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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 3 years

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I Can't Help It If You Look Like an Angel

Summary: Spencer is not that kind of doctor, but he'll always come when Y/N needs him, even if germs are involved.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Warnings: One cuss (sh!t), kisses, small insecurities

Word Count: 2.5 k (was not supposed to be this long but I'm a monster)

Author's Note: From this list (3, 12, 14) since I hit 300 followers! Thank you! This request is from @willowrose99 (look for the bold)

I Can't Help It If You Look Like an Angel

Spencer’s half done with his third book that weekend when his phone rang. A weekend spent in the company of Nietzsche and Sartre is, according to Spencer at least, a weekend well spent. He can feel the relaxation that settles in his bones come crashing down as he phone rings.

Thinking it’s Hotch calling the team in for an unexpected case, Spencer, lethargically, walks over to answer the phone. However, realizing the caller is not his boss pulling him away from a restful weekend, but Y/N, his heart rushes with a sudden urge of excitement.

“Y/N,” Spencer starts. He’s more than happy to have Y/N interrupt his weekend; they even made plans for a day out on Saturday at the new Anthropology museum that opened downtown. But all of Spencer’s made up plans fall in front of his face, as he hears Y/N’s quiet sniffles.

“Spencer, I’m so sorry to bother you. I know that you’re probably enjoying your rest, but I guess I have a cold. One of the kids at school, I suppose,” Y/N tells him in between sniffles. Her voice is scratchy and Spencer tries not to think about how his brain seems to short circuit at the way his name sounds.

“I’m coming over,” Spencer says, cutting her off. He doesn’t like doing that, in fact he hates when that happens to him, but right now he knows that Y/N is going to try her hardest to stop him from coming over.

“No Spence, it’s germs. You hate germs and I’m really gross and snotty and—”

“Stop, Y/N. Don’t say another word. I’m on my way” Spencer says. He feels a little guilty for hanging up on her, but he knows that if he stayed on the line any longer she’d end up convincing him that he didn’t need to rush over. There’s not a lot of people in this world that can convince Spencer to change his mind, and he’s pretty sure that Y/N is one of them.

Spencer walks into his bedroom, looking for some supplies like a man on a mission. He decides to pack a small bag for the next three days. He’s off from work anyway, why not spend that time making sure Y/N gets better. Spencer packs away a couple of sweaters, flannel pajama pants and two thermal shirts. In the back of his drawer he spots a very old college tee shirt.

A memory, an early memory with Y/N, comes flooding to the surface. They got caught in a rainstorm after a picnic in the nearby park. Spencer changed into his comfortable tee shirt and pajamas. He would never forget the look on Y/N’s face; the way the rain collected on her glasses and for some reason she had yet to wipe them off. She called him an angel. Maybe it’s for bringing her some warm clothes or maybe she’s slightly on edge from their dash into Spencer’s apartment. Whatever it was that made her call him an angel, Spencer never wanted her to call him anything else. Besides his own name, in that scratchy sick voice that made him feel a little guilty for liking so much.

Spencer collects some other things he needs for his stay. A toothbrush, toothpaste, a hair brush, and his hair serum that Y/N says she likes the way it smells. When she told him that, Spencer could hardly wait to buy the entire supply from the CVS down the street. He tucks away in this bag with a small smile.

Walking out of his apartment, Spencer locks up and makes his way down to his car. He glances at his watch, realizing that it only took him a couple of minutes to get ready for Y/N. Quicker than what it takes for him to get ready for an emergency case. Then again, tending to a sick Y/N seems much pleasurable then looking at served bodies and mangled limbs.

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After making a pit stop at a small convenience store near Y/N’s apartment, Spencer pulls into the guest parking spot near her complex. He attempts to shoulder the weight of his go bag; even though he only packed a couple philosophy books, they are quite dense. In his hands, he grasps the grocery bags.

Y/N’s apartment, thankfully, is on the first floor. Spencer approaches the door and thinks twice about knocking or ringing the doorbell. The last thing he wants to do is wake a sick Y/N up. He rummages in his pants for his car keys. Attached to the keys is a cat keychain with a spare key to Y/N’s apartment. Balancing the groceries and his own bag, Spencer quietly attempts to open Y/N’s door without possibly waking her up.

Once he finally gets the door open, Spencer realizes all too late that a large orange cat guards the tight hallway entrance. Spencer Reid, though a genius in his own right, is completely aware of the fact that he has two left feet.

“Oh, Zelda! Oh shit!,” Spencer yells as he trips over Zelda, Y/N’s orange cat. Zelda, scared from the noise, leaps from her spot guarding the hallway to the kitchen. Spencer brushes himself from his fall and picks up the groceries that fell during his tumble.

“Zelda, baby?” Y/N calls from what sounds like the couch from the other side of the wall.

“Hi Y/N, it’s just me. It’s just Spencer,” He says, placing the oranges back in his canvas bag and on the kitchen table. He sees Y/N laying on the couch. Surrounded by a pile of crumpled tissues, she smiles weakly at Spencer. He walks over to her and like an involuntary muscle, she scoots her feet so Spencer has room to sit.

Spencer, setting the beg on the floor, tucks Y/N’s legs over his. He rests a comforting hand on her calf that’s covered by a worn quilt.

“You didn’t have to come Spencer. I’m really okay, I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t ghosting you this weekend,” Y/N explains. The TV has been left on, but on mute. The colorful lights illuminate Y/N’s face in her dimly lit apartment.

“Nonsense, Y/N. What are friends for,” Spencer offers, wondering beyond belief if he messed up calling them friends. Their relationship had been quite strange for the past couple of weeks. Intense moments of silence where Spencer thinks he’d have the time to memorize every freckle on her nose or small grazes from fingers to wrists where Spencer swears she left scars that he hope would never heal.

“Friends,” Y/N says quietly. Spencer, offering a tight lipped smile, leans forward to straighten the blankets under Y/N’s chin. He presses the back of his hand towards Y/N’s forehead, feeling her warm skin under his knuckles. He’s not sure if the heat he feels is from her bug or from the adrenaline coursing through his veins at being this close to Y/N.

“You’re hot,” Spencer says, not moving his hand from Y/N’s forehead. She, loving the way his ears turn pink when he’s embarrassed, uncovers her arm from under the blankets and holds onto his wrist, keeping him attached to her forehead. Not that he’d want it any other way.

“So are you,” Y/N says. Spencer flinches and moves his hand from her forehead like she scorched his hand. In reality, her comment pierced his heart with hope.

“How much cough syrup did you take?” Spencer asks, choosing to face the situation with humor. There’s no way in the world Y/N could ever find him “hot” without the aid of cough syrup or another mind numbing substance.

“None,” Y/N says, reaching around to turn off the television. Spencer, getting increasingly nervous as the minutes of that intense silence passed, mentions to Y/N that he needs to put the groceries away.

“You really didn’t need to do that, Spence. I feel bad enough that you came here just to get sick yourself,” Y/N says. She’s folding the blankets that she was just resting under.

“I’ll always come when you need me to, Y/N” Spencer says, his breath catching and his eyes latching onto Y/N. He looks at her too long and there’s that intense silence again. Silence that is as thick as fog. Spencer can’t see facts through all the love that swallows him whole looking at Y/N.

“Maybe I knew that, and maybe that’s why I called you,” Y/N murmurs quietly, almost like she’s more scared to admit it to herself than to Spencer.

“Maybe,” Spencer says, breaking her gaze to put the half melted tub of green tea ice cream in the freezer.

“I think I’m going to shower, I need to put a fresh pair of pajamas on. I’ll be right out,” Y/N tells him, turning on her heel and leaving Spencer along with his thoughts.

Spencer can hear the water from the shower turn on. He estimates that Y/N will take at least 5 minutes in the shower, accounting for a margin of error, he supposes that he should start to heat the soup he bought from the store now, so it’s ready for Y/N when she’s done in the shower. Too bad all Spencer’s brain power is good for his statistics and numbers, not recipes and romance.

As it turns out, not a single statistic, nor a single digit could account for the possibility of Y/N walking out her bedroom, her hair damp and skin practically glowing, wearing Spencer’s worn college tee shirt. Spencer reckons that his eyes must have been bugging out from his head, given the spirited smile Y/N wears.

“I’m sorry, Spence, you know how much I love this tee shirt. I was putting some of your stuff away in your drawer and I saw this and I just couldn’t help myself. God it even smells a little bit like that hair gunk you wear,” Y/N rambles. She stands, leaning on her door frame, staring at Spencer who holds a wooden spoon that he used to stir the soup.

“You look like an angel,” Spencer says before he can stop himself. He just knows that his face is flaming red.

“You remember that?” Y/N asks, her voice light and hopeful. Spencer recognizes something in it. It’s the way his voice sounds when he talks to her, about her, with her. He can only hope that this is the way she always talks to him. He hopes with every fiber of his being that she uses that light and hopeful voice with him and only him.

“Of course Y/N. Then again, even if I didn’t have an eidetic memory, I’d still remember every single detail about you,”

“Now you’re making me feel guilty about stealing your shirt. You’re being all sweet and kind with me, it makes me fuzzy in the head,” Y/N confesses. She walks to her kitchen table, slowly closing the gap between her and Spencer.

“Keep it, it looks better on you anyway,” Spencer tells her. Her eyes grow big at his words and she presses her lips together like she’s holding something in. But something in her switches. Something in her grows a little sad and Spencer watches before his eyes as Y/N withdraws into herself.

“You can’t say that stuff to me, Spencer. You can’t say that stuff to me and not expect me to love you more than I already do,” Y/N says, her eyes shut and her lips pinched so tightly that it almost looks painful.

“Y/N,” Spencer starts, unsure what he’s supposed to say. His brain always seems to be playing catch up around Y/N. “Can I say it if I do love you back?”

Y/N eyes flutter open and narrow at Spencer, as if she’s reading him. Her eyes scan for any sign of a joke, of a prank, of Spencer trying to trick her. Maybe he should be upset that Y/N is doubting him, but all Spencer can feel is hatred for the person that made her doubt herself so much to not believe him.

“I’ve never felt what I feel when I’m with you, Y/N. No one else has made me feel truly me except you, Y/N,” Spencer professes, setting down the wooden spoon on the counter to reach Y/N’s hand.

“I never thought you’d feel the same way, Spence. I love you, God. That feels so good to say,” Y/N says, letting out a strained laugh. Spencer standing up next to her, places his hands on Y/N cheeks, and tries to lean in lower to kiss her, but Y/N’s finger on his lips stops his movement.

“I’m so sorry, I should have asked. I thought that this is-” Spencer stammers, suddenly very concerned that he violated Y/N in some way.

“Shhh, angel. It’s okay. I want you to kiss me. I really do, but I just want you to tell the facts on you getting sick if you kiss me,” Y/N says, not moving her finger from Spencer’s soft lips. He kisses her finger and grasps her hand with his.

“Sorry, I just had to do that,” Spencer smirks, “but to answer your question, unless you have a bad cough, and some of the respiratory mucus has made its way into your saliva, the cold virus will not be transmitted by kissing,”

“That’s good, so please kiss me, Spencer,” Y/N practically begs, eager for Spencer to leave pieces of him all over her. Eager for him to leave physical evidence of the marking he’s already left on her heart.

“You just might have to take care of me next week,” Spencer counters, peppering kisses over her jaw, knowing he’s purposely avoiding her lips.

“Spencer, I’m sick! Don’t tease me, just kiss me,” Y/N whines, and Spencer caves. He leans in slowly, meeting his lips to Y/N’s. It was the kiss that Spencer knew he’d be waiting for. A kiss that seals fate without a return address. A kiss that reminds him that he’s alive. A kiss that says forever and always.

Spencer, resting his chin against Y/N’s head, closes his eyes. The intense silence that existed between them, now is this light and hopeful air.

“Y/N, do you use my hair gunk?” Spencer asks. He can’t help but giggle with her and breathe in the familiar scent of her hair. He places three kisses on Y/N’s head and gently pushes her hair to the side to kiss down the back of her neck.

“I’m not sure what I love more, the smell of your hair gunk or the man that wears it,”

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@willowrose99

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#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine #samuel de champagne problems 300 followers #criminal mind x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader fluff fic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader comfort

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reflections-in-a-critical-eye · 3 years

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Thank you for answering my question. This is what I come back to. People think Jimin and Jungkook are in a relationship based on stuff from official content, not seeing them in the street on their time off. There is almost nothing outside of official content that adds to that belief, that I know of. So by analyzing content, would you say that you are indirectly adding to existing speculatory discourse about their orientation? Can those things ever be separated? Even associating with Jikook blogs and saying you read the discourse, you hint at a personal belief. I believe you believe they are not straight men, correct me if I am wrong. Talking about art and intent is worthy. A lot of blog readers are mostly in these spaces to hear their Jikook intuitions supported and that is not a crime either.

Another question I consider important is what role does personal identity play in criticism? Should being non asian or non queer, for example, be a factor of consideration for people sharing and expressing their ideas? I am going to be honest and say that I think it matters who is saying what. I like to know who I am reading. This is not to be gatekeeper about it. If you want to decenter western concepts of 'queer' from discourse about Korean performers that is commendable no matter who you are.

Is it bad that a critic's identity matters in how I recieve their criticism? I don't want to shut anyone out. But before I delve into someone's ideas, I like to have these cards on the table. Is that bigoted? I am not saying I value the critique of white, cis, non queer people less. I have experienced feelings of alienation reading criticism at times. Just look at the statistics for how many published film critics in the western sphere are white and male. Shouldn't that affect how we think about popular criticism? Thanks for taking timewith these questions. I understand how they might recieved as invading of your privacy or identity. Please feel free to ignore of course.

Anon, I got your other ask telling me that it's not necessary to publish this if I feel uncomfortable to talk about my identity. It's good that you reconsidered, realized why it's not ok and you are more than capable and have the option to choose what you want to read. I didn't answer your questions not because I was uncomfortable, but because I wanted to take some time and really think about what I'm going to say. I'm addressing it now because I want my position to be very clear for everyone because I will not repeat myself.

I will break down your ask in two parts:

All I did was to write about GCFT and how a piece of media can be analyzed. I also said that I'm aware of what is written on jikook blogs and from what perspective. But from that to immediately assume I have some beliefs is a long way to go because I never talked about this and I never will. I don't believe in anything, I look at content and write about what I see. I only plan to write about MMA Black Swan performance in the future as an artistic act that involves JM/JK and I will back it up with references that will sustain my point on view. I am aware of all shipping content (from multiple ships) that exists in this fandom and of course I know the one that involves Jimin and Jungkook. I would have to be completely ignorant and not be aware of what's been going on online to not figure that one out. I will also not address the type of content and information that is used by people who speculate and write about them, there are numerous blogs and twitter accounts who do that. This topic ends here as I clearly stated my position on what type of writing I will be doing.

I don't think my identity should be disclosed in order for my opinions to be valid. It's just that, an opinion on tumblr, nothing more. You have the right to choose what you want to read based on your own criteria. I do not hold such a view when it comes to criticism. What's important is the approach the critic has, how informed a critic can be on the topic they're writing about, regardless of racial or sexual identity. Not to mention that this should not be a demand. I certainly never had to do that or expected to see such information when I read something. And last but not least, I may write posts using criticism, but this a blog where I just publish my thoughts. Sometimes I do a bit of research, other times I just state my opinions. Everyone is free to be ok with it or not.

#asks

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korra-the-red-lion · 3 years

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Home

Here’s a Thundergrace fic I wrote because I wanted to, haha. There are some minor spoilers for s4, so just be aware! Enjoy!

It was kind of crazy when she thought about it.

Grace had always lived on the run. Growing up, her life was dangerous. She constantly had to survive on her home since leaving foster care. She managed to escape the prostitution ring with her life. Her uncontrolled Meta powers made it nearly impossible for her to cope with daily stressors. She grew up with trauma, it was a part of her very self. She never thought she could live a life like the people she worked with at the Ruby Red Lipstick Bar.

Until she met Anissa.

They had their ups and downs, for sure. They got together, the broke apart, they got together again, and she ended up falling into a coma. But never once did Anissa leave her side during that time, from what Jen told her. Grace knew right there and then that they were meant to be, forever.

Sure, they fought about things. But it was only because they were both used to being alone and living alone. There was always going to be an adjustment period, and they had to work through that together. And they did, like they always did.

But it wasn’t until Black Lightning and his team finally took down Tobias Whale that Grace felt safe. Even then, there was still crime to stop but at least the one person who knew their identity was gone forever. After that, Anissa and Grace started to talk about starting a family.

Grace poured herself a cup of hot water, placing a tea bag inside the cup as she did. The water slowly changed colour as the bag seeped. It was funny how easy things changed their shape. Like her.

She looked over when she heard the lock click. Anissa walked in, coming home from her shift at the hospital. Her face lit up when she saw Grace.

“Hey baby, how are you doing?”

Grace smiled softly, placing her cup on the counter. “Doing okay, just thinking about stuff. How was work?”

Anissa tossed her shoes off and crossed the distance of the loft. She grabbed Grace’s face gently and kissed her. “It was alright. Nothing too serious happened today, which was nice. I just couldn’t wait to get home. No work tomorrow, thank the Lord above.”

“Do you have any plans?” Grace asked, sliding her hands around Anissa’s waist.

“I dunno girl, do you?”

“Only with you,” Grace rested her forehead against Anissa’s and started sway with her wife. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of Anissa. Everything about her made Grace feel safe and calm.

“You said you were thinking about stuff when I came in?” Anissa nuzzled her nose against Grace’s. “What kinda stuff?”

“How fortunate I am that I survived growing up. Because I did, I met you and your family.” Grace pulled Anissa onto the sofa with her. “Bad things happened to me, some things I’ll never forget. But when I met you, it was like my soul knew you were the one. I don’t mean it in a cheesy soulmate kind of way…I just mean, I knew that I was going to be able to heal. No one every thought twice about the Asian kid, you know? I mean hell, no one came looking for me when I went missing, because I was just another statistic rather than a person to them. I always had to fend for myself. Then we met, and obviously it wasn’t perfect at first. But now? I think it’s pretty darn close. This place, our place, is home to me. Something I never really had growing up.”

Anissa tilted her head downwards, her eyes wet but the tears didn’t fall. “Grace, you’ve always been a fighter. You’ve also been my support person. There’s only been a few times in my life where I’ve been truly terrified. When I thought Jen was dead was one, and the other was when you were in a coma. I thought I l-lost you forever,” her voice choked up as she explained.

Grace squeezed Anissa’s hand tightly. “I could hear you. I heard you speak to me everyday. I think I must have shifted a few times because I’m pretty sure I heard a few ‘hell no’s’ from you, honey.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t dealing with your leopard ass,” Anissa laughed.

Grace leaned over and kissed Anissa. “I just can’t wait to spend every day with you, babe. Because I love waking up to you every morning. I love when you get home from work. I love your family dinners. I love talking to you about the big things and the little things. I love basically everything about you, Anissa Pierce-Choi.”

“Girl, you’re so damned sappy,” said Anissa with a giggle. “I ain’t leaving you home alone anymore.” She ran her fingers through Grace’s hair. “I also love everything about you…well, almost everything. Like, your snoring is pretty bad and I hate when you leave cat hair on the bed.”

“Anissa!” Grace laughed as she grabbed a pillow and smacked Anissa with it. “You’re the one who snores, not me!”

“Nuh-uh, it totally ain’t me!” Anissa grabbed her own pillow for defense.

Grace refused to let up on her pillow pummel, as she went on her knees to get a better angle. “I’m not going to stop unless you admit you’re the snorer!”

“Never!” Anissa tackled Grace around the waist, and they fell to the floor together with giggling shrieks.

Despite her best effort, Grace managed to get pinned to the floor by Anissa. Anissa had a huge triumphant grin on her face, pillow in hand. Grace’s pillow had been knocked away in the fall, and she was now defenseless.

“Okay, Grace, I’m going to give you one chance to admit that you’re the one who snores,” said Anissa, waving the pillow menacingly. “Understand? One. Chance.”

After considering her options, Grace had to bite her lip to stop herself from smiling as she shook her head. Anissa also shook her head as she laughed, ready to end Grace right here, right now, by feathery doom. But before the pillow could come crashing down, Grace shifted into her leopard form and rolled, causing Anissa to laugh as she fell.

“Damn, that’s cheating!” Anissa said as Grace shifted back, holding her face in her hands.

“You never said I couldn’t use my powers,” said Grace with a smirk. She bent down and kissed Anissa, sighing in happiness.

It was crazy to think to think that this was her home now. Anissa was her home, and she no longer felt in danger of losing it.

#black lightning #anissa pierce #grace choi #thundergrace #fanfic #writing #angst #sappy #wlw fanfic

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there-must-be-a-lock · 3 years

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Not Your Average Love Story (SPN x CM)

Sam Winchester x Spencer Reid

Word Count: ~3490

Warnings: Show-level violence, but that’s about it! It’s bizarrely fluffy.

A/N: My first square for @cmbingo: “meet the parents.” This is essentially a rewrite of Supernatural 12x01, “Keep Calm and Carry On,” except Spencer and Sam are adorable dorky murder boyfriends.

Thanks to @fangirlxwritesx67 for the read-through!

When Spencer realizes he’s in love with Sam, he’s on a plane, hoping to make it to Kansas before the sun goes dark.

He looks out the window at the too-orange light, thinking, this is a weird twist for a love story. He turns that thought over in his mind and realizes: love.

Oh.

It takes him by surprise, for some reason, but only for a second. He’s starting to get used to surprises.

* * *

Spencer has always been self-aware enough to realize that his intellect and his lack of social skills would not make it easy to strike up a traditional relationship. Then, of course, you factor in his obsessive tendencies, his attachment issues, and the stresses of his job, and it’s not actually surprising that he made it past the age of thirty before he fell in love for the first time. Considering how that ended, it’s definitely a surprise — if not a minor miracle — that he’s made it this far with Sam.

Then again, nothing about their relationship has been predictable. Spencer never guessed he’d meet his future partner while dissecting a dessicated brain.

Ever since Spencer Reid met Sam Winchester, his life has been one surprise after another.

* * *

The third unanswered call makes him nervous, but he figures Sam must be asleep, or at least he should be asleep. If Spencer finds himself doing ninety mph in his tiny rental car, it’s mostly because Kansas highways don’t seem to follow the usual laws of physics. They’re flat and endless and eerie in the grey pre-dawn light.

The moment he opens the door, Spencer knows something is wrong. He spares a wishful thought for his Kevlar, and then he draws his gun, falling automatically into the too-familiar stance as he silently descends the stairs.

There’s blood on the floor.

This doesn’t surprise him in the slightest.

* * *

Spencer tends to spend a lot of time visualizing hypothetical problems and their solutions. He’s good at imagining all the potential outcomes of a particular scenario and calculating their likelihoods based on given variables. He frequently does this at night, instead of sleeping.

In other words, he worries a lot.

If he were in a normal relationship he would probably worry about normal things. For example: whether Spencer was misreading the situation, whether it was okay to run a thorough background check on them, and what to wear on a date. What would their first argument be about? What would their parents think of him? What would his mom think of them?

About thirty-six hours after they met, Sam saved Spencer’s mom from a wraith; first impressions don’t get much better than that.

The normal worries were rapidly eclipsed by Sam-specific worries. For example: what if he got cursed, what if he got possessed, and were there angels or demons after him this week. Why couldn’t Dean either drive a little slower or get a car with less antiquated safety features? How would Spencer help if Sam got hurt on the job? Should he tell the B.A.U. what he’s been learning about the supernatural?

He does end up telling them everything; Sam and Dean show up at a crime scene, Hotch almost arrests them, and it turns out that one of the serial killers they’ve been hunting for a decade is actually a skinwalker.

But the point is that when Spencer sees blood on the floor, he isn’t surprised. He’s visualized this scenario — and several hundred variations on it — before.

* * *

He hears a raised voice in the library and takes the steps two at a time. There are two complete strangers there, a blonde woman aiming a gun at a man, and Spencer’s training kicks in before he can figure out why she looks familiar.

“Federal agent, hands in the air,” he barks.

He can see the split-second when the woman thinks about turning her gun on him, but she seems to think better of it, and she sets the gun down slowly before putting her hands in the air.

“Who are you?” the man demands. “What did you do with Sam?”

“What — Sam?” Spencer asks, panic rising in his throat. “Spencer Reid, FBI. Who —”

“You’re Spencer?” he asks, brow furrowed.

Spencer realizes: “You’re Castiel.”

“Whoa, whoa, hey, gun down,” Dean interrupts. “It’s okay! She’s okay, Spence!”

“Dean? You’re alive?” Castiel grabs him before he can say anything else.

Spencer lowers his gun slowly. He’s starting to hyperventilate. He wants to know how Dean is still alive, yes, but he’s watching the way they embrace, the smile on Cas’s face and the way Dean’s shoulders seem to drop like he’s relaxing for the first time in a long time, and all he can think about is —

“Can somebody tell me where the hell Sam is?” Spencer asks, voice cracking embarrassingly.

“He’s not here,” Castiel says.

The woman looks between Cas and Spencer, eyes wide, and it’s not clear who she’s talking to when she asks, “Who are you?”

“He’s my —” Dean starts.

Cas cuts him off by saying, “He’s Sam’s —” at the same time Spencer blurts out, “He’s an angel.”

“Come again?” the woman asks, and when she sees the way Dean shifts nervously, she adds, “Not that, I don’t care about — you said angel?”

“Angel. You know. Wings, harp.”

“Not actually,” Spencer tells her, just as Cas scowls and says, “No, I don’t have a harp.”

“Cas, Spencer,” Dean says, and he pauses, swallowing hard. “This is Mary. Mary Winchester.”

Spencer and Cas speak in unison again, Cas in a gruff monotone as Spencer’s voice goes squeaky: “Your mother?”

Of all the things Spencer has worried about, he never thought he would never have to worry about making a bad first impression on Sam’s parents. Sam’s parents are dead.

Except… apparently not. Apparently Sam’s mom has been resurrected, and Spencer just pulled a gun on her.

“Nice to meet you,” Mary says softly, with a tentative smile.

For a second he freezes, staring at her, and his mind starts racing, recalculating, replanning, getting his worrying done after the fact, and Spencer has no idea what to say. He never made a plan for this.

“Nice to meet you,” he responds, flushing. “Um. Sorry about that.”

“I’d have done the same thing if I were you.” She smiles, and she doesn’t look much like Sam, but the kindness in her eyes is so very familiar. Spencer’s breath catches.

“She’s not kidding, shoulda seen the way she pinned me when I tried to introduce myself,” Dean grumbles. Then he turns to Castiel and says, “Tell me what happened to Sam.”

As Castiel starts to explain the details, Spencer calls Penelope.

“FBI, office of the brilliant but under-caffeinated,” she says, slightly less chirpy than he’s used to, and Spencer realizes how early it is. Oops.

“It’s me.”

“Oh! Boy genius! They did it, huh? Hotch called us back in, like, as soon as the sun came back on, because apparently criminals don’t stop just because the world is ending, or whatever, but he wanted to give you a day at least — hey, are you okay? How’s that handsome lumberjack of yours?”

“Sam’s missing,” Spencer says without preamble. “I need your help.”

It takes Penelope approximately a minute to find the car and identify the driver, but the identity of his passenger is a little more elusive. She types away, keys clattering ceaselessly in the background, as Spencer yawns.

“Got it! Okay, I have a cell number. If you call her, I can track it. You ready?”

“Dean, give me your phone?” Spencer asks, holding out a hand. “You stay on the line with Penelope. She can tell you as soon as she gets the address.”

“I can make the call,” Dean says. “I want to have a word with this bitch.”

“Dean,” Spencer snaps. “First of all, I’m the only person here who’s trained in hostage negotiation. Finding people is literally in my job description.”

“This isn’t a fuckin’ bank holdup, this is my brother,” Dean retorts. “It’s my job to take care of him.”

“If you call her a bitch and start in on your threatening macho bullshit, she’s going to hang up, or worse, she’s going to believe you, and then she’ll be trying to get you before you can get to Sam. I know how to talk to people like this. If I can convince her I’m scared, that I’m not a real threat, she might give something away.”

“But —”

“Secondly, the only people who know you’re alive are in this room right now, which means you’re our best chance to take her by surprise when we get there, so shut up and let me do my job.”

“You really think you can find him,” Dean says, and it’s not a question. He holds out his phone with a look of begrudging respect.

“Yes.”

Spencer thinks, I have to.

* * *

People aren’t all the same, but if you could quantify the concept of normal, if you could look at it statistically, most people would fall within the standard deviation. Most of their lives take an even, predictable shape, Spencer thinks. There are plenty of other people like them, and they seem to fit with each other, too, interlocking in an easy way that Spencer has always envied.

Spencer’s got all these awkward uneven edges and strange angles. He’s not normal, and he’s always known that.

For a long time, he doesn’t think he’ll ever find someone who’ll fit easily, not without changing him, trying to reshape him in some way. He doesn’t want to change, but he gets lonely. Most people (friends, let alone lovers) don’t last long before they get sick of his quirks. Some try longer than others, but one way or another, there’s always some jarring part of him that doesn’t match what they want.

What if they like to sleep with the windows open, even in the winter? Or if they sleep with the air conditioning cranked up in the summer? Spencer knows he should be better about compromising on little things like that, but he really prefers things a certain way. He knows it’s neurotic. He can’t help it.

Spencer is used to people staring blankly when he starts talking, but at what point will it drive someone away? When will they stop pretending to care about his Doctor Who opinions? When will they get bored of his info-dumping?

And then there are the really difficult questions. How does he tell someone he used to be an addict? What if he doesn’t want to tell them about being kidnapped and tortured? What if he does, and then they start asking questions? How does he explain his PTSD, or his nightmares, or his bedtime routine of triple-checking every lock and setting his gun within arm’s reach?

At first, when he met Sam, Spencer worried about arguments and parents and all the other normal things, but more importantly, he worried about himself. He wondered which of his irregularities would finally make Sam give up on his attempts to fit Spencer into his life.

Neither of them sleep much, but when they do end up sharing a bed, Sam has his own routine; while Spencer checks the locks, Sam draws warding symbols, lines each window and door with salt, and sets his gun within reach. He likes the windows closed and the thermostat above 68, because, he explains simply, “Lucifer runs cold.”

Speaking of Lucifer. Sam understands addiction, kidnapping, torture, PTSD, and nightmares, and he doesn’t ask Spencer to tell his stories before he’s ready. Sam has stories of his own.

Sam also has his own Doctor Who opinions, and those opinions were the cause of their very first argument. Sam is wrong, but Spencer loves that he cares enough to argue.

The first time Spencer started rambling about serial killers, he noticed Sam frowning and cut himself off, embarrassed, ready to apologize. Sam just pulled out a journal and asked him to repeat what he’d said, so that Sam could do more research on the subject later.

Sam doesn’t expect him to change. He doesn’t try to re-shape Spencer. His life is just as weird, and by all logic they shouldn’t fit, but they do. And Spencer doesn’t feel any less himself, but suddenly he realizes that he must’ve changed along the way, because he can’t imagine his life without Sam any more; if they can’t find him, his absence is going to tear Spencer apart.

* * *

It’s a tense car ride, to say the least.

Hell of a first impression, Spencer thinks again, glancing at Mary’s pale, worried face in the rearview.

Castiel and Mary are in the backseat, and they’re trying to make small talk, but Castiel seems to be about as good as Spencer at the whole “casual conversation” thing. Sam’s told him so much about Castiel, Spencer feels like he knows him, but they’ve never actually crossed paths before.

And then there’s Dean, who’s got his jaw clenched, staring straight ahead. Spencer gives him directions, and he grunts or nods, but he doesn’t say anything else.

Dean intimidates the hell out of him, but they’ve always gotten along fine, maybe because Spencer’s never yelled at him before. He’s very aware that arguing with Dean Winchester is usually fruitless at best (and deadly at worst), but he’s never been good at holding his tongue when he’s upset.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer manages to mutter eventually.

“Huh?” Dean looks at him, frowning.

“About earlier. I didn’t mean to — um.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Dean says gruffly.

“I was upset. I’m sorry.”

Dean shrugs, and he hesitates before adding, “You were right.” He looks as surprised to be saying it as Spencer is to hear it.

Spencer blinks at him a couple times before hurriedly saying, “Turn left. There.”

Cas and Mary are having a quiet conversation about the weirdness of technology, and Spencer is about to join them when Dean speaks up again.

“Garcia — she said something funny.”

“Uh oh.”

Dean snorts. “Nah, not like that. Before she hung up, she told me not to worry. Said of everybody she knows, Sam probably has the second-best odds of escaping any poor sap who tries to abduct him.”

“Second best?”

“That’s what I said. But apparently that title belongs to you.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it. All I can do is talk myself out, he’s stronger.” Spencer gives him a crooked attempt at a smile; it feels awkward on his face, but he means it when he says, “He’ll be okay.”

* * *

The funny thing is, Spencer has been in this situation before.

When it was Maeve, though, he panicked, because all he could think about was how she must feel: scared, helpless. Spencer has too much empathy sometimes. Imagining Maeve’s helplessness made him feel like he was drowning.

This is different. He’s not exactly zen about the whole situation, of course; it feels like a piece of him is missing, but he’s clear-headed, because he knows that Sam is anything but helpless. He trusts Sam to take care of himself.

Aside from the supernatural element, Sam’s job is astoundingly similar to Spencer’s, and he’s astoundingly good at it. The Winchesters have consulted on a couple cases, now, for the B.A.U. (Spencer’s still not sure how Hotch manages the paperwork) and they try to find cases in the same general area as wherever Spencer winds up, so they’ve gotten to work together a few times. Sam’s sheer competence at his job might be the most attractive thing Spencer has ever seen.

Spencer used to imagine a quiet, mundane romance. He always just assumed he’d find someone whose life was more normal than his, and he was resigned to the stress it would cause in a relationship. He’d forget to call, he’d miss dinner, he’d have to cancel plans and be absent from so much of what constituted a normal domestic life, and his partner would be left at home, alone, all too aware of how much danger Spencer could be in, helpless to do anything about it.

Instead, Spencer found Sam. Spencer never has to feel guilty about missing dinner, because Sam isn’t at home worrying about him. Sam is out there saving the world.

Sam is not going to wait for Spencer to rescue him; he might not even need rescuing, at this point. Instead of worrying about what Sam is doing and whether he’s scared, Spencer can focus on his own plan.

* * *

He and Dean circle slowly around the house. They spot the entrance to the basement, and Dean almost runs right to it, but Spencer grabs his arm and points to the sigils around the door.

Spencer notices movement through a window next to the back door, and when they creep up to get a glimpse inside, he sees two women. One is the blonde — the brains of the operation — and the other is stockier, clearly the muscle.

After a quick conversation in whispers and gestures, Dean sneaks around to the side of the house opposite the basement, and a second later Spencer hears him shout. He waits a couple seconds and glances in the window again, and sure enough, the bigger woman is gone while the blonde is watching something on a computer monitor, looking agitated. Security cameras, maybe.

Spencer is about to go inside when he sees the blonde start, look around, and grab a cattle prod. Then she’s hurrying toward a door, sliding back a heavy deadbolt, and Spencer sees a dark stairwell that must lead to the basement.

He slips through the door and follows her.

For a split-second, the scene in the basement almost stops his heart. Sam is lying on the floor, completely still, his head surrounded by a puddle of blood.

But before Spencer can really process what he’s seeing, let alone react, Sam is in motion: lashing out, grabbing her by the throat, shoving her against the wall. Spencer descends the stairs quietly with his gun at the ready, trying not to make any noise that might distract Sam right now.

Sam doesn’t need his help. There’s blood on his damp clothes and his arms are shaking as the blonde goes limp in his grip, but he’s alive; he doesn’t need Spencer’s help, and Spencer isn’t the slightest bit surprised.

When Sam turns and sees him, he doesn’t look surprised either. He just smiles, all dimples and sparkling eyes in spite of his obvious pain as he limps over.

“Sorry that took me so long,” Spencer says casually, trying to control his grin. He doesn’t want to holster his gun yet, so he keeps it trained on the woman and hugs Sam one-armed.

Sam wraps his arms around Spencer, holding on tight. Spencer rests his forehead on Sam’s shoulder, taking a second to breathe as he feels missing pieces sliding neatly into place.

“Love you,” Sam says, and the words sound like a sigh of relief. He pulls back, and he looks surprised, like he didn’t actually mean to say that out loud.

Spencer’s about to reply when he sees the woman struggling to her feet, reaching for her cattle prod, and so instead he says, “Look out.”

Sam steps sideways to give him a clear shot. Spencer shoots her in the thigh and she screams as she falls to the floor.

“See how you like it,” Sam tells her, with a vicious little smile.

“I love you too,” Spencer blurts out.

For a second they both pause, grinning at each other like idiots, their surroundings forgotten.

Then there’s a sound from overhead, and Sam asks hurriedly, “The other one. Did you take her out already?”

“Dean’s got her,” Spencer tells him. “We should check on him, then we can come back down and deal with — Sam?”

At first he can’t figure out why Sam’s mouth drops open like that, shocked and disbelieving. Then he remembers.

“Dean’s alive?” Sam asks, a smile spreading slowly over his face. Spencer nods, wrapping an arm around Sam’s ribs, supporting him as he limps gingerly toward the stairs. It feels like he’s forgetting something.

There’s another noise, and then Mary is in the doorway, looking down at them.

Oh.

Sam turns to Spencer silently, like he’s waiting for confirmation that she’s real.

Spencer nods. “Yeah. So — um. Surprise?”

Sam doesn’t actually seem all that surprised, because… of course he doesn’t. He blinks at Spencer a couple times and then he grins.

“You met my mom before I did,” Sam says, breathless and amused, and grabs the banister to haul himself up the stairs. Spencer laughs and follows him, smiling to himself.

It’s not your average “meet the parents” scene, but somehow, it fits Sam and Spencer perfectly.

Nothing about their love story has been normal. Why start now?

#cmbingo21 #criminal minds #supernatural #sam winchester x spencer reid #spencer reid fic #sam winchester fic

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cowboyprowl · 3 years

Text

I wrote OC backstory

Transcription:

P I Act I

A knock on Megatron’s office door.

“Come in.”

The door slides open, Thruster steps in.

“Lord Megatron. You called me here.” The door slides shut.

“General Thruster. Please come in, have a seat. Would you like a drink?”

“No.” He does not sit.

“Suit yourself.” Megatron pours his own drink.

“I congratulate you on your recent victories near Cybertronian space. I’m aware you experienced a few setbacks but were able to handle them without raising any autobot alarms?”

Silence as a response.

“I’d also like to commend the exceptional skill and ambition you’ve shown since taking your leadership position. I can see myself one day making you one of my advisors, or perhaps even a left hand if you were to continue to impress me.“

“You have a point.”

“Please, sit.”

Thruster makes a show of removing the handful of miscellaneous objects that had been left on his chair in his absence. His chair, having been made significantly larger than standard to accommodate him. He drops them loudly to the floor, a couple screws bouncing away comedically, before sitting down far more heavily than necessary.

Megatron waits for him to finish before continuing “I have an unfortunately tedious mission that I’d prefer to assign you in person.” He sets an oversized data pad on the desk. The largest standard size, still too small for Thruster to do much other than read off it.

“I’ve been getting too many reports of mechanical malfunctions, and particularly missing and insufficient payloads at one of my energon stations in sector [I don’t care].”

Thruster blinks.

“You’re sending me to a mine.”

Megatron waves his hand “Just a simple inspection really. A quick in-and-out.”

Thruster repeats himself “You’re sending me to a mine.”

“Yes well I understand it’s… inconvenient for you-”

“Boarding the Nemesis is inconvenient!” Thruster snarls, but stands down under a glare.

“We all make sacrifices for the cause. Ducking under doorways hardly impedes your function.” There are only 17 rooms on the Nemesis in which he can stand up fully.

Megatron resumes “By now I’m sure you’re aware that Shockwave has gone undercover. Normally I would have him investigate something like this but you’re my only mech available at this moment that I can trust.”

Thruster is silent for an almost insubordinately long time. But really what could he say?

“Fine.”

“I wouldn’t worry if I were you. It’s a direct bridge and a short flight. No atmosphere. I’ll have the bridge prepared for you in 10 cycles.”

Thruster stands, takes the data pad, and turns to leave.

“I need details on security. It’s in the file.”

“Right.” The door slides shut.

Act II

The mine has 3 main and 7 auxiliary elevators, 4 equipment entrances, and a few dozen personnel entrances. The 8 largest chambers, including the command center, are tall enough for Thruster to stand up fully, but 4 are inaccessible to him. He decides not to count the corridors he can’t use.

There’s only 3 mechs operating the other side of the bridge. A pointed indication of general incompetence. Megatron better be planning to compensate him very well for this.

With 1 main elevator disabled for maintenance, Thruster has only 2 points of entry, one visible by scope from the bridge’s location in orbit, the other hidden just over the horizon. As he drops down to the surface of the moon, the thought crosses his processor once again; that this world just isn’t made for him.

The state of operations in the mine itself well reflects the bridge station. The commander comes out and introduces himself informally, which Thruster doesn’t bother to remember, before taking him down to the control center and simply describing what each of the 3 adjoining tunnels lead to.

He spends the next several cycles reading through statistics, progress and status reports, incidents and damages, with each subsequent page on the big screen becoming less and less enjoyable. Inventory, consumption, wastage-

Something about the net production numbers between the previous and current quarters doesn’t add up in his head and the incessant beeping from the console is starting to make it hard to think.

He stops. He can hear the faint beeping on the console. The drone of machinery echoing up through the tunnels had died to a hum at some point. The nearest elevator hasn’t moved but once since he came down. Of the 12 supposed soldiers in the room, 8 bear signs of hard manual labor.

The numbers are wrong and the commander has pulled a convenient vanishing act.

He’s hit with a very, very bad feeling.

He pretends to ignore it.

“You” He turns to the nearest con “Show me the other elevator.”

She replies in the affirmative and leads down the larger of the 3 corridors. Workers they pass move deliberately until out of sight and he recognizes several faces multiple times. The walls turn in as smaller tunnels branch off. Finally, through a bottleneck that he has to duck under, and around a sharp turn, there’s-

A defunct shaft with a black pit at the bottom. Almost no surface light penetrates down through the jungle of wires and scaffolding.

“What is this?”

“Maintenance, sir. Reinforcing the walls; we’ve been having some ground settling.”

Some ground settling.

“Where’s the other one?”

She hesitates confused “...Near the command center ...We have 7 smaller-” She doesn’t have time to notice much less react before his kick splatters her body against the far wall.

He turns and goes back the way he came. The personnel has halved again and they don’t bother concealing their hurry. He speeds up. The walls don’t open back out.

He doesn’t bother addressing any one con upon reentering the control room “Call the Nemesis.”

One of them speaks up “Security order, sir. No direct-”

“Try again.”

“But orders from lord Megatr-”

Thruster crushes the mech’s upper body in one hand like an overripe fruit.

“Call.”

The next con scrambles over buttons and the transmission light comes on. He offlines him anyway.

The screen is momentarily overtaken by static before the image comes into focus.

“Megatron!”

“Well that was fast.”

“What did you do?”

“Really I thought I’d have another 15 or so cycles before your call, I’m a bit underprepared.”

Thruster repeats himself more forcefully “What did you do?”

Megatron continues ignoring him “But there’s nothing wrong with being ahead of schedule.”

“Megatron!”

His face steels as he looks directly into the camera. “You know what this is about.”

“Son of a bitch!”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“I’m gonna rip you in half!”

“And best of luck to you with that” Megatron smiles, but it falls instantly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have more productive things to be doing than talking to a dead mech” and he ends the transmission.

“Fucker!”

Thruster has about 4 seconds to deliberate over what happens next before it does.

The ground rocks and an audial-frying screech roars down past the adjacent elevator doorway, followed closely by the elevator itself.

“Shit!”

The deafening crash echoes up several unnervingly long moments later. A cloud of dust and heat blows all the way into the command center from the corresponding tunnel. The alarms start wailing and the handful of remaining cons scatter for other exits.

He runs to the source of the smoke and reaches the wreckage in time to see 3 cons scream up through the shaft, 2 of them slipping through the rapidly closing escape at the top. The third he catches, crushing his wing to scrap, effectively grounding him, and throws him down through the fire back to the bottom.

The remaining sliver of surface light disappears.

He can easily blast through the doors themselves but there’s little chance the walls can withstand any more damage. Defaulting this is the fact that the shaft is too narrow for him to fly out, too wide and tall to climb. He smashes the control panel.

The run back to the command center is interrupted by several echoing booms, the lights flicker and the entire mountain shudders.

He stops and hesitates before destroying any main controls. He remembers the map indicated a 3rd elevator, and even though that soldier seemed unaware of it, perhaps it really does exist.

He deploys 1 claw to operate the buttons and view the map.

And the elevator truly is at least recorded there; the entire relevant wing of the mine is greyed over, labelled “DRY” but there’s no indication of any blockages. A glance through the file layers tells him his worst obstacles are a steep downhill corridor with a low ceiling and a 180 degree turn. He can make it if the elevator is still powered.

He passes only 2 other cons running through the halls.

The slope downwards proves just steep enough for him to duck and slide down, less than a meter of clearance between his wingtips and the walls. The corridor shakes and cracks spiderweb across the ceiling and the siren echoes painfully off the rocks.

The overhead and runner lights sputter and die as this section’s generator is either destroyed or disconnected. He turns on his spotlights.

The turn is worse.

The walls are beginning to collapse, one leaning in precariously, the ceiling is raining dust and gravel. It’s so narrow.

He doesn’t have a choice and his wingspan gets him stuck exactly halfway around.

“Fuck!”

The walls shake and start shifting inwards.

He flexes his joints and plating, vents hard, and wrenches himself forward, decently injuring his wing with the movement. He ignores the pain and doesn’t spare the time to wonder if he’ll be able to fly off this stupid, god-forsaken moon. The inner wall and the ceiling crash down behind him; he can’t go back.

The elevator is located around a few turns, under a lowered ceiling, and beyond a long semi-curved passage.

And the doorway is entirely blocked with boulders and rocks. Presumably filled all the way to the top and all the way to the bottom. The existence of a handful of smaller tunnels that likely lead to open exits makes no difference.

He gives up. This world just isn’t made for him.

“God damnit.” He can’t hear his own quiet words of resignation over the sirens and the growing rumbling and crashing.

A particularly loud and horrifying sound that drowns out the alarms’ blare echoes in through the walls and the entire room warps out of shape and rocks downward.

Now is the worst time to realize he doesn’t actually want to die. Not really.

He doesn’t have time to panic when the ceiling and floor crumble simultaneously, dropping tons of rocks and metal and debris on his head and plunging him into the depths of the mine, along with 27 miners, 9 soldiers and one officer.

Plumes of dust and smoke burst from the exits on the surface of the moon as the mountain falls in on itself, creating a ring crater nearly visible from orbit.

The final few successful escapees break gravity and take off, and everything is silent from space.

Part I Act III

Thruster doesn’t know how long he’s been held on the Nemesis since he returned. He doesn’t know how confidential his presence in the ship’s prison is. He doesn’t know what Megatron’s plan for him is.

He doesn’t remember exactly how he survived, or exactly how he dug his way back up to the surface, or exactly how he flew all the way back here. He doesn’t know how much time the journey took.

Truthfully he can’t remember much of anything exactly right now. He sustained damage of varying severity to nearly all major and minor systems in the cave-in, and even worse during the fight that ensued upon his arrival. At least he caused major damage as well.

The elapsed time had been enough for his body to begin attempting to repair his initial injuries.

Why did he return to the Nemesis? He doesn’t know. It’s not a fight he could ever expect to win, not even fully functioning. Now he can hardly stand, the pain signals coming from every part of his body make actual thinking almost impossible, his hands stopped shaking from exhaustion some time ago, his optics refuse to bring any sight into decent focus. His processor keeps running up against itself. He’s sure he’s finally dying.

He remembers he shut off a memory drive along with a few other secondary processor functions before coming here. He doesn’t know why. He turns it back on. There’s nothing else left for him to do.

He remembers it now, he constructed a sleeper virus megacycles ago; a fake self-destruct button. It would put the affected in deep stasis, suppress all functions to 3% and mask the spark signal from the naked optic and basic scanners. At the time of actual spark death it would wipe the entire processor clean with the last surge of energy. The transmission sequence isn’t fully programmed. He can’t remember what it was originally for.

He wants the pain to end so he opens it. He hopes that Shockwave in particular doesn’t figure it out. The shock of his systems being taken over is painless in relativity.

First goes motor functions and his broken body crashes to the floor.

Next goes all sensory input. He’s particularly grateful for this.

His processor functions start shutting down now. He wonders if they’ll destroy his body. He tries not to think about how unhappy he’s been, how few people he really knows, how tired he is now. He is, after all, just not made for this world.

He notices the slight possibility of waking up some time in the future, maybe somewhere off this stupid fucking ship. Maybe somewhere above ground.

It’s very, very unlikely.

#'is he okay?' no <3 #warning for if youre scared of caves/underground tho I think #bro idk where i got words from tbh #my post #transformers oc #hes the plane if you remember. hes like just over twice megatrons height #if megatron doesnt pay attention he might accidentally walk face first directly into thrusters crotch and it would be terrible for everyone #art #oc #oc: thruster

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yelenasdog · 3 years

Text

il un a visage gentil (prof!gwilym lee x prof! gn reader)

genre: fluff

summary: who knew the attractive english lit professor also happened to speak french? not his new coworker, that’s for sure.

words: 1.7k

warnings: reader embarassing herself a lil bit, that’s it :)

a/n: hi!! first of all, no pronouns are used as this is from readers pov, so anyone can read. second of all, so i typically don’t write for gwil, but i had this idea in french the other day when my french teacher (sweet old french man who deserves better LMAODSJO) was going over some assignment that for some reason had il un a visage gentil in it LOLOL. that being said, i obvi don’t speak fluent french and this is all fictional! love u, hope u enjoy!!

。·☔︎◎❦·。·

“Hello everyone, and welcome to your first day. I’m Dr Gwilym Lee, and I am the head of the English Literature Department here at Oxford University. Feel free to call me Gwil, it’s what all my students do.”

I slanted my eyes from my position at the door, gripping the frame just a tad tighter than I had been before hearing his voice. I continued to listen to the doctor talk as I made my way behind the last row of seats in the lecture room, trying not to make any noise. My heels were thankfully mute against the carpet, not drawing any attention towards me, the professor keeping complete focus on his students.

“One of the first things I wanted to kind of, um, touch on, is that I will be quite flexible. I understand that you have lives, as do I. As long as I can see an honest effort being put into my class, I will hold no repercussions for late work or being physically late to class.”

With that, he looked up to where I had just sat down, quirking a brow. The eye contact was momentary, only lasting what seemed to be a second, if that.

I cleared my throat, looking to my feet.

“We at the english department are quite proud of our status, ranking 4th in english programs overall in the UK. Now I won’t continue to bore you with the statistics, but-“

I made a scan of the room, seeing how only 1 or 2 pupils were actually listening, the rest either slumped over looking at their phones, or pretending to take notes on a laptop while really watching netflix. (More than one student was watching gossip girl, oddly enough.)

Considering it was only 5 minutes into the hour long lecture, I was confused, as he was holding my attention, at least, quite well.

After about 30 minutes, I realized that my own “first day lecture” was in 15 minutes, which assured that I most definitely had to leave. I was saddened by this (even though I had only even planned on staying in Gwil’s room for a small while.

I sighed quietly, picking myself up from the surprisingly comfortable seats and making my way towards the door. Just as I was about to go, I felt eyes boring holes into the back of my head. I turned, realizing Gwilym to be the perp. I opened my mouth to speak and then closed it again, quickly walking out and down the hallway to my own room.

I made it in, hurrying down the many stairs, past where a few students were waiting.

“Hi, everyone, I’ll just be a few moments, just waiting for the rest of your new classmates to arrive.”

I smiled briefly, before slamming my office door audibly, chest heaving with my back against the shaded window. I closed my eyes, unaware of why I had been so panicked by the brief interaction, not to mention the butterflies it hatched in my stomach.

After giving myself some time to decompress, I exhaled, smoothing out the skirt of my dress and rotating. I placed a hand on the handle, preparing myself for the fresh faced freshman.

As I opened the door, I heard half a knock, before whoever was behind the door (poor soul) essentially fell on top of me.

Expecting to see a red faced pupil who had just made a very interesting first impression, I looked up, suddenly becoming the one with a warm and itchy wave of embarrassment making its way up my neck.

“I’m so terribly sorry,” He stood up, reaching out a hand. I hesitated before reaching forward and gripping tightly, allowing him to tug me up.

“It’s alright, Gwil, really.”

He opened his mouth (not that I was paying any mind to his lips), presumably to ask my name. Before he got the chance, I beat him to it, blurting out my full title, unfortunately in a quite awkward way.

The students that had gathered had mostly turned their attention elsewhere by now, only a few of them still watching the live disaster that was my interaction with the incredibly attractive man in front of me.

He spoke up as I tried to maneuver my way around him to the podium positioned in the front of the room where my laptop was waiting.

“Well, I had assumed you were a student who was trying to sneak off early, but I stand corrected, then.” He looked around my slowly filling space, a slight amusement hiding in his gaze.

“Yes, sorry, I had caught you at a bad time, I was hoping to introduce myself, you know, trying to make a good impression. Feels like the first day of school all over again.” I laughed, bringing a hand up to brush away a stray strand that had somehow managed to escape my bun.

“It’s alright, don’t stress about it. And trust me, I get it. New jobs are scary.”

I huffed, looking out at the sea of judgmental young people that I now would have to face after that fiasco. Lovely.

“You could say that again.”

We sat in a comfortable silence for a short amount of time, the clock striking 2:30 being what woke me from my trance.

“That’s my queue.” I gave a small wave as he walked off, a smile spreading across his face at the motion.

I turned to my teaching assistant, fully believing he was out of earshot.

“Il un a visage gentil, eh?”

She only laughed, nodding her head and plugging in my macbook, allowing the screen to come alive with a flurry of colors in my powerpoint.

“Hi guys! Or should I say bonjour!” I paused, receiving a few chuckles in the crowd.

“I’m sorry for getting us started so late, I had a small mishap. I’m Dr Y/n Y/l/n, and I am your professor this year in the French undergraduate course, where you will have the opportunity to study medieval literature, modern day linguistics, and much more, which I will get into later on.

We here at Oxford have the single largest French department in Britain, which we have come to have extreme pride in. We also have a french cultural center, where you will find a large selection of programmes and literature to choose from. If you haven’t yet checked it out yet,” I briefly looked up, seeing Gwilym still stood at the top of the stairs. He gave me another small smile, crossing his arms.

“Sorry, lost my place. Where was I?”

After class, I walked up to where the tall man had now moved to the side, allowing students to flood right by him.

“Gwil, hi!”

“Hi to yourself.”

I blushed, the feeling of fuzzy-ness once again flooding my entire system at just the brief statement. Odd. Extremely odd.

“That was very nice, I have a feeling this class will be quite popular in the coming years.”

I smiled and nodded my head. “Thank you, I appreciate it, truly. Although, I must say that I can tell everyone is racing to get a spot in Professor Gwilym Lee’s class 100% percent.”

He cocked his head, slimming his eyes.

“Really, you think so?”

We continued to walk down the long hallway, neither of us quite aware of where we happened to be going.

“Oh for sure, I can imagine you’re especially popular with a certain demographic, too.”

His confusion seemed to only grow, stormy blue eyes seemingly lost.

“What do you mean by that, exactly?” His voice slightly raised an octave at the end, earning a chuckle from me.

“Look, all I’m saying is that with looks like that, I bet your roster was full in seconds.”

I paused, the flow of conversation stopping as I came to terms with what I had just accidentally said. Out loud. In front of my new coworker, who happens to be incredibly gorgeous. A wonderful first day I’m having.

We resumed walking, a blanket of complete silence falling upon us all the way until we reached the entrance to the facility.

The chilly December air hit my face immediately, as well as droplets of rain that were falling so hard it felt like small bullets were grazing my nose, which I could barely feel after just a few moments outside.

“Here.” Gwil muttered, pulling out a bright red umbrella and using it to shield us both from the angry pellets sent from above.

“Ah, thank you.”

“Of course.”

Then it was quiet again between us both, minus the sounds of chattering students and the rain hitting and then sliding off of our cover, coming in contact with the ground with a final splat.

“You know,” Gwilym began, always the one to break the silence.

I hummed, turning my head in his direction.

“I speak a little bit of French, as well. And I think you also have a nice face.” He nudged my elbow and laughed, while I closed my eyes and sighed, hanging my head.

“So there really isn’t any other way I could possibly embarrass myself right now, is there?”

He only shrugged, scratching the back of his head. “Actually, now that I think of it, there might be one more thing I can think of?”

“What would that be?”

“Saying no to a cup of coffee?”

It was like I froze over completely, my mind suddenly growing blank when I needed it mostt.

“With me?” I asked, the question more aimed towards myself, a miniscule act of reassurance and affirmation.

Gwilym smiled brightly as he shook his head, and I swear, I had never seen anything more amazing.

“Yes, Y/n, with you.”

I stuttered, embarrassed for what seemed like the millionth time that day, specifically at my lack of verbal skills.

“Yes, yes of course, that sounds amazing.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

He offered me an arm which I gladly took, and we started walking to the quaint campus cafe just across the street from our building.

It was the same cafe where (not that we knew it yet) the both of us would make many late night coffee runs together during midterms week, the stressful time growing to become one of our favorites as it was now filled with giggles and caffeine.

Usually it would end up with one of us, that one of us usually being me, leaving a ring of coffee on the other’s ungraded assignments. Or even better, spilling an entire drink on the paper, only a “sorry!” written in Gwil’s rushed handwriting at the top of the curiously scented paper as explanation.

But as I said, we didn’t know that yet.

。·☔︎◎❦·。·

kinda gross but whatevs, like and rb if u did indeed enjoy it. mwah, go eat some protein, take an electronics break and drink some water. love u

xx hj

#prof!gwil #professor!gwilym #gwilym lee #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym imagine #gwilym x reader #gwilym!brian #gwilym lee fanfic #gwilym lee fluff #gwilym lee x you #gwilym lee x yn #gwilym lee x y/n #gwilym lee x fem reader #gwilym lee x gn reader

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itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto · 3 years

Text

Happy Birthday Pretty Boy.

A/N: Hi everyone, the fic is literally as the title says, so enjoy! Triggers: Shooting, blood and stabbing references, swearing, drinking, implied sex, nudity.

It’s one week until Spencer’s 30th birthday, and you can’t wait to spoil your boyfriend. He always says he doesn’t want anything as he has everything he needs, but every year you always exceed his expectations. Last year you managed to get him a vintage book collection he’d looked everywhere for, in second-hand bookstores, and asking you to look online. For your 26th birthday this year, Spencer got you some adorable earrings, and a necklace to match. You never ask him for anything, but when he saw those earrings on route to watching a basketball game with Morgan, Hotch and Rossi, he just had to get them for you, even if it did make him 15 minutes late to the game, it was worth it to see the smile on your face.

Last year, you moved in with Spencer and you both couldn’t be happier, despite the horrors that you see working at the FBI. Some days were more challenging than others, such as the time you got stabbed and shot, where you lost a lot of blood but there was also some really good days, such as the time you and Spencer worked on a case and ended up saving a family from an un-sub and the day Spencer and you announced to the team you were dating and after 3 years, you moved in together.

And now… “I don’t know Penelope… I don’t think Spencer likes the idea of a holiday abroad in case anything happens to his Mum and he can’t get there quickly.” You say, sipping your coffee and catching up with her in her lair after a much-needed weekend off, which Hotch insisted you all took. “I know cinnamon bun.” Penelope said, “But she knows me, so I can take the call until you get back and look after her.” She insisted, You nod as J.J comes in, “We got a case,” causing you and Penelope to groan. “Can’t un-subs take fucking annual leave or something?!” You sigh, rubbing your eyes, a little hungover from you and Spencer getting drunk last night and playing strip poker. You don’t suffer from hangovers, you normally just get a minor headache and it’s gone by midday. “Don’t make me hurt you.” J.J laughed, “At least you’re chatty when you’re hungover, and generally nice. Spencer has not given me a statistic on something for the past 10 sentences he spoke to me.” “Well, on average when he’s hungover, it’ll be 15 sentences before he gives you a statistic.” You say working out the odds in your head, which plays to your favour for poker nights. “It’s too bright in here.” Spencer winces at the light as you all enter the conference room. “Here pretty boy.” Morgan says giving him a coffee which Spencer gladly accepts. “Shitting hell Morgan, where’s the sugar in this?!” Spencer says spitting out the coffee, a bit landing on Rossi’s shoes. “Reid.” Hotch says in a stern voice as you hand Spencer an oat bar knowing he needs a form of sugar. “Where are we with the case?” Rossi asks J.J goes through the case as Penelope hands out new tablets to everyone. “We’ve gone paperless?” Spencer asks worried. “Fear not Doctor of the dark ages.” Penelope says handing him a paper file, and you a tablet as well as a paper file as she knows you make more case notes than anyone, even Spencer. Out of the whole team, and the FBI in general you have the best arrest record for an agent under 30 since the FBI was founded in 1908, something you are getting an award for in a month. “Thanks Penelope.” You say and click your pen already starting to make notes. “Wheels up in an hour.” Hotch says once the case has been discussed. “Y/N a word please.” He says to you, as you look confused, as far as you’re aware, you haven’t pissed anyone off recently apart from Morgan when you put salt in his coffee as revenge for him for replacing your coffee with de-caff last week. “Sure. Your office?” You ask “Here is fine.” Hotch says waiting for everyone to leave. “Penelope told me about your plan to take Spencer on holiday and..” Hotch began “Hotch. It’s okay if we can’t go, I haven’t booked anything yet.” You say “I was going to say, take a whole week. Spencer needs the time off, and God knows the 26 year old with the best arrest record in FBI history does.” Hotch said. You nod. “Thank you Hotch.” You smile as Hotch pats your shoulder. “See you on the plane.” He says and goes to get his bag from his office, and you go downstairs to do the same. “What was that about?” Spencer asked adjusting his satchel. “Oh I missed a page out of my last report, so I just need to print it off and hand it in when we get back from Texas.” You say, adjusting the photo of you and Spencer on your desk, it was of when Spencer and you were out with the team and Penelope got the most adorable picture of you two laughing and smiling in each other’s company. “You ready?” You ask Spencer who nods coming to your desk taking your go bag for you and holding your hand. “God you are hungover today pretty boy.” Morgan laughed. “Shut up.” Spencer says through gritted teeth. “How much did you drink?” Rossi asked, a bit hungover himself from a night in with his current wife. “Ooh numbers. My favourite. So, one beer.. Two tequila shots..” You begin adding up the numbers. “So, 4 times over the drink drive limit everywhere in the world.” “I love you.” Is all that Spencer manages to say before he kisses your cheek. You laugh, and hold the door for everyone, hating gender stereotypes. “I love you too pretty boy.”

The team arrives into Texas, Spencer spends most of it asleep in your arms and you book the holiday. “Wake up lover boy. We’re here.” You say, kissing his neck to wake him up like you do every morning. “Y/N, either give me some of that or hurry the fuck up.” Derek laughs. “Come here then.” You say, as Derek looks at you blankly, not expecting you to answer. “I’m up.” Spencer says moving slowly as you all get off the plane and into the car that the Texas police sent for you. “How’s your head Reid?” Hotch asks, smiling getting in the drivers seat. “Fine. Statistics show a hangover lasts between…” Spencer began with a few statistics. “Interesting but next time leave some fun statistics for Y/N.” Emily laughs.

At the police station, you get settled into the conference room and look at what the Police have so far. All the victims have been rich men, either CEO’s or executives in pharmaceuticals. “Interesting.” You say, looking at the photos. “What’s interesting?” Hotch asks. “A statistic is coming… Now.” Derek said timing it. “A recent study found that left handed men on average are 15% richer than right handed men for those who attended University, or as you folk say, college, and 26% richer if they graduated, so maybe the un-sub attended University, or college, but they didn’t graduate. We should see if the victims were all left handed.” You say. “Is this what you read to help you sleep?” JJ asked “No, I do complex algebra and work out the odds of situations happening to a profile of a person that Spencer gives to me.” You say like it is a completely normal thing as Penelope texts to say she’s sorted your accommodation for your holiday and smile at your phone and put it away again. “And how do you relax?” The chief of the Texas police asks “I’m researching the links between two very old Mathematics theories compared to breakthroughs in the last 10 years for my next PHD in Mathematics.” You shrug. “How old are you?” The chief asks. “I’m 26 as of last month. Can I go to the last two crime scenes now please?” You ask “Sure. I see you brought your own calculator.” The chief says to Rossi and Hotch. “I prefer Dr Y/N Y/S/N.” You say smiling. “Reid, Rossi, go with Y/N.” Hotch says and you all go to the crime scenes. “What was her first PHD in?” The chief asks Spencer. “Psychological and Behavioural Science.” Spencer smiles at you with adoring eyes. “Are they a thing?” The chief asks opening the door of the car for you to get in. “Thanks, and yes. 3 years.” You say as Spencer joins you in the back holding your hand as Rossi gets in the front.

In the car, you go over your theory with Rossi and Spencer who have similar theories to you, and you go back to the police station to deliver a profile.

“And if you have any information please call the tip line on the number below. Thank you.” You say, “We will not be taking questions at this time.” “Agent Y/S/N. Quick question.” One reporter said, as Spencer took over, hating the press ignoring what you and the team just delivered, “If you had listened, it’s Dr Y/S/N, not agent. No questions.” Spencer said as the team went back inside. “You okay Dr Y/N Y/S/N?” He asks softly as you nod. “Yes thank you Dr Reid.” You smile. After a few hours. “Everyone go to the hotel and get some sleep, back in at 9.” Hotch said as you all nod and walk to the hotel down the road. “Spencer, Y/N here’s your key, Derek and Emily to share, J.J with Rossi and myself.” He said, once you all checked in. “See you in the morning guys.” You yawn. Spencer opens the room door and walks in with you. “I’m going for a shower.” You say and start taking your clothes off as Spencer turns away. “Spence, you’ve seen me naked plenty of times. We aren’t children.” You giggle taking off your bra as Spencer turns back as he takes his shirt off. “Sorry, this hotel reminds me of the first time we shared a room before we started dating and had to share a bed.” He laughs putting his hands over your now naked body and keeping his hands on your boobs, squeezing them gently. “You’re an idiot, but I love you.” You say slipping your hands down his boxers and slipping them down before running in the shower. “That’s it!” He exclaims running after you and joining you in the shower. “Oh hello.” You giggle as you start to wash yourself. After your shower, you and Spencer have sex in bed, and cuddle for the rest of the evening. “Morning boo.” Spencer smiles kissing your nose, it’s 7.30AM. “I ordered room service.” “Ooh, can we claim expenses this trip?” You asked. “I don’t know, it’s only coffee and a bagel each.” Spencer shrugged and kissed you all over. “Last night was amazing.” You say, and start to get ready, “Well apart from the case shit, I enjoyed the sex.” Spencer nods in agreement, putting on one pink and one orange sock. “Do you want birthday sex next week pretty boy?” You ask walking over to him, sitting on his lap just wearing your bra and panties. “If we aren’t working.” Spencer smirked, “But I’ll take it even if we are working.” He said “Your wish is my command.” You said and got off his lap, and he pulled you back. “I wish we could have sex tonight.” He winked. “Deal.” You smile and kiss his cheek and go to brush your teeth. At the police station “Coffee Y/N?” Spencer asks offering you a cup which you take with a smile. “Thanks Spence.” You smile, taking it off him and work on the timeline of the last victim. “Guys, we got another victim.” Derek says. After 5 days, you and the team catch the un-sub after you went undercover posing as one of the CEO’s assistants to get more information on how he un-sub knew all of the CEO’s schedules, and it was found out he was going dressed as a cleaner, and then killed his victims when he got access to the floor he needed. He was in the same class as all of his victims and dropped out of University as his Dad went to prison, for drug trafficking and he went downhill from there. “So, what do you have planned for your birthday pretty Ricky?” Derek asked Spencer, as he placed down a card at the table. “I don’t know, Y/N will probably get me a vintage book and she’ll cook me pancakes.” Spencer shrugged. You were reading next to them, but were also working out the statistics of who would win what, depending on what cards they had, which you told Rossi and did a side bet of how long it would take Emily to realise that she has the winning hand if Derek doesn’t pick up an ace on his next card pick, you predicted 30 seconds and Rossi predicted a minute. “What do you have planned then for Dr Reid, Dr Y/S/N?” Emily asked as she placed down a card as Derek picked up a card. “We’re going to have sex and I’m dressing up as a sexy nurse.” You say bluntly, even though you know Spencer knows you are being sarcastic as you hate dressing up for sex. Emily spits out her water realising she has the winning hand, as Derek lets out a quiet groan. “Pay up.” You whisper to Rossi as Emily flashes you her winning hand. Rossi sighs handing you $30., muttering a few swear words in Italian. “You realise I speak fluent Italian?” You smirk at Rossi knowing exactly what he said. “You fuckers LOSE.” Emily said taking her winnings. Back at the FBI the following day You quickly go to Penelope’s lair, and take the plane tickets off her and the accommodation details before summoning Spencer to the conference room where everyone has got him a present. “I thought there wasn’t a case today..” Spencer mumbled “There is. Sorry genius.” J.J said as she and Spencer walked in seeing the banner and presents all for him. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” You all cheer. Spencer opens all of his presents, thanking everyone and leaving yours until last. “Oh my God, Doctor Who Q&A?! And vintage books galore, a new satchel… You’re the best Y/N.” Spencer said kissing you softly. “And where is that Doctor Who Q&A Spencer?” Penelope asked, knowing Spencer has always wanted to go to England, where you are from. “England?! But Y/N… My Mum…” Spencer said biting his lip at the plane tickets. “As of tomorrow, I’m on speed dial for a week, so I’ll look after her until you can get back.” Penelope smiled as Spencer hugged her. “Thank you, Penelope.” He whispered. “You are welcome boy wonder.” She whispered back as you smile to yourself. “I love you Y/N. I don’t deserve you.” Spencer said putting his arm around your waist. “You deserve everything good in the world Spencer, I love you too.” You smile. “Now go on holiday, and don’t come back for a week. That’s an order.” Hotch said “Yes sir.” You and Spencer say, taking his presents and head to your flat. “I think I may want that birthday sex when we get back to our place.” Spencer said in the lift. “Yes Dr.” You smile squeezing his hand and put your head on his shoulder. - - - - -

Taglist: @pumpkin-goob, @jpegjade , @andiebeaword , @hotchsbabygirl , @hopebaker , @hercleverboy , @cupcake525 , @gubetube , @aperrywilliams , @cosmic-psychickitty , @marleyhotchner

#Criminal Minds #spencer reid #spencer x reader #spencer reid fluff #my fics

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willow-salix · 3 years

Text

Fluffember prompt: Feathers (vaguely, and with a dash of Rainbow)

Day 13 of Isolation on Tracy Island 2.0

“OK, who threw that pencil at me?” Scott demanded to know. No one owned up. Honestly I didn’t even see where it had come from let alone who threw it.

“No clue,” I answered.

“I’m gonna find out,” he growled. “I could have been badly hurt!”

I sniggered to myself, for a real life action hero Scott could be so dramatic sometimes, and didn’t bother looking up from the latest copy of ‘Better Gnomes and Gardens: Witches Weekly’ that I was flicking through.

“Seriously, that could have taken my eye out, it’s like a miniature stake,” he continued to grumble.

“Talking of stakes,” I started, trying to distract him so that he didn’t go off on a ranting tangent about the danger of flying pencil projectiles, “there’s been a development with the Highgate Vampire, he’s been spotted again. Seriously, what more can this crazy year throw at us? Don’t answer that,” I warned John before he could even utter a word. I know my boy and I know that he was about to throw out some highly logical statistic or another that would make complete sense but would make me want to cry.

“Highgate Vampire?” Scott asked, distracted as I'd hoped he would be. My evil plan had worked. I turned my magazine to show him the article. “You remember, when we tried out that new ka- pub,” I corrected myself, aware of just how many of his brothers were crowded around. “We walked past the cemetery and I told you all about the legend of the Highgate Vampire.”

Scott looked blank, which is a look I’m used to seeing on him, I gotta be honest, he barely ever listens to me. “You know, I told you the story of how, back in the 1970’s a group of ghost hunters decided to try to find a vampire that supposedly lived there?”

He shook his head.

“Self appointed bishop vampire hunter dude?” I tried again.

“Oh, yes! I remember him. He’s back?”

"Who?"

"The Bishop."

"No, he's dead, the vampire."

"The vampire killed him?"

"The Bishop is dead of natural causes, and the vampire has been seen again," John supplied.

“Yes," I agreed." Apparently so, and they’re blaming him for this virus outbreak.”

Everyone went quiet for a second, not sure what to say to that. John reached out a hand and I passed over the magazine so he could read it for himself.

“Why do you read this rubbish?” he asked after perusing the rest of its offerings.

“Why wouldn’t I want to know that blue aliens brought Elvis into that lady’s garden?” I asked, genuinely perplexed.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” he told me honestly, handing the magazine back to me.

“Do you remember that time that Virgil thought he was a vampire?” Scott suddenly asked him.

“Oh, God, yes. I hadn’t thought of that in years,” John laughed.

“Wait? He what now? There were vampires involved? Why was I never told about this? This is my one area of expertise and you've been holding out on me?”

“I did not think I was a vampire,” Virgil corrected them. “Our high school math teacher did.”

I tossed the magazine aside, this was far more entertaining than anything I’d find in there.

“Spill,” I demanded.

“It’s really not that interesting a story,” Virgil insisted, trying valiantly to deflect us.

“He was a sophomore, so about fifteen years old,” Scott started, dodging out of the way when Virgil threw a pen at him this time. Scott narrowed his eyes, like he wasn’t sure if that was proof that he had been the perpetrator of the pencil or not. Virgil, for his part, looked innocent. Pen, what pen? I saw no pen? What even is a pen? Isn’t that something you put pigs in?

“And he had to have two of his back teeth out due to overcrowding,” John continued, grabbing me and yanking me onto his lap, using me as a human shield when Virgil lifted his sketch pad threateningly.

“I’m so glad I married such a brave rescuer,” I deadpanned as John continued to hide behind me. "My hero."

“I was driving him back from the dentist and he was still a little out of it from the sedation they had given him,” Scott took up the tale.

“I’m just not a big fan of the dentist, OK?” Virgil defended himself. "They have to sedate me."

“His gums were still bleeding and he’d spat the gauze out within a minute of getting out of there,” John continued, ducking back behind me when Virgil glared at him.

“They’re going to tell it anyway,” I told him, “so why don’t you do it instead?”

Virgil nodded, seeing the wiseness in my words.

“My gums were bleeding but I didn’t know what to do with it all, I didn’t want to swallow it and to be honest, I was still pretty woozy, so I just kinda let the blood collect in my mouth.”

“Aww, that must have sucked, babe, I’m sorry.”

He nodded at me in thanks for my sympathy, something he was NOT getting from his brothers.

“We stopped at some lights and by that point my mouth was getting pretty full-”

“He was drooling like Alan at nap time,” Scott butted in.

“Did you not give him a tissue or something?”

“No, he was evil.”

“I was driving and I don’t carry things like that on me as standard,” Scott argued.

“I’ll pick you up if anything like that happens again,” I promised the big guy. “For girls our cars are like an extension of our house or our handbags, there's tissues, lip balms, snacks, bottles of water, everything.”

“Thank you,” Virgil sniffed, casting Scott a smug look, knowing I was firmly on his side.

“So, how is this vampire related?” I had to ask, I mean, I was sympathetic but I was also nosey as hell.

“I wound down the window as we stopped at the light,” Virgil continued. “And I...well, I was still a bit muddled…”

“He opened his mouth and all this blood came oozing out, it just dribbled everywhere,” Scott practically yelled, bursting out laughing.

“Why are you laughing, you evil thing?”

“Because,” John piped up from behind the shelter of my person, “the car next to Scott’s was Mrs Beddleman’s. Virgil, recognising her, breaks out into this wide, goofy and completely bloody, smile.”

“She looked absolutely horrified and even though she wasn’t going that direction she turned right to get away from us. She was a very religious lady and she took to wearing a cross to school for the rest of the year until I left her class.”

“And she moved his seat to one beside the window,” Scott howled, doubled over laughing.

I bit my lip, trying very hard not to laugh.

“It’s OK,” Virgil sighed, “you can laugh.”

“I don’t want to,” I told him as seriously as I could. “But I really don’t think I can help it.”

I made the fatal mistake then, I glanced at Scott who was at the point of silently laughing, his body shaking and I cracked.

“It’s not like I’m the only one that had bad anesthesia reactions,” Virgil said slyly and I snapped to attention.

“Are you not?”

“Nope,” he shook his head, grinning now. “We’ve all had broken bones and hospital stays over the years.”

“Oh, oh, tell me a Scott one!”

“He had an appendectomy when he was twenty. He was taken in for day surgery and when he woke up he was completely coherent,” Virgil started.

“He was?” Knocked out Scott had to be different to sedated Scott, because sedated Scott was hilarious and very snuggly.

“What can I say, I have a strong constitution,” Scott preened.

“He’s lying,” Virgil continued. “He was talking normally, answering questions and the doctor said he was doing great and could go. He was starving, hadn't eaten since the night before and he insisted that the only thing he would eat was Chinese food, and it had to be a buffet, nothing else would do."

"I mean, he's not wrong, there is nothing like a good Chinese," I agreed.

"Well, it appeared that he hadn't been as recovered as we thought he was."

"What happened?"

"I came round from the anesthesia sitting in the restaurant and as far as I knew I'd just gone under in the operating room and I'd woken up with a plate of chicken teriyaki on a stick in front of me."

John sniggered, muffling his laughter against my shoulder.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing,” Scott huffed. “Have you forgotten about when you had your tonsillectomy?”

“That was not my fault,” John mumbled, clearly regretting his previous amusement.

“Oh gods, what did you do?” I asked him, turning my head to look at him over my shoulder.

“Nothing! I was just talking to the anesthesiologist.”

“The anesthesiologist was new to the hospital so hadn’t met any of us before,” Virgil started.

“Do I take it that you all had frequent user passes? Like buy ten ops and get the eleventh free?”

“Pretty much,” Scott shrugged, unashamed of just how bad that sounded. “So John’s there, being himself, talking to the surgeon and anesthesiologist about the operation and what they were planning, how long it would take, telling them what they needed to do, that sort of thing-”

“I like to know what to expect,” John defended himself.

“Swot,” Gordon teased, coming in at the tail end of John’s mini rant, Alan trailing along behind him.

“It’s not a bad thing to want to go into a situation with full knowledge of it. Research and a game plan are only sensible. How do you expect to get good at something if you don’t know the mechanics behind it?” He glanced around at his brothers who looked less than convinced. “You know you’ve all been grateful for my expertise more than once.”

“I know I have,” I agreed, ignoring the raised eyebrows that came my way. Let them think dirty things, that was their problem. I received a small kiss to the side of my neck thanks for my support so I’m not going to complain.

“So, what were you guys talking about?” Gordon asked, flopping down on the couch beside Virgil.

“They were sharing with me their tales of woe under the effects of anesthesia and sedation,” I informed him.

“Oh, yes, we’ve all got those,” Gordon agreed. “Which one was John telling?”

“The time when he had his tonsils removed,” Scott helpfully supplied.

“I don’t remember it,” Gordon frowned.

“Neither do I,” Alan added.

“He was talking to the anesthetist, we got that far,” I said.

“He was talking to him as they were asking him to count down from a hundred,” Virgil continued.

“I only remember getting to ninety-one,” John told me.

“We were outside in the relatives room, waiting for him to be taken to recovery,” Scott took up the tale. “We had only been in there about fifteen minutes when the anesthesiologist and a nurse came out looking like they had seen a ghost.”

“Dad stepped up and demanded to know what the problem was and if John was OK,” Virgil said. “It turned out that John had been far more coherent than he remembered and hadn’t stopped counting at ninety-one.”

“He’d gotten to sixty-two but when he reached eighty-nine he’d apparently switched to fluent Japanese, and then started talking about a wakizashi, that and asking them about their day.”

“A what now?”

“A small, fourteenth century Japanese sword,” John supplied.

“The anesthesiologist was actually Japanese and he had apparently called three of his peers in the ten minutes that John had been under to ask how it was possible that this Caucasian, american teenager was suddenly speaking in fluent Japanese under the influence or anesthesia.”

“It took Dad a good five minutes of solid laughter to finally tell them that they hadn’t broken John or damaged his brain in any way, he was actually fluent already,” Scott laughed.

“Apparently he gave them the biggest scare they had ever had in more than twenty years,” Virgil finished.

“I was obviously being considerate and had thought that it was more polite to talk to him in his own language rather than English,” John sniffed, crossing his arms around my waist. “I don’t see what the big deal was.”

“I’m just impressed that you were speaking it fluently at all,” I said, earning a gentle finger flick as punishment for ever doubting him. “I meant that I can only speak three languages fluently, English, bad English and Sarcasm, so anyone that can do anything else is just amazing to me,” I quickly defended myself.

“Sarcasm is your native tongue,” John mumbled. I ignored him.

“He’s mostly self taught too,” Scott added, showing that, despite how much time they all spend teasing each other, they are always proud of their siblings.

“I used to watch a lot of foreign films and TV shows to pick up the pronunciation and read a lot of graphic novels and translated books to learn how to read and write,” John elaborated. “It’s a very effective way to learn and I apparently have a gift for languages.”

“As well as many other things,” I added to be nice. “Any other stories I need to know?”

“When Gordon was having one of his back surgeries they told him that they had to strap him down and when he asked why they told him it was so he wouldn’t fall off the table and he said ‘It’s OK, five second rule’,” Scott told me.

“‘Cause I'm a snacc,” Gordon added with a grin. “Apparently I also woke up with a violent jolt and when I was asked if I was OK I apologised to the nurse and told her that I thought I was a shark.”

“You also started a joke with the nurse as you went under and finished it the moment you woke up with no prompting,” Virgil laughed.

I clapped enthusiastically for that one and Gordon bowed modestly.

“What about me?” Alan asked, finding the whole thing highly amusing.

“You’ve only been under once but you were hilarious in both the things you said,” John answered. “You apparently woke up screaming ‘Where are my wings? I want my wings? You stole my feathers you jerk! You were only supposed to take my tonsils!’ and then passed right out again.”

Gordon cracked up laughing, as did everyone else including Alan.

“You then woke up again and asked how long until the anesthetic kicked in, and when the nurse told you it was all done and had actually been two hours you yelled in her face ‘WOAH, DID I JUST TIME TRAVEL?’” John finished.

“That’s so precious,” I cooed, because Alan is adorable in everything he does regardless of what it is.

“We have a lot of stories like that,” Virgil said, “we sometimes have to give pain relief or sedate someone who is freaking out and they do the weirdest stuff.”

“They do? Is there some kind of hippocratic oath that you guys have to swear or can you tell me some?”

“No oath,” they assured me.

“One woman grabbed Virgil’s hand, stuck her fingers up in his sleeve, stroked his arm and said ‘You’d make a great carpet’,” Gordon told me.

“It’s not uncommon for people to feel stressed and unsure of where they are,” Scott continued, “they often wake up screaming or panicking, but we delivered one guy to the hospital who’d had a pretty nasty bang to the head and broken an arm. We were unable to calm him down so we had to sedate him so he wouldn’t do any more damage. He woke up as we were transferring him to the hospital gurney and he hopped off before we could catch him, pulled his pants down with his good arm and started to helicopter right there outside the hospital.”

That broke me, I’m sorry to say. I might proclaim to be far more mature than these idiots and not find fart jokes and the like amusing, but the mental image of this guy, standing there, twirling...I just couldn’t stop.

“One girl asked us if we were single and we didn’t answer and deflected by asking her if she had a boyfriend or girlfriend and she started crying that she just wanted a dog.”

“Remember that young boy who meowed the entire way to the hospital?”

“And that one lady that was really nervous so we told her to think of something nice and she started singing ‘I wish you a merry Christmas,’ but it was July!”

“And the one that said she wanted us to drop her off at the top of a rainbow so she could slide down it?”

“And the guy that woke up when we landed, looked right at Kayo and said as loudly as he could ‘Look! The love of my life! Don’t leave me, I can change!’”

“And that one guy who knocked out a few teeth and spat out the gauze we packed his mouth with and started freaking out crying ‘was that my liver? Nooo, my liver! I need that! Get back in you!’”

“A woman lost a couple of teeth too and was crying about being ugly. We gave her some pain relief and she was so hazy that, when we handed her over to the doctor and gave him her teeth she started screaming at him... what was it she said, John? You heard it over the comms and were laughing so hard.”

“She yelled, ‘Charlatan! I demand you return my teeth! They are mine and I will choose how they are to be spent!’”

I cracked up at that, mostly the way John told it, which I assume was the same way she had, like a plummy Victorian aristocrat that had just been insulted.

“And that teen who said ‘hey, mister, my ass itches and I’m too high to scratch it.”

“Oh, that’s pure gold,” I laughed, wiping my eyes because I was laughing so hard.

“What about you?” Alan asked me. “Have you ever done anything weird?”

“Only every day of my life.”

“I meant under sedation.”

“Oh, yeah, not really,” I shrugged. “I know that when I had teeth out once, after napping on the couch for a few hours I suddenly sat up and announced that I needed to make Mum a cup of tea. She told me I didn’t need to but I said she was my guest and I had to be polite or she’d leave me alone to die. There was no arguing with me so I got up, went to the kitchen and came back and gave her a mug of cold water with a spoon in it. I apparently said ‘drink up, luv,’ like a really bad impression of Parker and face planted the couch and passed out again. Mum made her own tea after that.”

That got a fair few sniggers and Scott threatening to take away my British card for screwing up tea so badly.

“I have to ask,” I said conspiratorially once everyone had calmed down, “has Kayo ever done anything like this?”

They all looked around, as if scared that she might be listening, then eventually Virgil nodded.

“She came round from her knee surgery after she dislocated it and insisted on trying to get out of bed. The nurse told her she had to stay put as they had just fixed her knee and it needed time to heal. She answered in the most confident, how dare you try to stop me way and informed the nurse that she was a ninja and that they heal three times faster than normal people. The nurse let her try and she dropped face first.”

Honestly, out of all the stories I’ve heard today, that one was the best. It’s nice to know that even the most capable and sometimes terrifying of us isn’t always perfect.

#thunderbirds are go #Isolation Island #Thunderbirds in isolation #thunderbirdsarego #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds

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imagining-supernatural · 4 years

Text

The Fourth Check-In

Part 21 of Seventy Percent

Series Summary: When you left on your trip to Vegas, you’d planned on letting loose for one last weekend before heading back to reality and getting your affairs in order so your best friend wouldn’t be left cleaning up your mess when your cancer finally ended your life. What you hadn’t counted on was waking up married to a celebrity who has a knight-in-shining-armor complex, connections with an oncologist, and amazing insurance…

Chapter Summary: You get more news from your doctor and you and Seb take some Buzzfeed quizzes

Word Count: 2,834

“You sure you wanna stop here?” Sean asked, pulling up to the store you’d asked him to detour to before dropping you off back at the apartment. “I remember you talking about how you don’t drink while you’re in treatment.”

Smiling, you patted his shoulder before opening the door. “It’s a one-time thing, Sean. And you can hold me to that. Seb’ll be home tomorrow morning and he can monitor me. Don’t worry about it.”

He wasn’t sold, but you left the car before he could argue more.

You were a realist. It was your biggest strength and your biggest failing.

And right now, it was the only part of yourself that you were listening to.

You had your scans yesterday, and today Dr. Chowdhury dropped the news that they weren’t as good as you’d been hoping. Tomorrow, you would begin the most intense round of treatment yet. It was your last resort. Tomorrow, your energy would be yanked away and you wouldn’t have any energy until 1) the treatment worked, you had your surgery, and you were cancer free, or 2) the treatment stopped working again and you died.

So tonight was the last night you had to feel like yourself.

And that called for getting wine-drunk.

Since Sebastian had taken you at your word when you first moved in that you didn’t want to drink while on treatment in order to stay as healthy as you could, he’d gotten rid of all alcohol in his apartment.

So, when you unlocked the door and let yourself in half an hour later, it was the first time in nearly two months that a drop of alcohol was in his place.

You had to climb on the counter to grab a wine glass from the top shelf of a cabinet, but the effort was worth it when you watched the pale pink wine splash into the crystal glass. You sure hoped it was a good wine, but after a glass or two, you knew you wouldn’t mind.

And, a glass or two (or four) later, you were correct.

You had a nice wine-drunk going on and had successfully forgotten all about your problems. At the moment, all that mattered was the Youtube playlist titled “Dance Pop Bangers” you’d found, the volume up loud, and the wine glass in your hand.

“Y/N?”

Sebastian’s voice startled you and you stumbled out of your dance for a moment.

“Hi!” Were you yelling? It was entirely possible. The music was way too loud, but you couldn’t be bothered. “What are you doing here? I thought your flight didn’t come in until, like, four in the fucking morning.”

Had you not been an entire bottle of wine into the night, you might have noticed how worried he became when his eyes fell on the empty bottle. As it was, you danced your way over to him and looped your arms around his neck.

His hand landed on your hip and he accepted your kiss on his cheek. “I caught an earlier flight. Are you drunk?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Bad scans. I’ll tell you in the morning, but short story is that I’m starting the really intense treatment in the morning and this is my last night with energy so… dance party. And wine drunk is my best drunk.”

“Bad scans?”

You offered him the last few sips of your wine and pouted up at him. “I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. Can you just dance with me tonight? Please?”

God, those blue eyes… you were lost. It was Thanksgiving week and by god you were fucking thankful for his fucking eyes. Even as skeptical as he was right now, you were so fucking thankful.

“Seb?” You asked when he didn’t reply. “I need tonight. Please. I need to get drunk and pretend I don’t have cancer and just dance. Please?”

His eyes darted to the empty bottle on the coffee table and a grin took over his face. “I hope you got more than that one, because it looks like I have to catch up.”

Your smile lit your face and you couldn’t help but kiss his cheek again.

“God, I love you. Okay, I have another bottle in the fridge, but I only bought two because I thought you weren’t coming home and I needed make sure I stopped drinking. So you’re gonna have to fight me for it.”

“We can also order some for delivery, you know?”

You halted in your tracks to the fridge and snapped to face him. “What? You can do that here?”

He laughed. “Yeah, sweetheart. This isn’t Utah.”

“Holy shit, I love New York.”

“Fuck me,” you groaned when your alarm went off the next morning. “I forgot about the hangover.”

“Shhh,” Sebastian whispered, pulling you closer. “You’re too loud.”

“Babe, I gotta get up. I need to go to the hospital.”

“Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving. I thought you had the rest of the week off.”

The reminder of the reason behind your hangover brought a dark cloud over your head. With a groan, you shrugged out of Seb’s arms and pushed off the bed. Your head was fuzzy with the hangover, but with all of your tumor-induced headaches over the past year, you barely thought anything of it. “The scans we ran on Monday weren’t good. The treatment stopped shrinking the tumor again. Well, not stopped entirely, I guess. It just is slowing down again and Dr. Chowdhury wants to get ahead of this so we’re moving onto the round of treatment he wanted to a few weeks ago. I won’t have to go in tomorrow, since it’s Thanksgiving, but other than that… it’s six days a week til this sucker shrinks enough to take it out. I’m gonna be so fucking sick of that hospital.”

There was warmth at your back moments before Sebastian’s arms circled you. “You’re rambling again, sweetheart.”

“That’s cause I’m scared.” Your voice was barely audible. Saying the words aloud made everything suddenly seem so real. “This is it. If this doesn’t work…”

“It’s gonna work.”

“Seb, I—”

“It is going to work,” he repeated forcefully, tightening his hold on you. “You’ve planned for every outcome. You have everything in order if it doesn’t work. There isn’t anything left you can do to change the outcome. So ignore that part of your brain that wants to calculate your odds and that wants to plan for the most likely outcome and just focus on the outcome you want. Baby, you said yourself that treatment is seventy percent attitude.”

You weren’t aware that you were crying until you licked your lips and tasted salt. “I asked Dr. Chowdhury what my chances were. Yesterday when he broke the news, I asked how likely it was that my tumor would shrink enough to take it out.”

“And he gave you some answer based off of science and statistics. I don’t know if you’ve really been listening to Jasmin, but your odds from the universe are astronomically high.”

A humorless laugh escaped your lips and you leaned back against him. “Well, my statistical chance is less than ten percent now.”

“And your universal odds are a hundred and ten percent.” He kissed your cheek before pushing you towards the bathroom. “Grab a shower. I’ll have a hangover cure breakfast ready when you’re done. Then we can head to the hospital.”

“You saying I stink?”

“I’m saying your attitude stinks.”

You glared at him before giving in and heading to the bathroom. As soon as you were under the warm spray of water, you let your mind wander.

Sebastian was right. Your attitude sucked. Sure, your body was trying to kill you, but that didn’t mean that you had to give in. Not when you had a chance.

Two months ago, you had accepted your fate. You’d turned down a twenty percent chance, and now you were in treatment with a less than ten percent chance. Maybe Sebastian was right about this too. Maybe it was time to ignore the stats and focus on the outcome you wanted.

You wanted to live.

That much you knew for sure.

And afterward? You were supposed to get a divorce. That was the deal, right? It’s what you both signed up for.

But… it wasn’t what you wanted.

Sebastian.

You wanted Sebastian. As more than just a friend or-or-or whatever it was you two had going on right now.

“Just the Way You Are, We R Who We R, Like a G6, OMG, California Gurls, or Rude Boy?” Sebastian asked while you were at the hospital.

“Kesha. Duh. What’s this quiz?”

He didn’t answer, just kept on. “Hold it Against Me, Moves Like Jagger, We Found Love, Party Rock Anthem, Rolling in the Deep, or Born This Way.”

“Hmm… Born This Way.”

He continued this way until you finished the quiz. “According to Buzzfeed, you haven’t peaked yet.” He grinned brightly at you. “See? This treatment’s gonna work. You still need to peak.”

“What the hell kind of quiz was that?”

“Uh, the songs you picked from the 2010s told Buzzfeed which year you peaked.”

“Ah, well, we all know that Buzzfeed quizzes are the modern-day Oracle of Delphi.” You pulled out your phone to find a quiz of your own. “Okay, Seb. Come over here. You have to pick which picture of these foods looks best.”

“What will this quiz tell me about myself?”

You grinned. “It’s a secret. Now, which crepe looks best?”

After a few minutes of joking about the various deserts in the quiz, you got to the end and laughed out loud. “I think you need to talk to your casting directors because, baby, you should have been Black Widow.”

“I could never pull off those stunts.”

“I’d kill to see you try.”

He rolled his eyes and clicked around on his phone before pulling up another quiz. You didn’t trust the spark in his eye when he landed on one. “Not to be dramatic, but your result to this quiz will define our entire relationship from this point forward.”

“Not to be dramatic,” you mocked. “Then he goes off and is all dramatic. Alright, fine. What’s the first question?”

“Would you rather spend the rest of your life with a sailboat or an RV as your home?”

“RV.”

“Would you rather be the first person to explore a new planet or bet he inventor of a drug that cures a deadly disease?”

“Cure. Definitely.”

You continued on until you answered the last question. A grin overtook his face and he sat back. “Well, well, well…”

“What? What’d I get? What was the quiz?”

He tossed handed you his phone and you saw a picture of him on the screen. “Sebastian Stan,” you read aloud. “You’re more of the quiet type and need to find the right person to be totally comfortable with, which is why Sebastian is the perfect guy for you. You two are both adorkable and appreciate the little things in life. Who were my other options? The entire Marvel cast?”

“Nah, it was just me and Anthony.”

“Oooh, imagine how tense set would be on Monday if I’d gotten Anthony.”

“Not a chance, darling. You and I are far too adorkable.”

“Fucking Buzzfeed,” you laughed.

“You telling me you don’t find me adorkable?”

“I think you’re a dork. Does that count?”

He just laughed and toyed around with his phone for a moment. “You sure you’re fine with our plans tomorrow?”

“Of course. You said Heather said there’s a spare room if I need to lay down. And I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving usually, so I’m not missing out on any of my usual traditions. ‘Sides, it’ll be good to be around other people.”

Sebastian twisted his wedding ring around his finger a few times before looking up at you. The mood instantly sobered in the room. “You’ve mentioned that a few times. That you don’t celebrate Thanksgiving.”

“Yeah,” you murmured. You supposed Sebastian deserved an explanation. Not that it would change anything, of course. “Uh, growing up my family didn’t have the money for a big meal like that. And if we did, my dad would drink it all away anyway. Then he died in November. And then my mom died in November a few years later as well. Then Eliza, my sister, got arrested two years later in November and I guess I just never really felt very thankful considering everyone in my hometown wouldn’t shut up and blamed me for everything and I just always hated November.”

“Sweetheart, you should have told me sooner.” Sebastian shifted to sit on the arm of your chair. “You know I could have, I don’t know, done something to make this month better. Now it’s almost over.”

You grabbed his hand in yours and smiled up at him. “You did, Seb. By this time last year, I had yelled at Jasmin probably ten times. Like, actually screaming at her. And I didn’t even know I had cancer then. It was just all of the memories fucking with me.”

“So what did I do this year that helped? I figure I should know so I can do it again next year.”

Your heart skipped. By this time next year, if the surgery went well, you should be mostly fully recovered. You should be able to at least finish recovery back in Utah. If he was insinuating that you’d still be around…

“You just gave me a lot of good memories to think about at night, instead of the bad ones. I mean, I’ve dreamt of going to the Met, and you gave me two whole weekends there. You put up with me reading every single plaque. You, uh.” You glanced away with a shy smile. “You made me laugh every damn day with stories about what pranks got pulled on set and I don’t think even Jasmin has hugged me as much as you have.”

“Jasmin was around you every day,” Seb shrugged. “I only get two days a week with you. Gotta make up for lost time.”

Even though you’d been... whatever you’d been since that first kiss in the elevator for a month, you still had to force yourself to ignore that part of you that wanted to be invisible and make yourself flirt with him like you truly wanted So, you took a breath and turned your face up to his. “You saying if you were around me more than just two days you wouldn’t hug me as much? Or kiss me?”

And your flirting paid off when Sebastian got that spark in his eye. With his arm planted on the back of the back of the recliner, he leaned down until his face was mere centimeters from yours. “Course not, sweetheart. I’d probably just kiss you more.”

“That so?”

“Mmhmm.” Just as his lips brushed yours, there was a knock on the door and it started opening. Sebastian grimaced and pulled back, muttering a soft, “Dammit.”

“Good afternoon,” Dr. Chowdhury greeted as he walked in. “Ah, Sebastian. It has been a while since I have seen you. I hope all is well.”

“No complaints here.”

“Good, good. Well, I wanted to check in on you before you left, Y/N.”

“I’m fine. Though I’m sure my answer will change by tomorrow. Will my infusions take this long every time now?”

He nodded. “And with the aggressive cocktail, I would expect that your body will take at least a month to adjust.”

This time it was you who nodded. He’d told you all of this yesterday.

“I also wanted to ask you about your plans for tomorrow. I do not think I need to warn you about your weak immune system.”

Sebastian dropped his arm from the back of the recliner to your shoulders and squeezed. “A few of my friends are hosting a dinner tomorrow. It won’t be too crowded.”

“And I will make sure to listen to my body and go lay down before I need to. I’ve been through this before, Doctor. I know the risks and I know how to manage them.”

Dr. Chowdhury inclined his head and regarded you for a moment. “I was concerned yesterday,” he said slowly, “When you asked what your chance at making it to surgery was. I just wanted to check in and make sure you are still fighting as much as you were when I told you over seventy percent.”

“Yeah,” you whispered. The reminder at how far your odds had fallen still stung. “Yeah, no. It’s, uh… I get it. Trust me, I get it. But I’m here and I’m putting my all into this. Uh, my odds statistically speaking might not be that great, but this guy here…” You nudged Seb and grinned up at him briefly before turning your attention back to Dr. Chowdhury. “He keeps reminding me that my universal odds are out of this world. So… those are the odds I’m backing.”

Drunken dancing and buzzfeed quizzes, what more can you ask for? Also, did you catch the reader’s little slipup that I snuck in there?? Huh????

CHAPTER 22: THE THANKSGIVING PARTY

#sebastian stan x reader #sebastian x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan fluff #sebastian stan x reader fluff #marvel fanfic

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vibingintheritzcar · 4 years

Text

Old Faces, Same Feelings

Plot : It’s been three years since you’ve seen Spencer, both of you saying goodbyes without realizing your true feelings. After your fiancé leaves you, you unexpectedly find yourself in the same bar that a certain doctor is in, as well.

Category : Neutral, tiny bit of angst

MASTERLIST

. . .

“𝗜 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗜’𝗱 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝗲𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻...𝗜 𝗴𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗜 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗸𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝘄𝗲’𝗱 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘄𝗮𝘆 𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝘁𝗼 𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗵 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗱𝗮𝘆”

. . .

There is no accurate way to describe heartbreak, for it expresses itself differently in everyone. Everyone heals differently, everyone hurts differently.

Her life after Spencer had been simple despite being filled with adventure and new achievements. She had gotten engaged, found a job she loved, and began to plan out the rest of her life.

And still, it was simple. She could not vividly remember a day of laughing so hard she cried or a night filled with being so happy it made her sick. Sometimes she compared it too reading a novel with no climax - it went by so smoothly she had almost forgot it was her life and not someone else’s.

The climax finally came when her fiancé looked her in the eyes and told her that he didn’t want to marry her, that he had found someone else. He’d be gone the next morning, noon at the latest.

Almost morbidly, she cherished it, finally getting some sort of abnormal stimulation, a burst of anxiety and emotions. Her heart ached yet she paid more attention to the old feeling of it pounding rather then the pain.

When was the last time she had felt her heart pound with pure adrenaline and a excited fear of what was coming next?

With that damn Spencer Reid.

It began four years prior to that day, when life wasn’t going at the speed at which he read. Closing her eyes listening to the sound of the man she planned to marry pack his things, she could almost hear his laughter admist the sound of the coffe shop.

Coffee grounds and old books. That was his signature scent. To anyone else that might’ve ignited a burst of nostalgia, but to her, it was even more then that.

He carried himself in a way you’d expect a man with knowledge on almost everything in the world too. Taking each step knowing the risk of each moment, looking at every face knowing that if he thought about it he could remember every one.

But in that calculated walk, she could easily see where his vulnerabilities lay, and the places that if she touched he would crumble.

Spencer Reid was a genius, however, he fears more then the average person does.

Once he had explained to her that knowing the statistics of how every possible relationship could go messed with his mind. He told her that to him, he was always the percentage deemed unlucky.

Perhaps he was. Perhaps she was, too.

But she met him in that coffee shop merely by accident. She sat in the seat across from him because there was no other opens spots, and when she excused herself and explained that he looked like he’d understand the most, he smiled.

That very smile is why she found herself later that night in a dimly lit bar, trying to keep herself composed and up right.

“Spencer Reid, you absolutely terrify me. I love it.”

He chuckled, emitting that confident glow that she brought out in him. “Yeah? And I’m absolutely crazy for you. That terrifies me.”

It wasn’t any of their plans to tumble down a road of tension and touches with too much or too little reciprocation. In all honestly, she had hoped for maybe a study buddy, someone to call whenever she was curious.

Her curiosity grew at an alarming rate when she realized she began to call because she was falling in love with the way he would rant about any topic she asked about, no matter how busy.

Sometimes they’d find themselves on one of their couches, her head on his chest or in his lap as he spoke with little breathes about the next topic she thought of on the spot. His brain never failed to amaze her. She would reach up and play with his hair just to try and feel the power it emitted.

“You’re so beautiful, Spencer.” He gave her a slightly confused look, looking at her as she lay in his lap.

“Aren’t I supposed to tell you that, Y/N?” She shook her head, eyes focused in on him.

“I don’t mind. It’s true. Everything about you is. I’ll never have any trouble admitting that.”

On the bar stool, she found herself struggling to do the very thing.

It had ended a year after it had begun, and it did so in a blur, an absolute mess. He might’ve remembered every detail but she couldn’t, almost refused, too. All she could recall was that there was so much unsaid and not done simply because the timing was off. His job and hers. His mind and hers. His views on affection versus hers.

“I don’t know how to tell you what I feel anymore. I can’t. I can’t even admit to myself. Is there some kind of reason for that? Something you understand but I don’t? Is there something wrong with me?”

By the look in his eyes, you gathered that there wasn’t.

Hell, she lost a hell of a lot more then Spencer that day. She lost control track of your life. How in the hell she ended up in this situation, staring at the ring still on her finger, was a mystery.

She’d have to restart again and hope this time she’d forget a little more. Maybe that would be enough to keep her moving and aware.

“Yeah, just some whiskey, please.”

The voice made her entire body freeze. Blood than coursed through her body paused. It had to be someone else, his voice wasn’t all that uncommon. Anyone could sound like him.

“Thank you.” Those simple words told her she was wrong; he said thank you no matter the circumstance.

Her daydream of a day suddenly crashed down at her and her ears suddenly registered the commotion of the bar, the tenseness in her body, and the dull ache still in her heart.

He was here, less then two feet away, oblivious to the fact that she was right there because of the way she was positioned.

Despising the way her heart suddenly started to work again, begging for her to say something to grab his attention. She couldn’t even refuse, too emotionally exhausted to try and fight it.

“Spencer?”

His body tensed in the exact same way hers had. A flicker of disbelief crossed his face, and then, his hazel eyes landed on her face.

The first thing he noticed was how sad she looked. He felt his breathing shallow, but his feet unable to move away.

“Y/N,” he replied in an equally breathy tone, “what are you . . .”

“Doing here?” She finished, touches of dry amusement in her voice. “Drowning my sorrows.”

She lifted her hand up to show her glass. Luckily, it was in her right hand, Spencer had yet to see the ring on her left hand hidden in her jacket pocket.

When he didn’t respond at first, his genius brain unable to come up with a response that accurately depicted all the emotions he was feeling in that moment, she spoke once more, deciding she had nothing to lose, anyway.

“You cut your hair.” He absentmindedly reached up to his recently chopped locks, now short on the sides and tumbled over his forehead.

“Yeah, I did. And you. .” His eyes ran over her in the analytic way that never failed to make her shudder. “You look like you’ve had a bad day.”

She snorted, remembering how awful he was at letting people down gently. “You never failed to read me, haven’t you, doctor?”

He swallowed at her words, trying his best not to profile her right then and there. He knew if he tried he’d figure it out and then feel like he invaded her privacy. Privacy he hadn’t touched in three years.

“I guess I haven’t.” Her eyes narrowed, not in malice, but in curiosity. Besides his hair, he hadn’t really changed in three years, despite gaining some muscle and overall confidence.

“If you’re leaving, that’s okay. But if you’d like, I’d like to catch up a little. I need some sort of distraction.” He winced inwardly, trying not to come up with a list of tragedies that could warrant a distraction from a fling from over three years ago. It had to be bad. He wasn’t sure if he wanted too know.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t decline, and sat next to her in the empty stool. His heart pounded against his chest as she placed her hair behind her ears, only using her right hand to do so. “You still with the FBI?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I am. BAU.” She chuckled dryly, old memories coming back. “You?”

“I got the job.” He remembered instantly - the job she had raved about getting right before they parted ways. A surge of happiness went through him for her, before a vile feeling followed. He hadn’t been there for it.

He wondered if someone else had.

“That’s great,” he covered up his spite, “is it just as you imagined?”

“Better,” her eyes danced a little, “I love it. I got a new place,” she didn’t mention the fact it was with another guy, “right in the middle of the city.”

“Just like you always wanted.” He felt himself still cold, this conversation being a constant reminder that she achieved this all without him. Almost like she was better off.

“Just like.” But still, he could easily hear the distraction in her voice. Like she was miles away from here.

“Can I - can I ask you a question?” His profiler side got the best of him. He was almost eager for the answer. Her eyes flickered back to him, holding signs of true amusement.

“You know you always can.” He nodded, biting his bottom lip, nervous for the first time around her.

“You have everything you ever wanted. But you don’t seem happy about it.” He knew laughter was her defensive mechanism, and when she chuckled, he knew it had it spot on.

“Not everything, Spence,” the name sent chills down his spine. “You just get better and better, don’t you?”

Absentmindedly, she took her left hand out of her pocket to grab her drink. In the artificial light, the gems twinkled, and Spencer felt his heart sink to the floor.

“You’re engaged.” She seemed surprised, looking down at her elegantly stretched fingers. When she didn’t deny it instantly, he almost got up and left, unable to handle this information.

Instead, he watched with his heart continually sinking as she took it off her finger and placed it on the counter. “As of this morning. . . not anymore.”

There it was. He squeezed his glass a little too hard as he put the pieces together. Her fiancé had left her this morning.

“I’m sorry.” Her eyes went to his, vulnerability in their irises.

“Spencer, did you ever plan on seeing me again?”

The sudden change in conversation almost gave him whiplash. She repeated to herself she had nothing to lose still. He was here now and she couldn’t count on when he would be here next, or if.

He couldn’t think of a reason to lie to her. He cursed himself the last thirty eight months for not saying what he wanted too, and too him, this was the chance he was waiting for.

Her head tilted at that. A simple gesture that made his breathing stop. “What are the odds that we do on the day my fiancé leaves me?”

They both chuckled in spite, almost spitting it out. “I don’t have the statistics for that.”

She hummed. “That’s a first. I still remember a lot of what you’ve told me.”

His eyebrows shot up at that. “You do?”

“You think I wasn’t listening all those times? I listened to every second, Spencer.” He felt his stomach tighten in a pleasant way at her words, forgetting all about his drink, and instead on the drug infront of him.

“What happened with you, Y/N?” He finally asked. “You have everything. Had. And I know you. . . I knew you. And the Y/N I knew would be out there living her life despite that.” He nodded his head towards the ring.

She stared at him for a moment, before putting her drink down and moving her body to face him head on. Her hands clasped in his her lap as she mimicked his habit, licking her lips once.

He straightened himself out, ready to absorb her words the way she had with his. “Yesterday, I thought was going to marry a guy I’m sure I am in love with. Last year I moved in with him in an apartment I dreamed about, but if I’m honest, I can’t recall a single detail of it. I love my job but it’s become a shelter, and I take extra hours so I don’t have to go home to a man that was going to become my future husband, because it’s too quiet there.”

She took in a breath before continuing. “I wondered where everything went wrong and wondered when I started to hate silence so much. A couple months ago it clicked with me - I was so used to hearing your paragraphs that I was disappointed when he didn’t do much about anything. And I wondered why I couldn’t get you out of my mind years after we ended it. And I still don’t have an answer.”

Spencer, who’s brain had short circuited hearing those words, was able to sputter one question. “Are you looking to me for an answer?”

She shook her head, pressing her lips together. “No. I don’t know. But did you know how haunting silence is when all you want is some noise?”

“Do you know how horrible it is to try and forget about someone your brain won’t let you forget?” She titles her head at his question, spouted sharply as if he couldn’t contain it any longer.

“I know exactly how that feels, Spencer. I’ve known that for four years, now. And you’re right infront of me and suddenly everything I’ve accomplished doesn’t mean shit anymore. It never did.”

He blinks, desperately trying to find a logical aspect of this situation. Then he remembers that when it comes to her, there isn’t one. It’s almost fiction. “Why?”

Before she answers, she studies the face that haunted her dreams. If time was able to slow, she prayed that it wouldn’t happen right now.

“Because I had the wrong person by my side the entire time.”

“Y/N,” he begins, trying not to leave her hanging despite being speechless. “Were you actually planning on marrying someone else?”

She didn’t blink once. “I did. Not because I wanted too. I thought it was the only to stop from dreaming about you. I should’ve known earlier that’s impossible.”

His eyes suddenly grow more serious, and he reaches out to grab the ring with his index and thumb. Seeing the ring in his possession makes her legs go numb. As if that’s how it was always supposed to be.

“I’ve know that for a while, Y/N. And judging by the way your pupils just dilated, I’m guessing you have, too.”

She chuckled, her face turning a light shade of red, bringing an almost proud smirk to Spencer’s face. “I don’t want to go back home yet.” She says honestly.

He shakes his head, placing the ring in his palm. “Then don’t. Stay here with me a little longer. Decide what you want.”

He didn’t have to verbalize what the decision was about, and as he looked to the counter to make sure he placed the ring on it, she put her hand on his arm.

He met her eyes once more, watching as she swallowed. “I already know what I want. And I don’t want to let go of it again.”

“Then don’t. You know I have a hard time keeping quiet around you.”

She chuckled, light finally coming back into her eyes. Then, a smile came. “That’s what I like to hear, doctor. Now, can you tell me how likely it is that I’ll ever see that ring again?”

He smirked lightly, placing it back in between his fingers. Then, he flicked it over his head into the drunken crowd behind them. “As likely as I’m ever gonna let you go home alone ever again.”

. . .

#spencer reid #cm #spencer reid x reader #mgg #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #doctor reid #dr reid #spencer x reader #reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds imagine

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horansqueen · 4 years

Text

You & Me : chapter 38

A Niall Horan fanfiction ; rated MA

Sequel to AM CONVERSATIONS

CHAPTER 1 || CHAPTER 2 || CHAPTER 3 || CHAPTER 4 || CHAPTER 5 || CHAPTER 6 || CHAPTER 7 || CHAPTER 8 || CHAPTER 9 || CHAPTER 10 || CHAPTER 11 || CHAPTER 12 || CHAPTER 13 || CHAPTER 14 || CHAPTER 15 || CHAPTER 16 || CHAPTER 17 || CHAPTER 18 || CHAPTER 19 || CHAPTER 20 || CHAPTER 21 || CHAPTER 22 || CHAPTER 23 || CHAPTER 24 || CHAPTER 25 || CHAPTER 26 || CHAPTER 27 || CHAPTER 28 || CHAPTER 29 || CHAPTER 30 || CHAPTER 31 || CHAPTER 32 || CHAPTER 33 || CHAPTER 34|| CHAPTER 35 || CHAPTER 36 || CHAPTER 37

NOTES:

-one chapter is her pov, the next is his -4.3k - 4.9k -im sorry, i never proofread, i hate it. -there WILL be smut. but not only smut. -this is a romance, comedy, smut story. -for the summary, check my MASTERLIST.

READ AM CONVERSATIONS AGAIN ON WATTPAD HERE

- notes: nothing happened yet things happened? idk how i feel about this, i just hope you enjoy it, thank you guys for sticking up to this story ilysm!! oh and i chose this gif just because hes sweating lmao youre welcome! i hope this chapter gets more notes than the last haha

if you want to be on the list of blogs i notify when this is updated, just message me :)

requests! : i added as many as possible lol i even got one WHILE i was writing and added it lmao!

TAKE A LOOK AT THE CHARACTERS HERE

Chapter 38 : Her chapter

OLIVIA

April 17th, 2018

"You know what people say when they see a fat girl run." I just let out, raising my nose in a grimace as I tied up my shoes.

"I'm not really the type to listen to stupid people's opinion." Niall replied, making me roll my eyes and sigh before getting up. "And you shouldn't either."

He had convinced me to go run with him and I regretted my 'yes' half a second after agreeing but the way his face illuminated told me that it was too late to go back. I hated running and he knew it, and I was pretty sure he was aware of the sacrifice it was for me. I normally always quote the movie "The Faculty" when he mentions running, because i believe there's no truer words than Casey's line at the beginning of the movie when he says 'I don't think that a person should run unless he's being chased.", even if it's sort of ironic since the characters end up running away from an alien who wants to infect them the whole movie. Well, I would probably run if an alien was trying to infect me, too. And apparently, I would also run if it made Niall happy.

"It's easy for you. You've always been popular and cute and all the girls were in love with you."

"That is a big load of bullshit." he chuckled, shaking his head. "I've been told 'no' many, many times."

"I would like to see the statistics of the number of girls telling you 'no' versus the number of girls telling you 'yes."

This time, he's the one who rolled his eyes but he still had a cute smile gracing his lips and it made mine curl, too.

My parents were spending the whole day at friends' house. It was planned before I told them I'd come and visit them and even if they told me they'd cancel, I insisted that they'd just go. I didn't want to ruin their plans, I knew it was some anniversary or something similar and I could spend one day alone with Niall. Easily. Hell, I wanted to spend way more than one day with him.

"The only statistic I care about is this one." he started, clearing his throat. "How much do you love me, on a scale of 1-10."

I let out a genuine laughter and it made his lips curl. "That scale reaches the sky and it's too far away for me to see any number but there's like, 10 digits."

He took a step closer and I moved my chin up as he bent down to press his lips against mine. It felt so good to be back into this, to have a routine together, and to be happy without stress. I wouldn't go as far as saying it was exactly how it used to be but If I took the time to really think about it, it was even better. Back then, he was a bit immature and I was extremely insecure. Those two flaws sort of clashed together and made our relationship so much harder to handle. Now, I was not as insecure, and he didn't seem immature anymore, and I really felt like it could work between us.

We walked out but started running as soon as we were down the stairs. I let out a short groan of annoyance and it made him laugh. I knew he was going slowly just for me and it made me feel a bit guilty. At the same time, I was doing this for him and because he insisted, so the least he could do was wait for me, right? I don't know how long we ran but I hated it. I hated the burning sensation and the dry feeling in my throat, i hated the sweat on my back, and i hated the pain in my legs. God, I hate running. But then I turned to look at him and something twisted in my stomach and I bit my bottom lip. I loved watching him sweat. There was something sexy in watching him like that but it was not really the time and place to jump on him, unfortunately.

"How's your asthma?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Tolerable." I said, glancing at him again. "How's your grandpa knee?"

He chuckled and shook his head, making me smile more. "Could be worse."

After a while, I just stopped, feeling a cramp hurting like hell on my side, and held myself on my knees. He stopped next to me and bent down to look at me. He looked amazing, how did he fucking look so good all the damn time?

"You okay? Enough for today?"

I nodded and he smiled but I held my breath when I felt his hand on my back. I was in it so deep but I secretly hoped that I would never have to hurt again. I had new limits that I wanted to respect but I wouldn't ask him about every single girl gravitating around him, or cry myself to sleep because of a comment online. However, I would still get pissed if he let an other woman who clearly wants in his pants put her number in his phone, and I wouldn't accept him flirting with random girls at bars. The first time we dated, everything seemed to get to me but this time, It would be different. I would choose my battles and not get insecure about every little thing I see. I believed in myself more and I was convinced it helped me believe in him more, too.

We walked back home quickly and from time to time, I could feel his fingers brush against mine. It's in times like these that I really just wished we could be a normal couple. I knew he would be unhappy if he didn't do music for a living, and it would be a shame if his talent and songs weren't heard by millions of people, but selfishly, sometimes, I wished we could just walk around hand in hand without being scared of the comments, the articles and the hate.

I unlocked the door and when I took my shoes off, I grimaced and groaned low, moving my toes and quickly pulling on my socks., leaving them by the door.

"Petal, you reek." he let out before I turned around, raising my eyebrows. He chuckled and shrugged. "It's true, you smell so bad right now."

"I know!" I finally admitted in a laugh.

"But hey, you don't smell as bad as I do." he added, making me laugh more.

"That's practically impossible." I joked as he stuck his tongue out at me.

I watched him bend down and rub his knees and I bit my bottom lip as I felt a wave of intense love for him wash through me. I took a step closer and he moved his body up before looking in my eyes. I tilted my head, nibbling on my lip again and reached for the bottom of his shirt, finally pulling it up. He moved his arms up to help me as we kept staring at each other. A small smile draw itself on my lips and I just licked them, letting his shirt fall in the floor. Slowly, I let my hands run on his chest, my fingertips brushing against his nipples and moving down to his stomach. I felt my heart hit so hard against my rib cage that I thought it was going to escape. I could feel the sweat on my fingers and for some odd reason, it turned me on even more. My hands stopped at the top of his shorts and he raised his eyebrows.

"Are you gonna take them off, too?" he asked in a low tone.

"You know what I really want?" I asked in a low tone, ignoring his question as my forefingers hooked in the sides of his shorts, pulling them down slowly. He raised his eyebrows to incite me to talk and I smiled more. "Your dick in my mouth."

He didn't answer anything but his lips parted slightly and I slowly got down on my knees, bringing his shorts and boxers with me. I took his cock in my hand and when I got closer, he quickly stopped me.

"Wait!" he let out. I frowned and looked up but he just sighed. "We really need to get in the shower, first."

I stared at him for a few seconds and finally let out an amused chuckle before finally getting back up. He smirked and moved his upper body closer, his lips dangerously close to mine, before reaching for the bottom of my shirt.

"I honestly don't want you to be disgusted by my dick forever." he let out, making me chuckle again.

"Can't happen. But you're right, we should get clean first. Then fuck. And then get clean again." I proposed, making him raise his eyebrows up and down.

"And then maybe fuck again, yea?"

I smiled more at his words and nodded. "Yes."

He moved closer and kissed me, taking a few steps my way and forcing me to move back. He took my shirt off, throwing it on the floor, and I started laughing against his mouth when I accidentally stepped on something and ended hitting my back on the wall.

"Fuck, I love your clumsy ass." he whispered, slithering one of his arms around my waist as the other reached for my breasts. "And your tits, too." His hand moved down and slipped in my panties, making my eyes roll back as I leaned my head against the wall. "And your perfect little fanny, too."

He crashed his mouth against mine too as he flicked his fingertip on my clit a few times, making me whimper before he just took his hand away to pull on one side of my pants. I helped him with the other and stepped out of them. We were both just making out naked against the wall at my parents' house and I couldn't remember the last time I felt this horny. Was that adrenaline or something?

"Mm, your parents aren't coming back soon, right pet?" he asked in-between kisses as he pressed his body against mine. "Because they probably wouldn't enjoy the trail of our clothes on the floor that leads to the bathroom."

I laughed and shook my head as he pulled away. My eyes roamed on his face and It just hit me again how much I loved him.

"No, they'll be gone until very late tonight."

"Good."

He kissed me again and after a while, he pulled me to the bathroom and I tried to keep my mouth against his in a failed attempt as he bent down to start the shower. We laughed against each other's lips and ended up under the stream. I shivered as he grabbed the soap and poured some in my hands before doing the same in his. I washed myself quickly, staring at his hands moving on his body and when he reached his half-hard cock, I felt my heart jump in my chest.

"Sit on the side of the bath." he told me, making me obey immediately.

I was grateful that he didn't ask me to get on my knees because there's honestly nothing more uncomfortable for the knees than a bath. He moved closer and I smiled more when I realized his cock was at the perfect height. I felt like I hadn't had his cock in my mouth for so long and I took it as deeply as I could, making him groan low. I felt him swell on my tongue and spread my knees apart, bringing one of my hands between my legs.

"Mm, don't stop darling, do that thing you always do."

I chuckled low and pushed on the skin of his cock just to run the tip of my tongue between it and his tip, making one of his legs shake slightly. I used my fingers too, touching exactly the same spot and his head moved again to look down at me.

"That feels like I'm just cumming over and over again, fuck!"

I kept going for a while and finally ran my tongue on his length until his balls. He grabbed his cock in one of his hands and started stroking himself. I stuck my tongue out and felt his balls rub and bounce on my tongue with every jerk of his hand. I moved closer and sucked on one of until he grabbed my hair and pulled my head away gently.

"Open your mouth."

I did as asked and gently, he pushed his had cock in my mouth until I choked and pulled slightly away. I could feel him throb on my tongue and I let two of my fingers rub my clit gently as I sucking him harder.

"Stick your tongue out."

I looked up at him a bit innocently and opened my mouth, sticking my tongue out for him. He kept jerking himself hard, brushing his tip on my tongue as he did, and after about a minute, he let out a low groan.

"Fuck, I missed cumming on that tongue."

My eyes closed for a few seconds when his cum spurted on my cheeks, lips and tongue but I moved closer to suck on his tip again, my hands reaching for his balls as he kept stroking himself until he got down from his high. I never really enjoyed the taste but Niall’s orgasms were different, and I knew it probably only had to do with the love I felt for him, but it didn’t matter. He tasted good and I loved pleasing him. He panted for half a minute and finally grabbed my arms to pull me up gently.

"Even if you look really good like that..." he started, bringing me under the stream. "Let me help you."

Slowly, he ran his fingers on my cheeks before moving down to my lips, taking the vestige of his orgasm off. My heart jumped in my chest when he kissed me deeply and I moaned in his mouth as his hands ran on my breasts.

"You need an orgasm too." he pointed out as I nodded. "Sit back down."

I did what he told me to and frowned a bit when he got on one knee, knowing how much it hurts. We could both feel the water falling on us but when he moved his lips to my neck, I let my head fall back and closed my eyes. Two of his fingers slipped inside me as he nibbled on the skin of my neck and he started fucking me slowly. His mouth moved down to my breast and the way he sucked and licked my nipples made my fingers rub against the bath in a weird and annoying sound.

"You're gonna let me fuck you hard later today, won't you princess?"

I shivered, realizing I hadn't heard that nickname in a while, and finally nodded. "Mmhm, whenever you want, wherever you want, for as long as you want. You know I'm all yours."

"Fuck, say it again."

He started finger fucking me harder and I felt my breasts press against his chest as he bit my neck harder.

"I'm yours, Niall, I'm all yours." I let out in a mix of a whimper and a whisper.

"Get up."

I felt a bit too weak to do it but I still managed and when I felt his mouth crush on my pussy, I leaned my head against the cold and hard shower wall. I brought on of my legs up on the side of the bath and focused on the way his tongue skillfully sucked and licked my pussy until I felt an orgasm hit me without warning.

"Oh fuck! Niall!"

I reached for his hair and pulled on it hard, making sure his face stayed between my legs and It took me all my strength not to literally let myself fall at the bottom of the bath. When he got back up, he wrapped his arms around me and I allowed myself to get weak close to him, making him laugh.

"Good?" he asked. I nodded, brushing my nose against his wet neck and whimpered low. "Hungry?"

----

The park was not too crowded and the sun was slowly setting. We started eating the lunch we had prepared together and I surprised myself wishing every day would be like that. It was ridiculous and impossible, but a girl could dream, right?

"What do you think would have happened if we never broke up?" I asked, staring at my water bottle before looking up in his eyes.

He was staring at me, his eyebrows raised and his lips curled into a pensive expression. He looked adorable and I smiled fondly at him. He shook his head slightly and grabbed his fork, playing with his food for a few more seconds.

"I don't know. I like to think I would have matured anyway and wouldn't be a prick but you never know." he explained with a shrug.

"You think you would have cheated on me?"

His head snapped up to look at me and he shook his head harder this time. "No. I was a flirt, but I was not a cheater, I promise."

Obviously, we would never know, and from what I had seen of Niall, he normally broke up with the girl before giving in to anyone else... well, except with me. It made me realize he had cheated on two girls with me and I tried to push away the guilt invading me. After all, I had cheated on Dylan too. The fact that he knew and had decided to ignore it didn't make my action less painful, or okay. We both had cheated and there was no excuse for it.

"You cheated with me. I did too. We both cheated. On Heidi and Dylan, and that was so wrong."

"I know." he sighed. "We can't go back. I mean I wish I could say I regret it, but I don't. It lead us here."

I sent him a sad smile and nodded. I wanted so much for us and even if I still had a few doubts, I wanted us to work. I wanted us to make efforts into this, but I couldn't make them for him. All I knew was that I was going to do everything I could to make this work, and from the way he had been acting with me lately, I was pretty sure he would do the same.

"So what's gonna happen to us now, Niall?" I asked softly. "What's our future together?"

He looked down immediately and it made me frown. Did he have something to hide? I couldn't start thinking like that again, I couldn't start analyzing his every move. I breathed it and let it go, simply tilting my head.

"We'll love each other, become official whenever you're ready, maybe even start attending galas and shit together, perhaps." he proposed, shrugging a shoulder and making me laugh.

"Yea, that's not really your type of things." I pointed out.

"Well it's different with you. Everything is different with you. In a good way. In the best way."

Without thinking, I held myself on the grass between us and leaned my upper body his way to reach his lips with mine. He kissed me back and after a while, he deepened the kiss. I didn't feel nervous, or stressed, and I didn't give a fuck about who could see us.

"I love you. I want to spend my life with you." I whispered. "I know these words used to scare you... how do they make you feel, now?"

I pulled away enough to be able to look in his eyes and his lips curl into a genuine smile.

"Like the happiest man in the world."

My lips curled into a happy smile as something stirred in my stomach. "You're so full of shit, Horan."

He brought one of his hands to my cheek and I leaned against it without thinking.

"I mean it Liv. Trust me." he murmured as I felt his breath hit my chin.

I breathed in deeply and pressed my lips together before whispering too. "I do. I trust you."

---

We ended up watching tv together in the living room after the sun was set and I knew my parents could be back any minute, making me wonder if we had time to fuck or if we should just wait until they would be in bed.

"I wish you'd come with me in Germany." he let out randomly, taking me out of my thoughts.

"You... you know I have to go back in California soon." I explained, feeling my heart sink in my chest. "I mean, we can survive a few weeks away, yea?"

He turned his head my way and sighed. "Of course we can. But we shouldn't have to. And.. I don't really want to."

"I know." I said in a low tone, trying not to cry and looking down at my hands playing with the fabric of my shirt. "I mean, I don't know what else we can do. I'll try to get more weeks off but I don't know when that will be. When's your next week off?"

"Uhm, mid may, I think, but then I have to go back to the UK for that radio show thing."

"Oh." I brushed my palms on my face, suddenly tired and a bit scared, not knowing when I could be with him again. "Tell me the exact date and I'll try to fly there for a few days."

"That's in like... a month, Olivia." he let out a bit annoyed or disappointed... or both.

"I know." I whispered, swallowing hard, trying not to cry.

He sighed again and made a quick head movement. "Come here."

He didn't have to ask me twice : I threw myself against him as he wrapped his arms around me and I buried my face in his shirt, letting out a sob that I desperately tried to suppress without success.

"Hey, it'll be okay." he whispered, kissing the top of my head. "We can do this. We're stronger than ever together. Distance is alright. A month is nothing. Remember my trip to Asia?"

It's not that it was a bad example but it was a rough memory and I sniffed, shutting my eyes tighter as I tried to move closer to him. I didn't want to be a month away from him but I knew it was probably going to happen and I didn't know how to handle it. I was about to answer something when both our phones beeped and I groaned. It couldn't be a good thing and we both knew it.

"I don't want to look." I admitted low as he rubbed my back gently.

"We have to. Let's do it and then go to bed."

I sighed again and nodded as we both grabbed our phones. The problem was apparently Heidi, who had posted a bunch of song lyrics on her instagram stories, and people started speculating about who it was about. After checking, though, I knew it was about Niall. And about me a bit, too.

SHAKIRA - DONT BOTHER She's been to private school And she speaks perfect French She's got the perfect friends Oh isn't she cool? Hey, hey So don't bother I won't die of deception I promise you won't ever see me cry Don't feel sorry And don't bother I'll be fine But she's waiting The ring you gave to her will lose its shine So don't bother, be unkind

THE WEEKEND - CALL OUT MY NAME We found each other I helped you out of a broken place You gave me comfort But falling for you was my mistake I put you on top, I put you on top I claimed you so proud and openly And when times were rough, when times were rough I made sure I held you close to me

JUSTINE TIMBERLAKE - CRY ME A RIVER You don't have to say, what you did I already know, I found out from him Now there's just no chance With you and me There'll never be Don't it make you sad about it?

SAM SMITH - IM NOT THE ONLY ONE I have loved you for many years Maybe I am just not enough You've made me realize my deepest fear By lying and tearing us up You say I'm crazy 'Cause you don't think I know what you've done But when you call me baby I know I'm not the only one

DRAKE - MARVINS ROOM I'm just sayin' you could do better Tell me, have you heard that lately? I'm just sayin' you could do better And I'll start hatin' only if you make me

KATY PERRY - PART OF ME I just wanna throw my phone away Find out who is really there for me You ripped me off your love was cheap Was always tearing at the seams I fell deep, you let me down But that was then and this is now, now look at me

LITTLE MIX - SHOUT OUT TO MY EX This is a shout out to my ex Heard he in love with some other chick Yeah yeah, that hurt me, I'll admit Forget that boy, I'm over it I hope she gettin' better sex Hope she ain't fakin' it like I did, babe Took four long years to call it quits Forget that boy, I'm over it

TAYLOR SWIFT - SHOULVE SAID NO You should've said no, you should've gone home You should've thought twice before you let it all go You should've know that word, bout what you did with her Would get back to me And I should've been there, in the back of your mind I shouldn't be asking myself why You shouldn't be begging for forgiveness at my feet You should've said no, baby and you might still have me I can't resist, before you go, tell me this Was it worth it Was she worth this

SUGARLAND - BABE What a waste Taking down the pictures and the plans we made, yeah And it's strange how your face doesn't look so innocent Your secret has its consequence and that's on you, babe Since you admitted it, I keep picturing Her lips on your neck, I can't unsee it I hate that because of you, I can't love you Babe What a shame, didn't want to be the one that got away How could you do this, babe?

BRITNEY SPEARS - PERFUME Do I imagine it, or do I see your stare Is there still longing there? Oh I hate myself, and I feel crazy Such a classic tale Current girl friend, ex girlfriend, I'm trying to be cool Am I being paranoid, am I seeing things? Am I just insecure?

I read her stories twice, three times, and I swallowed hard until I heard Niall curse under his breath next to me. It caught my attention and I sighed, licking my lips.

"She's right, you know. I don't know how she found out but, we talked about it earlier. We did cheat on them, Niall."

"Alright, but did she need to expose that on instagram?" He closed his eyes and groaned, throwing his phone on the couch and rubbing his eyes roughly. "Are you ready for the storm? You know our social medias are gonna fucking explode."

"It doesn't matter. As usual, we're just gonna stay quiet." I replied, shrugging and sighing an other time. "You should have never dated that girl."

"I know. I didn't know back then but now, I know." he confessed, shaking his head. "I didn't think she was that kind of girl."

I started laughing next to him and his eyes met mine. He raised his eyebrows an I pressed my lips together because chuckling more.

"I mean, seriously, Niall? She was always like that."

He remained quiet and moved his arm on the back of the couch before I leaned my head against it.

"I should have dated you when I was 13 and I tried to match you with Rian for no reason. I should have dated you when I was 16 and horny. I should have dated you when I joined One Direction and you messaged me all the time. I should have dated you after the Take Me Home tour, when I came back home and noticed how much you had changed. I should have dated you during our last tour, before you got attached to Harry. I should have dated you last year, when we were both miserable. I realize it's you I should have dated all those times. Whenever I dated an other girl, it should have been you."

I teared up but tried to swallow the emotions inside me but they were drowning me instead, making me dizzy and happy at the same time.

"Yea, you should have." I whispered, scared that my voice would crack. "What about now, Niall?"

"Now?" he asked gently, raising his eyebrows but his gaze never leaving mine. I felt his fingertips play with a lock of my hair and it made my heart twist in my chest. "Well now I'm here. I'm with you. And I don't intend or want to be with anyone else. Ever again."

#niall horan #niall horan smut #niall horan fluff #niall horan fanfic #niall horan fan fic #niall horan fan fiction #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan story #niall horan writing #my fanfics #yam

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deadlysansa · 4 years

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Your prompt is: it’s Christmas season and I’m pulling out my fake Christmas tree only to find a giant ass spider living in it, I scream, and you (my flat neighbor) come running to my rescue

Thank you for the prompt! It was a challenge writing Christmas going into a crazy hot weekend but an attempt was made lmfao. Nobody proofed this for me I’m just trying to distract myself from the world like everyone else atm! I hope you can enjoy

Read on AO3.

Christmas in Flip Flops

James loved Christmas. He was a straight up Christmas fiend.

That being said, he didn’t own many Christmas decorations. Every year, he packed his bags and drove to his parents’ house for the holidays with his childhood friend Marlene in tow. It was a lot nicer than his one bedroom flat in central London where she often crashed on the sofa.

“ Ow, shit, shit, shit, shit,” James groaned to himself as a pile of junk slid off the shelf and into his shoulder.

It was 6.30pm on a Saturday night two weeks before Christmas and he was standing fully in his small storage cupboard which had become a bit of a dumping ground. Unfortunately, it was also the home to his forgotten plastic Christmas tree, so here he was, pulling it from the wreckage.

James had been renting alone for two years now, ever since his two best mates had fallen madly in love and decided James was definitely cramping their romantic bliss. That didn’t stop Sirius and Remus from demanding he host a Christmas party at his place and advising he ‘spruce it up a little’. They claimed it was because James lived closest to their favourite pubs, but he had a sneaking suspicion they were dying to get a look at the neighbour that he had maybe, possibly mentioned a couple of times since she’d moved in six months and twelve days ago. He’d also told them about her boyfriend and the heated argument four months and twenty-three days ago which turned him into an ex-boyfriend. It didn’t matter. His mates had had enough of hearing about how Lily Evans in Flat 5A was making it quite clear she wasn’t ready to move on.

Thoughts of a certain intoxicating redhead who liked to hang out in her doorway sipping coffee and rolling her eyes at him made him distracted enough to be almost taken out by an old baseball bat making a break from the top shelf.

James’ hands finally landed upon the box in which the tree was kept and tugged it free of the dusty confines of the cupboard. Grinning at his success, James carried the tree to his small living area. He hoped it looked better than he remembered, because he only had a few strings of tinsel and the sprig of mistletoe he’d hung above his head which looked slightly pathetic. James pulled a face at the hanging berries. At Christmases gone by, he didn’t even need mistletoe for a cheeky snog but now he’d turned into someone who lingered in the lobby of his building if he knew Lily was due home.

His saving grace for this party might have to be the festive cocktails he’d made (and sampled) earlier. James’ version of a cocktail was actually a catastrophic mixing of any alcohol he had on the shelf, but fuck it, it was red.

“Hey, Mr Flitwick, how are you?”

He heard the familiar melodic voice in the hall thanks to the criminally thin walls and James stopped his assault on the cardboard box. He looked up at his closed front door, as though he could see Lily on the other side rooting through her bag for her keys. Every single day without fail, she took two minutes to find them. Every single day, James wondered how much crap she had in her bag and whether she was over her stupid ex yet.

He heard a door click close and with a sigh James turned back to the tree. Maybe he should have invited her tonight, but he’d stopped asking when she turned down his first ten invitations to the pub. Even he didn’t fancy being snubbed at Christmas.

Freeing the tree, James saw that it did look very sad and —

“AAGH! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” James shouted as a giant black house spider darted from its hiding place in his ugly fake Christmas tree. Leaping onto the couch, he was horrified to see the spider scuttle in the same direction.

“NOT TODAY, YOU LITTLE FUCKER!” He was practically screaming at the eight legged nightmare, not aware of how loud he was being or at how he looked as a 25 year old man fleeing from a glorified bug.

James lobbed a cushion and shouted again, as though a spider could be yelled into submission. He didn’t notice the door bang open and Lily Evans flying into his flat with the determination of an FBI agent in pursuit, flip flop poised, until she was two feet away from him.

She skidded to a stop, breathing heavily. James was frozen, fear completely forgotten as he stared at Lily in his flat. She had never even crossed the doormat.

A frown was forming on her face, “What the hell , Potter?” She stared at the spider, now still on the carpet. “Are you screaming at this spider?”

James composed himself, hand instantly going to his hair, realising it would be tricky to jump down from the sofa with any shred of masculine dignity.

“Um, no?” James replied lamely.

Lily looked up at him, smirking now. “You were.” Laughing, she dropped the hand holding her flip flop. “Oh, I can’t wait to tell Bertha in 4C that tough guy James Potter nearly cried over a spider.”

She was practically gleeful, and James had to work hard not to just pull her up for a kiss. The only thing that stopped him confessing how much he liked her every time he opened his mouth was his emotionally buffering confidence. James refused to let his embarrassment show, and zoned in on the shoe she held.

“All right, Evans, easy on the tears talk,” James protested. “Were you planning on defending my honour with a flip flop?”

Face turning pink, Lily hid it behind her back. “Oh, shut it.”

“Tell me, what are the statistics on flip flops and self defence?” He teased, spurred on by her blush.

Scowling, Lily picked up a nearby glass and trapped the spider where it was with a pointed slam. Oh, shit. His dream woman.

Stepping off the couch, James grinned down at her.

“Thanks for saving me.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

“You’re the one in my flat, Evans.”

“Your door was unlocked! Which I’ve told you a million times is crazy, by the way.”

“I leave it unlocked in the hope you’ll come barging in armed with a flip flop,” He said with a mocking seriousness.

It was at that moment he realised he was standing very close to her, and she smelled so bloody nice and looked unnervingly good in a thick knitted jumper bearing Santa’s face and soft blue jeans.

Lily’s mouth twitched then, “Is that right?”

“You never come over when I’ve asked you, I figured I’d trick you into rescuing me,” He answered smoothly, not being able to conceal a smile at their awareness of his bullshit.

Lily’s emerald eyes glittered with mirth until she looked up and suddenly leapt away from James like she’d been electrocuted. He missed her instantly and she was a metre away. ‘In trouble’ was an understatement.

“Sorry,” She mumbled, tucking her hair behind both ears. “Mistletoe.” Lily pointed a delicate finger toward the ceiling. James followed her gaze and tried not to let his heart sink all the way down to his knees.

He raised his brows, “Sorry? It’s just mistletoe.”

“How’s Marlene?” Lily asked abruptly. Seemingly unable to meet his eye all of a sudden, she stared at the trapped spider that James was diligently ignoring.

Now the poster boy for bafflement, he shrugged, “She’s fine,” James said quickly. “Are you friends?”

Lily’s face was turning steadily pink and she laughed nervously, “Not really. Don’t worry, I’m not spying on you for your girlfriend or anything.”

The sentence was so funny to James that he burst out laughing. He didn’t know why Lily looked so scandalised, it was a good joke.

Lily’s embarrassment was morphing into annoyance and she folded her arms, “Why are you laughing?”

That’s when it hit him. His laughter died and he fixed her with an incredulous stare.

“Do you think Marlene is my girlfriend? Marlene?”

Lily’s eyes flickered, “It’s a very logical assumption to make. She always sleeps here! She goes to your parents’ house with you!” .

James guffawed, his mind racing to wrap around this new predicament. “Yeah, we grew up together! Mar’s parents live next door to mine. She sleeps on the couch after a night out so she doesn’t have to drive home.”

Lily opened her mouth to retort, but the truth struck her and she closed it.

“Oh,” She bit her lip and James took a measured breath. She was relieved. He couldn’t believe he was about to ask what he did until he heard the words.

“Wait, does my relationship status… matter to you?”

Lily covered her face with both hands. “Shut up, 5B,” she said through her fingers, voice muffled.

James grinned, gently prizing her hands apart. Her skin was warm and soft as he slowly slid his fingers between hers, giving her the option to pull free.

“I asked you out multiple times. You should have said yes,” James said, not caring that his voice sounded practically yearning.

Lily watched their interlocked fingers, “I thought you were in a relationship and felt sorry for me for being freshly single in a new area.”

James huffed a laugh, “I definitely did not feel bad. Evans, I’m ashamed to say I was bloody ecstatic when you got dumped.”

Emerald eyes finally met his in indignation, “Hey! I dumped him .” Lily chewed her tongue. “It was over as soon as I realised I fancied my neighbour more than my boyfriend.”

James’ grin was now positively shit-eating but he didn’t care. Lily Evans fancied him - apparently, she had for a while. His gorgeous, mad, funny neighbour who yelled when his shoelaces were undone in the post room and ran to defend him when he screamed like a child at a spider.

James stepped into her space so that the tip of their shoes were aligned. Lily inhaled swiftly, her mouth dropping open before she bit the inside of her cheek.

“James, why do you think I stand in front of my door so long everyday when I get home?”

James smirked, so close now that their shallow breaths mingled, “You can never find your keys in that giant bag.”

“I keep my keys in my pocket,” Lily said simply, gaze flickering to his lips in a way that made his blood hum. “I just mess around in case I catch you coming in or out. All so I could share thirty seconds with you.”

“Well, next time you want to mess around,” James said in low voice, tightening their linked fingers to pull her tantalisingly closer. “You can come straight to me.”

She smiled softly, her eyelids almost closed in a dreamlike state, “Only if you lock that bloody front door.”

Unable to resist any longer, James bent down to catch Lily’s lips with his own and she responded in kind, surging upwards into him with an urgency he could only have dreamed of. Unlocking their hands, she plunged hers into his hair, scratching at his scalp in a way that made him groan, and he wrapped both strong arms around her waist so she was lifted off the ground.

This was bliss. Happy fucking Christmas.

Suddenly, Lily pulled back just a fraction.

“James,” She whispered, her breath skating over his mouth. “I just kicked over the spider glass.”

Right, the spider that had wingmanned him here . He was still absolutely terrified of the thing.

James tightened his grip around Lily and pressed his forehead to hers, “Get the flip flop.”

#jily #jily fanfiction #james potter #lily evans #prompt #challenge #ao3 #hp fic #marauders

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