#and held back from getting a job about it after

[ariichive]

WITH OPEN ARMS

‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋

truly, it was never tribbie's intentions to get you two to admit your feelings like this!

mydei x fem. reader 2.7k words

cw: chrysos heir fem. reader, mydei being soft, confessions, tribbie playing matchmaker, fluff :) girl dad mydei supremacy, not proofread whoops

‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋

mydei and tribbie stared at you expectantly. tribbie's eyes full of childhood expectancy and innocence. whereas mydei's naturally looked fierce and piercing.

"we must go lady [name], we can't live with the regret of not snatching this deal!"

you were previously doing research on the skies above, trying to find out more about the nameless from above per agalea's request when suddenly tribbie and mydeimos appeared, raving about a deal a favorited reasturant around okhema currently has.

'THREE GUESTS, FREE ALL YOU CAN EAT!' said the flyer tribbie held up to your face. and of course, in very fine print in the corner of the page read, 'with the purchase of our famed wine starting at-' yeah, it was better off not reading the price for your own sanity.

"ah but tribbie, i don't really have the time to-- s-stop with the puppy eyes!" you quickly diverted your gaze to mydei, who naturally looked unbothered by the ordeal. "gods, how did she manage to rope you into this too?"

mydei crossed his arms, "there was no need for persuasion when the opportunity to taste new foods is presented." he had a pleased expression, as if already imagining the endless amount of food he could eat.

"ah, makes sense, i'm sure it takes a lot of calories to maintain all your muscle?" you felt comforted at how relaxed he seemed, it was rare to see such a display. though, his calm demeanor shifted at your words, a faint pink hue taking over. "l-lady [name], it is mandatory to maintain such a build as a kremnoan."

you couldn't help but smile at his flustered reaction, the sharp contrast to his usual confident demeanor amusing. "i see, so it’s part of the job, huh?" you teased lightly,

mydei quickly composed himself, though the pink tint didn't quite fade. "indeed, it is a cultural necessity," he said with a slight tilt of his head, his usual confident posture returning, but there was a hint of something shy in his eyes now. "the kremnoans believe that strength is not just a physical attribute but a reflection of our spirit and endurance."

you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of admiration for his pride in his culture, his heritage. "that’s... really admirable, mydei," you murmured, genuinely impressed. mydei let out a confident thank you as your attention went back to tribbie, who seemed to be giggling to herself.

"what about trianne and trinnon? that's three of you there, why bring us into it?"

tribbie's giggles stopped immediately, as if she wasn't prepared for this question. "w-well uh, we.. we needed an adult to enter! yeah, i'll bring back plenty of leftovers for trianne and trinnon." tribbie sent you an award winning smile.

you raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced by tribbie's explanation. "an adult, huh?" you said, crossing your arms. "and you just happened to think of us as the 'adults' in this scenario?"

tribbie's smile wavered slightly, but she quickly regained her composure, nodding enthusiastically. "yep! absolutely! you're, uh, very mature and responsible, after all." she added with a wink, clearly trying to steer the conversation away from the awkwardness.

you couldn't help but chuckle at her attempt. "mm, sure, we’ll go with that. but don’t think we’ve forgotten about trianne and trinnon. you'd better keep your promise."

her grin returned with your subtle agreement to accompany them. "of course! i'll make sure they get the best of it. you'll see!"

the three of you began to embark on the short walk to the infamous restaurant when suddenly, tribbie stopped. "such a beautiful day on okhema," tribbie said honestly, which you agreed with. "yeah, the air feels extra refreshing today." mydei nodded in agreement.

tribbie smiled, "i could close my eyes and let the wind guide me!" she said as she closed her eyes. mydei tsked, "if you're gonna close your eyes and walk, at least hold onto one of us."

mydei parent mode: activated.

tribble giggled, "you're very right, de. me and trianne hold trinnon's hands whenever she's feeling shy, that way she knows we're here for her!"

you smiled at her cuteness, having witnessed the three of them skipping hand in hand through okhema once.

"in fact, you and [name] should hold hands!" mydei's eyes widened at her words.

mydei's cheeks flushed, a deep pink quickly spreading across his face. "w-what?" he stammered, clearly caught off guard by tribbie’s suggestion.

you couldn’t help but chuckle at his reaction, the sudden shift in his usual composed demeanor amusing. "hold hands, huh?" you said, teasing him lightly. "that’s an interesting idea."

tribbie, always one to push things further, grinned from ear to ear. "oh, come on, you two! it's just a little hand-holding!" she said, her excitement uncontainable.

mydei cleared his throat, his eyes darting between you and tribbie, looking more than a little uncomfortable. "i... i don’t think that’s necessary," he mumbled, though the slight awkwardness in his voice made it clear he wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea.

you noticed the little flush in his cheeks and decided to make it a little more fun. "well, mydei, it’s not a bad idea. it could be... comforting, right?"

tribbie bounced up and down, clearly enjoying the playful tension. "exactly! see, it's just like how trianne and trinnon always hold my hands! nothing to be shy about!"

mydei sighed, clearly resigned to the playful teasing, but his gaze softened when he glanced at you. "i suppose... i could... hold your hand for a moment, if you insist."

mydei offered a polite hand to you, one you gently took. tribbie happily made her way to your other side, taking ahold of your other hand.

with your hands now occupied, you couldn’t help but smile at the unexpected warmth of the situation. tribbie hummed happily, swinging your arm gently as the three of you continued down the path toward the restaurant. mydei, though still looking a bit stiff, seemed to relax slightly, his fingers lightly brushing against yours.

"see? nothing to it," tribbie chirped, clearly pleased with herself for orchestrating this moment. she glanced up at mydei, her grin widening. "feels good, doesn’t it? to be connected like this?"

mydei glanced at the ground for a moment, his face still flushed, but after a brief pause, he gave a small nod. "i suppose it does... in a way," he admitted, his voice softening. "it’s... not so bad."

you squeezed his hand gently, offering a reassuring smile. "i’m glad to hear that," you said warmly.

tribbie giggled, looking between you both with delight. "see, i told you it would be fun! you two are the best!"

the gentle breeze rustled through the trees above, the atmosphere feeling lighter with the shared connection between the three of you. mydei’s earlier unease slowly melted away as he began to fall into the rhythm of the moment, his grip on your hand becoming a little more comfortable. you could almost feel the unspoken bond strengthening, even in the simplest of gestures.

soon enough, the restaurant came into view.

and the first thing that greeted you was well...

trianne?

"um trianne? why-"

"WELCOME esteemed guests," trianne was quick to cut you off, fixing her bowtie and faux mustache. "trianne's name is uh," she paused for a second, silently looking at tribbie as they seemed to have a quick telepathic exchange, "trixie! and trixie will be your server."

you glaced around at the completely vacant restaurant and then to mydei, who looked completely unimpressed.

you blinked, unsure whether to laugh or be concerned. the sight of trianne, dressed in a bowtie and sporting a poorly attached faux mustache, was... certainly unexpected. it was hard to take her seriously, especially with the way she was trying so hard to sound official.

"trixie, huh?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow. "that’s quite a transformation. i don’t think i’ve seen a more... professional server before."

trianne—no, trixie—straightened her back, putting on her best exaggerated smile. "ah, yes, trixie at your service!" she said, adopting an overly dramatic tone that only made the situation even more ridiculous. "what can trixie get for you today, esteemed guests? something spectacular perhaps?" she added, gesturing to the empty restaurant with grand flair.

you glanced around at the vacant tables, your confusion growing. "uh, i don’t see anyone else here... are we the only customers today?"

mydei let out a long sigh, clearly unimpressed. "seems like it... but i'm not sure if this is quite what i expected from a well-known establishment," he muttered under his breath, folding his arms. "though, it is rather joyous to see them having fun like this."

you agreed with him, "might as well entertain them!"

"follow me right this way, tribbie, de, and [nickname]!" you let out a giggle and silently followed after the young girl. mydei just now letting go of your hand to pull out your chair for you, tribbie not far behind.

you cleared your throat ,"is there a menu-"

"NO! we uh, are very limited so chef trinnon's specialty will be served!"

as if on cue, the sound of loud crashing and a soft yelp was heard from the kitchen.

you blinked, your concern growing as the crash echoed through the restaurant. tribbie, looking almost too relaxed, simply leaned over and whispered, "it’s fine, they do this all the time."

mydei didn’t seem as convinced. he was already halfway to the kitchen, his face set with a mixture of concern and curiosity. you, not wanting to be left out, quickly followed behind him, tribbie trailing casually.

as you reached the kitchen entrance, you could see trinnon—covered in flour and surrounded by shattered plates. "o-oh sorry," trinnon said softly. she looked around sheepishly. distracted by the eyes on her, she forgot to turn off the stove and the boiling water began to overflow.

"oh no," trinnon said softly and was about to get up to turn off the stove but mydei was quicker. "you are all much too young to be alone in a kitchen," there was a rough edge to his voice, but it was all out of love. mydei was quick to pick up the glass shards left by the plates, he then grabbed a damp towel and began to wipe the flour off of trinnon's face.

"i… i didn't mean for this to happen," trinnon mumbled, her face flushed with embarrassment. "i just wanted to make something special for everyone…"

"you will, don’t worry," mydei said softly, his voice calming as he gently lifted trinnon's chin, wiping the last of the flour from her face. "but for now, let’s just make sure you’re okay."

you couldn’t help but watch with a warm feeling in your chest, seeing the way mydei balanced his strength with kindness. he had a way of caring that wasn’t always obvious at first, but moments like this made it clear just how much he looked out for the people around him.

tribbie, who had been standing at the doorway watching the whole scene unfold, gave a small chuckle. "oh, this is just like when mama took care of us," she said with a hint of sadness.

you and mydei shared a look of sadness for the poor trio.

trinnon, now feeling a bit more at ease, smiled shyly. "thank you, mydei… and sorry again."

"no need to apologize," mydei replied, his voice now calm and steady. "just be more careful next time, okay? you all go sit back down, i'll show you the cooking skills of a true kremnoan."

with the situation finally under control, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. "well, looks like we’re in good hands after all," you said, nudging tribbie lightly. "this meal might take a little longer, but i’m sure it'll be worth it."

tribbie grinned, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "oh, it’ll be worth it. i mean, with de in charge, we’re basically guaranteed five-star kremnoan cuisine!" she said, giving mydei a playful salute as he turned back to the stove, his brow furrowed in concentration.

you chuckled, shaking your head. "you really do have a way of making everything more interesting, don’t you, tribbie?"

"what can i say?" she shrugged with a smile. "life’s more fun when you don’t take it too seriously!"

you and the three young girls made your way back to the table. smiling hand in hand.

sitting down, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude. there was something comforting about this strange, yet warm, situation. the way everyone was so quick to pitch in and take care of each other—it was a bond that went beyond the usual social niceties.

"so girls, care to tell me what today was for?" you question gently as the three of them chuckle nervously. "w-we see the way you and mydei look at each other," tribbie started. "trianne wanted to set you both up on a date, but we weren't sure how to go about it."

"trianne found a romance book in castorice's bag, it was so slay, slay! we had to follow it!" trianne said with a big smile on her face.

"it seemed like a good idea in the moment," trinnon said softly.

you smiled at the three of them, at such a heart warming moment. "thank you for the attempt, but... i-is my crush on mydei really that noticeable?" you hid your face in your hands, not noticing how the footsteps behind you seemed to halt or the sound of the three girls giving each other high-fives.

trianne let out a mischievous giggle, "we'll let the two of you talk it out!"

mydei looked at the door for a second, his expression unreadable, then finally turned his gaze back to you. "so... seems like things are... out in the open now," he said softly, his voice surprisingly calm.

you finally peeked out from behind your hands, only to find him looking at you with the faintest hint of a smile. "i guess so," you mumbled, still feeling the heat of embarrassment.

mydei’s smile softened, and for the first time, you noticed the way his eyes held a certain warmth—almost as if he were relieved, too. "well, i suppose it was only a matter of time before they figured it out," he said, his voice quiet but sincere, "i do not think i was the best at hiding my feelings either." he admitted while avoiding eye contact.

"w-wait does that mean you really-" the amount of surprise in your voice caught mydei by surprise as he let out a small laugh. "how could i not be enamored by your beauty and strength? after fighting alongside someone as worthy as you, it was only a matter of time before i fell hard."

your heart skipped a beat as his words settled in, the weight of his confession sinking in. you couldn’t believe what you were hearing, and your mind raced to process it all. mydei—mydei—had been feeling the same way? your face flushed, and you struggled to find your voice.

"i… i didn’t know," you stammered, still processing his words. "i thought—i mean, i didn’t want to assume anything. you’ve always been so... calm and composed around me."

mydei finally met your gaze, and there was something vulnerable in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. he looked almost unsure for a moment, as if searching for the right words. "i was careful not to let my feelings cloud my judgment," he explained, his voice softening. "but after everything we've been through together... it became harder to deny what was growing inside me." he paused, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "you... are extraordinary. your strength, your courage, your heart—i couldn't help but be drawn to you."

"now then, please enjoy the meal i made for the all of us."

your heart raced, but in that moment, everything felt right. "yes," you said softly, your words steady and sure. "i’d like that."

bonus:

earlier that day

"de, could you accompany [nickname] and us-"

"yes."

tribbie scratched the back of her head, "it was that easy to convince you?"

"why would i need any convincing when [name] is involved?" mydei said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"wow, he's got it bad. we probably didn't need to break into that reasturant..."

[leyavo]

| I am my father’s daughter |

💖 Dad!Price x Daughter!reader, eventual Soap x reader

PART FOUR: John Price hasn’t seen or heard from his daughter in over year, but that changes when she calls him one night asking for help. 2,565words

TW: hurt/angst/mentions of abuse/ complicated father-daughter relationship

Previous parts > [Series Masterlist]

🔈Reader’s view of John is different, he’s come and gone in her life etc so she thinks he’s not that great. So don’t send me hate

You learnt from a young age to stay silent when it came to the adults in your life. Made it easier to get the talk over with. Less words to get you in trouble, something you always tried to dodge.

Silence, your best friend. The one thing that kept you company most days. You stared at your dad, arms folded over your chest as you leant back on the stiff wooden chair. Not quite tucked in under the table, slightly angled in case you needed to make a quick exit.

The shiny new phone on the varnished surface, some sort of peace offering or something to be held over you, another thing for you to figure out.

The Captain however, he wasn’t as easy to read and that added to the weight on your chest. You weren’t sure on the limits, what he’d allow or how he’d deal with something he didn’t like.

You cleared your throat, gaze flitting to his across the table. “So, I can probably find a place in like a couple days or so, a week tops you know,” you said rambling on about a friend of a friend who lived close by.

Not a total lie, you’d slept on your mates sofa’s here and there as a teen when things went south before. You’re sure you can pick up some bar work to help you out till you find something more permanent.

The Captain shook his head. “Stay as long as you need, kiddo. Anything you need your old man’s ‘ere.”

As long as you need, another open ended thing for you to figure out. You didn’t want to overstay your welcome or get too close to him. Didn’t want to rely on your dad, knowing that he’ll come and go as he pleased. Blame it on the job, send you a message to check in and rid himself of the guilt.

“You know, it’s not just us living here,” he said, interrupting the constant thoughts rattling in your head. You know the little voice that’s always second guessing other people’s actions and trying to decipher the true meaning of their words and actions.

Oh shit, you didn’t even think of his team living in the same house. They’d given you and the captain space since you’d got here. You’re hoping you won’t be there for long, even if you have to stay at a shitty hotel until you get enough money to put down on a flat to rent.

“I’ll stay out of the way, no problem.”

Out of sight, out of mind. Least he wasn’t taking you to his house with your brother and stepmother.

“Nah kiddo, this is just as much your space now,” he said, his brows scrunching together as his eyes roamed your face. Like he was also trying to figure you too. “There are some rules though.”

“Rules?” You echoed back at him. You weren’t so good with rules, they normally came with expectations and punishments when they were broken.

Not that you’d be breaking them, willingly anyways. You didn’t want to think of the outcome if you did either.

“We’ll be in and out of the house, no set routine. All you gotta do is look after yourself kiddo, we eat mostly in the canteen as it’s convenient. So you’ll probably be having your meals alone, help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge, but add to the list on the front if you run out of stuff,” he said, sliding a notepad in front of him. The scratch of his pen jotting down numbers and words.

You nodded, “sure that’s okay.” You’d been fending for yourself for years, knew how to make the most of the basics or go without. Skipping a meal a day wasn’t a big deal for you. You could survive on just one if you needed to. You wondered if they kept track of the food or if they labelled their own food. There wasn’t any locks on the kitchen cabinets, so it looked like it wasn’t too strict.

“Now, you’re on base. So you won’t be able to walk anywhere and everywhere. There’s a map here,” he mumbled, pointing to an unfolded leaflet. He placed it in front of you and started to circle some areas, blue ink tracing the paths and road. “All the places I’ve highlighted you can go. Do not, I repeat do not go anywhere else.” His voice lowering as he got to the last sentence, gaze flicking up to yours. He jabbed the tip of the pen in your direction, brows raising as if daring you to argue about it.

The look of someone you did not want to piss off. You glanced back to the untouched areas, half of them with no labels or names.

“Uh, yes sir. I won’t go there.”

He doesn’t question the formal sir you’ve thrown his way, the line between his brows softening and eyes relaxing from their narrowed gaze.

“You got any idea what type of work you’re looking for?”

You shook your head. There wasn’t much you could do, a few different jobs here and there. You’d take anything at this rate, you weren’t picky. Money was money at the end of the day.

“Alright, I know someone hiring,” he said, raising his hand to stop you interrupting him. “Three days a week, entering data into a computer. Gotta interview kiddo, nothing comes for free.” He ripped off a piece of paper from his notepad, pushing it to you. A number and name, along with a date of the interview.

The ever prepared Captain already scheduled you an interview. Part of you wondering if he’d planned the rest of your time here.

Boring work, but you didn’t have the luxury to care. You needed to find something as fast as you could.

“It’s not working here is it?” You asked, trying not to offend him.

The Captain chuckled, “nah kiddo. A fifteen minute drive. If you get the job, I’ll sort the insurance on the truck and you can borrow it for now till you find your feet.”

It’s been years since you’ve seen him smile, the curve of his lips making him seem younger. Like the dad who used to ruffle your hair and put you over his shoulder when you were six. The years seemed to harden your parents, your mother’s snapping tone still sent a shiver down your spine. Your father’s stern face, lines in the corners of his eyes and the centre of his forehead painting him serious most of the time.

“What about rent?”

Nothing comes for free, his own words repeating in your mind. You wonder what else you’ll have to earn whilst you’re staying with him.

“Keep ya’ money,” he grumbled, his chair scraping back as he stood up. He walked over to the fridge, pinning a piece of paper under a magnet. His finger jabbing the scribbled mess. “If you need to reach me, this is my office number. Mobile first, office is last resort.”

“And mum?” You dared to ask, still expecting her to appear with each waking day. Least you'd hear her before you actually saw her.

“We’ll talk about it another day. Rest up and look after yourself. You still need to take it easy.”

You nodded, releasing a deep breath. The weight on your chest lifting, the tension loosening from your shoulders.

The Captain turned his back from you, flicking the kettle on. You rose from the chair, tucking it back under the table. He handed you a steaming cup of tea and you settled down into the sofa, placing the cup on the coffee table.

A kiss landed on the crown of your head, "gotta go back to the office, you know what to do if you need anything."

You didn't get a chance to react, the front door closed before you could catch a glimpse of your father.

Sleep had been fleeting the past week, as soon as your cheek hit the pillow on the couch you were out. You were never much of a heavy sleeper, but the rough weight on your forehead soothed the heat and sweat coating it, that you didn’t question it. The cool touch easing your faltering breaths.

You shifted, the cushion wedged behind your back brushed against the wound near your shoulder blade, a groan slipping from your lips. The hushed tones of someone shushing you and the hair sweeping behind your ear, however, sent alarm bells ringing. You shot up, head crashing into the nearest thing.

Johnny Mactavish stumbling back with a grunt. He cradled his jaw, a string of curse words falling from his lips.

"Fuckin' hell, Johnny," you snapped, clutching your forehead and scrambling to sit up. "Why are you breathing over me?" You traced the stitches above your brow, lowering a trembling finger tip expecting blood, but there was none.

Your heart drummed against your chest, the shirt you wore drenched in sweat and sticking to the dip between your breasts. Your fingers pinched the fabric, allowing the excess to swallow your figure once again.

The crick in your neck stopped you from turning your face quickly to the man in front of you.

Johnny rubbed his chin, red tinge marring his jawline. "Thought you'd passed out again, checking for your breath lass." He sat on the edge of the coffee table, wood groaning under his weight.

The distressed denim jeans hugged his thick thighs, baggy t-shirt skimming over a leather belt. Sergeant written across his firm chest. Your gaze wandered to the short sleeves and the way they curled around his biceps. A few nicks and scrapes dotted his bare arms, fading green bruise on his knuckles.

He reached out and you dodged his hand, trying to sink further into the sofa. Wanting it to swallow you up, anything to go unnoticed.

“You’re hot.”

It took you a second to register what he'd said.

“I’m what?” You stuttered, trying to pull the thin blanket over your shoulders as you slid down in your seat. God, he was so hot. Different to your ex, something untouchable about Johnny too though.

A deep chuckle shook his chest, his head cocking to side. Smile stretching his lips as if he noticed your stare. “Yeah, your head. Fever maybe?” He mumbled, leaning forward and placing the back of his hand on your forehead for a few seconds.

Of course, he wasn't looking at you like that. You don't even know why your mind went there either. Must be the fever messing with you.

You blinked, not sure of why he was checking you over again. If you’ve got a fever you’ll be taking a bath right? Or just riding it out? You weren’t quite sure. Did the Captain put him up to this?

It was the first time taking medication like this, normally you took paracetamol and hoped for the best.

Johnny’s touch is light, brief as he pulled away and clasped his hands in between his legs. “Did ya’ miss your meds?” He glanced over his shoulder, the ridiculously large clock ticking away.

“I fell asleep.” You shrugged, “I’ll just take them in a bit.” It’d been four hours since you’d settled on the sofa and three hours ago you were supposed to take two pills.

“You gotta take them at the specific times,” Johnny said, popping the pills out of their packaging and into your palm. He walked to the kitchen, returning with a large glass of water.

Sipping the water and throwing back your medication, you went to place it on the table, but he shook his head.

“Drink all of that, will help with that fever,” he said, sinking into the sofa beside you. The cushion dipped beside you and found your body leaning to his. "Might wanna, take that blanket off too." He snatched the blanket from your lap, balling it up and tossing it on the armchair beside him.

You drank half, gaze locked on his as you placed the glass on the coffee table. Wondering if he’d tell you to drink more, but he picked up the remote, flicking through the tv guide.

“Captain got you babysitting?” You checked your phone, a chain of texts from your father and an alarm notification you slept through that alerted you of the time and the meds you needed to take. forty-six missed calls and twelve voice messages, your ex's name lit up the screen as you turned it over on the table.

Johnny slouched against the back of the sofa, legs widening. Your knee brushing against the side of his denim clad thigh. His hand resting ever so close to yours on his own leg.

“Nah, watching the rugby.” He pointed to the tv with the remote, the match three minutes in already. There’s a bottle of beer in his other hand, the same one your ex liked.

The one you used to stare at in the shop, wondering if this pack would go in your favour or go against you.

Johnny seemed pretty calm though, you don’t know him well so the beer in his hand doesn’t help you feel any better. People are totally different after consuming stuff like that.

“You like the rugby?”Johnny said, his deep voice pulling you out of your head. He sucked in a breath as the players tackled each other for the ball.

You shook your head, “I hate sports.” You can't think of anything worse, a group of men shouting and hollering at a match. The spike of violence when their teams didn't win, all because of a game. You tried to keep away from all that.

The bottle doesn't touch his lips, a chuckle shaking his shoulders. "Yeah my sisters hated it whenever I watched the rugby." A smile playing on his lips, his fingers picking at the label on his beer bottle.

"You've got sisters?" It doesn't surprise you. He's respectful towards the women on base, well from what you've seen so far.

"Yeah, three of them. Don't know what's worse, three of them or that they're older."

You wonder how different your life would have been if you had siblings, someone else around your age to take the load off of you. Another person who could relate to everything, someone you could talk to without judgement.

Johnny rambled on about his siblings, telling you little bits of pieces of his childhood. The more he said, the more you felt like you'd missed out on a lot. You nodded along, lying when he'd asked you if you were close with your mum. The instinct to paint everything good still ingrained in your being.

The phone in front of you vibrated, kept doing so until you picked it up and turned it off. You don't even need to look at who it is, no matter who it is, it's not someone you want to deal with right now.

"Block 'em, don't want the Captain getting a hold him." He doesn't spare you a glance as he spoke, the tic in his jaw pulsing.

Johnny meant well, but you couldn't stop the cogs turning as you thought of what would happen if the Captain knew everything. A part of your life you'd never shared with your dad, for good reason too.

And if he'd even believe you.

✨ Thanks for reading I hope you enjoyed it :) there might be some errors/mistakes as I'm dyslexic, I do check my work a couple times, but I do miss bits and pieces - Leya

Taglist: @unclearblur @enfppuff @reiluvr @elita1 @tired-writer04 @kaoyamamegami @gallantys @leon-thot-kennedy @trulovekay @harley101399 @misshoneypaper @rpgsandstuff @tomatto1234 @lolyouresilly @madsothree @astrothedoll @grandfartvoid @delaynew @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @little-mini-me-world @exitingmusic @majocookie

(Some of the tags wouldn't work so sorry if I didn't tag you. If you would like to be added just let me know)

[bettystonewell]

BLOWTORCHES, BOOTS & BUGSPRAY

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Aussie!Reader

Summary: Blowtorches are perfect to exterminate spiders. Even Dean agrees.

Word Count: 1.1k words

Tags: established relationship, strong language, potentially Aussie slang (tbh, I don’t know, I just went with the flow and didn’t think too hard about my word choices this time)

A/N: If you knew me from AO3 or Wattpad first, you might be familiar with my first fic/series Abducted, and my Aussie!Reader, Glowworm. Well, this reader is her, and this is all thanks to Erwin the spider (named after Schrödinger), and his friends who think it’s okay to set up shop in my house rent free.

This is purely self indulgent - just a fun little thing to get me in the mood to write because I’ve been struggling lately so I haven’t tagged anyone.

If you happen to be feeling homesick or hate creepy crawlies or just need a Dean cuddle, this one’s also for you.

“Fuck off, you cunt!” You swatted at the large-arse spider on the wall for what felt like the hundredth time. Okay, not quite, but your arm sure hurt because of the fucker and Dean’s left boot you’d been holding above your head. 

It wasn’t the same as a thong, but it was bound to do the job better. As long as he never found out.

The little spindly legs scurried under your arms’ shadow as you launched the heavy sole a couple inches ahead of the bastard. Didn’t work, of course. The fucker seemed to sense your every movement. 

Or maybe it smelt Dean’s feet.

He’d done enough running to sweat up a storm on the last hunt, and the stench had wafted into your nose. You just ignored it.

It was his boot or a pair of yours.

Your fingers flexed over the ankle cuff and you raised your arm further back behind you. A real good swing oughta do it, if you could just find the bastard.

“Where the hell did you go?”

Your eyes scoured the walls. With so many nooks and crannies and guns to hide behind, the little shit could be anywhere. But dare you try to move them? Would Dean chuck a fit? Would you? 

You still shuddered at the thought of touching your own gun most days, much less his. And the thought of sleeping with them another night and IT would drive you mad. 

So you dropped the boot to the ground with a glorious thud and flinched your eyes back to where Incy Wincy had last been seen. 

Nope. Nothing.

“You know the spiders we have back home would put you to shame! ‘Least they have the decency to wait in the toilet or behind the windscreen. Not where we sleep!” 

Yes, you were going bonkers, talking to spiders now, but you had a point, and you reached for the closest shotgun. Damn thing was heavy, and you were extra careful, even knowing Dean never kept them loaded, least not the ones on the wall. 

And that’s where he found you some ten minutes later, taking down the last of those that remained since you’d started moving in. His prized machete in your grasp. 

“What the hell?” he said, freshly showered, hair disheveled. Half a beer still in hand. His towel held up ‘round his waist by the other. 

His eyes scanned his bed where all his toys now lay, then flicked to you and back. “What’re you—”

“Spider,” you said, a little breathless. “Little cunt.” Your fingers squeezed together to mimic its size.

“And you needed to take everything off the wall?”

“It—” Your own eyes scanned the room. You’d taken them all off and nothing, which meant he was somewhere else. 

Your fingers darted for the next thing you could reach. The old phone on the desk Dean had moved for you when you’d chosen a side. 

“You ready to take the full plunge, huh?” He sauntered to the closet, ignoring your dashes and darts to find the little shit. “Moving in tonight?” He chuckled, but you continued to ignore him.

Even the towel dropping to the floor and his naked arse-cheeks hadn’t deterred you in your plight. Sure, your eyes might’ve taken a peek, but you’d get back to him later. He could’ve been helping!

Where is it? Where is it? You shifted the chair and dragged its legs back, arousing Sam’s suspicions from down the hall. 

“What the hell’s going on?” he said, much like Dean, only without the towel.

Luckily, the latter had put on boxers and a tee by then. “She’s looking for a spider. Little cunt.” He chuckled again, and all Sam could do was scoff.

“Weren’t you gloating to Claire about our bugs being nothing?”

His attempt at your accent quirked a brow. But for the most part, you were civil. You had to find Charlotte before she started forming words with the dust bunnies you’d just discovered under the vintage desk.

Yeah, you were going through this place with a dustpan first thing tomorrow, assuming there was anything left. 

“You have a blowtorch in the boot, right?” you said.

“In the—Okay, first of all.” Dean swooped in and grabbed a wrist, pulling your back flush against him. “Don’t insult my Baby. She has a trunk. A trunk.” He enunciated slowly the second time to which you rolled your eyes.

“And second?”

“There’s one down the hall in 8B.”

“Dude!”

His chest rumbled through your spine. His arms wrapped ‘round your waist. “Relax, Sammy.” His breath tickled your ear. “Go get the bug spray, would ya? I’m gonna round up Dundee here before she hurts herself.”

“I’m not gunna—”

“You took all my guns off the wall, sweetheart.” Dean reasoned. “There’s nothing left.”

“On the walls,” you snarked, twisting in his arms to face him when you realised he wasn’t letting go. Finding his stupid grin and a peck to the lips soon after. “My brother pulled apart his whole room for a huntsman once. Those fuckers can jump,” you added through pride and a lump that tied your throat and tongue.

Not only had you completed another successful hunt two days prior, but his birthday had come and gone that week, and Dean took that clue and ran with it. You knew it by the way his brows raised, and his dazzling greens shot at yours, even in the faint lighting of the bunkers evening ones. 

“You haven’t mentioned your family in a while,” he said, and your gut did a flip. 

Hands found their way to smooth the fabric they found between you and his firm chest. Had he worn his usual flannel, you’d have smoothed your fingers over the button holes, too, but now they searched his heartbeat instead, beating steady as a drum.

“I guess so.” You nodded, finding his bare toes below you. “Just a coincidence with the spider.”

“Yeah.” The pop from Dean’s lips pouting was loud enough to hear, but he didn’t say anymore; simply squeezing your sides and pulling you in further so that your nose and no longer dry eyes could hide in his warmth.  

And like that, you stayed for a minute, maybe more. His soap and still steady heart, a comfort to your clouding mind. 

Until he had to go and ruin the moment with his soft timbre, and, “Son of a bitch. That thing just jumped.”

That thing?

“You saw him?” You pulled back and spun around to follow the direction of his gaze to his pillow and your little friend sitting smack bang in the middle of it.

“Sammy! I’mma need that blowtorch!” he bellowed, but you were too busy reaching for his discarded boot from earlier. 

The fire would get the guts out.

[wlwsoccerfics]

World Cup Semi-Finale Drama(StephCatleyXGwinnReader)

A/N: i Hope you enjoy this request.

Warnings: Lots of Angst and self doubt. Mental health struggles.

Summary: you are the captain of your national Team cause your sister is out injured and you Play against your wife's team. Australia wins and you blame yourself for the loss.

There it was. The final Whistle. You were Out of the world Cup. Losing in the semi Finals against Australia. Your wife's team. So there was now one Captain Catley that made it to the finals and one captain Catley that was doubting all of her skills. You were the second one.

You had been dreading this day. This Game. Everything felt like the world was ending. Which in a way it did for you. Not knowing If you would ever get another Chance to make it this far in the world cup.

Of course you were proud of your wife. She deserved it. But you felt like your team deserved it as well. You weren't a good captain and that's why they lost.

Your wife and her Team were celebrating. Well your wife was struggling. She was over the moon that she Made it to the finals but she saw you sitting on the pitch. Hiding your head in your Jersey. Your entire Body was shaking from the sobs. Your best friend Laura was sitting next to you. Hugging you close. Even though she was crying as well. Your sister made her way over to you as well.

"Babe..." Steph whispered out. You stood up quickly. Looking at your wife. Giving her a hug before pulling away just as quick.

"congrats. I am proud of you, stephy!" You told her, you couldn't even stop crying while talking her. She really wished she could make you feel better but she knew she couldn't. And the distance you put between you and her was a sign that you clearly couldn't deal with being close to her. Not while you had so many negative thoughts about yourself running through your mind.

"she is gonna come around." Your best friend and teammate whispered to your wife. Steph sighed sadly and walked away. Greeting Fans and giving Interviews. Thankfully you didn't have to give one. Sara & Klara did.

Harper ran over to you, hugging your legs so you picked her up.

"auntie Y/n. Don't cry! You can always win another Game!" She told you. It was the child Like innocene of not understanding how important this game was for you and your team. And that you felt like you also let the Fans down. Not only your Team. No you let everyone down.

"i will be okay. You are right. I can always try again." You told her. Then she just held onto you and you held onto her. She always managed to cheer you up or at least take a little bit of the pain away when things were rough. Giulia, your sister was rubbing your back, she was sad as well, you could tell because of how quiet she was and it looked like she was trying not to cry.

After a while you put Harper down cause she went back over to Mini and the rest of the team.

You and your team left the Pitch and walked inside to the changing rooms. You took a few deep breaths before you spoke up.

"i would like to apologize to you. I let you all down! I take full responsibility for what happened Out there! I wasn't a good Leader!" You told them.

"y/n...this isn't your fault! We are a Team! We win together and we lose together! It hurts right now! But we all were Out there and didn't make it work!" Sara told you.

"yeah Sara is right! Like i think you did so well as a Leader. You managed to Score the only Goal we Made. Yes we lost. 3-1 but this Is not your fault!" Felicitas stated.

"i am proud of you! You stepped in for me! You did a good Job! You were leading until the end. Sometimes things just don't work out in our favor!" Giulia answered.

Before you could speak up again, your other best friend showed up in the doorway. Kyra was also one of your teammates at Arsenal. Your coach also showed Up.

"y/n? I wanted to check in. Sorry about your loss Guys. But you all did a great Job." She said, walking over to you. Pulling you in for a hug. You hugged her back. Tearing up again. The rest of the Team congratulating her.

"thanks Kyra. I am proud of you!" You let her know. Hugging Kyra close. Sobbing again. "Where is Steph?" You asked her. Knowing you couldn't just let this go like this. You needed to talk to her. Maybe it was a good thing that Kyra showed up cause you were tempted to step down from international Duty for Germany and just Focus on your Club. It was something you had thought about before and this day kind of pushed you more towards it. But you were emotional right now so this might not be the right time to drop something like that in case you might regret it in a few days.

"she is in the changing room with the others. let's go See your wife. Cause she is struggling as well. She is over the moon we won but also sad and actually cried cause of the pain you are going through!" Kyra admitted. You frowned softly. You didn't intend to make your wife feel that way.

"Go See your wife!" Jule said.

"now!" Your sister stated.

"i agree!" You coach replied.

you left with Kyra to the other changing room.

"Steph? I have someone who wants to see you!" Kyra stated. You were greeting your wife and her team with a sad smile.

"hey, congrats guys." You spoke up.

"thanks. You did great as well. And we are all proud of you!" Mini told you.

"thanks you! It's appreciated." You answered and looked at your wife after replying. Walking over to her. Hugging her, giving her a soft kiss. Wiping away her tears. She hugged and kissed you back.

"auntie y/n is Not Mad at auntie Steph anymore!" Harper announced. You pulled away from the kiss and gently pushed a strand of hair behind your wife's ear.

"i was never mad at auntie Steph. She is the best. I was just hurt cause i didn't feel like i was a good captain and that i let the fans and the team down!" You tried to explain to her. The reply surprised everyone. They knew you were heartbroken over the loss, but they had no idea how you put all the blame on yourself.

"Baby. You fought hard. You were an amazing captain. Don't blame yourself!" Steph said, kissing your forehead gently.

"i am working on letting that go. It just...i am sorry for not reacting more positive and congratulate all of you earlier." You explained.

"what are you sorry for? Your emotions matter. I understand how difficult this must be for you, love!" Your wife replied. You kiss her her cheek.

"means alot to me to hear! I love you." You replied.

"i love you too. Always will!" Steph answered.

"i Love your love!" Macca said. You smiled at her. There still was a hint of sadness which was probably gonna stay for a bit but you genuinely did feel a bit better being in your wife's Arms.

You talked to your sister, your best friends and your wife about your thoughts on ending your international career. They listened and didn't judge. They also helped you figure out that you don't want to retire just yet.

You played for the third place against spain and won. Your wife and her Team were there to Support you.

Australia won the world Cup against England and of course you were there wearing your wife's Jersey. Sitting in the stands with Harper & Harley in your lap. You were so very proud of the entire team.

[starconstruction]

Well, I wanted to post a few random pictures and ask for your thoughts on any of them, but I can’t add them in anon mode? App is no fun. Still like the multithousand-word posts for them! Loona has become a bore with no posts anywhere👎

heya again, its because photos censor if u dont follow the tumblr.

I didnt really know what you wanted and i didnt have thoughts for every image, but i did have for some!

been a huge fan of these non fic asks if anyone has any other ideas

A string of thoughts

Your co-worker Choerry was an absolute delinquent, you had no idea how she even kept this job. Frequently late and not following any ounce of dress code, especially today. Her entire stomach visible to the world, You wouldn't say that you didn't like Choerry. That would be unjust, especially considering what you two get up to at the office.

You and Choerry were on opposite ends of the spectrum, you'd finish all your work instantly and she wouldn't finish it at all. Instead finding anyone in order to do it for her, which typically ended up being you. There was no reason to complain, as she always made it worth it.

Take right now, in the private bathroom you had access to, her body laid naked as she blew you. She knew how to drive you wild, glasses fake as they held to her head. Sinful noises coming from her mouth as she gagged on your length, always taking your load like she would die without it.

"Don't I deserve a little bit more? I mean, it was a big project.." You asked, Choerry smiled "You are right, take me home!" and that you did, her arms laid encased in string, legs wide as you pleasured yourself with her body until the sun came up.

A very horrible day for both of you followed with no sleep.

You were going around the forest, exploring the verdant scenery as you went on your daily walk. You've ran into some oddities before, like the time you saw a can of sprite inside a branch. But nothing quite compared to what you were about to see.

A large burst of light came out from in between the trees, you ran over and there was a strange woman. Wearing a crop-top and a pair of wings, her body was simply divine. Her outfit hung to her body as she looked at you like a deer in headlights. "Erm... Hello. You weren't really supposed to see me like this." The strange woman said "But i guess you can be my test subject!" Her body appeared right besides you.

Turns out being her test-subject meant a lot of things, going on long walks to the beach. Climbing random mountains, people watching and trying all kinds of foods. She took notes on some celestial scroll, observing humanity for whoever sent her. Your time with her was the most enjoyable time you've had in years, doing things you'd never dream of.

You learned her name was Choerry, or atleast what she told you. You had a feeling she wasn't entirely honest with you.

Turns out however, whoever sent Choerry down to earth was interested in learning everything. You were suddenly happy to be her scapegoat as her hand stroked your cock up and down, making out with your dripping tip. She looked at you with doe eyes, her wings were retractable but in every night of intimacy she had them on full display. After a particularly soft kiss you painted her lips white with semen, adding even more paleness to her already pale complexion.

That was the first thing, but by no means the last. The next night Choerry was bent over the kitchen, graciously accepting your tongue as you massaged her folds with it. She tasted strongly of sweet vanilla, her supernatural body accepted every humble offering you gave it.

Choerry felt insane as your tip penetrated her asshole, near inescapable as you fucked her. Her moans a heavenly choir that filled the room, complemented by the soft slapping of skin. You always went soft on her, she felt too good to be rough with.

Eventually, after a few passion filled months you had completed her objective. She flew back up into the sky, you expected to never see her again. However that wasn't the case, Choerry would abduct you from your boring mundane life whenever she desired more intimacy.

cw: feet worship, ass eating

Being an idol is stressful work, hours of practices and hundred of schedules to attend to. All while having to do it with a smile on their face.

Jungeun and Choerry found a solution to that, you.

You three met at a fan-sign, they were eying up anyone they thought could be a good choice for some good old fashion stress-relief. You arent entirely sure what their criteria was, but when their number appeared in your album. You called frantically.

You three met up for the first time a few weeks later, Jungeun welcoming you in through the back door of the hidden door they rented.

They treated you roughly, pulling at your hair when they took turns grinding your tongue against their backdoor. Melting their stress away as you ate their ass. They alternated between riding your face and riding your cock, leaving you struggling for breath as they emptied you dry.

Anytime they were in the area they would seek you out, the most recent time came directly after a long public outing. Responding to press and fans, you were her favourite fan. Hands pulling off their heels as you kissed their feet, licking them clean as you soothed their sore muscles which walked too long.

They rewarded you the same way they always did, riding you till you launched into orbit.

[snugglybunny11]

knight!caitlyn x princess reader pt. 2

pairing! knight!caitlynkiramman x princess!reader

about! lucky you (not)! you get to meet your personal knight… how wonderful…

cw! nothing at all!!

word count! 792

an: here’s part two for all you lesbos!😚

“knight caitlyn kiramman of piltover, your majesties.”

caitlyn kneels on one knee, her head held down in front of the king, queen, and princess of Demacia. caitlyn’s done plenty of protection jobs before for numerous councilors and their various families, but this was a whole different ballgame for her. an entire nation’s future depends on her, but she’s not panicking, she can’t panic - panicking is not an option for her. that’s when she heard the click of heels against the marble floors, clicking closer to her. all she could see with her downward gaze was a pair of dainty glass heels, inlaid with rose quartz designs. her eyes widened slightly before she fixed her face back to neutrality.

“at ease.” a female voice spoke.

well this must be the princess, caitlyn thought to herself as she rose to her feet. when she finally raised her head, she met the princess’s gaze.

my god she’s beautiful.

what?! the hell is wrong with her? it’s probably just a… reflex reaction or something, she didn’t mean that. the princess had her arms crossed over chest, appraising caitlyn’s armor, her face, her cobalt blue hair tied into the tightest bun caitlyn could manage. she circled the knight slowly, taking in every inch of caitlyn with a critical gaze. the princess even went as far as to flick the back of caitlyn’s breastplate, almost playfully? this was downright… downright… well, caitlyn didn’t know what to even call it. appalling? outrageous? brave? this princess was just here, checking over caitlyn like she was inspecting cargo. but strangely thrilling all at once.

the king subtly yet firmly cleared his throat, a gentle but pointed reminder for the princess to mind her actions.

as the princess took a step back, the king spoke, “knight kiramman, welcome to Demacia. we have heard of your exploits in Piltover, therefore, me and the queen have employed you to keep watch over and protect our daughter, the princess. you see… the princess, has taken it upon herself to sneak out at night to secretly train with weapons, not to mention going into town to interact with the townsfolk. i don’t think i have to tell you how unbecoming that is of a regal young lady, especially the princess nonetheless. but that’s a conversation for another day, for now, just know the basics. from the minute the princess leaves her chambers in the morning from when she returns in the evening, you must be at her side at all times. the only time the princess is allowed somewhere by herself is in her room. also, for the duration of your employment, you shall live in the castle in the guestroom right next to the princess’s, so you will be able to protect her at every moment of the day. understood? great, now, the princess’s handmaiden, Charlotte, will bring you to the princess’s quarters so you two can get acquainted. you’re dismissed.”

caitlyn subtly watched the princess as her father spoke, taking note of the discrete roll of her eyes and the way she slightly pouted. so it seems the princess was… difficult to say the least. when the king finished speaking, a woman caitlyn assumed to be Charlotte stepped in front of her and bowed before leading the way down one of the lavishly decorated hallways. Charlotte walked ahead, with the princess (begrudgingly) following behind, and caitlyn at the end. after a flight of stairs and numerous turns, the three women arrived at the princess’s room. caitlyn couldn’t even thank Charlotte before the maid scurried off down hallway, leaving just her and the princess.

caitlyn cleared her throat, “allow me to introduce myself in a more casual manner, princess.” caitlyn held out her hand for a handshake, “caitlyn kiramman. i understand you may not fancy me, but i hope in due time we can perhaps become friends?” caitlyn tried to make her introduction as casual as she could, but such language didn’t come very easily to her. still, she was determined to try and soften the edges of her usual formality, even if the words felt unfamiliar on her tongue.

the princess looked at caitlyn’s gloved hand before finally giving her a handshake, the expensive lotions making her dainty hands soft and smooth. the slightest hint of a smile tugged at the princess’s lips before she fixed her face to one of neutrality.

“trying to win me over already? i should make you work for it.” the princess’s tone could almost be seen as flirtatiously teasing to the untrained ear. with a hint of mischief, she pretended to point at something on caitlyn’s armor, only to flick Caitlyn’s chin up with her perfectly manicured fingernail.

“are you always this easy to fluster?”

taglist: @taurtel @wyprettylilone @yuzu-kun123 @graciedollie @kittycarabiner

also @stvrnise, i couldn’t find your acc!

[stvrnioloslvt]

hi! I'm the anon from Figure skater!reader and hockey!Matt, please write about them and my soul will be yours

from this request, with a little twist to it...

⊹ ࣪ ˖⋆˚࿔ ── #bringbackdryhumping

❛❛ ⛸️ + 🏒 ❞

-...still some imperfections, but your chemistry is over the roof. good job guys- you hear your coach saying as the ringing in your ears slowly subdues, swallowing down the lump in your throat. carefully, your partner, alexander - called alex by everyone - puts you down, holding you firmly in his arms until he’s sure you’re okay to stand on your own without falling to your feet. training had been hard, and partnership wasn’t easy either, but overall the small appreciation given by your coach was a good sign that you and the man beside you were doing a discrete job, at least.

-alex and baby go rest, i want you both to repeat the routine in about ten minutes. who’s next? ah yes, cherry, come here- and while cherry was ultimately examined by the hawk eye of your coach, you slumped on the bench not-so-gracefully, groaning tiredly.

a hand reached in front of your eyes, shaking a bottle of energade to catch your attention, -doing alright?- you nodded, grabbing the bottle from your partner’s hands. -yeah, ‘m alright, just tired. think coach will let us go after this one?-

-pretty sure she has to, isn’t there the kid’s lesson in twenty minutes or something? she can’t keep us here.- you nodded again, zoning out for a couple seconds before scoffing, murmuring -she might kidnap us, though. throw us in a bag and force us to perform for her 24/7-

alex chuckled, shaking his head before adding -what, make us act like we have the dancing plague?- you turned your head ready to reply, but stopped midtrack as you caught alex’s smile drop slightly, his eyes fixed on his phone. -everything fine?-

his eyes snapped to your face, inhaling deeply before putting his phone back on the bench, shoulders slumping ever so slightly as he ran a hand through his face, nodding mindlessly before saying -yeah, yeah. just the same problems with my girlfriend… i told you i caught her cheating, right?-

-yep, and i still don’t get why you would go back to her.- alex smiled softly, but sadness dripped from his eyes. -and i hope you’ll never know why, baby.- you stood silent at that, turning your gaze back to the rink where cherry had ended her routine with an elegant bow to the imaginary public. your sweet, beautiful best friend. you couldn’t help but remember that time when she, too, got cheated on by her ex boyfriend. she had no problem dumping him on the spot, and had no regret at all after that, which made you question why it was so hard for alex to do. it left you wondering, but never judging.

soon, it was your turn to perform again.

your routine embodied everything you could wish to see in a couple: it was intense, both in the storytelling and the steps. it was intimate, it was soft and hard, fast and slow. limbs twisting around limbs, hands desperately looking for each other, grabbing the flesh of the other. eyes holding eye contact so intensely that many had told you before that they felt like they weren’t supposed to look, almost too embarrassed to witness such a performance, while others were more straightforward in their questions, asking if you and alex were a thing outside of the rink, too.

alex’s left hand held you close to his body while he lifted you by your leg, his right hand on your inner thigh. you counted down the seconds, holding the final pose until your coach screamed -and done!-, breathing out in relief as alex carefully put you down. -you can go home, guys.-

you exchanged a knowing look with your partner, biting back a laugh as he mouthed -no kidnapping- while sliding away gracefully. you shook your head, catching in that moment a small movement at your left outside of the rink. your head snapped towards the source of disruption, stilling as your eyes took in matt’s tense figure, his gaze burning holes through you. you noticed his jaw tightening when alex quickly greeted you goodbye before bolting out of there, ready to get under the warm water as soon as possible.

with a quick nod of his chin towards the locker room he was out of there, not even waiting for you to catch up to him.

-wait- matt! why are you run- mmph!- a strangled sound escaped your lips as matt locked your lips in a heated kiss right as you entered the locker room, pulling back just to mutter -gather all your things, we’re leaving.-

-what? but i have to shower- -don’t care, you can shower at mine- and that’s basically how you found yourself in your current position, straddling matt’s lap on his couch, still wearing your little leotard. your hips rolled smoothly, feeling his boner stir with each stroke.

you sighed in relief as your boyfriend began attacking your neck in kisses and soft nibbles, sucking and licking the same spot over and over again. -fuckin’ hate how touchy he was- he muttered, punctuating each word with a kiss.

it finally doomed you: his tense demeanor, the fiery gaze, the need to pull you out of there as soon as possible. you grabbed a fistful of his hair, pulling him back gently until you were eye-to-eye level. -matt, are you… jealous?- his icy eyes bore into yours, pupils blown both in lust and jealousy. -it’d be worrying if i weren’t, don’t you think?-

-matt,- you cooed sympathetically, fingertips tracing his torso and travelling south by the second. -there’s nothing to worry about, i promise. let me…-

-no- he interrupted you, grabbing your wrist to stop you from taking his pants off. you looked at him puzzled, asking -you don’t want to?-

matt stared at the wrist he was holding for a moment before his eyes came back up, a dark smirk on his pretty lips. -oh i do, love, but do you deserve it?- and, as taken back as you were, you couldn’t do anything else than opening and closing your mouth like a dying fish. -i don’t think you do.-

you sucked in a shaky breath, shifting around uncomfortably as more arousal pooled in your thong. cause, even though he was punishing you, you couldn’t deny the effect he had over your body, leaving you yearning for more.

-please,- you whimpered, -it aches.- matt hummed, leaning back against the couch carelessly. on his face was plastered the look of total enjoyment, smirking at your need for his body. -yeah? i guess i could be nice and give you something for that- he concluded huskily, his voice thick with lust. he grabbed your waist, moving you back and forth on his lap, letting you grind on his painfully hard boner. your brows scrunched at the sensation, at this point a hundred percent sure that you had wet your baby blue leotard, but you couldn’t care less. all you wanted was to finally cum, regardless of how, when and why.

your hips picked up the rhythm, head coming down to nuzzle in the crook of his neck as you whined and whimpered, hoping that matt might break character and fuck you like you need him to.

-poor little thing you are, hm? feels good, though, doesn’t it?- you nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck as you got closer to your orgasm, feeling matt’s cock throb in his pants. -c’mon, baby, more- fuck- more, like that.-

-i- oh f-fuck, matt, matt, please…- -let go, love- your body shook in matt’s arms as ripples of pleasure broke through you, leaving you a panting, whining mess, your mascara smudging and running down your cheeks. you sniffled lightly, still shaking from the aftershocks while matt held you lovingly, stroking your hair and wiping away the tears stains from your face.

-did so good, my love, such a good girl, my good girl.-

© stvrnioloslvt

[crowsofdarkness]

Soldiers: Chapter Seven

-gif not mine. credit to owners-

Pairings: The Winter Soldier a.k.a Bucky Barnes x Hydra!Female Agent

Content Warnings: language, violence, mentions of murder, angst, and smut that will include oral with both female and male receiving, hand jobs, fingering, unprotected pinv, slight choking.

Summary: Voin and Soldat were Hydra's greatest weapons. As they become close, Voin is burdened by the weight of being the one who causes Soldat his worst pain.

Authors Note: this is a reader insert however the name "Voin" will be used a lot. It's her Hydra nickname, like Soldat. I have eight chapters pre-written so once I get caught up, updates might not come out at a rapid pace. It's been a few years since I've actively written this fic so it might take me a while to remember the direction I was going and if I want it to connect to the Captain America movies or not. Tags are open!

Tags: @bookofriverr @that-blonde-girl @starfly-nicole @globetrotter28

Soldiers Masterlist

6 MONTHS LATER

I let out an agitated groan as I let the sparks crackle to the tips of my fingers and wrap around the head of the man that knelt before me. His cries of pain fell on deaf ears while I stared forward, keeping my eyes out in case anyone else surprised attacked me.

I scoffed at the thought. This man didn’t surprise me, nor did he even attack me. He thought he was being stealthy by sneaking up behind me but before he could press the blade of his knife across my throat, I spun on my heels and kicked his feet out from under him.

His body fell to the ground, lifeless eyes staring back up at me, and I stepped over it, the mission nearly finished. It was all I thought about, weighing heavy on my mind and shoulders because I knew that once I returned to the compound, it would put me in the good graces of Ivan. With how everything had been lately, that was something I desperately needed. I needed to show Ivan that he could send me on these high stake missions. Since he was now in charge, everything I did was under a hard gaze. He was apprehensive about my abilities ever since the first day they brought me to the compound. Even with everything I’ve accomplished for Zola, Ivan was still unsure.

At the thought of Zola, my heart dropped only for a split second. I didn’t feel sad that I missed him because I sure as hell did not. It was sad that now someone more ruthless than Zola was in charge. The Americans had captured Zola again and there wasn’t a tear shed for that man from either Soldat or I.

Soldat.

My feet froze momentarily as I thought about him and how his mission was going. Our last mission together was when we hid in the closet, barely able to keep ourselves off of each other. When we returned a day later, we found out that Ivan was in charge and he did not like the idea of Soldat and I going together on missions.

If you both went on your own missions, we could get a lot more work done.

Ivan’s thick Russian words replayed in my mind and I shivered the exact way I did when he first said it.

While Soldat received all the high-stakes missions, they succumbed to Ivan’s errand girl. He only sent me in when he needed something cleaned up which is what I was doing now. One of Ivan’s men was supposed to steal an important document from this rich guy’s estate but failed when he was caught and hid somewhere in this house so Ivan sent me to find him and save him.

“Don’t forget the file!” Ivan called out after me while I was leaving the compound.

I turned the corner and met yet another dead end. An aggravating groan fell from my lips before I turned on my heels and went back the way I just came from. Whatever blueprints Ivan gave me for the estate haven't been updated in some time. They held the guy up in some kind of office but with four floors he could be in any of these rooms.

Stopping quickly, I decided to listen for where he was. I closed my eyes and focused on all the noises that were flowing through the house.

On the current floor, there were two voices down the long stretch of hallway. Young voices which meant kids, so I made a mental note to make sure they didn't catch me here. It still fucked my brain up from when I had to kill that young girl last year, I refused to do it again.

On the floor above me, there were two voices again, these older. Their breaths were short and raspy, moans echoing in my ears.

“Oh, Alexi. Harder.”

“Quiet! My wife is here, if she hears you I will cut off your tongue, understand?”

I rolled my eyes in disgust at the man who had no problem bringing his affair into the house where his wife and kids lived.

Two floors above, I heard a soft female voice singing while water ran in the background.

“Must be the wife,” I grumbled.

Then finally I heard Ivan’s man on the floor below me which I guessed was the basement. His cries were the only voice I heard downstairs and knowing that he was alone, I made quick work of slipping through the large house quietly, playing the errand girl yet again.

“Good work, Voin,” Ivan nodded with his lips pulled in a thin line as his hand gripped tight on the folder I had brought back.

Once he saw me stepping back into the compound with his man hoisted over my shoulder, he only cared for the folder that was tucked underneath my arm.

I nodded in return, hands clasped behind my back, as we stood in his office back at the compound. Finding his man tied up in a room in the basement was easy, as was the retraction and save as well. I got away with only killing two witnesses so as Ivan said; it was a good mission.

“Anything else?” I questioned.

Ivan ran a hand over his face as he mewled over something in his mind before shaking his head.

“You’ve done very well the last few weeks. I’m impressed. You can take the rest of the night off. No training or missions.”

I bit the sly remark deep into my tongue and nodded instead, quickly leaving his office before Ivan would change his mind. It was a rare occurrence after returning from a mission to take the rest of the day off. It usually was filled with rigorous training or leaving right away for another mission. But I couldn’t hide the small smile on my lips when I thought about everything I could do tonight.

First on my list was soaking away the dry sweat and blood from my body in the tub, letting the hot water ease my aching muscles. Then I’d spend the rest of the night in my small cot with the same book I had read countless times over. It wasn’t much but with the hell I had endured here the last handful of years; it was enough to bring a light up in my step.

There was hesitation in my steps as I came to a stop in front of Soldat’s living quarters. We haven’t seen each other in almost two weeks, both of our mission schedules not matching up. A part of me wondered if Ivan did that on purpose, he never liked the idea of Soldat and I being a team so it made sense that we would be sent on different paths. The door to Soldat’s room was closed so I couldn’t see if he was inside so I listened intently; I realized he wasn’t back yet from his mission. Ever since Ivan became in charge, he opted not to freeze Soldat in between missions only because they sent the both of us to one back to back. He would only freeze Soldat when Ivan deemed it necessary.

Thankfully, Ivan hasn’t made me erase Soldat’s memories in a long while. He wanted Soldat to be strong and remember every death that came at his metal fingers. My disgust at that was clear with the grumble low in my throat but I had to show I was happy about it; mostly because I wasn’t causing pain to Soldat.

Once safely inside my living quarters, I continued to walk the path toward my bathroom and let all of my things clatter to the floor. First were my weapons and the straps that held them. Then, I kicked off my boots; them sliding across the cold floor beneath my feet. I practically ripped myself out of my tac suit, the leather peeling away like a second skin. A guttural groan crawled its way through my throat when I let the cool air brush against my heated skin.

As the warm water filled the tub, I dared a glance in the mirror that hung above the sink. My hair was still in its braid to the side of my head, the end cascaded over my shoulder, and my eyes were dark with exhaustion. But that wasn’t what had my attention; it was the scars that littered all over my body.

Over the years being here, I had grown quite the collection from either missions or training. The largest and noticeably the worst one ran along my stomach, just above my belly button. It was about three inches long and the skin didn’t heal the greatest even with my super healing. The memory of how I got it was still fresh in my mind six years later.

I was on a mission, I couldn’t quite remember what for, but somehow got corned by two guards. I did my best to fight them off but when they eventually got the upper hand and dragged a hunter's knife across my stomach. My tac suit at the time wasn’t as strong and thick as it is now so the sharpness of the blade cut clean through. The blood pooled around my feet and for a moment; I thought I would die. But that thought left my mind as soon as it crept in. I gained some strength to kill the two guards and finish my mission.

The sudden cloud of stream brought me out of my past and I turned towards the tub, shutting off the water. With the tips of my toes first, I slowly stepped into the tub and let the heat of the water scold my skin. It washed away the remnants of today and I closed my eyes allowing myself to relax for the first time in quite some time. I hummed a Russian tune, my gentle voice echoing off the walls of my bathroom and when the water lost the warmth that my body craved, I reached for my shampoo. The peach scent made me immediately think of Soldat.

He told me when we were in the closet together that he loved the smell of my shampoo and ever since then I made sure to always use it. One of the few luxuries I could have here.

Once the bath was ice cold now, I stepped out and then wrap a towel around my body. The scratchy material felt rough on my skin but as always, I ignored it thankful that I could even take a bath. For being held captive here, Zola made sure I had everything I needed, with some restrictions. Ivan kept that rule once he took over.

My feet padded through the bathroom back to my bedroom where I froze suddenly, the large body looming in the doorway. The pounding in my chest from my heart was so loud and hard, I heard it echoing loudly in my ear as my mouth ran dry.

“Soldat,” I breathed.

His burning eyes watched me, unmoving. He still wore his mask and tac suit which meant he had returned from his mission probably not that long ago.

Feeling hot under his gaze, I gripped the towel tighter around me afraid it might slip through my shaking fingers. Usually, I have better control of myself when around him but this was the first time I had seen him since our time in the small closet; I wasn’t sure how he would react because of it.

Did he regret it?

Was he upset that I grabbed the side of his head?

Did it turn him on as much as it did me?

Did he think about it like I had?

“How was your mission?” I asked, trying to ease the sudden tension between us.

“Eto bylo khorosh.”

The Russian words were muffled through his mask but I understood.

It went well.

I nodded once then took a step towards the dresser to grab some clothes. Soldat moved towards it before I could, blocking my path. My shoulders went rigid in slight fear. For the first time since we had been working together, Soldat was unreadable in what his actions meant and that scared the absolute shit out of me. I didn’t know why he was in my room, this being the first time. I was the one who trained him into who he was today so I knew if he was going to attack me, I would have a chance against him.

My mind swirled with so many scenarios on why he was in here. The one that stood out was that maybe Ivan had said those damn words to mind control him and sent him in here to kill me. Maybe Ivan wasn’t happy with how well my mission went and sent Soldat to take care of me.

“Soldat,” his name came out in a breath, “I need to get dressed.”

He stood unnerved, still blocking my dresser.

I let out a deep breath. “Please move.”

The way his hazel eyes burned into me made my entire body shiver with delight, goosebumps pricking at my skin. When I saw something twitch underneath his pants, I realized he was not here to kill me. Soldat was here for a different reason. My tongue rolled over my bottom lip slowly as the grip on my towel lightened a bit but did not let go.

“You don’t want me to get dressed, do you?” I asked.

Anyone without the trained eye I had would have said Soldat didn’t move his head, but I saw it; a small shake.

The surrounding tension became thick with something sexual and with one large breath, I let the towel fall to my feet now standing bare in front of Soldat. His eyes darkened with lust and my usual strong demeanor faded the longer he stared at me.

His name faltered off my tongue when he began stalking towards me like a predator ready to catch his prey after hunting them all day. The bottom strands of his hair bounced against his shoulder, eyes bright with desire. He was backing me farther into the room and only stopped when my back hit the wall. Soldat was so close to me, I could feel his warm breath through the holes of his mask. I could feel how wet I was between my legs because of his stare alone.

I clenched them together, hoping that it would curb my desire for a few moments.

One metal finger raised to my face, tracing the line of my cheek then my jaw, stopping at my bottom lip. The coolness of it ghosted over my bottom lip before all of his fingers wrapped around my throat and my blood filled with something other than fear.

Sheer ecstasy.

Soldat’s fingers gripped my neck, not tight enough to cut off my oxygen but hard enough to leave faint marks. I wanted to speak, but no words reached my lips.

His thumb pressed under my chin so he lifted my face closer to him, his nostrils flaring.

“Peaches,” was the only word he muttered.

I knew what it meant though; my shampoo.

Hand still wrapped around my neck, Soldat pressed his large thigh between my legs and the roughness of his pants scratched against my pussy. I moaned in pleasure with my eyes fluttering shut.

“YA tak davno khotel poprobovat' tebya.” His breath fanned over my lips.

I swallowed the large lump in my throat as best as I could with Soldat’s hand still wrapped around me. He still wore his mask and as much as I wanted it off so I could see all of his face, the thought of coming undone under him while he wore it ignited my skin.

“Soldat,” I whined at his words while rubbing my core against his thigh, trying to chase the high I desperately needed.

He grunted in response, hand dragging away from my neck and wrapping around my back. Our chests pressed together, and I pulled at all the straps and buckles of his vest hoping to get it off.

“Please,” I begged, a puddled mess in his embrace.

I kept rubbing my pussy against his thigh, my arousal coating his pants, as my high was so close I could almost taste it on my tongue.

“Y/N,” he groaned my name into the skin of my neck.

Being this close, I could hear him more clearly underneath the mask and knew that by the tone of his voice, my actions on his thigh was sending him over the edge as well. My hands began treading down his chest to the front of his pants where his erection was begging to be let out. Before my hand could palm it, Soldat gripped my hands and pinned them above my head.

“Oh fuck,” I moaned.

With my hands pinned above me and my erratic movements against his thigh, I felt myself bleeding into the white light of an orgasm.

So close. So fucking close.

I was afraid to do anything wrong or different to cause Soldat to step away from me. It had been so long since I had an orgasm and craved it so bad. As if he could tell, his metal fingers pinched and pulled at my nipples before cupping my breast into his hand. Feeling his finger work the perky buds of my nipples and my wetness soaking his pants was enough to make me reach the edge, but I needed a bit more to push me off.

“Konchi dlya menya, kukolka,” Soldat ordered through the confines of his mask.

That was all I needed. His words in Russian urging me to cum for him to tip me over the edge, a mind screaming orgasm wrecking through my entire body. I writhed against Soldat whose arms now wrapped around me to keep me steady as I rode out the last of my orgasm against him.

Our eyes locked and through my blissed out gaze, I saw his pupils were blown wide, blackness clouding his usual hazel eyes.

“Soldat,” I crooned his name, my pussy throbbing against him.

No words came from him as Soldat let me go, the coldness of the room painting over my blazed skin, and turned his back to me, leaving me standing in the middle of my room alone.

[socialitesleuth]

All things considered, Penelope let the jibe slide. In fairness, Alan was still lower down on her list of Tracys-To-Ask than Gordon was. She wouldn’t point that out, of course, as that would have been a sure fire way of returning to their previously argumentative state and, although Penelope was sure that eventuality would come inevitably come to pass, for their argument had not yet been fully ironed out, she couldn’t deny that this brief moment was a nice reprieve. Penelope despised confrontation with those she held near and dear, even when it was necessary.

The smile that had failed to crack her stern expression earlier finally broke free. It was small and hasty, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it sort, but it was a smile nonetheless. Perhaps it would have brightened up her features for longer had the alarm not blared on the other end of the line.

It was a natural reaction to be startled by the sudden interruption, and before Penelope could even contemplate any sort of lecture, she found herself nodding. “Good luck. Be safe.”

Minutes felt like hours after that. Penelope was never usually one to worry about the boys all too often. It was their job, after all, and they were all beyond capable of performing it well. She’d seen them in action first hand plenty of times to know that worrying about them was unnecessary. She tried to have that philosophy when it came to Gordon too. Nine times out of the ten, he came home unscathed (minus the odd cut or bruise that was simply an occupational hazard).

That evening, however, Penelope couldn’t stop her mind from waltzing into Worried Territory. What if something malfunctioned? What if he got injured? What if he didn’t come back? And it didn’t matter how many times Penelope would reason with her brain that it was all just irrational fear, her mind continued to dance with those agonising questions. It didn’t help that her anxieties weren’t entirely baseless.

Gordon had promised her that he’d call her back, but the torment of waiting seemed endless. More than once did Penelope contemplate calling him back instead, to check in on him, to make sure everything was going to plan. The only reason why she refrained from doing so was because she knew it was ridiculous. At best, she’d get a simple “yep, fine, will call you back once I’m home”, and at worse, she’d be distracting him from his job. Distractions led to nothing good, not on a rescue mission, and so Penelope ignored the burning sensation she felt every time she remembered her communicator was within arms reach.

Despite cancelling many of her afternoon plans, Penelope was still able to keep one. Though distractions were frowned upon in the world of rescue missions, they worked marvellously in the world of waiting, and so she welcomed the brief half-an-hour catch up call with her cousin, Augustus.

Dinner passed.

A bath was had.

And Penelope tucked herself into her bed, all still without a single word from Gordon.

The late hour had her mind playing cruel tricks on her once again. Now, in the quiet of her room, Penelope had nothing to distract her. She pulled up a file on her datapad, a dry and dull document regarding the operations of Fulcra (for one could never be too prepared), but any hopes she’d had on it taking her mind off the waiting fell flat and Penelope soon found herself hopping over to the news sites in order to catch-up with the latest news reports. Only briefly did she hear someone yell the word Atlantic before Gordon had hung up, but there was nothing being reported yet by the major press agencies.

She yawned. Her jaw clicked. She was getting tired.

Gordon had been tired. He’d look utterly exhausted when she spoke to him.

Penelope fought to remember what the last thing she said to him was, before she’d wished him luck. Given their recent spat, she’d hoped it hadn’t been something she’d forever regret if the worst—

No! Don’t think like that. You’re just tired yourself, Penny. You just need to sleep. Gordon will be fine, you know he will.

And although she could never hate Gordon, she did find herself irritated by his earlier quick dismissal. What else he was supposed to do in that situation, Penelope could not say, but to leave her hanging like that? It was hardly fair.

He’d thrown her off balance. It had nothing to do with the weight on her heart that felt absolutely crushing. Yes! The worrying was his fault. And, when he finally did call her back, which he would if he knew what was good for him, she’d let him know.

But if Penelope thought sleep would come easy to her after deciding such a thing, she was wrong. In fact, Penelope was unable to doze off for quite a while. She tossed and she turned until finally her body gave in to a restless nap some hours later.

:COMMS BEGIN:

Lady P,

Sorry for the early morning comms, hope this doesn’t wake you too early - I make it just after 5 your time.

We’re just finishing up a mission in the Persian Gulf - a luxury hotel collapsed overnight, on an island just offshore Doha. Only built two years ago, whole place is pretty new and shiny.

Been a rough night, Pen - fifteen we were too late to help, including two kids. Just families on vacation...

Anyway, victims are saying they felt tremors, it certainly looks like a quake from the debris now the sun is up and J is absolutely confident it came from beneath the sea bed (absolutely being a rather irritated direct quote, so I’m not asking again).

But… this isn’t a quake hot zone. It doesn’t make any sense, and there haven’t been any aftershocks either while we’ve been working. Five can’t get a good read because of the debris and mineral interference underground. The whole place is on top of the enormous old oil fields, and it sends the scanners haywire.

The company that owns the hotel has set my squid sense off though. Name’s Fulcra, I’ve sent you the profile on them. Ran by a guy named Randall Price. He’s a venture capitalist from Houston originally, but the company’s HQ is a London address. That’s as far as I’ve managed to get.

They own a couple of the small artificial islands around here that are being used as tourist hotspots. Think luxury waterfront villas on stilts kinda stuff, the hotel that’s collapsed was the biggest. Nice place, high end, lots of good dive spots.

This area’s all under a World Heritage protected marine environment permit for a biosphere reserve. They’ve spent decades trying to replenish the mangroves and coastal vegetation after what the oil fields and production did to the waters here, the aquatic populations are only just starting to rise comfortably. I didn’t understand how they even got permission for this sort of work but…

They’ve got a giant platform further out in the Gulf that’s supposedly ‘cleaning the sea’ and helping to replenish the sea bed. Seems to be some sort of agreement that they can build these resorts, in exchange for what appears to be green work. I tried to get a proper look at the platform in Four, out of interest, but they’ve got laser nets up. I got an autoturret my way for trying to go any further in the exosuit…

I’d like to think they’re just really protecting that biosphere, but I don’t get a nice eco-friend impression.

My gut says I’m getting Hydrexler vibes, and you were right about that oily CEO last time. I’m not sure I want to be right, but I do want to know what’s going on here… and I thought you might too, as our resident top agent with a passion for all things Earth-saving.

So, I thought I’d hand it over to you, and let you do what you do best - cosying up to the billionaires and getting them to spill the tea.

Lemme know if you know or find anything on them. We’re going to be here another couple of hours, finishing up stabilising the debris field and having another run through, and then heading back. S managed to get the Price guy on comms briefly, but he wasn’t much for talking. Maybe you’ll have more luck.

G 🦑

:COMMS END:

FIRST DATE?

The flickering light and the soft buzz from her compact device caught her off-guard. Penelope, who had positioned herself in an armchair beside her tall windows after giving up on sleep half an hour earlier, sat herself up a little straighter. The blanket which she’d wrapped around herself was pulled tighter to her frame as her eyes read the message.

The hour might have been earlier and, on any other day, Penelope might very well have still been sleeping, but today was different. She rubbed her tired eyes as they scanned Gordon’s words. At first, she’d hoped it had been something akin to a social call. She rather enjoyed those, especially when they came from Gordon, but the more she read, the more Penelope realised it was anything but that.

Her interest peaked as she reached Gordon’s conspiracy.

Her mouth grew dry when she reached Gordon’s information.

The blanket was thrown off her body and Penelope stood. With her comms device still in hand, her eyes still darting from left to right as she continued her reading, she crossed her bedroom and gently tugged on the bell. 

Minutes passed before a very sleepy Parker knocked on her bedroom door. Penelope, having only just finished Gordon’s message, opened it.

“Terribly sorry to wake you, Parker, but it seems we have a situation. I need you to cancel my schedule for today and then get me all we have on the company known as Fulcra. CEO is a man named Randall Price.”

“But, m’lady, that’s—”

“I’m perfectly aware of that, thank you, Parker. See if you can arrange a meeting of some kind, if that’s at all possible.”

Parker nodded, still more asleep than he was awake, before he trundled off down the hallway to make good of his ladyship’s requests.

Penelope returned to chair by the window and curled herself back up. The sun was just beginning to rise on the horizon as she typed out her reply.

COMMS BEGIN

@squidsinashirt, Thank you for your concern — I shall look into this and get back to you when I

Penelope ceased her typing and sighed. She knew it wasn’t fair to lie to him, not after her sent her looking. A moment or two passed before Penelope deleted her previous sentence and began to re-type it. 

COMMS BEGIN

Gordon,

This company?

I shall look into this as you requested but, I must warn you, you may not like what I find. Randall Price is… let us say a man I am already familiar with, or rather his business is. What I can tell you is that, for the most part, Fulcra is celebrated as a rather clean company, but that doesn’t always mean much — you were right to mention Hydrexler. The Persian Gulf was supposed to remain a protected marine environment, at least that was how I understood it. I’ll ask some of my World Heritage connections what they know too, see if I can get a bigger picture for you.

Give me a couple of days. I’ll try and, what was it you said? Cosy up to the billionaire? Get him to spill the tea? Parker is going to try and get me an appointment but, if that fails, I do have an alternative plan.

Do try and get some rest once you’ve finished up. The mission in Doha sounds like it’s been a terribly distressing situation for all involved. You know I am always here if you need to talk about it. Any of it.

I’ll be in touch once I hear something.

Stay safe, 

Penny x

COMMS END

-------------------------------------

Once upon a time, names held weight. Penelope had thought that Scott’s name had simply been too tied up with International Rescue for Randall Price to give him the time of day… until she too was ushered away once the more difficult questions were asked. From her other sources, Penelope had heard only rave reviews of the company. Yet something felt… off.

It was just after dinner when Penelope began her second message to Gordon.

COMMS BEGIN

It's too clean. Not sure what’s going on but I definitely sense something. Plan B is in operation. Randall Price might not have wanted to speak to me today, but he did invite me to his Charity Ball this weekend — I’ll see if I can find out more then.

I’m hoping you returned home safe and sound and that you managed to have a good rest. I suppose it’s my turn to apologise if this message wakes you. 

Penny x

COMMS END

[quartergremlin]

Loose Change: New Job (1.30.25)

transcript:

Narration: I started a new job today. I like it, I think. I'm a real designer now (part-time). It's easy, but not boring. Except for when I stress myself out.

Quarter: Why.

N: I've been thinking about college a lot because of it.

Q: I could have quit after the first year. No, first class.

N: In that class I presented this mail ad. It had a ton of information and was organized well. I talked for way too long about it's flow and type sizes and shapes. It was simple, but I loved it. Prof did too. She said:

Prof: Most of you will be doing this kind of work after college!

N: I don't think I saw anything like that again for the next four years.

N: Back in high school, I watched the behind the scenes for an indie animation I liked. It was mostly about sci-fi and phallic objects, but they also talked about their time in art college.

Indie animator: We (art students) would get so caught up in ourselves and our own art, we'd forget what real people liked. So getting out and talking to other people is definitely important to stay grounded.

M: Hey, hun, you okay?

[autumnoakes]

also i do still love the idea of swapping claire and leon's re2 scenarios but i cannot help but think that the scene with sherry and chief irons would have been a LOTTT worse with leon instead of claire

[jocelynships]

I’m trying not to let my bad feelings take over rn but hoo boy I am. Really angry/upset/sad/whatever at everything right now

[vvelegrin]

finally having some wins in my health 😭

[pencil-n-pen]

ALL I DO IS TRY, TRY, TRY

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post prison! spencer x genius fem! reader

masterlist | ko-fi | next

summary: all your life, you’ve been second-best. Even now that you’ve been chosen to be an agent of the BAU, you’re just a replacement for Spencer Reid. What could change now that’s he’s out?

cw: there is a bit of an age gap, i imagined reader in her early to mid 20’s, nevermind how it isn’t accurate for working at FBI. this is a criminal minds fic, so there are graphic depictions of violence, as well as implied/referenced child neglect/abuse in readers childhood, reader is somewhat a genius

tropes/tags: slowburn on readers end, Spencer is flirting from the beginning, HURT/COMFORT, angst, bit of a sick fic in one scene, bit of soft dom! spencer as a treat

a/n : this came to me in a prophecy. full disclosure i haven’t actually seen the prison arc yet so if there’s any inaccuracies shhhhhh look at the fluff

also !! this is a LOOOOONG one. strap yourselves in. grab snacks and drinks

slipped in some very slight father figure Hotch bc that’s my crack

title taken from Mirrorball by Taylor Swift

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Spencer Reid is absolutely nothing like you’d thought he’d be.

From how the team talked about him, you’d been expecting a short, slight man. Someone quiet and meek and non-threatening.

And Dr. (Agent?) Reid was quiet. But not in the don’t-notice-me way, but in the I-know-what-I’m-doing-and-don’t-need-to-say-it way. He quietly commanded attention and respect. One look at the man told you he was not somebody to fuck with.

He was also really, really, really hot.

It was unfortunate and difficult, truly, because he’s your senior agent, someone who’s got more than a few years on you in both field experience and general age. He’s a genius- insanely good at what he does and there’s no refuting that.

But most of all, he’s kind and respectful and just genuinely a good person. And also good looking. Did you mention that yet?

He clicks seamlessly into place with the team in a way you’ve never managed to do in the time you’ve been with him. And after all, why would you? You’re just the rookie transfer with a bit higher than average IQ. Nothing to brag about. Nothing like Spencer.

You were a data analyst with the FBI before your boss told you: “The BAU is looking for a temporary genius. I put your name in the ring. Hotchner must’ve been impressed with something, cause he picked you. I know you’ve completed the training courses for their team, so pack your desk. You’ve got a new assignment.”

And just like that, every single one of your dreams came true. And then promptly burst into flames and burned to ashes when you realized what exactly your position on the team was: Temporary and replacing.

It makes sense, you guess. The team grew to rely on Reid’s quick wit and intellect. And beyond that, they’re an agent short. And you fit the bill well enough: swift and intelligent. Nothing more, nothing less. It became clear during the first few weeks that no one on the team had any intention of liking or particularly getting to know you beyond a professional capacity. And you get it, you really do. You don’t name the dog you’re gonna get rid of.

With the exception of Penelope. But you don’t think she has the ability to ignore someone without a clear reason.

So you did your job and you were good at it. Held the team at arm’s length even when they warmed up to you. Kept your head down, stuck to yourself. This way, it’s easier to stop yourself from leaning into JJ and Prentiss’s jokes, or to stamp down the glow in your chest from Hotch’s approval.

All of this hard work goes sailing straight out the window and spattering on the concrete below when Reid comes back. Because all it took was one case together- one. And then you’re hopelessly in love with the guy you replaced.

And it’s all kinds of terrible, because it’s Reid. He’s not only your coworker —soon to be ex, because now that he’s back you’ll be out of a job— but he’s also so incredibly out of your league it’s not even funny. But he keeps smiling at you and including you in conversations and saying hi to you and asking your opinion on things during cases as if you would have more to add than he does.

It’s very hard to keep him at arms length. And because Reid is Reid he drags everybody else over with him and then you’re bonding with a team you have a week left with, maybe two.

Spencer Reid has weaseled his way into your life one stupid smile at a time.

—

The case is going terribly.

What started as a run-of-the-mill serial killer case in some nowhere town turned into huge investigation because Spe— Reid figured out its relation to a cold case from a neighboring town decades prior. And then, to top everything off, just so happens to be near enough to your hometown that your mom saw you on the news when JJ was giving a statement.

And now she won’t stop calling.

Prior to this, you haven’t talked to your mom in about seven months. Now? She’s calling upwards of twelve times a day.

“Mom,” You say, tucked in one of the police stations back rooms, pinching the bridge of your nose, “I’m working, I can’t just come out to see you—“

“But you’ve never visited! And your finally in town, and—“

“I’m not in town, I’m a four hour drive away from town.”

A sigh crackles through the line, her voice tinny. “You know, your brother always made time to visit family, and your younger brothers—“

“Are younger than me and more successful, yes mom, I’ve heard it all before. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m trying to catch a serial killer.”

You snap the phone shut before she can protest, effectively ending the call. You sag against the wall, sighing deep and weary. Exhaustion clings to your bones. It’s not just your mom. This case, being physically close to your hometown, everything— it’s weighing you down. You spend more time in the hotel bed tossing and turning than sleeping.

Even Em— Prentiss had shot you look when you’d came in this morning- though jury’s still out about whether or not it was an are-you-okay look or a you-better-be-good-for-the-case look. You’re hoping it’s the former.

The room you’re in is empty- the precinct that called for the team went under renovation and remodeling last year, so some of the rooms have fallen into disuse, apparently. It’s dusty, and filled with boxes and papers and weirdly, one or two condom wrappers. You wish you were surprised.

Your phone has been put strongly on silent, and you’re not expecting anyone to find you for at least twenty minutes. Of course, you don’t need twenty minutes. You just need five.

You just need to collect yourself for a moment. A few minutes to breathe, to get your mom’s words and the unpleasant memories they bring out of your head; to will the shake out of your hands and the cold creeping in your lungs.

So when the door opens, you nearly jump out of your skin.

Spencer walks in, phone clasped in one hand and a worried expression on his face.

“We’re getting ready to give the profile.”

“Oh,” You peel yourself off the wall, discreetly wiping at your face. You hadn’t noticed the frustrated tears carving lines down your face, “Sorry, I’m coming.”

He frowns as you come closer, and panic begins to beat like a drum in your chest.

“Is Hotch upset? I just had to take a call, I thought it would—“

“Slow down,” He says, raising his hands. “Hotch isn’t upset. Is something wrong?”

“No,” You say quickly, too quickly, because his frown deepens.

“You’ve been taking a lot more calls recently and you’re always upset after they’re over. Is someone bothering you?”

You sigh, rubbing at your face. “My mom. We’re a four hour drive away from my hometown. She saw me on the news when JJ gave her statement.”

Something flashes in his eyes when you say your mother, but it’s gone before you can decipher it.

“You don’t want to see her.”

He says it flat-toned and blank. Like it’s a fact.

It is a fact.

“No,” You confess, “I’ve never been close with my parents. I haven’t spoken to her beyond a text in years, and I haven’t texted her in months. Then she sees me on the news and I’m back on her radar again.”

You chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “Oh, the folly of the disappointing daughter.”

He tilts his head, questioning. “You’ve made something of yourself. You’re a special agent. That’s not nothing.”

“Yeah, well. It’s not Doctor or Lawyer or C.E.O or anything else my brothers or cousins have made of themselves, so,” You shrug. “Disappointing.”

“Well that’s stupid,” Spencer says, a small curl to his lips, “You keep all of those stupid people safe by catching serial killers.”

“You’re a doctor. Did you just call yourself stupid?”

He shrugs, mimicking your earlier action. “I’m not that kind of doctor.”

You look down to hide the smile on your face but he ducks down, catching it anyway.

“Hey,” He says, eyes catching yours, “If you want to talk, you know where to find me.”

You (hesitantly) look up to meet his gaze. “Thanks, Reid.”

His face does something weird. Contorts at the words, just for a second. Like he just bit into something sour.

And then it’s gone.

“Of course.”

—

For the rest of the case, everytime your phone rings, Spencer looks at you. You’re getting close to just throwing the damn thing off a roof, if it’ll convince him to stop looking at you like that. You don’t know what to do with it. The look he gives you tastes like worry, and you don’t know what to do about Spencer Reid worrying about you.

You never meet his gaze. You know he’s looking, but you never look back.

Finally, the case comes to an end. Actually, it goes out in a literal blaze of glory— the unsub lights his kill shed on fire.

All of it would have burned to ash if you hadn’t run into the structure and and snatched the murder weapon and the most damning pieces of evidence: the printed photographs the unsub took with the victims.

It’s a win because you saved the evidence.

It’s a loss because Hotch looks pissed while the paramedics check you over.

Well. You assume he looks pissed. You’re staring resolutely at your shoes.

Finally, the paramedic gives you the all clear —just some minor burns here and there, you got lucky— and you no longer have a human buffer and excuse to avoid talking.

The silence stretches out between you two. Eventually, you cave.

“Hotch, I’m sorry—“

He holds a hand up and you clamp your jaw shut.

“Did you not hear me give the order to stay back?”

“I just thought—“

“We are a team, agent. I need to be able to trust not only that you’re going to follow my orders but be able to work together with the team. Now, you’re not doing either of those things.”

You frown. “I do follow your orders.”

He sighs. “You didn’t today. And more importantly, you’re not acting like a member of this team. You don’t call for backup. You don’t ask for help. You do good profiling work, agent. But if you can’t work with this team then we might need to reconsider your position here.”

That… doesn’t make any sense.

Hotch catches the confusion on your face. “Something wrong, agent?”

“I just— I was under the impression that I would only be working with the team for a few more weeks…?”

Now it’s his turn to look confused. “You may have been hired at an inopportune time, and until the first year is over it is a probationary basis, but pending review, you are and always have been a permanent member of this unit.”

You blink. “Oh.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “You didn’t think you’d be staying for long.”

You shake your head, your world turned on its head.

He hums. “You should buy earplugs. Rossi snores.”

You drop your head into your hands.

“And agent?”

You look up.

“You did good work today. You have a team. Learn to use them.”

He walks away, leaving you to process this crisis-inducing information.

So. You’re not leaving the team. You’re a profiler. Forever. This is your job now.

So does that mean you weren’t replacing Spencer? So why were you hired? Anything you can do multiple people on the team can do better. Why would Hotch pick you?

You stare at the pavement, which gives you a perfect view to watch Spencer’s shoes walk into view and hear him settle next to you.

“You’re a little young to be having a mid-life crisis.”

It takes you an embarrassingly long time to respond, partly because you’re not sure what to say, but also, the length of his thigh is pressed against yours and it’s hard to think when he’s emanating warmth and you can’t stop yourself from thinking about how it would feel to touch, skin to skin.

“Well,” You croak, “I did just get some pretty big news.”

He leans back on his hands, raising an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Looking up at him was a mistake. Bathed in the glow of the ambulance and the light from the moon, you can see just how long his eyelashes are, and how his lips move when he says your name.

Oh shit.

“Sorry, what?”

His face twitches in a smile. “I asked if you were okay. You were staring.”

You flush from your neck to the tips of your ears. “Sorry. It’s been a long day. I’m fine. I was just thinking.”

“About?”

See, he always does this. Most people would end the conversation there and move on. And that’s fine. It’s normal. But Spencer asks. Like he’s interested.

You shrug. “I thought… I thought I was leaving the team in a few weeks. Turns out i’m staying.”

He starts swinging his legs on the edge of the ambulance, though where his almost brush the ground, yours swing several inches above it. “Why did you think you were leaving?”

You laugh softly. “My boss told me the position was temporary. And in my excitement of getting it I may or may not have… not read the paperwork?”

He clicks his tongue. “Oh, honey.”

The tips of your ears burn. “I was excited!”

“To get a job staring at gruesome crime photos?”

“To help people.”

“What? Data analysis not helping people enough?”

“Do I even have to answer that?”

He snorts, his body shaking against yours. “You’re a consulting analyst. That’s the big leagues.”

Now it’s your turn to huff. “Is there a big leagues for data analysis?”

He leans his head down to look at you. “Well, maybe miss smarty-pants over here made a league of her own.”

The shade of red you turn must be visible, dark and bad lighting aside. “You have an IQ of 187. Can you really call me a smarty-pants?”

He tilts his head, giving you an assessing look. You recognize it. He gives case files the same look.

A faint shudder runs down the length of your spine at that precise, clinical gaze.

It should concern you, unnerve you.

It doesn’t.

“No, I’m positive. You’re a smarty-pants.”

You look away, unable to hold the intensity of his gaze.

“Hey, no. Come on, you gotta own up to being a smarty-pants. Otherwise you ruin the effect.”

“Am I supposed to start wearing sweaters and Converse, then?”

“Well, that wouldn’t be owning the smarty-pants look.”

“Do we have to keep the smarty-pants thing going?”

“Took your mind off the burns, didn’t it?”

You blink, realizing that you haven’t noticed the dull sting of the minor burns littering your body for a few minutes now.

But that has less to do with Spencer speaking and more to do with the fact that he’s here. Touching you. If you focus really hard, you can feel the chords of muscle lining his arm.

“Uh,” You stutter, momentarily flabbergasted by the way he’s looking at you. Like it’s important to him— you not being in pain. “Yeah, yeah, I guess. Well. I feel them now.”

“Oh, shame. I guess we’ll just have to keep talking.”

You furrow your brows. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Shouldn’t you be helping finish wrapping up the case?”

He shrugs. “I’m right where I want to be.”

That’s a decidedly very loaded statement that are not going to unpack.

You’re not going to unpack to jolt of pure electricity you feel from it, either.

—

You may or may not have lied about just how sick you were, exactly.

“You know,” Rossi says after you hack a cough into your elbow for what has to be the fiftieth time in as many minutes, “That’s starting to sound less like the plague and more like desperation.”

You sniff harshly, taking a swig of cough syrup and praying this isn’t the king with codeine in it. You didn’t read the label very well. “What do you mean?”

Prentiss raises an eyebrow. “He’s saying that most people on their veritable death/bed opt to sleep comfortably in their own beds in their own homes rather than on a plane to hunt down a violent killer.”

You think if your apartment— it’s cozy, at least, but still a glaring reminder of the reason you told Hotch you were fine to come in- loneliness.

You have heated blankets and warm lighting and books and tea —boxes and boxes of tea— and all manner of things that make you happy. But no amount of things can replace, tangible human connection.

You knew the ache of spending the day in your apartment would sting worse than the cold. Fever, Whatever you have.

“I’m thinking of a word,” JJ says, mock tapping her chin thoughtfully, “Starts with work, ends with holic.”

“I am not a workaholic,” you wheeze. “I am fine.”

“Yes,” Prentiss says, raising her other eyebrow. Oh no. Not the double eyebrow raise. “Because this is exactly what the picture of health looks like.”

To avoid answering, you take another swig of cough medicine.

“Just do you know,” Spencer says, “You’re about one tiny sip of that away from overdosing. I’d cool it on the cough syrup.”

“But I’m still coughing.”

“Have you given it any time to work?”

“It’s been thirty-ish minutes since I took the first dose.”

He levels you with a look at your usage of dose. “Why don’t you wait a little longer before committing suicide via shallow breathing and seizures.”

You wave a hand. “It’s fine. I know how to take care of myself when I’m sick.”

“Is your version of taking care of yourself just continuously taking medicine until the symptoms become bearable?”

“You’re un-bearable.” You snort at your play on words, but grow quiet because when you look up, the entire team is looking at you. “What?”

“You never joke.” JJ says.

“And I think I’ve heard you laugh exactly two times, and I’m pretty sure one of them was a sneeze.” Rossi says, a look of vague disbelief on his face.

You squirm in place. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Uh, yeah it is. You’re definitely too sick to be on a case if you’re laughing.”

“Come on, it was barely a chuckle—“

Spencer looks around. “Yeah, what’s the big deal? I’ve heard her laugh before.”

JJ and Prentiss snap their heads to him in tandem. “What?”

Now he looks vaguely uncomfortable. “I just don’t get why it’s such a big deal.”

“That’s cause you showed up late to the party,” Em- Prentiss says, “You didn’t meet her when she first came. She was all genius consulting data analyst.”

“I wouldn’t call myself a genius—“

“Yeah,” JJ chimes in, “I only ever saw her smile to be polite.”

“Wait,” Prentiss says, brows pinched, “You heard her laugh and you didn’t tell us? You knew we were trying to see who would make her break first.”

“You guys were trying to make me laugh? Is that what was happening all that time? I almost called Hotch like, thirty times because I was concerned for you guy’s mental wellbeing. I thought you’d had a nervous breakdown.”

JJ snorts. “Nope. Just tried to see if the rumors were true about all data analysts being robots.”

You cough into your elbow. “You guys make it seem like I was some sort of frigid bitch.”

“Frigid, yes. Bitch, no.”

“Hey!” You retort, then wince as the volume of your own voice makes your head pound harder and makes your throat sting worse, “I wasn’t that bad. Also, I was nervous! I’m the youngest person here by like, a long shot. I wanted to be professional.”

“I for one enjoyed it,” Rossi cuts in, “It was all blunt business. Straight to the point. No beating around the bush or gossiping. A few people here could learn a thing or two.”

“See?” You gesture. “Rossi agrees with me.”

Just about everyone on the plane gives you the exact same look. Hotch especially, who’s stayed silent during the entire exchange, looks troubled.

Once you land (an ordeal that normally doesn’t bother you, but today, had you worshipping the porcelain altar) Hotch pulls you aside.

“Agent,” He says before you climb into the car that’ll take you to the police precinct, “I can’t have an agent not at peak performance on this case.”

You frown. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you’re too sick to work this case—“

“No, no, I can work, I can do it—“

“—In the field. You’re working from the station until we wrap up. Understood?”

You sigh, knowing when you’re beat. “Understood.”

He gazes at you for a second. “You might want to call out of work entirely the next time you’re sick, you know. The less time you spend resting the longer it’ll take to get better. I expect to see you taking care of yourself at the precinct.”

You blink. “Are you… dad-ing me?”

He almost smiles. “Well, I am a father. It’s bound to come out sometimes.”

The joke soothes your concerns of him being upset with you (again.) You suppose it would’ve been warranted —Hotch never gets upset without a reason— but still. He’s the only one you occasionally struggle to read.

The good news is by the time you make it to the station, your medicine has kicked in.

The bad news is when you get to the station your medicine has kicked in.

“Spencer,” You say, spinning in a spinny chair and staring at his blurry face. “Did you know that elephants have prehensile—“

“Do not finish that sentence.” He says, glancing back at the team, all in various stages of concern, disgust, amusement, and annoyance. “Did you take non-drowsy cough medicine?”

“Yes! I didn’t want to be tired.”

He scrubs a tired hand down his face, then nudges a sealed water bottle across the table to you. “Drink that.”

You wrinkle your nose. “But my throat hurts.”

“Drink it anyway.”

You snatch the water bottle, grumbling the whole time as you crack the seal and gulp down the water, not realizing how thirsty you were until this very second.

You lean your forehead on the table head still pounding from the pressure in your sinuses. You feel a prickle in the back of your neck, signifying that the team is still staring at you.

With great effort, you lift your head, tilting your chin up and trying to summon all the self confidence you don’t actually have.

“I am making a fool of myself. Please disregard my actions until I am no longer ill. This won’t happen again.”

Words are hard. Speaking is hard. With a groan, you drop your head back on your arm.

“Ah, there she is.”

“Knew that laugh had to be a fluke.”

“Cold medicine must be working.”

There are other mutterings about stubborn geniuses and workaholics and data analysis and Spencer staying at the station and—

You snap your head up. “I’m fine. I don’t need a baby-sitter. Spencer would be most useful in the field. He’s one of the best shot’s on the team.”

“And when it comes to needing a marksman I won’t hesitate to get him,” Hotch says, “But for now, I need my two geniuses to put their heads together to solve this case.”

Feeling cowed, you avoid Spencer’s gaze as the team files out of the room you’ve all set up in, instead grabbing a file from the center of the table. You really are being stupid. You should’ve stayed home, now you’re a liability, not to mention a walking biohazard. Fuck, why couldn’t you just think before you—

“I can hear you spiraling from over here.”

You lift your gaze, eyeing Spencer who hasn’t even put down the case file he’s reading.

You look back down. “I wasn’t spiraling.”

“You’re really going to lie to a profiler?”

“We’re both profilers.”

“Yeah, well, you have an obvious tell when you’re worrying about something.”

“I do not!”

You hear the quiet shuffling of papers.

A sigh leaves your lips, and you press the heels of your hands to your eyes. “I’m really sorry, Spe— Reid. I didn’t mean to drag you here with me.”

If he notices your slip up, he doesn’t give any indication of it.

“Who said anything about dragging?”

“I know you’re a germaphobe, and I’m a walking biohazard, and now you’re stuck here going over case files and, and I’m a liability right now—“

“Slow down,” He says, interrupting your slew of word vomit. His voice has dropped an octave, gaining a richer note. You should stop thinking about his voice. “I’m fine. You’re fine. The team is more worried than upset. You’re not the first person to come to work sick. And you won’t be the last.”

“They keep staring at me.”

“Because your current state and manner of behavior are disrupting their pre-conceived notions and set opinions of your character.”

You scrunch your nose. “Don’t get all clinical on me,”

You hear a small huff of laughter across the table. “I’ve come to work far worse than hopped up on cold medicine, believe me. Don’t worry about it. Just focus on working the case.”

Slowly, the itching under your skin settles, and you manage to swallow the lump in your throat. Eventually, you peel your hands away from your face and do what he says.

Hours pass by in a blur of text and you and Spencer occasionally either bouncing ideas off each other or making small breakthroughs. Spencer handles the relay of information because you can’t really go more than three full sentences without hacking up a lung. Seriously, what is cough syrup good for?

Sometime past midday, you start flagging. The words start blending and smushing together and your head gets harder and harder to hold up. You’re jolting yourself back awake every five minutes, forcing your body to just bear through the illness for the sake of productivity. You got yourself into this mess, you deal with the consequences.

You’re just… so tired. Maybe you’ll close your eyes, just for a few minutes. To get energy. And then you can get back to the case.

Just for a few minutes.

—

“She out?”

“Like a light. Powered through for a lot longer than I expected. But dextromethorphan gets us all in the end.”

A low whistle. “Poor kid. The ‘proving yourself to the team’ phase is rough.”

A hum. “I think it’s more than that.”

A beat passes.

“You got her?”

“Yeah,” Something soft and good smelling, like pine and coffee and something almost rich settles over your shoulders, “Yeah, I got her.”

—

When you wake, your neck is sore but you’re not cold, which is strange considering you remember falling asleep in a table.

Oh god you fell asleep on the table.

You jackrabbit up in place, knees knocking against the underside of the table. Hissing in pain, you tug the warm thing further around your shoulders which is—

Holy fucking shit it’s Spencer’s sweater.

Said man is nowhere to be found, and the conference/briefing room you’re in is dark. Not only did someone turn the lights off (you’re pretty sure you can guess who) but it’s dark outside. Meaning you didn’t just take a short nap.

You slept the entire day away.

Cold dread seeps into your shoulders. “Oh my god I’m so fired. Oh shit. Fuck, Hotch is going to be so pissed—“

The door opens and you stand, whirling around to face the doorway and then instantly regretting it when spots dance across your vision and your head swims.

You stumble, grabbing the edge of the chair for support and squinting at the figure in the doorway.

“Hotch?”

“Nope,” Spencer’s voice rings out in the room, “Guess again.”

You groan, sinking down into the chair. “Am I fired?”

He snorts. “Seeing as Hotch bet that you’d fall asleep before dark, I’d say no.”

“He bet against me?”

“Actually, everyone else thought you’d only last an hour. He bet for four.”

“How long did you bet for?”

He sets a mug in front of you, steaming tea wafting up and warming your face. “Three hours. You metabolize cough syrup better than I thought.”

You take the mug in your hands, warming your fingers but not actually taking a sip. “Mmm. Told you I’ve done this before.”

“I don’t think that’s the brag you think it is.”

You chuckle, which quickly turns into a cough.

“Drink your tea,” He commands softly from across the table, sleeves pushed up around his elbows and papers spread about him.

You dutifully take a sip, something restless growing calm in the back of your skull.

You eye is forearms, hoping the look-over you’re giving them is subtle. (It probably isn’t, but come on. A button down with the sleeves rolled up while you’re wearing his sweater is practically sinful.)

“Do you… want the lights turned back on? I’m awake now, so.”

He flips over a piece of paper, then scribbles something on a sticky note. “You were sleeping. And you have a headache. I can see just fine.”

“My headache isn’t that bad, really, I’m fi—“

He levels you with a look, and you sink a little lower in your chair. “Do you at least want your sweater back?”

“No. Keep it.”

“Careful, maybe I’ll just keep it forever,” You joke.

“I’d be fine with that.”

What. The. Fuck.

You stand, pushing out the chair with a loud screech. “I’m just gonna— bathroom,” You splutter, your face blazing and stomach doing a gymnastics routine, “I’m gonna use the bathroom. Bye.”

You’re screaming internally the entire way to the bathroom, and once you get there, open-mouthed silent screaming in the privacy of a stall.

Because. He said. He didn’t even look up. He just. And he. Maybe he—

No, no, no. You are not about to entertain that notion. Not again. He was just being nice. That’s all. That’s all.

Collecting yourself takes about five more minutes, and then you’re walking back to the conference/briefing room when you realize you never took the damn sweater off. He watched you scramble out of that room to the bathroom he has to know you weren’t using, with his sweater on.

This is the end for you, then. That’s it. It’s over.

You mentally slap yourself. Get it together. It’s fine. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

You re-enter the room marginally calmer than you left it. You slide into your seat, sip your tea (that he made you!) and keep working on the case.

You pretend you can’t see him smirking from across the table.

—

The case doesn’t last too long. The team catches the guy in the act of beating his next victim. Thankfully, you manage to save the poor woman before he finishes his plan, and with being caught red-handed, it’s fairly open and shut. Case closed. Which is great, because you really aren’t sure how many more nights you can suffer through trying to sleep in the hotel bed.

You have this thing, when you’re sick. You can’t sleep anywhere but the couch. Your couch. You figured (apparently foolishly) that it wouldn’t be too bad, since the crux of the issue is that you hate sleeping in your bed when you’re sick, but no. You’d spent every night of the case tossing and turning and coughing yourself out. Your lungs were tired. Your body was tired. You were tired.

Spencer raises an eyebrow at you when you board the jet. “You haven’t been near-overdosing on cough syrup again have you?”

“No,” You grouse, rubbing your face with your hand. “I’m like, not even sick anymore. I just didn’t sleep well.” For several nights in a row.

“Mmm,” He hums, non-committal.

You practically collapse into your usual seat on the jet, hunching in yourself and attempting to make yourself comfortable in the seat.

You blink your eyes open when you feel the seat jostle next to you. “Reid?”

He’s already pulling out a book. “What?”

“This isn’t your seat.”

“We don’t have assigned seats.”

“No, but you always sit over there.”

“And now I’m sitting here.”

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to decide if you want to argue him on the point or not. You decide against it, because arguing will draw attention to the fact that you’re sitting next to each other having this conversation at all.

You settle back into your seat. “Whatever. Hope you’re not a loud page-turner.”

“Is that even a thing?”

You shrug, eyes falling shut again.

After a few minutes, you shiver, unconsciously scooting closer to the warmth of the person next to you, your sleep-addled brain barely processing the fact that it’s Spencer you’re pressing your shoulder into.

He repositions next to you, shoulder jostling you. You grumble, dropping your head to his arm. Now much closer, your nose fills with the smooth, all encompassing smell that is Spencer.

The dull chatter that fills the plane, the warm body next to yours, and, despite your earlier complaints, the quiet, gentle page-turning lull you into an easy sleep.

—

“Are you drugging her or something? I’ve seen her sleep more this week than I have in her entire time on the team.”

“The only drugging she’s done was voluntary.”

“Her neck is going to be so sore when she wakes up.”

“Sore? Mine would be broken if I did that.”

“Ah, the joys of youth.”

A beat passes. Then another.

“She’s a bit young, don’t you think?”

“Emily don’t start—“

“Just saying, Spence. HR would get a kick out of this.”

“Not like it never happens. We’ve all walked into supply closet B at the wrong time.”

“This isn’t meaningless sex though.”

“…No.”

Silence.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

A deft hand re-adjusts your head to a more comfortable angle. “I will be.”

—

Landing jolts you into wakefulness and off Spencer’s shoulder. It’s not embarrassing. It’s not. It’s only weird if you make it weird.

When you’re all back at HQ, you pull Hotch aside.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

He nods. “In my office.”

You stalk up the stairs, aware of the eyes following your back. You step into the office, shutting the door behind you and pretending it doesn’t feel like sealing your doom.

He sits, gesturing for you to do so too, but you shake your head.

“I won’t be long. I just wanted to apologize.”

He blinks. “For?”

“I shouldn’t have come in. I was a liability, and it was unprofessional. Next time I’ll act with more discretion.”

Selfish, Your mother’s words echo in your head, your father’s words following suit: Try harder.

He laces his fingers together, resting him on his desk.

“Do you know why I chose you?”

“Because Reid was gone, and you needed a ge— someone smart.”

“Every member of my team is intelligent. That’s not why I chose you.”

He reaches down, opening a desk drawer and pulling out a newspaper clipping.

Your breath hitches when you read the words on it.

“Garcia found it,” He says, scanning the piece of paper. “‘Professor’s Assistant saves college class from school shooter’. You were sixteen.”

You look down at your shoes. “It was the scariest moment of my life. I didn’t— he came in, and I was behind the door getting paper, and he didn’t see me. He… I knew people would die if I didn’t do something. I tackled him. He shot me twice before I managed to kick the gun away. I almost bled out.”

He nods, putting the clipping down. “That’s who I chose. Not the genius. Not the consulting data analyst. Someone who wants to help people.”

He puts the clipping back in his drawer. “I’m not going to write you up for not having a healthy work-life balance. No one in this bureau does, and if they say they do, they’re lying.”

You sigh, rubbing at your face. “Now I look stupid for asking to talk.”

“It’s not an imposition. You’re a member of my team. That makes your wellbeing when you’re on the job my responsibility.”

Unable to form a response to that, you manage to stutter out a thank you, and then flee from his office, collapsing into your chair at your desk with a sigh.

A mug is set in front of you. Different mug, same tea, same hand.

“I think you need to reevaluate your opinion of Hotch and what kind of person you think he is.”

You take the mug with a glare. “I was reasonably concerned.”

“You thought you were going to get written up for coming to work sick?”

“It was a logical conclusion to draw,” You pause, taking a sip of the tea, which is just as good as it was last time. Actually, it’s slightly sweeter, and it soothes your throat more. “And stop profiling me. What’d you put in this?”

“Stop being so easy to profile,” Spencer says, crossing his arms. “Honey. They didn’t have any at the station.”

It’s quiet for a few moments: him staring at you, you pretending he’s not staring and sipping your tea.

“You should go home.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re still sick. Don’t tell me you just can’t wait to write all this paperwork.”

“Maybe I am.”

“No you’re not,” He picks up your jacket from where it’s hanging off the side of your cubicle and plops it in your lap. “Go home. I’ll sick Hotch on you.”

You stand, shrugging your jacket on and pointing an accusing finger at him. “You’re a cruel man.”

“Mhm. Sure. Go home.”

You grumble all the way to the door, but quiet when you look back to see him watching you fondly. He gives you a little two finger wave, and with the sheer amount of heat that rushes to your cheeks, you have no choice but leave immediately.

Stupid genius co-workers.

—

The next week brings wellness and a lull in cases.

Unfortunately, that also means you don’t have an excuse to put off your paperwork any longer.

Spencer taps the top of it with a slender finger. “Did it get bigger since the last time I saw it?”

He’s hanging around your desk for… some reason. He came to drop off paperwork from your last case, and then stuck around for some unknown purpose.

“No,” You groan, setting your mug of coffee aside and grabbing the first paper off the stack. “Still the same pile I’m procrastinating on.”

“Good luck,” He huffs, finally turning and walking back to his own desk. It’s still in your eyeline, if you crane your neck a little.

You sigh, grabbing your earbuds from your desk, knowing you can’t put the paperwork off any longer. You’re pretty sure Records is going to start sending you death threats soon.

Making your way through the pile is slow going. It’s terrible. The only part of working with the BAU you hate is the paperwork. It’s tedious and never-ending and it always gives you a headache.

The only times you get up are to use the bathroom and get more coffee. JJ kindly tells you that you should probably leave your mug in the break room after your sixth or so trip. Spencer, somehow, appears in the room, and rattles off the symptoms of caffeine overdose.

You leave the mug there.

You continue working well after everyone else leaves. It gets dark, people go home, office lights go off, and while the pile has largely decreased in size, it’s still not finished.

You have to finish. Hotch had made an offhand comment about turning in your paperwork on time and now you have to finish it. To show him you’re not lazy.

You’ve only got a little bit of paperwork left when a hand taps you on your shoulder.

You yank your earbuds out, blinking blearily. “Wha?”

Spencer’s face swims into view. “Come on, time to go home.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Making sure you didn’t fall asleep and forget to go home. They do lock the doors at a certain point. Ask me how I know.”

Your brain is moving like sludge, and it takes you several minutes to process what he says. He continues standing in front of you, patiently waiting for you to respond.

“But… the paperwork.”

“Will be here tomorrow. Come on, up we go.”

You whine as he takes your hands, hauling you to your feet. You attempt to scrub the sleep out of your eyes while messily moving papers about so your desk doesn’t look like a copy machine threw up all over it.

He pushes your jacket into your hands and you shrug it on, grumbling all the way through the doors and out to the parking lot, Spencer in tow. He follows dutifully behind you, and everytime you look back at him to voice your complaints all he does is smile.

“It’s cold.”

“That does tend to happen in winter.”

When you get to your car, he reaches out, tugging on your wrist.

“Hey,” He says, looking down at you, eyes deep pools of some emotion you can’t identify, “Drive safe, okay? It’s icy.”

“My commute isn’t that bad. And I’m,” You break off with a huge yawn. “Not even that tired.”

“That doesn’t inspire much confidence, smarty-pants.”

“Oh, so we’re locked into the smarty-pants thing, huh?”

“Yep.” He says, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets and popping the P.

“Well then what am I supposed to call you? Robot-Reid?”

“How about Spencer?”

His words hang in the night air, mingling in the puffs of air from both of your mouths.

“…What rhymes with Spencer?”

“Sensor, denser, dispenser—“

“Dis-Spencer,” You say, smiling to yourself. “I like the sound of that one.”

“You know dis comes from—“

“The latin word dis, and the prefix is used to denote a reversal of absence of an action, expressing negation, or expressing completeness or intensification of an unpleasant or unattractive action.”

He chuckles, smiling down at his shoes. “That’s why you’re the smarty-pants.”

“Oh please. You know all of that and then some.”

He shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not.”

You both stand in the cold of the parking lot, neither willing to leave yet.

Before you can think better of it, you dart forward, throwing your arms around Spencer’s neck and mumbling “Goodnight, Dis-Spencer.”

You step away quickly, awkwardly giving him a small wave before hurrying into your car and driving away.

Smooth.

—

The next case is… really rough.

Two spree killers, working as a team. A father and a son; the son was groomed into the lower position.

Not anything you haven’t seen before. Trained for. Studied.

No amount of studying could have prepared you for the cold grip of dread that gripped your throat like a vice when you finally confronted the unsubs, and heard eerily familiar words uttered from the father:

“You’re a good for nothing son! I wouldn’t have had to do this if you weren’t such a disappointment of a child! Why couldn’t you have just been more like your siblings?”

The son was killed before anyone could intervene.

Wrapping up the case left you shaken— you’d watched with hollow eyes as the boy’s body was zipped in a body bag.

A hand landing roughly on your shoulder shoves awareness back into your body and you flinch, hard, whirling around with your shoulders raised to meet the oncoming threat.

Only it’s not a threat. It’s Hotch. And he looks concerned.

You force your body to relax. “I’m sorry, I’ll go help question the rest of the family—“

“Are you okay?”

You blink. “What?”

“Are you alright?” He asks again.

“Yeah, I’m, I’m okay. It just… reminded me of something.”

Hotch purses his lips but doesn’t say anything. He looks he’s going to say something, but then decides against it.

“Help Reid get the last of the evidence. Once you two are finished head back to the station. We’ll meet you there.”

You nod, inwardly relieved about not having to deal with the family members. You might start actually crying.

You sidle up to Spencer who’s tagging blood splatters on the carpet. He wordlessly hands you a pair of gloves. He doesn’t ask. You don’t tell.

You work side by side for the better part of two hours, occasionally conversing with the local police or helping the crime scene investigators tag evidence.

If he knows what’s bothering you, he doesn’t say. You wouldn’t have an answer anyway. You’re far too gone in your own head.

You follow Spencer to the break room back at the station, watching him quietly make two mugs of tea. He presses one into your hands with a gentle command to let it cool for a few minutes. The mug is warm in your hands. Spencer is standing next to you, a mug of his own in his hands. Your parents aren’t here. You’re fine.

You chant this mantra in your head while you wait for the rest of the team to come back.

Your parents aren’t here. You’re fine.

Spencer doesn’t ask before sitting next to you on the jet. He just does. He hands you a book, then opens his own.

You don’t read a single page. He must know. Still, he says nothing, just presses a little closer to you when he sees your hands shaking.

The team gives the two of you space when you finally land. You stumble off the jet, trip backpack slung over your shoulder, legs wobbly and breath uneven.

You’re not sure why the case upset you this much. Your parents don’t upset you this much. They just— they make the same kind of comments, and so did that father, except now his son is dead because he killed him—

“Hey,” Hotch approaches you slowly, makes sure you can see him. You hate that he feels the need to do so. “Take tomorrow off. Stay home. Recuperate.”

“I’m fi—“

“We all have tough missions and I would do the same for any agent,” He says, clasping you gently on the shoulder. “Besides. We both know you haven’t been sleeping well.”

Your lips twitch. “Isn’t there a rule against profiling each other?”

“That rule is for all of you. Not me.”

He gives your shoulder one last squeeze before departing.

You manage to haul yourself into HQ and out to the parking lot, cursing as your cold fingers fumble with your keys. Frustrated tears begin to well in your eyes and you press the heels of your hands to your face, sucking in a shuddering breath and begging it all to just stop.

Someone gently pries your hands open, pulling your keys out of your clenched grip. Your shoulders shake as you heave, gasping for cold night air that burns on the way down.

A hand finds its way to the back of your head, pressing it forward into something warm and solid. Another arm wraps around your waist, keeping you close, while the hand on your head drifts down to your neck, squeezing and rubbing intermittently.

“I’m sorry,” You cry, rubbing your face and smearing your tears across your hands, “I don’t know why, it just—“

“You don’t need a reason,” Spencer says, spreading his hand out wide so it covers the entire nape of your neck, “Sometimes it all just gets to you.”

You nod into his chest, lowering your hands from his face to wrap around his torso, clutching it like a lifeline.

“I don’t want to go home tonight,” You whisper, ashamed. “I’ll dream of it. And them. And it’ll be cold and alone—“

“Come home with me,” He says, voice a little breathless while he holds you closer, “Come home with me.”

He says the last part a little desperate.

You sniff. “Okay.”

You hesitantly pull away from the hug, but not before Spencer’s hand moves from your neck to your face, his thumb brushing away the tear tracks on your face. He drops his head down, and you feel the gentlest brush of lips against the skin in between your eyebrows.

“Let’s go home.”

He tugs you along by the hand, helping you into his little old car, tucking your bags into the backseat. He lets the radio play softly while he drives, loud enough to quiet your thoughts a bit but not so loud as to overwhelm you.

He helps you out of the car when you arrive to the apartment building, carrying one of your bags up the stairs- you’d insisted on carrying the rest of your stuff.

He unlocks the apartment door, ushering you into the warmth and comfort that is Spencer’s home.

It’s exactly like you pictured, if not tidier. A bit more modern than you’d imagined. Books are everywhere of course, but so are knick-knacks and trinkets and other little bits of things that are so decidedly Spencer. There’s even a quilt on the couch.

He sets your bag down by the door. “The shower is down that hall to the left. Use whatever products you need to. Do you have any clothes to change into?”

You chew on the inside of your lip. “In my luggage, yeah, but they need to be washed.”

“I can put them in the wash while you shower. In the meantime, you can borrow something of mine.”

You shuffle in place. “I don’t wanna impose—“

“Please let me do this for you.”

The raw, rough edge to his tone makes you pause. You nod in acquiescence.

He takes your hand in his again, tugging you into his bedroom. With one hand, he opens drawers, handing you his smallest pair of sweatpants, and a large, worn, and incredibly soft Caltech sweatshirt.

“I’ll have to cuff these,” You mumble when he hands you the sweatpants, “My legs are half the length of yours.”

“You’ll make it work, I’m sure. Now shoo. I’ll have laundry and food finished when you get out of the shower.”

The bathroom, like the rest of the house, is clean and neat, and to your relief, houses more than just a five-in-one in the shower. Spencer actually owns multiple products for you to choose from and it hits you while you’re lathering the body wash you chose because of how good it smelled that you’re in Spencer’s shower, showering with his body wash, about to put on his clothes.

You’re going to smell like him. His clothes will smell like him. Everywhere in the apartment smells like him.

You decide to blame the near permanent flush on your cheeks on the heat from the shower.

When you exit the shower, fresh and drowning in Spencer’s clothes, he’s standing at his kitchen island, putting the final touches on two bowls of soup.

You almost tear up again. “You made me soup?”

“It’s widely regarded as a comfort food for people who are ill or otherwise sad, and is most commonly made in the wintertime.”

He gives you a little jazz hand, gesturing to the soup as if saying ta-da!

You really do tear up then.

He’s in front of you in an instant, hands poised to help. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Do you not like soup? I can make something else, or we can order in, or—“

You scrub at your face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “You’re just, you’re just really sweet.”

His face softens. “Oh, honey.”

He envelops you in the second hug of the night, except this time you’re crying in earnest now. Your crying about your parents, about the nights you went to bed hungry because your Dad told that you were smart, and to figure something out, but you were too young to work any of the kitchen appliances. You’re crying about your first best friend, who ditched you the second your brother asked her out. You’re crying about all the classes and friendships you missed out on while you were in the hospital with gunshot wounds. You’re crying about how your parents didn’t visit you once. Not even when you were in the ICU.

Spencer holds you through it all, a steady rock against the battering waves crashing in your head.

After a few minutes, you wear yourself out, quieting down to sniffling, your shoulders hitching.

He pulls back, studying your face. “Are you ready to eat some soup now?”

You nod, blinking the final tears out of your eyes. “I got snot on your shirt.”

“That’s why we invented washing machines.”

He keeps up a stream of idle chatter while you eat, explaining all the different major soups in the world and where they came from. It’s a balm against your weary mind, lulls you into peace and safety.

Or maybe that’s just the effect Spencer has on you.

When you finish your food, he takes your bowl, deposits it in the sink, and then takes your hand and leads you to his bedroom.

“I don’t have a guest room, so you can take the bed,” He says, voice soft. “There’s extra blankets in the closet next to the bathroom if you get cold.”

He turns to leave, but a stab of panic slices down your chest, and your hand is reaching out and grabbing his wrist before you can stop yourself.

He pauses, turning back around. “You want me to stay?”

You take your lip between your teeth. “I don’t want to be alone.”

He studies you in the dark of the room— clad in his clothes, face puffy from crying.

The muscles in his jaw work.

“I can’t do this platonically. If we do this—“

You surge up on your toes, grabbing his face and smashing your lips together so quickly your teeth clack.

He goes rigid, then kisses your right back, hands coming up to cup your face, squeeze your neck, smooth over your shoulders.

You pull away first, looking at him through your lashes with hazy eyes. “I can’t do this platonically either.”

He traces the planes of your face with his thumb. “You have no idea how long and how much I’ve wanted to have you right here, just like this.”

“Crying and sad?”

“Dressed in my clothes, in my apartment, in my bed.”

You pause. “You know, tonight, I can’t, I’m not going to have—“

“I’m not interested in sex with you tonight,” He says, reading your mind, “I just want to get that empty look in your eyes gone.”

“Just?”

“Well,” He says, tugging you down onto the bed with him, crawling under the covers and covering you both, “There are other things. A lot of other things, Like this,”

He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“And this,”

He pulls you flush against him under the covers, tucking your head under his chin.

“But mostly this.”

He presses one last kiss to the crown of your head.

“Really?”

“Really.”

It’s quiet for a moment before his voice breaks the silence.

“After I got out, all I wanted was something soft and gentle. Having something, someone soft and lovely to hold was all I looked forward to. And then I came back and I met you, with your polite introductions and the way you care so deeply about so much and I knew. I knew who I wanted to hold.”

“Wow,” You breathe, “Yours sounds so poetic. Mine is much less so.”

“Mmm,” He hums, “And what might that be?”

You press your face against his chest and mumble so quietly you’re wondering if he can ever hear you:

“I just wanted you to choose me. I wanted to be someone’s first choice.”

He’s so quiet after that you think he must not have heard you.

You’re on the verge of sleep when you hear his whisper:

“There couldn’t be anyone else for me.”

જ⁀➴

EDIT: if you want to be tagged in the sequel when it’s posted, please comment “tag me please!” or some variation of THE POST LINKED HERE !! if you comment asking for a tag on this post, you will not be added to the tag list. tag lists are hard to keep track of, so please keep them all in one place !! :)

EDIT TWO: THE SEQUEL IS UP !! It is linked at the top of this post under “next” :)

[woovalin]

i’m in such disbelief right now and beyond disgusted.

i really hope y’all are choosing your morals over kpop; because we do not know these men at all. i will never side with or defend a predator and a criminal, even with little to no proof. even if there is the smallest chance he may be innocent, i will always believe the victim first.

some of you, as fans of the boys for years and him in general, i know you must be feeling disappointed and betrayed. you’re not dumb for previously supporting him, as we couldn’t have possibly known. but now is the time for a reality check and it’s time to wake up and take a step back. this just goes to show that we know absolutely nothing about them.

for sm to just outright put out a statement on their own before any rumors even surfaced and immediately kick him out? this has to be insanely serious and i’m terrified of what he could’ve done. the crazy thing is with everything currently happening in korea with the telegram situation, and korean women constantly being in danger in general because of the men there, i’m not at all surprised that celebrities are being exposed. sm has protected criminals before, and held onto lucas when his scandal came out as well as other artists who have been exposed for similar crimes. i can’t even imagine the severity of the current situation. we’ve seen what happened with the burning sun, and these men are not immune to being misogynistic, vile human beings.

members have already unfollowed him and deleted posts with him in them; his best friend of 17yrs has unfollowed him. the company taking the initiative and him getting kicked out of the group in less than a second before anything even came out, no denying the claims or even trying to defend him. that should be enough to tell you and understand how serious this actually is. i am beyond disgusted with him and this whole situation.

i sincerely hope the victim is doing okay and praying for them to heal and get the justice they deserve. and remember that your love for these celebrities should always be conditional, because we do not know them. it’s their job to put on a show and show you their public persona, but behind closed doors? we don’t know what they’re actually like. we put them on a pedestal and yet we don’t know what they’re really capable of. they are still men after all. i hope the police are taking this seriously. there needs to be consequences and these women need to be protected.

let this be a lesson to all of us. they don’t know us, and we don’t know them, not really, not at all.

ALWAYS choose morals over these strangers you idolize. and as women, we should be standing with the victims.

maybe not all men, but enough of them. and maybe not all men, but somehow always a man. and going forward, i will continue to support nct as a whole with the remaining members. however, keeping the situation in mind, i will be supporting from afar for a little while. if the situation escalates and other members are investigated and new information comes to light about the rest of them either knowing or possibly being involved, it would be best to step away for good. i will do my best to stay updated. but i do hope the rest of the members are doing okay, and hopefully no other members were involved; but this, just shows that they can always surprise us. you never think it’ll be your fave, until it is.

let’s hope this causes a domino effect and more of these people are exposed and charged for the crimes they’re committing.

sending love to anyone who has ever experienced sexual violence or has been targeted and been in a similar situation. it is not your fault and it never was!

love you all and my dms are always open if you need to vent. <3

❗️EDIT: also i wanna add that we need to not praise the rest of the members or any other celebrity for simply unfollowing him on social media. that is the least of anyone’s worries.

we don’t know if they were aware, we don’t know if they knew and were protecting him or turning a blind eye. it could be them trying to save themselves and clear their guilty conscience. maybe they didn’t know and are just as shocked as we are, we don’t know that either.

we blindly trust these people and believe they have good intentions but look at where that can lead to. fans being upset is valid, yes; but remember people with money and power will do whatever it takes to sweep things under the rug and make it go away in order to save face and keep their image and reputation.

follow-up post here.

[xoxo-sarah]

My Wife

Part 2 | part 3

↝a/n: 2,605 w/c... I like this one, guys.

↝pairing: Season 1!Daryl x wife!reader

↝warning: usual walking dead stuff, angst, animal death (mentions blood. No details), reader being sexualized?, creepy men, harassment, the creepy guy getting punched (he deserved it), cursing, protective Daryl, Merle (ew), crying, moody and soft Daryl, sassy Daryl (it's season one, what do you expect?), slightly proofread

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 10.2.24

Daryl Dixon masterlist

Before the apocalypse, you'd say your life wasn't bad. You had a decent job that paid well. A husband, a dog, and a house you owned all on your own, without any help from your parents.

You had met Daryl fresh out of college. He was staying with Merle at the time. In a rush to get away from your parents, you found a rent-to-own house on the outskirts of Atlanta. It wasn't extravagant, only having 2 beds and one bath. It was still a house-your house.

The first time you went to the grocery store to stock up before you started work since the big move, an old man had hit on you. Daryl listened from afar, not wanting to cause any more trouble for you. He knew you hadn't been in these parts of town before, he hadn't seen you before.

After many attempts at shooting the guy down, Daryl had to intervene. The guy had grabbed your arm, and before you knew it, the guy was backing away from you.

“She said she's not interested.”

“My bad, man. Didn't know she was yours.” He raised his hands, grin still on his face. It was a game to him.

“So you only take no for an answer if I 'belong' to someone?” Venom laced your voice, disgust painted into the wrinkles between your eyebrows and frown lines, glaring through the guy. A chuckle rumbled out of his chest, followed by a smoker's cough that told you he had more tar in his lungs than he had sense in his brain.

“Ma'am, will all due respect-”

“I doubt anything respectful comes out of that raunchy mouth of yours.”

His grin dropped, eyes slanting in your direction. “This one sure has a mouth on her,” his attention moved back to Daryl. “She have that mouth in the sack?”

You scoffed, glancing down at the floor, collecting the words you wanted to shoot back at him.

In the time you looked away, Daryl had put the 12-pack of beer down and swung. You snapped your head up at the sound of a fist colliding with a cheek. Daryl glared, spitting at the man as he held his cheek in shock. “Give the lady some respect, prick.”

“Damnit, Dixon!” An elderly man came running down the aisle, a manager tag clinking against the pins on his shirt. Safe to say both men had been kicked out.

After checking out, you caught sight of Daryl hunched over, looking at his bruising knuckles.

“Here's for helping me.”

Daryl's head shot up, eyes flickering to the 12-pack in your outstretched hand. “Ya didn't have to.”

“You didn't have to.” He shrugged, taking the box from you.

the rest was history.

You eventually got together, then, moved in together. He supported you in your job, making jokes about you “bringing home the bacon”. The only downside was his brother.

“Damnit, Merle.”

An intoxicated Merle flopped on your couch, cackling up at Daryl. You watched from behind the couch, arms folded across Daryl's shirt draping over your form. Daryl's own top half was bare, his muscles flexing when he folded his arms in disappointment, glaring down.

“What? Did I interrupt you 'n your housewife duties?”

You scoffed, turning around to walk back to your room, the dog Daryl had gotten you for your birthday following after you. Merle watched your movement, lowly whistling. “I'd be a housewife for that piece, too.”

Daryl grabbed the collar of Merle's shirt, bringing him to eye level. “Don't talk about my wife like that.” He threw him back against the couch, “You're out by the mornin'.”

The world had gone to shit right in the middle of your workday. Everyone was running around, yelling and panicking. You tried making a beeline for your car, getting pushed and pulled every which way. The traffic was the worst you had ever seen, when you had finally made your way onto the road.

When you finally got home, the door was open.

You rushed in, looking in every room. There was no sign of Daryl besides the place being completely trashed, in a rush to leave. He wasn't there. You had no clue where he was, if he was safe, if he knew what was happening.

You cracked the backdoor open, nearly falling to your knees. A body laid on the back porch, blood dried on its way down the person's forehead. A lump of fur and blood was right beside it. A sob racked your body on your way back to your car. Your knuckles were ghostly white as they gripped the steering wheel, as you made your way out of town, away from the life you worked hard to get and worked harder to keep.

You eventually got stuck in even more traffic. Everything only got worse when your car ran out of gas.

You had to hide in the city, which was run with zombies. Luckily for you, you had found a few bodies that hadn't turned yet, stealing anything that could be used as a weapon. You were able to stay safe, hiding in an empty office building. Living off of the vending machines and what was left in the break rooms.

You regularly walked up to the roof, getting fresh air, wondering where Daryl had gone and if he was thinking of you. Sure, a part of you wanted to be mad at him for leaving without you, but you knew he had to have his reasons. Merle had to of made him run away with him when the news first got out.

While you looked over the edge, watching as dead bodies herded together, feasting on whatever had run into the city on your way up here, you saw quick movement to your left. Swirling around, you held your gun up, pointing it at the kid in front of you.

“Woah, Hey! I'm alive- I'm alive! Not going to hurt you.” The poor boy might as well have been shivering in his boots. His hands shook in the air. He was probably the third person you've seen, alive, since you squatted in the top floor. He didn't seem like the guy to kill you just to take your stuff. “Look, there's a guy in the tank down there. I'm just trying to help him.” You thought back to the sounds of pained neighing you heard when you first stepped onto the roof, but you had shrugged it off, figuring you were going insane already. No sleep and being isolated will do that to you. “C'mon, dude.” He was practically begging you to not shoot him in the head.

What would Daryl do in this situation? He wouldn't just trust anyone when it comes to survival. You reluctantly put your gun down, watching as he sighed in relief. You hid the shake in your hands when they fell to your sides, not wanting him to know you didn't want to kill him even if he were dangerous.

“We have to get down there to help him.” The boy leaned over the edge, at the tank and the 'geeks' that surrounded it.

“We?”

He looked back at you, then to the tank. “The extra help would be appreciated.”

Somehow, you followed after him, climbing down fire escapes and counting the amount of bodies in each alleyway. He was quick, but you kept up with him with ease.

He led you down the alleyway, hiding behind the trashcans and gate separating you and a painful death. “You have good aim? I need you to shoot that big guy closest to the tank.” He whispered, fixing the hat on his head.

You glanced at him, watching as he awaited your next move. You whispered back, “it's empty.” You held the gun up in emphasis. You weren't going to tell him that when it was pointed at him. He huffed, throwing his head back. “I only have a knife.”

He shrugged off his backpack, grabbing the empty gun and throwing it in there. It was useless with no bullets, and it only took up a hand, making it harder for you to climb.

“Alright, change of plans.” He grabbed the walkie, bringing it to his mouth before pressing the button. “Hey, you alive in there?”

A frantic voice broke through the static, “Hello? Hello?!”

The next thing you knew, you were running downstairs with the young boy, Glenn, you had figured out, and the guy you nearly died saving, Rick. Glenn led you two to another alleyway, before the door to the building in front of you busted open, 2 people filing out with gear and helmets on, attacking the walkers wondering in front of you.

“Lets go!” Glenn jumped over the bodies on the ground, running through the door, you and Rick following. As soon as you were through the door, you were pushed to the other side of the wall, before Rick was pushed back, a gun aimed at his face. “You son of a bitch! We ought to kill you.” A blonde woman was seething, ready to put a bullet in Rick's head.

“Just chill out, Andrea. Back off.” One of the guys who bashed the walker's head in pulled off the armor, glaring at the blonde.

“Come on, ease up.”

“Ease up? You're kidding me, right? We're dead because of this stupid asshole.” The gun was pointed at you next, “And her.” Her finger twitched on the trigger, but you were at a loss of words.

“She helped.” Glenn was ignored.

“Andrea, I said, back the hell off. Or pull the trigger.” The same guy from before stepped forward, closer to Andrea. It was silent for a second, before Andrea dropped her hand, lips quivering with oncoming tears. You took a breath, having the room to do so when a gun isn't pointed at you.

“We're dead,” Andrea sobbed, “All of us.” Her gaze moved back to Rick, “Because of you.”

You wondered after everyone as they walked through the old building, listening as they scolded rick for firing his gun.

“No signal. Maybe the roof.” The man, who was introduced as T-Dog, said, holding the walkie. Before anyone else could reply, a gun shot fired, echoing from above.

“Oh no, Is that Dixon?”

“Dixon?”

Andrea stopped her movement, looking back at you. “Yeah. What, you know 'em?”

Sadly, you were met with a distasteful Merle on the roof. He refused to tell you about Daryl-about how Merle had to drag in out of the house. About how Daryl wanted to pick you up and take you with them. About how Daryl had gone back, against Merle's wishes, and found you nowhere in the house. But you weren't told that, so the nerves in your stomach still fluttered, making you feel like you were going to vomit any minute. The only thing he told you was that Daryl was with the rest of the group by the quarry.

The nerves still fluttered even on your way to the said quarry. The thought of Merle being trapped in the roof was at the back of your mind, the thought of seeing Daryl for the first time in God knows how long, being front and center in your mind. Your leg shook with nerves as you sat in the back of the van, hitting a bump every once in a while, and knocking into one of the other people.

The van pulled up to the quarry, people piling out of the back, running to their families.

You were introduced to a woman named Carol. She was surprised when you told her that you knew Daryl. The short time she had known the man, she couldn't think of him having a soft spot for anyone, but here you were. She told you that he had gone hunting and that he should be back before dawn.

You sat around, getting to know everyone. As soon as Carol's husband raised his voice to her, you had kept an eye on him, instantly feeling protective of the woman. As she silently did for you. She kept an eye on you, making sure you felt comfortable among all of the strangers.

Night fell and there was still no sign of Daryl. You distracted yourself by helping Carol with whatever, or Dale with lookout. You hadn't told anyone much about you and Daryl. Mostly because you couldn't form a coherent sentence with Daryl on your mind. Where was he? Was he okay? Why wasn't he back? The band around your ring finger became a fidget habit. You spun it around any time the thoughts got too much.

The crisp morning air did little to wake you. You might as well have been a walker with how you sluggishly moved around camp, helping with anything, wanted to be helpful and pull your weight.

Carol handed you another pair of soaked pants, to ring the water out and hang it up to dry. While doing so, your eyes caught sight of Rick and Lori. They had been reunited. When was it your turn?

“How did you and Daryl meet?” Glancing back up at Carol, you cleared your throat to speak.

Before you could utter a word, a scream echoed throughout the camp, followed by Carl's screams for his mother.

Everyone stopped what they were doing, a few running toward the screaming, ready for the worst.

You walked behind the group, watching as Rick, Glenn, Dale, Shane, and a few others beat the walker that had made it from the city.

Dale swung down with his axe, cutting the head clean off the walker's body.

“It's the first one we've had up here.” He heaved, “They never come this far up the mountain.”

“Well, they're running out of food in the city, that's what.” Another guy, Jim, said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Branches snapped, followed by more footsteps. The guys with the weapons moved toward the sound, weapons ready.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He hadn't seen you yet.

Daryl stepped over branches, slightly taken aback with everyone standing in front of him, ready to strike.

Everyone took a step back, “Oh, Jesus.” Dale's shoulders released the tension.

“Son of a bitch.” Daryl cursed, “That's my deer!” He walked to what was left of the poor animal.

He looked how he did when you first met. Frustration clear on his brow. You had helped him get rid of the constant scrunch of his brow and frown on his lips, and here it was, making its appearance in a dramatic manner.

“Look at it, all gnawed on by this-” He kicked the headless body that laid on the ground, “filthy,” kick “disease-bearing,” kick “motherless,” kick “poxy bastard!”

“Calm down, son. That's not helping.” Dale peeped, infuriating Daryl more.

“What do you know about it, old man?” Daryl walked closer, getting in Dale's face. "Why don't you take that stupid hat and go back to “On Golden Pond”?"

“Daryl.”

Daryl paused, his face dropping. He turned to the voice, his knees nearly collapsing from underneath him.

Before you could say anything else, his crossbow was dropping to the ground, followed by the string of squirrels on his shoulder. He rushed over, his body colliding with yours. His calloused hands pulled your face closer to his.

He didn't care if everyone was watching. Or if the scene made them think differently about his tough-guy thing he had going on. His lips moved against yours.

“I didn't know where you were.” He mumbled against your lips. “I tried looking everywhere-”

“I know, I know. Doesn't matter.”

Part 2

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