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pathologicalreid · 8 months ago

Note

Okay before i say my request can i be your 🐚 anon ??? that's all i ask in terms of that BUT:

hear me out- so spencer reid x bau!fem!sunshine!reader gets kidnapped outside of work and her kidnapper tortures her and the works, but the worst part is he has a live feed directed for the bau so they just have to watch the poor girl get borderline killed but she's still fighting back and so eventually he turns the feed off and they go to the unsub once they find his location but before they burst the door down they hear the reader like genuinely begging for him to just kill her and it's GUT WRENCHING. then they get him and she free and she's immediately back to her bubbly self until randomly she like shows up at his door and spence tells her it's okay to not be okay and she just breaks down RAGHHHH

i'm so sorry for writing you an essay but I got the idea and simply couldn't let it go to waste 😭

-🐚 (i hope if that's okay with you???)

epiphany | S.R.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst; re: hurt/comfort content warnings: bau!reader, sunshine!reader, kidnapping, violence against reader, reader begging for it to be over, gun violence, general cm violence, exhaustion, hospitals, poor coping mechanisms and unhelpful therapists. word count: 2.92k a/n: of course you can be my 🐚 anon! this is a story in four parts, before, during, after, and epiphany! i hope you enjoy it <3 thank you SO much for requesting!

epiphany - a moment of sudden revelation or insight.

before

The horrified look on Garcia’s face couldn’t possibly be a good sign, “Uh, sir,” she addressed Hotch, “I’m being sent an encrypted link from an admin on the UnSub’s site.”

Responding with a stiff nod, Hotch looked toward the screen in the roundtable room, “Open it.”

Each team member had an instant reaction to the image projected onto the large screen. JJ had covered her mouth with her hands, Morgan had to peel his eyes away from the screen, and Spencer couldn’t get himself to do the same thing. Despite his better judgment, he kept his eyes on the screen.

“He’s killing her,” Emily observed, watching with a horrified expression as the UnSub hand his hands around your throat. You were dangling from the ceiling by your bound hands, leaving you flailing as your body begged for air.

Hotch leaned intensely over Garcia’s shoulder, “Is this live?” He asked, voice raising ever so slightly as he watched the tech analyst’s fingers work nimbly across her keyboard. As she nodded, he continued, “Can you find where he’s streaming this from?”

Parting her lips, a determined look settled on the blonde’s face as she continued to type, “It looks like he’s running it through a boatload of different proxies – it’s gonna take me a minute.”

Rossi shook his head, leaning over the roundtable, “She might not have that long.” It was the truth, a harsh truth, but the truth, nonetheless.

It had been one minute and thirty-seven seconds already, brain death would occur after four minutes, maybe five if you were lucky. Spencer didn’t want to have to take that chance. “Oh god,” Penelope cried, working through the tears that had started to stream down her face, “Okay, she’s in this general area.”

“Keep going,” Hotch ordered succinctly. “Everyone else, look at the picture. Is anything recognizable about the background?”

The lighting was dim at best, which didn’t leave the team with a lot to work with while they studied your surroundings. At one point, your attacker shouted, and Spencer’s attention moved back to you.

In the midst of your struggle, you had managed to strike him between the legs, sending him stumbling away from you, shouting expletives as space was put between the two of you. The BAU took a collective breath as they listened to you breathe, spluttering as the UnSub regained his composure. “Do you see that? The ridges in the wall?” Derek said, using his index finger to point to what he was talking about.

“It looks like a storage container,” Emily replied, furrowing her brows as she comprehended what Morgan was talking about.

Wholly focused on you, Spencer watched as the UnSub got in your face, screaming horrible words at you until you spit in his face. He swung at you, causing your face to turn with a nauseating smack until your head lolled forward and you stopped moving.

Still typing, Penelope spoke up, “Got it! Sending the address to your phones now.”

during

There was a maze of storage containers at the port, and so far, you had turned up in none of them. “Shh, wait,” Emily hissed, “Do you guys hear that?” She asked, looking over each of her shoulders, ears perked up like a bloodhound.

Straining his ears, Spencer straightened up, lowering his firearm as he focused on listening to the world around him, waiting for whatever Emily was talking about.

“Just fucking do it!” Your voice reverberated off of the surface of the numerous shipping containers. Spencer found himself torn as he knew you were alive but recognized the fear and anger in your voice. The pain as you screamed nearly stopped him in his tracks, but he found himself trudging forward.

Following closely behind Morgan, they stopped for a moment, trying to determine which direction you would be found in. Your shouts rang out into the pitch black of the night, “Stop being a coward and pull the fucking trigger!”

His steps faltered, leaving JJ stumbling into his back. “Reid,” she whispered, prompting him to shake himself out of his surprised state and continue moving. You didn’t know what you were saying, he tried to convince himself.

You couldn’t see the camera the same way he had seen it so many years ago, kidnapped and drugged against his will and hoping the team would understand the clues disguised as conversation. He had been taken from an UnSub’s property, and your apartment had been broken into – the only thing taken had been you.

It wasn’t an unfamiliar fear in the BAU, worrying about an UnSub breaking into your home, but you weren’t targeted because of your work in the bureau. You had been targeted because you fit the victim pattern.

If he never had to see the word “missing” under your face again, it would be too soon.

“Please,” you begged. “Please just kill me. Just let me die. I don’t want to do it anymore,” your voice started to grow quieter, but the team could still hear you – they were getting closer.

Emily and Morgan went to one side of the doors, leaving Spencer and JJ on the other side – Rossi and Hotch were elsewhere on the property, waiting with first responders and calling the shots via comms.

A small whimper came from the container at the same time as the click of a gun cocking. “Just pull it,” you pleaded weakly. “It’ll be so easy for you. It’ll be so much easier with me dead,” you informed him despondently.

“FBI!” Morgan called out, pulling the heavy metal doors of the container open, revealing the four FBI agents with their vests on, guns raised.

Just like it had happened in an action film, Spencer watched as the UnSub moved his hand to the trigger of his weapon. Your eyes were closed, tears streaming through the dirt that was caked on your face. Without a second thought, Spencer pulled the trigger on his firearm, sending a bullet through the UnSub’s temple before he could have the chance to kill you.

Emily went over to the body, gingerly picking up the weapon and disengaging it while looking over to you. Spencer was knelt in front of you, debating whether or not he should touch you before he decided on speaking to you first, “Y/N?” His voice was no more than a whisper as he expected your eyes to open, but they didn’t.

“His pocket,” you rasped, your traumatized vocal cords straining on every word.

Spencer hummed, “What about them, love?” He kept his voice gentle, watching you as you squeezed your eyes shut.

Sniffling, you hung your head low, “Keys,” you mumbled helplessly, unable to speak more than you already were, each word only drained you of energy you didn’t have in the first place.

Understanding, JJ crouched next to the stiff body of the UnSub and fished a keyring out of his pants pocket, handing them to Spencer.

With shaky hands, the third key unlocked the handcuffs around your wrists, and your body slumped forward, practically falling into Spencer as he tenderly wrapped his arms around your torso, “I’ve got you,” he reassured you.

It wasn’t until you were sat in the back of an ambulance that anyone got a good look at you. There was a fine layer of grime coating your skin, causing it to look at least one shade darker than it normally was, but what concerned Spencer the most was the petechiae of your eyes. The burst blood vessels were a direct result of his hands around your throat.

The paramedics looked over you despite your protests. It was non-negotiable, and that instruction came from Hotch. The strangest part of it was that you were continuously trying to wave off concern, insisting you were fine, kicking your legs off the edge of the rig while the female paramedic looked at the bruising on your cheek. “It might be a fractured ZMA, she’ll need a CT to confirm,” she continued to list even more ailments, including potential internal bleeding and extensive damage to your throat. The swelling in your neck was beginning to catch up with you, affecting your ability to talk.

Spencer rode with you in the ambulance, holding your hand while you told him, “I knew you’d find me. I never gave up.”

I don’t want to do it anymore, your pleas for the UnSub to end your life rang in his head, he’d never forget hearing you say that, and you didn’t even know he heard you.

He didn’t have any good answers for anyone while you were getting a CT. By the time you returned from surgery to repair your fractured cheekbone, he shut the door to your room, sequestering the two of you into your own little world.

The bruising around your neck had already begun to darken, and by this time tomorrow, your throat would likely be a sickening reflection of what had happened to you. Your doctor had elected to leave you intubated because they were afraid of the swelling affecting your ability to breathe.

There was nothing for him to do, nothing except sit at your bedside and hold your hand, skimming the pad of his thumb across your bloodied knuckles.

after

You were skipping - well, maybe the step pattern wasn’t technically a skip.

Spencer watched as you waltzed into the bullpen with far too much pep in your step. “I didn’t know you were coming back today,” Morgan said, being the first to greet you once you passed through the glass doors.

Waving a hand in the air, you shrugged, “I have to pass a final psych eval with Hotch, but then I’m all set to be back next week.” You were grinning as you embraced your friend, but over your shoulder, Derek sent Spencer an inquiring look. Asking a silent question that Spencer himself didn’t even know the answer to.

What was going on with you? Four weeks ago, you had been struggling to stand after being beaten within an inch of your life, and ever since, you had been nothing but smiles.

Before you could settle into the hug, you pulled away, placing your hands on Derek’s shoulders, and holding him at arm’s length. Approximately the same distance you had kept Spencer at for the past month.

As you passed behind Spencer’s desk, you left a featherlight touch on the top of his head before continuing your way up to Hotch’s office, smiling as you passed the roundtable room. The same room where the team had watched your torture as it was live-streamed to them.

“Is she..?” Emily started to ask the question on everyone’s minds, but the major issue was that no one quite knew what the question was. Had you finally cracked? Were you okay? He wasn’t sure, and it was starting to eat at him.

The only thing they could do was watch as you greeted Hotch with a chirp, entering his office and firmly closing the door behind you.

epiphany

The knock on his door was the first thing to pull his attention away from his book since he got home from Quantico. Looking down at the inside of his wrist, he frowned at the time – just past midnight.

Still, he peeled himself up off of the couch before making his way to the front door, peering out of the peephole just to see you on the other side.

Slowly, Spencer set the book on his entryway table and undid the lock and deadbolt to his apartment, swinging the heavy wooden door open to reveal his girlfriend. You were donning flannel pajama pants, not unlike the ones he had on, and an old college t-shirt. There was a crumpled-up piece of paper in your hand, but he couldn’t make out any of the words on it.

“Are you alright?” Spencer asked, the question slipping easily off his tongue. He didn’t wait for the answer, ushering you inside his apartment and toward the couch. He redid the locks on the front door before joining you on the supple leather.

You furrowed your brows, staring at the piece of paper in your lap, “I failed.”

Leaning over your shoulder curiously, Spencer looked at the piece of paper, quickly recognizing it as your psychological evaluation. He read over what he could see, noting the words “deflection” and “coping mechanism.”

“You haven’t been sleeping,” he observed aloud. You must’ve been wearing makeup this morning when you came to the BAU because now he could see the clearly defined dark circles under your eyes. He hadn’t seen you much over the past month, though it wasn’t for lack of trying. Spencer had spent many days sitting outside of your apartment, waiting for you to let him in. He didn’t dare use his spare key, it felt like an invasion of your privacy.

Turning to meet his eyes, you shrugged helplessly, “I haven’t been tired. I mean – I’m… I’m fine.”

Nodding gently, “That’s a deflection. You’re telling me that you’re fine when I can clearly see that you aren’t.”

Your lips parted in apprehension while he read you like an open book. “I’m exhausted,” you admitted, tearing little pieces off of your evaluation form as you grew anxious. “I get into bed, and I can’t sleep, I can’t convince myself to close my eyes,” you elaborated, watching as Spencer reached out and took the paper from you, setting it on the coffee table.

“Have you talked to anyone?” Spencer asked, tentatively taking your hand in his.

Humming, you leaned back on the couch cushions, “Like my mandated FBI therapist? No, I don’t really talk to him much. I’ve started pretending we’re having a staring contest. I usually win, but that’s probably because he has no idea that we’re playing.”

Raising his eyebrows, Spencer inclined his head toward you, “You’re doing it again.”

You clamped your lips shut, shifting on the couch so that you could withdraw your hand from his and sit on your hands. “I don’t do this very well, huh? Talking about the bad stuff,” you murmured to Spencer, looking over at him. “I hate the bad stuff,” you informed him.

“But we have to talk about it eventually, sweetheart. You can’t keep all of that inside,” he told you, moving over on the couch, closer to where you were seated.

Shaking your head, you pulled your knees up to your chest, and Spencer recognized that you were trying to make yourself seem as small as possible. The UnSub had made you feel small – another reason that Spencer had to hate him. “I wish I was her again,” you whispered, a tinge of fear entering your voice.

“You want to be who again?”

Looking over at Spencer, you sighed, “The me that I was before. I want to feel good and happy and perfect and free,” you spoke earnestly.

He gave you an understanding smile, pulling at your hands so that he could hold them in his own, “Nobody expects you to be perfect right now.”

You closed your eyes, “but I want to be her again.” Small tears started to stream down your cheeks while you mourned the previous version of yourself.

“I know,” Spencer reassured you. “I know you do, but if you can’t quite get to her, I’ll still be here for the you that you are now,” he said, welcoming you with open arms as you began to lean into him. “It wouldn’t have been easier,” he murmured into your hair.

Humming, you grew content in Spencer’s arms, the only place he had wanted you over the past month. “What wouldn’t have been easier?”

Ever so slightly, Spencer tightened his grip around you, “If you had died. It wouldn’t have been easier for anyone. I know it felt like that at the time-“

“You heard that?” You asked, horrified at the thought of Spencer and everyone else hearing what you had thought were your last words.

Nodding, Spencer hummed a confirmation. “I can’t stop thinking about it, and I just needed to tell you that I understand. I don’t want you to feel guilty about what you said, and I don’t want you to feel like you need to regret it. You needed a way out, and that was the one you saw,” he told you.

You were silent for an eerie amount of time, without being able to see your face, Spencer was afraid that he had misread the entire situation. “Thank you,” you whispered, straightening up and looking over at him, bleary eyes meeting his. “I’m just… thank you,” you whispered reaching out for him, embracing him as your tears sept through the fabric of his t-shirt.

The both of you stayed like that for a while, your body was tucked into his side as his fingers lazily trailed up and down your back. “Did you want to try to get some sleep?”

You lifted your head, resting your chin on his chest, “Can I stay here?”

Frowning, Spencer cocked his head to the side, “Yes, isn’t that what I just asked?” Maybe it was more of an implication, but he felt it was fairly straightforward.

“I mean, can I stay here for a while? Maybe for a couple of days?” You asked, pressing your lips together nervously.

Moving his head forward, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, “You can stay here for as long as you want to.”

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actually-safer-to-kiss · 2 years ago

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Dinner Time

Summary: Reader makes Spencer his first homemade dinner after getting out of prison, and they both realize he's got some adjusting to do.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Content warnings: Eating, mentions of weight loss, hurt Spencer, ambiguous ending

Word count: 1k

Spencer sat at the small table in your kitchen. You set it up with funky-patterned napkins, an extra big spoon, and a used candle lit in the middle; the whole shebang. You prepared his serving of your vegetable soup, the meal he requested to celebrate his arrival home. “Are you comfortable?” You ask as you hover over the stove.

He nods and picks up his napkin, observing the pattern and weight. “Where did you get these?”

“Your mom found them when we were shopping. She said they reminded her of your socks. Isn’t that sweet?”

He blew air through his nose before saying “Wow.” He rubbed his thumb along it, following the vivid stripes. You didn’t want to tell him how she teared up when she spotted them. How she held the set close to her chest made you feel sorry that she remembered without help.

“She took it as a sign you were coming home.” Half true. More like you convinced her it was. She asked you to buy them for that reason, to celebrate. “And now here we are.” You beamed as you say the words.

“That’s wonderful.” He looked up at you and smiled. You saw it in your peripheral as you opened a pack of oyster crackers. You knew he wanted to thank you for making time for her. He wanted to, but you insisted the thank yous were enough after he said it the fifth time in 24 hours. You flashed him a brief grin as a muted response, and he appreciated it.

“Alright,” You held the bowl carefully, mistakenly filling it to the brim. Due to the sheer joy of having him home, safe, and innocent (in the eyes of the law), you almost didn’t notice he had lost weight. The first time you saw his spine after getting out of the shower, you didn't even think it was possible for him. “Extra potatoes, per your request, mon amour.” You emphasize your terrible French accent which makes him chuckle.

“Merci, mon amour.” His flawless accent almost ruined the joke.

“Okay, show off, so happy you're home.” You sneered, and his smile was even wider. You grab your own bowl and sit by his side. His elbows somehow naturally find their way to the table, boxing in his soup like he was cornering prey. Spoon in hand, he dipped in the hefty bowl. Then he shoveled in some of those extra potato chunks with some tomato-y broth. Hungry, you thought, as he leaned over the bowl, steam gliding over his rough stubble. He took a second and third bite, despite his mouth being nearly stuffed.

You didn’t say anything at first. You didn’t want to imagine the food he had to eat or meals he might have skipped because of poor quality (or other reasons). As he chewed hastily, for a moment, it gave you hope he'd gain weight quickly.

But then he reached out for his water to drink like he needed to soothe something too spicy.

Or something too hot.

“Honey?”

Bite four, five, and six. He chewed.

“Spencer.”

“Hm?” Bite seven, eight —

You put a hand on his arm and Spencer’s head immediately turned to you. It made you pull back, not touch him. His face was red and his mouth hung open, similar to a dog sticking its tongue out to cool off. “Spencer. You can let it cool.”

He swallowed, not chewing enough, and it pained him. “I can’t. I want to finish before bed.” His tongue barely touched the roof of his mouth as he spoke.

“Are you that tired?”

“No.” His eyebrows furrowed at the question, looking just as confused as you. “We only have 30 minutes for dinn—” And somehow his face of realization was even more upsetting to witness. There's a silence, brief but heavy as his whole face fell and he covered his eyes with one hand. “I’m sorry.” He sniffles.

“It’s not your fault.”

"I'll… take my time." He leans on his elbow and looks down at his meal, staring, waiting for the steam to stop. It was seconds later that his eyes were lined with tears again.

You were afraid to ask the question. “How’s your mouth?”

“It hurts.” He bites his lip as tears trickle.

You drop your spoon and scoot your chair closer to his. You ask him to sit up straight and drink water. Once he’s done that, drinking as much (or as little) as he can tolerate, you gently press his face into your shoulder. Tears collect on your skin, but you keep him close and encourage him to let it out.

And he does. His chest caves with every sob he's locked away for two months. His arms wrap around your waist, the first time he's touched you since he’s been home, apart from the delightfully suffocating hug you trapped each other in when he was released. And for a moment, you’re hit with the reality that the Spencer you’re holding has changed. His survival instincts are still active, you're just now noticing it.

You still hold him as he heaves. You rub his back to let him know you’re still here, but you stare at the blank wall in front of you. Your head is spinning, running through therapists to call and books to read that could help you. To help Spencer. Because that’s what he needs.

Spencer pulls away for a minute to look over his soup.

“It’s still there.” You say, and wipe his tears with your thumbs. “No one’s taking it, I promise.”

“It’s going to get cold.”

“I’ll heat it up again, don’t worry.”

Spencer looks down at you as you hold his face. The dark circles around his reddened eyes were prominent, and you brushed the mess of curls off his forehead. Tiredness isn’t enough. He’s scared. From what he’s seen or become, you don’t know. But his stubble pokes your skin and you realize that you don’t know what to do. As you look at the man you love, you wonder how much you can do to help. You hope you can help.

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milla984 · 2 years ago

Text

It's the Great Pumpkin, Spencer Reid

Summary: Spencer and Reader get to spend some quality time together on Halloween

Pairing: virgin!Spencer Reid x fem!reader, virgin!Spencer Reid x plus size Reader

Category: smut (NSFW, 18+, MDNI)

TW/CW: heavy kissing, handjob, fingering, brief mention of an anxiety attack, body image insecurities (both parts)

Word Count: 5.4k

This work is part of the series Spencer Reid, my beloved

“I am officially traumatized,” Penelope blurted out when the end credits rolled on the screen, “remind me to never watch another Halloween movie with you, guys!!”

You could almost hear Spencer squeak in disbelief. “What?! This is a classic!”

She stood up to adjust her skirt, the one with jack-o’-lanterns and spiderwebs arranged in a casual pattern all over the dark fabric, and the bats standing on top of her fuzzy headband wiggled in different directions.

“Uh–uh, La Dolce Vita is a classic. This is what goes on in the twisted mind of someone who desperately needed a hug and a large cup of hot cocoa with a ton of whipped cream and sprinkles as a child.”

You smiled as you finished loading the dishwasher, amused by the discussion unfolding in your living room; in your heart you were the greatest admirer of Spencer’s ability to conjure up any kind of random information on the spot but the exact moment you saw him open his mouth you knew he was about to make the situation worse.

“In fact, Barker’s grandmother had a fascination with the macabre. She would often tell gruesome stories which she presented as true tales so he grew up with the fear of being murdered in his own house.”

Garcia gawked and raised a hand in his direction, simultaneously turning your way. “See?! Forgive me if I don’t think that having my entire body ripped apart by giant hooks is the ultimate frontier of pleasure!”

“And I’ll never look at a puzzle box the same way! What if it’s a brain teaser from Hell and there’s one of those chattering monsters inside?” she added and you had to hold back your laughter because Spencer’s perplexed frown was probably one of the cutest and funniest things in the whole world.

The mustache glued to his upper lip and the cravat he wore over a white shirt and black vest were only adding to it so you forced yourself to remain serious. “I’m sorry… pizza and a movie from my dvd collection were all I had to offer on such short notice,” you said, to which she replied by shaking her long, wavy hair.

“Oh no, sweet pea! You did great, I’m just too attached to the illusion that life is a rainbow to be into the traditional Halloween gore,” she sighed and wrapped herself in a colorful poncho. “Hey, Raven Man! Ready to leave?”

Spencer squirmed: an IQ of 187 and still he was unable to come up with a semi-plausible lie when it came to hiding the truth from his friends. Feeling the weight of her curious stare he swallowed nervously.

“I was kind of considering the possibility of going to the midnight screening of Nosferatu, at the Silver Theatre. It’s the 100th anniversary so the Silent Orchestra will play the entire score live, have you ever heard of them? They use contemporary musical idioms to convey the art of pre-talkies films to modern audiences, they’ve been widely acclaimed for their work.”

Penelope raised an eyebrow. “Midnight screening, huh?! Which means you don’t need a ride home… what a coincidence,” she teased, leaning forward to squeeze you in a passionate hug. “I knew it! I saw it the minute I walked in!”

This time was your turn to shrug with a puzzled expression: Reid and Garcia should have been on the opposite side of D.C. for a relaxed dinner at the Morgans’ after a thorough raid of all the neighborhood porches. However, Derek had called just as they were getting in the car to inform them that Hank got unexpectedly sick and forty-five minutes later All Hallows’ Eve enthusiast Reid (dressed up as Edgar Allan Poe) plus a very concerned Penelope had showed up at your apartment, making you wonder why on earth wasn’t she already busy baking since she kept repeating chickenpox called for the best pumpkin pie ever.

“Well, there goes our plan to keep a low profile,” you groaned as you closed the door behind her, and Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise.

“How…?! Is this what they call ‘female intuition’?”

“Call it whatever you want but I’m glad she’s not mad we didn’t tell her right away,” you replied, proceeding to wrap your arms around his shoulders, “and I can think of another person who’s probably very happy for you, now.”

Spencer got rid of the fake mustache with a pensive stare. When it finally dawned on him that Garcia’s phone buzzing during your impromptu horror-themed movie night had in fact started out as live updates on their godson’s health and most likely turned into a gossip session about you two as a couple he squinted.

“I almost bailed on going trick-or-treating with them. I didn’t because I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, but I also wanted to see you. It’s our first Halloween.”

You nodded. “Maybe we can still get tickets for Nosferatu. You’re a terrible liar, so I’m sure there really is a midnight screening at the Silver Theatre.”

Spencer stared at you, entranced, then pulled you closer and in a heartbeat your lips met his - a sweet caress, tender and soft, your breaths entwined and your noses rubbing against each other in delicate strokes. You gave him a gentle push and he plopped down on the couch as you placed one knee on either side of his legs to straddle him; one of his hands sneaked behind you, exploring you as if he was trying to blindly map your whole back.

You felt his other hand on your waist, hesitant.

Three months had passed since the day you both came to the conclusion you were not “just friends” - three months made of late night phone calls from six different States, of handwritten silly notes you hid in his leather bag each time you drove him to the airport to catch a flight for Houston, three months of you hoping things would eventually move past the PG rated phase.

Three months of your self-consciousness sowing the seed of doubt in your heart, encouraged by the notion of whom he got to share his workspace with: you were no Emily or JJ and even if Spencer wasn’t the type to pay attention to details he frequently referred to as ‘trivial’ you were growing less and less confident.

“It’s fine, you can touch me,” you whispered, guiding his palm to cup your breast. They were pretty difficult to ignore, nevertheless he always seemed to steer away from them as much as he could.

You ran your fingers through his hair until you grabbed a small chunk of his curls; Spencer gasped for air and you brushed your tongue over his lower lip, letting out a muffled moan when the heat between your legs became almost unbearable. You started grinding on his lap to adjust tightly against his body.

“Wait…” he whined, squirming under you.

A second moan escaped from your throat while the pressure of his stiff cock hit your thigh but he shoved you away to free himself and spring to his feet, shaking heavily as if he was experiencing a full blown anxiety attack.

His cheeks were flustered and his hair stuck to his dampened forehead so that he couldn’t even look at you straight - which gave him the perfect excuse to avoid doing it altogether. “I– I’m sorry…”

“No, no, I am…” you muttered, because the guilt building up in your chest felt so heavy you find it difficult to breathe.

Spencer was standing there, fumbling nervously with the cravat around his neck; his body language was screaming discomfort and he was clearly thinking of an excuse to remove himself from the situation. It was then that the hidden and irrational side of you, the one that desperately feared he would have disappeared forever if you’d let him go, kicked in and a rush of adrenaline came running down your spine.

“Please…” you continued, placing a hand over his, “it’s okay, really… there’s no way to control it, you should know better than anyone—”

“Why? Because I’m a man and men are supposed to have zero impulse regulation?!”

The embarrassment and shame in his voice broke you: you had sworn a thousand times in your mind to do your best to be his solace, yet now it seemed you were hurting him like no-one had ever done before.

“No,” you replied, “because you’re the genius, here, and you should know it’s a perfectly healthy and natural reaction.”

He huffed, visibly irritated at what he must have perceived as a patronizing tone. A different sort of emotion crawled under your skin, sparked by the amount of tension stagnating in the air.

You offered him a cushion and glanced at him with your usual no-nonsense attitude. “Sit down, so we can have a proper conversation? You know, like… functioning adults.”

Spencer pouted for a second, evaluating numbers and statistics about two years and a half’s worth of interactions. The truth was, intellectual affinity was such a familiar concept for the two of you that talking your way through an issue was indeed a synonym for a positive outcome.

He grabbed the cushion and held it onto his stomach to shield himself from your gaze, though it was purposely focused on his face; you thought it was best to put some distance between your bodies when he sat on the couch again so you folded your legs underneath you, shivering like a cold draft had found its way inside the room.

“Listen, we can both agree this is not your regular, everyday casual topic of conversation… which is why we’ve never discussed premarital sex—”

“I’m not against it,” Spencer rushed to declare, “I’ve assumed it was the same for—”

“Sure, no! Ditto,” you confirmed.

His furrowed brows relaxed while his mouth curved in a timid smile. “Did you know that every person’s intimate relationships follow a script that has been written according to their own individual attitude towards all –uhm, sexual experiences?”

“I did not,” you admitted, and Spencer’s hands started dancing to the sound of his own words.

“There are sets of guidelines for appropriate behavior, each partner in consensual encounters acts as if they are an actor following a script rather than acting on impulse alone. Researches indicate that women are more likely to initiate contact in well established relationships, negotiating sexual activity in developing relationships can be difficult 'cause both parts have multiple goals to deal with, such as providing relational definitions or following specific standards or morals.”

“Yeah, speaking about relationships… I think we’ve been in one since Christmas, we were just too dumb to say it out loud. And to each other,” you explained. “Sounds like a well-established to me but what’s your take on us?”

He curled into himself. “Every time we’re together I know there’s no other place I’d rather be. I’ve never even imagined it could be possible, I want to feel you even closer… and I’m so afraid I’m forcing this on you—”

“You’re not, I want it too,” you reassured him, “but to be honest I was starting to worry you were not into… me.”

Spencer’s beautiful eyes roamed over you and what you could see was all but repulsion. “Actually it’s the complete opposite.”

“So, what if my script says I’m ready to take things further?” you inquired, inching towards him to tug at the cravat of his costume.

Spencer cupped your face and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Mine is on the same page,” he whispered.

Your fingers immediately went to the vest he was wearing and trailed the line of buttons in a slow movement; you undid them one by one, the hems eventually coming apart to reveal the white shirt underneath.

“Tell me if anything doesn’t feel good,” you purred while you loosened the cravat to uncover his Adam’s apple. The way his muscles tensed as it bobbed up and down drove you crazy, so you teased him with the tip of your tongue - your lips grazing over the short stubble.

Damn him and his impeccable bone structure: the scruffy look suited him so well it always sparked in you the urge to pin him to a wall and sink your teeth into his tender flesh. You loved how he could sport a smooth, professional style when the situation required it still wasn’t concerned with shaving each morning, almost as if it was an impractical activity which took energy away from whatever he considered to be a priority at that moment.

You heard something flop on the floor and stopped your ministrations: the cushion he’d been holding over his stomach wasn’t there anymore, meaning you got to notice his trousers were becoming increasingly tight.

You squeezed his knee to make sure he was prepared for a more intimate contact then you slid it even further on his leg, giving him a couple of minutes to adjust to your gentle strokes before you felt confident enough to move the action to his inner thigh.

Spencer gasped, surprised rather than shocked or disturbed by how close you were now to where he was aching, and he leaned back to ease the pressure of the fabric but kept his eyes on you.

He gave a silent nod in response to your interrogative stare, so you finally traced the outline of his hard cock between your thumb and index.

He jolted this time and muttered under his breath, a deep rasp in his voice you didn’t expect: you were unprepared to hear your name spoken as it was the quintessence of pure desire and you quivered, the throbbing in your ears rolling to your core.

You kissed his temple as you pointed at the waistband of his trousers. “Can I…?”

“Y– yes…” he muttered.

His clothes didn’t have any space left to accommodate his bulge. You palmed over it and felt an impatient twitch, which nearly had Spencer cursing; it was becoming torture for him so you reached for the zipper.

For a split second the historical inaccuracy of a Victorian era costume featuring a device first introduced years after Edgar Allan Poe’s death hit you - a remark Reid himself would have been very appreciative of, which showed how much you could relate to the way his brain worked. Then you shook out of it and peeled his slacks open.

You crumpled the shirt over his stomach and marveled at the sight of his soft belly, the flawless navel, the dark fuzz pointing directly to his raging erection. With a cautious approach you freed it from any restraint, chewing on your lower lip as you often did when you were entirely focused on a challenging task.

You couldn’t exactly say you had many options in your mind to compare him to but you had done a lot of fantasizing: now that he was in front of you, undressed and defenseless, you were downright mesmerized by—

“What’s wrong?!” Spencer screeched, interrupting your train of thought. “Is it odd? Does it look odd?!”

You shook your head, taken aback. “... odd?! No, why?!” you asked. “It’s just…” you petted the roundness to demonstrate, “I like your tummy so much.”

The way it pressed against his belt whenever he sat next to you on your couch or his was overly inviting and in the past weeks you had to fight the temptation to sneak a hand inside his shirt to squish it, because you didn’t know how he would’ve reacted.

“Really?!” he marveled, confirming he wasn’t even aware you had a thing for soft tummies. His soft tummy, to be specific.

You smiled and leaned forward to rest your forehead against his. “Are you okay with me doing this?”

Spencer nodded, his eyelids half-closed, so you let your fingertips follow the trail of hair below his belly button; his hardness twitched again when you got near, then you wrapped your hand around it.

You both moaned in unison, a harmony of pleasure that filled the silence of your living room. You moved along his entire length, feeling the satiny skin sliding over the shaft, and he threw his hair back in a movement that left his jugular exposed: his neck was too inviting and you sucked on it, the groans vibrating in his throat reverberating on your lips.

You gripped tighter when he got used to your caresses. As soon as his muffled whimpers seemed to increase in frequency you circled your thumb over the tip, spreading his leaking precum over the sensitive head. Spencer was at loss for words, a good indication that he was definitely enjoying the moment.

You were enjoying it too; you started to rub your legs together, your imagination running wild and picturing all sorts of scenarios. The mere thought of having him inside of you made you want to touch yourself but you resisted: Spencer was undoubtedly new to this and deserved someone in his life to love him and shower him with attention, so you decided to put his release before your own.

When you twisted your hand at the base of his cock he jumped, missing the bridge of your nose by a few inches.

“Too much?!” you cooed, and he seemed to come out of a sort of drunken stupor.

“No, no… it’s good, I like it…”

You sighed. “Spence, you have to tell me if—”

“It’s really good,” he replied, the urgency sensible in his tone. “Don’t stop,” he pleaded, low-key ashamed of how needy he’d sounded.

You pecked him on the nose as a reassurance you accepted and cherished this version of him: he wasn’t the kind of man to be interested in the crude physical aspect of sex, he’d made it clear. He wasn’t desperate for just anyone to satisfy him - he trusted you to do it, because he knew you were safe in each other’s arms.

You shifted to adjust at his side and returned to your previous occupation; you let your other hand wander over his thigh as a forewarning, then you sheepishly cupped his balls so you could provide additional stimulation and send him over the edge.

He bucked his hips, a loud “Oh, God!!!” escaping from his mouth before he grasped a fistful of your hair. He was hungry for you, his tongue sliding lustfully against yours and his breathing so ragged you were sure he was getting close.

Kissing him was your drug of choice but you also wanted to watch him come undone, thanks to you, so you turned your head while he tensed: he arched his back and bucked his hips once more, nipping at your earlobe. He became harder as he spilled himself over your fingers, wrist and his own stomach with a feral growl.

You didn’t let go of him, not even when his whole body finally slumped down.

The well-defined jaw and unruly curls falling on his face, now so serene, made him appear like a Botticellian masterpiece. Botticelli would have never painted one of his subjects in such a disheveled state, for sure, but the contrast between his angelic aura and the fact he was sprawled on the couch with his trousers unzipped and his softening cock still in your hand was a vision to behold.

“Hey,” you hummed as he re-opened his eyes and found you looking at him, “you’re too cute to be real, you know that?!”

Embarrassed - yet adorably proud - Spencer lowered his gaze, only to grimace at the stickiness on his belly. And on you. “I made a mess, I’m s—”

“We made a mess. Besides, it’s nothing a towel can’t fix, don’t be sorry,” you said, patting his tummy.

You were almost tempted to ask him how long he’d been saving it for, in a clumsy attempt to remind him you’d fallen so head over heels for him you were not at all grossed out; at the last moment you ruled the joke out, though, stretching your legs to get up instead. “Give me a couple of minutes.”

He flashed you the most awkward smile and you forced your feet to move towards the bathroom.

You washed your hands under the hot running water and silently watched a part of Spencer swirling down the drain; the floral scent of the soap was now in the air but you could still feel his - coffee and cologne, accentuated by the faint traces of sweat on his skin.

You had just discovered something new: Spencer was often oblivious of how good he looked (despite the dark circles under his eyes) and that was no mystery, but the idea he might have been insecure about different parts of his body was something you’d never taken into account. If being a couple was the natural consequence of the emotional bond between you - rather than a result of some physical infatuation alone - why was he so preoccupied with your reaction to his half-naked self?

Your brain was going in severe overdrive.

You inhaled and exhaled a couple of times, your fingers gripping on the honed marble of the countertop, then you dried your hands with a towel, grabbed a fresh one and returned to the living room; the instant you approached your couch you realized Spencer had been doing a lot of thinking of his own, and your heart sank into your stomach.

“Wunderkind, are you alright?” you questioned as you offered him the towel so that he could clean himself up. “What’s going on in here?” you added, tapping lightly on his temple.

He shrugged and proceeded to meticulously remove any trace of his seed from his belly and clothes before tucking the shirt into the waistband of his trousers. “Nothing special.”

His left eyebrow raised, due to an involuntary movement of his facial muscles: it was a flash, a glimpse, the undeniable proof he was hiding something. The sound of your intrusive thoughts and fears got so loud you wanted to scream to cover their noise.

“Your microexpressions say otherwise,” you retorted.

Spencer lifted his head to meet your eyes, mouth agape, and you couldn’t decipher the meaning of such a bewildered reaction. You had always been able to recognize his lying frown, his anxious smile, the suspicious squint and a hundred more variations: you were not a member of the BAU but you were an expert on detecting and classifying his emotions, yet you’d never seen that one before.

“It’s… uhm, I’m wondering if it was good for you.”

Your heart leaped and bounced back where it belonged. His job required him to be the one calling people out on their behavior, not the other way round; your presence in his life forced him to face a situation in which his skills as a profiler couldn’t shield him from his own vulnerability, so he was in serious need of some consolation.

You bent over to whisper in his ear. “It was.”

“But you didn’t...” he nervously licked his lips, “and I want you to. Just tell me how.”

In the back of your mind you were 100% sure it would have been the right moment to confess you’d been harboring a few insecurities of your own but your fight-flight-freeze response was already answering on your behalf, making you freeze on the spot.

“Spencer…”

“You don’t think I can?!” he inquired, still convinced his lack of experience was the motivation behind any episode of miscommunication.

“NO! It’s not about you,” you responded in a hurry, hugging him as he was still seated on the couch. “Or maybe it is… ” you gestured to your whole figure, “I guess I’m a bit worried this isn’t what—”

Spencer wrapped you in an equally sweet hug, his chin dimple pressed on your abdomen. “This is soft,” his hands ran to the back of your knees, trailing up, “it’s so soft I’ve got only one thing in mind every time you hug me and I have to stop myself…”

He stopped talking mid-sentence when you guided his palms over your chest and he finally laughed, fascinated by the feeling of your breasts through the shirt.

If he was so happy at the idea you were starving for his touch and was clearly eager to reciprocate it was time to consider the strong possibility he wasn’t just settling for less. “Do you really—”

“Yes!” he replied, enthusiastically. “But I could use a few hints, you know.”

You knew. “May I sit on your lap, kind sir?”

The ‘are you even serious?’ pout on his face deserved an award; now you were both allowed to act silly without the slightest concern one of you was making fun of the other, high on the intoxicating concept of true intimacy.

You positioned yourself so that you were seated on his groin, your back flat on his chest and your head nestled in the crook of his neck, thanking Mother Nature for the existence of refractory periods. Not that it was necessary, but Spencer hooked his left forearm around your waist to secure you as his tongue glided over the soft skin behind your ear. “How do I start?”

“Step one: make some space,” you tipped him.

He gulped loudly and began to caress your knee, ghosting his fingers along the thigh-bone. You shivered in anticipation and when he tried to reach for your inner thigh you spread your legs apart; he flattened his palm, gripping on your muscles and rubbing back and forth - still keeping some distance from your most delicate spots.

You turned to offer him your lips. “Tease me… up and down, light touches.”

He did as he was told. When he ran the back of his hand over your mound you whimpered, the oversensitivity being too much to bear combined with the mind-blowing taste of his mouth over yours.

“Isn’t it frustrating for you?” he managed to articulate in between kisses and you rocked your hips against him.

You could already feel the familiar and insistent throbbing, accentuated by the fact that delayed gratification was a real pain; you were dying for him to placate the fire his hard cock had sparked in you, so you grabbed his wrist and guided it over your stomach, down the front of your panties.

He gasped at the feeling of your tender flesh, the curly hair, the dampness - too many sensory inputs to process all at once. “You’re so… warm?”

“Core body temperature is higher than the temperature of the skin,” you reminded him.

“So warm,” he kept repeating, basic biology facts lost on him because his brain seemed to have switched off.

His palm grazed over your folds and your legs fell further open to give him better access; you stroked his left forearm and tilted your head back. “Only two fingers now, Spence… up and down. But don’t go straight for—”

You tensed when his fingertips danced on your clit and he gripped you even tighter. “Sorry,” he mumbled, but the sensation was so good you could only smile.

“If you plan to go there it’s left and right. And draw a few circles around, big and small...” you explained before words turned into muffled moans as he put your suggestions into actions.

You were still grinding on his lap, your back glued to his chest, and he took advantage of the proximity to trap your earlobe between his teeth, sucking lightly at each change of the pattern he was tracing.

You squeezed his wrist when the flame inside of you grew fiercer. “You can slip your finger in if you want.”

Spencer let go of your earlobe and paused. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for weeks,” you admitted, the weight of your secret vanishing in the air like a puff of smoke.

He sighed and shifted underneath you; just as you were ready to tell him he didn’t have to if he wasn’t comfortable with the idea he slid his middle finger past your entrance and you shuddered in his embrace. His hands were elegant, veiny, and his slender digits made for playing piano or reaching your hidden crevices - you had no doubts about it, but judging by how he was sitting still he had more than one question regarding what to do with them.

“How do I feel? Spence...?”

Even if you couldn’t really see his face, you knew he had a confused-slash-excited look on. “Hot… and wet, I never thought—”

“You like it?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?!” he asked in the cutest high-pitched tone and you laughed, making you both wince at the sudden movement.

All the words in any existent language put together couldn’t describe the amount of affection you had for him. “I like it, Spence,” you hummed, “and it would be even better if you tried curling your fin— FUCK!”

Spencer wasn’t one to waste time once he was given a specific instruction.

He pushed his finger forward and curled it as you said, gliding in and out to slowly familiarize himself with the different textures of your inner walls. He adopted a very empirical approach, experimenting several techniques based on what he’d learned not so long before, while you whimpered and moaned his name; he was moaning, too, and so prettily you couldn’t control yourself.

“Spence, I need more…”

He nipped at your jaw, his long hair tickling your cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t, I promise”, you panted, almost out of breath.

When he slipped a second finger in you realized that his arm wrapped around your waist was the only thing still keeping you in place: your legs were giving up on you, your hips swayed to let Spencer’s fingers plunge deeper as your back arched and your fists closed around his clothes. He was pumping relentlessly, overwhelmed by your wetness and the way you were taking him inside like he was a missing part of your own body; he tried to reach for your mouth and you turned to grasp the nape of his neck.

“Your hands are perfect,” you whined, “you are perfect…”

He huffed, his heart pounding fast. “Are you…?”

“Please... make me come, Spence,” you begged him in a whisper.

He pressed his thumb on your clit and started alternating between rough circling motions and the upward movement of his fingers, as you bucked your hips at a frantic pace; your thighs muscles contracted, you clenched around him and you ears plugged as you climaxed - something that had never happened to you before.

You tugged at his hair and screamed his name, before settling against his body once the tension faded.

He kept his fingers inside and he cuddled you throughout the aftermath of your orgasm, planting butterfly kisses wherever his mouth could reach and cradling you like his only mission in life was making you feel safe and protected.

Your self-consciousness awoke first, despite the rush of feel-good hormones flowing in your bloodstream.

“Am I crushing you…?” you mumbled, and he grunted as you wriggled free to lean forward and pick up the towel from the floor.

He stared at his wet fingers with a pensive frown, then he wiped them clean and turned to face you - now seated on the couch with your legs across his and your forearm rested on his shoulder, so that you could play with his curls.

“Doctor, you deserve a gold star for your performance.”

He smiled and lowered his gaze for a second. “I’m very good at following instructions.”

“You’re not bad at improvising, either,” you pointed out, “the thing you did with your thumb…?”

“I figured it was only a matter of combining the exact pressure and the right angle. Technically speaking—”

“Spencer?!” you cut him off, before he could lose himself in his own rambling. “Thank you,” you added, kissing him lightly on his lips before you stood up to fix your panties and trousers. “You can tell me all about the mechanics behind one of the best orgasms of my life on our way.”

“Nosferatu. First Halloween together…?” you elaborated when he looked at you in total confusion. “You’ve changed your mind.”

He shifted on the couch, his hazel eyes fixed on you. “Is that okay?”

This time you looked at him with your best ‘is ice cream cold?’ frown: you wanted to spend eternity with him, not just an hour or two more. You climbed into his lap and tangled your fingers in his hair while he cupped your breasts.

“What if I get…? I mean... again?!”

“Well, it’s not going to happen right now, Professor!!" you snorted, and his giggle sounded like celestial music. "But don’t worry, we’ve got the whole night."

NB: I'm not using my regular taglist for Spencer Reid smut fics but I'm obviously tagging only the users who sent a request. If you wish to be added you can send me an ask or leave a comment below with the request to be added.

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sunny44 · 1 year ago

Text

Reunions on the track

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Ex best friend!reader

Warnings: fights

Summary: Charles and Y/n have known each other since they were five years old, but with the start of his motorsport career they lost touch.

Years later, when Charles was driving for Ferrari in Formula 1 and Y/n had a degree in photography, their paths crossed again when she was hired as the team's new photographer.

I was accustomed to the Formula 1 circus.

The roar of engines, the team's hustle and bustle, cameras always pointed in his direction. But on this sunny morning, I was surprised with something or someone to be more specific. I entered the Scuderia Ferrari pitlane and that’s when I saw her, with her back turned to him, skillfully handling a camera. Y/n. Her name echoed in his mind like an echo from the past.

I assumed from the camera in her hand that she had filled the vacancy at Ferrari.

"Are you kidding me?" Charles muttered, addressing Mattia Binotto, the head of the Ferrari team. "Is Y/n here?"

Mattia smiled, as if he knew this could cause turbulence.

“Surprise, Charles. She’s our new photographer. Y/n has an incredible eye for capturing the most intense moments of the races.”

I made an effort to control the flood of emotions rising in me. Me and Y/n had been inseparable friends since childhood, but we drifted apart over time, especially when my career in motorsport took off.

We hadn't spoken in years, and now she is here, on the same team as me.

Our friendship was perfect, we had known each other forever, and I remember our mothers saying that we would definitely get married if we just got older. Over time, I realized that I had feelings for her, and I was willing to wait until we were old enough and then confess my feelings to her. But then everything changed.

I started rapidly advancing through categories, and then I just stopped talking to her.

I stood there for a few minutes just looking at her until Y/n finally turned around, and their gazes met. It wasn't a warm and joyful reunion. On the contrary, there was a moment of tense silence before Y/n broke it.

"Charles Leclerc, the Ferrari golden boy." she said, with a sarcastic smile. "Who would have thought you'd become so famous, huh?"

Charles felt his face grow warm.

“Don’t start Y/n.”

"Don't start? You just disappear from my life when you started winning races, and I'm the one who can't say anything?"

I don't know why, but I didn't think she would be this hostile.

"I was busy, Y/n. You know how life is in F1."

"Busy or not, you could have found a way to stay in touch. But, of course, you had more important things to do than to care about me." She looked at me, hurt. "But who am I to blame you, right? After all, with fame and beautiful models hanging on your neck all the time, I wouldn't mean anything to you anyway."

Those words hit Charles like a punch in the stomach. He knew he had made mistakes, but he never imagined that Y/n was so hurt.

"I'm sorry, Y/n. I should have been a better friend." She let out an exasperated sigh.

"It doesn't matter anymore. I'm here to do my job," she said sternly. "You just need to pretend that I mean nothing to you; I don't think it will be that difficult."

I simply nodded, realizing that the situation was far from resolved. While the engines roared in the background, indicating that I had to get into the car next.

And, of course, I spent the entire practice session thinking about how to have her back in my life.

Bonus scene!

Yourusername instagram stories

“First day of work done”

Y/n.jpg nstagram post

Liked by @lando.jpg, @Scuderiaferrari, @charlesleclerc and @maxverstappen

Y/n.jpg My dream came true and I’m in Monaco photographing the formula 1 Grand Prix

This is the best weekend of my life and here’s a few photos 🏎️

F1 welcome to the f1 family

Maxverstappen nice photos

Liked by y/n.jpg

Landonorris hello there

Carlossainz welcome to the team

Y/n.jpg thank you

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fr3sh-tragedies · 7 months ago

Text

I Adore You

[Five Nights at Freddy's] Vanessa Shelly x Female Reader

Summary: She loves everything you do, even if you aren't aware of it.

Word Count: 2.40k Content Warnings: Oblivious reader, brief mentions of anxiety Category: Heavy Fluff || One-shot

[A/N]: Not proofread. Requests are currently being worked on.

Enjoy!

It seemed as though people were chatting away and snickering at you each time you were with Vanessa. You couldn’t understand why. She was your best friend, and you were just hanging out together. What could be so funny about that? Out on walks at the park, a group of girls would lean over to whisper to each other when you and Vanessa passed. When shopping at the mall or the local grocery store, the customers nearby and the clerks seemed to gossip about the two of you with teasing grins on their faces. Even when you would just go out to eat somewhere, it seemed as though the people who noticed the two of you together were talking about you.

What was so interesting about two people hanging out? Why weren’t they gossipping about other people nearby instead? You couldn’t wrap your head around it no matter how long you thought about the constant glances and hushed words. At first, you had thought it was just a coincidence that you and Vanessa were singled out, but as it happened more and more, you started to wonder if it was something about you. There was no way they could be making fun of Vanessa. Even so, looking down at yourself each time and taking note of your appearance, you had no idea what was being discussed so quietly.

The one place, aside from home, where you could escape the chatter was the Diner that Mike worked at with the animatronics. There, with Mike and Abby to keep you company, you could relax and just spark up a normal conversation with Vanessa without worrying about judgemental glares focused directly on you.

However, it seemed that as of recently you had no escape anymore aside from home. Mike, and even Abby herself, were constantly smirking knowingly whenever you and Vanessa would sit down and speak about your days. You couldn’t figure out why, and it was really starting to get under your skin. Surely there was something that you weren’t seeing. That had to be it.

You had to figure it out. It was driving you insane.

As you sat at one of the dusty tables lining the floor of Fazbear’s Family Diner, your eyes trailed over the shapes etched into the party-themed fabric across the wooden top of the surface in front of you. Each small movement of your eyes symbolized a new thought being formed as you desperately wracked your brain to develop an understanding of the gossip.

When a hand came down to squeeze your shoulder and pull you out of your trance, you jumped and twirled in your seat to see who had disturbed you. “You doing okay?” Mike questioned quietly beside you.

Your mind seemed to falter in processing his words, and you only stared up at him for a moment because of it, prompting him to stare down at you in concern. Quickly, after catching a glimpse of Abby wandering nearby, you nodded. The last thing you wanted was to worry Abby as well. As Mike took a seat beside you, his worried expression shifted into a teasing smirk. “Thinking about Vanessa, huh?” For a reason you couldn’t pinpoint, your face flustered at his words.

“Yeah, kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“Well, I just…” You paused, gaze returning to the table as you struggled to form the right words. “People seem to keep laughing and gossipping about Vanessa and I whenever we hang out, and I’m starting to wonder if it’s because of me.”

“Are you serious? Of course it’s because of you.”

You scoffed, swatting his arm. “Mike!” He laughed at the motion and leaned back before you could smack him again. “What?” “Are you kidding? What do you mean “what?” You didn’t have to be that blunt about it!” He chuckled again and shook his head. “Sorry, but it’s true. It’s not because you did anything, it's more so because you aren’t doing anything.”

Brows furrowed and features contorted from confusion, you glared at him. “Huh? What do you mean I’m not doing anything? What the hell am I supposed to be doing? We’re just hanging out when that happens, it’s nothing special.” At your words, he rolled his eyes. “Maybe not to you, but it’s pretty clear that Vanessa feels the opposite.”

He was met with silence. You could only continue to peer over at him as you tried your hardest to grasp his words and what they meant. “God, you really are clueless. Holy shit. Do you seriously not see the way she looks at you or notice the way she talks to you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone that lovestruck before. Kinda thought you were just playing hard-to-get with her for a while, but I guess you really are just that dense.”

Again, your knuckles met his shoulder in offense. “What the hell, man? She doesn’t like me like that. Even if she did, that wouldn’t explain why people are being so weird around us.” “Yeah, it does, actually.” “Huh?” The pads of his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose as he sighed. “You genuinely haven’t noticed how she acts around you?”

When he managed to look back up at you, it was clear your attention wasn’t fully on him anymore. He followed your eyes and turned around. Vanessa had walked in through the front door and immediately took notice of you. She beamed ear to ear and waved, and Mike didn’t even have to look back over at you to know you were smiling just as widely. He could hear the rustle of your sleeve as you waved back.

Before the grinning officer could trail over to you, Abby ran up to her and bounced for a bit before taking her hand and pulling her over towards the stage. There, she had Vanessa sit down with her as she picked up her drawings and began to show them to her. Briefly, Vanessa lifted her head enough to shoot a nervous smile your way before devoting her focus on the artwork being displayed for her.

The corners of Mike’s lips perked up in a small simper. He turned back to you to find you staring at the two. Instantly, he knew your eyes were fixated more on Vanessa.

Playfully, he nudged your arm. You finally turned around to face him. You whispered as softly as you could manage when you spoke again. “How would the way she’s acting around me affect the reactions we get from other people?” “Because she bends over backwards just to make you smile. Haven’t you noticed the amount of gifts she’s given you? Even if you haven’t, surely you know how she looks at you.”

“Looks at me?”

“She’s staring at you all the time, and she’s always got this weird, like, dorky grin when she does. It’s not hard to tell that she likes you.”

“I already know she likes me, Mike.”

“But do you know that she loves you?”

Your skin burned at the question. Instinctively, your hands flew up to cover your face in embarrassment. “There’s no way she loves me like that, Mike. No way at all. Don’t lie to me like that.” He groaned and bumped your shoulder again. “C’mon, just acknowledge it already. It’s not like she’s being very subtle about it. Are you really that oblivious?” You stayed silent. “Just think back on the past couple of months, would you? Anything she’s done for you or with you.” As if your mind wasn’t already racing fast enough, his suggestion only accelerated your thoughts.

Shit, he was right.

All the small presents she would drop off for you or hand to you each time you spent time together, with her small smiles as she explained how she thought of you when she saw whatever it was she had gifted to you.

How each day she had off from work would be spent together, and she would assure you that you were the only person she wanted to be with on those days off.

Every time she’d invite you to a nearby cafe or just to go out on a walk together and talk about whatever came to mind.

The soft, comforting touches when she tried to get your attention, or the firm hugs when you needed it, or the gentle jokes passed between the two of you whenever you were alone watching movies and eating the snacks she had bought specifically for the occasion.

The look in her eyes resembling someone so smitten anytime she so much as glanced in your direction.

Had she really been that obvious about everything? Were you really that blind to the meaning of her actions and words? If Mike’s words were true, that meant that everyone you had worried about in the previous months were all aware of it too, and you were the only one who had no idea. You grimaced at the idea of possibly upsetting Vanessa with how ignorant you had been. What if she thought you didn’t feel the same way?

You glanced over at her from your spot at the table. She looked so beautiful as she smiled and chuckled at whatever joke Abby had made. How had you not noticed how incredibly she had treated you?

“Why don’t you go tell her how you feel?” Mike asked gently beside you. You turned to him, muscles tense from unease. “I don’t know. What if I waited too long? What if she doesn’t actually feel that way about me anymore?” A quick shake of his head seemed to help settle your nerves just enough to look over at Vanessa again. “No way she doesn’t feel as strongly about you as she always has. Just go talk to her, okay?”

You weren’t sure if you could do it, but you stood without thinking regardless. A glance in his direction combined with his nodding aided your ability to suck in a sharp breath in an attempt to steel your nerves. Eyes glued to the floor beneath you, you meandered forward shakily until you stood beside Vanessa and Abby. The two looked up at you curiously, and you caught the way Vanessa’s eyes immediately lit up at the sight of you.

“Hey, uh,” you started, clearing your throat at the sound of your voice breaking. “Can I ask you something?” The officer nodded and slowly stood. “Is everything okay?” You nodded and tucked your hands behind your back to pick at each other. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I’m just… I have to ask you about something, but I don’t want it to sound weird.”

“Go ahead. I promise I won’t get upset.”

“Do you like me? Like, romantically?”

The space between the two of you seemed to fall completely silent. Vanessa’s face seemed to fluster as badly as yours and she swallowed the lump in her throat. “Oh,” she whispered.

“Well, I–”

“I thought that was obvious,” Abby blurted, still seated on the ground.

Vanessa laughed when you covered your face and gently took your hands into her own. “Abby,” Mike called from across the room. “Come over here for a minute, okay?” The little girl stood from her spot on the floor and skipped over to her older brother without paying any mind to how sheepish she had made you. When a sigh slipped past your lips, Vanessa shrugged. “I really did think I was being obvious about it. Honestly, I thought I was coming on too strong. Apparently not.”

You slid your hands out from hers and hugged your arms tightly, eyes averting in embarrassment at her words. “I just,” you murmured briefly before sighing. “I didn’t know. I thought you were just being really nice to me for no reason.”

“I mean, kind of, but it was mainly because I was too nervous to just ask you out. I was hoping you would get the hint and it would make it easier. Guess I should’ve upped the ante, huh?” Just as you had done to Mike, you swatted Vanessa’s arm gently and huffed, to which she chuckled at.

You waited a moment before peeking up at her. “Do you really like me that way?” She nodded with a wide smile painted across her lips. “I do. I really do. I adore every single part of you, good and bad. In fact, could you wait here for just a moment? I’ve got something out in my car for you.” You could only nod, barely registering anything past the confirmation of her confession.

Her hand patted your arm softly before she jogged toward the entrance and out through the large glass door. Only a moment later, she returned to her previous spot in front of you, now carrying a large bouquet of roses. She let her arm extend outwards to you and she waited for you to take the gift from her. “I was actually planning on confessing to you tonight after we were all ready to head home, but you kinda beat me to it. I guess I should honestly be thanking you for making it easier on me,” she explained with a timid laugh.

As you took the bouquet from her hand, she scratched the back of her neck. “So,” she murmured. “Do you… feel the same way?” Using the flowers as a makeshift shield, you hid part of your face as you whispered out a soft “yes” in response. A sigh fell from her lips as her tensed body finally relaxed. “Oh, thank god.” She stepped forward and took hold of your free hand. A quick tug in her direction caused you to practically fall into her embrace, and she held you close, her hold on you strong and comforting.

“I love you so much,” she finally confessed. It took a moment for the words to fully process themselves into your brain, but you ultimately hummed and returned the hug, unable to bite back your smile. “I love you too.”

When she leaned back, she cupped your face in her hands and let the pads of her thumbs stroke soothingly over your skin. She leaned forward and pressed a swift peck against your nose and then your forehead. Briefly, her lips met yours before she pulled back again.

“I hope you know I’m going to spoil the hell out of you.”

She smiled gleefully when you eagerly tugged her back into the kiss.

#fluff #x reader #female reader #fem reader #heavy fluff #vanessa afton #vanessa shelly #vanessa shelly x reader #vanessa shelly x you #vanessa shelly x female reader #fnaf #five nights at freddy's

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thursdayinspace · 7 months ago

Text

fic master post

I think I have enough fic at this point to make a master post, collecting them all in one place. Organized chronologically for now, there isn't quite enough to make categories. :)

wild side - G, 1,205 words (AO3 link)

“Hey, Scully?” “Yeah?” “What is the craziest thing you’ve ever done?” Or: sometimes being stuck in the middle of nowhere on a dark and stormy night with your work partner of five-plus years is the best possible version of events.

in conclusion - T, 3,370 words (AO3 link)

It's the middle of the night in a freezing cold motel room and they both haven't slept. The best time and place to figure out how relationships work -- theirs in particular.

time and space - M, 2,604 words (AO3 link)

Sometimes he wonders if it would be easier if she'd be gone from his life completely. Then he reminds himself: if she moved to the ends of the earth he would still want to follow her. And when she calls, he always answers the phone. Set during the revival era. They always find their way back to each other.

five ways to says "I love you" (plus one including words) - T, 4,501 words (AO3 link)

Just because something is unspoken, it isn't always unsaid. You just have to know what to look for.

sanctuary - T, 1,550 words (AO3 link)

In a world full of lies and fear and darkness, they have each other to be the light and shelter that they need. That's something to hold onto. They watch each other sleep and consider everything that means.

mend into pieces - Explicit, 1,641 words (AO3 link)

There is nowhere she would rather be than here, with him, making the biggest mistake of her life and enjoying every second of it. Every mistake made with him is greater than every win, every success, every moment of perfect joy she has ever experienced. She’ll break herself for him as he does for her. -- Set in early season 2, right after Scully's return.

travel in style - G, 1,401 words (AO3 link)

“I can’t believe there wasn’t a single room available anywhere,” Scully says, snuggling deeper under the jacket she’s using as a blanket, already sounding half asleep as she tilts the driver’s seat back into a reclined position. “Three motels and not one single bed to be found.” Mulder shifts in the passenger seat – which she had insisted he should take because of the leg room – and desperately tries to get comfortable. “That has literally never happened before,” he agrees, sliding the seat back as far as it will go. It’s still too cramped. “God, Scully, how can you ever sleep in the car? You always make it look so easy.”

from this morning forward - Explicit, 7,233 words (AO3 link)

Moving back in happens slowly. It's not a decision, it's not a plan. They've each battled their own demons, and now that the wounds are starting to heal, she's so tired of pretending that she doesn't miss him every day. After all, through the good times and the bad, it's always been the two of them, together. -- Set during the revival era.

it's the day the world didn't end - Explicit, 1,544 words (AO3 link)

The clock ticks over to the day the world doesn’t end and he kisses her. She kisses him back. It’s not a new year’s kiss, it’s a kiss more than six years in the making. -- Millennium fic.

got you covered - T, 2,419 words (AO3 link)

“Is it a bit cold in here?” He wraps his arms around himself, looking at her in her thick cardigan next to him on the couch. “The heating’s broken,” she says. “I’m sorry, I should have called you before you came over.”

words behind the meaning - G, 3,175 words (AO3 link)

He tells her he owes her everything and she owes him nothing. She knows that's not true, but she doesn't get to tell him. Life has other plans. But she knows. And once life lets her, she will tell him. -- Post-Fight the Future: they don't kiss in that hallway, but they get there eventually.

tuesday - M, 894 words (AO3 link)

They get married on a Tuesday. It just feels like the time is right. They've waited long enough; it doesn't matter that they're only just beginning to realize that.

yesterday's future - Explicit, 3,189 words (AO3 link)

They deserve to be happy. It's not too much to ask. It's something worth fighting for, something to hold onto; the light at the end of the tunnel. That is the one thing they promise each other above all else: a future where they don't have to run anymore.

spectacular - Explicit, 2,238 words (AO3 link)

They make rules, and they make them for good reasons. No kissing at work. Definitely no sex during work hours. And they would absolutely, definitely, under no circumstances ever break their own rules. (with wonderful art here)

ellipsis - Explicit, 3,758 words (AO3 link)

He's a free man again – it’s what they’d barely dared to dream. Now, she barely dares to ask him what he wants to do with his freedom. He doesn’t know.

beyond a doubt - T, 1,164 words (AO3 link)

Maybe their second meeting will be better than their first. He’s here even though the world has fallen apart. And she’s afraid. What will she do, what can she do if it’s not really him? If they have succeeded at last, destroyed him and left only an empty, Mulder-shaped hull in an awful prison suit. or: the kiss from The Truth, told in 1,000 words.

the ginger invasion - G, 723 words (AO3 link)

Mulder is sick. He never gets sick, and it's awful. It's terrible. Scully will be wondering why he isn't at work. He should call her. He just about manages to lift his head and there she is, Scully, in his bedroom doorway.

starstruck - G, 671 words (AO3 link)

"So, I guess she's sticking around, then?" Frohike asks, and Mulder looks up from . . . whatever it is Byers just put on the screen in front of him and nods. "Seems that way. At least for now." -- Mulder has a crush. The gunmen know it.

how many stars - G, 472 words (AO3 link)

"What are you thinking?" she asks, and he turns his head to the side, looks at her. "The universe," he says.

had you big time - G, 540 words (AO3 link)

"I've thought about our weekend away," he whispers against her lips, before he kisses her again. "I've had the perfect idea."

tasting raindrops - G, 385 words (AO3 link)

She laughs with him and can't look away, raindrops clinging to his lashes, water dripping from his nose -- not kissing him in this moment would defy every law of the universe.

what time do you call this? - G, 495 words (AO3 link)

He stirs as she carefully lowers herself onto the mattress and she pauses, not wanting to wake him. It's way after midnight and it's enough if one of them will be entirely sleep-deprived the next day.

distractions - G, 1,181 words (AO3 link)

He wants to ask if she’s okay, but he knows the answer to that. And she’s told him more than once that she doesn’t want to talk about it. She says she has no memory of what they did to her. Sometimes he’s not sure he believes her.

heaven and hell - T, 996 words (AO3 link)

Hell doesn’t burn. There is no pit of fire. Heaven isn’t a green garden under a cloudless sky. Everything is made of moments, and they don't happen on schedule. But often, they happen with his hand in hers.

coffee and pancakes - T, 1,881 words (AO3 link)

It’s amazing, he thinks, how quickly you can get used to things just because they feel right. It’s been no more than a few weeks since they unpacked the last of her boxes; there hadn’t been many to begin with. She had left a lot of stuff behind when she’d moved out and barely acquired new things during the time she’d been away. Everything is back where it belongs now. or: Scully has moved back in and Mulder is realizing that a home is not just four walls and a door.

no longer dreaming - Explicit, 2,626 words (AO3 link)

She refuses to do anything while he still has his arm in a sling. And while his body is straining towards her with every cell, deep down he’s grateful. All these years they’ve waited. He doesn’t want to rush this now. -- Post-millennium, they finally let themselves have what they've both wanted for so long.

home furnishings - Explicit, 5,008 words (AO3 link)

It starts with a sprained ankle and frustration about a broken chair. He knows it’s not IKEA’s fault. He and Scully have gone through a number of chairs over the years. But he thinks a billion-dollar multinational company will survive the scorn of one grumpy customer. (or: Mulder writes reviews. Mulder also loves Scully.)

#txf #msr #msr fanfic #fic #the x files

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1u11ablues · 6 months ago

Text

Repentance (Phillip Graves x Fem Reader)

WC: 2.4k

Warnings: Smut(Soft), begging, slight groveling, kneeling, mild lover's argument. (Suggestive picture under see more)

Phillip comes home late, so he had to endure his punishment.

If there’s one thing Phillip won’t admit to his Shadows over team drinking nights, is that he’s just another fella smitten with his woman.

Yes, they knew he was in a relationship. And he left it at that.

Who wants to hear a man singing about his lady over what was technically a boy’s night?

But you had this rule for his night outs.

“If it’s past three and you ain’t home,” you warned him, “then sleep outside.”

See, he gets a little forgetful when he’s had a little too much in his system. And since today was one of his Shadow’s birthday, and multiple rounds were ordered along with entertainment in the form of competitive team dart session-

It slipped his mind. It really did.

He groaned as he looked at the time on his phone—a brand-new crack on the screen when he’d slipped on spilled beer and fell on his shins.

“I’m a dead man,” he whispered before entering.

Now, he knew he wasn’t supposed to be home, especially with the smell of alcohol wafting out of him. You hated that, so he would have to take the couch for the night after he showered and scrubbed himself clean.

Thank the Lord for those two glasses of water he’d downed at the end of the night that made it even possible for him to do so.

His steps measured light. Even lighter than when he was sneaking behind an enemy.

Taking a quick glance at the sight of you on the bed while he was on the way to the bathroom, he knew just how much he’d fucked up by the looks of it.

There lay his missus with full-on pajamas, a cartoon print shirt and long pajama pants. A battle armor, if he had a say in it.

When did you even get those? He knew your wardrobe like the back of his hand. Knew the fancy silks and satins and its comfier, also equally luxurious counterparts’ cashmere and wool pajama sets. He knew, because he’d bought them for you. Strode into the store right behind you and let you pick them up yourself!

This wasn’t part of those trips, at least if memory serves him well.

So Phillip showered. Paused for a moment when he feels his guts coming up to greet the bathroom floor, but saved by his quick run to the toilet bowl.

Afterwards, he feels much, much better. Physically, only.

There’s the guilt niggling at the back of his head as he trails a longing gaze at you.

He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t.

How did he get here, his lips kissing the back of your neck? Arms, pulling you in by the waist?

Some people are sad drunks. Some, happy.

He never hid from you that he was of the horny category.

“Baby,” he opens with affection to dull the impact of his mistake, “I’m back and I need you.”

No way you’re even up past eleven to know how late he returned from his night, is there?

“What time did you come home?”

Okay, he should’ve expected that.

“Late, honey. I’m sorry. Was having too much fun, we’re celebrating a birthday-“

“I didn’t ask for details.”

He sighed. He’s surely sleeping his hangover off on the couch today.

“Five. Sorry.”

“So you broke your promise. What next? Breaking this one too?” You raise your hand up, flashing the engagement ring he’d gotten you a couple months ago.

This time, his voice was firm.

“No, no way. I’m not taking that back, nor am I breaking it. Not that. Are you serious?”

A roll of your eyes tells him you’re not.

“So you’re here, feeling me up, when I specifically told you not to bother coming home after three?”

From his position behind you, he raised your left hand up to his lips, kissing every single finger, paying extra attention to the one with the ring.

“I’m only a man, honey. I would choose to face your anger over your absence time and time again.”

“God, you’re so lucky that I am in love with you.”

He afforded a smile hidden by the flesh of your shoulder. This was the first time in a while that he’d come home later than he was supposed to, so he’s not too worried about the consequences. He’d been good so far. For you.

“Any punishment, I’ll take it with grace.”

***

He’s starting to regret saying that now.

How could you and your pretty little head even come up with this torture?

Phillip knelt on the floor by the edge of the bed, his cock hard on display atop the duvet while you…you-

The pink vibrator pulsed on your clit, pussy spasming at every delicious contact—and he’s only able to watch.

He’s on his knees, his hand clasped behind his body, and he can only watch!

“Please, sweetheart, at least let me touch you,” he strained, muscles tensed more so to keep his restraints as per your request.

You and your ideas. His smart girl, if only he was not on the other side of it, he would be singing his praise.

But his cock only managed to twitch uselessly, wailing for the chance to be inside you as he watches you pleasure yourself right in front of him. Painting the duvet with strands of pre-cum that he couldn’t help but leak.

“It wouldn’t be a punishment if your hands are on me, Phillip. I know how you get after even two bottles of beer. I know, because they were usually the best fucking of my life—and I know not being able to do that is enough to make sure you keep to any promises you had made. How hard is it to text me and tell me you won’t be home by the time you promised to be home? I would’ve given you leeway if you had explained before.”

How in hell is this painful, yet so fucking hot?

To hear you tell him off like some sort of head principal while your pretty pussy cries in front of him. Oh, Jesus. He had half a mind to ask for private detention then and there.

“Yes, I get it now. Honey, please. Let me kiss you, at least. On both lips.” Because he’d be damned if his mouth isn’t out there lapping up all the arousal syruping down your thighs right this moment.

“No. Stay in position and take your punishment.”

His knees started to hurt, so he spread his thighs to take on a much lower, relaxed stance to help with it.

“What’s wrong, honey? Is it too much for you?”

He shakes his head. There is no way in hell he would want this to stop. If he knew you, he knew you didn’t mean to stop like he meant it.

No, you will actually stop everything and let the heat of the moment low to a simmer until it ends.

“I can take it. I just wish there’s something I can do with my cock…” he trailed off with his most pleading tone, a request laced within it that he hoped you could read.

“Fine. You want to touch yourself so bad? Do it.”

He straightened as you gave your permission, his length notched between the double mattresses layered on top of the bed base. Once upon a time, his girlfriend complained about his firm mattress. He went out the next day to get a softer one for her, and the rest is history.

“But,” you added, deflating with a single word, “if you do, you’ll have to say goodbye to fucking me for the rest of the day.”

An annoyed groan left him on instinct.

“I have given my lady too much power for her own good,” he muttered with mock regret, dramatizing the low shake of his head.

He was just about to go back to his kneeling position when he realized the predicament his cock was in.

You weren’t the only one with brilliant ideas.

He pushed his aching cock into the slit in between the mattresses.

“Fuck,” he accidentally moaned at the tightness. It was a far cry from a woman’s warmth, but he’s a man three days into an excursion in a dry desert.

Upon your narrowed stare, he placated.

“Hey, I’m not touching myself. Hands off. The mattresses just happened to be there when I needed it.”

After a moment of pause, the vibrator in your hold came to life again. A silent permission for him to go on.

So he thrusted. God, it feels so good then, when the need for pleasure overrode any other senses of his.

“You’ll chafe your cock,” you warned, but he did not care. You’re still making no move and said nothing to let him know that you wanted him inside you, so he was making do.

And if he chafes? Well, maybe that was his punishment.

“I can’t help it, honey. I’m so fucking horny, and you won’t let me touch you. See what you’ve done to me? Reduced me to a bed fucker.”

He pumped his hips slowly, savoring the contact with his cock. Imagining it was your pussy he was in, letting your distant moans guide his pace and rhythm. When you started to breathe shallow, he quickened, when you relaxed, he slowed.

And, pretty soon, his balls started to tighten.

But he would not have his climax be wasted into stuffed fabric. It wouldn’t be a very satisfying release, would it?

“I’m close, honey. I’m so close.”

His hips stuttered, but it didn’t stop.

“And?”

“At least share my orgasm with me. My beautiful, kind, wife-to-be. Did I mention kind? Cause I can whip out the thesaurus if that doesn’t satisfy you.”

It got a giggle out of you. If anything, at least he could hear that; a replacement for your sulking mood. He’d count that as a success.

You took your time. A click of the vibrator. Its hum no longer pestered his hearing. He’d watched you come at least three times in the duration of his punishment. Will you cease now? Love him back again?

You waddled on your knees to where he is, breasts staring him right in the eyes.

No man would stop himself from looking.

He leaned in, eyes monitoring you for rejection, and when none crossed it, took the swell of you into his mouth. Kissing it to color, nipping at the nipple perking out at the attention, smiling like a goof as if he was taking a hit of something just at the precipice of a bad withdrawal.

Of your own accord, you dangle your leg from the bed right in front of him, lying down on the pillow he’d scoot under your back.

But, no. He hadn’t apologized quite enough.

Without minding the way his cock was positioned perfectly at your entrance now, he leaned down to kiss you. Everywhere he could reach. Your eyelids, temple, earlobes and the skin underneath it. The crown of your head, in between your eyebrows.

Muttering “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” in between the kisses.

When your giggle relieved his heart enough, he pushed in. A gasp replaced your laugh.

He lets you hang on to his arms as he begins with a comfortable pace. Deep, to remind his cock of your warmth, paying attention to the sounds you make throughout it. Back, forth, the thrust back into you, a slap echoing in the room until your clit started to swell again, signaling that you’ve come down from your most recent orgasm and read for more.

“Am I forgiven?” A thrust. “Do you forgive me, baby?” Another.

You whined and nodded, facial expression carouselling between that of giddy happiness and of the bliss of pleasure, like you weren’t able to control yourself.

“Yes, you’re forgiven. If you promise not to repeat it,” your voice breathy as you replied. He could feel the sting of your nails surrounding his biceps, and God did that made him harder.

Faster. He’s already so close, but he wanted to hear it from you. How his punishment had earned him repentance. With his hands settling on your waist, he abandoned the depth of his strokes for speed, though not enough for it to not tear the little moans out from you, still.

What a gift for him to be able to hear them every day, and how it urged him to learn—and learn fast—about you, just so he would know what to pull to please you.

Maybe today wasn’t his best day. Humans make their mistakes. But, he thinks himself above average than that of the majority—his title and accomplishments so far in life are proof of it—and therefore strived to do his best in all other aspects of his life.

The happiness of his lady wasn’t something he’s willing to compromise on.

“Promise,” his pace turned uneven. Droplets of sweat from his forehead fell onto your chest, to which he licked them off you.

He loosened his arms around your waist just to pay attention to your pretty clit, a fast rub left to right slippery enough for his thumb to stray away from it with every stroke. But he righted his position and try again.

His only tell of when you were about to come is the loud double exhale before your back arched off the bed, clamping his cock tight and fuck, amping up the sensation of fucking you.

Usually, your orgasm prompted this. Alas, he’s just an average man in this area of intimacy. The sounds, the pulsating, and damn, the hazy smile up as your hands come up to cradle your breasts up in some sort of satisfied self-hug-

“Fuck, honey-“

Phillip’s glutes tightened as it paused. He couldn’t thrust through his orgasm. Instead, he pressed deep into you and flooded you with his cum, a gush that soon wrapped back around his cock and stained it white when he eventually pulled out of you.

As soon as he slumped, head resting on your chest to take a breather, your thighs come up to hug around his waist. His eyes shut when your fingers carded through his hair to play with it. Wiping off the sweat with your palms before they could fall into his eyes.

Promise, he thought to himself. Through thickness and thin.

#phillip graves #phillip graves x reader #phillip graves smut #call of duty #fanfic #smut

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aithusarosekiller · 1 month ago

Note

I saw your Jegulus post about them not being the typical teenage romance and can I just give you a double high five in agreement! I then HAD to find one of many moments I've written for them which exemplify this and share it with you. And this one is the one I settled on. Remus' POV, year five for the Marauders, year four for Regulus. Context is, this is the first time Remus has spent time with James and Regulus together after discovering their secret relationship. It's James' birthday and Lily wants James occupied all day so she can prep for his party. Lily also knows about James and Regulus BTW, makes contextual sense in the story (Sirius does not know, doesn't apply to this scene though).

Hope you enjoy. :)

>>><<<

There were people who loved each other, like Remus loved Sirius. He would have handed Sirius his body, heart, and soul. He loved him with every ounce of his being. And yet… There were people who loved each other, and then there was James and Regulus.

Remus could think of no other way to describe it. They weren’t two hearts beating for each other. They were the void between heartbeats. They occupied the infinitesimal moment as an inhale became an exhale. They were two people, who shared a single soul. And being around them was both intoxicating and strange. Remus felt like if he breathed too hard in their direction he’d mess with their air, which was exactly perfect between them as their breaths mingled. For surely two people so melded would only breathe the air of the other. And then they would poke fun at each other and their aura would brighten, literally bringing each into sharper visual focus, before it blurred again as they melted back into each other.

They didn’t even have to be touching (though they nearly always were) for this phenomenon to take place. And for half the day Remus thought he was merely groggy from the Pamoja wielding. He thought his brain was sending him confused signals as he watched James and Regulus be James and Regulus.

But a massive lunch, plenty of teenage goofing off, and exploring the surrounding forest left him with a very clear mind and the same mental signals. At which point Remus decided James and Regulus were an exhibition in their own category of relationship, absolutely unique to them. Love was not the word he would use to describe them. It was so much more. They filled the spaces no one else even noticed. And it merged their existence into a single organism.

It was fucking intense.

After they parted ways, as James and Remus continued up to the castle together, Remus said tentatively, “hey, so is it always like that?”

“What do you mean?” asked James absently.

“Er, do you really not know.”

James glanced over at him. “It’s always like that, yeah.”

“Bloody hell.” Remus couldn’t get a good read on James’ face for they were walking side by side, but he thought James might be smiling. “I knew he had to be something special and way more substantial than he looks to withstand your affection, but Godric James. I don’t even know what to call that. I’m not sure it’s physically sustainable.”

“He’s my star.”

“Mate, he’s your fucking universe.”

James playfully threw out an elbow and definitely didn’t look at Remus.

“What can I say, we are infinite. Don’t look so scandalized, you and Sirius aren’t so different.”

“No, we are very different. We exist in the physical world James. You two are already way out there in your own orbit.”

“See why I can’t lose him.”

They took several paces before Remus spoke.

“James, I’m scared for you. That kind of connection has to be dangerous.”

“Want to stop and have a smoke?”

“Took the words right out of my mouth mate.”

JUST REMEMBERED I HAD THIS IN MY INBOX FOR AGES I AM SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO RESPOND TO THIS

But honestly it's one of my favourite things about them, the poetic quality makes it feel like they're finding each other again just when they need it at the same time as we're finding them when WE need it, you know?

That's so real though, the idea of the two of them being able to almost spiritually feed off of each other's presence is so true. Like existence is centred around them for a moment. They take over everything.

And it's probably bad in the long run but it's so beautiful that the pain is okay. Because without all of the painful bits, were the good parts really all that valuable?

Also I love your style, it feels real and almost factual if that makes sense? Even when you're describing metaphysical aspects the certainty gives a strong feeling of truth and rationality. I like it.

#jegulus #starchaser #sunseeker #regulus black #james potter #marauders era #asks

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gildingmist · 13 days ago

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Isagi genius-prodigy theory

!!SLIGHT SPOILS!! Why I believe the key to Isagi reaching the spot of n1 striker bases itself on the balance between logical and creative thinking.

Sorry I’m not sure if anyone is interested in my yapping but I needed it written down somewhere. Some elements of it like the eye theory weren’t originally my idea but read off the internet :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rather than a story about how hard work beats talent, I’ve always considered blue lock a tale of how self belief and mentality remains above all the most important piece of the puzzle to reach success. Because blue lock is no blue period, it’s no ao ashi, it’s not supposed to be such a classic moral. That feels off.

After all, prodigies and geniuses aren’t a hierarchical order. They simply refer to two distinct categories, two schools of thought that stand neither above or beneath one another, those being logical thinking in prodigies and creative thinking in geniuses.

I’m basing myself off quite a few things here but I think the most important element remains Isagi’s light novel, where it a was clearly stated he used to be a genius as a child. It’s stated his playstyle was more focused on dribbling and way more like what we see in bachira today. And honestly?

Yeah, that makes sense. He’s got an innate ability he was born with and most others lack ad geniuses usually do, (his superhuman senses) and being a fan of Noel Noa from a very young age he already knew what an egoist was and consciously or not was applying that mentality to his playing. Even without details or realising, he already had a head start in how to make use of Ego’s theories.

Then, just like aiku he got hit by the fuck you don’t be selfish football beam and forced to play japanese football. And he went from beating five opponents in a row to score a goal with his noa imitation focused training to barely ever passing. He knows japanese football is wrong, and he’s never liked it, literally moments after joining ichiban and hearing their motto, his first reaction is "something’s wrong, isn’t it?"

Then blue lock came in, the rest is history. After forcing to play with such a focus on assist on so long, Isagi’s other capabilities had deteriorated, having to rely on the sole weapon he could always count on, his senses. Leaving behind technique and fancy playstyles to this develop this cut throat, direct playing would later develop into metavision, a weapon that has only been seen in prodigies due to its inherently logical nature. His other weapon, his direct shot, well it was pretty much the only thing he was allowed to keep while playing japanese football.

But that just doesn’t sit right, does it?

The one they called the "unbeatable striker of Saitama", his hometown, just worsening to the point even his own teammates believed his goal in the U20 was just fully, plainly, a total fluke that could never be reproduced? Just, forget everything?

His mother also says in the novel that "this child can see things that can’t be seen" and we know that can’t be metavision as metavision is just taking in information and analysing it faster than others, nothing to do with senses. But that’s just… never utilised? It seems strange not because it’s impossible of course, but because it’s mentioned. Why would this all be told, why would this be his backstory only for the author to be oh well! ;P Doesn’t matter cause he reset!

Also just the sole fact that like, a genius can turn into a prodigy is huge, because it means that those are not two strict categories you’re either born in or out, you can go from one to another.

And it’s not like Isagi really changed THAT much as a person. He’s no Sae, and from the sole fact arts are still his favorite subject and science his most hated, it’s clear he still has this firstly creative way of thinking and overall nature that just, fizzles out when it comes to football. (I’m not saying soccer). It can’t be all there is to it.

Isagi was also a very emotional and shy kid, described as timid and sensitive, which could emphasise that he relies more on his right brain than left brain, by instinct.

Now on another note, right and left motifs are quite prominent in blue lock. Right brain left brain motifs, logical vs creative. It’s a pattern.

It can also be taken notice off in the eye theory that takes notice that During ego heavy moments, usually the composition puts more focus on the right or left eye depending on wether the character is genius or prodigy. Credits to Yeti on tiktok for that one

This mostly applies to Rin and Isagi, (also happened when Isagi got his first metavision) sometimes for bachira, as for some other characters it’s just. Straight up the wrong eye during important shots or just not taken in account (ie; Niko’s signature poose where he circles his eye with his fingers, it’s his right eye when he isn’t a genius.) But it’s the right/left motif that I mean to take notice of here. And consequently, that if Isagi did turn out to become some genius-prodigy hybrid, it would be first foreshadowed through the panelling and composition, his right eye emphasized further at times.

This illustration. Their positioning is based on the ego chart, that’s the first thing I’ve noticed.

Isagi being freedom is very interesting to me as it does add to the whole genius thing, even if all geniuses aren’t freedom axed (ie, Rin.) It’s safe to assume the fourth person that should have been here is Shidou. But that’s not what I want to focus on with this, I digress.

Rather, Again, if we zoom into Isagi, we can see his right gun is gold and his left silver. While I first thought the silver was maybe for ego and the gold one for luck, due to it the puzzle piece’s colour, I think it makes a lot more sense for it to be representative of Isagi’s proficiency with each of his legs. His right foot being his dominant foot.

And now this might be the biggest reach yet and probably stupid but I do like to take notice of it.

Isagi’s dominant foot is his right. It’s the one he’s mot proficient with; and his left doesn’t even compare for most of the manga. The right side of the brain as prior stated is the creative one.

We also notice that over the duration of it, rather than better his shot and his proficiency with that leg, it’s rarely shown to be trained, and isagi doesn’t make a NOTABLE, conscious effort to, instead focusing on bettering his left leg with which he is a complete beginner, an attempt at making up for his flaws. That left leg could represent his logical playing whilst his right could represent the creative part of it all. He sets aside his originally stronger playstyle to focus on building up from zero the other, then reaching a state where both, at the same time and more specifically together qualify as a weapon, his two gun volley.

This could just show his playstyle evolution as a whole from now on, and how despite having been a genius all these years, he left it behind to instead focus on getting his logical mind up to the task, despite starting back to square 1, wether it be conscious or not.

Let’s not forget that Isagi’s weapon is most of all, not his metavision, not his senses, not his direct shot- but his adaptability. And when he reached the big league where practically everyone has metavision (that’s already happening. Reo, karasu, aiku, niko. It’s a damn lot already), crazy physics, and more than a few other weapons?

Yeah, the occasional omnivision trigger isn’t going to be nearly enough at pro levels.

He wants to take the world cup from Noa. And that seems to be the expected climax of the manga. Noa doesn’t play U20, so we have at least 3 arcs or so before reaching that. This isn’t dragon ball, the same weapons can’t keep evolving all in the same direction forever and in so, and even then I struggle to see how much further metavision could expand. So in what other way could his adaptibility develop than in learning the trade of the opposition? Hold your friends close and your enemies closer seems like a very blue lock-esque philosophy. I believe his freedom and his world style ego will permit him to go beyond the label of either genius past or prodigy present, and help him rise above Noa as n1 striker.

Which brings us to my next point:

Geniuses on one side, prodigies on the other, and between that Noa and Ego.

I don’t think Ego’s playstyle is in between prodigy and geniuses, he does seem more prodigy than anything even if he didn’t manage to stay in the field long enough to fully flesh out his playing style as he retired way early, but his placement is obviously to mirror Noa’s own. A pesky shadow of the past he can never quite get out of his head (average situationship) as demonstrated by the fact he still remembers word by word Ego’s theories a decade later when asking Isagi to explain how he views football. But that’s just Ego’s case. What about Noel Noa?

Well, Noa is a logic axed genius.

In playstyle alone he is by all means a prodigy, prioritising logic, efficiency and winning over theatrics. That’s quite literally Bastard München’s whole philosophy. He is a rational man in nature. And that very much shows in his plays. His trainees are also prodigies.

And yet he’s categorised as a genius. And that is thanks to his physicality. His talent is that he’s ambidextrous, it’s something he’s born with that others lack. His dribbling also seems very dangerous, something that is mostly seen in geniuses like Bachira and Laviño, even if Noa seems to believe the latter is better at it than he is.

In a way, the reason that seems to indicate Noa is the best striker, is his ability to balance genius and prodigious mentalities and ideologies and to utilise it to score. He is what we’ve seen closest to what a genius prodigy might be, and in result is the best striker in the verse.

And how do we relate that to Isagi?

Well he’s pretty much in the same boat. Born with capabilities that other lacks, he still is undoubtedly a prodigy by his plays and the fact he doesn’t utilise his senses as other geniuses utilise their talents. And that’s his fundamental flaw as well as the last puzzle piece to reach world level.

But despite that, there is one glaring thing with this illustration, Noa’s throne is made of glass, it’s fragile- and being logical with an extra weapon is not enough for him to let down his guard. Isagi would need to go above and beyond, and that’s why I think instead of just being a genius that plays logically, Isagi needs to be both in balance; stability being the key to turn the glass throne into one of it’s own right. Why mindsets are in the end the most dangerous weapons in blue lock, and what Isagi will need to figure out through the world cup to finally dethrone the man that does not even view him as rightful rival.

Then again I’m like stupid and this post is written weird so don’t take anything I say too seriously lol

#please comment and add ur feedback I’d love it!!!#blue lock theory #text post #bllk theory #isagi yoichi #bllk isagi #blue lock #bllk #blue lock manga #bllk manga #bllk anime #blue lock anime #bllk noel noa #fan theory #blue lock fanfiction #bllk fanfic #bllk ego

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fortheloveofwonderland · 1 year ago

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No Distance Left to Run | Part 3 | S.R

Previous Part | Next Part

Chapter Summary - With your secrets coming to light you decide to take some time off to get your life in order. And that includes putting some between you and Spencer.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / BAU Fem! Reader

Category - friends to lovers | mutual pining | angst with happy ending | smut minors DNI

Warnings - spoilers for 14.05 Tall Man, break ups, abusive relationship, making out, bruises, scars, readers insecurities, tears, cheating, fingering, handjob, allusions to sex, swearing, brief mention of past drug addiction, brief mention of prison.

WC - 7.7k

Part 3 - Hide and Seek

Present Day

Spencer caught up with Max in the reception hall, stopping her leaving with a hand around her wrist.

When she turned to face him he saw the unshed tears behind her eyes.

“I’m really sorry you had to hear that.” He swallowed.

“Me too.” She nodded sadly.

In his peripheral vision he noticed someone pass by, dressed in a caterer's uniform. He waited for them to leave before he spoke again.

“I’ve been in love with her for so long it’s just become a part of who I am.” He confessed. “I never let myself get close to anyone on the off chance she might have one day decided she felt the same. Just before I met you we…we, uh, slept together and she just up and left while I was asleep and never mentioned it again. It told me everything I needed to know, and so I made the decision to finally move on. I opened myself up to being with someone else and there you were.

I really like you Max, I think we could have had something really amazing. But I can’t lie to you and tell you that I’m not always going to have feelings for Y/N, because at this point I’m sure they will never go away. And that’s not fair on you.”

“No, it's not.” She shook her head.

“I got held hostage yesterday, Y/N and I did.” He sighed, scratching at the back of his neck. “The unsub liked to play truth or dare. He had a gun pointed at her and made her confess to a secret she would never admit outloud.”

Max narrowed her eyes on him, despite not being a profiler she could easily read between the lines.

“She told you she has feelings for you?”

“She did.” Spencer nodded. “I still don’t know if she meant it or not, or if she was just trying to shock the guy.”

“Spencer,” Max sighed deeply. “For a genius you are pretty dumb sometimes.”

“Uh, I’m sorry?” Spencer’s brows furrowed at her.

“The first time you introduced me to your team, I could tell within five minutes that she had feelings for you. I’m no expert in reading human behaviour but I can read women. She barely said two words to me, she wouldn’t look me in the eyes. And every time I looked at her, she was staring longingly at you.” Max shrugged.

“I’m not even sure any of that matters.” He shook his head. “She’s married, albeit not happily. She has two wonderful kids. It’s not my place to break up a family.”

“It sounds like that family broke itself up.”

“You heard a lot more of that conversation than I realised.” He rolled his lip between his teeth. “I’m not gonna be the guy that swoops in when her husband has just been arrested for trying to kill her.”

“I can’t tell you what to do.” Max shrugged. “But fifteen years is a really long time to carry a torch for someone. I think the two of you at least owe yourselves an honest conversation.”

After all this time? Always.

“I really am sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you, that was the last thing I ever wanted to do.”

“I’ll bounce back.” Her lip quipped into something close to a smile. “It sucks, but I’ll bounce back.”

Spencer dared to step closer to her, placing his hand on her lower back and leaning in to gently kiss her cheek. When he stepped back the two of them looked at each other somewhat wistfully for a moment or two, silent goodbyes passing between them. Eventually Max took a few steps backwards, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Take care of yourself, Spencer.”

“You too.” He nodded and watched as she turned on her heels and continued towards the door.

He fell back against the nearest wall, resting his head on it and looking up at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure how to begin processing everything. In the space of twenty four hours you’d told him you loved him, he’d broken up with Max and he’d discovered your husband was in prison for almost murdering you.

How had you managed to keep that from him? He could usually read you so well, how he had not seen it?

He thought back over the last five days since he’d returned from teaching. The first two you’d been lost in somewhat of a daze, as though you were sleepwalking with your eyes open.

By the third day something shifted. You seemed happier, lighter even. He’d seen a smile on your face he hadn’t seen in years.

Now he knew why that was. It was the smile of a woman who had finally gotten out of the clutches of her abuser.

Another thought hit him then with startling clarity.

Five nights ago he’d had a missed call from you. He’d asked you about it the next day but you’d insisted it must have been a pocket dial.

You’d called him the night Jared was arrested. Did you try to call him with your husband's hand around your throat? Was it after? Maybe even before?

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. In all the years he’d known you he didn’t think he’d ever not answered a phone call from you. And the one time you’d needed him most, he’d been…indisposed.

He kept his eyes screwed tightly shut, half hoping he may disappear into the wall his back was pressed up against.

You’d needed him and he hadn’t been there. For the first time in fifteen years, Spencer had chosen someone else over you.

***

Five Days Ago

Max had been insistent that she and Spencer take things slow. She’d been hurt in the past, disappointed when she hurried into something.

And Spencer was happy to oblige. At least he had been for the most part.

He was a gentleman, and it wasn’t as though he was used to getting regular sex and therefore it shouldn’t have made a difference whether or not they were sleeping together.

Before his night spent with you in Varnville, it had been a painfully long time since he’d gotten laid, well before his arrest in Mexico. And even before then it wasn’t as though he’d been sleeping around or anything.

Truthfully Spencer had only ever slept with a handful of women. Not even a handful really. He could count his sexual encounters on one hand and still have fingers left over.

It was a combination of things. For one, Spencer didn’t relish the idea of having sex for the sake of it. Sure it would be nice to feel close to someone but if he didn’t have some kind of preexisting feelings for them then he wasn’t interested. Secondly, even if he did like the idea of casual sex, he was far too awkward to initiate such a thing.

And thirdly, Spencer never did like the thought of having sex with anyone who wasn’t you.

So it hadn’t bothered him that Max wanted to take it slow. At first. But after four months of nothing but heavy make out sessions, he was craving more. And thank god that Max seemed to be on the same page.

He’d taken her for dinner and afterwards he’d suggested going back to his place. He knew she saw through the innocent seeming offer for what it really was but he’d been delighted when she’d smiled and agreed.

He’d been full of nervous anticipation on the cab ride to his apartment, thinking back to the state in which he might have left his home. Were there dishes in the sink? Books scattered around the place? Did he even make his bed?

Do I have any condoms?

They’d barely breached the threshold of his apartment before he was kissing her fiercely, letting her know his true intentions. And thank god she didn’t seem to mind.

She’d led him to his bedroom by his tie and he followed like some kind of lost puppy. Once inside the room, gratefully he had at least made his bed, they started undressing each other.

Down to their underwear he guided her back to the bed and laid down on top of her, kissing her while his hand wandered the planes of her body.

She was moaning into his mouth, arching her back as his hand wandered lowered, wasting no time in dipping beneath the waistband of her panties.

He was grinding against her thigh to relieve a little friction as his hand moved between her legs. As he did so, his phone rudely started bleating from across the room.

He chose to ignore it, burying his face into the crook of Max’s neck whilst pressing two fingers against her entrance.

“Don’t you need to get that?” She panted.

“Right now? Absolutely not.” He spoke into her skin.

“What if it’s the BAU?”

“I’m not due back until tomorrow. If it’s urgent they’ll keep calling. For now, I have more pressing things to take care of.”

“Spencer I really think you should-” Max’s sentence petered out to a moan when Spencer dove his fingers inside of her.

Whoever was calling could wait. This was much more urgent.

***

Present Day

“You know, don’t you?” You asked Penelope as the bubbly blonde hugged her god children. Penelope looked up at you over their heads. “You’re looking at me with that kind of pity we use on victims.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I was worried about you.” She gave Adeline and Finley another squeeze before she let them go.

“Does anyone else know?”

“Reid.” She rolled her lip between her teeth somewhat guiltily.

“Please don’t tell anyone else. Not yet. I will tell them but not today.” You pleaded.

“Of course.” She nodded.

“Uncle Spencer!” Adie suddenly chirupped, dashing towards the dejected looking man who was quick to plaster a smile on his face.

“Adie!” He held his arms open for her as your daughter launched herself at him. “Gosh it’s been so long, you've gotten so big.”

“I’m the third tallest in my class.” She grinned as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

“No kidding.” He hugged her back.

Finely sidled up to them, looking a little deflated he wasn’t getting the same treatment from his favourite uncle.

Spencer patted Adie’s back and she let him go so her brother could say hello.

“Hey there little man.” Spencer once again held his arms open and Finley responded by jumping up and Spencer just managed to catch the five year old as he wrapped his legs around his waist.

Spencer made a small grunting sound of surprise, cradling the young boy against him.

“Missed you uncle Spencer.” Fin buried his head against Spencer's shoulder.

“I missed you too buddy.” Spencer held him tightly.

“My daddy’s gone away.” He mumbled against Spencer’s suit jacket.

Spencer’s eyes found yours and he smiled sadly at you.

“Yeah, I heard about that. Are you ok?” He spoke softly.

You both knew he wasn’t talking to Fin, even Garcia knew it. You nodded your head as your arms snaked around your body.

“I miss him.” Fin sniffled.

“I don’t.” Adie huffed unceremoniously. “He was mean to mom.”

Your chest tightened. You hated the way your daughter knew what was going on. You’d only ever wanted to protect your children from the world and it had backfired.

“Adie,” you whispered her name. “Please stop saying things like that in front of your brother. We talked about this.”

“Fine.” She huffed again. “Can I go find Henry and Michael?”

“Please,” you nodded. “Fin, sweetheart?”

He looked up from Spencer’s shoulder as you approached, placing a gentle hand on your son's back.

“Yes mommy?”

“You’re too big for uncle Spencer to carry you like that. Can you get down for me, please?”

“He’s ok.” Spencer tried to insist even though he looked like he was struggling.

“Yeah, I’m ok.” Fin agreed with him.

Garcia sensed the looks passing between you and Spencer while she rolled her lip in her teeth. She tottered forward, closer to the three or you.

“Hey, Fin? How do you want to help me with a top secret wedding day mission?” She tried to make it sound exciting.

It must have worked as Finley’s eyes widened as they flicked between you and his Aunty Penelope.

“Can I?’ He asked you tentatively.

“Of course.” You nodded.

He wriggled in Spencer’s arms and Spencer placed him back on his feet, subtly trying to stretch his back once he was unburdened from your son.

Fin took hold of Penelope’s hand and she shot you a smile as she headed off with him.

Caterers still milled about on the patio, but for the most part you and Spencer were alone. For the first time he allowed himself to take you in.

You wore a figure hugging, strapless purple dress that stopped just below your knees. Your make-up was flawless, your hair styled to perfection.

You hugged your arms around your body again and that’s when he noticed it. The silver band on your wrist caught the light, the tiny golden snitch sparkling.

His stomach coiled into knots. You hadn’t worn it in more years than he could count.

Did it mean something? Did the fact you were wearing it now mean something for the two of you? Were you trying to tell him something?

His eyes landed back on yours and you could see all the questions running through his mind.

“I, uh…I really don’t want to talk about it. Not here. Please?” You shook your head.

“What don’t you want to talk about?” He took a half step closer to you. “The fact that your husband was arrested for almost killing you or that you told me you loved me?”

“Both. Neither. I know we have to talk but does it have to be now?” You begged him.

“You almost died.”

“Which time?” You offered him a meek smile. “We’re FBI Agents. Almost dying is kind of a regular occurance.”

“Not in your own home. Not at the hands of your own husband.” He took another half step forward. “You called me that night. I didn’t answer.”

“Please don’t beat yourself up over that. It was after the fact. The weight of it all hit me and I just needed to talk to someone. But it’s fine, please don’t feel bad.”

“I was with Max.” He shrugged. “We were…it doesn’t matter what we were doing.”

“You think I can’t read between those lines?” You chuckled dryly.

“Right, of course.” He exhaled through his nose. “I should have answered. You are more important to me than anything Max and I were doing.”

“It’s ok, really. I don’t need you protecting me all the time.”

“Well that’s too bad because I’m gonna do it anyway.” He shrugged lightly with a soft half-smile.

He took another step closer to you and raised his hand to your neck. You’d done a really good job covering the bruises with a combination of foundation and concealer, something you’d had to grow adept at. And maybe it was simply in Spencer’s imagination, but he swore he could see the purple marks peeking through the make-up.

His fingers brushed lightly against your skin and you sucked in a breath at the sensation. Goosebumps erupted on your flesh at his featherlight touch.

“I really wish you would have let me help you.” He whispered.

“I know. But if I’d left he would have come after us. It never would have ended. I needed proof, I needed to get him in a compromised position so that when they arrested him, the charges would stick.”

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed and he dropped his hand to his side again.

“You set him up? You purposefully put yourself in danger?” He looked incredulous.

“It was the only way.” You shrugged. “You put the idea in my head a year ago when you talked about the statistics of domestic abuse. A gun being present increases the chances of homicide by five hundred percent. I had to bide my time, pick the best moment. Before we left for the case in Lewiston, Adie said something interesting. And I decided to be frank with her…”

…“Daddy did that, didn’t he?”

“Wh-what?” You were quick to pull your sleeve back up. “What makes you think that, sweet pea?”

“I saw him. I saw him shove you. And it’s not the first time.”

“You’re too smart for your own good.” You smiled sadly at her.

“I’m right though, aren’t I?” She pouted.

“Yes,” your eyes welled with tears, hating to involve her in this. “Sweetheart, can you do something for me?”

“Anything mommy.” She nodded.

“If you ever see daddy hurting mommy again, I want you to call 9-1-1. Tell them I’m an FBI agent and they will get here faster. Can you do that for me?” You stroked her hair back off of her face while she nodded frantically…

“...I packed a bag, I knew he’d find it. I knew it would anger him, the thought of me taking his kids away. I deliberately didn’t put my firearm away in the safe that night in case I needed to use it. He wasn’t supposed to get hold of it, that wasn’t part of the plan. But I made sure to anger him enough for him to raise his voice. Adie is a light sleeper. He needed to be caught in the act. I hate that I used my daughter like that but it was never going to end. Not until I was dead or he was arrested.”

Spencer took in your words, processing them all in his mind. He could tell how hard it must have been for you to put that responsibility on Adie but he’d worked enough cases of domestic violence to know what a vicious cycle it is.

You were right, if Jared wasn’t arrested it could very well result in your being killed at the hands of your husband. And then it would be too late.

His hand raised again, this time he cupped the back of your neck and used his grip to pull you closer to him.

You fell against him, instantly wrapping your arms around his waist while he did the same.

He inhaled the scent of your shampoo. The last time he’d been this close to you was seven months ago in a hotel room in Varnville.

He got a little lost at the mere thought.

***

Seven Months Ago

“I married the wrong man.” You whimpered, glancing at your left hand on Spencer’s shoulder and the silver wedding band on your finger. “I knew it when he proposed to me. I knew it when I was walking down that aisle. And you knew it too, you were just too polite to tell me the truth.”

“Yeah,” he nodded stiffly. “You did marry the wrong man.”

A silent understanding passed between the two of you, the kind of understanding that existed only between two people who knew each other inside and out.

And when he leaned in closer and his lips brushed against yours, it felt right. It felt like the most normal thing in the whole world.

It continued to feel that way when he deepened the kiss, nearly fifteen years worth of feelings coming out in a single kiss. As he held you close he whispered against your lips, “after all this time? Always.”

And you finally understood what he meant.

He held your face tenderly as though you might break if he wasn’t careful, crumble to dust in his hands. Perhaps you would. His lips were slightly rough against yours from copious chewing, the frantic nature in which he kissed you caused your teeth to knock together.

His tongue hungrily explored your mouth with the desperation of a man who had thought of nothing but doing this since the first time he laid eyes on you. He started moving you towards the bed and you complied without a second thought.

His hands ghosted down your neck and across your shoulders until he reached the top button of your blouse you’d thrown back on before hurriedly leaving your room earlier. He continued to kiss you whilst working on the buttons but he felt you tense up a little.

When he reached the last button, you tore your lips from his, gasping a little for air. When he opened his eyes he saw yours were full of unshed tears.

“Are you ok? Did I cross a line?” His puffy kiss-swollen lips were downturned as he looked at you.

You swallowed thickly, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“I’m scared of what you’re going to say.” You whispered, your voice cracking as you spoke.

“What I’m going to say about what?” He frowned at you in confusion.

You took a breath, a small tear escaping your eyes as you took a step back and shrugged the open shirt off of your shoulders.

Spencer’s eyes cast downwards to your torso, momentarily distracted by your bare breasts, which he had imagined so many times but in reality they were so much more incredible. But he didn’t have a chance to give them the attention they deserved.

His stomach lurched wildly as he took in your entire body. You saw the way his jaw clenched and he violently gnawed on his lip.

He took in each and every scar adorned on your body at the hands of your husband. A splotchy healed burn similar to the one on your forearm only larger spread across the left side of your stomach, an old, healed scar nestled against the swell of your right breast, another slightly smaller one on your rib cage. There was a fresh purple bruise on the other side of your other rib cage.

He rubbed his hand across his stubbly jaw as he looked back to meet your eyes. A few more tears were rolling down your cheeks now.

“I can go,” you shrugged. “I know they’re hideous. I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Spencer moved closer to you, cupping your face in his hands again. “There is not a single hideous thing about you. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on, Y/N.”

“After all this time?” You smiled a shaky smile, partially quoting The Deathly Hallows.

“Always.” He finished, kissing you again with more passion than before.

You allowed him to help you back to the bed where he didn’t take his lips off of yours for a second. Your hands ran down his sides, finding the hem of his t-shirt and tugging it upward.

He sat back so you could get the garment over his head and threw aside. He looked down on you, taking in your scars again. You tried to shy away, tried to hide them with your arms but he simply pulled them away.

“Let me show you how beautiful I think you are.” He mumbled, shuffling a little down the bed.

His lips ghosted across your skin until they found the scar on the side of your breast. He gently pressed his lips to the old wound, placing delicate kisses along the length of it. His hand was on your side, fingertips brushing over the bruises lining your rib cage. You moaned a little, closing your eyes and giving over to the sensation.

He moved his lips lower, towards the scar on your other side and treated that with as much caution as the first. And then they trailed lower and tenderly kiss every inch of the old burn across your stomach.

He was so compassionate with you it forced a few more tears from your eyes. You weren’t sure anyone had ever treated you with this level of care before and you’d never realised how much you’d needed that.

When he sat back again on his haunches, his face was a little flushed and it only took one glance downwards to see the tent pitching in his pants to understand why. You reached for him, gripping the waistband of the flannel pyjama pants and pulling him closer. You palmed him through the flimsy fabric and he bucked against your hand, hissing a little.

He glanced down and you saw him tense a little. When he met your eye again he had an unsure expression on his features.

“Could you…do you think you could…” He nodded his head towards your hand still palming him and the wedding band adorned on your finger. “Is it too much to ask for you to take it off?”

You snatched your hand away suddenly, balling it into a fist and looking somewhat forlornly at the ring.

“I…I’ve never taken it off before. Not once since I got married.” You swallowed.

“I understand.” Spencer sighed. “But I don’t think I can do this and look at your wedding ring.”

You looked between him and the ring. The band symbolised your marriage to a man who had caused the scars in which Spencer had so lovingly kissed. You uncurled your fingers, suddenly not caring about that stupid piece of metal. Not while Spencer was here, looking at you the way he was and making you feel safe and loved for the first time in years.

You tugged the ring off in one swift move and leant over to drop it on the nightstand. You drew Spencer back in for a kiss before you could dwell too much on what you were doing.

You palmed him through his pants again while he kissed you, his own hands wandering to your slacks and popping the button.

He sat back once more so he could help you out of your pants and then wriggled free of his own, leaving you both in just your underwear.

He breathed you in again, trying to commit you to memory. He’d spent so many years imagining this moment and he didn’t want to miss a second of it.

“Y/N I…” he trailed off, not allowing himself to finish that sentence that could destroy this before it had begun.

He wanted to say it, he’d wanted to say it for nearly fifteen years. But somehow you knew what he wanted to say.

“I know Spence,” you nodded. “I know.”

He smiled a little sorrowfully at you before he laid on top of you and kissed you again. His fingers brushed over your scars but continued lower and when they dipped beneath the waistband of your panties you whined against his lips.

He ran his fingers between your legs, hissing when he realised how wet you were. He gathered your slick on his fingers, feeling his cock throb at the sensation.

He was careful when he pressed two fingers against your entrance, hesitating as though he thought you may change your mind.

As encouragement, your hand wandered between your bodies and straight inside his boxers, taking his shaft in your hand.

He growled against your mouth, nibbling on your bottom lip as a way of thanking you. He cautiously pushed his fingers past your entrance until they were buried deep inside of you.

Your thighs clenched around his hand when his fingertips brushed against your cervix. He moved his lips down to your neck while you started slowly stroking him.

His hips moved of their own accord, gently thrusting back and forth into your hand. His fingers dove in and out of you, each time pounding slightly harder against your bundle of nerves.

You were writhing beneath him on the bed, your walls fluttering around his fingers and your moans filling the room like the most beautiful song he’d ever heard. His head was already leaking on your hand, it had been so long since someone had touched him like this.

You used your free hand to cup his jaw, moving his face so you could meet his gaze.

“Spence, I need more.” You whimpered, still stroking him leisurely.

“O-ok.” He nodded, plunging his fingers deep inside of you and scissoring the digits a little.

You mewled, you back arching off the bed and squeezing the base of his shaft tightly in your hand.

“Do you have…?” You panted.

“Uh, yeah.” He nodded, his cheeks flushing red. “Luke’s been trying to uh, get me laid for a while now. Insisted I keep some on me.”

He cautiously withdrew his fingers and you whined a little as he did so. You removed your hand from him and sat up on your elbows.

“Trying?” You cocked an eyebrow at him.

“And failing. Miserably.” He inhaled deeply, cheeks turning a darker shade of red. “I haven’t had sex since long before I was arrested. And I have absolutely no idea why I’m telling you that.”

“It’s been a long time since I…since I…” you trailed off, stifling a sob that wanted to wrack your body. “Since I’ve chosen to do this.”

“Oh Jesus,” Spencer frowned at you. “Y/N I-”

“Please don’t. Please don’t feel sorry for me. I want this Spencer, I need this. Please?” You insisted, your eyes frantically begging him.

He inhaled shakily, nodding his head. He kissed you softly before pushing himself up from the bed and finding his satchel on the chair. He quickly located the stash of condoms Luke had forced upon him, thankful for that fact now. He plucked one out and turned back to you as you were wiggling your panties over your hips.

He looked at you in awe, laid out naked for him like this. He didn’t feel as though he deserved you, perhaps no one did. You were too good for this world.

“You’re sure about this?” He asked as he padded back over. “Because I won’t be offended if you want to stop.”

“Spencer, let me be clear,” you looked him dead in the eyes. “I want this. I want you. I want this like I have never wanted anything else in my life. Please? Please make me feel good?”

He nodded with a sad smile as he came closer to the bed. He couldn’t deny you that, not when you looked at him that way.

He removed his underwear before climbing back on the bed, kneeling over you and taking one last opportunity to breathe you in.

Somehow he already knew that this didn’t have a happy ending.

***

Present Day

You listened to Emily’s tear jerking speech about twin flames, trying to hide your misty eyes behind the head of your son who was falling asleep on your lap. Adeline sat next to you, her hand in yours offering it a soft squeeze every now and then.

“Sometimes it takes time, sometimes it takes a parallel universe or something. But the thing about twin flames is that nothing can keep them apart, they are a magic unto themselves. And together they light the way for all of us.”

You felt Spencer’s eyes on you across the room but refused to meet his gaze. If you did you would surely crumble and now was not the time. There would be plenty of time to ruminate on the last few days later, but for now you had to hold it together a little while longer.

After the speech everyone took to the dancefloor and Finley was completely out by this point, snoring against your shoulder. And honestly you were pleased because it gave you an excuse to leave.

You carried your sleeping son over towards the happy couple with Adie in tow, gripping your forearm. You said your goodbyes and congratulated them once more before taking your children home.

You tried to make a quick getaway but of course he found you, as you fought with trying to get your jacket on whilst cradling your son at the same time.

“Let me help you.” Spencer hurried over, seeing you struggle.

“I’m fine, really.” You responded as you proceeded to drop your jacket on the floor. “Goddamn.”

Spencer rolled his eyes and came closer, prying the young boy from your arms and holding him while you picked up your jacket. Being such a sound sleeper, Fin didn’t even notice the handoff.

“Thank you.” You slid your jacket on.

“No worries.” Spencer shrugged. “Need a ride?”

“I have a car.” You found your hand being grabbed by your daughter and she held you tightly.

When Adie grabbed your hand his stomach coiled as his attention was directed to your ring again. It wasn’t the first time today he noticed you still wore it.

He supposed it was still fresh, but he hated to see it there as though nothing had happened.

“Right, of course.” Spencer rolled his eyes. “Let me help you outside.”

You wanted to resist but it was easier to just let him help. You and Adie led the way while Spencer carried Fin towards your car. Adie got herself situated in the front seat while Spencer cautiously lowered Fin into the back and got his belt buckled.

He closed the door and looked back at you, a somewhat melancholy expression on his face.

“You want any company?” He asked with a slight frown.

“I have two kids, I always have company.” You folded your arms over your chest.

“I meant like, adult company.” He spoke but quickly pulled a face. “Not in the way that sounds. Jeez, I swear that was not meant to sound like a come on.”

“Spence,” you sighed wistfully. “I think you and I need some time apart right now. Or at the very least I need some time apart from you. I really need to focus myself on my kids right now, try and figure out what happens next. Quite frankly I don’t have the head space to deal with whatever is going on between us right now.”

You saw the hurt spread to his features, hurt and a small hint of understanding.

“Y/N?” He rolled his lip between his teeth. “Truth or dare?”

You sucked in a breath, closing your eyes for a fraction of a second before opening them and looking at him again.

“Truth.” You croaked.

“Did you mean it?”

Your eyes flit down to your bracelet, eyeing the inscription for a moment or two before you looked back at Spencer. There was a simple answer and a complicated one, neither of which you wanted to get into right now.

“Spencer I-”

“Mommy, I’m hungry.” Adie’s whiny tone pierced the closed windows of the car.

You looked at her over your shoulder and nodded with a soft smile.

“I should go.” You told Spencer.

“Right,” Spencer nodded stiffly. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Actually, you won’t.” You cleared your throat. “I told you, I need to focus on my kids right now. Emily’s given me a few weeks off. She doesn’t know why but thankfully she didn’t ask too many questions.”

“Are we going to be ok?” He frowned at you.

“I…”

“Mom!” Adie whined again.

“Two seconds, honey!” You called back. “I don’t know, Spencer. My husband of ten years just got arrested for trying to choke me to death, so excuse me if I don’t have an answer for you right now.”

You turned your back on him and opened the driver’s side door, but before you could slide inside his hand was on your shoulder. Your back went rigid and you were clenching your jaw when you looked back at him.

“What? What do you want now, Spencer?” Your eyes misted over with tears.

“At the end of the day, despite everything that has happened, you are my best friend Y/N. You are my best friend above all else. If you need anything, anything at all, please call me. You’re not in this alone.” He reached out and briefly brushed his fingertips against your cheek before stepping back out of reach to stop him doing it again.

You nodded but he saw in your eyes you had no intention of doing so.

“I gotta go.” You said instead. You looked down at your bracelet again and with a sigh you fumbled with the clasp and got it undone. “I shouldn’t have…I don’t even know why I did.”

Spencer dumbly let you place the bracelet in his hand and simply watched as you slid inside the car and closed the door.

You started the engine and soon your vehicle was pulling away whilst he was left staring down at the gift he’d bestowed upon you on your wedding day.

A single tear escaped his eyes as he curled his fingers around it. That one gesture told him everything you hadn’t said.

Whether or not you’d meant what you said whilst being held hostage was irrelevant. The act of giving him back the bracelet meant no matter what you felt for him the two of you would never be together.

You may as well have handed him back his barely beating, tattered heart.

***

Six Months Ago

“I get why JJ’s been on edge but this ain’t your hometown. Why the face?” Luke startled Spencer out of his stare down with the coffee machine.

The Tall Man case had them in JJ’s hometown of East Allegheny where she’d been dragged down into a torrent of old memories surrounding her sisters suicide.

Meanwhile, Spencer was stuck in his own tidal wave, he had been for weeks now. He was still reeling from the events in Varnville, the fact that you’d barely spoken to him since.

“I’m just tired, I guess.” He shrugged it off but Luke wasn’t buying it.

“You’ve been just tired every time I’ve asked you for the last month. What’s up? You seemed to be getting better after…”

“After I spent three months in prison?” Spencer fielded when Luke trailed off.

“Yeah,” Luke smiled sadly. “What’s going on with you, man?”

“It’s complicated.” Spencer let out a sigh. “I did something kinda dumb and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“You don’t know how to fix something?” Luke chuckled. “Impossible.”

Spencer averted his gaze, rolling his lip between his teeth. Luke scrutinised him, reading his body language before a smile of understanding tugged at his lips.

“You met someone.” Luke mused.

Spencer’s eyes shot back up, wide like a guilty child.

“Kind of?” Spencer huffed. “But I messed it up before it had a chance to begin.”

“Did you at least get laid?” Luke tilted his head curiously.

“Seriously, Alvez?” Spencer groaned.

“You so did.” Luke laughed, clapping a hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “About time.”

“Yeah well it’s not likely to ever happen again.”

“What did you do?” Luke cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Why would you assume I did something?”

“I don’t know. Did you?”

“I…I don’t think so?” Spencer’s face scrunched up.

“Are you bad in bed?” Luke shrugged.

“How would I know?” Spencer huffed again in exasperation.

“Trust me, there’s only so much a woman can fake.”

“Oh jeez, I don’t wanna have this conversation with you.” Spencer shook his head. “But I don’t think I’m bad in bed. I at least thought she was enjoying herself. It wasn’t that. Don’t make me question my…performance.”

“There’ll be other women, Reid.” Luke patted his shoulder again.

Spencer sucked in a breath, his bottom lip pouting slightly.

“I don’t want there to be other women.” He whispered.

“Oh,” Luke looked a little taken aback. “You like her.”

“Hmm.” Spencer answered noncommittally.

“I wanted you to get laid, not fall in love. Jeez, Reid, are your dick and your heart somehow connected?” Luke shook his head.

“That’s anatomically impossible.” Spencer rolled his eyes. “But thanks for the graphic image.”

“Only you could sleep with a woman you barely know and fall for her. Your heart's too big, man.”

“I do know her.” He spoke quietly, his eyes trailing off across the station as you entered with a tray of coffees in hand.

He watched you move across the room, it was almost impossible to take his eyes off of you. Luke followed his gaze and when he saw you he groaned.

“No, no you didn’t.” Luke slapped him on the back, forcing Spencer’s eyes back on him.

“Didn’t what?”

“Y/N?” Luke hissed. “She’s married!”

“Would you keep your voice down!” Spencer scalded him.

“So it’s true? Fuck, Reid, really?”

“It was a momentary lapse in judgement, I agree.” Spencer sighed. “But I have been in love with her for well over a decade. An opportunity presented itself and I…I…oh man I fucked up.”

“No kidding.” Luke rubbed his chin. “I thought you were meant to be a genius?”

“I’m a provable genius. But I’m still entitled to make mistakes every once in a while. Being a genius didn’t stop me from getting addicted to dilaudid, it didn’t stop me from going to Mexico and falling into Cat’s trap. And it didn’t stop me from sleeping with a married woman.” Spencer raked his fingers through his hair.

“When you put it like that, I’m not sure I see an upside to having a high IQ.”

“It’s incredibly frustrating, trust me. You still make dumb mistakes, and you have the added bonus of having to analyse them in great detail after.”

“I’ll stick to living in ignorance.” Luke nodded just as a set of footsteps approached.

They looked over just as a head of dark hair was heading their way.

“Are you two ladies gonna stand around all day braiding each other's hair or you gonna help us catch an unsub?” Emily spoke, mildly frustrated, before she was leaving as quickly as she arrived.

“Ladies?” Luke muttered.

“Hair braiding?” Spencer subconsciously touched his locks.

“What is it about this town that is putting everyone in a bad mood?” Luke clucked.

Spencer simply sighed and started following in Emily’s footsteps before his Unit Chief could get any more annoyed.

***

The jet was eerily silent on its trip back to Quantico the following day. It was late and everyone was asleep, mostly everyone.

From his position curled up on the couch he could see you down the back of the aircraft, staring out the window as you soared through the clouds.

Realistically, Spencer knew to leave you alone. But just knowing something didn’t mean he agreed with it.

He couldn’t stay away no matter how he tried and eventually after fighting it for over half the flight, he swung his legs off the couch and stood up.

He smoothed out his shirt which the top few buttons were now undone on, his tie long ago removed. He quietly padded down the small aisle in his mismatched socks, careful not to wake the rest of his team members although at a glance they mostly all wore headphones or earplugs.

You didn’t look away from the window but he noticed the slight tensing in your shoulders as he got close. You still didn’t look at him when he sat opposite you, half wondering if you stayed perfectly still if he might leave you alone.

You had no such luck.

“Uh, hi.” He whispered quietly.

You swallowed and tore your eyes off of the window and looked at him. You didn’t speak, simply folded your arms over your chest.

“Is this just how things are gonna be between us now?” He huffed a little, barely able to contain his frustration.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Your voice was croaky.

“Yes, you do.” He shook his head. “You’ve hardly spoken to me since…since…”

“Please don’t say it.” You sighed.

“The thought of what we did is so disgusting to you, you can’t say it out loud?” His eyebrows furrowed heavily at you.

“I’m married, Spencer.” You hissed. “It shouldn’t have happened and that’s all there is to say. I thought you would know better than to…do what we did.”

“Oh I’m to blame?” He looked incredulous. “You’re the one with the husband, Y/N. I’m very much single. I didn’t cheat on anyone.”

“Stop it.” You spat. “Just stop it.”

“I don’t know why you’re pretending it didn’t mean anything.”

“I’m not pretending.” You scoffed.

“So it wasn’t about me? You’d have cheated on your husband with anyone, is that what you’re saying?” He glared at you angrily.

“I’m not talking about this.” You shook your head, turning your attention back out of the window.

“Well I am. And if you don’t wanna talk you can listen.” He leaned forward on the little table separating you. “I know you and I know you wouldn’t have done that with just anyone. I think maybe you feel something for me and you don’t want to admit it because of Jared and your kids. I get it, I do. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt though. And now it looks like I’m going to lose my best friend because you can’t even look me in the eye anymore.

You know how I feel about you. We’ve never talked about it but you know, you always have. So if it was just about sex you could have chosen anyone. But you didn’t, you came to me. And to be honest I think that’s pretty cruel of you to use me that way when you know exactly how I feel about you.”

“Are you done?” You looked back at him with a scowl. “Because I am done listening. I’m sorry if it meant more to you than it did to me, ok? I’m sorry if I hurt you or whatever. But I have too much going on in my life as it is. The last thing I need is an invite to the Spencer Reid pity party. Can you go and be all brooding somewhere else?”

You saw the hurt wash over his face at your vicious words. For a fraction of a second you felt bad but honestly you couldn’t let yourself be swallowed into his sad, doe eyes. Maybe he needed a harsh dose of reality every now and again.

“Goddamnit,” he hissed, shaking his head. “I’m sorry that you’ve found yourself trapped in a marriage where your husband treats you like a freaking punching bag, but not everyone is like that. There are people out there who might actually love you if you gave them half a chance.”

After all this time? Always.

“Leave me alone.” You spat. “Leave me alone, indefinitely.”

You turned away from him again, signifying the conversation was over. He might have tried to talk some sense into you but a few moments later the pilot was announcing their imminent arrival in Virginia.

As the rest of the team stirred back into consciousness, Spencer got to his feet and stormed away, not caring if the others sensed his anger.

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pathologicalreid · 11 months ago

Text

occupational hazard | S.R.

You and Spencer have a discussion about the dangers of his job.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: plot discussions from 9x23 (angels) and 9x24 (demons), canon compliant injuries, crying, established relationship word count: 1.23k a/n: thought of this while i couldn't sleep after watching the season 9 finale. also its me. I'm the crier.

Your mother always said you had a problem with staring. In the grocery store as a kid, she would pull you to the side and tell you that you were being rude. It always confused you because you didn’t think it was possible to be rude without speaking.

Spencer never seemed to mind your staring, he’d ask if everything was alright, but he never really asked you to stop or told you off.

So, while he was over at your apartment, sitting on the couch grading papers, you just stared at him. You studied how his hair fell in front of his face as he scrawled on the printed paper, and how he set his jaw when he noticed a mistake. Your brows furrowed when you noticed a small scar on the side of his neck, a confused noise escaped your throat.

That got his attention, “What’s wrong?” He asked, matching your furrowed brows before setting his pen down.

Cocking your head curiously, you leaned forward to try to look at his neck, “What is that?” You whispered. It was an old scar, so you could only really notice it when the light hit it just right.

“What is what?” He asked, looking behind him and on his shirt like he was looking for a spill.

Gently, you reached out your hand and touched the scar with your fingertips. “Where did you get this scar?” You couldn’t believe you had never noticed it before – the two of you had been dating for more than half a year.

He reached up his hand and met yours, intertwining your hands together, “On a case in Texas.”

Your lips parted slightly as you looked at the scar again. “How did you get that scar on a case in Texas?” You asked, even though you were fairly certain you knew the answer.

Turning, Spencer set all of the papers on the side table before he turned back to face you. “I was shot in the neck,” he answered almost a little too calmly. As if it was just another day in the office, and maybe it was to him.

It certainly wasn’t to you. “What do you mean you got shot in the neck?” You asked, your voice was high and reedy with panic. Fear settled in your chest on behalf of a version of your boyfriend you didn’t even know.

“Hey, hey,” he said in an attempt to calm you down. “I’m okay, this happened almost five years ago, love. I’m fine,” he said, cupping your cheeks with both of his hands.

Your eyes were still wide, like deer in the headlights wide, and you nodded despite yourself. “That’s so scary, Spence,” you whispered as emotion burned in your throat. You knew he worked for the FBI and had for a long time. You knew he had been in love with a girl who was killed in front of him – that’s why he was so protective sometimes. You knew he had been in prison for three months for a crime he didn’t commit – that’s why he taught classes for thirty days. This was the first thing you had figured out – you had told him to tell you everything in his own time.

For a moment, he watched you like he had something he wanted to say but wasn’t sure where to start.

You sat on your heels and retracted your hands from his neck, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry I just… I saw the scar.” Awkwardly settling your hands in your lap, you sighed. “You’re right, it was a long time ago.”

“Wait, what just happened?” He asked dumbfoundedly.

Shrugging, you settled into the couch cushions. “I just saw the scar and I was curious,” you whispered as your eyes burned. “I didn’t… I just mean you don’t owe me an explanation.”

Reaching into your lap, Spencer took one of your hands in his, gently skimming the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. “You can always ask, it’s a fact that my job is dangerous,” he told you softly. “Getting hurt is an occupational hazard. It was never my intention to make you feel like you can’t ask me questions about… Why are you crying?”

You wiped furiously under your eyes at the tears that had flooded your eyes, “because you got shot.”

“You’re crying because I was shot five years ago?” He asked in bewilderment, his tone wasn’t belittling, he was genuinely surprised at your reasoning.

Nodding, you pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes in an attempt to stop your tears. “I am a crier; I cry at everything. Please don’t read into this,” you pleaded, embarrassment flooding your cheeks.

Gently, Spencer pried your hands away from your face, “Please don’t cry. I hate seeing you cry, and I don’t know what to do.”

You shook your head, and your bleary eyes met his, “Really, Spence, I’m fine. I’m just a crier, okay? Sad, happy, mad, I cry.” You looked up at the ceiling light and sniffled, fanning your face in an attempt to dry it off.

He was staring at you, “You are quite possibly the sweetest human being I have ever met.” Spencer reached out and pulled you to him, “Look at me.”

Begrudgingly, you looked at him. “How many times have you been shot?”

“I’m not answering that until you stop crying,” he said, sweeping your hair behind your ears.

That answer did absolutely nothing to comfort you. Huffing, you pressed your lips into a thin white line, “I’m fine,” you whispered, “I’m just crying.”

Spencer smiled at you, “That is an oxymoron, and you know it.” His smile faded, “I’ve been shot three times.”

“Oh my god, Spencer,” you said, dropping your head to his shoulder.

He hummed softly, turning his head to press a kiss to your temple, “Once in the knee, once in the arm, and once in the neck. Please don’t cry.”

You nodded into him, “Yeah, you’re… you’re okay now, right?”

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Is there anything I can do to help you feel better?” He asked softly, running his hands along your back.

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, “I love you,” you whispered.

His movements falter for just a moment, “I love you too.”

Pulling away and wiping your eyes, “You should finish grading those papers,” you whispered to him, moving away.

Instead of letting you go, Spencer pulled you closer, “I’ll finish tomorrow. I want to be here with you now,” he responded softly. “Are we okay?”

“Your job scares me,” you answered candidly, “but we’re good. We’re great.”

He nodded self-assuredly, “I can’t change the job, but you could meet my team if you wanted to. Maybe meeting them would make you more comfortable with me going out into the field,” he offered. “And maybe I could…” his voice trailed off as he mumbled something else.

Tilting your head curiously, you hummed in an attempt to prod at him, “Maybe you could what?”

“I could make you my emergency contact. If that’s something you’re comfortable with,” he said. “I’ve never really had anyone to add, but I’m sure Emily wouldn’t mind.”

You smiled softly at him, grateful for every bit he let you in, “I would be honored. Just don’t have any emergencies.”

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#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #written by margot #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #dr spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid hurt/comfort #criminal minds hurt/comfort #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid oneshot

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poughkeepsies · 1 year ago

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okay twist my arm here's my fic rec list

category: the most underrated fics that have never once left my mind since I first read them and I genuinely think about at least every few weeks in no particular order

(disclaimer that this list does not include a great majority of my beloveds' works but that's because I picked at random from the list of at least 30 that I've compiled over the past few days)

Tell Me Anything - AnnaNSmith/@annansmith - 5.3k

“Hey, Eddie?”

Buck’s voice rings softly in the quiet. A casual lilt on his tongue as he says his name.

“Hm?”

“Tell you something?”

Shrugging, Eddie keeps his eyes fixed at the ceiling above him.

“We got time.”

Or, how Buck shattered Eddie's entire world one night by confessing his love to him.

2. shout if you want my heart - hattalove / @hattalove - 5.8k

“I’m not even in the neighborhood of mad,” he says, instead of vomiting any of the thousand feelings warring inside him. “But Buck. This would’ve—this took you hours.”

“I’m good at multitasking,” Buck says, and Eddie can practically hear him shrugging over the phone. “I did all the cooking after I put Chris to bed, and then I got up a little earlier to get the cleaning and laundry done. It was nothing.”

Eddie’s starting to suspect he’ll have to wait for Buck to come back to make him understand that, actually, it kind of was everything.

or, eddie has a tupperware-induced emotional crisis.

3. find a way to you (if it kills me) - foxwatson / @eddiediazes - 19.5k

It’s something about the way Eddie phrases it. Something about the combination of his words and the way he’s staring down at the floor, and the flush in his cheeks and the way he’s fidgeting. Buck thinks, abruptly, he’s going to ask me on a date.

“Well I - wanted to tell you first, and I need someone to watch Chris, anyways - I know he’s getting old enough now he doesn’t like feeling like he’s got a babysitter, so I was hoping - sorry. Not the point. Uh. I have a date on Saturday.”

Just as abruptly as his own hopes had come soaring up above the cloud cover of his own unawareness - they go crashing back down to the floor - to the basement, and into the mud. “A date?” Buck rasps out.

or - the one where eddie decides to start dating again, buck figures out his own feelings just a minute too late, and then he spends a week going through the five stages of grief

4. Finding Home - S_lycopersicum / @slycopersicum-in-disguise - 4.4k

"Buck!" Eddie yelled as he turned his key in the loft door and dumped his suitcase inside.

He immediately got a startled "Eddie?" in response, and thank God for that because if Buck had been out running errands it would have been the last damn straw. But he was here, where Eddie needed him to be, and pounding down the stairs from the stupid platform thing he had instead of a normal bedroom. "Is everything OK?"

"No! You won't answer your goddamn phone and my house is full of bees."

5. counteroffer - buckleyseddie / @buckleyseddie - 25k

There’s a flicker of something across Buck’s face, but he quickly goes back to grinning. “You just want me at your beck and call.”

“Maybe I do.” Eddie shrugs. “You owe it to me.”

Buck sighs, as if put out, but Eddie can see the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Okay, then what's it gonna be?”

Eddie hums thoughtfully. He takes his time trying to think of something good. “What about-” he starts.

And that’s the moment Buck licks his lips and Eddie’s eyes dip down to them. And before he knows what comes over him, before he can think the words through, they’re out of his mouth.

“A kiss,” he says.

Buck blinks at him. Eddie blinks back.

“You want a kiss,” Buck repeats, eyebrows rising.

***

Or in order for Buck to make it up to Eddie, Eddie suggests that Buck gives him one hundred kisses.

6. keep me as your finish line - thatbuddie (talktothesky) / @thatbuddie - 33k

“Oh no, we’re not doing this.” Chimney pops a bubble with the gum he’s been chewing as he moves one of his fingers back and forth to point between The-Man-who-isn’t-Buck’s-man-he’s-just-The-Man and Buck. “You didn’t drag me to the gym just so you can ditch me to fuck some guy in the showers."

Buck lowers his voice, leaning forward as if trying to make the words’s journey shorter between him and Chimney so they can’t escape and reach anyone else’s ears,“I wouldn’t fuck him in the showers.”

Chimney’s response is wordless in the form of an eyebrow raise.

“Not anymore, okay?” Buck clarifies, rolling his eyes. “That’s not who I am now."

(spoiler alert: Buck does fuck the guy in the showers. but that comes after nicknaming him Big Beautiful Brown Eyes, finding out his name is actually Eddie, becoming his best friend, and falling madly in love with him.)

7. bring me a higher love - KiaraSayre / @starsandatoms - 7.4k

The A-shift works 4/20, Buck gets accidentally high, and Eddie suffers.

8. home stretch of a hard time - spiritsontheroof - 4.2k

When Buck tells him that he’s engaging in a “year of possibilities” in which he isn’t saying to no anything, Eddie isn’t surprised. It’s exactly the kind of thing Buck would get himself into to break this slump he says he’s been in. He’s changing his life, or so he says.

9. tying you to me - rarakiplin (gmontys) / @hoediaz - 5.3k

“Diaz?”

The man — and it is Eddie Diaz, Buck can’t not see it now — blinks, and in a split second his expression shutters closed. “Buckley.”

Buck wonders if he looks different without Diaz’s blood on his face.

or, eddie and buck meet each other at rock bottom

10. Four Can Keep A Secret - Daisies_and_Briars / @cal-daisies-and-briars - 20k

When Ravi and Hen accidentally see Buck and Eddie, who are trying hard to keep their new relationship a secret, in the middle of a romantic moment, they try to make them confess without the rest of the station finding out. Shenanigans ensue.

#genuinely i know exactly where i was when i read each of these fics and some of them was like. a year ago #also genuinely there are SO many of my absolute favorite writers missing from this list but i will remedy that so soon so so soon #911 abc #weewoo brainrot #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #fic rec #911 fic rec

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almostgenerallyalways · 2 years ago

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where the wild things are (part 2)

Pt 2/? - part 1 here Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x fem reader Category: angst / light smut (>18!) / eventual happiness Word count: 2,7K CW: language, grief

Two years ago, your sister’s death left a smoking crater in your life, leaving you to take care of your niece. Bradley has lived with loss his whole life, and is in a bad spot on the anniversary of his mother’s death.

Or: there is a crack in everything / that is how the light gets in

Six weeks later Bradley finds himself at Target early one Saturday morning, listlessly looking at socks (keeping on, his mom used to call this, on mornings where she’d throw open the windows to the Tierrasanta house, blasting Aerosmith or Tina Turner to silence the ghosts clinging to the walls, though he personally prefers operating on auto-pilot to think of the state he’s been in for the last few weeks), when a little girl rounds the corner of the aisle at full speed and crashes right into his left knee.

“Oh, shit!” He says, before he can think better of it, but upon impact the child has immediately started wailing so loud that she can’t possibly have heard him.

He drops his red plastic basket to the floor and kneels, helping her sit up. At first glance, there’s no sign of injury, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

“Hey, princess, are you okay?” he asks, quickly looking over her head for bumps. She can’t be more than four or five, but she has a set of lungs on her like a much older kid.

Bradley doesn’t know a lot about kids, but he thinks this one may be more shocked than hurt. Already the heaving sobs are slowing down, and she looks up at him with something of curiosity.

“Where are your parents?” He looks over his shoulder, down the aisle, searching for a frazzled mom or dad, or at least an employee bearing a red polo shirt. It’s before nine-thirty, early enough that the store isn’t crowded yet, and the speckled grey linoleum tiles stretch empty as far as he can see.

“Sierra!” He hears a frantic voice exclaim, before a woman appears around the corner, clearly distressed. “Sierra, what the –”

He sees you still, recognizing you at the exact moment you do him.

“Oh, shit,” He says again, and Sierra’s definitely heard him this time.

* * *

You rush over to kneel down beside the little girl before him, gathering her up: “Baby, are you okay? I’ve told you a million times not to run off like that.”

Bradley watches you run your hands over the little girl’s head, down her shoulders, and a comprehension dawns over him that makes his stomach coil.

Having established that she’s not hurt, you look over at him with wide eyes: “Bradley. I’m sorry.”

What you’re apologising for exactly, he’s not sure, but it brings him back to the morning after you met: waking up to his empty bed, and the gut-punch of disappointment it had been. It’s not like he’d never done it – quietly gathering up his clothes from the floor of some conquest’s bedroom before any further entanglement could ensue was something of a modus operandi for him, he can admit that – but that night had felt different to him, had felt real. He remembers the way your fingertips on his bare skin had brought heat to the surface, and incited a pull deep in his stomach he couldn’t quite put a name to. You’d made him laugh and you’d dulled the heavy, hollow feeling he’s gotten used to carrying everywhere, lately, the weight around his neck lessening with every kiss you’d pressed to his overheated skin.

And then he’d woken up alone.

And here’s the reason, he thinks, the sinking feeling in his gut rapidly accelerating. He gets to his feet, anger bubbling up in his chest: “What is going on here? Are you married?”

You get to your feet too, the little girl now clinging to your leg (you look beautiful, he can’t help but think: wearing leggings, a jean jacket and a faded baseball cap. No trace of the dressed-up glamour from the night you met, and all the more endearing to him for it), your eyes growing wide: “No!”

He continues, crossing his arms: “Because I’m not that kind of guy, if you’re wi-”

You cut him off with a hand on his wrist, and he stills immediately.

Truth is, he’d hoped, and what is as dangerous as that? He’d taken you home, had been entranced by you. He’d slept with you and it had felt right, he feels fucking stupid thinking it but it had, and he’d fallen asleep tangled up in you and had felt, for some stupid reason, safe.

And then when he’d woken up, you’d disappeared.

He shrugs off your hand, straightening himself to his full height, and looks down the harshly lit aisle. “Right, I guess I’ll –”

“Bradley,” You say softly, and he looks back down. You’ve picked the little girl up off the floor, holding her on your hip now, and she looks up at him with eyes that resemble yours, and he feels his chest constrict.

You bite your lip. “I owe you an apology. But can we have this conversation somewhere other than the sock aisle?"

* * *

You commandeer a small table outside the adjacent Starbucks, which has a view over a thin stretch of arid plants interspersed with a few palm trees, immediately followed by the parking lot. Behind it, Saturday morning traffic is swelling over the Mission Valley Freeway.

Giving Sierra a book from your bag and some water, you look her over once more to make sure she’s okay. She’s been on a wild streak lately, slipping away from you when you least expect it, no matter how vigilant you are. You try hard not to consider it as another one of your failings as a parent, but it’s getting difficult.

Right now, though, she is surprisingly compliant, settling down into the metal chair with her legs crossed, already engrossed in her picture book. You suspect it has everything to do with the man currently pulling back the chair next to you.

Just a second too slow, you realise that he’s pulled the chair out for you. “Oh. Thanks.”

You sit down, and he mirrors you.

You’d forgotten how handsome he was, or really you’d tried not to think about him at all. He’s dressed differently, on a Saturday morning: shorts and a worn raglan tee, sunglasses hooked into the neckline. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, lightly bouncing the right one, and you don’t really know how to take it.

“I’m sorry I just left,” You say, not sure where to start. “I had a great night with you, and then… It was a cowardly thing to do.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “I’d like to play it cool and say it didn’t bother me. But I don’t know, I kinda thought we hit it off.”

“We did,” You sigh, glancing at Sierra. Truth is, it had scared you, how easy everything had felt with him: The conversation at the bar never running dry, the way he’d kissed you (outside, you blaming the rapidly cooling night air for the goosebumps on your skin), the way he’d whispered into your skin, in his bed, clutching your hips as he buried his face into your neck, setting every nerve in your body alight.

You’d been fooling yourself, because things weren’t easy, were they?

“This is going to sound like a huge cliché, but… I never do things like that. Anymore, at least.” You can’t meet his eye, staring instead at a crack in the pavement where dry weeds poke through, trying to grow against the odds. The previous time you’d had sex at all, you recall, was with your ex-boyfriend, who’d dumped you three weeks into grieving your sister. Who, when you’d still been reeling from it, the sound of the impact still hissing in your ears, had sent you a text: It seems like you have a lot going on right now. Maybe we should hit pause on this until you get back to Boston.

You look at him finally, cringing at yourself. “I thought I could be selfish for a night. And after you fell asleep, reality hit me and I couldn’t face trying to explain that I… can’t get involved with anyone. Maybe that’s presumptuous, or maybe I shouldn’t have gone home with you in the first place. I’m sorry.”

Bradley looks down at his well-worn pair of running shoes, not meeting your eyes. “Oh. I see.”

Maybe it’s the fact that Sierra was up half the night, and so you barely got any sleep. Maybe it’s the undeniable fact that sitting across from Bradley again has an effect on you – the way his jaw works, the subtle smell of his aftershave. That stern set of his brow, a premature groove indicating he may spend too much time wearing that expression.

The sober, aggressively sunny reality of the Mission Valley Target parking lot isn’t enough to fully dispel the pull you felt towards him.

You hesitate. Sierra is the most guarded part of your heart, but you feel you owe Bradley an explanation. Glancing over at her, you see she’s in her own little world, absorbed in her favorite book. You take a deep breath.

“Two years ago, my sister died.”

Bradley’s head shoots up, at that, and his brown eyes rest on you.

You look down, smoothing your hands over your thighs, bracing yourself because you will not cry before 10 AM. “It was stupid. She went in for routine surgery. One in a million.”

Thinking back to that phone call always pulls you back under, and you have to make an effort to keep your voice even. “I was living in Boston at the time, and the entire flight back here I…” You shake your head, ousting the memory of the worst six hours of your life, when you’d tried to bargain with a God you’d never believed in, when you hadn’t been physically confronted yet with the cold, hard reality you knew awaited you after landing. “Anyway. Sierra has been with me since.”

The man across from you nods, hands still clasped together by his knees. “I’m sorry I assumed… I just saw you, and she looks so much -”

You cut him off. “I’m sorry I didn’t just tell you. It’s hard to talk about, sometimes, and at Callie’s party…” You pause, trying to sort through your thoughts as cars slowly roll by a short distance away, looking for parking, families transferring their weekend shopping into the trunks of their cars.

“I don’t go out much, anymore. My dad’s not in great health, and my mom takes care of him, so they can’t take care of Sierra. I take on extra billing hours all the time to make ends meet. There’s a medical malpractice suit and the lawyer fees are horrendous, and it’s so painful to keep dragging it out, but I have to pursue it if I want any chance of sending Sierra to college. It’s just a lot, all the time.” You take another deep breath. “I guess I wanted to feel like my old self for a night.”

You look up, feeling your eyes tear up. “I’m sorry. You must think I’m crazy, I just wanted to explain-”

To your surprise, he takes your hand in his. It dwarfs yours, and the feeling of his rough palm on your skin grounds you. “Hey. It’s okay.”

* * *

Hangman has been trying to reach him for two weeks, but this time, when his Bagman moniker flashes up the screen of his phone just as Bradley pulls his truck into his driveway, he picks up.

“Bradshaw.” Hangman is, of course, already coming in hot. “So you do still know how to answer the phone. What gives, man? If it wasn’t for Penny telling me you were still coming to the bar, I might’ve thought you’d burned in.”

Bradley makes a mental note to skip the Hard Deck’s tip jar, next time.

“Been busy, Bagman. I know you’re living it up there on Oahu, but some of us still have work to do.”

“Fuck you, Bradshaw,” The other man says good-naturedly. “Just wanted to make sure you’re not moping around too much.”

Bradley sighs. Since the uranium mission last year, the relationship between Hangman and him has changed, into something that may be the kind of friendship you can only have with someone who saved you and your kind-of-estranged, kind-of-uncle’s life while also still being annoying as shit. Bradley has spent over a year unlearning the decade-long honed itch to punch Hangman in the face, only to find Jake Seresin to be… a good man. A thoughtful friend. A tenacious friend who will keep calling when you’re pointedly ignoring anyone’s attempts to get in touch with you.

“How’s Vanny?” He asks, knowing Jake will tell him anyway, because he can’t not talk about his girlfriend. Meeting the younger aviator changed his friend, sanded down some of his rougher edges.

“She’s great. Getting her double stripes next week. She’s been asking about you.”

Bradley grabs his gym bag from in front of the passenger seat (he never did get any new socks), clutching the phone between his ear and shoulder as he slams the door shut. “I’m fine. Tell her that.”

He hears Hangman inhale on the other end of the line. “Fine. Okay. Where does that fall on a scale of, say, zero to going to the gym at three AM and dodging Penny’s invitations to dinner?”

Unlocking his front door, Bradley sighs again. One thing about Seresin is, he’s extremely perceptive, and once he’s zeroed in on something he will not let it go. It’s infuriating, but on some level, Bradley knows he should be thankful for it. “Let’s say a four, okay?”

Sometimes he thinks about the crash that nearly cost him an eye, and left him with the scars on his face, and wonders what his mother would’ve said, is almost glad she wasn’t around anymore to get that call (Ice got it, instead). Just last year he and Mav went down in enemy territory, and the moment he turned the yoke around he’d been sure he was signing his own death warrant, and still he couldn’t have made any other decision.

“Alright, man.” Jake knows which boundaries not to cross, as well, when to respect the territorial integrity of Bradley’s defenses. “I’ll take a four. If you feel like a change of air, you know you’re welcome in Hawaii any time, right? We’re probably getting our assignment here extended until at least the end of the year.”

“Appreciate it, Bagman.”

Goodbyes exchanged, he hangs up and steps out of his running shoes in the hall, dropping his gym bag on the floor. He stands there, for a minute, letting the cool air of the dark entryway hit his skin, a welcome contrast to the day’s accumulating heat outside, and closes his eyes.

He’d taken your hand, and you’d both sat there for a minute, the dry breeze across the parking lot carrying with it the fumes of traffic crossing the freeway, mingling with the smells of tacos and ceviche from a food truck preparing for the lunch rush, until Sierra had gotten impatient and started trying to get your attention, dropping her book to the floor.

“We should go,” You’d said, inclining your head to the girl, who’d seemed not to be holding her earlier run-in with Bradley against him, grabbing at his sleeve as he’d gotten up to retrieve the book off the ground.

Picking it up, he’d frozen.

It was a newer edition, but the design had been familiar, the cover picture immediately calling him back to his mom reading to him at night, pitching her voice low and high at intervals to emulate all manner of different monsters, Bradley exclaiming at every turn in the story as if he couldn’t recite it by heart, as if they hadn’t read this story together a million times over since Goose had been killed.

“Where the Wild Things Are”, he’d said, a little hoarsely.

“Yeah,” You’d smiled, somewhat watery still. “It’s her favorite.”

Something like resolve had settled in Bradley’s stomach, then.

Phone still in his hand, he swipes the lock screen and scrolls down from Hangman’s name to the newest entry, freshly saved under his contacts as Paloma, dove emoji, and hits call.

Authors note: soooo pt 1 of this didn’t gather much interest but I have the rest of the story loosely plotted out and i’m enjoying writing it (ask me if i’m working through my feelings re: deciding not to have kids by writing fic lol) so i will probably finish it anyway, just not sure on what timeline. anyway, comments/reblogs always appreciated <3 here’s my masterlist for other stories

#bradley 'rooster' bradshaw #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x reader #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x you #bradley 'rooster' bradley x y/n #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x y/n #tgm fic #top gun: maveric fic #top gun: maverick #bradley bradshaw imagine

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