the man who had gifted you the object. “Thank you, it was a gift.”

With that, you climbed up the stairs as sophisticatedly, brushing a few strands of curly pink hair out of your face as you enter the main floor, and you realize immediately that the quiet of the first floor and outdoors does not reach this floor.

The second floor is loud.

People with their names and occupations flashing within your view walking from table to table, stacks of paper in their arms, arguing, or talking with those around them. It was a sight to behold, indeed. But a voice interrupted your thoughts, and before you could honestly assess the situation at hand, you were whisked away, a detailed explanation of your job and expectations were. 

Unexpectedly, Fuwa had been right.

This job had no downtime. 

You sat on a leather seat at a desk to handle the clients. Much like old banks out west, your desks were much higher than those you were servicing; most often, you had to look down at them like a mother to a child as you worked. 

Your supervisor, who went by the name Togeike Chikuchi, was over your shoulder for about an hour, detailing and correcting your every action until you cleared ten clients entirely on your own. At this moment, she sat at the desk to your left, chatting with her client with a bright sunny smile that you had thought for a moment she was incapable of. 

It was 14:23 when you were with a client who was currently wondering if sending her ‘poor niece who lived with her amazing female roommate’ ¥500,000 was enough for a week worth of groceries. Of course, it took everything in you to bite your tongue and ask her if she had ever bought her own groceries before.

“Well, if you’re asking me, I think that’s a perfect amount!” you smile pleasantly, watching as who you’re pretty sure to be a CEO of a rice tycoon company. “If anything, you can always question her if that was enough the next time you speak. Everyone is always so different when it comes to groceries.”

“Ah, I suppose so!” she laughs good naturally, her arms rising to press a slip of paper with her account information on it on your desk. “I always spend almost—”

She cut off, and for the first time, you didn’t have to wonder why.

There was an echoing, distant sound of four straight bangs. 

It seemed to have been heard collectively by the entire second floor because, for a moment, there was a silence that wrapped the whole floor. 

Mumbles and murmurs soon flooded the floor, and a frown pressed against your lips as you stared at the staircase. What happened?

“Oh, I bet you that dumb janitor downstairs dropped his vacuum again!” your client huffed, her eyes rolling while you transferred the amount she requested from her account over into her nieces. “He did that the last time I was here too! Except it only caused two loud bangs like that! How immaturely irresponsible of him! Unable to do his job correctly and as a janitor at that? How much lower could he possibly get?”

You, once again, bite your tongue, choosing instead to laugh in faux humor over her rant. The agreeing lie on your tongue moments from being let out when a new sort of movement at the corner of your eye stopped you.

Climbing up from the staircase was a man who took heavy, powerful steps. You were getting used to the way these clients carried themselves. They all tended to stride authoritatively, commandeering all attention to them. Despite their dominative pace, they were almost light on their feet, their steps relatively silent as they walked from corner to corner. But this man who made his way up the stairs was heavy, barbaric, and fierce with every echoing footstep he took.

It was as if the world slowed down as the entire room went to stare at him, and an ice-cold shiver crept down your spine as you took him in.

Ash blond, spiky unruly hair. Splattered red blood covering his exposed arms and neck. A black get-up looked akin to a secret black op team with the black army vest, black tank underneath, black army pants, black combat boots, and strap around his right thigh that seemed to carry two guns and knives. As a matter of fact, his vest also showcased the copious amount of ammunition he had.

It was Ground Zero.

Fear plunged through you as he rose a single hand to the ceiling, a sickening smirk spreading on his face as the world seemed to slow down. Many clients chose to turn to look the second his finger pulled on the trigger.

BANG.

BANG.

BANG.

Shrieks erupted through the floor, and you watched as everyone, including yourself, hit the deck. Your body trembled with nervous fear as the gun firing stopped.

“Everybody get the fuck up.”

It was a low voice, gravely, and course with evident past strain. You looked across the way to Togeike, who looked just about as fearful and terrified as you felt. 

You didn’t dare to move, and by the looks of it, none of your coworkers did either. There was no panic button on this floor, and the only way to the switch was at Fuwa’s desk. A desk that couldn’t be reached unless passing by the man with black paint smeared across most of his face in a strategic way that rendered him anonymous by all photographic and video evidence. 

“I don’t think I fucking stuttered,” Ground Zero sneered, a light, fickle chuckle erupting low and deep in his chest as the sound of scared whimpers and silent sobbing began to pick up around the room. You didn’t need to know who was making those noises; after all, you knew what everyone was already thinking: will I be killed next? There was a loud bang a bit too near to your body, and you couldn’t help but scream in tandem with everyone else on the floor and the distinctive, irreplicable sound of someone choking on their blood. “I said, everyone, get the fuck up.”

Flight or fight were always two instincts you were taught about in school. Two altering, opposite reactions to being placed in stressful situations, but right now, you were in that third, lesser-known option: freezing.

“It’s like you elite bastards are begging to fucking die!” he laughed joyously, and you felt tears push to your eyes as another resounding bang shake through your body, your ears ringing with the noise. The now becoming familiar sound of a body hitting the floor dead and bleeding sending a sickening bubble through your throat.

But you pulled yourself up, your body trembling like a leaf as you stared at the infamous criminal who was merely smirking at the two dead bodies of clients who continued to bleed out on the floor as those around them cried.

“So, even with all the money in the goddamn world, you damn elitist are still damn fucking cry babies!” he cried with unrestrained, unleveled glee and anger. “Oh, this was the perfect place to choose as my final exit from the world.”

Your breath stops when he turns on you, his blood-red eyes locking on yours, and you can feel the hairs on your arm rising in unsettling knowing.

“Aren’t you a pretty looking whore,” he smirked, his hands putting his gun back into its holster, his heavy feet booming as loud as his gunshots as he makes his way towards you. The rest of the clients, especially the one located by your desk, shriek, cowering as he moves. “Tell me, whore, who does a guy gotta fucking talk to to get the money into my account?”

Your throat seamlessly tightened up in your deep fear as he directly addressed you, and you made a choking noise in your horror.

But, it seemed that Ground Zero was not in the mood for your timidness. Because you could see the vein in his temple throb, the sound of him sucking in his teeth, and the cold, humorous chuckle that rumbled in his chest as he grabbed his gun back out of its holster and pressed it centimeters away from between your eyes.

Typically, the clients couldn’t reach you from where they stood, but it was clearly apparent as he neared you that Ground Zero was not typical. He was big, huge, tall, and he quickly reached you. 

The heat of the previously fired bullets from the muzzle of the gun radiating off it clearly, licking the skin on your forehead as finally, words tumbled out.

“I just started today, Togeike-san is my supervisor!”

Ground Zero lazily smirked as he followed your thrust out finger at your coworker and supervisor.

A loud choking sound spluttered from Togeike as Ground Zero turned his attention onto her and stalked over in three steps easily. His eyes were sharp, deadly, and cold as he stared at your supervisor, and he reached into one of his many pockets and pulled out a black USB.

“Put all the bank's assets onto the account on this drive.”

“W-What if I don’t?” Togeike stammered, her body quivering just the same as yours. But the false sense of confidence only resulted in the gun being placed back between her eyes, only this time, he pressed the hot muzzle against her skin, and she shrieked at her burning skin.

“Try that again, you fucking extra,” Ground Zero hissed, and Togeike sobbed, grabbing the USB with a nod.

“I’ll do it! I’ll do it! I’ll do it!”

The sound of Togeike sobbing is almost as bad as the intruding smells of iron rusting blood from the dead bodies and the sick smell of the burning flesh on her forehead. 

It seems to take forever, you standing there silently, perfectly still as Togeike hooks the hard drive to her computer. You can see that she begins the monetary transfer from the bank's large accounts and reserves onto the account enabled on the hard drive, and you feel numb. Should you be relieved that he would most likely take this once it was done and leave? Scared that he was here on your first day at that? What shit luck…

You concentrated on your hands as time seemed to drag by slowly, your knees still feeling weak, your breathing shallow as the crude smell of drying blood makes your head spin. 

But unlike you, you hadn’t raised a single gaze in Ground Zero’s way, a rising sound of voices began to resonate from the floor and opposite side of the room. You blinked rapidly as you looked up.

Four men stood up, their brows furrowed, suits abandoned, and expressions steady and fierce. 

“The fuck you think you’re doing standing up, fucking wimps?” Ground Zero gruffed, his body language telling a whole other story from his voice. He was relaxed, unaffected by their challenging forms and fierce glares. “What? Don’t tell me? You think you four in front of me can take me? Don’t fucking flatter yourself. Even with the three behind me who’s easily apart of your fucking idiotic plan, I’ll kill ya all before you can pray to not to be sent to hell!”

“Flatter ourselves?” a man scoffed after getting over the initial shock of their once thought to be secretive plan being exposed without so much as a spec of interest from Ground Zero. “Don’t you get so fucking cocky! We’ll beat your ass and hand you over to the fucking police, you damn bastard!”

Screams erupt throughout the entire room as the seven in cahoots men lunge forward at the dangerous criminal who has set himself back center stage of the second floor.

It’s over before you can blink.

You scream with the masses as five excruciatingly loud bangs go off, and you can barely return your gaze on the fighting men to see the outcome you already know. 

There are six bodies on the floor, bleeding out fleetingly as Ground Zero holds the seventh by the neck. Your jaw drops as more blood splatters against Ground Zero’s chest, and you’re none the wiser of the knife buried deep within his throat until the body is falling over, dead, lifeless. 

“All the fucking money in the world and none of you were taught fucking manners of a properly functioning brain, hah?” he roared, his lips pulled into a threatening, angry snarl as sobs erupt through the crowds again, and a rolling tingle shoots through your body. “I guess killing everyone just isn’t fucking enough for you all, is it?”

You were unsure of how to even answer that. Your eyes falling over onto Togeike, who was silently crying, her eyes screwed tightly as the meter on the money transfer hits 47%.

“Let me set an example for anyone else who wants to try more bullshit in front of me,” Ground Zero snaps, and you shriek when his bloodied hand tangles into your pink hair and yanks you over the desk.

Crashing onto the floor as ungracefully as one could, your eyes widen and jaw drop in an excruciating, soundless scream as pain shoots through your body. But, it’s not near over yet. 

Your hands weakly grab Ground Zero’s wrist, trying to ease the pulsing pain in your body and scalp as he drags you front and center of the second floor. You can’t even understand yourself at this point, sniffling, pathetic pleas to let you go, tears streaming down your face as he throws you, your body hitting the marble floor as you sob for forgiveness.

“Now,” Ground Zero speaks from above you, and your arms have never felt weaker as you press up from the cold, ice floor. You freeze, your body feeling like a tundra as a now all too familiar click of a loaded gun resonates centimeters from your head. You silently sob when a warm muzzle pressed against the back of your head. “The next person to look away from what I’m about to do to my new cum whore, the next person who even fucking thinks of trying some really unfunny shit… her life is on your head.”

The sobs stop with that threat, or did they grow more at the easily implied actions of the corrupt man before you? You couldn’t really tell anymore. Yet slowly, the clients who are sitting in dead men’s blood shakily turn their gaze to you, and you can feel the weight of all their eyes on you. You feel weightless, almost empty.

“Pink hair is for whores, didn’t you know that? That’s why I picked you.” Ground Zero informs you from behind you. The barrel of the gun digs harder, pushing roughly against your head. “Whores are meant to be fucked by fat fucking cocks, so turn around, whore, and suck me off.”

Your breathing returns in spastic, shallow breathes, and you suppress the rising sob in your throat as you turn around on your hands and knees.

Ground Zero stares down at you with expectant eyes, cruel and dark with their crooked want and lust. Your breathing picks up when he unbuckles his belt and removes his pants and underwear with only one hand, the other one with the gun never once leaving your head.

“Make sure you all watch her, I’ve never had to kill a bitch while sucking me off, and I wouldn’t want to make this the first time!” Ground Zero laughed, his crimson red eyes glaring at the shamefully gazed clients as he holds his growing cock in his hands. Despite all logic, you stare at his hardening cock with an ever-increasing lust, the tears in your eyes never stopping, but your cunt unwilling to ignore the fact that his cock would feel so good in anyone of your holes. You knew that, and it horrified you. “The fuck you waiting for?” Ground Zero growled, shifting the barrel of the gun to your temple, his eyebrow raised in a taunt. “Suck my fucking cock.”

And despite the growing hiccuping cries in your chest, you can’t stop the way your mouth waters as you shamefully grab onto his cock and press your mouth down on him. 

His cock was large, undoubtedly longer than your face, and thicker than what your hand could encompass. Messy dark blond pubes sat motions away from your nose, and veins that ran all over his length rubbed against your tongue. The taste of his slightly sweaty cock made you gag, but the fear of what he would do caused you to snuff it out.

Tears poured limitlessly down your face, your throat and jaw stretching as far as it could as you took him in further and further.

Even with the tears on your cheeks, you did your best to appease him, horrified by the outcome should you not. Your tongue swirled against his girth, trailing the plenty of veins that you could get to. His cock pressed further into your mouth, shoving until it hit the back of your throat, continuing to dive in deeper until the ends of his pubes tickled your nose, and you could feel the head of his cock stretching out your throat. And horrifically, even with the strangled, choked sobs that still continued to pour from your mouth, you were enjoying the way he was fucking your mouth.

You enjoyed the way the cooling barrel on your temple made you quiver with dreadful apprehension. You enjoyed the way his hips rocked into your mouth, most often hitting your gaping jaw. You enjoyed the way the noises of your unwilling audience made you feel dirty, whorish, and shameful. But as his fingers managed to slip into your hollowing cheeks, drool and saliva dripping down your chin in your slobbering heat and shame, you could feel your essence slicking onto your panties.

“Look at how shameless you are!” Ground Zero laughed, his hand that once guided his cock into your mouth, gripping onto your hair and fisting into it. You yelped at the pain, your teeth painfully close to biting his cock. “All these people around watching you suck off the big, bad Ground Zero’s cock, and you aren’t even embarrassed!?”

You made a disagreeing noise, your brows furrowing, your gaze doing everything in its power to avoid your clients and coworkers gaze as Ground Zero began to rock his hips even more powerfully into your mouth. He chuckled, clearly pleased with what was occurring, and he threw the gun back into its holster. With the free hand, he placed it around your throat, squeezing your airway as you choked pathetically against his length and girth.

“I bet you came into work wanting to be fucked today. Wanting to get pressed to the floor and let everyone see your slutty fucking cunt and throat be used.” Ground Zero growled his grip on your throat, tightening even more. “Is that why you came here to work? Hoped I’d show up one day and fuck you to submission in front of everyone?!”

You gagged, the pounding of his cock further and further down your choked throat overwhelming you as the tears of shame quickly became those of fear as the lack of oxygen burned your throat and nose. You tried to breathe, but Ground Zero knew what he was doing and how he was doing it, not allowing you to breathe despite the way your fingers created crescent scars on the back of his thighs. 

Too much, too much, too much!

His balls slapped under your chin, and the musk of his skin tainted your tongue, but Ground Zero was only getting started, it seemed. With his hands now grabbing the sides of your head, he began to fuck your throat savagely. 

The wet sloppy noises of his driving cock into your throat seemed to echo off the shiny walls and marble floors. Your saliva and drool ruining your silk top and mixing with the blood on the floor. 

Your eyes were crossing with the extreme force, your body feeling weightless with your inability to breathe, yet despite all logic, you finally let out a sweet, grateful moan as your nose pressed to his hips.

But that was enough for Ground Zero.

It was a noise that would finish the last nail in your coffin as he held you there to his hips, his cock entire within your throat that tightened and fluttered against his length as you struggled to pull away.

“No use in fighting it now, you fucking whore,” Ground Zero grinned, the expression on his face akin to that of a predator stalking his prey. His voice, ever so naturally loud, filled the room, letting everyone know just what was going on. “They all heard you moan like a slut while getting fucking raped by me. So do me a little favor and get on all fours, I need a place to dump my fucking cum.”

With that, Ground Zero shoved you off his cock and onto your back, and you began to cough and choke desperately. The sour, raunchy scent of the sweat, blood, and gunpowder burning your nostrils as you attempted to steady yourself. You began to cry again at the filthy thought of how you were enjoying the way his cock had been in you, and the way your body craved for more of it.

You didn’t want to admit that you wanted him to fuck you, especially in front of everyone.

But as you were consumed with your at war thoughts, Ground Zero was already impatient. 

His feet trapped you between him, and he leaned down to grab your silk shirt.

“W-Wait—!” you shriek as he rips open the shirt, the sound of scattering buttons flying everywhere as your bra is revealed to everyone in the room who is watching.

Silent tears poured down your cheeks as with the destruction of the white silk shirt, a sheer and lacy red bra was exposed to the mass. Today had been a means of celebration, and you had intended on fucking your boyfriend the moment you got home… but that had been something you had kept a secret. Something to be held from the world until it was you and him in a bed. But it was now an object to be seen by everyone, and you bit onto your lower, trembling lip, eyes screwed shut as you tried to look away from the heated territorial look on Ground Zero’s face.

“Oh, look at what we have here?” Ground Zero almost whispered, but his voice still managed to reach every corner of the floor. “You are a little fucking whore, are you not? Came to work actually wearing lingerie! I thought I was just fucking teasing you before, but no! No! Not at all! You do want to be fucked in front of everyone!”

Your sniffling wouldn’t stop as his large, hot, bloodied dried hands grabbed at your bra-clad breasts. He was leaning down over you, you could feel the amused breathing flushing against your collarbone, and you mangled a choke when he kneeled down, trapping you.

“Such an ugly pair of tits,” Ground Zero mocked, his large hands pressing the sides of your breasts together, enhancing your cleavage and fullness of your breasts as you lay on the floor. “I’ll let you in on a secret… all those missing sluts I’ve fucked in previous jobs? Well, I can always tell how good a fuck they’d be just through this part.”

Hissing, you glared at Ground Zero as he slipped his fingers under the fabric, teasing and pulling at your pebbled nipples. His red glare meeting yours, mocking and somehow both hot and cold.

But a shameful, pitch moaned fell from you, your back against all logic arching up into Ground Zero. Soft whines, shaking arms, thrashing legs.

“Would you look at that,” Ground Zero’s sneering tone was back, and you found yourself opening your eyes (somehow missing when you closed them), to see Ground Zero glaring at someone in the crowd. “Looks like you could make a professional slut, whore! That man over there has a fucking boner over watching me rape you and your slutty mouth and feeling up your tits!”

“N-No I don’t!” the man exclaimed as you couldn’t help but meet the accused eyes that were filled with shame, a red blush tainting his cheeks. “Just thinking about when this’ll be fucking over!”

“Oh?”

Ground Zero’s grip grabbed you by the throat, and you panicked as he ripped you up onto your feet and began walking over to where the man was. You stumbled to keep up, unable to find your balance the entire time you walked with him, in awe that this unlawful man could walk determinedly when his pants around his thighs, hard, leaking cock pressing to his vest-clad stomach. But before you could find your balance, Ground Zero threw you back onto the floor, landing centimeters from the client's feet, and you began to cry as your exposed stomach touched the floor.

Ground Zero wasted no time on your noises, straddling your ass, scooping his hands beneath your breasts, and pulling you up. 

The client's face went beet red, his bulge in his pants evident as you could only keep your gaze there, unable to raise or turn your head as Ground Zero squeezed your breasts in his hands. 

You moaned at the sensation, your mind giving in to the feelings to not cry anymore.

“Tell the whore how much you like her tits,” Ground Zero commanded, his hands kneading and pulling at your mounds of flesh. “Tell her your little microcock wants to fuck her.”

The client had the decency to look offended as he spluttered, “I’M NOT GOING TO TELL HER THAT!”

With his words, silence took over the room, and you trembled in your fear.

“Damn extra?” Ground Zero shouts to Togeike.

“Y-Yes?”

“How much fucking longer?”

“I-It’s at 63%!”

“Wonderful.”

One of Ground Zero’s hands abandoned his manipulation of your breasts, but he still managed to keep you in place with only one hand. He pulled a breast out of the bra, and you whimpered as the client gwuaffed at the sight of your breast, but immediately cut himself off when a cold, heavy metal barrel pressed against your temple.

“Let’s try again,” Ground Zero said with faux cheer. “Tell the whore how much you like her tits, and how your microcock wants to fuck her, or else I’ll kill her right in front of you.” There’s a heavily, curling silence that overwhelms the room before he decides to add one last thing for good measure. “I’ve never fucked a dead body before, and I wouldn’t want to start that now.”

“I-I like her tits,” the man stammered.

“How much?”

“T-They’re… they’re so hot,” the man begins to cry, his body shaking in front of you. “I wish I could b-be fucking her instead!”

“Too bad for that microcock you have, huh?” Ground Zero taunted, pulling the gun from your temple and pointing it straight at the man's crotch. “Show her.”

“W-What?!”

“Show her your cock.”

It seemed to happen so slowly. The man unbuckling his belt with shaky hands, clumsily undoing his pants, and shifting it down his legs, white boxer briefs stained slightly with pre-cum. You looked away when he revealed a cock that looked pathetic to the one you had just sucked, so small, so thin, so discolored. 

“You got one fucking ugly ass cock,” Ground Zero laughed.

Then the world picked back up.

The first thing you heard and felt was the tearing of your skirt, and you panicked as Ground Zero dropped your chest onto the cold floor. You whipped your head around to see your work skirt split all the way down the middle, only held together by a few remaining strands by the waistline. And the sheer pantyhose you wore, twisted between his fingers, and completely ripped as his gaze met yours.

“Cute fucking thong.”

You choked at the feeling of cold, soured air hitting your inner thighs that were still wet with your slick, and instinctively, you tried to scramble onto your knees. But it seemed that this was what Ground Zero wanted from you, for the moment you were on your knees, he pressed his hand to the curve of your back and kept you there.

Ass up, back curved, chest down.

“Until the transfer is at 100%, your wet little cunt is mine!” Ground Zero reveled in the information as he couldn’t even bother to pull down your panties before plunging his fingers into your sopping heat.

The shameful pleasure of feeling his fingers deep within your cunt sent you screaming, your back arching even further as his fingers continued to thrust in you. They curled and spread, sending your mind into a spiraling lust as he managed to find all of your sweet spots without so much as breaking a sweat.

“You’re so easy,” Ground Zero groaned, his cock rutting between the curves of your ass as he continued to finger fuck you. “So fucking wet too. I just knew a fucking whore like you couldn’t be getting fucked right at home, that’s why you hoped you’d get fucked by me today!”

Your teeth bit into your forearm, the overwhelming pleasure of his fingers stroking your inner walls, tweaking and moving against your clit, making your thighs tremble with the already forming pressure in your womb. 

“Don’t be embarrassed, you little whore,” Ground Zero whispered into your ear, laughing when you shuddered at the feeling of his tongue licking the shell of your ear. “Everyone wants to hear you moan, scream, and cry for the big bad Ground Zero’s cock. Don’t mute yourself, let them hear just how well I’ll fuck you into a puddle of tears and cum.”

You didn’t want them to hear you begging for more. You didn’t want the entire room to know that your cunt was spasming and clenching around his fingers because you liked this. You didn’t want them to know.

“I bet fuckface in front of you really wants to hear it!” Ground Zero laughed, his finger doing light, quick circles against your clit as his other hand brought your attention to the man before you. Sure enough, his cock was throbbing, precum leaking down his length as he shamefully looked at you. “Don’t worry, I don’t mind you fucking yourself as I fuck this stupid cunt.”

But with the building pressure in your stomach. Your toes curling as the soft thumps of his fingers dive in and out of your sopping wet cunt, your body begins to tense up.

“Already ready to cum,” Ground Zero smirked, and you felt your body go rigid when his fingers left your cunt, and was immediately replaced with his large, thick cock.

Having not expected such action, your arms shot out, eyes rolling back as a guilty, wanton scream tore through your throat. He was so big, so thick, so full, stretching you out completely, sending your tight walls into a frenzy as they stretched and tightened around his cock.

Fuck, fuck, “fuck!”

“Oh, she speaks!” Ground Zero laughs, almost a bit deranged as he grabs onto your waist and begins to plow into you. “I wonder to what lengths I can get you to speak! I want to hear you screaming for me, whore.”

It was then that he slammed his hand against your ass cheek, causing you to shriek while your skin throbbed in his wake. It was heavy-handed, the power he held in his hand while never doubted, didn’t make you think it was ever this much. The pleasure curled pain made your knees buckle, a hot pressure bursting in your core, and another loud slap repeated on the same throbbing cheek.

Fisting in your hair, you keened loudly when Ground Zero yanked your head back. The arch in your back was dramatized by this action; your back ached as another heavy slap echoed against your swelling skin. His dense, almost wild breathing hits the shell of your ear, and chills shoot down your spine when he snarls.

“Your cunt is so fucking tight, is whoever this getup for fuck you shitty too? Don’t tell me this fucking extra is the man you fuck in your bed?” he laughs, his foot stamping to the outside of your leg. The new position increases the range and the power of his thrusts, sending your body forward with every squelch bringing thrust. “I bet you’d like it if your stupid cock piece was here to watch how a real fucking man fucks, huh? You fucking would—” his hand comes down to wrap around your waist, pinching and tugging at your clit that’s thrumming with impending orgasm. Ignoring your growing pleads for more— “You like being an example to everyone in this fucking shit room of how to be fucked correctly! I bet you’re actually liking the way they’re judging you and your tight, wet cunt.”

The next powerful thrust that has his balls smacking your skin nearly sends you tumbling over at the strength and power behind it. Your arms buckle under you, the weight and struggle to keep yourself upright was a challenge as Ground Zero abused your clit and cunt.

“Answer me, fucking whore.”

There was no stopping Ground Zero’s heavy hand against your pert ass, and you could not think of anything but how your cunt throbbed for the man behind you. Your sobs of pain had long ago become those of pleasure, and you could feel the raised prints of his hands on your sore cheeks. It was true; it delighted you.

“Y-Yes, I like being fucked by you!” you finally break crying, your body trembling in your excitement and need for more. “I like them watching as you fuck me! You fuck me so good!”

“Glad you could finally admit it because your cunt is so fucking wet right now I’m sure everyone else already knew,” he sneers while he rubs circles against your heated skin. “You’re trembling with excitement as you try telling me you don’t want me to fuck you. I can see you choking back your cries of pleasure, the fuck you take me for? Do you want me to leave you without an orgasm?”

“N-No!” you sob pathetically, arms pathetically stretching behind you to keep him thrusting faster into you. “D-Don’t leave me until I-I cum!”

Your words were loud, letting everyone know just how much you wanted this, just enough for the man before you to groan as he came, and you thanked Ground Zero as you trembled like a leaf before him. His upper lip pulled back into a smirk as he let go of your hair, letting your head drop back onto the floor, and his fingers go and pinch your nether lips, and you cried loudly.

“I know you can fucking scream louder than that. I want the entire fucking world to know who’s fucking you right now.”

The words were honey to your ear, and you shifted in an attempt to ease the growing lust between your legs.

Slap.

“Fuck me! Fuck me harder! Please, Ground Zero, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop!” you babble, your tongue falling from your mouths as you pant like a bitch in heat, your body convulsing and shaking with need and heightening lust.

Your mind reeled as Ground Zero continued his conquest against your cunt. You could barely count the number of times he drilled his cock straight into your heat, the tip of his cock pressing into your cervix over and over. The added sensation of his fingers manipulating your clit, and shoving into your mouth to tug on your tongue as you began to grow too loud made you dizzy. Your ass and thighs were undoubtedly bright red and in the air, back arched further than you had ever gone, and saliva and tears seeping onto the marble floor.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he cheers as he repositions the angle in which he’s driving into you, and your ragged moans fill the area at the need of more. He continued fucking you, and while feeling finally returned to your abused ass, your hips finally began to buck against his commanding hips, trying to get the echoing slaps to grew even louder. “Such a greedy little slut.”

Gritting your teeth, you continued pushing against him, craving more heat, power, and pain.

“Is this not good enough for you?” Ground Zero chuckles, but there’s no light humor to his laughter. “Good.”

At that phrase, Ground Zero slams into you with the power and force you had yet to experience. Causing you to howl in your throbbing lust, your mind more a second snapping back out of its haze as you feel his cock twitch within you. Your breathing is harsh as you try to look at Ground Zero, finally trying to take a glance at how he looked. You wondered if he was as unhinged as you felt, as savage as you imagined with his lustful red eyes. 

“Where is it at?” Ground Zero barked over at Togeike.

“I-It’s at 97%!” she stammered, shame dripping from her voice, and you had half a mind to wonder if they were all turned on too.

Maybe they were jealous of the fat cock claiming you, and you mewl in the thought, your back bristling as you slammed back onto his drilling cock. You wanted more from him, craved more from him. The coil in your belly still yet to be undone, but you were not going to let it snap anytime soon.

“Gotta fucking make this little slut cum soon then, huh?” Ground Zero grinned, and you felt his teeth bare into the back of your neck in a flash of throbbing, burning pain.

You cried.

The angle and power behind these growing sloppy thrusts were different than what you were used to. It was deranged almost, your body shifting with each thrust, nearly toppling over as Ground Zero claimed you with his teeth and his cock. With each hypnotizing slam of his hips, ringing moans of pleasures ripped from your throat, and you brought your arms as best you could to his waist to keep him there.

Sweat dripped down Ground Zero’s neck, his hands gripping your bruised and battered ass like some type of life support, and the squelching noises of your slamming sex were making your body weak.

“Please — fuck — do that! Do that again, please!” you screamed when a vein in his cock dragged against your pulsating, puffy walls, at the same time he pushed against your cervix.

“Such—” thrust— “A—” thrust— “Fucking—” thrust— “Whore!” thrust! “Who do you fucking belong to?!”

“Y-You, Ground Zero!” you scream, your hips buck against his slamming hips. It was so raw, so rough, and you were enjoying every passing second. “I belong to you! I’m your fucking whore, please fill me with your cum! Cum in me, please cum in me!”

Ground Zero preens at your praise, all while he continues to fuck you roughly. He was in his zone, his concentration like steel as he pounded into you again and again. Your inner walls clenched and spasmed against his penetrating cock, and the heated pressure now spilling over.

His cock twitched within you. It knocked the breath out of you; his fingers twisted into your hair.

“Fucking cum with me,” he demands, jerking your head back towards him again, and you sob as your legs tremble against his increasing power.

You feel your eyes cross, screaming out his name as your walls clamp down fiercely against his length, and you orgasm roughly, your body shaking and spasming uncontrollably as you scream his name. Ground Zero curses loudly, slamming into you one last time with the power and tenacity of an army as he lets out a string of curses, and you moan, knowing that he came in you.

“Such a good slut,” Ground Zero grins as you can feel your eyes fluttering shut, physical and mental exhaustion now catching up with you. “Sleep now, I’m not done with you.”

You couldn’t gather the energy to speak back, your world blacking out with the sounds of sobs, screams, and more gunshots.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

You wake up in a car.

The warm, gentle wind caressing your face as the world is quiet. It's calm, pleasant, pleasing. Your pink wig is on your knees, slightly ruined with blood, sweat, tears, and drool.

You sigh, your body throbbing with different pain as you look to your right at who’s driving.

It’s Ground Zero, or as you know him: Bakugou Katsuki.

His arms are covered now, the old black op outfit changed for a pair of black slacks and a red button-down shirt. You would have no idea he was the man who stormed into Yaoyorozu Bankings earlier that day.

“Good morning,” you sigh, reaching against the seat to press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Bakugou looks at you with a smirk, reaching towards you for a real kiss as he continues to drive. You can tell you’re in comfortable clothes, ointment on any potentially worrisome wounds he had inflicted on you while wrapped up in your twisted fantasy of yours. 

“Nice to see you up,” he gruffs, his voice rough from his overuse in the bank.

“Did we get it?” you ask, head pressing to his shoulder, and with a chuckle, he raised the black USB.

“Damn fucking right we did, y/n.”

“Perfect.”

It goes without saying that despite the sheer brilliance of Bakugou’s work as Ground Zero, he would have never pulled off such crimes without you. His pretty, small girlfriend, who always played a victim of his lust at his operations just for good measure. It was a fun life both of you lived.

You looked at the expensive Cartier watch on your wrist, a beautiful gift he had gotten you after your first successive robbery. It had also been programmed for you to communicate with Bakugou on how many guards there were on the floor.

“I love you.”

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

arrière-pensée: a concealed thought or intention; an ulterior motive.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

tags in comments, theres too many of you.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou smut #bnha #mha #bnha x reader #bbs kinktober 2020 #bakugou katsuki x reader

[fruitcoops]

i would love to read coops doing one of those lie detector youtube videos!!

This was such a fun fic to research! I highly recommend watching the Try Guys Lie Detector videos if you'd like some context. Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove!

“Why are there so many of these?” Remus muttered, shaking his hand around. A series of multicolored wires smacked the table and Marlene rolled her eyes as she passed. “Sorry.”

“Welcome back to Lion Pride!” Sirius said as he turned to the camera with a smile. “I’m Sirius Black, and I’m here today with my husband, Remus Lupin, to get some answers.”

“We are also joined by Mark, who is an expert at reading polygraphs,” Remus added.

A middle-aged man in a blue shirt raised his hand in a slight wave. “Thanks for having me. Since you’re already hooked up, you’ll be going first. This machine measures your sweat, your heart rate, and a couple other common tells for liars. Do you lie often?”

Remus hesitated; Sirius hid a smile in his hand. “No, since I suck at lying, but I’ll do it if it makes somebody feel better. I think I’m pretty good at that.”

They stared at the polygraph for a moment before Mark nodded. “Checks out. Take it away, Sirius.”

Sirius cleared his throat and took a notecard from his stack. “Was going to college worth it?”

“Yes,” Remus answered almost immediately. “I don’t know what I would have done without getting my degree and staying close to hockey. Wouldn’t have met you, for one.”

“True,” Mark said without looking up.

“Do you like my playoff beard?”

“I do, yeah.” Mark raised his eyebrows and Remus pressed his lips together. “Okay, sometimes it’s a little much, but you’re pretty good about keeping things under control.”

“Alright,” Sirius said with playful skepticism. “Good to know. Who’s your favorite Lion?”

“Besides you? Talker.”

“Yeah, we don’t need a polygraph to know that,” Sirius laughed when Mark nodded. “Did you like my last haircut?”

“Oh, fuck,” Remus said under his breath, looking away.

“I knew it.”

“It wasn’t bad—”

“He’s lying,” Mark interrupted.

Remus turned to him with betrayal written all over his expression. “Dude!”

“You are.”

“Answer the question, Loops,” Sirius said, leaning back in his chair. “How did you feel about my last haircut?”

He bit his lower lip. “It was a little too short and really threw me off for a couple days. But you didn’t like it, either.”

“I didn’t,” Sirius agreed, grinning. “But I vividly remember several ‘no, honey, you look great’ conversations.”

“Next question,” Remus sighed.

“Ha! This one is self-explanatory. Have you ever lied to me?”

“Yes, but only when I knew it would make you feel better.”

“True,” Mark confirmed.

“Do you think you’re a better dog owner than me?”

Remus thought for a moment. “No.”

“True.”

“Do you think I’m a better dog owner than you?” Sirius asked.

“No. I think we balance each other well, and we wouldn’t be as good apart.”

“True again.”

“Interesting.” Sirius surveyed the cards. “Do you trust me?”

“A hundred percent,” Remus answered without hesitation. Mark nodded.

“Do you think I would be a good dad?”

He rested his chin on his hand, then smiled a little. “I do, yeah. I think you know what to do and what notto do, and you’re very protective without being controlling. So, yeah. You’d be a good dad.”

Mark glanced over. “He’s telling the truth.”

Sirius leaned across the table and kissed Remus on the cheek. “Merci. Oh, this’ll be fun. Is any of our relationship just for show, especially on Lion Pride?”

Remus narrowed his eyes with a hum. “Yes and no.”

“Pick one,” Mark said.

“In a general sense? Yeah, sure. We’re not perfect all the time, but we pretend to be. The specifics stay honest, though. None of our relationship is based on building clout. We keep the core genuine.”

The polygraph beeped for a moment. “He’s telling the truth.”

“This one is super morbid. Ready?” Sirius rested his elbows on the table. “You are Spiderman, and you’re holding two trolleys over a lake. One holds me, and one holds Jules. Which one do you drop?”

“I love you, but I would absolutely drop you,” Remus said after only a brief period of thought.

“Oh, thank god,” Sirius huffed. “I would be so upset if it was the other way around.”

“Right? I love you more than anything, but it’s Jules.”

Remus turned to Mark, who shrugged. “True.”

“Do you think we live together well?” Sirius asked.

“After a full year of it?” Remus laughed. “Yeah, I do.”

“True.”

Sirius checked the list and his eyebrows rose. “You’re going to hate this one.”

“Am I?”

“What do you really think about my parents?”

Remus’ smile turned thin and Sirius spread his hands in a see? motion. He was quiet for a few seconds, then ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t think I’m allowed to use those words on this channel. Um, I don’t like them.”

Mark snorted. “Very true.”

“Last one,” Sirius warned, though his eyes crinkled happily at the edges. “Do you know how much I love you?”

“That’s cute,” Remus said. “And…yeah. I think I do.”

“Wrong,” Sirius said before Mark could answer. “You have absolutely no idea.”

“Sap,” Remus scoffed. His cheeks were pink, and he pressed a quick kiss to Sirius’ temple while they swapped chairs.

“He was telling the truth,” Mark informed them as he helped Remus untangle his arm and hand, then transferred the devices to Sirius. “Though I am interested to see the flipside. Do you lie often?”

“Not anymore. I’m pretty good at it, though.”

“First one: have you ever had a crush on one of your teammates?”

“Oh, for sure,” Sirius said with a light laugh. “I never did anything about it, but I was the king of pining for a solid decade.”

“True,” Mark affirmed.

Remus cocked an eyebrow. “Who is the handsomest Lion?”

Sirius bit his lip, making a thoughtful noise. “That’s a tough one. I’m assuming a player other than you?”

“Yes.”

“In that case…I think Dumo is the classic definition of ‘handsome’ even though he is so not my type, but Kasey might be the most attractive.”

“Not Pots?” Remus teased. Sirius pulled a face and flicked him on the arm.

“He’s being honest,” Mark said.

“Do you think you’re the best player on the team?”

“…no.”

“He’s lying.”

“Shit.” Sirius sighed heavily as Remus looked at him over the edge of his notecard. “Look, it’s—it’s not an ego thing.”

“It’s the captain thing, isn’t it?” Remus sounded quite amused.

“Yeah,” Sirius said, defeated. “It’s stupid, I know.”

Mark nodded. “He’s telling the truth.”

“Oh, another parent one,” Remus remarked. “Did my parents scare you?”

“Not really.”

Mark furrowed his brows. “You’re right in the middle.”

“Huh.” He thought for a few seconds. “I think seeing you all together was a lot like meeting Dumo’s family the first time. You’re just so…normal. And you genuinely like each other. So I wasn’t scared, but it was definitely an adjustment.”

“He’s telling the truth.”

Remus nodded. “Yeah, they adore you. I’m glad we didn’t chase you off, though. Does it really bother you that I leave my socks around the house?”

Sirius pressed his lips together as several people off-screen began to laugh. “I can’t answer that.”

“See, that’s all the answer I need.”

“Fine. Yes, but only because I don’t know where you get them from. You don’t actually own that many socks, and I still find them every-fucking-where.”

“True,” Mark said.

“I’ll try to keep a better eye on things,” Remus assured him, smiling. “You are Spiderman, and you’re holding two trolleys over a lake. One holds me, and one holds James. Which one do you drop?”

“Goddammit,” Sirius muttered, tilting his head back. He thought for a long, long moment. “I can’t answer that.”

The polygraph buzzed. “False.”

Sirius shook his head. “Neither of you. I wouldn’t drop either.”

Mark raised his eyebrows. “True.”

“On a much lighter note,” Remus said with a cough. “Which of us is lazier?”

“Me.”

“True.”

“Really?” Remus gave him a baffled look. “You work so hard all the time.”

Sirius shrugged. “Agree to disagree?”

“Fine, but I hope you know taking time for yourself doesn’t mean you’re lazy.” He shuffled through the cards. “Oh, this’ll be very interesting. Do you think I talk too much?”

“No.”

“True.”

Remus sat back in his chair, a pleased blush coloring his cheeks. “Wasn’t expecting that. Good answer, I love you. Do you think we’ll get divorced someday?”

“Oh, god, no.” Sirius’ previous self-satisfaction turned to revulsion. “I don’t even want to think about that.”

“True,” Mark said again. “For someone who said he was good at lying, you’re very honest.”

“No point in lying with that thing around, is there?”

Remus shrugged. “Saves time, for sure. Have you kissed any of our friends?”

“Yeah,” he snorted.

To his credit, Mark didn’t even let a smile slip through. “True.”

“Do you enjoy getting stopped in public by fans?”

“Fans, yes. Ex-fans who take it upon themselves to explain why I shouldn’t be gay, no.” He paused, then shook his head with a smile. “I’m not good at talking to people, but I do like it when people say hello. It’s cool.”

“True.”

Remus raised his notecards. “Two left, and the first one is hella morbid.”

“Hella,” Sirius murmured, earning himself a teasing glare.

“Watch it. If I died, how long would you wait to get remarried?”

The playfulness dropped away. “What?”

“If I died, how long would you wait to get remarried?” Remus repeated.

Sirius looked horrified by the very thought. “I wouldn’t.”

“True,” Mark said, seemingly uncaring about the alarm on Sirius’ face.

“Even if it happened tomorrow?”

“First of all, thanks for my new nightmare. Second, no. I wouldn’t get married again.” He kissed Remus’ forehead gently. “Let’s not test that, though. Like ever.”

“Deal. Ready for the last one?”

“As long as nobody else is in danger of death.”

“I dunno, it’s a tough one.” Remus gave him a solemn look across the table. “I need you to be really honest with me on this one. Do you think you have better hair?”

Sirius blinked at him, then burst out laughing. Even Mark’s lips twitched into a suppressed smile. “Oh my god.”

“What’s so funny?” Remus asked, completely poker-faced. “This is important, honey. I’m really counting on you to be genuine with me here—”

“You can’t even—” Sirius broke off again and gestured to Remus’ face, which turned steadily pinker as he bit down a grin. “You can’t even keep a straight face.”

“My face is the only straight thing about me. You know this. Answer the question.”

“He’s trying so hard,” Sirius managed as he looked to the camera. “So hard, mon dieu.”

“Shit,” Remus muttered as he finally gave in and hid his laughter in the crook of his elbow. “We were doing so well until now! It’s the last question, just answer it!”

Sirius wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and nodded. “I do think I have better hair, but I love yours, too.”

Mark chuckled. “True.”

“It would help if you finally got a haircut that was different from the one you’ve had since you were thirteen.”

Remus closed his eyes, sighing. “Y’know, exposing my haircut choices for the entire internet to mock really wasn’t how I planned this day going.”

“Isn’t that the point of this whole video?”

“Mark, I’m not sure if we owe you an apology or not, but thank you for putting up with us.” Remus turned back to the camera with an easy smile. “Thanks for joining us today, everyone. Make sure to like and subscribe to Lion Pride for more videos like this!”

#sirius black #remus lupin #coops #sweater weather #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #social media #lion pride #lie detector

[lesbian-deadpool]

Happy Little Accidents

Part Two: Hope

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Words: 2,317

Warnings: I don’t think there is any?? Crying/light angst, adoption process, stress??

Request: Yes

Summary: You work on getting you little girl back. And hope that it’s successful.

A/N: It’s been a long time coming, I haven’t proof read it or anything (but when do I ever? Lol), so bare that in mind.

Ko-Fi

(Not My GIF)

***

Being a pair of Avengers and going through the adoption process was so very complicated.

On one hand, you were well known across the globe. Household names.

But on the other. You were dangerous people, with violent past's -and futures to come- with more enemies than you could count. Some of which you didn't even know existed. And who in their right minds would ever let a child into that environment? People have been turned down for much less.

However.

You were basically celebrity's. And as everyone knows, that comes with a lot of special treatment. Even if you and Natasha -And most of, if not all of your team- denied to use any of it. But in this case? For little Hope? You would do whatever you had to.

So, it was thanks to that, that you were even allowed to be considered for adoption.

And there was so much work that had to be done.

Papers to sign, meetings to attend, visits and screenings every which way. And so much more.

It was a long and tedious journey. And you still had a long way to go.

Right now, you had to watch as someone picked apart your home -once again- to make sure it was okay for your little girl to come home. Where she belongs.

You had moved not too long ago, maybe a little over two months, and in that time, it had been looked at three times. Which really made it seem like you weren't doing anything, in their eyes, considering you were busy working and renovating the whole place out at the same time.

The day after you and Natasha had to say goodbye to Hope, you knew that you had to get a bigger place than the apartment you had both shared. And began looking for new homes the very same day.

Tony's help wasn't needed, you had plenty of money, but he insisted. So when you two found a townhouse that you absolutely adored, not too far from SHIELD HQ -where you both now worked most of the time. As when Fury found out that you were both to be adopting Hope- or trying to at least, the man lowered your hours and took you off missions altogether. Just until you were all settled-, the billionaire bought it for you, the moment he got wind of it.

You were moved in three days later. Deciding to work on the house while you lived there.

"So, where would the child be sleeping?" Your caseworker asked.

"Oh, right this way," you said, leading her down the hall to the newly decorated bedroom. Natasha following behind.

You gestured to the light pink, yet slightly sparse room. "This is it."

"We still have to pick up some of the furniture. But we've been waiting for the room to be decorated first," Natasha said, excusing the bare room.

"Yeah, Hope's not going to sleep on a stack of paint cans," you tried to joke. To which you barely got a smile from your caseworker, Stephany Halla.

"It look's decorated to me?"

"Oh." Natasha smiled. "We're having a friend of ours paint a mural or two on the walls."

"Yeah, Hope has a few favourite Avengers, so he's gonna paint them. And he's been learning how to draw cartoon characters for it, too."

"He's actually trying to adopt the two kids he took in with his fiance."

"Steve Rogers?" Stephany asked.

"That's the guy," you said, nodding along with Natasha.

"I've seen him around the office," She spoke again a few moments later. "So, when are you planning on getting the furniture for the room?"

"Hopefully, within a month," Natasha replied, "But with our and Steve's schedules, things are up in the air."

It was a difficult start to the adoption process, more so than it was now. Considering that the children legally didn't exist to the world. So, everything was so confusing and thrown up into the air while waiting for the kids to be registered.

Almost like you didn't know whether you were coming or going. Everything stuck in limbo as you waited to see what kind of adoption process you would have to take. And even with all of your connections in the world, you were still left in the dark.

There was the fact that the kids were found overseas in Romania, so they could be considered Romanian. And so, you would have to go through international adoption.

However, none of the children have birth parents and were brought to America because you had rescued them. So, some would say they could be considered immigrants.

Nothing like this had ever happened before.

Babies that had been grown in a lab and saved from a further torturous life, that now needed legalization in the world's eyes.

You and Natasha had to watch as Government's essentially fought over these children you saved. Over the same child, you clothed and fed. The one you played games with and bonded with the little girl you grew to love and consider your own.

So, as the world fought for the right of your child, your little Hope, you waited. Just wishing and wanting to bring your daughter home.

But, luckily for you, the children were now classed as American citizens. Which made it ten times easier for you to adopt than it would otherwise.

Which is honestly just crazy to you, considering just how intensely hard this is.

There were times you didn't believe you could ever adopt your child.

On more than one occasion, Natasha would come to you, saddened to her core, because she truly believed that you would never have Hope in your family.

It was so fucking hard.

Natasha had rolled over one night after you two had -once again- gone through the rules and regulations of adopting. Uttering how you were, "Never going to get her back" that there was "Juts no way, they will let us adopt", as she cried into your arms.

But still, the process continued.

"Well, your home seems to be in good standing. So for. But I advise you to get the furniture for the child's room as soon as possible," Stephane commented as she began packing up her belongings and paperwork.

"Oh, we know."

"Steve did say that he was going to start work on it in the next few days," Natasha added, nodding along with you.

"Well, that's is good news." Stephane smiled. "I'll see you at our next meeting with Hope."

Natasha sighed happily. "We can't wait."

"Well, goodbye then."

You whished the dirty-blonde woman farewell, closing the door behind her.

"We get to see our daughter in a couple of weeks," your red-headed girlfriend said excitedly, dancing from side to side out of pure happiness. Her bright smile filling your soul with warmth, that travelled all the way into your bones.

You matched her emotions, hands coming to curve around her shoulder blades and pulling her close to you.

"I know, Honey. It's been so long since we've seen her. And we're gonna bring her home one day."

That was all you could say before your mouth was covered, with the crushing feeling of Natasha's plump lips against yours.

***

Nerves rattled through you, but you hadn't the faintest idea why, considering this wasn't the first time you had seen Hope. However, it had been one of the first times you were able to see her since the day she was taken away from you.

If you thought you were bad.

Natasha was far worse.

She was practically shaking. From nerves or excitement, you didn't know. But you had a good inkling to think that it was both.

You had done so much for this child in the short span of time you had known her.

And yet, you couldn't imagine your life any other way. The thought of how your life had been that time last year.

No Hope. Surrounded by missions and work. Every free moment you had was spent with Natasha, and the rag-tag group of hero's you had grown to call your family.

It all seemed so foreign now.

Like a past life.

'Wow', you thought, 'Maybe I really am growing up'.

A part of you was afraid that the girl you thought of as your daughter wouldn't recognise you or your []. And would be scared of the two strangers that had just barged their way into her life. Breaking both of your heart's.

"Mommy! Mommy!"

Was the thing that greeted you, as soon as the door had swung open. Making you realise just how stupid your train of thought really was.

Natasha rushed forward, scooping the girl up into her arms, with a bright smile upon both of their faces.

"So, I still don't get a name, huh?" you joked, walking over to the reuniting girls.

Brushing a hand over Hope's short hair. Grinning when she reached her arms towards you, ready to give you a hug of your own, which you gratefully accepted.

"Don't worry," Natasha said, rubbing Hope's back as she hugged you, "You'll get a name soon."

"I better. Or else I'm gonna have ta tickle it out of her."

Hope's squeals reached your ears as you threateningly poked her side with your fingers.

"Here, baby. I'll save you," Natasha called, pulling the giggling girl from your arms. Both of them watching as you pulled your hand's in front of your face, wiggling the fingers almost spookily as them. The girls turned to each other, "They're silly."

Then they walked away.

With you calling after them.

"Hey! I may be silly, but-... I have no rebuttal!"

Natasha laughed at this, then greeted the care worker that was patiently waiting for you both. The one that you had only just noticed.

"Hello, Stephany," Natasha said in greeting, shaking the woman's hand. You following suit.

"Hey. How have you two been?"

"Missing this little one," Natasha replied, bouncing the girl on her waist. Receiving fun-filled giggles in return.

"I bet you have. And you, Y/N?"

"Exhausted," you told her honestly, "With moving house and everything, I just want to have Hope home, then sleep for a week."

The care worker laughed at that.

"Let's hope that that's sooner rather than later, then."

Your few hour's with Hope passed faster than you ever could have imagined. You played with blocks, ate lunch, "helped" Hope colour in her haphazardly filled colouring book. You absolutely adored the way her eyes lit up, and she started dancing and flailing her arms when she saw bubbles for the first time. You almost couldn't continue blowing them because of your bright smile.

And now you were watching as Natasha spoke gently to the little girl. Hope's hand's resting on the red-heads cheeks, watching her mother with such concentrating eyes.

You adored your little family.

You just wished you could have them all home.

'One day', you thought, 'one day'.

Saying goodbye was one of the hardest things you've ever had to do.

Just like the last time.

And the time before that.

And the time before that.

And the one before that.

It just got harder and harder each and every time you did this.

Hope was crying. And so was Natasha, albeit silently, as she tried to console the toddler.

"I know, my little love, I know-"

"Mommy!" Hope cried.

"I know, angel. We'll be back before you know it, I promise."

"Mommy!"

"I know."

Once in the car, you let your tears fall, Natasha sobbing in the seat beside you.

"I don't think I can keep on doing this anymore," you admitted. Deciding it was best you explained when Natasha turned to look at you, an incredulous look upon her face, "Keep on seeing her, and not being able to bring her home."

"We'll get there," your [] reached over the centre console to squeeze your hand, "We will. You're the one who's always saying that we've got to take after her namesake and have hope."

"But it almost seems endless, Nat."

"I know, honey." She wetly kissed your tear-stained cheek. Her lips, brushing against it as she continued, "We'll bring her home. I just know it."

"I hope you're right."

***

She was right.

Of course, she was right.

She was Natasha Romanoff, after all.

It was like she just had this inability to be wrong.

But in this case? You were so fucking happy about that.

Granted it had taken a while longer -a good eight months- but finally, you were here.

Exiting the courthouse with Hope in your arms, and Natasha by your side. Bright smiles upon all of your faces, about to take the little girl- Your daughter home.

You would never have to say goodbye to her, like that, ever again.

She was legally a part of your family now. And nothing would ever change that.

"Ready to go home, sweetpea?" Natasha asked the beaming girl.

"I don't know about you," you started, "But I think this deserves celebratory ice cream."

"I think you just want ice cream before dinner."

You gave an overdramatic gasp.

"Why I would never! How dare you accuse me of such a thing?"

Natasha laughed at your antics but nonetheless nodded her head.

"I agree. This does deserve celebratory ice cream."

"Yes!" you exclaimed happily to Hope, your free arm raising above your head in victory, making the girl copy you by raising both of her arms.

She was already taking after you.

Your red-headed girlfriend sighed dreamily after you, as you chanted, "Ice cream! Ice cream! Ice cream!" On your way to the car.

She couldn't remember a time where she was this happy.

It had been a long time since then.

And Natasha just couldn't wait to see what the rest of her life would bring with the two of you now by her side.

***

Permanent Tag List: 

@imnotasuperhero, @veteranwerewolf95, @natasha-danvers, @marvelfansince08love, @higherfurther-romanova, @lesbian-x-blackwidow, @sestra-inestro, @thelastavenger-3000, @mixed-fandom-mess,

SFW Tag list: 

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#original work #original fanfiction #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #marvel #MCU

[lazywonderlvnd]

Hi, if you are still taking prompts; A magically powerful Harry not noticing that his magic does things to make Draco happy. This can be pre-relationship or established relationship. Like it starts of with his tea being exactly as he likes and always the right temperature. Then evolves to rooms changing colour or weather changing or people being unable to invade Draco’s personal space due to an invisible barrier or something ridiculous. Btw Draco doesn’t notice as well.

anon.....you really killed me w this one. i’ve been so emo over this wyugeahrwiw might end up writing smth longer tbh bc this concept is literally the only thing that matters to me!!!!!!! i hope u enjoy i had so much fun with it ❤️❤️❤️

“Harry, you do it. Please.”

“No.”

“Please!”

“We’re fucking watching something, Draco!”

“So just pause it!”

Harry grabs the pillow on his lap and slams it onto the sofa next to him. Hermione can see dust rise in its wake. He pauses the telly. 

“Are you doing it?” Draco asks hopefully. Harry scowls at him. 

“Well you won’t shut up until I do, will you?”

“Definitely not.”

Harry disappears into the kitchen and Draco sits there looking smug.

“It’s kind of sick how you get off on bossing him around,” says Ron, his tone one of simple observation. His fingers are idly playing with Hermione’s hair, but she doesn’t think he notices he’s doing it. 

“If I’m not mean to him a few times a week I break out in a rash, Weasley,” Draco says blithely. “Besides, he makes it perfectly. I don’t know how he does it, it’s always exactly the right temperature and sweetness and all that. I s’pose his years as a house-elf for those Muggles gave him plenty of time to perfect the art.”

“You’re a twat,” says Ron. “And my mum makes tea better than him.”

“Well you’re just a pitiful little mummy’s boy, aren’t you, Weasley? We can hardly trust your opinion.”

“Hark who the hell’s talking,” Ron scoffs. “Least I’m not twenty-three and still calling my mum ‘mummy’ like the world’s biggest bloody ponce.”

Draco splutters but before he can retort Harry’s coming back into the room hovering four cups of tea that float placidly to each of them. Draco looks exactly like a satisfied cat as he takes his and Harry drops back down onto the sofa next to him. Not too close, but certainly not too far, either.

“Literally exquisite,” Draco declares after he’s taken a sip. Ron rolls his eyes.

“It’s just tea, Draco,” says Harry, and he grabs for the remote to turn the film back on. “You’re such a demanding little brat. Merlin’s fucking tits.”

But Draco looks happy and Harry looks suspiciously content as well. Ron turns to her and makes a silent gagging face. Hermione snorts and puts a finger to her lips. They’ve decided not to say anything yet.

*

“Wasn’t this place a lot … uglier last time?”

“What?” Harry says absently. He’s not listening — he’s got all his attention zeroed in on a stack of parchment he’s holding. They’d only barely dragged him along to lunch; earlier the captain of the English National Team had apparently owled him a great number of brand-new Quidditch plays and required Harry’s extensive thoughts and notes before their next practise, which was tomorrow morning. 

“Uglier,” Draco says emphatically, and Ron mutters something she doesn’t catch. “Remember? The walls were that tragic egg-yolk colour.” He shivers. Hermione thinks it might have been an honest-to-god shiver of revulsion. She also thinks she knows what’s happened, even though the extent of it surprises her.

“Maybe someone heard you whingeing and changed it,” Ron apparently can’t stop himself from saying with a snigger. Hermione elbows him hard and he shoots her a glare, mouthing, he doesn’t know!

Harry would usually be the one to take the lead and get them a table when all four of them go out to eat together but today he’s too wrapped up in his Quidditch plays, so Ron steps forward and does it, which makes Hermione’s chest flutter pleasantly. He’d blush down to his bones if she ever said it aloud but he’s quite capable of being a leader in Harry’s absences. 

“Whatever happened,” says Draco pointedly as they’re led to their table, “it’s a great bloody blessing, I was genuinely unsure I’d have the mental fortitude to survive another assault like that on my delicate senses. And, I mean, this —” he gestures to the walls, which are now an admittedly pleasing dark teal above a white trim “— is stunning. It’s my favourite colour.”

“Is it? So weird they picked your favourite colour completely by coincidence,” Ron says, and Hermione elbows him again. Draco notices nothing and neither does Harry, although he does finally set the plays aside once they’re seated at the table.

“Are you complaining about the wall colour again?” he asks drily. They would both be extremely displeased to know they sound like an old married couple. Draco snatches haughtily at the paper napkin on the table and unfolds it to place over his lap. The first time he’d ever done this at a regular, decidedly not upscale restaurant Ron had taken it upon himself to spend the entire meal adopting a posh accent to match Draco’s and saying things to the waiter like “Don’t you have crystal?” while holding up a glass cup full of Pepsi and then commenting “These aren’t real silver, you know” after making a show of inspecting the titanium utensils. 

“I can complain about hideous design choices if I want to,” Draco tells Harry with his nose in the air. “Thankfully they’ve rectified it this time.”

On the other side of the restaurant, Hermione sees two employees talking, one of them gesturing at the wall with utter bewilderment. She doesn’t point it out.

*

“Twelve o’clock,” says Ron, nodding past Draco’s shoulder. “Some bloke staring you down hard, Malfoy.”

Draco looks excitedly behind him, but what Hermione takes more notice of is the way Harry’s face falls a little. She can’t help but wonder if he even realises it’s happened. She’s almost certain he’s aware of his feelings for Draco even though he still hasn’t said anything to her (and she’s been waiting months now, the effort of holding her tongue growing only more difficult by the day, and she knows Ron’s always seconds away from shouting at him) but she doesn’t think he knows how obvious he is. Draco doesn’t seem to know either, but she thinks that’s because Draco feels exactly the same way. She’d have called them morons, but she remembers too well how long it had taken her and Ron.

“What the fuck, Weasley,” Draco hisses, turning back around with a scowl that makes Ron laugh and Harry perk up again a little bit. “He looks like he hasn’t washed his hair in weeks.”

“Now, now,” says Ron, “mustn’t judge books by their greasy covers.”

“Then you go shag him if you think he’s so fit.”

“Maybe I will,” Ron says airily, as if he really is considering it, and Hermione can’t help chuckling and kissing his cheek. Then his expression changes to one of wicked amusement, which makes all of them look round to see the bloke coming their way. Hermione glances at Harry to find that — oh yes, he looks flustered and vaguely upset.

“Hullo,” says the greasy bloke to Draco as he comes up beside him at their table. He’s really not terrible-looking, but if she’s learned anything about Draco in the last couple years it’s that his standards amount to models and Harry Potter, so this man has almost no chance.

“Hello,” Draco drawls, reminding her fiercely of his younger self at Hogwarts. “I’m not interested.”

“Right little narcissistic bugger, aren’t you?” the man says. And now, finally, he’s begun to look as revolting to Hermione as he’d done initially to Draco — a repellent personality can do that. “Maybe I just wanted to come and have a chat.”

“Then why aren’t you looking at any of the rest of us?” Ron asks, sounding halfway between amused still and a little put off.

“Can you leave, please?” Draco interjects, cringing away from the man encroaching slowly on his personal space. And suddenly, as he looks on the verge of antagonising Draco further, he shifts his feet and slips, landing right on his bum with a yell of surprise. All four of them get to their feet to see, but there doesn’t seem to be any liquid or even slimy food for him to have tripped on.

“The fuck ...?” the man says, getting back to his feet. But when he moved towards Draco, he only slips again, on absolutely nothing at all. Something clicks and Hermione looks at Harry: he seems as confused as anyone else (if obviously pleased).

She looks at Ron then, who catches her eye and lifts his brows like he’s thinking the same thing.

Draco’s suitor gets up once more and steadies himself, looking a bit dazed. Some deep animal instinct seems to tell him to stop trying, and with a wary glance at Draco he finally leaves.

“Well that was a bit of a fucking scene,” says Harry. Draco, coming out of his own startled daze, laughs.

“Yeah,” Ron says sarcastically, “wonder what could’ve possibly happened.”

*

“I really thought it was going to rain,” Draco mopes where he’s standing at the window. It’s grey outside but it definitely doesn’t look like rain and Draco appears so upset about it that Hermione actually feels badly, even though she’s quite glad for the clear weather. 

“Just shut the curtains,” Ron suggests from his place on the floor. He’s sorting through Harry’s collection of VHS tapes, trying to decide on a good Halloween movie. Not that he’s ever seen any of them, and Hermione suspects he’ll end up choosing whichever cover he likes best.

“It’s not the same!” Draco wails. “The thunder and lightning is all part of it, you uncultured pillock! The atmosphere is all wrong.”

“It’ll be just as good when we shut off all the lights and draw the curtains,” she assures him, but it doesn’t remove the look of disappointment from his face. It’s a pouty sort of thing that echoes the brattiness of his youth; she imagines a five-or-six-year-old Draco giving his parents similar looks when he wasn’t getting what he wanted.

 At that moment the front door opens and Harry walks in carrying two grocery bags, one of which contains alcohol, which Hermione can tell by the way the plastic is bulging around the cans.

“The fuck are you all doing here?” he says by way of greeting.

“You said eight o’clock, fuckhead,” Ron tells him without looking up. “But it’s fine, I’ve had time to pick a film and Malfoy’s had time to moan about the weather.”

“What’s wrong with the weather?”

“I wanted a storm!”

At that exact moment, a flash of lightning lights up the sky behind Harry where he hasn’t even closed the door yet. Seconds later a downpour begins, and then there’s a rolling crash of thunder.

Hermione’s eyes widen and once more she finds Ron’s gaze, who looks about as shocked as she feels. Draco, meanwhile, has his hands over his mouth and looks like a child on Christmas morning.

For the first time since his magic had begun picking up on Draco’s wishes and granting them of seemingly its own accord, Hermione sees Harry look suspicious. He peers behind him at the storm suddenly raging outside his house before slowly closing the door. When he turns back he looks directly at Hermione, who looks away quickly.

They set up the food Harry had gotten — all kinds of Halloween-themed sweets — and once everyone has their drinks (“Make mine,” Draco tells Harry, “you do it best”) and is comfortable on the two sofas in the room (Harry and Draco are, as usual, as close to each other as they can get without actually touching) they start the movie: The Thing, which Harry swears is one of the greatest horror films of all time.

Funny thing is, an hour and a half into it she looks over and, with a jolt, realises the two of them are kissing half-covered beneath a blanket. She elbows Ron, who positively beams when he notices.

“Fucking finally, dear sweet Merlin,” he whispers, the sound muffled by the continued rain and thunder. “I nearly hit him upside the head when he made it rain, are you fucking kidding me?”

“Shh!” Hermione hisses, though she’s smiling. “They’ll hear you. We’ll rag him about it tomorrow.”

A soft sound of laughter comes from the other sofa that Hermione identifies as Draco’s, and when she risks another peek after a moment she sees that Harry has a hand on Draco’s jaw, and that he’s smiling.

#anna writes #this prompt rly sent me into a tailspin of emotion #Anonymous

[choiceskatie]

Your Honour (Thomas Mendez x MC)

Book: Mother of the Year

Warnings: filth NSFW 🍋

Author’s Note: @ao719 and I have both come to the conclusion that even if Thomas may publicly gives off sub vibes, he is an absolute freak behind closed doors. We are prepared to throw hands if anyone tries to argue us on the matter. This fic is a result of our thirsting lol. Thanks to my girl for pre-reading this for me!

All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Thomas lifted his head from his sky high stack of contracts as he heard a knock on his office door, calling for them to come in. He smiled brightly as he saw his wife of two years walking in, grinning at him and shutting the door behind her as she carried a white container.

"Hello, gorgeous." Thomas got up from his desk immediately, walking round to greet Tara with a sweet kiss on the lips, but his wife had other ideas, sweeping her tongue into his welcoming mouth and wrapping her arms around his neck. He pulled back with a chuckle as he quirked his brow at her. "That was a warm welcome."

"You know there’s always plenty more where that came from," she winked with a smirk as Thomas laughed warmly. "I brought you lunch".

He took the container box from her as he pulled out the seat opposite his at the desk for her. He opened it immediately, looking back up at her curiously. "Honey..."

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"These are doughnuts."

"Mmhm?"

"Is this meant to be dessert?"

"No, Thomas, it's not. It's lunch. I know I'm a greedy slob but it's not my fault! Blame your son!"

Thomas broke into a loud laugh and smiled fondly, choosing to ignore her tone with him, as his gaze fell her to stomach, still relatively flat to a stranger's eye in her floaty dress but finally showing a round bump when bare. Tara was now 22 weeks along in her pregnancy, and they had recently found out they were having a boy. They'd both said they were happy with either as long as the baby was healthy, but deep down they were elated, more so Thomas at finally having someone on his team at home. They'd chosen to wait until her 20 week scan to tell Luz and Zoey, since Tara was constantly worried about something going wrong. Thomas scalded her every time she referred to herself as a 'geriatric mother', telling her she was only 34 and that they didn't even use that phrase anymore. Not that she ever listened.

Luz and Zoey were both ecstatic, until things set in as they were now of the age to truly understand what their parents had been doing to conceive their baby brother and their faces crumpled in disgust. Thankfully, at 13 they both still loved kids and were beyond excited for the arrival of their new family member in a matter of months.

"Since when does the little man want doughnuts?" He chuckled, adding "that's a new craving."

"Monday," she groaned. "I've been getting them everyday whilst you're at work and eating a whole box to myself and it's still not enough! When you fall asleep at night I lie fucking salivating, thinking about damn doughnuts! I'm going to end up 500 pounds after this pregnancy!"

"Christ, Tara. A box a day? If you don't end up that, you'll end up with diabetes!"

"It's not my fault! It's yours! I never had any bad cravings with Zoey. It's your bad sperm making me fat!"

Biting down on his bottom lip to supress a laugh and resisting the urge to roll his eyes at her dramatics, Thomas tried to press the real issue. "Honey, you really need to try and ignore your cravings every once in a while. I know it must be hard but we need to think about-"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Do you have a vagina? I must have missed that at the conception."

He narrowed his eyes looking at her, knowing exactly where this conversation was heading. "No, I don't."

"Ohhh, that's right! Well guess what, Mr Mendez, no uterus, no opinion!"

He crouched down in front of her, smoothing his hands up and down Tara's thighs to soothe her. "I'm sorry, I just worry. The most important thing in the world to me is for you and our baby to be healthy."

Tara let out a sigh, looping her arms across his shoulders. "I know you do, I'm sorry. You're only trying to help and I bit your head off." Her lower lip trembled as her eyes began to shine with unshed tears.

"Hey, hey, hey." He gathered her in his arms, pressing a kiss into her hair as his hands ran up and down her back. "Sweetheart, it's fine. I just don't want you having any health problems down the line. If it’ll help, I'm going to eat healthier too. I want to experience as much of this as possible."

She pulled back to look at him, smiling at him. "I'm sorry, this second trimester is kicking my ass. My mood swings come out of nowhere."

"No, I'm sorry. You're carrying our baby around and I'm moaning at you." He grazed his knuckle over her cheek and tucked a stray hand of hair behind her ear, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. She shut her eyes and pushed her lips out in a pout, eliciting a chuckle from Thomas as she silently asked for a kiss.

He leaned in, pressing his mouth softly to her plump lips, but the kiss quickly grew more passionate from two eager sides as his tongue slowly curled with hers, and his hands travelled leisurely down her back to pull her against him, cupping her ass. She pulled back with a tug on his lower lip, his returning groan already turning her on more.

He rested his forehead against hers as he whispered to her with closed eyes. "In actuality, I'm rather enjoying these pregnancy hormones."

“You know... there is a way you can make it up to me."

"Hmm? How's that?"

"By taking me on your desk." His eyes flew open as he felt his face begin to burn. Tara's eyes fluttered open as she giggled noticing his flushed complexion. They'd been together for four years and every time she flirted with him it came out. In all honesty, it was one of the reasons she loved him so much.

She felt a rumble of laughter originate in his chest before it came barrelling out. "Are you crazy?"

"What?" She shrugged. "We've done it before."

"I'm sorry, when have we ever had sex in my office before? I hate to break it to you, honey, but I think you may be remembering a past encounter with a different man!"

"Oh, shush with the dramatics, Thomas, we're not in the courtroom." She rolled her eyes at him as he chuckled. "Remember your company Christmas party the year we got married? You had some files to pick up on our way home to take home over the-"

"Oh my god. I completely forgot about that. I'm surprised the doorman even let us in, I don't think I've ever been so drunk in my life."

"Well, he did, and you fucked me-" Tara tapped on the desk with a small pause "-right here! She grinned widely, her eyes taking on a faraway look as she reminisced. "Aw man, those were the good old days, before you put a sugar crazed demon in my belly."

"I'm sorry, does creating life with one another not fall into your category of 'good days'?"

"Point taken. The other good days!"

"Tara, I can hear my assistant biting her nails when I'm in here alone. There's no soundproofing in this office at all." He smirked as he leaned in to kiss her neck. “Unless...”

“Unless what?” She shivered as she got lost in the feeling of his lips moving up her neck.

He sucked on her pulse point before whispering in her ear. “You promise to keep quiet for me, like a good girl.”

She bit her lip to supress the whine at his name calling. He knew how much she liked it but she wasn't letting him win that easily. “I think I’ll manage, your honour.”

He smirked at her eager response. She was trying to even the playing field. And it was working. “Oh, really? Because as I recall, there’s only one screamer in this marriage, and we both know it’s not me.”

And with that, he pounced. His lips latched onto every bare patch of skin available as he desperately hiked her dress up around her hips, pulling her out of it a moment later and throwing it over his shoulder, not giving a damn where it landed. He undid her bra clasp with one hand as the other explored her body, Tara sighing in relief when her swollen breasts broke free, leaving her in only her thong.

He tore himself away, looking at the beautiful specimen sitting in his office chair, feeling himself strain uncomfortably against his slacks at the sight of her perfect curves, plus the new addition. He bent down to press a soft, but lingering kiss on the bump now on full display. Tara smiled and cradled his head as he did so. At times, she was overwhelmed by Thomas' love and involvement in the pregnancy. He went with her to every appointment, held her hair back every morning when the first trimester morning sickness hit, cooked dinner for her and the girls every single night, not letting her do any jobs in the house. He did everything in his power to make her happy, and the stark contrast to her first pregnancy made her emotional.

Alas, her sentimental thoughts were cut short by Thomas' thumbs grazing over her nipples, instantly bringing them to hardened peaks. "Mmm... so reactive to me."

She bit her lip as she moaned slightly, pressing her legs together to relieve her pulsing centre. "I think you'll find it's the pregnancy, my love. Although, that tongue of yours-"

Before she could even finish her sentence, his lips had latched onto one of her nipples, flicking his tongue and sucking. His thumb and forefinger pinched and caressed the other, showing both equal attention.

Tara began writhing in the seat, clutching at Thomas' shoulders for anchor. He kissed across her chest as he switched nipples, bringing his free hand down to caress her sides when he felt her hips bucking. Now that he'd noticed, he heard her voice coming out in shaky breaths as her back began to arch of the chair. “Fuck, Thomas, don’t stop.” He kept his eyes locked on her face, dewy and flushed, her heard thrown back on the chair. She let out a moan from deep within as Thomas scrambled to cover her mouth with his large hard, feeling her bite his skin as her body arched in ecstasy. He softly swirled his tongue around the sensitive flesh as her trembles began to subside. He pulled his mouth away with great difficulty as he looked up at her with wide eyes.

“Did you just...?”

“Oh my god.” Tara covered her face with her hands, cringing as Thomas pulled them away. For the first time in their marriage, it was her turn to blush profusely as Thomas looked at her in awe.

“That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Tara bit her lip through a giggle as Thomas leaned in to kiss her deeply, before pulling back to whisper to him, "I told you. That mouth is your prized possession."

And it was his turn to be the blushing fool again.

"My turn to take care of you," she grinned as she leaned in to kiss his neck, starting to undo his shirt buttons with quick and nimble fingers.

He groaned as she took his ear lobe in her mouth, biting softly as she got to the last button and rid him of his clothing.

"As much as I like the sound of that...” He grabbed her by the waist and stood, lifting her easily as her legs instinctively wrapped around his firm body. "Not today, sweetheart..." He walked to the side of his desk, sweeping off the mountain of documents in one go. "Today is about testing you...” He lay back onto the hard wooden desk, Tara's hips straddling him as he moved them backwards to the centre of the table. "Today is about bringing you to the brink of pleasure and you keeping that dirty little mouth of yours shut whilst I do so...” He rolled his hips into hers as his large hands gripped her waist and she let out a gasp. "Today is about seeing how far I can push you without you screaming my name. Can you do that for me, baby?"

Tara stared at him, dumbfounded. Thomas liked to take control in the bedroom and she welcomed it. She loved being the only one to witness this side to him, an extreme version of the man he could be standing up in court. But this was so much more. No matter how much control he took, he was normally still putty in her hands. But today was role reversal. She had never been so desperate and needy for him, the evidence of such soaking through her flimsy lace underwear onto the crotch of his suit trousers. She shook herself out of it, plastering on her usual smirk to regain some composure.

“My, my, Mr Mendez. No foreplay? That’s not like you. Getting right to it, are we?” He smirked as she reached for his belt buckle to free him of his remaining clothing.

He gently caught her hand as he quirked a brow at her. “Who said anything about that?" He reached his legs under her thighs, gripping her hips as he comfortably held her entire weight in the air, pulling her closer and placing her hips right where he wanted them. On his face. He breathed her scent in deeply, groaning as his cock jumped in his pants.

She was a goner.

He frowned as he realised she still had her underwear on, dipping his thumbs into the material.

“Now, fuck.” Grab. “My.” Pull. “Face.” Rip. He flashed her a smirk as he pushed her hips down onto his eagerly awaiting tongue, sliding through her wet folds before his lips latched onto her clit, her mouth instantaneously falling open in a loud moan.

He pulled his face back with great difficulty, replacing his tongue with his thumb, subbing in to rub her in slow circles to keep her going as he spoke. “What did I tell you about keeping the noise down, hmm?”

Tara gasped as he pinched her nub, her hands instantly grabbing hold of Thomas’ shoulders as her head fell backward. “Ohhhh god, I - fuck,” she struggled to get her words out as his lips latched back onto her, sucking incessantly on her bundle of nerves. “I, fuck. I object.”

He smirked as he pulled back, again replacing his mouth with his thumb. “Overruled.”

She let out a loud moan and Thomas broke contact completely, leaving her whimpering.

“If you’re going to be naughty rather than acting like my good girl, then you’ll be treated as such.” He reached behind him, pulling open his top desk drawer and pulling out the first thing he felt. “Bend down.”

She did as he said, confused yet unbelievably aroused by his attitude and words, nearly face to face with him as she rested her weight on her palms. A moment later, he revealed a light blue silk tie, running it through his hands before pulling it taut at each end.

“If you can’t be quiet, then I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.”

Tara’s eyes widened as her face broke into a grin, far too eager for her husband to punish her. “Yes, your honour,” she breathed out sexily, trying to get him as riled up as she was.

He chuckled noticing her reaction, a momentary break in his dominant façade. “I love you, so much.”

He bunched the tie into a ball, shoving it into her waiting mouth as her plump lips latched onto it. “Is that alright?” She nodded and shot him a wink and he smirked. “Knock on the desk if it's too much." She nodded and he let out a sultry smile. "Good girl."

His mouth yet again found her centre as her hands fell to his thick hair, pulling him even closer. His tongue moved against her at an overwhelming rate, occasionally dropping down to her opening and drawing more wetness out from it. He could feel her getting closer, her hips gyrating against his face as her legs began to tighten around his neck. He pulled back long enough to command her, "Ride my face, Tara. Fucking ride it. I want to watch as you come all over my tongue." She moaned against the tie gagging her as she followed his orders. She grinded and rolled her hips against his welcoming tongue, standing rigid as he watched her eyebrows come together and her jaw clenching as she bit into the silk. Her hands gripped onto his hair, pulling tightly and his responding groan was enough to push her over the edge, the vibrations going straight to her core. He watched as her eyes shut tightly and heard a muffled scream against the offending material blocking the noise.

He continued to lap at her slowly, bringing her down from her high until she collapsed against him. He pulled the tie from her mouth as her saliva dripped out, the erotic sight only making him harder.

He curled one arm around her waist as he slowly flipped them over, the other going to cradle her head as he lowered her onto her back. He moved up her neck in slow, open mouth kisses and whispered, “are you okay?”

He looked back to see a satisfied smile on her face. “Fantastic. Remind me to bring you doughnuts again tomorrow.”

He chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. “All you need to do is ask, and you shall, receive sweetheart.” She pulled his face to her mouth, kissing him deeply as she tasted herself on him, licking around his lips before pulling back.

“Mmmm, and receive I did.”

“Are you ready?”

She mumbled in a daze. “For?”

Suddenly his weight was off her, standing by the desk as he waited for her to open her eyes. They fluttered open softly and she watched as he crooked a finger at her, beckoning her towards him. She pushed herself up on shaky arms and sat upright, a surprised yelp leaving her mouth as Thomas grabbed her by the waist and flipped her onto her hands and knees. He pulled her back ever so slightly, lowering her feet onto the ground as her chest met his desk, back arching as he held her by her hips.

She felt him behind her, teasing her opening with his swollen tip, the position exciting her. “Spank me, Thomas.” She heard him take a shark inhale of breath, and then... Slap. She gasped as Thomas’ palm connected with her ass cheek, softly, experimentally, but with enough force to have her clit pulsing with need again. “Fuck. Do it again.” Slap. This time had her body jerking forwards, the sharp pain of the skelp instantly melting to pleasure as he rubbed it soothingly. Slap. The final blow nearly made her body give out from under her, a loud moan falling from her lips as she recovered from the excitement.

Thomas felt mad with power, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to hear every beautiful moan coming out his wife’s mouth as he ravaged her.

Her clit began to tingle with want as she heard the unmistakable sound of his belt buckle coming apart, Thomas pulling his pants and boxers down enough to allow his throbbing length to spring free. “I’d grab hold of that desk if I were you. You’re going to need something to hold onto as I fuck you senseless.” And with that, he entered her in a single deep plunge, both of them moaning as he buried himself inside her, his hands found her hips and his head fell back. “Fuck, Tara, you feel so fucking good. I love the feeling of your tight little pussy clenching to take me.” He gave them both a minute to get used to the feeling. Tara adjusting to his size as he bit back a cry of pleasure at her walls enveloping him.

He felt her pushing her hips backwards, the tell tale sign she was ready. That was all he needed. He started off with slow and controlled, yet deep, movements, trying to prolong the moment as he bent over her, massaging her breasts with both hands as his hips moved expertly against her. He'd only fucked her last night, and it had already been too long since he'd been inside her, marvelling at how he'd even lasted this long without her, and how good it was, every. single. time. A thin sheen began to spread on his chest and forehead as he did his best to hold back his primal urges, until he got that magic word.

"Harder,” she whined. “Go harder, Thomas." He pulled back almost completely, slamming back into her as he instantly hit her spot and she cried out. “Oh fuck, right there.”

“There? Is that the spot, Tara?” He grabbed onto her long brown hair, curling it round his wrist as he yanked her back, her back hitting against his bare chest.

“Y-yes.”

"Touch yourself." Her shaky hand fell down to her clit as she began to circle it, the overstimulation throwing her head back onto Thomas' shoulder and he thrusted into her, continuing to hit her spot with each drive of his hips. She bit her lip through a loud moan and he reached up with his spare hand, taking hold of her jaw and prying her mouth open.

“Let me hear you." He slipped an arm around her body, landing on her hand as he increased her own pressure, both of them rubbing her together. He continued pounding into her, the sound of her whining and their bodies slamming together nearly pushing him over the edge. Their mouths met in a sloppy and desperate kiss, both dangerously close to falling over the cliff.

"You feel incredible,” he groaned as he felt a familiar tingling at the base of his spine, accompanied by the fluttering off her walls around him. “You’re close, aren’t you?"

"So fucking close."

Tara nearly burst into tears at the aching emptiness she felt as he slipped out of her with no prior warning. She snapped her head back to glare at him as she saw his smirking face. I'm going to kill you. “Thomas, what the hell! Don't stop now!”

He suddenly flipped her over before growling, “I need to see the look on your face when I make you come.” He lifted her legs up over his shoulders and entered her again, this thrusts coming fast and frantic as the position allowed him to go even deeper. She held onto the edge of the table as he felt her beginning to flutter around his cock again, thanking the heavens she was close before he ended up erupting inside her.

"Oh God, that's it, Thomas. Don't stop. Please don't stop."

"It's time, Tara. I want you to come. Now, baby." And boy, did she follow orders well. She screamed his name as her back arched from the desk and her hands scrambled to grab hold of his muscular arms.

He thrusted through her climax as her release coated him. She mustered enough energy to open her eyes, facing him in an intense stare down as she whispered, “come for me, Thomas. Give me it all.” He pulled her hips into him one final time as he finally let go and emptied himself inside her, following her into a sea of ecstasy with a loud yell. They remained that way for a few minutes, him still pulsating inside of her as their breathing returned to normal.

He slowly pulled out, bending down to gather her into his arms and carrying her over to the sofa in the corner of his office, pulling her against his chest with a contented sigh. "You're incredible."

"You're not so bad yourself, counsellor." They shared a chuckle as she curled into his side peacefully. After a few blissful minutes of cuddling, sweet kisses and exchanging satiated smiles, an alarm went off on Tara's phone.

She groaned as she stood from Thomas' embrace, missing the warmth of his body instantly. "I need to go pick up Alma, she's coming with me to the bake sale since you've got that meeting." She walked over to grab her dress, which was hanging from a bookcase at the other side of the room. As she picked it up, her eyes widened and she quickly spun around to face her husband.

“Thomas! I don’t have underwear to put on, I’m wearing a dress and it’s windy outside!”

He let out a loud laugh as he stood from the couch, zipping his pants and redoing his belt buckle. He found his shirt by his desk, slipping his arms in and turning to Tara. “I’ve got,” he pulled up the cuff of his shirt sleeve as he checked his watch, “45 minutes until I need to be at court. Let’s go buy you some sexy lingerie to wear for me getting home tonight.”

Her eyes widened slightly as she giggled. "Mr Mendez, you are utterly insatiable. What am I going to do with you?"

"Only the dirtiest of things I hope, my dear wife." He slapped her ass as she let out a yelp, giggling as they helped each other dress.

The pair walked out of his office, Thomas locking it behind them before turning around to see several wide eyed colleagues staring at the two of them, before snapping their heads back to their computers. He'd never seen any of them so intently interested in their work in his life.

“Ahem, I em-” he cleared his throat as he placed his hand on the small of Tara's back, guiding her to the elevator as quickly as he could without drawing more suspicion. He pressed incessantly at the button, avoiding eye contact with everyone including his wife before the doors finally opened to a miraculously empty space. Once they were finally alone, he let out a sigh and lifted his head, Tara bursting into a fit of laughter at his complexion. It could only be described as burgundy. "I may need to work from home for a few weeks." He raked his fingers through his hair and down his face as he wondered how he was going to ever return to his office.

"Suits me. That way we can make it a daily occurrence for me riding your face.”

He eyed her with a quirked brow and crooked smile. "Don't make me take you in this elevator."

"I dare you."

#mother of the year #moty #choices moty #choices mother of the year #thomas mendez #thomas mendez x mc #thomas x mc #moty thomas #ns*w #lemons #Thomas x Tara #n*fw #my writing #kt tries to write

[writingsbychlo]

smoke and fire (01)

word count; 6959

summary; after making a somewhat reckless decision in the heat of the moment, newt gives you some harsh truths, and some good advice.

notes; this first part isn’t all that exciting, admittedly, but these first few parts set a grounding for the rest, so you just have to rock with it.

warnings; reference to injury, building fire, reference to dementia.

Stepping into the main room, you glanced around, catching the eye of your friend and colleague, the blond who was waving at you from the tall counter. His foot was propped up on one of the taller stools, a plate of pancakes in front of him as he held a pen between his teeth, the newspaper out before him. 

Striding across the room towards him, the fireman you’d come to know as ‘Fry’ due to desperate love for cooking when he wasn’t on a call was grinning, flipping a couple more pancakes over the stove, and he reached for another plate, placing it in front of the Empty seat. Lifting his foot down, Newt left the seat available to you, and despite the chatter in the room, you could still hear his excited ‘hello’, even if it was spoken around the pen in his mouth, which promptly dropped, and he fumbled to catch it. 

“You’re chipper this morning?”

“I got here before Brenda, which means I get the puzzles in the paper.” He waved the paper at you, before putting his pen down on it and picking up his fork, not bothering with the knife as he tore off an extra piece of the pancake, syrup dripping from it as he lifted it to his mouth, a drip falling down his chin. “She always does the crossword before I can get there, and she messes it up by putting the wrong words in and quitting halfway through. Not today, though.”

“Close your mouth, you’re so gross!”

He made an extra loud smacking sound as he ate, leaning in as he chewed with his mouth open, and you cringed, laughing as you leaned away, the hot breath with a sickly-sweet undertone washing over your face. The plate before you was piled with three pancakes of your own, a bottle of syrup being passed over to you, and you turned to Fry, flashing him a grin and a nod in thanks, before picking the bottle up. Raising your hand, you pushed Newt away from you, laughing a little. 

The main door scraped loudly, your attention directed over to it, and the lieutenant you had already managed to get on the wrong side of was already staring at you both. His brows were furrowed, jaw tense, and eyes cold, and despite it all, you tried to offer him a polite nod, one which he simply ignored as he tore his eyes away from the pair of you, and watched you leave the room. He wandered away, taking a seat at the table with the rest of the crew, and you were happy to simply ignore him, knowing that engaging with the issue was only going to make your time here more miserable. 

Turning to your food, you focused your attention back on Newt, who had turned the newspaper around to sit equally between you both, his hand under the edge of your stool to pull you closer to look over it all, and you squeaked a little as you were dragged in his direction. “I need a nine-letter word that’s a synonym for ‘fair’. Starting with ‘I’.”

“I’m no good at crosswords.” You teased, taking a chunk out of your stack and bringing it to your mouth, chewing happily as he gave you a mock glare.

“Well, what fucking good are you as a partner then, huh?” You grinned, knowing he was joking, despite how hard he was trying to keep his face serious, the glint in his eyes and the twitches at the edge of his lips making it hard for you to take him with anything severity. “Fine, what kind of puzzles do you like?”

“I’m a sudoku fan.”

You tapped a finger at the empty blank grid, only a few of the numbers already put in, and he rolled his eyes with a groan. “You’re awful, the absolute worst, actually.”

He shoved at your arm, trying to push your way from him once again, and as he did, your body jerked, the food on your fork dropping down your front and rolling over half of your shirt to come and sit on your pants. You stared at it, the sticky food covered in fibres from your shirt and your pants, your brows furrowing and lips pursing, and when you looked back up to Newt, he was biting down on the inside of his cheek to hide his grin. 

“That was an accident. I swear it.”

“Uh-huh.” You picked the sticky chunk up, groaning a little at the golden sauce that had made a stain along the crisp white paramedic’s shirt you were wearing. You let out a sigh, brushing your fingers over it to try and clear the spot, but it only got worse, your skin getting sticky. “I’m going to have to go and change now, when I get back, you better be ready to do the sudoku instead.” 

He snickered under his breath, nodding his head and watching as you got up to leave the room, his eyes lingering on you as he went. 

Another set of eyes were lingering on you, every step you took until you had left the room, and Thomas huffed a little once you were gone, his gaze snapping over to his friend, who still had a small smile on his face, and evacuating his seat to travel towards his best friend, filled with the intentions for a not-so-subtle interrogation and questioning, he crossed the room, taking a seat in the stool you’d evacuated. 

“Well, you two looked awfully cosy.”

Newt looked up at him, raising a questioning brow, a cocky grin on his face, before he took in Thomas’ expression, and his facade fell away as he realised his best friend wasn’t joking. “Not quite my type, in case you haven’t noticed. I prefer my lovers with a little more cock.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Thomas huffed, and Newt ignored him.

“She’s exactly your type, though.” Thomas’ jaw dropped, the idea of such a thing making pure fire burst through him, anger surging in his system just at the idea of you. You irritated him, you made him want to pull his own hair out, and he’d only known you for two weeks, but in those two weeks, you were steadily growing on his nerves. “Paramedic, smart, cute, scalding kind of humour, pretty eyes. Worked for you last time, are you sure all this hatred you have for her isn’t just sexual tension?”

Thomas squirmed in his seat, and Newt waited for the laugh, for any kind of reaction, before sighing again. Thomas didn’t look up, instead, he busied himself with playing at the hem of his shirt, swallowing thickly as memories of the last paramedic the house had carried came flashing through his mind. 

“Okay, look, I’m sorry for bringing up Teresa.” Thomas finally glanced up, seeing that his friend really as sorry, and so he gave in, never being able to stay angry at him for too long. “You have to give her a chance, though. She’s sweet, she’s good at her job, and you were the one that kicked things off on the wrong foot, so-”

“I was clearly in a bad mood. She was eavesdropping and then held the things I said in the moment against me. That doesn’t count.”

“Uh, yes, it absolutely does.” Newt’s voice was monotone, and he knew not to argue with him when he got like this, because not once in over two decades of friendship had he ever won a fight when Newt took on that tone. “Listen, you two have been chafing at the bit to scream at each other once again, but I’m impartial here, an-” His face lit up, turning back to the paper in his hands, and he let out a loud cheer, writing the word ‘impartial’ down into the box, the final piece to complete his crossword puzzle, and that did earn a chuckle from Thomas. “What was I saying?”

“Nothing important.”

“Hey! Everything I say is important.” Newt grouched, flicking the pen at him, and as the main doors, scraped back open, all eyes darted up to you for just a second. 

Thomas was sitting in your seat, a steely look on his face as Newt sat beside him, folding the paper over to face the side with the sudokus on, and before you had a chance to think about how to approach the pair, you were being saved by the bell. The loud blaring of your signal call was sounding out, and everyone went quiet, waiting to see who was called from the slightly crackling speakers. 

Thomas and his team moved first, squad being called tot he scene, and before even hearing for medical assistance, you knew you’d be going along too. Newt fell from his chair, following after the crowds as they went, Brenda still with a piece of toast clamped between her teeth, breakfast being abandoned as the first call for whats was clearly going to be a long day coming in, and you followed after newt, a slight jog to your movements as you made your way to the van. 

Hoping up into the passenger side, your vehicle was the first to go, the trucks following only moments later when the gear had been grabbed and regular shoes swapped out for heavy-weight boots, neat rows of shoes matching up as the garage was emptied. Instructions were already flashing up on the dashboard, loud and clear, your fingers fumbling for the siren as the busy roads of rush hour traffic, mother's on their way for the school-run and office workers desperate to get in on time blocking the streets, and the loud wiling overhead took over. 

Smoke was visible from four blocks away, a mid-rise building of apartments curling up in flames, the acrid black clouds billowing up into the air, and Newt severed a little as he came crashing up onto the pavement. Police had already arrived, a perimeter being set u by offices and volunteers as groups gathered around, the pressure once again falling on you as your team took the spotlight. The public could be fickle, it was a problem you were familiar with, having seen so many good firemen, paramedics, doctors and all workers of the good fall, one bad story and a career would be ruined, and you could only wish that would never be you. 

Climbing between the seats and into the back of the vehicle, Newt rounded it, unlocking the doors from the back as you began to search for the equipment, still a little unfamiliar with the layout he held, half a month not giving you much time to adjust to everything inside. With a pack slung over your shoulder, blue flashing and the deeper honking of the horns on the fire trucks signalled their arrival, and you watched as each team disembarked from the vehicles. 

Swinging your pack up onto your shoulder, you chucked newt his own, hopping down from the truck and shouldering your way past civilians to reach the firemen of your house, Newt following, until you could find where they were all pulling on their masks, sitting atop their heads and ready to be pulled down, helmets in their hands as they waited for their instructions. 

Thomas was staring up at the flames, lips parted a little as he licked at them to keep them wet, the orange glow casting flickered across his face, and you could practically see the cogs whirring in his mind. 

“Okay, truck on the lower floors, search and rescue operations get everybody out to Newt, we’re not working on putting anything out until every soul in the building is clear.” 

Gally nodded, helmet on the top of his head as he adjusted his gloves, ensuring every patch of skin was covered, and despite the bickering that went on in house, the jokes and petty rivalries that ever lasted, it all seemed forgotten in the field. There was no denying that Thomas was a natural-born leader, he was undeniably the right choice, and everybody else seemed to know it too, because the pecking order became apparent when lives were at stake. 

“Brenda, I need you on equipment. I want the ladder up to the fifth floor. I’ll be sending people from the higher floors down to truck team, so be ready for that. I need you quick, because I’ll be climbing as you position it.” Thomas turned, glancing up at the building for his entry point. “There, north-face window. Already broken. That’s where I’m going in, Minho, you’re with me. Once we’re in, pull the ladder back, we’ll sweep the floors and come down.”

“Where do you want me after that?”

“Hoses, high as you can get them, truck can take them inside and we can start from the bottom, and work up, make it safe to get people out. We all clear?”

A symphony of mumbled agreements rose up, the team snapping into action, and you and Newt moved back to the truck, setting yourselves up for the task ahead. The loud whirring of the crane ladder set off, Brenda at the controls as she stared up at the building, and you stood in slight awe as you watched her work. 

This was your first call in which the squad engine equipment had really been used, your last house not having been big enough to have one, and this was your first time seeing the ladder unfold with your own eyes. Thomas was standing on the top of his truck, masking down and helmet on, staring up at the building as he waited for the ladder to move, and before it had even begun extending it’s second set, he was moving. 

Crawling up at the steep angle, it was barely a climb as it still began to raise, placing unwavering faith in his teammate as he went, moving toward the end of the ladder, the second set unfolding, and as he crawled onto it, he paused, letting it drag him closer to the building as it extended, before he was getting closer once again. His body was ducked down, the closer he drew to the broken window, the thicker the smoke got, the flames roaring out into the air, and he disappeared from sight as he slipped into the burning building. 

Minho was next, already moving up the ladder in chase of his commander, and when he disappeared inside too, your eyes snapped away. The splintering of wood, Gally kicking the locks open on the front of the building as the doorframe began to give way, the doors too hot to try and push with hands, and next up was the truck team. In the truck team went, the ladder retracting from the moment Minho had vacated the rungs, and Brenda was pulling it back down to the roof of the vehicle. 

Clint and Winston were unrolling the hoses from the truck vehicle, Chuck was screwing them into the hydrants dotted along the street, and then more of your team was running into the building. More of the team. You closed your eyes, dragging your gaze away from the building and reminding yourself not to get too attached to them all, because you weren’t even sure if at this rate you were going to make it sixth months here, never mind an entire year, or your career. With every house you moved to, it made it seem more and more likely that you just weren’t going to find your home.

Newt nudged his elbow into your arm, snapping you front he wallowing thoughts you were having to be able to look up, and the first two firemen were leaving the building, guiding a group out from the first floor, people who had been stuck there and were covered in soot and dust, eyes bloodshot and trembling violently in the shock. You took a deep breath, clearing your mind of everything that didn’t matter in this moment to be able to focus on what did, and as your thoughts cleared, you received the first person. 

Sorting the group into most needing of assistance to least, you started with the older members of the group as Newt worked with the kids, a packet of Disney-themed band-aids out to be used as he started to patch up cuts and clean the grazes, fingers wiping tears from little cheeks as he kept a bright smile, and you admired him. 

You didn’t know who the person who came before you was, and you weren’t too sure what happened to Newt or what made her leave, but you weren’t sure why she’d ever want to. If she’d been accepted by the people here, if she’d become a part of this family, you had no idea why she’d ever throw that away.

In the few weeks you’d been here, you’d already noticed that they were not only a team, but they were all connected. Every bond was special, even when they bickered and fought it was out of love, every teasing jab being made with affectionate undertones and bitten-back smiles, and you envied the way they never had to worry about someone having their back, about fitting in or not being accepted, because they had a home with one another. 

Volunteers of people on the street were volunteering to help, offering phones to the people who needed to call their families. Those who lived nearby had found blankets, bottles of water and supplies that they had brought over, the neighbourhood coming together to help one another in a crisis. Friends and family who had heard what happened, receiving desperate calls or watching the news had arrived, searching for their family members, and as you found a contact for every person coming out of the building, you made them fill out forms before being taken to the hospital. 

The squeaking of the hoses made you realise that the flames were slowly dying out, the smoke getting thicker and heavier as it was dampened, but the glass was no longer smashing and there was no more snapping of the building’s foundations to be heard. The lower floors were put out, the temperature in the air surrounding you beginning to drop down as it started to cool, the blazing inferno the building had once been was now being contained, and Gally emerged, from the doorway, large frame filling the entrance as she walked, an older lady carried in his arms as she trembled, and you moved to pull out the stretcher for her, knowing that she’d be needing to go to the hospital. 

She looked to be in her late eighties, possibly even early nineties, and as she was placed down, you smoothed her hair back, trying to offer her a soothing smile as you lifted an oxygen mask over her face. 

“I’m (Y/N), I’m going to get you all sorted out, and then we’ll take you to the hospital, okay?” 

She only nodded her head weakly, and you snatched up another form to begin filling out for her, the crowds beginning to dissipate slightly at the excitement and shock of it died down, situation being handled, and as less eyes were on you, watching you work, you felt like you could breathe a little better once again.

“Can you tell me what your name is?”

She nodded, a hand coming up to lift the mask off gently, and she coughed a little, fresh air not being as helpful to her as the pure oxygen had been, gasping slightly as she caught her breath. Her jaw dropped, lips moving to form a word, but no sound came out, and her brows furrowed slightly as she did. “Where am I?”

“You’re outside the apartment building, ma’am. There was a fire, but you're fine, it’s all just a  little disorientating.”

Just as you said those words, a loud explosion took off behind you, a rush of glass, dust and smoke racing over everyone, your eyes screwing shut tightly against the blast, and the firemen on the floor rallied once again, a gas main having burst that hadn't been turned off, and Brenda pulled on her own mask and helmet, following Gally back into the building as the flames took up again. 

She was startled, the elderly woman looking around frantically in her panic, and you took her hand, trying to calm her down, worried she may actually worry herself into a panic attack. “It’s okay, the team has it all under control, okay? They’re the very best at their jobs, you’re safe, alright?”

“Where’s that young girl gone?”

“Which young girl, ma’am?” Your brows furrowed, worry seeping into you once again, and before she could answer, there was a name being called out, louder and louder as it neared you both, before a woman who couldn't be any older than thirty appeared, looking completely and utterly frazzled, taking the older woman’s hand from yours. “Are you related to the patient?”

“This is my grandmother.”

“Great, okay, can you fill out a form for me while I do a check over?” You passed her the pen and the paper as she agreed, and she got to work on filling it out, letting you do your job as you lifted the ramp on the back of the ambulance down, unhooking it and securing it to the floor. Carefully as you worked, you secured her down, helping her to lay back in the pillows as you strapped her in, before rolling the trolley up and into the back. Fastening it down tightly, you set about, lifting a pressure cuff from the shelf and placing it along her arm, the beeping on the machine starting steadily as her granddaughter sat along the cushioned seats, still scribbling on the paper. “Ma’am, you said there was someone else with you, can you tell me who?”

“The young girl with the red curls.”

“Where was she?” You questioned, moving her from a portable oxygen tank to the one equipped with the truck, a steadier source of air that she wouldn't have to hold onto. 

“In my apartment. She was right there with me, a-”

“No, nana, nobody else was there.” You turned to look at the auburn-haired woman behind you, raising a questioning brow as she looked at you. “She has dementia, she’s thinking of me. My hair was more of a fiery colour when I was young, and very curly. She’s just confused.”

“No! No, there was a young girl with red hair!”

You nodded, stepping away from the pair for just a moment before reaching the front of the ambulance, wiring it to the right frequency and lifting it from its holder. “Any member of the team, this is the ambo’, is there anyone left inside now?”

“All upper floors are clear, truck is out, we’re working down on a final sweep now.” Thomas’ voice was filled with static as it came over the airwaves, and you gave a small nod to the woman. 

“See, nana? There’s nobody left in there.”

You moved back over, watching as the report you’d found had the exact opposite effect, the woman only seeming to become more on edge and upset, trying to sit up in the stretcher as she took the mask off completely. She coughed, violently at the sudden actions, and as both you and her granddaughter moved to try and lay her back down gently, she pushed your hands away, fighting to get free. 

“She’s in there! I know she is! The girl with the red hair!”

She was on the verge of a panic attack now, and you helped her put the mask back on, her relative taking over with breathing exercises, and the gnawing in your gut just wouldn’t go away. “Which floor does she live on? Which apartment?”

“She lives on the third floor, apartment fifteen.”

You hopped out of the truck, shielding your eyes with one hand as you stared up at the flaming wreckage of the building, asking Newt take over for you, before you were rounding the vehicle to the front once again. “Team, this is the ambo’ again, are you absolutely certain? Floor three, apartment fifteen, I have an elderly woman insisting that someone is inside.”

“I’m on the third floor now, I’m checking.” He left the mic open on his shoulder, just so ensure that you could hear everything that was going on, to reassure the panicking elderly woman you had hyperventilating in the back of the truck. His voice called out, signalling that it was the fire department and asking whether there was anyone left, telling you as he moved, asking four times, and silence coming back with each and every one. “There’s nobody here, I’ve checked, there’s no call out, and the smoke is getting thicker. It’s all clear, okay?”

“All clear, got it.” You clicked the radio off, turning to look at her, and there was a frazzled look in her eyes, shaking her head as she mumbled to herself. 

You’d seen it before, working in medicine did that to you, but it was still shocking every time you witnessed it, watching the fog suddenly clear, even if only for moments, watching the dazed kind of confusion clear on a persons face into something more determined and confident, as though a whole new spirit had taken over the body and mind. “No, it's not.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My nurse, she went to the kitchen, she was getting my medications. Our rota changed a month ago, she comes on Sunday’s instead of Saturday’s now. She’s trapped under the rubble, the roof fell through.” Her words were spoken clearly, no trace of her being lost or under the influence of her past, but instead, for just a few seconds, she was completely present in the moment. 

Hopping down out of the truck, you grabbed at your tatty rucksack, the medkit inside fresh, the good luck charm you carried everywhere, only slung over one shoulder as you made it to the door, Thomas’ figure emerging from inside as he stripped his helmet and mask from over his head. 

“There is someone still inside!”

He turned to look at you, raising a brow, a scowl on his lips. “I cleared the room, I called out, there’s nobody in there. I know how to do my damn job, alright?”

“No, she wouldn’t have replied. The woman’s mind cleared, just for a second, but her nurse is trapped under debris where the roof collapsed in.” He paused for a second, brows furrowing as he tried to process your words, before shaking his head, an incredulous laugh on his lips. 

“You’re taking the word of a woman with dementia?” You nodded, string up at him expectantly. “How do you know she isn’t still confused? Huh?”

You stared at him for a second longer, heart racing in your chest as you thought about the woman who was still trapped inside, before shaking your head at him. “Because I’m a paramedic, Thomas, and I know when her mind clears. I know how to do my job.”

You didn’t give him a chance to retort, shoulder past him and slinging an arm over your face, eyes stinging from the second that you were carried into the building, feet pounding against the floor. Only ten steps in, and the temperature was so hot sweat was lining your brows, your throat was stinging despite the arm you were breathing against, smoke seeping in to burn at your lungs, and tears were lining your eyes as you tried to see where to go. The lobby was glowing a dull orange, but the flames were burning bright, and you winced a little further.

Stairs just ahead of you, still standing string, and you headed straight for them. You almost put your hand down on the railing, flinching at the metal that was almost glowing from the heat it was under, and you snatched it back, skin singed a little just from hovering over it, and you regretted your decision only a little, fear crawling in at the back of your mind to combat the adrenaline, and you quashed it down. 

Only three floors, six sets of stairs, and you were there, fighting your way through a corridor you could barely see, squinting to find the numbers on the door. You were certain you’d found apartment fifteen, sure enough that you’d bet your life on it, and you were, because if you had the wrong one, you certainly didn’t have time to keep looking. 

The room was destroyed, flames crawling up the walls, and the tears in your eyes were now leaking down your cheeks, the air becoming too thick to breathe, and you were running on limited time. You let out a little sigh of relief as you spotted the pile of rubble, assessing it carefully, and catching sight of a hand that wouldn’t be able unless you were looking for such a sign in the right place, dropping to your knees beside it. Your fingertips burned as you touched the hot mess of stone and drywall, pulling it away, your nails ripping with each catch on jagged rocks, and you hissed a little under your breath. You could see her, leaning in close enough to press your fingers to her neck, and you let out something between a relieved laugh and a sigh as you felt a pulse under her skin, albeit incredibly weak. 

A hand landed on your shoulder, pulling you back, before a mask was being dropped down onto you, an oxygen tank beside it. You snatched it up, barley bothering to adjust it before you were pulling it on, taking deep and gasping breaths of the fresh oxygen, the pounding in your head making you squeeze your eyes shut, the rush of fresh O2 in your blood making your head spin and ache for a moment a sit rushed to your brain once again.

Her face was revealed, the fireman beside you having better luck with the debris, gloves making it a burn and pain-free experience, and when there was enough cleared, hands hooked under the woman’s arms, pulling the rest of her body free. Dropping your rucksack, you tore it open, zip running rapidly along its track and you searched for the cloths, a water bottle following it, and you soaked the rag, ringing it out quickly, before laying it over her face. Lifting her up and into his arms, the man waited only a second for you to bundle the oxygen tank and medkit into your arms, following behind him as he began to guide you back out of the building. 

The floors were creaking and giving way, shaking under your feet as you ran after him, down stairs that were beginning to grow weak, the metal bannisters now a bright orange and you flinched away from them, hissing slightly as your jacket brushed against them, zip getting hot just from the brief touch and burning across your hand. 

Hoses at the main entrance, spraying down everything they could reach without entering the collapsing residence once again, and as you stumbled out into the light once again, Newt was already waiting with the stretcher to receive her. She was placed down, dark red curls on her head that had fallen out, blood spilling from a cut along her head and she was matted with dust that almost made her unrecognisable, but she was wearing a distinctive nurses uniform, and pride welled up within you form the second her heart beat on the monitor, Newt fixing a cuff on her arm, before wheeling her to the ambulance again.  

Following after him, you noted that the elderly woman had moved to sitting beside her granddaughter, clearing the stretcher for the nurse, and before you could board the vehicle or help Newt load the stretcher, a large hand was wrapping around your upper arm, jerking you roughly and spinning you to face the one who’s grabbed you. 

Helmet dropping to the floor and mask torn off over his head, you were met with a face that he'd more rage than you’d ever seen him have for you before. His nostrils flared, jaw clenched so tight you worried his teeth would shatter, and his eyes were dark with the kind of anger that genuinely scared you. 

“Are you fucking insane?” You took your own mask off, everything under your arm dropping to the floor, the tank clanging loudly as it hit the pavement, but you didn’t even flinch, staring right back at him. “You are reckless, that was so stupid, you have no concern for the other lives you just put at risk!”

“We just saved a life!”

“And what if we hadn't, huh? What if you ran in there, and I had to follow you, and two people died, instead?” He made a valid point, but he was failing to see the fact that you’d save a person’s life, someone who must’ve fallen unconscious from smoke inhalation, trapped under rubble and thinking they were going to die, and they were saved. “You have no regard for the rest of the damn team, yo-”

“You just saved a life, Thomas.” His jaw snapped shut, confusion stitched into the anger on his face as he stared at you, head tipping to the side just a little, gaze never leaving yours as he continued to tower over you, shadowing you from the building, shoulders rising and falling quickly as his chest heaved for breath, adrenaline stile acing through him. “She thought she’d been left behind, and that she’d die. You just saved her. She gets to live because of you.”

He was breathless, everything seeming to halt for a long second, before he was taking in a shaky breath, letting it go as a long sigh, and his shoulders slumped a little as he did his best to quell his rage. Your heart was racing in your chest, and his head ducked down, for a moment, maybe two, before he was looking back up. 

“Maybe you should think about that the next time you want to act like a dick, for no reason.”

You heard a sigh behind you, knowing Newt had been waiting with bated breath for the calling of a truce between you both, but you didn’t back down easy, you didn’t cave just because a big and tall man got angry, and Thomas looked angry once again. “It was selfish. Even if you don’t care about the rest of us, you almost killed yourself.”

“I thought this was a team, if me taking a risk is such a burden to you, don’t follow me next time.”

Shoving the mask into his chest, he barely had time to grab it, before you swiping down to scoop up your bag, and turning your back on him to meet Newt. He gave you a look, shaking his head slightly, and you could read it perfectly, knowing that it had been the perfect chance to try and patch things up with Thomas, but you didn’t regret your actions because the woman who was still unconscious with a steadily rising heartbeat beside you was alive thanks to you, and so as he took a seat in the front and started up the vehicle for the hospital, you took over caring for her, and pushed it all away. 

Maybe it had been selfish, and maybe everyone else would see it the same way Thomas did, but it was clear this wasn’t going to be your permanent home anyway, and so it made it a little harder to choke back the anxiety as you realised you wouldn't have to deal with it for much longer anyway. As soon as a new transfer came up, you’d be recommended for it, you were sure.

It was silent for a long time, all the way to the hospital, the tension in the vehicle thick as you knew Newt was mad at you, the radio having been suspiciously quiet, and on the return from calls, it was normally buzzing between all trucks and vans with chatter and congratulations, but you had no doubt that due to your actions, it had gone silent. 

You checked in the elderly woman, who’s mind had slipped away from you once again, and the nurse, who was in and out of surfacing, the doctors taking over as the two of you were left alone, and Newt wandered away toward the vending machines. You made you way back to the truck, the pains and aches of the day beginning to set in, and you realised he’d taken the keys with him, leaving you to lean against it. Placing your bag on the hood, you pulled out a disinfectant wipe, using your teeth to tear it open, wiping the blood from torn nails and wincing a little at the skin, before trying to wipe your face and arms down too. 

You had acquired a lot more subtle grazes and burns than you’d realised, but each spit flared up in pain when the wipes moved over them, making sure you wouldn’t get an infection, and it was as you were applying burn cream in the reflection of the window that Newt finally approached you again. 

Turning to face him, his lips were set in a thin line, and you frowned, knowing just how much you had disappointed him, but still trying to be strong, swallowing thickly on a dry throat and putting the cream away, zipping up your pack and barging it onto your shoulder, turning to face him for the verbal beat down. 

“You scared the hell out of me, y’know.” You sighed, arms wrapping around yourself a little, because when someone was shouting at you, you could hand that, but the puppy-dog eyes he was fixing you with now and the wounded tone of his voice was a crippling attack. “Didn’t expect to see my partner running into a burning building alone.”

“There was someone in there and I know you’re mad at me, bu-”

“I think you did the right thing.” It was your turn to be speechless, caught off-guard by him agreeing with you, and he chuckled a little at the startled look on your face. “I agree with you, alright? It’s just terrifying. I know Thomas isn’t easy to get along with, you shoulda’ seen the rivalry he and Gally had for years, but forgive him for getting mad, alright? He’s got a big heart, but he’s been hurt a lot, and he locks it up pretty tight. He cares about his team.”

“I don’t think that curtesy extends as far as me.”

“Just give him a chance, he’ll come around.” Newt offered you a water bottle, and a candy bar, both from the vending machine in the hospital halls, and you unscrewed the lid, his eyes on you in a scrutinising manner as he watched you take a sip instead of replying, and you didn’t like that look, somehow feeling like he was staring right into your soul. “You’re going to transfer out again, aren’t you?”

“We both know I don’t fit in here, Newt.”

“Bullshit!” You now knew what real anger looked like on your blonde colleagues face, the look flashing over his features as fast as lightning, and you tore your gaze away, busying yourself with your drink. 

“Another transfer will come up in a few weeks, and we both know that Thomas won’t hesitate to sign the forms to get me gone.”

“One year.” You frowned, turning to look at him, your face painted with puzzlement, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “You want the harsh truth?”

“Not rea-”

“You skip between houses without ever giving them a chance. Maybe some bad shit happened, maybe you just don’t fit in, but you’re not trying hard enough. Plant some roots, because I happen to think that if you just give us a chance, you’ll be a perfect fit for us.” You huffed out, lips rolling as you contained what you wanted to say, not used to someone speaking to you with such a crass attitude. “Give it a year, stick around here for a year, and if you still don’t think you belong here, then I’ll write you a personal letter of recommendation myself, and I’ll get both Thomas and Gally to sign it.”

“I’ve been at other houses longer than that and still not found my home, Newt.”

“You’ve never found us before.” Silence took over between you both, and he licked at his lower lip, glancing away from you for a second, eyes flickering over the car park, before looking back. “I like you, I think we make good partners, I want you to stick around. I think you should give us a go, even if it is awkward for a while. Just brave it through, for once. I think you’re running away from houses and refusing to settle because you’re scared, not because you can’t.”

Your breathing hitched in your throat, and you sighed, shaking your head at him, words coming out as a whisper; “That was mean.”

“Yeah, well, it was the truth and you needed or hear it. What are friends for?”

You glanced up, fiddling a little with the snack you held, the plastic crinkling, anything to break the tense silence “You’re my friend, then?”

“Of course, I am.” He cracked a grin at this, nodding his head, and stepping in close enough to nudge you, with a roll of his eyes. “Now, get in the truck, eat your cereal bar, and think about what I said. We have the team to get back to.”

#thomas #thomas the maze runner #thomas x reader #thomas/reader #SAF #smoke and fire #tomuary #tom-uary #tommy month #thomas x reader smut #thomas/reader smut #dylan obrien the maze runner #dylan obrien thomas #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien x reader smut #dylan obrien/reader smut

[cacoetheswriting]

chasing a feeling pt. III - spencer reid

Warnings: mild cursing, implied smut (nothing explicit), kinda angsty, kinda fluffy Word Count: 2.3k Summary: this is part three: Spencer has a habit of showing up at your door in the middle of the night. A/N: italics are memories/flashbacks. also sorry this took so long omg!!

| PART ONE | PART TWO |

-

The case concluded a couple of days later. Days which consisted of ignoring Spencer; unless absolutely necessary. Days spent trying not to look at him, days spent pretending you weren't thinking about him, his touch, or that night you spent together.

It was incredibly hard to concentrate on quite literally anything. 

The night you got home from the work trip was a sleepless one. You tossed and turned, anxious about seeing the brunette doctor the next day. You couldn't help but wonder how the two of you will act around one another now that you were back on common ground. How your dynamic will be now that you weren't working a case. 

It shouldn't have come as a surprise that you weren't the only one feeling restless. A knock on your door caused you to hop out of bed and wander towards it. Letting a yawn escape your lips you looked through the peephole to check who was on the other side. Spencer.

Quickly, you opened the door. The young doctor looked up from the ground and greeted you with a timid smile. 

“Spencer, what are you doing here? How did you know where I live?” 

“I’m sorry Y/N, I know it’s late but-” He cleared his throat. “-can we please talk?” He asked while staring deep into your eyes. You nodded after a brief moment and stepped aside, allowing him to enter. 

Spencer sat down on the couch, glancing around your apartment in the process. The place wasn’t fully decorated yet. A number of cardboard boxes were stacked on top of one another in the corner of the living room, clearly still full. The TV lay on the floor, cables tangled, and beside it was a half-opened suitcase with your go-bag thrown hastily on top. 

You asked if he wanted a coffee, or anything else to drink, but he politely shook his head ‘no’ so you situated yourself on the opposite end of the couch and waited for him to tell you why he was here.

Silence enveloped around the room. Suddenly afraid to say anything, in case it ended up in another argument, the brunette doctor nervously fidgeted with the bottom of his shirt. You were slightly taken aback by his nervous demeanour, it was completely different to the way he acted around you the last week.

It reminded you of when you were younger. The shy, awkward, slightly closed-off Spencer. The guy who wouldn’t hold your hand or at time was afraid to meet your gaze, the guy that didn’t understand the sarcastic jokes you made. It made your heart ache a little.

Finals were approaching and they were approaching fast. Everyone said law school would be hard. Long hours, extensive curriculum, sleepless nights, projects, essays, case-studies. The list goes on.

It didn't help that you were a lot younger than your fellow classmates. Being an ambitious and driven kid you managed to skip a few grades and get an undergraduate degree in psychology at a very young age. Law school seemed like the logical next step although now you were thinking about giving up.

With junior year coming to an end, you constantly wondered whether this should be the end of your law career. Perhaps there was something better out there for you. Something easier, and not as draining. You weren't a quitter, far from it, but this was too much for a single person to handle.

It was Friday night, and yet currently you were curdled up on the library floor rather than at some frat party. Piles on piles of books and encyclopaedias formed around you as you worked away on your end of term paper. 

A not so quiet yawn escaped your lips. Followed by another. Leaning back against the shelf behind you, you closed your eyes. Honestly, you could fall asleep here, now. 

It was in that moment of silence you heard a shuffling sound approaching your location between the aisles of books. Slowly, you flushed your eyes back open to analyse your surroundings - see who it was that disturbed your peace. 

A scrawny boy stood just a few feet away, deeply focused on the collection of titles in front of him. The boy was around your age. Tall. You could see remains of gel in his short brown hair; which was now quite messy. He was dressed in a slightly oversized sweater, underneath he wore what looked like a neatly ironed shirt, and a dark bag was draped loosely over his shoulder. 

“Hello.” You said. His head instantly snapped in your direction. 

“H-hi.” He replied sheepishly. “I-I didn’t mean to wake you.” His soft demeanour made you smile. “Oh, I wasn't actually sleeping. Just resting my eyes for a second.” 

The boy nodded. You waited for him to say something but he didn't so you reached out your hand. 

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N.” 

His gaze travelled to your hand before moving back up to meet yours. He didn't move any closer, and you could sense he grew a little uncomfortable, so you let your hand fall down to your lap.

“I’m Spencer.” He cleared his throat. “Doctor Spencer Reid.” Your eyes widened a little at his esteemed title. “Doctor?” 

Spencer’s nose twitched gently. 

“I have Ph.D’s in mathematics, chemistry and engineering.” He retorted causing your mouth to part in shock. “Holy shit.” Pause. “Wow, and here I thought I was the resident genius having one silly undergraduate degree.” You joked; but the young doctor didn't laugh. He simply stared at you, a kind look spread across his face.

“W-what are you studying now?” Spencer asked, motioning to the stakes of books around you.

“I’m in law school.” You replied. “Failing miserably to write my stupid end of term paper.” Sigh. “One of many actually.” 

Spencer took one step forward. “M-maybe I can help?” He offered. “That is really kind of you but unless you have a law degree you haven’t mentioned yet, I don't know how you would be able to help.” 

“I don’t have a law degree, but I have an eidetic memory.” He said, nervously tugging at the strap of his bag. “I-if that’s of any help to you.” 

The smile on your face grew wider. “Well Spencer, now you’re just showing off.” 

It was at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue with such ease, the brunette doctor finally smiled. And holy smokes did he have a pretty smile. Your heart skipped a beat as his face illuminated. 

“But you convinced me.” You added while getting up on your feet. You picked up your things along with as many books as you could carry. Spencer shuffled toward you, and while keeping his distance, he bent down to pick up the remaining items. 

“Why are you here Spencer?” You finally asked breaking the silence.

The brunette agent tilted his head in your direction, eyes locking with yours once again causing the air to catch briefly in your chest.

“I wanted to make sure you knew that what happened between us the other night, that wasn’t some ploy to get you to stay.” He stated. “I tried to explain that to you but you never really gave me a chance.” Pause. “Y/N, I want you to stay. Not for me but because you deserve to be a part of this team.”

“I appreciate you saying that Spencer. Truly.” A small smile graced your facial features. The brunette doctor smiled down at his hands. “But you didn’t have to come here in the middle of the night to tell me that. It could have waited.” You teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Spencer smirked before clearing his throat. He glanced up, his eyes meeting yours. “I guess I just wanted to see you.” You bit down on your bottom lip the second he said that, your heart skipping a beat. Spencer shifted closer to you. Without really thinking about it, you also moved in his direction. Your knees now touching. 

“You know, communication was never our strong suit. For two people with psychology degrees you would think we’d be better at it.” You muttered making Spencer laugh. The smile on your face slowly faded. “Maybe we’re too similar, maybe that was our downfall.” 

Spencer lifted his hand, reaching out for yours which was currently placed on your lap. He intertwined his fingers with yours. “In reality, opposites don’t attract.” The brunette doctor noted. “You’re more likely to be attracted someone who thinks the same as you do.” 

In the space of a heartbeat, without giving you a chance to reach, Spencer leaned in. His lips brushed against yours; electricity shooting through your body. His free hand found its way to your face, and he cupped your cheek. As seconds passed you pushed yourself into him more. Fuck. Should you be doing this?

You hurried through the halls, slaloming between the groups of students making their way peacefully to class. A feeling of excitement filled you from head to toe; excitement you only wanted to share with one specific person. 

Spencer was sat in your now usual spot at the university library. Two coffees in front of him, one for you. 

A sort of routine emerged since the two of you first met. It started out for purely academic purposes, but in the last week especially it evolved into something different. A friendship perhaps? No. It felt more than that although neither of you could quite describe it

“I did it!” You exclaimed while sitting down beside the young doctor - getting a dirty look from the librarian in the process. She shushed you before returning to whatever it was she was doing. You rolled your eyes before turning your attention back to Spencer. “I am officially done with all my papers and assignments.”

“I’m happy for you Y/N.” Spencer smiled.

“Well, I couldn't have done it without you.” You beamed at him. “I don’t know how I will ever thank you Spencer.” He shrugged his shoulders.  

“Come on genius, there must be something I can do for you.”

The brunette doctor cleared his throat, avoiding your gaze. “I-I have t-two tickets to this convention, but you wouldn't be interested.” You raised an eyebrow while reaching for one of the coffees on the table. Lifting the lid to your lips you smiled. “It’s a date.”

Spencer’s hands were now holding onto your waist. He lifted you up in one swift motion, without breaking the kiss, so that you were now cradling his lap. You held his face, the tips of your fingers wrapping in his light brown curls. 

Any reservations you had just a moment ago were now forgotten. You were completely lost in him, just as he was in you. 

As your mouth parted, Spencer’s tongue crept between your lips meeting yours. Instantly, your tongues began to play back and forth. Heads tilting side to side to vary pressure. 

Spencer’s strong hands began to travel up your body. They moved from your waist; slightly messing up your shirt in the process and sending a shiver down your spine. They stopped once they reached your neck, giving it a light squeeze. You couldn't help but moan against his hot mouth. 

“I honestly don’t remember the last time I had this much fun.” You breathed happily as you and the young doctor walked down the busy street after the convention. “You don’t have to say that Y/N.” Spencer said, nervously tugging at the bottom of his shirt. 

“Are you kidding? Spencer, today was amazing!” You beamed throwing your hands up in the air. “I was supposed to be making it up to you for your help with my papers but instead you treated me to another great day.” 

Spencer chuckled lightly. He loved seeing you this happy. The more he thought about it, the more he realised how many things he actually loved about you. But it made him nervous because what if he didn't just love things like your laugh or your attitude. What if in fact he was in love with you.

“I guess we’re going to have to go on another date.” You teased. Spencer’s nose twitched but he didn't say anything. His lack of response caused you to stop in your tracks. The young doctor mimicked your move and also stopped, just a step ahead of you.

“I’m sorry.” You sighed. 

“Why are you sorry?” Spencer asked confused.

“I just, I called today our date and I don’t want you to think I expect anything. I know the idea of dating can make you uncomfortable.” Your mouth flipped into a half-smile. “I like hanging out with you Spencer. I enjoy your company, and I wouldn't want to jeopardise that.” 

“I like hanging out with you too.” 

“Really?” “O-of course I do Y/N.” He smiled nervously. “I-I would like to go on more dates with you. You’re like a breath of fresh air.” Your face flushed red at his comment. Something Spencer noticed immediately. Without really thinking, he reached out his hand and gently caressed your cheek. 

Your heart stopped. This was the first time he had touched you, ever. It was the first time you felt his soft skin against yours. You wanted desperately to lean into his touch but you didn't want to scare him off so you stood still, taking a mental picture of this moment. 

Very slowly the two of you broke apart. The brunette doctor looked deep into your eyes; what he saw was longing, fervour. He felt the exact same. 

Between the constant fights and misunderstandings it felt wrong to feel this strong desire to one another. This strong pull. It felt almost toxic. But Spencer shook the invasive thought away, his lips once again meeting yours. 

“Would you like to move this to the bedroom?” You suggested in a mere whisper in between kisses. Spencer nodded. His hands situated themselves on your bum. The brunette agent picked you up allowing you to swiftly wrapp your legs around him. He carried you to the bed, kicking the door shut behind you with his leg. 

-

story taglist: @ashwarren32, @haylaansmi, @spencersblog, @lovebodymindstuff, @april-14-blog, @wooya1224, @chevyimpala00067, @sizzlingclamturtlesludge​

masterlist

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #dr spencer reid fic #dr spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #dr spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff

[hermannsthumb]

I saw something somewhere about Newt and Hermann being married the entire time and just assuming that everyone knows, despite having the entire shatterdome convinced that they hate each other. I was wondering if we could get your take on it?

omg yes you absolutely can

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

“Don’t forget,” Hermann greets Newt in the lab in lieu of a hello. He’s already been hard at work diagramming or equating or whatever it is that’s scrawled across his chalkboards. Newt’s vision is still a little blurry from sleep, so he can’t really make it out. “Your paperwork for your research expedition is due today, or else they won’t let you go.”

“Research expedition,” Newt yawns. “What research expedition?”

Hermann hands Newt his favorite mug full of coffee (awesome) and a small, stapled stack of papers (not awesome). “Your trip next week to Manila,” Hermann says, “for the kaiju sample you’ve been going on and on about. This is meant to be on HR’s desk by five-o’clock; I would get started, if I were you.”

Newt flips through the first few pages of the stack and groans. So many questions Newt needs to fill out—all of them blank. “Oh, fuck me,” he says. “Ugh. Is this really due today?” Hermann nods. Newt gulps down the coffee, glad, at least, that Hermann remembered he takes it black and bitter. “Thanks for the reminder. I guess.”

He speeds through as much of the form as he can without his handwriting going illegible. Predicted expenses (as much as they’ll give him, frankly); what he expects to bring back with him (part of a kaiju stomach, if he’s lucky); how long he’ll be gone (week maximum, too much shit to be done back here); if he needs a team (Newt laughs and leaves this one blank, because he hasn’t had a k-biology research team since 20-fucking-21, and it’s not like Hermann would be of use to him for this); next of kin. “Foreboding,” Newt mutters to himself, but he supposes you can’t be too cautious these days. His plane could go down. Or he could be smushed in a random kaiju attack. Or he could, like, fall on a rusty nail or something. Hermann Gottlieb, he writes. Spouse.

“What number should I put for you?” Newt says. “The lab extension?” They’re technically not allowed to have cell phones on base, and Newt doubts they’d be getting any reception down in the basement anyway, so ancient lab phone it is. He guesses. He can’t remember the last time someone actually called them on it.

Hermann’s chalk squeaks to a halt on the chalkboard. He’d been working on his diagram thing again. “I suppose,” he says. “Newton, please do refrain from speaking while I work. You know I—”

“Right, right,” Newt says.

It takes Newt most of the morning, and all of his lunch break, but he finally manages to finish the fucking paperwork and sprint it down to the slowly-dying HR department by one in the afternoon. “For Manila,” he gasps, handing it over to the woman on duty. “For my trip.”

The woman doesn’t seem very enthusiastic; she takes one look at Newt’s disheveled state, then another at his forms (written in the only pen he could find in his desk, bright purple), sighs, and nods. Newt wonders if she’s the one who has to read through all of Hermann’s complaints about him. He doesn’t envy her, if she is. “Better late than never,” she says. She flips through it, clearly not really caring about taking any of it in. “Looks like everything is—spouse?”

“Uh,” Newt says. “Yeah?”

She stares at Newt, then at the form, then back to Newt. “You’re married,” she says, “to—?”

Newt shifts in place. He kinda thought everyone knew at this point; he doesn’t wear a ring around, but that’s only ‘cause it’d get lost in kaiju guts in seconds, and Hermann only puts his on when he’s feeling romantic, but it’s kinda...like, obvious, isn’t it? They’ve been hopping Shatterdomes together for years. They eat all their meals together. They share a workspace, for God’s sake, when logically they have absolutely no need to. Newt’s submitted requests for couples’ quarters (all unanswered), like, fifty times in the last year. “Yeah?” he repeats. 

To Newt’s surprise, the HR woman suddenly swivels her chair around and taps her co-worker (a grumpy-looking dude who's typing away at a computer) on the shoulder. He turns; she brandishes Newt’s paperwork. “Look at this,” she says.

He co-worker’s eyebrows jump. “Hermann Gottlieb?” he says. “Not that Hermann Gottlieb, right?”

They both turn to look at Newt.

“Is there any other?” Newt says.

“Dr. Gottlieb has filed so many official complaints about you that he has his own drawer in our filing cabinet,” the woman says. “We might even have to start another soon.”

“It’s a big cabinet,” her co-worker says.

“Yeah, well,” Newt says, weakly. “Some couples go to therapy?” Privately, Newt’s about eighty-percent sure Hermann thinks submitting HR complaints counts as foreplay, but he’s not about to tell two perfect strangers that. “Hey, actually, while I’m here,” he says, though he has a sinking feeling he knows the answer he’s going to get, “can I check up on the status of that new quarters request I submitted last month? For me and Hermann?”

“Oh,” the woman’s co-worker says, and laughs. “We thought that was a joke.”

“Right,” Newt sighs.

Couples’ quarters request form number fifty-one later, Newt finds himself trudging back to the lab in low spirits. Is it really that unbelievable that he and Hermann are married? He loves Hermann; Hermann loves him. They argue a lot, yeah, but that’s just...how they are. They always make up afterwards, thoroughly, and lovingly. They don’t hate each other. Obviously they don’t hate each other.

Does Hermann hate Newt? “Hermann?” Newt says.

Hermann turns from his work with a grunt. He has chalk smeared over his cheek and a small part of his forehead, like he pressed his face against the chalkboard in thought. It makes Newt smile. “Mm?” Hermann says. He returns Newt’s smile, warmly, and sweetly, and it crinkles the corners of his eyes. 

Newt’s heart skips a beat. “Eh, nothing,” he says. “I turned in my forms. Do I get a reward?”

“I suppose we could work something out,” Hermann says, grabbing his cane, and slowly steps down from his ladder. “Come here, won’t you?”

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #whatsallthisnow

[your-eternal-muse]

To hold on, To let go.

Heather Bonus Chapter.

Summery: In which you get to sneak a peek into the life of Dr. Spencer Reid, and one Aaron Hotchner.

Words: 1.7k because I have absolutely no self control

Warnings: Mentions of cheating, light swearing, and the fruition of an opinion of mine that is kinda controversial in the fandom, but I said what I said, and I ain’t backing down from it

A/N: Hi. So, I thought I would have both this chapter and chapter 9 ready to go to post at relatively  the same time, but I was up for 18 hours straight and crashed before I could. I woke up because I was hungry and decided to finish this. That being said, hopefully, I can get chapter 9 up for you guys at some point tomorrow. I’ve just been really tired is all, but I’ll push through because I love this series so much. Anyway, enjoy! Oh, also, I didn’t name this one after a lyric because it didn’t really fit, but its a bonus so its fine.

~~~~~

45% of marriages end in divorce.

Spencer knew this.

He knew the odds of his marriage to Heather ending badly.

He just didn’t think it would be this soon.

He had expected it to be years down the road, when his hair was turning gray and his time at the B.A.U was in the past.  

He hadn’t expected it to fail in mere months.

He expected it to be because of his job, or the fact that no matter how hard Heather tried, she never could quite get him to open up about the demons residing in his head.

Not because she had been cheating on him.

He felt like an idiot.

The signs were all there.

The sudden disappearances, the nervous tics whenever he asked a question she could never quite answer.

What kind of profiler was he if he couldn’t even tell that his wife was cheating on him?

He sat at his desk, alone in the bullpen, the only noise in the room coming from the video playing on his phone before him.

He couldn’t stop playing it, even though it killed him to watch.

He paused and played back the very beginning over and over again, watching her kiss that man in a way he thought was only meant for him.

He felt sick.

Knowing her lips had been on that man's hours before coming home and kissing him.

Knowing they had sex, and than having her come home and beg to be fucked by him.

He started the video again, watching Heather, the way her hands balled into his shirt, the sound of her laugh at the person behind her. 

Then, his eyes start to drift.

He starts it again, this time watching the anger radiate off of y/n.

It was almost palpable.

He couldn’t help the warmth swarm his chest, circling his heart before squeezing tightly.

She was fiery.

The way the words came from her chest, how her shoulders were straight and her chin was raised, filled his stomach with a sense of pride.

When she said she loved him, she meant it.

“I found your letter. I was right about you.”

His eyes shift to the card currently laying on top of the stack of divorce papers laying on his desk.

He knows he should have hidden it better.

Stuffed it in a thick book and placed it on a high shelf, somewhere she never would have thought to look.

He shouldn’t have even kept it.

With his memory, he could read it over and over again in his head, and Heather would be none the wiser.

But there was something about tracing his fingertips over the ink, feeling the indents of her words in the paper.

It was physical evidence, that after all these years of thinking she didn’t feel the same, that he was wrong.

She loves him, as he loves her.

Yes, loves.

Not loved.

Spencer Reid, is in love with y/n y/l/n.

However, he can’t say he doesn’t love Heather.

He had convinced himself that y/n hadn’t felt the same, and had all but given up hope. So when a pretty girl offered her number to him one morning at a coffee shop, he accepted, forcing himself to move on.

And for a while, he believed that he was happy.

But it doesn’t work like that.

There were too many sleepless nights, too many words unsaid that kept him from fully committing to Heather, even if on paper it looked like he worshiped the ground she walked on.

He shouldn’t have proposed.

He had hoped y/n would say something, call him a fool, be selfish and kiss him in the middle of the banquet hall, not caring about what other people thought because it was only them existing at that moment in time.

But she didn’t.

So he did.

It was selfish of him. 

To want another girl, while one who had claimed to love him hung on his arm. 

He shouldn’t have danced with her.

He should have just smiled and thanked her for coming, ignoring the pain registering in her eyes. 

She was intoxicating though. 

And even though it was his wedding, he needed to let her know. 

Let her know that he loved her, and that even if he didn’t have a choice, he would always choose her. 

He would go and catch her without a thought's hesitation.

Last week, he found out she understood.

God, this is a mess.

He rubs his face, resting his chin on his hand as he reads through the papers again. Should he sign them? Should he give themselves another chance? Or should he say fuck it? Heather had her chance, and in the process broke him. He didn’t think it was worth it.

A door above him opens.

“Reid, can I speak with you?”

It wasn’t weird for Hotch to stay late.

It was for Spencer.

But he didn’t want to go home, where Heather would be inevitably waiting to try and plead with him to not go through it, where another fight is waiting to be fought, and going to the one place he truly wanted to, felt wrong. 

It would put y/n in a position he never wants to put her.

So he stayed, and rewatched the video, and reread the papers, until he felt his eyes droop, and his heart rate slow.

Hotch had spent the last few nights watching him.

He could relate to how Spencer was probably feeling, and he wasn’t about to stand back and watch like he did y/n. He was going to help before it got to the extreme.

So Spencer set down the papers, put his phone in his pocket and walked up to meet Hotch in his office. 

When he enters, Hotch motions for him to take a seat.

Spencer sits, curious and kind of anxious about the conversation that was about to be had.

“I just wanted to let you know, that I know what you’re going through. And that I sympathize with what you’re feeling. If you need to take any personal time, any at all, you can.”

The next statement pops out of Spencer's mouth before he can even think.

“You didn’t.”

Hotch doesn’t even blink, not the least bit fazed by the observation.

“I should have. And I wish I did.”

He takes a breath.

“I loved Haley. A part of me still does, and will always love her, even now. But I want you to know that I sympathize with how you feel on more than just the divorce.”

Spencer furrows his brow.

What?

Hotch had wanted to keep this from the team for a very personal reason.

He didn’t want anyone judging him for continuing to love her, even after she hurt him. 

He didn’t want them to hate her after her passing.

He didn’t want Jack to grow up to despise his mother.

“I didn’t realize it at first. I’m sure my line of work didn’t help much. I was gone often, and for long periods of time, during which I have no clue what she did.”

Spencer couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

Haley cheated on Hotch?

“But when I was home, she was distant. I again blamed it on the rift my job created, which I think is what drove her to do it in the first place.”

Hotch has never really talked about it out loud before now.

Was it bad, that he felt a little relieved, to finally get it out into the air?

“How did you find out?” Spencer's voice was soft, quite. He was afraid that if he spoke too loud, Hotch would back down, stop telling the story.

Hotch takes another deep breath, bringing forth the painful memory.

“It was a rare night where I was home. We had been arguing over an offer I had gotten here. It would have given me a 9-5 schedule, allowed me to be home for dinner and on the weekends, a shorter commute. She wanted me to take it, said it was a no brainer. I told her it was more complicated than that.”

Spencer is leaning forward onto his knees, hanging on to every word.

“We were talking about it, when our landline rang. When I picked it up, no one answered, so I hung up. Not ten seconds after, her cell phone started ringing.”

Why hadn’t Hotch told anyone?

Spencer was beginning to realize they had more in common than he thought.

“But what solidified it for me, was the fear in her eyes. She was petrified. I stared at her as her phone rang, and while she didn’t make a move to grab it, she crossed her arms, subconsciously telling me not to ask.”

He rubs his nose, and looks down at the files on his desk. “I did a little more research after that and found that I was correct.”

He folds his hands in front of him, the words becoming harder to say as he continues. 

“What I’m trying to say, is that even when I loved her, even when I wanted it to work out, it didn’t.”

He was hoping Spencer would understand what he was implying. Hotch knew he was smart. It was getting to do something for himself that was the hard part. 

Spencer’s head felt clear for the first time that week. 

It had helped, hearing Hotch's own experience. 

Hotch fought because he loved Haley, and he wanted to hang on to that as long as he could.

Spencer couldn’t wait to let go. That was the difference between the similarities.

Spencer nods, moving to stand up, his mind picking up speed as he did. 

“If you ever need to talk about anything, and I mean anything, Spencer, please don’t hesitate to call me.”

A small smile graces Spencer’s lips. “I won’t.” He walks towards the door before pausing, and turning back around. “And Hotch,”

Hotch looks up from his paperwork.

“Thank you.”

Hotch smiles, soft and rare. “You’re welcome.”

Spencer makes his way back to his desk, sitting down, picking up the papers once again, digging a pen out of his satchel.

He flips through the papers, finding where x marks the spot.

He signs his name.

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#spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid series #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x female!reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds series #cm #mathew gray gubler #song fic #heather #conan gray