#or maybe it's that it's not About Them in a way that I would really say all the other episodes are | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pucksandpower · 3 days

Text

So Good to Her

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: the public reacts to the TikTok challenge you and Charles inadvertently participated in

Read So Good to Me (about the TikTok challenge) here

The TikTok that the British influencer posted of his encounter with you and your incredibly generous boyfriend quickly goes viral, racking up millions of views, likes, and comments within mere hours.

It spreads like wildfire across social media platforms, with people sharing it on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook — even LinkedIn of all places. Everyone marvels at this mystery woman with the boyfriend of all boyfriends who casually sent her €10,000 just to buy a pair of shoes.

In a cozy London flat, a group of university students and diehard Charles fans gather around a laptop, eyes wide as they watch the now-viral video for the umpteenth time.

“I can’t believe Charles has a secret girlfriend!” Megan, a petite blonde wearing a red Ferrari cap, exclaims. “How did we not know about this? We follow his every move!”

Her best friend Ethan nods in agreement, his brow furrowed. “Seriously, who is this girl? She’s drop dead gorgeous and apparently Charles is just casually sending her 10 grand for shopping sprees?”

“Okay but like, goals though,” Lexi chimes in dreamily, clutching a Charles Leclerc poster to her chest. “Imagine having a boyfriend who’s not only mega hot and talented but also spoils you rotten. She’s living the dream.”

Ethan scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Oh come on, he can’t just throw money around like that. I bet this whole thing was staged for clout.”

Megan shoots him a withering glare. “Don’t be ridiculous. What would be the point? Charles is already one of the most popular drivers on the grid, he doesn’t need to pull PR stunts for attention.”

“Plus did you see the way he talked to her on the phone?” Lexi points out, rewinding the video. “That was not acting, that was real love and affection in his voice. I’m so soft for them already, ugh.”

The trio falls silent as they watch the clip again, zeroing in on every little detail and facial expression from both Charles’ mystery girlfriend and the clearly shocked TikToker.

Ethan chuckles and shakes his head. “I still can’t get over her reaction though. Just a guy who loves driving fast cars — I mean, the cheek! She really knows how to keep a secret, gotta give her that.”

“An icon, honestly,” Megan declares. “The fact that she told him to donate the money to an animal shelter too ... okay, I can’t even be mad. She seems like a sweet person.”

Lexi sighs happily, starry-eyed. “They’re literally a power couple. The sheer confidence and BDE of it all. I’m so jealous but also like, rooting for them? We have to find out who this girl is!”

As if on cue, Megan’s phone pings with a Twitter notification. Her eyes widen as she swipes to view it. “Guys. GUYS. The TikToker just confirmed her first name is Y/N and posted another video with a few more details about her!”

“Well don’t just sit there, play it!” Ethan demands, practically launching himself across the couch to peer over Megan’s shoulder at her phone screen. Lexi scrambles to join them, bouncing with anticipation.

In the new clip, the TikToker is grinning excitedly at the camera, an extra bounce in his step as he walks along the same Monaco street where he first approached you.

“Right, so I’m sure by now you’ve all seen my video with Charles Leclerc’s girlfriend go absolutely mental viral,” he begins, running a hand through his artfully tousled hair. “Which, can I just say — thank you so much for the insane support and love, you lot are the best fans ever.”

“Get to the point,” Ethan mutters under his breath, earning a sharp “Shh!” from both girls.

“Anyway,” the TikToker continues. “After she left and I finally picked my jaw up off the floor, I did some digging. I headed to that little boutique she mentioned in the call with Charles, just to see if she actually went in and bought anything. Thought maybe if I asked the staff, they might be able to give me some more info, you know?”

Megan, Ethan, and Lexi all subconsciously lean closer to the small phone screen, hanging on to his every word.

“So get this — not only did she buy the shoes, she apparently also went next door and purchased, and I quote, a frankly alarming amount of lingerie. The cashier said she dropped over 5 grand like it was nothing!”

Lexi lets out a scandalized gasp as Ethan chokes on his sip of Red Bull. Megan just shakes her head in wonderment. “The actual legend,” she murmurs reverently.

The TikToker laughs and waggles his eyebrows suggestively at the camera. “I don’t know about you lot, but I’m definitely sensing some spicy thank you for the shopping money activities were planned for a certain Ferrari driver, if you know what I mean. Get in there, Charles!”

“Gross, I so did not need that visual,” Ethan grumbles, but there’s a slight smirk playing on his lips all the same.

“Oh shut up, as if you wouldn’t do the exact same if you were dating Charles,” Lexi retorts with a playful shove to his shoulder.

“ANYWAY,” the TikToker presses on, “I did manage to squeeze a few more details out of the lovely shop girl. Apparently Charles’ girlfriend is named Y/N, no last name given for privacy reasons. But she’s a regular customer and, I quote, an absolute sweetheart who only ever has glowing things to say about her man. So there you have it, folks — Y/N and Charles are the real deal and we’re all just peasants watching a fairytale unfold.”

Megan sighs dreamily as the video ends. “Y/N and Charles,” she repeats to herself, already typing the names into her social media search bars. “God, even their names sound good together. I have to find out everything about her.”

“Dibs on making their ship name hashtag go viral,” Lexi calls out, already furiously typing away on her own phone.

Ethan snorts and rolls his eyes affectionately at his friends, but there’s no denying the small, reluctantly impressed smile tugging at the corners of his mouth too. “I give it two days before they’re papped together on some glamorous date night now that the secret’s out. Hope she’s ready for the attention dating an F1 star brings.”

“With that level of confidence and the way Charles clearly adores her? I think our girl Y/N will handle the spotlight just fine,” Megan says confidently.

Lexi nods in firm agreement. “Yep, a true queen. Charles better lock that down and wife her up real quick before one of us tries to snatch her for ourselves!”

***

In a cozy apartment not far from the very street where you had your memorable encounter with the TikToker, three young women huddle around a laptop screen, eyes wide and jaws slack as they watch the now viral video for the umpteenth time.

“I can’t believe this,” mutters Isabelle, a pretty brunette with an impressively encyclopedic knowledge of Formula 1 stats. “Charles has a girlfriend? Since when?”

“And he just sent her €10,000 like it was nothing!” Exclaims Maia, nervously twirling a strand of her platinum blonde hair. “I mean, I know he’s loaded but holy shit, the way he spoils her ...”

The third girl, Claire, bites her lip, a pensive look on her delicate features. “Did you hear what she said at the end though? Just a guy who loves driving fast cars. She was obviously talking about Charles. But the way she said it, all mysterious and like it was some inside joke ... I don’t know, it just rubs me the wrong way.”

Isabelle scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Please, she was totally gloating. Didn’t even have the decency to act a little humble about the fact that THE Charles Leclerc is apparently head over heels for her.”

“Exactly!” Maia chimes in, nodding vigorously. “Like okay, congrats, you bagged a hot, rich, famous race car driver. No need to rub it in the rest of our faces.”

Claire wrinkles her nose. “I just don’t get the vibe that she actually cares about him, you know? I mean, who asks their boyfriend to send them money in the middle of the day for some stupid shoes? While he’s working? She seems like such a gold digger.”

“Ugh, you’re so right,” Isabelle agrees, her lips curling in distaste. “Poor Charles is probably blind to it because he’s so gone for her. He didn’t even hesitate to transfer that money!”

Maia sighs dramatically and falls back on the bed. “God, it’s so unfair. Why can’t I find a man who’s that generous and totally obsessed with me? I’d treat him so much better than she does, you can already tell.”

Claire hums and taps her chin thoughtfully. “You know what, I think this smells fishy. How do we even know she’s actually Charles’ girlfriend? For all we know, she could have paid some guy who sounds like him to play along for a TikTok clout.”

Isabelle’s eyes narrow as she considers this possibility. “That’s true ... I haven’t come across any photos of them together or anything. Why has no one ever seen her before if they’re supposedly so in love?”

“Exactly!” Claire exclaims, growing more animated. “I’ve been a Charles fan for years and I’ve never seen or heard anything about a girlfriend. If they’re really dating, there’s no way it wouldn’t have come out before now.”

Maia sits up, suddenly energized by this new conspiracy theory. “Oh my god, you’re right! She’s probably just some wannabe influencer trying to get famous by pretending to be with Charles. That’s so pathetic.”

Isabelle nods slowly, a determined glint in her eye. “You know what? We should do some digging. Try to find out who this girl really is and expose her for the fraud she clearly is. Charles and the world deserve to know the truth.”

“Yesss, I’m so down for an investigation!” Maia says gleefully. “Imagine if we’re the ones who reveal that this whole thing is fake. We’d be doing Charles a huge favor.”

Claire is already pulling up Instagram and Twitter on her phone. “Let’s start by going through the comments on that TikTok and seeing if anyone has identified her or posted any receipts. There have to be some clues somewhere.”

The girls spend the next few hours poring over social media, searching for any scrap of information they can find about the mystery woman who has supposedly captured Charles Leclerc’s heart. They work themselves into a frenzy, convincing each other more and more that you can’t possibly be Charles’ real girlfriend. In their minds, you’re clearly just an opportunistic clout chaser looking for your 15 minutes of fame.

“God, I hope Charles sees through her act soon,” Isabelle says for the hundredth time, shaking her head. “He’s too good for some two-bit gold digger who’s just using him.”

“We’ll make sure he finds out who she really is,” Claire assures her firmly. “And then he’ll have no choice but to dump her lying ass.”

Maia sighs wistfully, hugging a throw pillow to her chest. “Do you think once he’s single again, I might actually have a chance? Like, if I run into him at a race one day and strike up a conversation, maybe he’ll realize I’m the girl he’s meant to be with ...”

“Okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Claire says with a laugh. “First step is taking down this fraud of a girlfriend. Then we can daydream about being Mrs. Leclerc.”

The girls giggle and go back to their social media sleuthing with renewed determination. They’ve decided you’re public enemy number one and they won’t rest until they’ve exposed you for the fake, money-hungry, clout-chasing liar they’re certain you must be. In their eyes, they’re crusaders for truth, fighting to save their beloved Charles from your clutches.

What they don’t realize, of course, is just how very real and very deep Charles’ feelings for you actually are ... and that you’re not going anywhere anytime soon, Internet conspiracy theories be damned.

***

In a dimly lit basement somewhere in Italy, a group of die-hard Charles Leclerc fans huddle around a computer screen, their jaws dropping as they watch the video for the umpteenth time.

“Guys, are you seeing this shit?” Enzo, the self-appointed leader of the group, asks incredulously. “Who the hell is this girl and how did she bag Charles freakin’ Leclerc?”

“Dude, we don’t even know for sure that it’s actually Charles,” Giovanni points out skeptically. “She never said his name. It could be some other rich dude with a fast car.”

Enzo scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Oh come on, who else could it be? €10,000 like it’s nothing, is it possible that Leclerc has a secret girlfriend we don’t know about all this time? A guy who likes driving fast cars? It’s obviously Charles! Our boy is LOADED and that’s exactly how he’d spoil his girl.”

Luca nods in agreement, a dreamy expression on his face. “God, can you imagine being with Charles though? Having him call you all those cute pet names and just showering you with love and gifts? I’d fucking die.”

“Yeah, she has to be the luckiest woman on the planet,” Enzo sighs wistfully. “I mean, I’m straight, but even I’d let Charles ruin me, you know what I’m saying?”

The other guys murmur and nod in emphatic agreement, all of them momentarily lost in a fantasy of being Charles Leclerc’s pampered significant other.

“Okay but like, how is this even fair?” Giovanni gripes, breaking the spell. “The rest of us mere mortals are out here busting our asses on Tinder and Hinge, praying a decent girl will swipe right, and Charles just gets to date a literal goddess who is probably a model?”

“Life isn’t fair, Gio,” Enzo says solemnly. “Charles is on a completely different level. He could have any woman he wants and they’d all say yes before he even finished asking. The rules don’t apply to a guy like that.”

Luca suddenly sits up straight, his eyes widening with realization. “Holy shit, guys. Do you know what this means? If Charles is taken, that’s one less F1 driver on the market for all those grid girl groupies to throw themselves at! Maybe the rest of us actually have a chance now!”

Giovanni snorts derisively. “Yeah, you wish. Those chicks are still gonna be busy trying to get with Sainz or Verstappen or Norris. They’re not gonna settle for some nobody Ferrari fan. Let’s be real.”

“Wow, way to kill the vibe, Debbie Downer,” Luca mutters. He turns back to the computer and hits replay on the video, watching enviously as the TikToker clearly shows the €10,000 bank transfer on your phone. “Seriously though, how is this chick not freaking the fuck out? If Charles Leclerc randomly sent me 10 grand I’d be screaming and probably pass out.”

“She’s probably used to it,” Enzo says with a shrug. “I bet this is like, a regular Tuesday for her. Just casually strolling around Monaco, stopping into designer stores whenever she feels like it, Charles’ black credit card weighing down her Hermès purse. The bougiest of WAG lives.”

“God, what I wouldn’t give to trade places with her for just one day,” Giovanni says longingly. “Can you imagine getting to wake up next to Charles every morning? Having him make you breakfast and give you forehead kisses and tell you how much he loves you in that sexy accent?”

“Okay, now you’re just torturing yourself, bro,” Luca laughs. “You’ll be lucky if you can get a Tinder match to agree to split the bill at McDonalds.”

“Why you gotta bring me back to my sad reality like that?” Giovanni groans, chucking a throw pillow at Luca’s head. “Let me live vicariously through Charles’ bougie mystery girlfriend for a little while longer, damn.”

Enzo sighs and leans back in his chair, hands behind his head. “You know what the craziest part of all this is? The fact that Charles managed to keep a whole ass girlfriend hidden from the world. Like, the media has been speculating about his love life forever and no one had a clue he was actually in a serious relationship. That man moves in silence like a ninja.”

“Yeah, and did you see how he just casually threw out that he loves her?” Luca gushes. “He was all I love spoiling you, you deserve the world. My dude is head over heels for this girl and I am LIVING for it.”

“Ugh, why can’t I find a man like that?” Giovanni whines dramatically. “All I want is a guy who will write me cute Instagram captions in three languages and buy out the Gucci store for me but I guess that’s too much to ask!”

“Maybe if you stanned Charles harder, the universe would reward you,” Enzo snarks. “Start leaving thirsty comments on his shirtless pics, see if that manifests your dream F1 boyfriend.”

“Bold of you to assume I don’t already do that,” Giovanni retorts with a smirk. “How else do you think Oscar Piastri ended up in my DMs last night?”

“Wait, WHAT?” Luca and Enzo exclaim in unison, whipping their heads around to gape at their friend.

Giovanni bursts out laughing at their shocked faces. “I’m just kidding, jeez! You think I’d be sitting here listening to you losers if Oscar freaking Piastri actually messaged me? Puh-lease.”

“Man, don’t even joke about that,” Enzo grumbles, clutching at his heart. “You really had me going there for a sec.”

Luca huffs and slouches down in his seat. “Can we get back to being jealous of Charles’ sugar baby girlfriend now? I was enjoying that more than whatever the hell this conversation turned into.”

“She’s not his sugar baby!” Enzo argues. “They’re clearly in love! Did we watch the same video? The way he talked to her was mad cute. That’s his GIRL girl.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Luca concedes, holding his hands up in apology. “Charles might spoil her but he obviously adores her for more than just her looks. That’s the real relationship goals right there.”

“Imagine being so secure in your love that you can just ball out on your partner like that and know it’s only going to make them love you more,” Giovanni muses. “Cannot relate.”

Enzo nods sagely. “Charles is just built different, man. In more ways than one.”

“Truer words have never been spoken,” Luca agrees. “So, are we watching this video another 50 times or are we moving on to the Grill the Grid compilation I found of all of Charles’ most adorably flustered moments?”

Enzo grins maniacally and reaches for the mouse. “Oh, you know we’re watching the hell out of this absolute gift again. And then we’re gonna spend the next three hours cyberstalking Charles and seeing if we can find any other crumbs about who this legendary mystery woman is. For research purposes.”

“This is the most productive thing we’ve done in months and I’m not even ashamed,” Giovanni declares, cracking his knuckles in preparation for the intense social media deep dive they’re about to undertake.

***

In a crowded sports bar in Dublin, a group of die-hard Ferrari fans gather to watch the latest race. But today, there’s another bit of F1-related content that has their attention. They huddle around a phone, repeatedly watching the now-infamous TikTok video.

“Can you believe it? €10,000 just like that!” Exclaims James, a tall, lanky guy with a mop of curly hair. “I mean, I knew Charles was loaded but damn ...”

“Forget the money, did you see his girlfriend?” Tom, a stocky redhead, chimes in. “Absolutely stunning. Like, how does a race car driver land a girl like that?”

Mark, a quieter guy with glasses, rolls his eyes. “Uh, maybe because he’s Charles freaking Leclerc? The man’s a beast on the track and has the face of a Greek god. Girls probably throw themselves at him left and right.”

The guys all mutter in begrudging agreement, a note of envy coloring their voices. On screen, the video replays yet again, showing you confidently calling up your boyfriend and securing the small fortune without batting an eye.

“God, what I wouldn’t give to have a woman look at me the way she probably looks at Leclerc,” Tom sighs wistfully.

“In your dreams, mate,” James scoffs. “Girls like that are way out of our league. We can’t compete with a Ferrari paycheck and Monaco real estate.”

“Still doesn’t seem fair though,” grumbles Mark. “The dude’s already got it all — talent, fame, money. Leave some for the rest of us!”

On screen, the video reaches the part where you coolly inform the gobsmacked TikToker that you don’t need his measly €2,000 and he should donate it to an animal shelter instead. The guys let out low whistles, clearly impressed by your classy move.

“See, that right there, that’s what separates the Monegasque princess types from regular girls,” says James with an air of authority. “We would’ve taken the cash in a heartbeat.”

“Speak for yourself, I’m a man of principle,” Tom jokes, puffing out his chest exaggeratedly. The others snort and shove him playfully.

As the video ends, the guys sit back, each lost in their own wistful imaginings of what it must be like to be Charles Leclerc. To have the money, success, and effortless charm to win over a girl like you.

Mark is the first to break the contemplative silence. “Maybe we’re looking at this all wrong,” he muses thoughtfully. “I mean yeah, Charles is a lucky bastard, no doubt. But that girl, she seems like a real catch too. Like the kind of person who’d keep you humble and grounded, even when you’re a superstar athlete with the world at your feet.”

The others consider this, nodding slowly. “Fair point,” concedes Tom. “Behind every great man and all that jazz. Leclerc may have his millions but he still needs someone to call him out on his BS from time to time.”

“Exactly,” agrees Mark. “And did you hear the way he spoke to her on the phone? The dude’s completely smitten. He may have all the money and fame, but I bet she’s the real prize in his eyes.”

“Alright, alright, settle down Dr. Phil,” James interjects with a good-natured eye roll. “You gonna start writing romance novels in your spare time now? Maybe they’ll make a movie — The Tifosi Who Loved Me: A Charles Leclerc Story.”

The guys all crack up laughing at that, the tension broken. Their envy towards Leclerc’s charmed life remains, but it’s now tinged with a newfound respect and even a touch of empathy.

“Y’know, jokes aside, I do hope he realizes how lucky he is to have her and treats her right,” Mark says sincerely as their chuckles subside. “A love like that seems rare these days.”

Tom reaches over to clap Mark on the shoulder. “No worries, mate. Did you see the dopey grin on Charles’ face in those paparazzi pics of them together that came out earlier? That man is whipped with a capital W. He knows he’s got a keeper.”

“As he should,” nods James sagely. “Behind every great Ferrari champion is an even greater woman keeping his ego in check. Tale as old as time.”

On that note, the guys clink their pint glasses together, silently saluting the unnamed woman who stole the heart of Charles Leclerc and the envious admiration of Formula 1 fans worldwide. The mystery girlfriend with impeccable style and a heart of gold.

As the pre-race coverage starts up on the bar TV, the guys settle in to cheer on their favorite driver, their fleeting jealousy replaced by the camaraderie and excitement of race day. But in the back of their minds, a single wistful thought remains — what they wouldn’t give to find a love like Charles and his girl seem to share. Guess that’s just one more thing to add to the list of reasons to idolize Charles Leclerc.

***

Among the hordes of viewers obsessively replaying the clip are three best friends gathered for a girls night at a posh Parisian penthouse. Colette, the willowy blonde draped across a velvet chaise lounge, takes a sip of her champagne and shakes her head in wonder.

“God, can you imagine having a boyfriend who just casually drops 10k on you like it’s nothing? Talk about relationship goals,” she sighs dreamily.

Next to her, Nadia snorts derisively while scrolling through Instagram on her phone. “Oh please, like that’s hard to find. I bet loads of rich guys would do that for their girlfriends. It’s not that impressive.”

From her perch on a tufted ottoman, Stephanie raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Really? You think Liam would send you that kind of cash without batting an eye? Mr. I-Need-To-Check-With-My-Financial-Advisor-Before-I-Buy-A-New-Tie?”

Colette erupts into giggles at the scathing impression of Nadia’s banker boyfriend. Even Nadia cracks a reluctant smile before tossing her sleek dark hair.

“Whatever. I’m just saying, that TikTok chick’s boyfriend can’t be THAT special. I’m sure if we did the same challenge our boyfriends would come through too,” she declares with more than a hint of competitiveness in her voice.

“Oooh yes, let’s do it! Let’s recreate the video and see what happens!” Colette squeals, bouncing up and down on the chaise with excitement.

Stephanie, ever the voice of reason, looks uncertain. “I don’t know, guys ... isn’t it a bit tacky to demand money from them like that? What if they get mad?”

Nadia rolls her eyes. “Oh come on Steph, live a little! It’s just a silly experiment. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Okay, okay fine,” Stephanie relents, unable to resist her friends’ cajoling. “But I’m blaming you both if Omer breaks up with me over this!”

“Deal!” Colette grins impishly as she grabs her phone. “I’ll go first — let me call Henry and we’ll see if he’s as generous as Mystery Monaco Man.”

With a deep breath, she dials her property developer boyfriend and launches into her rehearsed plea as soon as he picks up. “Baby!” She whines. “You’ll never believe what happened. I’m out with the girls and my Louboutins broke! Like the heel just totally snapped off. I’m absolutely gutted, these were my faves. Is there any way you could send some money to my account so I can grab a new pair on the way home? Pleeeaaase, I’ll love you forever!”

There’s a heavy pause before Henry’s clipped voice comes through, tinged with annoyance. “Christ, again with the bloody shoes? What is it with you women and wasting my hard earned money on bits of leather you don’t need? Can’t you just take the broken ones to get fixed?”

Colette’s perfectly glossed pout trembles, her blue eyes shining with disappointed tears as Nadia and Stephanie look on in pity. “Never mind,” she mumbles. “Forget I asked. Chat later.” She hangs up and flings her phone down despondently.

“What an ass,” Nadia spits. “You deserve so much better.” Colette shrugs sadly but rallies as she turns to Stephanie expectantly.

“Okay Steph, your turn to give Omer a ring! Let’s hope he restores our faith in rich boyfriends everywhere.”

Stephanie grimaces but dutifully calls her Qatar-based hedge fund manager beau. In her most saccharine voice, she makes her case. “Habibi, you know that gorgeous YSL bag I showed you last week? It finally came back in stock but only for today! Could you maybe pop some cash in my account so I can treat myself? I’ve been working so hard lately and-”

“Wallahi Stephanie, how many handbags does one woman need?” Omer cuts her off irritably. “If I buy you this one, I don’t want to hear any more whining for designer things for at least 6 months, got it? I’ll send you 500 euros, that should more than cover it.”

“Oh. Right. Thanks, I guess ...” Stephanie replies glumly before ending the call. She shakes her head at her friends. “Well, it’s something at least?”

“Hardly,” Nadia scoffs. “These men, I swear. Okay, time for me to show you girls how it’s done. Watch and learn, ladies.”

With a confident smirk, she video calls Liam who answers distractedly, clearly still at the office despite the late hour. “This better be important Nadia, I’m right in the middle of-”

“Liam. Focus,” Nadia cuts him off crisply. “I need you to send €10,000 to my account right now. No questions asked.” She arches a commanding eyebrow, daring him to argue.

Liam just blinks at her for a moment before letting out an incredulous laugh. “I’m sorry, you need me to do what now? 10 grand, are you mad? For what possible reason?”

“To prove you love me,” Nadia retorts smugly. “I saw this thing on TikTok, some girl’s boyfriend sent her-”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Liam interrupts. “I’m not one of your little social media playthings to manipulate for views, Nadia. My money is not a toy. I’ll buy you a thoughtful gift for your birthday next month, but I’m not in the business of flinging cash at you for no reason. Now if you’ll excuse me, some of us have real work to do. Goodnight.”

With that he abruptly ends the call, leaving Nadia staring at the blank screen, a red flush of embarrassment and anger creeping up her elegant neck. Stephanie and Colette exchange knowing looks.

“So … that went well,” Stephanie quips sarcastically.

Colette sighs morosely as she flops back onto the chaise, hugging a silk pillow. “Maybe that girl’s boyfriend really is one of a kind. God, I bet she feels like the luckiest woman alive. Can you even imagine being THAT loved and adored?”

Nadia seems to deflate, her bravado evaporating. “No,” she whispers. “I can’t. You’re right, Col. Mystery Monaco Man is clearly in a league of his own. I bet he makes her feel like an absolute queen every damn day.”

Stephanie nods thoughtfully, twirling a lock of hair. “You know what though? Good for her. She seems lovely and down-to-earth in the video. If anyone deserves that fairy tale romance, it’s a girl like that who doesn’t even realize how special it is.”

“Ugh, so true. god I’m depressed now,” Colette groans, reaching for the champagne bottle to refill her glass. “To Mystery Monaco Man — may he set the standard for rich boyfriends everywhere. And to the girl who’s lucky enough to love him — may she live happily ever after and never take a single moment for granted.”

“Hear, hear,” Nadia and Stephanie chorus, clinking their glasses against Colette’s.

As the bubbles fizz on their tongues, the wistful faraway looks in their eyes betray the same thought — what they wouldn’t give to trade places with you for just a day, to know what it feels like to be cherished so completely by a man like Charles. To them, you’re living the ultimate dream.

If only they knew the best part isn’t the extravagant gestures or lavish gifts.

It’s the little moments. The soft kisses pressed to your temple. The fingers intertwined with yours. The sleepy smiles over morning coffee. The shared laughter and inside jokes. The unwavering support and unconditional acceptance. The bone-deep feeling of safety and coming home.

That’s the real fairy tale. And no amount of money could ever buy it.

***

Back in Monaco, Lando Norris slouches comfortably in his gaming chair, eyes glued to the triple monitors in front of him. He’s meant to be reviewing telemetry data in preparation for the upcoming race weekend, but the notification chime from his phone proves far too tempting. Lando picks up the device, fully intending to only glance at it for a second before dutifully returning to his work.

But then he sees it — the TikTok that at least a dozen people have sent to him in the past hour alone. Curiosity piqued, Lando clicks on the video and watches intently, his brows steadily rising towards his hairline with each passing second.

“Wait, is that ...” he mutters to himself as the clip plays out. When your boyfriend’s voice comes through the speakers, Lando’s eyes bug out comically. “Holy shit, it is Charles! And Y/N!”

A knock on the door makes Lando jump slightly. Before he can respond, a familiar mop of tousled chestnut hair pokes into the room. “Hey mate, did you see-” Max Verstappen starts to say.

“The TikTok of Charles simping hard for Y/N? Yup, watching it right now,” Lando finishes for him, eyes still glued to his phone screen in fascination.

Max invites himself into the room fully and flops down on the couch. “Absolutely crazy, right? Who just casually sends their girlfriend 10k for a random pair of shoes?”

Lando snorts. “Certainly not you, you stingy Dutchman,” he ribs playfully. Max chucks a throw pillow at him in retaliation.

“Hey, even I splurge on my girlfriend sometimes!” Max protests. “I just bought her ... erm ...” He racks his brain trying to remember the last lavish gift he purchased unprompted.

“A six-pack of Sugar Free Red Bull last week?” Lando supplies dryly.

“... Shut up.”

The two dissolve into snickers before turning their attention back to the TikTok, which has now looped to the beginning again.

“Charles is so whipped for Y/N,” Max observes, shaking his head in amused disbelief. “He’s just asking to get taken advantage of, throwing money around like that.”

“I think it’s kinda sweet,” Lando admits with a shrug. “He just wants to make her happy. Don’t act like you wouldn’t do the same if your girl asked!”

Max scoffs. “What, fall victim to a gold digger? No thanks mate.”

“Y/N’s hardly a gold digger and you know it,” Lando chides. “She works hard for her own money and buys plenty of expensive gifts for Charles too. They just like spoiling each other ‘cause they’re in luuurve.” He draws out the last word in a silly voice, making dramatic kissy faces.

“Yeah, yeah, true love and all that sappy bullshit,” Max says dismissively, though there’s no real heat behind it. “I’m just saying, no way in hell I’m sending 10k on command for a pair of fucking shoes!”

Lando hums thoughtfully. “I would.”

Max’s head whips around to stare at him incredulously. “You what.”

“If it was the right girl? Sure, I’d do it,” Lando says nonchalantly. “Maybe not for something frivolous like shoes, but if my girlfriend called me up and said she needed 10k transferred ASAP? I’d do it, no questions asked. You gotta have that level of trust.”

Clearly torn between wanting to take the piss out of his friend and feeling a reluctant sort of respect, Max just grunts noncommittally in response before turning back to rewatch the clip once more.

Debate rages online among the fans about the cute interaction. Most find the whole thing adorably romantic, cooing over what a doting and generous boyfriend Charles is. They swoon at the obvious love and care between you two, speculating excitedly in the comments about when Charles might pop the question.

Others are more cynical, rolling their eyes at Charles “simping” so hard and accusing you of only dating the Ferrari driver for his money. However, these naysayers are quickly drowned out and ratio’d by your legions of adoring supporters.

Through it all, you and Charles pay the speculation little mind, blissfully wrapped up in your fairytale romance.

Charles returns home that evening to the mouthwatering aroma of his favorite pesto pasta dish wafting from the kitchen. He grins when he spots you at the stove, swaying your hips to the sultry jazz music playing from the speaker as you stir the sauce. Quietly, he comes up behind you and slips his strong arms around your waist, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Mmm, smells amazing,” he murmurs appreciatively.

You turn in his embrace and loop your arms around his neck, smiling radiantly up at him. “Welcome home, Cha-Cha,” you greet him, using the silly pet name that never fails to make him chuckle and scrunch his nose adorably. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

“And what’s for dessert?” Charles asks with a playful waggle of his eyebrows.

Biting your lip coyly, you untangle yourself from his arms and saunter off towards the bedroom. “Come find out after we eat. Oh, and I picked up a little something special to express my gratitude for earlier ...” you call over your shoulder with a wink.

Charles’ megawatt grin could power all of Monaco for a year. Viral TikTok or not, the Monegasque knows he’s already the luckiest man in the world to have you as his partner through this crazy ride called life.

No amount of money could ever compare to the joy of being loved by you.

2K notes · View notes

giamee · 2 days

Text

🌐 ᯓ★୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐊 '𝐍 𝐍𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐘!

hsr men x f!reader .... SMUT!! 🚨🚨🚨

request ؛ ଓ @coreakin-sakarat What will the honkai star rail men play when yr having sex and who bottom or both and do they go rithm oh oh and do they use toys on u and what are their favorite parts of ur body to fuck

gia's notes ؛ ଓ i did this as more of me just... talkin abt what i think the hsr men are like in bed in order from least to most freaky in my humble opinion. i hope that you like it even though i didn't exactly hit every point u brought up :(

DAN HENG .ᐟ୨୧ starting it off sweet with him, i see dan heng as more of a bottom than anything... he's not super experienced, quite a tender lover, and i see him as remaining quite serious and stoic within the bedroom too. definitely more of a slow and sensual pace, just wants to feel it all with you <3 he's quite hesitant to try things out imo, but i reckon that you could convince him to try out using toys with some convincing! 1000% a thigh guy, really likes pulling out and painting your thighs with his cum as he watches them shake. presses kisses to your forehead as you come down from both of your highs. lowkey i get the vibe that the aftercare and the cuddling and falling asleep together is more satisfying to him than having sex. THIS MAN CRAVES SKIN TO SKIN!!!! he will interlace your fingers while fucking and kiss all over your face!!! a very sweet lover <3

GEPARD .ᐟ୨୧ this man SCREAMS pleasure service top to me. he could cum in his pants just by watching you i swear. he just wants to satisfy you as best as he can :((( your wish is his command frfr. he'll put you in whatever positions you want fully customisable experience just say the word. will sometimes pause midway through sex just to ask you if he's doing a good job and if it feels good with his big puppy dog eyes AWEE. i think he would probably be a little hesitant to try out toys, especially at first? his logic reverts to him assuming that he wasn't good enough at pleasuring you and so you have to revert to a piece of plastic... but be a bit dominant and show, don't tell, him just how good a vibrator can feel and he'll be a lot more on board with the idea <3 his whole mentality is just.. do anything to give you pleasure so if you're on the freakier side, this man is game! (PEG HIM) the little sadistic side of you gets a kick seeing tears well up in his eyes if you edge him just to hear his whines and moans... he might be a top but this man is a sub thru and thru. a bad bitch (you) tells him what to do and he listens!! anyways back to when you and him are fucking... this man is just utterly in love with your pussy, they way it gushes and clenches around him, and his absolute favourite position is any where he gets to just bury his face in ur tits while he's buried inside of you because everything is just so comforting and all of him is now surrounded by something so warm and soft... he's in heaven <3 so yeah he's a tits guy who would have thought!! no matter the shape or size HE'S PUTTING THEM IN HIS MOUTH <3 his thrusts get real sloppy at the end when he's about to cum too, starts babbling in your ear about how good it feels and how much he loves u. what a cutie pie

ARGENTI .ᐟ୨୧ to be honest? i had to think a bit about this one. to me, argenti doesn't really seem like the type to bring up using toys... but that doesn't mean that he isn't game if you mention it. he seems ... not passive exactly? but he just seems like the type to go with the flow with sex. whatever you're into he'll just be like shit i'm down let's go. not kinky per se, but he's definitely a passionate lover. very much wants to explore sensuality. ooh maybe he would be into some sort of wax play or blindfold type behaviour i take it back. would probably chuckle if you decide to get on top and place his hands on your hips to help you adjust to his size and set your own pace <3 very loving, wants to celebrate the beauty of your naked body and worship it in the name of adrila. so yeah if you've got a praise kink, HE'S YOUR MAN!!! you feel like the subject of a poem as he sings your praises, telling you how pretty you look and sound when you cum. like shiiiii that would be enough to make me blush <33 in terms of pace and stuff, i feel like he would be pretty standard? maybe on the slower side because of... you know... passion. it's nothing crazy but still a good time. he seems like he prefers to be looking up at you so RIDE THAT MAN!! maintain eye contact as you sink down on it. raise your hips back up ever so slowly and watch the slightest twitch of his brow as you swivel your hips, sinking back down on it ever so slowly. you might just see him blush. and just as the name suggests, the knight of beauty is a SIGHT to behold when he cums (probably inside).

WELT .ᐟ୨୧ yeah peepaw has got some EXPERIENCE to him lmaoo. he's got a sort of... cheekier? side to him. as an older man, though, he doesn't exactly have the same stamina as he did in his youth :( but that doesn't mean that he can't still get down and dirty with you!! quite the opposite actually. so his solution? he uses toys on you <3 he's more of a bottom but he is DEFINITELY in charge. his dirty talk OMFGG im giggling just thinking about it he would praise you and whisper such sweet words to you as he slowly splits you open on his fat cock, telling you how you're such a good girl for taking him so well, how you feel so good around him, all so he can feel you clench around him like a vice grip as he finally bottoms out <33 def would just have his hands around your waist as he moves you up and down his length when you're feeling weightless. but if he's in a more passive mood, he also LOVESSSS just sitting back and watching you struggle to ride him with a lazy adoring look in his eyes as he holds a vibrator to your clit <333 he'll coo at you as you start crying from the overstimulation, his hands wiping away your tears so tenderly and encouraging you to keep going just for him <3 a little bit of a sadistic side to him because he really does just love watching you squirm. another thigh and ass guy imo, really loves the way they jiggle as they slam down against his own thighs as you start to pick up the pace and ride him with increasing desperation. also loves watching them shake when you cum <3. so yeah as a no brainer i think one of his favourite positions would be reverse cowgirl. yum <3

BOOTHILL .ᐟ୨୧ now dont get me wrong this man FUCKS. since he's a cyborg does his dick count as a toy...? yeah fuck it let's go with it HIS BIOCOCK VIBRATES!! so the sensations on that will go CRAZYYYY. and then i'm thinking because of his synthesia beacon and stuff he doesn't exactly experience much sensation down there. so when you're having sex, what gets him off the most is just seeing your pleasure as you unravel. makes him feel good vicariously <3 so yeah definitely a missionary lover in my eyes so he can watch all your facial expressions and reactions as he hits all the right places, how your brows furrow and your eyes slide shut and eyes roll back in your head as he keeps up his unforgiving pace at juuuuust the right angle <33 but don't get me wrong he's no vanilla bitch either!! if he wants to be feeling more ... sensations he can and will make you just sit on his face for actual HOURS just eating you out to his heart's content. you'd think that his tongue is cybernetic too with the way it flicks across your clit at a borderline INHUMAN speed. but no he's just that good. some of ur most intense orgasms have been from him tonguefucking you like this, his head firmly sandwiched between your quivering thighs as you're basically humping his face as u ride out your high. and hey, he's not complaining <3 and then his smug shit-eating grin does NOT help at all when you're still trying to come back down to earth and he's sitting up wiping the slick off his face with that hungry look STILL in his eyes good lord i hope u can survive the night. this bastard has definitely ruined toys for you, they just don't feel the same any more <//3

BLADE .ᐟ୨୧ fucks hard. angry and/or jealous sex with him has just gotta be >>> 😮‍💨😮‍💨 he's on the rougher side and for MOST of the time will dom. and also tbh i don't really see him as being the type to use toys since he's more spontaneous in terms of having sex (public sex. he's got a high sex drive) but very very passionate for sure- lots of grunts and low moans right up in ur ear mhhhnrng. but also at the same time i feel like he would be quite emotionally detached from sex at first, seeing it as more like stress relief than an act of intimacy? and don't get me wrong, some of the best fucks of your life have come from him when he's just trying to release some pent up anger, but on the flip side there's a more vulnerable side to him, almost. one that's barely there any more from years of bitterness and resentment, but still manages to creep up on him on those late nights where he can't quite sleep. so if you're with him on those rare occasions, this is when you experience him not fucking you, but making LOVE. he won't talk, but he doesn't need to, not with the way he's holding you close to him and kissing you with something akin to desperation as he sinks into you and kind of just... stays there for a bit. it's oddly comforting to him, and if he's feeling especially weak he'll need some comfort- just to get him through the night. it's these nights where you take control more, setting a slow and sweet pace and kind of just... hushing him and whispering sweet words to him as you slowly let yourself grind over him, feeling the way he twitches inside of u <333 but yeah back to not vulnerable blade. a fan of quickies for sureeee (see: high sex drive) another tit guy because i am biased. the force of his thrusts in some dark alleyway or hidden corner will have them jiggling and threatening to fall out of whatever shirt you wear. and if he's got you lifted up in his arms, your legs wrapped around him as you're chest to chest with each other, he just can't tear his eyes away from your boobs. leaves bites on them, laves over them like a damn dog until they're coated in saliva and stiff and perked up because of how cold it feels when drying on your skin. if you're in doggystyle, you'll feel his hands clasp over them from behind, a few short and sweet squeezes to them before his blunt nails are flicking over your nipples just to hear you squeal <3

AVENTURINE .ᐟ୨୧ just like blade, he very much has two different modes. let's start with the freaky one bc that's fun. he's quite open to experiment with all aspects of sex- who's in charge, who's topping, toys, positions, you name it. he trusts you enough to do anything with or to you short of causing each other pain. so yeah he's a freak alright!! i feel like if you're in an established relationship, he'll feel guilty due to the amount if time that he spends away from you because of his job, and make it up to you by spoiling you with gifts... he loves to buy you new toys to try out as he sits back and just watches as you squirm and then writhe in pleasure as he slowly palms himself, eventually unzipping his trousers and jerking himself off until he cums all over u <33 definitely gets a kick out of seeing his cum painting your pretty face and how your tongue darts out to catch it before it drips onto the floor <333 or maybe he just strokes himself to stay hard, his eyes hungrily watching you as your own remain transfixed on his cock, the flushed tip disappearing with every stroke of his hand, the slick noises of his precum overpowering the buzzing hum of the dildo inside of you. and then when neither of you can handle the tension any more, dying to feel each other's touch, after you've cum a couple of times and are all nice and sensitive for him, then and ONLY then will he finally put it in, quickly setting a pace to fuck your brains out like a wild animal <3 lovessss doggystyle or the speedbump position because then he's all up in your guts and ur moans/screams of pleasure are just music to his ears. definitely the type to go a little feral bc... yeah. so yeah that's freaky mode! but like blade he has a softer side to him UNLIKE blade it is still definitely there and more accessible... but that doesn't mean he exposes it to you just like that either. but yeah if he's feeling more vulnerable emotionally, especially right after he wakes up from a nightmare while you're groggily waking up next to him, he just needs comfort. you holding him and stroking his hair, telling him how he's safe and how much you love him. if you've been together for a while and he really trusts you, he might even cry. almost begs you to call him kakavasha instead of aventurine, and you oblige. and then as soon as his name leaves your lips, he's kissing you hard, gradually letting them become tender as you undress each other with the utmost amount of care. it's love that motivates him, from what you can feel from his fingers tracing your skin and how soft his lips press against yours. he lets out a quiet moan as he sinks into you and basks in your warmth for a bit, letting his arms now wrap around your frame tightly, holding you to himself as if you would disappear any moment. and you hug him too, draw patterns on his back, stroke his hair and hum as you tell him how much you love him, listening to the sound of his shaky breaths as you slowly raise your hips, sinking back down inch by inch to hear him hiss. at first, he would still refuse to let you see his face when you have sex like this, not until you gently coax him to look at you, and you see the crystalline tears already escaping from his eyes. he's definitely the type to cry during sex like this- something so soft and tender that it's overwhelming to him for so many reasons- the vulnerability of it all, how much you love and care for him written all over your face, the way you squeeze against him so perfectly. and then he buries his face in your chest as you keep whispering words of affirmation to him and he cums so fast, deep inside of you and then he stays even when he feels himself go soft. just because it feels nice. and he falls asleep just like that, clinging to you, the person he loves.

JING YUAN .ᐟ୨୧ another member of team lazy but pussydrunk (him and welt have permanent memberships lmfao) whenever the two of you fuck it usually starts with him making you work for it. involving either you getting off by grinding on his thigh or riding him, desperately throwing your weight back onto him to even simulate the feeling of his powerful thrusts- all in vain as he merely sits there, looking up at you with a maddening smile and just WATCHING you... what a creep <3 but yeah he loves loves loves seeing how worked up and whiny you get for him to do something, anything, just for him to do the exact opposite, placing two firm hands on your hips to effectively get you to stop, and you whine again from the loss of friction. and he'll merely smile, telling you how you're such a good girl for him, getti my off from watching you get so so close, just to do it over and over again. orgasm denial and edging really are his two best friends fr. so he's not really a strict dom but more of a tease, you get me? i think that YES he will use toys. really gets a kick out of vibrating panties or a vibrator inside of you that he can remote control <33 just really enjoys when you're in public trying to remain composed (what a creep <3) keeps u constantly stimulated all day, finally making it up to you when you both get back home, fucking you properly as you're on the verge of tears and ready to cum any second. hmmm hear me out on this but i think his favourite place to cum would be your back.. like yeah finishing inside is cool and all but pulling out and cumming all over your back just drives him CRAZY and ready for another round... as soon as you recover <3

LUOCHA .ᐟ୨୧ LORDDDDDD he's like jing yuan but even WORSE. he's dangerous too because in his eyes, it isn't him or a toy but him AND a toy. this man will have u in his lap thighs spread legs hanging over his knees so he can keep them open as he has one hand gripping your chin forcing to look at yourself in a mirror, the other hand holding a vibe to yr clit <33 every time your eyes start to roll back he'll do a light slap to your face, forcing you to hold eye contact with him through the mirror, his feline eyes dancing with mirth at your already fucked-out expression. and then when he's sure that his gaze is holding your attention, he'll let go of your face, letting his hand snaie downwards until his hands are collecting your slick on his fingers before pushing into you, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek that contradicts how hard he's fingering you <3 squirting is not an achievement but the new standard with him!! that man is NOT relenting until you coat his arm and the floor (even the mirror) he really likes making you kiss him just after you cum- when your brain is foggy from the intensity of your orgasm, you can barely hear, let alone process what he's saying, and when u finally manage to connect your lips to his the kiss is just so sweet n sloppy, showing how worked up he is already <33 he's a little mean with it but you wouldn't have it any other way!! because that man knows what you need and will DELIVER. and he loves alllll of you. especially your pussy. and ass lol

DR RATIO .ᐟ୨୧ ok stay with me now cos this one's more of a scenario but!!! imagine that you haven't seen veritas in a while because you've both been busy but he messages you, saying how he'll finally be back soon!!! and ur just so excited that you can't contain it, and all those lonely nights are starting to tally up... your hands just don't do the trick any more and you finally cave, getting out your old reliable dildo to try and satiate your lust. trying your hardest to focus on veritas while you fuck yourself so that you'll be able to cum... pretending that it's his cock instead of some silicone... moaning out his name into your room with your eyes screwed shut to try trick your brain into believing that it's really him!! and it seems to work because you can feel that coil in you begin to tighten, and just when ur about to cum you feel a hand on top of yours, startling you out of your impending orgasm. and you open your eyes to see none other than the man who you had been fantasising about just now <3 and he's got this smirk on his face and a certain look in his eyes, and when you glance down you can see that he isn't exactly... unaffected from watching you earlier <33 i feel like he would degrade you a little, calling you such a stupid girl for needing to think of him just to even get close to cumming <333 and you'll whine and get embarrassed, trying to hide yourself with the covers, but deep down you know he's right so you peek at him from behind your lashes, batting them and begging him to help you as sweetly as you can. and how can he deny you when you're just so sweet and submissive for him? he'll be quick to take out his cock, slipping the head through your folds, letting it catch as it skims past your needy hole, letting the tip slap against your sensitive clit just to watch your whole body twitch as he chuckles to himself before bullying his cock into you. even after fucking yourself it's still a stretch, especially cos he has you in a mating press, his strong hands keeping your thighs pinned as he puts hisbweight behind his thrusts, really slamming into you until you're bouncing back against the mattress <33 a good hard fuck that hits all the right spots he needs to in order for you to cum HARD. but if he's feeling mean, he won't even oblige your request, instead being all smug and settling back on his haunches, goading you to keep going and make yourself cum without him because you're just so close, you can do it. watches your pathetic attempts to do so as you huff and beg him because you just can't without him <//3 and maybe if you beg hard enough he'll consider helping you out... even though it's just so entertaining to watch you keep trying. ironically enough, it's the way he calls you his sweet girl as he finally pushes into you that sends you over the edge more than any of your own touches did. and once you ride out that high, body no longer convulsing on his dick, he'll pull out of you just to flip you onto your stomach, then pull your hips up to meet his before fucking into you to make you really cum because of him this time <33

SAMPO .ᐟ୨୧ this man is MOST DEFINITELY an experimentalist!!! 1000% down for literally anything. you use toys on each other el oh el. the epitome of a switch. he'll top or bottom too, it's always a good time with him. definitely a freak. tbh i headcanon him as having a crazy oral fixation... if he's not sucking on your tits already then put your fingers in his mouth!! he'll have hearts swimming in his eyes, especially if you let them slide to the back of his throat until he gags and his eyes get all teary!!! definitely a sight to behold if u start fingerfucking his throat. or maybe just gag him with your panties, letting urself hear his muffled whines and moans as you finally free his cock and deepthroat him <33 oh god his whines and moans... get this man on twitter NEEOOOWWW. as a top he's definitely more goofy about it, not super strict. sex is about making sure you both feel good and just having a good time im his eyes.

GALLAGHER .ᐟ୨୧ ... this man... a certified freak. me personally im not into it but IF U LIKE ANAL THIS IS UR GUY 1000%%%. he def loves ur ass more than anything. the type to stick a finger in as he makes out with you or just let his finger tease the ring of muscle, circling it ever so slowly to feel u squirm while sat naked in his lap. when he eats you out he'll let his tongue drop a little lower to tease both of your holes. if u let him he'll eat your ass with GUSTO. and YES he's using toys on you you're not safe... buttplugs with the cute jewel on them and when you're in public he'll give your ass a slap or squeeze just to see your face change as you feel it press a little deeper into you... he'll have a vibrator fucking into your pussy as he's all up in your guts, laughing at the way you can't even form words right now. yeahhh he's a FREAK. oh and did i mention that he's an ass guy??

SUNDAY .ᐟ୨୧ ohohoho. this man has actual YEARS of pent up sexual frustration under his belt. his wings. whatever. he's a man who thrives off of control, and this is no exception in the bedroom. massive dom. both soft and hard. but more hard <3. really gets off on u calling him sir LAWLLL. lowkey i see him being into some real freaky bdsm stuff... cos hes got the whole sexually repressed catholic thing going on n all yknow. likes seeing u kneeled w your hands tied behind your back. you stripped naked while hes fully clothed and smiling so sweetly as he watches you try and get yourself off by humping his shoe. anything for that power imbalance with him hrrrrng. and if youre feeling a bit more bratty, touch his wings. preen them, blow air on them, even grip onto them HARD with your fingers and it'll get him all riled up. and then that sweet smiling facade will drop and youll see his eyes change into something a touch more feral as he pins u down and fucks u hard and properly. just to remind u who's really in control <3. the aftercare goes crazy, naturally. but then i also saw this post talking abt how hes a PEOPLE PLEASER and i agree 10000% so when he's feeling more soft, your pleasure is his greatest reward. a headrush mix of sweet praise and filthy degradation. telling you how you're a nasty bitch who's just so good for him... how you take him so well like the filthy slut you are.... and he's just so so composed during it all like an ANGEL EHFHWJFJE it makes ur head spin istg. yeah he's a freak in the sheets LOLL

IF YOU LIKED THIS, TRY ...... eat it 'til your teeth rot!

[ SMUT ] how the hsr men eat pussy!

alternatively, find my hsr masterlist here! ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

1K notes · View notes

peachesofteal · 2 days

Text

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader - warnings: discussion of past abuse, Simon’s trauma Request: take your baby to work day

You're wide eyed at the front door.

"You sure you guys will be alright?" Your voice is clear, but your hand trembles on the door handle, bottom lip tugged across your teeth.

"We'll be okay sweetheart. But if you're uncomfortable, or it's too much, you should take him-"

"No, no. I'm fine. You're not supposed to bring the baby to OB appointments anyway. It's frowned upon." You roll your eyes, tipping up to kiss Ry on the cheek. "Just... don't let anyone breathe on him, or kiss him, okay? His immune system is still fragile compared to ours. I packed you like, three bottles so hopefully he'll take them if he gets hungry. Text me if-"

"Mama." He holds Orion in one arm, and grabs your hand with the other. You're frightened, and stressed, and he's driven to comfort you, the need to soothe you throbbing across his skull. "I've got this. We'll be just fine. Text me when you're done. Get yourself a tea or something afterwards, alright? Everything is going to be okay." You nod.

"Right, of course. You're... you're right. And you're going to a military base, I doubt there's a safer place around."

"C'mere." He tugs you into his side, and you wrap your arms around his stomach, nestling in opposite Orion. "I need you to do something f'me."

"What?"

"I need you to swear to me you'll tell your doctor about the dizzy spells." There's been a reminder card about your twelve week postpartum appointment on the fridge for two weeks now, and after you finally confessed you have been getting dizzy since Orion was born, and one time had even fallen, he decided to skip several steps by making the appointment for you. You were... not pleased, but he made it very clear, he's not playing a game with your health. He's planning his battles strategically now, putting pieces in play slowly, working towards his larger goal, but this was something he refused to compromise on.

"Okay." You whisper, burying your face in his chest. "I will." He lands a kiss to the top of your head.

"We'll see you soon. It'll be over before you know it, and maybe we can get a takeaway for dinner?" Your lips crack into a toothy smile.

"Sounds good to me."

"Alright, lad. Let's go see daddy's team." Orion stares at him, brown eyes curious, and watchful. He’s still not used to it, this feeling. This life, with you and his baby. Everyday, he has to stop to ground himself, anchor himself. Break from the cycle of a downward spiral, obsessive thoughts playing with his mind, counting down the million and one ways he could lose you, or fail you, or both. He’s careful, he’s diligent, he’s in control. He’d never make a mistake like he did before, the error of judgement that cost him his mother, his brother and his family-

But the incessant fear never ceases.

Fortunately, his anchor now is you. You, when you let him carry you to bed, when you watch him rock Orion to sleep as you stand in the doorway, you who curls up next to him on the couch now, fingers curled into his shirt like you’re afraid he might disappear. Your touch heals. Your words comfort. He can't fathom a future without you, or Ry, now.

If he thinks back on it, he wonders if he knew all along. If all the things he felt the night he met really meant forever, just like he had wished. A fantasy turned reality-

to have and to hold.

His stomach turns, wondering if his father ever felt this, if he ever loved, or if he was always just a monster, the ouroboros of victim turned abuser, the man who terrorized his mother, his brother and himself, long past the time Simon finally tore him to pieces, cracked his ribs, beat him into the ground.

Tommy broke the cycle, and from the moment he laid eyes on his son he knew.... he would too.

Price's secretary looks like she's seen an actual ghost. "Hey, Lindsey. Is he in?" She's staring, flicking back and forth to Orion and then up to his face, mouth slightly agape.

"Y-yeah he's..." she points over her shoulder at his closed door. "Lieutenant, did you... is that... is that your baby?" He nods, mouth curving into a proud smile, stepping close enough so she can get a good look at him. She almost jerks back, clearly not used to being so close to him. He's been here and there, off and on base all week catching up on a backlog of reports, but hasn't said a word to anyone, and he keeps everyone on base at arm's length except the 141.

"It is." Her shocked expression melts, hesitantly reaching her pointer finger towards Ry, allowing him to wrap it up in his chubby little fist. "This is Orion." She smiles at him, and then the baby, kindly.

"He's beautiful." She excuses herself when the phone rings, and he settles the tension burning between his shoulder blades. He didn't mentally prepare for this moment, didn't believe he had to. The expectation of Price's acceptance was assumed but now, his trepidation is a surprise.

He told his captain he needed to take leave for something really important, but never said for what. All he told him is that he'd loop him in soon, and that he was sorry he wouldn't be available for the next op. If John was curious, he didn't let him know, didn't push him for more info, didn't pester him. He just sent the forms to Simon's email to be filled out with a postscript:

Looking forward to hearing what this is all about.

And when Simon crosses the threshold of his office, baby in one arm, backpack stuffed with nappies and bottles in the other-

John Price laughs.

It's not the huff of a chuckle that Kate usually gets out of him, or the rolling guffaw that he gives the guys sometimes when he's particularly amused.

No, this is different. It starts in his belly and then rolls upwards, all the way until his shoulders are shaking and he's wiping his eyes.

Simon scowls, and John holds both his hands up, palms out. Surrender. "This is a good enough reason as any to take a chunk of all that leave saved up." He stands, stepping around to get a closer look. "What's his name then?"

"Orion." John nods thoughtfully. The backs of his fingers brush along the baby's arm, gently, slowly, a flicker of longing, of sadness, arcing across his face before it dissipates.

"The giant hunter Zeus banished to the skies." Organized stacks of paper sit in neat little piles on top of John's desk, authorizations he'd know anywhere. They're moving out. "Where's his mum?"

"At a doctor's appointment." Orion gurgles, and Simon pats his back, bouncing him slowly from side to side.

"You with her?" The answer is immediate.

"Gonna marry her." John's eyes fill with mirth.

"But she doesn't know that yet, does she."

"No," Simon sighs, "but she will. 'ts why I needed the leave. Besides," he motions to the infant tucked in his arm, "this, helping take care of him, taking care of her, I need to get them moved to a secure location. She's in a second level flat right now, with street facing windows. It's makin' my skin itch." Price will get it, Simon knows he will understand. He has his own secret at home, tucked away in a house only Simon and Laswell know about, just in case.

"Take it slow, don't want to spook her. Although I can't imagine she's too skittish if she took you to bed." He smirks. "You've got the time you requested. Had to call in a substitute for this one, but we'll need you on the next."

"How long?"

"Five weeks, maybe more. I'll ring when we're back on base." Five weeks. The clock is ticking, a bomb waiting to detonate, a guillotine waiting to sever his time with his family, his duty dragging him away.

"Alright." He concedes. Cross that bridge when he comes to it.

If Price sees his reluctance, he doesn't comment on it. "Bird'll be here in six hours. Boys are in the rec room, if you want to see 'em." Simon nods, shifting the baby in his arms as he heads towards the door. "And Simon," he turns, locking eyes with his captain, raw emotion plain on both their faces. Price gives him a genuine smile. "Congratulations. You're going to be a great father."

There's a lump in his throat as he crosses the campus to the rec room, his nose dipping across Ry's head, breathing him in as deep as he can behind the black cloth mask. "He's gonna be your godfather, little man. We just have to get Mama to agree, don't we?" He tugs the building's door open, ignoring the streams of chatter suddenly grinding to a halt in the hallway. Once he makes it to the rec room and sees that no one else is inside, just Johnny and Gaz battling it out in an intense game of pool, he slips the mask off his face and locks the door.

Soap is the first one to see him. "Steeeamin' jesus, LT is that a bairn!?" Kyle chokes on his water.

"Is that your baby, Riley?" They both scramble forward, Johnny whistling in disbelief.

"Aye, he's got to be. Look at the size of 'im."

"Johnny." Simon gives him the 'settle down' look, but the Sergeant only grins impishly.

"He's hers, innit he?" Gaz reaches, and Orion watches him with interest. "The girl from the bar. The one who lives close to me." Johnny's eyes go wider than globes.

"Ach Ghost, ye been busy wit' that boa-"

"Johnny." He hisses, and Kyle barks a laugh, reaching. Simon doesn't balk about handing Orion over, even though you were cautious about letting other people be around him. This is his team. He trusts them implicitly.

"He's a heavy lad, isn't he?" Kyle bounces him back and forth, all the while Ry stares at him with his head tipped back, mesmerized. "Looks jus' like you."

"Maybe a wee bit more handsome." Johnny's leaning around Kyle, his hand on Ry's back. They're mooning over him, two decorated, strategically brilliant sergeants, cooing at a baby like a bunch of sooks, as Johnny would say.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, a text from you letting him know you're finished, and heading home.

>Has he eaten?

>No, hasn't seem interested.

>Thank god.

Knowing you're probably in pain makes him antsy to get back, and he glances at the guys. "You movin' out in a few hours?"

"Aye, lookin' for some sort of stolen intelligence. Shouldnae be too long. Got a rent-a-Lieutenant and everythin'. Ye'll be back for the next?"

"I will. Stay frosty out there. I expect you all back in one piece."

He triple checks the carseat, testing the straps and the strength of the seatbelt before finally deciding it's secure enough, for the hundredth time today. He takes one last look, and presses a kiss to Orion's head. "Ready, bub? Let's go home and see mama."

#through me (the flood)#peaches writes #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader

1K notes · View notes

januaryembrs · 3 days

Text

SWEET AND RIGHT AND MERCIFUL | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

request: my DARLING @avis-writeshq says: OMGGGG EM CONGRATS ON 3K !!! soooo deserved and i’m so so happy for you!!! please may i request tea for sunshine!reader 🥹🩷 maybe the moment when she realises just how much she likes him (perhaps she was in heavy denial beforehand)? I LOVE YOU SO MUCH THANK YOUUUUU 🩷🩷🩷

description: The Sunshine rookie Spencer had heard so much about is the first one to make him laugh since he got out of prison.

length: 4.1k

warnings: Lucky Strikes episode, talks of humans eating humans, cm gore, blood, violence etc. UnSub gets creepy with reader. sex jokes, spitting water.

author's note: dedicated to @avis-writeshq because she is my GIRL when it comes to Spencer Reid x Sunshine brain rot, and also because she requested a Drabble for them but I couldn't stop writing and here we are with a full ficlet.

It had been three weeks, three painfully long weeks since Spencer Reid had returned to the BAU, nearly ten years since she’d seen him lecturing at Pennsylvania. He looked different, but then Emily had said quite literally on her second day that their endgame was getting him out of prison for a crime he didn’t commit, and it seemed only natural that being a fed in a foreign jail would knock someone around.

She’d been too nervous to speak to him on their first day working together, had stuck to Luke’s side like glue because he was closest in age to her and he didn’t seem to mind the way she could speak a hundred miles per hour. They had only really had any contact when she was chatting with Garcia in the kitchenette at lunch, when she was talking to the tech whizz about the crochet set she’d bought even though she couldn’t seem to wrap her head around the way everything bobbed and weaved and bobbed again, and how the woman on youtube seemed to make the tiny bumblebee seem so achievable while hers looked like a yellow turd.

He’d come up behind the two of them, his footsteps deadly silent despite the fact he had sneakers on, and she wouldn’t have even known he was there had Penelope not lit up with glee at seeing Reid poking around their office again.

“Coffee, honey?” Penelope asked, looking over the girl’s shoulder, and it was only when he murmured a ‘mhm’ that the rookie noticed he’d crept up behind her, leaning over to grab his mug from the cupboard, and she hopped to the side immediately.

“S-sorry, just shove me out the way next time, my mom says I have zero spacial awareness.” She said with a nervous laugh, and he didn’t seem to care as he granted her a small glance, pushing the button on the coffee machine and clunking his mug beneath the tap.

“Have you met our newbie, Spence?” Penelope asked, friendly as ever even though the women caught the way his jaw seemed to feather with clenched muscle, like he was holding himself back from snapping, and his eyes were tired as he looked over at Garcia, barely flicking his gaze to the new face despite her prompt, “This is Y/N, she’s joined us from cold cases,”

“Hi,” The woman chirped with a quick wave, despite the fact he was stood only a foot away from her, “It’s nice to meet you after everyone’s spoken so highly about you, Penny said you like invented the term genius,”

Spencer pursed his lips, trying not to make a backhanded comment about how dumb that sounded because of course he didn’t invent it, of course it was coined in the mid seventeenth century from the latin gignere to mean ‘exceptional natural ability’, and the last time he checked he wasn’t even born then. But he stopped himself, because she was just being nice, and it wasn’t her fault that he hadn’t been sleeping or that he couldn’t eat dinner without waiting to hear a buzzer go off to let him know when it was meal time, and it certainly wasn’t her fault that she was just a few decibels too loud with her cheerful tone and smile that he could hear in every syllable.

So he just gave her an awkward smile, and an acknowledging nod, the whir of effort from the coffee machine slowing down as his drink finished pouring, and he grabbed his mug, not even caring that the ceramic scolded his fingertips because he’d felt so much worse before and gotten through it.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” He said coldly, not returning the sentiment, and he’d turned before he could see the way her smile dropped, her brows creasing in worry as she watched him head back towards his desk.

“Did I say something wrong?” She asked with a small voice, and Penelope wrapped an arm around her shoulder giving her a kind squeeze and a sad smile.

“It’s not you, sweetie, he’s just-” Garcia swallowed, her own pout growing over her red painted lips, “He’s not like the Reid we used to know, he’s struggling,”

And so she nodded, chewing at the inside of her cheek with a frown. It felt silly to have her feelings hurt, except she’d been thinking about the day two agents from the BAU came to give her sociology class a talk on geographical and societal factors compelling crime, how she’d headed straight to her tutor that evening to swap her major to criminology. Because she’d hung on every word Agent Hotch and Agent Reid had said, which definitely had nothing to do with the fact the younger of the two was so dreamy in his glasses and tweed jacket.

She’d been excited to meet him again after nearly ten years, maybe even thank him for changing the trajectory of her entire life. He was still handsome, and despite the fact she’d grown up since then, had only thought about him as that hot guy who gave a lecture in her class that one time, she still had felt that silly fluttering feeling in her chest the second she saw him talking with Emily in her office the morning he got back.

And he’d look at her like she was a girl scout selling cookies; a passing face, a summer temp, no one worth getting to know.

She pretended like she wasn’t the slightest bit disappointed, he’d been to prison for god sake. The guy had bigger problems than a little nobody girl from another department.

Things weren’t much better the day they got the case.

“You might want to cover your eyes for this bit, my little sugar plum,” Penelope said, looking at the rookie with soft eyes, and Emily smiled at her gently, knowing the girl had a bit of an innocent streak, not completely unlike Penny when she’d started the job.

“Why? I’m sure it’s nothing-” She cut herself off when Penelope clicked onto the next page, and the image of a woman who could only be described as utterly butchered flicked onto the screen in full size, “Oh,”

“Oh, indeed, rookie,” Rossi said with a wince, looking at the mulch of blood and muscle where her legs had been removed, and her fingers severed clean off as if with a carving knife.

Luke looked up at the girl, where she’d gone a little peaky, and he patted her back gently, sliding his bottle of water over to her without a word.

“All the telltale signs are here,” JJ said on a sighed breath, images of the rest of the crime scene flicking up on the screen.

“Pentagram, legs and fingers gone,” Rossi agreed, Luke and Matt looking between the team with a questioning glance, as she downed a sip of the water.

“There’s even one neat aspect right here,” Emily said, the tip of her finger pointing to one of the pictures of the floor outside the bathroom stall where the body was found, “Her earrings and jewellery are laid out equidistant on the floor,”

“Sure as hell looks like him,” Rossi said, and she cleared her throat, looking to the older man on her left.

“Like who?” She asked, her eyes snapping to Spencer who opened his mouth to speak, which seemed to be the only time he ever did bother making conversation; when there was a body on their hands.

“Floyd Feylnn Ferrell,” He said, as if the original case had only been wrapped up last week, but then with his memory she wasn’t exactly surprised, “A psychotic cannibal who’d been killing under the radar for years,”

“He killed ten prostitutes and then moved up to low risk victims,” Prentiss added, the rookie’s eyes wide. It wasn’t anything she’d never heard of, but it never made it easier knowing something even worse was coming after the murders.

“He kept slipping through the cracks and avoiding justice so people referred to him as ‘Lucky’” JJ said, her eyes darting over the crime scene photos that seemed to take her back ten years to when they’d seen almost an identical set of photos, like Hotch was about to call ‘Wheels up in twenty’ any minute now.

Rossi sighed, looking at the younger girl who watched him wide eyed, “Have you eaten today, rookie?”

She shook her head dumbly, “Why?”

“Because the worst of it was he owned a barbeque joint,” Her face dropped even more, if that was even possible, “And he fed one of the victims to the search party,”

Her hand flew to her mouth, blinking at the seasoned agent in terror, because that was something she hadn’t ever thought would enter someone’s mind until she heard it. As simple as it sounded, for someone who had seen cases going back twenty, thirty years, some particularly heinous in nature, there were new lengths she didn’t realise a human could ever go to, let alone would.

Penelope stopped, shutting her laptop lid and glancing at JJ in a plea for help, as the thought of what had happened after the Flynn case rushed to the front of her mind, when the guy she’d thought wanted to take her out on a date shot her.

“I have a computer…” The blonde trailed off, heading for the door to the office room with a dazed look in her eyes, and the rookie watched her leave, her neck and palms clammy as she thought about what Rossi had just said.

“I think I have a computer too-” She rushed, and she bolted from her seat before she could think of anything else, dashing after the technical analyst because she feared she was going to throw up if she didn’t get a breath of fresh air.

Spencer watched her hair swish as she scurried out the room, and he wondered how long she would last if she couldn’t stomach just a few photos. He had struggled with the gore at first, sure, but he’d never ran. Maybe he was being cruel, but he couldn’t say that a girl like her exactly fit the part of an FBI agent, she seemed… pure, like driven snow, and if anything he’d hate for the bloodied parts of their job to stain a girl so squeaky clean.

Emily nudged his shoulder, nodding towards her retreating figure when he looked up at her questioningly, “You keep an eye on her in this case. She’s still learning,”

And Spencer grit his teeth, because he hated the idea of babysitting when he had a dozen of his own problems, but he nodded indignantly.

He just hoped she didn’t make things too hard for him.

–

The door swung open behind Lori Flynn, the UnSub’s sister, the midday Florida heat boring down on her back, Spencer bristling at her right as Luke pocketed his badge.

And then there he was. The guy from the photo, his thick, wiry glasses exact matches to the ones he’d been wearing the day he got caught, though she supposed a mental facility didn’t exactly have funds for replacements.

“It’s no problem, Lori, I’ll speak with them,” His voice was a strong southern twang, and almost chillingly calm. His sister looked over her shoulder at him, the woman fretful as she glanced between the four agents, ten years of troubles on her shoulders. She sighed, running a hand over her neck nervously and headed back inside to be with her son, leaving them alone with their suspect on the doorstep, “You’ll have to wait, I’m on my way to church. It’s right around the corner so I’m within the thousand permitted yards from the monitoring station,”

He quickly glanced at where Matt and Luke stood behind her, the former with his arms crossed over his chest as he eyed up the thin, twiggly guy who looked like the type to live in his mother’s basement until he died, not the type to cannibalise and murder.

His eyes darted over to where Reid towered over him, familiarity flicking in his face as he looked at the agent, and he smiled slowly, like something out of a horror, the uncanny valley of a face so normal when she knew he was so sick somewhat terrifying to her. He fed one of the victims to the search party. She heard it rattling around her skull as she saw the whites of his teeth, and she imagined him ripping into her then and there, her hands shaking.

“Hey, I remember you. Where’s your friend, Agent Morgan?” Floyd said, and she felt Spencer tense up beside her, which she guessed meant it was a sore subject as she jumped into the conversation, her lips moving before she could think better of it. She’d always had a habit of talking too much when she was nervous, or to fill gaps, or when she could tell someone was uncomfortable, she’d always been told it was one of her more irksome traits.

“You wouldn’t mind if we took a look around, would you? Just while you’re gone?” She asked politely yet, for once, she regretted ever opening her mouth the second he turned his attention on her.

She felt something cold and dreadful run down her spine as he looked straight at her, his sepia eyes trailing down over her neck, running over her body and down to her hands that fidgeted at her sides.

They waited on baited breath, her stomach flipping with sickness as that manic smile drew even wider, trained solely on her, a thought privy only to himself somewhat amusing to him. She felt herself lean away without even meaning to, incidentally feeling Spencer’s arm bump into hers as she did, and the three men seemed to tense up as they watched Flynn smell the air, savouring every second of it, his eyes blown wide with something unreadable. Lustful yet starved, like he was on a four day fast standing next to an open roast.

“You’re awful pretty for an agent,” Floyd said, that drawling accent of his turning her stomach, and his eyes trailed down over her calves, and she cursed herself for wearing a midi skirt. But she hated jeans on her thighs, hated the way Florida air clung humidly to her skin when she didn’t let it breathe, but she thought she might just hate the way his mouth filled with saliva more, “Do you like running, agent?”

“Sometimes,” She whispered, shrinking in on herself even more as he took a step out of the home.

And Spencer felt his chest drop at the sound of it. She sounded petrified. But then, he would be too if someone his size looked at him like he was a five-course banquet. And he regretted ever thinking of her as babysitting, as defective, because she was clearly trying her best, and this was where it had gotten her. Right on the UnSub’s menu.

“I bet you do a lot of running, chasing after bad guys, huh?” Floyd pushed, leering towards her with another smell of her perfume, and she could have sworn his smile only widened into something cheshire cat-esque. She nodded with a worried gulp, her breath picking up when his hand began moving up to where a rogue stray hair fell out of her bun, running over her collar bone, her heart beating so wild and heavy beneath it.

And it was enough for Spencer to act, because within the blink of an eye, he’d side stepped in front of the rookie who seemed frozen in her spot, and Floyd’s arm was shoved away where it hit Spencer’s bicep. Flynn was forced to stop looking over her clammy skin with heavy swallows like he was imagining just how she would cut and marinate, and instead was confronted with a frown that could send any man scarpering, Spencer’s lips pressed into something furious, his shoulders seeming only more broad than they usually did when he purposely blocked Flynn’s view from her.

“You’d better get going, Floyd,” Spencer said, his voice a deadly sort of calm, and his arm stuck out behind him to keep her where she was as he spoke, “You’re going to be late for church,”

And Flynn listened, despite his smarmy smile as he dared a look at her when he passed by, despite the fact his eyes trailed back down to her jugular like he was ready to sever it there and then to string her up and cure.

Spencer’s hand fished around his pocket, glaring at the back of Floyd’s head as he strolled down the street, tossing the keys to Alvez, “Take her back to the car, don’t let her out of your sight,”

And the two of them listened while he and Matt swept the house, because anyone would be insane not to when Spencer looked so angry he could have put a hole through Flynn’s head without blinking an eye.

–

“Eating people, who eats people, what on earth is that all about,” She muttered, the four of them in the SUV heading back to the station. She sat at the front with Spencer where he drove because Luke and Matt were gentlemen and had offered her the extra leg room, and Spencer had zero qualms because he was under strict instruction to keep an eye on her.

She did that alot, he realised. Muttered when she was thinking about something. Where he went deadly silent when troubled, too focused on sorting through the mental files that seemed to be so resistant to organise these days, she was his entire opposite, always talking or humming a tune under her breath or playing an invisible set of piano notes on her knee, something to always keep the space filled.

He’d hated it the first few days, the sound like a blaring alarm coming from over by her desk, cutting through his limited attention span, grating on his nerves and making him have to bite his tongue to stop himself from yelling at her to shut the fuck up. But then, it wasn’t exactly personal to her, even the sound of the coffee machine had been enough to pull at his hair in frustration. At twelve years old, it spluttered and whirred and kicked back at every drink it made, every second of it winding Spencer’s patience up like a jack in the box.

But he found himself listening in on her mumbles, glancing over at how her frown screwed up her doe eyes, her lip pulling between her teeth whenever there was a tiny pause in between her words, before she started again. He’d quickly realised it was the easiest cheat in the book to know when something was bothering her, that she was so much of an open book, not at all cold and guarded like him or so many other profilers he knew, that he wouldn’t need to bother deducing her like she was his next UnSub to know what was wrong. She would just tell him as it was, wear everything vulnerable on her face.

“Something the matter?” He pressed, Luke also keeping a close watch on her from the back seat as she shook her head to herself, and her head snapped over to the driver’s side, her expression entirely caught even though she’d not exactly been subtle about her turmoil.

“M-me? “ She pointed to herself, and Spencer nodded, trying not to smile because sometimes she could be clueless, not the dumb kind but something sweet, naive, and he found himself somewhat jealous that she didn’t need to be the smartest person in the room to be worth something, she could just be herself, “Yeah, I guess I just,” She huffed, running her hands over her skirt, “I don’t get why anyone would want to eat someone else, it just-” She shivered, not in a theatrical or fake way but like a ghost had walked over her grave just thinking about Floyd smelling at her.

“Some cultures used to cannibalise other members of their society as funerary practices as early as twenty-four thousand years ago,” Spencer said, and she stopped fidgeting to listen to him, “There’s evidence that the Magdelanians in North Europe used to turn their dead’s skulls into cups they would then drink out of,”

“That I can understand, those guys were probably starving and it’s not like they can just chow down on a damn sabertooth as an easy lunch or something,” She said, and he bit his lip from stopping her to explain that the two of them were about four thousand years apart from one another, “But like, when there’s a burger king or taco bell on every corner, why are you eating women. Who eats women for breakfast lunch and dinner, like raise your hands which one of you would ever eat a woman,”

Luke sniggered, and Matt smirked at the innuendo of it, the double meaning of her words flying entirely over her head.

“I dunno, Alvez, do you like eating women?” Simmons asked, a smug grin in his words as the boys cackled childishly, and Spencer rolled his eyes with amusement.

“Pretty partial to it actually,” Luke chimed in, and she whirled in her seat to look behind her of scepticism, “How about you, Reid?”

“You guys are so weird,” She murmured, and Spencer took a quick glance off the road to see her looking entirely baffled, her feathers ruffled at the fact she was left out of the joke.

“They’re talking about oral sex,” He explained, because he remembered when that had been him for the longest time, and how it had made him feel like the butt of every punchline to not understand why everyone would smile at him knowingly, yet he found himself doing the exact same to her, his lips twitching at their corners.

Spencer watched her scoff, looking back at the two grown children in the back, “I take it back, you guys aren’t weird, your gross. Why can’t you be mature like Spencer?” She huffed, sitting back in her seat and fixing her skirt, “See if you were grownups like Agent Reid and I, you’d know the term isn’t eating a woman, it’s called focalratio,”

Matt pulled a face of confusion, flicking his eyes to her, “Isn’t that to do with a camera lens?”

“Do you mean fellatio?” Spencer asked, trying his hardest not to smirk because he didn’t want to make her feel stupid, except she just waved a hand at him.

“That’s what I said. I see why they call you Doctor Read and not Doctor Listen,” She giggled at her own words, watching the trees go by her passenger window, almost entirely oblivious to the way Spencer’s face cracked into a grin, something easy and charmed in his chest.

And for a moment, he saw exactly what Penelope had been talking about when she wouldn’t stop talking about how likeable she was and how it was harder to hate her than it was to love her.

Luke took a sip of his water, the bottle nearing the end as the Florida sun warmed it up, and he figured he might as well finish it before it became stagnant and undrinkable.

“Actually the term fellatio describes only male genitalia, the female equivalent would be cunnilingus-” Spencer explained, and he knew she was listening because he felt her eyes on the side of his face as he spoke, except he was cut off by the sound of her screaming so loud he nearly slammed on the breaks then and there.

“LUKE!” She yelled, and when Spencer looked, she had water dripping down the back of her hair, soaking her shirt to her skin, her black bra straps suddenly clear as day as they pressed against her dove white top. Alvez looked mortified, and he found himself apologising between coughs, water dribbling down his chin where he’d been so shocked to hear that word coming from Spencer’s mouth that he’d completely forgone swallowing and simply spat the whole thing out right through the gap between the headrest and the seat.

And Spencer laughed; it was quiet and foreign and nothing on the roaring cacophony coming from Matt in the back, as her and Luke descended into a squabble, her proclaiming him as a disgusting alpaca man as she tried to dry herself off with his jacket. But she caught it, the small chuckle coming from her left, and she looked at him, the sodden shirt almost forgotten when she saw him laugh.

She thought then that she wanted to make him laugh like that a million more times. And she knew she had it bad for Spencer Reid all over again.

#em’s inbox ᯓ★#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #matthew gray gubler x reader #sunshine!reader #post prison!spencer reid x reader

895 notes · View notes

miss-fanfictions · 3 days

Text

Sundays at the Library | Spencer Reid x Reader

Pairing] Spencer Reader x glasses wearing! shy! librarian! fem!Reader

Synopsis] Spencer talks to the sweet librarian at his new library and slowly Sundays become his favorite day of the week.

Warnings] Cursing, creepy guy, misunderstandings (but its cute I promise), written from Spencer's POV

Word Count] 8.9k

Author's Note] This is my first fic here! I'm planning on doing a few more parts to this, so this is only the beginning 🙃

The first time Spencer saw you, the encounter wasn’t anything special.

If he wasn’t working, he was reading, and because he can read 20,000 thousand words per minute, he needed new books often. Not even his FBI salary could afford the amount of books he consumed in a month and his cozy apartment certainly couldn’t contain them all. Already his bookcases were spilling out onto nearby surfaces. So to quench his constant need for new books, Spencer borrowed books from the library. However, since the one near his apartment closed just a week ago, he had to find a new one. That led him to drive to the library ten minutes away.

It was larger than the one down the street from his apartment—it had a full three floors. Beyond the double doors, he followed two velvet rope barriers onto the main floor of the library, wandering past a grand front desk to his left to where the room divided into two sections and the barriers ended. In the left section, beside the desk, there were a couple computers set up, as well as two printers and a side wall dedicated to DVDs. In the other section there were tables and chairs set up for quiet studying, as well as more comfortable lounges for reading. Behind those two sections started the book shelves, nearly ceiling high and organized via genre and then further alphabetized. When he ascended the staircase at the back of the main floor, he found the upper levels were fully dedicated to rows of shelving containing books, interspersed with a few tables and lounges for reading.

He spent approximately 45 minutes getting the layout of the library, as large as it was, and finding the books he wanted to read. Of course, he got a range of books. Two books on psychology, a mathematical textbook, and another two books based in the sciences. A bit of light reading, really, just to occupy his time at home during a busy caseload week.

He balanced the heavy books awkwardly in his arms as he made his way to the front desk, practically dropping them onto the counter. His lips twisted up in embarrassment, glancing around to see if anyone was disturbed by the loud clatter. When his eyes turned back to the desk, they met the bespeckled ones of you, the librarian, seated behind the counter. They were wide behind the frames, doe-like and startled by the noise. He winced and stuttered out an apology.

Too often he embarrassed himself due to his clumsiness. Over the years, Spencer got a lot better at the shooting range, but he still couldn’t run a mile without tripping a few times, or be able to participate in sports, and he didn’t even want to think about his driving. JJ often compared the experience of being in his passenger seat to riding shotgun with her senile grandmother. No matter what he did, the awkwardness crept in and all he could do was apologize. He didn’t mean to startle the nice librarian who he would seeing every week for the foreseeable future.

“It’s fine,” your voice was a gentle whisper, perfect for the quiet of the library. You closed the book on your lap and placed it out of sight under the counter, standing up to help him. That’s when he could take you in completely, with your long flowy skirt and oversized sweater. Perhaps a shy attempt to battle the chill running through the library, or maybe a purposeful effort to hide yourself away from prying eyes. He could tell—despite your attire—that you were his age or maybe a little younger. You lacked the wrinkles, grays, and even the weathered dullness associated with age. Your hair was done up messily, effortlessly, and his eyes tracked your chewed up fingernails as you tucked a few strands behind your ears, out of the way of your eyesight.

He thought you were plain and shy. The soft pastels and neutrals that colored your clothes and the fact the garments covered you so entirely, made you blend into the background. Had he not needed to speak to you directly, he might not have noticed you tucked behind the desk, folded up in your chair with your nose deep in a book.

“Can I check these out for you?” You asked him, and he almost missed it due to both his staring and your airy cadence.

“Oh, uh, yes,” he said, then quickly added. “And a library card, please. I’m new to this library.”

“I’ll just need an ID then,” you held out your hand while he rummaged through his wallet for his state ID, and when he placed it into your palm he was careful not to touch your hand. It was less about you as a person as it was his disdain for germs.

You went about clicking and typing at the computer to the side of the desk, face plain as if whatever you were doing you had done a thousand times. Your nimble fingers only stuttered when you glanced back at him, catching his eyes as he watched you before he darted them away from your face, caught. Quickly, you grabbed the mouse, clicking only three more times before handing back his ID. He was careful not to touch your hand or meet your eyes as he took it back.

He didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable with his staring, he had a habit of it, always trying to profile. But you were just a meek librarian, and there was no reason to take note of your behavior. You went about printing out a physical copy of his new library card, and he opened one of his books to occupy himself as you did so.

When you turned back to him, you scanned a plastic card before offering it to him with a small smile. “Thank you,” he mumbled as you went about scanning the books on the counter with the same barcode reader. You were on the fourth book when your brows creased and you looked back up at him.

“Are you studying?” You asked, the words sudden as if you couldn’t hold the thought off your lips.

“No, this is just some light reading,” he answered politely, because it was. Though he forgot that was maybe not normal, because you giggled at his reply.

The sound brought his eyes to your lips, the way they parted to let the breathy noise out. It was a unique giggle, though he supposed everyone’s is, but something about it suited you so completely. It was soft, and when he glanced around the library to see that no one else had heard it, he thought it was also just for him. There was no taunting, just joy that you emitted in the most delicate of sounds. If only he could understand what he did to extract it from you.

“Right,” You said jokingly, and then he thought maybe you didn’t believe him, but he didn’t get a chance to assure you he was being truthful before you finished checking out the books. “Here you go, have a nice day, Spencer.”

He hesitated, thrown off by your use of his name, but cleared his throat and collected his books nonetheless. He thanked you and mumbled a brief goodbye as he did so, not looking back as he rushed out of the library. When he got to his car, he used a pack of disinfectant wipes on the books and set them up in his passenger seat, thoughts of the little librarian withering away to the casework waiting for him at work tomorrow.

—

He finished the books quickly, in only two days actually, but thankfully most of his time was taken up by his work. In his remaining free hours, he resorted to rereading a few books on his shelves. On Sunday, he collected his library books and drove the ten minutes back to his new library, exactly one week since his last visit.

The inside was chilly and smelled like old paper and leather. There weren't many people he could see on the main floor, a few of what looked like college students spread out studying and some preteens huddled on the computers, whispering snarks and giggles. He walked up to the front desk, following the rug and the velvet rope barriers that led right to it from the entrance. This time he didn’t pass by the desk, but stopped at it to place down his books—quietly.

Your familiar framed eyes looked up at him, just as doe-like as surprise crossed them right before a smile took hold. Again, you closed the book in your lap, though this time Spencer caught a glimpse of its orange and yellow cover before you hid it from sight. He couldn’t make out the title. “Back so soon?”

It had been exactly a week since he’d seen you, and though he had not thought of you much since then, Spencer was incapable of forgetting a face. You looked just as you did last week—messy updo, baggy clothes, bare face. It seemed that was your natural state, or at least what you wore to work, but what Spencer wore to work was pretty much his normal wardrobe and he worked in the FBI, not a library.

“Yes, I need to return these books,” he told you, returning your smile with a quirk of his lips and placing his library card on top of the stack of books.

When your eyes roamed back down from his to the five books, your brows furrowed. “Give up on studying then?” You asked, scanning the books back into the system.

For a moment, Spencer was confused, then he recalled every word of your last interaction, and realized you still thought he checked the books out to study them, likely for some graduate classes, given his age. “No, I wasn’t studying them. I just needed a few books for casual reading after work.”

You paused once you turned to the computer, looking at him down your glasses. “Casual reading?” Your eyes went back between the thick books and his face, a smirk of disbelief growing. “You read all these books in a week?”

“Yes.” He shrugged.

“For fun?” You had a skeptical eyebrow quirked.

“That’s what casual reading normally implies.” Spencer furrowed his brows at your line of questioning. Maybe most people wouldn’t read such topics simply for fun, but why would he lie about that?

At that, you giggled again, a bird’s song, and resumed clicking at your computer. Your gentle laugh tickled something deep in his chest. Again, there was no malice or ill intent to it, not any that he could see behind your genuine eyes and smile. You simply thought he was a funny guy, and no one ever thought that of Spencer. He was too awkward, or too serious, or even too annoying to be fun.

You took the stack of books in your arms, the pile reaching right up to your chin, and walked them to a cart behind you. When you turned back, you were still smiling sweetly at him. “Your light reading has been checked back in.” You slid his library card across the counter.

He plucked the card back off it with a thanks, tucking it into the pocket of his sweater vest. For a moment, he debated telling you about his PhDs, his eidetic memory, and maybe even his genius IQ because Spencer always felt the need to prove himself—to state facts—because he wasn’t the funny guy. He was very serious and all the things he was telling you weren’t just silly jokes. Then he worried he might wipe the smile right off your face, and he couldn’t let himself do that. So instead he gave you a stiff nod and continued into the library.

. . . Only to spin right back around, fist awkwardly pressed against his lips. “Oh, also, what is the maximum amount of books I could have checked out at once?”

You had just cracked the spine of your book again when you looked back up at him, a swirling look of confusion on your face. “Ten books, but you don’t have any out so I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Spencer gave another nod, spinning back around on his heels and taking himself right up to the second floor of the library. He spent approximately 37 minutes collecting books from around the library, setting them aside at tables as he weaved through the rows of bookcases for the different genres. A wealth of knowledge in all areas was useful for his job, and also just for him personally. He found great pride in knowing many things, as annoying as others might find his incessant info-dumping.

When he finished, he took a stack of books from the table and carried them down from the second floor, slowly stepping down the stairs and craning his neck around the stack to watch his steps. He could be uncoordinated at his best, so there was no need to tempt fate into sending him tumbling down the staircase by not paying attention.

After successfully making it down, he took long strides to the main desk and set the stack down on the counter. Of course, you looked up at him again, however skipped surprise and jumped into an inviting smile. You closed your book and stood up, taking in the books he set in front of you. “Another five to check out then?”

“No, actually, I’ll be right back.” He turned away so fast he almost missed the way your smile faded and you leaned over the counter to watch him ascending the stairs again, spindly legs taking them two at a time.

He grabbed hold of the second tower of books, nearly dropping the top one in his haste to get back to you. After that he continued to take the stairs carefully even as he felt your eyes on him. Maybe especially because he felt your eyes on him, because if you watched him fall down the stairs he’d have to drive an additional ten minutes away to find another new library, because he certainly wouldn’t be able to look you in the eyes anymore.

Beside the first stack on the counter, he set the second, then placed his library card between them. “This is it, I promise.”

Again, you glanced between him and the books, eyes bugging behind their glass shelter. After a moment or so, as if you were making sure he was serious (he was), you began scanning his card and the books. Despite the larger quantity of books, you were slower as you ran the barcodes on the back, taking the time to read the titles and authors.

“Are you a graduate student?” You asked, looking at a book on human genealogy.

Spencer twiddled his thumbs. “No, I’m finished with school for now, but I might go back for another PhD in the future when I have more time,” he answered honestly, the words flowing out quickly, even though he wasn’t sure why he was telling you that. Only about two percent of the U.S. population has a PhD, and an even slimmer percent had more than one. So it was an unusual thing to say.

He thought you might laugh again, or even question him, but you simply hummed and moved onto the next book, chewing your lip. “I’m in a graduate program for poetry,” your voice was quiet, as required by the library environment, but more so than usual, like you seemed embarrassed to share that information.

It made sense you were a graduate student working in a library while earning your MA in writing. He wondered if you had plans for your degree beyond getting a slight pay increase as a librarian. There was a career as an author, or maybe you wanted to be a teacher or a professor, he could see you doing that, standing in front of a class in your skirts and sweaters pointing at a chalkboard with a ruler, though that image was outdated. More likely you’d be in front of a white board or presenting from a projector.

“That’s interesting. I find myself reading a lot of nonfiction recently—it helps more with my job, though I also just enjoy facts and statistics—but I’ll always have a special appreciation for fiction. I’m fond of poetry in particular because it’s created for multifaceted analysis,” even in his own whisper, the words were breathy and fast. He had to catch his tongue between his teeth when he caught your eyes trailing back up to him. “What do you plan on doing with your degree?”

“Write poetry hopefully,” the words came out in a gust of wind and your eyebrows quirked up, as if you didn’t believe even your own dream. “Maybe you can analyze it one day.” You finished scanning out the books, putting them back into two neat piles as you did. You went about clicking at your computer, making sure the books were grayed out in the system, avoiding his eyes.

So you did want to be a writer then. He could easily see that as well. Though he got the sense you didn’t believe your aspiration was attainable, and it likely wasn’t due to lack of skill. He told himself he wouldn’t profile you, but he did it practically subconsciously. Your lowered gaze, modest clothes, shy smile, and even chewed nails all pointed to a lack of confidence in yourself. He wasn’t sure why. You were pretty in your own right, and were clearly intelligent and hard working if your pursuit of a masters degree said anything. If you needed a little encouragement, the least he could do was give it to you. “I look forward to it,” he said, and he was just as sincere as he always had been.

It only seemed to increase your embarrassment, causing your face to shy further away from his gaze. “Thank you, Spencer.” Even if you couldn’t look at him, your tone was of genuine appreciation, and if he tilted his head just right, he could see the wisp of a smile on your face.

He nodded with a tight lipped smile, staring at you while he waited for the conversation to continue, only to realize you’d finished with his books and it was over. His hands stuttered to gather up the first heap of books, muttering about how he’d be back. However he only got a few paces when he heard you say his name again, feet stopping dead.

“Would you like me to help you carry these out?” You were already trying to get a hold on the books.

Quickly, he shook his head. “No,” the words came out abrupt and firm, louder than he’d ever spoken before in the library, and you flinched.

“You shouldn’t be following anyone out of here to their cars. This library has a disturbing lack of cameras and an abduction, even in a public area, can happen in less than ten seconds. It’s safest for you to remain in the library and follow the good practice of having someone walk you to your car after your shifts.” Spencer felt obligated to warn you strictly, because your distinct quietness and sweetness made you the perfect prey for the killers he hunted daily.

Though he almost regretted it as he watched the way your hands retreated from the books, crossing around yourself, and the gentle smile became forced. “Oh. I–I guess I’ll keep that in mind.”

Spencer nodded and hesitated, but didn’t linger much longer before exiting the library and heading back to his car. He was quick to toss the books into his car, your tangled smile stuck in his mind. Was it an odd thing to say? He was only trying to warn you, to keep you safe. But the look on your face, you didn’t seem at all grateful for the advice. Spencer took brisk strides back to the library entrance. You were standing there behind the front desk, arms still crossed, a distant look on your face. When you heard him approaching the counter taking in breath just a little faster from boardline jogging back, you barely spared him a glance. He scared you a bit, he realized, and he didn’t want to leave you like that.

He paused beside his leftover books, wetting his lips. “I didn’t mean to scare you with what I said before.” He finally caught your eyes and you seemed to hear him out. “I work in law enforcement, for the FBI actually, and all too often I see cases of nice girls like you who go missing just because you want to help people. Unfortunately it’s a pretty common ruse. So, I—I didn’t tell you all that to make you worry, but because I want you to be safe,” he admitted, and your face softened again, your hands falling back to the counter. It brought a smile to his own face to see you relax your guard again. “It’d also be awful if my librarian went missing. Who will check out the heap of books I keep bringing you?”

You giggled, your lips pulling into a toothy smile. “It’d definitely suck, but I’d hope you’d put those FBI skills of yours into finding me.”

Spencer chuckled, ducking his head into his chest to quiet the sound as he pulled his books into his arms. “Of course I would, and I wouldn’t stop until I did.” He was good at his job, he never stopped until he found their victim, their unsub.

You bowed your own head, hand holding your glasses to keep them from slipping down your nose. “Goodbye, Spencer.” You gave him a small wave with the other hand, ending the conversation with averted eyes, but he still noticed the growing color in your cheeks.

He fumbled with his own wave under the stack of books, really just an outward flash of the fingers he could manage to peel away for a second, and he was glad you weren’t looking at him with how awkward it was. He turned on his heel, pink growing in his own cheeks, and exited the library again for the final time today. The gears in his head grinded the whole way to the car and continued as he grappled to get into it and wiped the books with disinfectant.

You lingered in his mind longer than a librarian should have. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to warn you, to explain himself to you, or even comfort you. There was something about you, as meek and bashful as you were, that he found charming. Perhaps he saw himself in you, the insecurity. Or maybe it was how different you were from his job, where he was met with the most wicked minds and evil acts. You in comparison were the very image of innocence and life, in your pastel purples and yellows, lively eyes magnified behind glass, and your—your laugh. He liked your giggle. Even though he suspected at times it meant you didn’t fully believe him, he let you find him unserious, just so he could continue to hear that sweet sound tickle his ears in a way that scratched an itch inside him.

He was sitting in the parking lot staring out the windshield lost in his thoughts of you. When someone walked by, he found himself clearing his throat and finally putting his car in drive. You dissipated from his mind as he pulled out of the parking space because his Sunday at the library was over.

—

It took five days for him to finish the ten books from the library. The team was in California from Tuesday through Thursday, but he took four books with him to read during his down time and while on the jet. He still ended up with spare time that he spent shopping with Penelope and babysitting Henry for JJ and Will’s date night. It was for this reason he was glad to be back in the library on Sunday.

Inside he was hit with the familiar crisp air and the vague smell of paper and coffee. The tables to the left had quite a few more students than usual, though there were not very many to start with previously. He wondered if a bout of exams were coming up. As Spencer neared the front desk, he could smell something else, a faint vanilla scent maybe.

You were there as always, standing this time, and almost leaning over the counter to see the door. You smiled when you saw him and he realized that you must be wearing perfume, because around you the vanilla air became thicker.

“Sunday at 11am. You're more reliable than my alarm clock,” you hummed cheekily.

Spencer set the books he held in his hands on the counter, his messenger bag following them up. “Having a routine is actually really good for you. It’s been proven to reduce anxiety and stress and also helps people to cope with certain mental illnesses,” he told her, pulling the rest of his books out of his bag.

If you were thrown off by his fact telling, you didn’t show it. “That makes sense. I like having a routine, but I’m pretty sure my friends think it makes me boring.”

Spencer dug around in his vest pocket for his library card, brows furrowing. “Why would you think that?”

You plucked it from his fingers, bringing it to the barcode reader without breaking your eye contact. “Because they say it to me all the time.”

“Oh,” Spencer snorted a little and clutched the strap of his bag closer. There’s something different about you today. You’re much more talkative and playful, but it’s also in your appearance too. Your glasses are still perched on your nose and your face is bare as it always is, but your updo is more put together, less stands fall away into your face. You wear another long skirt, but it's tighter, less flowy, and he can nearly make out the shape of your legs through it. You’re wrapped in a cardigan too, but where one side falls open he can see your tank top underneath and the sight of your skin has him clearing his throat and bringing his eyes back to your face.

“And how was your recreational reading?” You’ve started to scan the books back into the system. “You must have been pretty entertained with ten books in seven days.” You state it like a fact, but your tone has a whimsical disbelief to it.

“Actually I finished them in five days,” he corrected with an incline of his head.

You reply quickly, like the words were primed in your mind. “Then you should have come back sooner.” Under the teasing, you sound serious, looking up from the books at him, lashes fluttering against their glass encasement.

“I would, but I’ve been pretty busy at work.” He was too. He would spend hours in the library reading if working at the BAU didn’t take up so much of his time. He loved his job of course, and he wouldn’t have it any other way, but what is someone with his talents to do but hole himself up gorging every book he can get his hands on. Spencer had a thirst for knowledge, that’s why he wanted to be in the library so much.

“Well, that’s too bad then. What do you do for work?” Your head tilts with interest and he almost mirrors the movement, brows furrowed.

“I told you—I work for the FBI. Specifically, I’m an agent in the Behavioral Analysis Unit.” He has an eidetic memory which means he can remember every word you’ve said to him and every word he’s ever said to you, so he knows he’s told you this before. Of course he knows people forget things, but they also normally remember when he tells them he’s in the FBI.

Your face falls a bit and you chew your bottom lip, brows creasing. “Oh. . . right.” You finish scanning the last book quickly, gathering a couple into a pile to carry to a cart behind you.

Spencer’s not exactly sure what he’s done to upset you, but his fingers twitch with the itch to fix it. Unfortunately, he’s got the idea his job is what makes you so uncomfortable. It wouldn’t be the first time someone was unsettled by the fact he carried a badge and gun, or that he had the authority to arrest people. But you had joked about it last week, possibly were soothed by the fact he was a cop after his blunt and maybe eerie warning. So why were you suddenly so upset with him?

The thought occurred to him then that maybe it was because you didn’t completely believe the things he was saying. Not only that, but you were no longer finding whatever game you think he’s playing by telling you those things to be funny. As you carry the rest of the books back to the cart, he fidgets with his fingers, wondering if it was time to show you proof of what he’s been saying. Or did you really even care? Maybe he was wrong and you would be even more frightened by him presenting you with his badge. Was it odd to flash his FBI credentials at his librarian? That was all you were after all. He didn’t even know your name.

You were back to clicking at the computer when you glanced at him. “They’re all checked in.”

Spencer froze as you pulled him out of his thoughts, his hands locking in the joints before dropping to his sides into fists. That was your cue for him to leave. “Right, thank you.” He went to walk away, but his feet were stuck. “. . .thank you, um, I just realized I don’t know your name.”

You didn’t have to tell him, you could have brushed it off. You were just the librarian and one didn’t need to know the librarian's name, but you looked back at him again, eyes studying his face. Then, you murmured your name so softly he almost leaned in to hear it louder. Soundlessly, he let your name ghost over his lips.

He used it as he thanked you one last time, certainly overkill but it seemed like the only correct way to exit. Although he only got a few feet before he heard you call his name.

“Spencer, wait!” You didn’t yell, he’s never heard you yell, but your voice was the loudest he’s ever heard it. You always spoke in a whisper or a hushed tone, but your voice was nearly normal when you called him back. The urgency of it had him back in front of you in just two strides.

You dipped beneath the counter and when you came back up you placed a basket on it. “When I used to go on picnics to read in the park, I used this basket. Well, I haven’t gone in a long time actually, but I thought maybe you could use it for all the books you check out,” you were bashful, tilting your head down and only sparingly meeting his eyes. Spencer was in shock, all he could think about was how this was one of the nicest things someone’s ever done for him. You gave him whiplash with how quickly you seemed to forgive whatever trespass he committed against you. He wondered even if he exaggerated the interaction in his head.

The basket was woven, made from wicker, and had two handles at the top. It was rectangular in shape, pretty deep, and large for a picnic basket, he thought, big enough for fruits, pastries, sandwiches, and maybe more. It was a very nice basket, and the thought that you were giving it to him made his heart ache the most. You’d considered him, truly sat down and thought about him and then decided you were going to gift him a solution to his awkward problem. Not often did people solve his problems, it was always the other way around.

“Wow,” his finger grazed the side, considering the cost such a nice piece must be. “Are you sure? I really couldn’t take your basket it’s—”

“I don’t use it anymore,” you interrupted him for the first time. He realized that you never cut him off, you had always listened to him. “You can have it. . .” Your face was kind, then suddenly dropped into a panic. “Only if you want it of course! You don’t have to take it. I guess it’s kind of silly, carrying a picnic basket in a library. . .” You started to pick your nails, not meeting his eyes.

“I don’t think it’s silly,” he assured you quickly, leaning just a bit closer so he could catch your eyes again. “Thank you so much. Now I don’t have to worry about falling down the stairs or taking two trips to my car.”

Your smile returned with a breathy chuckle. “Yeah, you kind of made me nervous going down the stairs like that with all those books. You don’t strike me as very. . . coordinated.”

“Ouch,” Spencer said, though he smiled back at you. You’d read him there, he was not very coordinated at all. Knowing physics was one thing, existing smoothly and with grace on the physical plane was another.

“Sorry,” you shrugged half heartedly.

“No, you’re right. Thank you for the basket and uh, I’ll be back,” he waved you goodbye as he walked toward the stairs and you fluttered your fingers back at him.

Spencer took exactly 52 minutes and 34 seconds adding books to his new basket. He got a few stares and side glances as he toted it around, mainly from a group of teenagers huddled at a miniature table and chair set in the children’s section. They snickered as they peeked up from their circle at him, but it wasn’t anything Spencer wasn’t used to. All his life people had laughed at him for a variety of reasons—he was too scrawny, too small, too bumbling, too nerdy—the list was miles long. All he could do was grow thicker skin, and he had. So he didn’t let it bother him as he wandered the library, adding books to his basket.

No, the reason Spencer took so long to pick books was because each time he slipped one into a wicker embrace, he thought of you. He blinked and saw your face like a phantom burned into his retinas. The way the corners of your mouth twisted in your smile when you were so excited to give him the basket flashed and faded in his vision. Sometimes he cursed his eidetic memory because he’d memorized your face in its entirety with all its most miniscule details and peculiarities—and he didn’t even mean to. He would find himself staring into the empty space in the basket and have to drag his brain clawing back into reality.

His watch had ticked past 12 when he made his way back down the stairs to the main floor, lugging his basket in his right hand. It was heavy, weighed by two textbooks and eight other decently thick books, but the woven willow held strong.

At the landing he could see across the library that you were already checking someone out. He meant to add himself to the queue, but pivoted to a lounge chair between two bookcases just as he got close enough to hear your voice. Immediately he felt wrong, a churning disgust with himself in the pit of his stomach. It was weird, wasn’t it? To watch you from afar just to gauge your behavior? But he had to know, it burdened his brain to wonder if you were just so saccharine it spilled out to everyone around you or if particularly you poured your sugar onto him.

You didn’t see him duck between the shelves to the lounge chair, not in any way that he could tell. With a tranquil neutral face you scanned the book that the college girl at the counter placed in front of you. The interaction was done in comfortable silence, even when you finished the transaction and she said her thank yous, you merely mumbled a “you’re welcome.”

It was different from how you interacted with him, he realized. You were much more playful and chatty with him, but he wasn’t sure what exactly inspired it in you. You were clearly shy, maybe anxious, but in some moments it faded when you talked to him. He didn’t think he said anything particularly special, but thinking you saw something in him that made you so comfortable, so cheerful, made his stomach flip in a way he couldn’t understand.

The next man in the queue placed his book on the counter. He was the only other person waiting. You asked him absent-mindedly for his library card. He was older than you and Spencer, mid to late 40s if Spencer had to guess, but it gave him an idea about how you interacted with men as well. Which was just as bland as your interaction with the college girl before you. Spencer had a fleeting thought that maybe—just maybe—you liked him. Why else would you be so inclined to laugh with him? To be so shy sometimes you couldn’t meet his eyes? He’d read books, watched movies, and he knew the signs. He was just not used to spotting them in women interacting with him.

He cleared his throat as if to shake off the idea. It was vain, and in all likelihood an arrogant over analysis of the little interaction he’s had with you. He was about to get up and put himself in line behind the man when he heard his lurid voice croak out.

“How about you give me a smile, pretty?”

Spencer froze in place, white knuckle grip engraving the grooves of the entwined handle into his palm. Something like anger flared in his chest. It grew hotter as he saw the way you bowed your head even further from the man's sight, pulling your cardigan closer around your body.

“Um, yeah, could I just get your library card?” You squirmed under his leering gaze, lips faintly curling into the most awkward half-smile you could muster.

Despite the way you clearly showed you were in duress, the man leaned closer over the counter. “My name’s Todd.” He slid his book across the counter to you like that tidbit of information helped any. “I’ll take this book and your number, baby.” Spencer’s jaw clenched.

His body tingled with the readiness to step in, to tell this Todd fucker to leave you be because obviously you weren’t interested. But his mind, the logical side of him, stopped him because Spencer also respected you and your autonomy. He was not an expert on women, but he knew quite a few strong women in the BAU who would be offended if he stepped in to defend them when they were capable of doing it themselves. He definitely didn’t want to offend you if you were able to brush off Todd on your own.

The uncomfortable smile dropped to a grimace. “If I could get your library card. . .” Your hand hesitantly reached for the book only for Todd to grasp your wrist in a tight hand.

“Stop asking for the damn card,” his voice dropped into a growl. “Baby, I’m just trying to talk to you.”

Your arm fought to pull your hand back behind the counter, but Todd’s grip tightened and pulled back to keep you close. “Sir!” Your voice pitched higher, eyes widening almost too big for their frames. “Sir, please let go—”

Todd huffed, face screwing up in frustration. “Why’re you being so difficult?”

“Sir, you’re hurting her and you need to let go now.” Spencer practically flew over to the front desk. It was his instincts as an FBI agent kicking in. The need to de-escalate and protect was driving him. This man was now hurting you and he was not going to allow it to go any further.

Todd’s scowl looked Spencer up and down, assessing whether or not he could take him. He must have come to the conclusion Spencer was not a threat because he puffed up his chest and continued gripping your wrist. However, he was so distracted by Spencer, you were able to yank your arm away, rubbing at your wrist with your free hand. Todd shot you a similar glare before leveling his even angrier gaze back on Spencer.

“We’re just having a conversation here, asshole. So why don’t you get back to your books,” Todd barked at him so loud they had now attracted all the eyes in the library. But Spencer was only looking over at yours—your creased brow and the watery worry the glass highlighted.

“Spencer, it’s—” You didn’t get to finish as Todd whirled his head between you and Spencer.

“Spencer? No fucking way this wimp is your boyfriend.” Behind the rage, Todd looked almost smug.

But Spencer wasn’t. He hit his own boiling point and was passed asking politely. He pulled his credentials from his pocket and flipped them open in Todd’s face. “No, I’m the FBI agent who is going to arrest you for harassment, assault, and public disturbance if you don’t get out of this library right now.”

Todd’s head reeled back at the badge in his face, eyes squinting between the lettering and Spencer’s face. Realization of how much shit he was in passed briefly over Todd’s face before reverting to his glower. He must not have wanted trouble with the FBI though, because he started taking steps backwards toward the exit. But he couldn’t leave with a completely bruised ego.

“Whatever man. If you want the uppity bitch so bad you can have her!” Todd slammed open and closed the door as he made his grand exit. The entire library watched it, listening to him as he got his last dig in and fleeing before Spencer could make him eat his words. He didn’t have his cuffs or gun on him, but he’d dealt with enough unsubs to know he didn’t need them to handle Todd.

When all the eyes slowly went back to their business, sure that Todd wasn’t coming back into the library, Spencer’s gaze returned to you. Your eyes were dinner plates, mouth agape, still clutching your wrist.

Spencer frowned, whispering your name. “Are you okay?”

“You’re an FBI agent. . .” The words slipped out of you in one shocked exhale. His brows furrowed. He just rescued you from an arrogant asshole and that was what you were stuck on, something he’d told you several times.

“Yes? But I told you—”

“You were serious?” Your head bobbed forward in disbelief. So you really hadn’t been believing what he was saying.

“Of course, why would I lie about that?” Spencer was confused and deep down a little hurt. It was such an odd thing to lie about to a stranger, he didn’t understand why you thought he wasn’t truthful.

“I–I don’t know,” your eyes bounced around in a panic. “I thought you were just trying to impress me. I mean—you don’t really look like an FBI agent you’re. . . young? I don’t know, I thought you were flirting with me so I—” Your hand clasped over your mouth. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry, sir—agent—”

“Spencer.”

“What?”

“Call me Spencer,” he gave her a tight lipped smile, a near look of pity on his face. Your complete panic reassured him you were just as embarrassed over the miscommunication as he was. “Technically it would be Doctor, since I have three PhDs—but you can just call me Spencer.”

“But—But I didn’t. . . you were being serious the whole time and I. . .” You stuttered, shaking your head in confusion. “I was so unprofessional. . .”

Spencer chuckled, unable to hold it back. “Unprofessional? Just because I’m an FBI doesn’t mean I can’t like to talk to people. And I like talking to you, you don’t have to be embarrassed about it.” His disappointment dissipated quickly. Your shyness and embarrassment was so genuine and charming he couldn’t find the space to be upset with you beside all his amusement.

You crossed your arms, somehow becoming even more bashful. “You’re sure it's okay?”

“Of course it's okay.” Spencer grinned.

A small sigh of relief breezed past your lips. “Okay. . . I should—I should definitely apologize for not believing you.” You meet his eyes then with such profound remorse. “Because I am really sorry. It’s just. . . your accomplishments seemed so amazing they were kind of hard to believe, especially for someone so young.”

It was Spencer’s turn to become bashful. His head ducked and he laughed quietly. “I guess they can be hard to believe. Especially when you aren’t meeting me at work. I just thought maybe all the books helped prove it.”

You let out a shaky laugh, eyes wandering back down to the countertop. “I kinda thought that was also to impress me. I didn’t really think you were reading all of them.”

“Well. . . I do.” He shrugged, figuring you had to believe him now. As you smiled at him, he realized he left his basket and books back at the chair. “Speaking of reading, I’ll be right back.”

You eyed him as he retrieved the basket and set it on the counter in front of you along with his library card. “Oh, were you sitting over there?” You looked curious. Certainly you hadn’t seen him sitting there today or anytime before.

Spencer coughed into his fist. “Um, just for a second.” He moved on quickly, removing the books from the basket. “Thank you for this again, by the way, it’s so much easier to carry all the books.”

You hummed, eyebrows jumping up. “Yeah. . . I’m having trouble believing I really gave an FBI agent a picnic basket to carry books in.” You started swiping the books over the barcode scanner, adding them back into the basket once they appeared on the computer screen next to you.

He cracked a half smile. “I think you watch too many movies. We’re not as serious as you think we are.” Hotch’s face flashed in his eyes and he thought maybe they were pretty serious, but not off duty. Hotch could also be serious enough for the whole team sometimes, so maybe he wasn’t a very good example. “And I like the basket. It was nice of you to think about me.”

Your eyes caught on his for a moment, glazed over in thought, so deep you bumped the basket as you went to set the book you held into it. It snapped you back into reality and you watched your hand as you tucked away the book, clearing your throat. “You’re sure it’s not weird?”

Spencer’s head tilted to the left, considering you. He didn’t know what he could do to pull you back from this rut of self-consciousness. He was starting to regret ever pulling out his badge because now you seem standoffish in a way you never were with him before. He wanted to go back to when you laughed and smiled at him and didn’t find him intimidating. “Of course it’s not,” he paused a moment, wetting his lips. “And this isn’t weird either, y’know? Me being in the FBI? I’m still Spencer.”

You looked back at him again, eyes searching his face. “I know that. I’m. . .” You stared at him a second longer, taking in a deep breath and releasing it with a smile. “I’m letting it sink in.” You continued scanning the books quietly, not meeting Spencer’s eyes as he absentmindedly picked at a loose string in his pocket.

His thumb brushed against his FBI credentials and the encounter just before this revelation came flooding back. He glanced over at the double doors as if to make sure Todd had not come back, though Spencer already knew he didn’t.

“Are you okay?” You met his eyes, brows pulled together. “About before—with that guy?”

“Oh.” You shrugged, rolling your wrist unconsciously. “Yeah, I’m fine. We get one of them every now and again. Normally they’re pretty harmless.” A glimmer of realization passed over your face. “Um, thank you! I should have said that before. Not everyone would have done that.”

Spencer shook his head, waving off your thanks. “Of course. I’m sorry you have to deal with that.” He was again reminded of the fact he was not a woman, and even though his job was to put away serial killers—monsters, creeps, pervs—he couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be in your shoes. You shook it off well, but he didn’t doubt you were scared in the moment. Probably wondering how far he would take it, whether your reaction was appropriate, if your employer would be angry at you. He was just glad he was there to step in.

Slowly, you finished scanning all the books, tucking them neatly into the basket in an organized order he thoroughly appreciated. Heaviest books sat at the bottom and lighter books were stacked on top of them. You paused, flipping through the last book in your hand, a biography of Max Born, a German-British physicist.

“So. . . you really do read 20,000 words per minute?” You had a cheeky grin as you peeked up at him from beneath those frames, and suddenly you were back. Spencer smiled.

“Yup. I also have an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory.” He shrugged as if it was no big deal.

You giggled, nodding along. “Right. Well then I guess this isn’t even enough books for you.” A finger waved over at the basket.

“It depends on work, actually. I’m usually busy, but I often have to travel too and then I become really busy so I don’t have time to read,” he explained. When he did sit down to read, he could get through one to three books, depending on their volume. “But yeah, ten books in a week is kind of light.”

You tapped the book in your hand with your thumbs, thinking. “Okay.” Suddenly you dropped the book into the basket, dipping below the desk to set another book in front of him. Examining it, he realized by its orange and yellow coloring it was the same book you had been reading the last time he was in the library. It was The Poetry of Pablo Neruda and from the look of its creased spine and faded orange cover, it was well loved. “You should read this too then.”

Spencer turned the book over in his hands, looking at you with a twisted face of confusion. “But the check out limit is ten books?”

You shook your head, gesturing for him to add it to the basket. “It’s not a library book,” when he still looked puzzled, you continued. “It’s my book. You can borrow it from me.”

Your kindness and generosity was both shocking and overwhelming. Spencer wasn’t sure how he was to thank you for being so gracious to him. He could only think of one thing. So he quickly fumbled his wallet up onto the countertop. “You have to let me give you something for this—”

“Spencer,” as you said his name, your hand covered his as he dug for bills to give you. “You don’t owe me anything.”

He shook his head, bewildered. Not only was your kindness startling, but so was the feeling of your hand on his. He had to stop his body from flinching at the contact. He was mostly uncomfortable at the thought of people touching him, but your palm was warm, soft, and offered the most comfort he’d felt in a while. “The basket and the book? It’s too much. I mean. . . you’re too nice.”

Your lips spread into a bright smile, flashing him your teeth. “Just bring me back your analysis. I’d love to hear what an IQ of 187 can cook up. Deal?”

Spencer laughed, ducking his head as he nodded in agreement. “Deal.”

When the laughter faded and his head came back up, he looked at you for a while longer, just feeling the paperback cover underneath his fingertips. You met his eyes just for a few moments, twiddling your own fingers. “So um, see you next Sunday?” You asked. He dared to see hope in your eyes.

“See you next Sunday,” Spencer agreed again. He hesitated putting the book in his new basket then finally left the front desk, waving you goodbye as he did. He watched over his shoulder you return his wave as he exited through the double doors.

Spencer walked back to his car practically swinging the basket, so in his head he didn’t even realize he still had a smile on his face. He set The Poetry of Pablo Neruda aside as he disinfected his books and wondered what he would do the rest of his day off. What he was sure of, deep in his chest, was that he was excited for next Sunday.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer Reid x y/n #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x shy!reader

632 notes · View notes

monstersflashlight · 2 days

Note

I’m so sorry because I’m always the one that’s like, ‘part 2’, and yeah. So, I just want to apologize for that before I say;

Alien inspection part two?

It was so good it made my genitalia quake.

Per popular request, here it is the alien inspection part 2. If you haven’t read the first it’s here. First of all, I want to say thanks to everyone who liked this story, it was very experimental for me and the feedback was amazing. As per everyone who requested more of it, thank you! It’s so nice to see that people enjoy my writing and want more of it. Hope it meets your expectations. <3

Alien inspection: the confrontation

alien x fem!reader || degradation/humiliation, restrains, double penetration, groping, dub-con, CNC

It takes you three days to find him again, calling in a couple favors from other humans at the space base until you find the damn alien. You are mad on every human’s behalf. He took advantage of you, he lied to you, and he ended up fingering you until you were coming so hard you saw stars. That wasn’t okay. That was rude. So found him. And you were going to call him out on his bullshit.

You stomp your way to him at the cafeteria. “Hey you!” You scream next to him. The other aliens with him all look at you like you are going mad. Maybe you are.

“What?” The alien doctor looks at you like he doesn’t recognize you. How dare he? “Who are you?” He asks finally, raising your anger to the point of boiling.

You look up at him as he stands up, your height difference once more making you feel small. But your anger is enough to make you feel like a giant. “What? You don’t even remember the humans you finger fuck? You are a piece of trash!” You scream. Everyone is staring at you two, you are making a scene. He looks like nothing is happening, but truth be told, you don’t understand alien features so well, yet.

“I don’t remember you, but apparently you do. But we are not having this conversation here.” He tells you under his breath, grabbing your wrist and dragging you out of the cafeteria. You think you heard some other alien say something about crazy humans. You don’t mind them as he leads the way.

“Let me go!” You pull your hand away the second you are behind a closed door. It looks like the medical room from the first day, but this one is bigger, and the walls aren’t bare. It looks like some kind of office. His office? Probably. It would make sense for him to have a medical table there, for private consults or something.

“So, who are you again?” He asks, clearly uninterested. You are fuming.

“You fuck humans because you have a kink and then you forget, what a piece of shit alien you are,” you curse him. His face remains calm and that makes something inside of you tick, infuriated.

“I do. I’m not going to deny that.” You are speechless at his acceptance, you thought he would deny it or something, try to sell you a different story, but no. He’s looking at you like you are stupid, and you start to feel like maybe you are. What were you expecting coming after him like this? He’s not going to apologize.

“You lied to me. You said I was your first human.” You try to keep the hurt away from your tone, but it’s fruitless. That’s the real reason you looked for him after all, you wanted him. You knew it was wrong and weird, but the orgasm he gave you was the best you ever had, and you needed a repeat. Fuck, you are depraved.

He didn’t even flinch as he confesses: “I tell that to everyone, I like them naive.” He smirks with his big mouth and strange features, making a shiver run down your spine and heat pool in your lower abdomen.

“What a piece of shit,” you curse again, almost spitting on him.

“Why are you really here, human? You want an apology? A repeat?” You shake your head, but he sees right through you. “Oh, so that’s it… You are one of those. I don’t remember you but I bet you didn’t try to fight me, did you? You enjoyed yourself. So much that you are here for more. What a depraved filthy human…” He looks at you without expression, like he’s completely neutral in this situation. You feel embarrassment creep up your cheeks as he stares at you with his weird big pupils. It’s disconcerting and creepy, but you can’t stop wanting him. What the fuck is wrong with you?

“What did you do to me? Why I’m craving this?” You ask, confused with yourself and with him. You don’t understand what’s happening, you shouldn’t feel the way you do. You shouldn’t be this wet just being close to him. This alien must have done something to you.

“I didn’t do anything to you. I enjoyed your body and you came for more. Color me surprised, human. No one before you came looking for more.” You sputter, trying to come up with a response but failing. His hand with too long fingers caresses your cheek and grabs your hair, pulling your head back. He leans down, his face close to yours as he says: “I’m going to enjoy your whorish human nature.”

And then everything happens so fast you can’t fully process his words. One second he’s in front of you and you are standing, and next second you are on the table with weird tubes holding your arms and legs down. You are spread completely, your body restrained as he stares at you. He turns his back and start rummaging in a drawer. Your anxiety spikes as he turns around and shows you one phallic device that resemble an earth dildo and some kind of suction cups.

You try to get free from the cables, but they aren’t bulging. “Let me go. I didn’t ask for this.” You bet you look pathetic, tied to a metal table struggling to get free. You can feel your skirt riding up, your thighs exposed, your panties almost exposed.

He looks at you like you are an interesting specimen before responding. “Oh no, human, you definitely did. You came looking for me, made a scene in front of my coworkers and then asked me why I didn’t fuck you again? You are just a stupid human whore, and lucky for you, I like my humans stupid. Just like you.” His smug tone is so different from the nice and collected he used last time. He was so convincing that you believed him, and now you are tied to a table in his office, feeling stupid and so turned on you could cry.

“I’m not stupid!” You try to argue, but it’s fruitless as he rips your shirt away before you can tell him to fuck off, exposing your breasts to the cold air and making your nipples pebble instantly.

“Oh! Now I remember, those tits are one of the best specimens I’ve seen.” The fact that he didn’t remember your face but he remembered your breast makes you want to fold into yourself and disappear. For him, you aren’t nothing else than a set of tits and holes to play with. And for some reason, that makes your pussy tingle. Fuck. He slaps one of your tits and you moan, instantly getting embarrassed. He looks at you the same way he did the first time: like an experiment. “This time I don’t even have to ask you to open your legs, you are already spread for me,” he teases, amused.

He rolls up your skirt, exposing your lacy panties and making your whole body flush, mortified. “You put me in this position, you sicko!” He chuckles at your weak response, completely aware that you aren’t as opposed to this as you say.

“Human, stop embarrassing yourself. Let’s make a deal, if I touch you right now and you aren’t dripping wet I will stop, okay? But I bet that’s not the case, is it? You are as sick as me and you want alien fingers inside your tight human puppy. How do humans call it? Oh yeah… Pussy.” Him saying that word makes something inside of you surface and a whine escapes your lips. He laughs, your translator getting weird as he does, filling with interferences. And then he rubs your opening over your panties and you scream. “As I hoped, you are a stupid whore.” He takes his fingers away and you whine again, making him snort in amusement as you groan, utterly humiliated.

He moves back to your chest, playing with your breast and pinching your nipples like he has all the time in the world. He even takes his chair and sets it next to you, getting comfortable to play with your body. You are mortified, you feel like a doll in front of him... and it turns you on. He grabs some of the devices he grabbed earlier and sets them on your abdomen, giving you a break as he positions them over your nipples. As soon as they latch, you feel a sucking sensation making you lose your mind. He looks at you with something like a smile as you groan and moan until your chest is so sensitive you start to cry and beg him to stop it. He doesn’t. He lets the weird nipple suckers there and starts caressing down your stomach.

When he gets to your panties, he doesn’t play around, in one fluid motion he pushes your panties aside and pushes two fingers inside of you to the second knuckle. “You are so wet you took my fingers so easily. What a good fuck-hole you have here.” He pushes the rest of his fingers inside, wriggling them as he tickles your cervix, making you groan and struggle. It feels so weird, you don’t even know if you like it. But he doesn’t ask, he just keeps doing that with one hand as the other flicks the suction cups over your nipples making you scream as he laughs, the weird interference in your translator making you shiver.

Tears run down your cheeks as your oversensitive nipples keep being tortured and he finger fucks you. You think that’s going to be it, but then he takes his fingers away and you cry out, asking for more, pleading him to keep going. He looks at you, zero emotions on his face as he reaches for one of the phallic devices and presses something in the bottom. It starts vibrating like a dildo, and some kind of ridges appear and disappear in a hypnotizing manner. You pant as he approaches it to your pussy.

“Say it. Say you want it. Tell me you are a stupid whore who wants this.” He teases your opening with the vibrating head and you scream, so needy and desperate you would do whatever he asked.

“I- I’m a stupid whore,” you mutter, grinding your teeth, shame filling you to the core. He looks at you expectantly, and you add: “And I want it.” He doesn’t wait anymore and pushes it inside in one solid thrust. You buckle your hips and cum instantly, gushing around it. He teases your opening around the dildo, all puffy and pink.

“So pretty.” He keeps rounding your entrance, not moving the dildo, just leaving it there as over-sensitivity rides your body. You are so tired and so stimulated your whole body feels like it’s on fire. You come again. And again. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at your pussy as it twitches around the vibrator. But then he says: “I think I’m going to play with this, too.” And touches your asshole, your never used asshole. You struggle against the restrains, but your body is so tired you can’t do anything to fight him. You try to tell him no, but before you can he shuts you up. “Shh, you are just a human hole. Shut it.” Embarrassment and humiliation feel bitter against your tongue, but your pussy doesn’t care about it was you come again.

He collects some of your fresh juices and circles your back door. He teases you for a bit, but without any heads up, he pushes one of his fingers inside, slowly. He gets it fully inside (all four of his knuckles) before adding a second one, your mind completely blown, your neurons not firing anymore. You feel so full. You are just in a constant state of orgasmic bliss as a dildo vibrates in your pussy and his fingers fuck your ass. You come again as he inserts a second finger. And again with the third. You are starting to lose your mind completely.

And then he stops. He takes his fingers away and stops the dildo and the suction cups. He takes everything away from you and starts cleaning them, without looking at you. You are a drooling teary mess on the table, your juices made a puddle under your ass and it’s starting to get very uncomfortable. You try to speak up, but your voice is completely gone after what feels like hours of crying and screaming in pleasure.

He finishes his tasks and releases your extremities, looking down at you appreciatively for the first time ever. “You did well for a human set of holes. I hope to see you again. Clean after yourself.” And he leaves. He has the audacity of turning around and leaving you there, naked and fucked out.

You hate him.

And you hate yourself more because you are already thinking when would you do it again.

572 notes · View notes

reiderwriter · 3 days

Text

🫂 Transference 🫂

Pairing: Spencer Reid x virgin!Fem Reader

For the CM Kink Bingo Challenge 2024

Summary: He saves your life, and he keeps saving it every day, but Spencer won't let you love him until you finally beg him to. Is transference really that much of an issue?

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Mentions of Case details - reader is the unsub victim, mentions of rape and attempted rape, gunshot, death, kidnapping, imprisonment, parental neglect, abandonment, loss of virginity (positive), semi-public sex, bathroom sex, fingering, penetrative sex (p in v), missionary, praise kink (good girl), moaning kink (?), safe sex, slight cum play/ oral, aftercare.

A/N: I wrote a virgin reader fic for kinktober that people loved a lot (thank you all!), and I had a lot of requests for something similar, so please - enjoy!

Masterlist || Bingo Board

You'd met him at the library, as if the world wanted you to forever associate the comfort you found in between the pages of a worn book with the man that tried to end your life. At first, you'd thought it a coincidence, then he'd flashed a smile at you, and you'd believed it to be fate, drawn in by the charm he wore as a disguise.

Your first date was sweet, flowers and dinner. Your second date was sweeter, and they kept on that way. Sugar dropped into your ears until you were floating on cloud nine, right as he turned his charm off.

“Really?” He started one day, his tone accusing from the get-go.

“What?”

“You're really going to eye fuck that man in front of me?” His voice was loud enough to catch notice in the small café you'd joined him in for the morning, and all the life drained out of your face.

“I'm not- what?”

“No, forget it,” he chuffed, taking another sip of his drink and turning away from you.

You noticed it more and more from then on, how he would accuse you of small things like looking at other men, like you had the choice to ignore them when they were shop clerks, bus drivers and just fucking people living their lives.

Your friends were even weirded out when you joked with them about it, telling them all about your silly boyfriend who ripped a poster off your wall because it had some actor or singer or something on it. It wasn't even that important to you, but as you laughed, you were greeted with silence, with sideways glances and concerning questions.

It was all starting to crumble, and there was nothing you could do to stop it but cling on.

The next thing was his pushiness. You'd been up front with him at the beginning of the relationship that you were a virgin, something that he was more than happy about.

He'd said it was because he was a man of God, and he understood your commitment, which confused you as you weren't a virgin for religious reasons. But you brushed it off as everything else about him was so… gentlemanly?

Until he started pushing his hands up your thighs when he kissed you. He tried multiple times to push his fingers into your underwear as you tried to pull back, each time apologizing immediately when you displayed more panicked displeasure.

“I'm sorry, something must have… The devil got to me for a second there, Y/N, but I won't let him win.” He kissed the top of your head, and he walked you to your door before giving you another chaste kiss and leaving.

They found the first body the next morning.

She was young, maybe 16 or 17. Beaten, raped, mutilated, and asphyxiated. They said he'd kept raping her body long after she'd taken her last breath. It took them two weeks to notify her parents because of the way he'd left her.

You'd watched the news report the same week with your boyfriend, shocked and horrified at the news and cuddling closer to him for comfort.

Each step you came closer to him, each time you allowed him to touch you, he took it as a sign of his ownership, his claim on you. Not a single other person could get in between him and his prize. Each time you rejected him, he killed another girl.

By body five, they'd called in the BAU.

“Did you hear they're bringing in the FBI to solve that Cathy Renaud case? It's all over the news. Apparently, the team is super special.”

You'd brought up the words while cooking him breakfast. He didn't live with you, but any good girlfriend would feed their man, so he woke you up every day on his way to work to let you prepare him something.

His whole attention was on his phone, though, as he nodded through your conversation, grunting and moaning at each word.

It was only when you brought him his plate of pancakes that you realized that he was just as interested in the subject as you were. Because he was staring at the photos of the girl he mutilated the night before.

You didn't want to think about everything that happened after that. After the plate fell to the floor and cracked, splintering into your foot and causing you your first injury in a long line.

You didn't want to think about the things he showed you, the way he touched you, or at least tried to. You heaved and wretched and emptied your stomach every single time you thought about the restraints on your wrists, how he'd tried to rape you but couldn't bring himself to do it because you weren't young enough anymore. You weren't dead enough.

Instead, every time you thought back to that week, you found yourself back at the end. You replayed the bullet lodging into his brain as a comfort, which told you more than you needed to know about your mental state. It was Spencer Reid who'd shot him. He'd been quick enough to realize that the man would never have been talked down, and he'd fired the shot as a mercy to you. He may have killed your boyfriend, putting him down like he was a sick animal, but you were the one put out of your misery.

He didn't stop to watch the body hit the floor before falling to your side, the other agents clearing the room and checking the corpse. He'd helped you to your feet, drawn an arm around your waist and pushed your head into his chest so you didn't have to see the carnage on the way out, didn't have to deal with the camera flashes as the press scrambled for pictures of the monster's willing victim.

“One step at a time, this isn't your fault. Just stick with me,” he said, moving you from the house to a waiting van as you clasped his vest desperately, needing the lifeline he'd thrown you.

“Ma'am, ma'am. I'm a paramedic, I won't hurt you, I just need to take your vitals, make sure you're okay.”

The voice was vague and in the distance, and you were so sure it wasn't directed at you that you simply let yourself wrap around the man who'd saved you when you got to the ambulance. Nothing else was around but his chest, his hand on your back, your legs wrapped around him as they finally gave out.

“Ma'am… Please, you're injured-”

“Y/N,” he spoke finally, and you grabbed him tighter, nails digging into the skin at his neck.

“You're Y/N, right? We've been looking for you for a long time. I'm not going anywhere, I won't let anyone hurt you.”

The words were enough to reassure you, pulling back slightly as the paramedics began working on you, but not enough for you to embrace their touch. You clambered away from the paramedic the moment you saw he was a man, close in build and coloring to the corpse in the building behind you.

You screamed, you cried, you pounded at the doors as Spencer held to you him, letting the paramedics sedate you, rocking you to sleep on the step of the emergency vehicle.

He was by your bedside every time you woke up, too. It was funny seeing him there when you still didn't know his name. Your parents hadn't visited, too ashamed to be associated with the entire thing to even check in on you.

He had himself assigned your emergency contact after six days of your parents not showing up. In all that time, he'd sat patiently by your side as you wailed and raged and went numb, and the cycle repeated itself in perpetuity.

He was there, too, with a bag of clothes and a fresh start waiting for you when you were ready to be discharged.

His team had since moved on to another criminal of the week, putting the lives lost behind them as they traipsed through more cases and corpses and killers. He was still there, though. Somehow.

You were old enough to be able to discharge yourself from a hospital, old enough to not need a guardian to take care of you. Spencer stayed anyway, and you didn't bother asking why.

“I don't want to leave the hospital,” you said, climbing back into the bed you'd forced yourself into for the last week. The same bed where the nurse had ran your rape kit even after you'd told her he'd never touched you like that, after you'd explained and denied and shouted to high hell that no-one had touched you like that and she sure as hell wasn't going to be the first.

Spencer had put a stop to the traumatic experience when he'd returned with your coffee, always picking up something for you when he went out.

The nurse had gripped and moaned and murmured an apology, and you knew you'd not been an easy patient, but you couldn't bring yourself to feel bad about it.

That didn't mean you wanted to leave yet, though.

“I can't leave, I have nowhere to live.”

“Y/N, you can't stay here forever.”

“Spencer, I can't go home. My apartment is a crime scene, I almost died there, and there are reporters posted there 247 waiting for me to come back. They think I'm evil, they-”

“They think you're a victim,” he said calmly but firmly, cutting you off before you could spiral again. “Which you are. And you'll be a victim forever if you don't get out of that hospital bed and start moving on.”

He dumped a bag on your bed, a bag you recognised as one of your own overnight bags from your apartment. He looked at you again, the question in his silence.

Are you going to keep being his victim?

You huffed as you got out of your bed, throwing off the covers and standing in front of him. He didn't budge.

“Well?” You asked, looking at him as he stood still, not moving even an inch.

“Well, what?” He replied, eyebrows knitting.

Instead of replying, you rolled your eyes and reached behind you to the ties in your hospital gown, opening it until you could pull it off your body before pulling out the clothes he'd left in the bag.

You didn't glance at him again until you were fully naked, readying your underwear so you could pull it on. When you turned back to him, his gaze knocked the wind out of you.

You'd stopped feeling like a woman the minute he'd carried out of that room. You were a child, a fragile doll, a specimen to be studied. For some of the nurses, you were an infection they could catch.

Spencer Reid, against his better judgment, was looking at you like you were a woman. Like you were the object of his every desire.

“S-Spencer…” you said suddenly feeling the shame and embarrassment of being naked suddenly in front of another person. You pulled the sweatshirt he'd packed you over your torso, covering all of your intimate areas as you stammered out your apology.

“I- shit, I'm sorry-”

“I'll wait - I’ll wait outside. If you need anything you can… you can do whatever.” He said, dragging his eyes off of your body and letting them fall anywhere that you weren't. His eyes darted from the floor to the wall, to the air next to your head and finally to the door where he took himself out.

You dressed in a hurry and followed him.

“Spencer? Spencer, I'm ready,” you said, running down the hall to him and grabbing his arm, holding it for support and comfort, but mostly just to be close.

Since waking up from that first sedation of many in those first few days, you hadn't been more than a few hours without having him hold you.

His team had sent many warning looks watching you wrapped around him like a scared child, hiding behind him like a small, shaking dog. You hadn't seen a problem in it, truly clinging to him like a lifeline.

After whatever the hell had just happened in your hospital room, though? Now you felt each solid ridge of him. You hadn't felt like a woman, sure but you equally hadn't acknowledged Spencer as a man until then. A very attractive man.

The stubble on his jaw only made it sharper. His gentle, curving eyes, cut at the corners by the start of laugh lines, his mouth straight and… and kissable. For the first time in months, definitely for the first time since you'd met your monster, maybe even for the first time ever, desire heated the depths of your stomach.

Your breath hitched, and you held him tighter as he led you out of the ward and ushered you into your new life.

“We're not going to your apartment. Your landlord released you from the lease for…obvious reasons after some persuading. Your parents-”

“My parents?” You asked in disgusting, halting in the hall. For the first time since you'd left the room, he had to turn and look you in the eyes. He'd done his best to dampen the desire, but some part of you still recognised it, even as your logical brain fought to be heard.

“Your parents agreed to fund three months in a new apartment. After which time, you will have a job and some stability, so you'll be able to pay for it yourself.”

You tried to argue and tried to talk back, but your tongue was thick.

A new apartment. Living alone, being alone, for any amount of time, felt daunting.

But Spencer took one more step towards the door and then another, and you had no choice but to walk with him, hand slipping down and grasping his like it was your lifeline.

The drive to whatever new apartment your parents had leased for you was silent, and the storms in your head grew until they'd taken up so much space they erupted forth, darkening the actual skies. A crash of thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance just as he pulled into the building. Luckily for you, there was underground parking, so you didn't even need to contemplate letting the lightning hit you.

There was one space left, and Spencer pulled his car in, flipping the engine off and getting out without another word.

He led you up the stairs, then he led you to your floor, then he led you to your door and handed you the keys.

You felt cold as you opened the doors, knowing you were about to confront items of boxes that had watched you be burned, cut, slapped, beaten.

There were no boxes behind the door. Everything had, to your shock, been unboxed and staged already.

You recognised magnets on the fridge, stuffed animals on the bed when you made your way to your bedroom. Your toiletries were neatly tidied into your medicine cabinet, hell, even your bookshelves had your own dog-eared copies of books well past their prime.

You had every comfort and joy without having to push yourself through the pain of thinking about where these items had last been kept.

There were new things too. The couch was definitely second-hand, but it wasn't the one you'd brought at Goodwill the week after your college graduation. That one was stained red, no doubt, somewhere in a tip. There was bedding and sheets and blankets and plates and forks and knives - a whole household of items that someone had chosen.

You turned back to Spencer and cried. You buried your face in his chest and wrapped yourself around him again as he held you.

And then, realizing he'd been the one to orchestrate this, if not the one who had arranged everything himself, you pushed up on the balls of your feet, and you kissed him.

For the few seconds it lasted, it was brilliance. The pressure on your lips after a second had your heart singing as he kissed you back, your hands balling into his shirt as you stepped closer and closer, needing to be wrapped around him, buried in safety and warmth.

He pulled back and stepped out of your reach too quickly, the back of his hand reaching up to his mouth as if checking that it was still there, that he'd actually just been kissing you back.

“Y/N, you don't…we can't do that.”

“Do what?” You said, creeping forward, needing to feel him beside you again.

“You're not… you don't feel about me the way you think you feel about me,” he said, pushing your hair behind your ear as you wrapped your arms around his waist again.

“How do I feel?”

“Grateful. Y/N, this is gratitude. I saved you, and so you think you are in love with me. It's called transference, and you will deeply, deeply regret this one day.”

The urgency in his tone had you flinching, even if he was trying to talk to you as softly as possible. For a moment, you'd done as he'd asked and forgotten you were a victim. It was apparently something he himself would not forget anytime soon.

You stood around awkwardly for another minute or two.

“What…what now?” You asked, avoiding the kiss and whatever lay in that direction.

“I'll walk you through the emergency contact numbers. The apartment building is pretty old, so there's a wall phone in the kitchen, but there are some modern amenities, too. The laundry room is on the first floor, next to the porters office. I'm in apartment 23 on the second floor, and-”

“What?” Your entire body buzzed, hearing him speak, and you almost forgot to breathe, rushing to stand straight again.

“I… I live on the floor below,” he said, almost cautiously now that you'd thrown yourself at him. “I thought you might enjoy the company.”

He gave you a weak smile and you wanted to kiss him all over again, to press your lips again and again into the soft flesh of his skin, his lips, his nose, his cheeks, his neck, his chest.

You wanted him to hold you. You stood by the sofa and let your grip on a cushion tighten to stop from throwing yourself at him again. One rejection was enough for the day.

Not that you stopped in the weeks to come.

Spencer had himself relegated to office work for the first month as you rode out the waves of your grief, sticking by his side for comfort.

Your friends came and went, but they wore the stench of ‘I told you so’ and ‘I saw that coming,’ and you suffocated on it after so long.

Every day after he returned home, you arrived at him door and threw yourself into his open arms, sitting with him for hours. Most days, you read together, ignoring that the man flipped pages three times as fast as you did. Some nights, you watched shows or movies, making your way through three companions worth of “New Who” in a week.

Each time you came, he took care of your food, ordering or cooking simple pasta dishes for you.

He told you about the time his coworker had taught him how to make the perfect pasta, berating him for putting oil in his pasta water, and damn near drawing his weapon while he made sure he salted it.

You laughed together and ate together, and you forgot together.

Your life was back to normal when you got your first job interview. It's nothing spectacular, but it was enough that it would pay the bills to the apartment whose lease is a ticking bomb counting down to 0. It was a normal office, where you would be doing normal work that you had absolutely done before.

The interview was normal, the female employee that meets you first reassuring you that the company is safe, their employees vetted and supported.

And the company makes feminine hygiene products anyway, so they don't attract too many men, or at least none like the monster you'd known.

All in all, the interview went well.

It went well all the way until you reached the bus stop. You felt eyes on you, watching your movements, but you couldn't see anyone else focusing on you particularly.

You felt the stares on the bus, and the stares when you got off the bus two stops early. You felt the stares walking around the block three times to throw whatever was following you around off your track. You felt the stares as you sat outside Spencer's apartment until 6:45pm, when he came home and found you there. Your interview had been at 1pm.

“Y/N, what's wrong?” He said, immediately holding you and guiding you into the apartment.

Your anxiety and fear had settled into self-loathing and disappointment. You let him hold you quietly, rejecting food and conversation.

You sat quietly with him on his sofa as he held a book in one hand, stroking your hair with another as you laid on his chest.

The emotions of the day were overwhelming, consuming the part of your brain that had started being happy again for the first time. You grew angry at the sadness for seeping back in, and in an act of rebellion, you pushed back up and kissed Spencer once more.

His brain was slower to react this time, even if his body wasn't.

You straddled his hips as your lips joined his, melting together in a hot embrace. He dropped his book quickly, hand resting on your hip as the one that had been stroking your hair angled your jaw up so he could set the pace.

All your emotions were swept away in a wave of desire as you slowly rubbed against him, butt shifting as you clumsily followed your arousal past your worldly knowledge.

You couldn't even think about what was next because your tongue was clashing with Spencer's, and your brain was short circuiting.

The second you let out your first whimper of pleasure, he pushed you away and stood up, crossing the room to put distance between you, just as he had a month beforr.

“Y/N, you had a bad day, but this isn't… This isn't how you should make yourself feel better.”

“Spencer-”

“I told you about transference before, Y/N, you need to listen to me. I'm not… I'm not the one for you.” His voice shook as he ran his hands through his hair in stress, body tense in a way that informed you he was holding himself back.

“Transference. Transference…” You sat upright on his couch and let all the logic rush back into your brain at once.

“Y/N?” He asked, voice shaking as he watched you zone out of the conversation, almost afraid that he'd damaged you again.

“Is there… Is there something wrong with transference?” You asked, voice impossibly calm as you still stared straight forward.

He moved towards you again and knelt at the floor in front of you, clutching your hands in his.

“Y/N, you don't really want me like that, you don't, you can't-”

“Love you?” You asked, your voice finally breaking, eyes finally meeting his.

It was as if you knocked the wind out of him. He sat there completely dumbstruck.

“It might not be love, okay, I'll admit that. But you're… you're strong and smart, and you take care of me. And you're attractive, and you make me happy, which is something I didn't think I'd ever be again-”

“Y/N, something happened to you today, and you threw yourself at me. You threw yourself at me when you moved into your apartment. You felt stressed, and you reacted, Y/N. You don't love me.”

You sat calmly listening to his words again, your body still aching for his touch, your heart still pounding in your chest.

“Okay. Okay. So if I do…this when I'm not feeling vulnerable, then what? Then you'll believe me?”

“Y/N…” he sighed in defeat, hand again raking through his hair.

You grabbed your things and stood up off the couch, bending to press another kiss to his lips before you parted.

He was shocked silent, but that didn't stop him from chasing your lips as you rose, rising to his knees and then his feet as you walked away from him.

“I'll see you tomorrow, Spencer. Get some sleep,” you said, letting yourself out or the apartment and carrying yourself, heavy and dejected, upstairs.

If Spencer was anticipating seeing you again the next morning, he wasn't anticipating seeing you in his office.

“Spencer,” you called out as you walked into the bullpen, clipping your visitors badge into place again, making sure it wasn't crooked.

Immediately, he stood from his desk and rose to meet you, ignoring the looks from his coworkers as his hands landed on your arms, immediately checking on you.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” He whispered, checking for tears, or injuries, or something to show him your motive for seeking him out.

You just smiled at him, brushing a hair behind your ear when you saw him hesitate making that same gesture.

“I was summoned. They need my statement to corroborate your weapon discharge paperwork, and Agent Hotchner called earlier.”

His hands dropped as he breathed a steady sigh of relief, trying to make his reaction smaller than he knew it was. He was afraid something had happened to you again, and he was so caught up in his relief, that he didn't notice you moving closer until your lips were on his cheek and you were waving him off as you ascended the stairs to Hotch's office with your escort.

“Spencer,” Morgan's voice called from behind him, and he turned hesitantly.

“What was that?”

He felt the eyes on him, and he pushed all thoughts of you to the side in place of total rationality.

“I explained transference to her but… she doesn't seem to - she doesn't care.”

“Spencer the last time I saw that girl, she was practically the walking dead. She just smiled.” Morgan said, shaking his head. But Spencer was watching you, and not his friend, and really, he wasn't even listening.

“Spencer? Spencer?” Morgan said again, rising to get in the man's face some more until he finally looked at him again.

“She thinks she's in love with me.”

“How do you know she isn't?”

You kept working on him, little by little, day by day, until Spencer's field work started again.

A little part of you was sad that he wouldn't always be around every day anymore. But you'd got that job and got over yourself as you started going out more. You made friends at your office, and you went out and laughed and joked with old college roommates. You felt like a human being again, and to no one's surprise, you still wanted Spencer Reid.

He left every Monday on a case, and by the time Wednesday rolled around, you missed him. Going out to drinks with some coworkers after clocking off certainly didn't sate your appetite for him.

“Spencer,” you said, breathily into the phone when he picked up, throwing yourself onto your bed.

“Y/N, what happened? Is everything alright? Do you need me to come back?”

“No, Spencer, I just-” you hiccupped and giggled before continuing. “I just missed you so much.”

The silence on the line was suddenly so funny to you, and you giggled again. Feeling hot, you stripped down to your underwear and started talking again.

“I miss cuddling up to you and crawling all over you. You're really soft, you know?” You sighed, hands trailing up and down your stomach lightly.

“Y/N,” he said in a warning tone.

“I miss your face. I'm switching to video call,” you announced and fumbled with your phone.

“No, Y/N, wait-” he said, but pulling the phone away from his ears, he realized his protests were too late to matter as he took in your half-naked form.

Though your face took up the majority of the view on the camera, he could see the soft trim of your lace bra poking into the camera, and the generous push of cleavage your angle facilitated to boot.

Checking around him for people looking, he tucked himself into a corner and scowled back at you.

“Y/N, this isn't a game. Turn the call off and go to bed.”

“But I miss you,” you whined.

“Y/N,” he hissed, eyes falling to your hands where you'd begun massaging your heavy breasts.

“When are you coming home?” You asked, whining again like a petulant child as the alcohol flushed through your system, bringing all of your desires to the forefront.

“Soon,” he said, not trusting himself to say more than a word.

“Good. Because I miss you. Spencer, I- I think I want to have sex with you.”

His eyes shut as he tried to remain calm even as your words rang in his ears from 1000 miles away.

“We'll talk soon, Y/N. Good night,” he closed, finally hanging up and covering his face in his hands. He made his way quickly to his motel room, threw his phone down on his bed, and ignored as best he could his throbbing cock in his pants and the three pictures you'd sent him since he hung up.

He didn't resist for long.

Three nights later, you found yourself at a bar, living life to the fullest. You'd taken back to society like a swan to water, and you weren't letting the stern words of Spencer Reid keep you down. Knocking back another shot, you smiled and cheered with your friends until you felt the eyes on you again. It was different this time, though, hotter, and closer. You turned to look at the door and saw Spencer Reid and the other people who'd saved your life walking to a booth. It was Spencer's eyes on you.

You definitely did not believe in a higher power - how could you, after all - but you did believe that this was fate.

You blew him a kiss as he watched you walk back to your table with another cocktail in hand, letting a man who'd been trying to flirt with you earlier follow you to your friends.

When you went for your next drink, you found him at your side in a heartbeat.

“I'm not checking up on you,” he said, even though he was. “I'm ordering a drink.”

“Two drinks,” you said, shooting him a flirty smile as you pressed yourself against him again, chest to chest.

“You're ordering two drinks, Spencer,” you whispered into his ears as his head dropped down to within an inch of your own. The air felt changed, but you refused to move to close the gap. You'd put in the work the last few times. You needed Spencer to be the one to take the chance this time.

He ordered your drinks, and still you didn't move apart, huddled together as if you were whispering conspiracies to one another.

When your drink was firmly in your hand, he grabbed your wrist and led you to a dark corner of the bar. You sipped your drink quickly, managing two swigs before he took it and placed both drinks down - right beside Penelope Garcia - and dragged you out into the hall.

The bathrooms were empty when he pushed you inside, and your heart throbbed as his hands pushed you into a stall, lifted your legs to wrap around him, and then his lips finally crashed into yours.

Transference or whatever else it was supposed to be, you didn't give one shit in that moment as his tongue coaxed your lips apart.

His hands didn't stay in place for long as he dragged them up and down your body, exploring every part he'd memorized from the pictures. Every curve or inch he'd previously held tenderly, gently, he now raked over with the hunger of arousal, pushing your short skirt up until it was past your hips and his fingers could sink into you instead.

You were soaked before he even had one digit inside you, his thumb rubbing roughly against your clit as you turned to jelly in his hands.

You'd masturbated before, sure, you were a grown woman. But the feeling of someone else's hands, someone else's hest, the knowledge that someone else desired you so badly that they'd drag you into a bar bathroom just to sate their lust? That was new, and it was exciting.

His lips covered yours as your legs shook, silencing every moan, every whimper with his tongue. It was wild, messy, your tongues clashing wildly and messily as your hips rocked violently, trying to reach that high, but also trying to make this last past his fingers.

It wasn't to be though as you shuddered around his three digits, your orgasm ripping through you silently, leaving you wide-eyed and wide mouthed.

“We're done,” he said, gently kissing your cheek as be stood you up, letting you stretch out the soreness in your muscles.

“For now?”

“Forever, Y/N. This was a mistake.”

Your heart hit the ground, and he stomped on it, but the anger filling your gut pushed up and out before he could completely bow out.

“No,” you ground out through gritted teeth.

“Y/N, you aren't in love with me. You feel grateful that I saved you, you feel attracted to me because I'm older and you think I can protect you, and a little part of it is that you've always been attracted to men who are dangerous. You're not in love with me, so-”

“You sound like him.”

Shocked, he paused, and his grip on your hips tightened until his nails were biting into your skin.

“What?”

“You're telling me how to feel, you're telling me what to do. You sound like him.”

“Y/N, that is unfair-”

“Unfair is denying that I'd know how I'm fucking feeling to let you wallow in self sacrifice, Spencer. Unfair is playing the martyr when we can both see that you want this as fucking badly as I do.”

You didn't give him a second longer to react, but grabbed him by the wrist and, making sure your skirt was once again in place, pulled him back out of the bathroom and into the club.

Stopping by Penelope, you put his drink in his hand and grabbed yours, downing it quickly. He followed your actions, taking a sip until you were done and slamming your drink back on the table.

Then you kept him moving, pushing doors open, hailing a cab, and climbing in with him hot on your heels.

You kept your grip on him tight until you'd marched him to his apartment. Releasing him, you flattened your back against his door, letting him slowly unlock the door as you spoke to him again finally.

“Do it, Spencer. Be my first.”

It was like he was a different man walking over that threshold. His hand were on your face, his tongue again fighting yours as you stumbled back into the apartment, crashing into the wall, then the coffee table, and then the couch.

You cursed in anger hitting his closed bedroom door and pushed him away to open it yourself, but his arms wrapped around you from the back and he sucked bruises against your neck as his hands grabbed your breasts and squeezed them.

His cock was rigid in his pants, and your body ached for the unknown, the soon to come pleasure that he was to deliver.

He pushed you down onto the bed quickly, and you rolled yourself over, pulling your own dress off as quickly as possible.

“That's my job,” he moaned, meeting your lips again as his hands fell to your underwear once again.

“You have a long to-do list, Spencer, I'm just helping,” you smirked as he kissed you again, your hands shakily working down each button of his shirt as you acted to tear it off of him.

“We have all night,” he replied, fingers once again rubbing at your bundle of nerves, hips pushing up and into his hands.

“No, Spencer. No, we don't. I need you now.”

His mouth covered yours again as you finally, finally got his shirt off, letting him throw it to the floor as you started working on his belt. Your legs spread as he inched closer, sitting between your thighs comfortably as he waited with bated breath for you to finally touch his cock.

You knew what dicks looked like, you knew what they were supposed to feel like, but you never realised you'd want to touch one so fucking badly until his sprung from his pants.

He took your hand and spit in it before you wrapped your fingers around him and felt the heat of his cock pulsing against you.

He was big, long more than girthy, and you wondered how thousands of years of women had managed to survive coupling if this was the weapon meant to numb them into horny submission.

One stroke, and you were a mess, his fingers hooking into you as you flicked your wrist up and down.

You watched his precum rise and swiped it up in one finger, tasting it as he groaned and started thrusting up, fucking your hand as he scissored his fingers inside of you.

He stretched you out, readying you for his thick cock, and you gladly sat there, letting him use you and ready you all at once.

When you were ready, he wrapped his arms around you again, lifting you onto the bed properly and laying you down softly in the sheets. Kneeling to roll on the condom he'd grabbed from his bedside table, you watched in curiosity as you tried to memorize every movement, every second of him sinking into you.

The tears in your eyes were emotion just as much as pain, your heart hammering in your ears as he whispered praise into your ear, dropping confessions like bombs.

“You're taking me so well, Y/N, that's good…” he moaned, pushing in one inch.

“That's it, Y/N, just a little more. I love you, you can do it,” he said, sinking in two more.

“You feel so good, Y/N, made just for me,” he said as he finally hit your limit.

You knew the stretch wasn't the end, and he rested there for a second, letting you get used to him before you lost patience with him.

“Spencer just, just push through,” you grit out, and he did, snapping his hips up just that.inch or two more and sending that spark of pain through you.

In an instant, his lips were on yours, his fingers on your clit, flooding your nerves with pleasure as all you could think of was the pain.

But when the pain faded, there was still him, and his cock neatly sheathed inside of you.

His hips moved languidly at first, his entire body weight pushing down on you, lazily twisting and writhing as of this were just one of your cuddles on the couch.

You whimpered, and he moved faster, and you learnt quickly that your noises and sighs to him were what his praise was to you - motivation.

You moaned, and he picked up his pace, moving faster as you whimpered a lustful ‘yes’ into his ear.

“Good girl, good girl, Y/N, that's it. Good girl,” he repeated, unable to say more as you whimpered and cried under him, speech lost as he split you in half with his dick.

You grew louder, and his cock buried itself deeper, your moans dragged on longer and he picked up speed.

He whispered that you were his perfect little slut, and you jolted in his arms, cumming on his cock and screaming his name.

He kept pumping into you, careful to make sure the condom stayed in place as he finally bottomed out and let pleasure roll through him again.

Coming down from his high, your tongue pushed into his mouth, and you rolled him over, sitting yp on his dick as he watched.

You rose off his cock, letting him stare in wonder as your own arousal dripped off of your skin, his cock coated in arousal, and spit from his fingers and, yes, a little bit of blood.

You crawled back and peeled off the condom, tying It quickly and discarding it before you tasted his cum quickly.

It was just a soft lick, but it had him declaring his love for you again, and you decided that there were very few things you wouldn't do to hear those words.

As delightful as your lips felt, though, he quickly bundled you up and forced you to the bathroom, turning on the taps in the bath and placing you on the toilet before leaving.

Even now, after everything, he was still taking care of you. Maybe especially now.

You finished, and he came back. More stolen kisses and moans and a bath that turned into more later, and you found yourself bundled into his spare clothes and wrapped in his arms on his couch again.

He clicked play on another episode of Doctor Who (you'd finally reached Donna, and he was excitedly introducing you to the new character), and you finally looked up at him again.

“I love you,” you said again, loudly this time, with no fear.

Though his training told him the response he should give, Spencer just looked down at you again and gave in to his heart.

“I love you, too.”

You fell asleep quickly after that, head resting over his heart, the sound of the steady beats lulling you to sleep.

#cmkinkbingo2024 #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #reiderslibrary #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #mgg #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fandom #cm writing challenge #spencer reid cm #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #dr spencer reid

696 notes · View notes

dante-mightdie · 2 days

Note

please HEAR ME OUT for a third time on the cult!au :

so simon is just relieved that his plan worked out, his wife is no longer talking about the outside, but here's the thing, seeing that gut wrenching scene would do a number on anyone's mind let alone a poor girl who has never seen anything but happiness and joy around her

and simon watches his precious wife drown in grief as days go by, she eats less, talks less, every smile she gives him feels so forced

so he's feeling guilty, understandably, and he stays up all night just praying by his bedside hoping his wife just goes back to the way she used to be before that traumatic experience

and so he decides to make it up to her? he brings her fresh vegetables and fruits from the farms everyday, gives her so many kisses and hugs her every chance he gets, he becomes more touchy and soft, but it does not work. and it's making him go mad

and one night when they're getting ready to go to bed, as she's preparing a bath for him, he just tells her to strip down?

and maybe up to that point sex was good, but nothing special, no emotions were ever involved yk? maybe they only had sex in the dark of their bedroom, and they did it like every other chore their community had made them do, they both got off at the end but they didn't talk at all, maybe a few kisses here and there but as i said before nothing special

and now the room is dimly lit, the water is warm and the steam is brushing over their skins so gently, and he just keeps blurting out stuff like, i'll always protect you, i'll make you happy, i'll give you a beautiful family, and everything is just so new for the poor girl, she's just a moaning panting mess

and for simon too yk? he's never viewed sex as anything but an order price had given to him, and he just felt like it was something to be completed, just knock her up and get it over with, a role he had to play as a follower to carry on price's delicacy, but rn he was enjoying something he wasn't supposed to enjoy, if fulfilling john's order brought him any form of joy, he was doing it wrong, dedication is not supposed to bring enjoyment

but right now, he could not care less

and the thought of price shaming him for being this intimate with someone who almost ran away a few days ago just eats at him but he can't help it, she's so soft and nice and her skin glows from the steam and she smells like flowers and fruits

(ps, as always love your writing, please ignore my request if you want to, BUT THIS AU IS SO GOOD?! and your writing makes it even better 😢🙏)

you gotta stop asking me to hear you out because baby i’m HEARING

also smart decision to stay in anon because otherwise i’d be sliding into your dms for sending me something this FILTHY (pls don’t stop)

c/w: cult!au, mentions of trauma and ptsd, mentions of murder, nsfw, fem!reader, teasing, pinv sex, breeding kink

it was eating him alive day after day. watching your sunken form move around the home that had just gotten used to being filled with warmth and companionship. he was terrified of you or john finding out. especially since there is no good outcome to the truth being brought to light. if you find out your husband was really the creature of the night, mauling those who dare to venture past the compound gates, you would run again

on the other hand, if john found out that simon allowed his curious little wife to wander the outside forest by herself, you’re lucky if one of you makes it out of that alive. so he throws himself into his duties, waking up extra early to complete his mandatory chores so he can be home with you much earlier. all of his efforts going towards the goal of just being able to see your eyes light up for him just once more

he adores the soft gasps you make when he comes up behind you in the kitchen, gripping the ties of your apron and tugging you flush against him whilst you prepare dinner. watches your hand tighten around the handle of the kitchen knife, awaiting his next move, only to relax when he simply ties your apron for you before planting a kiss on the top of your head and a painfully light squeeze to your ass

he enjoys the warmth that builds on your cheeks when he comes home with boxes full of fresh fruits and vegetables that you mentioned you like. mumbling that he got johnny to put some aside for him from the farm before he sent of his produce stock. he can almost feel himself foam at the mouth when you stand on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek with a small ‘thank you’

what he doesn’t enjoy is seeing that sullen look in your eyes every time you pass the compound gate, images flashing in your brain of the terrible thing you saw. he simply puts a hand on the small of your back and guides you away, distracting you with conversation about random things

nor does he enjoy hearing you creep out of bed in the night to go and cry in the bathroom, thinking he can’t hear you. when you crawl back into bed he pretends he’s still asleep, “subconsciously” reaching over and pulling you into his arms. his heart aches a little at the way you curl up into his chest, like you’re trying to hide from everything in the safety of his arms

he’s tried to subtly get some advice from price without getting him too suspicious, asking what he can do as a husband to cheer you up when you feel bad. price tells him you’ll be right as rain once simon knocks you up, you just need something to keep you busy when he’s away. simon frowns but he knows if he wants price to take it seriously then he’d to reveal why you’re so down and he certainly won’t be doing that any time soon

he watches you that night as you walk around the bedroom and attached bathroom, preparing a bath for simon after you’d both had dinner. you didn’t eat a lot, piling your leftovers onto his plate. he’s leaning against the bathroom counter, arms folded across his chest as his eyes follow your form

after you plant some fresh towels on the counter, you turn to leave but he grabs your wrist before you can make it out the doorframe. he watches you with tired eyes, “take your clothes off.”

his command is blunt as he tugs you back into the bathroom, kicking the door closed and beginning to strip off his own clothes and piling them on the floor. you attempt to reach down and clear them up but he stops you with another grab of your wrist, nudging you towards the steaming bath

you climb in, kneeling in the water obediently for him. the same way you normally wait for him on the bed when he tells you to get ready for him. hands clasped firmly on your thighs, sweet eyes looking up at him like a pet awaiting instructions. he dims the lights a little before clambering his large frame into the tub, his thighs spread either side of you and caging you in

you chew on your lip, your eyes flicking down to his lips and chest before focusing back on his own gaze. he beckons you closer with two fingers, grabbing your waist and manhandling you into his lap when you crawl closer between his legs. you squeak when he plants you down, the water sloshing around your waist

your hands grip onto his shoulders for balance, your fingers lightly playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. he tilts his head slightly, letting his hands wander down to rest on your ass so he can ever so slightly grind your hips against his, “pretty thing, aren’t ya? hope our kids look like you…”

his words being a heat to your face that makes you pull your eyes away from his. you don’t see his smirk, nor do you see the way one of his hands disappears under the water to grip his cock and drag it through your folds. you let out a soft gasp when you feel him bump the tip against your clit

he repeats the action a few times, dipping the head of his cock into your hole a couple of times just to hear you whine and squirm about how it’s too big. he pushes in a little further each time but lets his cock slip out of you before he can really give you what you want

“you’re gonna let me knock you up tonight, won’t you, pretty baby? gonna let me give you a few of my brats to take care of?” he asks, grinning when all you can do is pant and whine in response, your hips chasing his each time he slips the tip of his cock back inside of you

“course you will. ‘cos you’re my good girl, ain’tcha? made to be my pretty wife and to carry my kids. gonna give you so many, you’ll lose count.” he growls when you nod your head, loud moans echoing through out the tiled room when he bucks his hips up and bottoms out finally

it doesn’t last long before he pulls out again, leaving you empty and aching. “shush, pretty girl. can’t just give it to ya, can I?” he coos, pressing a soft kiss to your pouty lips

“good girls beg their husbands to breed them.”

#mw2 #cod mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost simon riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #cult!au #gatekeeper!ghost

435 notes · View notes

ellemj · 2 days

Text

Does It Hurt? BONUS CHAPTER: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Sex Pollen Fic

Summary: When you're finally out of HYDRA's clutches, the recovery process drives you and Bucky farther and farther apart. You can't decide if what you felt between you was real or chemically-induced. What will it take to sway you?

Read the first part here.

Warnings: angst, unprotected sex (non-descriptive), profanity, no use of y/n, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Word Count: 12.4k

A/N: The fic is up and only five hours late 🫶🏼

There was a time when Bucky Barnes felt like everything just might turn out okay for him. It was brief, fleeting, but it was a time he remembers well. It was the night he had you on the back of his bike, with his helmet protecting your head and your arms wrapped tightly around him. He may have just pistol-whipped the son of a bitch who was so damn insistent on feeling you up, but he didn’t feel an ounce of guilt over it. He only felt an unfamiliar warmth everywhere that your body made contact with his as he pushed past the speed limit on the highway. Something about it all felt so…good. The two of you were halfway back to the tower when he came to the conclusion that he actually felt normal with you on the back of his bike. He didn’t feel like he was over a hundred years old and stuck in the wrong century. He didn’t feel like he had committed an atrocious number of human rights violations, and all for the wrong side of history. He didn’t even feel like he was an unforgivable, unfixable product of experimentation. He felt like his old self, before the serum was ever introduced into his system, before he lost his arm. He felt like Bucky Barnes with a pretty girl pressed against him, and truth be told, he hated it. He hated the way that this odd feeling that he might be okay, that life could maybe turn out fine for him, seemed to be inexplicably linked to you.

The soft cushion of Dr. Raynor’s office couch molds to Bucky’s shape as he sinks down into the center of it, parting his knees and turning his head to the left to take in the rolling gray clouds outside of the wall of windows. He doesn’t want to be here today. He knows it’ll start raining by the time his session ends, yet he still chose to take his motorcycle out for the half-hour away from the tower. He’ll get stormed right off of the highway, and he doesn’t really give a shit about it.

When Dr. Raynor walks in just a moment later, she can sense Bucky’s foul mood immediately. It makes the air in her office feel stale and stagnant. If she was a more spiritual person, she would probably aggressively sage the space after the session. Dr. Raynor moves to her seat across from the couch and takes in the sight of her client. He sits on the couch, looking almost defeated, with a dark outfit to match his dark aura. Dark boots, dark jeans, and a dark shirt beneath a dark leather jacket.

“The funeral isn’t until Saturday.” Dr. Raynor begins the session, flipping open the notebook on her knee and balancing a pen atop it. Bucky turns his head, looking across the room at her with a raised brow and pursed lips. “Aren’t you dressed for it a little too soon?” He scoffs at the dig, turning his head once more to watch as the first drops of rain begin to fall from the gray sky.

“This is how I always dress.” Bucky argues, but there’s little effort in his tone. He doesn’t really care what she thinks about his wardrobe.

“You’re wearing the leather jacket today. Are you riding your motorcycle in this weather?” Dr. Raynor presses on, still choosing to focus on his clothes. Bucky rolls his eyes before dropping his gaze down to where his hands rest on his thighs. He starts tugging his gloves off one at a time before dropping them on the couch beside him.

“A little rain won’t ruin a ride.” He responds dryly. Dr. Raynor cocks her head to the side at his dismissal.

“I’m starting to think you have a death wish. Do you really think your team wants to attend two funerals in the same month?” Bucky only shrugs at her question, so up the pen goes and she begins scrawling away on the blank page. Bucky scowls, dropping his shoulders and scrunching up his face.

“Really, doc? I thought you stopped doing the passive aggressive thing months ago.”

“And I thought you stopped acting like a pre-pubescent boy who doesn’t know how to talk about his feelings.” Dr. Raynor retorts, letting the pen still in her hand and hover over the page. She wasn’t really writing anything of essence, but the trick always seems to work on Bucky.

“I took the bike because it’s loud.” Bucky explains. He reaches up and runs his flesh hand through his hair, messing it up a bit as a sigh leaves his chest. “It makes it harder to hear my own thoughts.”

“What thoughts are you trying to drown out?” She sets the pen down on the notebook and Bucky’s eyes follow it closely. She watches as he wars within himself, as he tries to decide what things to share and what things to bury. Bucky shakes his head like he’s refusing to answer, but then his eyes land on the pen once more and he decides to speak.

“All of them.” Bucky knows that Dr. Raynor hates when he’s vague, even more than she hates when he doesn’t want to talk at all.

“Give me a few examples of the thoughts you’ve been having today.” As soon as she requests it of him, Bucky’s mind is falling into the dark abyss he’s been trying so hard to crawl out of for the past week. He can see everything when he closes his eyes, hear everything that happened replaying all over again.

“Where is she? Where the hell is she?” Bucky yelled out, pushing against Sam’s chest with both hands hard enough to send him crashing into the stark white wall behind.

“Bucky, you have to calm down.” Sam responded, holding his hands up, refusing to physically engage with the raging super soldier. “I’m not telling you anything when you’re in this state, man. You need to sit down and get your shit together.”

“Let me see her.” Sam had never heard Bucky sound so desperate, so fucking devastated.

“Bucky…”

Dr. Raynor can see straight through him. She knows he’s having a flashback just from the pained look in his eyes and the way his hands keep curling into fists and then uncurling just as fast, repeating the movement over and over. She gives him a few seconds, noting the tension he holds in his jaw.

“James?” Dr. Raynor calls his name softly, leaning forward in her chair a little and waving her hand. He blinks a couple of times before focusing in on her face and letting his muscles relax into the couch.

“I’ve been thinking about the first day in the hospital.” Bucky relents. He starts tracing the golden crevices of his vibranium arm with his flesh index finger, avoiding Dr. Raynor’s gaze.

“What about it?”

“They wouldn’t let me see her.” He shrugs, as if the events of that day are common knowledge. Bucky hasn’t talked to anyone about what happened after HYDRA’s bunker was blown to shit. He awoke in a hospital room almost twelve hours after being pulled from the rubble semi-conscious and heavily sedated. He ripped his IV out, broke the metal IV pole off of the hospital bed, and threatened to take down anyone and everyone who stood in the way of him getting to you. Luckily, Sam never relayed that story to Dr. Raynor.

“That’s what’s on your mind today?” Dr. Raynor is suspicious, as always. With a patient like Bucky, there’s always more to the story that he’s building in his head. He leaves out details like the details are what will crucify him in the end. She watches as he shifts in his seat. Bucky leans forward slowly, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together in front of him as he drops his head down.

“She has some memory loss, it’s hard to know how much when she doesn’t want to talk to anyone.” The doctor said quietly, folding his hands together in front of his white coat as he addressed the group.

“What do you know for sure?” Fury asked, needing something concrete. He came here for a solid update and he was damn sure going to get one. You’d been in this hospital for three days since the HYDRA bunker was destroyed and every update that he got over the phone seemed to have less and less information, so Fury drove himself down here this time.

“She remembers the morning of the day she was taken, she mentioned going to the gym that morning and having a shower after. She said her hair was tangled.” Bucky felt his heart thumping hard against his ribcage, threatening to break free at the doctor’s words. You remembered that morning, the morning you touched his scars. “She’s been able to retain her memory of everything that’s happened since she arrived here, but she doesn’t seem to have any recollection of what happened while she was held captive.”

“That might be a good thing.” Sharon pointed out, earning her a various array of looks from the group. “What? We all know what HYDRA is capable of, it might be for the best that she doesn’t remember it all right now.”

“She’s right. While the amnesia could be the result of a minor brain injury or whatever drugs they were pumping into her system down there, it could also be the result of a sort of psychological protection mechanism.” The doctor explained carefully.

“You’re saying she could be blocking out whatever happened to her because she doesn’t want to remember it?” Sam asked, with worry etched into his features. The doctor nodded slowly, before stealing a look at the only silent one in the group, the super soldier who stood with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes narrowed.

“I hope that’s not the case, but yes, she may not want to remember.”

Dr. Raynor is snapping her fingers this time, dragging Bucky back out of his head and into the present reality. Thunder rumbles in the distance and the wind shifts so the rain starts coming down sideways, pattering against the wall of windows to Bucky’s left.

“You keep zoning out.”

“They wouldn’t let me see her because they were scared that her seeing me might trigger some traumatic memories.” Bucky says suddenly, turning his head to glance out at the brewing storm. “They wanted me to stay away.”

“And that made you feel—”

“Like shit.” Bucky finishes Dr. Raynor’s sentence quickly.

“Understandably so. Have you seen her since the explosion?” She questions, turning her head to gaze out at the gloomy weather as well. Bucky shakes his head, watching as a bolt of lightning flashes across the sky but doesn’t quite reach the ground.

“No.”

“But isn’t she back in the tower now?” Bucky nods, catching Dr. Raynor’s eye for a brief moment. “So, you’re avoiding her?”

“I’m giving her space.”

“Did she ask for that?”

“It seems like the right thing to do.” Bucky shrugs, picking at the seam of his dark jeans.

“The right thing for who? For her? Or for you?” Dr. Raynor narrows her eyes, slowly beginning to understand what’s going on here as she continues on with her line of questioning.

“I don’t know.” Bucky admits gruffly. He knows Dr. Raynor is figuring his shit out and he can’t stand it. He starts pushing up from the couch, coming to stand in front of it as he scoops up his gloves and begins tugging them on.

“We have another forty-five minutes, James.”

“I have to cut this one short, don’t want to get stuck in a flood on the bike.” He says smoothly, his eyes flitting toward the door as he speaks.

“You won’t be able to avoid her on Saturday.”

“I doubt she’ll be going to a funeral for the man who had a hand in drugging her.”

“He was an undercover agent and he played a pretty big role in keeping her safe in that bunker.”

“I know.” Bucky mutters, acknowledging those facts but refusing to let them paint the man in a better light. He may have been a double-agent for SHIELD, but he still let things go too far with HYDRA. He could’ve contacted Fury to send in the rescue team so much sooner than he did, he could’ve spared you the entire final night in that damn concrete bunker, but he chose not to. He chose to give each of you the injections and leave you together to do exactly what HYDRA wanted. He’s as guilty as everyone else that died in that bunker.

You’ve always loved bad weather. You love the way the sun disappears behind rows of thick, dark clouds, the way you can taste the rain in the air long before it ever begins to fall, and especially the way you can feel the vibration of thunder deep in your bones when a storm is really close. Even now, as a storm is rolling in, your inner turmoil can’t compete with the peace that’s washing over you in waves. You relish in it for a moment, that recently unobtainable peace.

“You know, being out here under all of these big trees in weather like this isn’t really a good look. Someone might think you wanted to be struck by lightning.” Sam’s voice is light and playful as he approaches from behind. You wonder just how long he’s been standing around in the woods watching you, because if he had been walking, you would’ve heard the sounds of rustling leaves and snapping twigs. He raps his fist against the trunk of the tree you’ve chosen to lean against for the time being. The bark is digging into the thin fabric of your shirt and probably adding to the bruises you already have underneath, but you remain still.

“I was going to head back in soon.” You assure him, crossing your arms over your chest and letting your eyes roam over the expansive landing strip out ahead of you. Short of breaking onto the roof of the tower and pissing off a very unwelcoming security team, standing out here at the edge of the woods overlooking the landing strip is the best way to observe an incoming storm. Sam moves to stand beside you, crossing his arms over his chest to mirror your position as he gazes out at the gray clouds rolling in. It’s quiet for a moment as he soaks in the view, coming to understand why you like hiding out here from time to time.

“You don’t have to go to the funeral on Saturday, no one expects you to.” Sam says softly, so softly that you wonder if he actually meant to say it out loud. A tired sigh pushes past your lips and you let your eyes flutter closed, resting your head back against the trunk of the tree.

“I know.”

“You could talk to me, you know? I know you haven’t really talked to anyone, and you probably don’t want to, but if you decide that you do, I can be a vault. You could just dump all of your shit on me and I can lock it away.” It’s silent again after he makes his offer, until a loud crack of thunder sounds not too far off in the distance. You turn your head to face him, noting the concern in his eyes at the imminent storm. You know his offer is genuine. He wouldn’t repeat your words to a single living soul, you’re sure of that. And he’s right, you haven’t talked to anyone. What the hell is there to talk about when you barely remember anything? The bits and pieces that you do remember don’t even make much sense. “We should head back to the tower, I don’t trust that thunder.”

You walk side by side in a comfortable silence for the first thirty seconds, until a light drizzle of rain begins to fall on your shoulders. Sam picks up the pace as soon as he feels it, but you noticeably slow down. He’s just a few steps ahead when you start to remember something, the feeling of dust and debris raining down on you from above. You stop entirely now, squeezing your eyes shut as the rain begins to fall a little harder and your shirt starts to soak through. You hear Sam call your name but it sounds so distant as you fall into a lost memory you want so badly to retrieve.

You didn’t feel the blast, you barely even felt the impact of your body slamming against the concrete wall. All you felt was the loss of Bucky behind you. He was there one minute, and the next he wasn’t. Even as the walls and ceiling came crashing down all around you, on top of you, he was the only thought on your mind. You were trapped with one hand outstretched and the other cradling his dog tags in an open palm. Dragging your thumb over the inscription on the tags was the only thing you could do. Over and over again you traced his name, telling yourself that if you were still alive in the rubble, then so was he. So was he.

You’re suddenly aware of the rain pouring down, soaking into your clothes and shoes more and more with each second that you stand still in the woods. Your right hand is pressed against the front of your shirt, feeling the outline of the dog tags hidden underneath. You don’t know when you started wearing them, but ever since you woke up in the hospital, you didn’t feel right taking them off. Sam stands in front of you with widened eyes and his hands on both of your forearms. “You remembered something.” He says incredulously, staring into your eyes with a mix of hope and concern. His eyes dart down to where your hand is pressed against your chest. He can just barely see the glint of a silver chain peeking out around the neck of your shirt, but he focuses his gaze back on your face, not wanting you to know that he knows exactly what hangs around your neck. He was the one that found you in the ruins of that decimated concrete bunker, the first one who saw the light of the early morning sun glinting off of the metal tags.

“I remembered something.” You affirm, nodding your head slowly. Your hair is dripping at this point, and a chill spreads throughout your body as the rain begins coming down in sheets. As you and Sam make your way back to the tower, all you can think about is the feeling that came with the memory. Hope. You wanted Bucky to survive, you needed him to survive. Even as you laid there, unsure if you were going to live or die yourself, he was the one you were thinking about.

Bucky isn’t a very big fan of elevators. He stands in front of one now, watching as the floor number ticks down slowly above the doors. Why the hell did Stark design this tower to be so damn tall? Who really needs this many floors? Bucky’s contemplating taking the stairs when he hears a loud clap of thunder followed by one of the glass doors across the foyer sliding open. He sees you before you see him. Your jeans are thoroughly soaked through, looking a couple of shades darker than they probably were before. Your shirt is wet and clinging to your torso, while your hair looks like you just stepped out of a long shower. Bucky takes in the sight like a punch to the gut. It’s the first time he’s seen you since that night, since he saw you ripped away from him and tossed into a concrete wall.

“I’m not going to make it all the way upstairs like this, I’m cold as shit.” Sam’s voice rings out, just as he’s stepping into the glass door and coming to stand beside you. “I have clothes in the gym, I’m going to go change. Do you want to borrow a shirt?” Bucky’s jaw clenches at the thought of you wearing someone else’s shirt. He wants to look up and see how far the elevator is, to see how much longer he has to stand here feeling like his heart is about to give out, but he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from you. You shake your head and mutter something that Bucky can’t quite make out, but as Sam turns away and heads in the direction of the gym alone, he assumes you told him no.

Bucky. You see him as soon as you turn to head for the elevator, and your hand instinctively moves up to brush over the dog tags beneath your shirt. His eyes track the movement even from across the foyer.

When he realizes you’re still wearing them, he can’t breathe. Bucky can’t fucking breathe because you’re standing there, alive and well, looking at him as you run a thumb over his name, his name that sits right over your fucking heart. Shit. He tears his eyes away from you reluctantly, stealing a glance at the floor counter above the elevator. It’s almost here. He needs to get the fuck out of here now.

It probably wasn’t your smartest move to rush across the foyer the second the elevator doors opened and Bucky started disappearing from your line of sight. You make it just as the doors are mere inches from closing fully, and you thrust your right arm forward, interrupting the sensors and causing the doors to slide open again. Bucky stands straight ahead with his back against the far wall and his hands gripping the railing on either side of his hips. He doesn’t say a word as you step into the elevator, but he holds your gaze with a steely one of his own. You can tell he wishes you hadn’t hijacked his solo elevator ride, but something in you just wouldn’t let it go.

It isn’t until the doors close and you’re turning your back to Bucky to press the button for the main living floor that you realize just how stupid your move was. You don’t have to look down to know that you’ve just ripped a few stitches from a deep cut right above your left hipbone. You can feel the warmth of the blood contrasting with the cold rainwater that’s already soaked into the fabric of your clothes. You’re quick to place your left palm over the wound, applying pressure while concealing the fresh blood from Bucky’s sight. You take in a few shaky breaths, wondering what the hell Bucky’s thinking right now. Does he remember everything that happened down there? Would he relay it all to you if you asked?

Bucky’s biting down on his bottom lip so hard that he questions for a moment if it’s his own blood he smells. It only takes a second, and one swipe of his tongue across his lips, for him to be sure that it’s not. It’s yours, you’re bleeding. You stand a foot in front of him, with your right hand hanging down at your side but your left hand clutching your hip tightly.

“You’re bleeding.” Bucky says matter-of-factly, like he doesn’t much care if you are or aren’t but he wants to make it known that he’s aware. The fact that he’s speaking at all surprises you, considering he seems to have been going out of his way to avoid you ever since you came home from the hospital a few days ago. You stay still, letting your eyes flit up to the floor counter as you continue applying pressure to your hip with one hand.

“I’m fine.” You respond through gritted teeth, suddenly finding yourself a little peeved that Bucky wants to speak up now. Another glance up at the floor counter tells you that you’re nearly halfway to the main living floor. A low chuckle sounds from behind you, sending a shiver down your spine, as if you weren’t cold enough already. Bucky watches with veiled amusement as your shoulders tense up in front of him. Leave her alone. Fuck. How can he just leave you alone? Bucky’s pushing away from the wall within a second, taking one big step forward and closing most of the gap between you. He leaves maybe an inch between his chest and your back, but you sense him behind you and instinctively roll tilt your head to the side as your eyes flutter closed. As soon as you’ve made that little movement, you’re wondering why he has that effect on you. You don’t remember ever doing that before, but as far back as you can remember, he wasn’t ever really very close to you before either. Bucky wants to reach up and push your hair away from your neck, to expose the skin there just so he can lay eyes on it one more time, but he won’t.

“Does it hurt?” The question is tumbling past his lips in a low whisper before he can stop it. That one question is all it takes for your mind to go careening into another forgotten memory. Bucky notices the hand on your bloody hip faltering, so he covers it with his own and applies pressure just like you were doing before. You both stay still like that for a few seconds, with your breaths coming in quicker and quicker as flashes of the past rush through your head. With your eyes closed, you can just barely see the image of your fingertips tracing over the angry scars of his shoulder in a dark room. You squeeze your eyes shut a little tighter and you see your fingertips moving gently down his spine, pressing softly into his warm skin. When you open your eyes again, it’s gone. You’re staring at the closed metal doors of the elevator, almost oblivious to Bucky’s hand over your own on your hip. The elevator slows to a stop and Bucky lets his hand fall away from yours the second the doors start sliding open. He’s gone before you even have a chance to blink. He’s gone and suddenly you’re remembering everything.

With every up and down motion of the bench presses that Bucky’s doing, he’s slipping further and further into a dark place in his mind. You don’t remember. Just a few hours ago in the elevator, he was sure you were remembering something, but when you didn’t speak up, he knew it was just wishful thinking. Does what hurt? Those were the only three words he wanted to hear from you, and god, he might’ve pressed you against the elevator wall and kissed you right there if you’d said them. But you don’t remember.

When Bucky switches over to abusing a punching bag, his eyes roam around the empty gym. He switched to an evening workout schedule the day you were discharged from the hospital, not wanting to risk running into you in the gym or the showers every morning like he used to. Still, even when he’s alone, he only sees you everywhere he looks. He sees flashes of everything you’ve forgotten. When he closes his eyes and lies in bed at night, he can almost feel you next to him. He only laid with you for one fucking night and yet, the feeling of you next to him is somehow engrained in his skin.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to work through something with how hard you’re hitting that bag.” Fury’s voice is unexpected, but not surprising when it reaches Bucky’s ears from across the gym. Bucky stills for a moment, steadying the bag with his hands before glancing over his shoulder. He spots Fury instantly, leaning against the wall by the door, typing away on a phone held firmly in both hands.

“Is watching me workout becoming a hobby of yours?” Bucky asks, turning around fully to face Fury. Fury raises a brow, briefly looking up from his phone screen to make eye contact.

“Don’t tell me you have performance anxiety. I won’t believe it at all after seeing the video footage from the HYDRA bunker that came across my desk this morning.” Bucky’s frozen in place. Sweat begins to bead across his forehead as his mind races. Fury catches sight of his widened eyes and clenched fists and quickly shoves his phone into the pocket of his jacket, pushing away from the wall to approach Bucky. “Relax.”

“She doesn’t remember any of it.” Bucky’s voice is tense and edged with frustration as he watches Fury move slowly across the gym.

“How would you know? You’ve been avoiding her like she has the plague.” Fury points out, crossing his arms over his chest as he comes to a stop in front of Bucky.

“I know. If she remembered, I would know.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

“You think she remembers?” Bucky asks, narrowing his eyes at Fury. They stand only a foot apart now, studying each other carefully.

“I think you should stop sulking around like she’s forgotten who you are entirely.”

“I haven’t been sulking.” Bucky scoffs, turning around to leave. He doesn’t have to stand here and listen to Fury’s cryptic advice.

“You’re singlehandedly the reason it’s been storming almost non-stop since we brought you both home.”

“That’s dramatic.” Bucky calls out as he rounds the corner, exiting the gym and entering the shower room. Fury mumbles something in response, but Bucky doesn’t strain his ears hard enough to pick it up. Bucky spends far too much time in a steamy shower, gnawing on the inside of his cheek and contemplating ripping the tiles from the shower wall as he thinks about the fact that Fury saw the video footage of everything that happened in the bunker. The fact that Fury saw you at your most vulnerable, you with your legs wrapped around Bucky’s waist, only covered by a thin sheet, actually has Bucky wanting to pluck out the one good eye that the man has left. He doesn’t even want to think about what he saw if he watched the footage from the second time you fucked, when the sheet was long forgotten and neither of you gave a shit. Bucky’s possessiveness is flaring as he pulls his flesh hand back, takes a deep breath, and then thrusts is hard against the tiled shower wall. The crack that’s left matches the one he feels deep in his own chest.

You’re pissed. You’re tired of everyone tiptoeing around you. You’re tired of Bucky doing everything he possibly can to stay the hell away from you. You’re also really fucking tired of your trainer taking it easy on you. You circle around the man on the mat, stealing a glance at the digital clock on the wall across the gym. You’ve been sparring for an hour now and the man hasn’t landed one hit on you. It has nothing to do with your skill, which is what has you so angry right now. He hasn’t landed a hit on you because he’s barely tried to, and the poor attempts he’s made wouldn’t have even tickled if they’d made contact.

“Stop going easy on me.” You snap, shooting daggers at the man. He shakes his head.

“I’m not.”

“I feel like I’m fighting a five-year-old.” You retort, rolling your eyes at his denial. Does he even realize he’s pulling all of his punches and practically only defending himself? Normally, your trainer is always on the offensive, dishing out attacks for you to combat. You used to never leave a session with him without at least a few new bruises and a plethora of sore muscles.

“Listen, we’ve been going at this for an hour. You have to be tired, you’ve barely even recovered from everything. Let’s call it a day.” There it is. He’s taking it easy on you because he fears you haven’t recovered. Anger bubbles up inside you as you tug your hair out of its ponytail and stalk away from the ring.

“Yeah, let’s call it. I don’t think I need your services anymore.” You agree, nearing the door to the shower room.

“You’re really going to take yourself off of my schedule because I care about you too much to compromise your recovery?” He asks incredulously, holding his arms out at his sides in a sort of what-the-fuck gesture. You shrug your shoulders as you round the corner, already tugging your shirt over your head.

“Let me know when you actually want to try kicking my ass, until then, I’m off your schedule.” You respond flatly. One of the good things about Bucky avoiding you is that he’s stopped using the gym in the mornings, which means you can strip in the open and spend as much time as you fucking please in the shower, without worrying about anyone judging you for wasting water. As the hot water splashes across your skin, steaming up the air around you and soothing your aching muscles, you find yourself diving right back into the newfound memory you’ve been dissecting for the last two days. Your fingers trace the chain around your neck lightly, following it over your collarbone and down to the metal plates that hang between your breasts. You remember telling Bucky to give them to you. You remember the way he kissed you before placing them around your neck. God, you remember the way it felt when he pushed his tongue past your lips and licked into your mouth like you were a fucking dessert. You don’t really understand how you forgot a kiss like that in the first place, how you forgot a moment like that. And everything that came after? That’s why you’ve been so damn moody for the last two days. The memory of Bucky fucking you not once, but twice, came back in full force that day in the elevator. You couldn’t even respond to his little ‘does it hurt?’ How could you respond when you went from thinking about your fingertips tracing his spine to thinking about how good it felt to sit on his cock? And to think that that’s what happened before he started avoiding you. How. Fucking. Dare. He.

You’ve barely even had time to deal with the trauma of being kidnapped and held hostage because you’ve been dealing with the fact that you had sex with Bucky Barnes and now you can barely even get him to look at you. In this moment, as you run your fingers through your hair and watch the suds wash down the drain at your feet, you think you might actually hate him.

There are a lot of reasons that you decided against going to the funeral for the tall, thin man with brown eyes. The first reason being that he’s associated with some very unpleasant memories. Anytime his face pops up in your mind, you can almost feel the pain caused by that injection he gave you not once, but twice. He gave it to you without hesitation, and with little warning as to what you’d experience once it entered your bloodstream. For that, you resent him. Knowing that the double agent would likely have family and friends there, even SHIELD coworkers who adored him, really solidified your decision not to go. You’d stick out like a sore thumb being the only one who wasn’t torn up over his passing.

So, you stand in the ring with your new sparring coach. He’s a bulky, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and unexpectedly kind eyes. He’s simultaneously the kind of man women would flock to in a busy bar on a Friday night and the kind of man women would be terrified of if they saw him in a parking garage any time after dark. Hopefully, he’s also the kind of man who won’t think twice about throwing you around the ring.

You move in tandem for a while, with him taking one step forward and you taking one step back. When you throw a right hook, he ducks under it with ease. He’s so quick on his feet that you barely manage to land more than three hits on him in the first twenty minutes. But annoyance is blooming in your chest with each passing second, and it has nothing to do with the fact that he’s faster than you. It has everything to do with the fact that he hasn’t even tried to throw a punch.

Bucky can hear the commotion in the gym as soon as he steps off the elevator and he pauses right outside the gym door, straining his ears in an attempt to figure out who’s taking up his new evening slot. Everyone went to the funeral as far as he knows, including you. He hears the sound of feet dancing around the sparring mat, two sets of heavy breathing, and then a single sound that he recognizes above any other. A frustrated moan reaches his ears, and in an instant, he knows who it belongs to. He’s shoving the gym door open and stepping in without thinking, his eyes aiming straight for the sparring ring.

“You let me do that.” You complain, letting go of the man’s arms but continuing to hover over him as you straddle his lower half. The man cocks a brow at you, letting a playful smirk take over his sharp features.

“I wanted to get a feel for your strength.” He responds coolly, patting your left thigh with the palm of his hand. You roll off of him and tighten your ponytail as he rises to his feet once more. Bucky’s watching the moment unfold as he heads for the punching bags in the opposite corner of the room. He doesn’t normally start a workout with a punching bag, but with how tight he’s clenching his fists right now, he might as well. You haven’t caught sight of him yet, as you stand with your back to the rest of the gym.

“Let me get a feel for yours, stop holding back.” You bite back. When you turn around to face the man in the sparring ring once more, you catch sight of the lights glinting off of black and gold in the corner of the gym. Bucky. He stands quietly in front of a punching bag, wrapping his flesh hand in a nude-colored wrap as he prepares for his own workout. He meets your gaze just for a second, for one single fleeting second, before he throws a hard punch into the bag, setting it shaking on its hook.

“I don’t like to dive in full force at the first session with a new client. We can build up to more intense sessions.” The trainer says, drawing your attention away from the brooding super soldier in the corner. You watch as the man runs his fingers through his dark hair and then squares up, expecting you to do the same. You stand still, biting down on your bottom lip as you contemplate his words.

“So, what are we doing here then? You’re just going to keep letting me take you down and I’m supposed to feel like I had a good workout?” You can’t hide the frustration in your tone, it’s beyond evident. Even Bucky can detect it from across the gym as he throws punch after punch at the bag in front of him. He alternates between watching the bag shimmy on its hook and stealing glances in your direction. The man you’re with looks nothing like the trainer he’s used to seeing you with in the mornings. He heard that you fired the guy, but he didn’t really know that it was true until now.

“Yeah, and then in our next session I’ll make things a little harder for you.” The trainer answers, circling you in the ring. You stand still, half hoping he’ll swipe your legs right out from under you if you refuse to engage. But of course, he doesn’t. He moves to stand in front of you and grabs both of your wrists, his eyes temporarily zeroing in on the fading bruises you have there, before he places them out in front of you in a defensive position and let’s go. “You’re in your head too much.” It takes you less than two seconds to have the man laid out flat on his back again, with the wind knocked out of his chest and his cheeks flushing pink.

“Maybe we should give it a rest, and you can come back to kick my ass tomorrow.” You say as you lean over the man and offer him your hand. He grins up at you and pushes your hand away, rolling onto his side before moving to his feet with ease.

“Why do I get the feeling you aren’t actually going to have me come back tomorrow?” The trainer asks lightheartedly, as he reaches for his water bottle near the edge of the mat. You shrug as you lift the hem of your shirt to dab a bit of sweat from your forehead. Bucky catches sight of the bruises decorating your ribcage and the bandage carefully placed over your left hip, just barely peeking out of the waistband of your leggings. His jaw ticks as he lands an overpowered punch against the bag and hears the sound of the chain snapping above. The bag flies across the room, crashing against the wall before crumpling to the floor. For a split second, Bucky’s right back in that bunker, watching your body fly across the room and come to a screeching halt against a concrete wall. You can tell by the way his muscles tense and his gaze never strays from the bag that he’s having a flashback of some sort. Your trainer is already packing up his bag and stepping out of the ring when Bucky snaps his head back in your direction.

“If you promise you won’t take it easy on me, I might call.” You assure him, but your eyes stay fixed on Bucky, who looks like he’d happily send you careening into the wall right beside the punching bag if you keep staring at him. The trainer follows your line of sight, noting Bucky’s presence before turning back to you one last time.

“I can’t promise that.”

Just like that, the man is gone and you’re sorely disappointed to lose yet another trainer who thinks you’re too fragile to handle even one little hit. You’re tugging your hair out of its ponytail and running your hands through your messy hair as Bucky’s walking across the gym to retrieve the busted punching bag that he sent airborne just a moment ago. You can feel his eyes on your back as you bend over and start scooping up your water bottle and phone from the edge of the ring.

“It wouldn’t kill you to take it easy, you’re still covered in bruises.” Bucky’s voice is almost unfamiliar to your ears after the way he’s been avoiding you lately. You pause, your hand hovering just over your phone as his words register in your mind. You straighten up and look over to see Bucky dragging that damn busted bag back to the far corner of the gym, not even sparing you a passing glance.

“I didn’t ask for your advice, and I sure as hell don’t need it.”

“You don’t know what you need. You’re out here begging a guy nearly twice your size to lay hands on you just to convince yourself that you’re fine.” Bucky spits back, dropping the bag at his feet and finally turning around to face you. His eyes are alight with fire, and the intensity of his stare burns against your face. You narrow your eyes at him and cross your arms over your chest.

“I am fine.” You huff, sounding every bit as confident as you’d hoped you would. Bucky hates that you think you can lie to his face and he’ll believe every word. That’s the second time you’ve tried telling him you’re fine, the second time you’ve lied to him. He steps over the punching bag at his feet and takes a few steps closer to the sparring ring.

“Are you? Because the last time I saw you, you tore your stitches just trying to catch the elevator.” He says coldly, letting his eyes dart down toward your left hip. You roll your eyes, and step forward until you’re leaning over the edge of the sparring ring.

“And just like I said then, I’m fine.” You smile at him, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. It isn’t genuine at all. He can see something else written all over your face.

“People who are fine don’t beg to be tossed around the sparring ring.” He points out, taking another step closer to the ring. You tilt your head to the side and bite down lightly on your bottom lip. Bucky’s eyes follow every move you make closely. Biting your lip like that almost feels like a personal attack to him.

“I’m sick of everyone tiptoeing around me like I’ll shatter if I take so much as a deep breath. I can take a few punches, Bucky.” You slip between the ropes around the edge of the ring and carefully lower yourself to the gym floor.

“I’m sure you can, but that doesn’t mean you need to.” His response is reasonable and it frustrates you further. You’re trying to egg him on and he can see it clearly. It’s why he gives you one last up and down look before shaking his head and turning on his heel. He’s tugging the wrap off of his flesh hand and nearing the door when you decide to come back with a response.

“So you can encourage me to take your cock but not a few punches from a trainer?”

He should keep walking. He should be halfway to the elevator right now, leaving you alone in the gym. He should be ignoring your obvious attempt to get him to engage with you, but his entire musculoskeletal system decided to disconnect from his nervous system the moment you said what you just said. You remember. You remember him encouraging you to take his cock. You remember him saying just keep taking my cock as he reached dangerous depths inside you and then praised you immediately after. Heat starts to pool low in your stomach as you realize what you’ve done, as you realize that he knows now. He knows that you remember. Bucky’s demeanor is entirely different when he turns to face you now, the fire behind his eyes burning so bright that you worry the gym might go up in smoke. His next words send a shiver down your spine and a chill coasting over the surface of your skin.

“Get on the mat.”

“Tell me what you remember.” Bucky orders, watching you from across the ring as your chest heaves and sweat drips down your temples. You’re hunched over with your hands resting on your knees as you try to catch your breath. He narrows his eyes at you as you shoot him a menacing glare. “Why are you looking at me like that? Did you want me to go easy on you?”

“You’re fighting dirty.” You accuse, glancing down at your forearms and noting the reddening skin there. He handled you with such a harsh grip that you’re sure you’ll have bruises tomorrow morning. Bucky smirks before crossing the ring in two long strides and tangling a hand in the hair at the back of your head. He tugs upward, forcing you to stand up straight, before tightening his grip and using it to tilt your head to the side.

“Tell me what you remember.” He repeats, letting his eyes settle on the expanse of your neck. Do you remember him kissing, licking, and sucking the skin there? Do you remember the feel of his stubble scratching at it as he worked his mouth over your pulse? The quickening of your breaths as he holds you this way tell him that you do, you fucking remember.

“Why does it matter what I remember?” You ask stubbornly, not yet attempting to break free from his grasp. Bucky lets his hand fall from your hair before shoving your back a little too hard, sending you stumbling into the center of the ring. He circles you like you’re some kind of prey and that only serves to stoke the fire in the pit of your stomach. How is he going to go from avoiding and practically ignoring you for days, to demanding shit from you now?

“Because I want to talk about it.” He sweeps a leg out suddenly, aiming for the backs of your knees but you sidestep and he narrowly misses. You mimic his movements, moving in a slow circle around the ring as you face off.

“You’ve been hiding ever since I was discharged from the hospital, but now you want to talk?” You throw a poorly executed punch that doesn’t even come close to making contact with Bucky’s solid body. He chuckles to himself and starts to formulate a plan in his head. He charges forward and grabs your right wrist before turning you around and hiking it up your back, pulling you against his chest with little to no effort. His scent envelopes you as he holds you there, with his breath tickling your neck and his knee snaking between your thighs.

“Do you remember the first night they gave you that injection? The first night they let me see you?” He asks in a near-whisper, letting his lips graze against the shell of your ear. Your eyes flutter closed as you try to ignore his questions and focus on getting out of his hold. He tugs your twisted arm higher up your back and you feel the threat of injury building in the muscles of your shoulder. “Do you remember what I did for you?” As if he can sense how close your shoulder is to snapping, Bucky drops your arm in an instant, but he isn’t done with you. He sweeps your legs out from under you before you have a chance to recover. You go tumbling backward, but his fingers snag on the fabric of the front of your shirt and he catches you by it, before lowering you the last couple of inches to the mat. You lie on your back, eyeing his vibranium arm as he circles you on the floor. You remember what he did for you. You remember it in flashes, but still, you remember it.

“I remember.” You admit, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth and biting down on it. Bucky scowls down at you before averting his gaze. You don’t miss the way he adjusts the front of his sweats, or the way he clenches and unclenches his fists a couple of times before looking down at you again. When he’s composed himself, he steps closer and offers you a hand. You look at him warily, but place your hand in his. He should’ve seen it coming, but you’re yanking him down on top of you the moment your palms collide and he doesn’t have time to stop you. He lands with one leg between your parted knees and his vibranium hand on the mat beside your head, holding up some of his weight. With your faces only inches apart, neither of you moves at first. Bucky’s studying you closely, trying hard as hell to read the look in your eyes, but he can’t. You skate your right hand over his shoulder, moving down to his vibranium bicep until feel the edge of his shirt sleeve. Hooking your thumb in it, you meet Bucky’s intense stare with a playful one of your own, looking up at him through your lashes. You slide that sleeve up further and further until your fingertips are brushing over his scars. “Does it hurt?” You whisper, tilting your chin up as the question leaves your lips. He’s so close that you could barely move and still, you’d be kissing him. You feel him shudder against your touch before quickly shrugging your hand away.

“Does what hurt?” He asks, moving his hands down to grip your waist before rolling you over. You end up straddling his lower half, but only for a second before he’s shoving you off and scrambling to his feet. As he tangles a hand in your hair again, you’re starting to wonder if he has some kind of kink for it. You’re getting tired of him playing dirty. You’re getting tired of playing this little game at all, honestly. Why is it so important to him that you remember every detail of what happened in that damn bunker?

Bucky brings you up to your feet by the hold he has on your hair, just like he did earlier, but this time, he lets that hand loosen its grip and then glide down the side of your neck before coming to rest right around your throat.

“You look so fucking pretty like this.” He says lowly. The mix of his suggestive tone and burning gaze has that heat in your stomach moving lower and lower until it’s pooling between your legs. “With my hand and my name around your neck.” He whispers the last part, leaning in close to your ear as he adds a little pressure to your throat. You can’t let him win this way, you can’t let him have the last word. So, you raise your right hand to his shoulder and with a few calculated movements of your wrist, his vibranium arm clicks and falls to the floor with a solid thud.

Bucky’s stunned as he lets go of your throat and watches you slip through the ropes around the perimeter of the sparring ring. His eyes dart down to the black and gold arm at his feet and then back over to you as you head for the door, looking so damn content with yourself. He leans down and retrieves the arm, quickly positioning it for reattachment.

“Can’t finish the job without the vibranium arm, can you?” You ask smugly, daring to steal one last look at him over your shoulder as you near the exit. You watch as he reattaches the arm and then rotates it fully in a circle around its socket. Something about the entire process is undeniably hot.

“I finished the job without it the first night that HYDRA gave you the injection, twice.”

You’re frozen in place as the memory floods in again. It’s not in bits and pieces this time, it’s not in flashes. You have a full body experience as you envision your head falling back against Bucky’s shoulder and his flesh fingers dipping between your legs. Two orgasms. He gave you two orgasms without ever lifting a vibranium finger.

Bucky sees the shift in your demeanor. He can tell you’re lost in the memory when you don’t even track him as he tugs off his shirt and drops it on the mat before climbing through the ropes and making his way over to you, closing the distance quickly. By the time you’re coming back to reality, his flesh hand is sliding against the curve of your jaw while his vibranium arm is wrapping around your waist, tugging you into him. He kisses you desperately, and you feel the same fireworks you felt the first time he did it in that damn bunker.

When you kiss him back, he can’t fucking control himself. He’s backing you into the closed door of the gym and tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth before slipping his tongue into your mouth and tasting you. Your lungs are burning for air by the time you realize what the hell you’re doing, and you push your palms flat against his bare chest. He sucks in a deep breath when you part, but it’s not enough, oxygen isn’t enough. You’re the only thing that makes him feel like he’s alive and he fucking needs you. If he could just breathe you in, he’d already be doing it.

“I’ve wanted to knock on your door every single night since you’ve been back here, just to ask if I can lay next to you for even a minute.” Bucky whispers against your lips, gently tracing the outline of your mouth with his thumb as he peers into your eyes. You look up at him through your lashes as you take in the confession. “Why?” You ask, matching the quietness of his tone.

“Because I got a taste of what it feels like and I haven’t been able to sleep since.”

“That’s all you want?” You pry, narrowing your eyes at him and letting your hands wander up to the sides of his ribcage. Something about being so close to him feels right, and yet, you hear alarm bells ringing in your head. You shouldn’t be doing this. You shouldn’t be confusing yourself like this. What happened in the bunker, under the influence of whatever was being pumped into your system, is clouding your judgement. You start to pull away from Bucky, but he refuses to drop the arm he has hooked around your back or the hand on the side of your face.

“I want so much more than that.” He answers thoughtfully as his eyes dart down to your lips. “But that…I could live off of the feeling I get when I lay next to you for the rest of my life.”

“Bucky, don’t say shit like that.” You tense up, grabbing both of his arms in your hands and pushing him away from you cautiously. He lets it happen, but he sure as hell isn’t planning on letting you walk out that door. Taking one step back, he notes that you haven’t actually made a move to leave yet, you’re just making sure he stays at arm’s length.

“You’ll moan my name when I talk dirty to you but you can’t stand when I say something real?”

“Fuck you. That’s not even real that’s just…you just think it’s real because we were under the influence of such a powerful drug. It’s clouding your memory, making you think we had some kind of real connection when we didn’t.”

“I haven’t been able to sleep since the last night I laid in bed with you. That’s real.”

“Okay, but you’ve had issues with insomnia for forever. It makes sense that those issues would flare up after what we went through down there.” You point out, trying to be rational.

“I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since the moment I woke up in that damn hospital. That’s real.” He’s going to keep listing things out to counter your argument until one of you runs out of responses. He isn’t going to let you diminish the connection that you had long before HYDRA stepped into the picture. It was real, it’s still real, and he’s clinging to it like it’s a lifeline.

“You also put all of your energy into avoiding me for the past week. That’s real too, Bucky.” You cross your arms over your chest and lean back against the door, tempted to just throw it open and make a run for your room to get out of this conversation.

“Because I felt guilty.” He finally admits. He breaks eye contact for a moment, turning to the side and reaching up with his flesh hand to massage his temples with his thumb and middle finger. You take the opportunity to run your eyes down his form, taking in his toned torso and flesh arm as he collects himself.

“We talked about that already.” You say softly, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him. “And then…” Bucky looks over at you, waiting for the end of your sentence to come. “And then you let me take advantage of you.” You remind him, not that he needs reminding. His breath hitches in his throat just at the mere fact that you’re the one bringing the memory up. You feel powerful for a fleeting second, so fucking powerful for having a visible effect on a man like Bucky.

“I don’t feel guilty about that part of it anymore, you remedied that.” He assures you, avoiding your gaze. He goes back to massaging his temples like he has a headache and you let your arms fall away from your chest.

“What do you feel guilty about then?” Bucky shakes his head before the question has fully left your mouth, and you’re starting to sense that you might not get an answer. “Bucky, please.” Fuck. He actually groans at the small taste of your begging, and that only gives him another reason to feel guilty. He takes a few abrupt steps away from you and glances at the clock, noting how much time has passed since everyone left for the funeral. People should be getting back to the tower soon.

“HYDRA chose you because of your connection to me.” He’s expecting you to be upset, to blame him forever maybe. How dare he put you in harm’s way? How dare he be the reason that HYDRA snatched you off of the street that night? It’s why your soft chuckle has him whipping his head around to see if it’s really coming from you. That soft chuckle turns into an all-out laugh when you make eye contact with him, and confusion begins spreading across his features. “What the hell did you think I thought? That they chose me because I’m so special and fertile?” You ask, your laugh breaking through every other word. “Bucky, no shit they chose me because I’m connected to you. They knew you wouldn’t have cooperated with just any woman they locked you in a room with.” He’s dumbfounded as he stares at you, truly not understanding how you’re so calm about this.

“You should be pissed at me.” He says lowly, turning back toward the sparring ring and heading back for his shirt.

“I’m pissed at you for avoiding me for days, and pissed that you were one of the ones acting like I was a fragile piece of fine China after I got back here. I’m not pissed at you for HYDRA’s bullshit.”

Bucky continues moving across the gym, and you watch with bated breath as he scoops up his shirt and pulls it over his head. He reaches for your water bottle and phone at the edge of the mats and takes one item in each hand before heading back in your direction, keeping his eyes down.

“Nothing was your fault, Bucky.” You say softly, as he hands you your things. The genuine feeling in your words, in your tone, has Bucky’s heart clenching in his chest. He knows you mean it, that you believe it, but he can’t seem to find it within himself to agree with the statement. When he finally looks into your eyes, you can tell he’s waiting for you to move away from the door so he can leave. “You were the only reason I survived down there. That’s real.”

You can tell your words have struck some kind of nerve inside of him, but you step aside anyway, letting him leave through the gym door without so much as letting out a sigh in response to you. How are you the one who feels like shit after that conversation? After he handed you your ass on the mats and then kissed you out of the fucking blue? Oh, right. You feel like shit because he stood in front of you begging you to see how real your connection is, while you attributed it all to the toxin that HYDRA pumped into you. The man hasn’t been able to sleep since he got a taste of sleeping next to you. When he ruined you for any other man beneath a thin white sheet and the weight of his body, you were inadvertently ruining him for everything. You never once stopped to think about the power you hold over Bucky Barnes, until right now. And now, you feel like shit.

He needs your scent gone. As Bucky stands in the shower in his private bathroom, scrubbing shampoo so deeply into his scalp that even his brain will emanate a scent of cleanliness, all he can think about is the way his skin smells like you. He got way too fucking close to you in the gym. Not only did he get too close, but he went as far as kissing you. What a fucking ass. He’s beating himself up over it as he rinses the last of the shampoo out of his hair and moves on to washing his body.

You just think it’s real because we were under the influence of such a powerful drug. Your words swirl around in his head, making his temples ache and his stomach churn. It’s not real to you at all. It’s clouding your memory, making you think we had some kind of real connection when we didn’t. Fuck. Bucky slams his flesh hand against the shower wall just like he did in the gym showers not long ago, but this time, it doesn’t crack. What the hell was he thinking talking to you like that? What did he expect to accomplish? Did he really think you’d fall into his arms and tell him everything was real and that you wanted him long before HYDRA ever walked into your life and stole you away? Fucking idiot. He cuts the water off abruptly, snatching his towel from where it hangs over the glass shower door. Maybe next time, he’ll punch that. It’d be satisfying to see the thousands of pieces of glass rain down onto the floor.

You’re perched on the foot of the bed, replaying the same words in your own head. You were harsh and you regret it. Though you might’ve convinced yourself that your words ring true, that the HYDRA experiment is clouding both yours and Bucky’s judgement and making you feel a connection where there isn’t one, you didn’t have to rain on his parade in such a villainous way. You glance around the dimly lit room, noting the way it doesn’t look all that much different from yours, aside from the distinct lack of décor and personal items. Bucky’s room is quite monotone and depressing, honestly. Maybe he’d sleep better if he had a soft throw blanket or a white noise machine. When the bathroom door handle starts to turn just a few feet to your right, you stiffen but remain seated on the foot of Bucky’s bed, refusing to chicken out now.

Bucky’s eyes land on your immediately, and that burning feeling takes up residence in his lungs once more. It’s that undeniable feeling that oxygen doesn’t do him a damn bit of good when you’re around. He stops short in the bathroom doorway, holding onto the white towel that’s wrapped loosely around his waist. It dips low enough to show off his v-line and you find it embarrassingly difficult to keep your gaze focused on his narrowed eyes and furrowed brow.

“Your room is across the hall.” Bucky says flatly, cocking his head in the direction of the door to the hall. You nod slowly, taking his soft rejection and choosing to ignore it for now.

“You kept telling me what was real.” You start nervously. Bucky narrows his eyes further and you have to look away from him. His hard gaze is enough to make anyone shake in their damn boots, and you’re not even wearing any. You sit on the foot of his bed in a pair of gray sweats and an oversized t-shirt, avoiding making eye contact, and feeling a bit like a fish out of water. But you’re not going to wimp out, not after busting in here like crazy person and making yourself at home while he was showering. “You kept telling me what was real, and I wasn’t listening.”

“Not listening is kind of one of your things.” Bucky’s tone is still flat and emotionless, though a hint of humor seems to peek through as he taunts you. You nod again, swallowing hard as he crosses his arms over his chest, letting go of the towel. The poor towel is barely hanging onto his hips, and you wonder if Bucky’s even aware that it might slip off at any given moment.

“You’re right.” You admit, stealing another look at his face. His expression is unreadable. “Which is why I thought I’d ask you to show me something real, instead of telling me something real.” Bucky stops breathing altogether as the words fall from your lips.

“What?” He asks, seeking clarification or repetition, he isn’t even sure which. He feels the towel threatening to slip down past his hips, so he grabs the corner of it in his flesh quickly, keeping it in place as he stares you down. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and you shift on the bed, turning to face him head-on.

“Show me something real. Show me that the connection we felt down there wasn’t just adrenaline and chemicals and HYDRA bullshit.” You can feel your cheeks heating up as you lay out the request in front of him. When he stays still in the doorframe, staring at you like you have two heads, you try one last thing to get him to understand you. You grasp the hem of your shirt in both hands and tug it over your head slowly, tossing the piece of fabric onto his bedroom floor. His eyes follow it like he’s afraid it might start a fucking wildfire the second it hits the carpet. But when he looks back at you? When he sees you sitting on the foot of his bed, in a little black bralette that perfectly cups your breasts with his dog tags hanging down the middle of your chest, the wildfire starts inside of him. “Show me something real, Bucky.” You plead, taking one last deep breath before deciding to shut up. The ball is in his court now, and whatever he decides to say or do is completely out of your control.

Your breath hitches in your throat as Bucky’s gaze softens and his eyes flit up to meet yours in what feels like a warm embrace. He takes slow steps toward the bed, never breaking eye contact. When he reaches the foot of the bed, he reaches out with his flesh hand and you lean your cheek against his palm almost instinctively. Even then, you feel it. Connection. It’s like electricity sparking between his skin and yours as he glides his hand down to feel the curve of your jaw. Your eyes are closing at the gentle touch, at the light caress of his thumb over your cheekbone.

“Do you feel that?” His voice is husky as the question swirls around the space between you. He leans down until his lips are brushing against yours, but he doesn’t kiss you. “Just touching you like this is enough to help me sleep at night.”

“Bucky.” You breathe his name out as you relax into his touch, and then he’s kissing you. He’s pressing his lips against yours softly at first, pulling back after two seconds to see how you’ll react, but you’re reaching up and grasping his face in both of your hands. You pull him back in immediately, kissing him like you really believe it’s real. It’s real. He moves over you on the bed, laying you down and pushing his tongue into your mouth while keeping his vibranium hand firmly on his towel. You feel the same fireworks from that first kiss in the bunker, igniting in the pit of your stomach and exploding outward, making your skin tingle and your cheeks flush pink.

“Kissing you like this is enough to make me forget who I used to be.” He whispers against your lips, pressing his forehead against yours before lowering his body down more. You feel his weight settling over you and all you can hear in your head is a repetitive chorus of your own voice saying it’s real. “What more do you need to see that it’s real?”

Bucky drags his thumb along your bottom lip, tugging it down as he looks into your eyes and awaits an answer. Your hands rest lightly on the bare skin of his sides, but as you contemplate his question, your right hand starts shifting. You slide it further down his side until you feel the fabric of his towel near his hip, then you follow the seam around his front until you get to where his vibranium hand is fisting the corner of it.

“I need you.”

Sex with Bucky Barnes is nothing like it was at the hands of HYDRA. With your clothes and his towel long forgotten on his bedroom floor, there’s nothing between the two of you as he shows you just how real your connection is. As he pushes his length into you, pressing his forehead against yours and staring into your widened eyes, you can’t deny it. When he drags his cock right back out at a torturously slow pace, you’ve never quite felt anything like this. It isn’t just the physical aspect of what he’s doing to you, it’s the intimate emotional part as well. He fucks you like…like he loves you. He fucks you like this was all inevitable, whether HYDRA chose you or not, it was always going to end up being you and him.

Bucky’s committing every second of this time with you to memory. He’s storing it away, holding onto it so he’ll never forget. Bucky never wants to forget the moment that he watched you fall in love with him, right in front of his damn eyes.

TAG LIST:

@sunnyhummingbee @gyokujyn @jenniferpendragon @siciliano13 @ordelixx @crist1216 @twlkdead @claireelizabeth85 @charmedbysarge @blackhawkfanatic @kentokaze @eecummingsandgoings @nyashonality @h2oaffirmations @sadeyes61 @aka-tua-braindump @immortalfangirl @valenftcrush @andrometda @sillysillygoose444 @gracescor3 @hellsenthero @mistressmkay @shortnloud @stellarburritos @hazbin-h0etel @mostlymarvelgirl @lesleurs @lillianacristina @frombkjar @witch-lemon @edelweissbarnes @glowstickfluid01 @its-daydreamer23 @sadiechar @hallecarey1 @hhiggs @steeph-aniie @lilipiggytails @ladyvenera @theallknown213 @loki-laufeyson68 @bellatrixskr @observantplum-blog @sydnielauryn @dunningz

#bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #the winter soldier #winter soldier

427 notes · View notes

eomayas · 1 day

Text

distracted • hjs

pairing: husband&dad!joshua, wife&mom!reader, established relationship

genre: smut 18+ MINORS DNI!!!!!!!!! fluff, parent au, non-idol au

synopsis: reader is literally just feral for joshua

warnings: pwp, p in v, oral (m receiving), riding, praise, dirty talk, soft!dom!josh, breeding, josh calls reader a ‘slut’ (lovingly) once, reader & josh are parents, reader losing her mind over josh mainly. JOSHUA ARMS. unedited ;)))

a/n: i’ve experienced extreme joshua brainrot lately then did an extreme deep dive of jarms (joshua arms) until 2 in the morning. i am unwell and need him like a fish needs water

joshua pushes the shopping cart that holds groceries, and your daughter in the front of the basket, down the aisle. you trail a step or two behind them, mind a bit foggy and… distracted. you don’t know what it is, he’s just wearing a plain, white tshirt and blue jeans—he’s worn it before—and you’re running errands together like you always do. but today is different, and you can’t seem to comprehend a single thing going on around you, or really look at your husband without feeling mild insanity.

first, you’d wandered into the store in a daze, forgetting that joshua was grabbing the shopping cart with your daughter, after having sat in the front seat watching him drive for twenty minutes. his hand sat steady at ten and two, ever the safe driver when your daughter was present, though at stop lights he would sometimes grab your hand or settle his palm on your leg. you felt lost since the morning, woke up with your mind cloudy and your brain foggy just at the mere sight of him.

then, you couldn’t remember a single thing on your grocery list. in your clouded state, you must’ve forgotten the list in the kitchen; it wasn’t a big deal, except for the fact that you literally couldn’t think about a single thing that you needed to buy, and you are usually the one leading the pack around the store. so the three of you have been wandering around the grocery store for longer than you want to be, circling back to the same aisles you’ve already been on because you can’t remember what it is you need to buy.

now you’re back in the dairy aisle, unsure of why you’re back because youve already grabbed milk and cream cheese, so you’re just standing in front of the cold, double doors without a single thought in your head. “yogurt, maybe?” joshua tries, pausing his conversation with your child to help you out. you blink once, twice before mumbling out a ‘right’ and pulling the doors open and grabbing a container.

“mommy, that’s not the right one!” your daughter whines when you drop it in the basket. she’s frowning at you, eyebrows crinkled the same way joshua’s do. god. you make the mistake of looking up at him, and your entire body flushes you meet his gaze. his eyes are soft but questioning, asking if you if you’re alright without actually saying it. no, i’m not, you think to yourself, discreetly sweeping your hand up your neck to check your pulse. it’s fast, and you’re definitely still alive.

joshua watches you with mild concern; he’s noticed your strange, avoidant behavior since this morning when he got back from the gym. you had looked almost surprised when he walked into your bedroom, like you weren’t expecting him back. your eyes widened, and your lips parted like you were going to say something but nothing came out. he beat you to words, anyway, giving you a soft ‘good morning’ that made you blush—he’d ignored it because you seemed… off—and kissed you on the lips. he thought he really smelled with the way you rushed your lips off of his and rolled out of bed, nearly tripping over your own feet. joshua grabbed you so you wouldn’t fall, and he felt you tense in his hold, a frown etching on his features. he brushed it off and asked if you wanted to shower with him, expecting a ‘yes’ from the look that flashed through your eyes, but you instead mumbled something about having to make breakfast before hurrying out of the bedroom all together. you basically avoided him all day since then, never really looking at him or talking to him directly—none of which you do on a constant basis.

the yogurt was, in fact, incorrect down to the brand and flavor. “i’m sorry, baby,” you say to your daughter, running a hand over her hair before grabbing the yogurt to swap it out for the correct one, this time taking a few seconds to scan everything in the fridge. you appreciate the cold air from the refrigerator, as it cools you down from the rush of heat you feel along your face and neck. you take a breath and tell yourself to get a fucking grip before dropping the correct item into the cart.

“daddy, can i get ice cream?” your daughter asks joshua as you start ambling through the grocery store. you cut your eyes at your daughter for not asking you, but you know it’s because joshua never says no to her.

“of course, princess,” and you watch with pure adoration as he places a kiss on her forehead and she just giggles, scrunching her shoulders up to her ears. joshua is a good husband, but he’s an even better father, and you love watching him interact with your daughter. they have a special connection that you love to witness, a secret language just between the two of them. it’s moment like this where you want another kid—or maybe it’s part of the hazy mess you’re in because of his sheer existence.

you follow behind joshua towards the ice cream aisle. the shirt he wears is tight on him, straining against his biceps and shoulders. you can make out his back muscles depending on how the light hits the fabric, and you feel even crazier than before. his muscles have been the source of your you distracted state today. joshua has always been muscular, and he’s always worked out, but something about him recently has flipped a switch in your brain that has made you feel absolutely feral every time you catch a mere glimpse of his arms—which is quite literally every day. this morning it was too overwhelming, him coming home and shedding his jacket to reveal himself in a simple black tank top that looked a size too small, and gray sweats that made you feel like you needed to go to confessional.

another rush of cold air pulls you out of your lustful daze and you stand at the back of the shopping cart as joshua shuffles through the cartons of ice cream, asking your daughter her input. you try to keep your eyes focused on your daughter, anything else, but cant help when they drift over to your husband, his arms flexing each time he grabs a pint and displays it to your daughter. joshua casts a glance at you, a smile that says can you believe this? when you daughter shakes her head for the fourth time, despite not asking to look for herself. you blush under his gaze, heat spreading down your neck and chest before settling in your stomach.

"i thought you liked the oreo one?" you say to your daughter, voice slightly hoarse. you smooth a hand over her hair to give yourself something to do, hands a little clammy from all of your nerves working overtime.

"i do..." she trails off, turning to look at you with a tiny pout on her lips.

"tell daddy before he freezes," you say, placing a soft kiss on her cheek. just the mere reference to joshua feels heavy in your mouth, makes your stomach flutter for reasons you can't really explain.

joshua places the pint of oreo ice cream into the cart, circling around to the front and playfully ticking your daughter under her chin. she giggles loudly and you smile as you watch her become a spitting image of her father. arms cage you between the carts handlebar and a firm chest, and suddenly your eyes are no longer on your kid but on the strong, veiny forearms that belong to your husband. “excuse me,” he murmurs, a teasing lilt to his voice like he knows that you’re losing your mind at the simple sight of him.

wordlessly, you gently grab his right arm to remove yourself from his entrapment. “hey,” joshua says softly, reaching out for your wrist as you move swiftly to get away from him. turning, goosebumps arise on your skin, and you tell yourself that it’s because his hands are ice cold. “you okay, honey?” your stomach flips and you press your lips into a small smile, nodding.

joshua stares at you for a beat before leaning down a few inches, silently begging for a kiss. you nearly combust at the thought, not trustworthy of yourself to behave normally in public. but his eyes are fond, and you love him so much and want him so bad that you raise up on your toes and brace yourself on his shoulders before delivering a soft, quick peck to his lips. you’re proud of yourself for holding back, but joshua isn’t satisfied because he stays leaned over in the spot you kissed him in for a few seconds after the fact that you’ve pulled away. if you were at home, he’d yank you back to him but because you’re in public he files that grievance away and straightens up.

“i want a kiss,” your daughter pouts, cutely crossing her arms over her chest. since she doesn’t specify from whom, both of you lean in and press kisses to her cheeks. her giggle ripples through you, filling your stomach with butterflies and your chest with a type of love reserved only for her. you’re momentarily pulled away from your joshua shaped daze, until his hand is settling on your lower back. it chilling, his touch, and it’s not because his hands are ice cold from standing in the grocery store freezer for two minutes.

a shiver runs up your spine and you slip out of his grasp, not paying attention to where or what you’re walking into until joshua is pulling you back into him, his hand splayed across your stomach and your back colliding with his chest. “babe, watch out,” a woman pushing a cart stops short, a look of remorse on her face.

“oh my god, did i hit you?” she asks, and you figure you must look injured or something, because she looks genuinely concerned for your wellbeing. the flush on your face is not due to the fact that you were almost ran over, but because joshua hasn’t moved his hand from your stomach and hasn’t put any distance between your back and his front. he stays pressed against you, holding you firmly in front of him, his hold tightening ever so slightly.

“n-no, i’m alright,” you manage, lips tingling. “i swear.” you add when her eyebrows don’t drop from her hairline. at that, she seems to believe you enough snd offers you a smile and a curt nod before hurrying down the aisle.

“are you alright, honey? you’re trembling,” joshua says, his deep voice like melted wax running down your back. you make the mistake of looking up and over your shoulder at him, his palm pressing into your lower belly.

he peers down at you with soft eyes, ready to question you again until your tongue darts out to wet your lips before you tuck your bottom lip under your top one and nod. he knows the look in your eyes all too well—hunger, but not for food—and heat pools in his chest. joshua is much better at hiding his desire for you, especially in public and in front of your child, and he’s able to keep his expression the same, pretending he never saw that look in your eye. “i’m fine,” you’re shuffling away from him again, this time checking to make sure you’re not seconds away from being ran over with a shopping cart.

somehow, you three mange to finish your shopping trip without anymore mishaps. it requires circling back to the same aisles more than once because neither you nor josh can remember what you wanted to buy, but at least you can say you’re done. joshua loads the groceries into the trunk while you buckle your daughter into the backseat. she yawns, stretching her little arms up and out. “sleepy?” you ask her, a small smile on your face.

“no,” she says, vehemently shaking her head. you chuckle hum a sound of disbelief before dropping a kiss on her forehead and going to the front seat. the trunk closes and you suck in a breath as you watch him in the rearview mirror. he brushes his hand through his hair, and even through the mirror and the tint of the trunk window, you can make out his bicep muscle flexing with the motion.

it’s nearly pathetic how horny you feel just looking at him—like an overgrown teenager who just got into their first relationship. except you’re an adult, married to this man, and this behavior is no longer considered ‘cute’.

joshua gets into the front seat and smiles at you, leaning over the console to give you a kiss. his hand rests on the side of your neck, and you wonder if he’s trying to check your pulse, to mess with you. you keep your hands to yourself, because if you touch him, you might never stop.

pulling back from your mouth, he looks into your eyes before flicking them back down to your lips. joshua starts to lean in but seems to remember you’re not alone, and sits back in his seat, his hand lingering on your neck for a moment before he starts the car and asks your daughter if she’s ready to go.

the car ride is quiet, save for your daughters yawns and insistence that she is not tired. she makes most of the noise, talking about random things that you and joshua entertain with ease. he watches her in the review mirror with real, unconditional love in his eyes. it does nothing to help your situation, and just makes you want to give him another baby.

when you arrive back at your house, you quickly get out of the car, grateful to get out of the stuffy, suffocating feeling of being in the front seat. you walk around the back and help your daughter out, ready to carry her inside until she exclaims, “i want to help!”

you ser her down on the ground and she runs over to joshua. you watch him give her two of the lighter bags of groceries, and raises her arms to show you, a big smile on her face. you smile back and press in the garage code and tell her to go inside of the house, seemingly leaving you and joshua alone. you sidle up next to him, and joshua lightly bumps his hip into yours. “hmm?” you question without looking up from the numerous bags in the back of the car.

“why are you avoiding me?” he asks, and the directness makes your hands clam up.

“i’m not avoiding you,” you say, taking a few grocery bags and backing up from him.

“you quite literally are.”

you stare up at him, his eyebrows knitted together in slight irritation. “i still love you, if that’s what you’re asking,” you clarify. his features soften and his shoulders relax a bit. those shoulders. your eyes drifts down his figure, lingering on his flexed forearms, veins bulging out from the tension of carrying the grocery bags.

joshua watches you obviously ogle and check him out, his entire figure relaxing at his realization. “oh, i get it now,” he teases, a slow smirk sliding across his lips.

“get what?” you play dumb, taking a tentative step backwards before turning around and trying to keep your walk casual as you walk through the garage. it’s so obvious you’re trying to keep space between the two of you, putting anything in the way to keep you off of him.

“that you wan-“ joshua cuts himself off because you push open the door that leads you into the house. he clears his throat and closes the garage door before following behind you into the kitchen. your daughter is standing on her tippy toes trying to reach a cupboard that’s way to high for her, concentration etched on her face. “need help, bub?” he asks, setting his bags down on the counter.

“i can’t reach,” she whines, yawning immediately after. joshua lifts her up into his arms and opens the cupboard for her abd allows her to put the item away. “i’m tired, daddy.” she rests her head on his shoulder, tiny arms encircling around his neck.

you watch them and you feel your heart grow three times in size, like the grinch. joshua coos at her and pats her head before agreeing to put her down for a nap. you busy yourself with unloading the groceries, stomach flipping at the thought of having at least an hour alone with your husband. you can’t believe how depraved you feel.

joshua comes back downstairs a few minutes later, right when you’re putting the last thing into the fridge. “you finished?” he asks. you nod, heart hammering in your chest as he walks over to you. his hands drop onto your hips, pulling you flush against him. you keep your eyes straight ahead, leveled wirh his chest, and joshua dips his head down to meet your eyes. “see: you’re avoiding me.”

hear creeps up your neck and you shake your head. “i’m not.”

“don’t try to gaslight me,” he teases, making you roll your eyes and finally look up at him. “there she is.” he murmurs, leaning down a few centimeters to connect your lips. your hands flatten against his chest, and he walks your backwards into one of the kitchen counters. joshua leans over you, trying to press you flat against the surface despite the lack of space.

“shua,” you breathe once you pull away when he unbuttons your jeans.

“what, you’ve got somewhere better to be?” he asks, arching one of his eyebrows.

“i… i have to do laundry…” you say halfheartedly. joshua laughs at this, dropping his forehead against yours. “i’m serious!” you say, but you’re smiling too. “i want to go back to avoiding you.”

joshua pulls back to look down at you, making a face that says for what? “i thought you wanted me to fuck you?”

“yeah, i’m afraid nothing will keep me off of you if we start,” you say honestly. joshua blushes deeply, a boyish grin on his face. “i want you so bad—i think i might be ovulating? i don’t know. i just want you so. bad.” you punctuate the last part with the press of your knuckles into his chest.

“you’re ovulating?” it’s like bells went off in his head.

“maybe, i don’t know. i don’t keep track of that shit. i just need an explanation for how i feel,” you say, hands sliding along his chest absentmindedly.

joshua raises both of his eyebrows at you, fake shock on his face. “maybe because you have a super hot and sexy husband who is also a really good father? just a hunch.”

“no, i don’t think that’s it,” he rolls his eyes at you and you giggle, balling his shirt up into your fists and pulling him down to you. joshua grips onto the counter to steady himself, his hold tight enough to turn his knuckles white. he presses his pelvis into yours, his his erection pressing against your leg.

joshua wraps an arm around you and splays his hand across the small of your back. he presses you down onto the counter and you grip his shoulders tightly, craning your mouth away from his to breathe out, “not here.” he pulls you up from the counter and looks down at you, his chest moving up and down quickly. you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he thinks about a place to fuck you that won’t bring attention to the two of you. “laund-ah!” he swoops you up into his arms easily, already carrying you in the direction of your laundry room before you can even get the entire word out.

you wrap your legs around his waist as you buzz with need and anticipation. you let yourself revel at being carried by him after lusting over his arms all day. he carries you like you’re weightless, with his his hands resting under your ass for support. “god,” you whisper to yourself, pressing a kiss into his neck.

“i love you,” he rasps as he enters the laundry room. he shuts and locks the door behind him before dropping you onto the washing machine. his hands are flying to undo the buttons of your blouse and you pull him closer using your ankles that are still wrapped around him.

“love you more,” you murmur, helping him with removing your top. “your turn.” your urge, pulling the hem of his shirt.

“sure you can handle it?” he teases. you flush and lightly push at his abdomen. “don’t wanna make you pass out or anything.” he smirks at you, loving to watch you squirm.

“i can handle it,” you say, feeling so embarrassed to even be in this position. luckily, joshua is sweet to you above all and draws you in for a kiss. you skate your hands up underneath his shirt, nails lightly scratching against his torso. “take it off.” you mumble against his lips, hands pushing up the material of his shirt. you feel like you could rip him out of the fabric.

joshua pulls back and makes an entire show of getting undressed. he runs a hand through his hair and purposefully flexes his bicep as he does so. if this was any other time, you’d roll your eyes and call him annoying. but today, all you can do is watch and try not to drool.

he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it into an empty laundry basket nearby. you waste no time leaning forward and pulling him into a kiss, threading your fingers through his hair. you move to kiss his jaw and then his neck, your hands sliding down his body. you kiss across his chest, going lower until the position becomes uncomfortable. lightly shoving him, you hop off of the washing machine and drop to your knees in front of him.

joshua watches you with dark eyes, holding onto the edge of the machine. you fumble with his belt, hands shaking with anticipation of finally having him, and he makes no effort to help you out. your hands work too fast, and you mess up when you try to pull the buckle open for the second time. “i’ve got all day,” he say smugly. you ignore him, and finally pull his belt free. you work his pants down to his ankles, leaving. him in just his briefs. you let out a breath and look up at him with pure lust. “as pretty as you look right now, you’d look much better with my cock in your mouth.”

quickly, you pull his underwear down and let them pool together with his pants, hands flying to grab ahold of his member. you pump him a few times, flicking your eyes to look up at him. joshua gives you a slight nod, signaling you to start sucking, and you eagerly oblige. sticking your tongue out, you lick up the precum that dribbles out of the tip before you wrap your lips around the head and push him into your mouth, cheeks hollowing as you go. a groan escapes joshua’s mouth and he gathers your hair into a makeshift ponytail.

you drag him into your mouth inch by inch, your eyes never once leaving his. his chest heaves up and down, moving faster and faster the closer you get to taking him all the way. tears prick in your eyes when he hits the back of your throat, but you keep going until your nose nearly presses into his hips. “shit,” he whispers, leaning more of his weight into the washing machine.

you bob your head up and down, pulling back and stroking what doesn’t fit. you swirl your tongue around the tip, cheeks hollowing to create more suction when you suck on the tip. joshua moans lowly above you and tells you how good you’re doing. his eyes flutter shut, squeezed shut in pleasure and his chin drops down to his mouth. you want his eyes on you, want him to watch you as you make him feel good, so you purposefully scrape your teach against his dick to get his attention.

his eyes fly open as he jerks back from you, glaring at you when you smile around him. “brat,” he spits and tightens his grip on your hair. you sigh through your nose and press your thighs together, cunt throbbing with need. you keep bobbing your head, speeding up slightly and taking more of him into your mouth. when joshua presses your head down, you relax your throat and let him take control, hands moving to hold onto his thighs. “good girl.” he grunts, holding your head down on his dick for a few seconds until you gag, and then he pulls you off of him.

he does this a few more times, his cock twitching against your tongue. tears gather in your eyes but you power through, determined to make him cum. he pulls you down onto him, cursing each time he hits the back of your throat. “fuck, you take me so well. i’m c-close,” tears slip down your cheeks and mix in with the spit and cum. your face is a mess, but neither of you care.

joshua fucks his cock into your mouth, holding your head steady in his hands. you dig your nails his thighs to combat the ache in your jaw. he thrusts into your mouth until he can’t take the feeling of your warm mouth around him anymore, his cum shooting into the back of your throat. you keep your mouth open to catch all of his seed, some of it gathering around the corner of your lips. “s-swallow,” he demands when he pulls his cock away from your mouth.

you obediently swallow, and he whines in the back of his throat. “goddamn, i love you,” he holds his hands out to you and helps you up onto his feet. he wipes the corners of you lips with his thumb and shoves it into your mouth, lips parting when you suck on his thumb like you just did his cock. “youre such a slut.” he murmurs, a loving gaze in his eyes.

a trail of saliva connects your lips to his thumb when you pull it out of your mouth. “promise?” you ask.

joshua smiles and pulls you into a kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth. his hands make use of unbuttoning your jeans and shoving his hands down your pants. your panties are damp, and he’s a bit shocked and honored that you’re this wet for him. “i need you,” you whine, peppering kisses down his neck. you don’t even want his fingers, just want him inside of you.

“i know,” he rasps, slipping a finger between your folds. you shudder when he touches you, his finger playing with your arousal and brushing over your clit, just to make you jump. you clench around nothing, and it’s nearly painful how turned on you are.

“joshua!” you whine, nipping at his neck. his hand immediately grabs onto your hair and yanks, a hiss emitting from your lips followed by a smirk.

“needy brat,” he grumbles, walking the two of you over to the work bench in the room. he drops onto it and spreads his legs invitingly. you quickly step out of your jeans and underwear, his eyes roaming over your body. “you’re a beautiful, y/n.”joshua says sincerely; at the end of the day, he is simply a lover boy.

you smile at him and quickly drop yourself onto his lap, straddling him and wrapping your arms around his neck. you reach between the two of you and position yourself over his cock. his hands grip onto your hips tightly and guide you down onto him, bottom lip drawing in between his teeth.

“ah-fuck!” you cry when you sink onto the tip, the initial stretch rippling through you.

“you’ve got it, baby,” he encourages, thumbs rubbing sift circles into your hips. you bite down on your bottom lip, hands gripping tightly onto his shoulders as you sink lower and lower onto him. “goddamn, girl.” he grunts, hips bucking when you clench around him.

when you manage to take all of him, you sit still and catch your breath, head resting on his shoulder. joshua unhooks your bra and you lean back to slide it off your arms. “you okay?” he asks, hands groping your chest.

“uh huh,” you rasp, taking it as a sign to start fuckign him, licking your lips and raising your hips before dropping onto his lap. “fuck, shua.” whimpers leave you lips as you fuck yourself onto him, using his shoulders as leverage to move yourself up and down. joshua relaxes into the wall, his grip on your hips loosening as you gain momentum and find a rhythm.

“you’re so tight,” he groans, one of his thumbs finding your clit and rubbing slow circles around the sensitive nub. “been thinking about fucking you all day.” joshua sighs and rubs your clit quicker, eyes peering up to watch your facial expressions. “you need me as bad as i needed you?” he mumbles, voice low and husky.

“more,” you pant, still bouncing up and down on him. your cunt clamps around him like it’s trying to keep him there. “shuaaa!” you whine, thighs burning. you sit on his lap, rolling your hips into his.

he chuckles breathlessly, rolling his other thumb over one of your nipples. “yeah? tell me,” he grins at you devilishly, this side of him only coming out in your intimate moments.

“so bad,” you cry, grinding down onto his lap. “w-wanna give you a-another baby.” you squeeze around him involuntarily, a knot forming in your stomach. joshua twitches inside of you at the mention of having another child.

“yeah? want me to fill you up?” you whimper and nod, legs starting to shake. “want me to fuck you full of my cum until you’re pregnant again?” he lets go of you breast to place both hands underneath your ass. he lifts you up and drops you down, a show of his strength as he fucks you up an down onto him.

joshua grumbles filthy things into your ear; tells you that he’s gonna fuck you until you can’t walk, that he’s gonna stuff you full, that’s he’s going to give you another baby tonight. “f-fuck! i-im gonna cum,” you cry, throwing your head back in pleasure. he bucks his hips up into you, hitting that spongy spot inside of you repeatedly.

spots blur your vision and your cunt spasms around him as you reach your climax. it hits you like a thousand bricks, and you’re shaking in his arm and crying out his name. you expect him to stop, but he keeps thrusting up into you, drawing out your orgasm further. you can hardly think through the waves of pleasure, which is why you hardly register that he’s lifted you up until you’re placed on a cold surface.

joshua drags you to the edge of the washing machine and slams his cock into you, nearly knocking the wind out of you. “o-oh my god,” you gasp, tears brimming in your eyes for the second time tonight. “you feel so good!”

he drives his hips into you brutally, his fingers digging into the fat of your thighs. “f-fuck, i’m not gonna last,” he groans, dropping his head into your neck. he kisses your skin and lightly bites, though not hard enough to leave marks. you cling to him, arms secured around his shoulders like you may fall if you dont hold on.

his thrusts get sloppier by the second, indicative of his nearing climax. “i love you,” you breathe, nails clawing at his back. he grunts, whining out curses as he cums inside of you, his dick twitching between your walls. he stills, fingers applying bruising pressure to your hips.

after a few moments, he lifts his head from your shoulder and looks at you, a tender smile on his face. he presses his lips to your gently, sighing against you as he goes soft. “shit,” he pants, followed by a light chuckle.

you can’t help but giggle back, running a hand through his hair. he doesn’t want to pull out, not yet at least, wanting to make sure his cum stays inside of you as long as possible. he lets go of your thighs and wraps his arms around you, squeezing you into his chest. you kiss the column of his throat, right on his adam’s apple and rubs soft circles into your back.

“we should clean up,” he murmurs, starting to draw back from you. you make a sound of disagreement and squeeze around him on purpose. “b-brat.” he stammers, curling away from you.

he pulls out of you with a lewd squelch, both of you turning light shades of pink at the noise. he helps you off of the washer and you lean against it. he finds a random towel and comes back to wipe between your legs before cleaning himself off and tossing it in the same basket he threw his shirt in. “i guess i could start a load,” you say, looking at all of the discarded clothes, making joshua laugh.

he helps you gather them up and drop them into the washer. you add in the detergent and slam the top closed. except, when you go to start the washer, joshua places a hand on your back and presses you flat against the washer and slots his knee between your legs to spread them open. you don’t get a chance to prepare yourself because he’s pushing into you again, a strong arm wrapping around your middle to hold you steady as he fucks into you from behind, determined to get you pregnant tonight.

#svt smut #svt imagines #seventeen x reader #svt x you #svt x reader #seventeen x you #seventeen smut #joshua x reader #joshua fluff #joshua smut #hong jisoo #hong jisoo x reader #hong jisoo smut #hong jisoo fluff #svt fluff #seventeen fluff #svt scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios

365 notes · View notes

savanir · 20 hours

Text

DP x DC prompt [3]

during one of the final psych evals at Arkham right before he gets to be released, the whole thing wrapped up so tidy, just a little relapse which involved a robbery. Getting sent back to Arkham, but he got to stay at the asylum so long that he no longer has to serve a prison sentence, score!

But during that eval his overseeing psychiatrist recommended him to have a change of scenery, some fresh non polluted air.

Riddler was rather convinced the guy was making this recommendation to everyone in Arkham in their own weird way to convince them to just leave Gotham and become someone else's problem. should he notify Batman about it somehow? nah, it’ll be more interesting to see how this is gonna turn out in the long run.

But can he leave the state? Can he even leave the city? he never really bothered to look into it, at least not legally, up until now if he felt he needed to leave for one of his plans he just did it.

Turns out he can, it’s a whole hassle and a half though, first a judge and then a probation officer and he’s pretty sure both were like “what the hell is this psychiatrist guy thinking!?” but at the same time, shrink probably knows what he’s doing (WRONG) so he’s allowed to go visit out of state family or whatever.

he had to wear this nice ankle monitor though, Wayne Enterprises™ tech, not overly bulky but still very present. real fancy, and a fun extra challenge heh.

now as for a good reason to leave New Jersey he’s going to need distant relatives, and he finds some, great grandpa walker also has a son, who had a son who had a daughter Madeline, who married some guy Jack Fenton, and she lives somewhere out in the boonies Illinois. great he’ll visit her.

far enough away in all sense of the word that there is no way she knows anything about him. it would be best to call her first though, be polite about it.

“hello, you have reached Fenton works, this is Maddie speaking”

“Riddle me this-” ah whoops, habit, oh whatever, “we don’t share parents, but certainly a part of your life, from laughter to strife. Who am I?”

there is a pause … he’s going to be a bit disappointed if she hangs up if he’s honest.

“cousins~” comes the cheery reply.

“correct! the name is Edward Nygma, we are distantly related you and I and well-”

“oh you simply must come visit!”

well this was rather easy, perhaps a little too easy, but she lives in the midwest so maybe just going with whatever some guy says over the phone is normal there? stranger danger not really a thing in a small town where everyone knows everyone?

things start to make a little more sense once he gets there and he’s starting to think some things might run in the family. like a preference for the colour green and weird hyperfixations and genius bordering on insanity. Though that remains to be seen, Jack does not seem like a very bright light after his very enthusiastic welcome.

their kids however are observant and sharp. young Jasmine is wasting no time trying to psychoanalyze him. and the boy, Danny, he had not really meant to and he swears he’s sticking with calling the kid Danny so he wouldn’t seem overly familiar, but he might have called him little bird a couple times now.

but that’s all whatever, he’s playing nice here. and he doesn’t even have to worry about his eccentricities tripping him up because this place is insane.

There actually is a local teen vigilante active but he seems about as loved as he’s disliked. and the ghost boy’s enemies are basically all his own kind, which another crazy thing to now know about. ghost. they are real actually, how is Gotham not completely overrun? and how do they even work? and where do they keep coming from?

Edward might be getting a little sidetracked here. He had fully intended to sneakily get his next big game plan underway all the way out here, ankle monitor be damned. but he hasn’t made any progress at all.

Instead he’s been listening to Madeline and Jack to maybe figure out what the deal is with these ectoplasmic entities, he has to know, at this point he might go crazier if he doesn’t.

He’s making Jasmine promise him not to get her doctorate in Gotham, he’s going back and forth with space riddles with Danny.

so yeah the whole thing kinda just became a vacation, maybe the psychiatrist had the right idea after all? hmm nah, probably not. but this is fun. He’s thinking about recommending this place to some of the others.

It's different enough to get the vacation feel, but enough crazy shit happens to make it all feel like home.

it is not until Maddie wants to talk with him about potentially switching the position of godfather of Danny to him rather than some weird rich friend of theirs that Edward realizes he might have lost the plot somewhere

Apparently the little bird basically begged them with a powerpoint presentation on how he likes Edward so much more than that Vladimir guy.

And honestly, the fellow sounds like a Dracula Lutho so even if it’s kinda sad Edward can understand why he’d be considered a better option. Even if the guy has more money and a huge company that makes him said money. And it’s not like the Fentons know about his Riddler activities.

Thinking it over, Edward does think that Danny would like Gotham and Wayne has that space program thing right? The kid is definitely smart enough for that (Nygma certified), and yeah Edward does quite like their space themed back and forth. So, fuck it, why not, what is the worst that could happen?

He doubts Maddie and Jack are gonna kick it any time soon anyway out here in the boonies, it’s just a title thing, a stamp of approval or something.

he should have known he was going to eat those words later… he had this whole beautifully elaborate trap set up for the whole Batclan, and he was just getting to the good part when his phone went off.

Had to put the whole thing on pause cause that particular contact wasn’t gonna get ignored. He did promise to be available.

If the whole thing he had planned now went tits up he could at the very least laugh later at the reactions of the bats as he told them to “hold up one second, I have to take this.” while they were all in various perilous positions.

Sadly he did have to go, he had a very distressed godson to pick up.

#dc x dp #danny phantom #dcxdp #dpxdc #danny fenton #The Riddler #jasmine fenton #madeline fenton #jack fenton #edward nygma #Story idea #it took me annoyingly long to figure out how to add a read more line btw #I was going to add some other things as well but I didn't want it to get super long #I imagine Vlad was absolutely furious about losing his godfather status #but our boy Eddie just runs circles around him and humiliates him every step of the way #there is only one vampire themed guy that can put the Riddler in his place and you ain't it chief #also I was planning on adding a thing where Edward ends up in the ghost zone somehow #which makes his ankle monitor go off #notifying the bats #because he either somehow managed to destroy the thing in an instant without making any of the build in warnings go off #or he's no longer on the planet

270 notes · View notes

glorious-spoon · 2 days

Note

finding excuses to be alone with each other - Buddie

hi, and thank you! sorry this has taken a while, and also i have no explanation for why i decided to write new year's eve fic in june. BUT: here you are!

a stolen moment

There are too many people at this party.

Normally, this isn't something Buck would even think to complain about. Maddie and Chim are hosting, since Bobby and Athena are still living out of a tiny one-bedroom while work continues on their house, and Hen and Karen are still trying to get Mara settled back at home—New Year's parties are apparently not conducive to a quiet, predictable bedtime routine, and the Wilson family unit will probably be heading out well before the ball drops anyway—and nobody else has even close to enough room. It's still packed to the brim, overflowing onto the back patio, clusters of people chatting over drinks in the kitchen while the kids have taken over the living room TV for a vicious Mario Kart showdown that Chris is currently winning. Maddie's in the back bedroom putting Jee down for bedtime, and Chim is holding court over the dessert table, and it's all—great, honestly, it's great. It's awesome, having his family here, and happy, and together under the same roof after the year they've all had.

He glances up and meets Eddie's eye from across the dining room. Gets a quick smile in return. Eddie's cheeks are pink, maybe from the warmth, maybe from the two glasses of wine he's had, since Buck will be the one driving them home. He's wearing a green Henley that Buck knows is exactly as soft as it looks and worn-in jeans that mold lovingly to the lines of his thighs as he leans back against the door frame, and it's all pretty distressing, honestly. Buck's hands are itching to touch.

When he meets Eddie's eyes again, Eddie is grinning broadly. Caught, Buck ducks his head. He's blushing, he knows, and he doesn't have the excuse of the wine.

They're keeping it to themselves, at least for now. That was the decision they both made after Eddie kissed him in the loft two nights ago, after Buck kissed him back, after they didn't actually manage to make it all the way up to the bed and ended up on the couch instead, gasping into each other's mouths, fumbling and eager as teenagers. They're keeping it to themselves until Eddie figures out how he's going to tell Chris. He's skittish about that still, and Buck isn't going to push. So he'll probably be sleeping on the fold-out couch tonight instead of in Eddie's bed, and he's not going to kiss Eddie in the middle of the party, no matter how much he wants to.

It's okay. They have time.

"Hey, didn't someone bring dessert plates?" Chim calls from the kitchen. "Please tell me someone brought dessert plates, we're all out of the big ones and I'm really not up for doing dishes tonight."

Ah, shit. Right. That was Buck's job. He's pretty sure he did pick some up, actually, but they're probably still out in the Jeep, which is parked somewhere in the snarl of cars crowding the Han driveway and pulled off to the side of the street in front of their lawn.

"I got 'em," he calls, setting his soda down.

"My hero," Chim retorts, only half-teasing by his tone. Buck rolls his eyes and goes to find his shoes.

He doesn't realize that Eddie is following him until he's already slipped them on in the entry hall, a few steps away from the party. "What's up?"

Eddie shrugs, guileless, and crouches down to retrieve his shoes as well. "Figured I'd help you."

"You figured you'd help me…. bring in a package of paper plates?"

"Yeah," Eddie says innocently, but there's a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and god, Buck really wants to kiss him.

"Okay," he agrees instead, and pulls open the door. Eddie follows him out into the night, cool and dim even with Christmas lights still lit up all down the street. There's a dampness to the air that feels like rain; it's not that cold, but it's enough of a contrast to the warm house that a shiver goes through him. Eddie falls into step beside him, then reaches for his hand.

Buck shivers again, for reasons that have nothing to do with the cold this time. Eddie's hand is warm and broad, and he strokes his thumb lightly against Buck's, lighting up nerve endings he didn't even know he had.

It's such a small thing. But they've never actually done this yet. It all feels so new, sparkling like fireworks through his veins.

"Okay?" Eddie asks, and Buck realizes that he's stopped walking.

"Yeah," he says. He's not doing a very good job of keeping the smile off his face, or out of his voice, but Eddie's got the exact same dopey smile on his face, so it's fine. They weave through the cars to where Buck's Jeep is parked, close enough to the street that they'll probably be able to get out without playing vehicle Tetris. Far enough from the house that they're shielded from view by Bobby's truck parked alongside them, so he's not all that surprised when Eddie lets go of his hand only to push him gently against the side of the Jeep and kiss him.

He gets lost in that for a little bit. The heat of Eddie's mouth, his hands moving from Buck's shoulders to cradle his jaw—he did that the first time, too. Held Buck like he's holding him now, like he's something precious and worth treating with care, and Buck's already hooked on it. He slides his hand up Eddie's back, feeling the warmth of him, to cup the back of his neck as Eddie licks into his mouth with leisurely sweetness, like he's got all the time in the world to kiss Buck just like this on the sidewalk on New Year's Eve.

Sooner or later, someone's going to come looking for them. It still takes a while for Buck to break the kiss, and when Eddie tugs lightly at his lower lip with his teeth before pulling away, he almost dives back in again. Almost.

"We should probably get back to the party," he says, very reluctantly.

"Yeah," Eddie sighs. He leans in and kisses Buck again, a sweeter, softer thing before leaning past him to open the door. Buck ducks into the back seat to retrieve the package of plates and the bottle of wine they forgot to bring in earlier, and when he straightens up, Eddie is watching him. He looks—hesitant, almost. Nervous. He looks the way he looked two days ago, right before he kissed Buck.

"What's up?" Buck asks.

"I want to tell Chris," Eddie says, all in a rush. "Maybe not—right now, at the party, but when we get home, I want to tell him. About us."

Buck takes a quick, sharp breath. "Are you sure?"

"I've never been as sure about anything in my life as I am about you."

"Eddie."

"It's the truth. And—I want him to know. Even if it's an adjustment, even if it takes some time to—I want him to know. I want everyone to know. If that's okay with you."

"Eddie," Buck says again, and then, "yeah, yeah of course it's okay."

"Good," Eddie says, with a sudden, brilliant smile. And well—Chim can wait a few more minutes for his paper plates. Buck sets them down and pulls Eddie back in.

#911 #911 fic #buddie #buddie fic #eddie diaz #evan buckley #prompt fic #my fic

222 notes · View notes

shaunashoochiebae · 1 day

Text

everything good happens after midnight ᯓᡣ𐭩

pairing: art donaldson x popstar!reader

warnings: divorced art, mentions of a failed marriage, lily lowkey being cupid, alcohol use, small timeskips, set in 2019, minor swearing, small age gap (r is 24, art is 31), forced proximity?, tension, making out, slight height difference (not specified), written kinda weird i dunno how to explain it, unironic use of the word ‘girlboss’, not proofread

word count: 4.3k

a/n: be a freak in the club !!! ty chappell roan for the inspo xxx also please don’t flame me for this guys. i’ve never written a full fic for a man b4, had to google some words, had to pull out my pinterest board titled ‘writing stuff’ for this one, my longest fic ever!!! let’s clap xx

disclaimer: i am a minor, if what i write makes you uncomfortable knowing that i’m a minor dni!!! don’t complain to me because i can do what i want okay thank you bye x

The time on your phone read 8:27P.M. You sat backstage, fixing up your makeup and warming up your voice for the show you were about to start. All you could hear from the crowd behind the curtain was screams and chatter.

Your manager came up to you at your vanity, he cleared his throat before he spoke, “On in two minutes.” You looked back at him and gave him a nod as you stood up, flattening your short leather skirt and most beautifully designed corset.

Your manager came back to you, microphone in hand and gave it to you, “You got it, you’ll be great.” He gave you a wink and you nodded, walking onto the stage.

As you stepped out onto the stage you put on your persona, that bubbly, energetic singer that all of your fans knew and loved. You waved to the huge crowd of people and spoke into the microphone loudly, “How are we doing tonight?!”

All around you, you heard cheers and screams which made you smile. You waited a minute for the cheers to die down before you spoke again, “y’know, that’s real good to hear. It’s my first show here, did you know that?” you asked the crowd. You heard replies of “no!” and “really?!” You nodded, a cheeky grin on your face, “I know, I know. But, that’s a good thing. I’ve got a real special show prepared for y’all tonight,” you announced to the crowd, pacing around the stage slowly.

Cheers instantly filled your ears, fans excited to see what you had to show them. One fan in particular, a tall man with blonde hair caught your eye. He was smiling down at someone shorter, maybe his daughter, and pointed at the stage, telling her what was happening. You nodded to yourself, “alright! Well, I can tell you all we’re gonna start with a banger. Not that I’m biased or anything..” you mumbled into the microphone which caused the venue to erupt in laughter. As your band was already on stage, the instrumental to a popular song of yours began playing and you smiled, “I hope y’all know this one. I’d be embarrassed if you didn’t,” you winked just before you counted yourself into the song.

2 HOURS LATER

“You guys were such an amazing crowd, I’m so glad this was my first show here! Y’all really didn’t hold back on that last song,” you chuckled as you spoke to the crowd. You reached for your bottle of water and sipped from it, rubbing your neck, “hey! I may or may not be doing merch signing at the back exit..” you whispered into the microphone, wiggling your eyebrows, “be there!” Now, that wasn’t entirely true. Sure, you wanted to do a signing after your show but was it planned? No.. But, in your defence you wanted to see if that blonde guy would come to the back, exchange numbers maybe… Huh? Who are you kidding, he probably has a wife! Who’s also probably waiting for them at home, it is pretty late. You checked your watch; 10:38P.M. Probably way past their daughters bed time, too. Gosh.

You waved goodbye to the crowd, blowing kisses. As soon as you got backstage you tried to find your manager. Where was he? Right. Where he always is, the bar backstage. Better not talk to him while he was drunk, so you told your assistant manger instead. Sweet girl, unfortunate she’s a lower rank than that asshole of a man. “Hey, love. Um, I know we have to get going back to the hotel soon, but I told the crowd I was signing stuff at the back exit. Can you cover for me if Sam asks?”

Your assistant manager nodded, writing what you said down on her clipboard, “got it. Why can’t you talk to him yourself, though? Just wondering, it’s not an attack on you,” she asked with a chuckle. You sighed, looking down at your feet, “He’s in the bar. He’s probably drunk. I don’t wanna have to deal with him right now.” Your assistant manager nodded, clapping you on the back, “not a problem. I’ll go talk to him,” and with that, she left you. All you had to do now was say hi to a few people, sign some things and be on your way.

You made your way to the back exit of the venue, weaving in and out through wires and auxiliaries. Pushing the fire exit open, you were met with tens of smiling faces, pens at the ready. Oh, alright. Tonight’s gonna be a long night. Squeals could probably be heard from states away as you made eye contact with a few fans. “Oh, my God! Can you sign this for me please?!” Pens and paper were pushed into your face, barely getting any room to breathe. A security guard would be nice right about now, you thought.

You took a deep breath before you spoke, almost shouting, “sorry, if you would like me to sign something or take a photo, please be patient. There’s a lot of y’all, and one of me. Imma take my time with all of y’all, make it special. Is that alright?”

You were met with nods and replies of “yes!”, “sorry!” and “alright!” You sighed in relief, “Okay, good. If you want, you can form a line.” Fans struggled against each other, pushing and shoving to be first in line. Surprisingly, a small teenage girl made it first in line, despite the shoving. You smiled brightly at her, making casual conversation, “hi, what’s your name?” She replied in a whisper, “it’s Julianne.” You nodded, humming, “that’s a beautiful name. Do you want to take a photo or do you want me to sign something for you?” Julianne nodded, her hands quickly going to her pockets for her phone. “Can we take a picture?” she asked kindly and you replied, “of course we can, sweetie,” with a chuckle.

She opened up the camera app and readied herself for the photo, posing casually. You followed her lead, a peace sign on your fingers as you winked at the camera. As soon as the picture was taken she quickly turned back to you, hugging you. “Oh!” you almost yelped, obviously not expecting the sudden embrace, but hugged her back anyway. “It was great to meet you,” you whispered to her before she waved goodbye and left.

45 MINUTES LATER

After making your way through almost every fan, you were left standing with two people. A little girl and her father, the tall blonde man who had caught your eye. You smiled at the pair, “last two, huh?” you chuckled. “Anything to sign?” The man nodded, “she’s a little shy,” he gestured to his daughter, “she’s always talking about you at home,” he added with a chuckle. “Anyway, could you sign this?” he asked, grabbing what looked like a CD case out of a backpack slung over his daughters shoulder. He handed you the case, “don’t ask.”

You looked down at the case in your hands and your eyes brightened, “Spiderverse? I like that movie too,” you said to the little girl. You pulled out the Sharpie from your hair, conveniently hidden away, and pressed it to the case. Fuck. It’s wasted. Your face dropped in embarrassment, “I’m so sorry,” you chuckled lightheartedly, “my pen’s wasted. Have either of y’all got one?”

The man sighed heavily, “I’ve got one in the car. I’ll go get it, I’ll be right back, sweetie,” he told his daughter before he jogged away to his car. You looked down at the girl, “what’s your name?” you asked curiously, she looked up at you, her big brown eyes shining, “Lily.” You nodded, “that’s a beautiful name, Lily. What about your dad, do you know his name?” Lily nodded, “mhm. His name is Art.” You chuckled, not expecting such a name. “Wow, cool name, huh?”

Art returned, pen in his hand. “Here you go,” he smiled, handing the pen to you. You took it, popped off the cap and quickly signed the case. Lily took the case from your hands, a great big smile on her face, “thank you!” Art smiled down at her, and then at you, “thank you so much,” he said, taking the pen from you. “Hey, just out of curiosity, what hotel are you staying at tonight?” Art asked you, taking his daughter’s hand in his, “we could give you a ride. If we’re lucky enough, we might be staying in the same place.” You thought to yourself, do I let this hot man I don’t know bring me back to my hotel, leaving my team completely unaware as to where I am or do I decline and leave with my team? Tricky question.. You shrugged, “I’m staying at the Black Bird Plaza, do you know it?” Arts face lit up and he chuckled, “yeah, I do. We’re staying there as well.”

Your eyes widened slightly, “oh, wow. Y’all are lucky, huh?” Art nodded, a smirk on his face, “do you wanna get a drink at the bar?” Never one to say no to a drink, you nodded. “Great! Guess I’ll be your chauffeur for tonight,” he added.

“C’mon,” he said finally as he began walking to his car and you followed. “Are y’all from around here? I assume not.” Art shook his head, “no, we’re not from here. A few states over. Lily saw you weren’t coming to our city, so we traveled.” You chuckled, respecting the dedication, “big fan.” “You have no idea,” he replied.

Art unlocked his car and opened the door for you, “thank you,” you smiled, sitting in the passenger seat. Buckling yourself in, he helped Lily into the back, “do you need help putting on your seatbelt or are you good?” Lily declined, buckling her own seatbelt like the girlboss that she is. Art nodded, and got into the drivers seat.

10 MINUTES LATER

Art parked his car in the hotel parking lot and helped both you and Lily out of the car. You checked your watch, 11:25 P.M. You turned to Art as you all entered the lobby, “wouldn’t the bar be closed by now?” you asked. He shook his head, pressing the button for the elevator, “don’t worry about it. I’m liked around here.” You laughed at his certainty, “alright then.” The three of you entered the elevator as the doors opened, “Lily, we’re gonna sit at the bar for.. maybe an hour, okay? I’ll turn on the T.V. for you, just don’t leave the room and don’t open the door for anyone, got it?”

Lily nodded, “mhm. Can I have a snack from the mini fridge?” Art looked at you and you both chuckled, “of course you can, sweetie,” he told Lily. He pulled his room key out of his pocket when the elevator doors opened. Two young ladies were standing, waiting for the elevator and saw you. Their faces instantly lit up, “Oh. My. God!” one of the girls chuckled out, “can we get a picture?” You nodded, selling out of the elevator, “of course!” Art and Lily followed, he nudged you, “gonna go to the room. We’re in room 276.” You nodded, and just as he was going to leave one of the girls spoke tremulously, “wait! You, too. You’re my dad’s favourite tennis player, he’d be so stoked to know I met him.”

Your eyebrows creased together as you looked back at him, “tennis player?” He shrugged, an awkward smile on his face, “yeeeah?” He walked back over to you and the girls, leaving Lily to fend for herself and smiled for the pictures. The girls giddily spoke to each other after the pictures, “this has to go onto my Instagram. My actual popstar idol and a super hot tennis player? I’ll literally go viral.” You and Art shared a glance and knowingly smiled at each other.

The girls entered the elevator, still excitedly chatting. You noticed that Lily wasn’t next to Art anymore, “oh, no. Where did Lily go?” Art brushed you off, “she’s probably already waiting for us outside the room. She’s used to having a famous dad,” he gloated sarcastically. “Uh-huh,” you nodded with a scoff.

You followed him back to his room where Lily was standing safe and sound, she leaned her head against the door tiredly. Art rapped on the door, “wake up, Lily.” She lifted her head up from the door, “I’m awake, dad.” He unlocked the door and pushed it open. Lily ran in and sat in front of the mini fridge, rummaging through the snacks. Art allowed you inside before he followed. You glanced around the room, pretty big room for two people, you thought. Lily picked out her snack and walked over to Art, “I’m gonna have this one.” He looked down at her and nodded, “go ahead.” She gave him a hug and he kissed her gently on the cheek, “you going to bed?” he asked her and she nodded. “Good. It’s way past your bedtime,” he responded lightly. “We’re going to the bar, we’ll be back up soon, okay? Love you.” They waved goodbye and you both left the room.

Art began walking down the hall and you asked him, “you can trust her to set her sleep there alone?” He nodded, pressing the elevator button, “she’s a big girl. She’ll be safe, don’t worry.”

The doors opened slowly and you stepped inside. Art looked at you curiously as he followed you, “you are over 21, aren’t you?” You chuckled, “you didn’t do your research. I’m 24, so yeah. I’m legal.” Art scoffed, “alright, sue me. I just wanted to make sure, okay?” The doors closed and suddenly you felt claustrophobic. No, the elevator wasn’t small, there was enough room to breathe. So, why couldn’t you? Was it the fact that you were in a concealed space with a super hot dilf- I mean, super cool tennis player? Shit, probably. You looked at your watch to try and calm your nerves, you seemed to do that a lot. The time was 11:48 P.M.

You scratched your neck before speaking, “I didn’t bring my purse. You are planning on paying for these drinks right?” He frowned mockingly, “oh. Well, I guess you can just go back to your room.” You let out a sigh of relief, “yeah, okay. Just checking.” “It’s only gentlemanly,” he started, “how should I ask a pretty woman out to drinks and not pay? That’s just rude.”

You scoffed, ignoring just how flustered that statement made you, “oh, nice. Smooth, even.” The doors creaked open and he stepped out, shrugging, “I thought that was good,” his words echoed through the empty lobby. The sound of your heels on the marble floor mocked his words as they echoed after him.

The elevator was only a few steps away from the bar and yet it felt miles away. Once you crossed the threshold you sighed with relief, a heavy weight taken off your shoulders suddenly. Art guided you to a small table next to a window, the lights dim and seats soft. You gave him a smile, “what do you drink?” he asked. Oh. What do you drink? Did you know you’ve been sober for over a year? Now you know! “Just get me a whiskey coke,” you blurted out. He raised an eyebrow at you, “you sure that’s what you want?” You shook your head, a frown on your face, “I dunno, get me something sweet, I guess.”

He gave you a nod, “you got it.” He walked over to the bar and leaned on his elbows as he spoke to the barman. What you heard could only be described as ‘acquaintances who have a semi mutual friend who is never around so conversation is hard to get flowing and is usually awkward. so, communication is normally short nods, mumbles and thanks’. He came back over to the table, two drinks in hand; a beer and a… Shirley Temple? Your eyebrows creased as you looked up at him, “seriously?” He waved you off, “Dirty Shirley,” he claimed, setting the drinks onto the table. “Oh.” You grabbed your drink and sipped it cautiously, he took a seat opposite you.

You tasted the drink warily, and nodded to yourself. “It’s good,” you mumbled. He snickered, “it’s just a Shirley with vodka, it’s nothing special.” You shrugged, swallowing a sip, “so? It’s good. What’d you get?” You turned his beer bottle to face you, ‘Carlsberg’ is what the label read. “Any good?” you asked him. “It’s fine, used to drink it in college.” Ah. You nodded, “nostalgic, huh?” He shrugged, “I guess.”

Suddenly, a few questions popped into your head. “Should’ve asked this earlier, how old are you?” He sighed, setting down his beer, cleared his throat, “32.” You nodded, kind of expecting him to be older, “alright, not bad,” you half-shrugged. “Do you.. have a wife?” He froze up a little. Oh. “Uh, no.” Frown on your lips you asked, “really? You’re a good looking man and you’re an athlete, it’s kinda hard to believe,” you laughed softly. “Hm. Relationships don’t work out sometimes,” he replied, taking a swig of his beer. “Tell me about it,” you reciprocated, rolling your eyes.

He cleared his throat, trying to move from the subject, “anyway. You been singing long?” You sipped your drink before answering, “I guess, yeah. I was in choir in middle school, so. I’ve always had ‘the talent’, y’know? But, I’ve been a singer since.. what is it now? 2014? So, five years going strong, give or take a few months.” He grinned from ear to ear, clearly very impressed, “wow. Long time, huh? You don’t get bored?” You sipped your drink and squinted at him, shaking your head, “don’t you get bored of tennis?” He made an iffy face, as if he didn’t really know the answer to your question.

“Hmmmmm…” you hummed as you looked at him sideways, “we’re very different, I see.” Pretty much after gulping the rest of your drink down you asked him one more question, “how old is Lily?” “She’s 8,” Art answered with a stiff nod. “She’s a good kid. You’re a good dad, too.” Art made a somewhat uncomfortable noise but thanked you anyhow.

“Sorry, that was kinda sudden,” you chuckled. “That’s alright, I appreciate it. I’ll grab you another drink,” he responded, standing up from his seat. Another less than acquaintanced conversation between Art and the barman. Jeez. You could feel the anxiousness of the conversation from your seat.

He came back over, another Dirty Shirley in hand and gave it to you. “Thanks,” you began sipping your drink again. “Barman’s closing up in 5, you’ll have to drink that fast,” Art told you lingering at the table, rather than sitting down. He picked up his beer and started drinking it a little faster than what would be considered a ‘normal’ beer drinking pace. You gave a nod and started uncomfortably gulping down your drink. You placed the glass on the table once you finished, fishing for the maraschino cherry at the bottom.

You got up from the table, pushing your chair in before you left the bar. Walking back to the elevator you tried to make conversation with Art, “thanks for the drinks. Haven’t had one of those before, they’re good.” “Not a problem,” he replied, pressing the elevator button.

The doors opened instantly and you both stepped in, ladies first. The doors closed slowly as you stood face to face with him. The slight smell of alcohol filling the elevator was gross. Slightly intoxicating. The elevator stopped suddenly with a jolt. Art sighed, “we’re stuck.” You groaned, “seriously? Does this happen often?” He nodded, eyes widened slightly, “oh, yeah. Fantastic hotel, super old elevators. It’s sad.” “Is there an emergency bell for things like this?” You asked, examining the buttons which read: ‘0, 1, 2, 3, 4’. Four floors and no emergency button? Jesus Christ.

He shook his head, “nope. We just have to wait it out. Usually takes ten minutes for assistance.” You looked at your watch again, 12:07 P.M. What’s a better way to pass the time than make a move? Probably a lot. But that just didn’t register in the moment. You never really mastered the whole flirting thing, usually you weren’t the one to shoot your shot. Clearly, you liked this guy. Maybe he liked you, too? What’s an invite out to drinks with a stranger? Basically a date.

“You look nice,” you finally got out, looking at his shoes. His brows furrowed and he chuckled, “are you trying to make conversation or are you trying to flirt?” Fuck, he caught you out. Play it cool. “Uh, no. Obviously not, we’re just stuck here, in this elevator, and I noticed you look nice, is that okay?” You said quickly. Art chuckled, running a hand through his hair like the dream boat that he is- who said that? “Look, we both know why I invited you for a drink. I think you’re pretty fine, and I know you think the same about me,” he stated, giving you a look.

You squinted at him, “it’s rude that you think so highly of yourself..” your complaint was cut short as Art pressed his lips against your quickly which made your eyes widen to the heavens. He pushed himself away from you just as quickly as he pulled himself to you. “Sorry,” he mumbled with a chuckle, “I should’ve asked you.” You shook your head quickly before forcing your lips back onto his in a desperate attempt to feel what you felt when he first kissed you. Did that catch him off guard? No, not really. He knew you’d kiss him back anyway, he’s Art Donaldson, he does fine for himself and he knows it.

You pressed a kiss to his neck which caused a choked moan to escape his lips. Now, that caught you off guard. He plays tennis, he should have a lot of practice trying to keep grunts in when he plays, right? Maybe you’re just that good. Props to you. Well, now you knew; his neck is the Jackpot. So, you abused the fuck out of his neck. Not literally. But continuously kissing his neck, biting it even and hearing him whine did wonderful things for your ego.

His hands made their way to your waist and pulled you impossibly closer to him and you groaned as you took a breather, “your lips feel nice on mine,” you told him, a smirk playing on your lips. “Don’t be such a tease,” he warned breathlessly, to which you replied, “or what? You gonna whine again?” He rolled her eyes, his tongue prodding at his cheek in faux annoyance. You were about to kiss him again when the doors creaked open and outside stood a trio of firefighters who stared blankly at you both, “alright in here?” one of them asked to which Art replied with a nod. “We’re going up..” you mumbled, unsure of yourself. The firefighter who had spoken before nodded and said “should be safe. Have a good night.”

Art quickly pressed the button and the doors slammed shut. Giggles escaped you as the elevator began to move again to which Art nudged you. “What? That was pretty funny, don’t lie,” you responded to his antics. The elevator doors opened and alas, you finally made it to your floor. You held your hand out for him to take in which he obliges, following you out of the elevator like a dog on a leash.

He took the room key out of his pocket and unlocked the door slowly to not wake up Lily. You pushed the door to the master bedroom open and took off your heels, softly setting them down near a bedside table. Art walked in after you and sat on the bed, anxiously waiting for your next move. You left the room and entered the bathroom. You let the water run in the sink for about a minute before splashing your face with the cold water. Making an attempt to dry your face you ended up leaving a huge makeup stain on a towel. Oops.

While you were in the bathroom, you decided to take off your show outfit, leaving you in your bra and panties. Too little? Oh well. You left the bathroom, your clothes in a pile on the corner. Re-entering the bedroom, Art was still getting changed himself. You quickly left to give him some privacy and grabbed your phone from the bathroom sink, where you left it while getting changed. Knocking on the bedroom door softly, Art called back to you, “come in.”

He sat under the covers, his bare shoulders exposed which were covered in scars. Smiling at him, you climbed in next to him, placing your phone onto a bedside table. It lit up as it was placed, the clock read 12:36 P.M. He moved next to you, wrapping his arms around you as you shut your eyes.

9 HOURS LATER

You were awoke by the sound of your phone buzzing against the table, hundreds of notifications flooding your phone. Quickly, your eyes adjusted to the screen, images of you and Art with two fans in a hotel went viral, just like the lady said. Your manager spammed your phone, ‘are you serious? do you know what this could do for your image??? please tell me you didn’t sleep with him.’ You turned over and there Art was, completely sound asleep.

tags: @midwestprincesss @yourcoolguitargf

#daisy writes again #challengers #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #challengers x reader #art donaldson x you #challengers x you #art donaldson fic #challengers fic #art donaldson fanfic #challengers fanfic #art donaldson x female reader #challengers x female reader #my fic #this was fun to write #i actually thought it would take longer cuz i had no motivation #but i got it done in like #3 or 4 days #something like that

324 notes · View notes

hyuckswoman · 16 hours

Text

“I’m shitting my pants” mark says to his best friend. they were currently standing outside of the music classroom awaiting the final class where they’ll have to present the project each group was working on

“really? you’ve never been one to stress over music class I’m sure you won’t fuck up” haechan replies chewing on the cherry-flavored gum he got handed during his last class

“no dude I’m talking about y/n. seeing her is *sigh* let’s just go okay?” he says to which haechan nods

“don’t worry you won’t have to talk for now” haechan says entering the class. he then proceeded to sit down next to you while mark sat right behind the both of you

“you ready?” hyuck asks turning to you “no? i don’t know? i’m nervous” you reply. playing in front of people was never your thing. you just hoped to pass this class because this class is not worth retaking the semester.

two groups passed and you only got progressively more anxious, people had practiced. they were ready. while you never practiced with both your partners, none of you did. either having alone practicing sessions or some with hyuck. you don’t know if you’re on the same wavelength, you don’t know how you guys will even sound all together. If you were being honest this was partly your fault. your pride and feelings got in the way. But you also knew that no sessions would’ve been productive had you trained with mark. You knew that you would’ve nitpicked every single thing he would do and would make sure that your pettiness and anger could be felt. So either way this couldn’t have been avoided. You just hoped that whatever terrible outcome was about to be unleashed to the rest of the music class, in just about a minute now, would be enough to get a passing grade.

sitting down, plugging your electric guitar, making eye contact with haechan - the subconsciously assigned new leader of the group seeing as though he was the middle ground in between you and mark- waiting for him to give you the go and then you started playing. And exactly 2 minutes and forty four seconds later, haechan mark and you were done performing 200 in front of your class. Immediately looking up at your professor’s face only to see a wide grin and a pleased head nod directed towards mark. Of course. This was a collective grade. you had mark in your group. how could you even for a second worry about getting a passing grade.

sighing out of relief you sat down next to wonyoung who called you over while you were walking towards your original seat “girl, maybe staying in a group with these two wasn’t such a bad idea after all.. you outshined the rest of the class I’m sad for the people going after you” she says “really? you didn’t think it was messy?” you ask. anyone could tell how uncoordinated you guys were. “not really no, sometimes it sounded like a bit.. i don’t know- like you guys haven’t practiced enough? but i assure you it was barely noticeable” she says as you sigh out of relief again “and by the way you and yujin were craaaaazy i got so hyped up” you say complimenting the both of them while they thank you. being so engrossed into the conversation you almost miss haechan calling you over telling you that you need to regain your seat because “professor said so.”

So after briefly nodding at them, you tiptoed around the classroom to sit next to your friend, once again. “ i lied by the way. the teacher didn’t say shit he’s still in his ‘mark haze’. i just wanted you to sit next to me” haechan says as you laugh at his absurdity. man you were going to miss sharing a class with him.

Some time later all the groups had passed and even though he wasn’t allowed to, the teacher assured every student that they had all passed his class. He really wasn’t allowed to say this but the minute mark asked he told the class. You weren’t complaining tho. Maybe you even understood him a little.

Getting out of the classroom after the teacher dismissed you, you felt yourself engulfed in a hug “are you less stressed out now? I know you worried about getting a passing grade but we did it!!!” haechan said while letting go of you “yea dude! I’m lowkey glad this is over.. I’ll miss sharing a class with you tho” you say back “should we go out to celebrate?” you hear mark say. For a second you genuinely forgot he was there. In your defense, he was standing on the side not making any noise so he was fairly easy to forget about.

You could feel his awkwardness radiating off of him and almost felt bad. In truth you forgave him a long time ago (that’s kind of a lie). You understood how whatever mental headspace he was in was turning him into an asshole and as the patient lenient girl you were, you couldn’t pretend to not understand. But you still decided to milk the anger because you knew you were patient (especially with mark). The way he spoke to you does not deserve your understanding. He needed to practically beg on his knees for you to even crack a smile at him. And you were making sure he understood that.

“I think I’m good actually! you guys go ahead tho” you reply. “cmonnnn, it won’t be fun without you, do you know how long it has been since the three of us hung out together?” haechan says grabbing the sleeve of your shirt throwing himself onto you “i wonder why it’s been so long” you say in a fake pensive state that made haechan laugh and mark scratch the back of his neck out of uneasiness. “well don’t involve me in your business, I didn’t do shit and I just want to hang out with my two friends.. I don’t see why I need to suffer the consequences of this” haechan says slightly laughing “oh right because you texting me about it repeatedly was not you being involved in said business?”you reply “touché. still tho, please?” haechan says (he then proceeds to threaten you, then almost gets on his knees to beg, so you agree)

after what felt like the most awkward lunch ever you guys stepped out of the restaurant in silence. not for long tho….cause yk….haechan. “I’ll get going guys, have fun” haechan says aggresively winking at mark trying to be discreet. you could see the whole thing but whatever. “I’ll get going too. bye!!” you say and before you could even turn around to leave haechan desperately yelled “NO- wait. i mean. mark wanted to say something i think” hyuck says still winking at mark but now pointing to the both of you with his chin trying to convey a message to mark that he seemingly did not get

“huh?? oh OH! yes i was gonna ask if we could talk?” mark asks you “nah, im good. bye!!” you say turning around and walking away soon after you heard someone run after you and grab your arm “wait. look, I know what he did was shitty and I know he doesn’t deserve your understanding but please hear him out? Like you guys were so close before don’t you think the friendship is worth salvaging?” haechan says still holding onto your arm “hyuck i sigh i don’t know okay? would it not be pathetic of me to hear him out when he shut me down so harshly last time i tried to communicate?” you ask. no matter how much you liked the man you needed to set standards up for yourself, you deserved respect. How are people meant to respect you if you don’t respect yourself? “i get that. truly. but please hear him out? you literally won’t ever have to face him afterwards” hyuck says while you nod and walk back to where mark was standing.

“should we go to my place to talk?” you say. you weren’t going to have this conversation in public that is for sure “my place is right there. it would save us the walk i guess but we can also go to yours if you prefer” mark says to which you shake your head telling him his place was fine.

Entering mark’s studio for the first time, the place really suited him. From the few art piece he used to decorate his wall to his keyboard in the corner of his room right next to his messy desk and even messier bed, hell even the dishes were mark coded.

“man I’m sorry, I forgot i hadn’t cleaned…. we should’ve gone to your place this is not how you visiting my studio for the first time was supposed to go” he says and you shake your head. he guided you to his small couch in his living room. as you sat down you saw in the corner of the room this pretty bouquet of lilies, man what bitch did he have over?? you knew damn well mark doesn’t buy flowers for himself so those were a gift. You guessed it wasn’t from any of his friends because they would never. These had to be from yunjin. The moment you realized it, you swore you built up a little more resentment.

“I’m sorry.” mark says handing you a glass of water; he was gonna go straight into it i guess. “i know. you’ve been saying that for the past week. I’m just here because I want to know why” you reply. “I- okay fine. I owe it to you, just, please don’t make fun of me okay?” mark says fidgeting with his fingers as you nod. “Things were going really great and I really enjoyed spending time with you and getting to know you and texting you and stuff and so because i liked you- too much I think, I had this huge slap of reality in the face like man okay this is going great but you’re going to fuck it up and then she’ll find you weird and never talk to you ever again and then you’ll be miserable because you’re such a loser. So it became a lot and I got anxious and I was like ‘I’m not gonna fuck it up if I speak less’ and that speaking less… well… it turned into me ghosting you. Then I realized and I felt guilty but I couldn’t just talk to you normally after ghosting you for days and then you sent me the texts and I was so frustrated at myself so I took it out on you. And i felt bad like I knew what I was doing was wrong but I was just in too deep and then donghyuck texted me and I was also mean but anyway. I’m not trying to make excuses for myself I just want to explain everything to you. I’m really really sorry tho” mark says not having enough courage to look at you.

“you like me?” you say. You admit everything he said after was kind of a blur “no i mean yea but I ugh I didn’t want to tell you like this or at all man I’m so sorry I’m so stupid” mark replies clearly frustrated. “ you can’t do this to me mark” you reply “I know I’m sorry I didn’t mean for it to come out I’m sorry” he says “this is fucked man, you flirt with me, ghost me and all of that because you like me??” you say to mark as he nods you burst out laughing. mark is very confused tho. “I feel…so conflicted right now man I can’t tell if I want to kiss you or punch you in the face. Was it not obvious I liked you?? If you liked me that bad couldn’t you have just confessed?? man you had me stressed for weeks im” you say laughing because what the fuck man

“you like me?” mark asks “yes. man I’ve been liking you for so long this is so ridiculous.. I used to have a hallway crush on you that’s why I stared at you during the first music class… and then when we became closer I started liking you… like deadass. when you replied to chenle ‘ew’ I wanted to kill myself” you say as mark gasps “THAT’S WHY?? I genuinely believed your lie woah.. also man I wanted to kill chenle because shut up like mind your business don’t air mine out on twitter like this” mark replies laughing. “what about yunjin tho?” you ask “what about her?” he says. “well isn’t there some sort of thing going on between you and her?? the bouquet right there screams everything but platonic” you reply “what?? no I don’t like her I like you. matter of fact the bouquet is for you I was going to give it to you after music class but pussied out and left it home before since I wasn’t sure if you hated me or not” mark says getting up to fetch the bouquet for you. “oh. thanks. they’re really pretty. They’re my favorite flowers did you know?? Also I can’t believe you like me.. that’s crazy. I’m still pissed at you lowkey” you say. “Yea we talked about it when you gave me my bouquet.. also you really didn’t know? I mean who do you think 200 is about? I thought you would get it” he says laughing. you hit him (not harshly of course) because how dare he imply that you’re slow??

“despite you being mad at me… will you let me be your boyfriend? I’ll beg if I have to” mark asks “i guess… you’ll have to do some serious groveling tho… I don’t want my friends to know I forgave you so easily” you reply “man you’re harsh.. I guess?? be a little more enthusiastic you have a boyfriend now. also yea your friends are scary, especially renjun I got so startled like… this is not the renjun I met” your boyfriend says laughing. “I’M HARSH???? sorry I didn’t want to jump up and down, i already know I’m dramatic don’t want to hear it again” you reply to which mark says touché.

“Can I kiss you?” your boyfriend asks “of course you’d be a dork about it” you reply laughing at him. he quickly shut you up. You were partly shocked because one, you were kissing the man you’re extremely down bad for and two, you didn’t think he had it in him to shut you up with a kiss. Feeling his smile against your lips he pulled away “didn’t think I’d do that did you?” he asked. you didn’t have the words so you shook your head no. What the fuck happened to dorcus lee? And before you could remove his hand that had been grabbing your chin, mark leaned in again to steal another kiss. you swore you felt lightheaded. Not enough to let him away with it tho. So you put each one of your arms around his shoulders, leaned closer and deepened the kiss.

And maybe, just maybe you guys ended up kissing for a while afterward….only maybe though!!

51. it's over

previous chapter masterlist

notes: guys... this is officially the end of an era... I'm literally so sad to see it go I'll miss uploading sooooooo much. I want to sincerely thank everyone who took the time to read this story and even more if you took the time to interact with it. I hope the end is satisfactory enough for you guys and I hope that you enjoyed the ride as much as I did. Thank you again, this has been nothing but fun!! I'll miss down bad very much! happy read!!!!!!

taglist: @imsiriuslyreal @iscocohere @simpforarmihn @replayenthusiast @lovm4rk @youreintheclubb @polarisjisung @sour-chaos @jising-jisang-jisung @aerivrs @multifandomania @tiddygang2020 @roseangelxfuma @skepvids @morkiee @yangasm @artstaeh @pussyslayerhd @bacons-thighs @bugcattie @leefullsun @jkslvsnella @alethea-moon @marvelahsobx @haechansbbg @katsukis1wife @m1dn1ghtv1olet @winuvs @n0hyuck @whats-my-question @dojaejunging @hibernatinghamster @user7520 @starwonb1n @lostinneocity @miniature-tragedy @llearlert @haezyhyuck @inosfavgf @bluesinfinities @calumsfringe @cigarettesafterjae @defzcl @delfdiary @minkyuncutie @bunnyjaycheoluwu @sofix-hc7 @nosungluv @anonymousmuffinbear @the-swageyama-tobiyolo @amrqxz @luvtyunn @haenahc @slayhaechan @yutterfly @tywritesstuff

247 notes · View notes