#((SOMEONE COME BE MY AGENT BEST FRIEND!))

[babygorewhore]

New perspective

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Two best friends alone in a room…nothing will happen, right?

Warnings! Perv!Spencer! Masturbation! Panty stealing! Oral! Fem receiving! Unprotected sex! Degrading! Praise! Barely proofread

Dividers by @cafekitsune

“So. You waiting for a certain cute brown haired boy to return?” Garcia quipped as you tapped your pen against the desk. You rolled your eyes at her while the blonde gave you a smirk with her pink painted smile.

“For the last time, he’s my best friend. That’s all. And yes I’m waiting for him to get back. He’s been gone for almost a week and we’ve had to reschedule movie night three times.” You grumbled as you crossed your legs.

“Three times? Reid never misses those. Everything okay?” Garcia asks with a sympathetic look and you sigh.

“Yeah. He was on a date the first time. The second time he fell asleep and the third was a date again.” You tried to keep your voice as casual as possible but your friend senses the hidden pang of jealously threatening to come out.

“Well-“ She began and then her expression turned when she saw something above you. You shifted in your seat and saw the agents exiting the elevator.

Hotch gave you a curt nod, Rossi gave you a smile, Emily and JJ waved while Morgan winked at you. You bit your lip in anticipation as you finally saw Spencer walk out. His floppy waves were flicked out of his face as he jerked his head and flashed his eyebrows at you in a greeting.

You stood, shoes padding the carpeted floor as your work pants flowed against your thighs. “Hey Spencer. Everything okay?”

“Yeah! Sorry I haven’t really been able to check in with you. Kidnapping cases are a race against time and the unsub happened to be a woman.” You nod as you withhold the urge to hug him but he shifts beside you and leans against your desk.

“A woman? That’s not common is it?”

“Statistically speaking-“ and then he was rambling. You bit back a smile and listened contently as Spencer caught you up on the case.

Several seconds went by and you cleared your throat, signaling him to slow down. “I know you’re probably worn out but would you want to join me for movie night?”

Spencer nods rapidly. “Yes! Sorry I’ve had to reschedule a few times. What’s on the watchlist tonight?” He extends his elbow and you wrap your hand around it.

“Hmm, you pick. Since it’s your first day back.” You smile at him as he leads you both to clock out.

Spencer Reid was a man with reasonable amounts of self control but every single time he came into your apartment, he couldn’t prevent himself from sneaking a pair of panties into his pocket. It was completely off limits. You were his friend and didn’t look at him that way. You were a gorgeous, sensible and caring woman but he couldn’t possible be your type. Derek Morgan was someone he’d always pair you with. Someone with more confidence. Except now, he was searching for a pair of underwear in your room while you made snacks in the kitchen. You had changed into an oversized evil dead t shirt and shorts. Knee socks to top it all off and all Spencer wanted to do was rip them off and have his way with you but he’d settle for licking a strip in the middle of your thong.

He couldn’t imagine what the real thing tasted like. A pretty pussy hidden away in those little outfits you wore everyday at work. Spencer also had a habit of jerking off hidden away in an office, his dick painfully hard whenever he imagined fucking you.

His car was another spot, where he’d moan your name over and over again picturing your mouth wrapped around his cock. You’d wear the prettiest lipstick too and he’d catch peeks of a pink tongue whenever you ate something. Spencer almost felt like a dog with how pathetic he was for you. Yet he couldn’t admit it to you. His shyness won over every time. He even lied about dating. He just didn’t want you to think he was completely incapable of having a relationship but no one could ever replace you.

“Spencer? You okay? You coming back?” You called from the other room and he quickly straightened. Pulling your panties into his pocket and shuffling out of your bedroom. He smoothed a hand over his hair and hurried to sit down on the couch.

You held two bowls of popcorn, candy and a few other items with your hips swaying as you plopped next to him. “Your food sir.” Spencer had to swallow painfully at the term and the way your voice sounded saying Sir.

“Thank you.” He replied and shifted his body slightly away from you to hide his hardening dick.

You both watched in silence but Spencer caught glimpses of you and the way your body filled out your clothes. He wanted nothing more than to let his hands and mouth cover every each of you. It was almost unbearable.

“How was your date?” Your sudden question alarmed him and Spencer jerked his head towards you.

“What?”

You raised your brows. “How was your date?” You repeated and he shrugged.

“Oh. it’s alright. Don’t think it’s anything worth sharing about.” He kept it short and you both fell again into quiet.

You reached over and turned down the volume. “I missed you, Spencer. It feels like it’s been so long since we’ve gotten to hang out.” You gave him a slight pout with doe eyes and he wanted to fucking groan. His brown irises darkened as you nudged him with your knee. “It’s been really lonely without my favorite nerd.” You gave him a little smirk and he scoffed.

“I’m the nerd? You’re the only person who understands my rambles so clearly I’m not the only one here.” He retorts and you chuckle.

“Okay, okay, I’m a secret nerd.” You hold your hands up and he points at your shirt.

“And you’re the one who lives in shirts like that! Who else knows different seasons of Star Trek than you?” You grin and laugh fully.

“Alight! You win!”

Spencer didn’t know what came over him but he leaned in closer and rested his hand on either side of your legs. “As usual.”

You don’t back away. Instead you dip your head down. “Don’t get cocky, Spencer. This is a one time surrender.”

The way your mouth moved. Your eyes having a glint and the way your thighs clenched together. Spencer couldn’t take it anymore. “You’re going to be surrendering a lot more. You’re just too much of a brat to give in right away.”

To his deep surprise, you surged forward and leaned your weight on him, moving him on his back on the couch. “Oh yeah? Well I can still pin you down, agent Reid.”

Spencer felt like his dick was going to explode in his god damn boxers as you hovered above him, necklaces dangling over his face. “That’s because I let you win.” He replied breathlessly and you squeezed him with your thighs.

“Then don’t.” You whisper and glance at his lips.

He caved in and caught your mouth in a soft kiss, his emotions clouding over him momentarily before he pulled back. “Was that okay?”

Instead of answering, you meet his lips again harder with a sigh and Spencer moans. His hand move to cup the back of your head and your leg as he adjusts you to straddle him fully. Your fingers trail over his torso then his hips and you feel a lacy material sticking out of his pocket. His eyes shot open as he felt you pull out the pair of stolen panties.

Your face is heated and your lips are glossy. “So you’re the one who took my favorite pair. You’re fucking perverted, Spencer. Playing the “good”boy act pretty well.”

Something broke in him and he lifted you up, manhandling you on your back. “I’m fucking perverted? You’re the one walking around wearing those. You wanted me to take them and you wanted me to notice you. Don’t act so innocent. Can’t believe you actually bought the date story.” He growled and you were shocked at his sudden show of aggression and you’d only heard him swear a handful of times.

Spencer peeled off your shorts and saw your bare cunt. “God, let me fucking taste it please.” He begged and you nodded rapidly.

Moving downward, he held your knees apart and buried his face in your center. His tongue lapping at your clit with a deep groan before slipping it into your entrance. “You’re so sweet, better than I could ever dream.” You felt him press two fingers in, curling them as he paid attention to your clit again. Spencer focused on eating your pussy like a starved man and he grinds down on the cushion.

He was about to bust in his underwear from the sounds you let out. Desperate little cries and whimpers as you claw at his hair, rolling your hips to keep him in place.

“I’m gonna cum,” You whisper and Spencer nods against your cunt.

“Let me have it. Give it to me. Please,” And your climax hits you like a wave and you pant heavily.

Spencer follows suit and spills into his pants, his motions briefly stalling as he tongue fucks you through it.

“Need you to fuck me, please, Spencer.” He didn’t have a fucking chance from your pleads as he shuffled up and smashed his cum coated lips against yours in a bruising kiss. He shoved his pants and boxers off, his cock throbbing.

Spencer presses himself deep inside you, filling you to the brim as you wrap your legs around his waist and your hands grip his shirt.

He humps into you like a feral animal, “Fuck, your pussy is so tight. Can barely move.” You whine and clench around him harder and he thrusts.

“I want you to cum in me. Please, don’t stop and cum in me. I want to feel you, god, Spencer I’ve needed you. Fucking myself isn’t enough.”

“Talking like a whore already?” He grunts, “Don’t worry I’m gonna breed this perfect little pussy and then eat it out after I’m done.”

You reached your second orgasm and your eyes squeezed shut but Spencer wasn’t having it. “No open your fucking eyes, I want you to look at me when I cum in you.” Your eyes spring open as Spencer slaps your clit and you feel ropes of his cum coat your insides. “Shit-“ He grits out and buries his head in your neck and you feel his open mouth against your skin.

You tremble with aftershock for a few seconds before he pulls down, pumping himself and gestures with his fingers “Hands and knees, I’m gonna lick it off.”

You obeyed him, ass up in the air as he gave it a smack and buried his face again in your cunt. His tongue tasting both of your arousals with a throaty moan.

You’d have to talk about this but that could wait until after he was finished cleaning his mess.

Tagging @xxbimbobunnyxx @lilacheavenn @littlexdeaths

[ithebookhoarder]

Special Delivery (Spencer Reid x F!Reader)

Description: Something's different about Reid and no-one knows what. However, a surprise delivery to the BAU may just have the answer...

Warnings: Food references, mentions of mental health, mentions of medical procedures, references to smutty behaviour, Spencer being adorable

Masterlist

“Ok. Am I the only one who’s noticed something’s different with Reid lately?” Morgan remarked, watching as the said boy-genuis made his way across the bullpen and over to his desk. 

“Yeah,” Emily hummed, watching the young agent over the rim of coffee cup. She had to admit it - as much as it annoyed her - Morgan was right; Spencer has definitely been acting different. If anything, she was surprised it had taken them all this long to say anything. 

Normally, they were all over each other the moment they noticed anything even remotely different about each other. Hell, she’d barely taken a step off the elevator, after getting an extra few inches cut off at her latest haircut, before the team were quizzing her about possible life changes and whether or not they needed to be worried about her. 

It was a hazard of working with profilers for a living; it was almost impossible to keep anything a secret. No wonder they were all intrigued and slightly confused by the fact that none of them had been able to pinpoint what was going on with their friend. 

The most notable difference was the gradual disappearance of the dark circles under his eyes. Reid also seemed happier in general, less quiet and reserved when talking to others, and it was starting to make agents talk. 

Morgan and Emily stood up straighter as JJ walked over to join the unofficial gossip session. She took one look at the pair and knew immediately what they were whispering about. 

“Are you talking about Reid?”

“Oh yeah,” Morgan grinned, “my money’s on him having finally found someone.”

Emily choked, seemingly as a result of inhaling her coffee at the grand statement. “What?”

“Oh, come on, Miss ‘super spy’. Just look at him,” he teased. “He’s been distracted. He’s all goo-goo eyed and he’s been leaving this place at a normal hour. Like… tell me that doesn’t scream ‘I got a date’.”

“What? It could be loads of things. It doesn’t have to be a date, right JJ?”

“He’s probably just happy. We’ve all been getting more sleep lately and our paperwork is non-existent at the moment,” JJ murmured, reaching past the pair of them to grab for the coffee pot. She was clearly doing her best to try and put this line of questioning to rest. She’d always been the first to protect the younger agent she now saw as a little brother. “Besides, we all know he’s not interested in dating, he hasn’t been since…. Well, you know.”

Morgan groaned. “But what about the secret texts, JJ!” he protested, ignoring the look Emily shot him in return. “He’s been glued to that phone of his and keeps giggling like a school kid. Then there’s the lunches! I know he’s always been organised and likes things a certain way, but damn. His lunches have been like next level - and actually healthy? And I swear he’s had jello like every day.”

JJ rolled her eyes. “You’re basing your profile on jello? Is that it?” 

“Well, no I mean… did you not hear the part about the texting and the taking secret calls and the fact he didn’t come out for drinks last night-”

“-Can’t we just be glad for him? Whatever is going on, it’s good for him. Let’s just drop it, ok? He’ll tell us when he’s ready if there’s anything to share.”

“JJ’s right,” Emily echoed. “Reid’s just … happy. End of.”

By the way Morgan frowned it looked like it definitely was not the end of this conversation, but he never got the chance to argue. In fact, he was interrupted as the main doors opened next to them and a rather lost looking receptionist hurried through. 

Normally, this wouldn’t have been worth noticing but all three of them spun around at the sound of him calling out the name, “Agent Reid? uh… Is Agent Reid here?”

“Oh, uh, here!” Spencer shouted, soundly vaguely like he was taking roll call. It didn’t help that he shot his arm up in the air too, almost falling off his desk chair as he lurched to his feet and hurried over. “That’s… that’s me - and it’s Dr Reid, but it doesn’t matter. How can I help?”

“Oh, uh, there’s a Y/N at reception for you,” the unfortunate messenger managed, gesturing back the way they’d came. “I told them to wait whilst I came to check with you as they’re not on your visitor list-”

Spencer didn’t even let the poor man finish. He was already racing for the door before the man had even made it to the end of the sentence. Needless to say, the others were quick to follow, with Morgan smugly boasting “told you soooo” as he went. 

There was no way on earth they were missing this and considering Hotch and Rossi hadn’t arrived yet it wasn’t like they were about to get their asses handed to them for missing their briefing either. 

Despite the amount Spencer had told you about the BAU, you were still surprised by how different the FBI offices were to what you’d imagined. 

The offices were larger and the sheer number of people walking about in suits and carrying a side arm made you feel even more nervous, and that was already a problem considering you were stood there wearing neon blue scrubs, embroidered with jungle animals on the pocket. 

You were like a walking, flashing sign, screaming ‘outsider - does not work here’.  Thankfully, you weren’t going to be there long. You were only swinging by on your way to work, hoping to catch your utterly perfect - and utterly forgetful - boyfriend, before the start of your shift. 

Speaking of Spencer, you had only been standing there for possibly five minutes when you saw him barreling through the doors towards you. 

“Hey, Spence-“

“Y/N? Honey? What’s going on?” he gushed, hurrying over and taking your face in his hands. You could see his wide eyes frantically scanning every inch of you, looking for some kind of problem or sign that you were not ok. “Is everything alright? What are you doing here?”

You felt your cheeks warm at the sudden display of concern, very much aware of the scene your wonderful boyfriend was making. Spencer wasn’t normally the most affectionate in public, preferring to save those rare moments for when the two of you were alone. The fact he was so worried about what might have brought you to the FBI on a Tuesday morning was touching and made your heart swell. 

“I’m fine, Spence. Don’t worry-” 

“Then what are you doing here?” 

“You forgot something,” you soothed, pulling back and reaching into your satchel. It was impossible to miss the way his face reddened as you pulled out a neatly labeled Dr Who Tupperware by way of explanation. “I’m here because you were in such a rush this morning that you forgot your lunch.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, ‘oh’,” you teased. “I couldn’t exactly let you go hungry so I thought I’d drop it off on my way to work. I don’t start till later as I’m covering Amelia’s shift as she’s visiting her sister in Boston, so I thought I’d swing by.”

Sure, Spencer was an adult and you could have let him just buy something from the cafeteria or order something in for lunch, but considering how much effort he had gone to to cook with you the day before you felt bad letting it go to waste. 

He’d been so proud of the way the recipe had turned out, following the instructions and your guidance with extreme precision and care. The result had been a rather tasty looking dish - and it had the added benefit of being healthy too. You were always worried that Spencer seemed to think fast food, like Pizza, was a food group. Then again, he had been forced to be an adult pretty fast and had been in college so young that it wasn’t a surprise that no-one had been there to teach him about cooking and eating right. He had been too focused on his studies to even think about anything else.  

It was something he had been working on since you’d got together and now cooking had become one of your favourite date night activities. It didn’t hurt that you often ended up spilling food all over yourselves and needing to shower together - it was just a lovely bonus. In fact, your screensaver was now a picture of you and Spencer, covered in flour, and beaming ear to ear. 

“Thank you, that… that’s so nice,” Spencer stammered, “but I feel bad. You didn’t need to go out of your way and bring it to me.”

“As I say, it’s on my way to work. It’s no trouble.”

“Well, still-“

“Hey, pretty boy!” 

Spencer froze. 

“You gonna introduce us to your friend, or what?”

Spencer opened his mouth but instantly closed it again. You knew by the way he rolled his eyes and began muttering under his breath that whoever had shouted that had definitely been talking to him. 

You couldn’t help but giggle. “Pretty boy, huh?” 

“Don’t ask,” he whined, taking a deep breath as you looked over his shoulder and saw a small group of people now making their way towards you. “I should probably mention that I wasn’t sure how comfortable you were with me mentioning you, so I haven’t told anyone about us yet and those idiots are some of my team and I would say ‘run’ but they’re all faster than me.”

“Ah… I see. So I’m guessing that one is Morgan?” 

“Yes.”

“Well, no time like the present,” you cheered, turning and waving at the approaching trio. “Hi. Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N - Spencer’s girlfriend.”

“Wow. A girlfriend?” cooed Morgan, reaching over to pull you into a hug before the other two could stop him. To their credit, they looked slightly embarrassed by the display but they were clearly too interested in your identity to care. “And a doctor to boot? Didn’t know he had it in him. I’m Derek Morgan.”

“Oh, I worked that out. It’s good to finally meet you all.” 

The others were quick to echo the sentiment, with JJ and Emily quickly introducing themselves in tandem. They were also quick to invite you inside the office for some coffee, but thankfully you weren’t lying when you said you had to get to work. 

“You know how it is. People to take care of, medical cases to solve, lives to save - same old, same old. All I’m missing is a snazzy badge and I could be an FBI agent.” 

“Ha ha.” Spencer’s smile was genuine as you stole a kiss before making a dash for your car. However, you could see the nerves in his eyes at being left alone to face the great inquisition that now awaited him following the discovery of your existence. You were pretty sure the entire BAU would know about you before it even hit lunchtime. “I’ll see you later, ok?” 

“Of course. Just let me know if you’re coming home or if you’re off saving the world in another state - otherwise I can’t promise I won’t eat all the leftovers before you get back.” 

He chuckled. “Will do.” 

With that, you bid the others goodbye, making sure to agree when they asked (more like insisted) that you came to their family dinner on Friday night at none other than Rossi’s house. The rest of the team were going to be begging to meet you after this, and they were all bringing their families along too. 

If Spencer wasn’t comfortable with you going you were pretty sure the team would believe it if you said you’d got called into a last minute surgery, but you’d check later when you both returned to the apartment you now called your home. Either way, you were going to have to make something to take with you, just in case. 

As your grandpa had always said, there was no quicker way to someone’s heart than through their stomach. Or, as in Spencer's case, with an unlimited supply of Jello...

[0mg-bird]

Lover’s Rock~ S. Reid

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Summary: Spencer isn’t the only one that stands out in the crowd, but maybe that’s a good thing, because that’s what leads him to you.

Warnings: I didn’t really proof read, I’ll do it later lol. 18+ content towards the end. Um Reid is such a dweeb and adorable???? Fluff, mentions of alcohol and embarrassment. Reader is so twee (can we bring twee back or no?) idk she makes questionable fashion choices.

Really, this wasn’t your thing.

The bar scene, the club dresses all the girls where, the high heels and the whole game of cat and mouse that all the guys want to play. But you’re here, you made an effort to appease your best friends who claim you have no social life.

The entire night so far, they watched you strike out with the guys they motioned over because in their mind, you’re desperate and lonely and lame.

Okay, maybe that’s more of your headspace than theirs, but they’ve been offering you pity glances this whole time.

You’ve made a decision a while ago that maybe there was no romance out there for you. You were just born with some aspect that made normal, sane guys physically run away, and maybe that’s fine. You were really good on your own. And it never did feel right when you had a guy, if it didn’t feel like the movies, it wasn’t worth it.

Right?

Okay, maybe you should settle, at some point, you’ll be too old to marry and you’ll just keep working, with no real life and take care of Shelly, your goldfish. Maybe it won’t be perfect, but it’ll be someone to share things with.

You let out a huff and watch the ice melt in your drink, not bothering to smile when your friend tells you to brighten up.

Normally, you’re a ray of sunshine, but something about getting rejected four consecutive times is raining on your parade.

An entire bar full of happy people in their element, and it’s just you, sticking out like a sore thumb, especially when your friends go dance with a few guys they hit it off with.

Too busy looking at the buckle on the ankle strap of your heel, you are sinking somewhere in your mind, to a place where you aren’t listening to cheap song lyrics of and realizing that table is stickier than you thought.

“Where’s Reid?”

“Reid.”

“Spencer!” Penelope smacks his shoulder, pulling him from the trance of his eyes on the book pages.

He looks up from the corner booth, seeing his team has returned with drinks.

“Are you seriously reading right now?” Morgan criticizes, placing a beer in front of the younger agent.

Spencer doesn’t know why he does this, beer tastes like a plowed hay field in his opinion. But he takes the drink in gratitude and before he can explain that he was just trying to finish the Russian publishing of ‘Crime and Punishment’, Morgan rips the book from his hands and tosses it to Emily for safe keeping.

“I- what was that for?” Spencer questions with a unjust squeak, feeling rather sad.

“Look around, kid, do you see how many fine ladies are here? You don’t need to be sitting here with your nose between the pages of Little Women.” Morgan states as a matter of fact.

“Yeah, nobody puts baby in the corner.” Penelope agrees.

With an airy scoff, Spencer looks to the other members for help, but they all seem to side with Derek.

He gains a defeated frown.

Spencer didn’t want to be here in the first place, now he’s being forced out into the public to socialize. There has to be a law against this, he knows there’s not because he knows everything, but he is certainly going to try and create one.

“Oh come on, Spence, why don’t you try to get a date?” JJ asks, meaning well, but the laugh that comes from Emily makes him want to recoil.

“C’mon, I’ll help you.” Morgan offers, pulling him from the booth seat.

“Yeah, that never really works well when you try to be my wingman, you usually end up with all the phone numbers.” Spencer claims, pressing his lips into a line.

But like some mock savior, Morgan stands behind Reid as they wait by the bar.

“What about her?” Morgan would point out.

To which Reid would respond with some variation of ‘she’s too much’ or ‘she definitely has a boyfriend three times my size’.

After fifteen minutes of this back and forth, Morgan is seriously regretting he forced the hermit out of his shell.

And that’s when a rowdy group finally leaves and clears the path of vision to you.

Still sat at a high table with one leg crossed over the other, you wiggle your foot as you doodle on a drink napkin.

Reid misses whatever Morgan says, and in that air of silence, the agent follows the vision.

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.” Derek chuckles, clapping Reid on the shoulder. “She’s pretty. Go talk to her.”

“What?” Reid looks away. “No, no, I don’t want to disturb her.”

You let out a very bored sigh.

Derek’s brows furrow. “I know you’re some boy genius but you really are dumb sometimes. Everything about that girl is screaming ‘put me outa my misery’.”

Spencer tilts his head slightly, watching you rub your eye and then frown at the way you smudged your already smudged eye liner.

“Okay, maybe you’re right.” He nods. “But…what do I say?”

Derek grins. “Compliment her, ask if she wants another drink, strike up a conversation. It’s easy, man.”

Spencer gets an uneasy feeling in him, but he still braves through it. “Easy for you, maybe.” He mumbles before running a hand through his hair and takes a step towards you.

“Go get her, tiger!” Morgan encourages.

When he returns to the team with the happy news, Penelope asks if Spencer’s gonna do good.

“Oh, definitely not, we’ll be lucky if he doesn’t trip over his own feet on the way over there.” Derek answers, laughing.

But Spencer makes it to you without a stumble, yet his whole plan leaves his mind when he gets to you.

You’re gorgeous, too pretty for him.

“Nice legs.”

Did he just say that?

You look up at him upon hearing his voice, your wide eyes confused.

“I’m sorry?” You question, not sure if you heard this stranger correctly.

He’s a rather handsome stranger.

“No- I mean I like your legs- tights! Not your legs, you have nice legs of course but that’s not- your tights are nice- cool! Different?”

Oh god, he should just walk away now. He’s already messed this whole thing up and surely you think he’s an idiot.

While he’s got an embarrassed look on his face, you look down at the red lace tights you wear under your skirt, something your friends questioned as a fashion choice.

“You really like them?” You ask, voice soft to his ears.

He stops his rambling.

“Yeah, of course I do, I think they’re cool.” He smiles softly.

You can’t help but grin bashfully.

“Every guy I’ve talked to tonight thought they were a little weird, but that’s okay, I kinda like weird.” You admit, watching as he shakes his head.

“People say my socks are weird all the time, don’t feel bad.” He comforts, pulling the material of his pants up so you can see his mismatched socks with funky colors and prints on them.

“Those are cool.” Your approval eases him, giving him just enough reassurance that you aren’t going to scream for help in the next two minutes.

“I’m Dr. Spencer Reid- sorry, force of habit, uh, just Spencer. I-I’m Spencer.” He introduces with the smallest of wave.

Still smiling more than you have the entire night, you greet him. He repeats your name like it has some special meaning, and you’ve never loved the sound of it more.

“I was going to get a drink, what are you having?” He asks, looking at your sweating glass. “Vodka soda? Cherry sour?”

You blush. “It’s actually a shirley temple…I just ate all the cherries out of it already.”

Without hesitation, he nods. “Okay, I’ll be back.”

He leaves you at your table, and then your brief moment of sunshine is clouded once more by doubt. What if he doesn’t come back? What if he drugs your drink and then you wake up in an alley somewhere, missing your wallet and phone and your tights that he thinks are so cool?

This was a bad idea. Dating isn’t for you. He seemed so nice and he’s so attractive but that should have been your first red flag and-

Oh. He’s coming back.

With two shirley temples.

He places them on the table and waits for you to grab one, then he grabs the other and takes a sip.

“You mind if I sit?” He asks.

Feeling a little silly for assuming he was out to maim you, you nod.

“I seriously doubt my friends remember I’m over here, so feel free to stay.” You joke at your expense.

He sits across from you, sparing a glance over his shoulder at his team who make it very obvious that they’re staring.

You study his profile, a shaggy haircut that falls across his forehead, all tousled in an effortless way. His jaw line is defined, round brown eyes that flick back to you. When he catches you looking, he grins once more.

It’s never been so…easy, having a ‘get to know you’ conversation. Questions come without second thoughts, you find yourself laughing, actually laughing.

Playing with your straw, you try to calm your facial expressions, your cheeks are starting to hurt from beaming so much.

“So, Dr. Reid, huh?” You ask, making him let out a small huff of embarrassment.

“That’s what the PhD’s say, yeah.” He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly feeling really dorky about his immense amount of education.

It’s not dorky to you. Every guy you’ve talked to tonight dropped out of community college because ‘it didn’t align with their career paths’ of selling protein smoothies or working in some ‘underground’ record store.

But here Spencer is, explaining he’s on the behavioral analysis unit for the FBI and he tells you about all the degrees he has. All you can think about as he talks of universities and the academy is, knowledge is such a sexy look on a guy. Sure, you’ve never really liked the underachieving stoners, but usually you’ve been with guys who seem to say “you like school?” when you talk about working towards your Masters degree.

“Wow.” Is all you can say for a moment, clearly shocked and, well, impressed. “I really wasn’t expecting that.”

“That’s what most people say.” He nods, picking the cherry in his drink out by the stem and offering it to you.

By your thankful eyes batting up at him, he’s tempted on going behind the bar and bringing you all the maraschino cherries they have. He quickly turns the conversation around to focus on you so he can focus on something other than the stained color on your lips.

“What about you? What do you do?” He asks.

Compared to his job, yours seems too normal, too mundane. You almost want to avoid the question, never once have you been unsatisfied with your career but now you can’t help it. What if Spencer doesn’t like you because you don’t work for NASA?

That’s ridiculous, because to Spencer, your job makes his adoration grow.

“Oh, I’m just a teacher.” You say, fiddling with a stem in your mouth.

Spencer gains a soft smile. “You could never just be a teacher, teacher’s are important. Well, unless you’re a sucky teacher.”

His joke earns a bubbly giggle and he decides he’d like to hear that sound forever. It’s moments like this that he’s glad to have an eidetic memory.

“I don’t think I’m a sucky teacher so that’s good, my students seem to like me.” You state, pushing your hair behind your ear and dropping the knotted stem onto a napkin.

Spencer finds himself leaning a little closer, body naturally gravitating to your pull. “What do you teach?” He asks.

“I work for my schools gifted children program, so I basically teach kid geniuses advanced core curriculum because they’ve tested out of their normal classes.” You chuckle, oblivious to the way Spencer’s heart warms.

He remains quiet for a bit too long, just staring at you with an honest look, one that makes you feel like you’re turned inside out and bared for him. The panic rises again, you think you must have said something to ruin it.

“I know it’s nothing special-” You begin to say.

“No.” He interrupts, a sure tone. “I-I think it’s great. Really, that’s not an easy job.”

Deep breath out, you’re put at ease.

“I constantly have imposter syndrome, these kids are twelve and bringing up philosophies and mathematical formulas I have to go home and study because I haven’t even learned them yet. Honestly, sometimes I don’t even think they need me there.” You joke lightly, half meaning it but masking that slight insecurity by finishing off your drink.

“They need you.” Spencer assures, an expression showing he’s never been more sure of something. “Believe me, you’re probably the only person they see in a school day that understands them.”

Brows creased, you shake your head, holding his rather intimidating gaze for such puppy dog eyes.

“What makes you so sure?” You question.

Spencer takes in a breath. “Because I know what it’s like to be twelve years old and telling a grown adult about Fermat’s Last Theorem.”

Sometimes, the world has a funny way of putting two people together. For years, you’ve wandered through life and on a random Friday night, feeling a little flushed from the Summer air, here is Spencer Reid, the man of your dreams.

Your friends left some time ago after you assured them you were fine to be left at the place you were just complaining about being. You don’t mind being left with Spencer, in fact, you’re dreading the time you have to go home because it means this moment is over.

“I really would like to live in New York.” You exclaim, somehow have fallen into the rabbit hole of dreams for the future.

“New York’s really cool!” He agrees. “Did you know that they have a homicide rate of 4.48 percent right now? It’s been declining since the nineties.”

You must make some sort of surprised face because his eyes go wide and he quickly tried to recover his odd statement.

“Sorry, my job isn’t really full of happy statistics. But mostly we just find dead prostitutes in alleys in New York.”

His blushed cheeks make your heart flutter in its beats.

“I’m glad I’m not a prostitute.” You giggle, making him chew his bottom lip for a moment.

“Yeah, I’m glad you’re not either.”

By the time the team gets their coats back on with the intention of heading home, they look across the room to see their quirky doctor friend is partaking in very friendly body language.

“Oh my god, look at him.” Emily laughs. “He’s finally using that big IQ of his.”

Penelope, who comes to hold onto Morgan’s arm, grins rather proudly. “It’s like a butterfly finally coming out of its cocoon. It’s…beautiful, actually.”

Derek laughs down at her. “I think that last long island ice tea was a bad idea. Come on, baby, let’s get you home.”

“Good luck, my fine friend.” She calls in the general direction of you and Spencer, but the two of you don’t notice.

JJ ties her hair up and starts to take a few steps forward.

“Where are you going?” Penelope questions.

“To let him know we’re leaving?”

“No!” The team seems to exclaim, all shouting that she cannot disturb the moment Spencer worked rather hard to get to.

She just holds her hands up in defense, then follows after Emily as they leave the bar.

Spencer of course notices the way Prentiss leaves him with an encouraging thumbs up. It makes his get a little bashful, but he nods a goodbye and watches the door shut once more. His attention is brought back to his hand on the table, well, more to the way your pinky brushes against his. You continue to talk about mutual interests and what your apartment in New York would look like, a slight ramble to you that shows you’re very aware of the slight contact.

With some kind of placebo courage he can’t even blame on alcohol, he lets his fingers crawl between yours like that’s where they belong.

The team would definitely laugh at this teenage display, but to the both of you, it’s the perfect amount of reassurance, soft enough to not be too scary.

The attraction is there, Spencer forces himself to profile it just so his negative thoughts can’t prove him wrong. You’re smiling at every word, your eyes seem to stay dilated and focused on his, and he isn’t sure if you even realize the way your heel brushes his ankle every so often.

His profile, often never wrong, is what helps him reach across the slight space to tuck your hair behind your ear so casually as he tells you about his minuscule music taste.

After a few flirty comments, you force yourself yo look away from him just so you can het your breathing under control. Upon this action, you read the watch on his wrist and a frown sets on your lipstick stained lips.

“I should go home before it’s too late to walk.” You sigh, not wanting this moment to end.

He nods. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Those round eyes he’s starting to really adore look up at him and you chew your lip, almost like you’re waiting for him to do something. Say something.

It takes him entirely too long to figure out what to do. Morgan would be ashamed.

“C-Can I walk you home?” He asks in a rush and in eagerness.

You nod like that’s the best idea you’ve ever heard.

That’s how it leads to you leaning against him like it’s something you do often, walking in step as you ramble on and on about what you have to do to get your classroom ready for the new school year. He listens without annoyance like most guys would, then tells you about books he has that he thinks you might enjoy, books he could part with so you could give them to the students whose reading levels are above what the school provides.

He’s so caring and considerate, making sure he walks closest to the street, lets you be off in your own world and makes sure you don’t run into anything as you constantly gaze up at him. All the way to your building and up the stairs to your apartment door, the two of you are as comfortable with each other like two old friends would be.

That’s what makes your head spin. You just met Spencer and already feel like he’s been in your life for hundreds of years.

You pull your keys from your purse, you unlock the door but don’t make a move to open it.

“I’m really, really, happy that I met you.” You whisper to him as he slightly crowds your space in the door way.

“I am too.” He agrees, heart beating a little faster as your hand presses gently to his chest.

Don’t be crazy, you just met her, she doesn’t want a stranger trying to kiss her, tell her good night, call her tomorrow, maybe you can plan for something next weekend-

His thoughts don’t stand a chance when you wrap your fingers around his tie and gently tug him to your lips.

It’s smooth and warm and has your eyes shutting and your lungs exhaling. His gentle hand cradles your face while the other flexes against your hip.

It just feels so…

So right.

With the slight tilt of your head, the goodnight kiss deepens, you’re molded against him.

His lips part, coaxing yours to do the same, and the feeling of your tongue against his has you slightly teetering backwards. You lean against the door for support, hands roaming into his hair.

You’ve been wanting to run your hands through it all night.

He’s desperate in his movements, like he’s a starved man and you’re enjoying every second of it. His thumb runs over your jaw, you’re pushing away any space between you.

When you decide you’re going to pass out from the lack of oxygen, you pull away, sucking your bottom lip to savor the taste. Spencer still holds your face in his large hands and matches your shallow pants.

It’s all so much. You’re hot, brain a little foggy, but still so sure of this situation.

And you soon find yourself saying something you’ve never ever said after just meeting a guy.

“Do you want to come inside?”

Spencer seriously thinks he misheard you.

“Yeah- yes. Yes, I do.” He nods.

A laugh escapes your lips, one he swallows up as he embraces you once more, trying to help you open the door. His arm around your waist makes sure you don’t stumble and fall as the two of you finally get inside.

He looks around the space. “I like your apartment, it’s nice.”

“Thank you.” You mumble against his lips, pulling at your jean jacket and tossing it to the couch.

It’s dark, causing you to back into a side table. The both of you laugh, but neither of you bother to reach for the light switch.

You guid him towards your bedroom, pushing him through the ajar door. The open window leaves the room painted in a low light, the breeze is cool as you clumsily fall onto the mattress with him.

“I never do this.” You state, a huff leaving your lips as he rolls you onto your back.

“I don’t either.” He agrees, mouth wandering down your jaw to your neck.

You fiddling hands make a home in his hair. “Like I really don’t do this. I don’t even go to bars, let alone take home strange men- not that you’re strange. But don’t think I am a casual hookup girl, because I’m not, I just- there’s a connection, right? I’m not alone in this?”

He pulls away, looking down at you with a loopy grin. “You’re rambling, that’s a sign of nervousness.”

“I am nervous!” You exclaim with a breathy laugh. “You’re just…you’re really great.”

His thumb traces your bottom lip. “You’re really great too.” He whispers. “But we don’t have to do anything.”

“No!” You say a little too boldly. “I mean, no, no I want this. Do you want this?”

With a nod, he assures you. “I want this too.”

Maybe you should be more shy and self conscious about this, but when he’s being so kind, all your nervousness leaves. The two of you stumble through the awkward bits with laughter and jokes, and it makes you realize that something so serious doesn’t have to be so uniform.

Really, you’re having more fun than you’ve ever had.

“Spencer?” You gasp, dangerously close to falling off the bed at how the two of you have rolled around.

“Yeah?” He asks, head buried in your neck, trying not to get too ahead of himself as he continues his deep pace between your legs.

“You’re kinda pulling my hair.”

Immediately he moves his hand, apologetic.

Hands dragging up his chest, you try to shimmy away from the mattress ledge. Spencer notices the tragedy that’s about to strike, opting to back off of you completely so you can readjust.

You gasp at the loss of contact. “A little warning next time would be appreciated.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He stammers, gripping you in a feverish way, mouth back to yours.

You don’t exactly know how you ended up on top, but you look at him slightly frightened eyes.

“Is this a no?” He questions, only concerned with making you comfortable.

He’s the complete opposite of selfish, he proved that the second he started you off with his tongue against your core.

“No, not if you like this? I just…I don’t know if I’m good at this.”

He nods in understanding. “Okay, no problem.”

You protest as he goes to move you. “Can I try? Will-will you help me?”

God, he could marry you.

“Yeah, of course sweetheart.” He whispers, kissing you gently.

The butterflies in your stomach are all twitter pated.

Or maybe you’re just extremely turned on.

Spencer is a great teacher, it’s you who jumps the gun at things.

“There you go, angel, slow.” He breathes in your ear, finger tips pressing into your hips as you slowly push down, letting his tip enter you. “Just go really slow, okay?”

You try to do as he says, easing him into you slowly, but by some urge to rush satisfaction, you sink all the way onto him without warning.

“Fuck! That wasn’t slow.” He grits, a hoarse moan escaping from the back of his throat, his grip on you almost bruising.

“S-sorry.” You try to say, but the sheer pressure you feel at this sudden angle has you shuddering and crying out softly. “I’m an overachiever.” You try to joke.

“Holy shit, you want an A+ or something?” He chuckles, trying to calm himself down, running through mathematical formulas in his head so he doesn’t finish just like this.

“Spence, I need- it’s a lot, I need-” You whine out, not having the heart to feel embarrassed for sounding so needy.

“I know, I know. Fuck, do you have any idea how good you feel?” He questions, swallowing hard as he guides your hips forward slightly.

“I can’t really think at all when you’re sitting in my cervix right now.” You claim, quickly overwhelmed by pleasure as you find a rhythm against him.

Sucking on your throat, he mutters something you don’t care to listen to.

“This is- is it supposed to be this good?” You moan, trying not to dig your finger nails into his shoulders.

“I think we just fit perfectly.”

With each movement, you become more comfortable and confident, soon that friendly softness is replaced by lustful roughness. Through it all, Spencer remains caring, even when you tell him he can be a little rough with you.

Never in your sex life have you wanted more and more, even when it finishes.

Even after the two of you can’t find the strength to pull any more orgasms from each other, you lay beside each other, Spencer hasn’t bothered to pull out of you yet, perhaps he’s too spent.

“So.” You clear your throat, tracing his features. “How do you want to play this?”

He hums, dragging his fingers up and down your side. “What do you mean?”

“Guys usually leave after this stuff, right?”

His brows furrow, anxiety comes to ripple through him. “Do you want me to leave?”

Staring at his tired eyes, you shake your head. “No, I want you to stay. Forever. I’m thinking about chaining you to the headboard.”

He chuckles. “I’ll save you the effort, I will gladly stay.”

A sweet smile is returned to him.

At some point, the two of you clean up and fall asleep the second the sheets are pulled over you.

Spencer is convinced it’s all a dream until he wakes up to the sun warm over his skin. He rubs his blurry eyes and rolls over in the bed that is not his, met with your bare back. Slowly, he reaches for you, kissing your shoulder to rouse you.

His phone, still in the pocket of his discarded pants, rings again and again, forcing him to retrieve it in his boxers.

Of course it’s Hotch.

Of course he needs to get to the office. On a Saturday. After the night he just had.

“I should call the authorities, there’s a cute intruder in my room.” Your sleepy voice says from bed. “Oh wait…you are the authorities.”

He likes the way you can make yourself giggle.

“I have bad news.” He says, tracking down his clothes. “My boss just called me in.”

He hates the frown you have.

“That’s a very unfortunate thing.” You nod.

He buttons his pants, then slides his shirt on as he comes to your bedside.

“I should get going so I can go home and change.”

His warm hand presses to your cheek.

You turn to kiss his palm. “Is this goodbye?”

“No. Definitely no.” He assures. “I’ll call when I can, okay? Maybe we can get dinner or something?”

You could sigh heavenly at the way he’s just so dreamy.

“That sounds nice. I’d kiss you but I might have morning breath.” You smile.

He kisses you anyway.

And after leaving the team waiting in the round table room, he appears refreshed and in a very good mood.

He takes his seat, all eyes on him.

“Sorry I’m late, good morning.” He clears his throat.

“Good morning indeed.” Morgan chuckles, sliding him a cup of coffee.

“You okay, Reid?” Rossi asks, eyeing the agent.

“I’m great.” He smiles.

“Is that a hickey?” JJ exclaims, reveling in the way he quickly grabs for his neck, only to realize she’s joking.

“Real mature.” He mutters, knowing the entire day is going to be jokes made at his expense.

He doesn’t mind though, not when he knows his reward for all of this is you.

[romugh]

RUNNING IN CIRCLES- NR

ROMUGH’S KINKTOBER

october 23rd — stress relief, free use, friends with benefits

DAY FOURTEEN || kinktober masterlist || 2024.

pairing- natasha romanoff x medic!avenger!reader

cw- 18+!!; top!reader, bottom!natty, fingering (n rcv), oral (n & r rcv), rough & vulnerable sex? not many tags in this one!

wc- 8438 words

a/n- absolutely loved writing this :') differs from my usual filthy stories, but it's still got it's smutty goodness hidden! :p very poorly edited and reread though, sorry in advance <3

synopsis- uhhh later i gotta study

taglist?- @lost-mortemanghel ♥︎, @idkwhatever580, @elliecoochieeater, @left-and-right-up-and-down, @deadlesbianwitches, @lizziewitchy ❀ - comment or dm to be added :)

The crisp autumn air carried a bite that sank into your skin, even through the thick fabric of your SHIELD uniform. Outside, the trees had begun their slow transformation, leaves turning from deep greens to vivid shades of amber and crimson. As you walked down the corridor, you could see the skyline of the city framed by the headquarters’ tall windows, the buildings standing tall against the grey-blue sky streaked with the orange light of dusk.

Autumn had always been your favourite time of year. There was something invigorating about the chill in the air, the way it sharpened your senses and reminded you of the changing seasons. It wasn’t just a shift in weather—it was a time of transition, of letting go and starting anew. The world seemed to draw inward, becoming quieter, more introspective. And yet, for all its beauty, autumn was also a time of unravelling, of revealing the underlying fragility beneath nature’s vibrant display.

It wasn’t much different from life at SHIELD, you thought. The polished surfaces and steel corridors held a kind of deceptive calm, a veil over the constant motion of agents moving from one mission to the next, patching themselves up and heading right back into the fray. The medical team worked tirelessly in the med bay, patching up wounds that spoke stories of close calls and dangerous encounters, although there were always those who chose to bypass the med bay entirely.

Natasha Romanoff was one of those.

You’d seen her a handful of times in the corridors and offices, her expression always calm, almost detached, as she moved with a purpose that never faltered. It wasn’t that she was unapproachable—she exchanged words with other agents quite often, actually—but there was a clear distance she kept, a barrier that kept others from getting too close. As far as you knew, she had not once come to the medical wing. If she had sustained injuries, she kept them hidden well to an untrained eye.

You suspect that she handled most (if not all) of her wounds herself, stitching up gashes in the quiet solitude of her room and bandaging bruises with the same efficiency as she did her missions. It was the kind of self-sufficiency you’d expect from someone with her background. She had come to SHIELD from a life that demanded resilience, a life where depending on others could mean the difference between survival and death.

But the traces were there if you, SHIELD’s best medic both on and off the field, looked closely enough. Sometimes, when she crossed paths with you in the halls, you’d notice a faint mark along her jaw, or the slight favouring of one leg over the other. Nothing major, but enough to suggest she wasn’t invincible, no matter how she made it seem. It was as if she considered her injuries her own secret to keep, never offering them up for anyone else to see.

You often wondered what it was that kept her from seeking help. Pride, perhaps, or a simple lack of trust in others’ abilities to treat wounds as precisely as she could. Or maybe it was just a habit—an old reflex from her past, carried over into the present, one that kept her self-reliant to the point of isolation.

You couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity whenever you saw her passing by. What kind of person could continue like that, carrying their pain alone and never asking for anything? What did it cost her to keep everyone else at arm’s length? And what would it take for her to finally walk through the doors of the med bay, to let herself be cared for by someone else?

(You acted like it wouldn't matter if that someone else turned out to be you.)

(It did matter. Who are you trying to fool??)

The Avengers, Fury and his right hand eye Maria, and Agent Coulson were seated at the debriefing table, half-listening to Fury’s voice as he went over details of the recent happenings in New York. The room felt cold and stale despite the hushed murmurs and shifting bodies of the gathered Avengers. Natasha was no stranger to these debriefings, yet today felt different. There was a tension that hung in the air, a sense of expectation she couldn’t quite shake.

Fury paused, glancing toward Maria before asking, "Where’s Dr. [Y/L/N]? I want her in here for this."

Maria nodded, left the room with a quick stride, and the space fell into a brief, uncertain silence. Natasha’s brows furrowed as she stared at the door Maria had just exited through. She had heard the name before—Dr. [Y/N] [Y/L/N]. The head medic at SHIELD, supposedly one of the best in the business. Natasha knew your name, but that was it. She’d never bothered to seek you out, preferring to handle her own injuries anyway, to keep her vulnerabilities under lock and key.

As the door opened again and you entered behind Maria, the quiet murmur of the room seemed to still completely. You stepped in with a confidence that felt almost casual, your uniform fitting snugly against your muscular frame, showcasing the strength in your arms and legs, while still accentuating your femininity. You had a kind of presence that filled the room—bold yet serene. It was something that Natasha found herself drawn to almost immediately, her attention locking onto you as you came to stand near the table.

Your skin seemed to glow against the muted tones of the room, a healthy flush brought out by the brisk autumn air outside. Natasha’s gaze drifted over you, taking in the shape of your jaw, the arch of your brow, the curve of your lips. You looked… different from what she’d expected. Not in a way that was disappointing—no, far from it. It was more that she hadn’t expected someone with your kind of beauty to be the person who spent their days stitching together the wounds of agents, taking care of others in a world that offered so little care in return.

God, you were so pretty.

Natasha hadn’t meant for the thought to hit her so suddenly, but there it was. It unfolded in her mind with a kind of vividness that startled her. You were pretty. No—beautiful. Strong. Mesmerising, even. The kind of person who stood out without trying, who seemed to belong in the very air around them.

She cursed herself quietly, realising she was staring, and that her thoughts were running away with her. Her chest tightened with a strange, unexpected sensation, something that lingered in the back of her throat, catching at her breath. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like this about anyone—let alone someone she had just met, or if she ever even had felt this way at all.

She hadn’t even really met you yet. She was just looking at you—right now, at this exact moment—for the first time.

And already, there was something there. An unfamiliar warmth unfurling beneath her ribs, spreading outwards in a way that made her wonder if it was adrenaline or something else entirely.

As you took a seat at the table, Maria introduced you to the Avengers, Bruce and Tony sending you a small smile in recognition, "Dr. [Y/L/N], head medic at SHIELD, also responsible for overseeing the field medics. She’s been with us for a while now, recently keeping out of the action but always ensuring our agents come back in one piece."

The explanation seemed distant to Natasha, drowned out by the thoughts that crowded her mind. You had been the head medic at SHIELD all this time, and she had never even thought to step foot in the med bay. How many times had she stitched herself up in her room, refusing to show any sign of weakness to anyone? And now, she couldn’t help but feel the slightest hint of regret. What would it have been like to be treated by you? To have those hands bandaging her wounds?

A blush crept onto her cheeks unbidden, and she clenched her jaw to hide it, forcing herself to focus on Fury as he spoke. But then there was that moment, that brief exchange when you glanced her way, and your eyes met hers for the first time. Natasha’s breath caught in her throat, a hitch so subtle she doubted anyone noticed. But she noticed it. She felt the way her pulse quickened just the slightest bit.

You were speaking to Fury now, your voice calm and unwavering as you discussed your hesitation about the new position. Natasha listened intently, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. It wasn’t like her to pay this much attention to a person she didn’t know. Yet, there was something about you—the way you carried yourself, the way you seemed both grounded and powerful, that made her want to know more.

She hadn’t taken her eyes off you since you walked in.

You let out a sigh, your mind racing with the implications of what Fury was asking. It wasn’t that you doubted your ability; you had proven your strength countless times in the field, and your physique—a testament to hours of gruelling training—reflected that. But something about this offer felt different. He was asking for more than medical expertise. He wanted you back in the thick of things, facing enemies head-on while patching up your teammates whenever that would be needed.

“What exactly would change?” you finally asked, voice steady as you pretended not to feel the Black Widow’s gaze boring into your soul.

She could sense your uncertainty as you spoke, could see the way you hesitated when Fury explained that the role would involve being more than just a medic. You’d be a full-fledged agent, an Avenger, basically. You looked at Fury with scepticism in your gaze, your lips pursed in a faint frown. Natasha almost smiled at that. She liked the way you questioned things, the way you didn’t simply accept everything at face value.

The weight of his words settled in. You would be more than a healer. You would be a warrior.

You sighed softly, shook your head, and stood up. You walked over to Fury, reaching into the breast pocket of his coat and pulling out his pen with a deft, graceful movement. It was such a simple act, but Natasha found herself watching every second of it, as if it were a dance unfolding right before her. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears, the steady thrum of it filling her senses.

When you signed the paper and handed the pen back to Fury, Natasha could have sworn she saw the faintest hint of a smirk curling at the corners of your lips, as if you were silently challenging the world—or maybe just him. And just like that, you turned and walked out of the room, leaving behind an unexpected sense of anticipation in your wake.

Natasha realised then, as the door clicked shut behind you, that her curiosity was already blooming into something else, something she didn’t want to acknowledge, didn’t want to admit.

Yet for the first time in her life, she found herself wondering what it would be like to let someone in, to let someone see past the carefully constructed walls she kept around herself.

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Natasha found herself standing at her room’s door, her fingertips grazing the very faint burn on her palm. The dull sting served as a reminder of her momentary distraction in the kitchen. She glanced at the door across the hallway—your door—still unoccupied. Her brow furrowed, lips pressing into a thin line as her mind wandered to thoughts of you. You should’ve moved in by now, settled into your newly assigned Avengers room in front of hers. But for some reason, it remained untouched, a constant reminder that you weren’t there.

It was absurd, really. She wasn’t used to this—this strange, inexplicable feeling of missing someone she barely knew.

With a frustrated sigh, she turned on her heels and headed down the corridor, her steps picking up pace. 

She wasn’t sure why she was doing this—why she was making her way to the med bay for something so minor. The skin wasn’t even burned, just red and slightly tender, the kind of irritation that would go away in an hour or so. Normally, she wouldn’t even give it a second thought. But this time, as she approached the med bay, she found herself hoping that you were there.

The sliding doors parted, and Natasha hesitated at the threshold, her gaze searching the room. There you were, sitting in your office behind the glass walls, a faint frown on your face as you worked on some paperwork, your work glasses perched delicately on your nose. Her heart gave an unsteady thump as she took you in, the way the light cast gentle shadows across your features. It was so mundane, so normal, yet something about seeing you there—focused, calm, and completely unaware of her presence—sent a jolt of nervous energy rushing through her.

As if sensing her gaze, you looked up from your work. Your eyes met hers, and for a second, everything seemed to slow. The tension in her chest unravelled just a bit, the weight of her own uncertainty lifting at the sight of the small, welcoming smile you sent her way.

But then, the reality of the situation crashed back in, her nerves flaring up once more. What was she doing here? Natasha wasn’t used to feeling nervous—she was the Black Widow, for god's sake. Yet the warmth creeping up her cheeks betrayed her, and she quickly averted her eyes, glancing around the med bay in a futile attempt to hide the flush that tinged her skin. She scanned the empty beds, hoping for any distraction, any excuse to turn back. There wasn’t a single medic in sight.

When she glanced back at you, you were still watching her, your expression now tinged with a hint of curiosity. The small smile remained on your lips, but your brows drew together slightly, a question forming in your eyes as you took in her hesitant stance. Natasha stood there, rooted in place, her hand still pressed to the burn that she’d nearly forgotten about.

You tilted your head, motioning her inside with a simple gesture. She took a steadying breath, feeling her pulse quicken as she pushed open the door to your office. Her steps were quieter than usual, hesitant even, as she crossed the threshold. She took a steadying breath, walking into your office with a calm that didn’t quite reach her racing pulse. Your eyes tracked her movements, and she could feel your gaze lingering on her, keen and observant.

“Natasha,” you greeted, your tone light, yet there was an underlying note of concern. “This is a surprise.” You glanced at her hand, then back to her face, as if piecing together the puzzle before you. “What brings you to the med bay?”

She swallowed, forcing herself to maintain eye contact. “Burned myself,” she admitted, her voice steady, though it felt like every nerve in her body was lit up with the awareness of how close you were, of how you were looking at her with such careful attention. She showed you her hand, revealing the reddened skin of her palm.

Your gaze flickered down to the ‘burn’, your expression softening as you took her hand in yours. Your touch was gentle, professional, but even so, it sent a jolt of awareness through her.

You gave the faintest chuckle as you looked at the ‘injury’, amusement dancing in your eyes. “Not sure this qualifies as a burn,” you said, your tone dry, though not unkind. “More like… a heated reminder that pans get hot.”

Natasha huffed, her lips curving into a small, reluctant smile. “Guess I’m not much of a chef,” she murmured. The words tasted foreign on her tongue, an admission of sorts, one she wouldn’t normally make. But there was something about the way you looked at her—patient, unhurried—that made her feel like she could let that slip.

You motioned for her to sit on one of the medical beds, and though you knew you wouldn’t need to treat her ‘burn’, you figured it would be better than letting her stand there awkwardly. “Go ahead, take a seat,” you said with a nod toward the bed. “Might as well make you comfortable while I bandage you up for, uh, safety reasons.”

She sat onto the bed, her movements graceful but not entirely relaxed, as if she didn’t know what to do with herself in this setting. You took your time gathering a few supplies—far more than you needed, really—giving her a chance to settle in. As you approached, you couldn’t help but wonder what had truly brought her here. The faint redness on her palm wasn’t worth a trip to the med bay, especially not for someone like Natasha, who you knew could take a bullet without flinching.

You gently took her hand in yours, inspecting the skin. “Honestly,” you murmured, keeping your tone light, “I’ve seen paper cuts worse than this.” You dabbed at the redness with a disinfectant wipe, more out of habit than necessity. “If you’re planning on cooking again, though, I’d recommend sticking to things that don’t involve open flames. Or hot pans. Or, well, anything that could potentially burn the whole tower down.”

A faint scoff escaped her, but there was a trace of amusement there, even if she wouldn’t admit it. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, her voice laced with dry humour. But as you worked, she found herself less focused on the barely noticeable sting of the wipe and more on the warmth of your hands, the way your touch was careful and gentle, even though it really didn’t need to be.

“You know,” you started again, your tone conversational, “I didn’t think I’d ever see the infamous Natasha Romanoff in the med bay.” Your lips curved into a teasing smile. “I thought you were allergic to hospitals.”

Natasha scoffed, rolling her eyes even as a faint smile tugged at her lips. “Not allergic,” she replied.

You began to wrap a small bandage around her palm—a completely unnecessary measure, but you had a suspicion that there was more to her visit than a minor kitchen mishap. You chuckled softly, and the sound wrapped around her, disarming her in a way she hadn’t expected.

“Well, I’m honoured to be your first doctor,” you said, your tone light but sincere. “I solemnly swear to do my best to make it worth your while.”

There was a brief, comfortable silence as you finished bandaging her hand, your touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. When you finally stepped back, Natasha found herself reluctant to leave the warmth of your presence. It felt strange—this desire to stay, to linger in your office just a little while longer. But before she could come up with an excuse, you spoke again.

“Try not to make a habit of burning yourself, okay?” you said, your tone gently teasing. “But if you do, you know where to find me. Well, you’re welcome here anytime, actually not just with me,” you said, the warmth in your tone unmistakable. “Even if it’s just to burn yourself on another pan.”

Natasha shook her head slightly, a small smile curling at her lips as she slipped off the bed. “Thanks, doc,” she murmured, her voice softer now, the weight of her unspoken thoughts hanging in the air between you. She turned to leave, but not without glancing back over her shoulder, her eyes lingering on you for just a moment longer.

When she walked out, she felt an odd mix of relief and regret, like she’d left something important behind in that small, sterile room. But there was also a sense of quiet anticipation, a nagging thought at the back of her mind that maybe, just maybe, she’d be finding her way back to you sooner than she’d expected.

As the med bay’s room clicked shut behind her, Natasha couldn’t help but notice the absence of that soothing calmness your presence brought.

Her thoughts trailed back to the feeling of your hands on her skin, the way you looked at her with such genuine care. It was foreign, this sense of wanting to be seen, to be taken care of. She wasn’t sure what to make of it. But as she headed back to her room, her mind kept drifting to you, to the thought of what it might be like to let herself be vulnerable for once. To let someone in.

And it was that thought that left her standing in the hallway, staring at your empty room again, with a faint glimmer of anticipation she didn’t quite know how to name.

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

The dimly lit corridors of the Avengers Tower were quiet at this hour, the stillness only broken by the sound of Natasha’s footsteps as she made her way down the hall. It was well past midnight when she returned from the mission, her body aching from bruises and scrapes that ran deeper than they looked. There were no major injuries—nothing that would keep her from reporting for duty tomorrow—but she knew she needed to see you. There was something different about this mission, something that gnawed at her. The kind of thing she didn’t talk about.

When she reached the med bay, she found the lights still on in your office. You were hunched over a tablet, reviewing some data from the Regeneration Cradle project, still in your scrubs despite the late hour. Natasha hesitated for a moment, unsure of what exactly had drawn her here yet again. But before she could question it any further, you glanced up and saw her standing there, framed by the doorway, your brows knitting together in concern as you took in her dishevelled appearance.

“Natasha,” you murmured, rising from your chair and crossing the room in a few swift strides. “What happened?”

She shrugged, the motion a little stiff, her expression unreadable. “Mission got a bit rough. Nothing I can’t handle,” she replied, though you noticed the faint tremor in her voice. It was almost imperceptible, but you’d spent enough time with her now to pick up on the small cracks in her otherwise flawless façade.

“Sit down,” you said softly, your voice steady but firm, leaving no room for argument. She obeyed without protest, settling onto one of the medical beds while you began to gather supplies. As you worked to clean and dress her wounds, you could see the signs of fatigue written across her features, the way her shoulders sagged and the dullness in her usually sharp eyes.

You tended to her in silence for a while, your hands moving with practised ease, but as you wrapped a bandage around her arm, you noticed the distant look in her gaze. Her mind was somewhere else, reliving whatever had unfolded on that mission. It wasn’t just the bruises or the cuts—something deeper had left its mark on her, something that bandages couldn’t heal.

When you finished, you packed up the supplies and glanced at the clock. You could see the exhaustion settling over her like a weight she couldn’t shake off. “Come on,” you said quietly, your tone gentle yet insistent. “Let’s get you out of here.”

She raised an eyebrow, a hint of curiosity and surprise flickering across her expression. “And go where?” she asked, though her voice was softer now, not challenging.

You didn’t answer right away, just gave her a small, reassuring smile as you started toward the door. She fell into step beside you, and for a moment, the silence stretched on, neither of you quite sure what to say. It wasn’t until you reached your floor, walked into the hallway and passed by the door to your own room that she noticed your hand lingering on that handle.

Natasha watched as you pushed the door open and stepped inside. It was the first time she’d seen you enter your room, and something about it felt significant, like you were crossing a line that had been quietly drawn between SHIELD-you and Avenger-you. But just as quickly, you emerged again, pulling the door shut behind you as if it had been nothing at all.

You turned to her, and before she could think of anything to say, you placed your hand gently on the small of her back, your touch grounding her in the quiet darkness of the hallway. Leaning in close, you whispered, “You’re not going to be alone tonight, Natasha. I’m not leaving you to deal with this by yourself.” Your voice was firm, yet so tender it almost broke her resolve.

Her breath hitched, and she felt a shiver run through her at the closeness, at the feeling of your warmth pressed lightly against her. The words hung in the air, wrapping around her in a way that made her want to lean into you, to let down the walls she’d so carefully built up. But she didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t used to someone offering to tend to her in this way, to look beyond the bruises and cuts and see the wounds that lay beneath.

You saw the hesitation flicker in her eyes, so you took a step forward, pushing the door to her room open with your foot and guiding her inside. She let you steer her, grateful for the quiet control you took over the situation. It felt strangely freeing to relinquish that power, even just a little, and she found herself relishing the way you took charge, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Her mind was racing now, her thoughts blurring into a haze as she imagined you continuing to take control—not just over this moment, but over her entirely. She could almost see it, feel it—the way your hands would travel across her skin, guiding her to let go, to forget about the burdens that weighed on her. It was a dangerous line to tread, one she’d never dared to walk before. But as you gently steered her toward the bed, keeping your hand at the small of her back, she found herself wishing for it, craving it.

You closed the door behind you with a quiet click, the sound almost like a promise. “You don’t have to say anything,” you whispered, your voice steady, yet carrying a note of command that sent another shiver down her spine. “Just let me take care of you tonight. Whatever you need.”

Natasha’s breath caught in her throat, the emotions swirling inside her too complex, too raw to unravel right then. But as she sank down onto the bed, she allowed herself to look up at you, her eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. There was none. Only the steady calm of your gaze and the silent promise that you wouldn’t let your friend and teammate be alone with the darkness of her thoughts.

The room was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the air conditioning and the gentle rustling of sheets as Natasha settled onto the bed. You could see right away now that something was different about her tonight—her movements were slower, her gaze unfocused, and there was a hesitance in the way she held herself. This wasn’t the confident, self-assured woman you’d come to know. She looked almost… lost.

You didn’t comment on it, though. There was no need to call attention to what was already evident in the way she slumped slightly, or the way her eyes drifted to the floor, avoiding yours. Instead, you pulled up a chair beside the bed, lowering yourself to her level. "Natasha," you said softly, your voice laced with concern, "is it alright for you if I stay here tonight?" She looked up at you, a flicker of surprise crossing her expression. "I see what you're going through," you continued, your tone gentle and reassuring. "You don’t have to say anything, but I just want you to know that you’re safe here. I meant it when I said you could always come to me.”

She nodded, a small, almost imperceptible motion, but there was a weight to it that spoke louder than words. "You can stay," she murmured, though the admission seemed to make her tense up even more, as if the very act of accepting comfort was something foreign to her.

You moved to sit beside her on the bed, and she hesitated for a moment before scooting closer, leaning into you ever so slightly. Her mind must have been racing, you realised, because the look in her eyes was distant, glazed over with something that lay beyond mere exhaustion. A soft flush began to bloom on her cheeks, high up on those sharp cheekbones of hers, and you could see the way her breath quickened ever so slightly.

Curious, you tilted her chin up with your fingers, guiding her gaze back to you. "Natasha," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, "talk to me."

Her composure cracked like thin ice under the weight of her emotions. Her shoulders slumped, and her breath shuddered out of her. "The mission," she began, her voice raw and tired, "it was… draining. More than usual." She took a shaky breath, her eyes glistening with a vulnerability you hadn’t this explicitly seen from her before. "I’m so exhausted, in my head… But my body doesn’t know how to stop. I can’t seem to switch off, not even for a few hours of sleep."

You pulled her into your arms without hesitation, feeling her melt into your embrace as you held her close. Her head rested against your chest, her breaths coming in uneven patterns as you gently stroked her hair, your fingers running through the strands in a soothing rhythm. She nestled herself deeper into you, finding comfort in the steady beat of your heart, and for a long while, you simply held her, letting the silence stretch on as she settled into the warmth of your touch.

After a while, she tilted her head up, resting her chin against your sternum so she could meet your gaze. Her eyes were dark, filled with a yearning you couldn’t quite place, and she whispered, "Do you… have a remedy for that? For this? For helping me sleep?" There was something in the way she said it that carried more weight than just the words themselves, like she was asking for something deeper, something that went beyond comfort and rest.

You shook your head softly, your fingers still combing through her hair. "I don’t," you admitted, your voice low and steady, "but I can stay with you. I’ll be here, Natasha. For as long as you need me."

A small, frustrated whine escaped her lips as she burrowed her face into your chest again, trying to get comfortable in your embrace. She shifted against you, the silk of her bralette brushing against your skin as she cuddled closer, her hands slowly trailing down your sides. You continued to rub her back, your hands tracing gentle circles over the soft material, pressing into the tense muscles to release the knots that seemed to have built up there. She sighed into your touch, her breath hot against your skin, her body relaxing bit by bit under your ministrations.

But then, as your hands wandered lower, you felt it—the slight roll of her hips against your thigh, a subtle motion at first, as if she hadn’t quite realised she was doing it. But there was no mistaking the soft, breathy moan that slipped from her lips as she continued, her body responding to the contact in a way that betrayed her exhaustion. It was instinctual, unthinking—her hips moved with a slow rhythm, grinding against the muscle of your thigh, her breath quickening as she unconsciously chased some kind of relief.

Your hands stilled for a moment, and you could feel your pulse quicken at the realisation of what was happening. You hadn’t expected this—hadn’t anticipated that her need for comfort would turn into something else. But as she pressed herself against you, her breath becoming more laboured with each movement, you found yourself reacting to her in ways you hadn’t thought you would. Heat pooled low in your belly, and you felt the tension building as she rutted against you, completely unaware of just how much she was affecting you.

You slipped your hands lower, cupping her behind and giving it a firm squeeze, feeling the way she gasped, the sound escaping her lips louder than before. "Natasha," you breathed, your voice low and gravelly as you massaged the flesh beneath your hands, the heat of her skin searing through the thin silk.

She whimpered at your touch, burying her face even deeper into your chest as if to hide the flush that burned across her cheeks. Her hands fisted the fabric of your pyjama shirt, tugging at it almost desperately, and you couldn’t help but chuckle softly as you reached down to help her peel it off. She pushed it up and over your head with trembling hands, her gaze still filled with that desperate, confused need that made her look so beautifully vulnerable.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, your voice gentle but laced with a hint of command. “I’m here, Natasha. I’m your best friend, remember? I said I’d help you with anything.” The words hung in the air between you, their meaning sinking in as you brushed your thumb over the curve of her cheek. Her breathing hitched, her eyes searching yours for reassurance, and you gave it to her without hesitation, pulling her closer until there was no space left between your bodies.

Natasha’s body trembled against yours, the air thick with a mixture of tension and anticipation. Her breath came in shallow pants, and you could feel the way her muscles tensed as your hands wandered over her curves again, massaging the silk-covered skin beneath your touch. You kissed along the side of her neck, gentle and slow, as if to coax her into relaxing even further, but you could sense the way she craved more—something deeper, something stronger.

Her hands gripped your shoulders, nails digging in as you eased her back onto the bed. She lay beneath you, her hair fanned out across the pillow, and you took a moment to admire the flush on her cheeks, the darkened look in her eyes that spoke of need.

Natasha’s breath hitched, her back arching instinctively as your hand slid between her thighs, grazing the damp fabric of her underwear. She gasped, hips jerking up to meet your touch, the thin barrier doing nothing to hide the wetness that had already pooled there.

"You're so tense," you whispered, your voice low and soothing as you slipped a hand inside her panties, finally touching her bare. The heat of her arousal coated your fingers, and Natasha’s head fell back with a sigh as you began to trace slow, teasing circles over her clit. "Just let go for me… I'm right here."

Your words seemed to unravel something in her, a barrier breaking down as her legs fell open wider, inviting more of your touch. You slid a finger inside her, her walls clenching around you instantly, hot and slick.

Her moans were soft at first, barely audible as you set a gentle rhythm, the pads of your fingers curling up to stroke that sensitive spot inside her that made her toes curl. She was dripping, her arousal coating your fingers as you slipped another one in, filling her more. Her hips moved in time with your thrusts, as if seeking even more pressure, more friction.

It was pure bliss for her; your touch was skilled, coaxing her closer to release with every deliberate stroke. Her hands fisted the sheets as you leaned down, kissing along her collarbone, and you could feel the way she trembled beneath you, her thighs quivering.

It didn’t take long before you felt her tightening around your fingers, her breath coming faster, her moans growing higher and more desperate. You kept your pace even as she came, her body shuddering in pleasure, riding out the waves of her first orgasm.

You kept your touch and movements gentle, drawing out her pleasure, letting her ride the waves as they gradually ebbed, not wanting to overwhelm her just yet.. But just as her breathing steadied, a hoarse whisper escaped her lips, "More… please, I need… rougher."

The desperation in her voice was raw, unfiltered, and it made something tighten in your chest. This wasn’t just about pleasure; she was asking for something deeper, a way to escape the weight she carried.

Natasha’s skin glowed with a light sheen of sweat, the warmth radiating off her body mixing with the coolness of the room. As you leaned over her, your hands travelled the curves of her ribs, fingers slipping beneath the hem of her silk bralette. The fabric felt smooth against your fingertips as you traced over the taut muscles of her abdomen, her body tense and ready beneath you. She let out a soft sigh, a quiet surrender as she allowed herself to let go, to focus solely on the sensations you were creating.

You shifted your weight slightly, your hips pressing into the firmness of her pelvis as you slid your fingers back into her, this time with more force and speed than before. Natasha moaned, the sound vibrating in her chest as you pushed in deep, filling her completely. Her walls tightened around your fingers, clenching with each thrust as you built up a rhythm that left her gasping, her hips rocking back against you. Her body was a mix of heat and tension, the friction of your skin against hers heightening every touch, every sound.

“More,” she whispered, the word slipping out like a plea. “Please… I need more.”

The raw need in her voice spurred you on, and you complied without hesitation. You could see how much she was aching for it, her body craving the kind of release that came not only from pleasure but from being overwhelmed, from being taken. You angled your fingers upwards, finding that perfect spot deep within her, and began to stroke it with every thrust, sending sharp jolts of ecstasy through her. Natasha’s breath hitched, a choked moan escaping her lips as her hips bucked, seeking more of the relentless pressure you provided.

“Is this what you needed?” you asked, your voice low and rough as you watched her come undone beneath you. “For me to fuck you like this?”

Her response came in the form of a breathless cry, her fingers digging into the sheets as her back arched off the mattress. Her body trembled with each deep thrust, the wetness coating your fingers making each movement slick and easy, allowing you to pound into her at a brutal pace. You could feel the way her walls gripped you tighter and tighter, the pressure building up inside her like a coiled spring ready to snap.

Then, in one swift motion, you turned her over onto her stomach, and Natasha let out a surprised gasp as you pressed her down against the bed. You kept her legs spread, your hand slipping between her thighs once more, but this time your other hand slid up her spine, following the curve of her body until you were gripping her shoulder. The position allowed you to thrust even deeper, the new angle making her whole body shudder as you buried your fingers inside her, the wet sounds of her arousal filling the room.

Natasha whimpered, burying her face into the sheets as you began to pound into her from behind, the pressure of each thrust making her toes curl. The sensation was overwhelming, her senses consumed by the way your fingers drove into her, the roughness of your touch giving her exactly what she’d begged for. She pushed back against you, her hips meeting every thrust with desperate need, as if she couldn’t get enough. The force of your movements rocked her body forward with each plunge, and you could feel the way her muscles tightened, the tension building in her core with each deep stroke.

As you drove her closer to the edge, you leaned down, your lips brushing against her ear. “You look so beautiful like this,” you murmured, your voice thick with desire. “Falling apart, just for me.”

Her body shivered at your words, her breath catching in her throat as a flush crept up her neck. You could feel the way she was spiralling, her control slipping away with every thrust, every stroke of your fingers inside her. And then, just as she teetered on the brink, you withdrew your fingers, only to replace them with your mouth. You pressed your tongue flat against her slit, licking a slow, deliberate stripe from her entrance to her clit, tasting the heady mix of her arousal on your lips.

The sound Natasha made was somewhere between a gasp and a sob, her body jerking in response to the sudden shift in sensation. You felt her thighs tremble as you dipped your tongue inside her, savouring the wet heat of her. Her taste was intoxicating, each flick of your tongue drawing out another moan from her as she pressed her hips back, desperate for more contact. You alternated between licking and sucking, your lips closing around her clit to draw it into your mouth before swirling your tongue over it, sending sparks of pleasure racing through her.

Natasha’s body tightened, her legs trembling as the pressure built to an unbearable peak, her orgasm finally crashing over her in a wave that left her gasping for air. Her moans were unrestrained, desperate, as her body shuddered beneath you, the intensity of her climax making her limbs quake. You didn’t let up, continuing to lap at her with slow, thorough strokes, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until she was completely spent.

As her breathing began to steady, you pulled back, allowing her a moment to catch her breath. Natasha's body lay limp against the bed, the flush still lingering on her cheeks, her hair a wild mess around her face. But even as the exhaustion settled in, you could see a renewed hunger in her eyes as she turned over onto her back again, reaching for you. Her hand slipped down to your thigh, tugging at you weakly as she whispered, “I… I want to taste you.”

You hesitated for a moment, but then obliged, positioning yourself over her. As you settled above her mouth, you felt a shiver of anticipation run through you. Her breath was hot against your core, the warmth of it making your skin prickle. 

Natasha's tongue darted out, hesitantly at first, tracing a slow path along the inner curve of your thigh before moving higher. Her touch was unsteady, as if she was still recovering from her own release, but you could feel the eagerness in every movement as she began to lick at you, her tongue sliding over your folds, tasting the arousal that had gathered there.

The first real contact sent a jolt through your body, a sharp intake of breath escaping you as Natasha pressed deeper, her tongue curling upwards to tease your entrance. The sensation was electric, the wet heat of her mouth surrounding you, and you couldn't help but let out a quiet moan as she began to suck gently, her lips closing around your sensitive clit. She licked with a kind of desperation, her mouth moving in frantic, needy strokes that made your hips twitch involuntarily. You could feel your own release building, the pleasure winding tighter and tighter with every flick of her tongue, every gentle suck.

But then her pace faltered, her movements growing slower and more languid as the exhaustion pulled at her. You felt her head slump slightly, her breathing uneven. Acting quickly, you grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled sharply, your voice a low growl as you demanded her attention. “Natasha,” you said, a dark chuckle slipping past your lips as you looked down at her. “You’re not done yet.”

Her eyes fluttered open, filled with a renewed determination. You stroked her jaw, feeling the wetness smeared across her cheeks and lips before guiding her back to your core. “Keep going,” you instructed, your voice firm and commanding as you bucked your hips forward slightly. “You’re doing so well. Show me just how good you can be.”

The words seemed to ignite something in her, and she dove back in with fervor, licking at you greedily. Her tongue moved in long, deep strokes, lapping up every drop as if she were trying to devour you entirely. You could feel your own body trembling with the effort to hold back, the pleasure cresting higher and higher with each pass of her tongue over your clit, each eager suck. Your fingers tightened in her hair, guiding her movements as you rode the waves of pleasure, the sensation building to an almost unbearable peak.

The tight coil in your belly finally snapped, sending you tumbling over the edge into a mind-numbing climax. Your thighs clamped around her head, your moans spilling out uncontrollably as the pleasure coursed through you in heavy, pulsating waves. Natasha’s mouth never left you, her tongue continuing to stroke you through every spasm, every shiver, milking every last bit of your release until you were left trembling and breathless above her.

Natasha’s body moulded perfectly into yours, her weight a soft, reassuring presence as she settled against your chest once more. The aftershocks of pleasure still lingered faintly in her, and you could feel the slight tremble in her muscles as she curled tighter into you, seeking comfort. Her breath was warm against your neck, her chest rising and falling slowly, as if her exhaustion was finally overtaking her.

You stroked her back, fingers moving with practised tenderness, tracing small, soothing circles over the silky fabric of her bralette. Her skin beneath was flushed from the intensity of what had just transpired, the heat from her body sinking into yours. You could feel the subtle tension still in her muscles, the kind that came from more than just physical exertion—it was the emotional weight she carried, the one that had been gradually cracking through her tough exterior tonight.

“You’re okay now,” you whispered into her hair, your voice barely more than a breath. The words were simple, but you knew how much she needed to hear them. “I’ve got you, Natasha.”

She made a sound in the back of her throat, a low hum of agreement or maybe relief, her arms tightening around your torso as if she didn’t want to let go. “You’re always good to me,” she murmured, her lips grazing your collarbone with each quiet word. There was a vulnerability in her voice that was rare, as though she was allowing herself to drop her walls completely, if only for this moment.

“And I always will be,” you reassured her, your voice soft but firm. “Whenever you need me, for anything… I’m here.”

The weight of those words seemed to hang between you, not just as a promise but as something deeper—an acknowledgment of the bond that had formed between you, shifting from mere friendship to something with far more gravity. Natasha tilted her head back slightly, her eyes heavy-lidded but searching yours, as though she was trying to understand why you were so steadfast, why you remained by her side even when she was at her most vulnerable.

Her lips curled into a small, almost fragile smile. “It goes both ways, you know,” she said, her voice low and still tinged with that post-orgasmic haze. “If you ever need… anything… anytime, I’m here for you too. I mean it. If you need to blow off steam, or… just… need someone to take care of you.” Her gaze flickered with an unusual openness, her green eyes catching the low light in the room. “I’ll always be there. For you.”

You felt your chest tighten slightly, a warmth blooming inside you at the thought of what she was offering, what she trusted you with.

“You’d be up for this… whenever?” you asked, a teasing edge to your voice, though your heart pounded a little faster at the idea.

Natasha nodded, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment, clearly struggling against the heavy pull of sleep. “Anytime,” she whispered, her words soft and sincere. “Even if it’s the middle of the day… middle of the night… if you need me, I’ll be there.”

Your lips quirked into a soft smile at her honesty, feeling the significance of her admission. Your hand found its way to her cheek, gently tilting her face back to you. She gazed up at you with exhaustion and trust written across her features, her breath slow and steady, her body pliant against yours.

"Good to know," you murmured, running your thumb along her jaw, feeling her relax into your touch. 

Natasha's eyelids fluttered shut as the weight of sleep began to pull her down, her body growing even heavier against yours. Just when you thought she’d drifted off entirely, she spoke again, her voice slurred with drowsiness. “Let’s… keep this just between us,” she murmured, her breath warm against your skin. “No one else… needs to know.”

You pressed your lips to the crown of her head, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair. “Just us,” you promised, your voice low and soothing as you cradled her closer. “No one else has to know.”

Natasha gave a small, sleepy nod, her arms tightening around you as if clinging to the comfort you offered. “Good,” she whispered, her words barely audible as sleep finally claimed her. “Just… ours.”

As she drifted off, you continued to hold her, feeling the steady rhythm of her breath against you, your fingers still tracing soft patterns over her skin. You knew this arrangement, this shared need for each other, was more than just a temporary fix. It was a deeper understanding, an unspoken promise to be there in whatever ways the other needed—whether for comfort, for stress relief, or something more that neither of you was ready to name yet.

[onsomenewsht]

Took a loan on a house I own

About when she panics and you’re very patient, but out of t-shirts

《 shout out to @p0orbaby, who turned this shit around and back on the fun side of the road

》 Leah Williamson x Reader

》 words count: 3k

》 commitment [noun, law]: a written order of a court directing that someone be confined in prison; mittimus

“Accept the Arsenal deal”, your agent encourages, his client’s best interests – and transfer fee – close to his heart.

“At least it’s not Manchester”, your father comments, still wishing for your comeback as saviour of your hometown club.

“What can go wrong?”, your childhood friends resonate with sincere smiles and rolling eyes at your unjustified hesitation.

Turns out, signing for the Gunners puts you in the Ballon d’Or shortlist after the first season and Leah Williamson in your bedroom.

One night you two are sharing a ride after a shameful celebration, you’re way too drunk to even remember how to walk in a straight line and she finds herself thinking way too much about your carefree giggles – if anyone asks, she just wants to make sure you don’t get kidnapped or fall on your pretty face tripping over nothing.

The following day she’s still in your house, wearing your clothes and sharing questionable stories of failed dates just to hear you laugh.

A week after she’s in your bed again, this time naked and cracking up at the worst jokes you got.

It’s not like you planned such development in the relationship with the skipper or tried to win her over with infallible pickup lines, it just happened.

Not that you’re complaining now.

Another season ends, but you keep finding each other in compromising positions at the worst possible moments, avoiding friends and teammates teasing comments with really not much effort.

Her mother, the wiser when it comes to Leah’s debatable life choices, asks about you all the time and went as far as personally inviting you over for Christmas. You declined, obviously, but made sure the Williamson family received your presents.

Your best friend demanded to have a private conversation with the blonde the first time he visited, probably embarrassing you with made-up memories and pointless threats. She took it all more seriously than needed, teaming up with him at your expense by the end of the night.

“Do you have a t-shirt I can borrow to sleep in?”

A sense of domesticity fills every interaction with the English woman nowadays, feelings you’re way too pleased to indulge but even more scared to address.

Knowing her, like a stray cat enjoying the sun and the offered food, a too-close approach or unexpected movement could provoke a runaway.

You move your eyes from the laptop slowly, taking in her freshly showered body and the wet blonde locks dropping water on the floor. She knows you hate that.

“Top drawer on your left, dry your hair before going to bed”

“What do you have against air drying?”

“What do you have against respecting my silk sheets?”

When she misses the opportunity to quip back, like she always does when your sleeping habits are mentioned, you give up any chance of reviewing the last away game to find Leah cautiously studying the furniture.

“Why are my clothes here?”

“Would you prefer to have them lying around the apartment?”

“It’s a lot of clothes”, she states, digging through all the tops and shorts and even some designer pieces stocked in the drawer.

It’s not really that much, honestly.

“You leave behind a lot of shit”

That makes the younger girl react, recovering from the shock of her things being carefully folded somewhere other than her closet – and occasionally a strategically placed chair in her room.

The cat is bothered.

Closing the laptop, you rise from the bed to slowly approach her. Cautiously.

“I just don’t understand why you put my clothes in your drawer”

“You have a lot of things here and I quite like the idea of a clean place”

“That’s not true! I–”, she fumbles for the right words to explain herself in her own mind.

You guide the blonde to the bed, sitting her down like you’d do to explain to a kid that Santa looked a lot like their overweight uncle because was, indeed, their overweight uncle; or that no, they can’t walk the dog for the last journey to Heaven.

The next words are going to be crucial.

“Leah, you basically live here”

“What?!”

Bad choice, noted.

She literally jumps so high you have to take a moment to appreciate your own cat metaphor for such spot on accuracy.

As the freshly nominated Arsenal’s captain, the goddesses and gods of football bowed to Kim Little, she shouldn’t risk her knees so mindlessly. You have to calm her down before some questionable network buys the rights for a high-budget documentary of how you managed to kill the equivalent of Princess Diana for the football community.

“I’m sorry to be the one that broke it to you, but at this point only you don’t–”

“You’re not making any sense, really, I–”

“Please, walk me through your day”

Easy.

The past two weeks have been dedicated to national duties, training camp and a friendly overseas. Not too bad, you both manage to keep in touch despite the time difference and your own commitments.

The trip back is uneventful, she sleeps for most of the flight and annoys Beth for the rest of it.

You pick her up at the airport.

Just because you’re closer than her mom and offered to.

You drive her to her apartment, but the blonde leaves the suitcase somewhere in the living room to deal with another time and comes back to the car in under three minutes.

Just because you promise to make dinner, she is supposed to refuse?

You two cook together, even if she’s still forbidden to use the air fryer and your wine accessories after the shrimps accident.

But we don’t talk about the shrimps accident.

The food is good, the company is even better. Stories are shared, memories are created with a questionable playlist in the background and laughs front and foremost. Plans are made to go see a film you’ve been waiting a year for and to find a dress she needs for a charity event.

Just because.

She takes a shower after, finally washing away the fatigue with her fancy shampoo you somehow have around in the bathroom. There’s also her favourite lotion, the delicate scent she can now smell with her eyes closed when she misses you a little too much for some reason. Even getting to the point of applying the scar cream she uses when her knee bothers, just because you know–

Oh, shit.

“Oh, shit”

“Yeah, ‘oh, shit’, indeed”, the smile on your face grows as you see the realisation crashing over Leah.

The English capitan may be a clueless idiot sometimes, but you’re already too into it to pretend not to like it.

“I basically live here”

The thought of her finally realising she moved in with you is not something you’ve indulged too much. An unconscious but lingering fear is the faithful companion of ruthless nights, lying in bed with Leah and her commitment issues.

Most nights she falls asleep holding on to you, and most mornings she wakes you up with a freshly made coffee. But she runs away and disappears for days after sharing a way too intimate moment.

By now, you know her well enough to know when to push her limits and when to let her be.

Yet, the confused and almost uncomfortable frown creasing her features hurts.

“I have to go”

“Leah–”

Without giving you the possibility to say anything to reason with her – or just protesting, for what it matters –, the footballer is putting on the first t-shirt she finds and fleeing the scene.

It’s one of your favourite tees, but maybe this it’s not the time to point it out.

“I need to go, I–”, she mutters as she tries to simultaneously put the shoes on and open the front door.

“Are you planning to walk back to your place?”

“Maybe?”

“It’s a ten minutes ride by car, you’re not that kind of athlete”

“I’ll call a taxi”

“With the phone you left on the nightstand?”

For the first time, probably ever, you sound exhausted and not amused at all about the situation – she notices it too. It’s not like she’s completely clueless about the loose attitude, the blowing hot and cold.

You look at her, never dropping your gaze as your head shakes and a tired smile doesn’t reach your eyes. You hand her the phone you picked up when she was too concerned with running away from whatever therapist’s comment was echoing in her mind to realise what she was leaving behind.

Literally speaking, obviously.

“Please, wait here for the taxi. It’s dark outside”

“I’m sorry, I–”

“We can talk at training in a couple of days”, you ease her worry with a quick side hug and a kiss on the forehead, closing the bedroom’s door behind you.

~

A couple of days later, you don’t talk at training.

She’s avoiding you.

Well, kind of. Everyone at Arsenal, even the chocolate-coloured dog Win, can tell she’s torn up inside and always on the verge of a mental breakdown or, probably worst, ready to rant an apology speech she rehearsed in front of the mirror a concerning amount of times.

The usually composed skipper is panicking whenever found around you, trying to approach and chickening out despite the mental pep talks.

“Care to tell me why she’s sleeping on my couch?”

Lia insisting on pairing for the drill was a trap, you should have seen it coming.

“She found out she moved in”, you let her know, an amused smile lighting up your features for the first time this week.

It’s easy enough to put aside the bruised ego when the situation is as ridiculous as the one you’re currently in, one can laugh at their own misery.

“Finally?”

“I think she panicked”

“Of course she did, she has commitment issues and an apartment she’s not staying in– not even now!”, she passes the ball back to you, completely missing the point of the exercise you’re supposed to do, “Why is she sulking in my house?”

“Can’t tell you, she’s avoiding me as if I signed for Tottenham”

“Don’t joke about that, she may have a heart attack”

You both burst out in giggles, knowing too well it’d be a real chance. Or Leah could find the motivation to approach you – to kill you, sure, but she’d need to be close enough to do it with her bare hands.

“Be patient with her, she’s trying”, Lia gently says after composing herself.

The curious relationship you are building with the blonde may be questionable and unhealthy for some people, but it’s filled with respect and care. It resonates with genuine laughs and whispered secrets, it cherishes with caring hands and firm holds. It’s love.

The kind of love two people give each other despite the fears and the doubts.

“I know, I’m trying too”

~

After two weeks, the most awkward goal celebration in a London derby history, and an even more embarrassing phone call with Leah’s brother, you definitely have enough.

It’s not too bad, really.

She doesn’t flee the room as soon as you make your entrance anymore, the conversations start quietly but progress in the usual easy and carefree way. Sometimes she leans into you in the middle of a night out, other times your hands find each others without a real reason if not the comforting feeling that such a simple action can provide.

It’s not perfect, but you can tell she’s trying and she has a lot going on in her head already. You just want to be there, that’s all you have ever wanted.

It’s not too bad, there’s a reason for everything.

There’s a reason for your shopping list to still include her favourite bread and that inexplicably expensive shampoo, there’s a reason for the warm coffee with your name scribbled on it in the changing room every morning.

There’s a reason for saving a spot next to the other during tactical and video sessions, on the bus for the away game, or on the table at your go-to restaurant.

There’s a reason for the smiles secretly shared in the middle of a stupid debate going on between your teammates.

There’s a reason for you to sleep with the jersey she gave you the first time you played against each other and for her to still be squatting on Lia’s couch wearing your tee – the Swiss woman makes sure to send pictures and updates every night.

It’s not too bad, but it’s game night at the Williamson, and you’re not going to put your victory streak at risk because Leah is freaking out about her housing situation and ghosting her therapist too.

“Are you planning to hide here all night?”, you ask after tapping at her car’s window.

She looks surprised, even if she’s the one parked in front of her mother’s house for the past ten minutes – lights turning off as soon as she spotted you on the side of the road.

The window rolls down comically slow, and the blonde relaxes immediately when she gathers enough courage to look up at you just to find your amused smile. Hands still grasping around the steering wheel, turning white as her cheeks get redder every second.

She’s aware she’s been ridiculous.

“I didn’t know if you’d have come tonight”, she admits.

“I can leave, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable in your own–”

“No!”, she shouts immediately, “I mean, you’re already here. I want you here, I–”

“Good, I really want to defend my champion’s title and I can’t do it if my charades partner is playing hide and seek by herself”, you say, taking a step back to invite her to exit the car.

The teasing smile, that faded just for a moment, is back on your face and she couldn’t be happier to realise nothing really changed – you still look at her with unconditional affection and care, you still look after her heart in the most gentle way you possibly can.

“Hurry up, Williamson, I’ve been talking with your mother more than I’ve been with you lately so I kinda own her to lose a game or two”

She sighs and finally opens the door, getting out of the car with all the enthusiasm of a kid heading to the dentist without the promise of ice cream afterwards. And there is the t-shirt you’ve been looking for.

How many of your clothes did she manage to steal without you realising?

That’s why there’s so much of hers in the damn drawer.

“I wasn’t avoiding you”, she mumbles, more to her feet than to you as she drags them even slower.

It’s going to be the longest ten metres ever.

“Right, and Mariona isn’t asking me how to befriend the stray cat wandering in her apartment”

“I’m sorry, alright? I freaked out. The whole ‘basically living together’ thing just–”, she stops in the middle of the road, waving her hands around as if trying to catch the right words out of thin air, “It just hit me, I haven’t seen it coming”

You gently but firmly pull her safely to the other side of the road before answering, “I figured when Lia cornered me in the middle of training”

“I knew she’d tell you”, the footballer groans, rubbing her face, “She said you’d understand, but I was too scared to talk to you and–”

“I do understand, Leah, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to make you suffer for abandoning me and tricking Lia and Mario into adopting you”

She laughs at that, the sound loosening the tension in her shoulders and deep into your stomach. You may be more at peace with your love for the blonde, more confident in this relationship, but you have doubts too.

It breaks her heart to make you insecure, you who always go above and beyond to make sure she’s comfortable when it comes to the feelings and the moments you’re sharing – the future you’re building.

“Can we go slow? Like, really slow?”, she looks at you, her eyes softer and the panic fading to be replaced by a new sense of certainty.

“I think we can’t go any slower even if we tried, took you half an hour to exit the car and for us to make literally ten steps toward your mom’s house”

The punch that hits you is strong enough to make you wince.

“Fine, I think we can compromise”

“Your terms?”

“I get visitation rights to my own apartment and free access to your closet”, she proposes, holding out her hand.

“You already have those”, you raise an eyebrow at her cocky smile, “You have to promise not to air-dry your hair on my silk sheets ever again”

“Deal”, Leah smiles as you shake hands, “I’ll just have to get my own pillows for my side of the bed so you can stop complaining”

She laughs oh-so-carefreely at your stunned expression, finally stepping closer and leaning into your embrace, still holding on to you as she approaches the front door.

“I’ll text Lia I’m going home with you tonight”

“Good”, you say, kissing the top of her head, “But let’s be real, you just need an excuse to steal more of my clothes, don’t you?”

“Maybe, but it looks better on me”

She’s saved by her own mother, opening the door and happily taking in the lovely scene with a knowing grin. The older woman pushes you both inside, commenting about the delay and claiming it is a tactic not allowed – all the games are going to be played, doesn’t matter how late it turns.

“You better let me win if you don’t want to be the one sleeping on a couch tonight”, she whispers in your ear as you take the seat by her side.

“Don’t push your luck, Williamson. We’ve got a long way to go, and you still have to find out about the pair of keys with your name on it hidden in the drawer”

fine.

[petrawood]

I saw someone post a tweet about how a lot of people in the Inquisition must have suspected that something was off about Solas, and out of all of them Bull knew that there was something fishy going on for SURE but the scope of the whole thing was just too big for him to have guessed exactly what was going on.

So, that made me think how the whole reveal must have been like if it actually happened in our world and oh my god it's SO ridiculous.

Btw, this is obviously OOC, but it's just. Solas makes SUCH a character oh my god.

---

Imagine you are an Interpol agent that joins the CIA for this one very important and very specific mission. Everyone knows that you work for another organization and you are a trained and highly competent agent, but the situation is so dire that the CIA is basically hiring everyone who could help.

So, there is this one very weird guy.

He wears an old hoodie and yoga pants. When asked where he came from, he tells you that he is into outdoor living, so just "outside, you know, somewhere". He has no qualifications apart from being a skilled hacker and really really really good at navigating the Deep Web. In fact, he's an expert at it, to the point of being the Deep Web specialist of the team. He walks around BAREFOOT.

He is a WEIRDO.

You assume he is just some guy probably over his head, pretty helpful but that's kinda it. You are going to keep an eye on him anyway, as you keep an eye on most people.

And suddenly, things start no adding up.

You ask him how he learned to hack into the deep web and he answers that he just likes sleeping under bridges and there is very good internet connection there, so he ended up learning. He doesn't elaborate.

For a guy that spends all his time sleeping on the floor and hunched over a computer, you notice that he is actually BUILT. You cannot tell over the oversized hoodie, but that guy has muscle. Once it comes up, he looks you in the eyes and tells you that that's just normal when you live in the outside like him.

You need somebody to pilot an helicopter. He knows how to pilot an helicopter. "Oh, I just watched a video tutorial. You know, in the Deep Web".

You need to steal some nuclear codes. "Oh I know how to cancel those nuclear codes. I found a lot of documents explaining how to do it. You know, in the Deep Web".

You need to plan a coup. "Oh yeah I know all about backstabbing politics. I found a list of all the relevant politicians and the country's corrupt history. You know, in the deep web"

You are in the middle of said backstabbing and he's slightly tipsy looking fondly at the whole thing like "oh how I missed the vibe of a nepotist state. No one throws a party like corrupted politicians- Not that I've been in one before, of course. I've only seen videos. You know, in the deep web"

He drives the other two expert hackers out of their minds. "I don't know how you managed to get this position, you don't even have a Doctorate" "Doctorates are overrated, I think you all would do better if you came to vibe under a bridge like me"

He actually is OBSESSED with overthrowing institutions.

The hackers tear him a new one because they find his Hacker Drip lacking (fair). And he smells like Cheetos.

"I made a lot of friends on the Deep Web forums"

At this point you are convinced that this guy HAS to have something else going on. There is simply NO way someone would know so many things from his deep web premium access under a bridge.

Your best bet has to be that he's another secret agent, a very highly trained one at that, right? Or maybe a highcore antifa member? He either has inside information of the CIA or he's looking for it. But he has been ridiculous helpful so far, so you just can't tell what he's hiding and why.

And then one day guy, this FUCKING guy.

He shows up and tells your Boss that he's actually the ancient god Loki from the Nordic pantheon. That he created death, but is sorry so he's actually going to join the Earth with Heaven and Hell. A lot of people would die because of the Demons and you know, Earth as it is not existing anymore, but that's a sacrifice he's willing to make.

Now tell me, how the FUCK were you supposed to guess THAT.

[reiderwriter]

Unfair We're Not Somewhere

Chapter Eight of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: With a little bit of help from someone who could relate a little bit too closely to your situation, Y/N tries to come clean. Tries.

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy symptoms/ general pregnancy things, unsub mentions, plot.

A/N: Chapter Eight! I'm so excited for where the rest of this series is going to go, though I do feel like people are going to be a bit annoyed by this one lmao. Let me know your thoughts in the comments below or in an ask! Don't be too mad...

Masterlist || Add yourself to the tag list

You sat quietly in the clinic as you waited for the pharmacist to fill your prescription - a simple pregnancy multivitamin that was supposed to help your food go down, make your hair shinier, and fix all your problems.

You wondered if the bottle could tell Spencer you were pregnant. You wondered if it could make him magically okay with that and prepare him for fatherhood, too. 

Your phone buzzed, and you surfaced from the field of thoughts you'd been lost in as you checked it. 

“Outside,” an unknown number had sent. You took that as your queue, stood up, and left the clinic, trying your best to avoid looking back at the small boy Spencer had been playing with. 

You weren't sure if you were going to have a boy or a girl yet. You didn't mind either, though you'd always envisioned yourself with a big enough family that you assumed at least one of each was inevitable. Though even you had to admit how stereotypically nuclear that was, and how only 18% of the country was living that was lying anyway. 

You shoved psychology from your head for a few minutes and let yourself breathe.

“Y/N!” JJ signalled from the driver's side of her still running SUV. She waved slightly, and you smiled politely as you quickly paced around to the side of her vehicle and got in. 

“Hi,” you said, unsure if you should introduce yourself or not. She'd been in the office the day you'd been taken into custody (protection), but you still had yet to speak to her. She'd been exempt from protective duty so far due to her status as a senior field agent and the fact that she had two kids and a husband at home waiting for her. 

You were sad she was the anomaly in the BAU, the only one with someone waiting on her. 

“I'm Y/N,” you said, still unsure if you should hold out a hand or not. You hadn't made the best impression on most of Spencer's colleagues, and while you didn't think there was much point in trying, you still couldn't bring yourself to be intentionally blasé. 

“I know, you're all we've been talking about for weeks,” the woman laughed, pulling out of the clinic car park and smiling at you. 

“Oh, right. Case. Of course, I've heard you probably know more about me than I know about myself.” 

“We have a profile, sure, but that's not what I meant.” 

You nodded awkwardly and stared out the window for a second, the sky darkening slightly as it prepared to rain. 

You drove for a few minutes before JJ spoke up again. 

“I don't know if Emily told you, but it's actually my day off today,” she said, turning off into a cul-de-sac you'd never seen before. 

“Oh, oh my god, I'm so sorry. I could've just got a taxi or something or just… gotten over myself. You didn't have to-” 

“Yes, I did,” she looked at you for a second, cocking her head to the side in a gesture that said, ‘and you know why.’ It was a look only a friend would give, and you felt an instant connection with her. 

How had Spencer found so many wonderful, big-hearted women to surround himself with, and how could you get in on it? 

You supposed, by letting him get you pregnant, you'd probably found a cheat code for whatever the answer might have been. 

“Anyway, it's my day off, so I promised my boys a fun day at home with mommy. We're doing finger painting and macaroni art. I hope you don't mind getting messy.” 

“Wha-? Me? Oh. No, not at all,” you tried to seem nonchalant, but your heart suddenly beat faster now that you were faced with this unexpected opportunity. As a lecturer, you'd been surrounded by kids professionally for years now. 18 to 21 year old kids. The kind that already had defined morals, world views, and, secretly, alcohol tolerances. The last time you'd encountered any kind of child younger than 18 was when you yourself were under 18.

The joys of toiling away at a doctorate for the better half of your adult life. You knew how to talk to professors and scholars. You were absolutely scared shitless of interacting with a kid. 

“H-How old are they?” You asked, trying to sound polite but falling somewhere between anxious and terrified with a simple stutter. 

“Well, Henry is turning 8 in November, and Michael is just about 22 months. He's just about talking, which is as fun as you can expect.” 

Her voice was tired, but there was genuine affection there, love for her kids and pride. You wondered if your voice would change if you'd suddenly begin speaking like that, too, about something other than a paper submitted to a journal or a job opportunity. 

She pulled into a street parking space and turned off the engine as two bright haired little boys came bouncing up the path of their garden to greet her, stopping at the gate. 

“Mommy! Michael got glitter on the carpet, and Daddy said we shouldn't tell you.” 

“And you have no sense of loyalty when a pretty face comes around, do you?”

Hopping out of the car, you heard JJ's husband drawl as she greeted him with a kiss. She'd probably only taken half an hour to pick you up, but they were still greeting each other so warmly. For a second, you wondered what that would be like before you remembered throwing yourself into Spencer's arms the night before. Your face heated as you stood awkwardly at the side of the car, trying not to cradle your stomach as you watched the family interact. 

Would your baby ever get that tall? Would it have brown eyes like Spencer, or one's more similar to your own? His hair was curly. Maybe your baby would get hair that waved like his, too. 

After all, JJ's kids seemed like perfect compromises between her and her husband. Other people's kids didn't, though. You wondered a lot of things before JJ gestured you over again. 

“Henry, Michael, this is Aunt Y/N. She's going to do those crafts with us today - after we've locked away the glitter and thrown away the key.” 

You laughed as she wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pushed you forward into the chaos of two kids under ten. 

You were a little startled as the smaller one - Michael - grabbed your hand. He had a pacifier in his mouth, though he was probably outgrowing it, and he stared up at you with big, wide eyes, blinking and sizing you up as he toddled along beside you. 

Your heart grew three sizes, and you felt sorry for ever being afraid of interacting with the kids. 

JJ whispered to her husband quickly as you entered the LaMontagne household, and he greeted you quickly. 

“So you're Spencer's lady friend. It's nice to meet you. It's nice that you're real. Honestly, I was getting a little-” 

A look from JJ cut him off, though he did still seem a bit confused. 

“I'm sorry, am I under the wrong impression? JJ said you were pregnant with Spencer's baby, y'all aren't…” 

“Oh my god-” you whispered, suddenly panicking again but whispering just in case. You weren't sure if the pair was religious, and though you certainly weren't, it probably wasn't the best time to blaspheme. You needed as much god as existed in the world. 

“So, does everyone know?” You asked JJ, trying to keep your voice bright and calm, so Michael didn't take too much of an interest and grow frustrated by hushed tones. You knew enough about child development and psychology, it translated over, right? 

“Everyone who's observant. Luke noticed the pregnancy vitamins in your bag, Tara was talking about your mood swings in the office the other day. I guess you told Emily earlier, and I have two kids.” 

You nodded at the answer. 

“And Spencer?” 

“You haven't told him yet?” JJ asked, slightly surprised. 

“If I told him, you'd know.” 

“Well, you're right on that. He's not the most easy-going during pregnancy,” JJ laughed and steered you into the living space, where your de facto art studio had been set up for the day, along with the offending glitter bomb. 

“Really? You thought you could keep that a secret?” 

“Well, of anyone was going to find it, it was going to be my beautiful, smart, funny, profiler Wife,” Will said, giving her a small peck on the cheek as she rolled her eyes at him. “I'm clocking in now. Call me if you need anything.” 

You waved him off, and sat down with the kids. 

JJ started the craft and then planned your hasty escape as the two boys were enraptured by making the perfect macaroni necklace, dusting it in objectively too much glitter as they proudly created their art. 

In the kitchen, she handed you a mug, and you sipped it quietly as she began again. 

“So, you're not dating?” 

“Nope.”

“And he doesn't know you're pregnant?” 

“No.” You took another sip and shifted from one foot to the other. 

You knew what was coming next. It was what you'd gotten next from Emily, from Penelope, from yourself when you'd thought about it for longer than ten seconds. You needed to tell him. 

“Okay. What's your next move?” 

You were so shocked you almost splashed the hot tea over the mug you held, close to burning yourself as you turned to face her. 

“I… what?” 

“Well, what's your next move? You're what, five months along? You're not going to be able to hide it for much longer. And you have to think about maternity leave, your hospital stay, and names, and who's going to drive you to the hospital. And obviously, how you're going to pay the hospital fee, and then custody and child support.”

“Oh god…” 

“And you also have to sort your relationship out with Spencer. So where are you starting?” 

It wasn't a question that didn't have an answer. JJ was staring at you, waiting for one as you opened and closed your mouth, head suddenly so empty you almost forgot what you were talking about. 

“He doesn't like me,” you suddenly blurted and wished you hadn't, face crumpling as you physically cringed at your own words. 

“Y/N, he was telling us about your toothbrush yesterday. Part of the office has a theory that he made up this case as a reason to get closer to you.” 

Again, you felt the heat blossom on tour skin as you looked away, taking another sip. 

“We don't do anything but argue.” 

“You do at least one other thing,” JJ said, hands on her hips as she confronted you. 

“No, that doesn't count. We were still arguing while we were doing…that.” 

“TMI,” she groaned as you fanned yourself. “Y/N, I know for a fact that Spencer is at least half in love with you. If you're absolutely sure you don't feel the same way, you need to at least let him down easy.”

“I…. I don't know. He's infuriating sometimes, but then he's so smart and annoying. But he's pretty great at comforting me. And the, uh, the other stuff, that was good, too.” 

“Don't need to-” 

“Like really good. Like, I'm not surprised I ended up pregnant practically first time good-” 

“Back on topic, please!” JJ whisper shouted, throwing her hands up as you zipped your mouth shut.

“You like him,” she said. 

You sighed and finally gave in. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I like him.” 

“Great. What next?” 

“Next, I tell him I'm pregnant and make him hate me for a while.” 

She patted you on the back and poised you another mug of tea before leading you back over to the kids and sitting beside them at the table. 

“We can plan something later. For now, macaroni art is calling.”

You weren't sure if it was the stern, practical pep-talk from JJ or the little tiny grasp of your hand from Michael. Maybe it was even Henry's goodbye of ‘see you soon, Auntie Y/N’ that had you suddenly invigorated, but you suddenly kicked yourself into gear. 

The pregnancy wasn't going to put itself on pause while you worked up the courage to tell Spencer about it. You had to do it. 

JJ dropped you off at home at 6 p.m., knowing that Spencer would be back at the apartment shortly. 

“You're sure you don't need me to stay up there with you? The commute can get a bit long this time of night, Spencer could be anywhere between 15 and 45 minutes.”

“No, I think… I think I need some time to think about how I'm going to do this. I need some alone time.”

She nodded quietly and sent you off after calling Spencer and giving him an update on your whereabouts. 

You paced the apartment wondering what the best option was. 

You could go for the bookshelf again, though it was still organised into your first message. You'd not moved a book in that stack at all, and surprisingly, neither had Spencer. 

Running into your room, you grabbed the pair of baby shoes you'd thrown into your bag from your apartment. Maybe if you left them on the shelf next to the books…? 

You put them there and frowned, wondering if he'd be able to see them from the door when he walked in. He was so used to the surroundings of his house that he really didn't check for irregularities. 

You moved them to the coffee table. Then you wondered if you should just hand them to him when he walked in. 

“Spencer. I am..pregnant,” you practised, looking into the bathroom mirror as you tried to force a smile. 

“Spencer. We're pregnant. No, not a chance,” you sighed. 

“Spencer, I have a parasite growing in me. I've had it for five months now, and then I'll have it for another four and hopefully a long time after that as well.” 

That one was mostly a joke. Mostly. 

“Spencer, I… We're going to have a baby.” You looked down at your bump again and decided that was probably your best option. It wasn't a state. It wasn't a condition or a parasite. It was a baby. 

You rubbed your stomach again and looked up, wiping away tears from the corner of your eye as you composed yourself again. 

The doorbell rang, and your heart race picked up. It was time. Spencer was home, and you were going to tell him. 

Suddenly, you were filled with excitement, with happiness. You ran to the door, stepping on the sofa to get there quicker as you ran to pull it open. 

Maybe it was the pregnancy brain fog, but you forgot where you were. 

Spencer Reid lived in this apartment. He didn't need to knock on the door or ring the doorbell. He'd never done it before. But you'd already swung the door open quickly, and you were so relaxed and ready for it to be him that when a hand extended and covered your mouth with a cloth, thick with a scent that had your body protesting, you could do nothing but crumple to the floor with your hands cradling yourself, protecting the life growing within you. 

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[justawritterwithideas]

law in pink | s.r

♡ next part ♡

summary: when the BAU needs an extra helping hand, Washington decides to send the best of the best, but what they didn't expect was to see... pink.

warnings: a bit of stereotypes, beyond that a bit of comedy and fluff. there may be mistakes in writing because I wrote it too fast :(

this story is spencer reid (season 7) x ssa elle woods!reader

words: 1,649 words.

a/n: elle woods from legally blonde comes to my mind constantly because is one of my favorite movies, so I wanted to make a mix called "ssa elle woods"; I hope you like it and you can understand the idea of reader as elle woods, I also hope I didn't portray it wrong and that it will be misunderstood T T

The BAU needed a hand with the rising crime wave, so, straight from Washington they sent the best of the best from their office.

And of course Penelope had to investigate.

According to her research, you had graduated from Harvard with honors and had given the honorary alumni speech at your class graduation. In addition, you were a part-time Harvard professor of Political Theory during the fall and part of a prolific group of researchers in your Washington office, which had the highest rate of successfully resolved cases in the last 5 years.

In addition, you had achieved on your LSAT a score of 179 out of 180 points.

Something inside Penelope reminded her a little of her friend, Spencer Reid, in you.

But what she didn't expect to see when she looked you up on the interwebs was the fashionista and family friendly life you had. The way your apartment was decorated with a pretty pink aesthetic, your outfits videos that reached millions of views and your day to day routines were the mantra of many girls, being all perfectly edited.

With that and more, anyone would think that your job was not to be a federal agent, but an influencer.

Penelope was already smelling perfume from her computer, and that made her more than eager to meet you.

It was seeing one just like her in front of her screen.

You were the perfect candidate to be her new best friend.

The clacking of your heels and the smell of your Chanel perfume filled the entire BAU office, causing the complicit glances of all the workers who were there.

"Have you seen Barbie yet?" "Is the model missing?" "What about her? Maybe she's a lost intern. First-timer problems."

Everyone was making comments you'd heard more than once in some police office, maybe it was the way you dressed didn't go along with the aesthetic they had or how feminine your attire might be, but that's who you were and for a couple of comments about your appearance and the stereotype they had they weren't going to sour your day.

"Excuse me, are you looking for someone?"

You turned to see a tall, dark man, who was watching your outfit from last season's Prada fit you to perfection.

"Oh! Finally someone nice." You commented with a smile. "Yes, I'm looking for Agent Aaron Hotchner."

"He's my boss, would you like help finding his office? I can help you."

"That would be great, thank you very much..."

"Agent Morgan, Derek Morgan."

"It's a pleasure, Agent Derek. I'm Y/N, nice to meet you."

You didn't like to introduce yourself officially as an agent, it made you look rather intimidating if you did, and that was what you didn't want.

It wasn't a long walk to the wooden door which was adorned by a plaque with the name of the person you were looking for.

"This is it, you come for a case? Any family members involved?"

"No, I'm coming to help. Thank you very much, by the way."

You gave him one last smile before knocking on the door, hearing a "pass" from inside.

"Who was the girl you were escorting, Derek?" Emily watched the man reach them, peering curiously inside Hotch's office.

"Her name is Y/N, she said she was coming to help, but... I don't know, she doesn't look like someone coming to help, maybe she's a witness."

Spencer's eyes scanned the situation, trying to conclude who the mystery woman inside his boss's office was about, but coming up with nothing on the spot. Like his friends, they were all searching for an answer to the abiding doubt in his head.

Who exactly was that girl and why had she said that? She didn't seem like a person whose job was an office job, but not one that was very risky either.

But before they could say anything, Aaron came out of the office with his ever-serious face.

"Meeting in 5" was the only thing he announced, so the group took heed and went to the place.

Once inside the office, Penelope found herself with her dear friends, who were trying to figure out the causes of the recent meeting.

"You don't know Pen either, do you?" J.J. was the first to speak.

"No idea, Hotch just asked me to be here."

"Just like everyone else." Rossi replied, settling around the round table with his coffee cup.

The conversation didn't last long when Hotch entered the boardroom.

"Good. I know there's no case yet or apparent reason to get them together first thing." Hotch began. "But as you may know, the last couple of months have seen an increase in crime for the BAU, which is exactly why we've been given extra funding to bring an extra agent onto the team."

Sounds of excitement came from everyone's mouths.

"So I've been contacting old colleagues, who recommended the best of the best. So they've transferred an agent from Washington to help us."

"Boy, they must be desperate." Derek's comment drew a few chuckles.

"I'd like to introduce you to the SSA, Y/N Woods."

Everyone's countenance changed to one of surprise when they saw you walk in, smiling in the friendliest way possible.

The same girl who looked like a model fresh off a runway was the newest member of the BAU.

"It's nice to meet you all, I hope we can work well together." You set your Prada bag to the side, being able to scan each of the members quickly.

"Woods, this is SSA Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan, Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi, dr. Spencer Reid and our technical analyst, Penelope Garcia."

"Hey, I know you." You commented in the direction of Garcia, who was smiling politely. "You were the girl who commented on my recipe for the vegetarian tacos."

"Yes! They looked exquisite."

"Thank you very much, I hope they were helpful. We need to be a little more conscientious with our four-legged friends."

Spencer didn't know if he was dazzled by the whiteness of your teeth or the warm way you had entered into trust with Penelope with a simple recipe.

"Woods, Garcia. You'll have time to talk."

"I'm sorry, sir." They both replied at the same time.

"Fine, I'll go prepare the case, Garcia come with me."

They both walked out of the meeting room, leaving you alone with the rest of your new group of colleagues.

"I didn't know you were an agent." Derek was the first to break the silence surrounding them, causing you to turn in his direction.

"I didn't mean to mention it, I'm not a person who usually blurts it out just like that on the first interaction. You never know what kind of person a stranger is." You commented before you could look at him again. "No offense."

"No problem."

"From Washington, right?" Your gaze went to the blonde, who was watching from her position with a warm smile.

"That's right, even though I'm from California but I moved to Massachusetts after getting into Harvard, and then to Washington when I got an opening in the federal office there. So I'm from here, there and over there, but I'll always be a California gurl." A chuckle came out of your mouth after making a reference to the Katy Perry song, bringing your hands to your sides.

"Harvard? What did you study?" Spencer looked more and more interested.

"Law." You commented offhandedly. "I actually studied Fashion Merchandising at UCLA with a 4.0 GPA. But I wanted to prove myself and decided to get into Harvard Law."

"Switching from Fashion Merchandising at UCLA to Harvard Law is a big jump, how much did you get on your entrance exam?" Rossi asked.

"179."

Everyone's surprised face made an impression on you.

"What, like it's hard?" your eyelashes fluttered softly, before you remembered what you were holding as a "peace offering". "By the way, I made cookies yesterday for being the first day and making a good impression." Your hands went to your bag, pulling out a heart-shaped tupperware. "They're lavender and butter, it's a recipe I read on a fairly well known blog forum, they say Paris Hilton gets her recipes from there."

You held out the tupper to each of them to take out a cookie, leaving it on the table in case they liked to take out more.

"If they like more, just pull out. There's enough for everyone." A little smile tugged at your mouth. But before you heard any response from either person, the catchy ringtone of Gwen Stefani's "Rich Girl" interrupted any culinary criticism. "Excuse me..." Your hand went for your phone, which didn't surprise others by being pink, and you left the room letting out a "Woods" as you answered.

"This is new." Derek said.

"And delicious." Emily took another bite of her cookie.

"She's different than what we usually know." Rossi looked at the rest, taking a second cookie out of the tupper. "But I don't mind at all, in fact, I think new always comes in good."

"True, it's always good to have someone new and with a different vibe."

The group turned to look at Reid, who was holding the cookie with his right hand. The young man wasn't usually one to blurt out a comment, just like that, least of all referring to a girl.

"Oh kid, you find her attractive." Derek was the first to smile in amusement.

"What, no." The voice in a higher pitched tone than normal was what gave Spencer away.

"Spencer likes Y/N." J.J annoyed, walking out of the office laughing along with Emily.

"That's not true!"

"See ya, lover boy." Derek commented along with Rossi, who was gently patting his shoulder with a knowing smile.

And so it was that Spencer was left in the meeting room with his cheeks as pink as his new co-worker's heels.

♡ next part ♡

If you like it, don't forget to like and repost it.

a lot of love, alme. ❀

[buckyalpine]

An idea!

Maybe an FWB situation with BestestFriend!BuckyxAvenger!Reader they do it mostly for Bucky after a long, gruesome, taxing mission. Bucky made it clear that no feelings must be involved. He also made it clear that he’s not into her as he is still very much inlove and hung up with his ex. Basically this FWB situation mostly benefits Bucky, even Nat thinks it’s not really a FWB, just Bucky using her. But she doesn’t mind. Bucky is a good fuck. Like damnnn good. And if she can’t have Bucky as a romantic partner, she’ll take what she can get. Besides, Bucky told her that he doesn’t want an avenger or an agent as a partner. Too much danger and chaos for his heart. He wants to love a civilian like his ex, in hopes of living a normal life after retiring.

So, she starts distancing herself when she sees Bucky slowly trying to get back with his ex. Less sex, more excuses. But for some reason? Bucky does not like it. He does not like how you were not there anymore, how you don’t need nor seek him for the “benefit,” he’s also not that happy with whatever he’s doing to win his ex back. She doesn’t necessarily reject him when he asks for sex, just avoids him all in all. Day by day though, she consumes his thoughts and mind. Did he do something wrong? Say something? Forget something? What did he do to deserve this treatment from her? Bottom line, he misses her. What’s weird is, she’s still there as his best friend when he needs either steve or her. Just less of that benefits part

Then it grows progressively worse (for Bucky) from there as he sees her bring one night stands, to consistent and stable dates in their home. He’s still happy tho Bc if the date goes wrong or the one night stand doesn’t satisfy her, she goes to Bucky for a satisfying sex.

However, what pushes Bucky over the edge was one night filled with passion. Both of them feels this sex is different. One thinks he’s doing and feeling this extreme emotion Bc he’s angry while the other thinks she’s just frustrated. But the truth is? It’s passion and connection between them. She feels so good that she can’t help but blurt out “oh god I wish my future boyfriend/husband could fuck and fill me up like you do”

That’s it for Bucky. Those words are enough to make him feral. Just the thought of another man giving her attention, affection, love, adoration, and faithfulness makes him sick to the core. So, He fucks her with all his might, all his feelings. He fucks her with all the possessiveness and the green monster inside him. He fucks her in hopes of filling her full and deep that no other man can reach and own her like he does. (Maybe even breed her so that no man would actually be with her, but him)

Bc how bold of her to think that he would let another man touch her. That he would let her wear someone else’s ring and last name? That he would let her carry another man’s babies? No. Absolutely not.

Obviously this confuses her, but she thinks of it as part of their play. Maybe heat of the moment? Whatever it is, it’s hot and made their sex better so she didn’t question Bucky as of the moment.

Come next morning, she wakes up buried in bucky’s arms tightly and securedly wrapped around her as if she would disappear any moment. She has things to do so she attempts to leave but this just wakes Bucky up. She was abt to say something but Bucky just kisses her passionately yes Bucky now admits what it is. Not letting her go and aiming for another hot steamy possessive sex. Her words from last night ringing in his ears as she tries to leave.

Idk what to do next, I just want them to be happy and together in the end (maybe fast forward to their wedding? To them having twins?) 😭 then maybe the last line was like “well my love, you’re lucky your husband could fuck and fill you just like I did when we were fuck buddies”

18+

This is so perfect, i love this and that ending line is sending me, its so angsty and steamy and fuck it's so cute. Literally had to pull out a google doc to paste the request so I could look at my draft and the points side by side cause of all the details, I’m so sorry if I missed anything 

-

“Strictly sex?”

“Strictly sex” 

Bucky’s lips smashed onto yours as soon as the words left your mouth, the both of you clawing off your tactical gear, throwing it off haphazardly. You didn’t even make it to the bedroom; Bucky had taken you right in the middle of the safe house floor, no prep, sliding into you and fucking you till the sun was up. 

Moments earlier

The mission was long. Stressful. Violent. Bloody. You weren’t even sure if you’d make it but you’d both made it out alive. You’d noticed Bucky on edge the entire time, his jaw clenched, fingers twitching while you tried to patch up a few scratches on yourself. 

“You okay Buck?”

“M’fine” He mumbled, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back, resting on the wall of the jet letting out a strained groan. 

“You don’t seem fine” You gave him a pointed look, clearly not believing him. “What do you normally do to relax” You cocked an eyebrow while Bucky stared at you, his eyes turning a shade darker. 

“Fuck” His eyes bore into you, challenging you to ask more questions, his patience wearing thin. “I fuck” 

“I can help with that” 

*****

“So what’s with you and y/n?” 

“Nothin’“

“You’re saying there's nothing?”

“I- I’m not over Lauren yet” Bucky shrugged, his mind constantly clinging onto his ex. She was the first girl he had dated in years and the first girl he felt anything for in a long time. The break up was mutual; his job took up long hours and the longer he was away, the more they grew apart. The split was made sense but he couldn’t let go of the lingering feeling in the back of his mind about how things would have been if he had just tried harder. Bucky set down the mug he was drinking from, leaving the kitchen while you entered. He gave you a nod, making his way to the gym to punch his feelings away. What if he had just tried harder...

Nat shrugged, not pushing the matter further but she never believed either of you when you both insisted there was nothing more between you. She knew damn well Bucky was using you to fuck his feelings away but it didn’t seem to bother you. You were more than satisfied with some super solder dick because it was good. Damn good. Still, she was a trained assassin and not stupid. Nat could see the way your eyes would linger on him for a second longer and the way you’d lighten up as soon as he stepped into the room. 

“So you and Barnes are just friends, huh?” 

“Obviously” You looked at her with wide eyes, hoping to ignore her question while you made yourself some tea but she continued to stare at your instead. “It’s nothing more than that. We hook up sometimes but it’s just casual”

“And you’re completely okay with things staying just the way they are?”  She cocked an eyebrow, her eyes narrowed accusatorily as if she could see right through you. “You’re fine with always just being a quick fuck?” 

“It’s what we both need, honestly, I’m fine with the way things are” You nodded,  thinking back to a conversation the both of you had both had after a mission. 

“If I ever settle down, it’d have to be with someone outside of all this”

“Outside of what?” 

“This” Bucky waved his hand around, pointing to the arsenal of weapons you were putting away after yet another grueling mission. “All this avenger shit, saving the world. I just want to go home to something peaceful. normal. Leave all this behind and just exist with someone I love. I’d never date someone from the team or someone associated with this, it’s too much” 

You felt a strange tightness in your chest at his words but you shrugged the feeling off, understanding where Bucky was coming from. 

“So who do you think you’ll end up with Barnes” 

Why were you asking him this as if you’d like the answer. 

“Maybe someone like Lauren” He mumbled, “Just someone who isn’t a part of this. Normal”

You felt the tightness creep back up but you shoved it back down. After all he’d been through, he deserved a little bit of normal. 

You took your tea and made your way to your room, sipping while you thought about Nat’s question. Were you okay with the way things were? He was a good friend to you and no doubt the only person who could have you screaming till your lungs were sore. 

Still. 

He was never yours.

He never saw you that way.

You were just a good fuck.

He always loved his ex.

It didn’t help that you’d recently noticed he’d been out more often. He didn’t say anything to you directly but you could tell he was trying to get back with his ex.  Cut his hair. Cleaned up. Quietly going out and not breathing a word about where he was off to. You weren’t 100% sure what he was doing but it was enough for you to decided you had to pull back. 

A few weeks later

Bucky frowned, hearing yet another excuse from you as you made your way to your room, softly closing your door and hearing the muffled noise of your TV switch on, not going to bed like you insisted. It had been weeks since he’d spoken to you properly. He couldn’t even remember the last time you had the benefits part of your “friendship” You were usually always slinking around him like a cat, your touch, your voice, your scent, some form of you always surrounding him. 

Recently?

Nothing. 

He didn’t like it.

Not one damn bit. 

 He hated that you didn’t wrap your arms around him randomly, whispering in his ear about how badly you needed him. Or the way you’d bite your lip looking over to him in the middle of the field, a silent promise of sucking his soul out as soon as the mission was over. Or how your back would arch off the bed, your thighs suffocating him, tugging the hair from his roots when he nursed from your clit as if your arousal quenched his thirst. Or the way he’d let his cum seep down your thighs, fucking it back into you with his fingers, getting you to lick them clean afterwards-

Bucky groaned to himself, shifting uncomfortably at the hard on he’d given himself thinking about you. It’s not even like he could go to you to get you to take care of it. The few time’s he’d tried to initiate something, you were tired. Had cramps. Not feeling well. Injured. Always something, leaving him high and dry, avoiding him all together. He decided to make his way down to the gym, punching his feelings away yet again, though this time they were over you. 

A few more days had done by and Bucky was worse than before. Sure he was talking to his ex again, but he was more concerned over the growing distance between you both. You’d both agreed the benefits would stay just the same unless either of you got into a committed relationship and while he had reconnected with Lauren, they weren’t official....

Why did you avoid him so much?

Was it because of Lauren?

Why did he even try to reconnect with her...

How come you didn’t let him get close to you anymore?

He started to wrack and pick at his brain wondering where it all went down hill. Did he say something to you? He didn’t forget your birthday, he’d gotten you everything you’d ever mentioned, even the littlest things you figured he hadn’t paid attention to. So what did he do to deserve this? He’s pent up like never before and it’s not just sexually. It dawns on him that he needs more than just sex, he also needs your friendship, your softness, your laugh. 

He missed you. 

All of you. 

Of course you were there for him when he needed you, patching him up after missions, keeping his favorite snacks always stocked up, listening to him vent about Sam. It wasn’t the same though. As soon as you did your job taking care of him, you were out of his hair and off to do something else that had nothing to do with him. 

*****

Bucky thought it was bad before but now he was seeing red. He was silently seething, seeing yet another handsome stranger drop you off, kissing you and giving your ass a playful squeeze before letting you make your way inside. The worst was when your stupid dates would actually make it inside the compound and all the way up to your room, Bucky had never been more thankful for sound proof walls. He watched you carefully, your smile dropping as soon as your date drove off, kicking your heels off and making your way to the kitchen to pour yourself a drink. 

Though Bucky despised seeing you after dates (unable to understand why he felt so strongly about them in the first place) there was one benefit to your rendezvous. One he wouldn’t openly admit to enjoying. A twisted part of him was happy when you didn’t enjoy yourself because while you would keep your distance from him on a regular basis, there were a few select times you’d relent and give into your needs. Like right now. 

“Bad date?” He cocked his head while you downed the dark liquid in one go, slinking over to his side, the warmth of your skin radiating off you. You nodded, letting your arms drape around his shoulders, standing between his legs. 

“Wanna help me forget?” 

It happened often and left Bucky more tormented than before. He hated that you only came to him when you needed to forget your shitty date but what could he say when you were supposed to be just friends with benefits anyway. You have a hold on him he can’t even explain. A hold no one else had ever had on him before. Not even his ex. 

His ex.

Bucky isn’t even sure why he had tried to reconnect with her. He realized there was nothing between the day he met her again after months. He remembered the relationship differently; rose coloured glasses making him forget that there wasn’t ever a strong connection between them. Now he was struggling to figure out why all of his thoughts were consumed with you. If that was the only way he’d get to have you then he’d take what he could get. 

*****

Bucky smiled to himself when he heard the a soft knock at his door, opening it to find your semi disheveled state, your hair a mess, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt. 

“Need something doll?” Bucky smirked while you rolled your eyes, pushing past him, walking right into his room. You were there for one thing and one thing only. He knew it and you knew it.

“You know what I need Barnes” You huffed, unsatisfied from your date who rubbed you like a scratch lottery ticket, asking if you had finished 30 seconds after. “He couldn’t find my clit” You shook your head, tossing your tshirt off, leaving you bare moving laying on his bed “Not that most guys can”

Bucky felt all of his blood rush down south, it didn’t matter how many times he’d seen you naked, how many times he’d had you spread out for him, he’d forever be taken with how perfect you looked wearing absolutely nothing. He palmed his boner as he made his way over to you, stripping all his clothes off before giving his cock a few tugs. 

“Pretty sure I can” Bucky murmured, crawling onto the bed and spreading your legs in front of his face. “And if I remember correctly...” He nipped your inner thigh making, smiling to himself at the soft gasp that slipped form your lips, pressing a sloppy wet kiss right onto your clit “It’s right there, isn’t it baby”

You let out a whimper, nodding while he hummed, a cocky smirk curling on his lips. He pressing his hard cock against the mattress for some relief, the feel of your soft silkiness making him leak. “I know exactly where my pretty doll’s clit is, don’t worry your pretty head baby” 

“He didn’t know how to touch you, huh” Bucky cocked an eyebrow when you silent shook your head, his thumb coming to rub soft circles around your clit, “You like it slow and gentle at first, hm? Barely touching you, teasing you a little before getting faster?” Bucky watched you carefully, your chest rising up and down faster as he started to apply more pressure, his blue eyes locked with yours. “Then you like it faster, just like this” He removed his thumb, twitching to his two fingers', coating them in your arousal before using his fingers tips to rub you making you moan louder, “That’s right, sing for me baby, sing for me while I play with your pretty little clit” 

“I remember you loved when I did this...” He gently sealed his lips around your sensitive nub, suckling with the lightest pressure, his hands holding your thighs apart, loving the way you moaned just for him. He pulled off so he could use his tongue, lapping and twirling around your clit, groaning at the sweetness that coated his tongue. 

“Need-need more” You moaned, getting louder as he pushed two fingers into you, curling them and speeding up his pace, grinding against the bed, his balls growing heavy. “Need your cock Bucky! Please fuck me” You grabbed at his shoulders, too desperate for just his fingers, needing to feel all of him. 

“Okay, okay baby, m’here” Bucky cooed, as he came up, kissing your neck, jealousy creeping through his veins smelling the remnants of your dates cologne still lingering on your skin. 

Another man. Who touched you. Felt your body. 

Unacceptable. 

“Need you” You moaned again, feeling his cock nudge against your soaked entrance, your thighs wrapping around his waist. Your eyes were practically pleading with him, rolling back when you felt him start to press into you, moaning into your neck. 

“You have me” Bucky groaned as he shoved his cock into you, not giving you a second to adjust, his arms wrapped tightly around you, and pounding you right into the mattress. You cried out from pleasure, the air nearly knocked out of your lungs from his cock hitting your sweet spot, his cock starting to drip inside you. You could feel him all over, his body weight heavy on top of yours, the scent of his body wash, the scent of him, the heat off his body, the way he tasted when he smashed his lips against yours. 

You’d hooked up plenty of times before but none of them were like this. 

Bucky’s face was tucked into the crook of your neck, sucking dark bruises, gently licking and kissing them right after. His arms were holding you tight against him, rolling his hips so that he’d still be pressed against every inch of your body the entire time. It felt like he was trying to fuck the deepest depths of your soul, unrelenting, the bed post steadily thudding against the bedroom wall.  

 Bucky felt it too. Something more. He didn’t know what, maybe you were frustrated, pent up from being unsatisfied but he’d never had you like this before. Your legs squeezed his sides, your nails scratching down his back, trying to pull him impossibly closer. You were begging him for more, nearly crying, tears clouding your vision as he braced himself up slightly on his knees, fucking you even deeper. He savored your sweetness on his tongue, the smell of your shampoo, how silky and soft your body was. His cock was throbbing, threatening to blow sooner than he’d like, your pussy sucking him back in every time he fucked you. 

Your hands went to card through his hair, your nails grazing through his scalp, drawing the sluttiest moan from Bucky, his eyes rolling back, fucking you even harder. You could feel your arousal squirt out of you at how desperate and delicious he sounded, squirming under him, feeling the wiry hair at the base of his cock rub against your clit. 

No one else had ever satisfied you the way he did, touching you in a way that made your body light on fire. He felt so good, fucked so good, tasted so good, made you feel things everywhere. Your heart was screaming, wanting to making the night last forever, but forever wasn’t something either of you agreed on. He wasn’t yours. If only. If only you could always have this. You needed this. Exactly this. You tried to bite your tongue, your voice needy and broken, unable to stop the words from tumbling out as your mind swirled. 

“Fuck Bucky I wish my future husband would fuck me this good, oh god-

You cried out as he growled, grabbing you and bringing your knees up, angling his hips till his thrusts made your belly bulge. He felt feral hearing your words, knowing you needed more of what he was giving you, what only he could give you. No one else would ever make you feel this good.

“Yeah? That what you want? Another man to fuck like me?” Bucky felt another surge of jealously course through his veins at the thought of another man having you the way he did. Another man touching you. Making love to you. Fucking you. Filling your tight cunt with their cum, breeding you till your belly was round and swollen. He snarled against your neck thinking about you carrying someone elses name. Someone else making you feel good, making you moan, putting their cock in you, it was supposed to be just him. Only him. 

Huh.

Why was he so possessive.

He tried to shake off the thought but the image seared into his brain. 

He couldn’t stand the image of you in your wedding dress, saying I do to a man that was someone else, your soft lips kissing theirs, sealing the both of you together forever, taking you away from him. 

Fuck that. 

Bucky fucked you like his life depended on it, the green monster of envy and jealous possessing his very soul, pouring all his feelings into the way he fucked you. He marked your neck, your shoulders, your breasts'. 

“Need-need this Bucky” You cried out, feeling pressure and tightness growing through your body, your orgasm desperate to spill over. He grunted, his balls growing heavy, his own climax at the tip of his cock. 

How could you think of letting someone else have you this way. 

To have you so vulnerable, hearing how beautiful you sounded when you were lost in pleasure. 

How could you think of wearing another mans right? Taking his last name?

How the fuck could you think of carrying another mans child, giving birth to his babies, having a family with someone that wasn’t him. 

How could you. 

Bucky’s mind felt muddled, he felt sick at the thought of you belonging to someone else, not when you had him. Not when he could give you what you wanted. He couldn’t push away the thought of how you’d look if you were carrying his babies. The way your tummy would be so round. How tired you’d look, a little super soldier baby growing inside you. 

The way you’d be pouty, your breasts leaking, your swollen belly perfect evidence that you belonged to him. No one would look at you twice, knowing who your baby daddy is. Who would dare look at the pretty thing the winter solider knocked up, thinking twice before they even looked your way. 

Fuck, you’d look so perfect, pregnant with his baby. He’d take such good care of you, massaging your sore feet, rubbing your belly, doting on you every second of the day. He’d spend hours worshipping your pussy with his mouth, knowing you wouldn’t even be able to see him over the swell of your tummy but your satisfied moans would be more than enough for him. He’d carry you everywhere, treat you like a queen, make love to you, drink your sweet milk when you felt heavy and sore, you be all of his-

“F-FUCK I’M CUMMING” Bucky bit hard onto your shoulder, moaning loudly as he started to cum, thoughts of your leaking nipples and firm belly making his whole body jolt, his cock sensitive, spurts of his seed endlessly pouring into you. “Y/n, look at me” He panted, still rutting his cock into you while your eyes rolled back into a silent scream, cumming around his throbbing length. 

“Look at me” He grasped your cheeks, making you look at him, sweat beading at his forehead, his skin flushed “I’m gonna get you pregnant” You gasped, moaning against his mouth as he continued to sloppily grind into you, his cock still some how hard. “You’re all mine, understand?”

You nodded, but it wasn’t enough, his grip on your cheeks tightened, desperate to hear your voice. 

“Say it” He pleaded with you, panting and grunting, overstimulated but too deep in wanting to fill you again to care. 

“I-I’m yours James!” You could feel pleasure creep up you again, working yourself up to a second high just off his words alone. 

“Keep saying it, keeping saying it, m’gonna cum again, don’t fuckin stop, keep telling me” He almost sounded like he was going to cry, his balls throbbing, still full and heavy.

“I’m yours, I’m yours, get-get me pregnant daddy” 

“FUCK YES”  That did it, his second orgasm spilling into you, his cock finally starting to soften. You panted, your mind reeling over the what had just happened, too fucked out to formulate words. He had taken you apart, cumming in you twice, his seed still deep inside you as he stayed inside you, slowly drifting off to sleep. As much as you wanted to ask him about what had just happened, you figured it was just the heat of the moment. You melted into his hold, letting sleep take over instead, what just happened wasn’t a big deal anyway....

*****

You blinked awake, heat engulfing you, Bucky’s arms wrapped around your body keeping you tightly and securely right against him. You squirmed, only to feel him hug you closer, whining, as if you’d disappear if he let go. You tried to gently wiggle free, not wanting to deal with the fact that you’d stayed the night, but your attempts to leave only woke him up. You blinked at his soft blue eyes gazing down at you, his strong arms still clinging onto you like no tomorrow. 

“Bu-

You were cut off by his lip smashing onto yours in a breathe stealing kiss, your eyes growing wide before melting and kissing him back. You both reluctantly broke away for oxygen, your face heating up as he tucked your hair behind your ear, still holding you close. 

“Stay”

“But-”

He rolled over, pinning you down onto the bed, his hard cock pressing against your thigh. “Stay, please” All Bucky could think about was your words from last night, the thought of anyone else other than him having you making him sick. He needed it again. Needed more. Wanting the same passion from the night before, his heart yearning and aching for it. “Y/, doll please” 

You shook your head, a sudden surge of anger fueling you when you remembered he wasn’t even yours and his heart was elsewhere. 

“James, let me go- 

“No” He stayed in place, bringing his hands to lace with yours, pinning you further, “Doll, I know I have no right but-but I need you”

“You had me last night, that’s all you need anyway” You scoffed, while he shook his head, regret clouding his eyes.

“No baby, it’s not enough. It was never enough. It’s always been you” 

“James, you were just trying to get back with your ex-

“It was a mistake. I learnt that the same day I met her. There wasn’t anything between us, truthfully there never was. I guess I remembered things differently from how they actually were. A stupid memory that never even existed. She never made me feel the same way you did. Not even close” 

You stayed silent, while Bucky continued to nervously ramble, his feelings coming out scrambled, fear making it difficult for him to focus. He couldn’t lose you. He adored you. Needed you. Couldn't stand the thought of someone else other than him being by your side. 

“It’s all you baby, always all you” He whispered, giving you his best puppy eyes, his heart hammering against his chest. You spread your legs slightly, letting his cock rest against your core, your nose bumping against his. 

“Show me you mean it” You whispered against his lips, gasping as he filled you, moving slowly so you could feel every bit of him. Him. The only person you truly every wanted. The person you imagined your future with. The person you wanted it all with. 

“M’gonna show you for the rest of my life doll” 

A few years later

You yawned, handing off your little one to Bucky, giving him a quick kiss before he was carried off to bed. Bucky rocked his son in his arms for a moment before setting him down in his bed, kissing him goodnight before switching the night light on. He made his way back to the bedroom, his heart swelling when his eyes settle on you, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

“How are my babies” Bucky smiled, laying in front of you and pulling your shirt up over your swollen belly, his two little angels fluttering inside. 

“Kicking and causing a ruckus, just like you a Steve” You huffed, giggling when he laid his head on your tummy, kissing the area where he felt the little ones moving. 

“Let mama sleep” He soothed, rubbing your skin,  smiling when he felt the babies settle down. “Be good for mommy, she’s sleepy, carrying you both around all day, keeping you warm and cozy” 

Bucky continued to coo and whisper to your belly, lulling you in and out of sleep, listening to his soothing voice. He had done the same thing when you first son Steve Grant Barnes Jr. was born, doting on you every second of the day. You had sworn you needed time to recuperate, exhausted from carrying his enhanced little one though both of you struggled to keep your hands to yourselves. 

“You just had to get me pregnant with twins, didn’t you” You playfully narrowed your eyes at him, gently stroking his hair while he continued to cuddle with your tummy. Bucky grinned, taking your hand and kissing your palm, the ring on your finger glinting softly under the glow of the table lamp. 

“Not my fault, you were the one who had your hands down my pants when we got back from that mission. I didn’t hear you complain when I made you cum three times in a row” He wiggled his eyebrows while your face heated up, biting your lip, remembering the way he had taken you apart in the jet, the safe house and then your home, the both of you insatiable as always, “Aren’t you lucky your husband fucks you like I did, Mrs. Barnes” 

Tags: @glxwingrxse  @hungryyeyess  @sebsgirl71479  @beabutterfly987  @teambarnes72  @witchywhore @jamesbuckybarneswify @slutforsexyseabass  @chrisdrysdale @littlemarvelmenfan  @buggy14  @whimsyplaty92  @sergntbarnes @inkedaztec   @pono-pura-vida   @moonlightreader649 @brooklynscherry-z  @elle14-blog1 @justsebstan @littlelightnings @psychomanniac-blog  @happyt0exist   @emmabarnes  @bethyruth @matchat3a  @cjand10   @getwellsoontana  @cherryschaos   @lokisasgardianvampirequeen  @ashenc-blog  @buckybarnessimpp   @potatothots  @goldylions  @high-functioning-lokipath @morganemorganite-blog  @kingfleury   @peaches1958   @spiderman-stilinski   @peaceinourtime82  @gublur   @wintersmelodie @geeky-politics-46   @lolawassad  @almosttoopizza   @a-poor-gryffindork @alternativeprincess   @buckycallsmeaslut    @kamaria-sweet-writes  @charmedbysarge    @xnorthstar3x  @kryoee7 @alina02  @gh0stgurl    @polishprincess999 @jessybarnes @alltheficsiwant @chemtrails-club  @eralen   @perdidosbucky-yyo  @clqrosmgc    

[vitalverstappen]

How Do I Do This? - D. Ricciardo

summary: after a public divorce with your ex-husband (not danny), you found yourself learning to try again

pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x famous!reader

warnings: mentions of divorce, drinking, swearing

word count: 1.1k

masterlist

The divorce was messy. There were disputes over literally everything: who got what, how much money both of you got, who kept the dog. And it didn’t help that the media got a whiff of what was happening. Your failing marriage was plastered on every single outlet. 

It was for the best that you hid away from the public for a while. The pieces of you had shattered on the floor, and you needed the time to put yourself back together. 

A few months later, you slowly began putting yourself back in the public eye. Small trips to the coffee shop, out to lunch with some friends, or a smaller awards show. 

During this outing, you found yourself out to lunch with your childhood best friend, Kelly. She had been there through the thick and thin of your marriage, and the resulting divorce. There was nothing about your life that she didn’t know. 

She knew so well that she could tell you were healed, and truth be told, you were. So it was no surprise when a mischievous grin formed on her face. 

“What’s that look for?” You asked, already knowing what the answer was going to be

“Soooo” Kelly started “There’s this guy I know. A good friend of mine.”

“Wow, you have friends other than me. I’m hurt” You joked as you took a sip of your drink. It was obvious what she was hinting at. 

“Yeah, believe it or not” She laughed “But I think they’re your type y/n. His name is Daniel.” 

Kelly flipped her phone around to show you a picture of the man. Dark curly hair, brown eyes, and a charming smile. As much as you hated to admit it, he was your type. 

Leaning back in your chair, you crossed your arms. It had been years since you dated. And honestly, it terrified you having to have a conversation about someone’s favorite color again. It terrified you to have articles written about you again. 

“I don’t know if I’m ready.” You admitted “I can’t even remember what it’s like going on a first date. My last one was back when I was 22.” 

“Oh come on, y/n. It doesn’t have to be anything serious. Just one date to test the waters. Get yourself back out there.” Kelly explained, “It can be in secret so the tabloids don’t write anything.” 

She was right. The date didn’t have to go anywhere. You could meet the guy, say you weren’t feeling it, and leave it at that. No attachments, no tabloids. 

“Fine,” You sighed, defeated. “Send the guy my number. I am not making the first move.”

You had honestly forgotten about the conversation with your friend. Days had passed and you hadn’t gotten a text from a new number. He probably didn’t want to text you. Or your agent had seen the text and thought it was spam. 

That is until one fateful night, your phone buzzed. 

Unknown: Hey y/n it’s Daniel. Kelly gave me your number

Amused, you picked up your phone. It took him long enough to get the confidence to text you.

You: Hey Daniel. I was starting to think Kelly forgot to lol

Only a few moments passed before your phone buzzed again. Another text from Daniel. 

Daniel: Lol that’s pretty much what happened. How’s your night going?

The two of you engaged in a bit of small talk over text. It was only a matter of time before he pulled the trigger on asking you out. 

Daniel: So I was wondering, are you free Saturday? I know a spot we could go - away from everything. 

Your fingers danced around your keyboard until you finally found a reply. 

You: Yeah I am! 

After rereading the text, you quickly deleted your response. It was just a little too desperate. 

You: Yup, I think so 

Again, you found yourself deleting the message. This time, too nonchalant. At least twenty different replies had to have been typed out before you finally gave up and responded with something simple and straight to the point. 

You: Yes

Immediately, you put your phone down, needing to connect back to your world. It was hard to fathom that you were back in the dating scene. Never did you think you would be back starting at square one. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by your phone buzzing once again. 

Daniel: Great! I’ll pick you up at 7

And that’s how you found yourself panicking in your room Saturday evening. An excitement rushed through you that you hadn’t felt in years. It was like your teenage self was coming back to life. You and Daniel had texted off and on leading up, but today was the big day. 

Hours were spent digging through your extensive closet. Nothing that you had picked out seemed to be just right. Eventually, you landed on a little black dress that you hadn’t worn in years. 

Panic flooded your thoughts the entire time you got ready. What if you said something stupid? What if he brought up your divorce? What if it actually goes well?

Your thoughts were cut short when you read the clock: 6:52pm. Eight minutes left. 

You did the only thing you knew would calm your senses. Phone in hand, you called Kelly. One ring was all it took before her face showed up on your screen.

“Hey girl! You look hot!” She said as she picked up. 

“I feel like I’m gonna throw up” You admitted “I don’t know if I can do this” 

“Y/n, yes you can. It’s just a few hours of your life. Daniel’s a sweet guy-”

“Would it be wrong if I took a shot?” You blurted out, eyes on the bottle of vodka that stood on your kitchen counter. 

Through the phone, Kelly stifled a laugh. “I don’t think you need to, Danny’s an easy guy to talk to. But if you think it’ll help, be my guest.” 

Without a second thought, you twisted the cap off of the bottle and took a swig. The liquor burned your throat as you drank, but it was the reality check you needed. You were human, he was human. You’re going to be fine. 

“Better?” Kelly asked as you gagged 

Once you collected yourself, you said, “Better. I gotta go Kels. He should be picking me up any second.” As if on cue, you heard your doorbell ring. “Coming!” 

After one last quick look in the mirror, you found yourself at your door. Daniel was on the other side. This was it. One last inhale, then you opened the door. 

“Hey” Was all you were able to get out. Kelly had shown you photos of Daniel, but none of those could compare to how he looked standing in front of you. 

“Hi” He replied in the same breathy tone you had used only moments prior. A smile spread across his face. “You look amazing”

“So do you” 

Daniel reached out his hand, “M’lady, shall we?” 

Your lips parted into a smile as well as you laced your fingers into his, “We shall”

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 14: You're All I'm Dreaming Of

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Soldier Boy POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter fourteen of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 5.8K

Warnings: References to sex, Mentions of sex (not really explicit), Self-detrimental thoughts, Cursing, Drinking/Snorting Drugs, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC, Soldier Boy is really all you need as a warning.

Note: This is told from Soldier Boy's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Previously:

"Y/f/n Y/l/n?" The dark haired man asks, an accent tilting the ends of his words.

"Who's asking?"

He pulls out a badge, holding it up to the peep hole. "I'm Agent Butcher, this is Agent Campbell. We’re from the CIA, here to ask you a couple of questions about Soldier Boy."

You open the door to look at them. "The rapper?"

"What?" Agent Butcher looks confused.

"The rapper? Soulja Boy-" You arch a brow feigning confusion. "Because honestly I don't understand why the CIA would be asking me about that."

“No.” Agent Butcher holds up a photo.

You keep your face impassive. It’s a photo of Ben and you at a movie premiere the week before he left to go to Nicaragua.

“You’re here to talk to me about my mom?” You flit your eyes back to the two men standing in the doorway, easily slipping into the lie that you and Legend invented.

“Your mom?” Agent Campbell looks confused.

“Yeah. Indigo. Who did you think I meant?" You ask.

Present Day

*Soldier Boy POV*

The longer Ben sat in the motel room the more he thought of you. It wasn’t unusual. Ben was always thinking of you, even before he fucked everything up and before you two became supes, Ben rarely thought about anyone else. He hated that he did that, hated that you were always on his mind because he believed that he shouldn’t care about you as much as he did. Because why would you want someone like him? He was a fuck up before and after the serum and you deserved better. You always had deserved better.

When his cage had finally opened your name had been on his lips. He was ready to see you again, tell you how sorry he was, and how much he loved you. He hoped that it was you finally coming to take him away, but it wasn’t.

Y/n said she never wanted to see you again. Of course it wasn’t her.

He sighs and takes a bite of cheeseburger. His first one in 40 years, that the British fuck had gotten him, but it tastes like sandpaper, because he can't focus on anything but you.

"Well we know a few of your old team members are already dead." Butcher breezes pacing in the dingy motel room. "Countess, Gunpowder, Indigo-"

Ben reaches for his knife to grind up the oxy on the table in front of him, hoping that the pills will bring more relief than the whiskey.

It had been three days since he got out of Russia. Two since he visited Legend, when Legend told him that you were dead and Ben threw Legend's red armchair through the window of his apartment.

When Legend said it, Ben couldn't breathe, couldn't grasp that you were really gone. He didn't want to believe it.

You were all he thought the past 40 years, you were the only reason why he wanted to get the fuck out of Russia. He hated himself for what he had done, felt that he deserved the torture, but it was nothing compared to how he had tortured himself over the years.

The last thing he said to you often replayed in his mind and the way you looked when he said it burned against his eyes at night. He hadn't meant to hurt you, he didn't want to hurt you, never did. You were his oldest friend, the only person he knew that could be honest with him, call him out on all his shit, the only person who knew the real him, and the only person he could trust to be the voice of reason when he lost his temper.

And he threw you away like you meant nothing to him, when you were the only person who meant everything, the one person that he actually gave a fuck about.

Ben thought about your last night together often, remembered the dinner in the little restaurant when you wore a dress the color of his suit and looked more beautiful than he'd ever seen you as you danced to the song that always made him think of you. Remembered how he felt when he finally took you to bed, how each time you cried out his name it made him feel proud that it was him making you feel that way, that you wanted him as much as he had wanted you for so long.

Of course, then the memory of the next morning broke in his mind. When he woke up before you and held you closer than he'd held anyone else, slowly stroking your back and watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you slept and allowing himself to feel at peace. He couldn’t stop smiling in that moment because you genuinely wanted him to hold you close to him. When he woke up with you in his arms when you were children he feared that you wouldn’t want him to hold you, so he always pulled away, afraid of the rejection. He felt rejection from his father, but Ben knew that if you ever rejected him he wouldn't recover.

And then I rejected her, like a dumb fuck.

Ben was not a cuddler, he didn't think it was manly, but being there with you the morning after was different, and he believed he could have laid there for eternity listening to the soft beat of your heart where you rested against his chest and watch the gentle rise and fall of your body as you breathed. He had trailed his fingers along your spine as you laid on his chest, happy for the first time in his life.

When you told him that you loved him, he had been stunned. He remembered the soft blush of your cheeks and wide smile as you said it. He had wanted to say it back, to hear you say it once more, and to make love to you again while he said it- because he knew that’s what you had done together. He had fucked a lot of women, but that night with you was different, he cared how you felt, wanted it to be good for you, wanted to be everything you needed.

But the thought of you loving him scared him.

As much as it made him a pussy, Ben understood that it scared him.

You shouldn't love him because he didn't think that he could be what you wanted, that after all these years he couldn't be enough for you, and he believed that he shouldn't care for anyone as much as he did for you, because that meant weakness. That meant that every time you were on a mission together he would have to worry about you more than anything else. And Soldier Boy couldn't be weak.

So he pushed you away and ran to Countess. Ben's jaw tightens.

The psychotic bitch that sold me out. 

It had surprised him, how recently she had died. Butcher hadn't taken responsibility for it as he had for Gunpowder, which made Ben curious as to who had done it.

"Are you sure that Indigo is dead?" Ben asks taking another bite of the hamburger, but it still tastes like nothing.

He wondered if that was because you were gone and then wondered if he'd ever be able to taste anything ever again.

"What?" Hughie looks up from his bag of food. "Why would you think that?"

"Countess. Y/n hated her." Ben takes a swig from the bottle of whiskey on the table to try and dissipate some of the sadness he felt when he thought of you being gone. "Who told you that y/n was dead?"

"Her daughter." Hughie answers.

Ben freezes, his muscles tightening as a sickening feeling rises in the pit of his stomach. "She-she had a kid?" The thought made jealousy burn in his chest. Someone else had loved you, someone else had been man enough to say the thing that kept him up at night.

Of course she had a kid. She said she wanted a family. I was just too fucking stupid and couldn't admit that I wanted to give her that, to give her anything she wanted because I fucking love her. Did I really think she was going to wait for me? After everything I did to her? After everything I said? 

"Yeah-" Butcher shrugs. "Spitting image of her."

"She looks like her?" The thought of seeing you smile again makes something stir in his chest.

But it wouldn't be y/n. Ben reasons to himself. Because she’s gone.

His hand tightens on the bottle of whiskey and he’s surprised it doesn’t shatter in his hand as a wave of sadness comes over him. The memory of you and him at Fairmount Park, when you painted him briefly flashes across his mind and he allows himself to bask in your smile for a few fleeting moments before it’s gone. It makes him feel like he’d taken a knife to the chest at the thought that he’d never see it again and never hear you laugh.

"Yeah. Calls herself the same thing." Butcher continues.

"I want to meet her." Ben states taking one last drag of whiskey from the bottle.

"What?" Hughie chokes on his food.

Ben stands up. "I want to meet her. Where is she?"

"Oi, I don't think that's a good idea. She didn't really seem too keen on seeing you-"

"What do you mean?" Ben spits back, eyes narrowing.

Hughie shifts in his seat uncomfortably and Ben can hear Hughie's heartbeat quicken in fear.

"Don't be a pussy and just tell me." Ben snaps, becoming angry.

"She didn't want to talk too much about her mom. But she did mention how upset her mom was with you." Hughie states.

Ben felt the memories of the past creep up on him again.

Of course she was upset.

He remembered how broken you had looked the night you caught him and Countess. The look on your face forever sealed in his memory. He’d never seen you look so small. Honestly he was surprised that you hadn’t killed Countess that night. If he had walked in on anybody fucking you after the night you shared together, he knew that he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from killing them.

Because you were his.

He thinks about Howard briefly. Ben had almost killed him before you were supes when he called you his at the dance. It was also difficult to walk away when Howard hurt you.

Ben’s thoughts drift back to Countess. Her body had been burned beyond recognition, but her head was no longer attached. It would have taken an extreme amount of force for someone to do that.

Could she still be alive?

Ben thought about your ability. He was the only one who knew what it really was, that you didn't just come back from the dead, that your body was able to take the power of any supe that killed you. It made you incredibly indestructible, more invulnerable than him, even though he didn't want to admit that. He liked the thought that he was stronger than you because it meant that you needed him to protect you. He liked the thought that you needed him.

The day you both figured it out momentarily dances across his mind, making him tighten his jaw.

He remembered the sound of the gun and how you immediately pushed him out of the way to take the bullet for him, because you didn't know he was bulletproof and your gut reaction was to protect him.

Ben remembered how he held you when you took your last breath, watched the fear and pain in your eyes, mirrored in his own body at the thought of losing you, of trying to exist in a world where you weren't there. It was how he felt now.

Purposeless.

He remembered the broken feeling that rose in his chest when he heard your heart beat for the last time and how he begged internally for you to come back to him, because he didn't want to live if it meant losing you. He remembered gently brushing your hair back from your face as relief swelled in his chest when you came back and he clung to you like you had been gone a millennia. Of course after he had yelled at you for being so stupid, for putting yourself in that situation, tried to act like he didn't care as much as he did, but you'd only yelled back and refused to listen to him.

She was just so damn stubborn all the time.

"I don't care. I want to talk to her." Ben grabs the black leather coat that Butcher brought him and changes into a dark t-shirt and a pair of jeans. "Take me to her."

Butcher rolls his eyes. "Well, she did call the other day and say that she had some information for me." Butcher shrugs. "Let's go."

"But-" Hughie interjects.

"Oi Hughie. Calm down."

"She lost her mother. I don't think she wants any reminders of that."

"I promise I'll be gentle, cupcake." Ben rolls his eyes and pushes past Hughie to the door, the thought of seeing you again or just someone who shared your face enough to make him feel something for the first time in forty years.

"Oi, Y/n you in there." Butcher presses the call button on the outside wall of the brick apartment building.

Ben looks up and down the street, noting the people who are walking down the cracked sidewalks. It was weird to be back in New York, to be in a city that he lived in for so long and feel out of place. Hughie had tried to explain some things to him about the new century, but Ben was still confused, and honestly he didn’t care. The only thing he could focus on was you and the possibility of you living here.

Not you. He corrected. But maybe. He still didn't quite believe that you were dead, that you could die.

A minute passes and Ben is tired of waiting. He confidently walks up to the glass front door, and pulls with  enough of his superstrength to break the lock and open it.

"What are you doing?" Hughie whispers following behind him, but Ben ignores the question strutting straight to the stairwell.

"What floor?"

"8th." Butcher says.

When they finally reach your door Ben pauses. He's not sure if he can look you in the eye, not after all of these years, if it really is you. And if it wasn't then what? What would I say to her daughter?

The thought makes the fear that he refuses to acknowledge grip his chest, the fear that you were dead followed by the feeling of purposelessness that seemed to follow him since he heard the news.

If it is her daughter, maybe she’ll tell me if y/n suffered, if she died thinking that I hated her.

The memory of the fight stirs in his chest as Butcher knocks on the door and waits. But nobody answers.

"Must not be home." Hughie shrugs. "We could call her-" He begins to say, but Butcher deftly picks the lock and the door swings open into the darkness.

As soon as Butcher opens the front door of the apartment and Ben steps through, all he smells is you. It's enough to confirm in his heart that it is you and not your daughter. He felt something in his chest stutter to a halt as he inhales the familiar scent of lavender and lemons. It was everywhere, all around him, flooding his senses. 

And for the first time in forty years he felt comfort, at peace. For a moment all thoughts of revenge, rage, and justice fades from his mind and he is left with the memory of you.

Ben immediately is transported back to those quiet moments when he settled into bed next to you after climbing through your window. When you would fall asleep before him and curl against him subconsciously, your hair tickling his cheeks and sending the soft smell over him. The nights when he’d wrap his arm around you as soon as you fell asleep because he was afraid to do it when you were awake, afraid that you would reject him like so many others did. Those nights with you outweighed any other time in his life. He remembered that each time he crawled through your window you smiled up at him, were happy to see him, so different than the home he left behind, where his father wouldn't look at him.

He remembered the nights after you took Compound V, when even after a hard day when he was a dick, you still allowed him into your bed, allowed him to sleep next to you. Those quiet moments in the late hours of the morning when you cuddled into his side and muttered words in your sleep that he couldn’t understand all the while he brushed your hair back from your face stayed with him. As much as he refused to admit to anyone, refused to show any emotion, being there with you, felt more like home than anywhere else.

That's why he asked you to come with him in the first place. He couldn't leave you behind. Maybe that was selfish of him, but he would not pretend to be unselfish, not when it came to you.

He thinks about all the suitors that he scared away before him and you left Philadelphia, all his friends who expressed interest in you only to have him drive them away, and of course the one that wouldn't leave. The one that bought you jewelry and finally asked you to marry him, another reason why Ben convinced you to come with him.

The jealousy was familiar. Ben didn't want to leave you behind, the thought that some other man would possess you or love you made his chest hurt. You were his. No one felt the way about you that he did, never would. No one would know you, care about you or understand you like he did, and no one knew you as long as he did. And although Ben had trouble expressing it, he knew that he loved you, he hated himself for being unable to say it. He couldn’t decide if admitting that he loved you made him a pussy or it was his fear of telling you that made him one.

Ben looks around the apartment, noticing the artwork on the walls, the messy studio table, and smiles. He remembered the way you always had a sketchbook with you, he used to tease you about it,  but you would only roll your eyes at him and continue to draw. He loved watching you sketch, watching how focused you were as you created something so effortlessly. He remembered watching you paint with the watercolors he got you, feeling a swell of pride that he was the one who started that love. Ben had been afraid to give them to you, afraid that it was too thoughtful, but then he remembered how widely you smiled, how happy you had been.

The apartment felt like you.

And by now again he knows that it is you and perhaps that's worse, because now he has to face you and he doesn't know how to fix this, any of it.

You weren’t like him or anyone else. You didn’t bend under easy promises and gifts like the other women he had been with over the years. Your ability to read him and understand him meant that you were special. And you were. You were special to him.

He moves forward towards the darkened hallway.

"Hey wait-" He hears Hughie say behind him, but Ben ignores him.

Ben finds your bedroom easily and the smell grows when he opens the door. He takes in the controlled chaos of the room before his eyes fall on the suitcase on the large bed.

Where was she going?

Ben pulls your supe suit out of the bag and smiles at the memory of the day you first tried it on. You never wore anything form fitting, hid your shape under shirts and pants, but the day he saw you in this for the first time made his breath catch in his chest. He knew that you thought you were fat, but Ben never believed that. He loved every curve of your body, loved to trace them with his eyes when you weren’t looking  and when you finally let him take you to bed, his hands. Seeing you in the suit for the first time was almost enough to push him over the edge, but he kept it together.

He notices the plane ticket on the edge of the bed, beneath the bag, and he pulls out the printed piece of paper, reading the fine print.

She was going to Russia. She was going to come get me even after I-

The emotion that rises in Ben's chest is unfamiliar. He did not like giving in to emotions the same way others did because he believed that made him weak, a lesson his father had ingrained into his mind. But this time he doesn't attempt to push it down. The plane ticket crumples in his hand as his jaw clenches tight. A part of him was relieved, relieved to know that somewhere deep down you still cared about him, maybe that meant that you would be willing to see him.

But he still didn’t know how to fix this. He'd never been good with words or apologizing or, well, love in general. He’d never loved anyone before you. He frowns at the thought of all the meaningless flings he'd had in the past. There was only one relationship with a woman he'd ever been in, with you, and he'd fucked it all up.

He kneels and reaches under your bed, looking for the box he knows will be there. It's a dark rosewood, one from your bedroom when you were a kid, but now it holds a different value. Ben sits on the end of your bed and opens it.

He had caught you with it a few times, usually when you started drinking or on your birthday, always on your birthday. It's why he never let you stay at home, he made sure you came out with him, because your mind would drift when you were alone and Ben didn't like the dark places it took you.

Ben rarely liked leaving you alone. Whenever he was on movie shoots in another country he would call you just to hear your voice, and even when he went to bed with someone else and they fell asleep he would stay up thinking of you, wondering if you missed him as much as he missed you, and wondering if you could sleep without him because he couldn’t sleep without you. Another reason why he pushed you away, believing that it made him weak.

The photo on top is unfamiliar to him, it's newer, and shows you standing with a young brunette woman outside of a college dorm. He traces the lines of your face with his thumb. He hadn't seen a picture of you in forty years, but you were just as beautiful as he remembered. The one that follows is also unfamiliar, you holding a baby wrapped in a pink blanket, the baby’s hand wrapped around your index finger, and you looking down at it like it's your whole world.

The look in your eyes does something to him. He remembered when you looked at him like that, the morning when you woke up next to him and whispered those four little words to him that he always wanted to hear while holding his face tenderly between your palms, "I love you Ben."

When things got bad in Russia he would strain to remember the memory, remember the way you looked at him, the way the words sounded falling from your lips. The words that he always wanted to hear you say. The morning that he wished he could change and the disastrous night he wished never happened.

"We shouldn't be here." Hughie says to Butcher in the living room.

"She ain't home. We'll go when he wants to leave." Ben hears Butcher respond.

But Ben knew that he didn't want to leave, wouldn't want to leave. He had spent the past forty years away from you and he didn't want to spend anymore time apart from you, even if that made him a pussy, he didn't care.

"This isn't a good idea. Y/n didn't want him here-" Hughie tries again

"Oi, look at this. She's looking at flights." Butcher states, when he notices the laptop on the counter.

"What?" Hughie asks.

"If it ain't her, how would she know about Russia?" Butcher says back. Ben hears a rustling like Butcher is going through the trashcan “And take a look at this-“

Ben shuts out their conversation and pulls other photos out, finally pulling out strip of paper from a Photo Booth. It was the day he took you to a baseball game,  before you were supes. You’d never been to one before and Ben had only been to the one his father took him to, when his dad got drunk and forgot Ben was with him. Ben frowns for a second but then looks back at the collection of photos on the strip. It was a good day. He had bought you a ridiculous hat, and you'd sat next to him looking radiant in the sunlight like you always did sketching him. Ben loved it when you drew him, it made him happy to know that when you looked through the pages of your sketchbook later that you were thinking of him. He often wondered if you thought of him as much as he thought of you. You'd both gotten drunk on cheap beer and when a woman yelled at you for being unladylike you flipped her the bird and said some choice words that made the tips of the woman’s ears turn pink.

Ben loved that about you, that you never seemed to care what others thought of you, especially your friendship with him. Everyone you knew had told you to keep a wide berth from him, but you didn’t listen.

Ben traces your young face in the photo with his fingertip.

Maybe she should have.

He turns back and pulls out a yellowed photo of you and your mother. Ben frowns at the expression on your face. You were never happy when she was around. He hated your mother, not just because she hated him, but he hated what she did to you. He hated that she made you feel ugly, when you were the most beautiful woman that he'd ever seen. Even as teenagers, Ben couldn’t help but notice how pretty your figure was and how you filled out the soft dresses you wore when you went with him on adventures through the city. He never thought you were too fat, if anything he liked your curves. The night you were finally together he worshipped them, wanted you to know that you were beautiful, to understand that he saw your beauty, because he knew that you still thought about what your mother said to you. He hated that she had such a hold on your life even though she had been dead for so long.

He hears a rattle along the bottom of the box and when he picks up the source of the noise he immediately wishes he hadn't.  It's a single pearl, and Ben understands what it's from. It's from the necklace he bought you for your birthday, the one that you ripped off your neck when you found him with Countess. He had agonized over whether or not to get it for you, thought that maybe it was too thoughtful or rather was too romantic. But the look on your face when you opened the box made him feel like he’d swallowed the sun.

Ben's teeth clench together as a wave of guilt crashes over him remembering what he yelled at you, remembering what he did to you. He thought that it had been what he needed to do, that he needed to push you away because he didn't want to care about anyone else, at least not the way he cared about you.

He hadn’t thought it would hurt as much to say those things to you, but it had all but ripped his own heart out.

But even before you found them together all Ben felt was guilt. He wasn’t enjoying anything he was doing to Countess, all he wanted was to do those things with you. He thought it was necessary, that by doing those things with her he could somehow clear his head of you, but all it did was make him feel guilty and want you more.

He thinks about the days that followed before his mission in Nicaragua, when he agonized over calling you, over showing up to your apartment, but he couldn't. He couldn't face you.  He hadn't been able to sleep those nights before the mission and wanted desperately for you to be there with him.  Ben couldn't sleep when you weren’t with him. He hated that he'd finally gotten you and then lost you so quickly.

Ben notices a velvet box, and he sighs when he opens it. It's an engagement ring, the engagement ring that you showed him the night he asked you to come with him.

He briefly wonders if you thought that was his version of a proposal. That you believed, turning your back on your family and coming with him meant more.

I’m such a fucking idiot. I should’ve-

“It really is a shitty ring.” He mutters. And it was, it was all wrong for you. Ben knew what you liked and he couldn’t believe that this was what that asshole got you.

Why did she keep it? Because she wanted to remember what her life could have been like if I didn’t ask her to come?

Ben remembers when he asked you if he ruined your life, before everything exploded. He imagined that after that night you changed your answer, because how could you look at him, let alone want to be around him after what he did to you?

Ben examines the ring again allowing the memory of the night you showed it to him push its way into his mind. He remembered being scared, of course he’d never admit that, he wasn’t a pussy, but he acutely remembered the moment you showed it to him. The fear of losing you that struck him when he noticed it on your finger, as the weight of what it represented settled on his shoulders. He knew that the asshole who proposed would quickly turn you against him, and this time you’d believe it because you loved that dick or-

Ben reconsidered. She didn’t love him because she came with you. She loved you.

He remembers again what it was like to be with you in  bed, when you whispered those words so tenderly to him and is struck with guilt all over again.

You had looked almost sheepish when you showed me the ring, like you were afraid to tell me-

Of course she was afraid to tell you. She wanted you to propose but you didn’t instead you fucking ruined her life and strung her along for 40 fucking years-

He never understood how you did that. Survived all those years with him while he fucked his way through everything that crossed his path. How you continued to stand by him when he was a dick to you and so many others. And yet you never let any other man into your life.

He remembers the night after you got between him and Noir, remembers asking you if you wanted to marry Howard, but you said no. The other things you said struck something within him. When you said you wanted someone to come home to, someone who would love you, a family. He remembers how you looked the night of your birthday in the restaurant, how you watched the couples around your table and smiled. He knew what you were thinking, and he had tried to show you that he could be that for you by taking your hand where it rested on the table even though it went against every instinct he had. He wanted so badly to give you those things, to make you happy. Ben didn’t want you to find that with anyone else. He would have loved to have a family with you, to be with you always the way you were always there for him, or were until he fucked it all up. He remembers asking you to marry him, apart of it had been a joke, just to gauge your reaction, but deep down he was curious. He hadn't expected it to hurt so much when you laughed him off.

Ben sighs. When you spoke about leaving Payback he was worried, worried that it meant you would leave him too and then who would he have? No one. It’s why he spent so many nights in your bed, with you curled up beside him. He didn’t want to be anywhere else.

He shuts the ring box with a snap and throws it back inside. The memory of the night you spent together is just on the edge begging to be let in. Ben indulged in that memory many times over the years, letting it strengthen him. Remembered every detail. It was the first time that he actually cared what someone else wanted in bed. He remembered how your cheeks blushed when you told him that you’d never had sex before and how you said that you wanted it to be him. He never imagined that you would want him the same way that he’d wanted you all those years.The exact reason why he drowned himself in so many other women, because he thought that’s what he needed to do. Because you deserved someone better than him, you always had.

The thought is immediately followed by what he yelled at you in the bathroom at the premiere, when he turned something that you believed to be special, one of the happiest nights of his life, into a cheap fuck.

He remembered the broken expression on your face. He'd never seen you look so small. Ben always admired how strong you were, but as soon as he said those things to you, he watched you crumble when he broke your heart.

Worse still was when he grabbed you. He fights the shudder, remembering how he grabbed onto your arms. As many times as you’d stood between him and the source of his anger, he’d never laid a hand on you but that night, he was just so damn frustrated. You were looking at him with those big eyes of yours that always saw through him, understood him, and he was frustrated because he wanted to tell you that he loved you that he always had loved you but he couldn’t. He couldn’t admit it because he was a man and damn it a man didn’t show emotions and he was Soldier Boy he didn’t need anyone-

His jaw clenches together so tight that he hears the click of his teeth.

But he did. He knew that all he needed was you.

I’m such a fucking asshole. Y/n doesn’t need me and I don’t deserve her-

Ben raises his head to look at your bedroom door as he hears the front door of your apartment swing open. And he freezes.

Because why would you want to see him? He had ruined your life.

A/N: Alright everybody we made it to the chapter right before the reunion!!! What will happen? Will she forgive him? Who knows?! Even me, honestly. 😂

Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to my taglist, please let me know. :)

Taglist: @roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak @cassiecasluciluce @muhahaha303

@deans-spinster-witch @kayleighmeister @demodemo909 @fruitfacess @bobbobbobinogs

@bughill126, @simplyfixated @sleepjam, @tiredstrangerr @freefallthoughts

@onlyangel-444 @lov3vivian @mxltifxnd0m @mayafatimakhan @marvel-mistress

@my-obsession-spn @lifeonawhim @soldirboy @liuope @brynanna

[buckrecs]

could you rec some protective Bucky fics/oneshots?

Protective Bucky

masterlist | req masterlist

Purgatory by @wkemeup

While on a mission, Bucky becomes dissociated into the Winter Soldier. But instead of becoming a threat, his instinct is to protect.

Behind the Storm by @wkemeup

On a mission, you're hit with a spell that takes away your ability to see. Bucky does what he can to make you feel safe.

stairs by @lovelybarnes

overprotective!bucky at its finest.

Savior by @buckysgoldenheart

Basically, Bucky saves you and then stalks you.

vodka on rocks by @kinanabinks

when you find out that someone you slept with secretly took photos and videos of you during sex, you feel betrayed - but bucky won't stand by and let that happen to his best friend.

more than safe by @witchywithwhiskey

when you're injured on a mission in sokovia, bucky barnes comes to help—and you share a soft moment together.

Dark Divine by @sebbytrash

Bucky and you are in a relationship and when you get hurt during a mission, he seeks comfort the only way he knows how. Revenge.

seeing red by @buckysfaveplum

bucky can’t just sit and watch as a man makes you uncomfortable in a bar.

Divine Retribution by @pellucid-constellations

Nobody touches Bucky’s girl. He was going to make that very clear.

Counting by @pellucid-constellations

Time heals all wounds. Bucky’d been holding onto that proverb ever since blip. But time had never been particularly kind to him, so he opted to keep track of the sweet girl’s in his apartment building instead, the one that made him banana bread and took him to diners at two in the morning. Sometimes, you didn’t keep the same schedule. That made Bucky panic.

Expectations by @softlyspector

Bucky is overprotective of the reader, who is pregnant with his baby.

Gentle by @invisibleanonymousmonsters

Y/N has never seen Bucky be anything but gentle and loving. It’s hard for her to believe her boyfriend was ever the world’s deadliest and most lethal assassin.

Safe by @coffeecatsandcandles

You become a stripper during the blip. When Bucky comes back, he has a lot of thoughts about it.

How’s Your Head by @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

A run in with a less than kind stranger on the Subway send a knight in shining armor your way.

What Could Go Wrong? by @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

A SWORD function at the compound has Bucky feeling uneasy. He can’t seem to stop himself from checking up on you, but you swear to him that you’re not in danger- you’re wrong.

Nothing Fucks With My Baby by @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

Bucky shows up late to a Shield party and finds out that a new agent made you uncomfortable. He takes care of it.

False Reality by @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

Running into an unpleasant person from your past sends you into a shame spiral. Bucky gets you home and takes care of you- reminding you of your worth.

knight in shining armor by @b6cky

when a valentines date from hell makes y/n rethink all her life choices, a knight in shining armour is there to save her. or a knight with a shining metal arm.

Imagine | 2 by @im-an-octopus

40s!Protective Bucky + protective Bucky post Winter Soldier

The Protective Soldier by @dabblinginmarvel

Bucky met the Avengers and is atracted to the reader and protective over her.

protective by @onceuponastory

Bucky gets protective over Y/N during a mission.

Her by @avecra

When Bucky's anger gets the best of him during a debriefing meeting, your touch is the one thing that can ground him.

[bacchuschucklefuck]

one thing I really really appreciate abt riz gukgak as a character is that he is un-self-aware to the max. he inhabits his body so completely. the arc that would usually be run as "I'm different and unable to connect with my friends in this way that everyone seems to be able to do and so something's wrong with me and I don't like myself" when it comes to riz is actually like no! I have literally no problems or praises for myself personally. I don't stand outside of my own self and judge it. it's phrased as "other people will eventually find someone more important to them than you" rather than centering it on his self-perception. he doesn't know why he doesn't have the best social life on earth even though he's not afraid at all to talk to other people. every time he sees himself in someone else's actions or behaviour he gets startled by it. his latest epilogue is realizing seemingly for the first time that he's not just an agent of causes but an actual character. he's my hero and I want to be him when I grow up

[whateversawesome]

Spy x Family AU Fic Recommendations

It's been a while since I've done fic rec list. There are so many good fics out there, so I thought it was time. For this list, I will focus on my favorite Alternate Universe fics!

After Peace by @unhappy-sometimes : My current favorite AU, also named by someone else the "midwestern au" for its vibes. In this fic, Twilight is no longer the best spy of the West, but an agent forced into retirement in small town in the middle of nowhere because of a terrible injury. As you can imagine, he's quite depressed without a purpose until a little girl named Anya enters the picture.

Tactic & Strategy by Puolain: In which Twilight and Thorn Princess are forced by their agencies to get married. Twilight is undercover as Lionel Reiss, from the national guard. This fic is not only beautiful but also very exciting.

Hidden Under the Roses by @sister-cna-reader : This is a mafia AU that has plenty of fluff and plenty of spice! In this story, Yor is the Garden's heir and must marry Loid to ensure an alliance. Also, did I mention Anya is a baby in this universe?

As Time Goes By by @nightofnyx8 : In this AU, Twilight is a spy and an American pilot that crashes near Yor's garden. After nourishing him back to health, they face the terrible Captain Winston Wheeler, who won't rest until he captures that spy. This story is incredibly exciting and also sweet.

Green Eyed Monster by Bigbruja: If you like jealous Twilight, this is the fic for you! Here, an old friend of Yor's returns with the intention of taking her away from her husband, but Twilight is not going to let him do that so easily.

Air by @cantareincminor : In this AU, Twilight and Thorn Princess meet during a mission gone wrong. I can't say much without spoiling it! Just know that it's very sweet and you can feel the strong chemistry between those two! Major flirting alert hehehe.

The Cat, the Key, the Cook, and the Queen by @lpham2525 : If you like fairytales, this fic is perfect for you. In this universe, Queen Yor must marry, so she creates a clever competition to find the right man for the job!

Lo que se hace en el primer día by @gijipaw : Yes, I am aware this is in Spanish but, do you want to see Loid and Yor as boyfriend and girlfriend? Then you have to read this fic! If you speak Spanish or if you know how to use Google translate, give this short and sweet fic a try.

The Five Times Loid Forger Went Topless In Front of His Wife and the One Time She Reciprocated" or "Bare-Chested in Berlint" by Talik_Sanis: Ahem...yes, I am aware of the title and what can I say? This list needs a crack fic! This is probably the funniest fic I have ever read (the title says it all) so I encourage you to read it and have a good time. And when you get to the ice cream scene come back and tell me what you thought about it. It's my favorite scene in the whole fic hehe.

The following is not a fic per se, but an exciting, ongoing multichapter fancomic that has become a staple in the fandom and is definitely worth checking out. I'm talking about none other than...

Doppelgänger by @buf309 : Without giving too much away, in this AU there's a man who looks exactly like Twilight going on a killing rampage. Twilight will have to face his worst nightmare and do everything he can to save his family. This is an amazing story!!

And finally, the list wouldn't be complete without some shameless self-promotion 😆

My Enemy : A war fic AU in which the Briars are forced to host a Westalian high-ranking officer in their home. As an Ostanian, Yor hates this man, of course! However, little by little Captain Loid Forger wins her over and, despite being enemies, they end up falling deeply in love. Riddled with exciting twists and turns, this story is also full of fluff and spice.

Love Is...: A non-traditional omegaverse in which Twilight is a shifter (a person who can shift between Alpha, Omega or Beta) who experiences his first rut after a kissing practice with his wife. This fic has plenty of fluff, plenty of angst, and some spice too!

Eden's Ball: If you like Eden AU, you're going to love this fic! In this story, Loid Forger, president of the student council, is in charge of organizing a ball at school. His intention is to ask Yor Briar to go with him but things go terribly wrong!

That's it! If you like these recommendations, check out my Spy x Family fic compilation and my previous fic rec lists (part 1 and part 2).

[owliellder]

The Finer Details

Post DI! Leon Kennedy x Painter f! Reader

MDNI 18+

(Session 1, Session 2, Session 3, Session 4, Session 5, The Reveal)

Description: Leon realizes that retirement is in his best interest now that he's getting older. All of his accomplishments as an agent mean he's truly earned a painting to commemorate..

Warnings: Not Proofread, Age gap! (reader is anywhere between mid-late 20's and Leon is 40), Porn w/ Plot, Use of she/her pronouns, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alcoholism, mentions of trauma/PTSD/depression, P in V smut (wrap it NEOW), Leon cries during sex 💔

Tags: Older Leon Kennedy, Younger afab!Reader, Leon is SAD but he is your muse, Crying, mentions of Leon masturbating, starts off with Dom! Leon and Sub! Reader, falls into switch territory because that man needs some serious TLC, Praise kink, Hickeys, Handjob, Nipple play, Oral sex (m! and f! receiving), and a heavy dose of Aftercare

Author Note: You know how each president of the U.S. gets a painting at the end of their term? I'm thinking like that. Plus, my favorite hobby is recreating renaissance art, so I figured this was a good fit (hopefully).

Cross posted onto AO3

Session 1: The Sketches

It was late at night when Leon made his decision to retire fully.

He had gotten home over an hour ago from reviewing mountains of paperwork, most of which pertained to missions that other agents have gone on or will be going on.

Younger agents. More energized agents.

The fact that he hadn't gone on a full mission since San Francisco was driving him up the wall. But that's what he wanted. He requested to hang back the last two years.

Both Chris and Claire had fully retired themselves right after San Fran, Claire being the first to retire to focus on her growing family with Chris following suit only a few months later. Jill was still around, but she was doing similar work that Leon was, only she was in a completely different department which was states away.

Of course Leon still talked with them all as regularly as possible, he'd go insane if he didn't, especially with Claire having a couple kids now. He wasn't the greatest with children, but it was refreshing seeing his friends achieve such normalcy. He wanted them to have the best life they could away from everything.

Having turned 40 a few some months ago, Leon was having a bit of a mid-life crisis. The mission to San Francisco a couple years ago had made him realize just how much toll the job itself had taken on his body. After being assessed and allowed home a few nights after returning from the mission, his body ached; joints creaking, back nearly thrown, just... tired.

Don't get him wrong, he was always tired after missions, but this was different. This wasn't just the regular aches and pains he dealt with after being tossed around like a rag doll, this was age.

Deep in his mind, Leon was still that 21 year old boy in Raccoon City. He never got the chance to properly grieve and move on, his mind forever changed by that event. Mentally, he was stuck there and had been this entire time.

It had taken the man this long to truly recognize the fact that he's older now. He's not that boy from Raccoon City anymore. He hadn't been in a long time.

What was he do to now? Leon had wanted so badly to serve and protect the people, but not like this. Not like he has for the past 29 years.

He spent his most formative years fighting unimaginable horrors, watching people suffer, watching people die. You don't just come back from something like that.

And unlike the friends he's managed to keep close, Leon didn't have someone he trusted. Hell, he barely trusted himself most days.

So now here he was, sitting drunk in his shower with his legs pulled up to his chest, his arms resting atop his knees while the water pelted down on him, silently mulling over everything he's ever seen and done during his time as an agent.

The water had grown cold at this point, Leon having quickly lost track of how long he was sitting spaced out like that for. Thankfully, he'd already cleaned himself before he ended up sitting down, so the hardest part now was just standing back up to get himself back out.

It took him a couple more minutes before he finally hoisted himself up with a tired groan, both his knees popping from being stuck in position for such a lengthy amount of time.

Once out of the shower, towel loosely wrapped around his waist, Leon stared at himself in the mirror; busy studying the crow's feet on both outer corners of his eyes as well as the prominent bags sitting under them, the smile line around his mouth, his now brown hair, the stubble on his face and neck that's he's neglected to shave, and just how exhausted he looked.

How has he never noticed any of this before? Why's he look so different now?

Settling into bed after this brutal realization was a tough task. The man followed his nightly routine of taking four Tylenol and two of his prescription sleep meds before setting his a/c 65 degrees Fahrenheit. He learned quickly many years ago that tossing and turning at night would make him overheat and sweat.

But tonight, nothing Leon did could ease that sinking feeling in his chest, that feeling of unfulfillmemt and shame weighing on him more than ever before.

The poor man barely slept at all last night, hangover evident by the way he was still slightly uneven on his feet as he leaned over the center island in his kitchen, head between his forearms while his hands sat clasped together.

Leon knew what he had to do. He's been feeling it ever since Chris and Claire made their departure, but it was so easy to deny. How was he suppose to give up the one thing that made him important? Sure the stress of his work was heavily tasking on the mind and body, but it's what gave him purpose. He felt useful doing what he did.

The man showed up for work late that day, barely having managed to dress himself. He didn't know exactly who to go to in this scenario, but everyone seemed surprised that the Leon Kennedy would show up for work in some ratty t-shirt and grey sweatpants. The stares were making him incredibly uncomfortable and he was quickly regretting showing up at all.

After sitting in his own office for awhile to avoid the looks and whispers, Leon eventually sauntered over to his superior's office, an almost solemn look on his face as he let himself in after knocking.

Needless to say, Leon was relieved his superior knew this was coming. Slightly offended, but relieved nonetheless.

It had been a long time coming, and it was only a matter of time before Leon threw in the towel, especially since he was now just working behind the scenes instead of on the frontline.

He was allowed to return home for the rest of the day if he wanted to, which Leon quickly took. He really didn't want to be in that building for much longer.

As soon as he returned home he went right back to drinking. And as ashamed as he is to admit, he even cried a little, half empty whiskey bottle in one hand while the other was clenched tightly into a fist as he gripped the pant leg of his sweats.

There wasn't anyone Leon could talk to about this. Chris and Claire had their own respective partners to come home to after retirement, but Leon? Leon had nothing besides a dingy and cold two bedroom house with only the basics inside, including his alcohol cabinet.

The man didn't even give himself time to date, only the occasional one night stand with randoms from the bar. He was too afraid that he would endanger anyone he allowed into his life like that, not to mention he'd been betrayed one too many times to trust in someone that way again. It was his way of keeping himself and everyone else safe.

The therapists he was assigned throughout the years all had the same concern regarding his love life, and deep down Leon was just as concerned, but he rationalized it with that hero complex he developed.

But he just couldn't rationalize it anymore. Leon was alone. He was alone, sad, and afraid.

About a month after Leon's retirement was processed and announced, word spread quickly throughout numerous government branches. There was a celebration set up at the White House to honor his service as a field agent.

The President had separated him and Leon from the party to slowly walk through the many hallways in the building. The old man could tell just how bothered the now ex-agent was by his retirement, so he figured now would be the best time to talk to him about his final task.

"You know," The President spoke up after a couple minutes of the two walking in silence, prompting Leon to slowly turn his head to listen. "I'm sure you've heard it so many times tonight, but you truly were one of the best agents I've ever seen."

Leon chuckled quietly, shaking his head a bit at the compliment. He had heard it a lot tonight, but obviously it was different coming from him.

"I'm serious. This county, probably the entire world, would've been in shambles if not for your hours spent." The President continued, slowing his walking to a stop.

"It means more than you know." Leon responded simply, voice a bit gravelly from the few drinks he's had. He took a couple steps more before stopping as well, turning around to face the prominent old man.

The President sighed, giving him a sympathetic smile while nodding. They stood in silence for a brief moment before the old man spoke up again, pointing lazily down the hall. "Follow me, I've got something I want to show you."

From there, the two wandered further down the halls until eventually reaching one hall that had lights more centered towards the walls, highlighting the picture frames that sat evenly spaced out amongst them.

Leon seemed a tad confused until he was able to focus on the first painting they walked by. He knew each president got a portrait painted after their full term was served, but the man in this painting wasn't a past president.

He stopped walking to stand in front of the painting, admiring the details it had before glancing down at the bottom of the elegant frame, a placard reading a name he didn't recognize. What he did recognize, though, was the word Agent that sat in front of the man's name.

While zoned into the placard, Leon didn't register the gentle hand that had been clasped on his shoulder, the President's voice breaking through his trance. "For as long as there's been bioweapons, we've had agents fighting to stop them. But only a few agents have truly outdone themselves. Agents like you."

Leon blinked a couple times before turning his head to look at the hand on his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. He wasn't quite understanding what he was saying.

The President took his silence as a cue to continue, his sympathetic smile turning into a happier one as he gently tugged Leon's shoulder to get him to start walking again. "The D.S.O. has produced some of the greatest agents since Benford created it back in 2011. You were amazing before, but you've outdone yourself time and time again."

Leon still wasn't quite understanding, really only half listening as he kept his eyes trained to the numerous portraits of agents as he slowly passed them.

The two stopped in front of the last painting in the hallway, only a few spots away from leading into another hallway. It was Chris and Claire in this painting. Chris was sitting down in a chair while Claire stood next to him, hand resting on back of it, both of them smiling.

He studied the painting for a minute longer before whipping his head around to face the President, who was still smiling, as the realization slowly settling in.

"I-" Leon struggling to speak, glancing back at the painting before quickly looking back at the old man standing next to him.

The President simply nodded his head, smile widening with a gentle laugh. "Right. The painting process takes a bit of time, but I think you've more than earned this."

The ex-agent had so many questions. Firstly, why hadn't Chris or Claire mentioned this? But more importantly, he gets to have his own portrait painted?

"The painter knows all about you. She's excited to meet you." The President started down the hall again, Leon not far behind, still stuttering out nonsense as he attempted to form even a sentence. "I'll give you the information you need to get started with her. I have it written down back in my office."

A painting?

A painting. A painting for him. A painting to honor him. What?

Leon was once again sat on his couch, blankly staring at the small business card with a date and time written on it in pen. He'd read the info on the card so many times already, wanting to make sure he got absolutely nothing wrong.

Apparently he didn't have to call and confirm, all he had to do was show up to this random address at a specific date and time, which was soon. In a couple days kind of soon. Also, he thought he was reading the time wrong, but no, it was four in the morning, not four in the afternoon. What an odd and rather inconvenient time.

Even after memorizing the business card front to back, Leon would be lying if he said he didn't forget about meeting up with this mystery painter. He'd been rather aloof the past couple months, it was hard to pull himself out of that funk. He'd been staying up late and sleeping in even later, so hitting snooze on his alarm a good few times was just muscle memory at this point.

It was almost 5am when he realized where he was suppose to be, eyes shooting open as he yanked himself out of bed, desperately trying to clean himself up enough to be at least presentable.

The man was mentally chastising himself the entire drive. It was a short drive, which he was surprised by, and the building seemed quaint; red brick with large windows that sat on what looked like either a second or third floor.

He parked his bike right near what he assumed was the main door, pulling off his motorcycle helmet before knocking and waiting.

The last thing Leon was expecting was you to unlock and open that door; young and pretty, so pretty...

"Mr. Kennedy?" You asked, eyebrows raised slightly with a small smile. He nodded, just barely noticeable, reaching a gloved hand up to wipe at his eyes as he caught himself staring.

Your smile only widened at his nod, stepping aside to allow him into walk in. It took him a minute to realize you were still talking, shaking his head out to refocus himself.

"-again, really, no need to worry about being late. I was trying to work with your schedule but I should've known it's changed up a bit by now, right?" You lead him up a set of narrow stairs, though he was mostly following the smell of your perfume. It was such a light smell but he definitely picked up on it.

You opened a door immediately to the left of the stairs, letting Leon follow you inside. The sun was just starting to rise, shining through the large windows in the open room.

The place was cluttered, yet organized. Crowded, but that just made it all the cozier to Leon. His house was bare and lacked any sort of personality, but this... this place was covered in you.

"I'm glad you like it in here." You said in a quiet voice, looking up at him as he took in your workspace. He was smiling ever so slightly, which you mimicked with a smile of your own. "I try to make it welcoming in here, my apartment is the same way.."

Your voice trailed off as you walked over to a mostly put together set up near the back of the room where the only wall without windows sat. There was a chair sitting close to the wall, the same chair Chris was sitting in for his portrait with Claire, along with your easel sitting empty a few feet away.

Leon stood frozen, only moving his head around as he took everything in. He followed you with his eyes as you fumbled around with something, eventually producing a blank 24" x 36" canvas that was still wrapped in thin plastic.

His mouth made an 'o' shape as he pulled himself from his small trance once again, beginning to slowly make his way over to the set up you've made. He placed his helmet down on the floor beside the chair.

After placing the canvas on the easel, you walked back over to where you'd gotten the canvas from before grabbing a heavily used sketchbook. It was a large one, the paper a light brown instead of white.

Leon had only just realized that there was a faint sound of some form of classical music playing from somewhere in the room, glancing around for speakers before looking back over at you.

"I'm not getting started today, we're a couple steps away from that, so don't worry about appearance just yet." You said softly with a breathy laugh, quickly making your way back over to where he stood next to the plush chair in your setup, his hand feeling over the worn maroon fabric.

Leon nodded silently, moving to sit down once you requested he did, furrowing his eyebrows as he watched you drag over a small table. You worked fast, that's for sure.

Eventually, you'd set up a little tabletop easel to sit on the table you'd dragged in front of him, grabbing your swivel chair to sit in as you placed your sketchbook on the easel, open to a blank page.

"I just need to get some basic ideas of your facial structure since that's most important when it comes to these kinds of paintings. You're gonna be wearing a nice tuxedo when I do the second- no, third sketch for the final painting, but this is just for me to get a feel for you and vise versa." You rambled quickly, pulling out a pencil from one of your pockets before fully sitting down on the chair, bringing your legs up to sit criss cross.

"Uh.. Alright..." Leon responded, clearing his throat a bit. He didn't really understand what you'd said, you spoke a little too fast for his tired brain to keep up, but it seemed like whatever you were doing was necessary so he just rolled with it.

He was left a little speechless again at how you just began sketching, glancing up to his face and down to the page you were working on over and over. "...do you need me to, I don't know, pose or something?"

The way you kept looking at him was making feel a little uneasy. Granted he's never been in this sort of situation before, this whole process was very unfamiliar to him.

"No, no. You can move your head around and stuff. Get comfortable." You waved off, eyes wrinkling as you smiled at him. Leon nodded again, deciding to take the opportunity to look around your workspace again.

It really was a cozy space. Full of color and life, even the curtains you had lining the windows offered so much pattern and detail to the room. The back of the room where the two of you sat was more cluttered with less decor, but the front of the room was a whole different story with those massive floor pillows, blankets of all sorts strewn about, that big fluffy looking area rug, it was all so... homey. It was even inspiring him to decorate his own house a bit.

The sound of your pencil scribbling on paper and the faint sound of the classical music playing was all Leon could hear for awhile, eventually letting out an anxious sigh before beginning to talk. "So... a painter, huh..?"

"Oh yeah, I've been doing this since I was little. Obviously I wasn't that good back then, but I really improved after high school." You immediately responded, voice a little louder than his. Clearly the topic excites you. "If you want, I can hand you one of my other sketchbooks to look at while I do my thing over here?"

Leon patted his hands against the arms of the chair before nodding to the side, pursing his lips slightly. "Mm, sure. Let's see what ya got.."

As soon as he agreed, you stood up and shuffled over to the corner of the room where some desks sat arranged in a makeshift cubicle. You opened a drawer and pulled out a couple sketchbooks, still as raggedy as the one you were using now.

Walking back over, you carefully handed them to him, which he slowly took after meeting your eyes for a brief moment.

Once you made your way back to your chair, he placed both sketchbooks into his lap, opening up the one on top first. The man flipped through them silently as you began to sketch him out again.

You'd zoned into your work, adding just a bit of shading to your sketches to help emphasis some features when Leon cleared his throat again. You leaned to the side to look at him, your smile quickly returning when you saw his baffled expression.

"These are... wow, okay, how old are you?" Leon asked, head jerking upwards to meet your gaze once more. You just giggled in response, using the pencil as a fidget before returning to sketching.

"Sorry-uh, I don't mean to come off as rude or anything, but to be honest, I was expecting you to be some old lady when I saw the portraits you've done." Leon was quick to try and explain, probably misinterpreting your lack of response for unease.

Your giggle turned to a small laugh, leaning to the side once more to look at the man. "Well, I'm glad I could surprise you a bit. Hopefully I don't look old."

Leon groaned and wiped his hand down his face. "Again, sorry. Didn't mean to imply." He shook his head and looked back down at the two sketchbooks sitting in his lap, continuing to flip through them.

It was only a couple hours until you decided you got a good enough feel for drawing his face. Grabbing the sketchbook, you stood up, pencil still in hand, looking down at the sketches you made as you slowly walked over to him.

The man noticed you standing up, quickly moving to close the sketchbooks you'd given him in favor of seeing your new sketches.

"I... I think this'll be enough today. I don't want to keep you too long." You said, handing him the sketchbook. Leon took it from you, careful not to smudge anything as he finally got to see what you've been doing for the past two hours.

He furrowed his eyebrows as he studied the sketches you'd made of his face, seeing all the different angles, even the smile, how'd you get his smile?

You seemed to grow nervous the longer he stared at your sketchbook in silence, his intense look making it seem as if he didn't really like them. "Are they... Are they okay?"

Leon jostled the sketchbook a bit in his hands before standing up, now towering over you as he kept his eyes on the paper. "Just okay? These are beyond amazing."

You let out a small breath you didn't notice you were holding, heat rushing to your cheeks as you smiled at his compliment. "Oh, thank you.. I'm sorry, normally sketches don't take this long but it was stressed to me that your portrait was very important so I wanted to get everything as perfect as I could.."

"Seriously, you're a mad woman if you think these wouldn't be good." Leon chuckled, handing the sketchbook back to you. He kept his eyes trained on you, even after you turned to look down and close the sketchbook. Only a fool would miss that blush on your cheeks, it looked good on you.

"Anyways, when should I come back for the next.. uh..." Leon paused, crossing his arms loosely as he struggled to think of the word.

Luckily, you finished the sentence for him. "Session. Again, this painting's importance was stressed to me a lot, so probably the next time you're available?" You talked while you shifted the small table back to where it had originally sat under one of the numerous windows, tossing the sketchbook down on the chair cushion.

"Alright, since it's importance has now been stressed to me as well, I can probably clear up some stuff in my schedule. How's tomorrow sound?" Obviously, Leon had a completely free schedule, but you didn't need to know that.

"Tomorrow works great! The sooner the better!" You laughed, placing a gentle hand on his bicep as you walked past him to grab a sticky note. "I'll give you my personal number, just let me know when you're thinking of coming over and I'll meet you here, okay?"

Leon looked at your number before pocketing the note, nodding his head with a smile of his own. "Sounds good. Same way out?" He pointed to the door that you brought him in through, bending down to pick up his motorcycle helmet right after.

You confirmed with a thumbs up, now drinking water from your water bottle as you'd forgotten too while focused on drawing. You felt bad for not offering him any water while he was here, but you won't forget next time.

The man gave you a curt wave before leaving the room, quietly shutting the door behind himself.

You had to admit, you've worked with a very small handful of agents since it takes a lot for them to earn their own portrait, but Leon Kennedy had to be the one of the most handsome men you've ever worked with. Maybe even one of the most handsome men you've ever seen.

Lucky you pay attention to detail, cause you definitely didn't see a ring on his finger.

[good-chimes]

[HOTGUY!] HAS ONE NEW MAIL

Users with permissions to this shared mailbox:

Bdubs (role: Publicity & Comms for Scar Goodtimes, Actor). Last login: Today.

Cub (role: Hotguy PR Agent). Last login: Today.

Scar (role: IT’S ME, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE ONE AND ONLY!). Last login: 215 days ago.

 ------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <hotguy@hotguy.com>

From: Cuteguy <cuteguy@freemail.com>

Subject: are you there?

is this hotguy’s email? i thought you were coming on patrol?

Why do you NEVER ANSWER YOUR PHONE

-cg

 ------------------------------------

To: Cub, Hotguy PR Agent

From: Bdubs

Subject: The VALUES AND PRINCIPLES of Scar Goodtimes Acting Enterprises

Dear Cub (if that’s your real name),

Now that you’ve been working for Scar for several weeks, I realized I never sent you any AGENCY INTRODUCTION documents. That’s okay! None of us are perfect, despite what you might feel when you look at me.

For your ENJOYMENT and EDUCATION, here are:

The Founding Principles of Scar Goodtimes Acting Enterprises

1.   Bdubs is Scar’s favorite employee.

1a.   Bdubs is also Hotguy’s favorite employee DESPITE the fact he does not technically work for Hotguy, and no upstart new PR agent is going to change that.

2.   Hotguy’s identity is a secret. You must never reveal that we both work for the same person. Take it to your grave if you have to.  

3.   However, if you see someone talking shit online about Hotguy or Scar you should immediately defend his honor. I often do this and you can see the results in the shared folder admin\arguments_bdubs_has_won. You might not be as good as me at winning debates on the internet—don’t worry!! I can give you tips.

4.   Here at the agency, we have the HIGHEST STANDARDS in responding to emails from the public. I noticed there are SEVERAL HUNDRED UNANSWERED EMAILS sent to Hotguy’s addresses that redirect to our shared mailbox. Scar is a very busy man! It is YOUR JOB to clear these out.

5.   We are open and helpful with everyone. Except hostile journalists. And the TCG. And the tax authorities. And anyone who might want Scar to do anything unreasonable like ‘be on time for something’. Keep this in mind as you go through the inbox.

All The Best!!!

Bdubs

P.S. I have noticed that admin\important_documents is now full of files called ‘virus1.exe’ ‘virus2 (gov encryption).exe’ ‘virus3 (might be sentient).exe’ etc. Explain this!?

 ------------------------------------

To: Bdubs, Publicity & Comms for Scar Goodtimes

From: Cub

Subject: RE: The VALUES AND PRINCIPLES of Scar Goodtimes Acting Enterprises

Yeah man cool this all sounds great

Scar seems to have a few email addresses that feed into here. i’ve sent replies according to which one the public emailed:

hotguy@hotguy.com — i replied to some of these but then i kinda got bored and started sending links to cool space facts instead. People will appreciate these i’m sure.

EMAIL_HOTGUY!!@hotguy.com — sent everyone a bulk reply of “Thank you for EMAILING_HOTGUY!! Hotguy loves you!”

FAN_LETTERS_THIS_WAY@hotguy.com — sent everyone a photo of Scar in his Hotguy costume

I_NEED_HOTGUY_NOW!@hotguy.com — sent everyone a photo of Scar in his Hotguy costume minus the shirt

super.cool.arrow.giveaway.for.fans@hotguy.com — sent everyone who gave their address some trick arrows. Only some of them will explode.

law.enforcement.collaboration@hotguy.com — redirected this one to spam

boring.tax.stuff@scargoodtimes.com — also redirected this one to spam. replying to the IRS just encourages them.

inbox zero, my friend. we’re ready for the next concerned citizen to write to us. Let’s go.

Cheers,

Cub

P.S. don’t worry about the viruses. Just a hobby. they’re in \important_documents because I needed a folder that scar never clicks on.

 ------------------------------------

To: Cub, Hotguy PR Agent

From: Bdubs

Subject: Re: The VALUES AND PRINCIPLES of Scar Goodtimes Acting Enterprises

Dear Cub,

Interesting. INTERESTING.

Don’t think you’re going to work your way into Scar’s affections with CLEVER VIRUSES and SHIRTLESS PICS OF HIMSELF. I see your game.

I’ve been Scar’s agent for years and I think when things heat up you might find this job too hot to handle.

All the Best!!!!

Bdubs

 ------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <hotguy@hotguy.com>

From: TCG Special Officer <vigilante.oversight@tcg.gov>

Subject: OFFICIAL REVIEW NOTIFICATION

Dear Hotguy (civilian identity unknown),

We are currently undertaking a review of your recent vigilante activities as ‘Hotguy’.

Vigilantes (‘heroes’) are encouraged to protect citizens and cooperate with the TCG. For this we require vigilantes to regularly communicate with their TCG liaisons, attend emergencies on request, and support law enforcement operations.

None of our emails to <law.enforcement.collaboration@hotguy.com> have been answered—I was going to say ‘in some time’, but I checked our file on you, and it turns out the right word is ‘ever’. You have never answered an email from the TCG. I am sure you can see why this is an issue.

We do admittedly have some difficulty getting vigilantes to ever listen to us, but this is a new low in obstructionism.

We have requested your assistance in investigating thefts from two biotech laboratories, vandalism at a local redstone supplies shop, and multiple call-outs to security incidents at Mumbocorp. You have completely ignored all of these requests. We note you have instead caused widespread chaos, disrupted several TCG operations, and at one point impersonated the Mayor in order to trick ‘Doctor M’ into purchasing a non-existent bridge. 

May I remind you that vigilante activity is only legal insofar as we decline to prosecute heroes for property damage. Kindly reach out to our liaison department immediately so we can work together on collaborative action under the direction of the correct authorities.

On behalf of Head Agent V. Berger,

Special Officer #49

 ------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <hotguy@hotguy.com>

From: Cuteguy <cuteguy@freemail.com>

Subject: Re: are you there?

who is answering hotguy’s emails and why have you sent me a list of top supernovas! this is NOT HELPFUL

 ------------------------------------

To: TCG Special Officer <vigilante.oversight@tcg.gov>

From: Cub

Subject: Re: OFFICIAL REVIEW NOTIFICATION

Dear Concerned Citizen,

Thank you for reaching out about the availability of Hotguy. Hotguy is unable to respond himself because he is rescuing kittens from tragically falling into rivers, an activity that has fully occupied him for the past eighteen months.

This is quite the list of criminal events, my friend. I thought the TCG had this kind of thing under control. It’s concerning that you don’t. Doesn’t make your TCG department look super great, huh?

Thinking about it, this really seems like something the Police Commissioner should know about. If you’ve lost the Commissioner’s email address, don’t worry. I found it on a forum.

Cheers,

Cub

Hotguy PR Agent

 ------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <hotguy@hotguy.com>

From: TCG Special Officer <vigilante.oversight@tcg.gov>

Subject: Re: OFFICIAL REVIEW NOTIFICATION

Dear Hotguy’s PR Agent,

I understand as a law-abiding Hermitopia resident, you may be alarmed at descriptions of disorder intended for Hotguy’s eyes only. Please do not be concerned.  We also strongly recommend you do not forward this chain to the Police Commissioner. As you will see from the news, the city is peaceful and everything is completely under control.

Kind Regards,

Special Officer #49

  ------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <hotguy@hotguy.com>

From: Cuteguy <cuteguy@freemail.com>

Subject: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

THERE ARE THREE HUNDRED CHICKENS WITH LASERS ON FIFTH STREET

tell hotguy to call me he’s not picking up!!!

-cg

  ------------------------------------

To: Cuteguy <cuteguy@freemail.com>

From: Cub

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

Dear Concerned Citizen,

Regrettably Hotguy is not available as he is escorting orphans to the North Pole to tour Santa’s workshop.

Cheers,

Cub

Hotguy PR Agent

  ------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <hotguy@hotguy.com>

From: Cuteguy <cuteguy@freemail.com>

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

it’s JULY

 ------------------------------------

To: Cuteguy <cuteguy@freemail.com>

From: Cub

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

Hotguy believes in being prepared

is this really cuteguy? what’s going on?

-Cub

 ------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <hotguy@hotguy.com>

From: Cuteguy <cuteguy@freemail.com>

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

i was coming back from patrol and going to pick up my pizza. i always get pizza, cub, you have to understand this is an important part of patrol.

when i turn the corner to my normal pizza place there are

AT LEAST FIVE HUNDRED CHICKENS WITH BEAK-MOUNTED LASERS

ALL OVER THE STREET

BETWEEN ME AND MY PIZZA

they’re milling around and scratching like someone just dumped them here. whenever they squawk they burn a tiny hole in the nearest wall. i tried to get near one to look at the device on their beaks and i nearly got my finger burned off.

now i’m on a roof. i want my PIZZA, cub. i’m a close-range fighter and i’m not getting up close with a laser chicken. this seems like a hotguy problem!

 ------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <hotguy@hotguy.com>

From: Pearl Moon <Pearl@hermitherald.com>

Subject: Hotguy appearance? (press enquiry)

Helloooo,

My name is Pearl Moon, and I’m a reporter with the Hermit Herald. I heard Hotguy has a new PR agent at this address. I’m not going to lie, I’m delighted. Hotguy’s a great guy for a quote, obviously, but getting hold of him is kind of a nightmare.

I’m at the scene of the Eighth Annual Fried Donut Festival. I’m contacting you because a citizen running a stall has allegedly just seen a, I quote, “weaponized chicken”.

According to them, it shot an “adorable laser” into their supplies, punctured a hole in their fruit toppings cooler, and ran under the stalls. I’ve been on this beat for a while and this sounds like a Doctor Monster or a Zedaph special to me. Personally, my money’s on Doc.

I know your client and Doctor Monster go back a long way, so I was wondering if we might see Hotguy himself swooping in?

Yours in pursuit of the truth,

Pearl Moon

  ------------------------------------

To: Pearl Moon <Pearl@hermitherald.com>

From: Cub

Subject: Re: Hotguy appearance? (press enquiry)

Dear Concerned Journalist,

Thank you for your email. As you know, Hotguy is currently in Canada fighting smallpox by shooting individual bacteria with a special crossbow, for which he has received a commendation from their Prime Minister.

I’ve just contacted him to get a quote about the chicken and he definitely said, “Seems bad.”

Enjoy the festival! Feel free to send Hotguy a souvenir donut box to my address.

Cheers,

Cub

Hotguy PR Agent

 ------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <hotguy@hotguy.com>

From: Cuteguy <cuteguy@freemail.com>

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

there’s some kind of festival with crowds of civilians going on in the next street. the chickens are wandering towards it. to make everything worse, i think i saw a newsreader van.

this is funny but also very bad.

i’m going to see if i can lead the chickens away from the festival with some bait, since hotguy’s obviously too busy admiring his own biceps in the mirror to help. i’ve got half a granola bar and an apple core. this is going to work really well for eight hundred chickens. here goes nothing.

if hotguy wakes up from his afternoon nap, you can tell him we didn’t even need him.

 ------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <hotguy@hotguy.com>

From: Pearl Moon <Pearl@hermitherald.com>

Subject: Re: Hotguy appearance? (press enquiry)

Dear Cub,

I’m pretty sure Canada doesn’t have smallpox anymore. I don’t think anywhere has smallpox.

New update: Several hundred chickens have just erupted into the festival from a side street. They all appear to have lasers. The sheer weight of poultry has overturned two artisan donut stalls, which has caused what I’m going to describe as “mass panic” as people try and avoid the laser beams. People screaming, people running, everything coated in a fine layer of powdered sugar. No injuries yet, but it looks like the Prize-Winning Triple Marshmallow Churro Donut display will never be the same again.

Also, I swear I just saw Cuteguy.

Yours in pursuit of the truth,

Pearl Moon

 ------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <hotguy@hotguy.com>

From: Cuteguy <cuteguy@freemail.com>

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

i got ONE chicken with the granola bar and NOW IT’S DECIDED IT’S MY BEST FRIEND. it keeps trying to fly into my arms! this is not helping!!

its friends are now all over the stalls. the laser chicken breed has discovered a new staple food and it’s fried donuts. this is NOT my fault. clearly none of this is my fault.

oh god now there’s two TCG agents coming over to see what all the shouting is about. the chicken radius is growing. there’s a folk band on a bicycle and a chicken just launched itself into their tuba.

i’m going to try and round the rest of them up. keep the TCG off my back and tell hotguy to do ANYTHING HELPFUL AT ALL.

 ------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <hotguy@hotguy.com>

From: Pearl Moon <Pearl@hermitherald.com>

Subject: Re: Hotguy appearance? (press enquiry)

Situation update: Cuteguy is in the middle of a huge crowd of shouting people and appears to be clutching a chicken. Also, Doctor Monster has turned up. He’s trying to give a dramatic speech about his “evolved chickens” from a nearby rooftop through a loudhailer, but I’ll be honest, everyone seems more interested in Cuteguy.

#laserchickendisaster and #whereishotguy are trending on Chatter, but no sign of Hotguy yet! Sure he doesn’t want to give us a longer quote?

Yours in pursuit of the truth,

Pearl Moon

 ------------------------------------

To: Cuteguy <cuteguy@freemail.com>

From: Cub

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

I have a cool contraption that you could probably use for catching chickens. downside is you do need some plutonium. Not much but, like, not a legal amount.

Alternately i also have a great recipe for roast chicken

-Cub

 ------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <hotguy@hotguy.com>

From: Cuteguy <cuteguy@freemail.com>

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

we are not roasting these chickens, cub, the chickens have done nothing wrong!! And WHY DO YOU HAVE PLUTONIUM, WE TOLD YOU TO STOP THE DARK SCIENCE. DO SOMETHING USEFUL ABOUT THIS FESTIVAL SITUATION INSTEAD.

 ------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <hotguy@hotguy.com>

From: Pearl Moon <Pearl@hermitherald.com>

Subject: Re: Hotguy appearance? (press enquiry)

Situation update: Doctor Monster has now turned his loudhailer on Cuteguy and accused him of stealing his evolved chickens. He seems very upset. The Doctor has declined an interview, but I’ve got some incredible photos and the powdered sugar really suits him.

I’m trying to get a quote from Cuteguy but it’s quite difficult to even see him through the crowd, and the chickens, and the German street band, and the displaced donut vendors, and the TCG agents who are trying quite earnestly to get to him, and—did I mention—the chickens.

My camera team is getting some great footage, but do you know what his plan was here?

Yours in pursuit of the truth,

Pearl Moon

 ------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <hotguy@hotguy.com>

From: Cuteguy <cuteguy@freemail.com>

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

everyone in the crowd thinks i own these chickens!! one of the chickens has set fire to a hot oil vat and a journalist is after me and an old lady keeps trying to hit me with her handbag!!!

DOC IS NOW TAKING POT SHOTS AT ME FOR NO REASON AT ALL. I HATE THIS JOB.

i’m behind cover

it won’t last

if you don’t get hotguy here now i’m never speaking to him again

 ------------------------------------

To: Cuteguy <cuteguy@freemail.com>

From: Cub

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

nooo you’re doing great man, knocking it out the park. Doesn’t sound like you need Hotguy.

you’re a hero too, right?

-Cub

 ------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <hotguy@hotguy.com>

From: Cuteguy <cuteguy@freemail.com>

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

okay cub listen.

i don’t WANT hotguy. if i could fix this chicken situation without the city’s most annoying vigilante turning up to take the credit, believe me, i would have done it already.

but you know what hotguy can do? he can win the crowd. hotguy’s always on the right side. nobody would ever accuse hotguy of owning fifteen hundred laser chickens. he tells people about hope and teamwork stuff and they believe him.

oh god

the TCG are here and i’m apparently target number one.

they’ve just spotted me on this gazebo and i’ve got no good roof to jump to. i’ll have to make a run for it. if you don’t hear from me again, i might have got arrested.

hotguy spouts all that rubbish about teamwork, but hey, it’s pretty obvious he doesn’t believe in it himself!

 ------------------------------------

To: Bdubs, Publicity & Comms for Scar Goodtimes

From: Cub

Subject: what I’m about to suggest is legal

we should help him huh

do you know where scar is? like which cell phone towers might be close. I’ve got a map of the towers if you can give me a location.

-Cub

 ------------------------------------

To: Cub, Hotguy PR Agent

From: Bdubs

Subject: this sounds NOT legal

BDUBS TO THE RESCUE, AS ALWAYS. You’re welcome.

Scar is actually recording a snack commercial over on Twelfth Street. Details in projects\casting_directors_bdubs_is_not_feuding_with\dumb_projects_we_have_to_book_for_money\Sparkle!Cereal!

  ------------------------------------

To: Bdubs, Publicity & Comms for Scar Goodtimes

From: Cub

Subject: this is 100% legal white hat hacking definitely

okay I’ve remotely accessed Scar’s phone and put a klaxon on it. Should be audible two hundred yards away.

I’m gonna call him now.

-Cub

 ------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <hotguy@hotguy.com>

From: Pearl Moon <Pearl@hermitherald.com>

Subject: Re: Hotguy appearance? (press enquiry)

Situation update from your reporter on the ground (still no quote from the guy himself?)

Cuteguy has been showing great stamina in the chase that’s been going on. The camera crew is impressed!

He is currently being pursued by:

1.   Doc

2.   Doc’s cyborg guard robot

3.   Two TCG agents

4.   Three hundred and sixty chickens (approx.), one of which believes Cuteguy is its best friend

5.   Several animal activists attempting to recapture the chickens

6.   A bar crawl that seems to think they’re doing a parade and wanted to join in

7.   A German band on a long bicycle with two clarinets and a man trying to shake a chicken out of his tuba

Cuteguy is…looking back over his shoulder?

Oh, wait! Situation update paused!

 ------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <hotguy@hotguy.com>

From: Cuteguy <cuteguy@freemail.com>

Subject: Re: IS THIS HOTGUY’S EMAIL ANSWER RIGHT NOW

HE’S HERE

HE’S ACTUALLY HERE

FINALLY

 ------------------------------------

To: Hotguy <hotguy@hotguy.com>

From: Pearl Moon <Pearl@hermitherald.com>

Subject: Re: Hotguy appearance? (press enquiry)

Hotguy has arrived!

He’s swooped in with three trick arrow shots that set off fireworks above the crowd, rappelled straight up to Doc on the roof, and started a fist fight with him. It’s very dramatic. I’m not sure he’s actually landing any of those blows.

Helpfully for Cuteguy, no one is looking at him anymore. He’s surreptitiously putting distance between himself and the TCG agents.

Doc is now making another speech while fighting Hotguy. If I’m honest, he seems pretty happy he’s finally getting the credit for his own evil plot. We’ve got a close-up on him. Doc would like us all to know that this is the future of poultry, the future of lasers, and possibly the future of donuts? Last part a bit unclear as at that point Hotguy threw his loudhailer off the roof.

Meanwhile, Cuteguy is trying to lure the chickens away from the civilians with pieces of donut. This would be working better if the crowd weren’t all shoving forwards to try to get a better look at Doc.

Doc has taken off on a jetpack declaring he’ll “be back!”. Hotguy has given him a thumbs up.

Oh, now Hotguy has finally caught on to what Cuteguy is trying to do and is chivvying the crowd to help herd the chickens away with donuts for bait. Donuts are flying. The crowd is now enthusiastically participating in this donut-tossing activity. The chickens are delighted. Hotguy has spotted our camera team chasing him and we’re getting a lot of that action-shot this-is-my-good-side pose.

Hotguy and Cuteguy work together pretty well when they get going, huh?

Now Hotguy has swung down to land in the middle of the crowd and put an arm around each of the TCG agents, who are heavily dusted in sugar and look somewhat sheepish. What a nicely framed shot! Almost as if Hotguy pushed them into position for the cameras.

Well, I suppose I’m writing an article about how much Hotguy helps the TCG.

Your client owes me one.

Doc’s guard robot has rounded up the chickens that Hotguy and Cuteguy have funneled back into a nearby alley. It seems to be putting them in large nets. The local pizza place has a sign that says RIGATONI JONES PIZZA: CLOSED DUE TO CHICKEN EMERGENCY, and for some reason Cuteguy seems upset about this. Excitement over, I suppose?

I do hope you tell Hotguy how helpful the Herald was! Next time he’s got a tip-off to share, just tell him to remember your friendly local journalist Pearl Moon.

He knows where to find me ;)

Yours in pursuit of the truth,

Pearl Moon

 ------------------------------------

To: Cub, Hotguy PR Agent

From: Bdubs

Subject: hmm

You know, Cub, I’ve been thinking. That wasn’t bad, how you got hold of Scar. NOT BAD AT ALL. I am starting to think you might be a useful type of person to have around.

All The Best

Bdubs

 ------------------------------------

To: Bdubs, Publicity & Comms for Scar Goodtimes

From: Cub

Subject: Re: hmm

cheers man

i’ve rigged the klaxon so it plays when either of us or cuteguy calls scar. if he waits too long to answer it starts to play the whole Lilo and Stitch movie audio. if anyone asks this is not technically a virus.

-Cub

 ------------------------------------

To: Cub, Hotguy PR Agent

From: Bdubs

Subject: Re: hmm

I LOVE it. I love it.

You know, I have a whole list of casting directors I think you could test some virus development on. It would do them good. Keep them on their toes!! (I believe this is called…“white hat”).

I am HEREBY going to let you into my most SECRET FOLDER.

<Bdubs@scargoodtimes.com> has shared admin\nemesis_list

Maybe start with ‘casting_directors_who_do_not_recognise_bdubs_talent-spotting_genius’ and ‘producers_who_were_rude_to_scar’

 ------------------------------------

To: Bdubs, Publicity & Comms for Scar Goodtimes

From: Cub

Subject: Re: hmm

leave it to me, man

we’re gonna go far

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My piece for the Hotguy comic zinethology! Thank you so much to editor @antimony-medusa and designer @cocoabats (I have used tumblr’s format for most of it because my eyes are too bad for pdf scaling on my phone, but for the FULL INCREDIBLE HOTGUY EXPERIENCE you will want to download the actual zine at @hotguycomiczine!!)