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#let’s make a list of teams that hate me
pers1st · 2 days
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remembered
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pairing: alexia putellas x reader
notes: this is so short ugh i hate this tbh but oh well, little angsty, mentions of injuries
You remembered every single trophy, every single victory, every loss, every draw, every team, every teammate, as you sat on the countertop of your kitchen, watching your girlfriend hum along to the Rosalía song playing over your speaker system as she stirred the pasta you had been cooking for a while now. Alexia was still wearing the sweats she’d worn on the plane back from the most recent champions league match, one that you had, once again, sat out for. With an ACL injury over two years ago and not a single minute back on the pitch due to the never ending list of injuries added to your knee since, you had sat out for a lot of matches. Every one of your teammates knew that it took a toll on you, but more than anyone, Alexia knew. She had seen you the very night of your injury, although it had happened during an international break. She had seen you cry and thrash in her arms, she had seen you when you’d gone into surgery and when you’d come out of it, she had seen every step of your recovery, had been present for every moment another doctor shattered your heart, she had picked up every broken piece of it and attempted her best to hold you together when you couldn’t. Still, you felt nervous to tell her. Still, you didn’t know how she’d react- whether she’d understand.
Alexia bled for football in a way few did - it was her whole life. 
“What’s on your mind?”, she hummed, lifting her gaze from the stove as she looked over at you fiddling with the hem of her sweatshirt that hung over your body.
You shook your head.
“Not now, Ale”, you sighed. You had a plan for this. You had laid out every step of telling her how you’d announce the end of your career soon. However, one thing you hadn’t taken into account were your emotions, and how easily your girlfriend of five years could read them.
“You’re scaring me, amor. What’s wrong?”, she asked, her tone filled with worry and her eyebrows furrowed as she let the wooden spoon simmer in the pot, instead taking a hold of your hands, immediately stopping your fidgeting.
“It has nothing to do with you, Ale. Promise”, you murmured, taking a deep breath in to avoid your tears from falling, knowing that your girlfriend would abandon the food within seconds and force the words out of your mouth before you suffocated on them. But you had prepared Alexia’s favorite pasta with so much effort, wanting to welcome her back with something to make up for your lack of presence with the team recently, that you didn’t know whether you could take it.
“I don’t know why, but that’s making me feel worse”, she chuckled, squeezing your hands as she tried to find your gaze.
“I’ll tell you when we eat, okay?”, you asked, wanting to find a common ground with her and immediately, she nodded. That seemed to calm you, as you breathed a sigh of relief. Alexia understood that it was a serious matter, yet she didn’t push you. Maybe she’d understand that your knee had simply had enough. Maybe she’d understand that you had had enough.
The cartilage in your knee had, at one point, been down to only twenty percent, and through two very painful surgeries, the doctors of your club had been sure you’d be able to be integrated into the sport again. Yet, you had sought another conversation with one of the doctors who’d stayed behind in Barcelona, in the hopes of having some clearance on whether you actually would, at one point, play football again. The man had been insistent that this was a conversation to be held while more people, most importantly, your girlfriend was present, yet you had insisted on answers and had been told the one thing no athlete ever wanted to hear. 
It’s very unlikely. If I were you, I wouldn’t push for it.
“All done, no?”, Alexia asked as she lifted one of the noodles from the pot for you to taste, gently placing it in your open mouth. You hissed at the heat in your mouth, yet you nodded. 
“Sí”, you agreed, hopping from the countertop as best as you could, to take the plates from the table you’d already sat when she’d texted you she was on her way home.
After plating up the food, you took Alexia’s phone, shushing the woman’s protests as you changed the music to Taylor Swift.
“My monologue, my music”, you smiled, filling your girlfriend’s glass with water as you sat down across from her, taking a deep breath.
“Mi amor, you’re scaring me”, Alexia huffed, but you shook your head no, poking at your food for a second.
“I’m going to retire, Ale”, you started, missing how Alexia’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again as she searched for words. Your gaze was fixated on your plate, not knowing whether you could look at her right now, whether you could take her disappointment. You had been through so much in the past few months (really, it had been years), your girlfriend’s disappointment wasn’t something you were particularly searching for. Still, you knew you would have to accept it as she remained silent.
“I saw the doctor yesterday. He said if he was me, he wouldn’t push it.”
At that, you looked up at her, practically seeing her wires spin.
“Screw him, bebita. He’s not you, he’s not an athlete, he’s not-”
“Ale, I’m tired”, you interrupted her, a single tear rolling down your cheek. You knew she wouldn’t understand.
“I can’t do this anymore. It’s too much. Every time I go again, it ends in pain and more time out and- it’s too much. I’m done, Ale. I’m done fighting”, you said in one breath, dropping your fork onto your plate as you pushed your chair back.
“Wait, amor!”, she exclaimed, and made her way over to you within seconds. You didn’t know whether she was going to yell at you, silently disapprove or try to change your mind, but you didn’t have the energy to fight her embrace as she tightened her arms around you, letting your head fall into the crook of her neck as more tears escaped your eyes.
“It's okay, mi vida. You’re okay, I’ve got you.”
Well, you certainly hadn’t expected that- her words in your ear only encouraged you to cry harder, to finally let go of all the weight on your shoulders as you sobbed into her shoulder. You didn’t have any way to fight the tears anymore, completely letting your guard down as you cried and cried. It seemed like hours, and if you were any more stable emotionally, you might’ve cursed yourself for letting the food get calmed, but if your girlfriend minded, she didn’t say as she wordlessly led you to the couch after what seemed like hours.
“Are you sure, bebita? I just- I don’t want you to regret it”, Alexia sighed, your hands in hers as she gently stroked your thumb.
“Sí, Ale. I’m sure. It’s going to suck, but I can’t cling onto nothing anymore. I need something to do other than wait for a potential comeback”, you spoke, your voice hoarse from all of the crying.
“Have you thought about this? Like, for long enough to be sure?”
You nodded. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about since the follow up appointment of my surgery”, you huffed in an answer. 
“Amor, why didn’t you tell me?”, Alexia asked, her eyebrows furrowed as she held your hands, still intertwined with hers, closer to her heart. You could feel it beat through her hoodie.
“I didn’t think you would understand”, you mumbled, suddenly insecure about what you had been so confident in before. Alexia was one of the most empathetic, most understanding people you’d ever met- and although it had taken her a while to get the gist of your knee problems, and hours to research every surgery in detail, you doubted yourself now- if anyone understood the toll this has taken on you, it’d be the person who had been there for you through it all.
“Mi vida, I don’t know what it’s like, for you. But I’ve seen you in pain for such a long time. I just want you to be happy, and I thought that you would be happy once you were back on the pitch. That’s why I pushed you. But if that’s not what you want, I understand. After everything that you’ve been through, I will respect whatever you want to do. And if you don’t want to play anymore, we’ll figure something else out”, she spoke, her voice firm yet gentle at the same time. You couldn’t help but lean into her at her words, the weight being lifted off your chest at once.
“Thank you, Ale. Thank you so, so much”, you whispered into her shoulder, letting her hug you once more.
“Of course, bebita. I’ll always have your back. You’ve had an amazing career, and you’ll be remembered for that, forever. No matter what you do next, I know it’ll be great.”
After a short amount of contentment, Alexia spoke again.
“Although, you might give Jana and Bruna a heart attack”, she laughed.
“I know. I don’t know how the team will take it, in general”, you gave back. This was another thing that had been cursing your mind for a while now. After a great time with Lyon, you had finally come to Barcelona three years ago, wanting nothing more than to finally close the distance between you and Alexia. With that, however, you had found a new family, and people who meant more to you than you could ever explain. Despite your foreignness, and your teammates from the US constantly making fun of you whenever they could find a video of you attempting to speak Spanish, this group of women had taken you in and transformed this city into what you hoped to be your forever home. Even when for the better part of your stay in Barcelona, you had been sidelined, on the injury bench or in an operating room.
“Well, it’s not like you’ll be gone, no? You’ll stay here, with Barça.”
“Sí, I will. But I won’t be at training, won’t be at every match. It will be different”, you huffed. You had no clue what you would do after your career- an after-football never having existed in your mind, but you knew that you wanted it to have something to do with the sport.
“They'll still support you. They all love you, especially the younger ones. They look up to you so much, mi vida. It will be okay.”
You believed Alexia. Because if your girlfriend was anything other than caring, gentle, and empathetic, she was also honest. If she said it would be okay, it would be okay. Despite the fact that you had no idea what you were going to do with your life, you knew that as long as you had Alexia, it would be okay.
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blingblong55 · 20 hours
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Together as one-141& Philip Graves
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Picture credits: @ave661 (right) @/BigMikeMW( left)
Based on a request:
mwIII spoiler! have you watched that scene where graves offers his hand for gaz to shake, but gaz ignores it? 😭 COULD YOU MAKE A ONESHOT OF THAT AND INSERT READER IN IT HAHAHA THANKS!! <33 ---- GN!Reader, one-shot ----
A joint operation…easy no? Well, that's when the trouble comes in. His name is Philip Graves, the same man that the team and you disliked with a passion.
Gaz, Alex, Farah and you walking towards the the man you'd have to be working with. If only everyone closed their eyes and let you do your kind of trouble, oh what a piece of art would Graves' body be.
"We're a go for pre-check." Graves says over comms before he notices the two members of 1-4-1 he recognised easily. Gaz and you, unaware he was already so near you both. He laughs as he approaches you four. "Yeah! We are ready to rumble…?" he says as he extends his hand to greet Farah. "This is a joint operation," Farah says and all you do is send daggers through your stare at Graves.
"U.L.F….141 and Shadow…Together as one.." Farah says and as Graves extends his hand to shake Gaz's hand, Alex is forced to pull you back by your vest.
"Not here, kid. Leave that for off the job," he says to you, hoping he can keep your hotheaded self tamed.
Gaz stares at Graves, not daring to even give him a nod.
Price chuckled as he could see how hard Alex was trying to keep you back. The old man knows you well, after all.
Before Alex loses control of you, Price taps on Gaz's shoulder. Knowing all too well his two soldiers hate liars and traitors. "Gaz…Grim," he says and nods at you guys. Graves still with his hand out, hoping that the problem had already dissolved. It was far from that. He was already on Ghost's red list.
Graves makes a fist and nods, understanding that it still isn't over. As you walk past him, Gaz, in a friendly way, punches Graves' shoulder.
"Together as one…" Alex says as from the distance, he can see you trying to make Graves trip.
"You sure?" He asks once more as he sees that your attempt worked but now you're being dragged like a little kid by Price and Gaz. Graves is being helped up by a shadow member.
Your silhouette only shows how you kept flipping him off.
Together as one…my ass
Tags:
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restinslices · 1 day
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Ngl now I wanna read MK1 LKBS reacting to Twilight in headcanon bullet point format 😭
Pretend I put a joke here
Bi-Han
Bi-Han probably hates a lot of things 
Twilight is quickly added to his list 
You know how you can hate a movie, show, book, whatever but have a favorite character? That doesn't happen with Bi-Han
Fuck Bella, fuck Edward, fuck Jacob, fuck EVERYBODY 
The fact that he managed to finish the first movie is a miracle. He for damn sure ain't watching the rest and/or reading the books. You gon have to stab him 
“I'll divorce you if you don't” “I'll get the paperwork for you”
I don't think he'd like any parts of it. There's not a single redeemable thing in that movie 
The type to get mad at Bella and pause the movie to do a lap so he won't destroy the TV 
His main question is “why are y'all doing all this for a girl you hardly know?”
I legit don't think he'd enjoy any parts of it. MAYBE the soundtrack, and that's a big MAYBE 
So many things would bother him. Why is stalking romantic? Why are you risking your family's life for a girl you hardly know? Why is Edward not considered a pedo? How has he not met someone yet? Why is Jacob stuck on her?
There is nothing redeemable about Twilight to him. I think every minute for him is agony 
I don't think any of them like Twilight but I feel like he hates it the most 
In turmoil
Kuai Liang
He doesn't like it either but he tries to be nice and hide it 
He hides it poorly 
A very pained smile whenever you look over at him 
“You like it?” “Yes… 🙂” “Great! Let's watch New Moon!” “There's more?😧”
Does he watch the others? Possibly 
Will he read the books? No
I don't think he'd be fond of any of the main characters either
He’s not a fan of love triangles and he also just doesn’t like the characters
Favorite character? Maybe Angela 
She gets hardly any screentime so she can't do any wrong 
That soundtrack is nice tho-
I don't think he's in as much agony as Bi-Han, but I don't see him liking Twilight 
I'm not even sure he's even into romantic movies 
Do I think he's against romantic movies? No. Do I think it's his favorite genre? No. It could be like, top 5 or something 
This isn't me jumping on the Twilight hate train because I like Twilight in a sense, but I just don't see any of them genuinely enjoying it and being apart of the Team Jacob vs Team Edward debate 
He for sure ain't rewatching the movies 
His niceness is only going so far. At some point he gotta deliver the news to you 
Bella's lullaby is his shit now tho 
Tomas 
Supermassive Black Hole is a nice song 
So… he doesn't entirely hate it 
Like it though? Um… he likes that you like it
Unlike the other two, he'll read the books but he's only reading them because he's like “these movies gotta be popular for a reason. Maybe the books are better”
Does he finish? Probably not 
The love triangle ain't even balanced fr, so he's not really intrigued by that part
I can see him being into the supernatural stuff but I mean, it's not like it's super expounded on 
Is he Team Edward or Team Jacob? Neither 
Bi-Han hates everyone, Kuai Liang doesn't like love triangles, Tomas doesn't like Bella 
Playing both sides when it's convenient for you is something he's not fond of. Pick one and stay on that one 
Who’s his favorite character? He jumps from side characters 
The main characters are probably never his favorite. They're always doing something that makes him raise a brow 
I can possibly see this becoming a series he hates so much, he feels the need to rewatch it 
He spots plot holes and now he can no longer unsee them
He really does try to pick a team if you want him to but it's like “I know who she ends up with so what's the point?”
The point is to be part of the community Tomas 
“I thought you didn't like Twilight” “I need background noise” “...” “I need to feel something” “I get it”
Love hate relationship 
He just like me fr 
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bsaka7 · 3 months
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sorry the funniest thing about hockey is that they really make these guys play in. des moines. st paul. loser ass sports cities.
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nightprompts · 11 months
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&. 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬.
( this is basically just a very self indulgent list of various fluff, angst, and suggestive themed dialogue sentence starters. )
❛ i could keep you safe. they’re all afraid of me. ❜
❛ i’m trying to fix your hair, so hold still. ❜
❛ your heart is beating so fast right now. ❜
❛ promise me you’ll still be here when i wake up. ❜
❛ you’re not as bad as everyone says you are. ❜
❛ i thought you’d like some company. ❜ 
❛ clean yourself up. you're getting blood all over the place. ❜
❛ here, give this a try and tell me what you think. ❜
❛ you can kiss me, you know. ❜
❛ come back to bed. ❜
❛ you look good like this. ❜
❛ working together again, it’s just like old times. ❜
❛ how is it you always know what i need, huh? ❜
❛ you’re lucky you got away with only a scratch. ❜ 
❛ i can’t imagine losing someone like that. i’m sorry. ❜
❛ you know you can always talk to me. ❜
❛ the only one who gets to kill you, is me. ❜
❛ so, what do i owe this pleasure? ❜
❛ ah, so you aren’t heartless after all. ❜
❛ may i have this dance? ❜ 
❛ it’s okay, you can touch me. i won't break. ❜
❛ enemies make the best lovers, you know. ❜
❛ hold still. this might sting a little. ❜
❛ we can't keep doing this. ❜ 
❛ you look like you've got something to say. ❜
❛ just relax and let me take care of you. ❜
❛ thought you’d be lighter without all that blood. ❜
❛ i had it under control. you didn’t need to do that. ❜
❛ everything looks so beautiful from up here. ❜
❛ you treat all your ladies like this? ❜
❛ well? how do i look? ❜
❛ can’t sleep? ❜
❛ do you mind if i smoke? ❜
❛ i’m scared of ending up alone. ❜
❛ i don’t think i’ve ever seen you smile. ❜
❛ how long has it been since you've slept? ❜
❛ you are losing my interest, and that’s very dangerous. ❜
❛ i’d suffer hell if you’d tell me what you’d do to me tonight. ❜
❛ you look really pretty right now. ❜
❛ i’ve never cared for anyone the way i care for you. ❜
❛ i’m not wearing any underwear. thought you’d like to know. ❜
❛ just a few more stitches and you’ll be as good as new. ❜
❛ i’d say we make a pretty good team. ❜
❛ i want you to forget this ever happened. ❜
❛ i'm here for business — not pleasure. ❜
❛ if i didn't know any better, i'd say you were jealous. ❜
❛ you'd look better down on your knees. ❜
❛ fine, keep acting like you hate me. ❜
❛ kiss me again. ❜
❛ are you asking me out on a date? ❜
❛ just sit there and look pretty and let me handle this. ❜
❛ you okay? caught you staring off into space again. ❜
❛ well, i do feel better now that you're here. ❜
❛ i'm not drunk enough for this. ❜ 
❛ why is it whenever we see each other, you’re covered in blood? ❜
❛ i was wrong about you. ❜ 
❛ the first time i met you, i had no idea you'd mean this much. ❜
❛ you gonna be a good girl / boy for me? ❜
❛ i’m not afraid of you. ❜
❛ books mean more to me than people anyway. ❜
❛ i just wanted to say thank you for protecting me. ❜
❛ how about a kiss goodnight? ❜
❛ i don’t have time for distractions right now. ❜
❛ you shouldn’t be out here by yourself. ❜ 
❛ if i have to think about one more thing today, my head will explode. ❜
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darklordofthesimp · 1 year
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Delirium (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader)
Summary: Being partnered with Ghost was never easy. However, when you find him bleeding out on the kitchen floor and delirious from blood loss, you make a discovery. The L.T loves to talk.
Requested by Anon: #57 You're shaking.
A/N: Some Sunshine to feed you while I work on Anything III.
Category: Mutual Pining
Warnings: Description of injury || Graphic language
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You weren't a medic by any means. 
There was the combat first aid course that you were all forced to do during basic training, but that had been a century ago. You'd handled your own injuries when an enemy sniper would get a lucky shot. Again, there's not much to do there other than put some pressure on it.
Otherwise, you were fairly inexperienced when it came to handling injured team members. There were shortfalls to being a sniper, hand-to-hand combat wasn't as relevant and having to provide first aid was rare. 
You call them shortfalls because now, in a situation where those skills are required, you're fucking struggling. 
You'd opened the door to the safe house with a sigh, frowning when you couldn't see Ghost through the windows. You'd assumed he'd be waiting for you to arrive from your nest but clearly, he didn't give enough of a fuck to wait around. 
You could have died en route and he'd be sleeping. 
For some reason, the thought hurt. 
You could think of a million things that he probably thought more important than you; staring at a wall being high on the list. What you hadn’t expected, was to find him collapsed on the kitchen floor.
“Ghost,” you rasped, choking on his name. His eyes flickered open at the sound of your voice, the relief palpable in his gaze. He groaned and let his head fall back against the wall with a strangled noise. You were frozen. You’d never seen him injured and honestly, you thought that you never would. 
You’d even told Soap that Ghost was probably just a bootleg Robo-Cop beneath the mask.  
But, the blood soaking through his uniform said otherwise. 
“You gonna give me hand or not?” His voice was low and rough. It had no edge, though. There was no bite behind his words like there usually was and it scared you. The man hated your guts and if he was too injured to convey that then he was definitely dying. 
“Oh God,” you breathed, leaning your rifle against the wall slowly. Your eyes never left his crumpled form and his eyes never left your face. “Oh God.” 
You slid to your knees, rushing to his side with frantic curses. You couldn’t see the extent of the wound from beneath his armour and he clearly didn’t have enough strength to take it off himself. 
“Stab wound,” Ghost offered the cause of injury through gritted teeth. “Got me good.” 
“This shit needs to come off,” you tugged at his armour, reaching for the quick-release cord. The man groaned but he didn’t object. One hard tug of the plastic ligature had the vest falling apart at every seam, the line now loose in your hand. 
“Fuck,” the man gave a startled chuckle, taking a large breath with his chest free from pressure. “Feel better already.” 
You didn’t reply, eyes narrowed on the wound beneath his ribs. You pulled up his shirt, tucking it beneath his arms as you scanned over the injury. It was clean cut, a clear entry wound that was steadily leaking a shit tonne of blood. 
No sounds of air sucking in through the jagged flesh and you thanked whoever was listening that it wasn’t a punctured lung. You didn’t have any seals on you and you didn’t want to slap him with some duct tape instead. He’d never let you live that down.
“How’s it lookin’, Sunshine?” Ghost asked, breathing heavily.
“Unfortunately,” you began, pressing the cotton padding from your kit against the wound, “if you apply pressure, you’ll live.” 
“Unfortunately?” He coughed,  the sound strained and you could tell he immediately regretted the movement. 
“Very fucking unfortunate,” you confirmed with faux seriousness. 
You stuck a gauze pad to the wound once you had finished packing it, reaching into your med pouch for a bandage. You’d wrap it around his midriff to keep pressure on the wound, you decided. 
“A ray of Sunshine you are, as per fuckin’ usual.” 
You clenched your jaw, reminding yourself that he was injured and that you couldn’t stick a finger knuckle-deep in his wound as retaliation. At the very least, he was back to hating you. Meant he wasn’t dying any time soon. 
You frowned at the bandage in your hands, desperately trying to remove the plastic wrapping. You couldn’t think straight and your body felt jittery as the adrenline began to settle. You couldn’t believe how vulnerable he was, unable to gather the strength to take off his own body armour. 
You hated it. 
Why the fuck couldn’t you open this wrapping? 
You pulled harder on the plastic, trying to bring your heart rate down. Why were you breathing so hard? 
A gloved hand fell over your own. 
Your frantic tugging came to an immediate halt and your eyes snapped up to meet his, startled. Ghost's gaze was half lidded but just as intense as always, grazing over your features. Heat flushed through your body at his drunken stare. You knew it was from the blood loss, you knew he could barely see straight, but that kind of look was reserved for someone he was sharing a bed with and you couldn't function at the sight of it. 
For a moment he said nothing, blinking slowly- too slowly- as he took in a breath. 
"Relax, kid," he murmured eventually. "I'm okay."
You swallowed hard. 
His fingers were soft over your own, too weak to apply pressure but curled over your hand just the same. 
"I am relaxed." You bit back at him, returning your gaze to the stupid fucking bandage beneath both of your hands. You didn't want him to see how much this affected you, you didn't want him to think you were a cowardly mess. 
There was a soft huff as he patted your hand lightly. "You're shaking, Sunshine."
You sucked in a breath.
Your eyes flickered back to meet his, lips trembling at your exposure. He knew. The gentleness in his gaze was otherworldly, so foreign you wondered if it was even Simon Riley beneath the mask. Blood loss was clearly doing a number on him and he was doing a number on you. 
“I’m a sniper, Sir.” You coughed, trying to tear yourself from the sudden intimacy of the situation. “I don’t shake.”
Ghost tutted from beneath his mask. 
“Haven’t been with the right bloke, then.” 
Your jaw dropped. 
Ghost blinked at you as though he couldn’t believe what had come out of his mouth, either. Jesus fucking Christ. You suddenly realised why Soap had made fun of Ghost for never drinking when you’d all be at the pub. You remembered asking the Sarge why the masked enigma would always bail after an hour or two and his response was simple. 
“The L.T can’t hold his tongue when he’s on the piss.” 
You thought that implied aggression. 
Clearly not.
“There is no right bloke,” you rasped, slowly pulling the bandage from beneath his hand. The loss of contact left you feeling empty but suddenly you could breathe a little easier. 
Your fingers shook violently as you tried for the plastic wrapper again and your gaze flickered to Ghost’s face, praying he hadn’t noticed. You should have known better. 
His eyes were on your trembling digits, a soft exhale making it’s way to your ears. 
“Looks like I’ve proved you wrong, Sunshine.” 
The words were low but there was no heat behind them. It didn’t feel lustful, they were murmured like an afterthought, his mind elsewhere. You wondered where Simon Riley disappeared to in his head when he looked at you. 
“You crack a lot of jokes for someone who’s a literal shish kebab,” you snapped, tearing at the plastic wrapping with your teeth. Finally, the bandage came loose.
“And you talk a lot of shit for someone who cares more than they let on.” The words were fired back, demanding your attention. 
You stared at him for a long moment, resisting the urge to squirm beneath his dark gaze. You’d never seen that expression on him before, as though he were daring you to disagree. As if he were waiting for you to say something. 
“Can’t care too much in this business, Sir.” You choked on the words, unravelling the bandage.
“I believed that once,” he tilted his head. 
“And now?” You prodded, leaning over him to wrap the bandage around his midriff. You tried to ignore how close your face was to his, how your fingers trailed against the skin of his stomach. The Lieutenant shivered beneath your touch and you kept your gaze downcast. 
Fingers gripped your chin softly and you gasped as he tilted your face upward. 
You were half on top of him, nose to nose and his stuttered exhale brushed against your lips. Simon’s eyes were half lidded and this close you could see the blue of his eyes, a stormy ocean that swallowed you whole. You were caught in it’s rip tide, drowning in the reverence of his stare. 
“Now,” he murmured, lazily examining our features. His eyes lingered on your parted lips, his thumb slowly swiping your bottom lip. “Could say I’ve had a change of heart.” 
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sinofwriting · 2 months
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Every Kiss Begins With Tabs - Max Verstappen
Words: 1,544 Summary: Max and her have a tradition that was born from their first kiss. Note(s): The idea for this fic popped into my head one night, didn’t know what driver to do with it, and then quickly realized Max is the only option with him driving for a literal energy drink company. Also, this features Max and Charles being best friends, because your honor, I love them. (and features a bit of Ferrari bashing, because of course)
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At the end of their first date, Max had watched as she shyly reached into her purse, fishing for something, before pressing a small thing into his hand and instinctively he held it. He didn’t even get a second to figure out what it was, since she kissed him as soon as it was pressed into his hand. It was small, barely a second, just a peck. But it had made him flush, staring at her with wide eyes before he murmured a quiet again.
Her bottom lip had found its way between her teeth for a second, before she nodded at his hand, the one she had pressed something into. For the kiss. He remembers her mumble, making her all the more cute to him, how she was shy yet bold in the same breath.
It had been near painful to look away from her, but he forced his eyes down as he uncurled his hand and saw a generic soda tab sitting in his palm. Her words rang in his ears and memories of watching girls in school give them to boys run through his head and he’s pressing their hands together, keeping it between their palms as he kisses her.
Max’s eyebrows are furrowed in concentration as he messes with the tab on his can of Red Bull. The sound of the press and his fellow drivers' voices washing over him. When it easily tears off, he pockets it, just as he’s asked a question.
“Over these last few months, you’ve been a lot happier. Many people thought it was you winning races making you so happy, but with Singapore happening, that has been disproven. Is there something other than winning that makes you so happy?” Max’s eyes darted over to his press officer, personal questions were on the no list for after races. She looks back at him with a raised eyebrow and he has to resist letting his brows press together. She clearly didn’t think this was personal and in nature he supposes it wasn’t, but it was leading. Raising the microphone to his lips, he speaks. “Well, I think I’d have a very boring, shit life if the only thing that made me happy was winning.” The reporter coughs, “Of course. But nothing new in your life?” “Not that I can think of.” There’s a frown on the reporter's face, but they don’t ask anything else, and the session is called to a close.
“I fucking hate reporters.” Max murmurs as he walks out the room. Charles snorts, hearing him and gently bumping their shoulders together. “I couldn’t tell.” “Haha. Was a good race for you today, though.” “I feel like I need a fucking bodyguard. I’ve been getting threats like crazy.” Max winces, having seen some for himself and also knowing from experience how bad they could get. “Ferrari hasn’t hired any for you?” He scoffs, “No, too much faith, I suppose.” “Stick close, come to Red Bull’s hotel with me, I’ve got an extra room and security.” “Ooh.” Charles teases, poking at his side as they exit the building. “Look at the golden boy with his security.” Max rolls his eyes, but feigns away as he reaches out again. “Are you coming or not?” He scoffs again. “Of course. I’m too pretty to be killed.” It’s Max’s turn to scoff, “You're something, alright.” he mutters.
Entering Red Bull’s garage with Charles would feel weird if it weren't for the fact that for nearly all of this season Bradley, Christian, Tom, GP, or himself had all been sneaking the Ferrari driver in. Max knows that Christian is hoping with them allowing Charles access to their garage and helping hide him away from Ferrari that he’ll join their team, and Max isn’t too proud to say that he’s started to wish that too.
“I’ve gotta get something from Christian first.” Max murmurs when Charles makes a confused hum when they don’t immediately go to his driver’s room. “Also, might want to text something to collect your stuff.” “Andrea will get it. I just need the hotel and room number so he can send some stuff over.” “Don’t want to sleep in Red Bull branded clothes?” Charles sniffs, sticking his chin in the air, perfectly making a haughty face. “Of course not. I have fashion sense.”
“You want room service or something delivered from somewhere?” Charles stares at him, “Mate.” Max grins at him before returning his gaze to his phone. “Had to ask. We do have Brazil next weekend after all.” “I want all the tacos in the world right now.” “Margaritas as well?” It’s silent for a second, “why not. Just one though.” Max rolls his eyes, typing out the number ten before hitting send.
“Food has been ordered.” “Thank god. I’m starving.” “Not going to offer to pay?” Max jokes, even though he’d refuse. “God no.” He scoffs before grinning at him. “Thank you, Max, honestly.” “It’s no problem.”
“When will the food get here?” Charles asks nearly thirty minutes later as Max unlocks the door. “Already here.” He tells him, opening the door up and stepping through.
Tossing his backpack to the armchair, he doesn’t see the confused look on Charles’ face or how it grows more confused when Max fishes something out of his pocket and holds it out, a grin on his face as he stands just beside the suite's sofa.
Charles nearly stumbles when a girl appears out of nowhere, words gathering on his tongue, only for them to die before they can form when she takes whatever it is out of Max’s hand and kisses him. He knows his mouth is open, jaw dropped, as he stares at the two.
“Hello.” Max murmurs, pulling away after pressing another kiss to her lips. Her head is tilted up a bit to look at him, nose scrunching a little as she smiles. “Hi. Well done on the race.” He grins and is unable to resist kissing her again before finally separating from her, only to wrap an arm around her and pull her into his side as he turns them both to face Charles. “Charles, this is Y/N, my girlfriend.” The other driver blinks at them for a few seconds before smiling. “Hello. It’s lovely to meet you.” He tells her, stepping forward to greet her with a hug, giving Max a thumbs up when she easily goes along with it. Max snorts at the thumbs up.
“Congrats on your race as well, Charles. Always nice to see you on the podium.” “Oh.” He can feel his cheeks turn a little pink at the compliment. “Well, it is always nice to be there, even if he is always taking the top spot.” She laughs and then she’s ushering them both to sit down at the small table nearly overflowing with food. “Oh my god.” Charles breaths, staring at it all. “It’s beautiful.” “I think you're just hungry, mate.” Max remarks and Charles notices how she passes whatever Max handed her before they kissed back to the driver before giving him a peck on the lips. “Of course, I’m hungry.” His eyes wander over all the food, all the tacos, and he knows that Andrea will be pissed at their next session when Charles tells him what he ate, but he knows he won’t regret it. Even when Andrea makes the session a triple.
“Can I ask a question?” Charles asks, after they are done eating. The twelve tacos he ate and two margaritas he had in combination with pleasant company made him feel content. “Is it a stupid one?” “Max.” She playfully scolds, but there’s a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Of course.” “What is with the thing? The small thing you pass back and forth.” “Oh,” her eyes are a little wide and she seems to have stiffened and it has Charles' eyes widened. “You do not have to answer. I was just curious. You can of course tell me to shut up.” “No, it’s okay.” She shares a look with Max. “It’s just a habit, I don’t even really think about it anymore.”
Charles watches as she carefully extends her hand and opens it so he can stare at the thing the couple has been exchanging. His eyebrows furrow when he sees it’s a tab to a Red Bull can.
“Before I kissed Max for the first time, I gave him a tab from a soda can. It’s become a tradition of sorts.” His face softens at the explanation, and this whole weekend he has missed Alex, but now more than ever he wishes that she was able to come with him. “That is very sweet.” His lips then curl into a smirk and he looks at Max. “Must make sex uncomfortable though.” “You mother,” Max cuts himself off as he hits Charles with a pillow, his fellow driver howling with laughter. Hitting him with a pillow again, Max looks at her to see her laughing as well, face bright with joy and his hand is ducking into his pocket pulling out a spare tab he always keeps on him, pressing it into her hand before kissing her, ignoring the fake sounds of throwing up from Charles as he does.
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@gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @topguncultleader @iloveyou3000morgan @boiohboii @bibliosaurous @skepvids @elliegrey2803 @cixrosie @darleneslane @fanboyluvr @teti-menchon0604 @eugene-emt-roe @quackquackhun @rewmuslupin @copper-boom @stopeatread @crashingwavesofeuphoria @jointhehunt67
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luveline · 6 months
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hiii jade! can you write something for spencer x badass!reader who despite being sick af, still shows up to work? ur writing always makes my day!! :)
hi, tysm for requesting my love ♡ fem
"What's up with you?" Morgan asks. 
You don't have the energy to tell him to mind his business. "Nothing, I'm fine. What's up with you?" 
"Sorry, are you asking me how I am?" 
Morgan seems to think that you don't like him. It makes sense, in a way, because you've never been outwardly affectionate to him or even friendly, and he's constantly teasing you. But the reason you didn't like him or anyone on the team when you first joined beyond civil professionalism was because of how they treated Spencer. 
You're older now, you've learned that they love him. But they don't appreciate him as much as they should, and so you resolve to appreciate them at a similar level. Spencer gets every ounce of love you have to give, and Morgan gets a smidge when he deserves it. 
"Earth to Y/N. You sick?" Morgan asks. 
You rub the space between your brows. "Sick of stupid questions, sure." 
"Feisty. Where's Reid? Need me to give him a talk about being a better boyfriend?" 
"He's not my boyfriend." 
"He's your something." Morgan's grin softens into a more serious expression, and for a few seconds, he takes you in. You hate being looked at with concern, standing as he asks, "Seriously, are you okay?" 
"I'm okay, Morgan, thank you." 
You speed walk away from the desk to the kitchenette on unsteady footing, where Spencer stands like the light at the end of a dark tunnel making a cup of tea. He bobs the tea bag up and down slowly, his eyebrows pinched together, as though this cup of tea is the most important thing in the world to get right. Your chest aches as you move, your breath noticeably shallow. Spencer must hear you, lifting his arm to gesture for you to come closer. 
"Hey," he says. He usually speaks to you softly but this is a new level of gentleness. It goes without saying that if he were anybody else, his tone would drive you up the wall with annoyance, but he's Spencer. It must be the sugary brown of his eyes and the puppy dog essence to his smile, eager to please, that makes his concern a welcome one. "You okay? Come here." 
You stand obediently at his side. 
"You okay?" he asks again. 
"Yeah, I'm fine. Why does everybody keep asking me that?" you mumble, eyeing his cup of tea longingly. Your throat is sandpaper. 
Spencer slides it toward you without comment. "Because you look sick. Not that you look bad, you don't, you always look nice, but your eyes are glassy, and you look a little clammy." He turns sideways. "You want your tea?" 
"It's for me?" 
"Yeah, it's for you. I put honey in it. I don't know if you like honey…" 
You take the mug and drink it. Honey or not, you're gonna drink every sip, and not just because your throat is deteriorating rapidly. Spencer could make you a cup of hot dish water and you'd pinch your nose to knock it back. 
"Thank you," you say in relief. 
"Sure. Wanna go sit down?" 
"I don't need to sit down." 
"I'm not saying you do. I just," —Spencer laughs, his hand on your shoulder— "I need you to peer assess my last witness account file. You do it quicker than Morgan does." 
"Oh, okay. Yeah, let's go do it." 
Spencer shepherds you to his desk. Morgan peers not so subtly over the partition as you sit in Spencer's chair and roll into the front of his desk, reaching for a pen from his pen pot. You drink blind sips of tea between lines, reading over his file slowly. Your eyes grow heavier as the tea warms your chest, and Spencer's hand falls to your shoulder again. 
"You should go home," he says quietly. He tricked you into sitting down, that's obvious now. 
"I'm okay." 
"You need to rest when you're sick or you'll only get worse," he says, his breath fanning against the short hairs by your ear. 
You close your eyes at the sensation. "I can't go home."
"Why not?" 
"Because I…" You list off. You're sure there was something to say, something important, but Spencer's presence stands behind you and your body must realise that if you want safety to pass out, this will be the place. 
"Y/N," he says sympathetically. 
"Can't drive," you mumble. 
"I'll get you home, don't worry. You just sit here for a second while I sort it out, okay? Don't get up." He rubs down your arm roughly. For once, you get a sense of total confidence from him. You trust that he's gonna get you home in one piece. "Morgan, can you watch her?" 
"'M not a kid," you say. 
"Course not. I'm still gonna look after you, though," Spencer says. 
He takes you home in a borrowed work SUV. You're not sick enough to need carrying, but the moment he sits you down on the couch you fall into a deep, sweaty sleep. When you wake a little later, it's to three extremely important things; the first, a bowl of chicken soup with fresh made croutons; the second, Spencer, his top button undone and smiling as he squeezes your lax hand; and third, your saviour, a jumbo box of Tylenol, sleep aid and decongestants included. You remind yourself to kiss Spencer's cheek when you aren't totally dying. 
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rayclubs · 11 months
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Making a list of random Russian words I think Heavy would say so y'all can stop putting "da" and "niet" everywhere.
"Ну" - an interjection, untranslatable.
"Так" - "so" - another interjection.
"Всё" - "all" / "that's all" - usually used to signify being done with something. "Всё, I'm tired, let's go home." Can be used in conjunction with past tense to signify an intention. "Всё, I left. " ("That's it, I'm leaving.")
"Ну да." - "Yeah, right." - sarcastic.
"Ну да, конечно." - "Yeah, right, of course." - very sarcastic.
"Тихо" - "quiet" / "be quiet" - can be used literally, but also has mild comedic potential. Use it when someone is making a point that is factually correct, contradicts your point, but also you kind of hate it. "I am pretty good at chess." - "You never won against Medic." - "Тихо."
"Куда?!" - "Where?!" - use when someone or something is moving in a direction you neither expected nor desired. For a more obscene (mat) version, see: "Куда, бля?!"
"Давай" - "let's go" - can be used in a variety of contexts, including but not limited to: a suggestion, an encouragement, a sarcastic taunt, and a substitute for "goodbye". "Давай, see you later."
"Отстань" - "leave me alone" - said when annoyed by someone. For a mat version see "отъебись", for plural see "отстаньте" and "отъебитесь".
"Ладно" - "alright" - has a ton of uses. One I'd like to see is reluctantly agreeing to something you'd previously dismissed. "Ладно, you convinced me!"
"Короче" - lit. "shorter" - an extremely common interjection. Depending on context, can be translated as "so" or "to put it briefly". "The BLU team has a turret on the roof, a stickybomb ambush in the tunnel, and a Spy in our territory - короче, we are fucked."
"Хорошо" - "fine". Can be used instead of "ладно" or in the same sentence. "Всё, ладно, хорошо, you convinced me! Now отстань."
"Бывает" - lit. "Happens" - used when reacting to a relatable story, or when trying to comfort someone who just experienced an unpleasant but relatively minor thing. Not unkind, but not overly empathetic either. My sis said it when my cousin announced his breakup at the family table. Happens. Shrug.
"Надо" - "need" or "gotta" - used in response to someone protesting the inevitable. "I don't wanna wake up at 6 frickin' AM to do Soldier's stupid frickin' training!" - "Надо, Scout, надо."
"Жесть" - lit. "Tin" - not sure where the use comes from, but it's said in reaction to something shocking and almost always negative. "His head blew up. Жесть." Not a rule, but I would use it with a period instead of an exclamation mark, for emphasis.
"Ужас" - "horror" - same context as "жесть", but worse. Can also be sarcastic. Can also extend into a full sentence: "Какой ужас!" - "What terror!".
"Стой" - lit. "Stand" (verb, imperative) - wait, hold on, hold up a minute, etc. See "стойте" for plural. "Подожди"/"погоди" (plural "подождите"/"погодите") is very similar and literally means "wait".
"Спасибо" - "thank you".
"Пожалуйста" - "please". Can also be a response to "thank you".
"Всегда пожалуйста" - "always please" - a very lovely response to "thank you", basically means you're always ready to help.
"Не за что" ("for nothing") and "на здоровье" ("for health") - two more nice responses to "thank you".
"Будь здоров" - lit. "Be healthy" - "bless you", like when someone sneezes.
Will add more later.
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spookysteddie · 3 months
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That Friday Night
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Modern!Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Influencer!fem!reader
read part one here
18+ MINORSDNI
cw: alcohol, drugs (weed and cocaine), clubbing, slight Dom!Eddie if you squint, possessive!Eddie, swearing, pet names, oral (fem!receiving), light choking, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, edging, creampie. (let me know if I missed anything)
wc: 4.3k (I'm so sorry)
a/n: First of all, I want to thank every single person who liked, reblogged or made comments about part one. I was shitting myself posting it because (like I said) this is not an original thought. I'd read a few and it gave me this wave of inspiration. I am very proud of this part. It's also a little long (sorry sorry sorry I couldn't stop) . Also I don't think I'll be doing a tag list? When I used to do that no one on the list would like the fic and it was a lot of work. I hope that is okay? Let me know if you want more! I love and appreciate all of you!
...
You weren’t the type of person who got shy. Your entire job is being in front of a camera, telling people what you like, what you wear, the type of music you listen to. You did brand deals and went on lots of trips with people you didn’t know. Public interaction was easy for you and you definitely enjoyed it. 
But being personally invited to your favorite band's concert (even if you had tickets already) as their frontman's personal guest? It makes you weak in the knees. 
Telling your team about the phone call went about as good as one would expect. Anna and Case frown at you while continuing to say ‘you could’ve let it go to voicemail and we could’ve handled it directly with his people. AND why did you have him send the information directly to you?’
They weren't necessarily wrong in being upset. There were plenty of ways a conversation like that could be twisted and fucked with, especially if, for whatever reason, someone was recording the phone call. It was very easy for them to manipulate and edit that kind of shit, and drama was the last thing you wanted. 
However, the rest of the week went by without an issue. The gossip magazines had moved on to something else (though there were a few who continued to speculate about your non-relationship with Eddie. You did your deals, and kept yourself busy. And by the time Friday rolled around you were hardly nervous. 
Or that’s what you kept telling yourself. 
“Bell bottom star pants. Absolutely,” Hana says from her place on your bathroom counter, practically in the sink. “With that black leather top you love AND the red leather jacket. Oh! Oh! Oh! And the red boots!” 
You put the outfit on, looking in the mirror, “you don’t think it’s too… stereotypical?” 
Hana looks at you through the mirror, “no such thing. You look great.” 
Hana was one of the few people in your life who’d tell you like it is. You could trust her to tell you if her gut feelings were off, or on. She was your best friend and one of the few people who weren’t just here for the exposure. She’s here to be your cheerleader and you were hers. 
“Alright, let's get this going before I change my mind which I am two seconds away from doing.” 
… 
You should’ve changed your mind. 
You can hardly keep from throwing up as you're led by security to a private entrance. To get there you have to pass by their tour buses. All you can hear is loud music and whooping from inside. It’s clear they’re running around in there as the bus is rocking and all you can do is pray they don’t see you. 
You’re far too sober for the interaction you’ll be having at this current time. 
Unfortunately for you, the universe hates you. Just when you think you’re home free, the door opens, almost smacking you in the face. 
“Don’t think you can get away that easy, Asher,” Eddie says as he looks down at you. His pupils are blown wide, clearly from whatever drug he’s consumed. More than likely cocaine and weed. His words aren’t slurred so he isn’t drunk, though he does have a beer bottle in his large hands. 
God his hands, there have been many times where you’d imagine them wrapped around your throat, cutting off air as he fucks you like he hates you. You bet he could reach you even as he’s eating you out, he’s so tall and long. 
You wish you could say the grin you shoot at him is fake, however with the way he’s looking at you, like he wants to devour and smother you, it's not. You feel like a fucking school girl who has a crush. Your heart pounds so fast in your chest and you swear everyone around you can hear it. 
“We weren’t running away,” you say, voice a little breathier than you’d like. “Um this is my best friend-” 
“Hana, nice to meet you,” he cuts you off. It’s then that you see his eyes get wide and you know he’s been stalking your profile. Not that you can say anything because you’ve done it… a lot. “I, uh, saw the instagram story you put up earlier.” 
Hana smirks, “sure you did, big boy.” She pats his chest and is clearly much braver than you. That’s another thing about you and her, if one of you is feeling not confident, the other makes up for it. Like, on your own, asking for ketchup feels like cutting off a limb, but if she can't do it then it's up to you and vice versa. 
Eddie scratches the back of his neck, his black t-shirt stretching over his wide shoulder, “want to join us? We have alcohol!” 
“We would love that. Wouldn’t we?” Hana looks down at you with her brows raised, still taller than you in heels. 
You nod, “yes. Yeah absolutely! Are we allowed to photograph in here?” 
You know it’s a stupid thing to ask, but you also don’t want to take a photo of you and Hana and then not be able to post it. And what if you get photos with the rest of the band? Everyone already knows you’re going to be here. Just not… in this tour bus. 
Eddie nods, holding out his hand, “you are allowed to do whatever you want, pretty girl. And if anyone has an issue, send them my way, yeah?” He kisses the hand you’ve placed in his before leading you up the stairs of his bus. 
It's chaos in there, pure and utter chaos. You turn to look at Hana, silently telling her how insane this is. She nods slightly, but you see the grin on her face. Hana loves this stuff; the parties, the madness, all of it.
Eddie introduces you to the band, pulling you in closer by the waist. “You all need to be on your best behavior. No one touches her. Do you all understand me?” Your heart flutters at how serious he is and it instantly forces his bandmates eyes to fall to your feet. It’s impressive, actually. 
Suddenly, a bottle of beer is in your hands, passed to you by Eddie. “Oh… thank you.” You can hardly look at him as a small smile forms on your lips. His attention makes you feel all kinds of funny inside, your stomach doing flips. You know you have to look at him eventually, but he’s just so pretty that it actually hurts. 
“Um, so are you excited for your show?” This time you manage to actually drag your eyes to his. He smiles at you, his teeth so beautiful and perfect. It’s when he sits down that you realize that was a stupid question. Of course he’s excited. This is his actual job. 
He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees as he looks up at you through his lashes, you could kiss him. But you don’t for obvious reasons. Reasons you can't really think of at the moment. Not when he’s looking at you like that.  The beer bottle hangs in his right hand between his legs. 
“Very. Not much comes close to the feeling I get when we’re on that stage.” He shakes his head, curly hair moving with him, “plus, being able to hear people sing my songs back to me is fucking incredible.” 
His hand finds yours, pulling you a little closer. Eddie is testing the waters, you know this. Unfortunately for you, your brain can’t see through the cloud of lust. So, you let him pull you closer, sit you on his lap, and wrap an arm around you. 
Your brain does catch up, quicker than expected. “It seems like it’d be incredible. I applaud you cause I could never do that. I have stage fright.” 
He blinks up at you, “stage fright? Haven’t you done red carpet interviews and stuff?” 
You shift a little, shrugging, “well yes. But that’s different.” You can't stop the awkward laugh that comes out of you. It was true, it was different. You weren’t exactly sure why but it was. 
Eddie's thumb moves along your side slightly and it leaves goosebumps in its wake. 
“I’m being honest, the lights are so bright that I can’t see everyone in the crowds. Mainly just the front rows. Makes it easier.” 
Eddie puts his beer bottle on the ground by his feet before sitting up and grabbing a joint. He’s quiet as he lights it, puffing out smoke to get it going. “Want some?” 
He holds the joint towards you, waiting for your answer. You’ve done this before at the frat houses at college. You’ve done it here and there in high school as well. This is second nature, but this time you’re nervous. What if you forget how to inhale? What if you throw up? Any number of things can happen. 
Something happens inside you and your brain finally catches up to itself. A small stroke of confidence happens and without taking your eyes off of him, you lean forward, wrapping your lips around the joint and inhaling. His eyes stay locked on yours, his tongue wetting his lips. You pull back, slowly blowing out the smoke. 
“Fuckin’ hell.” It comes out in a whisper and you know he didn’t mean to say it out loud. His eyes falling from your eyes, to your lips and back again. 
God you want to kiss him. His pillowy lips would feel amazing against yours, you just know it. You start to lean into him, desperate to know if you’re right.   
A bang on the door scares the fuck out of the both of you and Eddies boot knocks over his bottle. It’s a good thing he drank most of it, the contents not spilling on the plush carpet. 
“Let’s get going guys. Put your dicks back in your pants, we have a show to do.” You know that voice, that’s their manager. He’s the one who called your people to make sure you had all the rules for this evening. 
Photos are fine. 
Everyone must be tagged. 
Nothing negative. 
Absolutely no photos of any white substances. Even if it’s sugar. 
That last one would be hard considering it was on every flat surface in neat, clean lines. 
You go to stand up, but Eddie stops you, his hand tightening on your hip. “Promise I’ll see ya after?” 
You nod, “y-yeah of course.” 
Before you know it, his lips are on yours. The kiss is soft, sweet and you don’t want it to end. In fact, you totally forget about all the other people in the room. Your hands find his face, pulling him closer as his tongue begs for permission. And once you grant it, it’s game over. 
He tastes like beer and weed and cigarettes and you love it. You want more. You want to get closer. 
But it’s not long before the door to his trailer opens up, his manager stepping into the bus. “I said get your dicks and tongues together. We cannot be late.” 
… 
By the time the show is over you barely have a voice, and you’re sure you’ve never been more turned on in your life. It might seem silly to say, but Eddie's kiss lingered the entire show and all you want is more. 
Back stage the band is still running on adrenaline, drinking water for once to try and refuel for the rest of the night. The rest of the night being a club that they frequent. A club you don’t go to because of that exact reason. 
“Ohhhhh! There's the prettiest girls I’ve ever laid eyes on!” Eddie's voice booms as security goes to double check you and Hana. “Hey! Leave them alone. They’re with me.” 
Security stands back, hands raise like he knows it’ll cause more issues if he doesn’t. You almost feel bad for the poor guy, he was just trying to do his job. Like what if you had a bomb or something? 
“C’mon we gotta get outta here.” He laces his fingers with yours before he pulls you along with him. You look over your shoulder, catching Hana's eyes. 
Go! She mouths, hanging off Gareth's arm. I’ll meet you there! 
And so, you go. Are you nervous? Yes absolutely. Are you going to pretend you aren’t and have some confidence? Yes. Fake it till you make it right?
Eddie opens the door to the car, extending a hand, “ladies first.” 
You grin at him as you elegantly slide into the car, “wow. I didn’t know you were such a gentle man.” This time when you giggle, it's cute and self assured. 
“Yes, I have been told my entire life that I look,” he slides in sucking in a soft, thinking breath, “mean and scary.” 
“You look like a doberman but they’re precious babies.” You mean it too. He looks a little mean and scary, especially in the red lights of the stage. Not to mention the “devil music” (says the media) which can get a little dark. But that’s what makes it great, in your opinion. Plus, he does look like doberman. Like he could probably kill you but would actually not? 
“‘Precious babies?’” 
You nod, “mhm! I grew up with them. Very sweet and love kisses. Oh! And they each had their own comfort toys.” 
“Then maybe I am one because I do love kisses.” He’s closer now, his breath fanning over your face. He still smells like beer and cigarettes mixed in with the smell of his cologne. 
It’s your turn to close the gap and planting your lips on his. The kiss is hotter, more intense. One could argue it’s because of the alcohol swimming in your system that makes you so bold. You’re buzzed, but not drunk. It isn’t long before his hands are in your hair, tugging. It makes you moan in his mouth, opening up to him. 
He sits back, his hands in your hair pulling you with him, making you sit in his lap. Your legs rest on either side of his hips, your cunt nestled right against the bulge in his pants. He couldn’t hide it even if he wanted to. You test the waters by rocking your hips, the friction being so sweet that you’re the one who lets out a moan. 
“God, that is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.” He kisses down your neck, nipping and sucking as he goes. “Should record it and use it in our next song.” 
You hum and grin, “I wouldn’t mind that. Always wanted to be in a song. Can’t sing though.”  
He nips at your ear, “that’s my job baby.” 
Eddie's large hand grips your hips, stopping your movements. You want to whine, you want to protest. You were so fucking close. 
“We’ll save that for when we're back at my place.” 
You grin and kiss along his jaw, “who says I’m going back to your place?” 
“The way you were just grindin’ against my cock, angel.” He grins, “also with how you’re lookin’ at me.” 
“And how am I looking at you? Hmm?” 
“Like you want me to fuck you while your brain leaks out your cunt.” 
You shudder at the crudeness of his words. No one has ever spoken to you like that and looked like him. The car stopping in front of the club saves you from trying to come up with an answer. One you know will either be embarrassing or non-existent. 
He looks over at the paparazzi that is waiting and sighs, “are we going in together or…” 
The decision you make is quick. If you’re going to do this, even for one night, you’re going to do it together and let them talk. You give him a quick kiss, “together. Give ‘em something to talk about, yeah?” 
So, you do. 
The second you’re out of the car, cameras flash and photographers call out a mix of your name and his and you can hardly understand what they’re saying. You don’t stop to pose, letting them only photograph you and him walking hand and hand. Give them crumbs as your manager says. Once you’re in the club, not even needing to show an ID or give a name. 
From there the night happens in a blur. The band has the VIP section where bottles of expensive liquor are brought over by women dressed in a bikini. You know how much all of this costs (more than you can afford that’s for sure) but you also know that all of this is on Eddie and the bands tab. He’s told you six times. 
So you drink. And you smoke. And you watch pretty white lines disappear, most of which disappear up Eddie's nose. Of course you take videos, vlogging your night and making sure to follow all the rules that were set prior to this meeting. Taking photos to remember the night. Hana is having a blast, taking shots like it’s her job and making out with Gareth in between. Of course she takes photos with you, sitting in your lap and giggling so much the photos come out blurry. But those are your favorite kinds of photos. 
“Dance with me?” Eddie says in your ear over the music. 
You take the shot that is in your hands, “lead the way.” 
The second you’re surrounded by sweaty bodies you feel invisible. You’re sure someone has cameras on you and him but at the moment you don’t care. 
Your hips move to the music, back against Eddie's chest while his hands explore your body. His lips move against your neck, sucking a dark mark into it that you know you’ll struggle to cover later. Again, you don’t care. What you do care about is the hardness that you feel against your back. 
You spin around, grinning up at him. God he’s so fucking tall you have to tilt your head up a good bit to look at him. 
“We should get out of here,” you say as he pulls you into him. 
He smirks, “thought you weren’t coming back to my place sweetheart.” 
“Seems I told a fib. Now, I need you to take me home and fuck me like you hate me.” 
It’s all he needs before he’s grabbing you by the hand and pulling you out of the club. The car is there and he quickly pulls you into the back seat. Once those doors are closed, the window tint so dark you couldn’t see inside if you tried, his mouth his on yours. Your stomach flips and the neediness you feel coming off of him. He pulls you till you’re straddling him, legs on either side of his hips. Not really the safest but at this point, all you need is his lips on you. 
The ride to Eddie’s consists of lots of kissing, so much so that you know your lips are swollen. You don’t get to see much of Eddie’s house, too focused on getting inside the house and into his bedroom. He drags you up the stairs, your hand is his. And once you’re in his room, he has you pressed up against his bedroom door. 
“You’re so fucking hot, baby.” Eddie pushes your jacket off your shoulders while he speaks, his words going straight to your clit. Your mind can barely comprehend that Eddie Munson, the man you’ve had a crush on since they were considered an ‘underground band,’ is currently taking off your clothes. 
You do the same to him, pushing his leather jacket to the ground before tugging at the ends of his shirt and pulling it over his head. “Me? You are so beautiful.” 
He hums, popping the button on your jeans, “should we take a poll on who's prettier? Winner takes the loser on a date?” 
That makes you laugh, “sounds like a deal. But first, you need to fuck me.” 
His eyes nearly go black at that and before you can think, he’s throwing you on this bed. You land with a small oomph. You decide to take a little initiative, pulling off your boots, scooting off your pants and pulling off your top. 
Eddie watches, rapt and almost possessed, his eyes scanning your partially naked body. It’s not anything more than someone would see if you posted in a bathing suit, but you can’t help but feel nervous that he isn’t going to like you. 
He quickly puts those fears (fears he knows nothing about) to rest as he settles between your legs. His eyes don’t leave yours as he kisses up your thighs. You know there is a wet patch on your underwear and you know he can see it. You do feel embarrassed about it, but at the same time, Eddie is slightly rutting against the bed so he must like it. Right? 
You can feel your body heat as he gets closer and closer to your center. 
“Eddie, please don’t tease me.” Never have you begged a man. Typically whoever you were in bed with did the begging, much to your dislike. You were desperate for someone to take charge. Now you know why they didn’t. One bruise and they get shit from all your followers. Even if you tell them to leave these men alone. 
But Eddie? He wasn’t afraid. 
“But it’s so much fun to watch you squirm.” 
You huff, squirming exactly like he said as he sits up to pull your underwear down your legs before setting back between them. “Need you to touch me.” 
He licks a stripe up your slit, sucking on your clit as he gets to the top. The sound that falls from your lips is beautiful, sweeter than the sound you made in the car. Now Eddie really wants to put you in a song, but the jealous, primal side of him never wants someone else to be able to hear your moans. 
In fact, he doesn’t want to think about any of the other men who’ve heard you make these sounds. Murder wasn't really on his list of things he enjoyed. Bar fights? Yes. Murder? No. 
“You make the prettiest sounds, sweetheart. S’very hot.”  He slides two fingers inside you with little resistance, curling them up to hit the spongy spot inside you. The stretch feels good, your hips moving on their own, riding Eddie's fingers. 
You're close, the build up of this moment really getting closer than you originally thought. “Squeezin’ my fingers so tight, baby. Are you close?” 
You nod, afraid if you speak you’ll say something ridiculous. 
But that isn’t good enough for Eddie. “Words.” 
“V-very.” 
That was clearly the wrong thing to say because he pulls his fingers from inside you, the emptiness making you gasp, “no! No, no, no I was so close!” 
He laughs as he pushes his pants and boxers off his body. “Exactly. Want you to cum with my cock inside you.” 
You look down between your bodies and your eyes widen. He was big and you accidentally voice what you’re thinking, “fuck… not gonna fit.” 
His laugh drags your eyes back to him, his cock moving through your slick and bumping your clit. “Baby you are so wet that I have no doubt it’ll fit.”  
You don’t have time to be embarrassed about it because Eddie is pushing inside you. The size of him stretching you makes you feel like he’s going to split you in half. But you don’t care, the burn just turns you on more and more and before you know it he’s seated inside you fully. 
“Fuck, Eddie.” 
Eddie is panting, trying to keep still so he doesn’t cum before he wants to. “Feel so fuckin’ good, sweetheart. A man could become obsessed with this pussy.” 
He moves right as you begin to speak, nearly knocking the air out of your lungs. He feels like he’s everywhere. “W-witchcraft” 
He fucks you harder, his cock hitting your cervix. You’re definitely going to have a bruise there but it's so worth it. 
“Didn’t know you were into dark shit. S’my schtick.” 
You wrap your legs around him, orgasm building again, “more alike than you originally thought huh?” 
He wraps a tattooed hand around your throat, squeezing gently and making your head spin, “oh, angel, I knew how alike we were the second you told everyone how bad you wanted to fuck me.” 
“C-can you blame me? Knew you’d fuck me just h-how I like.” 
You clench around him making him hiss, “yeah you need someone who will take control huh?” 
The hand around your neck slides down your body till he finds your clit, circling it. 
“Oh god! Please.” 
“I can get used to you prayin’ to me.” His thrusts are losing rhythm (something he’s usually very good at keeping) and you know he’s close. “Cum baby. I need it.” 
And it’s all you need to fall over the cliff and into bliss. He follows you, coming inside you while you squeeze around him. You both moan each other's names and you sigh as you come down. 
Eddie breaks the silence first, “that was… amazing.” 
You hum in agreement as he slides out of you and curls up beside you. You take a moment before getting up and cleaning up in the bathroom. When you come back Eddie has left out an old Corroded Coffin t-shirt and some boxers. And once they’re on, you slide back into his bed, laying your head on his chest.
“We should put that poll up, huh? I’m itching to win this bet.” Eddie laughs as he says it and before you know it, you two are finding a photo the both of you like and posting it on your story with the caption, ‘which one is prettier? Honesty is the best policy.’ 
“And now… we wait.”
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gunnerfc · 20 days
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Mommy? Sorry. | Alexia Putellas x Barça!Reader (18+)
Summary: you call Alexia ‘mommy’ for the first time
Warnings: there is literally no plot, jumps straight into smut, calling alexia ‘mommy’, strap use (r receiving) top alexia, bottom reader, alexia calling r ‘good girl’ and ‘princess’, hair pulling, strap sucking, use of the word ‘cock’ lol 
WC: 1.1K 
AN: is this on my wips list? No! But the idea popped into my head while watching the game and I needed to write it lol – all translations are from google so, sorry if they are not 100% accurate!
Alexia’s tight grip on your hips as she roughly thrusts her hips, the strap attached to her hips hitting deeper inside you with each thrust. The captain had you bent over the desk in the Madrid hotel, hands digging into your skin and your moans filling the room.
“Eres una buena chica (you’re such a good girl),” the blonde groaned as her skin hit yours. You were fresh off another win over Real Madrid and Alexia wanted to celebrate you scoring two goals and assisting her goal privately. 
You moaned loudly at the praise from Alexia, every time she told you how good you were, you felt lightheaded. Praise from Alexia as both your girlfriend and your captain meant everything and the midfielder was always there to make sure you knew just how good you were.
Your hands tightened around the edge of the desk as you felt Alexia’s strap hit that familiar spot, bringing you one step closer to the edge. You knew she was holding back despite how rough she was being. If there was one thing Alexia hated the most, it was seeing you in any amount of pain but right now you needed her to be rougher with you. 
You needed her to go faster, the pent-up tension from how physical the game was had yet to break loose. The blonde knew how to read your body for signs and she knew what you wanted from her, but she didn’t want to give it to you just yet. 
Her hands pushed your hips against the hard desktop, pinning you against the surface as her hips continued snapping against yours. The loud sound of her skin hitting yours mixed with your loud moans left little to the imagination and you could only hope most of your teammates were still out celebrating.
Your breathing was heavy as you moved your hands to rest on the surface, propping yourself on your arms as best as you could with how Alexia had you pressed against the desk. You felt one of Alexia’s hands leave your hips and suddenly it was wrapped in your hair, pulling your head back slightly. 
Alexia leaned forward until her front was almost flushed with yours to whisper in your ear. “Me estás tomando muy bien la polla, princesa (you’re taking my cock so well, princess),” the captain husked, lightly biting your earlobe as she pulled away. Alexia placed small kisses along your shoulder blade, her hips still not speeding up like you needed them to.
Alexia let go of your hair without warning and your head jerked forward, her hand sliding around your naked torso toward your chest. Her large hand groped one of your breasts, kneading the soft skin in her hand, before letting go to pinch your hardened nipple. Your breathing was heavy as your eyes rolled back, the pleasure was amazing but you needed her to ruin you.
“M-mommy, p-please,” you begged, “harder,” you whined in between loud moans. You didn’t realize right away what you had said, but you didn’t care at the moment.
Alexia’s hips faltered at your words, unsure if she heard you correctly. The blonde’s hips almost came to a stop as she processed what you said and how hearing you call her ‘mommy’ turned her on more than she would have ever thought. 
“Dilo otra vez (say it again),” Alexia ordered, but your loud moans meant you didn’t hear her. “Dije, dilo de nuevo, princesa (I said, say it again, princess),” Alexia repeated, this time in her “captain’s voice” which gained your attention, as it always does because of how attractive she sounds when she’s commanding the team.
“Mommy, please! He sido una buena chica (I’ve been a good girl!)!” you whined loudly, tears threatening to fall from your eyes as the immense pleasure you were experiencing. 
Alexia didnt respond verbally, instead her hands pushed your hips further into the desk and her hips started slamming against yours much harder than they ever had. You gasped loudly before it turned into a long moan, the feeling of Alexia’s strap buried deep within you had you in a state of bliss. 
Alexia gave you exactly what you wanted, she was fucking you harder and faster than she ever had. With your eyes tightly closed and your back arched, you felt the familiar coil in your lower stomach start to break. You both knew you wouldn’t last much longer. 
“Ven por mi, mi buena niña (come for me, my good girl),” Alexia ordered as she kept her hips moving at a steady pace.
With a loud moan, you let go, coming around her strap. Alexia didn’t let up, her hips stayed moving in you, working her way to her own orgasm. You whined at the oversensitivity but your whines turned into shallow chants of “please” as you felt a second orgasm washing over you. 
Alexia’s hips stuttered as she felt her own orgasm hit, pausing her hips as the strap bottomed out. The only sounds filling the room were both of you heavily breathing, trying to calm yourselves down. Alexia’s head rolled back as the intensity of her orgasm before her eyes refocused on you, bent over the desk with her strap buried in you. The blonde slowly pulled the toy out of you, causing you to whimper at the loss of contact. Your arms that were propping you up were weak but right before they could give out, Alexia turned you around, pulling you into a deep kiss. 
Your mouth moved against hers, letting her control the kiss. Your naked chest was flushed with hers and you could feel the strap attached to her waist hitting your thigh. Alexia pulled back, a string of saliva lingering between the two of you.
“Sé una buena niña y limpia la polla de mami (be a good girl and clean mommy’s cock),” Alexia croaked as her thumb swiped across your bottom lip. You nodded obediently as you lowered to your knees in front of her.
You looked up at her as you took the cum covered toy in your mouth, taking it to the hilt. The sight of you on your knees with her strap down your throat was one of Alexia’s favorite sights. She kept eye contact with you as you started sucking on the strap, moaning around the toy as best as you could as you tasted yourself on it. 
Drool started dripping out the sides of your mouth as you felt the toy touch the back of your throat. You gagged lightly at the feeling which spurred Alexia on, as she moved her hands to gather your hair into a makeshift ponytail. Alexia held your hair as her hips started moving slightly, not wanting to hurt you but wanting you to feel enough of the toy. 
You let Alexia fuck your mouth with the strap, taking her fully without complaining. You were her good girl after all and you wouldn’t disappoint her. You two were far from over for the night now that you unlocked something within the captain, and you made good use of the word as you begged and whined for more orgasms that night.
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hardlyinteresting · 1 month
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Love, Guilt and Other Wounds
Aaron Hotchner x female reader
When Aaron and his partner are taken hostage, he has to break her heart to save her life.
Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, a little bit of domestic fluff, mention of blood, injury (non-graphic), hostage situation, knives, cannon-compliant themes of violence, non-detailed discussion about religion (Christianity), themes of childhood abuse, please let me know if you want me to add anything else.
Word count: (less than I expected, sorry) 3.7k  Request here! | Masterlist
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"Of course, I’ll hurt you. Of course, you’ll hurt me. Of course, we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence". - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
Aaron isn't sure if he believes in a God or a higher power. He was taught to read scripture; and spent Sunday mornings perfecting his posture in church pews-- starched shirts and neckties pulled too tight. The preacher's sermons left him wanting-- wondering how this man of God could stand over his congregation preaching every week, and not see all the lies they were holding back. How could he not see the secrets Aaron seemed to read so clearly? At just fourteen Aaron knew who was having an affair and with whom. He could see which children feared their fathers. Every pew had another story, another family growing together, or falling apart. The hypocrisy of it all drove him mad, and he imagined standing from his seat to shout it, overwhelmed as he realized he had unintentionally become the keeper of everyone's secrets. He learned that everyone in that church was a liar in their own right, and he hated it. But, when he left for college, his mother called to ask if he was still going to church on Sundays, and he lied and said yes. 
He should have paid more attention. Maybe then he'd understand how he ended up here. Perhaps it's some sick retribution. A cosmic evening of the scales; his penance for his sins. He just wishes you weren't here with him. How dare he think he could love someone when all he's ever done is punish those who love him? His hands are stained with blood; he taints everything he touches. 
Very early on in his career, Aaron learned he couldn’t take cases personally. As devastating as it was to have another victim show up while hunting a killer, it wasn’t a personal failure. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. He repeated the process again and again. Logically he knows that he is not responsible for the actions of the aggressive sociopath who is now holding the two of you hostage; but, he blames himself for not keeping you safer, for bringing you with him, and for putting you in harm's way. He knows he will not recover if you don’t make it out of here. He won’t forgive himself. 
The profile said this man would be anti-social. Physically, he’d be small in stature. It was clear he’d been sneaking up on his victims. He had been taking couples, knocking out the men with a blow to the back of the head, and then the women. It’s a method that the team had seen before, common for UNSUBs without the social ability to lure their victims, or the physical strength or confidence to attack head-on. But they had not profiled that he would escalate to taking out his targets with a taser. 
After six days in San Diego, the team finally had a lead on two rental properties in the UNSUB’s comfort zone. One was an old tyre factory, listed as a multipurpose warehouse and storage space; the other was a large storage facility in an industrial neighbourhood. Both units had been paid for in cash, both offered the privacy and space required to hold and torture two people for days at a time. The team split up, Hotch and you arranged to meet the owner of the factory space to find out more about who the renter was and gain access to the property. With no response from the owner of the second property, Morgan, Prentiss, and Rossi headed over to check it out. 
The two of you had only been on the property for five minutes before Aaron had been incapacitated and taken out. He had foolishly made his way into the building while you ran back to the SUV to grab your jacket. Out cold, there was nothing Aaron could do to stop you from meeting the same fate. 
It’s not his fault. But he feels like it is as he watches you shiver from across the room. He can’t be certain how much time has passed, but it feels like hours. He can only hope that you’re being kept in the building you were attacked in, that the team will connect the dots and come and get you, but until then you’re stuck. He watches, nauseated as your eyes flutter open, and then shut again. You’re concussed, he doesn’t need to be a doctor to know that. His ears are ringing, and he’s sure the blow he took to the head has at the very least temporarily worsened his hearing. 
“Doesn’t the FBI have rules against fraternization?” The UNSUB wonders out loud, waving a knife around as he walks towards you. 
“What makes you think we’re a couple?” Hotch asks, as he tries to work his hands free from the rope that binds them behind his back, “She’s just a colleague”. 
It’s a lie. But it needs to be said. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. Buy time, shift the UNSUB’s interest away from the two of you. Ruin the fantasy.
“I think I’ve been doing this long enough to know a couple when I see a couple, Aaron,” the man taunts, obviously proud of himself. He’s feeling emboldened having taken two FBI agents, but that works in your favour. He’s getting cocky, too full of himself. It’s a level of confidence he isn’t used to having, it just gives him a higher height to fall from. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. “I think it’s time we wake your girlfriend up,” the man says, his hand gripping tightly at your hair, your head tugged back without remorse. 
Aaron resists the urge to cringe as he hears you groan, your face twisted with obvious pain as you’re rudely awakened. “She’s pretty. What’s she doing with you?” 
“I told you. She’s a colleague”. 
Your eyes are unfocused, scanning the room trying to make sense of what is going on. 
The man raises the knife, holding it to your throat. This time Aaron blinks, desperate to control his expressions and micro-expressions. In this scenario, the less he cares about you, the safer you are. 
It’s the burden of being tied to him. Time after time his love destroys people. 
The blade presses closer to your throat. Aaron controls his breathing. 
“Impressive agent Hotchner. But I’m still not convinced,” the UNSUB moves the blade but pulls your head back further. Your eyes meet Aaron’s, “Do what you’re going to do, he doesn’t care,” you say. You’re speaking to the man with the knife in his hand as much as you’re speaking to Aaron. He weighs his options, his heart pounding as he watches you hold your breath, willing the tears to leave your eyes. It’s the permission he needs but doesn’t want.  Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. He knows you’re doing the same, telling him to break your heart to save your life. 
“Please, Hotc--”. 
He doesn’t let you finish, “Just shut up for once. Please,” he thinks the words cut through him more than they cut through you. Knowing his cruelty is a lie does little to soften the blow, and it breaks his heart to be the one throwing it. 
But this is all he’s good for, isn’t it? Letting people down. Surely it’s not just coincidence that so many of those who have dared to love him end up damaged. One way or another he destroys people. Who is he to say that he’s the one who is suffering when it’s he who does all the damage? 
Even as a child, he couldn’t help it. He thinks perhaps he inherited his sharpened tongue and lack of patience from his mother. She loved him in her own way but could never show it without first tearing him apart. Her biting words, and regular beatings. Prentiss had been right when she once said he was distrustful of women-- unfairly so. Not all women carry the hateful, spiteful heart his mother had. Very few had ever turned their rage at the world and their shortcomings into a personal and violent rage against him. He grew weary nonetheless. Better safe than sorry.
 At a young age, it became clear to him that there were few things, if anything, as important to his mother than appearances. On Sundays, she fussed over his clothes and his posture. She lectured him on table manners from the moment he could hold a fork. His room had to be spotless. His grades had to surpass average. Long before his brother was ever born, he learned how to live up to her expectations. But still, there was always something she could find him lacking in, an excuse to take her open fist or wooden spoon to his skin, a reason to send him to bed without dinner. He remembers crashing into the china cabinet trying to escape her one night. She was mortified on Monday when he had to walk into school on Monday with a cast around his arm. “Make sure they know this was your fault,” she told him. Perhaps I was built to fail, he had thought. She loves me and I embarrass her. I will only ever let her down. God, how disappointed she would be to see him now.  
Seconds feel like hours as the UNSUB leers expectantly. The man's mouth twists into a smile when he sees the tears forming in your waterline again. Aaron watches your fist clench presumably to distract yourself from the migraine that matches the pounding in his head, just as much as it is to pull your attention away from the hurtful lies he's about to weave. 
“You were supposed to have my back,” Arron spits with faux vitriol. “You had one job and couldn't even manage to do that”. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. 
“From the moment you showed up I knew you'd be a problem”. 
He continues to try to work his hands out from the binds. He can feel the knot loosening as he continues to buy the two of you time. “Aaron,” you beg, tears slipping down your cheeks now. 
“Following me around with some school girl crush. Look where we are now,” Aaron breathes. 
He can feel his father’s rage resting on his shoulders, as heavy as his hands were when he used to pat him on the back. It’s a quiet burning, far more silent than his mother’s anger, but it’s there and threatening him all the same. A silent shame; a fear induced by the knowledge that he’s failing but not being able to stop it. His father lived like a ghost in their home, just as Aaron has learned to haunt his life. He only ever raised his voice when he drank, but even then his hatred was self-directed. A sorrowful self-pity. A cry for help. The affairs, the gambling, the drinking; the man punished himself, stumbling home to a house with a vengeful wife, a silent boy, and a crying baby. It was a heart attack that finally killed him, but Aaron never doubted his father had stopped living long before that. 
Aaron breaks his own heart as he delivers each verbal blow. He hopes you understand. He prays that just maybe your concussion might leave the memories of this moment blurry. Selfishly, he begs you to forgive him, because he won’t forgive himself. 
He can see the way your wrists strain against your restraints. The UNSUB adjusts his grip on your hair as you struggle to distance yourself from him. Your eyelids flutter and he knows your vision must be swimming but you don’t give up. With a sadistic grin, the UNSUB wipes at the tear stain on your cheek with fake sympathy, grasping your jaw roughly he forces you to look straight at Aaron, “Poor girl… guess boss man doesn’t care about you after all. What a waste,” he sighs his breath heavy against your cheek, as he moves to hold the knife to your throat again, “She’s so pretty,” he directs his commentary at Aaron this time. 
“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’ve slept with her. How couldn’t I when she was practically throwing herself at me?” The words taste bitter on his tongue as he speaks them. His stomach churns as he continues, “But what we have certainly isn’t love”. 
It couldn’t be further from the truth. Aaron grounds himself choosing to remember the quiet morning you two had shared only a few days earlier. Waking up without an alarm but with Jack sneaking in to jump up on the bed. As he watches you cry now he recalls how you had smiled so brightly at the little boy, ruffling his hair and cuddling Jack into your side. He had watched with a smile of his own as you bargained with his son, promising pancakes in exchange for ten more minutes of sleep on your shared day off. 
You crept into his heart so slowly he had hardly noticed. Until one day, he looked up from the bright pink sticky note you'd left on your recent report, reminding him not to work too hard; he knew, without a doubt, he was in love with you. 
For so much of his life, Aaron conditioned himself to expect a fight around every corner. He learned to make sacrifices from his happiness in fruitless attempts to keep peace. For the first time in forever he's been feeling like maybe, just maybe, he's enough. You’ve been more than patient with him; understanding his hesitance to open up to people again. You don't get upset with him for working late, but you scold him for not getting enough sleep and skipping meals. 
He smiles more. He cracks jokes the way he used to. You've helped him see the forest from the trees--  healed parts of him he didn’t know needed mending. He's tried to do the same for you. He's watched you open up and trust the team more. He's seen the way your confidence has grown and he can't take credit for your growth, but he's enamoured by the transformation just the same. 
You deserve better. You deserve better. You deserve better. The thought echoes in his head the same as it does most days. But now, it’s louder. The voice in his head matches the volume of the ringing in his ears, and the rushing sound of his pounding heart. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. He fights to remind himself, but the UNSUB is laughing now. Taunting you and your emotions, and there’s nothing Aaron can do but sit there and watch. He struggles to feign indifference, watching as you continue to make yourself smaller. It’s only then that he notices that you too are working your hands out of the rope that restrains you. The UNSUB was stupid enough to tie your wrist in front of you.
Aaron’s eyes focus on the bandaid wrapped around your index finger. You cut yourself making dinner last week. He could have sworn his heart melted when you turned to him holding your hand out, blood beading already. “Aaron, where do you keep your first aid kit?” you’d asked. Your brows furrowed, and your lips pouted. “In the bathroom, the cabinet under the sink,” he’d answered with no intention of letting you go off and tend to your wound alone. Instead, he guided you down the hall, his left hand looped in a gentle hold around your wrist, his other hand on your waist. 
Once you were sat on the countertop he took great care, making sure the wound was cleaned before he bandaged it. “My hero,” you teased, leaning in for a kiss. 
A simple cut he could manage to fix. Jack promised you could use as many of his Star Wars bandaids as you wanted while you healed as well. A little love and patience could make it better, a philosophy he adopted to heal Jack’s scraped knees, and schoolyard bruises. But the sight before him now is far worse than any kitchen mishap could be. 
Your nose is still bleeding. Bruises have already begun to form, red marks turning deep purple with every passing minute. He knows that your concussion is something you'll recover from. The contact burns from where the taser touched your skin will become new skin someday soon. The cuts and scrapes will scab over and then disappear. 
Aaron worries the damage he's done can never truly be ameliorated. Your compassion is unmatched. It’s what makes you a good agent, a good partner, and someone Jack can turn to. You are forgiving. God knows you've excused enough of his behaviour. But, he doesn't deserve to be absolved of this guilt. He will carry this day around in the darkest corner of his heart; the same place he holds the memory of Haley and how he failed her. The words “what we have certainly isn't love,” will linger uneffaced by time or kind words. 
The squeak of an old door opening piques Aaron's interest. The UNSUB doesn't react. Seemingly only interested in tracing the tear tracks on your cheeks. Your eyes are closing again. It's over now, he wants to tell you. He wants to hold you; comfort you; to apologise because you deserve to hear it anyway.
“Paul Simpson. FBI,” Morgan’s voice booms, “drop the knife and put your hands where I can see them”. Prentiss and Dave come to stand next to Morgan, their guns trained on the newly identified perpetrator. Aaron bites his tongue so hard he can taste blood-- it's all he can do to stop himself from bursting into a fit of bitter laughter. We win, he wants to say. 
Disarmed and handcuffed, Paul is escorted outside by Morgan and two members of the local police. Prentiss and Rossi make quick work of untying you and Aaron. 
“Aaron?” he can hear you mutter, breathy and quiet. 
“Yeah, I’m right here,” he promises kneeling at your side. Your eyes are glazed and unfocused as you nod and tip forward. Unconscious, your entire body falls forward into Prentiss’ arms. Aaron’s voice joins Rossi in calling for a paramedic. 
The doctors assure him that you’ll wake up soon. They dealt with his injuries quickly. Bruised ribs are the worst of his injuries. A cut at the back of his head and the taser burns were patched in only a few minutes, though he’ll readily admit he was far from a good patient. Too anxious to keep still much to the nurse’s dismay. 
You’re still asleep. A major concussion will have you out of the field for much longer than he knows you’ll be happy with. He makes a mental note to start setting aside some extra paperwork for when you inevitably start hounding him for something to do. With the lights in the room dimmed, and a comfortable silence settling he allows himself to indulge in the illusion that everything might be alright between you. 
With your hand in his, he breathes deeply trying to focus. He prays to a God he’s not sure he believes in. And when the quiet starts to get to him, he speaks out loud, as silly as he thinks he may look. He tells you about the phone call he had with Jack earlier and lets you know that Jack has a new painting he can’t wait to show you when you get home. Your hand squeezes his, encouraging him to keep talking.
“Aaron?” your eyelids flutter as you adjust to the light. The nurse had them turned to the dimmest setting but it’s still far more than you feel immediately capable of coping with. 
“Yeah, honey,” he affirms. You release the breath you’re holding your brow relaxing.  
“I love you,” you tell him. Your voice is steady and steadfast. Your resolve is impressive, unwavering and determined as you focus on making eye contact with him. “It’s not your fault,” you promise. He’s sure you don’t expect the weight on his shoulders to lighten instantaneously. You’ll tell him every day that he’s not to blame; intent on chiselling away at his guilt, shrinking it down before it manages to consume him. 
“I love you,” he swears. He knows it won’t squash any of the doubt he’s planted. Aaron knows there will soon be days that the niggling insecurity threatens to break what you’ve managed to build together; when the worry that you aren’t enough seems louder than it ever has before. He won’t blame you if you decide it isn’t worth the pain of staying with him. But, he’s hell-bent on loving you through it. He can only hope that it’s enough. 
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Work Husband
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Summary: Mats always been your work husband but what happens when you both decide you want something more official?
Pairing: corporate!Mat Barzal x corporate!gn reader
WC: 7.4k~ (my longest fic ever!)
Genre: fluff / slice of life
Warnings: Periodic swearing, couple mentions of food, and reader could be read as being smaller than Mat in like 2 lines but 99.99% of the fic can be read in as any body type (I always try to make my reader inserts as body neutral as possible, if you have any tips on how I could do better feel free to let me know)
A/N: HUGEEEEE shout out to @wyattjohnston for bearing with me and letting me publish this well after the due date, you’re a saint to all of Hockeyblr for coming up with this winter exchange. Speaking of, this fic is for @twopeoplecanchange I hope you love this as much as I did have writing this. And another huge round of applause to @lam-ila and @lifeofpriya for betaing this monster of a fic &lt;3
as always likes, reblogs, and comments are always welcomed :)
Work Husband (noun.)
That one special male at work that you get along with so well you spend all your free time at work with him. When you find out gossip you go straight to him to see if he knows yet. You surprise each other with lunch or snacks. You don't want to hang with anyone else on break. Every conversation with him is great. You can talk about anything to him and he listens. You finish each other's sentences and make fun of your coworkers together.
-----
Mathew Paul Barzal for a lack of words, was a whirlwind of a human. A handful of years ago when your boss had introduced him to you it seemed like there was no off button, just a constant stream of thought and energy- he was essentially the human equivalent of a golden retriever.
Currently though, not a bit of that had changed about him and maybe that’s what you attributed to his overwhelmingly charismatic personality that had you glued to his hip nearly every day of the work calendar.
Or maybe it was because of the plethora of treats you’d exchange with each other for good luck on an Islanders game day. Or the knowing looks in the middle of meetings saying ‘oh we’re definitely talking about this later’. There was a multitude of actions, moments, and gestures you could pin on as to why Mat was your renowned Work Husband but you’d never admit it out loud, no that was a far too raw take that could unearth years of pinning.
-----
You heard the thud of your office door before your even saw him, already knowing that it was Mat. Taking off your headphones and closing a tab on your laptop you tilted your head up to the welcomed intruder, gesturing to the beanbag that sat in the corner of your office for times like these.
“It’s a bit early for some drama today, no?” you asked, checking the early time of 9:37am on your watch, you hadn’t even opened up your to-do list for today just checking unanswered emails from the weekend.
Intertwining your fingers and placing them under your chin, you stared down at the comical sight of the six-foot man wiggling around in a child sized beanbag trying to get comfortable before he could unleash the gossip of what happened at his beer league over the weekend. The glare directed your way after a giggle escaped your lips was not missed but it held no menace.
“No, because you would not believe what happened this weekend” Mat whined, eyes wide as if the greatest felony on Earth had been committed.
“Oh, I feel like I could take a stab. What? Did Tito ‘fairly’ hit a guy on the other team but the ref thought it was roughing so he got a penalty, and then when he came out he immediately got called for another penalty for apparently ‘no reason’?” A grin tugging at your lips as you watched Mat’s mouth silently move up and down racking his brain for an excuse as to how that was definitely not what happened, but also maybe you were totally right. He hated loved it when you were right.
You had a knack of always being one step ahead of his always running mind, something that did take a few months at the start to get a hold of but it never ceased to amaze him. That little flutter of his heart getting bigger every time you read him to perfection.
It was crazy how much someone just paying attention to past conversations and integrating them into the present ones could have such an effect, god, he adored how much you cared to listen. But that was just a spare thought between him, Tito, and his mom.
“Ok but listen!” he started, trying to defend his best friend. You continued to giggle at your correctness waving at him to continue, “Listen, listen ok yeah maybe he did hit the guy a little too hard, it’s hockey, shit happens, but I swear when he got out he didn’t even touch the guy! His stick was just at a super awkward angle in the boards fighting for the puck, and the other guy came flying in there’s no way he could have moved.”
A huff escaped from the frustrated man-child in front of you, hands waving animatedly as he recounted the scenes of his game, a bright smile coming to his face when he told you, “Oh but on a better note, your favorite work husband of all time did get a hat-trick!”
There was nothing else you could do but reciprocate the blinding smile, nose scrunching slightly from the happiness exuding from the both of you, “I know, I posted about it on my Insta didn’t you see?” Mat just nodded enthusiastically eyes shining with pride, “And you can’t say of all time, you’re like my only work husband, we cannot count Connor from when I worked in retail he was just as bored at work as I was, no one likes folding shirts that much.”
You didn’t miss the way Mat’s eyes squinted at the sound of Connor, the little voice in your head feeding into the delusion that maybe Mat did feel the way you have over the years. But the it quickly got shut out as Mat continued on his weekend story slowly veering into the ever-notorious topic that he should try out for the Islanders.
 You just smiled and shook your head, “Every year I tell you the same thing, you just need to listen to me and take my advice one year.”
“Yeah, yeah there’s always next year.” He mused, getting up and putting the beanbag back in its rightful place.
“Always next year.” You echoed, smile still etched on your face as Mat’s boyish one met yours, waving you a short goodbye before almost closing the door.
His body turned facing you, hand still on the door handle to your office, “Still on for lunch today?” he asked eyes trained on you, as if you could say no to that face. His well sculpted features causing your breath to stick in your throat for a millisecond longer than you liked, heat rushing to your cheeks as you simply responded, “Yeah, of course.”
Mat’s eyes crinkled with validation, and he carefully shut the door behind him, his own internal conscience nagging him to just ask her out you idiot, you have lunch almost every day it can’t be that hard! But he just shook his head knowing they were dire thoughts. He’d rather just live with the made-up daydreams of you sharing a life together outside the walls of UBS area, rather than risk his friendship with you and watch it go down the drain. You were too special to ruin.
Unbeknownst to him behind the closed door you were busy trying to get the image of Mat’s pretty face out of your mind so you could do the bare minimum of your tasks for the day. Not like your attempts would work, Mat was like the gift that kept of giving, Greek sculped face and all. Your mind lingered on his lunch check-in with you, eyes looking at you with such intensity some people would have called it love, but not you because that was far too real to accept, far too real for your heart to handle.
-----
The jarring noise of your alarm pulled you out of your sleep quickly followed by 3 consecutive texts from Mat.
Mathew 👨‍💼
Goooood morning from your fantastic work husband!!!
You know what day it is??
ISLES GAME DAY 😤😤😤
Eyes squinting at the messages, a pleased snort tumbled out of you as your tired thumbs sent a return message
You
Happy game day Long Island, may the hockey gods be in our favor 🤞
Also hope you like Guda cheese it’s all I have today
It was a fun tradition the two of you had come up with during your first year of working together. It happened to be an Islanders game day when you had bought a small snack to eat to bridge the time between lunch and the end of the day. Mat, still figuring out the layout of the offices had stumbled upon you and decided to give you some company, hands holding a snack of his own.
“I’ll give you some of my popcorn if you give me some of your carrots.” He had offered while you stared at him inquisitively.
“You want my carrots? To have with your popcorn?” You asked, befuddled by the strange food swap. Mat simply nodded his head with a liveliness you’d never seen from someone before in this special case, so you agreed.
Later that evening the Islanders went on to win against the Rangers in a shut-out fashion and from that day forward Mat swore up and down that because of the snack trade, they had won. And from then till now you’d both bring a treat in to give to each other as a little ritual, a peace offering for an Islanders win.
Grabbing a handful of granola bars from your pantry to restock your desk at the office, you also took out your leftover cheese and some crackers. Deciding to be a little fancy, and as a little homage to Mat’s hat-trick over the past weekend, you grabbed a star shaped cookie cutter and set to work cutting out some cheese stars and packing it in a small container with the weird rice crackers that you got because Mat liked to diet while he was playing for his beer league. You had called him weird for such an ask but he just scoffed stating that “If I want to play for the Islanders, I can’t be eating butter biscuits the whole time.”
You just squinted your eyes and retorted, “Not with that attitude you can’t.” You’d never forget the full body laugh you received from him that day, your heart beating ten times faster than it was at the beginning of the conversation. You yearned to hear that laugh every day since, the way his hair fell back as he bent over his chair, and the way his pale cheeks tinted ever so slightly from his smiling, it had you reeling for more.
A home Islanders game day meant that the office was always just a bit more busy than usual which also unfortunately meant you didn’t see Mat as much as you normally would. It wasn’t a massive difference to any normal coworkers, but the missed morning coffee grabs and random midday catchups weighed a bit more on your heart the more time you had spent him. It was stupid really, he wasn’t your boyfriend to be waiting on but you wished he was so your feelings didn’t feel like a self-sabotaging lead on.
Your heart was finally alleviated of its mild misery when 3pm rolled around and you were finally able to meet Mat in the common room. The clear windows that showed into the room framed a clear view for you of Mat dressed up, tie and all.
It wasn’t unusual for him to dress up on game days, sometimes they’d ask him to help out on camera, but the way the black cloth stretched between his mind-numbingly broad shoulders was doing something a little extra for you today. Damn he looked good, and you felt your head become a little lighter.
Jet-back-gelled hair shimmered under the room lights as you swiftly walked over to the table he was sitting at, poking at his unfairly toned biceps before sitting in the seat next to him. Up close now, you could tell that he had freshly shaven the faint scent of his aftershave lingered in the closeness between the two of you, and on top of that, for once his shirt was actually ironed.
“No way, is this the Mat Barzal that I know?” You joked, “This guy has a freshly ironed shirt, you’ve never done that.” You chuckled at his bar-level life skill.
“Oh, ha ha, I was talking to mom about what I should wear today and when I showed her the shirt she said I must absolutely iron this or she’ll come down to Long Island and give me a piece of her mind.” He quoted, “Plus I kinda wanted to look a little nicer today you know?”
You hummed in agreement, “Hm, that’s fair, someone’s gotta be out of the two of us” gesturing down to the basic Islanders pullover you were wearing, “Any special reason why?” Heart pounding at the realization that maybe work husband Mat has an actual real-life girlfriend outside of work that he just hasn’t told you about to spare your heart.
“I mean kinda,” you could see the blush on his face growing stronger by the second, “But that’s for later.” He said, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, you could feel the nervousness radiating from his body.
Mat was usually a pretty level-headed guy, or at least that’s what he’d tell himself, but right now being next to you he was milliseconds seconds away from blurting out a well overdue love essay. He’d plan on telling you later at dinner (that you’d hopefully agree to) that the reason his mother reprimanded him that way on his clothing choice, was because he had finally told her that today was going to be the day he was going to ask you out. He wanted to look good for you, to get a sliver of a chance to have a night out with you.
You’d both been to bars before, sure, to watch the Islanders or the times Mat had agreed to watch a late night F1 race. But between the time he had joined the Islanders front office and now, he craved more and more time to be with you in a more intimate setting. He so desperately wanted to know you outside of the confines of corporate life. He already knew more than enough of how kind of a person you were and he already knew you were going to be special to him the moment you let him talk about his interests.
Because no normal coworker just lets someone pop into their office the way he does to talk about his beer league escapades. Or talk about the stupid PR and facial hair rules Lou has in place for the Islanders. No normal person looks at him like you with so much care and attention to the things he cares about. Because when any other coworker would tell him to be quick about it so they could get back to work you’ve been patient and willing to listen to everything he has to say.
In an effort to ease his tension you quickly pulled out your cheese and cracker container for Mat, making grabby hands towards the paper bag he held in his hand curious as to what he had for you today.
“Ok so context, right” you started off, “I cut the cheese out into little stars for your hat-trick, because if you played for the Isles you’d definitely be their first star of the game.” You smiled up at the man, pleased with your early morning decision. Any thoughts of the gesture being too much was immediately wiped away when you saw Mats beaming smile.
“Funny that you mention that, while I was babysitting Anders’ kids and they left over some heart cutters so I cut these strawberries into hearts because you know, hearts are red, and you know… strawberries are red too.” He chuckled at his explanation as you also snickered at his overly wordy statement.
Trading the containers your heart near burst out of its chest looking at the heart shaped fruit, a cheesy smile covering your face.
“You know the whole point is that you have to eat them for them to win.” Mat chided.
You just rolled your eyes, pulling your phone out to take a picture, “Shut up, I’m getting there. This is just super cute Mat, thank you.” You said gratefully, making a mental note to share the photo with your best friend so you could scream about it later.
The two of you ate your snacks while exchanging office gossip, catching Mat up on Sophie’s ongoing problem with her upstairs neighbor to which Mat just responded, “Honestly, Sophie’s kinda a Karen some days, I’m not saying she deserves it but- ow! No stop it!”
“Dumbass you can’t say that, you literally work in the same department as her!” you swatted at him, reprimanding him as much as you could with absolutely no heat behind your words.
“Ok ok, I’ll be nice.” He pleaded, hands up in mock surrender.
“You’re lucky I like you, otherwise I would have gone straight to HR.” You tried to feign seriousness.
Mat snorted at the take, “There’s like literally no way you’d go to HR, you’re terrified of Todd.”
You squinted your eyes at him before whispering, “Dude, Todd fucking scares me, the last time I asked for time off he just stared at me eerily before saying I had to check my email. Like you could have just told me yes or no.” You shuddered at the memory.
As the two of you finished up your respective snacks you had one last thought you wanted to throw out,
“Hey I was wondering-“
“So I was wondering-“
“Oh shit, sorry no you go first.” You apologized, letting Mat have a turn to speak.
“Nah you go first I can wait a sec.” He said as you studied his face looking for any sign of insincerity, but there was none to be found as per usual, damn those hazel eyes for looking so Disney Prince esque.
“Oh ok, um, I was wondering tomorrow if you wanted to check out this bookstore downtown with me?” All of a sudden feeling shy at the gravity of what you were asking, it wasn’t like you guys hadn’t hung out before but those were usually public spaces like bars or, well yeah really just bars, “Obviously if you have anything going on that’s totally ok but there’s a new Sim’s book for the new mods, and you might find some Islanders history books too, and uh, I know we’ll have a few days off because of the All-Star break so…”
Mat’s adrenaline shot through the roof at your ask, now was the perfect time to ask you out, fuck yeah he wanted to go to that bookstore and wander the isles with your hand in his while he held your books. He’d love to spend some time with you in a space he knew was so catered for your personality, and watch your face light up at an author you used to read, or a series you’ve been looking forward for its release.
“Yeah! Yes, I mean yeah, of course I’d be down to do that.” He said clearing his throat, “Um also, I was wondering if you’d maybe also want to go out to dinner then with me? Or- or lunch with me?”
With the confirmation of a bookstore outing with Mat a surge of confidence ran though your veins at his inquiry, “Sure, kinda like a date almost?” A small smile tugging at your lips as you asked, you eagerly hoped he say yes, it was only something you’d been waiting a few years on, no pressure.
A breathy laugh escaped from his lips, “Yeah exactly like a date actually.” He said now staring at you with a small smile.
Oh shit this was really happening. Your heart was beating a million miles an hour as you sucked in a breath, “Well I’ll be damned, it’s a date Matty.” You stated, testing out the new nickname.
His cheeks were fully flushed as you could basically hear the gears in his head turning from the new nickname, a toothy smile breaking out over his features. A low chuckle sent vibrations though your chest and you wanted to pinch yourself to make sure this was real. Resident office pretty-boy, work husband, Mat Barzal just asked you out on a date, what was life?
A ping from Mats phone pulled the two of you out of the little bubble you were in as he shot you an apologetic look, “Sorry, I gotta take this, but tomorrow we can meet up at noon? I’ll text you again after the game.”
You nodded firmly, “For sure, I’ll send you the address for the café near the bookstore, I know they’ve got great lattes that you’d like.” Feeling giddy at the whole domesticity of the conversation you were having. Tomorrow couldn’t come sooner.
-----
The streets of downtown bustled with what seemed to be even more people than usual, but you accounted that it was most probably because of the Islanders win over the Hurricanes the night before, an energetic buzz in the air feeding into your excitement for the day.
Looking down at your outfit you anxiously smoothed out imaginary wrinkles on your top before digging out your phone from your pocket. The time read 11:47am, you were definitely early to the agreed upon noon but you needed a few moments to build yourself up, Mats words echoing in your head from your last conversation, “…exactly like a date…”.
You were no rookie to dates, being on a handful yourself but there was never that liveliness that manifested inside of you while were waiting for the other party, or even while you were actively out on said date with them. But with Mat? You had felt like you had drunk five RedBulls and were ready to run a marathon. You had barely gotten a wink of sleep between the late-night win and your equally nervous yet excited thoughts about your date with Mat were through your mind.
“Hey, you. You got here a bit early, eh?” Mat said, his Canadian twang running straight into your chest as his arm playfully bumped into yours.
Beaming up at the man you showed him the screen of your phone, “Yeah, I saw they added some new drinks to the menu, I wanted to figure out what I wanted before you got here so we weren’t stuck in line forever.” Cheeks just barley hurting from how hard you were smiling.
Mat looked good, like good, good. His hair looked like he had been running his hands though it a few times, a nervous tick you had gauged during the first presentation you had with him, at the time you thought he was going to pace a hole though the floor (the presentation ended up going perfectly of course).
You’d never seen him in ‘normal’ clothing even when the pair of you went to the bars, so seeing him in something so relaxed had you fighting back the urge to wrap him up in a soul crushing hug. It was a basic outfit that anyone would wear, but on him he looked like a damn model. He wore a black fleece-lined flannel on top of a white tee, and some light wash jeans cuffed just the right amount to show his black Air Force 1’s. Shit, he looked like the perfect Instagram boyfriend.
Mat took your hand, noting how much he loved that your hand was small enough to fit perfectly in his, as he guided the two of you into the café. You tried your hardest to pay for his drink since you were the one who suggested the place, but he’d already pulled out his Apple pay before you could even get to your card.
“Mathew!” you whined in annoyance, but the devilish smirk on his face told you this was far from the end of him spoiling you.
“What? Did you really think I was going to let you pay for anything today?” a twinkle in his eye awaiting your response.
A huff left your lips, “I mean no, but like,” you gestured wildly at the drinks in his hand, “at least let me get you a book.”
Mats hazel hues softened at your statement, “sure, if it makes you happy,” a smile starting to form on his face, “But, I’m still getting you the rest of your books.”
You chuckled in amusement tugging him out of the café and onto the streets. The bookshop you wanted to go to wasn’t more than a ten-minute walk but to ease the adrenaline running though your veins you started spewing what you thought was nonsense about the different books you were planning on reading this year and your hot takes on booktok. Especially on topics that concerned online personalities being a bit too aggressive with real-life hockey players.
Too focused on what was coming out of your mouth and keeping your eyes on the sidewalk, you missed the love-stricken look that seemed like it was permanently etched onto Mats face, drinking in every word you were saying like it was gospel. There were so many times he’d lost count where you’d listen intently to any and everything he’d tell you, and the fact that he was now able to do the same had his heart doing backflips.
He so desperately wished he could listen to you talk about your interests forever but as the two of you rounded the corner and you saw the bookshop, you were for a loss of words. Standing well over four stories high, and your eyes wide like dinner plates, you already knew you could spend the rest of eternity in the store and you hadn’t even stepped in. Mat’s smile grew even wider as he saw your giddiness, nudging you forward towards the entrance.
You spent hours in the shop scouring every floor and aisle, fingers tracing the backs of books keeping note of the ones you wanted to come back and get before you checked out. When a specific book caught your attention you’d pull it out flipping to the synopsis giving Mat a brief explanation of your interest in it, and when you were done he’d take it from your hands placing it in the basket he was holding.
At first you tried to convince him to let you hold some of the books, but he’d nod his head no saying that, “when I play for the Isles I gotta be as strong as them, this counts as my training.” You just shook your head with a laugh, “whatever you say Matty, you’re already strong enough for me.” You didn’t miss the way a blush spread across his cheeks.
It was nearing mid-afternoon when you called quits, turning back to Mat who had a basket up to the brim filled with books. He’d taken off his flannel sometime after the second floor which left you with a perfect site of his toned arms. Veins popping out at just the right places under the strain of the books in his hand.
Taking a hefty stack out of his basket you could hear a groan of relief from your work husband, “I told you, you shoulda let me carry some.” A teasing smile left on your lips.
“Yeah… but I wanted to look cool and strong in front of you.” Mat confessed, a sheepish smile covering his features. You patted his chest gently, “Awe, you’re always going to be cool and strong to me Matty, don’t sweat it.”
As the two of you waited in line for check out you remembered the book you had snagged off the shelf while Mat wasn’t looking. Sifting though the books in your arms you pulled out the History of the New York Islanders tapping on the cover, “Hey, I got this one for you. No paying you know the deal, plus it’s got pictures on the inside so you don’t even have to use all your brain cells to read this!”
Mat feigned a wounded heart grabbing at his chest, “Wow I wasn’t aware you thought so lowly of me. And for the record I definitely have at least above a grade ten reading level.”
You snickered at the comment, “Yeah sure, whatever you say.” You commented sarcastically. But you couldn’t rid the feeling of his heavy gaze on you.
“No, but uh- thank you for the book, I’ll make sure to give you a full summary of it.” Mat promised, crossing his fingers in the air for security. His heart was bound to leap out of chest, it was such a simple gesture really, but it was from you so it meant ten times more to him than anyone else. If you asked him to read every book in the world he would do so no questions asked, he knew he liked you, but maybe now he knew he loved you.
-----
After walking out of the bookstore, both hands holding bags filled with books, you both decided that a pizza night at your place was a much better call than trying to find a restaurant to seat the two of you during rush hour. And after a quick uber call, the two of you walked into your apartment, shoulders instantly relaxing after a day out.
Dropping the stacks of book somewhere off to the side of your couch Mat took the time to look around your place, noting the little trinkets from your life scattered throughout the space. You’d gone into your room to change into a cleaner shirt also giving yourself some time to collect your thoughts from the afternoon portion of the day.
Staring at yourself in the mirror you couldn’t stop the grin from breaking out on your face. You’d never felt so light after a date, thinking back at how confidently Mat would grab every book you showed an interest in, not worrying about the cost it added to his card or weight it was adding to his arm. Fuck, you really wanted him to spend the night, your mind wandering off to simple fantasies of falling asleep in his arms, warm and secure you assumed.
Emerging from your room you were met with the pleasant sight of three large pizzas (you knew by experience how much Mat could eat in one sitting) sitting on your coffee table, Community already pulled up on your TV. Your heart swelled at the thought of him remembering something as simple as a TV show you liked.
Feeling bold in his actions, Mat laid his arm across the back of your couch like an invitation for you to slot in against him so he could wrap you up, one that you gladly accepted. A content sigh passing though your lips as you let your head rest on his shoulder as his arm wrapped around your middle, his warmth lulling you to a state of semi-consciousness.
No words needed to be spoken, exhaustion hitting the both of you from the time walking though the city as well as the flights of stairs climbed in the bookstore. As your comfort show played across the screen, lines you knew my heart running in tandem with your inner voice, you let your mind wander to the homeliness Mat felt to you right now.
The entire day had gone without a hitch, never a beat of awkward silence or nerves eating you alive for the wrong reason. No, you had felt a sense of peace that you never thought you could find out of a goddamn American corporate job, something notorious for instilling the exact opposite feeling you were having. When you had joined the Islanders front office you knew you’d be in for long hours and some pointless meeting here and there, but then came Mat and everything changed.
Not a day went by where you didn’t want to talk to him or be around him. Not a day went by where that little voice in your head chastised you for not shooting your shot earlier. Not a day went by where you knew he was the one, the one you wanted to come home with every day to relax and cook a meal. The one where you knew as soon as you were wrapped up in his arms the scenes would just melt away and you could lower your guard from the world. He was the one you wanted, and nothing could change that after the day you had.
“Wanna share with the class what the beautiful mind of yours is thinking of right now?” Mat asked softly, not daring to break the air of calmness in the room. He had that soft look on his face, like how a child looks at its parent, it was just all too domestic for your heart.
The words beautiful mind echoed in your head, a smile coming to your face for the umpteenth time that day, “Just thinkin about how much I really, really like you,” Mat didn’t say anything as you took a pause, his chest squeezing in adoration for you as he tightened his hold on you, “It’s silly to think that we went years pinning for each other and we didn’t think once to tell each other?”
A wet laugh escaped from your chest, tears pricking from the corners of your eyes as emotion swelled in your body, “Like, we literally talk to each other everyday and we never managed to spill the beans, that’s crazy.” You tilted your head up to look at Mat, angular features highlighted in the dark room by the scenes flashing by on the screen, he looked so pretty like that.
“I don’t know, I guess now I’m just so relived and happy all at the same time that this gets to happen you know?” You gestured between the two of you, sitting up straighter so you could look at Mat in the face.
“Yeah I know,” Mat whispered, large hands coming up to cup your face, thumbs swiping away at the tears threatening to fall down your cheeks, “I’m really glad that this is happening too, more than you could know,” he took a beat, eyes flickering down to your lips for just a second, “and I hope you know that one day when we’re both old and wrinkly together that you will understand, you’ll understand just how much you’ve made my life better, forever.”
“You’re a sap,” You stated jokingly, heart painfully squeezing in your chest as the words flowed out, “but you’re a sap that I love, so I guess I’ll stick around till we’re old and wrinkly.” A small smile gracing your lips as your confession hung in the space between your bodies.
“Well shit baby, I love you too.” Eyes crinkling at the corners as he tested out the new pet name, his tongue swiping across his lips, “I really wanna kiss you now, can I kiss you?” desperation coming though clear as day, and you just simply nodded.
Mats calloused hands tilted your head up towards him, as he leaned in to close the distance, his lips slotting perfectly between yours, and just like that you were putty in his hands. Your own hands feebly gripping onto the cloth of his shirt as way to anchor yourself to reality, but your mind felt like you were somewhere else entirely. He didn’t kiss rough or too soft, he kissed like he was home like he’d been doing this to you for eons.
You were sure if Mat couldn’t hear your raging heartbeat then he, was now, a small whine emanating from you as he pulled away for a breath of air. Eyes fluttering open you felt your breath stop staring into his love-stricken eyes, bringing your hands up to his own cheeks and pulling him in for another kiss. This one though, was tamer and softer, basking in the softness of his lips as you could faintly taste the mint chapstick he had put on before.
When you pulled away this time, you collapsed into his chest, shoving your heated face into the cook of his neck as his arms secured you tightly to his frame as if you were going to blow away. He didn’t hear you the first time you asked, just a muffle of noise and warm breath rolling down his skin.
“Would you want to spend the night maybe?” You tried again, lifting your head up just enough to get the ask out, “We could just stay in all day and game, I downloaded Chel’ a bit ago because I knew you liked it but I’m kinda shit at it.”
It felt like it should have been impossible but Mat squeezed you tighter into him, pressing a kiss to the back of your head a smile etched onto his features, “Yeah baby, I’ll spend the night, and tomorrow I can teach you yeah?” You just hummed in return, adrenaline finally coming down and the second wind of exhaustion hitting hard as the comfort of Mats body had your eyes drooping into sleep.
-----
Waking up the next day you felt like you had reached cloud 9. You didn’t feel it when Mat had tucked the both of you into bed, or when he pulled you into his chest for the night. But looking up at his peaceful face you were quickly reminded of the night before, a cheesy grin covering your features. You used the quiet morning and little bits of sun rays to memorize his fluffy hair spread across his forehead and pillow. Your eyes trailed over the various blemishes that covered his cheeks stopping at his pouty lips that you desperately wanted to kiss again.
You loved Mat you truly did, but that was never going to stop you from annoying him as you gently shook his chest, poking and prodding at the skin you could reach, almost going for his Kryptonite, tickling his armpits. But you didn’t make it far, Mat simply rolling on top of you ceasing your actions, mumbling out something you couldn’t make out.
“Hmm?” You mused, bringing a hand up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck, a triumphant smile pressing into the shoulder that covered you.
“s’ too early baby, go back to bed.” He whined, but you just laughed lightly trying to shove the human weighted blanket off of you but to no avail, even when half asleep he was still mighty.
“It’s like, almost eleven Matty,” you said softly, “We could make pancakes together maybe?” you proposed, his head immediately popping up to meet your gaze.
“With Nutella and maple syrup?” he asked, eyes searching for a lie that was nowhere to be found.
“Yes you doofus, with Nutella and maple syrup but you gotta let me up for that to happen.” You retorted, gently slapping his back in an attempt to get him off.
Mat just shook his head, a plotting look taking over his features, “Nuh uh not until you answer me something.”
You scoffed, “You’re in no position to be bargaining food that’s in my house Barzal.” A devilish glint in your eyes.
But he just pressed down more into you, rolling his eyes fondly, “Given that you can’t even push me off I’d say you’re in no position to be making those accusations. Also I didn’t know we were back to using my last name again, that’s very rude of you.” His nose scrunching in recollection of when you had first met on the job, “Nah, I just wanted to ask if you’d be my partner, like for real.”
Faking consideration, you hummed in thought, “I dunno, kinda seems like a big deal and I’d have to think about it for su-“ screeching in surprise as Mats lips started an attack covering your face and any inch of skin his could find, holding you down by the waist till he got an answer out of you.
“Ok ok! Yes of course I’ll be your partner.” You said with a beaming smile, your hands holding Mats face inches from your own before he leaned down to give you a kiss. Smiles bright on both of your faces you knew you were in for a life.
-----
When Monday rolled around and a new work week started, it started with the two of you walking into work together which was nothing new, but this time hand in hand, a new found home found within each other.
It took Mat approximately 0.5 seconds to keep the news to himself before he was going around telling everyone in his vicinity that he was now your official work husband till the end of time, a blinding smile directed your way anytime anyone asked for clarification, gushing about how he was your boyfriend.
You just smiled to yourself welcoming the fact that the two of you would be the new workplace gossip till Sophie did something Karen-y again. Working a 9-5 sucked that was true, but having Mat as your work husband made it worth it every day.
-----
As the end of August was coming to a close, the office was starting to get its liveliness back from the smooth sailing schedule of the off season. Development camp had been going on for a few days and training camp was just around the corner.
It was a little past noon when you decided to take a break, realizing you hadn’t seen much of you boyfriend all morning. The summer had been kind to you both, the two of you using some pto time to take a week and a half off in mid July to go back to Mats home and meet his family.
Any free chance there was on the weekends was spent with Mat and his beer league buddies, becoming fast friends with the respective partners of his teammates. You’d finally found the perfect work-life balance you’d been struggling with for some time, grateful for the friends you’d made along the way, and even more so for your star of a boyfriend
 Your hand was on the handle of your door about to open it when Mat pushed it open from the other side. You barley had time to process his appearance before he blurted out news that was about to change everything,
“They signed us to a PTO! Baby, they’re giving us a chance to be an Islander.” Mat’s face was glowing, chest heaving from the dash from the coach’s office to you paired with the most exciting news ever.
You peered behind his back seeing some of his teammates, Anders, Martin, and Dobson all holding similar sheets of paper with signatures at the bottom equally as bright smiles adorning their faces. Your eyes widened in shock processing the news, jaw dropped.
“Holy shit, you actually took my advice for once?” Though your tone was sarcastic, you reached to pull him into a spine crushing hug, his arms looping around your back and pulling you flush to his chest raising you off the floor a few inches, “I’m so proud of you Matty, you’re gonna knock em’ dead I know it.” You whispered into his ear.
After Mat finally put you down, you went to give the other men their hugs too, gushing over the news and how a dinner out was definitely needed to celebrate. That day you walked out of the office with Mat feeling as light as a balloon welcoming the way your lives would be different from now on.
And when he had signed a multiyear extension with the Isles after showing them just how much he had to give the team and himself after a few seasons, you found yourself in a nosebleed suite with a rock on your left hand, watching the love of your life play his heart out as your forever work husband.
tag list/some friends @lam-ila @tinyhockey @power2myheart @jackhues @jayda12 @ilyasorokinn @typical-simplelove @jostystyles @laurenairay @hugheshugs @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @sorryjustafangirl @lifeofpriya @boqvistsbabe
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radiant-reid · 9 months
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Summary: Reader knows there’s something going on between JJ and Spencer but she trusts him that that’s just the way they are... until he goes to LA
i cannot find the request for this, ugh !!! 
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (Angst)
Word Count: 3.7k
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Y/n had let it go after that night.
"You're not seriously upset about this, are you?" Spencer asks incredulously once the apartment door clicks shut. 
It had been an incredibly awkward car ride together, twenty minutes home in complete silence. He hates when it gets cold and distant between them, even though he usually causes it by neglecting to discuss his feelings, but this time, he's fired up. Y/n can't read if he's dumbfounded or shaken. 
Although often synonymous, there's a difference here. If Spencer's dumbfounded, he thinks her suggestion is ridiculous and totally, 100% wrong. It would be offensive wording but best for the preservation of their relationship. If he's shaken, then she's correct, and he's coming to terms with the significance of that discovery himself.
Y/n sighs as she spins around to face him, her plan of making a beeline to the bedroom falling through. "That was flirting. She was flirting with you, Spencer." She tells him firmly. 
Spencer shakes his head, stunned by the allegation she's choosing to repeat. "She was- are you okay?"
"Don't make it about me." She instructs. 
"It's about you when you're talking..." Crazy is the word he stops himself short of saying- they both know it. He breathes deeply to calm himself. "She wasn't flirting with me." He maintains. "We're friends." 
Y/n shakes her head. She knows he needs it explained to him, simplified to an extent, but upholding his position so staunchly doesn't make her want to do that. "You don't have to best track record for knowing when people are flirting with you." 
"What's that supposed to mean?" He asks, his eyes narrowing. 
There's a specific incident she's referring to, but there's been more than a few annoying instances when she's left standing at his side fuming. She's aware he doesn't do it on purpose. Spencer's not an asshole purposefully trying to make his girlfriend jealous by accepting flirtatious behavior from other women, but he's handsome. And unfortunately, not immediately rejecting advances makes it seem like he's interested.
"Spencer." She had told him when she finally pulled him off to a slightly quieter corner of the bar the team was in. "Her asking you what you're doing this weekend isn't her having an interest in your Korean film festival."
Spencer had been much better at getting it since then. He profiles a bit more cynically, purposefully looking for indicators that someone's interested in him. 
Not tonight.
It was Michael's first birthday which, of course, meant it was a big celebration- BAU style. Spencer attended like the proud godfather he was, making sure every single one of JJ and Will's friends knew their son's achievements. 
What should have been a lovely day would have turned into a discussion about them having their own kids when Y/n expressed how attractive Spencer looked while he held Michael's hands so the boy could practice walking. 
But no. 
Instead, they're standing on different ends of the kitchen island, both uncompromising in their views because of more than a few moments at the party between JJ and Spencer. 
"She was flirting with you, Spencer." Y/n holds firm. "Touching your arm, giggling at your jokes, whispering stuff to you." She lists the frequently used tactics that she witnessed. She's become accustomed to them working on Spencer, but he has always admitted, upon later reflection, that the motive was more than friendly.
He can't believe it this time, and he quickly gets defensive. "Just because you don't think I'm funny doesn't mean everyone doesn't."
Y/n scoffs, irritated he would twist it so spitefully to play the victim. "Seriously?" She deadpans, waiting for him to react better. 
"It was an inside joke." Spencer tries a different tactic that only has her eyebrows raised again. He sighs dramatically, gripping the edge of the bench. 
"This is ridiculous." She states. 
"I'm glad you see that too." He argues. "JJ was not flirting with me."
His insolence further fuels her anger. "Even Will looked uncomfortable." Y/n hits back.
"She's my friend." He repeats. "We are their friends. JJ and Will have been married for years. They've lived together and raised a son for even longer. I'm their sons' godfather. She's been my friend for more than a decade. There's nothing malicious going on."
It didn't feel like that. And that was likely because Y/n had only gotten to know them years following their friendship's establishment.
Maybe he's right. It's feasible that Y/n just hasn't found her place in the dynamic. "Are you sure?" 
Spencer senses her walls coming down, and he steps closer to her in a few tense strides, cupping her cheeks in a way that makes her melt. His eyes soften until there's no anger remaining. "Yes, my love. I promise there is nothing romantic between JJ and I." He assures her.
It's so sincere. Spencer has always been a persuasive talker, and it's gotten him out of dangerous situations.
Maybe the deep gut feeling she has is off. There's no way to know what happens behind closed doors, but JJ and Will appear to be happily married. Her life seems completely fulfilling. It makes no sense for her to have a crush on Spencer. 
So she's determined to shake it off- for Spencer, her own sanity, and their relationship. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have jumped to such a drastic accusation."
"No, no. Hey, I will always listen to your feelings." Spencer reminds her softly. "I'm sorry I didn't immediately hear you out. It was just unexpected. I would hate for you to stop talking to me about your emotions if you think I'll shut you down."
"Thank you, and I'm sorry," Y/n replies.
His words are massively relieving, and her negative thoughts aren't weighty. "I love you, Y/n."
She smiles softly. "I love you too."
"Can I kiss you now? I've been wanting to for hours." He begs, thumbs stroking over her cheekbones. He's elaborating a little but for good reason.
"Please." She agrees. 
His fingers curl around her head while he leans down to kiss her, not breaking it until they're both out of air. Everything's okay.
And so Y/n had let it go after that night.
She was with him through everything. Dealing with his mom, Mexico, prison, and the long recovery after that. She was with him through thick and thin, even when Spencer had given up on himself. He'll never understand what he did to deserve her love, but it means everything to him. She's the calm presence in amongst his chaos.
No issue in their relationship has been too hard to tackle when they worked together through Spencer's personal problems so well. Nothing between them seemed insurmountable since Spencer's life was so tumultuous.
When he gets home from his case in LA, she's in the bedroom, checking his suit for Rossi's wedding the next day is in perfect condition. The ironing is crisp, not a single wrinkle on the fabric.  
He usually calls out when he enters the apartment door, both so she'll reply, and he'll know what room to navigate to, and so she doesn't freak out about hearing footsteps on the floorboards. 
This time, he doesn't. 
It's like his brain got torn out and is still sitting on the floor of a little jewelry store in downtown LA. His thoughts remain entirely occupied by the previous day's events. Even though the jet home was long, he didn't sleep for a second. It's 7 am East Coast Time now, but it feels like just a second ago, his world got rocked.
"You're back!" Y/n grins, still unaware of the grave news he's bearing. She searches through her jewelry box for a piece to complement her dress. Her final moments of blissful ignorance. "Okay, so I was thinking you might need to nap before the wedding since it'll probably go late- I mean, you know Rossi."
"Y/n." Spencer whispers, trying to stop her from spreading joy and being the life in his life. He absolutely does not deserve that, as he lies by omission. He speaks weakly on purpose, wanting to listen to her excited ramble despite knowing he needs to be honest and say something that will crush her.
She doesn't hear him, and hasn't looked at him hard enough to see his devastation. "But your suit is good to go. I've got some other stuff to do, so have a nap, and I'll have lunch ready when you're up."
"Y/n!" He snaps much too loud. 
Her eyes flick to his, and she knows something drastic has changed. Her stomach drops in dread as the air in the room turns stale.
"What?" She asks cautiously, voice wavering. Her heart thumps in her chest. "What is it, Spencer?"
"JJ said..." Spencer trails off, looking straight past his girlfriend. He's not brave enough to look at her directly. 
No more explanation is needed for it to click. 
Her whole world gets shattered instantly, everything she built with Spencer, every dream and hope she had with him, is destroyed in a second. 
Her stomach stays dropped so low it feels like it's weighing her down and that she could be physically sick. She feels paralyzed until tears start streaming down her cheeks. 
"Oh." She whispers, although it's as loud as a jet engine in the silent room. "Wow. Okay."
Spencer wanted more than that. He wants her to scream at him, telling him he should have stopped thinking he knew everything and listened when she was suspicious. Spencer would take any range of passionate emotions over the silence she's giving him as she processes it. He begs with his eyes for her to tell him what she's feeling. 
It's to no avail. 
He thinks he's getting somewhere when she stands up, that maybe she'll hug him or enquire about the cut on his hand. 
"What happens now?" Y/n asks, ignoring her own tears and his. She always cups his cheeks and wipes them up gently because seeing him in pain pains her. That's how love works.
"Y/n..." She needs him to say more that time. Her soft-spoken name leaving his lips is bad news.
She forces herself to nod and swallow down her distraught tears. "It's okay. I know." It would hurt to hear him admit it, but she might think he's not a coward. 
Now Spencer's paralyzed, watching his nightmare play out in front of him, and he's incapable of preventing it, of making her stay. 
Her delicate, shaking fingers unclasp her necklace, and the 18k gold chain with an 'S' pendant burns a hole in her hand before she thrusts it into his. 
It's warm against his cold hands, a sign it's not where it should be. It's supposed to be daintily sitting on Y/n's chest, near her heart, for the rest of forever.
"No." He finally says, gasping a breath out. "What are you-"
She cuts him off before he talks for too long and causes her to remain so in love with him that she can overlook a massive problem. "You love her." She voices what they've been dancing around. It's an ugly, hurtful truth. "You might be in love with me, but you love JJ more than you should."
Spencer shakes his head, frantically denying the claim they both know is factual. As awful as it is, he's thought about a future with JJ on more than one occasion and during a long-term relationship. It's not that he wants to be with her- which would be a complicated mess and break everyone involved hearts- but something between them remains unresolved. All because of two tickets to see the Redskins.
Y/n speaks before he can, tilting her head upward as she tries to brush back some of her tears. "Don't lie to me, Spence. Please don't." 
He figures he owes her that much. Nothing he could say would fix the torpedo that ripped through their relationship. So he doesn't protest or fight for their relationship as she readies to leave him.
"I'll go now and get some stuff once you've gone out." She decides.
Her stuff which means she's planning on separating everything, and he'll never see her things again. Never mind the possessions- he might never see her again.
There's no point in making a case for her to come to Krystall and Dave's wedding when she only knows them through him, but Spencer isn't sure how he'll be able to sit through a ceremony and speeches and dinner and drinking and dancing- where everyone's feeling the love- when all he would have been thinking about is how it should be his turn next. It sounds like torture.  
Spencer stands there, horrified and helpless, as she slips past him. "Goodbye, Spence." 
And just like that, she's gone. 
It's surreal. 
Surely- surely- the love of his life hadn't just walked out the door and left him. That can't have happened.
He doesn't even feel overly tired, but he must be so sleep-deprived that he's imagining things. Having visions is a less scary thought than Y/n leaving. 
The surreal feeling and eerie silence deepen, and he quickly collapses on the couch from overwhelming fatigue, hoping the past hours have been a terrible nightmare. 
When he wakes and calls out for Y/n, quickly realizing she's not there and his worst fear has come true, Spencer sobs. He cries so much through getting ready for the wedding that his cheeks are blotchy, and his eyes blood shocked as he looks at himself in the mirror. He looks terrible, but he feels so much worse. It's emptiness. His eyes look dull, his hair scruffy, and his heart aches. 
Her dress is still there- dark blue that compliments his suit, but it's matchy-and it hangs in the wardrobe on a coat hanger from the dry cleaner, taunting him. Spencer's hand comes to cup his mouth as panic and nausea rock his stomach. Y/n should be wearing the dress and beside him the whole afternoon while they celebrate love. Something's amiss, and he hopes no one calls him on it because he will, without a doubt, break down in sobs.
Germs feel permanently on him, and he's guilt-ridden. Sure, JJ's words in LA weren't his fault, but- fuck- he should have said something to stop the love of his life from walking out under the wrong impression that he loved someone else.
He makes a beeline for Penelope at the bar to avoid being around JJ and get some alcohol in his system so that maybe everything will hurt less.
She looks pretty, but Will gazes at her like she hung the moon, and Spencer quickly realizes he could never feel that way. Her glances across the room at him piss him off, whereas Y/n's would make him blush.
"No Y/n?" Penelope asks, looking disappointed when he walks over alone. 
That's the reaction his amazing potentially-ex-girlfriend inspires in his friends. People love her for her warmth and humor, and Spencer's sure the team is grateful someone's making him smile. 
"Unfortunately not." Spencer grimaces as he gets the lie out. "She's sick." Or, more likely, bawling her eyes out at her friends because her boyfriend is a jerk, Spencer figures. He would feel worse for lying if it were possible. 
"Oh damn, I have heard there's a bad flu." Penelope easily believes the lie.
"What are you making?" Spencer asks, redirecting the conversation to the cocktails she's expertly whipping up. 
The wedding is small, which Spencer's sure is appropriate for a fourth or third round 2. It feels wrong to be there without Y/n. If he's eventually going to have one of these with her, surely he should be looking at the flower arrangements while she notices hair options. Not judging, just getting ideas.
It would be nothing like JJ and Will's wedding. Y/n would hate a surprise wedding with no choice in decor or food, even though it's romantic in theory.
He could never marry someone like JJ. He could never marry JJ. 
She's a real person. That seems to be a fact he keeps forgetting when he thinks about a future with her. She can't be the idealized version of her from his 24-year-old self's fantasy, and with her sitting no more than 20 feet from him, he's positive she's not who he's compatible with.
It's worse at the speeches. Emily stands with perfectly crafted words, and Spencer's almost in tears when the story verges from being Dave-and-Krystall specific.
"...that this was fate." His running thoughts halt at Emily's words. "...that their marriage was in the stars."
That's him and Y/n. They lived a block from each other in DC but had to travel three and a half thousand miles across the Atlantic Ocean to meet. That's fate. He recalls her laughter when he joked that the universe got sick of them not finding each other and forced them together. And the subsequent, love-filled conversation where they decided soulmates, and twin flames, must be real because they are the embodiment of the term.
Rossi is always a high-roller at Vegas casinos. There was no doubt he'd meet a blackjack dealer. It's not fate the way he and Y/n are fate.
He's always been sure she's the one, but this is the ultimate determining tool.
They have to be together. Spencer and JJ had bottled up their crushes without voicing them for more than a decade, and that's why it messed with his brain so much. Emily talking about confessions taking time to work out is not about them.
His fingers play with the tablecloth as he drafts a speech of his own, one that will set things right. He's too antsy to enjoy the rest of dinner or dessert. All he's thinking about is how soon he can leave- of course, after wishing the happy couple well. 
Spencer knows where she is. The doorbell camera already notified him when she had arrived at their apartment, which might now be an invasion of privacy.
It's a bit of a drive to get home, and he's thankful he stopped at one cocktail so he wouldn't do something stupid, like yell at JJ in front of their friends. As mean as it sounds, he doesn't have emotion to waste on her. It's all poured into love for Y/n. 
He doesn't have time to wait for the elevator, taking the stairs three at a time.
"Y/n!" He calls out as soon as he swings open the door. His heart pounds in his chest thanks to his poor athleticism, but mostly because this is the most important thing he'll ever do in his life.
"Yeah?" She replies, her voice coming from the bedroom as she steps out
She looks heartbroken seeing him, destroyed by the damage he caused over the last ten hours, and there's no way this can be how he leaves her, that this can be the last time he sees her.
"Don't say something that hurts." Spencer can tell Y/n's trying to be firm, but she's begging. There is no way he can ever hurt her.
"I won't." He swears. It's tense, and he feels award standing there. "Y/n, I-"
"I told you." She reminds him, referencing one conversation he's been thinking about. She was so good at dropping it after he offered her unknowingly untrue reassurance. Her plan to let him do the talking flies out the window, and she can't help releasing the brewing emotions. "I knew she loved you and hoped you didn't love her back. And now everything is fucking mess, and I just didn't think that you would do that."
"I don't love her that way." Spencer declares, and he doesn't feel guilty because he's not lying.
Y/n rolls her eyes. "You owe me the truth."
He tentatively steps closer, and she doesn't stop him. "I don't look at JJ and see my future. She's not the person I think about when I see an old couple walking down the street. I don't know the songs she listens to when she's sad or the correct amount of syrup she likes on her pancakes. I don't know the number of her childhood home or favorite piece of art in the Met. I'm not sure if she sings in the shower or if she ties her shoes with two loops. And I don't want to know any of that. You're the only person I ever want to know that personally. I don't love her the way romantic love works. But I didn't know that until I met you, and the very first day, I realized it was different. I know you said that, and I am so sorry I convinced you not to listen to your gut."
Y/n's crying by the end of his beautiful, naturally spoken words. He rushed to get it out, and she processes it for a minute. "Okay." She decides, accompanied by a choked sob.
Spencer frowns because he can't read her properly. "Okay?" He repeats softly. 
She steps forward, which has to be a good sign. "I need you to kiss me now." 
Spencer's crying too slightly as he closes the gap between them, cradling her face like he might shatter her in his palms. "Okay." He whispers, closing the distance between their lips without wasting another second. It's heavier than usual, holding a thousand unspoken words, but it feels like a resolution.
He holds her long after they've run out of air, finally feeling like he can breathe now that he's home.
"I am so in love with you." He tells her. "There is no one else I could ever be with."
She smiles softly back at him. "I'm in love with you too." She replies. "And this suit... you look very handsome."
He smiles widely. "You're the most gorgeous girl in the world." She doesn't bother reminding him that she's been crying and looks washed out. Spencer will forever insist that she is perfect. "Can I take you to dinner? Because I have missed you."
She nods. "I'd love that. And I have the perfect dress."
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cyberrose2001 · 9 months
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Hi hi! Your op drawings are so good?? My bby aaa drawing him (bots in gen) is so tough, I get too caught up in the details TT
Anyway, since I miss him lol I was wondering if I could request some... uh, gosh I hate this word but idk anything synonymous. Could I request pussydrunk tfp op?
Hope you're having a nice day/night btw <3
- 🍄
TFP pussydrunk!Optimus x reader
Hi hello!!I am very proud of this and it's probably up there with my list of my favourite fics I have ever written. Thank you so much for requesting and liking my silly sketches of the blorbo. I've written this as gender neutral <3
(lowkey ive been writing heaps of OP eating pussy,,, its a canon event for me i cannot intervene..... anyway its 11AM and i havent slept yet but i needed to finish hggggh *dies of horny*)
Warnings: Oral sex (reader receiving), edging, reader has a vagina.
Word count: 657
18+ ONLY! MINORS DNI
Spending time alone with you has learned to be one of Optimus' most treasured past times. But as much as it pains him, relaxing with you is a rare treat. The usual business of the base either keeps him up all night, or he genuinely has no time. However, he tries his best to make the most of it, whether he's relaxing with you, cuddling you, or with his head glued between your inner thighs. 
Like right now. It was nearing two AM. Optimus has you sprawled out on your shared berth, his face pressed against your aching heat, finally finding sweet relief from his built-up arousal. It's been too fragging long since his face was buried in you. He misses it, and if Optimus had a choice, he would sacrifice everything he's worked for to keep you bare before him.
Two hours. Optimus had been lazily lapping at you for two hours now. At one point, his helm had lulled to the side to rest against your right inner thigh to not strain his neck. His glossa grows tired, and his energon roars through his hot frame.
His stamina is almost depleted compared to when he initially delved into your drenched pussy. Despite this, Optimus still has the capacity to tightly grip your hips, gently massaging them as you lie still for him. He is weary, yet he perseveres, ignoring his aching joints and pulsing spike painfully pressed against the berth because tonight is about you. He will make up for all those lonely nights you've spent in berth alone in one lengthy oral session.
It's very often that when Optimus gives you oral, his mind feels like he's been transported to a higher plane of existence, one where he has no responsibilities or obligations to lead a team, just the mind-numbing taste of you. It makes him dizzy and light-headed, similar to the buzz he gets when he has a high grade or two, but Optimus prefers revelling in you instead to get his high. 
As ever patient as you are with your star-crossed lover, your hips still gently roll and shudder involuntarily against his glossa, and Optimus fucking loves it. He loves your soft cries when he sucks on your clit, and he loves when you clamp your legs around his helm when your orgasm is merely within reach. But he won't let you finish just yet, not when he's yet to relish and thoroughly drown himself in your sticky sweet.  
His warm optics remain lazily trained on your face, only fluttering close when you squeeze his helm. The pressure from your thighs only heightens his hunger, a carnal desire to swallow every drop of your aphrodisiac juices. 
"Mmmmm," You mewl, sweaty palms digging into the berth, "Fuck, I missed this… why don't we do this - aah - more often, baby…."
Optimus doesn't respond, and he can't because his processor is so intoxicated and aroused that he can't even form a single coherent sentence. It's quite ironic, he thinks. A mech of his nature that is so poised and articulate in his vocable is conned by his own desperate need to surrender his intake to his humans' essence.
"Mmmffh," He purrs into your heat, parting your sensitive lips with his glossa, lazily swirling around your bud before pressing a gentle kiss against it. He can't help but grind his spike into the berth below at your whimpers, servos kneading into your soft flesh, "More… Primus, I need more…."
You titter breathlessly, snaking a hand to the top of his helm to lightly press his face further into your pulsing heat, and Optimus delightfully grunts. You shiver, biting back a moan at the vibrations, "Go ahead, hun, you've got me for the rest of the night."
Optimus may need to blow a hole into the sun to prevent it from rising, since one night will never be enough to satisfy his thirst for you.
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wynnyfryd · 5 months
Text
Trailer park Steve AU part 22
part 1 | part 21 | ao3
“…Go ahead,” he relents with a heavy sigh.
He turns the radio back on for background noise, and Robin launches herself into a breathless recap of every minute detail she’s ever learned about Eddie Munson. Genuinely impressive how quickly the words come out; Steve thinks that if her dream of becoming a linguistics researcher ever falls through, she’s got a bright future ahead of her as one of those speedreaders who rattle off the fine print at the end of pharmaceutical ads.
Warning: Discussion of Eddie Munson may cause nausea, heartburn, palpitations, sweaty armpits, and an inconveniently timed half-chub any time you use a pocket knife. Talk to your doctor to see if Discussion of Eddie Munson is right for you!
“Which brings us to tonight,” she’s saying when he zones back in. “Let’s examine the facts, shall we?”
“Must we?”
“Yes, we must.”
She makes a loose fist, lifting her pointer finger with an aggressive flourish to kick off her ‘list of reasons Eddie has a big, fat crush on you.’ “Fact number one: he was conveniently wearing a super nice outfit.”
“He said he ran out of laundry.”
“And we’re buying that?” she scoffs. Her middle finger springs up to join the first one. “Two: he was so disgustingly up in your personal space. Like, you really should have seen it; it was—”
Mwah. Mwah mwah mwah. “Yeah, I don’t need another demonstration.”
“Three” —there goes her ring finger— “he came to a movie rental store that you just so happen to work at and then left without renting a movie.”
“Because you did something to spook him!”
“Which brings me to my fourth and final point.” Her pinky lifts up to join the team, fingers spread wide like a paper fan, and she telescopes her arm to shove them back and forth under his nose until he goes a little cross-eyed and bitches about her distracting the driver.
“Cut it out! You want me to drive us into someone’s trash cans?��
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Yeah, well I’m sending you the invoice when it scratches up the paint.”
She retreats to her side of the car, curling her back against the door and repeating, “My fourth and final point: I think he thinks we’re dating.”
“And? Everyone thinks we’re dating.”
“No, everyone wants us to be secretly dating,” she corrects. “But I’m pretty sure Eddie actually thinks I’m your girlfriend. You remember last week when you dropped me off at school?”
He does. Eddie had actually been there early for once; had been sitting on a bench out by the soccer fields, looking surly and half-asleep while he sucked down a cigarette. Hair all messed up by the wind. Looked kind of dangerous. Wild.
“He was, like, fully glaring at me when I walked into school that morning, and then he was super rude to me in band. Which, at the time, I was like, ‘oh, well I guess that’s just Eddie no one can ever tell what his mood’s gonna be like from day to day,’ but noo-o-ow…”
She starts squirming in her seat again, excitement overflowing as she finally cracks the case. “Now it all makes sense! Oh, my god! He totally hates me because he thinks we’re dating, and I’ll bet you anything he either didn’t know we work together or didn’t expect me to be there tonight and he totally, one hundred percent was there to flirt with you because he’s in lo—”
“Okay, Detective,” he cuts her off, because the tips of his ears are burning, and he doesn’t think he can handle her saying the L word out loud right now. “You’ve made your point, thank you.”
“Tell me I’m right.”
“Uh, no.”
“Come on.” She jabs at his side. “Tell me I’m right tell me I’m right tell me I’m—”
“—A fucking menace? Gladly.”
“Translation: I’m right and you’re mad about it,” she smirks, victorious.
Steve knocks his forehead against the wheel as he pulls up to her curb. “Why do I drive you places?”
“Because you love me." She flips her visor down to freshen up her lip balm, mumbling around the chapstick, "I’m adding Surly Best Friendlish to my list of fluencies; I think it'll really make my college applications pop."
"Yuh huh," Steve grumbles. The thought of Robin leaving for college always sits in his gut like raw bread dough — thick and heavy and gross, rising to form a swollen lump in his throat. "Didn't you already submit all of those?"
"Yes, I diiiid," she sings, shimmying her shoulders with pride. "Duke's gonna say yes, I just know it. Picture it with me: Robin L. Buckley," she gestures to an imagined marquee somewhere just beyond the windshield, "class of 1990."
Steve swallows the urge to be a sulky dick about it. "They'd be lucky to have you," he says quietly.
"Nope. No no, none of that. No moping." She tugs at his arm; links their elbows together. "You're not allowed to mope when we have a party to get ready for."
"No, you have a party to get ready for. I'm going home."
"Steeeve-uh!" Holy shit. He just had to be soulmates with the whiniest lesbian in a 500 mile radius, didn't he? "Come to the bonfire party with me!"
"Yeah, that's a no."
“It’ll be fun!"
It most certainly will not be. "You really want me to go freeze my ass off in the woods all night while a bunch of former classmates talk shit about me the second they think I'm out of earshot?" He's been to enough of his parents' 'networking events' over the years to know exactly how that'll go. A full night of subtly closed-off body language, smirking whispers and judgmental glances that dart away as soon as he meets them head on. Fuck that. "Thanks, but I'll pass."
He just wants to go home. Feels momentarily sick with the desire to drive himself to Loch Nora.
"What did I say about moping?" Robin asks. She shoves into his space, hugging his arm tighter and deploying her most lethal sad wet kitten face (and Steve doesn't even like cats; this shouldn't fucking work on him.) "Pleeeease," she begs. "Vickie's going to be there, and I could really use a friend."
"So ask a friend!"
"I am, dipshit!"
Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Goddamn this woman. Steve hangs his chin to his chest in defeat, notices the weird stain he got on his shirt during work. "I have some conditions," he concedes.
She throws her arms out wide. "Condition me, baby!"
"First— ew. Okay, I don't like that; don't call me baby." Yeesh, and furthermore, yuck. "First, I'm borrowing one of your shirts, and you're probably never getting it back."
"Understandable,” she nods as she gets out of the car. Steve follows her out, propping his elbows on the roof.
"Secondly,” he continues, “I'm getting very drunk at this stupid party, and you're figuring out how we get home."
She reaches out over the top of the car; gives his hand a quick squeeze when he puts it in hers. "That's three things," she says fondly, "but I can work with that."
part 23
tag list part 1 below the cut; comment if you'd like to be added tomorrow (not tagging ageless or under 21s unless we're mutuals or you let me know your age ✌️)
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