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margowrites · 3 years

Note

Hi my lovely friend! I have another request if that’s ok, please and thank you❤️❤️How about from teaching ideas- “How do you spell it?” With either Bucky and reader or even Bucky and Steve (either is totally fine) and you can add an AU if you like! Could be like college AU or something or regular! Yay! Thank you! Hugs and love❤️

Can’t Take My Eyes off of You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (College AU!)

Summary: You’ve been infatuated with a boy in your class for quite some time. This time all the seats are taken and he’s sitting next to you, making it harder for you to concentrate on the lesson. Bucky asks for help with spelling, not that he really needs it but it’s an excuse to hear your voice.

Word count: 1,625

Author’s Notes: My sweetie pie @jobean12-blog ❤️ I can’t thank you enough for being so incredibly kind and sending me requests 🥺 they make me truly so happy and I’m so honoured to write something for you! Hugs to you my beautiful friend ❤️❤️❤️

Warnings: Fluff, crushes, Bucky is a little sassy towards the Professor, Professor Wilson, mild language (one or two words of fuck), crushes to lovers implied.

If it was under any other circumstances, you would be positive that it was the heatwave outside that caused you to sweat profusely and your clothes to stick to your skin. You would blame it on the sun that was far too hot combined with the speed walk you did across campus just so you wouldn’t miss your class. You would blame it on any other reason apart from the true reason as to why you were currently sitting in your seat with your heart pounding out of your chest, covered in sweat with your hands shaking and unable to grip your pen.

And the real reason wasn’t because of the summer heatwave, the sun or the unbearable and sticky humidity. Your current state is all because of one boy; A top A student in all of his classes, a boy who makes all the girls and even some of the boys swoon just because of his existence. A boy, who loves his leather jackets - even in the scorching heatwave - likes to keep his hair tied back into a bun or low ponytail. A boy who loves to wear his dark jeans and dogtags. An almost 19 year old boy named Bucky Barnes, who you also happen to have a very big crush on. The same boy who was currently sitting right next to you because he was late to class and all the other seats were taken.

This lesson wouldn’t be easy. You were just so infatuated by him. Everything Bucky did fascinated you and you often found yourself staring at him in a dreamlike state when the two of you had the same classes. Watching the way he would roll his toothpick between his teeth, the way he would hold his pen and letting the tip of it glide smoothly across the paper to write down notes. The way he would swing back dangerously in his chair only to be told off by Professor Wilson because, “boy, you could swing back so much your head would crack against my floor and I’m not cleaning it up. Sit properly!”

Bucky even smelled so good, like soo soo good. A sandalwood scent mixed with sweat and something else permeated the dusty air around you that tickled your nostrils that you were sure you would be smelling for days. Not that you would ever complain about that. Being this close to him was a once in a lifetime opportunity and you would make the most of it.

“Y/N?” His voice rang through your ears, snapping you out of your current thoughts. His voice was deep for a college boy, his blue eyes watching you carefully.

You cleared your throat and shifted awkwardly in your chair. Your damp clothes from the sweat squeaked against the hard plastic, causing your cheeks to heat up in embarrassment. If Bucky heard, he didn’t comment on it. That was the other thing you liked about him. Bucky was mostly polite, unless you crossed him, in which his ex-girlfriend caused a scene in the cafeteria one time and Bucky came prepared with his colourful language. They had been having problems for quite some time according to his other friend, Wanda who filled you in on all the gossip. “I- yes?” You stuttered, shaking your head as though it might just shake your nerves away.

“I said, can I borrow a pen? I gave mine to Steve who is currently holding it hostage…” he chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck. Wait, why was he nervous?

You nodded and pulled a spare black pen from your pencil case. From your observations, you learned he loved to write in black ink only and that’s what you gave him with shaky hands, you pushed it towards him and smiled.

“Thanks, doll! I owe you one!” He smirked, plucking the toothpick from his mouth and licking his plump pink lips.

Oh Jesus Christ.

You knew this would be impossible. Everything Professor Wilson was teaching right now went right over your head. You just knew it was something something about dinosaurs. No information was registering and trying to concentrate just wasn’t going to happen. Not when your crush was right next to you, anyway. The veins in his hands were prominent and the temptation was strong to run your fingertips over the lines. His other hand was moving quickly as he jotted down notes, already halfway down the page. You blinked and stared down at your blank page. Your mind refusing to soak in what’s being taught and your hand refusing to lift your pen and write. Something would be better than nothing, you tell yourself but you’re nervous. Bucky is more interesting than the lesson.

Bucky stops writing for a few seconds to look at you. He frowns, curious if something is going on because from his own observations he knows this is one of your favourite lessons and you’re always keeping up.

Bucky leans in, his breath fanning against the shell of your ear sends a shiver down your spine. “Are you okay?” He smiles, his shirt too tight for his body, you notice.

You nod and smile awkwardly. “Yeah, I’m fine, just finding it difficult to catch up this time.” You sigh, your racing heart still pounding in your chest. The room feels much hotter than it was when you first arrived, even with the air conditioning cranked up.

“Okay, doll. Just checking.” He smirked and started to swing back on his chair as the professor started the second half of his lesson.

Professor Wilson walked around with his hands behind his back as he talked about fossils and mammals that existed almost 169 million years ago. “Mr Barnes! Put your legs on the ground in this instance!” Professor Wilson lectured him and shot him a stern warning look.

“They are on the ground.” Bucky sassed back, rolling his eyes and earning giggles from girls a couple of desks away. Professor Wilson sighed and shook his head.

“If you fall and crack your head I-”

“Yeah, yeah. You won’t clean it up, I know.” Bucky dismissed Professor Wilson’s worries with a wave of his hand and started to take notes once again as soon as the professor carried on with his lesson.

“And the Tuojiangosaurus was found in China 157 million years ago. It was known to be 7.0m in length and weighed a hefty 1500kg.” Professor Wilson brought up slides of what the dinosaur would have looked like.

“What a fuckin’ beast.” Bucky murmured under his breath, “how do you spell whatever he just said?”

A breathy laugh escapes you and you scratch an itch on your nose. “Uh so, TUOJIANGOSAURUS.” You spelled out for him slowly.

“Thanks doll. I thought you weren’t paying attention to the lesson.” He teases, a sly smirk on his face.

“I remembered the spelling from my spelling bee test.” You grow shy under his now intense and impressive stare.

“Well, he should have these in big letters on the board.” He scoffed and you giggled.

“He… does…” you point to writing under the pictures, the names of the dinosaurs in big black bold letters. A shade of pink dusts Bucky’s cheeks and he dips his head with a smile.

“I know, I just like hearing your voice. You sound really sweet. S’like music to m’ears.”

Oh my goodness. This couldn’t be happening, right?

“Oh I uh- really?” You stammered, mesmerised by his homely blue eyes.

“Really doll, I’ve wanted to ask you-”

“Barnes! Since you’re distracted. Tell the class about the Triceratops. We’re waiting.” Professor Wilson stands in front of your desk, his arms folded over his chest and his foot taps impatiently against the tiled floor. All eyes are on Bucky as he sighs and subtly rolls his eyes under his eyelids.

“The- whatever you just said is a horny dinosaur with teeth.”

“Correction. He has a horny beak.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Please elaborate next time Barnes.” Professor Wilson shakes his head and his eyes narrow on your blank page. “Miss y/l/n? Why have you not been taking notes?!”

Your voice was lost, what could you tell him? That you were too busy watching your crush and not paying attention?

“She’s not feeling well and she can copy my notes. S’no big deal.” Bucky spoke and you felt so relieved. Professor Wilson seemed to be satisfied with that answer and went back to finish up his lesson.

“Thank you.” You leaned in and whispered, sighing when things didn’t feel any better for you. Your heart rate was still out of control and you’re pretty sure there might be a damp spot on your seat.

“It’s okay, doll face. You can copy my notes and be my study buddy in the library if you want to.”

If you want to? Of course you want to!

“Yes- I’d like that!” You smiled and pulled your lip between your teeth. “What were you going to say earlier? Before Professor Wilson interrupted?”

Bucky’s cheeks turned from a light shade of pink to a crimson red. He chuckled quietly and nervously.

“You’ll say no!” He chuckled, his eyes darting from your eyes to your lips.

“Try me.” You challenge, mimicking his movements with your eyes.

“I’ll tell you when we’re at the library. Deal?” He winks, and shushes you as he writes down his final notes, catching the slight nod of your head.

Your mind went into a frenzy. All it took was for all the seats to be taken and for Bucky to sit next to you this once to escalate things. You wished he was late sooner. What was he going to say to you earlier? You couldn’t wait to find out as you sunk back in your chair with the biggest smile on your face, feeling like the happiest person in the world.

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ptergwen · 3 years

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I think your requests are open (I didn’t see anything that said otherwise but I suck at this app lol) but I was wondering if you could write a peter x reader (likely college-age) where they have an academic rivalry and just tease each other a lot and lots of fluff and shit? It can be an established relationship or like a friends/rivals to lovers or really whatever you want. Sorry if this is super specific! Anyways, I love your writing, it always cheers me up :)

friends close, enemies closer

ik this is cherry BUT i had to

w/c: 1.6k

warnings: swearing and hints of suggestiveness

a/n: thank you my love ! i’m actually obsessed with this concept so i’m super super happy with how it came out n i hope you are too :,)

you wipe sweat from your upper lip, peeking at peter’s laptop screen. he’s more than halfway through the paper your english professor tasked your class to write. he looks to have not a worry in the world as he continues to type away. growling at this, you dive right back into work.

you’ve been at each other’s throats since the beginning of classes when you both wanted the same spot. first row, middle seat. peter had officially claimed it in the end. you’d flopped down next to him and his irritating smirk.

the dude is smart, you’ll give him that. his knowledge of literature is almost as impressive as yours. almost. he raises his hand any chance he gets, effectively stealing your thunder if you dare to participate.

peter is also a bit of a people pleaser. he’ll chat up your professor at office hours, fascinate her with his hot takes on things or stupid anecdotes. you often get so annoyed that you bail before you even attempt to woo her yourself. the sight of you storming off is something peter thoroughly enjoys.

bottom line is, golden boy peter parker never loses. underneath the sweet, innocent persona he hides behind is a ruthless fighter. you’re determined to end his winning streak, thus sparking your ongoing competition to be better than the other in every way possible.

this time, your goal is to meet your ten page paper requirements the fastest. they aren’t due for weeks, but you and peter are banging them out in one sitting.

you’re hauled up in the campus library, sat side by side despite your wishes for peter to get his own table. he’d insisted on sharing with you. why, you haven’t a clue. you can’t stand him, and he isn’t the fondest of you either.

that’s what you tell yourselves, at least.

“progress report?” peter requests from you. “page three. you?” you grunt back. he props his feet up on the table, arms flexed behind his head. “finishing up page seven. you already knew that, though... creeper.”

god, you can hear the shit-eating grin in his voice.

you glance over at peter, doing your best to ignore how his biceps bulge under his hoodie. nerdy little parker is ripped.

“worry about yours, i’ll worry about mine. thanks.” you reread the sentence you wrote prior to peter’s chiseled body distracting you. “oh, the irony,” he sighs and nudges the edge of your laptop with his sneaker. scowling, you shift the screen away from him.

about a minute of silence goes by until it’s unfortunately filled by peter. he stretches his arms out, finally removing his dirty shoes from the table.

“i’m gonna take five. maybe, you could use it as an opportunity to catch up to me,” peter cockily suggests. “spare me your charity, peter. i’m doing just fine without it,” you retort, letting out a scoff. peter raises his hands in defense. “if you say so, princess.”

here you were, naively thinking peter couldn’t become any more insufferable than he already is.

you slam your laptop shut and jab a finger at his chest. “jesus christ, how many times do i have to ask you not to call me that?” a patronizing pout adorns peter’s lips. “aw, i love it when you get all bossy on me. so cute.”

he grabs your hand still on his chest, pressing a light kiss to the back of it. you’re quick to wipe it off on his hoodie. nevertheless, there’s an undeniable heat rushing to your cheeks.

“well, i hate it when you call me princess,” you deadpan. peter tilts his head to the side. “do you?”

of course not. deep down, you live for the fuzzy feeling you get whenever the nickname slips from his tongue. oh, his tongue and the things it can do. poking out as he focuses hard on a question, running across his pink lips…

you have to reel it in. this is peter parker you’re fantasizing about, your mortal enemy.

“yes. i hate it, and i hate you,” you unsuccessfully convince the both of you. “no, you don’t,” peter rasps, darkened eyes scanning over your features. his stare is intense and intimidating. he grasps your chin between his thumb and index finger, slowly leaning in closer.

he’s not going to stop until you make him. you don’t want to, but you will.

you shove his shoulder, dragging your laptop towards you again. “on second thought, i could use that catch up. you’re not gonna throw me off my game, parker.”

your rejection seems to disappoint peter. his expression matches that of a kicked puppy, brows furrowed and arms crossed over his chest.

“we’ll see,” he murmurs and swings a leg over his chair. “alright, i’m gonna run to the caf. you want anything?”

he’s offering to buy you food now? what’s his angle here?

“i’d say yes, but i’m afraid you’ll poison it somehow,” you half joke. peter hops to his feet. “don’t give me any ideas,” he warns, snatching his backpack off the floor. “i’ll just surprise you.”

although you’re curious what his mystery snack choice for you would be, you can’t accept. you’d be going against your entire dynamic.

would that be so terrible?

absolutely.

you wave him off towards the double doors. “i’m good, peter. really. i’m not that hungry, anyway.” shaking his head, peter throws a backpack strap onto one shoulder. “y/n, your stomach’s been grumbling for the last hour. you gotta eat.”

he’s not wrong. you’re starving, but you’ve been too preoccupied by your essay to break for dinner.

“fine, surprise me,” you concede. peter flashes you a smile, this one void of its usual condescendence. “i’ll be back. try not to miss me too much,” he calls as he walks backwards to the library doors. “i won’t. shoo already,” you dismiss him, a laugh falling from your lips.

peter winks at you, then disappears into the night. you’re left with a serious case of butterflies and a certain freckle faced know-it-all on your mind.

that’s a problem.

you’ve managed to get another page done when peter reappears. he sits back down and slides a bag across the table, you closing your laptop. you dig into it to figure out what he picked for you. you’re not too pleased with his selection, however.

“oh, yummy. vomit in a cup,” you announce as you hold a green smoothie in your hand. peter reaches over and pats your thigh. “it’s good for you. drink up, princess.” you slap him away. “hard pass. i’d rather you have gotten me nothing.”

narrowing his eyes, peter pulls two cookies wrapped in a napkin from his pocket. “i’m guessing you don’t want these either? more for me, then.”

they’re chocolate chip and m&m, your favorite in the cafeteria. they just came out of the oven, so they’re still warm.

“how… how did you know i…” you trail off, peter setting the cookies in front of you. he offers you a lopsided grin. “i know a lot about you, believe it or not. i pay attention.” you surprise yourself by returning his smile. “thank you, peter. how much do i owe you?”

“nah, it’s on me,” peter assures you. “enjoy.” pushing aside your unappealing drink, you seize the cookies instead. “you have to eat, too. let me at least split these with you.” there’s a beat before peter nods. “fair enough.”

that results in you two munching on your cookies while pretending to write your papers. you’re sneaking glances at each other whenever the other isn’t looking, in reality.

once it’s about time for the library to close, you’re on the verge of passing out. peter is concluding his essay until he hears a thump from your side of the table.

he finds you with your cheek smushed against your keyboard and hitting random letters, snores escaping you.

chuckling to himself, peter places a hand on your shoulder. “hey, y/n?” he speaks in a hushed tone. you awake with a gasp, drool pooling at the corners of your mouth. “easy there, princess. it’s only me.” he rubs circles on your back, and it’s oddly comforting.

“keep doing that,” you purr, momentarily forgetting how much you’re supposed to despise peter. he lets his fingers dance across the exposed skin of your lower back. “we should probably head out. it’s kinda late,” peter decides.

you sit up, bones aching and eyes forced open. “not yet. have to beat you first.” you start to delete the gibberish you accidentally typed. peter cups your cheek to turn your head towards him, your movements halting. “this one’s a tie. you did good, y/n/n,” he coos. “finish the rest another day.”

“why’re you being so nice to me?” you nearly whisper. peter uses his thumb to swipe the drool from your lips. “‘cuz i care about you. i might not show it, but i do,” he admits with the hint of a smile. “besides, i need you… for the, uh, the healthy competition.”

laughing softly, you twist his hoodie strings around your fingers and tug. “your intentions are pure as always. sure that’s all you need me for?” peter’s gaze darts to your lips, then your eyes. “we’ll see,” he repeats.

rivalry be damned.

“mm. i care about you too, parker. thanks again for tonight,” you hum. a blush coats peter’s cheeks, even in the dim library lighting. his sweet and innocent side might truly exist. “no problem.” peter links your pinkie with his, the gesture giving you that fuzzy feeling. “i’ll walk you back to your dorm?”

you lean over and kiss his pinkie intertwined in yours.

“lead the way.”

#peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker au #peter parker smut #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland smut #tom holland imagine #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction

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moontheoretist · 3 years

Quote

When she and Tony Stark meet it is very clear that he was not expecting her there, “Jesus Christ, who the hell are you?” he asks, hand pressed to the space over his heart. His right arm is in a sling and that does not look good. “Is there something wrong with your arm?” she asks. It did not appear to be in a cast and she saw no bruising. His breathing was restricted though and that did not bode well either. She narrows her eyes at the thought of someone harming her King’s soul mate but she blinks, letting the anger go. Now was not the time or place. “None of your business, and you are?” he snaps, glaring at her suspiciously. “Dora Milaje,” she responds vaguely, “and I am here on the behalf of King T’Challa.” “T’Challa can fuck off,” Tony snarls viciously and her eyebrows shoot up. “Excuse me,” she says in a dangerous tone. Soul mate or not she would not allow him to insult her King. “Anyone who is involved with Steve Rogers is no use to me,” he snaps. Her eyebrows remain raised, “I understand that Steve Rogers has caused you pain, but I do not understand how that extends to King T’Challa,” she says calmly. Perhaps too calmly but Stark either does not understand the danger or he does not care. Stark rolls his eyes, “I’ve spent the last five years dealing with people who blindly follow Steve Rogers around like a bunch of fucking lap dogs, I don’t need to have one more person tell me that I can never compare. I know that. No need to have anyone else remind me,” he says bitterly, his lip curling up in disgust. That changed things. “I here because the King is not sure what to believe about you. He and the Dora Milaje agree that the information about you is too conflicting to draw a reasonable conclusion. So I am here to try and find the truth, to see what you’re really like. I must admit that I do not like you,” she says honestly. Perhaps the man would take the honesty well. He does not, instead he flinches hard but the expression is gone very quickly. “Great, then you’re just like everyone else. Go report back to your king, tell him I’m as worthless as everyone says I am,” Tony says, turning and walking towards his kitchen. “I do not like many people, that does not mean that you are not a good person. And my personal opinion of you means little when you are not meant for me,” she says. Tony’s shoulders tense at that but he turns slowly to face her. “What do you want to know?” He looks exhausted, like he hasn’t slept in days and she supposes that it is very likely that he has not. The man had chronic insomnia and she suspected it made his very obvious PTSD worse. The dismissals from everyone else around him, including his closest friends, probably did not help the situation. “Why did you support the Accords?” she asks bluntly. Cutting to the heart of the issue was what she was good at, and it saved her time and effort beating around the bush. “Steve told me that I needed to trust people, to listen to them. He was right, so when the opportunity came to listen I did, or at least I tired but apparently that wasn’t right either,” he snaps bitterly, that disgusted look back on his face. “You feel guilty for Ultron,” she says and it is not a question. He flinches at the bot’s name, he certainly felt guilty for being the creator of such chaos. “Of course I do, who the fuck wouldn’t? I nearly ended the world when I ran that program and I should have said something to someone,” he says. She finds that curious, his anger at Steve and his acceptance that Steve was right in his conclusions about his communication skills or lack thereof. “But you did talk to someone, Dr. Banner. I know that he is currently missing but surely you count your communication with him as something,” she says. Banner appeared to be the only Avenger who was not adverse to Tony. The two bonded over science and Tony’s lack of fear of him. “Lot of good that did,” Tony mumbles. “But you spoke to him and he agreed that it was a good enough idea to try,” she says. “So what if I did? Everyone blamed me for it anyways, might as well take the blame. Bruce said it could go wrong and I didn’t listen, I should have.” He leans against the counter and sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just because your team blamed only you does not mean it was fair. It is not like they are lacking in recklessness and stupidity themselves. What kind of moron releases a brainwashed assassin onto the world? Steve Rogers is very lucky that seems to have had no consequences. And his taking the word of Bucky Barnes as proof of five other Winter Soldiers was not wise either, the man hardly knows what is real and what is not, he is still partially under the control of HYDRA conditioning. Only a fool would take the man’s word at face value. I believe that your holding off until you found real proof of the Winter Soldiers’ existence made you the most intelligent and clear headed of the group, at least in that moment. The rest of the team has far too much faith in a man who is living in nostalgia. Bucky Barnes does not, nor will he ever, exist again as Rogers knew him. He should accept that,” she says bluntly. It was a harsh truth, yes, but a man would never be the same after a trauma like that. Rogers himself was more than likely not the same man he used to be so he should not expect Bucky to be. He should also accept the reality of that trauma on his friend because living in his memories was not going to help Bucky Barnes. Accepting reality, no matter how harsh, was the only way to help Barnes heal from his wounds. It would not be easy for anyone but it was the most beneficial. “You… think I’m the smartest and most clear headed of the group?” Tony asks, looking beyond shocked. “In that moment, yes. You are not without your mistakes but that was not one of them. Tell me more about why you chose to support the Accords,” she says. This time Tony pauses for a long time and she lets him gather himself. It was important to make an accurate judgment. Finally Tony looks up, “Steve was right about listening to people. Sometimes I go too fast and I don’t think things through right, I’ve done it time and time again, even when I was supporting the Accords. I’ll make a snap decision that looks good at the time but I don’t talk to the people I’m supposed to be helping, I just make a decision and assume it’s for the best when it isn’t. I had one hundred and seventeen countries telling me to slow down and stop and I didn’t think that was something I should ignore. They weren’t making unreasonable requests, they just wanted a say in how we ran things and you can’t help people if you aren’t willing to listen to what they need you to do. I’ve learned that now,” he says. “Rogers thinks the best hands are still your own, you do not agree?” she asks, curious. Tony rolls his eyes, “no, he thinks the best hands are still his own, not our own regardless of what he says. You saw what happened when someone said no, it didn’t line up with his beliefs and instead of reaching out and asking to change things, or asking why things looked the way thy did he threw the whole damn thing out. Besides, if we’re talking histories here I have a near one hundred percent fail rate. The best hands aren’t my own so I thought maybe if I had someone else vetting my decisions they might be better but if that person isn’t Steve Rogers Steve doesn’t think it’s good enough.” Harsh words, but they were mostly true. She, too, found the Captain too rigid in his values. “And the agendas he spoke of?” she asks. He was not wrong for being suspicious of the government. They were corrupt, as near all systems were outside of Wakanda and even there they had their issues. At this Tony looks down, “I put too much faith in a system I know doesn’t really work that well. But we aren’t apolitical people, we know what the UN’s agendas were, they were clearly written on paper and we could have worked with that, used it to our advantage. But the fuck if I know what their agendas are. Natasha flip-flops more than a fucking fish out of water, so does Clint, I have no idea what Wanda’s thinking, you already know what I think of Steve, and Sam… well he’s an alright guy. I think he’s an idiot for following Steve around like a lost bird but he’s a good man. I know I made mistakes but that bullshit letter Steve sent me proves he doesn’t care.” She did not read the letter so she is unsure what he is talking about, “would you care to explain?” she asks, trying to be gentle. The man was raw, in pain, and it was bound to end badly for him. She was sure she had her answers but she was curious about the letter and more information would not hurt. “Oh he’s glad I’m back on the compound, obviously I moved back out, but he doesn’t like to think of me being alone because the Avengers were more mine than his. Pretty sure the fact that they’ve all always hated me minus maybe Bruce indicates that that’s a bunch of shit but whatever. And he has faith in people, in individuals? Really? Because I didn’t see any of that faith when people, individuals, were reaching out to us to talk to them and he slapped them down because what they wanted wasn’t what he wanted. And he’s never had faith in me. Never. I find it really hard to accept that he gives a damn about hurting my feelings, especially when he’s always assumed that I didn’t have any. And his stupid ‘I wish we agreed on the Accords but we didn’t so fuck you’ at the end was a real nice touch. He might as well have wrote ‘lol everything before this was a joke because I don’t really care what you think was right, it wasn’t what I think is right so you’re wrong’. At least we can both agree that he was a selfish prick keeping my parents’ deaths to himself,” he mumbles. So Tony Stark fell somewhere in between his public image and someone she did not know. He was clearly emotional, in pain, and that was not going to go well for him but he was not a bad person. He was not what the Avengers thought he was either. “You’re parents’ deaths?” she asks. “Yeah, I mean I can’t keep secrets or so he reminded me about a million times with that Ultron bullshit, but he can keep the fact that Barnes killed my parents to himself. Guess all the shit I do is totally fine if he does the same damn thing. I don’t listen and accidentally create Ultron I’m a problem, and that’s fair, but he can ignore the whole fucking world and that’s totally A-Okay with him. I can’t keep secrets, but it’s fine if he does. I can’t be suspicious of government structures without being labeled ‘insubordinate’ and ‘arrogant’ but when he does it it’s fine!”

The Truth Never Set Me Free (I Did It Myself) by TenSpencerRiedPlease

#mcu fanfiction #oh my if that doesn't ring true #whenever I do something it's bad #but when someone else does it it's ok #tony stark #steve rogers critical #mcu steve rogers critical #tony stark critical #?#he critiqued himself here so

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chil2de · 3 years

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How are you today? If its alright with you, can I request a Atsumu x fem reader where she has a super tomboy style and ALWAYS wears baggy clothes, but one day atsumu comes over to hang out and the only outfit she has left is kinda a tight fitting shirt and for the first time ever Atsumu realizes just how curvy his girlfriend is

sorry if thats to specific! feel free to ignorethis!

warning - miya atsumu x reader

hiii! i’m doing okay anonie, thank you and i hope u are faring well!!! so um this ended up being a LOT longer than i expected pls forgive me it was supposed to be a cute lil drabble but now its like uh 2k words aJdhfhhd, i really loved this idea!!! don’t worry ab it being too specific i actually like that and it helps give me a general idea about the req

well whilst this isn’t tooooo nsfw there are a few small themes in the beginning + swearing since i write atsumu like that and implications of sexual content ig at the end but aside from that? just some fluff for our fav king. characters are aged up and i am unsure how it would work but call it anime logic and enjoy! thanks for requesting! (okay rereading the ending is lowkey smut why am i like this)

“b-cup.” atsumu huffed with confidence. he took a large swig out of his water bottle, nodding his head wisely in affirmation.

“really? i’d say c-cup.” suna chimed in, his half-lidded gaze narrowing.

“nah, it’s b-cup”

“what the hell are you two talking about?” osamu interjected, concern and disgust thick on his features as he came over carrying a few towels.

“(y/n)’s bra size” suna nonchalantly responded, his eyes flicking up for a few seconds as he accepted the towel from osamu.

“‘tsumu i knew you were messed in the head but, suna? have you caught his germs?”

“fuck are you making it sound like i have some viral disease?”

“you don’t?” suna snorted, plopping down onto the floor to sit cross-legged.

“why don’t you just ask her?” osamu’s gaze flickered onto yours from across the court. you felt your ears burn from the way the three of them were staring at you.

was something on your face?

a bug? dirt?

“huh? like i’m supposed to say, hey baby girl, what size are your tits?”

“i’m still saying b-cup”

“c-cup”

“i think b-cup” osamu joined in, watching atsumu screw his face at him

“you goddamn hypocrite-“ “who’s being a hypocrite?” kita inquired with a half-hushed tone, making his way over with a few protein bars

“oh my god i’m going home” atsumu groaned, resting his palms on his knees as he stood up. he beelined towards you, his exhaustion painted his lazy smile beautifully. he still had the energy to turn around over his shoulder and flip his middle finger up at his team whilst his right hand snaked around to your waist.

somewhere around your waist. it took him a little bit of digging through all the fabric.

it didn’t matter to him, though. as much of a jackass as he might’ve been, he never judged you for the way you dressed. even if it meant that sometimes you looked a lil bit homeless, at the end of the day- he still had that glimmer in his eyes whenever he saw you.

you would be his favourite baby girl, no matter what.

“is that my shirt you’re wearing?” he hummed, glancing down to look at it.

it was, in fact, one of his shirts. it was matte black in colour, with a small dip that would showcase atsumu’s collar bones. it was a little bit faded from the many wash cycles it endured throughout its lifetime, but he would always notice the small tear in the bottom right section of the fabric.

“sorryyy, i know you just washed it but it smelled so nice. also, wow, did you put on deodorant? you actually smell like a man it’s kinda creepy”

“i always put on deodorant you dipshit, you’re always crying about how pretty my face looks so your nose doesn’t pick up the scent. it’s verbena citrus, buy your own because i know you’ll try stealing mine so i’m putting a padlock on that shit.” atsumu scoffed, digging his fingers into your sides to tickle you as you walked. you squirmed, swatting him away as you dug your hands into the pockets of your joggers. they were not atsumu’s, unfortunately, for you found out the hard way that you would literally have to drag the excess fabric behind you like some train dress or bundle it up and fold it, which, in retrospect- did not look too aesthetically pleasing. you settled for your own joggers and favourite high-top sneakers to match.

“you know you’ll say all this but give me your deodorant anyway, right?” you stuck your tongue out at him. he rolled his eyes, ruffling your hair.

“hey.” he called out, causing you to direct your attention towards him.

he nudged your arm with his elbow.

oh.

“give it here.”

you uncurled your left hand out of your pocket, zipping it up to make sure the contents inside didn’t spill. atsumu slid his right hand away from your waist and opened his palm up, intertwining his fingertips between yours into a tight lock. he grazed his thumb over the back of your hand, giving you a small squeeze.

“that was the cheesiest and most corniest thing you’ve done and i hated it” you made a mock gagging sound, averting your gaze.

you could feel the blush fresh on your cheeks, heart pounding in your chest like it was about to explode.

“wait, you thought i was holding your hand because we’re dating? i’m just doing it because i know your dumbass would get lost” atsumu snorted, throwing his head back in laughter.

well,

you could still see the light blush tinting his cheeks. and it wasn’t the sunset.

“mmm, should i wear this one- wait-“ you grabbed the shirt, folding it upwards as you took a small whiff. well,, you did wear it yesterday… yeah, you did put it in the laundry basket,,, no, it didn’t smell toooo bad, but..

you groaned, tossing it back into said basket as you furrowed your brows in concentration.

you heard the doorbell ring which only caused you to panic even further. you just needed a shirt. literally any shirt. you were about to cut your freaking pants out and sew them together to another pair for a shirt.

since it was a friday, you had atsumu walk you halfway home. you only lived a street away from him, and the apartment was conveniently built on a fork between the road down to his house and the supermarket. hence, he dropped you off and went to the store all by himself like a responsible adult to grab some snacks for the weekend.

“it’s open!” you called out, leaning your jaw back as you shouted in hopes for your voice to travel further.

in that moment, just in the corner of your eye- you saw a familiar flash of black.

you swooped the fabric up, quietly humming in pleasure when it smelled like laundry detergent and fabric softener.

you lifted the shirt over your head, struggling to pull it down for a few seconds.

you admired yourself briefly in the mirror.

it was a casual t-shirt. it reached down to the middle portion of your arms, though it was significantly less baggy than all of your other clothes. you liked to sleep in it during hot and stuffy summer nights, but rarely found yourself using it otherwise.

it’s not like you didn’t like these kinds of shirts.

but when given the option to look “stylish” or comfortable, who wouldn’t pick comfortable? that’s what was important to you above all. clothes that made you feel like you were constantly in bed were a godsend from the heavens.

“hey dipshit, i spent twenty minutes jumping stores for you but no one sold any (favourite drink) so i got you-“ atsumu halted in his steps, the grocery bags curled around his fists were suddenly forgotten and discarded as he caught sight of you through the doorframe.

you were clad in a pair of old white shorts and a black t-shirt, complimentary of the fact that everything else was currently in the laundry machine. atsumu could outline every single damn crevice and dip on you, and he burned that shit so deep into his retinas that he would still see it when his eyes were closed.

he felt his breath hitch, something deep inside him resonating, growing feral like hunger.

he still stood by what he said,

baggy clothes or not, you were beautiful.

but he wasn’t expecting this

“so you bought what?” you inquired, twisting your torso halfway to greet him as you finished brushing through some knots in your hair at the vanity.

“huh?”

“you said there wasn’t any (favourite drink) so you got what? did you fall and crack your head open on the way here? cause it looks like it”

you could feel your heart squeeze, body temperature increased twofold as icy hot waves wracked every inch of your skin. there was a cold sweat that rolled down the back of your knees.

“shut the hell up, i hate you” atsumu grumbled, forcing himself to turn away from you and stomp off to the kitchen with a pout.

“jesus christ give me strength i hate this woman, where the hell does she get off thinking she can get away with looking so good like that” atsumu mumbled incoherent curses underneath his breath, shakily unloading everything he bought out onto the counter and stuffing the groceries into cabinets and the fridge.

“‘samu, i hate you but dude i need twin telepathy, give me strength so i don’t deck this woman right here right now” he cursed, gritting his teeth. his self-control was about to fly out the window.

“you okay?” you popped your head through the door, leaning into the kitchen.

he could see the outline of your prominent collarbones, the way the shirt still fell a little bit and hung loosely off of your frame. he could see the start of your stomach.

god, it should’ve been illegal the way he wanted to grab your thighs. he wondered for a second what it would look like with his fingerprints etched into your skin there.

“want a few tissues and some lotion?” you snorted, nestling up beside him to help. you gazed at him, watching him keep his eyes narrowed on the packet of pistachios he was fumbling with.

you thought it was cute.

“listen- if you’re not ready yet then i’d suggest that you find something else to wear cause holy shit if you don’t get away from me right now i swear i will not restrain myself-“

“i’m ready” you hummed, giving him an innocent smile. you toyed with your hands behind your back, fiddling with them as butterflies swept your abdomen.

atsumu snorted, eyebrows creasing in confusion. he turned to face you, setting the pistachios down.

“alright i’m not saying this to boost my ego, but, what did you say?”

“i said i’m ready”

you watched his brain stir, gears ticking and turning like clockwork.

atsumu let out a low sigh.

“yeah, yeah. well, then.”

his right hand slammed against the wall, caging you in. he leaned into you, looming over you as his half-lidded eyes burned holes inside your soul. you felt the air tense and switch around him, carnal desires swirling behind his gaze. his chest was so close to yours, practically flush, save for the tiniest gap. you could literally feel his heart hammering.

he was so invasive, so close, yet so respectful. he still kept his distance, just n case you changed your mind.

“are you sure this is what you want?” his voice was hot and slick against the shell of your ear, voice husky and octaves deeper. you could feel the sexual tension dripping from him.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your forehead against him.

“i’m sure, ‘tsumu.”

a loud chuckle ripped from the depths of his chest. it was so hearty, and fuck, it made you clench.

atsumu swooped you up all in one swift motion, hands hooking underneath your thighs as he shoved you against the counter. he sent everything clattering and thudding in the process.

“don’t say i didn’t warn you, doll.”

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

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Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 8

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

Saturday at 5:00, she’s standing outside Mulder’s apartment door. When he’d proposed watching a movie, she questioned whether that was the best idea. She doesn’t have any particular reason for trying to hold off on things getting more physical, other than the lingering subconscious belief that nice girls don’t take their pants off before there’s a ring on their finger. That’s never a policy she’s stuck to in the past, but it still feels like they should wait a bit. Maybe it’s what happened before, their previous indiscretion, that makes her feel compelled to take things slow. Regardless of the motivation, spending time alone at one of their apartments is a surefire way to end up ditching her plans, along with her clothes.

Speaking of clothes, she’s worn jeans and a T-shirt, decidedly more casual than their last date. She’s also put on a black lace bra and matching boy short panties underneath, just in case. She has no intention of Mulder seeing her underwear, but on the off chance she changes her mind, she’d hate for him to see her granny panties. She also shaved her legs and her bikini line, just in case. Taking a deep breath and promising herself she will exercise exceptional self control, she knocks.

When he answers, she instantly feels her resolve falter. He’s wearing jeans and a white T shirt, bare feet, and a beaming smile. He immediately steps forward and slips his arms around her waist, pulling her close and kissing her like she’s just returned from sea. He smells clean and masculine, the stubble on his chin scraping her cheek and summoning a groan from her throat, which she successfully stifles. Finally he pulls back, looking at her with soft, affectionate eyes.

“Hey,” he says with a little smirk, and she smiles at him like they’ve just shared a secret.

“Hi,” she replies, resting her palms on his upper arms.

“Sorry to accost you before you’ve even gotten inside,” he says sheepishly, his arms still wrapped around her, “I’ve been waiting all week to do that.”

She chuckles and he releases her, slipping his hand into hers and leading her into the living room. When they enter, Priscilla stands from her place on the couch and arches her back with a meow, then paces excitedly with her eyes trained on Scully.

“Hi Priscilla,” she greets the cat, sitting on the couch where Priscilla climbs right into her lap and starts purring noisily. Scully laughs and runs her hand from Priscilla’s head down to her tail, smiling as the cat closes her eyes contentedly and drool drips from the corner of her mouth.

“She missed you,” Mulder says as he looks on, smiling with his hands crossed over his chest. “She doesn’t drool for just anyone.”

“I missed her too,” Scully says to Priscilla, then turns to look at Mulder with a soft smile. “I missed both of you.”

They hold eye contact for a beat, then he looks away, walking towards the kitchen. “I was just going to order pizza, if that’s okay.”

“Sounds perfect,” she replies, looking around. Not much has changed since she was last here, though he’s hung a couple new things up on the walls.

“What do you like on your pizza?” he calls from the kitchen.

“Surprise me,” she replies. She’s not a very picky eater and can’t think of any topping that would be a dealbreaker.

“I like your style,” he says in response, and she can hear the smile in his voice.

There is the muffled sound of him calling the order in, then he returns with a beer in each hand.

“I rented two movies,” he says as he sits down close beside her, their thighs touching. “Take your pick between Twister, or Mars Attacks.”

“I saw Twister in the theater when it came out, but I can’t say that I’ve seen, nor did I ever intend to see, Mars Attacks,” she replies with a knowing smile, taking the open beer he holds out to her.

“You gotta see it, Scully, it’s an instant classic,” he says with a tone that she can’t pin down as facetious or not.

“I guess we better watch it then,” she says with an equally ambiguous tone.

———

Six empty beer bottles are lined up along the far end of the coffee table, a pizza box sitting open in front of them. Mulder is lying with his head propped up on the arm rest of the couch, one foot on the floor and the other stretched out in front of him. Scully is lying on her stomach against his chest, her cheek resting on his pectoral and her arms wrapped around his rib cage. It was a slow progression towards them ending up fully entwined like this, her belly pressed against his groin, and he has one eye on the TV and the rest of his attention concentrated on not getting hard.

The movie, which is even more campy and stupid than he remembered, is nearly over, and he hopes she doesn’t hop up and leave right away. Looking down over the crown of her autumnal head and along the narrow expanse of her back, he sees a sliver of skin exposed between her jeans and T-shirt and his cock stirs. He slides the hand that had been resting in the middle of her back lower until his fingertips meet with her bare skin and she shifts a tiny bit, but not uncomfortably. Slowly, causally, while keeping his eyes on the screen, he begins to trace his fingers in slow circles on her lower back. Her skin is unbelievably soft, supple and warm. As his movements continue, he increases the size of his circles, inching her T-shirt up higher to expose more skin, and she pulls in a deep breath and holds it for a moment before she lets it out slowly, concluding with a sound that’s almost like a hiss. She shifts again and her stomach rubs against the swelling lump of his erection, pronounced enough now that she may be able to feel it. He dips the tips of his fingers under the waist of her jeans, running them from one hip to the other, and she lifts her head, propping her chin on his chest and looking up at him. Her expression is unreadable; she definitely isn’t upset, but she’s not smiling, either.

“Your skin is so soft,” he offers, as though it were an excuse for why he’s touching her, as though it would not be enough to say he’s doing it simply because he wants to.

She shimmies up until they’re nose to nose, the friction sending a jolt to his groin, and he resists the urge to thrust up against her.

“I moisturize,” she says plainly, her breath hot against his lips smelling like hops and garlic.

She drags her lips over his softly, side to side, then kisses him fully with a contented sigh. His hands find the small of her back and push up underneath her T-shirt, sliding over more of that silky softness, and he does thrust up against her, though gently.

They kiss slowly, in no rush, his hands cupping her ass and gliding down her sides, up into her hair and then back again. Her own arms are tucked up underneath her, propping her up as she kisses him, though she shifts her pelvis against his erection gratuitously, not in any way pretending that it’s not intentional.

“Mmmmm, Mulder,” she hums into his mouth, flicking at his tongue with her own and then sucking on his lower lip.

“Hmm?” he asks in response, gripping her ass and pulling her firmly against his groin as he pushes it against her.

“I don’t think we should have sex. Not yet,” she croons into his ear, pulling the lobe between her teeth gently.

“Okay, of course, whatever you’re comfortable with,” he answers back with a pained groan, his body not on the same page as his brain. “If you want to stop, let’s stop.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to stop,” she replies, kissing down the side of his neck until she comes to the place where it meets his shoulder. “I just said I don’t want to have sex. There are a lot of things we can do that aren’t sex.” She slips her arm free from beneath her torso, snaking it down between them and rubbing it firmly over his aching hard-on.

“Jesus Christ,” he hisses, flexing his hips wildly as he seeks more contact.

She brings her lips back to meet his, peppering small kisses as she strokes him over his jeans.

“How about,” she begins breathily, “one of us keeps our clothes on.”

“Okay,” he responds, sliding his hands around her hips to find the button of her jeans.

She laughs a little and sits up on her knees between his thighs, just out of reach.

“I was thinking maybe I would keep my clothes on,” she says in a playful tone, though her expression is bashful.

“Oh,” he answers dumbly, trying to piece together what she’s saying. When her hands go to the fly of his jeans he sits up. “Wait, one second, why me?”

She tilts her head with a curious furrowed brow. “This may be the first time in recorded history that a man has objected to receiving rather than giving.”

He cocks his own head at her, mirroring her confusion. “I think you’ve been hanging around the wrong men.”

After a beat, they both break out into ironic smiles, realizing what they are arguing over. She leans forward, crawling up to kiss him.

“If we were keeping score, which we are not, I would say I owe you one, Mulder.”

No matter that it was nine months ago, she’s referring to the one and only other time they’ve done more than kiss. She’s not wrong, but he doesn’t care. He loves making women come; it’s practically a hobby.

He wants to object, but she already has his fly open, her tiny hand slipping underneath his boxers and gliding down the length of him. He groans and she kisses him again, stroking him slowly in the narrow space beneath his stiff jeans. She sits up and tugs at the waistband and he lifts his hips to help her before pulling his T-Shirt off over his head. Within fifteen seconds he’s naked, his ass sinking into the warmed leather of the couch and Scully’s hot little hand cradling his balls.

“Can you take your shirt off?” he asks hopefully, “is that allowed?”

She smiles at him. “Let me consult the commissioner,” she says, then glances up and to the side. “Commissioner says yes,” she finishes, pulling her shirt over her head and revealing a black lace bra, her modest breasts pushed up deliciously within its cups. He feels his cock lurch in response and he reaches up to pull her on top of him, deftly unhooking the clasp and chucking the bra across the room.

She sits up again, perched between his thighs topless, and lazily slides her hand up and down over his length. He stares slack jawed at her pale pink nipples, hardened into rose buds in the cool air of the room, and she gives him a devilish little grin before bending at the waist and taking him in her mouth. The wet heat of her is sudden and jarring, so overwhelming that he closes his eyes against the flashes of white hot pleasure as his hips buck uncontrollably.

She plants her palms on his hip bones to hold him steady and moves up and down at a slow pace, her tongue sliding along the underside of his cock until the head is at her lips, where she swirls it around in a circular motion that makes him see stars. He opens his eyes, watching her through the curtain of her hair as his shaft disappears into her hot little mouth, the pink peaks of her nipples becoming visible at regular intervals. She tilts her chin up slightly and looks at him, meeting his eye before she lowers herself further than she had before, and he feels his head hit the soft flesh at the back of her throat before he slips just a little further, pressing into her pharynx. He stiffens and groans, the sensation different and somehow explicit, like he’s somewhere he’s not supposed to be. His hands hover near the sides of her head, gripping at air as he resists the urge to touch her, to control her movements. When one of them brushes against her scalp, she reaches up and takes it, pressing it into her hair and granting permission. He threads his other hand into her tresses and lets them glide with her as she moves up and down. Her fingernails scrape gently over the papery skin of his scrotum and he feels a tightening, coiling sensation that means he’s close. He lets his head fall back and enjoys the incredible feeling of her tongue hot and wet, her lips firm, her hands gentle. When he’s approaching the point of release, he lifts his head and whispers hoarsely, “Scully, I’m gonna come,” and removes his hands from her head so she can pull away.

She does not pull away.

Instead, she doubles her efforts, sliding up and down fast and firm, squeezing his balls gently and sucking hard on the upstrokes. Wanting to make sure she still has the opportunity to pull away, he tells her again, “fuck, I’m coming,” and she keeps right on pace as an explosion echoes from his balls through his cock, waves of release stealing his breath as he goes rigid and then falls apart in a cascade of expletives, returning his hands to grab a fistful of her hair as she swallows him down, slowing but continuing her movements until he’s soft and no longer throbbing.

She crawls up his body, gently resting against him with her chin on his chest, her breasts pressed against his bare skin, and waits for him to return to Earth. Finally, he settles his gaze on her, on those earnest blue eyes and that pink mouth that he now knows holds the secrets of the universe. He feels like he could cry, so instead he makes a lame joke.

“Did it hurt?” he asks, running his hands over her bare back.

She gives him a quizzical but amused expression. “The blow job?” she asks incredulously.

“No, when you fell from Heaven.”

She rolls her eyes and suppresses a smile as Priscilla springs unannounced from the floor and lands right on Scully’s jeans-clad ass, kneading the flesh a little before curling up for a snooze.

Scully laughs gently, not wanting to disturb the cat. “Is this a thing cats do?” she asks amusedly.

“Not really, you just have a great ass, I can’t hardly blame her,” he responds, and she smiles at the compliment. “You can’t leave now, we’re stuck like this,” he adds. “Priscilla can sleep forever, we may die here.”

Scully shrugs, sighing contentedly. “But what a way to go.”

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files fanfic #alternate universe

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thedumpsterqueen · 3 years

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Standards of Performance, Chapter 12: What Happens in Alleyways

From the Beginning, Previous Chapter

AO3 Link

Sorry it's a lil short, it's more of a transition chapter to actually jumping into this case and Reader's now even more confusing "relationship" with Hotch. Things get kinkier and angrier and more explicit from here, but I'll do my best to tag stuff. Thanks for your patience as always, guys, especially amidst the dumpster fire that is current events right now <3 Your reblogs and tags slay me and I love it.

Summary: You’re the BAU’s newest intern, desperate to prove yourself amongst an established team of much more experienced profilers. Agent Hotchner, the seemingly infallible team leader, sets strict expectations for your performance. He commands your respect without even trying, but is there something more to your relationship than a simple desire to impress your stony-faced boss?

Chapter Summary: Turns out, the world doesn't stop on its axis just because you had sex with your boss. You’re unsure whether or not that’s a good thing.

Words: 1,882

Rating: Explicit, 18+. Violence, dark themes, explicit sexual content. More specific warnings on AO3.

Pairings: Hotch x Reader, Hotch x You

You awoke to the dim light of the dawn, rain gently pattering on the windows, and the blaring sound of Hotch’s ringtone three feet from your face.

“Jesus christ, old man,” you groaned, blinking your eyes open, “turn your hearing aids up.”

Already sitting up in bed, he paused with the phone halfway to his ear.

Shit. You were being too casual - waking up in his bed, joking with him. Acting like you belonged there. You didn’t know how he felt about what happened, for all you knew he regretted every second and-

“You’re paying for that later,” he smiled before answering the call.

The playful threat filled you with relief before it made your stomach flip, and the memories of last night came flooding back. His body, his eyes, his hands all burned inside your eyelids as if you’d been staring directly at the sun. You’d never been in this situation before - waking up next to someone you’d spent the night with and desperately hoping it was the first time rather than the last. But you’d also never felt your body sing with the white-hot pleasure it did when it was touched by the seemingly unattainable man who did so last night, so. There was that.

The low rumble of his voice brought you back to the present, and you looked up at his face to find it was twisted up in concentration, resignation, and something else.

“I’ll be right down,” he said, standing up swiftly and pulling his work clothes on with practiced speed. “Don’t let anyone touch anything.”

He shoved his phone in his suit pocket and looked at you, still tangled up in his sheets.

“Get dressed and meet me downstairs,” he said, terse. “There’s a body in the alley outside the building.”

“Outside this building?”

“Yes,” he responded, “and there’s a note.”

As he swept out the door, leaving you reeling, you realized what the other expression on his face was. Fear.

***

Hotch had gotten ready and exited the apartment before you had even processed the situation, and your mind was racing a mile a minute as you flung yourself out of bed and scrambled to get dressed. The logical assumption, of course, was that the stalker had left the body. People didn’t just end up dead in alleyways in this part of town, and certainly not in the middle of a rainstorm mere floors from where the BAU Unit Chief slept - not without a reason.

You threw on your coat and boots, forgoing contacts and makeup in favor of your glasses and a hat to cover the tangled mess last night’s tryst had made of your hair. Without even pausing to look in a mirror, you scurried down the stairwell and exited the lobby into the cold October wind.

It was easy to tell which alley the body occupied - there were an excess of thirty people milling in and out of the space to the right of the building. Crime scene investigators, policemen, and other personnel talked in hushed voices. You spotted a clearing in the sea of people and knew that’s where the victim would be, given a wide berth per Hotch’s instruction.

The team hung out at the edge of the circle watching Reid, who was kneeling in front of the body slumped against the side of the apartment building. Moving closer, you could tell he was in the middle of one of his spiels, gesturing wildly while the everyone nodded along. You joined the group that had formed around him and caught the middle of what seemed to be a hypothesis about victimology.

“ -no patterns, obviously, but if we assume similar characteristics would be present in all his victims, it’s hard to discern what statement he could be making. Positing a male in his mid-to-late twenties is statistically most likely, but stalkers of this age group also frequently have some sort of sexual motivation, and if the autopsy is consistent with what we can observe now,” he gestured to the body, “I don’t think that’s the case here.”

Throughout his speech, you’d been scrutinizing the victim - a brunette women who looked to be no older than 20, arranged in a half-sitting position against the wall behind her. There was no blood anywhere you could see, in fact, she barely looked dead at all, likely thanks to the below-freezing temperatures last night that had put a pause on the early stages of decomposition. Pinned to her shirt was a white envelope that bore an ominous message in bold, black ink:

“For my friends at the BAU.”

Not hard to guess who had killed this woman.

“Can you determine cause of death, Spence?” Prentiss asked, her arms folded.

“I’m not sure, but if I had to guess…” he used his pen to push the victim’s hair to the side, exposing a neck mottled with stark blue bruises.

“Anger, then,” you offered, speaking to the psychological drivers behind strangulation, “but I doubt we’ll find any sign of sexual assault. The unsub made it clear that his disdain is directed towards us; it’s not likely that would extend to his victim.”

The rest of the team nodded in thought, but Hotch looked at you in surprise, as if just noticing your presence. As his eyes glued on yours, his face changed, and he grabbed your arm in an unpleasantly tight grip.

“Open the note. I’ll just be a moment.”

Unaware of his boss’ sudden change in demeanor and the vice on your elbow, Morgan gloved up and reached for the envelope. Hotch, meanwhile, unceremoniously dragged you down the alleyway and around to the deserted back side of the building.

“What the hell?” you hissed, yanking your arm out of his grip.

“Did you fail to look in a mirror before you came down here?” Hotch’s narrowed stare betrayed nothing but contempt, and you scrambled to determine the implication of his question.

“I’m sorry, did you want me to take a shower before looking at the dead body? I did the best I could, it seemed urgent -”

“No,” he snapped, “I’m referring to the fact that your neck looks worse off than our victim’s does.”

You processed his words for a moment before the implication hit you.

“Are you talking about the hickies?! Christ, Hotch, I’ll get a scarf then. Just give me a second!”

“Please do. I’d like my agents to appear professional, not like they’re college kids coming off a one night stand.”

His words halted your stomp back into the building, and you turned back, furious.

“You put them there! How is this my fault?”

“I didn’t think I would have to be this explicit about the fact that I don’t want the fact that we had sex last night broadcast to everyone at the crime scene.”

You gaped at him in disbelief.

“Are you embarrassed or something? I’m sorry if you regret what happened, but you don’t need to lash out at me like this -”

“I’m not lashing out,” he interrupted, “I’m informing you of my expectations for my agents. Is there a problem?”

You wanted to scream at him. You wanted to smack that perfectly raised eyebrow and controlled expression right off his face. But he was boxing you in - speaking to you as your boss and not the man you slept with last night, and as much as you hated him for it, your sense of self-preservation won out.

“There’s no problem,” you mumbled, unable to make eye contact as you slipped past him and around the building.

You made it halfway up the stairwell before the tears started flowing. Had you really thought sleeping with him was going to change something? That he was going to ask you to be his fucking girlfriend, like he wasn’t the chief of your unit and you weren’t a twenty-something intern? For all you knew, he did this all the time. His level of skill in the area certainly made it seem like he did.

That wasn’t true, though, you knew it. He may not reveal much, but you could tell it had been a fraught decision to let your relationship develop the way it had. Perhaps even a decision he regretted now - and it certainly seemed so, given his behavior.

Wiping tears on your sleeve, you fumbled with the spare key he’d given you to his apartment and walked in. You glanced in the mirror by the entrance and your eyes nearly bugged out of your head. Hotch wasn’t exaggerating when he likened the marks to strangulation - indigo smudges, still peppered with the angry red of burst capillaries, circled your throat.

It was a juvenile, possessive, ridiculous display, and Hotch was absolutely right to label it unprofessional. And yet, the thought that you’d walked onto the scene bearing the marks he’d given you filled you with a thrill so intense you had to brace yourself against the entryway table and clamp your legs together.

Breathe. There’s still a fucking murder scene downstairs.

You steadied yourself and headed for your duffel bag, where you’d thankfully packed a scarf in preparation for the cold snap that was predicted to hit the state this week. Midway through unzipping your bag, though, your eyes landed on his dresser and the devil sitting on your shoulder, buzzing with a deadly combination of anger and arousal, whispered a terrible, reckless idea in your ear.

***

You practically skipped downstairs to rejoin the team, who appeared to be engaged in a lively debate about the contents of the envelope Morgan was holding. After gloving up, you reached out a hand towards him.

“Can I read it?”

He handed it over, distracted by another stream of consciousness from Reid. Hotch took note of your return and glanced in your direction before turning back to the conversation.

You pretended to read the note and waited for him to notice.

You waited all of three seconds.

He whipped his head back so comically fast you struggled to suppress a snort, and you knew exactly what he was looking at. A midnight blue cashmere scarf, nicked from his dresser and wrapped artfully around your neck to cover the bruises, just like he’d asked. The first compliment you’d ever paid him was in regards to this scarf; tentatively whispered when he’d worn it to a chilly 2 am crime scene. He’d accepted the compliment passively, but the optimistic part of you had noted that he seemed to wear it much more frequently after that.

You weren’t entirely sure what statement you were intending to make by wearing it, but his reaction told you you’d certainly succeeded at provoking something.

Morgan reached back out for the note you were still pretending to read and dropped it in an evidence bag. If he noticed Hotch steaming from the ears next to you, he didn’t say so.

“They’re ready to pack everything up and head back to the lab. Let’s meet ‘em there?”

Everyone nodded in the affirmative and headed back to the SUVs.

“You riding with me?” Morgan asked, nudging your ribs with an elbow.

“No,” Hotch answered for you, an unseen hand suddenly gripping the back of your neck. “She’s not.”

Taglist (message me to be added!): @klinenovakwinchester @stop-drop-and-drumroll @cevanswhre @addie5264 @honeyshores @violentvulgarvolatile @masumiyetimziyanoldu @violetclifford @pipersaccomplice @itsmytimetoodream @groovygoob @captainhyenafan @thebadassbitchqueen @softboystyles @witchcraftandwit @call-me-mrsreid @ssahoodrathotchner @fanficscuziranout @rintheemolion @scrumptiousroadponymoney @iconicc @thelux47 @bellaswanismysoulmate @possum-pancakes @sweatydiplomatshepherdzine @spencers-hoodrat @totalmess191 @sunshine-and-riverwater @sunflowersandotherthings @chelseyjoyce @helloladyvanilla @mac99martin

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whitehotharlots · 3 years

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The point is control

Whenever we think or talk about censorship, we usually conceptualize it as certain types of speech being somehow disallowed: maybe (rarely) it's made formally illegal by the government, maybe it's banned in certain venues, maybe the FCC will fine you if you broadcast it, maybe your boss will fire you if she learns of it, maybe your friends will stop talking to you if they see what you've written, etc. etc.

This understanding engenders a lot of mostly worthless discussion precisely because it's so broad. Pedants--usually arguing in favor of banning a certain work or idea--will often argue that speech protections only apply to direct, government bans. These bans, when they exist, are fairly narrow and apply only to those rare speech acts in which other people are put in danger by speech (yelling the N-word in a crowded theater, for example). This pedantry isn't correct even within its own terms, however, because plenty of people get in trouble for making threats. The FBI has an entire entrapment program dedicated to getting mentally ill muslims and rednecks to post stuff like "Death 2 the Super bowl!!" on twitter, arresting them, and the doing a press conference about how they heroically saved the world from terrorism.

Another, more recent pedant's trend is claiming that, actually, you do have freedom of speech; you just don't have freedom from the consequences of speech. This logic is eerily dictatorial and ignores the entire purpose of speech protections. Like, even in the history's most repressive regimes, people still technically had freedom of speech but not from consequences. Those leftist kids who the nazis beheaded for speaking out against the war were, by this logic, merely being held accountable.

The two conceptualizations of censorship I described above are, 99% of the time, deployed by people who are arguing in favor of a certain act of censorship but trying to exempt themselves from the moral implications of doing so. Censorship is rad when they get to do it, but they realize such a solipsism seems kinda icky so they need to explain how, actually, they're not censoring anybody, what they're doing is an act of righteous silencing that's a totally different matter. Maybe they associate censorship with groups they don't like, such as nazis or religious zealots. Maybe they have a vague dedication toward Enlightenment principles and don't want to be regarded as incurious dullards. Most typically, they're just afraid of the axe slicing both ways, and they want to make sure that the precedent they're establishing for others will not be applied to themselves.

Anyone who engages with this honestly for more than a few minutes will realize that censorship is much more complicated, especially in regards to its informal and social dimensions. We can all agree that society simply would not function if everyone said whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. You might think your boss is a moron or your wife's dress doesn't look flattering, but you realize that such tidbits are probably best kept to yourself.

Again, this is a two-way proposition that everyone is seeking to balance. Do you really want people to verbalize every time they dislike or disagree with you? I sure as hell don't. And so, as part of a social compact, we learn to self-censor. Sometimes this is to the detriment of ourselves and our communities. Most often, however, it's just a price we have to pay in order to keep things from collapsing.

But as systems, large and small, grow increasingly more insane and untenable, so do the comportment standards of speech. The disconnect between America's reality and the image Americans have of themselves has never been more plainly obvious, and so striving for situational equanimity is no longer good enough. We can't just pretend cops aren't racist and the economy isn't run by venal retards or that the government places any value on the life of its citizens. There's too much evidence that contradicts all that, and the evidence is too omnipresent. There's too many damn internet videos, and only so many of them can be cast as Russian disinformation. So, sadly, we must abandon our old ways of communicating and embrace instead systems that are even more unstable, repressive, and insane than the ones that were previously in place.

Until very, very recently, nuance and big-picture, balanced thinking were considered signs of seriousness, if not intelligence. Such considerations were always exploited by shitheads to obfuscate things that otherwise would have seemed much less ambiguous, yes, but this fact alone does not mitigate the potential value of such an approach to understanding the world--especially since the stuff that's been offered up to replace it is, by every worthwhile metric, even worse.

So let's not pretend I'm Malcolm Gladwell or some similarly slimy asshole seeking to "both sides" a clearcut moral issue. Let's pretend I am me. Flash back to about a year ago, when there was real, widespread, and sustained support for police reform. Remember that? Seems like forever ago, man, but it was just last year... anyhow, now, remember what happened? Direct, issues-focused attempts to reform policing were knocked down. Blotted out. Instead, we were told two things: 1) we had to repeat the slogan ABOLISH THE POLICE, and 2) we had to say it was actually very good and beautiful and nonviolent and valid when rioters burned down poor neighborhoods.

Now, in a relatively healthy discourse, it might have been possible for someone to say something like "while I agree that American policing is heavily violent and racist and requires substantial reforms, I worry that taking such an absolutist point of demanding abolition and cheering on the destruction of city blocks will be a political non-starter." This statement would have been, in retrospect, 100000000% correct. But could you have said it, in any worthwhile manner? If you had said something along those lines, what would the fallout had been? Would you have lost friends? Your job? Would you have suffered something more minor, like getting yelled at, told your opinion did not matter? Would your acquaintances still now--a year later, after their political project has failed beyond all dispute--would they still defame you in "whisper networks," never quite articulating your verbal sins but nonetheless informing others that you are a dangerous and bad person because one time you tried to tell them how utterly fucking self-destructive they were being? It is undeniably clear that last year's most-elevated voices were demanding not reform but catharsis. I hope they really had fun watching those immigrant-owned bodegas burn down, because that’s it, that will forever be remembered as the most palpable and consequential aspect of their shitty, selfish movement. We ain't reforming shit. Instead, we gave everyone who's already in power a blank check to fortify that power to a degree you and I cannot fully fathom.

But, oh, these people knew what they were doing. They were good little boys and girls. They have been rewarded with near-total control of the national discourse, and they are all either too guilt-ridden or too stupid to realize how badly they played into the hands of the structures they were supposedly trying to upend.

And so left-liberalism is now controlled by people whose worldview is equal parts superficial and incoherent. This was the only possible outcome that would have let the system continue to sustain itself in light of such immense evidence of its unsustainability without resulting in reform, so that's what has happened.

But... okay, let's take a step back. Let's focus on what I wanted to talk about when I started this.

I came across a post today from a young man who claimed that his high school English department head had been removed from his position and had his tenure revoked for refusing to remove three books from classrooms. This was, of course, fallout from the ongoing debate about Critical Race Theory. Two of those books were Marjane Satropi's Persepolis and, oh boy, The Diary of Anne Frank. Fuck. Jesus christ, fuck.

Now, here's the thing... When Persepolis was named, I assumed the bannors were anti-CRT. The graphic novel does not deal with racism all that much, at least not as its discussed contemporarily, but it centers an Iranian girl protagonist and maybe that upset Republican types. But Anne Frank? I'm sorry, but the most likely censors there are liberal identiarians who believe that teaching her diary amounts to centering the suffering of a white woman instead of talking about the One Real Racism, which must always be understood in an American context. The super woke cult group Black Hammer made waves recently with their #FuckAnneFrank campaign... you'd be hard pressed to find anyone associated with the GOP taking a firm stance against the diary since, oh, about 1975 or so.

So which side was it? That doesn't matter. What matters is, I cannot find out.

Now, pro-CRT people always accuse anti-CRT people of not knowing what CRT is, and then after making such accusations they always define CRT in a way that absolutely is not what CRT is. Pro-CRTers default to "they don't want students to read about slavery or racism." This is absolutely not true, and absolutely not what actual CRT concerns itself with. Slavery and racism have been mainstays of American history curriucla since before I was born. Even people who barely paid attention in school would admit this, if there were any more desire for honesty in our discourse.

My high school history teacher was a southern "lost causer" who took the south's side in the Civil War but nonetheless provided us with the most descriptive and unapologetic understandings of slavery's brutalities I had heard up until that point. He also unambiguously referred to the nuclear attacks on Hiroshmia and Nagasaki as "genocidal." Why? Because most people's politics are idiosyncratic, and because you cannot genuinely infer a person to believe one thing based on their opinion of another, tangentially related thing. The totality of human understanding used to be something open-minded people prided themselves on being aware of, believe it or not...

This is the problem with CRT. This is is the motivation behind the majority of people who wish to ban it. It’s not because they are necessarily racist themselves. It’s because they recognize, correctly, that the now-ascendant frames for understanding social issues boils everything down to a superficial patina that denies not only the realities of the systems they seek to upend but the very humanity of the people who exist within them. There is no humanity without depth and nuance and complexities and contradictions. When you argue otherwise, people will get mad and fight back.

And this is the most bitter irony of this idiotic debate: it was never about not wanting to teach the sinful or embarrassing parts of our history. That was a different debate, one that was settled and won long ago. It is instead an immense, embarrassing overreach on behalf of people who have bullied their way to complete dominance of their spheres of influence within media and academe assuming they could do the same to everyone else. Some of its purveyors may have convinced themselves that getting students to admit complicity in privilege will prevent police shootings, sure. But I know these people. I’ve spoken to them at length. I’ve read their work. The vast, vast majority of them aren’t that stupid. The point is to exert control. The point is to make sure they stay in charge and that nothing changes. The point is failure.

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coweggomelet · 3 years

Text

i apparently enjoy putting down my thoughts on the off chance someone will read it and enjoy it so here’s rwby rewatch vol 3. i’m ready to be sad!!

(note: it’s long i’m sorry, i have many thoughts and i tried to narrow it down but oh boy do i think im funny)

- the SOUND DESIGN. AGAIN

- ruby you’re so precious. so sweet. so eager. so earnest. c’mere and i’ll protect you from all the bad shit that happens to you later

- hi cardboard cutout tai

- i keep getting an ad for a rooster teeth show called camp betrayal and the way this man says “hoo hoo hoo” will haunt me for the rest of time

- oh shit the fact that it’s called amity has such insane implications for what it’s used for later. jesus.

- “bffs!” “No.” “…/yessss/” love them

- yeet the yang

- god ruby’s admiration of emerald is so sad in retrospect like… oh boy ruby you’re in for it

- PYRRHAAAAA I LOVE YOU DONT LEAVE ME

- “even if you know how a story ends, that doesn’t make it any less fun to watch” wow cinder are you psychic

- ummmm they’re having a talk can you please respect their privacy

- thor whomst??? i only know nora valkyrie

- BROODY MAN

- hiiiii gavin

- so much mid battle banter. in the middle of a big important fight they just have to make jokes and argue. i love teenagers

- SILENCE YOU BOOB

- awww winter you’re a disaster and you’re horribly emotionally repressed because of your bitch ass dad but jesus christ you care about your little sister and you wanna know she’s doing okay and i’m emotional about it

- PENNYYYYY my love just keep being you

- jeez i forgot how early on ironwood was talking his shit about being “someone who will act”, the “only person” who will do what needs to be done, as if his course of action is what needs to be done

- every single person who underestimates emerald and mercury gets so fucked up. like so many people look at these youngerish teenagers with some funny one liners and banter and go “oh they seem capable and they’re confident and funny so i like em but i can take em” and then absolutely get the shit kicked out of them. and i think that’s why they’ve been so successful, cause nobody takes them seriously enough to consider them a threat.

- see this is why i love rwby. coco just turned her handbag into a gatling gun and cut down a field of grass with it

- god the way they hint at emerald’s semblance before fully showing what it is. *chef’s kiss*

- winter marry me

- we love an uncle who absolutely destroys his nieces at video games

- “they do and they’re called silver!” ruby i love you

- top heavy. heheh

- this dude’s weapon is a trumpet!! she’s got glowing nunchucks!! i love this show!!

- this battle music is AMAZING what the FUCK they’re fighting to JAZZ

- cinder if you keep having vague ominous dialogue people are gonna get the wrong idea

- oh yeah great idea asking a child to take on immense power which sends her into a stressed out panicky spiral and alienates her from the people she finally feels legitimately connected to and for once didn’t feel alienated from

- oh fuck. oh fuck the finals. oh god. oh no.

- she’s so happy. she’s so ready to have a good fight. i’m gonna cry

- FUCK

- and with one moment, the entire show flipped on its head

- god when i watched that the first time i fuckin freaked. i was not prepared man. i was warned. but i was not prepared for this much of a fucking tone change man. that quickly. like tone changes (in my experience) normally happen gradually, but this one happened in, what? 30 seconds?

- fuck

- god this is so bad

- and it GETS WORSE i can’t do this

- love that we can see yang’s distraught eyebrows through her bangs

- after this episode was the first time my friend asked me “how we doing buddy?” and i’ve only wanted to kill her more since then

- oh god emerald’s backstory. this poor child. she was so alone and cinder was there and said i can give you a place i can give you a purpose i can give you security and emerald latched on so hard.

- hiiiii laura bailey i wish you had more than a lil baby line and some sounds of effort

- god that little anklet

- god what a fuckin backstory episode man. backstory? evil plan explanation? idk but it was good

- great parent move. telling your kid you’ll only save them once.

- jaune you sweet good boy. what a good boy. i love him

- god this poor child. she doesn’t deserve this. FUCK i’m so sad. is that the last conversation they have?

- oooooh shit this song is so good. what the fuck i have chills it’s so fitting

- god everyone else is so happy and excited and then there’s ruby who is one of the very few people who knows how bad a fight between penny and pyrrha could be and pyrrha who’s got to decide if she wants someone else’s aura smushed with hers, which could turn her into a different person. FUCK

- peeeennyyyyy “salutations!! it’s an honor to meet you!” it huuuurts

- it makes me so sad but damn was this a good diabolical plan

- god im so sad. penny is so good. and pyrrha’s fuckin eyes. and ruby just collapsing. jesus christ. it’s all fuckin falling apart

- oh fuck here we go. those klaxons are so terrifying

- it makes me so happy that torchwick gets rescued and then like maybe a couple episodes later just gets swallowed

- the fuckin adam fight is coming up too. jesus. really piling on here

- RUBY IS USING ONE OF PENNY’S SWORDS IM GONNA CRYYY

- and she doesn’t even hesitate to save pyrrha

- the one and only time (to my memory) that ironwood is gentle is when he says no one would blame the students if they left. that might be the last time he actually remembers that they’re all teenagers and feels sympathy for these children with all this pressure on them

- oh yeah the big boy

- the first time i watched this i was LOSING MY MIND this whole time. like yang attacked mercury and from then on man. just freaking out.

- eurgh grimm juice

- c’mon blake you got this. i mean. technically you don’t. the fight goes poorly. but you fuckin try and you’re so brave about it and i love youuu

- shut the FUCK up adam you GROOMED her you ASSHOLE

- aahhhh i love velvet!!! her semblance and her whole fighting style is so goddamn cool and has such interesting implications for using weapons and powers of people who are dead

- OH SHIT SHE DOES SUMMON HERE DOESNT SHE. partly but still

- get fucked, torchwick. GET FUCKED. get fuckin chomped

- a backhanded slap feels so much more violent than any fighting with weapons

- uh oh evil katniss

- god. the fucking blood splatter turning the whole shot red. just their silhouettes. the slow motion. the arm slowly separating.

- my friend was also a big fan of “how we feeling?”

- bad. the answer is bad you fuckin sadist

- oz is… a lot of things, and one of them is a goddamn good fighter

- oh god oh noooo she’s gonna kiss & yeet AWWWW FUCK this is heartbreaking

- pyrrha i love you

- if i don’t look it’s not real

- oh pyrrha my love

- awww hey tai. what a good dad. love tai

- i’m so sad. everyone’s so sad. and then salem just has to do an ominous lil monologue where she lays out her whole plan to divide them and makes a fuckin semblance pun. she’s such a good villain

- jacque you stiff bitch

- they’re all fuckin scattered and depressed

- love team rnjr tho

- there she is. god what an ending

#rwby #rwby spoilers #ruby rose #blake belladona #yang xiao long #weiss schnee #pyrrha nikos #penny polendina #james ironwood #emerald sustrai #cinder fall #i can't tag all the characters cause that's a lot #im in pain #so sad #and it only gets worse #yaaaaaayyy #long post

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merakiaes · 4 years

Text

All Forgiven - Oscar “Spooky” Diaz

Pairing: Oscar “Spooky” Diaz x reader, everyone else x reader (platonic)

Requested: By @neelehksttr

Prompts: None.

Warnings/notes: I barely even know what I’ve written or what the hell this is, it turned out so bad. I didn’t really find the inspiration for this one so it’s really crappy and dull, I’m sorry😭 This is mainly platonic so there’s not much Spooky x reader interaction in this but I promise you better fics are coming when I get my inspiration back. It’s not proofread so sorry in advance for any possible mistakes, Spanish translations at the end.

Wordcount: 6168

Summary: You’re a good friend to the Core 4 and when they find out you’ve been seeing Oscar in secret, they’re not very happy.

It was a Friday afternoon when you were sitting with the Core 4 and Jasmine in Ruby’s living room, your feet laid out over Jamal and Cesar’s laps where they were seated beside you in the couch and your hand absentmindedly pulling through Monse’s hair where she sat below you on the floor.

The weather outside was amazing, the temperature and humidity perfect and burning rays of sun beaming down over the block, just the way you liked it.

You would have much rather been outside working on your tan and breathing in the fresh air right now and yet, you were stuck inside, staring out the window longingly while Ruby and Jasmine forced you to partake in another one of their countless meetings.

“Hey, guys!” Came the voice of Ruby then, pulling you out of your daydreaming and back to reality just in time to see him snapping his fingers at you.

Beside you, Jamal and Cesar also whipped their head around to look at their two glaring friends.

“How did none of you hear what we just said?” Ruby asked, holding his hand on his hips and leaning forward slightly; a stance that, with his height, looked absolutely hilarious.

Cesar gave Ruby and Jasmine a guilty smile. “I’ve been zoning out for the past hours and a half.” He confessed, and Jamal heaved a dramatic sigh beside him.

“I got distracted halfway through.” He held his phone up for all to see sheepishly.

All of them turned to look at you and Monse, and the younger girl beneath you just shrugged her shoulders, leaning her head back against the couch to give you better access to her hair. “I just made a conscious decision to ignore you.”

“Damn.” Jasmine’s face fell. “Why you always gotta be so cold, Monse?”

“Why you always gotta be so boring?” She asked back without missing a beat, and you lightly slapped the back of her head, giving her a pointed look when she glared up at you.

Jasmine brought a hand up to her chest. “Okay, ouch.” She said, offended, but still nodded her head in acceptance. “But I appreciate the feedback, even though it was completely uncalled for.”

Ruby turned to you. “(Y/N).” He called your name, causing your hand to still on top of Monse’s head and your eyes to flicker away from your nails to meet his. “Will you tell them to focus? This is serious business.”

You rolled your eyes, dropping your hand from in front of your face and resuming your patting on your best friend’s hair. “We’re planning a party, Ruben.” You pointed out. “Not world domination.”

His face pulled into one of genuine shock almost immediately. “The first party we’ll be hosting in all our high school years! It’s serious!” He exclaimed, fists balling at his sides and only causing him to look even cuter.

The sight brought a chuckle from your lips. “Jesus…” You shook your head, removing your hand from Monse’s hair much to her dismay, and beginning to stand up from your seat. “I’m gonna go pee.”

Ruby hurried forward to you when you stood up, stopping you with his hands. “But we have to keep planning!”

“I’ll be right back, just carry on without me.”

He sighed, bringing his hands up to his face, but still stepped aside to let you walk around the sofa and toward the bathroom.

Behind you, you could hear him and Jasmine getting back to the party planning and you chuckled, feeling sorry for Cesar, Jamal and Monse who were forced to listen to it.

Once you got to the bathroom, you locked yourself in and let out a loud, relieved sigh when the sounds of the outside became muffled by the closed door and you were finally left in silence, alone.

They were all were good friends to you but you could admit that it got stressful to be around them at times.

They never took the time to just… relax. They were always running around, seemingly doing everything they shouldn’t be doing, much to yours and Oscar’s dismay; although for very different reasons.

While you just didn’t want to see them get in trouble or even worse, get hurt, he was the one left behind to clean up the messes they always seemed to stir up around Freeridge and in turn, you were always the one forced to listen to him complain.

He never understood why you were friends with his brother and his friends, seeing as they were four years younger than you and you didn’t even go to school together, you having graduated together with Ruby’s older brother, Mario.

And at this point, you didn’t really know how you became apart of their group either.

You just remembered being there for Monse when things got rough and with time, she started seeing you as the older sister slash motherly figure she never had, and you just became one of them.

Another sigh left your lips as you leaned on the sink and looked at your reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall above it, taking in the way your face was becoming slightly paler with how much time you’d spent inside the past few weeks.

One of your hands left the sink and moved down to your back pocket, searching for your phone, only to find it wasn’t there.

Your eyes closed in annoyance, knowing you were now forced to go back outside, but you didn’t waste any time, flushing the toilet so that it wouldn’t be as obvious that you had lied about your intentions just to get away, unlocked the door and went back outside.

You calmly walked through the hallway, taking in the family pictures on the walls, and only a second later, you were back in the living room,.

However, your body automatically stopped in the doorway when coming face to face to everyone staring right at you, the house now completely silent.

They were all sporting different expression, but most of them were in some way ones of anger or betrayal.

You had no idea what was going on, but when Monse held up your phone, you almost instantly understood, and she confirmed your suspicions a second later.

“Do you want to tell me why Spooky’s calling you? And why he’s put into your contacts as ‘mi amor’?”

Your eyes widened, flickering between them as you walked into the room, rushing over to Monse to snatch your phone back. “I can explain.”

“Can’t wait to hear this one.” She chuckled dryly.

You looked at her sadly. “Oscar and I-“

“Oscar?” She interrupted. “First name basis, huh?”

“Will you let me talk?” You glared pointedly at her, shoving your phone back into the pocket of your jeans.

In response, she held her arm out as a ‘go ahead’ before stubbornly crossing her arms over her chest, her hip popping out to further show how angry she was.

“Oscar and I…” You tried again, looking at them guiltily. “We’re together.”

Jamal crossed his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes accusingly at you. But he didn’t look angry the same was Monse, Cesar and Ruby did. “For how long?” He inquired, and you sighed.

“Almost seven months.” You confessed, and a scoff instantly left Monse’s lips.

But Jasmine either couldn’t read the tense atmosphere, or she just didn’t care, because the next thing you knew, she had launched herself forward from Ruby’s side to wrap her arms around you. “Congratulations, girl!” She exclaimed. “I always knew there was some bad girl in you!”

You coughed slightly when she squeezed you hard, feeling your lungs being pushed together. But luckily, the pressure disappeared just as quickly as it got there when Monse grabbed her arm and ripped her away from you.

“No! Not congratulations!” She objected, glaring at you. “How could you do this to us?”

You raised an eyebrow, now starting to grow sick of her attitude. “Excuse me?” You asked, and she threw her arms out in exasperation.

“It’s Spooky! He’s a Santo!”

“The Santo.” Ruby joined in, stepping up to her side.

You knew his anger was justified, with how the Santos had played a major role in Olivia’s death, something he still hadn’t gotten over. But Monse’s reaction was just unnecessary, and it was getting on your nerves quickly.

“Yes, I’m very well aware, thank you.” You told her, crossing your arms over your chest to match her stance. “This is why I didn’t tell you. I knew you would react like this.”

“We have every right to be angry!” She exclaimed again and you shook your head calmly.

“No, you don’t, not really.” You denied. “I shouldn’t have kept it from you, I admit that, but you have no say in what I do with my life.”

She glared at you. “He’s dangerous.”

Her words brought a scoff out of your lips. The mere thought of Oscar hurting you was ridiculous, just as ridiculous as this conversation.

“Not to me, he’s not.” You shook your head.

But she just wouldn’t give up. “Have you forgotten everything he’s done to us?” She asked. “You’re sleeping with the enemy.”

You breathed out through your nose in annoyance, bringing your hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose. “Now you’re just being dramatic.” You chuckled dryly.

“Dramatic my ass! You’re a traitor to this group.” She pointed a finger at you, and beside her, Ruby awkwardly shuffled on his feet.

“You deserve better.” He shrugged his shoulders, face pulled into a bitter, to say the least, expression.

You could only shake your head and sigh while rubbing your forehead. “Jesus Christ, Monse. Are you even hearing yourself right now?” You asked, ignoring Ruby’s input.

Everyone stood silently despite obviously having a lot to say, knowing that this was a conversation between you and Monse. After all, she was the one you were the closest to.

You had lost count of the nights you had stayed with her when Monty had been out on a long drive and she was lonely or having trouble with Cesar, and how many times she’d stayed at your house like that was her home in the first place, sleeping in your bed, eating your food.

You had expected to get negative reactions if the news ever became public of yours and Oscar’s secret relationship, that was the reason you had kept it a secret in the first place, but this was just ridiculous.

You thought you’d taught her better; you expected better.

”You sit here and hate on him for shit you know nothing about but as soon as you need something he’s suddenly good enough?” You asked them all with a dry laugh, shaking your head. “That's not right. I'm not the one who deserves better, he is. He's been risking his life for you every time you’ve gotten in trouble, going against Cuchillos’ orders to keep you safe."

“He could have made different choices if only he wanted to.” Monse glowered at you, and you glared right back.

"Are you really that naïve?” You asked. “You really think he's that ruthless all on his own? He's just taking orders. If he refused, you, me, all of us, would be at risk for your lives. The entire neighborhood would if he and Los Santos weren’t here. You’re all so fucking petty."

“You want to talk about petty? Fine, I’ll give you petty.” She crossed her arms over her chest, giving you the bitchiest nod you’d ever received in your life. “It’s him or us.”

Everyone quickly whipped their heads away from you to look at her with wide eyes, not believing the words that had just left her mouth.

“Monse…” Ruby tried, but both of you ignored him.

“Are you kidding?” You asked her.

“Does it look like I’m kidding?” She challenged you, giving you another nod and raising an eyebrow. “The times he’s been helpful don’t even come close to the times he’s fucked us over. He kicked Cesar out to the street.”

You sighed, looking to the side briefly before looking back to her. “Look, I know you don’t see it that way, but he did it to keep him safe-”

“Safe?!” She exclaimed, lowering her arms and taking a step closer to you. “Constantly being on the run from Prophets is what you consider safe?!”

“It sure beats the hell out of being stabbed to death by Cuchillos.” You argued. “Which both Cesar and Oscar would have been if he hadn’t cut him off for not finishing the job.”

Monse only narrowed her eyes, your words seemingly falling to deaf ears. “It’s him or us, (Y/N). Take your pick.”

“Cesar, he’s your brother.” You turned to him suddenly, causing his eyes to widen in shock. “Haven’t you got anything to say about this?”

“Yeah, Cesar, haven’t you?” Monse agreed, turning to look at him too, and he looked between you nervously for a moment, before wiping his face free of emotion and stopping to look at you.

He shook his head. “He’s the reason my dad left. The reason for everything bad that’s ever happened to me.” He told you. “He’s not a good person, (Y/N). He’s going to end up hurting you like he hurts everyone else.”

While Monse’s face turned up into a contented, smug smirk, you could feel your vision turning red and your blood bubbling with anger.

“You should be ashamed of yourself. Do you have any idea how much he’s sacrificed for your sake?” You spat at your boyfriend’s brother, before uncrossing your arms and shaking your head with defeat. “Fine. I can really see now why people my age have always advised me not to be friends with a bunch of kids. We’re clearly not on the same level of maturity.”

Without another word, you walked around them to pick your jacket up by the front door, beginning to put it on.

When you walked away from them, they, in turn, turned around to follow your every move with their eyes, the boys and Jasmine just standing back quietly and watching you and Monse yell at each other like the situation at hand was a game of table tennis.

“You would choose him over your best friends?” Monse asked with another scoff and you didn’t miss a beat, shaking your head at her while pulling your arms through the sleeves of your jacket.

“If you were really my best friends, you would have supported me in this like I’ve always supported you and not made me choose. I’ve never been any of you guys’ first choice, but I’ve always been his. You’re not my best friends, he is.”

A hurt look crossed over her face. “You walk through that door, we’re done.”

Tears were starting to build up in her eyes and you couldn’t really understand why she was reacting as severely as she was, but nevertheless, you only glared at her.

"I’d rather die than break his heart."

"He doesn’t even have one."

If looks could kill, Monse would have been staked, buried, dug up and then staked again for good measure at this point, nothing but pure fury showing behind your eyes.

"You would all be dead if he didn't.” You told her. “His heart is bigger than all of yours combined and after how many times he's glued the pieces back together all by himself, he doesn’t deserve to get it stabbed once more."

Her head shook. “You know he’s just gonna up and leave you once he gets tired of you, right?”

“Just because Cesar is a cheating piece of shit doesn’t mean his brother is, too.” You answered before you could stop yourself, and Cesar instantly perked up at the sound of his name, a glare crossing over his face.

“Hey!” He called, and you and Monse instantly turned to him with a glare each.

“Quiet!”

He quickly shrunk back into himself, wincing at your loud voices and looking down.

Monse turned back to look at you. “Where do you think he got it from, huh?” She asked you, not even caring that she was currently bashing her boyfriend right in front of him.

“Please, I don’t have to stand here and take relationship advice from a fifteen-year-old.” You just rolled your eyes, opening the front door and turning your back to them to leave.

“Fine!” She threw her arms out, taking a step back where she stood. “Go be a Santo slut then!”

You stopped in your tracks at the sound of her upsetting words, hearing both Jasmine and Jamal drawing in a gasp and turning around to see Cesar’s and Ruby’s eyes widely staring at Monse.

Her face instantly pulled into one of guilt when your eyes met, reality catching up with her and making her realize what she’d just said.

But you were as calm as ever as you stared back at her, face now wiped free of emotion and your eyes, as well.

“That’s a new low, even for you.” You said slowly. “Grow the fuck up.” A dry laugh left your lips, and then you turned back around and walked out the door.

“Don’t come crying to us when you get fucked over!” She yelled after you, but you were already gone, the door slamming shut behind you and the room turning silent.

“What’s wrong with y’all?” Jasmine was the first to speak after a good minute of awkward silence hanging in the air, causing them all to turn to look at her.

“What do you mean?” Ruby asked in a small voice and she briefly looked at him, before turning to look at Monse.

“That was fucked up, Monse.” She pointed out, her face full of disbelief. “(Y/N)’s never been anything but supportive of you. She drives you around every day, basically does all of your homework for you and always stands up for you when you’re not there and someone bad-talks you. You never tell her anything, always freeze her out, and she still hasn’t questioned your shady behavior once. She’s done nothing but be a good friend to you all and this is how you repay her? Not cool, guys.”

“If she was a good friend she wouldn’t have chosen him over us.” Monse tried defending her actions, crossing her arms over her chest.

But Jasmine wouldn’t have it, glaring at her. “No, if you were good friends, you wouldn’t have forced her to choose in the first place.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Ruby quickly defended himself, stepping up to his kinda-girlfriend.

She turned to him, looking down at him with furrowed eyebrows. “No, and that just makes it worse.” She agreed. “Come find me when you’ve got your morals figured out, okay, boo? I’m out.” She said, touching Ruby’s cheek before heading for the door you had just stormed out through.

The three friends were left alone and once again, a heavy silence fell over them. This time, Monse was the one to break the silence, turning to Jamal and holding her arms out.

“You’ve been awfully quiet, too. Whose side are you on?” She asked, and he instantly groaned dramatically.

“Do I have to pick?”

“YES!” She yelled, causing them all to jump where they stood.

“Fine!” He exclaimed back and threw his arms out. “Yes, she shouldn’t have kept it from us, but maybe, just maybe, she was a little bit right!”

“Elaborate.”

“We keep literally everything from her and Spooky isn’t that bad.” He shrugged. “He scares the shit out of me but he has protected us more times than we’d be able to count. She wasn’t lying about that.”

Monse narrowed her eyes, but before she or anyone else got the chance to say something else, Cesar’s phone suddenly started ringing in his pocket, causing them all to turn their attention away from the fight and to him.

They watched as he picked the ringing smartphone up from his pocket, frowning at the unfamiliar number lighting up the screen. Still, he shrugged and swiped the green phone icon, putting the phone up to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Who is it?” Jamal wasted no time in asking as the nosy boy he was, and Cesar looked up to meet their eyes with a shocked expression crossing his face.

“It’s my dad.”

After the fiasco with Monse and the boys, you headed straight for Oscar’s house, hands clenched into fists at your sides and desperate to vent to the man who had been there to take care of you when you had been too busy taking care of everyone else around you.

But just your luck, he hadn’t been home, the red Impala nowhere in sight and, of course, he’d chosen this day out of all days to lock up after himself, something he never did anyways no matter how many times you told him to.

So you were stuck on the porch, occupying yourself with playing Subway Surf for the first time in probably over three years.

But you weren’t complaining. Despite everything that had just gone down, you felt content now that you were finally able to sit in the sun, happily sitting there for well over half an hour before the sound of the familiar engine and hip hop music reached your ears from down the street.

You spotted the red Impala instantly, following it with your gaze as it drove past the house and pulled up in the driveway, Oscar and his Santos piling out once it was parked and the music had died down.

Sad Eyes was the first one to spot you and you offered him a small wave and smile, watching as he nodded back at you before alerting Oscar, who was still doing something inside the car.

He immediately looked up to meet your gaze through the rolled down car window, and he wasted no time in getting out, slamming the car door shut behind him.

As he began approaching you where you sat, you exited the game on your phone and locked it, putting it back into your pocket just as Oscar reached you, the Santos busying themselves over by the sofa and weights to give you some privacy.

“Where you been?” He asked you as he came up to you, nodding his head once. “I’ve been calling you.”

You stood up, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your jacket. “Yeah, I know.” You smiled sadly at him, and he instantly noticed something was up.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, reaching his arms out to pull you into his chest.

Your hands left your pockets at that, your arms instead wrapping around his torso while he took your face in one of his hands, the other resting at the curve of your waist.

“They found out.” You muttered back, leaning into his touch when he swiped his thumb over your cheek.

“And?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes at the childishness of it. “They made me chose between you and them.” You answered, and he snorted, obviously finding it as amusing as it, in reality, was. You just couldn’t help but feel sad about it.

“Cesar, too?” He questioned, and you nodded.

“Yup.”

“And you chose me?”

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” You raised an eyebrow.

A smile rose to his lips, his hand sliding a bit further down. Not enough to fully grope you, but just enough to show you he was being cheeky.

“Why?” He asked, pressing his lips to the corner of your lip lightly.

You couldn’t help but smile at the feeling. “Because true friends worth my while wouldn’t have made me choose in the first place.” You hummed, getting lost in his touch and momentarily forgetting what you were even talking about.

“I know for a fact you wouldn’t have.” You added with a scoff, coming back to reality and turning sour again.

He hummed, brushing your hair away from your shoulder and leaning you back against the wall of the porch. “What did they say?” He asked, and you started thinking back to the conflict you had suffered through half an hour ago, all while letting him kiss your neck and feel you up.

“They called me a traitor, but they mostly said shit about you.”

“Like what?” He suddenly stopped, bringing his head up from your neck to look at you.

“Oh, you know, just the usual.” You drawled. “How you’ve fucked up Cesar’s and all of their lives, put them in danger, that you’re dangerous for me and that you will hurt me.”

“What else?”

“That’s it.”

“I know you, mamas.” He looked at you fondly, not in the slightest affected about what his brother and his friends had said about him; all his focus was on you. “I can see when you’re lying.”

You broke your gaze from his and averted it to the side, swallowing. But Oscar was quick, catching your chin with his hand and turning your head back so that he could look you in the eyes.

He raised an eyebrow at you and you sighed, rolling your eyes once more. “Monse called me a Santo slut.” You said, and quickly continued. “But it’s fine! I’m used to her poor impulse control at this point. I know she didn’t mean it, and I’m aware enough of my own worth to know it’s not true.”

His eyes turned cold, all emotion falling from his face. He pushed himself away from you and brought a hand up to his face, pulling it over his mouth and chin before turning around.

You quickly jumped into action, shooting your hand out and catching his wrist before he could get anywhere. "Hey, where are you going?"

Turning back around to face you, he gave you another nod, his face now pulled into a glare. "To give those little shits a piece of my mind." He said, Spanish accent thick with anger.

You shook your head, wrapping your arms around his torso to hold him in place. "No, baby, murder is illegal, remember?” You attempted to joke, but his face didn’t betray any emotion.

“Is it still murder if I give them a heads up?”

“That’s called a threat.”

He pulled his hand over his mouth again, but made no more move to walk away, placing his hands back on your waist and leaning his head back down to yours. “You’ve done nothing but help Cesar and those other putas, especially Monse.” He spat. “You don’t deserve that kind of shit.”

“I know I don’t.” You agreed. “Which is exactly why I came here.”

You put on a smile, grabbing his face in your hands and pulling him in for a kiss without another word.

You were still pissed about your fight with Monse, but you knew them well enough to know that they would drop their childish stubbornness and come around sooner or later. They always did whenever you would tell them off.

Oscar pulled you tighter against him, hands sliding down to grab your ass in his hands, giving you a good squeeze.

You chuckled against his lips when Sad Eyes yelled out a crude comment, the other Santos following shortly behind.

When you pulled apart, Oscar pulled you into his arms, your cheek pressing against his chest and his face burying in your hair. “I would never do anything to hurt you.” He mumbled into your hair while holding you close. “I hope that you know that, mamas.”

“Of course, I do.” You agreed, hugging him back. “Don’t let it get to you. They’re just kids.”

When you said those words out loud, it really dawned on you that it was the actual truth, that it was your reality.

You were a nineteen-year-old hanging out with a bunch of fifteen-year-olds every day, playing babysitter and personal butler in exchange for little to no gratefulness.

You were certain that they would come around once their, or more specifically, Monse’s, anger died down, but this time, when this happened, you needed to set some boundaries and make some changes.

You spent the rest of your afternoon with Oscar and his Santos outside on the lawn, laughing and feeling as safe as ever in your boyfriend’s arms.

Meanwhile, the kids were beginning to come to their senses back at Ruby’s house after Cesar’s call with his dad, in which he had told his youngest son that him leaving had nothing to do with Oscar and that he ought to show his older brother some more respect.

They were finally beginning to understand how badly they had treated you and how much they had taken you for granted this entire time and Monse felt worse than anyone, guilt eating her up from the inside.

So after talking themselves together, they headed out for the place they just knew you would be at.

By the time they walked up in front of the Diaz residence, most of the other Santos had gone home or out to do God knows what, leaving only you, Oscar, Sad Eyes and two other Santos on his porch.

Oscar was sitting on the wall, smoking a cigarette with his arm slung over your shoulder where you stood leaned between his legs, talking to him and Sad Eyes.

The kids watched as all of them laughed at something you said, Oscar looking down at you with a look they’d never seen on his face before.

"He's laughing." Monse pointed out from the other side of the street, watching yours and Oscar’s exchanged with sad eyes. “I’ve never seen him laugh like that before.”

“Well, I have.” Cesar told them, smiling faintly as he watched his older brother brush a strand of hair out of your face when you looked up at him. “And that’s sincere.”

Ruby sighed, watching the scene unfold alongside his friends. “She was really right, huh?” He asked. “He cares about her.”

“Looks like it, yeah.” Jamal agreed, not even half as depressed as the rest of them since he hadn’t partaken in the argument at all, his conscience free. “Let’s go before his happy mood falters.” He added simply, before starting to walk over the road, forcing the others to follow.

Oscar was the first one to notice them approaching, softly moving you out of the way so that he could get down from the wall and stand next to you.

He threw his cigarette on the grass and only then, you noticed them approaching. Your eyes met Monse’s immediately, but before you could say anything, Oscar walked to meet them in the middle, speaking for you.

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage for one day?” His stern voice sounded, silencing any previous conversation.

While Sad Eyes signaled for the other Santos to go inside, them following him without any protest, you followed Oscar to meet the kids on the lawn.

“We came to apologize.” Monse was the one to speak, staring straight at the infamous Spooky with little to no fear in her eyes.

Her gaze shifted to you, and your face instantly turned stern. “I’m not the one you owe an apology.” You told them all, and Ruby instantly shrunk back into himself.

“What did you tell him?” He asked, and before you could answer, Oscar spoke up for you for the second time.

“All of it.”

Jamal and Ruby exchanged a look.

“We’re sorry we talked bad about you, Mr. Spooky, sir.” Jamal was the first one to apologize. “We’re very grateful for everything you and the Santos do to keep the neighborhood safe.”

“Yeah, we’re sorry.” Ruby agreed, nodding his head.

Your eyebrows rose, not being able to comprehend why they were the ones to apologize when they hadn’t been the ones talking the biggest.

Oscar knew this of course, but he didn’t care about himself at this moment, he only cared about you.

He reached a hand up to squeeze your shoulder, turning to nod at Monse. “Your turn, chica.” He glowered at her, silently motioning towards you with his head.

She swallowed, and looked at you nervously. “Can we do this without an audience?” She asked, her voice small and her hands twisting together in front of her.

You wasted no time in nodding, but before you could tell them to go away, Cesar stepped up and looked at his brother with an equally as guilty look. “Can we talk, mano?”

Oscar gave him a once over, but nodded, wordlessly walking toward the porch, leaving you to look at Jamal and Ruby.

The former nodded his head, taking the latter under his arm. “Alright, I can tell when I’m not wanted.” He spoke playfully, before leading Ruby over to the side and leaving you and Monse alone to talk.

You could still feel their eyes burning holes into the side of your face, but now that they were out of earshot, Monse sighed, looking down briefly before looking back up to meet your eyes.

“I’m sorry for everything I said.” She apologized sadly. “I didn’t mean any of it. You’re not a Santo slut, you’re…”

She trailed off, looking unsure of herself, but you patiently waited, listening as she sighed again and watching her kick her foot nervously while looking to the side. “You’re like my sister. I got so attached to you when you were there for me through everything with Cesar and my mom and I just- I felt like I was losing you, I guess. It’s silly.”

All the previous annoyance melted right off when hearing her words and your head automatically shook.

“If that’s how you feel, then it’s not silly.” You disagreed, causing her eyes to flicker back up to yours. “I wouldn’t leave you, never. Me being with Oscar would never come in the way of me being there for you. You know I see you like my little sister.”

She brought her hand up to hold her arm, looking down to the ground guiltily, so you did the only thing you could think of, reaching out to grab her shoulder and pull her into an embrace.

Her arms instantly wrapped around your waist, her cheek leaning on your shoulder. “I’m sorry for always taking you for granted.” She mumbled. “I was so caught up thinking about myself that I never really realized just how much you’ve been there for me.”

“And I’m sorry, too.” You mumbled back, pressing your cheek against her head. “For keeping this all from you and yelling at you, and all that.”

She squeezed you tighter, holding the embrace for another moment, before breaking apart and smiling at you, reaching her hand out. “Friends?”

Her smile was contagious, causing an identical one to spread across your lips. “Best friends.” You agreed, grabbing her hand in yours and giving it a shake.

“But with all due respect, all of this made me realize it’s high time that I start hanging out with people my own age.” You quickly added, and she laughed, nodding her head.

“That’s fair. I get it.” She agreed. “But we’ll still have our Saturday movie nights, though, right?”

“Duh.” You answered, and before either of you could say anything else, Jamal and Ruby shuffled back over, the latter still stuck under the former’s arm.

“Is everything cool? Are we all friends again?” Jamal quickly asked, looking between you. “You were smiling so we just thought-”

“Yeah, everything’s good.” Monse interrupted him with a smile.

You took her under your arm. “Come on.” You told them, beginning to lead her towards the house where Oscar and Cesar were now hugging it out, too, Jamal and Ruby trailing behind you.

The brothers broke apart when they heard you approaching and you instantly looked to the youngest of them, offering him an apologetic smile. “Hey, I’m sorry for going off at you earlier.” You said and he wasted no time in shaking his head.

“Nah, it’s cool. I deserved it.”

“What did you say to him?” Oscar asked, raising an eyebrow and looking between the two of you.

Jamal quickly took the wheel, stepping forward with an excessively excited expression on his face. “She called him a cheating piece of shit. It was awesome.” He rushed out in one breath.

Cesar looked to the side awkwardly as he was once again reminded of his fuck-up. “Yeah, thanks.” He chuckled.

Oscar chuckled with him, giving you a smirk. “Damn, mami. You did my mano dirty, huh?”

“She was defending you, I had it coming.” Cesar offered you a smile, and you smiled back.

Realizing the conversation was over, Oscar took it upon himself to change the subject, nodding at the teenagers in front of him.

“You gamberros hungry?” He asked, and all of them instantly turned nervous under his intimidating stare.

But still, Ruby and Jamal looked at each other and shrugged, before looking back to the gang leader in front of them. “I could eat.” Ruby answered, and as everyone made some kind of sound of agreement, Oscar nodded his head back to the house.

“Vamos.” He told you, and without another word, he took his mano under his arm and started walking with him inside, none of you far behind and all of you content now that all was forgiven.

Translations (I’m not a native Spanish speaker so this might not be a hundred percent accurate):

Mano - brother

Gamberros - troublemakers

Vamos - come on

Tagged: @babienay @firebenderwolf @fairygardenss @moanlightbaby @dolanackles @marvelously-flawed @ugh-jalynn @jazzwhitlockhale @spookysnena @chaneajoyyy

#oscar diaz x reader #oscar diaz imagine #oscar diaz #oscar spooky diaz #spooky #spooky diaz #spooky x reader #on my block #on my block imagine #on my block x reader #omb imagine #omb #omb x reader #ruby martinez #monse finnie #cesar x reader #jamal turned

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babybluebex · 4 years

Text

blinding lights [spencer reid smut]

➽ pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader(red / @h-o-m-e-w-a-r-d ) ➽ word count: 4.6k ➽ summary: an undercover mission leads enemies red and spencer to sort out their differences. ➽ warnings: NSFW/MDNI. explicit language, smut, oral (m!receiving), a little canon fuckery lol ➽ a/n: thank you red for the request! enjoy!

Dr. Spencer Reid and I weren’t the best of friends. I wasn’t sure of the origin, but I think it started when I was called in to take his place while he was in prison. He wasn’t in there for too long, but it was long enough for me to really settle into my place at the BAU as a geographical profiler. When he was released from prison and came back to the BAU, he was no longer the youngest on the team. He wasn’t a baby to them and he wasn’t fragile anymore, and that seemed to bug him. It was classic behavior of a child who got a baby sibling and was sour about the attention the baby got.

“Spencer, Jesus, listen to me,” I sighed heavily. “You look suspicious as hell. Everyone will instantly know you’re not an innocent.”

“I’m not ‘suspicious’, Red,” Spencer said with a grimace. “You’re overthinking this.”

“Alright, genius,” I huffed. “When’s the last time someone wore a full suit to a club?”

“We got it a lot in Vegas,” Spencer began.

“This isn’t Vegas, dipshit,” I told him. “This is Virginia. They’re pretty different places. Let’s redirect to your place, put on jeans and something more casual, and then we’ll be fine.”

Spencer forced out a laugh. “You think I actually own a pair of jeans,” he said. “You’re funny.”

“Ugh, fine,” I mumbled. “Lose the coat, at least.”

The car rolled to a stop at a red light, and Spencer grumbled as he tugged his jacket off. I knew that he didn’t want to admit that I was right, but his eyebrows became loosened when the jacket was gone. “Gimme the tie,” I said. “Pop the top… Hmm… Try the top two buttons.”

“Ya know, Red,” Spencer started with a smirk. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re intentionally trying to undress me.”

“As if I would ever sleep with you,” I scoffed. “C’mon, man, just do it. Trust me here, I’m closer to the target age for these sorta clubs, I know what I’m doing.”

“Is that a jab at my age?” Spencer asked, dramatically pressing his hand to his chest. “I’m hurt, Red, truly.”

“Boo-hoo, unbutton your shirt,” I said quickly. I took his arm in my grasp and rolled a sleeve up a few rotations experimentally, and I nodded in approval at his forearms.

“And is this based on some statistic?” Spencer asked. “College girls like forearms?”

“If they belong to a nice-looking guy, sure,” I told him. “It’s the same ‘Victorian men being horny for women’s ankles’ mentality. It’s seeing something that’s not normally exposed.”

Spencer nodded, and he chuckled. It was low and rough against his vocal chords, and he wet his bottom lip. “Did you just call me attractive?” He asked.

“Oh, shut up,” I groaned. I did the same to his other sleeve, then said, “That’s a little better. You still look…”

“Old?” Spencer asked.

“Uncomfortable,” I replied. “Just… Be cool. Please?”

When we got to the club, Spencer didn’t leave my side. The unsub’s M.O were young women with red hair, hence my being there, and we were pulling a classic maneuver of baiting him to get me. Spencer was right next to me, but I also knew that the rest of the team was around if we needed backup. According to past incidents, the unsub would drug the girl’s drink and take her away under the guise of helping her, and we were prepared for anything bad to happen.

Spencer helped me onto a barstool, his hand gripping mine. I was much shorter than him, and the seat gave me a few inches more than I would regularly have, and I smiled gently. “What d’ya wanna drink, babe?” Spencer asked, and it pleased me to see just how easily he slipped into his role.

“Surprise me,” I told him, and Spencer moved in just a bit closer to me. His hand came up and brushed my hair behind my ear, and his lips moved just centimeters away.

“Two seats down the bar,” Spencer whispered. “Been staring at you since we walked in.”

I nodded. “Does he seem…?” I began.

“She seems pretty interested,” Spencer said. “But I can’t tell if it’s because she’s the unsub or not…”

“She?” I repeated. “I thought we agreed that the unsub was a guy?”

“We figured,” Spencer replied.

“How often is the unsub in situations like this a woman?” I asked.

“Are you doubting that I can see who’s watching you?” Spencer asked, narrowing his eyes. “It’s a female-presenting person, Red. If you don’t believe me, look for yourself.”

“I’m not doubting, Spence,” I mumbled. “Christ, loosen up.”

Suddenly, Spencer’s hand went to my thigh and he squeezed with surprising force. “Don’t tell me what I should do,” he said. “If you remember, I’m here to protect you.”

The breath left my chest quickly, leaving me rasping out an attempt at a comeback. “Get your hand off of me,” I managed finally.

“It’s for our covers, babygirl,” Spencer said with a sarcastic smirk. When he smiled at me like that, annoyance usually burned in my stomach. However, at that moment, there was something more. It couldn’t be arousal, could it?

“Hmm, taking a page out of Derek’s book, are we?” I asked.

“Let’s get you drunk,” Spencer laughed, squeezing my thigh once more before he removed his hand. “Stay right here, pet.”

“Or what?” I challenged him eagerly. I knew that everything he was saying was in aid of our covers for the night, but a small part of me hoped that it was in earnest. I had acknowledged to Prentiss and Garcia on several occasions that Spencer was, in my opinion, the most attractive member of the team, and Prentiss agreed. Garcia was still loyal to Morgan, though, but it made me feel less like a freak that someone else saw it. His long hair, his curls fluffed out, with facial hair making his cheeks and chin rough, and pretty golden eyelashes with the dark circles around his eyes. He had mentioned once that the darkness around his eyes was a genetic thing, and I hadn’t forgotten that.

Spencer smiled at me and he hooked his thumbs comfortably in his belt loops. “Pray you don’t find out,” he said, and he winked at me before turning in search of a bartender.

There was a gentle giggle from behind me, and I looked to see a woman a few years older than me, dressed casually and sipping at a fruity cocktail. I chanced a quick look over her shoulder to where Spencer had indicated that the suspicious woman sat, and I found the seat empty. I was sure that the woman was the one Spencer had seen. “You two are cute,” she said. “I wish I had a boyfriend like that.”

“Oh, he’s not…” I began instinctually, and my words died in my throat. “He’s not usually as much of an asshole as he just was. He hates clubs.”

“Why’s he here then?” she asked. Her hair was a strawberry blonde that shined purple under the lights of the club, and her eyes were large and curious at me.

“I begged him,” I replied. I fiddled with my jacket, trying to find the wire that Rossi has fitted me with, and I pulled my phone out of an inner pocket as a guise. “He’s a sorta stick-in-the-mud. He’ll probably leave early.”

“Hey, you,” Spencer said and buried a kiss in my hair, and he said, “You told me to surprise you.”

I took a sip of the drink, and I smiled at him. It was nothing more than soda, but I said, “How’d you know I liked rum and soda?”

“I know a lot about you, pet,” Spencer said. “More than you think.” His hand returned to my leg, just a bit higher than before, and his thumb made gentle strokes on the inner skin of my thigh. The stimulation was enough to make my leg twitch, and Spencer gave me an innocuous smile. “Something wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I replied. I turned my body fully towards him, and I made sure to leave my glass just out of my sight. “Okay, I have one request.”

Spencer sighed. “I’m not gonna dance with you.”

I groaned and slapped my hands on his chest. “Why not?” I cried. “That’s why we’re here, right, babe?”

“Red,” Spencer said firmly. “Trust me. You don’t want me to dance with you.”

“Give me one good reason why not,” I said, tugging at his collar. Two could easily play at the game that he had started, and I intended to win.

Spencer bit his bottom lip, his teeth sinking into the pink flesh, and he said, “Because I’ll probably get hard and have to fuck you raw in the bathroom. We don’t want that, do we?”

My heart jumped into my throat, and I clenched my jaw. “Jesus, someone might hear you,” I whispered.

“What would be the harm in that?” Spencer asked. “But you don’t want that.”

I swallowed hard, and my finger gently stroked the bit of skin just below his collar. “Babe,” I said softly. ‘You have no idea how much that would please me.”

Spencer raised his chin, trying to gauge if I was serious or not, and he said, “How about we skip that dance and go right to the good part?”

“Fine by me,” I shrugged. Spencer took my hand to assist me down from the barstool, and his arm went tightly around my waist. The bathroom was a single-serve type, and Spencer and I filed in quickly before he shut the door and secured the lock.

“Okay,” Spencer said, pressing his palms to his legs. “How long should we stay in here?”

I shrugged. “How long does it take for you to fuck someone raw?” I asked, looking at my watch. I saw a text from Garcia, the one who was monitoring our wires, and it had a simple winky face. I sent her back a middle finger.

“I don’t know,” Spencer said. “Depends.”

“On?” I asked.

“I’m not getting into that with you,” Spencer said.

“Well, you made your bed, Doc,” I said. “Now, lie in it. How long do you take to fuck?”

“Red, I’m not--” Spencer began, and his hand twitched. My gaze went to where they laid, and I blinked away the sight of the bulge in Spencer’s pants.

“Jesus Christ,” I huffed. “Are you hard right now?”

“Can you blame me?” Spencer asked. “It’ll go away, give it a minute.”

I sighed and rubbed my forehead. “Well, we have to stay here long enough for the unsub to drug my drink,” I began. “So, take care of… That, and we’ll go from there.”

“Well, geez, you don’t have to sound so offended,” Spencer said. “This is because of you, brat.”

“I’m not a brat,” I spat back.

“Sounds like something a brat would say,” Spencer quipped quickly, and I rolled my eyes. I turned to look at him and found him tugging at his shirt collar. His eyes quickly found mine, and he said, “What? It’s hot.”

“Not really,” I said. I crossed my arms over my chest, and I said, “You know, sexual arousal raises the body’s temperature by two degrees on average. It’ll give some people the feeling of being in a warm environment even when they’re not.”

“Stop spouting off statistics,” Spencer snapped.

“Or what?” I asked.

“Or you’re gonna be taking care of me,” Spencer said. “Fucking brat.”

I tilted my head curiously, and I took a few steps toward him. “And what if I want to take care of you?” I asked. “What if that’s all I’ve ever wanted?”

“You’re getting into dangerous territory here, Red,” Spencer warned me.

I reached into my jacket and retrieved the wire, and I clicked it off before replacing it into my pocket. Instantly, my watch lit up with a text from Garcia, probably asking why my wire suddenly cut out, but I didn’t care too much. I reached out for Spencer, and I carefully began to unbutton his shirt. I didn’t do it all the way, just enough to get to his own wire, and I said, “Hey, Garcia. Give us maybe ten minutes alone, babe.” With that, I turned his wire off as well, and I smiled up at Spencer. “You’re really cute, Doctor.”

“Are you actually going to help me?” Spencer asked. “Or are you just gonna tease me?”

I sighed dramatically. “I don’t know,” I said. “While teasing you seems awfully tempting, we’re on a time crunch.”

Quickly, my hand went to Spencer’s waist and started to undo his belt, and Spencer leaned forward towards me. “Red,” Spencer started. “You really don’t have to do this, ya know?”

“I know,” I replied. “But, honestly, Spence, I’ve wanted to fuck you since I met you.”

Spencer chuckled. “You’re lying to me,” he said.

“No,” I said plainly. “You walked into the bullpen and everyone swarmed you and was asking you about prison. That’s enough to get any girl hot and bothered, but you smiled at me and I melted.”

“Good to know,” Spencer said. “So, I just need to smile at you, and you’ll give me a blowjob?”

“Not always,” I replied. “But right now, yes.”

By now, my hand was fully in his pants, and the heady weight of his cock excited me. He seemed the type of man to have a big cock. I swiped my thumb gently over the soft head and Spencer’s head tilted back as he hissed softly. “Jesus, Red,” He whispered. “It’s been so long since…”

“Hush, babe,” I whispered. “It’s alright, you don’t have to tell me anything.” A moment passed where I slowly worked him in my hand, and I cleared my throat. “How long, Spence?”

“Before prison,” Spencer told me. “Most women don’t wanna fuck a guy who went to prison on murder charges.”

“What does that say about me?” I asked.

“We don’t have time for this right now,” Spencer said firmly. “Just suck my dick, please.”

I smiled. “Gladly, Dr. Reid,” I replied. I moved down onto my knees and worked Spencer’s pants down further to fully expose him to me. I let my hands smooth up his legs to his waist, and I tugged him slightly closer. The smell of him filled my nose and made my mouth water, and I finally put my mouth on him. Even just the feeling of my lips drew a small moan from Spencer, and his fingers tangled in my hair.

“We don’t have too long,” Spencer mumbled, and I nodded. Spencer’s hand replaced my mouth and he worked his cock in his fist. I watched him eagerly, feeling myself quiver and begin to drip at the sight of him, and I pushed his hand out of the way in favor of wrapping my mouth around the firm head of his cock again. His skin was warm with arousal, and I sent a long lick from the head to where his cock met his body. This earned me a wrecked moan, and Spencer whispered, “Fuck, Red.”

I kept on what I was doing, enjoying the way that Spencer gripped my hair and cussed whenever I did something he liked. He was responsive as hell, often muttering little praises to me, and I loved it. I had imagined something like this, but never could I have imagined how delicious Spencer’s moans were. He had such an ego, maybe from his time in prison, but something as simple as a blowjob seemed to make him dissolve. Eventually, I recognized the little spasms in his thighs and hips, and I pulled myself away from his cock. A string of saliva connected us, and I giggled as I wiped it away. “You almost done?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Spencer said breathlessly. “Take off your shirt.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Just do it,” Spencer huffed. I wasn’t about to argue with him, so I stripped myself of my blouse and I pushed my chest out for him to admire. His hand returned to grip his cock, and he began to stroke himself quickly. He bit his bottom lip harshly, the flush in his neck telling of just how close to orgasm he was, and his hand became faster. “Fuck. Fuck!”

I barely had time to register that he was coming before I felt his cum land on my warm chest, dripping down in-between my breasts. A small part of me was unhappy that this bra was now stained with Spencer’s cum, but a bigger part didn’t mind too much. Even if the stain didn’t come out, it would be a reminder of the little moment we shared.

Spencer’s chest heaved as he tried to calm himself down, and he carefully tucked himself back into his pants. I stood up, choosing to ignore the ache in my knees, and I helped him right his hair. His eyes were now heavily-lidded, watching me carefully, and I turned to the chipped sink. I found a stack of brown paper towels and wet a few with the lukewarm water, and I turned back to Spencer and began to gently pat his cheeks and neck with them. “It’ll cool you down,” I explained gently. “Make you look a little normal.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Spencer said. “Are you okay?”

I nodded quickly. “I’m fine, Doc,” I replied. Taking his word, I began to clean myself up, and I threw the soaked and dirty paper towels into the metal bin. He helped me back into my blouse, his hands surprisingly steady as he did my buttons, and I wrestled our wires back onto us, switching them on. My watch showed that Garcia had texted me several times, asking what had happened, and I was sure that Spencer’s phone was in a similar state.

“We’re alright, Garcia,” I said. “Sorry about that.” Even though I couldn’t hear Garcia, I knew that she was laughing.

“Oh, God,” Spencer sighed. “Your knees are bruised to shit.”

I looked down at my legs and found light red bruises already forming, and I shrugged. “Whatever,” I said. “I don’t care if you don’t.”

“I don’t,” Spencer assured me. His eyes crinkled as he smiled at me, and I laughed.

“Alright, lover boy,” I said and patted his chest. “Let’s go check on that drink.”

When we returned, our seats were empty and my drink was still there, the glass sweaty with condensation, and it took one whiff to smell the tell-tale saltiness of rohypnol. I pretended to take a sip of it, and I pulled Spencer close to me. “Twenty minutes,” I said. “Time it.”

Spencer nodded, and he leaned back against the bar. We examined the place, and I quickly spotted Prentiss and JJ on the far side of the club, acting as normal club-goers. They were dancing to whatever thumping song was playing, and I knew that, even though it was a job, JJ probably loved being away from the kids for a night. “Hey,” I said gently, resting my hand on Spencer’s arm. “Umm… Don’t be a stranger. Ya know?”

“What do you mean?” Spencer asked. “We see each other every day.”

“No,” I said. “I mean, like… Don’t… Nevermind.”

“Oh, was this about…?” Spencer began and gestured to the bathroom. I was glad that he had caught onto what I was saying and reciprocated in a way that avoided Garcia or the rest of the team from explicitly hearing what had happened. I wasn’t ashamed and I doubted that Spencer was, but we knew that everyone would give us endless shit for hooking up while we were in the field. “Red, I would hate for that to affect what we have.”

“What do we have?” I asked. “You hate me.”

“I pretended to hate you,” Spencer corrected me. “There’s some shit in my past, and I’m sure you’ll find out if you don’t already know, but… I think it’s easier to hide my feelings, because the last girl I had feelings for… Long story short, she framed me for murder.”

“Oh, shit,” I chuckled. “What a bombshell.”

“You’re telling me,” Spencer said. “But I like you. I’ve liked you for a while, since I met you. But I never thought you’d go for someone like me, so I never tried.”

“Someone like you?” I repeated.

“A felon,” Spencer shrugged easily.

“We just had a discussion about this, babe,” I said. “Or did you miss the part where I… Did all that? And you didn’t actually do it, so, as far as I’m concerned, you’re just another government schlub.”

“Oh, that makes me feel better,” Spencer snorted. “So, you’d rather fuck a government schlub than a felon?” I widened my eyes at him, and he bit his bottom lip harshly as he realized what he had said. I watched JJ and Prentiss turn to look at us, and I locked eyes with JJ across the room. She exploded with laughter that I could almost hear from the other side of the loud club, and I huffed. I had forgotten that Garcia wasn’t the only one who could hear what our wires were transmitting.

“Jesus, what I’m trying to say, Spence,” I started. “Is that I’d still like you, even if you were a real felon. If you were to kill someone, I’m sure you would be justified anyway. Whatever. All this to say… Don’t be a stranger. I’d like for this to happen again.”

Spencer nodded in agreement. “Me too, Red,” he said softly. “Me too.”

Spencer signaled the twenty minutes with a gentle pat on my thigh, and I blinked a few times. I had seen the effects of rohypnol before, and I knew how to act; apparently, Spencer knew how to act as well. “Hey, you look really tired,” he noted. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” I nodded breathlessly.

Suddenly, JJ began to wave frantically in Spencer’s direction, jumping up and down to get his attention. This was all part of the scheme, separating me from Spencer to allow the unsub to swoop in and “rescue” me. “Oh, woah,” Spencer chuckled. “Hey, I see a girl that I work with over there, do you mind if I go say hi?”

“Go ahead, babe,” I said with a weak smile. “I’ll be here.”

Spencer landed a quick kiss on my cheek and moved off to join Prentiss and JJ, and a hand touched mine almost immediately. It was the same strawberry blonde from before. “You look really sick,” she stated. Her eyes were wide and unblinking, and it made my stomach turn and my skin crawl.

“No, no, I’m fine,” I said. “Just… Just hit a wall. Long day at work, ya know?”

She pressed her lips together and nodded quickly. “Maybe we should get you a cab home,” she said. “Does your boyfriend live with you?”

I cast a gaze towards Spencer, talking to JJ with big, excited gestures, and I shook my head. “No,” I began. “He lives… Up-Uptown.”

“Let’s get you out of here,” she said, and she slung my arm over her shoulders. I moved with her out of the club, making sure to stumble a few times to help sell the ruse, and I slumped against the brick wall outside. I took a few quick breaths and worked tears to my eyes, and I mumbled “Where’m I?”

“We’re going home,” the girl told me. “You’ve been drugged.”

I looked at her, the sickly-fluorescent light of the streetlamp making her look like something from the uncanny valley, and I saw Spencer approaching us behind her, his gun drawn. The girl reached out to me, taking my arm, and Spencer yelled, “FBI! Hands behind your head!”

The girl turned on her heel to see Spencer and the gun, and she looked around in a panic to see Prentiss at his side, her gun drawn as well. By the time she turned back to me, I had unstrapped my gun from around my thigh and had it focused squarely on her. “Hands behind your head, ma’am,” I told her with a smile.

“But!” She started. “But you--!”

I took her moment of confusion to sheath my weapon and grab her arms, and I began to cuff her. “I’m an agent with the FBI,” I told her “Special Agent Reid will read you your rights.”

“I know them,” she spat.

“Still required,” I said. “Or I can read them to you. I think it would be less embarrassing for you if Agent Reid did it, though.”

Spencer kept his gun trained on her, and he began to recite her rights. “You have the right to remain silent,” he said. “Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney; if you cannot afford one, one will be assigned to you. Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?” It wouldn’t have surprised me if Spencer had that puppy memorized before he even stepped foot into a government building.

As I pushed the suspect into a cop car, JJ came up to me. “Good job, Red,” she said. “I’m impressed.”

“It was nothing,” I said, shutting the door. “I couldn’t have done it without Spence.”

“Yeah,” JJ chuckled. “Umm… Word of advice for next time… You have to hold the button for three seconds to stop the wire from transmitting.”

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whindsor · 3 years

Text

the trials of online dating, pt 1

so @witchofinterest asked about mika and bucky meeting online, as is alluded to in the first episode of falcon and winter soldier, and, well...here’s part one oops!

After hours of research and thought and more research and more thought, Bucky decided HiLove was the best option. The general consensus on the forums was that people were looking for something more than a hookup, and it was an app that only allowed those identifying as female or non-binary to send the first message after a reciprocating match. The very, very small part of him that remained in 1943 balked at this, but the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. His entire past was a quick Google search away; his potential matches deserved to know, and he didn’t want to feel the sting of rejection if they found out the hard way. A win-win.

At least, as much of a win as an ex-hydra-super-soldier was going to get.

It was all Dr. Raynor’s idea, and it wasn’t his favorite, but he was willing to jump through the hoops and say all the right things so that he could be done with this probationary period and move on with his life.

He did his best filling out the profile. Age? 106. Interests? Well he couldn’t very well put knives and psychotherapy, so instead he put hiking, technology, and reading. Job? That was easy. Former military. He didn’t need to put that he originally got drafted in the 40s, and spent the last however many years as the fist of a rogue military organization; that would be part of the Google search. He put his real name, because Dr. Raynor made him, and clicked okay. He’d been avoiding this for weeks now, and if he didn’t at least have it up whenever he saw her later that day, she would write in that stupid notebook like those scientists used to.

This was a terrible idea.

This was the worst idea.

Somehow the goddamn push notifications got turned on, and within the hour the app started going off. He eyed his phone for the first few minutes before giving in a swiping it open.

Mistake number two.

A woman in her 50s messaged him, and apparently he had to swipe a certain way to see this message. Once he saw the message - and the photos attached to it - he nearly threw his phone against the wall. Back when he last dated, in 1943, he thought he appreciated a bold woman. Bold by today’s standards was a little more than he was ready for.

He was afraid to open the app after that, and so he just let his phone sit and buzz while he watched the EuroCup matches and counted down the minutes until his appointment. There were other things he could do to occupy his time, like visit the sushi shop or the library. But that seemed overwhelming, so instead he sat on the floor and watched his games until it was finally time to go into the clinic.

“So, James,” Dr. Raynor started, crossing her legs and pretending to be casual. Bucky sat with his hands clasped, his knee bouncing as he readied himself for the interrogation. Or therapy, as they called it. “Anything new to report today?”

“Well, I tried that dating app thing you told me to do,” he said. If he started with this, then maybe he could take up enough of the time with the bullshit and avoid having to talk about stupid stuff, like what he thought about during his panic attacks or whether his arm still hurt. The look on Dr. Raynor’s face said she didn’t believe him.

“Oh yea? Which one?” she asked, her voice just as convincing as her face.

“HiLove. Seemed the best option,” Bucky said, hoping that was the right answer. She raised her eyebrows.

“Well, it wasn’t a bad move,” she said. “Any matches so far?”

He allowed one bark of a laugh before schooling his features again. “One woman, uh, wanted my appraisal of her physical appearance.”

“She sent you a nude.”

“She - what?”

“She sent you a nude. A nudie, a dirty picture, a-“

“Yea, yea, I get it,” he interrupted, not wanting to beat the dead horse. “Yea, she sent me ‘a nude’.”

“Any others?”

“Any others what?”

“Don’t be stupid,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Did any other women send messages? Or nudes?”

“I don’t know, I stopped looking after the first one,” he said. Oftentimes he lied to Dr. Raynor, but this time he could be truthful. She sighed, holding her hand out and beckoning with her fingers. He pulled his phone from his back pocket and handed it over, watching as she easily keyed in his passcode. Casual security breach. That was fine. That totally wasn’t something that kept him up at night.

“Oh Jesus Christ,” she muttered, expertly swiping through the notifications. She moved a little too easily, as if she were familiar with the app. He decided not to comment on that. “Alright, James, we gotta filter some of the shit outta here.”

“I’d prefer to filter all the shit, but that’s just me,” he said. This was a stupid exercise, but at least it was manageable, and it would keep her occupied for a while.

“Too young, too young, way too young…” Was Dr. Raynor talking to herself or to him? It didn’t matter. She kept swiping. “Chaser, chaser, catfish…ah, here’s a good one.” She opened the profile and handed it over to him.

“She’s also way too young,” he said, looking at the picture of a beautiful woman. Dark hair, dark eyes, bright smile…someone that definitely would catch his eye, if he didn’t feel the weight of his past keeping his head down.

“She’s thirty-three.”

“That’s, like, a third of my age.”

“Well, if we discount all the times you were in ice, really you’re somewhere in the thirty-five to thirty-seven range. That’s not a bad gap.”

He glared up at her for a moment before going back to the profile. He furrowed his brows as he read further. “She’s Romanian.”

“Ah, you finally noticed that, did you?” she said, and he could hear the gloating in her voice. “What, is she not your type?”

“I don’t think I have a type anymore.”

“Then swipe and see what happens.”

“I don’t know, Doc,” he said, shaking his head. This was not how it was supposed to go.

“Don’t know what?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. He shrugged, looking off to the side. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her slide the notebook off the table.

“Oh, c’mon, Doc, that’s not notebook worthy,” he said. She paused her pen, but still tapped it threateningly against the paper.

“Then tell me what you ‘don’t know’ about matching with that woman,” she said.

“I haven’t been on a date in eighty years, I think a little trepidation is normal even without the shit I’ve dealt with between now and then,” he said. “It just doesn’t feel right going into something without…without the other person knowing the full story.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you a virgin, James?”

“No.” What did that have anything to do with it? “Why?”

“Just making sure I have the full story,” she said. “So you don’t want to chance anything cause they don’t know everything about you.”

“Well…”

“Counterpoint: do you know everything about her?”

He gave her an annoyed look, the matching sensation bubbling behind his sternum. “It’s not the same, and you know it.”

She sighed again, scribbling something down. Inside, he wanted to rip the notebook from her hands. On the outside, he just glanced down at his phone. The screen had darkened from lack of activity, and he tapped it to wake up again. The same pretty woman smiled up at him, the little pink bar waiting for him to confirm or deny their connection.

“Want me to do it for you?” Dr. Raynor asked, her pen now still. “Cause I will.”

“I can do it, thank you,” he said. “I just don’t know if I want to.”

“Bullshit, James,” she said. “She’s a pretty girl, and it’s online. You can ghost her if you get too scared. It’s an asshole move, but technically it’s an option.”

He’s a ghost story.

“I’m not gonna do that to anyone,” he said.

“What, ghost them? Or burden them?” she asked, leaning forward and resting her elbow on her knee.

“Either. Both.” Again, with the honesty. Idiot move.

“James, listen,” she said, making him look up at her. Her tone was gentle - at least, Dr. Raynor version of gentle. “Everyone has baggage. You’ve gotta start unloading some, or you’re gonna end up getting crushed by it. The worst has already happened to you. Sometimes, if you want the good stuff, you have to go out and get it.”

Bucky stared down at the phone, wishing that it was just the jitters that he felt instead of a cold stone of dread. The worst had already happened to him, a thousand times over. Would rejection feel like nothing, or would it break him?

Well, Dr. Raynor was right. He wouldn’t know unless he tried.

“Alright, Mika Corsof,” he said, swiping the pink arrow. “Let’s see what happens.”

#online dating au #thank you leaf!!!!#i'm gonna have too much fun with this #mucky

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thetorturerwrites · 4 years

Note

I’m not sure if this is a kink or what it’d be called, but I’d love some steamy mirror sex with Flip if you’re willing! Thank you so much!

+ Anonymous said to thetorturerwrites: Mirror sex with Kylo, please?? I love reading all your TT stuff!!

Well......y’all should know by now that I’m not normal. And this is what my not-normal brain came up with. Its possible I’m about to cancel myself with this, but here we go.

Also...I’m not at all sorry for so many things here.

***

It was the smell of his own cigarette smoke that roused him. The menthol curled around his brain and coaxed a muddled groan from the very center of his chest, where it hurt the most. Flip tried to lift his hands to rub at his pounding temples, but he couldn’t make his body obey.

That’s when Detective Zimmerman took over.

His head shot up on a sharp inhale, and he blinked rapidly to rush his eyes into focusing. His tongue darted across dry lips, like a snake tasting threats on the air. Sweat. Blood. He vaguely recalled having been hit in the face. He also smelled grease, gasoline. Shaking his head to clear it further, narrowed eyes travelled around the empty warehouse in a calculated attempt to memorize details of his location. When he could get to a radio, he’d need to be able to tell someone where he was.

Flip leaned forward, testing the ties that anchored him to the wooden chair and cursing when they held true. He pushed against the grimy floor; but without his boots, his bare feet slid futilely through splinters and dust.

“Fuck!”

It was a grouse, a begrudging admittance that he was stuck, trapped, goddamn kidnapped. He tipped his head back and heaved an angry breath through gritted teeth because fuck this whole day.

“Comfortable?”

Flip’s head whipped to one side, gaze landing on the black-cad shadow he’d somehow missed before. His lungs seized; his ribs ached because now he remembered. He remembered being punched in the chest, sent sprawling on the cement, and bashed in the head right before everything went dark.

He scrutinized every inch of the body attached to that deep voice. Just as tall as Flip, he had broader shoulders with longer, darker hair. Arms like pythons crossed over a wide chest, and those chiseled, lean legs carried him to sit opposite on the floor. He planted his feet and rested his elbows on his knees, looking at Flip defiantly.

Flip’s mouth went dry. His fingers flexed, and he was glad they were hidden behind his back. This was the guy they’d all been hunting for, the guy the whole damn state was after. And he sat there, smug as could be, looking like nine different kinds of sin.

It was Kylo Ren, notorious leader of the First Order.

Flip’s body responded before his brain could catch up. His breathing went shallow, little puffs blasting through his parted lips. His pupils dilated, adjusting to the dark and drinking in every available valuable detail. His thighs flexed, and his cock stiffened. Flip never once felt himself lean that way before, but this was the most attractive man he'd ever seen in his life.

Gulping down the glass in his throat, Flip finally managed to speak.

“Where...where’s my unit?”

"You mean the murderers, traitors, and thieves you call friends?” The behemoth shifted an inch closer, being sure to catch Flip’s eye when he looked away. “You'll be relieved to hear I have no idea."

Kylo stared him down, and Flip wanted to pistol whip the smug look off of his face. He shifted in his chair and tried a different tactic, canting his head slightly and plastering an amiable grin on his face.

“It’s Kylo, right?”

When he made no move to confirm or deny, Flip carried on in his best soothing voice, trying to de-escalate before anything even jumped off.

“You know you can’t just kidnap a fucking cop, right? Every officer on the beat is gonna be looking for me. But we can skip all that. Tell me what you want.”

Flip watched as Kylo’s lips pursed and lifted at the ends in almost slow motion. He watched as the man's hungry stare roved him over from ebony crown to bare toes, watched appreciation creep across that beautiful face.

The cocky bastard smirked and shifted to his knees, closing the distance and invading any semblance of personal space Flip may have had.

“Turns out I can.”

He leered, gesturing wide, putting the circumstances of Flip’s captivity on display.

“You’re my prisoner.”

Heavy, strong hands slid up from Flip’s knees to squeeze at his meaty, muscular thighs. Transfixed, Flip stopped breathing when smooth, shaven, and sexy leaned in to nudge at his stubbled jaw with the bridge of his nose.

“And I want you to do as you’re told.”

Dark eyes that were so similar to his flashed a dangerous mix of serious and seductive a brief second before buttons clattered to the floor, collateral damage from his flannel being torn open. Flip's jaw locked in a vain attempt to pretend this wasn’t happening, that he wasn’t responding.

“Join the First Order.” That velvet voice rolled over his earlobe, and Flip outright squirmed under its power. “You’ll be a strong asset.”

“Fucking anarchists? Communists?” He all but spit the words out and leaned away from his tormentor, but he couldn’t even jar the chair an inch. He was wholly caught in the spider’s web. “I’d rather eat a rusty spoon.”

Flip’s buckle jangled, but he didn’t hear it, too caught up in the condescending chuckle at his left. And when his jeans eased open to alleviate some of the pressure on his straining cock, he groaned out loud. His entire body stiffened, too aware of how near his captor was, too aroused by the smell and the feel of it, too ashamed of how fucking good he felt being made to feel so helpless right now.

“I could shoot you.” Kylo’s knuckles dragged the spot along Flip’s chest where the bruise began to bloom, feeling the rapid heartbeat beneath. “Slit your throat.” Flip’s Adam’s apple bobbed at the feel of surprisingly gentle lips against his pulse. “But that would be short-sighted, don’t you think?”

Kylo was a younger, angrier, larger version of himself, Flip realized, and he knew there was no talking him out of what he wanted. He burned with conviction, so much so Flip knew he’d be able to feel it buzzing under Kylo’s skin. Something he very suddenly wanted to do desperately.

“Jesus fucking Christ…”

Flip gasped hard, chest rising up as a rough hand took hold of his cock -- eerily similar but decidedly not his grip. The palm of Kylo’s hand was smooth, but not overly soft, and Flip’s hip bucked upwards without his deciding it. His head dropped forward to rest against that unyielding shoulder because the room spun, and his eyes blurred.

“You know I can take whatever I want.”

There was no getting out of this unscathed. Kylo was simply too demanding, too overwhelming. The only way to the other side was through -- through Kylo, through this frustration, through the fire licking up his belly. Flip grunted and met his tormentor’s eye.

His own full mouth hitched at the corner, a dare and an invitation.

“Get on with it, then. You talk too much.”

#torturer tuesdays #flip zimmerman #kylo ren #flip x kylo #flip zimmerman smut #kylo ren smut #what the hell did i do #fuck it i kinda love it #maybe part 2?

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