#at this point i feel like y'all should expect it from me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

noosayog · 1 year ago

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003 the grudge

✧ wc: 4.1k

✧ warnings/content: itoshi rin x reader, no gendered pronouns used but lease lmk if I missed any! sfw, angst to fluff (hopeful ending), arguments and lots of swearing. another fic where I project bc of messed up things my old romantic partners have said to me, hope y'all enjoy!

✧ GUTS masterlist, regular masterlist

divider from @/cafekitsune

“How come you never ask me how my day is?” you ask. It’s quiet, like you’re scared of how he will respond. But you can’t help it. Every day, when Rin comes home from practice, you’re there to greet him at the door. You always have dinner ready no matter how tired you are. And every day, Rin grunts. On a good day, he gives you a peck on the cheek. On bad days, he throws his gym bag down and heads straight for the bath. Then, he comes to sit at the dinner table and eats silently.

Just once, you’d like him to ask you how your day was. Maybe come home with flowers or a cake from the neighborhood bakery occasionally. You wouldn’t think it too much to ask, but the years of this routine make your question your every thought. You start to forget that being in a relationship shouldn’t consist of you walking on eggshells every day.

Rin looks up from his meal, swallowing before responding, “because you always tell me whether or not I ask.”

It’s a reasonable response. But it’s cold and callous. Not the answer you were looking for.

“But why can’t you just ask?”

He cocks his head. Confused, not annoyed.

Not yet at least.

“Why would I? If there’s something you wanna tell me, just say it.”

“I just want you to want to ask sometimes. Makes me feel less like I’m forcing you to listen to me.”

“You’re not.”

“I know, but that’s not the point.”

“So what’s the point then?”

You recognize the change in his tone. He’s starting to become irritated.

“The point is that I just want you to show you care sometimes. Without having me to ask you to do it.”

“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, but you hear it loud and clear all the same.

“Is it that unreasonable for me to ask that of you?”

“Fine. How was your day?” he grits out, forcing a smile that looks more like he’s baring his teeth at you.

“Rin, this isn’t what I want.”

He puts his chopsticks down loudly. “You just said that’s what you wanted. So I’m doing it.”

“Not like this, Rin,” you say frustratedly, not sure how else you can communicate. “I just want you to want to be here with me. Act like you’re my boyfriend and that you’re happy to do it.”

“I wouldn’t be here, living with you, if I didn’t. What else do you want from me?”

It’s condescending and patronizing. It makes you feel like you are being the childish one here.

“Is it so hard that once in a while, you do something extra to show it?” you ask, voice small. “Like getting me flowers or even surprising me with a treat from the bakery I like?”

Rin runs a hand down his face, not even bothering to hide how foolish he thinks this conversation is. You feel the sting behind your eyes start to build.

“If you want flowers and a cake or something, just tell me. I’m not a fucking mind reader. How would I know you want those things unless you tell me?”

“I’m not saying I want flowers or a cake specifically. But-”

“Then what do you want!” He's yelling now. “I’m telling you I’ll buy the damn flowers if you ask. You’re always expecting people around you to read your mind. Use your fucking words!”

At that, you shrink away, closing in around yourself as you recall the phone call between the two of you months ago, having very much the same conversation.

“You always expect the people around you to read your mind. Why don’t you use your fucking words when you want something?”

That’s unfair, you think. In every other situation, you would agree. You do have a problem with communicating what you want. You know that. But should you really have to ask to have Rin tell you he loves you once in a while? For him to just show he cares by taking initiative and doing something nice for you? To want him to want to do something for you, even as simple as asking how your day was when he gets home without you having to ask?

But your insecurities get the best of you and objectively, he’s right. You answer in a small voice, “Sorry, Rin.”

There’s silence on the other line and for one second, you think that he’s going to apologize too and the floodgates would open and you two would open up and share everything that’s been building up.

Instead, you hear a click. Rin had cut the line.

When you have nothing else to say, Rin stands up, storming towards the bedroom, muttering, “Jesus, you’re always like this. Don’t start an argument if you can’t finish it.”

The bedroom door slams.

–

Rin is used to silence, prefers it actually. He gets enough noise from the daily racket the Blue Lock team makes. So at night, when he comes home to you, he appreciates the way you let him be. He’s content to sit there, listening to you talk quietly about your day. Your voice is a soothing one in comparison to the rowdy, grating ones of his teammates.

So when you ask him to take initiative to start the conversation sometimes, he’s uncomprehending. Your daily routine is fine as is; don’t his nods and noises of acknowledgement show that he’s listening to you? He gets enough nagging from Isagi and Bachira to talk more; he really doesn’t need to hear it at home too.

He can’t understand what it is you want him to do, because you were the one who strong-armed yourself into his life, persistent in trying to converse with him at the coffee shop you both frequented, until he finally asked you out on a date. You were always the one to initiate conversation.

So when you propose change to the relationship dynamic, Rin feels like you’re throwing a big wrench in the cogs that seem to be working perfectly fine.

After a long, hot shower, Rin goes back into the bedroom, expecting to find you curled up in bed. Rin isn’t worried. Regardless of whether you were still sulking or ready to go back to your usual self, he knows from experience that he just needs to reach his arms out and you would be eagerly pushing yourself into his side of the bed to get as close as you possibly can.

But when he enters the bedroom, the room is empty and the beddoor he slammed shut before remains closed. It’s then that he hears some shuffling in the living room, a couple of muffled sniffles and the quiet click of a door shutting. That wasn’t the sound of the spare bedroom door. That’s the sound of the front door.

Immediately, Rin bolts out to the kitchen. There, he finds all the dishes cleaned and put away, the dining table wiped down. You are not to be found.

Waves of frustration wash over him again. If you were going to be so upset about this, why won’t you just come find him and tell him? Rin thinks you could not have proved his point from your earlier argument any better than just up and leaving in a tantrum.

He should call, he thinks. If it were him, he’d just prefer space, quiet, and some alone time, but knowing you, he thinks you’d appreciate at least a gesture.

No, he rethinks. Just give them some time to calm down.

Pushing down the wave of worry, he slumps onto the couch, telling himself you’ll come home soon. The seconds drag by like hours so he puts on game footage to rewatch to pass the time. The seconds do not pass by any quicker as he continues to glance at his phone between plays.

Finally, he can’t handle it anymore and dials your number. The line rings once, twice, then he hears buzzing from the kitchen. Rin walks towards the source of the sound and finds your phone on the kitchen counter. It sits there, the buzzing continuing, mocking him.

Rin lets it ring for a couple of moments longer before he grabs a coat and bolts out the door.

Stupid! Who leaves without their phones?

It’s well after sunset and dark outside. Even if the two of you live in a nice neighborhood, you should know better than to wander around by yourself after dark. Without your phone no less.

How long has it been since you’ve left?

As he runs by all the convenience stores in the area and the minutes go by without being able to find you, his irritation at your irresponsibleness morphs into guilt. He should’ve come out much sooner to find you, shouldn’t have let you cry by yourself. Now you’re out somewhere, crying all alone on the night streets of Tokyo. Irrational panic wells up in his chest at the thought of someone taking advantage of your vulnerable state.

When he exhausts all of his options, he sighs, knowing the only place left unchecked is one of your friend's places. The same friends who he knows dislike him. The same ones who think you can do better.

He reluctantly pulls out his phone to give your friends a call; if they pick up, he’ll come get you and the two of you will go home together. But the first thing that greets him is a text saying you’re fine and that you are indeed at a friend’s place to crash for the night. Unsure of where that leaves him, he returns to your shared apartment.

And as Rin sits with the sterile kitchen and unusual quiet of the space, for the first time ever, he really contemplates the idea of you finding someone better. He dimly remembers a similar conversation the two of you had, perhaps over the phone a while back? Through all the years he has known you, he supposes it is a habit of yours to want things without vocalizing them. Like the times the two of you are watching a movie together and you look between his cup of tea and the kitchen until he gets the hint to go make you a cup. Or when you’re eating together and you stare at his plate until he spoons some of whatever he’s having into your waiting mouth. Rin’s not too sure how those unremarkable situations are different from what happened at dinner tonight.

And while Rin has never minded taking care of you and learning all the ins and outs of your body language, he’s realizing that these little things that rarely register in his mind may have been snowballing in yours.

But on days when he comes home, totally spent from practice, he acknowledges that he won’t be able to put the effort into fulfilling your unsaid desires. And that’s almost every day.

So as he sits on the couch, visualizing a life of yours without him, he thinks it might be for the best. He waits at home for you. When you come home, the two of you can have a mature conversation about a future where you are with someone who can make you happy.

–

It’s late morning when you return home, unsurprisingly but not unexpectedly finding the apartment empty. Rin has gone to practice.

You berate yourself for even wishing for one moment that Rin would have skipped practice to wait for you.

You suppose it’s like all your expectations of Rin: things piling up that you wish he would do but you never ask him for.

You busy yourself cleaning, reading, watching TV, napping. The day passes by painfully slowly. You finally hear the click of the front door right as you finish preparing dinner – an elaborate meal of Rin’s favorites as your way of meeting him in the middle.

You greet him at the door and after he takes off his shoes and drops his bag, he meets your eyes. There’s no detectable expression; he doesn’t look particularly surprised, upset, nor happy to see you at home waiting for you.

What he does do, however, is walk up to you and pull you into his arms.

His gesture overwhelms you. It’s not exactly what you’ve been asking for, but it’s enough. You sniffle lightly into his jacket. He just holds you and you let him – it’s precisely what you want and need.

After a while of the two of you simply standing together in the entryway, your arms around his waist remain tight as you ask, “what are you thinking about, Rin?”

He’s silent but squeezes your shoulders.

A smile overtakes your lips. That’s when you remember you had prepared dinner for him. This seems like an appropriate time to offer it up as an apology, but Rin doesn’t seem to be ready to move.

You let go, intending to lead him to the dinner table, but even as your arms unwind from around him, his hold remains tight.

“Rin?”

“I’m thinking about how I’m going to let you go.”

You freeze.

Rin doesn’t say anything more. He lets the words hang in the air and no matter how long the two of you stand there, the words don’t change.

“I thought you came home to make up with me,” you say.

Rin still refuses to let go. “I’ve thought about it,” he says quietly, slowly. “I think I finally get what you want from me. But I can’t give you that. I can’t be different and that might mean that I can’t be what you want. At least not in an emotional partner.”

You shove him away. “You don’t know that! How can you know what I want! I never-”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. I don’t think I can give you what you want without needing you to ask for it. And I think you deserve someone who can.”

You shake your head, different tears rearing to make an appearance. “You said it yourself, Rin. You’re not a mind-reader. I know I have to do a better job of telling you when I…”

He shakes his head too.

“No, I don’t think you’re asking too much. I think you’re completely right. But I can’t do it. There’s definitely someone else out there who can do it for you.”

“If it’s not too much to ask, then why can’t you try! Why are you just giving up? You’re so unwilling to try that you’d rather break up?!”

You’re hysterical at this point. Rin’s calm demeanor just makes it worse.

“I love you,” Rin says solemnly. “but I can’t keep hurting you like this. Especially when I know I can’t change.”

Rin says every word deliberately, with finality. Every word drains more and more fight from you.

“Cant? Or won’t?”

Rin only meets your gaze steadily.

There are no more words, no more fight you have left. What more can you do but say okay?

–

For Rin, everything has gone exactly as he had expected. He would go even as far as to say that the night the two of you agreed to break up, he slept dreamlessly. He went to practice the following day and performed just as usual. He had dinner alone, but he’s no longer in a position to wonder where you spent dinner and so he cleans up and showers and falls into another fitless sleep.

It’s only when the weekend comes around that something starts to stir.

As agreed, you decide to move out despite Rin offering the apartment to you. It was a strange feeling when you had told him the apartment had too many memories for you to remain in it alone. He has never thought of it that way before, associating a tangible thing to an intangible feeling, unless it was a soccer ball flying into a goal.

Sae had come over to help you move out.

During your years of dating, Rin was aware that you and his older brother got along well. While your friendship with his brother had never really bothered him, he had also never considered you closer to Sae than he, himself, to Sae.

So he finds it uncomfortable that Sae is the one helping you leave.

But despite his initial reservations, the morning goes by uneventfully, the two brothers packing your things away into boxes.

After lunch, you decide to join Sae to pack your half of the kitchen while Rin takes the bathroom. It takes him less than 30 minutes to separate all your items from his, a variety of colorful bottles and jars that he’s never touched. It takes even less time to pack them away into one single plastic container.

Something strikes Rin in the gut when he realizes how easy it is to pack years into a single box. Unable to shake the punching feeling in his gut, he picks up a bottle of lotion that has been untouched by either of you for years to ask if you’d like to take it. He could care less about the lotion but he needs to walk away from the unfamiliar sight of the sink now only decorated with a sparse scattering of his grey-tone products.

When he turns the corner to the kitchen, he sees you sitting on the counter, dictating items for Sae to grab from the cabinets. The domesticity between the two of you in his home makes the punchy feeling he wants to run from punch harder.

He watches Sae point at a matching set of mugs, ones that Rin remembers easily. He surprises himself with how easily the memory of those mugs resurfaces: a vivid image of the two of you in a home goods store picking your first couple’s mugs. You shake your head and Sae moves to the next items in the cabinet. Rin’s gut wrenches at how easily you make your decision to leave those mugs behind.

The next items are a set of glasses the two of you had bought as a souvenir on a weekend trip to Osaka. They weren’t matching, one of the glasses littered with various cute images associated with Osaka and the other with only printed lettering of “Osaka” on it. Despite the contrasting designs, he remembers you putting the glasses that each of you individually picked out together and squealing over how they look like a matching set. He didn’t understand then but as he watches you direct Sae to pack the glass with the cute images and leave the glass with the simple lettering, he starts to understand. His glass gets left in the cabinets.

When the cabinet has been picked and chosen through to your liking, Sae moves over to where you’re sat on the counter and offers his hand to help you off. You take it and hop off. The scene that unfolds next is what finally makes Rin realize that the uncomfortable feeling in his chest is akin to that of a heart attack, no, even more pedestrian – jealousy.

He watches as your expression crumbles and you bury your face into your hands. It hits him that it’s the first time he has seen you cry after the breakup. And on instinct, he begins to walk to where you are to offer comfort, but it’s Sae who wraps one arm around you and runs his hands up and down your arm.

It strikes Rin then.

It's one thing to think about letting you go be with someone who is the partner you deserve.

It's another to actually do it and see it. It's another thing to go through with it.

And the most jarring realization today is that maybe Rin is more capable of what he had originally thought. Maybe he can’t read your mind, but the years of being with you, living with you, loving you, has taught him that he can understand you without needing you to say anything.

Like right now. Sae has one arm around your trembling figure, pulling you into his side, but what you really want is someone who will wrap both arms around your shoulders. You’d push your damp face into the nearest neck or collarbone when one arm comes up to cradle your head. You’d whimper when the one holding your nuzzles their face against your hair. It’s muscle memory.

For both you and him.

And just like that, Rin changes his mind.

He charges onto the scene.

“I’ll take it from here.”

–

“I’ll take it from here.”

Sae lifts his arm from your shoulder, but by instinct, you cower, stepping behind him, just enough to hide your face. It takes you a few seconds to pull yourself together, school your expression to face Rin. When you look up, you find that the brothers have come to some sort of silent understanding, Sae nodding and patting your head before vacating the apartment, leaving you and Rin and the thick haze of tension.

Sae forgotten, you swipe messily at your face one last time for stray tears, playing it off as wiping the sweat from your forehead.

You turn back to the cabinets, busying yourself by reaching up for the remaining mugs. “We almost finished the kitchen. I just need to go through a couple more cupboards and…”

“Hey.”

You feel him before you hear him. Rin is all up in your space, one hand resting on the counter to your left, caging you against the counter.

“Stop,” his commanding voice tells you.

You turn around.

“Can I take it back?” he asks.

You fluster.

“Oh! Um,” you respond, voice startlingly loud. “The mugs? Which one did you want to keep? I didn’t mean to take-”

“Not that,” he stops your rambling. “Can I take what I said back? About breaking up. I want to take it all back.”

He pries the mug from between your fingers and sets it back into its home in the cupboards.

“What does ‘take it back’ mean?” you squeak out.

“It means I don’t want to break up anymore.”

Your mouth moves faster than your brain.

“You can’t just take a break up back.”

“So how can I do it then? I’ll do anything.”

“You can’t!” you raise your voice then. “You just… can’t.” the last word uttered as a whisper.

“Yes, we can. Tell me what to do. I’m sorry. Sorry. I know you do a lot for me and I thought I couldn’t do that for you. But I know I can. I can do it better than anyone else. So please, let me take it back.”

“Do you even know what we were arguing about in the first place? Do you remember that one time, so long ago, you said the same thing to me over the phone? To use my fucking words? Well maybe you don’t, but I remember every word.”

“I remember,” he says honestly. “And I’m sorry I said it that way. So much that it hurt you. So much that you still remember the exact words I said to you. But I don’t need to read your mind.

“Though I would like you to tell me explicitly what you like sometimes,” he adds thoughtfully.

“But, I’ve loved you for long enough now that I don’t need to read your mind to know what you need. Maybe I won’t always know what you want, so I’ll still need you to tell me sometimes, but I always know what you need.”

A lot of the things Rin says are very matter of fact and this is no different. He knows before you do that you’ll give in.

He closes the small distance and pulls you into a tight embrace. It’s enough to open the floodgates.

“Do you even know how many hours I’ve spent practicing arguments against you in my head? In the shower, in the car, when I’m getting ready for bed? You can’t just say a few sorry’s and think it’s enough.”

“Mhm,” he nods, cradling your head in a way you know he knows makes you the most vulnerable.

“I make you feel so guilty in my imagination. I don’t want to feel like that anymore,” you sob.

“Yeah,” he says, continuing to stroke your hair.

“And you can’t talk to me like that anymore.”

“I won’t,” he promises.

He lets you soak his shirt with tears and after what feels like hours, you finally bring your hands up to clutch tightly at his shirt.

“So how was your day?” he asks.

You pinch his sides. “Not now, idiot.”

You hear him chuckle a bit, the vibrations against your body comforting. He continues holding you, though, just the way you know he knows you like.

#noos writes #blue lock angst #blue lock fluff #bllk angst #bllk fluff #blue lock x you #blue lock x reader #bllk x y/n #bllk x you #bllk x reader #itoshi rin #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin x you #itoshi rin x y/n #rin itoshi #itoshi rin fluff #itoshi rin angst

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ponderingmoonlight · 3 months ago

Note

Hi hi hi! I've been missing Levi content for a while now so I hope you won't mind if I request one. Like reader is a high ranking officer (higher than him obv) and they kinda hated each other bc of his attitude and stuff but then she kinda saves him and they started realizing their feelings and stuff

Btw I hope you enjoy your vacation!

You're so right honey, that's why we're doing this right now

Levi slowly but surely falling in love with his commander aka you

Pairing: Levi x fem!reader

Word Count: 2k

Synopsis: Levi never understood you, always hated the way you drag your soldiers around while carrying yourself with ease. Until you're out on another mission together, until he is the one who needs to safe you...

Warnings: None really, enemies to lovers in a kind of hurried way since this is a one shot, don't expect full on making out because again, this is only a one shot. Fluff fluff fluff with little errors here and there since I didn't find the time to re-read

I hear y'all, dearest aot fans! If you'd like to read more about attack on titan, feel free to push this fanfic and let me know 🤍

The tension is thick enough to slice through it with your gear as the Survey Corps make their final preparations before heading into Titan territory. The mission is risky, with the odds stacked against all of you as usual, but that has always been the life of a Survey Corps member.

Especially yours. Being the Lieutenant Commander meant taking a lot of responsibility for everything that happened regarding titans and your soldiers, always having to decide between the sake of a mission and those innocent lives that trust you with all their heart. The voices around you roam through the way too crowded room hectically, turn into a hot mess of different opinions and strategies.

In the midst of the chaos, Levi Ackerman stands with his arms crossed, his icy gaze fixed on the woman issuing orders just a few feet away.

You are everything Levi dislikes in an officer: confident to the point of arrogance, with a sharp tongue to match. Your strategies are always sound, often brilliant, but you have a way of getting under his skin like no one else. As a higher-ranking officer, you are technically his superior, which makes his hatred grow even worse.

��Are you sure this is the best course of action?”

Levi’s voice cuts through the chatter, his tone edged with scepticism like usual when he talks to you.

You don’t even look up from the map spread across the table. It would have surprised you if Levi kept his voice low when it’s always him who contradicts you the loudest.

“Unless you have a better idea, Captain, I suggest you stick to what you do best: killing titans”, you reply dryly.

Levi’s jaw clenches in the most uncomfortable way, a wave of anger rushing through his veins just by hearing your confident tone.

“And what you do best is risking lives for the sake of glory.”

You finally meet his gaze, your eyes flashing with irritation. But even though you know him oh so well by now, he never fails to get on your nerves.

“I’m risking lives to save lives. You, of all people, should understand that.”

“I understand that, Lieutenant Commander,” Levi retorts, the title spat out like venom,

“but this mission is reckless. We don’t need to take unnecessary risks.”

“The greatest risk is doing nothing.”

Your voice is cold, authoritative. Without gifting him another glance, you turn your attention back to the map, effectively dismissing him.

He storms out of the room in order to calm down his pounding heart, the images of the past missions with countless dead soldiers running through his mind all at once. Levi simply hates the way you talk, how someone so intelligent can be so infuriatingly stubborn and goddamn beautiful.

Beautiful?

“I’m losing my fucking mind”, he mutters to himself.

-the day of the mission-

Everything went smoothly. Getting out of the city, not meeting anything but a few 7 meter class titans who get wiped out by your well-thought line-up. As usual you lead the charge, your orders sharp and precise as you direct the troops with your eyes scanning the area like a hawk. Levi is forced to stay close, not out of any sense of duty to you, but because he knows he needs to be there when your plan inevitably goes south.

And it does.

The titans come out of nowhere, an abnormal horde larger and more coordinated than you anticipated. The battlefield erupts into chaos with your soldiers scattered all over the place before you’re even able to think about an order. Within a few seconds, some struggle to follow your orders while others acting on instinct to survive.

Levi’s instincts scream at him to keep moving, to cut through the titans as he always did. But his eyes keep drifting back to you, holding your ground in the middle of the chaos with your ODM gear flashing as you maneuver between trees and slice through titan napes with deadly precision.

For a moment, he almost respects you. Almost.

But then, a rogue titan barrels toward you, faster than you could react. An abnormal you didn’t have the chance to see coming, aiming directly for your delicate neck. You turn around, eyes widening, realizing too late that you are out of time. You won’t make it.

Levi doesn’t hesitate. In a split second, he is there, blades slicing through the Titan’s nape with effortless precision. The massive body collapses, narrowly missing your frame as it crashes to the ground lifelessly.

For a second, you forget how to breathe. Blood rushes through your ears violently, your whole body starts shaking. This was the closest you’ve ever been to dying. Right here, on a mission that was supposed to be easy. If it wasn’t for him, you’d be gone by now.

Him.

You look at him, breathless, a mix of shock and something else, something unspoken, flickering in your eyes.

“You’re welcome,” Levi says flatly, retracting his blades.

Fuck, he hates the way his heart almost beats out of his chest. Seeing you almost getting dragged into the disgusting mouth of that demon, that glossy layer of fear glistening in your orbs. Truth is, he can’t imagine what life would look like without you. To be honest, just maybe, he somehow needs you in his life.

You don’t respond immediately, still catching your shaky breath. But when you do, your voice is softer, almost reluctant.

“Thank you.”

He gives a curt nod, about to move on, when another wave of Titans emerges from the trees, cutting off their escape. Fuck, you are trapped with no time to regroup or plan. For a split second, both of you exchangd a glance, a silent understanding passing between you.

In the matter of seconds, that minor spark of weakness disappears out of your orbs, gives way to the hardness of your determination. He can’t help but stare at you, that gorgeous face, how fucking strong you look.

There’s no time to stare at you like an idiot, though. You fight back-to-back, moving in a deadly dance of steel and blood. Levi’s movements are precise and brutal, while yours are fluid and strategic, exploiting every weakness you can find. It doesn’t matter if they are abnormal. At the end of the day, all of them are nothing but titans.

And the man fighting by your side? You allow yourself a single glance at him, how effortlessly he slices through each and every neck. He is the humanity’s strongest soldier, an inspiration even though you’d never say that out loud.

Together, you are unstoppable, a force that tears through the wave of titans with an almost terrifying efficiency.

But despite your efforts, the numbers are overwhelming. Your plan was brilliant, but it hasn’t accounted for this level of resistance. And now you are paying the price.

As you fight, your movements begin to slow, exhaustion creeping into your limbs. Levi notices immediately, his keen eyes catching the subtle tremors in your hands, the slight delay in your attacks. You are reaching her limit.

“Fall back,” Levi orders with sharp voice.

“We can’t retreat now,” you argue, even as your breath comes in ragged gasps.

“We need to—”

“You need to survive,” Levi cuts her off, his tone leaving no room for debate.

“You might be the Lieutenant Commander, but that’s an order. I can’t watch you die here. ”

For a moment, she hesitate, your pride warring with the reality of the situation. But the second you catch that look full of worry on his face, notice the pleading tone in his usual so cool voice, you nod. Together both of you retreat, your ODM gear carrying you away from the swarm of dreadful titans.

You land in a small clearing, both of you breathing heavily. For a long moment, you just stand there, surrounded by the unnerving quiet of the forest, the distant sounds of battle fading into the background.

“You saved my life back there”, you finally mumble into the silence.

Levi doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the ground. When he finally does, his voice is uncharacteristically soft.

“You would have done the same.”

You nod, a small, tired smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“I suppose I would have.”

You just stand there in silence for a while, the adrenaline of battle slowly fading, leaving behind an unexpected calm.

It’s strange, Levi ponders, how the heat of battle has somehow cooled the bitterness between them. Somehow, he doesn’t look at you with hatred filling him up to the brim anymore. Somehow, your beautiful appearance doesn’t provoke him like it did before. In its place, something else holds onto his heart, something he isn’t quite ready to name. Is that…blush creeping up his cheeks?

“I’ve misjudged you. You’re not just a killing machine”, you mutter, your eyes meeting his with an intensity that hits him straight to the core.

Levi raises an eyebrow, too busy to stop himself from blushing to prevent that hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

“And you’re not just a reckless strategist.”

You chuckle, a sound that is surprisingly soft, almost gentle. He never heard you laugh, especially not this sincere. What a wonderful sound.

“Maybe we’re both wrong.”

“Maybe.”

Both of you lapse into silence again, but this time more comfortable, less charged with those countless emotions. How is it that a single battle chased away that thick tension of hatred you felt for him just yesterday? Somehow, all you feel now is respect and…

You swallow hard, hungry eyes staring at the ground. Somehow, you feel attraction. Out of instinct, you shake your head in determination, force some sense back into your mind. You’re the Lieutenant Commander, after all.

“We should get back to the others. They’ll need our help”, you finally speak out while getting up.

Levi nods, but before you move too far away from him, he reaches out, his hand briefly brushing against your arm. Your eyes dart up immediately, heart almost pounding out of your chest.

“Don’t be so quick to throw yourself into the fire next time. You’re no good to anyone dead” he comments with low but firm voice.

When you send a beaming smile his way, Levi almost forgets how to exist. If he had known how gorgeous your lips look, how well smiling suits you.

He’s lost.

“I’ll keep that in mind”, you reply with a sarcastic but warm tone.

-Bonus-

“They give me the ick”, Jean mutters under his breath.

“What? You mean Lieutenant Commander (y/n) and Captain Levi?”, Connie questions.

“Yeah. Didn’t they hate each other? I always thought I might be able to pull her…”

“Something between them changed, I guess”, Mikasa adds, the whole friend group staring at the both of you in sheer disbelief.

“Why are these kids staring at us so stupid”, Levi mutters under his breath, already on his way to confront those brats.

“Don’t.”

Gently, you grab his hand and pull him back towards you.

“Stay with me. That’s an order.”

“An order? You really think you can order me around?”

“Despite being your girlfriend, I’m still your Commander”, you tease him, now placing your hands against his chest.

“Maybe I’ll have to think about that again...”

Tags:

@lees-chaotic-brain @sanicsmut @levislegislation @istglevi-gotmesimping

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it-was-summer · 3 months ago

Text

Come In With The Rain (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey y'all, I'm so sorry for the late posting. I know that I don't have a new chapter of 'Video Killed the Radio Star' out yet, but stay with me here. This is part one (of two) of my 500 followers post! I want to thank everyone for reading and being so sweet throughout the years. I really hope you all like this first part! The second part will probably be posted sometime this upcoming week. AND IT WILL BE 18+. I'm estimating sometime between Thursday and Saturday. Again, this is not proofread because I never learn. Love you all- Em <3

Link to the Ao3: Come In With The Rain

You are on Part One! -> Part Two

Yee olde masterlist

WARNING: Slow burn ahh fanfiction, emotional cheating, an accusation of emotional cheating, couple fighting, sex mentioned, alcohol mentions, drunk reader at one point, light cursing, babygirl Spencer Reid, suggestion BLINK AND YOU MISS IT SUGGESTION that Reid is Bi, reader is referred to as a woman, she/her/hers pronouns at some parts, and mention of feeling like a burden. AND probably something else, idk.

Plot: Spencer Reid becomes friends with you after bumping into you at a grocery store. Instantly enamored with you he develops a crush. A crush, apparently destined to fail, because why wouldn't you have a boyfriend?

Word Count: 10,365 (That's correct... 24 PAGES)

Day One

Almost everyone could agree that Spencer’s job was incredibly arduous. If not arduous, it was strenuous, formidable, occasionally crushing, onerous; the list goes on. Overall, his job –despite all its pitfalls– was something he loved. There was one thing he was starting to hate more than anything, though: he couldn’t seem to keep all his groceries from going bad after a week of back-to-back cases.

Spencer narrows his eyes at his messy handwriting, looking back and forth between the paper in his hands and the cans in front of him. He just couldn’t find the can that he was looking for. Penelope had loaned him her recipe a few weeks back, and despite his disastrous efforts in the kitchen, he was determined to give it a shot. His mother never taught him how to cook –not that he blamed her, of course– so it was truly an area in which he simply lacked a lot of skill. Given his eidetic memory, he didn’t really need a list, but Penelope said this brand was best for her recipe when they talked last week. He didn’t want to risk it, so he wrote it down.

He turned his head side-to-side, looking for a nearby worker, but found none. The only person in this aisle was him. He frowned a little before the sound of a sigh passing behind him made him jump. He quickly looked over his shoulder to see a woman standing behind him, staring at a list in hand. He couldn’t help but wonder when you had gotten there and how long you had been standing behind him before your sigh alerted Spencer to the presence of another life form in this aisle.

Your head tilted slowly, your eyes met his, and Spencer felt his mouth drying. He wasn’t charming around beautiful women like Derek; most of all, he hadn’t expected to run into one at the grocery store. Your eyes stayed on Spencer for a second before they moved towards the cans in front of them. Spencer felt like a warmth had just been pulled away from him in the absence of your gaze.

He shuffles out of your eyeline as you scan the cans with a soft smile. “Thank you,” your voice was light and airy, carrying a softness that Spencer wasn’t used to hearing. Your body is closer to his as you walk toward the cans and carefully reach up on your tiptoes to grab a can of sauce on the highest shelf.

Spencer gets the idea stupidly slow: He should get it for you. He clears his throat and maneuvers his body to avoid touching the beautiful stranger beside him. He slides the sauce can off the shelf and hands it to you.

He’s greeted with a dazzling smile, dimples on your cheeks, and eyes shining bright under the fluorescent lights of the grocery store. “Thank you,” you repeat before you stare at him expectantly.

Spencer can’t help but feel like his IQ is taking slashes as he stares at that smile, “Spencer,”

You gave him a gentle nod as you walked the sauce over to your cart, “Nice to meet you, Spencer. I’m Y/N.” You say as you look over your shoulder at him, hair falling into your face. For the first time in a long time, Spencer can feel the ends of his fingers twitching with anticipation at the idea of offering to brush the hair out of your face for you. He gives you a soft smile instead, his eyes trailing back to the list in his hands in an attempt to stop himself from staring.

Your voice near him almost makes him let out a yelp of surprise as you say, “Are you looking for something? I don’t work here, but I cook a lot.” You say matter-of-factly, suggesting that your cooking hobby somehow made you an expert in the grocery store layout.

Spencer felt like handing you his list and following you around like a puppy dog for the rest of his grocery shopping if it meant you’d keep standing this close to him. “Yeah, uhm, this brand of chili beans.”

“Oh, you haven’t looked low enough.” You barely even glance at his list before bending your knees and crouching down to the lower shelf to grab it. You look up from the ground, holding the can of beans for him to take with a bright smile before you say, “You’re so tall you must have forgotten about the lower shelves.” A laugh escapes your lips as Spencer carefully grabs the can from your hand.

You stand up with a gentle sigh. He can tell that you’re about to say something else when a man’s voice interrupts you. Your eyes grow brighter at the sound, and your head quickly turns toward the sound at the far left end of the aisle. “I got the cheese.” As he approaches, the man shoots the shredded cheese into the cart with a grin.

You mouth a soft ‘yay’ as the man’s arm quickly wraps around your waist. “Josh, this is Spencer. I was just helping him look for a can of beans. Spencer, this is Josh.”

Spencer feels his lips draw into a tight-lipped smile as he waves his free hand, “Nice to meet you,” He says with a slight nod.

“She’s always talking to strangers, I swear. Stop making friends everywhere you go, you little angel.” Josh says as he pinches your side, earning a melodious laugh from you. Spencer feels a little nauseous.

“Hey, gross.” You chuckle lightly as you pull Josh’s hand off your side, “Anyways, it was nice to meet you, Spencer. See you around.” You grab the handle of your cart with a beautiful smile before rolling the cart out of the aisle with Josh in tow.

Spencer watches you until you take a right and disappear from his view, and now he can only look at the can of beans in his hand. He sighs at his luck, smiling a little with amusement at the fact that you have a boyfriend. His short interaction made it clear to him that you were easy to get along with. Beautiful, kind, easygoing, of course, you had a boyfriend.

Spencer silently resigned himself to the fact that he would probably never see you or Josh again as he continued with his unneeded list.

Now, he felt like the fabled gods of fate were laughing down at him as he made the last trip to his car. He was closing the trunk of his car when he heard a familiar voice yell out his name from across the parking lot. “Spencer!” You yelled with bags in hand, panting lightly as you approached him with a light jog. “How funny is this?”

A sarcastically bitter voice was in his head. Only the Ancient Greeks would find this funny. “Do you live in this building?” he asked as his eyes scanned the parking lot for Josh. His shoulders relaxed as he realized that it was just you.

“Yeah, third floor.” You say as you readjust the bags in your hands. Spencer gave you an amused smile as he slid his last two bags on one arm, extending his free arm toward you.

“Need some help?” He offers in a soft voice. You give him a grateful look as you nod, handing him a slightly heavy bag. Typically, you wouldn’t have accepted help from a perfect stranger, but almost everything about Spencer screamed non-threatening, so you let yourself be a little trusting.

“Can’t believe that we’re neighbors. I'm glad I talked to you at the store; I made a neighbor friend!” Your speaking speed almost matches his when he is going on his excited ramblings.

Spencer pushes a door open with his back, holding it open for you with his foot as he laughs. “I guess it's plausible, being that the grocery store is as close as it is.” He’s quick to move to the next door, repeating the motion.

You smile gently as Spencer opens another door for you, this one leading the two of you to the stairwell. “Oh, you’re probably one of those people who doesn’t believe in fate, aren’t you, Spencer?”

“I would have to say that I absolutely fall within the twenty-nine percent of Americans who do not believe in fate. Nothing is predetermined.”

“Maybe you’re predetermined to believe that,” Is your quick remark as you walk in front of him on the stairs.

“Not likely,”

“So, what? You’re a cynic?”

Spencer smiles wide at the question, “How does my not believing in fate make me a cynic?”

You grin, tossing a skeptical look over your shoulder, before speaking again. “Not believing in fate is such a cynical thing to do,”

“And what does that make you?”

“Stupid and optimistically in love.”

Spencer shakes his head, his eyes glancing at the door that leads to the second floor, but he continues to follow you up another flight of stairs without complaint. “I would label myself as a realist.” And a profiler, but he was careful to leave that part out. The cases over the years proved one thing to him: nothing was predetermined. There was an opportunity for change everywhere.

“Okay, Mr. Realist, what about luck?” You asked as the two of you approached the door marked for floor three.

He thought for a moment as you held the door open for him, “Maybe,” was all he could say as the memory of when he was struggling with his aim came to mind: killing an UnSub with a shot to the head when he had been aiming for his leg.

“So you do believe in fate.” You turned your body to walk backward down the hallway with a satisfied, winning smile as you looked at him before slowing to a stop in front of your apartment door.

“Fate and luck are not the same thing. Luck is usually used to describe an outcome; it’s a notion. It’s circumstantial. Fate defies logic, science really.” He said as he handed you your bag carefully. His eyes glanced at the number on your door: thirty-seven. “You live with your boyfriend?” Spencer asks before he can stop himself, silently screaming at himself for being a creep.

The question barely phases you as you reach into your pocket, searching for your keys. “Yeah, moved in six months ago.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” Spencer hated small talk. Actually, he secretly hated the fact that the first person he found attractive, after months of failed dates, was taken. He also hated that you were living a floor above him for six months, and he hadn’t known about it– hadn’t known about you. Above all, he hated that he enjoyed your company already, especially having only known you for more than a few hours at best. “How long have the two of you been together?”

“A year and eleven months,” you answer with a soft smile, your eyes giving way to soft emotion as you open your door. “What floor do you live on again?”

Spencer wants to say that you never asked, but he didn’t want to seem rude. He was sure you couldn’t be rude if you tried, that sweet smile of yours not capable of the act. “Second floor,” he answers as he readjusts his bags timidly.

With a soft gasp, you set down a bag or two, “Oh! I’m sorry.” You apologize softly as you look up at him, your eyes beautiful and tender. Spencer can’t remember if he is mad when he looks into those eyes.

Spencer let out a meek and barely audible “It’s okay,” He decides it truly is.

You bite your bottom lip and smile at him, “Well, thanks for your help, Spencer. I really appreciated it. Come up some time and say hi!” As you beam at him, you move a stray hair out of your face.

Spencer nods slowly, swallowing thickly, and manages a soft smile. His feet move his body back to the stairwell slowly. “Okay, I’ll do that.”

Day Forty-Two

You’re laughing over something Josh said. Spencer doesn’t really get it, but you seem to think it is the funniest joke you’ve ever heard. Punchlines usually went over his head, but he was always happy to nod along with a smile on his face.

Spencer honestly didn’t want to come up and visit you and Josh a month ago. Maybe he was a glutton for punishment. Perhaps he just didn’t have it in himself to stay away from your electric personality—why he visited you and Josh three Saturdays ago was still a mystery to him.

As Josh walks away with a smug smile, you turn to Spencer. He watches as you lean towards him, eyes tracking Josh until he’s out of sight. Your amused smile falls from your face as you whisper a soft, “Did you get that?”

Spencer is taken aback at the question. You laughed at Josh’s joke; how did you not get it? Why did you laugh so hard if you didn’t get it? He wonders until he’s whispering that same question to you, “If you didn’t get it, why did you laugh?”

You smile a little cheekily and only slightly embarrassed, “I didn’t want him to know I didn’t find it funny. Sometimes, he falls short of witty humor.”

Spencer smiles at that, shaking his head as he stares over at the area where Josh disappeared. “Why don’t you just tell him that you didn’t find it funny?”

“Because,” Your voice sounds offended, but the amused look in your eyes tells him differently, “I’m his girlfriend of two years, and I’m nice. Unlike some people.” You give him a side-eyed glare, making Spencer gasp in mock defense.

“I’m nice!” He hisses out in a defensive whisper. He briefly falters at your incredulous look before slowly nodding in defeat, “Okay, I’m a little mean sometimes.”

You smile again and face him, your hands moving as you talk, “Which is funny because you’re perfectly nice when you’re around me.”

Spencer didn’t have an answer to that one either. After being friendly with the couple for a little over a month, he just could not be friends with Josh. His jokes flew over Spencer’s head, he talked over you (and sometimes him), and he never seemed to take your interests seriously.

Last Monday after work, you called Spencer, asking him if he wanted to go to the movies with you to see a tragic Italian film. He was quick to say yes, partially because of the excellent movie selection and because he wanted to be around you more.

When he asked why Josh wasn’t joining them, you simply said that it wasn’t Josh’s thing. That didn’t sit right with him, but he let it go. Then, the day after, you called him again, asking him if he’d be willing to go with you to one of those paint-and-sip places around town that weekend.

His answer was another resounding yes, and he didn’t even drink. Then the question came again during the class, and you responded with the same thing– it wasn’t Josh’s thing.

Josh’s thing was going off to work all day and then coming home to ignore you for a good two hours before dinner. Then he was all yours again. At least, that’s what Spencer saw. He understood that everyone needed their alone time and that he was being a little petty and a little jealous toward Josh.

He wanted to be the bigger person, honestly. It was just so hard when your boyfriend made it so easy for Spencer to hate him. He’d never say that to you, of course. You looked at Josh like he had hung the moon yesterday and then created the stars today. You never missed a chance to talk about Josh around… well, anyone—the precursor to Spencer’s current dilemma.

Deep down inside, he knew that his inappropriate crush on you couldn’t possibly get worse. So he thought, What’s the harm in becoming close friends with you? If anything, it was likely that seeing more of your personality would pull his rose-colored glasses off his face and force him to see you in a normal, less love-sick light. After all, he had gotten over his embarrassing crush on JJ and saw her almost daily at work.

When Josh walks back into the room, he’s on his phone. He barely glances up from the text as he speaks to you, “Hey, babe, would it be okay with you if I head out for the night?”

Your eyebrows furrow with confusion, “But Spencer is here, and we were going to finish the movie, remember?”

“Right, but I already know what happens. I mean, it’s a tragedy, right? Spencer and you always have more fun together doing your nerd stuff. No offense, Spencer. The guys just want me to go out with them.”

A realization dawns on your face as you realize he’s not asking so much as telling you he’s leaving. You nod slowly, letting Josh kiss your forehead before he grabs his keys and leaves. You look over at Spencer, who is trying to be polite by not watching the scene, looking down at the television remote with a deep interest.

You smile slowly, sadly, and turn your body a little on the couch facing the television. The rest of the night is spent in your living room with Spencer, sitting next to each other and watching a movie before ending with your head on his shoulder and the soft tone of someone saying they “Liked the movie.”

Day Ninety-Three

You could feel something starting to slip. It was a familiar feeling; something in the ground was shaking. It shook you, at least. You always noticed it first—a crack in the ship's hull. You were always the first to address it, too.

With Josh, it used to be customary for him to apologize for any indiscretion and try to fix the damage. But false promises are like duct tape in the ship’s hull, slipping and sliding against wet wood, water pouring in until the whole ship goes down.

It wasn’t always like this. Him coming home and ignoring you for hours, only to acknowledge you late into the evening. It was relatively new to your relationship. Well, if you consider nine months new. By now, you could only label it as consistent. Before you lived with your loving boyfriend, he would carve out time in the evenings just to talk with you for hours or take you on dates that sometimes lasted for days on the weekends.

You knew that living together would take some of that away– everyone deserved to have their private time, and you weren’t going to start demanding day-long dates anytime soon. You just missed the effort he used to put in, the time when he would make days for the two of you– hours for just the two of you.

A year ago, Josh would have jumped to see that weird new Hungarian horror movie with subtitles for you if you had asked. He would have attempted to stay awake during it, hold your hand during the parts that scared you, something lovely.

The first crack started when you moved in with him. One evening, you had gotten home from work early and occupied the living room for a few hours, watching some random French movie that had been recommended to you by your best friend. She didn’t like this kind of thing but knew you did, so you were grateful that she had thought of you.

When he came home from work a little later than usual, he saw you on the couch with a plate of pasta, watching the movie intently. You turned your head towards the door and smiled wide at him. “Hey! I made spaghetti, grab a plate and watch this movie with me? I’ll restart it.” Your hands were already reaching for the remote when a heavy, annoyed sigh cut through the air. You looked over at him again and gave him a gentle, empathic smile, “Hey… did you have a hard day? We don’t have to watch anything we could–”

“Have you ever thought that maybe I don’t want to do anything with you right after I get off work?” Josh hissed out as he threw his keys onto the wooden kitchen table.

You felt your head reel back a little at the question, and you laughed a little, pushing yourself up to sit on your knees on the couch. “I’m sorry?”

“Have you ever thought I might want to come home after work and not talk to you for a few hours? I mean, I thought that after living here for two months, you would have caught on, but clearly you haven’t. I come home, and you’re right there, ready to talk. Prepared to force me to sit down and watch some… foreign language film that has some profound meaning that you’ll blabber about for thirty minutes before bed tonight.”

You blinked a little at his harsh words, which were unlike him. He never seemed annoyed by your passions, hobbies, or ramblings. In fact, he always seemed to encourage them. You tried your best to give him a genuine smile, “Love, you’ve had a long day. Let’s just take a second and get some food in you, and then we can d–”

“You’re not getting it,” he laughed bitterly, a sound that caused a sick knot to grow in your throat. “Sometimes, I’m tired of it being we, we, we, we. I’m always doing things with you: Cooking with you, reading with you, watching movies with you, sleeping with you, going on dates with you. Ever since you moved in, it's like it's always an ‘us’ task or a ‘we’ task.” His voice was rising in volume, and you felt your breathing becoming shaky. “I feel like you're always on top of me. It’s suffocating! Maybe I just want to be alone for a few hours. Maybe I don’t want to watch your stupid, fucking, symbolic foreign films.”

“I... I didn’t know that’s how you felt.” You breathed out as you slowly turned the television off and got up with your plate. You wanted him to apologize, you wanted him to soften those brown eyes and start telling you that he didn’t mean it. You wanted him to tell you that work was brutal that day, and he had accidentally lashed out at you. But he just stared at you, panting a little. “I’ll leave you alone some more. I, uhm, I’ll watch this alone in our room.”

And that was that. You had convinced yourself that you were a problem. You were too clingy, always in his space, always trying to force him to like your hobbies, always trying to share too much of yourself with him, always too much. So you decided that maybe what you wanted to do wasn’t his thing anymore.

Besides, you had plenty of friends that liked the same things as you did… maybe. Molly didn’t like foreign films, but Alex enjoyed them enough. Molly did like to paint, but her schedule always conflicted with yours. Sabrina was also a fan of painting but had moved to Boston last month. The list of her friends with crazy work schedules could go on and on, as could the list of friends who moved. You had thought about reaching out to some of them, but Josh’s words rattled you to your core, and suddenly, you felt like a burden for wanting to spend time with your loved ones.

Then, after six months of living with Josh, you met a man in a grocery store—a tall, hazel-eyed, intelligent man. Spencer Reid was unlike any man you had ever met in your life, a rare friend. He was transparent, often going into long, passionate tangents that always had you learning something new. So when he randomly mentioned a foreign film he wanted to see that weekend in one of your conversations, you felt comfortable asking him to come to the movies with you.

Then again, to the paint-and-sip place where the two of you failed to partake in any wine and managed to paint two terrible renditions of sunflowers. Spencer Reid was becoming a friend that you didn’t think you’d burden. Your other friends were quick to explain that you weren’t too much. Still, maybe it was because he had helped you carry your groceries up to the apartment the first day you met him or the way he was so happy to listen to your stories and thoughts. Something about Spencer Reid made you believe him when he said that you weren’t a burden.

And he was nice to be around. Then, there was the pesky fact of Spencer being attractive. At first, it was more of a passing thought. The way he wore his glasses late at night, how his hair fell to one side, the way his fingers were so gentle with books. He was a good-looking man in a nerdy way. Mix that with sweet, caring, and accomplished; he was a threat.

A threat to anyone but your loving boyfriend of two years. Sabrina was laughing over something you had said over the phone, her giggles rising in volume as she tried to speak between them, “He’s a.” Giggling. “An adonis of th–” Cackling. “The mind!” She managed before asking, “What does that even mean?”

“It means he’s a very smart-minded, attractive person.”

“Oh, so you’re like… crushing on the hot mind guy and fighting with Josh. Got it.”

“I’m not fighting with Josh, and we talked about it last month. We’re okay now.”

“Still ignoring you when he comes home?”

You pause before you let out a slow sigh, “Yeah.”

“What’s his record?”

“Four hours and fifteen minutes. He said he will try to be more attentive throughout the week, but he just keeps…” You trail off. You can imagine Sabrina shaking her head on the other side of the line.

“What about the weekends?”

“Going out with his friends more, he visited his mom’s last weekend. Nary a date night in sight, not since our second anniversary at least, and that was..”

“Yeah..” There was rustling, chips maybe, on her side of the line. “Maybe he’s planning something big. Maybe a trip? I don’t know, maybe you should bring it up again.”

You nod a little, your hands typing away gently on your work computer. “Maybe. The last time I mentioned missing our date nights, he just said, ‘We have dinner dates every night at home.’ That was an incredible feeling.”

“Something about weaponized ignorance is coming to mind.”

“Don’t,”

“Josh has been lacking in good boyfriend points since that stunt with the cake on your birthday,”

“He got a little icing on my nose!”

“Don’t,” She dragged out the ‘t’ sound, “Care! The disrespect! Your dress! Ugh, I’m going to get worked up. Talk to me about Dr. Genius.”

“What about him?”

“Does he ever, maybe, do something you wish Josh would start doing?”

You laugh, “What? No…”

“So you don’t wish that Josh would know the symbolism behind The Red Shoes and go into how… what did he say?”

“That art was worth dying for, and that Hans Christian Andersen's original story surrounded a sense of morality and religious–”

“Ah, Ah, Ah, so you don’t want Josh to know that?”

“He doesn’t need to know that,” your fingers falter in their typing, “Two people can have similar interests and not be in love.”

“Right, it just seems like lately, you’ve been…” You hate the awkward silence that follows Sabrina before she carefully speaks again, “Maybe replacing Josh with Spencer in your hobbies. I know Josh lashed out and was wrong, too, but this Spencer guy… he clicks with you– your hobbies, at least. And your witty humor, too. It seems he matches your intellectualism and your passion for learning, exceeds it even, but Josh is steps below you. Josh, he… just always seems so tolerant of your hobbies.”

“So what are you saying?”

“Nothing,” a voice calls her name, “Look, I gotta go. Josh is great, and I’m just being silly. Maybe I just have a grudge against him or something. I love you.”

“I’ll talk to you later. Love you.” You reply quickly before she ends the call.

You shake your head a little at her words, still swimming in your mind as you go back to charting something on your computer. What did that even mean? Josh is steps below you. He wasn’t dumb. He just lacked… that dry humor you had with Spencer sometimes. A quick, witty remark that had one of you smiling in seconds. Besides, that notion was ridiculous, given you had only known Spencer for three months. Josh made up for it in love… and you did love him.

All couples went through rough patches, but you were sure that if you raised your concerns again with Josh, things would change. You nod a little at the thought as you sigh, shifting in your chair slightly as you readied yourself to be engulfed in your work.

Day One Hundred and Forty-Six

Spencer could feel the bass of some pop song thumping in his chest. It had been a pleasant and slow week at the BAU. While he would have loved to go home and sit down with some book of his choosing, he allowed Penelope and Derek to convince him to go out with them.

The bar wasn’t too far from his apartment complex, so he didn’t mind. Penelope was twirling her drink's tiny umbrella between her fingers as she pointed towards a pretty red-head dancing in a dark green dress. “What about her?”

They have been playing this game for ten minutes now. By they, he means Garcia and Morgan. The game is ‘Who does Spencer find pretty at the bar?’

“Babygirl, you have a great eye,” Derek says as he points the woman out to Spencer, but before he can say anything else, Spencer decides they’ve played this game past the point of amusement.

“Why can’t we accept that I don’t feel like talking to anyone tonight, again?”

Penelope frowned a little, giving Spencer a pleading look. “You said that the last time we took you to the bar, you were willing to participate next time. It’s next time, Reid.”

Spencer remembers the conversation and groans softly as he sips on his water. He hated disappointing them with his lack of effortless charm. It had improved through the years, but he still struggled to find the right words to say in front of someone he found attractive.

“Come on, Pretty Boy. Are you going to back out of your promise?” Derek’s voice is teasing as he smiles at Spencer. Spencer can’t help but feel a sense of newfound obligation. He knew what was holding him back and hated himself for it.

His inappropriate crush on you had grown to be near debilitating, and even though Spencer had told himself that it’d never happen, he kept holding out hope that one day it would. He had gone on dates in the near five months he had known you, but he always ended up comparing his dates to you. They never laughed as sweet as you. They came up with the same academically related jokes you did. They never– they just weren’t you, simple as that.

“Fine, but someone else. She’s pretty, but I think that girl is her girlfriend.” He pleaded softly, watching as a taller brunette woman spun around the pretty redhead to the beat.

Penelope clapped and set down her drink, “This next one has to be perfect.”

“Pretty boy’s future bride,”

Spencer felt his cheeks flush at that, and he nudged Derek with a nervous laugh. Penelope was still scanning the crowd. The bar wasn’t empty or devoid of beautiful women or men for her to choose from, but no one screamed Spencer Reid material. Derek was scanning the crowd with her, always happy to see her passionate about something, even if it was Reid’s love life.

A gasp slipped past Penelope’s lips as she grabbed Derek’s arm tight, her index pointing toward someone by the speakers. Derek’s eyes landed on who she was pointing at, and he smiled wide, nodding quickly, “Future Mrs. Reid material,”

Spencer can barely see where they are pointing as he tries to look toward the area that Garcia is pointing at. Then he sees her. It’s you, and his heart drops. He wants to tell his friends he knows that isn’t ‘Future Mrs. Reid’ at all, but Derek and Penelope are already pushing him into the crowd. He glares back at them and stubbles with his footing for a second before walking toward you.

You’re wearing a beautiful black dress, hugging your curves. In the flashing lights, Spencer thinks that you’re shining. Your hips sway lightly to the beat as you stand near the speakers, alone.

Spencer gently taps you on your shoulder, and when you turn around, you have a glare on your face before you see it's him. He almost laughs at how you gasp and loudly scream, “Spencer!” Your hands fly out to his shoulders, shaking him gently as you giggle. “Hi!” You’re so drunk.

Spencer is sure that Penelope and Derek are watching the scene unfold with confused expressions as he laughs softly, your hands on his shoulders gently shaking his body side-to-side. “Hey, where’s Josh?” He yells over the music.

“Getting drinks!” You yell back in an excited tone.

He smiles wide and shakes his head a little; he usually doesn’t find drunk people endearing. But right now, in the flashing lights of the bar, your rosy-cheek face and tipsy giddiness have him feeling a little more enamored than usual.

“Who are you here with?” You ask loudly, your hands falling away from his shoulders.

“Uh, my friends, coworkers!” he replies as he stands beside you to point out the confused-looking pair staring at them.

“Can I say hi?” He could tell that your friendly disposition continued even when intoxicated, and he found himself adoring the consistency. He nods gently, and you’re smiling so much. Spencer wonders how someone could be so excited about meeting someone else’s friends.

He leads you over, your fingers grabbing the back of his button-up as he carefully leads you through the crowd. The gentle pull of your fingers gripping his shirt makes his cheeks burn as he stops in front of Derek and Penelope. “Y/N, Derek, and Penelope. Penelope and Derek, Y/N.”

You let go of the back of his button-up quickly as you extend a giddy hand, “Hi, I haven’t met any friends of Spencer's yet.”

Derek looks amused as he shakes your hand, his eyes flicking between you and Spencer, “How do you know the boy genius?”

“I found him looking lost in the grocery store. We’re neighbors! Well, almost,” You let go of Derek’s hand to point towards the roof, “I’m on top of him.”

Spencer can feel the breath knocked out of his lungs as he quickly corrects you, “She lives on the floor above me.” He explains before either of them can make a joke.

Penelope matches your happy attitude as she shakes your hand, “We had no idea that Spencer had a friend in his apartment complex! How long have the two of you been friends?”

“Almost five months,” You say with a little giggle, leaning toward Penelope slightly. “Spencer comes over to discuss movies with me or books, or we went to a poetry reading last weekend.”

“He comes over often, huh?” Derek’s voice asks playfully, and you nod quickly.

“The mothership is always beckoning,” You joke, laughing harder than you should at your own joke.

Penelope slowly drops your hand, tilting her head, and her flower earrings sway slightly. “And... your roommate is okay with that?” she asks carefully, and Spencer wants to ask why she doesn’t simply ask if you have a boyfriend.

“Oh, no. Josh doesn’t care. He’s my boyfriend of two years. Nothing can break that security, I’m sure.” You look towards the bar for him and catch his eye. You wave high and wide for him, and he smiles, shaking his head at you as he waits for the drinks.

“So, Pretty Boy here is just a friend.”

You giggle a little at the nickname and try to cover your smile with your hand, looking at Spencer. “Pretty Boy?” You giggle out. Spencer frowns a little and goes to defend himself, but you’re already nodding, “He is a pretty boy. That’s fitting.” Then, he feels like his body is on fire.

Derek is about to say something when Josh slides behind you with two drinks. “Always with Spencer,” he teases softly, kissing your cheek before handing you your drink.

“Josh, these are Spencer’s friends, Penelope and Derek.” You say, taking the drink and happily taking a small sip.

Josh holds out his hand for them to shake, a charming smile on his face, “I thought Spencer’s only friend was my girlfriend.”

Penelope doesn’t laugh, but she still manages a polite smile and shakes his hand before Derek does the same thing. Spencer fidgets a little, still beside you. You turn your head up toward him, and you mouth a soft, ‘He’s drunk’ as a way to excuse Josh’s behavior.

However, recently, Josh has been acting like that sober. He would demand to join the two of you at the movies while complaining about the movie selection. He’d sit between the two of you if the opportunity arose, which wasn’t strange. What was weird was how he’d become more physically affectionate with you in front of Spencer. Spencer hated that– hated looking at it.

Josh quickly grabs your shoulders and says, “We should let you all get back to your night.” It sounds like a suggestion, but he’s already leading you away. You gasp as he guides you away from the three of them, and you quickly smile, wave, and yell out a quick, ‘It was nice to meet you’ before you walk further away with Josh.

Penelope sips on her drink as a way to stop herself from talking, but Derek breaks the silence first. “So he’s jealous of you.”

Spencer wants to deny it, but even he can’t deny the facts. “Not at first, but now… I don’t know if I’m not nice enough or if I did something, but yeah, lately, he’s been like that.”

Penelope sighed and looked toward where you and Josh had walked off to, “She seems sweet,”

“Yeah, Reid’s head over heels for her too.”

“Wait, Spencer, are you?”

His cheeks are flushed, and he’s shaking his head a little, a lame attempt to try and hide his feelings. Derek lays it on thick, “Come on, he doesn’t let just anyone touch him. Did you see how he looked at her when he approached her earlier? Like a lovesick dog with a bone in his mouth.”

Spencer raises his hands and scoffs, “Okay, I’m working on it, alright. She’s just easy to be around. I’m getting over it.”

Penelope is swooning over the information, “A forbidden romance,”

“Her gatekeeper boyfriend and you, the pretty boy genius from downstairs,” Derek adds.

Spencer sighs, annoyed with their teasing, “Alright, let’s drop it.” The pair gives him a look, and he adds a soft, “Please.” Seeing their friend’s annoyance didn’t usually deter them, but the way he shifted from one foot to the other as he begged them to stop had Penelope and Derek sharing a look before letting all their silent jokes go. Spencer was grateful that evening had returned to normal, his nervous thoughts slowly slipping away with easy conversation.

Day One Hundred and Eighty-Three

You’re sure Josh is mad at you for something. You just can't get it out of him. A few weeks ago, he had been nothing but sincere. Soft again, sweet again, him from a little over a year ago. It was beautiful, and it felt like he had finally listened. It felt like he had come back around and somehow repaired the hull.

Then he started ignoring you again. You had been careful, so careful, not to suffocate him like he mentioned. You make sure that you go out with Spencer on weekends. You distance yourself just enough for Josh to miss spending time with you. Spending time with Spencer was also good for you; he helps keep your spirits high.

He kept you feeling lighter than air. He would text you sometimes on cases with the team when he was out of town. Little reminders, little jokes, and sometimes… It felt nice. You didn’t know how to describe it. Thrilling, calming, extraordinary, and tumultuous all that once. It confused you, pulled at the heartstrings, softly tugging at something deep within you. It unsettled you and made you ache when you looked at Josh in bed next to you.

But his sweetness distracted you. Erased longing and replaced it with familiar love. You knew his steps, and he knew yours.

And now, he was angry with you. You didn’t want to ask, and you didn’t want to be a pest to the man you loved. You hoped he would just come right out and say it. You hoped that his cup of secret rage would overflow and spill over.

The sound of heavy footsteps disrupts your stagnant reading. Your eyes kept reading the same sentence. Every time you tried to continue with the following sentence, you found yourself unable to do so. You set the book face down on the bed and smiled a little at Josh as he stood in the doorway. It was Friday night, and Spencer was on a case. Molly was busy, Christina was busy, and everyone was busy. So you stayed home, attempting to read.

He was drunk, no drunk didn’t even cover it. He looked like death, pale with red eyes and muttering incoherent things to himself. “Josh… are you okay?” Your smile quickly faded, and you moved to the edge of the bed, watching him sway against the door frame.

He didn’t answer and just laughed a little, which turned into a groan and then a sigh. You push yourself off the bed and walk to him, reaching up a hand to cup his cheek, but before your fingers can touch him, he smacks your hands away with a deep frown. “Josh!” You gasp as you pull your hand away, rubbing at the slightly pink skin.

“Not right,” he mutters, and you shake your head as you try to understand what he’s talking about.

“What’s not right? Josh, are you okay?”

He stumbles as he pushes past you, his shoulder roughly bumping into yours as he sits on the bed. You stay by the door. “This. Us, not right anymore.” He roughly puts it together.

You can feel your heart fall to the pit of your stomach as you turn around to face him, “What are you talking about?”

“Not right anymore,” his drunk hands are dramatically waving between the two of you, “You’re not,” he motions to his chest lamely, “Here anymore.”

You can feel the tears threatening to rise in your eyes, your breathing becoming fast as you shake your head. “I’m here, you’re here.” You point your index into your chest, just above your heart. “What are you saying?”

“Not here,” He repeats loudly.

“I am here!” you yell back as you walk to him. “I don’t know what happened tonight, but we can discuss it, Josh. We can fix things.” You can feel the weight of the world crashing down on your chest, its weight making it difficult to breathe clearly.

“No,”

You’re quick to talk over him, “Yes, we can,”

“No, we can’t,”

“Whatever it is, it’s okay, we can–”

“No–”

“It’s okay, I won’t be mad–”

“I’m in love with someone else,” He yells, his spit hitting your cheek. Your hands twitch slightly at the feeling, but you can’t move. All you can do is stare at him with a gaping mouth, opening and closing repeatedly like a fish. You couldn’t form the words, and your mind was blank. “Don’t give me that.”

You feel like someone else’s voice is speaking, “Give you what? Shock? Disgust? You’re in love with someone else. How else am I supposed to react? Do you want me to be happy? Oh, Josh, I’m so happy for you and your mistress! I’m so glad that you’re fucking her and me at the same time! I’m so happy, so happy!”

“I’m not fucking Estelle, she and I,”

“Your coworker, are fucking you kidding me?”

“Oh, shut up with the pity party!” He looks sober suddenly, his face red and twisted with rage as he stands up from the bed. Your footing slips a little before you catch yourself walking back from him. “You think these past six months I’ve enjoyed having him over here all the time? Giggling with you in the living room over some intellectual private joke that I don’t get, o-or how about when you disappear with him every weekend you can? Introducing you to his friends in bars, going to movies with you, you didn’t try hiding it from me!”

“Him? Who are you talking about?” Then it dawned on you, and Josh could tell from how your back straightened and how you looked at him with unsure eyes. “Spencer? You think I’m cheating on you with Spencer?”

“Not physically, but yes.”

“Josh, what are you even saying right now? I made a friend who likes the same things I do. I mean… a year ago, you told me that I was suffocating. You told me that you didn’t enjoy my hobbies. Did you just expect me to stop them? How did I cheat on you? Spencer and I we’ve never–”

“It doesn’t matter if you’ve never fucked, or-or kissed him! Emotionally, you gave up on us. You’re only emotionally available for him. He gets you, all your jokes, your kindness, everything. He has it all. You’re always running into his arms!”

“Running into his arms? Josh, you push me to him. I don’t love Spencer; we are just friends. He’s there for me because he is my friend! What are you going to say now? Th-that I forced you to Estelle, who, by the way, I saw last month at that Holiday party for the office. Are you going to tell me that me being by your side all while having a friend with the same interest as me was too much for you?” You can barely breathe.

“You know it's more than that, don’t play victim. I can see the way you look at him. You used to look at me like that, and then six months ago, you met him. You didn’t even try.”

“I didn’t try.” You repeat back before you’re scoffing a little, pacing the room quickly. “You shut me out. You stopped talking to me for months. If anyone has the right to play the victim here, it’s me. I don’t see you for hours. We had the day off for our second anniversary, and you didn’t talk to me until noon. When I moved in with you, did you even want me to be a person? Or did you want a perfectly still doll, interesting only when you want her to be interesting, talkative only when you want to listen, ready for the taking when it was good for you? Go ahead, treat me like a fucking doll.”

Josh is shaking his head now, his breathing ragged as he slowly runs his hands through his hair. “I don’t,” He pauses, his eyes looking at a photo of the two of you from two years ago framed on the bedside table. “It doesn’t matter anymore? I don’t love you anymore. You can make me the villain. I don’t care. I want you out.”

You swallow hard at his words and laugh a little, “Where am I supposed to go?”

“I,” He looks at you, and you see how tired he looks. The part of you that still loves him feels crushed; the other just feels angry. “My name is on the lease. Find somewhere else to sleep tonight. I’ll let you pack a bag, but I want you,” he motions towards the apartment, and you assume he means your presence in the apartment and your things. “Gone.” And he doesn’t let you say anything back, walking out into the living room.

You stand still; you feel frozen. You don’t know if you want to start crying, start packing, or just call people to see if you can crash at theirs. That feeling, the feeling that he planted in you rises inside you. You’ll be a burden, suffocating, and miserable. But you need a place to sleep for the night.

Your shaky hands reach for your phone on the bed, randomly calling people. Alex is out of town, you know. Christina just moved and doesn’t even have a couch yet. You call Molly, but she doesn’t answer. You wish you lived in Boston so you could call Sabrina, but that’s unrealistic. You keep scrolling through the contacts and try to think.

As you reach the next contact, your fingers falter, and your mouth feels dry. You hesitate multiple times before hitting the call button. You wait with bated breath as you bring your phone to your ear.

Ring.

You should hang up. This is a bad idea.

Ring.

Doesn’t this just prove Josh’s point?

Ring.

You don’t even know if he’s back in town or when he’ll be back. You should hang up before he answers; call someone else.

The third ring is cut short as Spencer picks up the phone. Your hands shake as he says a gentle, tired, “Hello?”

“He-hey.. Uh, are you still in Illinois?”

“No, we’re an hour out. Are you okay? You sound like you’re upset.”

You lick your lips quickly as you debate, telling him everything: the fight, how Josh is kicking you out. Instead, you settle for, “I just need a place to crash for the night, and I know it's a big ask, and you’re getting home from a case, but–”

“Yes, yeah, you can stay at mine.” You let out a slow breath and nod a little, a sense of temporary relief settling over you.

“Thank you, thank you so much. I… I’ll make it up to you. I’ll be at yours in an hour?”

“See you soon,” Spencer says before you hang up the phone. You get to work as fast as you can, grabbing luggage from the closet and packing like a mad woman. Anything you can fit into the case, you carefully fold or roll up and stuff inside.

An hour comes around, and you’re packed enough for a week at the very least. You grab the only thing on the bed that’s yours, a dark green blanket, before slowly rolling the suitcase into the living room. Suddenly, it feels like you’re not in your body anymore, watching the scene from the ceiling.

Josh turns, a phone against his ear, and you only catch the ends of an ‘I love you’ before he hangs up. He draws his lips in a tight line before asking, “Where you headed?”

You feel like he knows the answer, “Spencer’s.”

His lips turn upwards, and he laughs; he laughs so hard that he’s gripping his side. “Ye-Yeah, that's right. Prove me right. Run straight to Doctor Reid. Fucking rich.” He snips at you as you finally feel the tears start to well up in your eyes. “You know what let him have my sloppy seconds.”

You gasp softly, the comment like a punch in the gut. “Have fun fucking her in our bed. Make sure to put the pictures face down before you give her the most underwhelming four minutes of her life. I’ll be back tomorrow to start packing.” You say as you start stepping through the front door, slamming it behind you. You’re panting lightly in the empty hallway, your mind numb as tears stream down your face. You don’t remember lugging your stuff to the second floor or getting to Spencer’s door.

The only thing you remember is the sound of your name and gentle hands grabbing your chin and tilting your head up with care. You remember sobbing, hyperventilating out the events of the past evening to him as he helps you inside. And the eventual call of sleep that reaches you on Spencer’s couch.

Day One Hundred and Ninety

Spencer could hear the soft sounds of your computer playing something in the living room. Last Friday… Well, technically, early Saturday morning, you had your head on your knees outside his apartment door. The sound of sobs had him dropping his dirty go-bag and grabbing your chin to soothe you.

He listened to everything: how Josh thought that you were emotionally cheating on him with Spencer, how Josh had fallen in love with a coworker, and how he kicked you out. You said you would have stayed, but the lease was in his name. It was a stupid decision of the past catching up with you– your words, not Spencer’s.

You had told him that it would only be for one night, but Spencer wasn’t going to make you couch surf all week. He insisted that you stay with him until you found an apartment. He let you stuff your boxes of things in his study and was happy to do it.

The worst part about this arrangement was seeing you like this, seeing you so heartbroken. You went to work a little later than him, came home later than him, ate, slept, and repeated the cycle. He kept catching you with a dissociative look on your face. Too scared to ask you if you were okay, he would awkwardly attempt to cheer you up with your shared hobbies. But that only worked for so long until you were ending the night with that numb look on your face again.

He lays in bed, wondering if he should go into the living room to check on you. He barely thinks it through before he throws his covers off and slips out of bed. He has plaid pajama pants on with an old CalTech shirt, and when he walks into the living room, he can see you pause what you’re watching on your computer and smile at him.

“Hey,” you whisper, even though it's just the two of you in the apartment.

“Hey,” Spencer whispers back before sighing and walking toward the back of the couch. “Can’t sleep?”

You look up at him before returning to the dimly lit computer screen, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” His quick reply has you nodding a little. You shift a little, pushing yourself up to make room on the couch for him. He takes the unspoken invitation and sits down next to you.”What are we watching?”

You lick your lips nervously, “Romcom. When Harry Met Sally.”

Spencer glances at you before he admits, “Never seen it.”

You gasp softly, and that playful light returns in your eyes for a second. He hasn’t seen that light in a week. “Spencer Reid, you haven’t lived.”

Spencer takes the opportunity to joke around with you, making a buzzer sound with his mouth. “Wrong. I’ve been alive for many years.”

This gets a weak smile from you, but still a smile nonetheless. “You want to watch it with me? I know it's late, but… maybe it’ll lure you to sleep if you find it boring.”

Spencer grins, glancing at the clock to see how late it is. He shakes his head a little, “Maybe we could just talk for a second? I’ve barely seen you this week.” He suggests. You’re quick to nod, shutting your laptop. You lean back on the sofa and bring your legs up to sit crisscrossed. He watches you. Your eyes are no longer red or puffy, but the skin on your cheeks still seems pale, lacking their natural rosiness.

“I found a great apartment, but I can’t move in until the end of this month.” You break the silence first, hands folding awkwardly in your lap.

Spencer nods, resisting the urge to hold one of your hands as he speaks. “That’s fine, and I’m not kicking you out anytime soon. You’re stuck with me for three more weeks.”

You chuckle a little at that, “Ever the gentleman,” You say softly, but your eyes don’t have that light anymore. You seem distracted, your eyes lingering on him briefly before staring at your hands. “Spencer,”

“Yeah?”

“What do you do when everything feels like too much?”

Your voice cracks softly as you ask the question, and Spencer is scared you’ll start crying again. He always feels useless whenever you cry, a genius without answers. He swallows the nervous lump in his throat: “I read, or sometimes I force myself to go out. Whenever I’m overwhelmed, I end up at the public library. Or sometimes, if I have the day, I go to the Smithsonian. But... it’s been a while.”

You seem to perk up a little at the mention of the Smithsonian, and you give him a playfully little side glance, “Air and Space?” You guess with a small smile.

He smiles and shrugs, “Sometimes,” he returns the playful sideways glance. “Portrait Gallery?”

You’re laughing a little as you nod. Spencer feels relieved to hear its soft melody. “Portrait Gallery.” You confirm your pick with a soft sigh.

Spencer lets warm silence spread for a second, his eyes occasionally flickering over to your serene expression. “What about you? What do you do when you’re overwhelmed?”

Your eyes meet his as he asks the question, and for a second, you seem a little surprised that he is asking you anything. He wonders if you expected him to keep talking or ignore the tension in the air around you.

“Well, reading is lovely. Museums, movies,” you pause for a second, and your expression softens. “Music. I love music when I’m feeling overwhelmed, sad, or happy. It’s a universal fix, music.”

“What kind of music?” He has heard you talk about music before, how you didn’t understand people who hated it. Music helped him escape to childhood memories, the good ones at least. He wondered if it had the same effect on you.

“Everything. Pop, country, indie, anything that moves me. I like classical too, but only sometimes.”

“Why only sometimes?”

“I like it in ballets, plays, movies. I like the visual representation that accompanies it.” Your eyes leave his slowly, “Like a music box with a ballerina inside.”

Spencer finds that this version of you, the melancholy version, is blunt. You don’t people-please or avoid questions; instead, you would directly state something. He liked how you directly stated your musical likes and how honest they were. He finds himself wanting every version of yourself that you have shown him lately, and he feels a little guilty for it.

A soft gasp from your lips stops him from overthinking, “Oh shoot,” You mutter as you pull out your phone, looking at the calendar before you curse softly.

“What’s wrong?’

“I, uhm,” You swallow hard and set your phone down, “I just remembered that Josh and I were going to celebrate our third anniversary a little early this year. Our second wasn’t the best, and he promised we would do something I wanted to do. We had tickets to see Swan Lake.” You chew on your bottom lip slowly, getting lost in the thought before you say, “That’s next month. I gotta cancel.”

Spencer can see how you slump at the thought and how sad it makes you to cancel the plans. He feels himself saying the words before he can even process them: “I can go with you.”

You turn to him with a soft laugh of disbelief, “What?”

“We could go together. Make the most of it. I mean, I like Swan Lake.”

“Spencer, it would be wrong to spend what would be my third anniversary with you. I mean–”

“It wouldn’t be the exact day. You said it was a couple of months early, so it would just be us…going to see Swan Lake. Just friends, seeing a ballet, and getting dinner or something. A night on the town. Something to keep your mind off things,”

He hopes you’ll agree to the offer, his heart beating loudly in his chest as you stare into his eyes. Your eyes dart back and forth, rapidly looking into his eyes and then at his face. The silence is killing him, a knife in his back as he tries his best to breathe normally.

Then you’re giving him a slow smile, a little shy at first, before you beam at the suggestion, “Okay,”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, let’s go to the ballet together. I mean, I would do it with or without Josh anyway. Now I’ll be able to go with someone who will actually enjoy it, even better.” Your eyes meet his hazel ones again, and you place a tentative hand over his. “Thank you, Spence.” Your voice is sincere, and Spencer feels his body relax when you touch him.

“I can’t think of a better way to spend my evening two months from now.” He whispers in the air between you before he slips his hand away from yours and stands. He yawns softly, “Now… let’s get some sleep.”

You nod, a small smile still on your face as you lay on the couch. “Night.” You whisper as you close your eyes.

Spencer stands and stares down at you a little longer than he should before he takes a step toward his bedroom. “Goodnight,” he says as he walks into his bedroom. He’s thinking about your genuine smile for another hour before he even closes his eyes.

TO BE CONTINUED...

141 notes · View notes

sweatervest-obsessed · 1 year ago

Text

Violent Delights Have Violent Ends

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

WC: 1.8k

TW: Serial killers, murders, blood, referencing to infidelity,

A/N: This has been something I have been thinking about for a while. I hope y'all enjoy it!

Spencer did not realize that someone could know more about anything intellectual than he did. It honestly baffled him, when Hotch called him into the office, to introduce the two of you.

“Spencer this is Doctor Y/N Y/L/N, Doctor Y/L/N, this is Doctor Spencer Reid.”

He gave you a small smile, and a slightly awkward wave. You were beautiful, there was no doubt about it, an absolute plus to the fact that you were intelligent. He was captivated by your eyes but quickly coughed and looked back at Hotch.

“Doctor Y/L/N—”

“Please Agent, call me by my first name after the initial introductions, Doctor makes me feel a tad bit ridiculous after like the second time.” You couldn’t have been more than twenty four, Reid deduced.

Hotch smiled at you, nodding. “Please, call me Aaron, or Hotch, I feel the same way about agent. Reid,” He turned towards Reid. “Y/N, is going to be a consultant on this next case, and you two will be working closely together.”

Reid was suddenly excited by the prospect of working with a consultant. He usually dreaded them, but something about you made him excited to actually be able to converse intellectually with someone on the team.

But luckily for Morgan, you were not what anyone was expecting. You all had boarded the jet, sitting around and chatting since you had a long flight from DC to Oregon, not really willing to get into the details of the case just yet.

“So, Doctor Y/L/N, what made you choose Shakespeare?”

You rolled your eyes. “Agent Morgan, if you keep using my official title, you’re going to be talking to the wall. Wanna try again?”

His jaw dropped slightly, enjoying the banter you were providing. Derek Morgan was far from ugly, far from it. But he simply wasn’t your type. But that did not mean you couldn’t flirt back.

“Well then, Miss Y/N, why Shakespeare.”

You smiled, “Shakespeare is just another language. And I already speak French, Arabic, Spanish, some Latin, a little Greek, and I’m learning enough Mandarin and Cantonese to get by on my next trip to China. So understanding Shakespeare from a linguistic point, I’ve already got covered. Especially since it was something I could read easily from a young age.”

JJ and Emily had stopped their conversation and turned to face you, eagerly listening in to what you have to say.

“But, from a theatrical point, his writing is so incredibly intricate. There are layers upon layers of text and context and subtext throughout all of his plays and sonnets, not to mention the fact that Shakespeare can be transformed, moved from one thing to another incredibly easily. You have to factor in that he was a misogynist, anti semitic, probably-most-definitely racist, among all of the other things, but adapting his works throughout time is something I have a special interest in, particularly his portrayal of woman and how that has been changed throughout productions over the years, mainly focusing in comedies and this strange need for him to have happy endings end in weddings.”

The jet was all staring at you, while a smirk slowly slid onto Derek’s face. “Looks like you got some competition here, Pretty Boy.”

You shrugged at Derek, and looked back at your phone. “I appreciate competition more than meaningless run-around conversations Derek. If you’re going to profile me, then just profile me. Or google me really. There’s no need to prod and pretend like you’re not trying to find out whether or not I’m single. If you wanted to ask me out, you should just ask me out.”

Jaws on the plane dropped. Derek tried to stutter out a response but was cut off by Emily, smirking over at him. “Besides consulting on murder cases, what do you actually do with a PhD in Shakespeare?”

You looked up at Emily and shrugged. “Whatever I really want to do. It’s just flexible enough that I can bullshit a job I want and take it, excluding present company. Usually I consult in England with the Globe Theatre and the Royal Shakespeare Company, I also guest lecture Shakespeare for younger audiences, like high schoolers and first years in college because I’m still young enough that I could be considered nerdy by a high schooler, but have college freshmen not be able to talk to me because I’m just good enough to get away with it.”

“What did you get your undergrad in?” Spencer spoke for the first time to you since you met him, you smiled a little bit.

“No one really asks me that.” You looked over at Spencer. “I have a bachelors in Directing with minors in English Literature, French, and Classics, and then I went on and got my Masters in Art History, since the visual aspect of the Arts is what interests me so much.”

Rossi nodded, “Makes sense considering I’ve seen your thesis–very impressive.”

“What did you write about?” JJ looked over at you.

“I–” You started but Rossi interrupted you. “Actually, if any of you had done any research, or were familiar with the Theatrical Arts, you would know that her thesis was an incredibly well-received production of Hamlet that delved into the female psyche and experience.”

Your jaw dropped slightly. “I-I didn’t think you, any of you would have even known that. Let alone had time to go and see my production?”

“Well, I have a fondness for the arts.”

You shook your head. “Or incredible timing.”

“Wha–timing?” JJ scoffed.

“Well,it’s— the program was in London, and it was only running for a few weeks…”

“Rossi when the hell did you go to London?” Derek finally spoke up, slightly captivated by you, but not in the way Reid was. You were something else, something completely new, which meant he could learn, and you were something he wanted to learn everything about.

“Well, right before I rejoined the BAU, I did a lecturing series over at Scotland Yard, and everyone had been discussing this production by the youngest female director to ever direct at the Bridge Theatre. I loved your use of, what were they, silks?”

You nodded, slightly embarrassed, mostly in awe.

“Ah yes, your usage of silks and the columns. I was on the floor, part of the cattle that was moved around. Very innovative use of that space, very impressive.”

“I’d have to agree.” Hotch spoke up, and you turned to look at him, eyes even wider than before. He smiled at the look on your face. “When we got this case, and we were requesting you as a consultant, I watched the recording. Very good work Y/n.”

“W-wow, um, thank you so much Age–Hotch. I really appreciate it–from the both of you.” You smiled at him and Rossi.

“I would love to hear all about this production, if you don’t mind me asking.” Emily slid across the aisle, taking the seat across from you, JJ doing the same, crowding Derek.

“Well, as Rossi said, it was about the female experience, and my Hamlet, was absolutely incredible, really took on the queer aspect of the role since Ophelia was still a woman, and–” You explained the concept, the design, the thought behind all of it. Every single person on the plane was simply obsessed with you by the time you were done, asking questions when they were curious. It confounded Spencer how he had never really paid attention to that section of the world of academia, and he was almost beating himself up over it, because he had missed you this whole time.

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

“Eyes look your last, Arms take your—this is Romeo’s death monologue before he stabs himself. And this other one, is ‘Be buried quick with her, and so will I’, which is Hamlet trying to fight Laertes after he learns of Ophelia’s death…And..this is the one from this morning ” You turned to the sheriff who was just trying to make sense of the fact that you just were able to comprehend and relay Shakespearean information after reading the images of the victim's blood used on the walls, so calmly. “Sheriff?”

“Sorry, yes. Yes”

You frowned a bit, “They’re getting more violent. This is Brutus finding out Portia is dead–’with meditating that she must die once, I have the patience to endure it now…”

Reid looked over at you, “All of them are the men’s reactions to the death of their beloved.”

You nodded and sighed. “That means, uh…If he has a list,” You walked over to the white board and started writing the names of the fictional couples on it. “He still has Antony and Cleopatra…Macbeth and Lady Macbeth,,,,and….”

“And what?” The sheriff looked between you and Reid, as you turned a little white. “The um. The last couple dealing with murder/suicide of each other is, uh, Othello.”

Hotch gave you a look. “Explain.”

“What do you know about Othello?”

Hotch furrowed his brow.

You took his silence as permission to ramble. “It’s just a theory but, it’s regarded as not only one of the most tragic endings to lovers, even beyond the stupid miscommunications of Romeo and Juliet, because Othello kills his wife, believing she had cheated on him, suffocating her to death on their marriage bed, and then once he realizes he’s been tricked by Iago, he kills himself next to her body. It’s horrendous.”

“If I had to guess, He’s forcing the husbands to kill their wives, and then he kills them..” Spencer followed up, analyzing the pictures across the tables. “Based on the way they were positioned—he’s setting them up as a series of muder-suicides, just like Shakespeare.”

“Actually.” You picked up one of the pictures and handed it to Hotch. “I think it’s a woman.”

“You just stole Reid’s line.” Derek mused from the doorway, handing you a cup of coffee, which you gratefully accepted.

Reid huffed and rolled his eyes. “It’s not my line.”

“It is.” Hotch said dryly as he analyzed what you had just told him. “Y/n, can you please get me a list of the monologues left, so we can try and figure out who might be his next victims, so we can try and link the victims we do have.”

You nodded and sat down at your laptop. It was bugging you slightly at how much you enjoyed working on this case, working with the BAU, working with Doctor Reid.

This was the most action your PhD had seen since you had written it.

Part 2

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid fluff #dr spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #Spencer reid x y/n angst #Dr Spencer reid x dr!reader

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toournextadventure · 2 years ago

Text

oblivious

Summary: You've been Vada's roommate for a while now and she still has yet to notice that you have feelings for her. You hoped accepting a date with someone else would force her hand. In a way, it did

Word Count: 4.2k Warnings: swearing, smut 18+, weed and alcohol mention Pairing: Vada Cavell x Fem!Reader (no pronouns used) A/N: I'm still getting the hang of Vada's personality so y'all bear with me, but I'm workin on it, I'll get there

“Honey, I’m home,” Vada called out, stopping you in your tracks on the way to the bathroom.

You couldn’t help smiling at Vada’s ridiculous phrase that she had started using whenever she got back to the shared apartment. If you were being honest, you couldn’t remember when she had started it; it hadn’t been too long after you had first agreed to rent an apartment together with her friends Mia and Nick. All you knew was one day she practically crashed into the apartment, said her now-famous tagline, and it stuck.

The best part of it all? She only ever said it to you. Never to Mia, never to Nick, only to you. It made your crush on her grow each time, even though you certainly didn’t need the help. Just the words alone had your stomach twisting into knots in the most delicious way.

And that little dumbass didn’t even know what she was doing.

“Don’t you have another class?” You asked with a tilt of your head. It was a bit too early for her to be home, especially on a Tuesday.

“Skipped it,” she said with her cheesy grin that never failed to make your heart race. “Why take Lit when I can have you teach me?”

“That’s not how it works, V,” you chuckled. “I can’t give you credit.”

“But you can- are you getting in the shower?”

There it was; the attention change. It happened a bit sooner than usual, but you weren’t entirely surprised. At first you had been confused at Vada’s change of topic and attention at such a fast pace, but now it was expected. At least she looked cute.

“Yes I am,” you said with a nod. “Did the towel give it away?”

“It’s Tuesday,” Vada said, completely ignoring your attempt at teasing her. “You don’t shower on Tuesdays.”

Ah. So she did pay attention to a few things.

“I got asked on a date,” you shrugged.

“A date?” She asked incredulously. Rude. “With who?”

You sighed and leaned against the doorframe. “Know that guy from my Fluid Flow class? Jacob?”

“The one with the stupid lip piercing?”

“It’s not stupid,” you said with a huff. “But yes.”

“You agreed to go on a date with him?” Vada asked incredulously. “What happened to your standards?”

“It’s not like I’m getting asked on many dates,” you argued.

“But him?” She continued.

“Well who else should I go with?” You asked. “You?”

Vada froze, her mouth still flopping open at the revelation of your plans for the evening. You wanted her to tell you not to go. To say that yes, you should go on a date with her. Maybe you were being a bit cruel to just not tell her, but you wanted her to say something. Although in hindsight maybe you shouldn’t have expected Vada Cavell to pick up on all the signs you had given her.

Which were numerous.

She shifted her weight and looked down at her feet. You could see her scuffing the toe of her shoe into the floor, a nervous habit of hers. Part of you got hopeful; she was nervous, maybe she would finally say something. Hell, you would be happy if she simply said she didn’t want you to go.

“You should go shower,” she finally said, and you felt your heart drop. “I’ll help you pick out what to wear once you’re out.”

“Right,” you said with a sigh.

The entire time you were in the shower you were seething. No, not quite seething, you were disappointed. You knew it was a bit unrealistic of you to expect Vada to know how you were feeling, especially about her, but you couldn’t help it. How could she not see that you wanted her to ask you on a date? Yes you should just do it yourself, especially at this point, but you weren’t going to risk anything.

Your father would’ve just told you to task her on your own. You were the one with the feelings, you should ask. And he would have been right, you knew that, but you didn’t want to ask. What if Vada didn’t actually like you that way? She acted goofy with Mia and Nick too, so you couldn’t use that as justification for your hopes.

By the time you got out of the shower and finished getting ready, Vada was already waiting in your room. She was hanging her head upside down on the bed while scrolling through her phone. Her brows were scrunched in an adorable frown from whatever she was looking at. The minute she noticed you standing in the doorway, she smiled wide and sat up.

“About time,” she said as she stood up and went to your closet, “I’ve got the perfect thing for tonight.”

“Perfect as in “I’ll look great” or as in “it’ll get me laid?” Because there’s a difference,” you said as you sat down on the bed and waited for Vada to come out of the closet.

Ha. You might be disappointed, but at least you were still funny. See? That was what Vada was missing out on and she didn’t even know it!

“Perfect as in “he’d be stupid not to ask you out again”,” she said with a grin as she turned around to show you what she had picked.

“Vada that’s,” you exhaled slowly, “that’s the most mundane outfit I’ve got.”

“Which is why he’d be stupid not to ask you out again,” she said, tossing everything your way. “I won’t look, promise.”

“Gee, thanks,” you mumbled to yourself as you nonetheless stood up and got dressed.

Part of you was thankful Vada had picked out a regular outfit; at least it was comfortable, and that was always a plus. Did you think Jacob would ask you out again? Absolutely not, he was a frat boy, you knew he wouldn’t ask you out again the moment you decided you weren’t going to put out. At least you would be comfortable when you were rejected.

“How do I look?” You asked, and Vada turned around so quickly she nearly fell.

The moment she actually managed to focus on you, she fell into what looked like a daze. Her jaw dropped and her eyes were looking you up and down. And for a moment, she looked like she wanted to say something. Say it, you mentally urged her, tell me to stay. You played with your fingers and watched her with hopeful eyes.

“You’re so getting laid tonight,” she whispered.

“Yippee,” you said with another huff. She was getting a lot of those out of you tonight.

“You’d better get going,” she said as she practically pushed you out of your room toward the front door. “You don’t want to be late.”

“Thought you didn’t like Jacob?” You asked.

“I don’t, but I wanna watch a movie,” she said, now opening the front door. “And you’re not invited.”

“Well that’s just rude,” you said.

“Have fun!” Vada called out as she shut the front door in your face.

You just stood there in complete shock. Had you really just gotten kicked out of your own apartment by the girl you were quite possibly in love with? Simply because she wanted to watch a movie? It was so on par for Vada that you honestly weren’t even surprised.

The door opened again and you looked in, hopeful that Vada had changed her mind. She stood in the doorway and looked at you again. Please ask me to stay, you silently begged her. But then she pushed something into your arms, which you scrambled to hold onto.

“Forgot your phone and wallet,” she said before slamming the door shut again. “Have fun!”

“Oh fuck me,” you grumbled, but nonetheless put your phone and wallet in your back pocket and left the apartment.

—---

Life sucked. It sucked and it was out to get you personally. You could get over the fact that it had started raining on the walk over to the restaurant. Then there was the fact that you had gotten lost at least three times, but that could also be forgiven. And your phone dying? Well, that was also shitty even though you had forgotten to charge it at home, so it happened.

But then you got to the restaurant and sat at the bar, like you were supposed to, and waited. And then you ordered a drink and waited some more. And some more. And wouldn’t you know it, an hour and a half and three drinks later, you were closing your tab and heading back to the apartment. The apartment that you had been kicked out of by someone who was supposed to pick up on your cues.

There was just enough alcohol in your system to have you thoroughly pissed off by the time you got back to the apartment. You could smell the weed from out in the hallway and knew Vada was either high as a kite or well on her way to it. Normally you wouldn’t care; she was respectful with it and was, honestly, pretty adorable under the influence.

Unfortunately for Vada, it just wasn’t your night.

You unintentionally slammed the door shut behind you when you entered, leaning back against it to get yourself back under control. The music was loud and obnoxious and the smell of weed was giving you a headache. Or maybe it was the alcohol. Or maybe it was the fact you got stood up. Actually, maybe it was just everything.

“Nick?” Vada’s voice came from her room. At least she wasn’t smoking out in the living room like you had initially thought.

“Just me,” you called back before exhaling slowly and walking further into the apartment. The sloshing sound of your wet shoes on the floor was horrible.

“Y/N?” Something fell to the floor with a hard thud. You looked down the hallway until you saw Vada practically falling out of her room, hitting the opposite wall fairly hard. “You’re back early.”

“Yup,” you said, popping the “p” for emphasis.

“So… did he like your outfit?” She asked as she stood up, her hands instantly going to play with the hem of her shirt. Wait… was that your shirt?

“I don’t know,” you said before finally tossing your soaking wet wallet and hopefully-dry phone onto the couch. “He never showed.”

“What?” Vada asked incredulously, her sleepy eyes suddenly widening.

You huffed. “He stood me up, V.”

“But… but he asked you,” she said in a soft voice.

“It’s whatever,” you said with a sigh as you made your way into your room with Vada hot on your heels. “He wasn’t exactly the one I wanted anyway.”

“He wasn’t?” She asked. You didn’t bother turning around to look at her as you started digging in your closet for something dry to put on. “Then why did you say yes?”

“Because I was hoping a certain someone would get the hint,” you grumbled. Truthfully you didn’t care if she even heard you or not. She was high, it was not the proper time for this revelation to come out.

“If they didn’t get the hint then they’re a complete dumbass,” she said after a moment of silence. You closed your eyes and exhaled slowly once again. “Because they’d be stupid not to ask you out.”

“Yeah they would,” you agreed quickly before grabbing a t-shirt from your closet. “Don’t look.”

You checked over your shoulder to see Vada on your bed, dutifully covering her eyes with both hands. Why did she have to actually listen? You were standing in the middle of your room, soaking wet, about to take your shirt off, and she wasn’t going to look? Dammit, Vada, lose your morals!

“Anyone would be lucky to date you,” she said while you peeled your wet clothes off. “And if they don’t realise that then they’re an idiot.”

“Keep talking, Cavell,” you mumbled to yourself; you knew she couldn’t hear you.

“If I ever had the chance to date you, I certainly wouldn’t screw it up,” she continued talking.

Now that had you slowing your movements, taking your time to finish kicking your pants off. It left you in your shirt and underwear, but that wasn’t on your mind. You slowly turned to look at Vada, who still had her hands over her eyes, as you went over her words.

Did she really think that? Was that the sign you had needed to know that she actually liked you back? Yes you had been playing this game for around three years at that point. And yes, you should have said something ages ago, even your dad had said so. But was she admitting that she liked you?

“Who said you didn’t have a chance?” You asked slowly, your eyes still glued to where Vada was playfully swinging her legs over the side of your bed.

“Who said I did have a chance?” She asked in reply. “I’m not stupid, I’m not your type.” You stepped closer to the bed. “Your type is a bunch of nerds who are way below your league.” You sat down on the bed beside her. “Which you should change, by the way, you can do so much better than all those other-”

-you leaned forward to capture Vada’s lips with yours, silencing her rant. It wasn’t a long kiss, you didn’t want to give off the wrong idea. Or maybe you did, you weren’t sure yet. All you knew was she was going to keep talking until she either fell asleep or you silenced her, and honestly, a kiss was the best way. It killed two birds with one stone.

When you pulled away, you watched as her hands pulled down her face and she looked up at you. Her eyes were still bloodshot and you could still smell the weed on her clothes, but she was looking at you clearly. There was a slight flush to her freckled cheeks, and you would have kissed her again if it meant she would stay looking just like that.

“You kissed me,” she said softly.

“Yeah,” you said with a nod and a poor attempt at hiding your smile. “I did.”

“I thought you liked someone though?”

“Oh my god,” you groaned. “Are you serious?”

“What?” She asked as she sat up. “Are you serious? What about that person you like-”

“-I like you, Vada,” you practically shouted. She fell silent, something she didn’t do often. “You’re the other person that I like.”

“You- you like me?” She asked with wide eyes. “Me?”

“For fuck’s sake,” you groaned, “yes you.”

Vada nodded slowly as her eyes fell to a spot on the bed, close to where your hand was resting. You could practically see the gears turning in her head, going over this new revelation. Part of you was upset at yourself for telling her such a thing now, when you were grumpy and a little tipsy and she was high and unexpecting. Terrible timing, really.

“I thought I was the only one with those feelings,” she finally said, slowly so as to get her thoughts out properly. Something you adored about her. “That you weren’t interested.”

“Vada, I’ve been dropping hints for the past year,” you said with a soft sight. Not a frustrated one, simply to break the tension. “Even Nick and Mia knew.”

“I didn’t want to assume,” she said without looking at you. “I didn’t want to risk not having you around just because I caught feelings.”

“You don’t just catch feelings, you know,” you said as you leaned forward a little more so you could force her to look at you.

“And you really do like me?” She asked, looking up into your eyes; suddenly, she seemed a hell of a lot more sober. “Like, for real?”

“What is this, high school?” You asked with a snort. “Yes, Vada, I like you for real.”

“So does that mean I can kiss you again?” She asked, perking up at the mere thought. “Because your lips are really soft and I think I could kiss them forever if you would let me-”

-you leaned forward and kissed her again, immediately cutting her off. But this time you didn’t pull back; you leaned even further into her, your hand moving to rest on the back of her neck. She grabbed you by the front of your shirt and pulled until she was laying down and you were leaning over her.

“Wait,” she mumbled against your lips, “you like me enough to have sex with me, right?”

“Just shut up, V,” you groaned as you kissed her again.

She didn’t argue.

You weren’t sure if you should blame it on the alcohol, or the weed, or the revelation of it all, but you weren’t in the mood to be patient. Night after night you had dreamed of having Vada in your bed, teasing her until she was a mess underneath you. But now that you had her, you just wanted to hear her fall apart.

Clearly she was in the same mood as you because her hands quickly found their way under your shirt until they brushed against your ribs. It tickled and sent a shiver down your spine, which you felt her smile about. You knew it wasn’t a competition. That didn’t stop you from placing your knee between her thighs and pressing up against her.

“Oh shit,” she groaned against your lips as her nails scratched against your skin.

You kept your knee stationary as she grinding against it hesitantly. Even through her boxers you could feel how wet she was; it wouldn’t take long before she left your thigh wet too. You started kissing your way across her jaw, leaving small kisses below her ear before moving down her neck.

Her hands left a fire in their wake as she moved them up, quickly sliding them up to your breasts that were no longer confined by the wet bra you had been wearing earlier. You both inhaled sharply when she brushed her knuckles against your nipples; her hips stuttered for only a moment before resuming.

“Hang on,” Vada whispered into your ear, and you stiffened before sitting up.

Had you done something wrong? There hadn’t been much, but what if she had decided she wasn’t okay with it anymore? It was fine, you would respect it and wouldn’t do anything else, but fuck. Fuck, maybe you had just pushed it a little too fast. You knew you should have kept your cool.

“Take it off,” she said as she pulled on your shirt lightly before struggling to get her own shirt off.

Oh. Oh right.

“Never hesitate to free the titties,” she said with a cheesy smile.

“Never say that again,” you groaned, only smiling when your shirt was hiding your face.

“I just know how to appreciate a- holy shit.”

You watched Vada’s jaw drop - again - once your shirt was finally off. Her eyes were zeroed in on one thing. Well, two things, and even though you felt a little self-conscious, you knew it was just Vada. No, not just Vada, it was your Vada. Who was still halfway in her shirt and clearly too distracted to continue.

“You’re such a horndog,” you mumbled as you leaned forward to help her pull her shirt the rest of the way over her head.

“I hit the jackpot,” she whispered.

“Just lay back down,” you said as you pushed her shoulder lightly and watched her fall back onto the bed, her eyes still glued to your breasts.

“I can still touch?” She asked.

“Yes, V,” you chuckled, “you can still touch.”

“Oh fuck yes,” she whispered before pulling you back in for a kiss.

Just as you figured, her hands instantly found your breasts again. Each touch sent a tingling sensation down to your core. Maybe you shouldn’t have mentally teased Vada earlier for being so wet. Even though you had no proof yet, you just knew you were going to be soaked if this went on much longer.

While Vada continued focusing on her newest obsession, you just let yourself feel her. Her skin was so incredibly soft and warm. It was exactly what you had expected from her. The muscles in her stomach tensed underneath your fingers before relaxing again. When you brushed your knuckles against her hip, she giggled into your mouth.

“I’m ticklish,” she said.

“I can tell,” you answered with your own smile and another kiss.

“You’re just being too soft,” she continued. Oh Vada. You kept moving your hand. “Soft touches tickle.” Your hand effortlessly slipped past the waistband of her boxers that were far too big. “Especially on my hips-”

-she stopped herself with a moan when you finally managed to rub your fingers over her clit. Oh god she was wet, you almost struggled to stay in the right spot. But when you heard her moan again, her head thrown back against your mattress, well it was worth the struggle.

“Fuck you’re good at this,” Vada managed to gasp out when you circled her clit again.

“Baby?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up,” you mumbled before leaving kisses on Vada’s neck. Her hands tangled in your hair as she pulled you up into a real kiss.

“Did you have a martini tonight?” Vada asked.

“Seriously?”

“You taste like a martini,” she said, her breath coming out in huffs as you continued to slowly circle her clit. Not enough to get her off, but fast enough to keep building her up.

And then it hit you. Oh. Oh, Vada was nervous. You had both talked of your personal exploits and experiences so you knew she wasn’t a virgin. Yet she had always seemed a bit bashful about the whole thing. It all made sense now; she was simply nervous.

You removed your hand and tried not to smile at Vada’s whine at the loss of sensation. But she quickly shut up when you grabbed one of her hands and slid it under your own underwear, doing your best not to moan at the feel of her fingers on you. And just as you had expected, and much like Vada, you were soaked. Embarrassingly so.

“Holy fuck,” Vada groaned against your lips before leaning up and capturing your lips.

She bit your bottom lip when you replaced your hand and continued circling her clit. Usually you would tease, but with Vada? Right then and there, when you were so humiliatingly sensitive and probably wouldn’t last very long? No, you wanted to make her cum until she was seeing stars.

And as you moved your fingers faster, you knew it wouldn’t take long. It was in the little pants and moans she let out, the squirming of her hips, the spastic movements of her fingers. Not that you could judge, you were losing your rhythm as well, doing your best to keep your composure even as she continued to turn you to putty under her fingers.

“I’m close,” she panted.

Thank god, you thought as you rubbed your finger in faster, tighter circles. Unlike Vada, you couldn’t bring yourself to talk, knowing the second you opened your mouth you would let out a moan that would haunt you for the rest of your life. It was only a few more seconds before Vada pulled back, her eyes squeezed shut as she stilled beneath you. Her fingers continued moving, and you felt your own orgasm wash over you. You let out a groan as you rutted against her fingers to chase the high, only letting yourself fall beside her when the feeling had dissipated.

“Holy shit,” Vada whispered. “We can do that again, right?”

“Oh my god,” you chuckled as you lifted your hands to cover your eyes. “We just finished.”

“But we can do it again, right?” She asked.

You rolled over onto your side and looked at her. At the sheen of sweat covering her half-naked body and left her practically glowing under the singular ceiling light in your room. The rise and fall of her chest that was slowly but steadily returning back to normal. The absolutely stunning smile on her face that had your chest feeling warm and your stomach swarming with butterflies.

“How about we shower and then sleep,” you suggested. “And maybe we can do it again tomorrow.”

Vada turned her head to look at you, her smile still present although looking a little more mischievous.

“Can we do it in the shower?”

“Never mind, I’m going without you.”

“Wait, hang on!”

You smiled to yourself as you quickly shut the bathroom door behind you, effectively locking Vada out. She stomped her foot - which you could imagine perfectly - before walking off. You half expected her to stay gone until you heard more shuffling on the other side and something slid under the door. With a half-cocked head, you picked up the piece of paper.

No boobs? :(

“Not anymore,” you called out through the door, to which Vada replied with a groan as she finally walked away, presumably to your room.

As you got in the shower, you couldn’t help but smile. Maybe you should thank Jacob for standing you up. He had accidentally made a fantastic wingman.

#vada cavell x reader #vada x reader #vada cavell #jenna ortega x reader

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stellarbit · 6 months ago

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Hiiii! I love your writing so much! Can you please do one with crosshair and his adorable general who’s super sweet but is super shy and easily frightened. Because of this crosshair is SUPER protective of her and every time someone teases him about it he completely denies his feelings for her. And of course, his general is totally oblivious to this.

Though I am slow at requests, I so appreciate what y'all send me. I hope you enjoy <3

Word Count: 1.9k Pairing: fem!reader x Crosshair No Warnings Summary: A little drabble of Crosshair basically being a grumpy shadow for ya in the best way.

Crosshair stuck the butt of his rifle in your path. "Not a chance," he stated flatly.

You were deep into a recon mission for the legion you both were aiding. As the Jedi General assigned to Clone Force 99, your task was to locate and rendezvous with the commanding General. The journey required traversing two kliks over a rugged ridge, and having Crosshair, with his keen sniper's eye, was indispensable. Just as you were gearing up to leap down to a lower vantage point, he intervened.

Gently pushing his rifle aside with two fingers, you questioned, "Why not?"

His gaze followed the trajectory of your intended jump. "Doesn't seem like your kind of jump," he remarked coolly. He’d gotten a glimpse of your fear of heights a few missions ago and had yet to let you live it down.

“I can handle it.” You challenged him.

“Sure you can.” Crosshair replied. He readjusted his rifle and pivoted away, signaling for you to follow without awaiting a reply. "Let's move."

Catching up, you prodded him, "Who's in command here, exactly?" Your tone was light, playful even. It was this easy going demeanor that had landed you with Clone Force 99; your leadership style didn't clash with the team's dynamic, as you knew when to lead and when to listen.

Crosshair snorted, but continued on in silence. He’d welcomed your being assigned to his squad. Despite not being fond of over the top accolades, he couldn’t deny he enjoyed the recognition. Even without the Force, he found you impressive. You were skilled and selfless, sometimes to your own detriment.

Despite your clear nervousness, you never allowed fear to dominate. The entire squad had noticed your jumpiness, a stark contrast to your fearless command. Crosshair, with his sniper eyes, noted the small tells: the slight purse of your lips before diving into water, the held breath as you squeezed through narrow gaps. Your reaction to the sudden boom of cannons or the sharp crack of thunder was almost instinctual, a flinch that you could barely control.

Yet, for all your sensitivities, you never let them hinder the mission. You pressed on without complaint, earning not just Crosshair’s respect but his silent guardianship. He watched over you, often from a distance, ensuring that nothing would compromise your focus or safety.

That protectiveness went into high gear when you’d nearly slipped down a steep cliff. You’d caught yourself well enough and in doing so you clung to Crosshair immediately beside you. Even through his armor he could feel your trembling. It was only for a moment, you released him quickly enough, but Crosshair picked up on it all the same.

Once you scouted the ridge, you commed the commanding General and headed for the rendezvous spot.

“He said he and his captain will meet us back at camp,” you relayed, checking the coordinates on your comm device before glancing at Crosshair. “We should make it back before they do.”

“Is that a challenge?” Crosshair asked, a scoff at the end.

You hummed playfully, “I didn’t realize that would be a challenge for you.”

Crosshair held his rifle close, positioning himself to sprint. “Don’t expect me to catch you if you trip.”

The suggestion sent a jolt through you—was it the fear or the thought of his arms catching you? There wasn’t time to ponder as Crosshair surged ahead. Show off, you mused silently, though the view of him leading the way was something you never complained about.

Before returning to camp, you had to make it down a steep incline - about 50 feet. Crosshair slid down the incline, as nimble as ever. At the bottom, he secured his rifle across his pack and shifted his weight onto one foot, signaling you to follow.

“Don’t worry,” He said, his teasing bordered on mocking. “When you fall, I’ll catch you.” Even with his helmet concealing his features, the slight tilt of his head suggested a smirk.

Without pausing to gauge the distance, you summoned the Force behind your movement and launched yourself down the incline. It was a controlled, forceful descent aimed directly at the sniper. His helmet jerked back slightly, caught off-guard by your bold maneuver, as he braced to intercept you.

You could have eased the landing, but the opportunity to test Crosshair's assurance was far too tempting. True to his word, he caught you adeptly, his movements syncing perfectly with your descent. He pivoted, his arm securing around your legs while his other hand steadied at the small of your back, guiding you safely against him. Your waist nestled just below his chest, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders as you looked down at him with a smile.

A subtle motion caught your attention—the soft brush of his thumb across your back, almost imperceptible.

“Nice catch.” You whispered down to him.

Crosshair’s helmet, angled up towards you, tilted subtly to the side—a silent question or perhaps contemplation. He made no move to lower you to the ground, his arms creating a gentle but firm cradle. You remained as motionless as possible, acutely aware of every point of contact. The warmth from where your bodies touched seemed to radiate, intensifying the sensations.

Under the fading light of dusk, shadows played across your faces, cloaking the flush that had started to climb up your neck. You hoped the dimness concealed your reaction, though part of you wondered if Crosshair, with his keen senses, could detect the change in your pulse or the slight tremor in your breath.

With a slight shift, Crosshair broke the silence in a dry tone, “Should we include you jumping into my arms in the debrief or was the little show just for me?” Even hidden behind his helmet, the slight tilt of his head suggested a smirk.

A flush of embarrassment warmed your cheeks as another thumb brushed the small of your back, the slow, deliberate motion sending a shiver through you. You arched involuntarily at the touch, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. Squirming slightly under his gaze, you managed to wiggle free from his loose embrace and found your footing on solid ground. Your hands lingered on his chest briefly, feeling his arms still encircling you.

Before he felt your hands trembling, you gave him a light pat on the chest. “Best keep it between us - wouldn’t want to have to explain your slow reflexes.” You were impressed by the steadiness in your voice.

Crosshair stepped back, feigning offense. “Slow reflexes? You launched yourself at me.” It wasn’t an accusatory statement, more of a reminder.

Backing away in the direction of camp, you wagged a finger between the two of you. “Between us it is.” At the rate you walked away you were practically fleeing the scene.

You ended up making it back before the other general. Crosshair joined his brother’s at the landing strip of the Marauder while you checked in with the Commander on duty.

As Crosshair approached he pulled his helmet off and slipped a toothpick between his lips.

Hunter leaned against the wing of the shuttle and said, “Took you long enough.” The comment earned a sharp glance from Crosshair, his expression tightening just enough to convey his annoyance. Hunter had watched his brother pick at you and knew him enough to know Crosshair was fussing over you in his own way.

Tech's voice preceded him from the ship. “Right on time. The other general is arriving momentarily as well.” Descending the stairs, Tech barely lifted his eyes from his datapad. “We should be departing shortly.”

True to Tech's prediction, the Jedi General in command and his Clone Captain emerged through the underbrush soon after. While you engaged in a discussion with the General, the Clone Captain approached the rest of the Batch.

He tilted his helmet respectfully. “Thanks for the support, troopers. They weren’t kidding when they said you were effective.”

Wrecker snorted, a smirk playing on his lips. “Yeah, someone's gotta be good at their job around here.”

The Captain did a double take at the large clone, but only shook his helmet in response. Resting a hand on his hip, he glanced towards where his Jedi General was standing. With a chuckle, he mused aloud, “I wouldn’t mind being under her command.”

Tech audibly groaned, while Crosshair’s head snapped towards the Captain, his body language tense. “And why is that?” His voice was sharp, a clear edge underlying the question.

Hunter inhaled deeply, sensing the brewing storm. Wrecker, meanwhile, stood by grinning, evidently enjoying the unfolding drama.

Nonchalantly, the Captain gestured towards you, unaware of the undercurrents swirling around him. “Who wouldn’t want to get to look at her all the time?”

Crosshair’s helmet muffled his simmering as he pulled it over his head. Turning to face him directly, Crosshair tilted his head towards the Captain. “You’ll have to say that again.”

The Captain, caught off guard by the sniper’s intensity, scoffed dismissively, “Is that right?”

In a taunting, egging-on voice Crosshair said, “Either you say it to her.” Crosshair pointed to you then stepped closer, invading the Captain’s personal space, his posture menacing. “Or you say it to me.”

A dismissive chuckle came from the Captain and he said, “Fine.”

Meanwhile, you wrapped up with the General. “Anytime Master, we’re happy to have helped.” You were about to shake their hand when you noticed a commotion at the edge of your vision.

The next moment Crosshair rammed his helmet into the Captain’s with enough force to send the man on his ass.

“Time to go,” you sighed, rushing towards the unfolding scene. A few regs were gathering by the time you made it through.

Crosshair was poised to advance on the fallen Captain when you intervened. Slipping in front of him, you wrapped your arms around his armored torso, your presence an immediate barrier. His rage simmered down to a trembling restraint under your hold.

“Cross,” you said with a firm tone, but softened immediately when he pushed against you again. “Hey, hey, hey. Who’s jumping into whose arms now, huh?” Crosshair held the pressure a moment longer, his breath heavy against you, then growled softly and stepped back.

Realizing your hands were still at his sides, you snatched your hands back as if he was too hot to touch.

“Wise choice,” Crosshair sneered over your shoulder at the Captain, who was clumsily regaining his footing. His hand found its way to your waist, and with a hiss that betrayed a blend of annoyance and protective instinct, he murmured, “After you, General,” guiding you towards the Marauder’s ramp with an unexpected gentleness.

As you passed Hunter, his smirk broad and clearly entertained, Crosshair snapped, “Stow it.”

Your head swiveled between them, confusion knitting your brows. Once on the ship, you halted and pushed back against Crosshair’s guiding hand, spinning around to face him while trying to ignore how his touch lingered. “You just had to fight, didn’t you?” Despite your attempt at authority, your voice cracked, revealing your weak resolution.

Crosshair looked down, a soft chuckle escaping him. He gently turned you back around by the waist and nudged you deeper into the ship. “Your fault,” he crooned, his voice low and teasing.

Your heart skipped despite your frustration. You craned your neck to look up at him, demanding an explanation, “Tell me how.”

“I don’t think I will,” he replied, the hint of a smile still in his voice, leaving the words hanging between you like a challenge.

#Sweet sarcastic Crosshair is my favorite #the bad batch #tbb #star wars #bad batch #tbb crosshair #the bad batch crosshair #crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair x reader #fanfiction #my writings #the bad batch x reader #hunter #tech #jedi #wrecker

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ghoulfuckersincorporated · 6 months ago

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i'm loving your posts about the Ghoul!

What are your thoughts about the first time with him? i think it totally makes sense that he is touch starved for the last 200 years.

Maybe the reader reassures him that she wants it, and he says for how long he was thinking about it 😆

Thank you so much for the ask, Anon! I actually have multiple pieces in the works depicting this, so I thought I'd do a little general headcanon overview in the meantime.

First Time Sex With The Ghoul

Despite his big, tough exterior, the poor man is so nervous (and also having a lot of feelings about being with someone for the first time since Barb), so you'll have to really be sensitive to that.

Definitely a long time coming. Even if you started propositioning the man the moment you met him, it would take a solid while of traveling with him before he would even begin to really consider any sort of physical affection between you two as an option. Between self consciousness at how long it's been since he was with anyone, body image issues, touch issues, and genuine disbelief that you'd actually want that with any ghoul, let alone him, he's gotta take a while to work up the guts, frankly.

Also takes quite a while because the mood is spoiled for him easily. I won't say that he's looking for reasons to not have sex (or to stop if you're doing things); moreso that the poor thing simply suffers from hypervigilance after not being able to be that vulnerable for so long. You're camping out within ten miles of a settlement and you wanna fool around? "We shouldn't. Could cause trouble if someone sees us." Slight noise somewhere off in the far distance? "I better go check and see what that was." You make a slightly strangled sound of pleasure? "Shit, am I hurtin' you? Maybe we should stop."

Once you finally work your way up to that point, don't expect to see much of his actual body. At most, he'll take off the hat and the duster. The very first time, I don't even see the gloves coming off, honestly, unless lightening has struck between you. I don't think he would want you to touch any more of his skin than necessary.

All that said, I think once you get him comfortable enough that you're getting naked, he'll be much more at ease. He feels both protected and aroused by being fully clothed while you're naked against him.

Spends a long time in the foreplay stage, mostly because he still remembers what feels good on that front and all your sounds and reactions make him feel confident. Lots of kissing; he adores how much you like to kiss him. He's not so sure he remembers all the steps of the main event, so making you cum on his fingers and tongue over and over again eases his nerves a bit, since he knows that even if he's terrible when the time comes, he at least showed you a decent time.

Speaking of which, as positive as I am that becoming a ghoul would give you pretty decent stamina (increased healing and "recovery" rate?), I am also positive that the second this poor touch-starved man is inside you, he's cumming. You both are sort of anticipating it, though, so no one panics. Give it a few and y'all can go again, trust me. He definitely feels embarrassed, but it'll help a lot if you don't make a big deal of it, reassure him how much you want him, how good he makes you feel. Resist the urge to use the "L" word; this whole situation is already so emotionally overwhelming for him that you're better off waiting.

Once that particular pitfall is navigated, though, his sexual confidence skyrockets. He's dipped his toes back in the pool and no one is dead or heartbroken, and it felt amazing, so have fun navigating 200 years of backed up sexual urges once that dam is broken!

#cooper howard #the ghoul #cooper howard smut #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #cooper howard headcanons #ghoulcy #vaultghoul #fallout tv show #fallout prime #submission

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bakugoushotwife · 1 year ago

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kinktober day fifteen: brat-taming kink

>>> god bless i love him so bad...brain rot for this plot...y'all should i make this one like a series fdskjkjgjkgj i swear to god i'm feeling this way about all my fics as of late!! this one has a lot of japanese symbolism and traditions included. i am not japanese and all my research came from different sources across google, but if anything is incorrect or insensitive pls reach out and let me know <3

>>> starring: suguru geto x curvy!f!reader >>> cw: brat-taming, history/pining between reader and geto, face-fucking (m!receiving) edging (f!receiving), fingering (f!receiving), breeding, degradation/praise, pet names, creampie >>> wc: 4.6k >>> event masterlist:

he didn’t love the idea, to say the least. he understands why a marriage is necessary. it humanizes him, makes him relatable, opens the door to more preaching topics. he didn’t understand why he had to marry his fellow sorcerer and old classmate—especially one as mouthy as you. you didn’t either, forced into it by the higher ups with hopes you could bring suguru back to the right side of history, not taking your feelings into the matter at all, not that you expected them to. but you’re sure they already knew you wouldn’t be able to complete this mission—perhaps they hoped for your death at his hand.

at one point, you were friends. now, you were about to become the unwilling misses geto, though even that was more complicated than it seems. you were the third musketeer back in the day. even shoko preferred to stay out of the boys’ shenanigans, sticking to herself or utahime, not bothered in the slightest to let you chase after satoru and suguru. you were closer to the latter, finding it easy to gang up on the former together. he entertained your wit and you let him try out new moves on you. you loved each other. that’s why it hurt so bad—still hurts to this day—that he left and turned into this. and now you’re stuck in the thick of it.

you make him beyond angry. putting aside your utter disrespect and disobedience, you remind him of nothing but conflicting times, things he’d rather not think about now that those days were supposed to be far behind him. you hadn’t changed a bit from the day he left, and he hates that even more. you’re lively and talented, your powers long abused by the very higher ups that contributed to his madness and the ones that leveraged you into this ceremony. when he was told of your engagement, he could have refused and had them find him a new wife. he could have killed them all and refused this altogether—he’s not quite sure why he said yes. he pulls on his hakama trousers, smoothing at the pleats as he racks his brain. he slings his haori around his shoulders, and he realizes a small part of him may have always wanted to marry you; he remembers fantasies of you in high school, recalling how badly he yearned for your affection. and he hates that more than anything.

he knows you feel similarly about him, hence all your acting up. you had been short and cold and almost satoru level snotty with him through the engagement parties and wedding planning and obligatory dinners. you have the nerve to sneer as you speak and look at him with nothing but disgust. he’s the one who should be disgusted with you. you chose to stay with gojo over him, chose that world of lies and injustice when you could have been enlightened like him from the beginning. it’s only fitting you’re his bride, really. it’s what he deserves, as retribution for your betrayal. and he would make sure to claim what was his on his wedding night. the servants come to get him as he shrugs into his montsuki with a new smug smile replacing what was a dreading frown.

you wore a red iro-uchikake. and you look like a dream he had when he was a teenager. it’s ironic really. he knows not wearing the more traditional and all white shiromuku was another one of your jabs, but the color red was more significant to him than white. it means life, it wards off all evils. perhaps you knew that too, and that’s why you chose the color, though geto remembers you wearing the deep blood color often enough through adolescence that seeing you in it again makes some of the tightness in his chest let off just a little bit, even as you avoid his eyes.

he looked magnificent. his hair had grown longer, and you had always liked to play with it before, but now it cascades over his shoulder in waves despite the top-bun halving the thickness. you could hear your heart pound. if you were to tell the second year version of yourself that you would be sharing a wedding temple with suguru geto, you may have cried from relief and happiness. but as you get closer to him with no guests to witness this other than the priest and a handful of temple ladies, you feel the coursing energy of excitement and nerves. you aren’t sure what to expect from him now that no one will be watching. you don’t even truly know how he feels for you. he has been making attempts to earn your favor, but that was because he had a crowd.

he takes your hand and smiles down at you like he did when you were much younger and much less conflicted over your feelings. it makes your heart flutter like it used to, and your eyes widen a bit at his gentility. the priest offers his blessings to the gods as you two stand before him, hand-in-hand. your mind races. how much of this is real? and even if he’s being genuine, does it really matter? after everything he put you through, all the things he had done, the things he wants to do, can you look past it all just to love him anyway?

the temple servants set up the sakazuiki. they space the three ceremonial cups evenly apart, and fill them with the richest sake. san-san-kudo. you bite your lip, hating yourself for your doubt. suguru gently pulls you out of your head and towards the table, to the binding ceremony of old tradition. he picks up the first cup, holding it to his face.

“you look beautiful, okusan.” he smirks over the cup, looking oddly satisfied with himself, like he knows something you don’t. he then sips the first cup three times, holding your eyes. you feel your body burn, looking down at the kimono you chose and back to him. his fingers lightly brush against yours as you take the cup. you feel butterflies.

“thank you, geto-san.” you tilt your head down to indicate your grace, thoughts fuzzied by his intense stare and old feelings bubbling up your gut. you sip three times, and he picks up the next sakazuiki. he chuckles, and you swear you see a little bit of light in his deep eyes.

“are you waiting for titles until the conclusion of the ceremony, anata?” he piles on the mulit-meaning endearment, passing you the second cup. you nearly choke on your sake.

“no. you look very nice, uchi no hito.” you take your final sip, and it’s geto’s turn to stammer. he expected a tsureai or muko, but the one you chose had so much meaning. your home, your person. that’s what you called him. he knew the shock and wonder had to show on his face based off of your smug grin whenever you set the cup down. you think you can toy with him, pull stunts with him. you’re much too bold—and he wants to hate it, he wants to smother that personality right out of you, but for now–he’ll let himself love it.

“this binds us through our love, wisdom, and happiness.” he says the words to bring you together officially, tying your souls together for better or worse. he sips from the final cup three times, the symbolism not lost on you, and passes it to you to do the same.

“this binds us through our hatred, passion, and ignorance.” you look him in the eyes as you take your drinks, and his dark pink lips stretch into a wide smile.

“and now you are mine. how lucky we are to be brought back to each other in this way.” he chums, taking the wedding rings from his pocket as the priest continues offering his prayers to the skies. you hold out your hand expectantly, and he arches a brow.

“nine is not a lucky number, perhaps we’re cursed instead.” you shrug, that same smugness tugging at your lips. oh, you’re going to drive him crazy. you give him hope and you pull it away, you jab at him and you’re so gorgeous that he can’t even be upset with you for it. he slides the diamond encrusted with black gems down your third finger, giving you a smug smile of his own. he can play dirty too. he extends the box to you and you pluck his gold band from it, sliding it slowly down his finger. the excitement builds in your gut as you become more and more okay with whatever this is. you always thought he had a point. the jujutsu society was so horribly fucked up–maybe he was right all along and you were the coward after all. i mean, where did all your loyalty get you? sold off to a dangerous man with hopes to shut you up for good? passed around mission to mission until your body barely functioned anymore? maybe you could turn a blind eye to all his indiscretions, especially when he’s looking at you with such affection in once cold eyes. you still hold his hand in both of yours, and he enjoys the warmth, but you’ve pushed and poked him just enough, these teasing touches part of them.

instead of a kiss to seal this union once more, he leans down to your ear. “go get changed. i like simple lingerie.” he all but purrs in your ear, sending shivers down your spine at the order. you were losing sight of yourself at a rapid pace. you had hoped to hold out longer than this. his lips tickle the shell of your ear and a soft gasp leaves you. you tell yourself to be strong.

“and if i don’t? you’d be lucky to sleep with me at all, husband.” you sneer, and again he doesn’t know what to make of you, but he’s dedicated to figuring it out. he leans up and tilts his head, analyzing the lust in your eyes and the shakiness in your hands. he laughs at you when he realizes.

“go get changed, little pet. we’ll discuss your guilt and attitude later.” he shakes his head at you, his gaze making you feel as if you were already undressed before him. he turns, tossing that confident smirk over his shoulder again for good measure. “red is your color.”

and then the temple girls are at your side, ready to escort their new geto-sama to her new room in the geto estate.. you allow them, trailing silently as you wonder just what he was able to figure out by looking at you, and what lingerie you would put on for him.

you choose a red babydoll dress. the sheer plunging neckline leaves little to the imagination and the tight fit of the lace leaves even less. it fans out from your body from there, the fluffy hem stopping just below your ass. seeing yourself in the mirror, perched perfectly at the end of the bed, you smile. you imagine that qualifies as simple, though you’re sure it will still make him crazy for you. you’re embarrassed to want that, to dress yourself up and present yourself to him just as he asked. your friends would be ashamed, namely one. but as the door creaks open and you feel an icy stare raking over your body, you can’t quell your excitement.

he hums approvingly as the door clicks shut behind him. he’s so grateful he didn’t deny this union out of his own narrow minded rage. he never thought he would see you again after you denied him the first time, but here you are, on the bed you two would soon share in his home, now branded with his last name— all wrapped up like a christmas present.

“sugurin–” the old nickname flies off your tongue in your haste, and a fondness glosses over the devious intent in his eyes. you clear your throat and tug the sides of your dress down pathetically. “i... actually don’t know what to say.” you blink in realization, painfully aware of how alone you two are. was he still the same man you knew?

“don’t worry, kibōchi.” he returns his own nickname, the way you squirm in your place at the sound of it wasn’t lost on him, though the name puts you at was in the same way it stirs you up. his desire returns at your doe-eyed stare, you trust him to some extent, even through your wariness. “i’ll start. you were assigned to marry me, no?”

you nod your head, now knowing he wouldn’t hurt you, not with the fondness in which he says your name. your core tingles as he approaches you, a scarily sweet smile on his face.

“good. thank you for your honesty, anata girl.” he nods, sliding his crested black kimono off, the only proper covering of your wedding remaining on his body, for your convenience if anything. “and you’ve been such a brat because…? which is it: you’re mad at them, mad at me, or mad at yourself?”

you furrow your brows at his words. it seemed he learned everything in just an extended look at you. “am not a brat.” you fold your arms in indignation, incidentally proving him right. he just shakes his head, chuckling again.

“look at you. you didn’t answer my question and you’re pouting like a toddler.” he lets his gaze drift down to your body just begging for his touch. he can’t help but wonder what you’ll like and what your favorite position will be and how fertile you are and what kind of drive you’ll have, all things he never learned about you when you were just friends. you feel his scrutiny and fight through your mixed feelings to respond.

“can’t it be a mixture of all three?” you sigh out shakily, deciding to stick to your guns even if you want him, too.

he clicks his tongue in consideration. “i suppose. but the sorcerers of your past no longer have any influence over your life. and you should be more forgiving to yourself, even if you are being a snot.”

you scrunch your nose up in distaste, hating how his words soothe your heart. “you conveniently left yourself out of that equation.” you fold your arms and it only pushes your chest out more. you’re impossible, and it’s hard for him not to smirk at you. you’re powerless, he knows and you know it—yet you fight anyway. it’s precious.

“i don’t regret leaving. i did the right thing.” he says, head held high. his devotion is moving, even when he looks at you with such a mixed bag of emotions. “i missed you however. i accepted this union to see you again.”

you can tell from his eyes that his emotion is genuine, but it still shoots pangs through your heart as you recall days spent in bed crying over his absence. you turn your head away so the influence of his obsidian stare couldn’t cut so deep. “you left me.”

“you didn’t join me when i asked you to.” he retorts, clenching his jaw at your argumentative nature. “i came back, just for you.”

“you came back to use me.” you spit, echoing the words of your other classmates. the look in your eyes is angry, this was something you genuinely believed. that infuriates him. “you were going to leverage me, until you provoked him.”

his jaw ticks again. “and who told you this, satoru? i would have thought you knew me best.” he sighs his disappointment, grabbing your hands. he pulls you off the bed, your knees buckling you into a stand—then he roughly grabs your cheeks to make you look at him. “or did you forget just how close we were? how deeply i loved you then, all the time we spent together? you’re the one who betrayed me. you were mine! mine, you were supposed to be mine and you stayed with him!” his voice rises just a bit with his frustration, but he drops his grip on you and steps back, “i would have done anything to take you with me. and everything…could have been the same, i would have kept you safe and away from this life. We could have had so much more time together—and you’re being so goddamn bratty now that i have you back…what am i to do with you?”

you blink rapidly at his speech washes over you. did he really mean it, that he just wanted you to have you? you were never intended to be used as a bargaining chip, and you let everyone else warp the vision of the man you once held so dear? you shake your head violently, rejecting the idea. he rakes his hands over his face, fed up with the back and forth. “i’ve compartmentalized you out over the years. but i have you back, and i refuse to waste any more time.”

“i’m sorry sugurin—i thought you hated me!” you defend, reaching for him. he grabs your wrists again and plants your hands on his chest, moving his touch to your face.

“then make it up to me.” he orders with a fervent nod, his hold on your face firm but comforting. you surprise him by leaning up and closing the remaining distance to kiss him, balling up his shirt in your fists. you were absolutely insufferable, annoying, bratty, and irritating—but he could do this forever. feeling you move with such passion, vigorously pulling at him and finally giving in to all those pent up feelings was enough to prompt him to do the same. he memorizes your taste for a while before he pulls away and directs you to your knees with his signature rough handling, though he’s still careful not to hurt you. “i want you to really make it up to me.”

you nod eagerly and shove your hair over your shoulders while he frees his waiting ache. he can hardly stand the sight of you on your knees under him, massive cock creating a shadow over your obedient and eager face. as gorgeous as you are like this, it was too late to make up for your transgressions. you salivate at the sight of his impressive length standing proud over you, curved and so long he leans to one side with a thickness you know will make even your throat burn. your mouth parts for him immediately, slick sliding down the insides of your thighs at the idea of relieving his drooling slit. “you’re gonna have to open wider than that, okusan.”

and he helps you do so, planting his broad callused hands firmly on each side of your face, bumping his cockhead against your puffy bottom lip and shoving himself into your silky walls. you moan out in surprise and relax your throat, making your new husband grin at the performance. He’s perhaps unintentionally violent as he sheaths to the hilt, your nose bumping against black coarse hair above his shaft. “there, there.”

he pats your cheek patronizingly, flicking away a tear that formed. “don’t cry, kibōchi. you were made for this.” he coos affectionately, body growing hot to the touch at his vision. he knew this was a great start to teaching you your place in life, and that being a brat was not one of them. running away was not one of them, you were permanently his and he would never let you go again. he pulls your head back off with that grip to use you, plunging your throat back down on him and biting down on his lip to keep his own sounds from interrupting your gorgeous gags.

“don’t you like this so much better than acting snotty, sweet wife?” he teases only slightly, taking your teary eyes flicking up to look at him as a yes. you can feel him deep, that burning sensation that you knew would come starting to sting your vocal cords. “you take me so well, i’ve always told you sorcery wasn’t for you. this is all you need to do forever.”

you moan at the idea, him keeping you home to take after the estate and maybe even caring for the kids you may have in the future. he chortles, pleasantly surprised by you yet again. “you think you’re clever, darling. acting all sweet now so i’ll forget all about your behavior, hm?”

he pulls you off with a lewd pop, pushing at the wimpy straps of your dress with a satisfied hum as the fabric falls away from your chest. “too bad. get on the bed.”

your heart raced, but you nod. your throat was too hoarse to speak anyway. you weren’t planning anything, you felt like liquid, you had given into your vows and let suguru take you mind, body, and spirit—and he hadn’t even touched you yet. you wobble up to your feet and he slaps your ass when you turn it to him, which makes you gasp and stumble forward. he hums, predatory narrow eyes watching you climb up and lay in the center of the large mattress. he wastes no time in positioning over you. he spits, thumbing his lube over your sensitivity. he pins your fluffy dress up over your stomach, lulling you into sweet moans, your high building in your stomach rapidly. he doesn’t know where to look, you’re all too perfect. the faces you make, your beautiful, slobber-soaked mouth pouting out all your pleasures, your gorgeous tits sitting so prettily in wait for him. then there was your weeping cunt, so pathetically soaked just from sucking him off.

“su–gu-rin~” you whimper out a little, your legs trying to close around his large body mass as the feeling becomes more intense. he hums, smacking your cunt.

“brats don’t get to cum.” he shrugs, licking and biting at the insides of your thighs to tease you further. your plush skin is so sensitive, and he loves watching the way you squirm to get away from his canines scraping your flesh. you gasp in anger, orgasm ruined the longer he refuses to touch where you need him most.

“brat?—you’re really gonna be mean to me, uchi no hito?” you pout, and he can feel his heart pang at the insistence and the sweet way you call him yours. you’re softening his heart already. he still had the want to punish you, but the need to claim you was surely fighting back.

“then apologize for your behavior or you won’t cum at all.” he sits up a bit, tossing some hair over his shoulder. you bat your lashes at him, knowing he was hurt by your choice, just like you were hurt by his. but now there was a chance to make it right, to be together forever like you were meant to–and if you had to apologize for your doubts in him, you would sing them loudly.

“oh—sugurin, i’m sorry! i really am,” his fingers squeeze and toy with your clit, making your body jump as you try to stutter through your words. “just mi-missed you, that’s all, was mean because i missed y-you!” you writhe and wiggle closer and away from his touch simultaneously, and he hums happily at your speech.

“that’s better.” he hums approvingly, pushing your legs up to your chest. he wants you to feel this as much and as deeply as possible. “such a good girl, did i tell you how beautiful you look okusan?”

you nod, feeling the well of nerves heating up in your core, his hands resting on your knees as he looks over the disheveled lingerie. “told me at the wedding…” you sniffle, wiggling your hips for his attention again.

“i see.” he frowns, as if disappointed by your answer. his hands feel your thighs and trail back to your knees, getting his hands closer and closer to where you needed him most with each pass. you whine desperately, and he hums out in fake curiosity, “what is it, darling?”

“need you to touch me—please.” you squirm, giving him those irresistible doe-eyes. he planned to make you beg much harder than that, but you had him worked all the way up, your body, behavior, and the history between you was setting him on fire.

“oh i’ll make you cum, kibōchi.” he moves his grip to the backs of your thighs as he moves his hips forward. you try to prepare yourself but it’s no use, he plunges in without any hesitation or resistance on your part. it aches, you clench down at the spread and his thumb comes back to your clit to rub the pain away. “but you can only do it on my dick. got it?”

you nod slowly and his hips set a pace. he’s so deep you can barely believe he’s allowed to fuck you like this, the pain melting away to a dull pleasure, different from earlier. his gaze is still white hot and searing, devouring every inch of your body. “you really are so beautiful, sweet okusan. my kibōchi turned perfect cocksleeve, yeah?” he growls into the space between you, his fingers digging into the fat of your skin so hard you know he’ll leave his mark.

that draws a moan out of you, loving the idea of being nothing more than a wife, his partner, something you never thought you’d be once you parted ways. the feeling of him rocking into your body is addicting, and now you know you are capable of looking past anything he’s done or will do just to love him anyway. you would throw all your morals away just for this, and he knows that too. “my pretty little okusan, trying so hard to pretend she didn’t want me. now look, the prettiest you’ve ever been bouncing on me.”

he leans over your body, deepening his angle and allowing him to pick up his speed. he watches the way your tits bounce at this pace, your eyes rolling back a little as you’re rendered unable to speak again, only lewd smacks of his balls against your ass and his feral grunts to be heard. his hand finds your throat, and his mouth drops open in response to your sweet moans and impossible beauty. you are perfect. he knew you would be, but your pussy was his personal kryptonite. “you feel so good, anata girl. you look even better, stuffed to the brim.”

he smiles at the double meaning. you are his darling girl, but you are also his exasperating brat. god, he always knew what to say. your jaw falls, gripping his forearms to warn him that you were close. “please—need to cum!”

he hums, nodding his approval, “then cum, okusan.” he commands, deep voice booming. his spine tingles at the idea of you taking your first round of his seed. his hair falls so angelically around his angular features when you open your eyes, it’s the final push over the edge. you choke out a moan, and then your nails are scraping at his biceps, his shoulders and chest, whatever you can get your hands on, and your release is rushing over his dick seconds later.

“are you on birth control?” he groans, feeling his cock twitch in between your wet walls. you shake your head, chest heaving deliciously. “good, let’s see how fertile you are.”

your eyes cross at his statement and his balls feel so heavy, squeezing tight and spurting out their contents against your womb. your head digs into the pillow and his falls back at the feeling of being so full and warm. he keeps his hips rocking, making you gasp with every stroke as he shoves his deposit deeper. You’re both panting when you look at each other, years of unspoken yearning and love being communicated between you. there’s a lot to catch up on, and a lot to relearn about one another, but one thing is certain: this marriage was fated, and not arranged.

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