#this is maybe like a quarter of the thoughts I have on him
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Summer Decisions - Quinn Hughes x ofc
gif from gabelandeskog
Title: Summer Decisions - Quinn Hughes x ofc
Author: Tory / @tkwrites
Relationship: Quinn Hughes x Sarah Roberts
Warnings: Highly emotional, angst. mild fighting, lots of anxiety, swearing, crying, fluff. If I missed anything, please let me know.
Summary: An invitation to his family reunion over the fourth of July has Quinn and Sarah tumbling into a long conversation about their future in the off-season and beyond. Though the ensuing fight is resolved, the reality of their commitments vs. their love for each other is put to the test.
Word Count: 4,600
Comments: I’m back with some highly emotional goodness. This fic was halfway done for a long time until your overwhelming reactions to my WIP ask game really got me in gear to start writing again. I really like the way this turned out, and I hope you do, too. It's, like, 98% dialogue, so if that's not your thing, I won't be offended if you skip this one, but it is setting up all of our off-season fics.
If you enjoyed this, please let me know by commenting, reblogging, or sending in an ask. Your encouragement and comments truly inspire me to keep writing.
I love Quinn and Sarah, and I’m constantly blown away that so many of you love them, too.
Summer Decisions
A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot
“My parents want to know if you want to come to our family reunion over the 4th of July. It’s in New Hampshire.”
“Oh,” she said, voice quiet.
“Is that not okay?”
“It’s just a big step,” she said, “meeting your whole family.”
“I’m meeting your family in June, aren’t I?” he asked.
They’d discussed him coming to visit when she went home for a few weeks after school. Were it not for the Canucks making it into the playoffs, she would have bought a ticket for the Monday after her classes would be done. Instead, she pushed her visit back until mid-June, wanting to be in Vancouver to support him through the entirety of their run, however long it may be.
“Yeah, I guess that’s true.”
It was a little strange to her how comfortably serious they were, but she couldn’t imagine life with Quinn any other way. It was that fated belonging she’d talked about so much when they first met. Even still, it was a little jarring to think about him meeting her family or meeting his before they even hit the six month mark.
The phrase, ‘when you know, you know,’ never made sense until she met him. She knew, and even though it felt too fast and scary sometimes, she knew it would all turn out okay.
“So we’ll fly out from Van, what? The night before?”
“I’ll have to fly out from Michigan.”
“Michigan? Why?”
“I thought I told you we train in Michigan in the summer.”
“You did, but I thought… I thought maybe that changed?”
“Why?”
“Because of us?” she gestured between them.
“I mean, I’d love for you to come with me.”
“I can’t do that, Quinn.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t just pack up and move to Michigan. I still have my research work, and if I’m not working or in school for more than 6 weeks in a quarter, it violates my education visa. Not only will I have to move back to the States, I won’t be able to finish my degree.”
“Then I’ll fly you out every weekend.”
Pricked, the old wound split open, and she couldn’t quite hide the annoyance in her voice, “so it’s up to me to fly to you?”
Shit. He hadn’t taken her schedule into account again. “Sorry, no. Of course I’d come here, too.”
The annoyance still fresh in her mind she found herself asking, “why do I have to remind you my time matters for you to take it into account?”
Quinn winced. “I know your time matters. I’m sorry, it’s not fair for me to assume you could just pack up and move or fly out every weekend.”
“Then don’t bring it up again,” she said.
Okay then.
“I’m trying here, Sarah. This is all new to me, too.” He’d never felt close enough with June to figure out a summer situation. They saw each other once or twice when he was gone, and that was enough. Looking back, that should have been a huge sign about the trajectory of their relationship.
“And yet, I assume because I have a vagina, I was raised to take other people into account.”
“That’s not fair,” he said.
“No? Then why do you always jump into me coming to you? Into me changing my plans? Into me inconveniencing my life before you do?”
Fuck. This wasn’t supposed to go this way. This was supposed to be a nice, light conversation about how he wanted her to meet everyone he loved.
“Maybe we should just break up for the summer,” she said when he didn’t say anything.
“What? No!” Quinn sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, hurt and disgruntled she would even suggest such a thing.
“What would you suggest, then?”
Instead of answering her question, he asked one of his own. “Do you want to date someone else?” His voice was hesitant as he braced himself for the blow.
“No. Of course not.”
“Then why do you want to break up?” he asked through the relief easing his mind. “Why would you even say that?”
“Because we won’t be together.”
“That doesn’t mean we should just call it off. Why do you always jump into ‘we should break up’ or ‘I should go’ when something hard comes up?”
“I…” Sarah broke off, caught. “I don’t know.”
“Maybe you should figure that out because I’m willing to put in the work here,” he said, gesturing between them.
“That’s not fair.”
He raised his eyebrows instead of throwing her words back in her face.
“I’m sorry, Quinn. I am trying, and I know you’re trying.” Tears pricked at her eyes, “I’ve just…” her mind whirred, trying to find the right explanation. In the end, as it always did with Quinn, the truth won out. “I’m scared I’m going to fuck it up and I don’t want to lose you.”
Bridging the space between them with one big step, he pulled her against him. When they boiled down to the heart of the problem, they were both scared of the same thing.
Tucking his nose into her hair, he breathed in the calming, smokey scent that was uniquely hers. “I don’t want to lose you, either,” he said. “We can still be together. Just separately.”
A laugh snorted from her nose, and she pulled back, “what?”
“Long distance?”
It was Sarah's turn to suck on her lip. “I’ve never done that before.”
“I have. It's not easy. But I think we're both committed enough to make it work. Plus, we'll see each other pretty often.”
She had her thinking face on as a pregnant pause passed, so Quinn didn’t interrupt.
“What would that look like?” she asked, finally.
“We’d talk on the phone and video chat a lot. I can come see you every weekend.”
“That doesn't make sense, Quinn. You go to Michigan to train and be with family. If you're flying back here every weekend, won't that mess with those things?”
“Probably, but —”
“Then it's out of the question. You need to do what you need to do.”
He felt whiplashed. “I thought you wanted me to come here.”
“Only in equal measure to me coming to you. I won’t let you give up your summer training for me.”
It stuck him how much care and understanding were laid out in that statement.
“Just like I know you wouldn’t want me to give up my research for you. It wouldn’t be fair.”
Still wrapped in each others arms, Sarah rested her head on his shoulder as they thought.
Tucking his face into her hair again, Quinn breathed deeply. As always, that smokey, vanilla scent was so calming to him. He couldn’t ever get it out of his mind.
“This fucking sucks,” he said, voice muffled.
“I know,” she agreed. “I wish it could be different."
It couldn’t. They both had commitments that needed to be fulfilled, and they just didn’t match up.
“I wish I’d known. I would have made different plans.”
“How would you have known?” she asked. “We only met four months ago.”
“Has it only been that long?” he asked. The reality of the swiftness of their relationship hit him full force. “I feel like I’ve known you forever.”
“I know. I do too.”
“I don’t want to go the summer without you,” he said, caressing her cheek with the backs of his fingers.
“I don’t either,” she agreed, “but it’s not like it’ll be five months where we just don’t see each other.”
“Four,” he corrected.
“What?”
“Four months, I come back in September.”
Well, that was a relief.
“Okay, four months. I mean, we already have stuff planned. Let’s talk through what we do have,” she suggested, breaking away from him all together and pulling her planner from her bag. Flipping to the summer months, she lay it on top of her comparative physiology textbook and sat at the table. The urge to make a plan itched beneath her skin.
He sat next to her, leaning in.
“So we have my family in June,” she said, pointing out the 10 days she had blocked out for her visit, “I sort of expected you’d come on the weekend?”
“Yeah, that sounds good. And our reunion over the forth,” he said, flipping the page. “Then, we’re going to Hawaii at the end of July. You can come. I’ll get you a ticket.”
“Hold on, have you talked to your family about this?”
“No, but it’ll be fine.”
She shook her head.
He couldn’t believe she was turning down the option to spend two more weeks together.
“That’s your family vacation, Quinn. I’d love to come, but I don’t want to go inserting myself —”
“You’re not inserting yourself, I’m inviting you.”
“And I’m telling you I won’t come unless all your family is okay with it. Including Jack.”
Even though Quinn had assured her Jack was a good guy and very devoted to his family and would come around once they met, he was still aloof anytime she happened to be around when he and Quinn were talking. Even Ellen had said as much, but Sarah still felt hesitant. Until she saw it from Jack himself, she wasn’t about to jump into an already planned vacation. She knew what it was like having a new person join the family. She didn’t want to make it any harder than it had to be.
Quinn huffed.
“The last thing I want is to come between you and your brothers,” she said gently.
His expression softened. “Okay. I’ll talk to them about it when they’re here.”
“So, it looks like we’ll see each other every three weeks or so, depending on when you come to Nevada and what Hawaii looks like. At least until August.”
Every three weeks felt like too long. He could hardly stand a week on the road, and they weren’t even living together. Yet.
“I’d like you to come out to Michigan,” he said, “meet the guys. See the house.”
“Okay,” she agreed. “And you can come back here sometime here,” she said, her finger circling over a few weeks in August.
Quinn nodded. It certainly wasn’t going to be easy, but it did feel better to have a plan.
“Are you renting this place out for the summer,” she asked, “while you’re gone?”
“I kind of thought you might move in here.”
“What?”
“I mean, it’s just going to be empty, and I’d really like to live with you when I move back.”
She couldn’t believe he could drop such a huge bomb so easily. As she tried to reconcile what he was saying, she repeated, “what?”
“I mean…” he paused, voice and expression suddenly hesitant, “only if you want to.”
Her brain finally caught up, “it’s not that. It’s just…we haven’t even talked about living together, and now you have this whole plan about how I should live here over the summer.”
“I just thought there’s no real need for you to pay for rent anymore, since you spend so much time here anyway.”
“I…” she was struck with the care in that statement, “that’s really sweet, Quinn.”
He beamed.
“But I can’t live here alone all summer.”
Expression falling, he opened his mouth.
“I just —” she interrupted before she lost her nerve. What was one more in a series of already vulnerable conversations? “I’d love to live here with you, but I can’t…I don’t know how my depression will act up if I live alone for that long. I’ve never lived on my own before, and I don’t think a summer where I’m missing my boyfriend is the best time to start.”
The thought that she’d be here alone hadn’t crossed his mind. Not in a concrete way. Like, he knew she’d be here, and he knew he’d be in Michigan, but he never thought about it like she would be the only one in the apartment.
“Oh,” he whispered, taking her hands in his, “then of course not.”
His immediate acceptance made tears rush to her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Quinn asked as she took a hand back to wipe her face.
Smiling despite the tears on her cheeks, she shook her head. “I just really love you.” Her voice sounded full, almost like she had a cold.
“I love you, too,” he said, feeling a little confused, “but I don’t know why you’re crying.”
“Just…” How could she explain something like this? “The way you accept and trust my needs. It’s really nice.”
“The last thing I want is for you to be unhappy, Sarah.”
This brought on a new wave of tears, and she tucked her head into his shoulder, trying to pull herself together.
Quinn still felt a little whiplashed but tried to roll with it, running a soothing hand over her back.
“What?” he asked when she mumbled something into his shirt.
Pulling back, she wiped her nose before repeating, “I’ll have to sign a new lease. It comes up in July.”
“I’ll buy you out of it,” he said as if it was the simplest, easiest solution to any of the problems they’d discussed that day.
“I can’t let you do that, Quinn. That’s a lot of money.”
Her eyes went wide. They’d never discussed money so concretely. She knew he made big bucks. All pro athletes did, but, “eight million?” she asked. “What do you do with it?”
He hated having this conversation, but it needed to be had. It was actually a little surprising to him that it’d taken this long for it to come up. June had asked him about it a month into dating.
“Sarah, I make eight million dollars a year. I can buy out your lease.”
“I have a financial advisor who’s helped me invest most of it,” he said, “and I don’t really have all eight million available all the time. But I paid off my parents and some of our families’ houses, and I give quite a bit to charity.”
She’d seen the way he was with money. He never worried about it, but he certainly didn’t throw it at anything and everything. He wasn’t irresponsible.
Opening her mouth to say something, she found her mind still reeling and closed it again.
The annoyed look he would give her when she paid the dinner bill flashed in her mind. No wonder. He made so much more than she did. All the same, she wasn’t about to become some sugar baby. That went against nearly everything her parents had taught her.
“I still want to pull my weight,” she said.
Quinn was a little taken aback by the fierceness in her voice, “what?”
“If we move in together, I still want to pull my weight.”
His lips pursed, and he held back his initial response in favor of gathering more information. “What do you mean?”
“Like, if I make $80,000 a year, I want to pay whatever percentage that is of what you make.”
“You only make $80,000 a year?” he asked.
“No. Right now, I make $50,000 a year from my research stipend. It pays for my schooling, too, so it’s technically more, but $80,000 is a general base salary for a marine zoologist.”
“You’ve been living on $50,000 a year?”
“Yes, and I’ve been fine,” she said, giving him a look that stifled any follow-up questions he may have had. “My point is that if —” she paused to correct herself, “when we live together,” he beamed and she lost her thought for a moment before continuing, “I want to pull my weight, even if it is just a small percentage of the household. I don’t want to be some beholden trophy wife.”
“Beholden?” he repeated, an amused smile playing on his lips.
“Yes, I don’t want to be some kept woman. A lot of financial advisors that I listen to say you should split the household and each pay the percentage compared to your salaries. How much do you pay here a month? Do you rent? Is it a mortgage?”
“It’s a rental. It’s not really smart for me to buy a place when there’s a chance I may get traded in three years. It’s not enough time to build adequate equity on a home.”
Sarah stuck a mental pin in that to come back to, “and how much is your rent?”
“12,000.”
“A year?” she found herself asking, even though she knew that couldn’t possibly be the answer.
“A month,” he said with an indulgent smile, knowing it was her shock speaking more than anything else.
She wasn’t quite sure why, but this fact struck Sarah harder than anything else they’d talked about. She knew she’d never be able to afford an apartment like this on her own, but this was insane. More than a fifth of her yearly salary went to Quinn’s rent each month. She counted herself lucky to find a private room for under $2000.
“Okay, so if I make,” she paused, doing mental calculations - moving decimal points. Her voice was flat when she spoke again, “one percent of what you do…” She trailed off, looking into his face, “Quinn, this is insane.”
“I know,” he agreed. “I’m happy to just pay, but if you would feel better paying whatever, I’m happy for you to do that, too.”
“So, I’d pay one percent of the household expenses.” Saying it out loud, it sounded so silly. One percent? That seemed minuscule, too insignificant to matter. “Maybe I could pay ten percent? One feels too tiny.”
“Sure,” Quinn said, knowing this was important to her. Unless she was storming in, trying to take over all the bills, he was happy to have her contribute in whatever way she wanted. “If you want to do that, let’s do that. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
They sat quietly for a moment, and he gathered his thoughts.
“I know it’s important to you to contribute,” Quinn said gently, “and I’m not saying you shouldn’t - but I just want you to know I’m happy to pay for things. I know I’m insanely blessed to make the kind of money I do to play a sport that I love. I’d really, really like to live together once I move back. So if that means I need to buy out your lease, I’m happy to do it if you’re comfortable with that.”
Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she thought. If Quinn paid off her lease, she wouldn’t have to put off moving in with him or live on her own in this giant apartment or find a place to live for the two months between when he was home and when her lease was up.
She wondered if this was one of those instances her grandmother often talked about. “Sometimes,” she would say while they were cleaning the basement or kneading dough, or working in the garden, “life showers you with blessings. And it’s up to you to catch them.”
She always accompanied this wisdom by shaping her hands into a bowl as if to fill them with water.
Sarah did the same now, pulling her other hand out of Quinns to cup them together.
Eyebrows knitted together, he glanced from her hands to her face.
She giggled and told him the story.
“I should start doing that every morning,” he said, cupping his own hands together.
“Every morning?” she repeated.
“Well, every morning that you’re here. When I wake up next to you, I feel like the luckiest guy alive.”
Despite it being incredibly cheesy, Sarah couldn’t help feeling moved. “Quinn that’s really sweet,” she said. “I feel like that, too,” she paused, feeling like she needed to add a caveat. “And I want you to know your money isn’t part of that. I would love you no matter how much money you were making.”
“I know,” he said, leaning in to brush his lips over hers, “I’ve known that from the start.”
His hands found her waist as their lips connected.
A while later, that pin she’d stuck in for later snapped back into her mind, and Sarah pulled away. “What did you mean about getting traded?”
Well, they might as well have all the hard conversations all at once. “I’m in contract for the next three years, but after that, or even before, there’s always a chance I could get traded.”
The trade deadline had already passed for the season, and Sarah had watched, fascinated, as players were moved around from club to club, like pieces on a chess board as organizations tried to build the best teams possible. Now, she had a new level of understanding, knowing lives and families were being uprooted in the process.
“But they love you here.”
His smile was wide and genuine, “I love it here, too. I don’t really expect I’d be traded anytime soon, but I can’t say never with what I do. I could get seriously injured, or my game could crash.”
She gave him an incredulous look.
“Its happened before.”
“To you?”
“No, but it has to people I know. I really like it here, but I can’t guarantee I’ll play here forever, or even for the next three years. I think I will, but I can’t say for certain.”
“What happens if you get traded while I’m still finishing my degree?”
“I don’t think that will happen, but I guess we’d make it work apart until you were done. Most players get traded right at the end of their contract, so we’d be apart for the rest of the season, and then we’d decide what to do moving forward. If I was moving clubs by choice, we’d decide where to go together. ”
She nodded. “Do you get any say in trades?”
“I think I probably would, but it doesn’t always work out that way. I mean, Bo had a monster year last season, but they couldn’t come to an agreement, and so he got traded, and I know he would have liked to stay. It’s just never guaranteed.”
“How do you live your life like this?” she asked.
He shrugged, “you just kind of have to get used to the idea that things could change tomorrow.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah.”
The concerns his parents had expressed when they were here snapped into place, and a sudden, consuming worry that she might not want this kind of life overwhelmed him.
“Are you,” he paused to lick his lips, trying to find the right phrasing, “I mean, do you think you could be okay with that?”
Even as it was racing with anxiety, the worried look on his face melted Sarah’s heart. It was difficult to reconcile the fact that while it felt steady now, his life had the possibility of being in flux all the time, and that where he chose to work was only partially up to him. At the same time, she didn’t want to be without him. The pull between them was too strong, too fated in a way she couldn’t deny. She was too in love with him to be scared of the reality of his life.
There was only one thing for it. “It’ll take some getting used to, but I think I can,” she said. Perhaps this wasn’t even something she needed to be worried about. Thoughts buzzing, she tried to think of players on Quinn’s level who’d been traded recently. She couldn’t remember any off the top of her head. She’d have to look it up.
He gave her a relieved smile, and she saw moisture shining in his eyes.
“Oh, Quinn,” she said, her hands coming up to cup his face. The course hairs of his beard tickled her palms. “I think I’d probably move to the ends of the earth with you.” The words just fell out of her mouth, and once they were out there, spoken aloud for everyone to hear, she realized how true they were. For someone so practical, it was strange for her to have such a frivolous thought mean so much.
His face split into a beaming smile, and he pulled her into a hug. Tucking his nose into her hair again, he let a few grateful tears fall. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you,” he said.
“I don’t know either.”
A sudden, surprised laugh barked from his chest, and he pulled back with a raised brow.
“Oh no,” her hand went to her mouth as a blush blazed over her cheeks. “I meant that I feel the same way.” Shaking her head, she wondered if she had ever said something so stupid. “You’re the most understanding, accepting man I’ve ever met, Quinn. I’m so glad the Universe brought us together.”
He nodded, “me too.”
Looking into his eyes, which seemed more hazel than usual to the point that she could almost see a ring of green near the iris, the reality of what was coming hit her square in the chest, “this summer is gonna fucking suck.”
“I know,” he said, pulling her into his lap.
Arms around his shoulders to bring herself closer, her feet hung awkwardly off the sides of the chair. Though she knew her toes would be tingling from lack of blood flow within a matter of minutes, she didn’t readjust, savoring the feeling of his solid chest against hers.
The deep breath she sighed out moved her whole body against his. “We’ll get through it together, right?”
Tightening his grip, Quinn agreed.
As the minutes passed, his hands traveled over her back in slow, calming waves that put her totally at ease.
“Do you have homework?” he asked quietly, almost as if he didn’t want to hear the question himself.
“Yeah, but it can wait a while.”
A pleased little hum filtered up his throat, and he pulled her tighter against him.
“Can we move to the couch, though?” she asked. “My feet are falling asleep.”
Laughing, he stood, hands cradling her butt to keep her wrapped around him. When she hooked her ankles around his back, Quinn filed the position away to try later.
Halfway up the stairs, Sarah unwound herself from him. Sure, he was an athlete, but carrying her up the stairs was still taking a toll.
She lay down on the suede couch and held her arms open for him. He gratefully lay on top of her, his head on her chest.
Running her fingers through his hair, Sarah replayed their relationship in her mind. Knowing what she knew now, both about Quinn’s celebrity status and his quiet nature, the fact that he came up to her at all was a miracle. He could have any woman in the city, and he’d stuck his neck out for her. It was overwhelming to think about sometimes. She hoped she was living up to his expectations.
Half an hour later, Quinns phone chirped with a notification, bringing them out of their sleepy reverie. By that time, they’d switched places, and Sarah was draped over him.
“It’s 6,” he whispered into her hair. “I’ve got to get up to make dinner.”
Even as she whined, Sarah pushed herself up. This soft, caring version of Quinn was always her favorite, and she didn’t want to let him go. “I love you,” she said, looking down at him.
“I love you, too,” he said, standing and hugging her to him again before they had to get back to real life.
Her arms tightened around him. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you, Quinn Hughes, but I’m so glad you’re mine.”
Tucking his face into her neck, he pressed a few soft kisses there before telling her, “Sarah Roberts, you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
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Traditional - Extra VII
Read Traditional here | ~4.1k words
Warnings: smut. 18+ only. oral (m), sex, maybe public if you believe enough. Otherwise, it's kinda fluffy
From me: idk I think Harry can be a little TOO self-loathing. And he is really so sweet and nice overall. I think he deserves some TRADITIONAL sugar-daddy CEO treatment.
Summary: Harry is a lot calmer now that the client fiasco is over. But he's still on edge. Fortunately, she has an idea to take the edge off.
Harry was much more pleased with the direction of his company now that the biggest crisis of his career was finally in the rearview mirror. Now that her arm was healed and his clients were stable, everything was much better.
Except Harry didn’t fully accept it.
It was like there was a little worm in his brain that ate at him and whispered directly into the auditorial processing space that something, at any moment, would go wrong. The other shoe would drop and he would be back at square one.
“Baby?” She interrupted his thoughts of worthlessness and impostor syndrome. God he needed to see someone. But when was there time? “I asked about dinner, it’s Monday,” she reminded him gently. His mind reeling but he wanted to focus on her.
He wasn’t angry. For the first time in months. It felt like that for everyone around him. It created an entirely different vibe in the office. People weren’t scared during meetings. He didn’t slam his phone down when something was late.
But she noticed how withdrawn he was because she knew him.
“Are you alright?” Her voice wasn’t accusatory. It was still quiet. Like she was a little afraid she would set him off. But he hadn’t bought new electronics in months. The accounting department joked they would get to decrease the furniture budget this quarter as it closed. Harry couldn’t do anything but laugh because it was true. It was the first time he felt at ease since the mess happened.
It was awful.
“M’fine,” he smiled gently at her. It was their daily meeting. The one Harry didn’t even know they had until he saw it written on her calendar back when her cramps made her sleep through it. But he knew she didn’t believe his hand-waving denial. He wasn’t fine, she knew it.
“Okay,” she sipped her drink and eyed him suspiciously.
He was looking at the papers on his desk and every little negative number made his heart skip a beat.
This wasn’t healthy.
“Are you sure?” She asked again.
That wasn’t helping him either. How perceptive she was and knowing exactly what he was feeling. It was almost annoying that she could do it. All he wanted to do was hide his feelings from her the way he was supposed to, and she made it so difficult.
God, she was perfect.
He nodded silently, not looking up at her because if he did, she would read him like an open book. She would praise him and tell him he was perfect. He didn’t want that. It was stupid, but he needed to believe it himself. It was partially his own fault. Styles Inc. suffered very few hiccups other than getting up and running. Back when he had just graduated, and he had stuffed every penny he had into the two offices he and Niall needed to get started. It grew before his eyes. He believed he was important and doing important things. He knew he was talented and doing well.
Almost having to fire her was the worst wakeup call.
“Harry,” her voice broke his thoughts again.
“Yeah, kitten?” He hummed trying to admire the green numbers on the spreadsheet before him. They were large and lovely. The red ones amounted to next to nothing in comparison. But it didn’t matter. They were terrifying.
“Baby, I just asked you if you think I should go out for drinks with a client that keeps hitting on me so that we can get a bigger contract from him, and you said that was a good idea.”
His head snapped up. Jealousy pierced his heart and ran hot through his blood in seconds. “What client hits on you?” He scowled. They were dropping said client. Effective immediately. Not even feeling like an impostor would deter him from that kind of behavior. It wouldn’t matter if they were his biggest client either. If they were hitting on her—
“You really think a client would be stupid enough to hit on me knowing you’re my boyfriend?” She asked a slight smirk on her lips.
He ran a hand over his face. Of course they wouldn’t. Harry had a scary side, and everyone knew it. If they even tried to flirt with her Harry would probably break their neck. The little jealous monster inside of his head was more powerful than the worm that told him he wasn’t talented, and he could lose it all at a moment’s notice.
And he hated that word lately. He needed to add another reminder on his phone to remedy that immediately as well. Boyfriend. It was so childish sounding. He was a successful businessman, and he had a gorgeous girlfriend who made him feel like... well... like he deserved to own such a successful company. Fiancé. Husband. That had a nicer ring to it. He needed to fix that soon.
“Harry,” she giggled.
“What?”
“You’re staring at me,” she was blushing. Looked away as she sat in the chair across from him on the other side of the desk.
He sighed and smiled tiredly. “Course,” he really looked at her again, not just spaced out like he had been doing. The way her hair fell, the way her lip gloss coated her straw. The way her nail polish chipped—he would send her for a manicure (with Eleanor so she’d actually go) even though she preferred when Harry painted them—hence the chipping.
Harry was so captivated by her. It did seem like a crime that he hadn’t given her his full attention during their coffee break. Part of him thought she should model for offices or office furniture. It was sexist and lizard-brained of him. But she was so pretty it was the only thing he could think of in that moment. Then he considered the notion of her being a professor or a doctor—even though he knew she wasn’t qualified for it. But it didn’t matter. He suspected she could do it without training. She was too lovely. The fact that she was intelligent and beautiful and nice was unfair. He didn’t deserve something so good when he could lose the biggest reason she was in his life. “You’re so pretty, kitten.”
Her cheeks turned red again. Harry thought he would explode. “Don’t change the subject.”
“M’not,” he pouted. She did the cute little nose wrinkle that made Harry’s heart skip a beat the same way the negative numbers on spreadsheets did but this time he didn’t mind.
“Your brain has been elsewhere during this whole meeting—”
“Can y’please stop calling it a meeting, kitten?” he grumbled. It felt so wrong to call it a meeting when he was in love with her. Like he needed a corporate excuse to have her sit in his office.
“Pretenses, baby. Don’t want anyone to know I’m your second favorite.”
He grunted, running a hand over his face as the irritation sank in again because of her words. “Niall is not m’favorite.”
She smiled impishly. Her cheeks looked like little apples that Harry wanted to kiss and take bites out of. Her eyes danced with mischievousness that he thought she could only have learned from Louis.
He loved her so much.
Which was why he was so mad that he was worried. If this company suffered the thought of letting her down, of telling her that he wasn’t successful anymore. He met her only because he did well and was successful. How would she love him if that wasn’t true anymore?
“Harry, I’m going to drag you to the hospital if you don’t tell me.”
“Can we talk ‘bout it at home?”
She frowned. “Oh, it’s not work related?” She asked.
He shook his head, confused as to how she would conclude such a thing. “What do y’mean?”
“Well... if it was work-related, you would tell me now. You only tell me relationship-related things at home. Which means now I have to go back to my office and conference call Louis and Eleanor and pull Niall from his work so we can discuss where I’m going to live because you can’t take the sound of me singing in the shower anymore. What’s worse is Louis will agree and he won’t want me to live with him and Eleanor either. Then I’ll have to find my own place and it won’t have room for a porch swing and—”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Kitten, shut up,” he sighed. She smiled sweetly, unperturbed by the way he said it because he sounded exhausted with her, which was almost definitely her goal. He knew she liked to annoy him—even when he was already suffering internally.
“I don’t want to say it’s your fault, baby. But if you would just tell me what—”
“I don’t feel successful.”
She tilted her head at him curiously. “You don’t?”
He shook his head feeling the nerves in every inch of his skeleton. Right down to the bone. Past the bone. Probably to the atoms or even further to each proton and neutron. Telling her made it real. Telling her anything meant he had to deal with what he was feeling because she wouldn’t let him brush it away.
She was about as bad as the worm in his head.
“Okay,” she nodded. Then there was silence.
They stared at each other for a significant moment. Harry thought it could have been ten minutes, but it might have only been ten seconds. “You’re not going t’say anything?” He asked.
She shrugged. “I could,” she smiled gently. Almost pitifully. It made Harry feel the slightest bit worse. But then she made it better. Of course she did. She made everything seem so... simple. In the best way. A point of view he hadn’t considered. “I could ask you why. Or tell you how it’s not true—all of which I do believe. But I actually think it’s kind of more serious than that. I think you went through a really difficult thing. It piled and piled and you dealt with it. More than anyone here. Because you care and love this place with everything in you,” she listed. “I think you’ll need to talk to someone more qualified than me to fully deal with it. But I will list every reason why you’re completely, totally, and simply wrong another time. When you’re not so sad looking and it won’t fall on deaf ears,” she assured him with a pointed expression that he had fallen in love with so many times over it was uncanny.
Had he mentioned he loved her so much?
“Oh,” he murmured.
She stood up, moved around his desk and leaned against the edge in front of him. Her eyes didn’t move from his and she brought a hand to his face, traced the curve of his jaw, the soft pink lips she loved so much. “Why are you worried you’re not successful?” She asked.
She really knew where to hit him where it hurt. “Y’won’t love me...if m’not successful.”
“Harry,” she cooed. “Baby—”
“I know,” he turned into her hand and kissed the center of her palm. “But I... I only met y’because m’successful. If m’not... then...”
“You know I don’t love you because you have money, right? We’ve been over this.”
“I know,” he nodded. “Really, I do. But s’like...there’s something in m’brain, kitten. I can’t turn it off and m’exhausted. After all that... I mean... y’saw. It was reallybad. Like really bad. M’still kind of worried and—what are you doing?”
“Turning your brain off,” she smiled, full of mischief once more as she slunk down to her knees. She wiggled into the space of his desk where he normally pushed his chair in. “Surely you’ve thought about this?” She asked, her hand sliding up his thigh.
Harry was suddenly illiterate. And mute. What was she talking about? Were they talking about something? The only thing he could hear was his uneven breath and the clinking sound of his belt and zipper. “Oh,” he groaned as her lips mouthed at the outline of his dick against his briefs.
“Cause I’ve thought about it. A lot.”
“You have?” He murmured dumbly.
She nodded, looking up at him from between his legs, crammed under his desk. It was a fantasy he hadn’t even imagined before thirty seconds prior and there she was: making it come true. Her lashes seemed so long, and her hand was massaging him through his underwear. His heart was pounding. All thoughts of negative numbers were gone.
She deserved a raise.
Her fingers hooked around his underwear, and she tugged on them, pulling him free. He didn’t even realize he was straining against the fabric. Within seconds her lips enveloped around him, and she sucked quickly. Hard. Everything was warm and wet instantly.
Harry had done this before with the companions he had found on the very website he found her, but he wished he never had because this was her. She was so perfect. She was everything he wanted. She was beneath his desk making him feel important and it was so ridiculous for him to feel that way but it worked. It was working.
Her mouth was meant to be around him. At least that was the way it felt. It never felt like this. She didn’t even care about herself. Which was fine because Harry would return whatever she gave him now plus interest. For the first time in a year, he felt utterly relaxed. Her head bobbing up and down the length of him. He put a hand on the back of her head, and she moaned softly sending a vibration through him and up to his chest. His cheeks felt hot. Not that he was embarrassed. But it was so much rapid blood flow. Everywhere. He was going to lose his mind.
There was a knock on the door.
She froze but didn’t remove her mouth from him. Harry grumbled a curse under his breath, carefully tucked himself further the edge of his desk without bumping her too much or crushing her. “Yeah?” He called tentatively.
Her lips focused on the tip of him making him struggle to maintain his composure.
“She’s not here?” Niall frowned from the doorway.
Harry shook his head staring at the screen trying not to let his best friend know that his girlfriend and Niall’s very favorite coworker was crammed beneath his desk and sucking him for all he was worth. Even though Niall was right there. “Ran an errand,” her tongue slid down the underside of him silently. He cleared his throat, shifted. Hoping she wouldn’t torture him in front of his best friend. When did she get so brave?
Oh. Traditional. That’s what that meant. Harry thought to himself.
“When she gets back can you ask her where the file from yesterday’s meeting is? I don’t want to mess with her organizational system,” she dug her nails into his thigh not very hard but so her presence was known. As if the thought of Niall messing with her system really was the worst thing he could do in that moment.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t,” Harry chuckled. But the movement made him shift in her mouth which nearly sent him cross-eyed. He cleared his throat again.
“You okay? She’s been worried about you.”
“M’fine,” he rolled his eyes.
She silently sucked harder as if to prove a point. Moved him further down her throat. Harry took a deep breath to maintain any semblance of control he had left over the situation. Which was very little.
“I like that she worries about you.”
“It’s unnecessary,” Harry muttered. To both of them.
“When are you going to marry her?” Niall asked.
That paused her. She released him, peered up through those sinful lashes and smiled more mischievously than he had ever seen. Harry shifted. Silently and blindly lining himself up with her mouth again to keep her from saying I knew it or just generally giving herself away in front of Niall. She obligingly took his length down her throat again and it was a miracle she didn’t make a sound with the amount of spit lodged in her mouth. “Soon,” he assured Niall.
“She left her cell in the office,” he said. “Hopefully she’s with the driver or something.”
“Yeah, I called for him,” he wanted Niall out. “What time are we teeing off tomorrow?” He asked the last bout of normalcy he had left in him. Her lips were dragging so slowly over him it felt nearly painful. The moment Niall left he was going to come.
“Nine fifteen.”
He nodded. “Alright, I’ll be by later for the new account model for—” He coughed as her fingers danced along the inside of his thighs, reaching for the space of his cock that didn’t fit in her mouth as well as underneath— “Excuse me,” he covered his mouth over the fake cough before dropping his hand to his lap—her head—and pushed ever so slightly toward the back of her throat. Fortunately, his phone rang. Niall nodded waving him off; allowing him to tend to his phone call—that he was not going to answer.
“I got it,” he assured him and closed the door.
Harry yanked from her mouth, shoved from the desk, barely pulling his pants up at all. He hurried across his office to twist the lock on his door. Once turned around, she was already there, knelt before him again and sucking him into her warm mouth again. Sucking hard. It was probably loud. Wet. Anyone that happened to be by his door at that moment would know what was happening on the other side. Maybe they would make a rumor. Maybe they would assume it was her—neither of which Harry wanted. “Not here, kitten,” he groaned quietly and lifted her begrudgingly from her knees. He pulled her toward the bathroom. He briefly thought of the first time he was in there with her, knelt himself, to take her shoe off and Louis and Eleanor assumed he was prepared to do something he loved doing to her and strongly considered doing it again. Just as he lifted her bum onto the counter she stopped him.
“Nope,” she slid down again. Knelt once more. “Said it was turning your brain off,” she reminded him. Her lips around his dick once again. Now, with an office separating them from the rest of the company, she openly slurped. Made obscene noises that would satisfy him just fine on business trips where he didn’t get to take her with him and leave him with nothing but fantasies before falling asleep in a lonely hotel room. He slammed the bathroom door shut just for further privacy.
He groaned lowly, meeting the bob of her head as gently as he could so as not to cause her to struggle but enjoying the warmth of her mouth and throat. Her lips looked so sexy around him he wasn’t going to last much longer at all. “Love,” he tilted his head back. “Y’need to—”
“Shh,” she pulled back, pressing the most chaste of kisses along his length which was an oxymoron. “Just worry about you,” she hummed. “Please?”
Harry groaned his hands gathering her hair at the back of her head as she slipped her mouth down as much of him as she could take and it felt so good it made him
“Aw fuck, kitten, s’good,” he groaned and held her in place as he released in her mouth. His breath was ragged, his hips stuttering slightly. She continued sucking even though it was sensitive. Even though it was more than he deserved.
“Do you really think I would stop loving you because you didn’t have money?” She asked, fluttering her lashes. Voice the slightest bit hoarser.
He lifted her from her knees, putting her on the counter again and shoved her dress up to her hips. Thank God she wore a dress. “This underwear is ripped,” he grumbled.
She frowned. “It is? It’s my favorite I didn’t notice a rip when I put them on this mor—”
But she didn’t realize he was predicting the future. He pulled on the nylon cotton blend with so much force her already hoarse voice died in her throat. He groaned, tossing them on the floor. He lined himself up with her entrance and brought her bum to the edge so the sharp corner dug into her flesh. It would leave a bruise and the only thought that was left in her head was that Harry would kiss it and make it better later.
His length slid inside her so effortlessly. She should have been embarrassed how turned on she was sucking him off—especially when Niall got to the office but she couldn’t help it. Now the length that had felt so good in her throat was making her core ache. He thrusted into her quickly. Hardly letting her breathe or realize what was happening, but it felt so good. She was moaning into the curve of shoulder. Clinging to him. “Baby, I—”
“S’good kitten. S’good. I love you so fucking much,” his hips were relentless. All thought escaping her mind. A fire could have broken out in the shower and she wouldn’t have moved—couldn’t have moved.
“Oh wow,” she sighed as Harry pulled her closer to him—her legs wound around his waist. Her butt barely on the counter. Her eyes fluttered with each thrust. “Oh, oh my God,” she moaned. “You’re—”
“Gonna come on m’cock, kitten,” it was a question. Or a command. She didn’t know. It was both. Neither. Part of her wondered if he even said anything.
But she did. She did come on his cock. Hard. She fluttered around him for what felt like minutes. Hours. Centuries. Color ceased to have meaning. There was no sound. That was heaven. She was sure. A blasphemous thought that she didn’t even have the strength to laugh about because she was deliriously good.
Her voice was hoarser than only moments before. Her face tucked into his shoulder and her breath shaky as he pushed her further back toward the mirror at the end of the counter behind the sink. Further from him. Her cheeks were flushed, and she could only imagine what he had done to her hair. But his pupils were massive. His lips pinker than ever. His chest heaved.
Clearing her throat, she gently tucked him back into his pants. Then tucked in his shirt too. With the same delicateness as she did with his cock. It was intoxicating. Made him want to go another thousand rounds with her. “So, in conclusion,” she whispered. “I will love you whether you have a kajillion dollars or one dollar,” she looked up at him, cheeks burning.
“That was very sexy, kitten,” his eyelids practically fluttered.
“I...” she cleared her throat. “I surprised myself, actually.”
“We should do this more often,” he pulled her skirt down and brought her closer to the edge of the counter again. She hissed at the contact against the bruise that was definitely forming. He frowned. “Oh, love m’sorry,” he cupped her face and gazed at her. “Was I too rough? I shouldn’t have—”
“Harry, if I didn’t fear for the stability of my leg muscles I would probably bend over your desk for you.” He swore under his breath. “You did bruise my butt though.”
“No good deed,” he mumbled and lifted her gently from the counter. His hand cupping her backside and gently rubbing each cheek as if it were normal. But it felt normal.
She nuzzled into his chest and sighed contentedly. “Niall’s going to see right through me,” she murmured.
“I’ll fire him again if he makes y’uncomfortable.”
She snorted and laughed, tilting her head up to look at him. “You are my favorite person Harry Styles. I love you so much. Even if you ruined my favorite pair of underwear.”
He smiled as mischievously as she had earlier in the day. “I’ll buy you more...a hundred pairs of them. Then I’ll ruin them all again,” he promised, then pressed his mouth firmly against hers. A gentle, soft kiss in comparison to all they did in the span of half an hour. “I love you too.”
She grinned. “Say it again.”
He shook his head at her, kissed her forehead, effectively turning her to mush, which was probably his plan so she couldn’t deny his next request. “Stop calling our coffee break a meeting.”
But her senses were returning. The ones that weren’t primal and horny about how massive Harry’s dick was in her mouth. She was going to say something funny; he could see it in the glint in her eye. “Well, I can’t put ‘sex’ on your calendar now can I?”
--
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I'm craving a concept only you can deliver: Sephiroth comforting Zack during a personal crisis? What would that be like?
YESSS MY BEANS!!!! <333 I adore these kinds of scenarios with them 💙💚 You’ve come to the right place, my un-rotten friend! I shall do my best! <33
~
It happened on Angeal’s birthday.
Crumpled on the floor; fists clenched into veiny, trembling balls of cement; thin pillars of candlelight quivering and flickering against the apartment’s gloom, deserted atop the vanilla terrain of an abandoned birthday cake as, like a feather, left to the mercy of even the slightest gust of wind, too weightless to resist the current, their fragile flames bent to the mercy of wherever the wintry draft whispering through the apartment pulled them.
This was the state Sephiroth found Zack in.
At first, he almost left. Sincerely (and he had trouble lying), that was what he wanted to do. Leave the document, leave a pen, leave a note explaining that it required his signature—and then leave without saying a word. Everything in his mind was screaming at him to do just that. Go, leave, you don’t know what to do… And when he stayed, when he didn’t budge, the reins tugged harder: GO… now! Leave! You don’t know what to say…!
And it was true: he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what in that moment, standing in an ajar door, cracked open only a fissure, cracked open only after three unanswered knocks, watching his lieutenant sob unrhytmically into his knees, what he could possibly do. Zack didn’t even seem to notice his presence—oblivious to the gauzy belt of light stretching across the apartment, unaware of the two conflicted emeralds peering inconspicuously into his darkened quarters. And the sheer frequency of his rattling breath masked any groan or creak that his weight against the door would produce.
Yet…
For every tug and lash of the reins in his mind, demanding him to go there was an anchor thrown over the hulls of his heart and keeping him rooted in place. Don’t go, don’t leave… And as he tried to uncomfortably wriggle out of its grasp, it would beat louder in his chest: Don’t leave him… Please, don’t go. Don’t abandon him. Don’t you understand why he is hurting…?
The man’s eyes had seemed to flicker.
Oh… he understood. He understood good and well. He, too, had also felt a toxically-stifling cloud billow in the wake of his thoughts throughout the day. From the moment he woke up, he knew what day it was. Angeal would be turning 26 today. Had he still been with him, he would have added another year to his life, another block of wisdom to stack atop the castle of what seemed to be the spirit of an elderly father encased inside the bones of a young adult. He would have been here to celebrate that growth. He would have been here to honor himself.
Admittedly, it hadn’t occurred to him how Zack may be feeling. Perhaps that was because he had swallowed every last bit of pain today like a gallon of vinegar—or maybe it was because he had blindly assumed that Zack would be finding a way to resist the same acid. Clearly, he had tried to do something to cope with it. Only it was just as clear that he ended up buckling under the leaden pressure that had been building throughout the day—and now he had cracked, imploded, left broken and bent on the cold hard floor of his home away fro—
“Monster…”
And it was that word, choked viscously from the depths of Zack’s throat, cold and hard as the floor he lay crumbled upon, that made Sephiroth stay.
He pushed open the door, golden light dilating across the room.
“…Zack?”
The First’s head shot up from his knees—blue eyes sleek and wet with a boil of burning tears, swollen cheeks vaguely catching the light like tiny stones glistening against shallow water, the Mako-fueled gems narrowing slightly yet unclear if it was out of annoyance or surprise or an attempt to see better amid the darkness.
Sephiroth took a step closer.
“What are you doing here?” Zack bit out then.
Sharp, serrated, rancorous.
Sephiroth didn’t move any closer.
“…You’re upset,” he observed. Stated, more like—considering the sheer lack of emotion he managed to gouge of the two simple words, as if a straight and businesslike approach was the only compromise his mind could compromise for intervening.
Immediately, Zack wiped at his eyes.
“…Yeah?” His response was just as emotionless. “What about it?”
Cold, bitter, and edging on venomous. The tone admittedly stung Sephiroth—pierced something in his heart that he didn’t know was there, like an inconspicuous crack in the mortar where a tender swathe of his heart was beating. He knew the boy was upset; he wasn’t that blind, nor was he that ignorant. But it was hurtful nonetheless. Their last interactions didn’t seem to have this poison—unless, of course, it had been festering underneath, had been hiding under his tongue as he warmly saluted goodbye on that warm Junon evening by the dock.
I’ll hold you to that!
All again, Sephiroth’s eyes seemed to flicker.
“…I know you miss him, Zack,” he said, attempting to defrost as much cold professionalism from his voice as he could. “I know it’s—“
Whatever he said, it was the wrong thing.
Zack’s eyes began boiling with tears once more. Only this time, the mist seemed to be daggerous—acidic, sharp, spearlike—and there was no ambiguity anymore as to what the narrowing of his bloodshot eyes signified.
And he erupted.
“GET OUT!” Zack’s voice exploded around the den like a deadly, roaring echo. “GET OUT!”
Sephiroth took several steps back.
“Zack…—“
“I SAID GET OUT!” He threw his arm toward the door in jagged emphasis.
“Zackary.”
“SHUT UP AND GET THE HELL OUT!”
He had never seen Zack in such a state. By all means, he knew the young First wasn’t as happy and cheerful as he masqueraded for the rest of the world to see. That much he knew, that much he had learned, as someone who wore an oppositely-temperatured mask himself. But that didn’t make the degree of his SOLDIER’s temper right now any less unsettling. It didn’t make it any less painful.
It didn’t make it any less concerning.
And maybe that was why, against the boy’s blazing demand for him to leave, Sephiroth chose to stay.
“…You’re upset, Zack…” he stated again, only his voice had completely thawed. Softening his eyes, steeling his resolve, the man took another step forward. “You’re upset. You’re grieving. I know how you—“
“YOU DON’T KNOW SHIT!” Zack’s throat was beginning to close as he bellowed. And then, as if having suppressed the poison for so long: “You weren’t THERE, were you?! No! I don’t THINK SO! I was THERE, Sephiroth! I had to DO IT! Do you know that? Do you know that’s why he’s DEAD! It’s because of ME! ME, DAMNIT! I killed him! I… I killed him. Oh Gaia… Oh Gaia… I did it… oh man… I did it… I killed him, Sephiroth… I killed him…”
And then he was crumpling back to the floor, his voice slowly trickling away like tendrils of smoke from an inferno.
“I’m… I’ma monster…”
Sephiroth watched the broken SOLDIER, his mouth hanging ajar. Hardly even breathing. His chest was twisted at such an angle that he was certain he would snap at any moment, like a feeble twig, his lungs on the verge of imploding in on themselves and shutting down the entirety of his shock-drugged body. Swells of different emotions were raging inside him at such a speed him that, like roaring rapids during a storm, flowed too fast and viciously for him to grasp and even begin to digest. If all simply crashed against him, tumultuous and unrelenting. Almost suffocating. Paralyzing.
He was numb.
The only thing to stay afloat, echoing clearly in his ears, as if it was the only thing his mind could seem to hear, as if it was louder than anything else despite being the softest thing mumbled, was the same unyielding word that had drawn him into the apartment to begin with. Raw and cold, but no longer venomous—as if the poison had been wrung out of it, leaving only a deadly and poised blade behind, and was now balancing under Zack’s chin, the spear digging into his pulse and aimed only to harm himself.
Even in his numb and drugged state, it drove him to speak again.
“No…” Sephiroth vaguely shook his head, his voice edging on a whisper. “That’s not true.”
Slowly, Zack lifted his chin once more, the shadows of torrents now glistening on his reddened cheeks. His incision shone bright in their wake, shimmering in a rich and ghostly red—still to heal, still raw, and probably burning like acid into the deepest layers of his skin.
It made Sephiroth’s chest snap.
Gingerly, as if there was glass strewn about the floor, Sephiroth took another delicate step forward. He then took another step after that, and then another step after that, gradually closing the distance between them until only a tiny creek of wooden floor separated them. His shadow looming over the distraught teen, he carefully bent down until he their gazes were level: green eyes staring into blue, glistening sapphires mirroring the small shimmers of light radiating from the tame, softened emeralds.
And Sephiroth spoke again.
“You are not a monster…” The man’s voice had turned to porcelain, gazing deeply into those anguished azure eyes. “Don’t ever say that. Zack.”
A snuffle, a choke, and a thin trickle of tears bled through Zack’s eyes as he strained them shut.
“…You weren’t even there,” he whispered. “You don’t know what happened.”
There was a moment, a lull, where Sephiroth questioned it he should say what he wanted to say next. His lips briefly hovered, floating in the painful purgatory of uncertainty and obligation. Of righteousness and potential regret. Of fear and endangered friendship.
But just like the candles, bent only by a single wintry draft, a single pained beat of his heart opened them wide enough to speak.
“Then tell me.”
Silence, then Zack let out another choke.
“…I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“You’ll hate me.”
“No… no I won’t.”
“Yes you will! You would want me dead.”
“Don’t ever say that.”
“You will though… You’re gonna hate me…” He sucked in his breath, choked again, lowering his chin back into his knees. “I don’t want you to hate me…”
Never had Sephiroth’s chest ached so fiercely.
“Zack…. Zackary. Look at me. Please.”
It took a beat, a strained one, but Zack eventually did.
And Sephiroth held him steady in his gaze.
“You are all I have left, Zack. You are my… last friend. My only friend. So, please… believe me. There is nothing that will ever make me hate you. Nothing at all.”
He reached out then, hesitant, but not enough to stop him from gripping his teary friend’s shoulder.
He squeezed.
“It’s alright…” Sephiroth said gently, delicately. “Tell me what happened.”
And so Zack did. Every detail, every cry and shout and plea for his mentor to stop the madness—he retold it all. He told of finding Angeal in the bathhouse; he told of the brief swell of hope he felt; he told of how the hope was violently extinguished; he told of the way their cherished friend mutated, how he was forced to fight him, how he was forced to take the blade and stab it through the beast’s heart after it nearly tore his face agape; he told of crumbling on the ground after the deed was done, looking over his mentor’s blooded face, reverted back to a human, and just how monstrous he himself had felt.
By the time Zack was done, the dam had completely splintered, and he was leaning so far that he was on the verge of the falling over.
So, when he did, Sephiroth caught him.
He wrapped his arms around the boy as Zack collapsed into him, pulling Zack close against his chest and letting him cry. Letting him cry, letting him grieve, he held him steady, like an anchor rooting him to the ground, trying his best not to move as Zack rattled and quaked and lifted his own arms to wrap around him in turn, resting him chin against the bed of harmless spikes, holding him close, and then holding him even closer.
“Gaia… I killed him…”
“Shhh… He didn’t give you a choice.”
“He would be here, Seph… he would—“
“He left long ago, Zack. You know that.”
“I know… I…”
“It’s alright…. Shhh. It’s alright.”
“I—I miss him, Seph…”
“I know you do. I do too.”
And they stayed like that, side by side, in each other’s arms, until the candles on the cake went out.
#sephiroth#ffvii#crisis core#zack fair#ff7#asks#ty!!#pichu writing#angeal hewley#angst#floof#saltwater floof
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Ruben Dias x Reader - Fix You Part 2/10
Part 3 and 4 are out on my Patreon for Free!
Summary - Reader is hired as Ruben's assistant nurse after receiving head trauma during a football game. He has fallen into a deep depression on his road to recovery and does not accept much help from Reader as she only reminds him of how incapable he is.
Enjoy!
Ruben's family were not joking when they said that if successful, you'd be hired immediately. You still had your flat in London with all of your belongings, however, that would be taken care of for you since Ruben's family were more than willing to set up a room for you in Ruben's apartment. There you received your own private quarters, with a joint bathroom and everything, not to mention your own walk-in closet.
"I kid you not, it's bigger than my old flat." You squealed into your phone.
"Well, what is he like, your employer?" Your friend Donna asked. She was currently in your apartment in London, collecting the immediate essentials that had to be shipped to you right away.
"Well, you know. He's kind of quiet." You said, having only known Ruben for two days. During these two days his physio, Max, had taken care of everything, only asking you to measure the proper proportion for Ruben's daily dose of Heparin, which was injected to prevent blood clots from forming.
"But he's hot, no?"
"Who, Max?"
"No, the guy you're working for, Ruben?"
"I don't know?" You muttered. Although he was tall and fairly built, there was something about not knowing the color of a man's eyes that didn't sit right with you. "It's the mirror to one's soul, you know."
"I'd rather wanna know the size of his...."
"Donna." You hissed. "Really?"
Her laughter buzzed in your ear. "What, it's the canal of life, you know."
"Ha, ha, very fun..."
"Y/N?"
A knock on the door interrupted you.
"Just a second!" You pressed the phone to your ear as you jumped down from your bed.
"It's Max."
"Yeah, just a second!"
You said goodbye to Donna and hurried up to close the suitcase that lay open on your floor. You shoved it under the bed along with other scattered items, before making your way over to the bedroom door. Max stood waiting for you in the doorway.
"Hey, I just wanted to say that I'm leaving now."
"Oh, okay, when will you be back?"
"On Monday?"
"What? But that's in three days."
"Exactly." He nodded. "I work four days and get three days off to see my girls."
"You have a family?" You said, quite disappointed by the fact. Max was really handsome for a forty-two year old.
"Anyway, If you need anything I think Ivan is stopping by tomorrow with some groceries, other than that I wrote down everything that needs to be done during the day, along with some light exercises that you can help Ruben do."
"Me, help Ruben?" You frowned. It took you two days to get comfortable living the easy life. You would've never pursued acting if you had known about being a rich man's nurse.
"Like I said," Max smiled. "If you need anything, call Ivan. He lives twenty minutes away from here."
"Alright, okay. " You nodded, accepting the situation. "Have a good weekend."
"You too."
And just like that a man's life was left in your hands. It was an odd feeling. Not scary, just odd. Nevertheless, you plotted yourself in the living room, just in case Ruben needed you he could call for help and you'd hear him. However, hours passed without a word from him. You weren't concerned at first, considering the fact that Ruben knew how to walk on his own. But after some thought, you decided to knock on his door and see if he needed anything.
"Ruben, It's me."
No answer.
"I thought that maybe I could make you a snack? Would you like that?"
Still no answer.
It hit you, what if he was bleeding out? With the trauma to his brain, perhaps he had developed some internal bleeding and now he was laying in bed, dying on your watch.
"Ruben, I'm sorry but I'm going to have to...." You burst into his room. The first thing that hit you was the breeze from the balcony with its door ajar.
"Oh, no."
Only seeing the traces of Ruben on his bed, you could only assume the worst.
"Please don't be dead, please don't be dead."
You rushed out onto the balcony, leaning over the railing, expecting to see a body laying flat on the ground. However, there was nothing, not a trace of human remains.
"You're worse than the others, you know that right?"
You gasped, hearing his low chuckle. Turning your head, you spotted Ruben, shirtless, laying on his back, arms tucked behind his neck as he bathed in the sun.
"You're....you're...."
"Not dead?" He said, raising a brow behind his bandaged eyes.
"I'm sorry, I thought...."
"That a guy with injuries like mine should consider killing himself?"
"Yes and no."
"Yes and no?" He frowned, "Care to elaborate?"
"Not should consider." You said. "But I believe some people would consider...doing it."
"Well, unfortunately I'm still alive."
"I can see that." You muttered.
Ruben sat up, and to your surprise removed the blindfold from his eyes by tugging it down to rest around his neck. He then reached for the bottle of sunscreen on a stool nearby, applying a drop of it on his nose.
"If you're planning on laying in the sun all day, you should probably apply sunscreen to your entire body."
He stopped the motion of putting on sunscreen, shifting his head your way. "I'm Portuguese, I'm pretty sure I can handle a dose of English sun."
"But can you handle a dose of skin cancer?"
He chuckled, eyelids flickering as he did. He seemed tempted to open them, his eyes. And for a moment that thought struck fear within you.
"Was there something you wanted?"
"Pardon?" You had been distracted. Your eyes falling onto the sight of his abs. They were visible even though he was sitting down. Something worth remembering for your next call with Donna.
"Was there something you wanted?" Ruben repeated, snatching you out of your daze. "I mean Max already gave me my shot and I don't need your help swallowing my pills."
"Right." You said. "I guess I just wanted to check on you."
"To see if I was still alive?" He grinned.
"Right." What an asshole, you thought. "Now that that's confirmed, I'll get started on dinner."
"Don't bother." He said, pulling the bandage to cover his eyes again.
"Why not?"
"Well, my mom left us food that should last us all year."
"Oh, okay."
"She's afraid that you can't cook, you know."
"Well I can."
"Yeah, but not as good as her."
"Right."
You left Ruben's room, embarrassed to have entered in the first place. Who does the guy think he is, speaking to you like some kind of servant? You wondered how long you'd be able to put up with it. Not for long you reckoned.
'
Part 3 and 4 are out on my Patreon for Free!
#fanfiction#football imagine#footballer x reader#ruben dias#footballer imagine#man city#football angst#manchester city#ruben dias x reader#ruben dias imagine
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Parental Negotiations
Feyd x reader
Pregnancy, canon typical violence suggested, etc. Feyd is Lowkey his own warning.
Feyd's brown wrinkled as he narrowed his eyes. "None?"
I tensed, anticipating a fight. Feyd had the energy to argue all day if he cared enough about the topic, and for better or worse our future children were an important topic to him. But at seven months pregnant, I had no desire to do such a feat. Once upon a time I would have loved to have verbally sparred with him over the course of several hours, riling him up until he was ready to throw me into our bed. None of that sounded appealing these days. I'd rather the two of us spend our evening quietly, holding each other, watching some documentary or education text until I fell asleep. Is this how old people felt?
Feyd and I were both barely in our early twenties, but this pregnancy feels like it had aged me in an unexpected way. Or maybe I was just tired. That could be it.
I sighed, sitting down on the couch that took up a large space in my living quarters. Feyd had his own rooms of course, but he spent most of his time in mine. It would be smothering if I didn't like him so much. "I don't want to use a wet nurse when the baby is born. I want to feed my child from my own breast. And I don't really want to use nursemaids either, I'd prefer to raise my own child."
Feyd was quiet for a moment, his eyes staring me down like he was trying to determine just how serious I was about this issue. When he did speak, his raspy voice was gentler than usual. "You're the Na Baroness. You'll be the Baroness one day. You have obligations beyond being a wife and mother."
"I know, and I'm not going to neglect those duties. I think I'll take one or two months to rest with the baby, and after that, I'll see how much I can get done with them on my hip." I explained. "I'm open to using a part time nursemaid, sparingly. So I can have someone hold the baby while I shower, and other such needs."
"And if you can't manage to meet your duties with our child strapped to your chest?" Feyd pressed calmly.
"Then I'll be open to using a nursemaid. Sparingly, of course." I said firmly. "Some weight could be lifted if you assisted me, you know. I don't expect you to drop everything to help me, but watching them for a few hours while I get my duties done would help a lot."
Feyd looked bewildered. "When am I supposed to find the time to do that?!"
I chuckled. "You could strap him to your chest while you do your morning run." I suggested.
"What's wrong with using the nursemaid?" Feyd probed again. "They'll be properly vetted I assure you. And the royal guard will never be far."
"Listen, I know most nobles think that seeing their child once a day for afternoon tea is being an involved parent, but I disagree." I said firmly. "I'm not going to carry this baby for nine months, go through hours of labor, love them more than I ever thought I could love anyone, and then just hand him off to a stranger to raise. I want to be the one to teach him to talk, and walk, and play with him. I know the sleepless nights when he's sick or having a tantrum will be difficult at best, but I want those hard times. I want… I want to actually be a mother."
Feyd's eyes glazed over, my words still registering as he remembered something. Some far off memory that I would likely never be privy to. He hadn't ever spoken much about either of his parents, but he avoided the topic of his mother like a snake avoiding a hawk. Perhaps there was some dusty memory in the corners of his mind of a mother that soothed his fevers, kissed his scraped up knees, and sang his nightmares away with lullabies.
"Alright." He said, a firmness in his voice that assured dependableness and security. "No wet nurses. And I'll only have two nursemaids hired, both part time."
Two nursemaids was a great improvement over the seven that the Baron had told you to expect. Seven nursemaids to attend to the future of House Harkonnen. And three wetnurses. How much could one baby eat? Perhaps the Baron expected Feyd's child to have an appetite to match his.
I smiled, leaning over and kissing Feyd's cheek. "Thank you, love. This means a lot to me."
"If you neglect your duties, I won't be able to prevent more nursemaids being hired." Feyd warned. "And if you're unable to care for our child sufficiently, I will insist on the nursemaids stepping in more."
"I understand." I said gently, resting a hand on his arm. "I just want… when our child wakes up from a nightmare, I want them to call out for me, not a nanny."
Feyd's eyes softened. He rested his hand on my belly, rubbing little circles over where our baby rested inside me. "I will never truly understand motherhood, or your desire for it. But this is important for you, so it's important to me. And… I do admit to wanting something similar."
"You do?" I asked, surprised.
"When I was a boy, I used to go to my combat instructors when I had an injury or needed advice." Feyd explains. "I was wondering the other day about which instructors I should pick for my child, and I realized… I wanted to be the one to teach them. I wanted to be the one to bandage his cuts, and correct his stance. Not some retired general I select to train him for me."
I leaned into Feyd, gasping a little as our baby moved inside me, kicking right where Feyd's hand rested. "Oh! Ugh… they're getting stronger. That one hurt a bit."
Feyd chuckled, rubbing the little outline of our baby's foot. "A strong kick. Good, they'll need that."
"I think you'll be a good father." I said, images of Feyd instructing our child, a toddler in my fantasy, on how to throw their first punch. "Just remember, little hearts need a soft touch, not just a firm hand."
Feyd's lips pressed against my forehead as our child gave another kick. Lighter this time, thankfully. "I'll try to remember that."
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Hi Mimi 🥰
Congrats on your follower milestone!!!
For your event, may I request "Here Comes The Sun" by the Beetles with Tup x Fem!Reader? (I decided against the bass 😂)
Please and thank you 💚💚💚
@the-bad-batch-baroness
Thank you so much love @the-bad-batch-baroness!
This was such a good request, not only do I love the Beetles, but I love Tup, and we were robbed of his screen time.
I hope you love my take on this song.
Also 'euk cyar'ika' means little darling/sweetheart. Close enough. ;)
Love oo.
Here Comes The Sun
Warnings: Mentions of tattoo meanings, discussions of slavery, murder, prison, killing, saving, surviving, tenderness, kissing. If I miss anything, please let me know.
Main Master List | Star Wars Jukebox Roulette | AO3 Link
You had a crush on Tup from the first moment you met him.
It didn’t surprise you when you both quickly became friends, after all he had a calming and friendly personality, which made it easy for him to become friends with just about anyone. You smiled as you tilted your head while you had lunch with him.
“What is it, mesh’la?”
“Why a teardrop tattoo? I don’t get it. I mean it looks good, but usually a teardrop tattoo signifies a prison term or the fact you’re a murderer. Which you aren’t.”
“Aren’t I?” Tup lowered his utensils and looked at you, a soft smile on his face, “I may not be in prison, but I am an indentured servant to the Republic. I may not have killed out of necessity, greed, or even passion, but am I not killing when I’m in battle?”
“But you’re a soldier.”
“Does that make it more acceptable to take a life?” He shook his head, “I’m sorry mesh’la, maybe this is a bit too heavy-handed a topic for lunch.”
You reached your hand forward and took his, “Is that what you think of yourself, a prisoner who commits murder?”
“Am I wrong?”
You let out a sigh, as you tugged him to his feet to follow you. You guided him to your quarters, and pulled out a holopic display that hung on one of the shelving units. He watched as you swiped through several pictures, until you found the one of your village.
“This was my village.”
“Was?”
You nodded, “Separatist droids came in and wiped most of them out. There’s only a handful of us left. What they did,” you pointed to the picture, “was murder. You aren’t killing people, Tup. You’re saving them. It’s because of soldiers like you, that my village … whatever is left of it is able to keep surviving. Plus you’re not killing your dismantling droids.”
Despite the turmoil within him, he couldn’t help but feel a weight had lifted off his shoulder. As his eyes drifted to your face, he could feel his soul healing, as though the long, cold, lonely winter that had been his existence since he emerged from his growth chamber had finally started to melt.
He felt his first genuine smile return to his face as he looked at you, he let out a slight chuckle, “You surprise me mesh’la.”
“Me?”
“Mmhmm,” he nodded as he put back your holopic display back to its original spot. “No one has ever … no, no one was ever concerned about my thoughts or even asked me about the teardrop tattoo.” He turned to look at you, “No one bothered to ask, about what I felt inside. What had been tormenting me since the very beginning, but you…”
He closed the distance between the two of you, his gaze was full of his own heart’s desire. He wanted to tell you so many times, countless times of what you meant to him. He gently reached up and gently cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking the soft skin under his finger.
“You’re the only one that sees me. It’s as though you’re my sun, you make everything alright, just with your smile alone.” His other hand reached up to cup your cheeks, almost keeping your head there, looking up into his eyes.
“Because of you, euk cyar’ika, the ice that has surrounded my heart since the day I was born has finally started to melt. Because of you …” he leaned closer, his breath brushing against your face.
Your hands moved, holding his forearms, you weren’t sure if it was to steady yourself or to keep him close.
“Because of you, there’s sun in my life, ner euk cyar’ika” he closed the distance, pressing his lips against yours, wanting, needing to pour out everything he had felt for you since the moment you came into his life.
Main Master List | Star Wars Jukebox Roulette | AO3 Link
Tag list:
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#575 follower celebration!#Jukebox Roulette#Love oo#I hope you guys have fun with this#Follower Celebration#Star Wars Fic Roulette#Fic Roulette#star wars the clone wars#star wars: the clone wars#star wars#starwars#the clone wars#the Mandalorian#Andor#Book of Boba Fett#original trilogy#Obi-wan#Ahsoka#The Bad Batch#star wars prequels#star wars sequel trilogy#Didn't expect to do another follower celebration so soon#pick your character#tell me your favourite song#tbb#clone trooper tup#tup#tup x reader
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so. sith!rhyst au, right? warrior as what happens to the knight during the vitiate soup era, right??? introducing character lore and aus with affectionate shitposts is absolutely the Way, right????
#i'm. so normal. i'm fine. about this. :3 [never]#swtor#ch: rhyst#i made. a serious tag for this. maybe. i think. auuhh what was it#the costs of duty | sith!rhyst#i love him i have so many thoughts about him. but its like a quarter to 1am. i'm responsible y'know
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bein yelled at by ghost. you’ve been in the army this long, been yelled at by sergeants and others alike, majority men—obviously—but none of them like this. The others you didn’t even flinch as they screamed directly into your ears, probably even worse than other men just to intimidate you as a woman.
You caught him in a bad mood and it seemed completely unrelated to work, but as his partner and soldier, he had to tell you things that you didn’t want to hear.
“Hey, I got your message Simon, didn’t mean for that to happen. Won’t let it happen again.” You place some things of yours down on the dresser as you enter his quarters. He’s standing there in thought, unreadable.
His mask is still on with his gear connected to his body.
“Damn right, you won’t.” He gruffs, heavy in his accent.
All you could do was question what this meant. Would he not let you do it again? Were you being thrown in a different squad?
“What does that mean?” You stop your moving for a direct answer. You almost took that personally.
He explains, “You made an impulsive decision that would have led to half our unit being taken out. The amount we sent to that building was more than usual.”
“I understand, and that was on me. In my defense though: it was a suggestion in the moment, one that the other members also formally agreed to. It wasn’t just me.” You giggle, even though you’re aware these aren’t giggling matters. You just needed to lighten the mood.
“There were 35 men in that building alone. Led by Gaz and König!”
He fully pronounced the words, turning to you aggressively. Had you known this was the severity of his mood, you never would’ve taunted him in any type of way. This was when he had to be your boss.
“I understand but-“
“It doesn’t matter who agreed! You are seen as a leader standing next to me and you introduced the idea. I cannot be there to stop you every time you do something stupid.” His eyes were laced with anger, an anger that arose out of the protection built for his squad over the years.
“Every time?”
He said that like you did something stupid every day. He’s had bad missions before too, and we should all just be happy everyone made it back safe. Well, maybe one or two. He quickly turns to you, but stays in his spot.
“Every bloody time. It’s the mission before that. Then that. You cannot keep jeopardizing this team.”
Despite the offense you took to his words, you understood him.
“I understand.” You speak. For the night, you split off into your own quarters, not wanting to anger him any more than you already have. You’ll just have to be better with your decisions. There’s more than just your life on the line now.
The next few days, you’ve been kind of stand off-ish, hoping he’d come to you when he was feeling so. Instead, you were all assigned a mission, one they’d put you in charge of. Naturally, you’d felt it best to prove yourself and win his attention back. He was still Simon, and you still loved him.
. .
You all returned back to base with a more than successful mission under your belt. This made you extremely happy, as it’s finally a good time to speak to him.
You approach his door, then knock. You never knock.
A deep, “Come in,” is all you get.
You walk in to him sitting at his desk, his back to the door.
“Hey,” is all you can muster. You’d had the balls to walk in, but Simon is still a scary man. Your hands come down from his shoulders to massage over his biceps.
“I’m sorry for the past few days. I hope I redeemed myself?” You try.
“Hm,” He grunts, standing from his desk and filing papers into the drawers. This made you a little wary.
“Are you feeling okay Simon?” You fiddle your fingers together as you watch him walk around to the other side of the table.
“Fuckin’ fabulous.”
Your hands drop. You’d expected something, or some type of praise. Instead, you got this.
“What’s wrong? I thought I did good this time?”
“Is there something you want?” He shoots back. You glance at him, then around the room, then the floor. “No? Alright then.” He continues on as if you aren’t there. You stand in disbelief.
“What has got you so upset Simon? You can talk to me.”
“Did ya come in my room with nothin to say? What are you here for?” he snaps back.
This was a knife in the heart. You’d been terrified of the business portion of your relationship engulfing the rest, but you didn’t want to believe it. Maybe that wasn’t the case. Maybe it wasn’t you.
“Literally what is your problem?” You wanted to yell, but you couldn’t. It wasn’t in your nature. It didn’t feel right yelling at him.
You attempt to walk to his front, hoping that seeing your face would bring him some sense of calmness or bring him back down to Earth, but that was long gone. He’d lost all professionalism or softness.
Or maybe that was just it, and there was too much professionalism.
You reach him and plead, “Simon please, let me help y-“
“Fuckin’ hell, I don’t need your goddamn help!”
His head whips around, and that was all it took for you to realize the severity of everything going on. You’d physically retracted back and flinched. It’d been a long time since you’d done that.
“What do you want?” He throws the pen he’d held to the wall, and if you could see, you’d say there was a visible dent. That was your second step back, and you only took more as he came forward powerfully, his frame enlarging with each step.
“I-“
“Do you want me to praise you for your fuckin’ job? Now that you’ve decided to take it seriously?” He growls.
This was completely untrue, it wasn’t easy getting into 141, and it didn’t take anything but seriousness. Despite this, it didn’t take away from how his voice seemed to reverberate through your bones. You were retreating from him the best you could, but you didn’t want to look away, afraid it’d make him angrier.
Your hands felt around behind you as you got closer and closer to the wall, but not before detecting a small table that almost had you stumbling backwards when you knocked it over. Along with some more pens, a vase fell, shattering about and leaving tiny shards for your feet to step on the one day you decided not to wear the house slippers Gaz always made fun of you for.
He could literally take your breath away, but the piercing sensation under you couldn’t compare to the expression he wore that was dripping with malice. You felt like prey under a predator, caged to the wall with nowhere to go.
Your back hit with a thump, your hands flying back to the wall but close to your figure. You’d wanted to put them between you two, hoping it’d prevent him from coming closer, but it wouldn’t work. So now you search for separation by forcing your cheek against the wall, eyes frantically darting back and forth between nothing in particular and the raging man towering over you. You don’t think you could look at him anymore.
You whisper, “S-Simon. Please-”
He was so close his breath was to your ear as he leaned over. You were scared. In fact, you’d spoke it so lightly, you don’t even remember if you did or if it was just a thought.
“This,” he was referring to today, “is absolute bare minimum. Your job is to take orders, then get it done with the least. Casualties. Possible. Do you understand me?” He enunciates every part of the sentence, every word, so deep and low but strong that you had no choice but for it to be engraved in your brain. He was infuriated.
You didn’t want to breath too hard, afraid it’d also upset him, so your shortness of breath had you quickly nodding. The last words had you trembling.
“Do you fuckin’ understand me?” His words seem to shake the room, booming loud and clear enough to make you flinch again and your eyes squeeze shut. It was even worse than before—you were terrified.
He made you feel like a little girl again, answering to her father that she could never seem to impress no matter what she did. That’s why she joined the army. So she could be in charge.
But it didn’t stop because your eyes had to blink open to reality, and the time bomb called a response was ticking, just like his already gone patience. It also didn’t stop things from getting blurry, and before you knew or could stop it, there was a tear gathering that eventually released to your cheek.
“Y-yes sir,” you whimper on unsteady breath, Closing your eyes in prayer he would retreat. He was there for a little longer, but once you felt his presence leave back into the heart of his room, you still didn’t move an inch. You eventually shuffled uncomfortably to the door, not even feeling okay enough to close it behind you. You dashed as fast as one could go with millions of tiny glass in their feet, and before tending to it, you shut your door and fell to your butt with your back pressed against it and cried.
It’d been so long since you’ve cried over this specific issue; you thought you’d left it behind you. You technically had, but it was reawakened. The mission fatigued you, and you were so exhausted, but the only reason you didn’t lay your head down in the bed and fall asleep was the glass that would distribute painfully throughout your sheets.
You wrapped your feet and slipped into the night with the occasional sob.
. .
Sometime in the night, your locked room was intruded, assumingely by the one man graced with a key. Large hands scooped you up effortlessly, before bringing your head to one shoulder. You felt warm lips seep into your forehead.
He whispered things to you, things you couldn’t hear, but your head was held protectively with his strong hand over your ear. You’d been rested in another bed, one that smelled like him. He removed the tape from your feet and actually cleaned your wounds before tucking you in and sliding in beside you.
He felt like he didn’t deserve it, the guilt enough to bring him to tears, but he also felt like he didn’t deserve to cry. So instead, he tucks your head into his body closer, praying the sleeping version of you would recognize this as an apology until the morning.
©️ hxltic pt.2!
#cod mwf2#cod mwii#cod x reader#cod mw2#ghost cod#cod modern warfare#ghost x reader#ghost#simon ghost riley#ghost mw2#ghost simon riley#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley#simon riley x you#cod angst#cod mw ghost#ghost angst#cod ghost#cod ghost angst#call of duty mw2#call of duty mwii#call of duty#call of duty ghost#ghost call of duty#mwii#mw2#ghost mwii
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I like to think that Simon has no game. He's large, he's unapproachable, his stare alone scares away the women. Which was totally fine, until one day, he saw you as Johnny's screensaver on his phone. He was entranced, mesmerized. He's seen more than enough beautiful women on the orange youtube (his hand being his only source of relief for years) but there was something different about you. Maybe it was the tender smile you had on your face, or maybe it was how you glowed with happiness.
Or your eyes. Your eyes twinkled with affection, you looked at the camera with love. Love. That's it.
He can't remember the last time someone aimed a fond look his way. And whenever he stares at your photo, it looks like you're lovingly gazing back at him— and it gets him fucking hard.
Johnny once left his phone behind, for whatever reason, and Simon waited a solid minute, (60) seconds, before he picked it up, and took out his own phone to take a picture of you.
Simon wanked himself raw that night, his thick cum splattering over his screen, over your face. His refractory period that night was nonexistent.
And when Johnny one day was on the phone with you? When Johnny said, "Simon's here too, hen. Say hello." The way your melodic voice said his name? His cock was achingly hard within seconds, and he shifted around uncomfortably, willing for it to disappear.
It didn't. Simon walked with a wide gait, legs stiff, straight to the nearest bathroom and took himself in his hand. He gripped his long, thick length tight, and when he closed his eyes, he squeezed even harder, almost painfully. His tip was an angry red, from how tight he held himself, and that's how snug he imagined your undoubtedly pretty pussy would be around him.
He had to clench his jaw— grit his teeth hard, to keep the pathetic whimpers from escaping. Simon leaked pre-cum like a juvenile, stringy like egg whites, all over his knuckles and he hadn't even started pumping yet.
When someone knocked on the door, the snarl he let out was feral, a "Fuck off" so nasty, no one disturbed him again until he came with his head tilted back, and the vision of you riding him behind his closed eyes.
And then in the comfort of his own quarters, he pulled up your picture again— a blurry, too zoomed-in photo of a photo, and rut into one of his pillows, again imagining it was you. He thought of you on your back, legs open invitingly and waiting for him to fill you. He imagined the delicious moans you'd breathe out in his ear, your nails digging into the expanse of his broad, scarred back. He imagined your walls fluttering around him, the tell-tale sign of your upcoming climax, and you'd squeeze him so bloody tight when you finally did come, he'd move to pull out because there's no way he's not finishing with you. But you, you'd wrap your legs around his waist, and cross your ankles— effectively keeping him inside of you.
He'd cum on the spot, because you were effectively giving him your permission to finish inside. You'd rhythmically clench your walls to milk him dry, to take all of his seed.
And when his warped, fucked mind imagined you whispering an 'I love you' on his lips, he actually came, and he whimpered.
Simon's hips stuttered as his cock twitched and spasmed, spurting thick globs of cum all over his pillow, his bed. His breath came in shaky pants, his heart slamming against his ribcage.
After he stopped shaking, and was able to move his limbs, he cleaned his mess up shamefully, the post-nut clarity hitting hard, and as he switched bedsheets, he saw his phone light up with a notification.
Bonnie just sent this picture. Doesn't she look cute?
It was you holding a cup of iced coffee, and what stood out to him the most was your brightly colored nails.
He touched himself to the thought of those manicured hands wrapped around his cock, as you took him in your mouth 10 minutes later.
this was my inspo for this simon
@pieckyghost i really only have porn on my mind :( pussy on my mind, tighter than a headband.
#call of duty#simon ghost riley#cod mw2#simon ghost riley x reader#johnny soap mactavish#john soap mactavish#simon ghost riley smut#john soap mactavish x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost smut#drabble
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Soooooo tired of complaining about inconsequential but sad situations happening due to no actual fault of my own, and then my mom taking it as “I’m angry at you” or “you need to fix this”
#we got a bunch of tiny mini pies that were quartered so everyone could have a piece#and I thought that even though I was busy working all day I’d be able to get my share because that’s what was implied#but no my dad went and ate like four of the remaining pieces because it was the end of the day#it’s neither of our faults but I want him to please just. not? just don’t!#and my mom took complaining about this as me telling her she needs to make a pie or that it was actually my fault for bad timing#maybe I just want her to say ugh yeah that sucks I’ll take to him#or something#ugh I might delete this#family chronicles
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Can I have a HC about reader finding her used string tanga in their room.. (they stole it in the washing room and..you know😝) featuring Zoro, Law, Kid and Killer 😋😎🙏. Reader finds her underwear and confronts them 👀
you need to start including sanji in these because he was made for this prompt for real
catching them with your panties (nsfw)
ft. zoro, kid, sanji, law
masterlist || commissions
cw: panty stealing, panty sniffing, jerking off, getting caught masturbating, teasing
tagging: @willowbelle @eelnoise @atanukileaf @mirillua @fanaticsnail @indydonuts @zorolux
zoro
zoro actually doesn't mean to take a pair of your panties—he had snatched up a pile of clean clothes and accidentally taken them with him. so when you notice a familiar sliver of lace in his drawer, your face goes beet red, assuming the worst. when you confront him, he simply shrugs it off and says he didn't mean to take them. amused at how flustered you are, the smirk grows wider on his face when you ask him why he kept them instead of giving them back to you when he noticed.
"i dunno. just thought they were cute." he says with a smug grin, enjoying how your mouth hangs open, unable to respond properly. instead, you storm out of the room, so caught off guard that you forget to take your lacy underwear with you.
sanji
you really should have known better than to let sanji handle washing your clothes for you; not surprised in the least when your favorite string thong goes missing, you head into the boy's room shortly after you notice the cook enter. just as expected, he's splayed out on his bed, fisting his cock, the crotch of your panties in his mouth in a desperate attempt to taste any lingering remnants of your essence.
"you can't even lock the door? what if chopper walked in?" you snarl at him, unimpressed as his eyes blow out wide with shock.
"love, i—" he stutters, pulling the thong from his mouth as he scrambles to put words together; frozen in place, his hand is still around his cock, which only stokes the flames of your anger further.
"don't call me that while you're jerking off with my used underwear!" you exclaim, snatching your panties back and stomp out of the room, slamming the door loudly behind you.
sanji wouldn't admit it to a single soul, but he keeps going and cums twice as hard as he normally does while thinking about your angry, flustered, red face.
kid
"god—i knew it was you! stop stealing my damn underwear!" you yell at kid when you burst into his quarters and catch him jerking off with them. he's unfazed and makes eye contact with you, a wicked, crooked grin on his face as he continues to pump his cock.
"maybe i wouldn't have to take them if you'd just let go of your stupid pride and let me have the real thing." he snaps back, refusing to tear his golden eyes away from your body as he touches himself.
simultaneously disgusted and aroused, you let out a sharp exhale. "you're the fucking worst, you know that?" you say, cheeks burning as you let your eyes drift towards his thick, throbbing cock for the slightest of moments—an action that's not lost on kid.
"then why haven't you left yet? seems like you want a piece of me." he challenges. you open your mouth to respond, but have nothing witty to say, too distracted by the way his hand glides along his shaft.
"just get over here." he says impatiently, waving you over. before you have time to think things out too much, you find your feet already obeying his command as you walk towards him and pull your shirt over your head.
"don't get too comfortable. this is just a one time thing." you warn him as you unbutton your pants.
"we'll see about that, princess." he shoots back, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you up onto the bed.
law
a deer in headlights. trafalgar law is a deer in headlights when enter his room to bring him lunch and catch him with a pair of your panties in one hand and his cock in the other. before either of you can properly react, he's already teleported himself away, and you're left standing there reeling, flushed at the sight of him. you're not quite sure where he's went until you hear him cursing in the bathroom—you can practically see him, slumped over, head in his hands as he tries to deal with the embarrassment.
"law... are you okay?" you ask gingerly through the door, opting to use his name instead of calling him captain to try to ease the whirlwind of feelings descending upon him.
of course he wasn't okay. he felt awful the second he snatched your underwear from the laundry and worse that he gave into his urges, and now that you knew, it was even worse still. "i'm so fucking sorry..." he mumbles, burying his face even further into his arms.
"can i come in?" you ask softly, heat still lingering in your cheeks as the image of him touching himself to you remains burned into your eyelids.
"no." he replies harshly, unwilling to face either you or the situation at the moment.
"please?" you plead sweetly, keeping your tone as caring and sugary as possible to entice him to let you open the door, though truthfully, your hand is already on the knob and ready to twist it.
"fine." he relents, sighing as he hears the door creak, still stubbornly avoiding eye contact with you as you slide down the wall and sit beside him.
you poke him in the arm to try to gain his attention to no avail. "it's alright law, it's not that big of a deal." you say reassuringly, resisting the urge to hold him as he look about ready to pass out.
"you don't have to tell me that just to make me feel better. what i did was wrong and—" he says, though you cut him off before he can finish.
"law, i—" you start, words catching in your throat as you hesitantly gather the words together to make a subtle confession. "i know, but i don't mind." you say softly; your body tenses up with nerves while his relaxes, your words making him feel a bit less guilty. "i, um, just want to know if you like me or just, y'know, like thinking about me." you continue, swallowing a lump in your throat as you bite the inside of your cheek and await his response.
"this isn't how i wanted to do this at all." he says bitterly with a sigh as he finally turns his gaze towards you. "i like you, a lot, and i know what you just saw, but i'd like to take things slowly if that's okay with you." he says, allowing himself to let go of the breath he's been holding once the words escape him.
"i'd like that." you reply with a smile, leaning into his shoulder as law sighs with relief from both your words and the touch.
#one piece x reader#zoro x reader#roronoa zoro x reader#trafalgar law x reader#law x reader#sanji x reader#vinsmoke sanji x reader#eustass kid x reader#eustass kidd x reader#zoro smut#law smut#sanji smut#one piece smut#one piece fanfiction#one piece drabble#one piece scenario
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in unholy denial
･ ｡ﾟ*. 18+, minors DNI . * ｡ﾟ･
pairing: wanda maximoff x reader
summary: you’re the perfect all-american girl; a good student, a weekly churchgoer, you’re even dating the high school quarter back. so it’s all a big shock to you when your family decides to send you to a conversion camp, claiming they believe you’re a lesbian. you don’t agree with their accusation, telling everyone that you don’t like girls at all. but then you meet your camp mate wanda maximoff, who seems determined to sway your mind in another direction…
warning(s): conversion therapy, homophobia (externalised and internalised), religious mentions (christianity), smut, fingering, thigh riding, loss of virginity, hickeys, slight dubcon (only kissing), swearing, pet names (princess, honey), wanda and r are in high school but of age (over 18), cheating (r has a bf), slightly innocent reader, nude magazine, etc. minors dni
author’s note: this is my first time writing and uploading smut so i really hope it’s not terrible 🙏🏻this is heavily inspired by ‘but i’m a cheerleader’, only this time it’s with teenage wanda and much more smutty :) i also took light inspiration from @imaginedanvrs and her fic ‘atonement’, and though i did take a different turn, check it out because all of their writing is amazing :))
wc: 11.7K words
The car is quite on the ride up. You stare out the window, watching as your world begins to disappear. The camp is just under two hours away from your home town; far away enough that it feels like a whole different world, but close enough that your parents can still come visit on the weekends.
You’re not being punished. At least that’s what your parents have told you. They just want what’s best for you, want to help you find the right journey in life. Apparently this camp was supposed to do that for you. Though, you could quite see how - the apparent problem they claim to be able to fix, not identifiable to any part of your mind.
When they’d first brought up the idea, you’d been quick to confusion. A conversion therapy camp? But you weren’t gay. You had a boyfriend, the football team’s best quarterback at that, and you two were very happy together. He was handsome and kind, and you loved him. Except for maybe when he tried to kiss you, always left feeling grossed out by the encounter as his tongue tried to play with yours. But he must just be a bad kisser. That was at least what you always told yourself…
Aside from that, there were so many things that couldn’t have possibly lead your parents to believe you were gay. You were one of the top students at school, always getting the highest grades. Every Sunday you attended church, said your nightly prayers each evening before you slept. You were in the church choir, for goodness sake!
Still, your parents had sat you down in the living room one night and had a very serious conversation with you. They were concerned mostly, worried that something sinister had crept in and was tainting your life. You’d used all of your excuses in protest but they’d came prepared with their own.
A few posters from your room, filled with woman in bikini tops. You liked the patterns. Songs from your playlist that held ulterior meaning. You just liked the way they sound. The fact you hated kissing your boyfriend; a few comments you’d made to your friends about other girls at church. You thought everyone felt that way…
In the end, they’d convinced you to come along to the program, claiming it was in your best interest to attend and get the help you need. Although you didn’t believe you needed any help at all, you had agreed. If this camp was going to help them feel better, you were willing to give it a go, even if it meant getting treatment for a nonexistent problem…
Still, your heart aches a little as your small family car drives away from the suburbs you are used to, the view soon replaced by dense forest trees and vibrant undergrowth. The program was set out almost like a Summer camp, out near a lake where members could swim during their free time. That was one of the activities you’d read in the pamphlet your parents had handed you, the camp explained in its entirety alongside its promise to guarantee positive results. You’d initially asked your parents how long you would have to spend there, worried about being forced to remain when there wasn’t a problem with you to begin with, but your mom had simply smiled back softly and replied, ‘let’s just see how you get on’.
You’re almost lost in thought when the car finally turns on to the last stretch of its journey. The sight ahead of you drags you back to the present moment, eyes now searching the wide opening in the trees as the camp comes into view. It’s easy to spot, the only buildings around for a long while, and the white shutters standing out vibrantly against the green trees. The lake comes into view too, shimmering in the morning summer sun.
Soon the car slows, coming to a halt outside what looks to be the main building, its size large compared to the other’s dotted around. The ranch-style house is painted a soft blue, the fixtures and wrap-around porch shining dazzling white. All in all, it looks rather beautiful.
Your parents are the first out the car, looking around as they close the doors. You follow a moment later, eyes drifting over your surroundings as you inhale the sweet smells of the forest air. A pair of footsteps soon diverts your attention, your gaze falling to a tall blonde man making his way in your direction from the large blue house. He’s dressed very similarly to the men you see at church; a pair of neat navy slacks and a matching blue and white gingham shirt. You and your parents come to stand together on one side of the car just as he reaches your feet.
“Good morning,” the blonde says, his grin reaching from ear to ear. “Mr and Mrs Y/L/N, isn’t it?” There’s an exchange of hand shakes as your parents confirm his assumption. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. And you must be young Y/N.” His gaze falls to you as he speaks, a hand outstretching in your direction.
You take it, shaking it gently as you nod your head. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”
The blonde lets out a low chuckle as he releases your hand, his attention turning back to your parents. “What a polite little girl you have,” he says, his smile widening. Your parents seem to take pride in his compliment, inching closer together as they stand and look over at you. “But please,” the man continues, turning back to you. “My name is reverend Steve so you can call me as such. Or just Steve if you prefer.” He smiles again as he shrugs his shoulders. “Sir always feels a bit too formal.”
There’s a trade of small laughter between the adults but you don’t find yourself joining in, still feeling a little apprehensive about this whole scenario.
“I do hope your journey here was alright.”
“Oh, just fine,” your father replies in response to reverend Steve’s question, smiling easily back at him.
“Good. I’m so glad to hear that. We’re just so happy to have Y/N here. And don’t worry, your daughter is in very good hands.”
Just at that moment, you notice another figure approaching your group, a woman, originating from the same place Steve had. When she reaches you, there’s a soft smile on her face, her red hair dazzling in the Summer sun. The reverend reaches one of his arms out, bringing the woman close to his side as his hand rests on her hip. “I’d like you to meet my wife, Natasha. She helps direct things around here, especially with the girls.”
Her hand also extends out to your parents to meet in a soft handshake as she smiles widely back at them. “Hi, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” With your parents, reciprocating the sentiment, the redhead then turns her attention to you. Her eyes sparkle a bright shade of green as the morning sun hits them. “Hello, Y/N,”
You find yourself momentarily stumbling over your words, something about the woman distracting you until she speaks. “Good morning,” you manage eventually, smiling back nervously.
In the time you’ve greeted her, it seems your parents have retrieved your luggage from the back of the car. “These are your bags?” Reverend Steve asks, reaching to pick them up. In truth, you hadn’t even noticed them being moved there. “I’ll just take these up to your dorm room, Y/N.” He smiles once more at you before he turns, walking towards the house with your belongings in tow.
“I’ll give them a little check over once we get there,” Natasha says, drawing your attention back to her. She passes you a playful wink that causes a strange feeling in your chest. “But I’m sure there’s nothing in there that will get you in trouble, hm?”
“I don’t think-“ Your response is cut off by your sudden realisation you’re standing alone, your parents retreating back to the car and already starting the engine. “Wait I-“
“Don’t worry.” The redhead’s words yet again distract you, pulling your attention away from the vehicle behind you. “They’ll be back at the weekend to visit. You’ll be seeing them again in no time.” Natasha turns to stand side by side with you, her hand resting on your back as she gently begins to press you forwards. “Now how about you just come with me and I can show you around the place. How does that sound?”
“A-alright,” you stumble, giving one glance back to the car that has already pulled away from the camp. You let the woman by your side guide you as you watch it slowly move further and further away up the road, officially leaving you all alone.
The tour Natasha gives you, however, helps to lift your spirits a little. The camp grounds are rather beautiful, the grass vibrant and speckled with small colourful flowers. The buildings themselves are also very pleasant, all adding to the soft summer camp feel the area had. Natasha first directs you to the small bunker home her and Steve resided in, claiming members were not allowed inside but there was a small bell if you ever needed them at any time. Next, she shows you the church; a small yet grand building with dazzling stained glass windows. As you walk the pews, Natasha tells you how their service is held each morning, directed by Steve himself.
“I hear you’re in your church choir?” Natasha quips as you take in the way the light hits the windows, spreading bright colours across the floor of the building.
“Yes,” you reply, lifting your head and smiling sheepishly. “I have been since I was thirteen.”
“You’ll have to sing for us one time,” Natasha says playfully, before beckoning you out of the church and off to your next destination. On your way, she explains a little of how their program works; a mixture of group lessons and singular sessions to help you understand your problem. “Do you still attend bible study, Y/N?” Natasha asks as you approach the main building.
Shyly, you turn to face her. “No. I stopped a few years ago when I turned sixteen.”
The redhead clicks her tongue but overall doesn’t seem too disappointed, still smiling over you. “Don’t worry,” she replies. “I’m sure our study will set you just right again.” She passes you another wink before you step in through another door that she opens ahead of you.
The building has a wide front opening, a set of grand stairs set out ahead in the expanse of the tall ceilings. At the bottom of them, you suddenly notice a tall girl standing there. She’s wearing a neat uniform, her long black hair pulled back into two braids. “Y/N,” Natasha says, gesturing towards the girl. “I’d like you to meet Kate. She’ll be your mentor while you settle in.”
The raven-hair girl smiles at you as she extends a hand. You shake it, sharing a quick greeting before she hands you a welcome packet. Natasha explains how all of the rules are written inside, alongside a list of other expectations and your schedule for your stay. You hold on to it against your chest as the pair walk you around the house on your continued tour.
Inside of the main building, it feels somewhat like a mixture of a house and a school. There are two classrooms, both filled with a set of students learning from a tutor at the front of the class. A large dining hall was also set up, functioning like a school canteen. Downstairs there were a few recreational spaces with small couches arranged around card tables, all littered with various bible verse posters along the walls. As you move upstairs, Natasha shows you the bathrooms and the couple isolation rooms they had, though she assured you, you most likely wouldn’t be spending any time in there.
“Now, let’s get you some uniform, hm?” Natasha says, moving further down the corridor. She opens a long cupboard, filled with rows of pleated skirts and crisp white shirts. She looks through the rails before handing you a set of uniform in your size. Her and Kate then give you some privacy in the cupboard to change while they step outside.
The uniform is light blue, the skirt pleated through with lines of navy. The sweater vest is a matching dark blue, the logo of the camp embroidered onto one breast. You pull it on over the white button shirt, followed by the long white socks and black patent shoes Natasha had also provided. When you step out of the cupboard, the older woman takes hold of your old clothes, claiming she’ll take care of them for you until you’d be needing them again. You’re not entirely sure what she means but she’s continuing on with the tour once more before you can truly give it much thought.
“These are the girl’s dormitories,” the redhead says as she opens another door, guiding you inside. As you step in, you notice two rows of small cots, lined up with matching pink floral bedsheets. You notice one on the end, your bags sat atop waiting for you. But what catches your eye even more, is the brunette girl splayed across one of the middle beds, a magazine between her hands. She looks up as all three of you walk into the room, her green eyes meeting directly with you.
“Miss Maximoff,” Natasha says as soon as she notices the girl. “Aren’t you supposed to be in your lessons right now?”
The girl diverts her gaze to the camp director. “I didn’t feel well so I came to lie down.”
The way the girl lay across her stomach, face perfectly amused as her eyes flitted across her magazine didn’t exactly come across to you as unwell. It seems that Natasha too picks up on her lie, simply passing the brunette a small scowl. “Nice try.”
There’s a moment where the girl stares back, almost daring the women with her gaze, but she soon gives up, instead rolling her eyes as a long frustrated sigh escapes her lips. “Fine,” she mumbles, lifting herself up from the bed and slowly walking towards you. As she does, you notice how her shirt is unbuttoned further down and how her skirt is rolled at her waist, climbing the front of her thighs.
Natasha seems unfazed by her antics, simply holding out her hand which the brunnete places her magazine into with another sigh. The redhead gives it a once over before staring back at the girl. “This is contraband. Where did you find it?”
The brunette simple smirks in response. Her shoulders briefly brushes against yours as she squeezes her way through your group, headed towards the door. Before she leaves, she turns, walking gently backwards as the smirk widens on her face. “The Lord showed me the way to it.” She turns again quickly, disappearing from the dormitory alongside her lingering gaze.
Natasha doesn’t make any move to follow her, simply inclines her head as as she shouts down the corridor. “Roll down your skirt, Miss Maximoff!” Her voice still echoing, the redhead then turns back to you, that perfect smile returning almost as quickly as it at dropped. “I’m so sorry about that,” she says, glancing down at you. “Some of the other girls are a little…challenged in finding the light. Sometimes they can be a bad influence but I’m sure if you just stick with Kate, you’ll be just fine.”
You glance at the tall girl stood beside you, her soft grin looking back. “If you have any questions, feel free to ask Kate. Or of course, me or Steve at any point,” Natasha adds, drawing your attention back to her. You nod in response and she smiles back, placing a hand on to your shoulder. “Now, how about we take a look at your bags?”
———
Settling in isn’t as hard as you thought it might be. Kate is nice, you discover quickly, and helps you get unpacked. You tuck your things away into the drawers under your bed, then some more of your belongings in to the bedside table - next to the complementary bible you find tucked inside. Kate explains you can put up some photos with blue tac if you wish, pointing out to some of the other girls’ beds who have done the same. You borrow some of said blue tac from her as you stick a photo of your family alongside one of you and your boyfriend up on to the wall.
Afterwards, Kate sits with you while you look through your welcome packet. A lot of it relates to the pamphlet your parents had given you before your arrival, talking all about the camp and its methods of tackling what they phrase, ‘the misdirection of youths towards homosexuality’. The entire idea is still a little scattered in your head, but you brush it aside as you delve further into the rules and scheduling of the camp.
There are quite a few rules written down, a lot of which you recognise from your own home regulations. No curse words are to be used, nor any other inappropriate language. The Lord’s name must not be used in vain. Members must pray before each meal and every night before bed. Uniform must be worn at all times.
Then there are other rules that make you feel a little more uncertain. There is strictly NO fraternising between members. No member is permitted in the opposite dormitory to which they are assigned. Any inappropriate belongings will be confiscated.
The last rule makes you wonder back to the girl you’d seen sat inside the dormitory. There have been something ‘inappropriate’ about her magazine, obviously leading to the confiscation by Natasha. You weren’t quite sure what about it could be so bad, the name you’d glanced at briefly unrecognisable before Natasha had quickly stashed it away from your sight. If anything, the whole ordeal had only made you more curious about the strange girl and what exactly she had been reading.
As if the universe could hear your thoughts, it’s barely a few hours later when you collide with the girl once more. It’s lunch time, Kate and you just having sat down with your plates of food after she’d explained how they were set out each meal time. The dining room is filling up, all of the other camp members filing in to take their place at differing tables. It’s as your inspecting the meal in front of you that a very particular member sets herself down in front you.
“Hey, newbie.”
Your head raises from the table as you hear the voice, looking up to meet the same pair of green eyes that you recalled from earlier. The brunette stares back at you, a small smile playing at her lips as she watches your face. “Uh…hi?”
You don’t get to say much more before Kate is speaking up, leaning over the table with a scowl. “Get lost, Maximoff. We don’t want you to sit with us.”
The brunnete turns to look at the other girl, a frown of her own appearing between two perfect brows. “Loosen up, Bishop. I just wanted to say hello to our newest addition.” As she finishes, her eyes trail back to you, the scowl dropping away to that same smirking expression. For a moment it seems as if she looks you up and down, scanning over your uniform before studying your face again. “I’m Wanda,” she says eventually, voice light. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
You smile back a little awkwardly, torn between your polite nature and the instructions you had received to avoid this exact girl sat opposite you. “Y/N,” you reply, letting your manners overtake the situation.
“Just go away, Wanda,” Kate butts in suddenly, her voice raised. “I’m her mentor, not you.”
The brunette screws up her face as she turns to the raven-haired girl, scoffing under her breath. “God Kate, you’re so fucking uptight.” She sighs loudly as she pushes herself up from the table. As she does, you notice how her skirt is still rolled at the waist. But you don’t settle on it too long, distracted as she begins to speak again. “I’ll see you around, Y/N,” Wanda says, her voice playful once more. Her eyes train on you for just a moment as she backs away from the table, another girl soon taking her place.
“Just ignore her,” Kate grumbles over to you. She begins to list a string of complaints about the girl but doesn’t get far, soon interrupted by Reverend Steve calling for grace at the front of the room. You bow your head as he begins to pray, clasping your hands under your chin just as you did with every meal you ate at home. A chorus of ‘amens’ rings out as the prayer finishes, all heads lifting once more to begin eating their lunch. As you lift yours, your gaze briefly flashes across the room, catching across the way, a pair of green eyes staring back at you. Wanda sits smirking, but you don’t see much else, quickly finding yourself flustered and looking away, turning your concentration instead to the plate of food sat in front of you.
———
Natasha’s office is very nice. That’s your first thought when you enter through the door, guided by her hand on the base of your spine. There are a few wide windows on one wall, white shutters open to give a view of the lake just down a grassy hill. Her desk sits in one corner, a plush vibrant chair close by, then across the way, a small couch. There are shelves littered with both plants and framed pictures, most depicting some sort of bible verse.
You sit yourself down on the sofa while Natasha settles in her chair beside her desk, pulling out a notebook as she turns to face you. There’s an exchange of pleasantries as she explains exactly how these private sessions will go and how anything you say is entirely confidential. You nod, sitting rather folded in on yourself, uncertainty still coursing through your body.
“So Y/N,” Natasha says eventually, crossing her legs over the other. “To start off, why don’t you tell me a little bit about the first time you experienced homosexual tendencies.”
The request is one that leaves you stumbling a little. “Oh I- well…” You swallow, landing on the same response you’d had every time your parents had suggested the idea. “I’m not actually gay. Everyone just thinks that I am.”
Natasha’s face changes, taking on a soft but curious expression. “And why do you say that?”
“Well I’m not,” you reply. “I don’t- I don’t like girls. I have a boyfriend.”
That fact alone seemed enough to you for this whole endeavour to be needless. You didn’t like girls, couldn’t like them. You and your boyfriend had been going strong for over two years. He was handsome, funny, and you were sure you loved him. Even if you did feel slightly disgusted every time his lips touched yours…
“Listen Y/N,” Natasha says, her voice calm. “I know this whole experience can seem a little daunting but we’re here to help you, okay?” She smiles softly, the intention of her words feeling truthful. “But the first step of your journey needs to be your admittance to your problem.”
It isn’t that you don’t feel comfortable telling Natasha about your problem, in fact you actually feel a strange warmth in your stomach whenever she talks to you, but in your mind, there was no problem to begin with. “I’m not gay.”
Natasha sighs at your answer. She adjusts herself in her seat, her soft gaze looking back at you. “Think about it like this; homosexuality is like a disease. These thoughts weave their way into your mind, changing your behaviour.” The redhead raises a set of perfect brows. “But we can’t begin to heal if we don’t have a proper diagnosis. Can’t administer the right treatment if we can’t admit we’re ill, right?”
Her analogy isn’t lost on you, somewhat similar to something you’d heard your pastor say back at your home church. “Yeah…I guess that makes sense.”
“Now what you’re experiencing can be fixed,” Natasha continues. “I’ve seen it fixed many times before. You can heal Y/N, break away from this and find the light of our good lord.” With his name, Natasha glances up to the cross hanging on the wall beside you. Your eyes follow too. “Don’t you want that?”
You turn back to the woman, your voice sounding small. “Of course I do.”
Natasha smiles. “That’s good.” She rearranges herself again, adjusting to hold her notebook and pen better. “Now, could you maybe tell me first time you can remember ever having thoughts about other women?”
“I don’t-I haven’t,” you stumble. “I don’t think about them like that.”
Like that. It was a phrase you’d repeated like a mantra in your head. You didn’t want a girlfriend, you didn’t want a girl to kiss you. You thought about girls the same way everyone else did. Sure, sometimes your eyes would fall to their ass when they walked to the front of class, or perhaps you got a bit hot and bothered in the changing rooms before gym, maybe even your favourite movie scene was the one where all the girls would go to the beach and play in the water. But that was what everyone else thought too…right?
“Alright,” Natasha says, sighing again. “I can see you’re really struggling with this, but that’s okay. I’m here to help you.” She smiles. “How about we take a little look at your family history, hm? See if that can get things kickstarted for us?”
You spend the rest of your session talking about your family. Natasha asks about extended members, questioning about any problems there may be down your blood line. But as far as you know, it all comes up clean, your entire family the same good Christian folks you’ve always known them to be.
Finding nothing of interest, Natasha moves on to talk about your childhood. She asks about your time at school, how long you’d attended church, what sort of friends you had. It’s all scribbled down on the notebook in her hand as you list off answers, all the perfect idiom of what a good Christian girl should be.
By the end of your session, you’ve spoke about almost everything that’s led you up to where you are now. Natasha asks again about your feelings towards women, trying to compare the reasons your parents sent you here to real acts of homosexuality. But all in all, it’s no use. At the end of the hour, you’re still in denial, refusing any accusation of your alleged problem. Thankfully, Natasha doesn’t seem angry, still smiling softly as you leave her office. She send you away with an assignment to think about what could be your ‘root’, what she terms the initial source of your unholy thoughts, determined once you figure this out, it will begin your journey to sanctuary.
———
The next few days pass by without much excitement. You begin to settle into your lessons, listening as a few ex-members of the program give speeches of their experiences, or as Steve talks about how God can help give meaning to your life. There are group therapy sessions you attend, though mostly sit quietly through, but listen while others talk about their own experiences and thoughts. It’s in them you notice a certain person who seems to stare at you from across the room. You try to avoid making eye contact but it seems each time you glance over, Wanda’s stare is trained on you.
Following what Natasha had said when you first arrived, you tried to stick to Kate’s side as much as possible, avoiding the other girl who seemed to look at you more often than not. When you weren’t in lessons you could avoid her, instead hanging around with Kate and her friends in the recreational spaces, sometimes watching one of the approved DVDs that lay beneath the TV. At meals, your group sits together, always saying your prayers before eating your food. But it seems even there you can’t escape the strange brunette, always catching her stare from across the room. It’s only in bible study, on the day that marks a week since your arrival, that you actually get to speak to her again.
Kate was sick today. She’d caught a head cold, presumably from her parents who came to visit her at the weekend. You had also had a visit, your mother and father asking every possible question about your stay and how you were finding camp. The visit had went well, but now a few days later you were left with no mentor to guide you throughout your day. It isn’t too much of a worry in your mind though, the layout and scheduling of the camp already becoming a familiar routine to your body. But what you aren’t used to, is a certain strange individual sitting in the seat where your mentor usually sat.
You don’t notice it is Wanda at first. Feeling the body slide against yours on the bench, your first thought is perhaps that Kate has made a miraculous recovery. But when you turn to face the individual and are met with piercing green eyes, you are certainly even more surprised. “Um,” you fumble, looking back at the brunette as you try to stumble for words. “That’s Kate’s seat.”
Wanda raises a brow, her head spinning to look around the room before it returns to you. “I don’t see her.” She smirks. “Besides, no seating arrangements, right?”
Technically she is correct. There is nothing actually stopping her from sitting beside you apart from your slight aversion to interacting with her. You slide your body away a few inches to the right, shifting away from the touch Wanda had initiated as she sat down a little to close. The brunette seems to notice, glancing down at the gap now settled between you, but she doesn’t say anything about it, instead just looking up at you as she flashes a set of white teeth. “So Y/N,” she begins, rolling your name easily over her tongue. “Where are you from?”
“Not far,” you reply, still inclined to politeness even with your anxiety around the interaction. You elaborate further, telling her the name of your town just two hours north of the camp.
Wanda hums at your response then crosses her legs on the bench. You try not to notice the way her rolled skirt flashes a pair of smooth pale legs. “I’m from down south,” she says. “Further than you, though. About six hours. My parents only come to visit about once a month.”
You met her eye as you try to think of a response, but before you can, you’re being interrupted. Reverend Steve calls out at the front of the class, silencing everyone so that he can begin calling the register. As names echo out across the room, you and Wanda’s conversation dies, but the soft warmth emanating from her body close to yours, does not leave for the rest of the lesson.
Having quit bible study over three years ago, you were a little worried you wouldn’t be able to keep up, but as Kate had told you last week, some of these kids had never even been to church, so the pace was definitely slow enough for you to follow along. The story Steve told today was one you knew rather well actually, one of the most prominent ones you could recall from your early teens. Still, you pay the upmost attention throughout the entire time he talks, eyes trained on his figure at the front of the classroom. What makes that a little difficult however, is the girl sat right beside you.
Wanda is easily distracted you notice quickly, constantly fidgeting with the pen in her hand - your pen actually, borrowed by the brunette when she claimed she had forgotten her own. You sit a little in shock as she casually graffitis the open bible sat upon the desk in front of her, mindlessly drawing squiggles and random shapes into the margin. You try your best to ignore her antics but it’s a little hard when she accidentally tosses her pen across the desk, following a failed attempt to spin it around her fingers. It lands over on your side, just to the right of your own bible. You go to reach for it to hand back to her but it seems she’s already moving before you can even get the chance.
Her body lifts slightly from the bench, stretching out across the table with one arm for her lost pen. As she does, her chest is brought closer to your face. Your eyes fall on the black cross hanging around her neck, then suddenly dip lower, catching the area of her shirt where her buttons are undone further than they should be. There’s the briefest of moments where your eyes linger there, passing over the ever so slightly visible cleavage that swells on her chest, but it’s less than seconds later you’re darting away. Wanda eventually picks her pen back up, after what feels like an eternity, and pulls back in her chair. You glance momentarily over at her, then quickly return to the bible open in front of you, trying your best to follow along with the passage Steve reads aloud while ignoring the strange sensation that has settled in your lower stomach.
———
Camp isn’t quite the way you imagined it to be. Before you arrived, you thought it would be entirely awful, like a prison only with more…God. But for most of your experience, it just feels like you’re back in school. Although, now your lessons about maths or science are replaced by those about God and the way into his heart. Just over two weeks in, you’ve picked up the swing of things quite nicely, falling into an easy routine as you move through the services and lessons with ease. The one thing you just can’t quite seem to grasp is the understanding of why you’re here in the first place.
You’ve had three private sessions now with Natasha, each of them as feeble at finding a change as the last. You’re still not ready to admit your problem, as Natasha puts it, reluctant to find the issue within yourself. But as you’ve said since before you even came, it’s a simple fact you aren’t gay. Natasha seems determined in her ways to make you see something different.
She’s handed you a book, walking out from your last session. The title reads, ‘My Sexuality and Me: Finding the Root of Homosexual Tendencies’. You’re tasked with reading it before your next session in hopes it might finally help you understand your own thoughts. For now, however, it has to wait. Leaving your session, you go up to the dorm to drop it by your bed, taking just a moment before you have to head to your next organised activity.
The camp helps run on a set of scheduled chores that the members have to carry out. It’s on a rota, something Kate had shown you on your very first day, and changes each week. There’s everything from weed picking to cleaning dishes, all work that helps to keep the camp in shape for everyone staying there. Reverend Steve mentioned something about the work ethic helping everyone be grateful for what the lord had given them.
You have to go down to check the rota, forgetting what was scheduled for you this week. Most of the others are already dotted around the camp doing their chores, apparently your one-on-one session running over slightly and causing you to be a little late. You make your way down the stairs to the main room where the rota is located, pinned into a notice board on the wall. But as you turn the corner at the bottom of the stairs, you notice that you are in fact, not alone.
Wanda turns almost immediately when you round the corner. She’s stood up against the notice board, back resting upon the wall with one foot lifted against it. A smile appears on her face as you come into view, her teeth shining around the piece of pink bubblegum she chews. “Hey, princess.”
You try not to scoff at the name - an endearment the brunette had coined after seeing you one night writing in your diary about your boyfriend, claiming you were like a locked away princess longing for her prince to come save her. You’d rolled your eyes at her comment at the time, and had to deal with its return each time you’d bumped into her in the past week. Now, you try to ignore it as you walk past her and stare up at the notice board trying to find the chore schedule. However, Wanda is speaking again before you even get the chance to locate it.
“Looks like it’s you and me this week.” You glance over at her, watching as a pink bubble forms at her lips. You want to ignore her teasing, looking back to the board to locate where you would be stationed, but when your eyes fall upon the schedule, you realise she is right. Written on the notice board, right below the date of the beginning of the week is your and Wanda’s name, then below it; house duty.
You turn back to look at her, a pair of green eyes glinting your way. For a moment you think there’s some kind of mistake. After all, you had always been with Kate before. But then, not far away from yours is indeed Kate’s name written, not on house duty, but on pantry organisation.
Wanda smirks as she rolls the gum in her mouth, eyes fixated on you as she blows another bubble. When it pops, she finally speaks again. “You’ve never done house duty, have you?”
She’s right. You’re in unfamiliar territory and you don’t have your usual mentor to help guide you. “No,” you reply simply, gently shaking your head.
Wanda breathes out a laugh, throwing her head back slightly as she drops her leg from the wall. “Come on, princess,” she says teasingly, walking to close the gap between you. “I’ll guide you.”
Her hand is reaching for yours before you can protest against it. Soft skin slips into yours, gripping hold and quickly dragging you down the corridor. You stumble slightly, surprised by the whole encounter but Wanda doesn’t seemed fazed. She simply pulls you along the hall like a lost puppy. When your brain restarts from the initial shock, you look down at the way your fingers are grasped between hers. It’s a simple interaction at its core, an innocuous hand hold as she shows you the way to go. You’d done the same thing with your own friends back home many of times, but something about this one feels a little different. Something about the way her soft skin is warm against yours creates an odd fuzz in your head.
“Here we are,” Wanda announces, suddenly dropping your hand. You try not to think about the way it now feels cold as you watch her reach for a door handle. It opens to a cupboard, full of what looks like cleaning supplies. “We basically just dust everything,” the brunette continues, turning back to look at you. “Just dust and vacuum the floors in every room in the house. Oh- but not the bathroom, someone else will be doing those.”
You find yourself nodding, the task seeming simple enough. You’d dusted plenty of times at home, this couldn’t be any different.
Wanda lets out another laugh, seemingly at your immediate obedience to follow through with your task. “Alright, princess,” she says, cracking her gum. She reaches in to the cupboard, picking up a cloth and a bottle of disinfect spray. “I’ll do upstairs, you do downstairs?”
There isn’t much room for objection even if you had any, Wanda already beginning to walk away with the cloth thrown over one of her shoulders. You reach down to grab similar materials, standing back up to watch her figure moving down the corridor. “Stop calling me that!” You call out, but the girl is gone before your sentence is even finished, the protest seemingly falling on deaf ears. A sigh escapes your lips as you close the cupboard door, determined to just ignore the other girl while you begin your designated chore.
You start with the class rooms, wiping each desk with the spray and then dusting the other surrounding surfaces. You quickly find nothing was too dirty, the uphold from the other members ensuring the work wasn’t too difficult. You move next to the dining hall, then the recreational spaces, your cloth picking up any small specks of dust that have come to rest on the furniture and surfaces. When you’ve wiped down each room, you return to the cupboard for the vacuum you’d spied earlier. It’s older than the one you have at home but easy enough to work, quickly making light work of vacuuming the entire bottom floor.
It’s probably half an hour later when you finish, at least that’s the guess you make without a watch. You tidy away the cleaning supplies back into the cupboard before doing a quick inspection of everything to make sure you haven’t missed anything. Satisfied everything is clean, you turn your attention to your missing task partner. You haven’t seen Wanda once, barely even heard her moving upstairs. So, devoid of what else to do, you decide to head up to check if she needed any help.
You check a few rooms before you find her, the closest spaces absent of her presence. It’s only when you open the door to the girls dormitory that you finally see her. Except, she’s not cleaning like you expected her to be, in fact the cloth is entirely disregarded on the bedside table. Instead, Wanda sits with her back against the headrest of her bed, legs crossed over the top of her floral sheets and a magazine sat across her lap.
The door almost slams behind you as you catch eye of her, shock and repel taking you over. “You’re supposed to be cleaning!”
Wanda’s eyes pick up as she hears you yell, meeting your stare across the room. A smirk appears on her face, her expression seeming very amused by your sudden entrance. “Believe me, what I’m doing is much more enjoyable.”
You scowl back, annoyed by the fact you’d just spent the last half hour cleaning the house while she had been sitting up here doing nothing for who knows how long. If you were more argumentative, you would think of something to say in retaliation, some quick quip to get back at her for being lazy. But you’d never been very good at arguing, never very good at holding your temper. So instead you simply hold your tongue as you walk further in the room, watching Wanda as she stared back at you. Suddenly, your eyes fall to the paper in her hand, reminded of how similar this situation felt to the first time you’d met her. Like then, the same curiosity comes over you as to what she might be looking at, particularly how it could be classified as contraband. With that in mind, the next words you utter are not with anger anymore, but instead interest. “What are you reading?”
“Oh this?” Wanda replies, closing the magazine and holding it up briefly. She smirks your way, the grin wide against her cheeks. “Playboy.”
The word was unfamiliar to your mind. “What?”
Wanda’s brow raise. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of a playboy magazine.”
You notice in that moment she’d lost her gum from earlier. In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if she’d stuck it under a piece of furniture somewhere. But still trying to focus on the conversation at hand, you simply shake your head in response.
Wanda looks surprised, her brows raising even further. You think she’s going to jest you further, make fun of you for not recognising the name of her treasured magazine, but instead she simply extends it out. “Look.”
You move slowly, slightly hesitant to approach. You know Natasha had confiscated something like this from Wanda before and you didn’t presume this new magazine was much different from that previously banned material. Still, your curiosity seems to be getting the better of you because you slowly sit down on Wanda’s bed, your legs hanging off the side whilst the brunette crosses hers. Against the covers of the bed, Wanda slides the magazine between the two of you, opening it to a random page. What is plastered over it causes your eyebrows to raise completely in shock.
Women. But not just any pictures of women. The magazine was covered in dozens of images of women in differing stages of nudity. Immediately when you saw it, you felt the need to pull your eyes away, knowing that these kind of images were most definitely not the kind you should be looking at. But at the same time, it was like you couldn’t stop. There are about four models across the two pages scattered with different images, sometimes wearing sets of black lacy lingerie, sometimes wearing nothing at all. Theres a strange sensation bubbling in your gut, an odd warmth spreading through your mind as you look down at the pictures. The pure immorality of it all is enough for you to shake your head viscously.
“This is-we’re not-you shouldn’t have that.” You stutter, the images imprinted in your brain making it harder to focus and find the right words. You’ve never seen anything like that before, never looked at a woman’s body so out in the open. Now you could see why Natasha had quickly confiscated Wanda’s magazine and hidden it away from your view. “How do you even have this?”
The brunette seems utterly unfazed by the material in front of you. More so, her face looks amused at your alarmed reaction. “I steal them out of my brother’s backpack when he comes to visit,” she replies casually, as if this is something she’s been doing for months. “He’s pretty oblivious so he never notices, always thinks he lost them. Besides, even if he did know, he couldn’t tell my parents. He’s not allowed them either.”
While Wanda explains, you have to fight against yourself to hold eye contact. In your peripheral, you can still see the open page of nude women, restraining yourself from your body’s seemingly natural instinct to look down. “This isn’t right,” you reply, shaking your head. “We shouldn’t be looking at that.”
Wanda scoffs, looking displeased at your disapproval. She reaches out for the magazine, pulling it back into her own lap as she glances down at the images. Then, she’s looking back up at you, face inquisitive. “You’ve really never seen one before?”
You’re not sure exactly where she thinks you were going to find such a thing, but you’re certain you’ve never seen anything of the sort before. “No,” you reply sternly, shaking your head once more.
Wanda laughs to herself, rolling her eyes. “You call yourself a lesbian and you don’t even know what a playboy is.”
Her words cause a deep frown to appear on your brow, your voice raising to almost a shout. “I’m not a lesbian.”
A perfect brow raises in your direction as Wanda looks at you. Her expression seems particularly amused. “No? How’d you end up here then?”
The question hits you hard, the same thing you’d been pondering to yourself over the last few weeks of your stay. “I’m not gay,” you reply harshly. “Everyone just thinks that I am.”
“And why do you think they think that?”
Wanda’s eyes meet your own as she speaks, the question another one familiar to your own mind. “I don’t know,” you shrug. “Stupid reasons.” You think back to the conversation you’d had with your parents, the first time any of this had even cropped up into your mind. “A few posters I had up in my room, a couple songs on my playlist. Oh, and I told my boyfriend I don’t like kissing him. Which is totally stupid. I’m pretty sure he’s just really bad at it.”
A chuckle emanates from Wanda’s throat. You’re not quite sure why, watching as she leans in closer to you. When she speaks again, her face is barely inches from your own. “Oh honey, you don’t like kissing him because you like kissing girls.”
“What?” you exclaim, taken aback by her accusation. That couldn’t possibly be right. “No! I don’t! I told you, I’m not a lesbian.”
Wanda smirks, her eyes trained on yours. “Okay, maybe not a lesbian but I bet you’ve thought about a girl while he’s kissing you.”
The idea was entirely preposterous. “No!” you yelled back. “I haven’t!”
But your anger is only met with amusement on Wanda’s side, her smirk only deepening as she leans back on the bed. “You’re cute when you lie.”
The words have you recoilling, the inclination behind them picked up on yet rejected by your brain. And yet, you could feel a warmth spreading to your cheeks, embarrassment flushing in.
“Have you ever kissed a girl?”
You snap on to Wanda as her question rings out, watching as she casually slides her magazine back behind her bedside table. “No,” you reply firmly. “Of course not.”
“Then how do you know you don’t like it?” The brunette sits up again, leaning in closer to you. Her eyes meet your own, a strange shadow seemingly passing over them. She watches you for a moment, in almost unreadable expression moving across her face. “Surely theres only one way to find out.”
Wanda’s voice is low, barely above a whisper. You find you’re too busy watching her lips to notice her leaning in even closer, face barely centimetres from your own. Suddenly, you pull back. “What are you doing?”
Wanda doesn’t miss a beat, continuing to lean in even as you pull away. One of her hands comes to rest on your thigh, fingers grazing the material of your pleated skirt. “It’s okay,” she says lowly. “I’m just trying to help you.”
Her advance doesn’t stop, face moving closer and close towards yours. It’s only when she’s almost touching you, you realise she’s trying to kiss you. “No,” you say quickly, pushing her back by the shoulders. “We can’t do that. It’s not right.”
Wanda sighs, relaxing her posture a little. She shifts in the bed, eyes still trained on you. For a moment she simply looks over your face before that smirk appears once more. “Maybe…” she says, angling her head. “But isn’t that the whole reason we’re here?” The question slightly throws you for a loop, your confusion allowing Wanda to move closer to you once more. “Don’t do you want to be a good girl and finish the program?”
The way her breath fans across your face sends an odd shiver down your neck, goosebumps appearing on your arms. Her choice of words seems to form an odd feeling in your stomach, but you try your best to brush it off, nodding your head in response to the question. You did want to finish the program. You wanted to be able to go back home to your family.
Wanda smiles at your answer, her head angling to the side as her voice takes a caring tone. “Well we both know what the first step is…You have to admit to yourself you like girls.” She leans in closer, her eyes briefly flashing down to your lips. “You can’t heal if you don’t admit you have a problem.”
Her words mirror those of Natasha’s, the same thing she’d been trying to get through to you for weeks. But you can’t help but fight the part of your brain that recalls everything you’ve been taught about attraction. “This isn’t right,” you say quietly. “You have to stop.” And yet you find yourself making no move to pull away from the girl whose face sits mere inches from your own.
“As I said, I’m just trying to help you.” Wanda’s voice is calm, understanding. “Once you realise you like girls, you can move on with the rest of the program.” Then the brunette shrugs a shoulder. “Or hey, you maybe hate it and realise you actually are straight.”
It makes some sense in your mind but you’re still hesitant, knowing that what Wanda was even suggesting was against everything you wanted to believe in. “I don’t think that we should-“
“Just don’t think.” Wanda cuts you off before you can finish, and before you can even process what’s happening, she closes the final gap between you. Her lips meet yours, soft and warm against your skin. It’s gentle but rough at the same time, your eyes fluttering closed. Then immediately, as the warmth leaves, they snap back open.
Wanda’s staring back at you, face smiling. “How’d that feel?” You notice that her eyes look a little blown out, pupils wide against the sea of green. “Feels good right?”
Suddenly you realise what’s just happened, every part of your upbringing screaming inside your head. “What? No!” you reply, flustering. “No, it didn’t feel good. It felt wrong.”
But some part of you creeps up in the back of your mind, a part you recognised and yet wanted to snuff out more than anything, a part that knew you were lying.
And apparently, Wanda can see right through to that part too. “I can see it on your face, honey,” she says, voice now teasing. Her eyes trace over your features and you wonder what exactly gave it away. There isn’t much time to think however, as before you know it, Wanda’s leaning in again. Her lips meet yours, a hand sliding to your thigh once more.
“Stop,” you reply, pulling away. “This isn’t right. We’re not supposed to-“
Wanda cuts you off again. “Don’t think about what we’re supposed to do. Think about what feels right.”
You notice again the wildness of her pupils, only for a moment, before she leans in again. Your eyes close on impact, her lips crashing into yours in another kiss. Only this time you instinctively lean into it, pursing your lips against hers. Wanda pushes back, her mouth opening just slightly to take in your lips and you find yourself leaning in. There’s a reminiscent taste of bubblegum, sweet on your tongue as her saliva begins to mix with your own. The hand on your thigh tightens, another placed on to the side of your face. For a second you don’t think about anything other than just how good this moment feels.
It’s seconds later Wanda pulls away, her touch lingering but her lips missing. You find your eyes opening, gazing back at the smirking brunette staring back at you. “It feels pretty good doesn’t it?”
You’re lost for words, sure of your answer to her question but so reluctant to admit it. Wanda smiles back at you, her grip on your leg slowly raising up, ever so slightly bunching the fabric of your skirt. Before you can formulate a response, she’s moving in towards you. Her face disappears into the crook of your neck, her warm breath fanning out across your skin before her lips attach. Without thinking, your head falls back, only giving the brunette more access to nip at the skin of your neck. Your eyes feel heavy, an odd sensation pooling deep in your body. “I can make you feel so good…”
The words reverberate across your skin, sending shivers down your neck and across your chest. A small whine exits your throat, unintended by any part of you but seemingly drawn out by the gentle touches of both Wanda’s lips and her fingers dancing across your skin. “Wanda…”
The brunette slowly pulls back, her face rising to meet with yours. Theres a look in her eye you can’t identify. “You’re already a sinner now, right?” she says, voice husky. “No harm in twisting the knife.”
There’s a moment where you want to turn away, to listen to the rational part of your brain that tells you this is all wrong. But right now there’s only one thing you can truly think of; just how good it felt with Wanda’s lips against your own.
Your hands grab at the brunettes shoulders as you pull her in, the pair of you colliding before you even recognise what you’re doing. The kiss comes fast, clashing together in your desperation for the girl to stop talking and just to feel her against you again. Wanda smirks against your lips, humming an amused noise before she’s all over you.
Her hands find purchase in your hair, entangling in the strands at the nape of your neck as she pulls you in closer to her body. Her kiss becomes fiercer, control quickly being regained as she presses her lips into yours. A small hum of your own escapes as she presses her tongue into your mouth, quickly taking over as you simply let her in without protest. And in that moment a thought crashes over your mind; gay or not, your boyfriend was definitely bad at kissing. Furthermore, Wanda was very, very good.
Your hands grips slightly at her shoulders as the brunette domineers the kiss, her lips almost possessive against your own as her hand clutches as your cheek, manipulating your position to give her full control. You feel her other hand begin to drift further up your legs, pushing your skirt up to your hips before climbing even higher. Delicate touches grace over your stomach, then softly against your chest. You release a small whine as Wanda nips at your lip with her teeth, at the same time, reaching to unbutton the top clasp of your shirt. Her fingers work faster than your mind can even process, too distracted by the touch of her lips to notice her quick work of opening your entire shirt. It’s only when she reaches to touch your chest, a gasp of realisation releases from your throat.
Wanda however, continues without missing a beat. As you gasp, she lets her lips leave your own, reappearing quickly on the side of your neck. Her hand tightens around the skin beneath it on your chest, fingers squeezing around your bra and grabbing hold of your breast beneath it. Her soft kisses continue to move lower as you whine softly, her touch against your chest sending shivers down your body.
Then, her mouth turns more aggressive, resting just at the curve of your breast she begins to suck on the flesh harder, nipping with her teeth before smoothing it over with her tongue. You whine softly, the new sensation novel to your body but so intrinsically intuned. For the first time your eyes open, looking down to where the brunette resides again your chest. You notice the way your necklace rests between the wisps of her hair, a silver cross that you’d worn every day for years. The image is enough to remind you of how wrong this is, how under no circumstances you should be letting a girl kiss you or touch your body like this. But before you can fully wrap your mind around the forbidden nature of the act, a new sensation is stripping a small gasp from your chest. Wanda’s fingers move back to your thighs, slipping up the exposed skin before coming to rest on your underwear underneath.
“Wanda…” you breathe heavily, worked up by her touch and yet knowing how wrong it all was. You shouldn’t be doing this, any of it, especially what Wanda was insinuating as she slipped her hand beneath your skirt.
“Shh, it’s okay.” The brunette replies with ease, her voice low and sensual. Her eyes raise back up to your face, meeting your gaze with a blown out expression. “Let me make you feel good, Y/N.”
And with that, her mouth is on yours again. Her kiss is enough to distract you from forming a response, eyes closing as the sweet taste of bubblegum coats your tongue once more. Then you feel her fingers again, pressing lightly against the material of your underwear, tracing the lines of your folds underneath. Small noises travel from your mouth to hers, receptive to her touch, but it’s when she presses her thumb to your clothed clit, a moan finally slips out.
The situation is entirely new to you, never having been touched by anyone this way before. You and your boyfriend had always said you’d wait till marriage, just like you knew you should. But here with Wanda, her lips against yours and her fingers tracing your most delicate areas, the endorphins flowing through your brain are enough to say to hell with it all.
You push harder into the kiss, grasping hold of Wanda’s shoulders as you try to gain the upper hand. But the brunette is much more experienced than you and doesn’t let up easily. Her hands move to your own shoulders and quickly begin to push the open shirt from them. Her lips remain on yours, strong and fierce, until the shirt has been slipped from your body. Then Wanda pulls away, her eyes drifting down over you for just a moment before she’s grabbing at you again. She spins you around, pulling you fully on to the bed as her hands press your shoulders down into the mattress. In a swift movement, she’s kicking off her shoes to the floor, then pulling yours off too. She comes to settle on top of you, knees placed either side of your legs as she looks down. Her hands are quick as she unbuttons her own shirt, tossing it to the side. Then, she’s moving to unclip her bra.
You feel your eyes widen slightly as Wanda’s bare chest is revealed to you. Before the magazine she’d shown you minutes before, it’s the first time you’ve looked at another woman so nude. And in that moment, despite what your brain is screaming out to you, you can’t help but think about how good she looks.
Wanda seems to notice your staring, her face pulling an entirely amused expression as she looks down at you. “I don’t see why you deprive yourself of this, Y/N,” she says, beginning to lean in. Her lips meet your neck, sucking gently as you feel her fingers slip behind your shoulder blades, seeking the clasp of your bra. “Can something truly be so wrong if it brings you so much pleasure?”
You try to reply to her question, brain racking all of the answers you know you should be saying. But then her lips are sucking at your neck and you’re arching into her touch, once again taken over entirely by the flush of pleasure underneath her control. Theres a release against your chest as Wanda unclips your bra, tossing it easily to the side along with her own. “So gorgeous,” the brunette murmurs, one hand coming to grab at your chest. Then her lips are on you again, kissing at the skin around your nipple. When she pulls it into her mouth, teeth grazing over the bud, a needy whine erupts in your throat. Wanda smirks against you, breathing out a laugh. “So sensitive.”
Her mouth continues to work around the skin of your chest, before you notice her fingers crawling over your stomach. They take hold of your skirt, pressing it up to bunch at your waist. Then Wanda is moving away, fingers quickly hooking themselves under the sides of your underwear as she begins to slide them down.
For a sudden moment, you’re acutely aware of what’s going on, of how you are quite literally in a dorm at a camp where this type of behaviour was attempted to be corrected. Not to mention the rule of any sort of fraternisation being entirely banned. “Wait,” you say, looking down at the brunette between your legs, suddenly afraid of what you were about to do. “I don’t think-“
“I told you to stop thinking,” Wanda replies, eyes snapping to yours. She continues to pull your underwear down, throwing them to the floor once they’ve passed your ankles. Before you can say anything more, her lips drown you in a kiss. The sweetness of it all is enough to wipe any of the doubt from your mind, so when Wanda’s hands dip between your legs, you don’t hesitate to let her. Deft fingers run between your folds, teasing you slightly as they brush gently across your clit. You sigh breathily between the breaks of your kiss, Wanda’s touch like electric to your skin.
“God, you’re so wet, Y/N,” the brunette whispers, pulling her face away to smirk down at you. “Is this all for me?”
She’s teasing you, making you think about how hesitant you’d been to this whole idea, and then about how receptive you were under her touch. But you don’t want to think about any of that, don’t want to remind yourself of how wrong this all was. All you want is for her to keep going. “Wanda…” you whine, squirming under her as her fingers teased your entrance. “Please.”
You don’t even truly know what you’re asking for her to do, all you know is you need her. Thankfully, the brunette is proficient in picking up your body’s signals. “Shh, it’s okay,” she whispers, breath fanning across your face. “I know what you need, princess. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”
It’s only seconds later you feel her middle finger plunge into you. You let out a loud gasp at the contact, feeling her finger begin to move inside of you like nobody’s had before. Her name drips off your tongue, laced with pleasure, as her head moves back to your chest, tongue playing with your hardened nipple. Theres a mark resting there, red and throbbing below the skin of your cross. In the heat of the moment, you hands reach out to grasp the back of her head, intertwining with her hair as you feel her add another finger inside you.
The pleasure rolls of you in waves, Wanda’s touch like a skilled professional highly attuned to draw sweet subtle moans from your mouth. Her thumb circles your clit as she continues to pump her fingers inside of you, curling them to reach that spot that sends shivers up your spine.
“Fuck, Wanda,” you murmur, nails lightly scratching at her bare back.
The brunette chuckles, raising her head from your chest. “Now that’s not a very holy word, is it Y/N?” She smirks, and for a moment her touch is gone. You whine, chasing her fingers as they leave your needy core. Theres a second she lifts her weight and you see her reaching to remove her own underwear, then she’s back on you, this time sitting against just on of your thighs. You can feel her wetness against your skin, a soft moan escaping as she makes contact. “I wanna cum with you, okay?” she says, eyes meeting yours. You nod eagerly but your reply is swallowed up by a low cry as her fingers suddenly sink back into you.
Her speed picks up as she begins to curl inside you once again, a soft stream of curses leaving your lips at the unexplainable pleasure of her touch. You can feel Wanda begin to grind on to your thigh as she works, soft gasps escaping from her lips each time her clit brushes beautifully against your skin. She showers your praises as you whimper noises of your own, breaths heavy and moans unrestrained as she brings you closer and closer to that edge.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous, princess,” Wanda husks over you. “Such a pretty girl for me.”
Her words only add to the building feeling in your lower stomach, that familiar coil building from the times you’d reached down to pleasure yourself after your parents had went to bed - not that you would tell anyone that.
“Please, Wanda,” you whimper, back arching into her. “I’m close-please…”
One hand continues to pump inside you, paced perfectly as her curled fingers reached that spot with each thrust. The other come up to play with a perked nipple, the bud rolling though Wanda’s fingers as helpless whines spill from your mouth. “Just a minute, princess,” Wanda replies, her breathing heavy. “I’m almost there.”
Surprisingly, her pace doesn’t falter as she too climbs closer to her orgasm. Her moans grow louder, her cunt grinding harder against your thigh as she continues to swirl your clit at the perfect speed. It’s when you finally tense the muscles in your leg, that she finally falls apart.
You feel her soak your thigh, gasping desperately as she cums. You watch mesmerised as her face screws up, her jaw hanging loose as she rides out her orgasm on your leg, drunk on pleasure. It only adds to the bundling arousal pooling in your lower stomach.
“Cum, pretty girl” Wanda whispers, still coming down from her high. “Cum for me.”
And you do. With her fingers curling just right inside you, you finally tip over the edge. Your orgasm comes hard, crashing over you in a tidal wave as Wanda slowly circles your clit, guiding you through it. A guttural moan elicits from your throat, Wanda’s name lacing your tongue. That pleasant buzz takes over your mind as you feel her fingers slow, riding out your high, drunk on her touch. You’re on the brink of overstimulation when she finally removes her hand entirely. Eventually your eyelids flutter open, heavy from exhaustion, and you spy the brunette with her fingers deep isnide her mouth, her tongue lapping up every last bit of your arousal.
“So sweet,” she murmurs above you, both of your minds still fuzzy from the resounding pleasure. Eventually, the brunette moves herself away from your thigh, whining slightly as her core is exposed to the cool air. Her body flops down next to yours, shoulders touching as you lay cramped in the single cot. Your heavy breaths are the only sound for a long while, loud in the silence of the dormitory. Then finally, when you’ve managed to right your body again, your face turns to look at the girl beside you. Wanda is already staring back, green eyes wide as a huge smirk settles across her lips. She looks you up and down, her grin only widening as she husks, “You still wanna believe you’re not into girls?”.
#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff smut#wanda maximoff fanfiction#wanda maximoff fic#marvel
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Humans are Space Orcs - Chocolate
"Ugh, I would kill for some chocolate right now."
Gorvan fumbled the holopad he'd been typing on, all four hands brushing against the screen as he tried to keep it from hitting the ship floor. He failed and it bounced off the tiles - thankfully neither breaking, nor denting the flooring. Grimacing, he swept it up with his tail and checked over the casing, before the alarming words registered in his head. A glance at the couch showed the human - Max - hadn't moved - still twisted up in their weird, pretzely way, chin in their weird five-fingered hand as they peered at the passing stars with a far-away look in their eyes.
"You, uh, want...chocolate?" He asked, certain he'd misheard.
"Oh my god, yes." Max heaved a sigh, shoulders rising to their weird, inefficient ears before dropping back down. "Jesus, I'd even eat a Hershey's Bar right now."
Gorvan gripped his tablet with two of his hands, hard enough to crack the casing. "Oh, um - what is a 'Hershey'?"
Max didn't look away from the window, still lost gazing into the galaxy. "It's a type of chocolate bar from Earth. Maybe a Mars Bar or a Milky Way would be better..."
Gorvan huffed through his nostrils, tail lashing anxiously behind him. "Oh. Um. I - er, I forgot I have a meeting with Captain! I have to go." Without waiting for an answer he turned and fled the recreation room, hooved feet clattering against the floor, desperate to report what he had heard. He missed the bemused look Max gave him before returning to his star gazing.
🍫🌌🍫🌌🍫🌌🍫🌌🍫🌌🍫🌌🍫🌌🍫
"Max."
The human paused upon entering the meeting room, seeing the rest of the C7H8N4O2 Star Explorer gathered around the table. All eight were tense in their seats, and the moth-like Elaana looked like she'd been crying. (Well, the species equivalent, which appeared as a dusting of pollen along her sharp cheekbones.)
Taurvin, the captain, was sitting in the largest seat at the head of the table, his considerable bulk looming over the rest of them. Oddly, the first-mate seat to his left was empty. Gorvan was instead sitting in Max's own.
"Uh, hey all. We playing musical chairs?" Max glanced between the empty chair and Gorvan, but when nobody asked for an explanation to their odd human reference (a common occurrence), they figured it wasn't the time for jokes.
"Have a seat, Max." Taurvin motioned to the first mate seat and, with a bit of hesitation, Max moved to take it. Luckily Gorvan, despite being bulky himself, wasn't too much larger than a standard human and the chair was comfortable enough. "We have something important to address."
Oh god above, what had they done this time? Max tried to think back to all the interactions he'd had onboard the last few weeks, but couldn't come up with anything too egregious. Sure, there was the whole joke with 'human snot is acidic' thing but that had been more of a gross-out joke for Elaana, the ships medic, who hadn't seemed to upset when he accidentally sneezed on her a few days later and dropped the act. Epitak, the ships engineer, had been pretty pissed when ze found out Max had taken apart the air filtration unit in their quarters to try and understand how it worked, but ze had also walked him through repairing it, so they thought it was all forgiven.
Oh jeeze, had they found the plans to get a kitten onboard under the 'emotional assistance animal' loophole?
"Max." Taurvin's normally jolly voice was grave, and all the crews eyes were on them as he spoke. "It has come to my attention that you have been expressing some...troubling thoughts."
Okay, definitely the kitten thing then. "Look, I can explain," they started, but Taurvin held up a large, three-fingered hand and stopped them.
"I do not want you to feel pressured to speak to us if you do not wish to. As a member of the Intergalactic Exploration Society, you have access to mental health resources at no cost, any time, anywhere. I will be more than happy to assist you in setting up a link to a therapist through HR and, if required, will grant you time off the ship if you need it. You are the best navigator I have ever seen, and I do not want to lose you."
"Well, thanks, but uh, what do you mean?" Max glanced around the table and noticed that their normally upbeat crew were all showing signs of distress (Elaana was brushing away newly fallen pollen from her compound eyes).
"Max, you requested chocolate." Gorvan reminded them. "This morning, you said you would even eat a substance known as a Hershey Bar from your home planet." The human had never heard the first mate sound so distressed. When Max just blinked, Epitak took over, beak clacking anxiously as ze spoke.
"We understand that many planets have government programs in place for self euthanasia," ze explained, technical as always in his word choice, "but we aboard this ship would much rather assist you in healing rather than lose you, despite what you may feel is best for you. Suicide by theobromine is not the way forward."
"...what."
"It's okay, love!" The pollen was flowing freely from Elaana's eyes now, and she blinked it away with her long lashes. If there weren't a table between them, Max was sure she would have bundled them up in a full-wing hug and refused to let them go. "We'll support you through it all, we promise. You're part of our crew - our family, and we never want you to feel otherwise!"
"Well, uh, thanks. I see you all as family too...?" Max glanced at the four remaining crew members. Dhaca and Lenzoill were quiet but obviously upset, Qhals was staring at the ceiling with their fanged muzzle pulled into a tight grimace, and Ir'ith was -
Ir'ith was smirking.
Max narrowed their eyes at the inventory manager who also served as the ships cook (for the simple fact that he was the only one onboard who could cook). The zad merely shrugged when their eyes met, though his grin was growing.
"I think I'm missing something here." Max admitted, looking between Gorvan and Taurvin. "This is all because I got a chocolate craving?"
"A craving?" Elaana almost lunged across the table at the word, the only thing holder her back Ir'ith's hand on her shoulder. "You mean you've had chocolate before?"
"Well, yeah? All the time." Max was not expecting the horrified expressions they received.
"So humans treat theobromine as a drug?" Epitak asked, aghast.
"Noooo...? It's a dessert. Like, a sweet treat." Max had no idea what was going on now, but by the way Ir'ith's shoulders were shaking, he did. "Hershey's is a candy bar."
"Wait," Dhaca finally spoke up, leaning forward and shoving his glasses (well, glass - one lens for one eye and all) to the top of his head, "theobromine is not toxic to humans?"
"I'm assuming that theo-stuff is chocolate?" When Dhaca nodded, Max nodded in return. "Yeah, no, chocolate isn't toxic to humans. I ate it all the time on Earth."
Ir'ith gave up and cackled, sounding a bit like the grackles Max used to watch in their back garden on Earth. The avian's wings flapped a few times as he laughed, having to lean forward and grasp his stomach with taloned claws to keep himself from falling out of his chair. When he finally glanced up at Max, it was to the flattest look the human could manage, which only sent him into another gale of laughter.
Taurvin sighed, pinching the bridge of his boar-like snout. "I believe this has all been a misunderstanding," he spoke over the cooks laughter, which had turned into squeaky gasps. "Dismissed."
A few befuddled glances were thrown Max's way, but the rest of the crew were quick to leave, avoiding Ir'ith's flapping wings as they squeezed out of the room. Soon only the cook, first mate, captain, and navigator were left.
"Sorry, kid." Ir'ith finally came up for breath, wiping at his eyes as he regained his composure. He fished into one of the many pockets that adorned his poncho and produced a bar wrapped in purple foil, which he tossed to Max. The human caught it and felt their whole face light up. "No hard feelings, right?"
"None at all, dude!" Max tore open the wrapping and took a big bite of the Cadbury Dairy Milk Bar, nearly melting at the familiar, sweet flavor exploding on their tongue.
"For the record," Ir'ith said as he stood, cracking his back, "Zad's can eat chocolate to. Let me know next time you have a craving." He sauntered out of the room, humming happily.
The three sat in silence for a moment, other than the crinkle of the chocolate bar wrapper. Finally, Taurvin cleared his throat.
"Max, I apologize for not conferring with you in private beforehand." The captain sighed. "I did not wish to embarrass you, but an intervention was suggested and I believed that comfort from your crew would be the best way to show the seriousness of our support were you truly entertaining the thought of self euthanasia."
The human shrugged. "It was nice to hear you all care about me, even though I've only been on board a few months," they admitted. "And I got chocolate out of it." He wiggled the remains of the bar.
"Still, if you ever feel the need for mental health services, they are available to you. And if there is ever anything I or the rest of the crew can do to assist you in that way, please don't hesitate to ask." Taurvin placed a hand on his chest and bowed his head, a show of sincerity for his people.
"Well," Max tapped the chocolate against their chin in thought, "there may be one thing. Have you ever heard of cats?"
Next: Bluffing
Original Reddit Prompt:
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Complimentary Colors
Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader
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WC: 7.3K
Summary: After recently joining the team, you and Spencer could never get along. What started off as you two ignoring each other turned into bickering at work. What happens when a stressful moment for you turns into an opportunity to get to know this fascinating coworker of yours?
tags: enemies to lovers, fluff, brief mentions of crime/murder at the beginning (talking about cases/kidnapping), reader is shy and anxious, reader looks young for her age. (reader might be female but i don’t think i specified)
A/N: I haven’t written anything in years and I’ve been on a criminal minds kick for a while. I had this idea loosely based off a prompt I saw on cai by (ApolloTheBoykisser) so thanks babes ;) also for once I had a fic of mine beta read lol my bestie beta read this for me. This is also posted on my AO3 page.
You had been working at the BAU for the last few weeks. You tried to get to know most of your coworkers and it seemed like you were making great progress. You had heard a lot about the team before you joined and were pretty intimidated by them at first. Okay- you were still pretty intimidated by them. But you pushed through your quiet exterior little by little and slowly but surely tried to get to know them.
All except for Spencer Reid. It seemed like he was trying to avoid you. He was always very quiet and would barely talk to you. Being a shy person yourself, you thought maybe he was just shy or a quiet guy. However, he continued to ignore you except for when he had to acknowledge you for work.
His coldness towards you was increasingly annoying as time went on, and your perception of him had slowly warped. The things about him you once found endearing, you now forced yourself to hate about him. If he rambled for too long, it could potentially make your blood boil. However, you could never stop paying attention to when he rambled on about facts or statistics. You didn’t want to admit it, but you found him fascinating.
It didn’t take that long for him to start acknowledging you, but this soon turned into the two of you bickering like children. When you were discussing cases or profiles, you both would argue over motives, victimology, crime scenes- literally anything about the case- you two could turn it into an opportunity to contradict the other. You both still kept a level of professionalism to not let your rivalry affect your job.
But there was always this tension between the two of you when you were in close quarters for too long.
And at some point you both reached your boiling point.
Last week, while the team was on a case, you and Spencer had gotten into a little spat once again. This time it went beyond the slight bickering or contraction. In the middle of the local precinct, you two were at each other's throats.
“What was that?” You asked after you and Spencer left the interview room that held a victims family.
“I was working off of the profile . . .”
“You mean the profile we haven’t finished?” You interrupted. “The one we are still currently working on and have yet to disclose?”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t work off of the information we already have,” he objected.
“You told her information we are still unsure about. We don’t know for a fact how long he keeps them alive,” you accused while placing your hands on your hips, trying to conceal your frustration but failing.
“Guys.” Someone tried to tone things down. Neither of you heard who and you weren’t backing down.
“If I remember correctly, I heard you discussing this very subject and inputting your thoughts . . .”
“You still shouldn’t have told her! Especially when you don’t know for sure if her daughter could be alive,” you seethed stepping closer.
“Would you rather me hide everything from the mother who’s suffering from the disappearance of her daughter?” He asked, matching your tone and taking a step forward.
“I didn’t say that!”
“It sure sounded like it.”
“Reid. Y/N.” The two of you turned your heads to your boss like two deer caught in headlights.
“With me, now.” Hotch demanded and led you to an empty interview room.
You could tell how angry he was- despite the fact that his stoic face represented almost every emotion in the book. But by the tone of his voice, you knew you and Spencer had messed up.
“You two do not only represent this team, you represent the bureau. These cops are already not pleased with the idea of their boss calling us in and I do not need you arguing in front of them and giving them a reason to take us off this case. You must learn to respect and cooperate with one another or I will take you both off this case. Do I make myself clear?” He lectured.
You both replied with a monotone “yes.”
“Good”
Ever since your argument, you both had been relatively quiet towards one another. Like it had been in the beginning when you were ignoring each other. But that didn’t stop you from letting him invade your mind at every waking minute. It almost saddened you in a way there was no more bickering or quick remarks with him. With how much it annoyed you, you never thought you would miss it.
The team had just finished a case and before everyone packed up and went home, Rossi announced that tomorrow everyone should come over for a little ‘get our minds off work’ get together. Your coworkers all thought it was a great idea to relax after the last few very stressful cases.
As excited as you were to finally go to one of Rossi’s house parties, you were also scared shitless. Parties with relatively new people in your life were hard. You were so quiet around new people and were scared to approach others; you often waited to be approached. To you, being a profiler was easier than having a social life.
But, maybe this time would be different. There’s not that many people on the team and you’d already started to familiarize yourself with them.
The next day, you were pulling up to Rossi’s house. If there was anything else to be intimidated by with this man- besides his years of experience in the BAU- it was this giant house. You were greeted by the man himself at his front door.
“Y/N, glad you could make it.” He opened the door and welcomed you in.
He led you inside to where everyone else was gathered. Everyone was cheery at your arrival. Penelope with her clicky heels ran up to you and greeted you with a hug. It was refreshing to be around people who were so welcoming. It made it a little bit easier to really let your walls down.
Well, almost everyone. Spencer gave you a small wave from where he stood.
The night continued on and you would occasionally engage in conversation with the team. At this point, you were off to the side- standing in the kitchen and occasionally sipping some wine that Rossi had been bragging about and was just so excited for everyone to try. You were a bit too overwhelmed to go back to talking. The music was getting a bit loud and the lights seemed to be too bright. You opted for sitting on the barstool next to the counter and observing everyone around.
They were all off in small groups or pairs around the house. All except for you and Spencer. He was another outlier and standing away from all the commotion. You looked over in his direction and he caught your eye. You both glared at each other and you quickly averted your gaze away from him. Your thoughts started to race and you began playing with your hair.
After a moment, he glanced over in your direction again when you weren’t looking. He was unintentionally profiling you and noticed you getting overstimulated. Your eyes laser focused like you zoned out, your foot tapping against the chair, and your hand anxiously playing with your hair.
While he wasn’t exactly your friend, he did understand what it felt like when social gatherings got overwhelming. He made his way over to you, careful not to make you more nervous or uncomfortable.
“You okay?” He asked you. You were pulled away from spacing out. His voice sounded a bit concerned- which took you by surprise. You were partially relieved someone approached you to help bring you back down to earth. That someone noticed something was off. What confused you was the fact that person was Spencer.
“I’m fine.”
He was well aware of what it meant when someone was “fine” and you were clearly not fine. He felt bad that you were so quick to shut down his attempt to check on you. After all, it was his fault and he knew that.
“Do you wanna step outside?” He asked.
You were conflicted. You didn’t want to be outside alone with him, but at the same time, you needed some time away from everything. Maybe it would help calm your nerves.
“Maybe for a bit.”
You followed him outside onto the back patio. You took note of the fresh air and the muffled sounds from inside. It all felt like a weight lifted off your shoulders. Pretty soon though, you realized how awkward it was to be outside alone with him.
Spencer cleared his throat and spoke to break the silence, “Sometimes these parties can be . . . a lot.”
“A little bit. I was doing fine for a while but I think my social battery is running low.” You confessed to explain your discomfort.
“Yeah” he replied. He appreciated the fact that you felt comfortable enough to express this with him. He tried to relate to you. “It’s the same with me. Sometimes I just need a moment to collect myself.”
“Exactly.” You were relieved to hear that he felt the same way. “Plus it doesn’t help that I'm so new to the team.” You crossed your arms and slightly closed yourself off.
“I was the same way when I first joined.” He told her to try and ease your concerns. You were just like him at some point. The new guy and just trying to figure out how you fit in.
“It’s difficult at first, but you settle down after a bit. Once you get to know everyone.”
“Yeah it’s just the whole getting to know them part is a bit . . .” You abruptly stopped, hesitating to reveal too much to him.
“A bit what?”
“Intimidating,” you confessed, avoiding his eyes.
He obviously noticed your hesitance and avoided his usual behavior with you. You were always so strong and quick to banter with him. But now you seemed vulnerable, and he didn’t want to take advantage of that.
“It’s not just you, I promise.” He was being honest. This was the calmest and most genuine conversation the two of you had ever had. “I find them all pretty intimidating.”
Your eyebrows raised at his confession. How could he possibly be intimidated by these people?
“Really? But you’ve known them for so long. You all are so close.”
“Close doesn’t mean you can’t be a little intimidated,” he replied. It might not make much sense, but it was the truth.
“I mean Hotch is always stonewall and silent, no matter what you say to him. And don’t even get me started on Morgan.” He joked, knowing you would understand.
You lightly chuckled at his joke. “I get what you mean.” You were starting to understand him more. You thought it was ironic that one of the team members you were first intimidated by was also intimidated by the team. Now he was starting to seem less intimidating or annoying and more approachable. You kinda liked seeing this new side of Spencer.
“I guess I’ve always been like that. Worried to get to know people or open up.” You weren’t entirely sure why you were telling him this, but you knew he would understand.
"I think when you're afraid of being hurt or judged or misunderstood by people, you try to keep your guard up." He told you, speaking from experience. From a young age until now, he's always felt misunderstood.
"And I think...maybe that's why you're on edge with me? You're not sure what to expect from me."
“Are you profiling me?” You asked jokingly. Spencer however thought you were serious and you noticed him tense up.
“I’m kidding.” Your expression softened to let him know you weren’t actually accusing him of profiling you. “I’m gonna be completely honest, I’ve been on edge with you cause I thought you didn’t like me.”
He was a bit taken off guard by your statement. But at the same time, he couldn't deny it. He didn't dislike you now, but at first, he wasn't exactly fond of you. And now he was ashamed of that.
"I didn't like you." He admitted. "I thought you were pretentious, too eager to be accepted. I think I saw you as competition."
Spencer’s comment did sting. It was never sunshine and rainbows to hear someone doesn't like you. However, you did take note of his language. He said “didn’t,” “thought” and “saw,” all past tense. Does this mean he doesn’t dislike you now? What you did appreciate was his reciprocated honesty. You both were making some progress in your relationship and you wanted to continue it.
“I was eager to be accepted. I wanted to feel like I belonged.”
“I know how you feel.” He expressed his sympathy. “I regret not giving you a chance. You’re not like I thought you were.” He also appreciated seeing this different side of you.
“You’re not like I thought you were.” You admitted.
A little smirk tugs at his lips, “So I’m not as pretentious and selfish as you thought?”
You lightly chucked, “I never thought you were selfish, but I did think you were a ‘know-it-all’ and trying to show off.”
Spencer really didn’t want you to think he was a show off. Sure- he had a vast amount of knowledge, but he never wanted you to think he was bragging or that he knew better than you. “I do know a lot but I promise I’m not trying to show off. I just have all this information in my head and I want to share it with people or I’m really passionate about something and want to talk about it.”
You understood that feeling all too well. There were so many times you wanted to ramble on about things you cared about or had knowledge on, but for the most part just stayed quiet. Meanwhile, he didn't keep quiet. He would go on and on. And while almost everyone else was either rolling their eyes or trying to shut him up, you were listening intently. You didn’t want to admit it back then, but now you were feeling up to it.
“I will admit, while I did think of you as a know it all, I found a lot of your tangents interesting.” You admitted.
His eyebrows raised in surprise. He was so used to people dismissing him. It was nice to hear you often would listen. “Really? You didn't mind me babbling on?" He asked, relieved with your response.
"I mean, it is something I have trouble with. I tend to talk too much.”
“Oh Dr. Reid I am very familiar with rambling and being worried about talking too much.” You paused for a moment- considering how much more you wanted to share with him. “I know it may not seem like it because I’m always quiet around the team but.. once I get comfortable around people, I actually get very rambly”
"You do?" He asked, sounding surprised. “About what?”
“Really anything. Mostly things I’m passionate about like you. I’ll also tend to go on tangents about memories or just things happening in my life.”
You made your way to a bench on the patio as you spoke. Spencer followed and sat down on a chair adjacent to you. You brought your attention back to him and noticed his focused gaze on you and he quickly licked his lips, a habit you noticed he did all the time.
"You really are a lot like me. You're just quieter at first." He added, teasing you a little. While he was not one for social cues, he had the sudden urge to be bold and make a joke. "Maybe next time I see you rambling, I won't immediately contradict you."
You dramatically dropped your jaw and placed your hand over your heart. “Wow, you really know how to give a compliment,” you said, pretending to be offended.
He laughed with a bright grin. "I'm sorry. Let me rephrase. The fact that you're so silent and reserved makes it that much more thrilling when I find out how much of a chatterbox you actually are." He joked, being playful as before.
Your cheeky smile slightly falters for a moment. You hoped he wouldn’t notice but he did. “I think you won’t be so thrilled once I actually turn into a chatterbox around you.”
"Actually I think I would find it intriguing." He told you, looking directly into your eyes. "The quiet ones tend to be the most interesting and complex when they do end up talking."
“I’m not that interesting.”
“I beg to differ. You’re very interesting. Probably the most interesting person on the team.”
Did he really say that? Did he mean it? Or was he just being nice? You tried not to profile him, but couldn’t help it. His body language expressed he was being honest. Uncrossed legs and arms, open palms, eye contact. The only thing you didn’t notice when studying his body language was his dilated pupils.
“Thank you,” you smiled at his compliment, “I doubt I’m the most interesting though. You maybe, Mr. Three PHDs and can read 20,000 words per minute.”
He smiled back at you, “Just because I'm well educated doesn’t mean you can’t be as interesting as me, if not more.”
You couldn’t believe he was saying such nice things to you. This was the first time you guys were actually making some kind of connection.. and it felt wonderful.
“I still can’t believe we’ve known each other for this long but are just now talking. And by talking, I mean not getting into a spat after speaking for more than 3 minutes.” You confessed with a hint of playfulness in your voice at your joke.
“Yeah, I feel like I barely know you.”
“What would you like to know?” You asked.
He thought for a moment trying to think of a question to ask. You noticed once again that he licked his lips, trying to concentrate.
“Let’s start with something simple. What’s your favorite color?” He asked.
“Wow, I think that’s a bit too personal.” You said, voice laced with sarcasm. You tried your hardest to contain your amusement but started to smile. He smiled back at you. At first, he was always confused with sarcasm and social cues. To be honest, he still was. But he could just tell with you. He knew when you were joking and when you were being serious. He found your sense of humor amusing.
“Yellow.” You answered. “What’s yours?”
“Purple.” He replied.
You intended to leave it inside your head- but a quiet “huh” made it past your lips as an idea came into focus.
“What? Is it my choice for my favorite color?” He tried to joke with you but was also a little bit serious.
“Oh no, it's just I thought it was interesting because those are complementary colors. You know how they are opposite on the color wheel?” You asked even though you figured he knew.
He nodded his head, “Yes! Because they are on opposite ends of the color wheel, when they’re used together it creates a vibrant contrast and enhances visual appeal. The two colors almost balance each other out and support each other's intensity. Complimentary colors are a key component to color theory.” He suddenly noticed how long he was talking and his posture stiffened. He pressed his lips into a thin line and avoided eye contact. “Told you I talk too much.”
“And I told you that I find your rambling interesting.”
His head perked back up at you. You genuinely wanted to listen to him. It was refreshing to talk to someone that didn’t cut him off or zone out.
“That’s kinda like us though, don’t you think?”
“What’s like us?” He asked confused, still thinking about the fact that you actually enjoy listening to what he has to say.
“How our favorite colors are complimentary colors. Like you said, they support each other's intensity. When you first see them they’re opposites, but the more you look the more they compliment each other.”
He softly smiles. “That does sound like us. The more we learn about each other, the more we find we have in common.”
There was a short pause where you both considered his statement. You did want to know more about him. You wanted to know all of him.
“Can I ask you a question this time?”
“Of course.”
“So, you're always reading. Like everywhere you go, you carry a book with you. I wanna know: what’s a book you could read over and over again and never get tired of?” You wanted to know beyond his favorite color. You wanted to get to the various building blocks that made him the way he was.
Spencer considered your question for a moment. Trying to go through the near infinite list of books he’s read in his life. You could tell he was concentrating on his answer because licked his lips. “Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens.”
“Is he one of your favorite authors?”
“Yes.” He said almost immediately, confident in his answer.
“How come you like that book so much?” You asked.
You could see this sort of spark enter his eyes the more you asked about it. Giving him the chance to share his passions. ”Oliver Twist was one of the first books that used satire to deliver social commentary. Particularly in this book the social commentary was aimed at poverty in 19th century England. The book also quickly gained attention after its publication due to the scandalous subject matter in which crimes, such as murder, were depicted in detail.”
Spencer finally stopped rambling and almost looked as if he caught his breath from the endless talking. But what he was met with was your undivided attention.
”That sounds really interesting, maybe one day I should give it a read.” You say with a soft smile.
“You should,” he matched your smile, but it seemed a bit more sheepish due to his brief tangent. “Have you ever read Charles Dickens before?”
You shook your head in response. “I’ve never read anything by him. I actually don’t read much. But I used to in high school.” You revealed.
“What have you read?” He asked. He leaned slightly forward and unconsciously mirrored your body language and placed his right hand on his leg like you did yours.
“Pretty much the same books everyone else had to read for school.” You paused and tapped your fingers trying to refresh your memory.
“To Kill A Mockingbird, The Great Gatsby, 1984, um.. a few Shakespeare books.” You answered with the few books you could remember.
“Which one did you like the most?”
“I’m not sure”, you sighed and thought about his question, wanting to give him a genuine answer. “Maybe.. Macbeth. I remember finding the story interesting and I did a group project on Macbeth and Lady Macbeth's descent into madness. Like the scene where she’s hallucinating the blood on her hands.”
Your voice started to pick up speed and volume ever so slightly. He could tell you were getting more passionate the more you spoke. Subtly displaying how you could ramble once you opened up to someone. He smiled as you continued, happy to see that you felt comfortable enough around him to let a hidden part of yourself out into the open.
“I guess that kinda explains why I wanted to be a profiler and learn about psychology and forensics. I was interested in how Lady Macbeth's guilt manifested and caused her delusions. I wanted to understand why people did the things they did.”
“I can tell, you have this curiosity. You want to understand. Know the ‘why’. He mentally recalled the times you would express your curiosity during work.
“Yeah, pretty much.”
He pressed his lips in a line. “Is it- is it my turn to ask you something now?” He stuttered slightly.
“I mean you don’t have to. It’s nobody’s ‘turn’ but you can if you want.”
“I do.” He replied immediately. The corners of your mouth perked up into a small smile. He mirrored you.
“I may be stealing your previous question. Like you said you don’t read much. But I have noticed you listen to music a lot. I want to know a song you could listen to over and over again.”
He was right, you often listen to music. Mostly on your way into work or on the jet, you would be wearing your signature headphones and have some playlist on. It was your own way of coping with the stress of your job. You looked down at the ground as you recalled the songs in your favorite playlist.
“Dreams by The Cranberries.” You brought your eyes back up to face him. But what you saw was confusion in Spencer’s eyes. He tried to hide it but you knew better. “Have you heard that song?”
He did that little sideways pout you often saw him doing when he was in awkward situations.
“I’m not sure,” he replied. Spencer broke eye contact, embarrassed he didn’t know something from pop culture.
“It’s okay. Remind me next time I have my headphones and I’ll show you.” You spoke calmly to reassure him there was nothing to be embarrassed about.
He brought his attention back to you. Relieved to hear your gesture instead of a quip about his lack of pop culture knowledge like he was used to.
“I will.”
“Alright my turn.” You shifted your weight and brought your legs up to your side so your whole body could face him. “Um, it's kind of a personal question though. I’m curious about something.”
“Go ahead. What is it?” He asked, giving you his whole undivided attention.
“Does it ever bother you when people question your age when you say how educated you are?”
He was somewhat thrown off by your question, but something told him you've wanted to ask him this for a while.
He furrowed his eyebrows, “I wouldn’t say it bothers me. Considering I have had such an extensive education so early in my life, it’s completely understandable that someone would question how I did it at a young age.”
“Hmm,” you hummed in response. He knew that wasn’t the answer you were looking for.
“Can I ask you something personal?” He asked before asking his real question. He appreciated your concerns about potentially pushing a boundary and he reciprocated it. He didn’t want to break this newfound friendship- if he could call it that- by making you uncomfortable.
You nodded your head, silently telling him it was okay.
He slightly fidgeted with his hands. “Did you ask me that because people question your age?”
“Yes,” you answered hesitantly. “I’ve never looked my age.”
He thought about his next question before asking. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, I’m just trying to understand. Why does that bother you?”
“It bothers me when people don’t take me seriously. I mean I’m in my late 20s and some people still think I look fresh out of college. It hasn’t happened as often since I joined the BAU but so many people in law enforcement don’t take me seriously. People tend to think I’m too innocent to have a job like this.” You confessed to him as you avoided looking him in the eyes.
"I wouldn't say you're innocent.” His comment brought your eyes back to him.
“But you do have a soft demeanor. It makes you approachable. If anything, those qualities are an incredible asset to this job whether it be when you're speaking to victims or their family members.”
Even though he would often throw snarky retorts to you in the past and try to get under your skin, he always admired how good you were at your job. Of course, you were an amazing profiler and had no trouble standing against dangerous unsubs. But the way you handled incredibly sensitive situations with such calmness and comfort with others was admirable. During cases with children, you were able to ease their worries and provide a safe space.
“While you are very sweet and shy, I would never call you innocent.”
“Thanks,” you smiled at his compliments. You felt understood hearing his affirmation. It also warmed your heart to hear that he thought so highly of you. Especially since the last few weeks, you thought he hated your guts. Although- his comment did make you more curious about how you were perceived. “Half the time I don’t realize how shy I am or how I present myself,” you weakly chuckled.
“There were actually a lot of ways to deduce that you're shy,” he matched your lighthearted tone but also kept a sense of seriousness to prove he was being genuine.
“Was it the fact that I was sitting by myself and scared to talk to them?” You half joked as you figured that’s what he was going to imply.
"That was part of it, yes. But besides that, it was the way you often avoid direct eye contact, and the tone of your voice. It's gentle and low, as if you're afraid of coming on too strong.” He was too caught up in his thoughts and observations to realize how much he was divulging. “You keep your distance and your words are always measured or not overly assertive. Almost like if you do come off assertive you will receive backlash."
When he met your eyes again, he noticed how frozen you were. On the outside you didn't reveal much, simply had a stoic expression. He knew you better than that. He knew that he had hit a nerve and started to panic that he went too far. He had finally wrecked this slowly growing friendship like he thought he would, by being himself.
“Wow, yeah that sounds pretty spot on,” you agreed. You sounded soft spoken and played with your hair again, of course without your knowledge.
“I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He abruptly spattered in a panic.
“No it’s okay really,” you interrupted trying to reassure him. “I just didn’t expect you to be so ... correct.”
He pressed his lips into a thin line, relieved he didn't mess things up, but still slightly worried he had left you feeling exposed. "I guess I'm just good at noticing things about people,” he shrugged.
“You forget, we get paid to notice things about people,” you joked with him, trying to make him feel better by lightening the situation. Of course, it worked.
"That's true." He chuckled and paused for a moment to consider. Then he continued with his profile of you.
"It's just the way your voice softens whenever you become uncomfortable, almost whispering or lowering in tone. Or your nervous habits, like when you play with your hair." It was a gesture he was pretty keen on catching.
You suddenly were very aware of the fact you were playing with your hair. You quickly dropped your hands and crossed your arms.
"It's not bad that you do that, you know,” his voice had a slight crack in it. “It's just something you do subconsciously." He told her, trying to be comforting.
“Do you wanna know something you do subconsciously?” You asked, your voice with a hint of teasing. You decided that if he was going to profile you, you were going to profile him back.
He noticed your tone and that you had gained a bit more confidence. "Sure, hit me." He said as he awaited your reply with curiosity and interest.
“You poke your tongue out a lot or lick your lips. Most of the time when you’re concentrating or lost in thought. Which means you definitely need to start using chapstick. I’ve seen you do it a lot since we’ve been out here.” You explained.
"So, are you telling me my lips are dry?" He replied playfully, his grin widening.
“They probably are,” you lightly laughed at the silliness of his question. He laughed along with you and subconsciously went to lick his lips again, but caught himself.
“I'm gonna be thinking about this so much more now,” he confessed.
“Consider it payback for pointing out how much I play with my hair when I'm anxious. I don’t know what to do with my hands now,” you remarked as you dramatically waved your hands in the air.
“Sorry,” he awkwardly apologized.
“I already told you it’s alright. You're not the only one who analyzes behavior. I’ve noticed plenty of things you do and why you do it.”
“Like what?” He furrowed his eyebrows, curious what particular things about him you had profiled. He noticed something though. The confidence you once had, had washed away after you collected your thoughts.
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you stated.
"You won’t make me uncomfortable,” he responded almost immediately. “I promise. I really want to know.”
You took a deep breath before explaining your observations. “You desperately want to be heard. You love to share the endless knowledge you have, but when someone walks away or cuts you off your reaction is almost that of deflating. And when someone does show a bit of interest in what you have to say your voice perks up and almost cracks with excitement. Then you talk a lot faster, probably a mixture of excitement and as a way to keep the other person engaged and to not lose their attention.”
Spencer carefully listened to every word you said. Not a single deduction was false. You had read him like a book in the short time you knew him. You noticed something about him that most of the team couldn’t pick up on.
"You're right about everything,” he said with a soft tone. Almost everyone interrupted him, you never did. This got him thinking. Of course everyone on the team made observations about each other, they’re profilers of course. However, he wondered why you had made so many about him.
"Are you always this observant about everyone? And I mean everyone. Or is it just me that gets the special treatment?" He asked his last question with a hint of a teasing tone.
You scoffed, “yeah right, like you get special treatment.” You thought about your response, not wanting to reveal too much.
“I guess I might have paid attention to you because you were the only one who was so closed off to me. I wanted to know why. I wanted to know who you were even if you weren’t going to tell me.”
He was right, you were paying him special attention. The fact that you wanted to know who he was despite his closed off nature revealed enough.
“So you admit it, I get special treatment?" He cheekily asked.
“Oh shut up,” you retorted.
“Make me.”
Your lips pursed, holding back a smile.
Spencer noticed you were trying to hold back a smile and found it endearing. He also noticed something else about your reaction. You were blushing. You blushed as a result of his taunting. He got lost in the thought of you blushing from him.
“Something you wanna share with the class?” You teased.
He didn't want to admit it, not yet at least. He wanted to make you sweat just a little bit and get a reaction out of you.
"I'm curious about something. Could you tell me what would cause someone's cheeks to flush?" He tried to seem genuine but of course he came off with a hint of cheekiness.
You furrowed your eyebrows. You were completely oblivious to your red face and were confused by his random inquiry.
“Are you questioning my profiling skills?” You lightly scoffed, not knowing what his true intentions were.
"No, not exactly. I just want to know what you think.”
Your expression changed to one of confusion but also amusement. You decided to play along with his little game.
“Well psychologically blushing could mean a multitude of things. Embarrassment, stress, anxiety, attraction.” While your voice stayed consistent, he noticed the change in your breath and how your eyes darted away from him. It was a brief expression, but he caught it. He got the answer he was looking for.
"And which one of those can explain why you’re blushing?" He raised an eyebrow and smirked as he leaned closer to you.
Your stomach dropped and eyes widened. You shifted your weight in your seat and touched your cheeks. “I’m not blushing..” You ignored his question.
"You are.”
You sighed and stood up, “Well if I am it’s probably because you just pointed it out and I’m embarrassed.”
"Oh, really?" He taunted and followed you. "I think that you might be blushing for a different reason."
You bit your lip out of frustration and crossed your arms. “Are you profiling me Spencer?”
"Maybe I am,” he smirked. "I would say that maybe you've been so interested in me that you've been paying a lot of attention. That's why you took note of so many of my habits and behavior."
Your face got redder and you started playing with your hair again. You huffed, “I told you before, the reason I paid attention to you was because I didn’t know you.”
"Sure, but you pointed out how you kept noticing I licked my lips. Why were you looking at my lips in the first place?"
You were caught between a rock and a hard place. “Why are you so interested in why I’m blushing or looking at your dumb face anyway? Why do you care so much?” You asked defensively.
He couldn’t respond, he froze up.
“I mean, you question why I pay so much attention to you but here you are doing the same thing to me. Trying to read me like a book,” you accused.
He cleared his throat and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I guess we're both curious about each other."
“I guess we are,” you responded. You saw his cheeks turn pink in reaction to your questioning. “Look who’s red now.”
If his face could even get redder, it did. For a man that could probably say a thousand words a minute, it seemed like none of them could fall from his lips.
It was your turn to smirk. “I can’t believe I’ve managed to leave you speechless. Never thought that would happen.”
"Shut up,” he sheepishly scoffed.
“Make me.”
Spencer felt his stomach flutter, he smiled bashfully at your mimicking his own teasing. The seconds passed and neither of you spoke, neither of you had words. Both of you in your own heads. In your head, you got a stroke of confidence. You didn't know where it came from, maybe the teasing, maybe the fact that you had him speechless. But you took it and ran with it.
”Maybe the reason you wanted to know why I was blushing so badly, is the same exact reason I was blushing,” you mumbled.
The realization hit him in waves. You just admitted to the very thing he was trying to get out of you in the first place. He was speechless once again, but this was different. He stared at you with a stunned look, not knowing what to do.
You took his blank expression as a negative reaction, thinking you came off too strong. You slowly backed away from him, regretting putting yourself out there.
“Sorry. I don’t know why I said that. Just forget it.” You turned around to go back inside but felt something on your wrist. You turned around and saw Spencer had grabbed your wrist to stop you. His eyes wide and breath heavy.
"No. Don’t,” he begged.
"Really?" You whispered softly.
He smiled, "yes. Please don't take it back."
You smiled back at him bashfully. Spencer’s reaction make your stomach do backflips, but it made you wonder.
"Can I ask, why did you pay such close attention to me?
He released his light grasp on your wrist and instead placed your hand in his. "I couldn't stop analyzing every single detail about you. I wanted to know you inside and out. There was something about you that felt intoxicating. After every time I spoke to you, even if it was just us bickering or arguing, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”
He looked down at your joined hands and started to rub his thumb over your hand. You looked up at him and smiled, glancing at his lips. “Well you definitely must be thinking about something now, you licked your lips.”
He couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed. You made him feel like he was on full display, like he was a book that only you could read.
He slightly blushed at your comment. “I am. Can you guess what I'm thinking about?"
You grabbed his other hand with yours as a smirk grew on your face, “How close we are. How it’s probably driving you crazy..” You nearly whispered the last part as you leaned closer to him, “how I’m making you crazy..”
"You do.” Spencer wrapped one of his arms around your waist and placed his hand on the small of your back. A shiver ran down your spine as his hand touched your back. Of course, he could tell and was light headed by the effect you had on him. He’d never felt so intoxicated by someone before. “You’ve made me a mad man ever since I met you.”
Your heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to burst out of your chest.
“What about you?” He asked. “Do I make you crazy?”
You glanced between his eyes and his lips.
“Yes..”
It was like you both were on the exact same wavelength. You both dove in at the same time and slammed your lips together. Both of you just so desperate to get a taste of the other. The kiss was tender and passionate, with no single person in control. You both moved together in synced motions. All of the arguments, all the tension that had been slowly building up could be released.
When you finally parted, Spencer rested his forehead against yours. You felt his airy breath as he tried to come back down to earth. You placed a hand on his face and stroked his cheek with your thumb.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks,” he breathed.
“I can tell,” you chuckled. “what’s stopping you from doing it again?”
“Do you want me to?” He asked desperately.
You placed your other hand on the back of his neck, “I love hearing you talk.. but shut up and kiss me.
Before today he never liked the idea of you telling him what to do. But now, he was at your mercy. He didn’t hesitate and locked your lips with his once again. You both melted together like lovesick teenagers. But moments like these of course don’t last forever.
The sound of the patio door opening fell deaf on both your ears. It wasn’t until you heard Derek Morgan that you both pulled away from each other.
”What’s going on out here?” Derek questioned with a smirk.
You and Spencer couldn’t speak, too frozen to react.
His grin only grew, “My man,” he chuckled as he glanced at Spencer.
“Don’t kill each other while you're out here.” Derek left the way he came and closed the patio door.
You sighed, “He’s gonna tell someone isn’t he?”
“Yup”
~
He made his way back to his coworkers with a cheeky grin plastered on his face. “What’s got you all happy?” Emily asked.
“Looks like our two angry birds are now two love birds,” he answered.
“What? What are you talking about?” Penelope sprinted over as fast as she could with her heels.
“How I just caught Reid and Y/N making out.”
The room exploded with chaos at the reactions to his news.
JJ, who was standing off to the side with Hotch, furrowed her eyebrows, “I thought they hated each other?”
Hotch glanced towards the patio door and saw the light shadow of two figures. “No they don't. Not really.”
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfic#spencer reid headcanon#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds x reader#spencer reid x you#criminal minds x you#spencer reid one shot#spencer reid fic#spencer reid imagine#criminal minds headcanons#enemies to lovers
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when you joined the 141 you were one of the youngest members being only nineteen while your colleagues in their mid thirties. it didn’t phase you too much it was only work but when you began making a bond with them all it was nice, they’d give you advice and wisdom.
during one of the mission debriefings it was hard as they were talking about how they could do better next mission, how some of you guys were being a tad sloppy but the usual. as you wanted to point in your own ideas it was shut down instantly by ghost, ‘y/n the adults are talking,’ he tells you in a snappy tone.
you bit your tongue as you stood back realising that was all they saw you as, the child they babysat. you left after that moment, upset of course feeling as though these connections you had made was just them being good people not friendly. maybe you were overthinking it but how could you not when your friend colleague says something like that to you.
you headed back to your quarters for the night, writing in your journal and such doing other things, wanting time to pass. wasn’t long until price was knocking on your door, ‘come on the guys are having a drink.’
‘i’m good, I wouldn’t want to interrupt you adults,’ you mutter at him still not looking up at him.
‘yanno it’s not like that, so don’t act like it,’ he tells you off landishly, the complete opposite of price.
‘well it is so ill stay here until I get my apology,’ you tell him standing your ground.
‘you wonder why we think it,’ he says before leaving shutting your door. maybe it was a tad immature but you wanted an apology. you stared at the door anazylyzing the words in your head, we just repeating. who else thought it?
part two which is less angsty 🙏
#jj talks#angst#cod mw2#cod x reader#cod mwii#soap cod#cod mw3#ghost cod#cod modern warfare#cod#captain price#john price#price#price x reader#simon ghost x reader#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon riley x you#simon riley x reader
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this but from miguels perspective (gn!reader)
he thinks he's maintaining composure during the call. he manages to hold off the growl between his words, and his eyes are the usual amount of narrowed, so he thinks he's truly not being that obvious. but the envy sits heavily in his chest and the jealousy almost blinds him and of course, there's the devil on his shoulder to taunt him as soon as the call ends.
"were they just ...?" lyla's question doesn't need to be completed for miguel to know what she's asking.
"yea, lyla," annoyance is clear in his voice. to an outsider, maybe it's the usual annoyance that comes from miguel o'hara. but to the one who knows him best, it's a dose ten times bigger than usual.
"oh, someone's jealous." it's singsong, a direct taunt at his expense, something lyla's best at.
"i'm not jealous i'm upset that i now have to find another spider-person to fill in for spider-punk." lie. well, not completely a lie but mostly a lie.
lyla's tone says she obviously doesn't believe him. "uh-huh. sure." but then she's gone, and miguel's left to click on his watch and pull up the audio recording of hobie's call. all calls are recorded for ... archives and such, so it's not that weird.
miguel just needs to let out some frustration before he can focus again. he knows lyla will handle getting someone for the mission, he just needs 10 minutes on his own, with your moans lowly playing in the lab, and his fist wrapped around his cock.
he spits in his hand, the quarter of his suit between his navel and his knees disappears, and he plays the bit of audio that's clearest with your moans. when hobie deliberately paused to "think" about when he was next free, leaving miguel's ears to warm as his overactive imagination conjured up images of you, under the spider-person who upset him most.
his hand turns sloppy as he thinks about how hobie doesn't deserve you. he's too insufferable, too immature, and from the one accidental meeting miguel had with you, he could tell you were the opposite. you were sweet, pretty, the softest features and the most comforting eyes as you offered tea to the spiderman who'd jumped out of a portal and into your home.
miguel remembers scowling at the mix of items that were yours and hobie around the place, but his features leveled out when he saw you, wearing a long shirt that stopped mid thigh, a little bit of toothpaste crust at the corner of your mouth, and a bright smile as you tentatively approached hobie and miguel.
he felt disgusting in the moment, thinking about what you had under that shirt, if you even had anything under the shirt. you were young, clearly hobie's age, definitely too young for miguel, but so much nicer than most young adults, a simple fact that drew him to you even more.
he couldn't help but think about if you and hobie had just had sex while he accidentally stumbled over his words, having to take a pause all together as hobie shamelessly pulled your back to his front and rested his chin on your shoulder.
now, images of how embarrassed you'd looked then flashes into miguel's mind. is that what you looked like while your boyfriend fucked you on call to his boss? maybe your face was scrunched a little more with pleasure. maybe there were tears running down your cheeks, a show of humiliation and satisfaction.
fuck, miguel really wanted to make you cry. he wanted to see those pretty eyes well up with tears while he bounced you on his cock. not on hobie's. miguel wanted to wipe the salt water away, kiss them away, and continue to make you feel good.
he distantly realizes that he's groaning now, grunts thrown in there as his hips chase his own hand. it's messy, a little shameful, but the thoughts are coming into his head quicker than he can process.
pictures of you bouncing yourself on his cock, head thrown back. pictures of you begging to cum because you know that miguel controls when and if you do. pictures of you playing with yourself, putting on a show for him, moans high pitched and vulnerable like they are now as you beg for help.
and just as he's about to come, hobie speaks, and miguel sees a picture of the two of you, hobie being the one to get you off, eyes locked with miguel with that usual taunting look in them. but for once, it doesn't upset miguel. at least not when warm spurts of his own cum is spurting out of his dick and onto his previously clean skin.
#miguels into cucking#is that what its called?#miguel o'hara x reader#hobie brown x reader#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara x gn!reader#miguel o'hara smut#spiderman 2099 x reader#spiderman 2099 smut#spiderman 2099 x you
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