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mimicrygrievous · 8 days ago

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Fanfic Attempt Snippet 3. Advice? Help?

They unanimously opt to skip the whole gawking segment that’s typically mandatory when crossing the threshold of recently vacated childhood manors in exchange of booking it upstairs to the guest bedrooms. If the house’s innards have been rearranged—a possibility the twins believe to be far-fetched, knowing their mother—they couldn’t care less. Why would they? Their only obligation here is to the miserable hospital staff who are in need of Nym’s levelheaded next of kin because the withered husk isn’t qualified to cooperate. No, that rotten woman listens to nobody but herself, which is—surprise, surprise—precisely how she got stuck in the psych ward to begin with.

Upon elbowing past the door closest to the topmost landing, Nightmare sags against the wall to the immediate right of the entryway. His raw mana that has yet to completely restore its self-regulation system burns like felsic lava chugging through his marrow and getting clogged within his joints. The heat is intolerable—regular calefaction exacerbated by anterior aggravation into almost hellish temperatures—but Dream already adjusted the thermostat that sits at the foot of the stairwell before he followed after Nightmare. With an ideal quantity of luck, Nightmare will sink underneath the undulating waters of consciousness with instinctual thrashing kept to a minimum in spite of the roiling magma’s steaming protests. The ice instructed to impale their current enclosure once it’s properly prepared is merely a preventative measure to ensure Nightmare’s slumber stays serene and painless.

“What tasks do you plan to take on whilst you’re still awake and about?” Nightmare ponders idly, fighting gravity as it strives to bend him over backwards.

“Well, I need to fill up the gas tank, and buy us enough groceries for a day or three, so I’ll be heading into town.” Dream apprises with parallel detachment as he dumps their nesting materials—

{“We do not— This is most definitely not— Tell Ink That We Do NOT Sleep In A NEST—” A slighted shriek accompanied by a sneer.

“I beg to differ, Night. And since I’m the twin in charge of organizing our spread, I’ll call it what I like.” Arms akimbo and snotty nasal ridge turned skywards.}

—effectively portable bedding onto the corresponding dusty furniture.

“Are you certain you wish to traverse this village alone? I’d gladly remain on my feet if you’d rather my presence at your hip.” Nightmare offers, aching incredibly from fatigue, but quite perturbed at the notion of Dream being devastatingly deprived of all moral encouragement because of the inconveniently essential function that is rest. The guilt would suffocate him if anything untoward happened to his brother here of all the possible settings.

“She’s in the hospital, Night. There is a negative risk of me bumping into her. You needn’t fret. Sleep well.” Dream intones, as soothing as the crash of a mallet on a brass gong—can a musical instrument be played condescendingly?—as he finishes fluffing and straightening their bedstuffs, his physical efficiency uncontested.

“She’s not who I’m worried about for the temporary time being, as unlikely as it may seem.” Nightmare doesn’t miss a beat in flicking off the fixture overhead the moment Dream turns his spine away from the headboard. The abrupt and absolute absence of illumination is enticing, transforming the twin-touched pallet into a dark temptress.

“Oh, darksun. Contrary to your suspicions, our mother doesn’t have the local populace in a chokehold, but I’ll be sure to give Blue or Ink a call if I need to appear urgently busy.” Dream’s phalanges scrape the sides of his brother’s skull as he deftly removes Nightmare’s visor and replaces it with his flowery blackout mask.

“Perhaps I want to put the local populace in a chokehold.” Nightmare gripes as Dream guides him to lay back against the plush give of pillows stacked upon an ordinary mattress.

“In that case, maybe I have a moral code to uphold. Maybe it’s my duty to protect these people from you.”

“Your jest is in poor taste—Stop Manhandling Me!”

“Hush. I always tuck you in. Stop complaining. Reinstate your chivalry. Be sweet for me before I go.”

Nightmare snaps his teeth and snarls at the hand stroking his temple. “I Am NOT The Younger Twin, So Quit Patronizing Me!”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know that I miss when you were easier to mislead.”

“No, you don’t. You wouldn’t be tentatively conceding to slumber if you were still actively guarding your gullible ‘baby brother,’ now would you?”

“I Will Cease My Conceding If You Don’t Give It A Rest.”

“Good one, duskbloom!” Dream exclaims whilst rocketing back on his heels. The suddenness in which he tears his devotions away practically gives Nightmare whiplash. Blast it. Nightmare had been almost certain that Dream was going to cave and crawl into their blanket burrow for the explicit purpose of sleepy snuggles.

“Treacherous snake.”

“Insidious viper.” The retort is blurted out as Dream audibly trips over his own heels in his mad dash towards the room’s exit, virtually begging his soundly swaddled twin to give chase. In another scenario, Nightmare probably would have complied with his cain instinct. Later, he settles.

“What has gotten into you?” The glare that is shot at Nightmare for his ‘innocent’ concern is brimming with acute accusation. (Not that it is seen, but it is surely felt.)

“It is imperative that I procure the supplies I mentioned today, Mare. That entails leaving. So farewell, brother mine! Mwah!” A bolt of bittersweet fondness zips through Nightmare’s marrow at the glimpse of Dream’s acquired friend group lexicon, and then his twin’s company is reduced to boots clicking precisely down a pristine stairwell. Nightmare strains his acoustic meatus until he hears their automobile leave, then nothing. His brother is gone.

The instant arrow through Nightmare’s soul at the distance is as comedic as it is tragic, but his anguish is borne from little more than attachment. Not fear. Nightmare isn’t scared of Dream being manipulated as soon as he’s left to his own devices for a short time. If he was, he would be underestimating his dearest. Dream is just as intelligent and conniving as Nightmare can be.

Contrariwise, Nightmare would feel pity for the poor cretin that views his twin as an exploitable skeleton to any degree. Dream may still emit that alluringly naïve aura to narcissistic outsiders—a youthful silhouette paired with a ‘childish’ personality, or so those types tell him—but those types are ironically the exact reason Dream’s savior complex was crushed into dust to begin with.

A sourness taints every interaction the twins have with strangers, and as melancholic as it makes Nightmare to see his daylight moon’s natural bleeding heart bubble up into something thorned and nasty, it brings Nightmare relief as well. There is safety in hostility. There are barricades built upon unattainability. The harsher Dream’s standoffish wariness—the epitome of pastry politeness when put in juxtaposition to Nightmare’s definition of ‘lenience’—the better for eliminating the stress on both of their sheltered souls.

Violaceous sentience lulls its viscous self into disembloodied mist. Wisps of an aureate countenance that twists with savage abhorrence graces Nightmare’s lingering seconds of cognizance. His lemonblast on his mind neverendingly, Nightmare passes out.

this snippet is a good bit shorter than the other two, bc it’s the last of this first section. Not the end of the chapter, but basically 1/3 of what I’m trying to get done during this first chapter. This first section is a bit over 5,000 words, I think. Not sure what the other sections are going to total up to, but boom.

#tw mentioned abuse #tw implied child abuse #tw hospital mention #Hopefully that's good? Tell me if I need to add more.#nightmare sans #fanfic #dream sans #utmv au #Also I’m pretty sure their mother’s name is canonically spelt Nim but I’m spelling it Nym bc I like it

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sassygwaine · 2 years ago

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a very good lesson my therapist helped me with was changing “should” to “want to”

example:

“I should shower.” -> moral, weighty, often an addition to the chorus of shit you are already struggling with. a dead end! guilt and shame are not sustainable motivators.

“I want to shower.” -> acknowledgement of a need and desire, now we can move forward!

often, when we’re stuck, it’s unlikely that we are choosing it. even if you have the “i could do this if i just got off my ass” running through your head, that doesn’t mean it’s correct. something is stopping you. something is preventing you. moving forward looks like figuring out what that blockage is.

there are infinite reasons we get stuck or don’t do something. often, these reasons have little places we can push back on.

with our example, here are some reasons that have interfered with my hygiene, and what i tell/ask myself when they come up. my therapist recommended getting curious with the feeling, not judgmental. genuinely, gently: why is this thing stopping you?

i don’t like my skin being damp, it’s really uncomfortable -> the discomfort will suck, and i’ll feel better once i’m dry. is the post-shower dampness more uncomfortable than feeling icky right now?

i can’t stand up that long and making it to the shower is too fucking hard -> i can sit on the side of the tub / i don’t have to shower right now, i can rest for a bit and see where i’m at after

i haven’t done that much, so i’m not that dirty -> i still don’t feel very good, maybe a shower would help reset. even if i don’t feel better, at least i don’t have to add sensory ick to the bad feeling.

i forgot and now it’s time for bed and i can’t sleep with wet hair -> i can shower in the morning! / i can do a body wash and take care of my hair in the morning

and listen, sometimes the reason for not doing something you want to do is very fucking compelling. sometimes you just can’t fucking shower. and you learn to stock hygiene wipes on the grocery list and keep a stack of clean washcloths by the sink, and you buy a shower chair for the days you need to sit down.

and if you get to a place where you want something and won’t give it to yourself (not can’t!), you need to ask why you’re depriving yourself of something you want.

i find that is often more helpful than railing against yourself for something you should be doing.

#a further conversation is where does ‘should’ come from? whose expectations are you living under?#be gentle with yourself #god knows the world won’t be #reminders #recovery #mental health

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a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual · 2 years ago

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More ROTTMNT headcanons:

So it’s evident that Donnie doesn’t like to be touched unless he initiates it (with some exceptions like when Mikey and April hug him or when Leo leans on him)

But when Donnie is sleep deprived he’s a clingy little shit

God forbid you get within 5 feet of him because he will launch himself at you and latch on

Now this isn’t a problem for Raph and Leo they’re both taller than him and can lift him with relative ease

Splinter, Mikey, and April on the other hand…. not so much

Don't get me wrong they’re all buff as fuck but their height kind of bites them in the ass

Do y’all remember that scene in Lilo and Stitch when Nani is putting her entire body weight on Lilo

Think that but 10x’s worse because even though Donnie is built like cilantro his tech is heavy as hell

And he will force you to carry that weight by yourself

It’s not uncommon for the boys to hear “if someone doesn’t get this twig bug off me in 5 seconds I’m gonna get my bat” coming from the living room

And because Leo is an amazing brother (and not touch starved at all) he will give Donnie piggyback rides around the house when he’s tired

Leo can stay awake without help for a stupid amount of time

Like I’m talking actual days in a row

Donnie wants to be jealous but then he remembers that Leo tends to pass out around the house

One second he’s energetic and bouncing off the walls and the next he’s passed out on the floor

The first time this happened Splinter almost had a heart attack

After that, they started putting mats and bean bags around the house

And he’s usually able to make it…. Usually

Donnie had a folder saved on his laptop and it’s just a compilation of Leo faceplanting

Leo and Donnie came up with all of the nicknames in the show

They were like 5 years old when they decided that saying everyone's full name was a pain in the ass

So they spent like half an hour coming up with new and exciting nicknames

But there are some nicknames that the others can’t use

Nardo and Tello are theirs and theirs alone

The singular time someone else tried to use those nicknames the twins looked at them funny for a solid minute

No one used them again after that

Leo used to call Donnie “Donbon” but once April showed up he stopped

He didn’t want to but Donnie used to get embarrassed when the nickname was used

The only time he uses it is when he’s really tired or really sad

Sometimes Donnie will get stuck in the zone and he won't come out of his lab for anything

And when those times hit all Leo has to do is walk over to him and go “Donbon the guys are starting to get worried”

And Donnie will sigh and complain that Leo is interrupting his very important work but he’ll still leave the lab and socialize like a normal person

When Mikey was really little he couldn't pronounce his brother's names so he called him “Lee” “Dee” and “Rrrrrrr” (he would just roll his r’s to call Raph over)

And he will still occasionally use those nicknames especially if he wants to make the group laugh

He gave April her very own “Mikey approved nickname”

“Aaaaa” he usually says it in a very quiet and monotone voice and it never fails to make April giggle

For a solid three years of their friendship, April thought Raphs name was Ralph and no one corrected her

It wasn’t until Splinter got mad and called them all by their full names that April realized her mistake

And she’s still embarrassed to this day

Sometimes Leo’s ADHD makes him very irritable

The little things like his phone charger breaking and the tag on his pajamas being itchy will just stack up

And next thing you know he’s in a really bad mood

Most of the time he tries to hide it but his siblings are always able to tell a difference

And then they ask a million questions which just makes his mood worse

And then he snaps and suddenly no one is happy

Leo feels guilty that he snapped at them and they feel guilty for overwhelming him

But no matter what the day always ends with them all in the living room in a big cuddle pile watching their favorite Jupiter Jim movies

#rottmnt #Rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt headcanons #rottmnt leo #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt raph #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt april #disaster twins #these losers mean so much to me #god I love this stupid family #save rottmnt #go watch season 1 on Netflix #and the movie

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ptergwen · 4 years ago

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I can't stop thinking about sleepy!peter. This is a request please anything with a sleep-deprived dorky peter

oof i made this kinda long by accident 😭 pls enjoy <3

“five more minutes, mr. stark. just… five minutes,” peter murmurs to tony and shrugs his hand off of him. after arriving at the tower straight from school, he’d done his usual training session and a last minute cram session for what tony guesses is a history test. he drifted off somewhere in between everything.

if you ever think your schedule is packed, you haven’t seen peter’s.

tony sighs when his protégé still doesn’t budge. he’s at the kitchen table, passed out on a stack of textbooks.

“up and at ‘em, kid. wouldn’t you rather sleep in, i don’t know, your own bed?” tony proposes instead. it earns him a childish pout and head shake from peter. “i wanna sleep in y/n’s. want her cuddles.” he quirks an eyebrow at the mention of his daughter. “oh? you two are in the sleepover stage?” “have been for a while,” peter corrects him, nuzzling his cheek against the textbook.

why wouldn’t you tell tony that? it’s not like he doesn’t know you’re together, and he was bound to find out eventually. you and peter do live under his roof. teenagers and their privacy.

grabbing peter’s shoulder, tony yanks him back into a sitting position. “tell you what, i’ll take you up to y/n if you promise me you’ll get some sleep.” peter begins to protest, and barely gets out a but before tony interrupts. “real sleep. crashing while you analyze the declaration of independence hardly counts.”

peter lazily blinks his eyes open, rubbing the exhaustion out of them while he speaks. “as much as i want to, mr. stark… i…” he yawns his words out. “i should really get back to work.” just like that, he’s awake. tony has to admit that his commitment is impressive. impressive, but not good for him. “kid, it’s late. when’s that test of yours, anyway?” he asks peter, whose shoulders slump. “uh, tomorrow.”

“bedtime it is, then. that genius brain of yours could use a break before the big day ahead,” tony decides and successfully helps peter out of the kitchen chair. “you think i’m a genius?” peter smiles shyly, letting tony lead him to the staircase. “who doesn’t? i doubt you even needed the all nighter you were gonna pull.” his jaw slightly dropping, peter follows next to tony. “how did you know i-“ “i know everything,” he simply insists.

there’s a beat of silence, then tony inquires some more. “except that you apparently canoodle with my daughter every night. since when does that happen?” the two of them continue trudging up the stairs. peter grins once again as he thinks of you. “started before we were dating, actually. it’s nothing bad, though.” he shrugs a shoulder. “we just, like, spoon each other.”

“ah, you’re into the classics. me and pep are the same.” a fond smirk pulls at tony’s lips. “she’s the big spoon.” “i figured,” peter chuckles back, tony scrunching his face up in mock offense. “and why’s that?” “oh, come on. it’s no secret pepper wears the pants,” peter teases his mentor while they make their way down the hall. “you’re much nicer unconscious,” tony remarks.

the two of them reach your room finally, peter letting out a long breath. your door is cracked open, in case peter wanted to stop by. he can see you at your desk with a dim light on next to you. another grin crossing his features, him and tony watch you scribble something in a notebook.

tony knocks on the doorframe and peaks his head into your room. “special delivery,” he announces, you cocking your head to the side curiously. “what is it?” your dad answers by pushing open the door to reveal peter. peter gives you a small wave. “oh,” you bite back a smile, getting up from your seat. “just what i ordered. how’d you know?”

“kid fell asleep studying. the only way i could get him up was to bring him here,” tony explains, clapping peter on the back. “he was asking for you. your cuddles, specifically.” “thanks, mr. stark. i think she gets it,” peter says through clenched teeth. you laugh softly at his forced confession. “it’s okay, pete. i was waiting for you to come.” he rubs one of his pink tinted cheeks.

“we’ll discuss this in the morning, young lady,” tony playfully scolds you. “for now, why don’t you kids head off to dreamland. pete’s got a test tomorrow.” peter presses his lips together, you walking up to him. “i‘ve got him, dad. thank you for being cool about us.” you take peter’s hands with a nod at tony, him ruffling your hair.

“night, y/n/n. hands stay above the waist, parker,” tony meets his eyes for emphasis. “understood,” peter mumbles and threads his fingers through yours. “night.” satisfied in that, tony leaves and closes the door behind him. he sticks around for a few seconds, hearing you chastise peter about fixing his sleep schedule. your dad walks away with a smile on his face.

“you’re supposed to get a good night’s sleep before a test, by the way,” you remind peter while he changes into pajamas. he’s left a few things here for whenever he sleeps over, as tony called it. “which i’m about to do. i have the world’s best snuggler for a girlfriend.” peter pulls up his flannel bottoms, coming towards the bed. you’re sitting at the edge of it.

“you also have to eat a good breakfast. that means no poptarts and chocolate milk,” you beam knowingly, peter flopping down onto his back and your comforter. “they make healthy ones now, y/n/n. bruce just bought them,” he protests and tries to reach for you. you look at him over your shoulder. “so?” “so, he’s a doctor. i trust him.” a yawn slips out of peter. he keeps his eyes closed after this one.

“i wouldn’t take nutrition advice from the hulk, but ok,” you concede and lay down next to your sleepy boyfriend. “how was your day? besides the studying.” your voice drops to a whisper, peter’s arms winding around your middle. “not bad, just busy. i did some sparring with sam.” he pulls you closer to him and hides his face in your neck. “he beat me, obviously.” giggling quietly, you cradle the back of his head with one hand.

“school?” you wonder and tangle your fingers in his unkempt locks. “good, ‘cuz you were there.” he places a few kisses to your skin, and you can feel his lips curve into a smile. your leg drapes around his waist. “very smooth.” “it’s true,” peter whines and tightens his grip on you. “just knowing you’re around somewhere makes me happy.” humming, you keep combing your fingers through his hair. “you’re the cutest. go to bed, petey.”

peter easily gives in. “mm, whatever you say. g’night, lovey.” you kiss his hair lightly in response. his breathing doesn’t take long to even out, and he’s soon fast asleep while cuddled up next to you.

tony was right, as per usual. peter’s genius brain really did need a break.

#peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker x avenger!reader #tony stark #marvel #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland imagine

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criminalmindzjunkie · 4 years ago

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Unlucky in Love

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Gif credit to @ogledalo-moje-duse

Summary: Spencer is unlucky in love - until he isn’t.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, some suggestive content

Word Count: 3.4k

Spencer Reid is, by most people’s definition, unlucky in love.

It wasn’t for lack of trying. In his early twenties, Spencer often caught himself fantasizing about being on the receiving end of some great storybook romance straight out of one of the classic novels on his bookshelf. On the rare occurrence where his mind was able to slow down long enough, Spencer would daydream about what his future partner would be like. Would they share his fondness for the written word, or his penchant for foreign cinema? Would they find his tendency to go off on tangents endearing and his less than fashionable style of dress charming? Spencer liked to think so, but the likelihood of finding someone who could accept him despite all of his quirks seemed low.

But still he hoped, even though he knew hope was a dangerous thing. Hope gave life to the possibility of disappointment – and if there was one thing Spencer did not need more of, it was that.

Spencer Reid was in love with the idea of love – obsessed with the idea of his soul intertwining with someone else’s. But with his thirtieth birthday quickly approaching and absolutely no prospective love interests in sight, Spencer was feeling more than a little disheartened. It certainly didn’t help that everywhere he turned, love was running rampant. Hotch had Beth, Penelope had Kevin, Jennifer had Will, and Morgan had… any number of possible partners. Emily and Rossi were both unattached, but happily so in a way that Spencer just couldn’t quite manage.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like seeing the people around him happy – it was just that he couldn’t help but wonder when he’d finally get his chance at love.

A month before Spencer’s thirtieth birthday, everything changes.

When a member of Garcia’s victims’ support group goes missing, it’s all hands on deck at the BAU. It’s not that they’d give any less than one hundred percent on any other given day, but as with any case that hits close to home, everyone on the team is in a frenzy trying to put the pieces together. The thing that makes this case different is the fact that people from other departments are quick to lend a hand. It comes as no surprise to Spencer – Penelope is a social butterfly by nature. She made it her business to know and befriend everyone in the building. Her sunny disposition is hard not to love, and her current distress had garnered the support of more than a few non-team members.

By the time the case wraps up, the bullpen is much busier and, much to Spencer’s chagrin, much louder than usual. The steady influx of people has Spencer’s head spinning and he can’t seem to focus on the papers sitting in front of him. What should take him thirty seconds to read has almost taken twenty minutes, and at this point the words on the paper are all running together. Spencer knows that it doesn’t help that he’s running on less than three hours of sleep, as evidenced by the frequency of his yawns. Worse even is the fact that his coffee cup is empty and no, he thinks, that simply will not do. With a sigh Spencer pushes away from his desk, bones creaking as he stands.

With his coffee cup in hand, Spencer shuffles to the breakroom. He goes through the motions of preparing his drink, lazily stirring in the mountain of sugar before turning to leave.

Spencer supposes that if it weren’t for the fact that he was horribly sleep deprived, he would’ve seen you walking down the hallway. But alas, Spencer’s alertness had been compromised by poor sleeping habits, and he isn’t aware of your presence until his body is colliding with yours and his hot coffee is dripping down the front of your blouse.

“Ouch,” you whimper, and Spencer is immediately overwhelmed with guilt.

“O-Oh my God, I am so sorry,” he splutters. Without waiting for a response, Spencer’s rushing into the break room and procuring a thick stack of napkins. The part of his brain that controls logical thinking is apparently overrun by the onset of his mortification, and in an act of absolutely panic, he begins to dab at the stains with one of the napkins.

“I-I wasn’t looking where I was going. I’m so so sorry,” Spencer stutters out, frantically attempting to blot the stain. “I’ll give you money for a new shirt. A-Actually, you should probably take this one off. The best way to treat scalds is to immediately get the person away from the heat source. You should also run some cold water over it.”

In his hurry to rectify his mistake, Spencer hadn’t managed to take a good look at you. When his eyes leave the stain in favor of looking at your face, he prepares himself to see anger there. What he doesn’t expect is for your face to be just as flushed as his, with eye brows raised in shock.

Spencer also doesn’t expect this to be the moment he’s been waiting on his entire life, but one look into your eyes tells him this is it - this is your person.

Stunned into a stupor, Spencer stills, eyes boring into your own. You’re even more beautiful than he’d dared to let himself imagine, but in all honesty that didn’t matter much. What matters is the fact that there’s a faint hint of smile lines etched into your skin, and your eyes are so inherently kind that Spencer has no doubt that you’re as gentle as you are alluring. Your benevolence is also evidenced by the fact that you hadn’t immediately begun to yell at him, and for that he is thankful.

Spencer’s revelation renders him unable to form any semblance of thought, and before he knows it almost a solid minute of him gaping at you passes. You begin to squirm uncomfortably under his gaze.

“I, uh, appreciate the help, and you seem like a nice enough guy, but your hand is on my boob and I kind of make it a point to not let strangers touch the goods. So, if you don’t mind,” you stammer, looking pointedly at his hand that is still pressing a napkin to your chest. Spencer recoils as if he’s the one that’s been scalded.

“I-I didn’t mean to, um, t-touch your -,” Spencer gulps, “- chest. I swear I was just trying to get the stain out. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he chokes out. Spencer had imagined the moment he’d come face to face with his person a million times, and none of his daydreams had accounted for the possibility of him giving her second degree burns and inadvertently copping a feel. His emotions fell somewhere between mortification and elation.

“Mm likely story,” you murmur, lips upturning into a smile that has Spencer feeling weak in the knees. Spencer practically swoons. “Do you make it a habit to ask strangers to take their tops off, or am I just special?”

Oh God, had I really suggested that? Spencer cringes and wonders what good an IQ as high as his was when it seemed to fail him at times like these. Speaking to women had never been a specialty of his, despite Derek’s coaching, and Spencer was floundering to come up with an acceptable response.

You are the most special woman in the world, probably. Nope – too creepy, and Spencer definitely doesn’t want to scare you off. Not when he’s been waiting the better part of thirty years to meet you.

I didn’t mean to insinuate that you should take off your shirt, but I also wouldn’t particularly mind if you did. Even worse – that would certainly earn him a stern talking to from HR.

Spencer decides to go for the honest approach.

“I-I’m not sure how to answer that.”

His honesty draws a laugh from you, and Spencer loves the sound so much that he decides then that he’ll never tell a lie again. You shake your head at him and reach for the napkins that he still has clutched in his hands.

“What’s your name?” you ask him as you continue his earlier efforts to sop up the coffee.

It’s probably the easiest question he’s ever been asked. That doesn’t stop him from making a fool out of himself, though.

“I’m Doctor Spencer R-Reid. Uh, I’m Spencer. Y-You don’t have to call me Doctor.”

Someone please put me out of my misery.

Your eyes meet his again and he can tell that you’re holding back a laugh.

“Okay, then, Spencer,” you say as you discard the napkins in a nearby trash bin. “I’m Y/N.” You punctuate your words with an outstretched hand, and before Spencer can think better of it, the usual spiel come tumbling out of his mouth.

“The number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering. It’s actually safer to kiss.”

Your lower your hand and cock your head to the side.

“Are you always this forward, Doctor Reid?” you tease him, eyes flashing amusedly.

“I-I didn’t mean that we should kiss,” Spencer interjects, cringing at the way his voice has suddenly raised in pitch. “N-Not that I wouldn’t kiss you! I-I’m sure that kissing you would be really n-nice. I just meant that… you know. Germs.”

Are you there, God? It’s me, Spencer. A hole opening up in the ground and swallowing me up would be great.

To Spencer’s delight, you don’t seem offended in the slightest.

“I cannot believe that they’ve been hiding you up here, Spencer Reid. I should’ve come to visit Penny years ago.”

Wait – what?

“You work here?”

You nod.

“I work on the floor below this one – sex crimes,” you explain.

“For how long?”

“Coming up on three years now.”

Three years. You’d been right under Spencer’s nose for three years and he hadn’t the slightest clue. You’d parked your car in the same parking garage and taken the same elevator as he! How many times had your paths nearly crossed in the last three years? If he’d been just a little bit earlier or a little bit later getting into work, might the two of you met earlier? The possibility of it was maddening.

“Oh, wow. I-I’ve never seen you,” Spencer mutters lamely. But miraculously, you don’t think he’s lame, if your response is any indication.

“Nor I you, Doc. It’s a shame, too. You’re a funny guy.”

Spencer Reid has been called a lot of things in his lifetime – funny was never one of them.

“Y-Yeah. I’m a real riot at parties,” he deadpans. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” you hum, and Spencer really hopes that you mean it. “Would you mind escorting me to Penelope’s office?”

Spencer nods, and the two of you fall in step together. Spencer’s wracking his brain again for something – anything- he could say to fill the silence. Thankfully, you don’t seem quite as inept at conversing as he, and you beat him to it.

“You look a little young yourself, Spencer. How long have you worked here?”

“Uh, I’ve actually worked here for almost eight years. I started when I was twenty-two.”

Your eyebrows raise in shock.

“Twenty-two, huh? That makes you – what? Thirty now? I wouldn’t put you a day past twenty-five,” you muse, and Spencer isn’t quite sure what to make of that. You must pick up on the conflicted look on his face, because you clarify. “That’s a good thing, Doc. I hope I look as good as you do when I’m thirty.”

Spencer has to remind himself how to breathe.

“I’m not thirty yet. Technically I have twenty-three more days. I could have a rapid decline in attractiveness by then.”

Spencer’s not usually one to try to be funny, but she seems to have a good sense of humor and he wants to impress you in any way he can.

“I guess I’ll have to swing back by in twenty-three days and find out.”

The two of you come to a stop in front of Penelope’s office and Spencer tries not to look as disappointed as he feels. He doesn’t want your meeting to come to an end – not when there’s so much about you that he wants to know. He wants to ask about your opinion on books and obscure foreign films and most importantly, Spencer wants to know what you think about him. Did meeting him affect you in the same way it did him? Did you secretly wish to make this moment last, too?

Spencer wants to say so much, but he can’t. He’s too awkward and too scared and too nervous to find the right words. So instead, he gives you a tight-lipped smile.

“I’m sorry about your blouse. Can I please give you the money to buy a new one? I feel like it’s the least I can do.”

“Absolutely not. It’s really not that big of a deal. Didn’t even really care for the shirt, if I’m being honest. Red really isn’t my color.”

Spencer wants to tell you how wrong you are – that he’s infinitely certain that you’d look irresistible in any color – but he doesn’t.

You reach for the door knob, and Spencer’s shoulders slump.

“It was nice meeting you, Spencer.”

And then you’re gone, and Spencer can’t help but think that he royally fucked up the most important introduction of his entire life.

When Spencer envisioned how his life would look at age thirty, he’d imagined it being a lot different than it is now. He’d hoped to use his intelligence for something great – finding a way to cure Alzheimer’s had been his main aspiration. Yet, here he was, thirty years old with nothing more than three PhDs to his name. He’d accomplished nothing of great significance, and the idea of having wasted his intelligence was eating away at him.

In short, Spencer Reid was in a bit of a funk.

It didn’t help that he hadn’t seen you since that fateful day in the bullpen. Spencer had contemplated paying you a visit, but the lingering embarrassment over his actions kept him from reaching out. He didn’t think he could handle how badly a rejection from you would hurt, so instead he sulked around the office and wallowed in his own self-deprecation.

Spencer’s birthday wasn’t something he tended to advertise. From a young age, he’d chosen to observe it silently. Usually, his mother would forget, and he never really had any friends to celebrate with, so the day was always rather unimportant to him. Perhaps he would order takeout and gorge himself on greasy food while he sat alone in his apartment. It had been good enough for him last year, and he supposed it would have to suffice this year as well.

He made it a point not to mention it to his coworkers, and the day passed by just as any other day. By the time five o clock rolled around, Spencer was waving a goodbye to his coworkers and heading out the door. As he waits for the elevator, he debates on whether to order Thai food or pizza for dinner.

Just as he settles on Thai, the elevator doors open.

“Oh, thank God, I was worried that you had left already!”

Before Spencer can get over the initial shock of seeing you, you’re stepping out of the elevator and into his space, an excited smile on your lips. And then you’re holding out your hand, and Spencer’s almost moved to tears when he sees you wielding a single chocolate cupcake.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d like chocolate or vanilla better, so I went with my gut. I get the feeling you’re a chocolate kind of guy,” you say, eyes shining as you look up at him. “So, was I right?”

“You brought this for me?” Spencer asks, voice barely above a whisper. He can’t fathom it – that you had spared him any thought past your initial meeting. Spencer had surely expected you to forget about him entirely. Either that, or you’d written him off as someone to be avoided.

You nod.

“Of course, I did. It’s your birthday. Everyone deserves something sweet on their birthday.” You pause, the smile dropping from your face. “It is your birthday, right? I didn’t miss it, did I?”

Spencer is slow to shake his head.

“N-No, you didn’t miss it. I’m just surprised you remembered.”

You chuckled softly.

“You’re very unforgettable, Doctor Reid,” you say, and Spencer’s heart flutters in his chest. “And you didn’t answer my question.” You gesture to the cupcake expectantly.

“Chocolate is my favorite,” Spencer breathes out, raising a shaky hand and taking it from her. “I… Thank you. You didn’t have to do this. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re turning thirty. That’s a very big deal, Doc.,” you argue, and Spencer gives you a tentative smile.

“If you say so.”

“I do,” you smirk, before hitting the button to open the elevator doors. “So, do you have any big plans to celebrate?”

The doors open and you and Spencer file into the elevator together– an event three years in the making.

“Not really. I was just going to order some food and stay in,” Spencer says before taking a bite of the cupcake. It tastes wonderful – better than a store-bought cupcake could ever be. This cupcake was undoubtably made from scratch, and the thought of you taking the time out of your day to bake something for him makes him feel weak at the knees. Pair that with the way you’re looking up at him and Spencer worries he might collapse.

“What kind of food?”

“Thai,” Spencer says around the mouthful of cake.

“Mm,” you hum. “You know – I happen to love Thai food. And I also happen to not have any plans for the evening.”

Even Spencer, who struggles to decipher the simplest of social cues, can deduce that you are insinuating that you want to spend the evening with him. He’s thankful, then, that he had already swallowed the bite of cupcake, because there’s no doubt in his mind that he’d have choked on it. Spencer gapes at you, but your gaze is unwavering and your body language gives no indication that you were joking.

“D-Do… Do you want to, uh, come over?” Spencer trips over his words more times than any grown man should, but in his defense, he isn’t exactly well versed in matters like this.

“Do you want me to come over?”

“Yes.” Spencer answers so quickly that it should be embarrassing, but it’s hard to feel anything but happy when you’re looking at him like that.

“Then in that case, I thought you’d never ask,” you sigh dramatically, and then the door opens up and you link your arm with his. “You know, I was beginning to think I’d never see you again. I’ve been driving Penelope crazy asking about you, Doc.”

“You’ve been asking about me?” Spencer asks, incredulous.

“Absolutely. It’s not every day that you meet a guy who has the audacity to feel you up and ask you to undress within the first five minutes. I just had to know more,” you tease, and Spencer can’t help but laugh. Despite the cold air of the parking garage, Spencer feels warm – warmer than he’s ever felt and he knows that it has everything to do with the way you’ve pressed yourself against his side.

“In that case, I’m very glad I spilled my coffee on you,” Spencer says and you let out a snort.

“Yeah, I could’ve done without that part. And the part where you called me germy.”

“I did not mean it like that,” Spencer insists. You hum and detach yourself from him, and Spencer instantly misses the contact.

“Because it’s your birthday, I’ll let you off the hook,” you announce, making your way to the other side of his car, all while never taking your eyes off him. “And if you’re lucky, birthday boy, I might just be willing to test that theory of yours.”

Spencer cocks his head to the side.

“Theory?”

You nod, and the smile that creeps across your face is the best birthday present he’s ever gotten.

“You said you thought kissing me would be nice. I think we should find out.”

Spencer Reid is, by most people’s definition, unlucky in love. But as he steals glances at you on the way to his apartment, his chest swells with a hope that maybe – just maybe – his luck is about to change.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer x y/n #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid self insert #fluff #fanfiction

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itsallyscorner · 4 years ago

Note

Ally!! could you write something from that video you reblogged of getting to know Tom before shooting a film with him! ♥️ You would write it so beautifully :) of course take care of yourself first but whenever you are ready!!

Thank you for requesting this love!!🥰 I was going to save it for last and do my requests in order, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about this request, so here I am! I hope you like it!!💜✨

💌.

Getting To Know You

This is long, I probably overdid it, but I hope you all enjoy!🥰

(GIF credits @thollandgifs )

You wander the halls of the studio, walking down long hallways, turning corners, and eyes scanning each sign on the doors of the rooms. You look back down to your phone, skimming through the email the costume department had sent you. Costume Design / Wardrobe — Room 220. Sighing, you glance at the door beside you, Production Design — Room 125. You mentally cursed at yourself for taking so long to get to the studio. You had just arrived in Cleveland, literally just that morning. After a lengthy flight to Cleveland, you were escorted to the house that you would be calling home for the next several months. There waiting for you was a rented car and the belongings that you had packed from home to be delivered to your rented house. Since the house was already decorated and furnished, there was no need in packing all your furniture from home, instead you shipped clothes you couldn’t fit in your luggage and other important belongings that would be difficult to bring onto a flight.

The moment you stepped foot into the house you didn’t bother looking around or going through the boxes that were stacked near the entrance. You made a quick trip to the kitchen, taking a bottle of water from the fridge and drinking a majority of it. The house was spacious but not a hassle to get around, you peaked into a few rooms until you found the bedroom. Removing your shoes, you pulled back the neatly tucked comforter and climbed into the soft bed. Your eyes were already drooping the moment your head hit the pillow. Before sleep can consume you, you turned on an alarm on your phone about an hour and a half prior to the time you were expected to be at the studio.

You were used to traveling to new places due to your job as an actress. Renting out homes and cars for months on end was nothing new to you. Neither was figuring out your way around the new state or country you were currently living in. Though Cleveland was different; you had a GPS to tell you directions to the studio but you were still getting lost, making wrong turns and taking wrong lanes on the highway. Stopping by Starbucks for an iced coffee and croissant to fill you up didn’t help, instead it added on to your reason being late.

You were still roaming the halls with your head tilted down to stare at your phone. The stress from being behind schedule mixed with your sleep deprivation created a headache to pound in your head. Suddenly, your shoulder harshly knocks into something. You yelp, apologies already spilling from your lips as you continue your rush to the costume department—wherever it was.

“(Y/n)?” A familiar voice with an accent asks. Your shoes come to a halt on the carpeted floors of the studio. Your head whips back to see the warm brown eyes you were once staring into during that audition how many months ago.

“Tom!” You exclaim making your way back to him. You were taken aback by his appearance. The last you saw him he was buffer and had a head full of soft dark brown curls. His body was thinner, cheeks a bit more sunken in, and his curls were long gone replaced with a buzzcut. Though you should’ve expected his change in appearance, you guys were playing heroin addicts for crying out loud. You had also been put on a diet in preparation for your role as Emily, loosing a fair amount of weight yourself.

“Hey, you’re here! I didn’t know you were in Cleveland already. How long have you been here?” He asks, arms pulling you in for a friendly hug. You happily accept the gesture, hugging him back.

“Umm, I actually just got here this morning.” You answer once you both pull away. His eyes widen for a second, “And they already called you in? For fittings right?”

“Yeah, I thought I’d have a day to settle in but we’ve got a tight schedule. Filming starts soon—like in a month and a half?” Though filming didn’t start till the next month or so, the Russo brothers wanted both you and Tom to be in Cleveland a month earlier. This was to help with pre production preparations. It was also used to help you and Tom do research for your roles in Cherry and to get to know each other.

Tom looks at the wall with a raised brow, “Uhh, something like that, yeah.” His eyes flicker back to you, “Where are you off to?”

“To wardrobe, but I can’t find the place and I’m already running late.” You sigh.

“Well, lucky for you, I just came from there. I’ll take you.” He offers, raising his elbow out for you. You smile at him, looping your arm around his and quietly thank him. He leads you to the wardrobe department and drops you off; exchanging a quick joke with the ladies and another hug for you before leaving.

You remember the day you met Tom. You were called back from your audition to do a chemistry read with the lead role of Cherry, who at the time you didn’t know was Tom. Your nerves were at a high that day. You’ve made it so far into the audition process that you hoped your anxiousness wouldn’t get the best of you and mess it up. As an actor, you were used to meeting new faces all the time, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have anxiety when it comes to meeting new people. Questions wracked your brain. What if you didn’t have chemistry with the lead role? What if you did have chemistry but the lead role was a dick? Does your breath smell good? Are your clothes too casual? What if you have to kiss the lead role? What kind of scene were you guys doing?

All your questions and feelings of uneasiness were thrown out the window the moment you saw Tom’s friendly face. He greeted you as if you were long time friends. That sweet smile of his made the tension in your body at ease, it was kind and warm, like it was his silent way of comforting you after picking up on your nerves. Tom was a force in the room, his cheerful and optimistic energy radiating off of him and onto the other people in the room. Maybe that’s why you felt so comfortable to be around him during the chemistry read.

He was very welcoming, taking it upon himself to spark a conversation with you while the casting directors and producers prepared themselves for your chemistry read. You remembered the way he naturally leaned closer to you, bending down a few times to hear you, his eyes remaining on yours while you conversed, the both of you aware of each other’s presence. You weren’t going to lie to yourself; Tom was attractive. He had gorgeous brown eyes that you could never get tired of looking into, a charming smile, and a beautiful personality. He was easy to get along with. The chemistry read ended with smiles from everyone in the room. You remember thinking to yourself, if you were going to be casted, you wouldn’t mind being casted alongside him. Weeks of sitting around and patiently waiting, you get a call from the Russos saying you were casted as Emily.

Fittings only took an hour tops, most of the clothes were bought since there was no need in designing fancy or sparkly costumes. Before leaving the studio building, you had a quick meeting with the Russos. It was mostly about the basic stuff, the run down of the schedule, the filming process, preparations, etc. By the time you were done at the studio, the sun had set and the night sky took over Cleveland. You stopped by a fast food chain for dinner and took it to go. You drive home, eat your food, and your night ends there.

The next time you saw Tom wasn’t that long from when you saw him at the studio. He called you days later, asking if you would like to join him at the VA. As someone who had no experience with drugs or were surrounded by people who faced addictions; drugs was a new territory for you. Of course, you’ve heard about it and learned the basics of it at school, but you’ve never had to act like a heroin addict. Until now.

You drive to the VA on an early Thursday morning, this time not getting lost on your way to your destination. The air was chilly, the sky dark and cloudy after braving a storm. You park your car and send a text off to Tom saying you’ve arrived. You meet up at the entrance of the VA. He was dressed in jeans, a sweatshirt, and sneakers. His attire similar to yours, which made you chuckle to yourself. He greets you with a hug, his arms brining you warmth from the cool air.

“Hey, love.” His voice was deep, still fresh from sleep. You smile fondly at him. Though you first met him a few months back, reuniting a few days ago, the boy’s been growing on you.

“Hey, thanks for inviting me.” The two of you remain outside, hesitant to enter the VA. It daunted both you and Tom to face the veterans inside. The VA was a sacred place for them, you didn’t want to overstep boundaries or offend anyone with questions for research. They’ve suffered from PTSD or were recovering from substance abuse, some of them just starting out their recovery. You did not know what to expect or hear once you step foot into the building.

Tom’s feet shift against the pavement, his hands shoved into his pockets, “Yeah, it’s no problem. I just thought that—you know, since we’re the only two playing heroin addicts in the movie, I thought we could do this together.”

You smile reassuringly at him, “No, I get it. I honestly appreciate it, Tom, thank you.” You look around the area. It was a quiet place, not too many cars parked in the parking lot, a few trees scattered, and the building had a tan almost bland colored exterior. Your eyes drift back to Tom’s, which were already on you.

You gesture to the building with your head, “You ready to go in?” Tom nervously breaths in eyeing the building. You catch on to his hesitancy and place your hand on his arm.

“Hey, you alright?”

“I’m fine. I’m just a bit nervous to talk to them, you know? I don’t want them to think I’m using their suffering as some kind of inspiration for this role.” He explains. You nod understanding, “Yeah, I know what you mean. I feel the same way, I don’t want to trespass on their privacy either. Wanna take a minute out here?”

“I think I’m good. How about you?” Tom composes himself. You flash him a tight smile nodding. Together, the two of you enter the VA, greeted by a receptionist who leads you both to a room.

You and Tom spend most of the day at the VA listening to the different stories of veterans who’ve suffered from PTSD and or substance/drug abuse. Some of them were very open and willing to share, telling you the hardships of their experience. Then there were those who were at the start of their recovery journey, a bit closed off, but were still willing to share nonetheless.

Tom watched as you listened to each veteran intently. Your eyes remained on them, your head nodding along, as you asked them questions or added some input to their stories. Unlike Tom, you seemed more composed and calmer than him. This was something he wasn’t used to, he wasn’t used to talking about drugs or military veterans and addiction. All of this talk was uncharted territory for him, it was dark and terrifying, something he never associated himself with. He was glad you agreed to come along because without you he wasn’t sure if he could do this all alone.

Tom would be lying if he said he didn’t feel some kind of attraction towards you. There was just some sense of comfort or tranquility that drew him to you. You had the brightest smile that lit up the room, sometimes he even found himself smiling because of it. He admired the way you greeted each veteran or former drug addict with a comforting smile and talked to them as if they were just a person, and not as someone who’s been suffering. You made the room feel like a safe space for them to share their experiences without feeling like they were being judged.

Tom was quiet for the most part, asking questions when he felt they were necessary or when something peaked his interest. He added a few comments here and there but for most of the time he listened. He listened to the horrifying and heartbreaking experiences of each veteran. There was a point in the interviews where it dawned on Tom that he was going to have to portray what these veterans went through. From the traumas of war, through the struggles of PTSD, to the excessive use of drugs and alcohol—Tom became reluctant in becoming Cherry. Was he really ready to become a heroin addict? Was he mentally prepared to shred himself and be in the mindset of something so ruinous?

From time to time you glanced over at Tom, checking if he was alright. At the start he was a bit fidgety, his leg bouncing and fingers fumbling with each other. His questions came out stuttered but by the middle of the interviews he grew comfortable in the room. Once in a while you would ask him how he was and he would answer with a small nod and an assuring smile. He then would reciprocate the question with a whisper leaning closer for only you to hear.

By the time the last veteran walked out, Tom felt a responsibility to give these people justice. To not only tell their stories and of other veterans around the world, but to bring awareness to the things that they’ve faced. Not only Tom felt that but so did you. These people have opened up to you guys about the darkest and lowest points in their lives, the best way you can both thank them would have to be by portraying your roles as accurate and realistic as possible.

There was a stillness in the room; it was quiet. The only sounds being heard was the ticking of the clock on the wall beside you and the distant sound of cars driving by. Tom was the first to speak, “I’m really glad you’re here.”

Your brows knitted together, put off by his random comment. “Why’s that?”

Tom shrugs, taking a breath in and turning in his seat to face you, “I couldn’t have done these interviews alone. From trying to make them feel comfortable and asking all these questions, I would’ve felt so overwhelmed. So, thank you.”

Your mouth curves into a small smile, “Give yourself some credit. I couldn’t have done this without you either. I can’t imagine doing these interviews alone, I wouldn’t be able to handle the intensity of all those stories by myself.”

Moments later the two of you finish your time at the VA. You walk towards your car, which was nearest to the building. “This is me.” You gesture to your car.

Tom nods in response. After all the stories he’s heard, he didn’t want to be alone. Sure, he has Harry back at his place, but it just wouldn’t be the same. He wouldn’t understand what was going through Tom’s head. Tom hesitates to ask you if you want to hang out, but after a quick mental argument against himself, he pushes himself to ask, “Um, what are you doing after this?”

You unlock your car and toss your bag into the passenger’s seat. “I’ll probably stop by Whole Foods or something. I need to fill up my fridge and pick up some stuff at Target that I might need.” You lean against the frame of your car. “Why?”

“Oh, I was gonna ask if you wanted to do something—it’s totally fine, since you’re busy and all.” Tom stutters out as he waved his hand at you. He was a bit disappointed that you were busy, besides not wanting to be by himself, he really wanted to spend time with you. You guys were friendly, but he wanted to get to know you more.

“Hey! If you want, you could come along? I could use the company.” You suggest, lips curving to a half smile. You gesture to his arms and jokingly say, “I could also use a pair of strong arms to help me.”

Tom bashfully chuckles, “I’d like that.” He turns to where his car was parked and motions to it over his shoulder. “I brought my car, so I guess I’ll just follow you there?”

“Yeah, I’ll just, I’ll text you the location.” You hold your phone up.

“Great, I’ll see you then.” Tom confirms and pulls you into a hug. You giggle at how affectionate he can be. You were gonna see him again in just a few minutes; the drive to Whole Foods wasn’t that long.

Tom parks his car besides yours in the Whole Foods parking lot. You both lock up your vehicles and make your way into the market. On the way, Tom grabs a shopping cart for you. You try to steal it away from him, but he insists on pushing the cart the entire time. You take out your list on your phone and navigate your way through the aisles of Whole Foods. While you throw things into the cart, you and Tom converse. The both of you share some basic information, like things about your hometowns, your families and friends, just the general stuff. You guys were talking about pets when you reached cereal aisle.

“I had a Yorkie when I was growing up, he was the sweetest little thing. He sadly passed because of a heart attack.” You reminisced as you scanned the shelves for your preferred cereal brand. Your hand held onto the cart that Tom pushed with his elbows, as he leaned his entire weight onto the cart.

Tom frowned at the mention of your dog, “I’m sorry.” You give him a look, wordlessly telling him that you were ok and have moved on. “So, did you get to bring Tessa to Cleveland?”

“Nope, she’s not too fond of flights, so I don’t put her through the struggle of getting on a plane.” You find your cereal and try to reach for it, “Aww, I would’ve wanted to meet her. From what you told me, she sounds like a sweetheart.”

Tom chuckles at you before coming from behind the cart and helping you get the cereal down. You look at him with a sheepish grin, “I had that, but thank you.”

Tom squints his eyes playfully at you, “Did you really? Because you looked like you were struggling a bit?”

“No, I was stretching.” You quip back eyes twinkling with amusement. You place the box in the cart and drag the cart. Tom chuckles returning to the front of the cart and pushes it. You look back at him, “You wanna have dinner at my place? I could make a pretty good pizza.”

“Is that so? I guess I might have to try it for myself, I’m in.” He agrees. The two of you finish up at Whole Foods. The cart was overflowing with brown bags when you and Tom walked back to your cars. Always the gentleman, Tom helps you put all your bags into your car’s trunk and even takes back the cart to the designated area that stored them. You split off into your separate cars and stop by Target before you go home. Going to Target with Tom was probably one of the most chaotic and hilarious things you’ve ever done. It took you about two hours in Target just to get what you were looking for. Most of the time in the store was you and Tom looking at children’s toys, making fun of weird costumes you found, and finding meaningless shit to buy because why not? You never thought Tom could be a dumbass until you saw him try to bounce a ball onto the floor and make it land onto his head.

“Tom, we’re gonna get in trouble.” You warn him, looking around to see if anyone were looking at you guys. You spot a camera a few feet away but it was nowhere close to you both.

“Don’t worry darling, we won’t. I got you, trust me.” He assures you as he gets himself into position. You shake your head at him while you sip on the coffee you got from Starbucks.

“Wait, so what are you doing again?” You ask.

“I’m going to try and get the ball on my head.” He answers clearly distracted. He digs his sneakers into the floor and prepares himself to bounce the ball. “You ready, darling?”

“No, but go ahead.”

It all happened so quick. Tom being the dumbass he was, underestimated the amount of force he put onto the ball. Instead of the ball bouncing a few feet into the air, it bounces into the next aisle and the next thing you both know you hear a *boing* and a baby crying. You and Tom look at each other with wide eyes. He rushes over to you and helps you maneuver the cart away from the sports section. You’re caged in by his arms, in between the cart and his chest as you both quietly giggle to yourselves.

“I think that’s our cue to leave.” You tell him through more fits of giggles.

The two of you are now in your rented house. You work together in the kitchen, working as a team to figure out the recipe for the pizza dough. Tom is beside you, looking over your shoulder while you both read through the Food Network recipe on your phone.

“Ok, we did all of that. So now we knead the dough, toss it into a bowl and let it rise. Then we could roll it in a little bit.” You read turning your phone off and looking at Tom. He nods and takes the dough out. You sprinkle flour onto your counter and onto the dough as Tom volunteers to knead the pizza dough.

Tom’s Spotify playlist plays lowly in the background. You were both quiet, basking in the comfortable atmosphere between the two of you. Weirdly enough, there was never an awkward moment with Tom. He could say the same thing for you.

You try to avoid the way his arms flex and how his veins pop out as he massages the dough. You glance at his buzzcut hair and ask, “Do you think your hair will grow back by the time you shoot Spider-Man three? Or are we going to have a bald Peter Parker?”

He stops his motions and looks at you shocked, “You’ve watched my Spider-Man movies?”

“Of course I have! I’m a big Marvel fan, my whole family actually is, especially my nephew. We love your version of Spidey—well except my dad and his brother, but besides them we love your version.” You explain. You see a smile twitch onto his lips as he continues his task.

“Wow, thanks. I never thought you’d watch my movies.” Through the warm lights of your kitchen, you see a blush spread onto his cheeks.

“What do you mean?”

Tom stops massaging the pizza dough and looks at you, “Well I’ve—wow this is embarrassing—but I’ve always kinda been a fan of your work. My brothers and I always watch your movies, and they never disappoint us. You’re just amazing! And now I get to work with you, and I’m not going to lie I’m still a bit starstruck, but it’s literally an honor to work with you.”

You look at him taken aback by his confession. You shake yourself out of your shock, “Well I guess that makes the two of us because you still make me a bit starstruck whenever I see you too.”

From that night on, you and Tom always hung out. Whether it be at your house or his, you both managed to spend the entire day together. Sometimes you’d both stay way too late at each other’s house, that you ended up having sleepovers. You guys would still have weekly visits to the VA, doing more research and meeting more veterans. To lighten the mood after, you and Tom would go to Target, get a bunch of junk food and knickknacks, then go to one of your places to watch a movie. The two of you have even explored Cleveland on your own with Harry tagging along once in a while. When Tom found out you were going to be living alone during the duration of filming, he offered that you could stay with him and Harry. Though you didn’t want to intrude on their privacy, both Holland brothers insisted that you live with them. You were still debating on their offer, but you were still spending most of your nights with them anyway.

It was one of those nights again but it was different. Today was the last free day you both had before filming began. It was different because you haven’t portrayed the deeply flawed characters you were both casted as. You and Tom spent the morning at the studio along with the Russos and the rest of the cast doing a table read of the entire movie. Reading and listening to the entire movie out loud made you anxious for the day to come. You were scared that not only you, but Tom, might go down a spiral of darkness throughout the process of this film. Cherry was something new for both of you. Neither of you have worked on a project as cataclysmic or dreadful as Cherry.

You were quitely sat on Tom’s couch staring at the sun setting through his windows. Tom was in the kitchen making the both of you cups of tea to warm you up from the harsh cool air of Cleveland. Harry was in his room, telling you and Tom that he was going to take a nap and to not worry about him. Tom watched you from the kitchen. The sun’s golden rays reflected on your skin, giving it a glow. Your brows were furrowed as you seemed to be deep in thought.

“Wanna sit on the patio and see the sunset from outside?” Tom comes up behind you with a half smile on his lips. You happily nod and take his hand to get off the couch. He slings his arm around you and hands you your jacket. He tells you to go out first and that he’ll meet you outside with the tea.

You sit on the steps of his patio, watching the sky change from shades of blue to a mix of orange, pink, and purple. You hear the door open and footsteps against the wood of the floors. You look up to see Tom holding two cups of tea with a fluffy blanket over his shoulder. A beanie was now on his head and a jumper was pulled over his shirt.

You thank him as he hands you your cup. Tom settles beside you, placing his cup on the steps and began to open up the blanket.

“Why do you have a blanket?” You ask him. He untangles the blanket and puts it over his shoulders, his arm wraps around you, pulling you flush against his side.

“To keep us warm.” He answers while he reaches for his cup. “I tried to find another blanket, but I think Harry took it.”

You brush his comment off, “It’s fine, I like this better.”

A peaceful silence lays upon the two of you as your eyes stare at the sky and your lips sip onto the cup. Tom’s arm remains around you as his fingers draw random patterns onto your arm. Tom was the first to break the silence.

“How do you feel about filming starting tomorrow?” He asks you quietly. Your eyes shift to the tea in your cup.

“Honestly? I’m a bit nervous, especially since we’re starting off with the heroin addiction parts. I don’t know how to feel about it.” You answer.

Tom hums, “I know what you mean. I’m pretty scared too.” Your eyes remove themselves from your cup to look up at Tom.

“Why are you scared?”

“I just—it scares me that all the acting and trying to be in the mindset of Nico might actually affect me. Like maybe by the end of this film, he’ll be a part of me.” He admits, his teeth gritting against each other. You look at him sympathetically. He was truly going through a war in his mind; just by the way he was glaring at the sky and how his fingers stopped drawing on your arm and instead gripped it. It was like he was looking for leverage to stop himself from falling down a loophole of possible outcomes of the end of this movie.

Your hand grasps his hand on your shoulder, catching his attention. His deep brown eyes connect with yours, “You’re not going to turn into Nico, Tom.”

“How do you know that? What if the more I act like him the more I turn into him? (Y/n), what if I get so lost into the character that I eventually loose myself in the process? What do I do when that happens?” He began to ramble, questions spilling from his tongue as he looked at you pleadingly.

You shake your head and squeeze his hand, “It’s not going to happen Tom. You wanna know how I know why?” Tom shakes his head.

“Because we’ll have each other’s backs. I’ll be there right beside you. If you ever feel like you’re spiraling down too deep as Nico, I’ll be there to get you out. You don’t have to go through all of that alone, Tom. I’ll be here for you, you could trust me.” You promise him. Tom’s mind seems to stop racing as his eyes gaze into yours. He finds nothing but honesty in them. You feel his hand fumble with yours before he interlocks them together.

“What if it gets really ugly?”

“You’re allowed to be vulnerable honey, especially around me, I won’t judge. I’ll still be there for you. ” You reassure him. You try to lighten up the mood by bumping your shoulder against his. “Plus, we’re actors, vulnerable is our middle name. How do you think Leo finally got an Oscar?” You joke. The frown on Tom’s face breaks as he stifles a laugh. You smile at the way the corners of his eyes crinkle, he was happy.

Your laughter dies down and you’re staring at him again, “But seriously, Tom. I’ll be here for you whether you like it or not, nobody should have to go through the mental capacity of a heroin addict by themselves.”

Tom nods, “Thank you. I can’t imagine anyone else in my corner but you while we film this. You’ve honestly been such a godsend and we haven’t even started filming yet. Thank you for being so understanding and patient with me.” He smiles fondly at you, pressing a kiss to your temple and pulling you into a hug. You hum in response and place your head in the crook of his neck, “You don’t have to thank me.”

Silence once again consumes the both of you. The birds chirp in the distance and the sky has now turned a dark purple. “You can count on me too. I’ll be there for you.” Tom whispers against your hair. You silently thank him, snuggling closer to his warm embrace. The fears of tomorrow slowly fade from your bodies as you watch the darkness consume the light in the sky.

#marvel #mcu #avengers #Tom Holland #Tom Holland x reader #tom holland imagines #tom holland one shot #tom holland drabble #tom holland headcanon #tom holland fanfiction #Cherry #ally’s request #Peter Parker #Peter Parker x reader #peter parker imagine #Tom Holland fluff

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maddieinwonder · 4 years ago

Text

A Lesson In Romance #7: False Start

Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Just a lot of awkward vibes hahaha

Word Count: 1.7k

Plot: Reader keeps getting caught in rom-com situations with Spencer Reid. This time, they try to confess their feelings.

A/N: I didn’t actually manage to include the definition of a False Start in the chapter itself, so I’ll add it at the end. No spoilers for now!

Masterlist | All chapters here!

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It took you 24 hours to decide that you were going to do something about your feelings for the good doctor. Pretty quick, considering you were a living, breathing rom-com cynic. But as ancient Greek philosopher, Heraclitus, once said: "The only constant in life is change".

Specifically, change happened after you woke up in your cute co-worker and dear friend's arms and you wanted nothing more than to get back into them as fast as possible.

But by the universal laws of working in the BAU, catching a break seemed to be the hardest when you actually wanted one.

Firstly, it was like every serial killer in the country decided to cancel their vacations simultaneously, swamping the team with urgent case after case. At this point, you were more familiar with the couch on the jet than your bed at home, and everyone was feeling the strain.

Secondly, if you weren't sleeping, you were usually out in the field chasing unsubs with Derek or Rossi. You had stopped holding out hope for being paired with Spencer — on account of your areas of specialty overlapping too much, and Hotch not being the type of leader to waste his resources — and as a result:

Thirdly, getting even ten minutes alone with the genius became an impossible task, and not for lack of trying either. At the start of the month, the two of you had tried to adapt your breakfast ritual to the road, but it always got interrupted mid-coffee order or even at the ding of the lift. Not that you and Spencer stopped trying, no, but your patience was wearing thin.

So you did something you hadn't done since you submitted your application to join the BAU — you prayed for a chance.

Because every day that you didn't admit your feelings to the doctor was another day fighting the compulsion to tell somebody else about them, and god only knows what a room full of profilers (and one nosy tech analyst) would do with that kind of information.

Then, out of the blue, the door of opportunity opened.

After two weeks of straight travel, the team had earned a well-deserved one night’s rest in your own beds before dealing with a local case, bright and early tomorrow morning. And since your flight landed at 2am and all the trains had stopped by then, this gave you the perfect shot to execute your plan.

Unfortunately, you forgot to take into account the most important factor — your nerves.

It didn't help that Derek had wolf-whistled in the carpark as the two of you walked off in the same direction, nor that Spencer immediately put your favourite album into the CD player out of instinct; an overly domestic action that made your heart beat even faster.

But it was when you arrived in front of his apartment building that you felt the worst of it. As you tried to summon the right words to your lips, your heart hammered in your chest and your thoughts jumbled themselves into nonsense.

"Are you ok?" Spencer asked, snapping you out of your anxious spiral instantly. "You don't look so well."

"I-I'm fine." Your fingers twitched nervously.

"Doesn't seem like it." He looked down at your hands, and you cursed your subconscious brain for giving you away. Then, he placed a hand over yours and your heart stopped.

"You're not alright, that's for sure, but it seems like it's just sleep deprivation." He assessed, bending slightly to look at your face. "You can't drive in this state. Do you want to come in?”

Your head snapped up to meet his gaze, ready to protest, but Spencer beat you to it. "Let’s go. You wanted to talk about something, right?" He called out, already one foot out of the car.

Before you could realise what was happening, you found yourself sitting on Spencer's couch holding a warm cup of tea.

This was the first time you were in his apartment. Yet, it was exactly what you thought it'd be like. Every wall was lined with bookshelves, filled to max capacity with books of every topic imaginable from neuroscience to philosophy. Those that didn't make it to the shelves were found in random stacks around his apartment, standing out against his forest green walls.

"Did you know that chamomile tea is a natural remedy for insomnia? In fact, it is commonly regarded as a mild tranquilizer. It's calming effects may be attributed to the antioxidant apigenin, which binds to specific receptors in your brain that initiate sleep and reduce anxiety." He explained, walking over with his own mug.

"I actually did know that." You smiled. The tea seemed to work its magic because you did feel relaxed, and you must have looked it too, because the worried frown disappeared off Spencer's face.

"Didn't know you were a tea person." You commented lightly, blowing the steam from your mug.

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me." He replied mysteriously, and you raised your eyebrows.

Spencer's apartment was too quiet, no rumbling fridge or quiet radio playing in the background to make your awkward silence any less pronounced. It was then that you noticed he didn't have a TV. Somehow this fact didn't surprise you very much.

"You... you wanted to talk to me about something?" He broke the silence, looking down at the hot tea swirling in his mug.

Right. You were here to talk about your feelings. Your face flushed as you tried to summon your willpower, again.

"I wanted to tell you something—" You began shakily. "But before that, I just want to preface, we can ignore this entire thing if you don't agree. I mean, I really enjoy our friendship as it is, and I wouldn't want to do anything to affect tha—"

"Wait." Spencer interrupted urgently, before catching himself. "Sorry, um, before that, can I say something?"

"Um, ok, shoot." You replied meekly, trying to hide your relief behind a long sip of tea. There was a pause as he gathered his thoughts, and you might have been seeing things, but he looked almost... nervous?

"The day we met, I calculated the probability of meeting somebody that shared my exact coffee order and the result was almost one in a million.” He finally spoke, lifting his head to meet your gaze. “That probability decreased when I factored in working together, sharing the same interests, and... and how I enjoyed spending time with you more than with anybody else."

Spencer cleared his throat, a blush coming onto his cheeks.

"Ever since then... my life just started making sense. I know I’m a scientist, not a poet, and I could tell you all the statistics about relationships in the world, but when it comes to you...”

His cheeks were crimson now, as he ran his fingers through his hair. You had a feeling yours looked the same.

"I guess, what I'm trying to say, is that I think you're beautiful and smart, and I have no idea what you see in me, but I'd really—"

Suddenly, both your phones buzzed violently against his coffee table, jolting you out of the moment. You leaned over in a trained motion, only to see exactly what you expected:

Garcia: No rest for the wicked, crime fighters. Conference room in 30.

Penny: No rest for the wicked, crime fighters. Conference room in 30.

You let out a sigh you didn't realise you were holding, and Spencer looked over at you, doe-eyed and nervous.

“The case?" He asked quietly.

There was a silence filled with words unsaid. "We should go." He said finally. "If we leave now, we can still make it on time."

You only nodded in response, more out of duty than desire, and gulped down the rest of your tea. The thought of what he was about to say burned down your throat.

Driving away from Spencer’s apartment was torturous. The doctor hadn’t said anything to you since he entered the car, only fiddling with his bag as he looked out the window. It was too dark to read his expression, but you wondered if he could still hear the way he called you “beautiful”, or whether the moment had already dissolved into the space between you.

Luckily, you didn’t need to wait long for an answer, as Spencer tugged on your sleeve before you exited the carpark, his face scrunched in worry.

"I really didn't mean for that to be so... weird. Can we talk about this again after the case?" He asked softly, and despite every semblance of logic left in your brain, you couldn’t stop the hope from blooming in your chest and you smiled.

That was when Spencer did something completely uncharacteristic. (You didn't know this at the time, but it was something that you would tease him about for a long time after.)

In one fluid movement, the doctor pulled you into a tight hug that elicited a squeak from you, but it only took a second for the initial shock to wear off before you relaxed completely into his warm touch. He took that as a sign to continue, burying his head into your shoulder and letting out a content sigh.

Unlike waking up to your bodies intertwined, nothing about this was a mistake. Not the way his fingers stroked your back peacefully, nor the way his curly hair tickled your cheek. You felt the stress of the past two weeks melt away in his embrace, and so did any coherent thought, except one: normal friends didn't hug each other like this.

Later when the two of you finally entered the conference room, miraculously still on time, nobody commented on the smiles plastered on your faces but everybody could tell. They were profilers after all.

But for the first time in awhile, you were just too happy to care.

-----------

Tag List:

@blue-space-porgs @nobutalsoyes @lady-loves-a-lot @queen-flower @oops-all-ajs @spottedzebrasinpartyhats @agentcarterisgay @totalmess191 @sapphic-prentiss @mellowalieneggsknight || @averyhotchner @amesandpineapples @willowrose99

Definition of a False Start here

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scripts4dreamers · 4 years ago

Text

And Stuff

AN: When you decided on a life of academia, you’d never expected to meet someone like Spencer Reid

Characters: Spencer Reid Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader Spoilers: None Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence, alcohol

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

You hated this stupid paper, you really really did. You stared blankly at your screen, reading and rereading the same two paragraphs in the vain hope that something would stick, but it was all gibberish.

“Hey, there’s my favorite PhD student,” a familiar voice called, collapsing into the seat beside you, “coffee?”

“Please,” you sighed gratefully, wrapping your hands around the disposable cup and taking a deep sip. It was perfect, just warm enough to shock some life back into you, “I owe you one, Prof. Reid.”

Spencer wrinkled his nose distastefully, and you laughed.

“I told you I hate that,” he said.

“And we both know that’s a lie,” you teased back, “you love being called Professor.”

“By my students,” he admitted, “not by you. How’s the thesis outline coming along?”

You sighed, “it’s not.”

“Can I take a look?” Spencer asked, reaching out towards you.

“Noooooo way,” you said, closing your laptop quickly, “not until it’s done.”

“But, Y/N-“

“No, Spence! It’s terrible.”

Spencer stuck his tongue out at you but didn’t press the issue as he pulled a stack of unmarked essays out of his satchel. You and Spencer had met a few years ago, when you’d both started a BA in philosophy. It was your third undergraduate degree, but like Spencer’s hundredth, and you’d bonded over your love of academia almost instantly. By now, meeting in one of the common areas to study and work together was almost a ritual, twice a week at least, every week of the semester. You loved it, you relied on it really. Without Spencer you were sure you’d have lost your mind years ago.

Spencer couldn’t always stay long, after all he was still a hot shot FBI agent, but even just the little bit of time you did have together was like a breath of fresh air. You both looked forward to the chance to talk about something other than your jobs for once.

“I’m sure it’s not, Y/N/N,” Spencer assured.

“Mhhm,” you said unconvincingly, “what about you? Did you get your epistemology paper in on time?”

“Oh yeah. I’m not sure anything I wrote technically qualifies as an argument, but it’s done.” Spencer replied, his eyes tracing the papers in front of him at lightning speed and marking as he went

You could see the signs of exhaustion on his face and your stomach pinched with concern. Spencer was a genius, you knew that better than anyone, but even he wasn’t immune to the stresses of university life. He was always burning the candle at both ends, taking on more than any reasonable person could ever hope to accomplish, and that was before he started teaching an intro to criminology class. It worried you.

“Spence?”

He looked up, his eyes still glassy and faraway, the hint of a smile on his lips, “Mmhmm?”

You frowned, “Are you okay? You look exhausted.”

Spencer nodded, “Did you know that some studies have shown that an adult man can actually survive on as little as two hours of sleep a night without showing outwards signs of exhaustion?” He rambled, gesturing at nothing with his hands, “Sleep deprivation will, of course, affect your mental capabilities over time, but the amount of time that process actually takes is fairly individual. In my case-“ he looked over, noticed you raising your eyebrows at him, and laughed, obviously realising just how tired he was. “Yeah I’m a little tired,” he admitted, “it’s just been a long week that’s all. I was up for a few days for a case,,” he nudged your shoulder with his, “you know if you took me up on my offer I’d probably have more time to sleep.”

“Me? Join the FBI?” You scoffed, shaking your head, “No way. I’ve never even held a gun.”

“Neither had I before I joined.”

“Yeah but you’re-“ you gestured in his general direction, “you know.”

“I’m what?”

“You know,” you huffed, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment, “strong. And brave. And stuff.”

Spencer laughed but he looked pleased with himself nonetheless, “you think I’m strong and brave?”

“And stuff,” you clarified, “I’m an academic. I’m perfectly happy in a dark room with my dusty books and manuscripts, thank you very much.”

Spencer nodded, stealing a sip of your coffee and grimacing at the taste, “is there any sugar in this at all?”

“You tell me,” You answered, “you bought it.”

“Well there’s obviously not enough, you can still taste the actual coffee,” he said, just as his phone started to beep frantically.

Spencer took it out of his pocket and frowned at the screen. Your heart sunk a little but, when Spencer looked up at you apologetically, you shot him a small smile.

“Duty calls,” you said simply.

Spencer nodded, packing his stack of papers back into his satchel, “I’m sorry, Y/N/N. I’ll see you back here on Friday?”

“Sure,” you agreed, “if you’re back by then.”

“And you’ll send me your thesis outline when you’re finished with it?”

“Of course.”

Spencer wrapped one arm around your shoulder, giving you a quick hug, “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Enjoy your day.”

“Good luck, Professor,” you smiled, waving him off, “and thanks for the coffee!”

He waved back at you, half jogging and already on the phone as he vanished into the incoming crowds. You watched him go, sighing sadly as you turned back to your unfinished outline.

“Okay, Y/N, you can do this. Spencer’s written like three of these, let’s go.” You muttered, “The psychological implications of linguistic progression, think.”

You threw yourself back into your research, losing yourself in the methodical nature of your work. The coffee next to you got cold.

————————

Spencer was flushed by the time he made it into the office, his cheeks hurting with the effort of suppressing his smile. Time with you always did that to him, no matter how drained he was when he first arrived.

You were like a ray of sunshine on an otherwise very gloomy day, and ten minutes with you was better for his mental health than a whole weekend’s worth of sleep. You were sweet, and funny, and you let him ramble about whatever he wanted to and even pretended to listen. Meeting you for coffee every week had become more than an act of friendship, it was an act of self care, a thin thread holding what was left of his sanity together.

His phone chimed and he smiled down at the message, a picture of you sipping your coffee and giving the cameras a big thumbs up:

Go kick some bad guy ass, Wise Guy!

He started typing up a reply but, before he could, someone interrupted.

“Good date, Pretty Boy?” Morgan greeted.

“It’s not a date, Morgan, you know that,” Spencer replied, fondly, “it’s just coffee with a friend.”

“Oh yeah it’s totally not a date, just a biweekly coffee hangout with someone you’ve been in love with since forever.”

“Yeah, exactly,” he smiled.

“But it did go well, then?” He retorted with a knowing smile.

Spencer smiled and nodded, “She thinks I’m strong and brave and stuff.”

“And stuff?”

“And stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” Prentiss interjected.

Spencer froze, “I don’t know, I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Does she know you’re not dating?” Prentiss asked.

“What? Yes of course! Or-maybe? I don’t know we haven’t exactly talked about it.” Spencer replied.

“No, she doesn’t know,” Morgan clarified.

Spencer opened his mouth to argue but, before he could, Garcia cut in.

“Okay my little geniuses, it’s a weird one today. Let’s get briefed,” Garcia called.

“When do we get to meet her?” Prentiss whispered as they took their seats.

“Never,” Spencer replied.

Emily pouted, “you’re no fun.”

Spencer smiled but, as the briefing went on and the picture of their newest case got clearer and clearer, so did something else; they couldn’t do this alone. They needed help, very very specific help. His heart sunk. As they headed to the jet, Spencer pulled out his phone, wishing to God he didn’t have to.

“Hey, Y/N, remember how you said you owed me one?”

—————————-

This had to be some sort of nightmare, you thought to yourself as you stepped off the jet. When Spencer had first called you, you’d laughed, told him to stop joking around and tell you what he actually wanted but, as it turned out, he was serious. They had a case, he’d said, one that required a certain set of expertise, one that only you had. And you couldn’t really say no could you? Not to Spencer.

And now you’d solved it. It was over. Your hands were shaking and you’d never been this tired in your life, but it was over. You felt a hand on your shoulder and jumped.

“Hey, it’s alright, kid,” Derek Morgan assured you, “you’re okay.”

You nodded, even though it wasn’t a question and gave him a small smile.

“I know.”

Derek nodded, his dark eyes boring into you in that way only members of the BAU could, like they were looking into you and not at you, so you tried to look brave.

“You did good work on this case,” Derek said, walking back to the building with you, “without you I’m not sure we would’ve caught the guy.”

You shook your head, “Spen-Reid would have figured it out eventually.”

Derek pressed his lips together, “Probably, but even he said it would’ve taken him days to reconstruct the language from scratch, even without adding the psychology behind it. In that time who knows how many people our UnSub would have been able to get.”

You looked over your shoulder to where Spencer was standing at the base of the jet’s stairs, looking everywhere but at you. He’d been acting distant for a while now, ever since Hotch had decided to strap you into a bulletproof vest and send you in to talk a maniac off a ledge. The UnSub had been having some sort of psychotic break, he’d forgotten how to speak English and communicated exclusively in a language he’d created himself, a combination of several that pointed to details about his personal life. It was fascinating, in the worst way possible, a real life application of the theory you’d been working on for years. It would make your thesis a piece of cake to finish.

The thought made you feel nauseous.

“Is he-“ you asked Derek, pressing your lips together nervously, “is he angry at me or something?”

He frowned, “Reid? No. He’s crazy about you, he looks forward to those coffee dates with you every week for days.”

You flushed, “They're not dates, Derek.”

“Oh yeah, sorry,” he replied, sarcastically, “slip of the tongue.” He ruffled your hair fondly, “Go on, talk to him, I’ll call you a cab when you’re done.”

You nodded and hung back, letting Derek’s hulking form vanish into the FBI building as you made your way slowly back toward the jet. Spencer was staring up at the moon, looking pensive and beautiful and painfully sad.

“Hey, there’s my favorite profiler,” you greeted gently, “you alright?”

“Hey,” he replied, still looking up at the moon, “why didn’t you go inside with everyone else?”

“I was waiting for you,” you explained, “I wanted to see if you’re okay.”

“If I’m okay?” He laughed incredulously, meeting your eye, “Y/N, I’m out here because I’m trying to figure out what I could possibly say to make up for what I just put you through.” He explained, “This...this stuff-it’s my world, not yours. I should never have brought you into it.”

“Spencer you needed me, your team needed an expert and, no offense, but your social circle isn’t big enough to have two experts in linguistic psychology.” You teased gently.

Spencer chuckled and crossed his arms over his chest.

You stepped forward, resting a hand gently on his bicep, “You made the right decision, Spence. I’m glad you called, I’m-“ you paused, “I’m glad you let me help you.”

Spencer snorted, “And it nearly got you killed.”

“It didn’t nearly get me killed-“

“Yes. It did,” he insisted, “the UnSub was psychotic, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t have killed you on sight. Hotch should never have let you-I should never have let you go in there.”

“But I wanted to and I’m fine. The case is over, Spence, we’re in the clear.” You assured him, “Things can go back to normal now.”

“No, they can’t!” Spencer practically shouted, turning to face you, his eyes red and puffy. You instinctively stepped back and Spencer pressed his lips together, looking guilty, “Y/N, I-knowing you were in danger and that there was nothing I could do about it...it killed me. You were never meant to know about any of this, you were meant to be safe! I was meant to keep you safe!” He explained, running a hand through his hair, “You were the one thing in my life that this stuff couldn’t touch and now-“ he breathed, “now everytime you look at me you’re gonna think about this, and him, and everything I put you through and-“ he met your eye, “and things will be weird and you’ll stop wanting to talk to me. Things won’t be the same, Y/N.”

You flushed and stepped forward, “You're worried that I’m not gonna talk to you anymore?” You asked. Spencer didn’t answer, but the way he avoided your eye and worked his jaw seemed like answer enough, “Spence,” you smiled, “you’re like...my favorite person in the world. This stuff,” you gestured around, “what you do, it doesn’t change that. In fact I think it’s kind of incredible. You guys tracked down a serial killer based on nothing but some muddled letters, who does that?” You laughed.

Spencer didn’t respond, but the edges of his lips twitched, like he wanted to smile. You watched him for a moment, the way he held his head, the way his eyes darted up to yours. He was just as beautiful as he’d always been, but there was something more now. He was vulnerable, you realized, really vulnerable for the first time since you’d known him. No matter what he said, Spencer was reaching out to you.

“Your world is messed up, Spencer,” you continued, stepping forward and taking his hand, “but you aren’t. We aren’t, and I’m glad I got to be there when you needed me. We’re good, okay?”

“Do you promise?” He asked, his voice small.

You squeezed his hand, “I promise.”

Spencer nodded, squeezing back, and let you slowly pull him back towards the FBI building.

“Besides,” you continued, “you still owe me a look at my thesis.”

Spencer snorted, “That’ll literally take me 3 seconds.”

“Show off.”

“What? It’s true.” He laughed.

You suddenly realized that Spencer was still holding your hand and, when he saw you looking and tried to pull away, you held on tighter. Spencer smiled nervously, and you felt a rush of something warm and promising flow through you.

“Hey, Y/N?” He started nervously.

“Yes, Spencer?”

“Are we dating?” He asked.

“After today? We’d better be. I’m expecting at least a dinner after almost getting shot for you.” You teased, bumping his shoulder with yours.

“That’s so not funny,” Spencer replied, but he was smiling when he said it.

“It’s a little bit funny.”

“Fine,” Spencer agreed, stopping in his tracks and pulling you towards him, “it’s a little bit funny.”

And that’s when he pulled you in, cupping your face with his hands and pressing his lips to yours. Just like that, the weariness of the day melted away, disappearing into a kiss that tasted like burnt coffee and sugar and the best champagne you’d ever had. Spencer was strong and sure. He kissed you like it was the only chance he’d ever get, like he wanted to burn the memory of you into that brilliant mind of his forever. When you broke apart it felt like the earth had shifted beneath you and you stared at one another, breathless and smiling like teenagers caught making out beneath the bleachers.

“Oh yeah,” you laughed, “yeah you definitely owe me dinner.”

“Woohoo!” Morgan cheered.

“Ooooo, Y/N and Reid sitting in a tree,” Prentiss sang, “K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

“Go get ‘em, Lover Boy,” Garcia joined in.

Spencer laughed, letting his head fall down onto your shoulder, humming when you threaded your finger through his hair.

“Can we-um-can we maybe continue this at a later date?” Spencer asked, “Like maybe at dinner? Or,” he checked his watch, “breakfast, maybe?”

You looked back at Spencer’s team and felt, with a sudden rush of clarity, that you were looking at a group of people who would soon be staples of your life.

“Let’s go get coffee with the others,” you answered, “and then after that,” you tilted his head up and kissed him softly, “you can take me to breakfast.”

taglist: @ourfavoritesergeantbarnes

#jordsie #jordsie writes #criminal minds #criminal minds headcanons #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid headcanons #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler imagine #matthew gray gubler x you #matthew gray gubler

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binniesthighs · 4 years ago

Note

i loveeee your first write abt Jisung omgggg he is like one of my BIGGEST bias wrecker of all time so i was like WOAH THERE,,,, and i was so hooked on your writings i wanna see more 👀 if you have free time can i please ask for a Jeonghan smut where he is your rival in everything let's say at school and u didn't actually like him at first but he kinda flirts and idk I'm just so into Jeonghan's cocky behavior these daysss he's making me feel thiiiiiiingsssss 😩❤️

ahh thank you anon you are so so sweet! ♡ I’m so happy that you liked my Jisung stuff! I love writing for that boy hehe and thank you so much for requesting love!! this is my first seventeen ask I’m so so excited to write more of them in the future! my brain really took this one and rannnn with it, it ended up a bit harder than I intended, I hope that’s okay and I hope that you enjoy it!

what i want most |reader x jeonghan |

Pairing: self insert, gender neutral reader x yoon jeonghan

Genre: lil bit of smut, lil bit of angst

Tags: harddom!jeonghan, bratty!reader, enemies (competitors) to lovers, college au, jeonghan being our fave cocky boy, bestfriend!seungcheol, mentions of school work, slow-ish burn, masturbation (reader), use of degrading names, dumification, hook-up, choking, marking, spanking, facefucking, gagging, use of safe symbols, nipple play, overstimulation, unprotected sex, creampie, slight exhibitionism, semi-public sex, sex in a study room

Word count: 4k

Someone told you once long ago that hate is a strong word. Apparently, they had never experienced loathing before. To you, hate always seemed to be something playful, something a little teasing. When your best friends would mock you for the most insignificant things, you would say “cut that shit out. You know that I hate you right?”

Loathing is much more fun. Loathing holds more of an edge. Loathing keeps you up at night, and lingers in your mind. Loathing digs into your skin like a papercut, coming back to sting later when you stretch your skin. Loathing made you feel all twisted up inside. This one super-massive emotion is one that clings to you and makes you jealous and irritable, and the best of all, competitive.

You don’t know what you would be without loathing...if not for him.

But as much as you loathed him, he was the perfect elixir of sugar-coated poison.

He kept you up at night. He lingered in your mind.

Everything about you, he had to do too. You didn’t know at this point if it was some kind of joke, or that the two of you had miraculously been crafted to be just that similar.

Since the day that you had met him three years ago in undergrad, there wasn’t one class that the two of you didn’t share. Every single job that you applied to, he would apply to as well. Each professor that you would introduce yourself to, the next day he would be cozied up next to them talking about some kind of bullshit and pretended to care about their personal lives. He even chose the exact same grad program as you.

When the two of you graduated, it was him who sucked in his lip, never breaking with your eyes when he received higher honors than you. He probably loathed you too.

That would keep you up at night too.

There were other things about him as well that would creep into the corners of your sleep deprived brain. You would stare into the darkness of your room, eyes glued to the ceiling with your mind exploring shameless answers.

During these dark nights, your hand would absentmindedly cascade down your body, snaking your fingers down the soft of your skin. Behind your eyes, it was him sending shivers down your body. It was his lithe fingers, not yours, that would reach down to your aching sex to pleasure you into all the fantasies that only remained within the confines of your own mind. Before you would climax, it was his name that you whispered out into the air, not even knowing that you did.

“Jeonghan.”

•·················•·················•

“Are you going to finish that, or what?”

Seungcheol rummaged around your bag of chips that were barely touched.

Your highlighter skimmed over your page, you twisted the writing utensils around in your hand to scratch down a note with your pen. Truthfully, you hadn’t heard him.

“...I mean, if you don’t, I will. Can’t let stuff like this go to waste.” He held the bag in his lap, happily crunching away and tapping his foot a little.

“--Can you chew quieter?”

“...Me?”

“Yes, you.” You bopped him softly on top of his wavy caramel hair with your marked up article.

Seungcheol cringed and rubbed the top of his head as if you had hit him with something much denser than a stack of paper.

“In my defense, there isn’t really a quiet way to eat chips.” He popped another one in. “Are you gonna be done soon? It’s too...still out here.”

“You’re the one that suggested coming here!”

His puppy-like face turned combative. “I did!...only because I think it’s pretty though.” Your friend shied away, trying to uphold his promise of “chewing quieter,” and subsequently failing.

He wasn’t wrong however, the courtyard in the middle of the library was very pretty, and you had been glad that he had suggested the two of you take lunch there. Inside the square shaped yard, a few trees had been planted with low swaying branches of little oval shaped leaves. There were hedges and a myriad of flowering plants with petals that were pink or yellow or purple. Somehow the little square was untouched by sound, save for a couple songbirds. Had you not a copious amount of work to take care of, you would have admired it all for hours.

“--And to answer your question, no, I will not be done soon. Sorry. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

Seungcheol cooly threw one of his arms over the silver outdoor chair next to him, shaking you off. “I don’t mind. I don’t have anything else that I really wanna be doing right now.”

“--Your thesis maybe?” You crashed your knee into his under the table and threw him a teasing smirk.

“I said, anything that I want to do.”

You nabbed one of your chips back. “Suit yourself then.”

The door to the courtyard clicked, followed by the creak of the old library door. Such a metallic sound stole the tranquility of the whole space.

“Y/n.”

Jeonghan came floating behind you, dressed in his usual attire: some type of glamorous pairing of dress pants and a button down as well as shoes that looked as if they had just been shined. He wore some kind of cologne that draped after him with a dizzying type of efflorescence. Everything about him was meticulously planned, down to the few purposefully unkempt strands of chocolate brown hair on his forehead.

He craned his neck a little to see your messy scribbles.

“You’re reading Nebasifu?”

Jeonghan leaned over you, tracing a finger over the neon orange highlights you had made. He shocked you with how close he had let himself get to you, practically encapsulating you in his arms. You found yourself staring into his neck, that floral scent forcibly permeating your air.

“Hmm.”

He hummed as he read over your notes. “Interesting conclusions right? The fact that in governance we create more problems when trying to solves the ones we have already made? It’s all so circular isn’t it?”

Your sweating palm crunched the paper out from under his fingertips.

“--Really interesting. I’d like to finish it...if you please.” While your words were polite, but they still bit.

“I can recommend more similar readings if you’re interested?”

“I’m fine. Thanks for the offer.”

“If it doesn’t make sense, you can always reach out, we can talk it through...I’ve found that discussing--”

“--I said that I’m fine. Nice talking to you Jeonghan.” You cast your eyes down to your paper and attempt to slow your viciously beating chest.

fucking leave. You pleaded, knuckles turning white around your pen.

“Alright then. See you later.” He straightened his glasses upon his nose bridge. “I look forward to hearing what you have to say about the topics later.”

He swept his hand lightly across your back. It was the most fleeting of gestures, but your entire body froze from it.

Jeonghan situated himself at one of the benches and drew out a book. He sat in the direct beams of the afternoon sun. The brown wisps of hair that hit the light looked nearly golden. You loathed that he was breathtaking without even really trying.

Seungcheol grinded his teeth, muttering out, “Fucking creep. He can’t talk to you like that.” Even quieter, “I’ll take him out for you if you want me to.”

You stifled a laugh. You couldn’t help your eyes which would flutter over to him like it was forbidden.

“No, don’t do that. But thank you ‘Cheol.”

“I’ll do it! I swear...”

•·················•·················•

Jeonghan had a terrible habit. Not like it was particularly distracting, it was just something that you had taken notice of. From where you would sit nearly across the room from him, he would remove his glasses, then rest one of the temple tips between his lips. Sometimes, the click of his teeth would meet the plastic. It was a simple action, but the way that the little curve would rest on the pink of his lips made your mind wonder...the poison that would leave those same lips couldn’t have been real; not when they looked so sweet.

“--anyone want to share what they got out of the readings and case studies? What can we learn about our interference and the sovereignty of other states?”

You were only partially paying attention when Jeonghan silently rose his hand.

“I think that Y/n had a particularly interesting oponion on this. We were discussing this previously.” He curved his body around to meet your eyes which had already been inspecting him.

With an expectant crossing of his arms, your professor approached your desk. “Y/n?”

Everyone’s eyes were on you, but Jeonghan’s burned with the hottest flame.

You took your shaking hands into your lap, then gave your oponion as eloquently as you could, swallowing down your nerves. As usual, you were perfectly well spoken, as you knew you were. The professor nodded along with each point of your argument.

“--Very well articulated Y/n. And your counterpoints are provoking as well.” He finally turned to pace away. “Would anyone like to expand?”

Your professor’s body mass moved, revealing Jeonghan’s nearly sinful prideful smile. It was like he had given you a test, and you had passed magnificently. With the cock of his head, he mouthed,

“that was lovely.”

“I’d like to expand.” He piped, removing his glasses. Just as he always would, he tapped them between his lips, letting the skin fall a little by them. You had noticed it before, but they were smooth and plump. “I think that Y/n is correct...in many ways, but some points are a bit misguided, I would argue....”

•·················•·················•

[09:23 pm]

cheol: you coming back anytime soon? i can’t believe you’re doing this to me on a friday. is it really that serious?

[09:26 pm]

me: need I remind you that you should probably be here with me? thesis papers don’t write themselves.

cheol: and I should remind YOU that we literally just got off break? they aren’t due for months.

i know what you’re trying to prove.

it’s not worth it.

what does that asshole have over you?

“--Shouldn’t you be back at home with that golden retriever of yours?”

Jeonghan’s pen tapped at your table, white sleeves rolled up. The day had taken it’s toll on him. The bags under his eyes proved that even someone as picturesque as him could still be effected by your long days. Nevertheless disheveled, he was just as alluring.

“And shouldn’t you be flirting with one of your students?” You clicked your phone off.

“Cute. Luckily I’m not one of the desperate ones starving for the attention of the little undergrads. That's a different kind of pathetic.”

“Hmmm. I just thought that it was the attention that you were after.” Heat rose to your ears while you breathed your beating heart down.

"Who doesn’t like attention? Especially if it’s from the right people...speaking of undergrads...”

Jeonghan’s slender neck twisted to eye the obnoxious group of students huddled up on a table, giggling and making a mess of their snacks.

“You’re studying out here? I can’t even--”

“--I appreciate the concern, but you’re not helping my focus either.”

“Am I...distracting you?” Jeonghan swept his warm brown hair to the side with the cock of his eyebrow.

You shook out a sigh. “Yes.”

“You don’t have an office?”

“Department didn’t have any more.”

“I’ve got a study room that I host study sessions in. You want to use it?”

“You’re offering to help me?”

“Listen, I know how hard our program can be, and I appreciate how hard you work. You deserve a quiet place to work.”

“Are you complimenting me?”

“Don’t make me change my mind...and what would I do if the competition suddenly dropped out?” He tapped the table with his fingertips. “That wouldn’t be very much fun.”

•·················•·················•

Jeonghan’s study room was simple, just like all the others in the library. It was stark, white, the tables were a bit banged up and the white board was riddled with little ink remnants. There were glass windows nearly everywhere so you could overlook both the outdoors and the rest of the library on the opposite wall. As the two of you entered, he calmly closed all the blinds.

“No distractions right?” He looked back to you.

“...do you have something that you need to get done too?”

“Not really. I’ve submitted a good chunk of my thesis for review.”

Of course he had.

“I’m just waiting to hear back.”

He crossed the room to sit directly next to you, slinging his legs up on the table and taking out that same book from earlier: it had some pretentious title that you had never heard of before.

“Don’t mind me.” He chided your straying eyes. “I’m only staying to lock the door after you.”

“I-I’m not...” Your eyes feel back to your computer and you typed at your keyboard just to fill the sound of the quiet room.

Sitting this close to you, you could smell that dizzyingly sweet smell of his again.

You loathed him for the way that he could be doing nothing and you could be enthralled in merely that.

Jeonghan’s eyes didn’t leave his page. “The more that you look at me, the less you’re working.”

You hadn’t even noticed.

“I guess I’m more distracting than I thought.”

Furious heat rose from the pit of your stomach to the tips of your ears.

“What the hell do you get off on?” You spat.

He calmly placed his book on the table. “What are you referring to?”

“For the past three years, you haven’t left me alone for a single second, you-you always do everything that I do like you’re on some kind of sick quest to prove that you’re better than me, better than anyone else--”

“--You think that I’m copying you?”

“Wha-what else would you be doing?”

“--Getting an education? God, you think that I’m the attention whore, aren’t you hearing yourself?? You must think that I’m obsessed with you.”

“What is it then? A superiority complex so fucking huge--”

“--You’re asking what it is that I want?”

You nodded back with heaving breaths.

“What I get off on? Well...” Jeonghan chuckled a little and raked his hands through his brown strands. “You don’t deserve to know. But there is one thing that I’ve wanted for a while that I haven’t been able to get my hands on. I suppose that’s what I want most.”

“And that is?”

Tentatively, he rose his hand nearer to you, saying nothing, his aura shifting from cocky to intrigued. At first, his fingers traced over the skin of your hand as if he was drawing little pictures into it. After he brushed his hand up your arm to weave a little strand of your hair around his fingers.

“I said you don’t deserve to know.”

You must have been in a daze; some kind of waking intoxication before your thoughts could catch up with your actions. It was almost as if you weren’t thinking anything at all, but where acting on prime instinct. Your whole body screamed with utter frustration: every word that he spoke to you make you loathe him even more, you wouldn’t ever let him get away with it.

There was something that you too wanted most, no matter how abhorrent it was.

Your thighs squeezed into his sides where you had straddled him in his chair, holding on to him so tightly it hurt your muscles. The haste on your lips on his was messy and hot, a smearing of skin and teeth crashing together with fury, tongues rolling off eachother with an undeniable hunger. His arms didn’t wrap around you but rather clawed in your hair, pulling slightly at the roots while he pulled you in impossibly close. The mixing of your gasping breaths together where whiny and yearning. As he kissed into you, his lips curled into a devilish smile.

In your arousal, you shoved your hips into his lap, grinding down into your excitement and seeking some from him. To your surprise, you could feel his hardening dick which only made you weaker. All the hundreds of little fantasies that you had held so secret started to dance in your mind; your darkest thoughts pleaded for him to destroy you, to ravage you, just as you had imagined.

Jeonghan’s lips tore from your own which he had worked until they were swollen. He mouthed down your jaw to your neck, sucking at the skin with no chance of mercy, he pulled and sucked until you could only pathetically beg for him to slow down for fear of him breaking the skin.

He stopped immediately to pull your shirt over your head and pick up his work there. The wet of his gorgeously plump lips on your skin was as perfect as you had imagined and it sent shivers echoing through all your limbs.

“Jeong-Jeonghan--”

This time you perfectly aware that it was indeed his name that would escaping off your tongue.

“You dumb slut, you thought I didn’t know that you wanted me?”

“You-you want me too?”

Jeonghan worked at the buttons on your pants.

“Wanting implies that I like you. What I want most is to make you my toy. There’s a difference.”

You mumbled out the words knowing exactly how he would take them. “I’m not a fucking toy.”

Jeonghan tsked and unbuttoned his own shirt. “You don’t get to decide that.”

You drew your fingers down his model-like toned chest, marveling in the pink lines. Jeonghan grunted in response, taking you by the underside of your thighs to throw you down on your back against the hard plastic. Once he had the chance, he ridded you of your bottoms, running his hands up your inner legs to send you reeling. For a couple seconds, you could have sworn that he had stopped to admire your body, but he wouldn’t let you tell too easily.

“That door isn’t locked.”

“What? Are you scared that someone could walk in? Scared to for someone to see you all splayed out like this?” He rose to kiss up your stomach and up to your nipples. He flicked them between his fingers. “To have someone see me making a wreck of you?”

“N-no.”

With saliva drying on your sensitive buds, they turned hard in seconds when they met the air. Jeonghan wasn’t hesitant to pull at them with his teeth slightly, making you whine for him even more.

“What should I do to you first?”

One of his hands trickled down your body to palm at your quivering sex, slick with your excitement for him and aching for the smallest of touches.

“You want it that bad? Stupid whore.”

Your hand ventured down to tease at his own dick over the fabric of his slacks.

“You want it that bad?”

“Get off.” He growled at you, then took you by the arms to jerk you off of the table and onto your knees at the floor. Under your knees, the burn of the carpet stung. His belt buckle jingled a little as he hooked a finger in to remove it. Afterword, he shook his pants off followed by his briefs, springing loose his twitching member with the tip pink. He combed his fingers through your hair while he tapped his dick against your lips.

“Fucking take it.”

You would have fought him on it, but you succumbed out of your pure curiosity over his girth.

At first, you coaxed him into your mouth, not going in too deep as you were fearful about his length. Regardless, you took him in as best as you could, hollowing out your cheeks and throat, sucking with your lips and grabbing at his legs.

Jeonghan hissed out a sigh, letting himself fall further into the warmth of your mouth. He pushed at your head slightly, bringing you in just deep enough to trigger your gag reflex.

“Mmm there you go.” He cooed.

You kept going as he liked it, gradually working up in pace while it got a bit harder and harder for you to catch your breath.

“That’s as deep as you can go? Can’t even take a dick into your throat?”

His grip on your head tightened.

Jeonghan whispered, “Squeeze my leg if you want me to stop.” before helping your head all the way down, causing you to gag even harder and for tears to well in your eyes. “That’s more like it.”

He continued guiding your head, and slobber started to form around your mouth You felt so weak and pliable around him, he was thankless aside from the tiny moans he would let escape past his lips for you.

Usable as you felt, it was still a deliciously addictive feeling.

All at once, he tore out of your mouth to bring you back up to your feet. In seconds he had turned you around to bend over the plastic tabletop, elbows digging into the cool surface. By now, you were practically dripping for him with knees and legs weak from kneeling. He kicked your legs open farther, gifting your ass a piercing slap that stung, then another followed after.

“Hungry for my cock, hmm?”

He teased your entrance without warning, sending your body crumbling over the table into a mess of whimpers and curses clenched behind your teeth. His lithe fingers were your fantasy come to life.

“I-I can’t wait any longer...” You urged him on.

Jeonghan pushed your face into the table then slid his fingers above to curl around your neck. He encircled around the skin slowly, then dug in to close your airway. You choked out desperate little sounds, then he entered you carefully, making sure that you felt every part of him.

“Hmm. Pretty...” He allowed you. Even though it was just one word of praise, you reveled in it.

His pale fingers choked you harder for a few more seconds until he properly got his pace inside of you, letting go to hold you by your waist. Once again, he clapped his hand into your skin as he fucked into you. All you could manage to do with your hands was claw helplessly at the smooth tabletop seeking some kind of balance that was nowhere to be found. He grazed the deepest and most sensitive spot within you and you felt yourself nearly reaching your climax.

“I-is that all that you can do?” You turned his confidence back against him, spurring him on just as you had wanted. He snapped his hips even faster, groaning out as he neared his release.

“My pretty little fucktoy. You’re all mine? Got it?”

Jeonghan leaned over your back to pant the words into your ear.

“Fucking say it.”

“I-I’m...” Your focus was scrambled as your orgasm pooled within.

“I’m yours...your...pretty-mm-fucktoy.”

Jeonghan came inside of you with white heat, pulsating forcefully, with you following soon after while he milked himself with your walls. Even as you still came down, he rolled his hips into you over and over until your whole body was shaking helplessly.

“That’s right.” He pulled out, then pulled your legs apart to watch his cum fall out of your hole.

Jeonghan laughed to himself, “Thank you for giving me what I wanted.”

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thr-333 · 4 years ago

Text

Drastic Measures- Part 13

@daminette-december2019-2020

~Trapped~

This is gonna be fun!

Ao3

First < Previous > Next

-----------

“Adrien I can't go down for breakfast,” Marinette hides under the blankets.

“Yes you can,” Adrien gives up tugging on the blankets and jumps on top of her.

“But Damian-” Marinette groans partly at his weight on top of her.

“Has no idea your Ladybug and moreover doesn't know your soulmate is Robin, and it doesn't mean you can’t like him so get up and come to breakfast,”

“Stop being reasonable and helpful,” Marinette pushes him off, getting up herself.

“I’ll try my best, now come on let's go,” Marinette sulks as she follows him downstairs, basically having to be pushed into the dining room.

“Is something wrong Marinette?” Dick asks, by now Marinette has labeled him the only one in the family not in denial that feelings exist.

“She’s just tired,” Adrien says for her when she can’t bring herself to answer, still sulking as she takes a seat, “Say I was looking around, why is there an entire circus set up in the gym?”

“Oh, I used to be an acrobat,” That interesting little revelation is cut short by an all too familiar feeling.

“Really? That's so-”

“Hey, Adrien I just remembered the thing we had to do today,”

“The thing?” Marinette gives him a sharp look and his face lights up with realization, “Oh right! The thing, can’t go forgetting the thing, bye!”

---

“Sooo that was suspicious,” Dick muses as the two practically sprint out of the room.

“Put your masks on, we’re following them,” Bruce orders, they haven’t yet forgotten she’s the daughter of an assassin.

They head down the cave to gear up, following the tracking device on Marinette’s bike. However, when they reach it the bike is unattended and the two aren’t anywhere in sight. They hear a commotion nearby moving to check it out.

“It’s another Akuma attack,” Dick reports Ladybug and Chat Noir already on the scene.

“Oh my god,” Tim gasps, “Marinette's Hawkmoth!”

“Hawkmoths a man,” Red Hood deadpans, they would just ignore it if Tim’s sleep-deprived revelations weren’t right more often than not.

“Fine then she’s Mayura,” Tim waves them off, “Adrien’s hawkmoth,”

“What are you talking about?” Robin snaps, watching the battle below, anyone the Akuma hit’s disappearing.

“They leave and then there's an Akuma attack, they showed up just as Ladybug and Chat Noir did to stop Hawkmoth,” Tim rambles, “It’s all highly suspicious,”

“I’ve looked through the files, neither have been akumatized,” Batman adds, evidence stacking, “And their class was an Akuma hot spot,”

“Oh my god,” Dicks realization mirrors Tim’s, “Marinette's hawkmoth,”

“Again, Marinette would be Mayura,” Tim corrects.

“We need to tell Ladybug about this,” Robin decides dropping down onto the street.

“Hey, Robin here to help? Could you go around their left it’s a blind spot and we need to grab- are you listening?” Ladybug turns to him, simultaneously deflecting a blast lucky charm in one hand.

“Ladybug there's something I need to tell you,” Robin hesitates Marinette truly didn’t seem like the type but Ladybug has been fighting Hawkmoth for years if there's even a slight chance Marinette is Hawkmoth Ladybug has to know.

“If this is about yesterday now’s not really the time,” Ladybug says with a cold fed up tone that honestly takes Damian off guard, “It didn’t mean anything,”

“It’s no- what do you mean didn’t mean anything,” Robin gets sidetracked from his point, dodging a blast getting further from Ladybug.

“Soul mates they aren’t romantic or even involved so it doesn't mean anything,” She dodges another blast, Chat Noir getting thrown around somewhere, “I really need you to go around their left,”

“But they are real,” Damian clings to that fact and stays by her side. “And you are my soul mate,”

“Well yes but-”

“Ladybug!” Chat calls, tangled up in washing lines with the Akuma advancing.

“In a minute!” She shouts, fully turning towards Robin now.

“Ok I’ll just hang out then,” Chat swings gently in the wind.

“Really the only way a soul mate affects you is if they die,” Damian's stomach churns, “And still even when that happens the effects are minimal if there is little connection, so we should probably just leave each other alone,”

Robin is frozen as Ladybug moves too late to save Chat from the blast, when the light is gone he has disappeared.

“What are you- I’m not going to just ignore this!” He snaps, Ladybug comes back glaring at him.

“Well I am, I have worked too long and too hard trying to beat Hawkmoth to risk it all for someone I don’t even know wearing a mask,” Ladybug is glowering at him, glowing red eyes brutally honest and true, “I’ve put everything else in my life aside to defeat Hawkmoth, don't think I have a problem putting you aside too,”

“You can’t just- I know who Hawkmoth is!” Robin shouts as she goes to leave, sure she won't come back to him if she leaves.

“What?!” It’s then the rest of his family come to join them, Nightwing pulling Ladybug out of the way of another blast, “Who?!”

“Marinette Dupain-cheng,”

“WHAT?!”

“Again Marinette would be-” Tim doesn't get to finish as they all get hit by a blast.

Light envelopes them all, there is no pain which is either a good sign or a very bad sign. When Robin opens his eyes they are all standing in a stark white container of sorts. Chat Noir is there giving him a wave as they all regain their bearings.

“Why? Why would you think Marinette is Hawkmoth?” Ladybug asks, Chat Noir bursts out laughing for some reason.

“Actually we think she’s Mayura,” Tim supplies, “Adrien Agreste is Hawkmoth,”

“What?!” Chat Noir stands up, enough room for them all to face each other.

“Marinette isn’t Hawkmoth,” Ladybug pinches the bridge of her nose still holding a lucky charm going to waste.

“She’s- I give up,” Tim throws his hands up turning towards the wall in search of a way to get out.

“How do you know!?” Damian snaps, anger and betrayal still clawing at his insides.

“I just do!” Ladybug yells back volume increasing, Chat Noir tries to get her attention but no one is getting through to either of them.

“You trust her more than me?” Damian isn’t sure why he says it, just that he’s angry enough he doesn't care.

“Uh yeah, substantially more,” Ladybug crosses her arms a smug smile on her face, Robin bristles ready to change that.

“She ran away to Gotham as Hawkmoth arrived, she’s never been akumatized even after her class was specifically targeted! Shes the daughter of an infamous assassin!” Robins practically screaming at this point, everyone giving them as much space as possible, “How can she not be Hawkmoth!”

“She’s just not!” Ladybugs earrings beep, Chat now desperately trying to get her attention.

“If she’s not Hawkmoth that means-” Damian cuts himself off reframing all the evidence, conversations rushing back to him all at once, “Marinette?”

“No,” The earring beeps for the last time, transformation falling to reveal Marinette, “Wow great timing Tikki,”

“I’m sorry,” A little red bug thing lands in Marinette's open hands, the lucky charm is gone now.

“Don't be, more importantly,” Marinette turns to Damian glaring something fierce, “How do you know who I am?”

“You’re… Ladybug?” Robin says quietly still trying to process… everything.

“Does that mean Chat Noir’s Adrien?” Dick interrupts.

Damian's still playing catch up. Marinette's Ladybug and Ladybug is Marinette. Ladybug who protects Gotham. Marinette who left her family to be Ladybug. Ladybug who he had been talking to every night. Marinette who he spent every day with.

“How do you know that!?” Chat Noir, no, Adrien shouts.

“That's strictly-” Ladybug always seemed so strong with the mask Robin figured she was someone amazing outside of it. And he was right. Marinette was kind and smart, gave her all to a pet store branch Damian would have otherwise made someone else's responsibility. She left her family, never telling anyone she was Ladybug. It would have been so hard. And now she had been forced to reveal her identity to them, it wasn't fair she deserved… “ROBIN!”

Damian snapped back to reality, in one hand he had his domino mask and his face was bare. On one side was his father looking furious and the other side was…. Marinettte.

“Damian?” Marinette asks, they stare at each other until Marinette lets out a small giggle, Damian huffs in amusement too.

“Why would you ever-”

“Mr Wayne?” Marinette cuts off Batman's rant, her revelation not really helping things.

“You have compromised everyone’s identity,” Batman growls from his look Damian realizes he really messed up.

“She revealed hers,” He tries to defend, "And many heroes already know,"

“You can’t-”

“How about we save this until after we escape?” Marinette cuts in transforming back to Ladybug, so clearly the same person now just with different eyes and hair, “Adrien?”

Chat Noir uses his cataclysm to escape the container, it breaking their little piece of reality and sending them back in a flash of light. He has to run off before his transformation falls leaving the rest to the tense bat fam to help Ladybug out. It was easy to defeat the Akuma from there. Although they may have been stalling somewhat. No one particularly wanting to face Batman's wrath. Hawkmoth was preferable.

--------

No taglist :P

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug fic #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfic #Marinette #miraculous marinette #badass marinette #maribat #daminette #marinette x damian

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morganas-pendragons · 5 years ago

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cuddling with the 104th | headcanons

i did this with the 501st and apparently it was a favorite, so here’s the 104th version with the alternative reader - mind!healer reader - from wolffe’s fic. healer is a therapist. she knows how to use touch to heal.

mind healer fic - admiral!reader doesn’t exist in here

- every time i do a tag list, no one seems to get notified so i’m going to abstain from it for this one

***

- one of the first things you were taught upon your apprenticeship to the halls of healing was that physical contact was an extremely important thing for recovery

- you didn’t learn what that meant for years

- not until the clone wars started

- it had taken you six visits with hysterical clones who’d come back injured and disfigured from the front lines to realize just how desperate they are for basic things

- basic needs that humans shouldn’t be starved of

- otherwise known as contact

- physical contact, emotional connections, all of it

- kriff those kaminoans for depriving them of their lives

- so when wolffe becomes a regular patient of yours in the halls of healing, you make a conscious effort to begin introducing this into your weekly appointments

- casually brushing his hand

- pressing knees together

- lingering gazes, talks that go on far longer then you intend for them to

- and after khorm, you’re the one that’s called

- the second he sees you, wolffe is launching himself out of his bed and wrapping his whole body around your form

- it’s not because he’s happy to see you

- it’s because you’re his lifeline

- ‘’wolffe, beloved... it’s just me.” you ran your fingers through his hair and coaxed him away from the safety of your shoulder to allow his face to be tended to

- he had simply looked at you, the ghost of a smile quirking his lips upward, and kept his grip on your thighs loose while the medics tended to him

- it’s your relationship with the commander that’s gotten you into this predicament

- boost and sinker absolutely adore you, there’s no doubt in your mind

- talk about overactive children

- wildfire talks to you about the poetry he writes in his spare time

- and warthog loves when you ask him question about anything and everything you can think of

- so one day, out of the blue, you make a visit to the barracks to check on wolffe

- it’s a weekly habit for you to check on your commander

- and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him love you even more

- but you don’t tell each other that

- ‘’ah, ner baar’ur’’ the soft voice of wildfire calls out to you from right outside the 104th barracks. it’s the middle of the afternoon. why is it so quiet? ‘’c’mere, i wanna show you something’’

- the younger brother opens the door to show you exactly what you’d been asking yourself for the last couple of years: do clones only get physical contact from each other?

- and kriff, they do

- because who else is going to give it to them?

- the sight in front of you is sickeningly sweet and makes your eyes water because it just looks so.. natural

- like they were born with an overwhelming desire to naturally protect one another even in their sleep

- wolffe and sinker are curled around each other, laying diagonally to one another while warthog and boost are sleeping nestled together in between their older brothers

- warthog has his nose pressed to wolffe’s chest and his hand resting on his arm, leg casually thrown over his own

- ‘’is this normal? is this.. what you had to resort to in order to get physical contact?”

- ‘’we saw alot on our relief mission. it gets hard.. not having anyone but each other.. and we only ever feel safe like this.’’ wildfire gestures to his four brothers. ‘’together’’

- you find yourself leaving the jedi temple less then a week later close to midnight with a stack of weighted blankets in your arm

- it helps your overnight patients, the less stable ones

- you think it’s going to aid you spectacularly in your venture to the 104th barracks

- wildfire is waiting for you when you arrive, whispering his confirmation about the pile of mattresses he’d forced the vod to put together in the middle of the room

- when that door opens and those boys beam at you (except wolffe, he just looks extremely confused until he sees the familiar blankets tucked under your arm) your heart nearly caves in on itself with love

- cause maker, you love them as much as their plo’buir does

- ‘’what are you doing, baar’ur?”

- you tucked that blanket around wolffe’s shoulders and bent down to kiss his temple, allowing your lips to linger far longer then you should’ve

- ‘’a blanket a day keeps the nightmares away’’

- the look you give him reads differently, but all the other brothers know what you’re doing

- this is your way of easing their nightmares

- your way of keeping them safe

- ‘’make room for your favorite’’

- ‘’who said you were my favorite?’’

- ‘’you did, when you were hyped up on painkillers and singing obnoxiously about your adoration for me loud in slurred basic and mando’a when i came in to visit you in the medbay’’

- ‘’aren’t you a mind healer? cause my mind’s gonna need cleansing after all this mushiness.. i need some bleach’’

- ‘’bleach and the force are not the same thing’’

- you curl into wolffes chest, expecting that to be it, that’s the furthest you can touch

- but as Boost settles on your other side and nudges his thigh between your legs and wrapping a loose arm around your waist

- wolffe tucks your head under his chin and whispers ‘'nuhoy pirusti kar'taylir darasuum’’

- it’s so warm. warm and safe and they’re.. they’re safe. they’re at peace

- you allow yourself to be encompassed in the life that radiates from each one of them

- each individual heartbeat, the gratitude that rolls off of them in waves

- the little ways they murmur words in their mother tongue in their sleep

- the way arms will tighten around you when you dare to move, let alone breathe, because it’s built into their dna to protect the innocent

- you palm wolffe’s chest and whisper ‘’sleep well’’ hoping that the force suggestion will be enough to give him peaceful dreams for the night

- when sleep claims you, you swear you feel his lips on your cheek before darkness comes

- when you wake up the next morning, they’re all smiling

- let me tell you something, sleepy and smiling clones are absolutely adorable

- it doesn’t matter if they’re trained killers

- they’re pathetically adorable, especially the wolf pack

- ‘’that’s the best sleep we’ve had in over a year, baar’ur’’ wolffe murmurs against the column of your neck ‘’please come back’’

- you hear the unsaid words there

- ‘’we need you more then you realize’’

- and maybe they do, you’ve never known what it’s like to be needed before

- but you are drawn to broken, desperate people who want to be loved

- and no one deserves it more then the wolf pack

- ‘’tell me i’m your favorite’’

- boost leans in and sleepily nuzzles your neck

- it’s not unprecedented, it’s normal for them to be so hands on, and the action makes laughter bubble in your throat

- ‘’you’re our favorite’’

- and you really are

- and wolffe might really love you

- but clones are terrible liars and he prefers to keep that secret to himself

- it’s as valuable as you are

when the 212th gets wind of another battalion being cuddled at night and sleeping more soundly then they had the entire war, cody locks his cyar’ika in a room and demands to know where he can get a free cuddler

they’ve ordered one. it’s coming.

#The Wolf Pack #The 104th #Star Wars imagines #Star Wars oneshots #The Clones x Reader #Boost x Reader #Sinker x Reader #Commander Wolffe x Reader #Wolffe x Reader

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beigehearts · 4 years ago

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The Price of Self Respect

Read part one here! Read part two here!

PART III CW: mentions of kidnapping, alcohol, drugs, crude language, physical trauma

Let me know if you want a part 4!

1,873 words

____________________________________________

The first thing that comes to mind on dreary morning like these, where the rain trickles down the window and sun hides itself from the world: what started this all? What made you decide to become a hunter? What made you decide to become a freelance hunter? What made you decide to become a freelance assassin? While the answer was easy, a fucked up childhood, you still wondered. Was your first mistake becoming a hunter? Or was your first mistake killing?

A sigh escapes your lips, rolling off of them with practice. Your leg is still covered in the nen cloths. If it weren’t for the myriad of illicit pain medications you are on, you would probably still be doubled over in pain. The bruise that is your entire abdomen has bloomed into a beautiful yellow and red. You felt that Picasso would be happy to use your abdomen as reference.

You no longer reside in that dingy cave-like area, where you were surely deprived of vitamin-D. The Phantom Troupe has moved, where did the whole group go? You did not know. Chrollo and yourself occupate a small cabin in the middle of no where. Middle of no where and you have no idea where no where is. You have been bed ridden, laying in bed staring out the window, being served food and entertainment. Speaking of, you glance over to the stack of books in the corner of the room, it’s about time for another book. The thought of Chrollo needing to give you everything does upset you, feeling so helpless. You’ve been on your own for so long that needing someone is torture.

You swing your legs off of the bed, and hobble towards the bathroom. If you were going to be helpless you would at least keep your dignity. Chrollo has offered many times to help you to the bathroom but you would rather rebreak your leg than that. At this point though there were so many medications in your system that you could barely feel anything from the waist down. Sure you risked falling and breaking your face but again, you will not give up your dignity. It’s only been about two weeks here, though sitting in bed staring out a window makes you feel every single second that passes.

Finally you reach the bathroom that’s on the other side of the bed. Though you don’t lay on that side. Oh yeah, you almost forgot, there’s a catch to this moment of peace. You sleep in the same bed as Chrollo. It definitely took getting used to, and you’re still not quite used to it. The first night was hell.

You scooted yourself down on the bed so you were under the covers, instead of the position you sat in to read. You reached over to the lamp on the bedside table and turned it off. You sigh with relief, finally not sleeping on rocky ground, and finally you had some medication to ease the pain. Most of it anyway. Once you finally shut your eyes, you heard footsteps. You chalked it up to your kidnapper checking in on you, making sure you were still kidnapped.

Then it happened, the bed sheets rustled and you felt a weight next to your own. You sat up as quickly as you could with a broken leg, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

He turned over to you, “Sleeping, what does it look like?”

“Looks like you’re sleeping next to a helpless girl.” You growled at him.

“There’s no heat in this cabin, I looked for any sign of heating besides a fireplace and there was none. This is our best way of survival.” He stated as if it were obvious.

You grimaced. “It’s not exactly freezing cold outside.”

He gave you a look which said more than words could in the moment, and that was the end of the conversation.

You allow yourself to reminisce in the memory once you sit back down from the bathroom, though you don’t get to do so for too long. The bedroom door creaks open, Chrollo opening it gently. He wore his fur coat and carried a tray with fruits and a soup. He closes the door behind him with his foot, wanting to keep the heat of the crackling fireplace in the room.

You nod at the tray in his hands, “Where’d you get the soup?” You ask knowing there was none in this house you have broken into and entered.

In response he offers a smile. “I see you didn’t finish your book.”

He lays the tray next to you on the bed, and sits down in the rocking chair next to the fireplace.

“It was boring. I’m not interested in a misogynist’s philosophies.” You cross your arms, now realizing that it is cold as the drugs ware off some.

Chrollo chuckles, “I agree, he was not the most agreeable man. Much too sexist for my liking.” He rocks back and forth in the chair, creating a methodical creaking that you count off in your head. Creak crack, creak crack, creak crack...

Silence befalls the both of you, you have learned that Chrollo enjoys his silence. He would rather sit in hours of silence than hours of passionless conversation. After what feels like hours, and may have been hours, Chrollo walks over to the stack of books, he thumbs a book out of it. “How would you feel about a glass of wine y/n?”

A smile almost presses itself against your lips but you stop it, “That doesn’t sound half bad.”

Forty-five minutes later, you’re on your third glass of medicinal wine while Chrollo serenades you with the words of a book you’ve already read. He gently swishes the wine in his glass before taking a sip, and finishing off the chapter. His reading had almost lulled you into a light sleep but just the gentle sound of the book shutting snaps you awake.

“What time is it?” You mumble, and realize there’s still half a glass of wine in your hand. You go to sip it but a hand beats you to it, and slips it from your fingers.

Chrollo places the glass on a table out of reach, “I know you’re not a light weight, but I think the medication and three glasses were enough.”

You frown and throw your head back. The wisest of choices for a girl who just had half a bottle of wine, and is laying on a bed with a wooden bed frame. there’s a loud crack sound and pain instantly blossoms in the back of your head. “God damn!” You hiss and sit up with your legs off of the bed. You rub the back of your head and groan.

You glance up and see Chrollo who almost looks dumbfounded, until he starts laughing. “The fuck are you laughing at? Get out of my way.” You bark at him.

Without much thought you stand up, but manage to keep your balance. You didn’t realize how close that Chrollo was standing next to you, you tilt your head up and find that you can feel his breath.

“Go ahead and lay back down y/n. You’re still healing.” He manages to say between some laughter. His hands fall upon your shoulders but you grab his wrists before he tries to push you back to the bed.

You grip his wrists as if about to make a plea, “I’m tired of this bed, I want to see the rest of the house.” Your eyes meet his, “Let me look around.”

He seems to understand without further explanation, he offers his arm for you to hold onto, and begrudgingly you accept his offer.

The house is much bigger than you were expecting. You didn’t understand how this wasn’t just someone’s home and not their ‘villa’. As Chrollo had put it. He chose a good house to occupy for a while, you had to give him that.

The roof is high up, with wooden beams lining the ceiling. The kitchen is grandiose and has marble counter tops, you looked through all of the cabinets and found no sign of soup. The tour for the rest of the house was as expected, overly expensive and too much time has been put into a house that’s used once a year for maybe two weeks.

The small walk about tired you out immensely, you were only able to use one leg and someone else’s arm to get around. Chrollo helps you sit down on the couch of the main room, and sits down next to you.

Chrollo seems comfortable, as if this were any other day for him. You begin to wonder if it is just another day. Suddenly you feel a pet on your head, and then another one. Is this man... petting you? You look to his face and see his eyes trained on you, his other hand reaching for your face.

Is it your extreme desperation for affection that you’ve been missing all these years, or was that wine stronger than you thought? When his lips reach your own, you make no move to stop him, no move to stop him at all. A hand grabs your chin, and another grabs the thigh of your unbroken leg to pull you towards him. You hiss out in pain at the sudden movement jostling your still injured leg and he whispers something of a sorry on your lips. You had slept with people for your missions before, but for some reason this made your lips burn, it made your heart pound, how it never did before.

But you feel sense snap into you and you raise your hand between both of your faces. “This isn’t going to happen Chrollo. I won’t succumb to stockholm syndrome. No, I won’t” You state as if only reassuring yourself. Before you can get anything else you’re stopped in your tracks when he begins kissing the palm of your hand, small and enticing kisses.

“Oh y/n. You continue to surprise me everyday.” He sighs and flops against the back of the couch, “I’m not sure a woman has ever denied me.” He claims.

You raise an eyebrow- the mood suddenly lifting, “So you’re a ladies man huh?”

He scoffs, “Hardly, no more of a ladies man than I need to be for missions.”

You can’t help but to smile, the tone between you has changed. From captor and victim to old friends. This is looking bad for you. Will you be able to say no next time?

#chrollo #chollo lucilfer #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo #phantom troupe #hxh #hunterxhunter #yandere

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em0avacado · 4 years ago

Text

They say

( Coco Cruz x Reader )

a/n : this is how i cope, don’t mind me, i’m just breaking my own heart.

trigger warnings : none i don’t think? except heart break, sadness. ends happy tho. i think. maybe.

word count : 2.4k

They say that, if you love something, let it go. If it comes back, it was meant to be, if it doesn’t? well you just couldn’t accept that. You’d poured every ounce of yourself into him, you’d told him all your fears, all your pet peeves, all your insecurities, because you trusted him. You’d accepted all his weird quirks, all the strange habits he had that you looked past, youd accepted him for who he was, as you do when you love someone as much as you loved him. You supported him, mentally and physically, from up close and from far away. You encouraged him, reminded him of little things he easily forgot, you told him every day how proud you were of him, how loved and appreciated he was.

He used to do the same for you, used to. But at some point, he began holding back, he stopped doing things he started doing to win you over. You used to have a list of pet names hed call you when he babied you, now it was just ‘baby’ if he was in a good mood, or [Y/N]. You noticed it as soon as it started, you noticed everything. You knew he was stressed so you didn’t want to push it, but you also know that “stressed” was a norm for Coco, so you couldn’t wrap your head around it entirely. He started coming home later, crashing on the couch in hopes of “not disturbing your sleep.” it sounded like an excuse to you, and it hurt. it really fucking hurt you.

At some point, you’d had enough of your boyfriend distancing himself like that, ignoring your feelings, ditching you when you needed him, you couldn’t live that way, you wouldn’t. So, when he came home, you’d waited up for him, sitting at the small kitchen table you both used to enjoy your breakfast on every Sunday, now it stood empty, with nothing but a stack of newspapers from the passing weeks piled on it. With a bit of liquid courage crashing against the rocks of ice as you swirled the brown liquid around in the cup, your eyes felt red with fire, and your cheeks were stained with few dried tears that rolled down your face as your mind came up with the worst possible results you could imagine, all to which, came true. With a jingle of his keys in the lock, you straightened your posture, looking at him.

“What’re you doing up?” he asked her, that same vacant look on his face.

“I wanted to talk”

“it can wait till morning.”

“it really can’t.” with that, she was met with utter annoyance, and an obnoxious scoff that made her blood boil.

“go on then.”

“you’ve distanced yourself, so hard. I barely see you. We don’t sleep in the same bed, I can’t remember the last time you touched me, hell, even looked at me like you used to. What’d I do?” that was your go to, blaming yourself. It’s how you dealt with the unexplained.

“Get off my ass, [Y/N].” He dismissed you, you watched as he pulled off his kutte, and settled into the couch. You kept your eyes on him, murder on your mind. God he irritated you, you wanted to take his neck between your hands and wring it. Maybe that’d breathe some sense into him, if you deprived him of oxygen a little. But you didn’t need another felony charge, you inhaled deeply, balling your fists, the sting of your nails digging into the palm of your hand bringing you back from picturing all the ways you’d brutally murder him, out of love, of course.

If you loved someone... you’d refrain from strangling them, you turned from the spot you stood, and headed into the bedroom. You did the breathing exercises your therapist had taught you, but they worked only slightly. You grabbed a duffel bag, and started shoving clothing into it, as much as you could, you pushed all the belongings you’d need the next few days, and zipped it up. Pulling on a hoodie, you tossed the bag over your shoulder, and headed out. You walked passed him without a word, when you went to grab your car keys, you did the only petty thing you’d let yourself, trying to be the better person, you hid every single key to everything you had, knowing how easily he lost keys, you’d help him, in your own favour, however.

You left, and you didn’t look back. You couldn’t. The mere thought of Coco made you tear up, and it didn’t help that every tiny thing made you think about the lost love that still caused your chest to feel like it was about to concave. This wasn’t natural, you hadn’t felt like this, you were the queen of bottling up emotions, and ignoring them so you didn’t feel the pain of anything. But as you lived and breathed, everything reminded you of him.

You were in the middle of a girls lunch date, it’d been weeks since your seen your girlfriends since you’ve been trying to isolate yourself trying to get over this man, in the midst of drinking mimosas on the balcony of one of those entirely too fancy restaurants, you were laughing at highschool memories of your best friend who would start fights in the halls because she was bored, it was then, when a roar of motorcycles sped past where you were sitting, and it threw you into a whirl wind of emotions.

“make sure you hold on tight, mamas. Wouldnt want you to fall off.” the smirk heard in Coco’s voice sent a chill down your spine, being too intimidated by any sort of physical contact, usually, you usually ease yourself into it, but with Coco? It was brash and sudden, he started the bike, and gave you maybe a millisecond to grab a hold on him.

A little squeal forced its way out of your mouth as you quickly grabbed onto him, gripping onto your own hands, clinging to him. You buried your face in his shoulder. You felt him chuckle, and wanted to knock him out right then and there, but perhaps that wasn’t the best idea. It took you a moment, but once you opened your eyes, and watched as buildings, cars, people, hills and piles of dirt passed you by, trees whipping by. You felt yourself calm, you felt at peace. The wind flipped through your locks of hair, his scent filling your senses.

“This isn’t that bad.” you heard yourself admit in a soft mumble, you shut your eyes and felt the wind attack your face, balancing your inner battles with yourself. You felt peace in Coco, he tamed your chaos, and you his. God, what you’d give to feel like this all the time, but you only felt it with him.

You felt your throat burn, your bottom lip lodged itself between your teeth, and you did your best to fight the rage that tinged your eyes with tears. Your friends saw this, noticing immediately, the emotion that washed over your face, paling your features and dimming a smile that brought them laughter that lasted for days. You’d always been the group clown, with the loudest laugh, the brightest smiles, you were the one they’d all turn to when they couldn’t hold themselves up. You were a force to be reckoned with, you fought their battles when they couldn’t even hold themselves up. You never failed to show up with booze and ice cream to heal broken hearts. You brought things that made you think of friends, you remembered the finest details and came through every time. You listened to the quietest ones, heard every story, laughed at the lamest jokes. Seeing you with tears streaming involuntarily down your face as you tried to hide it, wiping them as fast as they came, it broke their collective hearts. They looked at one another, an unspoken question “how do you skip to the part of the storm that sprouts the flowers when the rain stops?”

Your relationship with sleep was toxic, it came and went as it pleased, your eyes were sunken, it was three A.M. and you felt your thoughts running through your mind a million miles a minute. Your head in your hands as another memory floated to the surface.

Panic overwhelmed you, hearing something, or someone, rustling around the kitchen, you grabbed the gun you kept tucked under your mattress. You cocked it, and took the safety off, holding it out in front of you in a defensive position. You opened your creaking door, the noise working at your nerves as you creeped into the kitchen where the only thing that illuminated the dark room was the bulb from the old white fridge. You watched silently as the head ducked from inside the fridge, you found it peculiar, but all you saw was a figure in your home you didn’t know. Getting closer, you held the barrel of the gun to the head of the man that stood in your kitchen.

“Hands up, Foo. Before I blow your brains all over my backsplash.” You threatened, your voice tense, and you were met with laughter that was all too familiar. Furrowing your brows, you were still panicked, not thinking straight. You shifted the gun so the bullet that was about to fly, only ripped through his hair. The shot rang loud, causing Coco, who you didn’t know was Coco, to crash to the ground.

“Crazy bitch!” he shouted, you flicked on the light, still having the gun pointed at him. Your eyes widened quickly, the man on your floor was Coco, and now there was a bullet lodged into your ceiling. You could kiss your security deposit goodbye, fuck, and you just shot at Coco. You put the safety back on, and set it on your counter before going to help him. A few minutes passed before both of you sat in fits of laughter, him mocking your voice, your words.

Coco told you so many times that the night you nearly shot him in the head, was the night he fell for you entirely. Sure, he’d known you were the one way before that. That night, though, he knew he was in love with you. That night he swore he’d break past your barriers, he’d demolish how you saw yourself, he taught you to love you, he made you promises to show you love like no other, and to show you that you didn’t have to be afraid of either physical and emotional aspects of love. He did do exactly that, but then ripped it away from her. Leaving her heart with him, and her chest feeling heavy with nothing. Once again tears were brought to your eyes, you were thankful for his love, but without it? you wished you’d never had experienced it in the first place. Maybe you wouldn’t be hurting now.

You were brought out of your train of thought by the knocking on your door, furrowing your brows, you got up from your spot on the counter, where you were thinking of better times, you looked through the peephole and it felt like someone took a vacuum to your weak lungs. Coco. Struggling to breathe proper, you just intended on ignoring him, it was the first time in months youd seen him and you didn’t know if you could handle it. Your heart screamed at you to let him in, he looked beat up, tired, and one of his eyes was bandaged up, he looked broken. you wanted to embrace him, forget the distance, but your mind scolded you, reminding you of the progress youd made, bouncing back from the pain oh so slowly. This could set it all back. So you decided, you wouldn’t open the door. He’s a big boy. You silently turn on your heel, away from the door.

“I’m sorry.” you heard him rasp, and you froze in your spot, a deer caught in headlights. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. “I know you’re there, I know you’re awake and I know you know it’s me. You have your kitchen light on, so I saw you stand on your toes to look through the peephole because you’re too short.” you cursed his observant ways, how well he knew you, like he had quirk notes tattooed on the back of his hand and read them like a bible. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice when you left, that I was too deep in my own world to see how me fading away for my own selfish needs was hurting you. I’m sorry I made it seem like I didn’t care, that it hurt you, I’m sorry that I made promises and broke them. I started thinking about things I never knew I wanted until you marched your stubborn self in my life and gave me a taste of a love that changed me. It scared the fuck out of me.”

That familiar burn of emotion lit up your head, and singed your chest. You let his words sink in, you couldn’t speak, not yet. Squeezing shut your eyes, you turned back to the door, setting your hand on the knob. You felt the door shift, like he’d gotten up from leaning his head against the poorly tinted wood. He got it, you could feel him prepare to walk away. If you love something, let it go. But Coco came back. He came back. You unlocked it, and turned the knob. Looking at him through sore eyes. “Running when you’re scared isn’t an option for me.” you said, defeat obvious in your voice. He stopped, turned to you and closed in quick. You pushed his hands away. “You can’t - You can’t just show me, tell me, and hold it to me that i shouldn’t shut you out, and i should trust you, and i should turn to you before anyone and anything else only to turn around and do that to me. You can’t do that and come running back.” you practically yelled at him, your voice shaking and raw.

“I know, I know I’m sorry.” he said, his hands dropping to his sides when you reached forward and yanked him in with all your might. The gesture was aggressive, sure. But pure.

“i’m sorry too.” you muttered, embracing him tightly.

—

tag list :

@queenbeered

@mayans-sauce

#coco x reader #coco cruz #mayans fanfic #mayans mc #fanfic #richard cabral

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amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines · 4 years ago

Text

Sweet Pea//my greatest adventure is you

Request: Can you do a dad (newborn-ish) sweet pea imagine

hey! title is kind of stolen from a quote i saw on pinterest and part from my own brain so its okay! how are you all? i hope you’re good! i also hope you like this! its cute and sweet and just very nice! byeeee

Two weeks ago your life changed completely.

And for two weeks you and Sweet Pea have been living in a post baby, sleep deprived, bliss.

Days of the week have long been forgotten, neither of you know the time. It’s either light or dark and that’s good enough for you. Both of you have only been outside a handful of times and they’re only for two hours at the most.

You’ve worn nothing but pyjama’s, washed your hair enough times to count on just one hand and smell like baby puke and milk.

But it’s perfect.

Everything and everyone revolves around the perfect bundle of joy that you’ve brought into the world, and that is how it was supposed to be. You’ve had visitors from just about everybody you know.

Family, friends, neighbours, as well as their family and friend. You’ve had everyone wanting to come and see your daughter, all of which bring toys, clothes, keepsakes, balloons, flowers and everything in-between.

Which is of course lovely and very helpful. Especially when you’re dealing with the fullest nappy and think you’ve run out of wipes but Sweet Pea finds three packs of them under a pile of clothes that are yet to be worn.

Plus, they also bring you presents to which you definitely aren’t complaining about. You’ve got so many pairs of pajama’s you’re not gonna need any for years.

But it also brings problems.

Because you and Sweet Pea may have read every baby/parenting book, blog and magazine known to man. But what they don’t prepare you for is how you’re supposed to fit everything into a tiny two bedroom house.

“How does a tiny baby need all of this equipment?” You ask, staring at the black hole of boxes that is your living room. Even sat on the couch there’s boxes and bags stacked around you and the two of you honestly have no idea where to start. “I mean, what the hell even is this?” You add, picking up some sort of weird looking piece of plastic.

Sweet Pea looks at it, a frown on his face before it lights up and he searches through some papers on the small table beside him. He holds a booklet up, a triumphant smile stretching across his lips before he starts reading.

The smile slowly starts to fade the more he reads to himself and you sit in silence, an eyebrow raised while you wait for him to tell you.

“Oo, erm. Apparently it tells you why the baby is crying.” He says, looking between you and the what you now realize is the instructions.

The only way you can describe his expression is puzzled, as he takes the baby crying machine from you, placing it beside the instructions and just staring at the two.

“Who the hell bought this?” He asks, resting his chin in his hands. You run your fingers through his hair, trying to calm the curls down a little and he lets out a content sigh, giving you a tired smile as he does so.

You mirror it and nudge his leg with your own. You lean your head on his shoulder, and he places his head on top. The two of you look over the paper and plastic again, reading and re-reading the instructions as it takes a while to actually understand what they are trying to say. Its seems both you and Sweet Pea have ended up developing baby-brain.

“I think it was your Auntie Agnes.”

“Of course it was.” He chuckles and kisses the top of your head.

“What are the options?” You ask.

“Hungry, tired, changing, attention, stressed.” He says and you send him a look.

“Stressed? What an earth could a baby be stressed about? They don’t pay taxes, they don’t have to work.” You reply grumpily making him laugh and kiss you again.

“Technically we don’t have to pay taxes.”

“Technically we do if we don’t want to go to jail.” You reply.

“Who says I’d get caught.” He replies proudly.

“Me.” You reply bluntly and he stares at you offended.

“Rude.”

“True though.” You tease and grab the strange device from him, looking it over a few times before looking back at him. “So, where’s this going?”

“Back of the cupboard normally. Proudly on display when Auntie Agnes actually comes to visit?”

“Deal.” You agree. “I’ll find a place for it and you start on that box there.”

“Which one?”

“The huge red one right in front of your face.” You huff and he flips you off.

You send him a sarcastic smile in return before disappearing into the kitchen to find a space for the stupid bit of plastic.

“Why this one specifically?” He calls after you.

“Its from Toni and Cheryl and I’m excited to see what ridiculous things Cheryl has spent a fuck-ton of money on.” You reply, your voice giddy but muffled by the cupboard you’ve currently got your head in.

Sweet Pea shakes his head, a small giggle escaping his lips as he listens to you excitedly ramble about what it could be.

He pulls on the end of the bow and it falls off the wooden box and onto the carpeted floor. A bemused smile takes over his appearance as he carefully picks the lid up and places it beside him.

“Holy shit.” His eyes widen. “Y/n? Y/n get in here!”

“Wha-ow! Shit.”

“Did you hit your head?” He asks, sending you a sympathetic smile when he notices you standing in the doorway, rubbing your head.

“Yeah.” You nod and flop down beside him again. “So, what is it?” You ask excitedly.

“You’re not going to believe it.” He replies and moves further towards the box. You follow him until your sat on the edge of the sofa and your eyes widen when you look at what it is.

“Is that?” You ask, looking at him and then back at the present.

“Yep.”

Staring back at the two of you is a giant rocking horse. Like it’s massive, like Toni could definitely fit on it and it would look normal, massive even. Hanging around its neck is what looks like a diamond encrusted dummy and you and Sweet Pea just stare at each other in disbelief.

A red, handwritten card sits on top of it and you grab it, turning it around and reading aloud.

‘Y/n and Sweet Pea,

Congratulations on your new arrival! We can’t wait to meet her properly. You’re going to be amazing parents, and we’re always here if you need us. Hopefully we’ll be able to organize a play date between her and JJ soon, but until then enjoy new parenthood.

Love Cheryl, Toni and JJ.

ps: I told Cheryl you didn’t need a giant horse or diamond encrusted dummy or the other 5, very expensive gifts that are currently being shipped from Italy, but she didn’t listen, so sorry in advance. And again, congratulations!! We’re so proud of both of you!!’

“Another 5 gifts from Italy?” Sweet Pea repeats.

“Another 5, expensive gifts from Italy.” You correct.

“They have far too much money for their own good.”

“God knows where this is going to go.” You shake your head, a smile tugging at your lips as you tuck the card back into the box and place the lid back on top. “Which one should we do ne-” Your interrupted by a small cry and the two of you stop what you’re doing to listen, waiting to see if she’ll settle back down. The crying only grows louder and you and Pea share a look.

“I’ll get her.” He says and you expression softens.

“You sure?” You ask.

“Yeah.” He replies, fighting his way through the boxes and bags trapping the two of you. “I just googled how much that rocking horse is so I’m gonna go cry with her.” He says making you laugh. “You keep going down here.”

“Wait, how did that happen? You get to cuddle a cute baby and I have to figure out where to put bottles and diapers and...horses?”

“Unlucky.” He shrugs and gives you a sarcastic smile before running up the stairs.

Two minutes later and she’s stopped crying. A relieved smile takes over your face as you fold what seems like the millionth baby grow. But twenty minutes after that, Sweet Pea hasn’t come back down yet, and that makes you suspicious.

Because he’s either fallen asleep, or he’s just pretending to still be busy so he doesn’t have to help with this. If he’s asleep, you’re joining him, whether he’s on the bed or under it, you don’t care. But if not, you bet his ass you are dragging him back down the stairs.

You slowly make your way up the stairs, balancing a few pieces of clothing in your hands to put away. The door to your bedroom is cracked open slightly and instead of going straight into the nursery, you hold back and watch as Sweet Pea rocks her gently.

His back is to you so he hasn’t noticed your presence, and he’s pulling the funniest faces at her, the sight making your heart melt. Your entire universe in one room, within two people, one tall and the other tiny.

It makes all the chaos worth it.

“There once was a shoe, who’s best friend was a lace.” Sweet Pea starts, balancing a baby book in his hands as he keeps tight hold of your daughter. “They went everywhere together. But one day, the shoe stepped in a puddle and the lace got dirty so-what kind of story is this?” He complains, shaking his head as he puts it down.

“Okay, Daisy. I’ve got a much better story to tell you anyway.” He whispers into the dark room and carefully sits down in the rocking chair. “So, me and your mom have known each other for so long. Longer than you can even comprehend, not that you can comprehend much at the minute. But one day when your bigger you’ll understand. We’ve known each other since we were younger than you, thats right, we were best friends before we were born. And there hasn’t been a day that she hasn’t been around. And they’ll never be a day where she isn’t here for you either. Both of us are always going to be here.” He says, his voice gentle.

His tone is full of so much love that it makes you tear up...stupid hormones. You can’t wait to spend the rest of your life loving your little family, and you’re so happy that its Sweet Pea that you’re doing it with. You can’t imagine a life without him, you never want to.

“You have your entire life ahead of you and we’re going to make sure you live the best one you can. Because you can do anything. There’s a whole world of possibilities out there. Sometimes it feels like there isn’t, but you’ve only been here two weeks and you’ve brought so much wonder and magic to mine and your mom’s world, so who knows what you’re going to do to the rest of it.” He continues and you hug the clothes your holding tighter to your chest, despite the fact that you’re crying all over them.

“We’re going to love you no matter what. No matter who you are or who you love or what you do. As long as you’re safe and happy, thats good enough for us.” He says, a sweet smile on his lips as he stares down at her in awe. “Now, go to sleep and have the sweetest dreams you can think of and when you wake up, your mom and me will both be here for you. Thats a promise.” He whispers, pressing a soft kiss to her head before placing her gently back in her crib.

You take that as you cue to walk in, avoiding the creaky floorboard that you and Sweet Pea have already memorized the position of. He hears the door open and his smile grows when he notices you. You return it, your eyes tired and your hair messy and your clothes the same as they were two days ago. But to him you look the most beautiful you ever have.

He has never loved anyone more, well, apart from Daisy. But you’re the reason she’s here and he’s never ever going to be able to thank you enough for that.

You quietly place the pile of clothes on top of the drawers, vowing to put them away tomorrow. Them, the presents downstairs and the the rest of the world can wait, you want to enjoy this for as long as you can.

Sweet Pea grabs your hand and pulls you gently towards him. The two of you lean over the crib, watching Daisy sleep peacefully. His hands rest gently on your shoulders and you give them a squeeze, your fingers intertwining.

“Do you think babies can dream?” You wonder, looking up at Pea.

“I really do hope so.”

#sweet pea #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea x reader #sweet pea x you #sweet pea x y/n #riverdale #riverdale imagine

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