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hereforhalstead · 3 years ago

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“I’m all yours” Part 2

*Gif not mine, credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

• Requested: Yes.

• Warnings: angst/Swearing/adult themes/unloving relationship/mentions of mental abuse

• Summary: Part 2 to “I’m all yours” as requested! You can find Part 1 here.

• Words: 6138

• A/N : Thanks so much for all the great feedback on it and for your continued support - hope you enjoy and that it lives up to part 1! Got the inspo from watching ‘Workin Moms’ on Netflix, highly recommend.. also as before, I do not condone cheating or the treatment of any relationship like this. My inbox is always open if you want to talk and I know it's very hard but remember you're worthy and you deserve the best. Please do not hesitate to let me know if anything in this is too close to the mark as that’s the last thing I want (i might be reading too deep into this but want to be sure I’ve made myself clear

***

“Jay. I need you in here with me” Voight swings the door open, forcing Jay to release you from his tight grasp and turn his back to you as if he didn’t have you pinned to the wall whispering into your ear a few seconds ago.

“Am I interuppting something here?” his gruff voice questions to which you shake your head “Right well come on Halstead, you’re with me” Voight exits the room, allowing you to finally release the smirk you’d been witholding. Jay turns back to you, running a hand along his jawline as he chuckles but you can still see the hunger behind his eyes as he winks “To be continued”.

You take a moment to yourself, running your hand through your hair before allowing yourself to lean your back against the wall to take the weight off. It all seemed to happen so fast that you could barely recollect the situaion but all you knew was you hadn’t felt this way in a very long time. That passion building, waiting for the other to lean in first, the way your skin burns when he touches you and the rate your heart is beating even after he’s no longer here was enough to solidify how bad you wanted him and even better, he wanted you more.

You watch through the one sided glass as Jay and Voight enter the room, Jay now looking as stern as ever, a complete 180 from the man who was just stood before you. He bores his eyes down onto the suspect and you feel your stomach flip at the mere sight of the way he leans his hands down on the desk and towers over the man, finding yourself instinctively chewing at your bottom lip and consumed by thoughts you shouldn't be having at your place of work about your partner.

You continue to watch, time flying by as you sit back and watch Jay do what he does best but despite how well he can calm Voight down it wasn’t working. Voight was loosing it which was spurring the suspect on to act more of an idiot by the minute, clearly getting some form of pleasure of out of he was getting under Voight’s skin.

“Sarge, can we step outside a moment?” Jay interupts Voight who currently had the suspect by the collar of his shirt, his eyes dart to Jay and then back to the man who was laughing in his face. You actually felt for the guy, not knowing what he was letting himself in for but also not being jealous of the pair of them currently trying to interrogate him but clearly failing. Voight shoves the suspect back into the chair and storms out of the room to be shortly followed by Jay, you watch as the man seems to stare directly at you and even though you know he can’t see you, you still feel the chills run down your spine at the emptiness behind his eyes and the slight smile he has on his lips.

You hear Voight and Jay exchanging heated words just outside the door and you flinch when the door to the room you were in swings open “Y/N, you’re up” Voight orders and you instantly feel sick that you would have to face the suspect who clearly had no means of confessing. Normally you’d stand up for yourself but the way Voight held his fists at his sides and the vein throbbing in his neck it was hardly the situation to argue so you did as you were told. Voight takes your place observing and you exit the room to be met by Jay leaning back against the wall, passing you the file as you approach him “you got this?” he asks with a slightly raised brow, you nod and try to ignore the hand he places on your lower back to usher you into the room with a hushed chuckle “you’re the only one I can rely on these days”.

You didn’t have the most experience when it came to interviews so whenever you were in this room you felt on edge, let alone when you know Voight is burning his eyes into your back and watching like a hawk, but something about Jay being by your side made it that tiniest bit easier. You begin to probe the suspect who was now slouching back in his chair, clearly also at ease by the lack of Voight’s presence and you sat across from him instead. You felt ill at the way he was looking at you and the way Jay’s muscles were tightening as he glared at the suspect didn’t go unnoticed either. “Aren’t you a pretty little thing” he comments with a grossly inapropriate smile and you scoff “Don’t look at her, look at me” Jay extends his arm across the desk to get his attention but it doesn’t work so he’s on his feet and leaning over the suspect in seconds “Lose the grin, or I will lose it for you”.

You cough to break the tension, already predicting Voight would crash through the door at any moment to stop the interview but luckily there was no sign. You continued your questioning and it was clear neither of you could get through to him “I can’t be asked to sit here and let you waste my time” you sigh, standing from your seat and grabbing the file to exit “leaving so soon, pretty girl? that’s a shame” he comments and you shake your head with a pity laugh. “Where you’re going, you’ll be the pretty girl” you comment, smile spread as his face drops and you see Jay cover a smirk with his hand “she’s not wrong” he shrugs his shoulders, also standing from his seat to join you in leaving the room “enjoy your time in there buddy” he pats him on the shoulder as he passes “you’re gonna need it”.

You walk down the corridor with Jay, still laughing between yourselves but a sudden silence when Voight appears before you “What the hell was that?” he barks as you stand wide eyed but luckily Jay speaks for you “he’ll confess Sarge, we just need to let him sit” he reassures but Voight wasn’t satisfied “we don’t have time to let him sit Jay, you’re all gonna swan off to this party tonight so we need to get him by then” he demands “What like you’ve always got them to confess the first time?” he comments under his breath and Voight see’s red.

“I think you need to remember who you’re talking to Detective” he presses his finger into Jay’s chest and you step in “Sarge, you just gotta trust us. We know what we’re doing” you can see he is slightly taken back by the way you defend Jay but he isn’t shocked “just get it done” he groans before storming back into his office to leave you and Jay alone again. "thanks” Jay mumbles, frustration laced through his whisper, you lay your hand on his back and you notice him slightly relax under your touch as you offer him a reassuring smile and a shrug of your shoulder “always”.

***

Tonight was some big police annual gala and usually you were buzzing for it but tonight just wasn’t the night for it. You and Jay had spent hours trying to break down the walls of the suspect only for it to get you no where, you felt defeated and tensions were running high. It fell to Voight and Olinsky to eventually crack him but after some of their ‘persuasion’ of course.. This left you feeling not as guilty for not getting to him as they clearly used different methods to you and Jay so were incomparable in terms of techniques.

Even when you had a spare minute to yourself you find yourself replaying what happened with Jay in the observation room, the way he had you pinned and the hunger you could see and feel in the way he grabbed you set something off inside you. You’d barely been alone with him since then due to the busyness of the case but the occasional glances and minor touches as you passed his desk was making the tension unbareable but you still couldn’t ignore the pit in the bottom of your stomach. You still had somewhat of a boyfriend, even if he was a piece of shit who didn’t make you feel wanted, he was still your boyfriend and to your annoyance it wasn’t sitting right with you.

Jay was everything you needed and you knew he could give you everything you wanted and so much so that it scared you. He was perfect in your eyes and you felt as though you didn’t deserve him, you’d never be able to tell him this as you knew he wouldn’t stand for it but you couldn’t help the way you felt. You were so defeated that you felt as though you deserved a trashy relationship and weren’t good enough to be with someone like Jay. This made you feel worse as no matter how much you desired him you still couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt.

You tried to rack your brain to think of the last time your boyfriend Mike had made you feel half as good as Jay does but you couldn’t even think of anything close. You were trying so hard to give him an inch of self worth but there was nothing, he hadn’t made you feel wanted or even like he loved you yet you still felt bad for showing interest in Jay. You’d have to put your feelings for your partner to one side and no matter how impossible it seemed you’d try to convince yourself he wasn’t for you.

You’d managed to escape the district without anyone seeing you and by anyone you meant Jay. Unlocking your car and dumping your bag into the back, you jump when you see Jay standing there as you slam the truck down in frustration “You trying to kill me?” you hit his shoulder as you pass but he doesn’t move, instead his eyes scan as you slightly graze him to try and get to the passenger side “You’re just gonna leave without saying anything?” you could feel your heart pull at the hurt behind his words, the concern sweeping across his brows and the way he held his hands together like he did when he was nervous. “I need to get ready for tonight” you fake smile but he wasn’t buying it.

“So you’re going back to him?” he kicks a stone on the ground and you follow his gaze as he looks back up at you “I don’t have a choice Jay” you plead, causing him to cup your cheeks in his hands to force you to look at him “Of course you have a choice Y/N. You always have a choice” he reassures but you stand in silence, unsure how to respond “If you’re scared of him, I’ll come back with you or hell I’ll go and collect your stuff for you and you can stay with me for a bit” he runs his thumb gently across your cheek and for that split second you can’t hold back your desires as you find yourself leaning into him.

You manage to catch yourself and put your hands against his chest to stop “It was a mistake Jay, I’m sorry for leading you on but it’s not gonna happen”.

You pull yourself away from him and open the passenger door to get inside before he has a chance to pull you back “ That’s bullshit and you know it Y/N” he leans against your door, speaking through your car window but you keep your eyes focused on turning the key to start the engine before mumbling “I’m sorry” and driving away.

You look into your mirror, watching as Jay stands there defeated with his hands hung low and his head dipped “You’re a fucking idiot Y/N” you curse yourself before taking another look in the mirror to see Jay was gone.

***

You flicked through the dresses in your wardrobe, really not being in the mood for the party was in a strange was urging you to put more effort in to hope it would lift your spirits. You’d poured yourself a few glasses of your favourite mixer and had some music playing in the background to assist in your motivation. Of course you were home alone, what else is new..

You were used to coming home to an empty apartment, after moving in with Mike after just a few dates there was always such excitement to return from work to see him lounging on the sofa and ready to engulf you in his arms but that didn’t last long. He would be out until late, without even so much of a text message which would leave you sitting around waiting before eventually giving up in the small hours of the morning to retire to bed alone. You found it funny at this point, the classic ‘gotta laugh or you’ll cry’ really was how you dealt with it and you thought that was for the best.

You’d stumbled upon a little satin black dress that you’d bought for your birthday last year but due to staying late at work you never got the chance to wear it so it would be perfect for tonight. After a little touch of make up and keeping your hair simple you stopped to examine yourself in the mirror and for the first time in a while you were surprsingly pleased at who was looking back at you. You’d hardly bothered with your appearance anymore, going out to a party was a rareity so it always did seem to take you back a bit when you looked like this and you were feeling good.

After taking another sip of your drink your mind started to wander, Jay creeping up behind you and snaking his arms round your waist as you admire yourself. His lips pressing into your neck as he whispers into your ear of how good you look and how lucky he is to have you sent the chills down your spine. You’d wrap your hands around Jay’s forearms as he trails his lips along your shoulder, lifting your hair to the other side to allow him access to your exposed skin as he nips lightly at the corner to make you giggle.

You were so lost in your thoughts that when the door slammed you almost dropped your drink in fright, you quickly downed the remainder before heading out of the bedroom and into the main open place space. Running your hands over your dress to smooth out any creases you look up to see Mike ripping the tie from around his neck and shoving it onto the counter. You stand in the doorway, waiting to see if he notices you and gives you the attention you now so desperately crave, even if it wasn’t from him.

Instead, he heads for the kitchen and pours himself a drink, takes the glass and slumps on the sofa without so much as a second look at you. You clear your throat to get him to look up but still nothing. With your hands on your hips you strut over to stand in front of the TV so he had no choice but to see you blocking his view. He takes a sip from the glass and shrugs, still trying to look round you to see the pointless comedy show that was playing on the screen “going somewhere?” he questions, eyes still averted from you. You lean into your hip and raise your brows down at him “It’s the gala? You’re meant to be my plus one?”. He takes another sip with a shake of his head “Don’t know what you’re talking about”.

This is the first time you’ve spoken in hours and he already has that look of grimace on his face, looking straight through you as if you’re not even there. Luckily, the liquid courage had made it easier to deal with as you let his words bounce off you, the thoughts of Jay quickly making their way back into your mind. How his jaw would drop if he walked through the door and you greeted him like this, infact even if you were in joggers and a sweater he would still tell you how gorgeous you looked. He’d wrap you in his arms, running his fingertips up and down your sides as he admired his girl standing in front of him with the confidence that no matter how many guys drooled over her she would still go back to him. You wanted to be that girl.

“Just change your shirt, we’re leaving in 5 minutes” you demand, heading into the kitchen yourself to grab yourself another drink as you had a feeling you’d be needing it. You hear him grumble something as he clambers from the sofa and drags himself into the bedroom, a part of you shocked he actually did as he was asked but the other part regretting reminding him as the thought of spending the night alone with Jay was sounding all the more tempting.

A few moments go by and you’re sitting at the table waiting for him, legs swinging with your head resting on your hand as your mind is clouded with the thoughts of the all too familiar detective. Was he going to be wearing a suit? Would he need help choosing a shirt and tie combo? You’d sit on the bed as he’d groan into the mirror when he couldn’t work out which one looked better. Turning to you to ask for your opinion as you tie the best looking one round his neck, feeling his breath on your lips as he glares intently down at you. His hands finding their way to your hips as you button the top few buttons of his shirt up before hooking his collar back over the tie. Feeling him watching you’re every move as his grasp on you tightens, sitting back down onto the bed to pull you onto his lap. You swing your legs over each of his as he leans back and pulls you on top of him, his arms keeping you on him as you try to escape as you tease about how you were going to be late-

“How’s this?” a voice interrupts your thoughts, looking up to see Mike in a fresh white shirt tucked into black jeans “No tie?” you ask, slightly dissapointed but he scoffs “It’s not that fancy, don’t know why you’re so dressed up” he comments, feeling the all too normal pit in your stomach as you brush it off “lets go then so we can get this over with”.

From the moment you arrived you felt on edge, you hadn’t seen Jay yet and you couldn’t ignore the way your heart dropped at the thought of him not being there. Deep down he was the only reason you’d dressed up, the motivation for you to be there and the only thing you could look forward to was seeing him but still no sign. You were stood at the bar, watching as Mike eyed up every girl that passed like they were piece of meat and it made you feel sick.

You stood chatting with Kim who was soon joined by Adam, draping his arm round her waist as they stood opposite you to make conversation. You could feel Mike wasn’t paying attention and had even taken a seat at one of the bar stools so he wasn’t even part of the conversation. You couldn’t help the thoguhts drift back into your mind, how you knew if you were with Jay he would proudly have his arm round you when you were at an event or even have his hand protecvitely resting on your lower back to let you know he was still there as a form comfort. He’d whisper in how he can’t wait to get you alone, making you giggle as his breath hits your ear to make the hairs on your neck stand on edge. He’d love to tell people how you met at work but always knew there was something more, others would comment on how smitten he was with you and how he looked at you with those doting eyes like you were his whole world and he wanted everyone to know.

Kim hits your arm in laughter to bring you out of your thoughts but Adam was looking like he could murder. Glaring at Mike like he wanted to lay into him, scoffing at the disrespect and the poor way he was treating his friend. You slightly dreaded how Jay would react and honestly hoped they wouldn’t see each other but it was too late.

You were chatting away, in efforts to try and distract Adam from the way Mike was behaving when you saw him appear through the crowd from over Adam’s shoulder. It was like a cliche movie, you zoned into him like he was the only one in the room, Kim’s words fading into the background as you could almost hear the laughter falling from his lips as he engages in conversation. You suddenly felt safe, like you knew nothing would happen to you as long as he was there and you just wanted to be tucked under his arm for the rest of the night but you had to play it cool.

Watching as he heads towards you, drink in one hand with the other stuffed in his pants pocket. The crisp black shirt that was paired with a black tie finished it off, that man could look good in anything but seeing him in all black flicked a switch inside you and gave you that all too familiar feeling of the craving you had for him. His eyes widened when he saw you standing there, roaming your body and admiring every inch before Adam nudged him to get his attention “Bro, you didn’t look at me like that” he acted hurt, his hands on his heart as he pleaded “I just want Halstead to look at me like he looks at Y/N. Is that too much to ask?” he pretends to wipe a tear as you roll your eyes “Look like that in a dress and I’ll think about it” Jay comments, still with his gaze on you as you feel the heat rise to your cheeks “You look alright too I guess” you tease but this is when Mike decides he finally wants to join in.

“You must be Jack” he extends his hand out to Jay who looks at him with a laughter in disgust “It’s Jay” he grimaces a smile and you try to hide yours by taking another sip of your drink. Mike drops his hand as Jay doesn’t meet his gesture as Kim breaks the silence “Who wants another drink?” she asks and you raise your empty glass “You’ve had enough, don’t want you making a fool of yourself” Mike mocks, expecting others to laugh at his comment but no one does.

You notice Jay’s fists clench at his sides and if Adam didn’t look happy before, he certaintly doesn’t now. Kim places a hand to his arm to calm him down and you only wish you could do the same to Jay but instead you watch as he eyes Mike, only imagining the thoughts that were going through his head as his nostrils flare. “I’m gonna head to the bathroom” Mike announces before excusing himself, leaving you stood in silence as Kim hands you another drink with that familiar sympathetic smile “I’m gonna kill him” Adam scoffs and Jay hums in agreement “You’re telling me”.

It had been a while since Mike left your side, you’d barely noticed until Kim commented on how long he had been. You took a quick scan of the room but couldn’t see him anywhere and it’s like the feeling in your gut was trying to tell you something as you find yourself heading towards the bathroom before you can think. You march your way through the people, ignoring the calls from behind you and too focused on what you knew you were about to see. You slam the stall doors open one by one but he wasn’t there, a sigh of relief as you didn’t want to catch him out at one of your work parties was soon ruined as you hear a moan coming from down the hall. You storm towards the noises, blocking them out as you get closer and turn the corner to see Mike holding an unfamiliar girl up against the wall with her dress hiked up around her waist.

You can’t move. As much as you want to scream and run, it’s like your feet are glued to the floor and you can’t move an inch. Instead you stand and watch them all over each other, him with a dare you say smile on his face as their lips intertwine. A sudden noise from behind you forces him to look in your direction, doing the quickest double take when he see’s you standing there but he still didn’t stop. Instead he dug his head further into her shoulder with every thrust, stopping to look up at you with an evil glint in his eye as he clearly enjoyed the fact you’d caught him and wanted you to watch.

You finally come to your senses and headed back to the bar, no urgency in your walk, anger in your head or even tears in your eyes as you kept your head high and acted as if nothing has happened. As you approach you see the heads turn to you with concern “Where the hell were you?” Kim questions with a hushed tone “Did you find him?”. You shake your head “Want me and Jay to go and look for him?” Adam suggests and you chuckle “If I want to find a body in the river tomorrow, I’ll give you a shout”.

You down your drink in one as Adam and Kim resume their conversation, Jay brings himself over to you and rests his hand on your lower back as he leans into you “You wanna get some fresh air?” he asks and you nod “like you wouldn’t believe”. He keeps his hand pressed into your back as he guides you out of the room and towards the exit into the majestic grounds of the hall. You can’t help but constantly look through the faces to try and spot Mike but there was no sign, probably still with that girl in the bathrooms or even better he’s taken her home to the apartment you shared and was fucking her into your bedspread.

As soon as the fresh air hits you it feels like a sigh of relief, it was just you and Jay with no one else around, a complete contrast from the noisy crowded party and you wouldn’t want it any other way. There was a side to you that wanted to blurt it all out, knowing Jay would storm in there and lay into Mike was something you really wanted to see. The anger rising in his body as he clenches his fists, the vein in his neck popping as you confess or the desperation in his eyes as he asks you to tell him where he is, but there was the other side that wanted to keep it bottled up.

You knew the second option was wrong as it would just be another plan of self destruction and there was no way you could go back to that apartment tonight. There was only one person you knew you wanted to leave with and that same person was now the only one standing before you.

‘Fuck it’ you thought to yourself and there it was, the moment you built up the courage to push your lips onto his. His arms clung at your waist from the sudden contact, pulling you into him but soon retracting when he realised what was happening “What’s going on? You sa-” he began but you leant in to try and cut him off but he wasn’t having it. His hand was still pressed into your back so you were inches apart, his eyes flicking between your lips and back up to your eyes but he was trying to control himself and make sure it was what you wanted. Normally this would make your legs weak at how sweet and considerate you knew he was but you needed him, you longed for him, you craved him and now you had the fear he didn’t want you.

“You said you didn’t want this?” he questions with a huff “I was lying” you smile “I want you. You know I want you Jay” you yet again lean into him but he puts his hands on your waist firmly to keep you apart “Has something happened?”. Without words he already knows, the way your breath hitches and you harshly swallow was enough to set off the rage in him “Did he do something to you?” you can see his temper rising while trying to stay calm for you “Did he hurt you Y/N?”.

The panic sets in as you see his anger grow “I swear to god Y/N, if he laid a single finger on you”. You instinctively put your hand to his cheek to ground him “Jay he hasn’t touched me” you reassure, wording it carefully to not say ‘he hasn’t hurt me’ as after what you’ve just seen that would take a certain person to not be hurt. He relaxes ever so slightly under your touch and confession but he was still rigid, the frustration running through his body as he tries to scan your face for answers but you’re giving him nothing.

“Can we just forget him?” you try to push past it, moving your hand down his chest and fiddling with one of the buttons “Or do you not want me?” the crack in your voice kills him, there shouldnt be a shadow of doubt in your mind about how bad he wants you, he’s needed you for so long that he should be taking you to be his right now but there was something stopping him.

“Of course I want you Y/N, are you kidding?” he grips at your waist to further cement his words “I want you so fucking bad that you’re all I can think about” he groans as you pull him closer to you by his shirt collar and just as your lips are about to meet you hear that all too familiar voice call out for you from inside the party. Your head snaps round so fast you’re surpsied you didn’t pull a muscle and the grip on Jay’s collar tells him you dont want to see Mike.

He switches the position so he was closest to the door, his body shielding you as you cower behind him as he was the only one he could trust to protect you and be the one between you and Mike.

Mike spots you through the door, clutching onto Jays shirt like your life depended on it but not in a way through fear. You weren’t scared of him as you knew nothing would happen to you as long as Jay was there but it was through a nervousness as you just wanted to forget the situation ever happened and just cut ties but he clearly wasn’t feeling the same way. He points his finger to you as he storms through the open doors, cursing yourself for having left them open as he may not have though to look out if they were closed.

“Turn around and head back inside” Jay warns, keeping one hand behind his back and ensuring you stayed there “Get away from my girlfriend buddy” Mike scoffs which amuses Jay as he smirks “Sorry that’s my fault for not being clear. Turn around. Head home and stay the fuck away from her”.

You step around Jay but he still keeps an arm on you which you’re more that grateful for “Was she good?” you ask, confidence rising knowing he could no longer bilittle you how he pleased “What?” he questions and you roll your eyes “How was she? Tight enough for you?” you notice Jay straighten up beside you, clearly realizing what’s happened and increasing his anger and determination to end the man standing in front of him.

You place a hand to Jay’s upper arm and squeeze lightly in reassurance. “Go home, I’ll send for my stuff” you scorn but Mike doesn’t move “I don’t know if you heard her but she said go home” Jay takes a step towards him and as much as you trust Jay and know how he acts, this is the first time you’ve questioned if he will be able to stop himself. “You really don’t want me to tell you again” Jay threatens, Mike matches Jay’s step and closes the gap between them when you interject and stand between the pair with a hand on each of their chests.

Looking up to see the fear in Mike’s eyes but the anger and darkness behind Jay’s “Go. Home” you instruct to Mike who pauses for a second to look down at you and then back up to Jay “You’re lucky she’s here otherwise you wouldn’t live to see another day” Jay smirks, putting an emphasis on every word he spits out at Mike.

The three of you stand in silence, watching as Mike and Jay stare at each other was laughable. Mike didn’t stand a single chance again Jay on a normal day let alone now, he was full of rage and needed an outlet so you feel a sigh of relief when Mike takes a step back and turns to head back inside “If I hear you’ve even breathed near her. I promise it will be the last breath you ever take” Jay calls out to him, his lips puling in an evil smile to which you hit him on the chest. His expression soon changes when he looks down at you and you feel your heart skip a beat, the vengeance in his eyes that told you the inner battle to control himself was getting impossible to ignore.

“I’m sorry” he blurts out, the least of what you were expecting him to say, the softness as he reaches to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and continuing to trace your jawline with his fingertips. You loop your arms around his neck, leaving one to pull him closer to you as his arms find their way back to your hips with an urgency “I don’t want your sorry” you comment, his thumb runs along your bottom lip as he lightly tugs on the corner at the roughness of his skin “I want you”.

He didn’t need telling twice, his grip on your waist pulled you onto him. Your legs wrapping round his waist as he steaded you against the wall, rocking his hips into yours as his lips made their way along your collarbone to lightly nip at the skin causing you to yelp “I’m going to show you how you deserve to be treated” he moaned into the crook of your neck with another light blow to the now damp skin from his lips “and we both know, it will be only me that can show you that”.

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demonfamilytherapist · 2 years ago

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I'm not sure if this been ever ask before, I saw a relationship of duck with lucifer specially about lesson 20. When duck is back and the newtfire shenanigan specially part where Lucifer ask to be order. What duck response tho? Mine kinda thought is barking one since is random mind response when I saw the option.

Barking would 100% be her first thought, but Duck tries to avoid teasing Lucifer too hard when he’s being vulnerable… whether that vulnerability is willing or not. But obviously, she’s not going to go for the kiss option because of what happens last time…

So, one option left!

Tags/warnings: Duck is she/they, miscommunication and relationship issues, the aphrodisiac and lesson 22 spoilers in general.

Duck and Lucifer, 22-C

“No need to be so jumpy, Lucifer,” Duck said.

If Lucifer thought he was being subtle, he was sorely mistaken. His cheeks were pinker than a flamingo, his breathing was forced, and even when their lives had been in danger, he’d never flinched as he had when their fingers touched.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Lucifer said after a long pause, schooling his features back into a neutral mask. Duck couldn’t help being a little disappointed. As much as they hated the aphrodisiac tainting their first meal back in the Devildom, at least it was making Lucifer a little more honest.

And wasn’t that the core of their problems?

“…What? Why are you staring at me like that?” Lucifer observed her closely and Duck shrugged. Clearly they’d lost some of their edge being away for so long too, unable to hide the way they watched for any little detail out of place with Lucifer.

“You can be surprisingly cute sometimes, you know that?” Duck asked, playing it off. If Lucifer was gonna hide being a facade, so would they.

“…It’s not often one would describe me as cute,” Lucifer said. His face flitted between several emotions, each to brief to read, but settled on flustered. “Don’t get me wrong though. I’m not saying I don’t like it… compared to being told I’m not cute, I’d rather be told that I am…”

Lucifer and Duck stood in silence.

This was not the way Duck had predicted this conversation going.

It did not seem to be the way Lucifer had planned this conversation to go.

“…Wait, what am I even saying?” Lucifer muttered to himself. Duck thought it was a very good question.

“Does it seem like the aphrodisiac hasn’t been affecting me at all?” Lucifer asked, pulling himself up to his full height. “Well, that’s because I’ve made it look that way. I’ve merely hidden it.” He had recovered enough to smile at her, all smug, and Duck was torn between letting him have his little win or pointing out that no, he hadn’t been hiding it at all. The only honesty Duck had gotten from Lucifer, and it was being forced out by overpriced fandom merch.

“Lucifer…”

“The truth is that there’s a fire raging inside of me,” he continued before they could finish their thought, his voice gaining momentum. “When I look at you, my chest tightens, and I feel as thought I can barely breathe… This is all your fault.”

The words, even lacking any real malice behind them, were still enough to make Duck step back. Lucifer’s eyes flicked between Duck and the office door, biting his tongue.

“Ugh…” He shook his head, fist gripping his vest as though just the thought of a repeat of last time was enough to make his symptoms worse.

Symptoms of an aphrodisiac. If Duck thought of it as that and that alone, maybe this situation would feel more manageable.

“The longer I’m around you, the harder it’s become to fight back these feelings…” Lucifer practically choked on the words, forced into showing vulnerability around the person he’d probably least like to right now.

Duck wanted to apologise even though this wasn’t her fault, but Lucifer shook his head. For once, seeming to understand her thoughts.

“I’ve finally reached the point where I can’t contain them anymore.” His words were now so low she had to strain to hear them, but Duck wasn’t getting any closer, not just yet. Lucifer met her eyes regretfully, like he wanted to take back his words, like he wanted to stop what he was about to say, like he wanted to go back in time and stop this syrup business before it started.

“So please…”

Duck’s heart beat thrummed through her whole body at Lucifer’s soft voice, gentle expression, openness.

“Master, give me an order…”

Duck tried really, really hard not to react to the word master in any way.

She remembered the feeling of Lucifer’s lips - soft, because he’d never allow them to be chapped, colder than a human’s, and moving against hers with so much calculated intention. Bile rose in her throat and she swallowed it back.

She thought, spitefully, of throwing Lucifer’s vulnerability back in his face, of making him bark like a dog, but immediately regretted it. This was what they’d wanted - Lucifer open, Lucifer trusting, Lucifer relying on them - and they wouldn’t punish him for it, even if this side of him had to be forced out.

“…How about a welcome back hug?” she said, clearing her throat. They repeated the order, putting more of a command into it - “Lucifer, hug me.”

Lucifer let out a breath Duck hadn’t realised he’d been holding and smiled in that stupid, rare, genuine way that never failed to make her heart skip a beat.

“I’d been hoping to do just that, actually.”

In an instant, Duck was surrounded by darkness - Lucifer’s cape settling around them as one of his hands came to rest on the small of their back, the other on their neck, gently guiding Duck to rest their head against him. They couldn’t see his face, which was probably the point, but tucked against his chest like this they could feel the rise and fall of his breath, the hammering of his heart.

“…After you went back to the human world, did you ever think of me?” Lucifer asked, so quietly Duck wasn’t entirely sure she was meant to hear. “Not of my brothers, but of me?”

Duck let her arms wrap around his waist, between the heavy fabric of the cape and the solid muscle of his back. Duck never really forgot how much taller Lucifer was than her, but she felt it now in the way he held her.

“Tell me that you did. Tell me I’ve been on your mind since the moment you left.” Even now, Duck could feel a certain amount of self-restraint. Not in the words, but in the way his fingers flexed against them, like he ached to pull them even closer. “…Because I don’t think I could handle it otherwise.”

They lingered in the hug. Duck didn’t answer and Lucifer didn’t push.

She wasn’t sure how long it was before they pulled away, wasn’t sure who initiated the movement. Their eyes met once more, Lucifer still flushed, his hands reluctant to part from her-

And then the sense of magic snapping filled the room, and Lucifer pulled back as if he’d been shocked.

“The fire inside of me… it subsided.”

Duck couldn’t hide her sigh of relief, nor the way she sagged against Lucifer’s desk with her eyes slipping shut. This was not how she’d intended her first night back to go. Fixing another mess… just a regular night at the House of Lamentation already.

Even with her eyes closed, Duck could sense Lucifer’s hesitation before a gloved hand rested on her shoulder.

“Hmph, honestly. What was Levi thinking bringing something like that into this house?”

Duck snorted and opened their eyes to Lucifer’s weak smile, before it faded with a sigh.

“After everything that’s happened, I too am so… incredibly… tired…”

Duck opened her mouth - to offer a coffee or a rest, she wasn’t sure - when two familiar screams echoed through the walls.

“What was that?”

“More work for me, I think…” Duck muttered, already going to rise, but Lucifer’s hand on their shoulder pushed down lightly.

“I have a bad feeling about this…” he said and yeah, obviously - only confirmed when Asmo burst in.

“Lucifer! Help!”

Duck was only a little guilty about being relieved it wasn’t their name being called.

“Levi caught Mammon stealing the bottle of syrup he had stashed away, they fought over it, and it broke, and now they’re both covered in syrup!”

How?

“I didn’t hear a word you just said, I know nothing about it, and I’m going to keep it that way.”

Ah, so it was Duck’s job then.

“Duck, that goes for you too, understood?”

Duck looked up to see Lucifer’s exhausted, determined glare and scoffed.

“You heard the boss, Asmo.”

“But! Awww, come on…”

#duck #obey me mc #my writing #damn it’s been a while #I’m rusty at writing duck #most of the dialogue is the same with minor changes

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get-shiggy-with-it · 4 years ago

Text

Just My Type Pt. 2

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x Reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: dom/sub undertones, dom reader, subby shig, light mommy kink, anal fingering, blow jobs, smut ahead so ya know be prepared, shigs is kinda an incel but we love him anyway, 18+ MINORS DNI

Summary: Shigaraki is a full course meal that showed up on your doorstep and you are more than a little inclined to devour him whole.

Part 1

AO3 Mirror

You liked to think you understood Tomura Shigaraki.

Probably a bit better than he understood himself if you were being honest.

It wasn’t that you were particularly adept at reading people, but you paid attention and he was generally a lot more obvious that he realized. You started to get the feeling your client-turned-sometimes-boss had a bit of a thing for you not too long after you started working for him.

Mainly because he stared.

All the time.

You weren’t certain if he was completely conscious of it, and at first you sort of assumed it was just a weird, somewhat unnerving habit. It took you all of a week to figure out, though, that his one visible eye did not seem to focus on anything other than you.

Initially, you had been wary of him. This was a slightly more dangerous clientele than you were used to, but the rest of the League warmed up to you quickly enough. The true realization came with the little, silent fits of jealousy—nails raking down his neck and scowls so harsh they were nearly audible—whenever anyone else, usually Dabi, showed the same interest.

And being the type of person you were, it was hard to resist pushing those newly revealed buttons just once.

Well.

More than a once.

But!

All that pressing and goading had finally culminated to this.

Needless to say, you felt more than a little thrill when Tomura had finally taken the bait and let you drag him all the way back to shore like a fish on a hook.

And now here he was, beached and floundering, as chilled air like ocean waves rocked against your ankles.

So yes, you understood Tomura Shigaraki.

He wanted you, as much as loathed to admit it.

And you wanted him too, but not so much that you were willing to go down without a bit of a fight.

“Are you just gonna stand there?” you asked.

You could see the shiver your voice sent through him, like lungfuls of sweet spring air after a lifetime underground.

“What?” he mumbled, one hand holding the clasp on his pants closed and the other reaching up to tear at his neck.

Always so predictable.

You hummed at the gesture and leaned back to pull the door open a bit more. “Come on, you’re letting all my heat out.”

His eyes narrowed significantly, not so subtly flicking down to your chest before meeting your eyes—suspicion clear as the tent in his pants, but a good amount of cautiously pleasant surprise as well.

You dipped your head down, trying to get a better look under the mop of his hair and dark hood to see the dusty rose blush creeping up his neck. His scarred and cracking skin grew pinker with every passing second. The smile on your face was impossible to hide.

“I caught you in the window of one of the shops like six blocks in,” you said by way of explanation and waved him forward once again. “You can stand out there and freeze if you want, but something tells me you might be a little more comfortable if you came in.”

This was a calculated game, but no one ever got anywhere without taking a few risks.

Your stress on the last two words and the way your tongue peaked out from behind your teeth was thankfully not lost on him.

“Fine,” Tomura swallowed once as if this really was the last thing he wanted to be doing, and you watched his throat bob as he finally shuffled over the threshold.

You liked the way he looked here, harsh but not out of place in the domestic setting. Surrounded by the scent of crisp air and clean laundry, you breathed deeply to catch the faint hint of cheap hand soap and dust and that strange, sweet smell that always tickled your nose when he got close. Tomura took a long breath of his own when you pressed closer, the top of your leg brushing just enough at the front of his jeans to feel his dick twitch.

Yeah, he probably thought you hadn’t noticed him lifting your coat to his face when you left for the bathroom. That you hadn’t overheard Kurogiri chewing him out for all the different bottles of detergent littering the backroom like he wasn’t scouring convenience stores to find the exact one you used. Didn’t know you knew where all those ‘lost’ gloves or elastic ties or even your socks once when you’d taken them off to dry after a storm had ended up.

It was hard to tell with him whether those strange behaviors meant he liked you or really wanted you dead. But you’d dared to assume the former and god it felt good to be right.

“You like to watch, don’t you?” you asked, letting the words cascade from your lips.

“Maybe. You like to be watched, don’t you?” he rasped, clearly trying to maintain some semblance of control but your chest was brushing against him and you could hear his mouth going dry.

You raised your brow and leaned just a fraction closer, ready to let the last of the chips fall.

“Maybe,” you mused, your lips just barely grazing his. “I don’t mind if it’s you.”

And finally, finally you saw the little glimmer you’d been waiting for.

Tomura Shigaraki was beginning to understand.

You could see it in his eyes, the dawning realization. Reluctant still and forever mistrustful, but coming around. All those nights he spent observing you when he thought you weren’t looking—shrouded in smoke and keeping a safe distance—you’d never been aiming to get away. You’d never been hiding or ready to run.

You were always trying to get closer to him.

The way you left so soon when he sequestered himself away in his room or how you let Dabi’s hand creep just far enough up your thigh before making your escape—all of it, was just to catch his eye.

Just playing your cards—working with the hand you were dealt.

Tomura might have been watching you, but you had always been watching right back. Really, it was a wonder how he ever missed the way your gaze was trained on him nearly every second from the time you set foot in the bar to the ever unfortunate moment you slipped back out into the cold, lonely street.

How many nights had you been waiting for this?

Laying awake, thinking of the way his scarlet gaze warmed your skin like the cinnamon in Kurogiri’s nightly cocktails. You’d seen what those hands could do, watched them turn glasses and tables to ash, but that only raised the stakes. And wasn’t it so much more fun that way?

“Well,” you leaned in, tilting your head so that your mouths were centimeters away from touching, “do you want to see more?”

You were watching the levee break. Cracks forming up that skeptical and distant outer shell and letting desire leak out from every line and scar. The air was silent and heavy in the way it often is before a storm. You wondered if you’d be struck down by errant lighting before you got a chance to suck his tongue like you’d been dreaming of.

His fist closed around your wrist, pinky poised threateningly over the skin. You let him hold you, not struggling in the slightest under his grip. Tomura could have you like that if he wanted. Could believe this was forceful, that he wasn’t giving himself away. You would gladly let him, but you had something else in mind.

Something you were almost certain he’d enjoy more.

All the deliciousness of the torture you planned to drown him in was completely dependent on him offering you the reigns. If he wouldn’t, well, you’d take what you could get. Encouragingly, he didn’t move further than his grip on your arm.

Instead, he stared blankly and tugged you closer grunting under his breath, though never fully closing the distance. It took a second before your brain processed the slight pout of his bottom lip, the catch in his breath the way he subconsciously ground against your thigh.

Oh.

You’d said it before and you’d say it again: god, it felt good to be right.

Coming to your door was his first move tonight, and now it was your turn to up the stakes.

Grinning, you closed the small gap between your bodies and let your mouths slip against each other, filling in the cracks of his lips with your tongue. Tomura groaned when the weight of it slipped across his teeth just once before you pulled away from him altogether.

There was barely an inch between you, but that would always be too much now.

“You never answered me, Tomura.” Saying his name made you shiver. You wondered what it would feel like when you screamed it too. “Do you want to see more?”

“Yes,” he nodded and surged forward, knocking your teeth together and nipping sharply at your lower lip. “More, now.”

Your grips switched, his fingers going limp around your wrist while you took hold of his and led him towards the door at the end of your hall. The soft bedroom light leaked out and illuminated the halo of baby hairs at the crown of his head. You longed to run your hands through it. By the time you got him safely inside—sat cornered on the edge of your mattress—you realized there was nothing stopping you from doing just that.

So you did.

Tugged his hood down and ran your fingers across his scalp, grabbing a handful and pulling firmly. The noise it earned you had goosebumps erupting down your arms.

With his pretty face revealed, you took a moment to drink him in. The small lamp lit him from the left, leaving one side in shadow and those red eyes were so dark you could have drunk them down like expensive wine. Slowly, you lowered your lips to his scarred forehead and pressed them softly against the rough skin.

“What would the others say, hm?” you hummed, stroking his cheek as you leaned back to look into his eyes again. “If they knew their boss was tailing around the new hire just to get a glimpse of some ass.”

Tomura stayed resolutely silent, grumbling under his breath as he lunged forward to slip his tongue back into your mouth. Your hand in his hair tightened though and his thighs tensed below you.

“Seems a bit desperate, huh?”

He growled again but moved a hand to the open front of his pants, palming slowly against the growing bulge there. The swathe of light grey fabric covering his cock was already sporting a sizable stain that you were dying to taste.

Feeling merciful, you dragged your tongue along his sharp jaw and nipped at his earlobe, “Do you really want me that bad?”

You weren’t sure what exactly was the nail in the coffin. It might have been the words themselves, or the soft, honest tone with which you whispered them, or even just the way your chest brushed against him, but that was the moment his resolve finally shattered.

“It’s your fault,” he whimpered, hips bucking up into his own hand, “you’re the one that did this, so fix it.”

You could only guess he was referring to the absolute rager he was sporting and the drool threatening to spill from his ragged lips.

“Oh, you want me to make it all better?” you were having a hard time keeping it together yourself with Tomura talking like that.

He nodded furiously and you took the opening to lick back into his mouth, tracing his teeth and biting softly on his rough bottom lip. When you pulled back, a silvery string of saliva glinted between your mouths, only breaking when you moved to roll your desk chair over and plop down on the cushions.

Tomura’s eyes immediately drifted between your legs as you peeled off your thin shorts and spread them, propped on either arm, fingers digging absently into the meat of your thighs.

“You didn’t get to see much before did you?” he didn’t answer but you hadn’t expected him to. “How about we start where we left off, but I want to see that pretty cock this time while you stroke it for me.”

“Oh fuck ,” he gasped and tugged his jeans down so they pooled at his ankles.

You smiled as he cursed. One hand still gripped his length, but you could see how thick it was from between his fingers. Long and hard and leaking so much onto his stomach where it rested. The other fisted in his hoodie, pulling it up to give you a glimpse at the lovely musculature of his torso.

So many delicious surprises, all in one night.

Your gaze drifted between his face and the hand slowly pumping his length. Every now and again, he’d stop to run his thumb over the tip or squeeze harshly at the base. Your hand moved too, sliding your underwear to the side and giving him a full view of just how soaked he made you.

“Is that how you usually touch yourself?” you asked quietly, slipping two fingers down your slit and coating them in slick.

“Yeah,” his voice was already so wrecked that you shivered at the single word.

Your fingers found your clit, drawing languid circles over the bundle of nerves and groaning in relief. “Tell me what you think about.”

“You,” he responded simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

To his credit, it probably was but you wanted to hear him say it.

“What about me?”

Your slow rhythm sped up to match Tomura’s hand now steadily jerking his dick, wet slaps and various groans emanating from both of you.

“Your...mouth,” he mumbled, vision locked on the movement of your wrist as your fingers began to dip inside only to travel back to your clit and repeat the motion. “How it would feel on me, how wet and warm and tight your throat would be.”

You let out a long moan of encouragement and nodded for him to continue, grinding down on your own wrist as he spoke.

“I think about how you parade around like a whore every time you come over— shit —and how you’d look bent over the bar top,” he spat as he ran his palm over the head of his cock.

Normally you’d have clapped back at the insult but you were distracted by the way the muscles in his stomach were twitching violently with every stroke of his hand.

“That’s not all is it?” you asked between breaths.

Your skin was buzzing, warmth rising to your cheeks as sweat broke out on your forehead despite the chill of the room. Tomura keyed you up in a way no one else ever had.

“No,” his eyes were redder than usual, glazed over and pricked in the corner with frustrated tears. He wanted to cum so badly, you could see it in the set of his feet on the floor, forcing his hips up but not getting quite what he craved.

“Come on, Tomura,” you brought your other hand down to rub quickly at your clit, “tell me what you need.”

“Touch me,” he hissed, head thrown back, exposing the graceful column of his scarred throat. “I want to feel you.”

He was panting, head thrown back and mouth open with just his eyes cast down at you. You wanted a painting of this scene—Tomura, ruined and starving for you. Wanted it framed and hung in your foyer so it was the first thing you saw coming home.

How could you deny such a pretty boy?

“Alright, I suppose you’ve earned it,” you sighed in mock annoyance and stood, honestly surprised he’d restrained himself from jumping you this long. Discarding your shirt elicited a series of wines as you stood completely bare for him.

You thought for a moment about what you should do first, before settling on your knees between his legs and batting his slowly stroking hand away. Tomura stared, wide eyed and slack jawed down as you took his cock in your hands and admired him for a moment.

He felt good in your palm, heavy with impressive girth and length. Leagues better than you had hoped for. Pretty veins ran up the sides and the gentle ridge of his tip was silky smooth as you leaned forward to run your tongue up the slit.

The sound that left him was bone shattering—deep and low in a way that reverberated in your bones.

You vowed to make him cry.

Looking up through your lashes, you let your lips fall open to take Tomura into the warmth of your mouth.

And if you thought his first moan was delicious.

What fell from him next was a goddamn feast.

Four fingers were fisted into your sheets, the balls of his feet tensing so his hips bucked up and forced his length deeper down your throat. You hummed around his length, drinking down the salty taste of him, and bringing your hands up to rub sweet circles into the skin of his thighs. Listening hungrily, you devoured all the little whimpers and moans and curses that spilled from Tomura.

Objectively, you ought to have been offended by all this. That he was so desperate for you, blamed you for somehow leading him on (which you had to an extent but only because he refused to set foot into your traps). You should have felt a bit disgusted by the behavior he’d displayed, but instead you were invigorated. Spurred on by the knowledge that the man before you wanted you so deeply and obsessively, that just the sight of you drove him off the edge.

Flicking your tongue over the sensitive tip, you doubled down your efforts. Hollowing your cheeks, you sucked hard and took his pulsing dick deeper, swallowing around it.

“Oh god, yesyesyes—” Tomura cried out, hips twitching.

It was on that particular backstroke you noticed the way he was grinding back into the sheets, rocking his ass just so and you really couldn’t help yourself from indulging a bit in the curiosity.

Shifting a hand, you collected some of the spit and precum that had leaked from your mouth and coated the base of his dick, slicking your fingers. Slowly, you moved to give his balls a firm squeeze that had him whining before letting two fingers dip lower, between his cheeks to nudge the cute pink skin around his hole.

“Fuck—” he gasped, staring down at you and letting himself fall immediately to the mattress, giving you full access to his pretty ass. “Hm, there please…”

He trailed off, brain rotted with pleasure and unconcerned now with how desperate or needy he seemed. You thought it was a good look for him, and you gladly obliged his pleas.

Just the slow circles you were tracing around the sensitive flesh seemed to drive him closer to the edge. You would have been shocked by how long he was lasting considering the unlikely possibility he’d had many partners in the past, but you were sure he’d had plenty of ‘practice’ on his own to get his stamina up to this level.

Surprisingly, you were able to actually slip a finger past the tight ring of muscle down to the first knuckle. He was so tight your mind was flooded immediately with how good he’d look bent over—ass in the air and impaled on your strap. He made this delectable choked sound when you turned your wrist and slid a fraction of an inch deeper. But as you curled inside him and gave one particularly deft swallow around his aching cock, something even more unexpected tumbled past Tomura’s lust-loose lips.

“Oh fuck, mommy —”

As soon as the words left his mouth it snapped shut so hard you heard his teeth clacking.

Well.

You certainly hadn’t anticipated that, but thankfully, transporting required you to think on your feet often.

Tomura was beet red now, looking almost as surprised as you felt by what had slipped from him in the haze of lust and sweat that filled the room. You withdrew from him completely, pulling off his cock and planting both your hands on his slim waist.

“What did you just call me?” you asked, tone dark, praying to hear it again.

And of course you did, because Tomura was such a good boy .

“M-mommy,” the tremor in his voice may have been due to residual shame or the fact that you’d nearly sucked his soul right out of his dick, “mommy, please.”

And that, that lit something in you. All bets were off, any plans of a long, drawn out night of playing with your pretty boss until he begged for you was slipping quickly down the drain as you clambered off your knees and onto the bed.

“Does my little boy need something?” you mused, slipping into the role easily and planting your knees on either side of his thin body while you brushed your nose against his cheek.

He hadn’t touched you since you’d gotten him in your bed and while you thought it may have had something to do with the potentially deadly side effects, you really couldn’t have that. Reaching down, you guided his hand gently to your mouth and pressed a gentle kiss against the calloused knuckles.

“Do you want mommy’s pussy?”

That last question might have been boarding a bit on the evil end of teasing, but Tomura responded in equally bratty fashion by burying his face into your chest and reaching down to guide the tip of his dick into your dripping entrance. For once that night, you were the one gasping at the sudden stretch and quite frankly the fucking balls your boss displayed in surprise spearing you on his cock.

Not that you minded, but damn.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you groaned as you dropped your hips to sink the rest of the way down his length. It took a bit, even as slick as you were, before he was bottoming out and letting out little poorly hidden sobs against you.

Tomura’s feet still hung off the bed and couldn’t provide him the leverage to thrust up into you as he so clearly wanted to, but you could work well with this. Pulling back you got him to sit up, head still buried in the crook of your neck and braced your hands to start bouncing in his lap.

His hands flew to your hips, any trepidation apparently lost in favor of marking you with crescent shaped bruises. You let your hands trail up his chest, thumbing over his flushed nipples before threading into the hair at the base of his head. Tilting his head back, you came up and dropped back down hard on his length, letting him strike that lovely spot inside you and making his face twist in pleasure.

“Oh, good boy, “ you moaned, long and low. “Such a good boy for me, Tomura.”

He whimpered loudly and you bounced faster, praise tumbling easily as the pressure in your gut began to build, “You look so perfect like this, pretty cock feels so good inside.”

On a whim, you gripped his hair tightly and pressed his face into your chest, leading his lips to the stiff peak of your nipple. He latched on immediately, moans muffled against you and lovely eyes rolling back in his head.

You took it back— this was the picture you wanted immortalized from tonight. Tomura’s mouth was full of you, slick tongue curling over the bud and suckling softly only interrupted by the occasional graze of his teeth, his dick buried in you and pulsing as you rode him to your own high.

A high that was coming sooner rather than later.

You let your free hand slip from his shoulder to rub frantically at your clit, feeling yourself clenching tighter and tighter on his cock, strokes shifting into a more desperate grinding. The white hot pleasure grew stronger—spurred on by the image of Tomura’s pretty hair plastered with sweat to his forehead and his coarse lips grazing your skin—cresting and sending you hurtling over the edge, cumming hard on Tomura’s thick cock.

“Oh, baby boy, yes, make mommy cum,” you shook and clenched around him, pussy in a vice grip around his length.

He didn’t hold out long after that, biting down roughly on your chest he groaned and you felt the hot ropes of his release painting your walls.

It was a bit of a blur after that. You recall lifting his mouth from you, revealing a deep bruise and the indents of teeth just around your nipple—a reminder that would stick with you of this quite eventful night. Residual clothing was abandoned and you’d agreed to forgo a shower in favor of pressing every available inch of skin against his under a light sheet.

Tomura’s breathing had evened out a while ago, heart beat relaxing to an even tattoo from it’s initial pounding. His head was tucked securely under your chin, arms flung across your middle and legs tangled in a knot.

You’d thought he was asleep until you felt his lips moving against your shoulder and heard the soft, whispered words, “Are you going to ask me to go?”

It had been so long since you’d had a ‘normal’ conversation with him that it took you awhile to recognize his casual tone from the wrecked and begging voice you’d been hearing from him all night. Something about that knowledge made your chest ache.

“I’m not going to make you stay,” you responded simply.

Which was all you could really think of to say, noncommittal but open.

“But do you want me to?”

His tone was harsh, but not in a purposeful way. The quiet rasp was a permanent feature of his voice you’d discovered and made it him sound far more severe than he usually meant to be. The question both surprised you and didn’t. You’d asked Tomura to give up control to you before, let you take the lead and see him vulnerable. Now he was asking for it back. Asking for a level playing field.

“I would like it if you did, yes.”

He nodded and you felt the brush of his lashes as he closed his eyes again, settling into you more than the mattress itself. You followed suit, at least for a bit, and rested your eyes to enjoy the feeling of finally not sleeping alone. Half dozing, you breathed in the scent of well earned pleasure and sweat and laundry detergent.

Neither of you asked any more questions—you didn’t need to.

Because you understood Tomura Shigaraki and he understood you.

#shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #smut #mommy kink #tomura shigaraki imagines #bnha imagines #bnha fic #tomura/reader #shigaraki/reader #bee.writes

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bramblesnbones · 3 years ago

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fic recs 👀 (I’m gonna try and keep these short & sweet but the list got away from me a bit lol)

also as i was gathering these i realized just how biased i am when it comes to Vi-centric works lmao

AU’s

the MMA AU (my absolute favorite series that just concluded a few days ago. An AU where Vi is an MMA fighter and Cait is a journalist. This series is WAY more than just the initial premise tho. god i could go on about it for hours)

The Threads Of Fate Tangle And Twist (another misthios piece, super super good. An AU where Cait gets thrown into Stillwater before she can expose Marcus. updates every sunday.)

dust scattered (a daemon au!! I never read His Dark Materials, but i do love the concept of daemons and i love how the author incorporates them into the Arcane setting.)

sustainability of love (Cityseeker’s most recent work, i love it, it makes me feel a lot. Love how Cait’s issues are expanded upon, love how Vi is written, and like every Cityseeker fic, it’s heartbreaking and lovely. Some nsfw)

Bedroom scene fics

the last thing on my mind (this was the first arcane fic I read and holy shit did it deliver. there’s a soft sort of intimacy throughout the whole thing and I’m a sucker for shower scenes)

Fox Hunt (some nsfw, love love love the metaphor of the fox and dogs and the imagery and symbolism and all those other literary terms that I cant name rn)

you've got me to hold you up (and i will never let you down) (touch is Vi’s love language<3<3<3 Starts from Caitlyn’s POV, and then moves to Vi’s. more soft intimacy<3)

surface tension (MORE soft intimacy am i being predictable yet)

Aftermath fics

The World Ends, Or Doesn't (again, anything by misthios is automatically a favorite lol. probably the most character-accurate post-season 1 fic I’ve read, I really love how both Vi and Cait are characterized)

Caught in the Grey (“I don’t need you to fix this, Vi. I need you to stay.” UGH i love it, extra points since i love Icon for Hire. also the ENDING on this one? Phenomenal)

i won't let go (i left my baby teeth in your drawer) (a Caitlyn-centric piece that absolutely broke my heart and then pieced it back together.)

I know a place (probably my favorite aftermath fic after “The World Ends, or Doesn’t”. It’s soft, it’s explorative, and the hurt/comfort is so so good. Emphasis on the comfort. Eventual nsfw)

General

Mantra (a really good exploration of Vi and Caitlyn’s thoughts and feelings in episode 5, the rest of the series is really good too and i’m actually in the middle of making my way through all the author’s arcane works.)

I Do - I Did - I Have? (hilarious & sweet and a really good break from the heartbreak of the show. Another misthios work)

let me take your coat and this weight off of your shoulders (soft & cute with some humor. Caitlyn pampers Vi a bit with a skincare routine. Self-care)

a hard light to ignite (another Vi character study. Her thoughts throughout episodes 5-7, ending with the bedroom scene. Definitely one of my favorite explorations of what exactly is going through Vi’s head.)

After the Atom Bomb Falls (“Touch had been combative and dangerous for years , for more than half a decade. And then—for a moment—it wasn’t.” Vi’s relationship with touch and her time in Stillwater. The “comfort” part of the hurt/comfort doesn’t actually come in until the last chapter, but it’s so good.)

winds, clouds, whirlpools (“Maybe she wants it too much. Maybe it’s desperation curling her hands into fists, seizing her lungs in a tight grip of panic, frightened that it can still be taken away. Or maybe eight-or-nine years is too long to go without. Maybe all she knows anymore is how to starve.” absolutely love this one, Vi’s relationship with touch is so complex and i love how this one explores it.)

you've begun to feel like home (Cait’s POV, starting from episode 6 and ending the first chapter with the rain scene. Chapter 2 is the aftermath of episode 9, with them being soft and tender<3 and i love how they’re both written throughout both chapters, everything feels very in-character)

#rambles

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renaerys · 3 years ago

Note

The Greens: “I’m gonna be your first and your last” and, because the Blues need some love, “We just went over the rules.”

48. “We just went over the rules.”

A Blues ask!! My crops are watered and my skin is cleared. I have other Greens prompts, so there will be more of them coming. I hope it's okay that I chose the Blues one!

Send me a prompt and some characters! Reminder that the challenge is to make everything SFW, so we're getting creative here.

List of prompts

xxx

“Wait, okay, so is eye contact allowed?”

Bubbles popped a chewing gum bubble. “That’s allowed.”

“And is it one foot or two on the floor?”

“One. Look, are you really ready? We just went over the rules, but you seem nervous.”

Boomer shook his head. “No, I’m good! For real, let’s do this. I’m good to go.”

Todd slammed a bill on the table in between them. “Super, because I got money on the line here. Let’s gooooooo!”

“Wow, five whole dollars? I’m flattered,” Boomer said.

“Why? My money’s on Bubbles.”

“Mine too,” Buttercup said.

“Y’all are about to take a collective shit and eat it when Boomer wins this,” Butch said.

Blossom winced. “Jesus, Butch.”

“No, no, he’s right.” Brick put his hands on Boomer’s shoulders and leaned his weight on them. “Boomer, flatten her ass.”

Buttercup leaned close to Blossom’s ear. “Did you hear that, Blossom? Did you hear what that uncultured fool just said about our sister’s ass?”

Blossom clenched her fists. “Oh, I heard it.”

“Okay, enough! Can we just start please?” Bubbles had not signed up for a pissing contest between their siblings. She hadn’t even invited them. This was supposed to be a friendly match for fun, until Todd found out and turned it into some betting pool among their classmates and friends, who had all gathered in Todd’s basement to watch the competition.

“All bets are in! Last call!” Mike rattled a tin full of coins and a few bills from the high rollers.

Bubbles chewed her now flavorless gum. “Ready?”

“He was born ready,” Brick said, dead-ass serious.

Butch made a man noise somewhere in between a squawk and a roar.

“I’m ready when you are,” Boomer said.

Robin, who had agreed to act as referee, leaned over the table. “Okay, take your positions, brave combatants!”

Bubbles wrapped her hand around Boomer’s and rested her elbow on the table. On Robin’s countdown, she put all her Super strength behind her arm and pushed against Boomer’s, who pushed right back.

They were evenly matched in strength, but Bubbles had expected this. She smiled and turned on the charm. “Hey, Boomer.”

Boomer blinked. Sweat had begun to form on his forehead from the exertion. “Yeah?”

Bubbles gritted her teeth against his force. Her arm shook, but her eyes smiled. “You look really hot in that jacket.”

He flushed, and Brick slammed a hand on the table. “Hey, no flirting! Ref, do something about this.”

“Back off, Mother Theresa. It was just a compliment,” Buttercup said.

“The hell it was. I see you, Bubbles.”

“Don’t you dare address her directly! You’re interfering with her concentration,” Blossom said.

“All right, all right! No one talks anymore,” Robin said.

“I’m increasing my bet,” Todd said, dropping another dollar into Mike’s tin. “Bubbles is gonna murder him.”

It was harder without talking. Boomer couldn’t use his electricity, but his stamina was a little better than Bubbles’ on a good day. She could feel herself beginning to slip. Her palm was clammy where it clasped Boomer’s, and her elbow dug into the table hard enough to dent the steel.

Boomer held her gaze. He knew she was losing steam, and it only made him stronger. Around them, their siblings and friends loomed with death and destruction in their eyes, but Bubbles couldn’t worry about them when she had to worry about Boomer. She wasn’t as punch-hungry as Buttercup or as viper-tongued as Blossom, but she had her pride, and Boomer of all people was definitely not going to beat her.

He’d been her arch nemesis, her equal and opposite counter born to destroy her, and he’d failed rather embarrassingly when one kiss blew him up. A lot had changed since then—they were dating now, and their fights had transitioned more to the verbal spat variety over kicks and punches—but the competition between them still simmered under the surface. Boomer had never grown past his ultimate weakness, either.

And yeah, it was a teensy bit underhanded, but Bubbles had come here to conquer and Boomer was in her fucking way.

She looked Boomer directly in the eye, puckered her lips, and blew the slowest, sexiest chewing gum bubble she’d ever blown in her life. Like the sweet but predictable boy he was, Boomer shuddered and squeaked an impotent oh! and Bubbles went in for the kill.

She slammed his hand down on the table. The room exploded around them.

“She cheated,” Brick insisted.

“She didn’t speak, so she didn’t break the rule,” Blossom said.

“That was the most fuck me harder, daddy bubble I have ever seen. It’s a hundred percent cheating!”

“You can’t ascribe sexual intention to gum! That’s simply absurd.”

“Yeah, Brick, wow. Get some ice for that sore ass, loser,” Buttercup said.

Butch made another man-roar-growl and fell to his knees.

While Blossom and Brick continued to scream at each other over the sexual agency or lack thereof of chewing gum, Bubbles collected her winnings from Mike, high-fived Todd for being a true ally from the get-go, and dragged Boomer out of there. “Are you okay?”

Boomer sighed. “Yeah, just a little emasculated. But it’s no big deal, I’ll get over it.”

“That’s the spirit.” She kissed his cheek, and he caught her with an arm around her waist when she tried to pull back.

“I don’t mind losing if it’s to you, you know.”

“That’s cute. But you definitely did lose.”

He groaned. “Yeah, okay, you won. I’m toast. You’ve ruined gum for me forever. What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing. Just stop talking and kiss me.”

He shut up immediately.

xxx

If you enjoy my writing, check out more of my fics on AO3, link in my profile. I’m currently updating Trinity House and The Alchemy of Us. Thanks for reading!

#powerpuff girls #powerpuff girls fanfic #Boomubbles #ppg blues #ppg bubbles #ppg #september fic prompts

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sarcasmandships · 4 years ago

Text

honey and glass part 2 ~ spencer reid

i move to new york but i can’t seem to escape spencer reid

spencer reid x reader angst + hurt/comfort (sorta, it’s all in first person but with no names/no specific descrptions)

word count: 15.4k (got a bit carried away lol)

read part 1 here!

disclaimer: i do not ship jeid or think they had any chemistry but it’s a good opportunity for angst x

it’s snowing in new york.

i groan internally, resting my head in my hand as i stare out the window.

it’s half past six and most of my co-workers have already left for the night, but i’m still trying to mentally prepare myself to venture out in the cold.

“hey!” agent cole greets me as he flops into his chair at the desk next to mine, a mountain of papers in his arms.

“hey,” i mumble in response, “you’ve got a small rainforest there,” i motion with my head to the folders he has now spread across his desk.

“yeah, the bishop is laying it on me thick this week. you make one mistake in this place and its paperwork, paperwork, paperwork for a month. i need to get through this by lunchtime tomorrow.”

i pause and glance out the window again. i really hate the cold.

“i can give you a hand if you want-”

i’m about to suggest that he hand me over half of his files, but before i know it agent cole is leaping to his feet and flinging on his coat, “you are a lifesaver let me tell you that, god bless fitz for bringing you over from quantico!”

he’s scooping up the folders in his arms and dumping them onto my desk.

“oh! i meant that-”

“thanks again, really appreciate it!” agent cole cheers and before i can protest he’s already past the double glass doors and clambering into the elevator, he gives me a wave as the doors slide closed in front of him.

“no problem…” i say to myself.

i shuffle into the breakroom and put on a fresh pot of coffee, i’m going to need it. i fill up a mug and envelop my hands around it as i sit back down at my desk, the heat from the coffee warms my numb fingers enough to hold a pen between them. i make a start on agent cole’s paperwork.

it’s a few hours and many cups of bitter coffee later when agent fitz appears from his office, he’s wrapping a thick, wool, scarf around his neck when he passes my desk and pauses.

“you’re still here?”

“yeah…paperwork,” i say, pointing to the pile of folders i don’t even seem to have made a dent in.

he raises an eyebrow, “your file said you were efficient, but i didn’t think that even you had the ability to fill out paperwork on cases we haven’t even worked yet.”

i laugh nervously, “what do you mean, sir?”

“well, my role as assistant unit chief to agent bishop involves ensuring that all agents are up to date with their paperwork, so i know that all of your cases have been written up, reviewed and filed. so you either have some kind of psychic ability that allows you to predict your future cases and do their paperwork, or this isn’t yours.”

i can’t tell from his tone whether he is annoyed or amused.

“right,” i nod slowly, “see the thing is sir, agent cole had all of this paperwork to do and i offered to help him, only he thought i was offering to-”

“to take it all?”

“yes, exactly. agent fitz, sir.”

he takes a sharp intake of breath in through his nose, “i think that agent cole knew fine well what you meant.”

“what? then why would he-”

“can i give you some advice?”

“y-yes. of course, agent fitz. go ahead.”

“you’re a very nice person, but you’ve been here six months now so you don’t need to worry about making a good first impression anymore-”

“i’m not,” i say defensively, “i just wanted to help out a fellow agent, we used to do it at the bau all the time-”

he gives me a look.

“sorry for interrupting agent fitz, sir.”

“you’re not in quantico anymore honey, this is new york. so my advice to you is to stop being so nice, because i hate to be the one to break it to you but agent cole has taken advantage of your niceness big time here.”

“so your advice to me is to be mean because right now i’m too nice?”

“not mean, just firm. agent cole was given the extra paperwork as a consequence of his own actions, and because you’re too nice, you’re still at the office filling out reports while he’s relaxing at home.”

“be less nice, got it,” i nod and stare down at my hands, unable to believe that i fell for that, i’m supposed to be a profiler, “thank you, agent fitz,” i smile at him.

“just call me fitz, everyone does,” he says as he begins to unwind his scarf.

“what are you doing? you’ll freeze out there without that-”

“we’ll get through this in half the time if we split it,” he shrugs, “i’m gonna grab a coffee, do you want one?”

i jump to my feet, “it’s okay, i can get the coffee-”

“have you forgotten my advice already?”

i can feel the heat flooding to my face, “don’t be too nice, got it,” i sit back down again and twirl my pen.

“see, you’re learning,” he lifts my mug from my desk, “any cream or sugar?”

i shake my head.

he nods and moves into the breakroom.

i let out the breath i didn’t know i was holding. i’d been here sixth months, i thought i was finally fitting in. everything was different in new york, the way of working, the people, the humour. something that would’ve sent spencer into a fit of giggles back in virginia would only earn you a concerned stare here.

or maybe that was just spencer and i’s sense of humour, we got looks back in quantico too. but it was okay because i was with him. it had been six months and the promises of texts, phone calls, emails and letters had withered away.

jj was the only one i still regularly heard from, we called every week.

there was the occasional text from morgan, and garcia.

emails from hotch and rossi.

but from spencer, it was radio silence. i told myself it was because he was a technophobe, and he hated texting on that tiny little phone of his.

“the buttons are too small,” he’d complain.

yet my suggestion of him updating to a modern model was ‘out of the question’, i understood he didn’t like it, but i didn’t understand why he wouldn’t make the effort.

maybe i would’ve confronted him about it if i’d had the nerve, if i wasn’t too nice.

“there we are,” fitz says, placing a mug of steaming coffee in front of me.

“thank you, agen-,” i pause, “thank you fitz.”

he smiles and takes a pile of papers from my desk as he sits in agent cole’s seat.

too nice, the words echo in my head.

if i hadn’t been so intent on being the nice, sweet, helpful new girl i could be at home by now. granted my tiny apartment wasn’t much to go back to, but it was something. i had a chance for a fresh start here and i wanted to be the girl that people liked and respected. i wanted things to be different but i’m just as spineless as i’d been in qunatico.

all honey, no glass.

“you’re leaving?”

“yeah.”

“when?”

“two weeks.”

spencer gets up from the couch and storms away from me, he stares out the window, “so you’re leaving your job in the bau - one of the most sought-after jobs in the bureau - to work for the counter terrorism division in new york?”

he almost sneers ‘counter terrorism division’ at me and i’m taken aback. the spencer in front of me isn’t the spencer that i love, i close my eyes and tell myself that he’s just being defensive. i’ve known him long enough to recognise his abandonment issues.

“why are you saying counter terrorism like that? like it’s a step down for me? because it’s not. it’s better hours, better pay-”

“cost of living is higher in new york city!”

“and my new salary will be more than enough to cover it! they’re also helping me with moving expenses, helping me find an apartment – they really want me over there, spencer,” i run a hand through my hair, “do you know what that’s like for me? to have someone want me so much that they’d pay me 20% above the standard salary-”

“so this is about money for you then?” he says bitterly.

“no! it’s about someone valuing me and what i can do. it’s about someone thinking that i’m good enough and giving me the chance to prove that to myself.”

“and what, you think that we don’t value you?”

“i didn’t say that spencer, i’m just saying that i have a chance to excel over there and be a better agent. i’m a good profiler, but i’m not a great one, even you can see that. i’ll be happier when i’m finally in an environment where i don’t need to put myself down and compare myself to everyone around me.”

“please stay,” he pleads, “can’t you stay for me? everyone is leaving or dying. please, you can’t leave me too.”

spencer reid is standing in front of me with tears in his eyes begging me not to go, and i want nothing more than to rush to him and promise that i will never abandon him. if i hadn’t already signed a binding contract, i would probably be in his arms now.

i shake my head, “i’m sorry spencer, it’s already been decided. i’m only staying these extra two weeks to give hotch a chance to find someone else, i didn’t want you to be down two agents.”

spencer clenches his fist, “i can’t believe this is really happening. jj left, and now you’re leaving too. emily hasn’t even been dead a month and-”

“you think i don’t know that? you think i just forgot that emily died? you aren’t the only one suffering here spencer! agent fitz brought up transferring to me over a year ago, i called him up about it before jj left for the state department and i was meant to go to new york weeks ago!”

i close my eyes and take a shaky breath before i can bring myself to continue.

“and then emily died. and i stayed because we were all grieving and i wanted to be close to you guys, but i can’t put my life on hold forever, i can’t expect agent bishop and agent fitz to keep the job open for me forever, it’s time for me to go.”

“why didn’t you tell me any of this sooner?”

“because emily’s death hit you really hard and i-”

“no, before that. you said that you were planning this before jj left, why did you wait so long?”

“because after i called agent fitz i needed to do interviews and go through another round of interviews and interrogations, they’re really strict on security over there. it took weeks for me to even find out if they would grant me the security clearance required for the job, i wanted to be sure i was going before i said anything. and then jj left, and i was getting ready to go when emily needed help with doyle, and i told myself i would stay for once more case and then-”

i have to stop because there’s a lump in my throat and my body is trembling. the memories of emily’s death are still so fresh in my mind, i want to curl up under a blanket and never come out when i think about her corpse, rotting away under the ground.

“please don’t go, i need you,” he says, not even trying to disguise the way his voice cracks.

i shake my head, “no you don’t.”

he doesn’t. he has morgan, and hotch, and garcia, and rossi. and most importantly jj. i know that when he’s not crying in my arms, he’s crying in hers. i know the only nights he chooses me over her are the nights when she’s busy with will, or henry or something classified at the all-mighty state department.

“yes, i do! you’re the only one who’s there for me 100% of the time, you’re the only person i can talk to about jj-”

the only person i can talk to about jj. there we go, that’s the reason he wants me to stay. i don’t know why i’m so surprised, or why it hurts so much to hear. i should be used to it by now.

“i can’t just hang around because you need a shoulder to cry on.”

i must’ve let more venom slip into my voice than i intended because spencer’s face drops immediately.

“i-i didn’t mean that, i just meant that you’re my best friend and i don’t know what i’ll do without you.”

best friend. i can’t bring myself to respond.

“is that what it is? are you leaving because of me? do you think that i don’t appreciate you, that i just think of you as a shoulder to cry on? because i don’t think that at all-”

“spencer, you haven’t done anything wrong, i’m not leaving because of you, okay?”

that’s a lie. and i hate lying to him, but he’s so busy pacing and running his hands through his hair that he doesn’t detect the guilt plastered across my face. spencer is the primary reason for my leaving, but not in the way that he thinks.

“are you sure?” he asks frantically, “have i done something to upset you? don’t you want to be my friend anymore-”

it’s ironic how spot on he is, whilst still being utterly oblivious to my feelings for him. i’m leaving because he unknowingly devastates me every day, i’m leaving because i don’t want to be just his friend, i want to be more but that can never happen.

because he still loves jj. and i know that i can never be happy sitting on the sidelines of his tortured longing. i’m only trying to do what’s best for myself, but when i look at the pained expression on his face i can’t help but feel like a selfish bitch, i’m abandoning him when he needs me most.

“look, spencer i’m moving to new york, not australia, it’s not even that far. And we can text, and call each other and email, we can even send good old-fashioned letters if you’d prefer. this isn’t the end of the world.”

“i think i could manage a text.”

“really?”

“yeah, i won’t like it. but i’d do it for you, like i said, you’re my best friend.”

“are you okay? you look kind of zoned out” fitz asks.

i place my phone down on my desk, “yeah i’m fine. it’s just…nevermind.”

“hey, come on. you can tell me.”

“i just got a call from my friend spencer, we worked together back in quantico but he wasn’t thrilled when i moved here and we never really kept up with texting or emails. i haven’t heard his voice since i left…i was just thinking about the day i told him i was leaving,” i drum my nails against my desk, “it was so long ago now, but it hurts like it was yesterday.”

“sounds like you guys were close,” he comments carefully.

“yeah, we were.”

“so what did he want?”

“um…him and my other old colleagues, they’re planning a surprise wedding for jj. she’s my best friend, she works with them too.”

“are you gonna go?” he pauses, trying to gauge my response, “i mean you haven’t been back to virginia since you took the job.”

i nod, “i know, i didn’t even go to see emily when she came back to life,” i say, my voice mixed with bitterness and guilt.

fitz reaches over and takes my hand, “and we prevented a potential biochemical attack that week, and a bomb in the subway the week after, and a potential hijacking the week after-”

i roll my eyes lightly, “i get the point, fitz. we’re always busy saving lives, but i don’t know if that’s a good enough excuse for being such a shitty friend.”

“they work even crazier hours than us, i think they’ll understand,” he pauses, “i also think that you’re making excuses, and there’s a different reason that you don’t want to go.”

“i thought i told you not to profile me.”

“it doesn’t take a profiler to figure out there’s something going on, i’m willing to bet it’s the same reason you wanted to leave in the first place.”

i smile sadly at him, “you got me there, fitz. i’m in love with my best friend, but he’s in love with the bride, who happens to be my other best friend. only he isn’t the groom.”

i feel sick at the thought of watching spencer watch jj get married. he is exceptionally good at pretending to be happy, and i’m sure he’ll have the others fooled. but none of them know that he’s in love with her, they don’t know that his feelings evolved to anything beyond a silly, little crush.

i feel sick at the thought of watching him slap a smile on his face, and shake will’s hand, and make a toast. i don’t doubt that there will be a part of him that is happy for her; the thing about loving someone the way i love him and he loves her is that is that seeing them happy gives you this sickly, jittery, joy.

it makes your heart race and your hands tremble, and it feels almost like happiness. but its sticky and catches in your throat like honey so you can barely choke out the words to convey how fucking happy you are for them. even honey attracts flies.

“shit,” fitz says.

“yeah, shit.”

all honey, no glass.

it’s jj’s wedding.

i wanted fitz to come with me but he couldn’t get out of work, we were swamped at the moment, but he’s still insisted that i go. he drove me to the airport and practically forced me through security, and now i was standing in the kitchen of rossi’s mansion as emily refilled my wine.

i took a sip of it and smiled at her. she was the one good thing that had come out of this trip so far, i hadn’t seen her since she came back from the dead and i had been so worried she would resent me for not coming to see her sooner.

but instead she offered to pick me up from the airport and let me stay with her for the weekend, she really was a good friend. i missed my old friends, and it was nice to see everyone again. but i was already exhausted from avoiding spencer and jj hadn’t even arrived yet.

i was drinking my wine far too fast, relishing in the warm euphoria it granted me. it allows me to float through the rest of the evening, i help jj pin up her hair when her mom brings her own wedding dress for her to change into. i wipe her tears when she stares at herself in the mirror. i tell her she looks beautiful, and she really does.

i don’t speak to spencer until the ceremony is about to begin, i squeeze in next to him and mumble my hellos. he doesn’t respond and i know it’s because he’s focusing all of his energy on keeping himself together, i wrap my hand around his and squeeze it gently.

he has tears in his eyes when will and jj kiss, and so do i because i am watching him watch her and i can see his heart breaking with every micro expression. my heart aches for him because his world is falling apart in front of his eyes and he has to pretend to be happy about it.

when jj turns her head i see how widely she is grinning as she clings on to her new husband. spencer sees it too because something in him shifts and i see that sticky, artificial happiness bubble to the surface and before i know it he has dropped my hand and rushes to congratulate the happy couple.

i hang around emily and morgan for most of the night, she keeps my glass full and he doesn’t tease me about my defecting to another division. i know they know something is going on, but they don’t question me about it and i am so grateful for it.

i excuse myself from their company when i see spencer sitting slumped on the patio alone. he’s half hidden behind a pillar but i can see his feet sticking out so i shuffle over to him, my mind dizzy with wine as i take a seat beside him.

“hey.”

“are you alright?” i ask.

he nods stiffly, “fine, just tired – it’s been a busy week. how are things in new york?”

i sip my wine, “yeah not bad, just busy…” i say, my voice trails off and i mentally kick myself for failing to think of a better word, “spencer, can i ask you something?”

“yeah,” he says flatly, “why not.”

“okay…” his dulcet exterior makes me hesitate but i force myself to continue, because fitz told me to grow a backbone and i don’t know when i’ll get that chance again, “i was just wondering why you never called me, or texted, or emailed. we were best friends before i left and now you feel like a stranger to me.”

he shrugs and takes a swig of beer.

“is that all i’m gonna get? a shrug,” i scoff.

i know that he’s upset about jj, my heart is bleeding for him and i understand better than anyone how he is feeling. but even i can see that i deserve more than a shrug from him after a year of no communication.

“spencer, i know how you’re feeling but-”

“no you don’t,” he snaps.

i bite my tongue.

“i want to be here for you spencer, but i can’t do that if you’re going to be a mood-”

he titled his head to look at me, his eyes are dark and empty, “if you wanted to help me so badly then why did you leave?”

i open my mouth to speak but he raises a hand to silence me.

“you want to know why i didn’t call you?” he slurs, “because i was pissed at you, everyone was leaving and dying, and you left too. and then emily came back and everyone was acting like i was crazy for being so angry about it, and you weren’t here,” his voice splits, “i know it’s not an excuse and i’m sorry if i upset you but not having you here just hurt so bad and somehow texting and phone calls made it hurt more.”

i pause, “are you trying to say you missed me so much that you couldn’t call me?”

“like i said, its not an excuse but-”

“no, it isn’t” i spit.

i’ve never been angry at him before because any of the hurt and heartbreak he inflicted on me was unintentional. but now something is burning in the pit of my stomach because he ghosted me for the best part of the year and the best excuse, he can come up with is that it hurt him too bad.

“how do you think i felt spencer?” i hiss, “when i was all alone in another state and my best friend wouldn’t return my calls? i spent so long feeling guilty for leaving you but you weren’t alone. you still had everyone else, i was the one who was alone. you had jj and-”

his grip on his bottle tightened, “i didn’t have her, she was lying to me about emily and then even when we made up from that things were never the same…” he holds his head in his hands, “i’m trying to be happy for her but it just hurts so much…”

he wipes his eyes, “i’m sorry, i should be asking you about new york, not making you listen to the same pathetic sob story that you’ve heard a hundred time before.”

i wrap an arm around him, “spencer, trust me i know how much it hurts but…it’ll get better, okay? one day you’ll get over her, and you find some genius, scientist girlfriend who loves you back and then you won’t hurt anymore.”

“how do you know?” he croaks.

i sigh, “because you might love jj but she just isn’t right for you, but that doesn’t mean you won’t find someone who-”

he shakes his head, “not that, you keep saying you understand, and you know hoe much it hurts – but how do you know?”

his eyes are wide and teary, and he hiccups as he stares at me. i have to look away because the blood is pounding in my ears, i feel dizzy but its not just from the wine. we’re outside in the cool air but i feel like i’m burning up and i recoil away from him.

“spencer, that’s not important-”

“yes, it is. i wanna know. i wanna know how you think you know how i feel to the extent you can give me advice-”

he’s drunk.

“and tell me its all going to be okay, but you don’t know that! because how could you know what i’m feeling-”

he’s raising his voice now.

“spencer, you need to be quiet. someone will hear you-”

“i need to know what gives you the right to tell me that i’ll find love when you don’t even know what-”

“i know what it feels like because i am in love with you!” i finally snap, the words slip out before i can stop them and i slap my hands over my mouth, “oh god…i didn’t mean to say that….”

spencer is staring at me blankly, but slowly his stoic expression begins to melt into one of pity and sympathy. i can see his brain working overtime behind his beautiful honey and glass eyes, thinking of all the different ways he can let me down easy.

he opens his mouth.

“you don’t have to say anything,” i squeak, “i didn’t mean to say that…so stupid…can we please just forget about it?” i plead.

“d-did you mean it? you love me?”

his pitiful stare burns through me and i can’t stand it. i would rather have him glare at me with pure hatred in his eyes than this agonizing brand of sympathy, it makes me feel sick. my legs are shaking, my hands are shaking, my whole body is shaking and i realise it’s because my chest is racked with sobs.

i nod, “i-i mean it,” is all i manage to choke out.

his arms are wrapped around me, and in any other circumstance i would sink into them but now my body is rigid, and his embrace is suffocating. i can’t breathe.

i can’t breathe.

i can’t breathe under the crushing impact of knowing that i’ve fucked up a decade of friendship in less than five seconds because i couldn’t keep my emotions under control.

“i’m so sorry, you know that i care so much about you,” he says softly, “but i just don’t see you in that way-”

“it’s fine spencer,” i sniffle, “you don’t need to tell me that, i’m already well aware of that fact,” my voice is laced with far more venom than i tend but in this moment i can’t bring myself to care.

“how long?”

i’m laughing through the tears, i don’t know why because its not funny.

“ten years, give or take.”

“oh.”

oh. that’s all i get.

they say that when a burn is bad enough it incinerates the nerve endings, so you don’t feel any pain. a burst of excruciating agony and then nothingness. that’s how i feel, i’ve spent years wallowing in my own heartbreak and now that i’ve told him the truth, i just feel numb.

my sticky, sweet exterior is melting away with every passing second and pitiful glance and i don’t think i want to see what’s underneath. i push spencer’s arms off my body, and he doesn’t protest.

i sneak through the double glass doors and into the kitchen, that’s where the wine is. it warms my throat and my stomach, proving some solace from the deep-seated chill i feel in my bones.

the lights of the kitchen reflect off the glass so much that i can’t see past the glare to tell if spencer is still there. i shuffle towards the doors and press my forehead against the cool glass. spencer is gone but i like the way the window feels against my skin.

its smooth, and hard, and cold.

when your world has fallen apart, anything can be a source of comfort. and i don’t have anything left to give, so i close my eyes and rest against the chilled surface.

no honey, all glass.

the office is swarming with new recruits, they’ve descended on us like plagues of locusts and i am not in the mood for it. they’re eager and naïve as they attentively takes note of agent bishop’s words.

“…now I don’t want you to think that counter terrorism is all like what you see in the movies,” he drawls, “its not all action and defusing bombs, its patience and paperwork, careful observation and analysis – it takes more discipline to work in this division than any other in the bureau. its hard work, but it’s worth it as agents tell you,” he says, indicating towards fitz and myself.

he gives them a determined nod, i muster up a half-hearted shrug from my position leaning against the filing cabinet in the corner. i’m really not in the mood.

bishop’s phone chimes and his brow furrows ash his eyes scan the screen, “it is also unpredictable at times, so you’ll have to excuse me. but i leave you in the capable hands of my two right hand agents, they’ll be more than happy to lead the rest of the seminar,” he gives us both a quick nod before he darts out of the room.

fitz moves to the center of the room, “well, agent bishop had pretty much covered the lecture section of the session. next we are going to move onto some basic training scenarios, i will outline a situation and if you think have a strategy just shout it out, how does that sound?”

he is talking to the trainees but looking at me, he fidgets with his collar. he’s nervous, and he’s waiting for me to give him some reassurance. i force the corners of my lips to curl upwards, and it seems to give him enough confidence to continue.

he uses the remote to change the slides on the projector screen behind him and begins to list scenarios. the newbies are falling over themselves to catch his attention long enough for him to call on them. their enthusiasm and passion should inspire me, but it makes something in my stomach twist and there’s sharp anger burning through my body.

they’re all so fucking happy. so eager to see what their years at the bureau will bring them. all i got was heartbreak and rejection, but i don’t think agent bishop would appreciate me saying that so i keep my lips tightly pressed together.

“…and then i would diffuse the bomb and-”

“you would what?” i say.

the recruit shrinks back slightly when he feels my unwavering gaze shift to him.

“the scenario agent fitz gave us involved an explosive device, so my strategy would be to diffuse the-”

“that’s what the bomb squad is for, your job is to prevent the threat before it can occur, not to play around snipping wires!”

“i worked explosive ordinance disposal in the army, i would know what i was doing-”

“you aren’t in the army anymore,” i snap, “you’re in the fbi now, and we don’t have our agents running around like headless chickens during an active terrorist threat because we have rules and when you don’t follow the, people get hurt!”

“but what if the bomb squad can’t get there? surely if he has experience-” the girl next to him tries to defend him but i hold up a hand to silence her.

i laugh sarcastically, “okay. let me tell you what, next time we have a terrorism threat involving explosives i’ll tell the bomb squad that we don’t need them because i have two rookie agents who want to do things their own way. anything you’d like me to tell your families after you blow yourselves up, likely taking dozens of civilians with you?”

when they don’t answer me i give a smug smirk, “that’s what i thought,” i look over to fitz and nod, “you’ll have to excuse me, they’ve rotted my brain enough for one day,” i say before sweeping out of the room.

“why is she so mean?” the female recruit asks when she thinks i’m out of earshot.

i can feel agent fitz hesitate and i don’t blame him. i wouldn’t know how to explain to a group of trainees that i’ve been a complete bitch today because i’m bitter and heartbroken.

“she isn’t mean,” he says slowly, “she’s hard on you because she wants you to learn; its life and death out in the field and you need to be ready for anything. there’s no time for niceness and if you’re expecting that, then you’re probably in the wrong job.”

i appreciate his lie.

he makes me sound noble.

the trainees nod at his words, their eyes wide as they feed into the seamless bullshit. the stoic and honorable agent makes a better story than the resentful shrew.

i don’t want to be this way. but spencer’s words echo in my head and the breath is knocked out of me every time i picture his face, i feel like i’m drowning. it’s a dull, crushing ache across my body, weighing my limbs down like there’s lead in my veins.

i want to be honey; golden and sweet but i’m all angles and sharp edges. i’ve broken like glass and it’s only a matter of time before i draw blood. it’s easy to push people away when they’re scared of getting cut.

“are you okay?”

i jump as agent fitz creeps up behind me.

“sorry, i didn’t mean to startle you. but you haven’t been yourself and i just wanted to check-”

“are you scared of blood?” i ask.

“what?”

“blood. does it freak you out? make you feel faint?”

“no, i’m not scared of blood,” he says hesitantly.

i smile and for the first time in forever it doesn’t feel forced, “good.”

no honey, all glass.

it’s agent bishop’s retirement party.

i stand next to fitz, we’re in a circle with some of the other agents. i glug my wine as they converse, its dark and bitter and red.

“so, agent, you used to be a profiler down in quantico, didn’t you?” someone asks.

i swallow my wine, “yes, i was. that was a while ago now though.”

“do you miss it?”

i smile fondly, “every day.”

“isn’t profiling just pseudoscience?” someone snorts.

before i can even open my mouth to respond, fitz interjects, “actually the bau is one of the most successful departments in the bureau, they are responsible for saving hundreds of lives and allowing families to seek the justice they deserve.”

i nod appreciatively at him, “behavioural science isn’t empirical but more often than not we are right, like agent fitz said, we -they- are one of the most successful departments in the bureau,” i say, trying to fight the smirk creeping across my face.

“how does profiling work, can you really catch someone based on the method of killing they chose?” someone gushes.

“yes, we can tell a lot from victimology, signatures, cause of death – it’s usually symbolic in some way of their motivation for killing, or metaphorical for a message that they want to send, you’d be surprised how much we can learn from details like that.”

“interesting!”

“oh, that’s cool.”

“i didn’t know you guys did stuff like that, i might need to put in for a transfer!”

everyone laughs.

i give a half-hearted chuckle. all of my stories and experiences at the bau are tainted by him, i can’t even make light conversation at a party without my body turning numb. every memory chips away at my heart, and it’s growing more and more hollow with every beat.

“i think you need another drink,” fitz whispers in my ear.

i allow him to take my hand and lead me into the kitchen, he tops up my wine, filling it more than he probably should. but i appreciate him for it, i think he can tell i need it.

“are you okay? you clammed up right after you finished talking about your time at the bau.”

“i’ve told you before, don’t profile me,” i say, my voice sharper than i intend it to be.

“i’m not. i’ve just noticed than whenever you talk about your old job you get this look in your eyes, and you go all quiet and snap at everyone for the rest of the day.”

i drink a quarter of my wine in one gulp.

“this is still about him isn’t it?”

i shrug, “i thought i’d be over him by now but…” my eyes start to prickle and i have to console myself with another mouthful of wine.

“but?” he prompts.

“you know how jj and i call each other every week.”

“yeah.”

“well this week she told me that the rest of the team are starting to suspect spencer is…seeing someone. i don’t know the whole story, jj didn’t either. but apparently he’s been acting weird and making all these phone calls and i-”

i have to stop. i bite the inside of my cheek. he got over jj and i didn’t even know. i wasn’t even there, maybe if i hadn’t left…it hurt too much to consider the possibilities. and now there’s another woman that i don’t know anything about, at least when he was in love with jj i knew what aspects of myself to compare to her. now i’m jealous of a woman i’ve never even met.

“do you want to talk about it?” he offers kindly.

i shake my head.

“…can i ask you something else?”

“shoot.”

he looks over his shoulder and i can see his jugular vein pulse in his neck, he’s nervous.

“earlier, when you were talking about how killers leave symbolic or metaphorical clues that helps you figure out their motivation….”

i motion for him to continue.

“is that true for normal people too?”

“what do you mean?”

he runs a hand through his hair, “say you have a friend, and they as you a weird question, but it’s so out of the blue you it can’t be literal, that there has to be a deeper meaning behind it. if their question is symbolic for something else, could that indicate what their intentions are?”

he avoids eye contact with me.

“what’s this about?”

“n-nothing, nevermind. it was a stupid question anyways…” he mumbles, grabbing his beer and shuffling past me.

“fitz, come back!” i call after him, “fitz!”

he’s already gone. and i don’t have the energy to go after him. i huff and lean back against the counter, swirling around the wine in my glass before i raise it to my lips.

my hand slips, and the wine glass tumbles to the ground before shattering against the white kitchen tiles.

“fuck!”

i rake around a couple of drawers, searching for a dish towel to mop up the mess. eventually i find one and bend down to clean up the wine; the red is stark, splattered against the shiny white background.

it looks like...

“are you scared of blood?”

the words of my own cryptic question echo in my head and something clicks.

fitz.

i use a towel to scoop up the shards of glass and absorb the wine, i toss it in the sink and dash out of the kitchen in search of fitz. i spot the back of his head through a window and follow him out to the balcony, its lit by twinkly fairy lights.

“why are you out here? it’s cold,” i say, my teeth chattering slightly as i fold my arms across my chest.

i linger by the door, hoping to cling onto some of the warmth radiating outwards. but when fitz doesn’t answer, or even look up i huff and close the door behind me, shuffling over to him.

“were you asking me that stuff about metaphors and symbolism because of what i said to you about blood?”

he looks up at me but still doesn’t speak.

“fitz that was months ago, and i didn’t even mean anything by it so i don’t know why you’re reading so far into it,” i shiver, “can you just tell me what’s going on with you so we can go back inside?”

“what’s wrong with me,” he snorts.

“yes, because you’re acting really weird-”

“i’m not the one who is acting weird, ever since you came back from your friend’s wedding you’ve been like a totally different person, and then you ask me if i’m scared of blood out of fucking nowhere. what am i supposed to make of that?”

i’m taken aback from his sudden outburst, fitz is usually calm and good natured, “why are you yelling?” i snap.

“because i don’t know what else to do, i’ve tried to be a supportive friend but you’re acting totally out of character, the new recruits call you medusa because you’re so harsh on them. if this has something to do with spen-”

“i said i don’t want to talk about him!”

“well i’m not giving you the choice anymore, i’m sorry if you’re heartbroken over him, but you’re killing yourself trying to love him. do you think i don’t notice how exhausted you are? you’re working at least 30 extra hours a week and i can only assume that’s some kind of coping mechanism, and now i’m worried you’re hurting yourself-”

i squint at him, “you think that’s what i meant when i asked you about the blood?”

he nods, “well, yeah. i didn’t think you were killing people but you’re obviously angry and sad and i figured you might have needed an outlet for that-”

“yeah, i do, it’s called kickboxing fitz! i beat the shit out of a punchbag three times a week, the blood thing was…” i groan and sit down on the bench, “you’re right, i did change after jj’s wedding because i was scared of feeling hurt like that again so i thought if i toughened up and stopped being so nice and sweet then people wouldn’t be able to hurt me anymore, but…”

“but?”

“but then i realised that by being so sharp and harsh all the time then people wouldn’t want to be around me and i would be hurt all over again, and i just thought that if i made sure you would always stand by me then i’d be okay.”

he looks up, his eyebrows slightly less furrowed than before, “so, the blood thing was a metaphor for me always being on your side? cos’ if it is you don’t even have to worry about that, of course i’ll-”

i throw my arms around him and he squeezes me tightly in return, burying my face in his chest i blink back tears because the reassurance from my new best friend lifts a weight from my shoulders. but it’s a bittersweet feeling because i know he accepts it, but he doesn’t understand it; with spencer i never would’ve had to explain my enigmatic words.

with spencer i never even would’ve had to say them because he would just know. fitz is great and we make such an efficient team because we move in tandem like magnets; i move, he moves, but we’re always one behind the other. with spencer we were in sync like planets circling the sun, pulled together by an intangible force strong enough to construct a universe. at least that’s how it felt.

with spencer, we were in sync until we weren’t.

no honey, all glass.

i know that spencer and i are out of sync because when he comes to the city to deliver a guest lecture at nyu, he doesn’t even tell me.

fitz does.

he brings it up to me hesitantly after a meeting one day. since agent bishop retired, he is the new head of the counter terrorism division, and i’ve been promoted to his old job. we have tactical meetings every week with the heads of the three field offices in the state of new york to discuss any potential threat.

this week’s meeting was particularly taxing so when everyone leaves the conference room i just want to go for my lunch break, but fitz stops me to ask if i was aware spencer was in the city.

“no,” i say through gritted teeth, “i wasn’t, how do you know?”

he busies himself with some files, “i’ve been monitoring the movements of all agents coing in and out of the city-”

“why? do you think somethings wrong?”

he hesitates and loosens his tie, “i don’t know yet…i’m working on it, but i noticed that dr reid had a scheduled visit.”

“oh,” i say and try to force myself to wait an acceptable amount of time before questioning, “what’s he here for?”

my voice comes out dry and croaky despite my best efforts to appear unbothered, fitz ignores it and carries on as though nothing had happened.

“he’s giving a guest lecture to a criminology class at nyu, something about profiling…i don’t know,” he looks at his watch, “if you left now you could make it in time, professor van der woodson is a friend of mine, show her your creds and she’d let you sit in.”

i’m pulling on my coat before fitz has finished speaking, “wait…we have that meeting with that financial analyst today, he said he’d found a suspicious pattern of payments that could indicate a-”

fitz waves me off, “i got it, you go.”

i smile at him appreciatively before grabbing my bag and dashing out the door. it’s pouring with rain and it takes me forever to hail a cab, i sit in the back seat wringing out my hair with my scarf as we wait behind an immovable wall of traffic.

the cab crawls along the grid locked streets as i check my watch every two seconds, time is moving at half speed. by the time the driver pulls up outside by by the time the driver pulls ups at nyu i’m sure spencer’s lecture will already be over. i huff and trudge inside the building anyway, i’m chilled to the bone as i a buy myself a coffee from the cafe and find an empty seat to perch on.

i drum my fingers against the table as i sip the scorching hot coffee, i don’t really know what i’m expecting to happen. i haven’t seen or spoken to spencer since jj’s wedding, and at whisper of him being in the city i’ve spent the best part of an hour in the back of a taxi to see him. now that i’m here, i’m not sure that i want to see him.

classes are beginning to finish and the entrance hall floods with students, the volume level increases tenfold and i don’t want to be here anymore. i grab my coffee in my hand and make my way back to the front entrance when i hear a familiar voice call my name. i turn my head and i see him, he raises an eyebrow at me and begins fighting his way through the sea of students.

i freeze.

he’s getting closer with every second.

i don’t want to be here.

i don’t want to do this.

i don’t want to see him.

i turn on my heel and i powerwalk, the front door his jammed with students and if i take that route i’ll get suck and he’ll catch up to me. i spy a doorway to my left and dart towards it, breathing in a sigh of relief when i push through it and find an abandoned corridor.

“wait!”

spencer is still in pursuit. i groan but pause in my tracks as i turn around to face him.

“are you running away from me?”

i fold my arms over my chest, “no.”

“really? because that’s what it looked like.”

“i’ve told you before to wear your glasses, if you don’t then-”

“i’m wearing contacts,” he says softly as he takes a step towards me, “i can see perfectly clearly and you’re running away.”

he reaches out an arm to touch my shoulder but i flinch away, he look of hurt that spreads across his face would be enough to break my heart if he hadn’t already shattered it.

he swallows and pulls on the cuffs of his blazer, i can tell that i’ve upset him but i don’t have the words to console him. this had been a horrible mistake. i’d dreamt of seeing him again every night since the wedding, i ran over and over again in my head what i would say and do. i never imagined that i’d be soaked to the skin and standing in front of him in a corridor lit by flickering, fluorescent lights.

“okay, so i ran away, so what?”

spencer shakes his head, “do i really make you that uncomfortable? your body language is closed off, you keep looking at the door and tapping your foot…you really don’t want to see me…so why are you here?”

i have to look away from him, “i made a mistake coming here, i don’t want to see you.”

“is this about what happened at jj’s wed-”

i hold up a hand to cut him off, “please don’t,” i screw my eyes shut, “i’ve had to relive that moment enough in my nightmares, i don’t want to do it again for real.”

“i’m sorry, i never wanted go hurt you. i just don’t fee-”

“you don’t feel that way, i get it spencer. its fine,” i look at my watch, “there’s a meeting that i really should be at…i’m sorry spencer this was a mistake, please can we just forget about this-”

“do you still love me?” he asks quietly.

i laugh.

“what’s so funny?”

“well, it isn’t funny i suppose,” i say bitterly, “it just makes me laugh that you think i could ever stop.”

“so…that’s a yes?”

“of course it’s a yes!” i look at my feet as i speak because i don’t want to see whatever pitiful look he’s giving me, “you’re my first love spencer reid, i’m always going to love you.”

i take a shaky breath and look up to the ceiling, trying to hold back my tears.

he stares at me sadly, and i know i’ve really fucked things up between us when even dr spencer reid can’t think of something to say. there’s a stagnant awkwardness and i want nothing more than to be hiding under my duvet, but this might be my only chance to get everything off my chest.

“i will always love you spencer, but i’m not in love with you anymore.”

“there’s a difference?” he says with a hint of ice in his voice that makes me flinch.

“of course there is, i love you but it’s not the same suffocating and overwhelming love i felt for you years ago. i love you but i don’t want to burst into tears whenever i see you glance at jj. i love you but i’m free from hating myself and wondering why i could never be good enough for you,” i don’t even try to hide the tears now, “spencer i used to love you so much that i couldn’t breathe, but now i can breathe on my own.”

“i’m sorry,” his voice cracks, “i didn’t know…i didn’t know i made you feel that way, if i had then i’d have-”

“you wouldn’t have done anything spencer because you didn’t feel the same, and that’s okay. you would’ve just avoided me and given me the same pitiful look you’re giving me right now which i can’t fucking stand.”

i sniffle and run a hand through my hair, “i wanted to be there for you spencer, i thought you deserved someone that loves you like you love jj, and you still do. but i can’t be that person anymore, i love you spencer but you aren’t healthy for me.”

“i never asked you to do that for me.”

“not in so many words, but when you would show up at my apartment crying over jj or emily or tobias hankel or your mother…it didn’t take a profiler to figure out that you needed someone, and i loved you so much i was willing to put your needs above my own.”

he looks at his feet.

“i don’t blame you for that spencer, i didn’t value myself very much back then and i thought that loving you was the most important job in the world,” i tug at the sleeves of my sweater, “but now i know that loving myself is the only thing that matters.”

he doesn’t say anything, he just shuffles towards and me envelops my body in a gentle embrace. i’m crying into his chest and judging by his sniffles and shaky breaths, he’s crying too. he holds me tentatively like he he’s scared i’ll shatter in his arms if he squeezes too tight.

i realise he still sees me as fragile and brittle.

no honey, all glass.

i’m finally beginning to feel like my life is coming together.

today felt like a good day.

i woke up before my alarm, had time to make myself a decent breakfast, and didn’t have to sprint to catch the subway. i got to work early and the coffee machine i had ordered had arrived, i made myself a cup of steaming coffee as i relaxed behind my desk and checked my emails. i had a light day ahead of me and thankfully no meetings.

today felt like a good day until fitz burst into my office as half past eight and slammed the door behind him.

i leapt to my feet, immediately expecting the worst, “what’s going on? is there a bomb? hijacking? what is it?”

he waves me off, “no, nothing like that,” his eyes dart between me and windows that look out over the rest of the office, he pulls down the blinds and shuffles over to my desk, “do you remember a few months ago i said that i had been monitoring the movements of agents in and out of the city?”

“how could i forget?” i say bitterly as i am reminded of the painful encounter i had with spencer, “what does that have to do with anything?”

he swallows and sits down in the chair across from my desk, “i noticed that a few of our confidential code names for active and inactive investigations were cropping up in a few of the internet servers that we monitor, so-”

“so, you were tracking the movement of agents because you suspect a mole,” i finish for him.

he nods, “at first they were names of investigations that were well known within the bureau or easy to access with a low security clearance, so it could’ve been anyone, but i’ve been supplying different code names for made up investigations to different divisions across the bureau….”

“and you’ve seen those names continuing to appear in the servers,” i run my hand through my hair, “fuck, this is bad. does internal affairs know?”

he rests his head in his hands, “it’s worse than bad, because i kept a record of which names i gave to which departments because they were all unique, and the names that came up in the servers were only given to our division.”

my heart skips a beat. he was right, this was worse than just bad. this could be catastrophic, other departments in the bureau could gain access to some of our more low-level investigations. but only members of the counter terrorist division had access to the most potent and prolific threats, if we had a mole in our department then we could be looking at disaster of epic proportions.

i collapse into my own chair, “d-do you have any idea who it is?”

he shakes his head, “no, i’ve been nagging the director about it for months but i never got a proper response until this morning, he’s sending a team to conduct an internal investigation…” he looks up at me, his eyes filled with worry and pity.

i realise what he is too afraid to say.

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“i’m sorry, i thought they would just send someone from internal affairs, but the director feels that for someone to infiltrate our department then they must be highly trained and-”

“its fine, i get it, catching the mole is the most important thing right now,” i drum my nails against my desk, “that doesn’t mean i’m overjoyed at the thought of my old team crawling about the place and questioning our every decision.”

fitz reaches across my desk and squeezes my hand, “it’ll be okay, they’ll clear you right away and then you can get on with work, you don’t have to spend anymore time with them than necessary.”

“you mean anymore time with him than necessary,” i gulp my coffee and i don’t even flinch when it burns my throat, “when are they arriving?”

“an hour or so, they’re already on their way here and it’s a short flight,” he sighs, “it will just depend on how much traffic they hit on their way over, but we’re-”

“close to the airport, i know,” i bite my lip, “what do we tell everyone, they’re gonna start arriving soon,” i say, pulling up my sleeve to look at my watch.

its nearer nine now, and the office will start filling up soon with agents ready to start their day. there’s over a hundred agents in the counter terrorism division alone, and one of the is a traitor.

“director says we have to continue as normal until the bau team get here and they’ll decide the best course of action to take-”

i grip the edge of my desk, “so we just let them waltz in here and take over? those are our people down there, they don’t know them-”

“hey, its gonna be okay. you trust these guys, don’t you?”

i nod.

“so they’re going to find out who the mole is, and they’re not going to arrest anyone who isn’t guilty, they’re good at what they do.”

i let out a deep breath, “i know, i know. its just…i’ve been apart of these interrogations before, they ask you about everything and anything and analyze your every movement and micro expression, they’re going to question every decision we have ever made, professionally and personally. this is going to be an exhausting day,” i groan.

today felt like such a good day when i woke up, and now i was facing a waking nightmare.

fitz had gone back to his own office, like he said we needed to act like it was business as usual until the bau arrived. i had rolled my blinds back up and kept an anxious eye on the double glass doors that served as a main entrance to the bullpen.

i’d had an hour to try and prepare myself, to slow my heart rate and pull myself together enough to deal with my team of ex coworkers flying in to pick apart my department.

despite the hour i had to prepare myself, my legs turn to jelly when i see the elevator doors glide open and agent hotchner step out. fitz taps on my window as he passes my office on his way to greet them and i begrudgingly follow him out.

“agent hotchner,” he says, reaching out his hand, “thank you very much for coming on such short notice.”

hotch is stony faced as ever and gives him a brisk nod, “of course, have you told any of your agents about the situation?”

“just me,” i say, “no one else knows, but your presence here won’t go unnoticed for long,” i motion back through the double glass doors where some of the agents are already beginning to strain their necks to see who fitz and i are talking to.

“we brought our technical analyst, penelope garcia along, we might need access to computers and phones. do you have somewhere she can set up?”

fitz nods, “the conference room is just next to my office, you’ll have plenty of space and privacy in there for you all, i’ll show you the uo now if you’d like to follow me,” he says, motioning towards the door.

hotch nods, he and the rest of the team follow fitz through the bullpen and into the conference room. they mumble their hellos to me as they pass me but i know they can tell from my tightly folded arms and clenched jaw that i don’t want them here.

i tag along after them, behind a woman with dark hair that i don’t recognize, after i introduce myself she identifies herself as a dr alex blake.

“so you used to work with the bau?” she asks as we make our way up to the conference room, “hotch said you were a good agent, it’s nice to get the chance to meet you.”

i nod, “yeah, i transferred here a few years ago, it’s nice…to see everyone again,” i force a smile as i hold the door open for her.

“oh, thank you.”

i glance out the bullpen and see dozens of confused faces staring back at me. i close the door. the team have already settled themselves around the table, hotch, rossi, morgan, garcia, jj, blake and finally spencer. i avoid eye contact with him.

“so what are you going to tell people?” fitz asks, “surely if you announce that you think there’s a mole then whoever it is will just run?”

morgan nods gravely, “that is a concern, can you account that all of your agents arrived this morning?”

“lopez and mccall are out on assignment,” i say, “everyone else is here, either at their desks or somewhere on the floor.”

“any concerns about lopez and mccall?” hotch asks, “reprimands, hr complaints-”

“i know what to look for,” i say icily, “and no. they’re both stand up agents, they’ve saved both of our lives countless times,” i motion between fitz and i.

he nods, “she’s right. i’ve suspected a mole for months, so i’ve only been putting the agents i’d trust with my life out on assignment.”

hotch nods and makes some notes on the papers he is holding, “okay that’s good enough for me, like you said it is a concern that revealing our true purpose here could cause our mole to panic and we don’t want him to hurt himself or any of your agents.”

right, because a shoot out would just be the cherry on top of my day.

“our plan is to say that we have evidence to suggest the mole is in a different department, but the interviews we are carrying out here are just formality, we’ll ask inconspicuous questions and rely on behavioural cues,” morgan explains.

i raise an eyebrow, “and you really think that’ll work?”

“it has to,” jj whispers.

“okay,” i say, “i assume you’re going to want to interrogate fitz and i as well?”

“interview, not interrogate,” rossi says, “i will talk with agent fitz and dr blake will interview you…we felt that would be best since you never met during your time with us, that way there will be no bias or-”

“okay, i get the point. my office is next door, dr blake is welcome in there whenever she is ready to conduct our interview.”

before anyone can object i’ve already swept out of the room, into my office and slammed my door behind me. i’m sure they can hear it bang in the conference room. i know they’re just trying to do their job, and i feel pretty sure that they don’t suspect me. but i’m not in the mood to have my life picked apart by a profiler, especially one i don’t know.

it’s a few hours later when dr blake knocks on my door, when she comes in i motion for her to take a seat across from me. i offer her a cup of coffee but she politely refuses.

“no thank you, i don’t think this will take very long and i have quite a few interviews left after you….”

“of course,” i say, “i’m ready whenever you are.”

blake nods and presses the audio record button on her phone, “i already have the basics, your name, age et cetera confirmed by agent hotchner and fitz, so i just have a couple of quick questions. when did you transfer to the counter terrorism division?”

“three years ago.”

“and how long have you been in your role as assistant unit chief to agent fitz?”

“about a year and a half, he took over as unit chief when agent bishop retired and i was promoted to his previous role.”

blake nods, “okay, excellent. why did you choose to transfer from the bau to the counter terrorism division?”

i don’t think there are enough hours in the day to explain that properly, is what i want to say to dr blake. i left because of a bitter concoction of unrequited love and self-hatred, is what i want to say to dr blake. but instead i force a smile.

“i had been with the bau for a very long time and i felt it was time for a change of pace, i-”

the door swings open, cutting me off mid-sentence. i’m ready snap at whichever one of my agents is stupid enough to interrupt, but when i look up all i see are the cold and hard eyes of spencer reid staring back at me.

“reid, is there a problem?” blake asks.

“no, i was just hoping to sit in on this interview,” he says, never breaking eye contact with me.

“oh, spencer i don’t think that’s appropriate, you two were friends-”

“it’s fine he can stay. pull up a chair, reid.”

“i’ll stand.”

“fine.”

i’m grateful when dr blake doesn’t comment on the obvious tension between us. spencer sulks over to my desk, he stands slightly behind blake and leans against the wall. his arms are folded tight across his body, his jaw is clenches, his brows are furrowed; it’s like looking at myself in the mirror.

spencer reid doesn’t want to be here either.

“right,” blake says slowly, “you were just telling me why you transferred to the counter terrorism division, please continue.”

i tear my gaze away from spencer, “yes, of course. like i was saying i felt i had been with the bau so long and i just wanted a change of scenery, when agent fitz offered me the job i thought it would be a perfect opportunity to go somewhere i could really thrive and make a difference.”

spencer makes a face and i ignore him.

blake smiles and nods, “well it sounds like you’ve done just that, agent fitz speaks very highly of you.”

“what’s your relationship with agent fitz?” spencer interjects.

“dr reid, i think it would be best if i ask the-”

“he’s my boss, and he’s my friend. probably my closest friend here.”

“hmm.”

“what?”

spencer shrugs, “some of the other agents i’ve interviewed reported that you two have a very close relationship, and he offered you this job before he was unit chief. hiring agents wasn’t part of his job description.”

“this supposed to be an interview, none of those were questions.”

“i guess i’m just wondering why he offered you this job in the first place, and why he chose to promote you to assistant unit chief when there are dozens of other agents in this office who have been here longer than you.”

“maybe you should be asking agent fitz those questions, not me.”

“oh i intent to.”

“do you really think i’m the mole?” i spit.

“i don’t know, but jj says you’ve been dodging her calls, not answering her texts…and i know from experience how much you hate that. not to mention you just lied straight to dr blake’s face, so i’d say you’re not looking as innocent as hotch and fitz think you are.”

“what is he talking about?”

the anger is burning through my bloodstream. the bitter and cold spencer reid standing in front of me is not the man i left in virgina all those years ago. he’s not even the same man i met at nyu even a few months ago, something about him is different.

“i think he’s referring to when i told you that i transferred because i wanted a change of scene, spencer has always believed there is a bigger conspiracy behind why i left.”

he snorts.

“something funny?”

“well it’s only a conspiracy if it’s not true.”

“that is the truth,” i say though gritted teeth, my nails dig into the palms of my hands as i clench my fists.

“part of it maybe, why don’t you tell dr blake why you really left?”

“spencer, i think that’s enough. i knew this wouldn’t be appropriate-”

“what happened to you spencer? you’re acting like a totally different person, refusing to sit down, snapping at me, speaking to me like i’m an unsub – you’ve changed.”

“maybe i’m taking after you,” he shrugs, “jj says that you’re different too now, she says you’re irritable and-”

i laugh, “she said that? do you two have little catch-ups where you can discuss how rude and bitchy i am now?”

“i’m sure they don’t-” dr blake begins.

“no, we do. jj doesn’t like it when you don’t call her back, she was upset-”

“right, because everything comes back to jj with you doesn’t it.”

he pauses and i see a hint of emotion flash through his eyes, i’ve touched a nerve there.

“not anymore,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“right, you’re not in love with her anymore, she mentioned you had a new girlfriend.”

blake’s eyes flicker between reid and i, “we really should get back on track-”

“yeah, not anymore with that either.”

i roll my eyes, “spencer, i don’t care about your relationship status anymore. i know you remember what i said to you at nyu, so i know that you know i don’t feel that way about you anymore,” i don’t even care the blake is in the room with us anymore, “i’m not in love with you, so if you’re trying to make me jealous with your little girlfriend in the hopes that i’ll get upset and reveal something then you’re barking up the wrong tree, i’m not the mole. i don’t have anything to hide.”

“i’m not trying to make you jealous,” he croaks, “even if i wanted to i couldn’t, because she’s dead.”

oh. so that’s why he was acting so out of character.

“what happened?”

“stalker, shot herself and maeve right in front of me.”

maeve. what a pretty name, the mystery woman i’d been so desperate to know about when jj first mentioned her on the phone. that was so long ago now, i hadn’t felt jealous of her in a long time. i was grateful for that, i didn’t want to be jealous of a dead woman.

i hadn’t lied to spencer when i said i wasn’t in love with him anymore. i would always have a soft spot for him in my heart, but i wasn’t in love with him. i’d been slowly piecing myself back together for the past year and a half, as my feelings for spencer faded i felt better, and stronger.

i felt more confident than i had in a long time, because i wasn’t constantly competing for his attention or comparing myself to the women he preferred. i once felt like spencer and i were tied together like planets orbiting the sun, but that was never a true representation of our relationship because he was my sun, the light and center of my life.

and to him i was just one of many trapped in his orbit. i let my love for him burn and keep me warm for years, but you can have too much of a good thing i was blinded by that love. eventually, you have to learn to keep yourself warm. eventually the eclipse will pass.

“when?”

“a couple of months ago.”

i sigh and lean back in my chair, “why are you telling me this spencer?”

spencer isn’t look at me anymore and for once i don’t mind.

“alex, could you give us a minute?” he asks, she hesitates for a moment, “please.”

eventually she nods, gets up and leaves. spencer takes her seat.

i pick at my nails, “so now you want to sit down, huh?”

“don’t be like that.”

“oh i’m sorry, have i been rude to you?” i scoff, “are you not the one who has been unprofessional and-”

“i shouldn’t need to be professional with my friends!”

“are we even friends anymore, spencer?”

he shrugs and looks down at his lap. i see the dark circles rimming his eyes, the hollowness in his face, the tangles in his hair. he looks rough. his chapped lips, his pale skin, his bruised knuckles, he looks ill.

“why did you barge into my interview? blake wasn’t going to ask me anything you didn’t already know the answer to.”

“i wanted to see if you’d about your transfer, and you did-”

“spencer, i don’t know why you have this fixation on why i left, but if you want me to say it so badly then fine. i left because of you, is that what you wanted to hear? are you happy now?”

i wait for the tears to well up in my eyes but they don’t come. i can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not.

“do you think i would be happy about you leaving because of me?” his voice cracks, “i learned recently what rejection can do to a person, i guess i wanted to see if-”

“if what? your rejection drove me to become a terrorist?” i snort, “jesus fucking christ spencer, i’d have hoped you had more faith in me than that.”

my heart begins to soften when i see the tears in his eyes. that fucking soft spot.

“with maeve…” tears begin to stream down his face and it’s several minutes before he can bring himself to speak, “maeve rejected a phd student’s thesis, and it drove her crazy. she stalked, kidnapped and eventually killed them both, and that was just a thesis rejection.”

he holds his head and his hands and cries, i stand up from my chair and shuffle round the desk, bending down i wrap my arms around him.

“i’m not a profiler anymore, but you’re upset and i think you’re projecting your feelings about maeve’s death onto me.”

he shakes his head, “she was the love of my life, i wanted to spend forever with her and she’s gone. i’m not upset, i’m devastated,” i wipe the tears streaming down his skeletal cheeks, “and i am projecting my feelings, but not about this.”

“spencer, i-”

“no, let me finish, please,” he whimpers, “i’ve been thinking about you, even before maeve died, since that day at nyu and i don’t think i’ve been a good friend to you, i should’ve noticed your feelings sooner. and i shouldn’t have made you listen to my feelings about jj all those years, it wasn’t fair-”

“you don’t need to apologise, you didn’t know-”

“but i should’ve! you were right in front of my nose and i never noticed,” he looks up at me with his tear-filled eyes, “i think i could’ve learned to love you, if i’d had the chance.”

my blood runs cold and i drop my arms from their embrace around him, slowly backing away, “learned to love me?” i repeat, “i don’t want you to have to have force yourself to love me, who would want that?”

“wait, no i’m sorry. i just meant that-”

“i’m finally over you spencer,” i cry, “i spent years putting back together what you broke, and now you come to my job and tell me that you could’ve learned to love me? no. that’s not fair spencer, i deserve someone who loves me without having to try, i don’t need your pity or your fake love.”

i turn on my heel and storm towards the door, spencer leaps to his feet and follows me, crying out his apologies the whole way. i ignore him, because what else does he expect me to say?

i’ve worked so hard to put my life back together, and now he wants to shatter me like glass over again? he wants to sit in front of me, in my fucking office, and tell me that if he’d profiled me a little bit harder then we could be together right now?

i think i could’ve learned to love you.

somehow the words hurt more than his rejection.

i swing open my door, hotch is standing in the doorway.

“we got the mole.”

“who was it?” spencer asks, evidently having pulled himself together long enough respond to hotch.

“an agent jermey cole,” hotch says hesitantly, his eyes flickering between us, “were you two close?”

“not anymore,” i say, mocking spencer’s earlier words as i shoot a glare back at him, “we only dated for a few months, i broke up with him when he started acting strange...”

“strange how?” hotch questions.

“weird phone calls in the middle of the night, hiding his texts from me, coming home late…god i was so stupid. i thought he was cheating on me.”

hotch places a reassuring hand on my shoulder, “it’s not your fault, that was a far more reasonable assumption than guessing he was part of a terrorist cell. but we caught him before he could do any real damage, i have to go and call the director. i was just coming to tell reid we’re heading back to the jet now.”

hotch nods at spencer and walks away, pulling his phone from his pocket as he enters fitz’s office.

“i didn’t know you were dating anyone,” spencer whispered.

“yeah,” i spit, “guess you could say i was learning to love him.”

i leave spencer standing in the doorway to my office.

i think i could’ve learned to love you.

his words sting, and they definitely make me angry. but there’s a satisfaction in knowing that they don’t make me fall apart. i love spencer, but i’m not in love with him, and this erases any doubts i had about that fact. had he said those words to me a year ago, i’d have been crumbling to pieces in his arms.

but now i feel like honey and glass.

it’s been two years since i saw spencer.

it’s been two years since i saw anyone on the team, jj sends me pictures of the boys sometimes, but even we aren’t the same as we used to be. and i think i’m okay with that.

fitz and i make a good team, we run the counter terrorism division like well oiled machine and people don’t die. he’s my best friend now, and i don’t need anyone else.

not in my personal life at least. but professionally, we’re at a dead end on this case and if we don’t act now then people will die. fitz and i only work so well as a team because we know when to make the hard calls.

for me, the hardest call was when i had to pick up my phone and ask agent hotchner for his help tracking down a serial bomber who was targeting busy tourist spots around the city.

it’s been two, peaceful years since i saw anyone from the bau, and now they’re standing next to me, clad in bullet proof vests and surrounded by s.w.a.t agents as we approach grand central station, one of the most frequented areas in the city.

this was his endgame.

the n.y.p.d are working on evacuating the station, and all incoming trains have been rerouted. the bomb squad are getting anxious, they don’t like waiting around like this, but there isn’t much they can do when the unsub has the bomb strapped to his chest.

fitz is trying to talk him down, but i can see the unsub getting angrier and angrier with every second, he’s going to blow us all up.

“we need to do something,” i hiss to hotch.

we’re standing at the very edge of the station by the entrances, ready to sprint out if he decides to detonate. only i can’t leave fitz, i didn’t want to let him to go and talk to the bomber and i tried to fight my way towards them but hotch told me i could either stay with him and follow his orders or i could go back to headquarters. i begrudgingly chose the former.

“well we can’t shoot him, he has a manual and biomechanical trigger – if the heart rate monitor detects that his has heart stops beating the bomb will arm automatically, our only chance is if fitz can talk him down.”

i tap my foot, “he shouldn’t even be the one negotiating, he has a wife now and a kid on the way, if he dies that baby is gonna grow up without a dad,” I clench my fists so hard my nails dig into my palms and draw blood, “if i die, the only person i’m going to hurt is myself, but i’ll be dead so it won’t matter.”

“i can’t let you go over there-” hotch begins.

i look over at fitz, standing several feet away from the bomber with his hands in the air. i imagine telling his wife that her husband has been blown to pieces, i imagine her going through labour alone, i imagine his kid growing up and asking why everyone has a daddy apart from them.

“no you can’t, but you also can’t stop me,” i say, shoving my gun back into its holster and taking my first few steps towards the unsub.

hotch is hissing something at me but i don’t hear him because everything happens so fast after that. something in the unsubs body language shifts, and before i know it i’m being blown backwards by a searing hot force.

every window in the building shatters, and i land in a pile of glass, the shards tearing at my skin as a try and push myself to my feet. my head is aching, and everything blurs in front of me, but i can tell from the acrid smell and orange glow that half the building is on fire. i pat myself down, searching for any pieces of shrapnel or glass embedded in my body, i don’t feel penetrating wounds but when i hold my hands up above my face my fingers are slick with blood.

my vision is so blurry, and i can’t hear a thing over the ringing in my ears. spencer’s face appears in front of my eyes, his lips are moving but i still can’t hear a word. the ringing is overwhelming and black spots are beginning to appear across my vision.

i want to go to sleep.

my eyes flutter shut.

i think someone is shaking me.

the ringing is too much.

when i begin to float back to consciousness, the ringing is gone and is replaced with a consistent beeping. my body is aching, and i groan as i try and sit myself up because my arms don’t want to cooperate with me. when i look down i see they’re wrapped up tightly in bandages.

“hey, don’t try and move yet,” a voice says, “you have a concussion, the doctor says you’ll be okay but groggy for a while.”

the voice shifts into view, its spencer. his face is twisted with worry and he’s biting at his nail, “how do you feel?”

“like i was hit by a train,” i cough, “what happened?”

his face drops, “you don’t remember?”

i try to shake my head but it hurts to try and move, “bits and pieces, did n.y.p.d get everyone out?”

he nods, “yeah, your team did a good job,” he shifts towards me and takes a seat on the bed next to me, “but there’s something else-”

“god, my head really hurts, can they give me any pain meds?”

“yeah, i’m sure they can, i’ll ask a nurse in a minute,” he says softly, “but i have some bad news…it’s agent fitz-”

“no. no, no, no,” the tears start to burn in my eyes and my vision is blurrier than it was immediately after the explosion, “don’t say it, please don’t say it,” i plead.

he takes my hand, “okay, i won’t.”

the tears are streaming down my face i can’t bring myself to wipe them away, my body aches as it’s racked with sobs. spencer doesn’t say anything, he just squeezes my hand and takes out a handkerchief to dry away my tears.

“d-does his wife know?” i finally manage to choke out.

“yeah, hotch spoke to her.”

gemma was a lovely woman, i don’t know how i can face her again when the guilt flooding my body tells me that this is my fault. fitz is dead, and it should’ve been me.

“this isn’t fair,” i croak.

“i know, it’s never fair. but he saved so many people-”

“no. i mean it’s not fucking fair because he never should’ve been in that position in the first place, if i’d just gotten there sooner then he never would’ve tried to negotiate, it should’ve been me.”

through my own tears i think i see spencer’s eyes turn red and glassy, he shakes his head and grips onto my hand so tightly it hurts, if i had the energy i’d tell him to loosen his grip but i can’t make myself speak.

“i know what its like to have someone you love die right in front of you,” he says, and from the pain in his voice i know he isn’t lying and i know he’s talking about maeve, “i know what its like to feel that guilt and wish it was you instead but-”

“do you think we’re cursed spencer?”

“what do you mean?”

i close my eyes, “bad things seem to happen to us more than anyone else i know, we’ve both been kidnapped, drugged, tortured, known the agony of unrequited love, had someone we love killed in front of our eyes…how am i supposed to have any faith in life when we’re just bombarded with trauma and pain every single day?”

spencer opens his mouth to speak but he falters, i can only recall one other occasion where i’ve seen spencer speechless. it’s not a sight that i ever want to see again, he looks so lost as he stares down at me and i know that he doesn’t know what to say.

morgan pops his head around the door, “glad to see you’re awake,” he says.

i smile weakly at him before tilting my head away, i don’t need anyone else seeing me cry.

“sorry kid, but hotch wants wheels up in thirty, we need to get a move on.”

“yeah, i’ll be two minutes.”

my heart sinks in my chest because i realise that spencer’s hand is still intertwined with mine and i know that my heart will break when he pulls his away. i shakily raise my hand to dry my eyes, spencer has to go now, and i need to dry my own eyes from now on.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers, “i don’t want to leave you but-”

“it’s okay, spencer,” i say, shifting my head back so i can see his face again.

his honey and glass eyes are boring into mine, and in that moment, we are connected by our mutual pain, and maybe something deeper that i can’t quite discern.

“you could come back with me,” he says hopefully.

i shake my head, “you know i can’t spencer,” i squeeze his hand lightly, “you go, i’ll be okay.”

i can’t go with him because i think i know what his eyes are asking me and i can’t open myself up to something like that right now. i can’t disregard the last five years that i have spent re-building myself just for something that i may be reading too much into.

he lets go of my hand and an involuntary shiver runs through my body, i had grown so accustomed to our brief skin to skin contact and now that it’s gone i feel like i’m missing a part of myself.

“i’m so sorry, about everything-”

“it’s okay spencer, i’m starting to think that we aren’t meant to have a happily ever after.”

he doesn’t say anything else; he just presses a gentle kiss against my forehead before he skirts of the room.

i lie motionless in my hospital bed, the nurse comes in to administer some pain meds and i almost wished she hadn’t because at least the pounding in my head and stinging from my cuts meant i could feel something.

without spencer, the room is colder. i thought that having my own, personal sun was a bad thing because i thought that being strong and independent meant never relying on anyone for anything. i realise now that being strong means knowing when to when to depend on others.

i wish fitz were here, he would know exactly what to say.

i feel like rotten honey and shattered glass.

i’m not surprised by the look of shock that spreads across his face when he swings open the door to see me standing in the hallway. i open my mouth to speak but i realise i never figured out what to say. i had two cab journeys, a flight, a decade of loving him and i still don’t know what to say.

he must see something on my face because his own stony expression softens, and he reaches out a hand.

“what made you change your mind?”

it’s warm against my own, still freezing from the bitter, winter wind.

“i realised i was wrong, i thought if i ran straight back into your arms it would ruin all the years i spent sticking myself back together. before you were oxygen to me, and i couldn’t live without you. now i know that i can, i just don’t want to.”

he squeezes my hand, pulling me towards him. i’m in his apartment.

“you told me once that you still love me, but you aren’t in love with me. is that still true?”

i nod, “yes, but i don’t think that you’re in love with me either. yet,” i wink at him and he grins, “i don’t need to learn how to love you, i already know how to do that. i just need to be persuaded to fall in love with you again.”

he takes a step closer to me, “persuaded how?”

i snake my arms around his neck and his lips brush against mine, “like this.”

i press my lips against his and i don’t feel fireworks or butterflies or a gravitational pull, i just feel at home. i don’t need a happily ever after beacuse he is enough.

he tastes like coffee and i feel like honey and glass.

as usual i have finished this super late at night and havent proof read at all so pls ignore any grammar/spelling mistakes - also aware that the timeline in this probably doesn't align with canon cos i have no clue how far apart certain events happened so ive made some educated guesses.

i never planned for honey and glass to have a part 2 but i wrote one due to all the requests i got so i’m sorry if the plot isnt the best because i didnt really know where to take it. i’m definitely not as happy with this as i was with part one but i still hope you enjoy it!

taglist:

@mggswhorificlover @doctorthreephds @minami97 @bisexualwomanofcolour @ashwarren32 @bangisbae @haylaansmi @heyy-itsharley03 @starjane312 @awesometheydontknowiamhere @radtwinkie @allexthakatt @spencereidshoe @mgglover @spideyr3id

@cloudyskylines @pastelvixenbeauty @hatemyselfbutitsokay @writingwithnotime @awkwxrdmarauders

ive tagged anyone who commented on part 1 or liked my posts about a part 2 so im sorry if you didnt want to be tagged, if ur name is scored through then i tried to tag you but it wouldnt let me x

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds imagines #spencer reid angst #hurt and comfort #spencer reid headcanons

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tsukibraun · 4 years ago

Text

Pragma Love; Jean Kirschtein x reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

type: series, blurb

summary: you and jean slowly develop feelings for each other over time, but you both quickly learn that love isn’t as easy as you thought

warnings: feelings of worthlessness (you get better in the end tho cause you’re a legend, obviously)

listen to: Crush- Yuna, Usher

part 1/2

read part 2 here!

Self-worth is a tricky thing. You have to know when to be humble and when to humble others. You have to be able to determine what’s just a small flaw in someone’s personality and what’s them trying to walk all over you. You have to have enough love and respect for yourself without becoming a complete narcissist. You have to know what type love you deserve and how to reject the love you don’t like. And when someone tries to challenge your worth, you have to be ready to honestly defend yourself.

This is something you’d struggled with for a long time. It wasn’t easy being able to discern people’s intentions or to come up with a reason for why they treated you the way they did. Yeah, sure, this person could just be a total jerk, or you could’ve done something to deserve the harsh treatment. Maybe you really hurt them without realizing; maybe they’re just reacting that way to defend themselves. They could be a bad person, but what if it was the other way around? You never wanted to assume anything about anyone, but in recent years you’ve learned that sometimes that’s what you have to do.

That was the first thing you noticed about Jean. You witnessed the fight he’d had with Eren in the lunchroom one night. They both retaliated back at each other, but there was something different about the way he was doing it. Eren was clearly angry and wouldn’t let someone challenge his opinions, but Jean- Jean was beyond confident. He wasn’t threatened at all by Eren or his opinions; in fact, it seemed Jean knew he was right, at least in his head, and didn’t mind letting someone know that. He was confident in himself, like he knew he’d come out as the victor; but even if he didn’t, you had a feeling he wouldn’t be too bothered by it. He seemed like the type to just be proud of making his point.

At that time, you couldn’t imagine getting into an argument like that with someone. If they disagreed with you, even if you were clearly right, you would just let it go. ‘There’s no reason to put up a fight’, you’d say, ‘they have a valid reason to think what they think’. Even if they persisted after you clearly would not retaliate, you’d either end up agreeing with them to get them off your back or just sit and take it. Confrontation wasn’t an option and must be avoided at all costs, even if you weren’t the one that started it.

That was the first thing Jean noticed about you.

You were very quiet and laid-back; you often didn’t say much when you guys were in groups. You would just sit back and listen, quietly laughing at jokes from time to time. You weren’t quiet forever, though. After a couple of months you started to open up more; not too much, but it was progress. Little by little you would start to engage in group discussion, agreeing with someone, cracking a joke, or adding to the conversation in general. He thought it was so weird. You clearly had a lot more to say but you just...didn’t. You always bit your tongue and let someone else say it, or just let the idea disappear entirely. He didn’t pester you at first, though. He wanted to see how you would come out on your own.

There was one night, though, where he was really irked by your shyness.

It was late the night before an expedition. You guys were supposed to be asleep by then, but the night before a mission is always a restless one. While some scouts were responsible enough to get some shut eye, you, Jean, Berdolt, Reiner, Mikasa, Eren, Sasha, Krista, and Ymir had other plans. All of you sat in the lunchroom, making casual conversation. It was simple things, like games you would play as kids, things you hated, funny stories from before you became scouts. Eventually, though, you began to discuss your current reality. At first it began with the EDM gear, talking about improvements, how hard it was to use, what you liked about it, etc. Then you came to the topic of Titans. Many different things were talked about here, but there was one question that made everyone tense up: If you could only save your family or fellow cadet, who should you pick?

Ymir asked this question, of course, smirking at the change in atmosphere. This was a very sensitive question for many reasons, but you didn’t think too much of it. Everyone is different with their own experiences and reasons for why or why they wouldn’t do certain things. Eren was the first to answer. “What kind of question is that? You’d save your family, obviously.” No one answered for a while, each person contemplating their answer. “Do you guys seriously have to think about this?” Eren pestered. Finally, Jean answered. “As much as I can’t stand you, Eren, I’ll have to agree with you on this one.”

Everyone else began to give their answers and it started a small debate, but you were still thinking. Jean wondered if you were just gonna sit this one out again, and honestly the idea irritated him. But to his surprise (and everyone else’s) you gave an answer. “I’d save the cadet.” Everyone went quiet and stared at you, somewhat because they were shocked you answered, and somewhat shocked of your answer. Eren in particular didn’t like it. “Are you serious? You’d pick a soldier over your own family?” The tone in his voice made you anxious, but you still decided to explain yourself.

“Well, it’s not like I don’t love my family or anything but...in most cases, the cadet is more important...in practical ways at least. I’d obviously try to save my family afterwards but-“

“How heartless are you?” He interrupted. You felt a lump form in your throat as you predicted the confrontation that was about to ensue. “How could you say that? A soldier is more important than your mother, then? Sister? Father?” You gulped, trying your best not to freak out in front of everyone. You took a couple seconds to make sure he was done before speaking again. “Well...I don’t really view you all as just soldiers,” you trailed off looking at your feet, “I do care about all of you. I don’t hold the people I care about one against the other. I care for each of them all the same.”

“So, in this certain scenario, although I would never want my family to die, saving the soldier is more practical. They’re an extra set of hands, skill, thinking ability- we all know how devastating it is to lose a soldier. Everything becomes incessantly harder. What if they were really needed for future fights? What if they were an important asset? And, if I were able to save them, they could help me possibly save my family.” You finally looked up for a second, seeing everyone’s reaction to your words. You immediately looked somewhere else so you could finish your point.

“Saving a cadet isn’t just saving them, it’s also saving the rest of us. If I were to go after my family, what other things would I miss? More Titans coming? A retreat?A change of plan? And even if I did save them, it’s another liability.” You finally looked Eren in the eyes, seeing his clenched fist and strong glare. “Unfortunately, in this world, we can’t always go after what we want. Sometimes we have to go after what we need, even if that means losing something we want. Our decisions don’t just affect us- they affect everyone.”

A long silence followed the end of your tangent. This was the most you’d ever said in one go, and they didn’t quite know how to take it. They didn’t know you had such detailed thinking, either. They shared glances with each other before some began to speak again. “You know,” Berdolt said rubbing his chin, “when you put it like that, I can see your point.”

“Yeah,” Krista agreed, “I’m not sure I would do the same thing, but I can see where you’re coming from.” Eren scoffed. “You guys are delusional. The only reason you’re agreeing with her is because you pity her.” You straightened up, palms sweating. He could be right; you saw the looks on their faces when you were done. They could just be trying to keep you from feeling dumb. Before you could say anything else, Jean came to your defense. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, cocking his head to the side and leaning forward.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Eren continued, “the girl never says anything!”

“And so what if she doesn’t,” Jean asked, “she’s not bothering you. Why do you care so much?”

“I don’t-“

“Then leave her alone,” he interrupted, “She’s allowed to have her own opinion just like the rest of us. If you’re gonna get that pissed about it, maybe you should go to sleep.” Eren quickly stood up, ready to fight with Jean again, but Mikasa quickly stopped him. You looked between the two of them not quite sure of what to do; you decided not to say anything more to Eren since you had clearly made him upset. Instead, you quietly tapped Jean’s arm and gave a quiet “Thank you.” He gave you a small smile. “Don’t mention it. You know, though,” he said leaning closer to you, “you really need to learn to stick up for yourself. You can’t be so quiet all the time or else stuff like this is gonna keep happening.” He was so close you swore he could hear your unsteady heart rate; still, you returned his word with a small smile and nod.

Ever since then, you two were close.

It wasn’t necessarily a closeness that was outwardly established between you two, it was just there. If he saw you getting anxious, depending on the situation, he would invite you over to where he was. If not, he would give you a certain look, similarly to asking if you were okay or telling you everything was okay. You sat close to each other during meals; if one of you had a smaller portion than the other, you would give a piece of your meal without saying anything. You made sure you were in eyeshot of each other, whether that be on an expedition or simple training. It wasn’t an obsessive thing, just comforting.

Being around Jean made you open up more. Slowly, you began to be okay with showing others who you were. You began to talk louder, laugh more, speak your mind (with tact, of course), and stand your ground. It wasn’t to Jean’s level, but it was there. You noticed other small differences, too. If you needed help with something, you weren’t afraid to ask for it. You could come into a conversation without overthinking it. You began to speak to other people first instead of waiting for them to speak to you. You could walk up to a group of people without feeling like you were intruding. You were able to really live, now. And it was with his help.

The more you came out of your shell, the more Jean absolutely adored you. Sometimes he would be the one to sit back and observe; he would watch you talk and laugh with everyone and be completely infatuated with you. Your laugh, your smile, your humor, your kindness, your little mannerisms; the more and more he was with you, the more he realized he was in love with you. Completely in love with you. So much so it actually started to hurt.

Although he loved being around you, knowing that any of the cadets could have a chance of sweeping you off your feet frustrated him. Since you came out, everyone noticed your charm. The boys had complimented you a couple times, to which Jean told them all to shut up. He wanted to tell you how he felt, and he eventually would, but he had no idea when. He had to use tact like you did so you wouldn’t be too shocked and reject him, but he wasn’t quite sure how. Although you two were close, he had no idea what you wanted in a guy, especially not how you’d want to be confessed to. You didn’t seem to want much from anyone, but there was a part of you he didn’t know yet; the romantic part- that part of you with anyone was completely closed off. He didn’t want to ask you, either, because it was clearly something you weren’t too comfortable talking about.

He had no idea what to do, which was a pretty rare occurrence, at least when it came to women. Either way, he was going to tell you. He just had to figure out when.

Meanwhile, you were completely ignoring your feelings for Jean. Although you were a lot more open with everyone, there were certain parts you kept from them, even from yourself. You noticed the butterflies in your stomach, a different type of longing for his presence, him popping up in your head at random times. You knew how you felt about him, but you continued to lie to yourself. “It’s nothing,” you’d say, “I’m just overthinking it.”

You’d noticed him staring at you with a certain look in his eyes; the way he’d smile at you, the way he’d purposely brush your hands together when walking by, him being more protective and watchful of you- it was little stuff, but clearly different than what it’d been before.

And you absolutely loved it.

You didn’t notice, but you began to do the same thing. Smiling at him if you saw him sleep, fussing at him if he ever got hurt, making sure he had everything he needed at all times, fixing his collar or hair when it was a mess; everyone else saw it except you.

One day you’d have to come to terms with how you felt, but until then, you’d deny the feelings every change you got.

***

uh...hi!! this is something pretty different from what i normally do 😅 i’m not too comfortable writing stuff like this but i’m trying my best! hopefully this was a nice introduction to this series. anyways, if you read all of it, thank you sm!! i can’t tell you how much i appreciate it. take care and stay safe!<333

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heli0s-writes · 4 years ago

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crystalline*

A/N: Instead of attending to the rest of my WIPS, here’s 1.6k words of Bottom Bucky and Service Dom reader. Throatfucking. Erm. Cathartic crying.

Warnings: Bucky working out trauma. Please stop reading if you are not 18+

brooklyn after dark masterlist

You teach him how to want things again.

His pieces from the past, the joys he used to have taken too soon— you tell him he can have it all back.

It started with food, predictably. No longer being tube-fed slurry, Bucky quickly embarked on discovering all the new flavors of the 21st century.

Chocolate alone was a month-long passion as he attempted to scrub out the standard issued combat rations haunting his tongue. Chalky cuts like cold pressed gravel— fuck that. The first time you broke off a square of unroasted, dark, sprinkled with Himalayan sea salt chocolate, Bucky’s head hit the back of the couch with a pathetic mewl and a million things rushed through his mind of all the ways he could keep feeling this good.

Sleep came next— something he thought he’d had enough of, but the difference between getting perma-frosted every decade and lying face down in whatever memory foam’s made out of is lifetimes apart.

Bubble baths. Streaming apps. Nice clothes.

Attention and affection. Kisses. Braids in his hair. Tickles for extra laughs. His ego’s in overdrive because he has half a thought about anything and you’re fulfilling it like his personal genie. You say he needs all the dopamine he can get and you’re gonna give it to him.

And you give it to him in spades.

Orgasms. Jesus fucking Christ, he’s spoiled rotten.

Morning sex, afternoon sex, sex before bed. Blindsided in hallways and under conference room tables. The compound pool’s been properly christened more than once, and if Tony ever found out just exactly how many of those precious luxury cars have seen the imprint of Bucky’s ass, he’d set them all on fire.

But, reconciliation comes for him eventually. Spend long enough feeling all good he figures it was about time he starts screwing it up. He turns greedy, he starts wanting for too much. His girl’s an insatiable little beast, but even beasts have limits.

Bucky went shy when he asked, stuttering about how it’s okay if you didn’t—if you weren’t—it’s kinda strange— but you’d put your hand over his and tilted his chin up.

“Bucky,” you said fondly, “Baby,” and then a sweet smile curled over your pretty pink lips like spun sugar, “I’d eat your ass like a five-course meal. I’ll let you fuck me on the moon. What is it, huh?”

He could’ve kissed your dirty mouth silly.

“I want you to use a toy—"

“We do all the time.”

“—on me.”

And that sweet candy pink smile turned red hot and wicked. No limit in sight.

You approach the bed like a fever dream and all the blood in Bucky’s body congregates south.

Nothing on but the 2-day-shipping-because-the-phone’s-a-genie-too leather harness sitting snugly on your hips and a grin. The heaviness between your thighs hangs like both an offering and a weapon.

He asked for it. He wanted it. Just—maybe, to start— can you be rough with him. Then, stuttering once more because he doesn’t know how to justify why. It doesn’t make any sense and it’s hard to say out loud that with all the things you let him have, that after nearly a century of being out of his own body, he… wants to give it away.

He’s messed up, baby. Sick down to his rotten core.

You only shushed him. If it’ll make you happy, I’ll rough you up real fucking good. No why’s necessary.

Fleshy weight brushes against your inner thigh, swinging idly from one side to the other. “This okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes, still dressed at the edge of the mattress, skin beginning to prickle, nerves taking a hard left into arousal. When your hand finds rough landing in his hair, he thinks he must be the luckiest bastard in the entire world.

Bucky drops on his knees like dead weight, nearly tearing off his clothes, feeling the upsurge of heat in his cheeks and chest. His eyelids are fluttering, your face going fuzzy but he can still see that look of adoration you reserve for him.

He’s pondering if that old saying is true—if there can be too much of a good thing, if he’s become spoiled sick, or if he could overdose on pleasure when you start thumbing the edge of his mouth.

“Pay attention,” you say with a glimmer in your eyes. “Open.”

He’s tingling when you put two fingers in, moving around his tongue, scissoring them against his inner cheek. They explore for a while, bolder each passing second. He can tell you’re getting excited too, your chest heaving gradually, watching him with curious intent.

“You like this?” You ask, lip between your teeth, and Bucky nods, leaning further in, spit following the path of your hand down to his neck. You palm the cock like it’s always belonged to your body and he’s mesmerized at how it rises from your grip, moving over his face to rest on his cheek.

“It’s big, baby.” You warn, full on now. You stroke the outline of his jaw with it, leaving a burning path in its wake. “You sure?”

He quietly likes that you ask—honey-toned and patient, needing to hear it, knowing that he needs to hear it from himself. All those things he’d been made to say with his body and not with his mind.

Now he gets it back, as you said. Gets a part of himself back, too.

“Yes—ah—yes.”

Bucky’s words are slurred into your hand, but he’s begging with his eyes. Yes. I want it. Please let me. Please make me. Please fix me.

You replace your fingers, sluicing up the cock with his spit. Then, you fuck his mouth slow, feeding it to him inch by inch before dragging it away. Bucky’s lips are quivering for more, jaw slack, panting hoarsely. He feels overcome at how you stand over him, mesmerized by him, too.

“Yeah, honey,” you croon, and Bucky’s heart swells with pride. “You’re doing so well, pretty boy.”

He’s licking blindly and sucking between ragged gasps when he attempts to say your name, knowing full well he’ll never get the whole word out before you wedge back into him. And god, it’s hot. It’s dirty and filthy and so fucking sweet.

You grasp the base of his skull, keeping his head still and laying into his mouth rhythmically. The cockhead hits Bucky’s throat, pushing into the soft palate, reaching further. His eyes are rolling, whimpers catching where the toy ends, caught in the breath of air in his mouth.

“Take it, baby,” you command, and Bucky gags. One hand scrambles for your thigh, other clawing his own, pressing red crescents into the flesh. It hurts. It hurts good like it never did before and Bucky chokes it down, eyes squeezed shut now, tears prickling from the ducts and collecting at the corners.

“Oh, you’re so good,” and his body just keeps lighting up. “You good boy. You perfect, perfect boy.” And he’s nodding desperately, needy, gut coiled tight like a spring.

“So fucking dirty,” you hiss, pulling hard on his hair, “Look at you— leaking all over yourself.”

He is. He’s a goddamn mess, sticky lines of precome down his shaft and collecting at his base.

“Drooling all over my cock like this. You’re hungry for it, aren’t you?”

“Uhhngg— hnnng—” He moans weakly at the things you do to him and for him.

“That’s right, you are. Keep going, show me how much you want it.” Jesus, the way you make him feel— like he could be exactly who he is and never have to apologize for a goddamn thing. Broken and ruined but you’d still give him the whole fucking world.

The noises Bucky’s making are muffled and obscene as he fists himself, shuddering and pumping erratically. One more final drive from your hips and he’s bursting at the seams, shattering to pieces, coming with a strangled cry.

You don’t let up, taking his throat unrelentingly, watching him sob and fall apart. He’s going limp in your clutch, letting his eyes well up like pools, your smiling face so beautiful in the crystalline light.

If he’s sick, then you must be the fever he can’t sweat out. The fire burning through his bones until he’s nothing but smoldering bits of debris afterwards. Grains and soot of him floating in the steady flow of your faithful current.

When he’s made a perfect mess of himself, come-covered and quivering, you finally let him breathe again, pulling out wetly.

“There you go,” you say, kneeling to kiss his panting mouth, “Did that feel good?”

Your lips are a cool balm on his swollen ones and Bucky hums a response, body still thrumming. “Yeah,” he sighs, sensitive like a wound, raw and open and tender. “Real— good.”

You rub his back and run your fingers through his hair, letting him rest in your arms. You wipe away the tears on his cheeks and over his trembling eyelids.

Gentle words tumble from your lips. Promises of love and of good memories to replace the bad ones. More kisses. More affection. More reclamation.

All those little granules of fractured time, you collect in the soft surrender of his mouth. Wet and salty, they fall together there, and Bucky feels himself clicking into place. Perfect and whole and treasured like an iridescent pearl.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #smut #bucky barnes #marvel #mcu #reader insert #fanfiction #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you

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whump-town · 3 years ago

Text

You Worry Me

Pairings: Emily & Hotch

Summary: college au things, Hotch checking himself into a mental hospital for the weekend

Warnings: child abuse, mental health struggles, abuse, suicide attempt, drugs, alcohol

When Emily asked him if he wanted to get an apartment with her she had expected far more hesitation than what she was met with. It’s not that she doesn't have other people to ask but when she really has to think about it he’s the only person she wants around like that. She’s content with his silence and his strange but enrapturing bouts of… oddness. She’s already thrown up in front of him (bad stomach flu she refused to admit was as bad as it was) and stood guard so he could pee behind a dumpster when they’d walked to the store at midnight for cigarettes and energy drinks.

She finds the courage to ask him on the front lawn of campus, stretched out on their backs ignoring their work and just photosynthesizing. Closing their eyes in silent enjoyment as spring tries to peek through winter's tight grip. When she turns to look at him the words just come tumbling out and she waits for his reaction. She’s not sure why she’s expecting anything other than that predictable crooked smirk but it still shocks her. He turns his head, lifting his arm to shield his eyes as he does so. Mostly, he just wants to know where he came in the line-up. How many people told her no before she came to him?

The honest answer is none but she smirks and tells him four and he laughs that deep goofy laugh that he does and she doesn’t know why she was nervous he’d say no. With a tired sigh, he nods and that’s all it takes-- they’re sharing an apartment.

He carries her clothes up to their floor, leaves her the pillows and her comforter for her to drag up. He’s exhausted by the time he’s got her things sitting on her bedroom floor but goes down to the beaten old pick-up truck his mother let him borrow to get his own things. Informs her with one of those long crooked fingers to worry with her own things and leave him to get his own. She resigns herself to listening but only because she’d seen his load and knew her help wouldn’t really quicken the whole six, small, boxes he has.

On his third trip she’s had enough and with a dramatic sigh she shakes her head and stands right in the doorway to his room. “No,” she says, crossing her arms. “No, I refuse to believe this. There’s no way you’ve read all these books.” She’s watched him carry three boxes of books into this apartment and not just boxes with things like thrown in he’s got them stacked to take up as little room as possible in these boxes. They’re heavy, he’s sweating and they keep coming.

With a sigh he leans down and sets the box currently in his arms down on the floor. “I read,” is his very complex answer. Aaron Hotchner has a way with words and she’s come to know that well. He shrugs, pushing at the hair slicked with sweat against his scalp. “I have read them… all of them.” Most of them more than once.

Books are the only thing he’s ever had. When he’d packed up for college all of the room had been taken up by these books. His clothes fit into one box but the books, he made room for the books. Every year, for as long as he can remember, his mother would buy him a book for his birthday. He got a job in town to have money to buy books to try and stifle his insatiable hunger (and his up-and-coming smoking habit).

She looks down at the box he’s just placed down, sighing when she sees that atop a pair of jeans there’s another book. Sherlock Holmes, she recognizes easily, and she shakes her head. “You know,” she steps out of his way and he heaves the box back up with a grunt. “My mother asked if I thought you’d kill me.” He falters mid-step but doesn’t stop. Carries the box to the others and sits it down heavily. He turns and finds her watching him with that quizzical, intuitive frown of hers. “You’re big but I think I could take you.”

He huffs at that, shaking his head and sliding past her so he can get his other boxes. She has no worries about him hurting her and strangely she hadn’t even considered that he might hurt her until her mother had mentioned it. Besides, she knows just enough to never truly worry. He’s the boy who vomits when he gets angry - if he shouts he’ll end up curled around the toilet shaking with a fever. He’d never hit a soul and if he did, she can only imagine the penance his body would conjure up as punishment.

But he huffs and she hears it.

She jumps on his back as he’s setting his box down on the ground. He moves just a little, stumbling under their combined weight. “Emily,” he warns, doing his best to not react. He knows how she is. She wants him to get rough, to hook his arm under her leg and yank her around. If he acts unbothered she’ll leave him alone. She’s far too much like having a little sibling around again - a sobering and, yet, comforting notion.

She does get bored and quickly. “I’m gonna go see Eric,” she informs him, slipping down off his back. He grunts and it’s just the wrong sound and she falters for a moment. Aaron’s met Eric and she’d thought they got along well but… she’s started to second guess that a little more every time she mentions either to the other. “I’ll be back this afternoon,” she adds apprehensively. Catches on to move the conversation on and away from the subject of her boyfriend but she still finds herself hovering by his doorway. Chewing her lip and anxiously asking, “do you mind if I bring Eric Wednesday?”

He just looks down at the box he’s sorting through, back turned to her. He shakes his head, sighing, “I don’t care what you do Emily.” He does care, deeply, but he looks back at her for only a brief moment. Sad brown eyes begging with her to not push, to not make him talk about this more.

With a nod, the conversation is over.

Wednesday night he smokes the pot that Derek passes to him without a second thought. It’s been burned down to the last few puffs, the heat from the lit end burns his fingers tips but he still puts it to his lips. Pulls from what little remains of the blunt as if it’s oxygen itself, a mask over his face meant to level him out. Maybe it will. The heat sinks down into his lungs and he ends up doubled over, spit drooling over his lips. Laughter bubbles up around him and a hand rubs at his back, Emily, he knows but only by the way that her perfume stings his nose he tries to breathe through the assault.

“Give it here before it burns out--”

Emily takes the blunt from his fingers and passes it to Eric. He’s an asshole and they all hate him but they love Emily and if they want her around then they have to deal with him. It’s safer to have him here, where they can watch him. He won’t dare hurt her in front of them -- but is that not what he’s doing when he leaves bruises across her face like constellations? Sends her back to them so that they can dab makeup over the Milky Way and breathe reassurances over Orian’s Belt when she falls into a hug.

Emily pulls him back upright, guides his head to lilt to the side as he sags against her. He can feel Eric’s fingers near his collar, the possessive hand he keeps on Emily at all times. A silent reminder of the power he holds over them all. Emily kisses his temple, oblivious to the mental war happening on both sides of her.

Derek reaches over and smacks his thigh, and encouraging little maneuver he means to comfort Aaron with. Aaron has checked out, arms too heavy to push away from all the touching. Can’t worm out of Emily’s arms or Derek’s comforting hand on his leg. He feels nothing past the tip of his nose. Not Emily’s bones underneath his cheek, her body carved down by Eric’s harmful comments about her weight and the coke he supplies like it’s a love language. Not Derek’s hold on him, the fear he can’t express but feels deep within his churning stomach, that Aaron’s slipping away and they’re all just bystanders to his eventual suicide.

Thursday night he’s woken up by Emily sneaking into his room, the soft click of a glass of water being sat down on his nightstand and the clatter of pills finding their way beside it. She presses her fist into his sternum, applying pressure where he feels like he’s coming unraveled. It’s like her hands are grasping his strayed ends, holding him together like a shredded kite until she can pull the fabric halves back together. “Okay,” she breathes, failing to provide him with steeled calm. His heart is beating so hard against her hand she’s afraid to let go. Her understanding of medicine is narrowed to just knowing you’re not supposed to put a bandaid on a burn. Kids can still have heart attacks, maybe not the over-worked, a little heavy-set dad kind caused by blocked arteries but he’s got the stress level and something certainly isn’t right.

He wakes up alone, doesn’t remember when she left or if she came at all. His only clue is those pills sitting in the perspiration of the now lukewarm water on his nightstand. He can’t move just yet, force his hand out to obtain the pills but he’ll wake up again in a pain-filled haze moved only by such intense pain that he fears sitting still another moment will rip him in half. The pills are slimy as they sit on his tongue and leave their bitter medicine laced into the gulp of water he manages. He’ll turn back over onto his side, pull his knees to his chest, and hope he doesn’t throw them back up.

He writes an essay in the haze of the Rizatriptan six hours later. His brain is only half-working, thoughts jumbled together or not there at all. The migraine lingers, fingers made of cotton muffling the world in a spirling nothing. It’s a similar feeling to being high, the haze is just too much but he has to write this paper because his professor won’t give him another extension -- he would if he knew Aaron needed one but he’s already asked once so he won’t do it again.

Friday the panic sets in.

Everyone is watching him.

Nobody likes him.

Why is he here?

Starfished out on a picnic blanket, Emily is spending her Friday out of the apartment. Armed with a water bottle filled with Vodka, a quilt, and a cooler full of popsicles they stumble their way through the unplowed field behind campus. Spencer hates the bugs and he holds tightly to Emily’s belt, making sure to step where she does as they trample through the too-high grass. Like broken dolls, they fall onto the quilt, familiar with one another enough not to care how they land in the tangle of limbs.

“Emily?”

She hums, not opening her eyes. The sun will remain stubbornly risen for a few more minutes and until it sets she’s trying to soak in every second of its warmth. Until it falls behind the trees and they’re bathed in the moonlight.

“Do you want a drink?”

She opens her hand, holding it up in the general direction of Derek’s voice. The water bottle finds her palm, slightly warm from sitting in the sun and in their laps as it makes its rounds. It feels oddly light but she doesn’t comment. The vodka stings down her throat but it’s familiar and it’s nearly as warm as the sun itself falling down her body.

“Where’s Hotch?”

She passes it to Penelope before laying back down, closing her eyes. “His psychiatrist put him on -” suddenly she can’t remember what it’s called. “Clom-something --”

Spencer looks up, understands this is a place for him to jump in. He feels overwhelmed with his excitement as he helpfully adds, “clomipramine! It’s a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor, SSRI is the short-hand. It increases levels of serotonin in the brain.” He shifts himself, turning closer to them and away from where he’d been watching the blanket's edge for potential bugs trying to crawl near him. “It has the same side-effects as most SSRIs: drowsiness, intestinal upsets, decreased libido, changes in appetite--”

“Woah!” Derek sits up, suddenly paying attention. His eyebrows are scrunched together, alarmed. “He can’t… He won’t be able to like get it up?” He looks at Spencer and then at Emily. “That’s what libido means, man. How’s not being able to have sex going to help him not get all… gummed in the gears? Stuck in his head?” Aaron’s having a hard enough time, it hardly feels like ruining his sex life is the solution to that.

Spencer shakes his head, trying to understand how they’ve moved from facts about antidepressants to Hotch’s sex drive. “What?” If he took a second to think about it, he’d be blushing too hard to even bother with that statement. “No, the brain--”

“Spence,” Emily warns softly. Hotch might not be here to stop them from talking about his sex life but she is and she doesn’t want to talk about it. Besides, it’s none of their business. They’ve seen how bad things can get. “Hotch is basically a nun,” she reminds them. And it’s true. Before anyone diagnosed him, before he even knew something was wrong he wasn’t nearly as adventurous as her or Derek. “He didn’t come today because despite the--” she motions at Spencer.

“The clomipramine,” he supplies.

“Yes, the that, it doesn't work. He has a new psychiatrist, though, and he wants to run through some old stuff again.” She shakes her head, “a stronger dosage and a better plan. I don’t know, I guess we’ll know in another month. He’ll either end up in the hospital again or he’ll be fine.” She shrugs, “right now he’s locked himself in his room.”

There’s a low murmur of understanding and Spencer’s eyes go back to the edge of the blanket. They all remember what happened the last time he had to change medications. Emily had called JJ, the dead of the night making their intensely private and scary conversation seeping with the darkness’s own mixed intensities. Aaron had taken some bad drugs from a guy he didn’t even know, stumbled home, and passed out in his and Emily’s apartment bathroom. Where she found him seizing, choking on his vomit.

They didn’t and couldn’t see him for seventy-two hours, the mandatory hold from the hospital because they ruled it an attempted suicide and Aaron didn’t even try to put up a fight and say it was something else.

Friday night when she stumbles home he isn’t there.

His room is empty -- bedsheets are thrown back as if he left in a rush and his desk lamp still on. She feels that fear sink back into her, throat tight and mind racing, but the bathroom door is open, his pills still meticulously organized in the cabinet over the sink. Even his toothbrush is in the dish. So wherever he is, he won’t be gone long. She stills warns the others, asks them to look out for him or to, at the very least, expect his imminent arrival.

Derek offers to drive around and look for him.

Emily lets him do it, give him something to do -- he would have done it even if she told him it was unnecessary. She’s fairly certain she knows where he is.

Sure enough, she gets the call Monday morning at 7:30.

He does this every once in a while. As often as he can without them enforcing a longer hold, without it going on some sort of record that might prohibit getting a job. She doesn’t really understand why. He hates the mental hospital. Complains that it’s freezing cold and he hates the entire function and yet, here she is spending her Monday morning picking him up. This makes only about the fourth time since she’s known him but how many times has he just made the decision to walk? How many times hasn’t he called her to pick him up?

“You have got to stop walking here.” She rolls the window down first, shouting out at him as she pulls to a stop. He looks better than he had Friday morning when she invited him out to the field with the rest of them. She’d barely managed to get him to sit up, feeding pills between his pale lips, and then pulling his blanket back up over his shoulders. Shutting the blinds and leaving him a glass of water. Maybe she should have just offered to take him then, she’d known with hindsight this is where he would be.

He opens the backdoor without saying a word, crawls into the backseat, and curls up across the seats. He’s wearing a sweatshirt they must have given him, shoes not even on just held by the tips of his curled fingers. They land with a thud on the floor and all the response she gets is a pair of grippy socks landing on her passenger seat, the wordless thanks for picking him up… again.

“Class or home?” she asks, pulling out of the parking lot.

“Class.”

She did bring his bookbag with her, it’s sitting on the floor beside her own, but she will not be taking him to class. He recognizes that when she pulls out of the exit when she turns left instead of right. He grunts but doesn’t say anything, opting to curl further into himself. Protecting his head from an unseen threat.

The rest is practice. He’s foggy from the medicine they give him, always something different from what he’s taken. It’s meant to bring him down, strengthen his haze, and keep him calm. To shut his mind up -- and it’s good, it really does work. It just makes him so exhausted.

“Get your big butt--” Emily has to help him get into his bed and just as he’s about to apologize -- mouth hung open and his eyes squinting as he tries to force sluggish thoughts through a brain that hasn’t worked in days -- she climbs up after him.

His head hits the pillow and his mind goes blank, can’t even form the “I’m sorry” trying to trip its way out of his mouth.

Within seconds she’s laying down beside him, wiggling down under the covers and pulling them up over them. “Derek was pretty pissed you left again without telling us,” she whispers. It takes her a moment but she leans back up and pulls the blinds down, shuts the light from outside from coming in. Then she’s right back beside him, head on his chest. “You’ve got to stop doing that, Aaron. It’s-- It’s--” cruel.

Breathlessly he whispers, “sorry.” It’s all he can manage, drugs still heavy in his bloodstream and eyes forced shut, to move his hand to her back. To try and convey more than what he’s capable of with words that he didn’t mean to scare her. He just scared himself.

She turns her face into his sweatshirt and lets out a little sob, holding onto him. “I think I’m going to break up with Eric.” She’d come up with a thousand reasons Aaron would have disappeared, even as logic dictated where she knew he was. Her fear covered everything until she was sat wondering if she was making things worse for Aaron. His anxiety and migraines and everything else. Was she adding to his stresses or helping?

Coming home and having to ask him to relive parts of his childhood for her… Having him dab foundation over her bruises with his tremoring hands knowing he was thinking about his mother. That he was thinking about doing this exact exercise on himself, covering bruises his father left across his own face. Dabbing blood away and whispering empty, useless promises.

“Okay,” he whispers.

His mother had offered him that same lie a thousand times. She’d drawn lines in the sand and washed them away the next morning with the reconstruction of a wave -- thin cold fingers touching a bruise and asking what happened. As if she hadn’t watched. As if she hadn’t picked him up off the floor and hidden him away in his room, draping her body over his.

“I mean it,” she whispers, her tone mixed with conviction she doesn’t have.

“I know.” He’ll pretend to not remember this conversation when she goes bar crawling with Eric Thursday night. He’ll avoid the other’s eyes when they look at him for some sort of explanation, why she’s taken by her promise this time. But for now, he’s tired and he’s warm and he feels safe. He’ll call Spencer and Penelope later and apologize for blowing off the plans they had to watch Doctor Who, act like they all don’t know where he’s been.

“I love you.”

He squeezes her hips, gives in to his exhaustion. “I love you too.”

#abuse #child abuse #alcohol #suicide attempt #mental health #drugs #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss

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