#and no emotional intelligence either clearly | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cerisereids · 3 months ago

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𝗜’𝗹𝗹 𝗕𝗲 𝗪𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗬𝗼𝘂 (𝗘𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗕𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗧𝗮𝗸𝗲)- 𝗦.𝗥.

Pairing- Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

W/C- 6.5k (crazy shit)

Summary- You and Spencer have never gotten along. Yet, you can’t seem to ever take your eyes off each other.

Contains- 18+ MDNI, not super smutty but there is a sex scene (not super detailed) canon typical violence, enemies to lovers, Spencer losing all brain cells over a pretty girl, bitchy!Spencer, reader and Spencer are held captive by unsub, dramatic love confessions, kissing, some icky misogyny directed at reader from unsub but it's quite brief, guns, unsub death, honestly this reads a lot like a regular cm episode but with Spencer being down bad, this low-key turned into smut when I didn't plan on it but c'est la vie

A/N: I can’t find the OP of the divider but it is not mine!! This is a little proofread but not a lot of proofread, I am also thinking about making a part 2 w some actual smutty smut so lmk if you guys like this!

An itch of irritation crawls up your spine, a deep ache settling in your skull as you sit in the BAU conference room. You massage your temples as a rapid, grating voice nestles its way into your ears.

“The fact that this unsub feels comfortable targeted a densely populated area such as D.C. tells us he’s either impulsive or incredibly bold,” he remarks, arms crossed, a pensive look on his face as he studies the map in front of him.

Despite your annoyance, you keep your eyes trained on the profiler as he rattles on. Your eyes narrow just slightly, You’re seated directly across the table from him, and you watch the way he gets lost in the information, almost like it’s in control of him as he frantically circles different locations on the map. Spencer Reid speaks with his entire body, he always has, ever since you started at the BAU one year prior.

“Maybe it’s a comfort zone,” he stands back, leaning his weight on one leg. Your eyes drift down his lanky frame for the briefest moment, lingering on his popped hip. They furiously snap back up to his face once he starts speaking again, cheeks heating up.

“The lines of longitude and latitude at each murder sight are equivalent to the central area of the city,” he mumbles.

“Okay, so we need to know what’s there. Something clearly happened to our unsub that has made him choose these locations,” you cross your arms over your chest, “you really think our unsub measured all of the crime scenes on a map? That shows an incredible amount of organization that I don’t think he has.”

Your tone is a bit defensive, skeptical of his work. To you, profiling is a subjective art. Your best profiling comes from understanding emotions, trauma. Spencer works completely different.

While you do have to recognize his intelligence, the strict logic in which he operates in this job is not something you entirely agree with. He spouts rapid fire facts nearly robotically, like he’s reading straight from a textbook. It drives you batty.

You’re not typically someone who’s thrown off by a different approach. Normally, you accept and encourage a fresh set of eyes while you work. If it wasn’t for what Spencer said your first week…

Plus, you had an early acceptance to Harvard before you decided to go to the academy. His intelligence doesn’t impress you that much.

“Yes, as a matter of fact I do. He’s very clearly organized, it fits the profile,” he states, his irritated gaze pointed directly at you.

You stare back brazenly, in a silent competition with the man across from you.

“I’m really just unsure how that helps us right now when central D.C. is so big. How are we going to narrow down his tie to the city?” His eyes narrow to slits at your question.

“She’s got a point,” Hotch succinctly breaks through the tension, and you’re reminded that you’re in a room with the entire team. “Give the information you have to Garcia, have her narrow it down. Afterwards, I want you and Prentiss on victimology in the bullpen,” he says.

You puff your chest slightly, sliding out from your chair to get closer to the evidence board. You feel his eyes burning a hole into your back before he huffs an irritated sigh, exiting the conference room with a harsh slam of the door. You keep your gaze on him through the window as he walks to Penelope’s.

Spencer grumbles under his breath the whole way down to Penelope. Head down, brows furrowed, he barges in there with the map. Without so much as a hello, he posts it on her wall.

“Well, hello to you too, Doctor!” She chastises him as he keeps his gaze on the map, like she’s not even there.

He knows it’s mean, that she deserves more respect than that, his brain is just unable to process anything other than her. She makes him want to explode.

“Sorry,” he grumbles, continuing his previous work on the map.

“Spence, you gotta stop letting her get under your skin like that,” he hears the pity in her voice, which only makes his blood boil hotter.

“Nobody’s under my skin, I’m trying to solve the case,” he’s speaking too quickly, like that’s even possible for him.

“Yeah, okay,” she mumbles sarcastically. She begins picking up what he’s doing on the map, entering coordinates in her computer as he works.

“She just-” his pen clatters to her desk, a knowing smile growing on Penelope’s face as she types. He ignores it. “She has to question everything I do! If she doesn’t trust me, why are we on the same team together. You know?” He huffs a heavy breath.

Penelope turns to him, “Spencer, she trusts you. Hotch wouldn’t have either of you on the team if she didn’t. Just because she has a different approach doesn’t mean she’s undermining you.”

He rolls his eyes, he knows she’s just trying to help. The irritation crawling under his sweater, seeping into his skin, is suffocating. He tugs on his collar so he can breathe.

“Then why does everything she say feel like an attack?” He asks, scratching the back of his head.

“Have you ever thought that maybe you want to impress her?” Penelope asks, and it knocks the wind out of him. “I mean, she’s like, the only person in the world who isn’t totally blown away by your incredible mind. Probably because she’s so smart herself,” she remarks under her breath. He rolls his eyes at that. “Regardless, you want her to agree with you, right? You might just want to impress her.”

Spencer’s face heats up as she raises her brow at him. His gaze immediately drops to his shoes, fidgeting awkwardly before turning back to his map.

“We need to get back to work,” he mutters.

To Spencer’s dismay, she stands in his exact line of sight as he’s with Emily, working on victimology. He stands at her desk, and he really should be listening to what Emily is saying. Instead, he has a laser focus on her.

She’s leaning over the conference room table, her back to the window. There’s a slight arch in her back as she pops her hip out. The silky fabric of her black pencil skirt clings to her and Spencer almost forgets why he’s so mad at her all the time.

Emily follows his line of sight and he rolls his eyes, as if she’s the one being ridiculous. The deepest parts of him know it’s not fair, but he’s never done well with his feelings on display. He feels vulnerable, like a raw nerve.

He feels exposed at the low chuckle escaping Emily’s lips. His gaze shoots towards the case file, now in an iron grip in his hands, clearing the awkwardness that has crept up his throat.

“I’m not sure who either of you think you’re fooling,” she nonchalantly mumbles under her breath, viewing her own copy of the case file.

“I’m sorry?” He snaps, his eyes squeezing shut in a long blink, as if he’s trying to unsee her.

“Y’know, if you just talked to her, really got to the bottom of your disagreements, maybe you’d see that you two are a lot more alike than you think,” she raises her brow at him, and it feels as if his heart’s been slashed open, bleeding on display for everyone to see. He always feels this way when someone shines a light on his vulnerability, his natural instinct to run from it. If it’s not there, then he can’t get hurt.

“I’m just trying to catch a killer,” he squeaks, his high pitched voice giving him away almost immediately. Emily playfully rolls her eyes and chuckles once more. His heart rate picks up, cheeks heating to an alarming degree.

The door of the conference opens, then. As if the universe is playing a cruel, practical joke on him, the click of her heels get closer and closer, until her perfume has invaded his senses.

“So, we figured out that our unsub was recently released from a mental institution in the greater D.C. area. Garcia is working on which one, but is there anything in the victimology that points toward abandonment issues? Particularly from a motherly figure?” She rattles off, the sound of her voice like a knife to the chest. It’s sharp, infiltrating every piece of him, stripping him of his defenses even further.

He stares at her, unabashedly. His eyes trail from her pink button up, sleekly tucked into that godforsaken skirt. He studies her as if it’s the first time he’s seen her, memorizing the ways her curves ebb and flow around the fabric.

His heart picks up when she looks back, but he doesn’t look away. Their eye contact is tense, as always. There’s a fire in her eyes that’s always there when they’re in the middle of a case. Her passion burns through, heating him all over.

“I think our unsub is too organized for him to be abandoned,” he replies, “typically when we see people traumatized by abandonment are reckless, but he’s taken the time to clean up after himself, even starting the dishwasher and laundry machine in his victims’ homes.”

“You still think he’s organized?” she asks right back, not missing a beat.

“He loaded the dishwasher and the laundry machine, that’s not organized to you?” His skin crawls as he answers, the usual thrill of her challenge thrumming through him.

“But if you look at these pictures…” she trails, grabbing crime scene photos of the laundry and open dishwasher from her file, “this is not the doing of an organized person. The plates are mixed with cups, there’s bowls where the silverware would be. It’s very evident he just shoved everything in there. Same thing with the laundry, we have socks with jeans. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe it’s a mix of both,” Emily suggests, “a sort of compensating? He was abandoned by his mother so now he’s completing what could be seen as motherly duties.”

“I could definitely see that,” the voice to his right mutters, and he watches as she chews the tip of her pen in concentration.

“We don’t normally see that in male serial killers…” he trails off, trying his best to appear nonchalant as he flips through the case file. The one he’s already memorized front to back.

“There’s a first time for everything,” she says, the slight uptick in her tone barely there, but he catches it. He always does, a telltale sign that he’s gotten under her skin. He seems to live there these days.

He takes her in again, the glint of irritation in her eyes. A hand on her hip, the other resting on a chair near Emily’s desk. Her stance is closed off, shutting him out. Even still, he sees the way her eyes drift toward his direction. Her gaze is facing the floor, but he can tell his shoes are in her line of sight, and a strange surge of pride rushes through his chest. He can’t repress the need for her to notice him, in any capacity.

You feel his eyes the second they hit you. It’s like a sixth sense, knowing exactly when he finds you. It’s become natural, almost instinctual, for his eyes to be on you. You’re no better, though, mirroring him as you watch each other.

He’s thin, sinking into his button up, a pair of slacks hanging low on his hips. You catch the way it pulls taut where it meets his belted waist, the slightest bit of skin peeking through at his hip.

Your heart races at the sight, even more so when your eyes snap back up to his, and you know he caught you. Your body heats all over, every bit of you on fire as his gaze pierces you. The heat spreads internally, acid bubbling in your stomach. It feels as if he sees right through you, looking into the deepest parts.

You shake your head, shedding the feeling of him like a snake. “What have you guys found?” You ask, doing your best to focus on the victimology.

“We think he’s finding these women from their social media accounts. He’s targeting women who post emotionally. The last few posts from each victim were about some hardship or another. Maybe there was a woman in his life who made her emotions his burden,” Emily suggests, and you cut your gaze to her, shaking Spencer out of your system.

Then, you hear it. It’s small. Under his breath. It infuriates you.

“Wonder what that’s like.”

Something inside you snaps, like a rubber band that’s been pulled too tight. It ricochets off your heart, piercing your stomach until you lose control over your response.

“I’m sorry, what is your problem?” It takes all the energy you have left to not absolutely screech. Your snappy tone still calls the attention of the people around you. You feel eyes on the two of you as you pierce him with a cruel gaze. You no longer have the capacity to care.

“My problem?” He retorts, knowing full well what she is talking about.

“You have been at odds with me this entire case. Actually, since I joined the bureau,” You scoff, your insides boiling over. All the frustration of bickering with Spencer for the past three years has finally come to a head. “If you don’t trust me if you don’t like what I have to say, then you need to be a man and do something about it,” the words drip off your tongue like acid.

“Like what?” He bites back, squaring his shoulders toward you, “take it to Hotch? You and I both know where that would get us. Why is it just on me? Because you’re never wrong, right? Our BAU princess is always correct-”

“Enough.”

Hotch’s stern tone cuts through the sarcasm falling from Spencer, and the two of you straighten up in record time.

“The rest of the team is going into the field to finish this case. You two are on paperwork duty until we get back. That’s an order,” he turns to collect the rest of the team, you and Spencer mirroring each other’s shock as you watch them go.

You deflate. The smack of your file hitting Emily’s desk is the only audible sound as you grab a box, hauling it to the conference room. Spencer follows suit, and the two of you begin to work in tense, angry silence.

You study him as he works, long, deft fingers moving in a rapid speed that nearly hypnotizes you. You catch his brown eyes, softer now, still focused as they flit through the endless pile of papers. You massage your heart, as if it’d ease the ever growing ache there.

“Do you remember this case?” Spencer asks softly, and you can’t recall a time he’s spoken to you in such a tone. It makes your heart flutter in a way that scares you, the giddiness warming your skin. You roll your shoulders, hoping it’d release the tension built up in your neck.

You lean a bit towards Spencer, glancing at the file that reads, ‘Plymouth Family.’ You can’t help the smile that spreads your lips, your cheeks bunching up around your eyes.

“Family of four, two girls, all kidnapped, all recovered safely,” you recite softly. You touch the pictures of the young girls, your eyes glassing over. “Four and six…” you whisper shakily, “they were just babies.”

You remember the way they clung to you when you found them in the shed they were kept in. They were dirty, smelly, and shaking. Their arms and legs were wrapped tight around you as you carried them to the medic. You sat with them the whole time the team looked for their parents. You were there when they woke up in the hospital.

“You were amazing on this case,” Spencer says. You feel the warm skin of his arm against yours, and you realize how close you’ve gotten. “You were empathetic, smart…” he trails off, eyes lifting to your face.

Your eyes dart up to meet his. “Thank you,” you mutter softly, your eyes scanning the length of his face.

“You’re welcome,” he replies in the same tone.

“Spencer,” you start, and he knows what you’re going to say before you go any further. His breath hitches, and you continue anyway.

“How did we get here?” You ask, shaking your head incredulously, “We’re two of the smartest minds on the team and we’re stuck here on paperwork duty.”

“I would argue it’s our inability to work together without high levels of conflict,” he responds, sarcasm lacing his tone.

“Yeah, well, you made that bed, now we both have to lie in it, I guess,” you mutter under your breath.

“I’m sorry, how is that so?” He asks.

“Are you serious?” You respond, your blood starting to race through your veins. His brows raise, prompting you to continue. “Do you not remember one of our first conversations after I joined the bureau?”

His brows furrow in confusion. You keep going.

“We were in St. Louis. We were working on the case with that Jack the Ripper copycat. I was so focused on analyzing the unsub’s background, digging into everything I could. You told me that if I value emotion over logic I’m going to get tunnel vision. That I wouldn’t last long if I let myself stray from the facts.” The words still sting, all these years later. You avoid looking at him, turning your back to him so he can’t look at you either.

“We’ve been like this for three years because I told you that you value emotion over logic? I thought that was a known fact,” he states plainly, as he always does when he thinks something is obvious.

“We’ve been like this for three years because you were someone I looked up to. When I was scouted for the unit by Gideon, a big reason why I agreed to join was because I’d get to work with you. The great Dr. Spencer Reid. I read about you, when I was at Harvard. I was amazed. A little jealous, too, but amazed all the same. When you said that, it-it was belittling. Like you didn’t believe in my ability to do the job. I spent everyday since trying to prove you wrong,” you rattle off in one long breath.

Spencer is still as a statue, watching you intently. His eyes are blown wide, his mouth slightly parted.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters lowly. “I’ve always used logic. It’s gotten me where I am. You came in here with a completely different approach, and it worked. Really well. It threw me off, it intimidated me…” he trails off, his cheeks tinting red as his chin drops to his chest.

“Intimidated? By me?” You saunter closer to him, a wicked grin on your face. You plop down on the chair across from him, knees barely knocking.

Spencer’s heart beats faster as she leans closer to him, her knees now slotted between his. The contact makes him dizzy.

The beep of his cell phone jolts him away from her. Spencer fumbles with his phone for a minute, before opening it with a shaky, “Yes, Penelope?”

You can hear her screech over the phone. “You and Miss BAU Princess need to turn on the news. Now.”

His cheeks heat at the nickname. He chokes on his own breath, exhaling sharply before grabbing the remote to the big screen in the conference room.

What he sees makes his stomach drop.

Multiple black SUVs, driving at top speed on the tail of a dirty, beat up grey sedan.

At first, in the pent up anticipation of the moment, he hardly registered her grabbing his hand. Once he did, the feeling of her branded his skin. A white hot sensation that spreads to the tips of his toes all the way to the top of his head. He wraps his fingers around hers and squeezes.

He takes a glance at her, and he wishes he hadn’t. His heart aches at the look of sheer panic on her face. Her furrowed brows, glassy eyes, and parted lips squeeze at his heart from all sides. He pulls her into him, allowing her to take refuge in his chest.

It’s not long after that he hears it, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. It’s the creak of the door. The click of a loaded gun. She must feel his rigidity, because she lifts her head up to look him in the eye.

“What?” She questions, lifting her head from his chest. She feels it too, he can tell. The lingering sense that something’s not right.

“Someone’s here,” he mutters, “stay here,” he moves to arm himself. It’s muscle memory at this point, his body moving of his own accord.

He feels the scoff she emanates deep within him. A small smile forces its way on his lips at the sound.

“Yeah right,” she replies. He feels her behind him, her own gun peeking through his peripheral.

He’s flooded with adrenaline, his blood thrumming in his veins. He moves slowly, tactical steps as he opens the conference room door. He’s met with a sharp pain cracking down on his head, rendering him unconscious.

Your hands are bound behind your back, legs tied together. Your wrists and ankles chafe raw at your resistance. You bite down on the tape plastered over your mouth, desperate to claw your way out. Your heart races, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you try and maneuver through the conference room without being seen.

After Spencer was knocked unconscious, he was dragged out of the conference room. You’re not sure where he is, and the thought renders you dizzy. You attempt to peek out of the window, the bullpen now completely cleared, save for the agents that were caught in the crossfire.

You flinch at the sound of loud, hard footsteps nearing the door. Scrambling back into place, you avoid eye contact as the strange man drags an unconscious Spencer toward you. He props him up next to you, his chin hitting his chest.

Your eyes glass over as you take in the bruise coloring his right eye a deep blue. The split on his pouting, bloody lip is crusting over.

A pair of cold fingers dip under your chin, forcing your head up to look this man in the eye. His hard stare burns into you, but before he can do anything, his phone begins ringing.

“Saved by the bell…” a gruff voice spits out, letting go of your face with a shove.

Your eyes squeeze shut, bracing for contact on the wall behind you. The blow stings for a moment, but you’re able to shake it off when Spencer starts to stir next to you. Your breath hitches as he grumbles, his eyes barely opening.

“Spencer,” you whisper, “what is going on?”

“It looks like a team,” he considers, maneuvering his body to sit up further.

"Where were you?" you hissed back, worry lacing every feature of your face.

"Hotch's office," he grumbles, "I kept...I kept drifting in and out of consciousness. But I spoke to him. He's fixated on the two of us, but he wanted a lot of information about you."

He adjusts, cracking his neck from where it rests against the wall. "Hotch is going to have to hire carpet cleaners when they get back," sarcasm laces his tone, and you can't help but roll your eyes.

"You just got beat within an inch of your life, and you're making jokes?" you scoff affectionately.

"How could you tell?" his voice shifts then, seriousness lacing his tone suddenly.

"How could I tell that you got hit?" you repeat, eyes scanning over his face and body. "You're bruised in multiple spots, a bloody lip, a black eye forming..."

"You're always looking at me. You think I've never noticed?" he mutters, and it steals the breath from your lungs.

"You're always looking at me!" you hiss, no choice but to deflect.

"I know."

It's the last thing that's said before the door opens again. You sit straight up, your back pressed against the wall as the man shuffles in. You immediately clock the gun in his hand, pointed directly at Spencer.

He stalks over to you, gun still pointed in Spencer's direction. His dry, cracked finger hooks under your chin, pulling your head up to face his.

"Do you want to know what he told me in there?" his head jerks back, gesturing towards Hotch's office. He stands up, moving towards Spencer again. "Wanna know what your pathetic, disgusting, deplorable coworker told me when you weren't here?" Each insult is matched with swift kicks to Spencer's stomach and chest. He groans, rolling on his back now as he tries not to succumb to the pain.

Your eyes don't leave him. You're not sure you could pull your gaze away if you tried. You don't have much of a choice, though, as the man yanks your head back to look at him.

"He told me..." the gun comes up under your chin now, holding your head in place once again, "that he has a little crush on you. Isn't that just pitiful?" he laughs sarcastically, shaking his head.

You study the man, recalling all the knowledge you gained about him over the course of this case. He's insecure, probably impotent. He hunts women because he could never get them any other way.

"Guys like us..." he yanks Spencer to sit up by his collar, "we don't get girls like that." He's nearly spitting in Spencer's face, and you know he's slowly dying inside.

"Spencer..." you breathe out, "is it true?" You do your best to appear completely turned off, though you know you never could be. Your brows furrow in disgust as your lips curl downward.

"See, look at her," he's got Spencer's hair in an iron grip, forcing you two to look at each other. "She's disgusted, she doesn't want you. How could you be so stupid?"

"I just got caught up in it," the words spill out of Spencer's mouth, "we spend so much time together, and you're so pretty, so witty, so smart. I just couldn't help but fall in love with you."

Those words knock the air right out of your chest. A crush is one thing, but in love? You shiver, his words unzipping down your spine.

"You see that?" he growls, yanking Spencer's hair even harder, "she doesn't want you."

"He's right," Spencer flinches at your words, and you continue despite the hurt in your heart, "I don't want you, Spencer. Because I want you."

You turn your gaze to the unsub, staring him straight in the eye.

"I just can't resist you. The way you've dominated us..." you breathe out a huffy laugh, "it's undoubtedly one of the most attractive things I have ever seen. Way more attractive than anything he has ever done," you nod towards Spencer as seduction laces each word, though it tastes like poison on your tongue.

You see Spencer in your peripheral. You can barely make out the look in his eye, but you swear you see the faintest tint of insecurity lacing his gaze. The fear that maybe you mean it. Your heart clutches at the thought, and you note to do something about that later.

He lets Spencer go, his attention is now fully on you. He saunters closer, a hand reaching for your tied up ankle. His hands feel like sandpaper on your skin, gritty and unwanted.

"You really think so?" he whispers, his grip now shifting to your bicep. "Then prove it. Come with me."

He yanks you up, helping you move with your tied up limbs. You glance at Spencer briefly before you're led out of the conference room into the bullpen.

It's not long before a gunshot rings out, and you prepare for the blow. You fall to the floor, though, suddenly unsupported by the man propping you up. You turn from your spot on the ground to find Spencer wielding his gun from the conference room, miraculously unbound.

"I had him!" you scoff, rolling your eyes as Spencer undoes your hands and ankles.

"He told me what he wanted you for when he had me in Hotch's office. Believe me, I did you a favor," his brows furrow in what looks like frustration, possessiveness, as he continues to free you from your bounds.

A shiver runs through you again, shaking the disgust at the thought. You let it pass, though, he's dead. He can't hurt you anymore. Once you're free, you fall back into his chest, letting him hold you from behind. Tears slip through your closed eyes as all of the emotions of the past two hours course through every part of your body.

Spencer tightens his hold around you, soothingly rubbing his large palms up and down. Your hand reaches up to the back of his scalp, gently massaging the spot where the man had pulled.

"Are you okay?" you whisper, your faces inches from each other.

"Better now," he replies.

"Me too," you smile.

Before you can manage anything else, Spencer's mouth is on yours. It's a small kiss at first, tentative, unsure. It deepens when you turn to face him, Spencer now resting on his knees. He opens his mouth further as the kiss envelops you both. He's desperate, as if he's trying to swallow you whole. The kiss is all consuming, the corners of your brain turning fuzzy as you let yourself fall further into his arms.

"Anyone wanna tell me why you two are making out next to our dead unsub?" you and Spencer break apart at the intruding voice, like two teenagers caught in bed.

It's just Derek, thankfully. A playful, supportive brow is cocked in Spencer's direction as the poor guy next to you flushes a shade of red you didn't think existed.

"I'm not against it," he says, moving to help you off the floor, "just maybe find a better setting next time."

Your face is on fire, probably just as bad as Spencer's. You see him move out of the corner of your eye, and you grab his hand. You run your thumb over the chafing on his wrist, your heart clutching when he hisses at the sensation.

"Hey, Spence?" you mumble, exhaling a shaky breath as your eyes lock on his red wrist.

"Yeah?" he mutters back, matching your intensity.

"How did you get out of those knots? I tried the whole time he had you, they wouldn't budge." You look up at him now, his big eyes tightening at the edges as a small smile spreads across his lips.

"It was a classic prusik knot. I just had to reverse it and I was out," he states like it's the simplest thing in the world.

"Right. Of course you did," you smile, no teasing in your words, just true affection. Maybe a little bit of shock as well. His mind always has amazed you, even when you were too proud to say it.

You give his hand a squeeze before separating to be checked out by the medics. The rest of your team engulfs the two of you with worried looks and comforting words. As always, you find Spencer in the chaos. As always, he's already looking at you by the time your eyes find him.

Spencer sits on the edge of his couch, a bag of frozen peas resting on his black eye. It never gets easier, the fear and adrenaline of being taken by a psychopath. No matter how hard he tries, he still has to fight that feeling at the end of each day. The feeling that, no matter how hard he tries, how good of a profiler he is, it'll never take away the visceral fear of having your life in someone else's hands.

A knock on his door snaps him out of his spiral, and he silently thanks whoever is here at 8:47 p.m. on a Tuesday. He swings open the door to find the last person he expected to see. Her. She's here, to see him, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. Her hair is up, not an ounce of makeup on her face. She's perfect.

"I couldn't sleep," she whispers, and he's now registering the sleep mask that must've never left her forehead the whole way here. As his eyes trail down the rest of her frame, he takes into account the stuffed animal nestled in her right elbow, the fuzzy slippers on her feet.

"Me either," he responds, unable to help the smallest uptick of his lips at the sight of her. She looks so soft, and he has to fight the urge to reach out and grab her. He would never let go.

"Can I come in?" she asks, her eyes wide, and he's not religious, but God. How is he supposed to say no?

He nods simply, moving his body out of the way so she can enter his apartment. She looks around, taking in the intricate rug, the bookshelves lined from floor to ceiling. A bolt of self consciousness strikes him. The fear of her not liking what she sees runs through him for the briefest moment. The fear is gone, though, when she turns to him with a huge smile on her face.

"It's just as I assumed it would be."

He smiles at that, his tummy turning over her imagining what his apartment looks like, over her thinking about him that much in general.

"Are you oka-" He begins his question, but she barrels right through him.

"Did you mean what you said earlier?" It bursts out of her, as though she couldn't control it. He knows exactly what she means, and she knows he knows. He plays dumb anyway.

"Which part?" he croaks. She rolls her eyes, though there's no malice in it.

"When you said you were in love with me. Did you mean it?" Her honesty burns right through him, exposing all of him to her without even trying.

"Yes," he whispers, "I just thought you never liked me. I thought it'd be easier to pretend I didn't like you too."

She smiles, a bit self-deprecating, a lot of adoration. "We need to get better at talking to each other," she remarks. She saunters closer to him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

Her touch makes him feel like he's on fire, his blood thrumming through his veins right to his heart. It feels like it's burning to a crisp, yet he never wants her to let go.

"I love you, too, Spencer. I think I have since before I even knew you. I was so hurt when you made that comment all those months ago. I was more naive then, took things too personally. I thought that maybe if I just repressed the feelings, they would go away," she says, and his heart grows three sizes at the confession. "Of course I didn't mean what I said, either, I hope you know that."

He nods, feeling even more on display. How could she tell he took that to heart?

"Why do you think I always look at you?" she continues, "I couldn't ever take my eyes off you, even if I was paid to. You're too beautiful."

He blushes something fierce at that. Beautiful is a new one. He's been called a lot of things, nerdy, annoying, genius. But never beautiful. It burns him hotter, a white flash of light spreading through his entire body.

"You're beautiful," he replies, his arms finally coming up to pull her closer, his forehead resting against hers.

"You really think so?" she teases, a cheeky smile spreading her lips.

He nods, "Prettiest woman I've ever seen," it's a whisper, and it's true. No one has ever taken the wind from his sails the way she does.

"Can you kiss me again?" she breathes against his lips, desperation punching through each word.

He grabs her then, his hands coming up to cradle the back of her head as they desperately chase each other's lips. She plants short, staccato kisses all over him. She starts with his lips, kissing him once, twice, three times. She moves to his face, then, trailing her lips and tongue along his jaw, biting lightly behind his ear.

He feels her smile at the noise he emits, a whiny breath of air that would leave him embarrassed with anyone else. With her, though, with the way she's worshiping him, it doesn't even cross his mind.

He pulls her head back as she reaches his cheeks, feeling sorry for making her do all the work. He smashes his lips back into hers, lifting her legs so he can move her to his bed.

She cuddles into the soft mattress the second she's there, her eyes piercing his. He watches the way her gaze rakes down his body, a boost of confidence pumping him up. He takes his shirt off, a swift movement that surprises the both of you.

"Is this okay?" he whispers as he crawls on top of her, settling his long legs between her spread ones.

She nods sweetly, "Of course."

His heart stutters at that. Of course. Those words have the power to knock him off his feet. Her hands drift up to his hips, lightly squeezing the tiny bit of excess body fat there. He kisses her cheek. She rakes her hands up and down his back, nails scratching ever so slightly. He shivers.

It's not long until they're completely tangled in each other, breathy moans escaping her lips as he moves in and out of her. He wants to drink up every noise she makes, every low groan and high pitched whine that escapes her the most enticing elixir.

When they're finished, he's in a state of content and peace that he had never previously imagined possible. Peace and tranquility floats through the room as they take turns glancing at each other. Every time their eyes lock, they burst out giggling like children.

She's glued to him, whining high and long whenever he tries to move. She'd nearly strangled him with her grip when he went to get her a towel. She only relented when he- very thoughtfully, he might add- educated her on the risks of UTIs after sex.

They're laying in a light, airy silence now. One that drowns out the horrors of the day. He recounts the events of the past year, everything from meeting her to where they are now. His mind plays it over like a VCR tape stuck on rewind. He's desperate to find any evidence of her feelings before today, his mind whirring nonstop.

When she shifts in his arms, though, her heavy breathing indicating a deep sleep, it suddenly doesn't matter. He's here now, with the prettiest woman he's ever seen. He's so grateful he never took his eyes off of her.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid criminal minds #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid blurbs #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one shot

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moonlight-prose · 9 months ago

Note

this one from the touch-starved prompt list w logan 😩🫶:

when the other holds onto their waist briefly as they're passing by and it just send chills down their spine

don't mind me

a/n: i need you to know this is pure softness and i am swooning at the thought of how sweet it is. logan is such a gentlemen (cue his words in the wolverine about being old fashioned) and just this thought of him being gentle with the reader, but also respectful. i'm dead. i'm also attached af to this dynamic and would be so open to exploring more with these two. i see the logan here as dofp!logan (especially at the end with that shirt).

summary: you refused to admit that you were smitten with the man who melted your otherwise intelligent mind. you were however...horrible with subtlety. luckily the same could be said for him.

pairing: logan howlett x reader

word count: 1k

warnings: none, fluff, logan howlett is a tease, blossoming of a relationship.

Chaos remained the baseline state when it came to life at the mansion. You couldn't find a way to escape something so natural—a piece of your existence that settled in close to your heart. You liked hearing the children's voices raise in pitch the more excited they got. You liked being showered in hellos as you passed through the halls.

You'd even grown fond of the way you always somehow found yourself stuck in this particular situation. Standing in the kitchen, searching for food, as Logan attempted to make his way through the busy environment.

Few things made you smile the way seeing him in the mornings did. Mussed hair, eyes glazed in partial drowsiness, as he sought for the largest mug tucked in the back of the cabinets. A gag gift from Scott with the claim that the Wolverine needed a cup that could handle him.

(Neither of them would admit it, but the gift remained Logan's favorite piece in the house. A staple in his usual rushed breakfast.)

"Have a nice night?" you asked, attempting to keep your gaze from dropping to his chest.

The white beater he wore never seemed to get old; you absolutely didn't mind seeing him in it at the start of your days.

He grinned, polite and gentlemanly and never anything more. There came days where you wondered if the tension you felt hanging in the air was merely a figment of your imagination. Possibly a delusion to help you cope with such early time slots and late night papers to grade.

"I heard you down here last night."

A grunt rumbled from deep in his chest as he took a sip of coffee large enough to scald his mouth. Screams filtered in through the open doors, quickly followed by a group of kids ready to rummage in the cabinets you both occupied. Which meant your short allotted time with him would soon come to an end, forcing you to pick it up tomorrow morning.

"You want something to eat?" Nodding to the stove with a pan coated in leftover burnt bacon (Scott's attempt at cooking for the kids), you watched Logan's face screw up slightly.

Who could blame him. You wouldn't eat it either.

"Coffee's fine," he mumbled, pouring another helping before small hands were shoving open the door to a variety of cereal. "Gotta get to my class."

You nodded. "History. Right."

He hummed, entirely aware of what occurred inside your chest. How you fidgeted slightly with the watch on your wrist, your eyes unable to remain stuck on his for longer than a few seconds at a time. Logan wasn't an idiot. He understood the tells long before you would dare to admit them out loud.

Clearing your throat, you set your now empty mug in the sink—shifting out of the way to give the students more room. Though the mornings began with enough chaos to keep you on your toes, it was seeing Logan that put you on edge.

The emotions that rifled through your mind mere moments after stepping into his proximity. You began to wonder if there was a way to fix this. Put a stop to how you pined (rather pathetically) over a man who clearly held no interest. You had half a mind to ask Charles for assistance—knowing full well you'd never get over the sheer mortification.

He might laugh—ask if you were in your right mind—but he'd never hold it over you like the others.

But that predicament would have to be settled at a later time. As of two minutes ago...you were late for your first class. The lecture notes were still buried in a stack on your desk; you made a mental note to pick them up on the way.

"Have a good class." Offering a smile, you moved to step out of his way.

Only for the timing (and quite possibly the universe itself) to lead towards you stumbling back from three students barreling towards the kitchen.

His hands latched onto your waist, steadying your movements with a soft grunt, and you tried your best not to choke on your spit. That sound. His touch. You wouldn't make it through the day without those small aspects of him entering your mind—distracting any viable insights you might have had on astronomy as a whole.

Did he have any clue what he did to you?

Or was he merely toying with you on purpose?

Glancing over your shoulder, you caught the small grin that appeared on his face. Barely there yet bright enough to punch a hole right through your chest. He stood tall behind you. A wall you could very well fall into without any worries. That alone left you clutching for some bits of your sanity—whatever remained now sparse enough to be considered laughable.

You tried not to think about the skin you caught small glimpses of in training last week. The sight haunted you for a week—fraying the edges of your mind and turning you to mush. For fucks sake you were a professor. You held enough intelligence to keep Charles Xavier on his toes when wrapped in conversation.

Yet Logan fucking Howlett managed to undo everything that made you the person you were before him now. He muddled what aptitude you had and rendered you entirely dumb.

Some days it left you seething—desperate for a chance to get back at him.

Other days you longed for its familiar warmth.

"You alright there bub?" he rasped, hands still pressed to your hips.

Fighting against your own mind, you plastered a smile on your lips—hoping he might ignore the flutter of your heart. "I'm fine! Thanks for that."

"Have a good day," he replied, his palm brushing the base of your spine as he stepped around you.

Chills clashed with a bewildering heat and curled around your stomach, teasing you with the prospect of his touch somewhere else. You watched his grin deepen, eyes dark with something you'd never before witness from the Wolverine. Want.

"Yeah..." You sucked in a breath, flustered beyond what you could contain in your own body. "You too."

He ducked out towards the hallway long before you had a chance to melt into the floor. A small chuckle resounding in the small confines of the kitchen. Slamming into your chest with enough power to leave you winded.

On your rush to the classroom you finalized your decision.

You'd make that meeting with Charles after all.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x y/n #logan howlett #my writing

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hiveswap · 11 months ago

Text

The trigun 98 shipping chart is very simple actually. Wolfwood is clearly in love with Vash but accepted it's not gonna happen. He sees him in Milly all the time, though. Vash has yet to realise how badly Meryl wants him and how mad she is about it because she's trying to repress that shit asap. Vash also hates himself too much to get with either of them anyway. Meryl doesn't realise Milly would bring the stars down from the sky for her and would stick with her through anything and everything. Milly, in possession of emotional intelligence, is doing everything she can to guide the four of them into a loving polyamorous relationship but her only successful move towards it was having wolfwood break down on her shoulder about vash being mad at him before sleeping with her and dying the next day

#trigun #polygun

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mya-valentine · 8 months ago

Text

Headcanon: L Lawliet With a Teasing but Intelligent S/O

L is initially intrigued by how someone so playful and flirty can also match him intellectually. He isn't used to people teasing him, and while he might find it strange at first, he becomes more curious about how they think and operate, which only strengthens his attraction.

L rarely reacts outwardly to the teasing, maintaining his usual blank or focused expression. This only encourages his S/O to tease him more, trying to break his cool demeanor. L, of course, knows this, but he lets them try, secretly finding amusement in their attempts.

His S/O is clever enough to know when to dial up the teasing and when to focus on serious discussions. They use their flirty nature to disarm others during investigations, but never let it interfere with the task at hand. L appreciates this balance, even if he doesn’t openly acknowledge it.

L’s S/O loves to engage him in intellectual challenges disguised as flirtation. They’ll leave subtle hints or puzzles for him to solve, often phrased in playful or flirty ways. L always solves them, of course, but he secretly enjoys these little games more than he lets on.

During intense moments or deep in an investigation, his S/O will throw in a teasing comment to try and lighten the mood. L will pause, give them a side glance, and maybe respond with a dry, understated remark, which only encourages them to flirt more.

L’s S/O knows how to use flirtation as either a distraction or motivation depending on the situation. If L’s been working too long without rest, they’ll tease him to pull him away for a break. Conversely, if he’s stuck on something, they’ll flirt in a way that actually sparks his mind to think of a solution.

L isn’t used to romantic affection or flirtation, so when his S/O flirts with him in a playful way, he might tilt his head, processing the intention behind the comment. Over time, though, he starts to respond in his own way—whether it’s through dry, witty comebacks or subtle gestures that show he cares.

L and his S/O likely develop shared habits over time. If L’s S/O is a fan of sweets or has other quirky preferences, L might adopt some of them unconsciously, just as they might start mimicking his unique sitting posture or analytical tendencies.

The two of them have frequent banter, with his S/O using clever wordplay and flirty remarks to challenge L’s mind. L, with his sharp intellect, might throw a teasing retort back, but in a much subtler, deadpan way. Their conversations are a blend of playful teasing and deep intellectual discussion.

L’s S/O knows when and how to use their flirtatious charm to gain the upper hand in conversations or situations. Whether it’s gathering information or distracting someone else, they use their wit and teasing nature strategically, and L is one of the few who can see through their facade, admiring how skilled they are.

Though L rarely shows emotion, there may be rare moments when his S/O’s flirtation catches him off guard. He might not blush visibly, but his awkward pause or sudden shift in posture gives it away. His S/O loves these moments, considering it a victory when they get a reaction out of him.

L deeply respects his S/O’s intellect. Their ability to flirt and tease while still keeping up with him mentally is something he values. Their relationship is built on mutual respect, where they challenge and sharpen each other’s minds, making both of them better.

His S/O loves to playfully tease him about his quirks—like his sweet tooth, odd sitting posture, or how he holds things between his fingers. L will usually respond with a dry comment about how his habits help him think more clearly, but sometimes, he’ll let out a tiny smile, especially when his S/O joins him in these habits.

Though L isn’t openly affectionate, his S/O’s teasing and flirtation break through his stoic exterior at times. Behind closed doors, L might let his guard down, allowing his S/O to see his softer, more human side. They’ll joke about him being a “closet romantic,” which L will never confirm or deny.

Despite their teasing nature, L’s S/O is also incredibly supportive. When L is overworked or stressed, they’ll use their charm and wit to remind him to take care of himself. Their playful remarks often hide genuine concern, and L, being the observant detective he is, always notices this and appreciates it in his own quiet way.

Masterlist

#l lawliet #l x reader #l lawliet x reader #death note #death note x reader

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stellaspectral · 2 months ago

Note

okay i have a request: bayverse!leonardo x fem!reader. the reader has been friends with the turtles for months and during this time she and leonardo have developed a close relationship thanks to their love of reading and the fact that both of them are calm introverts (the reader is much more sweet and in tune with her emotions tough, bay!leo really needs someone like this imo). now leonardo is realizing that what he thought was just friendship is becoming something more, at least on his part, and he doesn't know what to do about it. obviously his brothers notice this change and their way of helping him is to tease him in front of the reader to force either of them to confess (they secretly been shipping them since the beginning and finally their ship is sailing!).

A/N: Hello, anon! I loved writing the dynamic between Leo and the reader, how they’re a lot alike but she has that emotional intelligence that he often lacks. And the brothers’ teasing “encouragement” to get them together was also a fun element to incorporate, even if it’s rough-going at first 🫢

I hope you enjoy! ☺️

Between the Lines (angst/fluff)

💙 Bayverse Leonardo/Female Reader 💙

CWs: Mutual pining, sibling teasing and meddling, brief anger/snapping, emotional vulnerability, confessions, first kiss, happy ending. All characters are aged-up.

The familiar, cool air of the lair wraps around you like a well-loved blanket.

You’re curled up on the worn but comfortable cushions of the couch, a thick hardback open in your lap. Across from you, Leo occupies his usual spot in a patched-up armchair. He’s immersed in an old, slightly battered-looking copy of Miyamoto Musashi’s The Book of Five Rings. He furrows his brow in concentration as he tracks the lines of text.

This is your usual routine, which began not long after you—months ago—literally stumbled into Leo and his brothers’ hidden world. And this comfortable silence you now share has become one of your favorite parts of it. You both found kinship in your introversion. A quiet understanding that doesn’t require constant chatter.

And of course, you’ve bonded over books and love to discuss the stories, the characters, the ideas within them. Sometimes the discussions are deep dives into themes and motivation. Other times they’re just comfortable exchanges about a particularly well-turned phrase or a plot twist neither of you saw coming.

While you’ve grown fond of his brothers’ more eccentric dispositions, Leo’s calm presence is something you enjoy. You appreciate the depth you sense beneath his disciplined exterior, the careful way he observes the world. You, in turn, offer a gentler perspective, a willingness to voice the emotions he usually keeps tightly locked down.

You sometimes catch him watching you when he thinks you’re not looking—like right now. For a moment, his brow smooths out, and there’s a flicker of something unreadable in his blue eyes.

Before his gaze snaps back to his book, brow furrowing once again.

A faint warmth spreads through your chest at the intensity you glimpsed, even if it vanished as quickly as it appeared. You keep your eyes dutifully on your page, though the words blur together. You pretend you didn’t notice, respecting the boundary he clearly erected by whipping his gaze back so sharply. And that’s part of the understanding too: knowing when not to push.

You shift slightly on the cushions, the worn fabric sighing softly beneath you. The sound seems amplified in the quiet. You reread the last paragraph on the page, forcing your focus back to the intricate plot unfolding. And for another minute or two, the silence stretches. You find yourself wanting to bridge it. But again, you relent, convincing yourself not to press.

Your cheeks are warm. This isn’t just the comfortable quiet anymore; your skin tingles, and the air feels like it does before a storm. Again, you attempt to focus on the words in front of you, but you can no longer comprehend them. All you can think about is the definite shift you’ve sensed in Leo—and the precarious question mark hanging in the space between you.

Because lately, the way he looks at you—it feels … different.

The words on the page have become meaningless squiggles, drowned out by the roaring silence and the frantic beat of your own heart against your ribs. Just now, you feel that look again. That focused stare. You try to take a slow, steadying breath, but it hitches halfway. Then you risk another look at Leo—

—and this time, he doesn’t look away immediately.

Instead, his eyes meet yours. And for a beat, you swear you feel the air crackle. There’s a tension in his jaw you’ve learned to recognize as him grappling with something internally. He continues to hold your gaze, not looking away. You swallow, rooted to the spot.

Inevitably, something shatters the moment.

“Ooooh, lookie here! Study buddies getting intense?” Mikey’s voice booms as he skateboards into the main room, executing a wobbly turn.

Leo’s posture goes ramrod straight. Every muscle seems to tense. “It’s called reading, Michelangelo.” He speaks in a clipped, overly formal tone—a sure sign of his discomfort.

Donnie wanders in, tapping away at a tablet. Though his eyes flick between you and Leo with keen interest. “Technically, Mikey’s right. Leo’s bio-feedback readings have shown a slight elevation in heart rate and galvanic skin response when you’re in close proximity.”

You press your lips together, trying not to laugh as you bookmark the page and close your book. Oh boy, you think as Raph enters the room. Here we go. The peace is officially over.

Raph glances from a now distinctly uncomfortable Leo to you, a knowing smirk spreading across his face. “Yeah, ‘reading’. Looks more like our fearless leader is trying to figure out how to use his words for something other than barking orders.” He gives Leo a pointed look.

Leo’s shoulders bunch up even further, and he shoots Raph a glare that could curdle milk. “I was contemplating strategy, Raphael. Something you might benefit from trying occasionally, instead of just charging in.” The deflection is immediate, sharp.

You tuck your feet beneath you on the couch, feeling the tension in the room climbing. “He’s right, guys,” you say softly, trying to inject a note of casualness. “We were just enjoying the quiet.”

“Quiet? Dude, the air was buzzing!” Mikey insists, ditching his board and planting his feet firmly on the floor. “Like, zzzzt! Electric eel quiet!” He makes buzzing noises and wiggles his fingers for emphasis.

“My sensors registered a distinct increase in localized atmospheric ions,” Donnie says, “that are consistent with elevated emotional states. Fascinating, really.” He taps his screen again. “Further analysis pending.”

Leo makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “Donnie,” he grits out.

Raph folds his arms over his plastron, that knowing smirk still firmly in place. “Aw, relax, Leo. Nobody’s judging.” He pauses, letting the implication hang heavy. “Much.” He winks at you, making you blush. “Just sayin’, Leo. Maybe Musashi ain’t the only thing holdin’ your attention these days.”

“Shut up, Raph,” Leo snaps, his gaze darting towards you, checking your reaction.

“Aw, is Leo getting flustered?” Mikey teases, grinning as he looks at you. “You finally break through that super-serious shell of his?”

Heat floods your face, matching the flush you see creeping up Leo’s neck.

You manage a small, slightly shaky laugh. “You guys are relentless,” you say, aiming for amused rather than mortified. You gesture vaguely towards the books resting nearby. “There’s no ‘shell breaking’ going on. We were just reading.”

Leo pushes himself abruptly out of the chair, his movements stiff and jerky. He places The Book of Five Rings down on the armrest with more force than necessary. “Enough, Mikey,” he bites out, his voice low and tight with warning. He refuses to look directly at you, his gaze fixed somewhere over Mikey’s shoulder, his jaw clenched tight.

“Actually,” Donnie begins, adjusting his glasses, “the ‘shell’ metaphor is interesting. Because psychologically, prolonged exposure to a non-threatening, emotionally open individual can foster increased vulnerability and trust in subjects typically exhibiting guarded behavior. My preliminary data correlates with a significant decrease in Leo’s baseline stress markers when in your presence, contrasted with—”

Raph snorts, cutting Donnie off. “See? Even Donnie agrees you’re gettin’ soft, Leo.” He grins wider, thoroughly enjoying the leader’s discomfort. “Must be all that … quiet reading.”

“Is Leo gonna start writing poetry now?” Mikey says, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, completely oblivious to Leo’s darkening expression—or perhaps relishing it far too much. “Ooh! Or maybe singing love songs?” He strikes a dramatic pose, hand over his heart.

“That’s enough!” Leo finally snaps. His voice cracks through the room like a whip, sharp enough to make even Mikey flinch back a step.

The playful teasing evaporates instantly. For a fraction of a second, Leo’s furious gaze lands on you. You see a flash of something raw and conflicted—Panic? Frustration? Regret?—before he wrenches his eyes away and pivots on his heel. “I’m going to train.”

Before he can go far, Raph grabs his arm. “Leo, wait. We didn’t mean—”

“Let me go.” Leo shakes off Raph’s hand, his voice low, strained. His gaze flits momentarily back to you, and the raw emotion you glimpsed earlier—that maelstrom of panic and frustration—is starkly visible before he clamps down on it again, hardening his expression.

Raph lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. The smirk is long gone, replaced by a frown of genuine concern mixed with self-reproach. “Leo, we’re sorry. Didn’t mean to push ya like that. We got kinda … carried away.” He casts an apologetic glance at you as well.

Mikey looks up, nodding quickly. “Yeah, dude. Sorry. We were just messing around. Because you know, the two of you …” He gestures vaguely between Leo and you, opens his mouth to say something—before wincing slightly, thinking better of finishing that train of thought.

Leo’s about to throw some barbs at his youngest brother when you stand abruptly and go over to him. “It’s okay,” you say, trying to calm him. “They’re just being—”

“Annoying?” Leo bites out. “Intrusive?”

“Accurate,” Donnie supplies, leveling a look directly at Leo.

“Seriously,” Raph says. “We see how you get all quiet and weird—well, quieter and weirder—when she’s around. So just spit it out already.”

He glares at Raph. “There’s nothing to ‘spit out.’ Unlike some people, I don’t feel the need to broadcast every fleeting thought or impulse that crashes through my head.” The insult is sharp, aimed squarely at his hot-headed brother.

Mikey winces again, glancing between his two oldest brothers nervously.

Raph raises his hands in a placating gesture. “Whoa, easy, Leo. Just sayin’—”

“Saying what, exactly?” Leo cuts him off, his control fraying. “That I enjoy quiet companionship? That I value having someone around who … who understands me?” His eyes flicker briefly, almost involuntarily, towards you again.

Your cheeks grow warm once more. But before Leo can say anything else, you quickly move forward, laying a hand gently on his arm. “Please, Leo,” you murmur, your voice soft but clear. “It’s okay. Really.”

He freezes at your touch. His muscles remain rigid beneath your hand, taut as bowstrings. But the furious energy seems to stall, caught short by your intervention. He looks down at your hand resting on his arm, his plastron rising and falling with agitated breaths. Then, slowly, he lifts his gaze to your face.

The anger in his eyes vanishes, momentarily overwhelmed by that conflicted look again. His vulnerability warring fiercely with his ingrained need for composure. And for a fleeting second, he looks utterly lost.

Exposed.

Raph watches the silent exchange between you and Leo, his own expression softening considerably. He nudges Mikey. “C’mon, guys,” Raph says quietly. “Let’s, uh … Let’s give ‘em some space.”

Mikey nods, looking immensely relieved to escape the line of fire. “Yeah! Space! Totally! Good idea, Raph!” He backs away towards the tunnels.

Donnie again looks between the two of you, before following Mikey out of the lair. Raph joins them soon after, leaving the room to fall quiet again.

It’s heavy, thick with everything that was just said.

And everything that wasn’t.

Leo hasn’t moved. He’s still looking at you, your hand still resting on his arm. The tension hasn’t fully left him, but the volatile anger has receded. Slowly, deliberately, he covers your hand with his own for a second—before pulling away. It’s not a rejection so much as a gathering of courage.

He turns away slightly, running a hand over his face, his gaze fixed on the floor. “I … apologize,” he says, the word strained. “For their behavior. And … for my reaction. It was inappropriate.”

“It’s okay,” you say softly. “Brothers tease. It happens.”

He shakes his head. He still won’t look directly at you, focusing instead on the worn pattern of the rug. “No. It’s not just teasing.” He pauses, his shoulders tensing as if bracing for impact. “They weren’t entirely … wrong.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You wait, hardly daring to breathe, as he visibly struggles with himself. His fists clench and unclench at his sides. He takes a deep, unsteady breath, the kind you’ve seen him take before facing a daunting opponent.

Finally, he turns back to face you. His eyes meet yours, and the turbulent emotions beneath shatter his usual discipline. The raw vulnerability you glimpsed earlier is fully present now, unguarded and intense.

“Donnie’s observations,” he begins, his voice rough, stumbling slightly over the words. “And Raph’s … accusations.” He swallows hard, his gaze unwavering now, locked onto yours. “While crudely delivered, they hold a measure of truth.”

He takes another breath, forcing the next words out. “My focus—it has been compromised lately. When you are here.” He gestures vaguely towards the couch, towards the shared space, towards you. “This quiet companionship, as I called it. It’s become … significant. To me.”

He pauses again, the silence stretching, amplifying the frantic beat of your own heart. You can see the effort it’s costing him, the sheer force of will required to push past years of ingrained stoicism and emotional suppression.

“I find your presence centering,” he continues, the formality of his words contrasting with the emotion in his eyes. “And distracting. Simultaneously.” A faint, self-deprecating grimace touches his lips before vanishing. “My thoughts deviate from strategy. My focus … shifts.”

He looks down briefly, then meets your gaze again, his own filled with a hesitant, almost uncertain intensity. “What I mean to say,” he finally manages, the words quiet but clear in the heavy silence, “is that my feelings for you extend beyond friendship.”

He doesn’t say more. He simply stands there, stiff as a board, his jaw clenched. As if preparing for a blow after having laid his carefully guarded heart bare. His eyes, usually so calm and assessing, are wide, searching yours, filled with a potent mixture of apprehension and hope.

You can only stare, the echo of Leo’s words reverberating in the space between you. It’s the confirmation of the subtle shift you’d sensed, the answer to the unspoken question that had been tightening your own chest for weeks. But hearing it spoken aloud by him causes a warmth to bloom inside you, chasing away the anxiety that has plagued you for so long.

You see the tight set of his shoulders, the way his hands are still loosely fisted at his sides as if he’s bracing for rejection. For the possibility that he’d misread everything, that he’d shattered the comfortable dynamic you share for nothing. You take a hesitant step closer, closing the small distance between you.

Shoving down your own introverted caution. Because he deserves the same honesty he just offered you.

“Leo,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper.

You lift a hand, not quite touching him yet, letting it hover in the charged air between you. “That quiet companionship …” you begin, echoing his earlier words, your voice gaining a little strength. “It’s … significant for me, too.”

Relief flashes across his face, but he remains still. Waiting.

“I thought … I thought maybe I was imagining things,” you admit, a wobbly laugh escaping you. “The way you looked at me sometimes. The way it felt just sitting here. Reading.” You finally meet his gaze fully, letting him see the emotion swimming in your own eyes. “It wasn’t just comfortable silence anymore, was it?”

He shakes his head mutely, his throat working as he swallows.

“My focus hasn’t exactly been stellar either,” you confess, a small smile touching your lips. “These last few weeks, maybe longer. Trying to read when all I can really think about is …” You trail off, suddenly finding it hard to say the words, your own vulnerability rising to the surface.

You take another step, finally closing the gap. Your hand finds his arm again, resting gently on firm muscle. This time, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his own hand covers yours almost instantly, his grip surprisingly gentle but firm, anchoring you.

“Leo,” you say again, your voice steadier now. “My feelings for you … they extend beyond friendship, too.” You take a deep breath, the words tumbling out in a rush of relieved honesty. “A lot further. I …” You swallow. “I love you.”

The admission hangs in the air, raw and true.

For a heartbeat, Leo just stares at you, his eyes searching yours as if trying to absorb the reality of your words. Then, the tension visibly drains out of him. His shoulders slump in relief, his posture relaxing. His grip on your hand tightens possessively. A slow, tentative smile—one that reaches his eyes—transforms his face, erasing the lines of worry.

It makes your heart do a ridiculous flip.

“You …” he starts, his voice thick with emotion, almost rough. He clears his throat. “You do?”

You nod, unable to speak past the lump in your throat, your smile mirroring his. Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes. Not from sadness, but from overwhelming relief and happiness.

He raises his other hand, his fingers brushing gently against your cheek. The contact sends shivers down your spine. He seems momentarily lost for words, the disciplined leader grappling with an emotion far more complex than any battle strategy.

“I …” He shakes his head slightly, that small smile lingering. “I hoped. But I wasn’t sure.” He leans closer, gently cupping your face. “I love you too,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

The world seems to narrow down to just the two of you. Leo’s thumb strokes gently over the back of your hand. His other hand remains cupped against your face, his touch feather-light but possessive. His gaze flickers down to your lips, then back up to meet your eyes. You give the slightest nod, a silent permission that sends another wave of warmth flooding through you.

He leans in slowly, deliberately, giving you every chance to pull away, true to his nature. But you don’t move. You meet him halfway, rising on your toes. The space between you disappears. His lips meet yours, tentative at first. His lips are surprisingly soft against yours, moving with a hesitant tenderness that makes your heart ache in the best possible way.

You sigh softly into the kiss, your free hand coming up to rest against his plastron, feeling the steady, strong beat of his heart beneath your palm. It’s racing almost as fast as your own. He deepens the kiss slightly, his hand tightening its hold on yours. It feels like coming home, like finding a piece of yourself you hadn’t realized was missing.

When he finally pulls back, it’s only by a fraction, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes remain closed for a moment, as if savoring the connection. You keep yours shut for a few moments, too.

“Wow,” you murmur, your eyes fluttering open.

An unguarded smile touches his lips again. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Wow.” He gently brushes a stray strand of hair from your face.

He takes your other hand, holding both securely in his grasp. He looks down at your joined hands, then back up at you, his expression serene, resolute. The vulnerability is still there, but tempered now with confidence, with the quiet joy of reciprocated feeling.

“So,” he says after a few moments, a hint of his usual pragmatic nature returning, though softened around the edges. “Reading might be … slightly more challenging from now on.”

A laugh bubbles up from your chest, light and happy. “Might be,” you agree. “But I think … I think I’m okay with that.”

He smiles—a proper, heart-stopping smile that lights up his face. He leans down and presses a brief, sweet kiss to your forehead.

Your respective stories have taken a turn neither of you fully anticipated. But it is a chapter you were both eager to finally write.

Together.

#my writing #filled requests #tmnt bayverse #tmnt leonardo #tmnt leo #tmnt x reader #tmnt bayverse x reader #bayverse leonardo #bayverse leo #bayverse leonardo x reader #bayverse leo x reader #leonardo x reader #leo x reader #tmnt leonardo x reader #tmnt leo x reader #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #tmnt requests #scheduled post

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innerfare · 10 months ago

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Fighting and Making Up

Summary: Some of the things you typically fight about, and how you usually make up.

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, and Kid

Genre: Slight Angst // Fluff

CW: None // SFW

———

Luffy: You fight about his recklessness. You knew who he was when you fell in love with him and you don’t want to change him, but sometimes, it gets to be too much and you lose your cool. One perk of dating Luffy, though, is that he has very high emotional intelligence, so if it’s one of those fights where you just need your space, he’ll give it to you, waiting patiently for you to approach him to make amends (although it does weigh on him quite a bit when the two of you are at odds, like he’s waiting for the hammer to drop on your relationship; he has such an intense fear of you leaving him it’s unreal. He also struggles with the separation because he’s so clingy). He doesn’t really talk through the fight and do the whole apology thing, just pounces on you and kisses all over your face as soon as he can sense you’re good and ready to receive his affection again. If it was a really bad one, he might pick some flowers to give you.

Zoro: Stubborn bastard. Refuses to admit that he’s wrong. You guys argue over lots of little things, usually directions, that don’t really require either of you two to apologize; there’s just some near-constant bickering in your relationship that is your love language. More seriously, you’ve fought because, for lack of a better term, Zoro doesn’t exactly have a bedside manner and can be overly blunt. You’ve also fought over the fact that so many women are clearly attracted to him and he’s completely oblivious. He’s not the type to flirt back, but it bothers you that he doesn’t notice because you feel like he doesn’t shut it down when he should (though he argues that by not noticing, he is, in a way, shutting it down). Not one to apologize with flowers because he feels that cheapens it, a bit like a bribe. He’ll just say sorry and that’s that. Sometimes you end up fighting again because he was ready to apologize but you weren’t ready to hear it and he thinks you’re being childish by giving him the silent treatment.

Sanji: He’s far too protective over you, and it causes a lot of fights. He treats you like a china doll, and though that can be quite nice at times, he needs to understand you’re not made of glass. Alternatively, he’s the type to get upset with you for being too friendly to other men. There was also a miscommunication where he cooked something you didn’t like and you weren’t exactly gentle in your reaction to it, you thinking he already knew you didn’t like that thing when he didn’t actually know, him thinking you had an issue with his cooking and not an issue with one of the ingredients. He’s the type to bring you flowers even if you were in the wrong in order to jumpstart the making up process. Your fights never last long because Sanji can’t sleep, can’t eat, can barely even pull himself out of bed if the two of you are on the outs (early childhood trauma can be that way).

Ace: His low self worth causes a lot of fights between the two of you. Sometimes, it’s you getting mad because his self doubt led him to, in turn, doubt you without realizing it. Other times, it’s him getting angry because you were a little too nice to another man and triggered his fear of you leaving, causing him to lash out. No matter who was in the wrong, Ace is consumed by the desire to apologize right away but ends up getting wrapped up in the fear of you rejecting his apology; thus, he acts all tsundere instead. But as soon as you approach him, usually with a piece of candy in hand as a sort of white flag, he melts, dragging you into his arms and holding you extra tight, saying in your ear how much he missed you even if you were only ignoring each other for an hour. He also has a habit of leaving candy for you as his own way of making up, but he won’t actually confront you with it, will just leave it somewhere you’ll find it as a way of reaching out and hope you start the conversation, much like a cat leaving a dead lizard on your porch. You two usually end up splitting the candy and talking about whatever happened, but only after you've finished kissing it better.

Sabo: Sabo can be pretty hypocritical. He takes so many risks and claims he wants a partner who can keep up with him, but if you take risks without him to back you up (the way he constantly takes risks without you backing him up), he’ll get mad at you because it triggers him so deeply; he has nightmares about you dying, but he normally hides them from you. It usually devolves further when you accuse him of not living by the egalitarian ideals he espouses by trying to control you. Other times, you fight because he was shamelessly flirting with someone else (flirting is an instinct for Sabo and he's so naturally charming that sometimes he really just can't help it). But you two have a special spot (a pink peach tree on Momoiro Island) and whoever is ready to make up first goes there and waits for the other; he once waited two full days and nights for you. When you get there, he’ll offer you a pink peach and a sheepish grin.

Law: His emotional unavailability combined with his protective streak is a source of contention between the two of you. He wants you to be free, but sometimes, he finds himself in a dark place where he just wants to lock you in a tower. But what makes it so vexing is that he won’t even talk to you about it, just shuts you out of plans and operations because he can’t bear the thought of losing you or you getting hurt. Also has times when he won’t let you out of his sight but won’t admit that’s what he’s doing, which makes it so much more annoying. He’ll get mad at you if you do something without telling him, especially if it could be dangerous, which often leads you to argue that he's not exactly known for his communication skills. The two of you usually make up after you’ve been giving him the silent treatment for a few days and he crawls into bed beside you. The darkness makes him feel safe enough to press some warm kisses into your hand and then mutter an apology into your neck. Other times, he’ll write a short note and slip it into one of your books because he’s much better at writing than talking. And if it’s on you to do the making up, cooking for him is a good place to start.

Kid: Actually loves to fight, lives to butt heads. Has a notoriously bad temper, meaning the two of you often fight. Serious fights usually happen because his temper got him into trouble. The number of arguments you’ve had while you’re patching him up because he got in a nasty bar fight is unreal. Your argument always over something stupid, at least in his opinion. He usually ends up storming off and locking himself in his workshop because he doesn’t want to yell at you too much but he’s furious with you and still has a bunch of adrenaline flowering through his bloodstream from his last fight. Alternately, he’ll start fights with you when feels like you’re keeping something from him, even if it’s something small, because it drives him crazy and he thinks you should be an open book. He's not really the jealous type when it comes to physical stuff, but he does get upset when you seem to have an emotional or intellectual connection with someone else, and that can cause some arguments. Oh, and fights are most definitely foreplay, so you can conclude how the two of you make up.

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

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oraclemoontarot · 11 months ago

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what is your higher-self like 𓂃⊹ pac tarot reading

from left to right, top to bottom -> pile 1, pile 2, pile 3, pile 4

paid readings

•┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈•

pile 1 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

cards pulled: six of pentacles, justice, nine of wands, eight of pentacles, knight of pentacles, six of swords, tower, king of swords, nine of pentacles

Your higher self is someone generous, both with their time and resources. You wouldn't hesitate to help those in need, whether they are inside or outside of your circle. You have a strong understanding of right and wrong, of justice. If you feel as though something is unjust, or a person isn't being treated correctly, you would not hesitate to step in and would do what you can to make things better.

Your higher self is someone who can get through any hardship or bump in your path, you are resilient, strong, and incredibly hardworking. If you want something, you would not hesitate to work for it, to achieve any dream or goal of yours. You are someone who doesn't just stay in the planning phase of a goal, you strive towards it without fear of change, without staying at a standstill.

You as a person are a great communicator too. You are strong, witty, clever and great at expressing your thoughts and feelings with clarity. There is no beating around the bush or holding back how you truly feel. There is an honesty about you that may be intimidating, but the words you share are always from a place of both good intentions and the truth itself.

Overall, the energy of your higher self is that of enjoying the fruits of your labour. You are someone who is humble - appreciating the things around you, as well as the work you put into getting where you are at now. You are strong, independent, hard-working, goal-oriented, and a great communicator who strives for justice and generosity.

pile 2 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

cards pulled: empress, ace of cups, eight of wands, two of wands, knight of cups, ten of cups, nine of wands, king of swords, six of cups

Your higher self can be described by the empress. You are someone nurturing, kind, and who embraces femininity regardless of gender. There is this calm and maturity to you, yet you are still strong with the ability to set clear boundaries. Just as your heart welcomes those around you, it also has a sense of respect for yourself. You are emotionally mature, and feel things on a deep level, sometimes in a way that your emotions overflow, which may be overwhelming at times due to that sensitivity, but it is a beautiful thing, and it is one that shows your level of empathy.

You are a person who is fast moving in the face of your future and goals. You are determined and fiery in that aspect of your life, unmoving from the path you laid out for yourself. Yet, you are just as romantic and idyllic, almost like that of a hopeless romantic, there may be times where you live in your head a lot (you could be an enfp, infp, infj or enfj). I'm not sure why, but there is a chance you may have a childlike nature to you somehow, maybe in the way you express yourself, see the world, or in the way in which you love.

Your higher self is also family-oriented, appreciating the close relationships, and could thrive in such an environment where you would truly feel content and experience a true feeling of abundance. You also come across as a protector for those in which you love, where you would go through a fiery forest to protect them, and that any challenge that presents itself to you would be overcome by that resilience.

Just like pile 1, you are a great communicator with the ability to clearly express both your thoughts and your feelings, to defend others and to stand up for yourself. You are just as intelligent, funny, and strong.

Overall, you are someone who has a sense of familiarity to you, you treasure friendships and really any relationship. You help those around you through either offering to listen to them, supporting them, and providing for them.

pile 3 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

cards pulled: five of cups, two of swords, seven of wands, star, ten of pentacles, three of wands, three of pentacles, queen of cups, high priestess

while I was doing this reading, I felt a bit of pain? Melancholy? But also a sweet and calming energy. It feels like you may have had certain difficulties or challenges in life? it may have been hard on you or painful. But your higher self is someone who chooses to overcome adversities, whether they lay root in your present reality, or in the outer reaches of your heart and mind. You have an inner optimism, a hopeful and positive outlook, and that alone would be enough to ignite a fire in you and drive you towards success, whatever that success might look like to you.

You are hardworking and strong, and I know that certain challenges in life may take the light away from us or make us retreat into a shell, but it did make you stronger, it did make you wiser, and it did make you understand what life truly is about. Your higher self would not indulge for too long in the negative aspects of such experiences, especially if they happened in the past - whether yesterday or a couple years ago - instead, they would look at the other cups that did not spill and realise that, maybe everything really is fine. It's all fine now.

You may pursue a career in teaching or psychology, but if not, you are someone who is wise, who can teach others through your experiences, knowledge and views on the world. You are a high achiever, constantly growing and learning, never satisfied with staying on the same step for too long. You know how to work well with others, how to get people to agree, and how to truly unite them.

As the queen of cups, you have a heart of gold, you are mature, especially emotionally, you are also warm and a true sweetheart. You may have a skill for offering advice and being someone others feel comfortable around (maybe that's why teacher and psychologist came through?). And, with the high priestess, you are deeply intuitive, with an air of mystery to you, there is something so deep and you may live in your head a lot too - a thoughtful person. You understand yourself, others, and the mystical. You may have a skill for tarot as well.

pile 4 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

cards pulled: six of pentacles, two of cups, knight of cups, five of swords, temperance, hierophant, three of swords, judgment, queen of cups

Your higher self is one who is generous and loving. You have so much love, appreciation, and your heart to give to others, you thrive from meaningful connections and helping/supporting people. You understand boundaries yet also steer clear of unnecessary conflict, putting your energy into more meaningful pursuits.

There is this balance and tradition to you. You seek harmony in relationships, balance in give and take, and you have this understanding of pain, loss and heartbreak, giving you true empathy and understanding in others and their emotions, paired with strong moral values.

You are someone capable of achieving great things, growing constantly, self-aware and knowing what your destiny is - what you're truly meant for. You don't let experiences hold you back from achieving greatness. From becoming the best version of yourself. It is like you are able to look at yourself inwardly and see through a critical eye what you need to work on, expand on, and keep.

Overall, your higher self can be explained by the queen of cups. You are nurturing, warm, compassionate, and a great listener and advice giver. You are someone others can feel comfortable around, to speak to without fear of judgment. There is such a strong, beautiful level of empathy within you. You understand yourself and others really really well, almost as though you are reading a book.

#tarot #tarot reading #free tarot #daily tarot #tarot community #tarot pick a card #pick a card #pick a pile #tarot cards

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bella-goths-wife · 8 months ago

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How platonic yandere bowers gang view you

Warnings: smoking, violence, weird relationships, obsessive behaviour, yandere tendencies, reader is a bad person objectively

Henry:

Henry’s view of you varies on his mood

Sometimes he views you as something of an equal to him because of his narcissistic tendencies convincing him that the two of you are equally intelligent despite you clearly being the smarter one by a landslide

On the days where he sees you as an equal, he almost views you as his right hand woman

Your an extremely honest person, something that would usually put a target on your back with the bowers gang

But your honesty is another thing that appeals to Henry

You don’t sugarcoat your opinions about his actions and your too bored to lie and spare his feelings when he does something stupid

And while there are some days that Henry will become aggressive with you because of your honesty, most of the time Henry appreciates that you don’t fear him enough to hide your opinions

On the days where he views you as his right hand woman, you’ll replace Patrick for the day as Henry orders you to follow him around and basically just help him in his antics

Which you do, even if it’s at the harm of other people

You don’t particularly care either way, not in a psychopath way but more of a bored just by existing way

But it’s not like this for you all the time considering that your the only girl in the group and your much younger than them, there are some more unkind days

There are some days where because of your age and gender coupled with your inability to look after yourself properly, Henry will view you as the bottom of the food chain and you’ll be treated as such

You’ll get the vic treatment as your mocked constantly, unlike vic though you’ll actually respond back with snark or just fight back more in general

That usually just ends up with you getting some kind of unusual punishment

On the days where your the bottom of the food chain you’ll basically be treated as Henry’s personal assistant as you do his homework and cook and clean for him

You wonder why you even stick to this agreement sometimes but the protection that Henry and the others provide is worth it

Plus they’re less boring considering they’re unpredictable

Patrick:

Patrick views you as a challenge, something he can attempt to manipulate and break

And he gives it his best go

He’ll pull out all the stops in an attempt to get you to fall for one of his tricks or to cry at one of his cruel insults

But you just won’t

Your intelligence makes it almost impossible for you to fall for his manipulation

And sometimes you’ve tried to fake falling for it, but you just couldn’t because it was all so obvious to you

But that only spurs Patrick on

He’s a psychopath, he thrives on watching people act out emotionally to make up for the lack of his own emotions

But you don’t, you don’t show many emotions if he’s honest

Maybe he feels something similar to relation between you because of that

Maybe you could relate to him and why he does what he does

Maybe your like him?

He does treat you more affectionately then he does with anyone else as he’ll put his arm over your shoulders as you walk to platonically be affectionate and show the people around you that your protected

And he definitely views you as a challenge, but only his challenge

If anyone else did anything similar to what he does they’d be killed before the sun could rise to the sky

So in short your treated better than in the ballerina au but still treated pretty badly

Victor:

Victor views you as someone who’s finally below him on the food chain

For as long as he’s been part of the bowers gang, he’s always been the bottom of the food chain and the one whose given shitty jobs and constantly mocked

With you around, he’s free from that fate

He can finally experience what it’s like to have someone to look down on and to laugh at

But he’ll do all this in a sickly sweet way

He’ll condescend you and talk down to you like your stupid, like your IQ isn’t miles higher than his is

He’s the one who coined your nickname ‘smarty’

It started originally because he mockingly called you smarty pants to humiliate him but then he quickly took to just calling you ‘smarty’

Eventually the whole gang started calling you that to mock you but it just ended up becoming your default nickname

You didn’t particularly care about vic mocking you, in a way you sort of pitied him

Because he thought he was higher up in the food chain then he was, and it was slightly pathetic in your eyes

You felt bad for him so you allowed the mockery

But vic’s views on you clashed sometimes as sometimes he viewed you as some sort of naive little lamb considering you couldn’t really fight and you were a heavily picked on freshman girl

So he wanted to guide you, something you also allowed because you pitied him

You fulfil his need to be needed and you feed his ego in the meantime

He’d talk to you sweetly like you were a young child and explained obvious things to you like you were just a babe in the woods

But he also beat up anyone who tried to hurt you, so you allowed it for now

If he pushed his luck anymore though, you were sure you could figure a way out to separate him from the group or just manipulate him into doing something incriminating to get rid of him

Belch:

Belch views you almost a little sister figure

He was the first one to meet you and when you met you were nothing but nice to him, even if you delivered your kindness in your usual monotone manner

You were obviously smarter than him, but you never made him feel bad for it and you never shamed him for knowing less than you

You’d even help him in your spare time, you’ll try and encourage him to complete the work himself before you did it for him

Belch enjoyed spending time with you, he rarely got kindness in his life and even with your abrupt and blunt manner you were always nice to him

So he’d protect you from harm and would purposely seek you out at free times just because he wanted to spend time with you

He even got you some small games to play under the desk for when you got bored in class, which you did regularly because you already knew everything being taught

Belch also views you as someone he has to provide for

Belch is very well off, his family is quite wealthy in comparison to his friends

You on the other hand, were not

You were in the foster care system and living in a group home with twelve other kids and a shitty caretaker who barely registered if you were there or not

And belch always noticed how hungry were looked and how tired you always seemed

So he started inviting you back to his home since his dad worked all the time and he had a fridge full of food

You made a meal that night and you wolfed it down in record time, confirming belch’s theory that you weren’t being fed well at all

So you started going to his house a lot more, during one of these times you mentioned how you struggled to sleep since it’s so noisy where you were living

So belch started to offer for you to stay over in one of the spare bedrooms, which you agreed to after a bit of force from the rest of the gang

You practically moved in with belch after that, sleeping at his house most nights

His father had met you at this point and liked you enough to allow this so belch started insisting that you stay more and more until the spare bedroom become your unofficial bedroom

Belch then noticed the state of your clothes and how worn down they looked, and wordlessly he got approval from his father to spend some money on getting you new clothes

When he gave you them you couldn’t help but give him a small hug in thanks

Belch enjoyed providing for you, it felt nice to have someone for him to take care of

It made belch realise how lonely he was before you, and it made him thankful to have you

You practically living with him also made you more likely to accept the bowers gang manipulation and rules

People don’t give belch enough credit sometimes, he was a lot smarter then people thought

Not smarter then you though

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slut4thebroken · 3 months ago

Text

Just Business

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Robert Fischer x dom!reader

Summary | He’s a brat and deserves way worse than this tbh.

Warnings | Smut, non con more like dubcon tbh, heavy misandry🤭, humiliation, degradation, light praise, cunnilingus, brat taming.

Words | 2.4 k

Notes | Idk this was originally supposed to be way more non con-y than it turned out lol.

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

You had an appointment with Robert Fischer at 2pm… An hour later and you were still waiting. Finally his secretary brought you into his office.

“Ah, yes— The potential partner. Let’s hear it then.” He sighed leaning back in his chair. You sat down on the chair in front of his desk, trying to mask your anger.

“Our meeting was supposed to be at 2.”

“Yes, well, something came up.” You already didn’t like him…

“If this is the way you treat your business partners, I don’t think we’ll be a good fit,” you started, but he cut you off.

“I thought they were sending someone to go over the proposal— not an assistant.” He huffed. You clenched your jaw as you stared at him, holding back your emotions.

“The man you spoke to on the phone who scheduled the meeting was my assistant.” That made him scoff. “You know what? Thank you for your time, Mr. Fischer, but I don’t think we’re a good fit for each other.” You said, standing up.

He let you get halfway across the room before he stopped you. “Wait.” He sighed. “I... apologize for my lack of professionalism. Please continue with your proposal.” Even though you wanted to leave, you forced yourself to sit back down.

As you spoke, Robert seemed to have a hard time paying attention. There were rumors that he was a nepo baby through and through, but you didn’t think he’d actually be unqualified… You were handing him printed notes as you explained that detailed the numbers and what not. However, it didn’t really seem like he even understood what was on the papers…

“Mr. Fischer,” you said impatiently when he, once again, was just staring out the window.

“Sorry.” He cleared his throat, looking at you again.

“Am I boring you?” You asked plainly, reaching the limit of your patience.

“Not you… Just.. the content…” You couldn’t believe how incompetent this man was. Sighing heavily, you closed your eyes for a moment to compose yourself.

“Is there anyone else I can meet with? Your father perhaps?”

“He doesn’t handle this kind of stuff.”

“Clearly you don’t either.” You scoffed before you could help it.

“I handle it just fine.” He suddenly snapped, getting defensive. “Usually I meet with men who just talk to me, not give a whole presentation like a robot. And I’m not constantly distracted by their tits.” He spat, glancing at your chest for a few seconds before meeting your gaze again.

You raised your brows, giving him an unimpressed look. “Hm…” You finally hummed, getting lost in thought. Robert was surprisingly misogynistic for how… non-dominant he seemed to be.

“What?” And he just kept getting brattier… You finally stood up, but you didn’t gather your things to leave. Instead, you slowly rounded the desk until you were standing next to his chair. He turned to face you, looking both confused and irritated. Placing one hand on the back of his chair and leaning down into his space, you used your other hand to grab his cheeks, holding him still.

“Listen closely, Mr. Fischer because I’m only going to say this once.” You told him, your voice low and stern— almost sensual… He almost seemed shocked, but he hid it fairly well. “My boss wants this partnership to work out. Based on the way you asked me to stay, I’m assuming your father feels the same. I’ve laid out all of the facts for you, but since you can’t seem to understand, I’m going to change the terms of the deal.” He frowned when you blatantly insulted his intelligence.

“You’re going to prove to me that you want it— that you’re willing to work for it. If I’m satisfied, then we’ll move forward with this partnership. If not, well… I’m sure your daddy will be very disappointed.”

You felt his cheeks tense under your fingers when he clenched his jaw. “How am I supposed to do that?” He scoffed, his bratty attitude still going strong. You released him and straightened up, looking down your nose at him.

“Get on your knees.”

“Excuse me?” He choked out, staring at you with wide eyes.

“Get on your fucking knees or I’m leaving.” You said harshly. He hesitated for a moment, then clenched his jaw again. Finally, he moved to the floor, kneeling at your feet. “There you go…” You cooed mockingly, making him scowl. You walked around him to take his place in the chair. “Face me.” He huffed, but turned around toward you.

“Have you figured it out yet or do I need to spell it out for you?” He watched the way you settled back into the chair, your legs spread as wide as your pencil skirt would allow.

“You… Are you insane? I’m not fucking doing that!”

“No?” You cooed, tilting your head as you looked down at him. “Fine. I’ll leave and I’ll tell my assistant to call your daddy— tell him why this deal didn’t go through.” Despite your words, you didn’t move, giving him another chance. “Or…” Your voice lowered and you leaned forward, reaching out to grab his tie. He let out a choked sound when you yanked on it, pulling him closer. “You can be a good little boy and put that bratty mouth of yours to good use.”

“H-How dare you? Coming here— to a building with my fucking name on it— calling me bratty? I should be contacting your superiors.” He scoffed, making you smirk. Even with the outburst, you could tell he was already crumbling.

“I wouldn’t call you bratty if you’d stop behaving like a brat.” You said plainly, only making him more angry. “Listen, Robert,” you sneered patronizingly, “either you eat me out or I leave. You don’t have any other options.”

“No! Are you even hearing yourself?” He yelled, making you sigh. “I- I have a girlfriend. I’m not just going to cheat on her because you’re blackmailing me.”

“Blackmailing? Please,” you scoffed, “I’m not blackmailing you. And I’d hardly call this cheating.”

“Then what the fuck would you call it?” He asked in disbelief.

You hummed softly in thought as you considered it for a moment. “Business.” You all but shrugged. He watched with wide eyes as you grabbed the hem of your skirt and lifted it up above your hips, showing your panties. “Get to it, Robert. You’ve already made me late for another meeting, you don’t want to be the reason I miss a second one today.”

He gaped at you, his gaze shifting between your eyes and your crotch. “You’re fucking insane.” He finally said.

“No. I just actually earned my position and I have plenty of experience with bratty men who are used to getting everything they want.” He clenched his jaw and the tips of his ears tinged red with anger. “I won’t tell you again, Robert. You have five seconds to start or I’m leaving.”

Robert let out a heavy breath through his nose, but moved forward reluctantly, practically seething in rage at the fact that you were sitting in his chair in his office in ‘his’ building, demanding he service you sexually. And yet…

He pulled your panties to the side and got to work. At his clear attitude and lack of enthusiasm, you sighed in annoyance.

“I thought this was obvious, but if you do a shitty job, this deal isn’t going through.” You told him.

“Fuck you.” He gritted… but obeyed nonetheless. You let out a pleased moan when he dragged his tongue up your folds to your clit before sucking the swollen bud into his mouth.

“There you go…” You cooed mockingly, spreading your legs wider for him. He rolled his eyes, but didn’t bother with a retort. “God you’re fucking pathetic.” You muttered, looking away from him, bored. You examined his desk, snorting a laugh at the online game that was on his computer screen. At the sight of the coffee cup, you picked it up and took off the lid to smell it— black with sugar… not your favorite, but after sitting in that lobby for over an hour, you deserved a pick-me-up.

When he heard you drinking, he pulled back. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Three, two,” and just like that, he was back between your legs. You scoffed a laugh and took another sip of the coffee. “Only a man would be so pathetic and incompetent, he has to eat me out just to make a simple business deal.” You muttered to yourself, loud enough that he could hear though. With the exception of Robert, you made a mental note to tell your boss to stop giving you all the stupid potential business partners.

“At least you’re pretty though.” You sighed, running your freehand through his hair, making his eyes snap up to your face. God- his eyes… So fucking pretty— They’d probably look even more pretty all glossy with tears… “I swear, if you weren’t such a dick, I’d take you to dinner instead of making you eat me out like a common whore.” You frowned, feeling almost disappointed. “But maybe you’re only a dick because I haven’t put you in your place yet.”

He tried to pull back, but you just grabbed his hair and yanked him forward again, burying his face in your pussy— You were mostly talking outloud to yourself anyway, so he didn’t need to worry about doing something as silly as talking back.

“I’ll wait and see what your attitude is like after you make me come all over your face, then I’ll decide whether I should have my assistant set up dinner or not.” You decided. Robert tried to speak, but you were holding him against your cunt too firmly. “Shh… You’re so much prettier when you’re not running your mouth, sweetheart.” The way his cheeks went bright red made you grin sadistically.

“Use a finger.” You commanded, getting antsy for your orgasm already. Robert huffed, but used the hand that wasn’t holding your panties to slide a finger inside you. “Good boy.” You smiled. He let out a quiet sound when you started petting his hair again.

“You should feel lucky, you know. I’ve been so busy recently that I’ve barely had any time to get off for almost two weeks straight so I’m already getting close.” He let out another muffled sound in response, slipping a second finger inside you. “Oh, look at you… Such a good boy taking initiative.” You cooed mockingly. Was he just trying to get this over with faster? Maybe… But you didn’t really care. You’d have plenty more opportunities for Robert to take his time now that you were going to be business partners.

The constant suction on your clit with the way his fingers curled inside you made your back arch off the chair, pushing your hips down onto his face. Robert might’ve been a spoiled brat, but damn if he wasn’t amazing at eating pussy…

“God- you look so fucking pathetic with your pretty face buried in my pussy… and you love it, don’t you?” He grunted something unintelligible, but it wasn’t an obvious denial, at least. “Yeah you do.” You chuckled.

“C’mon, Robert… Be a good boy and make me come— make your daddy proud and secure this partnership all on your own like a big boy.” You couldn’t help but smirk as you patronized him, but he didn’t get angry or try to pull away. He just let out another sound and started sucking and licking more enthusiastically.

You brought your other hand down to his head as well, holding him firmly against your cunt. Your toes were curling in your heels as the pleasure continued building, until finally it all snapped.

You bit your lip to stifle a moan, knowing you couldn’t be too loud since you were still in an unlocked office. Robert whimpered when you forced his face against your pussy hard enough to squish his nose against your pubic bone and limit his breathing. Despite that, he never stopped sucking on your clit or moving his fingers inside you. Your cunt was gushing and pulsing around his digits, your clit throbbing in his mouth as waves of pleasure rolled through you, and nonsensical praises left your lips.

“Fucking hell… I needed that more than I thought I did.” You said through a breath, panting heavily. As you sagged back into the chair, you loosened your grip on him, but didn’t let go completely, you just let him pull back a tiny bit. He was also panting, the lower half of his face almost completely drenched, his cheeks a dark pink, and his eyes glazed over with what you assumed was lust.

“You were better at that than I thought you’d be…” You told him, but he barely reacted. “Take your fingers out and suck them clean.” You ordered, wanting to test whether he was still just out of it, or if you actually broke him down already.

He carefully extracted his fingers, then put them in his mouth, his eyes fluttering as he sucked off your arousal.

“Huh.” You said to yourself, slightly shocked— That was way too easy… As another test, you picked up his coffee cup and took another sip, making sure he was watching.

He just licked his lips, then cleared his throat. “…Are you going through with the partnership?” He managed to say, and you couldn’t hold back a smirk in time.

“I need to think about it some more. My assistant will call you tomorrow to arrange dinner plans. I’ll give you my decision then.” You finally released his hair and ran your fingers through it a little, trying to smooth it out so it didn’t look like he just had his head buried between your legs… “Do you have anything you want to say to me for giving you another chance?”

“Thank you.” Your smirk turned into a pleased smile and you cupped his cheek, brushing your thumb over his bottom lip.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Keep being a good boy and I’m sure this partnership will work out just fine.” He nodded dumbly in response and you stood up, fixing your panties and pulling your skirt back down. Robert just stared up at you, almost in a trance, and watched in awe.

“Oh, and, Robert?” You leaned down a little, taking his warm cheeks in your hand to make sure you had his full attention. “The next time you think you can get away with being a brat to me, you’ll be doing much worse than just eating me out.” You smiled sweetly, making his poor, fucked out little head lag as he struggled to understand the real meaning behind your words.

(Also yes, I already started part 2 lol)

#robert fischer smut #robert fischer x reader #robert fischer #robert fischer x reader smut #cillian murphy

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hywonuka · 8 months ago

Text

every step that i take is another mistake to you | jww (intro)

Sypnosis: It's another night out for Wonwoo, except for the small dare he has been given: to win Y/N's heart in 4 months. Could he, a lame virgin who has no idea of how to talk to women, be able to fulfill the dare?

Pairing: college!wonwoo x college!fem!reader

Genre: college au, falling for a bet or dare trope, fluff, angst, smut

Warnings: alcohol consumption, mention of virgin wonwoo, they are all dickheads except for minghao, wonwoo is a huge loser

Word count: 623 words

A/N: hiii :) i intend to make this a series (thats why i wrote fluff, angst and smut on genres even if in the intro there is none of it)!! its my first time posting any of my english works, so i hope yall like it!! wrote this mainly cuz i had the urge to read something of this trope with ww but found nothing lmao. as i go on with the different chapters, ill write the respective warnings :3

intro | chapter 1

"No way you are asking me to do that", Wonwoo said, as he took a sip of his drink, looking at Vernon with his eyes wide open. They were at a bar, with some other of their friends, chatting and laughing until Vernon dropped the bomb.

"Yes way, or what, you don’t have the guts??" Mingyu chimed in, laughing at his friend's reaction. Hoshi looked at Wonwoo, who was still stunned at his friend’s dare.

It wasn’t weird that they would dare each other to do random stuff. In fact, it was kinda the most charming part of their hangouts, which the whole group enjoyed and laughed at. It wasn’t weird either that, as they kept drinking, the dare would turn more… interesting. But, what was weird, was that Vernon, out of everyone sat at that table, would dare Wonwoo to do that.

"Y-you seriously want me to court Y/N?", the one with glasses asked, slightly tipsy at that point, but still sober enough to comprehend his dare. "Like, h-how?"

Vernon, who is clearly drunk, and even at the verge of falling of his chair, laughed at the desperation of his friend. "I don’t know, that’s up to you!! I'm not the one that got dared".

"C’mon Wonwoo, it can’t be that bad", Mingyu says, patting his friend’s back, trying to reassure him in some sort of way. They all knew this would be actually hard for Wonwoo, but somehow makes everything more entertaining.

"Worst thing that can happen is that you finally get to touch a boob", as Vernon said that, he immediately got smacked by Minghao, who was clearly against the idea of that dare. "Hey, I’m about to fall!”

“Deserved. That dare is degrading, not only to Wonwoo but Y/N. Have you even thought of how she would feel if Wonwoo goes along with this dare?" The whole table went silent at Minghao's words, knowing he was right.

"It’s not like he is gonna pull her Hao, be honest”. Wonwoo looked at Vernon offended, but deep down he knew the drunk one was right.

“Yeah, like if a 22 year old virgin who is a huge nerd can pull Y/N", Hoshi suddenly said, immediately looking at Wonwoo. "No offence, just… stating the facts”

Minghao was at the edge of punching his friends. How could they be so stupid? The lack of emotional intelligence in men was something that truly made him mad, specially coming from his friends.

“Anyways, are you in Wonwoo?" All eyes were on him, and he knew it. He could sense the gazes of all his friends, expecting his answer. He couldn’t say no, could he? After all, if he said no, he would indirectly accepting the fact that he couldn’t pull Y/N, and that would hurt his pride, even if he knew it would be impossible for him to fulfill the dare.

"What do i get if I win?"

“100$ and me being your servant for a week”

Wonwoo looked at Vernon, reconsidering his words. "And if I don’t?”

“I’ll choose your outfits for a week”

The one with glasses looked at his friend, terrified. He wasn’t scared of Vernon’s fashion choices (even if he should), but mostly at the fact that Vernon could pick a pair of boxers and say that’s an outfit. And trust him, he knows Vernon is capable of it.

“How much time do i have?”

“4 months”

After a couple of minutes of silence, that felt like an eternity for everyone sat down at that table, Wonwoo spoke up. “Cool, I’m in”

Everyone in the table, except for Minghao, cheered the dare, and ordered a new round of drinks. Meanwhile, Minghao could only shake his head, completely disgusted to the situation.

“This is gonna end so badly…”

A/N: aaah, tysm for reading!! if you wanna be added to the taglist pls tell me!! ill try to update the next chapter asap :3

#seventeen #seventeen fanfic #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo #wonwoo x reader #college au #falling for a bet or dare trope #wonwoo fanfic #wonwoo is such a loser god i love him #kpop

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aventurineswife · 6 months ago

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Dan heng, Aventurine, Dr Ratio, Jiaoqiu and Moze X a meek s/o (university au btw) when they get put into a group project with incompetent people who are wrong with confidence but reader can't correct them as they either ignore or get angry at them. I wanna see some protective smart men saving their one and only with intelligence

Requesting this as I have finally finished a group presentation and there always seems to be atleast one annoying person that drains me TwT.

My lonesome self needs comfort and assurance from 2d mennn

Guided by Wisdom, Unheard but Present

Tags: Dan Heng x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Jiaoqiu x Reader, Moze x Reader, University AU, Protective Characters, Intelligent Characters, Slow Burn, Angst, Soft Moments, Comfort, Group Project Drama, Reader with Low Self-Confidence, Mild Tension, Gentle Humor.

Warnings: Mild conflict, Incompetent groupmates, Slight manipulation of group dynamics, Emotional distress for the Reader, Potential misunderstandings, Protective behaviors from partners.

A/N: So sorry to hear that, anon, I hope this cheers you up! 🫂💖

It was the third week into the semester, and the looming weight of group projects hung over your head. You weren’t exactly thrilled to be working with this particular group. Two of your teammates were clearly overconfident, but you knew they didn’t have a firm grasp on the material. And you, the quiet, reserved student who preferred to keep to yourself, couldn’t bring yourself to speak up when they made mistake after mistake, arguing with each other in the most misguided ways.

Dan Heng sat beside you, his expression unreadable as he observed the chaos unfolding. He’d noticed how the loud voices of the others ignored your hesitant attempts at pointing out inconsistencies, brushing off your input as if you were invisible.

At first, you tried to stay silent, hoping they’d eventually come to their senses. But when one of your teammates confidently but inaccurately explained a concept you knew was wrong, you felt a tight knot in your chest.

You didn’t want to speak up. You were never good at making waves, and every time you’d tried, the others had either ignored you or worse, snapped at you for challenging them. But seeing how they all struggled, and knowing you had the knowledge to help, made you feel sick with frustration.

Before you could even formulate a way to gently intervene, Dan Heng, who had been watching quietly, straightened in his chair, his voice steady and calm, but carrying an unspoken authority. "Actually, that’s incorrect," he said, his words cutting through the heated discussion like a sharp blade. "The formula you’re referencing is incomplete. Here’s the correct way to approach it."

There was no anger in his tone, only the quiet confidence of someone who had learned to carry their wisdom with a calm demeanor. The others looked at him, startled by the correction, and quickly began to take notes.

Dan Heng turned to you, his usual stoic expression softening just a fraction. "If you ever feel the need to speak up, you don’t have to worry. I’ll make sure they listen."

His calmness was both reassuring and somehow protective. You gave him a small, grateful smile, feeling a little lighter. For the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel alone in the group. With Dan Heng by your side, you knew the chaos would be brought into order.

It was another dreaded group project day, and you could feel your anxiety bubbling up as you looked around at your fellow students. Your group was… a disaster waiting to happen. One member was already rambling on about things they clearly didn’t understand, and the others were just nodding along in fake confidence. You had the answers—of course, you always did—but no one ever took you seriously.

Your soft voice and passive demeanor made it easy for them to ignore you, and even when you tried to correct them, they just dismissed you. It wasn’t your fault that they couldn’t accept that they were wrong. You couldn’t even bring yourself to insist—they were far too convinced of their own brilliance.

Then, you heard the unmistakable sound of Aventurine’s voice. "Well, it seems we're all taking a rather dramatic gamble on these assumptions," he said with that signature, playful smile of his. There was a teasing tone to his words, but there was no mistaking the sharpness that lay beneath. "Let me offer a suggestion: Instead of trying to force the problem into an answer we want, how about we let the facts guide us, hmm?"

His voice had a magnetic quality, drawing the others’ attention with ease. The others quieted, looking at him like he had the answers to everything. And, in a sense, he did. His sharp intellect and masterful manipulation of situations made him impossible to ignore.

"Let me reframe this for you," he continued, effortlessly redirecting the conversation back onto the correct track. "This concept is built on a foundation of logic and balance, not guesswork. If you do it this way..." He paused, glancing at you as if to make sure you agreed. You nodded silently, watching as the group began to shift, their previous certainty faltering under the weight of his intelligence.

Aventurine leaned in just a little closer to you, his eyes flickering with a hint of warmth. "Next time, don’t hesitate to speak up, darling. If they won’t listen, I’ll make sure they do." His wink was subtle, but it was enough to leave you feeling protected in his clever hands.

It was almost a joke how clueless your group was. Everyone had their own version of the material, and you could barely keep up with their rambling, confident errors. It was hard not to feel frustrated; you knew the facts, but no one would listen to your corrections.

Your gaze briefly met Ratio's, and he raised an eyebrow. His presence alone seemed to have the effect of calming everyone down, and he stepped forward, crossing his arms with a look of exasperation. "It’s truly fascinating," he began, his voice calm yet cutting. "How certain people can misinterpret something so basic. But perhaps it’s not surprising when the knowledge in question is so clearly… beneath you."

The others faltered under the weight of his gaze, and you could see their confidence begin to crack. Ratio didn’t mince words. "Let’s correct this once and for all," he said, taking the lead in guiding the discussion with his usual brilliance. He walked them through the proper steps with sharp, precise explanations, effortlessly dismantling their flawed understanding.

"Listen closely," he said to the group, but his eyes were directed at you, softening ever so slightly. "You, dear, should not be afraid to speak. Next time, we’ll do this properly, without the circus." His words were confident and commanding, leaving no room for dispute.

With Ratio, you felt the reassurance of a true genius guiding you through the chaos. He was intimidating, but you could tell, deep down, that he wouldn’t let you be swallowed by the ignorance of others.

Group projects had always been a source of anxiety for you, but this one was different. You could tell from the start that your team was full of people who had no idea what they were doing. And though you knew you should step in, you were too timid to correct them. They weren’t outright malicious, but they seemed so confident in their wrongness that it made you freeze.

That’s when you noticed Jiaoqiu. His calm demeanor and thoughtful expressions always seemed to bring a sense of balance to the chaos. He was sitting across from you, and you could see how he observed the group quietly, never raising his voice, yet always in control. When someone spoke out of turn, saying something completely incorrect, Jiaoqiu leaned forward slightly, his eyes glinting with quiet authority.

"Actually, the theory here is based on an assumption that doesn’t hold up," he said gently, his voice soothing but firm. "If we shift our approach slightly and reframe the context, we’ll be able to arrive at a more accurate solution."

He spoke with the wisdom and calm of someone who had seen the effects of care and understanding, even in the most chaotic of situations. He didn’t embarrass the others; instead, he guided them towards the right answers, offering an insight that left no room for argument.

As the others began to take his advice, you felt a weight lift off your shoulders. Jiaoqiu looked at you with a soft smile, his usual composed nature carrying a hint of reassurance. "Don’t worry," he said quietly, "when it gets too overwhelming, just let me handle it. You’re not alone in this."

You were trapped in a group of students who were far too confident for their own good. Their mistakes piled up, and though you knew you should correct them, you couldn’t bring yourself to speak up. Every time you tried, your voice faltered, and they either ignored you or snapped at you. It was hard to fight that anxiety, especially when the wrong answers were so confidently delivered.

Moze, who had been quiet throughout the session, finally spoke. His voice was low and calculated, and for the first time, the room seemed to settle as the others turned their attention to him.

"You're going about this the wrong way," Moze said, his tone devoid of emotion, but carrying a quiet authority that commanded attention. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, scanned the group as he methodically explained the correct approach. He didn’t raise his voice or make a spectacle of it; he simply corrected their mistakes with calm precision, his focus unwavering.

The others, though initially resistant, began to fall into line, their earlier confidence now shattered by his quiet strength. Moze’s gaze flicked over to you, his expression unreadable but reassuring. "You don’t have to be afraid to speak. If they ignore you again, I’ll take care of it," he said, his words sharp and protective, like a silent promise.

With Moze’s presence, you didn’t have to fear the group anymore. His silent confidence shielded you, and for the first time, you felt safe in his quiet strength.

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