#New agent 3 x reader

[obsessed2fics]

~ Doctor's Plan ~

Agent Stone x (f) reader

Part five {the masterlist}

Warnings: none

Word count: 16.2k

* 1 night ago *

Stone was so busy getting the cafe ready for the next day that he hadn't even noticed his phone ringing for minutes. The phone hung up after a few rings and then voicemail kicked in. That's what caught Stone's attention.

His phone automatically started playing the voicemail left by the caller.

"Agent Stone. This is Commander Walters. I want to inform you about a few issues. Come to the address I left you tomorrow night."

When the voicemail ended, Stone had a confused expression on his face. Why was Walters calling him? Was it about to the botniks he had taken back? But there was no way he could know that he was behind this. The only way to find out what it was all about was to go to that address tomorrow night.

Stone was very formally prepared that evening; a classy suit that he hadn't worn in a long time. He had all sorts of scenarios in mind, but he managed to put them all aside in a professional manner.

After looking in all the rooms, he finally found Y/N. She was sitting in the living room, seemingly absorbed in the book in her hands while stroking Sylvester's fur on her lap.

Stone cleared his throat slightly as he entered the room so as not to scare her. Y/N looked up from her book and looked at Stone with hidden surprise, who looked so classy and attractive. She didn't remember seeing this suit before. It must be new or for a special occasion.

"Uh, can I take your car?" asked Stone without waiting any longer.

"For what?" Y/N asked in response, her eyebrows furrowed slightly as she asked the question.

"I have a meeting out of town. I don't wanna be late." he explained shortly.

Y/N was curious but didn't think much of it. It was obvious that it was a special occasion. "Okay... It's inside the bowl on the coat rack."

"Thanks! I'll tell you the details when I'm back." he said and took the car keys from where they were.

Y/N shrugged. "You don't have to."

However, Stone felt otherwise and decided to tell her about the meeting when he returned. After putting on his shoes and coat, he was ready to walk out the door.

"Uh, one more thing, please don't open the door to anyone."

Y/N rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. "I'm not a child."

Stone's expression was as serious as his voice. He had to take every precaution he could to make sure his mind wasn't left behind. "I'm not joking. I'm serious." he explained.

Y/N realized that he was genuinely worried about her safety. Again. But she made a joke of it to show that he had nothing to worry about. "Okay, mom!"

"Ha-ha! Too funny!" he said with a fake laugh. There was no need to worry unnecessarily, Y/N could take care of herself just fine. He let out a loud, deep breath. "Anyways, take care!"

"Drive safe! I don't want even a little scratch on my car." Y/N warned. Deep down they both felt that her car wasn't the reason for this warning.

"Roger." he said, and he saluted and closed the door behind him, a faint smile on his face.

When he arrived at the mentioned address, there were still 30 minutes left until the meeting time. This place reminded him of where he used to work. It had the same gloom.

The moment he entered GUN's new but temporary control center, several agents around him looked at him and started whispering things to each other. He hadn't been in this kind of environment much since he left to work with Doctor Robotnik. He passed through security and entered the meeting room where another agent directed him. Commander Walters was sitting in the chair at the head of the table.

"Here you are, Agent Stone!" he said and showed him a place to sit with one hand.

"Good evening, sir." Stone said formally and sat down in the seat indicated to him.

"Are you hungry?"

"No, sir."

"Oh, well. You must be wondering why I called you here."

"Yes, sir."

Walters leaned his elbows on the table, clasped his hands together, and began to speak. "You know, Robotnik has been gone a while... And I couldn't turn a blind eye to let a skilled agent like you mourn that maniac's death and ruin your life."

He opened his hands and raised them as if to show the place. "As you may have noticed, this is a new organization with old roots. So, in short, an agent like you could be very useful to us."

Stone waited silently for him to finish before speaking. He had no intention of going back to being a field agent or joining GUN. Also, unlike Walters or the rest of the world, he didn't think Robotnik was dead. He didn't want to think about it or accept it.

However, he decided to put all that aside and come up with an excuse that would work.

"First of all, thank you, sir. But I have no plans to devote my life to being an agent again."

"Why not?" Walters asked.

"Because... There's someone I've been living with for a while. I can't risk her." he explained. What he said had to sound as convincing as possible. And besides, it couldn���t be considered a lie, he couldn’t risk Y/N’s safety by going back to being an agent.

Just as Stone wanted, Walters believed he was in a serious relationship. After all, after working for Robotnik for a long time, it wasn't surprising that he chose to build a normal life for himself. Considering this, he decided to give him some time.

"Well... But I suggest you think about it for a while. Don't make a decision right away."

"Understood, sir." said Stone. He rose from his chair and gave Walters a formal salute before leaving the meeting room.

It was nearly midnight when he left the building. After getting in the car and driving away, he decided to pull over and rest for a while before reaching the highway. It wouldn't be good for him to drive when he was tired, sleepy, and had millions of thoughts in his head.

Picking up his phone, he thought about texting Y/N, but decided not. She must've been asleep long ago. Leaning the seat back, he laid down and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath before falling asleep as usual, the inside of the car smelled like Y/N. Her perfume and her own scent... To be honest, he hadn't realized before that he was familiar with this scent from his own home. While his mind was filled with complicated thoughts on every subject, he fell asleep after a few breathing exercises.

Y/N had eaten alone that evening and made her own coffee. Why did she feel weird even though she had been following this routine for almost her entire life? This feeling increased after her cat fell asleep. She must've quickly gotten used to having Stone around. She had really gotten used to them eating dinner together and Stone making coffee for her every night. She was used to feeling the presence of someone other than herself and her cat in the house.

She was about to grab her phone and text him, but changed her mind at the last minute. "Whatever... He said he would tell me what happened when he got back. Even if he didn't, it wouldn't be any of my business. Right?" she said to herself. But it was obvious that she was curious, she just didn't want to accept it.

She threw her phone aside and turned on a movie to distract herself, falling asleep in front of the TV while watching it.

After a few hours of napping, Stone felt much better. He started the car and drove off, turning on the radio to keep himself company. If he drove non-stop, he could get home by sunrise.

Along the way, he weighed what Walters had said in his mind. There were pros and cons to both options. If he accepted, would Robotnik think he had betrayed him when he returned? Or would he be okay with it? Even after all these years, it was almost impossible to answer this with certainty.

After the hours and the road passed quickly, he arrived in Green Hills at sunrise, just as he planned. After parking the car, he went home to change and get something to eat.

When he entered the house, he found Y/N asleep on the couch in front of the TV. He turned off the TV, covered her with a blanket and quietly went to the bedroom. He found Sylvester standing on top of the headboard, trying to reach something behind it.

"Hi there, buddy!" Stone said in a low voice. "What are you doing there?"

Sylvester ignored him and continued his work. Stone picked him up and looked at the mysterious object behind the headboard. It was the cord from the lampshade on the side table. He laughed quietly to himself and petted the cat.

"Come on, you must be hungry."

He went to the kitchen with the cat in his arms, prepared his food and water and waited for him to eat for a while. As he watched the cat, his eyes were about to close from lack of sleep. So he decided to get up and make some coffee and changed his clothes while it was getting ready.

When he returned to the kitchen, his coffee was ready. He felt more refreshed after finishing his double shot of espresso. As he started to prepare breakfast for himself and Y/N, Sylvester was pacing around at his feet, trying to scratch him. Now he was agreeing with Y/N, it was quite a chore to do something with a cat at his feet.

"So you're back." Y/N said in a sleepy tone. Her whole body ached from her sleeping position. She tried to relax her neck by tilting it left and right a few times. But she scrunched up her face in pain.

Stone had suddenly turned around with the knife in his hand. "You have to stop doing that." he said, looking at the exhausted Y/N.

"Doing what?"

"Appearing silently behind me. I'm an agent trained to kill, I guess you're forgetting that."

"Huh, so I'm not even safe around you?"

"You know very well that's not what I meant..."

"Just messing around. Relax.." she said with a chuckle. "So, need some help?"

"Thanks, but I'm handling it. Take a seat, you look exhausted."

"I fell asleep while watching TV on the couch. My whole body is stiff." she said as she tried to stretch a little more.

"I see." he just said. He was sure a good massage would help. Should he offer to do so? He shook his head, dispelling the thought.

"By the way, thanks again for the car. I left the keys where I got them." Stone said while they were eating breakfast.

Y/N shook her head slightly as she tried to finish the bite in her mouth. Her face was scrunched up again from the pain. "No problem." she managed to say after she finished her bite.

Stone couldn't stand her situation anymore and asked after taking a sip of his coffee. "Um... Don't take it the wrong way, but... it looks like you need a massage. And... I can give you a massage if you want..."

You could tell by his tone that he was nervous. And he was nervous. He just wanted to help.

Y/N looked at him as if a superhero had come to save her from the edge of a cliff. "You know what... I'd love to. Thank you."

Smiling slightly, Stone nodded and stood up, taking his position behind Y/N's chair. So why were those hands that could kill someone without even blinking, trembling now?

Without thinking much about it, he placed his hands on Y/N's shoulders and started massaging them slowly and gently.

Y/N felt nervous, but also starting to relax. She closed her eyes and let herself be held in Stone's capable hands.

"I was in a meeting with Commander Walters last night." he began. He was trying to keep the fact that he was touching her as far from his mind as possible.

"Who's that?"

"My old boss. While I was in the Military Force. I can say that I met with the Doctor, thanks to him. And..."

Y/N let out a quiet moan of relief, sending his thoughts flying around. "Ugh! Don't worry, keep goin'." Y/N said quickly.

"And he wants me to take part in the new unit they've established. He said he ' couldn't turn a blind eye ' to ruining my life." he said. Even the quotation marks in the sentence were obvious from his tone of voice.

"So, what do you plan to do?"

"Honestly... At first I used you as an excuse and said I hadn't thought about it. But he's extremely persistent."

"Does he know who I am?" Y/N asked in surprise.

"Oh, no. Uhm... I kept up the lie I told your friends, just in case he wouldn't insist any further." he replied. Why was it so difficult to talk to her in this state?

"Oh, okay..." said Y/N. She was relieved, both ways.

"But lastly, he gave me a week to think about it. I don't know if I'm ready to get back involved with those jerks. It's been a long time... I'll probably decline."

"Do you want my opinion?" Y/N asked, tilting her head towards him. Stone paused for a moment, then nodded in agreement. "I think you should accept it. It would be beneficial for both the flow of information and money. After all, the cafe's expenses are higher than its income. And you need money to make new badniks..."

Both of them had a major distraction factor, but despite this, both of them managed to focus on the conversation. Almost…

"You are right." Stone agreed thoughtfully.

"I'm always right. It's kind of genetic." she said with a grin. Stone was grinning too, fully aware that it was genetic.

After the massage, which didn't last long, they both chose to act like it had never happened. It was better that way. After all, they didn't have feelings for each other. Right?

Stone had gotten ready and gone to work. Brayden had opened the cafe before him and started cleaning.

"Good morning, boss."

"Good morning." replied Stone. He touched Brayden’s shoulder lightly with one hand. For some reason, he felt less nervous today.

"You seem to be in a good mood. I think Ms. Y/N is on her way here." he guessed. He knew there was some attraction between them.

"Get back to work, Brayden!"

Even though it was only noon, the sky was starting to get cloudy and it was about to rain. Y/N was on her way to the cafe to return the comics and books she had borrowed from Brayden.

She no longer spent the whole day inside the house like she used to, and this was good for her. She had the opportunity to meet new people -Brayden and Crazy Carl- and Sonic. Stone had no idea she had met Sonic, of course. And Sonic seemed like a funny little brat to her. She knew he had played a role in her father's death, and that Stone hated him... But it couldn't hurt him if he didn't know, right?

When she arrived at the cafe, only Brayden was behind the counter. "Hey, Brayden! What's up?"

"Y/N! I'm counting the minutes for break." Brayden replied with exasperation.

"I brought your book and comics." she said, placing them on the counter and pushing them towards him. "Thanks."

Brayden placed the books somewhere under the counter. "As usual?"

"Yeah." she agreed. She looked around. "I haven't seen Stone."

"He hasn't come out of the back since he got here. He was on the phone and said he didn't want to be disturbed."

"Hmm..."

Y/N could more or less guess what the subject of that phone call was and who it was with. While she was lost in thought, Brayden had her coffee ready.

"Oh, thanks." she said, pulling her coffee in front of her. Brayden stopped her as she pulled out her wallet to pay.

"I can't take payment from you, boss's orders."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, take this." Y/N insisted.

"I can't."

"Yes, he can't. It's on the house. Don't worry." Stone came to them.

"Why?"

"Because you don't have to pay for anything when you're with me. Including this place."

Y/N opened her mouth to say something sarcastic when Stone cut her off. "Keep your sarcastic words to yourself, please. Like I said, you don't have to pay for anything when you're with me or here. You can pay if you're not. Did I make myself clear?" he whispered. He leaned over the counter slightly, speaking in a voice only she could hear.

Y/N rolled her eyes. Apparently it would go on like this until Stone accepted that Robotnik was dead and let her go. But Y/N secretly liked it. "Alright."

At the time, Stone had to attend to another customer, but they both had grins on their faces that they didn’t show to each other as they left the counter.

Stone had spoken to Walters that day. He had accepted the position at GUN on the condition that he keep his job at the cafe. He would use it as a cover so that, as far as Walters knew, his relationship wouldn't be damaged. According to Walters, Stone had changed a lot since Robotnik and had gotten into a relationship and changed his priorities. Although he had thought that they had lost Stone a while ago because of Robotnik's crazy ideas and plans, he had approved all of this without any problems because of the positive change he had seen in him.

Of course, Stone and Y/N were the only ones who knew what was really going on. Or... were they?

{New chapter is finally here! I've been struggling with my personal life and didn't get time for writing. Thank you for your patience! 🤍 Hope you like it! Part six will come as soon as I write!}

[dinomite2]

Yandere Agents x reader headcanons

so I asked a writer on wattpad named @sodapoppss if they could do a request for me and she requested this so Enjoy I guess?

Also I have never done a yandere in my life so I'll try and improvise and Happy splatoween 🎃🎃🎃

Agent 8

(I love this gif and idk why)

● Now I would say that Agent 8 would be the quiet but Extremely loyal and amazingly sweet and girlfriend to will murder someone for you in cold ink and choke a person to death in less than 5 seconds if you were remotely insulted by someone

● At first her meeting you and becoming acquaintances with each other was the best thing that ever happened to her she felt emotions that she never felt and she wanted to stay with you for a very long time in fact and she wanted to make you happiest person possible

●Now to start off in her daily obsession over you She would do Anything and I mean ANYTHING to make you satisfied with her care and company firstly she would buy things you wanted even though you didn't need them now

● Oh ! you saw a Squidshort on your phone of how to make chocolate s'more cookies but you don't have the ingredients for it ? She make them and give and feed them like a baby to you no questions asked , you wanted physical copy to a sequel to a game series that you love but it was too expensive for you She's gifting it to you now!

● And oh and have I mentioned 8 LOVES to stalk you in the middle of the night in your apartment level while you are awake or asleep and if you ever lock your doors and windows when you have the very strange feeling that someone is stalking you while you are resting in your home dont forget that she was a trained octarian soldier in the past and she will know how to get inside of your home one way or another and watch you till night's end

● At some times she would be highly but silently jealous of your friends and she would show them you appreciation for them by either hugging your arm hugging you from behind or simply just smiling at you and hoping that you would smile back at her or do some "convincing" if necessary to her

● but sometimes 8's jealously can get a biiiit crazy TOO crazy in fact

●Now it would all depend of how people treated you and either it would either be a swift splatting death or pure ummerciful torture for the poor inkling or octoling

● 8 will wait until your nightly conversation is over with a friend and quietly follow the unaware suspect that hurt your feelings today and when they enter their household the worst happens and it's best to not know what she would do to them when she makes physical contact with them

● but overall 8 is not that bad to a yandere she will not kidnap and make you live with her forever you need to do is not talk or interact with anyone! and nobody will get hurt if you even knew that ...

" Aw Y/n could you stay with me for just a little bit those people won't matter in the end "

Agent 4

● Now her is an interesting case Her first meeting you in person was like absolute heaven to you but it felt like a Rollercoaster of fuzzy emotions crashed onto her face and she didn't know how to respond to them at all

● when 4 sees you She either becomes a blushing mess or one massive flirtatious or maybe rarely both and it can result a bit awkward interaction and a 4 dashing away from you in a flash crashing through people like a bullet

● She would do things to get your attention and admiration like trying to show off cool tricks to you at turf wars handing you gifts and giving you great food or tell you the most flirtatious marks She can make

● and at times where she would be jealous she would very quietly curse out the person you were having fun with or having a simple conversation with

● in all first sight everything looks a-ok around here no problems Overall

AND THAT'S WHAT YOU WILL THINK

● at times when you're talking to a friend or family member 4 will just stare and smile at you no words will come from her mouth she'll stare at you with a cute but threatening like Chara from undertale smile and it started to make you super nervous about this

● She would also take pictures of you without your permission and stick them to her wall and cherish them like a cultist till the end

●more of your friends a were starting to dissappear more inkling were starting to avoid you as fast as they could stuff was feeling like to be downhill for you until 4 invited you to her house one day you both talked, ate, and drank but everything was starting to get dark in your eyes and all you could see was her face smiling before completely blacking out

● And now you were kidnapped By 4 and best try to adjust to your new life now because it will be quite torturing to you but pure bliss for 4 she gets to feed you cuddle you, And take care of your entire life that is if you try to escape that is ...

● She won't mind to cut you a little bit or set a "example" to what happens when you TRY and leave her...

" Y/n you're not going to try to leave me again cause Bad things will happen to you right!?"

Agent 3 / Captain 3

(There's 2 types of agent 3 but I'll be discussing the captain 3 from splatoon 3!)

● Now 3 would be the silent but slightly controlling sort type of yandere

● everything all started when you first recruited by the new new Squidbeak Splatoon and became the new agent 3 in alterna and ever since you joined in 3 took a small liking to your eagerness and confidence and 3 kinda liked that

● She would do things to help you but try to also try to be the serious captain that She is like popping up behind you scaring the ink out of you and giving you advice on new missions in kettles

● 3 also has a whole small to medium sized book all about you just like Marie has with Agent 4 and what you like or don't like how much times that you brush your teeth in a whole week most amount of time you weared a certain cloths/brand

● and she would rarely give some gifts like a pretty flower that she found or something that would at least make you interested she could also train you if you wanted to but expect little to no break time around training Time

●but sometimes when your about to do a hard kettle sometimes 3 will just stop you there and go in herself and Let's hope those fuzzy octolings get the quick treatment from 3 ...

●And at times she would just tell you to take a break when you're working a bit to hard for her standards she won't go to weird precautions to hug you silently and so damn hard that it might turn your bones to dust

● 3 also would politely and very quietly ask you for dates at her house and most of it is just hanging out or cuddling each other witch is pretty much ok

● Surprisingly she doesn't barely get jealous with other people if that is if they become a jerk to you She won't be afraid at ALL to do some "talking" to the person stop them

●Overall 3 may be a be a big ol no talk hard-core captain but she's a softie and will do things no other inkling would even think of you to do for you

"Uh Y/n can we talk about something tomorrow it's about a certain guy I should be talking about "

Bonus!

Neo Agent 3

ya'll really really like these yandere headcanons so here is a little bonus for 22 likes for all of you guys 👍

● Neo 3 would be the Dedicated and slightly hard-core loving kind of yandere

● It all started you both met each other in the lobby playing turf wars and you practicing for the next fews anarchy battle with your weapons and just after a long time you met Neo 3 and she was an experience to say the least...

● she was a bit rough in the edges but overall you both became quick friends with each other doing more turf wars and open anarchy battles with together and had pretty great teamwork

●but she would do some crazy things to either flirt or interest you to and add it to the max since she is the most chaotic agent in the group

●and you would not believe what she'll do for you at all

● she would do things like set up fireworks at random open place to impress you she'll replicate every move and strategy you do she'll even as far to redecorate a entire room in her house to have a piano and she'll lie on it while wearing a bright colored dress and she'd fed herself grapes...

●but not only that but she would strangely get EXTREMELY aggressive at times at not only turf wars but at times where just talking to a random octoling or inkling and suddenly Neo 3 would just suddenly slam their head on a locker or a wall for literally just having a conversation with you about chargers

● she would also take you on trips you sometimes didn't want to go at all to but she brought you anyway like som sudden 3 hour hike in the middle of the desert and consider them as "Dates"

● she would start to be more possessive of your life and what you do no friends no family not a single word you would utter to them

● but one day you took an afternoon walk after a heated argument with Neo about her taking over your whole life but until then you were sitting on a bench thinking of apologizing to her and reasoning with her but you felt pressure on your neck and everything blacked out on your eyes

● Great you've been Kidnapped by Neo and this new life will be with her and doing hard-core activities and having romantic times with her forced to make you love her

● and wipe out any ideas or dreams of you escaping her cause she'll go unknown lengths to find you a get you back and when you get back it's not gonna be fun for you......

" Y/n just face it you're not going to leave me EVER"

And done I hope you all enjoyed my first ever yandere headcanons along with the little edit and the addition as always stay safe stay cool and most importantly stay on the nice side my dudes peace ✌️

[lady-bess]

Fallout - Chapter 3 "Out Into The Light"

Jack Daniels x F!Reader Explicit/ 18+ (Minors DNI please) Chapter Word Count: 6.3k Chapter Tags: Description of injuries, description of hospital equipment, punishment, anger, frustration, angst, reference to trauma, reference to death, recovery.

Series Masterlist | A03 Link | Tumblr Masterlist

<- Previous Chapter (Ch. 2 - "A Curious Affair")

Still in his hospital bed, Jack gets a long awaited visit from Champ, who details the punishment he now has to endure as a result of his crimes. But even in spite of losing his moniker, and facing the wrath of Agent Tequila's anger, Jack remains positive for what his new life might look like.

2:17pm. February 8 th , 2018.

The road ahead for Jack was going to be a long one - this morning had already made that abundantly clear. His body ached and cried out in pain and exhaustion every time he tried to move any more than just simply sitting. Even stretching out fatigued muscles sent shocks through his body as his nerves and tendons all got used to proper movement again. 

After sleeping for another few hours, Clara had taken small steps with Jack to establish where he was at physically. Slowly she had sat him up in bed, taking time and adjusting the backrest of where he lay so that his body could acclimatise to being upright again, and not pass out from any more sudden movement. It took almost an hour, but she eventually got him sitting upright. 

Normally, patients who were reliant on ventilators or in any kind of comatose state, would need weaning off their oxygen steadily. Half an hour increments daily, followed by the smallest bits of exercise in conjunction. Any more could risk further internal injury, or delays in overall progress to recovery. 

Jack had a slight upper hand in that the Statesman technology which had kept him alive these last few months was far superior to any standard hospital equipment that he would have been using had he not been in the lab. His body had been preserved much more efficiently than it could have been, and as such things were not as dire as they could have been when he finally woke up properly. 

Electrostimulation had been administered gently throughout his muscles while he slept, preventing a lot of atrophy he would experience for being out cold for so long. He still would need some form of rehab to develop what had been lost, and the side effects of not breathing autonomously for so long would take a long time to be completely over. But things could be a lot more dire for Jack if he had found himself anywhere other than Statesman. 

Jack sat in silence after Clara excused herself for a moment to go run some blood tests on him - although he was smart enough to know that this was definitely a ruse to just be out of the way. He knew that Champ would need to come by soon and speak to him, but in a sense Jack could hardly bear waiting any longer for that to happen. It felt like he was waiting for his own day of reckoning, and the sooner he knew what fate he was going to face, the better. 

His prayers would soon be answered. 

The elder Statesman agent stepped out of the barrel-shaped elevator and walked down the long corridor of the labs. It had been a few hours since he’d had word from Clara about needing to be down here, but that she would need a while to make sure Jack was completely stable before he would be able to bear being questioned. 

Champ had waited as long as he could. He had spent most of the morning itching with a feeling akin to excitement, nervousness, and also dread. For as happy as he was that Jack was back in the land of the living, he knew that he was about to face up to the reality that was the betrayal of his most senior agent - not only someone who he regarded as trustworthy in the field, but also someone he had come to know so intimately that he would be able to consider him a friend. 

But he’d had the benefit of time on his side, and ever since Jack’s accident he’d mulled over how best to treat the former agent. Anger had blinded him in the first few weeks, wanting nothing more than to cut ties with Jack and send him packing at the first opportunity. But the guilt at what had caused Jack to snap had eaten away at the older man for far too long, and he’d had time to process that perhaps he had some accountability to take for what happened. 

Inhaling sharply, Champ pushed open the door to the lab and stepped inside. He had wanted to remain a confident figure of authority today, and to maintain the kind of stature he was known for - stoic, no nonsense, and would absolutely kick you to the curb if needed. But all that faded away the second he laid eyes on Jack across the room of the lab, almost stopping him dead in his tracks. 

Propped up in bed, still with a ventilator and IV tracks feeding into him, he looked rough . The colour in his face had long since faded, replaced by a look of fatigue under heavy eyes and a solemn brow. Someone, Jack looked more dead now than he had in the four months he’d been laid unconscious. 

Champ bit on his bottom lip gently as he shuffled his feet along the crisp white floor of the lab, then cleared his throat to get the attention of Jack. Two dark brown eyes scanned over to the noise before setting on Champ, and he was met with a melancholic smile from the younger man. A smile which shattered Champ from the inside. 

“Hey, kid,” he said, snapping himself out of his daze and slowly wandering over to Jack. He tried not to let it show, but Champ carried so much guilt towards the former agent that sat before him now. He had wondered, for so long since the accident, if any of it was preventable. Could he have done more to prevent Jack from going down this road? Was this the fault of the organisation Jack worked for so many years to uphold, and protect? 

Had he failed to protect his own?

Jack smiled faintly towards Champ, his brow softening as the older man approached him. He thought, at first, that he might feel differently when this time finally came - when judgement came knocking at his door. But, for as much as Champ tried, he could never fully hide his feelings. Not from Jack, anyway. He didn’t know if it was regret, remorse, or sympathy that was painted across his face, but Jack knew that whatever he was about to say would not be the aggressive screaming match that he anticipated. 

“Hey, boss,” he said weakly, his voice cracking with each syllable he pushed out of his mouth. He’d spoken in small parts to Clara and Jane since waking up, but on the whole this morning had been focused on making sure he was stable and well rested. There would be a lot of rehab to come, so he needed to save his energy. 

“How are you doing?” Champ asked, pulling an office chair across the room from an empty desk, and situating it next to Jack’s bed. He sat down, grunting slightly as he did, old age and the stress of running this organisation without his most senior agent by his side having taken its toll on the older man. 

“Been better, if I’m honest,” Jack said, just about forcing out a small chuckle. Champ smiled sympathetically, nodding in understanding. 

“Yeah, I figured, kid. Sorry for asking such a dumb question,” he said, laughing faintly along with Jack. 

Jack smiled towards the older man, someone he had respected and looked up to for so long. What he had tried to do was wrong, and it didn’t take a genius to tell him that, but somehow the thing that hurt most was that he had let down Champ - a man who represented a team that had done nothing but have Jack’s back for the last two decades, and yet he still betrayed them. 

“No change there then,” he joked, winking at Champ. He smiled back at him earnestly, and for a brief moment anyone could be forgiven into thinking that there was nothing amiss between the two men. That Jack had just had an unfortunate accident, and here was his boss coming to check on his condition. 

But none of that was the case, and the sobering reality of the situation couldn’t be ignored for long. A weight sat on both the men’s shoulders the longer they chose to keep sweeping this conversation under the rug, putting it off, and off, until eventually one of them had to address the elephant in the room.  

Jack didn’t want it to be him which broke the veil of denial that lay across them both in this moment. He wanted to enjoy what could potentially be his last few civil moments with the man who he had betrayed - he had turned his back on Statesman for the sake of his own fucked up principles, and wouldn’t blame Champ for cutting ties and leaving him out in the dust somewhere. 

Forgotten. Unloved. But probably deserved. 

Champ didn’t want it to be him, either. He wanted to still believe, for just a moment longer, that this entire situation had been an unfortunate misunderstanding. That Jack hadn’t acted out how he did, that Eggsy and Harry had lied. 

But the video footage from the Kingsman agent’s glasses was proof enough. For as much as he wanted to bury his head in the sand, and pretend like their British cousins were lying for some reason, he could not deny the evidence so plainly in front of him. 

And now, Jack had to face the music.  

“Jack, I’m sorry to do this, but I gotta ask. What was the last thing you remember?” Champ asked.

Jack sighed softly, but nodded. The silence couldn’t last forever - this question was always going to have to come one way or another. He could see in Champ’s face he didn’t like asking it as much as Jack was going to hate answering it. He inhaled sharply, preparing himself for the words he needed to own up to; the reason he was here today. 

“I remember most of it, unfortunately. My last memory is getting into a fight with Eggsy and Galahad when I tried to stop them from releasing the antidote to Poppy’s laced narcotics. Leading up to that point, I was in a bit of a haze. Anger blinded me, Champ,” he said.

No words Jack could say could ever begin to make up for the damage he almost caused. Clara had gone over her estimations with how many people had been affected, and how many would have perished had Jack been successful with his own personal mission. It pained him to know that he almost cost the lives of hundreds of thousands of innocent people - something he could only see now, four months after the accident. 

Champ nodded, staying silent for a moment as he processed what Jack had said. In a way he was glad that he remembered a good portion of the details, as it made it easier to go straight into questioning him as to why he acted like he did, rather than starting from square one and having to fill in the blanks. 

Champ had an idea as to why Jack ended up snapping. He knew about what happened with Lela, and had seen over the years Jack’s defiance of anyone using recreational drugs. But to Champ, that wasn’t enough of a reason. He had to know what set it off this time.  

“Were you always like this? Were we truly just so stupid that we didn’t see it?” Champ asked, his hands clasped together on his lap. Jack shook his head.

“I never in my wildest imagination saw myself as being the kind of agent to go rogue. I still can’t believe I did,” he said, sighing to himself. All morning his mind had replayed to him the final mission he was on. What got him there, how he tried so hard to deal with the feelings that resurfaced because of it, and his subsequent idea as to how he could work against Statesman and Kingsman for his own benefit. 

“When did it start, then?” Champ queried, leaning forward slightly in his seat, asking a question Jack had been trying to answer himself all morning. He’d never wholeheartedly supported the use of narcotics, especially given what happened to Lela, but for so many years it had never been a point of contention. 

But finally, he had an answer.  

“It was just after Poppy’s case landed on our doorstep. Something just clicked in my brain. I’m not an idiot, Champ, I know drugs are all around me. Hell, I know Jefferson used them from time to time. I didn’t like it , but I at least knew he was being fairly safe with it,” he began, trying to explain his reasoning. 

Champ furrowed his brow, sucking his lip in as he mulled over what Jack had to say. He’d seen the tiffs he and agent Tequila had over the past few years in regards to drug use, but it had never escalated beyond a shouting match. Something still didn’t fully make sense. 

“So what about Poppy tipped you over the edge?” he asked. Jack gave his former boss a taut smile, followed by a breathy laugh through his nostrils. 

“Champ, this is gonna come out sounding like the most fuckin’ misogynistic thing in the world. Please, bear with me,” he said. Champ couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Go on?” he said.

“I think the fact that Poppy, a well educated woman who yearned for that traditional American aesthetic…the fact it was her behind all of this, shattered the illusion I had of what a drug dealer was,” he said, before pausing to take a breath. It was only now he realised that he so rarely spoke about his wife out loud, and to other people, that he was getting choked up at just the thought of mentioning her name. 

“Since my wife passed, and they busted the guy who had dealt those guys that meth, I think it got ingrained into my head that drug dealers were all horrible, brutish men. Guys most people would avoid on the street, you know?” he said.

“I think I’m picking up what you’re putting down, but continue?”.

“The fact this operation, one that was so fuckin’ massive it affected people globally …and it was Poppy running it…it completely knocked me for six. Suddenly this ideology I had built in my mind of what these people were was destroyed, and it was abundantly clear that literally anyone had the ability to distribute drugs and destroy lives in the process,” he said.

“So, for you, it was less about the drugs and more about the dealers?”. Jack nodded.

“I was blinded by anger, and confusion. I didn’t really care about the people who used those substances, but the ones who shipped ‘em out, even if they were harmful…they were the people I wanted to see gone,” he said.

That was always his rationale, he’d come to realise. The people who made money from those who would go on to make reckless decisions; they were the ones to blame. Tequila had shown him time and time again that drugs could be taken sensibly, if done properly. He still didn’t like the potential risks he posed to himself, but never once had Tequila acted out of sorts because of what he took. 

But those who sold it, even if they knew a client might potentially do themselves or other people harm - they were the ones he couldn’t stand. The ones who needed wiping off the face of the earth. 

The way in which he had intended for that to happen, by essentially drying up and eradicating their customer base, was not the best course of action. Jack could see that so clearly now that he almost couldn’t comprehend that it was something he ever considered logical in the first place. But blinded by his anger and grief, emotions he so often chose to bury, it all became too much to rationalise. 

Champ nodded, slowly starting to see where Jack was coming from. He still didn’t agree with his actions, he’d never be able to do that, but it was gradually becoming clearer what happened in his mind. What made him snap. He opened his mouth again to inhale, about to speak again, but the two men would have to wait for that. 

The doors to the labs burst open, making both Champ and Jack jump in their skin slightly as the door whipped back and slammed into the concrete wall. Both their heads turned to face the entrance, and simultaneously their hearts plummeted to the pit of their stomachs as they saw the younger man striding towards them.  

“Is it true? The son of a bitch is alive ?” Tequila said, storming into the room. 

Jack figured something like this was coming, though. If he had been successful, Tequila wouldn’t be here today – he deserved this anger. That still didn’t mean he was quite prepared for the rage which came tumbling towards him at a hundred miles an hour. 

Flinching at the sound of Tequila’s boots hitting the ground, Jack’s knuckles went white as he screwed up the bedding of his hospital bed in his fists. For the first time in his life he was truly frightened - something he had not been for so many years. He never had anything to lose when he hurtled himself head first into a mission, never caring about the potential ramifications to his own life - but this , Tequila’s anger, made him almost sweat. 

“Tequila I thought I told you to calm the fuck down before you came into this room?!” Clara asked, her jaw clenched with frustration as she followed her younger colleague, barely keeping up with the pace he strode ahead with. He rolled his eyes as he stormed over to the other side of the room where Champ and Jack were, not even paying attention to look back at Clara as he spoke.

“How the hell can you expect me to be calm about this?” he asked, venom laced in his words, a redness in his face creeping up from his neck as tempers rose.

“Tequila, I-,” Jack began. He wasn’t sure what he was going to try and say – hell knows he didn’t get the chance to even get half a sentence out before being cut off.

“I nearly fucking died because of you, Jack!” Tequila shouted, visibly enraged. His skin was red as anger coursed through him, and his jaw was clenched so tight that the veins in his neck were visible. Clara turned to him, her eyes silently pleading with him, hoping and praying that he would see sense and calm down. But Tequila could only see red - silent pleas were not going to suffice this time. 

“Tequila, calm down, please ,” she said softly, her hand reaching out to take hold of him by his elbow. She tugged gently, hoping the pull of her fingers around his arm would be enough to snap him out of the upset and rage he had towards Jack. But even that was no use. He shrugged his arm away from her, not even turning to look back at her as he responded. 

“No,” he snapped, his breathing sharper as fury continued to bubble just under the surface, threatening to spill out into all-out violence the longer he stood there staring at Jack. A man who, for the longest time, he trusted with his life. A man who, as he came to learn a few months ago, was more than happy to sacrifice Tequila’s life in an effort to rid the world of drug users. 

He wanted to hurt him so badly. He’d been waiting months for the chance, and seeing him lay in his bed with all manner of wires and tubes plugged into him, keeping him alive - the temptation to rip them from his body was high. But the only thing that stopped him was the hope that Champ would deliver a punishment which Jack deserved - something he could not endure if he were already dead. 

Clara could understand his anger, and for a long time she had carried that similar weight on her shoulders of betrayal. She understood how he felt, with Jack being someone she had for so long looked up to and admired. For him to turn out like this - it was still slightly beyond belief. But the one thing she would not tolerate from Jefferson was his rudeness towards her . Eyebrows raised, she retracted her hands and rested them on her hips, glaring disapprovingly up at the younger man. 

“Tequila, I will kick you out if you don’t fuckin’ can it ,” she said, now almost yelling herself. At those words, with a sharpness to her threat, Tequila finally turned his head. Clara rarely spoke ill of anyone, nor did she idly make threats. For her to have threatened to kick him out the labs, her labs , snapped him out of the daze he had slipped into. 

Turning to face Clara, with a slightly softer gaze, he shook his head apologetically.

“Sorry, doll,” he whispered, his breathing still ragged from anger. She wasn’t completely going to let him off the hook, but for the time being she’d let it slide until he was in a better headspace. She nodded, smiling taut, and Tequila returned the gesture with a small grin, then turned back to face Jack and Champ. 

“My apologies, sir. Although I’m sure you can understand where my anger stems from, I shouldn’t have acted as such,” he said, removing his stetson and tipping his head towards Champ. 

“It’s alright, kid. This day was never gonna be easy,” Champ said. Tequila nodded, placing his stetson back on his head. 

“Might I ask what punishment Mr. Daniels will be facing?” he asked, eyes locking with the former senior agent. Jack swallowed harshly at Tequila’s gaze, eyes that were so often sparkling and filled with life now pierced into him like the first harsh frost of a winter.   

Champ sighed to himself under his breath - he had imagined in his head how delivering this news would go, always planning in the back of his mind how he would speak to the man before him after all that he’d done. Like Clara and Jefferson, it was difficult to understand that Jack would ever want to go rogue, but he hoped that over time he could come to understand his reasoning. But the one eventuality he did not account for was the one in which an enraged and flustered Tequila would be present at the delivery of such information. 

“I really wish I could have done this in private, Jack,” he said, smiling apologetically down at the former senior agent.  

“Do what?” Jack asked. He had figured as soon as he had woken up, and regained the crucial memories which helped him piece together how he came to be here, that there would be some form of punishment for his actions. It only seemed right, and even Jack could see that. Whatever Champ was about to deliver would be well deserved, and perhaps not punishment enough. 

“You’ve lost your moniker, Jack. You’re no longer Agent Whiskey,” he said. “I’m sorry, kid.”

Jack nodded, solemnly, as he listened carefully to what Champ said. He couldn’t lie and say he expected to wake up and everything be okay - there would be consequences to his actions, and he had made peace with that. He might have only been back in the land of the living for a short while, but he’d had long enough to already be racked with the guilt and remorse of the actions he’d taken to get him into this position. That didn’t mean finding out he had essentially lost his identity didn’t still sting, though. 

“I expected as much. Please tell me what else will happen to me,” he asked, mentally preparing himself for what would be coming his way.

Champ shifted where he sat, looking like he was pondering what it was that he wanted to say. He gently sucked his bottom lip under his top teeth, now seemingly a bit reluctant to talk, with all eyes in the room firmly pinned on him. He sighed, softly. 

“Let me talk you through a couple of things, Jack. The initial plan was to get you healed up here, then ship you off somewhere with a brand new identity. Essentially, reinvent you, then leave you somewhere alone, with no ties to Statesman,” he said, eyes unable to focus on Jack. For as firm as Champ was, and as sure of himself as he so often was, this was one thing that he had tormenting him for months. That plan no longer felt right. 

“But, I came to see that the initial plan was something that was made only out of anger, and rage. It was a knee jerk response to the actions you had taken, and while I will never be able to condemn what it was that you did, I cannot in good faith punish you in such a way like that anymore,” he said.

Jack smiled faintly, a pang of guilt tearing through him again, and tears welled up in his eyes. Champ was a mentor to Jack, and had been such a constant presence in his life for two decades now. He would take a long time to be able to forgive himself for what he did, but his biggest regret was that he had the burden of feeling like he’d let Champ down to carry around with him. Gaining back his trust, and forgiveness, would be a hard battle to fight. 

Tequila, still thoroughly unimpressed at Jack even daring to breathe the same air as him, scoffed at Champ’s words. Jack understood why Jefferson would be so bitter towards him, and he knew if the shoe were on the other foot he’d probably be just as resentful towards him. He didn’t take it personally, but it still was enough of a visceral reaction to make Jack turn his attention towards his former colleague. 

“You’ve all gone fuckin’ soft,” Tequila said under his breath, his arms folded tight against his chest. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Clara quipped, her head snapping round to Tequila the second he dared open his mouth and interrupt Champ. He rolled his eyes at her, but did as she asked, not uttering another word for a while longer. 

“So, what’s the new plan then, Champ? Whatcha gonna do with me?” Jack asked. Champ smiled faintly, his thumb and forefinger on his right hand gently twirling the end of the bolo tie that he had on, something which all agents in the room had realised was something Champ did when he was anxious about something. 

Champ might be someone who came across like he had a hand on everything, but when it came to his closest agents, the most senior ones who had been with Statesman for over a decade, there would always be some decisions which would leave him feeling slightly unsure he was taking the right action. These people were like a family to Champ, and one wrong move had the possibility of jeopardising his adoptive family. In a job like this, where personal relations were hard to maintain outside of work, having any kind of rift in the team was never something he wanted. Life was hard enough for them without it.  

“I’m giving you another chance, Jack. You’ll undergo a course of intense psychological treatment once you’re physically healed, and all the while we’ll keep you bound to these grounds. Consider it a form of house arrest, given what you tried to do,” Champ said. 

Clara furrowed her brow, now turning her attention back to Champ. 

“Champ, I didn’t think that was part of the plan?” she asked. Tequila scoffed, again . 

“It ain’t enough, if you ask me,” he said. Clara didn’t want to detract from any point Champ might be about to give in response to her question, so she didn’t make all that much of a deal of his quip; although that didn’t stop her from muttering “ nobody asked you” under her breath. 

“I changed my mind. I want to give you another chance, Jack, but I need to be sure that you won’t go rogue again. We had guys from the FBI on our case not long after the antidote got released, wanting to know what the delay was all about. I managed to get them off your trail, but fuck , it was a close one. Put my neck on the line for you, Jack, so I gotta be a hundred percent sure whose side you’re on before I even think about giving you a proper job back here,” he said. 

“What makes you think we can ever trust him again, Champ? Are you forgetting how he was quite happy to just let me fuckin’ die ?!” Tequila said, that anger rising in him anew. Champ shrugged. 

“Only time will tell that much, Tex. But my decision is final,” he said, turning back to Jack. “So, what do you say, kid?”. 

Jack smiled faintly, nodding at the older man, choosing to ignore Tequila’s outburst. He’d come around one day - or maybe he wouldn’t; who knew? He probably deserved it if his old friend could never look at him the same again. 

“Statesman is all I’ve ever known, for so long. I want to make it work, Champ. I’ll serve my time,” he said.

Champ smiled, nodding as he stood to his feet, holding onto the lapels of his jacket as he returned to the strong stature he so liked to maintain. 

“Very well. Tequila, may I see you outside for a moment?” Champ asked. Tequila scoffed, still completely bemused at the solution to Jack’s punishment, but nodded nonetheless. He’d never been one to question Champ’s authority, so he sure wasn’t about to start now - regardless of his personal feelings towards the decision. 

The two men began walking away from Jack’s bed, but before they could leave he had just one final burning question that he needed answering. 

“Hey Champ, if I’m not Whiskey, then who is?” Jack asked. Champ turned on his heels, ignoring the fact that Tequila kept walking towards the door, and smiled. 

“Clara, can you fill Jack in on those details?” he asked, and she nodded. 

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“Very good,” he grinned, then nodded towards Jack, “Rest up, kid. I’ll see you soon”. 

Jack watched as Tequila and Champ left the room, the lab doors swinging behind them as they left. A silence fell across the lab once they had departed, the gentle sound of machinery beeping and whirring behind his head the only thing he noticed for a while. Jack felt his mind slowly wandering away from the physical space in which he resided, the reality of everything crashing down around him. 

He’d lost his moniker. 

The man he fought for years to become, the stoic and immovable Agent Whiskey - just like that, gone . A part of his life, so big that he didn’t even know who he was without it, had been taken away. He didn’t disagree with Champ, he would have acted the same in his shoes - but the feeling of loss left a vacant hole deep inside his chest, and for a moment Jack wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to piece himself back together.

Clara sat down besides Jack’s bed and sighed quietly, the weight of that conversation heavy in the air surrounding them both. She could see that he’d wandered elsewhere, his eyes almost empty as she looked over at him. This was a conversation that she didn’t want to have, especially given how heartbroken he looked - but the band aid would need to come off sometime. 

She slowly slid her hand atop of Jack’s, caressing the back of his hand while she waited for him to come back to her. He didn’t react at first, the dissociation taking hold and carrying him far out of this room. Far away from the reality he was having to acknowledge. 

“Jack?” she whispered, finally snapping him out of his daze and bringing him back to her in the room. He turned to look at her, his eyes filled with tears, but yet he still managed a small smile. 

“Sorry,” he whispered, sniffling to himself and wiping his eyes with his free hand. Clara shook her head, lacing her fingers between his and squeezing his hand. 

“Don’t be,” she said, “This is a lot to process all at once. We can always revisit this conversation another day?” she suggested, but Jack shook his head. 

“No, Clara, I need to know. Who is the new Agent Whiskey?” he asked.  

Clara bit her lip, still unsure if she felt ready to tell him. But one look into those deep brown pleading eyes, and she was a goner. Her and Jack might have never been intimate with one another, but that didn’t make her totally immune to the looks and glances he could pass around. 

“It’s me, Jack. I’m Agent Whiskey,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry”. 

Jack had never been keen on Clara becoming a senior agent, even though he knew as well as anyone else that she would have been deserving of the position. But being one of the only women he worked closely with on a daily basis for so many years, he’d so long wanted to protect Clara and keep her safe - denying her the chance to work her way up the ranks was his way of crudely preventing her from putting herself in harm's way. 

He knew it was wrong. Truthfully, the fact his old moniker had been passed to her felt like an ironic sense of justice being delivered - a karma given to him for all the times he had denied Clara the right to do what she was more than capable of, what she was more than deserving of , in the name of protection. 

Jack smiled at Clara, trying to reassure the evident worry that was dancing across her face. With her hand still in his, he returned the affection she’s given, squeezing her fingers between his. 

“No, Clara. I’m sorry,” he said. She furrowed her brow, not expecting an apology to come from his lips - in fact, she expected anger. A sense of betrayal, even, that after all this time working together that it was her who would be the one to take his moniker the second he were to lose it. But no; instead Jack looked remorseful, and genuinely sorry. 

“What for?” she asked. 

“You mean aside from causing all this mess?” he chuckled, motioning to the bed in which he lay with his other hand. 

“Oh, shut up,” she giggled, wanting to playfully slap his arm but knowing that was probably not the best idea given his current condition. 

“I’m sorry for ever denying you the chance to become an agent. You never deserved that,” he explained. 

She’d get an explanation from him one day as to why he did. That didn’t matter right now - for the first time in her life, Clara had just heard Jack apologise to her. 

“It’s okay. In a way it all worked out in the end,” she said. Jack shrugged. 

“Yes, but I should have never stood in your way. For what it’s worth, I’m glad my moniker has gone to you, of all people,” he said. “You deserve the title.”

Clara smiled at Jack, tears stinging in the corners of her eyes. He lifted her hand, still within his, up to his lips. Softly he placed a kiss on the back of her hand, all the while his deep brown eyes staying firmly on hers, his own tears starting to seep from the edges and trickle down his face. 

For Clara, it was an acceptance that she hadn’t anticipated, but one she had so desperately needed. For as long as Jack had been asleep, carrying his former moniker had felt more like a burden than a privilege. A metaphorical ball and chain clamped around her ankle, weighing her down and scraping at the ground beneath her with every step. It had been an unbearable weight. 

But looking back at Jack now, whose features seemed softer than she’d ever seen before, there was not a doubt in her mind that everything would eventually work out. Whatever became of Jack, however well he would cope with the upcoming months and years of rehab, she could leave this room today as Agent Whiskey with her head held high. Something she had yearned for since September. 

“You better rest now, Jack. We’ll be getting you into physical rehab in the morning, so you’ll need your energy. I think you’ve had enough for one day now,” Clara said. 

Jack nodded, setting Clara’s hand back down onto the bed and loosening his grip, allowing her to pull away. She stood up from his bedside and adjusted her lab coat, before heading off in the direction of the door. 

“Thank you, Clara,” Jack said weakly, smiling over at his former co-worker as he felt his body relax into the bed. She turned her head back towards him, chuckling to herself as she saw his eyes go heavy and begin to close, fatigue taking over his body. On her way out, Clara dimmed the lights, and by the time she came to leave the labs Jack had already slipped away again into a deep slumber. 

As Jack slept that night, he dreamt of his old life. A life he would no longer see again, but perhaps for the better. He had been a wayward soul for far too long, and his unpredictability had led him to ruin. For him to feel happiness again, to have a new lease of life, change was inevitable. 

“All great changes are preceded by chaos”. 

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Next Chapter (Ch. 3 - "Confinement") ->

[solkteaa]

Hii I'm looking for request again, I had a few but they got lost in my inbox (sorry!!!) School is almost over meaning I'll soon have time to write, so that means I need to get my request list going. I might put up a book on wattpad or ao3, ill let you guys know if I do!!

I'm mainly looking for head cannons or prompts. If i jst don't find it interesting there's a good chance I'll ignore it unfortunately.

Characters and rules r pinned on my page!

[raventreehouse]

Oh look! A new chapter! How wonderful >:3 hope yall enjoy!

@starsunderwaterr get tagged so you can reblog >:3

[chithereader]

first impressions / aaron hotchner

pairing: aaron hotchner x f!reader

word count: 2.6k

genre: fluff

cw: shy!reader / naive!reader, hotch has a crush!! a bit of mutual pining

a/n: i feel like this is a little all over the place but i love a pining hotch too much so i just had to post it!!!

Anderson has been doing his case reports in the pantry for the past four hours. Perhaps it does have its perks– one, he’s closer to the coffee machine and two, he’s farther away from all the chatter that is coming from the place he should actually be working in– at his desk. 

That’s because for the past four hours, the whole BAU team or what’s left of it– being Derek, Rossi, Garcia, and Reid– have been crowding the rows of desks directly across Hotch’s office. Occupying desks and chairs that are definitely not theirs. 

The rowdy bunch has been debating, gossiping, and most importantly, profiling their unit chief for the past four hours. Figuring out which applicants impress him, disappoint him, or straight-up irritate him– all through his office window. 

They’ve seen a total of seven applicants walk out of his office without a handshake, which is Hotch’s tell on whether he would consider that candidate or not. Out of those seven, two were way prettier than they were smart, three way too confident than they were competent, and two solely able to step foot in Quantico because of their last names. 

As for those that did walk out with a handshake were… well.. non-existent. If anyone were to ask someone from the team, they’d insist that they don’t need a new member. They don’t need anyone new to replace the beloved ones that have left. 

However, remembering the previous cases from the past two weeks– the truth is, they all felt a little like they were drowning. It felt like the more days that went by, the more cases there were to filter, solve, and close. The more killers there were to profile, hunt, and stop. The more reports there were to fill out, file, and submit; 

Each member of the team was doing double the workload of what they usually handle which had started to take its toll on their health, both physical and mental. And Hotch being the responsible leader that he is, recognized what had to be done. Especially after Reid fainted while running and Morgan’s strength notably faltering while in a tussle with an unsub. 

Now, the team didn’t know if it was perhaps because Hotch was measuring all these potential agents against Emily and JJ but none of them appeared up to his standard. Although accepting applications was his idea, judging by the way his brows had furrowed permanently they could tell Hotch was starting to regret it. Rossi, who knows Hotch a little better than everyone, could tell that he was about to give up. 

He could tell by the way he had his lips pressed in a thin line for the past forty minutes unwaveringly. 

He could tell by the way his shoulders were more obviously rising and falling, his breaths deeper- like he was calming himself. 

He could tell by the way Hotch would stand with clenched fists, unclenching them slowly on his sides. 

He could tell by the way Hotch was staring at the files, not reading. 

But just as Rossi was about to go up to Hotch’s office so they could all call it a night. To give his friend a pep talk about being there for each other and how tomorrow’s another day. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone entering the BAU walking briskly. 

The profiler in him skims over the figure quickly: 5 foot 3. Tiny. Mid-20s to early 30s. Young. Cardigan, jeans, sneakers, and a messenger bag. Is this kid Reid’s twin or what. Soulful round eyes, cute nose, pink lips. Pretty. 

“Uhm, hi.. I’m here for an interview? with uhm.. Mr– Agent Hotchner, sorry. Could someone point me to his office? Please?” Interesting. 

For some reason, none of the members of the team spoke, mainly surprised by the sudden addition of this stranger’s presence. One by one, like falling dominos, they slowly pointed to Hotch’s door. Simultaneously taking their precious time assessing whatever they can from what they’re seeing. 

Their observations didn’t stray far from what Rossi had seen. You’re pretty. That’s the first thing one can deduce. The incredibly-adorable kind of pretty, Garcia thinks. You seem smart, the same way anyone knows boy genius is smart– darting eyes like you’re thinking at a thousand miles per minute. Like you’re studying your surroundings, assessing threats, friendlies, and potential threats. 

You’re shy. You speak softly as if scared to intrude. Your movements are precise as if scared to impose. You stand still as if scared to take up more space than necessary. But your posture says otherwise. You may be introverted but your intelligence reeks in your diction and the way your head is held high, a part of you you’re sure of. Literally a lot like Reid, it’s creepy. 

You’re young. Young enough to steal pretty boy’s title as the baby of the team if you were to be accepted. To be honest, you look like a college student. Like a straight A, extra credit, shy and quiet type of student– and they weren’t wrong. 

You didn’t find anything weird about their behavior, the silence with which they responded to you. Probably because you were too nervous about your interview. Everyone knows the BAU is the team that’s the most difficult to get into, and that their unit chief’s the most intimidating man in the FBI that the Director himself avoids running into him altogether. 

So it was definitely a surprise when you were called in by Erin Strauss. A fresh graduate from the academy, you had no field experience at all. You’d only been working as a forensic scientist for the Organized Crime Division for a little less than a year, and more often than not you were in laboratories and morgues. Mainly there as a junior consultant than anything, having the more seasoned agents out in the field, on active crime scenes. 

Your gaze followed where they were pointing to, nerves permeating through your body. As you make your way up the stairs to get to his door, you’re trying to even your breathing- desperately. You don’t want to seem incompetent and inexperienced, pathetic even. 

Raising your hand to knock, you take in one last deep breath. Suddenly aware of all the people watching you from behind, possibly profiling you– you knock. Loudly. Like you were trying to prove something, show false strength and confidence. 

Maybe a little too loud, you realized. Shit. 

You’re in your own head when the door whips open and you see him. You knew he was good looking. You’ve seen him on TV and in pictures but god they did not do him justice. Just as you were processing how good-looking he was and how it would be a crime to embarrass yourself in front of him, your body decides it’s time to let out that big breath you inhaled before knocking. 

Now it appears you’re just blowing cool air into his chest, frozen while he stands there towering over you, most likely curious about why you knocked on his door so hard, why you are blowing cool air into his chest and more importantly, who the heck were you? 

“Hi, I’m, uh, here for the interview. For, uhm, the vacant position at the BAU team, Sir– Agent!” clearing your throat you scramble to make a good impression, or at least salvage what’s been established. 

Swallowing your pride, you bow your head in embarrassment, softening your voice as you say “Sorry, Agent Hotchner. What I meant to say is that I’m applying to be on your team. I’m here for the interview.” Looking up at him eye-to-eye, to hopefully convey your sincerity, you held his stare and his breathing stuttered. 

Let’s be honest. Hotch just went through four hours of his personal hell, getting to know people he doesn’t want to get to know. Asking questions, engaging in small talk, studying mannerisms and language– all to assess whether that person could be the much needed addition to his team. And the last thing he wants right now, as it nears the end of the work day, is another applicant to entertain. 

So Hotch, along with the rest of the team, becomes quite surprised when he moves his body out of the way to let you in his office when seconds ago he looked like he was about to give a very tempered advice at whoever just banged on his door. 

While he gestures for you to sit walking around his desk to sit on his own chair, he convinces himself that it’s because he is a good person and because he would do anything to help his team even if it meant enduring another painful interview. 

Definitely not because of your eyes. Or pouting lips. Or the adorable way blood rushed to your cheeks in embarrassment. Or your soft, soft voice that said his name in such a way that he’s dying to hear it again. 

Nope. It is simply his duty to lead and care for his team, and that means interviewing you. Somehow. 

-

It was quiet. You were nervous. It was obvious. He was waiting for you to talk but you’ve been staring at his tie instead of his face. You’re fiddling with your rings, wiping your palms on your jeans. And you were still very obviously trying to even your breaths. 

Observing these were enough to make him soften his voice slightly as he spoke, “Could you tell me about yourself?” He said slowly and softly– soft enough that if the air conditioning was a little louder you probably wouldn’t have heard him at all. 

Hotch became extremely conscious about coming across as demanding. He simply didn’t want to intimidate you further. He knew that if he wanted you to talk, open up, and present yourself justifiably, he would have to tread lightly. 

Now, he didn’t know when exactly he had started to care about whether he came off as intimidating or not, nor does he know why he’s the one adjusting for someone applying to be on his team– but apparently the times have changed. 

He’s brought out of his thoughts by your faint reply, “Well I, uh, have a bachelor in Psychology and in World Literature. Uhm, and.. I also have a Masters in Criminal Psychology but pursued Forensic Psychology for my doctorate.” You sounded almost hesitant to list all your achievements, which made him think you’ve probably been told once or twice that it is impolite to talk about such achievements to one’s face. 

The thought of someone invalidating your achievements, your brilliance infuriates him. You’ve achieved so much so early in your life, you deserve to be celebrated. There’s a subdued smile on his face, hopefully one you interpret as encouragement to continue. 

With a small smile gracing your face at his kind reaction, you added, “I only recently finished actually– I did it simultaneously with the academy’s progr–”

He cut you off, “Congratulations– sorry.” Too eager. Since when am I the one doing the impressing? “You like studying,” he observed. The smile on your face, although small, seemed genuine. Your face and your posture increasingly relaxed the more you talked.

You breathe out a laugh, “A little.. A little too much maybe.” Looking at your hands, rearranging the rings that adorn your nimble fingers. 

Hotch’s face has softened. He didn’t notice by how much, but it has relaxed a lot more the longer he observes you, everything about you. He commits your every movement to his memory, every mannerism, chalking it up to some part of his assessment. Words that describe you flashing in his head: introverted, intelligent, beautiful, accomplished– He hasn’t read your file. He gave up on reading files three candidates ago and has been relying on his profiling skills to get him through. 

But there’s something about you. Something that he can’t figure out, can’t name or explain. He felt it the very first time your eyes met, which isn’t even an hour ago but feels damn near to ages ago. He’s feeling it deep in his bones– a tingling feeling, an electric current, a rush of excitement. His heart has been beating slower yet louder. He feels it strongly in his chest. 

It had made him silent for a minute, so you look up from your hands subtly to check if he’s alright. For a second you were worried that he had said something that you just didn’t pick up on, and he’s been waiting for you to respond. 

But as your eyes meet again, he feels he’s suddenly in unfamiliar territory, treading powerful waters, and he can do nothing but go along with it. 

You’re surprised by the look in his eyes, but the sudden silence is at the forefront of your mind and you try to diffuse it, “Uhm–”

He cuts you off again, “Tell me something about yourself that I won’t read on your file.” He had the same idea- to talk. But for you, it was to diffuse the silence you thought was a dead giveaway of how disastrous your interview’s turning out to be. To him, it was to get somewhere, anywhere.

He’s got this weird feeling– a desire to get you talking more, even though soon enough there will be an awakened part of him that is certain there will be more talking in store for you two in the future. 

“What?” You don’t know why you said that. You understood what he said. Now you probably helped him affirm in his head that you’re ditzy and possibly the least reliable candidate to make agent. 

But..you just caught him looking at you like he was in love with you. Now you’re officially crazy. Dark, compelling eyes calling to you– it threw you off. It wasn’t even the usual sickening look of love, it was more of this serious, earnest yearning- almost pained.

- 

Now while the two of you were battling awkwardness and inexplicable feelings, the team was watching the whole thing unfold through his office window like a silent film. In fact, Garcia and Derek were already sharing a bowl of popcorn he ran to microwave the second they all saw Hotch’s entire existence falter at your presence. 

“What– what is happening? They’re barely talking!” Garcia worries. You’re tiny and adorable, and you look so kind and so incredibly soft and fragile. She just wants to protect you regardless of having met you less than briefly, minutes ago. 

“Baby girl, look closely. Both are just nervous, blushing idiots. They’ve just gotta push through this. Aren’t I right?” Derek’s smart mouth smugly adds. Looking to Rossi for any confirmation that he had guessed right: Hotch has a crush. 

Ever the skilled lip-reader, Reid comments “It’s been six whole minutes and Hotch has only asked her to tell him about herself.” He ponders for a moment, tilting his head “And judging by his relaxed jaw movements, gestures, and the decreased amount of strain his neck shows, I’d say he’s speaking softer than his usual volume.” 

Essentially Hotch’s best friend, every member looks to Rossi for his reaction. If they need any sort of confirmation that they’re reading their boss man right, they only ever have to read his right hand man Rossi who wears how he feels and what he thinks like Garcia wears her individuality. 

But Rossi’s only looking back at Reid with twinkling eyes and a smug smile growing bigger by the second. He lets out a quiet laugh, turning back to see Hotch smiling at the girl who is unaware of the fool grinning at her, “Addition to the team my ass– he'll be adding her to his life."

[eightmakesonebraincell]

asking boyfriend!ateez to buy you pads

genre: ot8 x fem!reader, crack, fluff, fake texts

c/w: the boys are trying their best okay, swearing, crude language, pet names

a/n: bc the only way to get through shark week 🦈🩸 is to pretend boyfie ateez will (try to) take care of you 😌☝️ also in other news i got rear-ended the other day LOL @sorryimananti-romantic can confirm the other driver was st00pid

taglist: at the end

apply for taglist | unable to be tagged

@thecarnivaloflies @binchanluvrr @ifykyunho @ppprimary @itza-meee

@lavishloving @okshu @mizumigi @everythingboutkpop @ayytease

@hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @hongjoongsprincess @booyoungie @green-agent @darkmentalitystarfish-blog

@taytayy178 @babymbbatinygirl @oddracha @sourkimchi @itstheghostofmypast

@kiki277 @kibs-and-bits @mlysalt @jjoongstar @aaa-sia

@nollamuumialaaksossa @skz1-4-3 @minkilicious @joongscheese @delulu18

@teenyfinds @shakalakaboomboo @fureastel @seomisaho @levishun

@readerofallthingss @potatos-on-clouds @apriecotte @smally97 @savluvsmingi

@pixie0627 @kyeos4ng @yunhowooyo @yeehawnana @telail

@drinkingrumandcocacola @iykyunho @myblovedjyh @enhacracy @satsuri3su

[astonmartinii]

i will always love you | max verstappen social media au

pairing: max verstappen x fem bodyguard reader

what he wasn’t supposed to fall in love with his bodyguard? this IS a rom com

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

f1insider

liked by user1, user2 and 45.925 others

f1insider: red bull have confirmed that max verstappen will have a bodyguard for the rest of this season after increasingly aggressive fan activity towards drivers at races. what do you think about it?

view all comments

user3: i completely understand that it’s insane that it’s gotten to the point where he needs a bodyguard …. but like JEALOUS

user4: i pray there’s never any need for her to do her actual job

user5: f1 need to sort it out i agree

user4: i meant because i would be no better than a man im sorry god but i want to watch her fight someone 😫

user6: this should’ve been done so long ago but i’m glad they’ve finally made the step

user7: what i find crazy is that people can afford a paddock pass and wanna fight the drivers ??? what a waste of money GIVE THEM TO ME

user8: i’m being completely serious when i say … any punk ass influencer tries to film max in the bathroom i want this bodyguard to shoot them with a gun

user9: no i agree

user10: and when i do it on purpose so she can beat the shit out of me ??

user11: choke

user12: she look familiar to any of you?

user13: i thought i had seen her before but like i just can’t quite recall

user14: swiftie here! she was taylor’s bodyguard for a couple years so you probably have seen her in paparazzi photos or something

user15: taylor swift and now max verstappen i need her agent

user16: the thought of that massive hunk of a man cowering behind her is killing me

user17: it’s killing you? it’s getting me excited this is so romance book coded

user18: you people’s obsession with putting people in “relationship” is the worst thing to happen to the sport

user19: i agree! (they would be unbelievably cute)

user20: i’m glad to see we’re all being very serious about the state of the sport where a driver needs a bodyguard and not the fact that said bodyguard is visually appealing

user21: sky i will deal with your bias if you give us the visual on her

user20: jesus wept

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 120,399 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: new job, same friendship bracelets

view all comments

user22: WE FOUND YOU

user23: hi mother !!!!

user24: we miss you serving face with taylor :(

maxverstappen1: you were a bodyguard for TAYLOR SWIFT ???

yourusername: you didn't read my CV? you had the last say on me being hired?

maxverstappen1: i let GP read them and he's never steered me wrong before

yourusername: that seems irresponsible

maxverstappen1: ANYWAY my point was going to be ... can we still get eras tour tickets?

yourusername: i can see what i can do

maxverstappen1: what if you just called taylor up?

yourusername: do NOT reference the kardashians if you want tickets

maxverstappen1: noted :3

user25: i can't have anything in this life ??? what do you mean you've worked with taylor and max?

user26: she looks so hot with a gun i'm starting to think the NRA are on to something

yourusername: absolutely not get out of here with that shit

user27: oh she educated as well? will you accept my hand in marriage?

maxverstappen1: 🤨

landonorris: and if i said you could guard me all night

yourusername: it's kinda my job to guard max all night

landonorris: but you'd rather guard me 😉

yourusername: i doubt you'd pay me as well as max

landonorris: i can pay you other ways 😉

maxverstappen1: lando i will break your fingers one by one

user28: max is out here like SHE IS MY BODYGUARD

user29: him being possessive... idk where to look but both of them - mark me scared AND horny

user30: TOO REAL

maxverstappen1

liked by schecoperez, fernandoalo_oficial and 1,452,099 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: simply lovely to be back on the top step in brazil, @yourusername you're clearly my lucky charm

view all comments

user31: max does a generational drive and immediately gets on instagram to flirt with his bodyguard

user32: he's so real for that because look at y/n

user33: i once thought swifties were crazy for being so obsessed with her but now i am just as bad lol

yourusername: nuh uh that drive was all you big boy

maxverstappen1: heheheehehe

maxverstappen1: did i make a good first impression?

yourusername: a very good first impression ;)

maxverstappen1: are you proud of me?

yourusername: very proud maxy

maxverstappen1: :3 thank you <3

user34: what in praise kink did i just read?

user35: i know he's done it in a very public forum but just leave them to do whatever they gotta do

user36: i know this man saw her in a suit and with a gun and fell to his knees

yourusername: well... close enough!

landonorris: idc about all of that ^^ i'm still going to shoot my shot

yourusername: is me rejecting you luck or talent?

landonorris: HUH ?????

yourusername: i may just be a bodyguard but i still have working ears 👍

user37: okay so she does serve more than just looks ...

user38: she's got a fan in me now

charles_leclerc: let me just sit back and observe

yourusername: you good?

charles_leclerc: i am sitting back and observing

yourusername: you are observing very loudly

charles_leclerc: i am just watching max embarrass himself, this is very healing for my younger self

maxverstappen1: RUDE

yourusername: he's not embarrassing himself if it's working?

redbullracing

liked by maxverstappen1, schecoperez and 2,451,045 others

redbullracing: statement regarding today's incident.

view all comments

user42: sorry red bull but i want that video tattooed on my eye balls

user43: i am so unbelievably hot and bothered after seeing that video

user44: red bull i'm afraid you'll have to take that video out of my cold dead hands

landonorris: i didn't realise the paddock came with dinner and a show today

oscarpiastri: lando they tried to kill max...

landonorris: well he was never in any actual danger with y/n around

oscarpiastri: do you ever read the PR briefs?

landonorris: PR whats?

oscarpiastri: this is starting to make a whole lot of sense

user45: they'll try to cancel lando for this but like he's being real

user46: no because why was george russell and kimi antonelli literally in the back of the footage eating LITERAL POPCORN

user47: i've never wanted to be two people so bad

maxverstappen1: i lived bitch

yourusername: MAX????

maxverstappen1: because of you, i'm forever in debt to you <3

yourusername: just doing my job :)

maxverstappen1: so you didn't just do it because of your undying love for me :(

yourusername: i think that would be inappropriate

maxverstappen1: THAT'S NOT FAIR, THEY CAN'T TRY AND KILL ME AND YOU CAN'T SAY YOU HATE ME IN ONE DAY

yourusername: oh maxy, do you need a cup of tea

maxverstappen1: and a hug ????

yourusername: yes, even a hug

user48: oh to have max that pathetically down bad for you

maxverstappen1

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername and 2,309,773 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: can you people stop thirsting over my girlfriend please - i may not be able to fight but she can

view all comments

user49: HE HAD ENOUGH

user50: i mean i too think thirst comments from my literal friends would throw me over the edge

user51: he was like winning in brazil is not enough i gotta watch my gf beat the fuck out of someone and then publicly claim her

yourusername: you're puffing out your chest in the paddock when all the girls on the internet are thirsting over you - if anyone should be jealous it's me

maxverstappen1: but you're so much better than anyone else i am horrendously in love with you

yourusername: HORRENDOUSLY

maxverstappen1: i have never felt anything like this? im scared???

yourusername: no need to be scared baby i'm in for the long ride

yourusername: and i can and WILL protect you

maxverstappen1: i need to report a hostage situation? it's me in my bedroom - i need to be saved

yourusername: you're so cheesy, you're lucky i love you

user52: i have another hostage situation - it's me in this comment section

user53: watching them be in love is like torture to me i'm so lonely

user54: they need a trigger warning i fear

maxverstappen1: @landonorris @pierregasly @olliebearman suck on that

landonorris: LEAVE ME ALONE

pierregasly: don't hate the player hate the game

olliebearman: why did you say fuck me for ????

maxverstappen1: i've seen those looks ollie don't lie to me

yourusername: babe i think he might just be scared of me

olliebearman: WOMEN IN POSITIONS OF POWER SCARE ME I'M SO SORRY Y/N

yourusername: no worries ollie! max is just possessive

maxverstappen1: ugh duh! you're the best thing that has ever happened to me, obviously i want to keep you to myself

yourusername

liked by olliebearman, maxverstappen and 342,067 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: and iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii will always love you! sorry it had to be done - whitney houston is a LEGEND

view all comments

user56: of course she knows that song, she's basically living that story

user57: OF COURSE SHE KNOWS THAT SONG IT'S ONE OF THE MOST FAMOUS SONGS EVER ???

yourusername: and you can bet your ass the red bull garage have been singing it non stop since i arrived

redbullracing: singing is our passion

maxverstappen1: they'd have to kill me to keep me from you DEADASS (pun intended)

yourusername: and that won't be happening because i'll be there to protect you

maxverstappen1: i'm not opposed to watching you deal with a problem in the paddock

landonorris:WHY WAS I MADE THE BAD PERSON WHEN I SAID I WANTED TO WATCH ???

maxverstappen1: because it was my life that an attempt was made on ?

landonorris: and?

maxverstappen1: AND?

landonorris: it would've made winning the championship much easier ?

yourusername: nuh uh i would jump into that red bull and win out of spite

maxverstappen1: it's true, i've been training her up

landonorris: you gonna let me have anything

maxverstappen1: nope :P

yourusername: nope :P

user58: oh they're so annoying 😭

user59: true ride or die couples are so irritating

user60: i still wish i was them

danielricciardo: i get fired and you get a girlfriend ??? how is this fair

maxverstappen1: idk what you want me to say, i'd never give y/n up for anything

danielricciardo: not even a red bull maxiel reunion

maxverstappen1: sorry buddy, maxiel is dead

danielricciardo: EXCUSE ME?

yourusername: sorry daniel, there's a new sheriff in town - should've charmed max when you had a chance

maxverstappen1: try as he might, he'd never be you

yourusername: awwwww considering your massive teenage crush on him... i love you!

danielricciardo: so fuck me then?

fin.

note: TWO IN ONE WEEKEND WHAT?

[whimsiwitchy]

Controversially Young Girlfriend 

Hugh Jackman x popstar!reader 

series masterlist & main masterlist

summary: y/n is a globally beloved pop star. She is known for her talent and dedication towards her craft. Recently, she has also been known for her preference for older men. After a breakup with her former older boyfriend, she had a run in with the hottest dilf right now, Hugh Jackman. Y/n tried to warn him, but what can she say, she has an effect on hot, older men. 

warnings: age gap (23/55), cursing, y/n used, implied shorter reader, afab reader, she/her pronouns. 

warnings will change as the story progresses! all descriptions of real people in this story are FAKE. i do not know these people and this is purely fiction. Please let me know if I missed anything! <33

authors note: this is an idea I had that I really needed to write. I’d love to make this a series if you guys want more, just let me know! This is only my second time writing fanfiction and my first time writing for Hugh, please be nice lol. Thank you for reading! <3

Part one: breakup and new beginnings 

Being a young girl living in the middle of bumfuck nowhere made it seem impossible to live your dreams of becoming a singer. You grew up in a tiny little town in Louisiana called Minden. With a population of less than 15,000 people, the closest ‘big’ city being Shreveport, growing up was pretty boring. You had big dreams of making it big and making it the fuck out of the country. Minden wasn’t always so bad. It was a nice community that had fun things here and there, but you craved more. 

Once you graduated highschool back in 2020, you focused on working and saving as much money as you could, only buying essentials and equipment to help make music. You took a few online classes on producing and tried your best to make whatever song was bouncing around in your head come to life. It took a year for you to feel confident enough to release your first few songs out into the world. So in July of 2021, you teased a song on TikTok to your small following. You started to gain a few more followers here and there, it was exciting. At the end of August, you released your first song titled ‘to the point’ and it blew up on the clock app. You gained a hefty following after that, on the brink of hitting one million. 

By the end of 2022, deciding on Los Angeles, you had finally saved enough money to move, so you were packing your bags and heading out. Your agent was ecstatic about the move because it meant more opportunities for your career. After releasing a few more songs over the past year, you hired Stacy to help you manage everything. 

Fastwording to 2024, your dreams have come true and you have been an established and respected artist for almost two years. You started to build a reputation as someone who was dedicated and passionate about their craft- always being involved in any creative process. It was bliss. Lately though, you’ve gained another reputation, the controversial young girlfriend, a whore, a gold digger. Since you’ve been in the spotlight, you’ve had your fair share of dating history and if they all happened to be older men, so what? It wasn’t something you had planned on but older men were just built differently. They were so much sexier and put together than the guys your age. They knew what they were doing and how to treat a woman right. You were so tired of being asked out through instagram direct messages, you wanted someone who wasn’t afraid to talk to you in person, and that seemed to only come from men twice your age. You weren’t complaining though, you enjoyed it. 

Your last ‘scandalous’ relationship ended up being far more public than you intended it to be. In the beginning, the men you were seen with were never anything serious, just dates or one night stands. Though with Pedro it was different. You dated him for six months before it all came crashing down and you felt heartbroken. He was the sweetest man you’d ever been with and it all ended because the hate from fans on our age gap was too much for him. It was an ugly breakup and you were positive that he wouldn’t want to be associated with you anymore, even as friends. 

-

“I should have picked a different song.” You huff in frustration. Today you were going to be performing on BBC’s Radio 1 Live Lounge and as requested, you'd be performing your own song and a cover of your choosing. When Stacy first presented this opportunity to you, it had only been a month after your recent breakup and naturally you chose to cover ‘THE GREATEST’ by Billie Eilish. Now that you were mostly over Pedro, the song seemed silly to sing and you weren’t feeling as vocally confident now that you were here. 

“Babe, you’re gonna kill it! Just let your emotions flow, give the fans what they want.” Stacy is sitting across the room as she comforts you. She’s fidgeting with your vocal humidifier, attempting to put it together before you start warming up. Her advice isn’t terrible, she’s right. You’d been pretty silent on the subject matter, steering clear of social media so you wouldn’t say anything stupid. Rumors of your breakup had been all over the headlines but there hasn’t been confirmation from either of you. Singing this song today would definitely stir the pot again and make everyone realize that it is done between you two. 

“You’re right.” 

“As always. Here, start warming up the money maker.” She laughs while handing you the humidifier. 

“I really hope he doesn’t watch it. I’d literally smash my head into a brick wall out of embarrassment…” 

Placing the humidifier over your mouth and nose, you sit there letting your mind wander. Having your personal life exposed to everyone really sucked and hiding your boyfriends wasn’t something you wanted to do, but you knew that in the future it was something that would have to happen. 

“I think I’m taking a break from men.” You let out proudly, glancing over at Stacy. 

“Whatever you say girl.” You could hear the doubt lingering in her tone and the roll of her eyes. 

“Ugh… You don’t believe me do you? I can totally break off from men and be my own person for once.” 

“I’m not trying to doubt you babe. It’s just…You tend to attract men like a magnet and you have some severe daddy issues.” She's typing away on her laptop as if she didn’t just completely disrespect you. 

“I don’t have daddy issues.” You say flatly. “I happen to have a very loving father who was always present in my life, so the whole dating older men thing does NOT stem from daddy issues. Thank you very much.” You say matter of factly. 

“Hm..Well I give it a week.” 

-

After a few sound checks for your mic and band, you perform your first song. You chose a more upbeat song off your debut album to start, given that you were about to lay your heart out of the line. It was honestly kind of awkward performing in this setting. There was a booth in front of you that had the sound board and all of the other electronic stuff that you didn’t understand. Then right to the left of that, the cameras were positioned with a group of crew members sitting behind them. It always felt awkward performing to smaller audiences. 

The first song went by smoothly, earning a few cheers from the people in the room. As the band prepared for the next song, you could see the door in the booth open and two figures walk in. You weren’t wearing your glasses or contacts since it was supposed to be a short day, so you really couldn’t make out who had just walked in. You assumed more workers came in and brushed it off. 

“All ready?” A man behind the camera asks and you give a thumbs up. 

You somehow managed to get through the song without having any vocal mess ups. It was a challenging song and you'd definitely have to text Billie later to give her some credit. A few tears slipped here and there, feeling the emotions that you thought were gone slowly be released. You pulled yourself together and you felt really proud of the performance as a whole, showing the world the potential your voice had. 

A few soft claps are dying out as everyone starts cleaning up the room. You’re reaching down to grab your water bottle when you feel someone rushing up towards you. 

“Ahhh you did great babe but um two hot dudes will be walking through that door any second!” Stacy is whispering and all you could do was give her a confused look before the door opens. You squint trying to make out the two figures. 

“God you’re talented!” You hear the voice before you see the face. 

“Oh um, thank you so much.” You let out not really sure who you were speaking to. Once the two men get into view, your jaw drops slightly. 

“HOLY SHIT!” You yell a little too loudly. Slapping your hand over your mouth, you hear a very rich man laugh coming from a very good looking man. For some reason, whoever is in charge of the fate of the universe has blessed you with the presence of Ryan Reynalds and Hugh Jackaman. 

“Oh my god i’m so sorry, that’s literally so embarrassing. I just couldn’t see who you were at first.” 

“It’s okay sweetheart.” They both wear big smiles on their faces. 

“I’m y/n, it’s so nice to meet y’all, i’m a big fan!” You gush out, trying your best to refrain from fangirling. 

“We’re big fans as well. We were next door interviewing for the radio show, when we heard you were recording over here. We ran over here to try to catch you.” Ryan lets out. 

“No shit! That’s so cool. I really appreciate it.” Before the conversation could continue, Ryan is being called over by someone, leaving Hugh and yourself alone. 

“Hows Pedro, haven't seen him in awhile.” Hugh asks genuinely, giving you a small smile. It caught you off guard completely. You racked your brain trying to think of a time in your six month relationship that Pedro mentioned Hugh at all but nothing came up. 

“Oh I uh- I wouldn’t know. We aren’t together anymore.” Your voice is soft, trying not to make this any more awkward. 

“Shit. I’m so sorry, with the way he spoke about you, I thought you’d be together longer…” He trails off. 

“Yea me too.. he couldn’t handle the heat I guess.” You shrug. 

“Well, his loss yea?” He smiles trying to cheer you up. 

“Yea..” You say softly, your voice matching your smile. You take a moment to really look at him and he’s beyond handsome. He’s aged but in a way that makes you wish you were able to see the years go by with him. He was tall, almost towering over you, and his muscles were practically popping out of his shirt. 

The same guy that was walking to Ryan, gathers the three of you for a picture for the BBC socials. You stand in the middle, both men placing their arms behind either side of you. Hugh’s hand was placed on the small of your back. You looked up at him quickly, his face already smiling at the camera. You hear the camera go off a few times, causing you to look that way as well. Once the cameraman was satisfied, everyone gave their goodbyes and the room cleared out. 

-

Later that night you were scrolling through your phone when a text popped up from Stacy. 

Stacypoo <33: I told you. You couldn’t even go a week. ;) 

The text is accompanied by a screenshot of a notification stating that “‘thehughjackman’ started following you!”. You rushed to open instagram and went to your followers to search from his name. You stared at his page for a few minutes before following him back. 

While you had control over your own social media, someone handled all of your business related content. You went on your page to see that the picture that was taken at BBC earlier today was already posted with one comment standing out beyond the rest. 

Thehughjackman: Great meeting you sweetheart! :)

Thank you for reading <3

part two

[smutstationchoochoo]

Desperate

COD Men x FemReader

Hear me out: a sex pollen fic where reader isn’t affected but he is and he is gone.

Word count: ~3.6k

A/N: It’s just the poorly written sex pollen drabble of my dreams, it’s fuck or die lads. Insert your favorite COD man here. Please forgive me for any spelling/grammar mistakes and my complete lack of knowledge regarding military things, all I know is that these men are hot and I love them.

Warnings: sex pollen, unprotected PIV (wrap it up), overstimulation, dubious consent (consent is sexy folks)

Banner credit: @cafekitsune

You all had been briefed at 0200. The flight to Berlin left at 0300 where the team would be infiltrating a terrorist hideout, a suspected manufacturing site for a new chemical agent. You were told that as long as you didn’t ingest it, you would be fine.

The fact that it had been made airborne was not in the fucking briefing.

The team had been split into pairs, you and he took the North side of the suspected warehouse. The size of it should have tipped you all off. Everything was running smoothly until 3 combatants had come from the door at the end of the corridor. He called for cover and ran ahead. You dropped two before he even got a stride in. The other he disarmed in seconds and then with a deafening crack, both men slammed through a door and into the resulting room. A brief struggle then silence. You heard him start to call the ok, his voice in the comm sounding clearer than earlier, then a noise, a pop, and the sound of air. You froze, watching a gas spill from the open door and dissipate immediately. Just when you started moving again, a growling, “Don’t,” tore through the comm. Then, the sound of ripping Velcro and something hard (his helmet you realized with a sickening drop) hitting the concrete floor echoed out to you. Soft murmurs that grew into angry outbursts of fuck fuck fuck transformed into one that became a groan of what sounded like complete and utter pain. You didn’t even have to think, the severity of the situation settled in. “It’s a gas,” you barked into the comms, “Northside hit, need medevac in 30, going dark.” You waited for confirmation, seconds after getting it and receiving news that the warehouse was almost cleared, you went to find him.

You knew what it did, you all did. Jokes had been made, smirks shared, but you all knew how bad it was. You weren’t even close to prepared. He was sitting against the far wall or rather pressed into it using it to keep his now shaking frame upright, gear strewn around the room, combatant on your immediate left with a mask (his mask, the masks you all were wearing just in fucking case) gripped in a dead hand, an empty canister mockingly sitting in the middle of the room. 

You gripped the combatant by his legs and dragged him to the hall, before slamming the door shut upon reentry and grabbing a near chair to jam the door. You immediately began stripping yourself of your outer tactical gear until you both matched in only your boots, pants, and base shirts and then you turned your attention to him. Now kneeling by his side you took him in, looking for any other injuries noting nothing serious. That almost made you laugh with relief until you saw the front of his pants and him frantically palming the growing outline. You swallowed and quickly looked at his face shocked back to the reality of the current situation. The usually stoic, always larger than life, incredibly strong man in front of you was reduced to tears dripping from his now blown and hazy eyes, falling down flushed cheeks and landing on the front of his shirt that clung to his hyperventilating chest. You knew he had been shot, stabbed often, and left for dead a time or two, but this…

Shiny and new neurotoxin, you remembered the brief, attacks the nervous system, causing the mark to feel intense arousal and as if they have been lit on fire, specially formulated not only to cause pain but a complete and utter breakdown of will as victims often experience hallucinations and loss of self. If left in the system, it raises the core temperature until convulsions set in, and then heart attack occurs. Do not touch it.

No one had to ask how it was worked out of the system. Then again, they all believed they were too smart to touch the shit. Couldn’t do much about breathing it in when your mask was ripped from your face though.

  Your hand pressed to his slick forehead now radiating heat, and feeling as if it could burn you like an open flame. At the touch of your blessedly cool hand, he hissed a low fuck through his gritted teeth, keening into your touch. You swallowed, hand tilting his cheek to look up at you when you asked, “Can I help?”  His hair was sticking up at all angles from the helmet being hastily pulled from his head, and he looked up at you and gave one weak nod, “Please.”

Upon looking at the desperation pooling in those dark eyes (those eyes you often were caught staring at) any small reservations evaporated from your body under his burning gaze. You swiftly reached out, mercifully helping him escape from the now too-tight pants, the bite of his zipper. The moment your skin brushed against the head of him he was bucking up against it. You had to reach the other hand out to steady yourself against his shoulder, another touch that jutted his hips and had him twitching into your grip.

“Is- is this helping?” you croaked out, struggling to swallow, struggling to contain the wave of arousal that was threatening to course through you. He nodded, chin slack against his chest as he watched your hand work against him, moving up and down against the veins seemingly trying to break through his skin. No thoughts went through his mind other than the knowledge that you were jerking him off and that it felt so good that he could cry in relief. But then something shuddered within him, something loud and fast like a wildfire, burning just as much, and hot thick ropes of cum spilled over your hand. He couldn’t even cry out, it happened so fast. His breath was coming out in loud pants, when a new thought, the thought that he had just come in maybe thirty seconds flashed through his mind but it was quickly replaced with the horrible realization that the feeling of being on fire wasn’t going away. It was getting worse, out of control, containment measures failed. At this, he let out a sob as his hips moved of their own volition into your still soothing grip. It wasn’t enough, he knew, you knew, it wasn’t enough.

 You stood, and he whimpered at the loss of your touch but all sound stopped in his throat when he watched you decisively unzip your pants and pull them down to your ankles underwear included, kicking off a boot, and one pant leg. When you straddled his lap he desperately pulled you down onto him, your exposed core grinding down where he wanted you, where he fucking needed you, that’s when he began to talk. Begging you to help him, saying that he’s sorry over and over, that he needs your help, incoherent babbling from a breaking mind, please it hurts so bad, I-I don’t, I can’t- fuck, I need you... All cool, calm, collectedness burnt to fucking ash. Just a man reduced to pure longing and want. A longing and want that might be what was threatening to kill him, not the toxin, just the build up over the days, weeks, months he had been around you threatening to crush him. He almost wants to die, this was never how it was supposed to be. He wanted it to be good for you, you deserve that, you deserve better, he could have given you better-

But now what was he? A heaving chest under a sweat soaked shirt beneath eyes that watch you like some feral animal. Hands wanting to claw at the clothing now so heavy, hot, and itchy against his burning skin, but instead were gripping onto your hips like it’s going to save him from burning to a crisp. The broken moans tearing their way from his throat when you line up his painfully hard cock to your entrance makes you throb, and then his choking cry as you slide down on him punches the air from your chest.

“Does this feel ok?” you panted out after a moment, struggling, trying not to drown in the pleasure of him stretching you, filling you. He couldn’t form the words, couldn’t even nod. His forehead falling to your shoulder in utter relief, mouth dropped open as he repeats your name over and over like an apology, a thanks, a goddamned prayer. How all he can do is sit there on the floor of some warehouse, back against a wall, the only thing resembling his usual strength is that ironclad hold he has on your hips as he helps you drag yourself up, then, accompanied by the tortuously obscene sounds of your wetness, back down. Brokenly pleading with you not to stop, don’t stop, fuck p-please don’t stop. You feel like molten heaven against his cock, your moans like angels (or devils, he’s too far gone to care at this point) singing through the blood rushing in his ears. One of your hands again steadies yourself on his shoulder, the other steadying him, an anchor point, with your achingly gentle hold on the nape of his damp neck (so gentle that it breaks his fucking heart, he wanted to give you more, you deserved more) as you ride him. Your hips rock once more, twice more, before his body seizes up with electricity that ricochets up his spinal cord and reverberates through his skull. His fingers dig into the soft skin of your hips, teeth grinding and eyes slamming shut, as he releases inside of you with a shattered cry. The sound of you gasping, now clutching, raking your fingers into him, has his hips continuing their rutting up into you, pushing his cum as deep as he can within your walls.

He stills for 10 seconds at most, panting breaths thunderous between you two, before pulling you into his chest, his hips slamming up into you, hard and hot as if he didn’t just fuck you until he could see every neuron firing behind his eyes. His hot open mouth finds your shocked one in a perfectly surprised “o,” more apologies pushing from his lungs and into yours between loud wet kisses as he listens (is blessed with thank you God) to you beginning to come apart. You couldn’t help it, as you ground down into his thrusts, even though you knew the threatening climax was going to be terrifying. Your breathing was ragged now as well, the air becoming harder and harder to drag into your lungs in between you cursing and moaning, and then- fucking hell- you’re at the precipice. Before you can even utter a syllable you are being flung over the edge. The pleasure rips through you, waves breaking against the rocky shore, with such intensity that it hurts, causing you to dig your nails into his skin, and bright spots to dance behind your closed eyes while the distant feeling of wetness registers from between you two. He explodes again with a gasp, feels you clench around him like a vice, his name, his real name, forcing its way from inside you and into his mouth with every pulse and it tastes so so good that he can’t stop, he never wants to stop, just filling you up until it drips from you, filling you with him because you’re his, his. Even when you both whimper and shudder with overstimulation, his arms shaking in their grip around you, he can only press his forehead to yours, rolling it desperately, as he begs for your forgiveness. I can’t stop, it won’t stop, I’ll make it good, please next time I’ll make it good.

“It is good,” you whisper to him with hitched breath from each thrust, trying to reassure him, “It’s ok, it’s ok.” You don’t know if he can hear you, his eyes are wild and don’t seem to even register that you are actually on top of him, that he’s inside of you, that he has made you yell out his name over and over and over. You don’t think he even knows what he is saying. Next time.

 His own voice comes to him from somewhere far away, through the flames licking at his mind, please- fuckin’ hell please, just a little more- I just need one more, I need you, please don’t stop, I don’t want to stop nearly unrecognizable as he comes inside you again and again and again.

It isn’t until the medevac came and he was sedated that what just happened began to sink in. For a week, a fucking week, he’s in critical condition. No one talks about it, at least not in the way you all did before this. You saved him, you’re told. You don’t want to think about it, if you think about it then you think about how good it felt, how fucked it is that it felt good, and how everything is gone. If you think about all he said, you’d overthink, give meaning where there was none. He probably won’t be able to look at you anymore. You went to see him that first day. You sat next to him for mere minutes before bolting, the fear of him waking up and looking at you with disgust, telling you to get out in that icy voice you knew so well, sent you running straight to the mats to train until you wanted to scream. That’s all you did now, and that was where you decided you would stay until you died. That is until someone came and found you, told you he was awake, and that he had asked for you. The whole walk to the infirmary had adrenaline coursing through you, you wanted to run, to fight, to freeze right there in the hall and never move another fucking muscle. The thought of losing him, him being there but not wanting to be near you anymore made you feel sick. It had been so long, so long of repressing those feelings that flared in your chest when he smiled at you during sparring, the feeling of him seated next to you on a flight, his eyes catching yours just so you could stay with him. Well, you thought with dripping ire, that had literally and figuratively been fucked now hadn’t it?  

You knocked, heard his gruff voice, and entered. You stopped dead in your tracks three steps into the room after mistakenly looking up and finding him staring at you from where he sat on the edge of the bed, already dressed, looking like he was about to head out on another call. You were desperately trying not to shake but your hands gave you away. You could take on a man twice your size without batting an eye but this?- you were terrified.

The moment you walked into the room, all his time that morning when he first woke thinking about what he would say to you, how he could face you, was knocked from his mind. You had saved his life. He never wanted that. He wanted to give it to you, it was yours after all. He didn’t know when it had become yours, every single part of him, but if he had to wager a guess it was the moment he found you in his life. And it might all be ruined.

The memories had started coming to him immediately after waking up, almost more clear and real now than in the moment.  It jolted him awake so hard that the attending ran into the room for fear that his hammering heart had in fact given out. Once his breathing had calmed a little, he tried to sift through the fog. His recall of the smell of you, the arousal dripping from between your legs, mixed with your sweat and the familiar scent of your grapefruit and ginger shampoo, nearly pulled a groan from his chest. The soft touch of your hands, cool and strong against the fire that spread through his blood, had brought him back. The feeling of you breaking, the soft whines, the way you said his name… the things he had said, he couldn’t just shut the fuck up could he?

He had to bring his hands up to cover his eyes, willing the images to go away, just for a moment, please, he just needed some time, if only he had time- next time. Next time, he had told you. A desperate promise, a reassurance, trying to tell you that it wasn’t just the chemical coursing through him, it wasn’t just his hijacked nervous system. Did she know? Did she understand? That’s when he asked for you, without thinking, just wanting to see you, to explain. He had never been good with words unless it was biting sarcasm across comms or coolly delivering ultimatums in an interrogation. Then he remembered, the thing that sent his heart barreling through his chest for the second time, the machine next to him screaming. It is good, you had said, it’s ok, it’s ok, you had whispered.  

He ripped the monitors off his chest, ignoring the doctor's protestations, found the clothes that had been brought in for him and got dressed. Now that you were standing here before him he was unsure. You looked scared, and he could count on one hand all the times he had seen you in such a state.

His staring was unnerving, more unnerving than if he had shouted, yelled, grabbed you, anything but this, this was fucking torture. You had to leave, just get off base, go somewhere, anywhere but here- the sudden sound of your name shook you from the reverie. The tone had your eyes finding his immediately.

He stayed seated, scared that if he stood, if he made his way to you, you would run, and you both knew that you were much quicker than him. If you ran, if you left, he would never catch up.  Only when his knuckles began to ache did he realize how tightly he was gripping the edge of the mattress in an effort to keep himself there. It was hard to look at you and not remember the way you had looked when you pressed your hand to his forehead, when you had thrown your head back in pleasure, when you had grabbed his face when he was too exhausted to continue but thankfully no longer felt like he was burning alive. It was hard to remember and not stride across the room and hold you. He took a breath and forced his shoulders to relax in a way that he had done so many times before.

“I-,” he started, his voice cutting through the room, his normal voice, the one you recognized as him and it set you slightly at ease from sheer familiarity, “I’m so sorry.” Now he had to turn his eyes downcast.

“What?” Your response, the shock in your voice, forced him to look at you again. Your hands itched at your sides, confusion rippling across your face.

His eyes narrowed, he knew you so well. Always blaming yourself. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, “I’m sorry that happened, I’m sorry you were put in that position,” the word choice made him nearly cringe. He continued, “I never-I didn’t want it to happen that way.”

Your brain jolted, standing there in shocked silence, his words thundering through your ears accompanied by the pleading of next time.

He pressed on, desperately trying, “I know you, you’re going to think this was your fault. It wasn’t. There was nothing either of us could do, thank you for your, uh, help. Just- fuck, please just say some-,”

Shock still swept through you, the words escaped your mouth before you could think, “Did you mean it?” You figured by the way he leaned back that he knew what you were talking about. Then he held out a hand, palm up, an offering. Before you knew it, you had crossed the room, putting your hand in his and letting it gently pull you between his legs. His giant frame meant even sitting on the gurney that his gaze was level with yours, and those eyes searched your own when one word sounded through the room.

“Yes.”

This word broke you. One fucking word, one word that answered every glance between you two, every smile shared, a word you brokenly whispered into the night when you had a hand between your legs thinking about him knowing you shouldn’t. You hadn’t cried all week, but now the giant tears rolling down your cheeks felt like a release. When his free hand, warm and rough, swiped them away you couldn’t help leaning into it, just as he had done. All tension, all fear, dissipated from the room. That hand continued to just below your ear, cupping your neck, and gently pulling you forward to press his head against yours, eyes shutting, just resting there against each other in the moment.

“What the fuck are we gonna do?” you sighed.

You could feel the smirk that you knew was slipping across his mouth.

“Well, I did say next time.”

This time when you rode him with the small bed creaking beneath the movements, he stopped you any time you tried to speed up (it was your turn to beg and plead), keeping you at a languid torturous pace. That way the bastard had all the time in the world to whisper into your mouth, letting you taste each word, all the things he would do to you next time and all the times after that.

Thank you so much for reading, please let me know what you think! :)

[justkending]

It's just a papercut... (Drabble)

Summary: Mission one-on-one with Bucky? It's been done before. So why is this one different? Why is he acting weird and not letting me storm off in a rage at his cold shoulder? Also, was the one bed necessary?

Pairing: Grumpy Bucky x Avenger Reader (Enemies to lovers)

Word Count: 7000+ (It's a long one...)

A/N: I've been spending a lot of my time on Character ChatGPT AI, and a secret agent conversation made me say, " Yeah, I need to put this into a Bucky fanfic." So here we are🥰 Did it turn a lot more emotional than I planned? Yes. Do I regret it? No. Enjoy, my loves!!

_____

"Jesus! The goal is to survive the mission! And from the likes of it, bullets aren't even going to be the thing that finishes the job!" I shout over the whipping wind as Bucky maneuvers through cars in the foreign country while outrunning the guards we just escaped from on a motorcycle he stole in front of a shop.

"Shut it!" he shouts back, taking another sharp turn that has me clutching on as if one wrong blow of the wind will have me ending this chase with a case of road rash on my entire body. "I'm losing them."

"And likely me with them," I grumble, and he shoots me a quick look in the rearview mirror, showing that he heard my remark and didn't care for it.

I look behind us and see one of the jackasses we were running from has joined us in motorcycle theft, and I curse under my breath as I come up with a plan.

"Goon, five o'clock!" I announce as I dig into my boot for a small handgun I keep hidden.

Bucky looks around and clocks him. His teeth grit together as he kicks the speed up, weaves through a few cars, and turns down a new street, but the man following seems to be just as skilled in bike chases.

"Still on you!" I shout and let out an annoyed groan, realizing that at some point in our mission, I'd lost my backup weapon.

"I see that!" Bucky groans, and as we pass a fruit stand on the street, he knocks it over with his metal hand, causing a traffic stop and the motorcyclist to have to drive over apples and pears, making him lose his balance some.

However, it wasn't effective enough. "I got it," I sigh as Bucky takes another sharp turn, and I clutch onto him. "Do me a favor and try and stay straight for longer than 3 seconds!" I complain, and he complies, although begrudgingly.

I point my fist towards the bike, and as the man makes mean eyes at me, I wiggle my fingers at him with a grin before shooting a taser shock out of the widow bite Nat gifted me.

They shoot across and cause his entire bike to seize at the overload of electricity. He flies off the bike as it stutters and gives Bucky and me a clean escape down an alley.

A few alleys later and a quiet spot away from the chaos that had just ensued, Bucky and I hop off the bike and hide it behind a dumpster. I catch my breath as I throw my backpack over my shoulder and watch as he covers the bike more with the lid of the trash before grabbing his own pack.

"We need to lay low for the night," I note, adjusting my backpack and looking into the dead-end alley.

He sighed, taking in the area, and I could see the pistons firing in his head. "There's a hotel not far from here that'll work. Not shitty, but also not anything fancy." He immediately starts stalking away, not waiting for me to follow.

I huff in annoyance as he leaves me, and I fasten my backpack, buckling it across my chest before jogging to catch up with his long strides.

We don't say much as we get to the hotel- both of our minds coming down from the adrenaline and running through the last pieces of the mission.

While in the lobby of the hotel, I get a call and move to take it, seeing it's Steve checking in, and I leave Bucky to handle the check-in process.

"Got it. We'll head to the airport in the morning," I nod and turn around to see Bucky confirming something with the clerk, and I turn back to the phone.

When he finishes checking in (fake IDs with real payment thanks to Stark's ways), he turns and waves his hand toward the elevator in a quick hand gesture.

"Yeah. We're fine," I note, feeling a stitch in my side but not wanting to check just how bad the damage is until I'm behind a closed door. "He's being a dick as per usual," I chuckle lightly as I start my walk to the elevators. "No, Steve. I don't need you to call him and reprimand him. You know-... Seriously, Steve. Leave it... I said it as a joke more than anything-" He cuts me off again, ready to always put Bucky in his place with the cold shoulder he seems to love to give to only me.

When I make it to the elevator, where Bucky is holding the door impatiently for me, I quickly say, "Losing you! Getting in an elevator so I can't-" There's a protest on the other end. "What was that? It's cutting out." I say in stuttered beats to play it off before hanging up. "Steve says hi," I say to Bucky as I lock my phone and shove it in my back pocket.

"Sure," he says back, and I'm not sure if it's unconvinced or unbothered... or both. Either way, his face is still stoic.

"You really need to lighten up," I sigh in a deep breath, annoyed that he never relents his tough guy act around me.

"Don't feel like."

"Do you ever?"

The elevator is silent. The only sound is the mechanics of the metal box moving up. It eventually dings, and as I go to step forward, I grimace slightly so as I step wrong, causing pain to go up my side, but I quickly brush it off.

"What was that?" Bucky says behind me as he steps off the elevator last.

"What was what?" I ask, looking carefully at the room numbers and acting ignorant.

"That look. You flinched."

"Yeah, no," I shake my head. "Your eyesight must be getting worse with age."

"My eyesight is fine," he grumbles, pulling my arm back as I pass the room, realizing he never told me the number. "We're here," he turns to the door and presses the key card to it. The color changes from red to green, giving us access.

"I call the shower first," I shout, shoving him out of the way and unbuckling my backpack as I rush into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me and locking it.

All I hear is an exasperated sigh on the other side and a shuffle of footsteps as he shuts the door, locks up, and moves into the room.

I let out a sigh of exhaustion and relief to be done for the day and move to warm up the water. If there is one thing I've learned about going on missions with Bucky, it's that the man's superhearing is just an excuse for him to be nosy. He listens to almost EVERYTHING.

So, with the water running and him hopefully distracted by the hotel views, I undress and focus on the shower. As soon as I took my shirt off, I was shown exactly what I worried was the problem.

Down my side is a semi-jagged cut going up my rib cage. Close to four inches long, if not less, but angry and red. I hiss and quickly bite my lip to muffle my pain. It's not bleeding anymore, which tells me it's not deep, so with the proper cleaning and care, it'll be fine in a few days. I use my time in the shower to clean it and wash the rest of the day away with it.

When I come out, I rummage through my bag for a first aid kit. I usually pack a travel-size one, given the job, but I can't find it. I change into a pair of clean shorts and a tank top I packed (light and takes up minimal space) before checking in the mirror to make sure my cut wasn't prominent through the light-colored tank. When I feel comfortable enough that Bucky won't ask questions, I straighten and fight the soreness that's taking over my body now that I'm not going 100mph.

I walk out, and when I see that Bucky is lying back, arms over his eyes on a king-size bed, I immediately take in the fact that it's the only bed in the room. The sound of cheers from baseball on the TV is quickly tuned out.

"Um," I start, hands out as I assess the space. "What's this?" I ask.

"A bed," Bucky answers simply and sits up tiredly as he looks at me, leaning back on his forearms. "You ran straight into the bathroom before I could tell you, or you saw for yourself."

I cross my arms and flinch when I graze my cut but quickly roll my shoulders as if the full-body soreness was the only issue.

"Well, did they not give us another option or maybe a second room we could have-"

"What was that?" he cuts me off.

"Hm, what was what? What do you mean-?" I look right at him and furrow my eyebrows, hands on my hips.

"You made that face again."

I roll my eyes. "I'm sore," I shrug, scoffing and even I know I'm a horrible actress right now, so I don't make eye contact.

"That's not a sore grimace. That's something else," he sits up straight now and tilts his head down, assessing me in almost a predatory way.

"Stop that." My arms move from my hips to my chest and around me, and my discomfort only makes a smirk appear. "Stop. It's weird."

"No, what's weird is why you're being so weird," he remarks with a sassy face.

I blink at him a few times, feeling much less intimidated thanks to his comeback. "Good one," I said, turning and going to his backpack now.

"Hey, what are you doing?" He stands quickly from the bed and looks at me over my shoulder as I unzip his bag.

"I think I put something of mine in here. I can't find it in my bag," I note, dunking my hand into his things. He steps up, pulling my shoulders to get away.

"Stop going through my stuff. You're worse than Sam," he notes, tugging me away, although gentler than how he is typically.

"I just need-" I feel the small plastic box I'm looking for and tug it out, quickly holding it behind my back. "Nevermind. I found it."

"What are you talking about-"

"Nothing! Just give me one minute. I need to brush my teeth," I jab a thumb behind my shoulder as I walk backward to the bathroom, his steps matching mine. "I'll be out in five minutes," I note quickly as I turn on my heel and run back into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me and locking it again.

Instead of seeing the door handle budge like I expected, he bangs a fist on the wooden barrier.

"Y/N, open the damn door! What the hell did you take out of my bag?"

"My toothbrush!" I lie. Why didn't I say toothpaste? That would make so much more sense... "I must have gotten our bags mixed up when I packed them." I cringe at myself.

"How could you do that? Yours is brown, and mine's black," he notes.

"A very dark brown," I argue, lifting my tank top and sitting on the bathroom counter to get a better look in the mirror of my cut. "Just give me a second-"

"You're being weirder than normal," he groans in frustration on the other side.

"Yeah, well, get used to it," I hiss as I put the sanitizer spray on it and bite my knuckle to suppress the pained groan I want to let out. "Jesus," I mumble under my breath, but the next thing I know, the door is swinging open, and Bucky's staring at its handle that's hanging on by a thread before back at me. "Hey!" I look at the door and back at him. "They're going to charge us for that."

His eyes immediately go from annoyed and over it to concerned and confused.

"What the hell is that?" He points at my stomach, where I'm frozen on top of the counter, shirt lifted, showing my entire torso and cut on full display.

"A paper cut." Dear God. What the hell happened to my logical excuses?

His concerned face drops some, and he deadpans from my injury to my eyes before marching to me and turning me at my shoulders to face him and get a better view.

"When did this happen?"

"Wild guess, but likely when the guards we fought to get out pulled a knife on me and played dirty," I sigh, realizing I wasn't talking myself out of this one anytime soon. "But that could be a stretch," I add.

He again looks up at me from my injury with an incredulous and agitated look.

"Let me see," he sighs, bending down to get a better view and looking at the injury from a head-on angle.

"It's just a scratch, Barnes. I'll be good as new after a little disinfectant and ointment. Nothing a bandaid can't fix," I brush off, turning on the counter to grab the kit.

He stops me in my turn by placing a hand on my knee and turning me back around to where my legs hang off the counter. I'm sitting with him in between my legs.

"They used a serrated knife," he notes, taking the first aid kit out of my hand and opening it, instantly getting to work as if I wasn't doing it myself two seconds ago.

"Um, excuse me, but I can-"

"I know the things you can do, Y/N. You don't have to tell me," he says sternly, grabbing gauze and another bottle of something I didn't know the contents of and tipping it onto the gauze before bending down again. This time, his eyes found mine as he looked up at me from his now crouched position. "This is going to sting. That sanitizer you were using before is shit. This one actually does the job," he notes, and I'm a little stunned by the turn of events. "Ready?"

Never in my life did I think Bucky Barnes would be this gentle and considerate with me, but I'm not going to stop a good thing from happening.

"I don't think it can hurt more than the knife itself," I smirk and nod when he gives me a look. "Yeah, yeah. Do your thing, Doc." I gesture to him, looking up at the ceiling as I prepare for the sting.

I don't feel it instantly, and just as I'm about to ask what was taking him so long, the cool liquid hits my cut, and I hiss, grabbing his wrist in a tight hold out of instinct to hold him back. "Jesus H. Christ," I grit through my teeth. "What the hell kind of acid did you just put in-?" I let out a slow breath through my lips and quietly say, "I'd pick the knife again. I'd pick the knife again. The knife for sure."

"It's Banner-strength disinfectant," he says with a stupid little prideful smirk, yet is dabbing the cut ever so gently as I hold his wrist. His touch is soft, but the sting is anything but. "You grabbed my first aid kit. I had him make it since you tend to get hurt easily, and we're not in the cleanest country." He's fully concentrated on my cut.

"What?" I asked, surprised, grabbing the kit's container and seeing that it indeed was not mine. I brush over the fact he had Bruce specifically make it and pack it for me as I look over at my bag, still slumped against the wall from my rush to take a shower, and realize I must have forgotten mine.

"Relax. Tensing doesn't help," he adds, bringing his free hand to my thigh and giving a light squeeze to distract me. I hiss again as he pads over an agitated area.

All sense of humor drops slowly from his face, and he gives me a look. "Y/N, why didn't you tell me about this as soon as you knew? This was not far from being infected in a way that could have been a lot worse than just an irritating sting."

"When was I supposed to tell you?" I sass, throwing my head back on the mirror as I focus on anything but the sharp stings. "As soon as we got off the bike, we headed here. You didn't say a word to me, and I was in my own head. Honestly, I didn't even realize it was there until we were checking in and I was on the phone with Steve. Adrenaline must have kept me from realizing it."

He mumbles something under his breath, and I hear the word, reckless in the middle of it.

"Watch yourself," I warn, kicking my leg a touch, skimming his rib cage. "There can easily be two injured people in this room."

"No need for both of us to get stupid injuries," he grumbles.

I scoff and shove his hand away from me, jumping off the counter as he stands and glares at me.

"Sorry for getting stabbed," I sneer up at him, stepping into his space. "I'll make sure to ask the assholes shooting and swinging at me next time to keep the knives at home. Oh! Or better yet," I exaggerate. "I'll tell them my partner said I'm not allowed to get into fights with men triple my size, so if they can just play gentle so I don't end up with any battle scars, that would be greatly appreciated." I smile wide and fake before dropping it and brushing by him to the bedroom.

I catch the tail end of his eyes rolling before I hear him stomping behind me.

"I need to finish patching you up. If it's not done properly, you can get sick." He comes up behind me, but I stop abruptly, and he runs into my back before holding my shoulders to steady himself. I turn to him, not breaking the space.

"I know how injuries work, Barnes. This isn't my first time in the field, although I'm sure you believe otherwise," I scoff in anger. "Just," I put my hands up, stepping away in frustration and groaning. "I'm going to get some air," I try and push past him to leave, but his hand wraps around my arm and holds me shoulder to shoulder by his side before I can get my feet past him.

"No. You're going to let me finish patching you up. Now..." he stares at me with his Sergeant's eyes. "Sit. Down." I struggle to fight my stubborn retort, but he sees it brewing and raises an eyebrow in challenge.

I groan in protest loudly and pull my arm out of my grip before moving to the edge of the bed and sulkingly wait for him to finish his job- that I didn't ask him to even start, by the way!

"Good girl," he mutters with a smartass smirk, and I take a breath in to yell something at him, but he goes back to the bathroom to grab the kit we left behind.

"Cyborg headed-ass, caveman, son of a bit-" I mumble, and he comes back in, shooting me a look that says, 'really?'. "Oh, sorry, did you hear that?" I say with fake regret.

He rolls his eyes and crouches again by my knees to get a better angle at the cut, and I lean back, my hands flat against the comforter as he works quietly, and I stare up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the warmth of his hands on my stomach when he's been nothing but cold to me.

As he's patting the tape over the piece of gauze he fashioned over my cut, I look at him calculatingly. He notices my gaze on him and awkwardly starts putting his things up, sneaking glances at my stare here and there.

"What?" he finally asks. "Stop staring at me."

Instead of an answer, I just stare harder and raise an eyebrow, tilting my head to the side as I analyze him deeper.

"Cut it out," he growls, standing and moving to put the kit on the counter. "You're creeping me out."

I let out a single laugh and shake my head before lowering my tank top and looking out the window. "You're so fucking confusing," I state, standing as I straighten my clothes.

"I'm confusing?" he asked rhetorically. "You're fucking confusing."

"Come up with your own lines," I throw an exasperated hand out, waving him off. "I'm getting air."

I don't know what provokes him, but he steps in front of me, his towering figure shadowing over me.

"No," he says, looking at me sternly.

"There wasn't a question mark at the end of that sentence, asshole," I sidestep him and move to the door. I manage to open it maybe a foot before it's slammed in my face, and I feel Bucky's chest pressed to my back. I look up, and his hand is splayed flat on the door.

"I said no," he says lowly. His voice is just over my shoulder, and I hold back the shiver that threatens to take over my body.

"And I said, fuck off," I say just as lowly, looking up at him, tilting my head back. "Move."

"We need to talk."

"And I need to put a good three blocks of this city between us so I don't add another person to the stabbed today club. I'd rather stay on Steve's good side." I jut my arm back to elbow him in the ribs, but he dodges it with a huff of an annoyed laugh.

"Real mature," he sasses, and I can see a touch of playfulness in his features, and that makes me even more furious.

"You're one to fucking talk!" I turn and shove him in the chest, and he relents, putting his hands up in the air as I shove repeatedly in vexation. Each shove and each curse I send his way has him taking one slight step back with a grin. "Stop smiling!" I grunt as I push him harder, and he laughs. He fucking laughs!

My eye twitches, and my hits become more forceful. Nothing close to what I'm capable of, but I'm not looking for a full-on brawl. I just want to smack him enough to wipe that stupid smirk off his face.

"Y/N," he says calmly in between hits to his rock-solid chest. A chest, I'm sure, will give me bruises if I keep this up.

"No! You don't get to talk!" I point at him after shoving him one more time and successfully making him falter a few steps back at the power behind it. "I'm walking out of this room to get some air, and you're going to stay right fucking there. Right there!" I point to the floor under his feet. "And not keep me from leaving this God damn suffocating room. Got it?"

I know my eyes are wild, and I know the emotions I'm feeling are written clear as day on my face because his sly smirk falters, and he takes a deep breath in, hands still up in surrender.

"I'm sorry," he mutters out as his gaze falls to his feet.

"What?" I ask, shocked and slightly out of breath from exerting myself.

"I'm sorry," he says a touch more clearly as he clears his throat and looks up, hands coming down and eyes avoiding mine.

I blink a few times and throw my hands up. "I can't do this." I let out a breath and turned back to the door.

"Y/N, please don't," he says, and I stop. I surprise myself, but I stop, turning back to him slowly.

"Why?" There's a long pause that follows my question, and I wonder whether Bucky even knows why he's asking this. "Genuinely Bucky... Why are you so insistent on me staying in this room right now?"

He runs a nervous hand over his beard and shifts his weight to one foot as he throws one hand up in a single wave.

"I don't need you getting hurt again," he states, still avoiding eye contact.

My eyebrows narrow in confusion, and I cross my arms, popping my hip to the side as I stare at him. "We're in a hotel. Not a battlefield."

"It's better we stay in here than wander around. The guys who were after us are likely still hunting us, and it's best we don't show our faces in public spaces," he notes.

Ok, that's a logical reason, but something tells me this is a more emotional reason on his end. He's not sharing everything, though...

"Ok..." I drag out and look at the balcony. "Then I'll go out there."

I walk promptly to the balcony, surprisingly not being stopped by him as I brush past him and jiggle the door handle, finding it stuck. "Fucking hell," I grumble under my breath as I pull the handle and push it up and down to try and get it to work.

A hand comes behind me and takes the door handle for me. I stare at it, not turning to acknowledge how Bucky expertly pushes it just right for it to open.

"I had the same issue," he says, pulling his hand back and nodding his head to the bathroom. "I'm going to take a shower." He steps back, quiet and sinking back into his usual stand-offish behavior, but now with more nerves and awkwardness.

I give a grunt in acknowledgment and shut the balcony door behind me before sitting in a shitty lawn chair. I don't turn to see if he's still standing there watching me, but instead, I focus on the city view in front of me. It's not a well-off country, so the views aren't more than rundown buildings and vendors in the street shouting for people to buy their things over their neighbors, but it's fresh air away from the man that makes my blood boil.

Fifteen minutes later, I feel a little calmer. Although still annoyed, I'm more confused than anything. Why the hell was he acting so strange, and why do I feel like some kind of serious conversation was going to-

"Y/N?" I hear the door open with a creak and turn to see Bucky with wet hair, a change of clothes, and soft eyes focusing on the door that's obviously broken. "God, this place has gone down in quality," he notes, leaving the door cracked as he comes onto the balcony with me.

"Been here before?" I ask, turning back to the view ahead.

"Once like 8 years ago," he nods and moves to stand by the railing, his arms crossed over the edge of it, and his gaze now focused on the same place mine is. "Must have gotten new management."

It's silent for almost five minutes after that. No words, no looks, no sounds. Just silence outside of the city noise. I debate, standing and going back into the room if he's going to continue to go radio silent and not explain his strange behavior earlier, but just before I stand, he speaks up.

"I don't know why," he says, and a crease forms between my eyebrows. He continues to stare off into the city. I wait a few moments, and he continues. "I don't know why you stress me out more than the others."

Great. So that's how this is going to go.

I stand and silently move to go back into the room, but his hand clasps around my wrist.

"Please, just let me find the words," he asks, and I can hear the plea in his voice.

I look back and up at him and his eyes are in the puppy dog form I've seen only a select few times. Ones that have never been directed at me but have held no truer emotion than requisition.

"Ok..." I drag out, moving back to the lawn chair and sitting quietly as he drops my wrist almost hesitantly and leans against the railing, fidgeting with his hands. I've never seen him like this, so I give him the space.

He takes a deep breath through his nose and closes his eyes before just unloading everything.

"I don't like seeing you get hurt," he starts. "I mean, I don't like seeing any of my friends get hurt. It's no decent person's interest to watch friends and family get harmed, but it's like a nagging in my head. No," he shakes his head, trying to find the right words. "It's like having pins and needles surrounding your lungs, and every time you try and take a breath to come down from the terror- the pain of seeing them hurt- the needles poke and stab. Making it nearly impossible to take a deep breath and ground yourself. And that's only a part of the pain that comes with it."

I stare up at him. My eyes are likely wide as I take in what he's saying. He glances at me once before looking back at his hands.

"I know I'm an asshole to you. I know that," he says, cringing as if the truth behind it hurts him. "I don't know why. At least, I say that to make myself not think about it longer than I can probably handle, but I've talked to my therapist about it, and she says it's a protective technique my brain finds more plausible than just dealing with the confusing feelings I have towards you."

My eyes shift back and forth as if trying to understand the words.

"Feelings towards me?" I repeat. "Like annoyance?"

"No," he sighs, and then he chuckles a soft laugh under his breath. "Well, yes. Sometimes you can be annoying, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't find it endearing most of the time."

My eyebrows raise at that. Where the hell is all this coming from?

I shake my head in disbelief and lean back in my chair. "Barnes, you're giving me a bit of whiplash, and I'm not sure-"

"I like you."

My mouth is still open from where my sentence was going, and I blink once. Then twice. Then, a third time, as I tried to understand if I just heard him right. Because if he meant it as a friend, I'm shocked. But if he meant it otherwise... I'm hallucinating.

His eyes find mine, and this time, he doesn't look away. He keeps eye contact, and I can feel him trying to read me.

"I-Is there more to that sentence?" I ask, my brain trying to make sense of the situation and short-circuiting ultimately.

"Yes, but from the looks of it, you're still trying to translate those three words."

"Good observation," I nod, pursing my lips and sinking into my chair.

"I've been known to make them," he smiles a tight-lipped smile. I'm actually grateful for his quip at this moment.

"Bucky, you have to understand that those words don't make sense with how you treat me-"

"I know, and I'm sorry," he pushes off the railing and steps forward just in front of my chair. "God, I'm so sorry. I don't even know why it's taken me this long to apologize for the way I've acted this long, but for some reason... When we were fighting today, I saw a man get the jump on you. I was seconds from leaving my own fight and coming straight to you to handle it for you, but you quickly turned the situation around. It wasn't the first time I'd seen you in that scenario, yet something about it..." He pauses, looking up at the sky, throwing a hand through his hair. "It freaked me out. It freaked me out far more than it has in the past."

He looks at me in a sincere way and moves to sit in the busted up, rusted, and metal patio chair that looks like it very well could have been here when he came 8 years ago. It creaks as he turns it in and angles his body toward mine. His elbows rest on his knees, and he looks down at his hands again. And as he talks, I realize he's breaking it down not just for me but for himself—these emotions and sudden changes.

"Maybe it's because I knew if I didn't get to you, you were on your own. We didn't have a backup. I couldn't call Steve or Nat, or Wanda to come in and help where I couldn't. And then the actualization that if I couldn't get to you, if no one was there to back you up, there was a chance I'd end up regretting everything all because I can't seem to come to terms with my feelings." His eyes find mine again. "And then that cut," his eyes drag from mine down my torso to where my knife wound lays under my tank top. "It was like a final piece to knock some sense into my head."

He looks at me, and I can't explain it, but I want to hold him when he looks at me like that.

"Seeing you hurt reminded me... You're human. You aren't invincible even if you can take on three men triple your size attacking you at once. It's a skill I'm glad and impressed that you have, but it doesn't guarantee someone won't get the jump on you again, and I'm not sure I can handle that."

I stay in silence for a moment, taking in the information and processing it all. I must have been quiet for a while because a soft "Y/N?" makes me look up from where I've been staring blankly at the balcony.

"You ok?" he asks gently, carefully.

I nod and run a hand up and down my arm from a slight breeze blowing with the sun setting in the distance.

"Trying to..." I started, but I didn't know what words were meant to follow. "I'm a little shocked," I say, eventually looking at him.

"I can't say I blame you. It's a 180 from our normal conversations," he takes a deep breath and smiles softly at him. "Do you need a minute?"

I shake my head. "No..." Then I scrunch my nose. "Well, maybe."

"That's ok," he nods, sitting back in his chair, and it weakly groans in protest. He takes in the fact my legs are up to my chest now, and I've wrapped my arms around myself. "We should go inside. It'll get cold soon." He stands and motions for me to head in first, then offers a hand to help me stand up.

I look at it before taking it, standing, and walking in with my arms still around my middle. As soon as we're in, I turn and catch us both off guard by being chest-to-chest with him after he shuts the balcony door. I don't move, though, and neither does he.

"Since honesty seems to be the theme of the night," I look up at him. "I've always admired you..." His face softens at that. "But I'd be lying to both of us if I said how you treated me didn't affect that original feeling." He nods in understanding and slightly cringes to himself.

"I wouldn't hold it against you."

"Why did you- Why did you not like me at first?"

He shrugs a touch, but there's no uncertainty behind it. "I saw you as young and naive. I saw you as someone who seemed to make almost anyone love you, and all you had to do was exist around them. I think a broken part of me was envious and confused by that trait, and I used it as a reason to be hateful to you instead of taking advantage of the kindness you freely give and allowing myself the gift of that. I didn't think I deserved that." He sighs, his hands going into the pockets of his sweats. "I convinced myself that your kindness was nativity when I've learned quite quickly that you're anything but naive."

I sigh, nodding my head as I turn and move to sit on the edge of the bed. "You wouldn't be the first person to misinterpret my kindness. It's why I tend to fall into becoming a stubborn ass when people don't appreciate that kindness. Hence why I haven't been the perfect person in this relationship myself," I motion between us. "I should have recognized where you could have been coming from and continued to kill you with pleasantries, but you didn't seem to respond well to it."

"It wasn't your job to recognize that or fix it. It was mine to stop being a stubborn ass myself and talk to you rather than make assumptions," he shifts on his feet. "I thought I was self-preserving when I was actually self-sabotaging. Something I'm still working on recognizing."

"It's a process," I sigh, knowing the steps well enough myself. I consider the conversation and take a deep breath, relaxing in my spot as I come to my conclusion. "Bucky?" He looks at me, hopeful and attentive. "I forgive you."

I watch as his body stiffens at the declaration before slowly relaxing.

"I don't expect you to just be fine with everything I've done the last-"

"Many years?" I chuckle, lighting the mood. "Yeah, but why would I want to waste any more time when I get it? I get your reasoning, and I can't say I blame you."

"But you should blame me," he moves to sit on the comforter next to me, our knees brushing.

I shrug, turning to face him better. "But I don't." He starts to talk, and I cover his mouth with my hand. His icy blue eyes looked down at the motion before back at me. "I swear to God, Barnes. You take two steps forward, and it's like you feel guilty for making progress and regress." He flinches slightly at my words, and I feel I struck a nerve. "Sorry, I shouldn't-" I take my hand back.

"No, you're right. It's something I'm still working on. I mean, small things are easy to accept and move on, but this," he gestures to me. "A part of me doesn't believe I deserve your forgiveness after the caseload of shit I've given you, but-"

"But it's my forgiveness to give, so I'll decide if I want to give it..." I look at him as if waiting for him to connect the dots. He smiles and nods as he looks down at his hands. "You catching on?"

"I'm catching on," he looks up at him again. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

We look at each other for a little while, and the atmosphere is new. It's not tense. It's not awkward. It's not uncomfortable. It's like we've come to a point we've been actively avoiding for years, and it turned out to be a really nice point.

"So..." he starts, and I decide to break the seriousness of it all.

"Why is there only one bed, Bucky?" I ask with a look meant to lighten up the mood, turning and patting the comforter we're sitting on.

He looks at it with me and smiles with a laugh. "It wasn't intentional, if that's what you're asking."

"Feels a touch intentional. Not letting me leave the room or demanding I stay close kinda plays into the fact you'd be forced into sharing a bed with me. Another way to secure my proximity," I tease.

"Or..." he drags out, and his hand comes up, pushing a wayward hair behind my ear and casually taking his hand back. "The receptionist told me they didn't have any two-bedroom rooms available right now because there is a festival in town this weekend, and they're booked up."

"Seems legit, but not sure if I believe you," I grin a touch bashful and look around at the room as if I'm surveying it and not slightly melting at his touch.

"Believe me or not," he shrugs, standing and stretching. "Either way, we're sharing a bed tonight, sweetheart." He winks. He fucking winks at me and moves to the other side of the bed, getting his side ready for sleep.

This new side of him is not one I was ready for, but seeing it makes me think about what I haven't gotten to experience sooner. So I say that.

"I knew you were a lady's man back in the day, but I never thought I'd see the flirt you were rumored to be," I turn in my spot on the bed and look at him from the end of the bed.

"I don't flirt with everyone," he says, throwing the blanket back and adjusting the pillows.

"Well, yeah, obviously, but-"

"Just people I'm attracted to," he says, cutting me off with a telling grin. "And to women, I'd like to have flirt back."

My mouth drops, and I let out a laugh. A genuine laugh. "Was that a move? Did you just make a move on me?" I smile like a teenager at him, partially in disbelief and partially in interest.

"Did it work?" he chuckles, sitting on the edge and scooting into the bed but not fully getting in it.

I shake my head with a smile and laugh again. "Honestly, I have to say yes."

His smile widens at my confession, and he leans back on the headboard, two pillows propped behind him.

"So you're saying I have a chance if I keep it up?"

"Don't get ahead of yourself, cowboy. It's not going to take just a flashy wink and a flirty comment to get my attention fully. I like to be sought after."

"Good to know."

"Is it?" I ask incredulously with a smirk as I move to my side of the bed and throw the covers back enough to sneak under them.

"Can't give away all my plans," he shakes his head, and I turn off my bedside lamp.

"Wouldn't want you to. I like being surprised," I lay down and nuzzled into my pillow before turning on my side and looking up at him. "Must say, your surprise tonight was a pretty good start."

"You think?"

"I think," I nod and debate on my next idea, but I decide what the hell? Who's it hurting? "Feel free to say no, but if we are sharing the same bed, I tend to be a cuddler unconsciously, so if we-"

"Yes," he says simply a large grin he doesn't seem to care to hide marks his handsome features. "Yes, please." He nods, moving under the blanket.

"That answer was a little too fast to believe that this hotel didn't have other beds."

"I don't know what you mean," he shimmies under the blanket, and I feel his leg brush mine.

"Listen, normally I wouldn't, but I learn I sleep best when I'm with another person, so-"

"You don't have to give me a reason, doll. I'm happy to lend the support." His arms are quickly wrapped around my middle and I'm turned to where my back is pressed against his front and I'm not going to lie... It's a perfect fit. "Night, Y/N."

"Night, Bucky." I smile putting my hands on his around my middle and laying back into him.

This was a good start to something possibly more...

Want to keep reading? (Part 2 of 2)

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[obsessed2fics]

~ Doctor's Plan ~

Agent Stone x (f) reader

Part four {the masterlist}

Warnings: none

Word count: 14k

Agent Stone was putting his plans into action one by one without being noticed. First, he successfully made others take Doctor Robotnik's control gloves out from where they were kept, and reach his own hand. After about a month, he became the owner of the cafe with the idea given by Y/N. He had no remorse for what he did to the staff or Karen, they all deserved what they got. Especially Karen.

The only person left with Stone was a scatterbrained guy, named Brayden. While Stone was busy implementing his plans on the other side of the cafe, he needed someone to run other errands in the cafe during the day, and Brayden was quite suitable for the job.

Yes, he was getting more tired than before, but he wasn't going to stop until everything was complete. Also, he had some peace of mind because he was able to ensure Y/N's safety along with all of this.

When he got home from work, he did almost nothing except rest and play with Sylvester. Y/N was helping Stone out with the chores until all this restoration chaos passed. In fact, she was used to being in a different place and hanging out at the house all the time. It was good for her to stay away from school, her students, her friends and their problems. She found more time to spare and get to know herself. And Stone of course... They didn't chat much in the evenings or in the mornings when she was awake. But still, everything was fine.

For she eased the load on him, Stone would make her a different coffee almost every evening that he thought she might like, thus silently expressing his gratitude.

It was another one of those evenings, while Y/N was checking her emails on her phone, Stone was busy making her that evening's coffee special.

"Stone?!" Y/N called out as she whirled around in her chair towards Stone. But her eyes were still on the phone screen.

"Yes?" he replied. Unlike Y/N's tone, his was quite calm.

"Did you hack my email?! And send a resignation mail to the school?! Without asking me?!"

He could feel Y/N getting angrier with every question she asked, and that was something he could tell from her tone of voice.

"Uh... Actually I didn't hack your email. You should change your password to a stronger one."

"Answer my questions!"

"Yes, yes, I did... And I sent an email on your behalf. I know I should've ask you first but I forgot in all my busyness. Sorry." he said as he placed the coffee cup in front of Y/N. His eyes were fixed on hers.

Y/N asked before tearing her eyes away from his and turning to her coffee. Her voice was more exasperated than angry. "Why?"

"'Cause you're not going back there soon."

"You don't need to remind me this every single time." she said and rolled her eyes. "And by the way, my password is creative."

"Replacing some letters with numbers isn't that creative."

"It is." she said, putting an end to her argument with him. "Ugh! I wish I could at least inform my friends about this situation."

She took another sip of her coffee and continued grumbling. "It's been a month! I'm sure they're freak out with curiosity by now. What's your suggestion about this, Mr. Genius?"

Stone came forward in the chair he was leaning on. "Call them." he said pushing her phone towards her which was sitting on the table. "Here. You can tell them you're on vacation."

"Uh-huh, and they start questioning immediately." she replied sarcastically. Then she took a deep breath. "It doesn't work."

"You can figure it out right now." he said, looking right into her eyes.

Y/N raised an eyebrow and hesitantly picked up the phone. She put the phone on speaker while calling them.

"Girl, why haven't you called or texted us for weeks? What's going on?" they said as soon as they answered the phone.

"Uh... Nothing. I'm just went on vacation. That's all."

"Cut the bullshit! You wouldn't go on vacations, even if we forced you to. Besides, we learned that you resigned from your job! What's wrong, Y/N? Are you in trouble? You can tell us, you know that." they said.

They sounded worried and didn't believe what she was saying.

"Guys, I'm really on vacation. I'm not even in New York. And I'm fine, I swear." she tried to reassure them. It was true that she wasn't in New York, but she wasn't sure if it was a vacation for her or not.

"Where are you exactly? One of us will get there."

"Uh..." she paused for a few seconds. She was trying to make up a lie. Just then, Stone came to help her and spoke into the phone.

"She's with me and safe."

"Who the hell are you?" they all said at the same time.

"I'm... her boyfriend ." said Stone. One corner of his lip turned upward for a moment.

Y/N blinked in surprise and suddenly looked at him. "What the fuck?" she said quietly, only moving her lips.

In response, Stone put on a sheepish expression and shrugged silently. He leaned back and took a big sip of his coffee. It was a lie he told for a moment to save the situation. Actually, if he thought about it a little, it wouldn't be bad at all if it happened. But he wasn't ready to think about it yet.

"What?!? How?! Y/N? Is he telling the truth?" they asked in astonishment.

"Uh, yeah... This actually happened months ago, I was just waiting to make sure this whole thing was sorted out…" she lied. She didn't like lying to her friends. While her threatening gaze was still on Stone, she brought the thumb of her free hand towards her own throat and dragged it as if to say 'I'm gonna kill you '.

"Wow, girl! Congrats! Everyone is shocked right now. So, where are you two? In LA or...?"

"We're…" Y/N started the sentence. It was as if she looked around to find a lie somewhere.

"World tour." whispered Stone.

"on a world tour actually. We both resigned from our jobs to spend more time together." Y/N continued. She let out a quiet but deep breath.

"Aww, that's so sweet."

"Yeah..." she agreed. She stood up from where she was sitting as she turned off the speaker of the phone and put it to her ear. She was pacing back and forth around the table.

"What's his name by the way? Is he good looking?" one of them asked.

"His name is Aban. And -"

Another interrupted Y/N. "Is he hot?"

Y/N stopped pacing and looked Stone up and down. "I think he is..." she answered the question with a hidden smirk on her face.

At that moment, Stone was looking at Y/N with his eyes wide in surprise. Because he had no idea how she learned his name. He hadn't paid much attention to what was said after hearing his name from Y/N's mouth.

Moments later, Y/N let out a loud, exaggerated sigh as she hung up the phone and sat back in the chair. Stone was still looking at her with questioning eyes as she finished her almost cold coffee in one big gulp.

"What?"

"How do you know my name?" asked Stone. He was leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table.

"Lucky guess." she said with a wink.

Although Stone was a little impressed by her attitude, he was insistent on learning the truth. "You know I'm not an idiot, Y/N." he said, raising one eyebrow.

"I know." Y/N agreed. She was trying hard not to laugh at that moment. She enjoyed pushing Stone to his limits.

"I can wait all night."

"You can't. You have to go to work in the morning."

Stone leaned back, still staring at her. "You're just like your father." he said. He knew Y/N didn't like being compared to her father and used this card to make her give up. Plus they really looked alike...

Y/N reacted as if she had been insulted. She slammed her hand on the table, stood up, and leaned towards him. "Take it back!"

Stone shook his head. He was starting to enjoy this situation.

 

Y/N, on the other hand, gave up after remaining in the same position for a while longer. She pulled back and looked at the ceiling, and then her gaze found him again. "Ugh! Okay! I saw your ID. I can't give you any more details, sorry."

"See? It's not that hard." said Stone, with a certain triumphant grin on his face. He could be satisfied with the information he received.

"Now, you tell me, WHAT WAS THAT THING YOU SAID TO MY FRIENDS?!" she snapped.

"You needed a lie to make them stop questioning you. So I helped. You're welcome."

"You could've found another lie..."

"Believe me, none of them would be as effective." he said. "And you can think of it as a vacation rather than being held captive."

Y/N turned her gaze forward and sighed deeply. Stone was right, she would be here for an unknown amount of time, and it would be best for her to think of it as a vacation and relax.

"At least, I wanna go out." she muttered to herself, but Stone heard her. He didn't want to restrict her freedom and put her in a difficult situation. He felt like he had crossed the line between ensuring her safety and captivity.

"How about coming to the cafe tomorrow?" he came up with an idea. "I'd like you to see the final look."

"I haven't even seen it in its first look." Y/N chimed in. "Okay. I'll come."

"Great!"

The next morning, Y/N woke up to her cat licking her face. While she was petting him and playing with him, her cat was trying to lick and bite her at every opportunity. She lowered him onto the bed from above herself and stood up. It was her turn to sleep in the bedroom. She took her clothes out of the closet, left them on the bed, and went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for her cat.

There was no sound from Stone, he must've been asleep. She filled her cat's food and water bowls, taking care not to make too much noise. Hearing the sound of food spilling, Sylvester immediately ran into the kitchen. He was snuggling against Y/N's legs as a thank you, an action that always brought a smile to Y/N's face.

After taking a quick shower and leaving, she felt wide awake. She got dressed in the bathroom but didn't dry her hair. She left the bathroom with the towel in her hair and went towards the bedroom. She paused for a while at the doorstep when she encountered a sight she never expected.

"I almost thought you were sleeping in a suit." Y/N said, voicing her thoughts out loud.

With a sudden reflex, Stone put back the pajama top he was about to take off. He was startled and surprised, but hid it with great skill and turned towards her.

 

"Even though they are comfortable, I can't say they are the best for sleep." he replied humorously.

Y/N just laughed lightly. Then, without stopping for long, she turned around and left the room. "Hurry up!" she called as she made her way down the corridor.

Stone understood the reason for her haste. She hadn't been out in weeks and he was kind of responsible for that.

After quickly getting dressed, he walked over to Y/N. At that time, Y/N was bending down on the ground, kissing and admonishing her cat. "Be good boy until mommy get back, okay my sweet baby?"

On the other hand, Sylvester escaped from her hands at the first opportunity and left her with an indifferent attitude.

When they walked out the door of the building, Y/N closed her eyes and took a deep breath, filling her lungs with fresh air. "I miss this."

Stone watched her silently for a while, and this image brought Doctor Robotnik to his mind. He would spend weeks without leaving the laboratory, without seeing sunlight, without breathing fresh air. When he finally went out, he would breathe in the air with great longing.

"This way." he said then showed her the way. "Not so far."

Y/N followed him silently. When they arrived near the cafe, Stone saw Sonic and Sheriff Wachowski from afar. He stopped and pointed to Y/N in their direction. "These two caused the doctor to disappear." he said with hidden anger in his voice.

Y/N stood and watched the strange duo in the distance for a moment. "He looks cute." she said, referring to Sonic.

"He's married." Stone immediately informed her, thinking she meant Tom. He glanced sideways at her as jealousy and confusion began to insidiously course through his veins.

Even though Y/N didn't see that look, she sensed his mood. She chuckled quietly. "I meant the hedgehog." she felt the need to correct herself.

While these words soothed Stone's jealousy, he wasn't happy that she thought Sonic was cute. But he didn't think much about it, because he had something else to worry about: why he was jealous of her...

It was early in the morning and a weekend so there weren't many people around. When they got inside, Y/N looked around, it was a simple but elegant place. From what she knew, the place reflected Stone. It felt warm, friendly and comfortable.

"This place is really nice." Y/N said as she looked around. "It doesn't feel like other cafes, it has a cozy feel. Like a home."

Upon this last sentence, Stone paused what he was about to do and turned his head towards her. "Thanks." he said with a smile on his face. "Wait till you see the other side of this place."

While Y/N looked at him with curious eyes, Stone did a few actions on the smartwatch on his wrist. Then the entire cafe began to change, quickly turning into a secret base.

"Wow…" Y/N reacted, not hiding her surprise. "I must admit, it's better than I expected."

Before the smile on Stone's face disappeared, Y/N's words added a new one. He wasn't used to compliments and being appreciated this much.

"It's not quite finished yet, actually... But I'm glad you like it."

Y/N studied the few robots and technologies around for a while. At first she had difficulty believing that all of these were her father's work, but when she saw them with her own eyes, she had a hard time hiding her admiration.

Had to give Stone his due, even though he didn't understand the mechanics as much as Robotnik, he was pretty good at the technology part. He added a lot of himself to the process of transforming the cafe into a secret base. He also didn't have all the robots yet, he had to somehow get them back from the government or add new ones himself. The second part was harder than the first part.

"So what's your next plan? There's no schedule left to follow." Y/N asked. She finished looking around and started examining Stone.

Y/N's question brought Stone out of his thoughts. "Um... I don't know yet. As you can see, most robots are missing. I have to make that up somehow." explained Stone.

"Maybe you could give yourself some time off." she made a suggestion.

"Maybe..." Stone simply repeated.

{New chapter is here!!! Thanks for your patience! I hope you like it! Part five will definitely come btw!}

[pathologicalreid]

hiii I love ur fics <3 I am OBSESSED with the prompt “can you come get me?” bc h/c makes me 💥💥💥 so I was thinking:

reader has been kidnapped by the latest unsub and the team is trying their hardest to find her but all the leads keep coming up empty until one day Spencer gets a call from her and the first thing she says is “can you come get me?” she sounds extremely upset and afraid so Spencer and Hotch leave to go find her. when they get there, she looks like she’s been through hell so they rush her to the hospital to be checked out, all the while they can’t seem to get any info out of her about what happened.

Spencer & reader could be platonic or romantic, whichever you like. (also I was thinking maybe hotchner!reader ? if that wouldn’t be too many things to ask for lol)

I love how you do angst and h/c, so keep up the good work and have a wonderful day <3

can you come get me? | S.R.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: kidnapping, hospitals, stitches, blood draws, catatonia, disassociation, brief mention of sa, ohio mentioned, general cm violence (let me know if i missed any) word count: 4.56k a/n: i have no idea how this got so long but i love the plot of it so much that i couldn't cut any of it! i'm such a slut for the "you came"/"you called" trope that i couldn't help myself! i wrote this with the idea that it would be in place of the m*eve storyline (which means our lord and savior blake is here)!! anyways anon i hope you enjoy this - i love you!

Any external sound was completely ignored as Spencer flipped through the same file for the eighteenth time that day. In his periphery, he saw JJ and Rossi nod at each other before Rossi split away, walking up the ramp to where Hotch’s office was.

It took him a moment to realize JJ had made herself comfortable by sitting on the edge of his desk. She had her jacket neatly folded in her arms as she eyed the file he had, grief filling her eyes as she registered what he was looking at. “What are you doing tonight?” She asked, trying to keep her voice as light as possible.

The question was entirely pointless, she knew exactly what he was doing tonight, but in an attempt to get her to leave him alone, Spencer humored her, “I’m working late tonight,” he answered simply.

JJ’s smile faltered ever so slightly before she shook her head, “You’ve been working late all week, what if you come over tonight? Will’s making dinner. Garcia’s coming after she finishes her system update,” the attempt to get him out of the office didn’t go over his head, but it wasn’t going to work. “Henry would love to see you – maybe you could teach him a new magic trick.”

Peeling his eyes off of the paperwork, he looked up at the blonde, “You know I can’t.” He felt so close to an answer, he couldn’t possibly leave.

“Look, Reid, I get it, but you’ve been working crazy hours for the past month. Maybe taking a night off would be good. You can start fresh in the morning,” she tried to coax him into leaving the case be.

It hadn’t been a full month; it had been twenty-seven days. Almost four full weeks since you were taken. It had been one week since Section Chief Cruz had told Hotch that the BAU needed to start taking new cases, as the trail to you had run cold.

Considering you were Hotch’s daughter, that discussion had gone rather poorly. Cruz had been able to give the team leeway. Both Spencer and Hotch had fully intended on taking advantage of that leeway, and the rest of the team helped when they had the capacity.

Turning back to your file, Spencer shook his head, “I’ll go if Hotch goes.” He knew there was no way Hotch would be leaving the office tonight, the only reason Hotch went home anymore was for Jack, and he was at a sleepover tonight.

JJ’s shoulders slumped in abject disappointment as her eyes followed Dave as he exited Hotch’s office, the slamming of the door enough to make the lingering BAU agents flinch. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, defeated.

Rossi wagged a finger at Spencer, “Go home at some point tonight, kid,” he instructed.

Waving a quick goodbye, Spencer resumed making notes in the margins of the papers that were making a permanent home on his desk. He looked up when Hotch exited his office, eyes following him as he brewed a pot of coffee in the kitchenette. The two of them acknowledged each other with a nod before continuing on with the hunt.

Both of them knew the odds, that you had been gone this long and there was a good chance that they’d never see you again. Despite that, Spencer would head up to Hotch’s office in about an hour, and the two of them would confer.

Eventually, the sun set, and a thunderstorm rolled in, the flashes of light coming in through the windows as he began to consider going for another cup of coffee.

Wiping a hand down his face, he inwardly groaned as his phone started to ring. Half expecting it to be JJ, he was surprised to find that it was an unknown caller. Clicking the answer button, he lifted the phone to his ear, “Hello, this is Dr. Reid.”

There was an eerie silence on the other end of the call, if he strained his ears, he could hear the pattering of rain. He tried to greet the other person again, but when there was no answer, he started to lower the phone to hang up.

“Can you come get me?” Your quiet voice came through the receiver, effectively knocking the wind out of Spencer’s lungs.

Fiddling with his belongings, Spencer gripped your file, “Where are you?” He asked urgently.

You sniffled, “I don’t know. A payphone off of twenty-eight.” If he strained his ears, he could listen to the rain. Spencer wondered if he could calculate how far away you were by the sound of the thunder where you were compared to where he was.

His chest ached at the exhaustion in your tone, imagining you had gotten approximately as much sleep as he had recently. That is to say, little to none. Pulling the phone slightly away from his face, he called out for Hotch, getting his attention and waving him over. “Y/N, can you see any mile markers or exit signs anywhere?” Spencer asked, bringing the phone back up to his ear.

“I can’t see much of anything,” you admitted. That made sense, your glasses had been recovered at your abduction scene. Spencer kept them in his bag with the rest of your belongings that had been released from evidence. “I feel lucky enough that I was able to find a pay phone,” you said, and for the first time, he noticed that you were whispering.

Glancing at the inside of his wrist, Spencer checked the time. JJ had mentioned something about Garcia staying in her office for a system update – what were the odds the tech analyst was still there? Stalking out of the bullpen, he made his way to her office, Hotch hot on his heels.

After knocking on the door, her voice rang out, “Enter, mere mortal.” Once she had recognized who it was, she greeted Spencer directly, “Ah, Dr. Reid, did you need a ride to JJ’s?”

“Can you locate a payphone based on the phone number?” He asked hurriedly, the longer you stood out there in the rain, the more danger you might be in.

A confused look was plastered on her face, but she turned back to her screens and started click-clacking away. “Most def, boy genius. Run me the digits,” she responded, pulling up some sort of database that Spencer didn’t recognize – probably for the best.

She typed the phone number just as quickly as he recited it, turning around and telling him that the pay phone in question was approximately thirty minutes away. You had only been thirty minutes away this entire time. “Send the coordinates to Hotch’s phone,” Spencer instructed, stepping toward the door. “Tell the rest of the team to come in,” he continued, “it’s Y/N.”

Each stage of grief flashed across Penelope’s face as she nodded assuredly, scrambling for her phone as she took care of notifications.

Impatiently, Hotch held the elevator door open as Spencer entered, keeping the phone up to his ear, “Stay on the phone,” he told you.

A desperate whimper came from your end of the call, “I don’t have any change. I found a few quarters on the ground, but I don’t have anything on me.”

“Stay on as long as you can, angel,” Spencer amended. “We’re on our way.”

The rain was worse than he had initially thought, but Mother Nature was no match for Aaron Hotchner. They were only about five minutes from the coordinates that Garcia had shared, and the phone call had dropped off before they were even on the main highway. The dropped call certainly didn’t help the rising tension in the SUV.

“Did she sound scared?” Hotch had asked for the nth time.

Not taking his eyes off of the map, Spencer nodded, “She sounded like she was stranded in the middle of the woods in Virginia, in a thunderstorm, and was using a pay phone as a lifeline.” His entire body was thrumming with nervous energy as they sped down the road, “but she’s alive.”

He didn’t miss the way Hotch’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. You being alive would have to be enough of a comfort to the both of them for now, but Spencer knew what your life meant to your father.

“There it is,” Spencer said, interrupting his thoughts with the recognition of a phone booth on the side of the road, in front of a seemingly abandoned gas station. In a moment of uncharacteristic recklessness, Spencer clambered out of the vehicle before it came to a full stop, an umbrella and jacket in tow.

Hesitantly, he approached the crumpled heap of limbs underneath the pay phone. It wasn’t a full booth, it had just enough coverage to prevent the payphone from short-circuiting. You had jammed yourself underneath it, trying to keep yourself as dry as possible.

Kneeling in front of you, he swept his sopping-wet hair from his face, “Y/N.” His voice was no more than a breath, he didn’t dare reach out to touch you — lest you not want to be touched. A strike of lightning lit your surroundings enough for him to note the bruise that had bloomed on your cheek.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he watched as your lips parted in recognition, “You came,” you whispered.

He nodded, “You called.” His heart soared as you shuffled yourself closer to him, allowing him to wrap the FBI-issued jacket around your rain-soaked frame. “Let’s get you out of this rain, alright?”

Standing up on shaky legs, Spencer helped you walk to the SUV where your dad was waiting, shining a flashlight to help guide you to the vehicle. Based on how heavily you were leaning on him, he could tell that your left leg was injured. Despite your injury, you stepped away from Spencer to hug your father.

For a moment, Spencer felt like he was intruding on a family moment, but he recalled all of the times he had been invited to join in Hotchner festivities these last few years and allowed his eyes to meet Hotch’s.

The two of them shared an understanding look as Hotch pulled away, “We should get you to a hospital,” he said, cupping your face with parental gentleness.

Spencer helped you into the SUV, unable to put any pressure on your leg, you depended on the handles to pull yourself up. As you maneuvered yourself, he tried to determine what your injuries were. His eyes scanned your body until he made his way back to your face, “Angel, keep your eyes open.” He felt as if he was asking a lot of you, but he didn’t know if you had taken a hit to the head. Falling asleep could do more damage. “Hey, Y/N?” He said, watching as your eyes fell shut and your head slumped forward. “Hotch,” Reid said urgently from the backseat.

Understanding perfectly, Hotch hit the lights on the SUV and turned on the siren. Flashes of red and blue signaled to other drivers that there was an emergency.

You were silent.

As soon as they had gotten you to the emergency room, your entire demeanor had changed. Spencer guessed that you had been in fight or flight when they had picked you up from the phone booth, and now that you were getting the help that you needed, all of the fight had vacated your being.

In the white fluorescence of the hospital, he could see how drained you looked. Once the doctors got their hands on you, you refused to let him or your dad near you.

Hotch was in the hallway, talking on the phone with your Aunt Jessica while he tried to arrange childcare for Jack so he could stay with you - the leader of your care team estimated you’d be in the hospital for at least a few days.

While you had been mobile when they came to get you, your energy had left along with your adrenaline, and eventually, the best course of action was to just let you sleep. That was how Spencer ended up sitting cross-legged in a stiff hospital chair, watching over you as you slept.

Respectful of your wishes, he kept a fair distance from you, but you’d be hard-pressed to convince him to let you out of his sight. There were tubes and wires going every which way from your body, oxygen, an IV, and electrodes monitored your life. Boiling you down to a collection of numbers that showed Spencer just how alive you were.

The doctors suspected you had bacterial pneumonia, but they were still waiting on the results of your chest X-ray to make a formal diagnosis. Your presumed leg injury had turned out to be a bruised hip bone – part of a sickening pattern that reflected that of someone who had been thrown down a flight of stairs.

A knock on the window to your hospital room caught his attention, causing him to turn his head and come face to face with Rossi and Blake. Opening the blinds so that he’d be able to keep an eye on you from the hallway, Spencer stood up and joined his colleagues in the corridor.

“What’s the report?” Rossi asked, nodding in the direction of your room, and placing his hands on his hips.

Spencer rubbed the back of his neck before responding, “The doctor said that all things considered, she’s in good shape, but…” Shaking his head to wake himself up, he crossed his arms in front of his chest, “She’s sick and was beaten. Right now, she’s sleeping. We have no idea she was running in the woods, so it’s not surprising that she’s exhausted.”

He continued on to list other maladies that the doctors had provided, dehydration, malnutrition, one cut on your arm that needed to be stitched, and that was just scratching the surface. Dave nodded understandingly, “but the sooner we get to ask her questions, the better.”

Shrugging, Spencer looked over at your father, and then back to you, “When she wakes up on her own,” he murmured, watching as a nurse checked on your IV. He didn’t want to risk waking you up or asking too much too soon of you. “Can I ask you a quick question?” He lifted a finger inquisitively to the nurse who was walking out of your room, scribbling something on your chart.

The nurse hummed in response, raising her eyebrows as she waited for him to ask.

“Do you think the infection has anything to do with her silence? She might be hurting so she isn’t talking?” He asked, it wasn’t unheard of, when people were in a lot of pain, sometimes they coped with silence.

While the nurse might have an excellent bedside manner, the three profilers took note of the concern in her eyes. “The silence might have more to do with her psychological well-being than her physical well-being,” she responded, it was a healthcare way of trying to appease them. Really, they didn’t know much better than the members of the BAU did.

Blake’s eyebrows shot up in curiosity, “Could it be catatonia?”

“In order to diagnose catatonia, she’d need to display three of twelve symptoms. Those are stupor, catalepsy, waxy flexibility, mutism, negativism, posturing, mannerism, stereotypy, agitation, grimacing, echolalia, and echopraxia. So far, she really only meets one of twelve,” Spencer answered.

Shrugging, the nurse pointed at Spencer with her pen, “What he said.” She looked down at the chart before continuing, “Her care team leader called for a psych consult, but we won’t really know one way or the other until she wakes up.”

Nodding, Rossi nodded in acknowledgment, “What else could it be?”

Pursing her lips, the nurse tilted her head to the side, “Peritraumatic disassociation is another possibility, but again, we won’t know until she wakes up.”

The waiting game began. As luck would have it, an FBI agent being abducted created a lot of paperwork, so Hotch was holed up in a conference room while Rossi and Blake worked on the profile. JJ and Morgan stayed back at Quantico with Garcia to look back at what information Hotch and Spencer had been gathering over the past twenty-seven – now twenty-eight – days.

Spencer stayed with you, tucking your blanket around you when he watched goosebumps sprout along your arms. He paid close attention to everything that the doctors and nurses said about your condition, relaying everything to Hotch via text message. They ran a kit on you, and the only solace was that there was a chance that they could DNA match whoever did this to you.

He left that last part out of his message to your father.

As soon as you started waking up, Spencer had to leave the room, watching from the hallway as medical personnel flurried around your bed. At first, he had assumed your aversion to himself and your dad was an overall aversion to men, but you didn’t flinch when it came to the male doctor who was checking your vitals manually.

A nurse peeked out from the door, “Are you Dave?”

Furrowing his eyebrows, Spencer cocked his head back in confusion, “No? I’m not – why?” He asked, gaze flickering back into your room as you scrawled something on the piece of paper that a nurse had handed you.

“She said she’d talk to Dave,” the inquiring nurse shrugged, turning back into your room, and adjusting your pillow beneath your head.

Still confused, Spencer slipped his phone out of his pocket, nimbly typing a message to Rossi before returning the phone to its home in his slacks. Trying to respect your peace, Spencer remained in the hallway, leaning back against the wall as he heard the familiar sound of Italian leather boots turning the corner. “Are you sure she didn’t mean Aaron?”

Spencer shook his head, mirroring the older man’s confusion, “She physically wrote your name out. She’ll only speak to you,” he answered, trying to hide his own pain for the sake of ridding you of yours. If you wouldn’t talk to your father or himself, it made the most sense that you’d talk to Rossi. You’ve known him the entire time your father worked in the BAU.

Shrugging, Rossi walked into your room and approached you with the care of a man approaching a deer. He remained this way until he made it to your bed, and Spencer watched as he smoothed your hair away from your face affectionately.

You leaned into his touch, and Spencer didn’t miss the cue. When was the last time anyone had touched you with love in their heart?

He had kissed you goodbye before you went on your run, just thirty minutes before your location turned off and your usual Thursday route turned into a hunting ground. With what you did for work, you switched paths frequently, but someone had been watching you, or at least, that was the conclusion the team had drawn.

Watching as Rossi spoke with you, Spencer noticed one anomaly – you weren’t speaking to him. Instead, all of his questions were answered with blinks or scribbling on paper.

The two of you went until a nurse came in, telling the both of you that they needed to run a few more tests. Taking his leave, Rossi told you something that Reid couldn’t quite make out and rejoined him in the hallway.

“What did you say to her? Just now?” Spencer asked, his need for any sort of contact with you becoming so desperate that he’d now accept it secondhand.

Frowning, Rossi placed both of his hands on his hips, “I called her piccolina, I used to call her that all the time when she was just a little thing running around the old BAU bunker.” Taking a moment, Rossi pulled out his little notebook and read through it. “White male, late twenties to early thirties, sometimes gone for days on end citing ‘work,’ but she never figured out what he did for work.”

Spencer’s eyes burned at the realization that you had been working your own case while being victimized, he peered in through the window as a nurse drew your blood.

“She said he drove a dark American sedan, making it either blue or black,” Rossi continued to list off, eyes following Blake as she approached the two of you. “Y/N said the car was filthy like he had been living out of it when he couldn’t get to her in the woods. The car had an Ohio party plate on it with expired tags.”

Blake arched a brow at the new information, “Party plate?” She said quizzically, looking at Spencer for clarification.

Nodding, Spencer looked over at his friend, “That’s the colloquial name for restricted license places. They’re given to people who are convicted of DUIs, which is actually called an OVI in Ohio. In Ohio, they’re yellow with red print, and the only state to have something similar is Minnesota where they call them whiskey plates because they all start with the letter W.”

“Well, he’s confident. Maybe too confident, driving around with expired tags and a license plate that already puts a spotlight on him,” Blake said thoughtfully, adding to the profile in her mind. “We should get this information to Garcia, maybe look for people who recently relocated from Ohio with those plates,” she suggested to Rossi.

Rossi nodded, skillfully flipping the cover back over his notepad and gesturing for Blake to follow him to the conference room, effectively leading Spencer to his own devices. When the nurse left to bring the vials of blood to the lab, he returned to your room, taking his seat on the edge of the room – as far away as he could get while keeping his eyes on you.

He looked up to your bed, catching you staring at him. As soon as you knew you had been caught, you turned your head to the other side, averting your gaze toward the window.

Every thirty minutes or so, Spencer moved the chair approximately five inches closer to you, by four in the morning, he had closed half of the space between you. He kept his eyes on you, watching as you stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. You had that crease between your eyebrows that told him you were thinking too hard, and he had to sit on his hands to stop himself from reaching out and touching it as if he could soothe all of your bad thoughts.

In the doorway, Rossi had appeared, garnering your attention as you propped yourself up on the flat hospital pillows. “We got him,” Rossi announced to the room, a reserved smile on his face.

Spencer watched as you visibly relaxed on the bed, your face softened as your eyebrows relaxed. Rossi explained some next steps, but he was only half listening, he could only focus on you.

Once Dave was gone, Spencer took a leap of faith and shuffled the chair to your bedside, “How are you feeling, angel?” He asked, taking up a muted tone.

You stared at him, blinking at him until, eventually, your face crumpled, and you leaned toward him.

Not missing a beat, Spencer stood up from his chair so that he could sit on the edge of your bed, meeting you in the middle, he gently wrapped his arms around you, rubbing small, soothing circles along your back with the flat of his hand.

In the past twenty-eight days, Spencer thought that being reunited with you could fix all of the hurt in his chest, but this, right here, was a different kind of pain. Tears sept through the fabric of his shirt just as soon as they fell from your eyes, and all of the hurt that he had felt before just morphed into a different kind of suffering.

His heart ached at the sight of you in this much pain, so much emotional turmoil that you had silenced yourself. What was he supposed to say in order to comfort you? ‘You’re okay,’ was wholly false, and ‘it’s alright’ felt like a cruel joke. You very clearly weren’t okay, and none of this was alright.

“I’m here,” he reassured you, his voice no more than a croak as he tried to swallow his own emotions. “I’m right here,” he repeated, continuing his ministrations on your back until you had cried yourself to sleep.

With your body in its weakened state, Spencer carefully adjusted you onto the bed, making sure none of your tubes or wires were kinked before settling back down in his chair and taking your hand in his.

Around the time the sun came up, your care team came through for morning rounds and woke you up to thoroughly inspect your status. Once they left you to your own devices – with the promise of food in half an hour – Spencer focused all of his attention on trying to coax you into speaking to him.

Tenderly, he dragged a finger across your forehead before continuing down the bridge of your nose, “I’d really like to hear your voice, sweetheart.” His voice was gentle, maintaining a subdued tone in the early hours of the morning.

He watched as you sighed, deflating all of the air in your lungs as you tipped your head to the side, interrupting his movements. “I asked him to do it,” you murmured, voice raspy from lack of use.

“To do what?” Spencer asked, heart beating a little faster at the sound of your voice. He watched how you nervously gripped a fistful of sheets and looked at him. Only you weren’t looking at him, it was more like you were looking through him.

You took a deep, shuddering breath before you answered, “To kill me.”

The confession weighed heavy on his shoulders, but it wasn’t regarding anything against you. It was in the realization that you had been in so much physical and emotional turmoil while in captivity that you had asked for your own death. That even for a moment, you sat in front of a killer and asked for him to end your life as an act of mercy.

Noting Spencer’s lack of response, you continued speaking, “That’s why he let me go. I begged him to just end it and that took away any appeal for him.”

Last night. You had pleaded on behalf of your own demise last night. Carefully considering his next words, Spencer met your eyes and replied, “That must’ve taken a lot of courage.”

You faltered for a moment, evidently not having expected those words from him, “What are you talking about?”

It made sense to him now, why you wouldn’t talk to him or your dad. He felt like such a fool. You had been ashamed because you felt like your abductor had diminished your worth by breaking you down. Spencer knew better, “You stood your ground. You faced your own death, and you chose that over further suffering. Dying isn’t an undignified act, no matter how it comes upon you,” he reminded you, smoothing your hair away from your face as he watched your lip quiver.

“Thank you for staying,” you croaked as emotion closed your throat.

Spencer hummed thoughtfully, swiping a rogue tear from your cheek, “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

[d-z20]

The Agent Next Door (NSFW)

Pairing: Agent Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: You don't really talk to your (extremely attractive) neighbour, Rio Vidal, until one day an accident leads to you staying at her apartment for a couple of days. And an awkward encounter results in having your fantasy come true. -OR- Rio finds you injured after you slipped and fell out the shower and decides to look after you (non-magic AU)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, blood, small injury, fluff, smut, fingering (R receiving), oral (R receiving)

Words: 3.4k

A/N: Just wanted to write a bit of Rio caring for reader and well then it turned into smut and I have no regrets. Also I have their whole relationship arc in my head now lol

AO3 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Master List

The Worst Morning Of Your Life (so far)

Rio Vidal is your neighbour. You've noticed her plenty of times before—a striking woman with a sharp, confident look that's hard to ignore. You live in the same apartment building, just across the hall from one another. Most days, your interactions are limited to polite smiles and brief chats in the elevator, her dark suit and badge often catching your eye. You've heard her phone buzz with work calls that end with her curt, professional voice. It's obvious she's someone important—serious and dedicated. You've pieced together that she's an FBI agent, but beyond that, you don't know much about her.

You can't deny that you're drawn to her, though. There's something about the way she carries herself—all self-assured and enigmatic. You've caught yourself staring a few times, your heart skipping a beat when she looks back and flashes a rare, amused smile. It's not just her looks—it's the way she moves, the air of mystery she carries, like she's seen things you could only imagine. It makes you nervous, but at the same time, you can't help but look forward to those fleeting moments when your paths cross.

One morning, your shower decides to betray you—your hot water cuts out just as you put your head under. You let out a bloodcurdling scream, quickly trying to jump out of the shower. Unfortunately for you, your foot slips on the hard floor, and you come crashing down, hitting your head on the sink, landing with a very loud thud. Dazed and confused, you are unsure if you passed out for a second there or not, but either way your head is killing you. 

"Fucking brilliant," you mutter to yourself, draping an arm across your eyes to shield them from the light.

At that moment, you heard your front door slamming open and hurried footsteps searching your apartment. You had just about enough sense to yank your towel off the hook and cover up your naked body.

"Y/N?" called a voice just outside the bathroom door.

Shit. It was Rio. You wished the ground would just swallow you up.

"Are you okay? I heard you scream, and then I heard something shatter." You could hear the genuine concern in her voice.

Lifting your head slightly, you noticed the shards of glass from what used to be your bathroom shelf, surrounding you. All you could do was let out a groan and close your eyes at this new development of what was turning out to be the worst morning of your life so far.

This was a bad choice, as a split second later, Rio barged into your bathroom.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" Your neighbour teased, but you could hear the relief in her voice. She moved further into the room, assessing the damage. "Not to ruin such a perfect morning for you, but I might have broken your door getting in here." 

You open your eyes, blinking up at her. Taking her in, you noticed she was wearing a cropped baggy tank top and gym shorts. You blink up at her again, and your head throbs with each beat of your pulse, the pain radiating down your neck. You're still dazed, trying to process how you ended up sprawled on the cold bathroom floor with your FBI agent neighbour standing over you. Rio's sharp eyes take in your silence, concern clouding the playful smirk she'd worn just moments before.

"Hey," she says, voice softer now, as she crouches down beside you. She reaches out, fingertips gently brushing your cheek to turn your face towards her. "Y/N, can you hear me? Do you know who I am?"

You swallow, trying to focus. Her touch is surprisingly tender, a stark contrast to her usual no-nonsense demeanour. You nod slightly, the movement making your head spin. "Rio," you manage to croak out. "Neighbour, FBI agent. And, apparently, a door kicker."

She huffs a laugh, a brief flicker of relief crossing her face. "Good. That's a start. I don't usually make a habit of barging into people's bathrooms uninvited, but I heard that scream, and... well, I'm glad I did." Her eyes drop down to your arm, where blood seeps from a jagged cut. She curses under her breath, her grip on your shoulder tightening just slightly. "You're bleeding. We need to get you cleaned up."

You glance down at your arm, wincing at the sight of blood trickling down to your hand. "I really know how to make an impression, huh?"

Rio shakes her head, lips pressed together in a tight line. "Let's save the jokes until you're not covered in glass, yeah?" Without another word, she slips an arm under your shoulders, helping you sit up. The world tilts slightly, but her hold on you is firm, steadying you as you get your bearings.

"You're going to have to trust me for a minute," she tells you softly. "Can you stand?"

"Maybe," you say, though you're not entirely sure. She helps you up, careful not to jostle your injured arm, and you try to ignore the heat of her skin against yours, the way her fingers dig into your side just enough to ground you.

Rio's eyes dart around the room, quickly assessing the mess of broken glass and water pooling on the floor. "Alright," she says decisively. "I'm taking you back to my place. We'll patch you up there. Your shower is out of commission, and I don't trust that you won't take another tumble if I leave you alone here."

You don't have the energy to argue, so you just nod, letting her guide you out of the bathroom. The two of you make it to the hallway, but not before she grabs a spare towel and wraps it around you more securely. Her movements are quick and efficient, but there's a gentleness to them that surprises you. It's a side of Rio you've never seen before—one that's patient and caring, not just the tough, sarcastic woman you've exchanged pleasantries with in passing.

As you step into her apartment, you notice it's much more personal than you'd imagined. There are framed photos on the walls—nothing too sentimental, mostly candid shots of places she's travelled to, city skylines, and sunsets. Her living room is cosy, with a worn leather couch and a small stack of books piled on the coffee table.

"Sit," she instructs, pointing to the couch. You sink down into it, feeling strangely out of place but oddly comfortable. Rio disappears into the bathroom for a moment, returning with a first aid kit. She kneels in front of you, carefully prying your hand away from your arm.

"This is going to sting," she warns, pulling out an antiseptic wipe. You flinch as she cleans the cut, her brows knitting together in concentration. "Sorry," she mutters. "I'm used to dealing with criminals and suspects, not clumsy neighbours."

"Criminals don't trip in the shower much?" you quip, trying for humour despite the pain. It earns you a small smile from Rio, her eyes flicking up to meet yours.

"Not usually, no. Though I'll admit you're far more entertaining." Her voice softens again, the smirk fading as she wraps a bandage around your arm. "You scared me for a second there, you know."

The confession catches you off guard. "I did? you ask, watching her face as she finishes tying off the bandage.

She doesn't look up, her focus still on your arm. "Yeah," she says quietly. "I thought something bad had happened. Guess I care more about my neighbour than I realised."

Your heart skips a beat, the words hanging in the air between you. It's the first real admission of anything beyond casual friendliness, and it leaves you breathless. You're about to say something—anything—but Rio stands up, offering her hand to you.

"Come on," she says. "Let's get you some proper clothes and maybe a coffee. You can stay here until we sort out your door and shower."

Rio's grip on your hand is firm as she helps you up, her expression still hovering somewhere between concern and her usual, dry amusement. You follow her into the kitchen, and she releases you, motioning for you to sit at the table. It feels strange being here, in her space, especially after the chaos of your morning. She pulls out a chair for you with a slight roll of her eyes, as if it's absurd that you'd even try to resist her instruction.

"I don't have any shifts for the next two days," she announces, moving towards the coffee maker without glancing back at you. "And considering you might've blacked out for a second back there, I'm not letting you out of my sight. So, you're staying with me, here, until you're back on your feet properly."

You open your mouth to argue, but the look she throws over her shoulder silences you. It's one part worry and two parts something else—something softer, almost protective.

"I can manage," you say, but your voice lacks conviction, especially as you rub your throbbing arm. The bandage is already starting to bleed through a bit. Rio's eyes narrow at the sight, and she steps closer, prodding your arm gently.

"Yeah, you're doing a great job," she says dryly, then nods to herself. "You're staying here."

"Fine," you sigh, though part of you feels a flutter of something—relief, maybe, or the thrill of being looked after by someone like Rio. "But I can sleep on the couch. I don't want to kick you out of your bed."

Rio's lips twitch into a smirk. "I'm not letting you take the couch. You've already proven that you're a danger to yourself in any situation that involves standing up."

You can't help but laugh, despite everything. "So, what, we share your bed?"

She raises an eyebrow, as if daring you to challenge her. "It's a queen size. I think we can manage. Unless you've suddenly developed a fear of co-sleeping?"

The thought of sharing a bed with her sends a rush of heat through you, but you try to play it off with a shrug. "As long as you don't hog the covers."

"I'll do my best," she says, the smirk widening.

-

The first night is awkward, as expected. You lie stiffly on one side of the bed, while Rio takes the other, the space between you feeling like a chasm despite the closeness. She's warm though, and you can feel the heat radiating from her body and the subtle scent of her shampoo filling your senses. It's both comforting and maddening, making it hard to fall asleep. You’re hyper-aware of every shift she makes, every time her arm brushes against yours. At some point, she turns onto her side, facing you, and you feel her eyes on you in the dark.

"You still awake?" she whispers.

"Yeah," you reply, swallowing hard.

There's a pause, then you feel her hand brush against yours. It's light, almost as if by accident, but when you don't pull away, she leaves it there, her fingers barely touching yours.

"Try to get some sleep," she murmurs. "You need to rest."

"Alright," you say, voice hoarse, and somehow, with her so close, you finally drift off.

Over the next day and a half, the tension between you shifts, It's subtle at first—small, lingering glances from Rio that last a bit too long, the brush of her fingers against your back when she helps you into the kitchen. Her sarcasm returns, but there's a flirtatious edge to it now, like she's testing the waters.

"You're really milking this injury, aren't you?" She teases, handing you your drink to have with the pizza she bought for dinner. "You'd think you broke your entire body, the way you're lounging around."

"Hey," you protest, setting the drink down. "You're the one who insisted I stay. Don't blame me for enjoying the hospitality."

She leans against the counter, arms crossed, a grin tugging at her lips. "Oh, I'm well aware. But don't get too comfortable with me waiting on you hand and foot—I've got to go back to work tomorrow.”

-

That night, the atmosphere between you shifts even more. When you climb into bed besides Rio, there's no hesitation this time. She turns towards you almost immediately, her hand resting lightly on your hip as if it's the most natural thing in the world. You can feel the heat of her body through the thin fabric of your shirt, her breath warm against the back of your neck. It's a small touch, nothing too bold, but it feels significant—an unspoken acknowledgement of everything simmering between you two. You fall asleep like that, closer than before, your fingers unconsciously brushing hers under the covers.

When you wake up, she's already dressed for the day, leaning over you with a mug of coffee in hand. She sets it down on the nightstand with a playful smile. "Morning sweetheart," she says, her voice laced with that familiar teasing tone, but there's a softness to it now. "Try not to do anything risky while I'm gone, yeah? I don't want to come back to find you've taken a tumble without me here to save the day."

You laugh, reaching for the coffee, but there's a flutter in your chest at the pet name, even if she means it jokingly. "I'll do my best," you say. "But no promises."

She smirks, leaning down just enough to press a light kiss to your forehead. "Good. I'll be back later. Make yourself at home."

You do. The rest of the day passes in a strangely pleasant haze, and you find yourself enjoying the small comforts of her apartment. It's quiet without her, but there's a sense of ease you haven't felt in a long time, like you truly belong here. You find yourself smiling for no reason, touching the small trinkets on her shelves, running your fingers over the soft throw blankets she has draped across the couch.

By the time you decide to take a shower, you're feeling entirely too content. You strip down, stepping under the hot spray with a sigh. That's when your thoughts drift back to Rio—how she looked last night, half-asleep and tousled, her arm draped over your waist, her expression unguarded in a way you'd never seen before.

Your thoughts turn to fantasy almost unbidden. You imagine her joining you in the shower, pressing you back against the cold tiles, her hands sliding down your wet skin. You can almost feel it—the heat of her breath on your neck, the firmness of her body against yours. You start to move your hand towards your aching clit, letting out a quiet, shuddering moan, lost in the fantasy of what it would be like to kiss her and have her hands on you.

You don't hear the bathroom door open, but suddenly, you hear her voice—low and amused. "You sure you're okay in here? Didn't have another fall, did you?"

You freeze, eyes snapping open. You can barely see her through the steam, but she's there, standing just outside the shower curtain, and you realise with a jolt that she must have heard you. You heart slams against your ribs as the curtain slides back just a little, and Rio steps inside completely naked, her smirk evident even through the haze.

"I really just can't trust you not to injure yourself while showering, can I?" she says, voice teasing but thick with something else—desire, maybe. Her eyes travel down your body, lingering in a way that sends a shiver through you.

"Rio," you breathe out, half a warning, half a plea.

She steps closer, crowding you against the wall, her hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck. "You know," she murmurs, her lips so close to yours now that you can feel the brush of them with every word. "I think you've been waiting for me to do this."

And then she kisses you, slow and heated, like she's been thinking about this just as much as you have. Her mouth is soft but insistent, coaxing a response from you until you melt into her, hands tangling in her hair as you kiss her back just as eagerly. The steam from the shower mixes with the heat between you, the world narrowing down to just the two of you.

When she finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard, her forehead resting against yours. "I knew it," she whispers, her voice laced with satisfaction. "You've been wanting this so badly, haven't you?"

You nod, swallowing thickly. "Yeah," you admit, barely louder than a whisper. "I have."

She grins, tugging you closer until you're pressed against her, chest to chest. "Good," she says, leaning in to kiss you again, deeper this time. "Because I've been wanting it too."

And with that, she shoves you against the wall. Hard. She's kissing you all over, igniting the skin where each one lands. She nips and sucks at your neck, finding where you're most sensitive. A moan escapes your lips, and you buck your hips, trying to get any kind of friction against your core. For a brief moment, you start to get embarrassed, but then one of Rio's hands finds its way between your legs. She dips a finger between your lips and hums at how wet you already are for her.

Looking directly into your eyes, silently telling you to keep her gaze, she lowers herself to suck on one of your tits, tongue swirling around your nipple, making it harden quickly. The hand not on your clit, starts to pinch your other nipple, pulling another loud guttural moan from you. 

Working her mouth down your torso, marking up your body as she goes, Rio sinks to her knees, her face now directly opposite your dripping cunt, eyes still locked on yours.

Her hands deftly grip your hips, steadying you against the wall. "You've got to promise me you're not going to fall again, sweetheart," she all but growls, the arousal evident in her voice.

You nod your head, but it wasn't enough for the woman, who digs her nails into your skin where she's holding you. "Ye-Yes. I promise."

That is all Rio needs before she starts to drag her tongue through your folds. Switching between broad licks along the length between your entrance and your clit, and firmer, more purposeful circles over your bundle of nerves.

You feel dizzy, but you know it has nothing to do with your concussion and everything to do with the woman kneeling between your legs. Despite your head spinning, you manage to bring your hands down to tangle in Rio's hair, pushing her harder into you. You need more.

She moans against you, clearly enjoying how turned on you are. The vibration from the moan goes straight to your core, and you nearly cum just from that. Sensing you're close, Rio pushes two fingers inside you, causing you to curse her name inbetween moans.

You feel her chuckle and then start fucking you more vigorously. "I want to hear you, baby. I want the whole floor to hear you moan my name," she says, momentarily pulling away from your pussy. You can't help but oblige as she starts to curl her fingers, resuming her licking and sucking.

With her fingers curling inside you like that, it isn't long before you climax, legs shaking, cumminng hard over her fingers and tongue. Rio helps you through the end of your orgasm, making sure to hold you up as you come back down. 

"Okay, darling, I think we need to sit you down before you lose another fight with gravity," Rio smirks. You can't help but agree; your knees feel very weak and it's taking all of your concentration to stay upright.

"Oh, by the way, I bumped into the maintenance guys on my way in," Rio says lightly, helping you out of the shower. "And they said that your door isn't getting fixed for at least another week. So, it looks like you'll have me to help you shower for a little while longer." Winking, she drags you to her bed, determined to continue what she had just started.

_

alright folks, I've got a sequel in the works but can't decide on the vibes (there'll be smut regardless): READ PART 2 HERE

[solkteaa]

you guys. I have so many one-shot ideas but I do not have the motivation to finish any of them. Sobs

Please give me drabble or head cannon ideas I can whip together real quick to do.

Also if I did like a ask my agents thing will people actually ask. If I did do it some would be written or drawn (digital or traditional depending on my reasorces)

[avis-writeshq]

pairing: pre-seasons!spencer reid x sunshine!fem!reader genre: fluff, roommate au warnings: spencer and reader are roommates !!! reader wears Miss Dior. a/n: so very sorry for not posting in so long! got busy with extracurriculars and uni started up again :( big thank you to @januaryembrs and @hotchfiles for reading through this first !! wc: 1.04k you are on part 1! | part 2 | part 3

Spencer officially joins the BAU late July once he completed his time at the FBI academy. It wasn’t necessarily fair for the other agents who hoped and prayed that they would be the lucky someone who would get to join the extremely elusive Behavioural Analysis Unit upon graduation, especially because he was the one who was chosen by name by the esteemed Jason Gideon. It also wasn’t necessarily fair to get home after four long egregious months of constant movement and firearm training to his roommate.

“You’re home!” 

He grimaces a little bit, dropping his heavy suitcases and bags at the doorway with a heavy sigh. “I’m exhausted.”

“I’d bet! You’ve got more things than you left with!” You’re beaming, taking his new FBI registered duffle bag out of his hands and into the living room. “Your hair is so long now.”

“I feel like a wet dog,” he grumbles, pushing the strands out of his face. “Were you okay with rent? I’ll pay you back and everything–”

You laugh, shaking your head and pulling him to sit on the couch by the wrists. “It’s okay, Spence, relax. One of my friends needed a temporary place to stay, so I really only needed to pay a couple weeks of rent by myself. You’re probably starving, aren’t you? I’ve got pizza on the way.”

His cheeks burn at the contact, his throat going dry and his head almost as if it’s about to explode. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” you repeat, beaming. Your fingers tug at the FBI windbreaker he’s sporting– big on his shoulders and long at the hips. “This is new. You went shopping without me?”

“Gideon insisted I get more FBI uniform,” he explains hurriedly, “he said it’d made me feel more ‘official’. They didn’t have any more in my size.”

“It’s cute! Give us a spin, Walter.” 

He does it half-begrudgingly, rising from the couch pillows and doing an awkward spin. He used to be used to it, before he went away for four months to train at the academy. He’ll need to get re-used to it, he supposes. 

“You look very official,” you say with genuinity, grinning ear to ear. “Got anything else?”

His nose scrunches in distaste as he sits back down. “There’s meant to be more?”

“The uniform isn’t just a jacket, is it?” You ask with furrowed brows. “The bag is a nice touch, though.”

“They said that I should get the polo, but I don’t think I’d ever wear it,” he explains, going through his things. They’d all need a good wash, he decides, throwing his clothes onto the floor. “There isn’t a uniform policy at the BAU, though. Just to be clean and tidy.”

“You’re already a pro at that, aren’t you, Walter?” 

His cheeks glow at your jest and he kicks at the pile of clothes at his feet. “You don’t think I’m weird, do you?”

“Weird for… being clean and tidy?” You blink, poking at his shoulder. “If that’s what weird is, then I hope there are a lot of other guys who are weird.”

“That’s an oxymoron.”

“Exactly.” He catches your smile as you speak. “It’s not a bad thing to be different. You know that, don’t you?”

“In theory,” he responds vaguely.

You huff, “You ought to remember it with that big brain of yours.”

“There’s no significant correlation between brain size and intelligence,” Spencer reminds you again, shrugging his jacket off. “You should remember that, too.”

*** 

It’s an incredibly cold November morning, just a couple of days after Halloween, and Spencer has been tearing up and down the apartment in search of his windbreaker. The team are set for Alaska this time around, and though his sweaters and wool socks provide some warmth, it was nothing compared to the inner pockets of his FBI assigned windbreaker that hold heat warmers. 

“Have you seen it?” He asks hurriedly, rushing through the living room. “I need to leave in three minutes or I’ll miss my train–”

“Seen what?” You ask, frowning as you fill his travel mug with hot coffee and sugar. “What are you looking for?”

“My jacket,” he explains halfheartedly. “You know the one.”

You let out a breath of a laugh, moving to the bathroom and pulling it off the hook. “Spencer?”

He visibly relaxes, taking it from your hands with a hint of embarrassment. “Oh.”

“You let me borrow it after you picked me up from the Halloween party, don’t you remember?” The corners of your lips quirk upwards in jest as his expression shifts into that of realisation. “I put it behind the door so that you could find it easier. Not that it helped, clearly.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, cheeks pink in the light. “Thank you. See you later.”

“See you later,” you agree, and he’s already out the door, his jacket and travel mug in tow.

*** 

“Good morning,” JJ says, her bright blue eyes drowsy with sleep despite her greeting. “Are you guys ready to go?”

Spencer nods, zipping up the windbreaker and snapping the buttons together. Even in Virginia it’s still freezing. He doesn’t want to imagine how cold it’d be in Alaska. 

“Someone smells nice,” JJ chirps with a grin. “Is that– is that Miss Dior?”

“What?” Spencer sniffs, frowning. “Who?”

“The perfume?” She repeats the name, her brows flushed together. “I’m not crazy.”

“Is that Miss Dior?” Hotch asks in bemusement, sniffing the air. He looks at Jennifer with a mix of appreciation and a nod to say good taste. “Haley used to wear it all through college.”

“I’m not wearing it,” JJ insists, shaking her head with a laugh. “Spence?”

He’s barely paying attention to the conversation, frantically Googling an image of whatever the hell Miss Dior is. He’s met with the familiar rectangular bottle with pink liquid and a bow on the neck, something that he’s seen on your dresser multiple times. 

“My roommate,” he groans, covering his face with the palms of his hands. “She borrowed my jacket a couple days ago.”

“Ooh, a lady friend,” JJ snickers, “and she borrowed your jacket. How gentlemanly of you.”

Spencer sends you a long text message about the importance of not spraying perfume on clothes once he gets off the jet.

reblogs are always appreciated !!

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